TFS Theseus: The Terran Fleet Command Saga – Book 2

by Tori Harris

  “Ensign, I need Captain Prescott from Ingenuity shuttled over here immediately. Please let Captain Davis know that we are going to risk the flight. Depending on how that goes, we may go ahead and allow Ingenuity to deorbit within the hour.”

  “Yes, Admiral, sending now.”

  TFS Ingenuity

  (5 km astern of TFS Navajo)

  “Captain,” Lieutenant Dubashi reported from the Communications console, “Navajo is transmitting the ‘captain repair aboard flag’ signal again, sir.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant. Please let Flight Ops know that I will be departing after all.” Prescott turned to Commander Reynolds and Admiral Naftur with a disconsolate look on his face. “I’m guessing that means he just got around to reading the AI’s mission report.”

  Naftur studied him for a long moment before replying. Then leaned forward and spoke into his tablet in a low voice, pausing the translation before handing it to Prescott for a reply that only he could hear. “I would counsel you to avoid spending too much time worrying about the importance of your role in this story so far, for better or worse. The same can be said for all of your other officers, for me, and for Admiral Patterson as well. Nor does responsibility for the ultimate outcome rest on any one set of shoulders alone. I understand the anxiety you feel, and I share it. Keep in mind, however, that Admiral Patterson’s view of the situation has a completely different frame of reference. You must not assume that his desire to speak with you in person as quickly as possible has anything to do with any impropriety on your part. I would be very surprised and indeed disappointed if that were truly the case. I can assure you that he has much more pressing matters to which he is attending. If it helps you feel any better, I believe I can objectively say that I can find no fault with any of your actions since our rendezvous at Gliese 667 C, and doubt that he will either. What you do have is critical, time-sensitive information. This, he does require immediately in order to make the best decisions possible. The ship’s report will have provided some of the information he needs, but there is no substitute for a face-to-face conversation with his battlefield commander. Take heart, young Captain, you may yet survive to fight another day.”

  Prescott stared intently at the Wek’s expressive, leonine face as the tablet played back the translation using a perfectly synthesized facsimile of the admiral’s actual voice. Well, then, he chuckled to himself, I think I may have just become the first Human being to receive an ass-chewing from an extra-terrestrial … and the funny thing is that I absolutely had it coming! Let’s see, summarizing in Human terms, he said, ‘Suck it up and drive on, kid, because none of this is about you!’ Prescott looked around the bridge momentarily, letting out a long sigh before replying, “I apologize, Admiral. You are absolutely right and I greatly appreciate your candor. Even in the midst of momentous events, it’s all too easy to start thinking in a selfish manner. I know better and will do better.”

  Naftur chuckled on hearing the playback of Prescott’s reply and simply nodded in return — also aware that he had just issued a mild reprimand to a member of a different species. As a senior military commander in an alliance spanning seven star systems, however, managing subordinate commanders from multiple civilizations was just a routine part of the job.

  TFS Navajo

  Although the Navajo-class cruisers had been developed primarily as a massive weapons platform, the design still provided significant capabilities to handle flight operations. Just as with the much smaller destroyers and frigates, the stern was dominated by the ship’s primary flight apron, used for launch and recovery of various types of smaller spacecraft. This included the ubiquitous Sherpa Autonomous Space Vehicle, often referred to by TFC personnel as simply the “shuttle.” Although they tended to rack up more flight time than just about any other type of small spacecraft, due primarily to the wide range of missions they handled, they were widely considered one of the least attractive ships ever produced. In fact, their less official, and certainly less sophisticated moniker was simply the “turd.” Anyone seeing their shape for the first time was immediately clear on where the nickname had originated, and the standard, brownish-gray color scheme widely used by TFC only served to further reinforce that impression. Despite her many detractors, the Sherpa had an ingenious, modular design, many features of which had been in use well before the introduction of Pelaran-based technologies. They were relatively fast for a utility/transport vessel, and could be quickly reconfigured to handle various types of missions from cargo delivery to personnel transport. In addition, a heavily armored (and similarly armed) version of the ASV with more powerful engines and gravitic systems, known as the Gurkha, was currently being deployed as TFC’s first assault transport.

  As Captain Prescott emerged from the cargo ramp at the rear of his shuttle, the Navajo’s AI sounded the traditional boatswain’s “Pipe the Side” call, followed by the announcement “Ingenuity, arriving,” to signify the presence of a visiting ship’s captain aboard.

  Flag Captain Ogima Davis approached from the forward entrance to the hangar deck with an outstretched hand. “It’s quite an honor to have a living legend aboard,” he said with a mischievous grin.

  “Uh huh, you clearly haven’t read Ingenuity’s mission report yet. The ‘legend’ part I humbly accept,” Prescott mocked, bowing his head slightly, “but the ‘living’ part may only last until Admiral KP gets me alone somewhere. In fact, you might want to assign me a Marine security detail,” he laughed.

  “What did you do now, Prescott, fly off on another top secret mission in that super frigate of yours and start a war or something?”

  “Something like that, yeah. Hey, maybe your ‘babysitter’ will let you read my report if you behave yourself,” he said, raising his eyebrows. It was unusual for two senior officers to be afforded the opportunity for an open, friendly conversation aboard ship without being behind closed doors. In this case, however, the activity and background noise on the cruiser’s massive flight deck provided the two captains a rare moment of privacy.

  “Oh yeah, the old man’s gonna have nothing but love for you.”

  “In that, I have no doubt, my friend. It’s good to see you, Ogima. How’s life as a ‘flag captain?’” Prescott asked, referring to Davis’ current assignment as the officer in nominal command of the admiral’s flagship. Since the days of sailing vessels, the job had been considered somewhat of a dubious honor since the admiral’s presence aboard tended to significantly diminish the captain’s authority to exercise command of his own ship. For that reason, the role tended to be assigned to relatively junior captains even though the flagship itself, which was typically a major combatant, would normally warrant the presence of a senior captain nearing their own promotion to admiral.

  “I can’t complain, or at least I don’t complain much … especially since there’s no one to complain to when you’re the boss. In all seriousness, most days I feel guilty and selfish for enjoying my job so much. You know, with the world coming to an end and what not,” Davis said, smiling broadly. “All the simulator training was great, and very accurate, but in no way did it prepare me for the reality of this ship. This thing is an absolute beast, Tom, and if we can get some downtime to incorporate all of the features the Science and Engineering guys are talking about …”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” Prescott said, nodding his head. “Unfortunately, time is a commodity that’s in precious short supply at the moment.”

  “True enough, and you know how much my ‘sitter’ loves to be kept waiting, so I had best get you up to the CIC. Right this way, my friend.”

  Guardian Spacecraft

  (1500 km from TFS Navajo)

  In spite of their occasional failure to apply history’s lessons as a guide for their actions, the Makers were dedicated students of the past. In fact, documenting the cultural and technological effects of Pelaran intervention on cultivated species was an important aspect of the Guardian’s mission. The period of time immediately following d
irect contact was of particular interest, since it tended to be a reliable indicator of how well the cultivation program had been applied to date, as well as the likelihood of its long-term success.

  So far, the signs were gratifyingly positive. The Terrans were going out of their way to avoid any sort of aggressive posture, which had often not been the case for this species when they perceived an obvious threat. In addition to discontinuing their use of active sensor scans, there had been no spacecraft launches from the planet’s surface since its arrival. Vessels already in orbit and in the immediate vicinity of Earth were holding their positions and very little activity between vessels had been noted. The single exception to this, which was clearly the Humans’ command vessel based on its emissions, had approached slowly and taken up a position at a respectful distance.

  While all of this activity was taking place in the space near the planet, Terra’s nation states were busily attempting to be the first to make direct contact, saturating the frequency spectrum with requests to communicate as if they were ancients hoping to be the first to earn the favor of a newly discovered deity.

  Supplication, the Guardian observed. Excellent.

  Chapter 2

  TFS Navajo

  Prescott had followed Captain Davis on what seemed like an extended aerobic workout as they made their way from the cruiser’s cavernous flight deck to the CIC. Like the bridge, the Combat Information Center was located on the ship’s longitudinal axis, buried at the center of the most heavily armored section of the hull.

  Trying his level best to apply the lessons of Admiral Naftur’s earlier admonishment, Prescott still couldn’t prevent his inner voice from working overtime — apparently in an effort to convince himself that everything would be fine. Surely he wouldn’t be receiving me in the CIC for a public berating, he thought. Then again, this is Patterson we’re talking about. He probably never leaves the room, especially in a situation like this.

  “Man, I don’t think I’d ever need to hit the cardio equipment if I had to take this hike several times a day,” he observed, struggling to keep up with Captain Davis’ rather aggressive pace.

  “That’s a fact. I’m telling you, the size and power of this ship still blows my mind. As far as walking yourself to death, though, the carriers are even worse. I was on the Jutland right before we launched and half those guys wheel around on electric scooters and such. It’s damned undignified, if you ask me,” Davis laughed, pausing at the top of the final stairway. “You know, it may just be that you’re getting old, Prescott.”

  “I don’t know about that, but I do feel like I’ve aged several years in the past month,” he replied, drawing in a few deep breaths as they paused to authenticate their identities outside the heavily armored bulkhead door protecting the Navajo’s CIC.

  “Welcome, Captain Prescott and Captain Davis,” the AI’s synthetic voice announced. “All activity in the CIC is currently classified Top Secret, code word MAGI PRIME. You may now enter the CIC.”

  With the cruiser at General Quarters, the CIC’s lighting was even more subdued than usual, and tinted with a red hue as a reminder of the ship’s current status. Prescott paused momentarily just inside the entrance, both to allow his eyes to adjust and to give himself a moment to take in the room’s daunting scale. Unlike her more general purpose bridge, the Navajo’s CIC was dedicated to the task of employing the cruiser herself as well as various other military assets within her battlespace, as a single, coordinated weapon system. The fact that the ship was also acting as Admiral Patterson’s flagship meant that the CIC tended to be standing room only — twenty-four hours per day. Even with well over fifty TFC personnel on duty, however, the room was eerily quiet.

  Davis nodded towards the center of the room where Admiral Patterson stood gesturing at a gigantic holographic table while speaking into a headset. Even though he was obviously heavily engaged in conversation, the admiral noticed the two captains immediately. Without missing a beat, he motioned for the two of them to join him, then held up a finger to let them know he would be with them in a moment.

  “The man’s a machine,” Davis said, leaning in close so that only Prescott could hear. “As far as I know, he hasn’t slept in three days. He says he grabs naps in one of the attached conference rooms, but I’m not sure I buy it. Now that the aliens have finally arrived, we may have to take him down with a tranquilizer gun.”

  Prescott noticed that as the admiral spoke he was manipulating the holographic table display to get a better view of the space immediately surrounding the flagship. As he watched, the scale of the display changed so that only the Navajo and Guardian spacecraft were visible. Patterson then rotated the entire display so that he could see the Navajo with the Earth itself in the background from the Guardian’s perspective. Seemingly satisfied with the result of his conversation, he removed the headset and approached the two captains.

  “Welcome back, Tom,” he said warmly, extending his hand.

  “Thank you, Admiral,” Prescott replied, still a bit apprehensive, but relieved that the CNO did not appear especially hostile.

  “Pick up any other hitchhikers on your way back that I don’t know about yet?” the admiral asked, deadpan, his face immediately shifting to a well-rehearsed scowl.

  Prescott felt a chill run down his spine. This was clearly one of those ambiguous situations that could be read either way, but where choosing incorrectly could provide a particularly bad result. Rather than commit himself either way, he simply stared at the admiral for a moment, waiting to be either skewered or let off the hook entirely.

  The admiral, for his part, simply raised his eyebrows and peered over his glasses as if waiting for a response, seeming to take pleasure in his subordinate’s obvious discomfort.

  Unable to endure the silence any longer, Prescott opened his mouth to respond. “Sir, I …”

  “Relax, Prescott,” Patterson interrupted, chuckling in spite of himself and finally starting to feel a tinge of guilt. “There actually are a few things I’m going to need you to explain to me, but I’ve looked over the highlights of your AI’s log a couple of times already. So far, I haven’t seen anything you did that I probably wouldn’t have done myself. Besides, the truth of the matter is that you’re now the only combat veteran captain we’ve got, so I’d probably be a little reluctant to take you out of the chair no matter what you did.”

  Captain Davis took a step back and stared in amazement. “Combat veteran? You did go out and start a war, didn’t you, Prescott?”

  “He didn’t start anything, but he and our friend Admiral Naftur sure as hell finished something. Out at Gliese 667, they were attacked by a sister ship to Naftur’s Gresav as well as one of the big cruisers we saw get wiped out by the Guardian last month. Since Prescott is standing here, you can draw your own conclusions as to how that went for the bad guys,” he smiled, literally patting Prescott on the back. “Anyway, with the Guardian lurking around outside, I’m not going to have time to do a proper debrief, so I’d like the two of you to quickly document the lessons learned. I want what worked and what didn’t work in the hands of every one of our captains within twenty-four hours. Questions on that part?”

  “No, sir,” they replied in unison, feeling a little like a pair of midshipmen who had just been handed an especially odious assignment for the following day.

  “Next, I know that Naftur has some sort of bio-signature-scrambling gizmo that supposedly keeps the Guardian from detecting his presence. Frankly, I’m not sure if I’m comfortable with him remaining aboard one of our ships while we are sitting up here nose to nose with this thing. We have to assume it can read our encrypted comm, and we have absolutely no idea how it would react if it discovered we were collaborating with a Wek, particularly since that Wek happens to be a senior military commander. The picture that’s emerging of this ‘cultivation’ program tells me that the Pelarans are looking for what you might call an … uh, rather exclusive relationship with us.”

  “So sh
ould we shuttle Admiral Naftur down to HQ to meet up with Admiral Sexton and Ambassador Turlaka?” Prescott asked.

  “Yes, that’s your first priority. It’s critical that we get Naftur on the ground and see if we can get some additional information that might help us design a better defense against this potential ‘Pelaran Resistance’ attack. At the moment, we have very little notion of what to expect. I suppose we can hold out some hope that the loss of two of their vessels at Gliese 667 might persuade them to turn around and head home, but I doubt that’s something we can count on.”