It is the year 2319, and Commander Virgil Artus of the Earth Federal Navy is about to be promoted to captain, the youngest in the fleet’s history to do so. His new command is the navy’s latest ship, the battle cruiser Bismarck. With the best technology available and the brightest crew, Captain Artus takes the Bismarck for its maiden voyage to the colony of Alpha Centauri, never knowing what awaits. The Bismarck carries a motley crew, including an army engineer corps, attractive Wing Commander Carmen, and two mysterious individuals—a navy psychologist with a questionable background and a shadowy man known only as Astaroth. Their mission is to resupply a colony located at the outer limits of humanity’s exploration, as well as to survey and construct a colony base on one of the four worlds found in the system. But the mission begins to go wrong after the colony reports an emergency. When they arrive at Alpha Centauri, the crew finds that humanity is not alone in the universe. A fleet from the Iksus Armada, a reptilian race bred for war, is approaching, and they seek vengeance for an atrocity committed by humanity years ago. As captain, Artus is about to face his first—and possibly his final—confrontation.
The Revelation of Earth
First ContactBy Frank SimsiUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2012 Jonathan Henry
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4759-3506-6Contents
Prologue.............................................11 Astaroth, Goddess of Fertility.....................52 The Bismarck.......................................163 Artus Makes a Pit Stop.............................234 Operations.........................................355 Senior Officers....................................436 Ensign Heinz.......................................517 Chess..............................................598 Heinz has a Flashback..............................669 History of Carpathian..............................7510 Warp..............................................7911 Colony Emergency..................................8212 Maiden Voyage of the Bismarck.....................8713 JS 18s............................................9514 Kethis Arrival....................................9815 Kethis Surveys....................................10516 Hudson............................................11017 Hudson Additional.................................11918 Kethis Prepares and Ponders.......................12719 The Warp Gate.....................................13220 The Briefing......................................13621 Battle Preparations...............................14322 Bismarck on Approach..............................15023 Valerie and Astaroth..............................15624 The Battle Begins.................................16425 Kethis Under Fire.................................17226 Kethis Flees......................................17727 Valerie on Colossus...............................18228 William Steiger...................................19129 Valerie's Fury....................................19730 Kethis Observes...................................20231 The Battle Unfolds................................20532 Survival Party....................................21233 Artus Contemplates................................22234 The Field is lost.................................22935 Time to Run.......................................23336 Kethis Victorious.................................23737 Kethis Conclusion.................................24538 Artus conclusion..................................250Epilogue.............................................255I Characters.........................................259II Notes.............................................263III Timeline.........................................266IV Terms and Abbreviations...........................269Acknowledgements.....................................271
Chapter One
Astaroth, Goddess of Fertility
Journal of Commander Vergil Artus Entry #1 July 11, 2319
Promotion! I can't wait. I'm writing this journal to catalog the key events in my life as a new captain. I've been given the brand new CC-6 battle cruiser named Bismarck. She is the only ship of her class. I've only seen it in pictures and vids. In all seriousness, I must question: Why me? I didn't realize that I had impressed anyone and there are definitely more experienced commanders out there.
There is, of course, no current conflict. There hasn't been since the Capellan Incident at Titan. There was no space combat, which is the main reason why I left the army for the navy after the conflict was ended. I still have nightmares of my time on Titan's surface, though not of the fighting. It's a harsh environment, Titan, and one to which I hope never to return.
I'm also concerned about the ship's name. I may be young and relatively inexperienced, but I'm not ignorant of history. The original was hunted and gunned down just as it made its way into open seas. That was nearly three-hundred and eighty years ago.
It's been a family tradition that I had ancestors on both the Hood and the Bismarck. At least the Bismarck went down fighting. The Hood never stood a chance. That's how the story is told anyway. I suppose I should look on the bright side: when a ship as big as the Bismarck goes down, everyone knows it.
Entry #1 Additional
It's not that I'm complaining, but the red tape on my transfer is insane. My new security clearance is not activated yet and no one informed me until I arrived at Moon Base Armstrong. They denied me port. I'm stuck in orbit until things get cleared up. It wouldn't be so bad if the shuttle was more comfortable or if I could see my new ship from up here.
Entry #3 July 14, 2319
It's been almost two days and nothing spectacular has happened except that I'm finally on Armstrong. I've given my taxi pilot, Boris, a large bonus for putting up with me and the situation. He was happy to be of service and said that if I needed a ride to give him a call.
Entry #10 July 24, 2319
This is getting ridiculous! I know I'm new, the ship is new, the crew is new, but I've been hanging out in this sleazy dive bar for a week. The Captain's Lounge refuses to believe that I'm a real captain. I don't blame them. I'm young, probably the youngest in private, commercial or military service for decades. My brother was hoping for some of the decorative gift plates they sell, but he'll have to wait.
At least I've picked up some information in this place. It seems that some political upheaval may be the cause of my delay. There's been a scandal in the House and Senate and some people have resigned. One of them was the senator, Mr. Whitney, who supported me and is probably the reason I went up for this promotion.
It did strike me as odd that he showed so much interest in me for no particular reason. I'll probably be implicated in something, which is why my superiors are holding me back. I think they agree with Senator Whitney about me for some reason and are trying to keep me from the spotlight in order to protect me. And by me, I mean them.
Entry #11 July 25, 2319
I could be on to something with my theory. I've just been arrested. So much for my faith in my superiors; or whatever is going on is out of their control. At least they let me keep my journal.
The Master-at-Arms read my few entries. He laughed, handed it back to me and said, "Man, that sucks." I don't know if he meant anything by it, but he came across as though he knew a lot more than he was going to tell; almost scared in a way. He refused to answer most of my questions. Looks like I won't get to see my ship for some time, if at all.
Entry #12 ...?
As for my current state, I have no idea how long it's been since my last entry. I'm being held for no apparent reason. I was sitting in my favorite dive when four very heavily armed men and the Master-at-Arms came up and drug me away, kicking and screaming like a stuck pig. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Talk about adding insult to injury.
It would've been a lot worse if there had been any other witnesses. Come to think of it, this whole affair is like a very strange dream. There are so many things that don't add up; the Master-at-Arms, the lack of an audience at my arrest, the amount of fear the guards have when I ask why I'm being held. This does not ring of political scandal. I'm beginning to think there is something else going on. Perhaps this is the military way of protecting me or maybe it has to do with my promotion. It could even be someone's sick joke to haze the new boy. I apparently have plenty of time to figure it out.
Entry #13 ...?
Yet another day in my cell and I've been trying to remember something my philosophy and ethics professor told me my first year at the academy, something about destiny. It served me well during those hard days and I told myself that I would never forget it. I'm sure it will come to me in time.
Now if my cell were made of stone I could count ...
At that moment a man with silver hair and green eyes burst in, gave Artus a look over, and motioned for the guards. Artus could hear the Master-at-Arms yelling about holding an innocent man without a warrant. Artus thought it was nice of the MA to argue on his behalf, albeit only to the extent the law required. He noted that at the exact same moment he thought of this, the silver haired man said the exact same thing to the MA.
The guards gave him the sensory deprivation treatment. He was chained, gagged, blindfolded, gloved, and ear plugged; the works. Artus had no sense of anything. He contemplated many things; family, old girlfriends, the dive bar he decided he liked. He had come to the conclusion that this was truly a nightmare.
When he was finally released he found himself in a dimly lit room with two chairs, a table with an odd little device sitting in its middle, and the silver haired man. "Well, this is stereotypical," Artus thought as the man motioned him to sit. Again the man openly agreed with him. "Is he psychic?"
Now that he could get a good clear look at this guy, he realized that his hair and eyes were real, well ... real enough. It was possible that a good make-up artist could pull off a convincing fake. The man stood six feet tall at the least and was hard as a coffin nail.
He wore an odd uniform that bore two insignia that Artus recognized. The one on his shoulder was a military insignia, but not one that had been used for over two and a half centuries. It was an eagle with wings spread wide on a blue field. In its talons it carried a cluster of arrows. The bottom half was surrounded by olive branches and the top half by stars. The only letters spelled: Department of Defense.
The other insignia was on the man's hat. Artus had seen it once before. He didn't know what it meant. It had never been spoken of by anybody or described in any book. He'd only seen it in a picture. Artus surmised that this insignia had been what caused such great fear in the guards.
He had seen it on the cover of an old, leather-bound, book in a glass display case in his philosophy professor's chambers. He thought the title was, Konat Marna, but it was old and worn and appeared to be a language he was not familiar with. When he asked about it, she told him to mind his own business.
Every time Artus had described it to anyone he thought might know what it meant, they shut him up or ignored him altogether. Once, he was drawing it on a napkin in the dive he liked so much. The old bartender saw him, snatched it away, and burned it. Artus came to the conclusion that his arrest was more to do with his curiosity and not the politics he wished were the cause of his terrible sinking feeling.
This insignia was never the talk of conspiracy forums or on the net, even though he was certain they knew something about it. If these four white talons on a red shield could keep the most radical conspiracy nuts quiet, then the fear that began to wash over him was well earned. He gained a new respect for the MA that had stood up for him; a lesser man would have kept his mouth shut and probably hid in the restroom trying not to wet himself.
Artus and the Silver-Haired-Man sat in silence for an interminable amount of time. Artus thought that he would die of old age before the matter was settled. The man had zero expression. It would've been a champion poker face if he played poker at all.
"This isn't a dream; it's me sitting next to you, sharpening an ax," said the man as he heaved a very real ax onto the table. Artus had a sudden urge to do some things best left unmentioned.
The man's voice was cold, harsh, and completely devoid of any emotion whatsoever. He then proceeded with his interrogation. It began with a series of control questions.
"What color is your hair?"
"Blonde."
"Your eyes?"
"Grey."
"Height?"
"Five foot, eleven inches."
Artus went along with the questioning. What else could he do? The rest of the questions consisted of the usual: who are you, why are you here, how long have you known this person? The questioning went on for some time. Artus learned nothing about his situation from the questions asked. When the interrogation was over, there was more silence.
After a short stare the man cocked his head and squinted an eye as if he were trying to figure something out about Artus that he couldn't get from asking questions. Artus thought it might be safe to ask a question of his own.
"Why have I been arrested?" asked Artus.
"You're being transferred," replied the man. "There's a bit more to it than that, but that is all I'm allowed to say."
"So I'm getting my ship?" Artus felt a glimmer of hope returning.
"That's not for me to say, though I don't know why not. My bosses have done their best to put you on it."
"What?"
"You see, I've said too much already. I have a bad habit of that, so I'm told. I'm also told it's a product of my breeding; which is a nice way of saying that I'm a [??]." The man suddenly looked sullen as if he'd just depressed himself.
Artus thought that whole conversation was a bit strange. The man recovered and seemed more relaxed. He leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on the table.
Artus felt as if he had hit an all-time low. He was no longer afraid, but he was still anxious. He tried feeling good about his situation; nothing positive came to mind.
If the purpose of this episode was to break him, then it had probably worked. Artus now wondered what they were doing here since the inquisition was obviously over. The instrument of doom and despair sitting across from him seemed as if he was just as anxious for this to be over. He seemed to be waiting on something. Artus couldn't think of anything to say or do.
Eventually, projecting from the device on the table, a hologram of a hooded figure appeared. "Is this him?" the hooded figure asked in a feminine voice that Artus thought he recognized. The Silver-Haired-Man rolled his eyes and sighed.
"No, this is not him, it doesn't even look like him, stop asking," argued the Silver-Haired-Man, who sat forward.
"But, brother Astaroth, you of all should know the prophecy. This man fits the description perfectly and ..."
"Um," interjected Artus, "I don't suppose you'd mind including me in this conversation about myself?"
"Yes," they blurted. Artus jumped at the outburst and sat back once again.
"Now look, flesh pile!" yelled the silver haired Astaroth. "I am first and foremost not your brother. Neither is this poor soul sitting across from me the man you are looking for. I know Aetonyx personally. Might I also remind you that this stupid religion of yours is a waste of your pathetic existence?"
Astaroth stood and glared at the little hooded woman. "He didn't create the Legion, or this `Order' you call yourselves, for the purpose of chasing down fantasy and whim. He created it for the defense of Earth. It was never meant to become a cult and it wasn't a prophecy. You are taking his words out of context. I honestly don't know why I'm having this conversation. I've told you I know exactly where he is, but do you listen, do any of you listen ..."
"I do, master Astaroth," chimed another voice. This one was masculine. Another tiny figure had appeared on the table. Artus thought how confused he'd be if it hadn't been for his recent treatment. This voice Artus certainly recognized. It sparked a memory from the academy and a face, but the man's name eluded him.
"Sorry, Legate, your time has run out," said Astaroth. The little woman began to interject but was cut off and disappeared. As soon as the woman had gone Artus sensed a flood of anger emanating from the new figure. The emotion was so strong Artus swore he felt the air move.
"You should show more restraint to your superiors, child!" growled the man. The comment struck home on Astaroth, who looked genuinely ashamed. "She may be a puppet to keep the real powers that be safe," returned the man, "but she is still in charge and you still report to her like the rest and no, this is not a cult or religion." The man sighed and the tension subsided. "I must admit most of them think so. I've been around far longer than you and I have seen the desire such authority can bring and the trouble it can cause. I have been busy, but that is no excuse to let their behavior get out of control. I will deal with the attitude of the Order at my earliest convenience." Astaroth showed signs of relief.
"You can also expect another lecture about keeping your mouth shut," continued the figure. "I know that information you are often privileged to puts you at odds with the Order. It's difficult enough keeping the sanctioned conspiracies straight and under control without your input, especially those that involve the Imperial Magistrate. It's as much for the Order's protection as ours." The little hooded man regained his composure. "Now then, Mr. Arétus has met with my personal approval. Has he passed security?"
"Artus," growled Artus. He was ignored.
"Yes," said a frustrated Astaroth.
"Then get him to his ship. Have Hudson downplay Mr. Arétus' involvement with Senator Whitney. The last thing we need is for the court to find a jester. I also need you to go with him. Carpathian is investigating a Mustering of the Armada." Astaroth went pale. "I have sent an alert to the Magistrate. Carpathian should be back with plenty of time to awaken the defenses should it prove necessary, but I need you there also. I will contact you with more information later. I'm sending Hudson along as well. She has been overworked with the Whitney business and deserves a break. Now get to work."
"A Mustering of the Armada," Astaroth said to himself. "Such a thing has not happened since ..."
"... I know," replied the man in an equally forlorn tone. "It's best not to think about it."
"Care to inform me what this is all about?" asked Artus of anyone who'd listen.
The little man made a gesture towards Artus. "In fact, it would be a good idea if Mr. Arétus didn't think about it much either. Inform him of his rights and what the Order expects of him. Then do whatever it is you do that makes your victims think they're dreaming." With that, the little hooded man signed off.
Artus gulped and decided that he was already asleep and this was truly just a nightmare. He ventured a question on the only thing he thought he understood, "Isn't Astaroth a God ...?"
"... A Canaanite goddess of fertility, yes," interrupted Astaroth with a roll of his eyes and a sigh. He looked at Artus and said, "Sorry for the mix up, yadda, yadda, yadda. I've been authorized to give you your clearance, your ship, and you are now a member of the Order. The last is non-negotiable, but you can ignore them. I do. You'll be more useful to me and my masters if you tell them to shove it. If they give you any beef, call me. However, if you should choose to recognize their authority, then you are bound by their rules and the only one who can do anything about it is Tavion."
"The Order?" Artus ventured. "Isn't that a bit cliché?"
Astaroth chuckled and nodded. "Glad you understand my problems. It does, however, help convince people they've been having a dream or nightmare. If you think that's clever, hang on for the next bit." He handed Artus a card with his name on it and a coded transmission frequency. "You also get a neat little insignia to put on your uniform. It comes with an easy to read uniform guide. You have your choice of the color grey or this dull silver color."
Artus just stared in shock at the two identical grey patches and the bad joke. Then, recognition slapped him in the face. Tavion was the name of the man on the table. Artus was about to ask a more useful question, but the guard injected something into his arm. He quickly slumped into unconsciousness.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Revelation of Earthby Frank Sims Copyright © 2012 by Jonathan Henry. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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