by Jeff Sims
Fruid’la laughed when he thought about the final successful ion cannon strike. His old rival Admiral Lopeq’la was responsible for that one. Lopeq’la had hit a moving ship, albeit the wrong one.
Somehow, he managed to miss the Sunflower and strike one of his own destroyers just as it was entering hyperspace. The destroyer crushed in upon itself and was converted into antimatter. When it reemerged from hyperspace the antimatter exploded and destroyed the rest of his fleet.
Fruid’la had heard a few rumors that the ion cannon shot and the corresponding military defeat were intentional. Further, some whispered that Lopeq’la’s request for political asylum was a clever ruse and actually part of the High Council’s overall master plan. Fruid’la doubted it though; he chose to believe that Lopeq’la was an idiot.
Removing the ion cannon freed up a huge amount of interior space. They filled the space with a multitude of crew amenities, including larger quarters for every crewmember, a larger conference area, a better entertainment area, and an upgraded maintenance area. It also contained a huge, empty room with no apparent use. This type of space was unheard of on a normal ship and was perhaps the grandest part of the design.
The next big change was the flag bridge. Normally the bridge section of a battleship was located in the middle of the ship, had 5 levels, a separate hull, an independent power source, and a separate shield. The bridge section was essentially a ship within a ship and the flag bridge typically consumed the entire upper level.
Fruid’la removed the relatively small and compact flag bridge from the bridge section and moved it into the remaining area vacated by the ion cannon. The flag bridge was no longer independently shielded, powered, or protected, but he realized that it really wasn’t needed since this ship was only going to fight as a last resort.
In addition to relocating the bridge, he stretched it by almost a sextuple. (For clarity, he made it six times longer than it originally was - Single, double, triple, quadruple, quintuple, sextuple, septuple, octuple, nonuple, decuple.)
Further, the extra 16.3% was used for more than just Fruid’la’s ego. A third of this area was filled with a wide array of additional sensors. The rest of the area was used for communications. He added eleven separate sets of communication equipment so that the command carrier could mirror the capability of a typical battleship communicating with a typical fleet of 30 ships. Thus, communication time dropped from 55 minutes to the previously acceptable standard of 5 minutes.
He then added 11 communication analyst work stations to the flag bridge; one analyst for every flotilla of 30 vessels - 28 warships and 2 supply ships. There were 5 analyst stations on the left (port) side and 6 stations on the right (starboard) side. However, he then hated the layout of the bridge because the two sides were uneven.
He compensated by adding an empty workstation on the left. However, that didn’t work because the analysts were still unbalanced. He realized that the only way to fix the situation was to have an even number of analysts. That meant that he would either need to add 30 ships or subtract 30.
Fruid’la petitioned the High Council for 30 more ships so that he could add a 12th analyst, but his request was denied. He briefly considered releasing 30 ships, but decided against it. So, there was only possible solution that he could think of to resolve the uncomfortable situation.
He ordered a 12th analyst be added to the bridge. This analyst’s job description was listed as ‘to ensure overall aesthetic appearance while simultaneously evening things out’. Unfortunately, during another simulation Fruid’la became slightly confused about exactly which being was the aesthetics officer. He had even mistakenly talked to said individual. He recalled the conversation went something like:
Fruid’la: “What is your status?”
Aesthetics officer: “I look good.”
Fruid’la solved this conundrum by assigning seats. He put the aesthetics officer on the last row on the left. However, this was still slightly confusing, so he demanded that two of the officers be identical twins. That way, when he reached the second version of the same officer, he knew without question that that being was just there to balance things out.
Fruid’la’s command structure was organized accordingly. There were 330 ships in the armada, which were divided into 11 flotillas of 30 ships each. Each flotilla was commanded by a lower ranking admiral.
Fruid’la had initially wanted to refer to the 11 lower ranking admirals simply by flotilla number, but was overruled. He had actually received a memo from the High Council telling him to memorize the names of the other lower-ranking admirals.
That meant that at least one those nefarious sub-admirals had powerful connections. Unfortunately, he didn’t know which one - yet. But when he did, that particular admiral’s flotilla would lead the vanguard in every battle.
Each flotilla was divided into 2 squadrons of 15 ships each. Each squadron was divided into 2 sub-fleets. Each sub-fleet contained 7 warships – 1 battleship, 2 destroyers (or one destroyer and one frigate), and 4 cruisers. Every even numbered sub-fleet also had a supply ship assigned to it.
Fruid’la’s personal information area had been reconfigured to match the new command structure. Before, he could press a button on his command screen and talk to any ship in his fleet. However, the screen only easily displayed 30 icons. Having a screen displaying 330 independent icons was impossible to use and having 11 tabs of 30 icons proved to be unwieldy.
Now, his communications board only had 22 two choices; 11 were for the (named) admirals and the other were for the 11 analysts on the command bridge. He had named these 1 through 11.
However, he still didn’t like the communications layout because there were 12 analysts, but only 11 buttons. So, he added an extra button for the aesthetics officer. He realized that the board again looked unbalanced with 23 buttons.
He resolved this by adding a 24th button for the captain of the Relentless. He organized the buttons into four rows of six. He changed his mind and switched to six rows of four. Somehow, it just looked better.
He considered adding a 25th button for his chief of staff. Even though it was an odd number, it was a perfect square. Therefore he could organize the buttons into 5 rows of 5 instead of 6 rows of 4. However, the chief was normally in direct speaking range, so he figured it didn’t make sense to have one for him.
His situation monitor was also modified. During the first few simulations, it showed the entire area and displayed all 330 ships. The display was very difficult to read and very slow to update.
Now, it only had three options – flotilla, squadron, sub-fleet. The first view had 11 dots – one dot representing each flotilla. The second view showed 22 dots – again one for each squadron. Finally, the third option showed 44 dots – one representing each sub-fleet.
He could reconfigure each screen as needed. For instance, if he sent one sub-fleet away by itself, he could show that partial fleet on either the flotilla screen or the squadron screen. Overall, the system worked very well. He couldn’t track 330 ships, but he could certainly track either 11 flotillas or 22 squadrons.
That was 8 months ago. After making the all of the changes to the design, Fruid’la had rather patiently in his opinion waited for the crew to build the ship. They completed the command carrier two days ago and the ship was on its maiden voyage.
He reached the end of the empty flag bridge and stared at the overhead monitor. It was huge and it stretched across the width of the bridge. It showed all 330 ships and everything else in that particular region of space. The earlier simulations had proven that the monitor wasn’t very helpful or even practical, but it was certainly impressive.
Supreme Admiral Fruid’la checked the time on his communication pad. He noted that he still had a few minutes before the scheduled teleconference started. He turned around and paced back across the bridge. He passed the communications stations, his command area, his chief’s station beside it, and exited the bridge proper. He entered a small corridor with two c
hoices, right and straight.
Straight led to his personal quarters. The rest of the bridge crew had quarters on the floor directly below. Right led to the flag conference room. He entered, sat at the head of the table, and slowly looked around. It was an impressive room.
The table top was made from actual wood from Neto. It was made from 5 large interlacing boards. They were highly polished and coated for protection. He ran his hands across the smooth seams and imagined a small group of industrious Neto sanding and coating. Well, he thought, they may be poor pilots but they are excellent craftsmen.
Fruid’la waited in the conference room for a few minutes until it was almost time for the conference to start. He pressed a button and eleven monitors scrolled down from the ceiling. He then typed a 10 digit conference number into his communication pad. The computer responded:
…Welcome to the conference. Please enter your 10 digit conference code followed by the pound or hash key…
Fruid’la entered the code and hit the pound key. The computer responded:
…I am sorry; I cannot find a meeting with that number. Please check the number and try again…
Fruid’la double checked the conference code and carefully entered it this time. He hit hash. The computer responded:
…I am sorry; that is not a valid conference number. Please verify that your conference information is correct. If you need more time, please press 1. If you need help, press 2…
Fruid’la was rapidly becoming frustrated with the new security system. The computer had the capability of verifying and connecting all of the participants in an instant. There was really no need for this added level of security. It almost seemed like the information technology division was intentionally making it harder for him to do his job.
He double checked the code and entered it again. The computer responded:
…If you are the leader press 1. Otherwise, stay on the line and wait for your conference to begin…
Fruid’la pressed 1.
…Please enter you leader pin number and press the pound or hash key…
Fruid’la entered the appropriate code and the conference finally began. He noted that he had gone from being two minutes early to two minutes late. Fruid’la confirmed that every other admiral was present on one of the monitors.
Fruid’la said, “Welcome everyone, sorry I was a little late. I had some difficulty with the conference security code.”
He waited for a few polite chuckles and continued, “GBAGs (gentle beings of all genders), the last simulation was a great success. We were able to maneuver as a large fleet and as individual squadrons. Therefore, I have decided to make our next simulation a live ship exercise. It is time that we try to actually move our armada in a coordinated fashion.”
The sub-admirals cheered and clapped. Well, they pretended to cheer and clap. All of the other admirals had been stuck in the middle of nowhere now for the last 2 – 4 weeks. They had done little else except perform simulations and live ship exercises. They were ready to leave now.
Well, by definition they were technically somewhere, but this particular section of the universe certainly felt like nowhere to everyone present. They were located 14 hyper minutes due south of the secret Hiricula – Neto hyperspace lane. The Hiriculan astronomical chart labeled it as P190-42.47, but the other Admirals simply referred to it as the Parking Lot.
There was nothing of interest here; no planets, no comets, no meteoroids, asteroids, or even cosmic dust. There was no light, nothing. It was completely dark all of the time. In summary, the area was an empty, black void of complete and utter nothingness.
Fruid’la continued, “In this training exercise you will split into flotillas and operate independently. Flotilla number 1, Admiral Valod’la, you will take your unit in a large flanking maneuver along here.” Fruid’la drew his finger along an indistinguishable section of space.
Fruid’la handed out the rest of the assignments. He made sure that he mentioned each admiral by name. He even tried to be polite and smile a few times. Overall, the exercise was very simplistic. Each flotilla was going to a different section of space. Half were jumping and the other half was moving at various speeds.
Fruid’la said, “Admiral Valod’la, what is the status of your flotilla?”
Valod’la replied, “All ships are on active duty and ready for assignment. Numbers 20 through 24 are showing signs of their age, but they otherwise okay.”
Fruid’la again waited for polite chuckles to subside and continued asking each admiral his ship’s statuses. As expected, all ships in the fleet were active and ready for assignment.
Valod’la had the oldest flotilla by a wide margin. All of the ships in the flotilla were over 20 years old and several, specifically numbers 20 – 24, were over 200 years old. The reason for the old age was due to the devious way that the High Council had created the fleet.
The High Council created a service plan. When a warship was ready for service, it was sent to a space station for repair. Then, instead of being placed back in service, the ship was sent to the parking lot. A new ship was built in same size and class as the old one and placed back into service. Therefore, the first 100 or so ships were at least 10 years old and ships 100 through 330 were either brand new or no more than a year old.
Fruid’la ended the conference and walked back to the bridge proper. He wasn’t concerned about flotillas or even the individual ships; after a month of training each one should be able to move in a coordinated fashion without issue.
The whole point of the exercise was to discover whether or not the command carrier and his staff could actually coordinate the fleet and track multiple flotillas / squadrons / sub-fleets / individual ships at the same time.
He had faith that the system would work. He also had faith that if it didn’t work as advertised, a certain admiral in charge of research and development was going to get reassigned in the very near future to a very unpleasant assignment.
Fruid’la sat in his chair. He noted that all 12 of the analysts were present at their stations. Fruid’la opened a channel to all 24 beings on his communication board and said, “Commence the exercise.”
Various ships micro jumped through hyperspace to various locations – though none farther than 2 minutes. This was an exercise in coordination and Fruid’la didn’t want to wait around all day for a flotilla to return from hyperspace. Twenty minutes in real time was all the patience he had for the maneuver.
Some flotillas stayed together, others separated. Some fired missiles, others launched fighters. The exercise was a cacophony of motion and movement. Fruid’la initially tried to track everything on the huge monitor, but he quickly became overwhelmed. Slowly but surely, he began pulling his mind back from the intricacies of each individual ship and focused only on his sub-fleet screen.
However, after monitoring the sub-fleets for almost 30 minutes, he again realized that he was getting into too much detail. He sighed and switched to the flotilla screen and began tracking 18 individual dots – 8 flotillas, 2 squadrons acting independently, and 8 sub-fleets also acting independently.
“Supreme Admiral Fruid’la,” said Savan’aa, one of the communications technicians.
Fruid’la noted that the communication technician was one of the twins. Although he still thought a stroke of genius to have twins filling the positions, he realized that he couldn’t tell Savan’aa apart from her twin sister Sierr’aa. He suspected that they frequently switched positions just to see if anyone noticed.
He also found it strange that they used the last two letters ‘aa’ instead of the traditional ‘la’. The ‘aa’ was a sub-category of the ‘la’ (warrior) and designated that the individual held a technical role in the navy, such as communications, engineering, or food service. The ‘aa’ was still uncommon, but was rapidly gaining popularity among the younger technical workers.
Fruid’la replied, “Continue.”
Savan’aa said, “One of the cruisers in flotilla 7, sub-fleet
4 floated out of position and almost hit another ship. I detected the incorrect movement and adjusted the ship accordingly.”
Fruid’la replied, “Good work.” He then raised his voice so that everyone on the flag bridge could easily hear him and said, “That is why we are here - to ensure that everything runs smoothly and in an organized fashion.”
Fruid’la stubbornly recognized that he could no longer do everything and know everything. It was far more difficult to accept than he had previously thought. That was especially true since, as previously mentioned, he really hadn’t given it any previous thought.
After the military exercise ended, Supreme Admiral Fruid’la spent hours watching each individual ship’s performance. He studied each sub-admiral’s performance and also reviewed how each of his communications officers performed.
He knew that he would not be able to perform this detailed level of analysis once the fleet was underway, but for now he could just barely manage the workload. Afterward, he sent each captain an email with an evaluation of his/her performance and offered suggestions for continual improvement.
The armada performed 10 more exercises over the course of the next 14 days. He evaluated the second and third exercise in detail, but stopped after the 4th. The reason was two-fold, the amount of work required was excessive and he had started to trust his sub-admirals somewhat.
Since each sub-admiral was performing the same evaluation of his particular flotilla, Fruid’la simply began reviewing their review. He found that for the most part, their review was generally good enough. Their review certainly wasn’t as good as his own analysis, but he supposed it was just barely good enough.
Fruid’la had now spent two weeks in ‘the middle of nowhere’. The first time he visited the place he had referred to it as nirvana. That particular moniker lasted all of 40 minutes. Fruid’la was entirely sick of this place and wanted to leave. He couldn’t imagine how the other crews felt after spending 4 – 6 weeks here. Honestly though, he really didn’t care about them that much.