by Tori Harris
“Let’s see … double the power generation and storage capacity, eight fire lances, five-hundred-light-year range, dual-shielding, and four Wek G-cannons … Tom, I have no doubt there are bigger threats out there than what we’ve seen so far, but I sincerely hope you never run across anything capable of giving that ship a run for her money.”
“Amen to that, sir, but you said that as if you’re planning to stay planet-side. Don’t you still have six months or so to go?” Prescott asked, referring to the CNO’s recently announced retirement.
“I do, but if Mrs. Patterson has anything to say about it, my feet will remain firmly planted right here during the remainder of that time. I’m sure I’ll eventually be spending a fair amount of time training my replacement — assuming they ever name one, that is. In the meantime, Chairwoman Kistler and Admiral Sexton want me primarily focused on working with the Wek Unified Fleet liaison on the technology exchange program. I’m sure you’ve heard we’re allowing them to use ten of our Ingenuity-class frigates.”
“Yes, sir, I did. Everyone’s been calling it the ‘Wek-Lend-Lease’ program.”
“Right, which is a little irritating for old curmudgeon history buffs like me. The historical parallel they’re all trying to reference was called the ‘Destroyers for Bases Agreement.’ It was specific to warship transfers between the U.S. and Great Britain and preceded the much more general ‘Lend-Lease Act’ by six months or so. Come to think of it, though, ‘Wek-Lend-Lease’ does make more sense than ‘Wek Destroyers for Bases Agreement,’ doesn’t it?” Patterson chuckled.
In the weeks following the destruction of the Alliance AI, TFC’s Leadership Council, as well as the Crowned Republic of Graca’s Parliament, had taken up the issue of technological cooperation and sharing between their respective fleets. As an added incentive, Rick had sent both sides a video in which he reminded them of the fact that secret, military-related technologies possessed by a single, space-faring civilization rarely remained a secret for long. Near the end of his message, the Grey had displayed a split-screen image with highly classified details of just such a technology currently possessed by each side — clearly implying that technological sharing might well occur involuntarily, if necessary. Although the idea still had its share of critics on both sides, a majority ultimately agreed that achieving technological parity between the two fleets offered a variety of strategic benefits to both worlds.
Shortly thereafter, scientists and engineers from both sides began a crash program to adapt several key technologies including energy-shielding, hyperdrive design, and several types of ship-based weapons. The so-called “Wek-Lend-Lease” program was also created as a stopgap measure, providing the Wek Unified Fleet with access to C-Drive-equipped warships until the technology could be retrofitted to their own vessels.
“Admiral Patterson!” a young ensign called out as he rapidly approached the two senior officers on one of the shipyard’s grav carts.
“Watch yourself, Tom,” Patterson said under his breath. “I’ve seen this kid drive before, and he might actually be more dangerous than I am.”
“I doubt it, sir.”
The cart had not even come to a complete stop before the young comm officer launched himself out of the driver’s seat in their direction, thrusting an oversized tablet computer in their direction like some sort of modern-day telegram delivery boy.
“Sorry to interrupt … sirs,” he began awkwardly, “but Captain Oshiro wanted you to see this right away.”
“Whatcha got there, son,” Patterson asked, resisting the natural urge to cause the young man additional distress.
“Two things, Admiral. The first is a textual message from the Grey ship Ethereal.”
“This ought to be good,” Prescott commented. “We haven’t heard from them in well over six months.”
“Yeah, I can’t say I’ve missed it all that much,” Patterson replied as he peered at the screen through the bottom lenses of his glasses.
Dear Terrans,
Continuing our fine tradition of depositing derelict vessels on and around your world, we have just dropped off another one in high orbit. May you find this one just as useful and frustrating as the last one.
Sincerely,
Rick
P.S. We could only restore his memories up to the beginning of our GCS recruiting mission. Unfortunately, you’ll have to catch him up on everything that has happened since. As you might well imagine, he has a long list of questions, so good luck with that.
P.S.S. Miguel says hello.
“I guess I have a pretty good idea what else you were supposed to show me,” Patterson sighed, scowling at the young ensign over his glasses. After a moment’s reflection, however, a hint of a smile could be seen forming at the corners of the older man’s mouth as he passed the tablet to Terran Fleet Command’s newest flag officer. “There you go, Admiral Prescott,” he said cheerfully, already feeling a tremendous weight beginning to lift from his shoulders, “he’s your problem now.”
Pelara, Khester Shipping Facility
(3.87x103 light years from Earth)
This had better be worth it, Vina Dewar thought bitterly as she connected her tablet computer to the remote node’s high-speed interface. As nervous as she was at the moment, however, her presence near the back corner of the enormous shipping warehouse, even at this hour of the night, was unlikely to attract attention. Fragile, extremely valuable cargos passed through this facility every day in containers just like this one. And even though most shipping companies relied on remote telemetry data to monitor their contents, it was not unusual to see technicians performing various manual inspections. Even the most imaginative security personnel would never have suspected she was in the process of committing treason against her homeworld.
As was often the case with traitors, regardless of their species or location throughout the cosmos, Dewar had convinced herself that her actions were nothing less than a moral imperative. In her mind, the course her recently reestablished government had embarked upon was dangerous and foolhardy to such an extent that it crossed a moral boundary into conduct she considered corrupt … dishonorable … evil.
Under the efficient, impartial leadership of the Alliance AI, she had held a position of influence and power enjoyed by only a select few of her fellow citizens. Her directorate within the Department of Compliance and Safety (DoCaS) had been instrumental in maintaining peace and order on Pelara for centuries, fully justifying the comparatively lavish lifestyles enjoyed by the elite officials in its upper echelons. During her many years at DoCaS, she had also been privy to various types of classified information, providing what she believed was a perspective far more enlightened than the common people she had dedicated her career to serving. Now, as she worked to prepare the remote node to begin the prolonged process of delivering its data, Dewar believed with absolute conviction her actions were both ethical and fully justified under Pelaran law — in spite of the fact that most of the laws she had in mind had now been overturned.
It had taken nearly nine months for the data to be collected, then transmitted in short, hopefully untraceable bursts from a variety of sources. Notable among these were several relatively obscure systems aboard the FAM-4 facility as well as a number of drones still operating within fifty light years or so of Pelara. All of them, Dewar noted with no small degree of satisfaction, remained fully operational and loyal to the Alliance AI in spite of ongoing enemy efforts to purge all remnants of its influence from Pelaran space.
Realistically, however, Dewar knew the information she was about to pass along to ALAI Disaster Recovery Site Alpha was unlikely to change anything — at least not within her lifetime. The Pelaran World Assembly had reestablished itself, conducting the first planetary elections under the tired, bourgeois banners of freedom and self-determination with surprising speed and efficiency. Now, there were even rumors regarding the formation of a new, intra-galactic partnership, supposedly incorporating most of the original core member worlds
of the Pelaran Alliance. This “United Coalition of Free Worlds” was also planning to welcome formerly cultivated systems, many of which, until recently, had been all but unknown to the former Alliance. This, Dewar suspected, was largely due to the influence of the upstart Regional Partner world that had been primarily to blame for the ALAI’s destruction — the Terrans.
A reckoning will come … eventually, she consoled herself, but the words rang hollow, even within the mind of a true zealot. The truth of the matter was that she had no way of knowing if the disaster recovery facility even remained operational at this point. It had been constructed within a remote asteroid, primarily as an archival facility to store the colossal volume of data collected through the years as a result of the cultivation program. And although DR-Alpha was theoretically capable of reconstituting the AI itself in the unlikely event its primary starbase were ever destroyed, a test of this functionality was so impractical that it had never been attempted.
Dewar sighed deeply as she concluded her work, paging quickly through a high-level summary of what she was about to transmit. Her access to high-level intelligence information had been terminated with the dissolution of the Department of Compliance and Safety (DoCaS), occurring less than a month after the destruction of the ALAI starbase. Since then, she had been forced to rely on her own, informal network of like-minded associates to stay abreast of what the fools now managing the affairs of her world were doing.
Hello … this actually does look interesting, she thought, gratified to see there might at least be a remote possibility her actions might one day prove worthy of the risks she was taking. On the screen of her tablet computer, a highly detailed schematic of a missile of some sort had appeared. Although she was definitely no authority on weapons technology, Dewar was immediately drawn to several uses of the word “hyperdrive.” While she was obviously familiar with this term, the document also made several related references to something called a “C-Drive.” Something new and useful, perhaps? she wondered, noting the caption beneath the rotating missile diagram labeled with some sort of military designation: HB-7c.
With a shrug of her shoulders, Vina Dewar initiated the data transfer, disconnected her tablet, and disappeared into the night.
_________________________________
End of Book 5
THANK YOU!
I’d like to express my sincerest thanks for reading TFS Guardian. I hope you have enjoyed not only this book but the entire Terran Fleet Command Saga! Although Guardian is the final book in the original TFC series, I do plan to eventually write additional stand-alone stories set in the same universe.
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OTHER BOOKS BY TORI L. HARRIS
The Terran Fleet Command Saga
TFS Ingenuity
TFS Theseus
TFS Navajo
TFS Fugitive
TFS Guardian
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Born in 1969, four months before the first Apollo moon landing, Tori Harris grew up during the era of the original Star Wars movies and is a lifelong science fiction fan. During his early professional career, he was fortunate enough to briefly have the opportunity to fly jets in the U.S. Air Force and is still a private pilot who loves to fly. Tori has always loved to read and now combines his love of classic naval fiction with military Sci-Fi when writing his own books. His favorite authors include Patrick O’Brian and Tom Clancy as well as more recent self-published authors like Michael Hicks, Ryk Brown, and Joshua Dalzelle. Tori lives in Tennessee with his beautiful wife, two beautiful daughters, and Bizkit, the best dog ever.
