New Frontiers (Expansion Wars Trilogy, Book 1) (15 page)

“Yes, Mr. President,” Marcum stood. “Will there be anything else, sir?”

“Yes,” Wellington said slowly, his eyes going cold. “I’ve been making some discreet inquiries and have so far been getting nowhere, so now it’s time to get it from the horse’s mouth, as the saying goes. Have a seat, Admiral. You’re not going anywhere until I get a complete rundown on what the hell Prometheus is and don’t spare any of the details.”

“It’s an artificial intelligence research project,” Marcum shrugged, trying to control his reactions. “We have it isolated for its protection and that of our own networks, not to mention the damn ESA sniffing around. We’re using it to wargame through various training scenarios … it’s nothing of particular import. Was there some reason you’re asking about that project specifically, sir?” He knew that sprinkling in just enough truth would help him cover his own ass later should Wellington ever find out what was really going on in the Arcadia System.

“I don’t like having to hunt for answers, Admiral,” Wellington said, turning his back in what was an obvious dismissal.

****

“The drone just made dock, Cap—Mr. Wolfe! There are com packets for you, both personal and project related.”

“We’re colleagues, Danilo. Jackson is fine.” Jackson Wolfe looked up from his tile as his assistant came in. He felt bad for the young man given the isolation that Project Prometheus demanded of its staff, but the Cube had spoken to him and he knew that if he hadn’t gotten him off New Sierra quickly some overzealous spook would have had the poor bastard “stored” somewhere so that he couldn’t spread around what he’d seen.

“Technically, you still outrank everyone here,” Danilo said.

“That’s just for the bean counters.” Jackson stroked at the three months of beard growth. “My rank is just an equivalency, I’m no more a brigadier general than I am still a starship captain. We’re all just researchers. So … why has the delivery drone’s appearance made you so excited?”

“There was replacement coffee aboard.” Danilo smiled.

“That is good news,” Jackson stood. “Times were indeed becoming desperate as I found myself going through all the assorted teas looking for something with enough caffeine to justify drinking something that tastes like lawn clippings. Have Stevens and Marcos unpack commissary provisions first … I’m sure the rest of the equipment can wait.”

“Yes, sir.” Danilo straightened and walked out of the room. Jackson just shook his head, thankful the young man had at least stopped actually trying to salute him. The problem was that a lot of the rest of the staff of Project Prometheus wasn’t any better. There were ex-Fleet and even a few former Marines, all who had served during the Phage War, that recognized him immediately when they’d established the new facility. For months the hushed whispers when he walked by and even some snapping to attention when he walked into a room had prompted him to take steps. The customs and courtesies were familiar, as were the surroundings, but Jackson wanted his people relaxed and focused on the task at hand. He also didn’t want any misconceptions, by either his staff or himself, that he was still the “Captain.”

He got up from his desk and left his cramped office. Despite there being many other, larger rooms available, there was a definite comfort level in his current accommodations. He walked down the passageway, intent on being one of the first to tear into the month’s new coffee shipment when a loud alarm blared and red lights flashed in the corridor.

“Administrator Wolfe to the port, aft airlock … Administrator Wolfe to the port, aft airlock.” The voice over the intercom belonged to the facility’s computer. “Security teams to the port, aft airlock … security teams to the port, aft airlock.”

That last part got Jackson hustling. Project Prometheus had been housed in a deep-space facility, disguised in order to keep those a bit too curious away. The issue with a good disguise is that having overt security tended to spoil it, but not having it meant you ran the risk of unwanted visitors being able to get up close before noticing them. It appeared they had just such an incident.

“Report!” Jackson barked as he strode across the antechamber that was connected to the auxiliary airlock, shouldering through armed security contractors as he did.

“Unknown ship has just made hard dock,” the team lead said. “No transponder signatures and we didn’t pick it up on thermals until it was so close it was able to connect to the collar with a flexible gangway.”

“We have visuals up?” Jackson asked.

“Yes, sir,” the contractor said. “Stand by.” He slung his weapon and entered some commands into the terminal beside the airlock hatch, routing the external optical feed so that Jackson could see what kind of ship had just latched onto his lab without permission. When the sensor trained down from above and he could see a top profile of the ship, he ground his teeth in anger. He should have expected this sooner or later.

“Please send this message via the inductive link in the docking collar: ‘What the fuck are you doing here, Pike?’”

“Verbatim, sir?” the contractor asked, his hands pausing over the terminal.

“If you please.” Jackson nodded once. It was another minute before a reply came back.

“It says, ‘President Wellington has asked me to come find you.’”

“
President
Wellington?” Jackson muttered. “Go ahead and cycle the lock, Stanford. Keep an eye on this guy until I give you the all clear. He’s a bit goofy but very dangerous.”

Stanford entered in the security code that would allow Pike to externally command the airlock cycle and stepped back, raising his weapon halfway as he did. It wasn’t even another full minute before the red lights ringing the airlock hatch began flashing amber and then a solid green as the pressure was equalized and the hatch locks were released.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Pike said as he strolled into the antechamber, completely ignoring the half-dozen infantry carbines aimed in his general direction. “Project Prometheus, I assume? Or have you completely lost your mind and this is now where you’ve taken up residence in your retirement … keep in mind the beard is actually making me think it’s the latter.”

“Pike,” Jackson said slowly, “you really shouldn’t be here. Careful security measures are in place and all of this was approved at the highest levels of CENTCOM and under blanket immunity within the Senate.”

“That’s one of the issues.” Pike looked around, still ignoring the security team. “There is no more Senate, no more Confederacy either. “We’re now the
United
Terran Federation and your immunity may not have survived the restructuring. President Augustus Wellington would be most grateful if you could give his humble servant a brief explanation of what it is you’re doing here.” Pike’s statement started the security personnel muttering amongst themselves before Jackson raised his hand.

“It looks like much has happened and we’ve been somewhat … isolated,” Jackson said. “Stand down, everybody. I’ll take responsibility for this one. Stanford, cancel the alert and let everyone know we have a plus one aboard.”

“Yes, sir.”

“This way, Agent Pike,” Jackson said and led his friend out of the airlock area and back towards his office. “So how did you find us?”

“It damn sure wasn’t easy,” Pike said, keeping pace. “So who should go first? It’s obvious you’ve been
way
out of the loop on current events and it seems I’m slipping that something this elaborate could be put in motion without me getting much information on it.”

“Why don’t you go first and catch me up,” Jackson said; he’d much rather be breaking into the new coffee than talking to Pike. If he was here, it meant that the whole project was in danger of being exposed. There was still so much left to do before information could be allowed to leak out to the political class. The trick would be convincing Pike to go back to Wellington and claim he couldn’t find anything else out about Prometheus and hope the Senator—make that
President
—did what he usually did and move on at the next distraction.

****

“That’s all very … surprising,” Jackson said after Pike had finished with his ninety-minute marathon recitation of events up to when he’d left the DeLonges System. “I knew about the attack in the Xi’an System and the Ushin first contact, but I wasn’t aware that it had progressed to the point that New Sierra was under attack.”

“That’s about the long and short of it.” Pike shrugged. “We’re getting ready to mount a counteroffensive with your former protégé leading up the first wave.”

“Wright has destroyed more alien ships in combat than any other Fleet captain,” Jackson said. “She seems the obvious choice. So how did you find us?”

“I took a chance that you wouldn’t be far from your wife.” Pike smiled. “I knew she was here on Arcadia developing the new crew training program for the ships Orbital Command is getting, or whatever the hell they’re calling themselves this week, so I parked in the system for the last six days and monitored all the com traffic and outbound flights. Given the secrecy of the project and the assumption that you were the principal I made the leap of logic that you would prefer a facility that wasn’t planetbound. So when I followed that resupply drone out here I knew I was in the right place … there was no way it was random chance that the drone flew up and docked to one of the two remaining
Raptor
-class destroyer hulls left.”

“I knew that choice was going to come back to haunt me,” Jackson said with a half-smile. “But, the
Pontiac
was still completely intact since New Sierra Shipyard had never gotten around to decommissioning her once the Phage War kicked off in earnest. The powerplant is more than adequate for what we need and I know how to keep her running with a minimal crew.”

“Is she fully functional?” Pike asked, surprised.

“More or less,” Jackson said. “We had the missiles taken out of the magazines but everything else is as it was when she was parked out in the boneyard.” The pair fell into an uncomfortable silence for a moment, each knowing what had to come next.

“What the hell are you doing out here, Wolfe?” Pike asked. “If it makes you feel any better, I really am operating under direct authority of the President.”

“It does, marginally,” Jackson said. “I’d have felt better if Marcum had given his blessing as well, but since this project would technically be operating under the new CENTCOM charter it looks like the admiral has been trumped. It’ll be easier if I show you.”

Jackson knew that the secret was exposed even if he didn’t show Pike what it was they were working on aboard the
Pontiac
. The spook now knew what ship they’d set up shop on, and even if he repositioned her the old destroyer couldn’t be hidden forever, at least not within practical range of the project’s logistical support. So he would roll the dice and hope the agent came to the conclusion that, for the time being, Prometheus was better kept a strict secret, even from the new Federation President.

“Is that what I think it is?” Pike asked flatly as they walked through the hatch into the forward cargo hold.

“It is,” Jackson confirmed. “It’s the stasis chamber the Vruahn gave us. Cube, this is Agent Pike … go ahead and say hello.”

“Hello, Agent Pike,” a voice said, unmistakably coming from the stasis chamber. “I have heard of you. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“You taught it to talk!” Pike nearly shouted.

“I didn’t teach it anything,” Jackson shook his head. “It … woke up … for lack of a better term. It’s self-aware. An unforeseen accident that popped up in a hastily designed system.”

“There aren’t any Phage bits still in it are there?” Pike whispered.

“No,” Jackson said firmly. “There was some talk of preserving the organ we had in there, but in the end the piece was incinerated and this machine put into storage. Then it started asking for help.”

“I think you’d better start at the beginning,” Pike said, following Jackson up to the cube that was surrounded by equipment and technicians.

The Phage was essentially a biological weapon, an entity that had been designed by a species called the Vruahn to act as their guardians, allowing them to give up martial pursuits and focus their energies on purely scientific endeavors. But their creation became sentient and, eventually, insane. It repurposed its original mission to one that saw it try to eradicate all competing life from the galaxy.

While humans had discovered the existence of a “core mind” and had launched an expedition to find it they had also struck an uneasy alliance with the Vruahn to try and corral their creation. One of the items exchanged in the partnership was a stasis chamber, the Cube sitting in the
Pontiac
’s cargo hold, that could fool a formation of Phage combat units that a human ship was actually one of them when it was loaded with a transponder from one of the Phage heavy units. The transponder was actually a biological organ and needed to be carefully protected and hooked to a support system to keep working.

Before the plan to use the Cube could be fully executed, however, Jackson Wolfe, commanding the
Ares
at the time, had located the core mind and destroyed it with a fast-acting neurotoxin. But Jackson had moved the Cube to the
Icarus
prior to hunting down the core mind and, before the
Ares
could complete her mission, Celesta Wright had used the device to fly right within one of the largest Phage formations ever recorded during the entire war and singlehandedly destroy over four hundred combat units.

“So I get that the Cube’s sentience is likely an aberration created by the Vruahn programming, but as anything other than a scientific oddity, what good is it?” Pike asked before turning to the Cube. “No offense.”

“None taken, Agent Pike,” the Cube said. “To answer your question, my processing power is greater than all of your planetbound supercomputers … combined.”

“It’s right,” Jackson said. “It employs some sort of quantum processing that allows such a small computer to pack a large punch. In addition to being able to power through any computing task we set before it the Cube was also plugged into the Vruahn aggregate computational network before they severed the connection, likely believing it was lost on the
Ares
before one of their ships brought us back home.

“The sheer scope of its knowledge is staggering. We’ve not only been able to prove out our own scientific theories in record time but we’re now moving into areas of theoretical physics that were well beyond our understanding. The
Pontiac
is now home to over two hundred of humanity’s best scientists, researchers, and engineers … all working with the Cube on projects of practical application and others that are purely theoretical.”

“And all the secrecy is because—”

“Because, just like you, judging by the look on your face, there are many who would be exceedingly uncomfortable with trusting a Vruahn computer,” Jackson said. “Not to mention something that used to hold part of a Phage Super Alpha. We can’t afford to let the whims of politics shut this down. I’ve seen the reports, Pike …
two
more alien species popping up in less than a decade and the Cube has told us of two more in equally close proximity beyond that.”

“Son of a bitch,” Pike swore, a look of understanding dawning on his face. “It was you. Is you. Prometheus is where Marcum has been getting all of his inside information on the Ushin and Darshik.” Jackson just nodded.

“We were the first people he consulted when the Ushin scout ship intercepted the survey team,” he said. “We’ve been a failsafe. The Cube is able to confirm some, but not all, of what the Ushin tell us as well as provide analysis of the Darshik from a point of view we lack.”

“Is there any special insight you’d like to provide before we send the Fleet in to hit the Darshik at the request of the Ushin?” Pike asked sarcastically.

“We’re prepping an intel brief now, actually,” Jackson said slowly. “Who do you think you’re talking to? Do you think I would do anything to put Fleet personnel in harm’s way if there was something I could do to prevent it?”

“I really don’t know what to make of this right now.” Pike just shook his head. “I can follow the logic as to why this has been kept secret, but it’s a lot to process. So what have you put together from this project that falls on the practical side?”

“You know the training program Jillian is helping develop for the new Orbital Authority ships? That’s just a cover story; the ships the new branch will be getting are just going to be smaller, stripped-down versions of the
Starwolf
-class design.” Jackson turned to lead Pike away from where the technicians were trying to work.

“What her team is doing is setting up a streamlined program to train up crews quickly on a whole new generation of Terran starship. Integrated reactionless drives, anti-matter weapons and sensors far ahead of what we have now … five new classes of ship, each needing crews that are trained to their higher performance envelopes.”

“Where are these ships?” Pike asked hopefully.

“The first keels are being laid at a secret facility run by Barclays Ironworks,” Jackson said after a long pause.

“Holy shit,” Pike said softly. “You’ve cut Tsuyo Corp out of the loop completely on this?”

“For right now all system designs stay under the strict control of this project office,” Jackson said. “I wasn’t privy to the decision-making on that one, but I don’t necessarily disagree with it.”

Tsuyo Corporation had been
the
provider of military hardware to the Terran Confederacy since there was such a thing. The company was so old it had originated on Earth and had actually been involved in the project that developed the first functional warp drive. As such, their power was immense, both politically and militarily. Few decisions were made within the old Senate without their approval or at least input, and they ran such a tight ship that there was little anybody could do about it, at least not if they still wanted access to Tsuyo tech.

They were so guarded that even on CENTCOM starships there were systems that were forbidden to be accessed by Fleet engineers. The company was so large and influential that before the Phage War had turned Terran politics on its head the board of directors had actually been colonizing its own planets with the intent of making Tsuyo Corp a sovereign power. Given their stranglehold on technology and manufacturing it was entirely plausible that they could have pulled it off without much of a fight.

With that in mind and once it became apparent that Prometheus would produce useable outputs quickly, the project oversight had decided that maybe it would be better if someone besides Tsuyo was given the contract to begin manufacturing the prototypes. Barclays Ironworks, a commercial ship builder in the Britannia enclave, had been quietly approached about running a secret shipyard for the new generation of starships. Despite their partnership with Tsuyo, the smaller firm had leapt at the opportunity and agreed at once. 

“You’re not going to give me the location of this new shipyard, are you?” Pike asked.

“That depends on what sort of agreement we can come to.” Jackson shrugged.

“What do you want?” Pike asked, almost afraid of what the older man would say.

****

As the Broadhead pushed away from the
Pontiac,
Pike was overcome with a moment of nostalgia as he saw the big
Raptor
-class destroyer swallowed back up by the black as the floodlights shut back off. He sat for a moment as the ship came about on its new course, remembering the same man, but a different, although identical ship. Or was it the same man? Jackson Wolfe, the legendary starship captain that defeated the Phage practically singlehandedly, a man who despised politics in any form, now looked and sounded like any other government bureaucrat. To be fair his project was a lot more important and useful than ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the paper pushers out there, but he was still just a project administrator now … filing reports while the scientists and engineers did the heavy lifting. That bothered Pike more than anything else he’d seen on the
Pontiac
.

When you stripped away all the specialized training and all the toys, he was a soldier. He followed orders, mostly, and wasn’t prone to fits of introspection or existential thinking, but the Cube bothered him. He’d spent five days on the
Pontiac
, talking to the Cube, talking to the staff, and trying to formulate a conclusion that made sense. Jackson had asked him not to divulge the details of the project to Wellington, but that wasn’t something Pike felt he could decide. No matter what the eggheads had told him the Cube was still a piece of Vruahn tech that had interfaced directly with the Phage and had now blossomed into a fully sentient intelligence by random chance. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if he believed that basic premise.

Jackson had surprised him again by refusing to give him the exact location of Barclays’ new shipyard, and although he had provided detailed specs for each new class of ship he had unwittingly forced Pike’s hand in relation to his first request. The agent would now have to use his credentials as Aston Lynch to bring pressure to bear upon the Britannic government to cough up the yard location and it was unlikely he’d be able to do that without Wellington’s approval. To get that he was going to have to tell his boss everything about Project Prometheus and trust him to do what he thought was best.

“Damn you, Wolfe,” Pike said aloud. “Computer, set course back to New Sierra and execute … max performance.”

“Acknowledged.”

By the time the second generation Broadhead transitioned out of the Arcadia System, Pike was already sound asleep in his seat. The computer analyzed his breathing and reclined the seat back until his labored snoring subsided, then it dimmed the lights and shut down the curved control panel. The adaptive software had become accustomed to the agent falling asleep on the flight deck and had developed a set of responses to make its sole occupant more comfortable.

****

“Secure connection established, ma’am,” Ellison said.

“That will be all, Lieutenant,” Celesta said. “Please wait outside.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Celesta leaned back in her seat and waited for the preliminary command level briefing to begin. She’d opted to attend the video conference in her office and had her com officer come in and set up the necessary decryption routines so that she could display it on the monitor bank mounted on one bulkhead. The
Icarus
had been flying circles around Juwel, one of the few remaining planets from the New European Commonwealth that was still controlled by the Federation. They’d arrived a full three weeks earlier and had been waiting for the rest of the taskforce to trickle in as well as the new theater commander. It had been rumored that Admiral Marcum would not be flying his flag on the
New York
as everyone had assumed.

She was of two minds about this since Marcum was by far the most experienced flag officer still serving in CENTCOM, but he was also Chief of Staff and it was highly unorthodox that he should be personally commanding missions. Celesta freely admitted to herself that the admiral’s sudden shift towards her played no small part in her relief that he wouldn’t be directing the action. The Phage War had forced them all into roles they weren’t used to playing, but she strongly felt it was time for Starfleet and CENTCOM to get back to the business of being a professional military organization and that meant sticking to doctrine and adhering to policy.

“Please stand by,” a voice intoned over the link, startling Celesta. A moment later the video monitors came on and the crest of the
TFS
New York
was displayed before it also faded and was replaced by the feed of Fleet Admiral Wilton standing behind an unadorned lectern, flanked by the flags of the United Terran Federation on the right and Starfleet on the left. Celesta knew of Wilton, of course, but had never met the man nor served under him in any capacity. What surprised her more than anything was that Marcum had sent a Black Fleet admiral out to run the operation and not one of his friends from Fourth Fleet HQ.

“Let’s get this started,” Wilton said without preamble or any sort of greeting. “We have a lot to do and we’re already behind the curve. I see that … yes, we’re all linked in, it looks like. This briefing is going to be a one-way flow of information. I’ve disabled your ability to transmit onto this channel so feel free to clear your throat, cough, or sing the old Confederacy’s anthem, but whatever you’re doing you damn well better be paying attention. There will be a lot of information coming at you and you’ll be responsible for knowing it. This briefing is classified Top Secret, special instruction two.

“Now then … this mission will be a counteroffensive to free two Ushin-controlled systems from Darshik influence. One system is heavily defended by the enemy, the other appears to just have a light rearguard. Since all of our intelligence is coming from our new allies we’ll be forced to recon ourselves before committing our forces. Trust but verify, as they say. We have four CIS Prowlers currently on their way to both systems to gather intel. I hope to get com drones from each team within the next few days, but no guarantee on that.

“If you’ll look at the accompanying imagery you’ll see that the heavily fortified system is defended by someone who knows what the hell they’re doing. Only the second planet is habitable, and the bulk of their forces are concentrated between the orbits of the second and third planets with outlying patrols flying random patterns in the outer system. As you’d expect from someone who has dug in, they have a slew of active sensor monitoring stations also scanning the outer system.”