by Tori Harris
TFS Fugitive
(Pelara - approaching the FAM-4 facility)
Much like a harbor pilot safely guides ships into congested or otherwise dangerous ports, the FAM-4 facility AI had begun its coordination with TFS Fugitive as she approached the station’s main entrance. From that point forward, the MMSV’s crew had been relegated to mere observers as the warship steadily made her way through the enormous, twelve-hundred-meter-wide entrance past a set of doors over three times as large as those outside the Yucca Mountain Shipyard on Earth.
Once inside, it immediately became evident that the interior surface of the facility’s outer hull was lined with thousands of structures of various shapes and sizes. In some cases, the buildings’ functions were familiar to the Terran crew, looking very much like those found in any shipyard or maintenance facility back home. Assuming the station had been crewed by Pelaran workers at some point, many of the buildings had undoubtedly once been used to house them — probably by the tens or even hundreds of thousands if the station’s size was any indication. Now, however, FAM-4’s surprisingly well-lit interior appeared to be entirely deserted with the exception of an equally large workforce of AI-controlled drones. Seconds after the Fugitive had cleared the station’s entrance, over fifty of these approached, beginning what could only be a close examination of the ship’s design and apparent damage.
As the ship reached the facility’s hollow interior, it became much more obvious why the Pelaran navy had chosen to continue constructing its starships in space. It wasn’t merely the fact that the interior of the station was gigantic — although it certainly was — but it was also ingeniously designed to take full advantage of a microgravity environment. With such a vast amount of empty space available (the station’s mean diameter was nearly twelve kilometers), several of the largest warships ever constructed by the Pelaran navy could be built and/or serviced simultaneously, all while providing workers and/or drones with full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree access.
On TFS Fugitive’s bridge, her crew watched in awe as the facility AI guided the relatively tiny ship into a berth not far from the station’s entrance. TFS Guardian, having followed them inside, curtly refused the steady stream of queries from the station insisting he was long overdue for a complete systems overhaul.
“Oh, this can’t be over soon enough for me,” Reynolds whispered, as if the sound of her voice might wake some long-slumbering malevolent spirit that had once stood guard within the giant facility. “AI, Reynolds. Please summarize all repair-related communications that have taken place thus far with the facility AI.”
“AI acknowledged,” the system’s impassive, female voice responded.
In the center of the bridge view screen, a window appeared displaying a slowly rotating image of the MMSV. Shortly thereafter, a pulsating green oval appeared, superimposed over the aft port section of the hull damaged during the attack on the ALAI starbase. After a brief pause, the oval pulsed red three times before the image zoomed in on the indicated area.
“The facility AI has successfully assessed, classified, and is preparing to repair the indicated battle damage.”
“Estimated time to repair?”
“All indicated damage has been classified as follows: minor, low-priority, non-mission-critical, with no life support system involvement. Accordingly, the facility AI has assigned a single work detail. All repairs will be executed in series with full access to a single fabrication facility. At this resource allocation level, estimated time to repair is approximately seventy-two hours, twenty-four minutes.”
“Uh, no, that’s not gonna work for us,” Reynolds objected. “We appear to be the only ship in the entire facility at the moment. Aren’t additional assets and/or fabrication facilities available?”
“Confirmed. TFS Fugitive is the only spacecraft currently scheduled for repair activities. Additional assets and facilities are available for higher-priority repairs. Shall I request an increase in our initial priority assessment?”
“Absolutely. Reclassify as mission-critical, time-sensitive. Request that all repairs be conducted in parallel and completed at maximum possible speed.”
“Our reclassification request has been approved,” the ship’s AI responded immediately. “Additional resources assigned. Estimated time to repair now twelve minutes, thirty-three seconds.”
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Reynold said, turning to her captain with a quick wink.
“I don’t know what we’d do without you, Commander,” Prescott said, shaking his head incredulously.
“Oh, come on,” Logan groaned. “Twelve minutes? We’ve got extensive hull damage out there. We’re talking several weeks in one of our own facilities … and that’s assuming we get placed at the front of the priority queue.”
“Oh ye of little faith,” Creel chided, causing all three of the Terran officers to stare briefly in wonder at the reference before deciding it was a topic best left for another time.
“Don’t get me wrong, Doctor. I’d love to see us on our way out of here in twelve minutes. I’ll just believe it when I see it, that’s all.”
On the bridge view screen, Commander Reynolds had already opened several windows with various views of the activities taking place around the ship. Droids of a seemingly endless variety were now streaming in from every direction. There were already so many in the area, in fact, that it seemed as though they would begin colliding with one another at any moment. Instead, with every new arrival, their movements became increasingly complex — a purpose-driven ballet in space, exquisitely choreographed for their benefit by the FAM-4 facility AI.
Near the port stern, one work detail had already removed the damaged sections of the hull and were now busily attaching a mind-boggling array of cables, hydraulic lines, and other internal components per the specifications provided by the Fugitive’s AI. While it was possible to see the end results of their work taking shape, their individual movements appeared to the Human eye as little more than a blur of motion on the view screen. Concurrently, both above and below the ship, additional work details had laid down a pair of lattice-like structures which they immediately began covering with a composite material. Although the techniques being employed were quite different than what Logan had seen in TFC shipyards, much of the tooling being used was surprisingly familiar.
After watching the droids at their work for just two minutes it had already become obvious to Commander Logan that the facility AI’s estimated repair time might not be as far-fetched as he had originally imagined. “I, uh …” he began tentatively. “I think I’d better get back to Engineering.”
“I think you’d better,” Reynolds agreed. “Ten minutes, and we’re out of here, Cheng,” she called after him as he exited the bridge.
“Captain Prescott, AI,” the ship’s synthetic female voice sounded once again from the ceiling speakers.
“Prescott here. Go ahead, AI.”
“The facility AI has replicated the design of our HB-7c missiles and will replace the ship’s standard loadout, if requested.”
“Humph. That’s exactly the kind of thing that worries me the most about this entire exercise. AI, will any additional time be required to complete weapons manufacturing and loadout.”
“Negative, Captain. Sufficient idle resources are available to complete the task with no impact to ongoing repair activities.”
“Yes. Complete the weapons loadout.”
“AI acknowledged.”
“Griffin, Prescott.”
“Yes, Captain Prescott,” the GCS responded immediately.
“I’m guessing you would prefer to return to the Sol system with us.”
“Of course, Captain. Terra is my home too. And you will undoubtedly require my assistance.”
“You may be right about that. In fact, I would gladly take all of the other friendly GCS units back with us if I could.”
“I certainly agree. In my absence, two of the remaining members of the Freeguard squadron will continue scanning the
remains of the ALAI starbase. I have tasked the remaining five to stand guard over Pelara in case the Golf 3 GCS returns.”
“That seems appropriate, thank you. Clear your approach with the facility AI so you won’t interfere with repairs. I’m sending Commander Reynolds back to oversee your boarding operation again now. I want you docked in our hangar bay as quickly as you can do so without damaging the ship. As soon as our repairs are complete, I need you and Tess to interface with the FAM-4 facility again and see what you can do to remove any trace we were ever here.”
“Will do, Captain. I’ll be aboard shortly. Griffin out.”
“Ensign Fisher, what’s our minimum time in route once we’re clear of the station?”
“It’ll take eight C-Jumps, sir … that’s seven dwell times for a total of one hour and forty-five minutes.”
“I’m not sure how we could have done any better than that. Let’s just hope we can get home soon enough to make a difference.”
TFS Navajo, In Hyperspace
(2 ½ hours later - Combat Information Center)
“Contacts!” the CIC’s on-duty tactical officer reported from a nearby console. “A total of four contacts, sir, all presumed hostile.”
“Confirm four contacts, Commander?”
“Yes, Admiral. Three Guardian-class and one Envoy-class, designated Golf 1 through Golf 3 and Echo 1. I’m sorry, sir, I’m not sure how they —”
“We’ll deal with how that got by us later, Commander,” Patterson interrupted. “I’m sure there are plenty of things they are capable of doing that we don’t know about. Right now, I need everyone focused on what we are capable of doing to kill these four targets. At least they obliged us with a little extra time to welcome them back properly.”
“Yes, sir,” the officer replied with more confidence than he felt at the moment.
“Lieutenant Fletcher, I assume we’re patched in via NRD net, so we can hail them?”
“Yes, sir. From their perspective, our transmissions will appear to emanate from the closest comm beacon. We have so many in the area now that comm delay shouldn’t be a problem. The same goes for any of our ships operating under EMCON. They can hear us in real-time, they just can’t respond.”
“Very good. Hail the Envoy’s ship. Audio-only, please, and limit it to my headset so I can control what he hears.”
“Aye, sir, hailing.”
“What have you done with the Yumaran Guardian?” Verge Tahiri demanded the moment a connection was established. “Don’t bother lying, Admiral Patterson. To me, the residual effects of a recent, large-scale antimatter annihilation event are quite clear, but I am genuinely interested in how you managed to do it.”
“Hello again, Mr. Tahiri,” Patterson replied, choosing to ignore the Envoy’s question altogether. “Sir, I have been given the unpleasant task of informing you of a recent change in Terran diplomatic policy vis-à-vis the Pelaran Alliance.”
“Have you indeed? I believe I can guess well enough what that change entails, so perhaps we should skip ahead to the reason I have returned to the Sol system so soon, shall we?”
“We have no wish to engage in hostilities with the Alliance or its representatives, Mr. Tahiri. But we must insist on maintaining our territorial sovereignty while our Leadership Council has the opportunity to evaluate the current —”
“Your world has failed time and again to meet its obligations under the terms and conditions under which you were granted access to Pelaran Alliance technology,” Tahiri growled. “It was only your status as “Children of the Makers” coupled with an unprecedented level of overindulgence on the part of your Guardian that has prevented the termination of your contract thus far. What brought me back here so soon, however, was the discovery that you have colluded with at least one other species to engage in subversive activities against the Alliance. Now, upon my return, I also learn that you have somehow brought about the destruction … the murder, Admiral Patterson … of a Guardian Cultivation System, an official representative of the Pelaran Alliance.”
“Okay, let’s cut the bullshit, Mr. Tahiri,” Patterson snapped with uncharacteristic anger in his voice. “The Pelaran Alliance — at least in the form represented in those agreements you just mentioned — no longer exists. That much, we know for sure. Furthermore, it did not exist as represented in those agreements at the time we began receiving data from our Guardian spacecraft. Now, as to exactly what has transpired since and what our world’s status may or may not be with respect to those agreements, I’m going to have to refer you to our Leadership Council. As I have already stated, their evaluation of our current status is ongoing. So, once again, I must ask that you respect our territorial sovereignty while we give them the time they need to —”
“Your ships’ ability to remain suspended in hyperspace is very impressive, Admiral. Unfortunately, since it was not us who provided your world with this technology, I can only assume this is yet another example of your duplicity. Listen closely, Admiral Patterson, because I will only provide these instructions one time. You will order all of your ships to return to normal space and immediately begin the process of landing on your planet’s surface in preparation for decommissioning. If you follow my instructions to the letter, you have my word we will not attack the surface of your planet.”
Muting the comlink, Admiral Patterson noted that two of the three Guardian spacecraft had transitioned to locations providing each with line of sight coverage over roughly half the Earth’s surface. At the same moment, the Envoy’s ship and the remaining GCS unit had positioned themselves well clear of the planet.
“He’s giving himself and Golf 3 room to maneuver. I guess that means they’re expecting a fight,” Patterson observed, half to himself.
“Sir,” the nearest tactical officer spoke up, “I just heard from Captain Davis. The Navajo’s AI confirmed that our vertical launch cells are a no-go for Captain Prescott’s hyperspace missile launch technique.”
“Yeah, I was afraid of that.”
“Yes, sir. But our F-373s have internal weapons bays similar to those aboard TFS Fugitive. We have sixteen fighters deploying missiles in hyperspace at the moment. Both carriers are asking for permission to launch additional fighters when they return to normal space.”
“I don’t see us taking that risk. How many missiles do we have in flight?”
“Three two so far, sir. It’s pretty slow going. The fighters’ hyperdrive fields are only large enough to accommodate two missiles at a time.”
“Tell them to stay at it, Commander. Regardless of how many missiles we have in flight when we begin our attack, I want half targeted on Echo 1 and the other half on Golf 3.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Please don’t mistake this discussion as a negotiation, Admiral,” Tahiri’s voice resumed inside Patterson’s headset. “I would prefer to avoid the need to demonstrate our resolve to you and your Leadership Council, but I will not hesitate to do so, if necessary. Our beam emitters were primarily designed as anti-ship weapons, but I can assure you they are quite effective against planetary targets as well. In fact, sustained antimatter annihilation inside an oxygen-rich environment such as yours has a marked tendency to ignite the atmosphere itself. After an hour or so, the resulting firestorm becomes self-sustaining. It’s really quite spectacular … but not something you would ever want to witness taking place on your own homeworld.”
“I understand,” Patterson said with a weary sigh, doing his level best to sound like a man who had already accepted defeat. “I just need some time to begin issuing the appropriate orders. I’ll be back with you shortly.”
“You would do well to ensure those orders are followed without delay,” Tahiri replied, now shifting into the patronizing tone Patterson recognized from so many conversations with Griffin over the past year.
Not bothering to answer, the CNO glanced at Lieutenant Fletcher, jerking his hand across his neck in a signal to terminate the comlink and immediately receiving a nod of confi
rmation in reply.
“Captain Prescott …” he continued, staring at a now-blank view screen that had been a live vidcon with TFS Fugitive’s captain until his ship had been forced into EMCON moments earlier by Tahiri’s transition into the area.
Patterson paused, turning back to his comm officer with an expression of grave concern on his face. “Fletcher, are you sure Prescott’s still able to hear this? Understand we’re pretty much betting the farm that he can.”
“Yes, sir. If you address him directly, Navajo’s AI will forward the comm traffic to several comm beacons near his ship’s last known position. Unless he’s transitioned, he can hear you.”
“Dear Lord, I hope you’re right about that,” the admiral said under his breath. “Captain Prescott, I know you’ve gone silent and are unable to respond, but based on your last position, you should be setting yourself up to take down Golf 1 on my signal. As soon as you’ve destroyed Golf 1, you are to assist the Gresav with Golf 2.”
“Griffin,” the CNO continued, quickly shifting his gaze to the Guardian’s familiar avatar on an adjacent view screen, “Prescott was saying you intend to employ a diversionary tactic to make it more difficult for the Pelarans to target our ships.”
“Yes, Admiral. By maximizing the output of my hyperdrive, I can create a series of outbound hyperspace signatures that should —”
“You’ll have to explain it to me later, Griffin. For now, I just need you to do it when I signal. Understood?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Good, thank you,” Patterson replied, then shifted his attention to a second pair of adjacent view screens. “Admiral Naftur and Rick, I have to tell you I’m not crazy about what you have in mind.”
“It’s the best option under the circumstances,” Rick observed. “Since you only have one ship like the Fugitive at your disposal, the Gresav’s primary beam weapon — the ‘G-cannon,’ I believe you call it — is the only system you have capable of quickly disabling a GCS unit.”
“And you’ll be able to place the Gresav close enough for her to fire before being fired upon?”