Chapter 1

"Even if we never reach the stars by our own efforts, in the millions of years that lie ahead, it is almost certain that the stars will come to us. Isolationism is neither a practical policy on the national or cosmic scale. And when the first contact with the outer universe is made, one would like to think that Mankind played an active and not merely a passive role—that we were the discoverers, not the discovered."

~ Arthur C. Clarke

F.W.S. Avenger

It was a chilly day, but every day in space is cold. Aboard the Federation Dreadnought Avenger, the ambient temperature was colder than usual. ‘Damn life support system, always frizzing out on the worst times,' Commander John Henderson thought to himself. Serving as the ship's executive officer, part of his duties included managing department heads and making sure their departments ran smoothly. Unfortunately, having a talk with the ship's current chief of engineering would have to wait. His current duties left him in sole command of the Dreadnought, as her captain was enjoying his time off duty.

“Ensign, watch our lateral drift, we are veering too far off point oh-oh eight.” Commander Henderson stated to the helms officer, Ensign Charlene Carr.

Carr was a reasonably attractive woman. In her late twenties, she stood at five feet nothing, full natural red hair, and freckles all over. Never covering up her face with heavy makeup, she represented her Scottish roots with pride.

“Aye, sir, it’s just the lateral thrusters are giving me a little trouble, acting slight sluggish.”

Yes, the lateral thrusters, another item on the list. In fact, John had already brought up the thruster systems to the engineering team, the memo must not have gotten to the senior staff. Another time for that chat, John thought. Sometimes, in times like this, he regrets his command position. At age thirty-five; he was the youngest person in naval history to take up an executive officer position. Despite being the second in command of one of the Navy’s mighty Dreadnaught Warships, his passion lies with engineering and flight ops. He was the youngest senior engineer in the fleet, stationed aboard the Avenger during his tour as the chief engineer. He remembered the days, not two years ago, when the Avenger ran smooth, flawless. Nothing broke. She was the best ship in the fleet! Now, because of incompetence, she’s showing her age.

John was fixated at watching the young Ensign Carr attempt to correct the lateral drift as best she could with a faulty thruster system, when the communications claxon broke him away from the trance.

“Con, C.I.C... New Contact, bearing one one-three three-four, fifteen degrees positive drift, Range: fifty-seven light minutes. Sir, I am having trouble authenticating the target.”

The C.I.C., or Combat Information Center, is the nerve center of any Naval ship. All sensors, instruments, and commands are routed through here and sent to and from the bridge and other departments. It is the C.I.C’s job to route information relevant to the proper chain of command, and stations throughout the ship, and filter out those that are not. It also serves as a backup Command Center if the bridge somehow becomes incapacitated.

John, being slightly annoyed from the interruption, paced the bridge At fifty-seven light hours that target would not become a threat for several days at the very least. But duty called, and he tapped the young helms woman on the shoulder, giving her his mark of approval. He made his way over to the command island in the center of the bridge, bypassing the executive officer's chair and consoles and settling in on the captain’s chair and terminal. He always enjoyed his time as the O.O.D. (Officer of the Deck), as he got to sit in the big chair. His childhood dream was to have that chair as a permanent seat, his name etched at the top in bold, gold letters. The chair he occupied at this moment had Captain James Mahoney engraved in big, bold, cursive letters sending pride to not only James but John.

“C.I.C., Con. Please, open sub-circuit fifteen,” John replied through the mic on the 15 M.C. He sat and waited just a few seconds while staring at the terminal to his right when a young woman appeared on the screen. It had been the C.I.C. officer who had initially called in the report to the bridge. Ensign Jennifer Smedley, her young age, was almost a complete shock to John. She had to be eighteen years old, straight out of the academy. Not unheard of, as John was a child prodigy himself, but also not usual. The position she held customarily is occupied by someone who has extensive training and experience in sensor systems and communications, someone who has even gone through the beginnings of command training. Holding the rank of Ensign at eighteen, showed Smedley had gone straight into the Officers Academy right at the ripe age of fourteen, the same age John had. She even advanced faster than John. He didn’t achieve Ensign until 19.She was someone to watch.

“Sir,” the senior technician said, as her console connected to the bridge finally.

“Alright, chief, tell me what you got.”

“Sir, we really don’t know,” she explained. “It’s been here since we arrived. A few of us have been watching it for several hours ourselves, the system only recently, as of five minutes ago, tagged it as a potential target.”

“So, you’re telling me this might be nothing? The systems are saying it’s nothing?” John said as he looked at the sensor readout himself.

“Uh, sir, it’s possible,” she stuttered. “But we. No. I believe it is something.”

“Alright, chief, you have my interest. Hold on.” John pressed the mute button and looked towards the helm. On the chief's side, she saw John look away from the monitor in the forward direction and mouth some words, not knowing what he was saying.

“Ensign, who do we have on patrol out there?”

“Tyler and Murray onboard the Stingray, sir.” Ensign Carr replied.

“Where are they?”

“Sending you their tracking data now.”

The information quickly showed the blips for the Corvette, and the drone fighters on John's radar screen, just above the terminal where the C.I.C. Officer laid waiting.

“Hmm... Too far,” John said as he noted the location of the fighters, which were even further from the unknown contact than the Avenger was. John looked back to the screen to the right of the young chief who still had not taken her gaze off of her commander and noticed something he would say was ‘odd.’

“Chief, why are we not active?” He said after unmuting the button. In passive mode, sensor systems were just observing the environment around them as the data hits the sensors. Light, gravity waves, gravitons, radiation, etc. Active mode would send an actual ping or bursts of energy in the form of radiation, radio waves, and light waves all around the ship in every direction. The signals strike any target within its range and bounce back, hitting the sensors again on the broadcasting ship, where it measured the information and compiled a report.

“Sir, the captain did not want to interfere with the mining barge’s systems, and he figured there was nothing out here.”

“Damn. Alright, they are just going to suffer. Go active.”

“Aye, sir,” she said, while pointing towards another officer in the C.I.C. “Lidar, radar, optical, and graviton sensors are now active. We should see a return in just under two hours.” Despite the advanced technology humans have developed over the last few hundred years, radiation and partials still traveled at the speed of light. With the vast distances in space, it would take fifty-seven minutes for the sensor package ping to reach the target, strike it, and bounce back with another fifty-seven-minute trip.

“Thank you, chief. Stay active under my orders, and keep me updated.” John ended the connection and yawned. He had not gotten adequate sleep in a few days and was easily distracted by the galley officer who had entered the bridge. During long deployments where combat was unlikely, the galley routinely sent chefs to the bridge, engineering, C.I.C., and sickbay with food, beverages, and other refreshments to aid in crew morale and energy levels. John’s eyes lit up as he noticed the special of the day on the cart, Martian Tacos.

A Martian Taco was one of John’s favorite foods, despite him not growing up on Mars. The special taco was created in much the same manner as a taco that the ‘Americans’ would consider real Mexican food, except for two ingredients. The meat was not cultivated from a live animal as it would be on earth, as Mars does not have any live animal farms on the planet. Instead, the meat is genetically grown in gestation chambers on a farm and processed accordingly to what the meat needed to be. No one could explain why or how, but the meat always came out extra tender and juicy. A delight to Martians and regular meals, it was sometimes considered a delicacy to Earth and Luna. The beans were also guilty of yielding a very unique flavor. Another unique product of the Martian environment, red and black beans had somehow merged to create a new and unique Martian bean. The flavor profile of the bean has baffled food scientists and, to this day, no one has been able to reproduce the flavor outside of Mars.

The Avenger was tasked with guarding a mining crew mining rare ore out of an asteroid belt in the GL905 system. It had been a few hundred years since the spark of the Third World War, and hostilities between the United Federation of Nations and the Republic of Russian Nations were still present. Even after the Federation had attempted to negotiate peace several times, the Republic had refused to back down. Even with minimal access to Earth herself, the Russians still try to attack any Federation operation they can, making even civilian activities like a mining expedition outside the protection of the Sol System extremely dangerous.

The Republic had repeatedly attacked the Sol System countless times throughout the years. Despite every attempt the Federation still retains control. The R.R.N. had attempted many times to take at least one planet in the system. The Federation had allowed the Republic to maintain its territory on Earth, encompassing most of Asia. However, it was widely believed they have colonized another star system after the Federation gave them their 4th Colony ship. The Federation had initially built four colony ships to colonize four of the five Star Systems that were discovered from the new Wagner sensor array. However, after tensions arose after the R.R.N. failed to hold Mars after a successful invasion, the Russians petitioned to acquire one of the colony ships for themselves. The Federation agreed in hopes of creating peace between the governments, not knowing of the fate that would come to the Alpha Centauri.

The ship's clock read 0317—right in the middle of the graveyard shift. The Martian Taco did a marvelous job in preoccupying John for a few minutes, but fatigue quickly crawled its way up to the surface again. After glancing at the clock, he noticed it was almost an hour since he ordered the ship to go active. He would have yet another hour left on watch before any bits of information came back. He glanced over at the helm, where Ensign Charlene Carr had her headphones in her hears, drumming the beat to whatever song she was listening too at the time, clearly just as bored as the ship maintained a relative position to the asteroid and the mining crew. A task so mundane, the ship's computer that was handling it was probably falling asleep as well. Fatigue attempted to assault the Avengers executive officer with another yawn, but the 15 M.C snapped John to attention. ‘Saved by the bell’ he though as he grabbed the mic.

“Con, C.I.C.” Panic was in the young officer’s voice. “Sir, we are getting Lidar and Radar returns!”

‘What the hell?’ John thought, broadcasting a look of intense confusion to the bridge in clear view of all the officers to notice, who seemed to have the same look of confusion. Everyone but Ensign Carr, who continued to pay no attention to the Master Circuit as she displayed the rock star she was. “That’s not possible,” John actually said aloud, letting his thoughts slip infront of the crew.

He quickly pulled up the Lidar and Radar terminals, examining what the systems were getting. Radar had shown four objects traveling at speeds on upwards of point eight of light speed, well beyond what could be easily recognizable in general relativity. Between the Radar and Lidar systems, the computers began to classify them as ships of unknown origin. A look of shock came as he saw how they were getting returns so quickly, as the systems registered all four of them had accelerated for quite some time at well over one hundred g’s and are now braking at three hundred g’s. No living creature could survive such forces.

The Lidar image was producing more resolution the longer John was staring at it. The ships had a sense of familiarity with John as he saw the computer’s rendering of what the objects should look like. As they were still traveling at speed, almost flirting with the speed of light, optical and graviton sensors would be useless. The lidar and radar systems would be almost as useless, as the return data would be hours old. John's eyes grew wider as the shapes took full form. Claws seemed to protrude the bows of the ships on a few of them. He had known the design, a species he had brief contact with years ago. His first actual First Contact event, one that ended terribly. An event that went so terribly wrong, the Federation had classified it top secret, claiming it had never happened.

Without hesitation and without thought, John knew they had to act. His fatigue quickly faded as his body produced a flood of adrenaline. His left arm darted for the red lever just above the Master Circuit unit to his left while his right arm went for the switch to mark the 1 M.C. He unlocked the red lever and pulled it for a brief second. A loud ‘Clanngg’was heard ship-wide on every claxon speaker in every room in every corridor. As he grabbed the mic with his right hand, he pulled the lever for a second, and third time. ‘Claanng’ ‘Claanngg’ “General quarters, all hands battle stations, set condition one throughout the ship. All Hands battle stations.” John placed the mic unit back into its holster. “Helm, bring us to one-three-seven; I want a fifteen percent rotation on the ventral side.”

The bridge crew quickly sprang to life. Even Carr, the ship’s helmswoman, noticed her console alert condition light change from blue to red, and quickly removed her headphones and snapped to work. The crew was well disciplined, a trait John took pride in. This was a Federation Dreadnaught, one of the most powerful ships in the fleet. Combat readiness was one of the most essential skills the crew could possess.

The ship began to change course. The gigantic Dreadnaught was rotated in such a way to place the enemy within the front and to the sides, while tilting the ship on a slight angle to allow the ventral weapons to lock and fire as well. The maneuver was highly unorthodox, and not a tactic that would be widely used or accepted. The dorsal section of the ship housed the targeting sensors and arrays for the railguns, missile and torpedo launchers, burst-laser turrets, and the point-defense-system. By blinding the long-range capabilities of the ship, he forced the ship to fight in close quarters combat. The short-ranged weapon systems consisted of the point defense cannons, the point defense mazer systems, plasma disruptors, and plasma lance beams. Commander Henderson was essentially sacrificing range for pure power, putting the mighty Dreadnaught into heavy assault mode. He knew what was about to hit him, he knew his crew needed to survive as long as possible. Right now pure firepower was the way to do it. He also knew the maneuver would be impossible to complete before they engaged the enemy.

With the captain’s quarters placed some distance from the bridge, the commander had the con for an unusually long time after battle stations were called. It was a design flaw that baffled John, one that he vowed he would never make if he had ever designed a ship to full production.

“C.I.C, Con,” Henderson spoke into the mic on the 15 M.C.

“Release fighters set condition red for all pilots. Instruct for close protection only; do not engage those cruisers. Protect the miners, do not engage outside of containment zone.”

Naval strategy 101, The Containment Zone. The area strategically placed between a high-value target—in this case, the civilian mining crew—and the protector fleet and or ship involved, in this case, the Avenger. This buffer of space would allow the protecting naval fleet to adequately shield the high-value target and provide enough escape time for them to jump out while focusing all efforts in the mainline distraction of the enemy attackers. The unusual order in this instance was to limit the fighters to only engage in the Containment Zone. John analyzed the battlefield with speed, knowing the enemy and their tactics. Knowing the capabilities of his own ship and defense force, understanding the capabilities and limitations of the civilian miners, he had to make a call and do it quickly. Fighters would be shortly launched from the attackers and headed straight for the civilian convoy as they would make easy targets for smaller ships, altogether avoiding the mammoth powerhouse of a ship that is the Dreadnaught. All the while, those cruisers would pound the Avenger with everything they had in hopes of taking down the civilian’s protection.

“Lieutenant also informs the mining crew to start getting inside their ships and prepare for a hyperspace jump. Instruct them to stop what they are doing immediately and get in their ships,” John continued his orders.

“Sir,” the lieutenant remarked, “They are refusing orders. Mining operations are continuing, and more workers are entering the engagement zone. They are claiming the contacts are not ships, and at worst, they are too far out to be of concern.”

“Continue giving them the orders. State that if they don't, their operation will be destroyed, and we can only stay here for so long to protect them, also get their estimated time for Hyperdrive cool-down to be complete.”

Captain James Mahoney was a tall but large man. Well into his seventies, he weighed around three hundred pounds standing at five foot eleven. He was no small man, but he had enjoyed a long and extensive career in the Navy for a little over fifty years, earning a spot as one of the most well-decorated captains in the navy. James Mahoney was a family friend of the Melbourne family, John’s mother's side, and became a mentor to John at an early age. It was Captain Mahoney who got John into the Navy after he expressed a desire to follow in his father’s footsteps. Almost acting as a father type in John's life, James taught everything he knew to the young cadet and used his substantial influence in the Navy’s Admiralty to get John stationed on almost all of Mahoney’s postings. An unusual personal attachment that helped to serve them both well, John gained quick and valuable experience while James had an officer he can rely on, and trust unequivocally.

“Sitrep,” Mahoney said as he was walking into the bridge, finishing buttoning up his uniform. Fatigue hung in his eyes just as heavily as the bourbon on his breath. He must have had only a few hours of sleep at this point. Not expecting any sort of emergency way out here in the middle of nowhere, the captain enjoyed his off duty beyond what he should have.

“Sir, we have four hostile targets on an intercept course. They are burning hard to get here, according to sensors.” John trailed off as he glanced at the captain’s sensor terminal to check the numbers. “Sensors are reporting...” more of a delay than before so he could verify what he saw on the terminal. “Shit, fifteen light minutes out.”

“Fifteen light minutes? Then why bother going to condition one?” Mahoney asked, unable to hide his irritation. Mixed with the alcohol on his breath, his anger could have ignited a few flames.

“The Ex-O has finally lost his mind, captain; I’ve been monitoring the situation from my stateroom. There’s nothing out there but sensor ghosts,” the ship's chief of security chimed in as he slowly pranced on the bridge. The man naturally flooded John with anger, since the cold-blooded basted would attempt to sabotage John at any chance he could get. He wanted command of his own, any way possible. “Even if they were ships, sir, this would be a true First Contact event! We can’t go in guns blazing.”

Captain Mahoney looked at the security chief, unable to find a reason to disagree with the man, as he saw no proof to support John’s claims. As intoxicated as he was, Mahoney was still a competent and intelligent officer. Unofficially, he was known to have prevented a possible major military conflict in the Sirius system, drunk off his ass according to witnesses, but still negotiated a hostage situation down and stopped the deaths of a few hundred civilians. Mahoney knew the security chief was right, there was no real evidence proving that there was an alien threat. However, he knew his first officer, a man he trained himself, someone who he’d known since he was born. He trusted John more than anyone else in the Navy.

“Sir, look at the sensors! Those are drive plums, they are braking at three hundred g’s!” John’s irritation grew.

“Exactly!” Slamming his hand down on the nav station trying to emphasize his point, the security chief chimed in again, laughing at the opportunity for John to prove his point for him. “Three hundred G’s! No living creature could survive that!” “Or, let’s say that they are ‘aliens,’” he threw his hands and fingers up, wiggling them in a quotations gesture. “If they are hard braking at those forces, then they have technology beyond our wildest dreams! We need to negotiate with them, become friends.”

“John,” the captain began to speak as John interrupted the old man.

“Damnit, Jim,” John shouted at his superior officer. He had hoped that by using a tone that would only be spoken off duty and off the ship, the captain would listen. Mahoney’s anger flared as he began to reprimand his executive. But John had no time for it. He shouted louder than the bear of a man. John had thrown fear into the old beast of a man, for the first time ever. He was momentarily stunned. “Just fucking listen to me! I’ve seen these aliens before.”

“So, you know…” the asshole security chief started to say.

“And you. You little prick. Zip that fucking mouth before I haul your ass in the brig for insubordination. And yes, damnit, I know the irony on that!” John ripped his subordinate a new asshole, fully aware of the insubordination he was himself acting against his superior at that exact moment. “Sir, it's classified. But, three years ago, during the Alpha Centauri scout mission. We encountered them. I can’t go into details, but you have to. Trust. Me!” John continued. “We only have minutes, not hours or days. We need to act. Now!”

Mahoney just stared at John, trying to figure out whether to believe his trusted friend and executive officer, or throw him in the brig as he threatened the security chief. The captain’s thoughts were interrupted by the 15 M.C.

“Con, C.I.C. Sir, contacts are being recognized by the system now and being flagged as possible threats. Contacts have also ended their brake burn and are now rotating back towards us. Estimated range to contact, five hundred eighty thousand kilometers.”

“We are down to seconds!” John almost shouted.

“Alright,” Mahoney gave in, deciding to trust his executive officer. “Get all the patrol Corvettes within range, ready them for emergency docking.” The captain began to issue orders to everyone on the bridge. “Comm, get those miners in their ships now. How long until contact?”

“Just over a few hours, sir, at current burn rate,” a watch officer reported.

“No, sir,” John quickly replied. “We have at most forty seconds.”

The captain saw the desperation on John's face, and for once, he did not argue with the young officer. “Shields to maximum, charge all weapons.”

“Sir, we need to communicate with them. This is First Contact, I implore you!” the security officer almost begged his captain.

John just gave his captain a look, one of those ‘I’ve told you a thousand times already, you just need to listen’ looks. Mahoney decided to trust his executive officer’s gut. Whether or not he’d had actual experience with these unknown aliens, playing on the side of caution might just be what saved them.

“Sir,” chimed in the comm officer. “The mining crew said approximate three hours until Hyperdrive is ready for another jump, they are also not responding to our orders to pack up. They do not see an immediate threat.”

“Con, C.I.C, contacts closing massive range. No, now reading twenty-five contacts, twenty-two kilometers out. We are within firing range!”

“How the hell did they do that!” Both Mahoney and the ship's security officer shouted nearly simultaneously, the captain feeling relieved that his decision to trust John had been justified. At the same time, the security chief sat in disbelief and anger at his lost opportunity to attack the executive officer once more. The security chief and Mahoney had been ignoring John's warnings from the start, and it just blew up in their faces. These aliens were showing apparent hostility. John showed no extra emotion, choosing to place the vindication of his actions in the back of his mind while he concentrated on the situation at hand. Saving the lives of his ship, crew, and the miners was now all he was thinking about.

Without warning and without mercy, the alien ships had initiated a ‘micro-jump,’ quickly closing the distance between them and the Avenger. Relying entirely on the element of surprise in hoping to catch their prey with their shields down and weapon systems not powered up, it nearly succeeded. They had not counted on a member of the mighty Dreadnaught having already encountered them before in his past. They instantly opened fire on the Federation ship, scoring direct hits with numerous plasma weapons.

The ship shook, sounds of direct fire rained down on the Dreadnaught, bulkheads creaking, metal falling. Pure chaos erupted, the ship was under direct attack with no warning. John’s prediction and warning had come true, forcing the crew into battle. With the chaos erupting, the crew of the Avenger stuck to their training, remaining calm and performing their duties to the best of their abilities.

“Return fire, all batteries engage the closest target,” Mahoney shouted out as he looked to the commander, “John, aren’t you going to get out there?”

John’s spot in a battle situation would typically be in the cockpit pod of a fighter drone, or in the cockpit of an actual manned fighter since he also held the title and job of Commander of Flight Operations. His duties included command of all pilots and flight operations of the ship. Dreadnaughts do not have a large fighter wing. They do not have a separate officer who handles the flight operations, so another ranking senior member of the officers typically takes the responsibility. John, being the most experienced, had inherited the role.

“Sir,” the commander replied. “With all due respect, I believe my talents would serve us better right here on the bridge, we do not have time for a lengthy battle, this force will quickly overwhelm us. We need to contain and harass long enough for those damned idiots to get the fuck out of here,” John stated with more anger than he was used to displaying, unable to believe the ignorance of the civilians.

Mahoney was used to his executive officer having a mind of his own. Questioning the command decisions of the captain is part of the job of the Ex-O in Mahoney's mind; as such, he trained John to do just that. “Also, sir, we need to be concentrating fire on one of the cruisers, not the closest ship!”

“Explain,” Mahoney said, crossing his arms with a look of discontent looming on his tired, intoxicated face.

“Sir, look at this,” the commander directed as more shakes and explosions rocked the ship, which was still attempting to complete the maneuver John had previously ordered.

“Sir, three of the four ships are in firing range, the two cruisers and what appears to be a carrier. This carrier here is the closest; however, it is doing the least amount of damage to us, it is of no threat to us, and the Legion knows it. It's a bait ship.”

“Why would they risk a capital ship like that? What about those Fighters?” the security officer butted in rudely, however, still making a valid point everyone was thinking.

“Those Fighters are of no concern; right now, they are ignoring us and are heading to the mining crew. Our fighters are taking care of that as we speak, right now we have to worry about those cruisers. That cruiser there is doing the most damage. Not only are we in firing range of her cannons, but she is starting to get torpedo locks on us. We need to direct all fire on that cruiser,” the commander pointed out, nearly shouting, trying to speak over the chaos surrounding him.

“Sir, picking up a jamming signal being emitted from the largest of the ships. It’s over-writing our comms. I can’t stop it.”

“We are The Legion. Our existence will be absolute. You are a threat to that existence. You still know war; you still know death by your own hands. You will not allow us to exist. This threat must be eliminated, lower your defenses, and your elimination will be swift and painless.” The broadcast loudly played on every speaker on every ship in the entire fleet with a male robotic voice.

“Sir, we need to evacuate,” Henderson almost shouted.

The captain went to the comms officer. “Ensign, that should be motivation enough for the miners to get back in their ship. Instruct them to prepare for an emergency burn.”

“Sir, they won't like that, they risk losing their ship!” the Comms officer replied.

An emergency burn should only be performed under the direst of circumstances. Best-case scenario, a few drive coils get popped, rendering the Hyperdrive useless until you replace them, which can only be repaired in dry-dock. Worst-case scenario, your entire drive core explodes, possibly taking out the whole ship. While emergency burns were rarely performed due to the apparent risks, every ship driver should understand when the time clearly called for one.

“Tell them they will lose everything if they stay here!” the captain stated. “We will be leaving as soon as we are able!”

“Sir,” Ensign Carr chimed in, “I should be in my Fighter; the maneuver is now complete.”

“No, the fight is almost over; you wouldn't have time,” John replied to the helmswoman’s request.

While Henderson was a phenomenal pilot, one of the best the navy had ever produced, Carr was astronomically better. She made Henderson look like a complete beginner to flight altogether; she had been able to pull off stunts that were beyond impossible. Her stunts and tricks quickly gave her the undisputed title of the best pilot in the fleet. Many had tried removing the title from her, including John, but no one had ever come close to succeeding. Henderson met her in flight school, they teamed up in fighter combat and maneuvers on their tour, and their team became known as “The Impossible Duo.” The only thing impossible when both John and Charlene were flying together was a failure. Thus, as an unspoken, unofficial rule: wherever Henderson was stationed, so was Carr. Failure was never an option for them.

In this situation, the Avenger carried the Federation’s two best fighter pilots, yet neither of them was at the helm of a fighter. It didn’t matter; their place was on the bridge that day. If Henderson was fighting, they wouldn't have known which ship to attack for maximum damage, nor would they have known to start the advanced combat maneuver on the ship in time. The battle would have been lost at this point already. If Carr was fighting, no one could have successfully piloted a ship as large as a Federation Dreadnought to Henderson’s exact specifications to complete his advanced maneuver nearly as fast as Carr did. What took tens of minutes for her would've taken the next best pilot approximately several hours to complete. Even when not behind the cockpit of a fighter, the Impossible Duo always outdoes the Impossible!

The Legion fighters were in range now, engaging the fighters from the Avenger, while a few of them broke off and went for the mining ships. The Avenger had finally completed its maneuver, placing the pure and raw firepower of its might on the cruiser. One on one, the cruiser was no match to a Federation Dreadnought; as proof here, the cruiser was destroyed in a matter of a few minutes, however, the Dreadnaught is no match for four Legion ships. Not only were there two Cruisers firing on the ship, doing as much damage as they could fast as they could, but two carriers carried enough fighters to completely overwhelm the colossal ship. A grand total of three hundred fighters and bombers were now in play. Most of them were hitting the Avenger, with only a minimal number going after the miners. The Dreadnaught could take most of the fighters and bombers; however, three hundred of them took a toll on a ship, even one as enormous as the Avenger.

Sparks and fire now began to rain down from the consoles, wall panels, and ceiling with each lunge and shake, consoles all over the bridge began to explode one by one, as power began to spike throughout the systems. No one needed a computer readout to know the Avenger was taking severe damage. With the first cruiser down, the Dreadnaught was now concentrating on the second cruiser; unfortunately, the significant systems onboard the mighty ship had suffered severe damage. All of her potent weapons, mainly her energy and partial weapons, were starting to suffer. Power conduits were exploding everywhere, power relays had to be put in place, and even the relays were starting to give out. Pretty soon, the relay for the relay for the relay would be giving out.

“Comm, I want a report on those miners NOW!” the Commander stated.

“Sir, they are all aboard and are preparing for emergency burn; they are estimating initiating Hyperdrive in a matter of a few minutes,” the junior officer replied, barely unable to hide her fear as more conduits exploded all around her.

At last, the battle was almost over. They were not here to destroy the Legion forces; after all, they couldn't. This was why Henderson put the Avenger in full offensive mode, the goal was to protect the miners only as long as they could safely initiate a hyperspace jump, then the Avenger would initiate hers. Unfortunately, like the miners, the Avenger had her Hyperdrive on cooldown. The Avenger’s cooldown period was almost fifteen hours. No possible way they could safely get out of there in time.

“Good,” replied Mahoney. “Start our preparations for our emergency burn.”

“See, Char,” Henderson told the ensign in a playful, friendly tone. “By the time you got there, it would be over!”

Ensign Carr didn’t even bother to look at John, continually staring and working the Helm consoles; she was still upset she was not out there in the middle of it all in her fighter.

John's playful toying of his Helm officer was cut short when a giant explosion rocked the ship. All power flicked for a short time, the emergency power relays prevented the main computer from going down; however, the weapon and shield systems relied on the secondary power systems. While emergency shields were up and running, the main shield systems were entirely down, along with the weapons.

“Sir,” the security officer stated, “shields are down, emergency shields are up, but only at twenty-five percent, expect total shield failure in a matter of minutes, main power systems are fluctuating, all weapon systems are down. We are defenseless!”

“How the hell did they pull that off?” the Captain asked.

“It doesn't matter. We need to recall all fighters now and prepare for an emergency burn,” John replied, giving the order to recall all assault Corvettes back to their respected docking ports, ordering combat docking, not caring about the fighter drones still left out in space. The fighter drones would continue to fight until they lost connection from the Corvettes as they dove into the depths of hyperspace.

With a blink of an eye, the mining freighter and drillship both disappeared into the vacuum of space, like they were covered by a immense cloak, one minute they were there the next, gone.

“Sir,” the comms officer chimed in, “all civilian craft has successfully made the jump into Hyperspace.”

“Good, start burn procedures now and initiate jump when ready,” Mahoney ordered, looking at the readout that showed both Corvettes had successfully docked on the outer hull of the ship. On either side, the small ships were tucked away in their respected spot.

“Shit!” Carr cried out while frantically working her controls.” Hyperdrive is unresponsive, the helm is unresponsive. I have no control. We are stuck here!”

Without the Hyperdrive working, the Avenger was trapped until they could get it repaired. With shield and weapon systems down, she only had a few minutes before the Legion would entirely destroy the ship. John quickly ran over to the helm, observing the readouts of her station and carefully watching what she was doing to attempt to fix the issue. John knew she knew what she was doing; however, she was a pilot. He was an engineer, as well as a pilot. He quickly noticed the issue and pulled up engineering controls on his portable datapad unit to examine possible solutions. He had seen the problem and only knew of one way to fix it.

Without even saying a word, Commander Henderson jumped out of the bridge, running into the long corridor behind the bridge that would take him to the aft sections of the ship. He sprinted as fast as he could, pushing and shoving anyone who was in his way, not a worry at all if he hurt them or not, shoving equipment out of the way, knocking an injured crew member off his stretcher. He finally got to the aft section, popped open a hatch and began climbing down the emergency hatchway that would lead directly to main engineering, or the engine room. Fighting with his own balance as the ship rocked him from bulkhead to bulkhead, and throwing him in every random direction as the gravity systems faltered from each shot striking the hull. It was so bad; the internal inertia dampeners could not keep up. Even the artificial gravity generators were frizzing out. Henderson found himself floating more than a few times.

John finally got to the engine room, shoving anybody that was in his way, including the senior engineer, who cried out in slight pain as he hit the ground and demanded Henderson explain himself. John didn't care; he lurched directly to a panel, ripped it open and began cutting, and re-routing wires, conduits, circuit boards, and panels. Within only a few minutes, he lurched up again, pulled another cable out, stretched it as long as he could, which only spanned about a quarter of the room’s width, and lurched for another panel on the other side of the room. The senior engineer cried out, “What are you doing! You are tearing apart my engine room. No! No! Stop that! Don't do that, you will break it!”

Henderson simply replied, “Get me a ten-foot, twenty-five-gauge cable now!!” Without hesitation, the officer began to find the cable. He knew it was career suicide to disobey an order from an officer, no matter what the officer had done or was doing. After all, Commander Henderson was attempting to repair the Hyperdrive, the only thing that would save their lives.

Hyperdrive was a vastly complex piece of technology. Found about 215 years ago on the Orion mission, the device had allowed for instantaneous travel between two points in space. These points must be known. Although the drive enabled for literal instantaneous travel, it had two significant flaws, which prevented this drive to be useful in exploration. The first flaw was you must already know the location to where you are traveling. A destination address must be placed on the nav computer. Calculating the destination address was quite complex, but the task was not performed by the onboard ship’s navigation computer or the nav computer. A device at the destination point, or ‘Hyper-buoy,’ did the calculations. It continually calculated its current coordinates, taking into account for galactic drift, solar winds, and all other anomalies that would affect the correct coordinates for a successful destination address. If you did not have said address, you would come out of hyperspace at a completely random point in space, anywhere in the universe. You could be a mere mile from where you are or several million light-years from any civilized space.

The second flaw, which restricted the amount of time a ship could initiate a jump, was the Hyperdrive must “cool-down” or reinitiate its ability to create a hole in the fabric of space and time. The typical time for this “Cool-down” period was seventy-two hours. However, it could run all the way from 283 hours from a really cheap, inexpensive model, all the way down to a mere thirty-four hours from a costly model. The only way you could initiate a hyperspace jump within this timeframe was if you initiated an emergency burn, which would override all safety procedures. The Hyperspace jump was successful 100 percent of the time, however, almost all the time it completely burned out the Hyperdrive. Or worse, some ships had been reported to have suffered a full engine failure, and then exploded. Captains only ordered an emergency burn when it was absolutely necessary.

Within a matter of a few minutes, the senior engineering officer came back with the cable the commander asked for, setting it on the ground. He simply asked, “What are you doing?” John remained silent, concentrating on his work. He completed ripping, rewiring, and routing all the wires, cables, and circuits on this side of the room, grabbed the cable and attached it to a conduit on the other side.

“Lieutenant, go to that panel over there,” John pointed to the panel just above where he had just finished working on the other side.

“That’s the Hyperdrive control panel,” the officer pointed out. John ignored the engineer’s statement, which came off as a question. Of course, John knew what the panel was. The engineer knew this as well. John had served as chief engineer onboard the Avenger for a year before his promotion to executive officer. The chief engineer was still in minor protest to the commander’s actions.

“When I tell you, initiate the sequence that was already queued in the system.”

The chief nodded, knowing what needed to be done. The task was simple, as John had already pre-programmed the sequence on the terminal. The engineer saw the big flashing blue and green button labeled “Start.” He needed to simply press the button when John asked, no more and no less. With the ship tearing itself apart all around them, the chief decided to end his protest, as they were not likely to survive the day in any event.

John got up, grabbed the end of the longer cable, then grabbed the other end of the short cable ripped out of the way on the other end and simply stated, “I hope this works.” He attached the two sides with instant results. Sparks flew out of the cables while explosions and pure chaos erupted from the two panels he had worked on. Just at the same time, Henderson shouted, “NOW!” The engineer officer pressed the flashing green and blue button labeled “START.” And start it did. With that press, lots of strings of commands flooded the screen, carefully executing each one, and only mere seconds later, the engine room started a loud hum that was audible over the assault on the great ship.

“Sir,” Carr yelped as her helm station light up like a Christmas tree, startled at what she was seeing. “Hyperdrive is online, we are initiating a Jump!”

The Avenger began to vibrate and hum a tune unfamiliar in the theatre of battle. The song became more prominent each passing second. The crew looked up at the forward viewer, which displayed the forward optical sensor readout, the bow perspective of the ship, as the Legion continued to rain terror upon the doomed Dreadnaught, plasma cannons, and lances not giving way. Reality began to stretch all around the exterior of the ship. The crew observed as reality ripped a hole in front of them, removing the view of the Legion attack ships and producing a small blue marble that grew in size until it encompassed the entire picture of the viewport; completely replacing the battle. The asteroid belt and the Legion ships had vanished from existence, Earth had replaced the void and chaos of the battle.

Unfortunately for the crew, the chaos was not over. As the Avenger was thrown into upper Earth orbit, alarm claxons screamed bloody murder while a heavy explosion rocked the ship, as the primary Hyperdrive coils initiated a cascade explosion ripping the ship in half. The F.W.S. Avenger had started its last jump; the mighty Dreadnaught had died.