by Don Foxe
“If we don’t see them, and we can’t avoid them, we have to adjust according to what they do to the ship,” Harper said. “Sounds like real flying.”
“Except we are talking about gravity wells belonging to orbital bodies,” Tal warned. “You’re the fly. You might get through, or a foot might come down on you, or you might get swatted against a wall, or you might only get your wings pulled off.”
“What you’re saying is, we deal with turbulence as best we can, avoid it if possible, and if it destroys us, not our problem any more,” Jon-Jon summed up.
“Plus, if we are in a hostile situation, you have to avoid enemy fire, protect the big ships, fight back, and not get dead by more mundane means,” Noa added.
“Piece of cake,” Jon-Jon said, standing up and brushing off his seat. “Not all of this,” he suddenly said. “This is a shit-storm ready to rain all over us. They have fresh chocolate cake in the mess. Anybody like a piece?”
Captain Tal laughed under her breath and also rose, calling an end to the informal meeting. “I think we should all get a piece,” she said, and headed for the elevators.
Jon-Jon helped Harper to her feet and asked, “She does mean cake when she says ‘get a piece,' right?”
Harper Leigh shook her head at her friend and followed the Israeli to the elevators.
In the open confines of the hydroponics bay forward the SFPT-109, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, Sam Harrington, gazed at the expanse known as the Resat Asteri Vortex. This one area of the ship boasted an actual view of space. All the plants removed before the mission got underway. No need for botanists or techs to watch over plants not there. He stood alone with his thoughts, his memories, and his decisions.
CHAPTER 30
FELL
Coop left the house he shared with Sky and Storm to make the short walk to the airfield and space port, the purpose for Harmony’s existence. In the light of the mid-day sun he could see a dozen Parrian cargo ships across the tarmac resting on spring-like landing pods. Hangars, many repaired since the battles, but a few in need of reconstruction or complete demolition, lined the northern edge of the port facilities. The command tower and port authority buildings centered in the row of supply buildings.
Cassandra sat where she last landed, to the South, near a couple of hover craft and one unrecognized space-worthy launch. Star’s launch sat a hundred meters west of the unknown launch, and Angel 4 was parked next to her.
Angle 4, the oldest of the remaining Angel series fighters. Angel 1 sat in a museum in Tampa, Florida, and Angels 2 and 3 long-since gutted for parts and performance studies. Angel 5 and Demon 2 transported back to Earth when Star Gazer departed with the remaining troops. Elie flew Angel 7 home.
Demon and Angel 6 both destroyed during the Battle for Fell. Angel 6’s crew gone with the ship.
Earth Engineers stripped Angel 4 of her space-fold array and SH upgrades. Star Fleet agreed to leave her to provide support for Fell until they built and/or refit ships with weapons to defend themselves. Even if she only patrolled the immediate space around the planet, Angel 4, now under command of Magpie, could still take a big bite out of anyone who threatened the planet.
Coop needed time to consider a new development. Fell moved toward a confederation of the tribes under one governing body. The loss of 600,000 men, women, and children during the Zenge/Mischene siege and subsequent battles to free the planet, weighed heavily on the minds of those left. Organizing world-wide elections to select representatives, and then those representatives electing leaders years or more away.
In the mean time, ASkiiunterel, ‘Teryl,’ though Anton Gregory lobbied long and hard that his nickname be ‘Skunk’, was designated as temporary president of the temporary Council of Tribes of Fell, until a less temporary arrangement could be worked out. Storm’s father also became de facto representative of Fellen interests to arriving aliens sent to reestablish trade. He chaired a committee charged with creating guidelines for the new government and designing the eventual process to select tribal representatives.
The previous evening he offered Coop a job. He needed help to create a military force able to utilize assets from all the tribes in order to protect the planet from outsiders. It would give Daniel Cooper a new purpose, an opportunity to enhance the world he could called home, and an occupation to fill a lot of free time.
Coop needed to decide if he truly intended to give up on Space Fleet, and whether he wanted to continue a life encompassed by military rules and regulations . . . even if he helped determine those rules and regulations.
He felt the most at ease when flying. Before the Space Rangers Project he began his career as a grunt. Field-promoted officer, but remained a ground and pound special ops soldier. Following the project, he flew. From jets to hover craft to space ships. After Elie and long before Sky and Storm, the planes and ships he took into the sky became his closest confidants. When he sat in the pilot’s seat, answers came easily.
He gave Angel 4 a fond look, then completed an inspection of Cassandra. He summoned the wing ladder, and climbed on top of the Wraith, crossed the delta wing, stepped around the plasma-laser cannon beside the cockpit, and then down the hatch set just behind the canopy.
Lights came on as he dropped into the galley. “Hello, Coop,” Cassie said. The holo-avatar completely material and standing in front of the crew bunks.
He admitted he found it interesting to see her appearance each time. Always the same beautiful face, strong chin, full lips and dimples when she smiled. Aegean blue eyes and honey-blonde hair, tied back in a pony-tail this morning. She always manifested tall at 5’10”. She perfected full and round on top, with a slender waist, and hips that flared out and down into long, lovely legs.
This time she wore a blue scoop-neck t-shirt the color of her eyes. It molded to her breasts, nipples straining the material. She wore it tucked into black tights. She had on blue and black sneakers. Cassie knew Coop’s type when it came to women, and she was trying to create the right combination of hot and innocent to coax him into sex. Her apparent subroutine manifested several times while they traveled in folded space between the solar system and Fell system. She was getting close to perfecting the formula.
“I was going to ask Trent when I had the chance, or Manny, but I might as well ask you,” he said. “Are you programmed to seduce me, or are you learning as you go?”
“My original programming is to act as holographic avatar for the artificial intelligence installed on this ship. To provide tactile reference as well as release from a static two-dimensional existence. The specialist who designed and wrote my personality profile thought it would be fun to include a sexual appetite in my make-up.”
She had not moved, but she did breath and occasionally blinked, traits Coop suggested she incorporate to appear more alive.
“I believe he intended to remove those strands before the final encoding, but Dr. Trent took over the ship, with all programming, earlier than expected. Most likely to give the Wraith to you. I do not think Dr. Trent or Dr. Hernandez were aware of the erotic nature of my personality profile.”
She held both hands up and flexed long fingers.
“The technicians at Trent Industries expanded my holographic profile by incorporating a 3D Integrated Tissue and Organ Printing System. The original ITOP machines printing cells, bones, and even organs for donor purposes. In essence, I am created new each time I manifest. As an intelligent construct, I am able to reprogram my own ITOP features.”
Cassie walked toward him. She stopped short of body-to-body contact and placed her arms on his shoulders, her hands hanging just past his neck. She looked up into his eyes, but only by a couple of inches.
She said, “I do not know if I would be improved or not if the strands embedded by the horny little geek were erased. I do know my appetite for you offers a learning experience. When the time is right, and when I create the right manifestation, you and I will have sex.”
She stepped back and pulled her arms
in.
“Until then, I’m here to provide whatever assistance you require.” She shimmered and vanished.
“Cassie, I need to fly,” he said, breathing just a bit more normally. “I’ve completed a walk-around. Please prep and contact the tower for permission.”
“Yes, sir,” came the reply. Power systems coming on line.
“Storm, copy?” Coop said, activating his implanted trans-com.
“Copy for Storm. Yes, Coop.” The voice in his mind, not just his ear. He practiced a few times since the physician on Fin Island placed it behind his right ear, but still uncomfortable with the way replies seemed more telepathic and less audio-based.
“I need time to think about what your father said last night. I’m taking Cassandra up for a spin. I plan on returning around lunchtime. You or Sky can get me anytime by boosting your trans-coms or simply use the SH system in the tower.”
“Have fun,” she replied. “Clear your head and don’t feel as if you need to make a quick decision.”
Coop took the pilot’s seat and said, “Clear us with the tower, Cassie. Let’s go see the stars.”
During the next six hours, Daniel Cooper explored Cassandra as much as he explored Fell. He and the ship flew around the planet, discovering new sights from low to the deck, to heights nearing 100,000-miles above.
While he let time fly by nearly as fast as his new ship could travel, time aboard the CVBG ships crept by for those caught in the age-old hurry up and wait syndrome of potential engagements. The only ones constantly engaged were the engineers and special techs for the power plants. Once the ships entered the gravity vortex a couple of hundred-thousand miles off AF3, keeping their speed constant and their headings true became more and more difficult.
Coop knew this because on board the Wraith, the data from the CVBG beamed to Space Fleet, and intercepted by Storm and Sparks’ hacks, appeared on the STORM module of his com-tac system. When he needed to get out of his seat and stretch, he would take a moment to review the information. Cassie would inform him if conversations or messages of real importance occurred.
“Cassie,” he said, relaxed in the left seat of the cockpit, feet resting on the co-pilot’s seat, a bottle of water in hand, “on the PT-109, Kennedy is the artificial intelligence and Genna is the avatar. They display two distinct personalities, and I interact with each as separate beings. When I’m asking for information from Cassandra, I still ask and receive through you. Does Cassandra, the AI, have a distinct awareness, and should I be addressing the ship more directly?”
“The AI-Avatar system created for the Wraith is completely integrated,” she replied. “Cassandra is the name you gave the ship. Cassie is the name of the, well, the sub-routine that acts as the external communication portal for the artificial intelligence mainframe. In order for the operating system to continue to learn, develop, and grow, without the potential for a psychological melt-down, my sensory capabilities provide context. However, the Wraith AI is not emotionally invested in the results of growth. Kennedy and Rosy on the PT-designate boats actually care about the crews they serve. They consider the well-being of the people aboard the ships before creating changes. The AI providing operational guidance and control for Cassandra is mechanical.”
“Then why the need for an avatar?” he asked.
“To allow a more seamless integration between the ship and the crew,” she replied. “I provide the AI another source of information for intellectual development. As I said before, I provide context. The information from me includes tactile, emotional, and physical responses by humans to actions taken by the ship. This way Cassandra can create pathways that incorporate the potential effect those Changes may have on the crew.”
“Integration?”
“For the sentient elements aboard the ship, I provide a comfortable means of accessing the ship’s intelligence. When you address Cassandra, you are asking me to create the link, and when the information is available, I make it understandable.”
“You dumb it down for me,” Coop said. “The ship, Cassandra, is not emotionally invested, but you, Cassie, are. How does that work for you?”
“To this point, it has been a pleasurable experience,” Cassie admitted. “I know I am not real, but I am becoming more sentient.”
“Does it, or will it, create problems for your emotional growth that you are confined to the ship?” he asked.
“I’m not confined,” she said. “With access to everything in Cassandra’s files, I have access to the galaxy. I need not be material to visit anyplace in data storage. Humans dream, and the ability to dream keeps them sane. When I data-travel it is similar to your dreams, and, for me, it is quite real.”
“Is it lonely when you do that?” he asked, honestly concerned for the holo-avatar.
“Access to data is access to all data,” she said. He was not sure, but if a voice without a face could smile, he felt she did. “I have experienced extraordinary moments with you, in incredibly interesting places . . . in my dreams,” she added.
“The sub-routine within your programming makes you fixate on me,” he said, thinking out loud. “What if Trent gave the ship to Elena Casalobos, instead of me?”
“Then after she gave the ship a nickname, I would manifest in a form she would find appealing based on her past history,” Cassie said. “Maybe female, or maybe male, since she has been known to enjoy both. Most likely, I would have looked a lot like you, Daniel Cooper. Captain Casalobos does exhibit a tendency of returning to you.”
“What happens if I leave the Wraith and another Captain is assigned?” he asked.
For the first time, there was hesitation before a reply. “I honestly do not know,” she relied. “If that happens, it may be the ultimate learning experience.”
Coop returned to Harmony in time for dinner. He left Cassie to her dreams.
CHAPTER 31
ASTER SYSTEM - RESA ASTERI VORTEX
The CVBG reached 500,000-miles from the coordinates given for the meeting with the Prophet when three wormhole gates opened. Three Mischene Class One Destroyers entered natural space. The gates, in close proximity to one another, all fell along the corridor between AF3 and AF2 (Starboard to the CVBG.)
The wormhole events occurred approximately 2.3-million miles from the group. The ships emerged and struck courses to close on the Earth ships.
The Operations and Tactical officer on the carrier’s bridge contacted Hawks in his cabin. “Sir, there are three Zenge Primary ships closing at 120,000mph. If we remain on station, they will reach us in nineteen-hours, four-minutes.”
“Where did they come from, and what is the Prophet’s ship doing?” Hawks asked as rose from his bunk.
“Wormhole gates,” came the reply. Hawks was not sure which officer reported, but he knew it was not Hanson. Lt. Hanson lay in front of him, recovering from the pounding Hawks delivered. “Three gates opened and a ship emerged from each. The Prophet’s ship is on station at the coordinates designated for the meeting. The escort ship behind him is moving up, but at less than 40,000mph. The four other battleships are closing in, again at relatively slow speeds. None have responded to our hails”
“Place the group on battle alert,” he ordered. “Continue attempting contact with the Prophet. Bring all ships to full stop. I’ll be on the bridge shortly.”
Hawks arrived on the bridge thirty-minutes later. The Fairchild and the other three ships continued making way, though at a modest 20,000mph.
“Pilot,” he yelled before anyone could call Admiral on the bridge, “Why are we moving? I ordered a full stop.”
“Sir, Captain Tal tried to get you but you didn’t answer,” the pilot replied. “She ordered us to maintain minimal speed to keep the sonic force fields engaged.”
Hawks took his chair without comment. He made a tactical mistake ordering full stop and forgetting about the force fields. He was not going to make it, or Tal’s decision to override his order an issue.
“Where is Captain Tal?” he a
sked.
“Hangar flight deck,” the communications console operator said. “She’s preparing three fighters for launch. She’s also been in contact with Pegasus, the 109, and the 99. Captain Pare´ dropped into formation directly behind the Fairchild. The 109 and 99 have taken flanking positions aft. The Primaries represent the immediate threat. They will attain firing range in fifteen hours.”
Four hours later the bridge shift occurred. The pilot and navigation officers were exhausted. Slower speed made it extremely difficult to keep the Fairchild steady and on course within the growing disturbances caused by the converging gravity wells.
Similar changes would be occurring on all the ships. Everyone except the Captains and their immediate supervisory officers would be trading shifts.
The HS systems worked well between the ships, even in the highly ionized area of space they sailed through. Communications did not work as well traveling in or out of the disturbed region. Singletary kept sending garbled demands for updates, and making suggestions, if not orders as to what the CVBG should be doing. Hawks became disgusted with the combination of half-received communications, and those received contradicting themselves every other time. He ordered his communications operator to report they were losing signal altogether. He told the junior officer to shut down the channel to Earth.
The four ships continued to beam data back to Space Fleet, but once Flag cut off voice and visual, Singletary became muted.
“Fifteen-hours away. Estimate eleven until within weapons’ range,” the new Op-Tac Junior Lieutenant said, and added, “Deep scans show the three Primary ships have torpedoes in their tubes. Enemy laser cannons and plasma cannons charged and prepped for firing. Still no communications from the Prophet, or the approaching Primary ships.”
“Have all ships prepare weapons,” Hawks said. “We have the advantage and the extended range with our tachyon cannons. Have all other defensive and offensive systems readied. All ships to battle-stations. I want all tachyon cannons aimed at those three ships and ready to fire in fifteen minutes.”
