Tonstar Rising

Welcome back gentle reader

If you are caught up on the main story in Jebidiah's Change, this may seem stupidly confusing at first read. I promise though, it will make sense as the story unfolds. Hear the ritualistic chant 'Backstory, backstory, backstory...'

If you are a new reader, this serves as a prologue to Jebidiah's Change. I hope you enjoy. If you are looking for hot and heavy, you will need to wait for later chapters.

-- Chapter 1: AHPS Lenin, Mars orbit --

-- March 4th, 2374 A.D. --

Fate does not seek our consent.

- Goodkind

The emergency claxons rang loudly in the cramped interior of the People's Republic of Asia corvette AHPS Lenin. The ship, battered by ballistic hits on its armored hull, hurtled toward the Martian atmosphere under the command of Comrade Captain Andrey Karstov. It was a journey borne of desperation, driven by the thirst for revenge against the United States of North America for the devastating loss of billions on the newly irradiated Asian continent.

Mars was originally intended for the human race to settle and share once the terraformers finished their work some fifty odd Earth years ago, twenty-five Martian years. Humanity, in another example of doing what humans did best, opted instead for a global civil war over possession of the Solar system. When the shooting stopped, Mars was the prize for the recently formed United States of North America, as the moon was the prize for the EU and the moons of Saturn and Jupiter for the Asians. The belt was to be split among everyone, meaning small battles over Ceres's fate never stopped. The peace treaty resolved nothing, serving only to give all sides time to re-arm for the current conflict.

As the bridge lights flickered off and emergency power cast an eerie red glow, Karstov knew the Lenin had slim chances of survival. Engaged in a deadly dance with a cruiser and its smaller escorts, the captain's resolve pushed him into the suicidal descent. The crew, united in their quest for a final act of defiance, faced the looming specter of doom.

The Lenin carried an experimental weapon. The original mission was meant to secretly transport the weapon away, but circumstances had pushed Karstov to consider using it in this final act of vengeance. Their current orbit was too high for an optimal strike, but then nothing about a suicide run was optimal. Luck, a fickle ally in the best of times, looked kindly upon them when the European Unity unexpectedly entered the fray, directing its frigates against the common enemy, the USNA cruiser. In the chaos of battle, the EU ships prioritized the immediate threat, temporarily sparing the Lenin from everyone's wrath. Another stroke of luck--no nuclear missiles had been launched at them, yet.

The Lenin picked up speed, and instead of an orbital track, aimed for the planet itself. "USNA Missile launch! Three inbound!" Kartsov's head snapped to the tactical screen. "Seven minutes to intercept!" Their luck had just run out. It was time to roll the dice.

-- USNAS Memphis, Mars orbit --

Captain Johnathon Straight briskly moved across the CIC of the attack cruiser USNAS Memphis.

"Where's the bogey now?" he inquired of Lt Endercot, striding up behind the lieutenant's console.

"Still coming in hot and heavy. Burn profile matches an AHP corvette. Whatever he is up to, he's not afraid of letting us know he's there."

"That's what worries me. That corvette is a long way from home. I wasn't even aware theirs were rated for interplanetary travel," Straight muttered to himself.

"We're not picking anything else up from the recon drones, neither gravimetrics nor anything on the EM spectrum, so I doubt he's playing decoy," Endercott continued. "He just passed the last window for a controlled orbit. Can only be a surface run. If he survives the atmosphere at that speed."

"Helm, fastest intercept. Weapons, get me a firing solution and warm up point defense and ECM." Straight's voice was a steady command presence for the excited crew.

"They will enter our missile envelope in 23 seconds, Captain. Kinetic envelope in 3 minutes 14 seconds."

"Thank you Spiels, but I'm not hoping for a knife fight. Let's see if a couple of birds scare him off. Fire tubes 1 through 4 when in range." Said Straight in response adding a little chuckle. The added humor further calmed the crew.

A few seconds later, the thrum of missile launches could be felt, and Lt Spiel declared, "Birds 1 through 4 away."

"Sir!" shouted Endercott, "Two new bogeys, bearing 260, 16 degrees off the elliptic, coming in fast!"

"What are they?" Straight almost lost his command voice in surprise.

"They just dropped out of stealth, and we didn't have drones in position. Could be more corvettes but most likely frigates based on their plumes," Endercott continued, fear rising in his voice. Frigates, especially a coordinated pair, were a much larger threat than a wandering patrol boat.

"Are any of the orbitals in position to help?"

"No, sir."

"Well then, helm, change course for the fastest intercept. Mark initial contact as bogey one and newcomers as bogey two and three. Try to get one of them in front of the other. Weapons, I need a solution ASAP." This time Straight failed to keep the resignation out of his voice.

The next ten minutes of controlled chaos managed to last a year's subjective time as the pair of European Unity frigates squared off against the Memphis. Straight had almost forgotten about the AHP corvette, long ago left to the attention of railgun kinetic strikes while his missile tubes and counter measures were devoted to the frigates. Bogey two was almost combat ineffective, leaving a trail of atmosphere and debris behind it, but the second frigate, bogey three, was still in the fight.

"Sir, bogey one is speeding up, looks like a run at New Atlantis!" Shouted an anxious Yeoman.

"Why haven't the orbitals stopped it?"

"It's on a suicide run; the defenses were not able to respond in time to such a reckless maneuver."

"Weapons, take that ship out yesterday!" Straight shouted with as much command authority as he could muster. Thought caught up to action, and he started to belay the order as the ship shook again from more missile strikes. They needed to keep the pressure up on the remaining frigate.

"Tubes four, five, and six away." Too late to stop them now.

-- EUSS Trident, Mars orbit --

Leftenant Michaels, signals officer for the EUSS frigate Trident, was not happy with the current assignment. Hiding in stealth like thieves in the night, waiting for an opportunity to stick a knife in a patrol guard's back and slip away like cowards instead of more honorable combat on the field of battle. He felt no better than common rogues as the Trident and her sister ship, the EUSS Panzer, floated in high orbit over Mars, dodging the orbitals scanners. He listened to his audio scopes like a submarine sonar operator in the tales and movies of old wars, waiting for a ping to detect and ultimately kill them. The tensions on the ship were high on all posts.

Their hulls were coated in carbon nanotubes arranged to capture all but one millionth of electromagnetic waves that reached it. It was the blackest paint ever created and devilishly expensive, but also masked heat signatures and most other detection schemes. You couldn't see them if you looked out the window, but computers were smart enough to calculate a lot of information from stellar occultation, when a star was blotted out as they passed before it. Absorbing radiation and masking thermals meant building up heat that had to be released somewhere. Hiding in space was a difficult task.

His console lit up, a direct beam communication from the Panzer.

"Captain, the Germans have spotted a possible ship approach from down-well. The cappies have not noticed yet, or not showing signs of noticing."

"Leftenant Michaels, need I remind you they are not Germans. They are EU citizens, navy enlisted, just like yourself. And that ship is North American, not cappies, nor capitalists, nor whatever other non-regulation term may be stuck in your head. Have I made myself clear, Leftenant?"

"Aye Captain." Michaels did not like the French Captain du Pont. It rankled him that the English were not in command as they should be. The French had a fine history, rich in their multiple surrenders while the Germans had an equally strong history of defeats. British history was rife with examples of leadership and command. The British conquered, twice having empires the size of which were unmatched by other similar efforts in history, and, most importantly, the British held and ruled those conquests. If the EU wanted progress in the current war they needed to look to history and put Britain in the pilot's seat once again. The end of the last war reminded Michaels of the stalemate World War I ended in, only fueling World War II. History likes to repeat.

"Signals transcribe: EUSS Panzer, if USNAS assets engage new contact drop stealth, make speed and engage at maximum range. End transmission."

"Message away, Captain." Even the way the frog issued commands got on Michaels' nerves.

Five minutes later choices were made for them. "Sir, gravimetrics show the cruiser has begun an intercept course for the unknown!"

"On screen with course projections if you please."

"Aye sir."

The main screen lit up with the local orbit area and the ships, orbitals, and satellites identified so far. Two dots were in motion with sharp dotted lines showing their current path and a lightly shaded cone in the same direction showing possible vectors the ships could turn to. The inbound dot had a very narrow cone in front of it. The reckless speed of its approach took away any maneuvering options. The dot representing the intercepting cruiser had a cone that slowly narrowed as it picked up speed.

After a minute the Captain nodded when sensors picked up missile launches from the cruiser. He barked out. "Signals mark newcomer as Alpha One. Cruiser and escorts as Beta One through Five. Orbital as Charlie One. Helm, come to course One Seven Niner mark Four, negative 5 relative. Full military speed, drop the stealth and flush all tubes."

His own dot began moving on the plot and was quickly followed by the Panzer's dot as they began their attack runs. "Good hunting everyone."

Michaels accidentally let out a quiet snort. He hoped it was quiet enough. This wasn't a hunt, they were jumping someone distracted by another in hopes of a quick backstab to the kidney and a fast kill. Thieves in the night.

-- USNAS Orbital Platform Delta One, Mars orbit --

Jeremy Tonstar sat in his high-backed chair and stretched. He hated his chair. They called it ergonomic, expecting everyone to love it, as if the label was a magical get-out-of-jail card for everything that was wrong and uncomfortable with it. He looked back at his screens and took a sip of his coffee, grimacing even more. Martian coffee was too bitter for his taste, and no amount of creamer could remove that bitterness. But it was coffee, and he would get reamed if they caught him drinking anything stronger again. He really needed this job.

One of his long-range sensors started quietly beeping for his attention. A blue icon indicated an unknown something was heading towards them at a very steady clip. He raised the comms channel with the Memphis to let them know, then went back to reading his book. About a chapter later, his screen changed the icon for the newcomer from blue to red. A convenient warning siren blared to make sure he noticed.

Jeremy yawned and deactivated the alarm, then checked his screen again. Whatever ship was inbound had a much smaller signature than the Memphis, though bigger than her fighter escorts. He ignored it all and went back to his book. Some idiots from Asia or Europe were about to get their collective asses spanked. A few pages later, the alarms sounded again. Annoyed now, he slammed on his console to shut off the noise and looked at his plot once again. This time, two new red icons had appeared, and they were close. Very close. Apparently, they had snuck into range by using the radar and visual shadow of Phobos.

He tried to comm the Memphis again, but they weren't receiving calls. He tried to comm the two new ships a warning to clear the area, but they weren't answering either. Exasperated, he sent a call down to the surface to his brother James. At least James answered by the second tone.

"What's up, Jeremy? It's a little late."

"I know, I'm sorry, James, but I don't know what to do," Jeremy replied. "There's some sort of battle going on up here. Give me a minute to show you. I'm figuring out how to sync the plot feed with this call."

James said, "This better not be one of your panic attacks, Jeremy."

"That's just it, I'm not sure if I should be panicking." After a few more minutes of three failed attempts, the feed finally started coming through, taking up half the call screen.

"How many ships is that?" asked James.

"Well," said Jeremy, "the smaller guy showed up first, the Memphis went out to meet it, but then the other two bigger ones came by, jumped them when their back was turned and went after the Memphis, who decided to leave the smaller guy alone. I think the Memphis got a partial kill because one of the two new ones slowed and veered off. But now this small guy looks like he's going to ram New Atlantis or something, so I called you."

"Jesus Christ, Jeremy, someone is attacking New Atlantis and you just now told me?!? Wasting what, fifteen minutes getting the fucking feed sorted? Have you alerted the rest of the government?"

The call feed coverage changed. James held the receiver up to keep his face in view while he shouted for his wife and ran into another room, the camera shaking the entire time with his movement. Jeremy said, "The systems automatically notify central if anything happens. You should be getting the alert soon. But what should

I

do?"

"Shoot back? I don't know, Jeremy. I run things down here, not up there. Get close to an escape pod in case they notice you." To someone off-screen, he yelled, "Grab the boy and get him in the car! No, leave everything! Leave it!" Back to the screen, James said, "I gotta go," and started to cut the call.

"No, wait!" cried Jeremy. "I can keep feeding you the aerial so you know what's happening while you fly. Don't leave me hanging up here all alone, man."

"Fine," James said.

-- AHPS Lenin, Mars orbit --

Karstov pressed his thumb down on the button for the final portion of the launch sequence as if, through his physical actions alone, he could impart more strength and speed to the missile being launched. The missile itself was harmless. What it carried, jokingly called the Hand of God even though religion had been outlawed for a couple of generations, was not. The warhead contained the only known stabilized antimatter in existence.

The terraforming of Mars began by bombarding the surface with ice asteroids pulled in from the belt, heating up the surface at the same time from the kinetic strike energy. It left Mars with renewed oceans and a red-tinged, Earth-like cloud cover. That was why the Martian capital city, New Atlantis, laid out below the descending ship, adorned a coastline of the great southern sea with an impending winter storm moving in. Far different from Mars four generations past. Three minutes after launch, the missile hit the center of New Atlantis proper and bore into the surface of Mars until the antimatter containment bottle finally collapsed. The planet cracked in a nanosecond of intense annihilation.

The crew of everything in orbit momentarily forgot about who was attempting to kill whom and stared aghast at the nearest screen available until a second sun briefly lit up the solar system. The accompanying EMP blast was too much for anything outside a capital ship's shielding, and every ship and orbital went dark; no more shots could be fired.

With the Lenin's external sensors momentarily blinded, the only tracking available for the forgotten inbound missiles was a timer on the tac screen. When the timer's insistent beeping finally broke through the stunned silence, a head whipped around in annoyance followed quickly by fear.

"Brace for impact!"

Karstov slowly opened eyes he had irrationally held tightly shut to see that their ship had survived without incident.

"The blast must have taken out any in-flight missiles as well," muttered weapons officer Comrade Sergeant Ming.

Another voice from further away shouted out, "Sensors are back online!"

The forward screen came to life, showing the hell that had been unleashed on the surface. BUWEPS claimed that a single warhead holding 10 grams of antimatter would be enough to break continental plates in a 3000 km radius to a depth reaching the core of any Earth-sized planet. Their warhead only held 8 grams, but it should have been enough. Whatever Karstov had imagined did not include the sight that greeted him. It seemed to defy every part of known or theorized physics.

New Atlantis was gone, as was the land, ocean, and even the incoming storm within at least a hundred kilometers. In its place was a black rolling whirlwind of void laced with lightning. The Martian core was only just reawakening from the terraforming, slowly bringing back volcanic activity, which meant the destruction should have been an expanding ring of magma vents as the surface cracked and spiderwebbed outward from the blast. There was no hint of fire in the perfect circle of blackness below, not even clouds of debris which should have been the source of the bands of lightning. After a very long minute of staring dumbfounded at the screen, Ming, the only senior officer who had expressed reservations on their attack, broke the silence.

"Andrey, what have we done?"

-- USNAS Memphis, Mars orbit --

"Bogey one launch! Surface strike!" The anxious voice shouted again.

With dread, Straight switched his feed to the optics facing bogey one. A glowing streak through the atmosphere quickly connected the enemy ship and the city below. He could actually see the section of the planet the city rested on bulge upwards. The screen flickered to a black screen protecting optic burnout from the intensity of the explosion. Then everything was darkness and silence as his ship went dead around him.

"Status report! Get us back online!" He shouted through the chaos.

Power was restored half a minute later, allowing a glimpse of the planet below. From his ship's angle, he could see what looked like a cylinder rising into the atmosphere where New Atlantis had stood. A tall black column of nothingness streaked by lightning. The commotion in the bridge dropped to silence as everyone's eyes became glued to the screen displaying that image.

A portal to Hell had replaced the city of New Atlantis.

"Break off! Get us down to the surface to see if we can help! Contact anyone else for assistance, broadband transmission. Priority beam to Earth, inform them of what happened."

-- EUSS Trident, Mars orbit --

The Panzer was out of the fight. Their main drive and reactors were offline leaving them with limited power and only solid chemical maneuvering jets. Krauts can't even get an ambush correct, Michaels thought with a sneer. The Trident was still in it though, caught in a slug fest with the wounded cruiser ahead of them.

"Alpha One launched, surface strike!" Nothing for Michaels to worry about. He had figured out Alpha One was a commie bastard on a suicide run against Mars and wrote them off already.

With his head stuck in his scope and headphones attuned to listening for ambient but important signals, Michaels was too occupied to be watching the visual feeds. The sudden gasps and cries on the bridge was the only warning he had before a feedback loop the likes he had never experienced or could have imagined hit his instruments and he felt consciousness slip away as the hum of the ship beneath also slipped into silence.