Scorpion Relay - Part 10

Aaen began to silently wonder just how 'safe' they really were. . . well, the fact we haven't taken any fire means either we really haven't been detected, or we're being stalked—which means someone may know we're out here . . . but do they know who we are? His mind started to run wild with circumstantial possibilities. Maybe we just registered as a sensor echo? he mentally guessed, looking at Mason, who was going through her control screens as though looking for a clue to a puzzle.

. . .Our Translight signature would act like the thundering rumble of a motor on a boat to any other ship's sensors. Rotelan sensors are about as good as ours are, whether you happen to be flying in a highly technologically capable ghost story or not. Would this be a ghost story they would know about? Would they know how to detect this shuttle craft, specifically? he immediately doubted that thought—besides, the last thing the Rotelans would want is to be detected where they have no permission to be. The treaty was quite clear on that point, but were they likely to respect it? Well, we aren't, so wouldn't we want to be just as . . . cautious? No, he told himself, there is moral justification for us being out here where we 'technically' shouldn't be, even if we have to move in total secrecy to keep the peace. Well, at least for the moment, he reminded himself, recalling that special training in the simulator from year two. Tactically, they would want to think that the other side of the neutral zone knew as little about what they were doing as Intelligence wanted for Galileo's. That makes the Rotelans' movements here hostile, and they sure-as-shootin' would be quick to slyly disable, capture . . . or destroy anyone who they find is getting too close to the 'prize'. An apt simile, Aaen mused. The Rotelans are probably out sniffing around to see if anyone's snooping around. He reasoned they were as physically and technologically invisible as they are intended to be. So much the better. If they can't see us (they'd probably have already started shooting at us by now if they did), but we've detected them—we have the tactical advantage. Subconsciously, Aaen wondered how long they would be able to keep that advantage—

His thoughts shifted to Maxon—no, forget Maxon—he started to wonder about the first officer. Aaen recalled that the tip of the spear is meaningless unless the person throwing it can see ahead clearly, and know what decision to make and when to make it. Sometimes that means having the target identified by someone who might have a better situational vantage point and then having the target pointed out from over your shoulder, and a suggested course of action that might offer a better chance at keeping the people around you alive for that much longer. So far, every decision they made so far was tactically advantageous for both the crew and the mission. That thought helped him feel a sense of assurance that this mission might just have a chance. He always felt anxious when following orders because if he was following, the underlying point (and problem) was that he was forced to endure a lack of tactical and strategic control that otherwise made him feel confident, and professionally fulfilled, and powerful. Then again he never had any reason to believe differently in either of their command abilities. Maxon's uniform was one only given to those with similar training to himself, so he gave her credit for having the brains and the nerves match to carry the underlying burden that came with the chair she was sitting in—

As for Jonathan, Aaen was curious as to what kind of a command support he was going to be, beyond just calling out what he sees on his screen. Clearly, the fact he was given his choice of position meant someone had confidence in his abilities to lead, even if he wasn't strictly-speaking commanding—get a hold of yourself, Commander. The probe was the biggest threat right now. One ping, and this mission is—!

His chest felt heavy with anticipation, eyeing the distant twinkles of light in the vast distance . . . there's gotta be some way to neutralize the probe, or just get out of its field of detection. His mind ran rampant with cannon-centered options, and the desire to squeeze a proverbial trigger. He so badly wanted to give that order out of fear of being detected. He almost immediately looked at his control screen and turned his head sharply, subtly, as he fought those ideas,  considering how any weapons fire might be detected by a cloaked battleship. That's, again, assuming there was one out there operating under the same rules as they were, he told himself, looking over his shoulder at Maxon. She was focused on what was on the viewscreen. Understandably, Aaen reasoned. His instincts and his military leadership training both told him a tough call was coming up, and this ship, and her crew, and the fate of this mission, were going to linger by a thread.

If Maxon had any real brains, she would be trained to remain as elusive as possible. That would mean they would be dancing on egg shells to stay out of the probe's field of detection. Aaen decided if he were the first officer, he would advise Maxon to use the maneuvering thrusters to steer the probe into the planet's atmosphere. The next test would be to see if the blasted thing was programmed to detect hazards and then automatically navigate around even perceived hazards. A shuttle could make it through a atmosphere—even a dense, or turbulent, or straight-up hostile atmosphere—but a probe? A reconnaissance probe—at least by Federation standards—would be designed for stealth, and information gathering from close to long-range. But could a Rotelans reconnaissance probe survive re-entry? Aaen wasn't certain off the top of his head, but his gut told him it was a possibility, especially considering how much they didn't know about the probe and its configuration. So little is known about the Rotelans and their technology, much less any improvements they may have made over the years . . . he eyed the main viewscreen—but the majority of his attention was directed over his left shoulder, specifically at the conversation he anticipated to start between Maxon and Jonathan. Aaen sensed Maxon was asking the same question in her mind as he was in his—

"The probe's still moving—"

Maxon mumbled something under her breath as she rushed to stand behind Jonathan, looking at his screen over his shoulder. "Scan for its configuration. I wanna know if it's capable of detecting us."

"It might not have detected us, captain. It might just be on patrol in this area of space." Jensen suggested.

That answer wasn't good enough for him. Aaen snapped around and began double-checking the readings on his computer, pulling up and focusing on scanning the navigational data—shoot, he thought sharply—turning his head and subconsciously deepened his voice, "Captain, Translight engines are powered down, but we're still drifting. If the probe detected us, it will match our course and follow us until it gets close enough to scan us in-depth. If it gets close enough to detect us, all it takes is one scan and we're blown." That much was common sense, but he felt like it needed to be said. If that thing gets close enough to recognize us as a ship, instead of a freakin' sensor blip—

"—It's about five-hundred-meters out, and closing!"

Maxon took a deep breath, "Okay. Is it matching our course?"

Aaen noted building anxiety in Maxon's voice—fear. He looked at Maxon, watching a reflection of Jonathan's sensor screen in her eyes. One four-pointed star-shaped dot was moving towards the little white dot in the center of the pie-chart-like readout in front of Jonathan, representing the shuttle.

Aaen's facial expression shifted gradually from concern, to almost enraged determination. He noted in his right peripheral, Mason was looked at him with a scared look on her face, almost as if she was expecting, or at least hoping, he knew the answer. He was sure he did, but his attention was on Maxon, and his hands were on the controls, waiting for the order to snap—

"Four-hundred-meters!"

Aaen felt like his heart nearly jumped out of his chest from the announcement, and out of anticipation . . . C'mon. C'mon!—

"Three-hundred-fifty-meters—"

Aaen eyed his computer screen again. They were slowing down.

"It's at our four o'clock, at our starboard quarter," Jonathan declared.

"So it's behind us, now," Aaen said quietly. Jonathan nodded once in acknowledgement. He impulsively thought of using the cannons, but held back, "Captain, we should see if there are any indications of other ships out there." Aaen suggested. If we have to shoot that sucker down. . .

Maxon looked at him wide-eyed with a concerned look.

"The probe's changing course!" 

"—Where's it headed?" Aaen determinedly asked directly.

". . .It's turning towards us,"

Aaen made eye contact with Maxon.

"We can't risk being detected," she sat in her chair, "Helm, maneuver us into the planet's atmosphere. Thrusters only."

"—Aye!" Aaen replied sharply, turning around sharply. Here we go!

"Initial deep scans of that probe were deflected. I had to adjust the scanners and turn up the intensity of the scan to get through whatever's shielding it, but I've got the probe's configuration!"

"It's definitely a reconnaissance probe, and it's designed to get up close to get exact scans." he explained the technical details in greater depth. The probe was basically a close-range magnifying glass, apparently not as well designed to be undetectable as the ones we use, Aaen grinned.

"How close does it need to get?" Jensen asked.

"Fifty meters, and it's increasing speed."

"Commander?"

"Captain, thrusters are active. I'm taking us back to that planet."

The planetoid gradually re-entered the viewscreen from the right. Aaen felt pressed into his seat as he fired the forward thrusters.

"It's still following us!"

"How close is it?" Jensen asked.

"Two-hundred-meters,"

"Commander!"

"Mason, put more power in the thrusters,"

". . . Got it!"

The pressed feeling quickly, gradually got stronger. For a moment, the crew felt like they were sitting on a platform that was sliding on ice before gaining traction and stabilizing directional control. The planetoid was getting bigger in the viewscreen. Aaen felt like he knew what he was doing to keep the shuttle away from its pursuer, but with every mental tick of the clock, he wondered if he shouldn't recommend letting inertia carry them forward and just let Jensen do the rest with the twin cannon emitters. If that sucker's configured to pick up on metallic signatures (a category in which most space rocks would easily fit), and it sent out a ping to any ships that are tuned to receive signals from it, then a cannon blast might be considered a malfunction. He asked himself whether or not a spy shuttle's cannon would have been somehow modified to cover its tracks under any particular circumstance or situation. Maybe—just maybe—they wouldn't leave a traceable energy signature behind. . . He was strongly tempted to recommend to the captain to find out. If the 'thrusters-to-the-atmosphere' plan didn't work, then there had to be some kind of a contingency plan. Either way, the little voice in the back of his head he developed in third year told him, sometimes 'running' and 'hiding' didn't always work, and when that type of situation occurs—and it does, every now and again—then you have to consider the bigger-picture for the mission, and the greater good of those you're out there trying to protect.

Somehow, he knew that was the same thing that was going through Jonathan's mind, and Jensen's. That much was perfectly understandable. Jensen was there to fire up the targeting sensors, charge-up the cannon emitters and then lock-and-load. Mason was gradually coming to the same conclusion, Aaen noticed in the corner of his eye, but was typing up a new report for Admiral Carroll. He wished he was telepathic so he could compliment her good thinking, not to mention the timing of the first draft, and how quickly she was finishing the draft. That's what he would have done, he decided, were their positions reversed. If Command needed to get more discretely aggressive with the rest of the fleet, then this would be the message that would promise such a resolve. Any counter-action by the Rotelans would only act as an albeit subtle confirmation of what is already secretly known to be going on on the other side of the neutral zone. That could act as a prelude to war, but Aaen's gut hold him this wasn't an issue known to only one other intergalactic party. How could it be? he asked himself. It's not like other governments in the quadrant would be able to send in spies who could always stay under the radar, gather information, and report back without being detected. Command had friends, and they shared information with them as needed. It would be needed, right now, and there would undoubtedly be discrete behind-the-scenes discussions about fleet movements that wouldn't reach the public's ear, but the inner-circles of top brass of the military would know as far as was determined to be necessary—but to everyone else, it's just another day on the job. . . .

"It's still getting closer." Jonathan declared, this time much more darkly, "Only one-hundred-fifty-meters out!"

Shhhoot—now he was starting to sound like he was panicking! The cannon idea was starting to sound great, right about now. "—What's the distance to the planet?" Aaen asked sharply.

". . .Ten kilometers! The probe's a-hundred-thirty-meters out,"

Aaen snapped, "Captain, contrary to what I said before, we may strongly want to use the cannons!"

"Just keep on the thrusters, Commander,"

"Captain, we're barely staying ahead of that thing. If it gets close enough to determine we're not what we're trying to convince it we are, then we need another plan!"

". . .He might be right," Jonathan said.

"—If there's another ship out there—"

"—I don't think there is." Aaen felt uneasy about interrupting the captain, but continued anyway, rethinking his original anticipation of their counter-reconnaissance strategy, "If they're sending out reconnaissance probes, their ships are probably along the border waiting for an order to violate the treaty. With that module cloaking device getting prepped for a test run, they're going to do that anyway, so they probably wouldn't risk a more aggressive posture—much less a war—by sending cloaked ships out here. . ."

"—I think I know where he's going with this, captain," Jonathan interjected.

"You think it makes sense?"

". . .I think the odds might be in our favor for right now. That probe's increasing speed. It's only a hundred meters out."

"We've got fifty left before we're blown." Make the right call, captain! C'mon!—

"—I've got a long-range message ready for Admiral Carrell, captain,"

"Let me read it first, before you send that,"

"Aye—"

"—We're half-a-million kilometers from the planetoid,"

Maxon snapped, "Are we going to make it?"

. . .Jonathan's new expression didn't inspire confidence.

Maxon faced forward and planted her mouth in between her joined hands as she eyed the viewscreen—

"—It's gone!"

"WHAT?—" Aaen snapped.

"—WAIT! There it is!. . . Ugh! It's blurring on-and-off the sensors! It's a-hundred-seventy-meters out and holding,"

"Captain," Aaen said.

"Hold on! Standby." Maxon snapped.

Aaen felt like someone just punched him in the chest with bare knuckles, and his gut felt heavy, like it was sinking. "First Officer!"

Jonathan and Maxon exchanged a look. Another sensor alert sounded—Aaen's heart felt like it skipped a beat—

"We're less than a quarter-million-kilometers from the planetoid! We'll be entering its atmosphere in less than five minutes!"

"Are we staying ahead of the probe?" Mason asked frantically.

". . .Yeah. But just barely!"

Aaen started feeling dizzy, but tried to stay focused on getting to the planetoid he was eyeing on the viewscreen. At this distance, the planetoid nearly completely filled the viewscreen, and it was only getting larger. . .

. . .It's time to make a decision! Aaen started doubting whether or not they would be able to stay ahead of the probe for much longer. "Captain!"

"Tactical, charge canons to full-power. Helm, standby for radical maneuver pattern 'Delta'."

*****

Steve H. told Jordan Foutin, "You are the next Tom Clancy. You really are a gifted writer."

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