2nd Viachon War — Prelude — Maf: Starfleet Battles
This story was written with the assistance of an AI writing program.
The ship appeared over the horizon of the planet far below. It zigzagged and arced against the backdrop of the serene planet, its frantic movements standing in stark contrast to the stillness of the blue oceans and the gentle motion of the white clouds upon the planet’s surface.
Suddenly, the cause of the little ship’s erratic motion arose above the lip of the planet. Three huge, big blocks of black ships flying in formation moved forward in a sure and certain manner. Their many lasers fired unsuccessfully at the little ship as it dodged out of the way just as a laser beam coalesced at the location the little ship had been just a moment before.
The small orange and tan ship was a mining ship-freighter equally capable of mining asteroids or of hauling cargo between worlds.
Aboard the ship were five crew. “Mayday, mayday, mayday,” shouted the communications officer toward the console, “This is mining ship Shambala, C-O-X 1–1–4. We are under attack. Mayday, mayday, mayday, we are being chased by three large black ships. Imagery and drive signatures to follow. Coordinates embedded. Mayday, mayday, mayday.” The communications officer repeated his plea.
“Captain, no one is responding. I don’t think anyone can hear us.”
“Thank you John,” responded the captain. John Le’Roy and the capatain were old friends running freight and cargo for many years before saving enough money to place a down payment on the Shambala. “Continue until I say otherwise. Is the x-wave working properly?” “Yeah, I ran diagnostics twice.” Still in its infancy, the x-wave was a mode of communication which burrowed through time and space relaying electronic data many light years in mere seconds. It had cost the two partners a small fortune.
“Thank you,” said the captain.
“Sir,” said the chief engineer, Marsha Stewart, “our engines are redlining, our hull stress is beyond the safe fracture point and both have been in the red for 33 minutes. We can’t take much more of this.”
The captain, James “T-Bone” Harris, named for his love of the steak delicacy, replied to the engineer, “Thank you, Marsha. Continue monitoring our status, I want an update every 90 seconds.”
Cramped into the small command center were three other crewmen, the full complement of the Shambala, another woman, Tingala Mue, chief mining engineer and two male mining technicians, Theodore “Ted” Harris, the captain’s younger brother and Douglas “Failsafe” Marshall, a jack-of-all-trades —a position always handy aboard a spacecraft.
These three were responsible for locating, identifying, classifying, extracting and loading the exotic minerals, ores and gasses the Shambala had become famous for discovering.
Several light years away, at a much larger command center, a broken message was received. “…, Mayday,…” Static filled the air. “,…imagery,…” was the only other clearly heard word as the message faded into static.
“Increase the gain on that intercept!” ordered the Officer of the Deck. “Yes sir!” The message was a bit clearer now, more words could be distinguished. “Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. This is mining ship Shambala, we are under attack,…” More static.
“Can you increase the gain, Chief?” “Not without diverting power from other systems.” “Do it,” ordered the Officer of the Deck, Captain Lefbrev. The hail came through in the middle of the Mayday, “,…der attack. Mayday, mayday, mayday, we are being chased by three large black ships. Imagery and drive signatures to follow. Coordinates embedded. Mayday, mayday, mayday.”
“Have we confirmed that’s the Shambala?” asked Captain Lefbrev. “Yes sir,” replied the communications officer and long-range detection officer nearly simultaneously. A murmur susurrated throughout the command center; the crew of the Shambala was well-known and well-liked and their reputation for discovering exotic ores was widely known.
The Mayday hail from the Shambala repeated again in its entirety. The panicky tone of its distraught message was unmistakable.
The planet below seemed so peaceful, the blue waters of the oceans glistening in the sunlight, the bright, white clouds moving lazily across the planet's surface.
Over the peaceful scene three large, blocky, black menacing ships slowed to a halt. A thousand miles ahead of them an expanding globe of white, yellow, orange and red flame marked the last location of the Shambala, the ship and its crew vaporized instantly as a laser from one of the three black ships finally found its target.
“Captain, no survivors, the target is destroyed.” “Good,” replied the taciturn commanding officer of the task force, “turn about, resume patrol. They have received their warning about trespassing into Viachon space.”
“Sir?” asked a lieutenant on the lead ship of the three ship formation. “Resume original course heading,” the Captain replied sternly, “we are back on patrol.” The three great ships swung about heading into the blackness of space.
In the command center far away, the communications officer reported to his superior, “No further contact with the Shambala. I believe it has been destroyed.” “You’re not here to guess,” said Captain Lefbrev, “Sensors. Can you confirm the location of the Shambala?”
“Sir, the Shambala was at extreme range,” responded the long-range detection officer. “Contact was spotty but improving as the Shambala moved tangentially, but generally in our direction. There’s nothing there now sir.”
“Coms?” asked the Captain. “Yes sir. No contact. No static. If she was still there, I would be getting something, but it’s just background noise sir. No ships at all.”
“Transfer data to my mobile,” ordered Captain Lefbrev. A few seconds later the CO’s mobile device chimed. Captain Lefbrev scrolled through the brief amount of data regarding the Shambala. The CO frowned.
“I’ll be with the Admiral,” stated Captain Lefbrev, “continue normal operations until I return.”
Captain Lefbev arose from his command chair and turning, he walked stiffly to the bulkhead doors which opened before him into the white corridor beyond.
Farther down the hall Captain Lefbrev stopped before another set of bulkhead doors and straightened his uniform briefly before touching the pad next to the doors. The doors quickly opened.
Captain Lefbrev strode smartly into the waiting room beyond. “Captain Lefbrev to see Admiral Kenneworth. Urgent,” stated Captain Lefbrev to the officer seated behind a wooden desk.
The Captain behind the desk stood up and walked to another set of doors nearby. Touching a pad beside the doors, they opened, allowing the officer entry to the room beyond.
Returning, the officer stated, “Admiral Kenneworth will see you.”
Captain Lefbrev stepped into the Admiral’s office. “Captain,” said the Admiral.
“Sir, we just received this from the Shambala,” Captain Lefbrev handed his mobile device to Admiral Kenneworth.
The Admiral reviewed the information before him, scrolling through the short amount of data.
“We’re certain these were Viachon?” asked the Admiral. “Yes sir,” responded Captain Lefbrev, “drive signatures are consistent with those of the Viachon. We even have positive confirmation of two of their ships involved, the Petaga and the Kronger.”
“Thank you Captain,” stated the Admiral as he transferred the data to the console at his desk. Returning the mobile device to Captain Levbrev, Admiral Kenneworth continued, “Return to your duty station. You are dismissed.”
The Admiral leaned back in his chair. “They will not continue to do this to us. One day we will have the most powerful starfleet of all.”
