Space: Deja Terra – part 5
Galvin watched as the Instigator, Inebriator and Irradiator, the three other ships of his exploration fleet streaked off into space, heading for Earth. Turning to his Chief Advisor, he asked, “Are you sure you left them with enough supplies for them to get back to Earth,” a pause, “alive?”
“Yes, I’m sure Mr. Sylveste, both the tacticians and technicians have looked over those ships from front to back and made sure that they have the necessary requirements to see them home safely.”
Galvin Sylveste was already wanted by two groups of people, the gamblers he owed money to and the Explorer’s Guild, the organization which had funded the majority of his expeditions, including this one. He didn’t want to have the police chasing after him too for the deaths of the crews on the three ships, altogether about thirteen thousand people in all. He remembered an old saying his dad used to recite to him, “Never get yourself into more shit than your shovel can handle, because it’s going to be real hard to dig yourself out.” That adage had lasted him till this very day and he hoped it would continue to do so. He walked back into his own luxurious quarters and lay down to rest.
—
General Joseph Granger stood aboard the walkway and spat tobacco into a sidebin in one of the officer pits, which were sunken into the ground around him. The Peacemaker was an Independence-class battleship outfitted with the latest in human technology. Deja Terra loomed in front of the battleship, a massive marble that reminded the general of his faraway home, Earth. He shook his head and walked blast doors back towards the troop section of the spacecraft.
He entered the spine of the ship and followed the lighted paths of the road-like platform to a central, upraised dias which was the command center for the troop dropships. A number of Crusader siege tanks tracked slowly past him to his right; a number of other military vehicles moved about to their respective places. Descending the steps towards the array of consoles that looked like as blooming flower, he struck a few commands into a handheld computer and plugged it into a terminal. The machine hummed, then spit the device back out with updated data. Satisfied, he then turned to his second-in-command. “Are we prepped for the strike?”
“Quite as ready as we’ll ever be. The troops are probably getting antsy,” replied Colonel Felipe Mendes. Tall with jet black hair beyond regulation length, he continued to peck away at his station.
“Reconnaissance come back yet with anything to report?”
“Yes sir. The city appears to be relatively undefended at moment. They were able to slip in and out again without any trouble. Should be a walk in the park.”
Nodding his approval, the general continued on towards his own special drop ship at the back. This one had heavier armor and more defenses. “ETA?” he called out as he left.
“The countdown is at 20 minutes,” Colonel Felipe shouted back. “Good hunting.”
The general smiled to himself, and prepared as he walked. Grip gloves on hands, earpiece from breast-pocket, lowered mic to mouth level, self-tinting sunglasses onto face, beret onto crew cut. As he walked into his dropship, he viewed the rest of his men, who were also preparing for battle, and manning the command stations to oversee the attack. He sat in a crash seat, snapped his armor into place on his legs, arms, and thorax. The helmet was optional; most of his men wore it, but he decided to forgo it for the meantime, preferring better ability to communicate with his aides.
“WARNING. TWO MINUTES TO DISENGAGEMENT,” blared the warning over the intercom system. A klaxon started its wail. Without chaos or anxiety his men began to strap themselves into the crash seats. He did as well, sharing nods and knowing glances with the men he had fought alongside for years. It was not long before the ship shuddered as the magnetic clamps holding it to the Battleship shut down, and the klaxon silenced itself. Seconds later he felt the euphoric feeling of free-fall as the dropship began its descent.
—
“Come on Praxton, it’s a job offer you cant refuse, I mean how often do you get offered the chance to become the manager in charge of your very own research facility, with millions of dollars and skilled technicians at your disposal?” he said.
Praxton looked nonchalant as he tuned out the sound of his supervisor ranting at him. He had just been offered the post of head research manager at some planet called Deja Terra, scientifically referred to as Alpha Ceti 8845. He recalled hearing something about an invasion of that planet, but he had stopped paying full attention to the news ever since they stopped broadcasting anything useful. He tuned back in.
“If you don’t take it, I’ll have to offer it to that incompetent bastard Charlie.” Charlie was the head of the Civilan Research department and could basically be summed up as an incompetent bastard. He decided to interrupt this apparently ceaseless tirade.
“Look sir, I’ll have to give it some thought. Let me at least go home and talk this over with my wife and family.”
“Alright, fair enough Praxton, here I’ll give you the contract for you to take home and read over. I expect to have it back on my desk tomorrow morning, signed preferably,” the supervisor had a grimace on his face, “or so help me God, it’ll be Charlie Kopfwoman sitting in the very same chair you’re sitting in right now tomorrow.”
“May I leave now?” he asked.
“Yeah, shut the door behind you please.”
Praxton had to admit, he was tempted by this offer. It meant a new salary of at least twice his current amount plus a new start on a new world. Damn, he was starting to sound like those propaganda commercials such as the one he had been criticizing just this morning. Shaking his head, he headed for the exit of the building, before getting into his hovercar and heading on home.
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