TFS Theseus: The Terran Fleet Command Saga – Book 2 (8 page)

“We have not been able to determine whether direct communications have ever taken place with an actual member of the Pelaran race, whatever that might be, or if the spacecraft itself was responsible for the contact. In fact, we have very little intelligence regarding the nature of whatever communication took place. We believe, however, that these Guardian spacecraft are so sophisticated that they have achieved some level of self-awareness. If you were to engage one in conversation, it would most likely be difficult to perceive that you were speaking to a thinking machine.”

Human engineers had demonstrated something of an inherent talent for computer science since its advent on Earth in the early twentieth century, so the idea of a “sentient” machine wasn’t particularly surprising to the TFC admirals. For well over three hundred years, Earth’s processing power had continued to increase at the rate predicted by the so-called “Moore’s Law,” roughly doubling every two to three years. Although Gordon Moore himself predicted in 2015 that the pace would slow significantly within ten years, the exponential growth had continued unabated. The relentless progress was due in part to occasional quantum leaps in integrated circuit design inspired by the study of “Grey-enhanced” artifacts (which Moore, understandably, did not factor into his projections), but the primary driver had always been a natural Human aptitude for the field. As a result, Earth’s computing power continued to grow at a rate more than double that of most post-industrial civilizations. Modern artificial intelligence systems represented the crowning achievement of over three centuries of such progress. As powerful as Human computing systems had become, however, none had reached a level that was considered “self-aware.” The systems were capable of self-improvement on a number of levels and perhaps even what might be considered rudimentary consciousness. Self-awareness, on the other hand, implied not only an awareness of oneself as an individual, but also an introspective understanding of what was implied by that awareness. While seemingly a minor, even academic distinction, it still represented a thus far unbridgeable gap between man and machine.

“Let me make sure I understand. You have evidence that the Guardian spacecraft were somehow engaged in direct communications with these individuals, but you have not been able to determine the purpose of these conversations?” Sexton asked.

“Once again, what I can offer along those lines is based more on speculation than hard intelligence. We do know that the devices seem to be intended more for data acquisition than direct contact. Each device maintains a continuous data stream with the Guardian spacecraft. We really have no way of knowing how much information they are capable of gathering, but we can infer that they are incredibly effective. The biometric scans you mention, for example, do much more than simply identify the intended user. They seem to provide a sophisticated biological and psychological profile of every individual within its operating range. We believe it is this data that ultimately allows the Pelarans to exert the level of influence required to persuade a world into joining their alliance.”

“The Pelaran equivalent of a Trojan horse,” Sexton remarked. “In our defense, Admiral Naftur, I feel obligated to tell you that we have been extremely careful with these devices. Even though they are keyed to a single individual, they are only accessed in the company of others, and always within the confines of a highly secured facility.”

“I have no doubt that you have taken the precautions you deemed appropriate, and I assure you that there is no implied criticism in my revealing this information to you. The Pelarans, of course, correctly assumed that such security measures would be undertaken, so the technology built into the devices is more than sophisticated enough to hide their intended purpose. Our chief concern is that they would not have gone to so much trouble unless they were attempting to conceal some sort of espionage. At the very least, their behavior seems to indicate the pursuit of an agenda they would prefer to shelter from the light of public scrutiny.”

“Possibly,” White replied. “Although our first contact protocols emphasize the idea that an alien race is likely to have very different notions of what they consider appropriate. The fact that the Pelarans went to such lengths to hide the true purpose of these devices is troubling, however. Most of the individuals the Guardian selected to receive them are members of the scientific and engineering community, in addition to a few military and government representatives. I believe we always made the assumption that their selection was based solely on their role in working with Pelaran technology, but clearly there was much more to it than that.”

“We made similar assumptions on Graca concerning how we believed ‘alien’ races would behave during a first contact situation, Admiral White. Over time, we learned that most species intelligent enough to cross interstellar space and visit another world have remarkably similar ideas regarding what is and is not considered appropriate,” Naftur smiled. “I do not believe, for example, that any species seeking a transparent, open dialog with another would hide their intentions in this manner. I will say, however, that we have seen no evidence that the Pelarans have engaged in any overt acts of espionage. The intent of the devices seems a bit more subtle. Apparently, the Pelarans seek to develop a level of influence sufficient to ensure their success before any formal communications ever take place. Accordingly, there are always a few individuals who become instrumental in assisting the Pelaran effort to induct their world into the Alliance.”

“So let me see if I can sum up this final point,” Sexton said. “The Guardian spacecraft has most likely developed highly detailed information that allows it to wield significant influence over individuals in positions of technological, governmental, and military leadership around the world. These individuals could very well be in some kind of contact with the spacecraft, but we do not know the nature of that contact, nor do we know exactly how this influence is being used to further the Pelaran agenda.” Sexton paused, shaking his head while staring at the floor in thought. “I’m sorry, Admiral Naftur, I’m afraid I am at a loss as to what we are supposed to do with this information.”

“I wish I had more to offer you. In fact, I seriously considered not revealing this information for that very reason. I recently read an old proverb of yours, however, that seemed to fit the situation. It said, ‘praemonitus, praemunitus … forewarned is forearmed.’ Perhaps you should consider publicly revealing this knowledge in the hope that it might mitigate the Pelaran influence somewhat.”

“Perhaps, but this situation is already developing so fast that I’m afraid we may find ourselves committed to following a path not entirely of our choosing.”

Chapter 5

TFS Jutland, Earth Orbit

(0605 UTC - Primary Flight Control)

“Attention on the hangar deck, this is the Air Boss. Stand by for a forty-eight-spacecraft launch event. This will be a rapid-turn, simultaneous launch utilizing all eight elevators — two
Hunter
RPSVs per elevator, sixteen ships per cycle, and three launch cycles. Spacecraft-handling officers report readiness and expect a green deck in zero four minutes.”

Commander David Waffer scowled as he studied the bank of view screens lining the front wall of TFS
Jutland’s
Primary Flight Control, or “Pri-Fly,” while draining his fourth cup of coffee in the past two hours. The carrier had barely been in space for twelve hours, but, gratifyingly, she had still managed to maintain a fairly steady pace of flight operations during that time.

Within minutes of the ship’s arrival in Earth orbit, Admiral Patterson had issued an order that at least two, four-ship formations of C-Drive-equipped
Hunter
RPSVs were to remain on patrol at all times. Waffer knew the admiral to be an extraordinarily detail-oriented officer, so he took it as a sign of just how overloaded everyone was at the moment that he had overlooked the fact that only the
Jutland
currently had any C-Drive-equipped
Hunters
aboard. Under normal circumstances, it would not have been particularly taxing for the ship to sustain heavy flight operations over an extended period of time, and keeping eight
Hunters
in continuous operation hardly constituted a challenging launch schedule in any event. The problem had more to do with the
Jutland
herself. At over a kilometer in length and with a displacement of six hundred and two thousand metric tons, she and her sister ships were easily the most complex vessels ever constructed. Now, without the benefit of a shakedown cruise, she was being asked to perform at an operational tempo traditionally required of planet-side carriers only after having been at sea for a year or more.

“Hey Nilla, any word on additional
Reaper
ops?” one of the F-373 pilots called from the bulkhead pressure door, his upper body leaning into the room from the corridor. The call sign “Nilla” had been an all too obvious choice for Waffer. A number of his fellow pilots had even commented over the years that the moniker was a perfect match for his personality, even without the added benefit of his last name. The same analogy did not apply to the Air Boss’s flying, however, where his skills were likened to that of a true artist of the rapidly disappearing trade.

“Not for the moment, no. We’ll continue to keep two sitting ready-five, but I doubt we’ll put up a manned combat air patrol for a while. I suspect the admiral will continue the hold on nonessential flight ops until after the meeting at 1000 Zulu.”

“Oh yeah, we heard about the conference call with our friend GORT out there. Sure hope that one doesn’t go sideways on us,” the pilot chuckled. The name “GORT” had recently gained popularity among the rank and file members of Terran Fleet Command, who had grown tired of constantly referring to the Pelaran vessel as “the Guardian spacecraft.” GORT was a reference to the often remade classic science fiction movie “The Day the Earth Stood Still,” in which a giant robot of that name was said to be powerful enough to destroy the Earth. As if that weren’t enough, one of the movie’s remakes even referenced the fact that GORT was actually an acronym for “Genetically Organized Robotic Technology.” Appropriate or not, it seemed to be a name that was destined to stick.

“Well, if it does go sideways, I doubt we’ll be around long enough to worry about it much anyway, so whatever. At least I’ll get some rest,” Waffer laughed. “Speaking of that, the CAG was in here a little while ago. Please let everyone know that he expects there will be quite a bit more activity within the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours, so they need to get some rack time while they can,” he said, referring to the commander of the
Jutland’s
air wing, still generally known as the “CAG.”

“Will do, Commander. You might want to do that yourself, sir,” he replied, allowing the bulkhead door to close as he headed back in the direction of his squadron’s ready room.

“Right,” Waffer muttered to himself. “I’ll get right on that.”

“Commander Waffer, three spacecraft handlers report a red status,” his assistant, often referred to as the ‘miniboss,’ reported. “We’re still having a pressurization problem on elevators four and eight, and one of the birds is showing a fault on one of its HB-7c missile racks.”

Not for the first time this morning, Nilla drew in a deep breath and then exhaled slowly through pursed lips, commanding himself to relax and focus. “Tell them they have zero three minutes to sort it out and report back. Otherwise, let’s reconfigure the launch event for six elevators and add another cycle. If they can’t fix the missile fault, disarm that rack or replace the spacecraft. I really don’t care which as long as we get this launch event underway soon. You can count on a call from the admiral otherwise.”

“Aye, sir. They’re on it.”

As useful and truly versatile as the ubiquitous RPSVs were, less than twenty percent of the fleet were made up of the newest “Block 3A” version, which included a variety of improvements — most importantly the addition of a C-Drive as well as C-Drive-equipped HB-7c missiles. Out of the over four hundred RPSVs deployed across the various Fleet ships now on station in the vicinity of Earth, only one hundred and twenty were the latest model. So far, Admiral Patterson had ordered eight of these to be on continuous patrol and was now sending forty-eight more to search for the Resistance task force. These two relatively simple missions had already committed nearly half of their most capable RPSVs … not even taking into account the inevitable need for spares. It wasn’t so much that the original
Hunters
weren’t quite capable in their own right — and with over three hundred of them available, they still represented one of TFC’s most important military assets. Without hyperdrive capabilities, however, earlier versions of the RPSV were limited to missions in the general vicinity of their mother ships. By comparison, the Block 3A upgrade provided a reconnaissance and strike capability with virtually unlimited range, rendering the previous models painfully obsolete less than a year after the first
Hunter
had rolled off the assembly line.

Outside, on the carrier’s massive flight deck, four teams wearing EVA suits very similar to those used by TFC Marines struggled with the uppermost set of elevator bulkhead doors. Elevators four and eight were the largest of the ship’s eight elevators. Each was designed to transport ships up to the size of
Ingenuity
-class frigates from the cavernous, pressurized hangar deck below to the flight deck during launch and recovery operations. Still largely based on technology that would not have seemed out of place centuries earlier, the mechanically-actuated doors were now providing a perfect example of the types of problems normally addressed during a ship’s shakedown cruise. Thus far, in the brief but eventful history of Terran Fleet Command, however, there had been little time available for such luxuries.

“Air Boss, EVA1,” came the call from the lieutenant in charge of the flight deck maintenance crews.

“EVA1, go for Air Boss.”

“Commander, it’s a no go for the top bulkhead doors on both of these lifts. We might be able to risk it in an emergency, but that would leave just one set of locking doors between the hangar deck and a hard vacuum. Seeing as how those doors are pretty much the same as the ones that are having problems, I don’t think it’s worth the risk. Elevators four and eight are inop until further notice.”

“That’s not good news, Lieutenant. How long do you expect it will take to fix them?”

“It’s not a repair we really want to attempt in EVA gear, sir. I’d categorize it as more of an installation problem than a typical break/fix situation. In space, this will take a week or more if we work on it around the clock. At Yucca, both lifts can probably be fixed in a day.”

Waffer paused to think through the implications of this latest problem. The main consequence would be losing the capability for larger ships to take advantage of the carrier’s hangar deck as an in-space repair depot. As far as combat ops were concerned, however, there should be minimal impact — assuming the remaining six elevators remained operational, that is. “Alright, EVA1, seal the lift tunnels and get your people inside. We’ll talk it over in staff and probably raise the question to Admiral Patterson, but I agree that it seems like an unnecessary risk at the moment.”

“Sorry about that, sir. Will do. EVA1 out.”

“Alright, there you have it,” Waffer sighed. “Go ahead and reconfigure the launch event for six elevators and four cycles. We need those RPSVs away immediately.”

“Aye sir, already done,” his assistant replied. “Handlers now reporting a green status. They pulled two HB-7c missiles off the bird with the fault, so it’s good to go with six missiles aboard.”

“Very well. Green deck, get ‘em out of here.”

With the first cycle of the launch event now imminent, automated warning announcements from
Jutland’s
AI echoed through the hangar deck: “
Attention, launch event commencing. Clear elevators one through three and elevators five through seven for immediate departure. Lift operation in six zero seconds.”
On the floor of the hangar deck, six spacecraft directors, still commonly referred to as “bears,” stood poised next to their respective elevator platforms with one arm in the air to indicate that their area was clear and safe for lift operation. Just a few meters away from each bear, one of the first six pairs of
Hunters
sat poised for takeoff near the center of their lift platform — reactors, engines, and flight systems fully online. Since each two-ship formation would be conducting reconnaissance at a distance of two to five light years from Earth, they were configured to operate in a completely autonomous manner after leaving the carrier. Each pair would be responsible for surveying fourteen individual regions of space. Even in a worst case scenario where their last recon target turned out to be the staging area for the Resistance task force, the operation was expected to take no more than six days to complete.

“Pri-Fly, bridge.”

“Air Boss here. Go for Pri-Fly.”

“Sorry to interrupt you, Commander Waffer,” came the apologetic call from the on-duty bridge comm officer, “but we just got a message from the Flag asking what the holdup was on the
Hunter
recon flight op.”

Well shit … I guess I knew that was coming,
Waffer thought cynically. “Understood. Please apologize for the delay and let Admiral Patterson know that the launch event is underway now. The first twelve
Hunters
will be away momentarily.”

“Thank you, sir. Bridge out.”

Waffer turned to look at his assistant, shaking his head. “Just so you know, I’m gonna say it was your fault,” he chuckled.

“No problem, sir. That’s what minibosses are for.”

Simultaneous launch and recovery options were once somewhat rare aboard planet-side carriers. This was primarily due to the fact that such a large area of the flight deck was required for catapult-based launches and arresting-gear landings. Non-concurrent or “cyclic” launch and recovery operations also provided an added safety factor by building in additional separation between aircraft during the most critical (and dangerous) phases of flight. This had changed significantly as vertical takeoff and landing capabilities became the norm for carrier-based aircraft in the late twenty-first century. Much more recently, the advent of gravitic systems for “zero mass” approaches and landings, as well as advanced AI-based control of aircraft during approach and landing now provided the few remaining Earth-bound carriers the capability to rapidly launch and recover large numbers of aircraft. The result of this strange technological progression was a remarkable similarity between carrier-based flight operations, whether on the surface of the sea, or in the depths of space.

“Attention, launch event initiated. Lift operation in five … four … three … two … one …” the ship’s AI announced. “Stand by for launch cycle two, commencing in three zero seconds.”

All six of the
Jutland’s
operational flight elevators rose simultaneously until each platform’s surface was flush with the carrier’s flight deck. Less than two seconds later, after a final confirmation of each of the RPSV’s mission profiles, the carrier’s AI granted autonomous control to each individual spacecraft. The
Hunters
then took an additional second to synchronize with the second spacecraft in their individual formations before running their own final set of pre-launch systems checks. In the silence of space, the departure had the look of a highly choreographed ballet routine as all twelve spacecraft slowly rose from the flight deck as one before each pair headed off in different directions, gradually increasing their speed to gain separation from the
Jutland
. A mere fifteen seconds after reaching the carrier’s flight deck, the space around all twelve RPSV’s distorted slightly as each spacecraft disappeared in a small flash of grayish-white light.

TFC Yucca Mountain Shipyard Facility