Sun Star

Sun Star - Log 1: The Stuff of Heroes

Sun Star
Log 1: The Stuff of Heroes

It is strange how conflict always finds a way to remain in the balance of life: peace banishes war, sustaining trade, which encourages piracy, which can easily revive war. Such is the way of space and of those unfortunate enough to dwell in the endless ocean.

Of course, looking back, things really couldn’t have gone any other way. L'Datte had it in his mind to take control of the venture from day one; it was always only a matter of time. He was never one to believe that events leading to the fulfillment of a prophecy necessarily negated its validity. He didn’t mind if things didn’t happen on his terms, at his time, as long as things worked to his purpose in the end. It was bound to happen eventually, and all was the better when the means came from unexpected sources. Now I give you the story of Captain L'Datte and the Sun Star, how they came to be as one, and of the part they played in a war that changed the face of a galaxy.

Our story begins, as all true adventures do, on a day not unlike any other. L'Datte had spent the first hour of the day with the starboard ion drives, Lucy and Margo, as usual. The crew had given antiquated names to the antiquated machinery, but the Sun Star’s four recycling ion drives were classics that had delivered the crew from more instances of certain death than a Tarccan cockroach in a room full of cats, which is to say more than I can count. As the only one onboard to posses an engineering degree, L'Datte began and ended each day with a thorough inspection of each of the Sun Star’s four main drives, followed by the issuance of explicit instructions to the engineering team on how to handle anything of particular import.

This was only one of the many duties necessary to operate and maintain a vessel of the Star’s size; roles which were shared equally among the crew. Duties were assigned on a tri-monthly rotating schedule, ensuring that each crew member eventually mastered each role on the ship. It is a harsh reality that spaceship crewmen often need to be replaced, and each new vessel is equipped with a morgue boasting a capacity of half of the original crew compliment. Pirate vessels usually carry a small crew for various reasons, into which details I will not yet go; suffice it to say that it was especially important that each man carry his weight.

I suppose I should have told you from the outset that the Sun Star was a pirate vessel, and that this story will be chiefly concerned with piracy and the consequences thereof, but as we shall soon discover, this particular vessel had a destiny far greater than others manned by more ordinary marauders. Of course during those times the only persons ever to mention the word “piracy” were either those dedicated to bringing about its extinction or those whose livelihoods were continually threatened by it. Most people tended to avoid the subject altogether, engrossed as they were in an unfettered commitment to entertainment and euphoria that naturally evolves after eons of political peace; the crew preferred not to attach any label whatsoever to themselves, as was common with pirates of the time.

After entering navigational logs from his shift at the helm the previous night into a console in engineering, lending a hand serving rations for one of two lunch shifts, and single-handedly finishing repairs on a battle-burned sub-scanner panel on the third deck, L'Datte began to make his way to the captain’s anteroom to discuss the week’s haps or mishaps with Lucy, Margo, and the other ion drives. The Sun Star wasn’t much different than other vessels of its class. L'Datte had always possessed an affinity for the pale blue color fading into a deep purple hue that lined all the corridors of the ship, as well as his living space. Something about the unbroken motif reminded him of a time long past. Damage could be seen here and there, at times marked by a fading scar as a crewman listlessly deployed an alloy regeneration kit on its surface. Others were deeper, gutted holes that everyone knew to avoid until they could be sealed, which was a surprisingly labor-intensive task. Each gaping rent in the corridor was a blatant reminder of the immediacy of their venture, as each new dawn could bring a new day of violence and another opportunity to wonder how many such days still lay ahead of them.

Upon reaching the second deck L'Datte was met suddenly by a man who was known simply as Simm, who would never admit to having any other title. Most of the crew figured that his lack of a family name was the result of a lack of family. Simm’s military cunning and experience, coupled with a grim set face that rarely changed, caused the crew to almost unanimously believe that he was a product of the short lived and highly controversial Central Governance Authority Cybernetic Clone Infantry project that had been abandoned over two hundred years ago.

“L'Datte.” He said flatly, inclining his head sharply. This was Simm’s way of saying good morning.

“Hey.” L'Datte replied, with a nod of his own. After lifting his eyes from the data pad he had been reviewing as he walked, he noticed that Simm’s short black hair was parted slightly further to the left than usual. This wouldn’t be noticeable on anyone else, but for someone whose appearance had never changed, not since the day he had stepped on board, and for who knows how long before that, it was unmistakable. Day after day, from his hair to his shirt to his boot laces, Simm appeared exactly the same as he always had. But not today.

“Rough morning?” L'Datte asked as they now walked side by side towards the captain’s anteroom.

Simm lifted an eyebrow, and it was his turn to look from his own data pad.
“Why do you say that?” He asked, only half interested. L'Datte pointed to the part of his hair with a slight smile. Simm felt the top of his hair, and was quite annoyed when he noticed the discrepancy.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” he snorted. Then, eager to change the subject, “Anything to report today?”

“Not much,” L'Datte said “just a slight variance in the ion distribution between drives one and four that keeps popping up during recycling.” He waved his hand to dismiss the matter. “How about you?”

“Nothing. But I have a feeling today..” Simm looked more happy than usual as he said it, which would have been unsettling if L'Datte did not know firsthand the delight that Simm found in violence. After five short months, he had come to feel generally at ease around the gruff and heavy-set man. Not that feeling at ease counted for anything on the Star. Each crew member carried a discharge pistol on his person at all times, and L'Datte was no exception. It wasn’t a protocol, but the kind of people who find themselves drawn to a life of piracy can never find comfort without one.

The two continued towards the anteroom in silence, each reviewing in his mind the report that he was about to give to the captain. L'Datte and Simm had been reporting to the captain at the same time since the beginning of the venture, but a friendship never began to form between them. By that point L'Datte had given up even trying to lighten the mood with a joke, since Simm never seemed to get any of them. That was just Simm, but everyone tolerated and appreciated him as they all knew that he was one of the more valuable crew members in the venture. As a weapons specialist, no one had more experience in all things military, from tactics to training to ordinance maintenance to battle science, he was a perfectionist, and could rarely be criticized in his work. He, like L'Datte, was given the daily task of inspecting all offensive systems, and administering bi-weekly combat training, although he was also required to share the same duties as the rest of the crew.

Barely a minute passed before, suddenly looking up, L’Datte caught sight of a largish blue mass about a meter in front of him flying towards him at alarming speed. He only had enough time to gasp and widen his eyes before it was on him, but Simm shoved him to the side with a split second to spare, and caught the brunt of the sudden attack on his left shoulder. Looking behind them now, the pair saw their sudden attacker was a short length of steel conduit that had suddenly burst, causing it to fall from the ceiling.

“Well, there’s your action for the day.” L’Datte chuckled.

“I would hardly call that action..” Was Simm’s reply as he pulled L’Datte to his feet. After examining a cool blue liquid that was now slowly pouring from the hole in the corridor-long conduit, L’Datte guessed that it must have been one of the lines that distributes coolant to every part of the ship that uses ion energy, and he leisurely punched two buttons on a nearby communications terminal to call for a repair.

Straightening their clothes and brushing themselves off, the two continued on their so far uncharacteristically eventful trek towards the captain’s anteroom. It was the most difficult room on the ship to reach, due to the fact that there was only one entrance and only one way to get there. The anteroom was a place that few of the Star’s crew would ever see under normal circumstances. As the most secure room on the ship, the anteroom was triple reinforced with duraplasteel fiber mesh. Monitors hung above the door revealing the sight of many hidden cameras placed along the aforementioned one and only route. It was a common joke that if the Sun Star was ever destroyed the impenetrable anteroom would be its last vestige, floating eternally through the ocean of space. Unlike the interior and exterior of the ship, the anteroom boasted no color save the dull white-brown of duraplasteel.

After following their weekly-rehearsed route through several corridors, each identical to the last save the scars and the faces of passing or working crewmen, they found themselves passing by the engine room, where L'Datte and Simm nodded to a familiar face which waved them over toward the short enclosed breezeway that allowed a momentary glimpse of the stars beyond on all sides before entering the pre-fab pod that housed L'Datte‘s main responsibilities. 

“Sorry to stop you,” panted the man as he reached a hand containing a data pad towards L'Datte. The man had obviously been working frantically, but L'Datte assumed the answers were to be found on the pad he now held in his hand.

“I know you’re on your way to see the captain; I’ll be here for the rest of the shift if you could come give us a hand when you’re through.” It wasn’t a question or an offer, and was directed solely at L'Datte. The engineering crew knew as well as he did that no one could be relied upon to tamper with the ion drives’ more intricate eccentricities like himself.

“No problem, we shouldn’t be long,” was L'Datte’s curt response as he and Simm sharply turned to face the final and longest leg of their walk. The route to the anteroom was intentionally long and winding in order to take the greatest advantage of the many perfectly placed camera lenses that to the naked eye looked no more remarkable than a bolt among hundreds of others laced in a utilitarian pattern upon the corridor walls.

“Denton was concerned about something; he was preoccupied,” remarked Simm, referring to the man from engineering.

“I noticed it too,” L'Datte replied. He realized that he had not yet read the new data pad that could have serious repercussions on the content of his rehearsed status report. Simm was leaning over slightly to get a closer look at the pad as they briskly walked.

“It seems as if..” Simm began while pointing to the pad, but he was cut short. A sharp, high pitched noise was quickly rising from an unseen source. L'Datte would later describe the sound as a hissing, while Simm would maintain that it was more like a buzzing. Louder and louder grew the sound, until they could barely hear their own footsteps clanging in cadence against the hard floor. They stopped abruptly and gave each other a knowing look.

Simm cupped a hand to his mouth and bellowed, but L'Datte could barely make out the words, “I‘ve heard this befo……must be a char…parti…. Get down!” Simm planted a hand firmly on L'Datte’s shoulder and they both dropped to the floor, but not before being rocked by the loudest roar anyone but the planet builders had ever heard. The roar of a charged particle beam cannon as it’s massive surge engulfed the pirate vessel in highly charged micro-radiation was unmistakable. They were under attack! A jolt like an earthquake rocked Simm to the far wall, and a thin line of blood appeared quickly over his left brow. Ahead in the hall the pair could see a shower of flame and sparks burst forth as a scanner-panel exploded in a fatal blast that luckily found no human victim.

As soon as the first burst ended, the pair leaped to their feet in a sprint to the end of the hall, and began the long two-deck climb towards the entrance to the captain’s anteroom, not trusting the onboard elevator. Their arms strained and their feet clumsily missed several rungs as they scrambled up the steel ladder as if their lives were in jeopardy, which of course they were, though they did not yet realize it. After a few more rungs L'Datte heard the slightly growing hiss once more. This time he knew exactly where it was coming from. It was the calm before the storm, as the particle radiation was seeping through the ship’s outer hull, destined for its power conduits in which ionized energy flowed generously throughout the vessel. Gripping the rungs tightly and bracing their backs against the cramped shaft, L'Datte and Simm weathered the next blast with a similitude of dignity. As he squinted his eyes painfully L'Datte heard the enormous roar once more, like the explosion of a star or thunder from a cloud ten million meters tall. As the ship rocked violently in all directions, L'Datte suddenly glimpsed a memory of thrill rides and the bright lights of a carnival in his home town. There’s no telling what may come into a man’s mind when it is shaken like the rattle of a baby with rabies, so he gave it no more thought as the quake subsided and the pair reached the top of the ladder. After pulling themselves up they immediately faced two duraplasteel doors. One led to the elevator, and the other, which L'Datte was now pushing open, led to the captain’s anteroom. Neither door had any marking whatsoever, and were the same white brown as the walls of the tiny enclave in the center of the ship that served as the captain‘s anteroom. As they rushed in nearly on top of each other, L'Datte could make out a grim face scowling from a large communications panel monitor, and could see the rigid, seething form of the captain staring back in defiance as the face spoke.”

“…your last warning.” It was saying, “your vessel is being appropriated by the Signet Alliance for the glory of the Allied Protectorate and its subsidiaries. Surrender your vessel and crew willingly or prepare yourselves for jettison. It’s a wide ocean out there captain, and I think you’d be much happier as a part of our crew than as space junk waiting to be recycled by the next vessel on this route. You have four minutes to comply.”

As the image abruptly vanished from his screen, the captain finally took notice of the awestruck pair that were now gawping in disbelief and searching his eyes for an answer to an unspoken question. He reached down to the ship-wide communicator at his desk and calmly scowled, “All hands prepare for battle.” Then, looking at L'Datte and Simm he ordered, “to your posts,” but as they began to turn he snapped, “Wait…. You two are with me,” and without another word he proceeded into the chamber beyond the anteroom, which was used only for the purpose of tactical planning and intelligence.

L'Datte looked over to Simm with a raised eyebrow and laughed, “It looks like we’re going to see some action today after all!”

Simm smiled wide in reply, and L'Datte knew exactly what that meant….


Who was the mysterious face demanding the ship’s surrender!?
What will become of L'Datte and the crew!?
Don’t miss the next thrilling adventure of the Sun Star!

Next - Log 2: An unfriendly face