Thunderhead

21

On the Fleet Command Deck aboard the flagship Vice Admiral Thomas Carnaby, otherwise known as Old Carbuncle, studied the sector triagram as his communications chief pointed out the positions of the flagship Malthusa, the Djann refugee, and the reported JN beacon station.

“I’ve researched the call letters, sir,” the gray-haired signal major said. “They’re not shown on any listing as an active station. In fact, the entire series of which this station would be a part is coded null; never reported in commission.”

“So someone appears to be playing pranks, is that your conclusion, Henry?”

The signal officer pulled at his lower lip. “No, sir, not that, precisely. I’ve done a full analytical on the recorded signal that young Pryor first intercepted. It’s plainly directed to Cincsec in response to their alert; and the ID is confirmed. Now, as I say, this series was dropped from the register; but at one time, such a designation was assigned en bloc to a proposed link in the Out Line. However, the planned installations never came to fruition due to changes in the strategic position.”

The vice admiral frowned. “What changes were those?”

“The task force charged with the establishment of the link encountered heavy enemy pressure. In fact, the cruiser detailed to carry out the actual placement of the units was lost in action with all hands. Before the program could be reinitiated, a withdrawal from the sector was ordered. The new link was never completed, and the series was retired, unused.”

“So?”

“So… just possibly, sir, one of those old stations was erected before Redoubt was lost—”

“What’s that?” The admiral rounded on the startled officer. “Did you say… Redoubt?” His voice was a hiss between set teeth.

“Y… yessir!”

“Redoubt was lost with all hands before she planted her first station!”

“I know that’s what we’ve always thought, Admiral—”

The admiral snatched the paper from the major’s hand. “JN 37 Ace Trey,” he read aloud. “Why the hell didn’t you say so sooner?” He whirled to his chief of staff. “What’s Broadly got in mind?” he snapped the question.

The startled officer began a description of the plan to decoy the Djann vessel into range of Malthusa’s batteries.

“Decoy?” the vice admiral snarled. The exec took a step backward, shocked at the expression on his superior’s face. The latter spun to face his battle officer, standing by on the bridge.

“General, rig out an Epsilon series interceptor and get my pressure gear into it! I want it on the line ready for launch in ten minutes! Assign your best torchman as co-pilot!”

“Yessir!” The general spoke quickly into a lapel mike. The admiral flicked a key beside the hot-line screen.

“Get Broadly,” he said in a voice like doom impending.