The bridge settled down at her command. “Okay, let’s bear down on their cruisers. This’ll be a tough fight, ladies and gentlemen. Com: instruct the Agamemnon Group to threaten the carrier. That should keep their remaining torch ships off our backs. Tac:—”
“Ma’am,” Tac interrupted her, “the carrier appears to be breaking off. Yeah … the cruisers are redeploying now, too. Most of their torch ships are being recalled.”
The Wasatti frigates jumped out of the system as Erin watched. Almost all of their fighters were now swooping back into their hangars, and the massive Wasatti carrier glowed with the telltale light of pre-jump. It folded in on itself and disappeared into hyperspace, leaving the eight defending cruisers behind.
“Missile range in three minutes, Commodore,” Tac informed her. “Missiles are ready at your command.”
“I don’t think it’ll matter, now, Tac,” Erin replied.
True to her word, as she viewed her screens and came within firing range of the opposing warships, she saw the eight cruiser symbols wink out as they, too, entered K-T-space and jumped away from the vengeful humans. That fast, the star system was theirs again, and the remaining human ships found themselves holding the battleground.
Erin found herself relaxing for the first time this morning. “Are there any surviving Wasatti out there?” She asked. “I’d sure like to grab some intelligence from any of their systems.”
“No, Ma’am. There were three disabled torch ships near the carrier that didn’t land, but they just self-destructed. Their engines must have been damaged and couldn’t make it back to the carrier in time.”
Erin sighed. “Okay,” she replied wearily. “Send out some scouts. Search the debris fields and see if there’s anything we can scavenge. Have ’em search for any stray electronic signatures. Who knows, maybe we’ll get lucky this time. I’d sure like to be the one who finds the hole they crawl out of.”
“You and me, both,” Platner commented.
“By the way, good job everyone. Com: please send my regards to all the captains. And ask the Sydney and Callisto if they need assistance.”
Erin stretched her back and looked toward Hal. They said nothing, but their looks told all. Both officers were proud of the job the other had done. “Close one, huh?” Erin asked.
Platner nodded. He looked weary. “Your ancestors would be proud. Permission to head to the forward instrument room, Commodore?”
“Yeah, go ahead. See what they did down there to your ship. Find out how the SAR went, too. Let me know.”
“Will do. Good job, Erin.”
Erin took the compliment well, but knew there was no need to tell Hal how well he had done. Hal had been an officer for over thirty adjusted years, flying in and out of hyperspace—God knew how much time he accumulated in normal space—and if the flag was not on this ship, the Argonaut would be under his command. It must be rough for him having me in charge, Erin thought. It’s his ship, and it’ll be his again when I head off to my next fleet command assignment. A temporary intrusion, I am. Like the night wind passing through the forest. But they all did very well.
“Hey, Captain,” Erin yelled to Hal’s retreating back before he could make good his escape, “when exactly were you born, anyway?”
The bridge crew looked up in unison. Hal glanced over his retreating shoulder. “Been a few years. Long before you … before your planet-locked grandfather too, I suspect.” He smiled and waited for the lift to arrive, shifting mischievously from one foot to the other.
The door slid open and Chief Steward Shelby appeared at the lift with snacks for the crew. Hal paused before entering and stole a handful of food before disappearing from the bridge, and before another question could be asked.
Shelby approached the command chair and Erin grabbed a sandwich and coffee bulb, biting hungrily into the bread. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was. “Thanks, Chief.”
He nodded and headed off to another section with his tray of supplies.
Erin savored her small meal and licked every crumb from her fingers. She sipped the hot coffee and basked in its richness. Not much better in life than good Navy coffee, she thought.
“Com,” Erin instructed, “have a courier prepped for an immediate mission to the VCB. Make it a direct-line flight; we don’t have time to waste. Tell them General Sar ap Kel himself may have been in our sector. Copy off the full battle logs and deliver them to Captain Campbell. Warn him there may be further incursions and to take all necessary precautions. Suggest to Captain Campbell that the schedule may need to be accelerated. And make sure Captain Platner is informed about the courier too. Ask him if he wishes to add any messages.” Erin thought for a moment before continuing. “Amend that, Com. Tell the courier pilot I’m going to send off a personal packet too. Say to them I’ll have it forwarded within five minutes.
“I’ll be in my quarters. Tac, you have the bridge.”
“Aye, Ma’am.” The tac officer stepped away from his station and folded into the chair to Erin’s side. Erin saw Tac-2, in turn, shuffle into the main tac post. “I have the bridge, Commodore,” Tac announced.
Erin thought she detected sympathy in his voice.
Erin nodded. She realized that not only was she hungry, but was also exhausted.
Oh great, now I’ve got to move, Erin realized. One foot painfully made its way away from her chair as her body learned to move again. Erin felt like a robot; worse, actually—robots had articulated legs. She stopped and turned back, grabbing her precious bulb of coffee from her armrest.
Somehow, she found herself in her quarters just off the bridge. She hadn’t even remembered walking to it. She looked around in confusion, alone with her thoughts. It was actually Hal’s cabin, but he had graciously turned it over to her while she was on board. It was nice, but it never really felt like home. She made a quick trip to the head and then sat down at her desk, glancing first at her bunk. In a few minutes, she promised herself. But first things first ….
Erin keyed in the encryption codes, looked into the camera, and began recording her personal note to Stephen. He would be the highest-ranking military officer at the Vega Construction Base by the time her message arrived.
“Stephen, it’s Erin,” she began. “By now you should have reviewed the logs. It was a tough one, but we got through it. Still not sure why they withdrew so quickly ... I think they would have won, eventually ….” Erin thought for a beat. “Well, maybe ….
“That’s not like them. And if Kel was in command of that armada, it definitely was not like him. Something’s up. Probing our resolve, maybe. I don’t know if they suspect Ice House is here, or not. I’m going to instruct the settlement and the research facility here to go to black-out conditions for a few months. Just in case the bugs come back. Looks like we’ll need to extend our patrol zones around here for longer than we thought, too. Academy will be pleased about that.
“I lost two ships today, Stephen.” She choked up for a moment before regaining her composure. “A cruiser and a frigate …. The Pelion was one of them.” She did not need to tell Stephen any more about that, thinking again about their close friend, Thomas.
“Fourteen hundred people …. I wish there was someone here I could talk to. We gotta find a way to shut the bugs down. That mission of yours is becoming more and more important by the day. It’s got to succeed, Stephen, no matter what. The Ten Colonies are at stake. But I guess you know that already.
“I love you. It’s been—what, for you—two years since you last saw me?” Erin chuckled. “… and five years awake for me … you’d better not forget that.” She paused the recording.
The year had been 2341 when they were last together as a family. That was at Jackson’s Landing twelve years ago—in the reckonings of normal space. After Erin’s husband and son left her behind, she remained there for nearly five additional years before travelling directly to distant Ice House in the unconscious stasis of K-T-space. For her, the departure seemed like it was a lon
g five years ago. Stephen, however, stopped off on Mars and had been there for two years so far, with one more scheduled to go. Eventually, when Steven and their son would travel on to Vega, this message would find them there. The result of all those maneuverings around normal space was that Erin had gained three years on him … and he had better appreciate that, she reflected.
Erin suddenly laughed, rubbing her face in thought. She tried to piece together their pasts and futures. He and Peter are scheduled to stay on Mars for a year more and then fly out to Vega. Erin consulted a time-distance chart of the Colonies. By the time he receives this message, they’ll have been there for … three years. And once I’m able to get back to them at the VCB, Stephen and I will be back in physiologic sync. Ah, yes, there is a God.
Erin focused back on her screen, turning the recording function back on. “How’s Peter doing? I bet he’s getting big. Tell him I miss him. Tell him I love him very much, and I think of him every day. Give him a kiss for me, would you?” Erin felt cheated. Her son … who would be fourteen years old when they received this message … had actually been born in 2317, thirty–six years ago. She, Stephen, and their son were able to spend the first six years of his life together, but then Erin only caught a couple year-long glimpses of Peter every few decades.
Man, Erin realized, when I get there, I’ll only have been with Peter for eight years of his fourteen woken-year life! And for Peter, it works the other way around, too. It simply was not fair.
“Well, I’ll try to send you a better message soon as I can. Just thought I’d sneak a quick note on this courier before it left. Take care, love, and I’ll see you soon.” Erin blew the camera a kiss before turning it off. She put the message into the queue and sent it off to the hangar deck.
She stood up, unsnapped the top of her tunic, and fell onto her bunk, not even noticing her boots were still on.
* * *
As Erin fell into a fitful slumber, her fleet mopped up the detritus of the battle they just won, searching for survivors and any clues about the Wasatti. As expected, each unit performed well, and all but three missing sailors were found alive. Nothing other than organics, metals, and fried-out electronic components, however, were recovered from the enemy battle residue.
Debris would remain in orbit here for decades to come, and as a result, several alarm satellites were posted around the periphery to warn any human or Hive ships of the uncharted hazards. For now, though, a swarm of small craft wove in and out of the new hazards, dutifully carrying out their orders and flitting from one location to another. Anxious flight controllers followed their progress and helped keep them safe. A new chapter in the Human-Wasatti War was written here in this system, and the human side finally had the honor of recording the results in the history books. Lives were lost, but it was still a moment to be proud of.
Within the orchestrated confusion of the after-battle action, a small courier ship left the Argonaut’s hangar and maneuvered out for an optimal trajectory to the Vega star system 39.2 light-years away. The courier’s destination was the most secret location in Human Space. It was a location so critical to the survival of the human and Hive species that few records of it existed. The courier carried the complete logs of the Argonaut Patrol Fleet and a special personal note from a fleet commodore to a husband and her son.
* * *
As the Argonaut’s courier blinked out to enter K-T-space, a stealth Wasatti intel-patrol boat eased its way from behind a large, frozen asteroid in the Sigma Bootis star system. It followed closely in the wake of the departing courier, sending an electronic tag to the Wasatti fleet waiting patiently just outside the frigid star system.
CHAPTER 3
Vega Construction Base – Omicron Vector Approach – 0945, January 29, 2365 (Present Day)
“Incoming message packet …. It’s from an Argonaut courier, Captain. Origin is from the Omega Point.”
What in the world is that boat doing here? A fleet messenger was not expected for several weeks, and it was an old Navy axiom that unscheduled messengers seldom brought good news. This made Stephen plenty nervous. From Erin, he thought. Okay, so what could she possibly want?
Stephen Campbell ran his fingers through his sandy-blond hair, doing what he could to look nonplused. Finding no other excuse to delay receiving what he expected would be bad news, Stephen asked, “Has the message made it through the encryption protocols, yet?”
The com officer across the narrow isle from him studied his screens for a beat. “Uh, encrypt deconstruct in a minute or two, sir. Stand by.”
Ten officers were on the bridge with Stephen, all studiously attending their duties. Each was wearing the sky-blue, one-piece flight suit common to the Colonial Academy. Loose cords and connector pins, displaying their gaudy yellow and black warning stripes, hung from each suit, ready to be inserted into the FTL prep systems at a moment’s notice. Stephen was at the center of the bridge, occupying the largest chair in the room, where numerous interactive screens surrounded him—many projected in mid air like the walls of an electronic cage. While he waited for the message to reconstruct, Stephen assembled the base’s construction status reports and the mail packets from the previous three weeks. He made sure the outgoing messages were fully encrypted and set them into the queue. “You still have tight-beam on the courier, right?”
“Aye, Sir,” Com replied. “We’re locked on. Looks like a good pilot out there.”
“Okay, good. Send this off as we wait for deconstruction.” Stephen released his logs to the com station.
The lieutenant across the isle threw some switches and passed his fingers through the ephemeral interactive screens at his station. “Message packet away, Sir … Incoming E.D. complete. You should have readable logs now.”
Stephen sighed silently. “Thank you, Mr. Gao. Do you have full-stream packet verification?”
“Affirmative—message receipt at one hundred percent.”
“Very good. Give me fifteen minutes to review the logs and then release the courier. Wish the pilot well, and extend our thanks. I’ll take the messages in my cabin.”
Stephen pushed out of the command chair and glanced to his left. He passed through a projected map of the sector without noticing. It shimmered for a second in his wake. “Nav, you have the conn.”
* * *
“Stephen; it’s Erin. By now you should have reviewed the logs. It was a tough one but we got through it. Still not sure why they withdrew so quickly … I think they would have won eventually ….” She paused for a beat, “Well, maybe ….”
Stephen could not believe what he was seeing. He held his breath during the entire message.
“…Well, I’ll try to send you a better message soon as I can. Just thought I’d sneak a quick note on this courier before it left. Take care, love, and I’ll see you soon. Give Peter my love.”
Stephen sped through the fleet logs before opening any personal mail. And as usual, the fleet’s tour was largely mundane, except for the last day. Twenty-five Wasatti warships ….
A silent prayer passed through Stephen’s lips before he opened his eyes, realizing how it should have ended. She’s a tough one, that girl.
Stephen rechecked the date stamp on Erin’s logs and realized the courier had taken 11.7 years of normal space-time to arrive on a daring direct-line flight, although it was only two months for the courier pilot. For Stephen, it had been three adjusted years awake, with time following him around his erratic wanderings in and out of K-T-space. That battle, although in real time was nearly twelve years old, had been fought while he was still at Mars. A universe with two ways of reckoning time—normal space and adjusted K-T-space—made his head spin.
Stephen reached out to the glowing hologram suspended above his cabin desk, still displaying Erin’s frozen image. She looked exhausted, and decades older than the last time he saw her. He tried to calculate the relative time displacements since they were last together, but lost track of all the jumps. It was enough to make a man
crazy. Marry a girl your own age, and if you were not careful you end up with a woman the age of your grandmother. For a space couple spending time away from each other they were luckier than most. Both spent time fooling the aging process in K-T-space, and if they were truly lucky, their relative times away from normal space would cancel out. If she stayed young, Stephen hoped he would stay just as young, or old, or whatever. It was all a balancing act subject to some detached admirals’ schedule.
Stephen directed his personal messages to Archive and then composed a briefing for Governor Essen. He reviewed it once, and then a second time, editing out some of his negativity before sending it on to the base. Essen had no idea how strong the Wasatti were, and he simply would not listen to the briefings over the first few weeks Stephen had been in charge of the base military force. I need to be sure he has all the facts to act on, but I still need him to listen to my advice.
Stephen rubbed his forehead in frustration. Speaking of negativity …. “Com, connect me with Lieutenant Wilkins, please.”
“Aye, Sir. One moment.”
Ruben Wilkins was Stephen’s first officer on the Sirius’ Revenge. Ruben was a young officer. He was rather plain-looking and was blessed with an abrasive personality that would wear thin the patience of a saint.
Ruben was on assignment away from the ship, currently overseeing progress at the VCB construction yards. To Ruben, nothing was ever perfect. He always questioned results. He always wondered if just a little more could be squeezed from the tap. In other words, he was just the right person to keep the construction workers at top efficiency. And efficiency was what the human race needed now.
Stephen watched Ruben’s head appear over his desk. He looked annoyed, most likely because he just had his work interrupted. “How’s it going, Ruben?” The Com Dif between them was a paltry half-second, at just over 93,000 miles.
“Horrible, Skipper. These systems are taking much longer than we planned. I think it’s just too complex. This stuff is new technology built on top of unheard-of technology. I question whether anyone really knows what the dickens we’re building over here.”