The Quantum Leap - Part 13

“Yes, sir. Yes, sir—Roger that. No contact with Captain Winter as yet. We aren’t even sure if he’s still alive at this time—nor do we have reason to believe otherwise.” What he omitted was the fact he hoped that’s how the status-quo would stay, at least for now, until they could figure out some kind of rescue effort. “Furthermore, considering the mission variables as they are, now, and the fact Odyssey is unlikely to be successful in direct armed conflict with the aliens, I am curious about the use of full tactical measures. Over.”

“Roger that, Commander. Your orders are to continue to attempt to contact Captain Winter and maintain pursuit of the aliens to their destination. Follow the Olyphium until you can either retrieve it or destroy it. The Union ships deployed to support you are going to intercept the alien ship before it can reach its destination. No-matter-what: Captain Winter is to be recovered from the alien ship, the alien ship is not to make it to their destination, and the Olyphium is to be recovered, or destroyed, if necessary. If all-else-fails, the Shadows will intervene. A Shadow team is being deployed from USSC Aurora. Further to follow. Out.”

“Understood and acknowledged,” Smith replied, and then the line closed with silence. Hayes replaced the handset. Some conversations with flag officers required command-level-only security via a handset.

Smith returned to the center seat and eyed the alien ship in the middle of the viewscreen. Technical data about the alien ship continued to appear after passive sensor scans. None of it eased his anxiety over the tension of the moment. The alien ship’s engines were glowing brightly at Translight velocity. Odyssey was struggling to keep up with them, but Wilson proved to be adept with adjusting the propulsion system power levels to keep the Translight drive system sufficiently powered to keep them within 300 meters of Odyssey’s bow, and still be clear of any transit hazards, as Smith expected. Still, Smith felt compelled to say, “Steady as she goes, Helm,”

“Aye,” Wilson lowly acknowledged with a stiff, anxious breath. He was obviously focused, something Smith didn’t want to upset.

Smith used a maintenance ladder next to the phase pad to get to deck two. Aside from metal storage containers full of spare engineering parts and components, and other similar materials that were locked down in one section of the deck, and the ship’s computer specialist was doing busy technical work in their small adjacent ‘office?’ in the far corner, there was also a small ‘closet’ space with a food generator that functioned similarly to the phase pad. Smith ordered a four-ounce plastic container of water. He cupped his left hand and then carefully poured about half of the container’s contents into his cupped hand and then rubbed the water over his face, then drank the rest. He didn’t want the rest of the crew to see him like this—stressed, anxious, and unsure of what the ‘right’ order is to give. Special forces were on their way, along with ‘backup’ that should supposedly stop the cap’s captors from getting where they’re supposed to go. . . Smith gasped. Odyssey hadn’t failed, yet. His face felt dry so he returned to the bridge, sat in the center seat, and watched the viewscreen.

“Hayes, are you getting anything from the captain’s headgear?” Smith asked.

“No, sir.”

A sensor alert sounded, “I’m picking up three ships approaching from long-range from our eight o’clock. They’re ours!”

“No fourth ship?” Smith asked.

Jones turned her head. “Negative,” She wondered, are we expecting there to be a fourth ship?

He stood in the center of the bridge, scanning and assimilating the technical data filling various areas of the viewscreen. The long-range sensor data was detailed, but he wanted a more exact set of readings. He turned left, “XO—deploy Shadow Eye.”

The XO was standing at-ease with his hands coupled behind his back facing the captain—er, General—but scanned the rest of the dark blue-lit bridge to make sure things were running smoothly, then immediately acknowledged the order and snapped to carry it out. The order was carried out within five seconds. A tactical screen on the left showed the ship was on alert-level-three and the reconnaissance probe had shot out from a car-sized opening on the port-ventral side of the hull. As soon as the microcomputer calculated the necessary distance had been attained, the probe seemingly ‘submerged’ under the fabric of space and near-instantly flew away at a translight speed that was, at least for the moment, impossible for any larger spacecraft to attain. These probes were designed to get up close and personal with a recon subject and essentially break the target down to the molecules that comprise its exterior, or hull, in the case of a ship. And they excelled at their designed purpose!

The probe entered the range of its target in what seemed like seconds, coming along the subject’s port side, heading high and starboard over its dorsal side—and the data was already pouring in. . . After a few minutes (but in a seeming blink of an eye), the General picked up a handset resting on a narrow podium-like stand to his right and pushed the button for the lower deck.

“Deploy. Deploy. Deploy.”

“Roger that,” Daniel Storm replied into his radio headgear built into the right side of his head armor. This armor engulfed his head and connected to the torso piece of his combat armor, complete with sonic-pulse-encrypted radio, ultra-light-weight-full-body armor that extended to his combat boots, regenerative oxygen supply, thermal lining (to protect against the vacuum of space, and to shield them from thermal sensory instrumentation), and his rifle and sidearm, holstered, suppressed, and they carried plenty of ammunition for both. Any other military special operators would know to get-outta-the-way. But that wouldn’t happen, because they were Shadows. Nobody else would see even one of them unless the Shadows wanted to be seen. A circular hand gesture went into the air and spread like a most perfect gust of wind throughout the rest of the nineteen metallically-pitch-black-dressed Interplanetary Shadow Forces operators standing in the middle of the cargo hangar bay. They were ready to go. Their mission orders were clear. They were headed for Odyssey. From that point, things were gonna change on that ship until this crisis was resolved. Storm walked to the front and sharply gestured to proceed to the back of the hangar bay. Microscopic sensors built into the suit’s lining fed tactical information to the suit’s heads-up-display, showing them all subtly colored highlights of their immediate area wherever they looked. Similar technology built inside their facial armor tracked their eye movements so the micro-computer built into their back armor knew what data to show them. Bio-neural circuitry in the helmet detected a certain brainwave in the wearer’s mind which told the microcomputer how far to scan.

“Inform Odyssey the Shadows are deploying off their port-stern. Odyssey is to maintain their current course.” the General commanded. That order was carried out before he had a chance to shift his weight again. “Save the data. Recall the drone.”

Hayes answered the hail. “Go for Odyssey. . . Roger that. Out.” She turned to Smith. “Sir, the Shadows are deploying off our port stern. E-T-A: two minutes. We have been ordered to maintain our present course,”

“Wilson, steady as she goes,” Smith commanded, deeply wondering what it was going to be like to have the Shadows onboard. Something told him he was militarily going to be in over his head really soon. “Hayes, inform the rest of the crew,”

She knew what she was talking about. Hayes opened a comm channel to both decks and made the announcement. The rest of the crew immediately wondered the same thing. 

“Jones, are you detecting any ships in that direction?” Smith asked, facing forward and eyeing the viewscreen.

Jones ran several scans covering every known detectable space-faring object—then turned her head, “No, sir. There’s nothing there.” There hasn’t been anything there this whole time. . . Her curiosity had been piqued. Frankly, so was Smith’s. They were all wondering, what was gonna happen next. . .?

*****

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

Another reader told Jordan Foutin about his novel, DANIEL STORM, "Absolutely life changing. God bless you for this piece of art."

DANIEL STORM, a Jordan Foutin eBook, is available for $8.99 at any of these fine online retailers: 

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The Quantum Leap - Part 12

The probe was on its way, moving at about the same speed as a car with a driver in a hurry on the freeway, to its destination. Seconds later, she was maneuvering the probe through the target ship’s inner workings—the ship appeared to be layered almost like an Onion, but reinforced out the yin-yang, unlike anything she had ever seen before. So elaborate. So sophisticated. FRICK! Whoever designed this thing had an eye for making the other ship’s crew wish they never crossed its path. . . She gasped. She saw all kinds of technical data populating on her screen. The data was being recorded by the main computer along with the navigational and quickly began drawing conclusions about the aliens that designed and then manufactured it from what she was seeing and interpreting. This sucker could take a really awful beating in combat, and it probably would still be able to keep on fighting. . . . Her spine chilled as Smith sat back in the center seat and watched and listened to the audio coming from Aaen’s headgear—on-edge.

The away team found themselves in a living-room-sized area. Some low light was beaming through a seemingly barred opening in a metallic wall just below the ceiling. Aaen gestured for the away team to take up a right-triangle-like formation as he stood upright and looked through the opening. He could see what he reasoned was some kind of storage area, probably a cargo area. Overhead lights showed metallic storage units the size of a car’s trunk around the perimeter, and then three tall, humanoid shadowy figures walked into the room, two following one in the middle leading the entourage; two of them were carrying large suitcases that were secured to their wrists. None of the figures were familiar to him.

“Everything’s ready.” a voice said from above and left and sounded like the speaker was trying to be discrete as they drew nearer. Aaen didn’t recognize the voice but continued to pay attention.

“In here!” another voice called out, male. It was the leader of the trio.

The source of the first voice became evident—Aaen knew who this was. CRESTAX! He must have been six-foot-five, and looked like some kind of human-lizard hybrid; more human than not, but still he looked very sinister. Television shows and rumors were seriously exaggerated. The two parties met near a stack of storage containers. Aaen was just barely able to see Crestax’ back and the lead of the trio. Who was that?

“We’re short on time. Do you have the material?” the trio lead asked.

“It’s on my ship,”

“I want to see it for myself. My employer is very particular about making sure these things are done correctly.”

“After I receive payment,”

A pause.

“Are you sure you weren’t followed?”

Crestax gasped as though surprised at the nature of the question.

“Of course,” he said with a slight hiss.

At that instant, the trio leader’s right hand went to his right ear. “Yes, sir?. . . What?—WHAT?. . .UNDERSTOOD!” he snapped. “EVERYONE, GET OUTTA HERE! NOW!”

“WHAT THE—?” Aaen snapped.

The video feed was quickly blurring and filling with a TV snow-like effect. Shocked, Smith noted the video was snapping from one direction to another frantically as distorted multi-colored particle shots and beams flew from multiple directions. Gasping and abrupt yelling rapidly ensued.

“SOMETHING’S GOT ME! SOMETHING’S GOT ME!—URGH! I CAN’T GET IT OFF!” more yelling and shouting followed. It was from Aaen! Smith realized, running to the Operations station. He quickly got a lock on the away team and then activated the panel—he realized he lost one of their signals mid-phase!

Two seconds later, the video feed cut out. Smith looked at Jones. “Do you have the captain’s locator beacon signal?”

Jones turned around and then turned her head in shocked dismay.

“Nothing, here, Commander!” Hayes declared. This left a bitter taste in her mouth she was eager to forget, especially with the realization of what she had just said.

“Oh-crap,” Jones said, “Commander! That ship is powering-up! And we have thirty seconds until that scanning beam hits us!”

Two seconds later Sandberg and Connors tumbled through the boarding hatch to the bridge coughing violently with red cut areas on their faces and hands. Smith noted they looked like they had been darn-freakin’-nearly been mauled by a freaking-huge bear! This sight brought back nightmares he had years ago about camping trips that turned into close-calls. Smith also noticed a couple of bruised areas on both of their faces. He helped Connors up and into the sickbay area with the ship’s doctor who helped Sandberg; both were lifted into individual medical bunk bays as the doctor retrieved a scanning device from their pocket and began running scans as part of determining how to heal both of them. Additional tests would be forthcoming. Smith secured their sidearms in the storage unit behind the Operations station.

Smith snapped. “Jorgensen?”

“Almost. . .there!” he said with a struggle.

Ten seconds seemed to go by in an instant, then Smith repeated himself, “Jorgensen!”

“C’mon! C’MON! C’MON!” Jorgensen shouted, realizing the timing. This shot through the tunnel from engineering leading to the bridge like a shot from a sidearm.

Connors abruptly grabbed Smith’s left arm and pulled him close as the doctor was entering data into her medical bunk. She coughed hard twice in desperation and then grumbled, “They’ve-got-‘im!” she collapsed, staring at Smith. One of the bunk’s medical alerts sounded. The doctor shoved Smith out of the way and continued medical diagnostics.

“What the heck were they exposed to over there? What kind of weapon could cause this kind of damage?”

“I have no idea,” Smith replied gasping, looking at Connors as he stepped back and returned to the center seat.

“I’m still not getting a response from the captain’s headgear—not even so much as a transponder signal,” Hayes declared over her shoulder. As Hayes faced forward, she wondered, what the heck happened over there?

The doctor immediately activated medical containment grids that formed around the two occupied medical bunks. Their respective occupants’ vital sign readings displayed on a long horizontal holographic display below each occupied bunk.

Smith faced forward, eyeing the gargantuan ship in the viewscreen as the running lights quickly became brighter.

“They’re powering-up! Looks like they’re only powering their engines and—weapons!”

“Wilson, put some distance between us in case they activate their defensive matrix!” Smith commanded. Whatever defensive shielding technology that ship used, it would likely destroy Odyssey if they didn’t get outta the way. . . The reality of what had begun in the last two minutes was starting to sink-into Smith’s psyche: the assigned captain of this ship was no longer on-board—he was somewhere on that ship that was getting underway with their objective still on-board. His thoughts suddenly raced with possibilities as to what was going on over there. Was the captain okay? Was he still alive? How come the phasing array didn’t bring him back with the rest of the away team? What went on over there that prevented that? He considered a few answer possibilities, then pushed them into the back of his mind so he could focus on what he quickly realized he needed to do next, pointing at the viewscreen—“Follow-that-ship!”

“Aye!”

“They’re headed toward the same point in this—wherever this is.”

“Increasing to full sublight!”

A sensor alert sounded. “That beam is gaining on us! Ten seconds to impact!”

The front of the bridge turned around for an instant as Jorgensen looked through the tunnel to the bridge, “GOT IT!”

Computer sounds filled the bridge for several seconds and then the bridge attention was on Jones who abruptly announced, “STEALTH FIELD UPGRADE: COMPLETE! The beam hit the upgraded stealth field and passed right around us!—No sign we’ve been detected!”

A wave of fist-pumping lasted for a few seconds as attention on the bridge went back to the new data coming in from virtually every computer station. Smith noted the stars had become visible through a seemingly small area ahead. He leaned forward, “Steady. Steady.”

Wilson knew Smith was talking to him and nodded acknowledgment. Smith was rapidly adjusting the digital/holographic flight controls to keep Odyssey ‘level’ with their target, and within about 200 meters behind them (a struggle that wasn’t getting easier by the second) as both ships rapidly approached the opening and sharply flew through.

“We’re in open space!”

The alien ship immediately began changing course. Smith’s curiosity about where they were headed suddenly overwhelmed him as he looked at Wilson, “Can you get any idea as to where they’re headed?”

Wilson gathered some navigational data, did some computations for a couple of seconds and then looked over his shoulder at Smith.

“Where?” Smith asked.

“They’re headed for Union Space.”

“They’re headed for. . .” Jones lowered her head slightly, “Union Space.”

Smith sat upright in his chair and rubbed his face as thoughts about what might happen in the coming hours—if that? he wondered—burned across his synapses. That ship's huge—an attack would most likely be an act of hilarious futility, he reminded himself, recalling their having opened fire on that alien carrier earlier. . . Yeah, he wasn’t eager to re-live that experience if he could avoid it for reasons that were. He took a deep breath and brushed his hands over his face and tried to compute the apparent situational variables—it took seconds before he realized—or at least decided, for now—at this point, this ship and its crew were seriously out of their league, tactically, and strategically. He continued mulling over in the back of his head that behemoth of a ship and assumed its crew compliment hilariously out-numbered those on Odyssey. 

He looked over the flurry of technical data filling Jones’ computer screen—she had started doing generalized scans to find out as much as she reasoned could-be-determined shy of consulting with Sandberg for a more finite tactical analysis which would essentially run scans whose results would be like looking at the ship from an exploded point-of-view, versus the possible counting how many hairs were in that ship’s captain’s nose—if they had a nose. Yeah, they didn’t want to get that much information, and the primary sensors were set to only gather particular data about the sensor contact, at least as far as whatever they were lucky enough to be able to pick up versus any interference. And there were gaps in the data, but Jones was gathering plenty, so far, despite. Smith was assimilating the data a little faster now that his tactical interest had been piqued. Subconsciously, he wanted to find a way in and through, briefly contemplating a rescue mission. But how would he even so much as try to do something like that? He asked himself, recalling the lack of security personnel, not to mention any onboard special forces contingent that could, he guessed, aboard that ship or do something else really clever to rescue this ship’s captain—and then there was the question about the Olyphium. He harshly asked himself what are we supposed to do now? This much contradicted his prior thought, leaving him at an inescapable conclusion—

Smith looked at Hayes, “Get me New Horizon. Use Priority Channel ‘Alpha’. Now.” 

*****

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

Another reader told Jordan Foutin about his novel, DANIEL STORM, "Absolutely life changing. God bless you for this piece of art."

DANIEL STORM, a Jordan Foutin eBook, is available for $8.99 at any of these fine online retailers: 

smashwords.com (Remember to like and share!)

apple iBooks (This link is best viewed on iPhone or iPad)

barnesandnoble.com 

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kobo.com

blio.com

Make sure to buy your copy today, and like and share!

Make sure to like the official StormTeam Simulations Facebook page for the latest, including when DANIEL STORM will be available on Amazon.com for Kindle eBook and softcover! Coming soon!

The Quantum Leap - Part 11

“Jones, can you get through their hull with our sensors at this range?” Aaen asked directly.

She made a few attempts in rapid succession, then slapped her knees leaned back and then turned her head disappointingly.

“Negative. Whatever they’ve done with their hull is blocking our scans.” Frankly, if a scanning beam of that amplitude can’t detect what’s going on in there, I seriously doubt anything Odyssey has will get through either, Jones noted. What Odyssey has isn’t so much as a fraction as powerful. Shoot!—They had eight minutes left. She looked at Smith. He read the look on her face and gasped.

“DANG IT!” Connors shouted slapping her desk and then facepalming with both hands. Half of the crew looked at her.

“What?” Smith asked.

“They cut me off! I only got 62 percent of their database. . .I’m decompiling the data. Maybe I can figure out who they are, and what they’re doing here?”

“Good thinking,” Smith legitimately complimented Connors’. “Let me know what you find out,” he commanded calmly and directly and went back to his work.

“Where are we at on the stealth field upgrade?” Aaen asked.

The engineer checked his screen, scanned the data, processed it as fast as he was capable and then quickly formulated an answer. “Almost done!”

“Will it be completed before that beam hits us?”

“Will it be enough to keep us from being detected?” Jones added without missing a beat. Aaen and Smith noted the panic building in her voice; she was still mostly focused on the data feeding to her screen.

Jorgensen scanned his screen. The technical data was as extensive as it was detailed. He read the data as quickly as comprehension allowed and then replied, “I think so! I’ve got every one of the engineering drones working on the upgrade as-we-speak. It shouldn’t take much longer. I’ll keep you updated, Commander.” and with that, the engineer sat upright and hastily worked to complete the upgrade.

—There was no more time to worry about this, Aaen decided without blinking. We have to find the Olyphium, Aaen told himself immediately. This thought struck Aaen like a heavy inflated rubber ball in the back. If we can’t find the Olyphium with our sensors, then we’ll have to try ‘Plan-B’. Aaen gut sank. He was really nervous now. For a few seconds, Aaen’s thoughts went back to year one. Plan-B was typically his least favorite option—and for good reason. He gasped. That quaint little mission development left at least a few crew members at the time with more than bumps and bruises. . . Since then, ordering his subordinates into dangerous situations in dangerous and largely unknown environments became ‘less appealing’—to put it mildly. Of course, everyone came back alive and in one piece, in one manner of speaking or another—but still. . . If Connors couldn’t download the information from their main computer, remotely, there was really only one alternative shy of—

Aaen shook his head, “Connors, Sandberg—you’re with me.” Aaen commanded, fast-walking to the weapons locker to retrieve a sidearm.

Smith looked at Aaen with a look of confusion. “What’s your plan, sir?” he asked directly.

“We’re going aboard that ship. We’ll find the Olyphium, and destroy it before they can distribute it to—” he waved his hand uncertainly, “whoever,”

“How do we know that hasn’t already happened?” Smith asked. We only got so much of their main computer database, and it took a few minutes to get even that far. How do we know the Olyphium isn’t already in the wind? What says we’re not already too late? He wondered.

“Because it’s too quiet.” If they had weaponized the Olyphium and sold it to who-knows-who, we wouldn’t be hovering feet below what has to be an alien battleship of some kind? Aaen wondered, looking back at the HUGE MASS that was ‘technically’ directly below them, relatively speaking. Freak, that ship’s huge! Aaen couldn’t help but note the fact Odyssey was about the same size as one of those running lights on the outside of the alien ship’s hull. Aaen guessed how big that ship really was, and what kind of potential ‘welcoming party’ might be waiting on board—he decided after a few seconds he didn’t want to know. The running lights were tiny from a distance, but up-close they were bright enough and had the numbers to form an effective make-shift runway if it had to be—if that was even possible. Aaen’s gut told him if the ship was huge, odds are: it’s probably armed for bear. He wasn’t prepared or, for that matter, willing to risk an armed confrontation with who or whatever the heck might be controlling of it. Not with so many other ships that, despite being smaller than the one feet away from Odyssey’s outer hull, were still GIGANTUAN compared to Odyssey. In Aaen’s mind, the matter was settled. No more discussion. The fewer subordinate casualties there were as possible at the end of the day, the better.

Connors and Sandberg collected their gear. Aaen took the headset with the video transmitter on the right lens and activated it. He could see clearly through both lenses, but the lens on the right had a special implant that was so fine it was impossible to see, even up close, that transmitted a secure video feed to the bridge that was channeled through Hayes’ computer and was visible in the viewscreen for the crew to watch to monitor what was going on with the away team—more importantly, Smith. The headset also sent a secure transponder beacon signal so it could be tracked on the sensors station.

“Getting a good signal from the monitor!” Hayes declared. A communications alert sounded. “Incoming coded long-range hail from New Horizon!”

Smith snapped. “On-speakers!”

Hayes was an expert at her line of work. In what seemed like seconds later, she turned around and declared, “Line connected! Line is secure!”

Aaen’s back straightened as he faced the viewscreen, “This is Captain Winter.”

“Captain, this is General Hound. Your most recent mission updated has been received.” Aaen, Smith, and the away team looked at Hayes with admiration and nodded at her having done an excellent job. “Our fleet is currently otherwise engaged and are too far away to be able to assist you. We are diverting more ships to support you, but our closest ships are an hour away from your position at maximum translight. Therefore, the British Navy has been discretely apprized of your situation through channels and is deploying the HMS Collins, Bright Bird, and Mason to your sector location. The Italian, German, Canadian, and Indian Navies are also deploying ships throughout several strategically critical space sectors to support also. Acknowledge.”

“Acknowledged, sir,” Aaen responded promptly.

“Further: as soon as possible, the U.S. Navy is deploying the USSC Aurora near your location along with a Shadow team. Captain, the Olyphium cannot be allowed into enemy hands. If you are unable to capture or destroy the Olyphium, the Shadows will take care of it. Further to follow. Out.”

Three low beeps confirmed the line disconnected.

I-won’t-let-that-happen, Aaen decided. “Connors, was the computer connection to you had to their mainframe detected?”

She turned her head, “Doesn’t look like it. They cut off the connection, but I was able to shut down our end of the interface before they could trace it.”

Good, Aaen thought, nodding. Aaen immediately turned to the away team, who were comparably armed as he was. “We board that ship, find the Olyphium, then capture or destroy it. We will take no-unnecessary-risks. Understood?”

The away team nodded in near-unison.

Aaen looked at Connors and Sandberg and nodded, “Let’s go,”

“You should be able to phase through whatever’s blocking our sensors. They seem to be more interested in preventing anyone from detecting whatever’s on board over there.” Jones observed. “The only thing I’m able to detect is minimal atmospheric details: the air is thinner, a couple-dozen degrees warmer, but there’s O2. You should be okay.”

“Understood,” Aaen acknowledged with a nod.

Connors and Sandberg followed Aaen to the phase pad, which was lit-up while in standby mode.

“I’ll get you over there,” Smith declared. He knew how to operate the phase pad, and was pretty good at it judging by the simulations from year-three, Aaen recalled. “Good luck.” What Smith omitted was that he had doubts about the plan, given the lack of pertinent data that would have put his doubts at ease. They still didn’t know what flag their destination flew under. Will they shoot first and ask questions later? Assuming Odyssey was even detected? What—if anything—does The Union know about whoever might be serving as a crew on that ship? They still didn’t know if there was going to be a ‘welcome party’ waiting for them, or not. . . Oh well. He told himself. He had a chance to voice any objections but he chose to hold back out of seemingly blind trust in Aaen’s judgment. He wondered, maybe he was right? There were all those simulations in year three. . .

Smith closed the hatch to the Phase Pad with his shoulder then immediately climbed up to and then sat at the Operations computer, pulled up the Phase Pad controls, entered the away team’s destination coordinates, and then activated the Pad.

The Pad gradually dimmed to cave darkness, and then the away team noticed the air was quickly getting thinner, and a lot warmer.

—Freak, it was hot! Aaen noted, wide-eyed and gasping hard, anxiously and quietly to get oxygen. This proved to be a struggle that he quickly learned was going to take more than a few seconds to get over. Seconds later, the away team’s new surroundings put them instantly on-edge.

Holy-shoot—Smith thought, sitting in the center seat and watching the video feed on the viewscreen. The inside of the away team’s destination was totally unlike what he had seen before. Smith was as anxious as he’d been in years. This was the first time he could recall when he faced the possibility of reporting to a flag officer that he hadn’t insisted on going on a dangerous away mission into an environment that they knew virtually nothing about aside from the fact that the ‘prize’ might still be on board. It was a big risk to take, especially professionally, and if the away mission went south, it would likely affect him personally for the rest of his life because he would have to live with himself knowing that whatever went wrong would have affected him, instead of the captain, and he likely would have been promoted after the fact. Part of him was having second thoughts—but it was too late for that now. Three crew members were separated from the rest of the ship, and all the rest of the crew could do at this point was watch and hope that nothing bad happens. . . Smith wasn’t the only one making two discrete fists to try to offset the negative emotions he was trying to hide. Stay focused, he told himself.

Everything Aaen looked at through the headgear was immediately and simultaneously being analyzed with different colored highlights, lines, and shapes by the main computer. Technical details appeared in various corners of the viewscreen, even down to molecular composition. “Odyssey, confirm five-by-five?”

“Roger that, Cap,” Smith responded immediately. That ship was so–dark, Smith noted. The aliens on board probably are used to a darker environment; ‘why’ was the next question that crossed his mind, but he dismissed it subconsciously to focus back on the away team—he leaned forward and put his weight on his elbows on his knees and coupled his hands. A darker interior means less visibility—he suddenly felt like someone punched him in the chest as the flurry of tactical possibilities burned across the back of his mind.

Aaen gestured for the away team to form a triangular formation—Sandberg and Connors nodded followed the order instantly; Aaen was the top of the triangle. He was taking cover around some kind of curved bulkhead. He gave the ship some credit one immediately evident detail: up close, it looked like it was built to take a real-heavy-beating. . .as though the new Odyssey was a technological quantum leap compared to where they had come from, and they hadn’t tested everything yet. He had never seen such hard-and-heavy duty infrastructure before. How are these aliens able to get from deck to deck? Looking around sharply, nothing appeared to be an internal elevator system. He had a hard time believing a ship this size was controlled remotely, much less that it could even be plausibly a drone. Then there was that churning gut feeling. He peeked left around from cover with his sidearm up.

“Cap, the data feed from your headgear is solid. The data suggests there are hundreds of organic life signs on board, not including the away team. Some of the life signs are above you, at the same level, and below you. Whatever that ship’s infrastructure’s comprised of, it’s preventing any absolute readings beyond twenty meters from your current location.”

This gave Jones an idea. She quickly scanned through Odyssey’s deployable technology—Odyssey had been a ‘science’ ship (a very debatable classification for this ship) and was now what was effectively a cross between spy and infiltrator ship and a cruiser. Five minutes left on the clock. She noted this data and handed it to Smith who read it and then looked back at the viewscreen, analyzing as much tactical and technical data as comprehension allowed. “Cap, the prize appears to be one level above you, and about fifty meters ahead.” Smith knew Aaen could see this on his headgear, but Smith also knew reading the data out to the away team helped the odds of the away team’s return to the ship safely were as high as they could be.

Jones recorded a suggestion and then handed it to Smith. He read it as quickly as the last updated she gave him. “You sure about this?” Smith asked her a second later.

Jones nodded.

Smith gave back the holographic fiberglass readout. “Standby,”

Jones returned to her station and began preparing her ‘suggestion’.

“Roger that, Odyssey,” Aaen was improvising at this point. There had to be a way to get there—he looked around briefly and then he gestured to Sandberg and Connors to proceed down the corridor. They kept their weapons up, panning right and left to the end of the corridor. The away team held and then Sandberg and Connors looked at Aaen. He nodded, gesturing for the away team to turn right. Aaen was following the yellow and blue highlights along the near-cave-dark corridor.

This corridor eventually branched off into at least two more eight right or left—all the same, there didn’t appear to be any adjacent rooms or other significant points of cover, in case there were any surprises.

We need more eyes over there, Smith reasoned, turned to Jones. “Ready?”

She nodded at him.

“On my command,” Smith ordered. Jones nodded acknowledgment.

The next gesture was to go left. . . Do the aliens really not know we’re here? Aaen wondered, reinforcing his hand position on his sidearm’s grip, keeping the sights sharply aligned as far ahead and between Connors and Sandberg as he could see—

Sandberg put his sidearm in his left hand as his right sharply rose. MOVEMENT!  Sandberg gestured with his right hand, his sidearm sharply moved two inches left. Aaen gestured to hold. The trio stopped cold.

“Odyssey to away team: you’re directly below the prize’s location,” Smith declared.

“Roger,” Aaen replied whispered.

“Cap, Jones has a suggestion that she believes will likely give us a tactical edge,”

“Go ahead,” Aaen replied, indicating he wanted to hear more.

“She suggests deploying a liquid metal infiltration probe through one of the running lights along the alien ship’s ventral hull. She thinks it would be a viable way of confirming the prize’ location and would enable us to capture or destroy the prize, if necessary.”

“Copy that,” Aaen replied.

“She is standing by to deploy the probe on your command,” If the order came through, a football-sized metal ‘egg’ would launch from one of the forward torpedo tubes and then self-navigate to the coordinates Jones programmed into the probe’s navigational array. The probe would electromagnetically hover over the coordinates on the hull, and then the probe would travel in a perfect line between the running light and the hull. From there, Jones would pilot the probe through the ship’s inner workings. After reaching a tactically-advantageous vantage point, then solidify, like a fly on the wall, except it would be inside the wall, blending in as superbly as possible, and then the technology the probe was deployed with would become apparent.

“Odyssey,” Aaen’s whisper filled the bridge. “Do it.” The sounds of footsteps and the subtle echo of distant mumbling that was getting closer with every tick of the clock.

Smith nodded at Jones. She launched the probe, immediately nodding at Smith. He sat back in the center seat.

*****

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

Another reader told Jordan Foutin about his novel, DANIEL STORM, "Absolutely life changing. God bless you for this piece of art."

DANIEL STORM, a Jordan Foutin eBook, is available for $8.99 at any of these fine online retailers: 

smashwords.com (Remember to like and share!)

apple iBooks (This link is best viewed on iPhone or iPad)

barnesandnoble.com 

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kobo.com

blio.com

Make sure to buy your copy today, and like and share!

Make sure to like the official StormTeam Simulations Facebook page for the latest, including when DANIEL STORM will be available on Amazon.com for Kindle eBook and softcover! Coming soon!

The Quantum Leap - Part 10

“Understood.” Aaen sat upright in his chair. The line closed with a trio of low beeps. 

New orders came in. Aaen was expecting something along the lines of search-and-destroy—but no, he got a pleasant surprise. As odd as it would seem, Aaen silently relished the thought of what this crew had been asked to do. There was a new sense of benevolent ‘sinister’ excitement swelling within him. No innocents were going to get hurt, that much was an assurance to him. His gut tingled somewhat at the fact the objective was so close—

“Crestax’s ship is docking with that larger alien carrier ship to port,” Jones declared. The ship gradually entered one of the seemingly numerous ports along the port-ventral side of the dark, daunting hull—it looked like a giant metal monster that, from the crew’s perspective, was pretending not to know Odyssey was there. And there was no telling if they had managed to break the communications encryption. . . There was no time to think about that now, Aaen told himself. Finding the Olyphium was not going to be easy. Aaen wasn’t going to kid himself about what was going to have to happen—and to be done. Then there was a silent question about how to get out of this . . . wherever this is, Aaen smirked. Accomplish the objective, then—out. For an instant, he wanted to know what their next assignment would be but chose to focus on the objective at hand. He guessed the escape plan was probably going to present itself—maybe.

Aaen scanned the viewscreen and winced, focusing on the lower-left-hand corner of the unbelievably clear picture. “You’re on thrusters, Commander. Bring us up and under that thing’s ventral hull. Prepare to soft-dock.”

“Their hull is—jeez!—polarized, somehow. We won’t be able to soft-dock. Not without turning Odyssey into a lightning rod.”

Aaen made a fist as another decision surfaced—“Wilson, bring us within five meters of their hull. Connors! Prepare to interface with their main computer and then download their database. We’re going to transmit that data to New Horizon as soon as possible.”

“Understood! Standing by!”

The closer they got, the more overwhelmingly massive their destination became. Wilson maneuvered Odyssey around 180 degrees and then used the up thrusters to inch them into position. He turned his head and asked, “Is that good?”

“Good! Hold position here!” Connors was rapidly busy working to break through firewalls and other security measures that had, at least for an instant, had her stunned . . . and then—

“GOT IT!”

“Find out where the Olyphium is,” Aaen commanded.

Smith ran to Connors’ computer to oversee her work—an unnecessary measure, but he was curious about the progress. Smith scanned the screen and then looked at Aaen, “We’ve got access to their main computer mainframe! I’m downloading everything they’ve got in their mainframe.” She knew what she needed to do after that. The thought lingered in the back of her mind as she worked—constantly fretting the concept of being detected.

“There’s an ultra-high-intensity scanning beam being generated by some kind of an array. I’m trying to find the array’s location . . . The beam will be passing through this area in fifteen minutes!”

“Is the stealth field enough to protect us from it?” Smith asked.

“Unknown. I’d say it’s possible, considering the amplitude of the beam. . . Oh gosh! There’s a fleet of cruisers heading in this direction. No identification, yet, but on their current course, they’ll be close enough to read our hull markings by the time that beam hits us . . .” she worked the controls on her station. “Shoot. The team’s amplitude is so high it could potentially cause a disruption in the main power systems.”

“That’s probably the reason why there aren’t other comparably-sized ships out there. They’re being shielded somehow by being docked with those larger ships.” Smith suggested, turned around, “There’s gotta be a way to protect ourselves.”

“Jones?” Aaen asked directly.

“Working on it,” and working she was, Smith noted.  He hadn’t seen anyone type that fast since year two at the academy. She started turning her head subtly, a gesture that Smith drew concern from.

“Alien database is twenty-five percent copied.” Connors declared.

Jones’ screen flashed thrice. She was immediately silent at whatever data had come through. Smith leaned over her shoulder—Jones was oblivious to his being there for the moment because she was so focused on her work—and eyed the data . . . He gasped heavy, processing the data in his head, albeit not as expertly as Jones would have, reading the data as quickly as comprehension enabled him to. . . He stood upright and looked at Aaen with a look of shock and alarm with the realization burning in the back of his mind: ten minutes until that beam hits us.

*****

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

Another reader told Jordan Foutin about his novel, DANIEL STORM, "Absolutely life changing. God bless you for this piece of art."

DANIEL STORM, a Jordan Foutin eBook, is available for $8.99 at any of these fine online retailers: 

smashwords.com (Remember to like and share!)

apple iBooks (This link is best viewed on iPhone or iPad)

barnesandnoble.com 

scribd.com 

kobo.com

blio.com

Make sure to buy your copy today, and like and share!

Make sure to like the official StormTeam Simulations Facebook page for the latest, including when DANIEL STORM will be available on Amazon.com for Kindle eBook and softcover! Coming soon!