Contact

by DATA_EXPUNGED

Farpoint: Debreifings Part 2

Sol system, Lunar low orbit
January 16th, 417 a.g.w.

Jarret Connor, despite having lived and worked in space for decades, never tired of the sights it offered him.

He stared out a window in the, rather luxurious, all things considered, room he’d been put in to wait until his interview. He’d rather put the whole reason he was here behind him, but when Federal Intelligence asked you for something, the only questions you asked were "when do you want it", "where do you want it", and "how do you want it"; even a civilian like him knew that.

Luna made up for it, though. Streaking by a few hundred kilometers below him, the sun glinted of the countless crater-lakes that dotted its lush surface. Earth, in the background, completed the scene; the mottled blue and brown and white marble that was mankind’s birthworld hung in the inky black.

He sighed and pushed off, letting himself drift in no particular direction, trusting that the padding on the walls would keep him from getting a serious bump. That was one reason he was thankful he was on a civilian station. If there was one thing ancient movies had gotten right, it was the military’s penchant for cold steel and sharp angles.

“Having fun?”

THUMP!

“SONUVA-!”

Padded did not mean soft. Jarret massaged his head, which had oh-so-helpfully informed him as to that fact by colliding with said padding, as he threw a glare at the man hanging in the door frame with an amused glint in his eye.

“Piss off,” he growled.

The other man just drifted into the room with that impish look still plastered on his face.

“After the interview,” he answered simply. It was at that point Jarret saw the ID badge on the man’s chest. The Federal Intelligence logo glared at him.

Now he’d cussed out an FI agent. Wonderful. He pushed off in the direction of the nullgrav table that had popped from what was now the ‘floor’ of the room with a sigh. That bump to the head was liable to be the highlight of the day.

The agent held out his hand while Jarret was slipping into a nullgrav “chair” that would keep him from drifting away unintentionally. Jarret stared at it a moment before shaking it.

“No one’s in trouble, mister Connor. Believe me, you wouldn’t have anything worry about even if that were the case.

“I’m Agent Ripley, by the way.”

“So, this is about Farpoint?”

“Indeed it is.”

“Why not ask your soldier boys about it?”

Agent Ripley gave a small smile at that. “We are. But we thought it best to interview everyone that was there. Sometimes, different perspectives see different things. I’m sure you’ve got an idea of how delicate a situation like this can be.”

“I guess. Alright, where do you want me to start?”

“What were you doing when the incident started?”

Jarret made a face. “Layman’s terms?”

“That might be best.”

Jarret sighed and pulled up the relevant files.

Gravel crunched under the rover’s tires as it rolled over the rugged terrain of 82 Eridani’s sole inhabited planet, the vehicle’s sole occupant bobbing his head absentmindedly to a pop song drifting out of the radio as he drove.

Jarret was having a good day. That wasn’t unusual for the atmospheric technician though; the man loved his job and the artist’s pride he took in his work generally had him in a good mood. His eyes wandered along Farpoint’s landscape, taking in a vista that had barely begun to soften, even after a decade’s work.

It was Jarret’s job to change that. He’d spent the last decade helping to build up the planet’s original atmosphere of carbon dioxide and hydrogen, and now, with the atmosphere finally thick enough to live in without a pressure suit, it was time to start making the dead rock actually livable.

He was on his way to check up on one of the automated regolith refineries that allowed that process to happen. He considered himself lucky that the refineries under his watch were close by. Much as he loved his job, Jarret did not envy his comrades that had to make those monthly suborbital hops.

[[Jarret.]]

He turned off the main road onto the path leading to Refinery 14. [[Yo, Andrew! I’m turning into fourteen now. You need something, boss?]]

Adrew hesitated. Something was up. Jarret turned off the radio. The silence around him became deafening.

[[I need you to finish up at fourteen and head back in.]] Now Andrew had Jarret’s full attention. The man didn’t believe in micromanaging, and he NEVER deviated from his schedules. Now he was doing both.

[[What’s up, boss?]]

Silence.

[[Boss?]]

More silence.

[[Dammit, man! Talk to me.]]

[[Lieutenant Coleman says that there’s unknowns on adar. He’s locking everything down for now.]]

Great. Just perfect.

[[Rats?]] Jarret questioned back. Pirates were a rare, but still serious, problem on the Fringe, and terraforming projects were favored targets; tiny security garrisons and warehouses just full of supplies and goods made them low-risk and high-reward. Perfect pirate bait.

[[Dunno. Maybe. Coleman thinks the numbers support that, though; more than one, but still single digits.

[[I want you back here asap, Connor.]]

[[Yeah, boss. On it.]]

Jarret turned the radio back on as the comms link faded out. The wind was creeping him out.

A shuttle, one of the CS-14 Swallows that Farpoint Station had on hand for intercontinental travel, if Jarret was any judge, was on final approach for the spaceport runway as he pulled into the vehicle depot. He watched it glide in as he parked the rover. Drogues parachutes deployed and retro thrusters at full blast, it was obvious the pilots were in hurry. It didn’t take an idiot to figure out why.

The shuttle overshot, sonic booms ringing out as it passed overhead. He could see the shuttle jettison the drogues as it began to turn in the distance; the parachutes would hamper it more than help by this point.

He stepped out of the rover and began to jog over to the command center. If he was going to get information, that was the place to be.

The squat collection of prefabricated modules that was the heart of Farpoint Station loomed ahead of him as he was silently debating the pros and cons of a prosthetic body with himself. He had decided one was in his best interests as the airlock cycled, and had started browsing the market by the time he walked into the command center proper. As expected, it was packed.

Nothing like the threat of attack to bring people together.

He shut off the web-page as he actually entered the room.

“Lance Held High, Farpoint Command; check in, over.”

There was a moment of static. “Farpoint Command, Lance Held High checking in, over.”

The Lance Held High was a Navy frigate assigned to 82 Eridani for security. If Jarret was right, they were probably on their way to investigate the adar contacts.

He settled next to Marc, another atmo-tech, who nodded in acknowledgement without taking her eyes off the displays.

“Lance Held High, Farpoint Command; requesting status, over.”

Another moment of static.

“Farpoint Command, Lance Held high. Situation is nominal; we are one-two-zero seconds from intercept, travelling decimal-two-five cee. Adar counts zero-five contacts, silhouettes do not match known craft; estiel sensors show radiation emissions consistent with manned spacecraft.

“Peterson, brings us down to ten, then drop us out within twenty thousand.”

Static returned. Another voice appeared on the channel.

“Disengaging ay-drive in five.

“Three.

“One.

“Range to targets now eighteen thousand, five hundred kilometers, approximate”

“Capello, hail them; all frequencies.”

“We’re. . . go, Commander”

“Unidentified craft, unidentified craft, this is Commander Hastings, See-Dee-Vee Lance Held High, Sol Confederacy Navy; heed and stand to.

“All craft receiving this transmission have entered restricted space and are hereby ordered to transmit identification immediately. Failure to do so within one-two-zero seconds will be interpreted as hostile action.

“I say again; squawk ident or we will kill you. Over.”

At a twentieth the distance between the Earth and its moon, the unknown ships were clearly visible to the Lance’s telescopes, and their images were displayed on various screens in the room. They were. . . graceful, each one built of curves that flowed from end to end.

He would have thought that they might have been Pavonan, their shipwrights preferred ‘artsy’ hulls like the ones on screen; this wasn’t like them, though. If these ships had belonged to the Order, Farpoint would have known about them a week before; even the Eridanus gave you the courtesy of a knock on the door.

Everyone waited, wondering what the strange ships would do.

“Sixty seconds.”

“Ready weapons.”

“Forty-five.”

"Unidentified craft, Lance Held High, you now have thirty, three-zero, seconds to comply. This is your final warning."

Jarret wasn’t sure if anyone around was breathing. The tension in the room grew as the seconds ticked down.

And then a loud thump rumbled out of the speakers.

“Impact, impact, impact! Aft armor, dorsal quarter!”

The room exploded with action, and Jarret found himself being herded out.

”Weapons free; return fire! Peterson, yaw us ninety, and then bring us the hell back up to point-one!”

“Stations, people! Stations! Unless you have a reason to be in here, get out!

“Someone get on comms and tell Centcom we’re under attack.”

“ - knocked out, thrusters only.”

“Laser discharge in three - “

The door shut.

Lance Held High was dead. Farpoint’s defenses now consisted of exactly four aerospace fighters that couldn’t threaten a freighter and a small garrison of Marines.

With the unknown ships in orbit, the evacuation was in full force.

Jarret stared at the dots drifting above him with disgust, and more than a little fear, etched on his face; with the planet far from developed enough to justify orbital infrastructure, there was no doubt as to the identity of the “wandering stars” in the sky.

How many would be able to make it up to the Venus’ Light before the invaders forced the freighter to jump out? Would he be one of the lucky ones?

He sighed and flipped a finger up at the sky, an ancient gesture that was still quite insulting even in the modern day.

Fuck them, whoever they were up there.

“Evacuation group eight, report to the catapult. Group eight to the catapult, now.”

Time to head back coreward. Jarret could hear the distant bang of rifle fire.

He made sure to hustle.

“And they just let you go?”

“Let, nothing. They got that last shuttle docked up right before the Light had to hightail it the hell out.” Jarret chuckled. “That freighter danced for a good hour. We jumped out after that.”

“They still didn’t chase you out-system.”

“Beats me,” Jarret shrugged.

The intelligence agent sighed. “Well, mister Connor, if that’s all, then we’re done here. I’ll have to ask you to remain in-system for the time being but -”

“Wait.”

Ripley stopped at the threshold and turned back.

“I’ve heard rumors. . .”

“Which I can neither confirm, nor deny at this time, mister Connor.

“Good day, mister Connor.”

LOCATION CLASSIFIED
DATE CLASSIFIED

“You know, my kids would kill to see this thing.”

“Do I have to remind you-”

“Just a thought, calm down.”

An eyeroll. “Has it done anything?”

“It eats, no meat. It sleeps. It mopes-”

“You’re assigning human emotion to that thing?”

“I call it like I see it. It’s acting like my cat when he gets in one of his moods.”

“You actually still have it.”

“The kids love him. You give me that look, but one day. One day.

“As I was saying, it eats, sleeps, mopes, and it sometimes sings to itself.”

A look. “You’re kidding.”

“I have the recordings. I can show you right now.”

“I have got to see this.”

A handwave. “This way.”

The two drifted down the hall, leaving the observation room behind.

Inside the impromptu cell, a horse-like creature floated near a corner.

Author's Note:

What's this? Apes? In my pony words?

In all seriousness, though, the human tag is there for a reason, and it's high-time we get a look at who the ponies are going to be dealing with.

Comments

[DATA_EXPUNGED]

Yeah, so new chapter. I'm sorry it took so long to-

PUT THE HAMMER DOWN AND STEP AWAY FROM THE NAILS!

[Carpinus Caroliniana]

The universe is fairly well-developed. Props for making both sides spacefaring civilizations.

The setting reminds me of a mix between Honor Harrington and Mass Effect.

As for story, I suspect the Changelings have found the Human colony.

[DATA_EXPUNGED]

5793022

The universe is fairly well-developed.

The setting belongs to FanNotANerd, I'm just playing in it, but I'm glad you like it.

FanNotANerd's story inspired this one, it's linked in the description if you decide to give it a read (which I fully recommend doing, by the way).

Props for making both sides spacefaring civilizations.

A lot of the First Contact stories I've read have had one or the other (usually the ponies) as planet-bound primitives. I wanted to do something a little different.

The setting reminds me of a mix between Honor Harrington and Mass Effect.

I was going for that kind of feeling with the humans, though, again, the Mass Effect elements are all FanNotANerd. I'm just extrapolating from he made.

As for story, I suspect the Changelings have found the Human colony.

I can neither confirm nor deny at this time.