StarFight 1: Battlestar

by T. Jackson King

  Silence filled the Bridge for long seconds. Then the AI spoke.

  “Incoming audiovid signals.”

  “Display first signal to arrive,” Jacob said. “Advise incoming signals they will link with me shortly.”

  “Advising. First signal displayed.”

  A new image appeared at the top of the wallscreen’s image of destruction. A middle aged woman dressed in woodland camo NWUs and showing the bronze oak leaf of a lieutenant commander on her collar tips filled the image. She was as black-skinned as Quincy.

  “Acting Captain Renselaer, your live imagery from the meeting site is severely worrisome,” the woman said, her tone sounding Midwestern America. “I am Lieutenant Commander Rebecca Swanson, now acting captain of the cruiser Chesapeake. We have moved to Alert Combat Ready. Since you showed the foresight to send a skimmer to inspect the meeting site after we lost tablet link with our captain and XO, I accept you, Jacob Renselaer, as acting leader of the battle group. Advise me of your further wishes.”

  Relief filled Jacob. Whatever deck this woman ran on the Chesapeake, she understood the necessity for unity in the face of an unknown and likely hostile enemy. Would the rest of them show the same spirit of cooperation and allegiance?

  “Acting Captain Swanson, it is good to hear your words, coming as they do from the senior cruiser in our battle group,” Jacob said, thinking fast. “Stand by. Monitor your spysats. Advise me of any sensor input that shows a change in behavior by any wasp ship. I am adding your image to my outgoing audiovid signal. Wait a moment as I accept calls from the other ships.”

  The woman just nodded. He noticed a younger man sat in the XO seat next to her. He looked Slavic, maybe a Russian like Lori. Jacob looked up at the ceiling.

  “Melody, put through the next in line response. Display the signal beside that from the Chesapeake.”

  “Signal displayed.”

  The older man who appeared on the wallscreen was someone Jacob recognized. He ran the Navigation Deck on the other cruiser. The man was a friend of his father’s, a fact that had caused him to personally welcome Jacob upon his arrival at the orbital shipyard station where the Lepanto and the other battle group ships had been docked. He blinked dark eyes.

  “Young Renselaer, I am Lieutenant George Wilcox of the cruiser Hampton Roads. As you know. I broke into our captain’s safe and used the ship status change code to change our alert condition. And to become this ship’s acting captain.” The man, who was bald on top but still had black hair above his ears, turned intense. “We too have moved to Alert Combat Ready. And I agree with Swanson. Your initiative tells me you will do well as the battle group leader until we contact higher command. What can I and my people do for you?”

  An electric tingle swept down Jacob’s arms to his fingers. This man was the second, more mature officer to accept his leadership. And to understand what Jacob knew had to be done. “Acting Captain Wilcox, thank you. This has been a surprise to me and to my entire Bridge. And surely to the other deck leaders on the Lepanto. My orders to you are simple. Be alert. Be ready to repel any enemy attack. Monitor your spysats. Report anything done by the wasp ships. And hold your position at the front of our orbital group. With the Chesapeake at our rear and you at the front, we are best positioned to respond to any attacking ship.”

  “Will do,” Wilcox said quickly, gesturing to the woman who occupied the XO seat next to him. “Lieutenant JG Wakanabi is our new XO. I assume you are filling slots over there as quickly as you can?”

  “I am,” Jacob said. “My new XO is Ensign Daisy Stewart. While I sit in the admiral’s seat, I am acting captain of the Lepanto. As you may have heard earlier, I am the sole surviving Command Deck officer. I am relying on fellow officers on the other decks to bring this ship to its full capabilities.”

  “Your ship is very powerful,” Wilcox said. “The 210 people on the Hampton Roads will do as you order.”

  “Good. Please monitor this conversation I am holding with all battle group ships,” Jacob said. “We all need to be aware of what is happening on every other ship. And we need to work together in case of an attack from the wasps.”

  “Monitoring,” the man said bluntly.

  “Melody, display the third signal. Put the imagery next to the two captains now on the wallscreen.”

  “Displaying.”

  A middle-aged man with white hair, Asian face and black eyes now appeared. Like the cruiser captains, he sat in one of the two central command seats on his ship’s Bridge. A younger man who looked Hindu dark sat beside him. The white-haired man spoke.

  “Acting Captain Jacob Renselaer, I am Lieutenant Douglas Zhang, now acting captain of the destroyer Tsushima Strait,” he said, his tone firm and confident. “Fully agree with the points made by Wilcox and Swanson. My ship is at Alert Combat Ready. The 113 people on board this ship will fight any enemy and act in concert with the rest of the battle group.”

  Jacob felt new encouragement. The man led one of the three destroyers in the battle group. While smaller in size than the cruisers or the Lepanto, still, his ship had formidable weapons and swift maneuverability. Three down, six more to go.

  “Acting Captain Zhang, thank you for your response and your loyalty to our continuing mission of exploration. Which may soon change to active combat,” Jacob said. “Maintain your ship’s position on the outer right flank of the Lepanto. Do your missiles carry x-ray laser thermonukes?”

  “They do,” Zhang said, his expression intense and focused. “But we only carry nine missiles, much less than the forty on the Lepanto.”

  “Still, your ship is a vital component of our battle group,” Jacob said, offering his best effort at showing his appreciation for the man’s loyalty to him despite the sudden change in circumstances. “Stand by and monitor my discussions. Once I have heard from all battle group ships, we will discuss tactical options.”

  “Standing by,” the man said with a quick nod of his head.

  “Melody?”

  “Displaying fourth incoming signal.”

  A dark-skinned, black-haired, Hindu-looking man now appeared as part of the wallscreen lineup of other ship captains. An Asian woman sat to his left in the XO seat. The man spoke.

  “Acting Captain Renselaer, I am Lieutenant Commander Chatur Mehta, now acting captain of the destroyer Salamis.” The man paused, licked his lips, then frowned. “I cannot accept the authority of a former ensign to lead this battle group. While I agree our senior officers are now dead, perhaps due to enemy action, I judge it my duty to leave this system and report these events to Earth Command. My ship is now leaving orbit.”

  Shock filled Jacob. “Mehta! We need every ship! We are outnumbered 12 to 10 by the wasps! Are you refusing a direct order?”

  “I dispute your authority to issue me a direct order,” the man said. Beside him the woman looked unhappy. “You are an ensign. I am a lieutenant commander, formerly in charge of the Science Deck on the Salamis. I have obtained the ship status change code and now assert my right to command this destroyer due to being the most senior officer now present on this ship. My rank exceeds your rank. I wish you luck in whatever happens here.” The man reached to a control spot on his right armrest.

  “Wait!” yelled Jacob, knowing he sounded like a pleading child to anyone listening. “If you must leave, go to Kepler 10. That is the nearest colony star. Alert the Star Navy base there to these events. Whatever you do, do not set your vector track for Sol! These aliens cannot ever know the direction to Earth!”

  The man raised black eyebrows. “As you wish. The Salamis now departs for the edge of this system’s magnetosphere. I will set vector for Kepler 10. Good day.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Daisy felt shock at the Hindu man’s rejection of Jacob. She thought he looked frightened under the shell of defiance. She felt for the Asian woman who was acting as his XO. Breaking the chain of command and the cohesion of the battle group was clearly upsetting her. She looked back and up at Jacob.

&nb
sp; Her friend blinked, then his clean-shaven face became tight-muscled. His gray eyes became more intense than when she’d first seen as he sat in the admiral’s seat, thereby signaling to everyone on the Bridge that he was not only claiming acting captain status, but was also claiming the right to command of the battle group. Her shock at his daring had eased as he fell into a calm, orderly and professional manner with the Bridge crew and with the other ship leaders. What would he do now?

  “Melody, display the next in line signal,” Jacob said, his tone calm, almost at ease.

  “Displaying next signal,” the AI said in a swift response.

  A blond-haired young woman who wore woodland camos, sat in a central Bridge seat and looked as calm as Jacob’s voice, now joined the vid images of Swanson, Wilcox and Zhang.

  “Acting Captain Renselaer, I am Lieutenant Joy Jefferson, formerly chief of our Weapons Deck on the destroyer Philippines Sea,” she said succinctly. “Mehta is an asshole. He retreats in the face of enemy action. A fact which I will report to Earth Command. My ship and crew are at Alert Combat Ready. How may I assist you and the rest of the battle group?”

  She smiled at the woman’s blunt statement. Jefferson looked barely 30 years old, but must be years beyond that in order to have reached the rank of Lieutenant. And her former work as chief of her ship’s Weapons Deck said she must also be a deadly opponent. Daisy looked away from the wallscreen image and up to Jacob.

  “Your support and allegiance to our battle group is very welcome,” Jacob said, his tone and manner nonchalant, as if Mehta’s defiance had never happened. “Keep watch on the enemy ships by way of your spysats. Report any behavior change to me. And move to the left flank of the Lepanto to cover the spot left open by the departure of Salamis. Monitor the remainder of my discussions with the other ships.”

  The woman spoke a few words to her XO, then nodded, her blue eyes bright. “The Philippines Sea is moving to your left flank. We stand ready to launch missiles and fire gas and proton lasers upon your orders.” Jefferson sat back, crossed gloved hands over her vacsuit and changed her mood. “Frankly, I don’t give a damn what your old rank was! You found the status code, changed the Lepanto’s status to Alert Hostile Enemy and actually did something when we lost all contact with our senior officers. Your launch of the Cloud Skimmer told us facts, versus useless speculation. I will always follow and support any officer who dares to act!”

  Jacob smiled briefly. Then his expression became sober serious. “Thank you, Acting Captain Jefferson. I rely upon the assistance of the Philippines Sea and her 113 personnel of all ranks. Working together, this battle group can present a deadly response to any enemy attack. Stand by and monitor.”

  “Monitoring.”

  Daisy sat back, feeling amazement at Jacob’s calmness in the face of defiance from one ship’s new captain. Was this an ability he had learned from his five star admiral father? She knew of his famous family heritage, even though he had never mentioned it. It was clear early on that Jacob was doing his best to earn respect by doing his ensign job to the best of his ability. The man had never asked Admiral Johanson for any special favors, nor sought to use his father’s name to influence others on board the Lepanto. That manner, joined with his welcoming of two enlisteds to the ensigns ward room, now made her even more determined to remain as his friend, his ally and, perhaps in the future, something more.

  In minutes the acting captains of the group’s four frigates had called in, had pledged their allegiance to Jacob’s leadership and had joined the images of the captains of the group’s two cruisers and two remaining destroyers. Counting the Lepanto, that gave them a battle group of nine ships versus the 12 enemy ships. Would they win a battle with the wasps? What secret weapons did the wasps possess that were unknown to the battle group?

  “O’Hara,” Jacob called firmly. “We have six spysats over there keeping an eye on the meeting site and the aliens at geosync. Move one of our spysats up orbit to a close pass-by of the largest alien ship. Let’s see what that ship looks like, close up.”

  “Changing vector of spysat A4,” O’Hara said quickly.

  Daisy fixed back on her holo of the enemy ships. But her armrest screen image of Jacob showed him leaning forward.

  “Power, Engines, Gravity, Life Support and Science, feed me your current status reports,” he called to the Bridge crew who had not been involved in any of the events of the last hour or so.

  “Science transmits status data,” called a man she recognized from her study of Command Deck staff. It was Willard Steinmetz. His deep booming voice echoed off the Bridge walls.

  “All fusion reactors are at full power output,” called Maggie Lowenstein from Power.

  “Fusion pulse engines are hot,” responded Akira M’Bala at Engines.

  Daisy listened as the other posts sent Jacob their status reports. It was, in a way, a means of distracting everyone from the uncertainty of the next few moments when the spysat would approach the enemy’s flagship. What would happen? Would a weapon fire on it? How would the wasps react to the departure of the Salamis? And how would the officers in charge of other decks on the Lepanto react to the sight of the destroyed meeting location, Jacob’s orders to the battle group and the defiance of one ship captain? She hoped the Lepanto’s officers would follow the manner of the cruiser captains. Now was not a time for disunity.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  “Alarm!” came the pheromone signal from a Servant at the control panel that monitored external space. “Soft Skin flying nest is changing position. It is leaving its perch above Warmth.”

  Many pheromones now filled the Flight Chamber. Hunter drew in the varied scents through his spiracles, focused his two major eyes on the perception imager that depicted the Soft Skin flying nest, and saw with his three minor eyes the spreading of wings among his Servants. The time for waiting had drawn to a close.

  “Prepare for attack flight against the Soft Skin flying nests,” he sent by way of a releaser pheromone mixed with a territorial pheromone to remind his fellow Swarmers of the need to defend their new home territory.

  “Propulsive devices are reaching peak heat,” said an older Servant with long experience in handling the devices that moved their nest by use of particle fusion events. The Servant’s compliance pheromone carried an overlay of aggregating pheromone.

  Hunter liked the creature’s emission of loyalty. The scent now spread among all Servants who worked in the Flight Chamber. “Speaker To All,” he scent cast to the young male Servant who managed the device that sent pheromone-laden words to the other flying nests in his two six-groups of mobile nests. “Advise the other Support Hunters to do as we do. Prepare to leave our high flight for an englobing attack on the Soft Skins.”

  “Scent transmitted by low sound signaler,” the Servant replied by way of a primer pheromone that signaled a change in behavior was now ordered for all Swarm members and cohorts.

  “Hunter!” called the first Servant. “A Soft Skin monitor globe moves up toward us. It is unknown if it carries a stinger.”

  “Allow the globe to approach us,” Hunter said by way of a sharp releaser pheromone. “Advise the Fighter Leader in charge of our sky bolt weapons to prepare his Fighters.”

  “Signal sent,” rasped the Servant in charge of between chambers communication. “What of our fellow flying nests?” she said by way of an aggregator pheromone mixed with a trail pheromone.

  Loyalty shown deserved confidence given by him. “Our fellow flying nests aggregate with us,” he scent cast. “Be not alarmed. Attend to scents on our nest levels and advise me of any alarm among our Workers.”

  The within nest communicator Servant flared her elderly wings. “Attending to the scents of other chambers!”

  Hunter watched the approach of the monitor globe. Let it come. They would meet it with a sky bolt. That would bring fear and chaos to the invaders. Already one Soft Skin nest had flown away in fright. More might do the same. While his two six-groups of ships could fa
tally sting all the Soft Skin nests, he welcomed the arrival of disunity among the Soft Skins. Their chaos gave him time and opportunity for imposing his command over the world of Warmth. Which reminded him of a last duty before they winged to the attack.

  “Matron,” he scent cast to the large female who occupied a bowl at the rear of his Flight Chamber. “Signal to your fellow Matrons on our other nests it is time to release the Pods! Send down our eggs with the Servants and Workers needed to raise them to adulthood. We must finish colonizing this new home nest before we fight the Soft Skins!”

  Rasping came from behind him, followed by a strong scent of primer pheromones.

  “Pods release is being sent to my fellow Matrons,” called the Swarmer who occupied the second most important post on any Swarm flying nest. His acoustic membranes heard her tapping on a pheromone signal device that allowed her independent communication with the other flying nests. “Scent has been sent to my Servants and Workers on this nest who will ride the Pods down to the new nest of Warmth!”

  Hunter’s four foot pads felt the floor of the chamber vibrate as twelve six-groups of Pods flew out of his flying nest the way some plants on Nest shot forth their own seeds. Similar vibrations would be felt by the Support Hunters on the other flying nests of the Swarm. One more new nest was now being colonized. The Soft Skin and Hard Shell life below them would be rich food sources for the newborn larvae of the many Pods now raining down on Warmth. The Servants and Workers would sting any large creature, paralyze it and bring it back to a Pod to serve as food for the new lives. Such was the way it had been on Nest for long generations. Such was the way it would be on Warmth, the ninth world colonized by the Swarm. Briefly, he wondered if the two-legged Soft Skins who flew about in their own flying nests would understand the meaning of the Pods descent. No matter. The Pods would reach the warm soil of Warmth well before the Swarm came within stinger range of the intruding Soft Skins. Perhaps some Soft Skins would survive the attack of the Swarm. Any that did would be added to the paralyzed food that would nourish the first generation of Swarmers on the world of Warmth.