The Conscious - Prologue

[Keystone Gray]

Hey guys. A bit of pretext here, to lay the groundwork for this.

Around September, after I had joined the Ordo Imperialis, I had started tossing around ideas for an Ordo novel. It took me months to get the idea down; it's one I've been working on since even when I was in the Mercz, thinking of the story for well over a year. Naturally the story has gone through thousands of iterations and I've been through many ideas, and it is, of course, not about the Mercz anymore. It went from LOL ALIENS RETAKING THE GALAXY (lol pre Mass Effect so I beat them to it) to something a lot more deep and meaningful, to something even more deep and meaningful, to its semi-final iteration, beginning below. Don't worry, I won't spoil it here. And for those of you who think you can plot-bunny this one, no. ;)

It takes place 800~ years after our current time, in which humanity begins to make its voyage out into the stars and takes its first steps into the galaxy and, like in Mass Effect, finds that it's not exactly the largest kid on the new block. It happens after current Ordo history, however, meaning they've had time to establish themselves. Nonetheless, they were largely outclassed by the Ordo Imperialis from the beginning, and having had several skirmishes and wars with the pre-existing spacial expansions and their allies, they finally layed out some friendly terms and agreements with them and peace was restored between them and the rest of the interstellar community. Regardless of the fact that a part of the story revolves around this fact, it will remain an Ordo story. I will next explain this prologue being entirely set on an Alliance Navy ship.

This is the draft of the story I created in my mind. At one point I tried to keep it restricted to a couple viewpoints - that is, the main protagonist and the main antagonist - but I realized that a story of its scope requires much more depth than simplicity would ever give me. With any good story, an important component is a bit of multi-faceted storytelling, and therefore the prologue opens up with a couple of viewpoints from the Alliance Navy as well, as they are the main victim of the antagonist's actions. That is all I can say without spoiling a great deal of the story.

Without further adieu, I give you the prologue to The Conscious.

The ANFS O'Connor was a work of majestic beauty. The vessel spanned multiple kilometers, with the dark exterior highlighted with accents of red and yellow. The ship was immediately recognizable as belonging to the Alliance Navy. She was combat ready, an indestructable space fortress. The pride and joy of the AN fleet, the masterpiece of a spacecraft was home to several tens of thousands of colonial immigrants.

Their destination was not as important as where they currently were; space was their home. The craft came complete with hydroponics and renewable energy generators. Together, the extensive technologies kept the ship in space for upwards of thirty to fourty years before requiring a refit and update of its operational equipment. Rarely had the O'Connor fallen under attack, and therefore repairs and maintenance were simple.

Just in case though, it was capable of launching a very sizable and formidable defensive squadron, which in itself was fairly underused due to the ship's very hefty and powerful Escape-class mass-acceleration engine. Such a tool was capable of sending the ship into 1.2~ times the speed of light nearly instantaneously, meaning at the first sign of trouble it could be out of any star system before any possibly hostile force could even know it was there. Combined with the random-path calculation processor on the ship's bridge, the O'Connor could effectively evade anything just short of a black hole. Luckily, known holes were mapped and avoided automatically.

At the helm of the O'Connor was Captain Johnathan Tulsa, a longtime veteran of the Alliance Navy. He was responsible for the lives aboard his vessel, and did his best to take care of them; his bridge crew took a while to come to a consensus of his personality, but eventually they all would answer any question of his character by saying, simply, "He's stern and strict, but compassionate."

The man was well into his sixties, and like any man of his age, he was balding considerably. He was heavy-set, and hated being so, because the captain had always attributed largeness to pompousness, although the effect was quite the opposite; he had a grandfatherly appearance, and was adored by the child residents of the O'Connor. Equipped with glasses and a grizzled beard, he was originally (and very affectionately) nicknamed "Santa" by some of the religious residents, a name which stuck and spread into common usage by everyone else. As such, he always felt it a moral duty to give a speech of reassurance during the Earth holiday season, as if living up to the name.

He was a humble man with many war stories locked within his mind, yet was always loathe to voice them. Tulsa generally waved off any mentioning of his most famous victory at the Conflict of Valhalla by calling it a "fluke in a spree of blind luck", which may have not been very far from the truth. With a single battle cruiser, he had accidentally stumbled upon an attempted sneak attack force headed for the colony of Valhalla. Rather than retreating away from the engagement and then calling for reinforcements (like most sensible commanders would), he instead reported the force back to AN Local-HQ immediately before sparring against four orbital bombardment vessels and their escorts. Despite massive damage to his ship, the ANFS Eve of Thorns, Tulsa pulled through and entirely annihilated the attack force with fancy flying. Though the battle was the E-T's final flight (it's systems were so badly damaged that the ship was unusable after the engagement and the crew had to be removed via shuttle, and the E-T was subsequently scuttled), Tulsa's victory in this battle against the Hyperius Incursion Force won him incredible fame for repelling an attempt at a hostile takeover of the Valhalla colony, and also earned him a placement at any post in Alliance-controlled space. He chose the O'Connor, and remained there.

Having never been to Earth, Luna, Mars, or even the Sol system, Tulsa never understood the prospect of protecting just the homeland. He instead lived upon the mantra of defending every colony just as vehemently as he would protect Earth, having grown up on one himself, and therefore took great care in safeguarding everyone. He reported every single instance of running into anyone, friend or foe, before leaving any system. The sanctity of the O'Connor's well being was such a passionate desire for his heart that it seemed to be an obsession. He even had a hand in the most minor of repairs, offering personal aid to any repair crew, provided he had the time and the energy for it.

The only factor of him that irked anyone was the seriousness with which he gave orders. Although admired by everyone aboard the vessel, he was still undeniably human, and also aging, so he was prone to crankiness and impatience with people following through with his orders. In fact, it seemed the only thing that succeeded at bothering him were slow workers. The unaugmented crewmen aboard the bridge had learned quickly to have their fingers ready to type anything at any time, whether it be coordinates or notes, that Tulsa had to say. The lucky ones were augmented and therefore didn't need to type anything, so more by necessity than by his own volition, Tulsa's crew was mostly made up of augged individuals, some with direct mind connections between the bridge computers and their Infolinks.

The crew was also not purely human, as it had a Ferran and a few Arpallians mixed into it. A Ferran was a werewolf-like creature from Ferra, possessing a subtle ability to read brain waves from other beings, sentient or not, and another ability to shift between a strong, Arpallian wolf-like figure and a smaller, tougher wolfish canine shape, at will (The sciences of which went undiscovered by the scientific community for hundreds of years since discovery). The Ferrans very quickly adapted from a primitive dwelling on their homeplanet to an integral status within any developed civilization within the 52 years since they were first discovered. The Arpallians, by comparison, were the natural inhabitants of any species originating from the planet of Arpall, the capitol planet of the Ordo Imperialis empire, and took many different forms, although most of them were of an anthropomorphic state.

The residents of the O'Connor were fairly similar in species to that of the bridge crew staffing, holding a similar distributive ratio throughout the population. Such diversity required much policing, and ANJAG spared quite a few instructors for the OCMP (O'Connor Military Police), a volunteer policing unit comprised of residents. With such size to the craft, and with such well designed society and leadership, the O'Connor was a nearly perfect dwelling, and very self-sustaining. It was the apex, pride, and joy of the Alliance, and Tulsa was proud to command it.

December 7, 2890 AD. 9:36 GMT.

ANFS O'Connor,

Somewhere in Interstellar 'Fringe' Space.

Beeeeeeep. . .

"I really hate this part . . ."

OCMP Captain Jerry Anderson heard a series of beeps in code after the long initial tone, and braced to feel stomach quease as the ship pulled into mass-acceleration mode. He took a seat in the nearest chair in the officer's mess hall and gripped its metal arms, and he lost his breath for a few moments as the city picked up to full speed. Although he could technically stand due to the gravity wells under the floorplates, he preferred not to.

His lieutenants just nodded in understanding at his words. LT Tom Dustins crossed his arms and leaned against the nearby railing while waiting for his turn behind LT Kris Rokath, who continued to grab her food from the line, not glancing at Anderson.

"Heh, welcome to the joys of thrice-weekly M-A-F," Dustins chuckled. "You'll learn, I guess. That code meant something came into the system that shouldn't have."

Anderson looked up. "Like . . . what?"

"Oh, you know . . ." Dustins bobbed his head side to side, listing a few bogeys. "A Hyperius patrol, a GA piracy group, some rogue independents. . . the usual. The O'Connor doesn't exactly hide well away from radar scopes, it's like an elephant in a baseball field. It likes to stick out. You know, you can pick this thing up with even the cheapest of stellar scanners."

"I'm beginning to notice."

"Yessir, it's sorta obvious. Welcome to the O anyway, sir. How'd you sleep last night?"

Anderson stood and spent a moment to regain his balance. "Oh, you know. Like how anyone sleeps when they come straight from planetside into space travel. I couldn't." He laughed lightly. "It'll take me a few days to adjust, and you'll see bags under my eyes for a while, but I'll get used to it."

"Good luck with that one," Rokath began. "With our luck recently we'll be pulling into M-A-F jumps at midnight or something... it's been happening a lot more recently. Hopefully Santa might pull us closer to the Inner Belt Colonies, or into O-I space. I hate this 'fringes of space' crap just as much as you guys do." The wolfess grabbed some mashed potatoes with the server spoon and judged it for a moment before dropping it onto her plate.

"Either way," Anderson said, while stretching and getting into the line behind Dustins. "Thanks for helping me getting situated here anyway, fellas."

Dustins grinned. "Welcome!" He grabbed a plate and looked at Anderson while going for some potatoes himself, the aroma and the sight of Rokath grabbing a heaping helping enticing him. "If you don't mind my asking, sir, how was it on Temor?"

"Fairly well. I spent my time on the east coast of Galtirni, pushing papers in a few coastal cities. When I wasn't doing that I was scoping out the sights. Beautiful coastline, let me tell you." Anderson smiled.

"Ah," Rokath smiled back. "I have a friend from there. She works in Hydro up on H1 . . Lived in, uh, Yuka, I think."

"Yuka was nice, very nice." Anderson nodded sagely. "Good fish. Better than here, by the looks of it." He was referencing the heatlamped salmon, and Rokath gave him a reproachful look with a smirk on her face. She had some on her plate. "Oh. Heh. Well, cuisine is always better than mess food, I meant," Anderson said. She then chuckled and continued down the line, with Anderson and Dustins behind him.

They all gathered what they wanted and headed to find a table, and began to take their seats. Settled, they ate in semi-silence, with a few side comments here and there underneath the murmur that any officer's mess typically has. Dustins started pushing what was left of his fish along his plate with his fork when he was nearly done with his meal, feeling full; Rokath reached over and stole it, and he looked up with a "Hey!" She just laughed and ate it, grinning at him. He grins back. "I guess we're even now."

Anderson ate only a small amount, as the MAF was taking its toll on him still. The lightning-quick space travel always made him feel slightly sick, even if he knew that the gravity generators were keeping everyone in a state in which was similar to Earth gravity and setting. For some reason he could feel through it and still received mild effects of the travel. Whether it was a placebo effect or not didn't matter, as he couldn't stomach much food during any such trip.

When they finished, they continued out of the mess hall and into Atrium 3M. Rokath prodded Anderson with a few questions, and Dustins listened idly.

"So why'd you decide to come aboard?"

Anderson shrugged. "The adventure aspect. . . ? Hah, kidding, I'm not that green. I heard there was a position open for a police captain and I took it. It's that simple, I guess.

"As most things are," Rokath added while nodding. "I miss our precinct's last captain. I mean, no disrespect sir."

"No offense taken, Lieutenant."

She nodded and continued. "He had a stroke, it took a lot of his brain function away. He's in 11H now, I think. Not doing so well last I heard. It doesn't seem very much of himself survived it. Eh. His family's taking it fairly well though."

"I'm glad."

Dustins shook his head lightly. "Still, he has a few kids. One of 'em's already 17, he's already enlisted in the police force, and was appealing to get put into his father's precinct, ours. I guess he's got quite a reputation to work under already, if nothing else."

Anderson nodded, and they continued to the elevator at the end of the Atrium."I look forward to meeting him."

Each Atrium was designated by an identity number and then a letter which designated its purpose. R was residential, C was commercial, M was military and government, and H was medical and utility. M and H had only one column and therefore had only two elevator shafts and 15 Atria each. The R Atria were three times as long and twice as wide as the rest of the units, with two columns of units each, each column sporting 15 elevators. C Atria divided R and MH columns. The elevators could also shift sideways through the ship's frame and go between each Atrium to another column entirely, and therefore the elevator system was intensely intricate and expedient. Finally, 1H and 2H were reserved expressly for Hydroponics, and 8H connected to the engine core labrynth.

"Rokath," Anderson stated, now becoming more professional as they neared and entered the elevator. "You're taking 6M, you're watching over the Ordo embassy today. I'll send a few people down your way if you need any extras." She quipped a "yessir", and he turned to Dustins. "You're in charge of 11C, Dustins." He mimiced Rokath's response, and Anderson pressed both the 6M and 11C buttons before pressing 3M. "I'm going to get my office set up back here and get to know the place. Raise me on my freq if you need anything." They both nodded.

After dropping Rokath off, Dustins and Anderson continued down to 11C.

"Some great shopping spots on that one, heh." Dustins smiled. "Christmas is coming up, I might do some looking around. Good stuff for the family in a lot of the other ones, but this one's got a lot of tech. My son's been wanting a new computer."

"Really?" Anderson looked. "I'll take a peek later, thanks for the tip."

"Anytime." Dustins replied. "Grew up here, y'know. Rokath's only been here for a good . . . I think, a year or so though, but she's almost got as much know-how of this place as I do. I don't know how she does it."

Anderson nodded. "I think it's an Arpallian thing. Fast learners, I guess."

Dustins nodded back. "Must be." They neared the destination and the doors slipped open with a little click. "Here's my st-" He stopped mid-word as his eyes caught sight of what he saw before him.

There was a man gasping for breath and convulsing on the floor in front of the elevator, his family hysterical over him. The two MPs immediately moved forward and Dustins reached for his first aid kit on his work belt, and instructed everyone to back up, as there was a bit of a crowd and a few people wondering what to do.

"I got crowd control," Anderson stated. "How's he look? And hold him down for god sakes!"

Dustins crouched beside the man and went through proper treatment procedure, pulling a small tool from the bag. "I don't know. . . Looks like a seizure! Radio a Medical team, we need a pickup team, right now."

The captain clicked a button on his radio, and spoke. "Captain Jerry Anderson, 11C. Elevator Shaft 3 exit. Paramedics assigned to this Atrium, please respond. Man having a seizure. Get here ASAP." A response to the query called 'Affirmative, ETA 2 minutes.'

Suddenly, the ground rocked, and a dull electronic thud sounded a moment later. A series of blares and beeps came over the intercom. The viewscreens on the ceiling stopped showing blue streams and went jet black with white specks, meaning they fell out of MAF; they were in the middle of nowhere in space. Everyone was suddenly thrown to the ground from the decrease in speed, and the entire Atrium was overtaken with screams. The captain looked at Dustins. "Stay on him, Lieutenant! Are you sure it's a seizure?"

"I'm . . . I'm positive. He's not hurt anywhere, at least!"

Anderson shook his head. And then the O'Connor rocked again. Again, everyone was thrown to the ground. A massive metallic thumming and lurching sound blared throughout the Atrium. Alarms started blaring. "Th-. . . That was a fucking explosion!" Anderson went wide-eyed.

"On this deck?!" Dustins looked up to him. A passersby came to him and said he was a doctor, and helped Dustins hold the seizing man down and restrain him.

"No, on the ship! Somewhere! How the hell did we lose MAF?" A few people began vomiting from the motion, and Anderson wasn't able to fight the impulse either.

Dustins growled, turning away. "I don't know, but this is probably the worst fucking time for it to happen in the worst fucking place. For us, too, not just the ship."

The explosion was felt on the bridge as well, which was quite an accomplishment since the bridge was located in the center of the O'Connor. A very large impact rocked the ship from stern to bow. Tulsa shouted in pain while regaining his balance, as he was standing and lurched over a deck railing when the impact happened. "Status report! What happened? What happened to the MAF?"

Ensign Rowl replied. "Captain, we've lost--... one of the main thrusters!"

"That's impossible! Are you sure? And MAF?!"

"Confirmed, main thruster out, sir! MAF was active, even after we lost speed . . . until we lost the thruster, then it cut out automatically."

The captain turned to the other side of the bridge, taking a seat. "Radar, report!"

"Not seeing anything, captain! . . . Wait. Wait! Friendlies, no visible hostiles! Friendlies, Ordo Imperialis. It's . . . one of their flagships! And a whole accompanied contingent."

"They're hailing!" Called another operator.

"Screen it, my chairscreen!" A serious face appeared on the screen, one that only Tulsa could see. His expression turned grim in a moment. He knew who it was.

The voice spoke, a smooth and assured tone. "Hello, Captain Tulsa. You know who I am, I feel. Good. No need for an indroduction. You will turn over the ANFS O'Connor over to my command and will surrender it to me. Are we clear?"

The captain stared in disbelief at the figure before him.

"Are we clear?"

Tulsa shook his head. "I don't believe this! We're allies, god damn it!"

There was a pause. The figure smiled. "Ordo is. I am not."

The captain's face turned grim. "Who the hell are you with, then? I'm not going without a fight, you blasted son of a bitch."

"Very well." The feed cut. The commander of the Ordo-tagged flagship did not give him a second chance. This was odd to him. . . not like he'd take it anyway. But this wasn't normal. No, it didn't seem right. Especially not when he was carrying Ordo governmental officials. The Ordo wouldn't dare attack the O'Connor. . . would they?

Tulsa prepared the ship for battle and scrambled the squadron. His MAF was inoperable with one bad engine, and he ordered a distress signal immediately. But out here, in the middle of nowhere, he didn't expect anyone to come to his rescue. They were on their own.

[Jester Spearmann]

Keep it up keystone, this is intriguing

[Agares Tretiak]

Rogue madman!

[James Benedek]

Amazing work, looking forward to seeing the finished copy!

[Keystone Gray]

Edited it up a bit to fix some continuity problems with future ideas I have. Also, posted it on my Deviant Art account so it's protected under Creative Commons (CC) and given some coverage by international law. :3