“Will it be visible from Earth?” Patrick asked.

“In areas where the sun has set, it would be bright enough to turn the sky blue for a few moments.”

“If the Gennan expert systems don’t notice that, they’re crap,” Nat said.

“I don’t understand, though, how this is supposed to improve the odds of the Gen noticing,” Sheldon said.

“Look at it this way, Sheldon,” I replied. “We need to get someone sentient to look at the feeds. If the Expert Systems kick it upstairs because of this, then the reviewer scans other news stories for anything interesting … well, I mean, disinformation works for humans who don’t know anything either way, but a Gen who knows that Gennan ships actually are blue and green should pay attention.”

Sheldon was silent for a moment. “It’s not the most terrible idea you humans have come up with. Of course, that’s a low bar.”

“Oh, hah hah,” Nat replied. “Do you have an estimate of when the Gen might send someone?”

“Sorry, Natalie. I have no data with which to even make a wild guess. I could probably set a minimum, though. From the point that the Gen make that decision, it would take three days for a ship to be assigned and crewed and to complete the trip.”

“We should probably lie low then,” I replied. “We don’t want to drain your power reserves any more, and I think it would be a stretch to try the wormhole thing a third time anyway. At some point, they’re going to catch on to the con.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Waiting for Results

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Waiting for Results

Day 30. Saturday

Network broadcast windows were up on all the compass points on the bridge view wall. Once again, Sheldon was supplying scrolling closed-captioned side windows. He had picked a low orbital position from which he could still receive network feeds. I wanted to ask how he was doing that but wasn’t entirely sure I’d like the answer.

Patrick sat with his feet up on the conference table, despite Sheldon’s vociferous complaints and comments about Patrick’s parentage. He munched steadily through a large bag of Cheetos, while seemingly barely paying attention to the news feeds.

Nat and I were not so relaxed. Each of us had picked a couple of windows to hover over. I was covering CNN, CBS, and MSNBC. The CNN building had been “recaptured,” by the way, albeit not without some bloodshed, with the help of some private security services hurriedly hired by the network. The local police forces were denying any involvement with the military action, even though a high percentage of the killed or captured combatants turned out to be cops or ex-military.

Nat looked over at Patrick. “You’re very relaxed. You’re also hogging the Cheetos again.”