Fayaz was leaning over the Nomad’s shoulder, watching the holo-screen scroll a series of numbers and charts.
“Cap, it’s not great. Power is low but stable, so our range is limited, and packet transfer is barely a quarter of what it should be, only ten terabytes a second.”
Stroking his chin, Fayaz straightened and pinged the Nomad engineers on the hull outside, “Seems like the mast is still showing low transfer and power rates.”
A stream of cursing in Spanish came through before the disgruntled voice calmed down, “Aye, capitán, we will continue to adjust.”
His long legs carried him swiftly over to his command chair, where spun around and fell backwards with a sigh, rubbing his temples. It had been five days since they had gotten the primary power generator systems and relays fixed but powerflow through the ship as a whole was giving them problems, particularly the quantronic comms-mast on the top of the ship. The engines were nearing functionality, and he hoped they could run a test in a couple of hours.
“‘Aqid, electrical fire Deck 8, Room 20. Dispatching a crew.” The Ensign’s voice had the tone of annoyance more than concern. Electrical fires had become more common with the multitude of splicing jobs, and quick repairs.
The HNS adh-Dhi’b was slowly waking, but it was trying to push snooze as much as it could. The ship was full beyond capacity with four different nations' personnel. The hallways were lined with beds and supplies, and people could be seen sleeping anywhere they could find that was out of the way. Uniforms and jumpsuits were covered in grime, and sweat from the hours of continuous labor, and if crew were not already desensitized to the smell, the smell of the ship would have been palpable. Water was rationed to ensure survival and this meant cleaning facilities were restricted.
“Cap…I think we’re online!” the voice of the Nomad came across the bridge. Everyone stopped and paid close attention as Fayaz strode quickly over to the station to review what was coming through the screen.
“It looks good, run a network check, and ping Bourak. Let’s see if we’re back in the 22nd century.”
The Nomad ran his fingers across the console, manipulating the holographic projections of the operating system. After a few moments, his smile grew wider, “Networks good, and we got a response from Bourak. Shall I open the network to the ship, Cap?”
Fayaz nodded, “Yes, raise Naval Command as soon as you are able.”
The bridge erupted into cheers. The ship had been dark, and isolated for a week and a half now. Many had family they wished to contact to reassure them of their survival, as it was likely reported that the ship was lost with the Circulars. Finally, a connection to the outside world was established again, and help could be called.
“Cap, patching you through to Naval Command.”
Nodding, Fayaz spoke into the channel, “This is ‘Aqid Aafah of the HNS adh-Dhi’b. We are reporting extensive damage, but we are alive. Coordinates will be sent in a secure packet. We are currently undergoing emergency field repairs. Engines are expected to be online within 24 hours, and we will begin heading for Concilium. Are there any ships in the area that can help?”
A relieved and happy voice came over the voice channel, “As-salam, and thank Allah for your survival ‘Aqid. You may be stuck at Concilium for some time, the Combined Army have much of it controlled including the space around the planet. There are no ships that can assist you at this time due to other rescue efforts. Many were lost in the last offensive. We are currently organizing efforts. I am sorry to say, but you are on your own.”
“The Combined Army made it all the way to Concilium? How are defenses on the ground? Our combat capabilities are extremely limited but we can assist as much as we can.”
“That is not necessary. I will send you some news articles and reports on the situation. It is….a lot to take in. Suffice it to say, The Human Sphere has accepted an armistice with the Evolved Intelligence. For now, all guns are silent. Get to Concilium, stay alive. Those are your orders.”
The communications ended after that, and a packet of reports and news articles came across to his Geist. Fayaz reviewed them briefly, quickly reading what he could, his face growing darker. It only took him a few minutes to catch up with what they had missed in the last week and a half. Clicking the shipwide communications he spoke, “To all crew and guests, your efforts, and work these past days have been incredible. Some may call it herculean. You have brought this ship back from the brink, and have saved many souls from the void of space. Through your effort, we now have our comms-mast running, and our connection to the outside world restored. For this you will be given two hours to rest, and call friends and family. Section leaders will divide up time for critical workers. In the next 24 hours, this vessel will be moving under her own power towards Concilium. We are arriving into an armistice though with the Combined Army. For all intents and purposes, they have won, but a tragedy struck the planet that forced this temporary peace. You can find more in the reports I am disseminating to you. We will be docking for repairs as soon as we can, but our work will not be done when we get there. Many lives are at risk, and many others lost. We will continue to labor for the betterment of humanity because that is what it is to be Haqqislamite. Once this ship is underway, you will have a week. Prepare yourselves, and have faith. Our mission is not yet done.”
The crew began filtering out and the bridge grew quiet. Fayaz sat back in his chair, letting his head fall back as the door closed. The silence was a welcome sensation. The last week was one of very little sleep, and a great deal of stress. Now that communications with the outside world was reestablished, some of the stress of command was slowly easing away. It was being replaced with a mix of feelings on the reports he read of the Combined Army’s offensive on Concilium and the Concilium Debacle. The loss of life both citizen and military was staggering, and the loss of materiel just as much.
Relaxing, he let his consciousness fall into the mayasphere as a busy, sunlit market street appeared. He sat at a small table next to a large planter dominated by a tall palm tree, casting shade over his table. The smell of fresh coffee and creamer reached his nose, a wonderful aroma of the small coffee shop, on the Khadijah city street, taking him home. The city lay on a lush island continent off the coast of Al-Medinat, and was the heart of Haqqislamite government. This coffee shop, Haseens Coffee House, was a common place of relaxation for him when he was assigned to the capital and he enjoyed it greatly in his off hours. Across the table from him, sipping a small cup of coffee was a man in a colorful robe, and a bright white keffiyeh. For some reason, Fayaz could not focus on the man's face though, something he was used to though. The Old Man never did like to share much of himself.
Taking his own sip of coffee, the rich bitter and sweet taste washing over his tongue, washing further stress from his mind, he shook his head, “The reports I got from Naval Command are disturbing to say the least. I want to know for sure that I am not flying this crew into the tensed steel jaws of a bear trap.”
A chuckle escaped the figure, “You took my time for a simple question as that? ‘Aqid, the shadows are dancing all over the board in this armistice. We have become very busy indeed. I thought perhaps you had information to provide.”
“I am willing to trade myself entirely to your cause for information that can keep my crew safe, no cost is too much here. They have suffered enough.”
“Indeed they have ‘Aqid. No, I am happy to provide this information for a very small price, one you were probably going to be paying anyways of your own accord. But first, the answer you seek, yes. You and your ship will be safe. You will be docked at a safe, and stable port. We can make sure of that.”
Sighing in relief, the two sat for a moment, watching a group of children kicking a ball around the street, and yelling to each other. A breeze passed down the street, swaying the palm tree, and caressing his cheek.
“The price you ask?” Fayaz asked at long last.
“The price is simple. You, your crew, and your ship are to take no part in the combat brewing among the powers. Waqf al-Badawi was established, and will be doing work in the Haqqislamite territories of Concilium. Work with them. The loss of life has been great, and humanity needs to recover itself. Return any information you hear to us.”
Fayaz raised an eyebrow at the old man, “That seems surprisingly easy.”
“I am not the heartless, and cruel figure that the Mayasphere fictions paint me as. Humanity is bloody and beaten enough. All beings need time to recover. Take it as a gift for all that you and your sister have done for us over these last years, even if we have to drag your sister by her ear?”
The captain chuckled, taking another sip of coffee, “She is devoted to the cause but she dislikes not being in control. She’s always been a free and stubborn spirit like that. It is her biggest strength and weakness. But thank you.”
Looking back to the figure, the seat was empty, the coffee cup sitting on the table, steam slowly rising. Leaning back in the aluminum chair, Fayaz took his time sipping on his coffee. He took the moment to read additional reports and news articles from the last week and a half. The reports on the Quantum Anomaly Zones were particularly disturbing. After thirty minutes, his commlog notified him of an incoming message. Taking one last look around he let the projection fall away as he returned his consciousness to the bridge, and opened the message. The engines were ready for preliminary testing. Looking around, he had noticed some of the crew had returned to their positions, and more were filtering onto the bridge as time passed.
An engineering officer spoke up from a console to his left, “‘Aqid, engines are ready for testing. I am routing power now and monitoring the network.”
“Better late than never. They were probably notified when we came back online. Notify them we are conducting engine restart tests and to stand by for assistance.”
One of the large screens in the bridge suddenly lit up with reports and numbers of the engines as they powered up. The four large impulse drives flared to life on the screens as the reports showed everything running smoothly. The engines reached 50% of their maximum power and remained there, running smoothly. Fayaz smiled, they were finally moving.
“‘Aqid, engines and power are all green. We are good to sail.” the Engineering officer said, a smile across his face.
Nodding, Fayaz turned to his navigator, “Helm, I want a course set for Concilium, 50% impulse. Communications, notify the recovery vessels we are underway. Engineering, how is the rest of the ship holding up under acceleration?”
“‘Aqid, were receiving some reports of stress damage from areas around the impact site, but nothing critical at this time. Teams are already making repairs. We will continue to monitor.”
Taking a moment to orient his thoughts and actions, he called Maih on the commlog, “Maih, could you bring Mosa’id Seif to the bridge. We are beginning to depart the area.”
After fifteen minutes, the bridge doors slid open, Maih led two figures, one Khadim Seif, the Khawarij dwarfing everyone in the room, and the other a Panoceanian. Looking the man over, Fayaz saw that he was dirty, with his clothes obviously having been unwashed for the week at least, and grease smearing his stubbly face. It was obvious he had tried to clean up in a hurry and a blue jumpsuit was tied around his waist. In his hands were a worn leather bound book with a gold cross.
“‘Aqid Aafah, I offered Christopher here the chance to join me. He would like to assist in laying to rest those of the Christian faith.” Khadim introduced the man, who stood there looking at Fayaz. He looked briefly around the bridge, that normally a Panoceanian could never hope to lay eyes on. After a moment he nodded and motioned them both in.
The two men walked to the middle of the bridge, in front of the captain's chair. The screens were turned on towards the view of the space outside of the vessel. The stars and debris floating around them. The two men silently opened their books and together, began reading out loud, as the bridge around them grew silent. Christopher raised a cross and rosary, reciting a funeral prayer, as Khadim raised his arms up, beginning to recite the first Takbir. Both rituals were very different from one another, Khadim raising his arms up and then crossing them on his chest several times throughout the salat, while Christopher made more conservative gestures with the cross. Both were given equal defference though as the ship's speaker system echoed through the vessel, their prayers. The process took about five minutes before silence fell on them all. A couple of moments passed before Khadim turned to Fayaz, “Shukran, ‘Aqid.”
As the two men left the bridge, Fayaz sat back in his chair, and pointed to the screens, “Helm, take us to Concilium.”
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