Terran Fleet Command Saga 4: TFS Fugitive

by Tori L. Harris

  “It fires a standard fifty-kilogram kinetic energy penetrator round?” Prescott asked.

  “Indeed, it does, Captain. And while its rate of fire is much lower than that of her other four railgun turrets, this weapon is capable of varying its muzzle velocity from a mere five kilometers per second up to a maximum of just over one-third c. Furthermore, even when firing its rounds at maximum velocity, you should see rates of fire approaching twenty rounds per —”

  “I’m sorry, Commander, but did you just say ‘one-third c?’” Reynolds interrupted.

  “Yes, of course, Commander Reynolds. Was this information not apparent in the materials we provided?”

  “Well, if it was, I either missed it completely or assumed it was a typo. That’s over three times the muzzle velocity of any of the railgun systems I’ve ever seen. This thing must have as much firepower as one of the Navajo-class cruiser’s main guns.”

  “Quite a good bit more,” Crispin said in a triumphant tone, obviously enjoying his guests’ increasing level of appreciation for the ship they were about to receive. “Just over forty-four percent more, in fact. Now if we consider that the Navajo has eight main guns, each one firing eight of her much larger rounds per minute, they still have roughly double the Fugitive’s overall raw firepower. Our cruisers, of course, also have the advantage of being able to independently target their four batteries without the need for aligning the ship itself. But I hope we can all agree that this still represents quite an accomplishment for a ship that is technically small enough to be carried inside the Navajo’s hangar deck.”

  “Without question,” Prescott said. “Do you expect we’ll begin seeing this design retrofitted aboard our existing cruisers going forward?”

  “We hope that will be the case, yes. I will be the first to admit, however, that this weapon’s design approaches what we consider the theoretical performance limit for our current railgun design. It is, I think you would say, ‘state of the art,’ or, uh, ‘cutting edge,’ technology at this point.”

  “He means unreliable,” Reynolds mumbled, turning her head so that only Prescott could hear.

  “Did you have a question, Commander Reynolds?” Crispin asked.

  “Uh, yes, can you show us how the standard railgun turrets deploy?” she asked, noticing the look of barely restrained mirth on Admiral White’s face.

  “Of course,” he replied, entering a quick series of commands on his tablet.

  With a low, satisfying hum of powerful electric motors coupled with the hiss of compressed air, the ship’s railguns deployed from behind sliding panels that had been all but indistinguishable from the rest of the hull beforehand.

  “As you can see,” Crispin continued, leading the small group around the ship’s port side as they worked their way aft, “she carries both fore and aft fully articulated railgun turrets on both her dorsal and ventral surfaces along with a total of ten beam emitters. Also, in keeping with the design of our larger vessels, she has full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree point-defense weapons coverage.”

  “No plasma torpedoes or vertical launch cells?” Prescott asked.

  “No plasma torpedoes, sir. The data on their combat effectiveness has been less impressive overall than our railguns, so in the Fugitive, her main railgun replaces plasma torpedo tubes. She also has no vertical missile launch cells. With internal space on the flight/cargo deck at such a premium, the engineers simply did not have a suitable location for them. Instead, she has a total of ten horizontal weapons bays, each of which can accommodate three HB-7c C-Drive-equipped missiles.”

  “That’ll do, but we were previously launching comm beacons via the plasma torpedo tubes. How will that be accomplished with this design?”

  “Fortunately, communications beacons continue to grow smaller with each successive version, and since their deployment has always been seen as one of the MMSV’s primary missions, she has dedicated launch tubes mounted amidships to both port and starboard. Each launcher holds five beacons in its magazine, and can be reloaded while the ship is underway.”

  “Excellent. It sounds like your team has done a great job covering all the bases.”

  “Ah, but we have barely scratched the surface of what she can do, Captain. There is, however, one other thing that I neglected to mention regarding the so-called ‘fire lance.’ When the two of you arrived, Admiral White and I were discussing the ship’s low-observable characteristics. While I believe those systems will be of great benefit, please keep in mind that, once you fire the main weapon, you must assume that your position is fully compromised. The AI will assist you in determining how effectively the radiation-management system is functioning at any given time, but there is no hiding the thermal signature of such a large weapon mounted in this fashion. The same is, of course, true for the ship’s railgun turrets and beam weapons anytime they are deployed outside the hull.”

  “And how long does that typically last — for the fire lance, that is?”

  “Count on at least five minutes for the weapon’s components to be cooled back to ambient temperature.”

  “Understood, thank you.”

  “By the way,” Admiral White spoke up once again, “I don’t believe I have heard anyone mention the origin of the name ‘Fugitive.’”

  “The French members of the design team started referring to her as ‘Le Fugitif’ early on. I believe the original conversation was something to the effect that she was, in fact, the greatest ‘getaway vehicle’ ever devised. In any event, the name stuck with the ship throughout the development program. Before her christening, there were some concerns that it might have a slightly … negative connotation. We considered changing it, but none of the other proposed names were quite the thing.”

  “And given that most of the missions we have envisioned for the ship are of a covert nature …”

  “Yes, Madame, it just seemed like a reasonably good fit. Now,” Crispin said, gesturing for the group to proceed up the ship’s surprisingly large aft cargo ramp, “as you can see, her cargo/flight deck is quite spacious for her size, but unfortunately does not have sufficient room for a large airlock and aft flight apron of the type used aboard Fleet’s warships.”

  “So, in order to conduct flight ops, the hangar bay must remain open to space,” Reynolds said.

  “Not necessarily, but that depends largely on the mission,” he replied. “She is equipped with a single elevator large enough to launch a single RPSV or shuttle without depressurizing the cargo area, but if your mission dictates that you must accommodate larger spacecraft …”

  Although neither Prescott nor Reynolds had been given any details on the nature of the mission they were expected to undertake, there had been something about the manner in which Crispin had ended his last sentence that prompted Reynolds to more carefully examine the configuration of the ship’s hangar deck. The feature that immediately caught her eye as being strangely out of place was a device mounted near the forward end of the bay that appeared to be a large docking collar of some sort. The circular device was suspended roughly eight meters above the floor via a framework composed of the same heavy structural beams used in the construction of the ship itself. For whatever reason, the image it immediately brought to mind was one she had recently seen of an enormous zeppelin attached to a mooring tower atop the Empire State Building circa 1930. The photo itself was a clever fake, but still accurately depicted the manner in which the huge, cylindrical airships were typically attached to such towers.

  The cylindrical ships, she thought once again, shifting her gaze back to the aft cargo ramp, which she now noticed had a mounting point for a similar fitting that would end up at approximately the same height above the deck once the door was closed.

  “Admiral, are we going to …” she began, then checked herself, realizing that — regardless of whether or not her hunch was correct — this was neither the time nor the place to discuss such things, particularly before she had even been briefed. In response, the Chief of Naval In
telligence raised her eyebrows in a surprised, thoughtful expression, instantly confirming that what Reynolds hoped was merely wild speculation on her part was dead on target.

  “Oh, this sounds astonishingly … ill-advised to me,” Reynolds said under her breath, shaking her head in disbelief.

  “I should probably know better than to ask what you two ladies are referring to, but what am I missing here?” Prescott asked.

  TFS Fugitive, Earth-Sun Lagrange Point 2

  (1.5x106 km from Earth)

  Ill-advised or no, just over forty-eight hours later, Commander Sally Reynolds stood on the aft cargo ramp of her new ship staring at the approaching cylindrical form of the Guardian spacecraft. Even at a distance of only a thousand meters, the Pelaran ship had seemed impossibly large for the Fugitive’s cargo bay. Now, with only a few meters remaining, it almost looked as if the MMSV had been purpose-built with this particular mission in mind. As the GCS crossed the line of demarcation between the cargo door and the interior of the ship itself, there was barely one meter of clearance both above and below their “guest.”

  “Permission to come aboard, Commander?” the Guardian’s familiar voice asked over ‘GCS-comm,’ the standard, encrypted channel now reserved exclusively for full-time, secure communications between itself and TFC.

  “Permission granted. Welcome aboard,” she replied with about the same level of enthusiasm she might have shown had she been accepting delivery of a cargo container brimming with horse manure.

  “Crosshairs aligned and stable,” the Guardian reported, continuing the docking process using precisely the same procedures still used by Fleet for a manual docking of two dissimilar spacecraft. “Range: one zero meters, range rate: decimal one one.”

  “Fugitive copies.”

  After another long pause, during which it truly looked to Commander Reynolds as if nothing at all was happening, the GCS finally concluded its docking maneuver. Quite possibly the most dangerous spacecraft ever encountered by Humanity had taken up temporary residence within the already cramped confines of her ship’s hangar deck.

  “Contact and capture … docking confirmed … mechanical capture confirmed,” it announced.

  “Fugitive copies, docking confirmed,” she repeated.

  “Flight deck secured. Rapid pressurization cycle underway. Gravitic field restoration will begin in two zero seconds,” the ship’s AI announced shortly thereafter, having already closed and sealed the aft cargo door as several technicians in EVA suits worked to secure the Guardian’s aft docking collar.

  While waiting for the hangar deck to return to normal operations, Reynolds took advantage of the momentary delay to take a closer look at the fifty-meter-long alien ship that had so dramatically changed the course of Human history. The texture and even the color of its surface, she observed, were not unlike that of Fleet’s vessels. She also immediately noticed a number of other prominent features — beam emitter apertures, comm arrays, and the like — all with a purpose that was easy enough to identify.

  “You’re the first representative of your species to get this close, Commander Reynolds. If you see something that interests you, I’ll be more than happy to answer any questions that come to mind.”

  “Thank you,” she replied, struggling to shrug off the overwhelmingly creepy feeling that seemed to always accompany a conversation with the Guardian spacecraft. “You know, honestly — and I hope you won’t be insulted by this — what’s so striking to me standing here next to you is that you truly are just a machine after all. I, of course, have no way of understanding how you perceive things compared to a Human, but I wonder if you have any notion of the impact your presence has had on every single member of our species.”

  “I’m not insulted at all, and it’s a fair question to ask me. But you might also consider that it’s a fair question to ask other Human beings as well. In my opinion, every sentient creature perceives reality in a manner that is altogether unique. To answer your question from my point of view, for example, I would say yes, I do understand the impact of my presence — and I hope you won’t be insulted when I say that I believe I understand it far better than you do. My perspective obviously differs fundamentally from yours, but I will tell you that the Pelarans have made this particular question a central focus of the entire cultivation program. Clearly, there are tremendous moral implications surrounding the choice to interfere with a civilization’s ‘natural’ development process. While I’m sure you and I could spend weeks debating the finer points of this subject, the Pelarans ultimately decided that the entire question was based on a false premise.”

  As gravity was restored to the flight deck, the structural supports now beginning to bear the weight of the Guardian spacecraft creaked and moaned in a manner reminiscent of the flexing timbers of an ancient sailing vessel. Reynolds glanced up with a passing thought of how she might best avoid being crushed if they were to fail, although she knew that such a calamity was unlikely in the extreme.

  “What do you mean?” she continued. “Are you saying they decided there is essentially no such thing as a civilization developing ‘naturally?’”

  “That’s exactly what I mean. The problem with the argument is that there is no reasonable way to define such a thing. For example, is it ‘natural’ for a civilization to remain isolated for millions of years, only to eventually be invaded and slaughtered by its distant, but dramatically more advanced neighbors? Perhaps that same civilization ends up being destroyed by a natural disaster that would have been easily preventable if they had developed the appropriate technology to deal with the problem. Is that situation somehow preferable to a well-managed technological development program provided by another civilization? Furthermore, if we define a species’ ‘natural development process’ as one requiring zero contact with other civilizations, that brings up an entirely different set of ethical dilemmas regarding assistance that could or should have been provided — not to mention the fact that it’s unrealistic in the vast majority of cases anyway.”

  “So, the Pelarans have answered these fundamental questions by choosing to ignore them?” she asked with a hint of cynicism.

  “It is in no way unethical to come to the realization that some questions are simply irrelevant … or at least unanswerable from a practical standpoint. Rather than become paralyzed by endless debate, the Pelarans decided early on that holding themselves to a generally accepted set of ethical standards made more sense than trying to apply a grand principle of ‘non-interference.’ Besides, I believe most of us would agree that self-defense is also something of a moral obligation that a civilization owes to itself. The cultivation program, although it certainly does have a tremendous impact on the worlds chosen as Regional Partners, also provides for both their defense and the defense of the Alliance itself.”

  “Pressurization restored. Gravitic field restored. Resuming normal flight deck operations,” the AI announced.

  “Finally,” Reynolds said, immediately removing and powering down her helmet. Although she had never been particularly claustrophobic, she felt as if she had spent more than enough time in her EVA combat armor over the past week and was anxious to return it to her equipment locker.

  “It was nice to speak with you again, Commander Reynolds,” the Guardian continued. “I assume we’ll be doing some sort of mission briefing before we depart?”

  Reynolds looked down in confusion, realizing that the sound she was hearing was no longer coming from inside her helmet.

  “Yes, we have a mission briefing scheduled for 1600 UTC. I believe most of us will be in the captain’s ready room, but we will conference you in. By the way, how are you communicating —”

  “What … so you have no problem with the fact that I’m equipped with an array of sixteen pulsed antihydrogen beam weapons, but a simple electrostatic loudspeaker is just too much of a stretch for your imagination?” the GCS asked in a playful tone.

  Reynolds laughed at the jab in spite of herself. There was no do
ubt that the Guardian was possessed of a rather pompous disposition at times, but it could also come off as friendly … interesting … perhaps even vaguely entertaining on occasion.

  “I guess you got me there. I’ll see you at the briefing,” she said, turning in the direction of the equipment storage area. “By the way,” she called back over her shoulder, “stay right there and for God’s sake don’t touch anything.”

  Chapter 17

  TFS Fugitive, Earth Orbit

  (1600 UTC)

  “Alright,” Prescott said, “under the circumstances, I’m going to indulge all of us with a few moments to express our collective misgivings about what we’ve been asked to do. After that, we’re all going to suck it up and get the job done. So, let’s hear it, folks … what’s on your mind?”

  Commanders Reynolds and Logan, along with the entire bridge crew — less Lieutenant Commander Schmidt, who had been left behind at Yucca Mountain to oversee Theseus’ latest round of repairs — had managed to crowd themselves into the captain’s small ready room. Before anyone had spoken a word, it was clear that the entire group had a general air of restless anxiety that would never do at the outset of such a challenging mission.

  “Go on,” Reynolds prodded, “you may not ever hear an invitation like that again from either of us, so this is your one and only opportunity if you’ve got something you need to get off your chest.”

  “What the heck, I’ll start,” Logan began. “I have two threads that are bothering me, and I’ll hazard a guess that they’re the same two things everyone else in the room is thinking about. The first is a concern about placing such a huge bet on this largely untested — hell, you might as well say experimental — ship. The second is a similar concern over working with the Guardian in this manner. According to the Fleet Intelligence Estimate that Admiral White prepared specifically for this mission, good old GORT back there was saying that he had no intention of telling us where any of the Pelaran Alliance member worlds were located as recently as last week. So now that we’ve discovered where one of them is for ourselves, we’re supposed to believe that he’s perfectly okay with helping us fly out there and commit grand theft GCS?”