Cosmic Thunder (Sentinels Saga Book 3)

by Linn Schwab

  Admiral Sands glanced around the room once more, as if expecting to find someone hiding in the shadows. “Earlier today,” he finally explained, “I received a report about something that occurred just prior to our last assault. A lone pilot was apparently returning to the fleet after being out of contact for several days.”

  “Captain Straydel?” the commander inquired, still hopeful.

  “No, it was someone else. A Lieutenant Dave Samuels, from the UES Belfast. The way it was explained to me is that he made contact with the CAP upon approaching the fleet, and two pilots flew out to escort him in.”

  Commander Ingman nodded. “Standing operating procedure,” he confirmed, “when a pilot is returning to the fleet unexpected.”

  “Yes,” the admiral agreed, “but this is where things become somewhat disturbing. Apparently one of the pilots who intercepted Lieutenant Samuels noticed something suspicious about his engines, and put a call through to the bridge of the Belfast. Just seconds after requesting visual confirmation, Captain Hilliard issued an emergency kill order, and our returning pilot met with a sudden tragic end.”

  Commander Ingman felt his face go pale. “What?” he stammered, refusing to believe what he was hearing. “Please tell me you’re kidding!”

  The admiral solemnly shook his head. “Come with me,” he said, then led the commander to a nearby computer console. After inserting a storage chip in the console, he called up the image Captain Hilliard had requested, showing a detailed view of Lieutenant Samuels’ engines. “Notice anything strange about these engines?” he asked.

  The commander picked up on it right away and pointed his finger directly at the screen. “The thrust ports are wrong. Those are Z ninety–‌nines. Where the hell did he manage to come by those?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me,” the admiral said. “Are there any of these things still floating around the fleet? Leftover replacements still boxed up in crates, maybe?”

  “After twelve years? No, I wouldn’t think so. They should have all been used up a long time ago. We’re lucky if we get three years from an engine. Spares don’t sit around for anywhere near that length of time.”

  Admiral Sands quietly cleared his throat. “You see where this is going, Joel.”

  Commander Ingman looked at the image again, and suddenly it all made sense to him. “That pilot must have made contact with the enemy. My understanding is they’re still using Z ninety-nines, or something close enough to be indistinguishable from them. They must have switched out his engines and sent him back to us. But why?”

  “That’s exactly what I’d like to know. Unfortunately, Captain Hilliard reached the same conclusion and determined that fighter posed an imminent threat. ‘A hidden warhead or enemy tracking device,’ he said when I questioned him about his reasoning. But I’m not entirely convinced he was giving me the truth.”

  “You think there was something else behind his decision, then?”

  The admiral looked him directly in the eyes. “This is where the topic of our earlier discussion comes in. One of the pilots who intercepted Lieutenant Samuels said he claimed to have something important to tell me. A message from our adversaries perhaps?”

  Commander Ingman felt a sudden uneasiness inside. “And Captain Hilliard had him silenced before he could speak.”

  “Whether intentionally or not, we may never know. But that’s essentially the end result.”

  The commander shook his head in frustration. “Wonderful,” he muttered under his breath. “Just when it looks like we might catch a break...”

  “...our streak of unfortunate events continues.” The admiral removed his storage chip from the console and deleted the image from the display screen. “Something positive may yet come of this, however,” he said as he tucked the chip back away in his pocket. “If there is some sort of shadow command structure out here, and Captain Hilliard is one of their operatives, we might be able to determine what they’re up to by listening in on his communications.”

  “If Captain Hilliard is part of some clandestine operation, who do you suppose he’s communicating with? Someone out here, or someone back on Earth?”

  Admiral Sands shrugged. “Both, would seem the most likely answer. They probably have more than one operative out here, but I’m sure the brains behind the program is safely back on Earth. It might even be someone in Command Central. I’ve never found them to be particularly cooperative with me.”

  “But how would these shadow operatives communicate with Earth? It can’t be very easy to pull that off.”

  “The same way we do, I would assume. Unmanned probes with interstellar drive that jump back and forth between solar systems. Question is, would they risk using the fleet’s probes to do this, or do they have access to interstellar probes of their own.”

  Commander Ingman contemplated how much it might cost to set up a private fleet of space probes. “That would require some pretty deep pockets,” he mused. “And someone powerful enough to keep it a secret. If we could find evidence of unauthorized probes operating, we’d know for sure that our suspicions are correct.”

  “An interesting suggestion,” the admiral said. “I’ll have to give that some careful thought.” He glanced around at the hangar’s interior, at the fighters in various states of repair, and the tools and equipment spread out along the deck. “I should let your people get back to work now. Shadow operations notwithstanding, we still have enemy forces to deal with. Before I leave, though, I’d like to meet this cipher expert you mentioned in your report yesterday.”

  “Of course. Right this way.” Commander Ingman led the admiral to the nearest elevator, then along the corridor where the makeshift lab was situated.

  “You said he was recruited as a Pilot?” the admiral asked, ducking through the bulkheads along the corridor.

  “That’s right. I thought it seemed a little unusual myself, so I did some checking into his background. Turns out the guy has a talent for tech. He earned admission to multiple top universities, but his family couldn’t come up with the tuition, so he ended up signing with the military.”

  Admiral Sands slowed his pace a little and responded with a contemplative nod. “If what you’re telling me is true,” he said, “then why wasn’t he recruited straight up as a tech? Why take on such a promising talent just to waste it by assigning him to fighter pilot duty? Nothing about this seems to make any sense.”

  Commander Ingman shook his head in disgust. “Incompetence within our own ranks, I guess. Just another typical example of how our military geniuses can screw things up.”

  “Or perhaps,” the admiral suggested, “someone didn’t want us to have access to his abilities.”

  The commander gave him a silent stare. “I’m not sure I understand where you’re going with this. Are you suggesting that...”

  “Think about it, Joel,” Admiral Sands interrupted him. “If you wanted to get someone killed in short order, what position would you assign him to?”

  The answer seemed to hit Commander Ingman in the gut, leaving him with a momentary hollow feeling. “Fighter pilot duty. Son of a bitch. That adds a whole new twist to things, doesn’t it.”

  The admiral made a calming gesture with his hands to head off Joel’s temper before it flared. “Let’s just be thankful you managed to discover his potential before he fell prey to enemy fire. Regardless of where the truth lies in this matter, what’s important is that we didn’t lose this opportunity. Let’s try to stay focused on the task at hand.”

  “Agreed,” Commander Ingman replied. “But if this was an intentional ploy to get him killed, I’d love to see this boy make it blow up in someone’s face.”

  “You really think he has a chance at cracking this cipher?”

  The commander answered with an uncertain shrug. “I think it still may be too soon to tell, but he seems to be pouring his heart into it.” He paused to look in through an open doorway. “And here he is, Admiral. Still hard at work. Lieutenant,” he said, enteri
ng the room, “I’ve brought along someone who’d like to speak with you.”

  Pogo was seated with his back to the door, and a computer screen centered on the benchtop in front of him. Upon glancing over his shoulder and seeing the admiral, he immediately jumped up and stood at attention, nearly knocking over his chair in the process.

  “At ease,” the admiral said, returning his salute. He took a step forward and held out his hand. “What’s your name, Lieutenant?” he asked.

  Pogo reached out and shook his hand. “Pogo, uh ... Lieutenant Pogo Amarelli, sir.”

  “City boy,” the admiral observed with a grin.

  Pogo gave him a questioning look.

  “Brooklyn accent,” the admiral explained. “Only one place on Earth you can come by that, and if I’m not mistaken, it’s all city there.”

  Pogo broke into a smile and nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said. “All city, all the time.”

  The admiral gave him a slap on the shoulder, and gestured to the screen on the benchtop behind him. “So tell me, Mr. Amarelli,” he said, “have you made any progress yet on this cipher?”

  “Not much yet, I’m afraid,” Pogo answered. “It’s different from any cipher I’ve encountered before.”

  “Different in what way?” the admiral inquired.

  Pogo reached for a volume control on his equipment. “Different in the way it goes about its encryption.” He turned the knob a little to the right. A female voice drifted out from the speakers, though the words were incomprehensible. “This is a recording I made a few minutes ago, of an enemy transmission I was able to pick up. That’s the actual voice of the speaker you’re hearing, but you can’t understand a single word she’s saying.”

  “Doesn’t sound like words at all,” the admiral remarked. “It sounds more like singing. Like a choir girl running through a voice exercise.” He focused his ears to listen more intently. “It sounds like she’s singing through a fan or something, though. It’s all garbled, like her voice is being scrambled.”

  Pogo turned the volume down again. “Here’s what I think is happening,” he said. “When one of them speaks into her microphone, the cipher divides her speech into segments, and then splits each segment into smaller slices. It then rearranges the order of those slices before feeding the signal to a transmitter. When the signal is received at the other end, the slices are put back into proper order so the listener can understand what was said — a process which could cause a slight delay, though it might prove negligible to the human ear, depending on how long the segments are.”

  The admiral looked at Commander Ingman and gave a slow nod of his head in approval. “So tell me, Lieutenant,” he said to Pogo, “can you put these slices back in the proper order so we can hear what these people are saying to each other?”

  “Possibly,” he answered with an uncertain shrug. “It just depends on how thorough they were with this cipher. The segments could be tweaked in such a way as to make it nearly impossible.”

  “I see,” the admiral said, reflecting Pogo’s doubtful tone. “Is there anything we can provide you with that might prove helpful to you in your work?”

  Pogo crossed his arms and sighed as he glanced at the equipment on his benchtop. “There is one thing I can think of,” he said. “If I had an enemy radio unit, that might prove to be very useful.”

  Commander Ingman looked at Pogo as if he’d just asked for the universe. “An enemy radio unit,” he said. “That could be a bit of a challenge to come by.”

  “We’ll get one,” Admiral Sands insisted. “It might take a while, but we’ll make it happen. In the meantime, keep giving it your best shot, Lieutenant. If there’s anything else you need that you can think of, just let us know and we’ll see what we can do.”

  “Yes, sir,” Pogo acknowledged. “I’ll do my best.”

  The admiral stepped back out of the room and gestured for Commander Ingman to follow him. “You did the right thing, pulling him off fighter pilot duty. He’s far more valuable to us in this capacity. Given the uncertainty over what happened to Lieutenant Samuels, I think it may be prudent to take a few precautions in regards to Mr. Amarelli’s safety.”

  “Understood. I’ll assign a detail to look after him.”

  “Good. I don’t suppose you have any ideas on how we might come by the radio he asked for?”

  Commander Ingman gave it some thought for a moment. “Didn’t you recently take out a couple of enemy destroyers near here? Maybe we could snag the radio out of one of them.”

  Admiral Sands immediately shook his head. “Those ships both took a full broadside from the fleet. I’d be surprised if there’s anything left of them but dust. “However,” he said, “upon further reflection, you just might be on to something, Joel. During a previous engagement in that same vicinity, we managed to knock a few fighters out of action. One of those might actually be salvageable if we can somehow manage to drag it back here.”

  “Sounds risky,” Commander Ingman observed. “They’re no doubt still watching that area like a hawk.”

  “Yes,” the admiral said, “we’ll have to be discreet. A direct confrontation would prove far too costly.” An idea seemed to come to him then, as evidenced by a sudden change in his expression. “Let me speak with your engineering department. I think I just might have a solution.”

  SURROGATE 078

  The disarray in the gun bays was just as they’d left it, following the impact from the derelict cruiser. Components of the guns were strewn across the floor, along with fragments of the sturdy wooden crates that had housed them. The first order Commander Eldridge issued was to free up the guns that had already been assembled. Anything that could potentially interfere with their operation was quickly dragged off so as to clear their range of motion. But before she dared try to test their movements, she deemed it necessary to send someone inside the gearing to look for tools or other objects that might have gotten lodged between the teeth. With haste being one of her top concerns, she devised a shortcut that helped speed up the process, but made Caroline increasingly upset with her. It involved stripping Chrissy of her uniform dress, and lowering her down through an opening in the floor that only she was small enough to wriggle through.

  The first occurrence made Caroline uneasy as she watched her younger squad mate slip between the gears, realizing what they might do to her if something were to suddenly set them spinning. By the third occurrence, she was absolutely livid, and directed an icy glare at the commander. This appeared to take Commander Eldridge by surprise. She seemed curious to know what Caroline was thinking, and pulled her aside to ask her about it.

  “You don’t approve of the way I’m using her, do you?” Commander Eldridge asked her bluntly.

  Caroline attempted to justify her outrage by invoking the aura of her absent captain. “Robin wouldn’t like it,” she argued, though her wavering voice sounded weaker than she’d intended.

  “No,” the commander agreed, “I’m quite certain you’re right about that. In fact, it’s one of the reasons I decided to exempt her from this duty. I saw no point in getting her all upset over this. But I’m curious as to why you feel compelled to stand in for her. Unless, of course, you’re really just angry with me yourself.”

  “She...” Caroline started defensively, then abruptly fell silent and averted her gaze.

  “Yes?” Commander Eldridge pressed.

  Caroline looked toward the other girls, took a deep breath and reluctantly continued. “Robin asked me to take care of the others if something bad happens to her.”

  The commander seemed outwardly pleased to hear this, or just pleased that she’d managed to pry it out of her. “So,” she said, “Robin’s appointed you her second–‌in–‌command. I can’t say I’m really surprised by that. If I were in Captain Starling’s position, I might just as easily have made the same choice.” She paused to gauge Caroline’s reaction for a moment, then said, “I’m glad you told me about this. It might interest you to know, Caroline, tha
t I’m considering taking Robin with me when I leave. If I do decide to take her, then according to her wishes, you’ll become the captain of ECHO 5. What do you think about that?”

  In the space of a heartbeat, Caroline felt as if the wind had been thoroughly knocked out of her. A feeling of panic overwhelmed her; she felt a lump begin to form in her throat. “Why...” she struggled to ask, “why would you take Robin away from us?”

  “If you must know,” Commander Eldridge explained, “I have rather high expectations of Robin. But given what happened during your last mission, I can’t help but wonder if she wouldn’t benefit from being exposed to some of the more dire consequences of this war. I understand her reluctance to kill those children, and I’m willing to overlook that decision. But that station was an important target. It should’ve been brought to our attention in a timely manner.”

  Caroline worked up the courage to reply, though she knew her answer was less than forthright due to Robin’s deception. “I told Major Richards as soon as we returned to the station. I put the mission recording in her hand myself.”

  “You told Major Richards?” the commander asked. “Why you instead of Captain Starling?”

  “Robin was tired,” Caroline explained. “She asked me if I would take care of it for her.”

  “And what did Major Richards say when you informed her?”

  Caroline thought back to the moment in question, when she’d tracked the major down to her personal quarters. She was sitting in the dark with her back to the door. The expression on her face showed a deep sense of loss. “She didn’t seem herself,” Caroline recalled. “She just looked really sad to me. I told her what was on the recording, but she just sat there staring off into space.”

  “Well,” the commander said with a sigh, “that certainly puts things in a different light. Thank you for sharing that with me. Perhaps it’s Major Richards I should be concerned about.”