Chapter 1

“Etheric Shield up, Marines first watch on deck, engineering, notify the bridge when the drives are ready for the drop” came across the ships announcement system.

The ESS Spaak was ready for a routine trade escort mission to Eloxian. Colonel Alexis O’Donnel, great granddaughter of the O’Donnel, surveyed the bridge with pride. It was her first major command.

The Spaak was an entirely new class of ether ship. She was named after the first President of the United Nations General Assembly, Paul-Henri Charles Spaak. The ship’s gray, black, and red, mottled hull was sleek. Mottled for camouflage, as all ether ships were these days, to help hide them from the ether drakes and the other denizens, yet unseen but rumored, of that strange version of reality. Unlike earlier versions, her weapons did not require ‘hardpoints’. Rather they were managed by the small cadre of mana users included in the ship’s crew. Many insisted on calling them ‘wizards’, but even with a hundred years of experience with mana the military balked at using such terms. The ESF’s official term was ‘Channelers’. (ESF – Earth Space Force)

Objectively, ‘wizards’ would be a bit of a stretch. The label conjures images of bearded guys in floppy hats shooting lightning from their fingers, or perhaps middle schoolers waving wands and conjuring powerful energies. In reality, they were part of a very small fraction of the population that seemed able to tap into mana. It enabled them to use rune circuits and rituals to prepare items that could be used later for various things, but their ability to use raw mana like a marine with a machine gun or even a sword was nonexistent. Anna O’Donnel had concluded, after a lifetime of research, that if the density of mana continued to rise at the same pace, such things might be possible in another thousand years or so...

Colonel O’Donnel looked at the communication officer, “Lieutenant Norberg, inform the convoy we are about to drop, they should follow SOP for their own drops”. (SOP – Standard Operating Procedure)

“Aye, ma’am” the newly minted Lieutenant replied crisply, with only a hint of her Norse accent coming through.

As the announcement came across the ship’s speakers, the marine contingent checked their weapons under the stern eyes of Gunnery Sergeant James. “All right marines, we all know this will be smooth as an Alberta plum, but we follow orders.” He intoned, seeing the looks of exasperation on the faces of his older troops and a hint of fear on those of his ‘bubbles’. ‘Bubbles’ was the slang term for anyone that hadn’t made a drop into ether. They just floated along waiting for someone to ‘pop’ them.

The marines were armed with M-1 ship defense carbines and short swords. The ammo they had loaded the ‘mwans’ with was specially designed to operate in zero gravity, having been designed to deal with drakes the size of elephants they were proportionately large, ten millimeters to be exact. Additionally, since they were guided, self-propelled munitions, marksmanship was rarely an issue. In etheric combat though, the rifles were not as effective as many thought they would have been. In many instances, troops had to use their short swords to attack the drakes. Some older marines said they should just use swords. There was some evidence that the handheld weapons were a bit more effective, no one was sure why. The archaic weapons had been added to the standard weapon load for ship personnel after the first successful defense of a ship where the crew resorted to using wrenches and other improvised clubs when they ran out of ammo. That ship, the Reagan, had lost nearly sixty percent of its crew. Attacks by the creatures were fairly unusual, but if a ship wasn’t ready for it, they could wreak quite a bit of damage in a very short time.

“All stations report when ready for vacuum” the calm computer requested.

As crewmembers sealed their suits, ensured their personal air supplies were full, connected to the ships life support system, they also checked their personal weapons (short swords were the standard issue for enlisted crew with officers being issued mwans) that had been issued from the weapons lockers in preparation for the drop. Crew members completing their checks hit ready buttons. In the bridge, stations reporting lights began to glow green on the engineering console.

“Ma’am, all stations in the green, internal and external sensors active and recording.” Said Master Sergeant Brown, the senior non-com engineering crew person. The ships engineer was in the power production part of the ship watching the manataps and the ships engines.

Removing the atmosphere from the ships interior would prevent an explosive decompression if they were unlucky enough to be attacked by a drake. The ‘drop’ was the most vulnerable time for a ship since she would be sitting still and the etheric shield wouldn’t be able to reach full power for several minutes after the drop occurred.

“Drop in 10, 9, 8...” the ships computer intoned calmly,” 7, 6, 5”

The bridge was calm, this was all routine for most of them by now, only one of the bridge crew was a bubble. Staff Sergeant Leclerk, a computer specialist, had recently transferred aboard after an assignment at Peterson SFB (Space Force Bace). He seemed to be quite calm, but then he had spent time in Namibia supporting the UN forces that were trying to keep a lid on their simmering civil war.

“4, 3, 2, 1 ... drop initiated” The ‘tickle’ of electricity in the crew’s brains began, followed closely by the wrist tingles, the feeling that some sort of energy was coming out of their wrists. There were a lot of theories about the brain frisson, but no one had any idea what the feelings at peoples’ wrists were about ... the feelings grew and then, suddenly with no warning, they stopped.

As people went back to work after the drop, the hull breach klaxon went off.

Instantly the crew got ready to draw their weapons, hoping they wouldn’t see a drake start to peel back the hull in their part of the ship.

“Engineering, where is the breach?” Col. O’Donnel demanded, calm and cold.

MSgt Brown’s reply was also calm but with an undertone of disbelief, “Ma’am, ummm there aren’t any breeches ... but I have boarding alerts from crew quarters on deck three station golf and four, alpha, both portside. You have to see this ma’am, permission to send my camera feed to your station!?”

MSgt Brown was by far no bubble; he’d been serving in the ether for over half of his career. He’d seen three drake attacks, more than most ‘mistys’ as anyone that had served more than five years aboard an ethership were called. He didn’t want to panic the crew but the Colonel had to see this, they had been boarded by something entirely new...