Chapter 12

NSS Naha, January 18, 2163
En route to Mars

“Ma’am, I may have heard something on 601.5.”

“What? What did you hear?” asked Captain Pandora Vermillion. The Iron Maiden has spent the entire trip out from earth standing watch on the bridge, eating nothing, and drinking a little. Her only signs of life is when she visits her children who were spending the trip being watched by their grandmother and playing in the small gymnasium.

“It sounds like mike clicks. It’s faint, it could be solar interference.”

“Thank you,” said Pandora with a disappointed sigh.

“Ma’am, I’m getting an S.O.S., it’s a U-700 and the primary engine blew out.”

“There’s plenty of ships in earth or lunar orbit to assist,” said Pandora.

“Ma’am it’s following us toward Mars.”

“Why didn’t you tell me a ship was following us?” demanded an angry Captain Vermillion.

“Ma’am we’re on the primary shipping route to Mars. There’s always ships following us.”

“You’re right ... you’re right ... I’m sorry.” Pandora tried to relax, but everything was wrong. She felt she couldn’t make a proper decision ever since Alan disappeared. “What the hell is a U-700 doing outside of the Earth, Luna traffic lanes? Tell them we’re responding. How many people on board?”

“Crew of three, one passenger and an animal.”

“We can’t take an animal, it’s going to have to remain,” said Pandora as she turned to the helmsman and said, “Cut acceleration. Prepare to take on survivors.”

Slowly the huge bomber matched speed with the stricken transport whose engine appeared to be on fire. “We can’t rig it to the ship like that, ma’am. We’re going to have to stretch a line,” said the chief of the boat.

“Get it done, chief.”

“Aye aye, ma’am,” and Master Gunnery Sergeant Vaneda headed aft to supervise the rescue.

As the Naha matched speed with the stricken U-700, two spacemen with “puff packs” eased out of the emergency trunk and floated toward Greyhound One Niner and attached the line to the mooring jig. The co-pilot’s hatch opened, then a passenger’s seat hatch opened. The navigator emerged and an A3 bag was passed out to him, followed by a folded wheelchair. A spaceman carried the A3 bag and wheelchair to the Naha, then a rescue pod containing an animal was passed out. “The Captain says no,” said a sergeant on the rescue team.

“Then I’m staying here with him,” said Marcy.

“She’s serious,” said the Navigator. “She’ll stay, and shoot you for pissing her off.”

The sergeant pushed the pod containing a terrified golden retriever toward the Naha, then the passenger was handed up through the open hatch. A member of the rescue team saw how the legs of her space suit dangled strangely and said, “Is that you Marcy?”

“Who wants to know?”

“It’s me, Dale Harvey.”

Marcy’s anger melted as an old friend guided her to the Naha. “You have to bring my dog Dale,” said Marcy. She was normally angry and 100% Marine. Now she’s pleading softly. “He’s my whole family.”

“He’s already on board. The captain is going to shit,” said Marcy’s rescuer.

“He’ll get over it,” said Marcy. She didn’t realize who was in command. She looked up at the massive dish antenna and gasped. “What did they do to this boat? That thing is Frankenstein’s radio monster!” The parabolic dish antenna was nearly twice the size of the normal dish seen on a B-171 bomber. From the mechanical devices on the back of the dish, it could clearly change shape to focus the signal to the horn, which could move closer or further away from the dish depending on the frequency and type of signal they were listening to.

As Dale guided Marcy to the Naha, he said, “the old dish was blown off, so they replaced it with a multi-polarity, variable dbi, high gain antenna with an adjustable horn. You can monitor and transmit from 300 kilo hertz to 300 giga hertz.” To a radio nut like Marcy, Dale’s words were both seductive and pornographic.