Despite a busy schedule and an unexpected short hospital stay to address a heart blockage, my dedication to crafting the Traveller adventure hasn't waned. Progress might be slow, coming in drips and drabs, but it's steady and unwavering.
In a previous blog entry, now lost to the digital winds as the site has been paved over, I shared detailed ship stats along with an image of the vessel in question. While I might not be able replicate that post here, I'm exploring alternative ways to share this exciting content. If posting directly in this blog isn't feasible, I'm considering creating a dedicated webpage to house all the details, stats, and imagery of the adventure. This way, you'll have uninterrupted access to the information and visuals that bring the Traveller adventure to life.
Stay tuned for updates as I navigate these changes and continue building this journey through the stars. Your patience and support mean the world to me, especially during these trying times. Together, we'll make this adventure one to remember!
Traveller Adventure #1
Re: Traveller Adventure #1 (The Ship)
Ship History - Zheng He
Named after the legendary Chinese mariner and explorer from Earth's history, the "Zheng He" is a testament to the spirit of discovery and adventure. Constructed at a prominent shipyard in the Solomani Rim Sector during the mid-1090s, the Zheng He was initially commissioned by a consortium of academic institutions and private explorers. Its design was influenced by the de Gama-class blueprint, renowned for their robustness and versatility in long-range missions.
Over the years, Zheng He has charted numerous unexplored systems, contributed significantly to the astrogation charts of the Imperium, and played a crucial role in several first contact situations with minor alien races. The ship has a storied history, marked by both triumphant discoveries and harrowing escapes from the dangers of deep space.
Ship Description: Zheng He, de Gama-Class Explorer
Type: Explorer
Class: de Gama
USP: EX-61223E2-200000-33002-0
MCr: 438.8
Tonnage: 600 Tons
Crew: 20
Tech Level: 12
Cargo Capacity: 79 Tons
Passengers: 2 (High Passage)
Low Berths: 4
Fuel: 258 Tons (allowing for extended range operations)
EP: 18
Agility: 0
Auxiliary Craft: 1 x 25T Gravitic Exploration Vehicle (GEV) for planetary exploration and survey operations
Fuel Treatment: Equipped with Fuel Scoops for skimming gas giants and unrefined fuel processing
The Zheng He is designed for deep space exploration and long-duration missions. It features advanced sensor suites, extensive laboratories, although living quarters for its crew are tight. The ship is capable of sustained operations in remote areas, thanks to its large fuel capacity and fuel scoops for refueling in deep space.
The ship's cargo hold, while not massive, is sufficient for transporting specialized equipment, scientific samples, and the occasional valuable discovery. The passenger accommodations, though limited, are comfortable and often used by visiting scientists or dignitaries.
The GEV housed within the Zheng He is a versatile craft, capable of atmospheric entry and exploration of planetary surfaces. It serves as a mobile base for surface missions, equipped with its own modular suite of sensors and tools for geological, biological, and archaeological surveys.
In terms of defense, the Zheng He relies on its robust hull design and some basic armaments. Its main focus is on avoiding conflict, leveraging its advanced sensors to detect and evade potential threats.
The Zheng He's history of exploration and discovery makes it an ideal vessel for a range of adventures, from scientific expeditions and first contacts to the investigation of ancient mysteries and the charting of unexplored frontiers of space.
Named after the legendary Chinese mariner and explorer from Earth's history, the "Zheng He" is a testament to the spirit of discovery and adventure. Constructed at a prominent shipyard in the Solomani Rim Sector during the mid-1090s, the Zheng He was initially commissioned by a consortium of academic institutions and private explorers. Its design was influenced by the de Gama-class blueprint, renowned for their robustness and versatility in long-range missions.
Over the years, Zheng He has charted numerous unexplored systems, contributed significantly to the astrogation charts of the Imperium, and played a crucial role in several first contact situations with minor alien races. The ship has a storied history, marked by both triumphant discoveries and harrowing escapes from the dangers of deep space.
- Image of starship Zheng He
- Cheng Ze.png (1.29 MiB) Viewed 639 times
Type: Explorer
Class: de Gama
USP: EX-61223E2-200000-33002-0
MCr: 438.8
Tonnage: 600 Tons
Crew: 20
Tech Level: 12
Cargo Capacity: 79 Tons
Passengers: 2 (High Passage)
Low Berths: 4
Fuel: 258 Tons (allowing for extended range operations)
EP: 18
Agility: 0
Auxiliary Craft: 1 x 25T Gravitic Exploration Vehicle (GEV) for planetary exploration and survey operations
Fuel Treatment: Equipped with Fuel Scoops for skimming gas giants and unrefined fuel processing
The Zheng He is designed for deep space exploration and long-duration missions. It features advanced sensor suites, extensive laboratories, although living quarters for its crew are tight. The ship is capable of sustained operations in remote areas, thanks to its large fuel capacity and fuel scoops for refueling in deep space.
The ship's cargo hold, while not massive, is sufficient for transporting specialized equipment, scientific samples, and the occasional valuable discovery. The passenger accommodations, though limited, are comfortable and often used by visiting scientists or dignitaries.
The GEV housed within the Zheng He is a versatile craft, capable of atmospheric entry and exploration of planetary surfaces. It serves as a mobile base for surface missions, equipped with its own modular suite of sensors and tools for geological, biological, and archaeological surveys.
In terms of defense, the Zheng He relies on its robust hull design and some basic armaments. Its main focus is on avoiding conflict, leveraging its advanced sensors to detect and evade potential threats.
The Zheng He's history of exploration and discovery makes it an ideal vessel for a range of adventures, from scientific expeditions and first contacts to the investigation of ancient mysteries and the charting of unexplored frontiers of space.
Last edited by Gene on Wed Feb 14, 2024 7:26 am, edited 1 time in total.
Re: Traveller Adventure #1
This is the first of a series of descriptive opening and interludes in order to whet your appetite and engage your interest. Stand by as we begin this adventure in the Traveller universe.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The immaculate corridor, a hallmark of sterile efficiency, led to a tall plastisteel door. Its surface boasted an attempt at organic warmth with a wood grain pattern, but the beige hue, likely intended as a calming nod to professionalism, fell short of its mark. As you reach for the stainless steel knob, anticipating the weight and turn of a traditional door, it retracts into the panel, and the door slides smoothly into the wall with a whisper-quiet hiss.
"Come in," a deep, yet not unpleasant voice commanded from within. "Sit and get comfortable." As you step into the spacious office, the source of the voice becomes clear. A large man, his presence commanding yet unpretentious, stands dressed in a set of starport stevedore coveralls, marked by the honest grime of physical labor.
Noticing your gaze, he offers a wry smile, "Pardon my attire. I find solace in the rhythm of the docks, lending a hand where I can."
Flushing with embarrassment at being caught in your silent assessment, you nod in understanding. "I apologize. I didn't mean to stare," you manage, your voice reflecting your chagrin.
The man nods, a gesture of acceptance that puts you slightly more at ease. As you take a seat, he inquires about your preference for a drink. You decline with a shake of your head, prompting him to continue.
"I asked you here because your reputation precedes you. Your prowess with both weapons and wit is well noted," he says, his fingers dancing over the controls embedded in his desk. Suddenly, a hologram flickers to life before you, its luminescent form capturing your full attention. "I have something to show you, so please, bear with me a bit longer."
With those words, the hologram springs into vibrant life, casting an ethereal glow across the room. The man watches you closely, gauging your reaction to the unfolding scene, a hint of anticipation in his eyes. What unfolds before you promises to be the beginning of something extraordinary.
***********************************************************************************************************************************************************
Imperial Date: 221/849
TL-12, 10,000 ton, Aslan Strike Cruiser- “Yahkhroa'Ftahk” ("Fierce Claw")
Data provided from the Ships' Holographic Log & the Crew's Personal Logs
RECORDING BEGINS
The massive cruiser emerged from jump space, seamlessly transitioning from the ethereal corridors of the void into the tangible 3D expanse of the universe. Its computers, ever-vigilant, registered the re-entry with near-instantaneous awareness, rousing the dormant battle systems into readiness. Sensor arrays, finely tuned to the fluidity of space, scanned the vicinity, while secondary systems hummed to life, orchestrating the ship's martial symphony.
Weapon turrets swiveled with mechanical grace, their deadly arcs scanning for potential adversaries. Bay doors opened in the silence of vacuum, unveiling an arsenal eager for release. At the ship's core, the particle accelerator, a formidable spinal-mounted weapon, began its ominous charge, a harbinger of destruction lying in wait. Shields remained inactive, their quiescent state a strategic choice to enhance the sensitivity of the long-range sensors. The absence of immediate threats did little to dampen the cruiser's martial fervor; in the Aslan psyche, battle was not an event, but a state of being.
The cruiser, a 10,000 ton behemoth, gained momentum, propelled by the relentless thrust of its maneuvering engines. It's bulk cut a swift path through the veil of gases and thin layers of microscope debris found in the outer reaches of the star system.
This mission bore the weight of directive from the Tlaukhu council, a mandate that Clan Eakhtiyho, a house of middling stature yet formidable military prowess, could not refuse. Though alliances with two influential member clans bolstered their standing, Eakhtiyho's fate remained inexorably tied to the council's will. The directive was shrouded in secrecy, its importance echoed in the hushed tones of council chambers and the expectant gazes of the clan's warriors.
The mission's destination grew nearer as the ship closed.
"Do scans remain clear of prey?" Khto Tsaerath's voice cut through the bridge's focused silence, a commanding presence even in the routine of this duty cycle.
"Yes, my Lord," Junior Lt. Khethai replied, his voice tinged with the tension of a subordinate addressing a superior. His paws danced over the tracking system's interface, rechecking the data to ensure no detail was missed.
Eakhtiyho Tsaerath, the ship's captain, surveyed the bridge with a predator's keenness. His gaze lingered momentarily on each crew member, assessing their diligence. His eyes narrowed as he observed the weapon officer, Lt. Khattr Ssahr, whose rigid posture and sporadic headshakes betrayed an underlying issue.
"What troubles you, Lt. Ssahr?" he inquired, his tone steady yet probing.
Lt. Ssahr glanced briefly at the captain, a flicker of concern in his eyes, before refocusing on his console. "Khto Tsaerath, there is an irregular energy spike near the target planet. The weapon sensors have detected it, but tracking has not," he reported, his voice measured but laced with uncertainty.
"Is it near the planet or on it?" Tsaerath prodded, his expression shifting to one of contemplation.
"Definitely in high orbit, Khto. The distance makes precise data elusive, however, so that is all I can determine at this time," Ssahr responded, his tail twitching slightly in concentration.
"Maintain vigilance, Lt. Ssahr. We must not be blindsided," Tsaerath commanded, his voice resonating with the weight of responsibility. "This mission's success hinges on our alertness. We cannot afford lapses akin to a newly birthed cub."
Ssahr nodded, his mane bristling slightly as he emitted a deep, patriotic growl. "Understood, my Lord Khto."
Tsaerath settled back into his command chair, a mix of tension and relief in his posture. This mission was nearing its culmination, and as Khto, he bore more than the title of captain. He was the heart of the ship, embodying the respect and authority revered in Aslan society. To his crew, he was more than a commander; he was a guardian of their honor and a steward of their prowess, responsible for guiding them through the stars, whether in exploration, trade, or the heat of battle.
"Tracking officer, explain the discrepancy in your reports compared to weapons!" the ship's commander, Khto Tsaerath, demanded, his voice laced with a threat as lethal as a drawn claw.
Jr Lt. Khethai, his fur bristling with tension, quickly responded, "My Lord, I initiated recalibration of the tracking sensors immediately upon Lt. Ssahr's report of the spike." His voice was steady, but beneath his controlled exterior, tremors of anxiety rippled through his frame.
In the intense atmosphere of the bridge, Khethai's fear was palpable, though not through sweat as humans might show. Instead, slight shivers betrayed his inner turmoil, a maelstrom of fear not just for his own standing but for the honor of Clan Eakhtiyho, his clan by the grace of fate rather than birth.
Memories of his past, as sharp and vivid as the day they occurred, flashed through his mind. He was the sole survivor of a brutal raid by the nefarious Clan Hrakoea, a minor and unaligned clan known for their sporadic and ruthless attacks on their neighbors. Clan Hrakoea, existing on the fringes of Aslan society, often resorted to raiding for resources and technology, skirting the edges of legality and honor.
Khethai's parents had fallen victim to one such ruthless onslaught. Their loss had been sudden and merciless, leaving him an orphaned cub amidst the wreckage of his former life. Salvation had come unexpectedly in the form of a member of Clan Eakhtiyho, who had extended a helping hand amidst the chaos, offering him a new path and a chance to rebuild his life among their ranks.
He owed everything to Clan Eakhtiyho – his position, his status, his very life. The thought of failing them, of bringing dishonor to their name, weighed heavily on his shoulders. The fear of letting down those who had given him a second chance was a burden as heavy as any physical threat his commander could pose.
As he focused back on the console, adjusting parameters and recalibrating systems with practiced precision, he knew that the stakes were high.
"I believe I've unraveled the issue," Jr Lt. Khethai spoke, his voice tinged with a blend of fear and revelation. "Our tracking module is a refit, but it's mismatched. It's a three-band sensor, lacking the multiplicity bands required for our operations. Without them, there's nothing I can do to recalibrate it correctly. It'll need replacement at a space dock, Khto."
Khto Tsaerath, the ship's commander, maintained his intense gaze on the young officer, his eyes like orbs of smoldering fire. Without a word, he gestured with a subtle tilt of his head to Lt. Rr'Kha, his second-in-command. The lieutenant moved with a predator's grace to the tracking station, his eyes scanning the readings with practiced expertise. Moments later, he straightened up, a grimace etched on his face.
"Khto Tsaerath, the junior officer's assessment is accurate," Rr'Kha reported, his voice echoing the gravity of the situation. "The refit records have been tampered with, reflecting a proper installation that, quite blatantly, has not occurred."
Tsaerath's inner fury simmered beneath his calm exterior, his claws instinctively extending then retracting in a swift, controlled motion. "Ensure this negligence is rectified upon our return, Lt. Rr'Kha. Audit all stations for such discrepancies. We cannot allow incompetence to jeopardize future missions." His voice, though measured, carried an unmistakable edge of authority and threat. "And you, Khethai," he continued, his gaze piercing, "remain vigilant, despite your shortcomings. Your keenness may yet prove valuable." Turning to the weapons officer, he added, "Lt. Ssahr, your responsibilities now double. Do not falter."
Lt. Ssahr merely flicked his ears in acknowledgment, his focus unwavering from the readings on his panel, a testament to his dedication.
Captain Tsaerath's thoughts drifted to the weight of their mission, a task imbued with 'syareahtaorl' – a quest for honor and responsibility, far beyond material gains. This mission was to recover an ancient artifact, a relic capable of altering the fate of civilizations. Such a task demanded not only military precision but also the insights of scientists – female Aslan scientists, a notion that both intrigued and unsettled Tsaerath.
He had welcomed them aboard, a gesture of open-mindedness, though their presence stirred unfamiliar emotions within him. Especially Aihtaiyo Ah'soara, the elder scientist whose mere presence seemed to set his whiskers aquiver. Her name, meaning "Seeker of Knowledge," belied her underlying strength, a matriarch in her own right.
Shaking off these thoughts, Tsaerath refocused on the present. Another khtauaao period had slipped by, which is approximately 17 Imperial minutes.
"Weaponeer, any updates on the energy spikes?" Tsaerath growled, his impatience barely contained.
Lt. Ssahr cleared his throat, his voice calm and measured. "The spikes have reduced in frequency, Khto, now occurring every 20 areiaao (equivalent to 5 Imperial minutes). But their source remains elusive. Closer proximity to the planet may yield more data."
The captain's grim smile belied the tension that gripped the bridge. "Patience, weaponeer. Your moment of closeness with the enemy shall soon present itself," he said, his voice a calm rumble that resonated through the silent anticipation that hung in the air.
The bridge was a tableau of focused concentration, each officer poised at their station like a hunter lying in wait. Nearly two hours passed in this state of heightened readiness, a period marked only by the quiet hum of the ship's systems and the soft clicking of claws against control panels.
Suddenly, the silence was shattered by the urgent voice of the tracking officer, the young Aslan's fur bristled with the excitement of his first real engagement. "Contact! Bearing 12 degrees north by 345 degrees!" he announced, his voice a mix of professionalism and barely contained exultation. "Return data indicates it is a Solomani Confederation cruiser! It is emerging from the planet's shadow and making way in our direction."
Jr Lt. Khethai, his eyes wide with the gravity of the situation, continued, "I have a steady pulse on its hull. The return is 40 areiaaos old," he reported. “Distance, is 150,000 throae (one throae is an old Aslan distance measure, and is approx. 1.25 km) and closing!”
The captain, Khto Tsaerath, leaned forward in his command chair, his eyes narrowing as he processed the information. "Humans, here? Intriguing," he murmured, more to himself than to his crew. Turning to his weaponeer, Lt. Ssahr, he ordered, "Prepare for engagement. Let us see if these humans are as formidable as they believe themselves to be."
Lt. Ssahr nodded sharply, his fingers dancing across his console with practiced ease. "Weapons are primed, Khto. We stand ready to bring honor to Clan Eakhtiyho."
The captain's tail flicked in approval as he turned his attention back to the main view screen, watching the distant speck of the human cruiser grow steadily larger. This encounter, whether it led to battle or a tense standoff, would be a true test of their mettle – and he relished the challenge.
At the cusp of maximum weapon range, the tension on the Aslan cruiser's bridge was palpable. Khto Tsaerath's voice cut through the charged atmosphere, "Fire spinal mount, full power!"
Simultaneously, the enemy vessel, a sleek silhouette against the backdrop of stars, unleashed its own formidable weapon. In space, where silence reigned supreme, the energy of conflict was visible but unheard. Brilliant beams of destructive energy, harnessed by the spinal mounts of both ships, lanced across the void, each a deadly dance of light and power.
Despite the precision of advanced targeting computers, the vastness of space and the slightest tremor within the ship's core turned these deadly strikes into near misses. The beams, crackling with energy, passed by their targets, dissipating into the infinite dark.
On the Aslan cruiser's bridge, the tension shattered like thin ice underfoot. The crew exhaled in unison, releasing breaths they hadn’t realized they were holding captive. "That was too close," Lt. Ssahr muttered under his breath, his eyes not leaving the sensor readings, as if by focus alone he could defeat the human ship. The rest of the bridge crew murmured their agreement, their voices a low chorus echoing the weaponeer’s sentiment, a shared acknowledgment of the razor's edge they had just skirted.
Yet amidst this collective sigh of relief, one figure remained as unyielding as a statue carved from stone. Khto Tsaerath, the captain of the vessel, stood with his gaze locked onto the viewscreen, his expression betraying none of the anxiety that had gripped his crew. His eyes were pools of calculation, reading the star-studded chessboard of space laid out before him.
"Prepare for another firing sequence," he commanded, his voice cutting through the momentary lull like a blade. "Adjust for the ship's internal frequency and external motion. We shall not falter in our aim again!" His tone carried the weight of command and the unspoken promise of redemption – there would be no room for error in their next strike.
The crew snapped to attention, their earlier relief subsumed by the renewed focus demanded by their captain. The bridge, a hive of activity just moments before, became a machine of purpose and precision, each member playing their part in the intricate ballet of space warfare.
"Their turn to hold breath," he growled, watching as the enemy ship adjusted its course, likely preparing for its own counterstrike.
The space between the two leviathans became a battlefield not just of weapons, but of wits and wills, each captain trying to outmaneuver the other in a deadly game of cosmic chess.
The voice of the tactical officer of SCN Victory, Lt. Judith Samison's, sliced through the bridge's charged quietude with an urgency that bordered on alarm. "Captain! The cats are accelerating toward our bearing. Sensors indicate they're powering up energy weapons and their bay doors are open," she reported, her words a rapid-fire burst from her station.
Captain Greg Bridges, a figure of resolute authority at the command console, acknowledged the report with a nod. "Refer to them as Aslan, Lieutenant," he corrected, his voice a calm counterpoint to the growing tension.
Samison's confusion was evident. "Sir?" she queried, her concentration momentarily broken, as she turned to face him.
"You called them 'cats'. They are the Aslan. Let's show some respect and use their proper name," Captain Bridges instructed quietly, his eyes scanning the readouts on a nearby screen, assessing the evolving situation.
"Yes, sir! Sorry, sir," Samison responded, her voice subdued. She glanced around the bridge, relieved to find her fellow crew members too absorbed in their tasks to notice the quiet exchange.
"Captain, we're approaching long-range firing distance," announced Lieutenant Commander Gallagher, the lead weapons officer, from the weapons pit. The pit, a sunken area on the bridge floor, was bustling with activity. Normally manned by a single officer, it now hosted the entire weapons team, a sure sign to the gravity of the situation. Each officer had their designated weapons to oversee, a redundancy protocol meant to ensure continuous operation, as each weapon officer had been trained to man all the weapons solo, if needed.
"Use the zero method for targeting, adjust course to 24 degrees by -12 degrees," Captain Bridges commanded, referencing the navigational system optimized for precision in combat scenarios.
"Are weapons primed, Mr. Gallagher?" he inquired, his tone betraying none of the tension that gripped the bridge. "Armed and ready, Captain," Gallagher confirmed, his hands steady at the controls.
Captain Bridges surveyed his crew, noting the mixture of resolve and anxiety on their faces. "Steady, everyone. Our goal is to deter, not to destroy. To keep this uneasy peace, not to start a war. Maintain tight control on the meson beam; we don't want even a scratch on the Aslan ship."
A few quiet chuckles rippled through the confused crew at the captain's remark, easing the strain slightly. The crew’s focus sharpened, each member acutely aware of the delicate dance they were about to perform – a show of force, tempered with precision and restraint.
"SIR! The Aslan have charged their primary to one-hundred percent...They're firing!" Lt. Samison's voice cracked through the bridge, a sharp edge of tension and fear undercutting her professional demeanor.
Even before the full warning left Samison's lips, Captain Bridges, a bastion of calm and professionalism amidst the brewing storm, responded with a loud yet steady voice, "Fire!"
The Aslan ship,Yahkhroa'Ftahk and Victory, unleashed their spinal mount weapons almost in unison. Beams of destructive energy hurtled across the void, each a streak of deadly intent. Yet, in the vastness of space and the dance of evasive maneuvers, both beams missed their marks, harmlessly dissipating into the starry expanse.
"Recharge the primary," Bridges ordered, his eyes fixed on the tactical display. He caught Lt. Cmdr Gallagher's questioning glance and offered a tight, knowing smile. "I never said we shouldn't be prepared if this encounter escalates."
Gallagher, the faintest hint of a nod acknowledging the captain's foresight, turned back to his console. His fingers moved with practiced efficiency, recalibrating the weapon systems and securing their targeting lock. The weight of potential conflict hung heavy in the air, each officer acutely aware that the next exchange might not end with mere near-misses.
The bridge was a symphony of quiet activity, the crew working in sync under Bridges' calm leadership. The tension was palpable, a tangible presence that each member felt but did not voice. They were a unit, bound together by duty and the unspoken understanding that the space between peace and war was as thin as the hull that separated them from the void.
As the Yahkhroa'Ftahk continued to loom ominously on their screens, a silent adversary in this game of chicken, Captain Bridges maintained his vigil. In the deep recesses of his mind, he weighed every possible outcome, prepared for every eventuality.
In the vast expanse of space, the two ships – human and Aslan – faced each other in a high-stakes game of cosmic brinkmanship, with each captain weighing their next move in the intricate ballet of this interstellar conflict.
In the mess hall of the Aslan cruiser Yahkhroa'Ftahk, the air was thick with jubilation. Young Aslan ratings, barely out of their cub years, chanted with unrestrained pride. "We defeated the humans! We defeated the humans!" Their voices rose in a cacophony of growling triumph, filling the room with a fervor that was infectious.
Jr. Lt. Khethai watched the scene with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. Not even a tekhaao ago – roughly two Imperial hours – these same young warriors had been gripped by fear, their fur standing on end as the battle raged outside the hull. Yet now, they celebrated their victory with the boisterous confidence of seasoned veterans.
The human ship they had encountered wasn't destroyed, nor was it significantly damaged, but after six hours of relentless firing and maneuvering, it had finally broken off, retreating into the outer reaches of the system. Victory, it seemed, was in the eye of the beholder.
Khethai couldn't help but ponder the encounter. "The humans actions were curious," he mused aloud, more to himself than anyone else. "As if they were searching for something on the planet. Could the previous energy spikes have something to do with that? And then, upon detecting us, they shifted to engage."
Another officer, an older and more seasoned Aslan, overheard him and nodded sagely. "Indeed, Khethai. The humans intent is mysterious, but their retreat leaves us in control for now."
The Yahkhroa'Ftahk now orbited an unnamed world in what some star charts referred to as the Hanstone sector, a largely unexplored expanse of space that held as many mysteries as it did dangers. The planet below was a silent witness to the recent space ballet, its secrets untouched and waiting.
"We must remain ever vigilant," the older officer continued. "The humans may have left, but this sector is unfamiliar territory. Who knows what other surprises await us on this motherless world?"
Khethai's gaze drifted to the viewscreen, where the planet hung like a jewel against the backdrop of space. The excitement of the young ratings felt distant now, replaced by the weight of responsibility and the unknown.
"Yes, we must be viligant. Must we not?" he replied, his thoughts already turning to other musings.
The ratings' chants faded into the background as Khethai slowly walked down the corridor, lost in questions and thoughts.
"I believe this is it, Senior Scientist!" exclaimed one of the scientists, her voice echoing with excitement in the ancient cavern. She carefully presented a small, intricately carved cylinder to Aihtaiyo Ah'soara. Its dark basalt surface was adorned with raised symbols spiraling around its circumference – a mysterious script untouched by time.
Aihtaiyo leaned in, her keen eyes studying the relic. "Yes, Scientist Tl'eha, this could indeed be our prize," she agreed, her voice a mixture of awe and triumph. If this was the artifact they had been searching for, their quest was on the cusp of fulfillment – only the enigmatic language etched into the stone stood between them and the secrets it held.
"Carefully remove it from its resting place," instructed Ah'soara, her tone commanding yet filled with reverence. "It deserves a more fitting cradle than this ancient earth."
Her assistant, Lyyhi Tl'eha, gently lifted the artifact, her hands trembling slightly with the weight of their find. She walked over to Aihtaiyo, cradling the cylinder like a precious child, and placed it into a specially prepared containment box. The fit wasn't perfect, but the extra padding they had brought ensured its safety.
Aihtaiyo's heart raced. After 37 eakhaus of meticulous excavation, they had unearthed their 'Rosetta Stone'. Her role as the expedition's leader and architect felt validated at this moment, despite the warriors' oft-expressed disdain for scientific pursuits. She knew the importance of their disciplines, even if the males lacked the patience for such delicate endeavors.
"Quickly, let's document this discovery for posterity," Aihtaiyo instructed her team.
They sprang into action, setting up lights, a holorecorder, and a generator – the cavern transformed into a stage of historical revelation. As her assistants scurried about, preparing the recording setup, Senior Scientist Aihtaiyo Ah'soara focused intently on what she was doing. She connected the holorecorder to a portable computer terminal, her fingers deftly navigating the complex interface. The portable lights in the cavern flickered over the screen as she began the meticulous process of transferring crucial location data onto the holodisc. The intricate symbols and coordinates appeared on the display, a digital record to their groundbreaking find.
Minutes ticked by, measured only by the soft clatter of equipment and the distant echoes of the cavern. Aihtaiyo worked with a quiet urgency, somehow sensing their time was limited. Finally, she completed the data transfer, just as her team finished the last of their setup. The timing was impeccable, a small victory amidst the rush.
"We are ready to record, Senior Scientist," announced T'shia Klothm, the electronics technician. Her voice was steady, a calm presence in the midst of their hurried preparations.
"Excellent, T'shia. Begin recording," Aihtaiyo replied, her tone commanding yet tinged with excitement. She stepped in front of the holorecorder, her posture embodying both the gravity and the thrill of their discovery.
As the recorder's light blinked to life, signaling the start of their documentation, Aihtaiyo cleared her throat. "It is Imperial date 221/849. This is Senior Scientist Aihtaiyo Ah'soara, leading the expedition on this unnamed world in the Hanstone sector." Her voice echoed slightly in the cavern, each word a deliberate stroke on the canvas of their historic moment.
She continued, detailing their journey, the significance of their find, and the potential implications of the artifact, Yahkht, they had uncovered. The holorecorder captured every gesture, every expression, preserving this moment for posterity.
In the background, the assistants worked quietly, ensuring the recording was flawless, capturing not just Aihtaiyo's narration but the ambiance of the ancient site. The cavern, with its mysterious history and hidden secrets, served as a silent witness to their endeavor.
As Aihtaiyo spoke a sense of accomplishment filled the air, mingling with the anticipation of what lay ahead. They had achieved what many had believed to be impossible, and now, it was being immortalized in the annals of Aslan history.
Her narration was abruptly cut short as Ktaowa Ta'hra, her engineer, received an urgent message. "Scientist Aihtaiya, Khto Tsaerath is calling for us to return immediately. The Solomani have returned."
The message was brief, leaving no room for argument. Aihtaiyo's frustration was obvious, her voice strained as she issued orders to pack up. As she removed the holodisc from the recorder, a sudden, piercing shriek reverberated through the cavern, followed by a violent tremor. The disc slipped from her fingers, tumbling into one of the deeper excavations.
A guttural howl of frustration escaped her as she peered into the pit's abyss. There simply was no time to retrieve the holodisc. They could always record another, however, it wasn't just the loss of the recording that pained her; it was the thought that their discovery, their moment of triumph, might one day might be found by another and then used to trace their path to the Yahkht.
END RECORDING
The holovideo flickered and dimmed, its final images lingering in the air like the ghosts of a forgotten past. Across from it, their newest client, a man of imposing presence, sat ensconced behind an ornate wood desk that whispered tales of wealth and power. His fingers were steepled, casting long, ominous shadows across the polished surface as his piercing gaze appraised the group before him.
“As you saw, the key to finding this Yahkht lies in locating the holotape,” he began, his voice smooth and confident, resonating with an authority that filled the room. “I need a team that can navigate the dangers of independent Aslan clan territories, maybe even venture into the pirate worlds. It's a treacherous path, but I believe you and your crew are up to the task.”
He leaned forward slightly, the light catching the sharp angles of his face, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’ve done my homework on you. You're smart, resourceful, and most importantly, loyal. And you have your own ship, a rarity in itself. For this venture, I’m offering a lucrative cut based on standard salvage rates, and should you succeed, a generous bonus awaits. To get you started, I'm willing to provide 25,000Cr upfront.”
The room was heavy with unspoken calculations, the weight of decision pressing down like the gravity of a neutron star. You, the captain, a seasoned traveler of the stars, felt the tug of opportunity entwined with the gnawing sense of danger. Independent Aslan clans were a wild card, and pirates a known hazard in the uncharted void. Yet, the promise of clearing debts and securing the future of your beloved ship beckoned like a siren's call.
After a pause that seemed to stretch into infinity, you finally broke the silence. “Okay. You've got a crew,” you answered, your voice steady yet betraying the tumultuous sea of thoughts beneath.
There was a flicker of something like triumph, perhaps satisfaction, in the client’s eyes as he heard your reply.
“Excellent decision, Captain,” the client responded, his smile revealing a glint of satisfaction. “I assure you; the rewards will be well worth the risks. I'll have the advance immediately transferred to your account. I've also sent a few items to your ship for your perusal once you break orbit. Nothing dangerous or illegal, just tools to aid your quest.”
Nodding your acknowledgment, a shadow of concern flickered across your face as you asked, "Don't you need my banking information?"
"Not at all, Captain. My people have all that information and will deposit the credits before you leave this room." His nonchalance about possessing your personal details sent a ripple of unease through you.
Frowning slightly at this revelation, you carefully scrutinized your benefactor, the gears of caution turning in your mind. "I see." Standing, you gave a slight salute and walked out the office door. As it closed behind you with a soft, final click, you sighed, a sound lost in the opulence of the corridor.
“Let’s hope we're not biting off more than we can chew,” muttered the captain under his breath. The prospect of adventure and fortune was alluring, but the shadows of the unknown dangers loomed large on the horizon.
Intellectual copyright 2023 by Gene
Traveller is a trademark of Far Future Enterprises
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The immaculate corridor, a hallmark of sterile efficiency, led to a tall plastisteel door. Its surface boasted an attempt at organic warmth with a wood grain pattern, but the beige hue, likely intended as a calming nod to professionalism, fell short of its mark. As you reach for the stainless steel knob, anticipating the weight and turn of a traditional door, it retracts into the panel, and the door slides smoothly into the wall with a whisper-quiet hiss.
"Come in," a deep, yet not unpleasant voice commanded from within. "Sit and get comfortable." As you step into the spacious office, the source of the voice becomes clear. A large man, his presence commanding yet unpretentious, stands dressed in a set of starport stevedore coveralls, marked by the honest grime of physical labor.
Noticing your gaze, he offers a wry smile, "Pardon my attire. I find solace in the rhythm of the docks, lending a hand where I can."
Flushing with embarrassment at being caught in your silent assessment, you nod in understanding. "I apologize. I didn't mean to stare," you manage, your voice reflecting your chagrin.
The man nods, a gesture of acceptance that puts you slightly more at ease. As you take a seat, he inquires about your preference for a drink. You decline with a shake of your head, prompting him to continue.
"I asked you here because your reputation precedes you. Your prowess with both weapons and wit is well noted," he says, his fingers dancing over the controls embedded in his desk. Suddenly, a hologram flickers to life before you, its luminescent form capturing your full attention. "I have something to show you, so please, bear with me a bit longer."
With those words, the hologram springs into vibrant life, casting an ethereal glow across the room. The man watches you closely, gauging your reaction to the unfolding scene, a hint of anticipation in his eyes. What unfolds before you promises to be the beginning of something extraordinary.
***********************************************************************************************************************************************************
Imperial Date: 221/849
TL-12, 10,000 ton, Aslan Strike Cruiser- “Yahkhroa'Ftahk” ("Fierce Claw")
Data provided from the Ships' Holographic Log & the Crew's Personal Logs
RECORDING BEGINS
The massive cruiser emerged from jump space, seamlessly transitioning from the ethereal corridors of the void into the tangible 3D expanse of the universe. Its computers, ever-vigilant, registered the re-entry with near-instantaneous awareness, rousing the dormant battle systems into readiness. Sensor arrays, finely tuned to the fluidity of space, scanned the vicinity, while secondary systems hummed to life, orchestrating the ship's martial symphony.
Weapon turrets swiveled with mechanical grace, their deadly arcs scanning for potential adversaries. Bay doors opened in the silence of vacuum, unveiling an arsenal eager for release. At the ship's core, the particle accelerator, a formidable spinal-mounted weapon, began its ominous charge, a harbinger of destruction lying in wait. Shields remained inactive, their quiescent state a strategic choice to enhance the sensitivity of the long-range sensors. The absence of immediate threats did little to dampen the cruiser's martial fervor; in the Aslan psyche, battle was not an event, but a state of being.
The cruiser, a 10,000 ton behemoth, gained momentum, propelled by the relentless thrust of its maneuvering engines. It's bulk cut a swift path through the veil of gases and thin layers of microscope debris found in the outer reaches of the star system.
This mission bore the weight of directive from the Tlaukhu council, a mandate that Clan Eakhtiyho, a house of middling stature yet formidable military prowess, could not refuse. Though alliances with two influential member clans bolstered their standing, Eakhtiyho's fate remained inexorably tied to the council's will. The directive was shrouded in secrecy, its importance echoed in the hushed tones of council chambers and the expectant gazes of the clan's warriors.
The mission's destination grew nearer as the ship closed.
"Do scans remain clear of prey?" Khto Tsaerath's voice cut through the bridge's focused silence, a commanding presence even in the routine of this duty cycle.
"Yes, my Lord," Junior Lt. Khethai replied, his voice tinged with the tension of a subordinate addressing a superior. His paws danced over the tracking system's interface, rechecking the data to ensure no detail was missed.
Eakhtiyho Tsaerath, the ship's captain, surveyed the bridge with a predator's keenness. His gaze lingered momentarily on each crew member, assessing their diligence. His eyes narrowed as he observed the weapon officer, Lt. Khattr Ssahr, whose rigid posture and sporadic headshakes betrayed an underlying issue.
"What troubles you, Lt. Ssahr?" he inquired, his tone steady yet probing.
Lt. Ssahr glanced briefly at the captain, a flicker of concern in his eyes, before refocusing on his console. "Khto Tsaerath, there is an irregular energy spike near the target planet. The weapon sensors have detected it, but tracking has not," he reported, his voice measured but laced with uncertainty.
"Is it near the planet or on it?" Tsaerath prodded, his expression shifting to one of contemplation.
"Definitely in high orbit, Khto. The distance makes precise data elusive, however, so that is all I can determine at this time," Ssahr responded, his tail twitching slightly in concentration.
"Maintain vigilance, Lt. Ssahr. We must not be blindsided," Tsaerath commanded, his voice resonating with the weight of responsibility. "This mission's success hinges on our alertness. We cannot afford lapses akin to a newly birthed cub."
Ssahr nodded, his mane bristling slightly as he emitted a deep, patriotic growl. "Understood, my Lord Khto."
Tsaerath settled back into his command chair, a mix of tension and relief in his posture. This mission was nearing its culmination, and as Khto, he bore more than the title of captain. He was the heart of the ship, embodying the respect and authority revered in Aslan society. To his crew, he was more than a commander; he was a guardian of their honor and a steward of their prowess, responsible for guiding them through the stars, whether in exploration, trade, or the heat of battle.
"Tracking officer, explain the discrepancy in your reports compared to weapons!" the ship's commander, Khto Tsaerath, demanded, his voice laced with a threat as lethal as a drawn claw.
Jr Lt. Khethai, his fur bristling with tension, quickly responded, "My Lord, I initiated recalibration of the tracking sensors immediately upon Lt. Ssahr's report of the spike." His voice was steady, but beneath his controlled exterior, tremors of anxiety rippled through his frame.
In the intense atmosphere of the bridge, Khethai's fear was palpable, though not through sweat as humans might show. Instead, slight shivers betrayed his inner turmoil, a maelstrom of fear not just for his own standing but for the honor of Clan Eakhtiyho, his clan by the grace of fate rather than birth.
Memories of his past, as sharp and vivid as the day they occurred, flashed through his mind. He was the sole survivor of a brutal raid by the nefarious Clan Hrakoea, a minor and unaligned clan known for their sporadic and ruthless attacks on their neighbors. Clan Hrakoea, existing on the fringes of Aslan society, often resorted to raiding for resources and technology, skirting the edges of legality and honor.
Khethai's parents had fallen victim to one such ruthless onslaught. Their loss had been sudden and merciless, leaving him an orphaned cub amidst the wreckage of his former life. Salvation had come unexpectedly in the form of a member of Clan Eakhtiyho, who had extended a helping hand amidst the chaos, offering him a new path and a chance to rebuild his life among their ranks.
He owed everything to Clan Eakhtiyho – his position, his status, his very life. The thought of failing them, of bringing dishonor to their name, weighed heavily on his shoulders. The fear of letting down those who had given him a second chance was a burden as heavy as any physical threat his commander could pose.
As he focused back on the console, adjusting parameters and recalibrating systems with practiced precision, he knew that the stakes were high.
"I believe I've unraveled the issue," Jr Lt. Khethai spoke, his voice tinged with a blend of fear and revelation. "Our tracking module is a refit, but it's mismatched. It's a three-band sensor, lacking the multiplicity bands required for our operations. Without them, there's nothing I can do to recalibrate it correctly. It'll need replacement at a space dock, Khto."
Khto Tsaerath, the ship's commander, maintained his intense gaze on the young officer, his eyes like orbs of smoldering fire. Without a word, he gestured with a subtle tilt of his head to Lt. Rr'Kha, his second-in-command. The lieutenant moved with a predator's grace to the tracking station, his eyes scanning the readings with practiced expertise. Moments later, he straightened up, a grimace etched on his face.
"Khto Tsaerath, the junior officer's assessment is accurate," Rr'Kha reported, his voice echoing the gravity of the situation. "The refit records have been tampered with, reflecting a proper installation that, quite blatantly, has not occurred."
Tsaerath's inner fury simmered beneath his calm exterior, his claws instinctively extending then retracting in a swift, controlled motion. "Ensure this negligence is rectified upon our return, Lt. Rr'Kha. Audit all stations for such discrepancies. We cannot allow incompetence to jeopardize future missions." His voice, though measured, carried an unmistakable edge of authority and threat. "And you, Khethai," he continued, his gaze piercing, "remain vigilant, despite your shortcomings. Your keenness may yet prove valuable." Turning to the weapons officer, he added, "Lt. Ssahr, your responsibilities now double. Do not falter."
Lt. Ssahr merely flicked his ears in acknowledgment, his focus unwavering from the readings on his panel, a testament to his dedication.
Captain Tsaerath's thoughts drifted to the weight of their mission, a task imbued with 'syareahtaorl' – a quest for honor and responsibility, far beyond material gains. This mission was to recover an ancient artifact, a relic capable of altering the fate of civilizations. Such a task demanded not only military precision but also the insights of scientists – female Aslan scientists, a notion that both intrigued and unsettled Tsaerath.
He had welcomed them aboard, a gesture of open-mindedness, though their presence stirred unfamiliar emotions within him. Especially Aihtaiyo Ah'soara, the elder scientist whose mere presence seemed to set his whiskers aquiver. Her name, meaning "Seeker of Knowledge," belied her underlying strength, a matriarch in her own right.
Shaking off these thoughts, Tsaerath refocused on the present. Another khtauaao period had slipped by, which is approximately 17 Imperial minutes.
"Weaponeer, any updates on the energy spikes?" Tsaerath growled, his impatience barely contained.
Lt. Ssahr cleared his throat, his voice calm and measured. "The spikes have reduced in frequency, Khto, now occurring every 20 areiaao (equivalent to 5 Imperial minutes). But their source remains elusive. Closer proximity to the planet may yield more data."
The captain's grim smile belied the tension that gripped the bridge. "Patience, weaponeer. Your moment of closeness with the enemy shall soon present itself," he said, his voice a calm rumble that resonated through the silent anticipation that hung in the air.
The bridge was a tableau of focused concentration, each officer poised at their station like a hunter lying in wait. Nearly two hours passed in this state of heightened readiness, a period marked only by the quiet hum of the ship's systems and the soft clicking of claws against control panels.
Suddenly, the silence was shattered by the urgent voice of the tracking officer, the young Aslan's fur bristled with the excitement of his first real engagement. "Contact! Bearing 12 degrees north by 345 degrees!" he announced, his voice a mix of professionalism and barely contained exultation. "Return data indicates it is a Solomani Confederation cruiser! It is emerging from the planet's shadow and making way in our direction."
Jr Lt. Khethai, his eyes wide with the gravity of the situation, continued, "I have a steady pulse on its hull. The return is 40 areiaaos old," he reported. “Distance, is 150,000 throae (one throae is an old Aslan distance measure, and is approx. 1.25 km) and closing!”
The captain, Khto Tsaerath, leaned forward in his command chair, his eyes narrowing as he processed the information. "Humans, here? Intriguing," he murmured, more to himself than to his crew. Turning to his weaponeer, Lt. Ssahr, he ordered, "Prepare for engagement. Let us see if these humans are as formidable as they believe themselves to be."
Lt. Ssahr nodded sharply, his fingers dancing across his console with practiced ease. "Weapons are primed, Khto. We stand ready to bring honor to Clan Eakhtiyho."
The captain's tail flicked in approval as he turned his attention back to the main view screen, watching the distant speck of the human cruiser grow steadily larger. This encounter, whether it led to battle or a tense standoff, would be a true test of their mettle – and he relished the challenge.
At the cusp of maximum weapon range, the tension on the Aslan cruiser's bridge was palpable. Khto Tsaerath's voice cut through the charged atmosphere, "Fire spinal mount, full power!"
Simultaneously, the enemy vessel, a sleek silhouette against the backdrop of stars, unleashed its own formidable weapon. In space, where silence reigned supreme, the energy of conflict was visible but unheard. Brilliant beams of destructive energy, harnessed by the spinal mounts of both ships, lanced across the void, each a deadly dance of light and power.
Despite the precision of advanced targeting computers, the vastness of space and the slightest tremor within the ship's core turned these deadly strikes into near misses. The beams, crackling with energy, passed by their targets, dissipating into the infinite dark.
On the Aslan cruiser's bridge, the tension shattered like thin ice underfoot. The crew exhaled in unison, releasing breaths they hadn’t realized they were holding captive. "That was too close," Lt. Ssahr muttered under his breath, his eyes not leaving the sensor readings, as if by focus alone he could defeat the human ship. The rest of the bridge crew murmured their agreement, their voices a low chorus echoing the weaponeer’s sentiment, a shared acknowledgment of the razor's edge they had just skirted.
Yet amidst this collective sigh of relief, one figure remained as unyielding as a statue carved from stone. Khto Tsaerath, the captain of the vessel, stood with his gaze locked onto the viewscreen, his expression betraying none of the anxiety that had gripped his crew. His eyes were pools of calculation, reading the star-studded chessboard of space laid out before him.
"Prepare for another firing sequence," he commanded, his voice cutting through the momentary lull like a blade. "Adjust for the ship's internal frequency and external motion. We shall not falter in our aim again!" His tone carried the weight of command and the unspoken promise of redemption – there would be no room for error in their next strike.
The crew snapped to attention, their earlier relief subsumed by the renewed focus demanded by their captain. The bridge, a hive of activity just moments before, became a machine of purpose and precision, each member playing their part in the intricate ballet of space warfare.
"Their turn to hold breath," he growled, watching as the enemy ship adjusted its course, likely preparing for its own counterstrike.
The space between the two leviathans became a battlefield not just of weapons, but of wits and wills, each captain trying to outmaneuver the other in a deadly game of cosmic chess.
~N~
The voice of the tactical officer of SCN Victory, Lt. Judith Samison's, sliced through the bridge's charged quietude with an urgency that bordered on alarm. "Captain! The cats are accelerating toward our bearing. Sensors indicate they're powering up energy weapons and their bay doors are open," she reported, her words a rapid-fire burst from her station.
Captain Greg Bridges, a figure of resolute authority at the command console, acknowledged the report with a nod. "Refer to them as Aslan, Lieutenant," he corrected, his voice a calm counterpoint to the growing tension.
Samison's confusion was evident. "Sir?" she queried, her concentration momentarily broken, as she turned to face him.
"You called them 'cats'. They are the Aslan. Let's show some respect and use their proper name," Captain Bridges instructed quietly, his eyes scanning the readouts on a nearby screen, assessing the evolving situation.
"Yes, sir! Sorry, sir," Samison responded, her voice subdued. She glanced around the bridge, relieved to find her fellow crew members too absorbed in their tasks to notice the quiet exchange.
"Captain, we're approaching long-range firing distance," announced Lieutenant Commander Gallagher, the lead weapons officer, from the weapons pit. The pit, a sunken area on the bridge floor, was bustling with activity. Normally manned by a single officer, it now hosted the entire weapons team, a sure sign to the gravity of the situation. Each officer had their designated weapons to oversee, a redundancy protocol meant to ensure continuous operation, as each weapon officer had been trained to man all the weapons solo, if needed.
"Use the zero method for targeting, adjust course to 24 degrees by -12 degrees," Captain Bridges commanded, referencing the navigational system optimized for precision in combat scenarios.
"Are weapons primed, Mr. Gallagher?" he inquired, his tone betraying none of the tension that gripped the bridge. "Armed and ready, Captain," Gallagher confirmed, his hands steady at the controls.
Captain Bridges surveyed his crew, noting the mixture of resolve and anxiety on their faces. "Steady, everyone. Our goal is to deter, not to destroy. To keep this uneasy peace, not to start a war. Maintain tight control on the meson beam; we don't want even a scratch on the Aslan ship."
A few quiet chuckles rippled through the confused crew at the captain's remark, easing the strain slightly. The crew’s focus sharpened, each member acutely aware of the delicate dance they were about to perform – a show of force, tempered with precision and restraint.
"SIR! The Aslan have charged their primary to one-hundred percent...They're firing!" Lt. Samison's voice cracked through the bridge, a sharp edge of tension and fear undercutting her professional demeanor.
Even before the full warning left Samison's lips, Captain Bridges, a bastion of calm and professionalism amidst the brewing storm, responded with a loud yet steady voice, "Fire!"
The Aslan ship,Yahkhroa'Ftahk and Victory, unleashed their spinal mount weapons almost in unison. Beams of destructive energy hurtled across the void, each a streak of deadly intent. Yet, in the vastness of space and the dance of evasive maneuvers, both beams missed their marks, harmlessly dissipating into the starry expanse.
"Recharge the primary," Bridges ordered, his eyes fixed on the tactical display. He caught Lt. Cmdr Gallagher's questioning glance and offered a tight, knowing smile. "I never said we shouldn't be prepared if this encounter escalates."
Gallagher, the faintest hint of a nod acknowledging the captain's foresight, turned back to his console. His fingers moved with practiced efficiency, recalibrating the weapon systems and securing their targeting lock. The weight of potential conflict hung heavy in the air, each officer acutely aware that the next exchange might not end with mere near-misses.
The bridge was a symphony of quiet activity, the crew working in sync under Bridges' calm leadership. The tension was palpable, a tangible presence that each member felt but did not voice. They were a unit, bound together by duty and the unspoken understanding that the space between peace and war was as thin as the hull that separated them from the void.
As the Yahkhroa'Ftahk continued to loom ominously on their screens, a silent adversary in this game of chicken, Captain Bridges maintained his vigil. In the deep recesses of his mind, he weighed every possible outcome, prepared for every eventuality.
In the vast expanse of space, the two ships – human and Aslan – faced each other in a high-stakes game of cosmic brinkmanship, with each captain weighing their next move in the intricate ballet of this interstellar conflict.
~N~
In the mess hall of the Aslan cruiser Yahkhroa'Ftahk, the air was thick with jubilation. Young Aslan ratings, barely out of their cub years, chanted with unrestrained pride. "We defeated the humans! We defeated the humans!" Their voices rose in a cacophony of growling triumph, filling the room with a fervor that was infectious.
Jr. Lt. Khethai watched the scene with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. Not even a tekhaao ago – roughly two Imperial hours – these same young warriors had been gripped by fear, their fur standing on end as the battle raged outside the hull. Yet now, they celebrated their victory with the boisterous confidence of seasoned veterans.
The human ship they had encountered wasn't destroyed, nor was it significantly damaged, but after six hours of relentless firing and maneuvering, it had finally broken off, retreating into the outer reaches of the system. Victory, it seemed, was in the eye of the beholder.
Khethai couldn't help but ponder the encounter. "The humans actions were curious," he mused aloud, more to himself than anyone else. "As if they were searching for something on the planet. Could the previous energy spikes have something to do with that? And then, upon detecting us, they shifted to engage."
Another officer, an older and more seasoned Aslan, overheard him and nodded sagely. "Indeed, Khethai. The humans intent is mysterious, but their retreat leaves us in control for now."
The Yahkhroa'Ftahk now orbited an unnamed world in what some star charts referred to as the Hanstone sector, a largely unexplored expanse of space that held as many mysteries as it did dangers. The planet below was a silent witness to the recent space ballet, its secrets untouched and waiting.
"We must remain ever vigilant," the older officer continued. "The humans may have left, but this sector is unfamiliar territory. Who knows what other surprises await us on this motherless world?"
Khethai's gaze drifted to the viewscreen, where the planet hung like a jewel against the backdrop of space. The excitement of the young ratings felt distant now, replaced by the weight of responsibility and the unknown.
"Yes, we must be viligant. Must we not?" he replied, his thoughts already turning to other musings.
The ratings' chants faded into the background as Khethai slowly walked down the corridor, lost in questions and thoughts.
~N~
"I believe this is it, Senior Scientist!" exclaimed one of the scientists, her voice echoing with excitement in the ancient cavern. She carefully presented a small, intricately carved cylinder to Aihtaiyo Ah'soara. Its dark basalt surface was adorned with raised symbols spiraling around its circumference – a mysterious script untouched by time.
Aihtaiyo leaned in, her keen eyes studying the relic. "Yes, Scientist Tl'eha, this could indeed be our prize," she agreed, her voice a mixture of awe and triumph. If this was the artifact they had been searching for, their quest was on the cusp of fulfillment – only the enigmatic language etched into the stone stood between them and the secrets it held.
"Carefully remove it from its resting place," instructed Ah'soara, her tone commanding yet filled with reverence. "It deserves a more fitting cradle than this ancient earth."
Her assistant, Lyyhi Tl'eha, gently lifted the artifact, her hands trembling slightly with the weight of their find. She walked over to Aihtaiyo, cradling the cylinder like a precious child, and placed it into a specially prepared containment box. The fit wasn't perfect, but the extra padding they had brought ensured its safety.
Aihtaiyo's heart raced. After 37 eakhaus of meticulous excavation, they had unearthed their 'Rosetta Stone'. Her role as the expedition's leader and architect felt validated at this moment, despite the warriors' oft-expressed disdain for scientific pursuits. She knew the importance of their disciplines, even if the males lacked the patience for such delicate endeavors.
"Quickly, let's document this discovery for posterity," Aihtaiyo instructed her team.
They sprang into action, setting up lights, a holorecorder, and a generator – the cavern transformed into a stage of historical revelation. As her assistants scurried about, preparing the recording setup, Senior Scientist Aihtaiyo Ah'soara focused intently on what she was doing. She connected the holorecorder to a portable computer terminal, her fingers deftly navigating the complex interface. The portable lights in the cavern flickered over the screen as she began the meticulous process of transferring crucial location data onto the holodisc. The intricate symbols and coordinates appeared on the display, a digital record to their groundbreaking find.
Minutes ticked by, measured only by the soft clatter of equipment and the distant echoes of the cavern. Aihtaiyo worked with a quiet urgency, somehow sensing their time was limited. Finally, she completed the data transfer, just as her team finished the last of their setup. The timing was impeccable, a small victory amidst the rush.
"We are ready to record, Senior Scientist," announced T'shia Klothm, the electronics technician. Her voice was steady, a calm presence in the midst of their hurried preparations.
"Excellent, T'shia. Begin recording," Aihtaiyo replied, her tone commanding yet tinged with excitement. She stepped in front of the holorecorder, her posture embodying both the gravity and the thrill of their discovery.
As the recorder's light blinked to life, signaling the start of their documentation, Aihtaiyo cleared her throat. "It is Imperial date 221/849. This is Senior Scientist Aihtaiyo Ah'soara, leading the expedition on this unnamed world in the Hanstone sector." Her voice echoed slightly in the cavern, each word a deliberate stroke on the canvas of their historic moment.
She continued, detailing their journey, the significance of their find, and the potential implications of the artifact, Yahkht, they had uncovered. The holorecorder captured every gesture, every expression, preserving this moment for posterity.
In the background, the assistants worked quietly, ensuring the recording was flawless, capturing not just Aihtaiyo's narration but the ambiance of the ancient site. The cavern, with its mysterious history and hidden secrets, served as a silent witness to their endeavor.
As Aihtaiyo spoke a sense of accomplishment filled the air, mingling with the anticipation of what lay ahead. They had achieved what many had believed to be impossible, and now, it was being immortalized in the annals of Aslan history.
Her narration was abruptly cut short as Ktaowa Ta'hra, her engineer, received an urgent message. "Scientist Aihtaiya, Khto Tsaerath is calling for us to return immediately. The Solomani have returned."
The message was brief, leaving no room for argument. Aihtaiyo's frustration was obvious, her voice strained as she issued orders to pack up. As she removed the holodisc from the recorder, a sudden, piercing shriek reverberated through the cavern, followed by a violent tremor. The disc slipped from her fingers, tumbling into one of the deeper excavations.
A guttural howl of frustration escaped her as she peered into the pit's abyss. There simply was no time to retrieve the holodisc. They could always record another, however, it wasn't just the loss of the recording that pained her; it was the thought that their discovery, their moment of triumph, might one day might be found by another and then used to trace their path to the Yahkht.
END RECORDING
The holovideo flickered and dimmed, its final images lingering in the air like the ghosts of a forgotten past. Across from it, their newest client, a man of imposing presence, sat ensconced behind an ornate wood desk that whispered tales of wealth and power. His fingers were steepled, casting long, ominous shadows across the polished surface as his piercing gaze appraised the group before him.
“As you saw, the key to finding this Yahkht lies in locating the holotape,” he began, his voice smooth and confident, resonating with an authority that filled the room. “I need a team that can navigate the dangers of independent Aslan clan territories, maybe even venture into the pirate worlds. It's a treacherous path, but I believe you and your crew are up to the task.”
He leaned forward slightly, the light catching the sharp angles of his face, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’ve done my homework on you. You're smart, resourceful, and most importantly, loyal. And you have your own ship, a rarity in itself. For this venture, I’m offering a lucrative cut based on standard salvage rates, and should you succeed, a generous bonus awaits. To get you started, I'm willing to provide 25,000Cr upfront.”
The room was heavy with unspoken calculations, the weight of decision pressing down like the gravity of a neutron star. You, the captain, a seasoned traveler of the stars, felt the tug of opportunity entwined with the gnawing sense of danger. Independent Aslan clans were a wild card, and pirates a known hazard in the uncharted void. Yet, the promise of clearing debts and securing the future of your beloved ship beckoned like a siren's call.
After a pause that seemed to stretch into infinity, you finally broke the silence. “Okay. You've got a crew,” you answered, your voice steady yet betraying the tumultuous sea of thoughts beneath.
There was a flicker of something like triumph, perhaps satisfaction, in the client’s eyes as he heard your reply.
“Excellent decision, Captain,” the client responded, his smile revealing a glint of satisfaction. “I assure you; the rewards will be well worth the risks. I'll have the advance immediately transferred to your account. I've also sent a few items to your ship for your perusal once you break orbit. Nothing dangerous or illegal, just tools to aid your quest.”
Nodding your acknowledgment, a shadow of concern flickered across your face as you asked, "Don't you need my banking information?"
"Not at all, Captain. My people have all that information and will deposit the credits before you leave this room." His nonchalance about possessing your personal details sent a ripple of unease through you.
Frowning slightly at this revelation, you carefully scrutinized your benefactor, the gears of caution turning in your mind. "I see." Standing, you gave a slight salute and walked out the office door. As it closed behind you with a soft, final click, you sighed, a sound lost in the opulence of the corridor.
“Let’s hope we're not biting off more than we can chew,” muttered the captain under his breath. The prospect of adventure and fortune was alluring, but the shadows of the unknown dangers loomed large on the horizon.
Intellectual copyright 2023 by Gene
Traveller is a trademark of Far Future Enterprises