NationStates Jolt Archive

Several months had passed since the destruction of the HMS Northampton. An inquest had been conducted and concluded, and had found there to be no fault with the conduct of the crew, of which only seventy had survived. James Clark had even been promoted to Commander for his performance during the crisis, and was offered the command of a small Bretonian Gunship, which he turned down. While the inquest determined that he had performed admirably, and that it was a miracle anybody survived the encounter at all, he felt that he was responsible for the destruction of the ship and the deaths of so many of her crew, and that he could have done much more to fight the threat that had jeopardised them. The fact that the inquest disagreed with him was somewhat irrelevant, as he had already made up his own mind on the subject months ago.

Commander Barnes had survived as well, having received medical attention on the HMS Cardiff after they were picked up. He had rejected a promotion to Captain and left the Armed Forces – officially he had 'retired', but in reality there was little chance of him ever being dragged back again. He had tried to encourage Clark to go with him, but Clark had unfinished business with the Forces. Things to make up for.

Which was the only reason he stood here now with Samantha Conway, who had also been promoted to full Lieutenant, at the behest of Admiral Rochester himself, waiting in a long mahogany-paneled corridor outside of a large pair of double-doors in the Admiralty Headquarters. Waiting to see what new idea the Admiral had in store for them.

The two officers had not seen each other since they had left the HMS Cardiff, their rescuer, all those months ago, and it seemed as though an eternity had passed. Clark felt a particularly close connection to her, as they had survived that ordeal together and she knew exactly what it had been like. He had not met any of the other Northampton crew members at all since the last day of the inquest, which didn't help his feelings of isolation. The possibility that they blamed him for what happened weighed heavily on his mind, and he had started to believe that they were avoiding him, but he knew that in reality they had just been given new postings (or resigned their commissions).

Both officers were shaken from their silent musings as one of the doors creaked open slightly and a civilian secretary leaned out to glance at them.

“The Admiral will see you now,” she said coldly, before disappearing behind the door again.

After exchanging an ominous glance, they both tugged their uniforms straight and Clark opened the door, allowing Conway through before joining her.

Rochester's office was suitably grand for the Admiral of the Fleet, which was essentially the most powerful position one could possibly hold in any branch of the BRAF; a high white ceiling with magnificent gold details, mahogany wall paneling with deep red wallpaper, and a thick burgundy wool carpet covering the creaky floorboards beneath their feet. Windows behind his enormous antique desk showed the New London skyline – the bleak Gothic sprawl of darkened skyscrapers drenched with acidic rain that characterised the entire planet. Looking out of the windows was the Admiral himself, an imposing man in his mid fifties who had somehow managed to retain a jet black head of hair, which was combed back tightly. He wore the crispest uniform Clark had ever seen, with gold epaulettes and numerous medals and rank insignias, and he obviously wore it with pride.

They gave their superior a stiff salute as they stopped halfway across his office,

“Welcome, Commander, Lieutenant,” Rochester said, his received pronunciation being even more exaggerated than most of the stuffy officers Clark had met since the incident. “Please take a seat.”

They exchanged another nervous glance, and after a hesitation they both sat down in the two elegant chairs placed in front of the Admiral's desk. He sat in the throne-like chair behind his desk and leaned forwards towards them, eying them carefully for a few moments. The silence quickly grew uncomfortable, and almost became palpable before it was broken.

“As you are both no doubt aware, we have been sending numerous expeditions to the area where the HMS Northampton was destroyed over the last few months,” Rochester said at last.

“Yes sir,” Clark nodded. “It is fairly common knowledge amongst even the lower ranks.”

“Indeed,” Rochester said. “Ostensibly these expeditions have been reconnaissance missions, keeping tabs on those creatures which so thoroughly defeated one of our most powerful warships, as well as recovering any sensitive equipment from the Northampton that may have survived the explosion.”

“Ostensibly, sir?” Conway asked inquisitively.

“Yes, Lieutenant, ostensibly,” Rochester nodded. “For you see, that is part of their mission, but not all of it. The expeditions have also been attempting to recover technology from the large alien craft which, according to your report, originally crippled the Northampton in a single hit. Of course the Navy expresses a vested interest in any advanced military technology, and this certainly qualifies as advanced.”

“I was under the impression that the alien craft was destroyed along with the Northampton, sir,” Clark said. “She did not appear to be particularly space worthy when we first saw her.”

“She was destroyed in the blast Commander, you are correct,” Rochester affirmed. “However, she was far enough away to avoid being completely vaporised or shattered, and she was a particularly large vessel after all. Large enough chunks of her survived for us to garner some very interesting discoveries.”

“Such as?” Conway asked, her interest in engineering getting the better of her.

“Well Lieutenant, much of it is beyond our present level of understanding,” Rochester said, overlooking her disregard for rank for the moment. “But rest assured, it is all being studied at Cambridge and our own facilities here on New London as we speak. Please, hold on for just a moment.”

He leaned forward, not bothering to wait for acknowledgment from his subordinates, and pushed down a button on his intercom.

“Janice, please send in Doctor Page now,” Rochester said firmly.

“Yes Admiral,” a the secretary's voice replied.

Dr. Page – the name sounded familiar to Clark, but he just couldn't place it. When the civilian walked in, labcoat and all, he immediately recognised him. Page had been the civilian scientist assigned to the HMS Cardiff, originally to help track down the Northampton. He was an irritating, self-obsessed, obnoxious bastard with no love for the military, but he knew what he was talking about. Most of the time, anyway.

“Doctor Jack Page, I believe you have already met Commander Clark and Lieutenant Conway,” Rochester said, gesturing to the two officers sitting opposite him as the scientist made his way down the office.

“Yes, yes, hello,” Page said dismissively.

“I am sorry, Doctor, are we keeping you away from more important business?” Rochester asked mockingly.

“Yes, actually, you are,” Page snapped, missing the patronising tone in the Admiral's voice. “If you don't mind?”

“By all means, continue,” Rochester said.

“In the first batch of salvage I personally identified what appeared to be an extremely complicated data storage device,” Page said hurriedly. “Nobody else could identify it until I came along and spent some time studying it. They utilise complex polymer strands to store large amounts of data, similar in a way to...”

“...DNA!” Conway interrupted him excitedly.

Page gave her an irate stare for a few moments before continuing. “Yes, DNA. Frankly this method of data storage is less efficient than our own quantum computing technologies, but this does not negate the massive hardware and software differences between their computers and our own, which makes interfacing the two extremely difficult. However, DNA specialists were able to assist me in cobbling together an interfacing system, and despite some degradation of the polymer strands I did manage to extract some useful information from the device...”

“While the science is all fascinating, Doctor, we do not have time for this,” Rochester sighed.

“Ah yes, you must be itching to blow something up,” Page growled sarcastically. “Long story short, then, some of the information extracted appeared to be coordinates. After deciphering them and compensating for several thousand years of stellar drift, we believe they point to three separate solar systems. Planets, specifically. The data continually references an ancient empire that controlled numerous star systems across the Norma arm of the galaxy, and it is possible that those planets are home to whatever is left of it.”

“Thank you Doctor Page,” Rochester said with finality.

“But...”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Rochester repeated.

“You're welcome,” Page sighed. He promptly left the room.

“As the good Doctor explained, we now have three sets of planetary coordinates which we need to investigate,” Rochester said to Clark and Conway. “It is our intention to send an expedition to each one in turn. I am ordering you, Commander Clark, to take command of this expedition. Lieutenant Conway, you shall serve as his executive officer.”

“Sir, I appreciate the offer, but I don't think that I am ready to command another...” Clark began.

“Your objection is noted, Commander, but this is an order, not an offer,” Rochester interrupted. “You will command the expedition. The HMS Winsford has been recalled from her patrol duties and has been loaded with whatever equipment has been deemed appropriate for this task. I remind you that you will not be in command of the Winsford, Commander, only the expedition. Captain Price has already been debriefed. More detailed orders will be given to you shortly.”

“I... understood, sir,” Clark nodded reluctantly.

“As you can presumably see, this expedition is of the utmost importance to the Admiralty, Commander,” Rochester said. “I expect you to carry out your orders to the best of your ability.”

“Aye, sir,” Clark said, more firmly.

“Good to hear it,” Rochester said. “You are both dismissed.”

Both officers rose to their feet and gave the Admiral another firm salute, and moved to leave the office. Conway left, but Clark remained by the doors hesitantly.

“I said dismissed, Commander,” Rochester said, as he noticed Clark lingering in his office.

“Permission to speak freely, Admiral?” Clark asked.

“Granted, by all means,” Rochester nodded, leaning back in his chair as though he knew what was coming.

“Why have I been selected for this mission?” he blurted. “There are many more experienced, capable, higher ranking, and deserving officers who would be much better suited to the task.”

Rochester smiled knowingly, before rising to his feet and walking casually over to the Commander.

“I specifically requested you for this mission,” Rochester told him. “I thought that you might have a personal interest in this, given the circumstances. Commander Barnes would hardly jump at the opportunity, so that left yourself. And on the contrary, I feel that you are perfectly qualified for this task. Do you mind if I speak freely?”

Clark was confused, and expressed as much with his bemused stare. “Certainly, sir.”

“You have been wallowing in self-pity and self-guilt for too long, Commander,” Rochester said, somewhat aggressively. “Ever since your promotion you have turned down assignments and even commands, purely out of some self-perceived notion of guilt over the loss of your crew mates. Believe me, I know exactly how that feels. All commanders blame themselves when something happens to their ship and their crew – and rightly so, as both are your personal responsibility. But sometimes, there is nothing any of us can do. The fact that you saved anybody at all is a miracle. The fact of the matter is, the inquest found you innocent of any wrongdoing. And even if you are right, and you did completely bugger up the entire incident – get over it! We all make mistakes, and it won't do yourself, your career, or the memories of your crew mates any good to waste the rest of your life dwelling on something you can never change. Learn from it, and move on.”

“I... well, sir, I...”

“You are going to take this assignment without complain and without second-guessing your every decision,” Rochester told him firmly. “And you are going to make every effort to make sure it is a success. And it will be. Understood, Commander?”

“Yes, sir,” Clark said.

“Good!” Rochester boomed with a grin. “Now, get out of my office. Your transport leaves for Southampton Shipyards in less than an hour.”

“Aye sir, thank you sir,” Clark saluted, and this time left the office.

***

It was not a particularly long distance from New London to Southampton Shipyards. Civilian ships had to fly specific routes and demonstrate appropriate permits lest they be considered pirates, but military ships could fly directly from one place to another without having to submit to border controls – the border stations were controlled by the BRAF anyway. Still, passing the time in something as small and cramped as a Clydesdale transport was never easy. There wasn't exactly much of a view, and in Bretonia, trapped in the middle of the Great Barrier, one couldn't even see the stars.

Though Clark spend his time in quiet contemplation, presumably reading through their orders on his PDA, Conway took to reading good old fashioned books. Nothing particularly fancy, only engineering textbooks. Whilst she didn't work in an engineering role in the Navy, that didn't stop her from taking a vested interest in it, and no other organisation offered access to such a wide variety of texts on the subject. “Particle Cannon Blasters and their Effects on Modern Adaptive and Ablative Armour” was her current book of choice, and whilst boring to many people she couldn't take her nose out of it for a moment.

She didn't even notice that the journey was over until she felt the rough 'clunk' of the ship fitting into the docking lock within the hangar bay of the HMS Winsford. She slammed the book shut and groaned; she always enjoyed watching as they flew by the ships of Southampton, particularly the ships she was going to serve on – something of a personal tradition she had developed over the years – but this time she had completely missed it. She stuffed a hard boiled sweet into her mouth quickly as the aft door began to whir open. Her ears always popped as the pressure between the two ships equalised, even though they were supposedly equal to begin with.

Cramming the book into her backpack she joined Clark as they walked down the exit ramp of the transport. Captain Price and his XO saluted them as they stomped down onto the deck.

“I am Captain Mark Price of Her Majesty's Ship Winsford,” the Captain announced. A formality, as his Captain insignia was fitted firmly to his chest. “This is Commander Darren Beavis, my executive officer.”

“Sir!” Clark saluted. Conway clumsily dropped her pack and followed suit. “Commander Clark and Lieutenant Conway, requesting permission to come aboard, sir.”

“Permission granted,” Price nodded, with a smile. “Welcome aboard. We'll have to work on some of those formalities while you're staying with us, they are really quite unnecessary.”

“You have a copy of our orders, I assume, sir?” Clark asked him.

“That we do, yes,” Price nodded as they began walking in unison out of the noisy hangar bay and into the bowels of the Coventry-class cruiser. He waved a PDA in the air as though some sort of proof was needed. “The Winsford and her resources are at your disposal for the duration of this mission, Commander.”

“Don't worry Captain, I won't step on your toes,” Clark said with a friendly grin. “All shipboard matters are your remit of course. I will be grateful for your assistance.”

“Let's get you settled in first though, eh?” Price said, turning a corner and gesturing for them to follow. XO Beavis disappeared off down some other corridor, no longer needed. “We've got some quarters secured for you on tier seventeen, section twelve, not far from the officer's mess. You're familiar with the layout of Coventries, yes?”

“We should be fine, thank you sir,” Clark nodded, nervously glancing towards Conway. Captain Price was renowned for playing practical jokes on his newest crew members, and although they weren't technically members of the Winsford's crew, Conway was certain that it wouldn't matter much to Price.

“Good,” Price nodded. “You're both going to have to bunk together I'm afraid, room 17-12-J. Door lock set to your standard fleet access code, Commander, though you can change it at your discretion.”

“That will be fine sir, thank you,” Clark nodded. Conway was busy glancing around at various areas of exposed circuitry all along the length of the corridor, with maintenance personnel busily sending sparks flying everywhere.

“Oh, don't worry about them,” Price said, noticing her worried observation. “Just some basic repairs and maintenance while we're in the yards. Has to be done I'm afraid, and has to be done quickly in this instance.”

“We're leaving soon?” Conway asked.

“We're leaving now Lieutenant,” Price corrected. “Which is why I am going to have to leave you to find your room by yourselves I am afraid, I am needed on the conn.”

“By all means Captain, thanks for your help,” Clark nodded. Price nodded to them both before jogging down the corridor and out of sight.

Clark and Conway took an elevator to tier seventeen, discussing their orders and what they were likely to find in their quarters. Finally they arrived at 17-12-J and Clark input his access code. As the door bleeped in acknowledgment and whirred open, they were dismayed to find that their bunks had been replaced with enormous water beds.

***

Price arrived on the conn, which was the typical Coventry-class design – very modern in design, much less militaristic than most, with soft lighting, beige walls and dimmed computer monitors, all based on a single tier without any windows – and gave his XO, Beavis, a mischievous grin.

“Captain on the bridge!” the Commander announced, standing to attention.

“At ease,” Price said as he sat down.

“Think they liked their quarters, sir?” Beavis asked.

“I'm sure they did,” Price nodded. “I can't wait to see how they stay on their bunks if we experience turbulence. Lieutenant Williams, are we cleared for departure yet?”

“Aye, sir,” the lieutenant at the helm announced. “All moorings have been cleared, control has granted our departure request.”

“Excellent,” Price said, clasping his hands together. “Bring stationkeeping thrusters online. Half reverse thrust at your discretion Lieutenant. Set a course for the Edinburgh jump gate once we are clear.”


***

The HMS Winsford slowly began to move out of the enormous skeletal structure that housed it. Southampton Shipyards dwarfed even the largest battlestations, with massive ship maintenance and construction facilities all interconnected in a modular format as far as the eye could see. The Winsford was just one of many ships of all shapes and sizes arriving and departing from the facility that served both military and civilian interests from all around Bretonia.

As soon as the ship was clear, small chemical thrusters all down the sides of the ship fired, slowly turning it about until it was facing away from the massive shipyards. As soon as it was rotated and far enough away, the main ion engines burst to life, and the ship embarked on its long journey.

Traffic in Bretonia was heavy. Even military vessels had difficulty moving around the various routes, despite not having to stop for checks. It was seven hours before the HMS Winsford finally reached the Edinburgh system and joined the queue for the Alpha-Epsilon Jump Gate, which would lead them past the Great Barrier and out into the great beyond. Unfortunately, the queue was quite long. Were this an emergency, military vessels could shut down the gate to civilian use and take complete control over it, allowing them to move large numbers of ships through without having to wait. Unfortunately it was not an emergency.

The main border station on this side of the gate was more about keeping people out than preventing people from coming in. Namely the Corsairs. A dreaded piratical organisation that had become so large and so powerful that it fielded numerous capital ships of their own, and used them to great effect. Whilst not particularly powerful in the grand scheme of things, these capital ships could quite easily overwhelm civilian transports and their private security guards, and in groups of five or so could even take on a Bretonian battleship. For that reason, this popular pirate and terrorist target was guarded by a heavily armed border station, along with numerous warships permanently stationed here.

Conway and Clark arrived on the bridge, after having dumped their gear into their quarters and complained to the quartermaster about their beds. They took a look around the bridge, and Clark decided there and then that he wasn't especially happy with the informal attitude that most of the crew of this ship seemed to have. It was true that the Winsford was often given long-term assignments, and Clark supposed that being cooped up together for so long could lead to an informal relationship, but it was still a military vessel at the end of the day and a proper code of conduct needed to be established. Still, he couldn't do anything about it, so he would just have to grin and bear it. Conway, on the other hand, seemed to prefer the informal nature.

“Captain, can't we just shoot them out of the way?” Williams asked, sighing as he saw the long stream of ships on the radar screen.

“Lieutenant, you know that we can't fire on civilian ships,” Price snapped, and then grinned. “We have to save our ammunition for more dangerous threats.”

“What about ramming them?” Beavis suggested.

As the main doors to the bridge whirred shut and clanged together, Price turned around to notice the two of them standing there, looking around.

“Ah, Commander, Lieutenant, welcome to the conn,” Price said. “We are in the queue for the Alpha Epsilon jump gate now. It should take us roughly seventy-two years.”

Conway chuckled, Clark just frowned.

“Captain, if I may?” Clark asked, gesturing towards the helm.

“Absolutely, go ahead Commander,” Price said. He seemed disappointed by the Commander's unwillingness to engage in the jovialities. He could remain disappointed for all Clark cared.

“These are the first coordinates we are to investigate,” Clark said as his boots clanged down against the deck. He stopped beside the helm and handed Lieutenant Williams a PDA. “At full cruise speed it should take us roughly one and a half weeks to get there.”

“Better make that two weeks then,” Price corrected him.

“Sir?”

“Our engine room reports an issue with our main cruise drive,” Price told him. “We can't travel at maximum speed for long periods of time.”

“Understood, sir,” Clark nodded. “If you could set a course for these coordinates upon exiting the Jump Gate, I would be grateful sir.”

“Consider it done, Commander,” Price said. “Are you not sticking around to enjoy the queue?”

“I would rather take the opportunity to catch up on some sleep, if it's all the same with you sir,” Clark said, walking back to the rear end of the bridge. “I haven't slept in almost twenty-four hours.”

“Consider yourself excused them, Commander,” Price nodded. Clark said no more and exited the conn again.

“Stuffy chap, isn't he?” Price chuckled to his XO after he had gone.

“Well sir,” Conway butted in. “If you lost your ship and crew, perhaps you'd be a little more formal as well. Permission to be excused.”

Price was about grant her request, but she left without waiting. He looked over at Beavis, who shrugged.

***

The HMS Winsford moved to the front of the queue at last. They exchanged a short greeting with the border station, and flew slowly forwards in an approach vector. The jump gate was a massive, round object with three huge pincer-like clamps covering the entrance, which slowly opened wide as the gate began to spin up as it had done thousands of times before. The power requirements for generating a jump hole, especially one tuned to penetrate the Great Barrier, were enormous, and a ship-sized structure attached to its right side was entirely dedicated to giving it that power, in the form of dozens of high output fusion reactors.

Space itself seemed to rumble as a bright flash of light blinded everybody within a lightyear distance. Even viewing the spectacle on computer monitors via external cameras the crew of the Winsford were temporarily blinded. Once their eyes adjusted, they saw the swirling blue vortex. The jump hole.

“Ahead full stationkeeping thrusters only,” Price said. “Maintain approach vector, three-eight-seven mark two-one, steady as she goes.”

Williams hurriedly operated the controls of the ship. He had taken them through jump gates countless times in the past, but it was still a nerve wracking experience. Some helm operators chose to use automatic piloting protocols, but Williams would have none of that. Still, one wrong move and they could tear off the upper tier.

The ship slowly moved towards the enormous glowing ring, and began to disappear into the vortex gradually. Once the ship was completely engulfed, the vortex vanished and the clamps closed at a leisurely pace.

In the Alpha-Epsilon system, the jump gate on that end began to spin up, and the pincers similarly opened wide. A vortex appeared and deposited a Coventry-class cruiser into space. It was a gamble, passing through the Great Barrier, even using the jump gates – but they always knew they had been successful when they could see the stars at last.

The Alpha-Epsilon Jump Gate represented the only way in or out of the Bretonian Empire, with the Great Barrier preventing ships from penetrating it without a jump gate. As such, it was guarded by the largest and most powerful battlestation ever constructed by Bretonia, Border Station Epsilon. Unlike the other border stations it was staffed entirely by the Armed Forces, and guarded by numerous battleships, frigates and cruisers. With more ships only a jump gate away, it was a veritable fortress.

Price always felt safe here. The Corsairs, the Mollys, the Gaians and all the other various factions they had to contend with were trapped on the other side of the Great Barrier, and no unauthorised alien force would get near them with such a massive defensive force here. He hated that he couldn't remain here, but their mission would see them going well out of range of any reinforcements, so he enjoyed the sense of security while it lasted.

“Williams, are you able to plot a course to those coordinates?” Price asked.

“Not a complete course no sir,” he said. “We will need to stop and scan ahead every so often, as the coordinates are outside of our existing navigational charts.”

“Understood,” Price said. He picked up a telephone-like device from the arm of his chair and held it to his face. “Engineering, conn.”

“This is engineering, go ahead,” a voice echoed back over the intercom.

“Engineering, we need cruise engine capabilities within one minute,” Price told them, in no uncertain terms. Engineers had a tendency to exaggerate how much time they needed – or so he assumed – and a firm hand was sometimes needed to reign them in.

“Conn, we are able to engage cruise engines at your discretion,” the ethereal voice replied. “Please try to keep to 80% power for the time being however.”

“Understood engineering, conn out,” Price said, and replaced the communicator hurriedly. “Lieutenant Williams, is your course plotted?”

“Give me a few more seconds...” Williams said, distracted. Plotting an interstellar course was no small matter. One had to account for all known stellar phenomenon, including stars themselves and other objects such as black holes, nebulae, and the rest. It took a great deal of computational power to chart a reasonable course past all of this. “Ready.”

“Let's get underway then,” Price said. “Cruise engines to 80%.” He picked up the communicator again. “All hands, now hear this. Prepare for cruise speed, I repeat, prepare for cruise speed. This is not a drill.”

The HMS Winsford began to ripple with a faint green light, and without warning suddenly blasted off into the distance at colossal speed. Their journey had begun.

Although given the sheer size of the universe at large a two week journey could not be considered ‘long’, comparisons of this nature were rarely on the minds of those souls trapped within their metal home for such a length of time. Streaking across interstellar space from one corner of the galaxy to another in a heavily armed warship at many times the speed of like always seemed like an exciting prospect, until one was actually in that situation. The silence was the killer – nothing ever happened! Maintenance calls quickly became routine, and the throbbing hum of the powerful systems of the ship gradually slipped from conscious thought until becoming as silent as the space that surrounded them. But the worst part of it all was the view – slipped outside of normal space, one could see nothing out of the small portholes. No stars streaking by like in the movies, no multicoloured wormholes as described in books... just eternal, unchanging darkness. Pure, absolute, nothing.

Bretonian navy personnel received extensive psychological training to cope with deep space travel of this nature, but training never truly kept one from being bothered by it all. The claustrophobia could overcome even the staunchest of men. As such, the senior staff of all Navy vessels ensured that appropriate distractions were made available to the crew, ranging from movies and training drills, to veritable parties and festivals. On a smaller ship such as the HMS Winsford the possibilities were diminished somewhat, but even the least considerate of commanders made some sort of effort to keep his crew from losing their minds.

Captain Price for one was particularly fond of keeping his crew infused with a feeling of being appreciated and acknowledged. His daily lunches with the senior staff were usually opened up to a number of enlisted crewmen or low-ranking officers, where he and his staff related to them on a personal level. Some crewmembers appreciated this approach, whilst others viewed it as unprofessional – but either way, they all felt acknowledged after attending.

Clark and Conway had been invited to the Captain’s Mess this lunchtime, however. Almost one and a half weeks after the journey began, no less. Clark had quietly decided that the reasoning behind this was quite clear: in his own discrete way, Captain Price obviously begrudged having these two ‘outsiders’ using his ship as their ride. Perhaps he even took offence to the idea of a lower-ranking officer having overall command of the mission, even if he had not said so. Either way, Clark was convinced that leaving them out of his dining room for so long was some kind of message, as it was usually quite customary for guests to dine with the Captain on the very first day.

As such it was with a deal of pessimism that he opened the door to the Captain’s Mess, standing aside to allow Conway to enter first in a quaint display of chivalry. Immediately the welcoming scent of freshly-roasted steak wafted over them like a sudden gust of wind, and simultaneously they took a deep breath and moaned at its rich aroma. After the standard slop they had been fed in the ‘common’ mess, it was literally a breath of fresh air to be savoured. Far from the typical chaos that reigned supreme in the common mess hall, this cosy room was dominated by the light chinks of cutlery tapping against fine plates, occasionally letting out a high-pitched squeak as the finely dressed officers delicately cut through the tender slabs of meat that lay appetisingly on their gold-embossed plates. Instead of typical metal walls, wooden fascias covered up the industrial bulkheads, decorated with golden outlines, and a thick burgundy carpet was in place of metal decking.

All in all it was a much more civilised experience.

“Ah, Commander, Lieutenant, please come in, take a seat,” Price called over as he noticed them standing in the doorway. Obediently the two officers saluted and stepped forward towards the large wooden dining table, allowing the door to whirr shut behind them. A waiter promptly appeared seemingly out of nowhere in a tuxedo to pull up a chair for each of them, just to the right of Captain Price.

“Apologies for starting before your arrival,” Price said, placing his cutlery down for a moment as he politely stood up until they were seated. “I wasn’t sure if either of you were actually coming!”

Clark frowned at this, curiously. “Why is that sir?”

“Please, Commander, if you drop the formalities for the duration of this meal I shall do the same,” Price said. “I wasn’t sure, as I understand that you are not on particularly good terms with the Navy at present. I thought that there was some sort of animosity between us...”

“Where did you get that idea, si...” Clark began, and quickly corrected himself. “Erm, Mark?”
“Ah,” Conway spoke up. She has been busily accepting her plate from the waiter who once more performed a feat of magic by producing two perfectly-arranged plates. “I think it was something I said a week or so ago, sir. Sorry.”

“Well Captain, I was under the impression that you had avoided inviting us here as you were somehow unhappy with the circumstances of this mission...”

“On the contrary, I’m quite enthusiastic about all this,” Price said with a smile. “Beats patrolling any day of the week. Much more glamorous, exciting. Not to mention more opportunities for promotion, for us all!”

“I wish I could mimic that sentiment,” Beavis chimed in as he munched on a mouthful of food. “Just what are we meant to be doing so far out of civilised space, Commander?”

Clark looked towards the slightly podgy man of equal rank with a frown. “Investigating an ancient civilisation. Recovering advanced technology. Potentially learning more about a significant threat to Bretonian security. Surely those things are worthy of our time Commander?”

Beavis wiped his mouth with his napkin and shook his head. “Those things are certainly worthy of our time. But... do you actually expect to find anything? From what I have read of the mission briefing, we are in fact flying out here on a whim – a random set of coordinates which, for all we know, could well have been the coordinates of planets these ancient aliens intended to study for themselves!”

“Anything is possible,” Clark shrugged. He found Commander Beavis to be more of an irritation than anything; he seemed positively pleased to be arguing with him about this, and carried himself with ostentatious levels of self assurance, verging on the egotistical. Nevertheless Clark had no intention of displaying the same level of unprofessionalism. “Rochester’s people are confident in the validity of the data though.”

“Ah yes, Rochester’s ‘people’ being Doctor Page, I presume?” Beavis scoffed. “That man is so far up his... well, you know. He makes an educated guess and his arrogance convinces him that it is scientific fact. It is no different here – he’s taken some random numbers from a totally alien computer system, decided that they look a little bit like coordinates, and then proceeded to convince both himself and the Admiral that they are technological treasure chests.”

Clark forced himself not to snigger at the hypocrisy of this man referring to somebody else as arrogant, and maintained his demeanour. “While Dr. Page does give the appearance of somebody who is overconfident in his abilities,” Clark began, shooting Beavis an unintentional glare. “I do not believe that the Admiralty would commit this quantity of resources to a mission based on unverified data. They are at least reasonably certain, I’m sure.”

“Even if the data is one hundred percent accurate, and that is a big ‘if’, do you really believe that there is going to be anything left on those planets after so much time?” Beavis asked, cleverly dodging the subject. “Assuming this civilisation is truly ‘dead’ – in which case, I doubt they would be willing to hand over this advanced technology you speak of. Either way, we are coming out here for nothing.”

“Amazing,” Conway’s voice chimed in. “You’ve about as much info as the rest of us, but you have so much insight...”

“Educated predictions, Lieutenant,” Beavis said with a scoff.

“I’m sure you just accused someone else of making educated guesses a couple of minutes ago...” Conway said thoughtfully, before taking another mouthful eagerly.

Clark smiled at her, impressed. In one fell swoop, she had managed to shoot down his credibility and shut him up, an achievement he would have applauded had they not been in a formal situation. Beavis simply shot her a glare and remained quiet, using his meal as an excuse to avoid responding and to avoid the amused glances.

“Well,” Price said at last in an attempt to break the awkward silence that had descended down around the dining table. “Regardless of what lies ahead, I for one look forward to finding out, hmm?”

***

Several days later, their long and terribly boring journey finally came to an end. The atmosphere aboard the ship had become notably tense as time passed by, but at long last the tension was broken and replaced with a sense of excitement and trepidation. Previously kept busy only by standard maintenance and token duty stations, the crew came back to life as they suddenly found themselves with proper work to take care of. The bridge was especially active, as the officers had been eagerly awaiting the moment that they became useful again.

Almost immediately after the HMS Winsford burst back into normal space and desperately slowed down to a crawl, did the various officers jump onto their duty stations and began to get right down to business. Price walked through the large blast doors into a hive of scurrying crewmen and chattering officers. He smiled, and took his seat.

“Report please, Mr. Williams,” he asked, tapping some buttons on the arm of his chair to see a ship status diagram.

“We have arrived in the solar system specified in the first set of coordinates, roughly three hours twenty-five minutes ahead of schedule, sir,” Williams announced. “We’re slightly further away from the planet than expected, but I have already plotted a corrected course, and we should arrive within two minutes.”

“Excellent,” Price said with a grin. He promptly clicked down a button on the arm of his chair. “Commander Clark and Lieutenant Conway, please report to the conn immediately.” His voice echoed around the ship like an ethereal call, and would surely reach their ears wherever they happened to be. “Lieutenant, attain high orbit as soon as we arrive at the planet, please. I would like for us to complete a full orbit within ninety minutes if you can. And let’s put that planet up on the monitors!”

“Aye sir,” Williams acknowledged.

Clark and Conway entered the bridge together shortly afterwards, and saw the planet on the monitors near the awareness consoles on the starboard side, promptly moving towards them. On the monitors they were presented with a large, spherical world completely covered in ice, like a Biblical snowball floating through space. Already, this first planet did not look promising, but they intended to be thorough nevertheless.

Price sighted the two officers and spoke up, “Well Commander, this is your mission; I shall leave the details up to you!”

“Thank you Captain,” Clark nodded. “First thing’s first. Lieutenant...?”

“Harris, sir,” said the officer amidst the centre of all of the sensor readouts.

“Lieutenant Harris, let’s perform a full sweep of that planet as we orbit,” Clark said. “We need to know geological information, atmospheric and environmental details, any sign of industrial activity... everything you have.”

“Aye sir,” Harris nodded.

“Chuck a couple of class five planetary analysis probes at it as we pass over, for good measure,” Clark said.

And so the HMS Winsford began its orbit around the world, reaching down with its various sensor arrays to probe every facet of its surface, whilst it periodically launched probes into the atmosphere to conduct chemical analyses of its composition. By the time it completed its circumnavigation of the Earth-sized globe, it had uncovered a complete planetary profile, and now all that remained was for the crew to analyse all the data.

“Well, it looks like it could have supported life at one point,” Clark said. He had found a chair by now, and sat in the cluster of consoles at the awareness centre and squinted at the various monitors. “I’m not seeing that now though. Looks like the average surface temperature is almost fifty celcius below... and that ice is thick.”

“Acoustic pulses from the atmospheric probes have determined that it could be as thick as ten kilometres in places, particularly over the oceans,” Conway said. “Though, it’s just over half a kilometre thick in some places, like that stuff there over high ground.”

“It’s incredibly consistent then,” Clark nodded. “I wonder what caused it?”

“Who knows,” Conway shrugged.

“Any sign of any thermal energy whatsoever, Lieutenant?”

“No sir,” Harris shook his head. He started typing when something in one of the overhead photographs flashing across one of the monitors caught his eye. Quickly he reached up to the touch-screen and paused the slideshow, nudging Clark’s shoulder. “Can you see that sir?”

Clark leaned forwards and took a close look at the picture. It was difficult to see, but he could just about make out some strange shape outlines against the otherwise white background.

“Those are buildings,” Clark said with certainty.

“Built on top of the ice?” Conway exclaimed.

“No Sam, look,” Clark said, and brought up an overlay of data. “The ice there is only five hundred and thirty-odd metres deep. They could be skyscrapers, buried.”

“There aren’t many for a city,” Conway said.

“Maybe only the tallest buildings are still uncovered,” Clark thought out loud. “We could be looking at a city centre of some kind.”

Price stood behind them curiously glancing over their shoulders. “Have you found something, Commander?”

“Possibly, sir,” Clark nodded enthusiastically. “Looks like some buildings that aren’t completely buried by ice. I’d like permission to take a landing party down there and take a closer look.”

With a concerned look, Price asked, “are you sure it’s safe down there?”

“Yes sir,” Clark said. He called up some detailed information for the region the buildings were located in. “That close to the equator, the temperature is only twenty below. And the air is perfectly breathable, if thin. So long as we don’t stay down there for too long, we should be OK.”

“’We’?” Price asked, glaring down at Clark.

“Well sir, I was hoping for myself and Lieutenant Commander Conway to lead a small party down there...”

“It’s your mission, Commander,” Price shrugged. “Provided you are confident that it is reasonably safe, I’m happy to authorise a landing expedition.”

“Thank you Captain,” Clark nodded. Excitedly he jumped to his feet and beckoned for Conway to join him as he moved to exit the bridge, though Price took his arm just before he left.

“Commander, bear in mind that sometimes it is preferable for a commanding officer to delegate, rather than take charge of every task...” Price advised him quietly. “I know you have suffered a blow to your confidence, but there comes a time...”

“Thank you for your concern, sir,” Clark said, freeing up his arm. “I’m fine.”

“OK, OK,” Price said, stepping back. “Just offering some friendly advice, one officer to another. Good luck and Godspeed, Commander!”

OOC: Did you want people to join or is this closed?

((ooc: i have to ask the same question... open or closed?))

OOC: It is closed for the time being. Then there will be a large explosion, and it will become open, within reason (i.e. you must first TG me with what you intend to do). This is a highly introspective RP set in a very isolated region, ergo ships turning up randomly to a place that has not been visited in thousands of years would be unusual, to say the least.

Rumbling. If there were any other sensations to be experienced, the rumbling had cancelled them all out. With vibrations so powerful that they shook the very marrow of his bones, and a thundering sound so loud that he could not even hear his own thoughts, the rumbling was everything in the universe for this very moment as far as he was concerned. Oh, how Clark hated atmospheric entry in a Clydesdale troop transport. The oversized dropships were not streamlined enough for smooth re-entry, and every single man and woman inside could easily tell.

As they dove ever-deeper into the atmosphere of this world, Clark could finally hear a voice over the deafening thunder, as faint as it was. The sound subsided even more and he could at last tell which direction the voice was coming from; it was the pilot, up the stairs in the cockpit, yelling back instructions to the five passengers. Two Royal Marines, himself, Conway and Lieutenant Harris, the small group barely filled the cavernous passenger section of the Clydesdale.

“...and when we are at one hundred metres... to the surface on... to prevent... melting the ice...” the pilot yelled with all his might, but Clark couldn’t for the life of him hear what he was saying. He nudged the marine next to him.

“What did he say?!” Clark yelled into his ear.

“We’re going to rappel down!” Captain Jason Harvey yelled back.

“Why?!” Clark asked.

“Because,” Harvey yelled back with a beaming grin. “Engines’ll melt the ice, sir! Ship’d sink!”

Clark frowned. “Then how do we get back aboard when we want to leave?”

“Same way we came, only slower!” Harvey smiled.

Clark sat back in his seat with a gulp. The rumbling was a little more tolerable now, but instead he had a different discomfort to deal with. Of all the things he had seen and done in his career, he was still afraid of heights. He supposed that this was why he had taken a career in space, after all there was neither up nor down in the depths of the void to be concerned about – just the freezing, airless vacuum that Clark did not seem to be especially nervous about. But now, he faced the task of sliding down a rope from a ship hovering a hundred metres above an icy floor...

“He gone pale or is it just me?” Major Larry Briggs slapped his subordinate’s shoulder jovially as he saw Clark’s face sink.

“The Commander’s a little afraid of heights,” Conway explained with a grin. A tomboy by trade, she seemed perfectly at home with these brash marines, who lacked the distinctive stuffiness of Naval officers. “Course, he’d never admit it – but I reckon we’ll see it soon enough!” The marines burst out laughing, before giving Clark a reassuring pat on the back in unison.

“Don’t worry sir,” Briggs said. “Harvey here’ll catch you if ya fall.”

“Like hell I will,” Harvey shook his head. “I did me arm in last week in training, you’ll have to do it!”

“Ah, well, I guess yer stuck then sir,” Briggs grinned. “Just try not to let go, eh?”

“Thanks,” Clark said meekly.

The transport swooped down over the surface, casting its bulky, awkward shape across the ice below as it blocked out the light from the system’s star. It approached what looked to be the remains of an ancient city, which in its day must have been magnificent – glistening spires atop enormous metallic skyscrapers.

Now, the scene was an eerie one.

All of the windows had long since shattered into nothing, leaving only the skeletons of the once-great scrapers, poking out of the thick ice layer in one last desperate attempt to reach for the skies and casting long, skeletal shadows across the surrounding ice. Most of their structures were buried deep beneath the ice, along with the entirety of some smaller buildings. Furniture was still visible inside some of the better sheltered buildings towards the centre, which appeared to be ancient office blocks. It was a ghost town, and looked as if its population had suddenly dropped everything they had been doing and vanished simultaneously, like Pompeii with ice and snow instead of fire and ash.

What lay beneath, perfectly preserved by over half a kilometre of freezing ice, one could only imagine. Nor was it clear what had caused such sudden chilling devastation, but this expedition hoped to find out.

As the transport came to a hovering halt some one hundred metres above the surface, over half a kilometre from the city, its side doors slid open and metal fibre ropes were thrown out and allowed to dangle below. The people inside now dangled their legs off the edge as they made sure they had all of their equipment, and a large wheeled crate was lowered down on a separate rope.

“Don’t worry sir!” Briggs shouted to Clark as the chilling wind flooded the interior of the craft. “It’s just like falling out of bed in the morning! You’ll do fine! Captain, hook him up and go with him! I’ll help the lovely Lieutenant here...”

Harvey gave a brisk salute and hurried a nervous Clark towards the open side door, ensuring his harness was attached securely to the rope. He gave the Commander a refresher course in using the harness, and then did something rather cruel – he gave Clark a sharp shove, and he fell sideways out of the transport, hurtling down the rope towards the ground with an everlasting scream. Mere metres before he hit the ground he managed to work the brakes on the harness and bring himself to a hard stop, jerking the rope like it was a bungee rope.

“Captain!” Briggs yelled angrily. “Next time you push a Navy officer out of a transport, I’m putting you on report!”

Harvey shrugged. “Thought it’d help with his phobia, sir! Face your fears and all that...”

Briggs nodded understandingly, before giving the Captain a similarly sudden shove. As Harvey fell down the rope, slowing himself down and laughing all the way, Briggs helped Conway hook up to the rope, and they both went down slowly. Normally, even. Harris was left to work his own way down, feeling somewhat left out.

The five of them unhooked when they reached the ground, and the ropes were wound back up into the ship which hovered above them, its thundering engines sending out heat that they could even feel on the surface. The ice was already beginning to get damp, and they all hurried to move themselves and their equipment to dryer land before a crater was formed.

“Drop ship alpha one this is landing team,” Briggs called into his radio. “We are on the ground and looking fine. See you in five hours.”

“Roger that landing team, we’re outta here,” the pilot’s voice responded through the tinny speakers. “Think of us for your future taxi needs, over and out.”

With that, the engines of the craft above bellowed with thunderous rage, forcing the ship higher into the air before it sped off into the distance, disappearing behind a cloud above. Suddenly, it began quite silent, with only the whistling wind of the icy plains to distract their ears. Apparently unsure of what to do, the five Bretonians looked around at the vast wastelands that surrounded them, before focussing on Clark.

“Well,” he said loudly. “I’d say we head towards that ghost town before we all freeze to death, wouldn’t you agree?”

Harvey and Briggs exchanged a somewhat concerned glance, while Conway and Harris promptly began to take charge of wheeling their supply crate into position ready to go. A long walk awaited them, and while the standard-issue Royal Marine armour they wore was equipped with thermal insulators and small heat pads to keep them warm, along with the thick, white fluffy coats and hats they wore on top of that, it was going to get very cold very quickly.

“Come on then, people, what are we waiting for?” Clark asked. “Let’s get jogging!”

“Sod that for a laugh,” Briggs dismissed after a moment more of silence. He and Harvey ponderously began to wander towards the city, their boots making satisfying crunching sounds in the snow beneath them. Conway and Harris shrugged innocently, and followed suit. Clark sighed and joined them at a similar pace.

And so began their trek across the frozen wasteland of this nameless planet, towards the decomposed remains of a long-dead city, half-buried in ice. As the icy wind whipped against their faces they tucked their heads down into their coats as best as they could, allowing the heat generated by their armour systems to keep them warm. Their trails were the only signs of any kind of life on the entire planet, and the wind quickly covered them up again as quickly as they’d made them – only an RF beacon they had left at the drop zone would guide them back to be picked up again, not that the drop ship would have any difficulty finding the only life forms on the entire planet should they get lost.

Conway quickly grew bored with the sound of the snow crunching beneath their boots, and the wind whistling around their ears, it seemed. “So Jim, what d’ya plan on doing after we’re done with this?” she asked candidly. Clark gave her a frowning glance, somewhat bothered by the informal nature of the question.

“Well, Sam,” he said uncomfortably. “What do you mean?”

“Come on Jim, it’s no secret that you ain’t quite in the game ever since... well, y’know,” she said.

“If by that you mean to say that I’m disillusioned with the BRAF, then I suppose you’re right,” he said with a shrug. “But that’s hardly a subject of discussion...”

“Jim, sir, whatever, I reckon we’ve been through enough together that we can have an informal chat once in a while,” she said, punching his well-cushioned arm friendlily. “And I can pretty much count how many off-duty words you used for the whole trip on one hand. I’m just curious is all.”

“To be honest I haven’t given it much thought,” he said. “I try not to.”

“Well, seems to me that you gotta decide, one way or the other,” she shrugged. Harris gave her a blustered glance as she began to let him push the equipment crate a little more, and she quickly readjusted her grip on the thing. “Otherwise you’ll never get anywhere, here or anywhere else.”

Clark gave her a thoughtful glance before looking back towards the ghostly towers that lay ahead. Of all the would-be advisers, she made the most sense. He had two choices: get a grip on his BRAF career, or look for a career elsewhere. He wouldn’t achieve much by moping around, avoiding assignments and claiming as much compassionate leave as he could lay his hands on.

“I’ll give it some thought, see how this mission plays out,” he said at last. She smiled at that, realising that it was a cop-out for now. “Thanks, though.”

“No probs,” she said, patting him on the back. “Even us officers need friends, can’t keep a professional distance all the time y’know, in spite of all that’s happened.”

“Bunch of Navy sissies,” a voice behind them mumbled. They all turned around and stared at Harvey simultaneously. “What?”

“Can it Captain,” Briggs snapped, and then grinned. “Don’t wanna hurt their feelings, do ya?”