Worthy of time, p.10
Worthy of Time, page 10
Collins shrugged. “I only know as much as you do, Captain. I am doubtful that any of the hostile creatures encountered by the Marine teams built that. As to its purpose…time will tell, I suppose.”
“Which is exactly why we’ve been sent here,” replied the captain, “and why I won’t leave until we have at least some answers. It’s far better for us to find out here, well away from the Union worlds, than to one day wake up with them in orbit around one of our planets.”
Collins paused to take a sip of coffee, when suddenly an alarm blared throughout the ship, followed by a deep shudder moments before the deck heaved up and rolled to port, causing the coffee pot to spill onto the floor, the hot coffee in his cup scorching Collins’ face.
The captain got up, exited the lounge and ran down the hall. Keying his comm, he shouted “Bridge! Report!”
“A barrage of missiles just struck the ship’s starboard side,” answered Commander Peters.
“On my way!” shouted the captain, his breath running short as he sprinted to the lift that would take him back to the bridge. Moments later, the captain was at his command console.
“Damage report,” he demanded.
“Prelim reports indicate the hangar bay doors have been wrecked,” replied Peters. “We’ve lost one Falcon and the SAR tug has been damaged.”
“Navigation! Execute RAND alpha zero zero one! Sub-lights on maximum,” shouted the captain.
“Weapons! Return fire. All cannons.”
“Already on it, Captain! Cycling through cannons one, two and three. Direct hits scored on the Structure.”
The Nemean lurched again, as another missile exploded a few meters off her port bow.
“Sir! We’re now far enough to launch our own missiles,” said Peters from the tactical console.
“Do it! Standard volley. Yield level one.”
A standard volley consisted of six missiles, with yield levels ranging from one to three. Yield level one was the lowest setting while three was the highest. Yield values were not linear but logarithmic, meaning that a warhead with a yield level of three was vastly more powerful than a warhead set at yield level one.
Commander Peters sent coordinates to Lieutenant Marker’s station, where he instantly validated them and unleashed the volley.
Two of the missiles were intercepted by turrets rising out from the surface of the Structure, while a third collided with a missile intended for the Nemean.
The rest of the volley made it through and exploded one after the other on the Structure’s surface. Large balls of atomic fire expanded outwards, engulfing the two laser turrets in fire and knocking out another three missiles just launched from somewhere on the Structure’s surface.
“Sensors. Tactical. Can you locate the source of their missile launchers?”
“Searching,” said the commander. “There could be hundreds of sites on that thing.”
“Let’s start by finding the ones pointing at us right now. We’ll worry about the others later.”
“Might have something, sir,” said the commander.
A second later, a holographic image of the Structure hung in front of the captain’s console, large enough for the entire bridge crew to see from their respective stations.
Red lines outlined a belt that ran across the Structure’s center, like a line drawn across a planet’s equator, while another set of lines framed a separate belt in the north-south direction.
“Looks like there are missile silos ringing the thing, along its equator and prime meridian,” said Marker.
“Navigation! Amend RAND alpha zero zero one to minimize the number of times we cross a direct line with one of those silos.”
“Sir!”
That was Lieutenant Marker.
“I’m picking up a flight of birds coming in off that nest. Dozens of them and headed our way!”
“Sensors, confirm!”
“Confirmed, sir. They look like tactical fighter craft.”
“All weapons hot. Cannons to knock out individual craft and to assist with point defense. Missiles to destroy clusters. And keep pounding those missile sites.”
“How long before their fighters are within weapons range?”
“Twelve minutes” replied Marker.
In that time, the captain poured over reports coming in from around the ship.
Fifteen hangar deck crew were cut off from the rest of the ship and might be dead…the captain couldn’t be sure, as all communications with that section of the ship were cut off, fires and secondary explosions set off by the missiles having damaged internal comms.
Twelve minutes later, eight fighter craft came within firing range of the Nemean’s cannon. Lieutenant Marker deftly managed all three cannons from his console, obliterating the leading three fighters with direct hits and taking another two out of the fight with glancing blows to their fuselage.
The three remaining fighters banked to starboard and momentarily exited the Nemean’s cannon range, before turning back and unleashing a barrage of nine small tactical missiles.
The ship’s automated point defense systems destroyed five of the missiles while cannon fire destroyed two more. However, two slammed into the port sub-light drive, causing the Nemean to rotate to starboard.
“Port sub-light’s been hit! Our speed has just dropped fifty percent,” said Lieutenant Harris.
The captain cursed under his breath. Standing from his console, he ordered engineering to put all available resources on repairing the port drive. Getting propulsion back to nominal was their number one priority and key to surviving the battle.
Suddenly, another flight of twelve tactical fighters entered weapons range, instantly unleashing their tactical missiles —one hundred and twenty in all.
The Nemean’s point defense system managed to defeat fifty-three of them, while Marker’s cannon destroyed another thirty-four before two of the three cannons were overwhelmed by the incoming fire.
All told, thirty-three of the tac missiles slammed into two of the Nemean’s cannon and turret mounts and auxiliary areas, destroying them in the process.
“Sir,” said Marker. “We can’t take much more of this. They are overwhelming us with numbers. Individually those tactical missiles wouldn’t hurt us much but when deployed in swarms like this our systems can’t cope.”
“Another squad of their tac fighters are entering firing range. Twenty-four in two close formations,” said Peters.
The captain touched a control on his console and the formation of tactical fighters appeared to hover in space, the Nemean displayed on the left and the tac fighters on the right. In the distance, the display also showed the Structure as an enormous half sphere.
Red arcs traced from a point on the Structure’s surface to the flight of tactical fighters headed their way.
“Commander, I had the computer analyze their flight path. I believe they are launching those fighters from a very small area, right near where the Falcons first landed.” Gregory fed the coordinates to Peters.
“The coordinates match the reports of the first expedition team. That’s about where they reported seeing those domes on the surface. Recommend we target that site,” said Peters.
“Mr. Marker,” said the captain. “I’m sending you a set of coordinates. Hit it with a volley of missiles — yield two.”
“Aye sir!”
Ten minutes later an enormous fireball expanded from the surface of the Structure. It expanded out into space for several minutes before dissipating, dust and debris arcing up and away before falling into a gentle orbit around the Structure.
Five minutes passed with no further fighter-craft sightings.
“I think that worked, sir!” said Marker, a look of relief on his face. “Our point defense is getting low on ammo, and with one cannon left I don’t know how many I’d be able to hold off.”
“We’re not out of the woods yet, Lieutenant,” said the captain. “There are at least a dozen fighters unaccounted for. They are still lurking out there, somewhere.”
“Sensors read clear. No contacts”
“Keep scanning,” said Gregory. “They could be hiding behind all the debris floating out there.”
At comms, Paris said, “Sir, I’m reading a Marine IFF signal. It’s Alcmene!”
The commander, looking at his tactical screen, said, “Confirmed. There’s a small craft approaching. IFF signal indicates Alcmene. I know it’s impossible, sir. But there it is.”
“Open a channel,” said the captain. “Unidentified vessel broadcasting IFF signal XJL-390-GFQ-11-2. This is the captain speaking. You are not authorized to approach this ship until further notice. Engage station-keeping mode. If you continue your approach, you will be destroyed.”
Commander Peters looked at the captain. “Trick?”
“We can’t be one hundred percent certain,” replied the captain, “but if it’s not a trick, who’s piloting that thing?”
“Maybe some of our missing Marines captured one of their ships and rigged a friendly IFF signal?” replied Peters. “It wouldn’t be the first time, you know.”
The captain thought for a second. “My gut tells me otherwise. If they are friendlies, they’ll understand. They’ve waited a long time to get back aboard the Nemean, a little while longer won’t make a difference to them.”
As if the enemy had guessed his decision, the Nemean was rocked by multiple explosions, her deck jumping from the force and the entire vessel listing to starboard.
“Direct hit on our starboard side!” reported Peters. “Emergency teams moving to contain the damage.”
“Commander, coordinate with the damage control teams,” said the captain. “Priority number one is our propulsion.”
A new alert appeared on the captain’s command console as Peters shouted, “Captain, we just lost the starboard drive.”
More explosions rocked the ship, with multiple detonations lighting up the Nemean’s dorsal spine.
“Both hyperlight pods have been damaged, sir. Attitude control is still operational.”
“What just hit us?” asked Gregory.
“That last flight of tactical fighters. They launched almost two hundred tac missiles. Point defenses took out fifty percent, the forward cannon took out thirteen before being destroyed. The rest hit our missile batteries, the starboard drive and the two pods.”
The captain looked at his tactical screen. Tracing his finger from their present location to a point about eight hundred thousand kilometers from their present location, he said, “If we can get the sub-light drives repaired, we should be able to engage the hyperlight pods in about sixty minutes. It’s time we put some distance between us and that thing. We are close, people. I repeat, that is our priority now. Lieutenant Marker, we still have a good number of missiles left. Use the atomics, maximum yield, to engage anything else they throw at us.”
“Lieutenant Harris, use the attitude thrusters to keep this vessel moving away from the Structure at best possible speed. We might not get far, but I want to give them the impression that we are moving off and not a threat.
“Commander, I want you overseeing the repair of the sub-light drives. I’m going to the pod room to coordinate with the hyperlight teams. We need to get propulsion back online ASAP!”
Commander Peters and the two Lieutenants saluted as the captain left the bridge.
Agamemnon
System: Virgil’s star (VGL 191)
Location: Aboard the Alcmene naval vessel Nemean
It was midnight, ship’s time, aboard the Nemean. Things had been quiet for a while now, and the captain was running low on energy. He’d been on stimulants for days, but they were taking their toll. Dr. Smith ordered him off the stims and into his bunk. Captain Gregory reluctantly agreed and ordered the rest of his command staff to get a full five hours of sleep.
They deserved at least that much. They had all been working sleepless shifts, the crew going round the clock for three days to repair the Nemean after the battle with the Structure’s tactical fighter swarms.
After veering off and putting sufficient distance between the Nemean and the Structure, things had returned to normal. The Structure continued to emit the same noise it had upon their first arrival and remained peacefully enigmatic otherwise.
An analysis of the battle with the fighter swarms suggested that the aliens’ intent had been to disable, rather than destroy, the Nemean. Interestingly and perhaps tellingly, the first strike had occurred on the Nemean’s starboard side hangar bay doors.
That had been the site of Felix’s Falcon launch, which incidentally had also been destroyed during the attack.
Retribution for Perseus Force’s “win” over the tripedal phalanx? A forceful message indicating that further EVA visits were decidedly no longer welcomed?
After some deliberation, the captain decided that while they were perhaps no longer welcome to board the Structure, they were still free to stay in the Virgil system and continue their mission of exploration.
Just because the aliens had no further desire to have armed Marines aboard didn’t mean they were no longer open to peaceful dialogue.
After all, the captain reasoned, they had initiated contact first.
In any case, mistakes were bound to be made during any first contact mission. Better to make them out here than at home.
At this late hour, the bridge was being manned by Sub-Commander Shimatowa and other bridge staff.
Shimatowa had strict orders to wake the captain should the Structure do anything unusual, or if ship status changed while he slept.
The captain didn’t often remember his dreams, but he would remember the one he was having tonight.
He saw himself standing on the edge of a high cliff as large, powerful waves broke at its foot, shaking the ground beneath him.
Peering into the distance, near the horizon, he saw a giant ship approaching. It was an ancient ship, the kind he had read about during his historical studies.
As the ship drifted closer to the cliff, he could make out a name: HMS Agamemnon.
The Agamemnon had been commissioned several hundred years ago on Earth, part of the fleet belonging to the British Royal Navy. The Agamemnon was a Lord Nelson-class pre-dreadnought battleship and was famous for its actions during World War One, especially the Dardanelles Campaign, where the ship bombarded Turkish fortifications in support of British troops.
The captain had studied ancient ships while at the academy and knew that the Agamemnon had been an impressive ship in her day. She was armed with four 45-caliber, twelve-inch naval guns, arranged in two twin gun turrets — one fore and one aft. The ship also featured ten 50-caliber high velocity naval guns, arranged in twin gun turrets, at the base of each corner of the ship’s superstructure. She also had an array of other weapons, including two dozen three-inch-high velocity guns used to defend against torpedo boats, as well as five torpedo tubes. Thick, twelve-inch armor protected the ship and main gun batteries.
The captain could see all these specs in his mind while watching the ship slowly making its way from the horizon to the cliff’s edge. He realized that the Nemean was just a little over twice as long as the Agamemnon and wondered how he and his ship would fare in a naval against Lord Nelson commanding the British battleship.
As the Agamemnon drifted closer to the cliff’s edge, a deafening roar thundered across the open ocean and slammed him in the chest…waking him up from his sleep. He quickly looked at this command console. All indicators were green. There was nothing going on, but he decided to check with the bridge anyway.
“Mr. Shimatowa. How are things going up there?”
“Fine, Captain. All quiet.”
“Very well. Carry on, Commander. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”
“Thank you, sir. Bridge out.”
Unable to go back to sleep, the captain connected his console to the ship’s library and searched for Agamemnon. Why had he dreamed of the HMS Agamemnon? Was his subconscious trying to tell him something?
He scanned through the results of his search.
Agamemnon was an ancient Mycenaean king who appeared in the epic poem known as the Odyssey. Since ancient times, scholars had debated which parts of the Odyssey were real and which were myth, but Gregory was sure it had to have some basis in reality.
According to the ship’s library, Agamemnon led a Greek military campaign against the fabled city of Troy. While preparing to leave Greece, Agamemnon’s army incurred the wrath of a goddess known as Artemis.
Who was Artemis? The captain filed that line of inquiry for later. In any event, the Nemean’s library didn’t give a conclusive answer as to why the goddess was angry with Agamemnon. According to one story, he had killed an animal that the goddess held as sacred, and later bragged that he was as good a hunter as Artemis.
Artemis must be a goddess of the hunt. I’ll check that later, he thought.
In any case, things didn’t go well for the ancient Greek king. After his return from Troy, he was killed by Aegisthus, lover of his wife Clytemnestra. Here again the ship’s library could not give conclusive details — in some versions of the story, all of the king’s followers are killed too. In others, it’s not clear what happens to them. Sometimes, his wife kills him herself, in other versions his wife and her lover do it together.
Whatever the details, the captain knew he didn’t want to be Agamemnon.
What was his dream trying to tell him?
Had this mission been cursed by some modern-day equivalent of Artemis? Was there someone out to get him? Was he somehow embarking on a foolhardy military campaign that would end in tragedy?
He didn’t know.
What he did know was that he was a captain in the Alcmene Navy. He commanded a state-of-the-art ship run by the finest crew he had ever served with.
He was here, light years from home, on a mission of exploration. He didn’t know who built the Structure floating out there. He didn’t know if they were friend or foe. He didn’t know what they knew about his ship, Alcmene, the Union or humanity.
He hoped he could answer some of these questions. That was his mission. That was what he had been tasked to do and would do his best to accomplish it.
