Chapter 18

NSS Naha, August 14, 2161
Geosynchronous orbit above Martian equator

“Ma’am, I have something,” whispered the spaceman manning the listening post. “Can I get both antenna?”

Two heavy bombers, the NSS Naha (Vampire 1) and NSS Krakow (Vampire 2) were directly opposite from each other eight thousand miles above the Martian globe and could monitor anything that got close to the red planet in all directions. This time they were exercising some theoretical war fighting skills that came to Pandora while Alan was watching ancient submarine movies, and they looked to be working. Both ships antennas could be aimed at what the sensor operator was trying to decipher, doubling his listening power. “Yes, you got it.”

The antennas of two ships concentrated on whatever the sensor operator was trying to pick up. Remotely linked, the massive 20 meter disk antennas aimed at something ... The bombers don’t have sonar in the traditional sense because there’s no sound, but reaction engines of all types generate electromagnetic waves, and so do other ship’s systems, and they can be seen by the hi-gain antennas on the spine of each bomber. When the ship you are monitoring cuts the engines, and is coasting, there are fields generated by on board equipment, but also there are stars to watch. When a star disappears, it means that something got in the way, like a ship.

Pandora keeps her bridge quiet. There’s little idle chatter, and she keeps the lighting subdued to instill a sense of professionalism, but also as a reminder that they’re looking for something that may want to kill them.

“What do you have Marine?”

“Sounds like four ships lit the boilers and took off straight at us...” the station operator rolled his eyes upward as he listened to his headsets. “United Reactions N-32 engines ... old ones, noisy ... They’re coasting now.”

“Any idea where they were when they lit up?”

“Yes ma’am,” said the soldier. He had a tablet in front of him and he marked on his tablet where the four ships were when they fired up their engines. His marks showed up on the large plexigraph map of the inner solar system.

“Firing zone,” whispered the young helmsman. There’s not a lot for a helmsman to do when in a geosynchronous orbit, so this young private was learning her craft. She was cute, blond, curvy, and had breasts that Pandora always wanted. Pandora hated her.

“Yes it is. Let’s keep an eye on this,” said Pandora.

“Is the captain aware of this?” asked the helmsman, who Pandora was sure had a crush on Alan.

“The captain is here,” Pandora made a circle to the left of the area called the firing zone. Pandora was about to tell her gunners to man their defensive cannons when she had a quick thought. “Is there another ship out there? It looks to me that our four bogies are moving to intercept someone.”

“Just this,” said the sensor operator, and another mark appeared on the large plexigraph map. “That’s the SS Odysseus Nash, a container boat.”

‘That’s a garbage scow,’ Pandora thought. “How is he traveling?”

“Straight as an arrow, ma’am.”

Damn it! They were told! “Communications, contact the Odysseus Nash, tell them we suggest serpentine course and...” Suddenly her bridge came alive with updates.

“Sensors just went insane ma’am!”

“The Odysseus just blew up ma’am!”

“Ma’am, four ships just went to a five g deceleration burn!”

“Thundering Waters is on the secure net for you ma’am.”

“Ok, relax troops. Record everything, you are witnessing a pirate attack.” She picked up the handset and said, “Hey Marcie, let me guess, you just saw a flare in the Kuyper Belt at fifteen degrees after TDC.”

Back at Thundering Waters Space Force Base, a Radio-Sonar operator leaned over her display and made sense of all the dots and blobs on the screen. “Yes Ma’am!” said Marine Gunnery Sergeant Marcie Dunlop. She almost sounded cheery.

“They just now hit the SS Odysseus Nash,” said Pandora as calmly as she could. She had been a ‘bomber driver’ for most of her career. Staid, calm, deliberate in all actions was the hallmark of a bomber commander, but her three months as a fighter jockey on the SS Peake made her eager to exact revenge.

“Fuckers,” said Marcie, showing off her Marine vocabulary. “That puts them right in that area that Alan named.” She refused to call it the Firing Zone. It just sounded so stupid.