clear from Gamma Omicron 2, and four days out from 1, no one on board wanting to shorten the trip by firing up our last good engine. First two days uneventful, but I get called back to the bridge just as I am settling in to sleep after being relieved on the third. I leave the hair unbundled this time, not intending a long stay, amusing the crew.
Shelby floats away, a message from Richard ready to go on screen. Lt. Springs is in standard corvette battle dress, a t shirt and shorts. Life on convoy escort duty is not like life elsewhere in the service.
"Captain Krieger, we've located two radiation trails at mining site Beta, projected paths in the attached data stream.," at that Lieutenant Bass's hands start flying across the RISTA station. "Energy signatures are consistent with Union starships."
We use large, low energy engines, allegedly for their reliability, the Hwangs use clusters of small, extremely high intensity motors, and the Royal Navy, well, they'd still be building ships out of wood with canvas sails if they could figure a way. However it goes, the energy trails of the three brothers are unique.
"Request permission to abandon search grid and follow energy signatures. Springs, commanding, 2014 universal time, March 5, 2486, out."
The message was sent 96 minutes ago.
"Lt. Bass?"
"Signatures confirmed sir. Apparent path is what the convoy would have taken leaving station Beta and heading for Gamma Omicron 1."
"Anyone disagree with approving their request?"
Silence. "Mr. Bass, a quick check with your boss please."
We wait while he hits the intercom, then reports.
"Tally Ho from Ensign McAdams, sir. Recommends recalling Congress as well."
"Thank you. Back to work everyone."
I hit a couple buttons to activate the recorder system. "My complements to you and your crew, Lt. Springs. Plan approved. We are en route GO 1, rendevous with us at attached coordinates, Krieger, commanding, Yorktown ," and our time and date. Then I encrypt it and send it. Repeat to Congress to haul butt inbound. Then back to sleep, taking the hair with me.
For the first time in a while, I get a full eight hours, possibly because I spent three hours on the treadmill getting out as much stress as possible earlier in the day. I shower, grab a tube of breakfast, dress, and exit my quarters. Shelby is coming my way, far end of the corridor.
Before we can say anything, the officer's head (like mine, combo bath and shower) opens, and a wet Matt Ayala in a towel zips past, trying to salute and not expose himself at the same time. Shelby and I both start to laugh, when the door opens a second time, and an equally wet Courtney McAdams floats out. The head is four foot by four foot. While they might have just been conserving water, it's more likely they were engaged in what space crews euphemistically call ZGM, zero gee maneuvers. Followed by the float of shame. All normal, except you are not supposed to get caught by the captain.
"That's one way to settle an argument," I was thinking it, Shelby says it first.
Then she gets serious. "Last hourly from Richard was 2100, 45 minutes after she sent her last voice message. You didn't order them to keep up the hourlies, but I don't like it."
We float down to the bridge. Probationary Seaman Samuel is at the RISTA station. He looks at me, I hold his eye.
"Find me Richard , visual, infrared, I don't care how."
"Aye, sir, I'll have to pull sensors off the Gamma Omicron 1 sweep."
"Anything you need."
Then I pull Shel aside, and we get with Ayala in the command couch.
"Options?"
"With one, maybe two engines, it makes no sense to go after them. If they just aren't reporting, they'll be going much faster than we can match, and we'll pass each other, wave a couple times, and screw everything up." Shelby is a realist.
I get the feeling Ayala wants to say he told us so, but he's too professional to let it out. Instead, he suggests sending a probe that direction to enhance our sensor range. I let him go to
Shelby floats away, a message from Richard ready to go on screen. Lt. Springs is in standard corvette battle dress, a t shirt and shorts. Life on convoy escort duty is not like life elsewhere in the service.
"Captain Krieger, we've located two radiation trails at mining site Beta, projected paths in the attached data stream.," at that Lieutenant Bass's hands start flying across the RISTA station. "Energy signatures are consistent with Union starships."
We use large, low energy engines, allegedly for their reliability, the Hwangs use clusters of small, extremely high intensity motors, and the Royal Navy, well, they'd still be building ships out of wood with canvas sails if they could figure a way. However it goes, the energy trails of the three brothers are unique.
"Request permission to abandon search grid and follow energy signatures. Springs, commanding, 2014 universal time, March 5, 2486, out."
The message was sent 96 minutes ago.
"Lt. Bass?"
"Signatures confirmed sir. Apparent path is what the convoy would have taken leaving station Beta and heading for Gamma Omicron 1."
"Anyone disagree with approving their request?"
Silence. "Mr. Bass, a quick check with your boss please."
We wait while he hits the intercom, then reports.
"Tally Ho from Ensign McAdams, sir. Recommends recalling Congress as well."
"Thank you. Back to work everyone."
I hit a couple buttons to activate the recorder system. "My complements to you and your crew, Lt. Springs. Plan approved. We are en route GO 1, rendevous with us at attached coordinates, Krieger, commanding, Yorktown ," and our time and date. Then I encrypt it and send it. Repeat to Congress to haul butt inbound. Then back to sleep, taking the hair with me.
For the first time in a while, I get a full eight hours, possibly because I spent three hours on the treadmill getting out as much stress as possible earlier in the day. I shower, grab a tube of breakfast, dress, and exit my quarters. Shelby is coming my way, far end of the corridor.
Before we can say anything, the officer's head (like mine, combo bath and shower) opens, and a wet Matt Ayala in a towel zips past, trying to salute and not expose himself at the same time. Shelby and I both start to laugh, when the door opens a second time, and an equally wet Courtney McAdams floats out. The head is four foot by four foot. While they might have just been conserving water, it's more likely they were engaged in what space crews euphemistically call ZGM, zero gee maneuvers. Followed by the float of shame. All normal, except you are not supposed to get caught by the captain.
"That's one way to settle an argument," I was thinking it, Shelby says it first.
Then she gets serious. "Last hourly from Richard was 2100, 45 minutes after she sent her last voice message. You didn't order them to keep up the hourlies, but I don't like it."
We float down to the bridge. Probationary Seaman Samuel is at the RISTA station. He looks at me, I hold his eye.
"Find me Richard , visual, infrared, I don't care how."
"Aye, sir, I'll have to pull sensors off the Gamma Omicron 1 sweep."
"Anything you need."
Then I pull Shel aside, and we get with Ayala in the command couch.
"Options?"
"With one, maybe two engines, it makes no sense to go after them. If they just aren't reporting, they'll be going much faster than we can match, and we'll pass each other, wave a couple times, and screw everything up." Shelby is a realist.
I get the feeling Ayala wants to say he told us so, but he's too professional to let it out. Instead, he suggests sending a probe that direction to enhance our sensor range. I let him go to
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