1 1 - NEW COMMAND

Enroute to the Lupus System

"Lt. Williams," Master Sergeant Deckard's voice blared out of the speakers on the engineering deck. "How long 'til we reach Lupus 5?"

A sudden flush of rose coloring tightened the lieutenant's facial muscles, suggesting he wasn't keen on the idea of taking orders from an enlisted man, even if those orders were coming from a 25-year veteran with over 15 battle campaigns to his credit. After all, the Lt. thought, even at the rank of E9, Deckard is a subordinate.

Williams tore the handset from the side of the comms-unit, keyed the mic as if trying to crush it. "If..." he began, then paused mid-sentence to regain control of his temper. The empty static betrayed the angry thoughts festering in the mind on his end of the open mic.

Expecting such outbursts from the junior officers, Deckard waited patiently for the Lieutenant to regain control. The heated tone in the engineer's voice amused Deckard. Over the course of his career, he had encountered many low-ranking officers who routinely tested his patience and resolve. But this time was different, he didn't have the luxury of time to waste. The mission must come first.

Williams began again, "If the engines hold together, we should arrive in just under 40 minutes. If they don't, we won't arrive, at all."

The E.S.S. Regert was the fastest ship in the Ranger fleet and the first frigate every recruit requested when arriving on Sigma 3. To merely say it was state-of-art or cutting edge technology would do the ship an injustice. She was the Company's crowning achievement in both deep space exploration and interstellar warfare. The ship employed both an unparalleled complement of new age weapons arrays, several fully equipped science labs, and an innovative hull design. By all standards, the ship was formidable in both inner and outer spaces. It was for those reasons the high command dispatched the ship on its current mission. But Williams, highest marks in his class at the Academy, knew that even a ship with the Regert's potential still had its limitations, and after a sustained burst of 37 hours, those limitations had come and gone.

Unfortunately for him, neither the regulations nor the ship's safety particularly concerned Deckard at the moment. He had specific orders, albeit continually updating orders that left him questioning command's sanity. But that was not his call to make. There were specific orders to follow, and he was there to ensure the crew followed them to the letter.

Placed in temporary command until the Ship's Commanding Officer returned from a top secret mission in an undisclosed sector halfway on the other side of the Galaxy, Deckard had full authority to do as he saw fit; that was a command he vehemently disliked and did not want.

Deciding to make the best of the take it or else assignment, Deckard told himself the posting was just another babysitting job. OK, he thought, the ship practically runs itself. No problem. If that's what command wants, that's just what they'll get. Unfortunately for Deckard, his somewhat hasty appraisal of the current situation may have been enough to settle the disquiet in him, but it soon became clear, the crew's current state of disquiet over their new commander wouldn't quiet so easily. And to Deckard's chagrin, everyone now looked to him for all the answers. Why this? And why that? And how come? Overnight he had gone from the guy who saves their asses to the guy who shits on their heads.

"How the jumped-up-bullshit-Christ did that happen?" he asked himself.

The ship sped through the open expanse at 110% engine capacity, even though company regs prohibited pushing the engines beyond their standard limits of 100%. As head of propulsion engineering, that violation pissed Williams off. He fumed about how some dumbass was abusing his engines and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it other than stand there and listen to them scream in pain.

The usual complement of the bridge officers and enlisted posted on the bridge were missing. Vacant were the chairs ringing the command deck, leaving Deckard standing in the center of a never empty room glaring at the insidious black box hastily wired into the ship's main control board. Its long black wires spread to all corners like a giant spider web tethered to the consoles in front of each empty seat.

"Great. Fly by wire." He said to himself. "Whose genius idea is this?"

Deckard's somewhat aggressive and old-school command methods made him unpopular with a crew that enjoyed their old commander's more flexible command style. According to them, you'd think Captain Fry was just one of the guys, at least, that's how the crew viewed him. Tough; but fair. By the book; but with a smidge of common sense thrown in to temper the dark times.

Deckard, a no bullshit NCO, expected his orders followed without hesitation, question or compromise. A philosophy fit for the battlefield charger, but ill suited for a front echelon leader. As a result, his unwavering do as you're told mantra had finally come round to bite him in the ass. The crew didn't like his methods or care that he'd saved most of their asses a dozen times over. They saw Deckard as an inflexible and, more often than not, wholly unpleasant leader forced upon them by an unsympathetic and uncommunicative command.

"Fine," Deckard said, speaking into the handset, "Drop the engines to 90%. That should give them time to cool."

"Affirmative," the Lt. replied, wondering what the brass had been thinking when they put an untrained NCO in charge. This is stupid shit, he thought. And it's wrong, I earned that post, not Deckard. Big muscle bound jerk. That deal breaker assignment galled most of the officers aboard; junior or otherwise. Never in the history of the Ranger Corp had an NCO filled a command position. Who ever heard such a thing?

Williams ran several hasty calculations and said, "Adjusted ETA to target is 3 hours, 38 minutes, Sir."

he comm-channel went silent for a moment. But Lt. Williams didn't move. He could hear the faint static of white noise coming from the speaker and knew Deckard's mic remained keyed. William's face blazed a darker shade of red, eyes rolled and a sneer spread across his face. What the fuck does he want now? He thought.

"And LT," Deckard continued, "Use the additional time to prep the drop ship for immediate departure upon arrival. We need our guests back aboard and to be back underway 30 minutes after entering high orbit, understood?"

"Yes, Sir," Williams replied, as if the acting captain had made an unreasonable request. He had. But Deckard either didn't know it or care if he did. Prep time for a shuttle launch and quick recovery took 6 hours minimum. Now they would have to get it down in half that time or learn a harsh lesson about failure to follow through.

"Problem, LT?"

"No, Sir. No problem, at all."

"Just get it done," Deckard snapped, not liking snot-nosed lieutenants who thought themselves above the common rank and file. "And LT," he added, veins in his temples throbbing, "Stop calling me, Sir. I work for a living."

"Yes... Master Sergeant." Williams replied, flicking off the comm-channel before the acting commander could continue. He had been told to follow Deckard's order; but no one said he had to take his shit. "You want 6 hours' work in three. Why should that be a problem?" he said to himself, slamming the mic back in its holder as if the act would put Deckard back in his rightful place as well.

Everyone aboard knew well that those failing to follow MSG. Deckard's in-the-moment orders would face the harshest repercussions allowed if they failed to complete their tasks on time. Nothing personal, he told them. It's just regs. And for him, that's exactly how life aboard the Regert was. Nothing supersedes the regulations, he told himself. The regs keep things on track. But that deep-seated belief made things run smoothly was the reason this mission felt wrong. The regs were off the rails. Shit, the rails had vanished and Deckard secretly suspected they were all fucked beyond belief. Nothing coming out of command's mouth made sense. The biggest questions onboard all ended the same way. Why him? Why is he in charge? He'll, even Deckard had asked himself that question. Why me?

As for now, though, the ship was on course. They were to pick up an independent research team on Lupus 5, get them to their final destination at the quickest speed possible, and assist them in retrieving whatever artifacts they found on site. Deckard could read between the lines. He knew that meant they weren't the only ones on the way to their destination and what it meant if they didn't get there first. The crew would no longer have to guess if the Regert could survive an armed encounter with a Necromonger frigate. The mission would end in armed conflict. A conflict led by an inexperienced commander with no tactical bridge experience in a space battle.

That lack of bridge experience didn't mean he wasn't a good soldier. In a ground assault, there was no better leader to have on your side. He trained under the best soldier Rangers ever produced. 1st Lieutenant Richard B. Riddick. In fact, as he thought, Riddick is the best goddamn hand to hand fighter to draw breath, and his ability to improvise and strategize in an active battle zone was unsurpassed. But in a space battle, Deckard knew he was wholly out of his depths and so did everyone else.

The nonstop harmonics coursing through the ship's substructure peaked the crew's sense of growing unrest. The rhythmic droning of overworked engine parts highlighted the mission's unmistakable need for urgency. Add to that, an unexpected addition of an unknown team of subcontractors, no one knew or trusted, and morale had dipped to an all-time low. Fueling a storm of growing rumors was the hasty race to an undisclosed location in the heart of the forbidden planet's region. Everyone aboard knew you didn't go into that inhospitable region in a warship unless you were looking to provoke a response.

Deckard suspected the crew thought the upcoming mission was just an exercise to pit them against the Necromongers.

Unfortunately, the shroud of secrecy imposed by command provided ample opportunities for several more overactive imaginations to invent outlandish scenarios. The only official communique circulating through the ship was that an ancient dark artifact of immense power had been located, and they were en route to retrieve it before anyone else could get there first. The anyone else part, most believed, meant the Necromongers. They had their filthy half dead hands in everything bad happening in the Universe.

High Command instructed Deckard and a security detail to escort the civilian subcontractors down to the planet surface so they could conduct tests on site. To no one's recollection, even Deckard's, had such an operation ever taken place before. The repeated breaches in longtime protocols sent an uneasy wave rippling throughout the ship's complement. Everyone thought something bad was coming if the brass had thrown out the regulations manual in favor of a hasty snatch and grab operation.

"Martinson, Buckley, Jenkins and Holland, the four of you have three hours to prep the drop ship for a ground level pickup." Williams called out, looking over his shoulder at a sea of disgruntled faces. "You have 3 hours. I suggest you double time."

One man in the middle of the engine bay grimaced and said, "Seriously!"

"And the rest of you!" Lt. Williams shouted. "Make damn certain the Regert is ready to leave orbit as soon as the drop ship is safely back aboard."

"Yes, Sir!" everyone sounded off in unison, as they headed to their respective duties parroting his look of exasperation. No one leaving the room believed they would be ready. But they were, if nothing else, a well-oiled team.

"Corporal Dodson!" the Lt. shouted at the man who had complained. "Get down to the docking bay and do a once over on the transit system. I want nothing going wrong with the docking sequence during the mooring cycle."

"Yes Sir." Dodson replied, wishing he had kept his mouth shut.

The drop ship barely made it back inside the airlock before the outer doors started closing. A few moments later, the seals hissed, signaling the outer airlock had closed and the Regert's mooring thrusters fired, pushing it out of high orbit as the inner airlock doors groaned. Air whistled through the forming crack as the depressurized airlock inside drew in a deep breath. That unscheduled burn was another breach of protocol and a recordable safety violation that led to half a dozen unsecured tools rocketing towards the opening airlock doors like shrapnel.

Seconds later, the inner airlock door closed as the 25 ton drop ship made its lumbering journey along the low pressure transit system, heading toward its final mooring position.

"Dammit!" Williams shouted, turning the transit system's air pressure valve up to 100%. That was a violation, but he needed to get the drop ship locked down before the Regert fired its main engines. "What the fuck are you doing up there? Are you trying to kill us all?" Williams called out over the comms.

If the Regert fired its main engines too soon, the dropship would sheer off the transit rail. The unsecured vessel could cause a catastrophic air loss that would kill everyone in the bay.

"Attention all crew members," An artificial voice called out over the comms. "Brace for emergency main engine ignition in T-Minus 3, 2, 1."

The drop ship's locking clamps slammed closed just at the exact moment the main engines fired and half the unprepared crew crashed to the floor in utter shock, including the now unrestrained crew trying to exit the dropship. The engine's thrust pinned the unsecure against the aft walls in whatever compartments they were in.

During the unscheduled burn, the ship sustained minor damages on 4 decks from loose debris and they treated 16 people in sickbay for minor injuries caused by blunt force trauma.

"Lt. Williams, divert all non-essential power to the main engines; I want our output at 115%" Deckard said, picking himself off the floor of the main bridge. He rubbed the welt forming on his head. "We need to reach our destination, A.S.A.P."

"Are you insane!" Williams screamed, racing through the bulkhead door leading onto the bridge. "You'll face a court martial for firing those engines without alerting the crew first."

"Not my doing," Deckard replied, pointing at a black box resting on a nearby console. "I'm not in command, LT." He pointed at the lack of insignia on his collar. "They don't give commands to enlisted, remember?"

"No shit!" Williams replied, shooting him a frosty glare. "Why didn't they give me command?"

"That's what I asked."

"You did?" he said, feeling a little foolish. "What did they say?"

"High Command is in charge." Deckard answered, pointing at the box again. "

"We have no onboard commander. They're stupid."

Deckard rubbed at the growing knot on his head. "No argument here."

"What now?"

"Not sure," he replied with a smirk. "But I think the long-range telemetry array was knocked out of alignment during the unscheduled blast off. In fact, if you check, I'm certain you'll find the dish needs extensive repairs."

"But that would severe..." Williams paused, as a huge grin spread across his face. "All contact with command."

Deckard removed his hand from the lump on his head with a dark smile. "I'm no tech expert, but you may be right. If you fix the array, I'll inform the comms-officer to send a subspace message informing command I've assumed command of the ground team while you're taking command of the bridge until repairs are complete. Sadly, it may not reach them until after our return. But it will get there... eventually."

"I was wrong about you."

"Nah. I'm a hardass." Deckard admitted. "But thanks."

Two abnormally chiseled men, and a woman in her mid-forties walked in. They set down a myriad of overburdened duffle bags filled with lab equipment and field supplies. The woman dropped a large handbag on a console and stared at Deckard, waiting for a welcome aboard. She received no such greeting. He just glared as though he were imagining ringing her neck.

Dr. Regina Chillingsworth was tall and willowy, with shoulder length fiery hair and piercing grey eyes. Her two very symmetrical assistants wore matching dark blue jackets that read: 'Property of MegaCorp.' Deckard recognized them as synthetics. He despised synthetics; they all looked shifty to him. He noticed each of them were his exact build with his features. They could have been his brothers.

After a moment of staring between Deckard and Williams, she asked, "Would someone please explain what the hell is going on here?" She rubbed her left shoulder as if it ached and added, "Anyone."

Lt. Williams shook his head at Deckard, walked over to the console where a black box lay grafted into the circuitry. He studied the devise for a long moment, then tore it out amid a flurry of explosive sparks. He dropped it at the woman's feet, wearing an unkind expletive on his face, and said, "I'll do my best to repair the busted array, but it appears the override module sustained extensive damage during our unscheduled departure."

"Thanks for that, LT."

"No problem," Williams replied, with a you wanted command smirk. He turned to the woman and said, "Hello, Dr. Chillingsworth. It's always a pleasure." Although, the tone in his voice sounded more like a string of expletives than a welcome aboard.

"Youngman" the doctor said, looking to Williams with a frown. "Can anyone tell me, why the sudden take off?"

Williams looked over her shoulder at Deckard wearing a sideways grin and said, "Well, I guess that's my queue to leave you to your new command, Sir."

"Thanks, LT."

"Hey," Williams said, walking to the door as he stared at the woman and her assistants. "Dealing with these kinds of problems... is just one perk of being in command."

"Raymond, does your head of engineering think he's amusing?" Dr. Chillingsworth asked as the door closed behind him. "I came here at the request of General Torrens and the lieutenant treats me like I'm the enemy."

"Crawl down off the cross, Regina. Somebody needs the wood." Deckard replied, staring at her for a quick moment. The look of reserved empathy on his face faded to one of sincerely not giving a shit. He was still red in the face about what just happened, and the hammering on the inside of his skull preserved that anger. "The Lt. meant no disrespect, it's been a shitty day."

"Be that as it may," Regina countered, waving a lean hand loftily around the air as if Williams were little more than a shoe fly buzzing around her head. She wasn't used to being talked down to by subordinates. And, truth be told, Regina saw most everyone as a subordinate. "General Torrens assured me I would have your full cooperation."

"I'm certain the general told you a great deal to gain your participation. Especially, knowing you could get me under your thumb." Deckard replied, offering her oddly perfect assistants a sneer that clearly meant I don't trust either of you. "He obviously knows our history."

"I am not in the habit of divulging my personal history to strangers."

"Unless there's something in it for you."

Regina turned to the console beside her, typing commands at a frantic pace. "I agreed to take this assignment, because the General assured me... you would be in command."

Deckard kicked the broken black box under a nearby console. "Not anymore."

"I would not have come if I'd known you were giving up control."

He inhaled deeply, as if gathering enough breath to exhale his thoughts in one long go. "Bullshit. You do nothing without having a backup contingency, and if you gave a shit, you wouldn't have abandoned me on Aguerra Prime nursing a nasty case of food poisoning." Deckard envisioned ringing her long willow perfect neck and was almost immediately caught up wondering what perfume she had on. He liked her perfume. The longing to smell her neck made him want to strangle her even more. At least it did, after a few personal fantasies mixed with a few memories of their better times.

"You know why I had to leave."

"Sure, sure.." Deckard replied, as the anger in his guts tarnished his words a bit too harshly. "Riddick killed your baby sister. But that doesn't excuse the fact you left without telling me you were leaving or that you were never coming back."

"What do you want me to say?" Regina asked, lower lip trembling ever so slightly as tears welled in her eyes. "I'm sorry I left. That I never came back. I'm sorry I let my guilt consume me with a need for revenge."

"Guilt," Deckard replied, wondering what she had to feel guilty about. "What are you talking about?"

"I was the one responsible for retrofitting the Kublai Khan with the cryo-stasis system Antonia used to create her collection of misfit boys." Regina answered. "Don't you see, it's my fault she's dead."

"Hardly," he replied with a dismissive scowl. "While there is no excuse for helping your sister create her little trophy collection; she chose her own path and paid the price for doing it."

"But... Riddick."

"But... Riddick nothing," he interrupted, throwing up his arms and tilting his head to the side, recreating the crucifixion pose. "It's time to climb down off the cross, Regina. It wasn't your fault Antonia was a psychopath anymore than it was Riddick's fault she's dead. If she had tried to freeze me, I would have killed her myself."

"Fine," Regina replied, looking as if she wasn't certain she should slap him or kiss him. "You always had a soft spot for your ex-commander."

Deckard slammed his fist on the console nearby, denting the metal beneath his red knuckles. "Riddick saved my life... more times than I can count and they framed him for a crime he didn't commit. Now, he's a goddamn criminal, hunted everywhere he goes."

Regina studied Deckard's words, picking out the hidden message buried just beneath the surface. "There was a time when Riddick was a good man, an honorable man. But look how far your mentor has fallen since his ill-fated demise on Sigma 3. He went from extraordinary to ordinary. Nothing but a common criminal."

"Not his fault."

"Perhaps long ago that may have been true." Regina said, moving in so close Deckard could finally smell the scent on her neck. "But now, it's all his doing. Riddick walks a path of his own choosing the same way Antonia did; the same way we all do. Riddick uses crime to hide from the pain of what his actions set in motion all those years ago. His beloved died because of him."

"Grudge much, Regina?"

"Turn from the truth much, Raymond?" she countered, studying his expression like it was hiding a secret buried deep beneath the skin. "I wasn't sure if you were the one... But now..."

"Now what?"

"You were the delivery man." Regina whispered. "You put Riddick's package on your commander's doorstep?"

"I may have bumped into an old friend on Bannkul IV. But as for being a delivery man, I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't worry, Raymond. I won't tell." Regina said, offering a coy smile. "I was just hoping that if you were so eager to help an old friend, maybe you could help an old lover find a place for her to set up equipment."

"About your team." Deckard replied, scrutinizing the two synthetics standing behind her. "Did you inform the high command you'd be bringing them aboard?"

"The general knows everything about my team, our capabilities, and my methodologies."

"Doubtful," Deckard replied, smiling at Regina. "Do they know about you and Antonia?"

Regina removed a data storage device from the bag she'd placed on the counter, slid it into a nearby port and added, "The high command is well aware of my culpability in Antonia's crimes. In fact, it is for that very reason, I am here. My superior understanding of a multitude of different stasis systems and the science employed in making them function properly will undoubtedly be of great value on this mission."

"How so?"

"Come see for yourself," Regina said, booting up a nearby drive with a smile. "It would appear General Torrens thought there may be unforeseen difficulties with the array." She laughed to herself, lifting the hanging wires. "That's why he gave me a coded message to give to you upon arrival. I believe it will explain the importance of our mission."

"How thoughtful of him."

"Yes." Regina replied with a coy nod. "He is a thoughtful man."

Regina turned to her assistants, whispered something Deckard couldn't quite make out, and they quickly left the room with bags in tow.

Deckard frowned at the doorway, wondering what she'd whispered and asked, "Where are they going?"

"They're going to engineering" Regina replied, motioning for Deckard to come watch the General's message.

Deckard didn't move, he just stood there scrutinizing the door and wondering if he should alert the crew there were two synthetic on board. It was against regulation to allow unregistered synthetics access to vital areas of the ship. But more than that, Deckard didn't trust synthetics. They always seemed to have their own pre-programmed agendas.

"They're going to upgrade the suspensor field." Regina explained, gesturing impatiently for him to come over.

"Upgrade it how?" Deckard asked, looking at Regina as if he wouldn't move until she explained. "That technology is state-of-the-art."

"And for most, it is," Regina replied, wearing a mask of superiority. "However, I can do better."

"Better than state-of-the-art?" Deckard said, walking over to view the general's message. His expression darkened as the video began. "What are you up to, Regina?"

Regina paused the video, her expression darkening as she looked over her shoulder to make sure they were alone. "The general received an intelligence report stating the Necros are searching the forbidden planet's region. He believes they're after the same artifact we are. We are to get there first and either take possession of said artifact or destroy it by any means necessary."

"Any means necessary." Deckard laughed at the screen. "If the Necros want something, they take it." The furrows crossing his forehead spoke volumes of Deckard's prior battles with the Necromongers. "We can't beat them in open combat, they're too strong."

"We don't need to beat anyone in open combat if we're gone before they arrive."

Deckard shook his head, thinking things couldn't get any worse. "You know we can't outrun their ships."

"That's why I'm here. This is a race we can ill afford to lose." Regina said, reaching into her handbag and removing the stone blade Riddick had fashioned on Not Furya. "I believe you may recognize this." she said, "As it happens, this blade came from an object of unimaginable power."

Deckard turned to her with a worried expression. "Come on, Regina. What's really going on?"

"I promised the general, if you met me on Lupus 5, I could get us to our destination in less than 3 days." Regina said, in a volume so low her words couldn't drown out the voice of reason whispering in Deckard's ear.

"3 days!" He repeated, looking at her through the corner of his eye.

"Less than."

"You know that's not possible," Deckard replied, shaking his head with a frown. "This is the fastest ship in the fleet and it will take us at least 2 months at full speed to get that far out."

"The Necros already have a 6 week lead on us." Regina warned, reaching to start the video feed.

Deckard slapped her hand away before she could and said, "There's no way."

"We cannot let the Necromongers reach the artifact before we do." Regina added, rubbing her knuckles with a grimace. "They are already too powerful. If they get their hands on that technology, they may gain the means to finish their conquest."

"And just how do you plan on pulling off a miracle?"

"I can reconfigure the suspensor field to allow us to skirt the edge of subspace." Regina replied, bringing up a schematic depicting the changes. "With the right modifications we can use the subspace anomaly in the Aquila System to reach our destination a few days ahead of the Necros."

"And if you're wrong?" Deckard countered with a foreboding stare. "It's suicide entering subspace. No one has traveled in subspace and survived."

"No... it's science." Regina countered, rolling her eyes at his disbelief. "Have a little faith, Raymond."

"Do I look like an altar boy!" he blurted, far more abruptly than he had intended. "Why should I trust you?"

"Because this artifact is the most profound scientific discovery in the history of human species. And... it may provide us with the only means of defeating our adversaries."

Deckard grabbed the dagger from Regina and asked, "What did this come from?"

"If my calculations are correct." Regina replied with a wide-eyed grin. "It's an object of potentially limitless power."

"Limitless?"

"I believe so." Regina answered, starting thvideo.