Dark Echoes - Part 1

He recognized that smell, it was like soap—but he couldn’t venture a guess as to where it was coming from. And that sound. . . He was lying down on what he therefore reasoned was a comfortable, padded biobed in the sickbay. The subtle, pronounced beeps of the vital signs monitor, and the smell of some food that he immediately in the back of his mind decided he was going to ‘save’ for later. He recalled the last twelve hours’ developments: Odyssey had received coded orders relayed from New Horizon to report to a Forward Operating Base (FOB) for ship repairs to Odyssey, and crew rest before heading out. . .somewhere. . .where were they headed again? And when? He wondered in silence. His gut told him it would be soon, but the question lingered in his mind. The fact that he knew where he put their new orders gave him a sense of confidence and an internal assurance that no matter what the fine print details were, he would be able to pull them up and then refer to them when the time came. He recalled he was on a biobed because he had been ordered to report to the FOB for physical and psychological evaluation. When one is the hostage in a hostage situation, psychologists, especially in the military, always reason that there is a possibility of long-term psychological effects that could impair one’s ability to command a military vessel, regardless of what it was constructed for. The psychological evals were easy enough, but he wondered about the medical. Something in the back of his mind sent what felt like an electrical zap down his spinal cord and right to his heart where it tickled and then he had a gut feeling that someone with a medical degree was going to come to visit him soon to break the news to him one way or the other, or perhaps someone else who might have those answers, or just a summary of them. He was still wearing his duty uniform.

He opened his eyes and looked around. Yep, it was a medical facility of some sort on a space station. The TV was on and showing the latest news report. The clock in the lower-right-hand corner of the screen said it was 18:00 hours, local time, which he immediately mentally translated to 6pm. He always preferred telling time the way civilians did. Adding an additional hour to the clock for every hour past noon was simple math, but he judged it as being somewhat redundant and unnecessary, even though he understood the underlying reason why the military used that system. An eerie suspicion could turn into something worse and actionable quickly if care wasn’t taken in regards to something as simple as keeping the time. All-things-considered, he didn’t want to think about it anymore. He let his mobile handle that most of the time, anyway, if he had any questions.

Aaen’s attention shifted to a tray table on his right, where he found a small stack of security envelopes bound together in a rubber band. He thumbed through each of the envelopes in no particular order and thumbed them open. There was an envelope from his parents, one from each of his few siblings’, one from a couple of his friends. He read the letters and quickly intellectually metabolized the contents: mom and dad sent their love and shared the fact of mom’s business making substantially more profit this year than last, which translated very handsomely in her take-home income. Dad was up to his usual this-and-that. Aaen’s siblings respective situations were variably the same—in that, they were all happy and taking care of life’s little challenges in one form or another. His friends shared some funny stories that he had a little laugh at . . . he began thinking about taking some shore leave—

A few sharp knocks on his room’s door caused the only door in and out of the room to open slightly. Aaen saw a six-foot-nothing white male with short dark hair and dressed in a black navy officer’s uniform with vice admiral’s rank insignia on the jacket’s wrist cuffs. Aaen tried to stand up and salute but was immediately waved off. The admiral carried his uniform cap under his left elbow and stepped inside the room enough to close the door behind him.

“At ease, Captain,” he ordered calmly, maintain a plain look on his face.

“Admiral,” Aaen said with some anxiety in his voice, an indicator the admiral picked up on but maintained his expression. “What can I do for you, sir?”

“The orders you received, Captain, have been reassigned to two other ships. You need not concern yourself with them anymore.” The admiral said.

Aaen felt like he had been caught slightly off-guard, but accepted the statement with a nod.

“Your medical examination results came back satisfactory. You’ve been cleared by the facility’s Chief Medical Officer to return to duty,” That much was a relief, Aaen decided as the admiral handed him a black security folder that was controlled by a thumbprint scanner on the bottom-right-hand corner of the cover. “What I’ve just handed you are your new orders, effective immediately.” Aaen touched his right thumb to the device which scanned his thumbprint and then unsealed the contents of the folder. Aaen immediately realized the document’s contents were “CLASSIFIED - EYES ONLY”.

He scanned the first paragraph of the document, then wide-eyed look up at the admiral.

“We’ve been hearing some of what has been called ‘dark echoes’ in a region of space we don’t know very much about, and there are some unusual characteristics of these ‘echoes’ that has Union Intelligence feeling a little nervous. Your ship is being repaired as we speak and is being upgraded as-needed, especially the stealth system. You and your crew leave in forty-eight hours. After you complete this mission, you’re eligible to take some shore leave. I believe you have a couple of months saved up.”

Aaen acknowledged what he had been told with a nod and replied, “Yes, sir,” he wondered, nervous about what, exactly?

“After you close that folder, the contents will be destroyed. Your crew is on the recreation deck talking with their families on secure lines. Meet with your crew when you’re ready. Good luck, Captain,” the admiral said with a nod as he exchanged a salute with Aaen, then walked out of the room.

Aaen continued reading the written briefing—

*****

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