“Seriously?” Scarecrow said with a shocked look. “I have to admit, Solar Warden is full of surprises. In all my experience as a pilot, I’ve never heard of anything like this before.”
“Admiral, this isn’t the old west, and we’re not exactly in Dodge City,” Hutch said. “We’re not gunslingers calling each other out. What do we plan to do about his?”
Reynolds sat behind his desk and stared up at his two pilots. He shook his head, but before he could respond, Scarecrow spoke, “You’re not considering sending me, are you? You need me here, not flying off on some wild goose chase.”
“Right now, we can do nothing,” the rear admiral replied. “We’re too busy with our preparations. Having to ferry the 1,000 or so Marines we have onboard is putting a severe strain on our life support systems, so we need to get them to Mars as soon as possible. Then we have to return to Earth to pick up the components for the additional shield generators and the power plant and deliver them. Our hangar bay, which at the moment is toe to heel jarheads, will have to act as a cargo bay, and it’ll be filled to the overhead, so your air wing will have to sequester at Tooele until Nautilus is ready to return to Mars.” Reynolds got up and walked around his desk to face his two pilots. “Nautilus is the largest carrier in the fleet. Unfortunately, that means we can house the most equipment at one time, and time, gentlemen, is of the essence right now.”
“So what? We leave ‘Black Bart’ standing out on the street with an itchy trigger finger?” Hutch said, his voice betraying his frustration.
“For now, unfortunately, that’s exactly what we must do.”
“Good,” Scarecrow replied with a relieved expression.
“You will rendezvous with Oleander when we can spare you,” Reynolds said as he turned to face Scarecrow. “Admiral Stanton needs our help, and I will send you and Hutch once we offload our cargo at Mars.”
“Sir, with respect, can’t you send someone else? Nautilus is a high value target I’m convinced the enemy would love to exploit. You’ll need Hutch and me to provide defensive counter-air to and from Mars. Request permission to remain onboard.” Scarecrow stiffened while waiting for a reply.
“Why the hesitation?” Hutch asked. “I’ve never seen you back down from a fight. Ever.”
“This enemy asset contacted Oleander and specifically requested you, Commander.” Reynolds added. “When the time comes, you’ll go and deal with him.”
“But Captain–”
“Hutch is right. You’ve never refused to engage the enemy, even when you were alone against a BCMS. Why refuse now?”
“I–back when I was in the Air Force and deployed to Iraq, I was loaned out to another squadron. It was a temporary assignment, but … let’s just say it left a bad taste in my mouth. I’d rather not repeat that experience. I would prefer you send someone else.”
“I’m afraid you don’t have that luxury, Commander. The Nautilus air wing now has 21 TR-3Bs. Oleander only has nine. We don’t know how dangerous this threat is, so we must assume they need our help. They need the best pilots in the fleet. That’s you and Hutch.”
Scarecrow opened his mouth to speak, but Reynolds cut him off. “That’s an order, Commander.”
“Aye, Sir.”
“Don’t worry,” Hutch said with a determined grin as he slapped Scarecrow on the back. “We’ll be back before you know it.”
“That’s what my CO said last time.”
Parallax Aurora Tactical Three glided silently through space at FTL. It’s destination–Luhman 16. Its mission–to execute a full sensor sweep of the neighboring star system and deploy the first set of a series of sensor buoys.
While astronomers back on Earth had yet to detect any planetary bodies in the Luhman system, Solar Warden exploratory missions had mapped three–one lifeless rock and two gas giants. The latter each had a number of moons, all excellent platforms for enemy activity. They hadn’t been accorded the dignity of names, only an alpha-numeric designation that no one cared to remember. Luhman was a rather uninteresting star system, with its double, brown dwarf stars. Its planets and moons were of no particular interest, and too remote to serve the Program’s interests in any significant way.
Six and a half light-years away, the Luhman system was only several hours at standard FTL–traversing a light year every four hours, but the TR-3B was travelling at half their normal interstellar speed in order to properly scan the intervening space while they journeyed to their destination. They were ordered to be thorough, so a trip that would take 28 hours to reach their destination, now took 56.
The pilot was Lieutenant Commander Ralph “Poutine” Gagnon–a Canadian. He found these long-haul missions mind-numbing, and with the autopilot engaged, he chafed at the hours of tedium. Everything was being recorded–even that was automatic. He kept staring at the sensor readout on his VRI display which revealed no activity, but at least it gave him something to do.
Gagnon’s WSO and SO were asleep, so he had their systems transferred to his VRI. They’d been awake for almost 20 hours, and he ordered them to get some rest. They would relieve him in eight hours.
He would never admit it to his crew, but he felt very alone on this mission. Even with his flight crew, he was still nervous about being so far from any means of support. Vulnerable, was the appropriate adjective. At least a wingman would have made him feel a little less so, but the fleet was spread thin as it was, attempting to cover as much area as possible to ensure the enemy wasn’t up to mischief anywhere in or around the Sol star system. Solar Warden had its hands full attempting to prepare for a possible full-scale invasion. As a result, Command relaxed its protocol to send no less than a section when TR-3Bs flew their missions.
“Approaching Luhman 16 system, Sir,” Gagnon’s SO reported 36 hours later. “Sub-light in six minutes.”
“Finally,” Gagnon said with a sigh. “Now we can spend the next six hours scanning the system, deploy our sensor buoys, and then repeat this boredom all the way home. At least now I can do some actual piloting.”
The black triangle dropped out of FTL in high orbit above the first planet, the outermost gas giant. They had flown the entire trip with their cloaking system engaged and remained so in case the enemy was indeed in the area. However, their scans indicated no activity. Gagnon flew a zig-zag pattern as he deployed six sensor buoys around the massive, sepia-hued planet. The buoys then ejected hundreds of tiny drones that spread out in a grid pattern around the planet, providing full coverage of it and “eyes” throughout the neighboring space. Once deployed, Gagnon moved on to planet number two, the second gas giant. It had the most number of moons–six in all. Two of them were perfect for a base of operations, containing the right minerals, not to mention generous amounts of ice. They scanned the planet and her satellites, and were about to deploy the second set of buoys, when the SO spoke over the comm.
“Sir, I’m getting something.”
“What is it, Lieutenant?”
“I’m not sure Sir, but I’m definitely reading a power signature of some kind.”
“Is it out of range? Give me the vectors, and I’ll try to get us closer.”
“No, Sir. It’s close … not far from the third moon. Oh, now there’s a second one.”
“A second one what, Lieutenant?”
“Just a power signature, Sir.”
“Are we talking about a cloaked ship? Or ships?”
“Whatever they are, they’re approaching, Sir.”
Gagnon checked his sensor display. Suddenly …
“Mon Dieu!”
Two Leviathan class mother ships de-cloaked on either side of the TR-3B.
“That’s it. I’m getting us out of here.”
Two more mother ships appeared, and all four began transmitting an unusual signal.
“They’re emitting some kind of resonance pulse, Sir. It’s disrupting our systems.”
“Going to FTL, now.”
Nothing happened.
“Lieutenant!” Where’s my power?”
“MFD is off-line, Sir.”
“Do we still have weapons control?”
“Yes, but I don’t know for how much longer.”
“Wayne, target their emitters. We need to get MFD power back on line.”
“Sir, they’re beginning to sweep the area with tractor beams. They’re searching for us,” the SO said. “If we fire, they’ll be able to lock on to us–”
“We’ll take that chance! We need that MFD power now!”
“We’re weapons hot, Sir.”
“Targeting … firing now.”
Again, nothing happened.
“Sorry, Sir. Too late. They’ve just locked onto us with a tractor beam.”
“Do we have communications? Can we at least send a message?”
“They’re flooding the area with a dampening field, Sir. Sorry, comm is ineffective.”
“Sounds like they thought of everything,” Gagnon said through clenched teeth. He thought for a moment. “Can bird-brain help us?”
“Not this time, Sir.”
“Well, I don’t plan on spending my final moments as a sample in some alien petri dish. Do we at least have self-destruct capabilities?”
“Sorry, Sir. The self-destruct is tied into the MFD. It overloads, and we go ‘boom.’ Right now, the MFD is dead as a doornail.”
“Merde! Merde! Merde!” Gagnon pounded his fist on his console.
The hangar bay doors on the nearest mother ship began to open, and Lieutenant Commander Gagnon’s TR-3B was dragged towards it.