by David Tatum
Chris frowned. “Well, I know I could handle it, regardless... but depending on the severity of the course or speed correction we need to make, you might need to be informed. At least, that’s what the textbooks say.”
“The textbooks are a bit paranoid about things like that,” Burkhard replied, grinning slightly. “As long as there’s little chance we will drift into the path of another ship, I’m pretty sure you can make the correction yourself and simply report to me when I take over. Okay, next scenario: A fight has broken out between two crewmen. They are pulled apart, and it turns out both were drunk. What do you do?”
“Hold both in the brig and make a report for you to deal with at the next captain’s mast,” Chris replied confidently.
“Right. Now, an enemy ship appears suddenly. What do you do?” Burkhard asked.
Chris’ eyes narrowed. “Class of ship? Distance?”
“Within extreme firing range,” Burkhard replied, lips twitching again. “Indeterminate configuration, although it may be in the size range of a frigate or light cruiser.”
“Speed and course?”
“They’re trying to intercept you, coming from the bow. Speed is approximately that of an average frigate traveling at top speed.”
Chris nodded. “Okay. I should raise shields and call all hands to battle stations, change course to present our shields to the enemy and prepare the particle cannon, but hold off on engaging as long as possible. At the same time, I need to call you to the bridge while still trying to identify the ship. Until you arrive, it will also be my judgment call as to whether we should open fire or not.”
Burkhard grinned slightly. “Yeah, that’ll do. Speaking of unidentified ships, what is the progress on your little analysis project?”
“No results, yet,” Chris huffed in frustration. “The problem is we still need to narrow down the search. We have limited it to the four foreign powers that intelligence suspects are capable of producing such a fleet, but there are still thousands of different classes of warships to go through; remember, we’re talking about every warship produced in a two hundred year span. We’ve brought most of the Marines into the project, since they were getting a bit antsy and we needed more pairs of eyes. Mr. Orff insisted on joining the project when we tried going through him to get the extra personnel, and has since started taking over.” He grimaced. “Rachel, Emily, and I didn’t exactly appreciate that, but the others have started reporting to him. He’d have more recent results than I would.”
“Hm,” Burkhard mused. “What are the chances that this isn’t a force from one of those four powers, but instead – say – a lost colony?”
Chris gave the matter some thought. There were quite a few expeditions which had left Earth to colonize another planet that were never heard from again – the so-called ‘lost colonies.’ The Virgin Planets originally fell into this category, after their initial generation ship had gone off course a hundred years into the colonists’ journey and landed them much further away than anyone had anticipated, but they had been rediscovered about four hundred years later. By the time they had re-encountered human society, they were the fourth largest power in the universe, and would have been the largest by now if not for the fact that their internal political structure had been so unstable. There was always the chance that more lost colonies were out there, building their own empires which could eventually grow back into contact with the rest of humanity. And there was always the chance they would not be friendly when they did show up.
“It’s possible, I suppose. I don’t think it’s very likely, though – outside of the new electronic warfare packages grafted onto the hulls, the technology is very much in line with the ships in most major fleets about a century or so ago. I’m no anthropologist, but I’ve never heard of parallel development of isolated societies quite that exact, before.”
“Neither have I,” Burkhard admitted.
“At any rate, we’re continuing the comparisons. So far we’ve pretty much eliminated the Dragons as our attackers, but only because they had a lot fewer ship classes to compare with. The Cygni and Pleiades are both very... prolific, in terms of ship designs, and the Virgin Planets have more than everyone else put together. Worst case scenario, it’ll be a week before we’re done going through the records,” Chris admitted.
“Well, keep it up. The con is yours.” He paused, then glanced over to where Jonathan Rosebaugh was fumbling with his console. “You can kill time working with any station on the bridge, as long as you’re here to be on call at a moment’s notice. You might want to start by seeing to him.”
One of the larger screens in front of Rosebaugh started flashing error warnings. Chris winced. “That might be a good idea.”
CHAPTER XXV
EAS Chihuahua
“Captain to the bridge,” came Chris Desaix’s call echoing through the Chihuahua’s hallways. “Ms. Mumford to the bridge. Flag to the bridge.” Beccera’s squadron had arrived at the rendezvous point earlier that day, but there was no telling when Vice Admiral Breslau’s fleet would show up. The data packet accompanying the written confirmation of Beccera’s commission and orders indicated that it could be anywhere from one day to one week before anyone arrived, even if nothing was wrong. They were off most space lanes, however, and therefore were pretty safe from encounters with hostile forces.
“This is Burkhard,” the captain replied from the intercom by his bed, blinking himself awake. “Is it the fleet?”
“No, sir,” Chris replied. “But it is apparently a friendly.”
The subtle emphasis on ‘apparently’ was rather disturbing. Now that he was looking for it, Burkhard could feel the slight vibration in the hull that was caused by the particle cannons charging, even if the distinctive hum of the quantum wheels that powered the shields was missing. “Who is it?”
“The ship has been identified as the Athena, a Valkyrie class heavy cruiser attached to Breslau’s fleet. It claims, however, to actually be the ambassadorial yacht for our representative on Cygni. And it is accompanied by a frigate identified as belonging to Cygni, itself.”
Burkhard was instantly alert. Giving out the location of a secret rendezvous like this in time of war was tantamount to treason. The Athena’s captain had better have a good excuse. “Order all hands to battle stations, but don’t raise the shields just yet. I’ll be right there.”
——————————
Beccera was the first one to make it to the bridge, but he wasn’t quite sure what to do when he got there. “Report.” he ordered.
“Switch to tactical display,” Chris ordered, speaking over his shoulder towards Jonathan Rosebaugh.
“Certainly... but, uh, how?” the weapons tech asked hesitantly.
“Move,” Chris said, clapping the man’s shoulder (perhaps a little rougher than he intended). When Jonathan stood up and stepped aside, he took the tactical position and gestured to the keyboard. “And watch. You’ll need to know this in the future.”
“Yes, sir,” Rosebaugh replied.
“This bank of controls lets you pull up and configure the tactical display. See? Ship sizes, strengths, identification when available, and relative positions all can be included, or not, as you select. Now, just press this button, and you’ll put the display up on the main screen. Got it?”
“I’m not sure. I... that was very fast. I may have missed something.” Rosebaugh admitted.
Chris sighed. “Well, assuming we get through this situation, I’ll make sure you practice until you know how to use this station by heart. In the meantime, sit back down here; I’ve got another job to do.”
Several more bridge crew arrived as the call to battle stations was answered, while Chris went over and briefly told Beccera about the Athena. Rachel was one of the first – dressed in nightclothes and a robe, but there nonetheless – and quickly relieved Rosebaugh. Emily Mumford came by and relieved Culp at communications, Schubert came to take the helm seat alongside Weber, and so on. Commander Burkha
rd was the last to arrive, and he didn’t look pleased.
“Where’s Mr. Orff?” he asked, glancing around the bridge.
“I contacted his stateroom just a second ago, captain,” Emily said. “He’s still getting dressed, but he’ll be up momentarily. Uh, he was caught in the bathroom.”
Burkhard rolled his eyes. “Well, I suppose we all have to go sometime. All right. Let’s hear what these new guys are up to, shall we?”
“Hailing the Athena, Captain,” Emily replied, grinning slightly. There was a brief delay as the query traveled through space, was received, interpreted, and responded to. “Transponders check out as friendly, and codes are proper. Due to the extended range, however, expect a nine second lag time between transmission and reception, sir.”
“Understood. On screen.”
The tactical display was replaced with the face of Captain George Tager, a man Burkhard vaguely knew from his Academy days. What he remembered of the man lead him to believe that this was, indeed, the right person, and that he didn’t seem to be under duress at all. Assuming, of course, that there was no visual manipulation going on to mislead them.
Tager began without preamble. “I assume you just came from the Wargame?”
“Yes, sir,” Burkhard replied – it wasn’t like he could keep a secret of the fact that this squadron was run by Academy crews, after all. “Acting-Commodore Beccera, here, is our temporary flag officer. Is something going on?”
“Yes, something very bad is going on,” Tager sighed. “Since you’re here, I assume Earth has already been hit?”
Burkhard raising an eyebrow. “And just how did you happen to know about it?”
“We received intel it was going to happen, but too late to act on it. There’s something more, but I can’t talk about it here,” Tager replied, grimacing.
Orff finally showed up at the bridge, looking immaculate. He glanced at Rachel and sniffed in disgust. “You’re out of uniform, Ms. Katz.”
“Quiet!” Burkhard snapped at him before returning his attention to the screen. “Mr. Tager, I am not entirely comfortable with your presence, to say the least. Our records still show another ship as the Ambassadorial Yacht in Cygni. Our suspicions are that Cygni might have been our attacker, and yet you led a corvette from the Cygni to a secret rendezvous point. And now, you have suspicious knowledge of the attack without explaining where you got it. I’m sure you can see my... concerns.”
Orff hesitated. “Um, sir... we—”
“I said shut up!”
“But—”
“Mute!” Burkhard ordered, and Emily quickly cut the sound on the transmission to Athena. “Okay, now that we aren’t being overheard, what is so damned important?”
“I don’t think that Cygni is the attacker, sir,” Orff stammered.
Burkhard glared at him in disbelief. “Oh? And just why is that?”
“We identified the attacking ships, sir,” Orff explained. “Only a couple of hours ago. They’re old Pleiades Confederation warships, sir, heavily modified.”
There was a long pause. Beccera opened his mouth to say something, but couldn’t get any words out. Burkhard, however, didn’t have that problem. “You found this out hours ago, and I’m just finding out about it now. Why?”
“Um... we felt it wasn’t a high enough priority to wake you, sir,” Orff replied, paling. “While useful information, there was no actionable intelligence gained. We felt it could wait until your shift began.”
Chris’s eye twitched from his place by the engineering station. “Excuse me, Rob, but who is ‘we’? I was the project manager, last I heard, and I certainly didn’t know about this.”
“Neither did I,” Rachel added.
“You were on duty when the decision had to be made!” Orff protested to Chris. “And you were asleep,” he added to Rachel.
“Then why wasn’t I informed?” Emily asked, smirking at him.
“To hell with that!” shouted Beccera, finally unable to contain himself. “I ordered this project personally, and any report of this nature should have been made to me. I was off duty, but most certainly awake, yet you didn’t even think to contact me. Explain yourself!”
“You ordered this project?” Orff replied hoarsely. “I didn’t know. I thought—”
“All right,” Burkhard intervened, glaring at his exec. “Mr. Orff, I am sorely disappointed in you. I had reservations about your actions that had I intended to discuss with you privately, but at this point it’s a little hard to address them quietly. Not only did you take over a project that was not assigned to you, taking the ability to make decisions away from those who were supposed to be in charge, you also made the wrong decisions when the time came to make them. We’ll discuss this later. For now, just get off my bridge.”
“I... yes, sir.” Orff hesitated, then stiffened to attention and left the bridge.
“Damn,” Burkhard sighed. He looked at Beccera. “Maybe I should transfer him to another ship. I don’t think I can keep him here after that, do you?”
“I didn’t think you should have kept him as first officer at all,” Beccera replied. “I’ll certainly sign any transfer papers you put in front of me.”
“Captain, Mr. Tager is wondering what’s going on,” Emily called. “He’s asking if we require assistance. He thinks we just had a mutiny or something....”
Burkhard flushed. “Please, begin transmitting again.”
“You’re on now, sir.”
“Conrad? Is everything okay over there?” Tager said, his voice showing genuine concern.
Burkhard winced. “As you’re aware, sir, we don’t exactly have the most experienced crew on board. I had an extremely poor case of mismanaged protocol and had to discipline one of my officers. It will not happen again.”
“I... see,” Tager said, his tone clearly showing he didn’t. “At any rate, I’m afraid there’s not much I can tell you over a comm transmission. Is there any way to convince you of my trustworthiness without revealing everything in an open channel like this?”
“Perhaps,” Burkhard sighed. “I still would like to know what you’re doing leading a Cygni warship to a classified rendezvous location, before I make any sort of decision.”
“I do have a reason, but that too should not be discussed over an open channel. If possible, I would like to shuttle over – with the Cygni captain – and talk about it with... uh, acting-Commodore Beccera, was it?”
Burkhard looked at Beccera, who nodded. “Very well. But we don’t exactly have a decent meeting facility on board this ship. In two hours, we’ll rendezvous on board the Superb – she’s got the largest and most complete wardroom of all ships present.”
“I’ll see you then.”
The connection closed. Burkhard sighed, closing his eyes. “Mr. Schubert.”
“Sir?”
“Prepare a shuttle for transport to the Superb. Ms. Katz, Drew, I hope you’ll accompany me. Mr. Desaix, you still have the con. Ms. Mumford, please inform the other ships of the impending meeting, and then ask Mr. Orff to meet us at the shuttle bay.” He paused. “Ms. Katz, congratulations. Until further notice, you are my new first officer.”
——————————
EAS Superb
It was the first time Rachel had ever seen the formal uniform of a Cygni Naval Officer outside of pictures. It wasn’t nearly as silly looking up close as she had expected – in fact, it was rather intimidating.
The latest trend in military fashion took ancient designs retooled with modern materials. The fad had started with the Army of the Federal Republic of Iota Draconis, whose ceremonial dress uniform echoed the garb worn by ancient Imperial Roman soldiers, complete with intricate helmets, but in shades of green rather than red. The Dragons’ naval officers soon followed suit, introducing uniforms that resembled a more lightweight version of ancient Japanese samurai armor, likewise in shades of green, but sans helmet. Rachel’s own dress uniform was pieced together from several eras, consisting of a pa
ir of comfortable black khakis, such as what was fashionable in the twentieth and twenty-first century, and an undecorated black dress shirt from the same era. Her accompanying vest resembled a Renaissance-era archer’s jerkin, but was closed with modern magna-seal fastenings in a pattern reminiscent of the traditional tied lacing. And there were the deerstalker caps – Rachel sometimes wondered if the uniform designer included them because he read too much Sherlock Holmes as a child, or if he simply added them as a joke.
Cygni’s uniform designers, however, had sought to surpass all others in their flamboyant historical extravagance. Cygni had nine distinct uniforms in their Navy alone, and nearly all mirrored something from the era of sailing ships, pirates, and buccaneers. ‘Winter Dress,’ for example, resembled the uniform Blackbeard the Pirate supposedly wore, right down to the tapers he’d light to wreath his face in smoke whenever he fought (represented by fiber-optic ‘candles’ and miniature fog machines). Rachel shuddered to think how an officer in the Cygni Navy was supposed to don a space suit over such bizarre accoutrements. Cygni ‘Winter Undress’ resembled the buckskin shirts and pants the original buccaneers wore in the early days of that people. They did have a particular set of khaki uniforms used only in diplomatic missions, but that was the only uniform that didn’t fit the “ancient sailors” theme.
The two Cygni officers who had accompanied Captain Tager were not dressed in khakis, but in the complicated Winter Dress uniforms. It did little to alleviate the feeling of unease Rachel experienced meeting with representatives from a country with the reputation that Cygni had, to say the least.
Captain Tager stood in front of the room, clearing his throat to end the conversations that were going on so he could start the meeting. “Ladies and gentlemen, good to see you all alive and safe. It’s been a pretty hard few days for all of us from Earth Alliance, hasn’t it?”