The Operative (A Star Trek novel)

Chapter Fifteen

The ship has made a highly-circuitous journey down from the north polar area to the temperate regions, constantly avoiding the scanning eyes of the defense satellites. Twice they were fired upon by a defsat when the cloaking device acted up. Three times they had to strain Shelley's damaged hull in high-speed maneuvers to outrun atmospheric fighters that had gotten close enough to detect them using magnetometers or other sensors mercifully not usable from orbit.

Several hundred kilometers ago, Shelley dropped a small cloaked drone designed to look to the defsats like Shelley. When the mother ship was far enough away, the drone's cloak flickered. It was immediately fired upon and exploded convincingly. Flynn hoped that that convinced the watchers that Shelley's over-taxed shields finally could take no more.

That's what Flynn hopes, anyway. It's the best they can do, in any case.

Now, Shelley settles slowly toward the ocean a few kilometers off the coast of University City. Very gingerly, careful not to allow a splash or cause turbulence that might renew suspicions from above, the computer lets the ship sink into the waves.

"Why in the water, Captain?" LaRue asks. Flynn finds it amusing that all of the modern-day sailors from Enterprise are nervous of the sea. At least Monty looks unconcerned, regardless of what she might be feeling.

"Sooner or later the Athenian defsats will be able to penetrate our cloaking device's cover, LaRue. Under a kilometer of water, we'll be much more invisible from orbit—though they could still find us, given enough time, determination, and luck.

"Might as well relax. It'll take a while to get to the bottom."

Chekhov's eyes dart to the view port, which now shows nothing but black water. "All that pressure..." he says, almost to himself.

"Don't worry, Chekhov," Flynn reassures him. "Shelley is a very special craft. She's built for this sort of thing."

The hull creaks, slow and deep.

"I wish," the computer says, "that I felt half as confident as you sound."

❖

"Flynn."

He had dozed off in the cockpit chair. Now he is instantly awake, almost triggered, before he catches himself.

More edgy than I thought, he thinks ruefully.

"What is it, Shelley?"

"We're nearing the bottom. I'm using the control surfaces to spiral us down, but I don't have any thrusters left on my belly to slow us. There's going to be a slight bump. Just thought I'd warn you."

The ship lurches suddenly and violently to port, nearly tossing him from the chair. A grinding noise fills the cabin, then the ship pitches over to starboard. Motion stops.

"A 'slight bump,' Shelley?" Flynn mutters as a babble of concern rises behind him from the others.

"What now?" O'Connor asks when everyone is again relatively calm. "How do we get from here to shore? Transporters?"

"Too risky, even if the escape transporters would get us that far through all this water, and I'm not too certain of that. I'm pretty sure the defsats would detect them. At best, they'd know where Shelley is, and at worst, they'd scramble the beam." No one looks like they think that would be a pleasant prospect. "We'll use them only in an emergency to get back here. Shelley has some two-person sea sleds, little things like torpedoes. We'll go ashore in those."

"There's a passive sonar net along the coast," Montenegro says. "We'll trigger them if we go too near with the sleds."

"I figured as much. The sleds are designed to sound like whatever we want them to. We'll start off mimicking the local equivalent of whales. But just to be safe... Do you know where the sonar receivers are?"