CONVENTIONS OF WAR
In essence, he was already dead. His life forfeit for a life wasted in futile pursuits. The thunderous sounds of war echoed throughout the ship, an almost living web of pulsing chemicals and circuitry.
Second Lieutenant Walter Pearson was about to mark his eighth year on the ship, a mighty vessel fighting a war with started a decade earlier. The ship; all but indestructible, surrounded by a skin of ever mobile sub-atomic particles that prevented any substantial contact with the hull.
Serving aboard the massive interstellar battleship, Goliath, was something that he had assumed that he would be doing for the rest of his life, or so it seemed. Pearson’s post was deep within the ship, only twelve percent of which was habitable, and he was a shift leader of what had been nicknamed ‘The Sonar’ bay, though the technology had advanced considerably in the two centuries which had passed.
He stared at the screen, unsure what he was looking at, as the blip made its way towards them. There were so many, but this particular one had his attention, just a gut feeling but a bad one for sure.
As an array of the missiles and shells were being hurled a his vessel, they were being repelled and destroyed by a huge web of high powered anti attack guns, hundreds of the mounted all over the forty story high hull, which was about four times longer than it was tall. Each one pivoted on a versatile arm, and worked as a part of a team with a further three, creating a defensive grid.
One by one, the contacts disappeared as they hit the defensive wall, a hail of bullets. His contact was still coming. He knew something wrong, as the he looked around the dark cabin, lit only by the glow of monitors and several spots strewn about the bay.
With a jolt, which was like nothing he had felt before, the ship shifted, lurching with such force that he was knocked off his feet! The sound was awesome, a deep thud, but at an ear shattering volume, which penetrated his entire body.
“What the hell…!” Pearson exclaimed, as he struggled to regain his footing. He looked to the rest of his group, which consisted of seven operators, all attempting to monitor their screens. “Comm; Sonar:” He continued, as he attempted to contact the bridge via the communications system.
“What was that?” One of his team enquired, as they all returned to their respective posts, with the rumbling ship continuing to heave under the pressures and stresses of the situation.
“I don’t know. It felt like an impact, but…” Pearson continued as he tried to make sense of the disaster which was unfolding. “Comm; Sonar: Do you read me?” He continued to attempt to contact the skipper.
Then, with a deafening whistle which softened into a bassy hum, the garbled sound of the Bridge began to break through. With a moments relief, they listened, but to nothing but noise…
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