Terran Fleet Command Saga 4: TFS Fugitive

by Tori L. Harris

  Neither Industrious nor the Damaran corvette had been destroyed, per se, but it was immediately clear that both ships had flown under their own power for the last time. Much of the Human warship — at over twice the size of the enemy patrol vessel — was still identifiable as an Ingenuity-class frigate. Roughly amidships, however, her graceful lines were interrupted by a grotesque mass of mangled, twisted materials that had originally comprised the hulls and internal spaces of both ships.

  “Dauntless is our closest ship, sir,” Reynolds said quietly, staring down at her console as she struggled to cope with the unexpected surge of emotion she was experiencing.

  “Right, let’s get her in there as quickly as possible. The way it looks, there might at least be a chance that we will find a few survivors. I have the conn, Commander,” he added. Prescott had immediately sensed his XO’s distress, but knew her well enough to understand that calling unnecessary attention to the situation would likely just make things worse. A peculiar thing about repeatedly encountering death and destruction, he knew, was that each experience could have a profoundly different impact on the same person. Even his redoubtable first officer, while undoubtedly made of sterner stuff than he, still needed a minute from time to time.

  “Aye, sir,” she replied, looking up briefly with a grateful smile.

  “Any power output, Lieutenant Lau?” Prescott asked.

  “Minimal, sir. I’ll have better data momentarily as Dauntless approaches. Right now, I’d say there may still be emergency life support operating in a few sections near her bow.”

  “Lee, do we have any simulation data on the effects of a coincident hyperdrive transition? Is it even safe for Dauntless to approach?”

  “It should be reasonably safe, sir, but I’m sorry to say that there is very little chance that there will be any survivors. I just pulled up some simulation data that I ran across back in grad school. Science and Engineering envisioned EVA combat armor that was capable of making short-range hyperspace transitions many years ago, so there was a fair amount of fundamental research done on what would happen if a suit materialized inside another object.”

  “EVA suits are relatively small … so does the data scale up to ship-sized objects?”

  “Yes, sir. I won’t pretend I understand much of the physics behind it, but essentially what happens is that most of the material that originally made up both objects gets jammed together within the same physical space. Theoretically, the temperature and pressure should get high enough to achieve nuclear fusion where the two objects intersect, but almost all of the resulting energy gets released into hyperspace in the fraction of a second before the field collapses. The same is true for any antimatter that might have been present within either object. I guess you could say that anything with a significant energy density that’s inside the field when it closes seems to have some sort of natural affinity for hyperspace — which is a very good thing since releasing all of that energy in normal space would otherwise cause a massive explosion. As far as I know, our physicists still don’t fully understand why this is the case. It’s possible, however, that it might have something to do with why there is relatively little antimatter in the universe as compared to normal matter.”

  “So, you’re saying that even though most of the energy gets siphoned off into hyperspace, there’s still quite a bit of heat generated?”

  “Unfortunately, yes, sir. Significant amounts of heat and ionizing radiation as well. So, anyone in the area immediately surrounding the … merger —”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant. Please relay that information to Dauntless.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Reynolds looked up from her console once again with tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. The fact that she was struggling with her emotions was clear enough, but the harsh look on her face told Prescott that she was rapidly progressing from sorrow to anger over what she had seen.

  “So,” she began in a low, menacing tone. She spoke quietly so that only Prescott could hear, but her voice had an undeniably dangerous, savage quality that he had never heard during all of their years of working together. “The Damarans perceive that we Humans might eventually become a threat to them, and their natural first reaction is to attempt to exterminate us before ever even attempting to make contact. Then we arrive on their doorstep, and their response is to resort to suicide attacks against our ships. At what point do we decide that we and our allies will never again be able to live in peace and relative safety while any of these cowards still draw breath?”

  Chapter 7

  Earth, TFC Yucca Mountain Shipyard Facility

  “Strictly speaking, Admiral, we shouldn’t be out here during her startup sequence,” Captain Ogima Davis said, trying not to startle Admiral Patterson as he approached from behind. On his way back to the Navajo, he had spotted the CNO standing at the junction of the cruiser’s berth and the mammoth, five-kilometer-long quay that made up half of the Yucca Mountain Shipyard Facility. Knowing immediately what Patterson was up to, Davis also knew that halfheartedly urging the admiral to move to a safer location — which, of course, the “old man” would refuse to do — would provide tacit permission for both men to observe the ship from the outside as her colossal powerplant was brought back online.

  “That’s cute, Captain. Your concern for my safety is touching, to say the least,” Patterson replied with a sideways glance, “and I guess I’d have to give you some credit for pretty good CYA technique. Strictly speaking, however, there’s no one around at the moment who can tell me to go inside.”

  “There is that, I suppose,” Davis laughed.

  “Have you ever watched her fire up from out here?”

  “No, sir, I’ve never really had the opportunity.”

  “Well, the sound it makes is pretty much the same as with the smaller ship classes. In fact, just about everyone comments on how quiet they are, although you’ll still want to put those on, just in case,” Patterson said, nodding to the pair of noise-canceling headphones sticking out of one side of Davis’ leather flight bag.

  “Ah, yes, sir. Isn’t the low frequency vibration a problem standing this close?”

  “That is what the manuals say, but, no, not really. Well … assuming you don’t already have an upset stomach or something. I guess what makes an impression is just the scale of the thing. Anyway, let’s stop talking about it and just do it. I’m pretty sure you have the keys, right?” Patterson asked, holding up his own tablet computer.

  “I do indeed,” Captain Davis replied, retrieving his own and entering a series of commands to let the bridge crew know that he would be observing from outside the ship.

  Within seconds, the Navajo’s AI had begun the process of coordinating with the Yucca Mountain facility AIs to prepare the massive ship for departure. The most obvious result was the first in a long series of automated warning announcements, which immediately began echoing throughout the facility: “Attention, TFS Navajo reactor startup sequence commencing. All nonessential personnel must clear the area surrounding Berth Ten immediately. Hearing protection is required from Berth Six through Berth Fourteen until further notice.”

  “Alright, Admiral, looks like they were ready to go on the bridge,” Davis said, donning his headphones as the first hint of a deep, low rumble emerged from the huge warship.

  “I’m certain they were,” Patterson replied with a knowing smile.

  As both officers continued to speak, their voices were now being extracted from the growing background noise by an array of transducers embedded within their headsets. With each set currently in “private comm” mode, their voices were routed only to one another, but were also capable of joining various other comm channels to communicate within the facility or off-site, as required. While both men could still clearly hear the gradually increasing sound of the ship’s reactors, the sound of one another’s voices also remained quite clear — and would continue to do so, even if the ambient noise level reached a point where neither of them w
ould otherwise have been able to hear themselves speak without electronic assistance.

  “I try to remind myself every day that there are people all around me working very hard to stay several steps ahead of me,” Patterson continued. “Most days, I never even get the opportunity to interact with the majority of them, but I do try my best to make sure they know how grateful I am every chance I get. I also think it’s very important that I respect their time and do my best to keep them from waiting on me … as much as I can, that is.”

  “That can be a tough one to pull off, sir.”

  “It can indeed. Fortunately, our people know that just as well as we do. I just try to be as consistent as I can and avoid giving anyone the impression that I’m taking them for granted. Rest assured, though, that they are paying attention to how we handle ourselves.”

  “Yes, sir,” Davis said with a smile. Sometimes, it was difficult to decide whether Admiral Patterson was delivering a lecture based on a problem he had observed, or just offering advice. Either way, the old man’s delivery had a way of getting his message across and making it stick — which, in Captain Davis’ opinion, was almost always more effective than an old-fashioned tongue-lashing.

  Staring up now at the massive battle cruiser, Davis breathed in deeply and allowed the rapidly building sound of the ship’s twelve reactors to wash over him. He closed his eyes briefly, realizing that, just as the admiral had said, the experience wasn’t about the sound he was hearing — impressive though it was — so much as it was the vibration he felt throughout his entire body. It was as if the mountain itself had come to life with the two of them standing just a few meters from its immense, beating heart. The effect continued to intensify for just under a minute, then, just as Davis was beginning to wonder whether his internal organs were being damaged, finally began to subside as the warship’s environmental conditioning systems came online and began to compensate.

  “So …” Patterson said after a few moments of relative silence, “seeing that firsthand tends to give you a different perspective on the magnitude of the power you have at your command when you’re in the big chair, right?”

  “God, sir …” Davis gasped, still a bit overwhelmed. “I’ve gone through that startup sequence at least a dozen times from the bridge, but I had no idea. It would probably be instructional for every member of the crew to experience that from out here.”

  “Hah,” Patterson laughed, “probably so, but I doubt Fleet Medical would agree. Now, Captain, with my compliments, please get her buttoned up and ready to depart, if you would. Things seem to be getting a little more interesting than we had hoped for our friends already in Sajeth Collective space.”

  “Yes, Admiral. Assuming everything is going as planned so far,” Davis said, glancing down once again at his tablet, “we should be ready to go within about three hours or so. I’m on my way up to the bridge now.”

  “I’m not buying that for a minute, son,” Patterson said with a raised eyebrow. “I’ve never seen anyone yet who didn’t need to run to the head after standing on the quay during a startup sequence.”

  “Now that you mentioned it, sir, I —”

  “Good luck with that, Captain. Dismissed,” Patterson interrupted.

  “Thank you, sir, you too.”

  Lesheera

  (487.9 light years from Earth)

  No one would ever accuse either the Damarans or the Lesheerans of being the types of societies that honored and encouraged professional military service among their citizenry. Even without much in the way of military tradition, however, both were still well-aware of the importance of defending their worlds from attack. With only 1.3 light years separating their parent stars, the two civilizations discovered one another’s existence well before either had developed faster than light travel. After two centuries of sporadic and grossly inefficient communications with one another, the two worlds had finally managed to deploy a rather ingenious network of spacecraft capable of relaying continuous streams of data — effectively bridging the twelve-trillion-kilometer divide between their respective stars. While the 2.6-year round-trip time between transmission and response posed significant challenges, the interstellar network had still been a tremendous accomplishment, ushering in a new age of technological advancement for both planets.

  Neither civilization had ever fully trusted the intentions of the other, of course, but the cultures of both had been naturally inclined towards achieving a sense of security through participation in strong, collective groups — always with the promise of safety and protection in return for absolute loyalty and dedication to “the greater good.” And although neither species had ever been particularly adept at the scientific and engineering arts, the information they shared with one another accelerated the progress of both, allowing their first face to face contact to occur on a relatively equal technological footing just eighty years after their communications network had come online.

  Damara’s discovery of yet another advanced species in a star system located just 5.9 light years away had served to further cement its long-standing relationship with Lesheera. From the outset, their mini-alliance had sought to characterize this new world as an unwelcome intruder — a grave threat to the status quo they had worked so hard to establish in a region of space that both considered to be theirs by birthright. Members of the interloper species called their homeworld Graca and referred to themselves as the Wek — a word that, as fate would have it, was phonetically similar to the word for “enemy” in Damara’s predominant language.

  Now, after several additional centuries characterized by a combination of conflict, uneasy alliance, and political intrigue, both Damara and Lesheera had spent the past several months planning for how best to counter the threat posed by both their oldest foe and its newest ally. Realizing that any conflict with the Wek would likely result in a quick termination of their connection to the Sajeth Collective’s deep space communications network, engineers had gone to great lengths to ensure that critical real-time data would continue to flow between the two worlds. In an effort reminiscent of the establishment of their original interstellar network, a constellation of small, virtually undetectable drones was quickly deployed — a system very similar to the Pelaran-derived perimeter surveillance drones recently employed during the ill-fated Resistance incursion into the Sol system.

  The Wek — most likely accompanied by the Terran puppets of the Pelaran Alliance — would be coming. This much was all but certain. The only questions were when and in what strength they would arrive. Having been stripped of all but the most basic defensive forces by the Wek departure from the Sajeth Collective, neither the Damarans nor the Lesheerans had any illusions regarding their capability of offering much in the way of organized military resistance. In spite of the hopeless tactical situation, however, neither world had any intention of yielding — at least not in any meaningful way. No, they would certainly resist — relying on the tenets of asymmetric warfare and using whatever forms of deception deemed necessary to ensure their survival.

  The first move in what both civilizations assumed would be a protracted war was a simple agreement to inflict as much destruction as possible on the arriving enemy forces by launching simultaneous anti-ship missile strikes followed, if necessary, by “hyperdrive ramming” attacks. Fortunately for their Human adversaries, the Lesheerans had not considered the possibility of a momentary delay caused by the instinctual desire of their ships’ crews to avoid throwing their lives away unnecessarily — in spite of their leaders’ assertion that the safety of the collective group was at stake.

  TFS Karna, Lesheera

  (487.9 light years from Earth)

  “What the hell just happened?” Captain Abrams asked in as calm a voice as he could muster under the circumstances. After having fended off a virtually identical missile attack to that launched by the Damarans against Captain Prescott’s task force, Abrams had been considering an attack on Lesheera’s surface when the Karna and all nine of her consorts h
ad transitioned to hyperspace without warning.

  “Transition complete, Captain,” the helm officer reported, working frantically at his console to assess precisely why he had temporarily lost control of the destroyer. “It looks like the AI assumed control and ordered the C-Jump.”

  “Why? Was there a malfunction of some sort?”

  “No, sir, all ten of our ships successfully executed a ten-light-second emergency C-Jump. The entire formation transitioned at the same instant and all ships have maintained their relative positions in formation. It does not appear to have been a malfunction. Stand by, sir, I —”

  “It’s okay, Ensign, take a second to sort it out … just be quick about it,” Abrams said, taking a deep breath and forcing himself to relax. It was clear that his helmsman was doing the best he could under the circumstances, and Abrams knew that bombarding the young man with a steady stream of questions before giving him time to do his job probably wouldn’t deliver the desired information any faster.

  “I got it, Captain,” he said after a few seconds. “The AI assumed control and commanded an emergency C-Jump based on a consultation between itself and the AI aboard TFS Theseus.”

  “Theseus? She’s over a light year away at Damara. Tactical, are you seeing any information as to why Theseus’ AI thinks it has a better grasp on our local situation than we do?”

  “Yes, sir. Captain Prescott’s task force was also attacked by surface and ship-launched missiles, followed by an attempted ramming from several vessels of the same class as those orbiting Lesheera.”