Erik Eckel

The following is an excerpt from a new science fiction novel I’m writing. The story explores how climate change denial and gross inequities in wealth concentration, permitted to continue, could result in unforeseen results regardless of one’s socioeconomic class. Feel free to share your thoughts.

The predicament wasn’t unique. Elena had experienced the same problem before. The only difference is other crew members were awake and provided guidance two hitches prior when the ship’s Core Control System sounded multiple alarms. Tonight found her alone. Lacking seniority compared to colleagues on this cruise, she drew the least favorable shifts. Most everyone was asleep or doing whatever they did in their cabins during the ship’s off hours.

Hermés-7, the Nostradamus’ artificial intelligence-powered CCS, interrupted what had been a quiet travel day by reporting two alerts simultaneously. Her pilot training complete, Elena knew this was always a bad sign.

She scanned the monitor again. Blinking red text filled the display casting an unusual crimson glow across the pilot station. Two approaching craft, still far away. But there was also a fast-moving vessel the CCS couldn’t yet identify. Two bigs and an apparent corvette. It was highly unlikely, just a 17-percent probability according to Hermés-7, all four ships just happened to be approaching the same space at the same time, especially as the Nostradamus was firing both engines at 75-percent capacity.

Considering the aggressive clip at which her cruise ship was traveling, the approaching vessels could only be considered hostile. As if reading her mind, Hermés-7 updated the display confirming the likelihood: 76 percent. Typically space-going vessels would never travel in such close proximity if for no other reason than safe navigation.

She knew the protocol.

First Elena lifted the button’s plastic shield, purposefully embedded within the pilot’s console to prevent accidental execution. Second, for the first time in her career on a live cruise, she punched the illuminated emergency crew-call button.

Shrill klaxons immediately began sounding, accompanied by a “Kilo, Kilo, Kilo” alert, throughout the ship. Potentially more problematic, red lights began pulsing rapidly everywhere within the Nostradamus. The ship’s passengers, most very well heeled, weren’t going to like that. For a group that lost patience whenever net connections slowed, they were sure to respond unfavorably to warning lamps flashing within their staterooms while they were sleeping. There would be complaints, for sure. But regulations should save her.

Soon any doubt was dismissed when the Hermés-7 CCS sounded yet another alarm accompanied by the lighting of all pedestrian navigation and station lights throughout the vessel. Moments later another pre-prepared message—“Charlie, Charlie, Charlie”—recorded using Hermés-7’s no-nonsense voice, announced the ship was under attack. Simultaneously, the computer estimated a 95-percent likelihood the incoming missile would sweep neatly across its bow but miss the cruise vessel carrying 2,000 passengers and some 600 crew by a slim margin. Regardless, the action was severe. Even an unarmed ballistic object moving that fast, were it to collide with the ship, would puncture the hull and lead to rapid decompression, life control systems failures and many deaths.

Crew, reacting according to life experience and training, began arriving on the formerly empty and taciturn bridge. Lachlan MacDonald was the first. Quickly he settled into his workstation. He looked disheveled. But he’d been through this before. Elena could see he already had the defensive weapons systems enabled on his display.

Of course, as you’d expect, the bridge continued filling with additional crew. Most were short on breath, having sprinted from quarters to stations.

Kirby Hughes was next to have his systems up and running. He immediately began enabling and targeting two dozen 25,000-pound super-hypersonic nukes. As the Offensive Weapons Specialist onboard, he wasn’t paid to play.

Captain Miller arrived. “What the fuck?”

“Two heavies and a swift inbound, sir,” Elena confirmed. “They’re unknown vessels with no identifying transponders. One hostile missile launched but it’s projected to miss the Nostradamus by a few ship lengths.”

Hermés-7 interrupted announcing an update played throughout the bridge.

“Incoming radio transmission,” the AI platform reported. “Accept or reject?”

“Accept,” Elena barked.

Darshana Singh arrived at her workstation, relieving Elena of communications responsibilities. Darshana quickly enabled her equipment, placed the corresponding gear on her head and began speaking with various personnel. As acting Communications Specialist, she interrupted other conversations to make an announcement.

“We’ve been instructed to stop,” Darshana informed the bridge.

“Any identification, D?” asked the Captain.

“A robotic voice. It’s using standard Unified Communities language but repeating the message using unrecognized vocabulary.”

The Captain spoke again as the inbound missile, beamed to multiple displays by the ship’s exterior cameras, snaked silently by.

“Junior Pilot Carrington, increase power to 95 percent and light the burners.”

In four years of almost nonstop tours, Elena had never exceeded 80 percent thrust. Certainly, she’d never fired the auxiliaries. The subsequent required maintenance alone would cost millions of standard chits and eat directly into the cruise line’s profits. But she knew not to question orders under such circumstances. Without delay she made the adjustments. Everyone aboard could feel the resulting energy push. Suddenly she felt heavier. You couldn’t replicate such forces in training, so the experience was new to her and many ship mates. Certainly, it was unpleasant for passengers.

Then the Captain turned and made direct eye contact with the OWS. He spoke deliberately.

“Hughes, light ‘em up. All three.”

“Roger that.” Kirby initiated action and tapped his keyboard. “Six missiles away.”

“We will not be boarded,” said the Captain, as if thinking aloud.

Although space is a vacuum, you could hear the weapons release and feel the missiles, with each pair sent using short staggered delays, leaving their bays. The massive ship shuddered with the ordnance release. Had anyone bothered to look out a port window, the missiles trailed brilliant exhaust plumes as they quickly reached hypersonic speeds.

“Preparing defensive action,” confirmed Lachlan. Elena could tell from his display that several defensive drones were now online and ready to lure additional incoming missiles off course.

The approaching attack ship, moving faster than its compatriots, survived the first strike, having deployed defensive drones. But the second rocket, complete with jamming technology, overwhelmed the smaller gunship’s defenses and, following a brief bright and spherical flash burst, created an impressive debris field.

Hermés-7 and the OWS were reporting actions, now, to each crew member as appropriate. Elena’s job was to continue piloting the ship, which is exactly what she did. And just as she was trained, she audibly counted the ship’s progress. Such messages assisted the weapons specialists and others as they compensated for the change in speed.

“Main engines 80 percent. Auxiliaries 40.” A minute passed. “Mains 86 percent, auxiliaries 90,” she reported, then “auxiliaries at maximum power, Captain.” And finally, “mains at 95 percent.”

Elena felt less heavy, now. Moving her arms was noticeably easier. At least there was that. Still, she could feel her pulse racing and cold sweat slipping down her torso. But she remained focused, surprising even herself.

Hermés-7 and Lachlan, working collaboratively, managed to destroy the hostiles’ resulting inbound rocket volleys. From what Elena could gather, the hostiles’ weapon systems were using older technology, employed no jamming capabilities and possessed only rudimentary AI systems.

That didn’t deter the OWS, though. Kirby launched another trio of missiles at each target, resulting in several more flash pulses and sizable debris fields.

Things calmed after that. All the crew had left, now, was the unenviable task of placating some 2,000 guests who would make it clear they did not appreciate the intrusion and disruption of their sleep. But so it goes ferrying privileged passengers to exotic locales.