A Warrior-class Carrier was, arguably, the most complex object that the Terran species had ever created. Armed with over five hundred drones, possessing a complement of a dozen Ictarid- and Lepid-class gunboats, escorted by a four-ship Destroyer Squadron. The Carrier itself was built to be capable of functioning as a massive railgun due to its unique twin-needle design, and equipped with an antimatter loom in each bow, it could deal out any level of destruction its commander thought necessary, from hunting down enemy starships, destroying in-system defenses, levelling a city, or hurling an asteroid at a world at half the speed of light.
Furthermore, it had practically unlimited storage capacity, thanks in no small part to the railgun needles. It could carry a full division of ten thousand marines, plus their support equipment, and still have room to spare. Its support fleet included, as previously mentioned, four destroyers, as well as a hunter/killer cloakship, several cloaked courier ships. In addition, they typically travelled with an attached Ecumenical Church Hospital Ship and several Marine Troopships.
They were perceived by the citizenry of the Republic as invulnerable bastions against whatever evils may lurk in the dark of space, flying bravely throughout the blackness of the interstellar void. The image was beautifully pervasive, and a bold-faced lie.
The reality involved far more time spent in drydock, suspended at the group’s Homeport, having thousands of Support Personnel standing by to handle the incredible logistical challenge of running a Strike Group. Admirals made split-second decisions to make foldspace jumps. The Homeport cleaned up the logistical nightmare that resulted from having a starship turn up light years away several days later. UTF starships carried three months of food and supplies, and while ships such as the Carriers could have much more on hand, military doctrine dictated that having a rolling supply of food delivered by the Homeport was to be practiced whenever possible. Furthermore, the resupplies enabled fresh food to be brought to the Strike Groups-a surefire way to improve morale.
There was a reason, after all, that a Homeport Commander was, at least in theory, the equivalent of an Admiral.
At least the Homeport was unoccupied ninety percent of the time.
Victor, however, somehow never got to experience any of that. While it was true that the majority of the Homeport’s activities did revolve around the Strike Groups, Destroyer Squadrons and Gunboat Flights had the same needs. At the moment, there was only a single flight of three Lepid gunboats, the successor to the older Ictarids. The Lepids supposedly had improved Antimatter Reactors, Ansible Cores, and greater automation. From Victor’s point of view, they had an improved capacity to generate headaches.
Victor and two Middies were deep in the guts of the ship, literally inside the antimatter reactor. The Lepid Gunboats had the reactor set away from the Ansible Core, one of the few adjustments he approved of-on the previous class, the two most volatile and dangerous things on the ship had been neighbors. Now they were almost fifty feet apart.
He held a lead-covered scanner up to the side of the chamber, checking for any irregularities in the magnetic containment field. There were almost always a couple of magnets burned out when they inspected reactors, and he saw no reason that the Bagong’s should be any different.
“Magnet 43 is viable.” He said, hoping that the Middie he had tasked with recording the results was actually doing his job.
“Check, sir.” The Middie-Victor thought the name was Trace, though he couldn’t remember-replied, followed by a beeping sound from the tablet he was recording the data on.
As he moved on to the next magnet, the Middie he had assigned to keep tabs on the conduits to the Antimatter Storage spoke up. “Slight fluctuation in the pipes, Sir.”
Victor froze. The ship’s antimatter reserve was supposed to be emptied before any maintenance began, but, due to the pressure that the Homeport was under to provide fast turnaround to all ships, Victor honestly had no idea if this was actually the case. Even if it was, couldn’t it retain some Antimatter in the pipes? “Double-check that?” He ordered, before forcing himself to check the next magnet. “Magnet 44 is viable.”
A second later, the spotter Middie spoke up again, voice frantically out of control. “Fluctuation in the pipes, fluctuation in the pipes! Get out of there!”
Victor wasted no time grabbing Trace and scrambling out the hatch. “Clear the ship, clear the ship!” He shouted, slamming the foot-thick lead maintenance door to the Antimatter Reactor shut. “Malfunction in the Reactor! Malfunction in the Reactor!”
Instantly the ship was in motion, the other men and women on the maintenance detail running for the two ramps out of the Gunboat-another advantage the Lepids had over the older class, Victor thought wryly. Perhaps he’d have to eat his words.
As the people gathered on the perimeter of the hangar, looking on helplessly, the Homeport’s alarms started wailing. “All personnel, stand by for evacuation. Repeat, all personnel, stand by for evacuation.”
That sound was drowned out a moment later, however, when the hangar doors burst open, a dozen figures in black armor dashing in. The Tactical armor was unmistakable, and, as always, it instilled terror.
“Clear the room!” One of the Agents shouted, voice unrecognizable through their vocoder. “The situation under control!”
Wryly, Victor wondered why they were so frantic if it was so well-controlled, but he complied, gathering his two Middies and vacating the hangar.
He glanced towards the non-Trace Middie, the one he had had watching the data on the antimatter storage. “I assume that this is because you sent the data on this to the Commander?”
The Middie nodded, face filled with fear. “Yes, sir.”
Victor nodded approvingly. “Perfect.”
The group, along with the maintenance crews from the other two Gunboats, huddled in the atrium to the hangar. Despite the order to evacuate, there were few if any lifeboats at the Homeport.
After a few tense minutes, one of the Agents emerged from the hangar. “Thank you for your swift compliance. We have dealt with the situation. This was routine, and not a major danger to this station or its crew. Due to maintenance oversight, antimatter was left in the onboard storage, instead of being properly shifted station-side. The situation has, as I have stated, been remedied. Homeport Command has asked that the Maintenance Crews be more stringent in following the Standard Operating Procedures in the future.”
Victor could have sworn that he could hear the smug arrogance of the Agent through it’s vocoder. It was obviously lying through it’s teeth, after all.
He turned to face his two ashen-faced Middies. “So, what have we learned?” He asked.
“Abundance of caution.” Not-Trace said. “If you hadn’t had me monitoring the flow, the whole port might have blown.”
Victor nodded. The Middie was correct, but that hadn’t been specifically what he was thinking of.
“We’ve learned that our commanders aren’t always going to follow the SOP.” Trace said, piping up. “I know for a fact that we were informed by Command that the ship’s tanks were empty.”
“In other words,” Victor said, “Don’t trust the system. Commanders, Tactical Agents, whoever you want to bring up-they’ll all lie to you if they think it’ll help them, and they can get away with it. They didn’t have to come out here and try to blame it on us, but they did. If there’s one thing you can take away from this training here is that we’re the bottom of the food chain right now. If you ever move higher on up, remember how this felt. Don’t be like them.”
The Middies nodded, although Victor wondered how much of that had sunk in. “Alright then. The Gunboat still isn’t going to repair itself, so let’s get to work!
They were perceived by the citizenry of the Republic as invulnerable bastions against whatever evils may lurk in the dark of space, flying bravely throughout the blackness of the interstellar void. The image was beautifully pervasive, and a bold-faced lie.
The reality involved far more time spent in drydock, suspended at the group’s Homeport, having thousands of Support Personnel standing by to handle the incredible logistical challenge of running a Strike Group. Admirals made split-second decisions to make foldspace jumps. The Homeport cleaned up the logistical nightmare that resulted from having a starship turn up light years away several days later. UTF starships carried three months of food and supplies, and while ships such as the Carriers could have much more on hand, military doctrine dictated that having a rolling supply of food delivered by the Homeport was to be practiced whenever possible. Furthermore, the resupplies enabled fresh food to be brought to the Strike Groups-a surefire way to improve morale.
There was a reason, after all, that a Homeport Commander was, at least in theory, the equivalent of an Admiral.
At least the Homeport was unoccupied ninety percent of the time.
Victor, however, somehow never got to experience any of that. While it was true that the majority of the Homeport’s activities did revolve around the Strike Groups, Destroyer Squadrons and Gunboat Flights had the same needs. At the moment, there was only a single flight of three Lepid gunboats, the successor to the older Ictarids. The Lepids supposedly had improved Antimatter Reactors, Ansible Cores, and greater automation. From Victor’s point of view, they had an improved capacity to generate headaches.
Victor and two Middies were deep in the guts of the ship, literally inside the antimatter reactor. The Lepid Gunboats had the reactor set away from the Ansible Core, one of the few adjustments he approved of-on the previous class, the two most volatile and dangerous things on the ship had been neighbors. Now they were almost fifty feet apart.
He held a lead-covered scanner up to the side of the chamber, checking for any irregularities in the magnetic containment field. There were almost always a couple of magnets burned out when they inspected reactors, and he saw no reason that the Bagong’s should be any different.
“Magnet 43 is viable.” He said, hoping that the Middie he had tasked with recording the results was actually doing his job.
“Check, sir.” The Middie-Victor thought the name was Trace, though he couldn’t remember-replied, followed by a beeping sound from the tablet he was recording the data on.
As he moved on to the next magnet, the Middie he had assigned to keep tabs on the conduits to the Antimatter Storage spoke up. “Slight fluctuation in the pipes, Sir.”
Victor froze. The ship’s antimatter reserve was supposed to be emptied before any maintenance began, but, due to the pressure that the Homeport was under to provide fast turnaround to all ships, Victor honestly had no idea if this was actually the case. Even if it was, couldn’t it retain some Antimatter in the pipes? “Double-check that?” He ordered, before forcing himself to check the next magnet. “Magnet 44 is viable.”
A second later, the spotter Middie spoke up again, voice frantically out of control. “Fluctuation in the pipes, fluctuation in the pipes! Get out of there!”
Victor wasted no time grabbing Trace and scrambling out the hatch. “Clear the ship, clear the ship!” He shouted, slamming the foot-thick lead maintenance door to the Antimatter Reactor shut. “Malfunction in the Reactor! Malfunction in the Reactor!”
Instantly the ship was in motion, the other men and women on the maintenance detail running for the two ramps out of the Gunboat-another advantage the Lepids had over the older class, Victor thought wryly. Perhaps he’d have to eat his words.
As the people gathered on the perimeter of the hangar, looking on helplessly, the Homeport’s alarms started wailing. “All personnel, stand by for evacuation. Repeat, all personnel, stand by for evacuation.”
That sound was drowned out a moment later, however, when the hangar doors burst open, a dozen figures in black armor dashing in. The Tactical armor was unmistakable, and, as always, it instilled terror.
“Clear the room!” One of the Agents shouted, voice unrecognizable through their vocoder. “The situation under control!”
Wryly, Victor wondered why they were so frantic if it was so well-controlled, but he complied, gathering his two Middies and vacating the hangar.
He glanced towards the non-Trace Middie, the one he had had watching the data on the antimatter storage. “I assume that this is because you sent the data on this to the Commander?”
The Middie nodded, face filled with fear. “Yes, sir.”
Victor nodded approvingly. “Perfect.”
The group, along with the maintenance crews from the other two Gunboats, huddled in the atrium to the hangar. Despite the order to evacuate, there were few if any lifeboats at the Homeport.
After a few tense minutes, one of the Agents emerged from the hangar. “Thank you for your swift compliance. We have dealt with the situation. This was routine, and not a major danger to this station or its crew. Due to maintenance oversight, antimatter was left in the onboard storage, instead of being properly shifted station-side. The situation has, as I have stated, been remedied. Homeport Command has asked that the Maintenance Crews be more stringent in following the Standard Operating Procedures in the future.”
Victor could have sworn that he could hear the smug arrogance of the Agent through it’s vocoder. It was obviously lying through it’s teeth, after all.
He turned to face his two ashen-faced Middies. “So, what have we learned?” He asked.
“Abundance of caution.” Not-Trace said. “If you hadn’t had me monitoring the flow, the whole port might have blown.”
Victor nodded. The Middie was correct, but that hadn’t been specifically what he was thinking of.
“We’ve learned that our commanders aren’t always going to follow the SOP.” Trace said, piping up. “I know for a fact that we were informed by Command that the ship’s tanks were empty.”
“In other words,” Victor said, “Don’t trust the system. Commanders, Tactical Agents, whoever you want to bring up-they’ll all lie to you if they think it’ll help them, and they can get away with it. They didn’t have to come out here and try to blame it on us, but they did. If there’s one thing you can take away from this training here is that we’re the bottom of the food chain right now. If you ever move higher on up, remember how this felt. Don’t be like them.”
The Middies nodded, although Victor wondered how much of that had sunk in. “Alright then. The Gunboat still isn’t going to repair itself, so let’s get to work!