TFS Navajo: The Terran Fleet Command Saga – Book 3 (25 page)

“To my knowledge, there is simply no higher honor that could be conferred upon a civilization,” the Guardian said proudly.

“Of that, I have little doubt. So, then, is it logical that, having invested so much time and effort in preparing Humanity to take its rightful place in the Alliance, you would now abandon us in the face of possible destruction at the hands of the Resistance?”

“From your perspective, probably not, but I am simply not at liberty to provide specifics regarding what actions, if any, I might take in the event you are attacked. What I will tell you, however, is that you have been provided everything you need to defend yourselves from this particular threat with no further assistance from me.”

“If you will forgive the observation,” Patterson said, “it almost sounds as if you are implying that you see this as some sort of test.”

“Oh, come now, my dear Admiral, surely there are few challenges in life to which that term does not apply. ‘Tests’ come in many forms, and on scales that range from the individual to the civilization and beyond. As the old saying goes, it’s a ‘much of a muchness.’”

“Could we, then, impose on you to remain clear of the combat zone once our ships engage enemy forces?” Patterson pressed, undeterred by the Guardian’s typically evasive comments. “We would also appreciate having a commitment that you will refrain from attacking any vessels we designate as friendly or neutral. We will, of course, be happy to share a tactical data link with you so that you will have this information in real-time.”

“I’m glad you mentioned sharing data, Admiral Patterson,” the Guardian replied, ignoring his question. “I am transmitting a data stream as we speak that your AI will be able to display for you. Consider it an advance on the technological bounty your world will receive once you make the decision to join the Alliance.”

“Alright,” Patterson replied suspiciously. “And what sort of data are you sharing?”

“It’s nothing particularly exciting, I’m afraid. In fact, I believe your scientists are already working on something similar based on the technology used in your long-range NRD network comm beacons. I think you will find, however, that it will be of great utility in the coming days.”

Patterson looked in the direction of Ensign Fletcher, who had become accustomed to his habits when working in the
Navajo’s
Combat Information Center, particularly those where data communications were concerned. After initially setting up the vidcon with the Guardian, she had been closely monitoring the call, anticipating the next glance from the CNO indicating that he expected something to be handled immediately — preferably with no further explanation on his part.

Initially, his constant presence in the CIC and his rather exacting demeanor had been nerve-racking for the young officer to say the least, but now that she had a better idea of what to expect, she took tremendous pride in staying one step ahead of the “old man.” Perhaps even more importantly, the more time she spent in the company of Admiral Patterson, the more she respected and admired him — he was truly the kind of officer whose personal example inspired those around him to offer nothing less than their best.

“I have the Guardian’s transmission, Admiral,” Fletcher replied immediately. “It’s formatted just like our standard Fleet data exchange streams.”

“I recommend displaying it on your holographic table,” the Guardian commented offhandedly. “You’ll need to set the scale for three light years or so.”

Patterson nodded his agreement to Ensign Fletcher, then turned back in the direction of the holo table just in time to see the display reformat itself per the Guardian’s recommendation. Sol itself was now depicted as a yellowish-white pinpoint of light on one side of the table. On such a large scale, the entire solar system out to the far edge of the Oort cloud now reached only halfway across the display, with no other astronomical features of any significance beyond. After a momentary delay (almost certainly for dramatic effect, Patterson assumed), eight red diamond icons appeared within the dark area beyond the system’s outer boundary, each one bearing the two-letter code indicating the type of enemy vessel it represented: one destroyer (DG), one cruiser (CG), and six battleships (BB). As usual, the
Navajo’s
AI provided some additional information in small text blocks adjacent to each contact, including their current speed as well an estimated time to reach a point within weapons range of the Earth.

“Are you able to see this as well, Admiral Sexton?” Patterson asked.

“I’m sure it doesn’t have quite the impact as it does on the holo table,” Sexton replied, “but yes, I see it. I assume that these are the remaining Resistance ships from Location Crossbow. Is this some sort of an estimate, or an actual, real-time display of their positions?”

“Really, Admiral Sexton, do you think I would bother offering you an
estimate
?” Griffin asked, seemingly offended by the implication. “Of course it’s a real-time display. And, as a continued example of our good faith, I will continue providing you with access to this information until the Resistance ships are no longer a threat. Note that this data feed will only display ships currently in hyperspace. Ironically, it was the Sajeth Collective’s repeated forays in and around the Sol System that allowed me to develop this tracking technique.”

“Wait, you’re telling us that you somehow
invented
this yourself?” Patterson asked, incredulous.

“My, you two are full of implied barbs today, aren’t you? Is it such a surprise that I would be capable of such a thing?”

“Oh, please. If we’re going to work together effectively, you’ve got to develop a little thicker skin than that. Hell yes, it’s a surprise,” he laughed. “That’s a monumental scientific achievement, and it’s a surprise that anyone would be capable of such a thing, particularly on your own.”

“Ah, well, the truth is that I did have some help … in a manner of speaking. There has been a significant amount of research done on this topic within the Alliance. Their basic technique was sound, but they had difficulty overcoming some problems with signal processing and ultimately abandoned the effort.”

“And, what … you just happened to have plenty of time on your hands to work through the problem yourself?”

“As I said, your scientists were already working on something similar by applying existing hyperspace communications technology.”

“You stole their work, didn’t you?” Patterson asked with triumphant smile.

“I did nothing of the sort. I merely monitored some of their ongoing tests. But I will admit to gaining valuable insight based on some of the emissions I detected. Besides, it can hardly be called ‘stealing’ since their work is based on technology I provided in the first place,” he scoffed, dismissing the accusation with a wave of his hand. “As I mentioned, Sajeth Collective ships have been making incursions in and around the Sol system for months. Some of the data I gathered while attempting to monitor their vessels proved invaluable in perfecting the technique I’m sharing with you today. Bear in mind that it is a relatively short-range system — accurate out to only ten light years or so. Tracking ships in hyperspace over larger distances requires a much more sophisticated approach. Unfortunately, information regarding that particular topic is restricted to members of the Pelaran Alliance with appropriate security clearances. I’m sure you two, of all people, can appreciate that.”

“We certainly do, and we thank you for access to this information,” Patterson said. “I’m sure it will be of tremendous help in placing our ships to defend the planet. Returning now to my original question … will you provide us with some assurance that you will remain clear of active combat and refrain from attacking friendly vessels?”

The Guardian paused for a moment, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Those do sound like reasonable requests, Admiral, and I understand your concerns, so how about this … I will endeavor to remain clear of active combat inasmuch as doing so will not prevent me from accomplishing elements of my own mission. I take full responsibility for my own safety if I do enter a live fire zone, and will hold your forces blameless for any damage I might suffer as a result of doing so. This includes fire from all TFC sources as well as any vessels you choose to designate as friendly. And, yes, I will make every effort to avoid destroying any of these quote, unquote ‘friendly’ ships you mention, although before all of this is over, I doubt you will ever again make the mistake of placing any Sajeth Collective vessels into that category. Is that an acceptable compromise position, sir?”

“Short of a commitment to actively participate in our defense of the planet, yes, I suppose it is. Thank you,” Patterson replied.

“Very good,” the Guardian chuckled, shaking his head in mock admonishment. “I mean this is a compliment, of course, but it’s stunning to me how similar you Humans are to the Makers — the Pelarans, that is. You both seem to have an abiding love of all things legalistic.”

“I’m not sure I can agree with you there,” Sexton replied. “Perhaps we both just have a certain level of, shall we say,
discomfort
, with ambiguous situations. Spelling things out in such precise terms provides us with at least the illusion that events will unfold in a predictable manner.”

“What you’re describing is an attempt to impose order on a naturally chaotic universe that has no regard whatsoever for your comfort. So, yes, ‘illusion’ is precisely the word I would use,” the Guardian smiled. “On a related subject, I truly hope that the situation you find yourselves in today provides the two of you with some additional perspective regarding the existential dangers faced by your world. As I have said many times, Earth need not stand alone against these threats.”

“Our opinions matter very little in the grand scheme of things,” Sexton replied. “And if we do have as much in common with the Pelarans as you say, it surprises me that you would expect our species to be comfortable with forfeiting so much of our sovereignty, particularly just as we begin taking our first steps away from home.”

“Ah, there’s that word ‘comfort’ again. Gentlemen, please ask yourselves how many worthwhile endeavors from Earth’s history — be they scientific discoveries, great voyages of exploration, or the formation of grand alliances to conquer the forces of tyranny and oppression — were accomplished from a position of
comfort
?” the Guardian asked, smiling triumphantly as if he had just provided incontrovertible proof in support of his argument. “As to your good opinions, I believe that if the two of you voiced your public support of Earth’s entrance into the Alliance, it would have a profound impact on a great many of your people.”

“I’m sure you can appreciate that most of Earth’s nations have a long tradition of civilian control over military forces. That implies that, as officers, we are not at liberty to voice our personal opinions on political matters. Don’t get me wrong, there are a great many who have done exactly that, but it was and still is highly inappropriate for us to do so. Our role is to act as servants … instruments, if you will, of public policy, rather than its creators.”

“Besides,” Patterson added, “all of this is academic anyway if we don’t manage to survive what happens over the next few days.”

“Take heart, Admiral,” the Guardian said facetiously. “All of the simulations I have put together thus far indicate that you have a reasonable chance of prevailing in the coming battle. But make no mistake … this is only the beginning.”

Chapter 17

TFS Theseus, Location Dagger

(3.3 light years from Earth)

“Transition complete, Captain. Range to our
Sherpa
, one zero kilometers. Adjusting course and speed for recovery,” Ensign Fisher reported from the Helm console. “We’ll have them aboard in approximately five eight seconds.”

“The faster the better, Ensign,” Prescott replied. “At your first opportunity, plot a C-Jump to Location Willow.”

“Aye, sir, already entered.”

At the Science and Engineering console, Lieutenant Lee had been closely monitoring every aspect of Marine 11’s departure from the
Keturah
. Having worked feverishly to ensure that the shuttle was in the optimal position to evacuate the Marines and their cargo of Wek survivors, he now found himself with nothing remaining to do but simply watch and wait as
Theseus
maneuvered to place herself between his brother’s team and the distant enemy battleships.

My brother’s team,
he scolded himself.
There are ten other lives at risk aboard that shuttle, but when it comes down to it, my brother’s life is really the only one I’m worried about.

In a desperate attempt to pass the remaining seconds as quickly as possible, Lee allowed his mind to reflect momentarily on the nature of Human compassion — on the assertion that all Human life is endowed with fundamental value … equality … importance. He wasn’t entirely sure that he had ever taken the time to consider the topic in quite this manner before. Now, however, with his brother facing imminent danger, it struck him as strange how most of us seem to agree to such lofty notions from an intellectual standpoint, even though they in no way reflect what is truly in our hearts. Once our emotions are taken into account, it simply isn’t possible to assign the same level of importance to
all
Human lives as we do to those with which we have a personal connection. Was this a hypocrisy, or evidence that such complex concepts are not so easily distilled down to the bite-sized statements often seen in governmental documents and corporate vision statements?

In his peripheral vision, Lee noticed a flashing icon indicating that an urgent, text-only message had been routed to his console. It was uncommon for “private” messages of any sort to be delivered to Fleet personnel during their duty hours. But for those rare instances requiring that urgent information reach specific crewmembers, the comm system onboard retained the capability to route messages directly to their intended recipients in real-time. Desperate to pass the remaining seconds until
Theseus
could depart the area with Rescue 11’s shuttle safely secured within the confines of her hangar bay, Lee tapped the message icon. In an open section of his console’s screen, a window opened to display the following message:

To: Lee, Jayston (Lieutenant, Junior Grade, TFC)

From: Lee, Jackson (First Lieutenant (Marines), TFC)

Subject: Just in Case

Theseus just transitioned in to pick us up, but even though I know you’re just a few seconds away from bringing our shuttle aboard, I just got the strangest feeling that this might be my last chance to talk to you. I think I understand now what Nanna meant when she talked about someone “pointing the bones” at her. Anyway, I obviously don’t have much time and don’t know what to say anyway, but if something happens, please tell Mum and Dad that I never had to hurt anyone in my job, and I was doing my best to save lives on my last mission rather than take them. That should please them. Make sure they understand that we both love what we do and wouldn’t change a thing if we had it all to do over again.

Love all three of you heaps and I’ll see you in the Dreamtime,

Jackson

The message was so unlike anything he had ever heard Jackson say that it caused an involuntary chill to run down the length of his spine. Squirming uncomfortably in his seat as he fought to overcome the empty, sick feeling that had materialized in the pit of his stomach, Jayston realized with inexplicable certainty that he would never see his twin brother again.

***

It had taken the
Zhelov
and
Serapion
a few moments to alter their relative positions slightly in order to ensure that as many of their starboard beam emitters as possible would bear on their third and final target. Their captains had been given explicit orders from Commodore Sarafi that they were to ensure the complete destruction of all three of the disabled Resistance ships — and to such an extent that there would be little chance of any useful materiel or technology being recovered by the Terrans. Accordingly, several minutes’ worth of uninterrupted energy weapons fire from the two enormous battleships had reduced both the
Baldev
and the
Babayev
to a pair of rapidly expanding debris fields. Now it was the
Keturah’s
turn.

With the methodical attacks being handled almost exclusively by the two warships’ AIs, their bridge crews simply monitored the rate of progress while making the necessary preparations for their imminent departure for Terra. As the commodore had instructed, neither vessel had engaged the Human warship that had boldly (albeit foolishly) chosen to attack their formation shortly after they had opened fire on the
Baldev
and the
Babayev
. Both captains did notice, however, that once the Human warship had broken off its attack, it had transitioned to a location just beyond the
Keturah
. Unsure of the reasons behind this suspicious behavior, both battleships had commenced a high-resolution scan of the area around the damaged BD cruiser. Within seconds, their scans revealed the presence of a small, previously undetected spacecraft that appeared to be preparing for a rendezvous with the Human warship. Additional analysis by
Serapion’s
AI also revealed an open external access hatch, amidships on the
Keturah’s
port side.

Both the letter and the spirit of Commodore Sarafi’s orders were intended to prevent the Humans from acquiring valuable intelligence and technology that could be used against the Sajeth Collective. Based on the evidence now in hand, both AIs calculated a high probability that the crew of the small Terran spacecraft had indeed been aboard the
Keturah
— most likely engaged in precisely the type of operation they had been ordered to prevent. With cold objectivity, the AIs immediately recommended to their respective crews that the small spacecraft be destroyed before it had the opportunity to reach the larger Human warship.

Since Sajeth Collective vessels had never before encountered a
Sherpa
ASV, the small ship’s capabilities — hyperdrive, weapons, shielding, etc. — were entirely unknown to them. Accordingly, to ensure the small spacecraft’s complete and immediate destruction, and with limited time remaining before it reached the Human destroyer, a total of forty-seven beam emitters targeted the small ship and fired simultaneously. At the same instant, the larger attack on the
Keturah
itself got underway, as both battleships opened up with all of their remaining energy weapons that had a direct line of sight to the stricken cruiser.

With no shielding whatsoever and only the minimal hull thickness required for all commercial spacecraft, the
Sherpa
had little hope of escape as the first wave of energy bolts slammed into its aft port quarter. Occurring far too quickly to be seen with the naked eye, the shuttle had first been enveloped in what appeared to be a single stream of coursing, orange-colored energy. Microseconds later, the ship’s hull at the center of each beam’s point of impact reached four thousand kelvins — seventy percent of the average temperature at Sol’s surface — before flash boiling then briefly vaporizing into a cloud of metallic gas.

Once stripped of the scant protection offered by the ship’s thin hull, the internal components and living occupants inside succumbed instantaneously to the massive quantities of energy still streaming in from the two distant battleships. Even the tough armor of the Marines’ EVA suits delayed their demise by only a few additional milliseconds. In the end, none of the shuttle’s passengers even had time to realize that they were under attack as, only a fraction of second after the
Zhelov
and
Serapion
had opened fire, the
Sherpa
simply ceased to exist.

In concert with one another, the AIs aboard each Resistance battleship assessed a better than fifty percent chance that significant intelligence information had already been transmitted from the Human shuttle back to its accompanying warship. After a brief discussion on the merits of pressing their attack, however, both captains determined that their orders would best be accomplished by completing the destruction of the
Keturah
, then departing the area immediately to join the remainder of their fleet for the attack on Terra.

This decision made, both ships resumed their grim work in earnest, completely ignoring the Human warship nearby. The dark, silent vacuum of space was once again pierced by thousands of energy weapons flashes punctuated by secondary explosions as the two massive battleships continued the process of grinding the once-proud BD cruiser to pieces.

***

Silence also permeated
Theseus’
bridge as the crew struggled to come to grips with what had just transpired. They had been tantalizingly close to recovering Rescue 11 — so close in fact that some of the enemy battleships’ final energy weapons bolts intended for the shuttle had been deflected by the destroyer’s shields. As officers in positions requiring them to place others in harm’s way are wont to do, Prescott had begun the process of reexamining the series of decisions and events that had led them to this point well before the
Sherpa
had been destroyed. There had been less than twenty seconds remaining before the shuttle and its Marines would have reached the relative safety of
Theseus’
hangar bay, and it was all too easy to assume that some decision more quickly communicated, some action more efficiently executed, might have made the difference. In spite of this, Prescott felt strangely at peace. As far as he could tell, every decision had been the right one — given the information they had at the time. Every action had been crisply and professionally executed. It simply had not been enough in this case. Now, with only
Theseus
and the two enemy battleships remaining near Location Dagger, there was nothing left for them to do but depart for their rendezvous with the
Hadeon
.

“Helm, execute your C-Jump to Location Willow,” Prescott ordered quietly.

“Aye, sir,” Fisher responded in the same hushed, mechanical tone.

Prescott made eye contact with his XO, nodding first in the direction of Lieutenant Lee then towards the aft entrance to the bridge. Reynolds nodded her understanding, then stood and walked the short distance to the Science and Engineering console, placing her hand softly on the young Lieutenant’s shoulder. Lee jumped involuntarily at her touch, clearly not even sensing her approach.

“C-Jumping in 3 … 2 … 1 …” Ensign Fisher announced in the background.

“Come on, Jayston,” Reynolds said, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly as his replacement from the standby crew emerged from the lounge nearby.

Lee drew in a deep breath to steady himself, then stood and turned in the direction of the exit, Commander Reynolds’ left hand resting on his lower back to offer comfort and support as she slowly escorted him off the bridge. As he approached the captain’s command chair, Prescott stood, nodding respectfully at the young lieutenant as he passed. In his peripheral vision, Lee noticed that all of the other officers on the bridge were standing as well. Unsure what, if anything, he should say, he stopped momentarily and turned back to offer the room a weak smile.

“Thank you,” he said, mouthing the words more than actually saying them aloud. As he turned back in the direction of the door, he stopped again and looked back at Captain Prescott. “What they were doing was important, wasn’t it, sir? I mean … it
mattered,
” he said with tears in his eyes.

“You’re damn right it did,” Prescott replied without hesitation. “And every member of their team did as well: Mario Rojas, Private; Sheila Barks, Private First Class; Vincente Vega, Private First Class; Priya Bakshi, Corporal; Elon Dyer, Corporal; Eduard Kazan, Staff Sergeant; Jackson Lee, First Lieutenant. They
all
mattered, as did the four Wek survivors they gave their lives trying to save. Your brother knew it better than any of us. He could have easily called it quits and headed back to the ship without making the effort to get them out, but he knew that would have left them almost no chance of rescue. Instead, he made the tough call that put himself and his team at risk because that’s what Marines do … that’s what
heroes
do.”

“Thank you, sir,” Lee said, nodding gratefully.

“Go and get some rest, Lieutenant. We’ll talk more later.”