Scorpion Relay - Part 17

"Detecting an increase in tachyon emissions at seven and eight o'clock. . . At nine o'clock . . . Now they're gone—"

Mason turned sharply in her seat, "Long-range message sent to Command,"

Maxon nodded.

"If we've got anyone on the inside, this is a great time to discretely pull the proverbial plug on these things, right now," Aaen said.

"That might draw more attention to this area if they did," Maxon countered.

Sure. That wasn't entirely implausible, but that didn't mean—

The floor started vibrating—"BATTLESHIP DECLOAKING! IT'S RIGHT OVER US!"

Jonathan centered the viewscreen on the subject. The subject seemingly slowly shimmered as it became visible. They were staring at the subject's massive bright green belly as it proceeded at one-quarter sublight power towards the field of satellites. . . 'A bug on a windshield' would be a generous size comparison, Aaen decided.

"Stand fast. Stay focused, people,"

Aaen couldn't help but watch the viewscreen, "If they detected us we'd be under fire right now,"

Mason looked at Aaen with a look indicative of hopefulness of being right while being skeptical of the seemingly actual status quo—she shifted her weight into the back of her chair and leaned forward. Aaen's gut told him Jensen was hovering over the command to fire another barrage of fire, which he expected might be necessary at some point. Maxon made a good point about that, which helped him to dismiss the notion of necessity of opening fire, but his gut also told him to be skeptical of that, too. His attention slowly shifted to Jonathan—Mason's computer screen flashed. Aaen eyed the screen through his left peripheral and his first thought was that whoever was on the inside came through for them.

Mason scanned the new readings on her screen, "We got a response from Command. I'm decoding it,"

"Good work," Maxon said.

Another alert sounded, this one sounded deeper than darker than the long-range message alert, "Captain, that battleship is hailing the planet,"

"Can you tap into the signal?" Jonathan asked.

"Working on it. . ." she was quickly manipulating the controls. The process didn't seem albeit too complicated, though tricky in matching the main frequency, and then there was the task of matching their wavelength and amplitude. Aaen eyed the readings on her screen. . .they were using some kind of high-powered channel scrambler to try to throw off eavesdroppers. He started having doubts about whether or not Mason would be successful, both wavy lines on the screen resembled a large double-helix-like puzzle—and the building gloss on her face suggested she was having a time trying to keep them matched long enough to lock on to the signal and then put whatever conversation that was going on through the bridge audio speakers. The line representing the channel kept changing shapes. A third white line represented the Galileo's communications array, and it's nearly-constant change in shape was an accurate reflection of Mason's attempt to lock in the signal. . .

. . .She's getting closer to matching them, Aaen grinned, thinking about her efforts as she wiped her forehead on her sleeve. "Almost there," Aaen said reassuringly.

"We're gonna miss whatever they're saying!" Jonathan shouted.

"She's almost got it!" Aaen said in Mason's defense.

The green line represented the amplitude, the blue line represented the frequency. She was struggling to match perfectly her target. . . .BINGO!

"Connecting to speakers!" A series of brief chirping and beeping sounds filled the air as Maxon held abruptly out her palms as if to shush the crew, and then buried her chin in her joined fists.

Aaen faced forward and sinisterly looked at the viewscreen, noticing in his left peripheral Mason was working on finishing decoding the new message. Jonathan leaned forward in his seat, intermittently scanning his sensor screen in anticipation.

". . .Of course. The perimeter is secure," a sharp, sinister mail voice said.

"How-can-you-be-sure?" A second voice, also male, asked. "We have been patrolling this entire sector for days. They don't seem to know about the operation. The Praetor sees this as the most opportune time to test what we've been working on. They won't see it coming, which means this is our chance to finally rid their stench from this quadrant, and any of their allies. . .those. . .No. I will not glorify their existence. I just want to see them disappear. . . The rest of the fleet will maintain border security while the rest of our friends help with our mission efforts. RMS Immortality—requesting clearance of border satellite field,"

"You are certain there are none of their ships near your position? The Praetor doesn't want any mistakes,"

"We are certain they are not here. If they were. . .they would already be dead. I have taken steps to further. .ensure. .security,"

A heavy breath came through the speakers, "You are slightly ahead of schedule. . . Very well—standby,"

A flurry of sensor alerts sounded—"Ohhh, boy!" Jonathan whispered loudly.

Maxon snapped, "What?" she whispered back sharply, turning in her chair.

The line beeped off. "Channel's closed! We can speak freely!"

"What if we docked with their outer hull?" Jensen suggested.

"We wouldn't need to use our engines to get through, but they would more-than-likely detect a hull disturbance,"

"How do you know that?"

"Trust me!"

Maxon turned to Jensen, "Don't worry about it right now. I'll consider that as a last alternative,"

"Just magnetize the docking clamps onto  their hull!"

"He's right. That might not work!" Jonathan announced. "Their satellites are enabled with both passive and active sensor arrays. Based on these readings, they're programmed to scan both scan space, and any ships that come into their range, including their shape,"

"So if we were to land on their hull—"

"—They would still know we were there,"

"The stealth field would mask our hull,"

"Given the proximity between the battleship and those satellites, the walls would be getting pretty close, pretty fast,"

—Meaning we'd be lucky to get through without so much as raising suspicion. Aaen reasoned.

Another sensor alert—"A series of satellites are going into diagnostic mode! The battleship's increasing speed. . . It's not a straight line, but this could be a path for us to get in!"

Oh, shoot! Aaen's gut told him this was their chance. He looked at the viewscreen, but his attention was now on Maxon while he hovered over the controls. "What's our next move, captain?"

"Are we close enough to access their computer mainframe, Mason?" Maxon asked calmly and directly.

Mason tried to gain access, then turned her head, "No. We need to get closer."

"How much closer?"

"Fifty kilometers,"

Aaen's gut sank a little more. He tucked himself into his chair and sat upright. "I'm shutting down the sublight engines, and then I can ease us in using the thrusters,"

"Jonathan, how soon will the satellites end 'diagnostic mode'?"

". . .Ten minutes! After that, we're gonna need all the help we can get to get through what's to come,"

Maxon turned to Aaen, "Think you can do it?"

Aaen turned and nodded sharply. Let's hope this works. . . "I'm going to fire a burst from the sublight engines, and then I'll use the thrusters the rest of the way. If this doesn't work, our only other chance is to follow the battleship. We're gonna be dancing on egg shells the whole way in, if that's the case,"

"You can do this," Maxon said directly and reassuringly.

Aaen took a deep breath and started manipulating the controls—

—Another sensor alert, "SHOOT!. . . We've got multiple new sensor contacts!"

"How MANY?"

"Counting. . .three. . .no, seven. . ." he turned his head, "correction. . .fifteen new contacts—" he looked up, "all battleship. More!. . .Confirmed—" his eyes traced over the bottom of his screen, "twenty batlteships! They're all moving in formation, between our three o'clock to our nine o'clock! We've got a freakin' wall of battleships behind us and to our starboard and port side,"

"That means we have no exit, this way," Aaen quipped.

"They're patrolling this region like a swarm of bees! Reading passive and active sensor scans all over the place! Battleship is ten thousand kilometers ahead, approaching the satellite perimeter,"

Maxon gasped, "Okay. Commander. . .steady as she goes. Take us in,"

*****

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

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