Chapter Notes

Sorry, no, this is not a full chapter, but a draft; a work in progress; a teaser, if you will.

If it's been a while since you read the beginning of the story: Remember that throw away reference in the prologue to the Goa'uld running across the Aschen Confederation? This is where that begins to pay off.

As I started to work on this, it finally dawned on me: We know almost nothing about the Aschen Confederation, other than the Aschen being, in O'Neill's words, "a race of accountants." Since this story is set in the far past, when the Aschen were just getting started, the field is wide open for me to go nuts, and a bit nuts I have. This is, after all, supposed to be a story about Romans and the Stargate, not a confrontation between the Aschen and the Goa'uld.

If you, the readers, think this turns out to be too much of a digression, I suppose it can always be separated out as a side story.

Besides Stargate, I had three other Science Fiction TV shows floating around in head as I wrote this. Time to play Spot the Homage.


Chapter 5 – Intermezzo

Aschen Confederation Mission CCF-434

Destination: Colony B3K, ETA 3 Months

Earth Time: 3004 BC

Fleet Captain Rillac sat down at his desk in his quarters, sipped his coffee, contemplated the monitor in front of him, and sighed. He had only stepped away to the head for a few minutes, and now another six unread status reports awaited his attention. Most of these were routine and didn't tell him anything he didn't already know, but procedure required he review and sign off before they could be transmitted to Mission Control as part of the daily fleet status report. On months-long FTL missions like this, playing escort to a dozen freighters bound to colony B3K, there wasn't much else to do while between solar systems. The only excitement they anticipated would be at the end of their nine month voyage when they arrived at B3K.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. The deck chief had decided to keep the maintenance crew occupied with major overhauls on all the F-2 fighters. Captain Rillac signed off on the plan, but would only allow 30% of the fighters to be down for maintenance at any one time, even in mid-flight. This caused some hard feelings, since the deck chief made it abundantly clear he wanted a full 50% available to complete the overhauls before arriving at B3K, and in his opinion, it hardly mattered how many were down while they were between systems anyway. But Captain Rillac was old-school, remembered the history lessons of the Belter Rebellion, and didn't care if the overhauls could not be completed prior to their arrival. 70% combat readiness would be more than enough.

The real problem was, six months into the mission, the chief was still moody and just shy of being insubordinate. Rillac was sorely tempted to put into the chief's next evaluation report the four magic words that would kill anyone's career in the Aschen Confederation: "Not a team player."

His monitor pinged just then, and popped up a reminder message, interrupting his thoughts.

"80% redline in 10." Rillac stood up, pulled on his jacket, checked his appearance, and headed down the busy hallway to CIC, saluting various crew members along the way.

"Captain on deck!" called out the on-duty security officer as he entered. Everyone stiffened to attention.

"As you were." Rillac eyed Dillard, his XO. "What's the sitrep?"

"We are 3.2 minutes from FTL drop," replied the XO.

"Three minutes? That sounds a little early."

"It is. Freighter 221 is hitting 80% of redline on their FTL engines a couple of minutes earlier than predicted. Again."

That was the other sore point in an otherwise uneventful mission. The crew of Freighter 221 seemed incapable of accurately predicting when they would need to drop out of FTL to allow their engines to cool. No one else had this problem. And that was something Rillac simply could not understand, because Captain Villeta of 221 had the most seniority and experience among the commercial freighter captains.

"Very well. Put the word out at T minus two." Rillac looked around CIC, and was pleased everything was running smoothly. His eyes proudly settled on the polished brass plaque mounted on the far wall.

Battle Carrier 17
Series D
Manufactured 1152
Aschen Prime Shipyard 5
Aschen Aerospace
A Division of
Aschen Confederation

Dillard's voice boomed over the PA. "This is the XO. All hands secure for FTL drop in T minus two… mark."

"All departments report ready for drop."

"All freighter captains report ready for drop."

Rillac watched the countdown on the main monitor. There was really no need for him to do anything. The computers were in control after T minus one, but it was tradition to give the command regardless. "Drop."

The ship shuttered and vibrated as it transitioned from hyperspace into normal space. To the uninitiated, the effect was like a brief earthquake. In the darkness between solar systems, thirteen bright flashes marked the appearance of the thirteen ships of mission flight CCF-434.

"Freighter captains are reporting in… all systems nominal. Initiating stabilization burns and extending radiator panels."

The XO nodded his approval. "Reset the countdown clock to T minus 3.5 hours… mark." The status board – another window display on the main monitor – showed the twelve freighters had synced their countdown clocks to BC17's own.

The transition over, Rillac turned to his XO. "Mr. Dillard, I'll be in my cabin, doing the one thing captains ever do these days – paperwork."

"Better you than me, sir," Dillard said with a grin. Rillac rolled his eyes, and headed back to his cabin.

In spite of the presence of a battle carrier, this was still considered a commercial mission. Under ordinary circumstances, freighters traveled without escort; they did, after all, have their own light duty rail guns and other tactics at their disposal. But with rumors of unrest on colony B3K, the bean counters back on Prime wanted a show of force, and the Security committee was more than willing to play along. The mere presence of a series D battle carrier, in their estimation, would keep things in check. Rillac thought the tactic more likely to backfire, but of course no one asked his opinion. The options at his disposal would allow Rillac to do anything from street patrols to rendering the entire ecosphere of B3K uninhabitable. It was that overkill capacity he thought likely to trigger protests. Rillac shook his head, and got back to work reviewing reports.


Freighter 221

Captain Dipa Villeta leaned back in her pilot's chair, and admired the view. That was one advantage of flying a freighter: other than the addition of FTL engines, the design hadn't changed significantly in the last two or three hundred years. It was simple, reliable – a living relic of a bygone era when the Aschen were limited to their home solar system. And they still built them with windows – one of the few times Villeta could appreciate bureaucratic inertia.

"Hey Sam, you got the numbers for the next FTL leg?" Villeta called out.

Sam Preston leaned back from his station. "Sure. Why do you ask?"

Villeta grinned. "You know why."

Sam groaned. "Are we doing that again? You know I hate screwing with the numbers."

"Don't be so whiney. It's just a bit of fun. This time subtract 2.5 minutes from the redline prediction. That'll give Rillac some heartburn."

"I have to sign off on this stuff you know. It violates the Code of Business Conduct."

"And I have to approve it, so that makes me the responsible party." Sam just sat in his chair, arms crossed. Villeta threw up her hands. "Okay, okay, this will be the last time. After this next leg, just straight-forward calculations. Who knows: by the end of this mission, Rillac may be so pleased with our 'improvement' he'll write a letter of commendation."

Sam's resistance finally crumbled. "Fine. Subtracting 2.5 minutes from the redline prediction." Sam altered the report, changed its status from "pending" to "final" and sent it to Villeta's pilot station for approval. Villeta opened the document, gave it a cursory review, tapped "approved" and sent it on to BC17.

"So much for that," said Villeta, pleased with herself. "How are the radiators doing?"

Sam checked his monitor, and then looked out the port observation window. "Still glowing."

"And the cargo?"

"No issues there – transition harmonics have dampened out. Autopilot's keeping it together at minimum thrust. No overcorrections."

"Excellent. We still have three plus hours on the countdown. Time for a break." Villeta stood up and stretched. "Are you coming?"

"Sure thing. Just give me a sec." Preston stood up, walked the two steps it took to cross the narrow flight deck, and looked out the starboard observation window at the second radiator panel. "Looking good."

Villeta nodded her approval. While Preston's display told him everything he needed to know about the ship's status, when you were sitting in deep space, a mark-one eyeball check was always reassuring.

Villeta patted the bulkhead. "She's a good freighter. I'll miss her when we rotate out."

Preston snorted. "Tow barge is more like it."

"Shhh! Don't let her hear you," said Villeta with a look of mock concern.

"Boss, you are so full of it." They both burst out laughing, and went below to the mid-deck.

Technically, Preston was correct. Freighters did not carry freight internally – freight rode in cargo pods clamped to a tow cable strung out behind the ship, like pearls on a string. While a standard cable was five kilometers long, the length unspooled depended on the number of cargo pods hauled on a given mission, typically three kilometers or less. The cable was managed by the Tow Module, which in turn docked to a specialized docking ring dead center in the freighter's stern. The stern was ringed by five massive engines, which were normally gimbaled outward a few degrees to prevent exhaust damage to the trailing cable and cargo pods. Like a shark swimming continuously, a freighter was always under a very small but steady acceleration to maintain proper tension on the cable.

Cargo pods varied by use and could contain anything: extra fuel for long-haul missions, unrefined ore, manufactured goods, hazardous materials, even prisoners.

This arrangement allowed for a great deal of transport flexibility and minimized down time. In less time than it took the FTL engines to cool off, a freighter could drop off its cargo string, rotate crew, refuel, and pick up a new cargo string for its next mission flight. The design philosophy owed much to the two-word motto of the original manufacturer, long since absorbed into the Aschen Confederation: Keep Flying.

It did not allow for much in the way of maneuverability. Like a super oil tanker, course changes while towing had to be carefully planned. That could make things a bit awkward if, say, raiders attacked. Still, there were plenty of dead raiders who underestimated what could be done with that modest workhorse and relic of the past, the freighter.


Message ID: 001048572

Timestamp: 158.346

Classification: Restricted - Authorized Individuals Only

Priority: 1

Severity: 1

Return Receipt: DO NOT ACKNOWLEDGE

From: FC Rillac, BC17-D / CCF-434

To: Mission Control

CC: Security; Government Services; Aerospace; Scientific

Subject: First Contact Alert

Begin

Have encountered a large, unescorted ship of not of AC origin. No IFF. Design is a four-sided pyramid. Propulsion system unknown. Offensive and defensive capability unknown. Science department risk analysis indicates this ship represents a great leap forward in technology. Accounting has authorized an emergency capital expenditure to capture this ship, with extreme prejudice if required, as a prize for the Confederation.

Attachments

Cost estimate form, budget waiver form and approvals, fleet ship logs, flight recorder logs, sensor data, updated next-of-kin declarations

Authentication

+xyXcii/fnU+1JMtQdbLS05rH7J/iBZQdSYj968pqWEpzlw9k2C/v+bLgTdjh/rrBKXsJYeChWvyCq/ozqfifv3yTYm/hW3JfBzRfCs/ YnSlo571A42MEr4cNq6Kk

End

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