The Evolution of F.O.R.C.E.

One of the first things Horcunt noticed, as he boarded the Destinnee, was the increased lighting and varying color scheme. The passageways were at least twice as brightly lit as before, and the dull gray tones favored by Chrysallamans had been changed to complementary shades of blue, green, brown, tan, crimson and white. Telepathic guide tokens on all the decks had been energized and glowed to anyone with the mental abilities to see them.

The original design of the Destinnee was based around the comfort and convenience of Emperor Horcunt. Cabins for his entourage of maids, cooks, housekeepers, valets, footmen, doctors, nurses and concubines took up almost 40% of living space available after taking into account the area needed for power, propulsion, weapons, stasis pods and life support. The complement of Royal Guards necessary to provide adequate round the clock protection for the Emperor had used up the remaining 60% of available space. The new interior layout was oriented towards Humans.

Bulkheads had been removed in many areas of the ship, and the resulting spacious accommodations for crew’s quarters, cafeterias and exercise rooms were startling. A swimming pool with attendant water park features captivated even the normally reserved Emperor. From the moment he entered the Natatorium, Horcunt was astonished at the number of Chrysallamans riding what was called a log flume. At first the telepathic screams of excitement as ten Chrysallamans plunged 30 feet down a slide while they sat inside a fake log were annoying. Yet as he watched the Chrysallamans excitedly run back up the ramps for another go at the slide, Horcunt thought he might like to try the activity.

The wide passageways were crowded, and both Zeck and Horcunt were startled to see Humans and Chrysallamans working together. Everyone they passed seemed to have a purpose. No one paid them the least bit of attention, and Horcunt was angered by the lack of recognition and respect he received. Unable to tolerate his apparent invisibility, Horcunt sidestepped his guards, planted himself in front of a pair of Chrysallamans walking down the passageway and waited for them to acknowledge his royal personage.

Both Chrysallamans, one male and one female, were dressed in standard khaki coveralls. A patch labeled Engineering with their name just below it was stitched above their left breast pocket, and a FORCE logo adorned their shoulders. They were engrossed in a discussion about a wiring diagram displayed on an iPad and almost bumped into Horcunt when he stopped in front of them. It took a couple of seconds for them to transition from their technical discussion to focusing attention on the Emperor.

The female was approximately 25-years old with nicely manicured claws. She must’ve had a rebellious streak because a ring of silver metal pierced her left nostril; typical jewelry for some Humans but very unconventional for a Chrysallaman. She’d applied dark green eyeliner that accented her black eyes beautifully. In spite of the generational divide, the aging ruler had to admit he found her attractive. The male appeared to be in his thirties. His corrective glasses were dark, thick rectangular plastic frames held in place by a black elastic band attached to the temples. He reminded Horcunt of some bookish teachers he’d had as a teenager.

The female named Roobee was the first to speak.

“Hi, Emp. Heard you’d shown up.”

Straightening to his full height and lifting his chin with practiced imperial superiority, Horcunt responded, “When you address me, you will call me Emperor or Your Majesty. Now show due respect and bow before your Sovereign Ruler.”

To his amazement, Roobee laughed, “Empy, Empy, Empy. You’re not in charge of me. I’m what’s called a feminist here on Earth, and no man is going to tell me what to do. Especially some creepy old dude with a superiority complex.”

Shocked speechless, Horcunt lifted his finger and was about to admonish her when the male Chrysallaman named Rallphh said, “Mr. Horcunt, Roobee and I are busy with launch preparations, and you’re delaying us. Perhaps we’ll see you later.”

“Ta-ta,” Roobee added along with a finger wave as they sidled past the guards and walked away.

“Ta-ta? What is ta-ta?”

“It appears the Humans have polluted the minds of the Chrysallaman youth! No respect for their betters,” Hisspat replied. “This blatant corruption of Chrysallaman morality and allegiance to their beloved leader must be addressed at once!”

“And it shall!” Horcunt thundered.

“I think you’re in for a rude awakening, Emperor Horcunt,” Sergeant Witherspoon said as he nudged the two Chriks toward their quarters. “I have five kids, two boys and three girls. They’re all independent and headstrong. I learn as much from them as they learn from me. One thing I know for sure is the greatest asset a parent has is the love and respect of his children. You don’t love and respect your people, and they don’t appear to love or respect you.”

“Obedience and fear of death are the only responses I require of my subjects,” Horcunt replied with a sniff. “Love and respect are useless wastes of time and effort. A heavy metal hammer applied with liberal abandon will soften the toughest meat and if necessary, will bash an obdurate skull into submission. Works every time.”

Just then they reached a hatch painted with alternating black and yellow chevrons labeled ‘Terr Horcunt and Hisspat Zeck, Prisoners’.

Zeck regarded the paint job on the hatch with horror-filled eyes.

“What is this? I demand to see General Blunt! Some prankster has defaced the hatch leading to the royal chambers with graffiti and demeaning labels.”

Ignoring the protest, Witherspoon placed his hand on the palm reader in the bulkhead, and the hatch slid open.

As the guards shoved Horcunt and Zeck into the sparsely furnished cabin, Witherspoon said, “A little advice. You should spend the next few hours writing a sincere apology to the Chrysallamans you abandoned over 30 years ago. It may be the only thing that saves your life once we reunite you with your obedient and loving subjects.”

Smiling at the shocked look on the Emperor’s face, he touched the electronic panel, and the hatch slammed close.

***

The design of the Bridge on the Destinnee wasn’t what Tom expected when he stepped off the elevator. It was the first time he’d ever set foot in the Command Center, and his preconceived notions about how it should look were biased by years of science fiction television shows and movies. Schooled by the bridge layouts on Star Trek, the Empire’s Death Star and even by the command center on a Chrysallaman Mother ship, Tom thought he would step into a huge open space perhaps 50 feet wide and 100 feet deep with dozens of workstations manned by multiple crew members. The reality was so different from what he anticipated, it took him a few moments to wipe the disappointed look off his face.

The space was small for the bridge of such an enormous craft. It was 25 feet square with a domed overhead at least 15 feet high at its center. The dome, the bulkheads and the deck had a dark, glassine appearance that reminded Tom of the mirror-like black sheen on his LCD TV screen when it was turned off. The bulkhead opposite the elevator entry was dominated by a HiDef monitor filling most of the available wall space. The screen displayed the mountain range west of the Nevada base. The picture was so crystal-clear, Tom could see a Golden eagle gliding in an updraft over a mile away.

Four flight couches were aligned in a semi-circle facing the wall-sized monitor, two on the starboard side and two on the port side. A wide aisle between them led into an open area in the forward end of the compartment. Each couch had its own control console surrounding it in a u-shape. Communications and Weapons Control stations were on the starboard side. Navigation and Engineering stations on the port side. The command couch was centered 6 feet back from the Communication and Navigation positions. Recessed LEDs strategically placed around the compartment glowed with a soft light, easy on the eyes yet bright enough to show every detail on the control panels. A hatch on the starboard side of the Bridge led to the Command Conference Room, and the layout of that compartment mimicked Tom’s Staff Conference Room in the Nevada facility right down to the overhead monitors above a round table.

A hatch on the port side of the Bridge led to a cafeteria and bathrooms.

“General Blunt on the Bridge,” Lloyd announced.

Everyone in the compartment stopped what they were doing and stood at attention.

“At ease. Please continue with your duties.”

Stoneman, who had the most experience piloting spacecraft other than the late Alex Fields, was the acting Commander of Destinnee. Ending a conversation he’d been having with Amanda, he walked over to join Tom.

“How do you like the layout?”

“I’ll have to admit I was expecting something a little more spacious. I almost feel like a canned sardine.”

“Let me show you something,” Jason said with a grin. “But take heed. It’s a little startling the first time you experience the phenomenon.”

Looking in the general direction of the main viewscreen, Jason said, “Lloyd, would you please activate the VIEW.”

“View of what?” Tom asked.

Suddenly the Destinnee disappeared.

“What the . . ,” Tom exclaimed as he stood alongside Jason in open air 300 feet above the concrete tarmac.

The deck, bulkheads and overhead dome had completely vanished. It was as if he’d been transported into the air above the Nevada Base with nothing between him and the concrete tarmac except the soles of his shoes. Overcome with spatial disorientation and flailing his arms in a useless attempt to stop himself from falling, Tom stumbled and almost lost his balance when Jason grabbed him. Glancing to his right, Tom saw the command couch and the four flight couches surrounded by their control panels. He knew the stations were bolted to the deck, but every other structural part of the Destinnee had completely disappeared. Amanda gave him a sympathetic look but turned her attention back to her control panels.

“Takes some getting used to,” Jason said.

Tom was dumbfounded. He appeared to be standing on nothing but air. His logical mind told him there had to be a solid deck beneath his feet. His eyes told him he was adrift, and his body kicked into survival mode. Flushed with adrenalin, his heart racing, Tom grabbed the Command Couch with all the strength he could muster from his enhanced muscles. Keeping his eyes on the control stations and not looking downward, he moved around to the point where he could sit down in the chair. Only when he settled on the firm seat did he begin to feel safe.

Gazing around at the flawless video depiction of the Nevada base and the sand dunes stretching out for miles, Tom found his voice, “Damn, that’s one hell of a view! I assume it’s an acronym.”

“Visual Imaging External Widescreen,” Lloyd answered. “It provides a real-time 360 degree spherical view of all space surrounding the Destinnee. My review of user reactions during simulated combat indicates Human offensive and defensive response times to any threat increase by 40% when the system is activated in conjunction with active external sensors.”

“Is that before or after the initial heart-stopping panic attack?”

“It does take some practice to feel comfortable using the system. Captain McPherson is particularly adept using it in simulated combat.”

“Please turn the VIEW off,” Tom sighed.

All the familiar bulkheads, deck and overhead dome reappeared. Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, Tom felt his heart rate begin to return to normal.

“Ah, Makayla. Let me introduce you to General Blunt,” Jason said.

Opening his eyes and swiveling the Command Couch to face the elevator, Tom saw a tall African-American woman striding toward him.

Saluting and standing at attention, she said, “Lieutenant Makayla O’Connell, Communications Officer. Pleased to meet you, Sir.”

O’Connell was 5-feet 11-inches tall with thick, wavy brown hair. Her eyes were dark-brown and twinkled when she smiled. Her fingers were long and slender, and she moved with the grace of a ballerina. She might have been in her forties, but it was hard to tell because her skin looked so clear and ageless.

Returning the salute, Tom said, “At ease, Lieutenant. Tell me about yourself.”

“I’ve got a head for languages, Sir. I prefer to speak aloud to Humans because experience has taught me oral voice inflections and tone provide better insight than telepathy into the truth and nuances of what is being expressed. I’ve learned how to use my telepathic abilities to master languages pulled from the brains of native speakers. Besides English, I have the ability to speak and read Spanish, French, German, Russian and Mandarin Chinese.”

“Using your telepathic abilities to extract language skills from Humans is impressive. Have you experimented with learning any other skills?”

Smiling with a nod, she replied, “For some reason I can’t explain, I picked up the knowledge and hand skills to paint landscapes. I also learned how to strum a guitar, although the only tunes I can play are the Mexican Hat Dance and La Cucaracha.”

Blunt laughed out loud. Humor was a welcome change from the nerve-wracking introduction to the VIEW.

Just then the elevator door opened, and Jerome McPherson stepped into the Bridge. Saluting Tom, he strode over and grinned at Makayla.

“Despite the fact you’re Irish, O’Connell, I still respect you.”

“Despite the fact you’re Scottish, McPherson, I realize nobody’s perfect,” she shot back with a smile.

“Prepare for departure,” Lloyd announced. “All sections report ready for launch. Outer hatches secure. Defensive screen activated.”

McPherson and O’Connell took their seats at the weapons and communication consoles. Jason glanced at the GPC settings to confirm they would arrive one light year away from Cuddlur.

“Activation of FLIT drive on your command, General,” Jason said.

Settling back in the Command Couch, Tom said, “Lloyd, give me Ship-Wide Communications.”

“Ready, General.”

“All hands. This is General Blunt. We are about to embark on a rescue mission the likes of which has never been attempted in galactic history. Our goal is to bring our friends and colleagues home alive and well. Humans and Chrysallamans are now joined together for the first time in the long history of the universe. Two different species united with a common purpose. Protect our homes and loved ones from all threats. Working as a team, we can’t be defeated. Be strong. Be confident. Trust each other. Blunt out.”

Turning his attention to his Bridge Staff, Tom said, “Let’s go say hello to the Rock Smasher. Colonel Stoneman, activate FLIT.”

Nodding, Jason turned to his console and touched the glowing green icon on the GPC labeled GO.

The Destinnee disappeared.