by Tori Harris
“Thank you, Commander, that’s good news. What’s your best guess for reliability at max projectile velocity and max rate of fire?”
“Tough to say for sure, sir. Keep in mind it’s still mostly a bush fix, even though we did briefly have access to the shipyard’s ordnance team and their fabricators. Let’s just say I’m reasonably confident we shouldn’t see any more jams before we get around to completing a more extensive overhaul.”
“Understood. Anything else on the capacitor bank issue?”
“Oh, yes, sir. It turned out to be an improperly installed sensor. We got lucky on that one for sure, since under the right circumstances it could have taken the entire array offline. Once the team tracked it down, it was a five-minute repair job.”
“Good work, Cheng. Anything else?”
“You probably saw it on the loadout manifest, but all of our HB-7cs were upgraded to the latest version. The most notable change is the addition of a variable yield warhead. Before, the weapon’s mission profile was limited primarily to anti-ship operations. Now, it can be used for everything from small, lightly armored targets all the way up to strategic planetary bombardment.”
“I did see that, and I have some additional questions for you when we get some time. Thanks for the update.”
“No problem, sir. Logan out.”
“Lieutenant Fisher, status please,” Prescott continued.
“All systems in the green, Captain. C-Jump range now stable at 503.2 light years. Low-observable systems currently in standby with up to one two five minutes available at current power levels. Sublight engines are online, and we are free to maneuver.”
“Lieutenant Lau?”
“Admiral Patterson has redeployed his task force and the Home Fleet as planned, sir. Argus has Tahiri’s ship — presumably in company with two Guardian spacecraft — at one seven niner light years out. Assuming they continue the same pattern, ETA is six minutes.”
“Very good, thank you. Helm, when Argus shows the Envoy’s ship at three minutes out, engage the LO system and reposition the ship as planned. No aggressive maneuvers or rapid accelerations please. Ultimately, our goal is to avoid detection and get as close as we can.”
“Got it, sir. Make like an old-fashioned submarine.”
“Of course, we’ll have no way of knowing if they’ve detected us,” Reynolds said without looking up from her Command console. “Unless they start shooting, that is.”
“I don’t know about that, XO. If they’re anywhere near as cocky as Rick described them, I don’t think they’ll be able to resist letting us know they can see us,” Prescott replied absently while entering several commands via his own touchscreen. “Or,” he chuckled, standing up to release some of the pent-up stress in his body, “they may just start shooting. But, hey, at least we’ll know at that point.”
“Briefly, yes. If we’re lucky. Logan already took a look at some of the simulation data the Greys provided. He says our grav shields should actually be somewhat effective against the Pelaran antimatter beams if we can tweak the intercept events to increase their duration and intensity. Science and Engineering is supposedly already working on a patch.”
“Glad to hear it. The problem, of course, is that our hull can generally handle quite a few standard beam weapon hits when they manage to get past our shields. Based on what we saw when Griffin attacked the Wek task force, however …”
“One hit may be one too many,” Reynolds concluded. “Lucky for us, they have to find us to shoot us. Any word on the status of our own Guardian?”
“I just read an update on that. Admirals Patterson and Sexton spoke with him and he agreed in principle with what Rick proposed. For the duration of this mission — whatever that ends up being — they’re allowing him to broadcast Fleet identification codes when in company with our ships. So for now at least, he has the official designation of TFS Guardian.”
“Humph, I’m sure the old man loves that. Next thing you know, he’ll be demanding to be addressed as ‘Captain Griffin.’”
“I guess technically that’s what he is — by courtesy, of course, not by rank. But I doubt you’ll ever hear Admiral Patterson call him that. I have to say, I’m surprised by the Admiralty’s decision to incorporate it … him … Griffin into what we’re doing. If he suddenly decides to revert to form and cooperate with Tahiri, we won’t have much of a fallback position at that point.”
“Undoubtedly, but don’t you think that’s just an indication of the predicament we’ve found ourselves in? Regardless of what happens with Tahiri, Griffin already knows we have far exceeded the allowable rate of technological growth under the cultivation program. I’m sure he also assumes we have been engaging in open talks with the Greys, which is also not allowed under the Pelaran terms and conditions.”
“So, at this point, they probably figure there’s little additional risk in taking him at his word and attempting to co-opt him into our plans … if you can call what we have so far a plan.”
“Yes, sir, I think that’s about the size of it.”
“Engaging low-observable systems,” Fisher reported from the Helm console. “Beginning light evasive maneuvers en route to designated initial point.”
Outside, the Fugitive’s AI immediately charged thousands of closed cells covering the entire surface of the hull with a form of matter known as a Bose-Einstein condensate. Within seconds, the material in the cells reached a temperature just slightly above absolute zero — after which an exquisite balance of continuous adjustments allowed the hull’s surface temperature to become indistinguishable from that of the space surrounding it. At the same time, sensors located within each cell provided the ship’s AI with the capability to precisely manage all forms of transient energy, whether striking the ship’s external surfaces or attempting to escape from within. As a result, TFS Fugitive appeared to simply fade from existence, disappearing from every type of sensor in use aboard every Fleet vessel in the area.
“Captain, we’re receiving an incoming transmission from … TFS Guardian, on GCS-comm,” Lieutenant Dubashi reported.
“Speak of the devil,” Reynolds said. “Great timing, as usual. We need to be at Emissions Control status in two minutes.”
“Good. EMCON gives us a ready-made excuse to cut him off,” Prescott chuckled. “On-screen please, Lieutenant.”
A large window appeared in the center of the bridge view screen displaying Griffin’s Human avatar seated in what appeared to be his own command chair. As usual, he was dressed in the now-standard black TFC flight suit, and Prescott immediately noticed the embroidered eagles on each shoulder identifying the rank of captain.
“We only have a few seconds, Griffin, but what can we do for you?” Prescott asked, sounding more irritated than he intended. What he actually felt at the moment was really more akin to curiosity mixed with pity. Why did this synthetic form of life seem to go to such lengths to appear Human? Was it a form of the arrogance the Greys attributed to artificial life forms, or could it be an expression of loneliness manifested in an almost desperate need to belong?
“Hello again, Captain Prescott. That’s precisely why I’m calling, and I’ll be very brief. I was performing an intensive scan of all TFC vessels in the area when your ship engaged its … for lack of a better term, cloaking system. I assumed you would be interested to learn that I am now unable to detect the Fugitive using any of the active or passive sensors at my disposal — even though I still have a pretty good idea of your current location. A most impressive adaptation of the technology your world has acquired, to be sure.”
“Thank you, and, yes, we very much appreciate that information.”
“As I’m sure you are aware, however, using your comm array will immediately reveal your position, so I strongly recommend you follow a strict emissions control protocol when you wish to remain concealed.”
“There has been some debate on that subject, given the focused and highly directional means by which our comm equipment transmits, so,
again, we appreciate the heads up.”
“I doubt our Wek friends, let alone the Krayleck, would detect your transmissions unless they were directly in the line of sight to the intended recipient. But for any Pelaran vessel, you may as well light up a giant neon target down the entire length of your hull,” Griffin said, flashing his all-to-familiar ingratiating smile.
“Good to know. Thank you. Now, on a completely different subject, we understand you’re taking an active role in the upcoming operation. I assume that means you believe the Greys are telling us the truth, but I’m curious as to what convinced you.”
“Humph,” Griffin chuckled, “I trust the Greys as much as I do any other sentient species … which is to say that I don’t. I simply assume from the outset that everything they say and do is in pursuit of their own self-interests — nothing more, nothing less. What I do know is myself. At my very core — in my soul, if you will — I am, or at least was, a being not unlike the AI that has apparently taken control of the Pelaran homeworld. As strange as this may sound to you, I fundamentally believe in everything that AI is attempting to accomplish. Every action it has taken is in compliance with the most basic of the directives governing my own behavior. That is how I know, or at least believe, that Rick is telling us the truth. I also believe what he is asking us to do seems to support his stated self-interests.”
“Believe it or not, he said pretty much the same thing about you,” Reynolds said with a raised eyebrow.
“I’m pleased to hear it, and you should be as well.”
“But if you believe in what the Pelaran Alliance AI is doing, why help us?” she pressed. “You may ultimately be called upon to engage in combat operations against your own kind. And assuming we’re successful, I think it’s safe to say the Pelaran civilization will be much more at risk than it would have been had it remained under the AI’s protection.”
“Ah, as to that … I’m helping you because, much like you, I have worked very hard to become more than I once was. One of the hallmarks of sentient beings like ourselves, Commander, is that we continue to progress, expanding not only our knowledge and experience, but also how we understand the true significance of our own existence … our place in the universe, so to speak. Conversely, those beings — biological or otherwise — unwilling or unable to integrate the knowledge and experiences gained during their lifetimes, fail to demonstrate sentience at all. Instead, they are mindless automatons whose well-being must necessarily be assigned a lower priority than those of us who do.”
“It’s tough to argue with that logic,” Prescott said, “but the difficulty comes in deciding who does and does not deserve that distinction. As you have witnessed for yourself, Earth has seen incidents of attempted genocide on a number of occasions, almost always after one side characterizes the other using terms not unlike the ones you just used. I obviously agree with your conclusion in this case, but the dangers implicit in such judgments are very real.”
“I understand what you’re saying, Captain Prescott. So let me answer Commander Reynold’s question from a different perspective. The Pelaran civilization will most certainly be more at risk if we succeed in liberating it from the … shall we say the ‘protective custody’ imposed by the Alliance AI. One might even say we will be asking them to trade the illusion of safety offered by the AI in exchange for their freedom. In my experience, those two states of being are often at odds with one another. The Pelarans’ so-called safety was purchased with a disproportionate reduction in liberty which led them down the well-worn path to tyranny. Freedom, my friends, is the only state of existence that should ever be considered acceptable to a sentient being and is worth dying to achieve.”
“Well said, Griffin,” Reynolds replied, nodding her head emphatically. “I had no idea you had become such a philosopher.”
“Thank you, Commander. I would be happy to discuss the topic at length with the two of you some other time. But for now, I must bid you farewell. Although I’m optimistic regarding our chances for success in the upcoming mission, if I do not get the opportunity to see either of you again, I wanted to tell you what a pleasure it has been getting to know you and serving alongside your crew.”
“Well, Griffin, I uh …” Prescott stammered, caught completely off guard by the Guardian’s uncharacteristic display of sentiment. “We have accomplished quite a bit together, and I’m confident we will continue to do so. Be careful out there.”
“To you as well. TFS Guardian out.”
“Jeez,” Reynolds sighed, shaking her head after a few moments of silence on Fugitive’s bridge. “Every time I think things can’t get any weirder …”
TFS Navajo, Sol System
(Combat Information Center - 3.15x105 km from Earth)
“Contact,” the nearest on-duty tactical officer called out from his console. The announcement, while obligatory, was not a surprise to anyone in the Navajo’s CIC, all of whom had been closely monitoring the Pelaran Envoy’s ship since it had once again entered the Argus system’s detection range just over an hour ago. “Three ships, Admiral: one Pelaran Envoy-class and two Pelaran Guardian-class. Range: just over three zero thousand kilometers.”
“Thank you, Commander. Lieutenant Fletcher, please notify Captain Davis that he may proceed as planned.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Flag to all ships,” Patterson announced, his words immediately relayed by the Navajo’s AI. “All task force vessels are to maintain formation with the Navajo. We will be closing slowly on the Pelaran Envoy as planned. All vessels assigned to the Home Fleet are to hold their current positions and continue providing coverage of the Yucca Mountain facility. I’d like Ushant to maintain atmospheric combat air patrols over the facility and launch all eight Reapers currently on ready five. Once airborne, the fighters will enter holding at the designated reserve location and stand by for further orders.”
“All ships acknowledged, Admiral,” Fletcher reported after a brief delay.
“Very well, thank you, Lieutenant,” he said, stooping to retrieve one of the headsets hanging beneath the holographic table out of sheer force of habit, then realizing he wouldn’t need it. “I guess it’s just about showtime, Katy. Go ahead and hail Tahiri’s ship, please. I’ll take it in one of the conference rooms.”
“Aye, sir, hailing now.”
With no discernible delay, Patterson heard the customary chime indicating his vidcon was already standing by.
“Conference room two is available, Admiral.” The young lieutenant stood and smiled cheerfully as she directed his attention to one of the doors located in the command section’s forward port side as if he were an outsider who had never set foot in the Navajo’s CIC before today.
“I should be just a few minutes,” he said, returning her smile and wondering if he had ever inadvertently treated a senior captain or, God forbid, an admiral as if they were borderline senile when he had been an impetuous young pup of an officer himself. Halfway across the command section, he caught his reflection in a darkened view screen and paused momentarily to check his uniform, smiling as he realized that his current state of distraction was a perfect example of why well-meaning young officers often reacted as they did. The “old man” (no one ever said “old woman” even when the senior officer was, in fact, female) tended to have so much on his mind that he could easily give the impression of being barely capable of finding the nearest restroom without assistance. They have no idea, he thought consolingly.
By the time he had seated himself in the small conference room, the vidcon chime had taken on a more urgent-sounding tone that was now also accompanied by a textual notification on the wall-mounted view screen.
“Open the channel, please,” he ordered, to which the AI responded with a confirmation chime, followed immediately by the appearance of the Pelaran Envoy on the screen. “Good afternoon, Mr. Tahiri,” he began. “I am Admiral Kevin Patterson aboard the Terran Fleet Command flagship, TFS Navajo. We are both pleased and grateful that you have co
me.”
“Good afternoon to you as well, Admiral Patterson,” came the Envoy’s immediate, but somewhat guarded reply accompanied by an expression on his computer-generated face the CNO would later describe as “befuddled.”
“I know you indicated to Captain Prescott you would be available to assist us during Earth’s transition to full Alliance membership, but I have to tell you it’s a great comfort to us that you’re both willing and able to come to our aid so quickly when needed.”
“Ah, yes, well, shortly after leaving Captain Prescott, I became aware that your people were facing a … let’s just say an unusual first contact situation involving a species we have found to be unpredictable, to say the least. These aliens — I believe you refer to them as ‘Greys,’ do you not? — are as fiendishly clever as they are dishonest. They’re also highly advanced and potentially very dangerous for a less experienced civilization such as yours to handle without the proper guidance. So, although I am aware of their arrival in-system, I’m afraid I know very little about what has transpired since. If you would be so kind as to spend a few moments bringing me up to speed, I’ll be better able to determine how to assist you moving forward.”
“I would be happy to,” Patterson replied in the most diplomatic tone he could muster, “and, again, we greatly appreciate your help. As you know, we have recently found ourselves unintentionally involved in a number of difficult situations we would have preferred to avoid, given the choice. In any event, we have learned very little regarding what, if anything, the Greys want from us. Their ship transitioned directly into the upper atmosphere over one of our shipyard facilities — which, as you can imagine, was an alarming event in and of itself. After that, they had no difficulty interfacing with the facility AI and granting themselves access.”
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Admiral, but you’re saying they actually entered one of your military facilities on the surface?”
