Scientific progress makes moral progress a necessity; for if man's power is increased, the checks that restrain him from abusing it must be strengthened.
~ Madame de Stael
The UEGS Clarke decelerated from faster-than-light speed with a barely noticeable tremor of its streamlined hull. Small pockets of the atmosphere that had traveled with it from the planet of New Haven began to disperse in the vacuum of space. Within the bridge of the expeditionary cruiser, bridge personnel puttered about, finishing up the final check on all systems.
"Hull integrity, Ensign?" Commander Rainford asked from his command station, simultaneously queuing all of the thirteen decks' status reports.
"Hull is at ninety eight percent of the norm, sir," the female officer reported as she read the diagnostic panel at her station. "Slight compression of the aft section bulkheads. They will recover in three minutes, sir."
"Good. Everything's still here," Rainford acknowledged as he got up from his seat. "Engines?"
"Cycling at a rate of one-point-five percent per second," came the update from the lower platform of the bridge. Though it was hard to tell from the obvious chaos of movement around the relatively small and gray-painted room, everything on the ship was operating at nominal. The bustle was simply an uncontrollable symptom of making sure everything was working as it should.
"Lieutenant Hixon, inform the science teams they have an hour to get their toys aboard the transports. Also, remind the marines to not unsettle or aggravate them," Rainsford said gruffly as he picked off a stray piece of lint from his neatly pressed gray uniform. As was clearly advertised by the commendations pinned to his chest, this wasn't his first expedition drop-off. Nor, he noted sourly, would it be his last.
In that day and age of the U.E.G., most military awards were usually nothing more than congratulations for a successful completion of transporting scientists to a new planet and providing escorts as well as supplies for their use. Actual battle was scarce ever since the final civil war between Earth and the Mars colony forty nine years ago, officially marking a unified human species towards the pursuit of more scientific and idealistic goals.
While it was a truly noble endeavor, it left the surplus of military personnel and equipment without much of anything to do but explore. It didn't take an analyst to see that the Marine Corp and even a sizeable portion of the Navy wanted to see some kind of action. The Clarke was no exception to this observation. Rainsford, as well, wished to do more with his service than act as a glorified transporter.
He knew and constantly thought of the mid-twenty-first century and the extreme turbulence that had existed. Low on their stock of natural resources, many of the major powers of the world had finally come to the agreement that Earth was quickly becoming unable to support Humanity's exponential expansion. A summit had been called, iterating the severity of the situation to the now defunct U.N. that the need for a supernational organization that had the power to actually impose laws with active force instead of passive negotiation.
As one could well imagine, the sudden call for the dissolution of every state's government did not go over well with many nations. Without the option to leave the newly formed United Earth Government, the independence-seeking countries such as China, some parts of Eastern Europe, and much of South America took to the offensive. Numerous bushfire wars began springing up around the globe, entire armies collapsing from attacks on all fronts.
What was known then as World War III, but presently referred to as the Unification Wars, allowed the newborn U.E.G. to prove its authority. After, of course, both sides had suffered a combined number of half a billion casualties. With its power set and collective economy suddenly booming, the colonization of new worlds became the top priority. Mars had been the first choice to terraform, its ice caps, size, and distance favorable to that of Venus or Earth's own moon.
The method had initially succeeded twenty years later, the rewards of new living space and agriculture bringing thousands of colonists to, at the very least, try living on the newly habitable world. Though most textbooks held controversy over if the path the U.E.G. took during the Unification Wars and the years after them was the best, no one could deny that its intervention between the squabbling factions had created a brighter future for mankind.
"The scientists are requesting that we provide a complete climatic, atmospheric, and gravitational report of the planet before they begin moving their equipment," Lieutenant Hixon reported.
Commander Rainsford sighed softly as he turned to the tactical sensors officer. "Give me the full report, Lieutenant Tobler."
"Aye, sir. Gravity is approximately ninety seven-point-nine of Earth. Atmosphere shows around seventy seven percent nitrogen, twenty one percent oxygen. The rest is a mix of gases with a strangely high amount of neon," the officer said. "Planet B4-D4 is mostly temperate with sparse deserts and tropical areas around the equator. The research teams shouldn't find many problems living down there."
Rainford couldn't argue with the Lieutenant on that one. Aside from the harsh-looking scars of desert that were slashed across the equator, the planet was the near spitting image of a younger Earth. The supercontinent of B4-D4 covered around a third of the planet's surface, save for a few scattered pockets of land off its coasts. Small and scattered clouds were visible on the bridge's view screen.
"Let us hope not, son," Rainsford agreed as he motioned for Hixon to report the findings to the scientists. "Helm, prepare to take us out of system and on a course to Aegis when the shuttles have all cleared the hangar."
"Aye, sir."
The sooner we're back to known space, the better, Commander Rainsford thought to himself as he sat back down in his station.
"I'm just saying. We could always just fake our deaths," Corporal Richardson said to his fellow marine as they walked through the hangar deck to their dropship, their matte black helmets held at their hips. "Chain of command won't post a formal inquiry or nothing. We'd seal ourselves in a cargo container and wait until we hit Aegis. Smooth sailing from there on."
"You're an idiot," Specialist Nelson scoffed as they passed a group of scurrying engineers. "And I mean a big idiot."
"I think its a great alternative to babysitting some eggheads for six months," Richardson countered. "I've seen my share share of pre-colonies to see that there's nothing-," he had begun saying before bumping into a large, intimidating figure.
"Nelson. Richardson," boomed their commanding officer, Captain Wesner. Unlike the two of them, Wesner was already suited up in his gear and full-body armor. The black metal was dark enough to mistake with the vacuum of space and the glowing red eye lenses from his helmet-covered head seemed to bore into Richardson's very soul. "Put your helmets on, damn it."
"Yes, sir!" The two marines sounded off before scrambling to comply with Wesner's order. The eye lenses of their helmets glinted to life as soon as they got them on, signaling that they were readied up. Wesner glared at Richardson intensely, which was extremely unnerving even within the bullet-proof suit.
"You do realize that for the past thirty standard minutes, your helmet mic has been turned on and transmitting on your platoon's communication channel?" Wesner finally spoke after what seemed to be eternity. "I had the pleasure to listen as you ate in the mess hall and as you told Specialist Nelson your brilliant idea of leaving my beloved corp. I'm sure the rest of your platoon was given this enlightening opportunity as well. What do you have to say for yourself, Corporal?"
Richardson choked on his words, his voice coming hesitantly. "No excuse, sir."
"Very well. You have just earned yourself latrine duty for the next two months of this mission." Wesner said calmly. "Your ration card is also revoked for the next two days. Hunger, as I understand it, is surprisingly effective in erasing opinions and desertion, Corporal."
"Understood, sir." Richardson saluted.
"Now get the hell out of my sight," Wesner ordered, pointing off to Richardson's assigned dropship. The two marines wasted no time in hustling towards Transport Fourteen, not daring to even look back in the Captain's general direction. By the time they had gotten there, most of the packed equipment had already been loaded up onto the vessel. The people on the hangar had mostly evacuated the drop-off compartment. Loose tools and fuel pipeline were in the process of being retrieved off the deck.
The two entered the ship through the boarding ramp directly into the seating area. A wave of muttered insults and jeering came from the marines already inside and strapped into their seats. The rest of Squad Two had obviously overheard what the Captain had of Richardson earlier. The faceless helmets made it impossible to tell who Richardson would have to beat the crap out of to shut them up, but he had a pretty good idea of who was who.
"Hiding in a cargo container. Yeah, that sounds like a great plan, Rich." came the voice of Corporal Nguyen over the crowd. "They don't teach you very much on Mars, do they?" This comment earned scattered bouts of laughter from Squad Two.
"Shut up back there!" yelled the pilot over the transport's intercom. "We can't do a systems check if you fools just keep yammering!"
As Richardson found his empty seat near the entrance to the cockpit, the noise level across the room had dropped from an uproar to soft conversations and muttered curses. On the other side of the troop bay, looking very out of place with their white jumpsuits and respirator masks, were the three scientists squads Two and Three were supposed to escort on B4-D4. Keeping to themselves while reading their own tablets, they looked positively dull to Richardson.
A sudden pinging sound came over the squad mates' suit communication systems, followed by the light three-toned sound of a company-wide communication.
"EarthGov would like to remind its military personnel that the unwarranted termination of researchers and scientists is counterproductive," came the sweet and cheerful female voice of an automated U.E.G. announcement. The scientists aboard, however, were not getting the message over their communication headpieces. "In addition to receiving an appropriate court-martial, you are only increasing the time that your unit is assigned to the planet."
The tone changed suddenly from the tart notification to the gruff Captain Wesner. "Alright, marines. I know most of you slept through both orientation videos, so I'll break it down for you. We are heading to planet B4-D4, a few thousand light-years from Aegis and the rest of civilization. As you may have noticed from the fact that you're sitting inside of a damned dropship, we're going to spend the next six months or so holding the Lab Boys' hands."
A few of the troopers scoffed at the researchers in the far corner of the bay, but they simply hadn't heard them or were ignoring the marines.
"Hopefully, most of you have the common sense to not hunt the local wildlife or eat anything the ground produces. You all remember Private Vickers," Wesner paused for a moment before continuing. "Do not be Private Vickers. Not that a few of your stations are likely to provide any kind of resource whatsoever, but still make sure you don't go eating cacti. I'm talking to you, Squad Seven.
"In any case, your squad leaders will probably fill you in on any details I'm missing," Wesner said before pausing once more. "B4-D4 is a hell of a lot better than New Macedonia, marines. Take a moment after you touchdown to take in your surroundings and notice the presence of oxygen in the air. Maybe even take a swim. That is all."
The three-toned chime played again to signal the communication channel shutting off and the dropship began to shake slightly as the engines roared to life.
"Engines online and ready," Richardson could barely hear the pilot's talking in the cockpit. "All ships, check in and prepare for decompression. After a few seconds of reports signaling readiness, a sudden boom shook the shuttle violently. "Atmosphere vented and hangar depressurized. All birds are cleared for departure. Good luck."
On the outside of the hangar, the blast doors that separated the bay from the empty vacuum retracted back into the hull of the Clarke. The fourteen dropships that departed from the bay were like insects leaving a recently opened box, their plasma thrusters glowing brilliant blue as they accelerated towards the planet. Before long, the Clarke's visual cameras could no longer see the flight group.
Without skipping a beat, the hangar doors slid back into place, the bow of the Clarke turning to the opposite direction of B4-D4. Its three massive vertical engines radiated intense indigo as they accelerated out of the system, gradually gaining speed. Once the cruiser was a good few hundred kilometers from B4-D4, the faster-than-light engine kicked in and warped the Clarke to its next destination.
Like any other time during which the sun of Equestria had set and the moon taken prevalence in the sky, Princess Luna stood on the balcony of the castle's astronomy tower. The air on this night was particularly chilled, a sign of the near onset of winter. While gazing at the stars, Luna debated whether or not to go inside to warm up a bit and write an entry in her constellation journal.
Just as she had decided to venture inside for a moment, a glint in the far corner of her vision attracted her attention to another part of the sky. The glint itself was nothing more than a shooting star or a light meteor shower. However, the bizarre thing about this particular shooting star was that it was traveling at a slightly slower velocity compared to a regular one.
She carefully noted this phenomena before entering the castle finally for a cup of cocoa and a warm blanket.