StarFight 1: Battlestar

by T. Jackson King

Jacob was not about to ask the man if he accepted Jacob’s command authority. He knew the answer to that question. The man’s continued reference to the battle group gave a sign of the best approach. “Acting Captain Mehta, I would ask that you stay with the battle group after our arrival at Kepler 10. Hold off on setting course for Earth until I contact the Star Navy base and learn their wishes. Also, we will remain in Alert Combat Ready status upon arrival since the wasp ships may follow us to Kepler 10. Can I have your cooperation?”

  Mehta’s lips curled in a sour look. His black eyes blinked. “I will hold off on heading to Earth until contact is made with the Star Navy base at Kepler 10. My ship will assist any other Star Navy ship that is attacked by these aliens. Satisfied!”

  Jacob showed an easy smile. “Very satisfied. Your return to assist the battle group was commendable. I will so state to the Star Navy base captain. Your continued cooperation in group defense is appreciated. Lepanto out.”

  “Salamis out!”

  Silence filled the Bridge as Jacob’s encounter with the rebel ship captain ended.

  Below him, O’Connor looked up. The man’s gray eyes fixed on Jacob. His thin lips curved up in a small smile. “Nicely done, acting captain. Putting him in the position of having to defend the battle group, in compliance with Star Navy regs, was exactly right. Neither of you got into personal issues.” The man reached up and ran stubby fingers through his white crewcut hair. His expression sobered. “More importantly, lives depend on the cooperation of you, Mehta and every other acting captain in the battle group. Let’s hope our hull repairs continue without incident and that we arrive at the magnetosphere without another wasp attack.”

  Jacob breathed deep. The pragmatic manner of O’Connor told him once more he had done the right thing in inviting the man up to serve as his combat advisor. Now, would the next 28 hours be calm, peaceful and devoid of laser beams and lightning bolts? He hoped so. He was tired. While the Awake pills taken by him, Daisy and everyone else on the Battlestar kept them awake and alert, the fatigue of not sleeping built up in the body. Already his muscles felt sore. Already his back hurt. Already he wanted to sleep.

  “Communications, is the All Ship vidcom still active?”

  “Acting captain, it is,” Osashi said, his voice sounding almost eager in his response.

  Well, at least all of his Bridge crew were loyal to him. “All personnel, maintain Alert Combat Ready status. However, the enemy has retreated to a distance of a hundred thousand kilometers. The enemy shows no sign of a renewed attack. Enemy parallels our course outward.” He paused, licked his lips and wished he had a bottle of spring water. “Therefore, all deck chiefs are advised to allow half of their personnel to take a sleep and food break of no more than ten hours. Upon their return, allow the other half a similar break. When we approach the magnetosphere boundary, make sure all personnel are awake and at combat posts.”

  Cheers came over the vidcom holo as regular folks reacted to good news.

  “Yes!” cried Rosemary from up front, lifting up her pale white arms and stretching. “Damn, but I’m sore. Acting captain, can I be in the first break group?”

  He smiled. Her Tactical position had been front and center ever since he’d arrived on the Bridge. “Yes, Chief Petty Officer O’Hara, you may take a ten hour break. As may your colleagues at Power, Gravity, Navigation and Communications. Everyone else, stay here and suffer.”

  Laughter filled the Bridge.

  Briefly, for a few moments, Jacob was ready to join the laughter. Then the ghosts of seventy-one dead came to him from the flaming atoms of the Britain. The hairs rose up on the back of his neck. A chill ran down both arms. The tips of his fingers tingled. The discomfort he felt vanished as memories flooded in. Joining them were family memories. The image of his dead mother stayed in the forefront of his mind over the following hours.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Jacob looked over the quarters that had belonged to Captain Miglotti. He saw there was a modest relaxation room with one wall providing high density holo imagery of a place in the Italian Alps. Birds flew in the living color holo. A red fox moved along a shallow ravine. In the distance tromped a small herd of white sheep, moving along at the nipping of a black and white collie dog. Distant whistles said the dog’s master was somewhere out of sight.

  The wall holo fit Miglotti’s Italian heritage. He may have grown up in Cleveland, but Italy was his first and enduring love. Looking to the left he saw a dark wood cello instrument, man high, that the captain must have loved playing if he used part of his shipboard weight limit to bring it onboard. Between Jacob and the two side walls were a small couch on the left, a tall disk case on the right that held antique DVDs and in the middle lay a Persian-style rug that covered the gray metal of the room’s floor. Looking beyond he saw the far end of the room held a Food Alcove with fridge, sink and microwave. A pull-out counter allowed for the making of fresh foods, versus the Nutrition Paks that were the emergency stocks on Supplies Deck. He pulled off his vacsuit and helmet and tossed them into a corner of the relaxation room.

  Walking ahead, his left shoulder supporting the small weight of the green duffle that held his personal clothing and mementoes, he saw an opening on the left. The open archway led to a bedroom with a real, normal waterbed, that no doubt was bolted to the room’s floor. Above the twin size bed, affixed to the gray metal wall, was an actual oil painting. It showed some famous woman opera singer. Or he assumed she was famous. Otherwise why have a picture of her? On the right was the outline of a clothing cubicle. The left side of the rectangular room had a glass slidedoor. When he slid it into the wall he saw the bathroom space. It held a sink, a suction-based toilet and a shower alcove. A reflective metal mirror filled the wall above the sink. Turning away, he went into the bedroom, sat on the end of the bed and looked out through the archway to the relaxation room beyond. He noticed a rectangular outline in that room’s far wall. It must be the fold-down work desk, since he saw no such item in the bedroom. With a start he realized music had just come on. A woman singing some kind of opera swept down from the ceiling of the bedroom. There was no sign of family pictures anywhere. Well, he could fix that.

  Minutes later he had Miglotti’s clothes piled on the front room’s couch, the DVDs stuffed alongside the clothes, with the oil painting on top. Shaving and tooth cleaning items from the bathroom lay next to the painting. The cello now lay against the side of the couch. He walked over to the work desk site, touched the upper right corner of the outline and stepped back as the flat metal of the desk folded out. Just like in his ensign’s quarters. A flat padded seat came out below the desk, emerging from a slot in the wall below the desk. It protruded out just enough for someone to sit on it and do stuff atop the work desk. Grabbing his duffle he pulled out his two flat pictures and the holo cube, put them on the empty shelves that were inset into the desk’s wall, laid his tablet on the work desk, and put hands on his hips as he stared at his Mom’s image and the barn and horse image. They were the images that had floated through his mind as he watched Bridge crew leave for their ten hour food break and sleep escape.

  Movement drew his eyes down to where his hands rested on top of his dress blue pants. His fingers were shaking. Both hands could not stay still. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and focused on the memory of the old barn at his former home. The green trees behind it and the sweet smell of yellow hay had always helped him relax after one of his father’s verbal lashings. Two minutes later he opened his eyes and looked down. Unmoving were his fingers. Good. His quarters were the one place he could allow his anxiety over being in command of 321 people, and the leader of eight other starships, to become visible. Still, the shakes bothered him. In the past he’d been shaky or hyper-nerved only when dealing with his father. He got up, turned around and walked to the bedroom, then into the bathroom. He touched an icon on the wall above the sink. A tray slid out. His shaving and tooth cleaning items lay there. Beside them were several pill packets.

/>   Should he take an anti-anxiety pill? That was way better than a meth pile. He was already too nerved up from the shock of being in command, the bigger shock of space combat, and the final shock of the deaths of the people on the Britain. A third packet drew his attention. It held pot pills, commercial grade. He opened two packets, filled the plastic cup with water and downed a pot pill and an anxiety pill. Turning away, he sat on the bed. Then he lay down. The opera singer music flowed through the room. Closing his eyes, Jacob told himself he could handle the shocks. He could handle the stress. He could handle the politics that came with being a commander. But could he handle his yearning to be close to Daisy?

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Daisy watched from her XO seat as Lieutenant Branstead walked onto the Bridge and handed a small memory block to Jacob. Like her and everyone else, she wore her vacsuit with helmet pushed back. She looked up as she gave the block to Jacob.

  “Acting captain, here’s the cartoon video you asked for. Sorry it took so long, but my people argued over just how simple to make the imagery,” she said.

  “Thank you,” Jacob said, taking the block from her. He inspected it, then looked back to the Science Deck chief. “Do you wish to remain here while I transmit it to the aliens?”

  “Yes,” Branstead said, giving a nod to O’Connor and Daisy. She waved over to Willard at the Science post. “I’ll join your people in one of the rear observation seats.”

  “Very good,” Jacob said, his expression neutral even though his voice sounded pleased. He inserted the block into a slot on his seat’s left armrest, then looked up. “Melody, transmit the contents of the memory block I just installed on my seat to the six enemy ships. Use the frequency that the enemy used upon our arrival at the fourth planet. Repeat the transmission five times.”

  “Understood. Frequency selected. First transmission going out. Video runs for approximately one point seven minutes,” the AI said, her tone almost relaxed. “Do you wish the video displayed on the wallscreen?”

  “I do,” Jacob said. “Please display any incoming enemy response alongside the video. And resume neutrino transmission of all events on this Bridge, including the video, to the other ships in the battle group. Also transmit Bridge events over the All Ship vidcom.”

  “Neutrino link to other ships established. All Ship vidcom transmission resumed. Acting Captain Renselaer, are all humans as redundant in their language as you are?”

  Daisy felt surprise at the personal tone of the AI’s words. While the depth of algorithms in the AI allowed it to well imitate human emotions, behaviors and language, she had never heard it act as if it cared what it did, or what any human did. Was this AI developing a true self-awareness?

  Jacob’s image in her Bridge holo looked startled, then he smiled. “Some humans do chatter redundantly. Others do not.”

  “Does one gender speak more redundantly than another gender?” the AI asked, her tone sounding almost human-normal.

  Jacob chuckled. “That question must go unanswered in the interests of Bridge harmony!”

  Daisy joined the soft laughter that came from Rosemary, Maggie, Louise, Cassandra, Akira, Branstead and Lori. But her duties drew her attention. She focused on the situational holo that showed the six wasp ships holding position at nearly 100,000 kilometers out, along with their nine ships and the asteroid belt they had passed some hours back. They had five hours to go until they reached the local Kuiper belt of comets and the system’s magnetosphere. The repairs to battle group ships and to the wasp ships had ended some hours ago. Since then, there had been no sign of aggressive behavior by the wasps. But that could change at any moment.

  “Incoming wasp signal!” called Andrew at Communications.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Hunter One had just returned to his bench in the Flight Chamber of his nest when the Servant responsible for monitoring external perception signals let loose a flurry of alarm pheromones.

  “Hunter! The largest Soft Skin nest sends us an imagery signal similar to the one we sent them when they arrived above the world of Warmth! Shall I display it?”

  “Yes!” he said with a strong mix of releaser, trail and territorial pheromones. “Let us see what scent these creatures now attempt.”

  The largest perception imager, which filled the chamber’s wall in front of the main group of Servants, lost its image of dark cold space and was filled with a kind of land map image. Simple outlines depicted his people, his nests and the flying nests of the Soft Skins with outlines of Soft Skins. A series of outline images first showed things as they were. The six Swarmer ships moved along the same flight path as the nine Soft Skin ships. They moved well beyond the four worlds brightened by the central sky light. Then the imagery changed. The new imagery showed his six Swarmer nests curving about and flying back to Warmth. The next image showed his nests landing on Warmth. A further image showed small versions of Swarmers gathered around images of full size Swarmers. The final image showed the nine Soft Skin ships moving out to the far edge of the local sky light, then disappearing. But a series of small dots made a flight track that moved outward. The wall imager went blank, then the imagery signal began to repeat.

  He put all five eyes on the older male Servant who studied aberrant social behavior. “Servant! How do you understand the message of these images?”

  The faded yellow of the Servant’s hard shell was bright under the chamber’s white lighting. Two major and three small eyes looked his way. Two black antennae dipped toward him, signaling his acceptance of Hunter’s dominance. His upper appendages rasped his shell even as a complex flood of pheromones came from the Servant.

  “The Soft Skins show they understand we have settled the world of Warmth with our larvae and helpers. They suggest our six-group should return to Warmth, there to land and be made welcome by our colonists.” The Servant breathed deep through his spiracles. His position on his bench shifted. The creature’s head and thorax lowered in further acceptance of Hunter’s dominance. “The nine Soft Skin nests propose they fly out to the edge of the sky light’s magnetic field, there to disappear in some far distance.”

  “Will the Soft Skins return?” he scent cast a strong signal pheromone.

  The compound lenses of the Servant’s two major eyes seemed bright under the chamber’s light. “Unknown. What the Soft Skins do after they leave this sky light is not shown. They might return. They might never return.”

  Hunter knew what he would do in the place of the Soft Skins. It was what any Swarmer cohort would do when engaged in a nearly equal sky battle with another cohort. He shifted his gaze to the young female who had led the efforts to restore the front energy unit so power could be delivered to his nest’s front ring of stinger tubes.

  “Stinger Servant, how do you scent this flight imagery?”

  “It is an image of deception,” she scent cast in a mix of aggregation, alarm and signal pheromones. “Leader, these Soft Skins wish us to return to Warmth, then to leave our flying nests. When we leave our nests, those nests will be vulnerable to a new attack from these invaders! While they say they will leave, nothing prevents them from hopping to the far side of this sky light’s boundary, there to reappear behind the sky light. We might not see their return until too late!”

  The maneuver was one he had not considered. He kept it in mind for a future encounter with the Soft Skins. But now, he must reply to this imagery. And he must make a reply that would satisfy the Support Hunters on the other five nests. And also please the Matron who rested behind him. Her scent was one of intense curiosity. Well, he could deal with these Soft Skins.

  “Speaker To All, prepare a reply image signal. Use parts of this imagery. Show the Soft Skin nests turning around and flying to Warmth. Show our six nests englobing the Soft Skin nests. Upon arrival at Warmth, show the Soft Skins leaving their nests and landing on Warmth,” he scent cast, then drew in several quick breaths. “The Soft Skins will then become food for our new larvae as we sting them into paralysis!”


  Excitement pheromones came now from all the Servants in the Flight Chamber. Those pheromones, along with his strong aggregation pheromone, would quickly flow out to the other nests. The Support Hunters would recognize his proposal as a classic Swarmer cohort response to an invading cohort. Come and die for us so we may feed our larvae! No Swarmer cohort that was defending a nest would ever allow an invading cohort to escape. They might return stronger than the defending Swarmer cohort. Best to englobe and sting to death any invading cohort before the cohort could call in allies. So had spoken the long history of the Swarm on Nest. It was the reason his two six-groups of flying nests were fitted with three rings of stingers. No Swarmer group setting out to build a new colony nest ever traveled anywhere without their most deadly Fighters and Fighter Leaders!

  “Response signal will go out as you command,” replied Speaker To All in a strong mix of aggregation, trail and territory pheromones.

  Hunter One settled back on his bench. He would not attack the Soft Skins, since they might surrender of their own choice. If they did not surrender, but continued out to the edge of the magnetic field, he and his allies would follow this invading cohort to another sky light. Perhaps the new sky light would have worlds about it suitable for Swarmer colonization. If a Soft Skin nest world lay at the new sky light, so much the better. More Soft Skins meant more opportunities for capturing live food while his Servants studied their means of talking about themselves. For where one group of Soft Skins flew and nested, other Soft Skin groups were soon to visit. He and his people would be ready for such a future visit!

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Jacob watched the wasp reply play out on the front wallscreen. It was not an agreement to what they had proposed. It was something else. He looked back over his shoulder to where Branstead sat next to Lori and Carlos. The Aussie woman’s high-cheeked face was scrunched up as she watched the reply cartoon video.