Ravens By Starlight - IonFish
Ravens By Starlight - IonFish
:: 07/16/01 ::
Chapter 5 - Drying Up In Coversation
"You must go to the house of Hades and of dread Proserpine to consult the ghost of the blind Theban prophet Teiresias whose reason is still unshaken. To him alone has Proserpine left his understanding even in death, but the other ghosts flit about aimlessly.'
"I was dismayed when I heard this. I sat up in bed and wept, and would gladly have lived no longer to see the light of the sun, but presently when I was tired of weeping and tossing myself about, I said, 'And who shall guide me upon this voyage- for the house of Hades is a port that no ship can reach.'
"'You will want no guide,' she answered; 'raise you mast, set your white sails, sit quite still, and the North Wind will blow you there of itself. When your ship has traversed the waters of Oceanus, you will reach the fertile shore of Proserpine's country with its groves of tall poplars and willows that shed their fruit untimely; here beach your ship upon the shore of Oceanus, and go straight on to the dark abode of Hades. You will find it near the place where the rivers Pyriphlegethon and Cocytus (which is a branch of the river Styx) flow into Acheron, and you will see a rock near it, just where the two roaring rivers run into one another." - Homer, 'The Odyssey'
The handcuffs had been removed before he boarded the ship: Raenar not wanting to ruin appearances, no doubt. Whatever the reason, Marnos walked onto the Stormhawk to all appearances a free man. As the airlock door opened before him, a feeling of rebirth washed over him - resurrected into his element at last. For one short moment, he forgot everything; existing in that brief eternity only here, where he belonged.
Stepping out of the confining space between ship and station, he stared around him: eyes seeing, as if once again for the first time, the world that surrounded him. The ship's shadowy interior was a stark contrast to the polished, artificial feel of the naval yards. Dark metal pipes ran along the sloping walls of the hexagonal corridor that stretched to right and left; the grimy industrial feel a product of its unashamedly economical military design. Small lighting panels glowed from the base of the walls; where the dull metal floor was not marred by the outlines of access panels it was just a grille, easily lifted aside to allow access to power conduits, computer cables, coolant lines - the lifeblood of the ship.
Standing silently, waiting patiently to the right of the airlock door stood a short, slightly balding man; his body a thick trunk, his face rounded. His eyes were small, beady. They reminded Marnos of a rodent, as did the crooked, yellowing teeth. He wore a dark grey naval uniform, a little too small. Blue epaulettes revealed him to be an engineer; Marnos glanced swiftly at the rank, darting eyes watching, analysing. A senior Lieutenant; he must be the Chief Engineer. Allowing his gaze to drift from the man, he saw that he was flanked by two Marines - each a full head taller than the engineer, encased in black armour, carrying rifles. Impassive - their faces concealed by their helmets' dark visors - they stood ramrod straight, still as statues.
"Captain Marnos?" Not so much a question as a statement.
"Yes."
Dooman nodded, slowly, beady eyes looking Marnos up and down, assessing silently. He held out a massive hand; podgy fingers twice as thick as those of the hand that Marnos took it with. "Welcome aboard, Captain." His voice was gravelly, grudging. "I'm Lieutenant Dooman; the Stormhawk's chief engineer."
He gestured down the corridor. "Shall we go? Captain Leedan would like to speak with you."
"Fine."
* * *
The journey from the small airlock to the Captain's office was short and uneventful; a brief walk down the passageway had terminated when they boarded the lift that carried them upwards to a large ante-chamber, from which doors branched out to the ship's bridge, conference room and the Captain's office. Marnos noticed that they had not stopped on the highest deck; he wondered what was above them. Exiting the lift, the two Marines silently took up positions to either side of the door marked 'Captain'. Dooman pressed a small panel to the right of the white ceramic door: a miniature bulkhead. He then spoke quietly into the microphone of his discreet black headset. The door opened, sliding into the wall - Dooman gestured to Marnos to enter.
After the defiantly practical surroundings he had seen thus far, the Captain's office was a slight surprise. Plush, dark blue carpet covered the floor of a room that while not especially big was a luxurious size when compared to the average dimensions of those on board a warship. To his left, two doors led to the bridge and the conference room respectively; to the right was an unmarked portal Marnos assumed led to the Captain's quarters. Towards the back of the room stood a wide metal desk; uncluttered, the only objects to tarnish the smooth surface was an elegant, long-necked grey steel lamp that ended in a blue-white bulb enclosed in a protective hood of similarly-hued metal. Cool, relaxing; elegance emanated from the tasteful white walls, the soft white lighting, and from the tall man who stood behind the desk. His skin was brown as autumn leaves; he was almost bald, enhancing the skull-like look of his bony features. Deep sockets contained eyes that were so dark as to be almost black - the dark uniform was the perfect complement to the gaunt face. When he spoke it was with a voice that was soft, melodic and not a little sad.
"Captain Marnos. I feel somewhat at a loss as to what to say, seeing as so many of the usual meaningless platitudes don't apply. I can hardly say I'm glad to see you; after all, your arrival doubtless means that within a few short hours my crew and myself will once again be placed in mortal jeopardy."
A dry, humourless laugh followed this observation.
"Nonetheless Captain, you are here, and are likely to remain so until your mission - whatever it may be - is fulfilled. My orders specify that until such time I am to place my ship, my crew and myself at your disposal. The question is therefore raised: what exactly does your mission entail?"
"My orders-"
Leedan interrupted him with a dismissive wave of one skeletal, carefully manicured hand. "I realise your mission is a classified one, Captain. I'm not asking you to disclose it to me - but a ship needs a destination."
Marnos nodded slowly. "Fine."
He reached into his pocket and extracted one of the memory chips that Raenar had given him. He slid it across the table towards Leedan. "That's our first port of call; a small outpost in the Farzan system. That's where we meet our escort into the Lost Regions."
The Captain raised one eyebrow quizzically. "The Lost Regions? All is revealed - I wondered what game Central was playing when I was assigned this ship. Now we know."
A voice echoed in Marno's mind - Raenar's, just before he had closed the airlock that separated the ship from the naval yard. "Captain Leedan is one of our most… experienced commanders - he knows the Lost Regions like nobody else, except perhaps the Turanics…"
"That card contains the exact hyperjump coordinates; we need to jump as soon as possible. I'll brief you further when we enter hyperspace."
"In a hurry? Well, we should be ready to jump in a couple of hours - there are only a few last checks we have to run."
He rested his palms lightly on the surface of the desk, looking down at the subdued plane. "Is that all, Captain, or do Central have any more hoops they'd like me to jump through?"
Marnos was slightly surprised at the tired bitterness that coursed through the man's voice. "No, that's all for now."
"Very well. If you'd like, I can have Lieutenant Dooman show you the ship; I'll have you informed as soon as we're ready to jump."
So saying, he opened a slim desk drawer and withdrew a standard military headset - identical to those Marnos had seen Dooman and Raenar wearing earlier. Leedan held out his hand to Marnos, upraised palm holding the small black plastic device like a delicate butterfly. Keeping his eyes trained on the Captain's, Marnos took the headset, affixing it to his skull. A flick of a tiny switch and the instrument activated, a low chime informing him it was live. The tiny microphone tickled his cheek; he twisted it slightly, moving it outwards so it didn't chafe against his skin.
"Thank you for your cooperation, Captain. I'll speak with you when we enter hyperspace."
A stiff salute reinforced the image of authoritarian Intelligence doctrine Marnos hoped to project. The corner of Leedan's mouth twitched into a twisted smile. "I look forward to it. Enjoy your tour."
Dropping his arm to his side, Marnos turned to the door, and began to walk towards it.
The glowing tank to the right of the exit caught his eye - he hadn't seen it as he came in. A gentle green light emanated from the clear rectangular container, which nestled quietly in a small alcove in the smooth wall; an oasis of tranquillity. On closer inspection, he saw that the tank - about a half a metre tall, and twice as wide - was filled with tiny tropical plants. Green shoots sprouted from dark, wet earth; moisture glistened on waxy leaves. As he watched, a fine mist was sprayed through a vent in the tank's roof, watering the delicate foliage. A luminous panel was affixed to the top of the transparent cuboid; the bright light shone pale green as it was filtered through the thin leaves. Hypnotised, Marnos walked closer.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
The voice was that of Captain Leedan, but it had undergone a transformation from the tired, world-weary tone he had assumed only moments before. Wonder and delight played through his intonations. "This is what keeps me sane in this metal cage."
"What are they?"
"Ikarian fireblossoms. These have had their roots clipped, so they don't grow to their normal size." Leedan turned to Marnos and winked. "If they hadn't, it wouldn't be long before I lost my office to them. Like this, they stay in their tank: better for me, better for them. They'll be ready to flower in a few years; they're a slow plant, they like to take things easy. But it's a sight to see when they do…"
He trailed off, lost in distant memories. Abruptly, he turned away, his voice hollow; regret at letting Marnos see such a personal piece of himself?
"Lieutenant Dooman is no doubt waiting for you, Captain… I'll see you again when we jump."
* * *
Marnos and Dooman sat in silent contemplation, gazing out at the spectacle before them. They were seated in the observation lounge: one of the few real luxuries in the warship's purposeful design. The circular room was perched on the highest point of the ship: along its spine, towards the rear where the engine nacelles jutted outwards from the armoured hull. Dimly lit, the place exuded an aura of peace - the large viewports curved up in a dome that peaked a few metres above their heads, affording an unspoilt view of the stars beyond. They had taken the lift up to the highest point of the ship, Dooman gesturing silently to Marnos to follow - the two Marines had disappeared.
The only sound was the rhythmic thrum of the ship's engines, a low rumble reverberating through the floor beneath Marnos' feet. The contemplative mood the place inspired set his thoughts wandering: an unfettered mind roving the darkness. The cold fire of the stars: a reflection of the bleakness within his soul. The emptiness ached within him, a gaping wound - the loneliness of the void mirroring the need. Companions in nothingness; existing in harmony with the wilderness. The fire of battle quenched the raging imperative - the exultation in bloodlust driving him on. The acclamation of hollow victory: a return to the emptiness, the longing. Now he was free again: heading back into the fire, the false hopes of civilisation fading behind him in the Stormhawk's ion wash. The ship moaned softly, straining at the leash, as she headed out into the abyss; leaving the spidery form of the naval yards behind as she steamed out - engines driving her on, into the vast desert of space.
Dooman broke the silence with a deep sigh. "This place is so tranquil… so peaceful. Not like a warship. No roar of engines or scream of sirens, no scurrying crew, just… peace."
Eyes still focussed on the living sky beyond the thick glass of the viewport, he continued. "It was my one self-indulgence, my temple to the heavens."
"Yours?"
"Yes… my design. My ship."
Dooman looked at Marnos, beady eyes belligerent: daring him to question him. Marnos nodded, slowly, keeping his face neutral, calm. "So why are you here?"
Dooman shrugged. "She's been in trials for the last three months - with a new ship like this, especially such a radical design, Central like us to do extensive testing. This is her first mission; I suppose they wanted me along in case anything went wrong."
He stood, stretching. "After all, I do know more about her than anyone. Anyway, if you want the tour, it needs to be now; I'll have to supervise the hyperspace jump in an hour or so."
"Fine. Lets go." Brisk, snappish - he needed to move, to leave: the room's lack of distractions made his needs, his desires, so apparent - so painfully clear.
Dooman nodded, seemingly oblivious to Marnos' abruptness. "Sure. Follow me." A smile; "She's a real beauty, I can tell you that."
Beauty - in death, destruction? In an engine of war, a machine created to cut down fields of men like corn; a scythe wielded by the wrath of her builders? Marnos wondered how one could see beauty in such a thing; yet he realised that he did.
* * *
Dooman walked out of the room, into a small corridor, Marnos following. He gestured towards a lift door; "This way." The lift dropped; a small metal capsule, heading down, down into the bowels of the ship. When they reached the bottom, the metal door slid aside smoothly, revealing the beating heart of the Stormhawk. The room was vast: a spherical cathedral, ringed by walkways; the high dome of the ceiling was fifty metres above the lowest point of the floor. Marnos reckoned that the catwalk on which they stood was two-thirds of the way up: the drop to the curved steel floor below was arresting. A thick central column, dull metal five metres wide, swelled out in the centre, forming the massive sphere that housed the central fusion reactor. The bright white lights that fixed on the reactor casing magnified its brilliance, contrasting sharply with the dull red lighting that pervaded the rest of the room. Dancing reflections glittered on the walls: a million prancing puppets of light, preying on the shadows. Staring in silence at the magnificence that surrounded him, Marnos leant back against the wall behind him. Around the room technicians sat at consoles, monitoring the beast that stood chained before them: a monster, shackled by science, labouring night and day to give life to this metal avatar of death. The room seemed to throb with energy; red light panels on the reactor casing pulsed rhythmically. "You can feel it, can't you?" asked Dooman, eyes shining with rapt adoration, eyes locked on the reactor chamber. "That power, that primal strength, striving to free itself." Marnos sensed something behind those words; pride? Fear? Perhaps the feelings of a parent for a child they love dearly, yet fear being eclipsed, destroyed by.
"As you see," Dooman explained, "the fusion reactor is rather larger than would usually be found in a ship of this size. I expect you noticed the somewhat… oversized… engines on your flight here - they're hungry beasts."
"I can imagine."
"She needs to be fast, you see. All part of the concept; the philosophy of the thing…" he trailed off, as if unsure what to say.
"It was strange," he mused, "the way she came about." He leant forward, resting his arms on the rail that bounded the walkway, his expression one of contemplation; Marnos could almost see the thoughts passing through his mind. He spoke slowly, his voice meandering through the sentences: a slow river flowing down to the sea. "Such a short time, ten years. And yet everything has changed…" He looked down, shoulders hunched; as if contemplating the fall, down into oblivion. Gazing around the generator room - a sudden smile; "I think this place, at least, is all me." Dooman tilted his head, looking over to where Marnos leant against the wall. "I was an architect, you see. Buildings, not warships. Even now, I'd rather build a school than a gunboat." He shook his head, bitterness seeping into his voice. "No chance of that now, of course. I'm in their trap now, no way out." No way out - the words resonated in Marnos' mind, echoing through his thoughts. Dooman, reflective; "It was a strange thing, to see an empire die - power crumbling to ashes, chaff in the wind. All over so quickly… one month there are rumours of an alien crusade; the next, the Emperor is dead, the Navy mutinies - and suddenly we are a Republic." A wry smile; "We live in interesting times."
Marnos inclined his head in silent agreement; silence filled the room. The throb of the generator seemed more pronounced in the stillness.
Marnos' gaze swept the spacious chamber, noting how few personnel there actually were. "Are we going to be taking on more crew?"
"No, the Stormhawk's level of automation is extremely high. She doesn't need many people to look after her; I designed her with a minimal crew in mind - there's only a hundred or so, plus the Marines. There's been something of a recruitment crisis in the Navy - since the Republican government got rid of conscription, people have been staying out of military service. The war isn't exactly popular, you know."
Marnos wondered what that meant; why should any war be popular? It wasn't something you did for fun: it was a grim business, at least for those who had to fight it. It changed things - people - irrecoverably.
Feeling slightly unsettled, Marnos shifted the topic back to the ship. "What's her weapons loadout?"
Dooman's answer came perhaps a little too quickly; keen to revert to his reverent depiction of the warship. "Her primary weapons are two turreted ion cannons in the nose - they're a grade above those mounted on a Heavy Cruiser, equivalent to something you'd see on a fortress or orbital weapons platform."
Marnos frowned. "How'd you fit the magnetic coils and cooling equipment for a system like that into a ship this size?"
A slightly twisted smile crept across Dooman's face. "That's a long story. Actually, that's how I got here in the first place; or rather, how she got here…"
His voice wove a tale in Marnos' mind; a stream of images gushed from the intense little man's voice. An engineer, conscripted from his work as an architect under a programme of intensifying military research - the drive the brainchild of a mad emperor, obsessed with the expansion of his military power. A tiny, remote laboratory facility on a long-dead world; its original inhabitants crushed centuries before by the iron heel of the Empire. White, sterile rooms - starkly lit, soulless little cubicles so beloved of research institutions. Endless days, months, years of fruitless toil before the final breakthrough. Then, finally, the crushing humiliation - their pioneering work ignored by an establishment mired in stultifying bureaucracy, the once-great Empire stifled, decaying into collapse and ultimate ruin.
Then, in the aftermath of the revolution and the bloody birth of the Republic, the awakening of renewed interest in his work: the young nation needed weapons to fight the bitter civil war.
"We were researching weapons miniaturisation," recalled Dooman, "seeing if it was possible to adapt mass drivers and ion cannons for infantry use. Useless, of course - a fusion reactor that small simply isn't practicable. Still, there were big advances in reducing coil size - enough to attract Central's attention."
The programmed had been shut down, and all its personnel and data transferred to the Weapons Research Centre on Taiidan itself. The technology had proved adaptable enough to be applied to both ion cannons and mass drivers.
"That's what's special about the Stormhawk's turrets." explained Dooman. "The projectiles are a fairly standard size, but the increased power of the magnetic field means it's possible to fit a large explosive charge into each shell, and still have them travel at high enough velocities to penetrate enemy armour."
He sighed. "Once we had effective prototypes of the weapons systems running, I was assigned to the ship design section. I think it must have been my architectural background - I'd had some naval experience as an engineer in the Imperial Fleet Reserve as well."
The team he had been assigned was tasked with the creation of a new class of vessel - a light cruiser for the battlefields of the Lost Regions.
Dooman's monologue had made Marnos restless; weeks of claustrophobic isolation had left him agitated, feeling the need to roam ceaselessly. He pushed against the cold wall behind him, propelling himself out of his slouch. He stalked around the metal walkway, his catlike tread producing only a muffled ring from the thick mesh, despite his heavy, thick-soled boots. Dooman trailed behind him, running one hand along the rail that separated them from the drop to the distant floor. It squeaked - the engineer's sweaty palm juddering on the smooth surface.
"How many strike craft does she carry?"
"Two full squadrons - twenty-four fighters in total."
"What's the mix?"
"Six bombers, six scouts; twelve interceptors."
"Transports?"
"Four - Gladiator-class assault shuttles: they can carry about twenty Marines."
Marnos stopped, his barrage of questions momentarily exhausted.
Seemingly encouraged by Marnos flurry of interest, Dooman continued. "She's got a system of AAA turrets - tertiary anti-fighter defences. Fully automated of course; the ship's AI is the most advanced in the fleet."
Marnos nodded, wondering what he had started. He was relieved to hear a chime in his ear, and a woman's voice. "Captain Marnos, the Captain asks you to join him on the bridge - we're ready to hyperjump."
Dooman, apparently having been advised in the same manner, waved Marnos to the door. "I've got to stay here, supervise the jump; monitor reactor and hyperspace module fluctuations and so on. You know the way…"
Marnos nodded, turned, and walked out of the vast chamber, heading to the lift that would carry him up to the bridge.
* * *
The bridge of the Stormhawk was much like that of any ship of comparable size, but the design was still fascinating to Marnos. The bridge was spherical in shape, the surrounding walls seeming to be open to the blackness of space and the piercing light of the stars. It was all an illusion, of course - the walls were merely screens, projecting the information pumped in from external sensors. Nonetheless, an admirable way to allow the bridge crew to see exactly what was going on around them. Running down the centre of the bridge, from the door where Marnos had entered, a wide platform housed the seats and consoles of the bridge crew - Helm, Comms, Ops, Weapons, Intel. In the midst of it all was Leedan, a gaunt figure sitting silently in the centre of the bustling bridge: the eye of the storm, calmly gazing out to the stars.
"Coordinates set, Captain - we're ready to jump."
"Excellent. Ah -" Leedan swivelled his chair round "- Captain Marnos. Please, take a seat." He gestured towards an empty chair; Marnos sat noiselessly, buckling himself in.
"Jump at your discretion, Helm."
"Aye sir. Hyperspace Module charged, initiating jump."
In the last short moments before the ship jumped, Marnos stared out at the darkness and the light, icy diamonds glaring from black silk. Straight ahead, with a scream that sent a shiver down Marnos' spine, the very fabric of space was rent asunder and the light - terrible, blinding light - poured in. The room was blanketed by a white nothingness that bleached the faces of the crew into ghostly apparitions.
As the light faded into the blue infinity of hyperspace, Marnos thought he caught a glimpse of something - almost invisible in the gloom - out of the corner of one eye: the beating of dark wings.
<< Ravens By Starlight: Chapter 4 <<
>> Ravens By Starlight: Chapter 6 >>
| 
