Nostromo

"Admiral, I have no information on ULF..."

"Look under submarine communication protocols..."

"The only files I can access are incomplete, Admiral, and in any event, our fleet no longer monitors these frequencies as there are no longer any working submarines."

Ripley leaned forward and flipped a switch on his desktop panel. "COMMs? Ripley here."

"Aye, sir?"

"Pull up what you can on early 21st century radio protocols, including UHF and ULF frequencies, and start scanning for signals on these bands. Record whatever you pick up. Center your efforts around Kentucky, New Mexico, and South Dakota."

"Aye, sir. Uh, Admiral, we could deploy geo-synchronous buoys to monitor these regions while we're over other parts of the planet."

"Okay, COMMs, but let's not advertise what we're up to. Launch stealth satellites when you can."

"Aye, sir."

"A stealth satellite, Admiral?" Lars asked.

"No reason to let Antarctic Traffic Control know what we're up to."

"Wouldn't they be scanning for such traffic too, Admiral?"

"Maybe, but I'm not sure why they would. See if you can identify any such satellites, Lars. It'll be an orbiting antenna farm."

"Admiral, there are currently more than nineteen thousand objects remaining in orbit."

"Good. That ought to keep you busy for a few minutes."

"I have identified two possible satellites so far, sir."

"Lars, you are an incorrigible showoff; you know that, right?"

+++++

Neal Davis from Enterprise and Dean Farrell from Stavridis studied the images on the wall-mounted monitor for several minutes, then they turned to Ripley.

"You're sure ATC is monitoring them?" Davis said.

And Ripley nodded. "Continuously. We identified two originally, but then we backtracked, looking for similar satellites over other known cave systems on the Eurasian landmass. Doing this we were able to locate isolated pockets of survivors in France, Germany, Russia, and China. As more data came in we pinpointed more facilities in Israel and South Africa, then several in the Himalayas. In all, we now have identified fourteen cavern systems that are currently exhibiting extensive signs of life."

Farrell shook his head and looked away. "Dear God," he mumbled as he walked to the viewport. "I wonder how many people made it inside?"

Admiral Davis looked at Ripley, trying to gauge his mood. "How do you want to handle this, Denton?" Though technically both one stars, Denton was the senior officer and therefore ranked Davis, but they'd been friends for yours.

"Technically, our primary obligation is to the survivors in caves located in US territory, but that won't suffice in the current situation. Cast aside our moral duties for a moment and consider that the next Einstein might be residing in a Chinese cave, or a German...hell, it doesn't matter where..."

"What matters is who we choose to take," Farrell sighed.

"Exactly," Ripley added.

"But we can't just swoop down there and take all the smart people," Davis said. "Believe it or not, if this planet ur-Pak has identified is indeed viable, we'll need armies of builders, not..."

"Point taken," Farrell nodded, "but how are these groups of survivors going to take it when we come in and decide to take their most able people?"

"We've also got to keep in mind that we have about six weeks to pull this off," Ripley added. "We have no real intel on the Co-Dominium's ships or the state of their weaponry, and I'd hate to get sucker-punched by them..."

"That's simple enough," Davis sighed. "Agamemnon and Stavridis are the smallest ships we have, but that also have the Maser. We've completed two on Enterprise and the Connie is about a week away from completing their first..."

"Enterprise can't stay behind, Neal," Ripley stated matter-of-factly. "She can carry more survivors than any other ship in the fleet, and if the survivors run into a hostile environment on this new world..."

"Constellation can handle anything that comes up," Davis countered.

"You have an air wing. You have troop transports to carry colonists down to the surface. Connie has two little shuttles, so...you were saying?"

Davis looked away, nodding. "Two ships against an armada? Denton, there's no way you'll make it out of earth orbit..."

Farrell looked at Ripley, his shoulders sagging: "That weapon? The particle beam they fired into Earth and the Sun? Could that be used against us?"

Denton nodded. "Dean, until we know who has that weapon, or even where it's located, none of us is safe. My guess is they'll try to deploy it against us, because in theory, it will blow right through our Langston Fields. If they take us out and we fail to destroy that weapon, I'm not sure moving to any planet not sanctioned by this Co-Dominium will ever be safe."

"Has ur-Pak communicated this information to his people?"

Ripley nodded. "Yeah, but once again relativity will be working against us. By the time his message reaches their home worlds, this will be ancient history to us." Ripley looked at his two best friends and shrugged. "This is going to be our fight and ours alone. Neal? I want you to get together with your sociologists and physicists and work out a good means of contacting the survivors down there, then work out how to distribute them amongst the fleet."

"Right," Davis nodded.

"Dean? I want you to fly a CAP," referring to the concept of a Combat Air Patrol as first deployed over Navy carriers, "probably out around Venus. You'll be in a good position to see their fleet as their ships Jump into the system."

"What about you, Denton?" Davis asked. "You have a plan?"

"Oh hell, Neal. You know me. I always have a plan, but first things first. I want to go down and see these caves, maybe talk to their leaders..."

The rest of the fleet's captains arrived and there were more discussions about the logistics of moving survivors up to the waiting ships, but Dean Farrell excused himself early and returned to Stavridis, and a few minutes later the OOD informed Ripley that Stavridis had departed for Venus and he grinned knowingly. It was just like Farrell to think the problem through and arrive at the most sound conclusion. The fleet was vulnerable now, so he would move to protect it.

Denton watched the men and women of his fleet mingle and talk, and he noted the blue light on his desktop was still illuminated so at least he knew Lars was listening in, then he switched feeds and watched Stavridis powering away from the fleet before he turned to Judy.

Now that she too was worried to death about Ellen there was nothing he could do but be there for her. Still, her first reaction had been bitter: "We should have never left her," was all she said, but then again Judy was already pregnant again and this wasn't a mistake either would likely repeat.

"Are you going to go down to the surface?" she asked.

"I'm thinking about it," Denton said, just as Admiral Davis walked over.

"It's an unnecessary risk, Denton," she said, looking from her husband to Davis. "In fact, no flag officer should go down there -- because we have no idea what kind of diseases we might run into after those people have been in caves."

"What do you recommend?" Davis asked.

"Send some medics with a company of Marines, and maybe one of the diplomats. Let them make contact, but don't allow any of the survivors on our ships until we know we can handle the medical issues."

Denton looked at Davis and nodded. "Makes sense. What do you think, Neal?"

"I concur."

Judy nodded. "Each cave could present different pathogens, so just because one's clear doesn't mean they all will be."

"What about genetic adaptation?" Davis asked.

"They probably haven't been down there long enough," Judy said, looking away as she imagined the horrifying conditions the survivors were dealing with. "God, I can't imagine what they've been through. The sanitation issues alone must be overwhelming."

"Well," Davis sighed, "we should know soon enough. Denton? You have diplomats onboard, right?"

"Singular. One gal from the State Department. Betsy Hollister. You want me to send for her?"

"Yup. She can go back to Enterprise with me. You want me to take a Middie?"

"Let me think about that for a minute."

The lighting in the conference room went from white to red, and as alarms started going off all over the ship Ripley dove for his desk and hit the flashing red light.

"Ripley here. What's going on?"

"Several objects just jumped in-system, Admiral. No IFF, no identification at all..."

"Through the Alderson Point?"

"No, sir. These appear to be FTL-equipped ships, Admiral, and they appear to be -- uh, wait one..."

And in the next instant, his screen flickered and went dark, then all power throughout the ship failed as her systems went dark. Agamemnon's 1G acceleration stopped and zero gravity conditions returned; Ripley felt himself floating free of the deck and not knowing what else else to do he pulled himself over to the viewport, instinctively wanting to see what was happening...

"What the hell is that?" Ripley heard someone say as he held out his hands to stop his flight across the conference room.

"What do you see? Where?" Ripley asked.

"There, sir..."

Ripley looked down towards deep space and his eyes squinted. "What is that?" he whispered a moment later.

About all Ripley was sure of was that the blue sphere he was looking at didn't belong to the Tall Whites, or to the Co-Dominium. He wasn't sure how he knew that, but after fifteen years in space, he'd never seen anything like it. Anywhere.

But a moment later he was pretty sure the sphere was coming closer.

And then the red, battery-powered lights finally flickered to life, bathing the room in crimson; Ripley's desktop rebooted and lights started flashing, demanding his immediate attention so he pushed off and floated back to his chair. He heard more alarms sounding, these coming from CIC, and he looked at the radar plot, trying to spot the sphere.

But all the screens in CIC showed were the Gateways, and nothing more.

Then the usual computer-generated warning came through the intercom: "Acceleration warning! All personnel, prepare for 1G acceleration! All personnel, prepare to resume acceleration!"

"Everybody grab a seat," Judy Ripley shouted, "now!"

Gravity returned as the engines flared and came online. Normal lighting returned. A million alarms were still sounding throughout the ship -- but still not one screen registered the sphere. Then an optically enhanced image of the sphere appeared onscreen, and as Ripley watched the sphere changed from translucent blue to solid white, and suddenly the true size of the ship became obvious.

"Look at the size of that thing!" Admiral Davis sighed. "The diameter must be a thousand meters..."

Ripley could see lights on inside the sphere and even crew access ports on one side of the hull, and those doorways looked tiny.

"Admiral, COMMs here. We have an incoming message. I'm not sure, but it seems to be coming from the object."

"Judy? Neal? Gather round, would you? Okay COMMs, put it through."

His screen flickered and stabilized, and a moment later a middle-aged man appeared. Dressed in a gray topcoat with a black velveteen collar, the rheumy-faced man looked as if he was cold, and as he looked at the man Ripley's brow furrowed -- because he knew he recognized the face on his screen.

"Hello there," the man said genially. "What branch of the services are you in?"

"Excuse me?" Ripley said. The man grinned and once again Ripley was sure he knew that face.

"Are you Army, sir, or Navy?" the man repeated.

"Admiral Denton Ripley, sir. United States Naval Space Force."

"Navy! Excellent! So, you're an Annapolis man?"

"Yessir?"

"Excellent! Perhaps we can share a few war stories while you're here."

"Excuse me, sir, but could I know your name?"

"Me?" the man said with a playful shrug. "Oh, sure, why the hell not? My name is Roosevelt. Franklin Delano Roosevelt. Now, tell me about your ship..."

© 2023 adrian leverkühn | abw | fiction, plain and simple

The story will conclude in TimeShadow.