“Commander,” Harper responded with severity and professionalism, looking up at her just under the brim of his cap, “Status report.”
“Warp reactor is running at peak efficiency, and all systems are go,” she replied, following his lead in her demeanor. She was an attractive woman, despite the dirty navy-blue jumpsuit and mechanic’s grease on her face. She had smooth hazel skin and her shoulder length, glossy, jet black hair was pulled back behind her head. She knew her way in an engine room blindfolded.
“If you could, clear your personnel from the room,” he said, trying to maintain that it was an order, but also trying not to sound too harsh.
“You heard him, move on to the other items on your checklist,” she relayed to the other crew members. They quickly ended their work and exited through the hatches on the upper levels. She began her descent to the lower level and Harper shed his official posture, removing his cap and hanging it on the grip of his side arm.
“Thank you,” he said without looking at her.
“I was wondering when you would make it down here,” She said jovially as she trotted down the steps, skipping every other.
“You know me too well,” He replied as he stepped onto the platform that straddled the pipeline from the warp intake. He hovered his hands inches over the lettering on the reactors surface, declaring
Cleveland Motor Company 2000c Warp Engine
not wanting to smudge the polished chrome characters.
He placed his full hand instead on the glossed white surface of the machine, and felt a rush of adrenaline as the vibrations from beneath permeated his body.
“Are you sure you’re going to be able to handle this,” she asked playfully. Having served with him on the battleship U.N.S. Beowulf, she was well aware that he suffered from, or rather enjoyed, a condition known as “warp euphoria.” Some people were susceptible to a strong physiological effect from warp travel, either “warp euphoria” or “warp anxiety.” In reality, the same condition. An unexplained sensitivity to the sensation of space bending around them caused an intense chemical reaction. The euphoria or anxiety varied from person to person, in the same way that some people have a paralyzing fear of heights, while others like jumping off of bridges with nothing but an elastic cord saving them from certain death.
“You know the effects are too benign to be of any concern,” he replied, ignoring her snarky tone.
“True, but they haven’t had the opportunity to test any one with those conditions on a ship this fast,” she fired back.
“Well, I guess we will find out soon,” he said as he smiled at her. He took a deep breath and felt the vibrations for a moment longer before pulling away, reluctantly, and descending from the platform with a short hop. He cleared his throat and pulled his cap back onto his head. He resumed his military posture and addressed her in a serious tone, “We depart at 0930. I expect the Captain will get all two-thousand c’s out of this machine, should he need them?”
She straightened up and saluted, “Yes, sir!”
“Very well then,” he responded, allowing a half smile to flash at her before exiting the room.
* * *
When Harper exited the elevator, he had already shed his dress uniform. He now donned the work standard black BDUs with three silver globe pins on his right collar, and three silver stripes on his right sleeve. He walked down the corridor and entered flight operations. Surrounded by windows that gave a full view of what was occurring on the flight deck, the room was filled with consoles and crew members chattering away on headsets that kept them constantly in contact with the deck crew.
Directing the action was Parker, a tall brunette with curves that couldn’t be hidden by the military uniform. She had a sharp chin and prominent cheek bones, and though she was easy to look on, Harper knew there was a long list of junior officers and crewmen that knew exactly how harsh she could be. Parker was another pilot formerly of the S.S.D.F., and his wingman before he transferred. She politely smiled and nodded at Harper before returning to her work.
Above flight operations was the great dome that separated it, and the bridge, from the vacuum outside, but gave both crews a clear view in every direction away from the dorsal hull.
The bridge was a raised platform that covered the forward portion of flight operations. In the rear center of that platform was the Captain’s chair, where he had a full view of every viewport on the dome, every crew member on the bridge, as well the aft portion of flight operations, and immediate contact with Parker. The two crews needed to be able to operate independently, but could not afford any delay in contact with the ship’s commanding officer.
McLeod turned in his chair and looked down on Harper. “Commander. Glad you could join us,” he said nonchalantly, before returning his attention forward. Harper ascended onto the platform via the nearest of two short staircases on either side of the platform. Immediately in front of the Captain’s chair were the helm and tactical consoles. On the left side was the helm officer, Lieutenant Junior Grade Eric Palmer. To Palmer's right was Lieutenant Sigurd Lane, the officer responsible for the ship’s primary external weapons.
Forward of those consoles was the operations console. From here, macro communications were operated, RLADAR analyzed, anomalies tracked, and a host of other functions. The officer in charge of this station was Ensign Akira Sato. On the rear of the platform, facing outward from the bridge were two auxiliary consoles. The unit to the Captain’s left was for internal security, and to the right was internal operations, including damage control.
The bridge controls, as well as the controls in many key areas of the ship, were still operated with analog switches, levers, and dials. Touch screen technology was convenient in many respects, but was still prone to damage and malfunction, and could not be depended on for the most important ship operations.
As Harper approached, McLeod checked one of the many data screens on the arms of his chair. Noting the time, he smiled. “Ensign Sato, lets clear the moorings and get this boat on its way."
“Aye, sir.” He scrolled through data on one of his screens before continuing. “All supplies and personnel are on board, instructing dry dock crews to clear the umbilical lines and prepare to unlock docking clamps on your order.”
“Instruct engineering to warm up the ion thrusters and prime the warp reactor,” McLeod directed to the micro operations officer on his right, without taking his eyes off the stars ahead. He briefly glanced at one of the screens on his chair to verify the order had been carried out.
“Moorings are cleared, standing by to release docking clamps,” Sato sounded.
“Release now. Helm, ahead auxiliary thrusters full,” McLeod directed.
“Ahead auxiliary thrusters full,” Palmer repeated. Harper stood next to the Captain with his arms behind his back, and watched as the nose of the ship peeked out of the dry dock doors, the vastness of space enveloping the dome more with every moment. As the bridge fully passed the threshold, the reflection of the sun on his former assignment, the U.N.S. Beowulf, caught his eye. Leading a formation of three other battleships that had been assigned to the launch ceremony, it appeared to have grabbed McLeod's attention too.
In the U.N.C. Navy, vessels rarely traveled together. However, the public still held on to the nostalgic image of a fleet of warships sailing off in formation. So, the powers that be granted their wish. Harper felt the tug of nostalgia himself, having spent a good portion of his naval career on that vessel, but knew it could not compare to what McLeod felt, having commanded her for seven years. They both, however, knew that Captain Timothy Adkins was a fine choice for the commanding officer of the aging vessel.
The slow monotonous procedure of clearing dry dock space passed surprisingly quickly with the anticipation that seemed to arc like lightning through the entire bridge and flight operations crew. Before they knew it, the vessels were in formation and ion thrusters were engaged, pushing the vessels along at 800 KPH.
“Ensign Sato, inform th
e other vessels to set coordinates for their first patrol destinations and prepare to warp out after us,” McLeod ordered. “Helm set ours for Tennant one.”
“What speed, sir,” Palmer inquired.
“Fifteen-hundred C is fine. The media won’t know the difference,” McLeod responded. He glanced up and saw the disappointment on Harper’s face. “Don’t worry, Commander, we’ll stretch her legs soon enough.”
“Why Tennant one? The first system on our patrol is Murphrid,” Harper pointed out.
“You’ll see.”
“All ships have responded, waiting for our mark,” Sato chimed in.
“Good. Here goes nothing I guess. Would you like to do the honors, Commander,” McLeod directed at Harper.
“Absolutely, sir. Helm, prepare to jump on my mark,” Harper ordered as he sat in the small folding seat attached to the railing.
A moment later the aft warp field port on the Resolution ignited, and the ship was gone, leaving behind only a bolt of light, stretching into the black.
Chapter 3
Panama
June 8, 2213
1054
Tennant system
Orbiting a red star, the lonely, giant, green planet of Tennant One, commonly referred to simply as Tennant because of its solitary nature, basked in the nourishing star light. The small station that orbited the planet was just now floating into the day side of its one hour patrol above the marshy rock. Had the station remained on the night side of the planet any longer, someone in the command center may have noticed the flash of light in the distance. The ready fighters in the hanger bay may have been fired up and sent out to investigate. But, the stations line of sight was blocked by the planet, the fighters remained silent, and no one was aware of the Resolution’s arrival in the system. The station continued its monotonous orbit, and its complacency, fostered by its position buried in the cradle of human civilization.
* * *
Harper sat in the Captain’s chair, idly watching the luminescent flow of the warp field as it lapped against the hull. The ships compass, which showed the ships relative bearing and attitude in relation to the galactic plane, jumped at random as it occasionally caught data from the Galactic Positioning System. The bridge was all but silent, due to the fact that warp travel created an isolation effect. There was little data coming from the outside, no course adjustments to make, and nothing to do. The ship was effectively in its own little universe.
The last seven days of travel were uneventful. They had stopped on several occasions to run scramble drills and give the warp engines a brief rest. The crew ran like a well-oiled machine. Despite the new phenomenon of carrying fighters on a war ship, the deck crew and fighter pilots had run their simulations flawlessly. However, Harper had thought, drills are far from the real thing.
Harper was jolted from his ponderings by a beeping from the helm console, indicating that the ship was approaching its preset coordinates. A countdown displayed so that the warp engine could be disengaged at the appropriate time. Palmer grasped the lever for the warp drive and quickly pulled back as the countdown reached zero. The warp field disappeared, and in the distance was a small green planet orbiting a red star.
“All stop,” Harper ordered.
“Aye, sir,” Palmer responded. “Coordinates confirmed. We are approximately fifty-seven million kilometers from Tennant one,”
“Captain McLeod,” Harper started, after tapping his earpiece, “We’ve arrived in the Tennant system.”
“Understood,” McLeod replied. “I’ll be there in a moment.
McLeod had still failed to make most of the senior officers aware of the purpose of the change in destination. Except for Glenn and Parker, who had been frequently having meetings with the Captain in the C.I.C. on F deck.
A few moments later, McLeod was ascending onto the bridge. He walked to the front viewports and stared at the planet. “What is the current position of the station,” he asked.
“It just crossed into daylight a moment ago, Captain. They are on the direct opposite side of the planet from us,” Sato reported.
“Any signs of fighter patrols,” McLeod asked.
“Nothing on RLADAR at the moment. We haven’t received any acknowledgment from the station either,” Sato said without looking up from his screens.
“Good,” McLeod exclaimed as he walked back towards his chair, which Harper had already left. “Parker,” he said before sitting down.
“Yes, sir,” Parker replied, though with a sound of anticipation rather than the confusion the rest of the officers felt.
“Prepare the fighters. Helm, match the orbital speed of the station and set a course for high orbit of the planet. Prepare to do a short warp jump to that location,” McLeod said.
“Captain, can I ask what we’re about to do,” Harper whispered.
“What is that ahead of us, Commander,” McLeod asked.
“Tennant one, sir,” Harper replied after looking up in confusion.
“Today, it’s Panama,” McLeod said with a sly smile.
“I’m still lost,” Harper added after a moment.
“You need to brush up on your history, Commander. In late January of nineteen-twenty-nine, the only aircraft carriers in U.S. service were ships that had originally been designed and commissioned as battle ships. There wasn’t a lot of faith in the concept of an aircraft carrier. The U.S.S. Saratoga, separated from her fleet during exercises, and before dawn launched over 60 fighters in a simulated attack on the Panama Canal. Had they been enemy fighters, they would have successfully destroyed two locks before meeting any resistance. That exercise changed the way the world looked at aircraft carriers,” McLeod explained.
“So we're going to use the same trick, to show Resolution’s value to the fleet,” Harper said, finally beginning to understand.
“Precisely.”
“Captain, fighters and deck crew are ready for a full scramble,” Parker interrupted.
“Stand by. Helm engage the warp burst,” McLeod ordered. In a matter of minutes, the distant green dot was now dwarfing the Resolution in its shadow.
“Still maintaining orbit directly opposite the station, sir. Speed is twenty-eight-thousand kilometers per hour, orbital inclination is 60 degrees,” Palmer confirmed.
“Prepare to accelerate to ninety-thousand. Parker, prepare fighters for launch,” McLeod called out.
The ready fighters glided forward on the flight deck, lining up for the magnetic catapult launch. 52 fighters in all were ready for immediate launch with the remaining 104 waiting anxiously on the deck below. The flight deck filled with a dizzying profusion of rotating amber and scarlet light as the flight deck doors slammed open. Harper imagined he could feel the atmosphere on the bridge press against its bulkheads as the personnel on the flight deck collectively held their breath.
At the front of the formation of Blackbird fighters, Glenn sat in his cockpit checking and rechecking his preflight checklist in his head. The high-pitched whir of his idling craft was overcome by the slamming sound of the flight deck doors flying open. Glenn looked out into the darkened mossy green surface of the planet, curving against the blackness of space beyond. The lit side of the planet was quickly approaching.
He flipped a switch on his communications panel, tying his helmet microphone into the squadron communications channel. He spoke loudly and clearly with a tone that was authoritative but approachable, “Alright. Resolution will be accelerating towards the station momentarily. As always, remember your breathing during the launch, and keep your hands off those throttles till we are clear of the flight deck. The first wing will take the station at the center, second wing will take the top, and third will take the bottom. I’ll be personally going over the simulated missile launches, and the worst performers will get Gamma watch for the rest of the month. Good hunting.”
The view from the flight deck doors changed in an almost sickening fashion as Resolution rolled to the port side, putting the planet surface nearly di
rectly above. The angle was perfect, allowing the ship to rapidly accelerate without flying off into space or diving into the atmosphere. There was no violent shaking as this balance was maintained. The helm officer is either very experienced or has an abundance of natural talent, he thought. Glenn had to shake his head to bring himself back into the moment, and away from his unbidden admiration for the piloting maneuver.
Parker’s voice chimed in over his helmet speakers, “Flight deck is green. Wing one, Red Group, prepare for launch in… ten… nine…”
Glenn didn’t hear the remainder of the countdown, as the heavy breathing in his helmet seemed to silence everything else. His anticipation for what would be the most important launch in his career was mounting. McLeod had been very clear about the importance of this simulation to the future of this ship, and the war. Glenn had tried to relay this to his pilots during squadron briefing, but wasn’t sure if anyone else had been as excited as he was.
He glanced to his right and saw the catapult officer, adorned in a reflective yellow, flame retardant jumpsuit and oxygen mask, continue the countdown, now at three and counting. He had to look away before the officer kneeled forward signaling the launch. He stretched his fingers and wrapped them around the joystick again for a sure grip. The acceleration curve was just within the limits of human tolerance, a phenomenon he knew his fellow pilots found unnerving, but he loved every second of it. The bulkheads surrounding the flight deck became a blur in his vision and disappeared as his fighter left the deck at break neck speed.
He immediately snapped the throttle level to its forward most position, and pulled lightly on the joystick, maintaining the perfect curve of orbit. He tapped the brake thrusters allowing the second group of fighters to line up next to his groups flight pattern on his Starboard side.
What seemed like mere moments later, the third wing formation gathered under his ventral hull. “All wings accelerate to top speed. Don’t lose the station in the star light.” he ordered.
No more than 30 seconds later, the station came into view, now heading towards the night side of the planet again. His canopy darkened to a deep shade of violet, and the view became an inferred display of the visual ahead. “Weapons hot.”
Resolution: Bad Star Page 3