“Priority information to Admiral Maxtin,” Australia says.
“He never said it was time-sensitive.”
“The time-sensitive nature was implied in our mission. Why else send us to get it?” Australia questions.
“The guy would only speak to Ki-Ton. We still know nothing about the Throgen Empire. We should look further.”
“Aus, you’re the voice of reason.”
“Correct. Learning more about the Throgen Empire is conducive to the UCP course, but Admiral Maxtin sent us to retrieve data from an agent. We should return it posthaste.”
“If we can’t decide what we’re doing, Joe was going to instruct me in a new kata.” Amye rises from her station.
Doug sends an incoming transmission to Reynard’s monitor at the main control station.
He glances at the messages and orders, “Amye, assume the weapon’s station.”
“We’re not on alert status,” she protests.
“Doug detected coded Tri-Star battle communications along with distress transmissions.”
“I’ve no concern for wounded Mokarran.”
“I second,” Scott chimes in.
“It’s smerth’n garbled.” After he reassesses the transmission, “Engagement with a Throgen battle cruiser,” Doug reports.
“Eyewitness information on Throgen battle tactics would be quite valuable,” Kymberlynn whispers to Amye.
“Information on Throgen battle tactics would be invaluable to the UCP,” Amye repeats louder, noticing Australia ignored her sister.
Australia waves Amye to take her seat at weapons.
Amye considers slapping Doug in the back of the head. Australia’s mother-hen glare prevents her. She fastens her seatbelt after plopping in the chair.
“The Dragon has a working cloaking shield,” Kymberlynn reminds her. “She’ll want to get us too close to that battle.”
“With the cloaking shield activated, we are capable to get close enough to visually record the battle instead of simply examining distance sensor readings,” Australia suggests.
“Move into a battlefield without benefit of defensive shields,” Amye says.
“Actual recorded battle tactics would be effective to analyze over scattered reports stolen from Mokarran logs of the battle,” Australia states.
“This won’t end well,” Reynard mumbles to himself. “Athena, plot a course to bring us into visual range, but keep us out of the battle zone.”
“Plotting course,” the Dragon’s computer responds.
Reynard buckles his seatbelt harness. He grips the joystick controller. “How close?”
“Let the sensors capture most of the battle at long range.”
Amye whips her head around to Kymberlynn. The tiny girl pulls her legs into the seat, wrapping her arms around her knees in a fetal ball.
“Why didn’t he ask you to pilot?” Amye whispers.
“It’s just reparking the ship. Don’t spaz out. Besides, Miss By-the-Book Regulations there needed the captain’s permission to take us that close to the battle.”
“She didn’t ask his permission.”
“Caught that, did you? Perfect example of why to never trust peace-loving Nysaeans. They’ll trick you into doing exactly what they want. She wanted to record the battle and got the captain to do it without asking him.”
“Rather brilliant of her.” Amye has a new respect for the first officer.
“Yes, it was and she didn’t even have to spread her legs to get what she wanted from a man,” Kymberlynn taunts.
Amye ignores her sister, avoiding punching her. All her concentration must be on her duty. Spying during a firefight doesn’t mean slacking off on monitoring the tactics of the Mokarran. A stray plasma bolt or a retreating ship could fly right into the Dragon. Cloaking shields only render the ship invisible—they offer no protection against energy weapons or projectiles.
“Australia, are you detecting any life signs from the Throgen fighters?” Amye asks.
Australia types at her control station. “Scanning all Tri-Wing fighters. They’re all non-Mokarran humanoids.”
“She’s still looking for other Nysaeans,” Kymberlynn notes.
Amye knows Australia could be the last of her people. She searches for any other survivors scattered by the Tibbar invasion of her planet.
“Confirm. No life signals are present in the Throgen fighters.”
“So they use robotic pilots or drones?” Reynard asks.
“Drones would be controlled by remote signal frequencies. The signal could be interfered with or jammed.” Doug scans through all communication frequencies.
“I detect organic tissue on the Throgen fighters,” Amye reports. “But no…life.”
The cylindrical Mokarran battle cruiser offers some supportive fire to the Tri-Wing fighters. The broader cubed forward section of the Throgen cruiser maliciously targets and destroys Tri-Wing fighters.
“Commander, am I seeing the battle correctly?” Australia asks.
“The Mokarran offer no cruiser support to their fighters. Allowing the slaughter of their own people.”
“No.” Amye whirls around. She understands better than anyone as tactical officer. “Not their own people. Throgen forces are hammering only non-Mokarran humanoids.”
“If you send the undesirables to the front lines, the odds are they will be destroyed,” Australia says.
“They suffer the hero’s death defending the Federation from the invading Empire and no one catches onto their elimination.”
“The Mokarran keep their species strong this way.”
“The Mokarran commit genocide, and no one notices.” Reynard rubs his chin. “Would a full dispersal of our wing missiles do any damage to that Throgen gun embankment?”
“We’ve no information on the Throgen military capability,” Amye reminds her captain.
“We’re unable to fire while cloaked,” Kymberlynn reminds Amye.
“The plasma cannons won’t function while cloaked. Missiles require no drain on ship board power to launch. So the power required to make us invisible won’t be affected by the power needed to fire the blasters.”
Everyone on the bridge gives Reynard a glance as if he just carried down tablets from Mt. Sinai.
“Attracting attention you do not want, Commander.”
“Then we fire. We scan the expulsions for the data and we slip into preprogramed hyperspace coordinates.”
On the main view screen the crew witnesses the battle. Explosion crackle as fighters engage, but both cruisers seem to be avoiding using any main guns.
“They’ve full target lock with main cannons and are well inside the Mokarran cruiser’s optimum range,” Amye reports.
“The Mokarran are not supporting their own fighters with covering fire,” Australia says.
Shaped much like a shark, the Mokarran battle cruiser launches even more Tri-Wing fighters. The flame-orange crafts streak across the darkness from the underbelly of the cruiser. Strange spiderlike crafts attach themselves to the Tri-Wing fighters, crushing them until they explode. Not all Federation fighters detonate. Some power down due to
