"We are welcomed, sir, and will do so with your kind permission."
At that point, the Inori rose as one and filed out of the atrium. The three humans turned and headed out the entrance and down the broad, pockmarked, granite stairs. The Marines got themselves up off the pavement, took a careful look around, and made themselves ready to head back to the embassy.
"That was interesting," Carol said quietly. "We didn't speak in quite this way during the ship visits. I was more or less pointing and describing, and taking questions. But do they actually think like that?"
"They really think like that, Lieutenant Hansen. We would say to a visitor 'welcome, come in' and the person would respond with 'thank you'. The Inori expect a response in the same manner as the opening. So, when they say 'welcome' the response is to acknowledge that we feel welcomed, not to express generic gratitude. If they say 'pardon us' the response must express explicitly that they are pardoned."
"Five hundred years," Terri said quietly. "No one had any idea they have been in space that long."
"I thought they were new to this, backward, using crude and simple technology." the ambassador commented.
Terri though for a moment and then replied "Well, replace crude and simple with cheap and reliable, and you might be closer to it. Still, wow."
"You only said 'sir' to them?" Carol asked.
"I think you know, Lieutenant, that the Inori have three sexes, not two. In diplomatic discussions, we use 'sir' to convey respect, but to them, it carries no gender connotation as it does in regular English. It feels strange at first, but since none of us can tell the difference between the three sexes anyway, it seems to work adequately."
As they stepped off for the Embassy, Carol wondered about the enemy, who they might be and what they might do next. There was no way to know, that she knew, but like any good officer she hated the lack of information and the uncertainty it created in all of them.
ISC Fleet HQ Communications Station
Fort Eustis, VA
Sunday, January 16, 2078, 1146 AM EST (1646 UTC)
Mark England's shift was over at 0700. His supervisor Technical Chief Diana Aviles, having received the alert, arrived early to assist and eventually relieve him. He went for a quick breakfast, then was back on the console. She assured him it wasn't necessary, but England wanted to help, and mostly, wanted to see what was going to happen next. Aviles knew this and let it go. After all, she might need the extra hands, and England was a good operator, fast and reliable. Just before her lunch break, she did. The FLASH alarm went off for the third time that day.
FLASH 207801151850UTC
TO: CINCFLEET
FROM: HANSEN, CAROL, LT, FOR MICHAEL, TERESA, LCDR, SSO INOR
INORIA ATTACKED 207801151000UTC RFG WITH LAZY DOGS BY UNKNOWN ENEMY.
LIBERTY DESTROYED IN ORBIT. MULTIPLE ORBITAL EXPLOSIONS SEEN.
TYPE AND NUMBER OF OPPOSING FORCE UNKNOWN.
SEVERE DAMAGE TO CITY AND SURROUNDINGS.
WEAPONS NIL. REQUEST INSTRUCTIONS AND ETA FOR RELIEF.
19 KNOWN SURVIVORS INCL LCDR DAVIS LTS RICHARDSON SANDERS
ENS COLEMAN STEVENS
7 CONFIRMED KIA ON SURFACE INCL LCDR ROSKOV ENS BAKER.
9 MIA.
END
"Look at that, Chief Aviles, survivors!" he yelled. A few minutes later the alarm went off again. Now, this was interesting.
FLASH 207801151855UTC
TO: BONDARENKO ACTUAL
DUNKIRK ACTUAL
CC: CINCFLEET
FROM: HANSEN, CAROL, LT, FOR MICHAEL, TERESA, LCDR, SSO INOR
INORIA ATTACKED 207801151000UTC BY UNKNOWN ENEMY.
LIBERTY DESTROYED IN ORBIT. MULTIPLE ORBITAL EXPLOSIONS SEEN.
TYPE AND NUMBER OF OPPOSING FORCE UNKNOWN.
SEVERE DAMAGE TO CITY AND SURROUNDINGS.
THREAT TO OTHER FLEET ASSETS SEEMS LIKELY
19 KNOWN SURVIVORS
7 CONFIRMED KIA ON SURFACE. 9 MIA.
END
In the Operations Center these messages provoked some short-lived cheers, followed by the full realization that they had suffered an awful loss. Davenport stood with the other two flag officers, reading both messages and trying to understand their implications.
"Clearly someone out there has a working brain." The old admiral smiled, tapping his finger on the message displayed on his tablet. "Bondarenko and Dunkirk have this message already — long before our warning. Michael doesn't say 'come get us,' but that's what she hopes will happen."
"Pretty shrewd, don't you think, Connor?"
"As we used to say, Stan, well played."
"Yes, she may have played this well enough to save what's left of her crew when we could not."
"Sir, we should get out an update to the fleet," Commander George suggested.
The three admirals agreed. Again, Jim George drafted and sent the message.
FLASH 207801161630UTC
TO: ALLFLEET
FROM: CINCFLEET FLEETOPS
TOP SECRET
UPDATE ON SITUATION AT INOR
(1) LIBERTY LOST IN COMBAT AT INOR 207801151035UTC
(2) CONFIRMED 19 SURVIVORS 7 KIA 9 MIA ON SURFACE.
(3) SEVERE DAMAGE TO CITY FROM RFG
END
The message sent, George called over his relief, LCDR Harold Torres, and they began looking at the day cycle correlation between UTC and Inor. Torres had arrived hours ago but James George, like Technician England, was loath to leave while events were still unfolding. And, like England, the extra hands and minds were useful. The Operations officers walked over to the CINC and his deputy.
"Sir, the attack seems to have come mid-morning in Inoria. We're in those days where UTC and the solar time in Inoria are somewhat in sync. So, the time of Lieutenant Commander Michael's message is about dusk. If the city is as badly damaged as she seems to be saying, they might just hunker down until dawn. We should not be surprised if we don't hear from her for a while."
"Makes sense, James. Harold, you have the picture?"
Torres nodded.
"OK very good. Commander George, go on home. Are you on tonight?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Get some sleep, and we'll see you in a few hours. I need you rested."
CINC sounded sympathetic but firm. He wanted James to get some time off. Truth was, the CINC was expecting some long shifts in the next few days, and men like George and Torres had to be fresh and alert.
Torres took George aside.
"RFG with Lazy Dogs? Hard to believe."
"Yeah, this was a bloody, awful attack, meant to kill and maim and destroy."
"Planning to get any sleep, James?"
George looked around the room, shaking his head. "I'll try but probably not. I feel like sleeping in the basement, but it wouldn't matter."
"See you later."
"Yeah, later."
ISC Fleet HQ
Operations Center
Sunday, January 16, 2078, 1300 EST
After James George had left, the admirals called in the Plans chief, Captain Fiona Collins.
"Fiona, what do the savants in Plans think at this point?"
She frowned at Yakovlev's comment.
"I hate that term, Admiral, as you well know, but I do have some pretty smart folks over there."
"And?"
"And, there are no existing contingency plans based on a Pearl Harbor at Inor, sir, or anywhere else for that matter. The team is currently working through some basic ideas, sometimes at the top of their lungs. I almost had to separate a Senior Warrant and a full Commander this morning."
"Well, spirited debate means they're invested, right?" Davenport asked.
"Investment is not their problem, sir, data is. We don't have enough, and in arguing hypotheticals, you can take near any idea and make it either plausible or ridiculous."
Fiona paused, looking at each Admiral in turn, before continuing.
"But, for now, since the 40 Eridani system has been pretty well
surveyed, we think they aren't local. Which means, it is a near certainty that they have some kind of FTL drive. Both the Embassy message and Commander Michael's report refer to multiple orbital explosions. To us, that means it is likely our weapons are effective against them at some level."
"So, what was the altercation about?"
Fiona smiled. "Whether the Inori know the enemy or not. Commander said they must, Warrant said that was a stupid assumption. Commander took offense."
"So?" Yakovlev led her to continue.
Fiona shrugged, overcoming her reluctance to get into details about something that happened within her section.
"So, Mister Price was correct - it is an unfounded assumption - and I made Commander Henderson apologize. She was not at all happy with me."
Admiral Gerhard had joined the conversation.
"Well, tell Joanne Henderson that we all respect her dedication. We will all likely find ourselves wrong about a lot of things as this goes on."
"That is true sir. I will tell her."
"Very well, thank you, Captain Collins. Let us know when you have more."
Fiona turned and headed out of the Operations Center, down a flight of stairs and back a long poorly lit hall to her noisy and now very unkempt Plans Section. She saw scattered pizza boxes, cold slices still visible here and there. Coffee cups and other drink containers were everywhere.
She was surprised to see Joanne Henderson and Ben Price seated together at a work table. Henderson and Price looked up at her, acknowledged her return, then returned to their very face-to-face conversation. It ended with some small nods and smiles and then they got up and went back to work. Fiona worked her way over to Price. She looked in his eyes, which were a little moist around the edges.
"Ben?"
"Yes Captain?" he said, delaying.
"Ben!"
He put down his tablet and looked at her.
"I told Commander Henderson I was sorry, too, ma'am. We're all pretty stressed down here, you know? I was gonna play hockey tonight. Instead, I'm planning a space war while my wife packs to go home to Montana."
He paused and looked across the room at Henderson.
"She is so smart — I thought we needed to be back on the same team. I told her, yes, I was right this time, but next time I might be wrong. And, I told her just because I am calling her stupid in front of everyone doesn't mean I don't respect her opinion. She finally laughed at that, a little anyway."
Fiona took a moment to digest what he had said. "Mister Price, you are a wonder."
"No, Captain Collins, I am just shit scared like everyone else, and we need all of us if we're going to survive."
"So, what are you working on?"
He picked the tablet back up. "Well, we were working while you were off hobnobbing with the big-brass."
He smiled at her look of disgust.
"Yeah, that's what we call it. Anyhow, between FPI and the miners and the Fleet we've surveyed a lot of star systems in the last 20 years. Oh, by the way, we want FleetIntel to review all the previous system data available, but we think it's unlikely they came from anywhere we've been."
"Sounds reasonable. Go on."
She pulled herself up to sit on a table across from Price.
"Well, there seems to be a gap, Captain. We've done really well in the northern hemisphere, but in the southern sky, except for Proxima and Barnard's and a few other close-by stars, we haven't really looked very hard." By now Henderson, the tall and dark-haired former soccer player, had not-so-casually wandered into the conversation.
"Gerhard sends his best regards," Fiona said to her.
"Asshole," she said sharply. The response surprised both Fiona and Ben. There was a moment of awkward silence, Fiona looked from Henderson to Price and back, then to Price, who defused the moment.
"Roger that, Commander, it's Admiral Gerhard Asshole from now on." Price finally said.
Fiona turned back to Joanne. "You up to speed on Ben's observation about the southern sky?"
"Yes, we were discussing that when you came back."
"Of course, you were," Fiona said skeptically.
"Well, that and some other issues," Henderson responded tentatively.
"Uh huh." Fiona was now in full skeptic mode.
"Price, get me the hell out of this."
"Really Captain, we were. It was something that hit us both as we started to look at the sky in the general direction of Inor."
"Ok, so-"
"So, we need to get the hell out there and plug this gap, Fiona," Henderson responded. "We'll go over it with the full team, but Price and I think it's obvious that first thing we need a recon effort to find this species."
"How sure are we that they are in one of these systems we haven't checked?"
Henderson shrugged.
"Well, taking that to a logical extreme, they must be in a system we haven't checked because we're pretty sure they aren't in any that we have surveyed. Whether they are in a system reasonably close by is another question. It's a big universe, but we have to start somewhere. They could be from very far away, which would multiply the problem by God knows how many orders of magnitude. If they are, it might be lifetimes to find them, even with the Drive."
"Or they could be here tomorrow," Fiona commented, looking away.
"Or that, yes." Price agreed.
"Or we could be wrong. They could be from Polaris," she continued.
After a second, Price responded. "Well, Polaris is F class, and over 400 light years away, so I don't really think- "
"OK I get it," Fiona said, cutting Price off with a laugh. "Get the team together and get me a position paper on this concept. See if you can prioritize which systems to check first. Some are not habitable..."
"At least, we think they're not." Henderson interrupted.
"...so, let's wait on those," Fiona finished.
Joanne and Ben consulted for a few minutes then began gathering the rest of their eight-person Plans team to go over the idea.
Fiona went back to her office and picked up the phone, dialing Ron Harris, Chief of FleetIntel.
"Hey, Ron it's Fiona. How's your day going?" She let the barrage of expletives go by unanswered. When he finally stopped, she continued.
"Yeah, I love you, too, pal. I have a job for your guys."
She explained the idea of a knowledge gap in the southern stars, and the request to re-examine systems they had already surveyed.
"So, what I am looking for in this old data, Fiona?" Ron asked skeptically.
"The bastards that hit Inor."
"Oh, well, if that's all, no problem."
"Shit, Ron, I don't know what to look for! We just thought it would be smart to examine what data we already have before we go all over the goddamn universe trying to find them."
"I get it, Fiona, we'll run the check. I'll review the detection criteria with my data miners and see if there is something we can tweak. I don't think it will take all that long. Give me a couple hours, and I'll call you."
"OK. Call my personal phone in case I'm not in the office."
"Will do."
She hung up the phone and took a moment to think about the day, and about where they were going with this plan. This had to be a very advanced culture. Would they inhabit multiple planets? Multiple locations? Once they found them, what would, what could, they do about it? Could they find them without revealing themselves? She'd been in the Fleet for a while now, ten years — or was it twelve — sometimes she couldn't remember — but it had been an academic exercise. They talked about conflict, war-gamed it, but they had never seen real action. Now, a real war was upon them, and she found herself in a critical, highly visible position. She took a moment to say a prayer for the dead, for her team, for her superiors, then herself. Guidance, wisdom, and insight would be sorely needed if they were to prevail.
It was mid-afternoon when she returned to the conference room battlefield. Now it was Ben and Joanne arguing against the other six, pointing a
t the sky chart, over to the electronic whiteboard, back to the other sky chart. The questions, the challenges, the back and forth of if, what, and how. Moments like this were why she loved this job - her team had the relentless, ruthless ambition to get it right.
Fiona thought it fun to watch.
ISC Fleet HQ Intel Section
Ft. Eustis, VA
Sunday, January 16, 2078, 1530 EST
Good to his word Captain Ron Harris worked with the data analysts, and the few biologists he had access to, to try to broaden the criteria for their review of existing planet data. That process was now in the works, and he didn't have much hope that they would really find anything new. But, it was worth a try.
Ron sat down with his cadre of analysts to talk about what they knew about this enemy and what they needed to know. Excluding himself, he felt he had ten of the brightest minds in the Fleet. He had only a small HQ Intel section, mostly because there was so little military intelligence to process, but also to maintain a collegial environment, free of silos and limited vision. Everybody in Ron's shop had access to the whole picture. Beyond his core of ten analysts were about twenty support personnel: the data miners, communications, and technology resources able to find, or create, the information they needed. But the real brain trust resided in the ten individuals in front of him. He took a moment to look around "The Table" as it had come to be known. The Table itself was nothing special, just an old, well-worn maple library table, but it was large and solid enough to absorb the pounding fists and occasional refreshment flood that came with their intense discussions. Today, Ron could see coffee cups of several sizes and designs, containers of various carbonated beverages, small notebooks absorbing notes and tablet computers taking a beating. There were several side conversations going on, all at once.
"I had a good conversation with Captain Collins in Plans," he began, calling the meeting to order, "and we agreed that we know at least three things. First, they're not local to 40 Eridani A; Second, they probably have FTL travel; Third, our weapons are effective against them at some level."
"Keen grasp of the obvious there, boss," Lieutenant Ann Cooper commented.
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