by Tori Harris
“Alright everyone, here we go. Helm, count us down, please.”
“Aye, sir. Auto-transitioning in 3 … 2 … 1 …”
Yumaran Guardian Spacecraft, Earth Orbit
(35,800 km above the Yucca Mountain Shipyard Facility)
Although not at all afraid, the Yumaran Guardian was nevertheless quite distracted. Prior to its departure, the Envoy-class spacecraft had ordered the GCS to conduct a detailed analysis and threat assessment of all Terran warships in the vicinity. In this regard, at least, the Humans had been obliging hosts. In response to its presence above one of their primary shipbuilding facilities, they had kept at least one example of each of their major combatants in view at all times.
A prudent precaution, perhaps, it observed, but based on what they obviously know of our capabilities, do they genuinely view their own meager forces as a credible threat to our mission in this system? Is this behavior a form of vanity? Hubris? Or is it something else entirely?
Moments later, with the Yumaran GCS dedicating a significant percentage of its available resources to an intensive scan of the carrier TFS Ushant, eight flashes of grayish-white provided the answer it had been looking for. In response, every warning system aboard immediately announced the newly arrived threat, unfortunately providing little more than a heightened sense of drama to the rapidly deteriorating tactical situation.
At least the fools have yet to learn the advantages of Before Light Arrival attacks, it thought, already running tens of thousands of simulations as it assessed how best to respond.
For such a bold attack — assuming that’s what this actually was — the Humans had not sent a particularly impressive force: just an additional three frigates, four destroyers, and one carrier. In spite of its best efforts to avoid such frivolous thoughts, the Guardian couldn’t help but feel vaguely disappointed, even insulted, by the feeble response. Did they truly believe these eight warships would be sufficient? Was it possible their objective was to simply harass rather than attack? A demonstration of their resolve by forcing it to transition to a less threatening location, perhaps?
Now, however, with the small squadron less than one hundred kilometers away and closing rapidly, several of the Human ships began a series of aggressive maneuvers — clearly attempting to provide themselves with a clear line of fire.
No, it thought, the Humans are demonstrating clearly hostile intent against the Pelaran Alliance. Regardless of whether or not they intend to fire, openly aggressive acts of this nature cannot be allowed to stand without a response. Doing so would simply invite more of the same.
Its decision made, the Yumaran GCS rotated slightly on two axes, bringing four of its antimatter beam emitters to bear on each of three separate targets simultaneously. With a passing sense of disappointment at the Humans’ almost inconceivable lack of judgment, the Guardian opened fire.
With its systems now focused on an active combat engagement with nearby enemy warships, the Yumaran Guardian was understandably less interested in activities taking place on the planet’s surface below. It was, therefore, not at all surprising that the arrival of a smattering of photons produced by a muzzle flash occurring in a remote region of south central New Mexico went entirely unnoticed.
Earth, White Sands Missile Range
(1610 UTC - 75 km northwest of Alamogordo, NM)
The chief problem involved in firing a projectile from the surface of an Earth-like planet into space is not one of gravity, but of air resistance. As it travels though the atmosphere, the projectile must overcome drag — a force pushing in the opposite direction of travel proportional to the square of its velocity. So, in the case of Planet Earth, providing a railgun kinetic energy projectile with sufficient velocity to escape both the planet’s gravity as well as its thick, fluid-like atmosphere presents a significant technological challenge indeed.
Fortunately, like that of most small planets, the density of Earth’s atmosphere decreases dramatically with altitude — losing half its sea-level value by seven thousand meters and rapidly approaching zero above twenty thousand meters. In order for an artillery round to reach space, then, the trick lies in creating a projectile capable of handling the extreme temperatures involved and firing it with the brute force required to depart the atmosphere as quickly as possible.
Trans-atmospheric artillery research had always been a natural extension of the railgun development program at the Advanced Relativistic Kinetics (ARK) facility. And (ironically, thanks to the data provided by another Pelaran Guardian spacecraft) the past fifty years had seen every historic obstacle to so-called “space gun” development fall by the wayside.
At the precise instant in time specified by TFS Navajo’s AI, powerful underground capacitor banks beneath the ARK facility instantaneously diverted nearly all of their available energy stores to the railgun on the surface above. Inside the fire lance itself, a series of emitters mounted along the barrel produced an intense gravitic field, temporarily negating the projectile’s mass for launch. A fraction of a second later, tremendous voltages energized rails lining the weapon’s inner walls, accelerating its fifty-kilogram kinetic energy penetrator round up and out of the weapon’s elongated barrel at just shy of thirty-five percent the speed of light.
As the projectile departed the weapon’s muzzle, everything in the immediate vicinity capable of combustion was instantly consumed in a brightly glowing plume of plasma. Residual substances from the gun itself, atmospheric dust, and even the air itself ignited in an elongated spheroid roughly double the length of the gun’s barrel. During the seventy-odd microseconds required for the projectile to clear the bounds of Earth’s atmosphere, a narrow, reddish column of superheated air appeared, remaining visible like a shooting star in reverse for several seconds following the shell’s passage.
In spite of the planet’s best efforts to the contrary, the trip from the New Mexico desert floor to the fire lance’s target took less than two-tenths of a second. With the Yumaran Guardian spacecraft heavily engaged in weapons fire of its own, it never detected the incoming kinetic energy round prior to impact.
TFS Karna, Sol System
(59 km from the Yumaran Guardian)
“Ground-launched weapons impact, Captain!” the young lieutenant at the Tactical 2 console reported excitedly, although he need not have done so with the Yumaran Guardian temporarily disappearing from the bridge view screen in an enormous ball of fire. A moment later, Karna’s AI had once again locked the destroyer’s optical sensors onto the target, returning it to its former position in the center window. “It’s still in one piece, sir,” the tactical officer continued, “but appears to be heavily damaged and has lost directional control.”
“Shields?”
“Down, sir.”
“Brighton’s got it,” Abrams replied, staring expectantly at the tactical plot on the starboard view screen.
As fate would have it, Captain Abrams’ first ship — TFS Diligence, now commanded by Captain Andrew Brighton — had transitioned to a new position just moments before. As a result, the Ingenuity-class frigate had not only avoided a salvo of particle beam fire that would have surely destroyed it, but had also arrived in an ideal location to target the apparently out-of-control Yumaran Guardian. As Abrams’ entire bridge crew held its collective breath, Diligence opened up with every weapon at her disposal. Now at a distance of less than thirty kilometers from her target, the small warship’s beam weapons, kinetic energy rounds, and plasma torpedoes reached their destinations at almost exactly the same moment in time, quickly finishing the task begun by the fire lance on the surface below.
With practically every member of Terran Fleet Command in the Sol system watching, the Yumaran Guardian spacecraft erupted in a brilliant, white ball of fire. The explosion, clearly visible across most of the Western Hemisphere below, temporarily provided a hint of how the daytime sky might appear if the sun were part of a binary star system. After a few seconds, however, with the remnants of its antimatter supply expe
nded, the fireball that had been the Yumaran GCS slowly faded from view and was gone.
“Target destroyed, Captain,” the officer at Karna’s Tactical 1 console reported breathlessly.
“Thank you, Lieutenant. Comm, pass confirmation along to the Flag and inform them we will be engaged in rescue ops.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“Alright, everyone, we’ve got at least two damaged ships to contend with. Take a deep breath and let’s start working the new problem. Commander, status please.”
“TFS Gilgamesh and Anubis both took hits,” his XO reported, already having placed both of the stricken ships on the bridge view screen.
Both destroyers had obviously suffered severe damage, each having been hit in approximately the same location — just forward of amidships on their dorsal surfaces. Remarkably, on the surface at least, the damage inflicted by the Yumaran Guardian’s antimatter beams looked almost identical on both ships. Near the points of impact, great, jagged holes had been torn into the hulls, possibly penetrating completely through to the opposite sides. Across much of what they could see of the ships’ hulls, the destructive effects of antimatter annihilation were readily apparent.
Glancing at the view screen, Abrams couldn’t help being reminded of a time during his youth when he and a friend had taken his grandfather’s blow torch to a bunch of old, plastic ship models they had found in the attic. Then as now, what remained bore little resemblance to what it had been before. Abrams felt the inside of his mouth go bone dry as he experienced the same helpless feeling he remembered after losing a total of six ships during the battle against the Pelaran Resistance.
“It’s not looking good, sir,” his XO continued. “Both ships have lost primary power, both appear to have suffered multiple hull breaches, and we are receiving no comms traffic from either one other than their automated distress beacon data streams.”
“Science,” Abrams asked hoarsely, directing his question to the ensign at the Science and Engineering console, “can you tell me anything about the state of their reactors? Did either one manage a safe shutdown?”
“There’s no way to say for sure, sir, I —”
“I understand, Ensign, but we have to make some kind of assessment as to whether or not we can risk bringing other ships close enough to assist. I need your best guess based on what the sensors are telling you, please.”
“Yes, sir. Best guess … Gilgamesh’s reactors appear to have scrammed at some point. I don’t see any thermal plumes or other signs of leakage, and the temperatures in her engineering and propulsion sections are steadily decreasing.”
“That’s good enough for me, Ensign. And Anubis?”
“I hesitate to say it’s too dangerous to try to help her, sir, but I don’t like what I’m seeing here. The temps in her reactor spaces appear to be well above critical, and they’re still increasing.”
“Comm, signal all ships we believe a reactor breach may be in progress aboard Anubis and to remain well clear until further notice. Stand by for instructions to render assistance to Gilgamesh.”
“Aye, sir,” the comm officer replied solemnly.
“Surely there’s something we can do to help,” the XO began, just as another bright flash quickly brought their attention back to the image of TFS Anubis on the view screen. A series of rapid explosions could be seen issuing from deep within the section of hull carved out by the Guardian’s weapons fire. Then, in a final, devastating blast, the warship’s reactor breached. In an instant, what remained of her already weakened longitudinal beams were ripped apart, splitting the warship into two huge sections even before the reactor-induced explosion had reached its full size. As Karna’s crew watched in horror, the two largest pieces of their sister ship were consumed by the rapidly expanding ball of fire, sending what remained spinning away in opposite directions with trails of gas and debris in their wake.
“Science, any threat to the surface or other ships?” Abrams asked after a moment of silence.
“No, sir,” the young officer replied.
“Very well. XO, green deck. Let’s make damn sure the same thing doesn’t happen to Gilgamesh.”
“Aye, sir.”
Chapter 20
TFS Fugitive, Interstellar Space
(3.06x102 light years from Pelara)
With a muted flash of grayish-white light, TFS Fugitive appeared in normal space near the debris field produced by the destruction of the ALAI starbase.
“Tactical?”
“No new contacts, Captain. Primary target confirmed destroyed. All secondary targets with the exception of Golf 3 confirmed destroyed.”
“You still have Golf 3 on Argus?”
“Yes, sir. The last remaining enemy GCS transitioned to a location just over fifteen light years away and has not transitioned since. Griffin, sorry, Captain Griffin, signaled that he does not expect Golf 3 will choose to reengage.”
“Hopefully not. With any luck, it took some damage in the explosion. Obviously, let me know immediately if you see it move again, but we’ll be departing the area shortly. Also, I’m about to order Griffin’s squadron to sift through the rubble looking for any signs of intact AI tech, but as long as we’re in the area, you might as well do the same.”
“Active sensors, sir?”
“Sure. Light ‘em up, Lieutenant.”
“Will do, Captain.”
“Fisher?”
“With the exception of our LO systems, everything remains in the green, Captain. The ship is still at General Quarters for combat ops and ready to C-Jump. C-Jump range now at 495.2 light years and increasing. Sublight engines are online, we are free to maneuver.”
“Good, thank you. I’m not keen on sitting still in case our friend returns, so head us off in the direction of Griffin’s squadron for now.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Speaking of Captain Griffin, I’m more than a little surprised we haven’t heard from him already, other than the text-only messages, that is. Dubashi?”
“He’s been standing by since immediately after the attack on the starbase, Captain,” she replied, turning around in her chair and smiling broadly. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him, sir, but he made me promise not to bother you until you had time to speak with him.”
“Well that’s new,” Reynolds said without looking up from her Command console.
“Never a dull moment. On-screen, please, Lieutenant.”
Once again, Griffin’s avatar appeared on the bridge view screen, this time wearing the same deferential expression Prescott remembered from the aftermath of their incursion into the Legara system.
“Congratulations on your … if you will forgive me, rather astonishing victory, Captain Prescott,” he began.
“I’m not sure exactly how to take that comment, Captain Griffin, but my mother always taught me to assume positive intent until proven otherwise. So thank you. But at the risk of offering you a cliché, it’s not my victory. It belongs to all of us — you and the other Guardians included. My fear, of course, is that taking out the ALAI starbase, astonishing or not, was little more than a single step in a long journey.”
“I’m not sure I follow your logic, Captain.”
“That’s because it’s not logic, Griffin, it’s more of a gut feeling. I’m just having a tough time believing that an AI advanced enough to enslave the homeworld of its creators would allow its own existence to be snuffed out by the destruction of a single starbase.”
“And a somewhat lightly defended one at that,” Reynolds added.
“Exactly, and that’s my point,” Prescott agreed.
“Not to be argumentative, Captain,” Griffin replied, “but the Alliance AI was protected by a total of fifteen Guardian spacecraft when we arrived. While I agree that allowing itself to be confined to a single physical location does seem a bit … shortsighted, I would hardly characterize it as having been ‘lightly defended.’”
Prescott paused momentarily, his mind having already moved on to
the next challenge they faced. “No, I’m sure you’re right,” he continued. “And I didn’t mean to minimize what we’ve accomplished here today. My concern, however, is that the real battle is about to be fought back in the Sol system … and before we can manage to return.”
“Yes, of course,” Griffin nodded. “I assume you will be returning immediately, then?”
“That was my intention, but, frankly, I’m not sure how much use we will be in a battle against another Guardian and an Envoy-class. When it comes down to it, the Fugitive’s primary advantage lies in her ability to approach a target without being detected, and we won’t be doing any of that without several weeks’ worth of repairs.”
“Uh, Captain,” Doctor Creel spoke up. “That may not necessarily be true, sir.”
TFS Navajo, Sol System
(Combat Information Center - 2.08x105 km from Earth)
“The Envoy-class vessel just transitioned again, Admiral,” one of the CIC’s tactical officers reported from a nearby console.
“How many more?”
“Six … maybe seven if we’re lucky, sir. He seems to have settled in on three-hundred-light-year jumps with twenty minutes worth of dwell time between each one. Assuming that continues, worst-case ETA is around two hours from now.”
“Right. Thank you, Commander,” Patterson replied, peering absently at the holographic table display as if it were a giant crystal ball capable of revealing precisely what he should do next. Having just completed TFC’s first unilateral military action — and against a Pelaran warship no less — the Chief of Naval Operations had no notion of how he might successfully do so again. The destruction of the Yumaran Guardian had, after all, been a bit of a fluke — a fortunate coincidence of location and timing providing an advantage that would most likely never be repeated. Even with these advantages, the battle had resulted in the loss of three hundred forty-nine lives thus far … a number he knew was likely to increase as rescue operations continued. There was also the loss of two Theseus-class destroyers to consider — ships Fleet simply could not afford to do without at the moment.