Ep.#8 - Celestia: CV-02 Page 6

“They could’ve sent an FTL runner to look for us,” Cameron said, “or an FTL recon ship.”

  “A runner, maybe, but all the FTL recon ships were probably too busy keeping an eye on the Jung in the Alpha Centauri system,” Nathan said as he stared at the now empty star field on the main view screen. He knew that every star he saw out there was light years away and that the light he was seeing was tens, hundreds, maybe millions of years old. Yet it had never occurred to him that the light from the antimatter explosion that instantly sent them a thousand light years across the galaxy had not yet reached the Earth’s observatories. They had not yet seen it happen.

  Nathan took a deep breath and sighed. “Even if they did send someone out to check on us, they would’ve seen the same thing we just did. If we hadn’t lived through it, I would have assumed we were destroyed by that antimatter explosion.”

  “Especially after not being heard from for four months,” Jessica added.

  Nathan took a deep breath. “Well, we’ve seen all we needed to see from this position. Mister Riley, plot a jump to the recon point.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Mister Riley answered.

  “How are the scans going, Mister Navashee?” Nathan asked.

  “Almost finished, sir.”

  “Jump plotted and locked,” Mister Riley reported.

  “Tactical, take us to general quarters.”

  “General quarters, aye,” Jessica answered.

  As Cameron quickly left the bridge for the Combat Information Center, the lights on the bridge dimmed, and the trim lights all around the overheads and the deck turned red. As the prerecorded call to general quarters played throughout the ship, Nathan could envision his crew as they quickly and methodically assumed their proper stations. His executive officer had trained them well and had drilled them repeatedly during their journey back to Earth. At the time, Nathan had thought the constant drills served little purpose other than to keep the crew busy. Now, he was happy to have been wrong.

  He listened to Naralena’s two communications assistants taking calls from all over the ship as each department reported their state of readiness. Naralena stood, watching over them at the new comm-center in the middle of the aft end of the bridge. With as much traffic as those two technicians were handling just from within the Aurora, Nathan couldn’t imagine how Naralena had once handled it all on her own.

  No more than forty seconds later, Naralena turned to face forward. “All battle stations report manned and ready, Captain. XO is in CIC, chief of the boat is in damage control, the CAG is in flight ops, and hangar deck is ready for action.”

  “Very good,” Nathan responded. “Mister Navashee?”

  “No contacts within ten light days of the recon point, sir.”

  “Tactical?”

  “Threat board is clear. All weapons show ready for deployment,” Jessica reported.

  “Execute your jump, Mister Riley,” Nathan ordered.

  “Aye, sir,” Mister Riley answered. “Jumping in three……two……one……jumping.”

  The blue-white jump flash washed over the bridge, automatically subdued by the main view screen.

  “Jump complete,” Mister Riley reported.

  “Verifying position,” Lieutenant Yosef announced.

  “Rescan out to ten light days, all directions,” Nathan ordered.

  “Aye, sir,” Mister Navashee answered from the secondary sensor station set up at the port auxiliary console.

  “Position verified,” Lieutenant Yosef confirmed. “We are at the recon point.”

  “Course?”

  “On course for a near pass of Earth,” Mister Riley reported from the navigator’s chair. “At present speed, it would take us several years to get there.”

  “Tactical?”

  “Threat board is clear, Captain,” Jessica answered.

  “Mister Navashee?”

  “No contacts out to ten light days in all directions, sir.”

  “Very good. Tactical, set condition two. Maintain readiness and rig for stealth run.”

  “Aye, sir. Set condition two and rig for stealth.”

  “Attention all decks,” Naralena called through the ship-wide address system. “Set condition two and maintain combat readiness. Repeat, set condition two and maintain combat readiness. All decks, rig for stealth run. Repeat, all decks, rig for stealth run.”

  The red lights along the overheads and decks changed from red to orange as Naralena finished her announcement.

  “Comms, have the XO and the COB remain on station for now. Same with the CAG. We’ll stay at condition two for an hour and reassess.”

  “Aye, sir,” Naralena answered.

  “All decks report rigged for stealth, sir,” Jessica reported. “All electrical and heat-generating systems along the outer edges of the ship have been shut down. Hull temps should be down shortly.”

  “Mister Chiles, bring the ship into a topside first orientation so we’ll have a better angle for all sensor and comm arrays.”

  “Aye, sir,” Mister Chiles answered from the helm. “Pitching up and rolling over.”

  “Comms, tell the Cheng to switch to the backup heat exchangers. I’d like to keep our topside as cold as possible while it faces the Earth.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Maneuver complete,” Mister Chiles reported.

  “Very good,” Nathan answered. “All right, everyone, let’s see what happened to the Earth while we were gone.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “In his first week in office, President Scott is already under pressure, as fears of a Jung invasion of Earth continue to grow after the loss of the Earth Defense Force’s first faster-than-light ship, the Aurora, in a tragic accident over Jupiter two months ago,” the newscaster reported on the display screen at the front of the compartment. “Support of the newly elected president’s promise to establish peaceful relations with the Jung through negotiation has lost much of its support in recent days. With the loss of the Aurora, many fear that the Jung may see this as an opportune time to strike. Proponents of the EDF call for an increase in commitment from all the world’s nations, while those in opposition still insist that the construction of any starship capable of traveling to other star systems will be seen as a threat by the Jung. President Scott is on his way to the United Earth Republic headquarters in Geneva for today’s vote on the EDF’s new budget. Many of those who supported the president during his bid for office now wonder if the president’s judgment may be affected by the loss of his youngest son, Ensign Nathan Scott, who was serving aboard the Aurora at the time of her tragic loss.”

  “When are they going to stop bringing that up?” Eli said as he entered the shuttle’s forward passenger compartment.

  “They love tragedy,” President Scott said as he gazed out the window. The over-sized shuttle was nearing the top of its suborbital arc across the Atlantic on its way to Europe. From the edge of space, the nations of Earth seemed so insignificant, just as Nathan had told him during one of his few visits home in his four years at the academy.

  “One of the many things that is wrong with the world today,” Eli added in frustration as he took a seat next to his father. “I have the latest analysis of the new EDF budget proposal for you,” Eli told him as he muted the view screen. “It doesn’t look good.”

  “How so?”

  “They’re asking for more than we thought—a lot more. They insist they need to lay keel on the Aurora’s replacement as soon as the Intrepid clears the Orbital Assembly Platform.”

  “They’re not satisfied with additional funding to speed up the completion of the Celestia?” the president wondered.

  “I guess not. There’s something in there about needing more than one FTL warship in order to adequately defend the Earth while the other one is off on
diplomatic missions. I guess they figured out that you were going to send the Celestia to seek out the Jung as soon as she was ready to fly. They don’t want to give up their only fast ship.”

  “They’re just posturing for the press,” the president said as he leaned his head back against the headrest to rest for a moment. “They expect me to vote against any spending increase, so they’re padding their bid to give them more wiggle room.”

  “But that budget was supposed to be finalized weeks ago.”

  “They have the right to amend portions of it at the last minute. It’s in the charter.”

  “Well, it shouldn’t be,” Eli protested. “That’s another thing that’s wrong with the system.”

  Dayton Scott closed his eyes. It was not the first time Eli had complained about the Republic’s global system of government. “No form of government is perfect, Eli,” President Scott stated solemnly, his eyes still closed. “The more perfect you ask it to be, the less perfect it will become.”

  “That doesn’t even make sense,” Eli mumbled as he leafed through his copy of the proposed budget.

  President Scott sighed as he opened his eyes, leaned his head forward again, and began to read the highlighted changes. He had once believed that Eli would carry on his family’s political dynasty. However, early on, he had realized that his eldest son was far too idealistic for politics. Thus, he had been relegated to serving as an assistant to his father in the hope that the experience would bring him the wisdom and balance he lacked. Unfortunately, it had not been the case. If anything, Eli had grown more impatient with the realities of thirty-fifth century Earth politics.

  * * *

  “Many of those who supported the president during his bid for office now wonder if the president’s judgment may be affected by the loss of his youngest son, Ensign Nathan Scott, who was serving aboard the Aurora at the time of her tragic loss.”

  “Whose goddamn idea was it to put a president’s son on board a new, untested starship in the first place?” the admiral bellowed as he picked up the remote and muted the news broadcast. He turned to face his aide. “Anybody ever figure that one out?”

  “No, sir,” his aide apologized. “It’s time for your evening briefing, Admiral.”

  The admiral grumbled. “Very well, let’s get this over with.”

  “Yes, sir,” his assistant answered.

  Admiral Galiardi watched as his assistant left the office, disappearing through a side door that led to the offices of his senior staff. He turned his chair to face the large window behind his desk and stared at the city of Port-Gentil stretched out to the north. It was one of thousands of cities of Earth that had risen from their own crumbled ruins during the centuries that followed the great bio-digital plague. He looked eastward, toward Cape Lopez Bay, at the sprawling spaceport between the Earth Defense Force’s command center and the bay itself. It was a day like any other, with a constant stream of cargo and personnel shuttles coming and going as they ferried workers and supplies between the Earth Defense Force’s main spaceport and its only orbital spaceport, the Orbital Assembly Platform. It was a never ending procession, changing only in ebbs and flows. It had been going on for more than forty years, ever since the EDF first established the spaceport after learning of the Jung’s desire to rule all the core worlds, if not the entire galaxy.

  “Good evening, sir,” Rear Admiral Marois greeted as he led the procession of senior staff officers into the admiral’s office.

  “Evening, Lance,” the admiral greeted, “gentlemen.”

  The eight senior officers took their usual seats at the briefing table on one side of the admiral’s office. Admiral Galiardi had never been a fan of large offices. Nevertheless, his appointment as commander of the EDF had necessitated such trappings. At least it was convenient to be able to hold his daily briefings in his own office rather than in another room elsewhere in the massive EDF complex.

  The admiral waited as his officers took their seats. “Let’s make this brief. I have to leave for Geneva within the hour.”

  “The budget vote?” his chief of staff, Rear Admiral Marois, asked.

  “Yes, the budget vote,” Admiral Galiardi said.

  “Odd hour for a vote, don’t you think?”

  “I think they like to give their constituents the illusion of them working long hours,” the admiral answered. “Makes them look dedicated.”

  “Do you seriously believe they’ll cut our funding with the Jung virtually knocking at our doorstep?” another officer asked.

  “I believe they will do what they believe to be the right thing.” Admiral Galiardi turned to his chief of intelligence and changed the subject, not wanting the usual discussion of politics to derail the briefing. “Anything new from the recon ships?”

  “No, sir,” Rear Admiral Novikoff answered. “However, we still haven’t heard from all six FTL runners this morning.”

  “Which runners have yet to report in?” Admiral Galiardi wondered.

  “Three and Six, sir.”

  “Any reason I should be concerned?” Galiardi asked.

  “Six is not due to return for another two hours,” Rear Admiral Novikoff stated. “Three is currently twenty minutes overdue.” The EDF’s chief of intelligence could see the look in everyone’s eyes. “Relax, gentlemen. Such delays are not uncommon. We normally don’t become concerned until they are at least an hour past their report time.”

  “I still think we should have built more of those little buggers,” Rear Admiral Bentley complained.

  “Those runners may be small, but they were not cheap,” Admiral Galiardi reminded his chief of operations. “Six was as many as we could squeeze out of the budget without alerting the Republic that we were building FTL-capable ships. We’re just lucky our orders were to not build FTL-capable warships. They could have ordered us not to build any FTL-capable ships.”

  “You really think they don’t know?” Rear Admiral Bentley wondered.

  “Oh, they know all right,” Admiral Galiardi said. “They’re just not saying anything, because they know we need them. And this way, they won’t have to take the heat if the public finds out.” The admiral turned to his longtime friend, Rear Admiral Duncan. “Speaking of which, how are we doing with the Celestia, Marty?”

  “We’re still three months out from completion,” Rear Admiral Duncan reported. “The Aurora crashing into Jupiter didn’t help matters. That investigation kept our crews at a standstill for more than a month. We should be only two months from completion by now.”

  “Is she space-worthy yet?” the admiral asked.

  “Technically, yes,” Rear Admiral Duncan explained. “All her maneuvering systems are installed and functional, and two of her four main engines are ready as well. Problem is we don’t have all the corridors completed that connect her command deck with her engineering deck.”

  “But her command deck is completed?” the admiral asked.

  “Functional, yes, but far from completed,” Duncan answered. “The bridge has all her consoles and displays in place, as well as artificial gravity and life support. But most of the systems—the bridge consoles, controls, and monitors—are not even installed.”

  “Such as?”

  “Weapons, long-range sensors, electronic countermeasures and jamming systems… She doesn’t even have long-range comms yet.”

  “What about her flight deck?” Admiral Galiardi wondered.

  “Her flight deck is in place, but she doesn’t have any working transfer airlocks yet. Those won’t be ready for another week. Once they are in place, things will go a lot faster, as we’ll be able to move crews and materials into her midsection through the hangar deck instead of just the fore and aft boarding hatches.”

  “What about her weapons?” Galiardi asked. “When will they be installed?”

/>   “All her mini-rail guns have been installed,” Rear Admiral Duncan explained. “They’re fully assembled, complete in their bays planet-side, so it was just a matter of shuttling them up and plugging them in from the outside. Hooking them up is another matter. Until the inner decks are constructed, there is no way to connect them. Remember, a lot of the Celestia is still empty hull right now.”

  “So, what you’re saying is that she can fly, and she can support life within her command deck and her engineering sections, but the two spaces are not connected.”

  “Correct.”

  “How long until they are?”

  “The connection between the flight deck and engineering has already been completed. The connection between the flight deck and the command deck should be completed in another week. To be honest, sir, it’s a miracle her entire hull is completed already. It’s not like we’ve been following the original production schedule.”

  “I know, Marty,” the admiral admitted. “I know.” The admiral sighed. “How soon will she be fueled up and ready to leave the OAP? The Reliant is already a month past her return to port due to the Intrepid’s weapons refit. If we don’t get her in pretty soon, she’s going to be too low on propellant to be considered combat effective.”

  “We’ve already started fueling her up,” Rear Admiral Duncan said. “It will take a couple days to fill her main tanks, but she’s already got enough propellant on board to leave the OAP if necessary. However, that would delay getting her fully fueled, not to mention the delay in the installation of the rest of her systems. The Intrepid can leave port anytime. The remainder of her refit can be performed internally. Her crew has been recalled from the surface and should be on board by the end of the day. After that, she can move out. If you like, you can recall the Reliant now. The OAP will have an empty bay by the time the Reliant reaches her.”