Brimstone Sector, Battleship Singularity
The klaxons had begun to wail in the corridors, and the alert lights were flashing red. “Set Condition One throughout the ship,” came the announcement. “Repeat: Set Condition One. All hands to battle stations.”
The noise continued as traffic in the corridors picked up, crewmen rushing to their posts with efficiency that showed experience. “Will the CO please report to the bri-” Lieutenant Robinson cut off her own announcement, seeing the Admiral walk in just seconds after the alert had gone out. Clearly, he’d already been on his way.
“Sitrep,” the ship’s commander ordered.
“Three contacts, dead ahead. They’re squawking in the clear.” Zarrey said, eyeing the screen at the front of the room, as it showed the long-range sensors’ data. “Confirmed as Squadron 26.”
“Keeper-class ships.” Another three of the numerous class of ship they had engaged in the Centaur System. “There will be more.” Likely, this wasn’t Command’s main force, this was a mere splinter of it, assigned to search the area for both the Singularity and Fairlocke’s fleet. “Range?”
“They’ll have us in confirmed sensor range in seven minutes.” The Keeper-class ships, with comparatively smaller sensor arrays, had a smaller range. The difference was slight, but it was enough to matter within the void’s great distances.
“Prepare to jump to the next sector.” There was no point in revealing their position or engaging Command’s ships.
“Sir, we haven’t completed our sweep here-”
“Galhino, if they were here, Command would have sunk them already and left the area,” Zarrey snapped. “Effectively they swept that half of the sector for us.” He gave the Admiral a nod before telling the crew again, “Begin jump prep.”
“Hold!” Robinson called, desperate to stall further action. “Hold the jump!” She pressed the earpiece of her headset to her ear, focusing on the faint, rising and falling levels of static. “I’ve got something.”
“Define ‘something’, Robinson,” Zarrey snapped. She was going to have to do better than that.
“XO.” The Admiral silenced him. Robinson’s closed eyes and posture made it clear she was trying to listen to something that was very faint. She didn’t need Zarrey shouting at her simultaneously. The Admiral reached forward to tap the navigational charts on the radar console, a silent signal to mark down the exact position of all ships, including their own.
Zarrey obeyed, flagging down a yeoman to pass data between himself, the sensor console and navigations console. The Admiral monitored their progress, contemplating his options, depending on what Robinson had uncovered.
“I might have a signal.” The communications officer announced. “It’s indiscernible, sir. Typical radio transmissions. From this position, they’re probably several hours old.” They weren’t local and had decayed beyond usefulness.
“How sure are you, Lieutenant?”
Keifer shook her head, “Thirty, maybe forty percent.” There was no way to identify the transmissions’ origin. They were in the radio spectra, but even assuming them to be decayed transmissions was a guess.
“Possible natural emissions?” Looking at the surrounding spatial region, there was at least one source of possible electromagnetic emissions.
“I’ve isolated the nebula’s baseline emissions, sir. What remains of the signal is on the civilian transmission band, but I have no way of knowing if it came from Fairlocke’s fleet.” It was possible they were from another source. “It could be some anomaly in or around the nebula.” There was a high level of uncertainty involved.
‘Anything to add?’ the Admiral reached out to the ghost.
‘No.’ Her response was quick, but certain. ‘The Lieutenant’s analysis is correct, and I agree with your conclusion.’ She was already well aware of the Admiral’s intentions. ‘This warrants further investigation.’ It was the best lead they had found so far in a grueling eighteen-hour search.
Thus, the choice was made. “Heading?” Admiral Gives prompted Robinson.
“319 mark 2.”
Zarrey spluttered where he stood with a marker over the navigational charts, managing to disguise his curse as a cough. “Admiral, that’s right through Command’s fleet.”
“I am aware.” With all the ships’ positions and elevations marked, the map was easy enough to read. “Put the engines into cool running. Silence all communications and sensor broadcasts then scramble six Warhawks.” He reconsidered the map, with their intended course in mind, “Scramble three Arcbirds as well, and make sure all the pilots are patient enough to sit in the dark.”
Colonel Zarrey couldn’t help the look that rose to his face. What the hell are you planning now?
The Admiral ignored him, “Lieutenant Robinson, what are the odds that Squadron 26 caught that transmission?”
“Individually, I would deem it unlikely, sir. The Singularity’s arrays have a wider coverage of strong receiving angles than the Keeper-class ships. However, there are three of them, so one of them probably has or will discover it.”
Either way, he had to buy time for the Singularity to find the source first. There was a possibility that the detected signal had come from Fairlocke’s fleet, and if Command beat them there, those civilians would be massacred. It was a priority to silence and delay Squadron 26, regardless of whether or not they had so far picked up the signal.
“Give me the intercom,” he ordered, intending to brief the entire ship.
Robinson hit a few buttons on her console, then twisted the proper knob into position, signaling when she was ready. It was an easy, well-practiced maneuver. The Admiral always briefed the entire ship before initiating a combat plan, ensuring everyone knew what to expect.
The crew below decks had been waiting for the FTL alert or for an announcement. The hangar deck quieted right down when they heard the tones that preceded the activation of the intercom. Freshly promoted Captain ‘Fireball’ Adams paused before sealing her helmet on, as did the others that sat down the line, already strapped into their cockpits.
“Attention all hands, this is the Admiral.” His voice rang out loud and clear across the deck, a bastion of calm. “Moments ago, we detected a possible, but unidentifiable radio signal. Due to the possibility of its origin being among the Gargantia’s refugee fleet, I have issued orders to track the signal to its source. Such action will take us directly into Squadron 26’s patrol course. It is my intention that the Singularity will engage and neutralize the enemy upon contact.”
Fireball couldn’t help the grin that rose to her face. They’d crippled five battleships in Sagittarion’s orbit, this would likely make another three. Poor Squadron 26 didn’t stand a chance.
“We will be running dark.” The Admiral continued, “All electrical emissions will be minimized as well as photon and heat emissions. Our support craft will be powered down alongside Base, drifting towards the enemy in a natural tumble. Under such circumstances, Squadron 26 will likely mistake us for a rogue asteroid swarm.” Drifting with smaller debris in the form of the Warhawks and Arcbirds, it would be the logical conclusion. After all, no commander in their right mind would order their ship to drift into combat without main power.
The engineer helping prep her Arcbird was just shaking his head as the announcement concluded with the final steps of the operation. “I do wonder where the man comes up with this stuff.”
“They don’t call him a tactical genius for nothing, Havermeyer.” Given four minutes and a paper clip, she was pretty sure the Admiral could manage anarchy. Given five minutes and the former fleet flagship, and she was pretty sure he could manage something a hell of a lot worse.
“Sounds like you’re the pin in this plan, Fireball. Try not to screw it up.”
“No pressure,” she jested. Not like it’s my first mission as Captain.
“The Admiral wouldn’t have left you with that rank if he didn’t feel you were up to par.” The previous leader of the pilots had been injured and promoted to another position elsewhere on the ship after the events of the Kalahari Sector. That left Adams to lead the Singularity’s support squadrons. “Give Command a hit from us grease monkeys, will you?”
“You got it,” Adams said, sealing her helmet down onto the collar of her flight suit.
Given the signal, Havermeyer slammed the clear cockpit closed and locked it into place. He shouted something incomprehensible in the cockpit, then her ship jolted forward to be loaded into the launch tube.
The airlock doors sealed behind her craft, and the air was quickly pulled out as the tube as the safety checks were read out. It was the quick work of a practiced crew. Seconds later she was flung into the void by the ship’s magnetic launch system. The system ensured that even instant ignition of her Arcbird’s main engines had no chance of scorching or otherwise damaging the Singularity’s hull.
The launch system brought support craft quickly up to a maneuverable speed and allowed quick combat response from the pilots. They didn’t have to wait to drift a safe distance from their carrier ship.
The acceleration and thrill of it always left Adams gasping, but grinning. Flying was intoxicating. There was a freedom and a danger to it, especially out here in deep space. The darkness yawned out before her, an endless pit, ready to swallow up anything that fell in.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
The vast enormity of it was as overwhelming as it was dangerous. The little white and red Arcbirds were small and nimble, but they were only short-range craft, not equipped with an FTL drive, and possessing only medium-range sensors. The fighter’s navigations programs were minimal as well, so if one were to be stranded out here in deep space, the pilot disoriented and panicked, it was a death sentence.
Such craft relied on the guidance of their carrier ship. They were support ships, not a fighting force unto themselves, loathe as the pilots were to admit that. The uses of fighter support craft were limited, especially in capital ship combat. Arcbirds’ weapons were often null against a larger ship’s armor. As such, while the Singularity served as a carrier, that was not her main function. She was first and foremost a battleship meant to take on other capital ships – be them battleships, designated carriers, or the main forces of the Hydrian Armada.
The Singularity’s main battery guns were small in number, but large in size. They had been purposefully designed to punch through armor. While capable, the ship had never been intended to take on fleets of small ships. She’d been created to kill ships larger and far more advanced than she was – the likes of which no longer existed due to her success.
“You doing all right in there, Fireball?” Adams’ wingman called, “You’re being awfully quiet.”
“Just praying to any god, demon or angel who may exist that I’m not a mistake in this role.” She hardly felt deserving of being a Captain. She was barely any older than the other pilots, she just happened to have been here the longest, and her seniority had earned her the job. “Seems like bad luck to put a delinquent in charge.” She’d only been arrested at almost every station they’d stopped at for shore leave in the last five years.
“Fireball, luck will have nothing to do with this mission’s success.” Luck was the weapon of weaker forces.
“Actual,” she greeted. Would it kill you to offer some obvious support?
“All craft, this is Actual. Prepare to receive relative positions. You will align there with Base’s heading, and then drift alongside in a natural tumble with all systems shut down.” They had to look natural, the smaller members of a fake rogue asteroid swarm. “Base will be going dark, radio and emission silence. Follow the plan.”
The Admiral’s voice was calm, always good to hear on a mission. The pilots especially relaxed when they heard him directly on the transmission. He had been a pilot like them, so they knew he would not demand anything of them that he was unwilling or incapable of doing himself. Of course, he’d once been an ace pilot of legendary skill – or so the rumors had it – so that didn’t always make it easy, but he never asked anything that was physically impossible given physiological and flight control limitations.
“10-4, we copy, Actual.” Adams spoke for the small squadron of ships that had gathered around her, then addressed them directly as she received her position, “Proceed to your locations, initiate a tumble and then shut everything down. We will operate in radio silence until Base has completed her actions.”
The other pilots put in their confirmations as they broke off, jetting to their positions. Adams was last to move off the amidships flank, guiding her ship upward and in line with the Singularity’s massively armored back. Firing her reverse thrusters, she slowed, allowing the battleship to slide past, even at constant speed.
The Singularity’s gun deck was soon ahead of her, and the long shapes of the engines were below, their armor broken up by vents and small access ports. Then they finally passed, Adams accelerated to match the ship’s speed, settling into her position above and just behind the battleship.
She would trail behind like a fragment drawn by a larger asteroid’s gravity. With a light touch, she put her craft into a slow and random tumble, then began to shut everything down. She drifted with the ship ahead of her, the cockpit around her now dark. If she squinted at the right times of her revolutions she could see the specks of the other Arcbirds, their white paint more visible than the Warhawks’ primarily black coloring.
Adams leaned into her seat, trying to relax. It was going to be a long wait. She tried not to focus on the constant spin of her surroundings. Without acceleration, she couldn’t feel the spin, but focusing too much on her surroundings would make her nauseous.
In passing, she noticed that the Singularity’s engines had gone dark. Their usual blue reaction flames were now absent, relegated to a faint glow further up the engines’ housing. They would be cooler, and their signature harder to detect that way, but they would be unable to provide thrust.
It would take mere seconds to re-engage them, since they had not been completely shut down, but the delay mattered enough to make this a rare occurrence. Adams tried not to feel nervous about being placed aft of the ship. It was an honored position, no doubt a gesture of trust, since the Singularity’s weak point, if she had one, would be the main engines. But if her carefully initiated tumble brought her into the wake of the engines when they came back online, it would kill her in the blink of an eye. She and her fighter would be burned up in a split second.
She tried not to let that concern her. She had carefully plotted her course to match the Singularity, so as long as the ship didn’t pitch up or down when she began her acceleration, Adams would be safe. She just had to trust that the Admiral was aware of her position, and accelerated away on a level flight path when the time came. She trusted him that far, even if she questioned the success of the overall plan. She didn’t like knowing that the responsibility its success or failure rested mainly on her shoulders.
No matter how the ship’s pilots flattered their egos, they knew they weren’t gods. Not one of the Singularity’s pilots had ever engaged an equally equipped force in real combat. They’d always been up against modified civilian craft, or the local police, or even the national militias once or twice. They’d never gone against a force carrying a superior number of arguably superior craft. Outside of the fleet’s simulated War Games, they had never engaged UCSC ships or personnel. The only one who had any real experience in that regard was Admiral Gives – or so the rumors of his early career had it.
In CIC, the bridge crew watched the readouts with interest. “Everyone’s in position and shut down, sir.” Zarrey confirmed. “The engines have entered cool running and we’re still a minute outside Squadron 26’s sensor detection range.”
“That all, Colonel?” Admiral Gives could read the crease in Zarrey’s eyebrow like a book. He obviously had something else to say, but thought it better to hold back.
“I just can’t decide if this is the most brilliant or the stupidest plan I’ve ever seen.” It was clever, but it also had flaws. “If they train a telescope on us, there’s a good chance they’ll recognize us.” The Singularity’s dark coloring hid them well, and would likely keep their identity from being recognized, but there was still a chance Squadron 26 would fire first and ask questions later.
“It is a calculated risk.” Not many space farers bothered to visually ID something they had seen a hundred times. Without power or a heat signature from the engines, they would scan plainly as a mass shadowed by fragments – a plain asteroid swarm. This close to a nebula, such a thing was not uncommon. There was a gravitational draw bringing in such things, especially considering the nearby nebula’s unique composition.
“But are we sure that we don’t just want to charge in and blast them?” Monty cracked his knuckles. “We’d utterly destroy them. Half a broadside a piece and there’d be nothing left.” It would certainly be a good show. “That would sure as hell send a message to Command.”
The Admiral gave him a glance, but didn’t feel that suggestion worthy of a response.
“Beezlenac, Monty,” Zarrey shook his head, “How many times did Reeter hit you in the head?” That had to be the stupidest thing he’d ever heard the pyromaniac say. “In case you forgot, we have a limited number of munitions and repair material. If we can cripple those ships without expending main battery shells and without taking any damage, we’ll be better off.” They couldn’t afford to be reckless.
“Well, that’s wonderful and all,” Maria Galhino crossed her arms, “but in case you forgot, we’re squawking in the clear, just like they are. The moment we enter radar range, they’ll ID us and engage with everything they’ve got.” Even the Keeper-class ships could put out a hell of a lot of hurt if prompted.
Zarrey opened his mouth with an order to quit bitching, but it stalled on the tip of his tongue. For once, she’s got a point. Just like any other ship within the bounds of human space, the Singularity operated with a radar ID beacon. It continuously transmitted a unique registration code that would identify a ship, and thus, its allegiance. It was extremely illegal to operate a ship without one, and any ship caught doing so would be indiscriminately fired upon as a possible threat. Even smugglers kept them active, even if they spoofed or modified the codes to read as a clean registration.
It was considered a violation of the highest degree to alter a combat ship’s ID beacon. If caught, the very act was grounds for expulsion from the fleet. In combat, falsifying that identification was considered a war crime, so it figured that Admiral Gives knew exactly how to do so. “Not again,” Zarrey complained.
Oh, yes, again. They still had several minutes until they reached Squadron 26’s expected radar range, which left him plenty of time.
“You are literally the devil.” There were commanders out there who were brilliant, legendary tacticians, but they all fell before Admiral Gives because he was willing to use every dirty trick that crossed his mind. Zarrey knew Admiral Gives would gain the upper hand by any and all means necessary. “Two war crimes in twenty-four hours, is that a record?”
Gesturing for Owens to bring him the emergency repair kit, the Admiral answered, “No.” Not even close. He could see the curiosity building in the eyes of his XO, “I do not suggest any follow up questions.”
“Mysterious bastard,” Zarrey cursed, a pouting look on his face.
Ensign Owens handed over the tool kit, “Thank you, Ensign.”
Feeling the curious gazes of the newer crewmembers, the Admiral knelt down beside the radar console. The wiring for live radar displays of CIC was housed there, as was the secure signal bank that held the Singularity’s radar ID. “For the record, XO, Lieutenant,” he said, pulling off the access cover, “what I am about to do is impossible on a Zeus-class ship.” The Olympia’s radar ID could not be modified or disengaged without gutting the ship’s integrated computer system. It was designed to be an integral aspect of the ship, something that could not be tampered with without rendering the ship itself useless. That might have been a result of the last time he’d tampered with the Singularity’s.
Galhino just rolled her eyes with a huff, well aware that he was making a point about her earlier comments against their own ship.
Zarrey similarly groaned. “Of course, you gotta make a point about it. I said I was fucking sorry.” He couldn’t count how many times he’d apologized during his maintenance shift. The ship seemed to take none of it. “To be honest, I’m surprised this possessed ship of yours isn’t biting your hand off for even trying this again.”
Oh, she’s thinking about it. The Admiral was well aware of that. Just because he could tamper with the ship’s systems didn’t make it a good idea. She didn’t particularly like it, especially when it regarded war crimes and acts that most sailors considered both taboo and suicidal.
‘Damn straight,’ the ghost told him, managing to convey copious amounts of displeasure.
‘Relax, it’s not like I haven’t done this before,’ he replied silently, making quick progress on removing the signal bank. By design, it was hard to reach and hard to spot among the other equipment. No one without a total familiarity of the ship would even recognize its presence.
‘I hope you know that if anyone else even touched that system I would strangle them.’ She very much disliked it.
‘Lovely.’ So much for her usual playfulness.
It took him another moment to disconnect the wires, and then recomplete the circuit. With the bank gone, no ID would be transmitted. He replaced the console’s cover then set the bank on the flat top.
Zarrey looked over the little metal box. It was marked with the Singularity’s name, ID and commission year. It looked official enough, he supposed, but that had been really quick, considering how important that system was supposed to be. “That took you less than sixty seconds. Are you sure you grabbed the right thing?”
“Yes, XO.” He was quite sure. “The removal procedure is quite simple, if you know what you are doing.” From the surprised looks of the other bridge crew, it was clear they had underestimated his familiarity with the ship’s systems. Most commanders had only a casual knowledge of their ship’s internal workings. They focused primarily on capabilities and the external execution of those capabilities. Admiral Gives had always been more hands-on with the machinery. He had worked on every system the Singularity had to offer and knew the ship completely, bow to stern. Considering the Constancy-class’ unique design, there wasn’t anyone alive who knew the ship better than he did.
Zarrey contemplated the ease of the Admiral’s manipulation. “I think this makes me more afraid of you.”
It should, the Admiral thought, folding his hands behind his back.