Into the Black: Odyssey One

Odyssey One

Being the first voyage of the NAC Odyssey

Copyright 2000 Evan C Currie

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Foreword

Odyssey One is my first novel ever written, one that I am simultaneously proud of and a little concerned about. I’m proud of it because it has its moments of pure enjoyment, bits of the story where I still read it and cheer, albeit quietly and with a little embarrassment at the whole thing. I’m concerned about it because it’s my first novel, written even before Thermals… LONG before Thermals, and like any writer I absolutely hate my old writing style.

Heh.

Seriously, I like to think my style has improved over the years, and in a lot of ways Odyssey One proves it. I actually wrote this novel in two distinct chunks, several years apart, so you may be able to detect a distinct shift in writing styles as you read through it. If you do, drop me a
tweet
or visit my
website
and let me know where you think it is.

I’ll think up a suitable reward for the first person to get it right.

In the meantime, however, please enjoy Odyssey One and stay tuned after the end for a sneak peak of Heart of Matter, the sequel to Odyssey One, due out Fall of 2011.

Table of Contents

• Book Cover
  
• Title
  
• Foreword
  
• Table of Contents
  
• Chapter One
  
• Chapter Two
  
• Chapter Three
  
• Chapter Four
  
• Chapter Five
  
• Chapter Six
  
• Chapter Seven
  
• Chapter Eight
  
• Chapter Nine
  
• Chapter Ten
  
• Chapter Eleven
  
• Chapter Twelve
  
• Chapter Thirteen
  
• Chapter Fourteen
  
• Chapter Fifteen
  
• Chapter Sixteen
  
• Chapter Seventeen
  
• Chapter Eighteen
  
• Chapter Nineteen
  
• Chapter Twenty
  
• Chapter Twenty One
  
• Chapter Twenty Two
  
• Chapter Twenty Three
  
• Chapter Twenty Four
  
• Chapter Twenty Five
  
• Chapter Twenty Six
  
• Chapter Twenty Seven
  
• Chapter Twenty Eight
  
• Chapter Twenty Nine
  
• Chapter Thirty
  
• Chapter Thirty One
  
• Chapter Thirty Two
  
• Chapter Thirty Three
  
• Chapter Thirty Four
  
• Chapter Thirty Five
  
• Chapter Thirty Six
  
• Chapter Thirty Seven
  
• Chapter Thirty Eight
  
• Chapter Thirty Nine
  
• Epilogue
  
• About the Author
  
• Appendix One
  
• Preview: The Heart of Matter
  

Chapter 1

Around a nondescript star at the far end of a galactic arm a small blue green world serenely floated against the black. The slow orbital sunrise that peeked over its curvature cast gleaming light across the surface of the world. Light that was eight minutes old when it warmed the surface of the planet, but cast a fresh new look to all that it touched.

From that world a lone aircraft accelerated, breaking clear of the hugging embrace of the planet’s atmosphere, and entered a low sweeping orbit. It slowed to a smooth pace and gracefully flipped, inverting so that the lone occupant could take a few moments to admire the view.

God, what a sight! I almost hate to admit it but it really does look nicer from up here. So serene compared to what I’ve seen. Japan, California, Hong Kong… none of them look like the battlefields I’ve fought over from here.
Eric Weston smiled sadly to himself as he flipped the small plane ‘upright’ so he could take a long look at his destination now that he had gazed down at his origin.

But that
, he thought with a tone of awe and pride tingeing his mental voice,
is a sight all its own.

Hanging in the Lagrange Four point like some serene floating Sentinel, his new command stood waiting to receive him. The NAC Odyssey floated in front of him placidly awaiting her Captain as he sailed toward her on a fast intercept vector.

Huh, she really does look like an eighteenth century schooner,
though, as he forced himself to admit a few moments later, he probably wouldn’t have seen it if the designers hadn’t kept pointing it out.

The Odyssey’s cylindrical habitats could only be seen as the hull of a sailing vessel if one had the most liberal of imaginations. The rest, though, was easier to understand. A long ‘keel’ that appeared to mark the vessel’s ‘bottom’ was actually an enclosed flight deck, built to house shuttles and fighters. Similarly, mast-like sensor spires dotted her ‘top’. The rear engine compartment looked like the stern of an old frigate and her bow was marked by long antennae that reached dozens of meters out from the ship.

“Odyssey control to Archangel Zero One, please change your approach vector to oh-two-four mark three. You have been cleared for standard approach on deck two,” the voice crackled over his headset induction receiver, sounding clearer than if the person had been in the cockpit with him.

Weston acknowledged the signal and slid his fighter along the new approach path.

It didn’t take long for the Cat Officer to come over his radio, taking over from the Bridge Control Team.

“Archangel Zero One, I have you on approach,” the voice crackled slightly over the radio as the signal began to suffer from the mutual interference of the Counter-Mass, or Cee-Emm, fields that surrounded both the his Fighter and the NAC Odyssey. “Call the Ball, Captain.”

“Roger, Cat.” Weston smiled, “I have the ball.”

“Confirmed. Glide path is clear. The deck is green. Come on in, the air is fine.”

Eric permitted himself a satisfied smile as he guided the sleek fighter toward the Odyssey, vectoring toward her bow and aligning to land on the enclosed carrier deck that was housed in the ship’s massive keel. As the starry depths of space was eclipsed by the cavernous interior of the carrier deck, Weston felt the hairs on his arms and neck stand at attention and knew that the ship’s flight crew had caught him with the ‘trap’, a powerful Counter-gravity field that slowed the fighter down drastically without putting him through the effects of deceleration.

Minutes later his fighter had been completely stopped and control was returned to Weston briefly as he carefully steered it to one of the deck’s lifts. Once he was in one of the eight hangers built into the length of the Odyssey’s keel, Weston powered down his plane’s systems and checked the external atmosphere on reflex. He carefully equalized the pressure in the fighter to that of the outside, and popped the canopy, waiting as it slid gently back. He pulled himself clear of his restraints and with a slight tug, floated free of the cockpit.

As he drifted towards the hangars’ ‘ceiling’, Weston heard the reverberating clang of magnetic boots and looked up, or rather down, toward the ‘floor’.

“Howdy there, Commande… whoops, I mean Captain!” the cheerful voice echoed through the hangar as its originator jumped up, did a neat little flip, and floated up to where Weston was just planting his own pair of Magboots on the metal deck plating.

Steven “Stephanus” Michaels was Weston’s wingman in the Archangel Fighter Group, or had been until Weston officially took command of the Odyssey. At that point the young man took his place as he was Weston’s choice to succeed him as the Flight Leader of the Archangels. Weston knew that Stephanus had been waiting for years to take over the ’Angels and he seemed pretty happy about it today.

“Hello Steph,” Eric smiled, popping his helmet finally as he greeted his friend. “How are you and the others fitting in?”

Stephanus managed a humble sort of shrug that would have looked ridiculous on most anyone else, but just seemed to make him look like some good old boy straight off the farm. “Nothing to complain about.”

Eric laughed, “Right. What that means is you’ve got complaints, but no one gives a damn.”

Stephanus laughed as the two old friends walked side by side to the far end of the hanger, chatting about the ship and the mission, and finally entered one of the small doors that led them to the ship’s internal lift. Inside the capsule-like pod that served to ferry the Odyssey’s crew, Weston signalled the lift to head for the ship’s command centre in the forward habitat cylinder.

Weston used the waiting period to glance at his younger friend, noting the evidence of nerves in the young man’s occasional fidgeting. Weston figured that his wingman had earned the right to be nervous by now though. They had flown alongside each other since the inception of the Archangels, eight years previously, through some of the most vicious air battles in the history of mankind.

All that set aside, Weston could hardly fault the man when he himself was on the verge of shaking. The Odyssey was the first ship constructed that made use of the new Transition Drive System that was supposed to allow faster than light travel, and his rather public position as the flight leader of the Archangels had put him on the short list to captain her.

The pod glided to a stop in the center of the forward habitation cylinder and Weston felt gravity return as the pod slowly matched the cylinder’s rotation before the hatch whirred open and allowed them to leave.

“Urk,” Weston staggered as he stepped off the pod, a slight wave a nausea sweeping over him, as his body adjusted to the cylinder’s rotation.

“It’ll pass, first time you’re on one of these things it takes your inner ear a while to adjust to the motion,” Stephanus commented as his arm snaked out to steady Weston before he had taken another step.

“I know,” Weston straightened himself, fighting off another sweeping wave of sickness and started down the hallway.

The pair made their way through the halls, toward the Odyssey’s command center, a relatively large room with noticeably curving floors and ceilings. It was already bustling with activity as two full maintenance details crowded the room, checking the circuitry for the eleventh time, as they analysed every system on the ship, prior to her maiden voyage. A tall, black man wearing a commander’s uniform approached them as soon as he noticed the two of them standing on the bridge.

“Commander Michaels.” He inclined his head politely toward Stephanus before turning his attention to Weston, “Welcome aboard the Odyssey, Captain. I’m Commander Jason Roberts, your First Officer.”

“Commander,” Weston nodded appreciatively, while glancing around the room.

“Uh, excuse me, Captain? I don’t mean to question you but wouldn’t you prefer to change now?”

Weston startled, looked down at his well-worn flight suit and the helmet cradled under one arm and grinned ruefully, “Don’t much look like the Captain of the fleet’s pride and joy now, do I? Well let’s transfer the command codes now; I’ll come back in full dress whites for the camera ops in an hour.”

“Yes Sir.”

Roberts moved over to a console next to the Captain’s command seat and thumbed a print scanner, motioning Weston to do the same. Twin lights lit up after Weston’s thumb had been scanned and the computer voice broke in.

“Command transfer initiated. Please confirm identities and desire to initiate transfer protocol.”