The Veritian Derelict (Junkyard Dogs)

by Nolte, Phillip

  The two of them had met because Carlisle had come out to the Scrapyard to perform some important research for her Ph.D. dissertation. Harris had immediately found her to be very attractive physically and extremely intelligent while at the same time being profoundly awkward socially. Some of the awkwardness could be chalked up to her Spacer heritage, but not all. Her stumbling way of beginning sentences with jumbled thoughts had taken some getting used to but, ultimately, Harris had accepted it as just a part of her personality and decided he could live with it.

  While he and Carlisle and an old engineering technician, Angus Hawkins, had been out in the Scrapyard investigating some of the wrecked ships, the Scrapyard had come under attack by two armed cargo ships and the main Naval facility, which had been one of the few constructs in the Scrapyard that was kept heated and pressurized for human habitation, had been totally destroyed with the loss of all hands.

  Harris, Carlisle and Hawkins had been spared because they had been inside one of the wrecked ships that were part of the sprawling cloud of wrecks that made up the Scrapyard. They had either gone undetected or had been deemed unworthy of the waste of time and effort that would have been required to root them out. When the armed cargo ships departed, the three of them had been left stranded. The Ensign had been the catalyst that enabled the small group to survive in the critical moments during and after the attack and with her never give up attitude had also inspired them to find a way to fight back.

  Harris smiled at the thought. What a team the three of them had made! No doubt he hadn't heard from her in while because the Ensign was back at the Naval Academy on Old Earth and was in the final stages of finishing her Ph.D. dissertation while simultaneously preparing for the final oral examination required for completion of the degree. No, it was more than likely that she was simply too busy or the current chain of communication was just too tenuous. The thought helped, a little, but his disappointment was still sharp.

  As he went on to scan the rest of his email, his eye was immediately drawn to a message marked "High priority." Sent only a few minutes earlier by Commander Oskar Kresge, the email directed the Lieutenant to report to the Navy's temporary briefing room, really one of the luxury Hotel's large business meeting rooms, at 0800 NCZM time for an important meeting.

  Harris smiled. After several weeks of near inactivity in the aftermath of the Scrapyard attack and the recapture of the Orbital Station, it appeared the Naval personnel were going to finally get back to work. As he checked the rest of his emails and composed several short responses before beginning preparations for the rest of the day, the lack of communication from Ensign Carlisle receded to a minor issue at the back of his mind.

  Chapter 5.

  One Week Earlier...

  "...Defensive tactics are sometimes so straightforward that they seem over simplistic. In a battle in open space against vastly superior forces, the best course of action would almost certainly be to lay down covering fire and retreat as quickly as possible by executing at least a minimum distance microjump on a random vector. Other situations may require more innovative thinking. For instance, the execution of a microjump from within the Humboldt radius of a planetary gravity well would be almost certain suicide. Execution of a microjump while in the close vicinity of an occupied facility in open space, while considered extraordinarily bad manners, can probably be accomplished in reasonable safely, especially if the ship that is executing the jump is outfitted with a harmonic balancer module such as a Pearson's Compensator or a Dyson Graviton Damper. The harmonic balancer neutralizes the minor but not inconsequential gravity effects of nearby objects, such as other ships or even something fairly massive, such as a space station, and renders the microjump reasonably safe.

  Such a maneuver was actually executed during a combat situation in 2542 by a squadron of three destroyers under the leadership of Federation Navy Commander Eliza Evens when her group came under attack by a vastly superior force from the small but belligerent Clovian Empire while docked near the neutral port of Harmony, a multi-ringed station in open space in the Alsatian region of the Santana Quadrant. The incident took place in the early stages of what came to be known as the 'Parisian Standoff,' a conflict that might have been of much greater consequence if the small Federation destroyer squadron had been successfully attacked. Such tactics are not recommended unless extreme conditions warrant the risk and the inevitable diplomatic fallout, however..."

  Hartwell Wristcomp reference note highlighted for further review by Tamara Carlisle. Excerpt is from "Extreme Tactical Solutions: Case Histories of the Successful Use of Unconventional Tactics (With analysis)." Admiral Alvin F. Plissey, United Terran Federation Navy (ret).

  UTF Naval Academy, on the North American Continent of Old Earth, November 22, 2598.

  Ensign Tamara Carlisle, Ph.D. Candidate at the United Terran Federation Naval Academy, had never been more terrified in her entire life. She was sitting by herself on one side of a long, rectangular table in an enclosed room illuminated with harsh, white lighting. Sitting across from her, on the other side of the table, were the four men and one woman who made up her Ph.D. graduate committee. All of them were at least fifteen years older than the Ensign, who was in her mid-twenties. At the moment, all of them seemed to be either frowning or glaring at her. None of them were smiling, that much was certain. The group was an hour and a half into the final oral examination of the young officer and the candidate in question was extremely unsure of how well the exam was going. She had answered several of the early questions adequately, or so she thought, but there had been others where she had not been so sure. The present question didn't seem to be going well at all.

  "So, Ensign Carlisle," said Admiral Stuart Butenhoff, the committee member who had originally posed the question, "Let's go over this again. You are about to come under attack. Your ship and your crew are in mortal danger. How are you to resolve this situation? What is your tactical solution?"

  Ensign Tamara Carlisle had a bad habit of stammering. More accurately, she had a tendency, especially when she was nervous, of starting out her sentences with jumbled thoughts, sentence fragments somewhat related to the subject matter she was thinking about, before getting her thought processes aligned and speaking normally afterwards. While she had been working on the speech problem, taking a short pause and concentrating before speaking seemed to help, she still had difficulties when she was nervous or under pressure. Since she could never remember ever being as nervous as she was at this moment, it was no surprise that she reverted to her usual speech habits.

  "...Proximity jump...low gravity compensation...I..." With her mind racing to find a solution to the seemingly impossible dilemma, in desperation she grasped at a decidedly unconventional tactic. "I...think I would attempt an Evens Maneuver, Sir," she ventured.

  "An Evens Maneuver? What in all four Quadrants is that?" responded Butenhoff, a scowl on his face.

  "Yes, Ensign, whatever are you talking about?" asked Commander Merilee Fendt, who had so far seemed a little more sympathetic to the young officer's current state of stress than the others on the committee.

  "...Parisian Standoff...unexpected response...It was...Captain Eliza Evens of the Federation destroyer force at Harmony station in the Alsatian Region of the Santana Quadrant. She was able to avoid a firefight between her group of three destroyers and a much superior Clovian force, which included two heavy cruisers and six destroyers, by using the maneuver. Rather than fight them or surrender, she had all three of her ships execute a microjump while in the docking area of the station."

  "What kind of nonsense is that?" responded Butenhoff, his scowl intensifying.

  "Hold on a minute, Stuart," said Commander Fendt. "Harmony Station is freestanding, not in orbit around a planet. That tactic might actually work!"

  The grizzled old veteran looked doubtful as he thought through the Ensign's unconventional response. Finally he nodded his head in tentative agreement. "Alright, I'll concede that it might work," he said, gr
udgingly, the scowl still knotting up his face, "but don't be thinking that such tactics are sound Naval doctrine, Ensign!"

  "Duly noted...very good, Sir," replied the Ensign, relieved to have survived the question. She took a deep breath. The exam and the associated stress had been going on long enough that Carlisle found herself starting to get tired. On many occasions in the past, when she had gotten tired she had also gotten irritable. In fact, her temper had gotten her into trouble on more occasions than she cared to remember. During this short break, while the committee got organized for the next portion of the exam, she forced herself to mentally step back from the proceedings and suddenly realized that much of the exam had been designed to see just how well she would perform under stress. These wily veterans had been playing her like a musical instrument! She felt a touch of anger at the thought. At that moment the brilliant young tactician realized that she had absolutely nothing to lose. She would employ a Spacer tactic that had worked very well for her on many occasions in the past.

  She was going to take the offensive.

  "Now, about the Destroyer actions in the Succession War, the actual topic of your Ph.D. dissertation," Butenhoff continued, seemingly determined to keep the Ensign off balance. "Your new information turns the official story completely around. It makes Admiral Jansson look like a complete idiot. Need I remind you that Admiral Jansson is a Federation hero? What makes you so sure that this F.C. Talbot person was telling the truth?"

  With the focus of the questioning having finally shifted to her dissertation, Carlisle was now in her element and, in spite of the stress she was under, felt a sort of calm settle over her as her nearly perfect memory went over pertinent details. She also allowed her anger to begin flaring while at the same time making a conscious effort to keep it rigidly controlled. The technique seemed to be working, even her stammer was gone for the moment.

  "I was onboard the Terrier just a few weeks ago, Sir, the same ship that Captain Evens was commanding during the destroyer action in the final battle of the Succession War and I have studied the actual battle video from the Terrier's log and heard the descriptions of the battle in the Captain's own words."

  "But the allegation that any of those destroyers could have sustained a direct hit from the main battery projectors of an opposition battlecruiser is absurd!" replied Butenhoff, his disdain for the entire concept apparent in his tone of voice and his expression.

  "With all due respect, Sir," she replied, "My companions on the Terrier and I coated the hull of that old ship with Federation silicon nanite reaction fluid, just as Captain Evens reported in the log, and that material allowed the Terrier to withstand a bolt from a 5000 gigajoule pulse beam projector and for the two men on her to survive." The newly intense look in her remarkable sea green eyes combined with the black-ink Spacer tattoo that swept up over her left cheek gave her a menacing look. "I personally witnessed the impact of that bolt. The Terrier is still intact as we speak and both of the men on board survived without any injuries. Begging your pardon, Sir, but I wouldn't call that absurd!"

  Her sudden shift to the offensive seemed to have caught the old man off guard. "But what of Jansson?" he asked

  "I do not declare him to be hero or fraud, Sir. As a military historian, I see it as my duty to study history as objectively as possible and to report my findings. Jansson was only human, just like the rest of us. He waited until the last moment before he finally did his duty and committed his ships to an attack on the Opposition battlecruisers but the real heroes of the battle were Commander Tobias Arthur and his destroyer squadron. Their gallant sacrifice gave Jansson the opportunity he needed to engage and ultimately defeat the enemy force. Besides with Jansson and Arthur and almost all of those involved having passed away years ago, isn't it about time that the real truth of the entire matter was brought to light?"

  The old Admiral still looked doubtful but ceased to press the question further. The questioning then went around the table from one committee member to the next for another half hour or so but the crisis portion of the exam seemed to have been reached and passed. In fact, after Carlisle had 'bared her teeth' so to speak, it seemed to her that some milestone had been reached and the members of the committee had begun to back off and treat her with a little more respect.

  Finally the committee had no further questions for the exhausted, increasingly irritable and visibly wilting candidate and excused her from the room. Out in the corridor, Carlisle went to the drinking fountain and to the restroom while waiting the twenty minutes usually required for private discussion by the committee before she would be called back into the examination room.

  Merilee Fendt came out to fetch her back. As Carlisle resumed her seat on the lonely side of the table, Commander Fendt was also the first to speak.

  "Congratulations, Ensign, or should I say 'Doctor' Carlisle? You've passed!"

  "A very unusual solution to the Boswell paradox, Ensign," said Admiral Butenhoff, grudgingly. "Where did you come across it?"

  I found it while I was researching the Succession War destroyer action for my dissertation, Sir. I came across a reference to the Terrier's former Captain and had to follow up on it."

  "Very innovative, Ensign" he said, his craggy features finally breaking into what might be called a smile. "We've never seen that solution before."

  "Thank you, Sir."

  "I believe we're done here," said Commander Fendt.

  As she shook hands with each of the committee members, Carlisle felt an almost overwhelming sense of relief settle over her. Suddenly she herself realized just how tired she was. She barely heard the comments from the rest of the committee before they filed out and left her alone with Admiral Loftgren, the head of the Academy, who had been observing the entire proceedings from the darkened observation gallery in the otherwise empty room.

  "Congratulations, Dr. Carlisle," said Loftgren, shaking her hand. "Well done! Especially that bit about the Evens maneuver. That was priceless!"

  "Thank you, Sir," she replied numbly. Loftgren glanced at his watch.

  "I have about five minutes to get to my next appointment," he continued, "but you must come and see me this afternoon at 1400 hours. We need to talk about your future."

  Carlisle numbly nodded her head at the Admiral's back as he turned and left her alone in the room. "As you wish, Sir," she mumbled.

  Chapter 6.

  "...Asteroid mining factories are a highly specialized type of space station. Configured to be anchored to the asteroid that is being mined, these facilities are constructed from smaller modules that are brought through Whitney jumpspace individually and assembled in place. Star systems that contain asteroid belts are quite common but not all asteroid belts have deposits of valuable metals that are concentrated enough to make mining the rings economically feasible. When a suitable asteroid belt is identified, a mining station is transported, assembled and anchored to an individual asteroid which then becomes the home base for the system. Miners live in the station but work inside the asteroid that the station is attached to. The ores that are mined are then partially refined using the efficient solar-powered facilities built into the station before final transport to the huge refineries that orbit some of the more industrialized worlds. When the asteroid is mined out, the facility is simply moved to another suitable rock and the process starts over. Candidate asteroids cannot be any smaller than ten kilometers in any dimension. Populations on mining stations tend to be measured in the thousands...

  ...Asteroid mining ships are a different thing altogether. These large, ungainly-looking craft roam the belt in search of smaller asteroids which contain valuable deposits. When a suitable deposit is identified, the ship and crew go about the business of removing the valuable bits and storing the ores in one of several holds. When the smaller asteroid is mined out, the ship moves to another suitable planetoid. This process is repeated until the ship is fully loaded. Loaded ships periodically bring their treasure back to the anchored facility for crude refineme
nt. While at the stationary facility they empty their holds before re-provisioning and heading back out in search of additional asteroids to mine..."

  Hartwell Wristcomp reference note highlighted for further review by Amanda Steuben. Excerpt is from: "An Introduction to Asteroid Mining." By Sterling Hancock.

  On board the Yacht Carpathia near the Piedmont Asteroid Mining Station in the Catskill-Soroyan Star System, November 29, 2598.

  The Sheik of Barsoom looked over the shoulder of his female operative as she went through the information contained in the download stolen from the Stage II communications console onboard the Piedmont station. Most of the material on the chip was of little use to them, personal greetings between family members, routine business transactions and the like. A further portion of the messages were coded Federation Naval business and could not be deciphered by them no matter how much they wanted to do so. Hidden amongst the personal mail was the information they were seeking, a coded message from one of their team members who had somehow managed to infiltrate the Naval facilities on the Santana Nexus.

  "Is that the message, Fahada?" the Sheik asked the woman who had been known as "Tiffany" to those onboard the Piedmont Mining Station.

  "Yes, my Sheik," she replied, eyes intent on the computer screen, "but I must decode it. It will take a few minutes."

  "Take whatever time you need, my Dear," replied the Sheik.

  She ran the message through a special computer program and the two of them watched while individual words popped up, one at a time, on the video monitor. The message was short and concise: "Saladin summit meeting scheduled for December 2-4, at the Santana Nexus." While it was no particular secret that the Meridian Ambassador had called a meeting, the timing and the location had been kept a secret until the last possible moment for security purposes. With the number of important personnel involved in the meeting and the scope of their beliefs and passions, it was no surprise that someone was more than willing to give up the information regarding the meeting. With the time and the location of the meeting in his possession, the Sheik and his allies could now start making plans of their own.