The Veritian Derelict (Junkyard Dogs) (3 page)

Captain Patrick was currently
somewhere onboard the Mining Station, finishing up some paperwork, while the
Glendaloch
was connected to the station, nestled into one of the station's transfer berths, still being unloaded. O'Connell, on the bridge of the newly unloaded and reprovisioned
Donegal
, could see most of the other ships currently docked with or near the station. Docked into the transfer berth adjacent to the
Glendaloch
was a relatively new cargo ship with conspicuous NITrans markings on it, the very same ship that had replenished the
Donegal's
supplies. She was currently transferring provisions onto the
Glendaloch
.

NITrans
-- short for Nacobbus Interstellar Transport -- was one of the largest and most prosperous businesses in this area of the quadrant and ships bearing these markings handled most of the exports and imports to and from Catskill-Soroyan, New Ceylon, and many of the other planets on the fringes of Federation space.

As a man who had always been interested in
spacecraft, O'Connell couldn't help but notice a couple of unusual ship types. One was military, a battered old destroyer that bore Tunisian markings. With her fore and aft single mount pulse cannon turrets and the characteristic humpbacked bridge design, she was almost certainly an Islamic Alliance
Dagger
class destroyer. Back in the day, this class of destroyer had been produced in relatively large numbers and they had been a common sight but the forty-year old design had been obsolete for years and any of the ships that still remained in service were showing their age. This particular ship was the first one of its type that O'Connell had seen for at least five years.

The other
ship was, indeed, unusual. Unless he was mistaken, and when it came to spaceships he usually wasn't, the other ship was an old Hispano-Suiza type 72 yacht. Not only were such ships incredibly expensive, and thus pretty rare to begin with, none of them had been built in more than twenty years. He made a note to tell Niall about it when his fellow Captain got back from the station. O'Connell headed for the aft cargo hold to see how his crew was coming with the process of securing the provisions they had come to the mining station to get.

***

Piedmont Asteroid Mining Station, Catskill-Soroyan Star System, November 29, 2598.

Christopher Hartmann, Deputy Chief of Security for the Piedmont
Asteroid Mining Station, looked up at the digital clock on the wall above the door to the Security Office. He sighed, only one AM. Hartmann still had another six hours to go until this shift ended. The new Deputy Chief was a Spacer who had recently finished a stint as a Military Policeman in the United Terran Federation Marine Corps. The experience gained there had made him eminently qualified for this security position which he had taken shortly after receiving an honorable discharge just a couple of months earlier.

Hartmann was originally scheduled to be in his quarters, getting some well-earned rest. However, the Chief of Security was currently away from the station, at some kind of convention
clear across the quadrant at the Santana Nexus, and the senior security officer who was supposed to be in charge of the early morning shift had called in sick. That left Hartmann working a double shift.

Fortunately,
it seemed as though this was going to be a quiet night. Security issues on board the Station could be formidable at times. Asteroid mining facilities attracted all sorts of personnel, from career miners to those seeking only enough income to finance a trip to anywhere else. The work was difficult and dirty but the people running the mining operations didn't ask a lot of questions of their prospective employees. Lots of potential troublemakers could be found making up the ranks of the men and women doing the mining, from current and former criminals to others who had their own reasons for wishing to keep a low profile

Outside of
a fistfight that had occurred when two of the more belligerent miners, most of whom were also Spacers, had a little too much to drink, things had been pretty calm on the Station during Hartmann's first shift. The two offenders, who were actually brothers, were locked up in separate holding cells, just down the corridor from the Deputy Chief's desk. He would probably release them in the morning, after they'd had time to sober up and sleep it off.

About a fourth
of the miners presently at liberty on the station were on the last day of their monthly seven day holiday away from working in the mines, which were down inside the asteroid, and they were drying out before returning to their grueling and hazardous jobs. The first two hours of Hartmann's second shift had been mercifully quiet and he didn't expect the situation to change any over the course of the next few hours. He went back to the task of completing his report for the shift he had worked earlier in the day.

Chapter
4.

New Ceylon Orbital Station, Galaxy Hotel Luxury Suite 557, November 29, 2598.

Lieutenant Ryan Harris, United Terran Federation Navy Engineer assigned to the Navy's
Reclamation Center in the New Ceylon system woke up, as usual, at 0500 New Ceylon Zero Meridian (NCZM) time. A well-built man of medium height, he stretched elaborately and ran his fingers through his short, brown hair. He made his way somewhat groggily to the rest facilities in the opulent, upscale suite he was currently staying in at the Galaxy Hotel. His were some of the finest accommodations available on board the New Ceylon Orbital Station and he silently thanked the stars that the Federation Navy was picking up the tab, not him!

He
selected a now familiar series of buttons on the room's elaborate beverage maker and dialed himself up a cup of New Ceylon Arabica, a product of the nearby planet, and one of the finest coffees known to man. During the two minutes required for the coffee to brew, he stretched a few kinks out of his neck and shoulders before slipping on one of the lush robes that the hotel provided for their wealthy and discerning guests. With the hotel's fancy monogramed porcelain mug in hand, he made his way over to the computer terminal in the equally well-appointed sitting portion of the luxurious room.

The terminal came to life
within a few seconds and the Lieutenant went immediately to his email. He scanned down the list of incoming mail and was disappointed to see nothing from Ensign Tamara Carlisle.

Again.

He and the Ensign
had agreed to correspond with one another after a shared ordeal that had started out in the Scrapyard and had finished up on the very orbital station where Harris was currently stationed. The Federation Navy allowed extremely long distance personal email communications to be sent out once a week, during the normal course of transmissions that were part of Naval operations. Interstellar communication was expensive and the large, power-hungry Stage II Whitney transceivers were only operated on a weekly schedule unless there was an emergency.

Communication
had been even spottier lately for the inhabitants of the New Ceylon system because both of the system's Stage II transcievers had been destroyed in a terrorist attack that Harris, Carlisle, Kresge and others had eventually thwarted and the entire system was currently depending on the infrequent courier ship to relay messages from the Santana Nexus. One such ship had just come through the system the day before and left a burst of messages before translating out again. The Lieutenant's disappointment was deepened by the sad fact that this was the second transmission cycle that had contained no correspondence from the Ensign.

He paused and thought for a moment.
He really didn't know what sort of communication it was that he expected from her; it wasn't as though they were lovers or anything. True, they had shared a goodnight kiss after the ceremonies celebrating the treaty with Meridian and the successful defense of both the Scrapyard and the Orbital Station, but he was probably putting too much stock into it.

He thought again about the circumstances of
his first meeting with her. The Ensign was a Spacer enrolled in a special program at the Federation Naval Academy created for the purpose of integrating more Spacer citizens into Federation Service. He could still see the exotic Spacer clan tattoo that swept up across the left cheek of her considerably attractive face.

The two of them had met because
Carlisle had come out to the Scrapyard to perform some important research for her Ph.D. dissertation. Harris had immediately found her to be very attractive physically and extremely intelligent while at the same time being profoundly awkward socially. Some of the awkwardness could be chalked up to her Spacer heritage, but not all. Her stumbling way of beginning sentences with jumbled thoughts had taken some getting used to but, ultimately, Harris had accepted it as just a part of her personality and decided he could live with it.

While he and Carlisle and
an old engineering technician, Angus Hawkins, had been out in the Scrapyard investigating some of the wrecked ships, the Scrapyard had come under attack by two armed cargo ships and the main Naval facility, which had been one of the few constructs in the Scrapyard that was kept heated and pressurized for human habitation, had been totally destroyed with the loss of all hands.

Harris, Carlisle and Hawkins
had been spared because they had been inside one of the wrecked ships that were part of the sprawling cloud of wrecks that made up the Scrapyard. They had either gone undetected or had been deemed unworthy of the waste of time and effort that would have been required to root them out. When the armed cargo ships departed, the three of them had been left stranded. The Ensign had been the catalyst that enabled the small group to survive in the critical moments during and after the attack and with her never give up attitude had also inspired them to find a way to fight back.

Harris smiled at the tho
ught. What a team the three of them had made! No doubt he hadn't heard from her in while because the Ensign was back at the Naval Academy on Old Earth and was in the final stages of finishing her Ph.D. dissertation while simultaneously preparing for the final oral examination required for completion of the degree. No, it was more than likely that she was simply too busy or the current chain of communication was just too tenuous. The thought helped, a little, but his disappointment was still sharp.

As h
e went on to scan the rest of his email, his eye was immediately drawn to a message marked "High priority." Sent only a few minutes earlier by Commander Oskar Kresge, the email directed the Lieutenant to report to the Navy's temporary briefing room, really one of the luxury Hotel's large business meeting rooms, at 0800 NCZM time for an important meeting.

Harris smiled. After several weeks of near inactivity in the aftermath of the Scrapyard attack and the recapture of the Orbital Station,
it appeared the Naval personnel were going to finally get back to work. As he checked the rest of his emails and composed several short responses before beginning preparations for the rest of the day, the lack of communication from Ensign Carlisle receded to a minor issue at the back of his mind.

Chapter
5.

One Week Earlier...

"...Defensive tactics are sometimes so straightforward that they seem over simplistic. In a battle in open space against vastly superior forces, the best course of action would almost certainly be to lay down covering fire and retreat as quickly as possible by executing at least a minimum distance microjump on a random vector. Other situations may require more innovative thinking. For instance, the execution of a microjump from within the Humboldt radius of a planetary gravity well would be almost certain suicide. Execution of a microjump while in the close vicinity of an occupied facility in open space, while considered extraordinarily bad manners, can probably be accomplished in reasonable safely, especially if the ship that is executing the jump is outfitted with a harmonic balancer module such as a Pearson's Compensator or a Dyson Graviton Damper. The harmonic balancer neutralizes the minor but not inconsequential gravity effects of nearby objects, such as other ships or even something fairly massive, such as a space station, and renders the microjump reasonably safe.

Such a maneuver was actually executed
during a combat situation in 2542 by a squadron of three destroyers under the leadership of Federation Navy Commander Eliza Evens when her group came under attack by a vastly superior force from the small but belligerent Clovian Empire while docked near the neutral port of Harmony, a multi-ringed station in open space in the Alsatian region of the Santana Quadrant. The incident took place in the early stages of what came to be known as the 'Parisian Standoff,' a conflict that might have been of much greater consequence if the small Federation destroyer squadron had been successfully attacked. Such tactics are not recommended unless extreme conditions warrant the risk and the inevitable diplomatic fallout, however..."

Hartwell Wristcomp reference note highlighted for further review by Tamara Carlisle. Excerpt is from "
Extreme Tactical Solutions: Case Histories of the Successful Use of Unconventional Tactics (With analysis)." Admiral Alvin F. Plissey, United Terran Federation Navy (ret).

UTF Naval Academy, on the North American Continent of Old Earth, November 22, 2598.

Ensign Tamara Carlisle, Ph.D. Candidate at the United Terran Federation Naval Academy, had never been more terrified in her entire life. She was sitting by herself on one side of a long, rectangular table in an enclosed room
illuminated with harsh, white lighting. Sitting across from her, on the other side of the table, were the four men and one woman who made up her Ph.D. graduate committee. All of them were at least fifteen years older than the Ensign, who was in her mid-twenties. At the moment, all of them seemed to be either frowning or glaring at her. None of them were smiling, that much was certain. The group was an hour and a half into the final oral examination of the young officer and the candidate in question was extremely unsure of how well the exam was going. She had answered several of the early questions adequately, or so she thought, but there had been others where she had not been so sure. The present question didn't seem to be going well at all.

"So, Ensign Carlisle,
" said Admiral Stuart Butenhoff, the committee member who had originally posed the question, "Let's go over this again. You are about to come under attack. Your ship and your crew are in mortal danger. How are you to resolve this situation? What is your tactical solution?"

Ensign Tamara Carlisle had a bad habit of stammering. More accurately, she had a tendency, especially when she was nervous, of starting out her sentences with jumbled thoughts,
sentence fragments somewhat related to the subject matter she was thinking about, before getting her thought processes aligned and speaking normally afterwards. While she had been working on the speech problem, taking a short pause and concentrating before speaking seemed to help, she still had difficulties when she was nervous or under pressure. Since she could never remember ever being as nervous as she was at this moment, it was no surprise that she reverted to her usual speech habits.

"
...Proximity jump...low gravity compensation...I..." With her mind racing to find a solution to the seemingly impossible dilemma, in desperation she grasped at a decidedly unconventional tactic. "I...think I would attempt an Evens Maneuver, Sir," she ventured.

"An Evens Maneuver? What
in all four Quadrants is that?" responded Butenhoff, a scowl on his face.

"Yes, Ensign, whatever are you talking about?"
asked Commander Merilee Fendt, who had so far seemed a little more sympathetic to the young officer's current state of stress than the others on the committee.

"
...Parisian Standoff...unexpected response...It was...Captain Eliza Evens of the Federation destroyer force at Harmony station in the Alsatian Region of the Santana Quadrant. She was able to avoid a firefight between her group of three destroyers and a much superior Clovian force, which included two heavy cruisers and six destroyers, by using the maneuver. Rather than fight them or surrender, she had all three of her ships execute a microjump while in the docking area of the station."

"What
kind of nonsense is that?" responded Butenhoff, his scowl intensifying.

"Hold on a minute, Stuart," said Commander
Fendt. "Harmony Station is freestanding, not in orbit around a planet. That tactic might actually work!"

The
grizzled old veteran looked doubtful as he thought through the Ensign's unconventional response. Finally he nodded his head in tentative agreement. "Alright, I'll concede that it might work," he said, grudgingly, the scowl still knotting up his face, "but don't be thinking that such tactics are sound Naval doctrine, Ensign!"

"
Duly noted...very good, Sir," replied the Ensign, relieved to have survived the question. She took a deep breath. The exam and the associated stress had been going on long enough that Carlisle found herself starting to get tired. On many occasions in the past, when she had gotten tired she had also gotten irritable. In fact, her temper had gotten her into trouble on more occasions than she cared to remember. During this short break, while the committee got organized for the next portion of the exam, she forced herself to mentally step back from the proceedings and suddenly realized that much of the exam had been designed to see just how well she would perform under stress. These wily veterans had been playing her like a musical instrument! She felt a touch of anger at the thought. At that moment the brilliant young tactician realized that she had absolutely nothing to lose. She would employ a Spacer tactic that had worked very well for her on many occasions in the past.

She
was going to take the offensive.

"Now, about the Destroyer actions in the Succession War, the actual topic of your Ph.D. dissertation
," Butenhoff continued, seemingly determined to keep the Ensign off balance. "Your new information turns the official story completely around. It makes Admiral Jansson look like a complete idiot. Need I remind you that Admiral Jansson is a Federation hero? What makes you so sure that this F.C. Talbot person was telling the truth?"

With the focus of the questioning having finally shifted to her dissertation,
Carlisle was now in her element and, in spite of the stress she was under, felt a sort of calm settle over her as her nearly perfect memory went over pertinent details. She also allowed her anger to begin flaring while at the same time making a conscious effort to keep it rigidly controlled. The technique seemed to be working, even her stammer was gone for the moment.

"I
was onboard the
Terrier
just a few weeks ago, Sir, the same ship that Captain Evens was commanding during the destroyer action in the final battle of the Succession War and I have studied the actual battle video from the
Terrier's
log and heard the descriptions of the battle in the Captain's own words."

"But the allegation that any of those destroyers could have sustained a direct hit from the main battery projectors of an opposition battlecruiser is absurd!"
replied Butenhoff, his disdain for the entire concept apparent in his tone of voice and his expression.

"
With all due respect, Sir," she replied, "My companions on the
Terrier
and I coated the hull of that old ship with Federation silicon nanite reaction fluid, just as Captain Evens reported in the log, and that material allowed the
Terrier
to withstand a bolt from a 5000 gigajoule pulse beam projector and for the two men on her to survive." The newly intense look in her remarkable sea green eyes combined with the black-ink Spacer tattoo that swept up over her left cheek gave her a menacing look. "I personally witnessed the impact of that bolt. The
Terrier
is still intact as we speak and both of the men on board survived without any injuries. Begging your pardon, Sir, but I wouldn't call that absurd!"

Her sudden shift to the offensive seemed to have caught the old man off guard.
"But what of Jansson?" he asked

"
I do not declare him to be hero or fraud, Sir. As a military historian, I see it as my duty to study history as objectively as possible and to report my findings. Jansson was only human, just like the rest of us. He waited until the last moment before he finally did his duty and committed his ships to an attack on the Opposition battlecruisers but the real heroes of the battle were Commander Tobias Arthur and his destroyer squadron. Their gallant sacrifice gave Jansson the opportunity he needed to engage and ultimately defeat the enemy force. Besides with Jansson and Arthur and almost all of those involved having passed away years ago, isn't it about time that the real truth of the entire matter was brought to light?"

The old Admiral still looked doubtful but ceased to press the question further.
The questioning then went around the table from one committee member to the next for another half hour or so but the crisis portion of the exam seemed to have been reached and passed. In fact, after Carlisle had 'bared her teeth' so to speak, it seemed to her that some milestone had been reached and the members of the committee had begun to back off and treat her with a little more respect.

Finally the committee had no further questions for the
exhausted, increasingly irritable and visibly wilting candidate and excused her from the room. Out in the corridor, Carlisle went to the drinking fountain and to the restroom while waiting the twenty minutes usually required for private discussion by the committee before she would be called back into the examination room.

Merilee Fendt came out to fetch her back.
As Carlisle resumed her seat on the lonely side of the table, Commander Fendt was also the first to speak.

"Congratulations, Ensign, or should I say 'Doctor
' Carlisle? You've passed!"

"A very
unusual solution to the Boswell paradox, Ensign," said Admiral Butenhoff, grudgingly. "Where did you come across it?"

I found it w
hile I was researching the Succession War destroyer action for my dissertation, Sir. I came across a reference to the
Terrier's
former Captain and had to follow up on it."

"
Very innovative, Ensign" he said, his craggy features finally breaking into what might be called a smile. "We've never seen that solution before."

"Thank you, Sir."

"I believe we're done here," said Commander Fendt.

As she shook hands with each of the committee members, Carlisle
felt an almost overwhelming sense of relief settle over her. Suddenly she herself realized just how tired she was. She barely heard the comments from the rest of the committee before they filed out and left her alone with Admiral Loftgren, the head of the Academy, who had been observing the entire proceedings from the darkened observation gallery in the otherwise empty room.

"Congratulations, Dr
. Carlisle," said Loftgren, shaking her hand. "Well done! Especially that bit about the Evens maneuver. That was priceless!"

"Thank you, Sir," she replied numbly.
Loftgren glanced at his watch.

"
I have about five minutes to get to my next appointment," he continued, "but you must come and see me this afternoon at 1400 hours. We need to talk about your future."

Carlisle numbly nodded her head at the Admiral's back as he turned and left her alone in the room. "As you wish, Sir," she mumbled.