by Tori Harris
“Right, but that doesn’t seem particularly relevant in this case once you throw the Guardian spacecraft into the mix. Surely they don’t expect to be able to waltz in here and destroy all of our forces … the Guardian included.”
“That’s really my point. I don’t think they know what to expect any more than we do. The Guardian was largely noncommittal when you and Admiral Sexton contacted him, but it’s still difficult for me to imagine its doing nothing at all to help. The planetary bombardment scenario assumes that it will allow the Resistance ships to eliminate our forces in detail, and then sit idly by while they methodically destroy the Earth. Why would the Guardian do that after investing so much time grooming Humanity for membership in the Pelaran Alliance?”
“Unlikely perhaps, but then again why not? Hell, at this point, anything is possible, right?” Patterson said, shaking his head.
“Absolutely, and that’s why I think Commodore Sarafi will try to keep all his options open for as long as possible until he sees how things are going to play out. If the Guardian stays out of his way, I expect a traditional attack using the battleships’ heavy guns will be his first choice. As strange as it sounds, I think they might see an orbital bombardment as somehow being more ‘civilized’ than a biological attack.”
“So you believe the biological attack is something of a last resort then?”
“I don’t think they will lead with that option, no. But I obviously don’t have much data on which to base that opinion. If I’m right on this, however, giving Naftur a little time up front probably doesn’t introduce much in the way of additional risk. The truth is that Sarafi has far more options than we do. Once his forces arrive, our only choice is to destroy all of his ships, or at least remove them from the fight somehow. So if there is any chance that Naftur might be able to take a few of them off the table without the need for us to destroy them outright —”
“Alright, give Prescott the go ahead, but make sure Naftur understands that we are not changing our attack plans. He will have very little time to do whatever he can before we open fire. If any Resistance ships elect to withdraw, they need to make their intentions abundantly clear to our forces. At a minimum, they should turn away from the planet and all TFC vessels immediately — preferably transitioning to hyperspace and clearing the area altogether. The Gresav is the only Sajeth Collective vessel I intend to designate as a friendly unit. The rest will be subject to immediate attack for as long as they remain in system.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Oh, and tell Prescott that he is to take command of our reserve forces once he sends Admiral Naftur on his way. Theseus has taken a beating, so I would rather not put her back into the fight unless it’s absolutely necessary. He is to stand by at the reserve staging area designated by the Flag and await further orders. If all goes well, I should be able to give him at least one additional destroyer and a couple of frigates.”
“Aye, sir, I’ll tell him.”
“Admiral,” Ensign Fletcher called from her Communications console, “TFS Koori just checked in. They have completed their post-climb system checks and are reporting a ‘mission effective’ status.”
“Best news I’ve heard all morning. Thank you, Ensign. Tell them to move out to their designated position in the line and stand by for action.”
SCS Gunov
(1125 UTC - 7.3x106 km from Earth)
“Disengaging hyperdrive in 3 … 2 … 1 … mark,” the Wek officer at the Helm workstation reported as the display screen returned to a view of the local starfield. “Commodore, we have returned to normal space. Location confirmed, 7.3 million kilometers from Terra, all systems nominal.”
“We are receiving data from all nine of our ships, sir, including the Zhelov and Serapion,” the tactical officer reported.
“Excellent,” Sarafi replied with a satisfied smile. “Let us take a look at the Humans’ homeworld, please.”
“It is right … there,” Commander Freyda replied, highlighting the small, vaguely bluish white dot inside a flashing red square. From the Gunov’s arrival point, all of Earth features, even her vast oceans, blended smoothly into a single blur of light set against the inky blackness of space. The planet’s moon, barely visible at all just off to the left, appeared as little more than a white pinprick of light. “I am afraid it is not much to look at from here.”
“Magnify,” Sarafi ordered.
With a quick command at Freyda’s workstation, both the planet and her moon seemed to leap from the screen in vivid shades of light reflected from blue oceans, white clouds, and the greenish-brown land masses of the western hemisphere. From the Gunov’s position, both bodies appeared in a gibbous phase, with just over three-fourths of their disks illuminated by their distant star. To the right of the terminator inside the planet’s shadow, the yellowish-white lights of Human civilization were clearly visible.
“The pictures I have seen did not do it justice,” Freyda commented. “It is breathtakingly beautiful.”
“Multiple contacts,” the tactical officer reported. “As expected, there are quite a few of them, sir.”
“No need to call them all out, Lieutenant, just post the situation display on the starboard side of the screen please.”
“Aye, sir,” he replied as an overhead schematic of the battlespace appeared on the screen. “A couple of items to note, however … the closest warships are a group of four that the AI is classifying as heavy cruisers. They are spread along a line directly between our current position and the planet.”
“What? At what range?” Sarafi asked, incredulous.
“Just over five hundred thousand kilometers. We are most likely within range of their weapons already.”
“That is simply not possible,” he scoffed.
“It is if they had some means of tracking us in hyperspace,” Freyda stated flatly.
“I also have two small groups of destroyers just like the ones we encountered at the secondary rally point. They are standing off to either side of the cruisers.”
“Most likely the exact same ships, Lieutenant. Anything else?”
“Ten smaller vessels classified as frigates. Nothing else in range at the moment, sir.”
“Any sign of the Pelaran spacecraft?”
“No, sir, not yet.”
“Well,” Sarafi began, standing and raising his voice to address the entire bridge crew. “It looks as if they were expecting us … but as impressive as that may seem at first glance, it is of little consequence. We will make short work of the Human forces, accomplish our mission, and return home victorious. I am confident that each of you —”
“Attention all Wek vessels. Stand by for an Emergency Defense Message duly authorized by the Royal Dynastic Houses of Graca,” the Gunov’s AI interrupted in an urgent, commanding tone. In the center of the bridge display screen, a large window opened and immediately displayed a circle formed by a series of six different coats of arms. In the center of these, a larger family crest was adorned by a banner bearing text in an ancient Wek tongue with which no member of the bridge crew was familiar. At the bottom, however, was a smaller banner with a single word that every crewmember recognized immediately: “Naftur.”
“Comm!” Sarafi roared. “What is the meaning of this inane drivel?”
“Please forgive the intrusion, Commodore,” the comm officer replied apologetically. “It is from an external data stream that appears to have overridden all of our standard security protocols. Shall I attempt to terminate the feed?”
“Yes, of course! And if the other ships are receiving this as well, jam the signal immediately.”
“Sir, I do not think we will be able to terminate the stream,” Freyda said in a low voice.
“What? Nonsense, Commander, of course we will. Why would you think that?” Sarafi asked, clearly agitated at the unexpected turn of events.
“The introduction said that it was an EDM. I have heard rumors of such things since I first began my studies at university — hidden
, so-called ‘back door’ code included in all Wek-designed AIs — but I honestly thought that it was all nothing more than idle talk … tech folklore, if you will.”
“Commander Freyda, I should not have to tell you that now is not the time to try my patience. Your point, please?”
“Yes, sir. As you know, during the period when Graca was considering membership in the Sajeth Collective, a great many Wek opposed it, fearing that we were giving up our independence and cultural identity in order to ally with other worlds — a few of which were even former enemies. In an effort to assert some degree of sovereignty, the dynastic houses originally insisted upon the ability to remotely control all Wek-constructed vessels in the event of an emergency.”
“Surely you are not implying that the Humans are going to somehow take control of our ships.”
“No, sir. In fact, the original proposal was overwhelmingly voted down for a number of obvious reasons. The legend persisted, however, that the royal houses still managed to force some concessions that allowed for certain ‘privileged’ access to all Wek-manufactured ships in case a time ever came when they were being used in a manner they deemed … unacceptable. One of these was supposedly the capability for a representative from one of the original seven dynastic houses to publicly address the crews of the ships. If that is indeed what this is, it is hard-coded into our systems, so we are unlikely to be able to shut it down.”
“Eton Ulto!” Sarafi swore under his breath as the potential implications of such an intrusion rushed through his mind. “So you are saying that whatever this is could be appearing at other locations aboard the Gunov as well as the other ships in our task force?”
“I am speculating, sir, but yes — potentially aboard every Wek ship within range of the signal — most likely on every screen where it can be displayed without posing an immediate danger to the safe operation of the ship.”
Before there was sufficient time to further investigate the source of the transmission, the EDM introductory screen was replaced by the face of a commanding Wek male. It was a face that practically every crewmember aboard all of the Resistance task force’s vessels recognized immediately, but very few had ever expected to see again.
“Brothers and sisters,” he began with a steely resolve evident in his voice, “I am Rugali Naftur, former First Admiral of the Sajeth Collective Fleet and Crown Prince of the Dynastic House of Naftur. Time is short, so I will come straight to the point. I just introduced myself as a former admiral because I have very recently come to realize that I can no longer in good conscience serve both Graca and the Sajeth Collective. The very existence of this so-called ‘Resistance’ movement — based entirely on lies and the disgraceful exploitation of the Wek people — has been a major factor in helping me arrive at this decision.
“You have been told that the Humans have allied themselves with the Pelaran Alliance. While it is true that they have been solicited for membership, they have not yet made the decision to join. And now that I have had the opportunity to meet the Human people, learn some of their history, and even fight alongside them, I sincerely doubt that they will become an enemy of the Wek people, even if they do ultimately make such a decision. And yet, you have been brought here with the intent of bringing about their utter destruction. You have been told that the Terrans represent such a grave, existential threat to the Sajeth Collective that all actions are justifiable … including the genocide of a species that has done absolutely nothing to warrant such an unspeakable fate. To stoke the fires of your fear and hatred, you were told that the Humans killed me and all of the brave men and women who accompanied me to the Sol system several months ago. My friends, I stand here before you now as proof of this deception … a deception that the cowards driving the Resistance movement were so anxious to maintain that they sent two of our own warships to intercept and destroy the Gresav once they learned that I had survived the Pelaran Guardian’s attack.
“Many thousands have already perished on both sides in this wholly unnecessary conflict with the Humans. But I tell you now that it is still not too late to end the bloodshed … end it now before our world is forever darkened by a shame so heinous that we shall never again regain our honor. Just as I have done, I call on each and every one of you to renew your commitment to our homeworld. Take back your vessels in the name of the Dynastic Houses of Naftur and follow me home. If you will do so, I commit to you now that it is my intention to restore home rule to Graca. I am sure you understand that this course of action poses its own perils and risks, but I am now wholly convinced that this is the right choice for our people.
“I implore you to act without delay, for there is little time remaining to put a stop to this madness. The Resistance task force has backed the Humans into a corner, forcing them to fight for the very survival of their homeworld. They will fight, my friends, … with every bit as much tenacity and perhaps even a bit more cunning and guile than we would if faced with the same situation. Their technology is also far more advanced than you have been led to believe. And while I do not mean to imply that we should fear them, we would be foolish indeed to underestimate either their resolve or their military capabilities.
“I have included coordinates for a rendezvous point with this transmission. As quickly as possible, each of you must turn your ship away from Terra and her military forces. To avoid drawing fire, simply rotate about your vertical axis and transition out of the area immediately. I will be in contact as quickly as possible to provide further instructions once the situation here is resolved.”
Naftur paused, his face taking on the confident, bold expression of a military commander well-accustomed to having his orders followed without hesitation. “Now, my friends, the time has come for you to act. Do what I have asked of you here today … and then, tomorrow — together — we shall return Graca to the Wek people.”
There was utter silence on the Gunov’s bridge as Naftur’s face was replaced once again with an image displaying the emblems of the seven houses of Graca. Sarafi’s eyes remained focused on the display screen for several seconds, sensing the stares he was receiving from both his XO as well as every other officer on the bridge. Although he had handpicked his flagship’s crew for the most part, the same was certainly not true of the other vessels that made up what remained of his task force. In each case, their commanding officers had given him the impression that they were reliable converts to the Resistance cause, but what of their crews? Many of them, he knew, had simply acquiesced to their officially unsanctioned mission … perhaps believing themselves insulated from any resulting consequences because they were following their superiors’ orders. What, then, if anything, should he say regarding Naftur’s comments?
After what seemed like a long pause, Sarafi looked Commander Freyda directly in the eyes, then slowly, methodically shifted his gaze to each crewmember present before looking back up at the situation display. The internal conflict and questions of duty to the Collective he had struggled with over the past several months no longer troubled his mind. In its place, there was only rage. Rage for Naftur’s interference — at the prospect of a return to an archaic, backward form of government on his homeworld — and at the very real possibility of his own colossal failure.
“We will commence our attack,” he growled defiantly.
TFS Navajo, Earth-Sun Lagrange Point 2
(1130 UTC - Combat Information Center - 1.5x106 km from Earth)
“Still nothing from the Cossack?” Admiral Patterson asked in a loud, irritated voice without turning to address anyone in particular.
“Not a word for over an hour now, sir,” Ensign Fletcher replied from her Communications console. “Based on what they were saying when they last checked in, we should be seeing them anytime.”
“We should have been seeing them before their last call,” he replied angrily. “Signal Captain Budarin at Yamantau Mountain that we urgently need that ship — with or without shields at this point.”
“Aye, sir.”
/> “We’ve got movement, Admiral,” the young tactical officer announced loudly from the holographic display in the center of the CIC.
“I see them, Commander, thank you,” Patterson replied, still staring intently at a bank of view screens nearby. “I need to know exactly what each of them is doing before we start issuing attack orders.” A distant part of his mind made the observation that, under the circumstances, his own voice sounded composed to an almost absurd degree — not at all in keeping with the surge of adrenaline-induced emotions he was dealing with at the moment. At least the waiting is over and we can finally get this behind us, he thought, trying and failing to provide himself with a quick, inspirational thought.
“I’m showing three of the Rusalovs and the Keturah-class cruiser in a slow rotation to port — I think they may be withdrawing, sir!”
“Maybe so, but let’s not start counting our proverbial chickens just yet. Even if that is what they’re doing, that still leaves us with five battleships and a destroyer to contend with. Just in case, however, change our status to ‘weapons tight’ until further notice. Designate the four ships that seem to be responding to Naftur’s instruction as neutrals, for now, but if they’re not obviously heading out of the area within the next few minutes, I want them designated as hostiles once again. Clear?”
“Yes, sir. Done. I’ll keep an eye on them for any changes.”
“Very well. Any response from the Guardian spacecraft?”
“None whatsoever, sir.”
“Alright, let me know if that thing so much as flinches. Initially, this is shaping up to look a lot like a classic naval artillery battle, and we don’t need any ships in the general vicinity of the engagement zone that we don’t intend to destroy.”
“Sir, all of the remaining Resistance ships appear to have engaged their sublight engines and are accelerating. Since the Cossack isn’t here, should the Navajo join the line?”
“We may have to, depending on how this first attack goes, but right now we’re the only backstop between our line of battle and our carriers … not to mention Earth itself. Do we have a clear field of fire for our four cruisers’ main batteries?”