Bred for war - 4. Da Lahron

Athruvian science vessel Da Malh N ahe on Disputed Space in orbit around Planet Ha’Aron’Ei in the Cho’Pak II System

Doctor Al Y Amno, Captain of the science vessel Da Malh N ahe, was pacing around the Command Deck of her vessel. To some extent, the thickset dark-haired woman regreted being adrift on Disputed Space and very close to enemy territory, but then again, she’d been following orders of the Athruvian Empress herself. And the cryogenized viruses she was carrying on board had to be safely delivered to the Athruvian Homeworld for the scientists to work on something that had been disclosed to very few people in the fleet, Doctor Al Y Amno included.

The Command Deck of the Da Malh N ahe, where she was at the moment, was round, the stations located in different spots along the one wall. A round electronic desk –the Captain’s- occupied the center spot of the bridge and was surrounded by five chairs for the senior staff. The desk had a transparent-green round crystal on its center, which served as a holo-projector for both intelligence and tactical.

There were only two more Athruvian officers on duty on the Command Deck at the time, one at the Conn and one at Tactical. They were both wearing the purple overalls of the Ahtruvian Fleet. Doctor Al Y Amno was waiting for word from Engineering on repairs to their drive systems, and expected to receive word from the Athruvian fleet before the Ç’HkïJaråan realized there was an enemy vessel orbiting a planet in a system very close to their borders.

“Captain,” the female officer at the Conn turned to face Doctor Al Y Amno, “If I may?”

“Go ahead, Sergeant.”

“There’s a small Ç’HkïJaråan vessel navigating very close to our current location. It has a cloaking matrix that seems to be fluctuating.”

“Patrol?” the Captain inquired.

“Negative, Captain. It seems to be a type-å Ç’HkïJaråan scoutcraft.”

“Ellaborate, if you’ll indulge me, Sergeant.”

Sergeant Min Ha Taren nodded at the Captain. She keyed a couple of commands into her console, after which a holographic purple representation of the M’h’Låahr floated on the Captain’s desk. Min Ha Taren stood from her place and walked towards the round desk in the middle of the Command Deck.

“If I may, Captain?”

“By all means, Sergeant.” Captain Al Y Amno nodded.

Sergeant Min Ha Taren sat across from the Captain and pointed at the snail-like craft holograpically displayed over the Captain’s desk.

“Type-å Ç’HkïJaråan scoutcrafts are small vessels, mostly designed for short-range on space missions and planet-based errands. They have a cloaking matrix, right here,” she pointed at a specific place on the back of the snail, “However, this particular one, as I’ve already reported to you, seems to be losing its cloak at intervals.”

“How can such an insignificant ship be alone this far into space?” the Captain asked.

“Might have been part of the Khår H’??ari’s compliment, Captain.”

“True,” Al Y Amno said recalling the communiqué recently sent by the Ian E lahn, “If so,” she continued, “they might be attempting to land on a close planet to wait for a rescue party … which we cannot risk happening without being exposed to enemy vessels.”

“They could also be trying to relay some intelligence back to their headquarters,” Min Ha Taren added.

“They might’ve done it already for all we know,” Lar E Mnar, the male Athruvian Sergeant at the Tactical station turned from his console as he spoke addressing the Captain of the Da Malh N ahe.

The woman turned at the Sergeant with a look that might have intimidated anybody, making sure he understood how he had not requested permission to speak to a superior, thus breaching protocol.

“If I may, sir?” Min Ha Taren asked the Captain.

“Go ahead, Sergeant.”

“I think that whoever is on that craft, would not risk sending a message while cloaked, especially when one of our cruisers has just destroyed their mother ship.”

“Makes sense, Sergeant. Then …” she paused, as if she were choosing her words, and then continued, “they might attempt landing on one of these planets before relaying their intelligence on the situation with the Ian E Lahn.”

“If I may, sir?” Lar E Mnar asked, trying to mend his previous mistake regarding protocol.

Captain Al Y Amno nodded, indicating with a hand gesture a chair on her round desk, thus implying that he could continue, and making clear that she would chose to ignore his improper behavior just this one time.

“That being the case, Sir,” he said as he sat down next to Min Ha Taren and across from their Captain, “we should not let the scoutcraft attempt a landing in either planet.”

“We don’t have either warp or transwarp capabilities, Sergeant,” the Captain told her Tactical Officer, as if he didn’t know already, “we don’t even have impulse drive capabilities …”

“Yes, sir, I’m aware of that fact.”

“How would you suggest we proceed, then?” the harsh woman asked her subordinate in an unfriendly tone.

Lar E Mnar remained silent for a couple of minutes weighing a couple of ideas, the Captain’s scrutiny over his head waiting for him to utter a suggestion, which he didn’t. Sergeant Min Ha Taren looked at both and risked a recommendation, overstepping the authority of the Tactical Officer, not without observing protocol.

“If I may, Sergeant?” she asked Lar E Mnar, her senior in position. He nodded in approval and Sergeant Min Ha Taren voiced her idea.

“We can, for a second, assume that they are oblivious to the fact that their cloaking matrix is fluctuating, thus compromising their cloak.”

She stopped and looked at her Commanding officer to make sure she was following. The Captain gestured with a hand for her to continue and so she did.

“We could predict their destination and course by analyzing their trajectory, and launch an EMP pulse generator on board an unmanned probe.”

“I see,” the Captain said, “that would kill their engines in motion …”

“And cripple their navigational systems leaving them adrift,” said Min Ha Taren.

“Or,” Al Y Amno looked at both Sergeants Min Ha Taren and Lar E Mnar, “we could engage the EMP once they’ve entered the planet’s atmosphere. Then … their navigational systems would go offline while attempting a landing, and they would crash on the planet surface.”

“And they would not be able to relay any piece of intelligence, or send any distress call they might have tried to while on the planet,” Min Ha Taren completed.

Captain Al Y Amno considered the idea for some seconds. Min Ha Taren was a woman of a mind and the Captain felt grateful to have her on her crew. She gave the idea one more thought for some minutes and then looked back at both her Conn and Tactical officers. She leaned on her elbows as she spoke.

“Do it,” she said.

Both sergeants stood from the Captain’s desk and moved back to their stations, so as to work the plan out. Captain Al Y Amno closed her eyes, praying to the whole pantheon of Athruvian Gods that this whole mess in which she’d found herself caught ended up soon. The only thing she wanted now was to be safe back on Ahtruvian soil. But her duty was much more important than her wants, and her duty told her she had to cripple that Ç’HkïJaråan scoutcraft if she was to go back to Athraa with her medical cargo intact.

She stood up from her desk and walked towards a door aft of the Command Deck and talked to her Tactical officer.

“Let me know when we are ready to proceed, Sergeant Ha Taren.”

“Yes, sir,” Min Ha Taren replied without turning from her station.

“And, Sergeant,” she added, “summon Master Sergeant Da Lahron Seimna to my office.”

“Yes, Sir.”

With her message acknowledged, Captain Al Y Amno walked to her office through the door, which slid aside as she entered the adjacent room.

***************

Master Sergeant Da Lahron Seimna had just finished his workout, when he received word from the Command Deck that he was expected by the Captain. He acknowledged the request and told Sergeant Min Ha Taren that he’d be there shortly, as soon as he was able to make himself more presentable for the Captain.

He walked from the gym to his quarters, located stern of the ship, as was customary for senior officers on a science vessel. As he strolled through the narrow corridors of the Da Malh N ahe, he thought of the cargo they were to deliver to Athraa and felt uncomfortable once again. Of course he could not know what they were holding inside the one cargo bay of the ship, but he could make a good guess. After all, regular cargo was hardly marked as classified, and he had not made it to Executive Officer because of nothing.

‘We are at war, Da Lahron,' he told himself.

He had been repeating those words to himself since day one, when he graduated from the Athruvian War College: they were at war indeed. But regardless of how many times he tried to convince himself that they were at war, it didn’t help him feeling better about it. He had seen far too many things happen during this war, and he was still very young.

He’d read, of course, about the atrocities the Ç’HkïJaråan had committed against his people over the course of war, not forgetting that his parents’ deaths were counted among those atrocities, and he felt something burning inside his chest, the instant feeling of wanting payback.

‘They’re the enemy,’ he told himself this time.

And so they were; the C’HkïJaråan had been responsible for the destruction of the Athruvian Outpost in Mentharex III, where both his parents had lost their lives. He felt that burning sensation in his chest again, but decided he didn’t feel like remembering his parents at all; it was no use thinking of something he wasn’t able to change; not unless someone found a way to change the past.

He came to a halt in front of his door. He tapped some commands in the recognition pad and waited a few seconds. The door to his quarters slid open and he came inside. His quarters were small, but comfortable; the whole thing had two rooms barely separated by an arch. The first room, upon entering, had a dining room table with two seats and a mini-desk in one of the corners. The second room, where he was now, had a single bed, a chest of drawers and the entrance to the bathroom chamber.

He dropped the towel that had been hanging from his neck on his bed, and walked towards the bathroom chamber. He took off his sweatshirt, sandals and sports pants. He was all sweaty, the hair in his chest, arms and legs making the situation worse every time he worked out.

He clicked a couple of buttons and one of the bathroom chamber’s walls slid aside bringing a shower to view. He took off his underwear and jumped into the running water. He had very little time to groom himself, for Doctor Al Y Amno was not accustomed to waiting for people very long without losing her temper. So, this time he did not take his time washing himself, but did it as fast as he could accomplish it.

He then clicked a couple buttons and the water stopped running. The shower slid inside the wall and a sort of fan appeared on the ceiling. A strong sound came from the sonic dryer, and in two seconds he was ready to get dressed.

He got back into the bedroom and found himself thinking of his parents again. He had been very young when they died; so young he could barely remember them now for he had always been traveling and he had mostly lived with his grandmother. It had been his grandmother who had often talked about his parents to keep them alive in his memories.

It had also been her, along with her only surviving uncle, who had decided that he’d have to join the Athruvian War College so he could avenge his lineage. Back then his hate for the Ç’HkïJaråan had been strong and he’d agreed to go to the War College and pursue a career in the military. He’d had an exemplary record since his academy days, all right, but now that he thought back on it, it wouldn’t have been the career of his choice. If he could undo the past, he would’ve more likely pursued a career on trade, or archeology.

However, he’d made a good officer and as of now, barely counting twenty-one standards, he had been promoted twice already. His first promotion had taken him from Private to Sergeant –skipping Private First Class- three years before, when he’d taken command of a platoon whose commander had died in action. He’d managed to make his platoon break an enemy formation, opening a gate for the Athruvian squadron into the Ç’HkïJaråan base on Rha’Ghna II.

Two years later, he was promoted from Sergeant to Master Sergeant when his valiant effort had saved the crew of an Athruvian cargo vessel and all its civilian occupants; a total of forty-seven citizens had been saved from a certain death. In the three years he’d served after finishing his studies on the Athruvian War College, he’d managed to do what few people had.

So far as he knew, he was the youngest Master Sergeant in the Athruvian fleet, and that was quite the achievement. Now, being only twenty-one, he was the acting Executive Officer of the Da Malh N ahe; he had become the youngest Executive Officer in all the Athruvian fleet by breaking the record set twenty-five standards before by Sergeant Major De Mnar Ee, who had become the Executive Officer of the Batlle Cruiser Ram Da Nirm at the age of twenty-four.

And even though he had made quite a military career for himself, he still felt empty at times, knowing he was achieving what his family had expected of him, and not what he had wanted to achieve in the first place.

Leaving his thoughts aside, he started grooming himself. He put on his uniform, which had been waiting for him on his bed. He started with his underwear, purple and tight, the way he liked it. Then, he sat on the bed and put on his black uniform socks. He stood from the bed and walked towards the metallic chest of drawers left to his bed and pulled a sleeveless shirt he put on. He pushed a button and a door opened revealing the closet. He put on the crimson long sleeve shirt and groomed his purple hair in the closet’s mirror. Last, he jumped inside the Purple overalls and sat on the bed again, in order to put on his black uniform boots.

Now, he was ready to see the Captain in her office.

He couldn’t help but wonder what was crossing her mind as of now. It was no secret that he did not feel comfortable around Captain Al Y Amno, and all the crew murmured as much. The Captain did strike him as the stubborn type, square-minded, never open to suggestions on matters she’d already decided, and definitely accustomed to doing what she felt like … when she felt like it. He’d wondered more than once how she’d made it to a captaincy.

‘Connections …’ he thought. But he would have never dared voice his conclusion.

He walked through the corridors, went up a couple of decks using the wall inter-deck ladders and walked through one more long and cold corridor, running into a couple of officers on his way to the Command Deck. He stopped before the door, readjusted the purple overalls, made sure his crimson collar was perfectly on its place, and walked inside the Command Deck of the Da Malh N ahe.

“Master Sergeant,” Min Ha Taren said acknowledging his presence on the bridge by standing up and bowing to show her respects.

“Master Sergeant,” Lar E Mnar said as well, observing protocol.

“At ease, Sergeants,” Da Lahron Seimna said, crossing the deck and stopping right in front of Al Y Amno’s office.

He wasn’t still used to be bowed to and called Sir by people who were at all sights older, and sometimes much older than he was. But he was now the Executive Officer of the Da Malh N ahe, and had to get used to it. He tapped a couple of keys on the control board placed beside the door.

“Come,” he heard the Captain say as the door slid aside to let him through.

The Master Sergeant entered the Captain’s office and stood straight in front of her showing his respects to his Commanding Officer by bowing.

“Captain. You wanted to see me.”

“Master Sergeant,” Captain Al Y Amno responded, pointing at the chair across from her, “Please, have a seat.”

Master Sergeant Da Lahron Seimna nodded and sat across from the Captain. The Captain leaned back on her armchair, as she usually did before speaking and cleared her throat. Her dark purple-auburn hair was tied behind her head in a bun and she was wearing no makeup, a fact Da Lahron had never quite understood. Considering, especially, that the woman was not particularly attractive.

Still resting on her armchair, the Captain produced a pad from one of her desk’s drawers and handed it to her acting Executive Officer.

“I thought it necessary to brief you on this,” she said with her rather thick and unfriendly voice, “given the fact that the former Executive Officer, well, has been relieved of duty, and you have been named acting Executive Officer of my ship.”

Da Lahron nodded. He looked at the pad and skimmed through the brief, stopping at intervals to let the information sink in. It was a very clear description of a tactical maneuver to disable a Ç’HkïJaråan scoutcraft in the vicinity of the Cho’Pak II system. He finished reading the pad, placed it on the desk, and looked back at the Captain.

“If I may, Sir?” he asked.

“Go ahead, Master Sergeant.”

“Have we confirmed that this craft poses a direct threat to either us or the Empire?”

Bold.

Al Y Amno did like bold. She arched and eyebrow at the same time she grinned. She did not have to explain herself, however, she felt she liked this officer well enough; there was a reason for which he’d achieved what no one had, and she respected that above all. She respected an officer who could make his way through valor.

“Any enemy craft always poses a threat to the Empire, Master Sergeant.”

“I agree, Sir,” Da Lahron Seimna told his Captain keeping his tone as respectful as possible, “however, I meant if it posed a direct threat as of now.”

Captain Al Y Amno stood up from her desk and walked a couple of steps, her arms behind her back, coming to a halt next to a painting of the Ahtruvian Empress.

“I know you’re young, Master Sergeant, and being young one tends to be both impetuous and … naive,” she said with a little condescending note in her tone; a fact he didn’t like at all, “but in war, one can never let the guard down. In war, every enemy vessel is a threat. Every enemy is the enemy.”

“Captain, with all due respect …” he blurted, but Al Y Amno gestured for him to shut up with a hand.

“The decision is not open for debate, Master Sergeant,” she added with something that sounded like an edge of defensiveness in her tone, “but protocol dictated that you were informed of the maneuver.”

Da Lahron Seimna stood from his place and bowed to the Captain.

“As protocol dictates, Captain, I’d like you to note down my objection to this course of action.”

Captain Al Y Amno could not believe her ears, but it was true that it was the Executive Officer’s prerogative to note his disagreement to his Captain’s actions. This young officer did know about protocol and regulations.

Definitely bold.

And she did like bold.

“So noted in the official record, Master Sergeant. You’re dismissed.”

She bowed, but Da Lahron could tell she was struggling not to burst out in front of him. She was a woman of a temper, that much he knew, and rumor had it she was not accustomed to being questioned or having her orders second guessed by her subordinates. Still, he thought that voicing his objection had been the right thing to do, and so he’d done it.

Was he becoming soft? There was a possibility that he was … or he was just losing his thirst for revenge. He couldn’t but wonder who the people on the small craft were; he wondered whether a very young soldier, trooper or so was on board that ship. He wondered if a young Ç’HkïJaråan child would be told today that his father had died in that scoutcraft … as he’d been told years before about his parents’ deaths.

With those thought in mind, Da Lahron bowed back to his Captain and walked outside the office, leaving Al Y Amno alone with her own thoughts.

As soon as he entered the Command Deck, the two sergeants stood up and bowed again, but he signaled them to carry on with whatever it was they were doing. He took his seat, right from the Captain’s, and waited for them to be ready to execute the plan.

He had noted his disagreement to Captain Al Y Amno, but there was nothing else he could do. He would have to sit on the Command Deck and see the whole thing happen before his eyes, even if he objected to it. This plan, however, felt so wrong his stomach clenched.

‘We’re at war,’ he told himself once again ‘And they’re the enemy,’ but those phrases had completely worn out by now. He did not believe it justified anything anymore; at least not in his eyes. What they were about to do with that Ç’HkïJaråan scoutcraft was wrong, and he knew it. Something inside him told him it was.