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Failsafe Kilo. A point of empty space in the intergalactic void; arguably the best point to view two galaxies. Millions of light years away, in one direction, is the slightly irregular spiral galaxy of the Thaurians, seemingly filling a quarter of the circumference of the sky. A billion light years away in the opposite direction, the Primary Galaxy of the Weirdo Zone, small, distant, but readily visible, it’s two major spiral arms defining its edges. From an observer looking at the Thaurian galaxy, the light of a million stars seemed to bend and compress into a point, then suddenly explode back to normality, revealing the superbattleship Ares.
Aboard the bi-deck command room of Ares, the command staff operated like a well-tuned mechanism. Val’s jet-black segmented fingers played across his displays. "Scanning the area, sir. Mostly getting standard intergalactic readings: ion density nominal, hydrogen density nominal. Nothing coming up on electromagnetic sensors and… wait a minute… I’m getting something on gravimetrics."
Ka-Ri grimaced. "Backwash from our jump?"
Kordont shook his head. "No, sir. I’ve compensated for that. It is definitely a gravitational irregularity at three light-seconds out. Mass is approximately five thousand kilograms, give or take ten. I’m updating the strategic indicator board now." Val reached above his head and flipped a series of switches, bringing up the standard three-dimensional projection indicating the space around Ares.
"So you found a rock," Ka-Ri muttered as he shrugged his broad shoulders, "if it doesn’t have a sig, what do we care?"
Admiral Nibnumber rubbed his clean-shaven chin in thought. "I doubt it. We are practically in the very definition of the middle of nowhere. What’s the vee on that contact, Val?"
"None, sir. That’s why I flagged it."
"No velocity whatsoever, way out here?" Ka-Ri smacked his forehead with the pads of his palm. "Sir, I apologize for my assumption. Now I figure it to be a passive sensor drone."
Nibnumber nodded shortly. "My thoughts exactly. We can probably consider ourselves made." He punched a button on his console. "J’rath, Nibnumber. Launch a Peregrin, we are uploading target data to FlightCom through C-in-C. Orders are investigate visually and, if a Reaver probe, to destroy."
"Acknowledged," buzzed the intercom. "We’ll have the gnat swatted in no time, sir."
In one of the massive hangar decks of Ares, two delta-winged Peregrin medium fighters rolled onto magnetic catapults in the "firing bays," shuttle-sized airlocks adjacent to the hangars. The pilots finished uploading their mission data from the ship’s computer as the firing bay evacuated itself of air and the doors opened into space. Captain J’rath’s voice filtered into their helmets as the massive blast doors moved aside. "Charlie Flight, FlightCom. Follow mission procedures, you are authorized to launch when clear.
The lead pilot adjusted the volume in his bulbous helmet resembling the "fish-bowl" style seen in so many dated science fiction films. "FlightCom, Charlie Lead ‘Newt’ here. Wilco, we are ready for catapult."
"Roger. Catapulting." Deep within the armored fore of the hangar block, J’rath’s hand splayed out two fingers and depressed two lit buttons. The pilots relaxed into the cushions of their seats as the two fighters were flung into space, the doors closing behind them. Once they were clear of the ship’s massive nacelles, they flicked on the gravitic distortion drives of their fighters and turned for the sensor contact.
"Charlie Two, Charlie Lead. Maintain passive sensors and radio silence. We wanna sneak up on this thing."
"Wilco, sir."
Within minutes they had traversed the nine hundred thousand meters between Ares and the sensor contact. Turning down their gravdrives, the two blue-silver fighters pulled a close circle around the object, a collection of dull metal spheres bolted on to a composite framework dominated by a large hyperspatial communications dish. "Yeah, we’re made," the lead pilot muttered to himself as he pulled the formation out in a long parabola and centered the probe in his reticle. "To the RBC with love."
Concentrated electromagnetic energy across the entire spectrum spewed from the bulky hardpoints in the leading edges of the two fighters’ wings. Not as advanced as the Thaurian fusion cannon nor as elegant as the Reavers’ gravitic weaponry, but still brutally effective. The spindly probe vaporized explosively under the energy of the medium blazers, scattering its atoms in a softly glowing luminescent sphere.
In the command room of Ares, Val pointed out a flashing, translucent red sphere in the strategic board. "Sensors confirm engagement, sir. Contact lost."
As Admiral Nibnumber nodded, Commander Fremount turned around in her chair. "Sir, contact from the fighter flight. Reaver ‘Pylon’-type area reconnaissance probe identified, engaged, and destroyed." Nibnumber simply continued nodding. "Understood, congratulate them on a simple job well done. Val, remind me if I’m wrong, but we’re made, correct?"
Val shrugged. "It’s a relatively sensitive probe, and we popped into realspace less than ten thousand klicks away from it. It’s also had seven minutes to report our presence. I’d say that the Reavers would know that we’re here."
"Great." Nibnumber punched the hangar command control button on his console. "J’rath, it’s me again. I want space superiority and sensor craft patrols out as quickly as possible. If the Reavers are smart, they’ll try to strike us while we’re under-strength."
Two kilometers away in the massive vessel, J’rath nodded her green-mottled head. "Wilco, sir." With a single motion of her arm she disconnected the command circuit and activated the Flight Command and Communications-and-Control circuits. "Orders from the top, space superiority and sensor patrols. Launching fighter wing now. Coordinate orders. Hangar out."
The Ancient One lounged on a pillowed couch looking up at the dome of stars. "Yes, Ra'pij'okk, you’ve come to tell me something?" She tried to avoid reading minds when she could avoid it; such meddling usually brought unwanted information.
The intelligence adjutant Thinker bowed. "Great Mother, our probe at the Zoners’ ‘Failsafe Kilo’ navigation point detected an incoming jump. Size approximates a ‘Bane’-type superbattleship."
"Any more information?"
"Sadly, no. They apparently detected the presence of our probe, as it went into immediate emissions silence and we lost contact with it less than one and a half twohundred-fiftysixth-rotations after detection. No energy spike akin to capital-grade weaponry; coupled with the response time they sent fighters after it."
"It appears that they are being overly cautious."
"We do not know. The fact that they did not use capital-grade weapons suggests that they intended to mask their strength. Also, the Zoners have been known to jump multiple light capital ships in succession to make them seem like a single heavy capital ship."
"But never to this scale… making a superbattleship out of destroyers?"
"Agreed, but they are probably pursuing their tactics of strength. They want us to at least think that they have a superbattleship on site."
"Do they?"
"I doubt it. The Weirdo Zone defensive posture is notoriously conservative. While there are several superbattleships assigned to that sector of space, it is unlikely that any were diverted, as that would weaken their internal defense and open themselves up for a strike."
"Failsafe Kilo is located centrally, is it not? It gives them access to the width of the Thaurian Galaxy."
"It is, and it does, Great Mother. We know they have failsafe points closer to our supply lines. It indicates that they are unsure of our plans. Are we going to divert forces to engage?"
The Ancient One blinked slowly as she gently twirled her lifting arm in thought. "No, we will not. That would weaken our true offensive, and they are already playing into my hands. They are acting just as I expected… conservatively."
We jumped into Failsafe Kilo amidst swarms of fighters from Ares. Our indicator board washed over with colors and points so intense the sensor operator swore that it was IID backwash. Captain Stonozka jabbed his finger at the biggest sensor contact. "That’d better be Ares or we have no chance to survive. Sensors?"
"I’m still trying to compensate for backwash, sir. Unless those clouds are real fighter squadrons, I’m completely at a loss."
"Fighter squadrons at failsafe, and only at AlertCon One?"
Our communications technician ran up to the railing and shouted over the racket. "Sir, A/V signal from Ares."
Stonozka waved his arms at a bank of monitors. "Patch it in, patch it in!"
One of the large secondary monitors flicked from a status indicator board to the control room of Ares. A brown-haired, fair-skinned male Human, of medium build and wry expression, leaned back at his console. Flanking him was a large orange Kzroth who softly spoke orders into his console’s microphone. The Human, wearing the boxed and winged star of a fleet admiral, spoke. "Brisbane, this is Nibnumber of the WZS-SBS Ares. Get your ship on combat footing, Captain, I believe we may have lost the element of surprise. We’re going to coalesce GLAIVE then get our asses to Failsafe Victor in the Triangle. Sorry for the rude start, but I want to keep the Reavers guessing. Ares out."
Stonozka only opened his mouth to respond, raised his hand limply as if to point something out, then turned back to the ship when Ares signed off. "Err… you heard the Admiral. Alert Condition Zero. All crew to battle stations."
I merely leaned back and watched; I was extraneous to the entire situation. Being a diplomatic officer, I had no combat duties except in boarding action situations, of which this didn’t qualify. It was interesting, though, being a detached party watching the differences in the two command rooms. In Ares, for as short a time as I watched it over the monitor, there was a conservation of motion, a bare minimum of movement; only what was necessary but no more. Aboard Brisbane, there was a flurry of motion as everyone tried to remember long-ago combat training or attempted to figure out exactly what they were supposed to do. I had seen that minimum of motion aboard Brisbane in survey missions and performing experiments… and I realized we were really out of our element. Ares was a warship and its crew warriors, their edge honed by fighting in the Eternal War. Brisbane was a survey ship and its crew scientists, questing for knowledge but very poor in the martial sciences. That’s when I realized that our mobilization was an act of desperation, that the Military Services was overburdened if they were calling in the Exploratory Services to assist in their offensive battles.
That was the time I began worrying that maybe we had overextended ourselves, and we were thusly winning the battles but losing the war.
"All sections on Ares acknowledge. One medium battleship, two heavy battlecruisers, five medium cruisers, five light cruisers, ten frigates, thirty destroyers, fifty interceptors, all acknowledged. All ships in Task Force GLAIVE have reported in, sir."
Nibnumber nodded. "Thank you, Sal. Open a channel to the fleet."
"Done."
"Task Force GLAIVE, this is Task Group Flag Ares. Synchronize mission clocks on… mark. First order of business is to IID jump to Failsafe Victor, standard fleet spread, at mission clock plus one minute. You have your orders and fifty seconds. Good luck and victory, GLAIVE."
"All ships acknowledge message, sir."
"Good. Liogas, set course and jump at the specified time. Val, prepare for a situational-awareness sweep when we jump… and… ah. Sal, the instant the fleet recombines at Victor, send out a secure signal to SEC12DEFCOM informing them of the change in plans. Inform the fleet to stay on low-emissions and stand by for further orders."