Sentience 1: Storm Clouds Gathering (26 page)

“Spring Harvest,” repeated Stillman. “Aye, aye, sir.”

“It’s good seeing you again, Ben. Sorry to hear about Nancy.”

“And you as well, sir.” Stillman snapped to attention again and snapped off another crisp salute. Vice Admiral Rawley straightened to attention and smartly returned Stillman’s salute, and then turned an about-face and marched back into the tug. Stillman gave himself an internal shake, to rid himself of the painful memories his conversation with Chris Rawley had just disinterred.

About 45 seconds later, a 30ish lieutenant-commander appeared in the hatchway and saluted.

“LCDR Charleston Ridgeway, captain of the
Tecumseh
and acting-commander of Fleet Deep-Space Tug Squadron 152. Request permission to come aboard, sir.”

Stillman returned the lieutenant-commander’s salute and said, “Permission granted, welcome aboard, Captain Ridgeway.” It was Fleet custom to address a ship’s commanding officer by the title of “Captain,” regardless of his actual rank. “If you’d please follow me to my office, we can get the paperwork out of the way and let your squadron get started.”

“Very good, Captain.”

As they walked down the passageway, Stillman looked towards the young officer next to him and asked, “Ridgeway? You wouldn’t by any chance be related to Rear Admiral Brian Ridgeway, would you?”

“My uncle, sir,” Ridgeway answered. “He and my Aunt Carol raised me after my parents were killed in a terrorist attack in Pari, back in ’29.”

“I think I remember hearing about that. So you grew up on Nocar then, I take it?”

“Yes sir,” Ridgeway. “Arlotte to be exact.”

Ah, another good Southern boy, then.
For some odd reason, this little piece of subliminal information made Stillman relax even more than Admiral Rawley’s assurances had.

When they reached Stillman’s office, he asked, “May I have your orders, Captain?”

Ridgeway reached into his tunic pocket and pulled out an encrypted data cube and handed it to Stillman, who inserted it into his computer console. Both men waited as the console displayed the Alliance Fleet emblem and began the handshaking procedure to establish contact with the Bozo Jr. system, physically located down on the planet Conn, which the old station orbited. After almost a minute of distance delayed, two-way encrypted communications, the word “DOWNLOADING” began flashing on Stillman’s screen, as Bozo Jr. began emptying and decrypting Ridgeway’s data cube.

“Have a seat, Captain,” Stillman said, “This may take a little while.” After three to four minutes, the “DOWNLOADING” message changed to read, “VERIFYING.” Less than a minute later the screen changed again to read, “UPLOADING.” The upload procedure took six to seven minutes, as two sets of new orders were generated, one set going to Stillman’s console and the second back into Ridgeway’s data cube. Soon, Stillman saw a new set of orders for him pop up on his screen:

UNITED STELLAR ALLIANCE FLEET

MOVEMENT ORDER: CLASSIFICATION PRESIDENTIAL TOP SECRET

June 17, 3860

To: Captain Benjamin F. Stillman, Commanding, Haven Fleet Reserve Facility, Conn

From: Admiral Allan B. Daniels, Commanding Officer in Charge, Third Fleet

Subject: Movement Order Authorization: J4M8K47K2ME812

You are hereby directed to release the following list of Fleet Reserve Assets into the custody of Fleet Deep Space Tug Squadron 152, VADM Christopher Rawley, Commanding, effective immediately:

USS Independence CVA-21 Asset #267729621738

USS Lexington CVA-22 Asset #274645579865

USS Constellation CVA-24 Asset #287253883247

USS Ticonderoga CVA-25 Asset #299452372183

USS Saratoga CVA-26 Asset #303277291736

USS Yorktown CVA-27 Asset #314663429742

Stillman read down the entire list and was stunned at the incredible amount of firepower this massive “Phantom Fleet” being assembled contained: six attack carriers, twelve light carriers, nine battleships, twelve battlecruisers, fourteen heavy cruisers, twenty light-cruisers, thirty-one frigates, forty-six destroyers, and a plethora of patrol and support vessels, but definitely weighted towards firepower. Virtually twenty-eight percent of Fleet’s total strength, 196 ships in total.

Stillman didn’t know who it might be the president planned to surprise with this fleet, but he definitely admired the sheer audacity of the plan. Its magnitude was simply staggering. This fleet would contain more firepower than most countries entire militaries.
Somebody’s certainly going to be in for a really nasty shock, when they run into this bunch unexpectedly. That’s for damned sure!

Stillman briefly wondered who the intended victim of this trap might be... the Russians maybe? The Chinese?

Stillman punched a button to print the orders out on hardcopy, and sure enough, just as the admiral had warned him, the data on the hardcopy was somewhat different than what he had seen on his screen:

UNITED STELLAR ALLIANCE FLEET

MOVEMENT ORDER: CLASSIFICATION TOP SECRET

June 17, 3860

To: Captain Benjamin F. Stillman, Commanding, Haven Fleet Reserve Facility, Conn

From: Admiral Fredrick Monahan, Commanding Officer in Charge, First Fleet

Subject: Movement Order Authorization: KK5NB6874US7A

You are hereby directed to release the following list of Fleet Reserve Assets into the custody of Fleet Deep Space Tug Squadron 139, RADM Joseph R. Bishop, Commanding, effective immediately:

USS Independence CVA-21 Asset #267729621738

USS Lexington CVA-22 Asset #274645579865

USS Constellation CVA-24 Asset #287253883247

USS Ticonderoga CVA-25 Asset #299452372183

USS Saratoga CVA-26 Asset #303277291736

USS Yorktown CVA-27 Asset #314663429742

Stillman’s eyebrows rose a bit when he saw the changes to whom the assets were supposedly released. He’d served under Rear Admiral Joe Bishop a few years ago and considered him an aristocratic Northern prick. Bishop had graduated from the prestigious
Havad University
and never let anyone forget it... gaining his rank through a myriad of Northern political connections, despite having all the charm and personality of a snake. He was arrogant, rude and openly condescending towards “hick Southerners,” except in the presence of those of them who outranked him, of course — those, he only vilified in private. Bishop had definitely gone out of his way to make Benjamin F. Stillman’s life a miserable hell the entire time he’d been stuck serving under the bastard.

Stillman smiled inwardly and wondered if substituting Bishop’s name on the hardcopy version of these orders might have been a bit of “payback” from VADM Rawley, another “hick Southerner” that Bishop so detested. If so, he appreciated Rawley’s letting him in on the joke. Benjamin Stillman certainly wouldn’t be shedding any tears if any shit came down on Bishop from all this. He actually found himself smiling as he locked the hardcopy of the orders in his security safe.

Stillman ejected Ridgeway’s data cube from his console and handed it back to him, “Everything seems to be in order, Captain. Please give me half an hour or so to get my civilian staff headed groundside and your boys can get busy.”

LCDR Ridgeway snapped to attention and saluted Stillman, “Aye, aye, sir.”

As soon as Ridgeway left his office heading back to his ship, Stillman thumbed the station intercom and announced, “This is the captain. All civilian staff of Haven Fleet Reserve Facility will report to the bridge immediately. I repeat, all civilian staff of Haven Fleet Reserve Facility, report to the bridge immediately!”

Stillman then sat down at his desk to begin memorizing the cover story he was to tell his staff about “why” they were being sent groundside, which he’d found in an addendum to his orders package.

All four of the third-shift civil service personnel including Frank, Donnie and the two maintenance techs, were gathered in the CMC when Stillman arrived.

“What’s up, Skipper?” asked Frank. “What’s with all this sneaking around the fleeties are doing?”

“Gentlemen,” Stillman began, “I’m afraid in the hectic pace in which the vast number of ships that came into the Fleet Reserve over the past month, some, ah…
errors
were recently detected concerning exactly which ships ended up where.”

“I knew it!” yelled Donnie excitedly. “I told you guys a lot of those ships were too damned new to be coming here.”

“At any rate,” Stillman continued, “It seems the Inspector General’s office has sent a team from the Office of Fleet Investigations here to sort out the mess, and get ships shuffled around to where they’re really supposed to be. Naturally, this fiasco is a bit of an embarrassment to some of the brass-hats in Waston, so they’ve slapped a classified designation on the whole operation, until they can make the problem go away.”

At this, Donny and the two maintenance techs hooted loudly, and Frank merely smiled and shook his head knowingly. “Because this is to be a classified operation, you will all be going groundside immediately and will remain there on indefinite leave of absence, at full pay. Naturally, the less said about this, the better, so mum’s the word. Enjoy your paid vacations, fellas, courtesy of your Uncle Sam. Now get your gear together, as the shuttle is on its way up.”

Through the umbilical comm, Stillman sent,“152, Haven Control. Confirm all civilian personnel are now on the ground.”

“152 confirms, Haven Control. Operations commencing.”

Stillman knew from experience the
Tecumseh
would be sending out a prepackaged, encrypted, tight-beam laser quirt to the other 31 tugs standing off from Haven.

“Permission for me and my men to come aboard, Captain?”

Stillman turned and saw VADM Rawley, again standing in the hatchway entrance, much as he had before. Stillman snapped to attention and saluting said, “Permission granted, Admiral, welcome to Haven.”

Rawley returned Stillman’s salute and stepped forward to the side of the dockway, allowing a stream of about a dozen Fleet spacers to pass by him as they exited the hatch and headed out for parts unknown within the station. “Don’t worry about conducting a guided tour Ben,” VADM Rawley said. “The boys have been thoroughly briefed on the layout and functionality of the station. They’ll get themselves settled into the bunkrooms and be manning their stations PDQ. They already know their responsibilities and Chief Manning will be heading directly to your CMC, as we’re expecting company to be dribbling in within the next few hours.”

“Must have been pretty crowded on that tug with so many bodies on board, Admiral.”

An in-system tug was essentially just a massive set of thrusters set into an exceptionally strong frame, with only a tiny control room and minimal amenities for the crew. A deep-space tug was similar, if just slightly larger, as it also contained a carrier/battleship class hyperdrive. While the bunking, galley and common areas might be just a tad larger than those of its in-system cousins, there certainly wasn’t nearly enough space to comfortably accommodate both the three-man crew and over a dozen passengers.

Rawley snorted, “You assume correctly, Captain. It was definitely
not
an experience that I’m looking forward to repeating, for a very long time.”

“Well, where do we start, Admiral? You’re the boss of the operation, so where to first?”

“Technically, you’re going to be the boss of this operation, Ben. Oh, there’ll be all kinds of people coming in and out, but you’ll be the most senior constant. Everyone knows their jobs, so you won’t have to do much more than just stay out of their way. If they have need of you, they’ll yell.”

“You’re not staying to oversee this mission then, Admiral?” asked a rather surprised Stillman.

“No, as far as the rest of the universe is concerned, I’m off on a 30-day leave, incommunicado while fishing somewhere in the wilds of Oreg. I’ll be leaving here later in the rear seat of a training
Raptor,
so I can get home before I’m missed.”

“A
Raptor
, sir? This facility’s capture capabilities haven’t been maintained in years, sir. I really doubt any of them are still working well enough to land a
Raptor,
” said Stillman, incredulously.

Rawley grinned at him and said, “Oh, with six relatively new attack carriers at our disposal, I’m fairly certain we’ll be able to find at least one that still works.”

Stillman rolled his ayes and shook his head and said, “
Duh
... I guess I’ve been babysitting deteriorating hulks of space junk for too long, Admiral. I’d kinda forgotten what it was like to be around Fleet vessels that actually worked.”

Rawley laughed and said, “If I remember correctly, back when you were commanding the old destroyer
Grissom
, you used to keep a bottle or two of halfway-decent scotch in your desk drawer. You wouldn’t by chance still be in that habit, would you?”

Stillman gave the admiral a shocked look and said, “Why, Admiral, that would be strictly against regulations... besides, it was only for medicinal purposes.”

Rawley grinned and said, “Well, I feel a slight cough coming on, and you could probably use a little medicine yourself as a precautionary measure, to ward off catching my cold. What say we scrounge up a some glasses and knock back a couple shots of ‘medicine’ to toast the success of our mission?”

“Admiral,” grinned Stillman, “that sounds just like what the doctor ordered. If you’d care to follow me, sir?”

Over the next four hours, a virtual armada of transports, tankers and tenders dribbled in, in groups of one or two, resembling normal civilian traffic. Rawley and Stillman both knew the civilian controllers at Conn Station would recognize them as military traffic inbound to Haven, but with as many Fleet ships as had been flowing in and out of Haven over the last several weeks, both men doubted it would warrant a great deal of attention. The whole universe seemed to know that President Buchwald was drastically reducing the size of the active Fleet in a major cost-cutting move. Besides, civilian controllers everywhere in the Alliance knew Fleet movements were to only be monitored so far as to enable them to vector civilian traffic away from them, as it became necessary.