The New Era

Subject: Captain Schmidt

Species: Human

Species Description: Mammalian humanoid, no tail. 6'2" (1.87 m) avg height. 185 lbs (84 kg) avg weight. 170 year life expectancy.

Ship: USSS Strandhogg

Location: Classified

"Final comms buoy placed, sir," the isolan sensor tech said. "It's coming online now."

"Good work, Gofsun," Henskin said. "Sir?"

Henskin and I made eye contact, and the briefest of smiles played across his features. My frown only served to deepen his smile. We had made a bet to see who could figure out the isolan's name first, without looking it up or asking directly.

The bet was a foolish one for me. Henskin is not only more sociable than I am, but also of a rank that requires frequent interaction with the rest of the crew. Now, the coffee pot would have to stay in the mess for three whole days. I glanced at the elixir-producing device that was currently mag-locked to the floor next to my seat.

"Yes, excellent work," I said with a carefully neutral tone. "Once connection is established, perform the standard security checks and let Overwatch know that we've made it with no issues."

Henskin stared at me. I glared back, and took a sip of my coffee. The cogs in his head were turning, trying to find a way to bring up the bet. To take away the thing dearest to me.

"Sir..." He began hesitantly.

"Fine. You can fucking take it," I growled. "But, so help me, if I find that you cheated somehow the combined forces of all the gods of every species to ever exist won't be able to save you from my wrath."

Henskin stood and walked over to my seat with exaggerated formality. He stood next to the coffee pot, snapped to attention, saluted, then bent over and disengaged the mag-lock. He lifted the contraption with a grin on his face.

"Posture and poise, sir," he said.

I feigned a lunge and he jumped back, laughing. He jogged to safety, and left the bridge with the coffee pot. As the doors closed, I let out a deep sigh.

"So what are we seeing?" I asked the sensor technicians.

"No activity anywhere nearby, even relatively speaking," Lieutenant Gofsun reported as a grid appeared on my terminal.

The grid was a 2D representation of our tactical coordination system, as viewed from the positive Z axis. Very useful for mapping, less useful in a fight where you need to know the relative position of your enemy. I prefer to use the tac-map, but the techs were having trouble learning how.

Each of the tiny squares on the thousand by thousand grid represents one light-year. The nearest marker was at least one hundred and fifty light years away. I wouldn't exactly call that far away, but relativity is relative, I suppose.

The Republic isn't as advanced as the United Systems, so even little things like distance have different expectations attached to them. So Gofsun's probably right, by Republic standards. Something about the map struck me as strange, though, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it...

"Are we still in deep space?" Yorvi asked. "I'm not seeing any nearby stars."

There it is. This map represents an area of one million light years squared. The odds of not seeing a single star-system feel like they should be low.

"Omega, what are we looking at?" I asked. "Where are the stars?"

"I don't know," the AI replied. "Even if we were between galaxies, it isn't typical to run across an area of space this large without any celestial bodies in it. But that's based on the portion of the universe we've observed thus far. It's possible that things are simply more spread out here."

"Dead space," Bon muttered and shuddered.

"Regardless, we need to get an idea of what the Omni-Union is up to out here. Inform the carriers of our intentions and let's go peeping."

"Aye aye, sir!"

A bustle of activity spread throughout the crew as I chose a section of the map with what appeared to be the least amount of enemy activity. It's best to ease into things, especially since we have a lot of new faces. Better to run from a thousand than a million if someone makes a mistake.

It would have to be one hell of a mistake, though. The designer of this ship definitely knew what makes a ship visible and did everything they could to make the Strandhogg the opposite. They'd even painted the hull black, which is hilarious.

As I was ruminating over the comedic nature of how overdone our stealth was, Henskin reentered the bridge and marched up to my chair. I regarded him coldly, as he had just made my life that much more difficult by halting my easy access to coffee. With a grin, he snapped to attention and saluted.

"Sir, the coffee pot is stowed away in its proper location," he said.

I let him stand there with his hand on his forehead for a few seconds before halfheartedly returning his salute.

"Very good, Henskin. Return to your duties," I growled.

"You know, you could just file form 210.68-56G and have the coffee pot officially transferred to the bridge," Omega said just loud enough for the two of us to hear.

Henskin and I stared at each other, and our expressions swapped. His devilish grin dropped into an angry grimace and my angry grimace rose into a devilish grin.

"The bet, sir," he said in a carefully measured tone.

"The bet, Commander Henskin, was that the coffee pot would, and I quote, 'return to its rightful place'. If I file this form, its rightful place will become the bridge."

"Damn my inherent eloquence."

"Indeed."

"But, sir, we both know that such an action would not be in the spirit of the wager. You made a bet and lost, and as such should lose something."

"Ah, but one of the core concepts of betting is outwitting one's opponent. Whilst you have performed the feat that the wager required, your demand was made in such a way that it can be avoided. Should you not face some form of loss as a result of this oversight?"

"Good to enter warp, sir," a slightly confused Lt. Commander Yorvi said.

"Go on," I replied with a nod.

"While that may be the case, sir, I'm afraid that in a bet between two officers the first and foremost thing that must be observed is honor," Henskin explained as he returned to his seat. "Especially since seeing you, the captain of our vessel and the paragon of our crew, swindle your way out of a bet may harm crew morale."

"Where did you learn the word paragon?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

"Word-a-day calendar, sir," he replied with a grin. "My point still stands, though."

"Fine. A compromise, then. A day and a half, then I file the form."

Henskin thought about it for a moment, then shrugged nonchalantly.

"Deal, sir," he said as we exited subspace.

My eyes darted to our read-outs. The burst of radiation from our FTL jump was properly absorbed and distributed by our hull. It shouldn't be a matter of concern because we're also outside of the projected sensor range of the OU, but one can never be too careful. Invisibility is our only advantage over the enemy, and to give it up is to invite disaster.

"Alright, what have we got?" I asked once the sensors came online.

"Not all that much traffic, sir," Gofsun reported. "Looks like the bulk of our readings are space stations."

"Roger that. Let's watch for a bit and figure out what they're up to. Ensign Likjo," I shook my empty mug. "If you would be so kind."

"Aye aye, sir," the ensign chuckled. "My thanks to the commander for returning my role as The Supreme Fetcher of Caffeinated Beverages. My role as head of maintenance can feel so unfulfilling at times."

"The Supreme Fetcher of Caffeinated Beverages is likely the most vital role on the vessel," I nodded solemnly as Henskin rubbed his temples. "And you do excellent work."

"Thank you, sir," Likjo saluted, playing into the bit. "I will return post-haste with a mug of glorious coffee."

"Am I going to have to listen to this exchange every time you need a drink, captain?" Henskin asked.

"Guess you should be careful what you wish for, commander," I grinned.

Henskin muttered angrily about monkey paws while I watched the display. Large ships that were obviously built for cargo were attaching and detaching themselves from the OU stations. The only other ships in the area were auto-flagged as close matches to the OU military vessels we'd previously encountered.

"Manufacturing," I said absentmindedly. "With some guards."

"Looks like it, sir," Gofsun replied. "If we get a bit closer, we should be able to tell what they're making."

"Risk of exposure?"

"Low."

"Yorvi, bring us in," I ordered.

"Aye aye, sir," she said.

A moment later, we were much closer to the stations and their guards. Well within range of their sensors, and just inside the maximum estimated range of their weapons. I took a deep, soothing breath and reminded myself that they might as well be blind.

Before I could ask, several images popped up on my terminal. Detailed outlines of weapons and robots. Some of the robots were quite large, but the humanoid ones were about the size of a gen-alt. The guns weren't particularly noteworthy, just directed energy weapons that were a couple of generations behind our own.

"These VI platforms are different than the ones that were encountered on Earth," Omega noted. "The bipedal bots have more advanced power systems and armor. The mechs, for lack of a better term, are new as well."

The mechs in question were roughly four meters tall and vaguely tank-like. Four legs ending in balls supported a two meter thick trunk which was topped with an eight armed torso. These arms were evenly spread around the torso, reminiscent of an octopus.

"Can we get a read on what they're made of?" I asked.

"Yes, they're heavily armored," Omega answered. "More competence went into this design than any other design we've seen from the Omni-Union thus far."

"AP or AT?" Henskin asked as the smell of coffee perked me up.

"Definitely going to need anti-tank measures against these, but armor-piercing rounds may cripple them with some well-aimed shots."

"Here's your coffee, sir," Likjo said as he passed me the freshly filled mug.

"Thanks, ensign," I gratefully accepted the coffee. "Alright, let's see if anything interesting happens. Remember to compile a report, Gofsun."

"Aye, sir," the lieutenant replied.

We waited and watched as the Omni Union ships went about their tasks, taking careful note of the ship's comings and goings. To pass the time, the crew engaged in idle conversation. I did my best to tune them out while I drank my coffee and watched the enemy, but caught the occasional fact here and there.

Yorvi and her husband were looking at buying a domicile on Mars where they could raise some kids once her term was up. Gofsun's husband was helping their daughter with her higher education exams, and he bragged about how well they were going. Henskin and his ex-wife were considering reconciliation, because neither of them have been able to find a good match. Bon's collection of gont unification war memorabilia was close to completion, but the last few pieces of weaponry were very expensive. I didn't bother clarifying how the conversation turned in that direction.

An hour later, nothing had changed. New ships came in with forged materials for the factories, old ships left with mechs and bots. The guards stood vigil and watched, just as we were.

"Alright, time to move on," I said. "Get that report sent and get us to the next cluster of enemy activity."

"Already?" Henskin asked. "Thought we'd be here for another seven, sir."

"Negative," I shook my head. "We're on a crunch. Need to know as much as possible as quick as possible. Let's move, people."

"Aye sir!"

As the Strandhogg began turning, Gofsun's report popped up on my terminal. I scrolled through it, confirmed that there were no errors, and sent it off. A moment later, we were back in subspace.

The crew was getting more comfortable with each other, and while we were in subspace they started chatting again. It's always interesting to watch the social dynamics of those who are forced into close proximity with each other under the banner of a common purpose. I finished my coffee and put the mug in the sterilizer as we left warp.

"Anything fun?" I asked.

"Looks like a similar set-up as before. Bunch of stations, but more ships than last time," Gofsun replied. "Exponentially more."

"Not getting power readings from a good portion of these ships," one of the other sensor techs reported.

"Well, looks like we found a ship manufacturing depot," I said. "Let's get settled in. The brass wants extensive documentation on this one."

"Really? Why?" Bon asked.

"Trying to guess what the brass is thinking will have your head spinning in no time," Henskin laughed.

"If we know how the ships are built, we know how best to take them apart," I said, ignoring Henskin. "If their manufacturing process has a flaw and we're able to identify it, we're able to exploit it. The easier it is to destroy their ships, the more ammo and lives we save."

Bon raised squinted an eye, a gesture similar to a human raising an eyebrow, and glanced between Henskin and I.

"Commander, the captain's head doesn't appear to be spinning," he said.

"That's because he's one of the brass."

"Ah, I see. Thank you, commander."

I let out an exaggerated sigh and leaned back into my chair. One of the more common jokes made about me is that I'm secretly a member of the admiralty. In truth, it's just not that hard to guess at the reasons certain orders are given. Once you understand the relationship between action and consequence-

A flicker on my terminal caught my attention. I studied the map, trying to figure out what had happened. Everything looked normal, except for a marker in the upper right corner. What it was showing was so ridiculous that I couldn't even process it for a few moments.

"Sir, we have an... uh... anomaly," Gofsun reported.

"A glitch?" I asked.

"No, sir. That's what we suspected it was, so we reset the sensors. It's still there, so..."

Gofsun trailed off, then shrugged.

"How many resets did you do?"

"Four, sir."

I stared at him, then looked back to the map. We were still too far away for a detailed scan, but this was definitely going to need to be our next stop. The markers were accurate with a margin of error of plus or minus a quarter of a light-year. It's entirely possible that this is a glitch due to the position of the enemy.

Except that at least one of the resets should have resulted in the marker separating or moving. On rare occasion, the same error could happen twice in a row. Three times in a row was damn near unheard of. Four times? Impossible.

"What is it, sir?" Henskin asked.

Instead of explaining, I twisted my terminal in his direction.

"I don't... Oh. What the fuck?"

"Posture and poise, Henskin," I said.

I turned the terminal back to its original position and stared at the marker that was taking up two squares on the map.