Sentience 1: Storm Clouds Gathering (25 page)

“On my way.” Frank Duncan, third-shift supervisor for the civil-service civilian crew manning the facility climbed the ladder into the Communications and Monitoring Center, or CMC, as Fleet acronyms go.

Haven had once been a thriving, active Fleet base and construction center, but age had finally caught up with the old girl. The day finally came back in ’48 when it became cheaper to build a new, ultra-modern docking and repair facility down at Ginia, than to keep pouring money into the constant upkeep of an old relic like Haven. Her port facilities were still more than adequate for tying up decommissioned Fleet vessels, not in active service anymore. A parking lot for dead ships… not dead really — only sleeping, opened to vacuum to preserve them against the day they might be needed again.

Things were usually deadly dull, working at Haven, but Frank didn’t mind. He was retired Fleet and it was a paycheck. Besides, it gave him the chance to visit the majestic old warships he’d loved for so much of his life. But things had suddenly gotten hectic at Haven in the past month or two. President Buchwald had ordered over 190 Fleet ships into the Reserve Fleet and new arrivals had been arriving in clumps for weeks. This looked like another bunch. Normal civilian traffic came into the Conn system in ones and twos. Lately, 20 or 30 at a time had been coming to Haven.
Buchwald’s gutting the Fleet,
Frank thought grumpily.

“Haven Control, this is Fleet-152. Thirty-two ships inbound your location. Authorization code: Lima, Lima, Papa, 3, Able, Charlie, 4, 9, Zebra.”

“152, Haven Control acknowledges. Authentication confirmed. Approach vector 217 by 096, copy?”

“Haven Control, 152 copies, 5 by 5. Approach vector 217 by 096 confirmed.”

“152, welcome to Haven. Looking to make another deposit?”

“Haven Control, 152… request Captain Stillman personally oversee this mission. Is Capt. Stillman available?”

Uh, oh...
. “That’s certainly different,” Frank said. “I’d better go down and wake the old man for this one, Donnie. Tell them he’s on his way to CMC.”

“Acknowledge request, 152. Capt. Stillman is currently on sleep period, but we are calling him to the bridge. Will inform upon his arrival.”

“Thank you, Haven Control. 152 continuing approach, vector 217 by 096.”

Capt. Benjamin F. Stillman, United Stellar Alliance Fleet Reserve (active) was not only the “Commanding Officer” of the Haven Fleet Reserve Facility, he was also its only actual active Fleet member. Everyone else were civil-service civilians. Stillman was the latest in a long series of short-timers to command the facility, virtually all of them needing less than a normal tour of duty before retirement. He was basically just marking time, getting in those last six months he needed before the Fleet put him out to pasture and he would go home to Socar where he’d grown up and still had family.

He’d dreamed of commanding a warship as a boy, full of himself, and cocksure the commission he’d received after graduating from the Fleet ROTC at the University of Socar would be his ticket to glory unlimited. Now he thought of Haven as a rather ignominious ending to an otherwise undistinguished career. It seemed that wherever anything interesting was happening, he was always on the opposite end of space from it.

Thankfully, he did have a job waiting for him when he got home though. That was much more than a lot of people on Socar could say these days. He didn’t have a lot of details yet, but they promised him he’d have his own ship. He just hoped it wasn’t an in-system ferry. But even if it was, he’d take it. Things were bad on Socar nowadays... very bad from what he’d heard from his brother. He’d heard all about the Separatist firebrands calling for independence. Stillman wasn’t quite sure what to make of all that. He’d hate to see the country he’d loved and served for all of his adult life get broken up, but Socar was his home. Whatever happened, it always would be.

Stillman wondered what the hell was going on. They’d processed over 190 ships into the Fleet Reserve over the past month and no inbound group had ever asked for him personally before.
They probably just want to chew my ass about us not getting all those ships secured and open to vacuum yet.

Stillman only had a dozen civilian civil-service workers here at Haven, dispersed over three shifts. The sheer volume of arriving ships over the past month had precluded doing any of their usual long-term storage procedures. Just getting all those behemoths tied down enough that they didn’t go drifting into the station docks or each other had exhausted all three shifts. Now this weirdness — instead of an enforced period of sheer boredom, this last six months might easily end up being the longest of his life.

“Haven Control, 152 on final approach. This is the USS
Tecumseh
. Request permission to dock?”

“152, this is Haven Control. Permission granted for docking,
Tecumseh
. Please have the rest of your squadron stand off until we finish the paperwork. You are cleared to dock Blue-1. I repeat, Blue-1. Be advised that Capt. Stillman has just arrived on the bridge. Welcome to Haven,
Tecumseh
.”

“Thank you, Haven Control. Squadron is standing off as requested.
Tecumseh
is on dock approach, Blue-1. Request Captain Stillman EYES ONLY, on deck prior to personnel transfer. Please acknowledge.” Donnie turned to the captain before responding.

“On deck EYES ONLY” meant they were requesting Stillman to meet them at the hatch alone, with no other station personnel within visual or auditory range. No telling how many armed intruders might come pouring out of that ship, easily overpowering a single, unarmed old man to gain entry to the station. This was a highly unusual, and very suspicious request. Stillman knew he needed to be very, very careful here. He had to get a positive identification on these people before he even thought about keying the manual authorization of the hatch-lock sequence.

Stillman looked at Frank and told him, “Take a look at all the video monitors. I need to know whether we have any intruder bogeys wandering around out there in suits, getting ready to blow their way in.”

Frank gave Stillman a grave look before nodding. “Aye, aye, sir,” Frank said out of long habit, although as a civilian he didn’t technically
have
to use Fleet talk anymore.

Stillman motioned Donnie Smith out of his seat and took over communications himself. “This is Captain Stillman speaking, 152. This is very irregular. Can you verify command authority source via secure umbilical prior to initiation of hatch-lock sequence, 152?” Stillman wasn’t taking any chances of well-informed, but unauthorized parties simply
schmoozing
their way into the atmospheric spaces of his facility.

“That’s affirmative, Haven Control. Command authority verification will be provided via secure umbilical communications prior to hatch-lock sequencing, as requested. 152 approaching Blue-1, ETA seven minutes.”

Seven minutes gave Stillman plenty of time to get to the observation portal and lay a Mark-1 eyeball on these people before he allowed anyone to get aboard his station. “Looks like I have to beard the lion solo this time, Donnie. Stand by until I get a handle on what the hell is going on here.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Donnie said. Donnie had never been in Fleet, but it certainly seemed an appropriate response in this tense situation.

Stillman hurried down to the dock and took a look out of the view port and saw exactly what he had been expecting — a standard Fleet deep-space tug maneuvering gently, as it slowly approached the dock. Soon he heard the computerized announcement for impending ship capture, and the clang of magnetic grapples engaging the ship. He watched as the umbilical and transfer tube automatically extended and lights on the station lock mechanism blinked, as it communicated with the tug’s onboard computer. Stillman thumbed the comm on the hatch panel and spoke through the umbilical channel, “152, this is Stillman on deck, EYES ONLY as requested. Awaiting command authority source verification.”

“Thank you, Captain. 152 sends command authority source verification Code-1: SKY BOLT, repeat SKY BOLT.”

Stillman thumbed the station intercom to the video monitoring station. “Frank, anyone wandering around outside?”

“Negative, Captain... all clear on all monitors.”

“Thank you, Frank, stand by.” Stillman thumbed off the intercom and thumbed the umbilical comm again, “Acknowledge receipt of command authority source verification Code-1: SKY BOLT.”

“Captain Stillman, 152 sends command authority source verification Code-2: SWORD BENDER, repeat SWORD BENDER.”

Stillman looked at the computer identity check and saw the dance of mathematical algorithms between the computer on the tug and his station’s main computer matched, so it looked like these boys were the real deal, regardless of this unusual “meet me alone” routine.
Gonna be interesting to find out what all this drama is about, anyway.

“Stillman to 152, confirm command authority source verification completed successfully. Beginning hatch-lock sequencing now.”

Stillman pressed the manual hatch synchronization initiation button on his hatch console. When the two computers completed equalizing atmospheric pressures on both sides, he heard the whine of the hatch motors as they released the hatch locks. With just the slightest hiss, the hatches on both the ship and the station swung open after both human and computer verification confirmed mechanical and atmospheric continuity between the station and the tug had been established.

When the hatch opened, Stillman got a shock. In the open hatchway stood Vice Admiral Christopher Rawley, whom Stillman recognized immediately. Stillman snapped to attention and popped a salute that any marine drill sergeant would have been proud of.

“At ease, Ben,” Admiral Rawley said, returning his salute. “Sorry about all the cloak and dagger stuff, but as of now, you are part of a
Presidential Top Secret EYES ONLY
operation you can never talk about.

“I have thirty-two Fleet deep space tugs with me, and I have orders authorizing you to release some of your reserve fleet ships to me. With only thirty-two tugs, it may take us multiple trips to get them all, so these orders are to be seen as being applicable for all the trips we need to make — so you won’t be getting a different set for each trip, as usual.

“I’m also going to have to ask you to ferry your civil service crew groundside for the duration of this operation, as they’re not cleared for what we’ll be doing. You can assure them they’ll continue to be paid, as though they were here and on the job, and you are authorized to turn in their normal requisite paperwork accordingly. Your orders will provide you with a cover story to give to your staff, as to why they’re being sent groundside indefinitely.

“I’ll provide additional Fleet personnel for you, who will more than make up the difference in manpower that you’ll be losing for a while. I’m afraid that you’ll have to remain aboard this station until specifically authorized to leave, as though you were under wartime conditions.”

“No problem, Admiral,” replied Stillman. “I’m honored to have the opportunity to contribute to something important before I retire.”

“Ben, I can’t tell you how absolutely vital the success of this operation is. The very lives of a hell of a lot of our families and friends may depend on it. I can’t tell you where these beauties will be going, or what they’ll be doing, but I can assure you it’s absolutely essential to the security of our nation that these assets simply disappear for a while — with absolutely no one suspecting they’re no longer here.”

“Sounds like the President ‘retired’ these babies as part of some elaborate ruse to shield their movements, and make it appear that Fleet is significantly weaker than it actually is.”

Rawley smiled at Stillman and said, “You know I’m not at liberty to discuss that. Suffice it to say that your instincts have always been good.

“Listen, Ben, I know you’re from Socar and with all the talk of secession that’s been in the news recently, it would be very easy to jump to a wrong conclusion about all this. There’s a lot more going on than what people see in the media, so let me put your mind at rest. I can personally assure you that these assets will never be used in any sort of future military intervention against the South. I’m from Joja myself, as you may remember.”

“Thank you, Admiral. That does take a load off of my mind, I don’t mind telling you.”

“Good, one other thing you’re going to find damned odd, but it’s necessary. When you decode these orders, their true authorizations will read out on your screen, but when you print out your hard copy, they’ll read somewhat differently. We have reason to believe that we may have some security issues and our counter-intelligence spooks will be focusing on these differences to help them zero in on the bad guys.”

“Aye, aye, Admiral,” Stillman responded. “I appreciate you sharing that. Will you be coming aboard the station, sir?”

“No, as much as I’d like to stretch my legs, the C.O. of the
Tecumseh
will be the only Fleet member boarding the station until after your civilians are down on the surface. We should have all this finished up and be out of here before your retirement date. We wouldn’t want to tempt your wife into firing off nasty letters to Admiral Kalis, now would we?”

“Nancy died, Admiral.”

“Died? Your wife is dead? My God, I’m sorry, Ben — I hadn’t heard. When?”

“Almost two years ago now. Traffic accident. A drunk ran a red light and T-boned her,” replied Stillman softly. “The doctors said she died instantly, so at least she didn’t suffer.”

“Why didn’t you let me know?”

“Sorry… I should have, but I was a bit of a basket case for a while. Later, I worked pretty hard to just not think about it.”

“Are you all right?”

“I am now. So, what was it you were saying about this hush-hush operation of yours?”

“Okay then, in order to speed things up, in addition to the tugs we’ll also be bringing in transports, tankers and possibly a tender or three, so we can get most of these babies moving under their own power. There will be no additional orders when they arrive either, but you’ll know they’re from me by the code phrase: Spring Harvest.”