First Command

by Scott Bartlett

  “Speaking of prize money,” Thatcher said, elevating his volume to indicate that Candle should silence himself, “the New Jersey’s allotment of proceeds from any stolen goods we recover during the next month will be donated to the development of civil society on Planet Oasis. The same will occur in the following month, and then the next, and it will continue until I have become convinced that the crew’s primary motivations have shifted to those of service and duty.”

  He leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms and allowing himself an abbreviated smirk as he took in their expressions, which this time were almost uniformly stunned. As he did, he reflected that Lin would welcome the influx of cash that any prize money would represent, especially considering the captain always received the largest share. That kind of money could afford her and their son more comfort, and it would certainly mean a better future for young Edward.

  But none of that would matter if he allowed his ship to be destroyed because his crew was more motivated by greed than by working to ensure the New Jersey became the most effective weapon of war she could be.

  Lin. He longed for her—longed for the familiar way her slender body fit into his as they slept. Longed for the freshness of her scent as she slipped between their sheets after her evening shower.

  A message had caught up to him during his time on Oasis—two messages, actually. One from Rear Admiral Faulkner, which assured him that he would do everything in his power to keep Thatcher’s family safe, and the other from Lin, letting him know that she and both their parents had arrived safely on Earth’s moon.

  And Edward. Our son.

  They would be safe. The U.S. Space Fleet would fight to the last ship before allowing the Xanthic to get at Earth’s civilians, and for all Thatcher’s distrust of the UNC, he knew their super-ships would fight just as ardently.

  They’ll be safe. They have to be. If not, I’ll have nothing left to fight for.

  He knew that wasn’t quite true. If they were to die, he would have one final thing to drive him—a path that had been followed by incensed warriors all throughout Earth’s history. A burning impetus that could be boiled down to one bitter word.

  Vengeance.

  But he pushed that word out of his mind. It made him shudder, and it wouldn’t do to even entertain the thought.

  Chapter Eleven

  Aboard the New Jersey

  Gyve System, Olent Region

  Earth Year 2290

  “Ops, tell the Squall to keep pace with us. Nav, send our course to Lieutenant Guerrero for forwarding to the electronic warfare ship. And Lieutenant, I want the eWar ship to send directional jamming bursts at the enemy battle group the entire time it takes us to close.”

  “Aye, sir,” came from the Nav and Ops stations. He liked how prompt and crisp their responses were—he could tell they were eager to prove to him that they weren’t as money-motivated as he thought. Perhaps if they continued trying to prove that, it would eventually become true.

  This time, the pirates had chosen a different system to lie in ambush—the Gyve System, which lay deeper inside Olent and had five jump gates connecting it to surrounding systems. So far, there was no sign of the Xanthic, but all seven pirate ships were clustered around a small planet orbiting Gyve on the system’s outskirts. Thatcher assumed the rock had some importance for them, but even so, the pirates had given themselves five avenues of escape if things went poorly for them.

  They did not expect things to go poorly, he knew. These were the same ships from before—to confirm that, it was barely necessary to compare the sensor data Lucy Guerrero had sent him to the video record of the engagement that had claimed Captain Vaughn’s life. The last battle had borne every resemblance to a rout, and the pirates would have no reason to believe this one would end differently, even if their Xanthic friends weren’t present. Thatcher was willing to bet that right now, their comms were alive with disbelieving laughter at the stupidity of Frontier’s return.

  It was exactly how he wanted them to feel, and a cursory study of the tactical display on his holoscreen offered further confirmation. The way their frontmost ships clustered together screamed sloppiness born of arrogance.

  “Lieutenant Commander,” Thatcher said with his eyes locked onto the back of his XO’s head, his voice and face stern.

  Candle turned, a slight jolt rocking him as he saw the expression on his captain’s face. Throwing his XO off-balance at such a critical moment wouldn’t have been his normal approach, but the New Jersey wasn’t a normal command. He wanted his officers on their back feet, uncertain of themselves and anxious to justify their positions. Thatcher saw that as his best chance to extract a good performance from them.

  “Fire the first Hellborn targeting the lead ship, the one in the center of the trio clustered at the enemy’s fore.”

  Candle blinked. “Sir, with due respect, aren’t we a bit far away to—”

  “Fire that missile, XO.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Thatcher had ordered a Hellborn loaded into the Jersey’s only missile tube the moment they’d left Planet Oasis, and so it took only seconds for the telltale shudder to announce the missile’s departure.

  “Missile away, Captain.”

  “Very good. Have the missile bay crew load the next, and make sure it’s the one I specifically designated to be fired second.” Thatcher twisted in his seat, toward the lanky man sitting at the Helm station. “Lieutenant Kitt, bring engines up to one hundred percent.

  “Aye, Captain,” Kitt answered softly, after a slight hesitation.

  “We will continue to accelerate until we’ve caught up with our Hellborn. When we do, match our acceleration to the missile, and notify me at once.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  A heavy silence had fallen over the CIC, and Thatcher could almost hear his officers’ thoughts. What was their captain doing, firing at the enemy from such a distance? And accelerating to catch up with their own missile?

  That they’d never encountered a tactic like this was a dead certainty, because no one had. But Thatcher knew what he was doing.

  He hoped.

  “We’ve matched the missile’s velocity, sir,” Kitt said.

  Thatcher nodded. “Fire the second Hellborn, XO. Target the same ship as before.”

  Shortly after they’d left the Dupliss Region, as they were sailing through Tempore, Thatcher had instructed his chief engineer to reprogram seven missiles so that they would communicate with any other Hellborns currently in play in order to match velocities with them.

  He repeated the series of orders he’d given over the last several minutes—load one of the reprogrammed missiles, catch up to the Hellborns already fired, and loose the one in the tube. In this way, he built up an eight-missile barrage, where the New Jersey was only supposed to be capable of launching one at a time.

  The Squall continued its efforts to jam the enemy’s sensors all the while. Thatcher figured Frontier was probably justified in its confidence that the new Hellborn model was resistant to hacking, but that didn’t mean he intended to take any chances. The jamming should also serve to mask what was coming the pirates’ way. Most captains waited until the last possible second to put up their shields, because of the massive power drain it involved. If these pirates failed to detect Thatcher’s barrage, then they’d be sitting ducks.

  The New Jersey’s railgun accelerator flung the eighth missile forward, and Thatcher gave his next orders. “Nav, set a new course that adjusts our attitude upward, enough that we’ll steer well clear of any shrapnel.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Lieutenant Sullivan replied in a thick Irish brogue.

  “Ops, have the Squall stand by to execute an omnidirectional jamming burst five seconds before those missiles hit. She is to reverse course immediately after, return to the jump gate and head back to the previous system, to await us there for no more than twenty-four hours. If we don’t arrive within that timeframe, she has my leave to return to Oasis.” Thatcher eyed Candle. “
XO, prepare to raise shields on my mark.”

  On Thatcher’s holographic screen, he watched as the New Jersey and its deadly payload soared across the void toward the pirate formation. Raising his fingers to the display, he rotated the 3D image this way and that. This was nothing more than a needless compulsion. He knew his calculations were correct.

  Nearly there…

  “We just entered their lead ship’s effective firing range, sir,” said Lucy Guerrero.

  “Steady,” Thatcher said.

  Candle’s head twitched. “Sir—”

  “I said steady.”

  “The lead three ships have fired missiles of their own, sir,” Guerrero said. “Two each, for a total of six.”

  Candle was all but squirming at his station, now, as the missiles sped closer and he waited for his captain’s command.

  “Mark,” Thatcher said.

  With that, two things happened simultaneously. The New Jersey’s shields sprang to life, and the Squall executed its global jamming burst, washing out Thatcher’s tactical display, which returned with a notice that the data displayed wasn’t up-to-date.

  They were flying blind, their attitude-adjusted trajectory bringing them just a couple thousand kilometers above the enemy formation. The CIC crew displayed their tension in various ways, some twitching, others sitting rigid at their stations, waiting for their displays to update.

  “Two missiles just impacted our shields,” Guerrero said. “Down to eighty-seven percent power.”

  Thatcher nodded. It would take more missiles than that to knock down the Jersey’s force field.

  The sensor interference cleared at last, and tactical displays updated across the CIC, along with the main display shown inside the broad tank at the front. Two of the seven pirates ships had vanished from the battlespace. The Squall was well away, speeding back toward the system they’d arrived from.

  Cheering broke out, with the CIC crew turning and congratulating each other, probably in spite of themselves. They quickly checked themselves, especially when they noticed Thatcher’s stern gaze.

  “This isn’t over yet,” he said. “What’s the status of our third target, Ops?”

  “She’s streaming fuel and debris, but still appears operational. The other four ships are giving chase, with the one we struck limping behind.”

  Thatcher nodded.

  “Shall I bring us about, Captain?” Sullivan asked, eagerness infusing his voice. He twisted in his seat to look at Thatcher.

  “Negative. Set a new course for the jump gate into Nemorous.”

  “We’re…running, sir? Deeper into the region?”

  “We’re following orders,” Thatcher said, eyes locked onto his Nav officer’s. “And we’re not asking any questions.”

  Crestfallen, Sullivan turned back to his station. “Aye, sir.”

  Heading into the next system represented a risk, given there could be more enemy ships lying in wait there, maybe even the Xanthic. But Thatcher considered the risk small. These pirates were banding together in a way that was unprecedented for the Dawn Cluster—which meant they would proceed with some caution, knowing they had only Reardon Interstellar to back them up in the event of a backlash. If indeed Reardon was behind all this.

  Either way, Thatcher considered the risk of entering Nemorous a tiny one. The pirates wouldn’t split their forces. They would fight all together, or flee together. And if the Xanthic were still there, they would have already revealed themselves.

  Right now, Thatcher’s dirty trick had pissed off the pirates enough to chase him with abandon. They knew they still had the numerical superiority, and now that he’d expended his ploy with the missiles, he had no chance of defeating all five of their warships at once.

  But I won’t have to, will I?

  Having accelerated constantly across half the system, the Jersey had an enormous head start on the pirate vessels, and now they were each maxing out their engines in their fervor to catch up with him. Thatcher had made a careful study of Vaughn’s engagement with them, and he’d seen what a motley assortment of mismatched warships and converted freight haulers they were piloting. Typical for pirates, but it meant that each of their ship’s acceleration profiles was different. As such, they were currently stringing themselves across the Gyve System in a ragged line, with the most powerful engine at the front, and the wounded ship in the rear, with several thousand kilometers between each ship already. And those gaps were expanding.

  “Lower shields,” Thatcher said as they neared the jump gate. “Nav, I suggest you triple-check your course calculations. We’re sailing straight through the gate and we’re not stopping.”

  “Aye, sir,” Sullivan said, his tone gloomy.

  “Ops, can you get a read on the gate at this distance while we’re moving? I want to make it look like we’re in such a panic that we didn’t take the time to ping it.”

  “I’ve already run diagnostics, sir. The gate’s fully functional.” It was to Guerrero’s credit that she didn’t question or hesitate in executing her captain’s orders. He knew it wasn’t advised to transition through a jump gate at their current velocity, but battles involved risks, and he couldn’t afford to appear at all relaxed to the pirates. If he did, they might sniff out what was coming and regroup.

  “Candle?” Thatcher said, not bothering to spell out what he wanted. The man should know.

  And he did. “Inertial compensators passed their checks, sir.”

  “Very good.”

  “Jumping now,” Guerrero said, and a moment later the Jersey lurched forward, though it wasn’t quite as noticeable as it usually was. The compensators worked together with their already considerable speed to make their ride just a little smoother.

  “Nav, I want you to take us out of the jump zone once we enter Nemorous, and then bring us about. XO, keep shields down unless I say otherwise, and stand by to use our primary to hose down the shields of the first ship to come through. I also want a Hellborn loaded into the tube.”

  Both officers bent to their stations, and by the time the New Jersey emerged into the Nemorous System, they both were ready to execute. Thatcher allowed himself a satisfied nod as his ship slowed at a rate that would keep him within firing range of the entire jump zone.

  A regular jump zone like this one spanned a thousand square kilometers, and regional jump zones were even bigger. Where in the zone you ended up after using the corresponding jump gate was essentially random, but the chances of one ship jumping on top of another were vanishingly small, and the jump gate’s computer did what it could to cut down on those odds even more.

  Though large, jump zones were still manageable enough that it was possible to keep the entire area under a waiting ship’s guns. Which was exactly what Thatcher would do now.

  “Sullivan, prepare a course that can be adapted depending on where the first ship appears—one that takes us past it at fifty percent engine power, the moment it shows up.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The fastest pirate ship was one of the converted freighters, and it wasn’t likely to have missiles—just some automated railgun turrets welded onto her hull. By moving perpendicular to those turrets, thereby increasing the Jersey’s transverse velocity relative to them, it would make their ship harder to hit. There was a good chance the cruiser would neutralize the pirate ship while remaining unscathed.

  And indeed, when the converted freighter appeared, that was exactly what happened. It wasn’t necessary to launch the Hellborn loaded in the New Jersey’s tube—instead, the starboard-side gunners pelted the freighter with their beams until it burst apart under the energy being dumped into it.

  So it went for each subsequent pirate ship that entered the system. Their surprise was evident in their slow reaction time, and the New Jersey made short work of them, using only two missiles in the process, and relying on her primary and secondary lasers as well as her own railgun turrets to do the rest.

  When the fifth ship went down—the one they’d
already wounded with missiles, which exploded before it could fire a single shot—a stunned silence settled over the CIC. Had any light armored cruiser ever managed to dispatch seven foes in a single engagement? Thatcher had never heard of it happening.

  News of the tactics he’d used would no doubt spread across the Cluster, no matter how hard he tried to keep a lid on them, and captains would begin to prepare against them. He doubted that could be helped.

  No matter. I’ll come up with new ones.

  “Take us back to Gyve, Nav,” he said. “Let’s rendezvous with our eWar ship and then start toward Oasis to report our success.”

  As his officer carried out his orders, Thatcher scrutinized his own holoscreen, where there was still no sign of the Xanthic.

  Where did you go?

  Part of him felt relieved the massive vessel hadn’t been with the pirates, this time. Another, slightly less sane part, felt disappointed.

  Chapter Twelve

  Aboard the New Jersey

  Omnist System, Tempore Region

  Earth Year 2290

  The hatch buzzed, and Thatcher thumbed open the lock. Ensign Jimmy Devine stepped into the office to stand at rigid attention.

  “At ease,” Thatcher said.

  Devine’s left leg parted from his right as he folded his hands behind his back.

  “Have a seat, Devine.”

  The young engineer did so, and Thatcher toyed with the idea of offering him a drink from the scotch Captain Vaughn had kept in the bottom drawer of his desk. He instantly scrapped the idea, since it ran counter to his recent restriction on fraternization as well as his intention of making this vessel a dry one.

  “How is the crew reacting to our recent engagement?” Thatcher asked.

  His informant shifted in his chair, as he always did before giving his captain news that was bad, or at best mixed. “You can tell they have a great deal of admiration for what you did, sir. I’m not sure anyone’s wrapped their head around it yet, exactly. All the same, they sure are stingy with their praise. They don’t like to see their prize money going to charity for at least the next month, and I take it their old captain would have stopped to salvage those wrecks, rather than leaving them for another Frontier vessel to come out and pick over.”