"Catch it this time, Andy! Catch it!" The young boy glanced up from his baseball mitt and squinted as he peered into the bright light above him. The sound of his fellow peers was muffled and distant, yet clear in its intention. Andy Johnson was not the best catcher, the best batter...or pitcher, or any position for that matter. That's why he was banished to the outfield where he could cause his team as little damage as possible.
Yet, by some cruel miracle, the fly ball was heading his way. Andy ceased picking at his mitt and shuffled back to get a better position.
"I got it! I got it!" he yelled, raising his mitt to catch the ball. All the while, his teammates were hollering at him. Their voices were soon drowned out by the sound of blood pumping in Andy's head. He was going to get it this time. He could feel it.
Plop! Andy winced. He could hear the ball tumble on the ground next to him. There was groaning across the field as Andy's teammates threw their arms in the air and angrily ripped off their caps. The young lad fumbled on the ground trying desperately to scoop up the ball, but it kept slipping out of his grip.
After a few agonizing seconds, he managed to get the ball and awkwardly lob it back to home base. It didn't matter. The runner had already made it there safely, along with his friend who was positioned at first base only a moment ago. Now the score was 4 to 5 and not in Andy's favor.
"Nice going, Johnson!" jeered the second baseman. Ashamed, Andy pulled down the brim of his cap. He wanted to disappear, to run home as fast as he could. But, he knew that was a terrible idea. His friends would never let him live that down and his mother would immediately shoo him out the door again. It was her idea that he play with the other boys; to get "fresh air"...if you can even do that while living on a space station.
Indeed, the small, rudimentary baseball diamond was within the green common area at the innermost region of the ring-shaped station. To either side of the diamond, Andy could see the shape of the station curve gently upwards and out of sight. On the left and right were the outermost parts of the ring, where houses and apartment complexes were built. Here, families were mowing their lawns, watering plants, or walking their dogs.
Space Colony 584 was its name. However, the residents here preferred to call it “Rockwell Station”. It was one of many stations positioned on the frontier of colonized space. The Sovereignty of Mankind was ever-expanding. Citizens were eager to explore uncharted corners of the cosmos, even if it meant moving beyond the protective watch of the Sovereign Space Force. Perhaps, one day, the residents of Rockwell Station would happen upon a habitable planet to call their home. In the meantime, they were satisfied with their artificial sun and simulated seasons.
Even so, danger still lurked in the darkness of space. Most of these threats were shielded from the innocent eyes of the colonists; hidden behind a wall of semi-transparent titanium and carbon fibers. Still, they were there. Those that dared to venture out from the comforts of Rockwell Station would return with harrowing tales of alien pirates, consuming vortices, and other strange phenomena yet to be explained by science.
None of these distant things were of any concern to young Andy Johnson, or his peers. They were too busy with their game of baseball. Another batter was up on deck. Andy readied himself this time. He would not be made a fool anymore. He pounded the inside of his mitt with his fist several times and grunted. Now he was ready…he hoped.
Andy’s teammates chanted, “Hey batter batter, hey batter batter-” as the pitcher wound up and released. There was a pop as the ball was planted firmly in the catcher's mitt. Strike one. Andy twitched in anticipation. Any moment now. The pitcher released his second throw. Pop! Strike two. Now, Andy was beginning to sweat. He was afraid to wipe his brow for fear of distracting himself from the game. The pitcher feigned looking at his glove before quickly lobbing his final pitch toward the home plate.
Crack! The bat made contact with the ball, sending it high into the air. It nearly scraped the metallic ceiling of the space station. It reached its zenith before plummeting down toward Andy. The young boy shuffled backward. He paid no attention to the demeaning comments of his friends. He was too focused to care.
“I got it!” he said to himself, “I got it! I GOT IT!” He extended his stiff arm upwards and then- Pow! The leathery sound of the ball hitting the palm of his mitt was like music to Andy’s ears. He let out a chuckle of relief and danced in place for a bit.
“Yes!” he screamed, “I did it! I did it!”
Suddenly, the warm yellow lighting of the colony interior turned to an ominous red. It was the emergency lighting. Everyone froze in place: the boys in the baseball diamond, the women walking their dogs, the men mowing their lawns, everyone. Then, they heard a booming voice from above. It was cold and robotic, followed by deafening sirens.
“Emergency. Emergency. Proximity alert. Proximity alert. Incoming alien ship. Repeat. Incoming alien ship. This is not a drill.”
Until that moment, Andy had never experienced an actual emergency situation. He and the rest in Rockwell Station had undergone routine drills but never the real thing. Just then, an opaque object could be seen through the semi-transparent titanium above. Its disk shape crept up slowly to the surface of the space colony.
For once, no one was paying any attention to poor little Andy Johnson. All eyes were transfixed on the object above, watching as large tentacles emerged from its center. These tentacles splayed out to all sides. From below, it was an intimidating spectacle to behold, like a mangled monster from the depths of a nightmare. Andy’s grip weakened and the ball fell from his glove, rolling on the ground stained red by the emergency lights.
As the iron tentacles inched closer to the titanium canopy, civilians began to free themselves from their stone-like stupor and scatter in all directions. Panic ensued. The sound of shrill shrieks, wailing babies, and barking dogs could be heard all around, echoing inside the narrow tube of the space colony. Several of Andy’s peers took off. Andy, on the other hand, was too afraid to move. His eyes welled up with tears, watching in awestruck horror as the tentacles pressed themselves against the canopy, followed by the sound of breaking glass.
The pressurized air inside the colony began to rush out into the vacuum of space in an instant. Andy was nearly blown off his feet. Winds were whirling past him like a cyclone. He fell onto his hands and began clawing at the grass. Every muscle in his little body tensed up as he coiled in the fetal position. All the while, he desperately tried to call out for his mom, but it was no use. No sound escaped his lungs. In fact, the emergency sirens had ceased their noise too. All that Andy could do was feebly look around from where he lay.
His vision was blurry. He could only make out vague shapes and smudges of color against the red environment. Scattered across the green common area were darkened blobs. They too were hugging the grass in the same way he was. They were other unfortunate colonists who could not escape into the lower levels of the station in time. Andy struggled to move his eyes upwards. An elongated shape had lowered itself down onto the baseball diamond. It was one of the tentacles from the alien saucer.
Three iron mandibles at the end of the tentacle opened like the claws of a carnivorous beast. Once spread apart, a circular doorway was revealed covered by a slimy green film. After a moment, the green barrier began to stretch and pulsate. Three large shapes emerged from the film, followed by another three shapes, then three more.
Their shoulders were broad and their legs bent backward like a predator. Their bodies were covered in a dark, scaly carapace, punctuated by glowing patches of eerie green light. Opaque helmets and breathing apparatuses obscured their faces. In their left hands, they carried a strange weapon. No - their left hands were weapons; surgically fashioned to their limbs at the elbow.
These ghastly drones stalked closer to Andy with their hulking bodies. Their shadows covered the poor boy, still unable to move from his spot on the baseball diamond. With only a few more seconds of consciousness left, Andy slowly lifted his eyes and beheld these creatures leering over him. He recognized them from stories he had heard space travelers tell during their furloughs. They were the Reptilians of Planet Baraxes.
The Baraxians had built an empire on a foundation of blood and servitude. They would go forth into the blackness of space, seeking out defenseless worlds to subjugate. Slavers, they were, capturing as many alive as they could and forcing them to work under hellish conditions. The Reptilians were well-versed in using whips, lashes, and torture devices. Pain was their language. Not only would they offer up victims to their bloodthirsty gods, but also parts of themselves. Bloodletting, limb-severing and organ harvesting were their rituals. Indeed, the Reptilians were the most feared force ever encountered by the Sovereignty of Mankind.
Elsewhere on the space station, beneath layers and layers of metal hallways and corridors, hundreds of colonists were fleeing for their lives. The air pressure was still active here, but none knew how long it would last. The enemy’s attack had caused havoc throughout the colony. Lights were flickering on and off and smoke was pouring from burst piping.
Emerging out of the fog were the darkened silhouettes of the Reptilian drones. They moved with a slow, articulate confidence, like predators assured of their kill. The lifeless forms of several colonists covered the ground in their wake as they stepped over them and continued forward on their hunt. Their goal was the communications center at the heart of the space station.
A handful of black-clad security officers fired at the drones from around tight corners. Their blue laser blasts narrowly missed their targets. The aim of the Baraxians, however, was more accurate. Their hissing green bolts of pure plasma splattered against the chests of several officers, killing them in seconds.
Meanwhile, at the communications center, the crew worked frantically to scramble an encrypted message that would avoid enemy jamming frequencies and blast it into the darkness of space. With some luck, and plenty of prayers, the message might reach the Sovereign Space Force. It was their last chance.
The Baraxians had ascended the thin radial elevator shafts that connected the central command center with the ring-shaped portion of the colony. They were working their way up the shafts like a swarm of insects climbing a wall. In a matter of minutes, they would be breaking through.
Security guards assembled on the deck and positioned themselves near the elevator entrances. The barrels of their firearms were trembling from anticipation. Beads of sweat could be seen trickling down from beneath their chrome visors. At any second their lives could be ending.
Suddenly, the elevator door was split apart by a shower of green sparks. Three Baraxian drones lunged out of the opening and clawed at the guards with their long-fingered talons. A panicked communications officer hunched over his control panel and yelled into the recording device, avoiding laser fire zinging over his head.
“Mayday! Mayday! Space Force! Can you hear me, Space Force? This is Space Colony 584. We are under attack! I repeat, we are under att-” A surge of white-hot plasma pierced the man’s back, splattering molten goo across his control panel. He let out a final cry of pain and slid out of his seat. His last wish was that his death would not be in vain.
-----------------
The distress signal echoed through the vast corridors of space, penetrating the 5th Dimension. It bypassed stars, nebulas, and even entire galaxies in a matter of seconds, bleating the same message over and over again, “Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!” The message traveled beyond the reach of light itself, expanding into a dark and lifeless cosmos until at last, it reached the listening ears of a single ship afloat against a brilliant orange and blue nebula. It was a Sovereign Space Force battle cruiser.
This ship was named the SSC Excalibur. Like many of its kind within the Sovereign Space Force Fleet, it was constructed from pristine white alloys capable of withstanding the volatile conditions of intergalactic travel. And like many spacecraft of human design, its fuselage was a sleek rocket shape that tapered to a fine point at its front end. Rising from the top of the battlecruiser was the communications tower. A large radar dish scooped up the distress signal, breaking it down into digital code for processing. As soon as the message was decoded, the starfighter pilots aboard were called into action. Human lives were in jeopardy and there wasn’t a moment to lose.
“Attention all crew,” began the voice over the ship's intercom, “This is an emergency broadcast. Battle stations. I repeat. Battle stations. All starfighter pilots must report to the hangar bay at once,” A siren began to sound throughout the narrow halls of the Excalibur. Yellow lights were flashing, causing all crew to immediately drop what they were doing and sprint to their stations. Every corridor within the ship became alive with the movement of hundreds of uniformed men and women.
The Sovereign Space Force was dedicated to a singular purpose: defend mankind from all threats…human or otherwise. Their cruisers would patrol space, traverse the Aether Zone, or battle with alien forces. It was a dangerous endeavor, but the bravest men and women from across the universe had been called to this noble mission. Now, the occupants of the SSC Excalibur would test their mettle.
Thirty gray-clad starfighter pilots appeared from their quarters along the narrow hallway, assembling together as one yet never pausing in their race to the hangar bay. Other crewmen threw themselves against the walls to let them through, for their job was the most vital. As the first line of attack, their missions were to assess the situation, make split-second tactical decisions, and intercept any hostile spacecraft that dared to antagonize them.
Among these pilots was one unlike all the others. His name was Hank Hawkins: the best starfighter pilot in the Sovereign Space Force. Even though he was only in his early thirties, he had racked up a record number of kills during his short tenure. His ability to fly an Acer Starfighter was unmatched by any of his peers…much to their chagrin. Yet, his unparalleled talent did not shatter his humility.
In addition to his skill set, Hank was strong, square-jawed, and handsome. His blue eyes often caught the attention of the opposite sex, whether they be human or alien. But his most striking features were the patches of gray hair on either side of his head, just above his sideburns. How he got them at such a young age was a mystery that only Hank knew the answer to. Still, it was enough for him to quickly earn his callsign of “Grey Wing”, a name known across the universe.
Almost every advanced civilization had heard of the heroic exploits of Hank “Grey Wing” Hawkins and his robotic wingman, A-Jax the Android. A-Jax, or simply “Jax”, was Hank’s most trusted ally. A-Jax stood seven feet tall, shining head-to-toe in chrome plating. His head was crested by a silver fin beginning just above his visor. Normally, robots would not be permitted to pilot starfighters. Their mechanical minds would be susceptible to jamming frequencies. However, Jax was no ordinary robot. His brain was far more advanced, thus making him eligible to fight alongside his human compatriots.
Hank and Jax raced through the steel corridors followed closely behind by another starfighter pilot. Unlike Hank, this young man was short and skinny. He pushed himself forward with all of his strength, trying desperately to keep up with the others. Beneath his helmet could be seen a freckled face dripping with sweat. His name was Arlo Aimes.
Arlo was fresh out of the Space Force Academy. When he learned that his post would be aboard the SSC Excalibur he couldn’t believe it, but he was even more amazed when he found out that he would be acting as Captain Hawkins’ second wingman. Still, he had never been on a real mission before, and his body was buzzing with fear and excitement.
After exiting their jet tubes down into the hangar, the pilots strode across the metallic catwalks to their designated ships. Hank gracefully threw himself up onto the fuselage of his Acer Fighter and slid into the cockpit. The dark canopy closed in above him, sealing itself tight. He quickly flipped several switches and beforelong the engines of his vessel were roaring loudly.
Just then, the face of Commander Martel, leader of the Excalibur, appeared on the holographic display. His face was like a chiseled block of stone; rough and weathered from years of military experience. Yet, he carried himself proudly, never flinching nor showing any signs of weakness to his subordinates.
“All right everyone, listen up,” he began, his voice deep and penetrating, “Approximately twenty minutes ago a distress signal was sent from Space Colony 584. It is currently under attack by the Baraxian Empire. Many within the colony have already been killed or captured. The rest are awaiting rescue. We are their last defense.”
As Commander Martel spoke, Hank’s ship was automatically taxiing towards the gaping maw of the mass driver - a long tunnel used for launching fighters into space.
“We will soon be dropping out of the Aether Zone,” continued Martel, “We don’t know the enemy’s capabilities yet, so squadron leaders will assess the situation and determine the best course of action. Your mission is to neutralize enemy forces, secure the colony, and make way for our rangers to clean up the mess.”
Grey Wing was now positioned directly in front of the tube which seemed to go on endlessly before him. The driver was made of coils oscillating with a strange glowing energy, almost beckoning ships to come hither. Hank slowly inhaled, held it in place for a moment, then slowly released it from his lungs. He was ready.
“It’ll be a difficult mission,” said Martel, “But we’re soldiers of the Sovereign Space Force. We rise to the challenge!” Every pilot and listening technician immediately shouted “Rise to the Challenge!”, the motto of the Space Force. Hank’s ship was now being brought towards the opening of the mass driver. He could hear its rhythmic hum as Martel finished his address.
“Good luck…and Godspeed!”
With that, Captain Hawkins’ starfighter was snagged by an unbreakable magnetic force. It took hold of his vessel and dragged it through the tunnel at break-neck speeds. The oscillating coil lights flashed before him. The sheer velocity of the launch pressed Hank against the back of his seat, nearly crushing him. But he didn’t care. It was an exhilarating rush. As he zoomed through the tunnel, nearing the exit, he couldn’t help but crack a smile.
In less than three seconds, Hank’s Acer Fighter was freed from the metal confines of the Excalibur and was now embraced by the cool vacuum of space. Following behind him was A-Jax, then Arlo, then the others. One by one, their ships were ejected from the front of the SSC Excalibur, appearing as tiny silver specks against the black void.
Ahead of them was a small ring of white light. It was Rockwell Station. Despite being so small, there was so much pain and suffering occuring there. Little did the people trapped within its metal walls, including poor Andy Johnson, know that hope still remained. The evil of the Baraxians would not go unanswered. The Space Force was coming to the rescue!
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