"I want to go."
Harris shook his head. They had already had two conversations about Ann’s desire to go out with the first batch of Sentinels.
"I need you here. You will write up all the procedures, but it has to be left to the regular fleet personnel to get these things on station."
She was clearly unmoved and sat there staring at him.
"I expect the first deployment trip will be a long one, several months. All of that will be under the equivalent of radio silence. No, you're staying."
"I really think I would be a valuable resource for those initial deployments, and that I could help the Fleet personnel get those procedures right. "
"No doubt you could," he replied, "But I need you here, and they need to take ownership of the process."
"Really, sir, I think-" she stopped as he shook his head.
"No, Ann. No."
He was in command. It was his decision. She stood and left without another word. Ron could have called her on her breach of etiquette, but he let it go. She was deeply disappointed, he knew, but he wasn't going to change his mind.
ISC Fleet HQ Intel Section
Ft. Eustis, VA
Thursday, March 31, 2028, 0945 EST
Frances had taken delivery of the first SLIP scanner on March 22, it came with a bearded, short-haired, barely middle-aged hippie-geek named Lloyd. No last name, just Lloyd. His intensity as he introduced the instrument to her and Roger Cox reflected both his pride in having invented SLIP in the first place and his affection for this newest innovation. He was constantly after Roger for more information and to share the latest update with him.
Lloyd didn't quite know what to make of Frances. She was maybe twenty older than he was, and while she seemed pleasant enough at first, she had a wicked tongue when you stepped over some line you didn't know was there. Adding to his unease was a growing realization that she was maybe smarter than he was, something Lloyd hadn't encountered since Forstmann. As the week went on Frances began to see through the younger man's swagger and, almost in spite of herself, to like him. He, on the other hand, absorbed several verbal broadsides before he started to see the value of her insights, her questions, her skepticism, that had at first baffled and angered him. Forstmann had told him 'These people don't think like we do - and that's good' but Lloyd was only now realizing just what the old man meant. You couldn't just tell her, you had to show her, you had to prove it to her. He started to see that this might be a useful exercise, not the pointless waste of time he had thought at first.
The scanner would cycle through the entire thousand channels twice a second, which was faster than Frances had anticipated. It had a second SLIP receiver attached, so if it detected anything on a channel, it would command the slave receiver to tune and record it, while the scanner continued to search. She had to admit it was a pretty slick setup.
After a week, they had seen only Fleet traffic, nothing they could not identify. Frances sat dejectedly in Ron Harris' office with Rich Evans and Elias Peña.
"So, Frances, are they quiet or are we wrong?" Elias Peña asked.
She raised her hands in frustration. "I don't know. The fleet does maybe a dozen messages a day - less now than before Inor. Maybe we're just out of range. Maybe they're not talking right now."
"We'll just keep at it," Evans said encouragingly, "until we hear something or we come to some other conclusion. But don't be discouraged, Frances. We all thought this was plausible and we still do."
She smiled wanly, clearly tired. Ron took notice of her fatigue. She had been working at least two shifts a day, sometimes as much as 20 hours.
"Let's take a break, Frances. Go home for a long weekend and get some sleep. Roger and the team will keep an eye on it and let you know if anything happens."
Frances shook her head. "It's my job, Captain, I can manage."
"It is your job, but it is also Roger's and everyone else’s as well."
He looked at her steadily, forcing her to look him in the eye. Finally, she relented.
"You'll make sure they'll call me?"
"I will."
Slowly she nodded her assent. "OK then. I could use a couple nights..."
Harris waited to see if there was more, and when she didn't continue, he answered.
"You are as dedicated as anyone I've ever seen, Frances. But get some sleep and come back on Monday and we'll see where we are."
After she left, Rich Evans spoke.
"We all agreed the SLIP scanner idea was plausible, but that doesn't make it correct. Could we be just out of range?"
"The miners have sent SLIP messages from a distance of at least 20 or 25 light years. If the enemy is anywhere within that range, we should be hearing them," Ron responded.
"Unless they're not talking, or we're off on what a SLIP channel means. Or they have some other technology we aren't aware of." Evans pointed out.
"Or those, yeah," Elias agreed.
"I've never felt so stupid and helpless since I joined Intel. Weird."
After Ron's comment, they sat for a moment, digesting their situation. Finally, Ron shrugged, stood, and left the room. Peña was right behind him. Rich Evans sat a few more minutes, searching in his mind for what they might have missed. Suddenly aware he was sitting in Harris' office without Harris, he got up and headed back to his own space, still suspicious they had missed something.
April 2078
Antares
GJ 825
Saturday, April 2, 2078
Originally known as Lacaille 8760, discovered by the 18th-century French abbot Nicolas Louis de Lacaille, GJ 825 is the brightest red dwarf in Earth's sky. Unfortunately, that honor does not extend to being visible with the naked eye. Only 12.5 light years away, it's just over half the size of Sol and much older, but it generates only a tiny fraction of Sol's light. As Terri looked out her Bridge windows at the star, it felt old to her. She knew full well that was irrational, that she was projecting something onto an inanimate object, but still, there it was. It felt as if the universe was looking back at her in idle curiosity, having long ago seen wonders far greater than one small spaceship from an uninteresting planet orbiting a nondescript star.
Antares came in well inside one AU, slightly above the plane of the system. They anticipated that there would be no planets, as all previous efforts to find them had failed. And indeed, there were no planets of any significance. They found a few large rocks, the largest about half the size of Luna, but it was mostly oversized gravel.
This was her first stop on her first command, and Terri was determined that they do the search correctly. FleetIntel had provided them the reflection spectra of the ships that had attacked Inoria, and the expectation was that other enemy ships or facilities would match those spectra.
They were so brazen, according to FleetIntel, that they likely would not be hiding themselves. Terri found that logic tenuous at best. Terri had read the after-action report of Dunkirk’s recent encounter with the enemy at GL 674, which supported this opinion, but she still thought there wasn't enough data to make such firm conclusions.
She was happy with the Surveillance Officer, Lieutenant Ryan Lewis, who had been a member of Antares' delivery crew. A plank owner, in the old Navy parlance. He had taken time to brief her on how he would apply the Liberty spectra to the search at GJ 825, with appropriate corrections for the differing emission spectrum of each star. She hadn't thought of that, but as soon as he pointed it out, she realized it made sense.
Carol Hansen, to whom she had handed the Weapons Officer position, something usually held by a more senior officer, was crawling all over that department, literally and figuratively, becoming a reliable resource on both the weapons on board and their delivery systems. Her Weapons Maintenance Officer, the tall, blond Dane Warrant Officer Jon Swenson, complained once to Michael that with Hansen on board he might as well stay in his bunk. But it was a good-natured complaint, reflective of how hard Carol was working to get up to speed on her new assignmen
t. Everyone had questions about the young woman who got the battlefield promotion at Inor. Was she the real goods or did she just happen to be with Michael when she needed someone?
The conclusion among the Weapons crew, so far, was that Hansen was the real deal. Her unassuming manner let them like her, and as she dove into the systems and weapons, sometimes literally, they came to respect her energy and her ability to listen to them and absorb new material. Terri Michael watched all of this with a sense of satisfaction, her initial impression confirmed.
So far, the only smudge on this pretty picture was an argument Hansen had gotten into with her Chief Tech, Emilio Guzman. Guzman was easily ten years Hansen's senior, another Antares original. He had come over from the US Air Force five years ago and was a master technologist on the weapons, the magazine system, and the rotaries. It had become an open shouting match in the magazine, as Hansen pushed for a procedure change that Guzman's experience told him was not a good idea. The team had watched in amazement as they fought.
"This would save us reload time, and that might save the whole damned ship," Hansen had said, her voice becoming strident.
"I am sorry, Lieutenant but I can't agree with those changes," Guzman replied.
"Who's in charge here?" she blurted out.
Guzman's eyes flared in anger, and he shot back at her "You are, Lieutenant, start acting like it."
She stepped towards him, the anger rising in her voice. "Just get it done, Chief." Guzman held his ground but lowered his voice just a little.
"As I said, Lieutenant Hansen, I can't agree to this. I don't think it's safe." She stared at him for a long few seconds, pivoted on her heel and left the Magazine. Guzman went to the Captain shortly after this exchange, knowing that this conflict could not remain unresolved. He spoke firmly, but with obvious respect for both the Captain and the young Lieutenant.
"She's very smart, Commander, but she's new. What might make sense to her on a theoretical level doesn't always make sense in practice." He went on to explain what Hansen had proposed, and what his objections were. Michael took his point and called Hansen in to talk to her.
"Carol, if you raise your voice, you've lost the argument. You can have strong opinions, you can have disagreements with subordinates, but in this service, we have some of the smartest Chiefs and Techs that have ever put on a uniform."
"Yes, ma'am, I am aware of that."
"So, don't act like you're smarter than they are, better educated, whatever. You may well be, but that's not the point of leadership with this kind of crew. You can't force them. They have to want to follow. It's hard, and it hardest when you're new."
"What is it that you want me to do?"
Terri was going to let Carol come to her own conclusion - she wasn't going to dictate the solution.
"What do you think is necessary?"
Carol deflated a little as she thought about it. "I need to repair the relationship with the chief and the crew. I need to go down there, look them all in the eye, and apologize. I've always said if someone can't ever admit they're wrong I can't trust them when they say they're right. "
"I agree."
"I really am sorry, Commander Michael, I lost my temper a little."
Terri smiled at her. "Fix this and move on, Carol. They're a good group, and you're a good leader. It'll be fine."
The next morning, she showered, put on a clean uniform, and walked to the tech's working area in the magazine. It felt a little strange, almost as if she was going on a date. But she knew she had to show them that she was serious and appearance mattered. As she entered, they snapped to attention, and she wilted just a bit.
"Oh, please don't do that."
They relaxed. She looked around at them, her eyes finally landing on Chief Guzman.
"I am sorry, Chief, for how I behaved yesterday. I still have a lot to learn about many things. It seems when and how to have a disagreement with someone of your stature is one."
She turned to the rest of the crew.
"And I apologize to you, as well. I really do aspire to be a better officer than I was yesterday."
Guzman smiled slightly, then walked up to her.
"Thank you, Lieutenant," the Chief responded. "May I have a word?"
They walked out of the work area into the passageway.
"Yes, Chief?"
"If I may, Lieutenant? I've been at this a long time."
Carol found herself dreading what he was about to say, but she knew she should listen anyway.
"Say what's on your mind, Chief."
He spoke quietly, sincerely.
"Your argument was with me. Settle up with me, and I'll take care of the rest of the team."
"I wanted everyone to hear it. They all heard what happened yesterday."
"Yes, they did, which is regrettable. Remember, we're a team, too, you and I."
She nodded her understanding.
"Your mistake was letting yourself get so invested in something that you didn't think you could take no for an answer."
"I hadn't thought of it that way."
"Well, try to. This crew already respects you, Lieutenant, you don't have to try to impress them. Fact is, the less you try, the more they'll be impressed."
"I see."
"Up to now you've been doing the right things, getting into the guts of the systems and learning from both the books and the equipment. You already have them in the right frame of mind. Keep that up and they'll do anything you ask."
"And their Chief?"
Guzman gave a wry smile.
"Well, he sees plenty of good things in this new boss. She may yet work out."
"You'll let me know?"
"If she doesn't, you'll be the first to know."
"Thank you Chief - and I really am sorry about yesterday. I'm not sure what happened."
Guzman smiled and shrugged.
"That's easy. You're eager, you're smart, and you want to make things better. But you're not experienced enough yet to have that gut reaction that something that sounds good is a really bad idea."
"Commander Michael said something similar."
"Well, she's a very smart woman." He paused a second, then said "I am not one to oppose you just to be difficult, Lieutenant. You’re not the first sharp young woman Lieutenant I’ve ever worked for. I get what you're trying to do. But if I say 'No', I've got a reason. If you don't understand, then let's talk it out. In private if necessary."
"I appreciate that."
Guzman smiled. "Good. Done?" he said, extending his hand.
She took it.
"Done."
She went back to her small office and Guzman went back to his group of techs.
ISC Fleet HQ Intel Section
Ft. Eustis, VA
Friday, April 15, 2078, 0900 EDT
Ron Harris was already on his second cup of coffee as he listened to Frances and Roger Cox report on the progress with the Sentinels and SLIP scanning. By this time FPI had built about 25 SLIP scanners. Along with the one at Fleet HQ, three more were at Inor, Tranquility II, and Kapteyn Station. There would be as many as four reference points to work with if they detected any enemy transmissions. The rest of the scanners were on their way to the asteroid belt ship factory for use on Sentinels.
Ann Cooper's team had finalized the hardware design requirements a few weeks earlier and were about to complete the software requirements. It was an inelegant thing, she thought, looking something like a six-sided coffin with google eyes, legs, and antennas that looked like cob-webs. They had initially planned for a massive supercooled IR detector, but after reviewing the Liberty IR data, they decided they could install six basic IR detectors and get the needed coverage at a fraction of the mass and cost. Now it was time to finish the behavioral requirements. Rich Evans and Elias Peña were also there.
"I am really concerned about operational security," Rich began. "Have we included a self-defense or destruct mechanism?"
"There is no explosive self-destruct, but if
there is unauthorized access, the memory, controllers, and SLIP electronics will be destroyed," Ann replied.
"How, exactly?"
"Thermite capsules, initiated by a signal from the master controller," Roger answered.
"We can instruct it to do this remotely?"
"Not as currently designed. There's no technical reason we could not do that, but it was not part of our discussion."
"I think a remote kill capability would be useful. We can't know all the circumstances in which we might need it but it won't cost much to do, and it might just save us," Elias agreed.
"Ok, sir we will add that," Ann replied.
"What have you decided on the data dump schedule?" Peña asked.
"We had a couple of discussions on that, and we decided to make it weekly, with some random adjustment plus or minus."
"How much of an adjustment?" Harris asked.
"Up to twelve hours."
"Does that schedule reveal anything to them about us?" Evans asked.
Roger Cox answered for the group.
"No, sir, we don't think so. A week is a human construct, seven rotations of the planet, but doesn't immediately correlate to anything observable from outside the solar system."
Frances then picked up the explanation.
"We concluded that the schedule would not give them any information that would be helpful in finding us, which was the most critical question in our minds. Once they found us, they might make the connection, but even if they do, so what? Knowing what a week is doesn't give them a strategic or tactical advantage."
Satisfied with that, Ron Harris was ready to move along.
"Ok sounds right to me. What about the alarm logic?"
"Those criteria are programmable from here; regular IR events, SLIP and radio detections, are recorded and sent weekly. There are criteria we can set for intensity and time where it will send the report sooner."
"Define sooner- shouldn’t it be immediate?" Peña asked.
Frances shook her head. "Strategic security - we don't want them to know what we think is important. It will send the data within twelve hours if it matches the alert criteria. That number is also remotely adjustable."
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