chapter ii

The Palamecia, flagship of the United Republic Space Force, loomed in front of me as I came in for docking. Palamecia, or Big Pal as she is called by her crew, is a Palamecia-class Battle Carrier, truly the only one of her kind. There were plans to make more ships in her class, but after she was made, the shipyards at Adrona where she was built were destroyed amidst the DFIA invasion of Adrona six years ago. She herself barely made it out, only having been completed three days prior. She boasted the largest profile of all ships in the Fleet, with a length of slightly over five kilometers, and a width of slightly under one kilometer, excluding her wings and hangar. She is shaped much like a dolphin, with a large tower along the middle of the dorsal spine. Her main hangar is located along her anterior horizontal midline, or through her “wings,” with every squadron having its own opening. These hangars are aligned in a grid. Palamecia carries fifteen squadrons of fighters, as well as two squadrons of Thorn-class bombers, a squad of Stiletto-class bombers, a squad of Prowler-class Electronic Countermeasure (ECM) craft, a squad of Controller-class Spaceborne Sensor and Coordination Systems (SSCS) craft, a squadron of Courier-class shuttles, two squadrons of Breach-class Assault Shuttles, and two squadrons of Recovery-class Pilot Retrieval Services (PRS) craft. Normal complement of pilots is around 650, while normal crew complement is around 20,000 people.

She is a monster, and she is my home. I have been aboard her for nearly all of my five years with the URSF, with the exception of the seven months I spent building my squadron and designing my fighter. I could never fathom leaving her, although my time with her is going to end soon. I have turned down three promotions to “bigger and better things,” but at some point they are going to make me take a promotion, lest big bad Xander Acheron remain a lowly commander the rest of his life.

I landed in my customary spot in Hangar 1, right at the end, next to the exit. I like for my squadron to be the first ones out, and I am always the first one to exit the hangar. There waiting for me was a Light Copian, his light-colored skin reflecting the red landing lights he was standing next to. In his hands was a large piece of paper that said, “This space belongs to Apollo Xander Acheron, Beauty Queen.”

“What a bastard,” I said, chuckling to myself. I opened my hatch and said, “What's up, Connie? Come to beg me to switch jobs?”

Vice Admiral Conan Conation, my immediate superior and my best friend, just smiled at me, but it was a bitter smile. Conan's official title is Commander, Starfighter Operations for the Fifth Fleet on board Palamecia, which means he gets to fly around in an SSCS or sit at a screen in Starfighter Operations and scream at people for hours on end. He earned this slot by being one of the best fighter pilots and squadron commanders Fifth Fleet had ever produced. This is one of the “bigger and better things” that I have turned down a couple of times.

“Sandy, you've really got to calm down. You might break your hip.”

I laughed. Conan is actually younger than I am, a fact that he will never let me forget. We played this little game often. “You've got to come up with a better name than Sandy. Connie is at least a little funny. But seriously, what brings you down here?”

“Officially, I'm here to verbally debrief you on the way to the briefing.”

“And unofficially?”

“Unofficially, I'm here to warn you. This briefing isn't a briefing; it's more or less a promotion ceremony. I'm sure you've heard that Proteus died, right?”

I nodded. Wessien Proteus was the Supreme Commander of the URSF. He was also the officer who commissioned me into the fight against the Ionians, and I would be forever grateful for his assistance. He was killed recently during a surprise raid on his private retreat. He was with his family on vacation, just fishing and relaxing on Seraphina, when an Ionian suicide squad showed up and murdered him and his entire extended family. Kids, grandkids, wife, nieces, nephews, all of them. It was later discovered that he was betrayed by his chief of security, who had had one of the Ionian's brain control implants in his head. This was one of the newer models that United Republic Intelligence was just learning to detect.

“Yeah. That was a blow.” I stopped and thought about it for a second. “Oh, daz. They want to put Eradicator up in the War Admiral's office, don't they?”

Conan looked around nervously, and grabbed me by the arm, stopping me. “No. What I've heard is they want Eradicator in the Supreme Commander's office.”

While my initial instinct was to scream “Good!”, as I considered the implications of such an action, I couldn't breathe for a second or two. The way the rank system worked in the UR, the top officer was the Supreme Commander, and then there were the War Admiral and the War General, the top officers in their respective services. After that came the Grand Admirals and Grand Generals, themselves in charge of their sectors. Sector Five has always been the most important sector (mainly because it is always under attack), which in turn was supposed to make Grand Admiral Eradicator the most respected and capable of all the sector chiefs, to promote a Grand Admiral over two other higher-ranked officers was a clear and threatening statement to those who would also want that job. While we of the United Republic are supposed to be the good guys, that doesn't mean we are all as humble as we should be.

I finished my thought and looked up at Conan and said, “If that's so, Eradicator will turn it down.”

Conan was taken aback. “That's crazy. You think someone like Eradicator, one of the most patriotic and committed officers in the galaxy, would actually say no to the CINC and the War College? No way.” He was referring to the Chief of the Electorate, Commander-in-Chief of the URSF, and the former Grand Admirals, Grand Generals, War Admirals, and War Generals that continue to take part in the leadership of the military, called the War College. They act as a sort of support staff for the CINC, as the CINC is not usually someone that rose to the rank of General or Admiral, although all citizens of the United Republic are required to serve for three years in either a branch of the URSF, or the military of their home planet.

I snickered. “I have turned down promotions to Proteus’s face, and I practically worship the man. If Eradicator thinks it's the best thing to do, you're damn right it’ll get turned down.”

Conan considered this for a moment. “Twenty credits?”

I held out my hand. “You're on.” He shook it. “Any bets on who gets promoted instead?”

Conan continued walking, and I followed. He turned to me slightly. “Well, it sure as hell won't be Boondoggle.”

“You have a point.” Boondoggle was the nickname for War General Mischel Borndaggle, who had a habit of coming up with crazy strategies that, on paper, were confusing and easy to dismiss as crazy but, when implemented by the general, were spectacularly effective. He was not a man who existed to make friends, and did not have many in the War College. “They wouldn't promote him to janitor. Which only leaves War Admiral Zarner.” I rolled my eyes. “Oh, happy day.”

Dorian Zarner had been Grand Admiral Zarner, Chief of Sector Five, about four years ago when I met him. I was a recently frocked Major then, what they call an “up and comer” in the Starfighter Corps, and Zarner and I did not hit it off.

He was responsible for setting up fleet defense of a secret gathering of the High Consulate, the eighteen representatives of the various member-states of the United Republic and the Chief of the Electorate at Salvatore. These people represented the highest authority in the UR government. Why they were gathering there, and in secret, is something that I have never found out, and I’ve never asked. But I was tasked by then-Vice Admiral Eradicator, CSO (Fifth Fleet), with testing the defenses. I was the XO/interim commander for Ripper Squadron, a spec ops squad rotating back to Palamecia. Our commander had been killed in action a few days before, and we were officially on a workup rotation with new pilots. I talked Conan, who was a Colonel in command of another spec ops squadron, into planning and staging an incursion with our squadrons. We managed to literally walk up to the High Consulate while they were in session without being detected by the fleet. Zarner, who was meeting with the Consulate, immediately declared me suspended, but just then a large DFIA fleet appeared and began chewing away at our defenses. Conan and I disregarded direct orders and ordered our squadrons into battle.

When the Consulate’s ship was captured, my squadron (what was left of it) and I staged a dangerous boarding action. We advanced through the ship, killing over 70 DFIA Marines, and retook the ship. I got them out of there at the cost of a kidney and a lung, having been shot in the chest and stabbed in the lower back.

I lost four pilots that day, nine ships were destroyed, over 40,000 naval personnel died, two members of the Consulate were killed, and all Zarner lost was one level of rank that was quickly reinstated when he began throwing his political weight around. He immediately began proceedings to have me court-martialed for allowing the attack to take place by distracting the fleet. These proceedings stopped when the High Consulate awarded me with my first Hero of the Republic medal, a promotion, and the choice of any posting I wanted.

“You know what the first thing he'll do is,” I said to Conan. “He'll come after me.”

“Tontalusdaz. You, my good sir, are untouchable by man. Only God could strike you down. Well, you know, in a figurative way.” After seeing my dirty look, he defended himself. “Oh, come on, Sandy, you are the darling of everyone in the galaxy. The High Consulate owes you their lives, you have an entire planetary government backing you up, and if I see one more woman sending you a love letter, I'm going to throw up. The only people in the galaxy who don't want to fall at your feet and kiss them are the Ionians, their sycophantic followers, and War Admiral Zarner.”

While what he said might have been true, I found myself worried nonetheless. The last thing I needed right now was a new commander trying to “put me in my place.”

I gave him a look. “Have you been reading my mail again? God, I hope you didn’t read the letter your sister sent me.”

“Which sister?”

“Both of them.”

Snort. “Gork.”

***

As I walked into the Flag Conference Room, I noticed that I was the only non-flag officer there that wasn't an aide. Grand Admiral Eradicator was standing at the window, just staring out at the stars. Sitting around the table were eleven men and three women, all admirals of differing rank, most of whom I knew by sight.

Admiral Aral Yonar, head of the first division of the Fifth Fleet, also known as Task Force 51. Admiral Yonar, a male Copian, was pretty typical of the entire Dark Copian race: no hair, two fingers and a thumb, solid black eyes, and long arms. The lack of hair is typical of all Dark Copians because of their home system’s unusual star configuration. Their system is a trinary star system, with two stars at one end and a third at the opposite end of the system. Add to that the strange tilt of the planet, there is an average of 31 hours of sunlight hitting the planet during their 32 hour day. Because of this, they have no hair and horrible night vision.

Admiral Pan Narto, head of Task Force 52, was a female Vrinn from Adrona. Adrona had been occupied by the Ionians for the last six years, and most of our operations in the last year and a half have been testing the defenses around that planet in preparation of retaking it. Vrinn are insectoids, with four eyes, four arms, and four legs, with a highly armored blue/black exoskeleton.

Admiral Iso Lo'Nadar, head of Task Force 57, was a male Ionian. This was a very frightening concept to the more racist and ignorant among the United Republic peoples, the idea of letting Ionians openly serve in the military. Even more frightening is the idea of letting them rise to the powerful post of Admiral, but I have never had a problem with Admiral Lo'Nadar. To me, he has always been very willing to fight his people, and never compromising on the need to win this war and stop the slavery of the free peoples of the galaxy. He had the bull-like head and red eyes of his species; however he lacked the horns of his people. He had cut them off when he defected to the United Republic, and kept them trimmed as a sign of his commitment to the cause.

Admiral Hurn’Gorhhrun, head of Task Force 59, was a male Vikrant. Vikrants looked like the antagonist of a terrible nightmare that the Maker of Creation had one night, and then He felt compelled to copy that idea to the real world the next day. They were humanoid, but with black leathery skin, three sets of black eyes with the ability to see into the infrared, ultraviolet, and X-ray spectrums, retractable claws that topped out at thirty centimeters, sharp and strong enough to cut metal. To top it all off, they could stand upright, or fall forward and move as a quadruped, and had a top speed of 125 kilometers per hour. They were also exceptionally smart. I was so glad to discover that they are generally good people, and the scariness was mainly just an evolutionary protective mechanism due to the frightening fauna of their planet.

Lieutenant Admiral Conssa Donnanda, head of Fleet Operations for Sector Five, was a female Onimo from 6.17. Onimos are reptilian, with red scales and sharp claws, as well as a thick tail with a three-sided blade on the end. Onimos are also known for their penchant for mathematics. Math is so important to their culture that it dictated what they named their planet, and even their speech is affected. Supposedly, all of their sentences can be broken down in some mathematical way. I have never been able to figure out how, but I never claimed to be good at math.

Lieutenant Admiral Jagged Styx, head of Starfighter Operations for Sector Five, was a Cerronean. Distantly related to myself and Rain Liberator, he looked nearly identical to Rain, as they were both tattooed in a similar way. The Admiral had blue on the left side, green on the right, while Rain has gold on the right side, blue on the left. The Cerronean people have, for their entire existence, tattooed their children with specific family colors. I don't pretend to understand the practice, but it's not evil, so I keep my mouth shut. Like all Cerroneans I have come across, he was a bulky mass of muscle. As his eyes caught me, he bowed his head and ran two fingers across his throat, as though to cut it. This gesture, while to an outsider would look like a threat, actually was the Admiral showing his willingness to die for me.

This simultaneously bothered me and filled me with a sense of complete unworthiness. I left my home planet of Earth five years ago, only to promptly discover that my great-great-grandfather was a Cerronean that came to Earth in search of a prophecy about the Nikort-Hordan, the prophesied one that was to come at such a time when the galaxy would be in great peril, and restore freedom. It was rumored to have been made on Earth by some sort of Oracle, only to be heard and written down by a visiting alien of an unknown race. I assume he never found it, because he never left Earth. He lived out the rest of his life on the tiny island of Rhodes, where I was born four generations later.

After I met my first Cerronean, my mind immediately went to the descriptions by the old men who remembered my ancestor, descriptions of a nearly seven foot tall giant ball of muscle with strange tattoos on his body. Apparently he removed the tattoos from his face, but kept some for nostalgia sake, and had gold and blue tattoos all over his body. After some blood tests my lineage was discovered, and immediately I was sent to Vindico to be inspected by the governing body, and proclaimed the Nikort-Hordan. Then-Captain Rain Liberator was assigned to me as my bodyguard. Rain himself is a Cerronean noble, from the well-known Acheron bloodline through his mother and the Liberator bloodline of his father.

This was all just a little too much for me at the time, and I nearly had a nervous breakdown. I was surprised to learn that there was a reason why I was different from all of my friends and family. My natural size (I come in at a massive 2 meters and 140 kilograms), my natural intelligence (I knew three languages by my sixteenth birthday with very little exposure and teaching), and the little odd feelings I have always had, as though I could read people's minds and feel their emotions. As it turns out, I could read their minds and feel their emotions. And in times of high stress, I could actually move things with my mind. This is normal for a Cerronean, and I inherited these abilities from my distant ancestor.

However, there is a test to see if I really am the Nikort-Hordan. All I have to do is go to the planet Niko and find the Hordan Roon, or the Fountain of Promises, and drink of the water. According to the prophecy, if I am the subject of the prophecy, my mental abilities will expand exponentially, and I will become tattooed as I should have been, based on my bloodline. To me, it all sounds like too much hope in something with no proof, but I have to play along, if for no other reason than morale. The problem is, Niko is controlled by the IA, and they have a heavy presence in the area of the fountain. They are as aware of the prophecy as we are, and they will never let me near that place.

The last admiral that I knew in the room was Grand Admiral Hendian Eradicator, my original commanding officer, who had yet to turn away from the window.

There were also a few others in the room of Commander rank and lower, and I recognized a few, but I didn't have time to think about the implications of this before a captain walked up and whispered in Eradicator's ear. Eradicator turned and walked up to the lectern at the front of the hall, placing her hands on both sides of the lectern.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please, sit. Welcome.” To me, she looked very sad. I suddenly felt a wave of remorse and regret roll off of her, and it gave me a cold chill. “Now that we are all here, I will try to be as brief as possible. This is more or less an advancement ceremony. I believe that there is a rumor floating around that I will shortly be promoted, but this is not true. A few of you will, however, and we will get to that shortly.”

I looked over at Conan, and he looked sullen. I whispered, “Hey, this doesn't mean you lose the bet. She didn't say whether or not she got offered a promotion, just that she wasn't being promoted. Let it go.” He just rolled his eyes.

Eradicator continued. “I'm not sure if many of you had gotten the news, but the Ionians recently hit us in two bad ways. First was the assassination of Supreme Commander Wessien Proteus on Seraphina. The second was the complete destruction of Sector Base Six on Negan.”

There was an immediate murmur that rose from the crowd, as well as a sense of disbelief. I had not heard about Negan, and, based on the look on his face, neither had Conan.

Eradicator waited for the disruption to die down. “Now, we have some business to take care of. Admiral Gorhhrun, please stand.”

Admiral Gorhhrun looked around sheepishly, or as sheepishly as a Vikrant could.

“You will be taking T.F. 59 straight to Negan and supervise the reconstruction of Sector Base 6. However, you will be giving up command immediately upon arrival.”

Another murmur arose, and I felt a sharp shock from Gorhhrun, follow immediately by a sudden confusion. “But, Grand Admiral, why am I required to give up my command?”

Eradicator smiled. “Because you will have a much larger fleet to take care of as Commander, Sector Six. Congratulations, Grand Admiral Gorhhrun.”

Sudden applause burst from the onlookers as Grand Admiral Eradicator handed Grand Admiral Gorhhrun his new insignia. But right behind it, a little bit of confusion from the quicker among the crowd. While it was not unheard of for a member of one fleet to move over to another, it was a strange move in this situation.

More often than not, a recruit can choose which sector they want to deploy to, and they will rarely leave that sector. Sector chiefs are nearly always promoted within their specific sectors, unless several potential successors die at once. However, it was unheard of for an admiral from one sector to be promoted to grand admiral in another sector. Such a thing rarely happened.

Eradicator returned to the lectern. “Now, we need a new commander for Task Force 59. Lieutenant Admiral Conssa Donnanda, please stand.”

Admiral Donnanda stood and walked to the lectern. She looked apprehensive, but I could feel a wave of excitement boiling off of her.

“Lieutenant Admiral Donnanda, you are hereby promoted to Admiral, and are now in charge of T.F. 59. Congratulations, Admiral Donnanda.”

I began clapping with the crowd, but Conan looked slightly sick. I began to ask him what the problem was, when Eradicator continued.

“Just a few more, people, and then we can go back to work. Among the dead were the CSO and the CFO for Central Command, as they were on an inspection tour. Lieutenant Admiral Jagged Styx, please stand.”

Admiral Styx looked sick also, but he stood anyway.

“Lieutenant Admiral Styx, you are hereby promoted to Commander, Starfighter Operations, Central Command. Congratulations, Admiral Styx.”

More applause, but as I looked around, I developed a sudden sinking feeling. Conan was the only Task Force/Fleet CSO in the room, and Sector Five was suddenly in need of a Sector CSO. Now it was me who looked sick, as I was the only squadron commander in the room.

“Vice Admiral Conan Conation, please stand.”

The sick look on Conan's face shifted to queasy. I was beginning to wonder if he was going to hold in his lunch.

“Vice Admiral Conation, you are hereby promoted to Commander, Starfighter Operations for Sector Five. Congratulations, Lieutenant Admiral Conation.”

How am I going to turn this down? I heard in my head, and I knew it was Conan's thought I was hearing. I took a deep breath, trying to regain control. The fact that I heard Conan's thoughts meant that I was losing control of my emotions, and this was a very bad time for that.

“And, of course, that means that we need a new CSO for this fleet. Commander Apollo Xander Acheron, please stand.”

Balls, I thought. This was really happening.

“Commander Acheron, you are hereby promoted to Commander, Starfighter Operations for the Fifth Fleet. Congratulations, Vice Admiral Acheron.”

Eradicator handed me my star, and shook my hand. “And with that, ladies and gentlemen, this meeting is over. I want everyone in this room to be prepared for some major actions in the next few weeks, and to discreetly alert your commands to be prepared for possible large-scale actions against the Ionians. Everyone except for Admirals’ Acheron and Conation, you are dismissed. Good luck, and let's get to work.”

Everyone began filing out of the room, and most everyone shook hands and embraced. Admiral Styx put my hand to his forehead in a semi-bow, and I kept my mouth shut.

After the room cleared, Eradicator sat down at the head of the table, and beckoned us to follow suit.

“Gentlemen, I realize we have a few things to discuss. Please, sit.”

I stood behind the chair that was offered, and asked, “Sir, is it too late to turn down this promotion?”

Eradicator scoffed and said, “That's quite honestly the dumbest thing anyone has asked me today, Xander. No, it is not too late to turn down your promotion, but you aren't going to do that. You know why?”

I shook my head, more confused than ever.

“You're going to accept that promotion because it was given to you by Supreme Commander Proteus himself before he died. And you cannot turn down a request from a dead man.”

I felt such an extreme burst of guilt from Eradicator when she said that, so extreme it could only lead me to one conclusion. “Then why did you turn down your promotion to Supreme Commander?”

The shock of surprise was sharp from Conan, but ten times sharper from Eradicator. “How did you know about that?” he exclaimed.

I smiled and shook my head. “The things you catch with empathic abilities and common sense might surprise you, sir.”

Eradicator gave me a very dirty look. “Well, I had good reason for turning this particular promotion down, just as I realize you have had good reason to turn down the promotions that have come floating your way. However, this time I am asking you to take it. As a personal favor to me, even.”

Had anyone else in the room had empathic abilities, the sharp burst of guilt from me would have been obvious. “In the name of God, Admiral, why? Why would you force me to take a job I absolutely do not want?”

“Because you are the only one, other than Conation here, that can do it well enough to keep our boys safe.”

Of course, I knew that when she said our boys, she meant the pilots under her command in general, but we were both fully aware that my son and her son served as pilots for Fifth Fleet. I nodded my submission. “Okay, Admiral, I accept on one condition. I would like my pay raise to go into effect immediately. No frocking.”

Both Eradicator and Conan laughed at my obvious joke. Frocking is a protocol for promotions. When frocked, you are allowed to have the rank you have been promoted to, but not the pay raise and added benefits. So, as a frocked Vice Admiral, I was entitled to wear the insignia and claim the rank and authority, but I would not receive the decent pay raise and added downtime, pension and survivor’s benefits. But Eradicator surprised me again. “Technically, you are not going to be required to take your new job for three months at a minimum. So you will be frocked, but you will still be commander of Defiant Squadron for the time being. The same goes for you, Conation. You will remain CSO of Fifth Fleet for the time being. I have put in a request to Central Command Manpower for a temporary Sector CSO. You will still be taking your new billets, and, Acheron, you still need to make an official recommendation for your replacement, but your duties will continue on as before.”

Conan beat me to the obvious question. “Why are we waiting?”

The look on Eradicator’s face went from amused to a combination of fear and pride. “Because we are going to be busy kicking the Ionians off of Adrona.”

Next Chapter: Chapter 3