Patterns of Chaos: Book One - The First War

It was about a month after the United Earth Alliance was ratified that a number of Earth’s satellites were destroyed. Mainly they were of espionage types, although several communications satellites also went down. Footage broadcast from one of the satellites before its destruction showed a pair of diamond-shaped craft coming around the moon and opening fire.

“Excellent, Admiral. Your pilots are to be commended for their marksmanship.” Stragdoc grinned watching the footage collected from the vessels themselves.

“Thank you, sir, but I must disagree. The targets were supposed to be limited to the spy satellites, however several others housing telecom and scientific instruments were also eliminated.” Picking up a control, Dalth found a specific part where a satellite bearing the emblem of an American communications magnate was in the midst of breaking apart.

Stragdoc grinned even wider. “Oh that’s all right; I used to compete against them. All’s fair in et cetera, et cetera.”

Dalth’s frown remained, but she nodded agreement. Stragdoc stood, placed a friendly arm around her narrow shoulders, leading her from his offices. “Now, Tilial, I know you are something of a perfectionist, I am too in a way. So let me make a suggestion: your pilots’ actions helped to keep the planet off-balance. And if they are off-balance, then they will make mistakes that we may take advantage of.” Mentally opening the double doors, he ushered her through. “Remember, Tilial: not every failure results in the same, it’s up to each of us to snatch opportunity when it presents itself.”

Looking up at him, she nodded fiercely. “I will remember that, sir.”

“I know you will.” Snapping a small salute to her, Stragdoc returned to his sanctum and sealed the door. He had not been lying to her, his spies reported fresh paranoia on the surface spouting inane theories that they were trying to force communications to redirect through satellites he had installed his own spying equipment. Of course, he had planted backdoors into those satellites years ago, but the increased digital traffic was of no consequence.

Instead, now he looked to the future. Staring at a schematic of the Chancel’s engines, and looking for upgrade points that would enable the orbiting city to increase its velocity. Touching a comm stud on the desk, he summoned now Chief Engineer Simms to his sanctum.

“My Lord, I am extremely honoured to-” the tow-headed young man began, saluting the moment he was through the doors.

“Yes, yes, yes, I’m sure you are.” Stragdoc waved off the coming devotion, instead directing the younger man to where he had set up the schematics. “Simms, there is a possibility that the Earth may launch an overwhelming force at us eventually. In such a scenario, what would be our absolute maximum velocity?”

“You are planning retreat, sir?”

“I plan for everything Simms. I won’t commit grand suicidal gestures, ‘If-I-go-down-I’m-taking-you-with-me’, because survival is the best revenge.” Stragdoc pointed at the young chief. “Because as long as you survive, your enemies will fear for your eventual return. Just as how they are doing now below us. They scurry like vermin, panicked about our next play. How will it come? Orbital bombardment? Guerilla strikes? As long as they are afraid, they are in chaos whether they choose to admit it or not. And as long as they are in chaos,” he grinned maliciously “then we are winning.”

Simms nodded, planning to write down what the Emperor had just imparted to him.

“At any rate, we need the Chancel to be capable of enormous velocity if we need it. Warp speed. Bend laws of space and time. That sort of thing.”

“I recall reading that in the early part of this century, the Americans were approaching a theory on it.” Simms pondered, now bent over the plans. “If we could adapt the idea to a vessel this size…”

“I had considered that. Have your team prepare the calculations and a simulation for me and keep me appraised every 48 hours as to your progress.”

“Yes sir. If I may, however make a suggestion?”

Stragdoc stood to his full height. “Go on…”

Simms gulped, afraid of offending the powerful psionic. “Well sir, with the current construction design of the Chancel, were we to bring it to a warp-speed velocity the act of deceleration would likely tear it in half.”

“I had considered that as well.” Stragdoc nodded. “Very well. In your opinion, would a series of energy shields function to maintain structural integrity?”

“Possibly, sir. However, we’ll need to first test the space warp, run simulations, that sort of thing. I simply wanted to offer a suggestion that we may need to rebuild the Chancel into a more streamlined shape better able to handle those stresses.”

“Hrm.” The Emperor seemed lost in thought briefly. “Seeing as we are on a war footing, a warship design would better serve us anyway.” Now walking Simms out, he continued. “Conduct the warp tests first, as soon as possible. In the interim, draw up a proposal for how best to reconfigure our home.”

Thanking Stragdoc for hearing him out, Simms virtually floated back to Engineering. Alone again, the Emperor sighed and collapsed into an overstuffed armchair, absentmindedly scratching at the appliances he wore to conceal his true age. His people believed that the changes to their genetic code merely slowed aging; instead, it halted it completely at a certain point in development. Digging his nails into the latex prostheses, he tore them off, revealing a man in his late teens, a stark contrast to his assumed appearance.

Eventually he would reveal the truth; there really was not any choice in the matter if only because he was damn well tired of having to apply that garbage to his face daily. His evolved state might heal at accelerated levels, but it did nothing for discomfort.

He stood and had walked to his private bath to remove the remaining glue and latex from his features, when the call came. Swearing colorfully, he set it to voice only. “What?” He snapped, fingers drumming impatiently. It was Dr. Peters, who needed to see him right now.

“Simon, unless you’ve discovered how to, I don’t know, convert Jupiter into a breathable atmosphere, I really don’t-” then he stopped, listening intently. An instant later, he was headed for the pediatric ward, ignoring his aged makeup in his haste.

As he tore through the doors, heedless of anyone in his path, he drew stares from the staff at his younger appearance. “Where?!” Stragdoc barked, ignoring their curiosity. Peters emerged from a side room.

“My lord, forgive me but you insisted we notify you immediately…” The scientist stammered, fearing for his safety.

“Never mind and show me.” Stragdoc commanded the timid scientist. Peters brought him to an observation room. On the other side of a window, they saw a young child, no more than a toddler really, racing toy cars around.

He was not touching them. Merely watching and laughing as he mentally commanded them to compete.

“Y-you were right, sir. He was born from two Alphite parents, and began manifesting psionic ability forty-eight hours ago. They only brought him in 3 hours ago.”

Stragdoc began to grin again. He had suspected that developing minds would be the first to emulate his own abilities, but needed proof. “Keep him under observation for another twenty-four. I want the gamut of non-intrusive tests run on that child’s brain: EEG, MRI, everything.”

“Sir?” Peters looked confused.

“This is only the first. I need a baseline that we can start checking newborns for.” Stragdoc turned to face the scientist for the first time since entering the room. The grin twisting his features was appalling, forcing Peters to unconsciously recoil.

“Eventually, I will have an army.”