Haven Ascendant

by Robert M Kerns

“You found me out, sir. They’re crammed in my closet.”

  Smiling, Cole said, “Okay. Reply that you’ve forwarded his message to the relevant authority, and you’re expecting a response within twenty-four hours.”

  Vincent nodded. “Yes, sir. May I ask what that response will be?”

  Cole grinned. “I have the Haven battlegroup in Gateway. I figured we’d come out to Charr and say hello.”

  “Why do I have the feeling it’s not going to go well for them?” Vincent asked, adding his own grin to the mix.

  “That depends entirely on how much sense that Neville fellow has. If he turns belligerent on you, fall back to the Gateway jump gate and let me know.”

  “Aye, sir,” Vincent replied. “We’ll be waiting for you.”

  “Thanks for the call, Commander,” Cole said. “I appreciate it.”

  Vincent nodded once, then ended the call.

  Cole stood in silence a moment, marveling at the quantum communications technology. Charr was fifteen light-years from Gateway, but you never would’ve known it based on the quality of the call. After a few more seconds lost in thought, Cole shook himself and accessed his implant, choosing the comms function and selecting the bridge as the recipient of the call. Cole chose the day-cabin’s speakers for the audio.

  Moments later, the overhead speakers chirped and broadcast, “Bridge, Officer of the Deck.”

  “How many people does the battlegroup have over on Babylon?” Cole asked.

  “Uhm…well, I can’t speak for the other ships in the battlegroup, but all of our people are aboard.”

  Cole almost sighed. “Have comms signal a general recall order for all battlegroup personnel. We depart for Charr in two hours. Log the orders so that Delta shift is aware of it.”

  “Aye, sir,” the young man replied.

  “Thank you. Cole out.”

  Cole turned back to his bed and smiled, saying, “Haven, kill the lights.”

  “The ship’s lighting is not a life-form that can be killed, Cole-Captain,” the ship’s computer immediately replied. “Please, clarify your request.”

  Cole heaved a sigh as he walked to his bed. It almost felt like the ship’s computer was messing with him. “Haven, turn off the day-cabin lights.”

  The day-cabin went dark.

  Charr System

  3 August 3003, 13:57 GST

  Cole entered the bridge and walked toward the command chair. Mazzi looked over her shoulder and stood, saying, “Captain on the bridge!”

  “I have the conn,” Cole replied as he stopped. “Haven, bring up the tactical plot, please. Show near-space out to…one light-hour.”

  The tactical plot appeared, hovering in the air and centered between the command chair and the helm. Thirty-five data codes hovered in a cluster just far enough off the transit lane to the jump gate to keep from impeding traffic. The Haven battlegroup approached the formation at fifteen percent of lightspeed and arrayed in a standard travel formation, with the Charr system picket moving off to resume its patrol.

  “Sensors,” Cole said, “what do we have?”

  “Thirty-five ships squawking Coalition transponders, sir,” the sensors tech replied. “I’m reading one battleship, six cruisers, eight destroyers, ten frigates, and ten corvettes. Presumably, the battleship is the flagship.”

  Cole’s eyes flicked over the tactical plot, taking in the Coalition formation. They weren’t in a combat formation Cole recognized, but he’d restricted his studies and training to the material available in the ISA’s courseware.

  “Okay. Weaps, bring the ship to alert status, and activate TacNet. Comms, what’s the comms lag now?”

  The technician at the weapons station sounded off an, “Aye, sir,” and condition lights throughout the ship began flashing amber; after thirty seconds, they would revert to steady.

  Cole turned to look at the comms station as Sasha entered through the starboard hatch. The technician there keyed a couple commands.

  “We should be down to about twenty minutes’ lag, sir,” the comms tech said.

  Cole frowned. “Might as well send a message by bird. Fine. Hide the tactical plot, and record for transmission, please.”

  The tactical plot disappeared as Cole turned to face the video pickup. When the comms tech gave him the go-ahead, Cole began, “Greetings. My name is Bartholomew James Coleson. I have reviewed your message regarding Jennings Trask, and as the old saying goes, I’m disinclined to acquiesce to your request. Furthermore, given our credible intelligence of the abuses levied against the formerly free citizens of what is now Coalition space, you may regard this as our formal notice that Coalition vessels of any kind are not welcome in any system claimed by Beta Magellan. You have one hour to light off your drives and turn toward the jump gate back to Coalition space, or we will interpret your presence as hostile. That is all.”

  Not more than fifteen seconds later, the comms tech said, “Ready to transmit, sir.”

  “Send it on full broadcast, no encryption,” Cole replied as he sat in the command chair. He looked to Sasha, who had stopped a respectful distance off his right elbow, and asked, “Thoughts?”

  Sasha angled her head to the left just a bit, saying, “Well, if they weren’t spoiling for a fight when they arrived, they will be now.”

  Cole shrugged. “Circumstances are already building toward a confrontation between us and the Coalition. Sure…I could smile, nod, and make nice to stave off that confrontation for a while, but they’re killing people, Sasha.” Cole glanced at the time in his implant. “It’s going to be at least twenty minutes before we see any reaction. You hungry? I skipped lunch.”

  “I can hold the fort here, sir, and call you when something happens,” Sasha replied.

  “Yeah…you’re probably right. I’ll just send an order to the mess deck and ask some eager soul to run it up to the office.”

  Twenty-five minutes later, Cole returned to the bridge just in time to hear the report of the Coalition ships’ reaction.

  “They’re charging weapons,” the sensor tech reported.

  “I have the conn,” Cole said as Sasha vacated the command chair. “Sound battle-stations.” Klaxons started blaring throughout the ship as the condition lights shifted from solid amber to flashing red. “Flight ops, my compliments to the CAG, and instruct her to launch fighters with orders to engage the frigates and corvettes. Weaps, pick a corvette, and designate it as ‘Do Not Engage’ for the battlegroup; someone needs to take the message home that they’re not welcome here.”

  Sasha turned toward the starboard hatch, saying, “I’m going to the auxiliary bridge,” as she fast-walked to the hatch.

  Cole gave an answering nod that Sasha probably didn’t see as his eyes flicked over the tactical plot. “Comms, signal combat formation Gamma-Three to the battlegroup, please.”

  “Aye, sir,” the comms tech replied.

  The Alpha shift bridge crew started filtering through the hatches, hustling to assume their duty stations for combat. Wixil smiled as she walked past Cole and took over the helm.

  “Message coming in,” Jenkins said, having taken over from the Beta shift comms tech.

  “Put it up,” Cole said.

  The forward viewscreen activated to show Captain Neville Irving. Cole smiled upon seeing the man’s jaw clenched, red creeping up his neck.

  “Mr. Coleson, the Coalition is not accustomed to caring what some tin god in a backwater system says. You will turn over Jennings Trask, his personnel, and the ships he stole, or we will wipe your pathetic excuse of a population from the face of the galaxy. I have been authorized to use lethal force.”

  The silence was palpable as everyone looked to Cole. Everyone aboard now knew he’d survived the massacre of Beta Magellan, and most were aware of his conviction that such would never happen again.

  “Record for transmission, please,” Cole said, his voice flat and unemotional.

  “Ready, Cap,” Jenkins replied.

  “Mister Irving,”
Cole said, “Beta Magellan has already suffered one massacre, and I tell you now that your little task force has insufficient strength to capture and hold this star system, let alone wipe all signs of life from Beta Magellan. If you have even a modicum of good sense, you will flee like the cur you are. Anyone who chooses to fight will be a cloud of expanding atoms when I leave this system. This moment—this moment right here—is where you choose whether you live or die. Choose well.”

  Jenkins soon reported, “Ready to transmit.”

  “Send it as a wide-beam broadcast.”

  Mere seconds later, Jenkins said, “It’s sent, Cap.”

  “Thank you, Jenkins,” Cole replied, his eyes locked on the tactical plot.

  “Cole?” The bridge speakers broadcast Srexx’s voice.

  “Yeah, buddy?” Cole asked.

  “I am downloading the Coalition fleet’s computer storage media. May I ask you to refrain from destroying them for approximately fifteen-point-seven-three-nine-five minutes?”

  Cole grinned. “Sorry, buddy. The best I can give you is fifteen-point-seven-two minutes.”

  “I shall endeavor to expedite…oh. That was a joke, was it not?”

  More than one person around the bridge chuckled along with Cole as he said, “Yes, it was. I won’t start the fight, so when we start destroying ships depends on them.”

  “They must shoot first?” Srexx asked.

  Cole nodded. “That’s right. It’s a matter of principle with me that I never fire first.”

  “One moment…”

  Everyone on the bridge—even Cole—shared a look or two between one another during the ensuing silence.

  “There,” Srexx said, at last. “I believe I have addressed the issue.”

  “Okay,” Cole said. “Mind if I ask what you did?”

  “I do not mind at all.”

  Cole waited a few seconds before he sighed, then said, “Okay, Srexx…what did you do?”

  “I wiped the software command relays between all weapons control stations and the weapons themselves. Those devices held no interest to me, and the resulting delays in repairing their fire control systems will allow me to complete my download.”

  “Wait,” Haskell at Sensors said. “Does he mean they can’t fire any of their weapons right now?”

  “Yes,” Srexx replied. “I thought that was what I said.”

  “What about local control of the gun turrets?” Mazzi asked from the weapons station.

  “According to the respective computers,” Srexx said, “the gun turrets do not possess local controls.”

  Cole fought to suppress a chuckle as he asked, “Anyone want to guess on how long it will be before we start seeing ships with hard-wired relays for weapons controls? They got rid of the software controls for ejecting the cores pretty fast after Caernarvon.”

  “I’d guess it depends on who examines the logs of the corvette we send back,” Mazzi replied. “I don’t think we have sufficient information to make any guesses, but you can be certain there’ll be a book running on it soon.”

  “You would’ve thought they’d have those relays hard-lined already, though,” Haskell said. “Too much can go wrong with software.”

  “You are indeed correct, Mister Haskell,” Srexx replied. “A lot can go wrong.”

  Something about Srexx’s tone and phrasing drew Cole’s attention.

  “Srexx, buddy, what are you doing?”

  “I am going behind the repair parties and re-wiping the relays they have already restored.”

  Cole closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment of sympathy for the poor souls responsible for damage control on those ships.

  “That’s…almost cruel, Srexx,” Cole said.

  “I’m still downloading the data in their storage media,” Srexx replied. “It has been several cycles since I have encountered new data, so why should I allow the Coalition commander’s inaccurate assessment of his own competence to impede my download?”

  “To say nothing of saving their lives, right, buddy?”

  “Admittedly, Cole, I do not devote many compute cycles to those who intend our people harm. If they surrender before we destroy them, then I shall re-evaluate the number of compute cycles they deserve at that time.”

  Srexx lapsed into silence, and the bridge crew waited. Cole almost felt like he should step the ship down to alert status instead of battle-stations, but he didn’t know if Srexx would stop re-wiping those relays without warning. In the end, he needn’t have worried.

  After what seemed like an almost interminable silence, Srexx said, “I have completed my download, Cole. Would you like me to stop wiping the software relays?”

  Cole nodded. “Yeah, you probably should. Let’s see if they want to start this after all.”

  Thirty minutes passed. Then, Jenkins announced, “Message incoming, Cap. It’s from one of the Coalition cruisers.”

  Cole frowned, shrugging. “Why not? Put it on.”

  The viewscreen activated to display a woman with faint lines around her eyes and wisps of gray lacing her dark hair.

  “Mr. Coleson, I am Commander Rosalind Briggs. Captain Irving has suffered an unfortunate…malady…and regrettably is no longer able to command this task force. With your permission, we will depart your system and send a message buoy back to Coalition space with your communications that Coalition forces are not welcome in your territory.

  “Captain Irving was a recent political appointee with little experience in fleet—or even ship—command, and we’d rather not die in a pointless confrontation. We await your response.”

  Cole turned the idea over in his mind. He didn’t want to bathe his battlegroup in lives and ship debris, but he knew without doubt the day would come when he had no choice in that. Still, he felt he should make certain they understood the score.

  “How long would it take them to reach the jump gate, Wixil?” Cole asked.

  The young Ghrexel’s hands flew over the helm controls for a moment or three before she replied, “Assuming a speed of two-tenths-light, they’ll reach the jump gate in a little over three hours.”

  “Jenkins, record for transmission, please,” Cole said.

  “Ready, Cap.”

  “Commander Briggs, I grant you your reprieve. I did not come to this system looking for a fight, but you need to understand something. I don’t care where you go or what you do, but if you begin preying on systems we call ‘friend,’ you won’t survive our next meeting. Make sure your people understand that. You have four hours from the receipt of this message to get your ships out of my system. Coleson out.”

  Twenty minutes later, the Coalition ships pivoted almost in unison and lit off their drives on a speed course for the jump gate. Haven and her battlegroup held station and watched them leave, serving as a silent warning not to deviate from the plan.

  Three hours and thirty-five minutes after Cole sent his message, the last Coalition ship transitioned through the jump gate. Cole ordered a stand-down from battle-stations and a return to Babylon Station in Gateway.

  Chapter Eleven

  Babylon Station

  Gateway System

  4 August 3003, 09:17 GST

  Sasha entered the café on the station’s concourse and smiled at the pleasant aroma filling the space. Unlike Cole but like so many others aboard Haven, Sasha loved a good cup of coffee, and this café had the reputation of brewing the best cups this side of Old Earth. She chose a table for one (or perhaps two if they were very friendly) and placed her back to the wall. The server took her order, and she browsed news stories on her tablet while she waited.

  A shadow moved in front of her, and Sasha looked up to see a man she didn’t know standing over her. Without invitation, he pulled out the chair opposite Sasha and sat.

  “I’m sorry,” Sasha said. “I’m not here to meet with anyone.”

  “I know,” the man said, “but you see, Sasha Thyrray, you have information I want, and I would like to offer you the opportunity to provide t
hat information in a manner that leaves you unharmed.”

  Sasha lifted one eyebrow in an ages-old expression. “Is that so? Just what information do you want?”

  “The whereabouts of Jax Theedlow.”

  Sasha maintained her facial expression, saying, “I’ve never met anyone by that name.”

  “Odd,” the man replied, removing a small pad from a pocket on his jacket. He activated it to display a picture of Sasha, Yeleth, Harlon, and Emily walking with Cole through the concourse outside; Sasha guessed it was taken when Cole came aboard the station to meet the refugee emissaries. “You’re walking beside him in this image.”

  Sasha accessed her implant and sent a broadcast to all similar implants that she needed any available security personnel near the café to arrive with haste.

  “So, you’re saying the man in the foreground of this photo is this Jax Theedlow you’re trying to locate?” Sasha asked to buy herself time. “Why do you want him?”

  “He disappeared with property that did not belong to him but was entrusted to his care. I have been charged with finding him and returning him to my employer for an explanation. It would go better for you if you cooperated with me.”

  Movement at the door drew Sasha’s attention, and she saw a collection of Haven’s marines she knew from the gym enter the café. They scanned the room in short order and started making their way to her.

  “Really, Miss Thyrray,” the man said, just as the marines were nearing arms’ reach. “I don’t know what you expect to achieve by trying to imply there’s someone behind me, but it’s not going to work. I’d rather not employ more invasive methods to get what I want. It’s always so messy.”

  “This guy bothering you, Commander?” the lead marine asked as she stopped less than two feet from the back of the man’s chair.

  The man froze, his eyes flicking side to side as if trying to see behind him without turning his head. Sasha gave him a slight smile that held no mirth just as the server brought her coffee. She accepted the cup, thanking the server, and took a sip. The café lived up to the hype; it was an excellent brew. Sasha savored another sip before she placed the cup on the table.