Introduction: Hope Unbounded
"We commend to each of you our futures," The Admiral spoke. He was obviously an accomplished public speaker. "You, the Starfleet Academy class of 2228 will go boldly where no man, where no one has gone before." The admiral's voice droned on. The boy looked over when he heard the restful sounds of light snoring. At seven years of age the young boy was wide awake despite the long journey by shuttle to San Francisco. The sight of the beings in multi-colored dress uniforms and the military fanfare held the boy enthralled. So of course he could not understand why his great-grandmother was not equally excited.
"Gramma!" he exclaimed. "You are falling asleep on the man!" The boy's father looked sharply at his child. Then the man turned a concerned glance to his aged grandmother, his son's great-grandmother. He wished that she had not chosen to come to this commencement ceremony. He thought that she certainly had seen enough of them in the past. Life expectancies were high these days but at 93 the woman ought to know better he thought.
"I'm awake child!" The elderly woman exclaimed. Her eyes twinkled with a youth that belied her age. "Now why don't you hush your mouth and listen to the man!"
"I wanna see the ships Gramma!" The boy whispered with quiet glee.
"We will just listen and wait!" The woman told her great-grandson firmly. Underlying the tender voice of a kindly grandmother was another firmer voice that was used to being in authority—and of being obeyed. The boy fell silent.
"I wish we could do that with him," The woman's grandson whispered quietly. His wife tuned to her husband with a warning glance. The admiral continued speaking in the background.
Starbase One, Starfleet Museum
"This is the bridge of the Bison class starship Beagle; such ships were in general use in the mid-twenty second century." The cadet announced. The young Tellarite had all the earmarks of someone who had acted as tour guide one too many times. "As you can see compared to the Daedalus class we just left the bridge of these craft are much smaller and more primitive. Hard to believe anyone would go into space in something like this!" This last drew twitters of laughter from the tour group.
"It smells," A nameless Vulcan in the group declared. For a race that maintained a mental leash on their emotions the Vulcans did not always prove to be the most tactful people in social situations. The Vulcan's nose was wrinkled in disgust. Several nods and a chorus of uh-huhs issued forth from the tour group.
"The air scrubbers were not as efficient as the ones we use today." The Cadet explained. "These were relatively primitive ships. Imagine spending months in one!" This last he added in a voice full of amusement; he looked nervously at his chronometer. "Now if you will move along with me we will end our tour in the engineering section." The Tellarite cadet waved to the group to move on. He did not notice that one of his charges had fallen behind.
The elderly woman had left her family in a restaurant in the orbiting museum. She needed a little time alone. Her Grandson had looked after her with alarm. But she had given him a look that had cowled many another person in the past. In the end he had let her go about her business. Toby, her great grandson would soon be cranky after the tour and now a full belly.
She moved around the tiny bridge. All the instrument panels were as she remembered them. She moved her hand tenderly over each of them. Yes it did smell; it smelled of old burnt electrical systems, burnt plastics, and the sweat and charred flesh of humans, andorians and tellarites. The smell was intimately familiar to her. The elderly woman moved to the center seat. The ancient captain's chair was padded in an older synthetic material. The seat covering was cracked and old and seemed to smell most of all. The woman seated herself gingerly in the chair. It all seemed like yesterday.
They were all so innocent. No one had asked for what had happened. Before it began it had been a time of innocence; a time so innocent as to seem like an idyllic childhood. She had been born into those days. She gripped the armrests of the command chair as one would grip the hand of a good friend in greeting; memories came flooding in. At 93 she had hoped she would forget the worst of it; but it all returned; the good and bad. It almost made the tall elderly woman wish she had the safe blanket of senility. But no, she was never one to run. She had never run away or shirked her duty. She closed her eyes and let the memories embrace her like an old lover.
Shattered Paradise
Savannah Georgia, Earth Dec. 2155
"Jo-Jo you get your butt in here!" Jocelyn Stiles mother Kendra yelled. "It's raining cats and dogs out there!"
"Mom you forgot about Sparks!" Jocelyn Stiles was referring to her parents' dog Sparks. The animal was of indeterminate origin. Jocelyn had often heard her father refer to the pooch as a 'Heinz 57'; referring to how many different breeds were involved in Spark's lineage. Stiles let the rain soaked dog in the house. Jocelyn swept back her hood. Stiles was a tall athletic, willowy woman with dusky chocolate colored skin on the good side of her twenties. The pooch had very little thanks for Jocelyn as he headed for his bowl of chow.
"That dog likes the water baby," Her mother replied. "Lord, when your Daddy takes him fishing it is more like a swimming trip for ole Sparks!" Kendra stooped over and rubbed the dog's head. She let out a small groan as she bent down. Closer to fifty than forty Kendra Stiles was starting to feel those little aches in her joints.
"He doesn't like water that much Mom," Jocelyn replied. Her voice had a note of tension in it.
"It's gonna be alright honeychile," Kendra Stiles assured her daughter. The older Stiles knew what was troubling her daughter. "Henry took a shine to your man when you first brought him here. Lord knows how you and a pasty skinned fellow like that ever got together but that is love for you."
"C'mon Mom that sort of thing went out 200 years ago!" The younger Stiles exclaimed.
"Oh I don't mean that!" Kendra answered in explanation. "No one cares that he is a white boy. I was thinking; you know whoever you brought home with you is going to have to spend some time in the fields with your Dad. Well hon, you should've picked someone who isn't going to fry like bacon in the Georgia sun!"
"I can't help it!" Jocelyn admitted with a rueful grin. "It was like when I met David he was it! I don't know why I thought that."
Her mother let out a raucous guffaw. "Baby I still remember the day I met your Dad. There he was asking me if I knew where the Agronomy center was on campus. He had a hat on that made him look like a criminal from the 20th century and a stack of computer data tablets that were dropping on the ground while he was talking to me. For some reason I knew this was the silliest man I ever met; next year we were married."
"Now is the worst part of the relationship honey," Kendra said knowingly to her elder daughter: "Meeting the parents."
Jocelyn looked at her mother with a worried look on her face. Her Mom, as always had gotten right to the crux of the problem. To see the younger Stiles one would think that her fiancée was facing serious surgery rather than a dinner with her family. Her mother looked at her with undisguised humor. Kendra Stiles looked at her watch, seemed to think a moment then announced to her daughter:
"I think that is enough time for your dad to interrogate your man. Let's get in the study before he has Davy out cleaning the stalls or something like that! Remember hon, when they get yapping about men things wave some food under their noses. There'll soon forget about all of that stuff!"
The women made their way to the study of Henry Aaron Stiles when they bumped into Henry Aaron Stiles II. The young man had gotten home for a short break from West Virginia University medical school. He embraced his mother first and then his sister. His sister dwarfed him in height by at least six centimeters, but Henry junior was a wide young man who excelled on the college wrestling team and it showed. The siblings hugged for several long moments.
"Look at you Halfpint!" Jocelyn referred to her younger brother by the not so affectionate nickname she had assigned him while they were young children. Her brother looked at Jocelyn with mock anger.
"I'll Halfpint you, Lieutenant Stiles!" Henry put the emphasis on Jocelyn's rank. "My sister, the soldier!" The young man joked. The two embraced again. Neither had seen the other for over a year. Jocelyn had graduated from the Air Force Academy a year earlier and was immediately assigned to the United Earth Stellar Navy as a science officer. The young officer languished in the personnel pool performing menial jobs. In the meantime she had met another young officer; a graduate of the US Navy Academy. The two had become romantically involved. Two weeks ago she had received the news that she would get a posting to a starship. One week after that Lt. JG David Allen Hudson, a young fair skinned man from Virginia had proposed to Jocelyn. She had accepted happily.
"Where is your girl Junior?" Kendra Stiles asked her son with a gleam in her eyes. "I was hopin' to meet her again she is a sweet girl."
"She has finals next week Ma," Henry Aaron Stiles II replied. "Amanda wanted to come but she is worried; just two more years and she will be done. Besides I think it embarrasses her when you talk about wanting to play with your grandchildren."
"I wasn't playing matchmaker Junior," Kendra Stiles protested with mock anger. "Just speculatin' on the fine looking grand kids you and Amanda would make!"
Henry Aaron Stiles II rolled his eyes. He looked at his sister and both siblings laughed. They both told their mother that she hadn't changed. Then the youngest of the Stiles' children said:
"Looks like big Sis will be filling the Grandchild role Mama!"
The trio had entered the study to find Henry Aaron Stiles I engaged in a game of checkers with his prospective son-in-law. Both men looked up in greeting and David Allen Hudson jumped up to greet his fiancées younger brother. The two young men had become fast friends despite being separated by distance. The two men shook hands; both were about the same height. David Allen Hudson wasn't as broad-shouldered as his future brother-in-law. Hudson was a man with a thick crop of sandy blonde hair. He was the same age as his fiancé which was to say 23.
"Dad beating you in checkers?" Henry Jr. asked humorously. "An all collegiate chess champion and he plays checkers!"
"Chess is for people who hate each other," Henry Aaron Stiles declared. The elder Stiles was a powerfully built, bald man just entering his early fifties. "Checkers is for friends. And Davy here might well be the daddy of my first grandchild! That sure as hell makes him a friend in my book!"
"What is it about you guys and grandchildren?" Jocelyn asked her parents.
"We have a big house baby," Her mother replied. "It needs family."
The group bantered a while longer as family does. Finally they headed for the dining room after Kendra heard the oven timer go off. The elder Stiles headed off for the kitchen. The older woman fairly batted her daughter away when Jocelyn followed her to help in the final preparation of the family meal. Jocelyn returned to hear her brother chiding her fiancé about David's and Jocelyn's expected family life.
"I see how she got you David!" Henry Junior said with a voice full of mirth. "You're a shorty like me. Did she protect you? Did she beat up midshipmen who were bothering you? I remember when I was ten years old. Joey Talbott was gonna beat the hell out of me. He was older—and bigger. He had me by the collar and here comes this terror in a pink sun dress; my older sister. Poor Joey! He stayed home from school for three days! Jo-Jo didn't thrash him that bad he was just…embarrassed!"
"No one messed with my little brother again!" Jocelyn declared. There was a note of love in her voice.
"I had to get big muscles and wrestle just to get out from under your shadow Sis!" Henry Stiles II declared. Then he added sadly. "I wish your shadow was over me again Jo-Jo. I hate to see you leave. You too…brother." Stiles Jr. said to his future brother-in-law.
The two military officers had met, fallen in love and decided to be married. But all of that had escaped the attention of the Stellar Navy's Bureau of Personnel. Both Jocelyn and David had received assignments; to separate postings.
"It'll be less than a year!" Both Jocelyn and David chimed in together. They had discussed this matter many times before. "I'm off on a solar survey and David is going to a boring space station."
The room visibly chilled. The discussion went elsewhere. A year seemed so long when one was postponing happiness. No one around that table that night wanted to think about the couple's immediate future. Space travel was still new and many ships and their crews went out into the black never to return.
San Francisco, California, Earth Dec 2155
Christophur Thorpe leaned back in the comfortable leather, chief executive's chair. Thank God he was not running for reelection again! Thorpe was man on the high side of his fifties distinguished by thick white hair and a moustache. Thorpe turned on the vidcaster. The holographic tank displayed a choice of political round-robin talk shows. The pundits of the day, most of whom Thorpe reflected bitterly could never be elected dog-catcher much less president of the United Earth government. But there they were criticizing Thorpe's government like they had all successfully run one of their own and were now in a position to judge Thorpe. Christophur picked a panel discussion where the moderator was a particularly acerbic gentleman from Islamabad.
Now there was a model society if Thorpe had ever seen one. The United Earth President thought with no small amount of irony. Pakistan had sided with the dreadful Eastern Coalition deciding, at the last minute to switch allegiances from the West who had propped most of their formally dictatorial regimes up. The wrath of the West was visited on that region in a most harsh fashion. When cooler heads had prevailed relief workers arriving in the scorched radioactive cities found the old ways had kicked in: Men were executing women for nothing more than going outside with their heads uncovered. Tribal warfare was rampant everywhere. Thankfully the United Nations' forces were buoyed by military escorts. Order had been restored, albeit in sometimes distasteful ways. Now less than 100 years after First Contact here was a representative of that country, now an enlightened democracy passing judgment on Thorpe and his government.
"Mister Zadari," A commentator Thorpe knew to be from Scotland but whose name he could not recall questioned the pundit. "You have been one of the harshest critics of the Thorpe government. Don't you think our continued expansion into space and the implementation of unlimited education for all humans were notable cornerstones for this administration?"
"Cornerstones yes," Zadari replied in a clipped lilted accent. The portly dark haired man was on the bad side of his forties. "But was it enough? We have pushed out so far—now there is a colony on Deneva. And why I ask? The educational provisions were not enough. There is limited choice for a student. What if one wants to attend Peking and lives in London? Also there is still joblessness. Thorpe has done nothing to relieve that!"
Thorpe cut the display angrily. Yes there was joblessness. Everyone who wanted a job now had one; total employment was now a reality. But the simple fact was that there was a small portion of people who wouldn't work if their lives depended upon it. What did men like Hasif Zadari know anyway Christphur mused? Did the pundit think that Thorpe should call in the troops; hold those people at gunpoint and tell them, 'yes you will work yes you will have a good life.' Human nature was what it was Thorpe had discovered. Hell, the United Earth President thought. He had discovered that at a far younger age than Zadari, who apparently still did not know it. Thorpe was distracted from his bitter thoughts by a call from his administrative assistant.
"Mister President," Karl Eberstark's heavily accented Germanic voice came out of the grille of the ornate intercom box. "Ambassador Shran is here to see you."
Relief! Thorpe thought with a mental chuckle. Shran was a good man—Thorpe knew the Andorian was not strictly speaking a man, but he thought of the blue-skinned alien as such. Without further ado Thorpe replied to Eberstark indicating that worthy should admit the waiting ambassador. This was a scheduled meeting Thorpe knew. The UE President knew the results might not be what he wanted. But it would be a good diversion to speak again with his friend Shran again.
The two beings, one human one Andorian greeted one another in the formal fashion. Then the large carved oaken doors of the Presidential Office closed. Both beings took seats. Shran, a middle-aged Andorian whose physique was still toned from his previous military service sat across the desk from the elderly white-haired Thorpe. Shran produced a bottle of yellowish liquid from his briefcase while Thorpe pulled out a bottle of brownish liquid from his drawer.
"Wiser's Canadian," Thorpe said with a grin handing the bottle over the desk to Shran. "As you requested my friend; you know when I'm out of office you'll have to buy your own whiskey!"
"Andorian Ale," Shran replied formally. His antennae tipped forward. "And unless you move to Andor you will have to buy your ale at import prices after your retirement."
"Move to Andor," The United Earth President replied wistfully. "Seriously my friend you know me and Maggie have considered that." Thorpe and his wife had visited Andor in his official capacity. The two Nordic Earthers had fallen in love with the beautiful frozen Andorian landscape. The human couple had first met their friend Shran during that visit. The Andorian had remarked off-handedly that Thorpe could have a position with an Andorian export firm at the end of his presidency. The President knew the offer, though strictly not ethical had not been offered as a bribe by Shran. The Andorians had received no special treatment from Thorpe in his capacity as chief executive of the United Earth government. The offer had come of genuine friendship between the two beings. Thorpe realized in one clear moment that bribery and deceit were above such men as Shran and himself; would that it was so for others.
"The offer is still open my friend." Shran replied. "I have had the pleasure of working with you. We Andorians treasure those who can get things done. That ability seems to be a rare commodity among all of the species."
"That is talk for another time I guess." Thorpe said breaking the mood from one of jovial friendship to one of business. "What is the reply to my particular offer?"
Shran uttered a very human sigh before replying. "Not what you had hoped for my friend. The Caldone want an alliance with your people very much. An alliance based on economics, scientific exchange and cultural exchange. But there are too many like me: old Imperial Guardsmen who fear giving up our military. I can see integrating our forces into a unified…spacefleet. But not all agree with that."
"What of mutual defense then?" Thorpe asked the Andorian Ambassador pointedly.
"That was an easy trade-off in the Caldone." Shran said without emotion. "Most see the same thing as your council of nations do: We have not encountered a hostile race since the border skirmishes with the Vulcans. You brought that unfortunate build-up on our ice rails to a close."
The Caldone, Thorpe knew was the Andorian governing body. Much like the Imperial Senate in old Rome the Caldone was the power. The Andorians had a Shahar: An Emperor. But the position of Shahar was purely ceremonial. Nonetheless it was an avenue Thorpe inquired about.
"What of the Shahar?" The President asked. "Were he to speak on behalf of an alliance…," The United Earth President trailed off when he saw the reaction on the face of his Andorian friend.
"I truly am sorry Christophur," Shran replied morosely. "The Shahar will not say a word on foreign relationships. True the position carries weight. It is for this reason that the Emperor will not speak unless he feels that the future of Andor is at stake."
Thorpe bowed his head slightly. The future of Andor, the executive thought, was at stake. So were the futures of Tellar and Vulcan, and of Earth. But Christophur understood the context that the Sharhar had spoken in. The Emperor of Andor meant an immediate danger facing the planet; not a decline in long-term growth.
"It would've been grand Christophur," Shran said sadly. The Andorian's antennae visibly dipped. "A force of ships under one flag, defense and exploration budgets one-third of what they are today. The benefits to the people of Andor, of Earth, would've been immense."
Both beings reflected on the loss. Thorpe had been a career politician, Shran a general in the Imperial Guard then later a diplomat. Both of them knew and abhorred the fickleness of politics. Thorpe for all his years in government service reflected ironically that much would've been done without the hindrance of government.
"Let's turn to happier things then Shran," Christophur said in an abrupt change of subject. Next week is the House New Year's Eve Party; it is an official function but has been one of our more interesting soirees. The march of time is celebrated by almost all civilizations on Earth. I was hoping you and Ketra were going to attend."
Shran smiled. "It will be mine and she who is my mate's pleasure to help you celebrate 2156."
Topaz, Earth's farthest colony, the farm of Mordecai & Flora Demsky, March 2156
The tractor was stalled. Mordecai would've given anything for an old chemically fueled diesel engine tractor. The high-tech crystal based battery in the tractor's electric motor was connected. But no power was indicated on the tractor's indicator panels. Mordecai knew that the battery had been fully charged! The farmer looked to his small home less than 100 meters away. Flora was outside feeding the chickens. Mordecai mused that his son Benjamin must be asleep. Otherwise she would be in their small prefabricated farmhouse tending to the little terror. Mordecai had a fleeting thought of returning to the house and enjoying some intimate time with his wife. Since Ben's birth those exciting times had been few and far between. He suspected that Flora would be in the mood for that as well. But the fields needed plowed.
Topaz was Earth's newest colony. Mordecai and Flora had been so excited about emigrating to the planet. The young couple had grown up talking about frontiers. Their parents had each, respectively told them of how at one time Earth had no more frontiers. Man had fallen upon one another and no where had been more a battleground than the old nation state of Israel. There had been much crying when the young lovers had announced their decision to leave Tel Aviv—and Earth. But in the end their parents had blessed them in the old ways and wished them the best.
The couple knew they were the farthest out man had so far settled. It had taken them almost two years to get there in the crowded colony ship. Mordecai reflected that not even the most adventurous human would emigrate if they saw the crowding on a colony ship. One bumped into other people as soon as they left their small assigned cubicle. It had taken Mordecai and Flora the best part of a month to acclimate to the open spaces of Topaz after their close quarter adventures on the Plymouth. The young couple had gotten an appreciation for wide open spaces that they doubted most people could acquire. Mordecai thought with happiness that his children would never know such cramped quarters. And speaking of children Flora was looking more desirable and the necessity to get the crop in less attractive.
The young farmer became concerned when he saw his beautiful black haired wife emerge from their small home bearing their small son in a bundle in her arms. Now why would Flora do that Mordecai wondered? He watched as his wife ran out toward him. The farmer decided he should see what was the matter. The couple was far from the small colonial town. But Mordecai had had the foresight to purchase a small land cruiser. The dependable little vehicle could rush them into town if need be. If, God forbid his young son needed the services of a doctor then he could get him to one quickly.
"Nothing works!" A distraught Flora announced as soon as she was within earshot of her husband. "None of the electronics works. I don't know what could've happened. I know things break; but all at once? What is happening Mordecai?"
"The tractor will not start either." A confused Demsky replied thoughtfully. The young man was trying to reach for solutions when he had none. There was a flash of light. Off in the distance the young couple heard a noise like thunder. But not thunder; Mordecai thought. This was a sharper blast of sound. Flora dew closer to him. Mordecai put his arm around his wife. He could feel her trembling beneath his touch. The young man was frightened himself. But he realized his duty as a husband was to care for his wife and child; he had to show strength.
Suddenly an aircraft roared overhead. An aircraft such as Mordecai Demsky had never seen the likes of before. The farmer glimpsed the aircraft from behind, so fast it had passed overhead. It looked for all the world like a metallic bird of prey. Mordecai had a fleeting thought that some sort of bird pattern had been painted on the aircraft's lower fuselage. The aircraft was gone; speeding off into the distance. Flora nudged her husband's shoulder. His wife pointed at a canister descending by parachute over their home.
It was the last thing the Demsky's saw. The enormous surge of neutron radiation dissolved their bodies and that that of their child's like sand cast into a fierce wind. The only sound was that of an ornate wind chime fashioned in the shape of an owl that Flora's mother had given the couple as a wedding gift.
Kobayashi Maru, freighter, outbound from Mars, one lightyear from Deneva March 2156
"Another hand Frank?" Carolyn Rodgers asked the freighter's captain.
The older man sighed. "What is it Carol; do you have X-ray vision? Tell me again why I play poker with you? I already owe you my retirement."
At fifty the captain of the Kobayashi Maru was far from retirement. The average age of spacefarers had been estimated to be well into their early 100's. Frank Zeller was still a relatively young man when judged against that standard.
"You and me are going to spend your retirement together!" Carolyn exclaimed. "I had to get you some way. I tried feeding you good food; that didn't work so well. I tried the sex angle but I see you figured out you can get that anywhere. So I thought—I'll just take your money!"
Frank looked at the woman and smiled. Carolyn was on the soft-side of her thirties with short brown hair and eyes. She was one of those women who would always carry a few extra pounds around their hips. But that added, rather than subtracted from the woman's beauty.
"I don't get it," Zeller said wistfully. "You fall for an old worn out man like me but you kick my ass in cards every time!"
Carolyn was about to say more when the proximity alarm sounded. They were still in warp so both of them looked at one another with puzzled expressions. Nothing solid should be in a subspace field with the Maru. Carolyn had calculated the course and Zeller had double-checked her work per space-farer's regulations. There should not be anything near them for millions of kilometers.
Carolyn checked the main control panel. Except for the proximity alert no other conditions existed that would warrant an emergency. Meanwhile Frank had started scanning the immediate vicinity using an old enhanced subspace radar rig. The electromagnetic detection system had been new when Earth had fought its Second World War. The ancient system had been upgraded for use by ships traveling at superluminal speeds. The modified radar units could pick up objects around a starship—barely. Frank looked with alarm as it appeared that two very large objects were apparently paralleling them and closing the distance with the freighter. Zeller turned to his navigator and told her what he had found. Rodgers activated the Kobayashi Maru's external video units.
The pair stared into the video monitor panels. Some of the freighter's crew had made their way to the Maru's small bridge. The small nerve center of the freighter had a loadmaster's position, an observer's chair, the captain's seat and Carolyn's seat at the navigation position. The Maru's bridge did not have a lot of room for people to stand around in; it was a working spacecraft. Those that could squeeze themselves into the small bridge saw the same things Zeller and Rodgers were looking at.
Two craft approached from what appeared to be overhead. Actually one was descending onto their position while another approached 180 degrees from its mate. The unknowns were two green colored ships with warp nacelles. Rodgers took a radar reading, fed it through the computer to determine that the newcomer was about 157 meters from top-to-bottom. Augustus Kelly, one of the Maru's loadmasters noted the similarity in appearance between the strange ships and an Earth cabbage. Rodgers saw what the man was talking about but rather thought of the strange ships as pots on posts. The navigator also noted the design painted on the hull: A representation of some sort of bird she thought. She looked with concern at Zeller.
"I don't like this one bit," The captain of the Kobayashi Maru stated. "Try raising them on the subspace and shortwave. Oh and Carolyn; prepare a marker buoy and start recording," This last Zeller added in an ominous tone. The buoys were only to be dispatched in an emergency.
"I've tried math and linguacode," Rodgers replied. "No go on either. I've got them at less than one-hundred meters boss!" Carolyn paused then added in a hushed tone: "Comms are scrambled. I'm not sure what jamming looks like but this can't be a coincidence; all of a sudden these ships appear and we can't talk anymore?"
Zeller looked around wildly. He noted his crew looking at him; looking to him. Now was not the time for panic Zeller thought. Finally he came to a resolution:
"Carol, take us out of warp. Deploy the emergency buoy—and go to emergency stations."
"Damnit Frank—boss," Kelly said loudly. "Once we go STL it'll take a day for us to spool back up to warp critical. You know we will lose money if we're late!"
"I hope this is all gonna be a funny ha-ha first contact story Augy," Zeller replied sternly to the Loadmaster. "But if it is not I got a feeling we are going to be more than a day late for Deneva."
The Kobayashi Maru's 1000 meter length seemed to increase dramatically then return to normal as the Schneider class freighter traded the realm of multi-dimensional subspace for normal space. Most of the vessels length was accounted for by its boom-like structure with numerous cargo pods attached to the length. The command section in the front of the boom and the engineering section at the end of the freighter accounted for very little of the ship's mass. Most of the Maru's weight was from her accumulated cargo storage containers. The twin continuum-distortion pods slung over the top of the engineering hull seemed to be added as an after thought. A brief flare ignited from the back of the freighter as the emergency marker buoy was fired away. The intruding green ships could be seen growing larger in the distance.
"They have us!" Carolyn reported from her station. "We are grappled. Bastards! They nailed the buoy with some kind of missile!"
As the navigator spoke those last words an enormous clang of metal against metal sounded throughout the Kobayashi Maru. Frank closed the air tight door to the bridge. The captain of the Maru went to a smack locker embedded into one of the walls of the bridge. Old paper navigation logs and magazines covered the access to the locker. Zeller swept this debris aside. He fumbled nervously through a set of keys he had hooked to his belt. Finally after several attempts with a succession of keys the old padlock opened. Zeller reached in the locker and withdrew two old-styled 12 gauge pump action shotguns. He handed one to Carolyn.
"Hey rumor has it that Cochran nearly shot the Vulcans on First Contact." Zeller told Carolyn in a nervous tone as he handed her a shotgun. He laughed grimly. "Maybe we'll all be drinking beers with these guys and swapping jokes and dancing the Watusi."
The bridge hatch glowed a cherry red in the upper portion of the heavy metal door. A small hole was made into the bridge. Zeller vaguely noticed that his vision was growing dimmer. The captain of the freighter felt short of breath and he was embarrassed to feel a mess running out of his nose. He looked over at Carolyn as one clear moment of perception dawned in his mind: They were going to die. Frank felt an enormous tightening vise-like grip in his chest. He looked in horror through his rapidly narrowing vision as Carolyn gripped at her chest.
"I love you Carolyn," Frank Zeller pronounced then fell over as his body contorted briefly before he died. The shotgun clattered onto the metal carpet covered deck. Carolyn Rodgers lay twitching beside Frank's body until she too died.
Hangar 51, Ganymede, Jupiter orbit, Mar 2156
The plate flew across the room, Major Jonathan Archer was angry. The communications NCO on duty had handed the communiqué to Archer. Archer had read the words again and again. After all this work the project he was spearheading would be cut. The Major cursed to himself; first his father and now him, he thought bitterly. Somehow Archer knew those Vulcan bastards were at the heart of all of this. They had denied his father the chance to build a better engine and now they were doing it for him. His friend, Lt. Charles 'Trip' Tucker III joined him after seeing how his friend and superior officer had damaged the dinnerware.
"Somethin'the matter with the pork chops?" Trip asked his friend. Still in his late twenties, Trip Tucker was a medium built blonde haired man. The lieutenant had graduated at the top of his Annapolis class with a degree in high energy plasma physics. Despite his military training and education Trip sported the easy going nature of his Southern North American, Floridian heritage. He was distressed that his friend and CO Major Archer did not share his laid back attitude.
Archer was a tall handsome man on the good side of his forties. He had a full head of dark brown hair more brown than gray. A graduate of the US Air force Academy, Archer was the son of Henry Archer. That scientist had been notable for his work on new warp engine designs. Jonathan had shared his father's enthusiasm. Archer had been the first man to have his name stenciled on Lil Nel. That prototype ship had been the test bed for matter/antimatter generation. The next generation of starships would not require the frequent refueling points this generation's needed.
"It's out there Trip!" Archer exclaimed as the two officers gazed through the transparent aluminum window at the skeletal assemblage in the airless hangar beyond. A cylindrical shape was connected by skeletal structural beams to an uncompleted spherical shape. A few engineers and technicians floated in the airless chamber protected by self-propelled vacuum suits. Here and there the bright retina burning image of welding was visible. Archer turned angrily away from the window.
"This isn't the first time sir," Trip said easily. "The World Council is spendin' the exploration dividend. They look at the X for all its weapon potential. You show 'em a schematic the first thing you get asked is where are the lasers? Forget about all the deck space for labs, forget about the room for crew quarters to make 6 months in a tin can bearable. Remember the Western Allies cut the military and there come the Potentates of the Eastern Coalition? But we don't have no enemies and they still cut the budget. Look Maj ," This last Trip pronounced as one would the word Mage. "Look Maj, deep space exploration won't get any of those guys elected. We are an easy cut so some politico in France can get his vineyard funded with taxpayer money."
Archer balled his fists in frustration. How many years would they have to wait; would he have to wait? Man had enjoyed unparalleled expansion into the galaxy; but the elected officials in the World Council didn't seem to care one iota about how fast that expansion went along. Nor did they seemingly care if they seeded colonies that, should an enemy ever arise, would be too far away for today's Stellar Navy to defend. Finally he set down in frustration. Archer reached into a desk drawer, produced a bottle of amber-brownish liquor and poured some of that liquid into his coffee. Tip's eyes widened visibly as the usually tea-totaling Archer knocked back his stepped up coffee.
"You want to watch that sir," Tucker warned his friend.
"You're right Trip!" Archer exclaimed. The major was referring to Trip's previous statement about expansion and not the engineer's warning about hard liquor. "But that doesn't make it feel any better. We could re-supply our colonies in half the time we do now. We could reach out even further than we now. And if, God forbid we ever face an enemy then we can bring serious firepower to bear on them. Sorry Trip, I know you are more the explorer but there is the military aspect to it."
"I'm on your side sir," Tucker answered. "I don't know, seems like man has been tryin' to go faster ever since we got out of the chute. Maybe X is stalled for now but I can't believe it will just be forgotten. What about Brack?"
"Boeing-Teledyne you mean?" Archer answered incredulously. "You can't really believe that Micah Brack is still alive? I mean I remember when he would come to see my father's work."
"You got an invite from someone Maj," Trip answered.
The strange invitation, Trip was referring to was for Archer—and Tucker to meet with Micah Brack in St. Louis in a week. Brack had been the CEO and more importantly the design engineer behind the Boeing-Teledyne Corporation. It was said that Zefram Cochran made it possible for man to travel faster than the speed of light, but it was Micah Brack who had made it possible for man to colonize the stars. Archer remembered Brack, a dour, handsome older man with iron gray hair who had come often to his father's research facility. Jonathan Archer had been a young foolish man then chasing equally young foolish girls at his high school outside of San Francisco. Archer reflected that the chief executive officer of Boeing-Teledyne might still be alive. But he would easily be in his sixties or seventies.
"I think it is a fishing expedition for a few corporate headhunters," Archer said bitterly.
"Ya mean they want us to leave the United Earth Navy," Trip asked with a mischievous gleam in his eye. "Live in luxurious houses, and make a premium salary?"
"They want us to sell out," Archer replied with a laugh. His friend's attitude was catching. Anyway it seemed better to admit defeat—for now; and to move on. Archer moved to the door.
"You aren't going to get on horn with Admiral French again?" Tucker asked Archer.
"No Trip," Major Archer replied. "I'm going to see what the shuttle schedule for St. Louis looks like for say….a week from now. Then I'm going to the galley and see if there are anymore pork chops left."
United Earth Stellar Navy Intelligence Section, Langley, Virginia, Earth, Mar 2156
The uneven chorus of 'For He is a Jolly Good Fellow' echoed again through the offices of the United Earth Stellar Navy's Xeno-investigation division. The ancient room in the non-descript building was a collection of smells of old paper, hot office equipment and stale food that had been cooped up for too long. Indeed, the windowless office was served by an air exchange machine but that device had seen its better days 20 years before. The smells were joined this day by the smell of cigarettes, cigars and various beers and liquors. It was a celebration in progress. The subject of the celebration looked embarrassed standing on a desk top as he puffed on an enormous cigar rolled in a tropical island paradise not more than a short shuttle flight away.
"Come on Al speak some French for us!" Lt. Cmdr. Erica Soames hooted from the back of the crowd. "You better know some for your new bride baby!"
"Okay, okay," Capt. Alvin Crosby of the United States Army Intelligence Division said. "Mariel speaks English perfectly, I'll have you know—and she speaks 5 other languages as well including Andorian!" At 28 Alvin Crosby cut a fine military figure at well over 180 centimeters Crosby had stayed in shape despite a deskbound career.
"So our boy here is going to retire and become a vintner!" Soames continued in a mocking voice. Erica was Crosby's commanding officer at Langley. The Lt. Commander sported the jersey style of uniform being endorsed by the Navy these days. Soames had been a flight officer in Britain's Royal Air Force until a spatial disorientation problem had crept up on her. On the good side of her forties the thin blonde native of the United Kingdom was thought to be on the fast track to captain in Naval Intelligence.
"We have here a Beaujolais with a deep bouquet accented by a striking color." Soames continued in a mocking formal voice as she held a bottle of Guiness Stout out before her in a formal stance. "By golly it is a Chateau Crosby!"
"It's not like that!" Crosby protested lamely. "Her parents want us to move into the guest house—at first. But we want to live in Paris. Mariel is going to teach mathematics and I'll--."
"Clean the apartment for her Al!" One of the Division's NCO's yelled out raucously. The members of the Stellar Nay's Intelligence Division were a close bunch such that military titles tended to be disregarded; especially during happier times. And the bachelor party of Alvin Crosby was just that.
Another of Crosby's companions yelled out: "You going to change your name to suit her Dad? Alvin Pickard?"
"It is Picard," Crosby replied with a laugh; "And no, she will be Mrs. Giselle Mariel Crosby!"
Crosby continued thanking his co-workers then stepped down off the desk to join in the celebration. The crowd broke into smaller groups as so often happens at parties. Crosby took a quiet moment away from the larger crowd to seek out the NCO who had given him a hard time about his future married life.
"Very funny Sergeant McCoy," Crosby said in mock anger. "I guess you guys have a sleazy stripper provided for me?"
"Me sir?" McCoy proclaimed with false innocence. "I would never do that. Now Lt. Cmdr. Soames on the other hand wanted you to have the whole nine yards, so anyway I had to contribute cuz you know when a superior officer makes a request…"
"Yeah I just bet she twisted your arm really hard Frank!" Crosby laughed.
McCoy held out his arm at an exaggerated and painful angle. The two men burst into laughter as they were joined by Lt. Tarang Gupta. The recent graduate of the Indian military training facility at Khadakvasla, Maharashtra was a little too enthusiastic for his own good. He walked up to Crosby and McCoy with a sheaf of papers. Gupta seemed to only now become aware that there was a party in progress around him. He pushed his glasses back setting them back squarely on the bridge of his nose. Crosby handed the lieutenant a beer.
"Why don't you drop those drop those papers and pick up one of these?" Crosby said humorously. Gupta accepted the cold beverage but he did not drop the paperwork he was holding. The two men could not help but notice the report title peeking out from underneath a SECRET coversheet.
"Sector 13 again," McCoy inquired. The NCO seemed to be joining Tarang in forgetting about the party as he picked up the report's abstract out of the lieutenant's hands. The sergeant looked intently at the details of the report.
"Sector 12 actually," Lt. Gupta replied. "That is why I forgot about," The intelligence officer held swept out his hand toward the party; "All of this." He continued. "Our friends have moved. We just got this in this morning from the long range reports."
Crosby looked with interest at the report. The information Gupta was referring to was a group of signals that had been suddenly appeared at the far reaches of the listening posts. They had been monitoring the signals since January. No one in linguistics or cryptography had come near to deciphering the strange signals. The diplomatic corps had sent their own signals toward that general direction. The government was anxious to get any new trading partners given the profitable relationships that had come about with the Andorians and Tellarites.
"Have you checked with the Vulcans again?" Crosby asked as he took another puff of his cigar. "I know they; let me quote the dance—deny all knowledge of any races beyond Sector 12. But are they sure it is not these Klingons?" The group chilled visibly at the mere mention of that warrior race's name. Few humans had seen a Klingon. The Vulcans had characterized them only as a warrior race. After mankind had broken out on their own and contacted the Andorians and Tellarites stories about the Klingons had begun to surface. Stories that portrayed that race as devilish go to hell fighters with fangs who fought with different bladed weapons. The Klingons were said to live for battle.
"No," Tarang replied. "In fact I had a talk with a Vulcan friend of mine," The emphasis Gupta put on the word friend left no doubt that he was talking about a contact in the Vulcan embassy. "My friend gave me a data wafer of Klingon language and communications. I gave that to crypto; whoever these people are they are definitely not Klingons."
"No contact this way and we know nothing about them." McCoy said. His voice betrayed his suspicion. "I know we have to be enlightened about aliens but this bothers the hell out of me."
Erica Soames joined the group. The commander of the intelligence section seized Gupta's report as soon as she saw what it was. She motioned for the group of men to head for a quiet corner. When the small group found one of those the Lt. Commander turned to them and explained what she perceived as the need for secrecy.
"Look boys, we have been looking into your work. Tara," Soames referred to Gupta by his nickname. "You've done good work. You have no idea how far up this is being sent. There is a push-pull between the admiralty and the presidium. I will tell you that Taskforce 15 is heading out to Sector 12 to look into things. Keep up the good work but keep this quiet!"
"Is this because of all the shipping traffic going missing?" Crosby asked his superior officer pointedly.
"Yes," Erica replied somberly. "The president feels there is an inordinate amount of ships missing. He doesn't want it to appear he is corralling the people—especially in light of his failed alliance offer. Task Force 15 is headed out there. They will investigate and come back with answers. In the meantime keep digging into who these people are. It is probably a group of aliens different from any we've run into before. God willing we'll be trading with them next year."
"Or in a shooting war with them," Frank McCoy added in a pessimistic tone.
Earth San Francisco, March 2156,
"Good day Admiral," Christophur Thorpe said in greeting to his naval chief of staff. Thorpe extended his hand to the man. Admiral Herbert French was a short man who, Thorpe thought, looked more like a maitre de rather than a military officer. His pressed white Canadian Defense Forces uniform only served to emphasize that impression. That the Admiral also had a regal white beard and a considerable belly did not help to improve his appearance in his position as the head of Earth's Stellar Navy. Thorpe was reminded of the elderly Christmas figure every time he saw the man.
"Mister President," The Admiral replied saluting in the old tradition and then taking the President's hand.
The admiral and Thorpe talked of small matters; French inquired after the health of Thorpe's wife as Thorpe asked French the same thing. The talk was quickly degenerating into one of how the new weather modifiers would affect the coming year's grape harvest for southern California's many wineries. Thorpe gestured for the portly admiral to be seated. Thorpe suddenly changed the subject of the conversation to the topic the President of the United Earth government was most concerned about:
"Admiral I recently had the pleasure of signing the military acquisition bill. I know this year has hit your boys—and girls hard. We have had almost a century of peace and prosperity now and it is hard to convince the populace and their representatives of the need for maintaining a fighting navy. But, believe me admiral I understand that need. So I have to wonder why monies meant for the new subspace sensor system were converted over to subspace radar."
"I felt that those funds would be better spent improving an existing system." French replied in a grand flourish. "And since I've been in space a considerable amount of my life I've had to rely on radar. It has never let me down. Also the system is new. We can detect objects a lot further off but no operator knows what he is looking at sir." The admiral continued in a tone that indicated his contempt for the new sensor. "The scientists promised us the ability to do molecular analysis—we could scan a ship and tell what race was operating the vessel. We could scan for light-years, detect a ship then tell what the ship was made of, what its alert condition was and what its power levels were. But so far we have seen none of these dubious miracles Mr. President."
"I see your point admiral," Thorpe replied. Christophur flicked his tongue around his dry lips then continued in an ominous voice. "It couldn't have anything to do with a directorship on the board of Mikoyan-Bell—could it?" That corporation was one of the leading suppliers of subspace radar sets and their components. They had contracts with the Stellar Navy as well as the freighter guild.
"I resent you tone sir—and your accusation." French replied in an angry voice. "It is public knowledge that MIG-Bell offered me a job—I retire next year. But that had nothing to do with my use of those funds. Frankly Mister President I've always questioned your military decisions; after all, your only experience, if one could call it that, is through your grandfather. You never served a day in your life!"
"Admiral French you are correct. I never served in the military. But my grandfather did; you are right about that also. And he told me about how his brigade had to fight two battles: One against the surviving Easterners the other against the politicians and military hierarchy that kept him constantly undersupplied and ill-equipped. My government has never denied the military the best equipment and hardware."
"Your government is on the way out in the next election." French proclaimed interrupting Thorpe; after a short pause he added: "Mr. President."
"Yes it is." Thorpe replied. There was obvious anger in the president's voice. "In the meantime you will divert that money back to the purpose it was designated for. I am still the President. Is that clear Admiral French?"
"Very clear sir!" French stood up as he replied to Thorpe's orders. It was obvious the man knew not to take his challenge any further. "Is that all sir?"
"No," Thorpe answered curtly. "Have you any explanations for the ships vanishing from sectors twelve and thirteen yet?"
"No sir," French said. "The Andorians and Tellarites say they have lost some as well. The Vulcans," The Admiral paused mouthing that race's name like one would an unpleasant uncle's name. "They are as tight-lipped as ever. I would remind the president that exploration is a dangerous business. We have over the last 50 years lost over two-hundred ships—those are military ships. Civilian ship losses make that number even more."
"I know admiral," Thorpe replied wistfully. "Keep at it. Perhaps if those people had something better to see with out there—that was a cheap shot. I am sorry for that. But you know and I do too that the losses are more than usual. Get back to me when you have answers admiral, good day."
The portly man saluted his commander-and-chief, turned on his heel and left. Thorpe sat down behind his large ornate desk. The president looked about him suspiciously as if someone might be watching. Then he buried his face in his hands. Thorpe was tired, another year and another election. He was glad that this would be his last term. The rejection of Thorpe's proposed planetary alliance and now a hostile military; those things weighed heavily on Thorpe's mind.
United Earth Stellar Navy Space Station Salem-One, beyond Deneva, Apr 2156
The mighty space station held a stationary position at the farthest reaches of known space. Salem-One had cost an enormous amount of money to build. Thanks to the colonies in the Wolf system and Deneva as well as favorable trade agreements with Earth's alien trading partners the cost had been met. The station was a series of concentric rings set one within another. The diameter of the largest ring came in at just over four-hundred meters. The station housed military and medical people as well as most importantly tritium and deuterium fuel. Without the station, Earth's colony at Topaz would still be a dream and Deneva would not be at the stage of development it was at now. Salem-One possessed a defense perimeter augmented with Narwhal anti-ship missiles and Remington Mark VII rail guns. A grid composed of Teledyne III lasers augmented with spider area defense missiles added to the station's firepower. Salem-One was now in its 10nth year of operation. Its weapons had never been fired in anger and in fact over the last two years had not been fired at all.
Colonel Arkady Luchenko had been assigned to Salem-One for almost two years now. The boisterous Russian army officer had just passed his 50th year. When he went home to the Urals it would be to retire. And Arkady thought happily, that would be in two months. He greeted the station's crewmen he passed as he headed to the commander's office. Arkady was a kind-hearted bear of a man with a clean-shaven head who liked to have a close working relationship with his troops. He wondered if the new admiral would approve of his command style. Arkady thought with a mental chuckle that he would soon know the answer to that question. The colonel reached the hatch to the admiral's office. Arkady hit the chime and was promptly admitted to the office of Rear Admiral Juan Lopez Arroyo.
Arkady thought the man looked like a bullfighter in a soccer outfit. The admiral was a slight but wiry man with a close-cut crop of black hair speckled with gray. The Russian judged Arroyo to be in his fifties at least. Arkady also noted that Arroyo was wearing the new, jersey style Stellar Navy uniform combination. That is where Luchenko had drawn the parallel to a soccer player from. The UE Navy had never adopted a formal uniform of its own until this last year: A jersey type top complimented by nondescript black pants bloused over black boots. Arroyo had on a gold colored jersey which Arkady recalled indicated a command or operations position.
Luchenko stood before the admiral's desk: "Col. Luchenko presenting my compliments sir." The Russian stood for some time before the admiral's desk. Arkady was about to speak again when Arroyo finally looked up at him.
"Polkovnik Luchenko," Arroyo said greeting Arkady with the rank the Russian Federation had bestowed upon him. "That is how I expect I should address you; certainly not by your rank of captain in the Stellar Navy; since you have not chosen to wear that uniform."
"The directive says that members may wear the uniform of their respective nation," Arkady replied. The Russian was dressed in a Russian Army field uniform.
"Unless the installation commander directs otherwise," Arroyo stated the regulation formally. The admiral looked at Luchenko then continued. "I know I have not so directed. But don't you think as the ranking officer, Captain, that you need to inspire our people?"
"I do not believe the wearing of a certain uniform bonds the men and women on this station." Luchenko thought he knew where this was heading. "I am aware of the regulations. People on this station are far from home. Wearing the uniform of our homelands gives each of us each a sense of individual identity and pride."
"They will get pride by being members of the Stellar Navy," Arroyo replied coldly. "I am invoking the latter half of that regulation—I expect to see station personnel in the new Stellar Navy uniforms. Is that understood?"
"Of course sir," Luchenko replied. "Is there anything else?"
"Yes," Arroyo continued as he took up a notepad. "The consumption of alcohol will cease. This is a military installation, not a bar. Another thing: I do not ever want to hear the personnel refer to this station as…" The admiral hesitated and finally mouthed the English word that referred to a pit where excrement was placed with a one at the end of the epitaph. The Admiral continued. "And lastly the event known as 'Hog Call' will stop."
Arkady sighed inwardly. Drinking was tolerated as it was one of the few relief mechanisms for men and women consigned to a two year tour. Some likened the assignment to Salem-One as a prison sentence. There was nothing the Russian officer could do to stop the crew from calling the station by its less than complimentary nickname. Arkady was guilty of calling Salem-One that name more than once his self. How the Deputy-Commander of Salem-One would ever tell the crew that Hog Call was canceled Arkady did not even begin to want to think about. The event held every Friday night was a dance frequented by the station's single personnel. Luchenko mused that some attached people went to Hog Call night as well. It was another of those proceedings that helped make life tolerable when one was light years from their home. As much as he hated to he agreed to Arroyo's orders. Arkady was at the heart of it a good soldier.
"Very well sir," Luchenko replied stiffly. "May I ask the Admiral about the status of my requests for gunnery drills?"
"Is the crew doing simulations?" The Commander of Salem-One asked sharply.
"That is the only recourse available Admiral," Luchenko replied. "But the Admiral must be well aware that simulations can not take the place of live fire--."
"I know what I am aware of Captain," Admiral Arroyo replied angrily. "Live fire exercises require the use of costly drones. Those are not in the Navy's budget to throw away!"
"Very well sir," Arkady said agreeably. Deep down the officer was anything but agreeable at this point.
"Please post the orders Captain," Arroyo said. "I will see you tomorrow for the morning sitrep—you do perform a sitrep?" When he saw Arkady's answering nod he continued. "Good, and when we next meet I expect to see you in your command jersey. Now if there are no questions, good day Captain Luchenko."
Task Force 15, 2 light years beyond Topaz, UES Pathfinder Apr 2156
"Sir," The communications NCO piped up. Commodore Adrian Gellar turned to the woman. "I am receiving a distress call."
"Pipe it over the speakers chief," Gellar commanded. The commodore returned to the padded center seat and strapped himself in upon sitting down. Static filled the bridge of the Pathfinder as the petty officer executed Gellar's command.
"This is the Kobayahi Maru, position Gamma Hydra, 12083 by 12015 by 12117. We have a hull breach. Losing atmosphere; does anyone read this? This is the Kobayashi Maru."
"What do the books say Number One?" Gellar asked his first officer. Commander Tariq Anwar turned to his commander and recited the requested information. The dark-skinned Arabic officer was a short plain looking man. He would see his forties in another year but his youthful looks belied his age.
"The Maru has been overdue for three weeks now. But her destination was Deneva. Why she would be at Gamma Hydra past Topaz I do not know! That would be the limit of her engines though."
"Sensors," Gellar said. Commodore Adrian Gellar was a thin but athletic man. His iron grey hair made him look much older than his 55 years.
The petty officer at the sensor station reported his findings: "Sir, I am reading a metallic mass. It would be the about the same mass as a Schneider Class freighter. It is in an asteroid field. The asteroids seem to contain a lot of heavy metals."
The petty officer caused his graphic display to be displayed on the bridge viewscreen. The crew sat on the darkened bridge and looked at the spectacle the new sensors displayed. Even at this distance the screen showed a blip, apparently the endangered ship, surrounded by several darkened objects that never seemed to be in focus. The crew intuitively grasped that these were the asteroids the chief had referred to.
"Let us move to intercept," Gellar commanded. "Number One set a course and engage at warp 2.1. Inform the rest of the ships."
Anwar did as his superior officer ordered. The commander relayed the new instructions to the ten other ships in the taskforce. The Crusader, Fearless, Victory and Firebrand were Pioneer class cruisers the same as the Pathfinder. The five Pioneers were augmented by the three destroyers Kinshasa, Bremen and Jakarta. The task force also had the company of three deuterium/tritium tankers: The Payne, St. Helens and the Comfort. After he had finished his task Tariq turned to Commodore Gellar.
"The taskforce is responding sir," Anwar stated. Then he continued in a more strident tone. "If I might suggest sir we should hold back some of the taskforce."
"Why would that be?" Gellar asked his first officer pointedly.
"If the commodore will observe," Anwar continued as he indicated the viewscreen. "This puts us warping into a group of asteroids. There could be hostile contacts hiding among the asteroids."
"What hostile contacts Number One?" Gellar asked. The commodore was clearly dubious of his first officer's notions. "We haven't had a hostile contact in ninety years. What makes you think we will now?"
"Sir, you have read the dispatches concerning missing ships," Tariq responded. "And naval tactics do not dictate assembling in a confined area like this. Besides we need only a few ships to rescue a freighter."
"I'll determine how many ships we need Mr. Anwar!" Gellar announced angrily. "And you do not have a crystal ball such that you know how many ships we will need for a rescue."
"No sir," Commander Anwar replied defensibly. "If I might be excused; we are still an hour from Gamma Hydra."
Gellar granted the request. The commodore seemed glad that Anwar was leaving the bridge. The discussion between the two officers had been quite public.