Solaris Wilf Mountfield and Nicholas Monahan

Prologue
Admiral Dmitri Matxin Iesay strode confidently down the stairwell
to the starboard hangar deck; his shiny black boots distorting the
reflection of the strip lighting lining the hull of the Battlestar
Neptune above. He rounded the corner of the stairwell and
looked around him. The hangar deck loomed ahead, a vast
cavern, seven hundred meters long. Three Viper1 squadrons were
docked to the aft of the deck; a frenzy of activity surrounded
them as specialists worked hard to re-fuel and repair the ships.
Two Raptors2 meanwhile were being lowered from the un-
pressurized landing deck above having just returned from CAP3
duty.

At that moment, Deck Chief Seth Myht was busy checking off the
arrivals roster for that day. The list was nothing out of the
ordinary until he came to an arrival due that afternoon at 13:00
hours. It was listed as ‘High Importance’ and had priority
clearance for the landing deck. The Chief checked his watch, it
was 12:53 and he knew there was still a multitude of small
vessels docking above him on the landing deck.

“Gods damn it”, he swore to himself, securing his roster to the

clip board and running towards the aft loading bay Comm. Link.
He grabbed the phone:
“Get me the landing deck!”
“Hold for one moment…” There was a short pause before the
phone was picked up the other end with a click.
“Marv, get that landing strip clear NOW!”
“But Chief, they’re still unloading the arms crates!”
“I don’t give a frak if they were unloading the sick-bay ship with
injured pilots; get them off that strip 5 minutes ago.”

1 Space Superiority Fighters

2 Multi-Role Support Ship

3 Combat Air Patrol

Solaris Wilf Mountfield and Nicholas Monahan

“Yes sir, right away.”

The Chief hung up the phone violently. He turned around and

lent against the wall behind him. Raising his head up a little, he
looked down the nearest Viper launch tube. The runner on the
bottom that dragged the Vipers out at attack speed was vibrating
with the Battlestar’s engines. The hard metal was dull, scratched
from nineteen years of constant strain and usage. He wandered
over and knelt down next to it. He reached out his hand and
touched the cool vibrating metal hook. His fingers closed around
the tip and traced the curve of the hook down to the deck floor
below.

He sighed, reminiscing of the days when the Battlestar had been

brand new off the production line, clean and untouched. He
remembered the crowd during its maiden jump. The Battlestar
had been decked in flowers and wreaths. When the ship jumped
away on its first mission, all the adornment had burst away from
the space where the Battlestar had been only moments before;
the pressure fluctuations from the FTL4 drive throwing the flowers
far out into space, where they would float forever more.

“Chief Myht!” The Admiral had followed the Chief to the Viper
tube.
“I want the delegates from the colonization committee and the
political cabinet to have priority clearance for disembarkation.
They should be coming into the landing deck now. I want this
place clean and orderly when they get down here in five
minutes.”
“Yes sir!” said the Chief respectfully, quickly pulling his right arm
into a salute.
“Dismissed.” the Admiral replied promptly. He turned and left in
the direction of the starboard landing platform.

“All right listen up!” cried the Chief, “All hands on deck. I want
everything put away and all personnel in formality formation, and
I want that to happen within the next two and a quarter minutes.

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Solaris Wilf Mountfield and Nicholas Monahan

The frakking government are arriving and we need to provide the

best impression of the Neptune from the outset. Now move!”

There was a scramble as specialists and officers alike hurried

about to shelve equipment and return tools and spare parts to
drawers and lockers. Spare engines were left, lying isolated on
the hard deck, wires, cables and welding equipment were strewn
across the workspace. However, within about three minutes, the
majority of the hangar deck was presentable and the deck crew
formed up in front of the platform.

“Attention! Admiral on Deck!” The crew snapped to attention

forming near perfect lines, one face and one salute like another.
Uniforms hanging limply on the crews’ shoulders, battered, used
and worn.
The landing platform hummed into life. The gears started to twist
against each other forcing the platform supporting the GTS5
down to the hangar deck. After the first meter or so, the pistons
began to work more smoothly and the GTS was guided gently
down to the deck, where it was secured and moored. Two
marines approached the main door and stood to attention either
side of it, the stock of their guns by their hips and the barrels
over their shoulders.

The Admiral sighed; all this ceremony was tiresome for him. He
no longer saw the point in political formality. He vaguely allowed
himself to imagine a red carpet, brass band and a wild crowd as
a sort of relief, but the opening of the GTS’s hatch brought him
back to reality. Four Antarean marines marched in formation
down the coarse metal stairway that had been maneuvered in
front of the hatchway; their Antarean insignias gleaming on their
highly polished helmets. Following them, came two men in tightly
cut black silk suits and a woman wearing a short black dress and
a red frilly blouse.

The three politicians approached the Admiral with an air of

confidence and pomp. The men’s briefcases slowly slapping on
their thighs as they walked, the woman, holding nothing but her

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Solaris Wilf Mountfield and Nicholas Monahan

glasses case. She walked ahead of the two men, in a manner that
made it astoundingly clear that she was in power and had a job
to do. She stopped neatly in front of the Admiral and extended
her hand to him.

“Admiral Iesay, this is a pleasure. I am Helena Teyim, this is

Dresden Ibramovich”, she gestured to her left, “and Sam Cottle”
she said using her other hand to indicate the young man to her
right. “On behalf of the nine colonies of Artemis, we would like to
thank you for not only accepting complete command of this
colonization mission, but for hosting us personally aboard your
ship. Our terra-forming equipment6 and plant samples are at this
moment being unloaded off our transport which has docked on
the Mythos Space Carrier. If you do not mind, we would like to
see our quarters and retire for the night.”

The Admiral grew restless inside as his aggravation at the order

and protocol tired him. He looked up slowly, focusing on Helena’s
face. Small and rounded with slightly high, blushed cheeks and
small red lips. Her eyes intrigued him, a shade of vivid green, it
felt like he was sinking into them. He tore his eyes away and
found the Lieutenant he was looking for in the crowd. “Indeed.
Lieutenant Selecus! Please escort Ms. Teyim and her compatriots
to their quarters.” He turned back to face Helena. “Tomorrow
night, I’d appreciate it if you would join me for dinner in my
quarters. I will send an aide tomorrow. Meanwhile, you can
probably find me in the CIC7. Good night.”

The Admiral turned away from the guests with a nod of his head
and made his way towards the aft stairwell. He couldn’t help
thinking about those green eyes. They reminded him so much of
his father, those bright green eyes. He himself had dark brown
eyes, set back into his squared face. His skin, rough with time,
stubble was growing on his chin and he looked tired and worn.
He hadn’t stopped performing his duties for seven and a half

6 For modifying planet’s atmospheres for habitable conditions

7 Combat Information Centre

Solaris Wilf Mountfield and Nicholas Monahan

years. In that time, he had only had a week of RnR8 and even
then, he had been reading reports from the communications logs
the majority of the time.

He reached the top of the stairwell and continued down the

passageway. As he approached the CIC he looked around him.
The ship was looking sad and tired. Dust was collecting in the
roof supports and the metal was starting to dull. He let out a long
drawn out breathe. If this Battlestar was going to survive for
another good fifty years, it was going to need some RnR itself. He
made a mental note to have a full sweep and repair of all of the
aft decks and passages in a dry-dock for a complete overhaul.

Turning left round a corner, his came to the ship wide shrine. The
gods, Artemis, Hera, Apollo, Zeus and Mars stood in their own
compartments, their idols decorated and worshipped throughout
the day by various crew members. He approached Artemis’s
shrine and knelt down in front of it. Reaching out, he touched the
soft, cool gold that was the statue, and closed his eyes to pray.
His thoughts wandered and he allowed himself to relax, let all
worry and regret leave him. Those green eyes burned in his
memory. He rid himself of their image, trying to forget his father
and the memory of what he had done.

The CIC was a roughly circular room, with tight airlock seal hatch
leading in and out. The Dradis9 console was in the middle of the
room, surrounded by concentric ascending circles of information
and administrative staff and equipment. The XO10, Colonel Leon
Eames, was busy studying charts of the star system destined for
colonization on the Dradis console. Lieutenant Agathon, master
of communications was busy patching communications through

8 Rest and Recreation

9 A highly sensitive detection, identification, navigation and tracking

system, analogous in function to radar

10 Executive Officer
Solaris Wilf Mountfield and Nicholas Monahan

to the colonization fleet and distributing the first set of jump

coordinates.

Their destination was a trinary star cluster, almost unheard of as

the gravity fields generated by three stars would generally be
enough to remove themselves from synchronous orbit. However,
by a trick of nature’s hand, it appeared that the stars were
orbiting a massive planet, codename Terra, the planet they were
going to colonize and potentially terra-form. It was the perfect
spot for a colony. It was on direct jump route between the
colonies of Artemis and the Synchez Space Station, the largest
space constructed and habitable station in recorded history.

The XO looked up from his charts as the Admiral entered the CIC.
“Admiral on deck!” he barked roughly. A middle aged man, he
and the Admiral had served with each other since enrollment in
the service some twenty six years beforehand. He was well built,
almost 6ft high, muscular and tanned. A thick crop of jet black
hair sat upon his head, neatly combed and parted.

“As you were”, said the Admiral, lightly descending the stairs to
the Dradis. “Colonel Eames, Sitrep11.”
“The fleet is in position; all ships are docked and unloaded.
Prepared for departure” said Eames, double checking his logs.
“Very well,” said the Admiral, sighing relief that there were no
obstacles to their departure. “Connect me to the Battlestars
Arcturon and Perseus.” The Admiral picked up his handset from
its holster and held it to his ear.
“You’re a go sir” said Lieutenant Agathon.
“Arcturon, Perseus, this is Neptune actual. We are good to go,
spin up your FTL’s and consolidate the civilian vessels in your
hangars.”

The Admiral hung up the phone. He reached over and pulled the
charts for Terra toward him. It looked bleak, the land mass was
centralized along the equator, no expanses of water or any
recognizable oceans of any form within the land mass, but to
either pole, nothing but ice caps. There were mountains to the

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Solaris Wilf Mountfield and Nicholas Monahan

North and large flat plains to the South. The plan was to colonize
the plains, use the terra-forming equipment to nullify any toxins
or poisonous gases in the lower atmosphere and make it
habitable.

The Admiral turned away from the charts and looked at the
Dradis console. Two Battlestars, the Arcturon and the Perseus
were clearly visible to either side of the Neptune. One civilian
vessel was left in space, maneuvering toward the Arcturon. As its
blip vanished of Dradis, Lieutenant Agathon spoke up:
“All ships secured and accounted for sir.”
“Good,” said the Admiral, “Begin jump prep”.
The FTL drives were spooled up and the coordinates entered.

“Recall the CAP”, sighed the Admiral. He was getting too old for
this. No war, no action, just political missions to colonize planets.
It was a waste of a military career in his opinion.

The two Vipers on CAP began their final turn and run onto the
hangar deck.
“This is Dragon Breath, we are coming in, clear the decks.”
“Roger Dragon Breath”, replied the Chief, “you’re good to go.”
The Vipers approached the hangar deck slowly, perfectly along
the flight path; their smooth metal surfaces reflecting the stars of
space around them. Painted gold and white, the Vipers were ten
year old fighters. They had been delivered to the Neptune right
after their design and testing had been completed for a
special black-ops mission into deep space. They had never
seen battle before though, war was a thing of the past after
the sealing of the scroll of Artemis that bound the nine
colonies in an eternal truce more than a century ago. They
glided gracefully onto the hangar deck coming to a halt
perfectly on their platforms.

“We’re good to go here sir,” reported the Chief to Lieutenant

Agathon.
“Very well, stand-by to jump”, replied Agathon, struggling to
keep up with ship wide communications.

“Round the horn” announced the Admiral.

Solaris Wilf Mountfield and Nicholas Monahan

“Comm-“ yelled Colonel Eames over the intercom,

“Check” replied Lieutenant Agathon.
“Weapons”
“Check”
“FTL”
“Check”
“Sick-Bay”
“Check” came the raspy voice of Hyo Bax over the intercom. He
had been serving as the leading doctor aboard the Neptune for
over ten years; a well-established knowledgeable man with a
very gruff bedside manner.
“Engines”
“Check”
“We’re good to go Admiral”, said Eames, folding his papers back
onto his clipboard and laying his hands flat on the Dradis console
in front of him.

“Good. Have the CAP ready to deploy on arrival. Get the Vipers in
the tubes now.” He wiped his face with his hands, massaging his
eyes and head. He was getting tired; the preparation for the
mission had taken a lot longer than expected. Unknown to the
rest of the fleet, there was also a hidden military agenda: The
formation of a military outpost and protection centre from which
galaxy wide communications could be monitored. It had been a
long process, hand-picking the team, the equipment and
designing and effective plan of action.

“Connect me to the fleet” demanded the Admiral, picking up his

handset.
“You’re on sir”, replied Lieutenant Agathon not a moment later.
“Comrades, fellow servicemen, civilians and special guests, we
are about to embark upon another colonization mission. After the
successful colonization of this planet, we will leave a small
contingent to maintain facilities and communications after which
we will return to Mercurion, where we plan to re-fuel and prepare
for our next assignment.

There will be a total of 7 jumps to get to our objective. Maintain

constant communication with the Neptune.” He paused.
“Withdraw the hangar pods”. There was a massive rumbling as
Solaris Wilf Mountfield and Nicholas Monahan

the hangar pods retracted into the sides of the Neptune. “Jump
on my mark. 10, 9, 8, 7…” Lieutenant Agathon and the XO were
furiously trying to keep on top of things as the ship prepared to
jump.
“6, 5, 4, 3…” The crew braced themselves for what they knew
would be a jolting ride, before appearing on the other side of
their first jump.
“2, 1, Jump!”