“By cultivating the beautiful we scatter the seeds of heavenly flowers, as by doing good we cultivate those that belong to humanity.”
--Robert A. Heinlein.
--Robert A. Heinlein.
Manifest Destiny
The sun shined bright and high above the Houston space port, it was a cloudless day, with bright blue skies and a compassionate heat that warmed the usually chilly days of January. Beneath the sun, the rays of light reflected off the bright white panels of a shuttle taking flight out into the skies. It left a smokeless trail of heat waves behind it, as it climbed out into the heavens and rapidly beyond the naked eye of men. The last anyone would see of it would be a singular dot, and then, nothingness. The hand of humanity, stretched out toward the skies.
Those aboard the shuttle would feel incredible G-Forces in the initial launch. The blue around them would rapidly begin to dwindle to a sea of stars over the course of eight minutes, and the G-Forces bleed off into weightlessness. Those aboard would be allowed a few minutes to float about in the cabin, as they sail through emptiness toward the USS Jefferson—currently on the sunny side of the planet in mid Earth orbit. It was the station responsible for production of the five ships. It stretched for a kilometer in width—a large station, only dwarfed by the station which those aboard the shuttle had trained aboard for the past two years.
The sun is briefly blocked as they pass underneath a large vessel... One that would take a crew of four hundred to man it. It is comprised out of well painted and decorated armour, smooth on the outside—though with lines between each outer panel that showed where it was joined together. The shuttle passes across a series of black letters painted onto the side of the vessel. They spelled out the future of those on board the shuttle.
IEF Venture – 001.
The first vessel set to construction. The first one funded, the first one named.
Alongside the IEF Venture, the shuttle was absolutely dwarfed in size. The pilot begins communicating and coordinating with the IEF Venture, moving his craft underneath the large vessel. There, a shuttle bay door opens, and allows the shuttle to silently drift inside. As the shuttle lands, the shuttle bay door closes. About thirty seconds pass, then the shuttle shakes a bit as its landing gear are clamped to the floor. The pilot unstraps himself from his seat and floats back to the rest of the shuttle’s occupants.
“Alright, this is your stop. You’re the last of the EF Detachment boys n’ girls, and... Robots, I guess.” The man had a thick Southern accent. “I’m gonna be one of your pilots, so I’ll be stickin’ around on the ship after I make a couple more trips. We’ll probably meet a few more times later, I’d imagine. Though, last trip I make, I won’t be in this ole’ girl—I’ll be in one of your new fangled landin’ craft. Heh... Sorry, gettin’ sentimental. Anyway, remember, there ain’t no gravity here in the shuttle bay. Float on over to one of the two corridors out of here, on the left or right side—either’ll get you there. Remember, painted arrows on the walls tell you where the floor is. Oh, and remember that y’all have to meet your EF Detachment Leader in the EF Gym. Y’all can ask the ship where to go if you get lost. Now I hate to be a bother, but... Would y’all kindly ‘git off my shuttle?”
Role Call
Several minutes had passed since arriving on the ship. Enough time to get to their shared quarters, put away their things into a footlocker, and get to the EF Gym. It was a large ship, with multiple decks—all of which had to be traversed by stairs. All the while, across the ship, the type 1 AI that managed the life support was there—waiting over them, waiting for any command to be spoken into the intercom system. The magnetic plating beneath their feet took a bit of getting used to, it didn’t quite feel right for natural gravity. The artificial nature of it was omnipresently clear, and yet, totally invisible to the naked eye.
Every door they passed by was blast sealed, and took a full second or two to open—it was possible to environmentally isolate any room in the ship from the rest of the ship, and the way the door to the EF Gym hissed as it opened implied that it was atmospherically sealed at all times. Once inside the Gym, one would be greeted by the sight of a few plants—which helped to recycle the air and distract from the metallic walls, floor, and ceiling—and the sight of others who had gotten there.
Once everyone has arrived in the room, and the one hour time limit to arrive has expired, the short Irishman speaks. “I’m sure everyone here did their homework and read their orders and already knows who I am. Let’s pretend, for a moment, however, that some of you would be so disgraceful as to be totally unaware: I am Major Teague O’Connel. You can call me Major, or you can call me God—either works. I am your superior officer, and I will be the one to issue you your orders. From here on out, when you are not sleeping, you are in my domain. When you are not outside of this ship doing your duty, you will be inside this ship scrubbing bulkheads, training in the Gym, or simply jumping as high as you can simply because I want to see how far your ass can fly.”
He was in dress uniform, wearing his ranks proudly, and keeping his hands behind his back. He walks in front of each of them, and then looks them eye to eye, sharply. He starts with the first two, standing at the end of the line of the PFC’s—starting with the Sergeant. “Who are you, and what the fuck are you doing in my Gym, soldier?”
The Sergeant clears his throat. There was a scar running across it, starting from his Adam’s Apple and running its way across his vocal chords. He wore his dress uniform, untarnished, and well kept. “I am Sergeant Maitreya Sunder, sir. I am here to serve the IEF.” Teague taps his chin with his finger, and rolls his eyes. “Are yeh now?” Some of his accent slips in, and a momentary grin manages to catch the Sergeant off guard. Just as quickly as it appeared, the grin fades to a severe look. “You can run away from your parents all day, I don’t care. Just don’t lie to me.” The Sergeant looks down at the floor, and takes a deep breath. “Yes sir.”
The Major moves onto the next person in line—a Lance Corporal. A person simply one rank above all the PFC’s in the rest of the line. The Lance Corporal carried herself in a rather calm and reserved way, showing neither pride nor shame—a sort of cold, empty middle ground. She, too, wore her dress uniform, though she wore a red piece of cloth around her left forearm—an armband, with no particular insignia on it. Teague’s eyes momentarily glance toward it, before growing severe once more as he looks her in the eyes. “Who are you, and what the fuck are you doing in my gym, soldier?”
The Lance Corporal looks him back straight in the eyes. There was a moment of hesitation, as she seemed to gauge her response. “I am Lance Corporal Toyama Maeko.” She pauses again, glancing coldly toward the Sergeant, then back to the Major. “I am here to serve the IEF... And to bring my family honour in space after I brought them shame on Earth, sir.” The Major nods, a hint of a smile seems to be suppressed underneath his military discipline. “Good.”
He then moves down the line, asking each PFC these same two questions, one by one. The only question now is... How will they answer?