by David Tatum
“That’s only because they are,” Dr. Orwell grumbled. “We’ve made the biggest discovery in the history of xenoanthropology, no question. Possibly the biggest discovery in the history of any form of anthropology.”
Kimiko looked startled. “There’s a xenoanthropological element to all of this? I was under the impression that most of the anthropological paths from the initial dig had already been explored, outside of the actual translation work. I thought I was being called upon for the upcoming dig of the surrounding area – was I mistaken?”
“Not exactly,” Dr. Carter said. “Just misled. Even I haven’t been told what most of these ‘great xenoanthropological discoveries’ are, yet. That’s partly what this series of pre-expedition briefings was supposed to do – give us all a chance to hear the whole story.”
Kimiko refocused on the anthropologists. “Can you give me a sneak preview, Dr. Orwell? Or is it too complicated to summarize in two minutes or less?”
“Oh, I can summarize it in one rather short sentence,” he answered cockily. “Simply put, we discovered skeletons in the Pleiades system that strongly resemble those of Neanderthal man. In fact, they may be identical to them – we still need to make a few more complex measurements to be certain, though.”
Apparently, even though she was the project director, this was news to Dr. Carter. “Excuse me, did you say Neanderthals? You mean the stereotyped hunched backs, thick eyebrows, and funny bow-legged walks?”
Kimiko almost laughed. That image of the Neanderthals had persisted for hundreds of years even though it had been conclusively proven to be false. She noticed the other anthropologists in their little group were holding back their amusement as well. Well, except for the one who brought Neanderthals up – he looked rather disgusted.
“It’s true that some of them may have had funny walks and hunched backs,” Dr. Orwell said, taking on a tone of superiority as he took over the conversation. “But it’s hardly likely that was common. That troublesome model of the Neanderthals came from the skeleton of a very elderly and possibly arthritic Neanderthal. Later skeletons disproved the bowlegs and the hunched backs. In fact, they were quite advanced. Possibly more advanced, biologically, than modern humans.”
“Oh?” Dr. Carter inquired, intrigued. She didn’t know much about pre-modern humans.
“Well,” Orwell continued. “With the exception of the pronounced brow ridges, they may have looked identical to early modern humans, but their skeletal structures tell us much more. They had a very dense bone structure, which probably indicates they were significantly stronger than modern humans. Their brain pans were also larger, which could mean that they were more intelligent than their contemporaries.”
“The size of someone’s brain has very little relationship to their intelligence, you know,” Sommers snorted.
“Perhaps,” Orwell replied dismissively. “However, the stone tools they produced were more advanced than the tools of their contemporaries.”
Carter was intrigued. “If Neanderthals were so advanced, why did they die out while modern humans achieved supremacy?”
“Well, they did have a few natural disadvantages, as well,” Orwell admitted. “Perhaps the greatest was that, from the skeletal remains of female Neanderthal pelvises, we can estimate that their average gestation period took longer – likely was a full year – while modern humans could reproduce within nine months. Essentially, Neanderthals were out-bred.” He grinned fiercely. “There is plenty of evidence that Neanderthals cross-bred themselves with Homo Sapiens, and that they didn’t die out so much as were absorbed by modern humans.”
This was far from Kimiko’s field of anthropological expertise. The news that a fossilized Neanderthal-like skeleton had been found on another planet, however, fascinated her.
A chime sounded. Carter reluctantly stopped the discussion there. “Ladies, gentlemen. As fascinating as this all is, I’m afraid that we don’t have the time to discuss the origins of humanity any more. Let’s take our seats – the Navy is about to begin briefing us on our travel procedures.”
Orwell sniffed in annoyance at being interrupted, but Dr. Beccera didn’t even notice. She was looking up at the dozen or so uniformed Naval officers approaching the platform in front of the briefing room. Being the bride of an Army officer, she was well familiar with how a properly worn dress uniform should appear, and the person holding the highest rank in the assemblage was, to her critical eye, demonstrating how not to wear one. His tie was crooked, his shirt and pants were wrinkled, and his shoes were non-uniform.
I wonder how a slob like him is able to hold a Captain’s commission, she thought.
“Hello,” the ill-attired officer began, speaking into a microphone. “My name is Captain Theodore Bradford. I command the light cruiser Camel, and it will be my job to make sure your butts don’t get fried on the way to Pleiades. My ship will be more than adequate to fend off any pirates we may encounter, but just in case Commander Iskovich will be accompanying me in the corvette Yellowjacket. Safety is still an issue, however, as your Newton class science vessels are completely unarmed and ridiculously undefended. If someone manages to get a shot past us before we can kill them, there’s a pretty strong chance you could be killed.” He paused, sucking air into his lungs and showing a sizable gut through his clothing. “For that reason, I’m going to tell you exactly what you need to know in case we ever come under attack. And if you forget these things and live through the battle, realize that it’ll just be a short reprieve, because I’ll kill you myself for risking the lives of everyone else in this convoy.” He paused, and grinned toothily. “So, should we get down to business?”
——————————
Sol System, Earth Orbit, En Route to Dockyard Waystation 3
The collection of ships loomed large on Academy Transport Shuttle 85’s monitors. The bridge crew of the Chihuahua watched their approach to the dockyards with varying degrees of curiosity and excitement. The ride had been rather quiet – no-one wanted to talk and spoil the moment. The silence didn’t last, however, when a voice crackled over the passenger compartment’s comm unit.
“I don’t normally give these tour-guide type speeches when I fly people out, but I figure you Academy types might want to take in a few sights on the way,” the pilot said. “For example, those of you who wash out may want to consider a career at the station I’m now displaying on your monitors. This is the headquarters of the Orbital Guard. If you’ve never been off planet before, you might not have heard of them. They fill the same role as the Coast Guard does on Earth – primarily search and rescue, but they’ve got a few lightly armed ships to deal with smugglers and the like.”
Rachel smiled softly, though no-one could see it. “My parents used to work there,” she said offhandedly.
Chris turned his head to try and look at her, but could just barely catch her face out of his peripheral vision. “I didn’t know that.”
“Dad captained one of the armed cutters,” she said. “They’re about as big as a small corvette because of their engine and power systems, but they don’t have any jump drives or particle cannons. Rail guns only, if they’re armed at all. And they only have very small crews – smaller than anything in the Navy... except perhaps some transports or science ships, and then only if you don’t count passengers.”
“And your mother?”
“She had an administrative position,” she replied. “Which is why I was able to live in the station with her from time to time. I remember flying in my dad’s cutter more than sitting in her office, though.”
“Now on your screen,” the pilot’s voice broke in. “You can see one of the most powerful starships in the Fleet: the Skjoldebrand, an Argus class battleship commanded by Captain Duncan Black. We currently have forty of these built or under construction. Each one needs a crew of one thousand four hundred and twenty sailors and one hundred forty five Marines, so most of you who manage to get past your senior year will wind up serving the bulk of y
our career in one of these babies.”
Chris grimaced. “Battleships have their place in the Navy, but I’d hate to ever serve aboard one. Anyway, you were saying about your father?”
“I was just reminiscing – it wasn’t anything important,” Rachel said, realizing suddenly how personal the conversation had become. It was time to change the subject, and quickly. “Why wouldn’t you want to serve on a battleship?”
“Like I said, they have a big role in the Navy, but that role is not particularly interesting,” he answered. “Their job is to get into the middle of things and blast away until either they or the enemy are dead. In a sense, they’re just there to keep the enemy battleships busy while the smaller, faster, more maneuverable support vessels do the important tactical work.”
Rachel raised an eyebrow. “So you think the size of a battleship is unimportant?”
“Not entirely, no,” Chris replied. “Every extra bit of firepower, every additional inch of armor, any added power to the targeting computer – all those things count. But historically, battleships are rarely outclassed even by stronger battleships. They just match up against each other, and the side which has superior numbers wins. True, in one-on-one fights a more advanced battleship will crush a weaker battleship. That’s not very likely to happen, though – battleships are always grouped together for fleet actions. Even a good commander with a more advanced fleet will have trouble winning when outnumbered in a battleship fight.”
“But in our tactics sim for class, you were able to win when outnumbered in a battleship sim!” Rachel protested.
“Only by never letting any of my battleships get outnumbered,” Chris pointed out. “I had them maneuvering so that we always had a two-to-one advantage over the enemy force in localized areas. And I could only do that because the frigates, corvettes, and heavy cruisers under our command were able to make themselves enough of a nuisance to keep the simulated enemy fleet from altering its formation. And those smaller ships could only survive those tactics because they were smaller, faster, and more maneuverable. They were the important part of our tactical simulation – not the battleships.”
“And now, on your screen,” the pilots voice once more intervened. “Is the Roanoke, a Venture class frigate commanded by Captain Nigel Hickox. A few of you lucky people may wind up serving aboard her one day.”
“Damn straight we’d be lucky,” Chris said. “They should never have halted construction on the Venture class. They were the best damn ships in the fleet with a perfect balance between firepower, speed, and armor. No quantum wheel, but I look at that as a plus. Until they can make the quantum wheel maneuver a ship as fast as a fusion drive, I won’t care for them.”
“There are advantages to quantum wheels, you know,” Rachel said. “Lots of advantages.”
“But so many things about the design haven’t been perfected yet,” Chris sighed. “And they’ve been in production for, what, seventy years now? The designers of the Venture class frigates realized that they hadn’t ironed out all of the kinks, and weren’t likely to any time soon. When practical cold fusion came out – finally surpassing the standard fusion reactor after centuries of development – they decided to see how a fusion drive would react to having a power source that provided more energy while consuming less mass and less volume. What they got was the fastest frigate ever built – only a few corvettes have ever been able to get more functional speed.”
“Speed was never why the quantum wheel was accepted,” Rachel argued. “It was the way the magnetic fields produced by a quantum wheel would remove the undefendable sensor blind spot all ships have on their stern.”
“Yeah, but fusion drives don’t leave that much of an unprotected blind spot, either,” Chris replied. “There’s only a small place on the stern of a fusion-drive starship vulnerable to anything but a particle cannon. The heat produced would melt any missiles or rail gun ammo before it hit. I think the loss of acceleration, top speed, and maneuverability you get with a quantum wheel is more of a hazard than the tiny window a fusion-drive ship presents.” He shrugged even though no-one could see it. “Quantum wheels might be practical on a very large warship where speed is less of a factor, like a battleship or a heavy cruiser, but until they iron out the bugs I won’t care for them on anything smaller.”
Rachel sighed. “Well, the Chihuahua has a fusion drive. You won’t have to deal with a quantum wheel this time.”
“Yeah,” Chris said. “But I have to wonder... will I ever have a chance to be on the crew of a Venture class? Will there be any left when I graduate?” He sighed. “Oh, what am I saying. The only place they’ll have room for us is aboard one of those Arguses.”
Rachel hesitated. Once more, she felt as if she was placed in the awkward position of comforting her sometime rival. His concerns were much like her own, however – while she wasn’t sure of his assessment of the quantum wheel, she didn’t want to be assigned to a battleship, either. She wanted something which might allow for an independent cruise, and a Venture class frigate would fit the bill nicely.
“Well, Chris,” she said softly. “Who knows? They rarely crew a new ship entirely with recruits, and they have to draw those veterans from somewhere. That means they’ll probably put some graduates from our class in something other than battleships. Maybe even in Venture class frigates – you could still get your wish.” And maybe I’ll get mine, too.
——————————
EAS Gnat
“This is the pilot speaking. End of the line – we have now completed docking with the EAS Gnat. Please disembark in an orderly fashion. Your baggage will be handled by the Gnat’s crew. Good day, and good luck.”
The cadets from the Academy had only met the Fleet officers they would be crewing the ship with as they waited to board the shuttle taking them off Earth. They had so far only been told the name of one of them – their captain, Conrad Burkhard. He was the first person to extract themselves from the straps of their grav-safe chairs, and he made his way to the airlock before anyone else could join him. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “I’ve already been in contact with the Gnat’s captain, and I’ve made a reservation for meeting room Epsilon in...” he checked his watch. “…two hours. You lot are going to be my bridge crew, and I’d like to find out more about you before we have to depend on each other in battle. That goes for your two staff members as well, Colonel Beccera.”
The entire gathering turned to look at the Army officer. His was a famous name, and it was a big surprise to know he would be on their crew. “Thank you, sir,” the Colonel said courteously.
“Bah. Don’t call me sir – you outrank me by two whole grades,” Burkhard snorted. “You’ll be my subordinate until we’ve familiarized you with your shipboard duties, but as a Marine colonel there may be times you may will also be my superior for parts of the Wargame. But please, this is just a simulation. When we aren’t in that simulated environment, let’s not keep up these awkward formalities, okay? Call me Conrad, and I’ll call you Andrew.”
Beccera slowly grinned and nodded. “Makes sense, but I prefer Drew. Thank you, Conrad.”
“Any time. Now, I want everyone to get squared away and report to meeting room Epsilon, pronto. I’ll see you there.” With that, he disappeared.
Silence followed that for a moment, but then people started to line up to transfer to the new ship. Routine decontamination procedures slowed the progress through the airlock to a crawl, leaving those still in line waiting impatiently. Fidgeting a little, Schubert finally decided to break the silence. “So, Colonel Beccera, sir,” he said. “What are you doing on our ship? I mean, if I was given a list of people who might be considered to command the Marine detachment on the Chihuahua and your name was on it, I’d have figured you’d be the last person to be given the job.” He stopped, realizing that his statement might be a faux pas. “Not because you’re a bad CO, mind, but because you’re, well...”
“An Army officer?” Beccera said sardonicall
y . “A Colonel? A man who’s got decades more experience than any commanding officer of twenty men should have?”
“All of the above,” Schubert answered, now wishing he hadn’t opened his mouth.
“Well, I’m not too happy with the assignment, let me assure you of that! In fact, when the Army first gave me the option of this gig, I damn near retired rather than take it.” Beccera paused and grinned slightly, taking the sting out of his rant. “They talked me out of it, but I doubt I’ll really have much opportunity to enjoy myself on this assignment. What kind of job does a Marine do during a Naval simulation, anyway?”
Chris, who – along with Rachel – was lined up right behind Schubert, shrugged. “More than you’d think, I suspect. Marines are much more than just Army soldiers in. Unskilled labor, mostly – often, they get placed in the purser’s staff moving crates around the cargo bays – but it isn’t uncommon for a Marine to be detailed to for a gun crew or to help work on the computers.”
“And it’s not like Marine combat is forbidden in this Wargame, sir,” Rachel noted. “The rules are a little more restrictive than normal combat, I’m told, but we still might have a mission or two to send your people out on.”
Beccera sighed. “In that case, I’m going to need to familiarize myself with the differences between Marine and Army tactics. How much time will I have before the fighting starts?”
“Well,” Rachel answered, “We still don’t know how long it will take to get on station. When we do, we have three weeks to re-commission our ship. Then, of course, there’s however much time we’ll have before our first simulated combat exercise....”
“But if I want enough time to shakedown my Marines before the start of the exercise, I’ll have to get myself ready well before then. I might be able to spend a week getting myself up to speed, at best,” Beccera snorted. “Cute. I wonder if Austin knew that before he sent me out here.”
