2288: The Skotadian Experiment Page 7

“If it is the former then that would explain the minor communicational problems that we have been having with our probe.”

  “What problems?”

  “Audio clicks within the bridge to probe communicational systems.”

  “Could it be something other than a hack?”

  “If that was the case I wouldn’t have to ask you to come to the bridge.”

  “So how can it be determined whether it is a hack or not?”

  “Bring the probe in for analyzing.”

  “You stated that it could be that we are being tracked. What leads you to think that?”

  “The TIA starbase scanned us at one point and then sent the data to an unknown part near Ishtar. And sir, it did it twice.”

  “Twice?”

  “Yes sir. Once we arrived at Golden Hyperion and once again as we approached Ishtar’s rings.”

  “Did it ever send anything to Golden Hyperion?”

  “No sir. Just to Ishtar.”

  “Do you have any ideas as to what received the data?”

  “Nothing should have received the data since there shouldn’t be anything there.”

  “Okay, keep me updated, and if it does it one more time then we are going to have to go and take a look. Now let’s go and pick up that probe.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Galactic Prime then went back to pick up its probe. Unfortunately for them, they could not perceive that they were about to walk into a trap. They should not be blamed for their shortsightedness. After all, they were more used to being shot at and shooting at those who shot at them. They had virtually no experience in dealing with the VERM. How could they have known it was most likely a trap?

  “What the . . . What the hell just happened!?” Murphy shouted out at the engineers. Both the lights and the computer screens were flickering. The engineers had the probe back on board and had just finished hooking it up. They were in the process of running a diagnostic check when everything started to glitch out.

  “Murphy . . . what the hell did you just do!?” Mad Dawg shouted at him. He had to come there since the ship’s intercom system wasn’t working.

  “Nothing sir. There was a computer virus in the probe and . . .” Murphy stated.

  “I can see that. So how come our anti-virus didn’t stop it?”

  “They were most likely using the theories of Omori or that of her VERM agents.”

  “Those theories are practically as old as I am. I was a boy when she came up with them. And I thought her VERM agents were disbanded,” said Mad Dawg.

  “They were. But her theories were never put into practice.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s hard to say sir. But the most likely reason is that it was never needed, or that no one ever mentioned that it came from her or that of her VERM agents.”

  “Any ideas as to how long it will take to fix our systems?”

  “We’ve just started sir.”

  “Alright . . . keep me updated.”

  “I will sir. And sir, give us an hour. We will then be able to let you know how long it will take to fix our systems.”

  “What do you got Murphy?” Mad Dawg asked him after an hour went by.

  “Sir, we’ve tried everything to defeat the virus,” Murphy said.

  “Why is it so hard to defeat it?”

  “Because we are dealing with a multi-virus that has the capability to communicate with each other.”

  “Why don’t you just try to break the communication link between them?”

  “We’ve tried that sir. It seems that they have a counter measure for anything that we can think up.”

  “Okay then. I’m going to ask you a simple question, and I want only a yes or no answer. Because of the nature of the situation, I’m going to have to order you to answer the question in the way in which I told you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes sir. What is your question?”

  “If you say no to my question, understand that I will be forced to take a very dangerous course of action that may jeopardize this ship and crew. Do you understand?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “And if you say no then I will have to ask you more than one question. The same rules apply to each question. Do you understand?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Here is my question. Can you fix our communications?”

  Murphy thought long and hard about it. He finally spoke. “No sir.”

  “Can you do anything that can allow us to communicate with Task Force ZH-3C for any length of time?” Mad Dawg asked.

  “No sir. Our entire communications is knocked out.”

  “How long will it take to fix them?” Mad Dawg asked.

  “We have no idea,” Murphy responded.

  “Then I have no other choice but to order an emergency shut down of the computer core and the reinstallation of the computer core software.”

  “Understood sir. I’m going to go and inform the engineers,” Murphy responded, and then he left.

  “I’m sorry girl,” Mad Dawg said to his ship as he pushed a button to begin the emergency shut down procedures. To Mad Dawg, it was as if he was putting to sleep a beloved pet.

  When the computer core was shut down it turned off everything except the emergency power. The shut down process also locked all doors throughout the ship. The only way any of the doors could be opened was manually. Mad Dawg also had the computer close all blast doors before he began the shut down procedures.

  The computer engineers had to follow a set guideline for the reinstallation of the software for the computer core. All the software that they needed was on a 200 GB external hard drive. The computer core OS was the first to be reinstalled. After that, going by priority, the rest of the critical software was reinstalled. It was when the Plasma Shields & Damage Analyzer was reinstalled that they learned what type of damage the ship sustained.

  The Plasma Shields & Damage Analyzer detected that the ship was hit by either micro-meteorites or space junk. Whichever it was, Galactic Prime was hit near the bow and mid-section on the top part of the ship, going from top to bottom. Although Galactic Prime sustained marginal damage, the area that handles the communicational array was heavily peppered.

  “Sir, the last thing that we need to do is the sensors, and the PSDA said that the communicational array is damaged,” Second Lieutenant Murphy informed Mad Dawg.

  “Understood. Get up there and check it out.”

  “Yes sir.”

  When Murphy returned, the look on his face said it all. It was the look that he had terrible news. The look of someone who had just been shot and had realized that they were going to die.

  “Sir, the communicational array is badly damaged,” Murphy said with a knot in his throat.

  “How badly?” Mad Dawg asked.

  “We have a choice sir. We can choose to sacrifice either our long distance, or our short range, or our internal communications. We have to sacrifice one in order to save the other two.”

  Mad Dawg, with the weight of the world crushing him, made his decision. “Alright. Sacrifice our long-range communications.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Murphy then had the engineers to try to save both the short range and the internal communications. When they were done, they began work upon the sensors. When the sensors were up and running, that is when all hell broke loose. And a new nightmare began for the crew.

  “Intruder alert! Intruder alert! Skotadian Elite Commando drop-ship has docked! Ship is located in stern section deck fifteen!” the male computer voice said.

  Murphy and his security team would later confirm that such a drop-ship had indeed docked, and that it was not a computer glitch as they thought. They would very quickly realize what hell Task Force ZH-3C must be going through.

  (2)

  “Sir, I got some really bad news,” Murphy said to Mad Dawg through the intercom.

  Murphy figured that the first logical place the Commando unit would go is to the engine room. Taking his security
team with him, he learned that he was right. Murphy and his team where under a great deal of stress trying to defeat whatever plans Skotadi had in mind for the ship and crew.

  “Go ahead.” Mad Dawg said.

  Mad Dawg’s voice said it all. He was tired of hearing bad news, and here came some more. The rest of the crew was no different. Knowing that the Hammer of Doom would be returning soon, combined with the fact that there was a Commando unit on Galactic Prime, was demoralizing the crew.

  “Our engines have been sabotaged sir. We aren’t going anywhere anytime soon.”

  “How long will it take to get them back up and running?”

  “By the looks of it sir, I’d have to say roughly a few days at the max.”

  “Shit. Alright. I’ll send somebody down there. Mad Dawg out.”

  “Sergeant,” Mad Dawg said to Staff Sergeant Rebecca Debernardo.

  “Yes sir?”

  “I want you to send a group of engineers and a security team down to the engine room. Tell them that I want those engines up and running yesterday. Have them lock and secure all entrances to the engine room. Then seal and reinforce any doors to the maintenance duct near the engine room.”

  “Yes sir.”

  After thirty-three minutes, Mad Dawg got a call from one of the engineers.

  “Sir it looks like they sabotaged the engines when we were reinstalling the computer core OS system,” The engineer informed Mad Dawg.

  “Understood. Tell the security team that neither one of them can leave that room until we purge this ship of our uninvited guests. I don’t want that Commando unit to re-sabotage those engines. So each of them are going to have to do double duty.”

  “Copy that. Over and out.”

  Although neither the engineers nor the security team were ever attacked by the enemy unit, they were still deathly afraid of being attacked by an elite Commando unit. An elite Commando unit was one of the toughest SOB units that anyone ever had the misfortune to confront. It took the engineers fifty-five hours to repair the engines.

  Seven hours into Murphy’s search for their unwelcome guests, it started to become apparent to him that they were using the maintenance ducts to move around. Two hours later he realized that the Commando unit must be traveling in the hallways when nobody was around.

  Murphy started to become confused by the actions of this elite Commando unit. Where were they going? They obviously could do far more damage to the ship, but they were not. Why? Could there be a spy on board? If so, then who? What is the Commando unit doing, making a map of the maintenance duct? He couldn’t wait to have those questions answered.

  Four hours later, with Murphy and his team tired and exhausted, he started to think that maybe he might know why the Commando unit was behaving the way in which they were. He then quickly headed to the bridge to tell Mad Dawg of his suspicions in person. Before he got there he received an emergency call from Elizabeth Mitchell, one of the engineers on Galactic Prime.

  “Murphy here. Go ahead.”

  “Sir, I just finished my analysis on the damage to our communications, and I have strong reasons to believe that our communicational array was damaged neither by space-junk nor micro-meteorites.”

  “What leads you to draw that conclusion?”

  “Well sir, as you are well aware, whenever space junk and/or micro-meteorites hit a ship, it can be equated to being shot by a shotgun. Each pellet strikes the target in a random location, but they are still close together. When it comes to what struck us, it had too much precision for it to have been either space-junk or micro-meteorites. When they hit, they hit the parts that were critical to our communications, and they did not appear to have struck in any random way.”

  “Did you inform the captain?”

  “Yes sir. He told me to tell you.”

  “Alright. Over and out,” Murphy said under his breath. He turned and looked at one of his men with a look of disappointment and then they left.

  When Murphy got to the bridge, he could tell that Mad Dawg was drunk. Mad Dawg could not handle the stress of what he called, “a sneaky underhanded nerdy tactic.” But deep down inside he knew that it was a legitimate tactic. He always was good at solving combat-related problems, but not overcoming a cyber attack. As he would put it, he is “a man of action. Not a man who sits in front of a computer all day with a screen tan.” His crew was almost no different.

  “So what’s the status of our guests?” Mad Dawg asked through slurred speech.

  Mad Dawg was so drunk that he was slightly moving back and forth while he was standing. The odd thing about Mad Dawg is that when he’s drunk he is a better officer. While he was sober, back when he was a first lieutenant, he used a tactic that was too crazy for any good officer to use. But as luck and skill would have it, it paid off big time for him. It earned him a promotion to the rank of captain and it gave him his nickname.

  “Beg your pardon sir?”

  “Status . . . of . . . guests.”

  “Oh them. Sir, I have reason to believe that they are trying to lure us away from our critical systems.”

  “What lead you . . . (unintelligible)?”

  “Sir, I didn’t understand what you said.”

  “What lead you to draw that conclusion? Why didn’t you check the maintenance duct earlier?” Mad Dawg said a little bit slower.

  “Sir, that part of the ship had few personnel there, so I figured that the Commandos would be traveling in the hallways and only using the maintenance duct when they thought someone might be coming. I also thought that after sabotaging the engines, they may be headed to the communication area, since that would be the next logical place for them to go. What leads me to believe that they may be trying to lure us away from the critical systems is the fact that we haven’t encountered them yet.”

  “Did you check the cargo area and our docking ports?”

  “No sir. I don’t see why they would go there.”

  “Did you consider the fact that they may be planning their escape first? Did you consider that maybe they might be trying to indirectly sabotage our critical systems?” Mad Dawg said with slurred speech.

  “No on the first. Yes on the second. The problem with the second is that I don’t have enough people to protect those systems.”

  “Divide each of your teams into a three man group. If any of them should find the Commando unit, have them radio it in. Tell them that their orders are not, repeat, are not to engage the enemy unless they are engaged by the enemy. When they find the enemy, we will lock all the doors surrounding the Commando unit. If they find only one Commando, then they would need permission to engage.”

  “What about the fact that they are using our maintenance ducts?”

  Mad Dawg spoke slowly so that Murphy could understand him. “Have some welders cut some metal to fit the maintenance doors that are near our critical systems. I want them to seal those doors shut. Once that is done, divide your team in two. One team to flush the Commando unit out of the maintenance ducts and the other to catch them in the hallways. Get it done right now.”

  “Yes sir,” Murphy said, and then he left.

  For the next eleven and a half hours, Murphy was providing security to the welders, protecting the critical systems, and searching for the Commando unit. He then got a call from Mad Dawg, who wanted to see him right away. By that time, Mad Dawg had already sobered up.

  “You wanted to see me sir?” Murphy asked Mad Dawg when he got to the bridge.

  “How long have you been awake?”

  “Sir?”

  “Just answer the question.”

  “Thirty-six hours.”

  “And your team?”

  “Sir what’s your point?”

  “Just answer my question.”

  “Some of them have been awake as long as I have. Some of them are on double-shifts. And the rest are on their first shift.”

  “I want you and the ones who have been pulling triple-shifts to get some rest. And no more triple-shifts. Go
t it Lieutenant?”

  “Sir, we need all available security personnel in order to protect our critical systems and to hunt down the infiltration unit before they do any more harm. Better safe than sorry sir.”

  “You and your team are exhausted. Get some rest and let Debernardo take over. And that’s an order Lieutenant.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Two hours later, Staff Sergeant Debernardo and her team found something so important in a docking port that Mad Dawg rushed down there to have a look. It helped to explain the behavior of the Commando unit and why they didn’t try to destroy any critical systems minus the engines.

  “What do you got Sergeant?” Mad Dawg asked.

  “Sir, we found a short-range transmitter,” Debernardo said. She then pointed up at it, well hidden near the ceiling.

  “Well what the . . .? How in the hell did they get that thing up there? No wonder Murphy didn’t find it when he did a search in here,” Mad Dawg said.

  “Maybe they did it when we didn’t have any gravity sir.”

  “No, they wouldn’t have the time. Even if they came here first, with or without any gravity, they still would not have the time.”

  “Maybe one of them is a cyborg sir.”

  “Not likely. You know as well as I know that anybody with more than twenty percent cybernetic implants would have been detected by our sensors.”

  “Well how are we supposed to get rid of it sir?”

  “Are there any maintenance ducts nearby?” Mad Dawg asked Debernardo after he took a rifle and destroyed the transmitter.

  “Yes sir.”

  “Have they been welded shut and reinforced?”

  “No sir.”

  “Get on it now.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Four hours into their sleep, Murphy and his team woke up to begin their shift. Debernardo informed him of what transpired while they were asleep. Forty-three minutes later, Murphy learned (after Mad Dawg was informed) that the ship-to-ground communications had finally been fixed. Everything started to look up for both the crew of Galactic Prime and for Task Force ZH-3C, but it would not last long. Both crews desperately needed that small victory. The only other good news was that there was only one Commando on Galactic Prime.