Echoes of Harmony

HMV Rommel

Stariek Orbit

14 December 3296

General Augusta Zorn made his final rounds down the primary passageway of the Rommel. It amused him when the enlisted ratings scurried to attention against the walls, saluting him as he sauntered by. In some places, he slowed his pace simply to ensure the poor technicians were delayed that much further. He was never going to see these people again—at least, he certainly hoped not—so, what difference did it make what they thought of him?

Eventually, he reached the hangar bay where a small honor guard awaited him. The two neat rows of five soldiers each saluted as he entered the large room. At the end stood a younger man with short, curly hair, its chestnut brown color showing the first tinges of gray at the roots. He wore formal robes split down the middle into two sides, one red and one black. A metal breastplate adorned his chest, the distinctive Y symbol of Hyperia emblazoned in the corner. Behind him was a black transport identical to the one that brought Hayden Reid to the Wagener. Its side was currently open, revealing the empty interior.

“Legate Zephyr,” Zorn said, saluting the younger man. He did his best to keep his disdain for the legate off his face. The prejudice displayed in promoting the boy before Zorn still irked him. “I thank you for the honor of allowing me to call your vessel home until Vertyn was completed.”

“Of course, General,” Zephyr replied, inclining his head slightly. A smirk touched his lips. “It has been an honor having you aboard, and I look forward to the next time we are able to collaborate with one another.”

“The honor was all mine, Legate.” Zorn walked around Zephyr towards the open door of the transport. The legate slowly turned in place to watch as the general moved. Once just inside the door, Zorn turned on his heel and faced the honor guard. “Permission to disembark, sir?”

“Permission granted,” Zephyr said. He took a few steps forward so he was standing just over a meter away. His smirk turned to a frown, and, just loud enough for Zorn to hear, he whispered, “Get off my ship.”

Zorn was unable to hide his recoil of surprise at the statement. Before he could reply, though, the door of the transport hissed shut. He fought to control his breathing but rapidly found himself failing. How dare that boy insult me like that?

Zorn slammed himself into a seat in the cockpit of the transport next to the pilot, a warrant officer he didn’t recognize. He didn’t care to recognize them either. The odds of him seeing them again was so astronomically low, there was no point.

“Take us out, Warrant,” he muttered, pulling the seat’s straps over his shoulders.

Though the man didn’t reply, the transport’s engines whirred to life. With a minor jolt, it rose into the air and passed between dozens of small fighters and transports. Cranes swiveled back and forth as they moved cargo. Crates dotted the ground below them in different size piles, some carried along by antigrav pallet jacks. Technicians and engineers scurried around the area, going back and forth between the supplies and ships. Zorn sneered at them. Someday, he knew, they would all be answering to him.

They sailed out the hangar and into open space. To their right was Stariek, and the thought of the disaster wrought on the planet just a few weeks ago brought a smile to his face. Hopefully, the example he set would help keep them in line.

Still dotting the area around the planet was the Seventh Fleet. The sunlight from Draconis sparkled off the metal hulls of the two hundred ships. What was more impressive than the fleet, however, was the enormous space station constructed in orbit. It was made of modular cubes that could be removed and rearranged at will, allowing for whatever configuration he desired or needed at the time.

As the transport neared the structure, he could make out the narrow maintenance trenches that ran along the outside. Circular areas for defense emplacements dotted the structure. From the specs Zorn read, there was a three hundred and sixty degree coverage of neutron beams and magnetic cannons. On the top and bottom, there was also a vertical launching system capable of firing a combined six missiles a second. A single hangar bay was capable of comfortably holding five hundred fighters at a time, and more modules could be added as needed.

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No matter how he felt about the politics played in putting him in the position, at least he was in control of one of the most powerful weapons in the Hyperion Empire. Excluding the Event Horizon, of course.

The hangar bay of Space Station Vertyn was loaded with towers of crates, some of which leaned precariously. There was not even room for the fighters that were supposed to be arriving soon. Their transport had to dodge between the spires, ensuring it didn’t knock any over accidentally. Zorn scowled. He would have more work on his hands whipping the crew into shape than he thought if they already made a mess of the place.

With a subtle deftness, the warrant officer set the transport down in a spot designated for landing. It was devoid of supply crates though still surrounded by them. The pilot said nothing, but Zorn didn’t give him the chance. Releasing his straps, he stood and walked to the door, which hissed open to reveal… no one.

It startled him for a moment there was no reception party to welcome him to his new position aboard the space station. Then he recovered and stepped off the transport. Of course, it was just a political ploy. Legate Rausch, or the Emperor, or whoever, wanted him to feel unwelcome. They wanted him to leave the station behind.

He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

Before he was even half a dozen meters away, the transport lifted back into the air and made its way back between the stacks of crates. Within moments, it was gone.

Zorn moved through the stacks of crates, getting lost more than once on his way to the exit out of the hangar. He made a mental note to punish whoever had arranged the supplies in such a manner, especially when they should have known he was coming.

Eventually, he found the open blast doors that marked the exit. The hallways within the space station were as he expected: dull gray metal, mostly unadorned, with only the occasional window to show exit. From these, he was able to see the massive cubes that made up Vertyn. The only decoration that hung from the walls were Hyperion flags. For the first time, these brought a small stab of annoyance to him.

A route automatically projected itself through his CAM to his vision. Red chevrons appeared on the metal floor, pulsing in the direction of his office. He followed, passing no one else in the corridor and reaching the door in just a few minutes.

The door hissed open at his approach automatically. A brief notice came to his CAM to alert him of the entry, and he dismissed it immediately. Instead, he took a moment to look at the furnishings or lack thereof.

His office interior was plain. There was a standard metallic desk sitting in the center of the room with a holocomputer built into its surface. Two office chairs sat on this side of the desk with a third, higher-backed one on the opposite side. The walls were spartan in appearance, containing no decorations. The far wall beyond the desk was mostly glass, showing the exterior of the station. Stariek currently hung on the left side of the window.

Sighing and allowing the smallest smile to come to his face, he crossed the room and sat down. No sooner had he touched the chair than a message came through his CAM from an unidentified sender.

Angry One,

I trust this message finds you in good health amidst the constant ebb and flow of our empire’s affairs. I hope I am the first to congratulate you on your new position. There are some who feel it is undeserved. I count myself among them but not in the same manner as others. What you have experienced is a failure of our society. But I digress.

I have heard from some mutual acquaintances that your goals align with our own. Though we have not spoken much previously, I could use your assistance with the reassessment of our strategic goals. Our objectives call for a realignment of the government to better fit with the changing course of currents within our society.

As we navigate the treacherous void of governance, it becomes increasingly apparent the prevailing order is in need of a long overdue correction. The lion’s burdens affect us all, wearing us down with each passing day. A ship run aground is not easily fixed, and we must prevent the jagged rocks of timidity from destroying us.

And so, in these turbulent times, I ask you to lend us your strength and conviction towards our cause of progress and renewal. Together, we may forge a path that redefines the course of history. Fear of the unknown is normal, but one should not allow it to overwhelm them. In the darkest shadows, the brightest light may bloom.

If you wish to see the light with us, please return this correspondence at your earliest convenience.

Yours in hoping for a new dawn,

X

Zorn read the letter twice more, ensuring he was not simply hallucinating or making it up, before it automatically deleted itself without a trace. If this was what he thought it was, there were people working on putting into motion events that could overthrow the Emperor. Perhaps the feelers he put out actually bore some fruit.

Sitting back in his chair, he began drafting a response for this mysterious ‘X.’ For the second time in two months, though more cautiously this time, Zorn felt a surge of optimism for his future run through him.

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