The Terran Fleet Command Saga BoxSet

by Tori Harris

  Reynolds narrowed her eyes at the implied jab. "I’d be fine with that, actually."

  "Beacon stabilized and transmitting, Captain. Ready for transition back to normal space," Schmidt reported.

  "Thank you, Schmidt. Ensign Fisher, execute your transition."

  With a single keystroke at the Helm console, the view screen immediately transitioned back to the familiar starfield with Gliese 667 Cc to starboard.

  "Transition complete, Captain. We are less than one meter from our previous location," Lieutenant Dubashi reported. "All systems in the green. Sublight engines are still offline, pending the next transition. Both standard and C-Drive transitions are available. C-Jump range now 18.5 light years and increasing again."

  "I’m getting good data from the beacon on our NRD comm array. That’s a successful deployment, sir," Schmidt said.

  "Well, I’m glad to see at least some of what we do come off without a hitch," Prescott replied. "Good job everyone. XO, please complete arrangements to receive Admiral Naftur and prepare the ship for an immediate C-Jump back to the Alpha Centauri system as soon as he’s aboard. We’ll pause there to recharge before continuing to Sol, just as we did before."

  "Aye, Captain."

  "I’ll be back with our guest shortly," Prescott said as he rose and headed for the flight deck. After a few steps, he stopped short and turned back to his XO. "See any reason why Naftur can’t join us on the bridge during the trip back?"

  "Not really. In for a penny, in for a pound," she smiled.

  "Right," he laughed. "That’s pretty much what I thought as well."

  ***

  Admiral Naftur touched down on Ingenuity’s aft flight apron aboard a decidedly wicked looking spacecraft that appeared to be optimized for landing a small squad of troops and then providing close air support. Once the small ship reached the pressurized portion of the flight deck, an honor guard of TFC Marines, resplendent in their Blue Dress "A" uniforms, stood ready to mark the first ever visit of a military official from another world.

  Although there had been talk of reinforcing the small contingent of Marine Corps troops serving aboard TFC frigates, Ingenuity currently carried only one assault section composed of thirteen Marines plus Master Sergeant Rios. The squad now formed two lines on either side of the descending shuttle stairway. As the admiral emerged, one of the Marines stepped forward and sounded the traditional "Over the Side" call on the boatswain’s pipe as every member of the assembled crew saluted.

  For his part, the admiral returned a crisp, Human-style salute as if he had been doing so for his entire career, then strode directly to Prescott to offer his hand.

  "It is an honor to meet you in person, Admiral Naftur," Prescott greeted, nodding toward a youngish TFC steward holding a tablet for relaying the AI’s translation. After the usual awkward pause, their conversation continued.

  "The honor is mine, Captain Prescott. I did some reading about your traditional naval ceremonies. This particular one I believe you refer to as ‘Tending the Side’ is surprisingly similar to one used for centuries on my homeworld of Graca."

  There was an uncharacteristic pause while the AI struggled to find an appropriate English word for the Wek homeworld. It certainly didn’t sound like "Graca" when he said it, Prescott thought, but at least it’s easy enough to say.

  "I am most pleased and honored by your generous welcome," Naftur continued, "but I beg that you will not trouble with further ceremony. There is urgent business to which we must attend, and I do not wish to be a source of delay."

  "Admiral, I believe that to be a universal constant aboard every naval vessel throughout history. There is never a moment to spare, but we always seem to find time for tradition."

  "Just so, Captain. Thank you again."

  Prescott nodded once again to the steward, who stepped forward smartly for his introduction. "Petty Officer Clark here will be at your service during your visit. Anything you need, please don’t hesitate to ask. If you like, we can stop by your quarters now and then you can accompany me to the bridge."

  "I would like that of all things. Now that I am aboard, you said we will arrive in the Sol system well before the Gresav, correct?"

  "We will indeed, sir. In fact, with any luck, we will arrive before dinner."

  Prescott gestured for the obviously amazed admiral to join him as they made their way off the flight deck.

  TFS Navajo, Earth Orbit

  Admiral Patterson stared at one of the large view screens lining the front of the Navajo’s Combat Information Center as TFS Jutland, Fleet’s first carrier to reach orbit, took up a position just under one thousand kilometers astern. He was well aware that having all of his forces sitting in Earth orbit was a little like being forced to defend his team’s end zone from their own one-yard line, but there was little choice at the moment. As soon as a full escort was available, however, he planned to move the Jutland to a location where she could at least threaten whatever enemy force showed up rather than wallowing around inside the planet’s gravity well. In any event, the carrier’s arrival, along with her impressive air wing, was a welcome sight.

  "Please inform Jutland’s air boss that I’d like long range recon flight operations underway as quickly as possible. If it’s inside the Oort cloud and moving, we need to know what it is," Patterson ordered the young ensign manning one of the CIC’s Comm consoles.

  "Aye, sir. She just signaled that they have a green flight deck and will commence flight ops momentarily."

  "Very well, thank you."

  Thank God for the Hunters, Patterson thought. Who was it that said "Quantity has a quality all its own?" Stalin? Well, murdering, communist thug or not, there was certainly some truth to that statement.

  In total, there were now over four hundred RPSVs deployed across the various Fleet ships on station in Earth orbit. The ubiquitous RPSV was actually one of the few things the admiral did now have in abundance, and what the Hunter lacked in firepower, it more than made up for with sheer numbers and versatility. Fleet had made the decision early on to rely almost exclusively on RPSVs to make up the bulk of their small, ship-based spacecraft. Not only were they compact, which allowed for much larger numbers to be deployed on a single vessel than similarly equipped manned spacecraft, but they were also relatively easy to manufacture and maintain. The fighter-like spacecraft were also no slouch when it came to performance. Their sublight engines were capable of rapid acceleration to near relativistic speeds. Even more impressive was the fact that recent successes with the C-Drive missile program had led to the newest Hunter models rolling off the assembly line with their own C-Drives.

  "One more thing regarding flight ops," Patterson said, once again addressing the young comm officer. "Please signal all ships that they should coordinate RPSV deployments so that there will always be at least two, four-ship formations of C-Drive-equipped Hunters in flight. This order will remain in effect until further notice."

  "Yes, Admiral."

  With any luck, the NRD-equipped surveillance drones deployed throughout the solar system would detect any inbound enemy ships or weapons. Once that happened, the admiral could vector in at least a few Hunters almost immediately. If nothing else, that should at least provide some indication of what they were up against. He had no illusions regarding the magnitude of the task, however. The Sol system encompassed a vast volume of space measuring nearly three light years across at the outer edge of the Oort cloud. Even if he was able to detect an enemy’s presence anywhere within the system, which was a stretch, it might not make that much difference anyway. In all likelihood, an enemy intent on attacking Earth would rally their forces well outside the Sol system, then use their hyperdrives to put their ships within weapons range. There would undoubtedly be little or no warning of their approach.

  "Contact!" a young female lieutenant announced loudly from the holographic display in the center of the room.

  Patterson had been so deep in thought that the announcement made him jump involuntar
ily, which did not improve his mood. Glancing around to see if anyone noticed, he walked over to take a look at the display. Currently configured to provide an all-encompassing view of the battlespace surrounding the Navajo out to five hundred thousand kilometers, the holographic table depicted so much information that it required quite a bit of practice to take it all in. At the moment, a beautifully rendered representation of the Earth itself dominated the table with an equally striking view of the moon off to one side. The admiral’s formation of Fleet assets in Earth orbit were clearly visible with blue icons designating them as friendly units. The unknown contact, which the AI had already classified as a frigate due to its size, was displayed with a yellow icon. Within seconds, an identifying text block appeared next to the newcomer and its icon changed to blue.

  "Contact identified as TFS Ingenuity," the lieutenant announced.

  "It’s about damn time," Patterson laughed, aware of just how ridiculous it was to complain about a round trip of nearly fifty light years taking less than a day.

  TFS Ingenuity, Inside Lunar Orbital Path

  (1.9x105 km from Earth)

  "Transition complete, Captain. Securing from hyperspace flight," Lieutenant Dubashi reported. "All systems in the green. Sublight engines online, we are free to maneuver. Both standard and C-Drive transitions are available. C-Jump range now 1.1 light years and increasing. We are eight hundred meters from our expected arrival point."

  "Multiple contacts, Captain," Lieutenant Lau announced. "All friendlies, sir. I’m getting standard Fleet identification streams from all of them. I have four Navajo-class cruisers and a Jutland-class carrier in geosynchronous orbit. There are also ten Ingenuity-class frigates and forty-six RPSVs patrolling the general area."

  "That’s decidedly better than when we left. Thank you both," Prescott replied. "Admiral Naftur, welcome to Terra."

  "I have seen many wondrous things in my career, Captain Prescott, but … I lack the words to describe this accomplishment. Had I not experienced it firsthand, I simply would not have believed it."

  "Captain," Lieutenant Dubashi interrupted, "signal from Admiral Patterson aboard the Navajo, sir. It reads ‘Captain, repair aboard flag.’"

  "Helm, put us in orbit five kilometers astern of the Navajo. XO, please signal Flight Ops to prepare the shuttle for immediate departure."

  "Aye, sir," Fisher and Reynolds replied in unison.

  Prescott had been dreading his inevitable meeting with Admiral Patterson since taking Admiral Naftur aboard. Revealing his ship’s capabilities to the Wek officer was a clear violation of his direct orders and Fleet security in general. Would his chain of command agree that doing so was justified under the circumstances, or would he find himself relieved of command and under arrest for dereliction of duty, perhaps even treason? Had it not been for the C-Drive, he would have had plenty of time to prepare himself during the return journey. Instead, he would now be forced to explain his actions mere hours after the battle at Gliese 667 Cc. For now, he did his level best to push all of the "what ifs" from his mind and focus on the business at hand.

  "I believe you and Admiral Patterson share a passion for military history, Admiral. The message he just sent is a traditional naval signal from the days of wind-driven sailing vessels. Originally, it would have been transmitted via a series of flags flown at the mast."

  "Traditional, but effective nonetheless," Naftur replied with a knowing, sympathetic smile.

  ***

  Three hundred and fifty thousand kilometers away, just inside the Moon’s orbit, a flight of four Hunter RPSVs from TFS Shawnee entered a long, sweeping turn. Shawnee’s AI had noted that the Moon just happened to be in a position to provide a gravity assist along the formation’s intended flight path. Although no longer strictly necessary from a technical standpoint, the AI generally selected the most efficient natural flight path as a simple matter of course.

  As the formation approached perigee, one of the spacecraft’s optical sensors noted an anomalous flash of light immediately to starboard. With the Hunters already in reconnaissance mode, the onboard AI dutifully reported the detection back to Shawnee via NRD net. At the same instant, all four RPSVs focused every active and passive sensor at their disposal in the direction of the contact. At this range, the Hunters’ sensor suites instantly detected and resolved the unknown contact in exquisite detail. The result appeared to be a small ship, barely fifty meters in length. Not surprisingly, the ship’s configuration did not match any vessel contained in the RPSVs’ onboard databases.

  As the data arrived in near real-time at TFS Shawnee, however, the capital ship’s vastly more powerful AI executed its own extensive search. In milliseconds, the AI calculated a ninety-four percent probable match based on footage gathered during the Wek squadron’s destruction a few weeks earlier.

  The Guardian spacecraft had been found.

  ***

  Simultaneously, at every Terran Fleet Command facility and aboard every vessel, the reserved command and control channels of the NRD net received the following "Flash" priority action message:

  Z2125

  TOP SECRET MAGI PRIME

  FM: GUARDIAN SYSTEM - MAGI - SOL SYSTEM

  TO: TFC FLEET OPS

  INFO: INDUCTION

  1. ASSEMBLE TFC LEADERSHIP COUNCIL AND SENIOR MILITARY STAFF AT Z1000.

  2. CONTACT WILL BE VIA SECURE LASER COMLINK WITH THE NEAREST TFC VESSEL.

  3. WELCOME, CHILDREN OF THE MAKERS. WELCOME, TO THE PELARAN ALLIANCE.

  _________________________________

  End of Book 1

  TFS THESEUS

  The Terran Fleet Command Saga – Book 2

  *****

  Tori L. Harris

  There are no great men, just great challenges which ordinary men, out of necessity, are forced by circumstances to meet.

  Fleet Admiral William Frederick “Bull” Halsey, Jr.

  TFS Theseus

  Chapter 1

  TFS Navajo, Earth Orbit

  (Combat Information Center)

  Vice Admiral Kevin Patterson, Chief of Naval Operations, stared intently at one of the large view screens lining one side of TFS Navajo’s Combat Information Center. Rather than a simple live feed from a single source, the image represented the combined inputs from a dizzying array of sensor types, all focused on a single target and seamlessly presented in real-time by the flagship’s AI.

  “Bridge, Gun-shy,” Patterson announced, using the call sign he had earned for himself years ago due to an unfortunate incident at the firing range.

  “Gun-shy, Navajo-Actual. Go ahead, Admiral,” came the immediate response from Flag Captain Ogima Davis, who had just hustled back to the bridge from his quarters after finally getting an opportunity for some much needed sleep.

  “If the AI’s projection is correct, our friend out there is coming straight at us. Go ahead and break orbit and attempt an intercept. I’m not sure how much difference it will make, but if we need to maneuver, I’d prefer to be out of Earth’s gravity well.”

  “Understood, Admiral.”

  “Nice and slow, Captain Davis. I’d like to give the impression we are coming out to greet an old friend, not confront an intruder. Gun-shy out.”

  Within seconds, the ever-present background rumbling noise in the CIC increased slightly as Navajo’s colossal sublight engines throttled up to begin pushing the mammoth, nine-hundred-fifty-meter-long heavy cruiser out of Earth orbit. Powerful Cannae thrusters mounted with varying orientations throughout the Navajo’s hull allowed her to execute a gentle, banking turn in the direction of the approaching Pelaran ship with an easy grace that seemed to contradict her tremendous size. Watching an external video feed of the maneuver, Admiral Patterson couldn’t help pausing to stare for a moment. Though she was nearly double the length of the largest ocean-going vessel ever built, Navajo executed the maneuver with much of the same nimble agility possessed by the much smaller Ingenuity-class frigates.

  “I need an Emergency Action Messag
e for immediate fleet-wide distribution,” Patterson announced without turning to look in the direction of the nearest Communications console in the CIC. Hearing no response, he wheeled around to face the young ensign, who appeared to be transfixed by the drama playing out on the various screens as if it were a particularly interesting cable news feed. “Ensign!” he bellowed, uncharacteristically raising his voice.

  Ensign Katy Fletcher jumped involuntarily, her normally fair complexion flushing bright red as she realized the admiral had actually been speaking to her. “Yes, Admiral Patterson, sorry sir.”

  The CNO raised a bushy eyebrow and regarded the young ensign momentarily. In spite of his irritation and the urgency of the current situation, a distant part of his mind quickly recalled a long list of similar transgressions committed by a young, particularly thickheaded ensign once known as simply “K.P.” The old admiral stifled a chuckle and shook his head to let Fletcher know that she should consider herself duly chastised. “It’s alright this time, Fletcher. If a sight like that doesn’t make you want to stop and stare, I think TFC may not be the right line of work for you.”

  “Hooyah, sir!”

  “Hooyah indeed. Now, let’s get to work, shall we?”

  With the enthusiastic help of a now fully alert Ensign Fletcher, Patterson took just over a minute to compose and transmit the following Emergency Action Message:

  Z2129

  TOP SECRET - MAGI PRIME

  FM: CNO ABOARD TFC FLAGSHIP, TFS NAVAJO

  TO: EAM — FOR IMMEDIATE TFC FLEET-WIDE DISTRIBUTION

  INFO: PELARAN GUARDIAN SPACECRAFT APPROACHING EARTH

  1. SPACECRAFT BELIEVED TO BE PELARAN GUARDIAN APPROACHING ON-ORBIT TFC FLEET ASSETS.

  2. IMPERATIVE THAT SHIPS AND ORBITAL FACILITIES TAKE NO PROVOCATIVE ACTIONS WHATSOEVER.