Scorpion Relay - Part 13

"And you concur with his opinion, Admiral Onaka?" the president asked. 

"I agree, mister president. He's had his ear to the ground on this, along with Admiral Carrell, since this situation started. I also agree that a fleet action might be necessary, at least along our own borders, but I also agree that too aggressive posturing might cause a response on their part that would render our current efforts on the matter pointless, and destabilize the entire region beyond the hope of a more peaceful resolve, as seems to be possible right now."

"What's the last word we received from our 'ghost story'?"

Onaka had to choose his words carefully, he reminded himself, in the interest of security. Time and experience proved that these kinds of matters couldn't receive too much concern for security. "The last we heard from them they were on course. All was well," or as much as could be expected, he reminded himself, "further communication is restricted for the moment. We next expect to hear from them after they cross the border."

"Has there been any activity on the other side?"

Onaka gasped, ". . .small sensor blips here-and-there. At long range, it's difficult to tell. We expect to hear from our ghost story within the hour. If we don't, then we'll know we need to be more aggressive."

"Are there really no other alternatives that any of you can recommend?"

There were five other people in the room other than Vice Admiral Onaka, and they all had a variably straight look on their faces. Each of them was silent, only maintaining direct eye contact.

Frustrated, the president stood up and walked to the closer of two tall windows behind his large black chair and coupled his hands behind his back as he looked off into the distance. The thoughts scoring his mind were unpleasant, and the long-term ramifications, his gut told him, could lead to a larger conflict over something so ridiculous, but nevertheless serious. He acknowledged that much, but still tried to think of another alternative than military combat action. The facts had been gathered, there is a consensus, and still at least a faint flicker of hope that the crew of the Galileo could be successful. . . But is there time to wait? What if that thing's already being installed and tested somewhere out there as we speak? He reminded himself of the facts having been gathered, and of the fact of his confidence in those intelligence sources that sent what information back that led to this meeting. . . So what is your decision, he asked himself.

He turned and sat back in his chair, leaning back, then looked at each of his military advisors, then took a deep breath before saying, "We'll give them more time. As a contingency, I am ordering a fleet-wide yellow alert. Shore leave requests are on hold until further notice. Recall any personnel already on leave and have them back and at their posts. If any ships anywhere in our space are in dock, get them ready for launch. Those ships that are already launched need to be on standby for new orders if our current efforts prove ineffective. Thank you, gentlemen, that will be all for now. Dismissed."

The military advisors stood up gradually and started their walk out, acknowledging the president on their way. The president watched them walk out and nodded after each acknowledgment.

The thought of large-scale fleet combat put a knot in his stomach—out of concern for the men and women who would have to be put in harm's way. He kept telling himself they all knew what risk they were taking by joining the fleet, but that came as negligible consolation for what that kind of combat action could mean, and likely would mean, and what he would have to do after all was said-and-done. As their commander-in-chief, he knew, silently acknowledged, and reminded himself that that order was one he might have to give were his hand were to be forced because of what was going on so many light years from where he was sitting. Of course, Galileo's mission would have to have a hard confirmation of having failed—meaning the 'sources' would have to relay that confirmation, or debris would have to be detected or recovered proving they had been destroyed, or prolonged loss-of-contact. None of those things have happened. This was the first dose—and a moderate one, at that—of relief of the former thought. He found his next thoughts more centered on his military advisors, and what action they were prepared and ready to take, were their commander-in-chief to say-so, and his gut told him his military advisors were undoubtedly already carrying out his most recent orders. Now-more-than-ever, he wanted some good news from their 'sources'. . . .

(1) "Captain, Translight nine?"

—Maxon looked at Aaen, "Hold on!"

Aaen snapped. We don't have time for this!—

"If they could fire on us, they would have by now," Jensen interjected.

"—Hold it! The first two contacts are now on opposite, adjacent courses. The third contact is. . . gone—"

"As-in—?" Aaen asked.

"—The last two contacts are still getting closer. They're just outside of our maximum detection range! They're increasing speed!"

"SHUT DOWN THE ENGINES! All stop! All systems, go quiet!" she shouted, rushing back to her chair.

You've gotta be kidding me! "WHAT?"

"—ALL-STOP!"

"Are you serious? They're practically right on top of us?" Jonathan responded sharply.

Maxon faced forward and didn't respond.

Aaen carried out the order for the engines with speed and precision, watching as all of the engine speed gauges declined sharply to comply with the order; the temperature gauges showed the engine temperature quickly dropping to "0". As far as the energy output readings would be concerned at this point, Galileo was as dark and as cold as space, itself. To him, this seemed unnecessary, given how close those other 'ships' were and yet still apparently couldn't see them!

. . . Now, we wait, Aaen thought. What the heck is she thinking? he wondered silently, gradually turning his head slightly left, alternating looking at the viewscreen and at Maxon.

"Mason, you got another long-range message ready?" she asked firmly.

She nodded.

"—Don't send anything, yet. We can't risk them detecting our transmission."

Seriously? Aaen thought skeptically.

". . .Captain!. . ." Jonathan mumbled loudly.

We can't just keep sitting here!—Aaen wanted to bluntly shout, but held back.

Maxon faced forward, looking carefully at the viewscreen for distortions.

Aaen gradually hovered his hand over the control to jump to Translight nine. The controls were easier to see in this near-pitch-black. At this moment, Emergency Translight sounded like a good idea. They would jump to Translight faster that way, and they'd be going a little faster than Translight nine—

"—They're almost right-on-us!. . ."

". . .Captain, Translight nine?—" Aaen asked, this time much more adamantly.

"Ten-thousand-kilometers!" Jonathan declared. . .

"—OKAY! Translight NINE!"

Aaen pushed the command. His computer made a few abrupt acknowledging chirping sounds as the engines sharply revved, followed by a sharp WOOSH, a bright flash of light and then the stars became sharp rapid blurs—

"—The sensor contacts are falling behind!. . . . Okay, they're gone!"

For now, Aaen thought. Maxon turned around sharply, "Are you sure they're gone?"

Aaen recalled what happened when this thing launched from the Voyager. . . Heck, yes! We're gone! he grinned.

". . . They're not on sensors anymore, Captain. I think we're safe to slow down."

Maxon gasped, then faced forward, eyeing the viewscreen. . . "Okay, slow to Translight nine."

Aaen carried out the order, watching as the blurry streaks turned into more pronounced white streaks of light, shooting by slightly more slowly.

Another sensor alert. This time Aaen sensed the entire crew was especially concerned.

"We're almost there. We're fifteen minutes out."

"Understood. Thank you, Commander," she brushed her the palms of her hands, then looked at Mason. "Send the message to Command, tell them what's happened."

Another alert sounded, this time Mason's computer screen flashed.

"We got another message from Admiral Carrell."

"—Start decoding it," Jonathan said.

"Let me know when you're finished," Maxon ordered, her breathing became slightly heavier. (2) Aaen understood why. As a leader, he immediately recognized this wasn't over yet. . .not by a long shot. He looked up the viewscreen and watched the thin, elongated streaks of light shoot by while his gut gave him mixed messages about what was going on around them. His intuition told him they wouldn't be able to keep the weapons' cold, much less quiet for much longer. . . The excitement of that development was already gradually diminishing, but he also immediately recognized the reality of making sure their mission was successful would likely mean that very action would likely have to be taken. Maybe total destruction wasn't necessary—he counted on that—but a cleverly-placed shot might just give them the edge they might need before long. If Jensen were to be injured, he told himself he would fire the weapons, himself, if he had to, provided Jonathan had to focus on monitoring what was going on around them but tried to focus on the tactic of evasion and elusion. Better to let they-who-shouldn't-know-you're-there chase their proverbial tails while you discretely maneuver around them. The bigger question entered his thoughts as a cold breeze sensation brushed over the back of his neck: just how long can we keep this game of cat-and-mouse going on for? He felt a swell of determination build in his chest and his head, and then clenched his jaws for a moment. . .for as long as we can—

Another sensor alert—"Got another one!"

Shoot! Aaen thought.

"How close?" Maxon asked.

"It's still at long range, but it's. . .wait. . ." multiple other sensor alerts sounded—"they're getting closer!"

"There's more than one?" Mason asked frantically.

"Yes! And they're getting closer, fast!"

Oh, great. . ."We're almost there. . ." Aaen reasoned.

"Confirmed! Multiple sensor contacts on an adjacent course to ours at our twelve o'clock, ten o'clock, and one o'clock. . .they're barely staying on sensors."

Maxon turned around in her chair, "How many?"

Aaen turned around, watching Jonathan's eyes travel all over the upper-half of his screen. Tons, he guessed. . .

(2) . . .Jonathan made direct eye contact with Maxon, "I'm counting sixteen contacts—" The bridge filled with panicked gasps and subtle verbal expressions of shock, "But that's not counting their border satellites. . .or any listening posts they might have out here in all those space rocks floating around—" Jonathan continued.

"But that's only counting the sixteen contacts, right?" Aaen asked.

"That's all we're detecting. . . I have no idea if there are any other ships out there."

Aaen got a funny gut feeling—"Captain, I highly recommend slowing to full stop."

Another sensor alert. Jonathan looked at Maxon, "We'll cross their border in 45 seconds if we don't stop!"

"—Agreed. Full Stop."

Aaen executed the command. The deck firmly vibrated, a sensation that built to a firm rumble as the hull came to a thunderous stop.

Aaen used the Reverse Thrusters, pressing against his desk for several seconds.

"Confirming full stop. We're thirty seconds from their border at full impulse."

Maxon turned around, "Do a full sensor sweep of their border for as far as possible."

". . .I'm only detecting those same contacts—they're still dropping on and off the radar! It's getting harder to tell if there's six, ten, five, fifteen, or twenty other ships out there!—They all just disappeared!—"

—Another sensor alert.

What now? Aaen thought abruptly, looking over his shoulder.

"—Detecting active sensor scans in this area. Looks like their border satellites are active. . .Magnitude twelve sensor amplitude,"

"Which means we can't stay here forever."

"Why not just blow up one of the border satellites?—Punch a hole in their border and just fly through?"

"That might not be a bad idea, captain," Aaen added, eyeing the series of large, circular radar-like animations lining the center of the viewscreen. 

*****

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