The message cut off as a priority override shut down the privacy shield. The vague shimmer that blocked Isaac’s view of the bridge vanished and he turned to face Giannovi as his XO approached the chair with a grim look on her face.
“Commander?” he asked.
“Wormhole com pulse from the Conestoga System,” she told him. “Code Omega.”
“Code Omega,” Isaac echoed back at her, a momentary shock freezing his system. Omega meant imminent attack. Conestoga was a calm, prosperous system. What could be going wrong in Conestoga?
“Yes, sir,” Giannovi repeated, looking at him with concern.
He physically shook himself, well aware it might not look great to his bridge crew, but he needed to re-engage his brain.
“A star system is a large place and Conestoga is no exception,” he finally told her dryly. “Do we have any details?”
“There was a general transmission to all Fleet Stations,” she said. “Captains-and-above-only; I can only see the flag.”
Isaac considered his privacy shield again for all of about half a second.
“On the main screen, if you please, Commander,” he ordered. “If we end up involved in this, the bridge crew will need to know. There’s no point keeping secrets.”
If he couldn’t trust his crew, he didn’t want them anywhere near a Code Omega.
The primary viewscreen faded from its usual navigation slash tactical display to an unfamiliar control room. An older man with faded tanned skin and shockingly white hair stood in the middle of the video. He wore a plain gray business suit like it was a uniform.
“All Confederacy Space Fleet Stations, this is a Code Omega priority message from Auburn Production Station in Conestega.
“We have detected three destroyer-sized vessels approaching Auburn at high speed. We have requested their identities and in turn were told to surrender the station to the ‘Free Worlds Coalition.’”
The administrator managed to turn the group’s name into an epithet.
“This is a Class One Strategic Facility,” the man concluded. “We have been told that if we do not surrender, the station will be destroyed. We have attached our position and scans; we request immediate relief.”
The message ended.
Isaac exhaled.
“Someone tell me what Auburn Production Station is?” he asked calmly. Three destroyers? It had been ten years since the Confederacy had banned the system governments from owning or building anything larger than a patrol cutter, and required existing ships to be destroyed or turned over to the CSF.
Where had someone found three destroyers?
“APS is an exotic-matter production facility supplying WyrmCorp,” Lieutenant Commander Harris announced immediately. The tactical officer was more on the ball than Isaac had expected. “They produce approximately twenty-seven percent of all exotic matter used to build new wormhole stations.”
Twenty-seven percent. That…justified a Class One Strategic Facility designation.
“It’s also…a penal facility, sir,” Harris added. “Work force is fifty thousand indentured prisoners.”
Isaac winced. That was part of the Confederacy current structure he was less than enthusiastic with, though he could see the virtue in extracting value from prisoners.
If only you could be certain the prisoners actually deserved to be there.
“Any word on the network on who is being sent?” he asked Giannovi out of curiosity. The communications between the system wormhole stations went through miniature versions of the wormholes the stations generated for ships.
Transmission was instantaneous to the destination but could come only from a wormhole station, which meant the longest delay in communication was usually getting your message to one of them.
General messages like this would have gone to the battle group’s last known positions, which meant everyone else in the Fleet had known about this before Isaac had.
“Sir…take a look at the tactical plot Administrator Paraten included,” she told him.
“On the screen,” he ordered. The moment the screen switched to the display of the Conestoga System, he saw the problem.
Exotic-matter production involved immense amounts of mass. Artificial-gravity technology was nowhere near up to producing that scale of mass just yet—and required exotic matter to function itself.
A production facility like Auburn used paired gravitational singularities. The tech to mitigate their effect on the rest of the star system existed, but…exotic-matter facilities were kept well away from everything else.
“The platform is a full day’s flight from the near Lagrange point,” Giannovi pointed out.
Isaac nodded—a wormhole platform could only generate its exit point either in the deep space between stars or at the Lagrange points where a star’s gravity was neutralized by its planets.
“And Battle Group Calypso is even further,” he noted. Calypso was the battlecruiser guarding Conestoga. “What about Battle Group Enterprise?”
The battlecruiser Enterprise led an overstrength battle group permanently kept at a wormhole station, a strategic reserve to relieve any system against danger.
“Vice Admiral Cohen doesn’t have a warp cruiser right now,” Harris told them. “BG Enterprise can jump from their holding position in Sol to Conestoga immediately, but…”
“A full day’s flight,” Isaac agreed, studying the chart. “Lieutenant Commander Catalan,” he said sharply, tapping a command to open a channel to engineering. “Can you pull the tactical data we’re viewing on the Code Omega?”
From Giannovi’s sharp inhalation, she understood what he was doing. No one else on the bridge seemed to understand why he was talking to the man in charge of Scorpion’s warp drive.
“I’ve got it up, sir,” Catalan said carefully.
“Under full warp drive, what would be our ETA from the Lagrange Point to Auburn Station?”
A pregnant silent pause filled both the bridge and the intercom link.
“Ten to fifteen minutes,” the engineer finally replied. “It depends on how quickly we push the cycle-up once the ring is live.”
“Fifteen is more than acceptable, I think,” Isaac told him. “Could any of the other warp cruisers make it?”
Another pause.
“They would all need to use their warp drives to get to their wormhole stations in useful time, and then their drives would need to cool before they could jump again in Conestoga,” Catalan told him. “That cooldown would take a minimum of six hours.”
“Lieutenant Commander Harris, what’s our unknown’s ETA?”
“Currently just over three hours,” the tactical officer replied instantly. The bridge crew was starting to catch up.
“We are twenty-three minutes out from Eridani Wormhole Station,” Renaud interjected immediately.
“Isn’t that assuming we don’t slow down?” Isaac asked.
“Yes, sir,” she said crisply. “We’ll hit the wormhole at one hundred sixty-five percent of normal recommended velocity. If Captain Ventra’s people have it set up at a standard angle, we can do it.”
“And the risk?” he asked.
“Minimal.” She paused. “More accurately, sir, if we began decelerating now, we would still hit the wormhole at one hundred thirty-five percent of recommended velocity. The risk profile change is minimal, and we would need to decelerate at maximum power. EWS would get a dangerous quantity of hard rads and propellant wash, which would dramatically increase their risk profile.”
“Understood.”
Isaac paused, collating all of the information as his crew waited for his orders.
“Set the course, Lieutenant Commander Renaud,” he ordered. “Lieutenant Commander Harris, pull every piece of data you can extract from Auburn Station’s download. I want to know what fight I’m picking.
“Lieutenant Commander Catalan, prepare the warp drive for the jump to Auburn Station from the nearest Lagrange Point. Commander Giannovi, touch base with C
aptain Ventra and make sure his people have the wormhole ready for us.
“If they do it right, it’ll make Renaud’s job significantly easier,” he concluded. No matter what, this was going to require the exact nerves of steel he hadn’t been sure his navigator had.
“Yes, sir,” his crew chorused.
A moment later, his XO stepped up to his chair.
“Shouldn’t you be contacting Ventra, sir?” she suggested delicately.
“In theory, yes,” he agreed. “But I need to tell Vice Admiral Adams I’m about to unilaterally take his only warp cruiser out of the system.”
Giannovi chuckled sharply.
“Understood, sir!”
“Admiral Adams.”
Isaac faced the recording camera levelly, searching for the words to make clear what he was doing.
“Scorpion received the Code Omega from the Auburn Production Facility six minutes ago,” he told the Vice Admiral. “We reviewed the data and the last Confederacy Space Fleet readiness reports relayed to us.
“Sir, unless there are units I am not aware of, Scorpion is the only warship of the CSF in position to intervene. Even the other warp cruisers are a minimum of approximately seven hours away, with Battle Group Enterprise at least twenty-four hours and Battle Group Calyspo nearly thirty-six.
“We can be there in forty-five minutes.”
Isaac paused.
“I have already given the orders to my crew and Captain Ventra to make it happen. You will receive this message in time to order an abort—I am aware that this operation is only arguably under my authority.
“Nonetheless. Auburn is a Class One Strategic Facility with over fifty thousand people on board. I do not feel we have a choice but to take any option that gives us a chance of saving them.
“Our course projection is attached. I will refrain from informing Administrator Paraten that we are coming until I have either received approval for this mission or have entered the Conestoga System.
“Captain Isaac Gallant, Scorpion.”
He hit send and dropped the privacy screen, watching as the icon representing his ship screamed closer to the Eridani Wormhole Station.
“Ventra says, and I quote, ‘You’ve all got nerves of steel, I see. Gateway will be open on time,’” Giannovi told him quietly.
“Good. Now get yourself down to CIC,” Isaac ordered. “We’ll go to general quarters as soon as we’re through the wormhole. Before we go to warp.”
He managed to control a shiver.
Giannovi paused, studying him for a moment.
“Have you ever been aboard a ship in warp before, sir?” she asked.
“No, Commander,” he confirmed levelly. “But there’s a first for everything.”
“Yes, there is, sir,” she said with an odd tone, then saluted. “With your permission, I’ll get to CIC.”
“Carry on, Commander Giannovi.”
Isaac’s response from Vice Admiral Adams arrived quickly. Faster than he’d expected, in fact. The Admiral’s image appeared in his chair screen as he dropped the privacy shield again, and the man’s eyes were tired.
“Captain Gallant, I could probably think of a thousand reasons why the mission you have decided to assign yourself is foolhardy and unwise. I could argue that it’s far too risky an endeavour for a man many judge, however accurately or inaccurately, to be the heir apparent to the Confederacy.
“Others would argue that as your commanding officer, letting you do this is putting my neck on the block if your mother comes looking for people to blame.”
Adams straightened and looked Isaac directly in the eyes.
“We both know all of those arguments and reasons would be distractions at best and personal moral cowardice at worst,” he said calmly. “Your assessment of the situation is exactly the same as my own.
“I, however, had not considered the advantages Scorpion’s current position provide. Neither, to my knowledge, has anyone else. You are correct in that you command the only ship that can intervene, and that, Captain Gallant, leaves me with only one option.
“Your relief mission to Auburn Station is authorized. The Confederacy needs that facility, Captain.
“I don’t need to tell you that you’re outgunned,” the Admiral noted. “Our intelligence suggests you’re looking at three Conestoga System Defense Force Archon-class destroyers that ‘somehow’ escaped the scrapyard.
“They’re old but capable ships. Two of my own destroyers are seized Archons. I’ve attached a full data package on them, assuming this ‘Free Worlds Coalition’ hasn’t upgraded them in the ten years since they were supposed to be scrapped.”
Adams tapped a command, then shook his head.
“Battle Group Enterprise is on the way, but you’re the only one who can make it,” he concluded. “So, all I can do is tell you to go get them, Captain.
“And good luck.”
Chapter Three
The tension in Scorpion’s bridge edged up a notch as the timer before wormhole transit began to tick down. It was easy to accept Renaud’s calm assurance that the transit would be fine when it was all theoretical, but as the timer ticked past one hundred seconds to the wormhole, nerves were taut.
Isaac kept an eye on the room. Whatever happened, he was confident his ship would survive and be able to take on the grandstanding pirates threatening Auburn Station. He was more concerned about his crew’s stress levels this early in the game than with the actual transit.
“This is insane,” Harris finally said aloud, clearly voicing several people’s concerns. “No one transits at this velocity! It’s suicide.”
Renaud coughed delicately.
“CSF vessels have translated at velocities in excess of our current speed over fifty times,” she told the other Lieutenant Commander. “While I would hesitate to call it safe, it is certainly not ‘suicide.’”
“Eridani Wormhole Station has opened the portal,” Giannovi reported from CIC. “Commander Renaud, do you have the target profile?”
“I do,” the navigator confirmed. “Wormhole is exactly on specification. That’ll make this easier.”
“We’re about to try and hit a kilometer-wide target with a two-hundred-meter-wide dart at a measurable fraction of the speed of light,” Harris pointed out. “What’s easy about this?”
“The fact that the computers are doing nine-tenths of it,” Isaac’s navigator snapped. “But my tenth of it would be easier if everyone else would be quiet.”
“Stand down, Harris,” Isaac said firmly. “Renaud’s right. A lot of people have made transit at this speed before us; we’ll be fine.” He leveled a gaze on Renaud. “We will be fine, Lieutenant Commander?”
She made several more entries on her terminal before responding, but then looked up.
“All corrections complete,” she told him. “The computer has it from here.” She smiled. “And yes, Captain, we’ll be fine.”
“Then why does no one jump at this speed?” Harris asked. To Isaac’s amusement, his tone was no longer panicking, just curious.
“Oh, that’s easy,” Renaud replied cheerfully. “Because this is going to hurt.”
They hit the window. At this speed, there wasn’t enough time on approach to look through the wormhole and see the stars on the other side. There was only the sudden sensation of transition.
Saying a wormhole transit took 7.42 seconds was the equivalent of saying pi was 3.14. It was accurate enough for most purposes but ignored an infinite number of irrational decimals after that point.
The human brain, however, did not comprehend the process. Some people just…lost those seconds. Some people experienced them stretched out a hundredfold.
Isaac Gallant was closest to the former. Transits always seemed to take less than a second to him. They started and then they were over.
This time, someone stabbed a sword through his head in those short subjective moments. Unlike Harris, he’d known why the wormhole stations normally limited transit velocities.
He still hadn’t expected to be quite so certain that he was dying.
And then it was past, and Scorpion emerged into the Conestoga System. From the expressions around him, several of his bridge crew members had experienced similar sensations…and didn’t have quite so short a subjective experience.
He hit a key on the side of his command chair.
“General announcement, all hands: we just made a fast and hard wormhole transit and will shortly be going to general quarters and bringing up the warp drive.
“However, to be very clear, anyone who has been negatively impacted by the transit is to report to the infirmary immediately,” he ordered. “As your department heads and team leads should have briefed you, we will be going into battle shortly.
“I want all of you at your best.
“Gallant out.”
Settling back in his command chair, Isaac flipped open a small shield on the left arm of the seat. It was positioned well away from the repeater panels and computer screens used to operate the ship, and protected from accidental impact.
Once the shield was up, he pressed the single red button underneath it—and the general quarters klaxon began to ring through the ship. There were other ways to bring the ship to GQ, but the button on the Captain’s chair was the fastest.
Regulations required a ship to be at GQ to enter gravity warp. It wasn’t supposed to be much more intrusive than a regular wormhole transit, but it was rare enough, even aboard a warp cruiser, to make sure the crews was ready for it.
“All stations report ready,” Giannovi told him from CIC moments later.
“That’s…physically impossible,” Isaac replied dryly. The expected time for a crew to report to General Quarters was approximately two minutes. One of the reasons for the readiness failures he’d been seeing was that that time had risen to just over three aboard Scorpion.
The minimum was probably around a minute. Not roughly eight seconds.
“It is when apparently the crew has been voluntarily reporting to their battle stations for the last fifteen minutes,” his executive officer told him with a chuckle. “I think you found your wakeup call, Captain!”
Ashen Stars Page 2
