Novel November -False Start-

So, I started with that other prologue and then I had a fun idea and the story veered in an incredibly different direction, so I had to start it over. But I'm in love with this idea, so things ought to be a little smoother from here on out :p Now that, you know, we're mostly through the month.

Prologue

A red-giant sun burned in the vast empty blackness of space. Designated “Tyl” by the astromancers of old, it now served as a regional capital for one of the best-developed sectors in Kalean Space. It represented one of the first multi-planetary joint ventures in colonization, and the uniqueness of the project had lent gravitas to the expedition. The colonists had worked harder, faster, and more unified than any others before them, and as a result had set a new paradigm for future colonial efforts.

It was a rich system, although to someone observing from the outside it might not look it. The system had only 4 planets, and only one of them was terrestrial, the rest being gas giants of various compositions. But the rich gasses accounted for nearly 40% of the fuel consumed in the sector as a whole, and the export numbers were so massive as to be nearly unbelievable. Fortunes were made in Tyl.

The terrestrial planet was Volammir, and it was a hive of activity; home to nearly 40 billion souls, seat of the System and Sector governments, and the main hub of military activity in the sector. Above the opalescent greens, blues, and golds of the planet itself hung Naval Station Kharak. It was a sprawling mass of structures, housing the Command Hub, the barracks, the Naval Academy, a fleet hospital, and a massive dockyard. Some traditions died harder than others, and the entire exterior was a wash of battle-gray paint picked out with white designations and trim.

Aedra Morian stalked up one of the narrow hallways in the command wing. Her face was a mask of seething anger, and the handful of aides and technicians idling about scattered as they saw her approaching. The command deck was all but deserted this far up, which kept the scrabbling from being too obvious and obtrusive, but the staccato 'clank-clank-clank' of her boots on the steel gangway was more than enough to warn of her presence. And a formidable figure she cut, indeed. Her marine uniform was black as the void, and trimmed in silver, and marine's were intimidating enough, even without the silver command pauldron on her shoulder and the fact that she was head and shoulders taller than everyone she stormed past.

Abruptly, she spun through a heavy bulkhead and into a small antechamber where a small man sat behind a small desk, typing into a computer furtively from a stack of papers arranged in front of him. looking blandly over his glasses, his hands continuing to fly across the keys like they had minds of their own. “Ma'am,...” was all he managed before Aedra's piercing tenor voice overwhelmed him.

“I'm here for Admiral Gorsch, and you're going to let me in there, or you're going to tell me where he is, or so help me, I will take these files...” and she slammed a stack of files onto the desk with enough force to reverberate into the floor, “... and shove them so far up your...”

“Commander Morian! I thought I might be hearing from you today. Come in please.” The portly yet genteel Admiral Zandar Gorsch stood in the doorway across from the desk, smiling disarmingly as Aedra rounded on him and stalked into his office. He grimaced to his aide-de-camp before gently swinging the bulkhead closed and returning to his own desk, pointedly ignoring the silently seething giantess of a marine sulking at attention in the center of the room. He sat in his chair, leaned back, steepled his fingers on his chest, and smiled.

“Now, Lance Commander Morian, what seems to be the trouble?”

With a bang, she flung the stack of files down onto his desk and erupted.

“This is absolutely, unutterably, and fantastically demeaning, sir. I know I'm universally mocked and ignored by the brass, but I was told I would have say in my team composition. I know It's not a popular idea, but as a Lance Commander, that's MY decision to make. I am the team commander, and if I want a mixed bag, then by the 5 gods I ought to be able to have one.... sir.”

She straightened up and took a deep breath as the weight of her situation began to resurface over the bubbling mire of anger. She was in the Fleet Admiral's office. Yelling at him. Loudly. For his part, the Admiral weathered the storm well. Only the smallest signs of exasperation crept into his face, and those quickly slipped back into his inscrutably polite smile. With a sigh, he leaned forward over the desk and examined the folders one at a time. He nodded and hummed for several minutes before sitting back and raising his palms.

“You wanted a mixed bag, and you got one, Lance Commander. I fail to see the problem.”

Aedra stepped forward and pointed at the offending stack of folders. “Five humans, dammit! I've got five humans, two elves, two dwarves, and a single Ork. One! They couldn't even get a little closer to balance?! All of us Fae together pull even with those humans! It's ridiculous! It's less diverse than a board of trustees! I thought you of all people would understand what I'm trying to do!”

Without warning the Admiral stood, smashed his fist into the desk and bellowed, his voice like a thunderclap.

“By Kaz' beard, Aedra! You're lucky you only have five! I fought the council for days on this! You have every right to be angry about this, but don't you DARE put this on me. I've got a whole fleet waiting for 'the little admiral' to slip up.”

He straightened the items on his desk and composed himself.

“I'm the first Dwarfish admiral in the Navy. You elves have three, and the Orks will be lucky to get a captaincy in the next hundred years. The distrust and misgivings of the old ways are as strong as ever, and we Fae have to work together, not squabble.”

Aedra stared pointedly at the floor.

“Dismissed.”

She spun on her heel and headed for the door.

“Lance Commander...”

She froze halfway through the bulkhead and turned.

“If you want them to reconsider in the future, then you better make them the best damn marines in the fleet.”

Aedra smiled and saluted. “Aye aye, sir.”

Novel November -Introduction-

“In ages past, mariners had to overcome immense difficulties and hardships to maintain their livelihoods.”

The instructor leaned on her desk, addressing the room full of first year cadets. Her blue uniform was dotted with a handful of medallions and ribbons, and though she had a relaxed and conversational demeanor, it was obvious it was earned by a lifetime of service. Her students, in their simple green cadet uniforms, sat attentively, keen to absorb every word of their first lesson. Time and stress would dull their senses, but for now, they were a rapt audience.

“Their ships were powered by the wind, that most fickle and fleeting of mistresses. They could spend weeks running before the wind, every inch of their great sails straining with effort, only to sit becalmed, baking in the still and heavy air, for days. The wind would shift direction with no warning, forcing them to change course on a moment's notice. And with nothing but mathematics and the stars to guide them, crossing the vast distances of the oceans with anything approaching accuracy was a feat of immense skill.”

The instructor stood and took a sip from a water bottle that sat next to her on the desk. Her bright eyes contrasted the dark uniform below and the dark hair above, which framed her face in a way that seemed to make it easy to pay attention. Most of the cadets were taking notes, while a few sat with recorders and fewer still just listened attentively. The instructor carried the water bottle to the wooden lectern that stood front and center of the room, sipping again before thrusting a hand into a pocket and continuing.

“These days, with little more than a week's preparation, a cadet can key a few numbers into a console, execute a program. Press a little blue button, and sling anything from a 230-ton patrol boat to a 73-kiloton frigate to Proxima Centauri. Give it another week and they will have the requisite knowledge to sling a 4.6-megaton battleship or even one of the dreadnoughts. It beggars belief, honestly, but that is the reality in which we find ourselves, cadets.”

As she addressed the room, everyone sat a little straighter. Save for a few of the more bookish among them, most of them were unaware of the sheer size of the warships. They were big, sure, but the scale of ships that weighed hundreds of millions of pounds was truly unfathomable. It was one thing to see a picture of the fleet, ships ranged in close order, and know that they were big. But big just didn't cut it at this scale. The instructor stepped in front of the lectern, hands still in her pockets, and continued.

“In just three millennia, we've gone from mariners spending a decade or more learning to maneuver a wooden ship a thousand miles to you lot being able to fly a ship the size of an asteroid to a star 4 light-years away based on nothing but a week's worth of textbook review.” The weight of this context had noticeable effect on the cadets, who sat completely still and silent.

“The point I mean to make is this: it is easy to think, with our superior technology and engineering, that we've nothing to learn from these mariners of old. To sit in our command chairs and scoff at their laborious trials. But the time is coming when you will long for the trivialities of wind and weather. The hard vacuum of space is infinitely less forgiving than even the most treacherous sea. The behavior of our oceans has been a known quantity for some time. Even the primitive sailors who crossed oceans in log rafts knew about currents and wind patterns. They knew what seasons were safe to make crossings and which weren't. They knew which tiny speck in the vast sky to follow. But we discover new and terrifying things about space on a monthly basis.”

There was a nervous shuffling among the cadets as the instructor walked among them, punctuating her words by abruptly spearing passing tables with a finger. The ventilation started up, and the soft humming of fans and the gentle hiss of moving air washed over the room, drowning out the vague buzzing of the light fixtures. From the back of the room, the instructor continued, leaning comfortable against the wall.

“The Great Peace has lasted over a hundred years now, but make no mistake, you will be fighting war every day. We are specks of dust, floating in the vast and interminable nothingness of the universe. We're barely noticeable, and as far as we can tell, alone. But there will be days, even weeks, perhaps months, where you will be sure that some cosmic force desires your annihilation. At every turn, space will try to kill you. The colonies may have come to heel, and with our great accomplishments it is easy to think that the universe is coming to heel. But that is the absolute epitome of hubris.”

She had made her way back to the front briskly. The clock on the wall ticked down the remaining moments of their inaugural class, and a few brave souls began to surreptitiously gather their things. The instructor glared them into stillness, dark brows furrowed deeply, and once the room was again attentive to his every word, she concluded.

“Space wants to kill you, be absolutely sure of that. It doesn't care if you're a fighter pilot, a reactor engineer, a weapons officer, or the commander of the entire vessel. It will strive to obliterate you at every turn, and the sooner you can come to terms with that, the sooner you can fight back effectively. I cannot promise you this class will be fun, but I can tell you that it gets better. I am Rear-Admiral Lowell, and this is Void Philosophy.”

A gentle but insistent electronic tone sounded, the doors opened, and the cadets filed out in absolute silence.