by Dennis Young
But now that might all change. If the AI’s were as good as Tech Command thought, it could mean the end of crewed fighters, or assignments to lesser areas of potential conflict. Straum was only twenty-eight, but ten years into Earth Alliance, and had risen through the ranks quickly, not because of her gender or quotas, but because she was a damn good pilot and a fine leader.
She cared deeply about her charges, their ships, and the support staff. She knew every one of them by name, celebrated with them, mourned with them when losses came, and saw to it all received whatever counseling and R&R was necessary when stresses became unbearable.
And now, she might lose it all. Not just herself personally, but all the fighter crews. The “roadies”. The teachers and experts back at Fleet HQ, and the school still referred to as Top Gun. Gone. Swept away. All because of the advancements she loved on one hand and hated on the other.
“Fly by the seat of your pants” was her mantra. But there was no place for pants in the AI fighters.
* * *
Qoearc Assembly Ship (QAS) Diviak Nurmeen…
Zacan Toks crouched at his command station, awaiting the latest reply from the officials on the planet. Toks was more a combat commander than negotiator, and had threatened to level the city and simply take what was wanted. Yet somehow, the human ambassador had talked him out of it every time.
On his return to the ship, Toks’s Tactical-Intel Officer reported hyperspace ripples at the outer reaches of the star system. Ripples associated with gravimetric events, the type seen when quantum black holes formed, then dissipated… or when starships slowed from Over-c travel. The possibility that quantum black holes were forming around the singularity boundary was infinitesimally small.
Toks’s scales glowed brightly with satisfaction. He ordered two small interplanetary scouts dispatched, fully stealthed, light crew, minimal weapons. And no communication gear. They were to approach, record with low-power detectors, then return with the information. Estimated time for the round trip was about one planetary revolution.
Or as the humans would say, twenty-four standard hours.
* * *
EAS Burlingame…
The meeting with Captain Mitchell and the air wing pilots had been about what Straum had expected; a “rah-rah, let’s go get ’em boys!” pep talk she nearly rolled her eyes at. Once Mitchell had taken exit, she called an impromptu gathering in the hangar deck. Surrounded by her pilots, the “roadies”, and the tactical staff, she breathed a sigh of relief.
“Here is where we are, and what the captain didn’t tell you.” She watched the expectant faces all around, seen whenever she called her crew together. “The AI’s are going to go first and we’re the backup.”
A groan made its way around the assemblage.
Straum held a hand. “I want the AI’s fully checked out, no cutting corners, no skipping the checklist. If you question something, fix it and get within parameters. These Qoearc are going to be tough and we need our gear to be at its best.”
“Are you sure the AI’s are the best we have?” asked one of her pilots, Lieutenant Marksen. Straum knew him as a bit of a cynic, and wondered how he could be such at only twenty-four years old.
“I didn’t say that,” she replied with a grin. “You know my opinion. That’s why the AI’s have to be in top shape. Once they check out green…” she paused, looking to the “roadies”, “then get our crewed ships ready to go. Make sure the ordnance is clean and safeties clearly marked for quick arming. It’s my thought that after the AI’s launch, we’ll move our fighters into position for a second wave.”
“We’ve got gremlins in two of the Phoenix nav units,” said Walt Matthews, the tech-crew chief. “Six hours, no less.”
“Then get to work on it,” replied Straum. “Pilot and tactical briefing at 0800, AI’s in the launch bays by 1000 Hours. Be ready to launch everything we have in twenty-four hours. Questions?”
“Have you ever fought Qoearc, Commander?” Marksen again, playing the proverbial cynic. A chuckle drifted through the crowd.
“Have you, Lieutenant?”
“Hell, I’ve never even seen a Quearc!” Now a serious laugh circulated.
“Interesting theories about them,” replied Straum. “Some say they are what the dinosaurs on Earth might have become if they hadn’t been wiped out by the Chicxulub asteroid. Sort of reptaian-looking, long snout, claws for hands… and tails.” Straum pause, then showed a more serious face. “And yes, I’ve fought them, twice. Don’t underestimate them.”
“I’ve got a kid’s picture book for you, Marksen,” said one of the older pilots, a woman by name of Sparks. “No words, just old two-D flats.” Another laugh made its way around.
“Okay, anything else? More questions?” Straum met their eyes, one and all, again.
There were none, only eager faces all around.
“Okay, let’s get our hands dirty.”
* * *
EAS Armstrong…
On return to Armstrong, Trachenberg went immediately to Sickbay. Doctor Addams saw her enter from his office and motioned her inside.
“I’ve placed the captain in stasis,” he said, almost apologetically. “I have no idea what sort of malady she’s contracted, I can’t find any reference to the bugs in her system in ship’s medical library, and I can’t treat her with wide-spectrum antibiotics without doing damage to her organs. I really had no choice.”
Trachenberg nodded curtly. Addams was older, well into his third decade in Earthfleet, and she looked to him as a bit of a mentor figure. “You’ve done all you can, Doctor. It’s not in our hands now.”
Addams chuckled. “No, it’s going to be in the hands of Fleet Base, assuming we get her home soonest. Medical stasis isn’t forever, you know.”
“How long?”
“Protocols depend on the condition entering stasis. Basically, the healthier you are, the longer you can tolerate it.”
“Meaning we don’t have much time,” replied Trachenberg, looking away.
“Thirty days at most. I conferred with Base Medical three times during our trip here. Based on her R&R, we’ve tracked her locations and nothing unusual shows up.”
“Could she…” Trachenberg paused and blushed.
“Might she have contracted something sexually? I checked. Yes, she was sexually active during her time off the ship. We’re trying to locate her partner, but no luck yet.”
The commander nodded. “Keep me posted. Right now, I’ve got about a thousand other things to do. Have Sickbay and your staff ready in case we have casualties during whatever may be coming.”
Addams nodded gently. “You’ll do fine, Julia. And you know the crew supports you.”
Trachenberg rose. “I hope you’re right, Doctor. I’ll be in my quarters briefly, then on the Bridge. Let me know of any changes.”
Addams smiled as she took her exit.
Officers’ Deck was three levels above Sickbay. Trachenberg took the ’tween-the-decks stairways two steps at a time instead of the lift, seeking a brief respite from the stresses pressing in on her. Nearly running to her quarters, she closed and locked the door, laid back her head against the cool plastisteel, and breathed deeply. She could do this. She knew she could. She only had to keep telling herself that.
She glanced at her Earth-time chronometer. “Friday” at her ancestral home, and nearly “sundown”. She sat on the bed composing herself. Meditation. That’s what I need. And a glass of wine. She chuckled. No wine before Bridge duty. Maybe later.
She palmed the drawer open and drew her tichel scarf, decorated in family colors of red and gold, tied it slowly about her head, and closed her eyes again. She whispered a prayer, then looked to the Shabbat candles on the dresser, glanced at the chronometer once more, and raised her glow-stick, touching it to the candle wicks. The tiny flames danced as she focused her thoughts for a few moments. The room was quiet, the warmth of the candles playing on her cheeks. She held her hands to her face, covering her eyes
, and sang the blessing she had sung each Friday eve often as she could remember.
The melody faded out. She gave her benediction and sat once more on the bedside.
There were things needing to be done in this star system against the aggressors. There were also things that might not be done, but that decision wasn’t hers. She would follow orders, doing the best she could in Captain Martinez’s stead. She would press for an aggressive policy against the Qoearc. It wasn’t like they were unknown to the Earth Alliance. Many skirmishes and a serious battle or two had been fought over the years.
But Trachenberg wasn’t one to let bullies have their way with anyone. And the Qoearc were the biggest bullies in the galaxy, as far as she knew.
She would do her best to see that Captain Mitchell understood her concerns. And express more of her opinion of the only language bullies understood.
Two
Steady as She Goes
“Duty Log, Captain Harlan Mitchell, 161202.08. We’ve continued to scan the Qoearc and the Harmonian system over the last ship’s day. Little remains that we can do this far out, and we have yet to speak directly to the planet’s government or the Qoearc. It’s time we pressed this issue a bit and not only confront the invaders but establish the ground rules for engagement in the system. With the Harmonians being a pacifist society, I’m concerned they will place severe restrictions on our ability to protect them. And ourselves, therefore, as well.”
* * *
EAS Burlingame…
The Bridge bustled as the squadron prepared to move deeper into the Harmonian system. Standby Alert had been established; stations were manned by first-watch officers, security teams were dispersed throughout the ship at critical locations, and the flight deck air wing personnel made final preparations for the launch of the AI fighters, should they be needed.
Mitchell conferred with tactical, communications, and science staff as they surrounded his command seat. The twin viewscreens showed what lay fore and aft of the ship. Commander Allard was readying the auxiliary Bridge and coordinating with Straum as she prepared her air wing for battle.
“Lieutenant Rashim, what do we hear from the Harmonians?”
“Quite a bit, sir.” The Comm Officer tapped his PADD and brought up what appeared to be a legal document of some length. “They have apparently been negotiating with the Qoearc regarding resources within the system. When they first landed in the capital city, the commander, Toks by name, demanded to see their government leaders to accept their surrender. Since then, there have been three lengthy negotiating meetings, and each time, the Qoearc have returned to their ship without an agreement.”
Everyone listening raised an eyebrow as Rashim continued. “According to the official with whom I spoke, Elder-Third Clovis, the Qoearc are at the very least confused at the gentle refusal of the Harmonians to simply give them what they want. He says the Qoearc are growing more agitated at every meeting and his government is concerned. If they will not accept terms, he feels the Qoearc will, as he put it, ‘cause more harm to our people for only material things’.”
Tactical Officer Neunada made a throat-clearing sound. Mitchell turned to him. “Yes, Lieutenant?”
Neunada’s dark skin flushed slightly. “Your pardon, sir, but we’ve done as much analysis on the Qoearc ships as we can from this distance and I can say for certain, between the three of them, they have enough power to lay waste to the planet. They could likely make it uninhabitable in less than a standard day.”
“Correct, Captain,” echoed Tyvaos. “By bombarding existing volcanoes and opening trenches into the planetary mantle, seismic activity could be set off world-wide. This could severely damage their nuclear power plants, releasing radioactive steam and gasses. The atmosphere of the planet would rapidly become toxic.”
Mitchell was quiet for moments, then turned his attention back to Rashim. “Lieutenant, you said our hails to the planet were at first ignored. What made them change their minds and accept our call?”
Rashim smiled shyly. “My error in the beginning, sir, and I apologize. After receiving no reply, I restudied their official greeting procedures and followed them closely. The Harmonians are very cautious about contact from sources outside their system. They are not only pacifists, but somewhat reclusive as well. Though they are a human colony, they are not a member of the Earth Alliance, as you noted in our initial meeting, and only reluctantly accepted the status of a Protected System.”
He drew a breath before continuing. “However, once protocol was followed, I was able to speak with Elder-Third Clovis and establish a dialogue. I offered to have him speak directly with you, of course, but he declined, saying since he was Elder-Third, not Elder-First, he did not hold status enough to speak directly with, as he put it, ‘your lord commander’.”
A light chuckle made its way around the gathered group. Even Mitchell smiled gently. “Very good. Well done, Lieutenant. If you’re my mouthpiece, so be it.”
“Sir?”
Mitchell grinned now. “Ancient mobsters referred to their lawyer as their ‘mouthpiece’. In this case, I believe the Elder-Third is paying you a compliment.”
Rashim nodded. “Thank you, sir. However, there is one other issue.”
Mitchell nodded him to continue. “Elder-Third Clovis advised me we are not to use weapons of any sort in the Harmonian system. Their government does not allow the discharge of weapons, or as they put it, ‘little boats with bombs’, without express authorization from the government.”
Glances passed between the officers around the command seat. He looked gravely to his Nairobi officer. “Tactical, what have we got against these Vrex ships?”
Neunada brought his PADD up. “Their advantage is in weaponry, nothing else. Burlingame and our sister ships are quicker, more maneuverable, and have a better field of fire. With the fighter craft, we may well be able to overwhelm their defensive systems with multiple targets. And the fighters are certainly more difficult to hit than Burlingame itself.”
“Do they even know of this ship class?” Mitchell looked to Tyvaos.
“An interesting question, Captain. Marshall was launched in 2549, Olde Earth claendar, Burlingame and Armstrong one and two years later. With our squadron operating almost exclusively deep in Earth Alliance space, the Qoearc are likely not familiar with this ship type. We may hold more advantage than first thought.”
“Mister Neunada?”
“I concur, sir. We may have a few surprises for them.”
Mitchell considered. “Tactical, work with Sciences to formulate a battle strategy based on improved Qoearc parameters. Increase them by thirty percent. Then try fifty. Let me know what you have before the end of your next duty shift.”
The discussion dispersed, and Mitchell ordered tea to the Bridge. He waited, watching the drifting views fore and aft on the viewscreens, then, as his yeoman served him, contemplated how to fight two battles at once; one against a well-known enemy, the other against a potential political adversary who might not allow him to do so.
* * *
Technically, Special-Ops didn’t exist. It wasn’t in the “official” blueprints of the Interceptor-class ships. It had a single entrance, hidden deep in the Engineering section, and no other penetrations into the room. The ventilation system was a self-contained unit surrounding it, venting directly into space. Special-Ops was accessible only one way, and only four officers on board knew its location; the Captain, First Officer, Chief Engineer, and Air Wing Commander. Even the officer of the day didn’t know. Special-Ops could not be exited from, escaped from, or otherwise vacated, once the hatch was electronically sealed, other than by blowing holes in the walls, which were reinforced durainium, and resistant to anything less than assault weapons. And the seal was activated only during Battle Stations.
What was in this room was the brain of the Interceptor; AI fighter control, special sensors, the auxiliary Bridge, crewed-fighter command, and specially trained monitors for these duties. Plus, the Air W
ing Commander, in charge of overseeing all fighter activity, reporting directly to the captain.
This was where Denise Straum and her counterparts led the crewed fighters, the Phoenix and Valkyries that had become so effective in dealing with pirates, outlaw star systems, and other “nuisance” incidents Earth Alliance was coming to understand were internal, rather than external, threats to the peace.
But now, with the introduction of the AI fighters, there was the chance to raise the stakes and see if the lower-cost fighters could fight larger, more battle-worthy opponents. Opponents like the Qoearc.
It would be, as one dubious admiral had put it, and “interesting experiment”. “Interesting”, in this case, being in the ancient Chinese sense.
Allard and Straum watched in the darkened room as monitors conducted simulations on their individual screens. The overall tactical plan was displayed on a larger wall screen, casting blue, green, and red shadows across the figures within. Allard had called Special-Ops the “Creep Show”, as the ever-changing colors and patterns made it difficult to focus on anything other than the screens themselves. He often joked he couldn’t tell the security guards from images created by the tactical display.
“One of the advantages of being a monitor,” Straum remarked, as they watched the simulations begin again, “you don’t have to worry about all the other stuff going on outside this room.”
“Takes a pretty special person to do this,” replied Allard. “I’d have some serious reservations about Special-Ops if I was considered for it.”
“All volunteers,” said Straum. “And even then, they have to go through psychological analysis and training before they’re allowed into the Service. It’s the toughest job there is. This is the first class of ship with a covertly-purposed control center.”
