To the Unprepared

61 Cygni, I can hardy believe it as I’m given the assignment. Three years it has been since our last mission and now we’re sent on the easiest patrol, the shortest. Three years since our minor encounter with the Gendian in the Gulean war, the Battle of Tungell I think they called it. We were called back for repairs on the auxiliary thrusters used primarily for complicated landing circumstances on high gravity surfaces, it was an easy out. A peace was reached before we went back out and we were put on leave, until today. As I stride down the metal corridors to my launch bay, my ship, I think how glad my crew will be to only be going to 61 Cygni and in peace times, nothing like what we once sweated under. We’ll be a little out of practice, of course, but such a rudimentary patrol will give us plenty of time to polish off a little rust.

“What’s our assignment, Michael? Captain Bourdan.” My First Mate ambushes me from an adjoining corridor, correcting himself at my chastising glance.

“We have to get into the practice of command, just like everything else,” I justify.

“Our assignment, I pray thee, Captain,” he repeats himself, keeping pace and stepping into a mock seriousness.

“You’ll hear in a moment, young Bradshaw,” I deny him, sweeping into the corridor ending directly at the hull of my ship. “Just like the rest of my crew.” He stops in order to groan to his full potential and I step ahead of him into the shuttle tube, a new installation, and punch in the bridge code. As the capsule shudders into motion I remember signing that allowance. I had to give in, they are quicker. I had fought it for so long though, I thought they promoted laziness. ‘I guess that it did prevent a launch delay just now though’, I consent stepping onto my bridge.

“Is our assignment cancelled again?” My pilot, an ace I was glad to have in the war, asks eagerly as I stride to my command position. I laugh and he stabs again, “along the orbit of Pluto then.”

“Radar covers that far, you know that Furghen,” I answer, activating the ship coms. “All crew members,” I announce, echoed by emitters throughout the craft as they bleep to life to convey my voice throughout the perfect corridors. Into every crew quarter, every transport tube, in every deck of my ship, these com systems, the very veins of my command. “As you all know we have received a patrol assignment today. It is my pleasure to announce that we are being sent to 61 Cygni, a quiet system nearer than most others we might have received. I hope this opportunity will be used to get this ship into good remembrance once again, get this crew back into the practice that once made us legendary. The Hektor will be remembered in pride by those of Earth again. Prepare for departure and let’s get this ship back up to speed and ready to rendezvous with the Deiphobus in the 61 Cygni system. If you don’t remember they’re also a Troy class cruiser that was made our flank ship in the war. Let’s make a good impression on them if we can, I’m sure they’ll be glad to see us back in space. Prepare for blast off, standard launching protocol.” Closing the com I turn to Furghen, “get us into space pilot.”

“Yes, sir,” he says grudgingly, snapping engines to life and punching in the launch codes.

As the ship rumbles to life, slowly breaching the gravity of our precious Earth, I sit in my seat behind the arc formed by Bradshaw and my two counselors, tactical and diplomatic. Undoing his restraints and throwing them over the arms of his chair he turns to face me as I fasten mine. “61 Cygni,” he says skeptically. “61 Cygni isn’t the closest system, nor is it exciting.”

“It’s not, but most close systems are included in wider patrols,” I counter. “Besides, it has historical significance and I’m yet to see it.”

“Well how far off is it?” He demands, an annoyed grin on his face, “and what makes it so special?”

“I don’t know the distance,” I admit, interrupted by a lurch as the ship misfires a moment, nearly throwing Bradshaw from his seat. “But it was the first star whose distance was measured so it can’t be far, and that is historical significance for you. Now I would expect that we might have a fuel loading error in our fist launch in three years, that could easily be a mechanical malfunction and will correct itself. I would suggest, however, that you make a note of restudying your protocols on restraints while launching, this isn’t a shuttle bus to your girl on Mars.”

Once beyond Earth’s atmosphere my pilot brings the ship well beyond light speed on a course for 61 Cygni. The order on my ship is shaky. Orders are slothfully followed. While monitoring our course in the control room I find we are on a course that will have 61 Cygni passing almost a light year off our port bow. I correct that error myself and find myself working hour after hour to maintain a good ship. ‘This crew ought to take care of these kind of things,’ I think. ‘I shouldn’t even have to give these orders, let alone carry out the work myself.

The crew’s discipline does not improve as we draw ever nearer our destination, 61 Cygni. Not until we are within a light day of the rendezvous do I find that our communications crew has been neglecting to decipher incoming transmissions, first provoked to curiosity when I realize no patrol reports had come through the entire journey. It is a simple matter to engage the deciphering program and as transmission after transmission is played unceremoniously to the whole ship I wonder at the disarray I’ve allowed my ship to fall into. The stream of voices at the back of my mind is stopped as we drop just under light speed within the orbit of 61 Cygni’s outermost planet.

“We have Deiphobus on the screen,” Gin Tienen, radar director, reports. He remains the most disciplined of my crew and we have long shared a friendship.

“Get me a visual, Sergeant Furghen,” I order and it is a few seconds before the engines flare to put us in line with the other cruiser as we drift and slow down, breaks firing erratically as my once ace pilot takes the controls again.

“Transmission sir,” a voice says, opening it up over the babble of patrol reports in the background.

“Captain Bourdan,” the Deiphobus’ captain says graciously. “It’s good to see you,” he continues as explosions wreak havoc on his bridge. “We’ve been ambushed by the Achaean class cruiser Achilles. Their Myrmidon Cannons can’t be enough for both of us. Come, join this fight.”

My mind races, our Troy class cruisers spelt death among the lesser Achaean models in the previous war. Achilles was their flagship though, but then so we had been. “Take us to the fight!” I call and Furghen grudgingly godes our engines to propel us more swiftly toward the battle. I must transmit personally our offer to protect prisoners, none other has taken up the duty. We come to range and let off a photon barrage from our Trojan cannons.

“We will take no prisoners, you will all die,” our foeship growls back with a full payload launching for us, ignoring the nearer Deiphobus.

“Damage report?” I call as the bridge rattles around me, our reputation will at least draw them off the ally.

“Shields penetrated, dropped to half power,” a voice calls back. “Transport tubes disabled.”

“Get repair crews out,” I order above the unheeding stream of decoded transmissions. But I know they are out of shape, without the shuttles they will be late getting where they are needed. Not until now do I see they have ignored my orders to use the shuttle tubes only in emergency, now we will pay for that laziness.

“We’re had,” Tienen growls. “The rogues have an Athena transmitter out there. We’ve no Deiphobus on our flank, it’s a bait and we’re hooked.”

“Weapon systems crushed on our port bow,” another report comes.

‘Most of them never even fired,’ I realize as what’s left of our heavy cannons cut loose, too late. Our shields devastated beyond effectiveness we fail to make the retaliation in time to make their eagerness our advantage as we attempt to close the gap, delivering ourselves to their fire. Our fight is already lost as their photon cannons ripple shots across our unprotected hull.

Oblivious to the explosions around me I collapse against the bridge, almost hearing the screams of my crew throughout my torn ship. Our reduced firing capacity is nothing against their readied shields. “Bale out,” I give the unwilling order. Glen pauses at the door as the others flood out. Following tradition, and truly struggling with the decision to abandon this ship that has been my home, I am the last to leave the bridge after directing automatic systems to continue our barrage on the cruiser bearing down on us. Lieutenant Tienen departs only a step ahead of me and as we sprint down the wreckage clutters, shaking with each coming salvo as their bigger guns cool enough to fire again, I find he is as fit as I. In the confusion the two of us overtake many of my stumbling crewmen on our run for the escape pods. One, two, three we pass and still we run. At the seventh Glen stops me.

“Already we have passed more than this round bellied crew will be able to fill,” he says, guiding me into the pod, capable of holding six. “They will not make it,” he justifies, taking the pilot seat as I take one of the empty seats, blown from my feet by the despair filled words.

The voices of the decoded transmissions continue to play out to their fullness, like the spectral voices of my dying crew, as we break from the ship in the racing pod. “Deiphobus relay system,” a transmission names itself as we leave the wreckage. “Priority orders from Earth: All cruisers turn about and return immediately to the solar system. War has broken out again with the Gendian and the rogues are striking fast. Again, all cruisers fall back to Earth unless otherwise instructed.” My escape pod obliges as we race back the way we came. Only a few shots flicker on our Apollo emitted Aegis shields as we flee for Earth, well beyond the speed of our coming. The Hektor is decimated as we depart, my ship is decimated.

We are picked up by the Priam within the solar system of Earth not long later. I am told that the Paris has avenged our ship soon after our defeat by catching the Achilles unaware, taking out their engines as I had meant to do by closing quarters. Even now as I captain a new ship in another fight against the Gendain, for we are driving them back despite their swift aggression, even now I hear calls of “The Hektor,” as we sweep the foeships back. Ironic that our foolishness, our lack of preparation, will move an army to win the battle of the Galaxy, that we have become the Alamo that we were not.

But the foolishness is inspiring and I will not argue. Glen Tienen and I are the only two to escape that ship and now we captain another crew together, decorated as heroes side by side. Only we know it was not heroism to fall the way we did, but stupidity. Only we know the price of falling out of discipline. Only we know that this must never happen again, and we can prevent it, if only we know to act against it. It is our mission to fight complacence.