Terran Fleet Command Saga 4: TFS Fugitive

by Tori L. Harris

  “I hope you’re right. But like Abrams said, I just wanted to give you a heads-up. You know … just in case.”

  “With respect, I think you’re both drama queens,” she said with a mocking smile. “Now let’s get with Patterson before we really do piss him off.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he chuckled. “AI, Prescott. Establish secure vidcon connection with Admiral Patterson aboard the Navajo.”

  “AI acknowledged. Please state the desired classification level for this vidcon,” the synthetic female voice announced.

  “That’s new,” Reynolds said, furrowing her brow and scowling at the ceiling.

  “All of our recent communications with Admiral Patterson have been classified Top Secret, code word MAGI PRIME. Is there a new code word we should be using?” Prescott asked, realizing even as he finished speaking that he already knew the answer he would receive.

  “Terran Fleet Command security regulations classify all code words at the same level as the information to which they refer. Accordingly, the ship’s AI is not authorized to reveal classification code words, even in cases where all personnel in attendance possess sufficient security clearances to allow access to information referenced by those code words.”

  “Ask a stupid question …” Prescott sighed. “AI, please use security protocols sufficient for Top Secret, code word MAGI PRIME.”

  After a long pause, Terran Fleet Command’s official service seal replaced a picturesque view of Damara on the large view screen opposite the conference room table.

  “Does it seem a little slow to you?” Reynolds asked after several more seconds had passed.

  “Requested classification level declined by Vice Admiral Kevin Patterson,” the AI’s voice reported in a voice that Reynolds thought sounded irritatingly self-satisfied. “Be advised that all officers present are now cleared for information classified as Top Secret, code word DEFIANT BASTION. If you agree to all rights and responsibilities implied by this security level, acknowledge verbally with the words, ‘I accept.’ Your identities will be reverified and authenticated by multiple biometric scans and your permanent service records updated accordingly.”

  “I accept,” both officers replied.

  “Access granted. Terran Fleet Command security regulations authorize severe penalties — to include lifetime imprisonment or death — for knowingly disclosing, compromising, or otherwise mishandling classified information at this level.”

  “Still think he’s calling to fire you?” Reynolds asked with a raised eyebrow.

  Before Prescott could reply, Admiral Kevin Patterson, Chief of Naval Operations, appeared on the view screen.

  “Good morning to you both,” he greeted. “As you have undoubtedly surmised, this vidcon is classified Top Secret, code word DEFIANT BASTION. Your ready room has been automatically secured for this briefing.”

  “Understood, Admiral, and good morning to you as well,” Prescott replied.

  “We’ve got a lot on our plates at the moment, so I’ll get right to it. First off, have there been any changes in enemy disposition here at Damara since the earlier attacks?”

  “None until your arrival, sir. Just moments ago, Zorian Ved, the Defense Minister of Damara and Administrator of the Damaran Headquarters of the Sajeth Collective Fleet, accepted our terms and requested that we contact him at our convenience. It might be a little early to characterize it as a surrender, but I think it’s safe to say that you put the fear of God in them.”

  “Hah!” Patterson laughed aloud. “I’m not sure we’ll be as forgiving of attempted genocide as He is, but that’s outstanding news. I think you’ve met Ensign Fletcher, one of our CIC comm officers. She’s a science fiction movie buff and that whole ‘death from the skies’ bit was entirely her idea.”

  “Sounds like it’s time for a promotion, sir,” Reynolds said. “Her creative thinking may have saved countless lives on both sides.”

  “Absolutely. I think she’s due for a promotion to Lieutenant Junior Grade anyway. I’ll have to check the regs, but since we are in an active combat zone, I may be able to step her directly to O-3. In any event, Minister Ved can cool his heels for a while. We’ll have someone get back to him when we’re good and ready. That someone, however, will not be either of you.”

  “Oh? Do you have something else in mind for us, Admiral?” Prescott asked hopefully, but with a chill of dread running down the length of his spine.

  Patterson leaned back in his chair and stared back at the two of them for a long moment, uncharacteristically drumming his fingers on the table. “Here’s the thing, you two,” he began again. “I do have new orders for you, but what I’m going to ask you to do this time will be different from the quote, unquote ‘official’ story that will be made somewhat public … to most members of the Leadership Council, that is.”

  “I’m not sure I follow you, sir. Does this have something to do with TFC’s member nations pressuring the Leadership Council to essentially eliminate additional hull losses?”

  “That’s part of it, yes. In fact, that somewhat ridiculous notion forms the backdrop we will be using as cover for the mission I have in mind. Per the charter, the Leadership Council must be regularly briefed on all Fleet operations. Frankly, the fact that the organization was originally formed with the military aspects of its mission seen as secondary to pursuing technological development and exploration has created a number of significant problems, not the least of which is maintaining operational security. Fortunately, the Council is now under new leadership.”

  “And is Chairwoman Kistler onboard with running things more like a true military organization?”

  “I don’t know if I would go that far. She’s a strong proponent of civilian control of the military, so she recognizes the need for oversight. Obviously, that’s a good thing, but she also understands that military operations frequently demand a level of secrecy and security that can be at odds with what our member nations might refer to as ‘transparency.’ In response, she has established a Military Operations Oversight Committee composed of herself and three other representatives. The four of them will be regularly briefed on everything we’re doing, but will, for the first time, be subject to the same security clearance requirements as TFC military personnel.”

  “So, they will be subject to criminal prosecution for leaks then, right?”

  “Yes, indeed. In fact, they technically always have been, but the whole ‘diplomatic immunity’ thing previously shielded the representatives from any sort of enforcement action. Kistler ended that right away and even managed to get the charter modified to hold them accountable for both security breaches and other serious crimes perpetrated while in office.”

  “Like attempting to murder the Commander in Chief?” Reynolds asked.

  “I’m pretty sure that qualifies now, yes. Speaking of the CINC, the Chairwoman has also given Admiral Sexton the authority to designate certain financial expenditures and military operations as ‘black.’ The Oversight Committee will still be briefed on black ops as well, but — within the boundaries established by current policy, of course — the CINC will have quite a bit more latitude to determine when and how that takes place. That brings us back to your situation,” Patterson said, pausing again as if he were less than comfortable with what he was about to say.

  “You mentioned some sort of ‘cover story,’ sir,” Reynolds prompted.

  “Right. Let me say from the outset that I have already reviewed the actions that have taken place since your arrival at Damara and can find no fault whatsoever with any of the decisions made by the two of you or any of the other crews under your command. So please understand that what I’m about to ask you to do is in no way punitive, nor will it have any negative effects on anyone’s careers, so don’t worry about any of that. The appearance, however, and the information given to the Leadership Council will for the time being indicate that I have relieved Captain Prescott of command of the Damaran task force pending review of what transpired here today
.”

  “I’m not sure I follow you, Admiral,” Prescott began. “You’re saying we’re going to lie to the Leadership Council?”

  “Not at all. I’m saying that we’re offering you up as red meat to assuage some of our member nations’ demands that we stop losing ships and crews. Things are very different now than they were under Karoline Crull, Tom. The Oversight Committee is both aware and completely onboard with what we’re doing here. You really are being relieved of this command, and there really will be a review of your actions here today. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean to imply that I’m in any way happy about the suicide attacks and the loss of Industrious, but the truth is that we needed a reason to retask Theseus without attracting a lot of unwanted attention. Based on this after-action review, everyone will be expecting you to lay low for a while until we decide what to do with you — thus satisfying both a political and a military objective at the same time.”

  “Understood, sir. So, you’re sending us home, then?”

  “Temporarily, yes, but I have what I hope will be a brief mission for you first. We have been monitoring some troubling activity for several days near the outskirts of what we’re still referring to as Sajeth Collective space. We know that the Wek Unified Fleet has no assets in the immediate area, so we’ve been expecting to hear from them for some time. I don’t have all the details yet, but Admiral Sexton apparently just got the call from Prince Naftur himself while I was en route to Damara. The location in question is just under ninety light years from here.”

  “I’m sorry, Admiral, but it sounds like you’re referring to an area that is significantly farther from Earth than either Graca or Damara. I was not aware we had deployed any ships, or even surveillance drones, that far out.”

  “We haven’t, Tom, and that’s the immediate reason for your upgraded DEFIANT BASTION clearance. I have something truly remarkable to show you both …”

  Chapter 9

  Herrera Mining Facility

  (87.2 light years from Damara)

  “Unidentified Krayleck spacecraft, you have entered a restricted zone that has been designated as unsafe for navigation by the Wek Unified Fleet. Please identify yourselves so that we may vector your vessels out of the hazardous area,” the engineering officer repeated. Although his workstation had limited capabilities compared to those found aboard the Fleet’s newest warships, he was reasonably certain that the two vessels depicted on his screen were the same two he had been unsuccessfully attempting to contact for the past two days.

  The two ships were relatively small, but from what he could tell did appear to be warships of some sort. Their size, however, did nothing to decrease the tedium of being forced to continuously respond to their somewhat aggressive behavior. Each time the two ships appeared, they were in a different location — always together and always after a seemingly random period of time since their last transition. Per Sajeth Collective (and now Wek Unified Fleet) procedures, the duty officer was required to repeatedly attempt contact in an effort to warn them off — each time, of course, hoping that they would simply leave and not return.

  Although technically a civilian now, the old engineering officer had served aboard the battleship Rusalov for much of his career and certainly knew enough about naval tactics to recognize a probing reconnaissance mission when he saw one. Now, each time the Krayleck vessels appeared, he felt a growing sense of dread that this would be the time they chose to make their hostile intentions known. After all, it did not take much in the way of sensor technology to detect massive surges of antiparticle emissions like the ones that seemed to appear spontaneously from the void near the so-called Herrera “mine.”

  In fact, perhaps the most annoying thing about the Krayleck ships — even if they truly were here out of mere curiosity, perhaps with the intent of discovering the origin of what they had been detecting in the area — was that they were preventing the facility from accomplishing its scientific mission. Safety protocols required that all mining operations be discontinued for several hours each time the “event zone” surrounding the facility was violated. Intentional or not, the ships were doing a fine job of preventing the station’s engineers from getting their work done.

  “Wek officer broadcasting on this frequency, this is Captain … representing the Krayleck Empire. Your facility is within the boundaries of territory recently annexed by our forces on behalf of the Pelaran Alliance. You are ordered to cease operations immediately. All equipment and documentation at the site is now the property of the Krayleck Empire and must be left intact when you evacuate. This, you must also do immediately.”

  The signal was audio only, and the Wek engineer rolled his eyes at the fact that the Krayleck officer’s name was so unintelligible that the AI simply omitted it completely rather than attempting any sort of meaningful translation. While it was certainly true that Herrera was on the fringe of Sajeth Collective space, it was still well outside the Krayleck’s five-hundred-light-year sphere of influence. While Krayleck vessels had been detected in Sajeth Collective space many times, he was unaware of any previous confrontations — certainly nothing like this at least. In fact, over the past several years, there had even been a small but steadily increasing amount of commerce taking place between the Krayleck and Shanus, the nearest Collective planet to their territory. In any event, he was absolutely certain that the Wek Unified Fleet would not willingly abandon this facility, leaving its potentially limitless antimatter production to a bunch of … what were they? Insects? He wasn’t entirely sure, nor did he particularly care about their scientific classification. He knew only that they were disgusting — or at the very least not a species he would ever care to dine with.

  “Herrera copies,” he replied in as polite a tone as he could manage. “Captain, perhaps there is some sort of misunderstanding that I can help clarify. If not, I have sent for our facility commander and I am sure she will be available shortly. We are a research station previously operated by the Sajeth Collective, but now managed by the Wek Unified Fleet.”

  “A military research station, then?”

  “We are indeed managed by the Wek Fleet, but we are not a military installation, per se, sir.”

  “And what types of military research are being conducted at this site?”

  “Sir,” the engineering officer began, turning around in his chair and wondering why the commander had not yet arrived in the Operations room, “I am, of course, not at liberty to discuss any specifics regarding the nature of the research being done here. I am the wrong person to ask in any event, Captain, since I am not one of the scientists,” he said, which was mostly true. There were, in fact, very few Wek scientists — even inside the rarefied theoretical physics community — who had anything approaching a thorough understanding of the work being done at Herrera. “I do know that we are looking into a natural phenomenon known as a phase transition that may account for how galaxies formed in the early universe.”

  It was at that moment that the entire facility shook with the impact of distant weapons fire. Herrera, the lone planet orbiting its somewhat remote red dwarf star, was far too small to retain any sort of atmosphere. As a result, the sounds heard by the Wek personnel on site were transmitted through the ground to vibrate the facility itself, producing an unsettling baritone reverberation as if they were standing on the inside of an immense bass drum.

  “What the hell did you say to them?” Moya Gara thundered as she arrived in Operations for the first time today.

  “Very little other than stalling for time so that they could speak with you,” the much older engineering officer replied, raising his bushy eyebrows in a manner that would have almost certainly resulted in serious consequences during his time aboard the Rusalov.

  Gara, although holding the rank of commander in the newly formed Wek Unified Fleet, was not in uniform. As was the case most days, her work so far this morning had spanned roles encompassing a broad range of responsibilities from senior engineer to maintenance assistant. As
she quickly made her way to the Command workstation, she caught a glimpse of her reflection and noted the smudges of grease that currently graced both her light brown facial hair and gray coveralls. Too late to worry about appearances at this point, she thought sourly, wondering once again why no Wek warships had arrived to secure the critically important outpost.

  “Krayleck spacecraft, cease fire, cease fire!” she announced over the same frequency. “You are firing on a facility administrated by the Crowned Republic of Graca. We have a long history of peaceful cooperation with your people and have every intention of continuing that tradition.”

  Once again, the partially subterranean building shook — this time with an almost deafening sound providing a clear indication that this impact had been much closer than the first.

  “Eton Ulto!” she swore, grabbing the armrests of her chair to prevent being thrown to the floor. “Are their vessels within the currently targeted event zone?”

  “Stand by one,” the officer replied, rolling his chair from the Communications workstation halfway across the room to one of the station’s Engineering terminals. “Yes,” he said after entering a quick series of commands, “but only one of them. Commander, I think I know what you have in mind, and I do not believe it to be a wise course of action.”

  “And sitting here waiting for those two ships to destroy us is?” she growled.

  “They are merely trying to intimidate us into abandoning the facility without any resistance. Unless they attack the facility itself, I strongly recommend we continue to play for additional time until our warships arrive.”

  “As of yesterday, the Admiralty was still saying two more days minimum,” she said with a frustrated sigh. “The Krayleck have never opened fire before. Do you think we have two more days at this point?”

  “Unfortunately, we cannot know the answer to such a question,” he replied calmly, instinctively understanding the need to talk the young officer back from the precipice of rash action. “What I can tell you is that, if we initiate a phase transition, the effects will be unpredictable at best. We might well cause serious damage or even destroy one of them, but we have little chance of destroying them both. Once we destroy one, the remaining warship — or the reinforcements that would almost certainly follow — will make short work of the facility.”