TFS Theseus: The Terran Fleet Command Saga – Book 2 (10 page)

“That’s a major improvement alright. I’m assuming the reactors used for weapons will also feed the shields.”

“Yes and no. I probably mischaracterized how things actually work when I mentioned dedicating reactors to certain systems. One of the biggest improvements is that the AI is now able to continuously vary how much power is being used by and routed to any given system. It’s set up with a number of default priorities that we can tweak over time, but with such an excess of generating capacity available, you’ll probably never realize how big of a deal it is until we get in a situation where we only have one or two reactors online, God forbid. As far as the shields go, it’s not far from the truth to say that the same power used for weapons is also used for the shields, since they don’t technically operate at the same time … at least not in the same area, if that makes sense.”

“It doesn’t. So are you saying we still lose our shields when firing the weapons? I thought the Science and Engineering Directorate guys had found some sort of workaround for that.”

“Alright, sir, you’re starting to steal my thunder from tomorrow’s briefing.”

“Oh, right. Sorry about that, Cheng. I’m sure we’ll both be better able to grasp the more technical aspects of this discussion after some much needed sleep.”

“Well that’s new, you hardly ever call me ‘Cheng,’” Logan chuckled. The term originated from the abbreviation for Chief Engineer and was still sometimes used aboard naval vessels as a substitute for the officer’s name and/or rank as well as an informal show of respect for the important position.

“I’ve called you much worse,” Prescott replied with a wry grin.

“True enough. Just let me sum up by saying that under anything like what we might consider ‘normal circumstances,’ it could easily take a century or more of progress to go from the capabilities of
that
ship, to
this
ship,” Logan said, pointing behind Prescott towards
Ingenuity
and then gesturing in grand fashion towards
Theseus
. “I know that seems a little ridiculous, but it’s all about where we are on the timeline of implementing all of the newest Pelaran and Grey-enhanced tech into each individual ship. Luckily, all four classes were designed to accommodate the systems that were already in the pipeline, so now it’s just a matter of retrofitting each ship as quickly as possible. Before
Ingenuity
over there is ready to go back into space in a few weeks, she’ll be a completely different animal than the ship we took into battle.”

“Well that may be, but she served us pretty well, don’t you think?”

“Yes indeed, sir. She did at that.”

TFS Navajo

(0950 UTC)

“Admiral Patterson,” Ensign Fletcher called from the opposite side of the
Navajo’s
Combat Information Center, “I’ve got a secure laser comlink signal from the Guardian spacecraft — audio only. It’s addressed to you personally, sir.”

“Silence on deck!” Patterson bellowed.

The CIC typically had an air not unlike that of a library. The subdued lighting, as well as the ever-present threat of a lurking flag officer, had a tendency to suppress the sound of conversation in the room to the point where little more than the background rumble of the ship’s engines punctuated by the hum and occasional chirp of electronic systems could be heard. As the time for the expected contact from the Guardian had approached, however, the room had become uncharacteristically noisy and chaotic.

“I’m about to open a channel with this thing and I need this room quiet and focused. If you don’t have a good reason to be here, now would be a good time to excuse yourself,” he announced in a tone that sent several officers quietly hastening for the exit. “Any changes that we can see, Lieutenant?” Patterson asked the young female officer at the holographic display in the center of the room.

“None, sir. The target has maintained its current position for over nine hours now. We have detected no emissions since immediately after we discontinued all of our active scans.”

Patterson noted the tactical officer’s use of the word “target” to describe the Guardian spacecraft with deep satisfaction.
You’re damn right it’s a target … hostile until proven otherwise.
“Very good, Lieutenant. Ensign Fletcher, open the channel please.”

“Aye, sir,” she replied, followed immediately by a chime indicating an active comm channel had been established.

“This is Admiral Kevin Patterson aboard the Terran Fleet Command starship TFS
Navajo
.” Patterson paused, having no idea what to expect.

“Good morning, Admiral Patterson,” came the immediate reply. The voice was male, undeniably friendly in tone, and to the CNO’s ear, seemed to have the rather bland, unaccented English of the American Midwest where he grew up. “The purpose of my call is merely to confirm that your ship is prepared to act as a relay for my conversation with your Leadership Council at 1000 Zulu. I also wanted to take the opportunity to reassure you that your forces are in no danger whatsoever. Well … no danger from me at least,” it chuckled.

Patterson wasn’t entirely sure what he was hearing. Did this thing just laugh at its own joke? Somewhat taken aback and unsure how to respond, he glanced at Ensign Fletcher, his narrowed eyes communicating what everyone within earshot was wondering …
what the hell?
The young ensign arched her eyebrows and shrugged noncommittally, happy that she wasn’t the one who had to decide what to say next.

“I, uh … I’m happy to hear that. I, likewise, hope that we have not given the impression that we mean you any harm.”

“Oh no,” it laughed, as if such an assertion was humorous, based simply on how ridiculous it was. “Your considerable forces have kept a respectable distance and have obviously been working very hard to avoid doing anything provocative. I realize that’s quite a challenge for a ship of war, so I appreciate the sentiment. Please feel free to carry on with whatever operations you have underway. It is my understanding that Terra is under threat of attack from forces belonging to the Sajeth Collective. I noted, with interest, the departure of a significant number of your scouting vessels a few hours ago. May I assume that their mission is to pinpoint the location of the enemy vessels?”

“As I’m sure you can understand, I am not at liberty to discuss military operations without specific instructions to do so from the TFC Leadership Council,” Patterson replied.
Well, I guess that settles the question as to whether our secure communications are compromised,
he thought bitterly.
And it wanted to make sure I knew it too.

“A wise and understandable precaution, Admiral. I hope we will have the opportunity to discuss this situation further after our meeting with the Council. I’m especially interested in learning how you managed to acquire the intelligence that appears to be guiding your search efforts. But no matter, please continue to deploy your forces as you see fit.”

Uh huh, you know damn well how we know,
Patterson thought. “Thank you,” he answered in as pleasant a tone as he could manage. He was already annoyed at the prospect of needing to mince words with this alien machine, and even more irritated that it had just condescendingly granted “permission” for him to do his job. “To answer your first question, yes, we will be happy to provide secure comlinks between yourself and all of the other participants in the call.”

“Oh, it is far more than a mere ‘call,’ Admiral Patterson. This will mark the beginning of your world’s induction into the greatest alliance of civilizations in the history of our galaxy. Today will ultimately be recorded as the single most important day in the history of your world.”

“Well then,” Patterson replied, clearing his throat, “that being said, I am honored to assist you in any way I can. We will establish secure comm with all parties in just a few minutes.”

“Thank you, Admiral Patterson. I look forward to working with you. Guardian out.”

Chapter 7

Earth, Terran Fleet Command Headquarters

(1000 UTC - Leadership Council meeting chamber)

“Attention all Terran Fleet Command vessels and facilities, this is Ensign Katy Fletcher aboard Admiral Kevin Patterson’s flagship, TFS
Navajo
. This vidcon is classified Top Secret, code word MAGI PRIME. All recipients of this data stream are responsible for ensuring that a secure environment, appropriate for this classification level, exists at your location. We have established a secure laser communications link with the Pelaran Guardian Spacecraft, which is standing by to join the call. Please note that the Guardian’s feed will include audio only at this time. Control of the comlink will transfer to Karoline Crull, Chairwoman of Terran Fleet Command’s Leadership Council in three … two … one.”

There was a brief moment of silence as control of the vidcon signal passed from the
Navajo’s
Combat Information Center to the lectern Command console in front of the Leadership Council’s meeting chamber. Crull, who had been staring at her image on the small screen, allowed an additional moment of dead air before realizing she was now addressing the Leadership Council, the senior military leadership of Terran Fleet Command, and, for the first time, the Guardian Spacecraft itself. “Hello,” she began hesitantly. “I am Chairwoman Karoline Crull. On behalf of Terran Fleet Command’s Leadership Council, and all of Humanity, it is an honor to welcome you to our world.”

Just a few meters away, Samuel Christenson felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as he contemplated the potential damage that Crull might do, intentionally or not, simply because she was arrogant and naive enough to believe herself entitled to speak on behalf of the entire planet.

“The honor is entirely mine, Chairwoman Crull,” the Guardian began agreeably and without any hint of hesitation. “I bring you greetings on behalf of hundreds of worlds, many of which were fortunate enough to have been chosen for membership in the Pelaran Alliance in the same manner as Terra. Before we continue, please allow me to address a concern some of you might have regarding my status as a representative of the Alliance. I am what your people might still refer to as a synthetic or, God forbid, an ‘artificial’ life form,” it said in a tone a parent might use when preparing to relieve a small child of an adorable, but potentially dangerous misconception. “On all of our member worlds, I am afforded the same level of recognition as a sentient being that any of you would be as a matter of course. I recognize that this idea takes some getting used to, and I bring it up now only to reassure you that I am fully empowered to speak on behalf of the Pelaran Alliance as an ambassador. Now,” it continued, transitioning smoothly back to a tone of voice one might use when speaking comfortably to a close friend, “let us return to the business of welcoming your people into the fold, so to speak. This date will echo through time as the single most important day in the history of your species, and I am deeply honored to have been given the opportunity to take part in it with you. To say that we have much to discuss is a monumental understatement, so I am anxious and excited to get started.”

“Thank you, uh,” Crull stammered. “I’m sorry, what is the appropriate way to address you? Do you have a name … a title of some sort?”

“Humans, you may address me as ‘Supreme and Mighty Celestial Emissary,’” it replied, deadpan. On the floor of the meeting chamber, as well as in the viewing gallery surrounding the room, there were murmurs of disapproval accompanied by the sound of people shifting uncomfortably in their chairs.

“I see. Thank you, Sup—”

“I’m kidding!” the Guardian interrupted, once again clearly amused by its own attempts at levity. “My God, and you were going to say it, too. I have to tell you that the historical records contain hundreds of variations of that joke coming up during induction proceedings. It’s one of those classics that never gets old.”

Just under five hundred officers and civilian officials from Terran Fleet Command were participating in the live vidcon. Most exchanged dumbfounded looks with their neighbors, none having expected anything resembling what they had heard so far.

“Well, I, uh, I’m happy to see that you have a sense of humor.”

“Of course. If you think any sentient being, biological or otherwise, can spend hundreds of years alone in space without the benefit of a sense of humor, then we have much to teach you about behavioral psychology. In the interest of full disclosure, however, I can tell you that the use of humor has been part of what you might refer to as our ‘first contact’ protocols for a very long time. If you’re interested in truly getting to know another species, one of the most revealing things you can do is to study what they find humorous.”

“And what did you learn about us, based on our sense of humor?”

“Oh, a very great deal indeed, Madame Chairwoman. Understand that I’ve been out here observing for a very long time — just over five hundred revolutions around your sun, in fact. Over such an extended period, societal norms that tend to govern humor undergo significant change. What’s interesting about your species, is that, to a large extent, you find humor in practically
everything
. And
that
, my friends, is a gift that is largely unique — even among very advanced and so-called enlightened civilizations. It should be celebrated … nurtured …”

“Cultivated?” Christenson interjected, already growing tired of the Guardian’s rather smarmy tone, especially in light of the seriousness of the current situation. There were a few audible gasps, followed by a moment of dead silence in the meeting chamber. From behind her lectern, Crull shot him a look that could have melted steel, incensed that he would dare to speak without her explicit permission.

“Ah, Councilman Christenson, I presume,” the Guardian began again, its voice taking on a decidedly darker tone. “The last thing I want to do is put a damper on such an auspicious occasion as this, but I find your use of that term particularly interesting. In fact, I have never once included that word in any of my communications with your species … other than referring to myself as a ‘GCS,’ which actually
does
refer to the Guardian Cultivation System in your parlance. I have specifically avoided the term because I believe it has a somewhat negative connotation, particularly in the rather ambiguous English language your world seems to prefer. I’m sure you will agree that, in a situation such as the one we find ourselves in at the moment, misunderstandings should be avoided as much as possible. Yet I can’t help but wonder where you might have stumbled upon that term,” the Guardian paused, allowing time for the implication to be fully realized by all those in attendance. “It is of no immediate concern, however,” it said, resuming its bright, friendly tone. “As I said, this should be a day of celebration. There will be plenty of time to explore the details of matters such as this at a later date.”

“I apologize for the interruption,” Crull said, still furious and now also justifiably concerned that a major breach of information security had just occurred. “I believe you were about to tell us how we should address you.”

“Yes, as to that, I am open to suggestions. I hope you will find me easy to communicate with, and not easily offended. In some cases, organizations such as yours suggest some sort of contest where the world’s children vote on their preference, but, really, can anyone here think of anything more tedious?” it laughed. “Some of your military members have taken to calling me ‘GORT.’ Now, you see,
that’s
a great example of the Human sense of humor. An apt reference, in my opinion … I love it.”

“I am truly sorry. I’m sure they meant no offense. I will personally make sure that does not happen …”

“Nonsense,” the Guardian interrupted. “As I said, I am not easily offended, and that reference is not only fitting, but it’s all in good fun. In any event, if you are looking for a Human-sounding name to call me, how about ‘Griffin?’ I’ll admit to being a fan of Terran mythology, and the Griffin was a majestic beast said to be the king of all creatures — part lion, part eagle. Like dragons, they were said to be known for guarding hordes of treasure and priceless possessions, which, in a manner of speaking, is precisely why I was sent here in the first place. Besides,” he chuckled, “there’s one on our flag.”

“A griffin? On the flag of the Pelaran Alliance? But how is that even possible?”

“Ah, well, I expect that will be one of a great many topics that symbolic anthropologists will be poring over for the next several centuries,” he said. “Without getting too far off topic, I can tell you that there are common threads among the mythologies and their accompanying symbols of most intelligent species. That’s especially true when the species have quite a bit in common. When you consider that symbology tends to arise from how people interpret the world around them, it makes sense that similar species would come up with similar symbols.”

“So you’re saying that we are similar to the Pelarans, then?” Crull asked.

“That, Madame Chairwoman, would be an understatement, but let’s handle one earth-shattering revelation at a time, shall we?”

“Very well,” she replied after a moment. “Griffin the Guardian it is, then.”

“Perhaps we should just stick with ‘Griffin,’ but, yes, that should work nicely. Now, about this time, someone will typically ask the question, ‘What happens next?’ so, if you will permit me …”

“That was, in fact, my next question,” Crull interjected.

“Induction into the Pelaran Alliance can be a bit tricky from both a societal and political perspective. That’s particularly true for a world such as yours where there is no worldwide governmental body, per se. That’s because the more enlightened civilizations tend to follow a path of self-determination, which implies that most people are reasonably happy with their current form of government. Well, that is, happy enough that they will typically resist any significant change orchestrated by someone they perceive as an ‘outsider,’ which certainly applies in this case.”

Christenson arched an eyebrow at this, but reserved comment for the moment. He was keenly aware that his one-word contribution to the discussion, while justifiable, had probably been foolish and ill-timed on his part. The last thing he wanted to do was provide Crull with sufficient cause to mount some sort of campaign to have him ousted from the Leadership Council. He stared at her surreptitiously for a moment and noticed that she was sweating profusely. Odd. He could think of a great many adjectives to describe Crull, but nervous was certainly not one of them.

“So,” the newly dubbed “Griffin” continued, “that is one of the fundamental reasons we insist that our Regional Partners — and by that, I mean civilizations like yours that are invited to join the Alliance — establish an organization such as your Terran Fleet Command once we begin the process of sharing our technological data.”

“Is there some sort of formal invitation process?” Crull asked.

“There is indeed. After we have concluded here today, I will transmit a series of documents that, together, constitute our official offer of admission. Most of them are simply informational, but there are also copies of the actual legal documents we typically use when inducting new members. You are, unfortunately, already familiar with the Alliance’s tendency to use rather legalistic documentation,” he sighed. “I do apologize for that. Honestly, if there is any one thing I think we can and should improve within our organization, it’s reducing the level of bureaucracy.”

Christenson pressed a button at his console, providing an indication at Crull’s lectern as well as on the floor of the meeting chamber that he wished to speak. She paused and stared at him for a moment as if toying with the idea of ignoring him completely. He was a popular representative, however, both publicly and among the other members of the Council. She also knew that, now that he had formally requested the floor, she ultimately did not have the authority to prevent him from speaking. Not yet, anyway.

“Griffin, I believe we have a question from the floor,” she said pleasantly. She then stared momentarily at Christenson through narrowed eyes as an obvious warning that he was on very thin ice at this point.

“I expected we might,” the Guardian replied. “I will do my best to answer questions for as long as you feel is necessary. I will tell you, however, that many of the questions you have now will probably be answered within the context of the documentation I’m about to provide. In any event, fire away … I’m guessing you’ll get tired of asking before I get tired of answering.”

“Thank you,” Christenson said, coming to his feet. “Assuming that membership in the Pelaran Alliance is something we, as a planet, would like to pursue,” he paused, taking the measure of his fellow Council members, “would you please take a moment to explain how we would go about the process of getting something like that approved? I’m sure you are aware that Terran Fleet Command has no authority along those lines, and, furthermore, Humanity has never even attempted to agree to something like that on a worldwide basis.”

“That’s an excellent question, Councilman Christenson, and does a great job of getting at the heart of the most common problem facing many prospective members. First off, yes, I do agree that Terran Fleet Command does not have sufficient authority to approve membership in the Alliance on behalf of Earth. You do, however, make decisions affecting the entire population of your world every single day, do you not?”