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—Chapter One—

November 23, 2152

Hoards of space-suited colonists carrying a hasty variety of personal possessions flooded the newly built Martian spaceport of Cassini. They hurried past Martian Marine checkpoints—and the aftermath of small pitched ground battles that left a trail of corpses and debris strewn about. Mars was in full rebellion against its hated overlord, the Earth.

As people shoved and pushed their way on to a multitude of awaiting spaceships, many of the boarding passengers still reeled from a state of shock. Even though the coming of this day had been relayed in whispers and quiet meetings throughout the colony for years on end, the reality of the moment clouded the minds of the immigrants like a mist of dreams. Still, the air was charged with an unimaginable excitement as well as the fear of uncertainty.

The choice given was a simple one: remain on Mars and live under the heel of ‘The Order’ or chance a migration to new, far-flung world with all the possibilities and penalties that came with it. As majority of the colonists chose to board waiting liners, freighters, and every other transport available, their decision was quite clear; they would leave old Mars—forever.

Above the throngs of people nudging and shouldering their way to freedom, flares of distance lights high above in the night’s sky constantly interrupted the darkness. They flicker brightly for a second then faded into blackness. Adding to that, fiery showers of meteor-like objects traveled from all directions, creating a spectacular fireworks display.

A tall man with wavy black hair and impeccably dressed in a gray suit stood on the bridge of the loading spaceliner Morning Star. His cold brown eyes gazed steadily upward through a large overhead skylight and into the warring heavens. Martian Administrator Feoras Damon evaluated the distant and huge battle between the Martian fleet and ships of a reserve force from Earth. His face showed no expression as he watched casually and listened to the cracking of military communications over a loud speaker.

"Five enemy fighters at ten o’clock HIGH!"

“Two more fighters coming in at Five o’clock LOW!"

"Damage control! Hull breaches on aft decks two and three!"

"PORT SIDE, ENEMY STAR CRUISER BURNING AND OUT OF CONTROL!"

"CONROY, CONROY! YOU’VE GOT ONE ON YOUR TAIL!"

"ZETA LEADER TO ZETA FLIGHT! REFORM ON MY WING!"

"HANSON! EJECT, DAMN YOU! EJECT!"

As the man continued to stare at the far off conflict, he thought to himself that the battle sounded more intense than it really looked. Even as the voices of military men and women filled the air with their desperation and bravery, he could find little to maintain his interest in the struggle.

Truly this was an historical moment, but all he could feel was being greatly annoyed.

"Will someone shut that damn thing off and give it a rest!" Damon commanded in a weary tone.
Captain Jacobs, an aged and balding man of many years, looked up momentarily at the administrator and then turned to the communications crewman. "Shut it off," he ordered.

The captain raised his hand and stroked his graying moustache and goatee. For a few seconds, the starfarer studied the administrator as the man continued to gaze at the battle. The sailor then strolled slowly over to the tall man.

"I thought you would be interested in the progress of the fleet?" the captain finally quizzed Damon.

"Progress of the fleet," Damon smirked. "Don't make me laugh! We both know how this is going to end. Personally, I can't wait until this whole affair is over with," Damon conceded his sanctimonious thoughts.

"I'm sure Commander Paladin would be quite touched by your concern and loyalty," Jacobs offered sarcastically, but Damon just ignored the remark.

"I'm going to my cabin. Notify me when the battle is over with," Damon displayed his persisting lack of regard. He then turned and headed out the hatchway.

Captain Jacobs watched as the man departed. His disdain for the politician showed readily in his eyes. Even though Jacobs was a man who would do mostly anything for money, he couldn't help but to feel sorry for the poor souls on both sides engaged in the conflict above. He looked up through the large porthole and surveyed the distant death of ships and crews. An old prayer remembered came to his lips as a large explosion appeared in the void and shimmered brightly, but it soon vanished along with his quiet words. With a sigh, the vessel's steward went back to his ship's business.

***

In the space above Mars, fighters zoomed through the void, dodging other crafts and wreckage. Their lasers and missiles sometimes found their marks—and sometimes missed. Regardless, the small crafts, themselves, were hunted and tracked by lasers and pulse weapons of other fighters as well as the larger warships. In the chaos and carnage, hulking remains and broken bodies were left drifting everywhere—forever tumbling slowly in the coldness of space.

Among this, a damaged Martian shuttle zigzagged in evasive maneuvers. It ferried to a hopeful safe haven the only survivors of a ship that no longer existed. However, some things are never fated to be. Even though it wasn't a combative craft, it soon became the target of two Earth fighters. Within moments, the fighters' laser fire had dissolved the unarmed craft into a brilliant ball of fire, as fuel and oxygen ignited.

After destroying the shuttle, the two Earth fighters picked out an old Martian cruiser making its way through the heart of the battle. Circling from behind, the two daring pilots chose to make their run on the dark grayish-blue ship. They increased their throttle and headed in.

The old ship for the most part resembled a huge orca—an obsolete design concept that echoed the importance that life had once held to humanity. However, conards were substituted for fins, while laser turrets, and compartments punctuated the ship. Also added to her silhouette was a conning tower, which rose majestically topside mid-ship. A huge rectangular flight bay also hung from the bottom of the vessel as well, and smaller engines on either side of her were mounted for maneuver and reverse thrust. Ominously, the rounded bow of the ship was fitted with a ramming plane that traveled its diameter—a leftover from battles and tactics long past.

As the old vessel traveled through the conflict, both pilots simultaneously fired their lasers at it, but the Martian cruiser christened Mariner was heavily armored and returned their fire almost immediately. A direct hit transformed one fighter into millions of flaming particles, as the second fighter continued to press its attack. This ultimately proved fatal, as the warship's laser cannons severed an engine and several control surfaces from the fighter. The small craft spun out of control, ending its flight as it impacted with the big ship.

The bridge of the Mariner rocked from the explosive collision. Normal lighting dimmed and blinked off, replaced by an emergency subdued red for a moment. It faded the bridge into a temporary surreal atmosphere of glimmering instruments being attended by shadowy figures. But then the lighting snapped back on, and all was normal again.

The bridge crew of the Mariner paid no heed to the lighting as they felt the ship rock from the violent encounter. They continued to carry out their seemingly endless tasks. Dressed in dark grayish-blue flight suits that covered their bodies from their combat boots to their necks, the crewmen were methodical, yet hasty in their actions.

A small, stocky man with two stars on his collar paced the deck as he talked loudly into his headset. His snapping and crackling voice was made from an electro-mechanical device that was implanted in his throat. This added to his unsettling appearance of cropped white hair bounding between the normal right side of his face and the artificial skin that covered the left side like a mask. It was a constant reminder to all who viewed him that starship warfare was indeed a dangerous game.

Commander Paladin's dark eyes and harsh voice were charged with fire as he directed his ship and the Martian Military’s order of battle. "ANGEL FIRE TO ANGEL ONE! ANGEL FIRE TO ANGEL ONE!" Commander Paladin's voice spoke in urgency. "They're trying to reform several wings at 2-0, 3-1-7, 1-1-5, OVER!"

"Wait one," the female voice of Angel One replied.

***

Some distance away, the angular, blue and gold blended-wing Martian fighters of Angel flight assembled. Angel One—Squadron Leader Colette Boussard—then vectored her flight towards the given coordinates. Despite her heads-up display supplying an enormous amount of flight information, she jerked her head around constantly, scanning the space about her fighter. Her bulky space helmet, however, forced her to exaggerate her movements in order to get a better view.

"Boussy, I see them! They're at nine o'clock high!" her wingman blurted out over her radio.
Colette snapped her head upward to survey two huge enemy formations.

"Oh my God! There must be over a hundred of them!" the wingman was awed.

Colette's gut tightened in fear, but it made no difference. "We see them, commander! We're on our way!" Colette spoke resolved to her mission.

"ANGEL ONE TO ANGEL FLIGHT! VECTOR 2-0, 3-1-7, 1-1-5! I SAY AGAIN! VECTOR 2-0, 3-1-7, 1-1-5! WE’LL FORM IN A CAT’S CLAW AT THE NEW INITIAL POINT!"

One by one, the fighters of Angel Flight peeled off and started their attack run in what seemed to be random, disconnected patterns. The space fighters zipped about at tremendous speeds while turning at insane angles, barely missing a thousand drifting pieces of the vestiges of the destruction as well as other surviving spacecraft. But all were making their way steadily to the same directed I. P. This was the nature of fighter tactics of the 22nd century. Long gone were the days of approaching an enemy fighter unseen from behind. An array of sensors and cameras scanning in all directions had rendered this ploy absolutely useless.

Regardless, the Martian fighters swiftly climbed to attack. With every second, they drew faithfully nearer, masked by the stealth of their maneuvers. Yet, it seemed not to matter, for the ‘Earthers’ were paying more attention to their intended targets rather than to the small ban of Martian fighters closing in on them.

As the Martian fighters drew closer, sweat from Colette's hand filled her glove as it tightened its grip around the fighter's joystick. "WAIT! … WAIT!" she cautioned her flight. "WAIT!" Colette cautioned further as she could now make out the enemy ships' markings. "WAIT!" her thumb caressed the fire button as Angel Flight came back together finally in a ‘claw’ formation. "NOW!"

Laser fire from the small group of Martian fighters raked the first massive wedge formation of Earth fighters. Many of the small Earth crafts simply blew apart, while the rest scattered to avoid the same fate as well as the burning cinders that were once their comrades.

As a few of the Martian fighters began to give chase to the fleeing Earth craft, Colette maintained control over her flight. "NEVER MIND THEM! CONCENTRATE ON THE SECOND FORMATION!" she directed.

However a moment later, her wingman's voice once again excitedly interrupted over her headphones. "BOUSSY, WE'RE TOO LATE! THEY'RE FIRING ON THE VIKING! LOOK!"

Colette’s eyes widen in alarm as the second formation fired their missiles at the ill-fated Martian cruiser.

The destruction of the ship just seemed to happen in slow motion. The hoard of missiles penetrated the hull of the ship from bow to stern.

Through its portholes, flashes of light illuminated the space around it. Then came the larger secondary explosions, which began to twist and melt the metal of the great vessel into molten portions. At this point, great blazing sections of the cruiser blew off indiscriminately. Finally, the end came in a massive explosion that sent an expanding hallo of energy off into blackness of the void.

Colette winced in momentary shock, but then firmed her jaw and went back to her deadly profession.

***

Back aboard the Mariner, Paladin's attention had turned to several breaches in the hull of his ship. "I don't care! Commandeer the entire galley crew and any non-critical personnel if you have to, but seal those breaches! You get me, mister!" he rebuffed the ship's damage control officer over his headset.

"COMMANDER! AN EARTH CRUISER IDENTIFIED AS THE TASMANIA IS ABEAM OF US AND RAPIDLY APPROACHING OUR PORT QUARTER!" Captain John Winslow warned Paladin in a yell across the bridge.

Paladin quickly turned his head and gazed at the tactical display. A holographic globe containing 3 dimensional images of the ships around the Marnier along with their coordinates was projected between two huge octagon light fixtures. The Earth ship's advance on their position was clearly recognizable, and would be in firing range in less than a minute.

"MR. WINSLOW, GET ME A FIRING SOLUTION ON THAT SHIP! TACTICAL, SET THE DISTORTION-FIELD GENRATORS TO MAXIMUM, AND READY THE HEAT SHIELD, STAR BURST, Phalanx, AND MISSILE DECOYS!" Paladin yelled out to the weapons’ crewman as he abruptly paced to the helm's position.

Stopping next to the helmsman, he grabbed at the man's shoulder. "Cut the main starboard engine, right now! On my command, give me a hard right and use the bow and port docking thrusters as well!"

Paladin then cast narrowed eyes at Winslow. "At this range, he can’t lock us with his sensors, not with the distortion generators set at max. He’ll have to lock on us by optics alone. At that point, we'll blind him and then turn just as he fires! He won't be able to correct in time! After his main weapons have timed-out and we've come fully about, we'll treat him to a volley!" Paladin spoke in strangled, but determined electronic tones.
Winslow's face brightened with a smile. "Aye, sir!"

"SENSORS!" Paladin continued, "CALL OUT HIS DISTANCE! BUT AS SOON AS YOU SEE ANY POWER FLUCTUATION, GIVE ME A YELL!"

"AYE, COMMANDER!" the woman responded.

The bridge of the Mariner then went silent.

The Tasmania was a modern-day warship of deadly efficiency and a veteran of many battles. Her multi-rectangular design, however, looked like an upside down and elongated stairway of four tiers with a huge upper deck that spread into a massive delta wing. Her super structure was oddly divided and mounted on her sides, but they each brimmed with laser cannons and other instruments of war. As she drew closer and prepared for her assault, her metallic gray and silver precipitated harden alloys gleamed brightly in the rays of the distant sun. She was a magnificent ornament of beauty and death in the eternal night over Mars.

"TASMANIA, TWENTY-FIVE CLICKS AND CLOSING!" the sensor crewman cautioned.

“TACITCAL, DEPLOY STAR BURST!” ordered Paladin. “WHEN I GIVE THE COMMAND TO TURN, ENERGIZE THEM!”

The crewman gave Paladin a single nod and then went to his task. With a press of a button, a dozen man-size spheres ejected from the ship and took up station in front of the old Martian cruiser.

"Steady helm," Paladin voice reassured.

An endless moment then passed.

"TWENTY CLICKS, … HER OUTER MISSILE DOORS ARE OPENING!" the sensor crewman again alerted.

Time now seemed to stand completely still.

"FIFTEEN CLICKS! … POWER SPIKE!"

"NOW! HARD RIGHT!" Paladin's voice boomed.

The Star Burst Flares became a nova of an intense and blinding light just as the Mariner's thrusters came to life. Totally obscured by the sudden brilliance, the Martian cruiser turned mere seconds before the Tasmania fired her laser weapons. Without knowing the target had veered hard from its original course, the energy beams passed harmlessly by as the Mariner rapidly pivoted away. Only when the brightness faded did the captain of the Tasmania realized his mistake, but he was quick to remedy the error.

A horde of missiles were launched from the Tasmania and pressed in for the kill. They streaked towards the Martian ship as burning white columns, while a wall of transparent red energy filled the space in front of the Mariner. Suddenly, from the Martian ship's hull, missile decoys shot away at different angles.

As Paladin and his bridge crew watched the trajectory of the approaching fiery messengers of death, all wondered if their counter-measures would be enough to save them and their ship.

Finally, as the missiles penetrated the heat shield, some of targeting projectiles exploded, taking out themselves as well as any other missiles nearby. However, the threat still remained even though a little more than half were destroyed. The surviving missiles continued on their deadly path.

As the projectiles closed, the lumbering decoys spurted out fake holograms of the Martian ship. The electronic illusions quickly confused many of the missiles and sent them on wild courses away from the Martian cruiser. Still, a few traveled unswerving towards the Mariner.

As the final few approached, multi-barreled lasers suddenly popped out from the Mariner's hull and sprayed small pulse beams very rapidly over a wide area. Each of the missiles was riddled by the lasers and blew up short of its target. As the last of the Earth ship's missiles were destroyed, it was clearly the Mariner's turn now.

"WEAPONS, FIRE!" ordered Paladin.

The Mariner filled the space between the two ships with deadly and accurate laser fire. Both continuous and pulsed beams pummeled the Earth ship. They opened huge sections of the Tasmania's steel alloy hull in explosive ruptures.

"SHE'S DAMAGED BADLY!" the sensor crewman loudly shouted to the Mariner's bridge personnel. "COMMANDER, HER POWER IS DOWN BY SIXTY-THREE PERCENT AND THERE ARE NUMEROUS BREACHES!"

"CEASE FIRING!" Paladin commanded. "OPEN A HAILING FREQUENCY TO THAT SHIP AND PUT HER ON THE VIEWER!"

"Hailing frequency opened, sir!"

Commander Paladin drew a breath as he gazed at the luckless Earth ship. "This is Commander Paladin of the Mariner hailing the captain of the Tasmania! Captain, your ship is badly damaged and on fire! It is senseless to continue fighting. I promise care for you wounded and safe passage for your entire crew to—"

Suddenly, the Tasmania began blowing itself apart in flaming sections. Finally, there was a brilliant flash as both ship and crew died together in the heat of atomic expulsion.

Paladin just watched, seemingly unmoved.

"Damn!" Winslow's voice echoed his astonishment in a sad tone.

For a moment, there was only silence on the bridge.

"Commander," the communication's crewman broke the still, "all units are reporting in. The Earth forces are withdrawing."

Paladin taught eyes finally blinked in relief, while he paused for a moment before he spoke. "As soon as the Earth ships are out of range, give the order to recover all fighters and send a message to Damon to be ready to have his transports lift off on my command."

"Sir, with all due respect, I'd like to keep a few fighters for cover," Winslow showed his concern.

"No. In less than an hour, the Earth's Directorate Council will discover that nearly the entire Martian population is in rebellion and immigrating elsewhere. They're going to send everything they've got to stop us. We're going to have to run like hell. Our fighters can't make the jump to hyperspace on their own and I'm not leaving anyone behind if I can help it. I'll deploy them only if there is no other option."

Winslow nodded, but then dropped his head slightly.

Paladin knew something else was wrong. "What else, Mr. Winslow?" he inquired.

"Among our casualties was the cruiser Viking. She was lost with all hands, including Deputy Commander Noda," the junior officer reported.

Paladin closed his eyes for a minute and tightened his jaw.

"Sir, you'll have to appoint another second in command."

"Any word from the Crazy Horse?" Paladin questioned.

"No, sir. Not since the last of the communications and weapon satellites were destroyed. There's too much debris causing interference."

"Well, we'll just have to sit tight until they do. It's all up to Wakinyan now," the aged veteran officer spoke, glancing out into space.