Terran Fleet Command Saga 4: TFS Fugitive

by Tori L. Harris

  “Ramming?” Abrams’ XO scoffed, incredulous. “How on earth did they get close enough to even … wait, are you saying they tried to execute an intentional hyperspace transition and collocate with one of our ships?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Wow, I don’t think there was anything like that in the Fleet Intelligence Estimate I read. So, Theseus’ AI saw what was happening there and warned us we might encounter the same thing here?”

  “It warned the Karna’s AI directly, yes, sir. Between the two of them, they made the determination that the danger was too significant and time-critical to involve us in the decision to C-Jump.”

  “The engineers have been talking about this for some time,” Abrams said. “Since we’re deploying comm beacons now every time we undertake any sort of significant operation, our AIs are getting much more aggressive about sharing intelligence and threat assessments in real-time. The thing is, there’s a certain amount of uncertainty involved since we’re talking about systems that are learning on the fly and constantly adding to the body of knowledge and experiences they can draw from.”

  “Sounds a lot like us,” Abrams’ first officer commented.

  “Frighteningly like us, yes. The AIs continually look for information or patterns that might provide some sort of advantage. I don’t think any of us are entirely comfortable with the idea that our ships can just take control like that, but I’m guessing they would not have done so unless they were convinced that lives were at stake in our task force. Tactical, please continue.”

  “That’s exactly what happened, sir. Captain Prescott’s task force is reporting that the Damarans managed to destroy the frigate TFS Industrious and narrowly missed both the Theseus and the Jutland,” the officer at the Tactical 1 console reported gravely. “Theseus’ AI noted the correlation with our situation here and assessed a better than ninety-four-percent chance that we would come under the same type of attack. Actually, it looks like it originally assumed that we had already been hit. It seems to think this was supposed to have been a coordinated attack.”

  “Hmm … I don’t see how, but let’s address one item at a time. The important thing on our side is that the AI’s assessment was dead on,” Abrams said, nodding to the tactical plot on the starboard view screen.

  All four of the enemy corvettes had transitioned to locations previously occupied by the Karna and the Philippine Sea, respectively. Unlike Prescott, however, Abrams had not yet dispatched any of his vessels to cover the far side of the planet, having intended to complete a fighter reconnaissance sweep before doing so.

  “Sir, the Industrious was destroyed on the far side of Damara from the main body of Prescott’s task force. There was a second orbital platform with three additional corvettes just like the four that tried to hit us here,” the XO reported.

  “Understood. If the same thing is true here, we need eyes on the far side of the planet as quickly as possible. Green deck, all ships. Have Philippine Sea send a flight of Reapers over there to check things out. If they find another platform and more corvettes, they are clear to engage. Designate the four existing ships on this side as hostiles and send in the closest two frigates to take them out. We’ll hit the first orbital platform from here with a missile strike.”

  “Aye, sir,” came several replies from various members of the bridge crew.

  “AI, Abrams. Monitor all vessels in the area for hyperdrive activity. Execute emergency C-Jumps as necessary to prevent any friendly forces from being rammed or … ‘collocated.’”

  “AI acknowledged,” the system’s impassive, female voice responded, not bothering to mention that new orders just received from the Admiralty required that it do so anyway, regardless of any conflicting orders issued by its crew.

  TFS Theseus

  (2 hours later - 3.29x106 km from Damara)

  “Sir, I have an incoming vidcon transmission from Captain Abrams aboard the Karna,” Lieutenant Dubashi announced. “He’s asking for a private audience with you whenever it’s convenient.”

  Like most military commanders throughout history who have found themselves in the unenviable position of issuing orders that ultimately lead to the deaths of men and women under their command, Tom Prescott had in the past agonized over every one of his decisions that might have been at fault. Ironically, he had not done so today in the immediate aftermath of the Damaran attack on his task force and the subsequent loss of TFS Industrious. Still, something about the idea of his friend Bruce Abrams contacting him so soon afterwards sent a chill of dread up his spine. Would this finally be a time when the harsh light of objective, professional scrutiny would bring some fatal flaw in his decision-making into stark relief? Had seventy-four men and women died needlessly this day based on some mere oversight or hesitation on his part?

  Realizing that his comm officer had turned around in her seat, awaiting his response, Prescott turned to Commander Reynolds in an effort to determine if she had shaken off her earlier distress. “I think I’d better go take this now,” he said. “You okay, Commander?”

  “Sure, I’m fine,” she replied immediately. “How about you?” she asked quietly, raised eyebrows revealing that she had noticed his hesitation to take Captain Abrams’ call.

  “XO has the bridge,” he said aloud, answering her question with a wan smile as he rose and headed for the welcome privacy of his ready room.

  During Prescott’s brief walk to the starboard, aft corner of the bridge, the ship’s AI monitored his every move, immediately securing the room as he entered. Before he could even reach the conference table, he heard the familiar chime indicating that his vidcon was standing by. “On-screen, please,” he said distractedly, straightening his uniform by using his reflection in the still-darkened view screen and then taking his seat. Seconds later, the unusually solemn face of fellow Rear Admiral (Select) Bruce Abrams filled the screen.

  “Good evening, Tom,” he said in a tone that immediately sounded more formal than usual to Prescott’s ear. “I mainly just wanted to check in to see if there is anything we can do to assist you. I was very sorry to hear about Industrious.”

  “Hello, Bruce, thank you. No, I don’t suppose there is much you can do for us at the moment. One bit of good news is that we were able to rescue thirty-seven members of her crew. Still terrible losses, to be sure, but we originally didn’t expect to find anyone alive. I understand the Lesheerans attempted the same type of — I think we’ve settled on calling it a ‘hyperspace merger’ attack — on your ships as well.”

  “Right. I guess the term ‘ramming’ isn’t very descriptive since it implies some sort of collision … but, yes, they did. When the suicide attacks against your task force started, Theseus’ AI communicated directly with the Karna’s and emergency C-Jumped us out of the way, just in time. I’m happy, of course, that we didn’t take any damage, but I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to the idea that my ship can decide at any given moment that it knows better than I do.”

  “A sign of the times, my friend,” Prescott replied with a smile, hoping that the conversation was starting to trend back towards their usual, relaxed tone. “If the Pelarans are any indication, we’ll eventually stop sending Humans out here to handle these kinds of missions.”

  “Yeah, I don’t see that happening in our lifetimes. In any event, I guess we got pretty lucky at Lesheera. Our AI had several seconds’ worth of warning — not enough to tell us what it was about to do, apparently, but enough to get us out of the way, at least.”

  “Humph,” Prescott grumbled. “True enough. It looks like there might have been some hesitation taking place on the bridges of those ships. I’m amazed they managed to get nine of their crews to execute that order.”

  “And that brings us to the next thing I wanted to discuss. As you obviously saw, the analysis indicated that the timing of the attacks, while inexact, implies some sort of coordination between the two planets. I think we have to assume that they still have some sort of communications capability in p
lace.”

  “It’s certainly possible. The Wek assured us that they are no longer able to transmit on any of the networks that they know about, but that doesn’t mean they haven’t put something else in place between them, especially given the relatively short distance between the two systems. Hyperspace comm is difficult to jam —”

  “And the beacons are damn near impossible to find … at least ours are.”

  “That’s right, so it’s a good idea to proceed as if we believe they can communicate with one another, but I’m not sure there is much we will be able to do about it.”

  “Until the Wek show up and invade,” Abrams replied with a cunning smile.

  “You laugh, but that could still very well happen. And after today, I can’t say I’d feel very sorry for either of these planets. So,” Prescott began again after an awkward pause, “what’s really on your mind, Bruce?”

  “Ah, well, subtlety was never my strong suit,” he replied, smiling and shaking his head. “No, honestly, there’s no hidden agenda behind my call other than what we’ve already covered, but I did want to check in on you. I know what it’s like to lose people, but I gotta believe that losing them in the middle of a fight might actually be easier to handle than sitting out here on blockade duty with lots of time to mull it over.”

  “I hadn’t thought about that yet, but thanks for giving me something to look forward to, you jackass,” Prescott prodded, feeling a growing sense of desperation to conclude this part of their conversation as quickly as possible.

  “Anytime,” Abrams continued, undeterred, “but seriously, Tom, don’t hesitate to talk to someone if you need to, and I don’t mean that drill sergeant of an XO of yours either.”

  “I think she might have actually been more shaken up after this attack than I was, but I’ll be sure to tell her you said so. In all seriousness, I know that’s good advice, and I’ll definitely go see one of the docs if the need arises. Now unless you’ve got something else, I’d better —”

  “You know the old man’s on his way out here, right? I don’t want you to be surprised if he reassigns you.”

  “Reassigns me? As in relieves me of command?”

  “Yeah. It probably won’t happen, but I didn’t want you to get caught flat-footed if it does.”

  “I’m flat-footed right now, Bruce! So are you saying you think I did something wrong or failed to do something to prevent this attack?”

  “No! Hell no! Not in the least. Come on, Tom, your all-powerful AI didn’t see this coming, so I can’t imagine anyone will think that you should have.”

  “But that is why we’re still sending Human crews out in our ships, isn’t it? We’re supposed to be able to draw on our experience to anticipate and avoid situations just like this.”

  “Yes, but this is the first time we’ve ever seen space combat cross the line into what we might classify as fanaticism, right? So precisely which experience could you have drawn from in this case? I even did a quick check of the military archives the Wek provided. There are no references to suicide attacks of any kind.”

  “Alright, fine, but if you don’t think I’ve done anything wrong, why do you think Patterson might be coming out here to sack me?”

  “Ugh, maybe I should start over now that I’ve completely put my foot in it here,” Abrams sighed. “I doubt seriously that anything approaching a ‘sacking’ will take place, and I may be completely off-base even mentioning it, but the Leadership Council got some serious pushback from our various member nations following the Resistance attack. TFC’s ships consume tremendous resources to construct, equip, and maintain — resources that all of those nations would prefer to utilize elsewhere, if possible.”

  “Sure, fine, I get that, but the ‘guns versus butter’ debate is hardly a new one.”

  “No, but the idea that Earth is going to be required to field massive fleets of warships to protect itself from the alien hordes still is. The whole concept behind the TFC charter was based on technological development of Pelaran-provided data, and it was sold to the public in terms of exploration and economic development, not defense.”

  “Thanks in large part to the Guardian, we had no concept whatsoever of the threats facing us. Surely our members understand that none of TFC’s other objectives are possible without an adequate defense.”

  “I think most of them do realize that at this point, although there will always be a few ideologues naive enough to believe that we can simply negotiate our way around every potential conflict. No, I think most of them are onboard with building up our defenses. Otherwise, we would not have had the backing required to continue expanding the fleet after the attack.”

  “So, what ‘pushback’ are you referring to, then?”

  “In our first series of battles, we lost a total of eight major combatants. You and I know what a phenomenal success that was under the circumstances, but from our member nations’ perspectives, these were tremendously powerful warships that absorbed a significant percentage of their respective GDPs over many years to build … only to be lost in just a few days. They also see the most recent advances in reactor power output and shield technology as major force multipliers for our side.”

  “They’re certainly right about that, but I hope they haven’t deluded themselves into thinking that our warships are somehow ‘invincible’ at this point.”

  “No, I wouldn’t go that far, but I think it’s safe to say that they expect a very high return on their investment. And just like universities that pay a ton of money to bring in football coaches that will deliver winning seasons, the Leadership Council is under mounting pressure to minimize additional hull losses.”

  “Jeez, Bruce, so now we’re comparing the loss of hundreds or even thousands of lives to losing college football games?”

  “Sorry, I don’t mean to be insensitive, and it’s a poor analogy, I know. But I think you get my point. Our members have an expectation at this point that we should be able to accomplish our missions successfully — and for the most part without the loss of additional ships.”

  “Which is exactly what I just did.”

  “Yeah … and I’m afraid the fact that you weren’t in any way at fault won’t make much of a difference. Look, Tom, I probably shouldn’t have said anything, but I would want you to give me a heads-up if our roles were reversed.”

  “No, it’s fine. I appreciate having some time to prepare in case something like that happens. Between you and me, though, I think I’d consider calling it a career if they tried to park me in some kind of administrative role. But you did say that Patterson’s task force is on its way now, right? We weren’t expecting them for another couple of days, and my understanding was that they were headed directly to Graca. Have you heard something different?”

  “I wouldn’t worry about being sidelined to a desk job just yet. I have a feeling Patterson may have something else in mind. He contacted me immediately after the suicide attacks and said that he’s pushing up his departure timeline and coming directly to Damara. He also said that I should prepare to transfer two of my frigates over to your task force until we can be relieved by the Wek fleet.”

  “Two, huh?”

  “That’s all I know. Anything else would be wild speculation, and I’ve already said more than I should.”

  “Well, if he’s just now leaving Earth, he’s still most likely the better part of a day away. The current standard operating procedure calls for multiple eighty-light-year C-Jumps with four hours’ worth of dwell time in between for capacitor bank recharges and systems checks.”

  “Right, but since he writes most of the SOPs himself, he’s free to ignore them if he likes, and he’s apparently in a hellfire hurry. He said he’s planning to take this opportunity to attempt a max performance crossing. That means something closer to full one-hundred-light-year C-Jumps with only thirty minutes of dwell time between each one. If everything goes well, he could be here within just a few hours.”

  Prescott looked up at the c
eiling, his mind awash with the potential implications of being sent home under an implied cloud of disgrace. It would, of course, mean an end to his career, which was bad enough. Worse than that, however, was the impact that it would have on his most senior officers, who would, in all likelihood, suffer from some level of “dishonor by association.”

  “Well,” he said with a sigh, “I guess on the bright side I won’t have to wait long to find out his intentions.”

  Chapter 8

  SCS Gresav, Wek Unified Fleet Military Anchorage Charlie

  (1.80x108 km from Graca)

  “Ladies and gentlemen, the Crown Prince,” Flag Captain Musa Jelani announced as Rugali Naftur strode confidently onto the Gresav’s bridge for the first time since his coronation ceremony. With the flagship not currently underway, and the bridge crew expecting his arrival, everyone in the room had already been standing when the aft door slid open to reveal a beaming Rugali Naftur dressed once again in his admiral’s uniform. As he entered, everyone present dropped to one knee with their right fist clasped over their heart in salute. Naftur took a few paces into the room, then bowed deeply at the waist in response.

  As a practical matter, the Wek Admiralty had authorized the continuing use of all standard Sajeth Collective naval uniforms. They had, nonetheless, insisted on a few modifications intended to make it clear to every Wek service member that both Graca and her military forces were once again being governed under the auspices of home rule. Naftur, for his part, had allowed a single gold braid traditionally worn by members of Graca’s royal family to be added to the existing shoulder boards identifying his rank of fleet admiral. He also wore a single patch on his left breast pocket depicting the Royal Dynastic House of Naftur’s coat of arms. Otherwise, neither his appearance, nor his demeanor had changed in the least since becoming the single most powerful member of his species.

  “Please rise, friends,” he said warmly. “You honor me with your gesture. I now hereby resume my duties as an Admiral of the Wek Unified Fleet. We have much work to do, so please carry on.” It wasn’t an entirely accurate statement, given that performing his duties as head of state would forevermore consume the majority of his waking hours. This official declaration was really nothing more than an attempt to avoid the unnecessary awkwardness of being treated like a monarch aboard his own flagship — at least no more so than any other Wek fleet admiral was treated like a monarch, that is.