by Jay Allan
“Launch Control…Black Star commander reporting. All ships manned. Conducting final preflights now.” He was already flipping through the prelaunch checklist as he spoke.
“Acknowledged, Black Star commander.” The voice on the com sounded young, nervous. The fighter squadrons attached to Scouting Fleet were all veteran, but there just hadn’t been enough experienced personnel to give Borodino and the rest of the makeshift carriers experienced bridge crew.
Bogdan finished his check by flipping on the ship AI. “Black Star One Control, confirm status.”
“Working.” The RIC didn’t bother with the sophisticated personality modules the Alliance used in its AIs. Black Star One’s voice wasn’t even a good facsimile of human, with a heavy electronic sound to it. “All systems 100% operative.” The RIC computer lacked the frill of the Alliance systems, but it was a potent unit that could get the job done.
Bogdan glanced down at the six indicator lights. All of them had changed from white to green. The squadron’s ships were ready. “Launch Control…Black Star commander reporting. Black Star squadron ready for launch.”
“Acknowledged, Black Star commander.” A pause, short but one that wouldn’t have happened with more experienced bridge crew. “Black Star squadron…you are authorized to launch immediately.”
“Think man, think.” Jacobs muttered softly to himself. He knew his fleet could win this fight. As tough as First Imperium ships were, 6 Gargoyles and 25 Gremlins weren’t enough to destroy his force. They could hurt it though…hurt it very badly. He wanted to go at them, face them toe to toe and crush them. But that would be a fool’s move, and he knew it. Whatever he did, he had to get the fleet through this fight in decent shape. They had a lot of work to do beyond this system.
“Commander Carp, calculate a thrust plan to pull the fleet back from the warp gate. Designate Beta-2.” He wished Newton had fixed defenses…he’d pull back to the planet and add its missiles and fighters to his own if he could bait the enemy to follow. But Newton was virtually undefended, with just a few satellites his people had left to give it at least minimal protection. Certainly nothing meaningful in the coming fight. “Six gee thrust, commencing in six minutes.”
Carp glanced briefly at Jacobs, surprised by the order. “Yes, sir,” he snapped, turning almost immediately back to his station. “Plotting course for all ships now.”
“Lieutenant Hooper, all cruisers are to prepare to drop one spread of laser buoys on my command.” The bomb-pumped lasers were one of the Pact’s most potent new weapons. Jacobs hated to start expending his limited supply so soon, but he decided it was better to go through ordnance than start getting his ships torn to hell.
“Yes, sir.” Hooper’s response was crisp and perfect, as usual.
“Very well, lieutenant.” Jacobs continued to be impressed with her, but he was still worried about how she would handle herself when things got out of control. She was so tightly wound, tense and precise about everything…he knew he was going to have to help her through that crisis when it came. He’d never felt as out of control as he did on Hornet’s mad dash home from the enemy base, and it had been difficult at first to learn to trust his instincts. Now he combined his gut and his intellect, and he felt like a better officer for it. If Hooper could manage the same leap, he thought, she will be a formidable commander one day. Augustus Garret had told him as much when he assigned her to his staff…and there wasn’t a better judge of naval talent drawing breath anywhere.
“Order transmitted, sir.” Another crisp response, and fast. Jacobs didn’t even know how she’d relayed his command so quickly.
Jacobs turned back to Carp. He was surprised he hadn’t gotten the thrust plan yet, and he started to open his mouth to put some pressure on the young officer. Give the kid a break, he thought…he’s gone from tactical officer for a suicide boat to one for a fleet of over 100 ships.
A few seconds later, Jacob’s patience was rewarded. Carp spun around to face the admiral. “Thrust plan Beta-2 completed, sir. Locked into all vessels and synchronized.” Ready to execute on your command, sir.”
“Lieutenant Hooper, what is the status on readiness to launch those buoys?”
“All ships will be ready in two minutes, sir.” There was a hint of annoyance in her voice. Clearly, she felt some of the vessels were taking too long.
“Two minutes will be satisfactory, lieutenant.” Jacobs appreciated her high standards, but Scouting Fleet had a lot of inexperienced personnel backing up its veterans. “Commander Carp, we will be executing Thrust Plan Beta-2 on schedule.”
“All units report ready, admiral.” He turned and looked down as his hands moved over his workstation. “Transmitting confirmation now, sir.”
“Very well, commander.” Jacobs leaned back and sighed softly. Six gees without deploying the acceleration couches was going to suck, no question about that. But he didn’t want his people wrapped up in their cocoons, drugged half out of their minds. Their survival suits were enough to stand up to six gravities, even though it wouldn’t be pleasant. He didn’t intend to continue any single burn for too long anyway. He was going to fight a running battle, keeping the fleet at missile range from the enemy. He was willing to gamble that this picket force didn’t have antimatter weapons, and he didn’t want to get anywhere close to the enemy’s particle accelerators. His ships would lose the energy weapons battle, but at long range, he felt he could win with missiles supported by fighters and x-ray laser buoys. He hated burning through so much of his ordnance, but his transports had replacements for supplies and ammunition. Lost ships and crews would be gone for good.
“All ships report ready to deploy laser buoys, admiral.”
He smiled at Hooper’s tone. She was definitely pissed at how long it had taken. “All ships launch, lieutenant.”
“All vessels deploying buoys, sir.” She was focused on her workstation, watching the launches in real time. It took 30 seconds, maybe 40 before all buoys were out. “All ordnance launched, admiral.” Jacobs couldn’t tell from her tone if she was satisfied with the performance.
“Very well, lieutenant.” He took a deep breath, holding it in for a few seconds before exhaling. “All units are to prepare to launch all externally-mounted missiles.” All units wasn’t entirely literal. None of the fast attack ships were missile armed, just the cruisers and the seven destroyers from the South American Empire. But flushing their racks would put a lot of missiles into space.
“Commander Carp, thrust plan Beta-2 on schedule in…” He glanced at the chronometer. “…180 seconds.” He nodded at Carp’s perfunctory acknowledgement. “Lieutenant Hooper, are those missile launches ready?”
She hesitated a few seconds, waiting for the last few confirmations. Her head popped up from the screen. “Yes, sir. All vessels report ready to launch external ordnance.”
Jacobs stared straight ahead. The main screen displayed the countdown to the engine burn. He watched it, feeling an almost hypnotic effect as the numbers blinked by. When it read 90 seconds he turned slowly and looked over at Hooper. “Lieutenant…” He tried to keep his voice stone cold, but it was the first time he’d been able to really hurt the enemy, and his excitement showed through. “…Launch missiles.”
Chapter 6
MCS Red Lightning
Alpha Centauri System
En Route from Earth to Sandoval
Elias Holm reached his arms above his head and twisted his body, stretching his aching muscles as the steaming hot water washed away the crusted remnants of the ecto-plasmic goo from the force dampening chamber. Traveling in one of the Martian Confederation’s superfast transports was hard on the body, no question about it. The Torch ships were either accelerating or decelerating full virtually all the time. Their engines were able to achieve higher absolute thrust levels than those on any other vessels, but the primary factor contributing to their great speed was the ability of the propulsion systems to run full out without a break. Most ships were lucky to maintain
maximum thrust for a few hours without a major breakdown. The median point to failure for the Alliance’s Yorktown class battleships was less than 9 hours, meaning half of those ships would suffer a critical malfunction if they ran their engines full out for less than half a day. But a Torch could maintain maximum thrust for days without a break.
With travel through warp gates nearly instantaneous, it was the intrasystem journey between transit points that took time. And the Torch’s ability to race across the vastness of interplanetary space made it invaluable for rapidly shuttling people and cargo between human-occupied worlds. It also beat the hell out of its passengers and crew, physically and emotionally. Staying suspended for days at a time in the Torch’s sophisticated gee force protection system was tough not only on the body, but also on the mind. More than one passenger had been driven to a psychotic episode by the experience, and conditioning and psychological pre-screening were essential for all passengers.
Holm knew the break wouldn’t last, but he was enjoying it while he could. It was a long trip from Earth to Sandoval, even in a Torch. He had days and days ahead of him in the ship’s force dampening chamber, but the crew was running a scheduled maintenance check for the next three hours, and that gave Holm time for both a shower and a regular meal.
“Water off.” Holm snapped his instruction to the AI, and the faucet deactivated. He reached up and grabbed a towel. It was thick and plush, but then he’d have expected nothing less on one of Roderick Vance’s transports. The shower had an air-drying system, but Holm had always preferred a good old-fashioned towel.
He finished drying off and grabbed his robe from a hook on the wall, wrapping it around him as he walked out into the cabin. “Admiral Garret is here, General Holm.” The domestic AI was more like something from a luxury hotel than a military transport. Alliance ships, for the most part, still had simple buzzers on the doors.
“Open.” Holm finished tying his robe and walked over toward the door as it slid open.
Augustus Garret walked in, holding out his hand. “Just got out of the shower?” Garret was amused. He too had raced to his shower from the dampening chamber, but he’d finished…and changed into a fresh uniform and checked his messages too.
Holm twisted his neck slowly as he stepped forward, gripping Garret’s hand. “You’re lucky I’m out now.” Holm had a smile on his face. “That hot water became very important to me. I’m this close to retiring and letting you fight this war so I can spend the rest of my life in a hot shower.” Holm pulled his hand back and held it up, his fingers a centimeter apart as he spoke.
Garret laughed. He knew Holm was just as driven as he was, but Garret had never been able to relax, to take a few minutes or hours away from his burdens - not even to enjoy something as simple as a long, hot shower. In that way, he was more like Cain than Holm. The work was always there, the responsibility, the tension…eating at him, making relaxation an impossibility.
“Give me two minutes to throw on a fresh set of fatigues.” Holm walked toward the closet. “Then we can get some solid food.” The chamber’s med system fed them intravenously while they were under high thrust, but Holm was always ravenously hungry when he got out after a long stretch. “Unless you’ve done that already too.”
Garret laughed again. “No. Not yet. I figured I’d wait for you. No matter how long it took.”
Holm stepped into the closet area and put on a duty uniform, plain gray fatigues with five platinum stars on each collar and “Holm” stenciled on the breast. He pulled his boots on and walked back into the room. “Alright, let’s go. I’m starving.”
The two walked out into the corridor. The Torch wasn’t a large vessel, and most of it was filled with the amazing technology that made it run. Since it was usually shuttling VIPs around, it had half a dozen plush cabins clustered around a small common area that also served as an officers’/passengers’ mess. Garret and Holm walked over to one of the small tables and sat down.
A steward came walking in a few seconds later, alerted by the ship’s AI that two officers had entered the mess area. “Good afternoon, sirs.” He wore a red uniform with a black stripe on the trousers and gold trim on the shoulders. “How may I help you?”
Holm leaned back. He was tempted to order the biggest steak available, but he knew that would be a big mistake a couple hours before climbing back into the chamber. “Turkey sandwich, iced tea,” he said softly, wondering if the disappointment was noticeable in his voice.
“Scrambled eggs, wheat toast, coffee.” Garret was apparently thinking along the same lines. “And a glass of water. Very cold.” Going into the dampening chamber with a full stomach was asking for trouble.
The steward nodded and walked quickly out of the room. Holm waited for the hatch to close – a meaningless gesture, since he was sure everything on Vance’s ships was recorded somehow. He wondered for an instant if he should get Sparks’ jammer, but he decided it wasn’t necessary. They were among allies now, and if their friends were plotting against them they were doomed in this fight anyway. Besides, they weren’t going to talk about anything he wasn’t sure Vance knew already.
“I know we’ve discussed this before, but I have to ask again. What the hell happened back there?” Holm looked across the table at Garret, his expression turning serious. “I’m grateful we got what we wanted, but I’m nervous too.” He paused, rubbing his hand over his mouth. “There’s something we don’t know.”
Garret leaned back in the chair. My god, he thought…this chair is comfortable. Why, he wondered, can’t the Alliance manage to build a decent chair? “You’re right, of course.” His eyes stared right into Holm’s. “They were terrified of sending the fleet away from the Line, and they weren’t even listening to our arguments. Then, in a couple days, Bam! - we get the authorization we wanted.”
“And they were scared.” Holm instinctively lowered his voice, as he tended to do when discussing things that made him edgy. “I mean beyond the fear of the enemy. It felt…” He paused, reaching for the words he wanted. “…closer somehow.”
Garret didn’t answer right away. He just sat, his hands moving nervously over the table. Finally he took a breath and said, “You’re right. I can’t place it, but there’s something we don’t know.” That wasn’t entirely true…Garret had his suspicions as, he suspected, Holm did. But he still couldn’t figure it out entirely, and he wasn’t going to blurt out baseless nonsense.
The hatch slid open and the steward returned carrying a tray. He set the contents on the table and stepped back. “Is there anything else I can get you, sirs?”
Holm leaned forward, reaching out to grab half of the large sandwich on his plate. “No, thank you.” He glanced at Garret and back to the steward. “That will be all.” The steward nodded and walked out, the door closing behind him.
They ate in silence, neither one willing to ask the question they were both thinking about. Garret kept reviewing that last week on Earth in his mind, but whatever else he considered he kept coming back to the same place. Why, he thought, would Gavin Stark and Alliance Intelligence get involved in this? And on our side?
“I think it’s a serious problem, sir.” Victoria James sat in a priceless leather chair, the room lit only by a single dim lamp. “And I believe we need to deal with it immediately.” She looked over at her companion through the flickering light.
The figure sitting opposite James was impeccably dressed in a dark gray suit, his hair perfectly groomed, nails neatly manicured. Francis Oliver had been president of the Alliance for over a quarter century. He was an arrogant man, even by the standards of the Political Class, but he too was afraid of Gavin Stark. The head of Alliance Intelligence was one of the most feared men in human history. Though Stark had never been conclusively tied to any questionable activity, the list of alleged acts he’d committed was enough to chill the blood of even the most veteran political power broker.
“I tend to agree with you Senator, though I wonder if this cannot wait until
the First Imperium crisis has stabilized.” He spoke slowly, annoyingly so, James thought, and his voice was deep. “For better or worse, we have staked our survival on Admiral Garret and General Holm. It seems to me that our internal matters can wait.”
James breathed softly and fidgeted in her seat. Forcing the issue with the most powerful politician in the Alliance was uncomfortable to say the least. But she was more afraid of Stark than she was of Francis. “With all due respect, sir…” She hesitated again, trying to decide how to phrase what she wanted to say. “…I believe it is extremely dangerous to wait. The conflict with the First Imperium is the highest priority, of course, but moving on this will not divert any resources from the war effort.” She was trying to cover every possible counter-argument in advance. The number of times she was going to be able to press the issue after the president said no was sharply limited. She had to convince him quickly. “The fighting may go on for years, sir. How long do we dare wait before finally addressing this issue?”
Francis frowned, realizing they were both going to great lengths to avoid stating specifically what they were discussing. Perhaps she is right, he thought, if my first thought is that I cannot openly discuss a matter for fear that my office security has been penetrated. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been worried about Stark for some time. Though he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, not even himself, fear had long stayed his hand in dealing with the Alliance’s top spy. Gavin Stark was a very dangerous man, and Francis lacked the fundamental courage to move against him.
“Senator, my attention is focused on the leadership of the Alliance through this difficult period.” He spoke carefully, meticulously. “However, if you wish to take on this project, I can assure you I will not interfere.” There was more to his tone…approval, authorization…even encouragement.”