Valor At Vauzlee (46 page)

Plimley, Loretta J. -
Rear-Admiral, (U) - Dir. of Weapons R&D

Hubera, Donald M. -
Rear-Admiral, (U) - Dir. of Academy Curricula

Ship Speed Terminology:

Plus-1
- 1 kps

Sub-Light-1 -
1,000 kps

Light-1 -
299,792.458 kps or (
c
)
(
speed of light in a vacuum)

Light-150
or
150 c -
150 times the speed of light

Hyper-Space Factors:

IDS Communications Band -
.0513 light years each minute (8.09 billion kps)

DeTect Range -
4 billion kilometers

Sample Distances:

Earth to Mars (Mean) -
78 million kilometers

Nearest star to our Sun -
4 light-years (Proxima Centauri)

Milky Way Galaxy diameter -
100,000 light-years

Thickness of M'Way at Sun -
2,000 light-years

Stars in Milky Way -
200 billion (est.)

Nearest galaxy (Andromeda) -
2 million light-years from M'Way

A light-year
- 9,460,730,472,580.8 kilometers (in vacuum)

A light-second -
299,792.458 km (in vacuum)

Grid Unit -
1,000 Light Yrs² (1,000,000 Sq. LY)

Deca-Sector -
100 Light Years² (10,000 Sq. LY)

Sector -
10 Light Years² (100 Sq. LY)

Section
- 94,607,304,725 km²

Sub-section
- 946,073,047 km²

Mission Descriptions for Strategic Command Bases:

Strat Com 1 – Base - Location establishes it as a critical component of Space Command Operations - Serves as home-port to multiple warships that also serve in base's defense. All sections of Space Command maintain an active office at the base. Base Commander establishes all patrol routes and is authorized to override SHQ orders to ships within the sector(s) designated part of the base's operating territory.
Recommended rank of Commanding Officer: Rear Admiral (U)

Strat Com 2 – Base - Location establishes it as a crucial component of Space Command Operations - Serves as home-port to multiple warships that also serve in base's defense. All sections of Space Command maintain an active office at the base. Patrol routes established by SHQ.
Recommended rank of Commanding Officer: Rear Admiral (L)

Strat Com 3 – Base - Location establishes it as an important component of Space Command Operations - Serves as homeport to multiple warships that also serve in base's defense. Patrol routes established by SHQ.
Recommended rank of Commanding Officer: Captain

Strat Com 4 – Station - Location establishes it as an important terminal for Space Command personnel engaged in travel to/from postings, and for re-supply of vessels and outposts.
Recommended rank of Commanding Officer: Commander

Strat Com 5 – Outpost - Location makes it important for observation purposes and collection of information.
Recommended rank of Commanding Officer: Lt. Commander

Some customers have requested that the product description on Amazon, and the rear cover or book jacket descriptions, be included with the kindle copy. I've added them here:

Following her escape from Raider slavers, Jenetta Carver is promoted to Lt. Commander and posted as second officer aboard the battleship Prometheus. The ship is about to return to Earth for its official launching ceremony, and a medal ceremony for Jenetta as recognition for acts of outstanding valor.

A captured Raider officer, eager to secure his freedom, informs Space Command Intelligence of a planned attack on a convoy by a massive Raider armada. Never before has Space Command had an opportunity to confront the Raiders in force because an effective Raider spotter network always allows the pirates to avoid SC warships. For the first time in Galactic Alliance history, Space Command warships might have a chance to engage a fleet of pirate ships in mortal combat.

The Space Command Admiral responsible for this sector of space pulls out all stops while planning to surreptitiously assemble a task force of ten ships, the most that can be secretly diverted, to face off against the Raider ambushers. One of those ships happens to be the Prometheus, and Jenetta finds herself again caught up in a life or death situation. The Prometheus arrives at the rendezvous point, a month from Higgins SC Base, to await the arrival of the other ships, and a call for help from the convoy.

Only two other ships have reached the RP when the convoy is attacked. Captain Gavin of the Prometheus, in his capacity as task force commander, decides that they can't wait for the others, so the three SC warships race off to face a Raider warship force they expect will number forty plus.

From the back cover of the print version:

"The Janice just took a serious hit, Commodore," the com operator announced nervously. "It knocked out two of her larboard tubes. Twelve crewmen are missing; either vaporized or possibly sucked out the hole made by the torpedo."

"Damn," Commodore Blosset mumbled. He had already lost mental count of the number of dead and wounded. The casualties were mounting too quickly. There were just too many damn Raider ships.

"Perhaps it's time to consider another option, Commodore," Commander Schwann said weakly from his chair next to the Commodore, "while our temporal field generator is still intact."

Commodore Blosset saw the desperation in his eyes, and heard the fear in his voice. "You mean run away?"

"We're as good as dead if we remain here, sir. We can still get away if we go now. We have no chance of surviving if we stay here. They're killing us, bit by bit."

"Commodore," the tactical officer aboard the Peabody Security Forces Clarice said, "another ship has just appeared outside the ring of circling ships. It looks like a battleship. We're now facing forty-two Raider warships."

'This just keeps getting better and better,'
Commodore Blosset thought.
'Maybe I should consider a tactical withdrawal of my remaining forces.'

~ June 12
^th
, 2269 ~

A recalcitrant clump of wiry salt and pepper hair flopped about ingenuously as the septuagenarian head beneath it twisted this way and that in the glare from an excessively bright overhead lamp. The unlit stump of the offensive cigar that had fouled the air inside the hot and unventilated tent until it was no longer fit for man or beast, hung precariously from aged lips. It was difficult to tell if the occasional sound that escaped past the cigar stump was excitement, wonder, or simple approval.

Pushed together to form an ad hoc table, a collection of large, injection-molded packing cases supported an oversized tray filled with corroded relics of the past. The aggregation represented just one day of laborious digging. A collapsible canvas chair, a clothing trunk, and a bed constituted the only other furnishings in the shelter.

The single tribute to modern science was the gel-comfort bed, whose simple controls can increase or decrease the gel pressure in the mattress or adjust its temperature to immediately suit the owner. The thin, gravity-shielding cloth used to cover the bottom of the mattress allowed the bed's occupant to reduce the effects of gravity above the bed and thus suspend the sleeper so lightly on the surface that it felt as if one were sleeping on a cloud.

A young head, eyes bright with excitement, suddenly obtruded between sun-bleached canvas flaps at the entrance of the shelter and shouted, "Doctor Peterson, come quickly!" After coughing twice when it unwisely paused to breathe in a lungful of polluted air, it managed to choke out, "We've found something! Please come at once!"

Doctor Edward Peterson lowered the ancient artifact he was examining and slowly turned a weatherworn face towards the eager graduate student. He sighed quietly. He'd seen that selfsame look on Bruce Priestley's face many times before, and it might, or might not, be anything significant, but as expedition leader he was perforce obligated to take a look. Removing his eyeglasses unhurriedly, he rubbed his nose gently where the frame had rested and left slight indentations in the flesh. Then he carefully folded the eyeglasses before placing them into their hard protective case.

Virtually everyone had been having their eyes corrected surgically since the process had become as routine as cleaning your teeth with a sonic toothbrush, but Doctor Peterson was a bit of an anachronism. It was almost impossible to get new eyeglasses these days, and he guarded the several pair he owned with a controlled fanaticism. He'd sworn an oath to himself to use eyeglasses to correct the vision in his light-grey, senesced eyes until he could no longer replace the spectacles.

Peterson's career in the field of archeology kept him living in the past, and he frowned upon modern technology, yet— he never hesitated to use it wherever it proved to be an invaluable tool for advancing his work; or when it allowed him to get a good night's sleep. He insisted upon living in a tent, while everyone else lived in temperature and humidity controlled portable shelters, but he allowed special digger droids to assist in earth removal efforts because they greatly facilitated access to his obsession— the magnificent relics from the past.

The Doctor cleared his throat noisily, put his enormous, gnarled hands on the arms of his chair and pushed down as he rose to his feet. As he reached the entrance, his young assistant eagerly swept the tent flap aside, instantly bathing Peterson in the summer afternoon's harsh sunlight while allowing fresh air to revivify the smoke saturated milieu inside the tent. Peterson squinted, ducked his head, and propelled his sinewy six-foot four-inch frame through the opening, just as an early afternoon zephyr drifted leisurely through the camp.

Pausing for just a few seconds to allow his eyes to adjust to the bright light, he scanned the horizon and again marveled to himself just how much the gently rolling landscape on this part of Mawcett always reminded him of his hometown in western Pennsylvania. If not for the purple and black leaves of the trees, and the tree trunks covered by a slippery, fibrous surface that constantly oozed a mucous-like substance, he could almost forget that he was light years from the town where he'd spent his youth. The varieties of fragrant wild-flowers that grew in great abundance around the camp, even made it smell like home. Perhaps that was why he'd selected this area for the dig site from among the innumerous locations available on the uninhabited planet.

The weather on this June day also compared favorably to what he would have expected back home at this time of year. And each evening, everyone on the planet was treated to the most magnificent light show in the known universe. As the sun dipped gently below the horizon, the sky virtually exploded into brilliant spectacles of reds, yellows, oranges, and purples. It was almost worthwhile taking the long trip to Mawcett just to enjoy its panoramic sunsets.

Turning his craggy face with its hawk-like features and two days of salt and pepper beard stubble towards Priestly, Dr. Peterson said sternly, "I hope this is better than yesterday's
spectacular find
, Bruce."

Bruce Priestly grinned crookedly as they resumed the trek. Twenty-six years young, with short brown hair, pallid skin, and a thin frame, Priestly looked more like an accountant than a field researcher. Standing barely five-foot seven-inches, he was shorter than the Doctor by more than half a foot. He lowered his medium brown eyes and put on his most apologetic face before saying, "It is, sir. I'm sorry about yesterday. I really thought that we were onto something when we found that concrete tunnel."