He was pleased with his role in his race’s great holy war against the humans. The Hegemonic Naval Forces of the Sovereign and Supreme Viceroys of Creation, known to humans as the “Krag” (a ludicrous name that was simply a mangled rendition of the sound his species made at the beginning of each communication to attract the attention of the listener) had recently defeated their secondary enemy, the Thark. Two massive strike forces that had been assembled in the heart of the Hegemony to be used on that front had been retasked and were now just inside the space controlled by the Hegemony, poised to attack the humans. Soon they would be joined by hundreds of ships that had been fighting the Thark and that were at that very moment streaming across more than 2000 light-years of space from that theater of operations to this one.
Because the shortest route between the two battlefronts stretched through a thinly settled and resource-poor region more than eight hundred light-years from the Hegemony’s core worlds, the Central Command Nexus had decided not to provide the vessels making the transit with resupply beyond that necessary to get them from one battle zone to the other. Accordingly, they arrived depleted of fuel, food, and munitions, as well as, in many cases, requiring substantial repair and refit.
The commander’s installation, given the simple name “Naval Field Readiness Station #252” (a much more impressive title in the Krag language) was one of two created to fill that need, 251 previous stations having been created at other times during this and previous wars, then dismantled when no longer needed. Located at the L4 Lagrange point in the orbit of a gas giant planet, the installation consisted of a large repair and refurbishment station, a battle station, an enormous fuel dump, and an equally enormous cargo transfer hub. Plus, 5000 standard linear units from the rest of the facility, there were two vast cargo supply and munitions dumps, each of which consisted of literally millions of cargo containers orbiting a low-power artificial gravity source in a ring that was as thick as a small continent, the diameter of a small moon, and too large to be destroyed easily.
These dumps were the facility’s most valuable asset. Each neatly orbiting ring of containers contained war matériel equal to roughly a fifth of the Hegemony’s total industrial output for an entire year. In preparation for a decisive push against the humans, the Krag had been accumulating these supplies since the sixth year of the war. They contained no single item that was difficult to obtain or unique. But in terms of quantity and ready availability, what these dumps contained was irreplaceable.
The commander’s facility would service roughly half of the forces being transferred, those destined to be sent into battle against Admiral Hornmeyer’s Task Force, with the half going into battle against Admiral Middleton’s forces routed to Naval Field Readiness Station #253, roughly 350 light-years rimward.
The commander focused on the next issue requiring his attention. It was just the kind of matter at which he excelled: unsnarling a nasty bit of confusion over the traffic patterns and docking priority for three hands of deuterium heavy tankers, whose cargoes would soon refuel carriers and battleships and cruisers headed to battle with the humans. Fifteen tankers, comprising nearly all of a hundredday’s deuterium production of three major separation facilities, were now lined up, waiting to have their bulky tanks detached by tugs and attached to one of the facility’s four bulk pumping stations, where their contents would be used to fill the bunkers of warships headed for the front.
He affixed his electronic signature to another order. He cringed inwardly every time he used his name: “Spits Out Bitter Roots.” He hated it, even though it was much shorter and more euphonious in his own language than in Standard. Scarcely a daytenth passed in which he didn’t wish he could leave his litter name behind and earn, by a decisive victory over a force of equal or greater strength, a name of triumph like “Victoriously Attacked when His Executive Officer Begged Him to Retreat” or “Surprised and Destroyed Many Cruisers Near a Neutron Star.” Perhaps then he could eradicate the shame he and his littermates carried because his officer father perished and went to the Desiccators still bearing the name “Urinates When Startled.”
The Commander solved the tanker problem with a series of bitingly sarcastic communications to the tanker captains instructing them in the proper interval and relative positions to maintain while in a holding pattern, thereby addressing almost by accident the real underlying problem: confusion between the captains regarding which of the three sets of navigation rules that might apply was appropriate under the present circumstances. The Commander then proceeded to issue minutely detailed instructions on how to rectify a series of errors in the placement of early-warning sensors. The arrangement in place at that moment would work perfectly, but still deviated from the established protocol and must, therefore, be corrected.
In the middle of that painstaking exercise, an attention signal directed through his neural interface broke his concentration. Because, under naval custom, only the most urgent matters came in that manner instead of through the ancient rituals of reporting, he opened the channel with no small measure of alarm.
“This is the Commander. You may speak.”
“Warlike Commander, this is Communications.”
“Proceed.”
“We have been unsuccessful in contacting the fighters. We tried to raise each fighter individually, making three separate attempts, fifty heartbeats apart, on each fighter’s primary, secondary, tertiary, and emergency frequencies. Further, it is with extreme regret that I report that contact reports from both Destroyers are one hundred standard heartbeats overdue. We are attempting to contact both ships, but without any success so far.”
Cat. The Commander definitely smelled a very large cat. He knew about large cats. On his species’ homeworld, there were cats the size of Earth buffalo capable of killing any animal on the planet. The evolutionary pressure created by the predations of such creatures was one of the reasons his race became bipedal, and then developed high intelligence, toolmaking, and weaponry. It wasn’t until they invented high-powered repeating rifles that his people had any effective defense against these huge, ravening animals other than cowering behind high walls and thick, barred doors when they were known to be on the prowl. To this very day, a loaded rifle was part of any mature male’s civilian attire—these days more a symbol of his adulthood and readiness to deal with danger than a weapon for his actual defense.
“Very well. Continue your efforts to contact all the missing vessels and report any positive results to me promptly. Commander out.” He used his interface to open another voice channel.
“Fleet Operations.”
“Operations, this is the commander. Order the entire command to Alert Condition Two. Launch the reserve fighter hand and order them to their standard picket positions. As soon as that is accomplished, have the combat area patrol fighters refueled in flight and pull them back to the Inner Defense Perimeter. Make sure all fighters are carrying a full combat load of antiship ordnance.”
“Immediately, Warlike Commander.”
The commander closed the circuit and stepped briskly from the Commander’s Retreat to the Commander’s Battle Niche. The computer detected his presence and activated the appropriate displays. He turned to the Systems Controller, a senior noncommissioned officer. “Bring all maneuvering and combat systems to full readiness.” As his vigilant second-in-command, working from the Auxiliary Command Nest located in a distant part of the ship, had been closely monitoring the communications regarding the fighters and the destroyers, the key systems were already preenergized and ready to be called into action. In fewer than a hundred heartbeats, a series of octagons in the lower right corner of his display changed from red, to orange, to green, to blue, and finally to violet, indicating that the systems in question were ready. “Running Officer, take us to the ninth prepared defense position. High-Acceleration Profile.”
“As ordered, Warlike Commander,” the Running Officer replied. He slipped his hands into the interface gloves that allowed him to ma
neuver the ship. Two taps of his left foot converted the left glove into a controller for the maneuvering thrusters. Four tiny motions of his hand caused four short puffs from the huge vessel’s thrusters to push it away from its moorings. When he had sufficient clearance, another tap changed the left glove into a controller for the main sublight drive, which he activated at a low setting, while his right hand manipulated a virtual trackball, manifesting in the nondigital realm by means of a three-dimensional projection in front of him and through tactile feedback pressure actuators in the glove. He rolled the ball, roughly the apparent size of a grapefruit (for which there was a counterpart on his world, visually almost identical but considerably less tart) that appeared to float in the air in front of him. Its digitally stabilized and smoothed movements directed by his gloved hand, he used it to steer the vessel through a gradual turn that pointed its bow in the direction of Prepared Defense Position Nine. Once he aligned the ship’s bow with the destination, he ran the drive up to its rated maximum. The commander was clearly in a hurry. There were only two higher drive settings—what someone in the Union Space Navy would call “Flank” and “Emergency.”
“Vessel is under way, Warlike Commander.”
“Report acknowledged,” the commander said blandly, privately noting the Running Officer’s skill without acknowledging it. “Communications, signal the other vessels of the defense detachment to rendezvous with us at the ninth prepared defense position. Order each ship to depart as soon as it is able. They are not to wait to travel in company. Have each of them individually acknowledge the order and their understanding of the need for immediate departure.”
“Immediately, Warlike Commander.”
The commander used his neural interface to monitor the transmissions. He attached electronic flags to them, telling the Communications Officer to dispense with the standard formality of verbally notifying him when the responses arrived. It never occurred to him that the verbal announcement audible to everyone in the Command Nest was of benefit to the other officers not privileged to have a neural interface implanted in their skull, which was everyone except himself, the Executive Officer, and the Operations Officer. It was not his habit to consider what others needed to know and how they would come to know it, even though this kind of information, if announced verbally, would help everyone in the Command Nest maintain their situational awareness.
A few moments later, the acknowledgments arrived. Shortly thereafter, the first ship set out. “Communications, signal the Sector Commander. Inform him that we have likely lost the bulk of our fighter squadron and two of our destroyers to enemy action. Request that they be replaced immediately. Mark the message Urgent.”
“As you wish, Warlike Commander,” responded the Communications Officer.
He twitched his whiskers, four quick back-and-forth motions: his people’s equivalent of a smile. Yes, the humans had managed to carry away a few seeds from his winter hoard. They had lured his fighter squadron into some kind of trap and somehow destroyed it, and then managed to do the same to two destroyers. No matter. They would be replaced within days.
Whatever success it had enjoyed against those light forces, the enemy lurking beyond the range of the commander’s sensors would have a harder time dealing with a Type 34 heavy battlecruiser, two light cruisers, and a destroyer, particularly when those vessels were operating in cooperation with a medium battle station. He opened a channel.
“Communications, this is the commander. Alert the battle station at the ninth prepared defensive position to our impending arrival. Instruct the commander to go to Alert Condition Two, Rules of Engagement Orange. Remind him that under Orange Rules, he is to take any and all measures consistent with the safety of his command. If he finds himself under actual or imminent attack, he is to fire on the enemy without awaiting authorization from me. Obtain an acknowledgment of the signal, and have him acknowledge his understanding of that point specifically.”
“Immediately, Warlike Commander.” He began to implement the order and stopped short. “Warlike Commander,” the Communications Officer announced with joy in his voice, “we just received a communication from Destroyer 43-5325.” He paused for a moment. “Authenticating.” Pause, a few heartbeats. “Sender identification code is valid, and the encryption is correct for today’s date. Referring it to your interface now.”
“Very well. Do not forget to signal the battle station as I ordered.”
“Understood. It will be done immediately.”
“See that it is,” he said haughtily. The commander accessed the incoming message.
FROM:
EATS SMALL SEEDS FIRST, OFFICER GRADE 14, COMMANDER, DESTROYER 43-5325
TO:
SPITS OUT BITTER ROOTS, OFFICER GRADE 23, COMMANDER, FORCES AND AREAS AS CODED
DATE/TIME: AS CODED
THIS FORCE AMBUSHED BY MIXED FORCE OF PFELUNG FIGHTERS AND VARIOUS OTHER ENEMY VESSEL TYPES. DESTROYER 43-5325 SUSTAINED MODERATE DAMAGE. DESTROYER 43-6872 REGRETTABLY LOST WITH ALL HANDS TO ENEMY ACTION. ENEMY RECEIVED ONLY MINOR DAMAGE, DATA FILE TO FOLLOW. ENEMY FORCE LINGERED IN BATTLE AREA TO RESCUE FIGHTER CASUALTIES BUT IS EXPECTED TO PURSUE AT ANY MOMENT. NEITHER SPOOR NOR SCENT OF TRANSPORT DETECTED: PRESUMED TO BE DESTROYED BY ENEMY BEFORE OUR ARRIVAL. HAVE LOCATED AND AM IN COMPANY WITH INSTALLATION FIGHTER SQUADRON, CONSISTING OF ELEVEN OF THE ORIGINAL FORTY SHIPS. OTHERS LOST TO ENEMY ACTION. I HAVE ASSUMED TEMPORARY COMMAND OF REMAINING FIGHTERS AND AM RETURNING WITH THEM TO BASE. MESSAGE ENDS.
“Communications, are the sender’s coordinates, course, and speed encoded in the message?”
“Affirmative, Warlike Commander.”
“Have the tactical section calculate the destroyer’s current position and transmit a tight-beam transponder interrogation pulse toward those coordinates. In fact, send two pulses. I want to make sure he is able to provide two correct responses to two different challenges.”
“Immediately, Warlike Commander.” Twenty or so heartbeats passed. “Valid transponder codes received. The signal characteristics are within acceptable parameters.” Pause. “But, sir, there are some subtle but detectible variations from baseline norms in the electronic characteristics of the destroyer’s signal.”
“Could the variations be explained by damage to the sending vessel?”
“It is possible, Warlike Commander.” His tone said, “possible, but unlikely.”
Such subtleties were lost on the warlike commander. His tactical brilliance was such that he did not need to listen attentively to the nuances of communications from subordinates. “It must be damage then,” the commander said dismissively. “In order to send a communication with a valid identification code as well as the correct encryption, and then to provide correct responses to two distinct transponder interrogations, the enemy would have had to capture one of our warship data cores intact, an event as unlikely as my giving birth in the next ten heartbeats to a litter of kittens.”
Around the Command Nest, practically every set of ears perked up and wiggled slightly in amusement. Everyone knew the elaborate precautions that prevented such an event from taking place, including the system that reset every data bit in the memory core to zero at the press of a button or if a “dead switch” was not pressed every three hundred standard heartbeats. If for some inexplicable reason, those expedients failed, there was always a hybrid electromagnetic pulse–conventional explosive charge in the center of the memory core that would blow it to useless fragments and scramble every data bit at the turn of a key. The commander knew in the marrow of his being that not a single readable bit of a Hegemony warship memory core had ever been captured by any enemy and that none ever would.
“Communications, have we received the data file mentioned in the transmission?”
“We are receiving it now, Warlike Commander.”
“As soon as it is received, transfer it directly to the primary database.”
“As you wish, Warlike Commander.” A few heartbeats later, after the ship’s computer indica
ted that the file transfer was complete, the Communications Officer keyed in the commands that decompressed the file and copied it from the impressively firewalled and quarantined database used as a temporary holding place for incoming files and moved it into the ship’s main database. As the file was coming in, the computer had scanned it for malicious code, line by line. Ordinarily, once the file was loaded, the Communications Officer would also direct the computer to perform an additional check. While keeping it sequestered from the ship’s operating system, the computer would decompress the file, recompile it into the format in which the main database would store it, scan the file in its final form, and then subject the data to being used in several thousand simulated operating modes to determine whether any part of it posed a hazard in its new form. But since the file had been received directly from another warship rather than from a networked computer or a fixed installation, the file posed no conceivable risk to the ship, and in accordance with standard procedure, the Communications Officer omitted this step.
And at first, the reconstituted file behaved as would any other after-action report, sitting inert in the subdirectory of the database created to store reports of that kind. But after just over three thousand standard heartbeats, a period suspiciously coinciding with an interval known to the Hegemony’s primary enemies as an “hour,” a portion of the recompiled code quietly awakened, organized itself into an autonomous and executable bit of programming, found its way into an obscure bit of the ship’s operating system, and then erased all traces of its previous existence. Over the next several minutes, the code busily spawned hundreds of copies that stealthily insinuated themselves into some of the more poorly protected software used by the battlecruiser to interpret sensor data and to manage various interfaces throughout the ship. Once rewritten, the now-malicious code distributed itself through the other ships commanded by the warlike commander as part of the standard fleet-wide data synchronization process.
Brothers in Valor (Man of War Book 3) Page 25