Ep.#1 - Escalation (The Frontiers Saga: Rogue Castes)

by Ryk Brown

  Cameron took a deep breath and sighed. “Mister Bickle,” she began as she turned forward again. “Plot an intercept course and prepare a jump. I want to put us no more than one thousand kilometers astern and to the side of that contact. I want a good solid reading before we put the entire Earth on alert.”

  “Yes, sir,” the young ensign replied.

  “Captain?” Lieutenant Commander Kono began, turning back around to face Cameron. “How did you know?”

  “If you want someone to see you, you stand right where you’d expect them to look,” Cameron replied.

  * * *

  The Seiiki’s damaged cargo ramp smacked the ground harder than usual, kicking up a cloud of dust.

  “I’ll check the ramp hydraulics,” Dalen promised the captain.

  “Good idea.” Captain Tuplo and his crew stood at the top of the cargo ramp, waiting for the dust to settle. “Josh, you know where the bunkhouse is, so you and Neli go and check it out. See what kind of shape it’s in.”

  “Why?” Neli wondered. “It’s not like we’re gonna sleep there. We do have cabins onboard.”

  “Humor me, Neli,” the captain asked, not wanting to explain his reasoning.

  “I can check it out by myself, Cap’n.”

  “I’d like Neli’s opinion on it as well, if you don’t mind. After all, if she thinks it can be made livable, then I don’t have to worry about the rest of you whining if we end up having to shack up there to save power and water.”

  Josh sighed, then headed down the cargo ramp.

  “I wasn’t whining,” Neli mumbled as she followed Josh down the ramp.

  “Want me to start on those hydraulics?” Dalen suggested, starting down the ramp.

  “That can wait,” the captain replied. “I want you to take a look around that wreckage, Dalen. See if there’s anything we might be able to salvage for use, or maybe even for resale.”

  “But it’s probably been sitting there for ten years, Cap’n. It’s all rusted and shit.”

  Captain Tuplo turned and looked at Dalen, a scowl on his face. “Why are you arguing with me? Are you under the mistaken impression that I’m having a good day? That I’m in a jovial, forgiving-type of mood, or something?”

  “I’m goin’, I’m goin’,” Dalen replied, throwing his hands up in defensive resignation.

  “Thank you.” Captain Tuplo took a deep breath and sighed. He turned and looked at Marcus. “Why are you just standing there, Taggart?”

  “You ain’t given me nothin’ to do yet.”

  “Oh, yeah,” the captain realized. “You search the buildings along that side, I’ll search the ones along this side.”

  Marcus nodded, but didn’t move down the ramp.

  “You got something on your mind?” the captain asked.

  “We goin’ into the salvage business?”

  “If that’s what it takes to fill our tanks, then, yes. Is that a problem?”

  “No, sir,” Marcus replied quickly, as he headed down the ramp.

  Captain Tuplo paused a moment, then started down the ramp himself. At the bottom of the ramp, he stopped and looked around. “Jesus, she’s right,” he sighed. “It does look like a war was fought here.”

  * * *

  “Industry brings jobs; jobs create revenue; revenue grows the economy…”

  It was the same thing the president’s economic advisor had been spouting day in and day out, ever since he took office three years ago.

  “We still have two million people living in camps…”

  Mister Tankersly’s tune hadn’t improved much either, the only thing that changed was the number of millions he quoted as still being stuck in the camps.

  “And jobs will get them out of the camps…”

  Just once, he wanted to get these two in a room and have them discuss something without arguing.

  “It hasn’t in seven years…”

  “Mister Tankersly,” the president said wearily, tiring of their bickering, “you know as well as the rest of us that the number of people still living in the refugee camps has dropped significantly in recent years. And you also know that it happened because jobs were created, and those people in the camps were able to rejoin mainstream society.”

  “Jobs also bring pride, self-respect…”

  “I’m not arguing against jobs, Mister President. I’m arguing against the percentage of our fabricators that are being tasked with helping to rebuild private industry, instead of building more public housing that would not require a job in order for a family to move into them.”

  “And continue to perpetuate a nanny state? How does that help us get back on our feet?” the president’s economic advisor challenged.

  “We already are! Don’t you get it? We have to stop helping big industry get established. They already are! And they have employee shortages because we’ve helped them create technical positions without creating the training infrastructure to provide them with skilled technical labor.”

  “By that logic, we should start building more training institutions, not housing.”

  “And how well do you think someone learns when they’re living in a tent, sharing restrooms with hundreds, and standing in line for hours to be fed?” Mister Tankersly turned to the president, pleading. “Mister President, please, we must provide better housing, and provide more job training for those people still trapped in the refugee camps. You must allocate a greater percentage of our fabrication infrastructure to those projects, and less to helping big industry.”

  “The idea has always been to rebuild our defensive capabilities first,” President Scott reminded Mister Tankersly. “Doing that required rebuilding our industrial capacity, which the Jung bombed into the Stone Age eight years ago. We all knew it would be a challenge, and we all knew that it would mean that many of our citizens would be spending years in the camps.”

  “Mister President…”

  The president held up his hand, cutting Mister Tankersly off before he got carried away again. “However, perhaps eight years is enough. I’m not saying I’m willing to start building free houses and giving them away, as that would only serve to suppress the economic growth that we’ve all sacrificed so much to help grow. I will, however, suggest to the GFC that we refocus our global fabrication efforts to favor the improvement of living conditions in the camps, as well as getting them trained to fill those skilled positions you claim are vacant, Mister Tankersly. However, I warn you, the GFC is unlikely to commit the percentages you are recommending.”

  On the other side of the room, a red light began flashing beneath the large view screen on the wall opposite the president’s desk. It was accompanied by an alert tone that demanded attention. Within seconds, the president’s daughter and personal aide, Miri, and the president’s security advisor both entered the room abruptly.

  “Mister President,” his security advisor began, dispensing with any of the customary pleasantries. “We’ll need to clear the room.”

  “Gentlemen,” the president said, standing and heading toward his desk. “If you’ll excuse us.”

  The president continued to his desk as his guests departed. He took his seat behind it, and waited as his security advisor and his daughter came to stand behind and on either side of him. Once the door had closed, the view screen came to life, revealing Admiral Galiardi, sitting at his station in the Alliance Command Center deep inside Port Terra, in orbit high above the Earth.

  “Admiral,” the president greeted. He knew that the nature of the admiral’s call did not require the usual pleasantries.

  “Mister President. The Aurora has detected a Jung battle group less than one light year beyond Sol’s heliopause.”

  “How many ships are we talking about?”

  “Based on the number and size of their FTL trails, we estimate eight ships. Possibly two battleships or heavy cruisers, at least two light cruisers, with the rest being frigates, or large gunships. It is difficult to get exact readings, as they are flying in surprisi
ngly tight formations, especially considering they are traveling at FTL speeds. We believe they are doing so to conceal their numbers. The Aurora had to jump close-in behind them to differentiate and confirm multiple targets.”

  “Any theories as to how they have managed to get so deep into Alliance space without being detected?” the president asked accusingly, hinting at his displeasure.

  “There are only two logical explanations,” the admiral said. “Either the Jung have developed some new type of stealth technology, or they have jump drives.”

  “Any evidence to support one or the other?” the president asked.

  “Frankly, Mister President, at this juncture, it is immaterial. Our priority at this point is to prevent this group from getting within striking distance of Earth which, if they are still using linear FTL, will be in approximately nineteen days.”

  “Recommendations?”

  “First, we should put all our surface JKKV launchers on full alert. If they can get within a light year of us without being detected, they could already have ships in closer. Second, we need to move the Jar-Benakh and the Tanna to Sol. We need to send them, along with the Cape Town and the Aurora, to intercept the approaching battle group.”

  “That will leave Tau Ceti unprotected,” the president pointed out.

  “Both ships can jump back to Tau Ceti at a moment’s notice,” the admiral replied.

  “Nevertheless, the Cetians will not like it.”

  “They’ll like it a lot less if Alliance Command, and possibly Earth itself, are destroyed, because it’s a pretty safe bet that if the Jung destroy us, Tau Ceti is next.”

  “And your intentions upon intercept?” the president inquired, already knowing the answer.

  “Destroy them, sir. Without warning or mercy, after which I would recommend we launch a full KKV strike against all primary Jung worlds, including Nor-Patri.”

  “Muted,” the president’s security advisor said, as he pressed the remote. “Mister President, I agree that we should stop the incoming battle group. However, completely destroying them is not only unnecessary, but also sends a dangerous message to the Jung…as does a full KKV strike against their homeworld.”

  “The message it sends, is that we will not tolerate such blatant trespasses into our territories,” the president replied with determination.

  “Couldn’t we send a warning message, first?” Miri suggested. “Cross this line, and all hell will break loose?”

  “We already did, and they already crossed it,” the president replied.

  “Warning the battle group before firing on them will cause our ships to lose the element of surprise,” the president’s security advisor warned. “You’ll be putting three of our biggest assets at unnecessary additional risk.”

  “Additional, maybe, but hardly unnecessary,” Miri argued.

  “At the very least, I would strongly advise against the KKV strike, sir. Especially against their homeworld. I don’t have to remind you what happened the last time we did so.”

  President Scott shot a disdainful look at his advisor. “No, you do not.”

  “It is unlikely that this is a full strike on our system. If it were, they would be sending dozens of ships, including battle platforms.”

  “Then you still believe the Jung are testing us? Our detection capabilities? Our response patterns?”

  “It’s the only logical explanation.”

  “Logical? We have dozens of jump-enabled, kinetic kill vehicles, each of them capable of destroying an entire world, pointed at their worlds, and you think testing us is a logical act?” Miri couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “How many ships have the Jung lost doing such testing? Do you really believe they would sacrifice so many men, just to test us?”

  “Yes, I do,” the president’s security advisor replied without hesitation, and with complete conviction.

  “Unmute,” the president ordered. “Sorry for the delay, Admiral. Put our forces on alert. Move whatever ships you need into position. I will deal with the Cetians. However, I am not ready to authorize any KKV strikes at this time… Not yet. Also, I require that our forces warn the Jung battle group that if they do not stand down and surrender, not only will they be destroyed, we will also launch a full KKV strike on Nor-Patri, and the rest of the Jung primary worlds. Is that understood, Admiral?”

  “Mister President,” the admiral began to object.

  “Those are my orders, Admiral. Update me with any changes.” The president nodded at his security advisor, who ended the call.

  “That man is determined to get us back into a full-blown shooting war,” the president’s security advisor said.

  “When you’re a hammer, Mister Lovecchio,” the president sighed.

  * * *

  Admiral Galiardi ripped off his comm-set and tossed it onto the table in frustration.

  “He does realize the amount of risk he is asking those ships to take, doesn’t he?” Commander Macklay wondered.

  “He does,” the admiral replied bitterly, his frustration obvious in his voice. “And if he doesn’t, Lovecchio damn sure does.” The admiral sighed. “I swear, that man is going to get us all killed. At the very least, he’s going to cost us a few ships, ships that we can ill afford to lose.”

  “Then just send one to deliver the message,” the commander suggested.

  Admiral Galiardi looked at the commander.

  “The president only told you to warn the Jung before firing on them. He didn’t say to do it with all the ships.”

  * * *

  Marcus and Neli bounced along in the dirt road, a trail of dust wafting behind them. The old, open, flatbed hauler shook and rattled, sounding like it was about to fall apart at any moment.

  “Are you sure this thing is gonna make it there and back?” Neli wondered nervously.

  “These old haulers never die,” Marcus insisted. “You just gotta take care of them.”

  “That’s why I’m worried,” Neli replied, as she bounced up and down in her seat. “This thing has been sitting for God knows how long.”

  “Her reactor’s not even half used up, so we’ll be fine. Besides, I know these things like the back of my hand. If something breaks, I can fix it.”

  Marcus swerved to miss a hole in the road, causing Neli to nearly fall out of the vehicle.

  “I still don’t know why we’re wasting time driving into town!” she cried out, clinging desperately to the side of the open cab. “We’ve only left port a few hours ago. Does Connor really think anything will have changed since then?”

  “Would you rather be helpin’ them drag wreckage over to help hide the ship?” Marcus asked.

  “We shouldn’t be hiding her at all! We shouldn’t even be here! Especially if the Jung are looking for us. We should be jumping toward the outer rim, and beyond.”

  Marcus shook his head. “The captain’s right, Neli. Jumping out into the unknown with limited resources is just asking for disaster.”

  “And staying here isn’t?” Neli replied, frustrated. “Why the hell do you trust Connor so much?”

  “Cuz it’s his ship.”

  “Come on, Marcus. Haven’t you ever wanted to just tell Tuplo to shove it, and take the Seiiki for yourself?”

  Marcus shot a disapproving look Neli’s way. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that.”

  “Oh, don’t go all loyal crewman on me, Marcus. I know you’ve got a dishonorable streak in you. That’s what I like about you.”

  “I’m not kidding, Neli.”

  “You’re honestly going to sit there and tell me that the thought of mutiny has never crossed your mind? Not even once?”

  “Never.”

  “Well, I don’t believe you. Nobody’s that stupid, or that loyal. One of these days, you’re going to find yourself agreeing with me…”

  Marcus slammed on the brakes, the vehicle screeched to a stop, nearly sending Neli face first into the dashboard.

  “What the hell!” Neli exclaimed.


  Marcus sat still, staring straight ahead. “You’ve got three choices, woman,” he began in a low, menacing tone. “You can shut up, and never talk this way again; you can get out of the vehicle and never cross my path again…” Marcus turned to look at her. “Or I can burn you where you sit.”

  “What the hell is your problem?” Neli demanded, not taking his threat seriously.

  “I ain’t the one with the problem, you are. Choose.”

  “You can’t be serious…”

  “Crew is family, Neli. Either you’re with us, or against us…”

  “Marcus, baby,” Neli cooed, “I’m only looking out for you…”

  “I said choose,” Marcus demanded, his right hand moving down toward his side arm. He looked her dead in the eyes. “I ain’t askin’ again.”

  Neli studied him a moment, wondering if he meant what he said. Finally she backed down. “I’m sorry, Marcus. I won’t speak of it again.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  Marcus squinted, unsure if he could trust her. “I’m gonna hold you to that promise,” he finally replied. “And I’ll likely not give you the luxury of a warnin’, should you go back on your word, Nel.”

  “I swear, you’ll never have to, Marcus.”

  “The captain is a good man, you know.”

  “I know,” Neli agreed, not wanting to escalate the situation any further.

  “You just don’t know him like Josh and I do.”

  “I suppose not,” Neli replied. “Can we just pretend I never brought it up, Marcus?”

  “I can pretend,” he responded, as he started the vehicle moving again. “But I ain’t forgettin’. Best you remember that.”

  * * *

  Doran helped his wife out of the wine barrel, while he was still drenched in the foul smelling, burgundy fluid.

  “I look like a sun-dried garant,” she said in despair, looking at her wrinkled maroon hands.

  “It will wash off, I promise you,” Dumar’s daughter said, as she helped the woman out of the barrel. “Although, it may take some effort, I’m afraid.”