Terran Fleet Command Saga 4: TFS Fugitive

by Tori L. Harris

  “As are most elections, when it comes down to it, but yes, I would have to say that the ‘pro-alliance’ political campaign did a masterful job of capitalizing on it. And, honestly, I think we have to concede that their fundamental argument was not without its merits. We were attacked, after all, viciously and without provocation — right here at home. Had the Resistance attack been successful, we might very well have become extinct just a few months after dipping our proverbial toes in the water for the very first time. Now, you can argue all you want about how Pelaran intervention in the Sol system was the root cause of the attack to begin with —”

  “Yes, yes, but then they would simply counter that it was also Pelaran technology — as far as most people know anyway — that allowed us to defeat the Resistance forces. All of those arguments have started to sound pretty hollow to me after hearing both sides hashed and rehashed, ad nauseam, for months on end. I think at this point I’m just glad we’ve finally made a decision,” Sexton said, letting out a long, weary sigh in spite of himself before realizing that he was communicating in a manner that was perhaps a bit over-familiar with Terran Fleet Command’s new Chairwoman. Kistler had been the admiral’s friend for many years, and he was grateful that their prior rapport had easily translated into a productive working relationship. Her new position, however, implied that there was now an unspoken line of authority between them that had not existed before — one that professional decorum required that he never cross.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” she said absently, casting a quizzical look at her old friend from across her desk. “Duke, surely you don’t see this as some kind of professional slight against you — or against TFC in general. Over the past six months, I’ve often thought about how I would feel if the vote ended up going this way, and I truly don’t think we should see it as a dig against any of our people or what we have accomplished. Like I said, many people are just plain scared to death of what they think may happen next. They’ve also been repeatedly reminded of the many parallels from Earth’s history where various alliances and collective security agreements have successfully maintained some level of peace and stability between rival nations. So, when they hear all of the Guardian’s well-crafted propaganda about protection and all the other advantages we will receive if we agree to join the all-powerful Pelaran Alliance … well, you have to admit that it was a pretty compelling argument.”

  “Obviously compelling enough to win the closest thing we’ve ever had to a worldwide, democratic election. I guess I just hoped we would have collectively had a little more confidence in ourselves. Yes, we’re just getting started, and there’s no doubt that these are dangerous times, but I just keep coming back to the idea that we shouldn’t have to sign away our independence for some vague promise of safety. We can do this on our own, Madame Chairwoman. Strictly speaking, we don’t need the Pelarans at this point.”

  “First of all, don’t ever call me that again when we’re alone. Being selected by the other representatives to replace Crull is a great honor, sure, but that title still makes me feel like some strange cross between a pimp and a furniture salesman,” she said, staring at her friend with a look of feigned irritation until he was forced to acknowledge her attempt at humor with a chuckle. “Second, you have to keep in mind that the people out there don’t know what you know, Admiral Sexton. From everything you’ve shown the Council over the past several months, I think you’re right — we may well be capable of making a go of it on our own at this point. But — at the risk of repeating one of those tired, pro-alliance campaign commercials — saying that we don’t need the Pelarans is also a bit of a circular argument, is it not? Yes, we have developed technology beyond what the Pelarans have provided, but that still probably wouldn’t have happened without their help … at least not anywhere near this soon.”

  “Eh,” Sexton said with a wan smile and a shrug of his shoulders. “Like I said, at least we know what we’re doing now. On a completely different subject, since you mentioned Crull … any news on the investigation?”

  Kistler’s face seem to cloud momentarily before she quickly recovered her composure and answered in what Sexton felt was an uncharacteristically deliberate fashion. “No, there hasn’t been anything new, and at this point, I have my doubts that there ever will be. You know better than anyone that she made a lot of enemies during her lifetime, even before she and her husband ever had anything to do with TFC. I would also speculate that the kinds of enemies she made tend to be the kind who don’t make a lot of mistakes.”

  Sexton knew from her tone that he was unlikely to get much in the way of additional comments from her on the subject. Less than an hour after TFS Karna’s Marines had discovered the former chairwoman’s body and secured the remainder of the Crullcorp compound, an even larger team described only as “properly vetted forensic and WMD investigators” had arrived at the site. Although Sexton, as TFC’s Commander in Chief, had been briefed on the Leadership Council’s plan for handling the Sazoch delivery vehicle and its lethal payload once his Marines had executed their recovery mission, it had been made very clear from the outset that all of the necessary decisions on the subject had already been made. He had always assumed that the discovery of Crull’s body had been just as unexpected to the membership of the Leadership Council as it had been to his forces — an inconvenient distraction from the Sazoch recovery mission requiring a level of public exposure that would have otherwise been avoided. Not for the first time during the intervening months, however, his friend’s reaction had given him renewed cause to doubt the version of the story he had originally accepted as fact.

  In spite of all the scandal that had always seemed to surround both the public and private life of Karoline Crull, she had consistently remained one of the world’s most admired (and feared) businesswomen, particularly within the Central and South American Union. And while her sudden death at the hands of a previously unknown “anti-Alliance terrorist group” had caused a worldwide media frenzy that had lasted for weeks, Sexton knew that things would have been far worse if she had simply “disappeared.” This line of thought always brought Sexton back to a series of uncomfortable questions. Had what seemed at the time like an inconvenient distraction actually been part of a well-orchestrated plan? Had Crullcorp’s role in seizing control of the Sazoch bio-weapon finally compelled the Leadership Council to simply eliminate its former chairwoman?

  Never one to place much stock in conspiracy theories, Humanity’s highest-ranking military officer wondered if he had unwittingly played a part in what could have easily been one of the biggest cover-ups in centuries. Realizing that there was nothing further to be done at the moment, he filed the information away and made the decision to begin steering the conversation back to less dangerous ground.

  “Having very nearly been murdered by her, I’d have to agree that she made plenty of enemies, and although I don’t believe it’s quite right to speak ill of the dead, I suppose most people would count me among those enemies,” Sexton said in as light a tone as he could manage. “Guess it’s a good thing I had a rock-solid alibi, huh?”

  “It is indeed, my friend, and don’t think for a second you weren’t high on the initial list of suspects. The investigators —”

  “Warning,” the facility AI interrupted, “the room is no longer secure. Please safeguard all materials according to their classification level and terminate all classified discussions immediately.”

  Seconds later, Kistler’s secretary cracked the door slightly and stuck her head into the office from the adjoining anteroom. “Madame Chairwoman,” she announced, “please excuse the interruption, but I have a priority transmission from Admiral Patterson. He is currently at Yucca Mountain and is asking to speak with both of you immediately.”

  “Of course,” she replied. “Put him through here, please.”

  “Yes, ma’am, right away,” the secretary nodded, closing the door behind her.

  “You think Patterson needs a post-election pep talk
too?” she asked with a wink.

  “Never in life, ma’am. Kevin Patterson only gives pep talks. He’s a master, in fact. I’ve never once seen him in a state where I thought he needed to receive one. In fact, I’d be surprised if he has paid even the slightest bit of attention to the alliance vote.”

  “The room is once again secure,” the AI announced. “Current classification level: Top Secret, code word MAGI PRIME.”

  “So, if he’s actually located in the new Op Center, how can we even be allowed to communicate with him if their security level is higher than ours?”

  “That’s a good question, and I think the short answer is that we can’t unless they take measures to safeguard their environment. I haven’t seen the new facility yet, but I understand that they have a method of isolating their communications to prevent exposing their environment to lower classification levels, which is essentially everywhere else at this point. The engineers get a kick out of referring to it as the ‘cone of silence,’ but I have no idea why that’s supposed to be funny.”

  “I’ll explain it later, Duke,” she said, chuckling to herself as the Command console at her desk chimed to indicate that the CNO’s vidcon was standing by. “On-screen, please,” she commanded, followed immediately by the appearance of Admiral Patterson’s face on the large view screen lining the far wall of her office.

  “Good evening, Admiral Patterson,” she said. “Admiral Sexton and I were just discussing Earth’s upcoming affiliation with the Pelaran Alliance.”

  “And a good evening to you, Chairwoman Kistler. Believe it or not, that’s the first I’ve heard of that news, so I’m afraid I don’t have much to add to your conversation. What I can tell you, however, is that something unusual is going on with the Guardian spacecraft.”

  “Oh, I’m confident that it’s fully aware of the election results. What, is it looking for us to throw a victory party in its honor or something?”

  “Hah,” Patterson laughed, “that actually wouldn’t surprise me, especially since it’s been relatively quiet recently. About half an hour ago, it hailed the closest Fleet vessel, which happened to be the carrier TFS Ushant at the time, and requested that we provide sufficient storage for it to upload a very large quantity of data.”

  “I know that’s not how it typically provides us with ETSI, but has it ever asked for anything like that before?”

  “No, ma’am, not to my knowledge.”

  “And exactly how much is a ‘very large amount of data?’”

  “Honestly, we don’t even know yet. It would say only that the storage array associated with one of our capital ships is ‘woefully inadequate’ for the task, so that implies it’s looking for something north of several hundred zettabytes. It also asked for an audience with TFC’s leadership to discuss both this issue as well as what it referred to as ‘other items of special significance.’”

  “Jeez … someone save us from sentient machines with a flair for the dramatic,” Kistler said, shaking her head. “All that aside, however, since it’s such an unusual request, I suppose we shouldn’t put it off until tomorrow. Admiral Patterson, if you would, please do some checking regarding our technical capabilities in terms of large-scale data storage so that we’ll have that information going in. Admiral Sexton and I will pull some senior staff together and schedule a vidcon for three hours from now — that’s 0300 UTC. So much for getting home at a decent hour, huh?”

  TFS Theseus, Damara

  (489.3 light years from Earth)

  As Lieutenant Commander Schmidt had anticipated, Theseus’ targeting lasers lancing down from the sky like the fury of an angry deity produced a spectacular (albeit tactically insignificant) display of firepower that was witnessed by millions of understandably terrified Damarans. The array of five beams danced across the whole of the targeted area, starting each cycle nearly fifty kilometers apart to maximize their visibility, then darting about seemingly at random before coalescing around a single point that was then immediately targeted by one of the destroyer’s beam emitters. As each bolt of energy reached the ground, the rocky soil was instantly superheated, resulting in explosive expansion within several meters of the point of impact. Just as Schmidt had predicted, the sound of each impact was singularly impressive — like a tremendous clap of thunder accompanied by a fountain of displaced soil and molten rock that spewed skyward like a geyser.

  “How much time are we really going to give them,” Reynolds asked, watching their demonstration play out in a zoomed-in window on the left side of the bridge view screen. “Is it possible they’re foolish enough to think that this is all we’re capable of doing?”

  “No, I don’t believe that for a minute,” Prescott replied, “but they may well be willing to gamble that we don’t have the will required to do any real damage. Dubashi, how much time has elapsed since we warned them to evacuate the area?”

  “Zero eight minutes, sir.”

  “Thank you. Please continue to repeat our last message ordering them to respond and evacuate the military complex we’re targeting.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Tactical, how hard have we been hitting them so far?”

  “We’re only using a single emitter, Captain,” Schmidt answered. “It’s currently set for about one three percent of its maximum rated power, which is really just barely enough to ensure that each bolt passes through the atmosphere and still has a bit of power remaining when it strikes the surface.”

  “Alright. Let’s start dialing it up, then. Increase the transmitted power by ten percent every thirty seconds. If we don’t hear from them shortly, we’ll start hitting with multiple beam emitters. I really don’t want to fire a railgun unless they give us no other choice.”

  “Aye, sir, single emitter now at two three percent and increasing by one zero percent every three zero seconds.”

  Over the next few minutes, single bolts of blue-tinted energy from one of Theseus’ fifty beam emitters streaked through the Damaran sky with ever-increasing intensity, each one impacting the ground with more ferocity than the last. Patches of the ground near the targeted area began to glow an angry red as more and more of the sand and rock near the surface was liquefied by the tremendous energy being absorbed.

  “AI, Prescott, are there any indications the Damarans are evacuating the targeted area?”

  “Confirmed. Surface activity in the area over the past several minutes is consistent with a small-scale evacuation. There are currently no Damaran or other humanoid biological signatures within five zero kilometers of the proposed point of impact.”

  “Back to your previous question, I think they will see any delay past the fifteen-minute deadline we gave them as a sign of weakness we can’t afford. Once we fail to make good on our first ultimatum, convincing them we’re serious the next time might require us to do something much more dramatic than we would like. Don’t you agree?”

  “I do, yes, sir.”

  “Tactical, how many beam weapons currently bear on the target?”

  “Stand by, sir,” Lieutenant Lau replied immediately while rapidly entering commands at the Tactical 2 console. “We currently have a firing solution on three one beam emitters, Captain. If we alter the ship’s orientation, we should be able to get that number up to around four zero.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant, but that won’t be necessary. Target the proposed railgun impact site with three one emitters and fire.”

  “Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Commander Schmidt replied. “Our last single emitter shot was at six four percent. Shall I maintain that power level?”

  “Full available power, please. This will be their last opportunity to display some common sense.”

  “Three one emitters at full power, aye, sir. Firing.”

  At locations across most of Theseus’ massive hull, gimbaled beam emitters instantly swiveled in the direction of their target and discharged. To maximize transmitted power at the point of impact, all thirty-one bolts of focused, blue-tinted energy were timed to arr
ive at precisely the same instant. Even with the destroyer outside of what was considered optimum beam weapons range for ship to ship combat ops, her weapons fire reached its target with spectacular effect just over one second later.

  Damarans across much of the planet’s western hemisphere who had been watching the weapons fire up to this point were instantly aware that there had been a dramatic escalation in power output from the distant, invisible ship that had been so callously attacking their world. The blue beam that now flashed from the sky gave the impression of a single, immense bolt of uncharacteristically uniform lightning. At the point of impact, the effect was terrifying to behold. The rocky surface once again yielded to intense shock heating, now on a scale that produced an explosive upheaval that was indistinguishable from those of the largest “bunker buster” bombs. At the same instant, tremendous shockwaves raced outward across the atmosphere and deep within the very planet itself — each one moving at the speed of sound for the particular medium through which it traveled. Even as the echoes from the initial explosion began to subside, chunks of semi-molten rock rained down on the area within five kilometers of the point of impact for nearly two minutes. What followed was an eerie, unnatural silence as Theseus’ targeting lasers continued to illuminate the sky above.

  “Let’s give them a few moments to reconsider their position,” Prescott said quietly.

  “Zero one minute remaining from our original deadline, sir,” Dubashi reported from the Comm/Nav console.

  “I have to admit that I’m a little unnerved by their lack of response,” Reynolds said. “I just have an odd feeling that it might be an indication that they’re planning to try something desperate.”

  “I know the feeling well, Commander. We obviously need to do everything we can to anticipate any dangerous actions they might take, but without the Wek fleet to protect them, I honestly don’t know what military options remain open to them at this point.”

  “Sir, we’re being hailed,” Dubashi reported with an obvious tone of relief in her voice. “It’s on the same frequency as before and still being relayed by one of the Corvettes, but they’re sending audio and video this time.”