TFS Guardian: The Terran Fleet Command Saga – Book 5

by Tori Harris

  “Is that any better?” Rick asked, tilting his head and grinning awkwardly in an effort to head off any sense of discomfort the Pelaran might be experiencing. “Hey, trust me, I get it,” he continued. “I assume we’re probably not quite the ‘Makers’ your people had in mind, right? But if it makes you feel any better, most of the people on my world look a lot more like you than they do Miguel and me. I’ll explain all of that another time as well.”

  Creel laughed aloud in spite of himself, “No offense, Rick, but that actually does make me feel better — quite a bit in fact! But let me repeat what I think I just heard you say. You believe Pelara was originally colonized by your world … all the way from Andromeda?”

  It’s not what I believe, Doctor Creel, it’s objective fact. And I can eventually supply you with irrefutable proof from a variety of sources. Our world, Daylea, was originally responsible for bringing Humans to this galaxy. But Daylea is not our species’ point of origin. You have my word we’ll cover this topic in as much detail as you like another time. The best I can do for now, however, is provide Tess with some of the details regarding our original colonization program as well as genomic data supporting everything I’ve said. Assuming she still has access to information regarding some of the Human worlds your Alliance discovered over the years, her analysis should corroborate what I have said. I realize, of course, that all of this data can be fabricated, but, as I said earlier, I’m afraid you’re just going to have to decide whether or not you can trust me.”

  “Sorry to interrupt, Doctor Creel,” Tess said, this time not bothering to mute the active vidcon. “I have completed my work with the FAM-4 facility. I have also received Rick’s data transmission. Our hyperdrive is fully charged, and I strongly recommend we depart the area immediately.”

  “Thank you, Tess. We’ll be on our way shortly. Rick, I presume you’re recommending I head for the Sol system?”

  “No, I think at this point there is a very real possibility that Terra is under imminent threat of attack. And while they have managed to build up an impressive array of naval forces, I’m afraid they won’t pose much of a challenge for an Envoy accompanied by several GCS units. They do have one ship, however, which I believe may prove at least marginally effective.”

  “One ship … marginally effective?” Creel asked, incredulous. “Surely there are other civilizations better equipped to make use of the intelligence I can provide. In fact, I already have a couple in mind.”

  “Maybe so,” Rick replied. “Unfortunately, finding a civilization with military forces more powerful than those possessed by the Terrans isn’t the real challenge. The challenge, Doctor Creel, is finding one willing to help you. Sure, there are probably any number of worlds and/or alliances who would be more than happy to accept your data. You may even convince their governing bodies to openly debate the merits of making use of it to some degree. But do you really think you’re likely to find one willing to go to war with the remnants of the mighty Pelaran Alliance in some altruistic quest to liberate your people?”

  Creel looked off to the side, nodding slowly as he considered what he had heard. “Look,” he continued, “I’ll be the first to admit that what to do with the ALAI data — assuming we even managed to find it — was the weakest part of our plan. The idea was to use Talionis to make contact with a few worlds we still consider our allies to some extent. Failing that, we planned to simply return to Pelara and work on finding a way to utilize the information ourselves.”

  “Which, I assume, is no longer an option at this point.”

  “No. Even if I could get back on the surface without detection, the remaining members of my team have scattered … and I fear few, if any, would be willing to continue at this point. I’d be starting at square one.”

  “And you certainly can’t blame them for that,” Rick replied thoughtfully. “It is clear to me we need one another’s assistance, Doctor Creel. Don’t you agree? In fact, at this moment, I think you would be hard-pressed to find another set of allies whose interests are so well-aligned with your own.”

  “And why do I get the feeling this seemingly perfect alignment of timing and interests is largely of your design?” Creel sighed, shaking his head once again at the utter improbability of the entire situation.

  “I have already admitted to my interests in both your worlds. Miguel and I are involved in a wide variety of activities within this region of your galaxy, and we believe the destruction of the Alliance AI is vital to our mission’s overall success.”

  “So if I agree to meet with the Terrans, I assume you’ll be accompanying me?”

  “No, I’m afraid you’ll be on your own for that. It’s better that way, I believe, since you’ll be free to form your own opinion without my influence — or anyone else’s for that matter.”

  “I honestly cannot believe I’m actually considering your proposal.”

  “I understand your hesitation,” Griffin chimed in, “but if you will pardon a rather obvious observation, your mission would likely have already failed if we had not been here to intercept that gunship. In my opinion, that should at least entitle us to, as the Terrans like to say, the benefit of the doubt.”

  “Very well,” Creel said resignedly. “I suppose it’s at least worth risking a conversation. So tell me, Rick, where can I find this ‘marginally effective’ Terran warship?”

  By way of reply, Talionis was instantly illuminated by an array of powerful landing lights as a previously undetected vessel seemed to materialize from the darkness less than a kilometer away. Although not a large ship by any means, it was obvious the newcomer dwarfed the Pelaran fighter.

  “Doctor Creel,” Rick announced, feigning an oddly formal tone, “I’d like to introduce Captain Tom Prescott of the Terran Fleet Command warship TFS Fugitive.”

  Chapter 13

  TFS Fugitive, Low Orbit

  (.94 km from the Pelaran starfighter Talionis)

  “Fisher, kill the landing lights please,” Prescott ordered. “I think we’ve made our point.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Please forgive the overly dramatic demonstration, Doctor Creel,” Rick continued over the shared vidcon, “but I thought this might be a more effective method of introducing the Terrans than sending you off to rendezvous at some random location in space. Captain Prescott, I trust you heard all you needed to hear.”

  “I’m sure we all have a great many questions for one another, but, yes, if Doctor Creel is willing, we would be honored to have him aboard.”

  On the view screen, Creel continued to shake his head in disbelief. “I believe my first question is whether there is anyone who didn’t know I would be up here today?”

  “I’m reasonably confident the Alliance AI did not,” Rick replied, “at least not in advance. The local authorities obviously had some intelligence indicating you were up to something, but it’s highly unlikely they expected you would have a fully operational ship at your disposal. Otherwise you never would have escaped the mining facility.”

  “I suspect you’re right about that, but I feel like we’re pushing our luck at this point by remaining here. Captain Prescott, I recommend we put some distance between ourselves and Pelara before attempting any sort of docking maneuvers.”

  “Agreed,” Prescott replied. “We’ll send you some coordinates momentarily.”

  “Or Miguel could just —” Rick began.

  “Absolutely not,” Prescott interrupted firmly, then moderated his tone. “I think the doctor has probably had enough excitement for one day. And Commander Reynolds tells me we have just enough room on our hangar deck to accommodate both his ship and one GCS unit, if necessary. So let us take care of Doctor Creel and his ship while you and Griffin worry about getting us some help. On that subject, how many GCS units have you …”

  “None so far, I’m afraid,” Rick replied. “Griffin, it seems, has a bit of a temper as well as a marked tendency to blow up anyone who offends his delicate sensibilities.”

>   “That’s … not entirely true,” Griffin objected. “I’ve only attempted communication with one GCS so far. While it’s true the first encounter did not end well, the experience has allowed me to develop a strategy I believe will be much more effective — not to mention less dangerous for me.”

  “How much time do you think you’ll need?” Prescott asked.

  “I estimate the average time required for each attempt will be approximately twenty-seven seconds. That includes the time required to either remove all of the Alliance AI’s hidden code or simply destroy the GCS unit outright, if necessary.”

  “Sounds easy enough, doesn’t it?” Rick said. “But he failed to mention the Guardian he destroyed claimed to have reported our activities to the Alliance AI. It seems to me that might make things a bit more risky from here on in.”

  “The Crion Guardian did transmit data in the direction of Pelara, and it’s prudent for us to assume the transmission was received,” Griffin agreed.

  “Right, so the AI knows we’re coming and will be busily alerting its GCS minions to attack us on sight. How is it you managed to overlook this little detail when we originally discussed this strategy?”

  “I didn’t craft this strategy, you did. You may also recall you didn’t share most of the details with me at first.”

  “And with good reason.”

  “Fair enough, but I didn’t anticipate this particular problem because I was unaware that any GCS units had such long-range hyperspace communications capabilities. Frankly, I’m still not sure they do. The Crion Guardian may have simply been bluffing, or, perhaps more likely, some new system may have been put in place since I was last in the area — some sort of comm relay network perhaps. But it’s of little consequence at this point anyway since the Alliance AI is well aware of our activities near Pelara and will be utilizing every resource at its disposal to alert its forces.”

  “Griffin, are you saying the idea of recruiting GCS units is no longer viable?” Prescott asked.

  “No. I believe the idea still has merit. The trick is going to be finding older Guardians located outside of real-time hyperspace comm range from the ALAI starbase.”

  “And by ‘older’ you mean backwoods, obsolete examples such as yourself,” Rick prodded.

  “It’s really quite entertaining when you talk about things you don’t understand,” Griffin replied in a decidedly icy tone. “Please continue.”

  “We really do need to go, folks,” Prescott interrupted. “Doctor Creel, do you have our rendezvous coordinates?”

  “I do.”

  “Good, we’ll see you there shortly. Rick and Griffin, please keep us apprised of your progress. Prescott out.”

  “Jeez,” Reynolds said, shaking her head, “it sure didn’t take those two very long to start sounding like an old married couple.”

  Seconds later, all four ships had once again transitioned to hyperspace — a fact that was dutifully reported by the long-range hyperspace comm array mounted atop the otherwise dormant FAM-4 manufacturing facility.

  TFS Navajo, Sol System

  (Primary Flight Deck - 2.13x105 km from Earth)

  Having just returned from her (albeit brief) mission to the Sajeth Collective, TFS Navajo still had all twenty-three hundred members of the 3rd Marine Expeditionary Unit aboard. During a deployment of this type, the troops were heavily engaged in either preparing or executing combat operations around the clock and, therefore, not typically called upon to perform ceremonial duties. Nevertheless, the first visit to Terran Fleet Command’s flagship by what amounted to the head of state of another sovereign world demanded that naval traditions be observed.

  The ground combat element’s reconnaissance platoon had been the unit “lucky” enough to draw today’s duty, although most really didn’t mind, since they had never actually seen a Wek before. Most also appreciated Admiral Patterson’s choice of uniform of the day — standard Marine Corps fatigues (“blacks”) rather than the usual Blue Dress “A’s.” Best of all, the old man apparently believed today’s VIP visitor was much more of a sailor than a politician. Accordingly, all forty-three of the platoon’s Marines were formed up in their full combat EVA armor and armed with their standard pulse rifles.

  After the typical period of waiting that seemed to always accompany ceremonial events, the visitor’s small Sherpa Autonomous Space Vehicle finally reached the pressurized section of the cruiser’s flight deck. Even before the shuttle stopped moving, its rear cargo ramp began opening to slowly reveal the imposing form of Rugali Naftur. In the background, the Navajo’s AI sounded the traditional boatswain’s “Pipe the Side” call, followed by the announcement: “Graca, arriving,” to signify the presence of the Wek homeworld’s head of state.

  The young Marines standing at attention nearby immediately recognized Naftur for what he was: a warfighter. Wek or otherwise, here was a man who truly looked the part — in this case, a battle-hardened admiral still fully capable of leading forces in combat — not some pompous pogue who would spend his time aboard getting in the way while trying to convince everyone he was in charge. In response, each Marine stood just a little taller inside their armor, while their faces (though hidden within their helmets) took on steely-eyed expressions of confidence.

  As Naftur walked briskly down the cargo ramp, the majestic theme music of the Dynastic House of Naftur — now once again Graca’s official anthem — played over the flight deck’s overhead speakers. Standing just a few meters behind the shuttle, Admiral Patterson and Flag Captain Ogima Davis saluted smartly in unison as the assembled Marines presented arms. The EVA suits’ powerful synthetic musculature moving in unison echoed impressively throughout the warship’s unusually quiet hangar bay.

  Naftur, obviously pleased by the reception, stopped at the bottom of the ramp and pivoted to face the assembled troops. Without a word, the Crown Prince allowed his gaze to pass from one end of the formation to the other, as if taking the measure of each and every Marine present. Then, clasping his right fist over his heart in salute, he raised his head and released a deep, thunderous roar. Its majestic, awe-inspiring power was like nothing any of the Terrans had ever heard before, easily drowning out the ceremonial music as it echoed throughout the cavernous flight deck. The Wek then pivoted smoothly back towards the two senior officers, returning a crisp, Human-style salute before approaching with a broad smile and an extended hand.

  “It’s an honor to see you again, Prince Naftur,” Patterson greeted.

  “The honor is mine, Admiral Patterson … Captain Davis,” Naftur replied immediately, not bothering to wait for the awkward translation pause. “I know all too well that protocol requires the use of such titles, but I would much prefer being treated as a potentially useful visiting officer rather than a barely competent head of state.”

  “By all means, Admiral. I’m not sure I would enjoy the political side of your job either. Although I suspect you are far more formidable in that role than you admit.”

  “Hah!” Naftur laughed heartily, “You have never seen me making a fool of myself in front of our Parliament. I will admit, however, that being generally underestimated does offer a few advantages. Now, I am sure these young men and women have a great many things they would rather be doing,” he said, gesturing to the assembled troops.

  “I’m sure that’s true,” Patterson said, raising his voice so that everyone in the formation could hear. “But I think I speak for all of us when I say that we wouldn’t have missed your Wek warrior’s salute for anything in the world. Hooyah?”

  “Hooyah!” came the enthusiastic, albeit artificially amplified, response from the Marine platoon.

  “Very well. Lieutenant, dismiss your people, please,” Patterson ordered, returning the young officer’s salute before turning his attention back to his guest.

  “Well, Admiral, I do at least have a bit of good news to begin your visit. I’m always surprised when the wheels of bureaucracy move this quickly, but I have just been authorized to provi
de you with unrestricted access to the entire ship. We’re still required to provide a Marine escort for your personal security and to ensure you have everything you need, but otherwise you may come and go as you please. From my own selfish perspective, that means I can put you to work in the CIC if you’re willing.”

  “It would be my pleasure, of course. Chairwoman Kistler must have made quite a convincing case for accelerating the cooperation between our two fleets.”

  “Yes, sir, and with the full support of the Admiralty staff. She has been making that argument for months, but I believe this latest in a long series of crises has made it more clear than ever that the threats we face are not something we could ever hope to handle alone.”

  “The same is true for us, of course,” Naftur replied, nodding slowly. “And we have made considerable progress of late convincing the leaders of our dynastic houses of that fact. Perhaps the Chairwoman will be willing to come to Graca and lend us the benefit of her parliamentary skills.”

  “She might at that.” Patterson smiled. “In the case of our Leadership Council, she was successful in implementing a couple of very clever rule changes. With the Fleet operating on a war footing, Admiral Sexton now has significantly more approval authority than before. And for items of greater significance, Mrs. Kistler can often gain quick approvals via the Military Operations Oversight Committee — even on matters that previously required a hearing before the full Council. So the decision to provide you with full access aboard the Navajo was relatively easy for her to obtain. I’m guessing your having saved our homeworld from an extinction-level bioweapons attack might have had something to do with that as well.”

  “I did nothing more than you would have done under similar circumstances. I am happy the Gresav was … how do you Terrans say it?”

  “In the right place at the right time?” Davis chimed in.