Echoes of Harmony

SSV Celestial Phoenix

Stariek Orbit

22 November 3296

The primary hangar of the Celestial Phoenix was full of activity. A variety of fighters, some the new, sleek form of the Starhawks and others the slightly older SF-16 Harrier, which bore broader wings to carry more missiles. Some of the much larger and wider SB-25 Tomahawk bombers also sat in position, their wings loaded full of heavy missiles designed to penetrate the hulls of ships. Flight crews in colored uniforms to denote their function scurried between the spacecraft. Missiles were attached to the underside of wings, and final checks were done to ensure all systems on the fighters were operational. At the far side, the blue of an energy shield revealed the vastness of space outside the carrier.

Lieutenant Ethan Fischer enjoyed being in the cockpit of his SF-17 Starhawk. There was nothing quite like the feeling of pulling ten Gs in the void of space. A close second, though, was the satisfaction of blowing a pirate fighter into thousands of smithereens.

Neither of those was he able to enjoy right now though. The clock was slowly ticking down to the time given by the Hyperion general. Every fighter aboard the Celestial Phoenix had been at ready five status for the last hour. That meant he, along with the rest of the pilots, could do nothing but sit in their cockpits and wait for the inevitable. He wore a space suit with its own built-in oxygen supply along with a helmet that allowed for an integration from the fighter directly to his CAM. Despite protocol dictating he check the seals three times before getting into the cockpit, he still couldn’t help but check them again as he sat there. Anything to keep his hands busy was worth it.

<You know, Fischer, I’ve heard stories of pilots who broke the seals from checking them too many times,> came the voice of Lieutenant Ava Bahr through a private channel to his CAM. She sat in the fighter next to him and waved when he looked over. Even though he couldn’t see it through the reflective helmet, he could tell by her voice she was smiling. <Relax. We’ve done this a hundred times, right?>

<Seems like a lot more than that.> Fischer released where he was fiddling with his suit and folded his hands in his lap. Subconsciously, his foot began to tap against the metal plating lining the bottom of the fighter. <What’s that old saying? Time to hurry up and wait? Give me the hurry up any day of the week and I’ll be happy. I’m bad at the waiting part.>

<As if I didn’t know that.> She chuckled, and the feeling of calm she emanated spread to him. <We’ve flown countless sorties before, so we’re going to be fine, okay? We’re both making it back in one piece, just like we always do.>

<There’s a big difference between pirates who nearly blow themselves up and the Hyperions, Ava.>

<Yeah, but we’re trained for this, Ethan. You, me, Burns, and McCoy, we’re the best Stariek has to offer. If anyone can show these intruders what it’s like to attack Stariek, it’s us. Plus, your nervousness is just oozing through the CAM. It’s bad for morale.>

Fischer leaned his head back against the seat. Closing his eyes, he took a slow, deep breath. He knew there was nothing to worry about when looking at the big picture. The elements of the patrol fleet able to make it back combined with the home fleet would be more than enough to destroy the four ships, even Hyperion ones. Having the orbital defense satellites backing them up all but assured their victory.

But as any modern strategist would attest to, any victory against Hyperion forces was paid for in blood, and lots of it. Not everyone was going to make it back. The best he could do was make sure it wasn’t him or his squad that the void claimed.

<I suppose you’re right. We’ve trained for this.> Fischer felt the same calm Bahr emanated wash over himself. Quickly, it was replaced by a fierce determination. <We’re going to teach the Hyperions what it’s like to try to invade our home. No one messes with the greatest independent planet of the age and gets away with it.>

<Now, that’s what I like to hear,> Bahr replied. She hesitated for a moment before asking, <You’ve got family back home, don’t you? A sister or something?>

<Yeah, Emmie,> Fischer answered, subconsciously pulling up a picture of her smiling face stored to his CAM. <She turns thirteen this December and can’t stop going on about how excited she is to finally be a teenager.>

<Hey, I know how she feels. That’s an exciting age.>

<Tell that to our parents. She drives them crazy.> Fischer tried to reach up to scratch the back of his head before remembering the helmet blocking him. Fidgeting aside, he couldn’t help but feel calmer. <Apparently I was so much easier and less work to raise, as they like to tell me so much.>

<Man, your parents are brutal.> She laughed, and Fischer chuckled along. <I didn’t have any siblings to be compared to, so I guess I got off lucky.>

Before Fischer could reply, an override cut through the conversation.

<This is the CAG to all fighter and bomber squadrons,> came the familiar voice of Major Landon Finley, better known as the Commander, Air Group, or CAG. He was in charge of all spacecraft operations aboard the Celestial Phoenix. <The Hyperions are moving in. Prepare to launch in T-minus five minutes. Snow Wyverns first, followed by the Banshees, then the rest of you. I’ll be going out with the Wyverns.>

Fischer’s heart began pounding in his ears again. He took several more deep calming breaths, partially kicking himself for being so nervous. Like Bahr said, they’d done this countless times. There was nothing to worry about. Yet, he still worried over the fact this could be the last time. Emmie’s face, along with the promise he made her, returned to the forefront of his mind. The thought sent a sense of calm through him.

<Alright, let’s get ready, people,> Fischer said, switching to a private channel for the two dozen strong Snow Wyverns. <This is what we’ve been training our whole lives for. Now, we may have the advantage in terms of numbers, but if you get sloppy and get yourself killed for no reason, you owe the rest of us the first round back at Stone’s. Act as if we are the ones outnumbered.>

A chorus of affirmatives followed his brief speech. They all knew Fischer never was one for pre-battle speeches. He hadn’t mastered the careful art of injecting calm into his squadron without instilling overconfidence, but that didn’t seem to matter to them. His skill spoke for itself. At least, that was what he liked to tell himself.

<Now, once the flight controller calls our name, we’re going in normal squadron order. Alpha then Beta, and so on. You know the drill. Once you’re clear of the hangar, form up and await further instructions.>

A series of green lights lit up for each pilot in the heads-up display implanted in his vision by his CAM. Each of the Snow Wyverns reported full readiness, as expected. The crews would have prepared their fighters before any of the others to ensure they were ready to go at a moment’s notice.

<Snow Wyverns,> the voice of the flight controller called out, <launch, launch, launch.>

Fischer felt the familiar shifting of his Starhawk as it turned on its platform, pointing in the opposite direction down a narrow launch tube. A metal track ran the length of it with red lights lining either side. To his right and left, he saw the other members of the Snow Wyverns turn as well. With a jolt, the floor moved the fighter forward into the tunnel. A blast door slammed shut behind him.

The connection between his CAM and the fighter allowed him a level of control that was otherwise impossible. It was as if the vehicle was an extension of himself. Like an extra set of arms and legs. Though there were a set of backup controls in front of him for redundancy, all it took was a thought to push the throttle to the max. Behind him to either side, the engines roared to life. The noise sent a comfortable sensation of vibrations through the ship. Narrow slits in the walls to his left and right allowed him to see the others on either side of him activated their engines as well.

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All this happened in less than five seconds as they went about their final flight checks. Once all the pilots reported green status, the doors at the end of the tunnel slid open, the hooks holding the fighters in place released them, and they shot forward.

While there was no risk in space of falling off the edge of an aircraft carrier on the sea , the length of the tunnel still allowed them to properly build up speed before entering the void. Which is precisely what Fischer’s Starhawk did as the latch holding it to the rail snapped down with a clang. The fighter rocketed forward and pressed him against his seat. The red lights in the shaft changed to green, quickly coalescing together into amorphous blobs as he sailed past. Within two seconds, he shot out the other end of the tunnel and into the void.

All around him, other fighters were joining him. Some from other squadrons and units, others from the Snow Wyverns. His CAM lit up each of them with a green dot and their identification number and call sign. To his left was the familiar shape of Stariek in all its glory. To his right was the rest of the assembled fleet, which was larger than one he had seen before. Thirty-two vessels of varying sizes and classes seemed to sit motionless, as if suspended by strings, in space before him. These were marked with blue dots and their name. Beyond visual range, though helpfully marked by four red dots, were the approaching Hyperion vessels.

With a deep breath, Fischer changed to the channel for his three squadmates.

<Alpha One to Alpha Squadron. Form up in finger four formation and let’s get ready to rumble.>

The other three fighters slotted in behind him, one to his left and two to his right, in a V formation. With a thought, his fighter banked and flew parallel to the Celestial Phoenix. The ship was largely rectangular with two pairs of three hangars for recovery of spacecraft as well as launching of larger vessels—such as bombers and search and rescue tugs—or additional fighters in an emergency. Blue glows represented the emitters for the ship’s primary weapons: neutron beams capable of melting almost any hull. However, Fischer could tell several of the emitters were nonfunctional judging by the lack of light in some areas.

<Alpha Squadron,> Fischer said through his CAM, <Hold standard patrol route in vicinity of Celestial Phoenix until we receive orders to engage. Time to wait some more.>

#

HMV Wagener

Outer Stariek Orbit

General Augusta Zorn stood in the combined bridge and combat information center of the Wagener. Around him were just under three dozen ratings and officers carrying out different tasks as they made their approach to the planet. Next to him stood Colonel Mao Huang, commanding officer of the battleship. When Habricht informed Zorn he would be in charge of the advance squadron, he didn’t expect to have to deal with the captain of the ship. At least it was only for a few more days before the rest of the fleet arrived.

Together, they looked over the holographic projection of a tactical board in the center of the room. Thirty-two ship contacts were marked, along with nearly fifty satellites in the vicinity. As they watched, new contacts appeared to show the nearly three hundred fighters deployed from various ships in orbit.

“They scrambled their fighters,” Zorn said, a smile touching the corner of his lips. “As if that’s going to do them a lot of good.”

“I do not mean to second guess you, general,” Huang said, “but may I ask what the plan is? We are outnumbered eight-to-one. Even with our advanced technology and training, I do not see a path to victory here.”

“Worry not, Colonel. I assure you, I have a few tricks up my sleeve. Courtesy of Hades himself.”

At the mention of Legate Habricht’s moniker, Huang tensed and said nothing further. Satisfied, Zorn looked over the tactical board and noted the fighters and bombers were maintaining close position to their fleet. Smart. They don’t want to get too far away from their heavy guns. Not to mention, if they approached the Hyperion vessels now, their chances of being annihilated by the Hyperion close-in weapon systems were significantly higher.

“Conn, tactical,” one of the officers, Lieutenant Yushchenko, called out. “I am detecting a power buildup among the defense satellites. By my calculations, we will enter its energy weapons range in the next thirty seconds.”

“Time until the satellites are in our weapons range, lieutenant?” Huang asked. He appeared to have regained some of his composure and strode around to the other side of the holographic projector from Zorn.

“Approximately one minute, sir.”

“Direct full power to the forward shields,” Zorn said, folding his hands behind his back. “Communications, send a package to the satellite labeled Victor Sixty-three. It should be arriving through your CAM now. Also, relay orders for the Conta to move ahead of the formation to Victor Twenty-four. When it is within fifty thousand kilometers, launch fighters and bombers. I want that vessel destroyed.”

As he said the words, Zorn sent the files to the communications officer, who glanced over his shoulder to Colonel Huang. He gave the officer an almost imperceptible nod. The general considered reprimanding the man for even considering whether to follow the order or not, but he decided to let it slide this time. After all, this was not his ship. Once this mission was over, the crew onboard may never see him in person again. Loyalty to a singular commanding officer, while potentially dangerous to society as a whole, allowed a bridge crew to function like a well-oiled machine.

The tactical board updated to show the blue dot representing the Conta surging ahead of the other three ships. Simultaneously, the red dots seemed to coalesce in the section it was moving towards. There was nothing inherently special about Victor Twenty-four other than its position near the opposite side of the Stariek formation from the satellite he sent the package to.

Huang walked around the holoprojector to rejoin Zorn.

“What is that package?” Huang whispered. “What is it for?”

“It will handle our satellite problem,” Zorn said matter-of-factly. “It will take a little time, and we don’t want to tip our hand, so we will need to keep moving forward. Otherwise, they will realize something’s wrong.”

“And if it doesn’t work?”

“It will.” Zorn’s eyes bored into the other man’s for several seconds until the colonel finally backed down, dropping his gaze to the floor. “And if you question me again, I will show you why I am called Zorn.”

#

SSV Celestial Phoenix

Stariek Orbit

The bridge of the Celestial Phoenix was the largest in the Stariek fleet. This suited it well as it was the primary flagship of the planet. It was from here operations across the entire fleet could be coordinated.

Dozens of analysts were around the exterior of the room, consulting data on console screens, typing commands into their keyboards, and relaying information in soft tones. Material condition one, calling all crew to battle stations, had been set hours prior. As such, a dull blue light shone throughout the room, accenting the computers screens.

In the center of the room was a wide and long holoprojector currently displaying the rapidly approaching battle. Admiral Elliott Hayes, an older man in his fifties, stood ramrod straight staring at the dots representing both sides of the conflict. He kept his hands clasped tightly behind his back.

Next to him stood his executive officer, Commander Morgan Reese. As usual, she stood with her feet shoulder length apart and arms clasped behind her back. Just like himself, she watched the approaching battle with the eyes of an eagle.

“Conn, TAO,” called out Captain Hayleigh Gibson. “Aspect change on Master Three. They are moving towards Sierra Seventeen.”

The announcement was ultimately unnecessary given the fact he saw the movement for himself. However, it helped to have it, if for no other reason than to ensure nothing slipped by unnoticed.

“Communications, send orders to Sierra Eighteen and Sierra Twenty-one to tighten up the formation around that vessel. Designate the Snow Wyverns to defend the Flying Boars if we need a bombing run.” Hayes felt a sense of calm surging through him as he watched the tactical board. If the Hyperions wanted to throw one vessel at a time at his fleet, he’d be more than happy to destroy them individually. “Fire to disable if they can, destroying only as a last resort. Maybe we can salvage some of the technology and bolster our own forces.”

“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Kiran Price replied. He was a younger man in his late twenties with a full head of black hair that shone in the light. “The vessel should be in firing range within thirty-six seconds.”

“Status of the defense satellites?” Hayes asked.

“Spooled up and ready to go,” said Gibson. “Master Three is in range with the other three entering within the next few seconds.”

“Firing point procedures, satellites seventy-three through seventy-seven, neutron beams and magnetic cannons, Master Three” Hayes ordered after consulting the holographic projector. “Aim for engines and weapons, avoiding any critical infrastructure. Let’s see if we can’t just disable them outright.”

“Firing solution set, sir,” came the response from Gibson.

“Let’s see if we can’t knock them out before they get too close,” he muttered to himself. “Shoot, magnetic cannons and neutron beams.”

Several seconds passed as the red dot on the holoprojector continued moving forward. The blue dots representing the other vessels in his fleet tightened together where Master Three was heading towards. However, one by one, the satellites started blinking out, turning to a dull gray on the board. Eventually, the entire web of defenses faded away.

“What is going on with the satellites?” he asked aloud of no one in particular. When no answer came, he turned in place, looking at each individual on the bridge in the span of a few seconds. He rose his voice until he yelled, “Can anyone tell me what the hell is going on with those satellites?”

“Conn, TAO.” Gibson’s voice was quiet and strained. “I’m detecting a loss of power to all defensive satellites. It seems we’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way.”

Hayes did the calculations in his head within seconds. Without those satellites, even outnumbering the Hyperions, the odds were about even. A sinking sensation went to his stomach, as if it fell to the planet below. Thousands of his people were going to die, and he could do nothing about it.

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