The tension of the day was mounting, which involuntarily caused lunch to be easily dismissed as a luxury at this point, and a thought that had long-since escaped his mental agenda. He sat behind his desk in his finely decorated and kept office, scrolling through new fleet information, positional analysis, and recommendations submitted by the Admiral sitting on the other side. The president's order, given a little more than two hours ago, had been carried out and executed well and above the speed and efficiency that he considered to be within his good graces. Then again, he was confident it would be. He liked what he was reading, and likewise hoped that this would be a closed case by the end of the day. The data—condensed for easier reading—said every operable ship in the fleet was being either re-positioned or deploying, even as he was reading, though some measure of his thoughts were on what happened on the border, and what the big picture message was at this point.
"Mr. President, there was a large explosion confirmed on the Rotelan border. From what we are able to intercept, initial suspicions on their side at this time are of a freak meteor strike. Our long-range satellites have detected a significant increase in tachyon emissions near the affected region of their border. It would seem the ghost story has taken steps to get through,"
". . .Were they detected?" the president asked concerned.
Admiral DuCannon took a moment to gather his thoughts and then turned his head. He wasn't strictly confident in the response, but at the same time, there was no Intelligence to explicitly contradict what his professional judgment was telling him. "They're looking for the ghost story, though all available information suggests that status is still accurate,"
"What about the objective?"
"No change in status at this time,"
The president didn't like not knowing. His gut told him there was still a serious military threat out there, and his intellect told him all they could do at this point was move the fleet around in hopes that the ghost story wasn't too late by now. No, he told himself, then reminded himself of how effective their Intelligence sources are, and that he needed to continue to trust them and their ability to keep up with what was going on.
"Admiral Carrell is confident Galileo will come through, sir,"
"I want regular round-the-clock patrols along our border. I want the neutral zone monitored constantly. If anything even remotely out of the ordinary is detected, I want the spotlight on the anomaly, readings taken, and a full tactical analysis report,"
"Yes, sir,"
"Has there been any word from any of the other neighbors?"
DuCannon turned his head, "They are aware of the situation and are taking similar steps as we are, but there has not as yet been any reported aggressive action taken on their border or within their space,"
The president thought this was turning out to be one heck of an intellectual chess match, one that was starting to give him a slight headache.
A subtle doorbell filled the air.
"Come!" the twin doors parted as a tanned human female lieutenant with red shoulders entered the room.
"Yes, Lieutenant?"
"Sir, we just received word from our source. We need you and Admiral DuCannon in the situation room, sir,"
The president and DuCannon stood up and walked out. The Lieutenant followed them closely.
"It's not working!" Mason declared.
"It's not working!" Mason declared.
"Adjust course! Get us in behind the battleship! Follow them in!" Maxon commanded.
"Better do it quick! Those other battleship are closing in on our position!" Jonathan declared.
Aaen was quick on the controls, bringing the shuttle hard to port, yawing, a slight roll to port and then bringing the sublight engines to half power.
"The battleship's maintaining course and speed!"
"What about the ones behind us?" Maxon asked.
"Still closing! We're one-fifth the way through the satellite field,"
"Increasing speed to three-quarter-sublight power!" Oh, dang! This is gonna be close!
Aaen's anxiety was at its peak with nearly twenty scanning beams chasing them—many of the beams were intersecting or crossing over each other like scissor blades closing. . .he was barely keeping the shuttle ahead of the beams. He switched to the thrusters, using the forward array in silent and desperate hope for any more momentum. The battleship was started to get larger in the viewscreen—it looked like a flying city in space! "How long?"
"Six minutes,"
Crap. Aaen began doubting whether or not they would be able to catch up in time, much less stay undetected—
—two long scanning beams passed over them. Multiple reverberating static hums filled the cabin, and became increasingly loud—Aaen's arms and legs stiffened abruptly in anticipation, and he found himself holding his breath as all other sounds in the cabin ceased and he started wondering if they would have to break and run for it!. . .and then the sound gradually dissipated. . .
The cabin filled with heavy gasps of relief, and then Aaen quipped, "We're not out of this yet!" They were on the battleship's starboard quarter and closing—fast, Aaen noted.
"We're almost right on top of the battleship. Captain, I'm recommending we come more to port, and then level-out, maintaining then-present course,"
"Agreed. Do it, Commander,"
"Already on it,"
The battleship began to gradually shift on the viewscreen until the crew was practically in tow—they started to roll and veered to port.
"Adjust course to match!" Jonathan commanded.
Aaen nodded and immediately adjusted the controls. They slowed, and were getting larger, so Aaen reduced the shuttle's speed to half-sublight. . .then to one-quarter. A couple of bursts from the reverse thrusters helped to slow them down. The shuttle was now nearly in the same position relative to the battleship as they were. Aaen carefully noted their proximity to the battleship's sensor range—
"—I'm almost finished decoding the message from Command,"
"—Commander, we're getting too close!" Jensen exclaimed.
"We're almost there!"
"Only two minutes left!" Jonathan announced. "We're nearing the edge of the interior perimeter of the satellite field.
Several more abrupt, gradual course corrections occurred like a seemingly slow, daunting roller coaster. Aaen had lost track of time—he watched as the satellites behind them were coming back online and gradually resuming their programmed scans. Worse: the scanning beams were cascading towards them, and the satellites ahead were already starting to come back online! The aft scanning beams acted almost like clock-wise sweeps forward to push the shuttle forward.
Aaen reasoned they had only seconds left to make a decision. The adjacent scans were likely to intersect with the battleship's passive sensors—DANG, this is GONNA BE CLOSE! "Captain?"
Maxon didn't respond.
Those beams are getting closer! Aaen made a call: he used the starboard-yaw thrusters to adjust the shuttle's heading abruptly twenty degrees and then punched up the sublight engines to full power. The battleship quickly filled the viewscreen as Aaen fired the down thrusters, clenching his teeth—
"Commander?" Aaen asked.
"Commander?" Aaen asked.
". . . Clear!"
More gasps of relief like a wave around the cabin. Aaen leaned into his chair and looked around to find grins, nods and other positive gestures directed at him. He looked at the viewscreen—their destination was the size of a dime in the distance ahead.
"Maintain course and speed," Maxon ordered. "Take us in,"
With pleasure.
*****
Steve H. told Jordan Foutin, "You are the next Tom Clancy. You really are a gifted writer."
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