The message ended, and all Korban could do was sit on the edge of his bed, his shoulders slumped as he looked over the message a second and third time.
So the Financial Minister wants to stir up trouble when we finally tasted what peace could offer?
The captain said not to start anything tedious, but this whole mess was already tedious. Though it beats having to go to war.
In his two-decade career, Jonah Korban has served as a naval officer in the Planetary Consolidation Corporation. In that time, he spent nearly 10 years in more than 40 different battles.
He was done with wars. And now, some politician wants to put an end to that? Not if Korban could help it.
Minister Voss isn’t the type to back off easily. So, how can I convince him to forget about this issue? Korban pondered to himself as he buttoned the flap of his fresh officer uniform. Right as he had finished getting dressed, a ping came up on his Gauntlet.
Jackson’s team was assembled and would be waiting in hangar deck three. Gathering up the rest of his gear, he headed out of his room. On his way, another officer greeted him as they entered the elevator together.
“Did you hear the news?” the officer asked.
“About Lieutenant Fisher and Yeoman Miwa finally dating?” Korban said, fiddling with his Guantlet, clearly not engaged.
“What? No! Admiral Newhall!”
Korban’s ears perked at the familiar name. “’Old Man’ Newhall?”
“Yeah, he’s amassing a large fleet of Sentinel ships across the eastern border. Reports are saying he’s staging some show of force for the Tesh and Gerk to see.” Gerk was the other adversarial nation to the southeast of the Sovereignty.
Korban couldn’t believe it. Newhall was a naval veteran who served for over 40 years and took part in some of the most highly regarded battles of the last century.
He’s set to retire in three more rotations. Why would he go to such lengths to create conflict before the end of his service? Wait a minute…
The realization had finally struck him in that moment. The eastern border? Jackson mentioned something about the Tesh ship in the area heading east. Could they be related somehow?
“Where did you hear this?”
“You kidding? It’s all over the sub-space chatter. I’m more surprised you haven’t heard about it.”
As the doors swung open on his floor, the officer stepped out of the elevator.
Descending downwards once again, Korban was left to ponder the distressing news alone. Checking his Gauntlet, the officer wasn’t kidding. Everyone was beaming messages out left and right. News stories from every station ran across the screen with almost the same headline: Armada Amasses on the Border. War Imminent?
Squeezing his brow, Korban could feel the dread sinking in again. The same kind of dread he had only ever felt before a battle. His heart pounded as a cold sweat gathered on his forehead, and an invisible lump tightened in his throat. Taking shallow breaths through his nostrils, Korban leaned against the wall with his hand over his chest.
Stop. We’re not doing this right now. Focus on the mission. Nothing else matters but this mission, he reassured himself as he now reached his floor. The doors swung open, but he couldn’t bring himself to walk out until his body calmed down. Breath.
Taking one last exhale, he finally stepped out of the lift. Immediately, there was a noticeable difference between the rest of the ship and its lower decks.
Firstly, the interior of the upper half was designed in a sleek, modern style. Everything was pristine white and silver, with digital terminal pads outside of every door. Down in the underbelly of the ship, the glamorous interior is stripped in favor of an unfinished aesthetic—priorities shifted for more efficiency.
Typically, each deck was also set to a standard temperature of 21 degrees Celsius. But any level below deck 49 became increasingly warmer the closer you got to the reactor core.
I’m never going to get used to this heat. Guess I’m not cut out to be an engineer. Korban mused, pushing his worries aside for the time being.
The Templon had five hangars: one off every quarter and bow of the ship, and one directly facing the stern, which just so happened to be hangar deck three. By far, Hangar Three was the largest and most versatile, capable of holding at least two Chimera-type tanks and a Swooper ship.
The shuttlecraft they were taking for this particular mission was a small transport vessel that could hold up to eight passengers. Of which they were taking a doctor, a political envoy, three guards, and three officers.
As he strode down the hallway, Korban peered through the long, stretched window panes to see several people bustling around the small vessel, seemingly in an argument. However, due to the magnetically sealed doors, it would be impossible to eavesdrop even if he wanted to.
Well, here we go, he readied himself. With a few taps of his Gauntlet, the door hissed as it unsealed.
“Oh, so you finally decided to join us. Meanwhile, we’re here sweating our keisters off!” A man in a medical uniform called out from across the room with annoyance; his voice echoed off the towering metal hangar walls. He was leaning against a small shuttlecraft with his arms crossed and had a glare that could kill.
Korban grinned devilishly as he strode up with a tinge of smugness. He placed his hand on the man’s shoulder, “Doc, don’t you know sweating is supposed to be good for you?” he said with jest as he boarded the vessel. “Come on, let’s get going before I start to break a sweat.”
The doctor let out an audible grumble while muttering under his breath. “I’ll give you something to sweat about,” he said to Korban’s delight.
“By the way, what was all that commotion about just now?” the Commander asked over his shoulder.
“Oh, the children were having a petty squabble,” the doctor waved his hand dismissively.
Inside the cabin, it felt like a tin can. Sitting in two of the passenger seats were a couple of Jackson’s men, conversing with one another.
Sitting in the back row, it would have been easy to miss the political envoy’s presence if she were not a civilian on board a military vessel. She wore a tailor-made suit adorned with expensive jewelry and an olive green Shayla head covering.
At the helm, a young woman cautiously checked her surroundings, manuals and spanners spread out in front of her. To her right, in the copilot chair, was Jackson, the head of security. He gave a glance up from polishing his rifle as the Commander entered. “Attention, Commander on deck!” he vapidly announced, his focus still fixated on his weapon.
As quickly as the cabin crew could without tripping over their equipment and computer panels, they stood before the officers at attention.
“Ensign Rousseau, your station is a mess,” the Commander lectured.
“No excuse, sir,” she responded.
“Well, square everything away and prepare to depart. We’re going to touch down just outside the city.”
Just after Korban made the announcement, Fisher walked in carrying his tool bag. Oil stains were on both his cheek and his now rumpled uniform. His ordinarily tidy, blonde hair was now ruffled in different directions.
“Lieutenant Fisher, do you have an explanation for your disheveled appearance?”
Fisher licked his lips anxiously. He opened his mouth to say something, but only a slight squeak came out, and he shrugged his shoulders. “Honestly, sir, I haven’t a clue.”
Korban shook his head with a suppressed smile that was trying to creep through. “What were you doing out there, Lieutenant?” he asked, unable to contain his amusement.
Fisher raised his hands, “I was checking the ship’s engines, sir. I swear to God, I don’t know how I ended up this way.” Fisher attempted to fix his hair and straighten his jacket as the political envoy handed him a kerchief.
The others began poking at the young Lieutenant. The security team noogied his head and jabbed at his arm as they mocked his diligence.
“So, what’s the not-so-special occasion, sir?” asked Msuya, one of the security guards.
Jackson stopped polishing his weapon and spun around to face the group. More specifically, he locked eyes with the woman in the back. “You’ll be wanting to ask her, I reckon.”