The Khruellian Encounter

by C J Klinger

  “Hi Dad, how’s Mom?” Jon asked, knowing his mother was recovering from a broken leg suffered while skiing in the mountains of Evenia. They had just arrived on Fairworld to witness the launching of their son’s first capital ship. Before this assignment, Jon has served as captain of a destroyer escort and earlier as an XO on several cruisers.

  “Grumbling because she can’t do the idiot stunts she’s used to doing, Jon. I believe your mother has a death wish.” When the Admiral had retired, Jeannie, Jon’s mother took that as a signal to do all the things she had been unable to do while her husband had been the senior officer in the CSF Space Force.

  Jon laughed at his father’s complaint. “Mom’s a force to be reckoned with, Dad. I gave up trying to outmaneuver her when I was ten years old.”

  “Now you tell me,” the admiral said with an answering laugh. Like many committed career officers, family life had often taken a back seat to the demands of the Confederation. The admiral was learning in retirement what many nonmilitary men and women learned a lot earlier in their marriage; not to assume they knew their spouses, as well as they, knew the men under their command. The military rules of conduct did not apply.

  “Have you heard anything from Grandma and Granddad?” Jon asked in a more serious tone. The legendary Commander Jonathon McKinnah, Sr. and his wife Marcia had left Newhope several years earlier on a voyage of discovery. Except for an occasional flash packet with a brief message, their exact location was unknown. It had been a year since anyone in the Confederation had seen them.

  The worry in the admiral’s voice was unmistakable, “No, son, nothing at all. I’m sure they’re okay. You know how the Commander hated all the attention he and Mom were getting after the Muhyba wars. They probably just don’t want to cause a stir with their presence.”

  “I know, but I worry about them,” Jon said. “They’re not exactly young anymore.”

  Jon’s dad said, “I would not mention that fact to your grandmother when you see her. Besides, they have Talo and Talia with them.”

  Jon’s memory of the two android’s was less acute than his fathers. The middle McKinnah had grown up with Talo and treated the android as if he was an all-powerful uncle, able to do miraculous things. His Dad’s faith in the androids’ ability to take care of his aging parents was rock solid. Jon was less certain. “Well, I hope we hear from them soon. I’ll see you and Mom at the launching ceremony tomorrow.”

  “I’m looking forward to it, Jon. Your mother and I are extremely proud of you.”

  Jon beamed with undisguised pleasure. “Thanks, Dad, it means a lot to me that you and Mom are here for the launching.”

  Chapter 5

  Yogamundi Central on the planet Vajrashila in the Garius Cluster

  Cleric William Bradley-Kinsley, Cleric-General Pro Tem opened the conclave with the simple words, “Venit hora,” the hour has come. That he said, it verbally was only because of tradition, not a necessity. Each one of the fifty men and women assembled in the room could have heard and understood him just as clearly if he had mentally uttered the traditional start of the conclave, but traditions were essential to the assembled crowd. The message was also broadcasted by radio in recognition of the limited range of inter-cranial conversation. Every citizen on Vajrashila would hear the proceedings, which would be conducted in Latin, the official language of the government.

  “Cleric Andrew Benavidez-Morales has left us to be with the Magna Factor Omnium, the Great Maker of All Things. We are met here to elect his replacement. May I have a nomination?” Cleric William Bradley-Kinsley waited for the expected name. This would be a formality. The private mental exchanges before the opening of the conclave had made it plain who the assembly wanted to be their next spiritual and temporal leader, William Bradley-Kinsley. A small factor was pushing for Madam Cleric Jane Lon-Sonjab, but it was not a cohesive push for leadership.

  The expected name was put into nomination, and the vote count was Forty-four for and six against. At the suggestion of the Cleric from East England, the vote was recast to be unanimous. Congratulations poured in, verbally and mentally. The entire proceedings had taken less than an hour. The First order of the business to be conducted by the new Cleric-General was entered into the registry immediately after he had taken the oath of office.

  “Verbum Terram sumpsimus, we have received a message from Earth,” the Cleric-General announced

  In spite of the assembly’s abilities to communicate mentally, this was a total surprise and a shock. For over six hundred years the people of Vajrashila had waited for some kind of contact from their mother world. The loud voices of individual mental exchanges took charge for several seconds until the need for more information brought them to order.

  “A delegate from a human organization called The Confederation of Independent Planets has sent us a signal advising us of their intention to visit Vajrashila within thirty days,” the Cleric-General announced to the rapt conclave. “It is significant that this message was sent in Latin, our official verbal language.”

  Excited exchanges carried on again before the conclave agreed they needed more information.

  “I have little more to offer you other than a radio frequency they request we use to transmit our acceptance of their offer to visit,” William said to the waiting delegates. “I recommend we accept their offer.”

  The vote was unanimous in favor of William’s proposal. The half-million citizens of Vajrashila were about to meet their distant relatives. The common question on all their minds was would these visitors from the Constitutional Confederation recognize Vajrashilans as distant cousins or human aberrations?

  William sat back and isolated his thoughts. Because of his new status as Cleric General, he was given the privacy he sought. “We are very different today from what we were six hundred years ago,” he thought, recalling the history of the Vajrashilans’ struggles to survive. The radical adaptation they had gone through to fit into their new world had altered them enough to be unrecognizable to their immediate ancestors, at least mentally. Physically, the changes six hundred years of isolation had made on their appearance were minimal. The thought of, “We are still human, but will our cousins from Earth accept us as such?” ran through his mind. He was sure beyond a doubt that many of his fellow clerics in the government and among the faithful had the same doubts. It would be a critical moment when the two related cultures met for the first time.

  Chapter 6

  Geisel Shipyards, Fairworld

  Captain Jonathon McKinnah, III stood with his crew and watched as his mother, Mrs. Jeanne McKinnah balanced on crutches and tossed a handful of rice on the hull of the new frigate. After that, she clutched a bottle of vintage Fairworld Champaign and took a mighty swing, breaking it over the bow and spraying everybody in the vicinity, including her husband Admiral Jonathon James McKinnah, Jr., retired.

  “I Christen thee, the CSF 239FV. May you fly like an eagle.”

  Jonathon muttered to his XO, “My mother never did anything halfway in her life.”

  Penny kept a straight face and muttered back, “It seems to be a McKinnah trait.”

  That earned her a look and a slight smile.

  The general manager of Geisel shipyards announced. “We now officially release the Grade One Frigate, project number 239FV to the CSF Space Force.” The beautiful and menacing looking, the black frigate was now under the control of Captain Jonathon McKinnah III. The CSF designation for the ship was Frigate Vessel, Grade One, number 239FV. Her call sign, the name she would be known by throughout the service would not be revealed until she entered fleet service at the ceremony scheduled to happen immediately after her shakedown cruise. That name was a tightly held secret. Every conceivable type of betting pool had circulated through the crew betting on what the name would be. The hottest bet going on at the moment was for the “CSF McKinnah” in honor of the captain’s grandfather. Jon didn’t think that was going to happen, although it was possible, because Grade One Frigates were s
upposed to be named after dead war heroes and while nobody could dispute the fact that the elder McKinnah was a war hero, he was still very much alive and active.

  “Lieutenant Burns, have the crew report aboard and prepare for immediate departure,” Jon said and returned her smart salute as she acknowledged his order, “Aye, Aye, Captain.” Jon walked over to his parents and hugged his mother. “I think you put a dent in my ship, Mom,” he said with the great affection he felt for the woman who had raised him and helped him navigate through boyhood into manhood.

  “If I did, dear, ask for a refund,” his mother quipped back. Both Jon and his father laughed.

  “I have to lift off very quickly, Mon, Dad. The yard is scheduled to start another ship tomorrow morning. I’ll see you at the dedication service on Newhope won’t I?” Jon asked, anxious to have his parents there for the official ceremony.

  “We wouldn’t miss it, son,” Admiral McKinnah said. “Have a safe shakedown cruise.”

  Jon hugged them both and quickly retreated to his new command. Once seated in the captain’s chair, he issued the order to raise the ship, followed by the command to “Make standard speed to the boundary,” that point in space where the frigate was free to use her IS-Drive.

  Within minutes Jon said to the navigation chair, “Display coordinates.” The holographic display in the center of the circle changed to represent the area around the selected coordinates. Jon expanded the view to get a better picture of the gas giant that regulated the movement of the moon they were going to use for target practice. No warning signs appeared advising them that what they were going to do was a bad idea. None the less, Jon asked the ship’s Talo for confirmation. When the computer verbally echoed the situation on the hologram, Jon took the key from around his neck and inserted into his command module arm. When Lieutenant Burns had matched his actions with her key, Jon said, “Execute Jump.” The holographic display changed from a sepia-toned mechanical image of where they planning to go, to a real-time color image of where they actually were in space.

  “Well done,” the captain said, obviously pleased at how well his crew worked together in their new ship. After listening to all station report on their status, he ordered the weapons officer to prepare for their first target practice after the crew had been fed. Lieutenant Burns turned the command chair over to her relief so she and Jon could take their first active duty tour of the ship.

  “Do you see any problems we have to work on, Penny?” he asked when they were in the privacy of a passage between the command center and the aft quarters. The ship was shaped like an arrowhead, the width graduating from a point to a width half the total length, which was as long as a soccer field. Two, out-canted shark-like fins positioned toward the rear served to stabilize the spaceship in slow, atmospheric flight. With three decks, there was ample space for the crew and a substantial store of weapons. The fusion generator occupied twenty percent of the aft end. The bank of capacitors took up half of the bottom deck. The capacitors could store an incredible amount of energy that could be released in a nanosecond to power the PBWs. The capacitors gave them the ability to keep it up long enough to defeat anything the Confederation ship was likely to encounter. At least that’s what the engineers from the labs at Gruenwald had claimed. Jon wanted to see for himself.

  Penny considered his question in silence for a moment, and then answered, “Nothing that our shakedown cruise won’t cure.”

  He detected a hesitation in her voice but did not pursue it. It was her responsibility to solve such problems. If she needed his help, he knew she would not be afraid to ask for it. They completed their tour, and both were pleased with the results. Once again, Jon was glad he had insisted on having his new crew report to the Geisel shipyards when construction had started. The squadron controller had grumbled about the cost, but the results seemed to validate Jon’s insistence on the expenditure. Every crew member felt like they were part of the ship, not just an adaptation to keep it running. The proof of this would come when they started simulated combat maneuvers on the next watch.

  Shortly after two bells in the second watch, Lieutenant Burns sounded the alarm. The crew swarmed to their stations, and by the twenty-second mark, every light on the combat center console had turned green. The time was good for the first call to arms, but they would practice until the time was cut to ten seconds.

  “Situation?” Jon called out.

  A young ensign, her hair cut to a buzz revealing her to be a recent graduate, spoke out clearly and confidently, “An enemy concentration on the lunar surface is threatening our mining complex. Ground commander requests immediate relief.” The holographic display changed to reflect her statement.

  Jon asked, “Range?”

  “Five thousand-two hundred klicks,” she answered promptly.

  “Bring PBW1to bear,” Jon ordered.

  “Targeted,” the weapons officer answered immediately.

  “Three burst, fire for effect.”

  The holographic images showed a target on Hyperon’s moon that disappeared in a burst of flying stones and surface material. Some of the debris reached orbital velocity and would circle the small moon until the weak gravity field would draw it back to the surface. For the next two hours, the crew tried out various target configurations and battle scenarios. Jon was most interested in learning exactly how much damage the new weapons inflicted. He wanted his ship to be absolutely prepared to deliver the right punch for the situation. After the two-hour session was completed, they advanced to the surface of the moon to examine the target area at close proximity.

  Lieutenant Burns examined the damaged target zone and commented, “Better thee than me.”

  “I agree, Penny,” Jon said. “The engineers back in the lab got it right. These puppies are serious trouble for anybody wanting to pick a fight with us.”

  For the next thirty days, the crew of the crew practiced every conceivable maneuver, and target arrangement put forth in the training manual. The Constitutional Confederation was at peace, so the possibility of using any of these tactics in the immediate future looked dim, but the human presence would inevitably spread and, sooner or later they would encounter a species who might take exception to the humans’ push into their space. The CSF was not looking for a fight, but they would certainly be prepared if they were pushed into one. At the end of the cruise, Jon filed his report stating without reservation that his ship was fit and ready for duty. He had no idea what that duty would be.

  Chapter 7

  Space Command, Newhope

  Commander Annika Masterson stood with the rest of the Terran delegation and watched as the new Grade One Frigate approached her assigned landing slot.

  In spite of her eight years of experience in the Terran Space Force, where she had seen enough to dull her sense of surprise, this sight took her breath away. She thought “Wow, she is a beauty,” and suddenly felt a little giddy at the thought she would become part of her crew. That is if the captain didn’t veto her presence aboard. Anita knew that Confederation captains wielded a lot of power when it came to who could or could not be a crew member on their ships. She wasn’t worried; she was quite confident in her ability to get Captain McKinnah’s approval. The fact that she was a tall, stunning blue-eyed blonde was not the only asset she was relying on. That usually got men’s attention long enough for her to demonstrate her intelligence and wit. She was comfortable with men who had the composure to look higher than her well-shaped bosom. Such men tended to be relaxed around her. From everything she had been able to learn, Captain Jonathon McKinnah III was such a man, and as a bonus, he was a bachelor. This assignment might be fun, she concluded.

  A stir among the CSF delegation caused her to look in their direction. A striking looking older couple flanked by two gleaming black androids became the unexpected center of attention. She could not believe her eyes, Commander Jonathon McKinnah, Senior and his wife, Captain Marcia McKinnah, the founders of the CSF and developers of the FTL drive were here. This
was an occasion. Her briefing report had said the couple had been out-of-touch for more than a year and that some believed they may have died out among the stars, but here they were in Newhope for the commissioning ceremony of their grandson’s new ship. Joining them was another couple of note, Admiral Jonathon James McKinnah Jr. and his wife, Jeannie. This is going to be an all McKinnah celebration, she thought. She wondered if Captain Jonathon McKinnah III, piloting the incoming ship knew his parents and grandparents were waiting for him. Probably not, she concluded based on the reaction of the waiting crowd to their arrival.

  In the CSF delegation, Admiral Dexter turned to his aide and gave a rapid series of orders. What had been planned to be a routine inauguration of a new class of warship had turned into a McKinnah clan reunion. He wanted extra security around the area immediately. Security was high on Newhope, to begin with. There was no resident population; everybody who worked or visited the planet had to pass through spaceport security where a Talo AI mentally scanned every entrant. Admiral Dexter was more concerned about crowd control of an enthusiastic public anxious to get a glimpse of the entire McKinnah clan gathered in one location. In the admiral’s opinion, they deserved the attention. Everything the CIP and the CSF was, had stemmed from the efforts of Jonathon and Marcia McKinnah and later protected by the heroic action of their son, Admiral Jonathon James McKinnah, Jr.

  Aboard the descending frigate, Jon watched his crew’s performance with a sharp eye. Earlier he and Lieutenant Burns had conducted a full, dress uniform inspection. Jon knew his ship was not the only thing under scrutiny today. Jon was not particularly excited about all the hoopla associated with a ship’s formal induction into the service, but he was looking forward to his session with the Ship Review Board to go over the new ship’s performance. The Space Force had a lot invested in this new design, and the Board was anxious to learn if the money they had authorized had been well spent.