by Don Foxe
Aboard the PT-109, Captain Elena Casalobos made a decision based entirely on her instincts.
“Col. Kebede, belay cycling the tachyon cannon when the order comes,” she said.
Sindy turned in her chair to make eye contact with her commander and friend. “That would be directly disobeying an order by the Flag Admiral while engaging an enemy force,” she said.
“Unless systems failures meant we needed to reroute programming in order to comply,” Elie said. “Dr. Cosoi,” she said to the woman at the Systems Console. Elie purposefully ignored Cosoi’s rank for her hidden civilian title. “Kennedy informs me you are something of a legend among computer geeks around EMS2 and MSD. You need to make a choice, Doctor. You can leave the bridge and report whatever you wish to the people who placed you on this ship, or you can help make a difference. Do you think a systems glitch might keep us from charging our tachyon cannon?”
Cosoi sat quietly, looking at her console. At her core, the Romanian was a hacker. Hackers were not particularly fond of the establishment view. She had been co-opted into becoming a spy for Hawks and Singletary. She now had a choice, and it was, for her, actually an easy one.
“I believe I can see where the glitch might occur, Captain. If it does, it will require about an hour to reroute commands and regain control of the tachyon cannon controls.”
Elie did not smile, but her shoulders did relax. Senait, on the other hand, smiled big enough for both of them. Casey Adams, Michael Cuthbert, and Lesego Ndaba all relaxed as well. Maybe they would be in deep shit later, but they would sink or swim as a team.
Aboard the Fairchild, Captain Tal entered the bridge, and stood off to the side.
“Is there something you want to say, Captain?” Hawks addressed the ship’s captain.
“The Destroyers will not be within an effective firing range for another eleven hours, Admiral,” she said. “Keeping the crews on all four ships at battle stations for that long could diminish their effectiveness. Even with shift changes, the level of tension will be incredibly difficult to manage.”
“I expect them to manage their tension, Captain,” Hawks said, turning his chair to give her his back. “You need to make sure your fighters are ready to go on my order.”
Noa left the bridge and went to make sure her Spirit team members took a break.
The Captains on the Pegasus, 109, and 99 went to battle alert status, but did not require all hands to battle stations. No one remembered to inform Hawks they took his order to go to battle stations and dropped it a notch.
The Com-Tac Center on Fairchild maintained a constant report on the approach of the three Mischene destroyers, the slow movement along the planetary corridors of the battlecruisers that departed from AF3 when the group arrived in system, and the lack of response from hails to the Prophet’s ships.
Hawks continually came and went from the bridge; his improvisation of pacing. Unable to rest, unable to sit still for long. When the enemy destroyers closed within maximum firing range, and cruised to within five hours from arriving at their current location, he ordered all ships in the CVBG to cycle up tachyon cannon and prepare to fire on the Mischene.
While Fairchild, Pegasus, and the 99 brought tachyon weapons on line, the 109 reported a glitch in the control system. Engineers and system specialists were looking for a solution for their system failure. Hawks was about to fire a scathing rebuke at Casalobos when the communications officer on the bridge interrupted.
“Admiral Hawks, we are receiving an urgent message from the Prophet,” his coms officer said. “Do you want it on screen?”
“Go ahead, on screen,” Hawks agreed.
The forward screen went from a view of space to a view of Atticus Soren’s dark skin, white hair, and concerned face.
“Admiral, I’m calling to apologize,” he said. “Our communications have been terribly disrupted by the vortex. The ionized particles surrounding our ships are to blame. I did not expect the arrival of additional destroyers. When they could not communicate with us, the Commander thought we must be under attack by your ships.”
He leaned forward, hands open and outstretched in supplication, “It is all a technical issue. I finally got through to the three destroyers and ordered they disarm and disengage.”
“Affirmative,” came the voice of the Op-Tac officer. “The three Primaries have deactivated torpedoes, turned off laser and plasma arrays. The ships are reducing speed. They are coasting to a stop. The Mischene battlecruisers on our beams have also disengaged weapons and stopped forward progress.”
“This is why you should not have demanded these talks be held in such a dysfunctional part of space,” Hawks said to the Prophet. “I understand why you wanted the potential safety it provided, but the effect on your systems nearly caused us to go to war.”
“I agree. I was wrong,” the Prophet said. “However, we are only a couple of hours apart. I will move towards you to make it even quicker. The sooner we can agree to terms for a permanent ceasefire in the Aster system, and a truce between us for mutual safety, the better.”
“Agreed,” Hawks said to the projection. The Prophet vanished, replaced by starless space. “Coms, please tell all ships to bleed tachyon cannon before explosions rip us all to shreds.”
“It requires six hours to complete a bleed of the charged tachyons,” Tal said from the wall she stood against. She quietly returned to the bridge when told the Prophet made contact. “The particles are extremely excited. If we rush the process, even one of the tiniest sub-atomic elements could blast a hole through a ship and create the potential for an implosion.”
“I know how long it takes, Captain,” Hawks said. “But we are not going to fire them and have those Mischene ships take it as an act of war. We can’t allow them to remain active, and we cannot shoot them off into space. Do you have another suggestion, Captain?” He waited a breath and added, “I didn’t think so. You might want to go order your pilots to stand down, Captain.”
“Sir,” from the systems operator. “Before the wormhole gates opened, and the three Primary ships came through, several non-orbital satellites displayed electronic activity.”
She turned to the Admiral. “I monitored several plasma explosions near the wormhole gates prior to the arrival of the ships. All of the satellites not currently in planetary or lunar orbits appear to be in communications following the spike in electronic activity.”
“The Prophet and his people are trying to boost communication signals,” Hawks replied. “We thought those satellites were for communications. This only proves it. And can we agree to call those damn ships destroyers or Primaries, but not both.”
“They aren’t relaying signals,” she said, ignoring his foul mood. “They accepted one signal, and then became operational. Now they are communicating among themselves.”
The Op-Tac officer chimed in. “They just started emitting wavelength tones into the gravitational vortex,” he said. “The ionized particles and the active electrons are absorbing and retransmitting the noise.”
“Noise?” Tal asked, suddenly away from the wall and half-way to the Op-Tac station. “Give it a name, Lieutenant.”
“White noise,” he said. “The satellites are beaming white noise into the ionized gases. It is spreading through the vortex. In fact, it’s about to envelope all four ships.”
“There is no noise in space,” Hawks said. “It’s a vacuum.”
“Not with all the ionized gas particles and activated electron particles,” Tal said. “You won’t hear anything but it will affect us the same way the white noise bubbles did when riding plasma loads during the battle of Fell. Our sonic force fields will be diminished. Possibly made completely useless.”
“Sir, the three wormhole gates along the AF3-AF2 corridor are active,” Systems reported. “Dozens of ships are exiting. There are more behind those.”
“The Zenge Primary ships re-armed all weapons and have returned to course in our direction,” Op-Tac reported. “All six Mi
schene battlecruisers have activated weapons systems. They are also making way towards the CVBG.”
Captain Noa Tal turned to face Admiral Stephen Hawks. “You’ve sailed us into a vortex where we can barely hold speed and with weakened piloting controls. The ionized gases in the area have just been used to take down our primary defense. As soon as we began to bleed the tachyon cannon, our primary offensive weapon, they unleashed a fleet of ships hidden within the wormholes, and turned their most powerful ships on us.”
“Coms, get the Prophet back, and get him back NOW!” Hawks ordered.
The Prophet appeared on screen instantly, with no interference and no delay. “Admiral Hawks, I believe this is where I ask you to consider your situation and surrender your ships,” he said, smiling, pleased with himself.
“Fuck you, Soren,” Hawks said. “We will tear your ships apart and crucify you.”
“The vortex you are in occurs rarely, Admiral, but it does occur. Those of us familiar with the phenomenon understand how to adjust, but those who are new find it difficult to navigate within the region. You have no defensive shields and you have limited offense. Over two-hundred ships loyal to me are sailing to engage your four. Save the lives of your crews, Admiral. Save your own life. Surrender,” Soren said.
Hawks made a slash across his throat, and the screen disappeared.
“Tell all ship’s to prepare to fight. Send data to EMS2 and Space Fleet hq. Tal, prep your fighters again, but do not launch without my order.”
Tal left in a hurry.
Coms reported, “All ships were already preparing,” she announced. “When the satellites went active, the Captains all pretty much figured out what was happening. Captain Casalobos has requested the 109 be allowed to take the lead. She has her tachyon cannon back on line. She can take on the Prophet and the battlecruisers ahead of us.”
“Tell her no,” The Admiral said. “The three Primary, or, fuck that . . . the Mischene Destroyers are closer and present the biggest threat. Order the 109 and the 99 to watch our starboard, and engage the Destroyers. Have Paré move Pegasus up next to the Fairchild. We’ll face the battlecruisers with lasers, plasma, and torpedoes. What do we know about the ships coming through the wormholes?”
“Four more Primary, sorry, Destroyers and a count of 213 smaller ships of varying size. The smaller ships have laser weapons, but scans cannot reveal more. This area hampers them.”
“I know what this area does,” The Admiral barked. “How long before the enemy ships engage?”
“I estimate the original destroyers are within range for torpedoes and cannon blasts to reach us. Less than ninety-minutes total time before first impact. Five-hours, thirty-minutes before we can begin to recycle the tachyon cannon arrays,” Op-Tac said. “The ships just coming through the wormhole gates now will be eighteen to twenty-four hours away.”
“If we go to full power, can we get out of this vortex before they engage. We are a lot faster than anything they have,” Hawks said, searching for answers.
“We’ve been at full power since we entered the area,” the pilot replied. “Engineering kept the power plants at maximum to allow us to maintain forward momentum and heading. The gravity in this part of space acts like mud. We can’t go faster, and we may begin to slow down when power shunts to weapons.”
“How did you know?” Cosoi asked Casalobos.
“Didn’t know,” Elie replied. “It just felt off. Like being led down a path with an end I couldn’t see. I played a hunch.”
“Any hunches on how to get out of here alive?” the Romanian computer expert asked.
“Genna and Kennedy are going through the data from the previous attacks,” Elie replied. “The Prophet’s tactical experts obviously did their homework. They improved systems and devised methods to counteract some of our tech. He still appears addicted to numbers. I haven’t seen anything that indicates they learned how to operate in multi-dimensional planes. They had surprise, and that’s gone now. Even in this slop caused by the confluence of multiple gravitational fields, we have time to come up with a plan.”
“Which will work right up to the first punch is landed,” Senait said, repeating an old axiom from military history.
Lesego Ndaba reported from the pilot’s seat, “Our sub-light engines are working at maximum. We’re losing speed and maneuvering as we move deeper into the vortex. We should try making for an edge, or try to engage the space-fold array. I know it’s dangerous near gravity wells associated with orbital bodies, such as planets, moons, and even larger asteroids, but there are no planets out here. It’s pretty much open space.”
“Do not attempt space-fold while inside the vortex,” Kennedy warned, her voice emitted by embedded speakers around the bridge.
“Why not?” Elie asked.
“The array allows the ship to access a four-dimensional fabric called space-time,” the ship replied. “Gravity wells create dimples in that fabric. A space-time vortex becomes magnified around massive stars, black holes, and active galactic nuclei. In this case, the gravity vortex within this system created a dimple in space-time. Relative to the galaxy and the universe, it is not much of a wrinkle, but if you engage space-fold travel, that dimple will catch the ship like a swimmer pounded by a large wave. We will be crushed and lost in space and time.”
“Trying for the edge of the vortex?” Ndaba asked aloud.
“Would be prudent,” Kennedy agreed. “You can defend and fight in any direction. Moving toward the nearest rim would be the logical option. The Prophet became impatient. He could have waited until the group sailed deeper into the vortex. The vortex is a wedge. The convoy is inside with relative top and bottom several million miles apart. We are currently two-point-three-million miles from the edge at AF3. At our current heading, still directed toward the coordinates given for the meeting, by turning 320° we can reach the rim in eighteen-hours-twenty-two-minutes at top speed.”
“Mike, contact the other ships and pass on the information. Tell them we are turning to 320° in ten minutes, unless someone presents a better idea. Also, send the software upgrades Storm made to the shields during the Star Gazer battle. She wrote a sub-routine that allowed the Star Gazer engineers to pad the shields in areas targeted by enemy fire. The dynamo generated force field back-ups Space Fleet added to all ships may be our only defense. If the white noise and the vortex dampen our sonic shields, the ability to add a little extra density to the electro-magnetic shields when and where needed might save a ship and lives.”
“Nadia, Sky’s sister, Star, escaped the Zenge invasion of Fell by hacking their ships and setting off every internal alarm. The combination of lights, bells, and whistles, added to the possibility something might actually be going wrong, confused them long enough for her ship to reach a wormhole and gate out. There may be information on what she did in our data base. If not, I’m giving you permission to figure it out yourself.”
“Love the concept,” Cosoi replied. “I would love to pick her brain, but no way we’re getting messages in or out of this vortex with the ionized particles reflecting white noise on top of everything else this blasted region screws up.”
“Mike, set up an automatic repeating call to Fell. The communication tech engineers there consider Earth a third . . . no, a fifth-rate world when it comes to our level of communications and computer skills. I bet Sky’s youngest sister, Sarah, could teach us all unbelievable tricks.”
Cosoi smiled and turned to her console, saying aloud, “Kennedy, search for anything related to hacks and a Fellen named Star. Mike, send me the address for the SH on Fell. Besides your robo-calls, I’m going to try bouncing tachyon beams off other systems. I may get lucky with a ricochet. I sure hope they have someone live listening. I’d hate to end up in voice mail.”
Mike reported, “Address in your queue, Nadia. Captain, all ships agree with the move to change direction and head for the closest exit. Fairchild will lead. The 109 and the 99 are still ordered to hang back and defend against the
Mischene Destroyers. The Fairchild and the Pegasus received the upgrades for their EM shields. Both send thanks. Captain Harrington confirmed the Roosevelt already had the upgrade. He sends thanks for the reminder.”
“The nearest exit point from the Resa Vortex has been sent to all other navigators,” Casey chimed in from his station. “Pilot can engage new course at will.”
“Make the course change, Lesego,” Elie ordered. “Then allow Fairchild and Pegasus to pass by on our starboard. We’ll keep the 99 to starboard as well. Kennedy, ship-wide announcement of our intentions, update the current situation for everyone aboard, and tell them to expect enemy fire within the hour. I want everything that can move locked down. I want all personnel in safety gear while on station, and at hand otherwise. This is now Shift One. Shift Two needs to stand down, but be prepared to relieve at notice. Make sure Dr. Singh and the medical staff are also prepped. Have kitchen go to MREs.”
She took a breath, looked around her bridge, and made one more call: “Genna Bouvier, report to the Science Station on the command bridge.”
A conflicted Noa Tal fidgeted in her pilot’s seat. Spirits 2, 5, and 6 idled in front of the blast barriers, ready to hurl into open space.
Her ship, with Spirit 3, piloted by Jon-Jon, and Spirit 4, Trinity at command, sat behind the barriers. Once the first three fighters took flight, the deflectors would retract into the deck. The next three fighters would jockey forward, barriers raise, and they would follow the lead wing.
She understood she needed to fly with her squadron, but she also knew Hawks could not command the Fairchild in a space battle.
“Spirit Flight needs you here,” Jim Huard said from his console at com-tac. “I know what you’re thinking, Noa, and right now these six ships need you more. A lot of good officers serve aboard the Fairchild. They will make sure Hawks gets more right than wrong.”