| Chapter Seven |
| Monkey Wrench |
| Admiral Page’s office, Saal 14:09 SET 2195 “The Stealthlon has been missing for two days, now,” the alternate Admiral Aaron Page, UNSF Deputy Commander-in-Chief noted to Captain Bryan Lamb. “What could’ve happened to them?” The UNSF Captain shrugged and shook his head. “I have no idea, sir. Maybe they ran into some trouble during their cruise.” “You’d think they would’ve sent out a distress signal,” the Admiral retorted. He chewed at his bottom lip as he sat in his chair behind the desk. “No, something’s not right. If it was something big, Captain Brungess is the type to call it in. He’s careful like that.” Captain Lamb evaluated the situation. “So either something happened to Brungess, or something happened to the ship.” “There is one other possible option,” Page muttered to himself. “I’d hate to think it, though.” “What’s that, sir?” “Brungess might’ve stole the Stealthlon. Whatever happened or is happening out there right now, Captain, I want you to find the Stealthlon and Brungess.” “Yes sir.” “And while you’re at it, track down Mansel if you can,” the Deputy C-in-C continued. “I have an assignment for him.” “Aye, Captain.” “Dismissed.” Coming out of Admiral Page’s office, Captain Lamb decided to enlist in the help of a UNSF Intelligence agent. After all, it was their job to find business and people. “Captain Lamb, what brings you to my neighborhood?” Gen Pyant asked the starship captain as he entered Pyant’s office. He motioned to a chair. “Please, sit.” “Thank you.” Lamb settled back in the padded chair. As was the case with most Intel heads, General Pyant had decided to decorate his office in hues of red and black. Behind him hung a flag of the UNSF Intel logo. Pyant himself sat behind a mahogany desk, peering intently at Captain Lamb. “I need an agent,” Lamb said, visually inspecting the Intel logo hanging behind Pyant. “For what purpose, may I ask?” the Intelligence Director of Operations prodded, wanting to know more information as all Intel people did. “The Stealthlon had its shakedown cruise two days ago,” Lamb answered, looking directly at General Pyant now. “It’s possible that it may have been crippled or destroyed in some way.” “None of that involves my department,” the alternate Pyant countered, leaning his elbows on the table. “Why come to me? You can just go and investigate the wreckage, if any.” “There is another option,” Lamb responded, annoyed that he was forced to show all his cards. “It may have been hijacked.” “True.” Pyant pulled at his bottom lip. “You need someone to help you look for the Stealthlon?” “Yes.” “I’ll notify Mansel’s wife,” said the Intelligence head. “She’ll contact you within the hour.” “Thank you sir.” Forty-five minutes later, Major Makeisha Mansel had gotten in touch with Captain Lamb and had boarded the Storm-A. Pleasantries had been exchanged, and then the crew was all business. On the bridge, Major Mansel asked Captain Lamb, “do you have a copy of the Stealthlon’s shakedown route?” Lamb nodded his head. “Commander Smith is getting it as we speak.” As if on cue, Commander Steve Smith appeared on the bridge with a miniature star map in his hands. “We can get underway now,” he said, handing off the route to the Martian helmsman. “Well then, seats, everyone,” called Captain Lamb. “Let’s go find the Stealthlon.” |
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