Sentience 1: Storm Clouds Gathering

by Gibson Michaels

  Within the hour, Rawley’s Raptor arrived and was successfully captured as though the big starship hadn’t been a stone-cold, abandoned hulk just hours earlier. Refueling ops were underway as the pilot grabbed a meal and some well-deserved downtime. Stillman noted that drop tanks were being fitted to extend the Raptor’s range for the return trip. Must be planning to go straight to Waston from here. That made sense, as the last Ben had heard, Admiral Rawley was currently working at the Heptagon.

  “Ben?”

  Stillman turned away from the view screen towards the voice and saw Admiral Rawley approaching with a rather thin, youngish looking captain at his side. “Yes, Admiral?”

  “Ben, I’d like to introduce you to Captain Richard Bonhoeffer.”

  “Nice to meet you, Captain,” said Ben, as he extended his hand.

  “And you as well, Captain Stillman,” replied Bonhoeffer, grasping Ben’s hand in a firm, but not overpowering grip. A man’s handshake, neither a limp fish, nor a hand crusher. Stillman decided he liked the young captain already, just from the way he shook hands.

  “Rich will be acting as interim captain of the Indy, when she’s ready to head out under her own power.” Stillman nodded his understanding. “We’ll soon be getting a tug to reorient the bow just a bit, so the catapult can launch my Raptor without splattering it… and me, all over that cruiser parked across the way,” said Admiral Rawley.

  “Yes, I can see how something like that might ruin your whole day,” replied Stillman, deadpan. Bonhoeffer smiled greatly at Ben’s comment, indicating he had a sense of humor, making Ben’s opinion of the young captain rise yet another notch.

  “Speaking of which, hadn’t you better begin getting into your flight-suit pretty soon, Admiral?” Bonhoeffer inquired.

  Rawley turned to look at the ships chronometer and replied, “Yes, I guess it is getting about that time, isn’t it?” Rawley looked at the two captains with a look of resignation on his face. “First I’m packed into that tug like a sardine and now I get to spend a few hours crammed into the cockpit of a Raptor. When this ‘supposed’ vacation is over, I’m gonna need a fishing trip out in the wilds of Oreg.”

  After Admiral Rawley left to go change, Stillman turned to Bonhoeffer and asked, “So where are you from, Captain?”

  “Floda sir,” answered Bonhoeffer. “I was a Fleet brat, born at Pensacota Station. My father was a Master-Chief Petty Officer, stationed there for his last tour before he retired. He’d been an unrepentant bachelor his entire life, but I guess the beach environment must have rejuvenated the old man and made him a bit randy, as he shocked all of his friends and inexplicably married a local girl. I came along almost exactly nine months later.”

  Stillman laughed, “So he settled down there after he retired, I take it?”

  “Yeah, my mom grew up there and couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. Dad opened his own spaceplane engine repair business, renewed his clearance through the base security officer and ended up doing a lot of overflow work for the Fleet.”

  “I noticed you’re wearing an academy ring. I’m a bit jealous. If you don’t mind my asking, how’d you manage to swing that?”

  Bonhoeffer grinned, “Not at all sir, lucked into it, I guess. During my senior year of high school, a new rear admiral rotated in to take over command of the station and he remembered my dad from when they had served together aboard the old carrier Shangri-La. The admiral had been a squadron leader and dad had been his flight mechanic. Anyway, as Dad was a civilian contractor to the base by this time, the admiral invited him out and after reminiscing over dinner, it came out that Dad wanted to get me into the academy, but didn’t have the political connections to swing it. Turned out that this rear admiral just happened to have a congressman for a brother... well, like I said, I lucked out.”

  “On such coincidences turns the fate of nations and kings, Captain,” laughed Stillman.

  About twenty minutes later, Admiral Rawley came back onto the bridge wearing a flight suit, with a flight helmet with three stars on the front held in the crook his left arm. He held out his hand to Stillman as he approached and Ben took it with a smile.

  “Well Ben, it looks like I’m out of here. I’m counting on you to see that the rest of these beauties on the list get gone, ASAP.”

  “Will do, Admiral. You know that you can count on me,” replied Stillman as they finished shaking hands.

  “I know that, Ben. That’s exactly why I called in a favor from a guy I know at BuPers to get you assigned here for your short retirement tour.”

  Ben’s mouth dropped open in surprise, as Vice Admiral Christopher Rawley turned on his heel and headed for his Raptor.

  “It would appear,” mused Bonhoeffer, “that you have more than just a passing acquaintance with Admiral Rawley.”

  “Other than commanding my own destroyer, pitiful old thing that she was,” replied Stillman, “the best duty of my entire career was serving as Rawley’s executive officer, when he was captain of the battleship Defiant.

  “Defiant?” asked Bonhoeffer. “Isn’t she here?”

  For the moment, Stillman thought as he nodded, only for the moment... I wonder if the Admiral looked her over for old times' sake? I know I certainly have.

  Just after midnight, station time, Capt. Benjamin Stillman watched as the Independence cast off her lines, only half-hearing Chief Manning’s returning the routine ship-to-station communications all Fleet vessels engaged in while undocking for departure. Normally she would have negotiated her way out of dock under her own maneuvering thrusters, but the docking bays at Haven were built long before Fleet had any ships as large as the Indy class carriers, so multiple tugs were needed to slowly and safely pull the oversized cork from the undersized bottle. The way the tugs worked together as a team to maneuver objects hundreds of times their size was another thing Ben always found amazing. Like worker ants moving the queen.

  The elderly design of the Haven Facility had, by modern standards, a relatively narrow central navigation channel. Virtually as soon as the tugs pulled the big ship forward enough to clear her stern, the Indy tapped her reverse thrusters just enough to bring her to a dead stop in space. While most of the tugs kept the big girl positioned, a couple of them released and reattached to her starboard bow so they could begin to swing her nose around towards the center of the channel. Between the tugs pulling the starboard bow and light nudges from Indy’s port-side bow thrusters, she slowly and majestically came around until at 20°, the port-side and stern tugs released and the great ship gently tapped her forward thrusters to give her just a bit of forward momentum as she smoothly moved into the dead center of the channel where she could maneuver on her own.

  The only tug-maneuvering ballet Stillman had ever seen that topped today’s performance had occurred just a few short weeks earlier, when they had to stuff that big bitch into that tiny docking bay in the first place.

  “Haven, Independence is ready for departure.”

  “Clearance for departure is granted, Independence,” responded Chief Manning.

  “Haven, Capt. Bonhoeffer wishes to deliver a personal message to Capt. Stillman, if he’s available.”

  Manning turned to Stillman and handed him the auxiliary comm gear. “Stillman here, Independence.”

  “Capt. Stillman,” came Bonhoeffer’s voice over the comm. “Admiral Rawley asked me to tell you he is looking forward to his next appointment with Doctor Stillman, and he hopes you’ll see fit to refill his last prescription... whatever that means, sir.”

  Stillman laughed and responded, “Message received and understood, Capt. Bonhoeffer. If you see Admiral Rawley before I do, please tell him I’ll make sure the pharmacy is open for just that purpose.”

  “Wilco, Capt. Stillman. Independence now departing Haven.”

  “Good luck, God’s speed and good hunting, Independence,” Stillman replied as he gave the Fleet’s traditional departure message for warships heading out into the blackness of interstellar space.r />
  Indy was the first of almost 200 Fleet ships that would be leaving Haven over the next few weeks. Despite Stillman’s highly developed appreciation of irony, it never once occurred to him the ship’s very name might imply some subtly veiled meaning.

  True to the admiral’s word, more and more transports carrying thousands of Fleet personnel and tons of materials arrived bearing the code-phrase “Spring Harvest,” followed by even more tankers, two more tenders and four more tugs. Transports and tankers departed singly as their holds and tanks were emptied, some to return yet again, others not.

  One by one, the other five attack carriers were revived, and they too departed Haven under their own power. Then came the twelve light carriers, the battlecruisers, heavy cruisers, light cruisers and frigates. Nonstop and around the clock, Rawley’s crews worked themselves to the brink of exhaustion. Reinitializing and bringing the reactors of the major heavies back online had been slowed by the limited number of tenders available to provide power to them, as Haven’s long-neglected dock-power generators sat useless.

  Unbelievably, after two-and-a-half weeks the pace at which ships were revived actually accelerated when they started on the destroyers. Instead of departing immediately when ready, as the heavies had done, the newly revived destroyers were small enough to tie up and act as power sources to yet other destroyers through cables, jury-rigged together by the tender crews. Only three weeks after Rawley’s mysterious arrival, the last vessel capable of moving under its own power departed, and Stillman watched soberly as the tugs tied up to the big battleships, and the tenders went to work on a battlecruiser and a light cruiser whose engines had failed continuity testing and wouldn’t relight.

  Stillman pondered Rawley’s taking the battleships. The last nine Fleet battleships had all been decommissioned and sent to Haven between 3849 and 3851. Even vacuum didn’t stop all materials from deteriorating with age, and Stillman knew they’d all need extensive work in a major shipyard if they were ever to sortie into space again.

  Later, Stillman watched as the first of the old warhorses was moved down the central channel with her four tug suitors nudging and pulling at her.

  “Haven, Tug Group-152 Alpha is ready to depart with USS Vengeance in tow,” crackled on the speakers in the station’s CMC.

  “Roger, 152 Alpha. Departure permission is granted.” replied Manning’s relief, Chief Lawson. “Good luck and God’s speed.”

  “God, I hope they’re not moving these old gals just to use them as targets for gunnery practice,” Stillman groused. “I used to be the exec on the Defiant. I think I’d rather see her melted down to make something new than to think of her ending up just blasted into drifting hunks of space junk.”

  “Beats me, sir. The guys wearing all the gold braid don’t consult with me very often so I just go where they send me,” replied Lawson.

  Stillman chuckled. “Yes, that sounds like a comprehensive synopsis of my entire career, Chief.”

  Three days later, the tugs with Defiant in tow departed, the last of the nine big battleships to leave. Stillman felt there was something extremely poignant about that particular battleship being the very last to leave. Either someone with an overdeveloped flair for the dramatic planned this, or God has a really warped sense of humor.

  Manning smiled to see Stillman snap to attention and render a salute as the ship passed by on the station view screen. Although Manning could never be sure, for just a moment it appeared that something shiny glistened on Stillman’s cheeks as the tugs pulled Defiant out of the yard.

  It took another week and a half for the tenders to get the two balky cruiser’s engines repaired and balanced. Finally, Chief Manning and the rest of the remaining Fleet personnel embarked on the last remaining transport. At the hatch, Chief Manning turned and handed Stillman a data cube.

  “The admiral asked me to give you this, just as we were departing, Captain,” Manning said.

  “Thank you, Chief.” Stillman took the cube from him. “It’s been a hell of a ride this past month, but it was an absolute pleasure working with you.”

  “And you as well, Capt. Stillman,” Manning replied. Manning snapped to attention and as they exchanged salutes and said, “Enjoy your retirement, sir. I think you’ve earned it.”

  “Thank you, Chief. I imagine it’s certainly gonna feel a bit dull after what all we accomplished this past month.”

  “Oh, I don’t know sir. Life often has a way of throwing the unexpected at you,” Manning replied. “Things are likely to crawl out of the woodwork, and suddenly life becomes a bit more exciting than you might rightly expect. In the meantime, nothing wrong with spending a little downtime, sucking suds and getting a few worms wet.”

  Stillman laughed. “I do believe I’ll follow your advice, Chief.” Manning smiled as he turned an about-face and marched up the gangway towards the awaiting transport. Stillman closed and dogged down the hatch and initiated his end of the atmospheric transfer procedure. A few minutes later, he heard the magnetic grapples release and turned to head back to the station bridge. Sliding into the monitoring station chair himself, Stillman soon heard:

  “Haven Control, transport USS Edison is ready for departure.”

  “Edison, departure permission is granted,” Stillman replied. “Good luck and God’s speed.”

  Stillman watched silently as the transport maneuvered away from the station and out towards the departure point. He felt a slight chill as he realized he was now the only living soul left aboard the entire facility. Suddenly this place feels like a tomb.

  Shaking off this unexpected case of the willies, Stillman turned to the computer station and inserted the data cube Chief Manning had given him and waited for Bozo Jr. to finish decrypting it. Instead of new orders, Stillman was surprised when a video file began playing with Vice Admiral Rawley addressing him from behind a desk:

  “Hello, Ben,” said the video Rawley. “If you’re seeing this, it means our recent recovery operation has been completed successfully and I can’t tell you how relieved I will be to receive this news. I have another couple of surprises for you. First, the bad news. Do not... I repeat, do not recall your civil service personnel. For continuing security reasons, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to fly the station solo for a couple of weeks, at least. I know it will get damned lonely for you, but it can’t be helped. The larder in the galley has been restocked with some of your favorites and in the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet of your office, you’ll find three bottles of the finest ‘medicine’ you’ll ever taste, so I hope the enforced solitude won’t be too onerous on you.

  “Now for the good news. When I receive word this mission has been completed, I will immediately dispatch a fast scout to Haven to pick you up, authorization code: SHELL GAME. When it arrives, just set the station on full automatic and get aboard. You’ll be taken to where you need to be for the next step in our little sleight of hand. Don’t worry. We’ll still get you mustered out for your retirement... if you still want to take it by that time.

  “There is a program file loading into your station computer as you’re watching this video. It will automatically generate all the necessary paperwork to keep your civil service crew receiving their paychecks and some updates for the automatics that will run the station after your departure.

  “I’d like to offer you a big WELL DONE, old friend. Just hang in there for a while and we’ll get you pulled out of there ASAP. You’ve already made an invaluable contribution to this incredibly vital operation and, if you’re up for it, I’ll be recommending you for promotion to rear admiral so you can continue to contribute to it — should you decide to do so, instead of taking retirement. You’ll have a bit of time on your hands to think it over before the scout arrives. I think we made a pretty good team aboard the old Defiant so I’ll admit that I’d really like to have you with me for the next phase of this operation. But I will respect your decision, however you decide.

  “For security reasons, this video wil
l self-destruct at its conclusion. Think it over, Ben. I’ll be looking forward to seeing you again, real soon.”

  Stillman sat absolutely stunned. Rear Admiral Benjamin F. Stillman. He’d never believed he would ever have a chance to achieve flag-rank, and now... here it was, just hanging there in front of him like a ripe plum: Rear Admiral.

  Stillman was startled out of his reverie when the admiral’s data cube hissed and began spitting smoke out of its side. Not thinking, he grabbed for the cube and burned his fingers as it disgorged from the console. As the smoking cube went flying, Stillman yelled, “Shit!” About halfway through thinking that the admiral might have warned him, another thought intruded: It’s your own fault, dumb-ass. The admiral didn’t say it would self-wipe — he said it would self-destruct… and damned if it didn’t.

  Stillman stood up with his burned fingers in his mouth, but instead of reaching for the first-aid kit, he headed towards his office. I’ve been injured. Need “medicine.” Time to investigate that filing cabinet.

  Chapter-21

  I think computer viruses should count as life. I think it says something about human nature that the only form of life we have created so far is purely destructive. We've created life in our own image. -- Stephen Hawking

  The Planetoid Discol, City of Waston

  July, 3860

  Alliance Press (AP): Waston – News Release (07/16/60)

  A class-action suit was filed today in federal court by attorneys representing thousands of former Fleet officers and enlisted personnel, who are claiming unlawful termination and unlawful bias. Most were discharged from the Fleet after their ships were decommissioned as part of President Buchwald’s cost-cutting measure appear to have been recently transferred to those ships within 60 days of decommissioning. The Fleet sited the massive decommissioning of over 190 Fleet vessels ordered by President Buchwald in his role as Commander-in-Chief, as the primary justification for their discharge of “excess personnel” and stated the recent reassignments were merely part of normal Fleet duty rotations.