NationStates Jolt Archive

Dependant Housing Tower, Military Sector, Griffin, Commonwealth of Sentient Peoples, FSP

“Adam?”

“Yes?” Captain Adam Timmings responded to his household computer as he flipped the pancakes over in their pan.

“There is an Admiralty courier landing in the bay one level down. His announced business is to deliver a message to you.”

“Alright, let him in when he arrives.”

“Of course, Adam.”

Timmings was piling up a second stack of pancakes, this one for his daughter, when he heard the door open. Flicking off the stove with a mental command, he stepped into the hallway.

“Hello, Chief…” His voice trailed off momentarily until he identified the man. “…Harper. What can I do for you?”

The man extended a thick envelope and a datapad. “A message from the Admiralty, Captain Timmings. Please identify yourself to the ‘pad.”

Adam took the pad and pressed his thumb to the open area, then sent it his security codes through the physical link that created. The noncom took the pad from the captain as he handed it back to him, then handed him the envelope. “Merry Christmas, Captain.”

“Merry Christmas, Chief. Thank you.” The man nodded, then turned to show himself out. Collecting up the breakfast, Timmings carried them all into living room. “Breakfast!” he announced loudly, cutting over the noise of his daughter gleefully ripping into her presents. Pancakes and sausage were distributed.

“What did you get, dad?”

Adam smiled at his daughter. “Looks like orders.”

Her eyes got wide, and she frowned slightly. He could see the thoughts running behind her eyes. “Do you have to leave again?” she asked with a slight quaver in her voice.

He smiled and beckoned her to him, and his daughter, who fortunately took after her mother in terms of size, and climbed into his lap. “I don’t know if I’ll have to leave. I haven’t read them yet, though I imagine I will, honey.”

She leaned in and kissed his cheek. “I’ll be okay, dad.”

He chuckled. “I know you will, Lexi. Why don’t you read them for me?” She nearly tore the envelope from his hand, and slipped it open. Turning around in his lap, she held the thick old-style sheets of parchment out so her father could read them over her shoulder as she read outloud.

From Admiral Shyrlar Evans, Chief of Space Naval Personnel, Federation Space Navy, to Captain Adam Timmings, Federation Space Navy, 25 December, Year Three Hundred Eleven After Founding.

Sir:

You are hereby directed and required to proceed aboard Sentient Peoples Starship Lance of Longinus, CVF-One, there to take upon yourself the duties and responsibilities of commanding officer in the service of the Federation. Fail not in this charge at your peril.

By order of Fleet Admiral Anson Farragut, Chief of Naval Operations, Federation Space Navy, for the Imperial President.

“Dad, what’s the Lance of Longinus?”

Frowning, he looked more closely at the letter, and then at the datachip that had slid out of the envelope as well. “Well, CVF is the old wet navy designation for a fleet aircraft carrier, and as they haven’t transferred me to surface navy, I’m guessing that it is some sort of fighter carrier. Maybe the second sheet explains more than that.”

She slid the top sheet of parchment under the one beneath it, and began to read once again.


Adam –

I know that nothing can ever make up for the emotional and physical wounds you suffered when Starwolf and its battlegroup were savaged by those raiders, but it has been a year, and the doctors tell me you’re ready. I hope you’ve forgiven yourself, so I hope you enjoy your Christmas gift. I wouldn’t ask this without needing it, but I need one of my best for this, and you’re it. Take the holidays with your daughter, and report to Central Command on the second of next month.

Merry Christmas.
~Anson

* * * * * *

S.P.S. Lance of Longinus, Docked with S.P.S.S. Belethil, Mercury System

Christmas had been four weeks prior, and now Adam Timmings stood looking at the master plot on the bridge of the S.P.S. Lance of Longinus, which was currently displaying a diagram of the ship. He looked up at the very short woman in the commander’s uniform across from him. “Well, she’s very impressive, Commander. I have just one question. Does anyone have any idea how to fight this ship?”

The hologram appeared. “Well, Captain, Central Command has produced a number of ideas.” She smiled. “The commander and I have also come up with some ideas.”

Adam Timmings smiled. “Very well, Lance. Wait, what do you want to be called?”

The redheaded green-eyed fae appearing hologram grinned. “Call me...” she cocked her head to the side, “Aeron.”

Captain Timmings looked at his first officer, raising his eyebrows in question. “One of the Celtic Goddesses of Fate and Peace, Captain.”

“Ah. Appropriate.” He grinned, slightly ferally. “Aeron, initiate your first battle simulation. Let’s find out what you can do.” He reached down to the command chair, flipped up the clear cover, and hit the red button beneath it. An atonal howl tore over all the speakers. “Battle stations!”

* * * * * *

“Well, Captain...”

“Adam.”

“Adam.” Commander Starsong smiled up at her superior who was standing by the viewport. “I must admit that that did not go as well as I was hoping.”

Adam laughed and turned to the third figure in the room, the CEI’s avatar body. “We got spanked. Good job, Aeron.”

“I do my best, Captain.”

He smirked and shook his head ruefully. “Not you too.”

“Sorry, Adam,” the CEI stressed the last word, grinning.

“Alright,” Timmings said, dropping into the seat behind his desk, his feet settling onto the desk. “Other than Aeron beating the pants off the crew, what did we learn from the exercise?” His gaze flicked to Commander Starsong first, then Aeron.

“Our response time to stations was two minutes over the maximum proscribed by regulations, but I’m not surprised, given that most of the crew has been on the ship for less than three days. That’ll get better with practice, though given Aeron’s surprise scenario, the slow response time contributed noticeably to getting damaged quickly early in the engagement.” Commander Starsong looked unimpressed.

Aeron nodded. “I concur, which is why I chose that scenario. The slow response made us unable to the entire main battery into play, since half of it was destroyed in the first set of impacts.”

Timmings frowned. “Obviously the key to fighting this ship is to get the wing launched well prior to battle conditions. Once we go operational I’ll want continuous long range sensor sweeps, along with sensor probes at maximum range unless I order otherwise.”

“Acknowledged.”

“Aye sir.”

He steepled his fingers before him. “What else?”

Aeron frowned unhappily, looking slightly put out by the idea of what she was about to say. “I was propositioned by five of the new crewmembers today.” Starsong burst out laughing. Timmings grinned. “I’m sure at least two of them were put up to it by crewmembers who knew who I was already.” She glanced down at her uniform. “You would think an insignialess uniform would be a good enough sign of who I was.”

Timmings began to chuckle. “A lot of organics tend not to think when their second brain becomes active, and frankly, it happens on every ship I’ve ever served on. You’ll probably need to get used to it whenever we get new crew drafts. CEIs tend to pick avatars that organics find, in general, fairly attractive.”

Starsong was still chuckling, and finally broke in. “How many total does that make?”

Aeron did not respond until Timmings fixed her with a look. “Alright, fine. Five hundred and twenty-three since the current crew started coming on board.”

“That’s what, roughly forty a day.”

“A little over thirty-seven a day.” Aeron sighed. “I suppose I’d best get used to this?”

Starsong reached over and patted the CEI avatar on the shoulder. “Your fault for picking such a hot avatar, babe.”

Aeron’s head whipped around and pinned the commander with a glare, then smiled when she saw the grin on the commander’s face. “Thank you, Commander Starsong. You’re not so bad yourself, for a night elf.”

Timmings cleared his throat. “If you two need a room, I can leave.”

“Sorry, Captain,” they replied together.

“No problem, Aeron, Adora.” He smiled. “It will get better as the crew gets to know you.” He glanced down at his display, considering. “I want at least two long duration drills each day for the next week as the rest of the crew arrives aboard. Once we’re clear of dock, we’ll run at least one live fire exercise a day and one sim. We should be able to get proper exercises in once the squadron is launched, and then once we have some sister ships and their squadrons. Also, as the squadron’s captains arrive, invite them aboard at their convenience, since Central Command has decided that carrier squadrons aren’t going to have flag officers at the moment. Set up a schedule for me to review tomorrow before the full senior staff meeting.”

“Aye aye, Captain.” They knew orders when they heard them.

“Dismissed.”

S.P.S. Orphan of the Sky, Second Asteroid Belt, Rampage Trinary System

“Helm, come about, hard one-eighty. Guns, engage the second bandit. Are the forward cannons recharged?”

“We need ten more seconds, Captain, for the particle cannons.”

The captain scowled. “I want a time on target alpha strike in twelve seconds. Engage bandit three with the aft array.”

A screen flickered to life by the captain’s right knee. “Captain Woolvett, Bandit Four is disabled. Sahara squadron will engage bandit three.”

“Very good, Lieutenant Commander.” A single command from his neural implant flicked the screen off, sending the display back to the damage control screen. “Comms, how is the asteroid extraction center doing?”

The officer cocked her head to the side, carrying on a sub vocalized conversation with the people on the mining base. “They took three minor hits, reporting two dead and five wounded. The damaged sections have been isolated, Skipper.”

On the forward visual display, the result of the captain’s earlier commands was clearly visible as a flare of burning atmosphere spiked from the magnified image of bandit two before what was clearly its reactor went critical and it vaporized in a flash of golden orange.

“Nice shooting, Guns.”

“Captain! Communications from bandit three,” the young woman at communications broke in.

“Well?”

“They’re surrendering.”

“Put me on.” The lieutenant nodded. “Unknown vessel, cut your drives and all active sensors immediately. This is your only chance. Stand by to be boarded.” Woolvett drew his finger across his throat, signaling to cut the connection. “Ophy.”

A hologram of a dark-haired young woman in a somewhat tighter than regulation uniform appeared. “Yes, captain?”

“Inform Major Lovick that he may launch his pinnaces when ready.”

“Yessir.” The ship’s controlling intelligence smiled at him, the left corner of her mouth curling into something slightly less formal, before the visual vanished.

“Helm, bring us to zero-zero at one hundred k-klicks from Bandit Three after swinging us through tractor range of Bandit Four. Comms, see if you can raise Bandit Four. Request their surrender.”

From both stations came the response. “Aye aye, Captain.”

* * * * * *

The dark-haired female sitting in the lap of the man in the captain’s uniform chuckled under her breath as she set her wine glass down on the table. “You know, Gordon, I’m fairly certain that it is very against regulations for the ship’s CEI to be half naked in the captain’s lap while eating dinner with him.”

Captain Woolvett smiled as he ran his fingers lightly under the hem of the dark blue t-shirt, pausing with his palm flat against the smooth synthskin. “You’re fully dressed, Ophy,” he observed as she leaned into his chest.

Turning her head, Ophelia, known as ‘Ophy’ affectionately to her crew and legally as the Controlling Electronic Intelligence of the Fearless-class heavy cruiser S.P.S. Orphan of the Sky, kissed the captain’s cheek just to the side of his lips. “Well, you do have to admit I’m out of uniform.”

He chuckled and ran his gaze down the avatar body, which appeared to be in very good shape for a human. The clothing she wore was a standard issue exercise uniform, though about two sizes too small, dark blue with ‘SPSN’ emblazoned across the chest and right leg of the shorts in black. Also, there was nothing on under it, but Gordon Woolvett had no complaints. Just then, the door chimed, and he cocked his head in question at the avatar.

“Commander Ryder,” she replied softly, sliding out of his lap and moving towards the door that led to the bedroom. All the senior staff knew the captain was sleeping with the ship, but they all pretended to not know, and so, neither the skipper nor the EI threw it in their faces in such a way they would have to take notice.

Waiting a moment for the door to close, Gordon called out “Come in,” as he fiddled with his wine glass. Commander Ryder entered, in impeccable duty uniform. “You have the after action report for me, Kevin?”

The man who might have been mistaken for a Viking if he had been in a different time nodded, and Captain Woolvett had to suppress a snort of amusement as he watched the blue eyes flick about the room after they registered the second place setting on the captain’s table, much as the commander had to suppress a smile as he settled into the facing chair, though it quickly became a frown as he had to detail the damage to the ship. “Graser Thirteen and Missle Twenty-One and Twenty-Three were the only damage we took that was more than cosmetic. Twenty-One is out of commission until we can visit the yard, as it the graser mount. Twenty-Three can probably be repaired to functional status in a day or two out of on board resources.”

Silent for a moment, Gordon eventually replied, “That’s good, I suppose. At least we’re in Rampage at the moment, and headed into Belethil anyway to dump the prisoners.” It was true. Both surviving pirate vessels, small armed craft that could barely be given the title of frigate, were under tow behind the cruiser, their enlisted crewmen under guard by Marines, their officers confined in the cruiser’s brig. “How many people did we lose?”

Kevin broke eye contact, though only slightly. “Two, though Doc Kosson isn’t sure about one more. Fifteen others injured from the three mounts, and a few minor injuries from elsewhere in the ship.”

“Four to one odds, even as weak as those ships were individually, we could’ve been hurt a lot worse, I suppose.”

Kevin leaned back in his chair, his eyes flicking over the second wine glass adorning the table. Without asking, Woolvett opened a drawer on the underside of the table and produced a clean glass, which he filled and handed to his first officer, who sipped it before continuing. “A testament to your leadership, Captain.”

That earned a laugh. “A testament to our people, and your training regimen, XO.” The blond man grinned back at his captain.

“As the Captain says.” Knocking back the rest of the glass, he concluded, “If that’s all, Skipper, you’ll have my detailed, written report in the morning, with, I’m sure, all the department heads’ reports.”

“I’m sure. Dismissed, Kevin. Have a good night.” After the outer door closed behind his executive officer, Gordon swept up the glass Ophelia had been using and moved through the door to the bedroom.

He grinned at the woman laying on the bed, now completely undressed. “Ophy, you’re definitely out of uniform now.”

She crooked her finger and beckoned him closer. “The uniform worn is to be appropriate to duty status, Captain.” The grin the CEI wore was a very open invitation, and Gordon needed nothing further to assume his own ‘duty’ uniform.

S.P.S. Starbow, Flagship, 22nd Space Battle Group, Rampage Trinary System

“I hate pulling convoy duty through here. The total mess makes it too easy for an ambush, especially with a slow bunch of freighters to watch over. What do you think, LT?”

“Petty Officer, I agree, which is why you need to keep a closer eye on those sensor returns.” The lieutenant hardly sounded annoyed, though.

The petty officer glanced down, then his eyes widened. “Six FTL translations approximately fifteen light seconds in front of the convoy. Energy bleed indicates cruiser class or better. I’m picking up active targeting emission bleedover. They’re after the convoy!”

“Red alert! Battle stations! Bowie, defensive engagement, protect the convoy!” Lieutenant Ager snapped, then slammed his thumb down on one of the holobuttons lining the command chair. “Captain to the bridge!”

“What’s going on, Lieutenant?”

“Six bogies targeting the convoy, wait, six bandits firing on the convoy.”

“Engage the enemy until I get there. Good call.”

“You heard the captain. Bowie, link me with the other ships. Pick one of those bandits and take it out.”

“Understood,” replied the soft soprano of the ship’s computer.

“Helm, bring us into battle formation and begin to close on the enemy. Comms, signal the freighter captains to fall back towards the battlegroup.”

“Captain on the bridge!”

“Helm, put us between the convoy and the bandits.”

“Captain, you have the con.”

“Assume your post, Lieutenant, and continue the engagement.”

Ager slid into his chair at tactical and spun around to his panel, which instantly came to life. Tapped commands brought another double broadside from the thirteen ships in the battlegroup, which roughly fifty seconds later obliterated the first bandit.

“Captain! New sensor contacts coming in from multiple vectors behind us. They were hiding in the asteroids.”

A silent command from Captain Lightfoot caused the master plot to reshape, revealing fifteen cruiser class contacts coming in behind them. “Who the hell are these people? Comms, any communications?”

“None, Skipper. They’re not radiating at all except combat emissions as far as I can tell.”

“What the hell kind of pirate group has twenty-one cruisers and goes after a heavily defended military convoy?” Lightfoot looked confused, and a little annoyed. “Comms, Bowie, get the freighters in close. Tie them into the battlegroup net as best you can. We have to cover them to the warp point. Smash the five remaining cruisers between us and the jump point. Order the battlegroup to launch fighters. Helm, bring the group to its maximum speed and take us to the warp point.”

* * * * * *

Three and a half hours later, the last freighter made the jump through the warp point. “The last freighter is clear, Skipper. Shall I lay in our course to follow?”

“No, Helm.” Lightfoot looked thoughtful. “Commander Tharbad, your opinion? Engage the pirates or stay with the convoy, given that we control the other side of the point?”

“We managed to stay nearly out of their range the entire time, as they sprang their trap a bit late,” Tharbad responded over the comm. “I’d say we wait and see if they engage us, and pop through the point if it gets too heavy, especially given the frigate’s pods are basically dry.”

Cocking his head to one side, the Captain asked, “Bowie?”

The hologram of the ship’s CEI appeared. “I’m a warship, and I don’t run away from a fight.”

Chuckling, he replied, “My thoughts exactly. Comms, tell the battlegroup to engage the enemy. Helm, move us after them.”

Lieutenant Ager frowned. “The pirates are turning to run.”

“Try and pick off their engines, then. I want those ships, disabled preferably, destroyed if not.”

“Aye aye, sir. Engaging as ordered. Bowie, can you highlight whatever you think their engines are?” His fingers flew through the holograms, and another set of missiles roared out.

Lightfoot flicked through the channels he could control from the command chair. “Commander Conklin, are your pilots ready to go out again?”

“Aye sir. We’re set to go.”

“Very well. Flight Ops, launch fighters!”

S.P.S. Endeavor Bark, Flagship, Fourth Exploration Group, In Low Equatorial Orbit, Fourth Planet, WP2-B5-PS7

“Well, Doctor Felger? What can you tell me about the planet now that we’re up close?” Captain Alyssa Rothani questioned the head of the science team who was standing next to her command chair, studying the master plot, which was configured to display planetary data at the moment.

“Well, we’ve firmed up the gravity readings a bit, but they were already specific enough for our purposes at point nine one five. We’ve added about six decimal places for exactness now. Atmosphere percentages are more defined too. Earth-normal, basically, with higher percentages of nitrogen and trace gases. If we were to land a team, they might be light headed for the first day or two, but nothing dangerous. Definitely no sign of industrial civilizations or even post industrial ones. A little colder than Earth…”

The captain snorted at that. Equatorial surface temperatures were reading almost ten degrees below the comparable locations on Earth, but given the lack of proximity to its sun, that was hardly surprising.

“Odd, though. Geomagnetic tilt is barely a degree, which is leading to some weird ionizations in the upper atmosphere, given that axial tilt means the poles point almost directly at the sun. On the other hand, the fact that it’s tumbling about yet a third axis means we don’t have a constant twilight habital zone. I’m not really sure how exactly such a thing would occur. Orbital mechanics isn’t exactly my specialty.”

Rothani chuckled at the geologist. “No, I suppose not. Endeavor, any ideas?”

The ship’s CEI hologram blinked to life, dressed semi-casually what appeared as jeans and a white leather jacket, prompting a scowl from her commander. Cocking her head to the side, the bubblegum pink ponytail swung gently. “Got nothin’, Cap’n. I’d guess some sort of impact, but I canna get a simul ta induce that rotation without blowin’ the planet all to Hell.” The annoying twang in the CEI’s voice was complimented at that moment as she blew a huge bubble of green bubblegum, which managed not to pop all over her face.

Alyssa had been captain of the Endeavor Bark for six months, but she was still unable to get used the CEI’s casualness in conversation and appearance, which was probably inevitable, given the laxity of Exploration Command with maintaining absolute military discipline. That was hardly a surprise, though, given that the crews tended to consist of slightly older than average personnel, usually with extensive education in some secondary mission field. And that was only the naval personnel, hardly counting the basically civilian scientists. Even the Marines tended towards better, though certainly not formal, education in scientific secondary specialties.

And given that academics tended to be a bit eccentric, it made a certain amount of sense, in hindsight, anyway, that the Santa Maria-class Scout Cruisers would gain some of the looseness of research universities, especially given the hugely extended deployment times. Watching her secondary plot for a moment, the Captain made a decision, concluding that the scientists would probably want some time on the surface of the planet, as usual. “To Hell with maintaining orbit around this weird ass rock. Helm, put us in a solar orbit two lightseconds outside this planet’s. The science teams will just have to deal with the comm lag.”

“Aye, Skipper.”

Felger looked at the captain in surprise. “You’re not going to argue about letting us go down? Or try to talk me out of sending a team?”

“No, I’m not.” She smiled sheepishly, given that she’d fought to keep the teams on board for the last five planets Felger had wanted to visit.. She’d always given in eventually, given that it was an exploration mission, but she loved to see the older man sweat a bit. “I have to admit I’m kind of curious about what’s down there, given that it appears to be life bearing, despite it’s eccentricity.” A hard smile crossed her face, though, as she examined the secondary plot, watching the ship slowly break orbit and move towards the position she had ordered. “You will take a double strength Marine detachment, though, since we won’t be in position for an immediate response if it becomes required.”

Felger frowned. “Battle armor?” The two word question was laced with disgust, not because he hated the stuff, but rather that troops in fully powered battle armor would make it next to impossible to study native fauna. A two and a half meter tall titan made of night black battlesteel with heavy gravguns and a miniature powerplant was not exactly subtle.

The delighted laugh rang through the bridge. “Of course not. But I do want at least a squad in semis, and everyone in camis. Including your people, Doctor.”

It might be standing orders, but the scientists tended to ignore it when they thought they could get away with it. Same with the sidearm rules, which Felger’s next question brought out, his voice laced with humor. “Next I suppose you’ll want my professor-types to carry guns?”

Crushing the amusement from her voice, she injected a warning tone as best she could, “Jay…”

“Aye, Captain. I’ll inform Major Levine and ready my team.” He began to leave the bridge, headed towards the doors located, perversely, towards the bow, unlike any other ship in the FSPSN.

Alyssa spun her chair towards the main sensor station, which for all intents and purposes looked like a hugely expanded tactical section. “Ensign, deploy survey drones. I want a full map of that planet by the time the ground team is ready to depart.”

“Aye aye, ma’am.”

* * * * * *

Three soft thumps and the telltale hissing of steaming hot metal announced the arrival of three Parakeet-class shuttles to the otherwise silent clearing. The merest whisper of sound let the light from their interior spill out briefly before it died, and rippling shadows moved out of that darkness into the odd perpetual twilight the planet seemed to offer.

For a long moment, nothing else moved before the stillness was broken by twenty four heavily armed Marines pouring out of the craft into defensive positions. While most of their number wore simple uniforms that would have been recognized as camouflage ‘battle dress’ by people long before, one among them wore a dark matte green set of semi-powered armor, and none were startled when six more suits of the same materialized around them, having already secured the area.

Silent instructions flickered out over invisible lines of communication, and the Marines spread out to do their jobs. Three minutes later, upon a signal from Major Levine, the scientists began to disembark, accompanied by the shuttle crews, bringing the total size of the exploratory group to fifty-one.

Voice of God Monitoring Command Station, SPSS Argus, In Orbit of Mercury IV, Mercury System

God, standing this watch is fucking boring. Lieutenant Senior Grade Franke Damon chuckled at her own unintentional pun, and reached up to adjust her beret. Having let her dirty blonde hair grow out the last few months, it was not quite fitting properly. At least I didn’t get midday watch today, though. The daily dose of pilgrims is anything but boring. At local noon, every day, a new batch of pilgrims came to the top of the mountain to be blessed. It normally took about two hours, and had ended just as she had come on watch today.

Sighing, she tugged down the front of her jumpsuit as she stood and moved to get a cup of caf. It was approaching full darkness on the planet in the region where the Voice was located, and so there should not be any pilgrims she had to worry about. The Voice had only been approached once after sundown in the nearly three years of operation.

Sipping the caf, she settled back in the chair, and spun it around idly, watching the status screens as they swung through her field of vision. On about the fifth revolution, a status light blinked on, and a booted foot came down on the traction carpet, stopping the spin instantly.

Oh great, why’d I have to be the one to get some crazy Meckie who shows up after dusk. The Mecian, for the new residents called their planet Mecia, had tripped the first set of perimeter sensors, which meant, if he stayed true to form, he was about ten minutes from entering the sanctified area at the top of the mountain. Of course, in the growing darkness, it might take him a bit longer.

Reaching out, Franke pressed the holographic button that ordered the preparations to begin. On the surface, sterilization fields snapped into place, cleansing the air, and the rocks were heated quickly to kill any organisms which were growing on them. It was for this reason that the air always smelled slightly of ozone at the top of the mountain when someone approached.

Next, she directed her attention to the monitors, which were silently flashing through comparisons, seeing if they could identify the oncoming supplicant. His clothing was identified first. The formal robes of a Priest of Mes, which is what the Meckies called their god. Like all who became priests, the man had been to the Voice before, and soon, his name was matched to the face.

Under-priest Jonoleth Nartican. A Priest of Mes traveling alone brought up a whole new set of protocols, transmitted by the Argus CEI into Damon’s brain. Orders, approving a request by the head Menelmacari Cultural Observer, a Professor Elessar Helyanwë, to have the Voice order the construction of a monastery at the base of the mountain, and the construction of aqueducts, as fed some of the major cities, to connect it to the source of ‘holy’ water which the Voice could provide. He was curious to see if the Mecians would then think to expand the aqueduct system to supply as many cities as they could.

An alert light blinked on. Nartican had arrived, and Franke Damon began to do her job.

Office of the Imperial President, Imperial House, Griffin, Commonwealth of Sentient Peoples, FSP

The dark clothed man turned away from the holographic picture window from his office buried in the heart of Imperial House with a swirl of his cape. “Do we really need to do this now?”

The man in a suit cut in a military styling in dark green nodded. “I believe that now is actually the best time to do this. Though it took them a while, the NDA, though I’m not precisely sure what exactly they did, dealt with the Iraqstan situation. Since that massive dustup in the Five Kingdoms and the elimination of the Lost American threat, Arda’s been silent. There’s been nothing at Mars for a long time now. The Skeelies were sent packing with their tails between their legs at Neptune, and the other colonies are as quiet as always.” He shrugged. “With our alliances in their current state, we’re as strong as we’ve ever been.”

D’ron frowned. “You know, John, that’s not really helping your case for why we need to increase our active military strength by around twenty percent, especially now.”

The Minister of War just smiled. “Because increasing military strength in peacetime only makes sense. Given the unstable nature of the international environment…” He shrugged again.

D’ron let out a heavy sigh, then turned his dark brown gaze on the two men in uniform that accompanied his Minister. “Gentlemen, do you concur with the Minister?”

Anson Farragut smiled at the younger man. “Mister President, I do.” His smile spread into a grin. “And, I know for fact that you do as well, sir.”

The Imperial President chuckled, and flopped into his chair. “That’s immaterial. I need a convincing argument.”

“Well, there isn’t one, beyond why you believe it to be true, Mister President,” The last man in the room, Field Marshal Adrian Tenai, responded.

D’ron picked up a decorative letter open from the blotter on his desk, and smiled. “Alright. Tell me exactly what you want to do.”

The Chief of Naval Operations took over from there. “There are two main things we want to do with the Space Navy. The first is merely a reorganization. I want to move the Colonial Fleet into Battle Fleet, and assign the Carrier Squadrons, since we didn’t put them anywhere, to the Patrol Fleet. The second is a huge matter of scale, though.” He laid out his hands on the chair arms. “Firstly, I want to build a Third Fleet, matching the composition of First and Second Fleets, and station it at Mars.” D’ron’s eyebrows rose slightly at that, but he made no move to stop the briefing. “Additionally, I want to put an Anglachel in orbit to support the fleet.” Eyes widened then.

“That’ll raise more than a few eyebrows on Mars.”

“Yes, sir, but our reasoning behind it is three fold. First, that many ships will need some sort of dockyard support. Even as big as it will be, the twenty docking slips are hardly enough for an entire fleet. But arguably, we need defended shipyards for more than five percent of the navy. Secondly, the new station will provide a base for the corvette squadrons we want to start placing in strategic positions.” The CNO stopped speaking.

“And the third reason, Admiral?”

“Actually,” Tenai broke in, “that’s my field. The population on Mars has grown large enough to support an Army group easily, as have the populations of our other planetary colonies. I’m arguing for the creation of three new army groups, one for each of the planetary colonies, in addition to the Marine Alpha Bases that currently cover those planets.”

D’ron had known they had plans, but this was more than he had expected, and his eyes flicked back and forth between his two senior military commanders. Farragut continued on from where Tenai left off. “As you’ve no doubt guessed from that, I actually want to build more stations.”

Though he had tried not to until this point, he could no longer contain himself. D’ron interrupted. “How many new stations are we talking about?”

Farragut shrugged. “My minimum plan calls for four, but I think we could handle seven, maybe eight.”

The Imperial President just gaped. “Seven? Eight? Where?”

A silent command brought up a diagram of Federation Territory, both within and without the Sol System. “Working outward, in the minimum plan, we construct one station at Venus, one at Mars, one in Apache, and one in orbit of Bloom. The additional stations would be distributed with a fourth station at Earth, one at Neptune, and one additional in Apache and the Mercury System each. If we build all of them, we’ll have simultaneous repair capability for an entire battle fleet. All the stations would have the corvette racks installed, with about half the capacity of one of the Lance’s at a minimum. I’d prefer an equivalent number, or perhaps even more.”

Frowning, it was obvious D’ron was thinking, then when he spoke, it was even clearer he’d been running the numbers in his head. “You’re actually talking about well more than a twenty percent increase. Off the top of my head, this sounds like maybe even a forty percent increase. Eight stations will be more than a million on their own, plus more than half that for the army groups Marshal Tenai is proposing. Add in a few hundred thousand for the Third Fleet, plus whatever you happen to need for all these corvettes, that’s got to be at least a third of our active uniformed strength.”

Tenai and Farragut nodded together. “Yes, Mister President, we’re aware,” Tenai added. “It also occurs to me, that if we’re going to be emplacing army groups on our planetary colonies, Marshal Mitchell might make the same arguments for constructing ADBs there, as well.”

D’ron eyes widen again in shock, then narrowed thoughtfully. “On Mars, I could see the reasoning, maybe, and the fighter wings on the other two planets, but you’ll have a very hard time convincing me we need ACV squadrons on Venus and Bloom.”

“True, sir, but the same argument goes for them as for everything else. By the time we know we need them, it’ll be too late to build them.”

All three other men could tell it was with great reluctance, but D’ron finally nodded. “Alright. Write a formal proposal detailing all your recommendations, and I’ll approve them.” He frowned suddenly. “What about the Surface Navy?”

John spoke up. “I spoke with Admiral Bergren myself. He sees no need at this time to expand the surface fleet.” Nodding in acceptance, and perhaps not a little relief, D’ron considered, but was interrupted as the Minister continued. “Though he would like some marines of his own. He proposed that we could ask the Britmattians to help train them on Nova VI.”

The Imperial President sighed. “Alright. What sort of time frame are we looking at?”

The civilian in charge of the whole military establishment frowned. “I’m not as conversant in the details as the chiefs, but I’m guessing personnel will be the major delay.” He looked at his two uniformed subordinates.

“While when we signed the Axis treaty, we were critically short of pilots due to the planned construction of our carrier forces, we are perhaps overstaffed in that regard now. If the ships were available today, we would have sufficient trained personnel to complete the space navy’s expansion within four months, though all commands would be understrength for some time, perhaps as much as a year. Coincidentally, if we concentrate completely on the construction of Third Fleet, it will take four months to build everything to the point where it can begin to work up, as we have sufficient stores in place to begin the construction. Third Fleet can be declared operational two months from the day you sign the order.” Farragut frowned slightly. “Staffing the stations will perhaps be the largest difficulty, though we can build them one at a time to help with that. I’m guessing a year, fourteen months at the outside, and we’d be at full strength. The Marines can handle that rate of expansion, I’ve already consulted with General Corrigan. I’m not sure about the Air Force, though, though I don’t imagine they’ll have a problem, as their major hole comes from pilot training time, and as I said, we have the pilots now.”

Tenai picked up where his naval colleague left off. “If we were merely expanding the Ground Force, I would say that it would only take perhaps six months, as we would be able to use our testing procedures to funnel non-specifically qualified personnel to it to build up our troop numbers. But with that massive an expansion of the Space Navy going on concurrently, I would say double that, especially since we don’t have a huge number of training facilities, and given the length of time it takes to train a non-infantry specialist. Pretty much all of those will have to come from those soldiers currently undergoing basic training.” That prompted a frown. “And we may have to promote people more on the basis of time in grade, rather than actual combat experience, though I’m hoping not, given the fierce combat we saw during the American invasion. That will be something that’ll have to be worked out over the course of the expansion, I imagine.”

Stroking his chin in thought, D’ron distractedly realized he had forgotten to shave again that morning, then refocused his gaze to his top commanders. “I’m sure you and your compatriots can figure it out. Given that we’re talking about a statistically measurable percentage of the population, a year for training and equipping doesn’t seem unreasonable.” His gaze dropped to his desk. Seven files blinked in the small holographic display, all wanting his attention. “Dismissed, gentlemen.”

As they filed out, he caught Tenai’s last words to his two fellows easily enough. “Yeah, I suppose a quarter of a tenth of a percent is statistically measurable…”