Well, once again, this is an excerpt without an establishment piece. I
invite those interested to critique, specifically on specific plot credibility.
-The Reverend Prez
* * *
Excerpted from Episode 6 of Liars and Dreamers, Chapter 12
DFA DFR GBY TYO GHR AUTHENTICATE
FLASH TRAFFIC BULLETIN RECEIVE ZZZ1194432NOVROM
FR: CO, 7FLT/TF71 UCSS EXCELSIOR
TO: CO, TF77 UCSS BENYAMIN COHEN
CC: CINCGIOV, CINCWESTGIOV
REF: DIRNAVINT, DCIN
OPAREA REF: 393.23, -433.90, 073.30 YANKEE CHARLIE X-RAY
END AUTHENTICATE HDR
// RECEIVE BULLETIN TEXT NOW - N0093 //
REDFORCES OPS REPORT GO:
1. CONFIRMED OPPICK APPREC TO 7 UT, DESIGNATE PLOT ZULU FORCE. CONTACT ZULU
1 GRP 3 UT, CONTACT ZULU 2 GRP 4 UT. ZULU 2 GRP TRANSITING FROM TELMASA
TOWARD MUSCIDA. ZULU 1 GRP DETACH SMALL UT (COUNT UNCONFIRMED) TO 181 HESS,
SUSPECT OBSERVATIONAL DETACHMENT. TELLER-01 QUIET.
2. INTEL REPORTS HEAVY OPFORCE, DESIGNATE PLOT YANKEE MAIN GROUP, BRANCH OFF
AT TELMASA SEVENTEEN HOURS AGO. CONFIRMED ASSETS MISSING FROM TELMASA
FLEETBASE. TERTIARY CONFIRM AT EARLIEST CONVENIENCE REQUESTED. INTEL
REPORTS CONTACT YANKEE FORCE ONE CONTINUING TOWARDS POSITION UNKNOWN EAST.
CONTACT YANKEE FORCE TWO CONTINUING TO REDFORCES BUILD-UP AT ZULU APLHA
ALPHA ON OPPO-SIDE OF BLACK BUFFER. CONTACT YANKEE FORCE ONE COUNT
ESTIMATED 500+ UT. SPECIFY CLASSES: 15 SD, 12 MN, 5 SMN, 45 BC, 93 CA, 60
CV, 65 CVE, 109 CL, 70 CVA, UNKNOWN DE, UNKNOWN DD, UNKNOWN DDG, 19 SDLPD,
UNKNOWN SMALL UT. PLEASE CONFIRM IF POSSIBLE.
3. REQUEST TRANSFER BATRON 59 APPROVED (REF: CINCGIOV, CINCWESTGIOV SIG).
BATRON 59 IS PROCEEDING UNDER ORDERS AT BEST SPEED TO RENDEZVOUS POINT
JULIET-LIMA-ZERO-NINER; RECEIPT COPY OF BATRON 59 ORDERS APPENDED IN
AUTHENTICATED FILE "BATRON59-11-10-73-AAD.LSP" FOR YOUR CONVENIENCE. VADM
TREVAYNE SENDS.
// END BULLETIN TEXT //
CLOSE AUTHENTICATE AUTHENTICATE AUTHENTICATE:
RGB HFP DDY YKL DFA AUTHENTICATE RECEIPTED
END FLASH TRAFFIC BULLETIN
BREAKBREAK
"Well, isn't that sweet," the acting flag captain noted dryly. "Why not
just put out a wanted ad? 'Want War, Will Antagonize.' "
Commander James Winston Forthwright III, the XO of the Confederation
battlecruiser UCSS Benyamin Cohen and current acting flag captain for Task
Force 77, passed off the message to the intelligence officer while a grim
crease folding into his brow. Forthwright was a bit junior for the
position; in fact, he'd been promoted from lieutenant commander only
yesterday to grant him sufficient rank above Admiral Smith's staff members.
The early promotion damned near frightened the XO, but he found comfort in
the fact that Captain Buxley, his CO, was on the way home.
Of greater concern than an impromptu frocking was the dilemma
surrounding Zulu Contacts One and Two, both of which would provide enough of
a nuisance for plotting and their computer capacity to make the second
echelon of news even more worrisome. The Empire was on the move--big
time--as far as Seventh Fleet Command could tell. Yankee Main Group was the
enemy's entire Third Unified Fleet, and then some; the Empire was breaking
its most powerful peacetime formation into two parts and sending one segment
indisputably in the direction of Rubia. They'd arrive in less than
half-a-month, en force. It would take the end of November and the greater
half of December to build up the support base to do what Mike Smith
suspected they were doing, but what worried him was that half of the Fleet
was speeding down an unnamed hyperlane towards the Galactic East. From
Telmasa, they could reach as far as the H'than-Confederation-Corron
Triumverate Buffer Zone by January. That, and close to a dozen Fleet Bases
the Empire had constructed along the way were within Yankee Force One's reach.
The action wasn't 'highly provocative' as far as international law went,
although it was enough to put the other side into a near-catatomic state of
worry; one thing the Druse Kingdom had secured in the way of a lasting peace
was a guarantee that both sides would inform the other in the event that one
side wished to conduct a massive, fleet-wide exercise. That, of course, had
been a very loosely applied rule, and neither side raised much of a ruckus
as long as such massive exercises remained well within undisputed
astrographical boundaries. This one, however, put Yankee Two's course less
than four lightyears from the Buffer Zone. Even if the hyperlanes were
taken out of the equation, Yankee Two could still easily strike the
Confederation's side of the Black Line under its own power.
"Can't blame 'em," Rear Admiral Michael Henry Smith gruffly commented.
Amongst the Core Worlds, Terra being an exception, there was a general
anti-war sentiment that had developed from the fear and turmoil of the last
one. Euphoric perceptions of the Confederation's military might had been
dashed by the brutal attack of General Mika Hw'italni, and Admiral Smith was
old enough to know that war had ended with his home still intact solely
through the enormous concessions the Confederation offered the Empire. The
first war with the Empire the Confederation had ever lost struck the fear of
God into the hearts of almost every Liberal-Progressive and DemUnie in the
Core, and they voted in large enough numbers to keep the political focus
almost wholly domestic. Still, where Mike Smith came from, a small region
on Earth's North American continent called Texas, a decent number of locals
had recoined a popular phrase by some old Union Army general (Sheridan or
Sherman, he could never remember): "The only good blueskin is a dead
blueskin." He didn't share the same sentiments as the reactionary elements
of his hometown, but Admiral Smith realized that the Empire posed a severe
threat to the security of the Confederation, and politicians sticking their
heads in the sand only made it that much easier for the enemy to gain the
necessary initiative to control whatever battlefield that might pop up in
the cold darkness of space. "Lieutenant Devlin?"
The lanky, squat-shoulder lad behind him snuck around to get a better
view of the plot. Arhan Devlin, the flag intelligence officer for TF77, was
fairly young and junior for his assignment. A full lieutenant, the Chandken
colonial had graduated first in his class from the San Pallamos Academy, and
proceeded directly afterwards to the Staff and Command College Intelligence
Tributary on Kent. Like most of his ilk, he was tale with an ebon iron
complexion, the result of two generations of Terran acculturation to
Chandi's savannah climate--fiercely hot under the gaze of an A5II flare
star. "I just finished speaking with Commander Watanabe, Sir. We're going
under the assumption that part two of this message is pretty much on the
mark. Also, we estimate similar strength in their heavy and missile
destroyers as they have in light and heavy cruisers. Note the absence of
any missile cruisers in Yankee Two; but scans on Telmasa shows that at least
twenty of the thirty-two confirmed stationed are missing. I would
definitely like to get a hold of what our forward pickets at the LD and LE
stellar stations picked up; I think that they went heavy on CLs for Yankee
Force One. It makes sense in a way--with that large a carrier force,
one-hundred and nine light cruisers is as tight as you can possibly get with
your screen. Also, it means that we've got at least three points where One
could be heading. They could be moving back towards Heganame or Polaris.
Probably, Heganame--Polaris is way off the galactic plane, and that'd add to
the transit time and they haven't expressed any tendency to amass in that
sector. But why decommit from the eastern front at all if you're going
heavy towards the west? Moreover, why not make a run to Epsilon Cassiopeiae
or Pleiades; that's just on the edge of the Taurus Dark cloud and the border
of the H'than Empire. It could be another pre-CCW-3 formation shift we're
looking at; in fact, they did this month before they moved on Betelgeuse.
Still, Yankee Two messes up the force structure, and I don't see them
relying heavily on H'than forces for a two-prong--"
"Excuse me, Lieutenant," Forthwright interrupted, "but your analysis
seems to hinge on war-in-progress. We are at what the civvies call peace."
Both Forthwright and Devlin understood the deeper meaning of the new
catch-phrase. "What the civvies call peace..." was as close to a direct
criticism of the current foreign policy that many DeForce officers would
permit themselves; the cold euphemisms of the soldier constituted a
necessary layer of armor against the occasionally lethal ignorance of their
civilian masters. The peace the current government of the Confederation was
so terribly proud of had wrought nearly thirty million casualties since the
end of the last major war. Since incursions and killing had occurred in
low-intensity outbursts over the past twenty years, many of the Core's
population were willing to turn a blind eye to the Periphery's suffering in
order to uphold their self-delusions.
"Precisely, Sir," Devlin stood his ground while observing the respect
due to rank. "Still, it doesn't change the fact that the Empire--barring a
major, unmentioned exercise--is operating in a manner indicative of hostile
intent and closely resembling a hostile act both sides are historically
familiar with. As I said, these deployments closely resemble their force
shuffling just before CCW-3 kicked-off; the only thing missing are troop
transports, and I'm confident the Hwi-zhemal'orra Army can mobilize soon
after their naval assets are in place. Consider this..."
He brought his admiral and the flag captain's attention to the Situation
Room plot. Yankee Force Two was closing on the limit of TF77's most distant
pickets; they were still waiting for a decent picture of its formation to
come through. It was moving through a hyperlane, which made things all the
more difficult. However, it had popped out in the RR Lyrae system early in
its voyage, and one of Admiral Smith's pickets had picked up a snippet of
its flank. "Utterly traditional, wouldn't you say? That just might
increase Seventh Fleet's force appreciation by fifty percent. You don't
even want to know what NavInt sent."
"Go ahead, I'll have to hear it sooner or later," Admiral Smith waved
his hand, leaving Devlin to weave the next big Messeur fish-story.
"Picket restructuring," he replied simply; a moment later, the
operations officer and the flag captain were snickering, and even Mike
Smith's gloom-cast brow rose in brief amusement. "I'm to assume that's why
Seventh wants us to confirm their assessment on Yankee Two, right?"
"Correct, Sir," the operations officer replied. "Now, as you see,
Yankee Two will pass at GLR-5502, and that's about five lightyears south of
their hold on Zeta Cygni. Also, that puts them at the very edge of the
optimal sensor range. Lieutanent Devlin thinks--we think--that this is a
starless terminus for two or three hyperlanes running lateral to the Buffer
Zone. They'll have fold naked for at least three hours to get from one to
the other--that gives us a small chance to get a quick look. We could move
our assets at 5502 closer, maybe reduce the risk of missing them. Still, it
all depends on whether or not Yankee Two takes that route, and whether or
not we can spot them in time after they drop into normal space before
folding to the next hyperlane." A series of fluorescent red lines
representing hyperlanes appeared on the holographic plot--each designated
with a alphanumerical prefix before their Confederation Standard names (two
of them were, in fact, nameless, and therefor were labeled with only the
alphanumeric code). A flashing crimson sphere, representing Yankee Two,
moved along it at a time compressed rate until the program freezed at the
starless nexus. "We'd designate that area SNAPSHOT, for obvious reasons."
"And how do you suppose you'll locate them in the first place," Admiral
Smith thought to ask.
"We've got a good fix on where they're headed, Sir," Lieutenant Devlin
took the question. "With all those drive signatures at max-power--at least
from what we can tell from radiation trails eminating hyperlane--they'll
light up SNAPSHOT like a Christmas tree."
The ops officer took over, "The hairy part is timing. We're only going
to have three hours to process an exposure; that means we're presetting most
of our sensor suite long-range palettes to pick up on what we estimate to be
specific drive signatures. We'll concentrate on their monitors and
superdreadnoughts; those should be the easiest to pick up at four
lightyears. Those drive signatures will mask their smaller companions,
except for maybe the battlecruisers. For the small ones, we'll flash them
with an active grav-shot right across their baffles. The fluctuation trail
should be strong enough to pick up on individual space-time stress lines;
especially if they fold straight from one terminus to the other. It will be
harder if they do drop into normalspace and stay for a while--that would be
the smart thing to do. But we could hack it either way...and it just
doesn't look like they're slowing down for anything."
Just as he finished speaking, the ops officer produced a small datapad.
Encrypted within its memory bank was a far more precise description of the
plan--codenamed TOURIST.
"All right then," he said after taking a moment to considered the plan
draft. "Auburn, I want you to polish this up get the ball rolling. When do
you expect Yankee Two to cross...what do we have out there?"
"That's the Sturgeon, Sir. She's the easternmost of the Chatanooga
Line. We expect Yankee Two to cross her sensor horizon in roughly
one-hundred and twelve hours along their present course and superluminal
transit rate."
"Very well, Auburn" Admiral Smith turned back to the plot, staring
expressionlessly at its arcadish display of green and crimson circles and
triangles, all intermeshed with bloody red and fiery orange paths indicating
a variety of natural phenomona and man-made cartographic constructs. "It's
a go; I want that confirmation as soon as it comes in. Now, getting back to
this Zulu--"
"Sir?" a duty commo operator spoke up. "Message from the bridge.
Somebody just threw their actives on us. Requesting captain's immediate
presence."
Commander Forthwright didn't even wait for a proper dismissal before
bolting out the door.
* * *
"Holy shit!" Vorz's tracking tech's eyes shimmered as he brought them up to
look at his captain. "They just lit up their actives. But they're
pointing them the wrong way!"
The duty sensor technician, a docksman second-class, immediately threw
down his headset and dashed over to the tactical station. The Vorz's
passive sensors extended several lightyears beyond her grav-pulse range,
although the effective tracking plot for passives actually had a smaller
radius than the actives. Still, when one lit up an active grav-pulse, it
was like drawing a bright red line across white paper; the beam travelled at
a "velocity" very close to universal simultaneity, so the change the passive
quantum-grav sensors picked up appeared on the tactical officer's display
immediately. "That's confirmed, captain," the docksman nodded. "Contact
Zulu Two Group One has gone to active tracking on...that's right where
TG77.1 is, Sir."
"Crap," Commander Anders grunted. "What can you get in the way of Zulu
Group Two?"
"They're definitely in range, but their actives are still down;
proceeding normally, Sir."
Commander Anders watched the plot as the blip marked Zulu Two Group Two
continued its deathly slow approach to its assumed destination. "What the
hell are they doing?"
"No idea, Sir," Dunedia remarked. "I'd suggest flashing to Flag for
further instructions, but moving deeper into the mag-bottle to mask our own
signature. There has got to be a reason they avoided lighting us up."
"I think the reason's pretty obvious, XO," he said a bit too tersely.
Commander Dunedia nodded understandingly, though, and moved to convey the
order to the communications officer. "Carry on anyway."
* * *
"What the hell are they doing?" Admiral Trevayne repeated in the
Execelsior's Situation Room, lightyears away from Commander Anders'
destroyer picket. Jei Watanabe shrugged as he entered the SitRoom with a
decidedly unwelcome guest in tow. Lana paid no attention to Congresswoman
Gina DeToro. The recent buzz in activity had probably set off every General
Quarters alarm on Task Force 77's thirty-two warships; the 7th Fleet's CO
had an immediate situation to deal with to worry about some high-brow
politician. "So, what do you have for me?"
"Well, Division 730.7 sent a text flash three minutes ago, confirming
both TF77's and our intelligence on the make-up of this particular probe.
Approximately equivalent to our QEG-AU19 broadband suite--usually mounted on
our corvettes, destroyers, and similarly lighter platforms. It's continuous
pulse suggests targeting, although we have limited intelligence on Imperial
active sensor in surveillance mode--it may be possible they use a close
strength signature or even the exact same one for that function."
"It makes sense, actually," a docksman rating spoke up before he
realized he was out of turn. Admiral Trevayne and her staff turned to eye
the intruder, who immediately buttoned up as if hoping that the horde of
officers eyeing him would suddenly disappear. Suddenly, the docksman
relaxed as he watched Commander Watanabe's gaze temper over a broadening smile.
"It's Kamarov, correct?" Admiral Trevayne asked, her gaze level and
betraying nothing. The docksman third-class nodded nervously before he
managed to force the words "yes, Ma'am" out of his clamped throat. "Please,
continue."
It took a brief moment and a stuttering start, but DM 3/c Kamarov
finally got up the gall to explain himself. "Well, we devote nearly
seven-hundred megaquads of memory per sensor suite to differentiate between
surveillance operations and targeting operations. The difference has to be
one particle wavelengths at least two orders of magnitude apart--in the
upper ten to the negative three-hundred order range--or else the signatures
for a targeting and surveillance QEGs will look exactly alike. I know the
physics explanation is a bit watered down, but most anyone can see that to
keep track of stuff on the quantum level over a mega-macro scope, it's gonna
take some serious computing power and capacity. The blue--er, I mean the
Corron seem to work around this problem by not differentiating. It's a
better idea than using two different grav-pulse sensor programs."
"You know, Admiral," Jei spoke up, "he just might be onto something.
We've used surveillance and tracking signatures more so for our own
edification than for any other reason; it's more of a diplomatic gesture
than anything else. The difference in wavelength is noticable, but at that
order range, you could foreshorten it by six or seven magnitudes of order
and still be able to target for firing. It doesn't make sense otherwise to
assume that it is a targeting sensor--no weapon in the galaxy can reach out
and hit something from that far away--not without us seeing it coming."
Watanabe couldn't possibly know what the CIN and G2 were thinking about
regarding the destruction of Commodore Pux's command last month. The
battlecruiser squadron's command half had scouted the Confederation side of
the Goroung Pass before being mysteriously destroyed; only one ship, the
Narmanov, had escaped destruction, and her sensor logs were meaningless
hulks of fried photocrystals--well, almost meaningless. No one could
explain it, except for a few analysts who thought they had seen something
like this before...when Earth had faced off against the Marduk. The
mathematical theory for transferring sufficient energy to reak that much
havoc was still a bit off, but CIN science analysts were confident that it
followed along similar lines as hyperstate communications or quantum
electrodynamic gravitational surveillance. These, however, operated along
their maximum ranges at comparatively weak frequencies sacrificed in favor
of wavelength, and wavelength determined the range--barring relativistic
influences for a moment. The interesting thing about quantum electrodynamic
influences was that since there was no measurable limit on velocity
magnitude (theoretically, as the change in time over a period of distance
approached zero), the frequency multiplied by the wavelength did not produce
a constant velocity representing simultaneity. If standard mathematics were
followed, even in light of relativity, then a hyperstate comm-beam could
have a wavelength-frequency factor that could lie on either side of the
causality barrier. Fortunately, Terrans were able to look to Tirolian's
historical science record to discover the answer. A new breed of calculus
developed from the inferences, conclusions, and mathematical sets of
astrophysicist Lei'trela-ene Sandur, born of the society that had first
introduced Terrans to the reality of extraterrestrial life. A contemporary
of Rogelo Turbin of Rilac, the father of Tirolian General Relativity, Sandur
fought viciously to discredit his colleague's work. Convinced of the
reality of an absolute simultaneity, he produced a series of equations based
on several new mathematical principles that not only produced a fruitful
discovery in his favor, but also proved Turbin's relativistic ideas and
unified particle and wave theories. The Sandur set's new calculus produced
a special coefficient that roughly corresponds to the Terran gamma in the
equation E = gmc2, where gamma represents the time dilation formula.
However, the Sandur set, when applied to both the definitions of power and
the definitions of the velocity of a wave, demonstrated simultaneity
absolution beyond causality. It would take several centuries of engineering
before Sandur's discoveries demonstrated to the Tirolians the unity between
quantum mechanics and causal relativity. Applied to a hyperstate or a QEG
sensor beam, the set meant that it was mathematically possible to produce
massive wavelengths while pushing comparatively massive frequencies. If
that was the case, then the only thing necessary to construct a weapon that
could unleash massive firepower over a range of lightyears was a large
enough platform, a sufficient energy source, and the ability to input,
throughput, and output massive quantities of power. Such a weapon on either
side would clearly change the balance of space-power; as the Marduk
demonstrated just over seventy years earlier, the battlefield would expand
so rapidly that minimum strategical scope currently recognized by both sides
would suddenly contract into a tactical one.
It was a damn shame, Trevayne knew, but orders were orders. She had
been privileged enough to gain that snippet of information--sanitized as it
was--and she wouldn't betray confidence by divulging it. Still, she'd have
to consider all possibilities; that was her privilege. If there was
something out there, then
"Jei, let's assume they may have come up with something," Trevayne
decided to run with it. "What would you feel from this?"
Her intelligence officer gave her a strange look for half-a-moment, and
then placed crossed his arms over his chest in a guarded fashion. "Well,
Admiral. Let's say they do have some sort of new weapon--something capable
of traveling or reaching out over lightyears and strike with deadly
accuracy. Gravity drives--folding or otherwise--are small enough now to
mount in a shell about the size of strikecraft's FAST-pack or external
nacelle. Still, those are decidedly tactical propulsion systems; their
range is measured in light-seconds. If you'll hold on a second, Ma'am."
"Sure, Jei," Admiral Trevayne replied patiently. Mr. Watanabe conferred
with one of his junior colleagues, who handed him a small data crystal with
which his datapad was compatible. "Here are some rough numbers for a
strategic weapon."
Trevayne looked it over for a brief moment before returning it to her
intel-officer disbelievingly. "The size of a battlecruiser?"
"That's correct, Ma'am," Watanabe replied darkly. "Now that's the main
reason I don't think it's plausible--especially in this case, but there are
a variety of other reasons. Initial targeting's not one of them, although
twenty years ago it might have been. Still, targeting after a warshot's
been fired--by the way, the missile is bound to attract attention--and
tracking with a quantum grav-pulse is difficult enough without having to
worry about a guidance system penetrating the alpha wall of a fold
translation. All that considered, you have to factor in the time for
transit--that can go from days to weeks, which automatically throws the
whole idea out of the running."
"What if it isn't a missile, though?" C'mon, Jei, Lana thought
simultaneously. I need to know what you'd think if you only knew about Tital.
Jei Watanabe stood back for a moment, considering that one. "I can't
really think of anything you'd use otherwise over a range like that.
Kinetic shots have a tactical range of less than ten thousand kilometers,
and you have to close to at least two-hundred thousand to use a beam
weapon--particle or directed energy--effectively. Missiles fall within that
envelope, with the exception of capital missiles, of course. Still, your
maximum engagement range is measured in numbers less than a light-minute.
That's why--"
The commander cut himself off, and leaving Lana hanging in the silence.
"Go ahead, Commander."
Watanabe finally connected the pieces. Intelligence definitely picked a
prize winner, Lana noted proudly. "What if they could actually transmit a
significant enough energy pulse along a quantum-gravity beam? Listen,
Admiral? I can get you the figures for this in less than an hour if I have
some piece, but I think I have something. Permission to leave for
Astrophysics?"
"Granted, Commander. And take all the time you need."
* * *
Earth, November 11, 2173
Vice Admiral Charles W. Dalton walked briskly into the office of the
Director of the Central Intelligence Network. The entire room was crafted
into the side of the command spire rising out of the station's Alpha Hub,
and at 0100h in the morning, Zulu Time, Greenwich and all of her antique
clocks were still under the cloak of a moonless night. Of course, England
could only be seen from along an oblique that came very close to the
north-western line of curvature, and Earthdock hovered over the Atlantic
Ocean, moving slowly away from the African coastline. By mid-morning they'd
be nearing the Caribbean. Dalton often wished he were there rather than
gallavanting about like some over-ranked gofer. In a sense, that pretty
much summed up his duties--the executive director for the CIN saw to the day
to day operations of this semi-civilian institution.
Seven other persons awaited his arrival with the datapad hardcopies.
Dalton's aide distributed them and then took his leave. Dalton, on the
other hand, had secured permission from the director to sit in on this
particular briefing; eager to shed the bureaucratic nonsense he had gotten
himself into and listen in on the gritty stuff only the lucky guys got to
deal with at his rank.
Vice Admiral Brant occupied his desk, as usual. Ryan Brant was a
veteran naval officer and had seen combat over Trowa and Debernes during the
fourth major war with the Corron Empire. He was pure intelligence; having
left the Earth Academy to serve on Vice Admiral Selena Jackson's
intelligence staff right before the outbreak of the war. Midway through the
conflict, Brant had transferred from the flag bridge of the Cobra to an
intel desk in the provisional headquarters of the UPDF--Mutanak. That
month, Jackson was killed defending 40 Eri II from a superdreadnought-heavy
assault force that attempted to invade the system. That stand saw the last
advance of Mika Hw'italni's famous Star Brigade, and the rise of Mashikawa
as a true-blood task force and fleet commander. Brant had learned a lot
from his hellish experiences on the Cobra, and some of his friends commented
that part of him died with his admiral at Fourth 40 Eri.
Across from Admiral Brant were Undersecretary of Defense, Military
Intelligence, Jadanm, Heinrich Goer's new hatchet man after Ma'atez ibn
al-Rashid's retirement. Next to him sat Deputy Director (Operations) Leija
Rajiyna. Like Goer, she had survived the transition from the Harcourt
Administration to Farkash's new team. Last, but certainly not least, was
Achmed Badrayn, formerly IAC to the President and now the National Security
Advisor. In tow with Badrayn was the Special Advisor to the Director of
Military Intelligence (G2) on Operational Matters, Westphal Green. The
brigadier general offered Dalton a quiet nod as the briefing commenced.
"Well, gentlemen," Admiral Brant started off. "I'd like to start off
with something simple; I'd hope that you'd consider this approach when so
briefing the Secretary and the President, Sirs." That notice was directed
towards Badrayn and Jadanm; the most senior government servicemen in the
room and the only other two cabinet members (albeit Jadanm served in a
junior capacity). The fifteen-year old Delgarian responded with a wholly
reptilian hiss that served as his species expression of compliance. Badrayn
merely nodded silently. "In any case, let's take a look at our current
force appreciations..."
The run-through of 7th Fleet's assessment of the evacuation of Telmasa,
Rho Persei, and Delta Persei by all of the Empire's heavy units went fairly
quickly. The first Corron force, designated Yankee One on every strategical
plot from the Excelsior to Bravo Eight, was still moving in an easterly
direction to some unknown destination. The second one was bound to move to
reinforce the Empire's position up by Rubia--where the Buffer Zone shrunk to
just under a lightyear and a half across. Of course, there was the far less
strategic matter that DesRon 730.7 was keeping tabs on. The Corron picket
at Muscida was being reinforced, although by a small division of
battlecruisers and by a less than acclaimed commanding officer. Muscida, of
course, was the station that Tulsos family warships had staged out into the
Manchuria hyperlane chain to raid the Pollux system.
After five minutes, the first half the brief closed without discussion,
leaving Admiral Brant feeling painfully anxious about the next topic on the
agenda. "As I'm sure you are all well aware of, we've been conducting a
confidential analysis probe into the Tital incident last month. Those we
reported our initial conclusions to were somewhat less than convinced."
Once again, Undersecretary Jadanm hissed. He had opposed advising the
President on such a speculative conclusions which he claimed were based
mostly on conjecture rather than reasonable science; then again, Jadanm now
served as the latest political outlet for Admiral Francois Messeur, whose
six-year term in the office of the director of Naval Intelligence was
rapidly drawing to a close. Although Jadanm's biases were widely know, Goer
agreed with his undersecretary's assessment after reading the report
submitted jointly by the CIN and G2. Brant couldn't fault neither the
Secretary or Mr. Jadanm, although he suspected Jadanm's motives had more to
do with his distaste for his predecessors practices (and staff selection).
It was too bad Harcourt couldn't preserve most of his second-tier
cabinet--which, ironically, had been more cooperative than the conservative
ringers Farkash brought in--in the deal he struck with the current
President. Then again, that would have seemed far too suspicious to anyone
with a keen eye. Almost immediately after the elections, liberal conspiracy
theories tied Harcourt, Farkash, and the military-industrial complex with a
vast Corron plot to engineer Confederation politics. Right-wingers weren't
any different, viewing Farkash as a DemUnie in the fold; waiting to strike
out against their interests at any time. The moderate majority, however,
viewed Farkash as one of theirs. Non-partisan and pragmatic--as much as a
politician could be--Farkash had secured a national constituency that
ensured a measure of political power that drowned out the extremism on
either side.
Imagine what would happened if the public suddenly figured that it's
true, Brant thought perversely before returning his attention to delivering
the briefing. They wouldn't find out, though. Only four people knew what
had gone on that night in Geneva, the night before Harcourt announced he
would not seek the 2173 Presidential election.
"The datapads that have been passed out should be unsealed at this
point," Brant continued. "They contain both the analysis that we developed,
and an independent conclusion derived by an intelligence officer assigned to
Admiral Lana Trevayne's staff, 7th Fleet Command."
The briefing participants glanced through the material as one of the G2
officer's present, a lieutenant colonel in the UPDF Army, read aloud.
Jadanm's oily "true-hands," oddly reminiscient of an additional pair of fins
his amphibious, hexapodic ancestors once used to help traverse their
aquarian world, fumbled a bit with the display controls--adjusting the
contrast to a level suitable for his extremely sensitive eyes. Had Brant
looked on the Undersecretary's screen, he would have seen nothing except a
pitch-black tableau. Well, not entirely pitch-black.
"As you can see, Commander Watanabe's reservations are quite similar to
ours, but his conclusions are virtually the same."
"And he reached them in less than two hours," Rajinya admitted in a
noticably dry tone. Her field analysts, in conjunction with the main
analyst community in the Directorate of Intelligence, had spent nearly a
week and a half drawing the same conclusions.
"Don't worry about it, Leija," Brant answered consolingly. "The point
is that we were lucky this time. Whoever it was that decided to light up
Admiral Smith like a Christmas tree gave us enough intelligence on this new
sensor suite to update a whole volume of Threat tech-manuals. Getting back
to the issue at hand, we believe that this might have been a test of some
sort of targeting system for a Sandur Cannon."
Brant let it sink in a moment. The Sandur Cannon, named not for its
inventor but for the Tirolian scientist whose theories inspired its
development, was a mathematical concept more than an actual weapon. In
fact, the Confederation had barely gotten past understanding the basic
engineering concepts for such the weapon when it was decided that a
strategic operations range of four light-seconds was sufficient enough.
Sandur Cannons were energy consuming, massive, and damned near impossible to
construct with current materials; and it seemed unlikely that any race other
than the Marduk had developed anything like it. Moreover, it seemed doubly
unlikely that the Corron Empire's inferior techbase could produce such a weapon.
But then there was Tital. One problem at a time, though--the fact that
CruRon 193 Task Division 2 had been destroyed east of the Arm left a few
questions that needed to be addressed immediately.
"A test, you say?" Charles Dalton spoke up first. "I thought your
report said that the Tital Incident indicated the possibility of an
operational unit already available. Why test a targeting system when you
already know it works? And why tip us off by trying it on us? I don't buy it."
"Well," Brant began, "I think I better leave that to your guest, Mr.
Badrayn. He has some more interesting news from the Seventh Fleet."
"Thank you, Mr. Director," Brigadier General Westphal Green leaned
forward, placing both elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together
under his chin. "I talked with Admiral Smith again this morning, and he
dispatched a request asking if we could accommodate him with a list of the
command-level assignments the Empire's currently running along the Buffer."
That was the closest he could ever possibly come to mentioning the
YOKKURI intelligence line outside of its closed fraternity. "We have reason
to believe that Muscida isn't exactly hosting the Hwi-zhemal'orra's pride
and joy. We went through the files and pulled our dossiers on two figures:
Commander Advanced Grade Moa Lanka Hillth and Commander-thirdmark Tulsos
Trin Argone."
Badrayn and Brant were familiar with the latter name, as was Rear
Admiral Dalton, who naturally responded first. "That little piss-ant shit's
manage to keep his command? I thought they'd nail him to whatever they use
for a cross by now."
"Apparently not, Charlie," Green answered. "This guy's managed to
weasel himself out of worse infractions--what they consider worse than
unauthorized invasion is beyond me--and come out on top. He's very young
for his rank, which suggests incredible aptitude or impressive degree of
familial patronage. I think we'll all agree its the latter."
Badrayn and Dalton nodded in agreement, and the rear admiral responded,
"If Trin's still out there, I wouldn't be surprised if he pulled off a stunt
like this. It's not as bold as his last one, but it fits his profile of
behavior. Admiral Smith pulled his dossier, too. He came to the same
conclusions, and doubts if we'll ever see something like this again."
"I find it hard to believe that any military officer of command-level,
no matter how incompetent, would spontaneously pull something like this,"
Achmed Badrayn protested. "I mean, if this act is as significant as you say
it is, then he just has to know that he's tipped his hand."
"It's no more or less rational than his last little fit," Dalton argued.
"Even so," Admiral Brant interceded, "it doesn't exactly lend to solid
confirmation either. However, I'd like to go officially on record that I
now support the analysis presented last week by our analysts. The reason
for this meeting is I need to know how you people are going to take this;
and whether or not we go to the President just yet."
"If we go to the President now," Jadanm spoke with Secretary Heinrich
Goer's authority, "then we risk bringing him in prematurely on something
that very well may add up to nothing. We've got a number of other concerns
with the Empire than just worrying about some spook gun. I'm recommending
to the SecDef that we hold this for now until we can secure confirming or
refuting personal contact intelligence. It's the only prudent measure."
That's Messeur talking, Admiral Brant thought. Why not just call
yourself the Undersecretary Prophet to the Great God NavInt? The
Undersecretary then turned his gaze to Achmed Badrayn. As the National
Security Advisor and the seniormost official present, his choice would
ultimately decide whether or not Jadanm would pursue with his
recommendation. The room tensed slightly as the seven men waited anxiously
for Mr. Badrayn's decision.
Achmed Badrayn's deep, Iraqi brow furrowed as he folded his hands in
deep contemplation. As the words came to him, Badrayn conveyed them to his
colleagues. "It seems to me that we're still a bit half-baked on all of
this. Still, I'd prefer to be half-baked than caught with my pants down.
No, Jadanm. We go to the President this time."
* * *
* * *
+-----------------+-<The Badass Reverend of Funk Prez>---+
| Presley H. | Political Science / Computer Science |
| Cannady II | and Electrical Engineering Undergrad |
|<revprez@mit.edu>| at the Mass. Institute of Technology |
+-----------------+-<Anime Manga Development Group>------+
+ Author of Liars and Dreamers, a Robotech fanfic +
+-------<http://www.geocities.com/Tokyo/1731/index.html>-+
| MIDN 4/c A-2-2 SQD, MIT-Harvard-Tufts NROTC Battalion |
|_|"The art of war is of vital importance to the state"|_|