The Analytic Commander
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That hurts my eyes.
Breaking news! Synergy is typing a story! First chapter below. I'm working on the third right now, but I'll wait to post them. Please, no comments on grammar. That's what my English teacher is for. But, I would like to know what you think. This is my first creative writing project brought upon by myself, so be generous.
Chapter 1 Ten years ago, the CON (Coalition of Nations) was an active Empire, spanning 37 planets and a territory extending for several thousand light years in any direction. Free from dissent, free from poverty, free from all those factors that brought down a major empire. We were enduring. That was ten years ago. That was before I was conscripted into the DSN (Deep Space Navy) to combat an advanced alien race known as the Kiljarum. That was before we lost two dozen planets to their inexorable advance. They were looking for only one thing: our destruction. They saw us as an inferior race that did more harm to the Galaxy than good. This forced us to enact strict protocols to protect our most vital knowledge from falling into enemy hands. They were looking for something, something that would seal our fate if they succeeded. Earth. Earth was our stronghold, the greatest symbol of strength and fortitude. If we lost Earth, chaos would erupt, riots would break out, and our doom would be assured. Due to this pivotal piece of information, no less than 17 protocols were enacted to ensure that Earth remained secret. But everyone knew this knowledge would not, could not, stay a secret forever. The Kiljarum would still search for Earth, no matter the cost, and it would be impossible to keep them from reaching their goal. This is the story of our desperate struggle.
>>Opening File: Chapter 1<<
>12/25/2439 6:57 PM >Jasper System Jason Morgan was sitting in the dining room of his parents’ house, exchanging small talk and sipping on wine. It was Christmas, and the whole family was home for the holidays. That is, any family that lived on the planet Jasper was home. No one else could logically make it, because the nearest inhabited planet was a nine day journey away, and that was at trans-light speed. None of that mattered right now, he was caught up in the festivities, and he refused to think about anything negative, lest his good cheer be ruined. He’d eventually need to come back to reality though, because he was only on temporary leave, and would need to return to base the very next day. Nonetheless, he chose to ignore this and instead focus upon the positive aspects of the present, which he had no trouble whatsoever doing. The fun lasted well into the night, and he at last tumbled into bed at 2 AM. Sleep was immediate and complete. The alarm blared in his ears at 9 AM, and, cursing, he got up and stumbled over to the bathroom, but only after whacking his clock viciously. Jason then turned the showerhead on as hot as he could, and waited until the steam gathered at the ceiling. Then, turning the water down, he took a refreshing shower that left him ready to tackle the day. He chose a dress uniform, packing everything else into his duffel. Jason then let his family take copious amounts of pictures, though he was eager to be gone, to end the pain of parting as soon as possible. When that time finally came, more than a few tears were shed, though none by Jason himself. Climbing into his small rental car, he set it to automatically take him to the base. The first half hour of the ride was largely uneventful, though the car swerved to avoid a deer early on. Jason just took in the sights quietly, not letting even music disturb his thoughts. This was what he enjoyed, being in his home area, and seeing what it had become. If only it could stay like this Jason thought. No more fighting, no more navy, no more Kiljarum, just peace and quiet in his rural home area. At that moment, while the car was venturing across an intersection, a sideways jolt ripped Jason from his reverie. The car spun several times, though the built in stabilizers kept it from rolling, and causing more damage to him than just a sore arm. His car came to a stop 100 feet from the intersection, in the grass. Jason got out, a stream of curses rolling off of his tongue, and inspected the damage. By some rotten luck, the object that had collided with him had hit the small engine block, damaging it beyond repair. “Dammit! Now I’ll have to call a new car in, and be late reporting to base. My CO will have my ass.” At least I won’t have to pay for the damage, Jason thought. Jason looked over at the intersection, and found another car parked 75 feet away, its front hood horribly crumpled. It was settled on the ground however; its antigravity unit must have sustained a serious hit. He reached into his wrecked car, and grabbed out his Data Pad. Aside from a scratch on the back, it appeared to be unharmed. Sure enough, when he pressed the power button, the screen lit up, and it ran a swift diagnostic check. Finding nothing wrong, it presented Jason with the home screen. He then filed a moderate crash report, which would automatically deploy a couple of police cars and an ambulance. The Data Pad would also send for two rental cars. Once Jason confirmed that the report was filed, and authorities were on the way, he called his CO.
>>>Initiating Call Log >CDR Johnson: Yes Chief, what is it? >CPO Morgan: Sir, my car was involved in an accident, and I’ll be late reporting. >CDR Johnson: How the hell did you get in an accident? >CPO Morgan: I had the auto-drive activated, so I’m not exactly sure what happened sir. >CDR Johnson: So have you filed a report? >CPO Morgan: Yes sir. Authorities are on the way. >CDR Johnson: Good, so can I expect you here maybe fifteen minutes late? >CPO Morgan: Probably closer to an hour sir, my car was totaled. >CDR Johnson: Dammit. Very well Chief, but expect to give me fifty pushups once you get here. >CPO Morgan: Yes sir. >CDR Johnson: Then I’ll see you here, Johnson out. >>>Terminating Call Log
Jason was glad he got that cleared up. He was rarely late for reporting, and when he was, it was always for a good reason, like a car accident. Jason rubbed his arm, the one that had hit the side in the impact. He’d have to get it looked at, to rule out more than a bruise. Several hours and many phone calls later, Jason was allowed to go. As it turned out, the other driver was drunk, no doubt from last night. The man was loaded into an ambulance, and rushed to the nearest hospital. Jason sighed; This is why there are strict laws forbidding drunk driving. After calling his CO to inform him that he would in fact be a few hours late, much to the Commander’s displeasure, he once again started to drive to the base. Jason kept his hands firmly on the wheel at all times now; he was sure as hell not risking another accident. The Commander would not forgive him a second time in a row. The rest of the drive was utterly uneventful, and he arrived at base an hour and a half after the incident. The trees and brush slowly gave way to asphalt and concrete, and before long, the actual facility came into view. Jasper DSN Base was enormous, the largest on the planet. It was of such importance, there was even a spot set aside for kilometer long frigates to land, as well as for new ones to be launched. The airfield itself took up nine square kilometers, as was necessary for a large enough deployment of the jets needed to adequately defend the base in times of need. Even as Jason watched, two larger jets, affectionately known as “trikes”, due to their prominent three engine design, made a pass over the base, leaving the air to fill in the space they were at a moment before with a loud bang. Jason then navigated the complex set of roads to the interior of the base, and underwent the numerous checks required to identify him. The process took nearly fifteen minutes, but he eventually got to the parking zone. Climbing out, he set the car to return itself to the rental company, and stood only for a moment as the car travelled out of the garage. After assuring himself that the car was heading where it needed to go, Jason reported to Commander Johnson. Johnson was one of those officers you weren’t sure whether to like or to hate. On one side, he would assign arduous exercises for those under his command, but he made up for it by doing the exercises with them. Johnson was slightly tall, but not so much as to stand out in a crowd. His average weight and stature, along with a rather nasty scar stretching across his jaw and a certain determination in his eyes, gave him the look of someone who knew exactly what they were doing. Johnson looked at Jason critically, no doubt looking for a flaw. At last he said, “Chief, how the hell did you get in an accident and manage to keep your uniform looking perfect?” “Sir, because I made sure to clean up before I got here.” “Are you sure there isn’t some coffee stain you’re hiding from me?” Jason almost smiled, but suppressed it. “Sir, I don’t drink coffee, it’s far too bitter.” All throughout this talk, the Commander kept a perfectly straight face. “Okay then, drop and give me fifty!” Jason sighed, then got down and did fifty pushups. Normally, fifty pushups was no big deal, but this exercise only exacerbated the pain in his left arm. He refused to complain however, it would not be good to have the Commander think of him as weakling who couldn’t withstand pain of any sort. So he finished without a single sound. His Commander loved to give him pushups, and would occasionally throw Jason off by counting backwards, or saying the same number twice, but he never lost track. When he said fifty, he would make sure you did fifty, no more, no less. Jason got up once he finished, his arms burning, and stood straight as a rod, and Johnson left him that way for nearly ten minutes before he dismissed Jason. He headed to the barracks, deposited his stuff in his locker, and socialized with his squad members. They discussed what they did over Christmas, how many people got completely drunk, and especially Jason’s accident. After half an hour or so, they broke off into their close knit groups and talked about somewhat more personal matters. Jason looked around, and found one of his good friends Peter. Peter, like Jason, was of middling height, thin as a rail, and had an excitable personality. He and Jason would regularly have lengthy conversations about topics most others had no interest in. Archery was one of their favorites, and so a conversation about that topic regularly extended several hours. Commander Johnson came in a little ways into their private discussions and gave the schedule for the next day. “If you were drunk over Christmas and are currently hung over, you had better hope you get over it by tomorrow morning. No exceptions will be made.” Johnson then left and checked in at the other barracks. The entire squad looked over at one bunk, were the passed out figure of Benjamin could be clearly seen. “Oh, I’d hate to be old Benny in the morning,” one of the squad members, William, said. “Just you wait, Johnson will be even harder on him than us!” another squad member shouted. That was Francis. Jason could recognize his clipped voice anywhere. Yet another, Patrick, said, “At least he’ll get a good night’s sleep, I know I won’t.” “Then you’re screwed tomorrow, my friend” Francis said factually, and this elicited a chuckle from everyone, except for Benjamin, who only gave a particularly loud snort. Everyone looked over, and the William asked, “Should we cream him?” A new member, who had remained quiet throughout, piped up, saying, “You can, but we won’t. I don’t trust anyone when they’re hung over and angry.” Jason thought his name was Dustin. This statement brought silence. William then slowly said, “Okay, so we don’t cream him.” A few seconds after that, the PA system came alive, announcing Lights Out was in five minutes. Everyone got in their cots; trying to find your way around the barracks in the dark was impossible. A few toilet flushes and lots of shuffling later, everyone was lying in their cots, waiting for Lights Out. When it came, darkness was complete and profound. Jason calmed himself, and tried to fall asleep, hoping he would be prepared for the next day.
>>Closing File: Chapter 1<<
So there I was, back at base. We were expected to make the transition from civilian life back to military life, “Immediately, if not sooner,” as Johnson put it. Half of our squad had drunken more than one glass of wine (or beer, in a few cases) over the holidays. I thought Johnson was just kidding when he said tomorrow would be just like normal. I thought he would make the day at least a little easier, on account of those who came to base hardly awake enough to salute. That couldn’t have been further from the truth. Huh, the indents didn't transfer. Oh well.
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