"Very well, come on in Noah."
Peters sent the report to CINC's tablet, picked up his own and his coffee, locked his desk and went into the inner office. He sat across from the large desk that sometimes seemed to occupy half the room.
"I've sent you my summary, sir."
"Sure, go ahead, Noah."
"Well sir, technically, yes, SFU acted within the letter of the regulation in denying him readmission." He deadpanned.
When Peters spoke like that, Admiral Davenport knew there was more coming.
"Just say it, Noah."
"He got the shaft, sir."
The Admiral was surprised at the anger in Noah's voice. He leaned back in his chair.
"Oh, do go on Lieutenant."
"Grades - exceptional. Attendance - perfect. Attitude - excellent. Let me read from a letter from a senior flag officer: At the annual Red Star/Blue Star Exercise Cadet Powell demonstrated technical knowledge and military judgment far beyond expectations. His continued participation in this exercise would be welcomed, and he should be considered for advancement well ahead of his peers."
The admiral's eyebrows raised. He leaned back forward on his elbows, thinking,
"Interesting. Who wrote that?"
"You did, sir, after the 2075 Red Star-Blue Star. Powell monitored the Intel shop for the losing side. Even as a cadet, he saw problems and was able to report them clearly. He was one semester short of graduation when he left."
"Even with all that, Noah, if, as you say, SFU was within the regs to deny him, how was he treated unfairly?"
"Sir, we both know that there is a level of discretion University authorities can exercise."
"So, they could deny him, but they also could readmit? It was a judgment call?"
"Yes, Admiral. I believe that they know they made a major mistake here and that's why we had so much trouble getting anything out of them."
"Why didn't he appeal?"
Peters shrugged.
"I don't know. Powell may not have known there was an appeal process. Sir, the Fleet was this man's one ambition from childhood. He had the physical abilities and the mental qualities required. I don't understand all of the issues with the father's suicide, or what happened with the mother, but I feel like Powell was derailed just short of his goal and there was no one there to get him back on track. So, he did what he had to for the family, duty bound as he was, and then just took his medicine as a Warrant. For him, the dream was gone."
The admiral thought for a moment.
"OK, Noah, what would you have me do?"
"I discussed it with Personnel. You can grant him a commission outright. Or, you can recommend him to the warrant officer board for commissioning in the regular process. Or, of course, you can leave things as they are."
"Terri Michael will crawl right up my ass if I do nothing."
"Honestly sir, in that case, she will have to get in line behind me."
Davenport smiled.
"Noah, I am glad you're willing to say what you think."
Peters relaxed a bit in his chair.
"Sometimes, sir, I have to. Commanders in authority need deputies willing to tell them the truth."
"Which is why you'll someday be a Lieutenant Commander. So, I can do this?"
Peters nodded eagerly. "It’s the last page of the document I sent you. Sign it and send it to Personnel and it's done."
"Good to be CINC sometimes, I guess."
"Yes, sir. Sometimes you get to do something really great amid this mess."
He signed.
"So how do we get this out to him?"
Noah consulted his tablet. "They're due at Tranquility after GL 876. I am sure Admiral Whittaker could do the honors."
CINC smiled.
"Yes, Brian would enjoy that. Draft a message to him with the basics and ask him to generate a commission for Powell. Where is Sigma now?"
"They should be at GL 876 for another couple days."
"Fine, carry on, Noah. Good work on this."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
Sigma
GL 876
Saturday, June 25, 2078, 1225 UTC
Lead Surveillance Tech Paula Johnson jumped when the IR alarm sounded. It had been a dull day up to then, watching the presumably-dead enemy sphere rotate. She wasn't sure what they were doing still looking at the apparently dead enemy facility, but they sure kept at it. She looked at the alarm data and saw that the new contact was at a relative bearing of 170 degrees, almost directly behind them, and 10 degrees above the long axis of the ship. She turned to the Conn officer to sound the alarm.
"New IR contact at 170 plus 10. Assess as enemy vessel entry."
John Sanders hit the general quarters alarm almost before she finished speaking. He slapped the controls on his console to close the Bridge EMR covers, all as he was standing to look at the Weapons station to his left.
"Setting minimum EMR. Weapons! Deploy the rotaries."
The ever-present Lieutenant Boyd was standing the Weapons watch, but he was staring at the Surveillance display, unmoving. Sanders had to prompt him. Loudly.
"LIEUTENANT BOYD DEPLOY THE GODDAMN ROTARIES!"
Jake Fleming was just entering the Bridge as he heard Sanders' order. By the time he got to the position, Boyd, or perhaps the tech sitting with him, had activated the controls and the rotary missile launchers were moving out.
Todd Boyd, for all his good looks, cocky swagger and dripping condescension, was frozen, pale and terrified, in his place at the Weapons station, staring at the target display. Jake Fleming grabbed Boyd, dragging him out of the position and leaving him in a ball on the floor in the far-left corner of the Bridge.
"Stay there, dipshit, maybe you'll learn something."
Paula concentrated on the identification process. The Bridge around her was a chaos of activity as the primary operators entered, either replacing or supplementing the techs on duty. The section chiefs arrived to manage the work, and to be a buffer between the command section and their functional area. It seemed a very long time to Paula, and to her boss John Sanders, who remained at the Conn until the Captain arrived. She watched the identification status evolve as the Surveillance processors crunched the data. They studied the light reflected off the object, considering the intensity and spectrum of starlight, examining the apparent rate of movement, the Doppler effect that the spectrum showed, Sigma's own position and speed, and the intensity of the incoming light.
Finally, the contact display went from amber to red. Shit, she thought as she turned to the Conn station.
"Target evaluates to a Type I - Designated Echo-One."
"Range?" Sanders asked.
"Two point one million klicks."
She was calming down a little as Len Davis walked briskly from his main cabin to the Bridge.
"Captain on the Bridge!"
Davis moved to his command station and turned to the Conn officer.
"Go ahead, Mr. Sanders."
"Ship is proceeding as before, sir, monitoring the object. We have a single new contact, a Type I, at 170 plus 10, range 2.1 million klicks."
Davis nodded his understanding.
"I have the Conn. Thank you, Mr. Sanders."
He turned to his left as John left the command position to sit behind Paula Johnson and the other Surveillance techs.
"Weapons?" he called.
"One rotary each of Spartans and Lances. Rotaries are deployed, and we are ready to shoot." Fleming responded.
John Sanders and Paula Johnson continued to work the Type I, which had appeared almost behind them. As they watched the computer watch the contact, John became suddenly uneasy.
"It's not moving."
Paula looked up at the data display.
"What?"
"It's not getting closer or going farther away or changing bearing. It's just sitting there."
He walked to the command position. "Captain I really don't like this."
"Don't like what, Lieutenant?"
"It's pacing us, Captain. Same bearing, same distance, for the last five minutes."
"You don't think you're a little premature with that assessment?"
"No, sir, I don't."
Back in the Intel work area, David and Sally were looking at the spectrum of the object, verifying that it was a Type I. They were pretty sure about that. David did not miss the fact that the enemy was just hanging in one place, from Sigma's point of view, and neither approaching nor retreating. He pointed to the data blocks on the Intel display.
"That can't be random. They're on to us somehow."
Abe looked at it. "Yes, Mister Powell, I don't think this is just luck."
Fifteen minutes after the initial detection the enemy ship was still in the same position. David had seen enough. He picked up the ship phone.
"Surveillance." He said, some impatience in his tone.
"Sanders."
"Lieutenant Sanders, it's Powell."
"Getting nervous back there, Mister Powell?" John asked, quietly.
"Damn right. What is the Captain saying?"
"Nothing much," John answered.
Paula looked at him quizzically, only able to hear one side of the conversation, but he just shook his head.
"For now, we're watching it."
"Yeah, watching it watching us."
"That's possible."
"Possible? Come on, Lieutenant, either they have us dead on or they're the luckiest goddamn navigators we ever saw."
"No arguments here, David." John looked nervously around.
"Well, meantime we're getting some good visuals," Powell offered, "With it just hanging there, Sally is getting some pretty detailed imagery on the high-res."
"I guess that's something. Assuming, of course, that we live to get it back to Fleet Intel."
"Yeah, assuming that, sure. How long is Davis going to wait?"
John looked around the Bridge. "I got no idea. I'll call you when I know."
They hung up, leaving David with a vague feeling of dread, a growing belief that something about this engagement was different, and might not end well. Something fundamental had changed, and he wasn't sure what it was or how to deal with it. But it frightened him, and he felt no shame in that.
Davis stood at his command station, hands on hips, watching the Surveillance display, thinking. Strike now? Wait? Leave? He said he would strike whenever he had the chance, but this was a strange contact. Waiting might work, or the enemy might go ahead and hit them before he could attack. He could always bug out. The enemy was six light-seconds away, more or less, so he could get away if he wanted to. For now, at least, he had an out.
XO Linda Rodriguez arrived on the Bridge, having checked the status of the engineering staff aft, and stopped to give Lisa Briggs a word of encouragement in the Magazine. She was perplexed by the quiet on the Bridge but moved smoothly to stand next to Davis.
"So, what are you thinking, Captain?" she asked him.
He shrugged.
"Are they really on to us or are they just lucky? Do I maneuver to shake them or just strike them where they are? Or do I just bug out?"
"Are you really asking me or was that all rhetorical?"
"You asked what I was thinking, Commander Rodriguez. And mind your tone please."
"Sir, we have a wealth of information on the sphere. We need to get that back to Fleet Intel."
"I know, I know," he said quietly. "But if they're able to track us this well we need to know that and just how well they can do it."
He grimaced.
"I want to think we're the predator and he's the prey," he said, pointing to the Surveillance display. "But right now, I am not really sure who is who. If I maneuver, am I telling him I can see him there or am I confirming that his tracking is working?"
"They don't seem to care about being seen, Captain. Intel told us that before we left. So, I'm thinking they don't give a damn how well we see them. Maybe they just want to know how we're going to react to their stalking?"
They returned to watching the image of the enemy ship on the Surveillance display. It was the usual silver cylinder, in this case, seen from almost directly in front.
"This is getting creepy," Paula said to John Sanders. "It's going on too long, sir." She looked at the clock. "Thirty-five minutes that thing has been there."
"I know, Ms. Johnson, I know. We'll have to see what he wants to do. For now, we just wait."
After an hour, the Captain called his Bridge officers together.
"Ok it's been an hour, and this contact isn't moving. Theories?"
Sanders spoke first.
"They're pacing us. The range hasn't changed within the accuracy of our tracking, sir. That can't possibly be an accident. Somehow, they have us. And, they've had us since they came out of FTL."
Weapons officer Jake Fleming spoke next.
"I know we don't have much experience with them, sir, but no one has reported this kind of behavior. I don't like it, and I think we should put a quick end to it."
Fleming's comment generated a murmur of agreement among the staff. Davis turned back to Sanders.
"You've been talking to Powell? What does Intel think?"
"Yes, we've spoken several times. They're in agreement that this is strange and threatening."
"OK, let's maneuver and see what happens. If it follows, then we'll strike. If not, perhaps we get on his tail for a while."
He looked at the Navigation officer. "Fifteen left, ten down."
As the discussion broke up, Davis walked to the Comm station and leaned in to dictate his message to Ensign Leah Farley.
FLASH 207806251330 UTC
TO: CINCFLEET
FROM: SIGMA
HAVE BEEN PACED REPEAT PACED ONE HOUR REPEAT ONE HOUR
BY TYPE I CONTACT VICINITY GL 876.
MANEUVERING TO DETERMINE IF CONTACT IS TRACKING
WILL ADVISE
END
Sigma moved quickly into her new orbit.
"If I were them," Linda Rodriguez began, "I would continue on course and wait to see what else we do."
Davis nodded. "Yes, don't tip your hand. When would you strike?"
"Me, I probably wouldn't. But if I were going to attack, I would strike as they cross behind us."
"OK, we'll see."
Sigma had turned left and moved nose-down, and after settling into her new orbit around GL 876, the position of the contact became 186 minus 18. Powell watched with everyone else, wondering what it would do. If it remained on the original course, its relative position should move across their stern from right to left, if you were looking aft. Slowly it did just that, moving from 186 to 184, then 183, while rising slowly from minus 18 to minus 15. An hour passed and Davis gave the order to stand easy at battle stations. They'd be ready in a few seconds if necessary, and that was all he really needed. Meantime they could take turns going to the head or getting a cup of coffee to ease the stress.
Another hour passed and the Type I moved slowly back into its original position, 170 minus 10, and stopped there. Sanders' phone rang again.
"Sanders."
"Can you believe what you're seeing?"
"Not really, Mister Powell," Sanders answered, his voice low to not alert the Captain.
"That prick has come right back to where he was and stuck there."
"Yep." Sanders was about to say more when the Captain appeared at his station.
"Powell, the skipper is here. I'll call you back."
Sanders hung up the phone without waiting for a reply.
"Right back where we started, eh, Lieutenant?"
"Yes, sir. He seems to have his orders, and he's pretty good at following them. He is closer, however, sir. Looks to be about 1.2 million klicks."
"There's only one reward for being that good," Davis said.
"What's that?"
"Death."
Davis turned to the Bridge.
"Bring the ship to alert battle stations."
He wa
lked to the Weapons console, just left of the center of the Bridge.
"Four Lances, Mister Fleming. Direct routing - I don't see any point in trying to hide where they are coming from."
"Four Lances, yes, sir. We'll be ready to shoot in about 15 seconds."
"Proceed," Davis said, turning away from the Weapons station. He stopped at the Comm station and dispatched another message to Fleet.
FLASH 207806251545 UTC
TO: CINCFLEET
FROM: SIGMA
AFTER MANEUVER TYPE I CONTACT CLEARLY TRACKING THIS VESSEL
ATTACKING CONTACT AT 1.2MKM RANGE
END
Before the message was out the Lances were already on their way. Davis stopped at the Nav station.
"Fifteen degrees left."
"Fifteen left, Captain."
"Enemy is shooting!" Paula called out.
Sure enough, there were several IR flashes around the enemy ship.
"Damn it! How did he know?" Davis asked no one in particular.
The Lances were accurate if they were well-maintained, and Lisa Briggs was one meticulous maintainer. All four struck the enemy ship about a half minute after it had fired.
"Four good Lance detonations on target, sir," Sanders called out after checking the results.
He watched the enemy track, looking for changes in the enemy's course. There were none.
"He's still right there, sir."
"Very well."
Davis was considering whether to launch a second attack when the IR alarm sounded again.
"IR contact 210 minus 15. Assess as enemy ship arrival." Paula called, again.
"Another one?" Rodriguez commented. Davis looked hard at her before responding.
"I understand your caution, Commander, but I'm going to do as much damage to these bastards as I can."
"Yes, sir. It's just-"
"That the odds keep changing? Yes, Commander, I had noticed that myself."
"New contact Echo Two evaluates to another Type I, sir. The range is 525 thousand klicks."
While the computer worked to resolve the new contact, Sanders and Paula Johnson worked the visual and IR sensors, looking for the incoming attack from Echo One. Finally, they saw them - six missiles passing aft.
"Captain, they passed aft of us. I don't think they're a threat."
Silver Enigma Page 30
