Posted by: Desdinova
« on: January 15, 2018, 01:11:44 AM »September 2078
Captain Brent Valadez stepped out of the lift and into the lobby. He was a North American of medium build and height, and a dark complexion. At 53, he might have been a little greyer and carrying a bit of a paunch, but his face still shined with a boyish, friendly exuberance that put people at ease, and he had a plain-spoken, pragmatic demeanor that cut through bullsmeg like a shovel. Talking to him, it would be easy to forget that he was a symbol and hero of the Federation, commander of the Aquarius, first faster-than-light jump ship. Right now, his name was being printed in school books right next to Armstrong and Gagarin. Valadez didn't like to think about that. He was returning from giving a farewell speech to the first wave of colonists headed out towards the Luyten 205-128 system; at four jumps from Earth, it would be mankind’s newest and most distant colony. He was unsettled to find himself reaching the point in his career where he spent more time talking about the past than working towards the future.
Fleet HQ was a sprawling glass ziggurat; this was one of the highest and smallest floors, home to the upper echelons of the United Systems Military. It was about lunchtime; a few clumps of uniformed personnel were chatting amongst themselves or ambling in the direction of the cafeteria. All the Federation personnel working this high would be Admirals or on an Admiral’s staff. A few unfamiliar uniforms stood out to him, liaison officers from the Federation’s constituent states; an olive green-suited British colonel, a Terra Novan Major in starched and pressed Alpha Centauri Defense Force fatigues, a lieutenant in the crimson dress uniform of the Martian Guard. This many soldiers here betrayed that a major joint operation had to be in the planning stages.
Valadez walked to the edge of the lobby, gazing out into the grounds beyond, where the desert was blooming. The complex looked something like a recreation of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. He couldn’t see it, but he knew that beyond the outer wall was nothing but hundreds of miles of sand and naked rock. The site had been selected fifty years ago; nuclear drives left a radioactive plume trailing behind them on liftoff, all the way to orbit. Most launches were done from the ocean, but for anything that required shore facilities, the middle of the Sahara was a logical choice. No one lived here, or for hundreds of miles downwind. After the ground launches ceased, it was a natural place to test the terraforming technologies that had turned almost a dozen worlds into new Earths. Now it was the world’s largest walled garden, as well as the center of military power in the known galaxy.
He was alerted by the sound of footsteps; he turned to greet Admiral Marlow and her coterie.
“Hello, Brent.” Marlow’s tone was warm and friendly. They’d known each other for more than two decades, now.
“Afternoon, Admiral.” She was still the boss, and commander of the United Systems Navy.
“How was the send-off?”
“Pretty good, Admiral, I put everything I had into this one. Nothing like hearing an old man talk for two hours to make you want to flee the solar system.”
The Admiral gave a little laugh. “Well, when they arrive on...” Marlow stumbled and laughed at herself. "Help me out."
“Cicer. It’s latin for Chickpea. If you’ve seen the planet, that’s kinda what it looks like. You read the classics? Cicero, that’s how his family made its fortune. Sellin' beans.”
“That’s how he made a name for himself, huh?”
The Admiral’s aide glanced at a timepiece, clearing her throat and politely interrupting. The Admiral waved her hand towards the hallway. “Well, speaking of old people rambling on for hours… shall we?”
They entered the conference room and took their seats. Most of Fleet Command’s staff officers were present, as were representatives from other branches of the government and military. The Federation president’s Chief of Staff was running the show remotely, his upper body blown up to gigantic proportion, occupying the screen that made up an entire wall. Valadez thought he looked like a Bond villain. Valadez had already forgotten his name, but he knew he had pull, and anything he was going to say had come through the president or the Federation Council.
The first item on the agenda: first contact had been made a year ago with a new alien race, the Belasco Kingdom. They had been discovered in the SFT 1321 system, and appeared to be roughly on-par with humanity in technological progress. Their system was three jumps out from Lalande 21185, making it one of the most distant systems yet explored. The Belasco were so far eager to open peaceful trade relations with the Federation; as the freshly-minted head of Naval Intelligence, Valadez was here to help lay out the plan of action in case those intentions changed. But that part of the meeting was over quickly.
The real reason for the meeting was 70 Ophiuchi. Last year, Federation Marines had seized a precursor base on a nameless moon of one of 70 Ophiuchi-A’s gas giants; afterwards the system had been cleared for colonization. There was now a small but thriving human colony on 70 Ophiuchi-B I, or Prospero as it was named now. There were five more planets in-system slated for colonization and terraforming.
But 70 Ophiuchi linked Federation space to systems claimed by the Domain kingdom, by way of the Gliese 526 jump point. Unlike the Belasco, the Domain had never assented to trade negotiations, and didn’t maintain an embassy. Communications from the Domain tended to be terse and bellicose, usually warning to stay out of their space. The last thing the Federation wanted was to pick a fight with a technologically-superior alien race, and so the Gliese 526 jump point had been restricted to all ships, and had remained dormant. Until now.
“Here’s what we know. On 9 September, seven Domain ships were detected transiting the Gliese 526 jump point by the precursor array.” Valadez began. “The array on Prospero picked up a return shortly afterward. The observed speed is about two-thirds that of known Domain military craft, and the ship’s thermal signatures would correspond to a ship about 25,000 tons in mass. So we think these are freighters of some kind. Contact was lost here, indicating their course was taking them near the inner planets.”
“What are they up to, Captain Valadez?” It was the giant bureaucrat on the wall.
“We have to assume they’re building something. They could be colony ships, but the inner planets are pretty hostile to all known forms of life in their current state. They’d be shipping in infrastructure first. Terraformers, maybe. It’s also possible that they’re constructing a base, so they can project power farther out into the system. Or into Federation space.”
“What’s our disposition?”
“Task Force 15 is on station.” Admiral Marlow was speaking now. Valadez fought back the urge to grimace. Task Force 15 was the eight Dunkirk-class Missile Cruisers, designed a quarter of a century ago. With their slow nuclear engines, they'd be unable to catch an attacking enemy force, and unable to retreat. They’d be escorted by Sirius-class patrol ships that were even older, predating the Federation by twenty years. There hadn’t been enough time to build up ordnance; most of them would be packing older generation missiles. Might as well be unarmed.
“Task Force 14 is getting underway in a week to relieve them. That’s Portland, Coventry, Yokohama, Rio de Janeiro, and every fleet oiler, replenishment ship, and escort we can spare. San Diego, Cherbourg, Belfast and Auckland are mid-overhaul. We want them defending Sol. Maintenance facilities in Prospero orbit are still under construction, but within two years, we'll be able to keep a task force there on a permanent basis.”
“So, Admiral, what course of action do you suggest?”
Admiral Marlow folded her hands in front of her and frowned.
“We have two options. We leave 70 Ophiuchi to the Domain, and hope that they stop there.” Her voice had a hint of irony to it. “Or we stay. Defend the colony. We fight, if we have to.”
The Federation President’s representative cleared his throat.
“Up until now, it’s been the government’s policy not to challenge the Domain Kingdom’s territorial claims. This is different. There are two hundred thousand men and women on Prospero. If we abandon them, every human colony will see it as a sign that Earth can’t - or won’t - protect its colonies. It’ll be the end of the Federation. The president, the council, and I all share this view. We aren’t abandoning Prospero. Now, we’re making overtures, see if we can share the system. But the we need to know, what happens if the Domain try to take it?”
“I think we lose. From what we know, their drive and sensor technology is several generations ahead of ours. We can’t beat them in open space.”
Valadez coughed.
“Do you have something to add, Captain?”
“There’s a third option, we’re not considering. The Gliese jump point. Every ship has to pass through there. We can sweep the system while we have the element of surprise, and then hold that point with everything we’ve got.”
“You’re talking about a first strike.”
“We might pull it off. We’ve worked out a way to adapt the cache of missiles we recovered from the precursor base to fit our launchers. We have enough to equip most of our newest ships. That’ll put us on more or less equal footing, but just for the first exchange, and only if we get to pick the range. After that, we just need to hold the point.”
“The Federation will not strike first. I shouldn't have to tell you that this government was founded on the principles of nonaggression and peaceful coexistence. You’re not the first person to suggest this, and the president has made it clear to me that he will not entertain the possibility of a first strike on an alien race, no matter how opaque their intentions.”
Valadez sat back in his chair, a slightly deflated. Marlow tried to come to his rescue.
“So if we’re not going to fight, and we’re not going to leave, what does that leave us?”
“We’ve got all of our best and brightest working on this issue.” Valadez could see right through his confident, authoritative front, to the uneasiness everyone else in the room was feeling. “We’re optimistic that we still have time to find a diplomatic solution. In the mean time, the council feels that we should withdraw the fleet to the other side of the Barnard’s Star jump point.”
“You just said we wouldn’t abandon...”
“We’re not abandoning the colony. This is how we save it. We can stay close enough to respond if they attack the colony, but we’re not provoking any hostile action.” He was speaking slowly, and Valadez could feel his gaze burning a hole right through him. “We let them know we strive for peace.”
Valadez couldn’t resist the urge to glance at Marlow. She was sitting as tight and as motionless as a statue, then let out a barely audible sigh.
“Brent, hold up.”
“Admiral?”
“You’ve put in a good two weeks here, but after giving it some thought, I’ve decided that your services here will no longer be required.”
“You’re firing me?” Valadez tried to keep his face blank, but the shock must have registered. “Is this...”
“Transferring you.” The Admiral smiled, genuinely. “I’m the one who decides these things, remember? I know how much you miss space, and I knew you’d be too proud to ever ask me. I don’t need you here pushing papers. Admiral Yefimov is taking the Orion, which leaves Portland without a CO. The slot’s yours, if you want it.”
“Admiral, I...”
“If this kicks off, we need our best people up there. You’re underway in four days. Give ‘em hell.”
Captain Brent Valadez stepped out of the lift and into the lobby. He was a North American of medium build and height, and a dark complexion. At 53, he might have been a little greyer and carrying a bit of a paunch, but his face still shined with a boyish, friendly exuberance that put people at ease, and he had a plain-spoken, pragmatic demeanor that cut through bullsmeg like a shovel. Talking to him, it would be easy to forget that he was a symbol and hero of the Federation, commander of the Aquarius, first faster-than-light jump ship. Right now, his name was being printed in school books right next to Armstrong and Gagarin. Valadez didn't like to think about that. He was returning from giving a farewell speech to the first wave of colonists headed out towards the Luyten 205-128 system; at four jumps from Earth, it would be mankind’s newest and most distant colony. He was unsettled to find himself reaching the point in his career where he spent more time talking about the past than working towards the future.
Fleet HQ was a sprawling glass ziggurat; this was one of the highest and smallest floors, home to the upper echelons of the United Systems Military. It was about lunchtime; a few clumps of uniformed personnel were chatting amongst themselves or ambling in the direction of the cafeteria. All the Federation personnel working this high would be Admirals or on an Admiral’s staff. A few unfamiliar uniforms stood out to him, liaison officers from the Federation’s constituent states; an olive green-suited British colonel, a Terra Novan Major in starched and pressed Alpha Centauri Defense Force fatigues, a lieutenant in the crimson dress uniform of the Martian Guard. This many soldiers here betrayed that a major joint operation had to be in the planning stages.
Valadez walked to the edge of the lobby, gazing out into the grounds beyond, where the desert was blooming. The complex looked something like a recreation of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. He couldn’t see it, but he knew that beyond the outer wall was nothing but hundreds of miles of sand and naked rock. The site had been selected fifty years ago; nuclear drives left a radioactive plume trailing behind them on liftoff, all the way to orbit. Most launches were done from the ocean, but for anything that required shore facilities, the middle of the Sahara was a logical choice. No one lived here, or for hundreds of miles downwind. After the ground launches ceased, it was a natural place to test the terraforming technologies that had turned almost a dozen worlds into new Earths. Now it was the world’s largest walled garden, as well as the center of military power in the known galaxy.
He was alerted by the sound of footsteps; he turned to greet Admiral Marlow and her coterie.
“Hello, Brent.” Marlow’s tone was warm and friendly. They’d known each other for more than two decades, now.
“Afternoon, Admiral.” She was still the boss, and commander of the United Systems Navy.
“How was the send-off?”
“Pretty good, Admiral, I put everything I had into this one. Nothing like hearing an old man talk for two hours to make you want to flee the solar system.”
The Admiral gave a little laugh. “Well, when they arrive on...” Marlow stumbled and laughed at herself. "Help me out."
“Cicer. It’s latin for Chickpea. If you’ve seen the planet, that’s kinda what it looks like. You read the classics? Cicero, that’s how his family made its fortune. Sellin' beans.”
“That’s how he made a name for himself, huh?”
The Admiral’s aide glanced at a timepiece, clearing her throat and politely interrupting. The Admiral waved her hand towards the hallway. “Well, speaking of old people rambling on for hours… shall we?”
They entered the conference room and took their seats. Most of Fleet Command’s staff officers were present, as were representatives from other branches of the government and military. The Federation president’s Chief of Staff was running the show remotely, his upper body blown up to gigantic proportion, occupying the screen that made up an entire wall. Valadez thought he looked like a Bond villain. Valadez had already forgotten his name, but he knew he had pull, and anything he was going to say had come through the president or the Federation Council.
The first item on the agenda: first contact had been made a year ago with a new alien race, the Belasco Kingdom. They had been discovered in the SFT 1321 system, and appeared to be roughly on-par with humanity in technological progress. Their system was three jumps out from Lalande 21185, making it one of the most distant systems yet explored. The Belasco were so far eager to open peaceful trade relations with the Federation; as the freshly-minted head of Naval Intelligence, Valadez was here to help lay out the plan of action in case those intentions changed. But that part of the meeting was over quickly.
The real reason for the meeting was 70 Ophiuchi. Last year, Federation Marines had seized a precursor base on a nameless moon of one of 70 Ophiuchi-A’s gas giants; afterwards the system had been cleared for colonization. There was now a small but thriving human colony on 70 Ophiuchi-B I, or Prospero as it was named now. There were five more planets in-system slated for colonization and terraforming.
But 70 Ophiuchi linked Federation space to systems claimed by the Domain kingdom, by way of the Gliese 526 jump point. Unlike the Belasco, the Domain had never assented to trade negotiations, and didn’t maintain an embassy. Communications from the Domain tended to be terse and bellicose, usually warning to stay out of their space. The last thing the Federation wanted was to pick a fight with a technologically-superior alien race, and so the Gliese 526 jump point had been restricted to all ships, and had remained dormant. Until now.
“Here’s what we know. On 9 September, seven Domain ships were detected transiting the Gliese 526 jump point by the precursor array.” Valadez began. “The array on Prospero picked up a return shortly afterward. The observed speed is about two-thirds that of known Domain military craft, and the ship’s thermal signatures would correspond to a ship about 25,000 tons in mass. So we think these are freighters of some kind. Contact was lost here, indicating their course was taking them near the inner planets.”
“What are they up to, Captain Valadez?” It was the giant bureaucrat on the wall.
“We have to assume they’re building something. They could be colony ships, but the inner planets are pretty hostile to all known forms of life in their current state. They’d be shipping in infrastructure first. Terraformers, maybe. It’s also possible that they’re constructing a base, so they can project power farther out into the system. Or into Federation space.”
“What’s our disposition?”
“Task Force 15 is on station.” Admiral Marlow was speaking now. Valadez fought back the urge to grimace. Task Force 15 was the eight Dunkirk-class Missile Cruisers, designed a quarter of a century ago. With their slow nuclear engines, they'd be unable to catch an attacking enemy force, and unable to retreat. They’d be escorted by Sirius-class patrol ships that were even older, predating the Federation by twenty years. There hadn’t been enough time to build up ordnance; most of them would be packing older generation missiles. Might as well be unarmed.
“Task Force 14 is getting underway in a week to relieve them. That’s Portland, Coventry, Yokohama, Rio de Janeiro, and every fleet oiler, replenishment ship, and escort we can spare. San Diego, Cherbourg, Belfast and Auckland are mid-overhaul. We want them defending Sol. Maintenance facilities in Prospero orbit are still under construction, but within two years, we'll be able to keep a task force there on a permanent basis.”
“So, Admiral, what course of action do you suggest?”
Admiral Marlow folded her hands in front of her and frowned.
“We have two options. We leave 70 Ophiuchi to the Domain, and hope that they stop there.” Her voice had a hint of irony to it. “Or we stay. Defend the colony. We fight, if we have to.”
The Federation President’s representative cleared his throat.
“Up until now, it’s been the government’s policy not to challenge the Domain Kingdom’s territorial claims. This is different. There are two hundred thousand men and women on Prospero. If we abandon them, every human colony will see it as a sign that Earth can’t - or won’t - protect its colonies. It’ll be the end of the Federation. The president, the council, and I all share this view. We aren’t abandoning Prospero. Now, we’re making overtures, see if we can share the system. But the we need to know, what happens if the Domain try to take it?”
“I think we lose. From what we know, their drive and sensor technology is several generations ahead of ours. We can’t beat them in open space.”
Valadez coughed.
“Do you have something to add, Captain?”
“There’s a third option, we’re not considering. The Gliese jump point. Every ship has to pass through there. We can sweep the system while we have the element of surprise, and then hold that point with everything we’ve got.”
“You’re talking about a first strike.”
“We might pull it off. We’ve worked out a way to adapt the cache of missiles we recovered from the precursor base to fit our launchers. We have enough to equip most of our newest ships. That’ll put us on more or less equal footing, but just for the first exchange, and only if we get to pick the range. After that, we just need to hold the point.”
“The Federation will not strike first. I shouldn't have to tell you that this government was founded on the principles of nonaggression and peaceful coexistence. You’re not the first person to suggest this, and the president has made it clear to me that he will not entertain the possibility of a first strike on an alien race, no matter how opaque their intentions.”
Valadez sat back in his chair, a slightly deflated. Marlow tried to come to his rescue.
“So if we’re not going to fight, and we’re not going to leave, what does that leave us?”
“We’ve got all of our best and brightest working on this issue.” Valadez could see right through his confident, authoritative front, to the uneasiness everyone else in the room was feeling. “We’re optimistic that we still have time to find a diplomatic solution. In the mean time, the council feels that we should withdraw the fleet to the other side of the Barnard’s Star jump point.”
“You just said we wouldn’t abandon...”
“We’re not abandoning the colony. This is how we save it. We can stay close enough to respond if they attack the colony, but we’re not provoking any hostile action.” He was speaking slowly, and Valadez could feel his gaze burning a hole right through him. “We let them know we strive for peace.”
Valadez couldn’t resist the urge to glance at Marlow. She was sitting as tight and as motionless as a statue, then let out a barely audible sigh.
“Brent, hold up.”
“Admiral?”
“You’ve put in a good two weeks here, but after giving it some thought, I’ve decided that your services here will no longer be required.”
“You’re firing me?” Valadez tried to keep his face blank, but the shock must have registered. “Is this...”
“Transferring you.” The Admiral smiled, genuinely. “I’m the one who decides these things, remember? I know how much you miss space, and I knew you’d be too proud to ever ask me. I don’t need you here pushing papers. Admiral Yefimov is taking the Orion, which leaves Portland without a CO. The slot’s yours, if you want it.”
“Admiral, I...”
“If this kicks off, we need our best people up there. You’re underway in four days. Give ‘em hell.”