The Earthfleet Saga- Volume Two

by Dennis Young

  “That’s… my job, Doctor.”

  “No, your job is to become a better person, more skilled in the operation of the ship, and thereby a better commander. That’s why you made the mistakes at the pulsar and got us into this mess in the first place.”

  Westermann took a moment. He could hardly believe what he was hearing. “I see. Alright, I’ll accept that for now. What do you suggest?”

  “You won’t like it.”

  “Try me.”

  Kamisori considered. “Make Thevoss your acting First Officer. You can learn a bit of compassion from her. Move up one of your Lieutenants to Tactical and help Thevoss teach them. Shuffle some duties. Set up classes. Teach them what it means to serve aboard a starship like Agincourt.”

  “I think we’ve all had a dose of that reality in the last few days, Doctor.”

  “Yes, and now is the time to show what it really means. Use this opportunity to learn how it affected all of the crew, not just the ones on the Bridge. You might be surprised at the level of feeling on this ship right now.”

  Westermann looked away for a moment, then nodded. “This is your professional opinion, Doctor? That the captain needs a refresher on what it means to be human?”

  She considered. “If that’s what you want to call it, yes. But it’s also a personal observation. You need to grow more into the role of Captain, not just commanding officer.”

  He nodded again. “Anything else?”

  Kamisori pursed her lips in thought. “I’d like to remain on Agincourt. You see, I’m learning, too.”

  “To keep an eye on me?” Westermann grinned slightly.

  “Among other things, yes.”

  Westermann considered. “Very well, Doctor. Your words are taken as given. Your concern is duly noted. I’ll do what I can to follow your advice.”

  She nodded. “Good. Permission to return to duty?”

  “Dismissed. And thank you for your candidness.”

  Now Kamisori nearly smiled. “Anytime, Captain.” The door closed softly as she exited.

  Westermann sat alone for long minutes, mulling the doctor’s words and recent events. Had he really acted so poorly? Wasn’t that exactly what he and Lori Hamilton had talked about before all… this?

  He punched the intercom button. “Helm, this is the captain. Status?”

  “Hyperlight power online sir. System boundary in ten minutes.”

  “Very well. Prepare for hyperlight. We’re going home.”

  * * *

  The station watched as the last vessel pulled away, heading for the system’s gravitational boundary and deep space. It extended its sensors once again, catching the instant the ship disappeared into the “other space”, gleaning any data it could. Then it was alone again.

  The self-repairing systems had done their work. Minimal damage remained, and that could be worked around by protocols. Debris around the station was slowly settling.

  The station drew its time-flow effect closer once again, dampening the intensity to the normal level, and trained its sensors on the planet.

  Still, from time to time, it aimed instruments into the distant realm beyond. Its programming was flexible enough it could do this as it decided. What it was searching for, it wasn’t quite sure. Certainly, it watched for the creators, yet had no information about their expected return. But it had never done that before the others had arrived. The station considered.

  It did not have a sense of loneliness, but at the same time, it reviewed and replayed having the other creatures closely by. It was nearly as when the creators where there. And those memories were, if the station could put an emotion to the sensation, pleasant.

  At last it turned again to the planet. Perhaps in time life would arise there. Then the station would not be alone after all.

  REBEL AND PROUD

  Starship Pheidippides

  By

  Dennis Young

  Prologue

  The fiery streak across the planet’s sky lit the desert below, washing out the stars. To an observer, had there been anyone other than indigenous animals and a few hardy plants in the area, it appeared whatever was causing the phenomenon would soon impact the ground with considerable force. Possibly enough to cause substantial damage, if there’d been anything but dirt and rock and stony hills nearby.

  Fortunately, it didn’t happen that way. The object slowed as it neared the barren wastes and came down much more gently than its approach suggested. This would indicate, to the non-existent observers, it was under control of some sort. Possibly even intelligence.

  The glow faded as the thing hovered, raised dust, and blew scrub and dirt about. Then touched down almost carefully onto the desert floor with barely a sound. Then silence.

  The object cooled. Dust settled. Quiet returned.

  It was obviously artificial, not a meteor. Light shone from within as a ramp extended and three figures emerged. They were bipedal and upright, clothed in heavy suits of some type. They surveyed the surroundings, then reentered the object. The ramp closed.

  Had the hypothetical outside observer been fluent in language called Earth English, they might have glimpsed the script on the upper surface of the object. It read “PHEIDIPPIDES, EA-9102”.

  One

  Dirtside

  “Duty Log, Lieutenant Commander Jennifer Murphy, 120517.18. Pheidippides is currently marooned on a planet… name unknown at this time, I’ll look it up. A total systems failure lasting nearly six hours almost killed my entire crew, and by the time we got emergency systems working, three were in sickbay. We sent a Mayday distress call, but I have no idea if it was heard by anyone. Currently Engineering is working on getting us back in space and headed to Fleet Base Twenty-three for repairs.

  “I can’t stress enough my utter contempt for the Kyniska-class scout design. Not only are these ships cramped and uncomfortable, they’re simply dangerous. They may be the fastest things in the Fleet, but that doesn’t help much when you’re dead.”

  * * *

  EAS Pheidippides…

  There's no reason for this, thought Lt. Commander Jenni Murphy.

  But orders were orders, right?

  She rolled the hardcopy flimsy into a ball and threw it against the bulkhead of her quarters. Her far-too-small-and-cramped “captain’s quarters”, stuffed between the Bridge and the Head in the tiny Kyniska-class scout. Quarters that stank of the previous occupant, a commander who not only bathed too infrequently, but smoked a pipe; an antiquated tobacco pipe, for Cripe’s sake! Besides being against regs, it was a filthy, disgusting habit, one cultivated by people who had no concept of ancient diseases. Like lung cancer. And emphysema. And COPD. Names of things hardly ever heard of in twenty-fifth century medicine. Murphy only knew them because she’d flunked out of med school.

  She punched the intercom button. “Murphy to Engineering. Taylor, how much longer before we can get this hunk of junk back in space?”

  “Two hours before we can even do a systems check, Murphy. Last time you asked, it was three. Give it a rest, will you? There are only three of us who know enough about phase coils to not blow up the ship when we lift from this dirtball.”

  She sighed. “Just get it done. We’ve received new orders and I’ve got to round up everyone else. I just hope Martin and Jia-Lan aren’t in some cave playing ‘hide the zucchini’.” She heard a snicker before she broke the link.

  Murphy stood, her fiery non-reg-length hair brushing the curve of the ceiling, as she turned and headed for the Bridge. She was tall for an Earthfleet officer, topping a hundred ninety centimeters (or as her father liked to say, six-foot-four) and long-boned, typical of her low gravity home planet. She’d been tagged as a pro basketball prospect until she cold-cocked an opponent in an academy game and gotten tossed off the cadet team. Six months of anger management therapy had taken the edge off her volatile temper, and she’d become close friends with her therapist. He was one of only three people she kept in touch with… way out here on the wild fro
ntier.

  Where absolutely nothing ever happens, she thought, entering the Bridge and taking her command seat. The only other occupant was Lieutenant Honley, the comm relief/damage control/security officer. On a ship with a crew of only fourteen, multiple hats were worn by everyone.

  She took a deep breath. “Chuck, send out a general recall. Apparently, Earthfleet has found real work for us to do.”

  * * *

  “OK, crew, listen up. Fleet Base Twenty-three has an anomaly they want us to check out about three light years from here. Weak signal, unknown origin, and damn close to the Qoearc border.”

  Murphy stood in the center of a circle of faces, the shade of Pheidippides protecting them from the intense heat of the local sun. They met outdoors, as there was no room in the ship for the crew to assemble. “I need a status report from all departments in thirty minutes, and this bird has to be in space by 1800 Hours.”

  A collective groan made its way around the crowd. Murphy looked at Taylor Thomas, her Engineer. “We’re going to need full hyperlight capability by then, too.”

  Thomas shook his head. “No way, Captain. Maybe by tomorrow, but for now, 60c is the best we can do. Phase coils are still not in full tune.”

  “How much time if we stay dirtside?”

  Thomas pursed his lips and looked away for a moment. “Six hours, no less. Maybe more.”

  “You’ve got three. Get on it.” Murphy motioned to the hatchway. Thomas took his techs in tow and disappeared into the ship. “Anything else I need to know before we get our hands dirty?”

  “Nearly fifty percent of the main circuit breakers are burned out, Captain,” replied Sar Ch'rehrin, her Arnec First Officer. “We have adequate spares, but it will take two hours for full replacement.”

  Murphy nodded. “Take whoever you need for help and get it done. Taylor and his techs will be busy in Engineering, so it’s your baby. Once that’s in the works, get busy on tracking down this anomaly. I sent a copy of the fleettext to your station.”

  Ch'rehrin nodded, then looked to Steven Allworth and Jorge Trujillo, Helm/Nav officers. “Gentlemen, with me.” The trio followed the engineers up the ramp.

  Murphy looked to the remaining crew. “What else?”

  “Karen and I worked the bugs out of the Helm and Nav systems,” said Jules O’Brien. “It passed full diagnostics about an hour ago.”

  Murphy nodded. “Get your reports ready for review and meet back out here. Thirty minutes. We can’t keep the admirals waiting.”

  * * *

  “The thrusters don’t have enough power to lift us into orbit, but we can hover and light the sublight engines about five hundred meters off the ground.” Tony Ball, one of two engineering techs, passed his PADD to Murphy in her command seat. “That should be high enough to not start fires.”

  “There’s really nothing to burn, Tony. It’s a desert out there, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Murphy wiped sweat from her forehead. The environmental system had shown further glitches and had been shut down during maintenance. It had only come back online in the last twenty minutes.

  “Agreed, but still… Prime Directive and all that.”

  “Noted. Do what you can. We lift off in one hour.” Murphy turned to Ch'rehrin at the Sciences console. “Tell me some good news. Are we space-worthy?”

  “We will be within parameters by launch time.” Ch'rehrin glanced to Murphy. “May I suggest you take the opportunity for a shower?”

  “Do I smell that bad?” Murphy chuckled. “Alright, you have the Conn. I’ll be back in thirty minutes.”

  “Captain.” Martin Teng-Hey motioned from his Comm station. “I’m picking up encrypted signals from orbit. The analyzer says it may be Qoearc.”

  Murphy sighed. “Confirm and advise.” She glanced to the Tactical station. “Hatu, is everyone on board?”

  “All hands accounted for.” Hatu Gil’s Latino English was quick in reply.

  Murphy looked again to her science officer. “Cripes, this is just what we need. Please say it’s not a battle cruiser.”

  Ch'rehrin scanned his instruments for a moment, then read codes from a screen. “Low mass, likely a scout, maybe an escort of some sort. The planet is about to occlude it… now.”

  “Then let’s get out of here.” Murphy punched the intercom. “Engineering, Bridge. Taylor, we’ve got Qoearc company in orbit, just went to the other side of the planet. We’ve got about thirty minutes to clean up and get out of here. Status?”

  Voices beyond the Engineering pickup argued as Murphy waited. “We can lift, but 70c max. Sorry, Captain.”

  “Gonna have to be good enough. Hang on back there, this could be bumpy. Helm, Nav, get us out of here as quickly as possible. If they swing around and scan the surface, they’ll have us in a heartbeat. Punch it.”

  * * *

  Pheidippides rose slowly on thruster power only, sank back toward the ground, then rose again as Murphy ordered sublight at ten percent a thousand meters off the surface. Dust blew nearly that high as the ship gained altitude. They left behind a crater of fused glass nearly a kilometer wide.

  “Damn it, Conn, what happened?”

  “Sorry, Captain, the thrusters cut out and I had no choice. If you hadn’t ordered sublight engines, we’d be in a heap on the ground right now.” O’Brien looked over his shoulder with a guilty glance. “You said punch it.”

  “Bridge, Engineering. No damage, Hyperlight power through Sixty available at your command.”

  “Helm is answering, Captain, navigation clear. We made orbit with five minutes to spare.”

  “Keep us out of the Qoearc’s sight. Tactical, what have you got?”

  “Ion trail around the planet as expected, emergence in maybe ten minutes, fifteen at most. Depends on their orbit altitude.”

  “Ch’rehrin, did they follow us here?”

  “Probably to watch us crash,” muttered Karen Connor at the Nav station.

  Ch’rehrin turned from his screens. “Impossible to say, however, our entry trail through the atmosphere was likely visible to a Qoearc scout’s sensors, assuming they were within five million kilometers.”

  “Meaning they were either following us or an amazing coincidence.” Murphy let out a heavy breath. “Never mind. Alright, back to the mission. Helm, course to investigate the anomaly, and once we’re clear of the system singularity, get us out of here, maximum hyperlight.”

  “Captain, we have divergent readings in the tactical system.”

  “Damn, Hatu, I thought you had that fixed!”

  “Bridge, Engineering. We’ve got a wobble in the phase coils.”

  Murphy hit the intercom switch. “Meaning?”

  “We can’t go to hyperlight… yet.”

  “Time to repair?”

  “Geez, Murphy, we don’t even know what the problem is. Give me ten minutes.”

  “Captain.”

  Murphy turned to Ch’rehrin’s soft voice and calm face. She nodded, drew a breath, and sat straighter. “Taylor, get on it and let me know as soon as you have a fix.” She clicked off. “Alright, people, let’s see what we can do. Helm, keep us out of sight, Nav, get me a projection of the Qoearc’s orbit as soon as you can. Don’t we have a few drones aboard?”

  “Three, Captain,” replied Connor at Nav. She punched up a display quickly. “We have one loaded in the launch tube now that we were going to use once we reached the anomaly.”

  “Good. Launch when ready, we’ll use it to peek around the planet and find the Qoearc when they’re out of our scanning range.”

  “Captain, I have the analysis of the anomaly as you requested. I’m sending to your PADD.”

  Murphy glanced at the screen beside her. “So, Fleet wants us to investigate a possible Qoearc mining operation?”

  “It would seem so.”

  “Bridge, Engineering. We’re ready to go any time.”

  Murphy punched the intercom button. “Status?”

  Thomas’s voice carried chagrin. “My fault,
I hit a kill-switch by accident. Took one of the phase coils offline, which caused a red light. Sorry.”

  Murphy caught Ch’rehrin’s glance. “Understood, Taylor. We’re all a bit stressed right now. Glad you caught it. Prepare for hyperlight on my command.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “Ms. Connor, is that probe still in the launch tube?”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “Cancel launch, then. Mr. O’Brien, take us out of orbit, full sublight. Keep the planet between us and the Qoearc. Go to hyperlight as soon as we’re clear of the singularity. Get us the hell out of here.”

  * * *

  Murphy was alone in the galley when Ulyana Melinkov, the ship’s doctor, entered.

  Melinkov was old-school Russian, from the Mother Country itself, and could be aloof if approached with rank in mind. Other times, she was almost motherly, especially with a crew of young officers, none of which, other than the exec and herself, were more than three or four years out of the academy. Melinkov was well into her second decade in Earthfleet.

  Pheidippides, she knew, was the first deep space assignment for several on board, and scout ship duty could be boring, if not downright depressing. Her office was always open for a chat, a game of chess, or if necessary, a venting session.

  Melinkov drew a cup of hot tea from the dispenser and sat across from Murphy, whose eyes were vacant and introspective. “You are having a better day, now we are on the way to our assignment?” The doctor’s Russian inflection was usually almost nonexistent, but at times could be used as a drawing-out strategy.

  Murphy’s eyes focused and she grinned wryly. “Does it show that much?”

  “No. Just rumors, something about a shouting match on the Bridge. I give such things little thought, however.”

  Murphy shook her head. “No, you don’t. Okay, Doc, I blew up at Hatu. My error, and I apologized. I blew up at Taylor in Engineering and apologized. I’m human. Sue me.”

  Melinkov sipped. “Mm. You are also the captain, yes?”