"Ursa" - Sci Fi

An excerpt from a Science Fiction Story, it is my one of my first attempts at Sci-Fi, so critiques and reviews are welcome. Thanks. (Warning: Explicit Language)

“Ransom? When did these miners turn criminal?” Colonel Adam Webb sat the datapad on his desk. Save for the desk, his personal office was devoid of decoration. He kept only a chair for guests and a small faded picture set into a gold frame twisted to look like lengths of tightly wound rope.

“I think it’s a ruse, sir, they need him as collateral to keep us at bay,” Across from him sitting in the solitary chair, Adashi Ita crossed her legs and adjusted her frameless glasses before continuing, “They also sent a message to Ursa’s government…” She lifted her own datapad, “Requesting total emancipation for the colony and its workers, and the removal of all Ursa troops from the Moon.”

Adam made a steeple with his fingers and attempted to focus on the matter at hand rather than his adjutant. Adashi was beautiful in every sense of the word, supple skin a softened color of teak, deep brown doe eyes, long legs and raven hair pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. “What the hell was he doing there in the first place?” Adam snorted.

Adashi rolled a lithe finger across her datapad, “Before he left, Doctor Illik indicated in a report that the miners had discovered a Xenos artifact. You signed off for him to take a shuttle to the system.”

“I remember,” Adam waved his hand in frustration, “The guy was determined to go out there, I got a dozen personal messages and eight requests for personal meetings…”

Adashi nodded, “He’s known for his insights into xenos intelligence. We brought him in to study the primates on Gamma’s moon. He logged more time planetside than any other science team we authorized, and gathered more useful data than any three of the others put together I might add.”

“None of this has left the system, right?” Adam propped his elbows on the desk and wiped his eyes, his insomnia was triggered by stress and his last restful night was three days ago according to ship cycles.

“I’ve monitored all communiques concerning the situation, as you requested. I’ve had a team in-system since it started and they’ve told me the Ursians are keeping it quiet too. If Earth Fleet were to be tipped off, well…” She looked off over Adam’s shoulder for a moment before shaking her head slowly, “We’d have an entire colony of miners to bury. You know as well as I, their policies on rebellion and insurrection aren’t flexible.”

“Son of a b***h…” Adam threw himself back in his chair, “This is a shitstorm waiting to hit an interplanetary fan. What is Ursa doing?”

“The Third Parliament began shuttling troops off the moon twenty-one hours ago to avoid conflict,” She sighed as if disappointed, “It seems negotiations are going to take place. I suggest we pay for Doctor Illik and let the Ursians deal with it.”

“Three billion creds for one scientist? I’m not senile yet, Ada. I have a different plan. Hopefully we can extract him and secure a new foothold in the Ursa system...”

“Lieutenant Godfrey and his team, I assume?” Adashi stood, straightened her skirt and made for the door.

“Send him to me as soon as possible, and contact the Ursian Parliament, I’ll have a word or two with them,” Adam watched her lithe curves slide to the threshold.

“It’s all been done, you’ll have them in the holo-room at thirteen-hundred tomorrow,” Adashi waved the ID band around her wrist at the door’s jamb and it slid aside with a quiet hiss. “And I also took the liberty to set up a meeting with Fleet Admiral Dhruv, he’s awaiting your call.”

“What would I do without you?” He attempted a smile.

“You’ll just have to owe me, as usual,” Her come-and-get-me grin disappeared behind the auto-door.

 

When Adam’s door opened again, it wasn’t his nephew, but a bear of a man in his early forties, clean cut in freshly ironed deep blue fatigues and shining black boots. On one shoulder was sewn the Griffin Corp patch, the mythological beast rearing in bright yellow against a black shield, but with inverted colors to show his place in Special Operations. On the opposite shoulder was his rank, three cradles and three chevrons with an eightfold star between.

Neither man bothered saluting.

“Mister Helmun,” Adam stood and didn’t hide his impatience, “While I appreciate the visit, I didn’t call for you.”

“Apologies, sir, but the Lieutenant has a visit scheduled on the Med-Deck. He asked me to come in his place,” The man, Baas Helmun, had been discharged from Earth Fleet in a case concerning insubordination. Adam didn’t know the particulars because the offended officer rendered it confidential to save face within the fleet. Nonetheless Griffin Corp found him in Aegis Prison serving fifteen years for petty thievery and pirating in the Bylora System. What Baas lacked in social decency and respect of rank, he made up for with deadpan humor and brutal honesty. Not to mention he rescued three teams of researchers on Gamma nearly singlehandedly, the man’s reputation mid-ship was practically legendary.

“Take me to him,” Adam indicated the door and followed Baas through it.

Outside, they entered the bridge of the ship where Captain Alexei Orel stood vigilant at his post on the raised cushioned throne at the center of the room. Perhaps standing and vigilant weren’t the correct words, Adam thought. He found the barrel bellied Captain, half asleep, oozing slobber from the corner of his wide mouth and slouching in his command throne with his decorated jacket unbuttoned to reveal a sweaty deep blue undershirt.

Orel nearly leapt from his chair at the beat of Adam’s boots, “Colonel Webb!”

“Hard at it are we, Cap?” Adam looked over the crowded banks of computers and monitors set into the spartan steel floor. Solemn faced crew manned the stations pouring through data sent back from every deck. All sweltered from the electronic heat and some had unbuttoned the top portions of their crimson jackets. The laxity of The Rising Sun grew worse with each month they spent in deep space.

“Aye, Colonel,” Alexei’s thick fingers tapped the panels in the arms of his chair, “All systems nominal, the fleet should make the warp point to Ursa within the next two days.”

“As you were then,” Adam spun on his heel before the captain could reply.

Baas led the way again to a distant niche set into the far bulkhead and they entered the red-lighted interior of a grav-lift; a personal, speedier kind rather than the clunky, hydraulic ones dotting the ship interior. His finger clacked on a panel set next to the doors and 54A lit up in bright white, “I think I saw chocolate staining the Captain’s jacket…”

Adam stifled a chuckle, “Captain Orel is a respected man in Griffin Corp. We’ve served together since The Rising Sun was commissioned twenty years ago.”

“I’ll give the man his due then, but it won’t be him that saves us when a fleet of pirates rake our bow with nukes and kinetics.”

Adam ignored him and swayed with the grav-lift as the steel capsule shot downwards into the bowels of the ship, “What do you know about Doctor Ivyar Illik?”

“A little,” Baas folded his arms, his arm and shoulder muscles strained the seams of his jacket, “A short guy, red hair, glasses. He was part of the group on Gamma. The girls mid-ship talk about him a lot. Why?”

“I need Godfrey,” Adam held himself steady as the grav-lift came to a sudden stop. The doors slid wide to a short hall that ended in a corridor splitting left-right. Adam led the way, “Assemble your crew and find a pilot, I’ll get him outta sickbay.”

“I only take orders from the Lieutenant,” Baas grinned defiantly.

“And your Lieutenant gets orders from me. Get your s**t, Sergeant, or I’ll lock you down again.”

The last Adam saw of Baas was his middle finger and a wide toothed ear-to-ear grin.

“A*****e,” Adam laughed shaking his head. He took the corridor right, following a bright blue stripe dotted with arrows along the white washed walls of deck 54A; every so often the words ‘Lon-Singh Medical’ were stenciled into the blue. Colonel Webb didn’t need the stripe to guide him though, he knew every inch of this frigate from bow to stern. When he was younger, he’d walk the corridors making a map in his head, just like he had as an orphan in the urban sprawl of Earth. And much the same as a metropolis, there were entire communities hidden away in the depths of The Rising Sun’s hold.

 The Medical Deck was its own high-tech hospital in the center of the ship. Dominating decks 54A, B, and C, it could hold nearly a hundred thousand patients and boasted an entire level dedicated to emergency procedures and surgeries. Adam’s first sight was the blinding white that washed the entire deck corridors and the deck’s sprawling W-shaped layout. His next was the three tiered atrium that occupied the center of the W, then followed nurses, doctors and civilians that moved freely on all levels. Most were busy typing or reading datapads, Adam glimpsed a female doctor rush to catch an elevator. A nearby nurse knelt to speak to a woman cradling a swaddled baby. It was a city within a space-faring vessel.

Adam adjusted his collar and smoothed his jacket, before entering the main lobby area. Children coughed into their mother’s chests, men with hollow eyes and sunken cheeks hung their heads or cradled personal tablets, and elderly anticipating medication muttered to one another about the times. All awaited the healing touch of The Rising Sun’s staff. Adam propped his hands on a huge semi-circular desk where a woman with half-lidded eyes and dressed in a white orderly uniform greeted him.

“Welcome to Lon-Singh Medical, Tier A, Colonel,” Her smile was nearly as dead as her gaze. She was an Academia-X1, the latest in AI and human interaction models from Academia. If not for the waxy skin and piercing silver eyes, Adam would’ve never guessed he spoke to a machine. Griffin Corps, his employers, had a new contract with Academia and the droids were dispersed throughout the five fleets. Adam despised having them on-board, previous models were known for explosive malfunctions and they needed routine updating to keep their systems from “going blank” as many of the crew delicately put it.

“A patient is here,” Adam adjusted his collar again, the ship seemed to be oddly warm even here, “Godfrey Webb.”

The woman tapped on a slate set into the desk at her hands. Glyphs and paragraphs of data rolled up the screen while her eyes whipped back and forth over the screen, “Yes, sir. Head Doctor Singh is seeing him right now, so I can't recommend you interrupt them-”

“Just point me to him.”

 

Adam found Alaj Singh in his personal treatment room in the W’s last upstroke on the third tier.

The auto-door slid aside with a sharp whisk and Adam entered the room. Singh, a short, brown man with thick eyebrows and high cheek bones stood before an elevated table, pen light shining in hand. The interview room was stark and spartan and its air stung his nostrils with anti-biotic unguents.

“The macules have decreased in size and redness-” The Head Doctor turned to the intruder, “Colonel Webb, this is unexpected.”

Godfrey, or the man who used to be Godfrey, turned on the table to regard Adam. Thin and wasting away, his nephew had lost perhaps ten kilograms in the past six months. Blue eyes, circled in black, under a mop of jet black hair regarded Adam, “Colonel, come to see me try to stay alive?” His voice was groggy and broken as though he had just woken from a coma. The chuckle that followed was even uglier.

“Now now, Lieutenant,” Singh put away his light, “That’s not the attitude to have.”

Godfrey merely grunted.

“Are you finished here, Lieutenant?” Adam crossed his arms and Doctor Singh turned away to scribble loudly on a datapad with a plastic stylus. He realized the pad Singh used was directly connected to ports just behind Godfrey’s right ear.

“Yes, sir. Baas said you needed me,” Godfrey answered in that gravel filled voice.

“The nanites are functioning well, are they interacting with your suit ok?” Singh looked over the top of his glasses which elicited a simple nod from Godfrey.

“Nanites?” Adam raised an eyebrow.

“Prototype microscopic robots, Colonel,” The doctor answered, still scratching on his pad, “They’re the size of blood cells, injected directly into your nephew’s body. So far they’re doing an excellent job of stopping the spread of this disease. They will also interact with his battle suit, making him that much more effective at his job.”

“I’m a super-soldier,” Godfrey cackled, but the laugh quickly turned into a body-wracking cough.

“Breath, Mr. Webb, breath,” Singh moved to Godfrey’s side, and deftly brought an oxygen mask from a table drawer.

“Is he stable?” Adam watched the two sternly.

“Stable as someone with an unknown disease can be, Colonel,” Singh sighed and visibly dropped his shoulders. “Luckily, whatever this is… it’s not contagious and is taking its time, which will only prolong Mister Godfrey’s suffering, but will give us the time we need to cure him,” The doctor sighed loudly once more, “The treatments at this point are theoretical, but I have high hopes.”

“I’m good to go,” Godfrey dragged one last time on the mask and pushed the Doctor away. He pulled the ribbon from behind his ear and buttoned up his shirt. After lifting a nearby cane, he shuffled his way out of the Doctor’s personal room without another word.

 

A moment later they were in the grav-lift.

“How’s Adashi?” Godfrey spoke up, leaning against the wall of the lift, visibly weary.

“Limber as ever,” Adam grinned briefly, “How about your Lela?”

Godfrey passed his cane to both hands and leaned on it, as if thinking of his wife weighed heavily, “Back on Mars according to her last message, she’s seeing her family before goin’ to Orion Station.”

The lieutenant looked to have aged fifteen years since their last talk, but there was no telling anyone’s age these days, especially with the huge developments in medicine and bio-engineering. Adam himself received multiple ongoing organ replacements that would see him through to a hundred-fifty years at minimum.

“Do you know Ivyar Illik?” Adam jumped straight to the point while watching the lights change from 54A to 53 then 52 and so on.

“The anthropologist? We get together to drink and shoot the s**t sometimes. Good guy.”

“Adashi brought me intelligence this morning officially saying he’s a hostage in Ursa. The Amundsen miners have him on Ursa Prime’s moon,” Adam wiped his eyes again and fought a yawn.

“Since when does a mining colony turn rebel?” Godfrey wheezed.

Adam reflected on his discussion with Adashi, “How you get him out is up to you, but don’t start making a mess until I’ve got their Parliament on my side. I want you to be my messenger out there as well. Contact the Amundsen brothers if you can, and convince them to surrender before this gets outta hand. I’ll have Adashi upload all the particulars to your personal computer.”

“I’ll get it done,” Godfrey said as the grav-lift hissed, and the light blinked on floor 23. The doors opened on the living deck for a large portion of marines and other crew, along with the unofficial headquarters of The Rising Sun’s Special Operations.

“You always do,” Adam saluted his nephew as he exited the grav-lift.

Godfrey shakily returned the salute and waited for the doors to shut before falling heavily onto his cane.

He wheezed and tapped along the main corridor running the length of the deck. Near the mid-way point he turned into the massive double doors of bunkhouse 3B where Special Operations group Talon 2 stationed themselves. A small population of 500, of which only ten percent did any actual fighting, was comprised mostly of analysts, intelligence decoders, engineers, mechanics, gunsmiths and some of the officers’ families. The massive warehouse was divided on a grid of four corridors, each devoted to a different purpose, but of a singular mind; to provide an elite, flexible battle unit. Every commanding officer stationed on Griffin Corp Fleet vessels boasted his own regiment of Special Ops.

Godfrey commanded Talon 2-1, and found their niche in the first room on his right. The group of 50 soldiers rotated in quick-response teams of 15 at this station. In the ready room, two rows of eight bunks sat out in plain view. Lockers lined the walls and restroom facilities dotted the far end of the room, while a small TV and a dozen footlockers crammed the corner just inside the door. 15 men in as many varied states of dress sat on those lockers watching two pugilists throw flurries of gloved hands at one another.

“Kill ‘im, you sumbitch!” One of the soldiers stood up. Godfrey knew each man who served in his teams, but none could boast being as loud or as vulgar as First Sergeant Ulrik Iban. The well-tattooed man had jumped from his seat and was punching at the two fighters on the screen, “What the f**k are you doin!? Kill ‘im!” He continued raging.

Another man spoke up from the group, “What the f**k are you doin, Monster!? Sit your a*s down, I can't see the fight!” It was the clipped, dry voice First Sergeant Markus Aetlo using Iban’s battle tag.

“I’ll stand up all day, Stag,” Ulrik didn’t turn to face his challenger.

“Then I’ll hamstring you and you’ll never stand again.”

“Who talks like that?” Ulrik laughed.

“You’re all talk, Iban,” Markus prodded.

“I’ll show you talk, Stag, when I break my-” Ulrik was turning at this point and was the first to see Godfrey standing in the door way. He hesitated for a moment then snapped to attention, “Officer on Deck!”

14 men shot to their feet at once and turned directly at their lieutenant.

“Monster, Stag, with me,” Godfrey said when quiet prevailed and the two stepped forward from their footlocker seats, “The rest of you… Enjoy the fight.”

Godfrey began the walk to his office and bunk at the far end of the room. The shuffle of noise behind him said the men were back at the tv. He checked the bunkhouse as he walked; loose weapons, unkempt bunks, and scattered belongings were not tolerated while a soldier was on station. “Sergeant Iban, Sergeant Aetlo. For the next two weeks I want you on the s**t squad. This bunkhouse stays immaculate.”

“Aye, sir,” Both affirmed without hesitation.

“Where is the Master Sergeant?” Godfrey turned at his door and faced his two men. The two had cultivated a following in the team; Markus for his cold strategy and Ulrik for his brutish nature.

Finally, Ulrik spoke up, “Sergeant Helmun is in the gym. Sir.”

“Get the men up, and ready for orders. Send Helmun to me when he shows his face.”

Both men snapped quick salutes and hurried back to the tv area.

Godfrey wormed his way inside and dropped to his chair, exhausted. It had taken every ounce of him to force himself upright in front of the men. Doctor Singh’s chemical treatments were getting more extreme and many were beginning to notice his deteriorating condition. He often convinced himself that a letter concerning how his valiant service was no longer needed to Griffin Corp would come soon. Even the men had begun acting differently, sometimes he thought he saw pity in their eyes. He didn’t want pity. Just a shot of Bylora Usque.

He was reaching for the bottle in his desk when Baas Helmun burst in with a horrible grin on his face. His faded blue shirt was drenched in sweat and veins were visibly pumping across his bare arms and face, “Lieutenant, good news I hope.”

“Yes,” Godfrey turned to his efficiently ordered desk, where he found his datapad, “We have orders to secure a hostage from Ursa Prime’s moon. I’ll take eight men, including you, and Sergeants Aetlo and Iban.”

“Monster and Stag on the same op? They f****n’ hate each other,” Baas leaned a shoulder to the doorframe. At forty-three, the man was the veteran and oldest in the Talon, but he could handle himself in a fight better than any three of them. He also knew the every soldier like the guts of his own EM rifle, every piece and part was scrutinized and polished.

“I am aware, the mission will keep them under my eye while also forcing them to work together,” Godfrey brought up a personal message from Adashi concerning the mission. Ivyar was being held in Mine 2 below the main Amundsen refinery, likely at the rebel’s headquarters. There wasn’t much more information, the miners had gone dark since making their demands to the Ursian Parliament.

“What did Singh have to say?”

“I’m dying,” Godfrey stated sharply and shifted, his chair had suddenly grown uncomfortable, “It’s nothing new. Get the men together. And are there any free droids? We’ll need a pilot.”

Baas flicked a finger across a watch-sized datapad strapped to his wrist, “Already on it.”

New diseases and sicknesses were creeping up everywhere in Man’s empire. Strange plagues that lived dormant on planets waiting for the right host, the human host, weak and not acclimated to the violent kill or be killed universe. Singh had never actually diagnosed Godfrey with anything, but he claimed their research into it was making huge strides. The lieutenant began to think he had simply become a guinea pig for Griffin Corp’s prototype nanites. According to Singh, the bacteria were parasitic and literally turning his muscle to into a nutrient bereft paste, but the microscopic nanites were holding the bacteria at bay while also performing simple repairs on his damaged tissue and organs.

Only time would tell, as Singh continued to say.

Sergeant Helmun was gone when Godfrey finally looked up from his datapad. He listened intently and heard the men in the bunkhouse shuffling footlockers back into place. Their short conversations carried on the ship’s hull. Godfrey got a sudden chill. Ghostly and distant were their voices. An idea rolled across his mind without any provocation or hint of where it came from.

None of them were coming back alive.