Part 1 - All Alone in the Night
Chapter 1 - Prelude
Deep Hyperspace, Vorlon Empire - June, 2248
The Vorlon, known to the lesser species as Ambassador Kosh, approached the upcoming meeting with some trepidation. His personal ship approached the massive Vorlon Dreadnought, sitting motionless in a hyperspace pocket, and he knew that the future of the galaxy might very well depend upon the decisions taken at today's meeting.
He waited silently, patiently as his ship neared and then entered the hidden docking bay. Only when the bay had closed and sealed, and his own ship had been secured, did he allow himself to move. His first action was to exit his encounter suit, and a wave of relief washed through him. Only here, aboard one of his people's most powerful vessels, in a hidden area of hyperspace already within the boundaries of the Vorlon Empire; only here would such a lightening of security be allowed. The time of the next great Shadow War was rapidly approaching, and the Vorlons must keep their secrets. Secrets were power.
His ship generated a portal out into the docking bay. Kosh patted the nearest hull fondly with both limb and mind, and felt the ship respond with matching affection. Then he glided out into the docking bay, his ship sealing itself behind him.
The docking bay was vast, and only partially filled with the fighters and strike craft which surrounded his yacht. A basic security load, rather than a full capacity war load. Perhaps that boded well for the upcoming meeting, he mused to himself, as he made for the nearest corridor. The ship was vast, but almost completely automated, so he passed not a single Vorlon in the bay or in the corridors he wandered, though he did see the occasional individual passing in the distance.
He made directly for the primary consultation chamber, flowing silently down the passageway. The portal opened as he approached, revealing a bright but softly lit room. The walls, floor, and ceiling resembled the coral formations of many worlds, but Kosh had eyes only for the thirteen Vorlons awaiting him. Thirteen of the oldest and most powerful beings in existence. Ancients, even by the standards of his own long lived people. Kosh had the age and influence to have a place on that council, had he so chosen, but he preferred his current role.
He bowed respectfully to the council, and they nodded in return. And then their minds expanded and merged, achieving a level of communication far deeper than the speech, body language, or even telepathy of the younger races. He supposed telepathy might come close, but then it would, being a gift of the Vorlons.
The war? Their thought entered his mind. Though what lesser species might call the verbal component of the thought was brief, even terse, it came overlaid, packaged with a thousand meanings and connotations...the surprise at a war between the two species who would be most critical to both the last Shadow War and the next; the concern that one of the oldest and most powerful of the younger races might extinguish one of the newest, the fear that the Great Circle they had labored so hard to establish might fail, and the astonishment that despite that Circle they had not seen the war coming.
The Minbari advance he sent back to them, rolled up with images and feelings of Minbari ships overrunning human fleets and systems across a vast swath of space. Of Minbari vessels advancing untouched into the fury of human resistance, and shattering that resistance with nary a scratch. Of humans dying by the hundreds of thousands, but, after every defeat, every grinding retreat, every hideous slaughter, pulling themselves back together and throwing up yet another resistance, another blockade. And finally, a few minor successes for the humans….a human dreadnought ramming a Sharlin. A minor fleet, a massive Sharlin and a few escorts, caught in a human trap of nuclear mined asteroids. And last of all, a massive fleet gathering in Earth orbit, a final line of resistance to prevent the fall of their species.
The Circle? That was their real concern. The all important Circle. The loop of time that would win the Great Debate with the Shadows. Indeed, which had already snatched victory from the jaws of defeat, and would continue to do so, time and time again.
All seemed fine. The Circle and fate were not left to their own devices. Time and destiny seemed to have a way of changing and altering with reiteration, any time a circle was created. That was a lesson learned in the temporal wars in the distant past, when more than just two groups of First Ones roamed the galaxy. What seemed to be a set and stable pattern could change drastically with just the most minor of variations, as the universe processed through the infinite options and choices that came with each instant of time. Because of this, Kosh and a number of other Vorlons were tasked with watching the progression of history, to ensure that the Circle continued to circle. The Earth Minbari war was something which had not been anticipated, and had momentarily thrown the reclusive Vorlons into a panic. They had considered the unthinkable...direct intervention in the war. However, despite the unexpected war, a battery of tests, run on the most advanced temporal sensors the Vorlons could, all indicated the same thing….the Circle was on track. The war was apparently supposed to happen, an unexpected but integral part of the Circle. And therefore to be watched, but not interfered with. At least, until recently. And the eldest of these Vorlon inquisitors immediately picked up on his qualification.
Seemed? The interrogative, stripped of all subtext save the demand for information, grabbed the immediate attention of every other Vorlon. The threat of potential intervention again loomed.
There has been an anomaly Kosh advised them. Near Earth. Specifics unknown. His sending included shock and dismay as those same temporal sensors unexpectedly veered wildly, swinging back and forth between the known and unknown, between the road to victory, and path to destruction.
Intervention? There is was. The question Kosh dreaded, but knew was coming. In order to save the circle his people would do anything. Destroy the Minbari fleet heading for Earth, if that was called for. Or invade Earth themselves and tear it apart, searching for the anomaly. They already planned to take action against a fleet of Drazi upstarts who were planning to interfere in the Earth Minbari war. The Vree were also being watched for potential action, but right now it appeared they would not get to Earth until well after the Minbari. He feared almost as much for those children they called the Young Races as he did for his own people.
Perhaps. Perhaps not. Possibility. Kosh sent the message laced with hope. With a hint of what the temporal sensors had shown him.
Explain. The sending was brief but laden with meaning. Curiosity. Concern. Suspicion. Ambition.
Increased stability. Further future. Victory? Kosh's sending included everything he had been able to glean from the sensors. The Circle was stable, but not perfect, which was why they had the sensors in the first place. But it looked as though there was the possibility that this unexpected change might actually make things more stable, harder for the Shadows or random chance to subvert. They had also shown him Vorlon life signs further into the future than they had ever detected. There was a cut off date barely more than a decade hence, a line across time, after which they could detect no Vorlon future within the galaxy. The theories for this ranged from final victory over the Shadows to final defeat, but most of their experts believed it was a simple barrier caused by the Circle itself...it's ending point, or more properly it's beginning; the date on which Vallen would travel back in time to fight in the last Shadow war. The exact date was unknown, but corresponded roughly with the time after which no Vorlons signatures could be detected. But now, if Vorlons could be detected farther ahead, even if only a little, it threw that assumption into doubt. The only likely possibility was that the Circle itself was showing them their final victory...all allowed by some random anomaly around Earth. Patience Kosh communicated, encouraging a wait and see approach.
Agreed. And with their final communication, Kosh knew that he was dismissed. But he had the answer he had wanted. He could return to his duties observing and manipulating the younger races. The future looked like it might be very interesting indeed.
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Mars - August, 2248
Lieutenant Commander Jeffrey Sinclair exited the hospital for the last time. Months of rehabilitation had left him in less than stellar condition. But then, breaking both arms and both legs, along with a half dozen ribs, will do that to you. Frankly, he knew he should feel lucky that he hadn't snapped his spine. But you tended not to feel lucky when you lost your command to the man who put you in the hospital. And now, rather than defending Earth, he'd gotten stuck as part of the official retreat. He swore to himself that if he ever saw Jankowski again, he'd spend a good long time kicking the man's ass.
His legs wobbled a bit, forcing him to lean on the cane in his right hand, but then firmed. He looked around as he walked out onto the street. He had received a message that an Earth Force officer would be picking him up. It was time to resume duty, and despite his distaste for his current assignment, orders were orders. He glanced up and down the street, but saw no one but a drunk sleeping it off on a nearby bench, a large Fedora covering his face and the reek of alcohol distinct even from a few meters away.
Sinclair's eyes widened when he realized that the slovenly, and somewhat emaciated, mess of a drunk was wearing what appeared to be the remnants of a GroPos uniform. The insignia of a sergeant peaked out from under a blot of what appeared to be marinara sauce. A loud snore reached Sinclair's ears, and he snapped. His arms and legs twinged as he stormed over to the man, but he paid no attention. Nor did he pay attention to the stab of pain which shot up his arm when he lifted his cane, inserted it through the slats on the back of the bench, placed it in the small of the drunk's back, and with a heave shoved the man off of the bench onto the Mars-crete ground.
The drunk landed with a squawk, and his bloodshot eyes shot open in anger. But then he saw Sinclair's uniform and performed a reasonable approximation of leaping to his feet, and a completely pathetic approximation of a proper salute. "Umm, would you be Jeff Sinclair?"
"Yes, Sergeant, I'm Lieutenant Commander Jeffrey Sinclair. Who the hell are you?" Sinclair asked in his best pissed CO voice.
"Take it easy, Commander," the Sergeant said, slouching and raising his arms in a gesture of surrender rather than maintaining the proper attention stance. "I'm Michael Garibaldi. I've been assigned to you for the time being...driver, pilot, personal assistant, and bodyguard. Come on, you've got a meeting to get to," Garibaldi said, already starting to walk away.
"Lucky me," Sinclair muttered under his breath, and then turned to follow.
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A short drive and an only slightly longer shuttle flight later, Sinclair and Garibaldi were berthing on the EAS Nova, first ship of it's class. They were met by a Lieutenant JG, who looked to young to shave, much less be in charge of the hanger bay. After greeting them and granting permission for them to come aboard, he handed them off to an even younger looking Ensign, tasked with guiding them through the mammoth ship to their meeting.
The passage down one corridor after another felt even longer than the shuttle flight to Sinclair, and he silently thanked providence that the EA had yet to figure out artificial gravity, as the zero G condition of the ship put minimal strain on his still recovering limbs. Garibaldi had not stopped talking since the moment Sinclair had gotten into the car with him, and now his chatter prevented Sinclair from pumping the Ensign for information about the status of the ship or fleet. He didn't even consider asking Garibaldi. The man would likely take it as another opportunity to launch into an explanation of Cowpoke's Chilli, whatever that was. Sinclair silently counted the moments until he could get rid of the Sergeant for good. Finally, they came to a large bulkhead door that looked much the same as every other one they had passed. But the ensign keyed the door open and then stood off to the side.
Sinclair expected Garibaldi to wait outside with the Ensign, but the man made to follow him in, though at least he had stopped talking. Sighing to himself, Sinclair entered the room and found a rather odd assemblage of people.
Directly in the center stood General Lefcourt. He was deep in conversation with...oh, hell. That was Commander John Sheridan, that unbelievable prick. Sinclair sighed to himself. He only knew Sheridan from his days back in the Academy, but he couldn't imagine all of the hero worship that came with scoring the only victory in the war to date would do anything but inflate the man's opinion of himself. Still, he thought to himself, pulling that off, against a Sharlin no less, was damned impressive. Maybe I should reserve judgement and give the man the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he's grown. Yeah right. And pigs will fly and Minbari are just misunderstood.
Looking around the room in curiosity, he noticed a short, dour looking man seated off to one side, pointedly ignoring everyone else, looking as though they were beneath him. He was the oldest person in the room, save only General Lefcourt. Despite his age, he carried the same rank as Sinclair, but on his lapel...was that a Psi-Cop badge?!
Standing just beyond the man was a tall, statuesque woman with light brunette hair. Her face was a little long for classical beauty, but she carried a commanding presence which left her both striking and attractive. She also wore the uniform of a Lieutenant Commander.
Next, he saw a pale skinned, dark haired beauty who also matched his rank, leaning against one of the bulkheads. What's with all of the Lieutenant Commanders? He noticed her glaring daggers at Sheridan, and if looks could kill he certainly wouldn't have to worry about that pain in the ass again. He liked her immediately. He was less impressed with the final person in the room. The man...boy, really...was hovering over her with very obvious interest. He was trying to engage her in conversation, and looked positively lecherous. He was wearing...a cadet uniform? Cadet Captain, if he remembered his Academy days correctly, which meant that despite his youthful look he was certainly an upperclassman, and probably the Big Man On Campus, not that it helped him when he wasn't on campus. Which the beauty proved when she momentarily shifted her glare to him and said, "You know you're not an actual Captain, right?" and then went promptly back to ignoring him and glaring at Sheridan. Sinclair almost laughed out loud, and his opinion of her went up another couple of notches. Garibaldi actually did laugh out loud.
The laugh got General Lefcourt's attention, and noting who had just entered he said, "Good. We're all here. Take your seats, everyone."
Being Earth Force officers, with a minimum of fuss everyone was seated. The General began the briefing. "No doubt some of you are wondering why you are here, or the purpose of this meeting. You are here because you are all being assigned to...in fact, are critical to... Operation Exodus. In case anyone has been asleep for the last few months, Operation Exodus is our answer to what appears to be an unavoidable fact...Earth is going to lose this war. We've won exactly one battle in this war so far, and the ratio of our losses to theirs lies between a hundred to one and a thousand to one, depending on whether you are counting tonnage or hulls. We're throwing just about everything we have at an attempt to hold the line before Earth, but odds are it won't be enough. Earth is going to lose, and if nothing is done, the human race goes extinct."
"Do we know they're bent on genocide sir?" Sheridan interrupted. "Deep recons show that they haven't exterminated the populations of the colonies they've overrun."
"No, we do not. But neither have they made any attempt at all to avoid civilian casualties, or to support those colonies after destroying all of their infrastructure and most of their capacity to support themselves. Chances are high that the Minbari are focusing on destroying our capacity to fight first, before going through the effort of extinguishing us.
"Operation Exodus is our attempt to avoid that fate. Put simply, we're going to run. We're assembling a fleet, have been for about a year, and we are going to leave the Earth Alliance behind and head out into space, looking for a new home, or at least a refuge, for our species.
"Ne expense has been spared, and unless you're totally blind you've noticed the fleet gathering here, and the mass of civilians who have been flowing in. The fleet is separated into two parts; civilian and military. We will be waiting until the last possible moment to flee, both to ensure that the Fall is actually happening, and to allow for as many last minute refugees as possible to make it to us. This is, of course, a risk. This entire endeavor will be fraught with one risk after another. That is why the President has signed off on the orders to make this a military lead effort, over which I have been placed in command. If Earth falls, no doubt some civilians with the fleet will wish to reconstitute the civilian government and control. It is our job to ensure that happens...after we have found a safe haven. Until such time as we have escaped the Minbari and settled somewhere, this fleet will operate under Martial Law and Military Justice. The civies might not like that, but it will be necessary to ensure their survival. Let's take a closer look at the civilian vessels which will be the core of the fleet. Allow me to introduce you to Lieutenant Commander Sandra Levitt."
The tall female officer stood and walked to the front of the room. She tapped a panel, and a large vid console on the far wall lit up, displaying the image of an enormous vessel. She turned to face the room and continued the briefing. "I assume you are familiar with the White Star Line?"
"The only name in oceanic and space borne luxury and cruise liners," the dark-haired beauty offered. "They're named after the ancient British company which built some unsinkable ship which, of course, sank. They started by uniting the bulk of the Earth's sailing cruise lines, but they really became a power when they got into space. Today their space fleet is so luxurious and prestigious that nearly as many aliens as humans make use of their liners...at least, before the war anyway."
"Correct. The White Star fleet doesn't offer much for the war effort, but it is perfect for our purposes. On orders of the President, the fleet has been nationalized. The twenty ships of the line are the Titanic, Olympic, Britannic, White Star, Disney Cruise, Royal Carribean, Queen Mary, Queen Elizabeth, Carnival, Norwegian Cruise, Princess, Oceania, Regent, Italia, Dolphin, Celebration, Star Cruiser, Royal Viking, Renaissance and Atlantis. On average these ships were designed to carry 10,000 passengers in varying levels of comfort and luxury, and most importantly, centrifugal gravity replication. We have heavily reworked their structure and life support systems to increase their carrying capacity twenty fold. The accommodations will be both minimal and spartan, but sufficient from a purely pragmatic standpoint. Of course, we are talking about cramming civilians into that setting, so no doubt they will think they are in the seventh layer of hell. Still, they will be alive, and that is our primary consideration.
"Rounding out what we will consider the critical core of our fleet, are some more utilitarian vessels. Three supertankers; two filled with fuel and one with water. Nearly a dozen Ultra Large freighters and container ships carrying, amongst other things, repair and maintenance parts, food stuffs, trade goods, raw materials, weapons, hyperspace beacons, and colonization supplies. We have 2 asteroid mining ships and 2 gas-giant gas extraction vessels. And of course an assortment of tugs, rescue vessels, and construction and assembly ships. Everything you need to keep the fleet running for months. In addition to this core, if the Minbari allow sufficient time for civilian evacuation, we could see hundreds of smaller vessels joining the fleet. We are likely to see everything from personal yachts to transport shuttles. I understand that our orders are to try to accommodate them all."
"Those vessels won't last long on an interstellar trip," Sheridan noted.
"Which is why we have all of those repair vessels and freighters loaded with spare parts I mentioned earlier. It is also why we have rigged all passenger liners and any of our other civilian ships with rotation capabilities with numerous extra docking points. We are hoping to get those folks docked and into centrifugal spin as often as practical. We don't want our civies dying because of zero-G sickness. Depending on the final size of the fleet, we are hoping to be able to run continuously off of just our stowed supplies and with minimal maintenance for six to twelve months. If necessary we think we can eek out another couple of years utilizing mining, trade, and more in depth maintenance, though that would obviously slow the fleet significantly. Beyond three years, we expect a rapid deterioration of the fleet's capabilities. However, even at the speed of our slowest vessels, three years should put us well outside of the boundaries of known space. Hopefully we will have achieved safety and found a home by then."
Having finished her presentation, Levitt returned to her seat.
Lefcourt stood and resumed. "Alright folks, as I said, no expense has been spared on the civilian front. The only worry there is that we can't completely load the fleet in advance. We will be expecting Earth Force to hold the line against the Minbari long enough for sufficient civilians to reach us to fill out the fleet. Right now we are only at 30% capacity on board, with another 40% temporarily berthed on Mars.
"The military portion of the fleet, on the other hand, has been far more problematic."
The comment elicited a snort from Garibaldi, so Sinclair asked, "What do you mean, sir?"
"I mean that, while no expense has been spared on the civilian fleet, getting military resources has been far more difficult. Not only does Earth Force want everything it has defending the homeworld, but every officer seems to be willing to do whatever it takes to participate in that battle, doomed though it may be. With the exception of the Eratosthenes, our Explorer class ship, the only military vessels which have been assigned to this fleet have been heavily damage battlefield cripples. We get them in, do everything we can to get them back into fighting trim, and the moment they are, they are pulled out and reassigned to other commands. We have had four Novas and nine Hyperions yanked out from under us. This continues to be the case. We currently have one Nova, and it's primary battery is completely inoperative."
"General," said Sheridan, "the Lexington is currently fully operational."
"And I'm trying to keep that information under wraps, as it's also our only Hyperion. I've modified the official reports to show her plasma cannons as still being offline."
"General?" Sheridan sounded both shocked and disapproving.
"We can't afford to lose her. That information is to stay in this room, on my orders. Understood?" he asked, looking around at each of the officers in the room. He got the confirmations he wanted, and then continued. "Still, I think there's a rather good chance that the top brass knows. I think what's keeping her here has less to do with her current operational status, and more to do with the fact that she is your ship, Sheridan. There have been some concerns about you, ever since the failure of your attempt at negotiating with the Minbari."
Sheridan looked confused. "Why would that be?" he asked.
Sinclair couldn't help himself. He had heard the rumors, and shared them, so he piped up, "Because people think you might have intentionally failed. That maybe you want the war to continue. You're the only officer to win a battle against the Minbari. Maybe you think you can win the war yourself, be humanity's savior."
"Now that's just ridiculous," the beautiful Lieutenant Commander interrupted. "John would never dream of doing something like that."
"And how would you know?" Sinclair asked her with genuine curiosity.
"Because I used to be married to him."
Well, thought Sinclair to himself, that would explain the glaring.
"Back to business, people." Leftcourt regained their attention. "In addition to one semi-functional Nova, one fully functional Hyperion, and our Explorer class vessel, we also have one Avenger class Carrier and, as it turns out, one highly modified Orestes class system monitor."
"Highly modified?" asked Sheridan. "Modified how?"
"It's had all of its armaments removed except for its Interceptors, in order to make room and power for additional life support and berthing, as well as a civilian jump-drive."
"Why would someone make such changes?" Sheridan inquired.
"I don't know. You'd have to ask the Psi-Corp. It belongs...belonged to them. Until they donated it to the cause. I have no idea why they would need such a thing, and it wasn't on any public records that I could find. I don't suppose you could shed any light on that mystery, could you Mr. Bester?"
The man smirked at them. "I really couldn't say. I'm just a low level Psi-Cop."
"Wrong," Lefcourt admonished him. "You're a Lieutenant Commander in Earth Force, now. And in Earth Force we do not accessorize our uniforms. That Psi-Cop badge is not to be worn while you are in your current position. Understood?"
"Yes, sir," the man said with a sigh.
"Just what is his current position?" asked the officer formerly married to Sheridan.
"It turns out that in addition to the Orestes, the Psi-Corp had an entire squadron of Star-furies operating out of it, all telepaths. Mr. Bester was and is the squadron commander. He will also be the ranking Earth Force officer assigned to the Mother...odd name for a ship...and will generally be in command of it from a military standpoint. However, as I said it is only armed with Interceptors, so the Starfuries are its real offensive capability. It also has a civilian Captain and crew, though I understand that they are all telepaths as well. In any engagement it will be sitting amongst the civilian fleet, providing point defense while the fighters go out to do battle.
"Which brings me to personnel. Just like with ships, getting and retaining qualified personnel has been a major challenge. Everyone who could get a transfer out has. What we are left with are personnel who are mentally or physically damaged, or are undesirable in some way. Half our personnel are walking wounded or suffering from substantial levels of PTSD. Then we've got conscientious objectors and troops so green they don't even know what their jobs are, much less how to do them. Hell, we're taking the entire academy with us, in the hopes it will provide us with some level of backup for the men and women we do have. And on the other end of the scale, we have the Old Salts, who can provide the experience we need, but many of whom are so far out of date it's questionable how relevant their experience is. Most of them are past retirement age. Some of them may or may not be suffering from various levels of senility or dementia. But you didn't hear that from me.
"So, now that you know how truly fragged up our military situation is, it's time I wrapped up this little conference with my final topic...how all of you fit in. You folks...you're going to by my ranking officers." A murmur of surprise rippled around the room. "So I suppose introductions are in order. I've already mentioned Lieutenant Commander Bester and his command over the Black Omega squadron and the monitor Mother. Mr. Alfred Bester, as of this moment you are hereby brevetted to the rank of Commander.
"I also introduced Lieutenant Commander Levitt. Ms. Levitt, as of this moment you are hereby brevetted to the rank of Commander. You are to immediately assume command of the EFNS Eratosthenes."
Commander Levitt's eyes widened. "Sir, I'm not qualified for that position."
"None of you are qualified for what I am about to set on your shoulders. You are required to do it nonetheless. You, Commander, are the only person in this room, myself included, who doesn't fall into the description I gave earlier of being damaged or undesirable in some way. You have been working on this project from the beginning, and I have spent considerable political capital to keep you here. Take the position Commander, you've earned it."
"I'm sure everyone knows Commander John Sheridan. Commander, you are being brevetted to the rank of Captain. You will be Senior Captain for the fleet, and are to immediately assume command of the EFNS Nova."
"Sir," Sheridan objected, "I'm honored, but I'd rather stay with the Lexington."
"Sorry, Captain, but it's not your choice. I need my Senior Captain in charge of my most powerful ship, especially since I won't be there myself."
"You won't be flying your flag on the Nova, sir?"
"No. I'll be on board our carrier, the Midway, safe and sound in the middle of the civie fleet, providing point defense alongside the Mother. You need to understand, John, that if the Nova is actually called upon to carry out her primary role of slugging it out with another capital ship, it will almost certainly be as a sacrifice play to buy the fleet time to escape from the Minbari. I don't like suicide missions, and I like asking officers to take them up even less, but then there's a whole lot I don't like about our current situation. I can't be in a situation where I throw myself into the fire. The fleet needs continuity of command, and you're all too damned green to step into my shoes. I'm sorry if you don't like it. I don't either, but those are your orders.
"Lieutenant Commander Elizabeth Lochley. You are hereby brevetted to rank of Commander, to immediately assume command of the cruiser Lexington."
"Take care of my ship, Liz," Sheridan inserted, but Elizabeth ignored him.
"General, I am neither injured nor suffering from trauma. I would assume that makes me undesirable in someway. How exactly? What have I done to be shanghaied into this command?"
"I'm sorry, Commander," Lefcourt stated. "Command is well aware of your brief marriage to Captain Sheridan. I'm afraid it wasn't short enough, and you are suffering from guilt by association. I know you're not happy to be here. All I can say is that I am happy to have you. Your orders stand." Elizabeth resumed her glaring at Sheridan, though now she also included the General. Sinclair didn't blame her at all.
"Lieutenant Commander Jeffrey Sinclair. You are hereby brevetted to the rank of Commander. You will report to the Midway to assume the position of CAG for the fleet. Your fleet elements are comprised of four squadrons aboard the Midway, two squadrons aboard the Nova, two squadrons aboard the Eratosthenes, one squadron aboard the Mother, and one flight aboard the Lexington." Jeff felt as if he had been sucker punched. He had gone from commanding one squadron to being in charge of nearly 10. That was a hell of a promotion. He didn't know if he wanted the responsibility, but he sure as hell knew he didn't have any choice.
"Sergeant Michael Garibaldi. You are hereby brevetted to the rank of Lieutenant Commander. You are hereby ordered to report to the Midway, to assume the position of head of security for the united fleet, both military and civilian. You are to enforce rule of law...and it shall be martial." Jeff suddenly found himself feeling sorry for Garibaldi. He watched the man turn white and he looked like he might fall over. He really is way too thin. I wonder if he's been sick, or if he's abusing more than just alcohol?
"Finally, we have Cadet Captain Matthew Gideon. You are hereby brevetted to the rank of Lieutenant Commander, and ordered to assume command of the Avenger class heavy carrier Midway." Shocked expressions from around the room were now aimed at the young man, but Lefcourt continued speaking. "Note that all brevet promotions will become full commissions the moment this fleet flees the Solar System. Until then, anything and everything is subject to change. Now, we have a hell of a lot of work to do people. And, it would appear that you are all out of uniform. Congratulations. Now get moving. Commander Sinclair, please stick around for a few moments."
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"I can see you've got concerns, Jeff," Lefcourt stated once the room had cleared. "You are the only person I haven't had much chance to speak with. Tell me what's on your mind. I'm not sure how many more chances we'll have to talk before things start to really get crazy."
"Where do I begin? I know. How about the crazy drunk you saddled me with, the one you want to put in charge of fleet security. Are you mad?"
"I did tell you quite a lot of our personnel were broken. That didn't just apply to you," he said, nodding to Sinclair's cane. "You might try cutting Mr. Garibaldi some slack. He's only been back for a little over a month. Did you notice he looked a bit under fed? His unit was stuck behind the lines on one of the moons of Vega II. No source of resupply, just what they carried in with them. They starved to death until we could finally punch a rescue mission through to them. He was one of the only survivors. And that's after being one of the sole survivors of a direct Minbari ground assault, that wiped out most of his unit. The man's earned the right to be a little off. More importantly, he's been in and around security his whole life, and actually has the background to pull off his position. At the very least, he's far more qualified than anyone else I could scrounge up."
"Well what about that Cadet? You're going to take a cadet straight out of the Academy and hand him the reigns of a starship?"
"Yes, I am. Matthew Gideon is one of the most talented young officers I have ever seen. More importantly, he doesn't actually come without experience. Are you familiar with the Junior Year Service Project?"
"Sure. The top 100 students of the class who are on track to become line officers spend a semester serving on an actual warship. They get to serve in real crew roles. I was preparing for fighter operations myself, so I didn't pay too much attention to it. If memory serves, the ship was some archaic, busted up scrap heap. An Artemis Frigate or and Olympus Corvette, or maybe…"
"Or maybe an Avenger class Heavy Carrier?" Lefcourt interrupted. "You're correct, actually. The Service Vessel used to be an Olympus, but just before the war broke out the Academy acquired the Midway. The idea was to take the Service Project for prospective line officers and Advanced Flight Operations for prospective fighter jocks like yourself, and merge the two into a single project. But, when they pulled the Midway out of mothballs, they discovered it was a complete wreck.
"Gideon and his shipmates spent two full semesters servicing that ship. They had a lot of help, but they basically rebuilt it from the ground up, and then they learned how to operate it, and they still kept up with their lessons the entire time. They learned every nook, cranny, and secret of that ship, and they worked tirelessly. And the most tireless and active of all, naturally, was Cadet Captain Gideon. As head of his class, that was expected, but he performed well in excess of any expectations we may have had for him. He performed as student, engineer, maintenance, and of course Captain. He and his crew are perfectly comfortable with the ship, and with each other."
"Wait," Sinclair held up his hand. "You mean the entire crew will be cadets? And they're not even Seniors?"
"Jeff. Everything I just told you, and those are the two things you picked up on? They are capable of doing the job, and besides that, they are the only crew available. Also, technically they just became Seniors."
"Couldn't you have put their instructors in charge?"
"You remember what I said about everyone heading to Earth who could swing it? That's pretty much the case here. Those instructors who were deemed valuable to the fight were pulled. Those that remain are….rather well seasoned."
"Well seasoned?"
"We tried carbon dating them, but it turned out when they were born carbon hadn't been invented yet."
"I see, sir."
"Any other concerns, Jeff?"
"I don't suppose I can ask about the Psi-cop?"
Lefcourt frowned at him. "Do you mean Commander Bester, Earth Force Officer and not-at-all-a Psi-Cop?"
"Yes sir, that's him."
With a sigh, Lefcourt shrugged. "I share your concerns. But, frankly, we're lucky he's the highest ranking member of Psi-Corp we have to deal with. The real power structure will be staying behind on Earth."
"I'm surprised they didn't fight that."
"They did. The President and her allies in Earth Gov exerted all of the influence they could to ensure it stayed that way. They didn't want the last remnants to the human race dealing with an internal race war, which seems to be the way society has been headed with regards to Teeps. Even then, in the end we had to cut a deal."
"What kind of a deal?" Sinclair asked nervously.
"You know the average telepath to normal ratio?"
"Isn't it one tenth of one percent? Roughly one in every one thousand people tests positive for telepathy. Telekinesis is far more rare."
"Correct. Well, the approximate telepath population of the fleet will be roughly ten percent. We'll be taking a substantial portion of the overall telepath population."
"Jesus Christ! Why?! That's eugenics! How the hell do you justify that?!"
"You're damned right it is!" Lefcourt shouted, showing some fire for the first time. "And it's justified the same way all of this is justified. Survival. We needed to break the Psi-Corps stranglehold over telepaths. Elements within Earth Gov have been concerned for a while now over the direction relations with telepaths have been going. Psi-Corp has become more and more insular, and there have been rumors about it instigating an anti-mundane culture amongst it's people, and possibly even a level of militarization. Those rumors are clearly true, since they had a Goddamned Monitor and Starfury squadron just hiding out in hyperspace.
"Besides, we were going to do it anyway, though the Corp didn't know that. It's still unconfirmed, but initial investigations appear to show that human telepaths are on average more powerful than the telepaths of other species. It may be one of the few advantages we have, and if the human race gets cut down to a few million people, we will need every advantage we can get.
"The people selected for this fleet were highly scrutinized. A high percentage of telepaths is just the beginning. Obviously we have colonization experts, troops, and a high percentage of medical practitioners. But it goes beyond that. For instance, we're bringing practically the entire exploratory, research and engineering branches of IPX. We've got the entire digital download of the Library of Earth, which necessitated a large number of librarians. We have scientists and engineers out the wazoo. But despite all of these requirements, less than twenty percent of the fleet population will be in excess of thirty years old. Less than five percent will be in excess of forty. That includes the telepaths, by the way. I guess in that way my command team will be reflective of the fleet overall."
Sinclair was stunned. "My God, why? That's ageism!"
"And probably a whole bunch of other 'isms as well. But if we are to survive we need to bounce back as quickly as possible. That means that as many of the survivors as possible need to be reproductive, with a good solid lifespan ahead of them. Our intelligence services have been discretely checking fertility via a number of means, so feel free to add invasion of privacy to the list of crimes this government is committing for this venture. Oh, and heterosexuality is also a strong determinant for procreation, so toss discrimination of sexual orientation onto the pile for which I will be burned in Hell and History.
"We're all in, Jeff. This is about avoiding extinction. I'll toss my sacred honor onto the midden heap, right along with my life and fortune, if that's what it takes to survive. And I damned well expect you to do the same. You got me?"
"Sir! Yes, Sir!"
"Good. Because you're really not going to like what comes next. Because you're REALLY not going to like what comes next. Get with Garibaldi. Start getting your crews and troops down onto Mars. When the Minbari come, things are going to get ugly fast. Here are your orders…"
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Hyperspace, Nearing Earth Alliance Territory- August, 2248
"General Trkarda, the storm grows worse. I have never seen anything like it."
"Hyperspace is a fickle landscape, Makar. You should know that. Gravitational inclines, spatial knots, wild currents; these are not unknown problems."
"Yes, but General, this is worse than anything on record. It is like the winter storms on Zhabar's Western Sea. The fleet is having a hard time staying in formation."
"I do not plan on conducting any parade reviews. If the formation is a little lax, we will survive."
"Survival is exactly the concern, sir!. With the amount we are being knocked about, we are in danger of losing the beacon. We cannot afford to lose a thousand ship, General! The Chief Engineer urges that we cut speed in half and divert energy to station keeping and sensors."
"We are in a bit of a hurry, Makar. You do realize that?"
"We won't be any good to the humans if we never arrive. For that matter, I don't see how we will be any good to them, even if we do."
"Is that what this is about? Speak your mind. There will be no repercussion."
"The Makar looked worried, but did not back down. "No sir. This is about protecting the Drazi and vessels under our command. I would never question your orders, General. But, since you asked, no, I do not understand the reasoning behind our current mission. We are talking about the Minbari! We cannot hope to defeat them. The humans are at least as mighty as the Drazi, and in two years, they have only one victory. And that was by trap, not by skill or might of arms. I suppose it does not matter if we lose the beacon. If we do not smash ourselves against the storm, we will only smash ourselves against the Minbari!"
The General was silent for a moment, and the Makar began to worry that he had overstepped. But then the General said quietly, "Tell me Makar, did you see combat against the Dilgar?"
A little surprised, he responded, "No, sir. I began training about a year after the war ended."
"Then perhaps it is to be expected that you do not remember. The fear. The despair of those times. The Dilgar were our Minbari. They were implacable. Lost battle after lost battle. Retreat after retreat. And always the constant, unending death. They slaughtered us. On the battlefield and off. Even our few victories were so steeped in blood that they hardly seemed worth the effort. Civilians were no safer than our warriors. We at least could fight back. They could only run and hide and die." He paused for a long time, staring blankly ahead, lost in some tragic memory. The Makar thought for a moment that he might have been forgotten about, but then Trkarda took a deep breath, and resumed briskly. "And then the humans came. We hoped, we prayed they would. Or the Minbari. Or even the accursed Centauri. We would have taken any savior, but it was the humans who actually came. No one expected them to. No one expected them to do well. They were too young, too new, too untested. The Dilgar barely knew they existed. Until, that is, they began to pound the Dilgar forces like the finest Mutai champion... And after that everything changed. The humans showed fearlessness, and made us fearless. The humans showed aggressiveness, and restored our aggression. The humans displayed cooperation and coordination, and for the first time, the Drazi and the other members of the League were able to properly cooperate and coordinate our forces, together. The humans lead and we followed, and the Dilgar fell back before us. We had been saved.
"The civilians were never really told how truly desperate things had become, so I don't fault you for not knowing; for not understanding. The Drazi owe the humans. I thought it was a debt that could never be repaid. Perhaps, now, it can."
"We can't beat the Minbari, General," he quietly stated, his tone subdued.
The general actually smiled. "Beat them? It's never been our goal to beat them. I doubt we'll even survive the fight. It will be glorious, though. No, our goal is to repay the humans by getting the Minbari to think. We want them to ask themselves why another race would risk Minbari wrath, risk extinction itself, to aid a race they see as degenerate. Of all the League races who owe so much to the humans, none have yet had the courage to stand up to the Minbari and tell them that they are wrong. That the humans are NOT butchers and barbarians. Not even the Drazi, to our shame. Well, we are changing that. We will reclaim our honor by standing between the humans and the Minbari. Perhaps our attack will cause the Minbari to turn around immediately. Perhaps it will require our destruction. Or perhaps it won't work at all. But honor demands that we do something, not just turn a blind eye and pretend nothing is wrong."
"And what if they decree the destruction of the Drazi, as they have done to the humans?"
"Then we will activate the mutual defense provisions of the League."
"They won't help the humans, why would they help us?"
"Because we are actually part of the League, while the humans are not. And because the Dilgar showed us what happens when we stand by while one of our number is attacked. Perhaps you are correct. Many of them may not heed the call, in their fear of the Minbari. I have confidence that the Abbai will stand with us. There are rumors that the Vree may be sending a fleet of their own, so they would likely stand with us as well. I'm not sure about the Yolu, but I don't think even the Minbari scare them. And if even a few other League worlds stand with us, it will be that much harder for the rest to try to stay neutral, that much harder for the Minbari not to question their own actions, and not to mention that much harder for them to actually exterminate us."
"We are gambling with the future of our race."
"Yes, we are," and without so much as a pause, he ordered, "have the fleet assume Phalanx Cube formation."
The Makar blinked at the sudden shift in the conversation, but did not hesitate to implement the order. Only a few minutes later, when Communications confirmed that the fleet had achieved the new formation, did he return to General Trkarda. "The fleet is in formation sir. Were you expecting an attack? Hyperspace combat is never a good idea. I wouldn't want to even think about trying to fight in a storm like this one."
"I don't plan to." Seeing the Makar's look of curiosity, he continued, "With a thousand ships, a Phalanx Cube formation puts a hundred ships in the first wall. If we had remained in Line formation, how many ships could lock onto the beacon at once?"
"The first three or four ranks, maybe a dozen ships. After that, the beacon is blocked by the ships ahead," the Makar stated with dawning understanding. "But in our current formation, with a fleet this size, several hundred ships will be able to lock onto the beacon at the same time."
"What do you suppose the odds are of all of those ships losing sight of the beacons at the same time, even at this speed, in this storm?"
"Not likely at all," the Makar said with a smile. A few moments later, that smile faded as Sensors brought something to his attention. "General, we are detecting three, and perhaps four ships pacing our movement. I believe the adjustment to our formation, both the increase in perimeter sensors and the increased diameter, has allowed our sensors to detect them. We don't have a firm identification, but whoever they are, their ships are quite large and riding well outside of the area where a solid beacon lock is possible."
The General grunted. "Minbari, then. How in the name of Thrazda did they know we were coming?" he asked rhetorically. "Position?"
"They have us boxed in. One each on our dorsal, ventral, and port sides. Additional potential contact to starboard which is...firming up now. Confirmed. Contact to starboard….one moment...additional potential contacts...one fore and one aft. Something has changed...all six contacts have started closing the distance. Still no firm identification."
"Bring the fleet to battle stations. Maximum output on active sensors. Get me an identification." He turned to the Communications Officer. "Send a general broadcast. Advise whoever this is that we do not wish a confrontation, but that if they interfere with us we will destroy them. Remind them that we have them outnumbered one thousand to six."
As the message went out the Sensors Officer called for the Makar's attention, and the General listened in. "Sir, the storm has begun to intensify, rather dramatically. The fleet is being tossed about, and I'm not sure how we'll maintain formation."
"Fleet formation is not your concern, Sensors," the Makar chastised him.
"There is more, Makar," the Drazi persisted. "Each of the six vessels is emitting some sort of generalized energy randomly into the surrounding environment. I've never seen anything like it. It's almost like an energy fountain. I think...I think maybe these ships are causing the storm."
"That's impossible."
"Yes, sir. Of course, sir." A second later a chirp sounded from his station. "We have a positive identification on the dorsal ship," he said, the sound of awe and fear clear in his voice.
The General broke into the conversation from where he sat a few feet away. "Well? What class of Minbari ship is it? Is it a Sharlin?"
"It's not a Minbari ship at all, General." The officer spoke quietly, turning to look at him. "The ship is….it's Vorlon, sir."
Trkarda reared back, as though he had been struck. "Vorlons? Are you certain?"
"Yes, sir. They continue to close the distance. All six ships now confirmed to be Vorlon. They...sir, they are in range of our weapons." An alarm began to sound from his station. "General. The Vorlons are definitely responsible for the creation of this storm. Those energy fountains just increased dramatically. Turbulence increasing…..there's….there's some sort of giant hyperspace wave forming! I've never seen anything like it!" The ship began to vibrate and shake, the structural members groaning under a heavy strain. The General heard the engines spooling up, whining as they fought to stabilize the ship.
The Makar turned to Trkarda. "General. Permission to open fire?"
"Against the Vorlons?! Are you mad?!"
"Hyperspace wave moving towards the fleet!" Sensors shouted. The ship began to buck violently.
"Orders, General?" the Makar asked urgently.
The General was dumbstruck. He thought frantically, trying to come up with a plan of action that didn't lead to war with the Vorlon Empire. He was willing to risk genocide for his people in taking on the Minbari. He wasn't prepared to guarantee it in taking on the Vorlons.
"Hyperspace wave has overtaken outermost fleet element!" Sensors called out. "No reading at all from ships past the wave front! It's like they're not even there!" The ship heaved, already being tossed about by the maelstrom.
"General!" the Makar shouted, bracing against the violent motion of the ship. "Permission to fire?"
"Contact with hyperspace wave in four seconds!" Sensors shouted, as the Makar again requested permission to fire. "Two…One..."
"No," Trkarda said quietly, though whether he was answering the Makar, or just protesting the unfairness of the universe, was impossible to tell.
And then the world was washed away in the reddish hues of hyperspace.