StarFight 1: Battlestar

by T. Jackson King

  “Lieutenant Branstead, will you come up here?”

  The woman released her seat straps, stood up and came to stand in front of him. She stood beside O’Connor. Who was resting his chin on his right fist as he thought about the wasp reply. Daisy was busy with her situational holo and the imagery of the wasp ships. Plus she was sending text messages to people on other decks. No doubt confirming everyone was on duty and at battle stations as part of the ship’s continuing Alert Combat Ready status.

  “What is your pleasure, acting captain?” Branstead said, her hands behind her back as she stood at parade rest.

  “What do you make of this signal that tells us to head back to planet four, allow our ships to be surrounded, then for all of us to head down to the surface of planet four?”

  She frowned. Then her gaze fixed on him. “I don’t trust it. Why should we put our ships and our people at risk? These are the aliens who killed our senior officers. Now, they invite us all to come down to the planet? They could launch another plasma lightning strike, then take over our orbiting ships at the same time.” She paused, licked her lips, glanced back to the wallscreen, then back to him. “While I admit we may have made an error in coming into the system after getting the mysterious signal from the wasp satellite, we did not know the wasps were claiming this system for their colony. They only sent down colonists after attacking our officers. They could do it again.”

  Jacob thought the woman had put into good wordage his own thoughts. “Agreed. The battle group will continue out to the magnetosphere and head for Kepler 10. Should we make any reply?”

  She nodded sharply. “Yes. Resend our new cartoon video. Resend it five times just to be sure every wasp ship perceives it. We are leaving this system. They can have it. Maybe they won’t follow us.”

  Jacob nodded, then looked to the man next to her. “Chief Warrant Officer O’Connor, what are your thoughts?”

  The man waved dismissively at the front wallscreen image. “Like the Science chief said, I don’t trust it. Resend our recent video. But these wasps have set a pattern of attacking us even as we retreat from their system. They will continue to attack us. Either just before we leave, or in Kepler 10. I am certain they will follow us there.”

  He felt his fingers tingle. Combat might be impending. Or it might not happen until Kepler 10. Now he better understood his classes on managing stress in groups of people. He’d thought it silly at the time. Now, he understood the training was aimed at helping Star Navy crews cope with extended uncertainty amidst a deadly situation.

  “I agree,” Jacob said. “Engines, move us up to eleven percent of lightspeed. Power, increase fusion reactor energy flows. Tactical and Weapons, be alert for sudden moves by the enemy.” He paused, looked around, then his situational holo reminded him of the rest of his duty. “Melody, is the neutrino link to the other ships still active?”

  “It is,” she said in a husky feminine tone. “Do you not recall that I have always advised you of any change to the last orders you give me?”

  What was it with the AI? “All ships, speed up to eleven percent of lightspeed. Maintain Alert Combat Ready status. Be alert to any change in wasp enemy ship behaviors. Confirm back to me your compliance.”

  “Speeding up,” came the words and face of Swanson from Chesapeake.

  “Stoking our reactors. Accelerating. Maintaining status,” said Wilcox from the Hampton Roads, sounding a bit touchy and grumpy.

  Well, Jacob knew he felt touchy, grumpy and full of nerves. The other ships responded similarly, the images of their captains appearing as small icons across the top of the front wallscreen. The images disappeared shortly after they appeared to acknowledge his orders. Even Mehta of Salamis responded briefly.

  “XO, do you detect any change in wasp ship formation?”

  “None,” Daisy said quickly.

  “I do!” called Rosemary from Tactical. “Just this moment all six wasp ships increased their speed to eleven percent. Looks like they do not wish to be left behind.”

  “Tactical, thank you.”

  Jacob now saw that change in his own situational holo. His own copy of Daisy’s ship cross-section holo showed their isotope fuel reserves were at 81 percent full. Well, once they all hit eleven psol, they would shut off the fusion pulse main thrusters on each ship. Momentum would carry them through the cometary belt and out to the magnetosphere. Course every ship would reactivate their main thrusters in order to make the final vector lineup for Kepler 10. Once that was done, he would have Louise of Navigation establish a neutrino comlink so every ship activated their Alcubierre stardrives at the same moment. Doing it that way meant all nine ships should emerge at the outer edge of Kepler 10 at the same time.

  Now, all he had to do was sit in place for five more hours. And be patient. Mentally he cursed patience.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Hunter One watched as, long wing beats after the Soft Skin repeat of their first map signal, the Soft Skin flying nests neared the edge of the local sky light’s magnetic field. It was time.

  “Speaker To All Servant, advise our five allied nests to move outward,” he said in a flow of alarm and trail pheromones. “Warn them of the need to make visual and radiation perception records of the direction and angle the Soft Skin nests take before they enter the alternate dimension.”

  “Scent casting your words and scents, my leader,” the young male replied with a strong dose of aggregation and territorial pheromones.

  He liked the youth’s emphasis on loyalty and protection of their nests. Now for the other vital Servant. “Flight Servant, work your panel to record the exact direction and angle of the fleeing Soft Skins.”

  “Your wishes are my life,” scent cast the male at that post.

  Hunter One went scent silent, content to watch the behavior of the Soft Skins. He doubted the outward movement of his fellow nests would cause any violent action by these defiers of the natural order. Still, he stayed alert.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  “Captain!” called Rosemary. “The wasp ships are changing position. They are moving outward. But they are not coming closer to us.”

  Daisy saw what the Tactical chief reported. Her own situational holo was finely detailed. Its depiction of all solid objects in the Kepler 22 system was so real she sometimes felt she could reach out and take hold of a wasp ship. Or push their own ship faster forward. She looked aside to the ship cross-section holo. All decks of the Lepanto were sealed against pressure loss and all weapons stations were occupied. Including the right front outrigger pod laser node that Quincy operated. Hopefully there would be no sneak attack just before they went Alcubierre.

  “I see it,” came the deep voice of Jacob from behind her. “Navigation, any sign of a course vector change by the wasps?”

  “None,” Louise said hurriedly.

  To Daisy’s right, Richard gripped his armrests, though his face looked calm and relaxed.

  She felt reassured to see that even an old combat veteran could become tense as the moment of truth neared.

  “Science, what is your take on the wasp ship movements?” called Jacob.

  She looked to the right end of the front row of function stations. Willard might be portly, but she had never observed him be less than alert at his station. The man tapped his control pillar, then spoke.

  “Acting captain, I believe the wasp ships are preparing to triangulate on our vector track for Kepler 10,” Willard said thoughtfully. “The outward movement of their six ships will allow them to increase the triangulation angle for their visual and sensor records of our vector track. They will know our course vector to within a stellar second.”

  “Well, we expected that. Navigation, compute our vector track for Kepler 10. Once you have the exact angle and direction, transmit the settings to the other battle group ships.”

  “Acting captain, computing our track,” the red-haired woman said.

  Daisy watched as Louise tapped her control pillar, transmitted by neutrino comli
nk the course vector, then called to Jacob. “Acting captain, I am ready to transmit the Alcubierre space-time stardrive activation signal.”

  “Good,” Jacob said. “Engines, activate the Alcubierre stardrive. Prepare to initiate space-time modulus creation.

  “Activating,” called Akira. “Ready to initiate.”

  “Navigation, cross-link your post to Engines. Maintain the neutrino comlink signal.”

  “My post is cross-linked,” Louise said. “Comlink signal active.”

  “Engines, all ships, initiate Alcubierre stardrive transition.”

  Daisy watched as the front wallscreen went from true space active to a sudden wash of gray.

  That was it. There was no vibration, no howl of engines, nothing. The Alcubierre stardrive was a solid state microelectronic wonder combined with a gravity generator that warped space ahead of them into a smaller zone, while expanding the space-time to their rear. The expanding space pushed the Lepanto and the other eight ships of the battle group out into deep space at a velocity beyond imagining. She just knew that they moved now at 25 light years per day.

  “We’re on our way. All ships, change ship status to Alert Alcubierre Transition. You have permission to move ship weapons to standby status,” Jacob said.

  Responses came in by way of the neutrino comlink that allowed all battle group ships to speak instantly no matter the distance between them, or the fact they were now moving faster than lightspeed. The neutrino comlink signals traveled through an alternate dimension, she recalled from her academy classes. She let out a sigh.

  “Acting captain, can we all please get the hell out of these stinky vacsuits!”

  Jacob’s laugh was the first honest laugh she had heard from him in many hours.

  “All personnel on the Lepanto, you are free to remove vacsuits. Verify weapons moved to standby. Mess Hall, prepare for a rush. All deck chiefs, set a priority list for your staff to take relief breaks, eat a meal and get some rest,” Jacob said. “Ship is now back to routine shifts.”

  She smiled. Now she was free to think about just which dress of hers would be exactly perfect for the Dance Night rendezvous with Jacob!

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Hunter One watched as the nine Soft Skin ships disappeared into the alternate dimension that allowed swift travel among the sky lights that filled the flight space of cold darkness. He focused all his eyes on the Servant who monitored radiations from the outside.

  “Servant,” he scent cast to that Swarmer. “Do you and your fellow Servants on the other flying nests have the exact flight angle and direction of the fleeing Soft Skins?”

  “I do,” the Servant replied in a strong flow of aggregation and trail pheromones. “It is being shared with the Servant who handles our propulsive devices.”

  Hunter did not object to the initiative shown by the Servant. It was the logical action after his earlier commands. He looked to the elder female who monitored events in external space.

  “Servant, what does this new flight track tell us about the Soft Skins? What sky light do they fly to?”

  The female fluttered her wings, then lifted her antennae stiffly. “Hunter One, the new flight track aims at many sky lights. However, a yellow sky light very similar to the one about which Warmth now wings lies not far from us. Other yellow sky lights glow on this flight track, but further away.”

  He had expected that news. “How long a flight is it to the nearest yellow sky light?”

  “A journey of three sleep cycles,” she said in a flow of aggregation, signal and trail pheromones. “If this is a colony sky light of the Soft Skins, then we know the Soft Skins are very close to Warmth.”

  So it seemed. Strengthening his pheromone flow so the other flying nests would scent his determination to pursue, he rasped his hard shell and spoke. “Propulsive device Servant, prepare the alternate dimension device. Let us follow these Soft Skins to their new nest. Surely we will then attack and kill every Soft Skin hiding from us!”

  The flows of excitement pheromones reached a peak. Hunter One soaked in those scents and knew he still led the Swarm.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Aarhant Bannerjee sat in his private quarters on Navigation Deck, running through his mind the options before him. The young whelp had been lucky. The wasp aliens had not again attacked the battle group. Did the luck of the youth’s father even reach out to affect aliens? He did not understand how the young whelp had been able to make the right action choices when faced with unpredictable and violent aliens, even as junior officers on other ships figured out how to fly and fight their ships. The loss of the frigate Britain was sad, but Aarhant had expected much greater losses. Now, they were headed for Kepler 10. At least it had a Star Navy base that orbited the fourth planet of the system. A Command level captain was in charge of the base, according to his check of routine Star Navy assignments for colonial star systems. Surely the captain at the base would recognize his right to command the Battlestar!

  “Lieutenant Commander Bannerjee, there is an incoming neutrino signal from the Salamis. Its captain responds to your earlier signal to him,” the mouthy AI said, her tone a melody he did not care for.

  At last! He’d put in the private signal call not long after they entered Alcubierre. It was two hours later and only now had Mehta seen fit to respond. He took a deep breath and worked to school the expression on his face. Unlike many on the Battlestar he did not have a beard that could hide his facial expressions. There was no way he was going to antagonize Mehta.

  “Put through his vidcom signal to this room’s wallscreen.”

  “Linking signal to your wallscreen,” the AI murmured tunefully.

  The flat screen that covered part of one wall of his relaxation room now filled with the long black hair, dark brown skin and brooding eyes of Chatur Mehta. The man was not on his ship’s Bridge. Instead, he appeared to be in his own captain’s quarters, judging by the spaciousness of the relaxation room where he now sat on a red leather seat.

  “Bannerjee, I’m responding to your call. Only now could I leave the Bridge to my XO. What do you want?”

  Aarhant restrained his first impulse. Which was to tell the man to speak more respectfully to him. That he could not do. Mehta was a lieutenant commander just like him. Equal ranks meant careful conversation.

  “To be blunt, I should be commanding the Lepanto,” he said, deciding to credit the man for a basic awareness of staffing on the Battlestar. “You may know I now command the Navigation Deck. I am the senior surviving officer on this ship. I plan to make my case for taking command shortly after we arrive in Kepler 10.” He paused, breathed deep and made sure to show no sign of nervousness. “What are your thoughts? Would you accept me as the commander of the battle group once I gain command of the Battlestar?”

  Mehta pursed his lips sourly. “Did you see and hear my comments to Renselaer, before the aliens attacked? That I felt it my duty to leave and warn Earth Command?”

  “I did. The young whelp continues to defy Command tradition by feeding all our decks a continuous vidcom of his chatter with other ship captains and with his Bridge people.”

  Mehta lifted a thick black eyebrow. “So I am aware. It is a primary reason why I turned back to help fight off the wasp aliens. Star Navy regulations required that I do so, as perhaps you heard. Once we arrive at Kepler 10, I had planned to leave for Earth before the aliens arrive.”

  “You think they will follow us to Kepler 10?” Aarhant said, his heart beating too fast. “That seems improbable to me.”

  Mehta squinted. “It is in keeping with their actions to date. They attacked our meeting site. They attacked the battle group twice. They paralleled our course out to Kepler 22’s magnetosphere. They are competent star travelers. I am certain they will follow us, once they confirm the presence of a nearby G-type star on our outbound track.”

  The man’s statement made his plans more complicated. “If the aliens follow us, this Battlestar needs the experience of a senior rankin
g officer. Myself. Will you support me?”

  The man blinked black eyes. “If the Star Navy base captain puts you in command of the Battlestar and of the battle group, yes, I will accept that change of command.”

  Aarhant detected a distinct lack of enthusiasm in the man’s deep voice. “Will you signal the base captain on my behalf? Will you support my assumption of command of the Battlestar?”

  “No,” Mehta said, reaching to one side to grab a bottle of what looked like spring water. “Your ship is your issue, not mine. Unlike some at Earth Command, I do not care for politics. Nor do I care for it in the battle group when we are in a state of armed combat.” He took a sip from the bottle. “While early on I doubted Renselaer’s right to command the Battlestar, he has done better with it and with the battle group than some senior officers I know.” The clean-shaven man let his words linger, causing Aarhant to wonder if the last comment was aimed at him. “I will comply with any order given by the Star Navy base captain. If the aliens arrive and attack us, or the colony on the fourth planet, I will do my duty and lead the Salamis in fighting the aggressors. Beyond that, I will not play at musical chairs.”

  The reference to an ancient American past-time game shocked Aarhant. He had thought Mehta was a loyal follower of ancient Hindu culture. The castes of India had worked well to lead the people of Earth’s second largest population. Now, this man was refusing to endorse him and his argument for following tradition on the Lepanto. One potential ally lost. Perhaps there would be others.

  “Captain Mehta, I thank you for this conversation. It has clarified my thinking on these issues. Good day.”

  The black eyes of Mehta scanned him, his face neutral. “You are welcome. Good day.”

  Mehta’s image vanished. The wallscreen returned to the three dee depiction of Nepal and the Himalayan Mountains that were the ancestral home of the Bannerjee clan.

  He sat in his own black leather seat, drumming his fingers on the arms of the overstuffed seat. First, Swanson had refused him. Now, Mehta had done the same. Who else could he bring to his side in the two and a half days that remained before they arrived at Kepler 10? The Marine leader was out. He had spent hours on the Bridge, assisting the whelp. Were there other deck chiefs who might support him? Time to find out.