by Tori Harris
As the countdown timer on the view screen reached fifteen seconds, Ingenuity banked hard to port, lining the ship up on an extended centerline to the shipyard’s entrance cavern. The ship itself was capable of handling incredible G loads without sustaining damage, but keeping its Human passengers from being crushed in the process was a significant challenge. Accordingly, the ship’s AI monitored a mind-boggling array of parameters, continuously adjusting control inputs and thrust from its sublight engines in concert with inertial dampening to ensure that its occupants never experienced more than 6 Gs. Now aligned both horizontally and vertically with the shipyard’s entrance, the AI reversed the ship’s sublight engines and executed a maximum performance deceleration.
Directly ahead, a small sliver of darkness was now visible between the shipyard’s massive blast doors as the countdown timer on the view screen reached eleven seconds.
“Dubashi, let me know the second that opening is wide enough for us to pass through,” Reynolds gasped, still straining against the force of the ship’s rapid deceleration.
“Aye, Commander. So far just ten meters,” she grunted. “We need eighty-eight meters.”
Ensign Fisher leaned forward at the Helm console, struggling to keep his hands poised above the manual control joystick and throttle, but realizing that it would likely be too late to avoid slamming into the face of the mountain if the doors didn’t open in time.
On the right hand side of the Ingenuity’s bridge view screen, the video feed from Yucca Mountain’s entrance displayed the impressive site of the massive, two-hundred-meter-long ship visibly slowing, but still rapidly approaching the slowly opening blast doors.
As the countdown timer reached six seconds, the window on the left side of the bridge view screen was completely filled with an unsettling, close-up view of the slowly parting blast doors’ camouflaged surface. The space between the doors seemed impossibly small — their parting, maddeningly slow.
Time seemed to grind to a halt on Ingenuity’s bridge as two more seconds ticked by on the view screen timer.
“Ninety meters!” Lieutenant Dubashi yelled. “Oh my God, we may yet live!” she laughed aloud, unconcerned about her military bearing at the moment.
With that, the frigate’s bow passed through the still-opening doors — ultimately reaching a gap of one hundred thirty-two meters to provide a small factor of safety. Before the ship had even cleared the entrance, the doors had reversed direction to begin their close cycle.
Once clear, the AI quickly decelerated as she continued along the gradually downward-sloping entrance cavern. “Ship has cleared facility blast doors,” Ingenuity’s AI announced. “Proceeding to Berth Nine. Expected arrival in zero two minutes.”
Less than ten seconds later, the massive blast doors were once again closed, plunging the ship momentarily into darkness before the entire entrance cavern was flooded with artificial light. The AI continued their trip into the heart of the facility at a steady pace, slowing only after reaching the “roundhouse” area at the center of the ten-kilometer-long shipyard itself.
“Gravitic fields have reached zero mass,” Ensign Fisher reported. “I’ve also got six green indicators on the landing struts. Looks like they aren’t taking any chances for a gear-up landing this time.”
“Glad to hear it,” Prescott replied, gratified to see that his young helmsman appeared to have relaxed a bit and was no longer poised over the manual controls. “Keep an eye on things, Ensign, but I think we’ll be fine from here.”
“Always, sir.”
Prescott got his XO’s attention and quietly said “Theseus,” nodding his head towards Berth Ten, immediately to starboard of their destination.
Once again the namesake vessel of her class, Theseus had been moved as closely as possible to Ingenuity’s berth so that the transition could proceed as rapidly as possible. The destroyer was similar to the smaller, Ingenuity-class frigates in many respects, but there was some quality about the lines of her hull that provided a much more aggressive — even menacing appearance. While a glance at Ingenuity left little doubt that she was a ship of war, the same design teams had somehow managed to imbue Theseus with an almost intimidating air — as if her very presence were intended to convey an implied threat.
“Wow. She looks a lot more …” Reynolds began.
“Badass,” Fisher interjected, unable to resist the temptation to provide his input.
“Yeah, I guess that’s pretty much what I was thinking,” Reynolds chuckled. “Eyes on the road, please, Ensign,” she chided.
“Aye, Commander. Sorry.”
“Captain, incoming vidcon from Captain Oshiro,” Dubashi announced.
“Thank you, Dubashi. On-screen, please.”
After a brief pause, Captain Oshiro once again appeared in a window on the far right side of the bridge view screen.
“Congratulations on your first combat landing, Ingenuities. Everything still in one piece?”
“I’m not going to jinx us on that one until we’re on the ground, Captain. We’ve been here before, if you’ll recall,” Prescott replied under raised eyebrows.
“Ouch,” Oshiro sighed. “I guess I had that coming. Let me put it this way, I’m so confident that the rest of your landing will go smoothly that I’d be one-hundred-percent confident in standing on the concrete platform below your berth during the landing sequence. Well … if it weren’t for getting ripped apart by the grav field, that is.”
“I guess we’ll have to take your word for it at this point. We’ve pretty much been passengers since starting this approach, after all. Everything seemed to go fine during the landing, but I don’t think any of us expected how closely synchronized the timing of the whole thing would be. I’m pretty sure most of us thought we were about to make a big black mark on your front door,” Prescott chuckled.
“It really does feel that way from the ship’s perspective, I know. Frankly, I’m not looking forward to trying it with the carrier Jutland, but the truth is that there are safeguards on top of safeguards, and an abort is possible throughout the whole process. In any event, unless you end up doing one of those while we are actually under attack, Fleet only requires each ship to practice it one time. That brings me to the reason for my call. I will not be able to meet you at Berth Nine, but I understand that you and Admiral Naftur require transportation to Headquarters.”
“Yes, we do. Admiral Naftur is prepared to depart immediately. He will require a couple of Marine troopers in full combat gear as an escort. After I assist my XO and chief engineer with beginning the transition to Theseus, I’ll be on my way as well.” Prescott’s mind registered the sound of several of his bridge crew shifting in their seats at his last statement.
“Twenty meters,” Ensign Fisher reported in the background.
“I’ll see to it. On a much more somber note, my sincerest condolences for the three members of your crew who were lost during the battle at Gliese 667. Fleet has a team standing by to make all of the arrangements for their services. They will coordinate with both you and Dr. Chen, but I believe the ceremony will occur sometime tomorrow.”
The extreme level of activity since the battle took place had allowed Prescott to prevent the deaths of three very young members of his crew from completely dominating his every thought. Like every leader throughout history who had lost men and women serving under their command, however, he had already begun to struggle with the inevitable question of what he could have done differently that might have prevented their deaths. “Thank you,” was all that he managed to say before quickly forcing his mind back to dealing with the multitude of tasks at hand.
“My XO will be at your disposal to assist your folks in making their transition and getting Theseus ready to depart. Welcome back to Yucca Mountain. Oshiro out.”
“Five meters … touchdown,” Fisher reported. The sound of the ship’s six massive landing struts compressing under her weight could be heard as the frigate settled onto the landing platform.
Chapter 4
Earth, Terran Fleet Command Headquarters
(0415 UTC — Leadership Council meeting chamber)
With just under six hours remaining before the expected contact from the Guardian spacecraft, Chairwoman Crull was busily laying the groundwork for how she expected the forthcoming “induction” process should proceed. “Surely, colleagues, we can agree from the outset of this discussion that the Pelarans have already earned our trust,” she said from the meeting chamber lectern. “We now know that they have not only been sharing their knowledge with us for fifty years, but their Guardian spacecraft has actually been here protecting us from the likes of the Sajeth Collective and God knows what else for centuries. During all that time, they have asked for nothing from us in return other than following some simple, common sense rules designed to keep us from destroying ourselves with all of this new technology. I, for one, would like to see us put together a resolution, preferably a unanimous resolution, that officially welcomes the Guardian spacecraft and expresses our gratitude to the Pelaran Alliance for all they have done for us. Let me remind each of you that most of this work has already been completed. Our predecessors who were selected to serve on the very first Leadership Council drafted just such a resolution as one of its earliest official acts, and I would be honored to sponsor it again now as your Chair.”
There was a momentary silence in the room as each member temporarily withheld comment while waiting to see how the others would react. “Will the Chair yield for questions?” asked the delegate from the United States.
“Of course, although what I have said so far seems beyond question to me,” Crull replied, forcing a smile. The Chair recognizes the Councilman from the U.S.”
It took a moment for Samuel Christenson to free his over-two-meter-tall frame from behind his work center desk. As was his habit, he walked to the center of the meeting chamber immediately forward of the other members while keeping his distance from the lofty dais in the front of the room. The current chairwoman had personally ordered construction of the elaborate rostrum, which was something her husband would never have tolerated.
The whole concept of the Council was supposed to be one of open cooperation among equal peers — a working group with an eminently practical mission, rather than a hierarchical, bureaucratic throwback from centuries past. The idea that the chairmanship was being purposely transformed into some sort of dictatorial overseer was, in Christenson’s view, not only offensive, but also potentially dangerous. Although the group had no authority as an international governing body, per se, it did make decisions regarding the dissemination of Pelaran technological data … implying that it wielded tremendous influence over governmental and corporate interests worldwide. In fact, one could argue that Terran Fleet Command’s Leadership Council was the first truly effective global, quasi-governmental organization. The United Nations, which had never been truly global and certainly never accused of being effective, had finally dissolved during the worldwide debt crisis of the mid twenty-first century. Fortunately, breakthroughs in fusion power had shortly thereafter marked the beginning of a long period of global economic growth and prosperity, during which there was little motivation to create yet another monolithic, governmental assembly. This attitude had changed rapidly with the first receipt of ETSI data in 2229, however, as the nations of the world realized that there was simply no way to fully benefit from the Pelaran data unless they were willing to cooperate — on an unprecedented, global scale.
Christenson always faced the Chair when speaking directly to her, but then turned his back on her to address the other thirteen members on the floor of the chamber. He was never sure whether this bit of subtle theater was lost on the other Council members, but he was absolutely certain that it infuriated the esteemed chairwoman, who expected all debate be directed to her as if she were a queen at court. “Madame Chairwoman, I’ll be the first to acknowledge that we have all benefited greatly from the technological bounty that the Pelarans have literally rained down upon us like manna from Heaven,” he began with a disarming smile before turning to face the other ten representatives currently present on the chamber floor, “but surely any declarations that give the appearance of committing our planet one way or another are premature, to say the least.”
Even with only ten other members on the floor of the chamber, there was a general commotion in the room, including a few rather raucous exclamations of both support and disapproval. “Quiet please, everyone!” Crull said, pounding the gavel and raising her voice to the shrill monotone that had become something of a trademark of hers when speaking publicly. “I will not allow this Council to degenerate into some sort of political free-for-all. Now, Councilman, I know you still have the floor, but surely you’re not asking us to rehash this particular debate. Our predecessors decided nearly fifty years ago how we would respond when the Pelarans made first contact. Don’t you think it’s a little arrogant to imply that our current membership is somehow more qualified than they were to craft Earth’s response?”
“Councilwoman Crull …”
“That’s Chairwoman Crull,” she interrupted.
“My apologies, Madame Chairwoman,” he continued, gratified that he had once again goaded her into showing her true colors. “I don’t think it’s a matter of second-guessing our honorable predecessors. We do, however, have the benefit of fifty years of history to inform our decisions — particularly everything that has happened over the past month. There is no way they could have anticipated the situation we find ourselves in today. Also, since I appear to have placed myself in the position of once again bringing controversial items back to the table, there is still the unresolved issue of whether this body even has the authority to make such decisions or speak on behalf of the entire planet.”
“Oh, please,” she scoffed over the uproar that had once again erupted from the chamber floor, “that’s not bringing up a controversial issue, Sam, that’s beating the deadest of dead horses.”
“That’s Councilman Christenson,” he smirked, turning momentarily so that only she could see his face.
“Of course, Councilman, and I suppose you propose that the mighty United States of America should be the sole arbiter of who communicates with the Guardian spacecraft and what will be said when they do.”
“I would never propose such a thing, Madame Chair, as you know very well. I do believe very strongly, however, that the presumption that this body has the authority to act almost in the capacity of a world government falls well outside the bounds of our charter.”
“Oh, here we go. I wondered how long it would take for you to toss some red meat to the ‘one world government’ conspiracy theorists.”
“Point of Order, Chairwoman Crull, but you yielded the floor.”
“For a question, Councilman, not a political speech.”
“Fair enough,” he smiled, trying to maintain a positive air in spite of Crull’s typically derisive tone, “but this is by no means a settled issue. And now that we find ourselves only a few hours from being forced by events into communicating with the Pelarans, or at least their spacecraft, I hope we can all agree that acting with an abundance of caution is in our world’s best interest. Committing ourselves one way or another at this point seems both unnecessary and reckless, in my opinion.”
Crull pounded the gavel against its sounding block as the room once again dissolved into chaotic debate.
Earth, Terran Fleet Command Headquarters
(Office of the CINCTFC)
“Welcome, Admiral Naftur, I’m Tonya White — Admiral Sexton’s Chief of Naval Intelligence,” the CNI greeted warmly with an outstretched hand. “I am so sorry that we were delayed and could not meet your shuttle to
receive you properly. I assure you that such lapses in protocol are not the norm at TFC Headquarters.”
Although there actually had been a hastily prepared honor guard present, along with a pair of captains thrown in for good measure, Terran Fleet Command’s Admiralty staff had been conspicuously absent when Admiral Rugali Naftur’s shuttle arrived from the Yucca Mountain Shipyard. After a brief ceremony, where the mostly unnecessary apologies had begun in earnest, the Wek admiral had been escorted into the main Headquarters building, then ushered into Admiral Sexton’s outer office by his ever-present Marine guards.
Naftur paused, taking advantage of the translation delay to notice the striking appearance of the female Terran officer as he shook her hand. “Not at all, Admiral White,” he smiled. “Indeed, my shuttle was met with a level of ceremony reserved for heads of state on my world. I am deeply honored and grateful for your courtesy, but I understand the gravity of the situation we now find ourselves in, so I beg that you will not trouble with additional formalities.”
“You are too kind, sir. Just let me assure you that you are most welcome here, and if you can bear with us while we work our way through today’s rather, uh, unusual events, I believe I can promise you the attention your visit deserves.” Tonya shot the admiral her best smile, which he enthusiastically returned in kind, along with a deep rumble from within his massive chest that seemed to indicate that he was … happy? — pleased? — maybe something that doesn’t even translate. I’m not entirely sure which, she thought, inwardly amused. White had spent enough time in the company of their other Wek guest, Ambassador Nenir Turlaka, to understand that their species didn’t just wear their emotions on their proverbial sleeves, they actually communicated them nonverbally in a variety of ways … the cat-like purrs and growls being White’s personal favorite. Although she had found their openness a little unsettling at first, she now saw it as a refreshing change of pace compared to the thinly veiled emotions Humans pretended to conceal from each other. In any event, she couldn’t help feeling slightly embarrassed and unsure what to say next, so she was relieved when Admiral Sexton entered the room.
