Jay Allan - The First Imperium

Farpoint was a continuing lesson in the need to employ long-term thinking when naming worlds. At the time it was founded it was the deepest into space man had yet ventured, but now the name was somewhat of a joke. The planet served as an ersatz capital and administrative center for the Alliance’s rimworlds, but it was at least four transits from the frontier along any warp path.

“I think you’re right.” Garret glanced down at the map, sliding his finger to move Farpoint to the center of the display. “We need to keep the base functioning to support the transport and colony ships heading to the Rim, but we can go to a skeleton crew.” He paused for an instant, thinking about the forces currently stationed there. “Let’s leave Stingray, Raptor, and Hornet….” The three vessels were fast attack ships, and they would serve well for general patrol and policing. “…and reassign the rest of the 5 th Fleet to the Armstrong forces.” He looked up at Compton. “What do you think?”

“I’d do it.” Compton inhaled deeply, holding the breath for a few seconds before exhaling. His tone was tentative, uncertain. “There’s no rational reason not to, but something about it still bothers me. It feels wrong to leave a base that size with such a small squadron.” He rubbed his fingers along his temples – the small headache he’d had when the strategy session started was getting worse. “I still say do it, though. We need those ships to cover Armstrong…at least until the stationary defenses are upgraded.”

The planet Armstrong had been fairly well-protected, but its new status as headquarters for the Colonial Confederation’s military forces demanded an entirely new level of fortification. A dozen orbital installations were under construction, each bristling with weaponry and defensive systems. But it would be several years before they were complete, and until then the nerve center of the Alliance military would be protected by mobile fleet units.

“OK, so we’ve got First Fleet at Armstrong.” Garret was sliding his fingers along the ‘pad, moving ship names into place in a series of columns. “I will take direct command there.” He stared down at the screen, double-checking the list of ships. “I can split my time between headquarters planetside and the flagship…” He looked at the list again. “…which will be Lexington.”

Garret paused, his eyes still focused on the lists of available vessels. “The forces you have here at Wolf 359 will be the redesignated Second Fleet.” His fingers slid more ship names into a box marked Second Fleet. “You’ll continue to command here.” He glanced up at his companion as he spoke.

Compton nodded. “I think we can defend both systems against any realistic threat.” He looked back at Garret, his expression troubled. “But what about a reaction force?” He slid his finger across the ‘pad, centering a box with a large Roman numeral III on it. “Third Fleet is a joke. There’s not enough there to counter any serious enemy attack.” He glanced next to the Third Fleet box to a similar area marked with a IV. “And Fourth Fleet is even worse. Calling it a fleet is a bad joke.”

“I know.” Garret leaned back in his chair. “But there’s nothing to be done about it….except…” He slid a datachip across the table. “I worked out a plan, but I want it kept secret. I don’t even want it on the network.” He hated having to think that way, especially in his own navy, but after his experiences at the hands of Gavin Stark, he trusted almost no one. Stark’s organization had infiltrated the navy far more effectively than Garret would have thought possible, and he wasn’t going to forget that.

Compton reached out and picked up the chip. He too had become more careful since the true extent of Alliance Intelligence scheming was exposed. But he was worried about Garret. His friend had become truly paranoid, suspecting everyone except those very few who were closest to him. Compton understood, but he also knew how much damage it could do. The navy was a team, and a good team had to function based on trust. Garret had always had faith in the men and women who served under him, and they had followed him to hell and back. Now he looked at them all and wondered if they were spies.

“I’ll review it.” He lowered his voice, though it was just an instinctive reaction to the secrecy. They were alone, and the room was sealed. No one could hear them. “What is it?”

“It’s a plan to subdivide First and Second Fleets into tiered task forces.” Garret also spoke softly, though it was unclear if it was intentional or if he was subconsciously emulating Compton. “It will allow us to evaluate any enemy action and detach segments of the fleets to reinforce the reaction forces. The tiers are based on threat levels. If an enemy attack is big, we know they’ve tied down a lot of their forces and won’t have them available to move on Armstrong or Wolf 359. That will let us peel off squadrons from the garrisoning fleets to supplement our reaction forces.” He shifted again in his chair, but he couldn’t get comfortable. He was on edge – too little sleep, too much work. The back of his neck was one big knot. “The tiers are carefully organized to complement the reaction forces. That way we have well-organized fleets rather than ad-hoc combos of whatever ships are around. The AIs of the ships in the tiered forces will all have protocols for both fleets. They will be able to instantly plug into either command structure.”

Compton smiled. “That is brilliant, Augustus.” He scolded himself for not thinking of it. “It’s as close as we can come to cloning those ships and having them two places at once.” His head was really pounding now despite the two analgesics he’d taken before the meeting. How, he wondered, can they regrow lost limbs but still not come up with a decent headache remedy?

Garret arched his back in the chair, still trying to get comfortable. “It doesn’t really give us more strength, but by doing some planning now we’ll be ready to react more quickly. If we have to do some shuffling of forces, it will be better organized than some last minute cut and paste job.”

The two of them sat quietly for several minutes, both deep in thought. Finally, Garret rose slowly, stretching slightly to drive away the stiffness in his arms and legs. He started to roll his head, but he decided that getting rid of the tension in his neck was a lost cause. “Well, Terrence, I think I will get a couple hours of sleep if I can manage it.” He turned as his companion rose, and he extended his hand. No salutes between these old friends…just a warm handshake. “I’ve got to leave early tomorrow. You have things in hand here, and I need to get back to Armstrong.”

“Take care, Augustus.” Compton’s voice was friendly, but a touch subdued. “I’ll hold down the fort here. You just get that mess in Armstrong under control.” He smiled at his friend and superior. “After all, I wouldn’t want to make you look bad.”

“No…” Garret smiled warmly. “We couldn’t have that now, could we?” He turned and walked toward the doorway, the hatch opening automatically as he approached. He glanced back from the entry. “I’ll see you before I leave, Terrance.”

Compton nodded and watched Garret walk out into the corridor, the hatch sliding shut behind him. He stood quietly for a couple minutes then walked slowly toward the end of the room. “Open outer shield.”

“Opening outer shield, Admiral Compton.” The ship’s master AI had a pleasant sounding voice, highly professional, with just a touch of casual familiarity. There was a soft sliding sound as the heavy armored doors along the end wall pulled back, revealing a large expanse of clear polymer. There weren’t a lot of portholes or windows on warships, but this was one of his favorite things about Bunker Hill. It was a luxury, pure and simple…an aesthetic provided for a fleet admiral flying his flag from a Yorktown class battlewagon.