Black Fleet Trilogy 1: Warship Read online

  “Report,” he said, interrupting the announcement that he had arrived as he strode onto the bridge.

  “Tugs are in place two hundred meters off the prow,” Ensign Davis reported. “Jericho Station is standing by to disconnect all umbilicals and moorings.”

  “What is our status?”

  “Propellant tanks are full, consumables are full, fuel tanks are topped off,” Ensign Davis said, reading off the checklist she’d already had up on her station. “All hatches are clear, all personnel are accounted for, and all departments are signaling ready for flight.”

  “Very well,” Jackson said loudly, getting everyone’s attention. “Prepare the Blue Jacket for departure. Close all external hatches and prep reactors one and three for startup.”

  “Aye, sir,” Davis said. “Preparing the ship for departure.” She pulled her headset around and began giving commands to the various departments in accordance with a new checklist that she had brought up onto one of her screens. Jackson pulled her status screen up on his armrest display so that he could see how efficiently his crew prepared the ship. After a moment of watching he switched it off. Apparently the sense of urgency that his orders had imparted in him wasn’t felt by the rest of the crew, as the status percentages showed a fairly lackadaisical approach to their work. He suppressed the sigh he felt coming up and motioned for his XO.

  “Yes, sir?” she asked softly. She’d been pacing the bridge, looking over the shoulders of the crewmen as they went about their tasks.

  “Don’t hover, you’re making them uncomfortable,” he said to her, barely moving his lips. “If you want to see what they’re doing, pull the displays up on your station.” He motioned to the chair that was to his right and slightly lower. It also had a pair of large interactive displays, one on each armrest. Celesta looked chagrined as he showed her how to switch through the various bridge station displays.

  “Of course, sir,” she said. “My apologies for not being familiar with my station.”

  “No apology needed,” Jackson said. “Just don’t make the same mistake more than twice and we’ll get along just fine.”

  “Engineering is reporting they are ready for startup on reactors one and three,” Ensign Davis said from her station, not looking up.

  “Inform Lieutenant Commander Singh that he is clear to begin reactor startup,” Jackson said. “Let him know he is responsible for coordinating with Jericho Station.”

  “Aye, sir,” Davis said.

  If was a quiet fifteen minutes later when the lights dimmed on the bridge, then blinked off altogether. The soft red emergency lighting came up and the hiss of the air handlers went away, making the rest of the ambient noises on the bridge seem overly loud. Jackson watched his power management display and saw that reactor one’s magnetic constrictor rings were fully charged and massive amounts of power from Jericho Station were being fed in through the umbilical cable. That power would be used to kickstart the reaction and during that process the rest of the ship was put on emergency power.

  The reactor started up without a hitch and began spooling up into its operating range. With at least one reactor started, the power from the umbilical connecting them to Jericho Station was fed back into the power MUX, the multiplexing system that managed power distribution shipwide, and the bridge lights came back up and the air handlers began blowing cool, dry air from the vents again.

  “Reactor one has successfully started,” Davis said. “Lieutenant Commander Singh says it will be providing power to the ship within fifteen minutes.”

  “Very good,” Jackson said. “Tell him to wait until number one is providing stable power before moving on to number three.”

  “How long until we’re ready to depart, Captain Wolfe?” Aston Lynch asked from an observation chair along the rear bulkhead.

  “How many starships have you been on, Mr. Lynch?” Jackson asked.

  “Enough,” the aide said defensively. “I travel extensively in Senator Wellington’s service.”

  “I’m sure you do. But this is not a brand new courier ship that was already in orbit. This is a forty-year-old destroyer that was completely shut down. The short answer is, Mr. Lynch, that we will not be departing this system until sometime well after tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?!”

  “I said after tomorrow. Probably closer to a week,” Jackson said, struggling to maintain his calm. “We have a single reactor started, one out of four. The Blue Jacket will need to be pulled out of dock, put into transfer orbits until reaching departure altitude, and pushed out of Haven’s local gravity. After that the reactors will be run up and the mains will be fired. They haven’t been running for over a month so it will be a cold start. Then, once they are capable of providing thrust … do I really need to go on?”

  “No,” Lynch said sullenly. “If there’s no need for me to be up here I will return to my quarters, Captain.”

  “That would probably be best, Mr. Lynch,” Jackson agreed pleasantly.

  The political operative stood, smoothed his jacket out, and walked off the bridge, but not before taking a moment to admire Commander Wright’s side profile while he thought she wasn’t looking.

  “This is going to be a pleasant cruise,” Celesta said quietly.

  “Orders are orders, Commander,” Jackson said, not taking his eyes off his display. She gave him a confused frown before turning back to her own displays. Jackson completely agreed with her, but he didn’t see any use in pissing and moaning in front of the crew. It set a bad precedent and punctured holes in the illusion that a ship’s captain was master of his domain.

  “Engineering reports that reactor three is now running,” Ensign Davis said, breaking into the quiet conversation.

  “Lieutenant McCord, you may begin,” Jackson said to the docking pilot who had been standing patiently off to the side of the bridge.

  “Thank you, Captain,” the pilot said. He sat at the secondary helm station and configured the station to his liking before nodding to the spacer second class, who was sitting at the primary helm station, to indicate he was taking control of the ship. The young enlisted man just nodded and put his hands down in his lap.

  McCord slipped on his headset and patched himself into the com panel, allowing him access to the Blue Jacket's short-range radios. Jackson could see him talking to the small armada of tugs that had assembled just in front of their docking berth, ordering them around and watching their progress through video feeds piped in from the destroyer’s external cameras and feeds from Jericho Station.

  Jackson watched semi-interestedly as the small, powerful tugs attached themselves to the hull in half a dozen places with their magnetic grapples. After some more back and forth with McCord it looked like they were ready to depart.

  “Captain, we are in position and ready to proceed on your order,” Lieutenant McCord said.

  “Proceed,” Jackson said before keying on the shipwide intercom. “All hands, prepare for microgravity conditions. Secure all loose items and ensure anyone not strapped into a seat is wearing mag-boots. That is all.”

  “Jericho Control, this is Blue Jacket requesting permission to depart,” McCord said over the open com channel that controlled the space directly around the massive station.

  “Permission granted, Blue Jacket,” the controller replied after a few seconds. “Retracting moorings and disengaging feed umbilicals now. You are clear to push out of dock, thrusters only, and follow standard insertion vector for your first transfer orbit. Safe travels, Blue Jacket.”

  “Thrusting out now,” McCord reported. Jackson saw the two tugs anchored between the MPD pylons, one on each side of the ship, flare softly as a minimal amount of thrust was applied to gently nudge the destroyer out into open space. While in dock the ship was not able to engage its own artificial gravity field, not needing to while within the sphere of influence of Jericho’s generators. But in the time it would take them to fully move away from the station and out of Haven’s orbit they would keep their ow
n generators powered down, forcing the crew to operate in weightless conditions.

  Jackson and Celesta watched the common monitor near the command dais as it showed split views of the Blue Jacket easing out of the scaffolding-like external dock. McCord had a focused, yet relaxed look on his face as he coordinated all the smaller ships to ensure the big warship would make it out into open space without damaging herself or the station. Once the MPD nacelles cleared the opening there seemed to be a chorus of relieved sighs on the bridge as the part of the ship that protruded the most was out of harm’s way. The ship was now navigating freely in open space, flying over Haven sideways at just under fifty-five thousand kilometers per hour as she kept pace with Jericho Station.

  “Turning into the spin,” McCord reported. “We’ll begin accelerating to our first transfer momentarily.” Jackson watched as the prow of the ship turned so that they were flying straight ahead in relation to their orbital path. Once McCord had executed his turn the bridge crew was pressed back into their seats gently as the tugs at the aft throttled up and the ship began to accelerate away from Jericho Station.

  The process was maddeningly slow, but there was no avoiding it under normal conditions. While the main engines of the Blue Jacket were more than powerful enough for them to easily break orbit without the help of the tugs, there were some claimed environmental concerns about the amount of ionized gas released by the current generation of starship engine at such a low altitude. Jackson didn't buy it since the new engines had next to zero harmful emissions compared to the older, nuclear-pulse-powered ships that blasted raw deuterium reaction byproducts from their exhaust. Even so, other than an emergency on the station or an attack of the planet itself, ships were not routinely authorized to depart under their own power. It was just as well … at the acceleration the MPDs were capable of they wouldn’t survive the trip without their gravitational field active and stabilized to null the effects of inertia.

  “We’ll be accelerating at a steady 1G before breaking away from the planet,” McCord reported. “There is almost no traffic in the higher orbits so I don’t foresee any delays.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant,” Jackson said. With the acceleration he felt like he was lying on his back as he was pressed into his seat. It was quite disorienting when his vestibular system was telling his brain something his eyes didn’t agree with. Even veteran spacers could still be made ill from the effect.

  It was just under an hour later when McCord announced they were at departure altitude and swung the ship away from the planet, accelerating out of the system. Once they were four hundred thousand kilometers away from Haven, Jackson ordered reactors two and four started.

  “Tell Lieutenant Commander Singh that once he has reactor four stabilized he can go ahead and start prepping the main engines,” Jackson ordered. “I want the MPDs ready to provide thrust within the hour. Helm, what is the status of directional thrusters?”

  “Thrusters online and operational, Captain,” the helmsman answered. “The ship is answering commands from the helm.”

  “Thank you,” Jackson said. “You may depart at your convenience, Lieutenant McCord. Feel free to remain until we have our gravitational field stabilized.”

  “If it’s all the same we’ll get moving now, Captain,” McCord said, maneuvering himself around in the microgravity like the seasoned professional he was. Now that the tugs were no longer accelerating everyone was experiencing the gut-flipping sensation of freefall. “My crew has two more departures and an arrival scheduled today. I can make it down to the airlock without the gravity active.”

  “Suit yourself,” Jackson said. “Thank you for the smooth flight.”

  “Our pleasure, Captain,” McCord said. “Stay safe out there, sir.” Jackson simply nodded to him as he walked off the bridge.

  “How much longer until gravity is up?” he asked once the docking pilot had gone.

  “Reactor four is now providing power, gravimetric generator is coming online,” Ensign Davis said. “Engineering is telling me another ten minutes and we’ll start feeling it. The plasma generators have been started in all four main engine nacelles; another forty minutes and they should be providing thrust.”

  “So all this time to cold-start all our systems while gliding out to the edge,” Celesta said. “By the time the mains are up we’ll be ready to shut them down and bring the warp drive online. It would have made more sense to let us stay in dock and prep for departure there.”

  “As I said, our orders were fairly specific,” Jackson said. “We operate in situations that are often less than ideal. This is no great obstacle.”

  “Of course, sir,” she agreed, leaning back in her seat. Jackson made a mental note to speak to her about her demeanor on the bridge later when they were alone. His ship already had a reputation for discipline problems, deserved or not, and that was among a squadron known for a certain lack of professionalism that concerned the brass at CENTCOM greatly. Not enough for them to allow Jackson to start weeding out the troublemakers on his crew, but enough that he never seemed to get a very good score during his review boards. Either way, he’d prefer she kept her complaining about orders and procedures to herself as it did nothing but give the junior crewmembers an opening to do the same.

  He sat patiently, beginning to feel the pull of gravity as the machinery in the belly of the ship created a localized gravitational field that pulled everything on the ship down at a steady, stable 1G. It was a dynamic field that also nulled out the effects of inertia on the crew when they were underway, but it wasn’t perfect. During hard acceleration or violent combat maneuvers there would occasionally be a noticeable lag from when the accelerometers detected the change to when the generated field could adjust and compensate for it.

  “Magnetic constrictors are active and plasma pressure is building in the mains,” Davis said as she watched the status reports from half a dozen sections stream across her display.

  “Just let me know when we can begin to accelerate,” Jackson said as he felt the gravity stabilize. He took the opportunity to get up and stretch his legs. Looking at the status of the engines over his operations officer’s shoulder he decided he had enough time to head down to the wardroom and grab a coffee.

  The ship felt alive under his feet, seeming to wake up after being dragged out away from Haven with barely enough power to run life support systems and start the rest of the powerplant. Now there was an ever present thrum of machinery and the hiss of blowing air from the environmental system ducts.

  Walking into the wardroom he grabbed one of the lidded, spill-proof mugs that were secured to the wall and went over to the coffee machine. He had to fiddle with the spout since it had locked down automatically when the gravity had been removed. Eventually he was able to fill the mug up, taking an appreciative sniff before locking the lid down. Though it might seem counterintuitive given the lack of many common comforts aboard the ship, CENTCOM made sure that the coffee, and most other rations, that made it onto Fleet ships was as good as anything you’d find planetside.

  “Captain on the bridge!” the sentry announced loudly. Since they were now underway nobody leapt out of their seats to snap to attention. It was standing policy on his ship that once out of orbit or out of dock nobody on the command deck would render courtesies at the expense of taking their attention away from their station. In fact, the Marine shouldn't have even announced it.

  “Report, Ensign Davis,” he said, sitting back in his chair and slipping the mug into the holder, feeling the magnet grab it with a click.

  “Magnetic containment is stable and the plasma chambers are fully charged on the mains,” the operations officer said. “Engineering reports we have full thrust available.”

  “Let’s take it easy until we’ve had a bit more shakedown time,” Jackson said with a smile. “Set course for the Tau Ceti jump point, ahead one quarter.”

  “Ahead one quarter, aye,” the helmsman said, grabbing the throttles on his left. Immediately there was
a deep rumble as the main engines throttled up and the Blue Jacket surged ahead under her own power. There was a gentle tug of inertia before it was nulled out by the gravimetric generators.

  The main engines were basically enormous, electric rocket motors. Inert argon gas, the propellant, was ionized and then converted into superheated plasma through radio frequency excitation. The plasma was magnetically confined and directed out the nozzle to produce thrust. The advantage of a magneto-plasma engine is that the propellant is nonvolatile and it is capable of impressive amounts of thrust. The downside is that it takes a prodigious amount of electrical power to operate, but electrical power was something the Blue Jacket had plenty of. Four deuterium fusion reactors sat in a row in the belly of the destroyer, capable of running the engines and weapons simultaneously and able to provide enough power to the warp drive to achieve long-duration, sustained faster-than-light travel.

  “At current acceleration, how long until we reach our jump point?” Jackson asked.

  “Fifty-nine hours, sir,” Ensign Davis answered.

  “Go to standard watch schedule,” Jackson ordered. “I want all department heads in the conference room in forty-eight hours. That gives them two days to make a complete inspection of their areas and personnel before we even attempt to power up the warp drive.”

  “Standard watch, aye,” the communications officer said, sending the appropriate orders through the com system.

  “XO, you have the ship. I’ll have my comlink if you need me,” Jackson said, grabbing his half-full coffee mug and walking off the bridge.

  Chapter 3

  The next two days were a blur of inspections, problems found, and emergency repairs made while the ship steamed out of the system. Jackson secretly liked the pace, enjoying the frantic activity around him even while his crew grumbled and complained about the “idiots at Jericho fucking up their ship.” He also took the opportunity to really lean on Commander Wright and see if he could detect any cracks in her polished surface. She looked exhausted and harried by the end of the second day, as she was the main point of contact to coordinate work between departments. She was the one who had to tell certain groups to stop, start, or listen to them complain bitterly about other people being in their way.