Christopher Nuttall - Barbarians at the Gates

FNS Enterprise/Magnificent , Sol System, 4092

“I’m afraid the main bridge is out,” Commander Duggan said calmly, “and we’re all dead.”

Roman grimaced. Today’s simulation had started with the reserve tactical crew—including him—sitting and waiting for something to happen. In a real battle, he’d been told, it was unlikely that they’d have anything important to do, but the simulation was much more exciting. A freak hit on the ship’s hull with a bomb-pumped laser had just taken out the bridge, and command and control functions had been transferred to the secondary bridge. His console had lit up with new icons, flaring towards the carrier…which was suddenly dependent on the secondary crew to spearhead her defense. No human mind could keep up with the speed of space combat—computers had to control the actual firing sequence—but human minds had to set the computers’ priorities.

His hands flew over the console as his training asserted itself, even as part of his mind complained that the simulation wasn’t particularly realistic. Enterprise was what the Federation Navy called a High Value Unit—wags complained that it really meant High Value Target —and she never operated alone. A small fleet of cruisers and destroyers escorted her everywhere, even when she went in for refit. The simulation, however, had Enterprise off all alone, surrounded by incoming enemy missiles. The engineering crew were already laboring to replace burned-out components and restore the lost shields, but until then a lucky missile could slip through one of the gaps in the shielding and impact against the hull.

The incoming missiles entered engagement range, but something was off.

He frowned as the data started to come through. The missiles were showing almost unbelievable behavior, things he’d never seen or expected to see in all of his training.

He checked and double-checked his data. No, what he’d seen was still there—the missiles were moving in random patterns that defied the best efforts of his fire control computers. It should have been impossible…no, it was theoretically possible to do it with missiles. But why would anyone want to bother, especially during the middle of a battle? The missiles risked burning out their drives and ending up drifting uselessly in space.

And then the first missiles that had been fired toward the Enterprise vanished.

He cursed as he realized why the missiles had acted in such an odd manner. Enterprise’s point defense was currently firing in shotgun mode, pumping out so many plasma bolts into the right general area that some of them were bound to hit something. Yet the law of averages ensured that at least some of the missiles would get close enough to shift to terminal velocity and ram into the carrier.

Whoever had programmed this scenario was truly fiendish, he realized. Because if any of those missiles hit an unshielded section of the hull, most particularly with an antimatter warhead, the entire carrier would be blown to atoms, despite her armor and internal security systems.

Acting on instinct, he pulled out of the engagement—allowing the computers to handle it—and activated a sensor focus. There was no point in avoiding the use of active sensors, not when the enemy had clearly located the carrier and were doing their best to kill her. He swept the sensor focus across the incoming missiles and almost laughed out loud when he realized the trick. The smartass who’d designed the simulation had bent the laws of physics and allowed a set of enemy gunboats to accompany the incoming missiles, using their fire control links to allow much greater accuracy. The tactic wasn’t particularly realistic—no gunboat could pull such maneuvers without overloading the compensators and smashing the pilot to jelly—but it was theoretically possible.

He keyed the console, overriding the previous targeting protocols, then activated the ship’s huge broadsides. The primary beams induced instant fission once they hit their targets, although they were useless against a shielded starship because the shields had no matter to fission. But the gunboats were unprotected—and were rapidly exterminated.

Roman let out a sigh of relief. Their doom, moving at the speed of light, had struck them before there could be any warning of its arrival. Deprived of their command and control, the missiles returned to their original programming and streaked towards Enterprise on a least-time course. He was able to reprogram the computers just before the engagement was taken out of his hands. One by one, the computers picked off the missiles, leaving only two to slam into the shields. Nuclear fire blossomed out in the blackness of space, but the carrier was intact.

The screen flickered and brought up a new message. SIMULATION TERMINATED. Roman allowed himself a sigh of relief and stretched, feeling the sweat running down the back of his neck. It felt as if he’d been in the hot seat for hours, rather than—he queried his implants—seventeen minutes. But then, as he’d had hammered into his head at the Academy, a space battle rarely took very long unless the two sides were evenly matched. The weaker side would generally either break contact, or be destroyed.

“Not too shabby,” Commander Duggan said as she emerged from the hatch. The simulation had said that she was on the main bridge, but it was nothing more than part of the scenario. In combat, the commander would be on the secondary bridge, ready to take over if the main bridge was taken out by the enemy. “You saved the ship.”

“Thank you, commander,” Roman said. He braced himself. They had been running simulations for days now, so heavily that he’d dreamed of them in his rack, and not all of them had been as successful. A handful had resulted in the entire ship being destroyed, or accidentally ramming an enemy ship. The senior lieutenants had joked about newly-minted lieutenants who had accidentally rammed entire planets .

“On the other hand, why didn’t you allow the automated systems to take over sooner?” Commander Duggan asked. “You could have spent longer looking for the gunboats.”

Roman considered his answer carefully. One thing he had learned was that neither the commander nor the captain had any patience for waffling. If there were several right answers, it was best to go for the one that made sense to him rather than the one he thought his superior officers wanted to hear. They were knocking him into shape and he understood why, even though part of him resented it.

“I wanted to ensure that they would continue to track the missiles, even if I was wrong,” he said. “I didn’t know for sure that it was gunboats doing the directing.”

“Well, something had to be directing the missiles,” the commander pointed out sardonically. “In your copious spare time, you might want to study the dynamics of missile control systems and how they operate in real life, as well as theory.”

“Yes, commander,” Roman said. He tried to think about when he could fit in time to study missile control systems, and drew a blank. Every minute of every day was crammed with tasks, from actually serving as assistant tactical officer to working on the vessel’s interior, to spending time exercising with the Marines. And he’d been assured that he had an easy life! He wouldn’t be getting much sleep, were it not for the fact that sleeping hours were mandatory.

“I see that you have a session with the Marines coming up,” Duggan added. “I’m afraid that that has been cancelled. The captain wishes to hold a small dinner party for the new officers, and you’re invited .”