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    The Human Sphere


    Alterran Sector


    Not far from the ringed moon of Celstus (Scientific Designation: Declan)


    “General Weyland, there’s a message coming through on a subspace channel. Facility Thirteen has gone dark,” A lanky colonial marine yells from the main desk.


    General Erik Weyland abruptly brings his conversation with Brigadier General Rodrigo to a halt. Both seasoned military men straighten up and approach the large desk where the nervous colonial marine is seated. Rodrigo bristles as he glances down at the images displayed on the various computer screens.


    “There''s been no communication for at least the last few hours,” the marine continues. “Listening Post thirty-seven reports a strange anomaly just before all communications ceased. The Post Commander says it was almost as if all signals—in or out of the facility—were being jammed. Then, nothing.”


    General Rodrigo glances over at his superior with an expression of pure insanity. Now, things are starting to get interesting. First, the signal which drew the bulk of their fleet all the way to the Alterran Sector. Then, the aliens holed up on Declan’s storm-ridden surface. Now, the rehab facility on Base Thirteen has gone completely silent. What the hell is going on in this part of space?


    Whatever is going on, Rodrigo is absolutely sure he’s going to enjoy this entire affair. These aliens sure as hell know how to fight. Two days of steady bombardment, and the aliens’ base is still more than ninety-seven percent functional—according to the most recent instrument readings and planetary scans. These beings  know how to hold their own. Weapons platforms, and various other complex arrays, keep the marines from being able to land shock troops on the planet’s surface. So much of the battle has commenced from orbit.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    Nevertheless, General Rodrigo has unwavering faith that his side will be victorious. Just as they were victorious during the bloody Earther Wars. The Earthers had possessed far more superior numbers, and still they had fallen under the might of the colonial marines. The Battle of Celstus will be no different.


    General Rodrigo smiles inwardly, at the self-imagined title of his soon to be greatest victory. General Weyland seems only minimally concerned. He turns back to General Rodrigo with obvious disinterest.


    “Locations go dark from time to time,” General Weyland states, his voice oozing with indifference. “We are in the middle of a war, Private Muller. Keep listening in. I expect hourly reports. But for now, we worry about the enemy we can see.”


    “Yes, Sir,” the private says before going back to his work.


    General Rodrigo ventures a query into General Weyland’s thinking. His superior''s lack of interest seems markedly uncharacteristic. General Erik Weyland has never run from a fight.


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    “Aren’t you even a little concerned, General?" Rodrigo questions, his eyes hard.


    General Weyland takes Rodrigo aside with a polite nod to those around him. When they are out of earshot, Weyland whispers hoarsely to his colleague and friend.


    “Of course, I am concerned,” General Weyland says. “But I want my troops’ minds on the battle at hand. I don’t want them worrying about what is going on millions of parsecs from here when they should be worrying about their own asses.”


    General Weyland grips Rodrigo’s elbow and stares deep into his eyes. The commanding general’s eyes harden and his brow furrows. The general''s hardened expression conveys the importance of his next words.


    “Take an attack cruiser and find out what the hell is going on,” Weyland says. “I have a feeling our beloved doctor’s friends have decided to pay her a visit. Or Dr. Wessinger has finally lost what was left of her marbles and turned the entire station into vaporized micro-particles. Either way, I want to know what’s going on back there! You’re my best general. I know I can rely on you to do what needs to be done.”


    General Rodrigo tenses at being sent away from a major skirmish. However, if what General Weyland suspects is correct, there may be an even bigger battle awaiting him. Rodrigo nods respectfully and turns on his spit-shined heels. He motions toward several of his men—who file out of the command center behind their leader.


    General Weyland heaves a deep sigh and returns his attention to Private Muller''s workstation.  Damn, Dr. Wessinger. Damn, that stupid stupid woman.