Flagship (A Captain's Crucible #1)

by Isaac Hooke

  "I know, Maxwell." Jonathan suppressed a sigh. "But that's part of the problem. I have no idea how I'm going to replace him."

  "Men are not irreplaceable," Maxwell intoned.

  "Aren't they?" Jonathan said. "Didn't you hear the first officer's little speech regarding human life back there?"

  "I did."

  "I see. So tell me then, what would you do, given the opportunity to eliminate the entire Sino-Korean Navy? At a cost of five billion human lives?"

  "I would embrace the opportunity," Maxwell said without preamble or malice.

  "Why?"

  "The Sino-Koreans are hoarding a fuel source that all of humanity's governments require. Without said fuel, economies would collapse, and Earth's population would be unable to sustain itself. Take away the Sino-Korean Navy, and that fuel can be readily allotted to the rest of humanity. Humans would no longer have to compete for resources. The disbandment of the Sino-Korean Navy would lead to the betterment of the human race."

  "What about the cost?" Jonathan asked the AI.

  "As I have stated, human beings are not irreplaceable. The Sino-Korean population can easily handle the loss of five billion lives and will rebound to former levels in approximately five hundred years. If eugenics and assisted reproductive technology are utilized, then the rebound will occur even more rapidly.

  "A reduced population will ease the resource cost on the Sino-Korean economy, partially negating the loss of the navy. In addition, funds previously allocated to naval operations can be diverted to the import and production of food and other consumables. In the short term the economy will suffer, but in the long term their society will be better off, with the surviving men and women experiencing an improved standard of living within fifteen to twenty years."

  Jonathan smiled resignedly. "Remind me never to elect an AI to the presidency."

  three

  Lieutenant Commander Jason Wolf floated in empty space, his body a ghostly outline. He drifted forward at sixty thousand kilometers per hour. Despite his speed, it felt like he was standing completely still, the stars stationary around him.

  "Motion overlay, active," Wolf said.

  A stream of simulated particles overlaid his vision, traveling away from him. The overlay indicated the direction he traveled. Some pilots found it distracting. He found it invaluable.

  He was moving backward. He spun his body around, which simultaneously caused the appropriate starboard nozzles to fire, the superheated propellant rotating the nose of the fighter craft he was inside. He couldn't see that fighter, of course—the three-hundred-sixty degree view around him was stitched together from the various external cameras, making it appear he was a disembodied form floating through space. Without a frame of reference like a cockpit, normal people felt severe motion sickness in such crafts. But pilots were a different breed.

  When he had aligned himself with the direction of travel, he reactivated his main HUD—heads-up-display. The output from the rear-facing camera appeared near the top of his vision, functioning as a virtual rear-view mirror. On the map portion of the display, a small mark indicated his position in the center. Clustered around it were the seven blue dots representing the other members of Orange Squadron. The Avengers had assumed attack pattern theta, a formation that roughly resembled a pitchfork, and were spread apart by ten kilometers each. Only one other fighter was manned; the rest were drones.

  Two thousand kilometers ahead of the squadron, the asteroid mining colony was represented by a blue dot.

  A small indicator flashed. Broadcast detected. Source: Nebraska.

  "Play broadcast," Wolf said.

  "This is the mining colony Nebraska," came a voice over the cockpit speakers. "We are under attack. A nearby pirate ship has launched Sino-Korean Foragers. Transmitting enemy coordinates."

  The red dots indicating the Foragers populated the display. The enemy crafts swarmed the mining colony. A darker dot represented the pirate ship several thousand kilometers distant.

  "Issue response," Wolf said. "Help is on the way."

  Response issued.

  "Incoming micro-asteroid region..." came the disembodied voice of his copilot, Lieutenant Lin Akido.

  An alert sounded. Small booms reverberated inside the invisible cockpit as the Whittle layer was pocked by impacts. The noises ceased a moment later.

  "How's she holding up?" Wolf said.

  "No breaches to the inner hull layer," Lin answered. "But we'll probably have to install a new Whittle when we return to cove."

  The asteroid appeared up ahead. He saw the occasional flashes from missile impacts and laser strikes.

  "Four Foragers are breaking away to engage us," Lin said.

  "Only four?" Wolf said. "They'll have to do better than that."

  Several flashing yellow dots appeared on the display, sourced from the incoming Foragers.

  "Wolf—" Lin began.

  "I see them."

  He launched countermeasures and increased the electronic jamming signals. The latter would interfere with communications, but there was a chance it would confuse the missiles.

  Flashes filled the viewscreen as the missiles detonated around them.

  "We're good," Lin said. "No damage. Return fire?"

  "Not yet. I know the pattern of their AIs." He was very good at noticing patterns. The AIs operating the Foragers always did certain things, at certain times.

  "What if you're wrong? The crafts could be manned."

  "They'd never risk manned vessels," Wolf said. "Not when there's a far easier target closer at hand. I'm not wrong. Fire two Hellfires."

  The two X90s erupted from the nose, vanishing from sight. As expected, the enemy shot them down using their Cobra lasers. That left them momentarily vulnerable while they waited for the Cobras to recharge.

  Wolf smirked. Stupid, predictable AIs.

  Fighters had relatively small focusing mirrors, which limited the scope of the Cobras to extremely close range. Wolf neared that range now.

  He waited a few more seconds and then fired his own Cobras at the lead ship. It was cut right in half. The wreckage passed by just to port.

  "Two more incoming missiles three o'clock!"

  Wolf launched countermeasures and pointed his body downward, clenching his left fist to fire full thrust. The inertial compensators struggled to keep up and he felt some of the Gs, though nothing like the body-ripping forces he would have experienced without them.

  The missiles detonated outside the hull of the Avenger, but fragments sprayed the starboard side. The craft shuddered once, and then again a moment later—much worse the second time.

  "Report!"

  It was the built-in AI that answered. "A Cobra struck the starboard side, sir." The voice was so damn calm. "Our craft is severely damaged."

  "A Cobra?" Wolf said.

  "Yes sir," the AI answered.

  The enemy lasers hadn't had time to recharge. That meant one of the incoming Foragers hadn't fired in the first volley.

  Damn it.

  "Lieutenant are you all right?" No answer. "Lin?"

  "The lieutenant is currently incapacitated," the AI answered. "Incoming missile. Six o'clock."

  "Countermeasures!"

  Wolf swung his body hard to port. The outline of the nose ghosted over his display—it did that when the Avenger struggled to keep up with his motions.

  Another missile smashed into the fighter.

  The display switched to observer mode.

  He was out.

  Wolf watched impatiently, itching for a rematch. When the battle was over he said: "Let's go again."

  "I've had enough for the day," came the response from Trent, the leader of Red Squadron.

  Wolf's surroundings went dark.

  Damn it.

  Wolf removed the virtual reality headset as the simulation pod lowered. Lin's headset lay unused in the sealed case beside her—she had an Implant, and merely had to deactivate the simulation overlay. He had aReal contact lenses
himself but he never wore them when flying. The headset was the way to go as far as he was concerned.

  "You were wrong about the pattern," Lin said.

  "I was right the five previous times we played the colony scenario."

  The bodysuit disengaged and the pod door swiveled open. Wolf emerged and turned back to offer a helping hand to Lin. She ignored it and climbed out on her own.

  From the pod beside them emerged the other members of Orange Squadron, Lieutenant Jeremy Walker and Ensign Tim Brown. They didn't look too happy.

  The four members of Red Squadron stepped from the opposite pods. They promptly high-fived.

  Trent, the squadron leader, came over to gloat. "Good match. But next time you might want to treat the first wave with a little more respect."

  "That was you who got me out there wasn't it?" Wolf said.

  "Not at all," Trent answered. "I'm not going to risk my life against an incoming squadron when a drone will easily do."

  "Then how did the—" Wolf began, but then caught himself. He didn't want to reveal that he knew the AI patterns for that scenario.

  But apparently Trent knew what Wolf intended to say, because he smiled and said: "Machine learning." He patted Wolf on the shoulder before walking away. "A little humbleness goes a long way my friend."

  "Humble men don't win battles," Wolf called to his back.

  "Neither do overconfident ones," Trent returned.

  Then how come I've won the last ten, he wanted to say, but held his tongue.

  "He probably hacked the program," Walker said quietly. "Changed the patterns. Or gave his Cobras instant recharge."

  "Probably," Wolf said, though he disagreed. Machine learning was the more likely explanation. Trent was right. Wolf had been too overconfident.

  I won't let it happen again.

  The group made its way to the mess hall. After filling their plates with the usual fare of mashed potatoes and pseudo-protein, the eight of them moved to an out of the way corner to eat standing up since all the tables were occupied.

  "Told you we should have left early," Walker said. "I hate standing up."

  Wolf surveyed the hall. He spotted a soldier sitting by himself at one of the smaller tables.

  "There," he told Walker. "Two seats for you and Brown."

  "No way," Walker said. "I'm not sitting with that guy. He looks like one of those special forces nut jobs. You sit with him."

  Wolf shrugged. "Suit yourself. Come on, Lin."

  He wended across the mess hall with Lin and together the two of them sat down with the grizzled soldier.

  The man's broad face was all bony planes. He wore the crew cut typical of most soldiers, though a thick salt and pepper beard framed the lower half of his face. The latter was a sign of his elite status—normal soldiers were required to shave. His nose looked like it had been broken and reset a hundred times. His tanned skin was heavily wrinkled—he'd missed his last rejuvenation treatment, apparently. Then again, half those wrinkles seemed scars.

  The man was physically augmented. His muscles and chest were far too big to be natural. Metal hardpoints protruded from the skin at various locations in both arms—there were knobs on the wrists and above the elbows, with another two small bumps underneath his T-shirt in the shoulder regions, signifying where a mechanical exoskeleton could be attached.

  "Always sit alone?" Wolf asked him.

  The soldier nodded. He didn't look up from his plate. "Prefer it that way."

  "What's your name?"

  "Rade. Rade Galaal." He was a chief, according to his rank insignia.

  Jason extended his hand. "I'm Jason, but go by Wolf."

  Rade kept his gaze down and didn't accept the hand.

  Wolf lowered his arm. "You're a MOTH, aren't you? Special forces?"

  Rade didn't answer.

  "I thought you all eat together. Stick to your cliques." He glanced across the mess hall, searching for other MOTHs, but didn't spot any.

  "I haven't fit in with Team culture in a long time," Rade said.

  Curious, Wolf decided to pull up the man's military profile on the aReal. There wasn't much. Except...

  "You've been a soldier for seventy years," Wolf said. "Shouldn't you be a master chief or something by now?"

  Rade didn't answer.

  "You've earned enough to retire several times over," Wolf pressed. "Why are you still here?"

  "Look, I don't feel like talking, if you don't mind," Rade said. He still refused to look up from his food. "We're never going to see each other again after today anyway, so what's the point?"

  Rade was right. The Callaway was a big ship. Wolf couldn't recall ever bumping into the man in the passageways before that day. And Rade wasn't exactly someone he'd easily forget, not with that towering stature and rugged physique of his.

  "Wolf, leave the man alone," Lin said quietly, surreptitiously sliding her hand into his lap under the table.

  If she wouldn't have said anything, Wolf would have kept quiet. But hearing those words, well, it only made Wolf want to defy her. He did it with everyone, but her especially.

  "What do you think of the missing research vessel?" Wolf said. "That captain has got to be fairly inexperienced to lose her ship the first time out like that."

  Rade finally looked up. His green eyes were so bright they almost glowed, like two bright emeralds set in his face. Lin actually gasped beside him.

  "You should watch what you say," Rade told him quietly.

  Wolf would have said the man was angry. Still, he didn't like being talked down to, especially not by some chief.

  "Should I?" Wolf said.

  "Wolf!" Lin said quietly.

  "Listen to your girlfriend, Astronaut. And leave me alone."

  That set Wolf off. Astronaut? Girlfriend?

  He clenched his fist—he didn't care how augmented the man was, Wolf was ready to fight. "I'm a goddamn lieutenant commander. And she's not my girlfriend."

  "Then why is her hand in your lap?"

  Wolf froze. Under the table, Lin's hand darted away as if stung.

  "Don't worry, I'm not going to report you," Rade continued. "Used to have an illicit shipboard relationship myself. A long time ago."

  Rade stuffed the remainder of his food into his mouth and then, still chewing, got up.

  "Tell me something," Wolf said. "Why does a MOTH care what I say about the captain of some research vessel?"

  Rade glanced down at Wolf. He continued chewing for a moment longer and then swallowed.

  "She's my daughter," Rade said. With that, he left.

  Walker took the empty seat a moment later. "What was that all about?"

  "No idea," Wolf said. "One of the strangest conversations I've had all year."

  four

  Jonathan returned to the bridge. The members of the first watch were still on duty and would remain so for the next four hours.

  He took his seat at the Round Table. "Ops, status on the Selene and Aegis."

  "Still waiting on the latest relay drone," Ensign Lewis told him. "Two hours before it's overdue."

  Jonathan tapped his fingers on the handrest of his chair. He glanced at Robert. "At this rate, we're going to have to uproot the flotilla and search for them ourselves."

  "We'll have to recall the Grimm," Robert told him. "Unless you've decided to split the task unit after all."

  "No. I want us together."

  He glanced at the tactical display fed to his aReal from the CDC, represented as a three dimensional grid overlaying his vision. Task Unit One, labeled TU 72.5.1 on the aReal, was located on the opposite side of the system. If anything happened to Jonathan's task unit, say a Sino-Korean ambush, it would take days for the first unit to reach them, and a minimum of a few weeks after that before any reinforcements arrived.

  That was the most unnerving thing about operating on the fringes of known space: the sense of isolation. The nearest system, Prius 3, had only a dome colony of two hundred thousand inhabitants on one of it
s pseudo planets; that and a tiny United Systems military outpost manned by a few corvettes. The system connected to Prius 3 was little better. It was at least another two jumps before any substantial United Systems military presence.

  Jonathan focused his attention on the blue dot representing the harvester vessel, the Grimm. The thick, heavily reinforced ship was currently located just above the Kármán line in the lower thermosphere of the gas giant, the point at which atmospheric reentry began, three hundred kilometers above the ammonia ice clouds. Though invisible on the display, the captain knew a tether made of super strong diamond nanothreads stretched all the way from the harvester to the cloud line, where the geronium collector was deployed. Centrifugal force countered the downward gravity on the tether, ensuring that the Grimm wasn't drawn into a decaying orbit.

  The other support vessels, the Aurelia, the Dominion, and the Maelstrom, two destroyers and a frigate, respectively, remained in a higher orbit similar to the Callaway.

  "Tap me into the Grimm," he told Lazur.

  A few moments later Captain Souza of the Grimm materialized at the center of the command circle, his image overlaid courtesy of Jonathan's aReal. The man's representation was currently authorized for display only to Jonathan and his first officer.

  The man smiled, though it appeared slightly forced. "What can I do for you, sir?" Harvester crews were composed of civilian contractors; such men were usually extremely respectful to their military masters, if only to ensure their contracts were renewed the next time around.

  "Captain Souza, how much time do you need to finish your sampling of the upper atmosphere? Your morning update wasn't clear."

  Souza scratched his chin. "We're detecting uncharacteristically high levels of geronium in the upper atmosphere—concentrations of up to eighteen parts per million in some samples."

  "Just answer the question, Captain," Jonathan said.

  Souza's image momentarily pixelated and flickered. "I was getting to it. Those high concentrations could mean the collector is miscalibrated, and we'll have to redo the whole sampling process. So to be on the conservative side, I'd say another three days."