by Robert Culp
Once our shuttle is on the way back to Prophecy I call Athena. “The specimen gathering has been green lighted. Launch the probe, but make sure it makes a slow, gentle, non-threatening approach to the surface and entrance to the ocean. I don’t want them to think we’re attacking in any way. Notify Secretary Robar—Darius Robar III to be specific—and inform him of the plan. He probably won’t take the message directly. His office should know whom to inform. Also, see what you can find out about the current goings on of the Malorian Empire. Include that in my IntSum tomorrow.” I receive an Intelligence Summary every morning we’re not in Transit. Usually, it's a short, boring blurb.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Rikk is already on the bridge when I get there. “I’m sure the planetology department will want to tour the deserts. The protective details are authorized ‘defensive weapons only.’ I’m not sure exactly what that means—”
“It means ‘no rifles or other long weapons,’” He says, interrupting me. “I can work with that, pistols will do. But I dislike sending anyone into a place like that without armor.”
“So no marauder armor. Wraith only and they go into stealth mode before they disembark the shuttle. Can you work with that?”
“All day long, skipper. I’ll make it happen,” he leaves the bridge. Note to self: Stealthy armor needs stealthy weapons.
“The probe will launch in two minutes, a slow, graceful and gentle entry to the seas is programmed into the guidance system. A preview of tomorrow's IntSum: Malor, as we all know, is in the adjacent MaCumbrian sector. Trelnar, as a reminder, is in the Lesper sector. The distance is significant and it would take us almost as long to get to Atlas as it would Malor from here. Malor occupies a region in excess of nine hundred times the size of the Ramaris Sector. It is ruled by the self-styled Galactic Emperor Ramesis Jirrir.”
“I know that name,” I say with my chin on my hand. “Where have I heard it?”
“Captain Richards of Centurion stated that his ship was in the service of an Emperor Ramesis Jirrir.”
“That’s right!” I say, snapping my fingers. “And he made that point a number of times as I recall.”
“Correct. The Malorian Empire is currently at war with the Gauhn Federation, but they are also in several ‘cold’ wars with an extensive list of other societies also in as many sectors.”
“The Gauhn? That’s unfortunate. The memoirs of Lord and Lady Collins speak very highly of them. We may find ourselves on the wrong end of someone’s injured feelings.” I bite my lip, considering. “On a happier note, do you think this would be a good time to test the stealth fighter?”
“So far the Malorian vessel has done nothing but attempt to be intimidating,” Celeste says as she enters the bridge. “I for one have yet to feel the inclination to be impressed. I conclude that if they detect a small vessel maneuvering in the area they will do little more than say, ‘Hey, knock it off.’”
“Welcome back, I must have missed the announcement of your return. How was your trip?”
“A complete waste of time, thanks for asking,” she says unable to hide her disgust. “I tried numerous avenues but they all told me I needed approval from the Ministry of Galactic Affairs. And every time I pointed out that’s where you were I was told—almost verbatim—that until I could produce a document of assent granting access I was welcome to look around but no doors would be opened nor questions answered.”
“If it helps, you have my appreciation for doing what I asked of you in a proficient manner. And you have my condolences at having come up empty-handed. And realizing that it’s coming a day late and a credit short, I’ll see that you have that document ASAP. It may already be on the CASCOM site, but I’m not sure as I haven’t looked for it.”
“It does help, but I need a touch of personal maintenance.”
“Right!” I say as I stand up. “The two of you figure out whose watch it is; I’m going to the experimental hangar.”
“Athena, it’s your watch,” Celeste follows me to the door. “I’m going to take a shower and have a stiff drink. Or four.”
“Cap’, I don’t mean no harm,” the mechanic says wiping a dirty face with a dirtier sleeve. “But that stealth mode, if it works at all, has to be tested in space. Biggest reason bein’ I don’t trust atmosphere not to peel that coating off her hull like the skin off a banana. But, she’s as ready for a test run as I know how to make her.” The mechanic is keeping his tone serious but it’s hard for me to keep a straight face while Gorb is behind him giving me double thumbs up and a big toothy grin.
“It’ll work Cap’m Shownya. They had some things on good but I put ’em on gooder.”
“Your opinion?” I asked Shawna to meet me here while I was on my way. She’s uncharacteristically slow to answer.
“I can’t speak for the engineering aspect of it,” she says. “But all of the daily inspections and such from the crew chief come back green. So from an operational point of view, it’s ready to go.”
“Excellent,” I say. “Find a pilot—not you—and let’s get it outside.”
“I figured you’d keep me from it, so I slated Alexis Merrimar as test pilot. She’s good. Not as good as me, but then who is?” she flips her hair and flashes her winning smile.
“Nobody!” Gorb answers. “Shawna flies like Gorb fixes!”
“What he said,” I answer. “Get Alexis spun up and launched.”
“There’s the lucky young girl now.” A pilot approaches us and stops. She doesn’t say anything but does put her helmet in her left hand and gives something between a salute and a wave. It’s the pilot that brought us to Prophecy initially.
“Merrimar,” Shawna says. “Go forth, fly recon patrol pattern seven, and don’t get detected. If you are detected, don’t get decisively engaged. If it starts to go sideways, squawk your ident beacon on AA4 and eject. We’ll figure out a way to get you.”
“Beg pardon, ma’am,” she says slowly “but I thought all small craft were forbidden—”
“You let me worry about that,” I interrupt her. “Your mission is to bring back yourself and that ship. If you can’t do that, when you sing out a location, we’ll come get you. And I’ll worry about the how and sweat the aftermath. Do we have a deal?”
“Yes’m,” she nods. “If y’all will excuse me, I’ve got a hop to make.”
“Commander Landers.” It’s unusual for me to address her by name and rank. But now, it’s kind of for the benefit of the mechanic, Gorb, Merrimar, and anyone else who can hear us. “I’m going to Flight Operations. Once she’s in flight, I expect you to join me there. I’m interested in tracking and telemetry on this bird.” Without waiting for an answer, I walk away.
“Uh, Cap’,” the mechanic says as he matches pace with me. “If the system works, you won’t get any information or telemetry from there.”
“That’s what I’m hoping for. Hence my interest.”
“Be there directly, Captain.” I hear Shawna say as the door to the flight deck closes.
On my way to FlightOps I call Athena. “Just for fun, get passive target locks on that cruiser. If they get too antsy and start a shooting war, I want to be prepared to knock them flat on their backs.”
“Wilco, Captain,” Athena answers. “As a point of interest, we have identified three double missile turrets and three triple laser turrets. We cannot, of course, ascertain their top speed. At this time, we detect no active targeting sensors from them.” Unless they have some surprises for us, which is a distinct possibility, we should have the advantage if any shooting starts. But if they get off the first shot and we don’t detect it with enough warning, it’s going to hurt. Of course, it’s just as likely they have been painting us with passive locks since we got here.
“Roger that, I’m just guessing but I suspect that they may be able to pull off Maneuver Three. So we’ll plan for Maneuver Four, anyway. Be advised, on my authority a fighter has been launched for not quite routine patrol.”
“Acknowledg
ed, we saw it on the status board. I presume—given your qualifying words—that it is the stealth ship.”
“Perceptive as ever,” I smirk at my perCom. “Alert me if the cruiser changes any aspect or begins to act in a threatening manner.”
“Wilco, ma’am.”
Inside FlightOps, there’s a huddle around one of the tracking monitors. The crew starts to disperse when I enter the room, “Relax, I get it. Everyone wants to see how the stealth bird acts. Just give me a spot to watch from and we’re all fine.”
“Coffee or tea, captain?” One of the senior operators is poised at the machine.
“Whichever you’re having is fine with me.” A stool appears behind the seated departure monitor operators. I sit there and thank the chief for the coffee.
“Spooky is away,” I hear Merrimar’s voice over the holoCom. It’s distorted by the stealth field effect, which was not unexpected. Signals from the wraith armor are similarly affected.
“Still ‘Spooky’?” I ask.
“She wanted us to call her ‘Ghost Rider,’” the chief says. “Commander Landers’ response was something akin to ‘Oh hells to the no.’ I really think Alexis was on the verge of tears.”
“Primarily because,” Shawna says as she enters the room, “No one is authorized a call sign more threatening than mine.”
“Oh?” I say sipping my coffee. “And what’s yours?”
“‘Thrumlee.’”
“Sounds cute,” I say with a smirk. “Does it translate?”
“‘Nightmare,’” she says. “Roughly anyway.”
All I can do is nod as the chief gives the pilot permission to begin maneuvering. “Spooky you are free to prosecute your assigned recon route.”
“Does the bird show on your monitor, chief?” Shawna asks.
“It does, ma’am,” I’m disappointed. “But I was looking for it, I knew when, where, and what to look for. If I hadn’t, I don’t think I would have been able to spot her.”
“On a scale of zero to a hundred,” I say, “with zero being ‘a blind bat can find her’ and a hundred being ‘she’s as invisible as wind’ how effective would you rate the ship?”
“Hmm, I’d probably say it’s about ninety, plus or minus one. Excuse me, ma’am,” he turns back to the holoCom. “Spooky this is Prophecy have you started your patrol yet?”
“Affirmative, Prophecy, all systems are green. Why do you ask?”
“No particular reason, Prophecy out.”
“Why did you ask?” Shawna demands.
“Because from what I detected when she left, she’s still just outside the small craft bay.”
“Did she spoofer us?” One of the techs asks.
“Unclear, run a background diagnostics check and—shit, she’s gone now. The smart kids must have given you an ECM package, Cap’m. Okay team, this isn’t funny anymore. We know there’s a fighter out there, find it.”
All heads turn into their stations.
I lean into Shawna, “‘Spoofer’?”
“A jamming technique, something in the electronics projects a false image, sometimes multiple images, nowhere near the actual vessel. There are other tools available, I asked for an Electronic Counter Measures box to be installed. The slang term is ‘jammer.’ Apparently it was and is operating just fine. It should also have an ECCM unit, Electronic Counter Counter Measures, which she would use if she were being tracked.”
“Which the stealth field should render unnecessary,” I say.
“Operative word being ‘should.’ I decided I’d rather she have it and not need it.”
“Agreed.”
Ten minutes later the Merrimar’s distorted voice comes through the holoCom. “Prophecy, Spooky. Patrol route seven is complete, no unusual activity to report. I’d like to exercise patrol plan bravo four.”
I look to Shawna, “She wants to buzz the planet,” she says. “Probably to see if they’ll pick her up on commercial or military systems.”
I’m considering allowing it when Athena calls from the bridge. “Captain, one of the probes has returned and will be digitally debriefed soon. More importantly, the cruiser is hailing us. They are asking for you by name. I am patching the message to you now.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Captain MacTaggert, this is Captain Skorsi of the Malorian battleship Konsyoga. We have been monitoring your message traffic; have you been conducting combat patrols? I wish to remind you that doing so is a violation of the conditions of your visit here and hence an act of war.”
“Greetings Captain Skorsi. I am unaware of any such traffic. I will investigate. Stand by please.” I mute the perCom and count to fifteen then open the circuit again. “Thank you for your patience. My flight operations team and pilots have been practicing patrol communication procedures but the ships have not launched. I am informed that the personnel involved neglected to switch their comms and used typical flight frequencies rather than attach hard-wired communication systems. I have directed them to use hard-wired communication only for the duration of the exercise.”
“An easy mistake, Captain. Thank you for your prompt attention. As we detect no craft, we were curious.”
“Of course, Captain. Thank you for your understanding. MacTaggert out.” I turn to Shawna, “We’ll call this flight a success. Send Merrimar an encrypted message on an alternate frequency to return. I’m not willing to push the limits today. Maybe later, but not today.”
“Yes, ma’am. Just out of curiosity, say sometime in the future if you should catch me—”
“If you ever lie to me the way I lied to him and I find out about it, things will not go well for you. There is no statute of limitations. Understood?”
“Perfectly. Before you go, I’d ask you to consider something. I overheard that a probe had returned. The cruiser and the surface stations know we are sending them, what if we have Merrimar shadow one on the way back down? They’ll see something but it will be a something they’ll expect. If they see two somethings, we’ll know the smart kids need to scratch their heads some more.”
“Y’know, Shawna, for a pretty girl you have some great ideas now and again.”
“As you’re one of my best friends I’ll let that slide,” she says. “This time.”
“I’ll get the comms tech on duty to find a channel outside the typical range; you coordinate with Merrimar about her mission. I’ll give you a shout if it looks like the channel hunt will take too long. Also, coordinate with the small craft bay about when to launch that probe again. Have Merrimar move—”
“Excuse me,” she holds her hands up. “You’re getting into my business now, Captain. You tend to Prophecy; I’ll tend to the small craft wing.” She’s right. At least she was tactful about it. More or less.
“Very well,” I say as I leave my stool and head for the door. “You have your instructions and I believe you understand my intent. I’ll be on the bridge.”
“Aye, ma’am.”
It takes a bit longer than I would prefer, but we do eventually find a channel that is apparently not being used. Chief Nicholson listened to dead air for five minutes to verify nothing was being transmitted. Then pushed a sixty cycle hum out for two minutes and listened for another five. Hearing no response, she recommends and I declare that band safe to operate on. There’s no guarantee that the Malorians—or anybody else, for that matter—wasn’t listening. But if they were, they didn’t question it. I do hope I’m not sending Merrimar into a trap.
I call Shawna to pass the news on to her. “And while I have you, I presume you’ve told her to keep her cameras rolling during all of those hot dog passes, yes? Information is always useful. And have her employ no active jammers other than the stealth system.”
“From last to first, that was drilled into her head when she was tasked with the mission. And yes, she’ll keep the belly cameras recording once she can get a good picture. She’s ready, the probe is ready, and with your permission we’ll get this thing going.”
“Ma
ke it happen, Commander.”
“Landers out.”
I settle back in my seat on the bridge. There’s not really a whole lot to do when everything is delegated out to capable personnel.
“The probe is away,” Celeste announces. Seems some down time and a shower did her some good. “FlightOps advises that the stealth fighter reports she is following it. We can’t confirm that though.”
The minutes tick by. “The probe has entered the atmosphere, and presumably the fighter has as well.”
“Captain,” the weapons officer, Dagmar I believe is his name, says: “Two fighters have launched from the cruiser.”
That’s not good. “Course?”
“They are heading for the surface of the planet. They don’t appear to be tracking our probe, but I can’t say for certain that they aren’t.”
“We’ll not panic until there’s a clear and present reason to do so. Advise FlightOps, have them notify the pilot. And tell Commander Landers to ready the alert fighters, but do not launch until my command.”
FlightOps reports that Merrimar flies over several cities and smaller built up areas. She is keeping a high altitude and low velocity so she doesn’t break the sound barrier. It looks like she’s completely invisible to their sensors. But not their eyes.
“Prophecy this is Spooky; it appears they’ve made me. I’m ducking into the cloud cover for a bit then RTB.”
“Spooky, Prophecy roger that,” I hear Shawna reply. “Are they following?”
“Roger, odd design for a fighter though, I’m shaking them pretty easy. There they go, went right by. I’m out of the atmosphere in two shakes.”
“Two ships entering the system,” Athena announces. “Two hours from orbit, initial readings they are similar to Ramarian class 200 patrol cruisers, identity and origin unknown.”
“Navigator?” I ask.
“If I were headed to Vlondra,” he answers after a brief study of his almanac, “that’s the vector I’d take. That’s my best guess, Captain.”
