by Tori Harris
“I’ll get to that, just let me finish the positive stuff first,” she smiled. “The Gurkhas, as well as all twenty-four of our Hunters, are C-Drive equipped. I can promise you that Captain Oshiro must have stripped those from other vessels. Those other destroyers down there, for example,” she said, nodding towards the five additional Theseus-class destroyers in Berths Twelve through Sixteen, “are all scheduled to launch within the next week or so. They are getting no Marines, no Gurkhas, and only four C-Drive-equipped RPSVs each.”
“Jeez, Sally, I’m afraid we’re going to have a lot of senior captains with their noses out of joint.”
“They’ll get over it, sir. Besides, we’re ‘first and best,’ remember?” Reynolds had come up with the “first and best” motto during Ingenuity’s shakedown cruise. Although it seemed to have a different meaning at the time, the phrase now seemed destined to follow Captain Prescott and his crew, regardless of which ship they served aboard.
“Uh huh. I doubt they’ll see things in quite the same way we do.”
“By the way, why are you still here?” she asked with a suspicious, sideways look.
“Oh, right, I guess I didn’t mentioned that yet, did I? The main reason is that I asked to be excused. The families of the crewmen we lost will be here later today, and I’m planning to spend some time with them.” Prescott paused, looking down at the ground momentarily before staring directly into Reynolds’ eyes. “I’ve reviewed the logs, Sally. We probably could have made another C-Jump and avoided the missile that killed those people.”
“No, I really don’t think …”
“Yeah, it’s the truth,” he interrupted. “What’s really strange is that I’m okay with letting myself off the hook for that. It was in the heat of battle, we were low on power, we hadn’t really trained for the scenario … whatever. What’s bothering me is that I didn’t know a single one of them,” he said, tears now clearly visible in his eyes. “They were aboard my ship for almost two months — they died as a direct result of decisions I made — and I can’t remember ever having a conversation with any of them.”
Reynolds simply nodded, trying her best to offer a look not of sympathy, but of understanding. “Look, I’m not going to stand here and insult you by telling you that’s okay. You and I both know it’s not. What I can do is help you make sure it doesn’t happen again. There are a number of things we can do along those lines. It’s just going to take some time, particularly since we just tripled the size of our crew.” She paused, watching to see what kind of impact her words were having. Once she was satisfied that Prescott was recovering a bit, she continued. “So I’ll take responsibility for helping us to avoid this problem going forward. You good with that?” she asked, smiling and desperately hoping to change the subject.
“Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks … you’re probably the only person I’d ever tell something like that.” Prescott smiled, took in a deep breath, and made what seemed like a smooth transition back to their previous conversation. “Anyway … based on my request and what Admirals Sexton and White learned when they started debriefing Admiral Naftur, they flagged me off for the trip to HQ. They also reiterated in the strongest possible terms that our first priority is getting Theseus ready to depart as quickly as humanly possible … preferably quicker,” he said. “So, at the risk of getting pushed over the side of this wharf, I am obligated to ask you …”
“How soon we can leave?” she interrupted, with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “I need at least a week, but since I know that’s not going to happen, I’d say a minimum of seventy-two hours, based on what I’ve seen so far.”
“Commander, that sounds completely reasonable to me, but what I’m asking you to do right now is proceed as if you are expecting something completely unreasonable. Structure your thinking and then prioritize your tasks as if we’re going to be forced to take her into battle on a moment’s notice.”
Reynolds took in a quick breath and opened her mouth to object.
“Relax,” he interrupted in a firm, but soothing tone. “I’m not saying that’s what’s going to happen, but it just might. We’re on a war footing right now, and we just happen to be the only crew available with combat experience. We may also be Fleet’s best and only chance to avoid a shooting war with the Sajeth Collective. Admiral Naftur thinks that if we are unable to prevent the Resistance task force from attacking, and then we end up destroying their forces in detail, it may push the more moderate members of the Collective towards all-out war against Earth.”
“Well it’s not like we can just allow them to attack.”
“Exactly. And if they do attack, I have no doubt in my mind that the old man will make damn sure we wipe them out completely. So our mission will be to do everything we can to prevent the attack from ever happening, if at all possible. The Jutland has Hunter recon flights out looking for the Resistance staging area right now. I suspect they will send us out with Naftur to meet them as soon as their forces are located.”
Reynolds paused and stared in the direction of their new ship for a moment. “It’s actually a little difficult to wrap your mind around the gravity of what we’re doing. But all that aside, doesn’t it bother you that we’ve never flown that ship before?” she asked, jutting her chin in the direction of the massive destroyer looming large on the far side of Ingenuity.
“How hard could it be?” Prescott laughed. “Captain Oshiro did give you the keys, right?”
“Oh, that’s hilarious, sir. We’re doing old pilot training humor again now, are we?” she smirked, referring to a practical joke that had been a favorite of military flight instructors since the mid-twentieth century. Before the student pilot’s first flight, and usually after a long trip out to the waiting aircraft, the instructor would pretend to become irritated with the student for forgetting the keys. Typically, the hapless student was then given a tongue-lashing, along with explicit instructions to go and ask the unit’s commanding officer for the non-existent keys which, of course, usually led to an even more comprehensive tongue-lashing.
“If you don’t think that’s funny, then you’ve obviously never seen it play out in real life,” Prescott smiled nostalgically. “Okay, in all seriousness, that ship intimidates me a little as well. I mean, just look at her,” he nodded. “Under the circumstances, though, we’re going to have to take the Fleet Science and Engineering guys at their word that if you can fly the frigate, you can fly the destroyer. I do want you to schedule some time for our bridge crews to all be in the sim together, however, and that includes the two of us, if at all possible.”
“Will do, sir,” she sighed. “We’ll just have to do the best we can in the time we have available.”
“That’s all we can do.”
“One more thing I forgot to mention, I managed to cobble together some of my notes as well as the tactical assessments from our engagement at Gliese 667. The big things I thought our crews should know about regarding Sajeth Collective vessels were the limited field of fire on the big cruisers, their vulnerability to kinetic energy rounds, and the weaknesses their shields seem to have near the sublight engine nozzles. I also included all of our weapons’ effectiveness data and some specific commentary on our use of the C-Drive-equipped missiles.”
“Excellent. I’m sure that’s exactly what Admiral Patterson was looking for. Go ahead and send it.”
“Already done, sir. Believe it or not, he insisted on it being distributed via courier and designated ‘For Captain’s Eyes Only.’”
“That doesn’t surprise me, given the sensitivity of the information. Thank you, Commander. I know I’m asking a lot of you, but I’m confident you’re up to the challenge,” he said. “Oh, one last thing. I need you to make sure our people are getting some rest too. Your hotshot, stolen crew won’t do us much good if they’re all asleep at their posts when we launch.”
“Sounds great, Captain. In fact, I think I’ll go grab a nap right now.”
“Not you, XO. You can sleep when you’r
e dead,” he replied, already heading up the gangway towards one of Ingenuity’s port-side entrances. “I’ll check back with you later. I’ve got a couple of things to wrap up here, then I’m heading next door to find Logan and make sure he’s not sleeping either.”
Chapter 6
Hunter Formation “Nail 42,” Interstellar Space
(2.3 light years from Earth)
The two-ship RPSV formation transitioned into normal space within just a few centimeters of their expected coordinates, their AIs’ navigational accuracy having already benefited from data gathered during Ingenuity’s trip to the Gliese 667 system. Within milliseconds of their arrival, both ships commenced an exhaustive search of the surrounding space, utilizing every active and passive sensor at their disposal. Rather than each ship searching the same, spherical volume of space, each was responsible for a hemispherical, dome-shaped region expanding outward from their current position at the speed of light. Although there was nothing that could be done to increase the speed of their search, coordinating their sensor coverage in this manner did at least offer the benefit of doubling the effective power transmitted as each ship scanned its own area of responsibility.
Unfortunately, not only were there three hundred and thirty-six potential rally points to search for the Resistance task force, but each individual location also came with its own degree of uncertainty. Having tasked the Gresav’s AI with narrowing the search, based on the somewhat predictable navigation pathways favored by older Wek vessels, Admiral Naftur had also directed the system to determine the smallest effective search radius that could be used at all reconnaissance locations. Accomplishing this required the AI to account for a truly staggering number of variables including both the exotic: space-time distortions caused by Sol’s bow shock wave as the star plowed through the interstellar medium, to the more mundane: the most likely deceptive tactics a Resistance commander might use to defeat exactly this type of search. With all known variables taken into account, the AI determined that the radius of each “recon bubble” should extend 11.33 billion kilometers. The AI further specified that passive scans should allow time for “new light” to be received from the entire search volume in order to provide the highest probability that any ships within the recon bubble would be detected. Once found, observing the enemy ships’ movements over a period of time might also provide clues as to how their forces would eventually be deployed during an attack. In spite of these advantages, gathering “new light” was a slow process. Had a passive sensor snapshot been considered sufficient, the scan could have been executed almost instantaneously — much like a three-dimensional photograph of the area — which would have also allowed the Hunters to limit their potential exposure to enemy forces.
The use of active sensors presented an entirely different set of challenges for TFC mission planners. Although new techniques were under development that promised the capability of detecting distant targets in real-time using technology similar to Near Earth Real-Time Data Network (NRD) comm beacons, the active sensor suite aboard all current Fleet vessels relied on a much more traditional approach. A variety of signal types were transmitted across the search area and any return signals were then analyzed in an effort to detect the presence of ships or other anomalies. Since active sensor scans forced a vessel to wait for a return signal, the search radius was limited to only half that of a passive scan during a given period of time.
There had, in fact, been a spirited debate among the engineers at TFC Headquarters as to whether active sensors should be employed on this particular mission. Those opposed argued that the Hunters’ passive sensors were more than adequate for the job, based on the size and number of warships expected to make up the Resistance task force. Active sensor emissions would only serve to alert the Resistance vessels that they had most likely been detected. As fighter pilots had been fond of saying for centuries, “Whoever lights up first, gets smoked.” In the end, it was decided that using the Hunters’ active sensor suites was worth the risk. There was a high probability that the enemy ships would be located near the center of one of the three hundred thirty-six recon bubbles. If that was indeed the case, an active scan would not only make their detection a virtual certainty, but would also provide a wealth of data that could then be used to plan for Earth’s defense. Active scans were also capable of detecting the minute disturbances associated with vessels “parked” at a fixed location in hyperspace, although Admiral Naftur had indicated that this tactic was not one typically utilized by Sajeth Collective forces.
Now, for the next ten and a half hours, the two Hunter RPSVs would simply wait as the visible sphere of space surrounding their position expanded at just over one billion kilometers per hour.
TFC Yucca Mountain Shipyard Facility
On his way back to Theseus, Prescott finally took a few minutes to survey the damage to his ship. Since there was nothing in his (or any other Human being’s) previous experience to use as a comparison, he had no idea what to expect. Nevertheless, the damage was much more extensive than he would have guessed. To put it mildly, the ship was a mess. The most visually striking aspect of the damage was that it seemed to cover the entire hull. In fact, it looked as if there wasn’t a single square centimeter he could have walked up and touched that had been unaffected by thermal damage of some sort. As energy weapon bolts had struck the hull, those with sufficient power had melted, or even vaporized, layers of armor until their energy was consumed. Each time this had happened — and it had obviously happened many, many times — molten metal had splattered the surrounding area and then quickly re-solidified, resulting in a general disfigurement of the frigate’s once-proud appearance.
As Prescott made his way around the bow, he noticed a repair crew that appeared to be assessing the missile impact damage to Ingenuity’s starboard hull. As he approached, what he saw above halted him dead in his tracks. He had in fact walked this same path immediately following Ingenuity’s landing several hours earlier, but in his rush to get the process of transferring his command underway, he had been too distracted to notice the extent of the damage until now. The missile impact area was located nearly forty meters above the level of the wharf, where the uppermost section of the ship’s hull smoothly transitioned into her dorsal surface. For several minutes, Prescott paced back and forth along the platform between Ingenuity and Theseus, craning his neck in an attempt to get the best possible view. He was simultaneously fascinated and shocked by what he saw. Although from an engineering perspective Prescott had a general idea of how nuclear-tipped missiles designed to detonate in the vacuum of space were configured, he had, of course, never had the opportunity to see the damage caused by such a weapon. By and large, the weapons were designed to generate what might be referred to as a massive, nuclear-powered plasma cutter. To create this effect, materials included inside the body of the missile and within the warhead itself flash-vaporized to produce a shaped charge jet of ionized plasma traveling at over half the speed of light. In an ideal case, the missile would be situated so that the center of this superheated cone would come into contact with the target’s hull at very close range. Luckily for Ingenuity, and most of her crew, the missile had been thrown off course at the last moment and forced into opting for a proximity detonation rather than missing its target altogether. The orientation of the warhead had channeled the blast along a path roughly parallel to the upper section of the ship’s starboard hull, resulting in the majority of its destructive power streaming harmlessly away into space. Even a glancing blow from the atomic fury unleashed by the weapon had caused a level of damage that was truly frightening to behold, however. Although it seemed like a strange analogy, the area of impact reminded Prescott of the way a new box of ice cream looked after someone had taken a particularly generous first scoop. The damage began on the side of the ship with some scoring and a shallow scar, growing progressively deeper towards the top of the hull. At its deepest point, it appeared that nearly the entire two-and-a-half-meter-thick hull had been
gouged away. An involuntary chill ran down the length of Prescott’s spine as he considered the catastrophic structural failure that could have occurred if the angle of impact had been modified just slightly …
“We got awfully lucky, there, sir,” Kip Logan said, unintentionally startling his captain as he approached from behind. He had noticed Prescott staring pensively at the damage and thought it appropriate to give him a few moments to be alone with his thoughts before starting a conversation. “Sorry about that. I thought you saw me.”
“No, that’s alright, Commander. I was about to come find you anyway. This is the first time I’ve had a chance to take a look at the damage. I guess I was in my own little world there for a few moments.”
“Understandable, Captain. It’s actually quite a bit worse than I thought at the time, and I should have known better. We have pretty much one hundred percent visibility of the hull when we’re in space, but most of the optical sensors are collocated with the close-in weapon system turrets. We lost three of those to the impact, so the video feeds lacked the fidelity they usually have. It looked like we had lost a meter at the most, but still had several of the outer armor layers intact. See that deepest point up there at the top where it looks a little shiny in the middle? That’s her inner hull, so there was only thirty centimeters or so between us and an explosive decompression.”
“So we probably had no business straining her with a combat landing,” Prescott said.
“I probably would have said no, just to be on the safe side, but we were still in pretty good shape structurally. It’s just a good thing we didn’t take another hit in that area, that’s all,” Logan chuckled, trying to lighten the rather dire tone of their conversation a bit. “I gotta tell you, though, this thing is a beast,” he said, turning and gesturing with both hands towards TFS Theseus on the opposite side of the wharf.
