Getting a Technology System in Modern Day

Ayaka was still standing on the bridge of the Khopesh when the last evacuation flight passed Proxima Centauri b’s Karman Line and rocketed toward the TFS Escapade, the heavy cruiser it was assigned to.

She had—barely—been able to keep herself from pacing back and forth behind the drone wing commanders, but a thrill passed up and down her spine when she heard that the last lander had safely made it off the surface and she was unable to keep herself from practically vibrating in place. Only two decades of comportment and etiquette training, courtesy of her father’s expectations, kept her from showing how anxious she was.

She turned to Captain Chang, who shot her an empathetic glance as he began, “Don’t worry, we’ve already prepared the rescue mission. Wing three, prepare to—”

Before he could finish his sentence, the holotank in the center of the bridge turned red and an abort signal flashed, accompanied by a message: “All surface missions are suspended until further notice.”

The message was tagged as having been sent from the tactical officer on Fleet Admiral Bianchi’s staff.

Without another word, Ayaka stalked to the captain’s ready room just off the bridge. Captain Chang could only watch her go and shake his head in sympathy. He knew what she was about to do, but didn’t hold out much hope that it would work out well for the young commander.

……

Captain’s ready room, TFS Khopesh.

Ayaka was standing in front of the display screen on Captain Chang’s desk, which had an open communication line to Fleet Admiral Bianchi. “Why was the operation scrubbed, Sir?” she asked, somehow managing to keep her worry and anxiety from appearing on her face.

She honestly didn’t know why she was so worried and anxious about the Terrible Teenager. But she did know she had been responsible for him, and she was the one who’d sent him out alone into the teeth of the storm, where his survival was still unknown. The fact that his signal had been interrupted was... more worrying than she would like to admit. And as godawful as the brat had been to deal with, she’d cto think of him as something like the little brother that she’d been forced to leave behind when she left her family.

“Commander, I don’t normally make a habit of explaining my decisions to my subordinates. But in this case, I’ll make an exception. You’ll know soon anyway, even if I don’t tell you now,” the admiral said.

He gestured to someone offscreen and continued, “This is why surface operations are being suspended. It’s not that we want to scrub them, but we have to.”

The display on the screen changed to a view of the plfrom high orbit. A red film was rapidly working its way over it, obscuring the surface from view. “Approximately ten minutes before the last evacuation lander broke atmosphere, our Henry’s Eye sensors detected an upsurge in mana spreading from what we now believe is the source of all of the roots.”

The display rotated the planet, showing a pointer at an inconspicuous spot deep in the ocean near where the storm had begun brewing earlier. “All visual observation of the planet’s surface is being cut off, and our instruments can’t see it either. All we know is that it’s an extremely dense concentration of mana, and when we sent a recon drone to penetrate it, this is what happened.”

The display changed to a visual of a recon drone being fired from the destroyer, TFS Starry Sky. It completed one orbit, then attempted to breach the atmosphere, only to be crushed against the red film like a bug meeting a windshield at freeway speed. “As you can see, whatever that is is just as effective as our own planetary defense shields. My intelligence officer and tactical officer recommended—and I agreed—that it’s in our best interest to avoid escalating the hostilities against the being until we’re able to establish at least a rudimentary form of communication.

“All indications are that there’s a mind behind those roots, and we’re the visitors here. We should act like it,” he finished as the display screen switched back to a view of the admiral from his shoulders up. Behind him, uniformed personnel were moving on the flag bridge of the Proxima like worker bees in a hive.

“I understand, Admiral. Is there any way we can get at least a drone down to check on the Te—err, Warrant Officer Lee? It looks like the shield isn’t spreading all that fast and we should be able to get in and out before it reaches land. That’d give us an idea of what we’re dealing with, as well as whether or not further rescue efforts—” Ayaka paused and cleared her throat, “—would be... necessary.”

“We can do that much, Commander,” Fleet Admiral Bianchi said with a small, tight smile that wasn’t happy in the least. “And we already have. When the drone got there, this is what it saw.”

The view on the screen changed again, this tshowing a mass of writhing roots piled together in the shape of an egg, or perhaps a seed, where the rover had broken down and where Joon-ho had been swatted from the sky.

“My god, Sir... what IS that?” Ayaka murmured, shock visible on her face for the first time.

“We don’t know, Commander. There’s just too many things we don’t know. I’ve ordered Captain Das to bring the Proxima into orbit of Proxima Centauri b. She’s the only vessel we’ve got with the sensors and power to spare that might give us a chance of seeing exactly what’s going on behind the shield. But until then, ground ops are suspended until further notice.”

“Understood, Sir,” Ayaka said. And she did understand; she might not particularly LIKE the situation as it stood, but she could definitely understand it. Until and unless they had proof that Joon-ho was still alive, and perhaps even after they had that proof, it wouldn’t be wise to risk upsetting whatever being was on the other side of those tentacle-like roots.