Chapter Thirteen

Race Against Time

USS Stealthlon briefing room 08:45 SET 2195 “Blow up the Intel building?” Commander Vaughn echoed Serena’s last statement.  “That doesn’t make sense.  What good would that do?” “It makes plenty of sense,” countered the mirror Commander Lisa Hayes.  “It’s UNSF Intelligence that has constantly provided the two continents with information pertinent to their defense.  Without that crucial link, Australia and South America are blind.” “Where is UNSF Intel located?” Lieutenant Ingle asked the Commander. “Sarra IV, third planet of the Sarra Sector,” she responded.  “We need to get warning.” “First of all,” Captain Blackbird interjected smoothly, how does he plan to do it?  Explosives, bombers, people on the inside?” “Bombers, sir,” responded Serena.  “He’s taking a squadron of hired UNSF mercenary pilots and strafing the building.” “When?” Serena checked her chrono.  “Three hours, sir.” “How long will it take us to get there?” Captain Mansel asked the alternate Stealthlon commander. “About thirty minutes, best possible speed,” he responded.  “It’s gonna be hard to warn them.” “We can think about that on the way there,” the Captain said, standing and crossing the room to the comm console.  “Commander Broadaway, set a course for the Sarra System, best possible speed.”  Commander Hayes had already left to make the Stealthlon course corrections. General Pyant’s office 09:30 SET 2195 “Ahhh!  Captain Mansel!  Step into my office,” the alternate General Pyant, Director of UNSF Intelligence gushed, waving for Mansel to come in.  “Have a seat, Captain.  You’re a hard person to get in touch with.” “Sorry for the unavailability, sir,” Mansel said, sitting down and leaning back in the chair.  “I’ve been busy lately.” “Understandable,” the Intelligence Director said, handing him a soft drink.  “Coca Cola.  Your favorite, of course.” Mansel was about to correct him when he realized that Coca Cola must be the preferred drink of the mirror Mansel.  He accepted it and cautiously sipped at it. “Now, Mansel, what brings you to my territory?” General Pyant asked, sitting down in his cushion chair behind the desk. “The Intel building is going to be bombed in a few hours.” Immediately, Pyant was all business.  “What sources told you that?” he asked. Mansel shook his head.  “I have my own sources,” he said, avoiding the question.  “Just know that in a little under two hour’s time, Maradine and a squadron of bombers will be showing up to hit the building.”  It suddenly occurred to Mansel that Marauder in his own universe had blown the UNSF Intelligence building.  He dimly wondered if this was their first time being bombed. “What information are you acting on?” Pyant asked, looking dubiously at Mansel. Exasperated, the starship captain rose from his chair and leaned over Pyant’s desk, inches from his face.  “Listen, General this building will cease to exist in under two hour’s time.  Either you can sit there and pick your nose like a fool, or you can do something about it.” "What the Intel building?” “Think about for a second Pyant,” Mansel said, struggling to control himself.  “If this gets blown, South American and Australia will have no eyes or ears.” “Leaving them open for an attack from Maradine.” “Exactly.” “I’ll get right on it.  Do we know how many ships?” “One ship, carrying a squadron of bombers, and possibly one escort ship,” Mansel reported.  “Deal accordingly.” “Thank you for the information, Captain.” “Work quickly, General.”  With that, Mansel left.