TFS Theseus: The Terran Fleet Command Saga – Book 2 (22 page)

There were emphatic nods and expressions of agreement from the other four officers, each who were anxious to end the tedious discussion and get on with the business at hand.

Prescott looked directly at each one, making sure there were no signs that they were simply going along with the group in spite of their own personal convictions to the contrary. “Very well,” he finally replied, heading back to his command chair without further comment on the issue. “Lieutenant Dubashi, status please.”

“All systems in the green, Captain,” she reported immediately. “Both standard and C-Drive transitions are available. C-Jump range
98.7 light years
and stable. We are in our final approach to the target — just over zero two minutes from the planned drop zone.”

“You’ve been waiting to report that C-Jump range, haven’t you?” Prescott grinned.

“Yes, sir, every time I look at it, I think it’s an error of some kind,” she replied, shaking her head in wonder.

“Hah! Don’t jinx us, Dubashi,” he chuckled.

The notion that mystical forces like “fate,” or “luck” had a very real impact on life aboard ship could be traced back across thousands of years of maritime history. The only thing that had really changed in more modern times was that such things were rarely discussed openly for fear of ridicule (or from an unspoken fear that doing so was bad luck in and of itself). After all, such things were nothing more than foolish superstition … were they not?

“Tactical?”

“Lots of civilian traffic within fifty kilometers of the target, Captain,” Schmidt reported, “but they’re all at a safe distance for the moment. Otherwise, the threat board is clear.” Schmidt and Lau had already devised a system by which they could share the workload across the two Tactical consoles, including who should speak up to deliver status updates to the captain, without verbally communicating with each other. It had taken only a few minor modifications to their user interface, and really wasn’t much of a challenge for young officers — long accustomed to dealing with a continuous stream of complex communications without ever saying a word.

“I’m really not expecting any airborne threats, but if you see any fast-movers heading in this direction, even if they are a thousand kilometers out, I want to hear about them immediately.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Lieutenant L—.” Prescott checked himself, then started again. “Lieutenant Jacks, bridge,” he announced. The ship’s AI seamlessly inferred the intended recipient of the captain’s call based on his recent conversation and routed the call accordingly.

“Lieutenant, uh, Jacks here. Go ahead, Captain.” It was obvious by the tone of the young officer’s voice that, while a little surprised to hear this particular name being called from the bridge, he understood that now was not the time to question why. Besides, he was pretty sure that his ‘little brother’ (born five minutes later) was in some way responsible. The Marine had long since grown accustomed to the name “Jacks” anyway, and didn’t really mind it. Nonetheless, he took solace in the thought of evening the score with his brother when the time was right.

“Just over zero one minute remaining, Lieutenant. Remember, we want zero casualties on this op. Do not fire unless fired upon. The use of lethal force is
not
authorized at this time. Understood?”

“Understood. No worries, Captain.”

“Let’s make this quick. Good luck. Prescott out.”

“Sir, the AI is running the approach from here, but I’ll be on the controls just in case,” Fisher reported. “Rapid deceleration in zero seven seconds. Use of the Anti-G Straining Maneuver should not be necessary.” Shortly thereafter, the background noise of
Theseus’
sublight engines increased slightly in pitch and volume, accompanied by a noticeable, but not uncomfortable increase in G-forces as the ship smoothly transitioned its nearly five hundred thousand tons into a hover over the preselected drop zone.

“Drop zone reached, sir,” Fisher continued. “We are stabilized in a two-hundred-meter hover. Gravitic fields have been reduced to minimum extension and are clear of the flight deck.”

“Wow,” Reynolds muttered to herself, astounded by the almost routine, businesslike manner with which her ship was accomplishing feats that still looked and felt like the stuff of science fiction.

“Green deck, XO,” Prescott said calmly.

“Aye, sir. Executing,” she replied, entering commands on her touchscreen to relay the appropriate orders to both the flight deck and the two Marine squads hunkered inside their
Gurkha
assault shuttles.

***

Marine First Lieutenant “Jacks” and his second-in-command, Master Sergeant Antonio Rios, had just completed a final set of equipment checks for each of their two squads when the go order was received. Side and rear cargo doors opened immediately on both
Gurkha
assault shuttles, both of which were already positioned for launch on
Theseus’
aft flight apron. In just seconds, each of the ASVs had disgorged its squad of fourteen troops, then released the clamps holding them in place as their controlling AIs prepared to follow the two groups of Marines to their target location.

Although he was the most experienced combat veteran assigned to the platoon, Rios was the only Marine who had not received extensive training in the new, “universal” version of the combat EVA suit. Priding himself as (by far, in his opinion) the toughest man in the unit, he would never, under any circumstances, admit to being afraid of anything at any time. So it was with no small amount of irritation that he was forced to overcome a brief feeling of apprehension as he followed his squad at a dead run off the aft flight apron to begin a brief free-fall through the chilly morning air ten kilometers from Terran Fleet Command Headquarters.

Chapter 16

TFS Theseus

(10 km from TFC Headquarters landing zone)

“The Marine squads are away, Captain,” Reynolds reported. “Flight deck secure.”

“Thank you,” Prescott replied. “Lieutenant Lau, are we in range of Admiral Sexton’s beacon?”

“Yes, sir. Our drop zone is just inside the beacon’s maximum range, but that can vary quite a bit, particularly in weather like this. It doesn’t have a lot of power, so with all of the electronic countermeasures in place on the Headquarters campus, we may not be able to isolate the signal until he’s pretty close to the LZ.”

During the discussion between Admirals Sexton and Patterson the previous day, Sexton had discussed methods of communicating with
Theseus
during her approach. Handheld comm devices were generally useless anywhere near HQTFC, but Sexton had nonetheless agreed to try one of the small signal beacons sometimes used by spec-ops Marine units to mark their position during an extraction mission. Roughly the size of a small pocketknife, the device had a battery life measured in years rather than hours and a transmission range of approximately ten kilometers. Whether it would be useful for today’s mission remained to be seen, but the beacons had already saved countless lives in the field by eliminating situations where would-be rescue teams passed repeatedly within a few hundred meters without ever seeing their target.

“Understood. I doubt there is much to see yet, but please show us a combined sensor feed of the area around the LZ.”

Lieutenant Lau issued a series of commands at his console, after which a detailed overhead view appeared on the right side of the bridge view screen. The landing pad itself was centered on the left edge of the video feed, bordered by the wooded area immediately to its east, and then finally ending with the common area and rear of the Judge Advocate General office building just over five hundred meters away. As usual, the imagery was produced using a wide variety of data sources. Everything from existing satellite imagery, to blueprints retrieved from TFC archives, to live sensor feeds were combined by the AI to produce the most accurate, real-time view possible. At the moment, however, there was little if anything displayed that would give the impression of live data. In fact, the image looked like nothing more than a static, overhead view of the area surrounding their landing zone.

“Are we getting any data from the
Gurkhas
or the Marines’ EVA suits?” Prescott asked, immediately chiding himself for allowing a hint of impatience to creep into his voice.

“Yes, sir. We’ve got good data feeds from all twenty-eight Marines and both
Gurkhas
. The LZ is obscured by cloud cover and heavy fog, so that’s enough to defeat the optical sensors. Throw in some heavy electronic countermeasures, and we’re just not detecting much of anything at the moment.”

“Hmm … well, it doesn’t surprise me the suits aren’t picking up anything. Their sensors are optimized for short-range tactical combat. They tend to
receive
most of their data from other sources rather than act as a source themselves, in fact. The
Gurkhas
, on the other hand … I honestly did not realize that our Headquarters ECM systems were this effective. We’re displaying infrared data as well?”

“I’m afraid so, sir. Based on what we’re seeing so far, I’m wondering if we will also lose the Marines’ data feeds once they reach the perimeter of the campus.”

Prescott sat back in his command chair, taking in a long breath and commanding himself to relax before continuing. “Alright folks, I realize we’re not talking about a hot LZ in enemy-held territory here, but I’d still very much prefer to avoid going in blind,” he stated flatly. “Recommendations?”

“Captain,” Lieutenant Commander Schmidt interjected, “I know our mission profile has us holding here until the Marines secure the LZ and our guests, but if we position the ship so that we have a direct line of sight, I’m betting our sensors will stand a much better chance against the countermeasures. The closer we get, the more we should be able to see.”

“Ensign Fisher, do you think you can move us any closer to the LZ without attracting too much attention?” Prescott asked.

The location of the drop zone had been selected to minimize the number of people likely to notice the
Theseus
while the two Marine squads went about the business of locating Admiral Sexton’s party and escorting them safely to the landing zone. While keeping a six-hundred-and-twenty-five-meter-long destroyer concealed only a short distance from several heavily populated areas was perhaps the most futile of exercises, her low altitude, the time of day, and the current weather conditions were all working in their favor at the moment.

“We’ve got good terrain masking behind this ridge line, Captain, and the fog is helping quite a bit as well. There is a solid cloud deck at about five hundred meters, though. I think if we get back above the cloud cover, we can go ahead and start heading in the direction of the LZ. I doubt anyone on the ground will notice us unless they know exactly what to listen for.”

“Excellent. Do it,” Prescott responded.

Marine Squad “Savage 2”

(On EVA approach to TFC Headquarters landing zone)

“Rios, Jacks.”

A distant corner of Master Sergeant Rios’ mind registered the call from his platoon commander, but at the moment, he had his hands full. Having completed countless missions wearing previous versions of the EVA combat armor, he had developed his own personal list of settings and checks that he accomplished in near ritualistic fashion at the beginning of every mission. Although generally not recommended, and indeed beyond the skills of most of his contemporaries, one part of his routine involved using the suit’s neural interface to momentarily take manual control of the suit in flight. It was a reasonably quick method of testing virtually every major system at one time, and Rios always found that the mental discipline required put his mind in the required, almost Zen-like, state also allowed him to better focus on the mission.

With
Theseus
at an altitude of only two hundred meters above the terrain, the mission profile had called for a very brief free fall, after which the suit’s Cannae thrusters would engage to both arrest his descent and begin a high-speed, very low-altitude approach to the landing zone ten kilometers away. Accordingly, Rios had taken manual control immediately after jumping from the ship — and had been largely out of control ever since.

While any deviation from controlled flight at such a low altitude was potentially dangerous, the suit’s AI was unlikely to allow him to make a fatal error. Hundreds of thousands of times each second, the AI made minor corrections to prevent him from going completely out of control — much like a parent nudging a child from each side to maintain their balance while they learned to ride a bicycle without training wheels. Nevertheless, his uncharacteristically erratic flight path was being monitored with interest by members of his unit nearby, and by the suit itself.

“What the hell is your problem this morning anyway, Rios?” his EVA suit’s AI asked, using perhaps the least colorful language it had uttered since they had left the relative safety of
Theseus’
flight apron. “The boss is on the line and you’re still flailing around like some kind of snot-nosed rookie. Here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m gonna fly for a while and you’re gonna talk to the boss. Then you’re gonna take a few seconds to pull your head out of your keister before you get us both killed. Then — if you think you can handle it — you can take over again, kapish? Sheesh, kid, you gotta get it together before somebody sees you, for chrissake.”

The identity of the synthetic voice Rios used for his EVA suit was a closely guarded personal secret. First and foremost, he figured it wasn’t anyone else’s business, but he was also aware that far too many people spent far too much time looking for reasons to be offended. So what … he just happened to be of mixed Italian and Latino descent and also just happened to like the idea of going into battle feeling like he was an early twentieth century mafioso. What of it? What Rios had no way of knowing was just how unrealistic and stereotypical a portrayal the voice truly was compared to the real thing (sounding more like a poor imitation of Joe Pesci than the actual Charlie “Lucky” Luciano — the origin of the nickname he used for his AI).

“Yeah, okay, fine. Take over for a sec.” His flight path instantly stabilized, after which he breathed deeply for a moment before answering the lieutenant’s call. “Rios here. Go ahead, LT.”

“Hey Top, you doing OK over there? It looked for a second like you might be having a little problem with your suit.”

“Sorry about that, sir. No, I’m fine … just having some trouble with the neural interface. It doesn’t seem to want to respond like my old suit for some reason.”

“Alright, no problem, Sergeant. Oh, hey, you did have the AI import your old preferences and mod them for atmospheric flight, right?”

Muting his mic with a quick thought, Rios rolled his eyes and swore loudly at himself, knowing full well that this was indeed the problem. It was, in fact, a simple, but incredibly dumb oversight that never would have happened if he had not allowed himself to become complacent when running his armor’s pre-mission checklist. A rookie mistake to be sure, and because it represented a potentially serious safety issue, one that would have prompted him to cheerfully take the head off any member of his platoon if they had done the same thing (Lieutenant Jacks included). Worse yet, the fact that the LT had suggested a fix made it painfully clear that he had known what the problem was before he even asked. He had even been
nice
about it, which somehow added insult to injury.

“Rios copies. I’ll check the settings again, sir. Thanks.”

“You do that, Top,” Jacks replied with a tone of barely contained amusement. “We still have six zero seconds until show time, so you’re good. Jacks out.”

“Hey Lucky,” Rios said, addressing his AI again.

“Yeah, I’m right here. I already checked and the boss was right. It should be fixed right about … okay, it’s fixed.”

“Seriously? Mr. Super-Advanced AI, but you weren’t able to warn me about a simple setting?”

“Hey, what do you want from me? I did exactly what you told me, didn’t I? What, now I’m supposed to do what you
meant
for me to do instead?
Get
the hell outta here!”

Rios just shook his head, realizing that, somehow, there was a kernel of undeniable logic in “Lucky’s” comments.

“Alright, alright. You’re right, I screwed up. Now, give me a status update and let’s try the neural interface again.”

“All EVA systems nominal. Power level ninety-nine percent. Pulse rifle integration complete. On course for the LZ — ETA two one seconds. Manual control restored in 3 … 2 … 1 …”

Rios knew immediately that all was now well with his EVA suit. The improper settings had apparently even been preventing its synthetic musculature from completely conforming to his body, which he now both heard and felt taking place. Thinking back, he also realized that things hadn’t felt quite right, even before leaving the ship. At the time, he had foolishly chalked it up to the muscle fibers and armor not being fully “broken in,” and the fact that he should have known better made that realization all the more irritating. The good news was that his new suit now felt pretty much identical to his old one. The most obvious difference, of course, was that the old model was capable of “flight” only in the microgravity environment of space. This new one … came as close as he imagined Humans would ever come to turning a mere mortal into a super hero.

Marine Squads “Savage 1” and “Savage 2”

(Over the landing zone)

“Savage 1 squad, hold position over the landing pad,” Jacks ordered as all twenty-eight members of his small but powerful force arrived silently at their target location, followed closely by their two, AI-controlled
Gurkha
assault shuttles. “Savage 2, split your squad into two sections, proceed three hundred meters north and south from the center of the landing pad, then move slowly east.”

“Savage 2 copies,” Master Sergeant Rios replied. The command interface of his suit allowed him to quickly designate the members of each new section of his squad and then assign their respective areas of responsibility. In seconds, his new orders appeared within each of his Marines’ fields of view, and the two sections headed off toward the north and south ends of the huge landing pad.

“Be advised that since we don’t have eyes on the target, neither does
Theseus
. We might also lose contact with the ship after we cross the boundary fence,” Lieutenant Jacks said. If there was one thing he hated during a mission, it was a bunch of unnecessary chatter on the radio. He had already been forced into saying more than usual on this op, but it couldn’t be helped. His Marine special operators were accustomed to operating in an “information-rich” environment, after all, but the unusual circumstances created by TFC’s countermeasures and today’s poor visibility had them going in almost blind.

“Savage 2 sections in position,” Rios reported from the northernmost group. “Moving east.”

Without responding verbally, Jacks commanded his squad to begin their sweep eastward at the same moment, adjusting the altitude of both squads to fifty meters as he did so. He had hoped to be in contact with Admiral Sexton by this time, or at least have acquired a signal from his beacon. So far, there had been no contact – no signal from the beacon, no thermals, nothing. Now, the young lieutenant monitored the sensor readouts projected in his helmet display intently as his two squads of Marines moved forward in a line stretching nearly one kilometer from end to end.
It shouldn’t take us long to find them,
he thought, a
ssuming they’re where they’re supposed to be, that is.