"Possibly." I need to stall for a second while I think how to handle it. I want to look at my graphics, but not with McAdams looking over my shoulder. I push the intercom.
"Commander Perez, RISTA has a possible escape route mapped. Would you be so kind as to ask the ZR to stop by on their way home?"
Shelby is mildly amused. "Affirmative, contacting them now, sir, if the ensign will pad me some coordinates." Courtney complies.
"Thank you, Courtney, let me know what they find. How likely do you think it is that we're in friendly debris and the trail is a bad guy?"
"Skipper, I." She stops for second. "Our team is gone, sir, I can't prove it, but I know."
"I am of the same opinion, for the same reason. Let me know when the data from the drones comes in."
"Aye, sir." She pauses again. "Skipper, would you show me what you're doing?"
I explain, eight colors, categories, my theory that patterns emerge that the unconscious can see. "Too many folks get lost in the trees when they need to look at the forest, my mom used to say. I think that's true."
"Thank you sir," her voice reveals that I have made her think. Hopefully I haven't screwed her up.
I go back to the two pictures that I found fascinating, and try to isolate the radiation path that Courtney found, but on them. I can mark it out pretty easily, but something about the overall pattern is still bothering me.
The Marines are gone for 10 hours including the detour to the promised path. They return with a couple of crates of random debris which Sergeants Flanagan and McGregor think is from Union destroyers, outer hull remains. Makes sense since that's the densest part. The important thing is the two most veteran investigators we have are sure it's from Navy vessels. We can assume that our battle group is gone, there's too much titanium for any other assumption.
I gather Shelby, Ayala, McAdams, Garcia, Powell, and Palmer in my ready room once I'm done talking to the Marines.
"Suggestions on where to go next?" I know, I finally figured out what was bothering me, but I need to know whatever else I don't know before we go.
McAdams puts her data up on the top monitor, draws a 3D graph on the bottom. "My suggestion is to follow this path, it's the only energy trail we've been able to identify, 082 mark 000 relative."
"Any idea of where they were headed?"
"No sir, nothing interesting along that path, they must have been trying to hide their jump point to make sure they weren't followed."
"Possible. Anyone else?"
No one says anything, they're all looking at me and/or McAdams graphics.
I put my drawings up replacing Courtney's. "Mr. Garcia, plot a course, 253 mark 080 relative, zero point five gee. Courtney, you're going to have to humor your captain for awhile. Get the Marines back on the bridge, give me twelve pairs of eyes on sensors for a couple hours."
"Aye, sir." A very puzzled McAdams, suddenly with a light in the blue eyes I haven't seen lately.
"I was over thinking it. I went to four colors from eight, and that's when I saw it."
"Another radiation trail?" Courtney is looking way too hard, missing the forest.
"No Ensign, a lack of radiation trail. Like something went through unpowered and cleaned a path. Here." I point, move my hand along the image. She suddenly sees.
"Aye...." It's a long aye, lots of eye contact on the artwork and some head tilt with the longer hair starting to get involved. She touches her pad and downloads my painting. I'd put it on the fridge, but we don't have any magnets for the door.
"Skipper, they fooled me. Sent something powered one direction, then quietly went another."
"Don't jump to conclusions yet please, my butt says something's out there, but it could be a big rock that got kicked out of its orbit. Mr. Garcia, 20 minutes to wheels up. Mr. Palmer, get your boys into battle gear, just in case. Emily, all cannons good to go, yes?"
"Aye, Skipper, they fixed them faster than I thought possible at Grissom, though we haven't run a live test yet."
"Roger that, my fault. Let's get rolling the clock is ticking." They salute and float back to stations, leaving me, Matt and Shelby behind.
"Nice artwork, Katana," Shelby is not quite laughing, "Courtney's going to take up drawing."
That's assuming I'm right. I give her a courtesy laugh anyway.
"Matt, plot a course back along McAdams' course just in case we need it, keep it updated."
"Roger, Skipper." And with that, I start us moving to the hatch.
There's a sense of anticipation on the bridge, perhaps a victory of artwork over mathematics. I don't want to do anything to encourage it, but I decide I have to anyway.
"Mr. Jordan, go hot, all cannons. Open outer doors, tubes three and four, arm missiles."
He's back in about 10 seconds. My butt confirms what he's about to say in the movement of the ship.
"Cannons report hot, missiles good to go."
"Affirmative. Mr. Garcia, sound one minute."
She doesn't answer, just hits the horns. The reserve squad of Marines is on the bridge, along with all four RISTA crew. This time, the Marine Recon unit is sitting in the sloop, providing backup to the two squads in the ZR. Somehow, I'm betting they're not happy about the assignment.
Half a gee, my compromise to enhance our sensor capabilities, feels like we're sailing the molasses sea. Whatever's out there is not under acceleration, or wasn't when it left, if we go after it with a lot of gee force we'll be moving too fast when we get there as well.
By an hour in, all the anticipation has flipped, and I think they're taking bets on when I'm turning around. Courtney's probably erased my art. I know something's out here despite the doubters.
Two hours in, I am almost ready to join the math club, but decide to wait another half hour at least. I don't need to find whatever is out here, I just need to find a sign.
Fifteen minutes later a huge "OohRah!" erupts from a Marine and fills the bridge, startling us out of our complacency, seems to be PFC Dobson. She's got visual, I rotate to her screen, but I see nothing. Courtney must see something though, because she's in my ear.
"Skipper, request active radars."
"Approved. Three pings, Ensign."
"Roger." We get the pause. "Confirmed, sir, debris trail, and something bigger out there, 350,000 kilometers, moving at 10,000 kph."
I hit a switch and my ship is full of noise. "Battlestations. Battlestations. All Hands. Battlestations." A bunch of horns that we really didn't need. Probably should have just said something on the intercom.
"Mr. Garcia, plot a course, four gees, go on your mark. Mr. McAdams, we'll need cannons 17 and 18 on target during the decel. Mr. Palmer, standby for action."
"My mark, four gees." We get another 10 second acceleration warning horn, then Yorktown leaps to combat speed, the wolf set free. The bridge is back to anticipation, everyone trying to undelete my artwork on their pad. We're an hour and change out, lots of time.
"RISTA, get me visual as soon as you can."
"Roger, Skipper, given estimated size and lack of solar lighting, we won't be close enough to get a clear picture for 20 to 25 minutes."
"Copy. Mr. Dobson, what did you see?" My curiosity overtakes me.
"Sir?" I don't think she expected to have to talk to the Captain.
"You had visual, what did you see?"
"Something shiny, sir, looked man made."
"Copy. Sharp eyes."
"Thank you sir."
Now I'm out of things to ask, I have to wait like everyone else. We're barely into Courtney's time window there's suddenly something's going on, McAdams, Bass, Gomez and Manuel obviously busy. I switch my screen to Courtney's, which is probably cheating, but I am the captain. What I see makes me glad I did.
"Mr. McAdams, confirm what I think I'm seeing."
"Skipper, we don't believe it either, infrared is cold, but there's no mistaking the visual."
"Copy that." A smart commander would wait, but I reach for the radio contro
ls, switch to the all frequency mode, then twist the selector to the all Navy freqs setting. I compromise by going directional, I'm not stupid enough to send a signal across an enemy filled system.
"Congress, this is Yorktown. Summerlin, do you copy? Repeat, this is Yorktown, does anyone copy? Truxton? Decatur? This is Yorktown, over."
Nothing for a few seconds, I get ready to repeat, then I don't have to.
"Yorktown," it's gravelly, low power, "mayday. Need assistance, mayday." Can't be sure who it is.
"Copy that, hang on, got you on visual, we're 30 minutes out."
"Roger." That's all we get, but it's enough. There was a peacefulness in that response, even through the static.
"Mr. Garcia, get parameters from RISTA, maximum thrust approved, minimum time course to our corvettes. Let's roll."
"Aye, sir." She must have been spying too, no surprise there in her voice at my order. A horn sounds and ten seconds later we're at nine gees. She knocks 10 minutes off my estimate, gets us there in 20. Yorktown parks 500 meters from Congress, 600 or so from Truxton and Decatur. I get the rest of us rolling.
"Mr. Palmer, move one squad from the ZR to the landing ship, ZR goes to Congress, LS to Truxton. Your Recon unit has Decatur."
"Affirmative, sir, we're moving."
"Mr. Garcia, outstanding work."
"Thank you Skipper."
We feel the three ships detach, watch on visual as they each take one of the apparently crippled corvettes. One by one, they take the space suited crew from the boats, no way to tell from here whether they're alive or dead. I get on the radio.
"Mr. Palmer, status?"
"Sir, we have 14 souls still breathing, five deceased."
"Copy."
Dr. Bonilovich is going to need help. I turn on the bridge intercom.
"Marines, sick bay please." They do not acknowledge on comm, but quickly unbuckle from their couches and float off. I'm betting I got eight OohRah's.
"Shelby, you've got the con. Stay weapons hot. Put together an engineering team to do an assessment of the corvettes, send McAdams over to collect whatever data we can, get them over and back as quick as possible. Both pods and both gigs at your disposal."
"Aye, sir." She takes my couch, I follow the Marines to sickbay.
Chapter 17
I have a long list of questions I want to ask, instead I spend the next hour and a half helping remove space suits and rubbing RadGel onto the female crew members. Rivera's one of them, but not a conscious one of them. Three days in space suits after high radiation exposure inside dead space craft, three quarters of them made it. Better luck than I've ever witnessed. At least four of them are still in danger, the rest merely dehydrated and slightly radiated.
The six men are all upstairs in the Marine's space, floating naked above borrowed mattresses, eight naked women taking up all the float room in sick bay. Apparently I got a gown because I'm the captain, not because it's what you're supposed to do. A perk of command I didn't know about, but happy is there. Really glad Bonilovich didn't have the chance to stare at me like he's staring at his current crop of patients.
While I am not a prude by any means I don't have a life or death need to see Summerlin or Maxwell naked. Instead, I wash up, then float back to the bridge to check on McAdams who is locked in conversation with Shelby and Powell when I appear.
"Mr. McAdams, what did you find?"
"Skipper, we have video from all three ships, processing now.
"Mr. Powell?"
"Their reactors shutdown when the electronics overloaded from EMP, they must have been awfully close to a serious nuclear blast, it's not as though our systems aren't shielded. We can restart them with spares on board, other systems can't be fully checked until we get power restored, but no obvious damage. Two hours per boat, give or take, sir, to fire up the reactors, how long after that depends on how much damage we find."
"Commander?" I am looking at Shel.
"I have Tony and three Marines helping the engineering crew stock the LS with what they need. They can shuttle them back and get to work within the hour if you approve. Question is, how many of the original crews can we put back on board, and how do we supplement them if necessary?"
"Get the repairs started Commander, keep me informed. We have the Marine Recon unit on board, Tony can spare a couple Marines if we need them. Courtney, let me see the video as soon as you can."
I get a couple ayes and they move off to follow my orders. I decide I don't care if Summerlin is naked and float for the hatch to deck five, get upstairs to find four of the six men sitting up, (up in the air that is, floating in a sitting position) wrapped in sheets, drinking, eating, and talking to the Marines. I put them at ease before they try to get vertical. I do my best to ignore the two naked men floating unconscious nearby.
"Mr. Summerlin, Mr. Maxwell, fill me in." It's a toga party, but they forgot to tell me. Summerlin takes the lead. He's about as pale as a human being can get, his voice barely there, but with a huge smile behind it all. I have to work to not laugh a couple times as hands and sheets slip.
"After you left, Admiral Bode had us work on plans to jump into this sector. He made us jump in together, I guess he thought we should maximize our mass. We explored for a little more than five hours before we were ambushed."
"The last big white bastard and four smaller vessels jumped us, no warning, nothing on sensors. Disabled both destroyers in seconds, the other ships surrounded us before we could get away."
"Just as those peculiar boats from the big ship docked on the destroyers, Santa Cruz detonated. It must have been intentional, sir. The blast took us out, no reactor, no control. We spun for a long time, finally managed to re-route our battery power to stabilize the boats and keep us together, but only after we were well clear."
"I don't know why they didn't come after us, and I have no idea what happened to the other destroyer or the enemy ships. Our locator beacons were dead, I was sure we were too. We appreciate the rescue, sir."
"My pleasure, Paul. You have no idea how happy I am that you survived. We have a drone recon going in system, we can spend another two days here before we have all the data and can formulate a plan. If you want to go home, I can arrange it, otherwise, I can use you."
I pause, Maxwell speaks for the first time.
"Sir, we aren't going anywhere. We have some laser fire to return."
"Good. Yorktown engineering is on board your boats now, they should be restarted later today. Tomorrow, get over, check them out, see what we missed. Then get with Rivera, do some operations planning, let me know if I need to loan you some crew and what supplies you need on board."
Then I realize they're still in the dark.
"Gentlemen." I take out my pad, call up a screen cap of the Libor just before I put a hole in its head. "Please review Regulation 222. This," I hold the photo their direction, "is what's in command of those ships. My RISTA staff can give you all the details you need. They are called the Libor."
"I didn't explain exactly when he left Yorktown, but I told Commander Mendoza not to let himself or any Union personnel be taken prisoner. He was one of my best friends and I know what these Libor do to their captives. I should have told you all, I'm sorry."
I rise up before they can say anything. "Get healthy, let's get to work." Then I'm gone. It's an easy float back down to deck four, and a quick stop in sickbay to remind them to tell me when Rivera wakes up. They don't think it will be long, the maybe overzealous Marines doped her up for the transfer to the rescue boat.
Shelby let's me know what's up when I get to the bridge, engineering already at work on Congress, RISTA ready with the video. I invite Shelby and McAdams to my ready room, McAdams invites Gomez after I agree non-verbally. We start with the camera from Congress.
They jumped in right where I thought they would, but shouldn't have. Large cluster of moon sized bodies, no room to maneuver and bad angles to scan. Even with active sensors going you'd miss anything smaller than a p
lanet.
The ships are in an odd formation, the two destroyers side by side with a corvette high and center over each ship, Congress just behind them with the bird's eye view. Bode should have spaced his assets, put the corvettes out as a picket line and left enough space between the ships to fire. He essentially deactivated all the port cannons on Roenicke and all the starboard cannons on Santa Cruz , plus their top cannons and tail cannons by putting friendlies in the field of fire.
No sign of the enemy until Santa Cruz takes a heavy hit on her port side opening a 20 foot diameter hole just south of the bridge. If there ever was an example of the obvious difference between a new ship and a 25 year old one, that was it. We can see the atmo and debris escaping, no bodies, probably no one dead unless they weren't in their battle suits.
Yorktown: Katana Krieger #1 Page 25
