by Tori Harris
“So we’re not talking about completely surrounding the ship with a single field then?”
“No, not at all. The AI literally responds in real-time to place an incredibly intense area of gravitational distortion in the path of incoming fire,” Logan replied.
“And what effect does this have on incoming ordnance?”
“That depends on the ordnance. The AI classifies the type of incoming fire, then responds in a different way, depending on what it’s trying to defeat. For lack of a better term, energy weapons are ‘lensed’ or deflected away from the ship. For missiles, the system creates shear forces that tend to either destroy the warhead outright and/or throw it off target. Incoming kinetic energy rounds are usually not possible to destroy, but, depending on their angle of entry, they can be slowed to the point where their effectiveness is degraded significantly. In other cases, they are redirected much like a bolt from a plasma or energy weapon so that they miss the ship entirely. The other great thing about handling it this way is that we can blaze away with our own weapons without the need to disengage our shields. Incidentally, we really don’t fully understand how the Sajeth Collective vessels pull this off.”
“That all sounds pretty good,” Prescott continued, “but what happens when we are being hit by more than one type of weapon from more than one direction?”
“Yes, sir, that was one of my first questions as well. It turns out that, on the time scale we’re talking about here, it almost never happens. The duration of most shield system ‘events’ can be measured in microseconds. They also went on to say that the AI could handle ‘a large number of simultaneous events.’ That’s as much detail as they would provide, and that usually means they don’t know for sure.”
“Right. I think we’re all growing accustomed to incomplete specs at this point. I have two final questions. Since the function of the shields is primarily to deflect rather than destroy or absorb incoming fire, I assume that means the gravitic distortions are created at a greater distance from the ship than our grav field typically extends. How far out do these shield ‘events’ occur and does all of this deflected ordnance pose a threat to friendly vessels?” Prescott asked.
“You’re making me feel smarter than I actually am, Captain, because I asked those questions as well. The distance at which the gravitic disturbances are created is a function of the size of the ship’s hull. It essentially becomes a geometry problem for the AI to ensure that the rounds either miss completely or, failing that, are degraded as much as possible before they impact the hull. I can’t give you exact distances, but the maximum distance is something like five times the ship’s beam. For Theseus, that means the first shield event should be around fourteen hundred meters out. The AI will continue interacting with the incoming ordnance until it’s either no longer a threat or it hits the ship. Now, as far as deflected rounds being a danger to friendlies, the short answer is that yes, it’s a possibility. The AI is aware of the positions of friendly ships in the vicinity, and will make an effort to avoid sending deflected fire in their general direction, but doing so is not its first priority.”
“I suppose that becomes a problem for the other vessel’s shields to handle at that point,” Prescott smiled.
“Hah, that’s exactly right. Hey, it’s better than the alternative, right? Oh, one other thing, the AI will purposefully deflect incoming fire towards hostile targets whenever possible, but I suspect it would take a pretty specific set of circumstances for that to come into play.”
“Commander Logan,” Reynolds said, raising her hand slightly, “do we have any projections regarding what to expect if we come under fire, based on what we know about Sajeth Collective weapons so far? How much damage can the shields take … or prevent?”
“That’s the money question, alright,” Logan replied, “and the one that none of the engineers want to commit to answering for fear they will be wrong. What we do have is a pretty good profile of the energy weapons and missiles used against Ingenuity at Gliese 667. Some pretty sophisticated computer modeling of that entire engagement has already been completed, and, if I can find some wood around here to knock on, it looks like she would have suffered zero hull impacts if grav shields had been in place.”
“Wait, you said zero hull impacts? As in, nothing at all would have hit us?” she asked, incredulous.
“Can we get a battle damage schematic of TFS Ingenuity, please?” Logan asked, prompting the AI to immediately display a slowly rotating image of the battered frigate. After a few seconds, hundreds of colored circles appeared in locations all over the ship’s hull. “As you can see, she took quite a beating out there, but her armor held up pretty well, for the most part. The green circles, which make up the vast majority of the hits, indicate superficial damage limited to the outermost layers of her armor plating, so no more than half a meter of penetration. The yellow circles represent more serious hits that penetrated up to one meter. And, finally, the single red circle shows the critical hit from the nuclear detonation. This impact was very nearly catastrophic, penetrating completely through all of her armor layers and down to the inner hull itself.”
“That says we took over two hundred hits total.”
“Um,” Logan said, turning to glance at the view screen briefly before facing the XO again, “two hundred forty-two, yes.”
“And you’re saying that not a single one of those would have hit our hull if these grav shields had been installed?”
“Please overlay gravitic shield model and show us a time lapse of all incoming weapons fire that originally impacted the hull.” The schematic on the screen was now replaced with side and top views of Ingenuity, with incoming energy weapons fire highlighted in red as the entire battle was condensed down to a ten-second clip. The result was at once unsettling and reassuring, as huge quantities of directed energy streamed in towards the frigate’s hull before glancing off in seemingly random directions in the final fraction of a second before impact. As if the AI intended to heighten the drama, the final portion of the clip was displayed frame by frame as the missile that very nearly destroyed the frigate approached her starboard side. Energy cannon fire from Ingenuity’s close-in weapon system slammed into the missile — doing significant damage, but failing to halt its progress towards the hull. In the next frame, the AI highlighted the missile in green brackets with ‘gravitic shield engaged’ displayed in the accompanying text block. Next, what remained of the missile’s body visibly distorted before being abruptly deflected at an angle well above its original flight path. Just as before, the warhead’s onboard computer switched its small nuclear warhead to proximity mode and detonated, but this time sending its deadly shaped charge jet of nuclear fire streaming harmlessly away into space.
Near the bottom of the view screen, a counter reported the total estimated hull impacts as zero. The background noise level in the room increased dramatically as excited conversations broke out among those in attendance. After allowing a few moments for the room to settle, Logan raised his hands. “Listen, folks, I’m just an engineer, but I know a lot of you are feeling some uneasiness about finding yourselves in battle for the first time. For what it’s worth, I can tell you that the Theseus-class is exactly the right ship with exactly the right technology at exactly the right time. The Resistance forces clearly do not expect us to put up much of a fight, if any, but I can tell you that if things go the way we hope, it’ll be an unfair fight alright … just not in the way they expect. I think I can speak for all of us who have already seen combat when I say, to hell with a fair fight. Fair fights are for those who didn’t plan properly. I’m much more in favor of the kind of battle George S. Patton was referring to when he said ‘May God have mercy upon our enemies, because we won’t.’”
The room immediately erupted in raucous cheers and applause.
Chapter 11
SCS Gunov, Pelaran Resistance Rally Point
(3.3 light years from Earth)
Sitting at the workstation in his ready room,
Commodore Sarafi allowed his mind to wander in spite of the rather urgent task at hand. Like a great many Wek, he considered himself a warrior in every sense, and on Graca, this implied much more than a state of mind or a simple choice of vocation. To be a warrior was to accept life under a strict moral code — one that placed duty above all other considerations.
Duty, he thought distractedly. Am I truly here out of a sense of duty?
It was certainly true that there was no duty more sacred than acting as a protector of his people. Sarafi also truly believed that allowing the emergence of yet another puppet of the Pelaran Alliance so near to his homeworld would ultimately lead to its virtual enslavement at best, if not its complete destruction. Exploration and contact with neighboring civilizations had provided plenty of evidence to support just such a conclusion, had they not?
In fact, Sajeth Collective intelligence clearly indicated that the Pelaran Alliance was conducting a great deal of cultivation activity in the small section of the Milky Way Galaxy known as the Orion Spur. At over ten thousand light years in length and three thousand five hundred light years in width, there was plenty of room for multiple cultivated species to carve out their five-hundred-light-year spheres of influence, generally without the worry that they would come into conflict with each other. Unfortunately, the seven civilizations of the Sajeth Collective occupied a large section of space near the center of the spur, putting them in the unenviable position of eventually coming into direct conflict with as many as three Pelaran-cultivated civilizations (including Terra).
It had also become clear that cultivated civilizations tended to choose so-called “militarized” species as their first targets. In every known case of Pelaran cultivation, any worlds with a culture that produced a warrior class, a history that included at least one global war, or even the presence of long-standing professional military forces, were quickly neutralized. As disturbing as this was, Sarafi did have to admit that it made sense from a military, and perhaps even a political perspective. In any event, the Wek people could not allow this to happen … and, therefore, he could not allow this to happen.
Recalling the situation that led to his previous train of thought, the Wek officer glanced once again at the latest status report provided by his executive officer, who at the moment happened to be standing at attention just two meters away. The man was a Damaran, which in Sarafi’s mind automatically placed him squarely into several categories: entitled, narcissist, arrogant, incompetent, and, worst of all, coward. Looking up from the report, Sarafi regarded his XO for a long moment with an expression of open contempt. Ever since he had first encountered one of their kind, they had reminded him of the Banea, massive herds of which still roamed the plains of Graca. There was little doubt that the Damarans had descended from similar prey animals, and the image of relentlessly hunting the pitiable creature standing before him formed unbidden in the deep recesses of Sarafi’s mind. The commodore indulged himself for a moment longer, allowing the accompanying release of endorphins in his brain to wash over him as he relished the thought of a well-earned kill. A savage smile had begun forming at the corners of his mouth before being once again replaced by a more businesslike scowl as he continued with the task at hand.
“In spite of sitting idle at this rally point for two days longer than expected, our forces are still incomplete. We have not heard from the two ships sent to deal with that traitor Naftur and must assume that they have been captured or destroyed. I do not have to tell you what could happen if it becomes generally known that he still lives. Worse still,” Sarafi paused, emitting a deep, threatening growl from the center of his chest, “we have been detected by the Humans, losing any possibility of surprise and rendering an attack on our forces a near certainty. Does that just about sum up the situation, ‘Commander’ Miah?” he mocked.
The Sajeth Collective’s charter recognized that all civilizations in the alliance should be represented in the ranks of its military. Fortunately, the alliance’s founders also realized that it would be foolish indeed to guarantee an even split among its member worlds. The Wek, for example, had a fine tradition of professional military service extending back several millennia. The Damarans, on the other hand, while often being quick to advocate the use of military force (as long as someone else was doing the fighting), were generally a passive civilization with virtually no history of organized military activity of any kind. Accordingly, each world was guaranteed a small percentage of the officer corps based on their population. All of the remaining officer billets, as well as the entire enlisted corps making up the Sajeth Collective military, were chosen by means of an incredibly challenging and competitive selection process. At the moment, this meant that the Damarans were entitled to appoint 2.1 percent of the alliance’s officers, up to the rank of commander, without their being subject to the same standards as everyone else. Naturally, everyone in the military was fully aware that there were three alliance civilizations that would have no representation at all were it not for the guarantees provided in the charter — leading inevitably to groups of largely incompetent officers who were sorely resented by their peers.
Experiencing feelings ranging from terror to righteous indignation and rage, Commander Woorin Miah felt a cold bead of sweat trace a line from the base of his neck all the way to his waistline. His family, after all, had enjoyed a position of power and influence on Damara for generations. While aware on some level that this had at least something to do with his appointment as a senior Sajeth Collective military officer, he also believed that he had earned the position, or was at least more qualified to hold it than some brutish Wek, particularly the one who had been making him stand at attention for the past five minutes.
“Captain, I …”
“You may address me as Commodore,” Sarafi interrupted. “A title you will find that I have earned after decades of competent service to the Collective.”
“Yes, of course, Commodore. My apologies. Our battlespace defense cruisers made short work of the Human scout vessels, sir. Surely they had no way of sending any sort of distress call other than a direct radio or optical transmission before they were destroyed.”
“And do you further assume, then, that the Humans are so inept that they would not notice that two of their scout vessels have failed to report in or return to their base on schedule?” Sarafi spat.
When first approached by members of the Governing Council regarding this mission, Sarafi had quickly bought into the notion that destroying the Humans in a preemptive strike was a moral imperative – and a logical extension of his obligation to defend both Graca and the Collective. Not for the first time over the past month, however, the mission now struck him more as the errand of a fool … and possibly a dishonorable fool at that. Nevertheless, he had given his word that he would see it done, so there was little point in further introspection and debate at this point.
Miah, for his part, at least had the presence of mind to realize that the commodore’s question was rhetorical in nature and did not warrant a response.
“Let me tell you what just happened here, Commander, and then I’ll predict for you what’s about to happen. Whether it was through the help of Admiral Naftur, the Pelaran Guardian ship, or just dumb luck, the Humans have managed to precisely locate our task force in a very short period of time at well over three light years from Sol. For months, the Governing Council was led to believe, primarily by members of the Damaran delegation, I might add, that the Humans were in possession of a single, unarmed starship based on what they referred to as ‘introductory’ Pelaran technology. The simple fact that they were capable of a rendezvous with Admiral Naftur’s ship at Gliese 667 is an indication that our intelligence — again, from Damaran sources — was wholly inaccurate. The same can be said for the appearance of Human scout vessels at our rally point. If we finally manage to have a little luck ourselves, it will take the Humans a few hours to realize that their scout ships are missing, and perhaps a few more to lay on an attack mission. Ei
ther way, make no mistake, they will be coming for us.”
“Sir, shouldn’t we be more concerned about an attack from the Guardian ship itself?” Miah asked sheepishly.
“When your ship is ripped apart around you and your body exposed to the vacuum of space, it will make little difference whose weapons were used,” Sarafi replied in a low, menacing tone. “Based on what we know of the Pelarans, however, their Guardians have a tendency to avoid direct involvement in military actions themselves once the cultivated world begins deploying forces of their own. Unless I miss my guess, it is the Humans we will be facing, not the Pelaran ship.”
“Then surely, Commodore, we will be more than a match for their fledgling forces,” Miah scoffed.
“I am happy to hear that you believe this to be the case, Commander, because I am about to give you the opportunity to redeem yourself as both my executive officer and intelligence chief. You may sit,” Sarafi said, gesturing to the straight-backed, unpadded chair opposite his desk and then sliding a tablet containing his orders in Miah’s direction.
“You have orders for me, Commodore?” the XO asked eagerly.
“I do indeed. As you know, our task force has a serious shortage of senior officers at the moment. Most of our acting captains hold the rank of commander — even lieutenant commander in a few cases. In fact, you are the only commander in the task force who is currently not in command of their own vessel.”
“You are giving me a ship, sir?” Miah blurted out, his enthusiasm overcoming all discipline and common sense.
Sarafi closed his eyes momentarily and breathed in slowly in an effort to control his temper. “No, Commander Miah, I am putting you in command of a detachment of four ships.”