Echoes of Harmony

Phoenix Bastion

Mornage, Stariek

19 November 3296

The Phoenix Bastion, typically referred to simply as the Bastion by those who worked within, was home to the military command of the independent planet known as Stariek. It sat near the center of the capital city of Mornage, a small distance from the primary seat of government called the Hallow Building. Despite being a short, hexagonal building among a sea of skyscrapers, the Bastion was considered one of the largest structures on the planet, even when not including the many secret layers that sat underground. It housed tens of thousands of personnel from analysts and support staff to the Secretary of Defense herself. Together, they worked to ensure the safety of Stariek and the star system it resided in, Draconis. Most of the time, this consisted of keeping a portion of the fleet on patrols around the system to discourage piracy.

Lieutenant Colonel Rhyse Jackson, a middle-aged man in his twentieth year of service in Stariek’s military, made his usual rounds around an interior chamber of the Bastion’s seventh floor down. In one hand, he held a mug of coffee that would help get him through the night shift. It was a routine of his to walk among the analysts in the room devoted to monitoring the system, including ship traffic in and out as well as communications on the various networks employed by humans around the galaxy. He remembered when he was in the same position as the enlisted ratings and junior officers sitting among the banks of computers and screens. In his mind, he saw dewy eyed, wet behind the ears Specialist Jackson, desperate to make a name for himself. The thought brought a smile to his face.

“Sir,” one of the ratings called out, pulling the Colonel’s attention in their direction. The voice belonged to Specialist Kari Taylor, a young woman with brown hair tied into a bun on top of her head. “I’m detecting an inbound wormhole, larger than any I have seen.”

“You know the drill. Populate the tactical board with the new contacts, Specialist,” he said, his voice carrying through the room with ease. As he spoke, he moved to the center where a holographic table projected all known civilian ships—seventy-three in total—in the system with Draconis at its center. Going outward were the two terrestrial planets, one being Stariek in the so-called Goldilocks zone, and three gas giants. He watched as each ship’s trajectory constantly adjusted, displaying the most likely courses they were taking alongside transponder identifications. At the periphery of the system, a red dot appeared, followed by three others. “Specialist, am I seeing this right? Four unidentified ships have appeared at the edge of the system?”

“Mostly correct, sir. They are showing transponders designating them as…” She hesitated for a moment, using the back of her hand to wipe a bead of sweat from her forehead. “They are reading as Hyperion vessels. The HMV Conta, Kessel, and Hausen show as Predator-class cruisers. The fourth is the HMV Wagener, a Tempest-class battleship.”

Jackson’s heart skipped a beat for a moment, and his breath caught in his throat. Around the room, soft gasps went up from other analysts. Part of him wanted to do the same himself. However, he quickly recovered his calm exterior, ensuring he projected an air of confidence.

Everyone in the room knew of the Hyperion Empire, the largest empire in human history. Their rise to power was the stuff of legends, born from the ashes of the failed Praesidium Union. Now, their presence alone was enough to terrorize any planet unfortunate enough to be in their path. While the four ships themselves would not pose a significant threat to the planet, the implication of many more of their vessels in the area would hang over their heads, like a Sword of Damocles.

“Communications,” the colonel said, moving closer to a station near the center of the western wall, “send a message requesting an explanation for their unannounced presence.”

“Aye, sir.” The dark skinned man, Specialist Jaden Knight, immediately began typing into his console. After a few moments, he shook his head. “No response, sir.”

Colonel Jackson let out a slow breath and paced around the table, looking at the projection and watching the dots with an unblinking gaze. If he ordered too heavy handed a response, it could result in a war they were likely to lose. Too lenient, and the Hyperions would walk all over them.

“Tactical, arm orbital defense satellites. Designate Sierra Seventy-four through Seventy-seven as Master One through Four." The change in designation from a friendly ship to enemy was not a choice Colonel Jackson ever took lightly. However, to him, it was a necessary step. “Until we receive orders otherwise, fire warning shots only if they attempt to enter orbit. Communications, get me a direct line to Fleet Marshal Tyn, Clearance Code Alpha Alpha Three Five Six.”

He received a pair of affirmatives as he returned to the center of the room. The quartet of red dots steadily moved closer, showing a projected arrival of thirty-six hours from the system’s edge.

“Tactical, any reason they chose that location to jump into the system?” Colonel Jackson asked. “Their drives are much more advanced than ours. They could’ve jumped practically into orbit and caught us completely by surprise. Why the long way around?”

“No idea, sir,” Taylor answered. “With them not answering communications, we can only guess.”

“Conn, I have Fleet Marshal Tyn on the line for you,” Knight called out. “He wants to know why you’re disturbing him so late.”

“As if I would bother him with something unimportant,” Jackson muttered under his breath. He started making his way towards a door in the center of one of the walls which led to his office. “Tell him we’ve detected a disturbance that requires his immediate attention. Send it to my personal viewer. I’ll take it in private.”

Knight confirmed the order as Jackson pushed the hatch open and closed it behind him. The office was modest, containing very few personal effects. It was about ten feet by ten feet, containing a desk with one chair behind it and two in front of it. A holoprojector was built into the surface, allowing him access to nearly any system in the Bastion.

Jackson sat in the chair behind the desk, feeling the familiar curves of the fabric wrap around him. He placed his mug of coffee in its designated holder, subconsciously kicking himself for not getting more when he had the chance. Now, he probably wouldn’t get anymore for the rest of the shift.

As the thought ran through his mind, the holoprojector came alive with an inbound communication link. Jackson took a moment to straighten his uniform before accepting the call. Immediately, the form of Fleet Marshal Tyn, commander of all Stariek military forces, appeared before him. The man was well into his fifties, and his gray hair made no assertions to anything else. Wrinkles ran over his face, giving it the appearance of a parched riverbed and making him seem much older. At the bottom of the screen, a red banner was emblazoned with “SECURE” to denote the link’s encryption.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on NovelFire. Report any occurrences.

“Sir, thank you for meeting with me on such short notice.”

“Forget the platitudes, Colonel.” Tyn waved away the greeting and hardened his gaze. “Tell me what the hell is going on that’s so important you’re disturbing me at eleven at night.”

“We’ve detected military ships entering the system, sir. Hyperion military ships.”

Immediately, Tyn’s face loosened in shock. His eyes went wide for a moment before he recovered and restored his steely stare.

“How many?”

“Four, sir, but I believe more will be coming.”

“Of course more will be coming.” Tyn rubbed his clean-shaven chin thoughtfully, a frown dominating his face. “What of their composition? Surely not the Event Horizon?”

“Negative, sir.” Jackson shook his head. The Event Horizon was the largest, most advanced ship ever constructed by humans. It was so named because of the way it destroyed any target in its path, devouring ships like a black hole. “Three Predator cruisers and one Tempest battleship. ETA is Wednesday at approximately eleven in the morning.”

“Those four are still enough to wreak havoc before we can take them down,” Tyn whispered. He looked away from the projection, off to the side of his own office in an unblinking stare. After several seconds of silence, during which Jackson thought the connection may have dropped, Tyn turned back to the colonel. “What steps have you taken already?”

“The orbital satellites are armed and ready to receive visitors, sir. They have also been designated as enemy combatants. Protocol dictates I check with you before I take any further action.”

“Good. I want the home fleet on ready five within the next hour. The Celestial Phoenix is in dry dock undergoing standard repairs, but it can be made space-worthy by morning, though at reduced capability. Once it is, we’ll recall all pilots. It’ll at least have its full complement of fighters and bombers to add to the mix. Recall every ship from the patrol fleet that can be spared. We’ll need whatever we can get.” Tyn looked off screen again, though this time he appeared to be studying something. “These logs indicate they jumped in at the system limit and are burning in. Any indication why?”

“None, sir. Their drives should have been more than capable of jumping almost into Stariek orbit.”

“Curious. Continue monitoring their approach. Inform me the moment something changes. Tyn out.”

As the fleet marshal said the words, the image faded away, leaving Jackson alone once more. He let out a pent-up sigh and leaned back in his chair. When he took the position in the Bastion, he hadn’t worried about anything more than pirates harassing merchants. Now, the fate of Stariek rested in his hands.

He glanced at the coffee mug and took a long swig from it, emptying off the container in one gulp. Hopefully, he would have time to get more. What he thought was going to be another uneventful night suddenly became anything but.

#

Stone’s Speakeasy

Mornage, Stariek

Across Mornage from the Bastion sat what was typically a mostly unoccupied barroom. Tonight, the thumping bass of music filled the main room of the tavern, overpowering even the shouts of conversations from drunkards crowding the bar. A lone bartender moved back and forth as he made a slew of drinks at a rapid pace. The sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead, his black hair combed back and draped over the top. It was the busiest Lieutenant Ethan Fischer had ever seen Stone’s Speakeasy.

The brown haired man with a rough five o’clock shadow dominating the bottom half of his face sat with three others. Ava Bahr had long black hair resting near the small of her back. Next to her was Riley McCoy with two braids running across the top of his otherwise close shaved head. Finally, Erin Burns, whose blonde hair came down either side of her head in waves.

In the center of their table was a bottle of Stone’s Whiskey, a liquor developed by the original owner of the tavern when Mornage was first founded hundreds of years ago. Each of them held aloft a small shot glass filled with the dark amber colored liquid in front of them.

“To the best squadron a guy could ask for,” Fischer said, looking over each of the other three in turn. “I don’t know where I’d be without you guys.”

“Probably in some piss poor bar in the Undertown,” McCoy said, a grin coming to his face. “You’re lucky I showed you this place.”

“Yeah, it’s a real fine dining establishment,” Bahr added. A smirk crossed her lips as she gestured to peeling paint on some of the walls.

“Hey, the decor could use a little work, but it’s the best place to get high quality spirits.” Burns shook her glass slightly to indicate it. “No one has whiskey like this. Trust me, I’ve looked.”

A wave of laughter passed between them before they tossed their drinks back. The liquid burned slightly as Fischer swallowed his, and the warmth it provided radiated through his limbs. He set the glass on the table and leaned his chair on its two back legs.

“So, what do you guys plan on doing with your shore leave?” Fischer asked. “Bahr and I have to go talk to a bunch of rugrats tomorrow morning.”

“They’re fourth and fifth graders, Fischer,” she said, making a point of rolling her eyes. “Hardly rugrats.”

“When they’re that small, they all look the same,” he replied with a shrug. His chair tilted forward, the front legs hitting the ground with a thud. “And they always just stare at us with those beady little eyes. It makes me sick.”

“Oh, no,” Burns said, holding her hand to her mouth in mock surprise. “Kids might look up to you? The horror.”

Fischer gave her a playful shove on the arm, receiving a smirk in return.

“I’m going to visit me mam,” McCoy said, running a finger around the outside of his glass. His brow was furrowed in concentration. “I haven’t seen her in a few months, and I’m planning on surprising her with a home-cooked meal.”

“Is the surprise her still being alive after eating it?” Burns smiled and nudged him with her elbow.

“I’ll have you know, I’m a pretty bang on cook. I’ll need to have you over sometime to prove it.”

“Is that your way of asking me out on a date, lieutenant?”

McCoy’s face flushed and he stammered for a moment, his Irish brogue growing thick, before Fischer reached across the table and grabbed his hand.

“Sorry, Burns, he’s all mine.”

“Oh, feck off,” McCoy said, wrenching out of Fischer’s grasp. He reached for the bottle of whiskey and poured another round for the four of them. They grabbed their glasses and held them aloft again, the other three looking at McCoy now. “Oh, you want me to say something? I’m just here to get ossified, so you’re gonna need to find someone else to do the talking.”

As the others laughed, he tossed the drink back and slammed the shot glass on the table upside down. Fischer counted himself lucky to have found the three. Each had their own reasons for joining the military, some more somber than others. Bahr followed in her father’s footsteps, whereas McCoy felt he had something to prove, and defending his planet was his way of accomplishing that. Burns was originally a commercial pilot on the southern continent and found the thrill of dogfights as intoxicating as the whiskey. As for Fischer, he originally just wanted the benefits that came with military work. However, he came to enjoy what he did in the cockpit and stuck with it.

At least, that’s what he told himself. Part of him hoped he might find the Druthagar bastards that killed his fiancée a year ago, but that ship seemed to have sailed long ago.

As he looked at the other three, he hoped the night would last forever. He knew it wouldn’t, especially with how early he and Bahr had to get up in the morning. But the thought of being able to enjoy their company to the end was a pleasant one.

As they sat there, Burns shushed the others and pulled out her digital tablet. She pulled up the camera and held the device at arm’s length, swaying slightly. Turning it around, she was able to get all four of them in the image.

“Say cheese!” she said. The other three smiled and waved as she pressed the button. A few button presses later, and Fischer received a message containing the file to his CAM. “So we can always remember the good times, y’know? We’re not always going to be here together. Eventually, we’ll get reassigned or move on to bigger and better things.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Fischer said, pouring himself another shot.

“Here, here!” McCoy shouted, picking his glass back up and holding it out to be filled.

And so the hours passed, the four of them slowly becoming more and more intoxicated until finally Bahr left, followed shortly after by Fischer. The other two stayed awhile longer and talked before eventually leaving together, hand in hand.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!