“Have they moved on any shipping or anything like that?” Cole asked.
Giles shook his head. “No, sir. They’re just sitting about a light-hour off the primary space lanes.”
“Very well,” Cole replied. “Feel free to resume your patrol. We’ll take it from here.”
“Aye, sir. Giles out.”
“Helm, plot an intercept course with the Commonwealth ships,” Cole said. “Plan for three-quarters-light for the transit, with a reduction to two-tenths-light once the comms lag isn’t atrocious. Once you have the course, pass it to Comms for distribution to the fleet. Weaps, let’s bring up the battlegroup TacNet, too.”
A chorus of “Aye, sir,” came back to Cole as they began carrying out his orders.
Less than five minutes later, the spacer at the tactical station announced, “Battlegroup TacNet online, sir!”
“Thank you, Weaps,” Cole replied.
“Battlegroup reports ready to maneuver, sir,” the comms tech announced.
Cole nodded. “Thank you, Comms. Helm, take us out. Sensors, what can you tell us about our guests?”
The sensors tech soon replied, “Sir, there are ninety-eight warships arrayed in two lines-abreast of forty-nine ships, with the five freighters between the two lines. The lower line contains a dreadnought, twelve battleships, twenty-five cruisers, and eleven destroyers. The upper line contains nineteen destroyers and thirty frigates. None of the warships appear to have any defensive or weapons systems online or even on standby. One of the freighters matches sensor data for Jezebel’s Hope, a freighter known for refugee runs; our records indicate she’s made eleven successful runs into the former Commonwealth.”
Cole leaned back against the command chair, considering the tech’s report. Whoever they were, they weren’t acting hostile. They’d been sitting there for just over a day, and several merchant ships had already passed by them without incident.
“Srexx?” Cole asked.
“Yes, Cole?”
“What’s your evaluation?”
Srexx didn’t respond for about fifteen seconds. Then, he said, “At this point, Cole, there is insufficient evidence to classify those ships as hostile. They have not behaved in a manner consistent with other Coalition ships; indeed, they do not even identify themselves as being Coalition ships, if one bases their identity off their transponders.
“In terms of a threat assessment, I calculate the warships present a minimum of a moderate threat to this battlegroup. I regret that I cannot be more specific; there are a number of variables that cannot be quantified, such as the intentions of the commanders. While the range is still sufficient that pin-point resolution from the sensors is not possible, we are close enough for me to evaluate that these ships are representative of their respective classes as of the beginning of the Commonwealth Civil War. As the range decreases, I will be able to ascertain what modifications—if any—have been made to them.”
Cole nodded, saying, “Thanks, buddy. Now, what does your intuition tell you?”
“Cole, as I have stated a number of times since we first met, I do not possess ‘intuition’ in the manner you reference. That being said, I calculate a sixty-two-percent probability that they are here to talk.”
Cole smiled. “Okay, buddy. I appreciate your thoughts. Weaps, the moment they start charging weapons or shields, sound battle-stations. Don’t wait for my order.”
“Aye, sir,” the weapons tech replied.
Cole nodded and looked up to Sasha, who still stood at his side. “Well…I guess all we can do now is wait.”
Flag Bridge
Dreadnought ACS Indomitable
15 July 3003, 18:15 GST
Admiral Jennings Trask entered the flag bridge and waved away the traditional announcement of ‘Admiral on deck.’ He approached the massive holo-table that was state-of-the-art for Commonwealth ships, standing at his chief of staff’s right side.
“He’s here, sir,” Commander Tucker said, “and he’s not alone.”
Trask directed his attention to the holo-table, eyeing the data-codes that were approaching his formation at three-quarters the speed of light. The data-codes indicated a standard travel formation for a task group of that size, but Trask felt a twinge of unease as his eyes settled on the massive dot at the formation’s center.
“What do you think, Jake?” Trask asked, his voice almost a whisper.
“I really hope he’s in the mood to talk, sir,” Commander Tucker replied, his voice equally quiet. “We have no data whatsoever on the ships traveling with him, and what we do know about Haven…well, I know I don’t want to fight him.”
“Everything we know of Coleson says he doesn’t fire first,” Trask said. “Yes, we’re in his territory, but we can’t exactly shout from the next system over. Well, I suppose we could have sent a message from Alpha Anubis, but we would’ve been inviting attack as we traded messages back and forth. Any Coalition forces pursuing us wouldn’t dare enter his territory, and I’d rather not risk any more of my people in combat than necessary.” Trask sighed. “All we can do is wait, now.”
At a range of one light-hour, Cole ordered the battlegroup to reduce speed to a quarter-light. At thirty light-minutes, Cole ordered the battlegroup to hold position at fifteen light-minutes, relative to the Commonwealth fleet.
“All ships report holding station,” the comms tech replied.
“Record a message for transmission, please,” Cole said.
“You’re on, sir,” the comms tech replied.
Cole gave his best welcoming smile as he said, “Hello. I am Bartholomew James Coleson, commanding the Haven battlegroup. I welcome you to the system and ask your intentions. Coleson out.”
Not quite a minute later, the comms tech announced, “Message ready for transmit, sir.”
“Send it,” Cole responded.
“Well, we’ll know what they say in a little over thirty minutes,” Sasha said, leading her statement with a sigh. “I wish they had quantum comms gear. We could’ve done this from Beta Magellan.”
“I wouldn’t have, even if it had been possible,” Cole said. “If they turned out to be hostile, we would’ve been horribly out of position. I think someone might be a tad impatient.”
Sasha grimaced. “You’re not wrong, and there’s no guarantee they’ll fire off a response as soon as they receive our hail.”
Cole grinned, shrugging.
Trask smiled after viewing Coleson’s hail. It was good to know the intelligence on Coleson was accurate, in this at least. He eyed his chief of staff, saying, “Thoughts, Jake?”
“I won’t lie, sir; I’m focused on the word ‘battlegroup.’ They haven’t raised shields yet, but it doesn’t really matter. Our sensors can’t penetrate the hulls of those ships. The computer is having fits trying to classify the ships around Haven, but given the differences in their physical dimensions, I think we’re looking at their version of cruisers, destroyers, and frigates. We’ve picked out four ships we’re assuming to be frigates whose hull contours don’t quite match the other similarly sized ships, but we have no idea what that means.”
“Very well,” Trask said. “Comms, record for transmission, please.”
“Ready, sir,” the comms officer replied.
“I am Admiral Jennings Trask, and I thank you for your welcome to Gateway. The freighters we escort carry a full complement of refugees. The ships under my command were in the process of leaving Coalition space when we encountered the freighters, and after discussion with our ships’ companies, we have decided to ask if you’re still hiring. The Provisional Parliament—acting in the name of the Coalition—shows no signs of reigning in their cruelties, and we cannot in good conscience continue to serve them. We look forward to your response. Trask out.”
“On the chip, sir,” the comms tech announced.
“Send it,” Trask replied.
“Message coming in, sir,” the comms tech announced.
Cole nodded. “Put it on the forward view
screen, please.”
“Aye, sir.”
Not even five seconds later, the viewscreen activated, and the bridge crew watched Admiral Trask’s message. When the admiral identified himself, Sasha gasped, her left hand flying up to cover her mouth.
At the conclusion of the message, Cole swiveled to face his first officer, saying, “You certainly reacted to the admiral’s identity. Do you know him?”
Sasha shook her head. “Only by reputation. Admiral Jennings Trask is…well…he is the ideal for every officer desiring flag rank. If he is leaving the Commonwealth, it’s far worse than we’ve realized. He’d never turn his back on the Commonwealth, not unless he felt he had no other choice.”
Cole nodded. “Okay…I need to think about this. The least we can do is offer them shore leave privileges at Babylon until we figure this out. Comms, my compliments to Captain Vasquez; please, alert him that our guests are not hostile and I’ll be offering them shore leave privileges at his station.”
The comms tech replied, “Aye, sir.”
Cole sat in silence, his mind swirling around the idea that ninety-eight ships had come asking for a place with him. After a few seconds, he forced those thoughts away and adopted a non-expression, saying, “Comms, record for transmission, please.”
“You’re live, sir.”
“Admiral Trask, I am very glad I’m not a betting man. If you’ll forgive me for being frank, I need to consider your request, and at some point, we’ll probably need to discuss it in person. That being said, I have no intention of being a poor host, and I offer the hospitality of Babylon Station for shore leave privileges. If you accept, please include your desired cruising speed to the station. Coleson out.”
The comms tech added a five-second fade-in and fade-out to the message before announcing, “Ready to transmit, sir.”
“Send it,” Cole replied.
Thirty minutes later, the Haven battlegroup performed a synchronized ‘flip and roll’ to orient on Babylon Station and led Trask’s ships into the system at a quarter-lightspeed. The transit would take sixteen hours. Cole asked Sasha to schedule a meeting in the bridge briefing room at zero-seven-hundred, inviting Yeleth, Harlon, Emily, and Garrett. That task complete, Cole left the bridge in search of his bed.
Chapter Seven
In Transit to Babylon Station
Gateway System
16 July 3003, 06:45 GST
Cole entered the bridge briefing room and took his customary seat. He’d been awake since zero-five-hundred, and he still grappled with the proper response to Trask’s message. On one side, he didn’t want to turn anyone away who sought someplace safe to live, and Beta Magellan certainly wouldn’t run out of space on the two habitable planets anytime soon. On the other hand, though, Cole couldn’t help but feel there was a line somewhere on just how many ships he could accept before the Provisional Parliament became a bit irate; just what they’d do to express their discontent, Cole didn’t know, but he’d never been one to poke the bear just for the sake of poking the bear.
The hatch opening interrupted Cole’s thoughts, and he watched Sasha, Yeleth, Harlon, Emily, and Garrett file into the briefing room. Garrett sat at the far end of the table, opposite Cole…his customary seat. The others assumed their seats, and Cole nodded his welcome to them.
“Morning, everyone,” Cole said. “I’m sure by now you’re well aware of why I asked for this meeting, so I’d like to begin by showing you the message that started all this.”
Cole asked Haven to play Admiral Trask’s first message, and a hologram appeared over the conference table. Everyone sat in silence as the message played and looked to Cole once it finished.
“So, that’s where we are,” Cole resumed. “I won’t lie; I’m torn between saying ‘yes’ and sending him on his way. I’m honestly having problems getting past the crews of ninety-eight ships all wanting to flee the former Commonwealth and join us. Beyond that, losing ninety-eight ships would have to hurt. So…thoughts?”
“I think,” Garrett said, “the first step is to determine just how many of his people want to join us. That will give us an idea on the scope of the situation. Beyond that, another concern you haven’t raised is financial; can we afford paying all these people?”
Cole shrugged. “I’ve never publicized my finances, but I’ve not tried to keep them secret either. Without losing ourselves to a discussion of numbers, trust me when I say I’m nowhere close to my expenses outstripping my income, and as I work with Paol Thyrray to transition those people who want to have their own businesses away from being employees, my expenses will decrease. None of my concerns stem from my financial situation.”
Harlon smiled and shook his head. Emily grinned. It was easy to forget that they sat at a table with the richest person in Human space; until Cole had started funneling his trust fund into Haven Enterprises and Beta Magellan, the interest alone was greater than the GDP of several star systems.
“It has to be bad back home if Admiral Trask has decided to leave,” Sasha said. “I mentioned this last night when the message first arrived. Trask is the role model for naval spacers in the Commonwealth; everyone who aspires to flag rank would love to have him as their mentor. I…I just can’t imagine what the Provisional Parliament has done to make him lose hope in them.”
“He would be an asset to us, then?” Yeleth asked.
Sasha, Harlon, and Emily all nodded.
“He’s the best flag officer the Commonwealth has,” Emily said. “Much like Sato was one of the best for the Solars, if not the best.”
Harlon looked to Cole, asking, “Is Babylon Station ready for what they’re about to receive?”
Cole shrugged. “I gave Vasquez fair warning before I offered Trask shore leave for his crew. So…thoughts? Recommendations?”
“They have impoverished their country and enriched ours,” Sasha said. “I say we welcome them and start cycling the ships through the Citadel shipyard as soon as time and resources allow. They don’t really have anywhere else to go, and if we turn them away, the Provisional Parliament will try to hunt them down.”
“Agreed,” Harlon said.
“Yes,” Emily added.
Cole looked to Yeleth, saying, “Your thoughts, Yeleth?”
“I, too, think we should welcome these people. Do you intend to evaluate them with Kiksaliks?”
Cole nodded. “Oh, yes. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Garrett, would you like to add anything else?”
Garrett maintained his silence but shook his head, declining further comment.
“Very well,” Cole said. “When we arrive at Babylon Station, I’ll invite Admiral Trask and a few of his people aboard for a meeting. Once they’ve been vetted by Kiksaliks, we’ll proceed. Any questions?”
No one spoke, and Cole nodded one more time, saying, “All right then. Thank you for your time and thoughts.”
Cole stood, prompting the others to do the same, and left the briefing room.
At eleven-twenty-seven hours, they arrived at Babylon Station and began the rotation of providing Trask’s ships shore leave. Only those ships whose companies were on shore leave docked at the station, as all ninety-eight ships docking would leave Babylon critically short of docking ports or slips for the routine traffic scheduled over the next several days. All that remained was the conference with Admiral Trask.
Cole spent quite some time deciding how he wanted to handle the conference with Admiral Trask, and as the first ships docked at Babylon Station, he smiled as a thought came to the forefront of his mind.
“Jenkins, hail Indomitable, please,” Cole said, “and ask for Admiral Trask on my behalf.”
“Aye, Cap,” Jenkins replied.
Cole looked at Sasha and winked, making his own mark in the air.
“I have Admiral Trask for you, Cap,” Jenkins announced.
“Onscreen, please,” Cole said.
The forward viewscreen activated, displaying an image of Admiral Jennings Trask. Both he and Cole smil
ed at the same time, as Cole said, “Admiral Trask, thank you for taking my call. I’d like to invite you and six of your people aboard Haven to discuss matters over lunch.”
“Thank you, Mr. Coleson, and I’m happy to accept. May I inquire as to the uniform of the day?”
Cole grinned. “Please, sir, call me Cole, and ship-suits are fine with me. I’d much prefer an informal conversation with a side of food than a formal dress mess.”
Admiral Trask’s lips quirked in something that might have become a smile, if a smile had been permitted. Then, he nodded once. “Very well, Cole. When should we arrive?”
“How does twelve-thirty sound?” Cole replied.
“It sounds perfect, thank you.”
Cole nodded once. “Excellent. We’ll bring your shuttle onto our flight deck, and I’ll have someone on hand to offer our hospitality to your pilot, if she or he won’t be dining with us. I look forward to our conversation, sir. Cole out.”
At twelve-fifteen, the shuttle bearing Admiral Trask and six of his people landed on the flight deck at the position specified by Haven’s Flight Control. The position just happened to be close to the aft cargo lift; Cole didn’t want to bruise anyone’s dignity by inflicting the transit shafts on them right away.
Red—the massive Igthon who’d been with Cole since Iota Ceti—greeted Admiral Trask and his party as they disembarked the shuttle, then dismissed the spacer standing beside him when he saw the pilot was to remain part of Trask’s party. From there, Red conducted Trask and his people to the captain’s private dining room on the mess deck.
Cole stood with Sasha, Yeleth, Harlon, Emily, Garrett, and Wixil just inside the hatch to the captain’s private dining room. In truth, it probably should’ve been a formal dress mess, given the ambiance of the dining room, but that had never been Cole’s style. That hadn’t stopped the stewards from laying out the better dinnerware with the ship’s crest on it, though. It wasn’t the fine china and crystal glasses that would be used for a true formal dinner, but it certainly wasn’t the dinnerware in the dining halls, either.
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