The Depths - Part 8

    The bright, blazing emerald green translight funnel chaotically swirled for nearly a light-year ahead. The border patrol had gone smoothly, and then the sudden change of orders alarmed everyone. Literally, the captain smirked at his view screen. The long red lights on the walls, ceiling, and lining the deck plating faded in and out throughout his heavy cruiser. His ship was at alert condition three—yellow, danger possible, all hands to duty stations and standby for orders from the chain of command. The latest intelligence report suggested that casualties were now a possibility. The last thing he wanted to do was give the order to fire his ship's weapons, some of which were experimental, but three of The Union's finest supercomputers projected what they were capable of. He did not look forward to that, but he would if he had to. The bridge clock was counting down to their arrival: T-minus fifteen minutes–forty seconds until the helmsman would bring the ship out of translight and into sublight velocity.
    The yeoman acted as though he was working; he glanced around the bridge a few times, took a few mental notes, and then walked to the anti-gravity lift. When the doors closed behind him, he activated the hidden monitor implanted under his skin and began fingering a message, addressing it to his four-star superior officer.
    “Another Union ship is coming to the rendevous point. Heavily armed, shielded, and armored. The crew is capable. Immediate tactical advantage. Will send data on defensive systems when able to ensure tactical vulnerability. Comm silence until then. Tracker active. Good luck. 

    -End of Message.” 

    The yeoman used a special encoding method to mask his transmission and then sent the message on a piggy-pack of the ship's tertiary communications array. He powered off the monitor, pulled his sleeve down his forearm, started the antigravity lift to a few random destinations, changed his holographic outfit to his default outfit appearance, and then began working to open the anti-grav's roof hatch. There was more work to be done if the plan was to succeed. 

*****

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

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