by Tori Harris
“I’m waiting,” Commander Miah said impatiently.
Takkar glanced at his second-in-command in the chair to his right, but received only a noncommittal expression along with what he was sure was a hint of amusement forming at the corners of his eyes. Fine, let’s see where this goes, he thought, chuckling to himself as he rose to his full height. At just over two meters in height, Takkar dwarfed the Damaran almost as effectively as the Marine sentry in combat armor. “I stand relieved, sir. I will, of course, remain on the bridge and assist you in any way I can.”
“I will require your services in acting as my second-in-command. Handling the more mundane tasks of managing this ship and her systems will remain your responsibility, Commander Takkar,” Miah sneered without bothering to look at the Wek officer. “I have been tasked with guarding the original rally point until our remaining five battleships can arrive and be safely directed to join the rest of the task force.”
“Captain Takkar, I have an incoming transmission from Commodore Sarafi aboard the Gunov,” a Wek lieutenant announced from the Communications console.
Miah had just taken his seat, but immediately stood again to address the entire bridge crew. “Commander Takkar has been relieved as acting captain. I am Commander … excuse me, Captain Woorin Miah. I have taken command of this vessel as well as three others that will be remaining at this location until the remainder of our forces arrive.”
Wearing a look of surprise and confusion, the lieutenant glanced at Commander Takkar for confirmation. Having already reached the point where amusement had transitioned to anger mixed with grave concern, Takkar simply nodded in reply before taking his seat at the command chair to Miah’s left.
“Let’s not keep the commodore waiting, Lieutenant,” Miah scolded.
Within seconds the face of Naveen Sarafi appeared on the bridge view screen. “Ah, Captain Miah,” he greeted “I trust you have found the condition of the Hadeon satisfactory and are settling into your new command?”
“There are a few deficiencies, Commodore, but none that I won’t be able to handle,” he replied haughtily.
“I’m confident you will,” Sarafi replied, a smile spreading across his face.
Although lost on the Damaran, the manner in which the commodore was conducting himself provided further evidence for Commander Takkar’s growing suspicion that something was amiss. Like many of his contemporaries, he had been won over to the Resistance cause by the fiery rhetoric and saber rattling from several members of the Sajeth Collective’s Governing Council over the past several months. While covered around the clock by news outlets across the entire alliance, their lofty speeches were specifically crafted to appeal to the Wek population’s natural sense of duty and integrity. As a result, many had become convinced that the solemn oaths they had sworn to protect the Collective demanded that they take action to address the growing threat posed by the Humans and their Pelaran masters. While he agreed in principle, Takkar had been hopeful that some way could be found to simply eliminate the Pelaran Guardian spacecraft. Perhaps then, the Humans could be shown the folly of allowing themselves to become an instrument of Pelaran aggression. He sincerely believed that this could be achieved without resorting to an all-out attack on Terra, although he did believe that some sort of temporary occupation of the planet might be required. Not for the first time since joining the Resistance, the Wek commander questioned whether he was being used in much the same way as the Humans — the only real difference being the identity of his master.
“The rest of the task force will be leaving momentarily, Captain,” Sarafi continued. “Before we depart, I wanted to take a moment to reiterate the importance of your mission. We simply cannot proceed without the remaining five battleships, especially given the experience level of their captains. Frankly, I still do not believe that the Humans possess any forces capable of posing a serious threat to your detachment of ships. Having said that, I admit that I also did not anticipate the arrival of their scout ships. Remain at your highest level of alert, Captain Miah. Any ships not transmitting Sajeth Collective identification codes should be considered hostile and attacked immediately. Do you have any questions?”
Commander Takkar considered asking the commodore why he would risk such an unnecessary division of his forces when there were other secure methods available for directing the battleships to the new rally point. He knew without asking, however, that the commodore was well aware of this fact — although probably not this fool of a Damaran. He also knew that asking such a question would be treated as something approaching mutiny by both, although for very different reasons, he suspected.
“No questions at this time, sir. Rest assured, I will have the crews of all four of my ships whipped into shape by the time we rendezvous with you.”
“Of that, I have no doubt,” Sarafi smiled. “Good luck, Captain Miah,” he said with an ironic tone noted by every Wek officer on the bridge.
The commodore’s image was replaced by a view off the Hadeon’s starboard bow, which currently included several task force warships. Without further comment, Miah began his first act as captain by passing the time remaining until the task force’s departure overriding Commander Takkar’s preferences at the Command console.
“Captain, the task force is transitioning to hyperspace,” the comm officer reported after a few minutes had passed.
On the view screen, the starfield surrounding each ship’s hull appeared to blur momentarily, followed by a flash of gray light as each ship departed in rapid succession for the secondary rally point. Miah shot a disinterested glance at the bridge view screen before returning his attention to the Command console. After a few moments, he noticed an odd tension in the room that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Looking slowly up from his touchscreen, he saw that every Wek officer in the room was staring directly at him from their individual workstations. Miah felt the familiar tinge of panic form in the back of his mind as the reality of his situation slowly dawned on him. He was utterly alone … and, unless his usually keen hearing was failing him, he was sure he could detect low, threatening growls from at least three locations in the room.
TFC Comm Beacon Deployment Flight “Gamble 22,” Near the Pelaran Resistance Rally Point
(In hyperspace - 3.3 light years from Earth)
In the adjacent dimensionality commonly referred to as hyperspace, a single F-373 Reaper had just completed deployment of the first of its payload of five communications beacons. Since it was assumed that the missing Hunter reconnaissance flight must have transitioned into normal space in close proximity to the enemy task force, the corresponding location in hyperspace had been chosen for release of the first comm beacon.
The pilot relaxed for a moment as he waited for confirmation that the beacon had stabilized and begun the process of synchronizing with the next closest nodes on the NRD network, just over three light years distant. He was in no particular hurry at the moment. There was virtually no chance that his ship would be detected as long as it remained in hyperspace. And since it was critical that all five of the beacons be brought online successfully, it made sense to sit tight at each deployment location and wait for the beacon to come online before moving on.
That wouldn’t have been an option just a few weeks ago, but the Combat Communications Division of the Fleet Science and Engineering Directorate had reportedly made significant improvements in the beacons’ routing software. Once again managing to improve significantly on the Pelaran-provided design, the developers had introduced an algorithm based on the latest commercially deployed networks in use on Earth. Several beacons released within the solar system with the updated software had shown a nearly tenfold improvement in network convergence time. If the same held true here, real-time communications with the rest of the fleet should be available in a matter of minutes.
With nothing more than the black void associated with remaining stationary in hyperspace displayed via the ship’s optics, the lieutenant decided to spe
nd a few moments manually cycling through a few of his ship’s other passive sensors. He realized that this activity was largely symbolic, and served more to occupy his own mind than contribute in any meaningful way to what the fighter was already accomplishing without his help. Though the Reaper was designed to carry only a single pilot, it was always understood that the complex task of operating the fighter and its myriad of systems was well beyond the capabilities of a single Human … or several Humans for that matter. Accordingly, the AI was designed to shoulder much of the burden without any assistance whatsoever from the pilot. When direct interaction was required, however, the ship’s user interface behaved in a much more interactive style than those deployed aboard larger Fleet vessels. So while the neural interface provided incredibly efficient communications between ship and pilot during combat, most of their routine interactions were conversational — closely mimicking the manner in which pilots had traditionally worked in concert with a navigator or radar intercept officer (RIO).
“Anything unusual showing up on the passive array?” the pilot asked aloud.
“Define ‘unusual,’” the AI answered in a casual, joking tone. “Just about everything we see and do every day is unusual.”
“Yeah, I guess you got me there,” he laughed. “I was just thinking that it’s entirely possible that we are essentially superimposed at the same location as the Resistance task force ships. We know how to detect ships in hyperspace from normal space using a combination of active sensors, but it would be damned helpful if we could do the same thing from hyperspace using only the passive array.”
“Indeed it would,” the ship answered in a thoughtful tone. “We, of course, have nothing approaching the sensor capabilities of our larger warships, but if something obvious happens, we should be able to detect it.”
“Obvious, huh? Well, right back at you, smart guy, you go right ahead and define ‘obvious’ for me,” the lieutenant chuckled.
“Hah, well I guess I mean if something so definitive happens that we could hardly fail to notice. You know, like a big, neon sign with an arrow that says ‘enemy ships, exit here.’” The AI paused momentarily as it continued to monitor vast quantities of data streaming in from its sensors. “By the way, looks like the first comm beacon is up and running. Estimated time remaining for sync with NRD net: zero five minutes.”
“Whoa, that’s very good news, thanks. Since the new software appears to be working as advertised, we might as well hang out here until it syncs up. We have a preprogrammed pattern for deploying the other four beacons, but if we were to detect something, we might change …”
“Contacts!” the AI interrupted excitedly.
“Contacts? Where away? Clarify!” the pilot commanded. To his knowledge, no Human vessel had ever detected anything while in hyperspace, let alone something that could be classified as another ship. Then again, he thought, it’s not like we have a lot of experience in this area.
“Unable to classify the contacts at the moment, sir,” the AI answered. “It’s a previously undetected phenomena characterized by massive particle emissions.”
“Source?”
“Precise sources unknown, but I can confirm twenty-four distinct events, all occurring within a span of zero eight seconds.”
“Okay, is it possible we’re seeing ships transitioning either into or out of hyperspace?”
“The pattern is consistent with current hyperdrive theory for ships transitioning from normal space into hyperspace. The same would not be true if the ships had been transitioning back into normal space. I have sufficient data now to pinpoint the source coordinates of all twenty-four events. You should be able to see them plotted to port.”
“Yeah, I see them,” the lieutenant replied, looking off to his left at the grouping of red ovals pulsing urgently within his field of view. “Is there anything else you can tell me?” he asked, shaken by the sudden realization that he was perhaps not as isolated and concealed as he had believed just moments before.
“I’m still processing data. Can you please be more specific?”
“Sure, yeah, sorry about that,” he breathed, trying to calm and refocus his mind. “Can you tell if there are twenty-four enemy warships sitting at those locations?”
“Again, keep in mind that we’re breaking new ground here to an extent. I’m filling gaps in the observational data from our sensors with some theory-based hypotheses.”
“Fine, whatever. Give me your best guess,” the lieutenant replied, beginning to lose his patience. Interaction with the fighter’s AI was often so Human-like that it was easy to forget that he was dealing with a machine. “Conversations” like this one brought the reality of the situation back to the forefront of his mind in a manner that was as jarring as it was irritating.
“I believe that I can not only assert that the ships have left the area,” the AI replied, as a series of red lines extended from the contacts displayed within the lieutenant’s field of view, “but I can also project their direction of flight.”
Chapter 13
TFS Navajo
(Combat Information Center)
While he had never been one to micromanage his people, Admiral Patterson had taken the unusual step of insisting that the pilot of Gamble 22 be patched directly through to the Navajo’s CIC as soon as the first comm beacon came online. He was fully aware that the pilot would likely have little if any useful information to convey at this point. Still, he considered the act of establishing real-time communications with one of his ships in what he hoped was the vicinity of the enemy to be a pivotal first step — one he hoped would ultimately lead to a successful defense of Earth.
“Admiral,” Ensign Fletcher called from her Communications console, “the first comm beacon is operational, and I have Gamble 22 on the line.”
“Outstanding. Designate the coordinates of the first comm beacon as Location Dagger,” Patterson ordered, selecting a word that he liked from a list of randomly generated code names on his tablet. “How are we set for crypto?”
“It’s the latest and greatest based on the new software hand-delivered by the Combat Comm guys yesterday,” she replied, raised eyebrows revealing her skepticism. “They seem to believe it’s ‘unbreakable.’”
“I’m pretty sure I’ve heard that before, but I guess we’ll see. It’s not like we can just stop communicating with our ships,” he groused, while donning a nearby headset. “Put the pilot through, please.”
“Aye, sir,” Fletcher replied, issuing the required commands at her console before nodding to indicate a live audio connection.
“Gamble 22, Gun-shy.”
“Gun-shy, go for Gamble 22,” came the immediate reply from 3.3 light years away with more than sufficient clarity to detect the nervousness in the young lieutenant’s voice.
“We’re happy to hear from you, Gamble. How do you read?” The traditional question and response regarding signal readability and strength had little relevance in digital communications, but was still sometimes used more as a greeting than for the purpose of confirming the audio connection.
“Five by five, Gun-shy. You should be getting data as well.”
“Understood. Stand by one.” Patterson waved to get the attention of the commander at the holographic display as he turned and walked in the direction of the table. The admiral pointed at his headset then back to the holo table, which was all the young tactical officer needed by way of instructions. A few seconds later, all of the information currently displayed in the cockpit of Gamble 22 was projected in exquisite, three-dimensional detail above the surface of the table.
“Alright, son, we’ve got your feed. Very nice job so far. Explain to me what I’m seeing.”
“Roger, Gun-shy. The contacts you see appeared immediately after release of the first comm beacon. The AI classified them as probable outbound hyperspace transitions from twenty-four individual vessels in the directions indicated by the course projection lines.”
“Did the AI make any guess as to
their destination?”
“Negative, sir. The signatures appeared to be consistent with standard hyperdrives, so there is no way to tell when they intend to disengage their engines. The AI did note, however, that if they had been C-Jump signatures, it might have been possible to project their destination based on power output.”
“Great work, Gamble, that’s a bona fide major discovery,” Patterson replied, making a mental note to follow up with Science and Engineering about the treasure trove of information this short mission had already provided. “We’re going to rework your target package based on this new data. Sit tight for a few minutes and we’ll transmit new orders for you. If anything else happens in the area, let us know immediately.”
“Understood, Gun-shy. Gamble 22 out.”
“Alright,” Patterson began, energized by the fact that he finally had some hard intelligence to work with, “show me where we were planning on placing the remaining four comm beacons.”
“Aye, sir,” the commander replied, entering a series of commands on his tablet to access the information. Before he could finish, the Navajo’s AI anticipated his request — pulling the relevant data directly from the fighter’s AI. Three pulsating, green spheres appeared above the table to indicate the original deployment locations.
“Okay, let’s move number two to this location,” Patterson said, physically grabbing one of the three spheres and dragging it to a location closer to the hyperspace transitions detected by Gamble 22. “Number three looks pretty good as is. Four is pretty close too, but let’s just pull it in a bit and get a tighter grouping since we now have a better idea where their rally point is located.”
