“Ready for launch.”
“Hold one, Alpha Fox Niner.”
John Yeager squirmed in his seat. What
could this delay possibly be?
“Alpha Fox Niner, your wingman is scrubbed
due to a mechanical. Be aware that an unidentified was detected at the
edge of your patrol radius two hours ago.”
“Roger, Control.”
John felt a moment of vertigo as his ship
spun nose-downward. Through the screens, he saw stars whirling with the
station’s rotation. Then he felt weightlessness as his ship was released.
There was a moment of disorientation as John
dealt with the angular momentum of his flight. But the instruments had
no such difficulty. He spun the fighter until it was pointed on the
proper vector, then triggered the engine.
After a half-minute burn, John shut the engine
down. He had enough momentum to reach his first checkpoint in a reasonable
time, but not enough to make reversing his flight path difficult, should
it be necessary.
As he flew, John relaxed in the acceleration
seat. Despite his missing wingman, it was an uneventful patrol. At his
first checkpoint – an arbitrary point in space, near the edge of the Aerospace
Force’s restricted airspace – he rotated the fighter and made another half-minute
burn to take him to his second checkpoint.
Between his third and fourth checkpoints,
John saw a blip on the edge of his radar.
“Control, this is Alpha Fox Niner. I have
a bogie, vector 278 by 43, range one thousand miles.”
“Noted, Alpha Fox Niner. Investigate the bogie.”
John juggled vectors in his head, then rotated
the fighter and punched for a burn. He watched the bogie almost disappear
before he killed his momentum. Then he was unmistakably approaching the
bogie.
“Control, I believe the bogie has changed
vectors to approach.”
“Affirmative, Alpha Fox. You and the bogie
are now on direct approach vectors. Weapons will remain locked.”
Locked? Are you crazy? “Roger, Control.”
John switched the fighter’s telescope on the
bogie. He squinted in the telescope’s screen, but the bogie was dark; all
he could see was a slight glimmer, except for when it occluded stars.
“Alpha Fox Niner, can you identify the bogie?”
“Negative, Control. It appears to be painted
black, and emissions are too low for identification.”
John watched the screen as the bogie approached,
occasionally changing the telescope’s settings to keep the bogie’s entire
shape on the screen.
At fifty miles, his earphones were suddenly
filled with static. Jamming! “Control, do you read?”
Nothing.
“Control, this is Alpha Fox Niner. Do you
copy?”
His only answer was static.
“Control?”
The warning receiver squealed. John looked
at the main window and saw the icon that meant the bogie had a target lock
on him.
Picking a direction at random, John rotated
the fighter and punched for a hard burn. As he flew, he moved the stick
around in random near-patterns.
The squeal stopped.
John rotated, turning on his own targeting
electronics with his other hand. He cursed at the message on the screen’s
margin. The bogie’s jamming was too strong for his targeting radar to punch
through.
John juggled vectors in his head again, turned
the fighter slightly, and squeezed off a burst from his guns. He rotated,
punched for a burn, then tried to get a target lock again.
No luck. He rotated, accelerated, tried for
a lock again. Still no luck. Radar showed two missiles streaking toward
him. John punched for a hard burn and frantically maneuvered to dodge.
Then the missiles were past him. He rotated
to see the bogie, hopelessly disoriented. He saw the bogie’s exhaust, an
infrared flare too bright to jam. He switched a missile to infrared and
fired it at his retreating opponent.
The fighter shook in a series of rapid explosions.
Red status warnings crawled across the margins of the screen.
MAIN PROPULSION SYSTEM FAILURE
REACTION CONTROL SYSTEM FAILURE
ELECTRICAL POWER SYSTEM FAILURE
LIFE SUPPORT SYSTEM DAMAGE
AUXILIARY POWER SYSTEM FAILURE
HYDRAULIC SYSTEM FAILURE
AVIONICS FAILURE
FIRE SUPPRESION SYSTEM ACTIVATED . . .
FIRE SUPPRESION SYSTEM FAILURE
FIRE CONTROL SYSTEM FAILURE
NAVAGAION SYSTEM DAMAGE
INERTIAL MEASUREMENT UNITS NOT RESPONDING
ACCELEROMETER NOT RESPONDING
John craned his head backward. A gaudy chemical
fire burned, flames shooting from a ragged hole where the fuel and oxidizer
entered the engine. John turned back and punched to see how much battery
power was left.
The screen went blank. John fumbled for the
ejection catches. Before he found them, the screen lit up again, this time
in green block letters.
SIMULATION OVER
John’s sigh was almost a snort.
“Thank you, Lieutenant. Your scores will be
filed.”
John waited for the simulator pod to return
to the docking position. As it clattered to a stop, he unstrapped his harness
and kicked toward the door.
A maintenance tech opened the simulator door,
then went in as John left. John watched him check the systems a moment,
then grabbed the handrails and pulled himself toward the locker room.
Athena looked up as the doctor entered the
examining room. They don’t miss a trick here. The doctor wore a lab smock,
but his nametag identified him as a full colonel.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Better to be here, sir,” Athena replied.
“The pseudo-gravity’s higher, but it’s worth it.” Actually, she struggled
to sit upright on the examining table. Other than periods in the centrifuge,
she hadn’t weighed this much since she left Earth, over a decade ago.
“Ah, yes. My colleagues at Armstrong tend
to be a little . . .” he paused.
Athena’s mouth quirked. “Whatever word you’re
groping for, if it’s uncomplimentary, I agree.”
“Well. Enough said about that. How are you
coping?”
“Better. I feel like the drugs flushed out
of my system while I was travelling here. I’m just not happy with having
to learn to be left-handed.”
The doctor examined Athena’s uncontrollable
arm, first visually and by touch, then with instruments. He plugged the
instruments into the room’s console and called up the results on the screen.
“Yes,” he said. “There is a slight worsening
in spontaneous electrical discharges.”
Athena looked at the screen past his shoulder,
but didn’t understand the graphs. “Is that bad?”
The doctor turned back to face her. “It’s
expected. Unfortunately. There are certain tasks – such as putting on a
pressure suit – that you will never accomplish by yourself.”
Athena swallowed. “So . . . does this mean
discharge?”
“Not yet. If neural degradation doesn’t progress
too rapidly, you might be able to retire at twenty years of active service.
In fact, as soon as you can perform basic hygiene functions unassisted,
we can consider you an outpatient.”
Athena smiled. “If you mean take a shower
and go to the bathroom, I’m there already.”
“Ah. Good.” He turned to the console and typed
instructions then handed her a printout. “I’m ordering a battery of tests.
If nothing turns up a red flag, you can check into the BOQ. We’ll begin
physical therapy tomorrow.”
Athena allowed herself to slouch as she waited
in line at the Base Officer’s Quarters desk. The man at the head of the
line seemed to be complaining because certain newsgroups were blocked from
his room console.
Idly, Athena looked around the lobby. The
furniture could easily be from any cheap motel on the one-G floor of any
space station in Earth orbit. But residents were younger, more physically
fit. The decorations were decidedly martial, and included the current re-enlistment
animations.
“Next?”
Athena looked up, and shuffled to the desk.
“Room, single occupancy, long term.”
“Orders, please.”
Athena passed her the unclassified version
of her records. The civilian clerk put the card into a reader and looked
at her screen. Then she looked back up.
“These say you’re assigned to the base hospital
as a patient.”
“They told me I’m on outpatient status.”
“That’s not in these orders.”
Athena considered reaching across, grabbing
the clerk, and pounding her against the ceiling. Impractical in full gee.
She was having enough trouble keeping on her feet.
“Then can I have a room for tonight, get the
orders amended tomorrow, and register for a long-term room tomorrow?”
“That’s against regulations.”
“Really? Which regulation?”
“Well . . .”
Athena sensed at least a token victory. “If
you show me which regulation you’re quoting, I’ll go back to the hospital,
and either get the orders changed tonight or spend the night there. If
you can’t, I’ll either get a room from you or file a complaint with the
civilian personnel office.”
“Now, Captain –”
“Colonel.”
“What?”
Athena leaned over the counter, turned the
monitor until she could see the display. She pointed. “See that? If I was
a captain, it would say ‘Capt”. But it doesn’t. It says ‘LtCol’. That means
‘lieutenant colonel’, commonly called ‘colonel’ in conversation.” Athena
turned the monitor back toward the clerk. “If your knowledge of regulation
is on the same par as your knowledge of rank, then you’re just making up
that rule to keep from giving me a room.”
The clerk looked up at Athena, then down at
the screen. After a moment, she began working the system. Wordlessly, she
handed Athena her orders card back, together with a keycard.
Athena saw the room number on the keycard,
looked at the signs on the wall, and shuffled down the hallway. She let
herself in and collapsed on the bed. All she wanted to do was go to sleep.
Where did my flight bag wind up? Athena
stared at the ceiling, trying to remember when she had last seen the bag
that Sergeant Drake – or someone – had, packed and waiting for her, on
the transport.
The console chimed. Athena sighed, rolled
over to face it, and keyed it on. She found herself facing an older, civilian
woman, who frowned disapprovingly at her.
“Colonel Inkata?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“General Perry expected you five hours ago.”
General Perry? The Chief Astronaut?
“I’m sorry, ma’am. This is the first I’ve
heard of it.”
“I’ll tell him.” The image vanished before
Athena could ask where Perry’s office was. Sighing, she punched up the
locator function and traced a route. Then she stood and left the mild comfort
of the BOQ.
It only took Athena ten minutes to get to General
Perry’s office. This was due more to luck than planning, as she was able
to catch an open-sided trolley for most of her route.
The outer office had workstations for two.
An officer ignored Athena, while the woman who had called her glared. When
Athena didn’t wither under that stare, she switched on an intercom.
“Colonel Inkata is here.” Her voice was all
sweetness.
“Send her in,” drifted back through the speaker.
The woman stood and opened the inner office
door. Athena walked in did the best semblance of a salute her uncooperative
arm would allow.
Perry returned the salute, then turned to
the civilian. “I don’t think I’ll need you any more, Tracy.”
“What if –”
“I doubt I’ll need anything more. If I do,
Captain Hicks can get it.”
“Yes, sir.” Reluctance was obvious in her
voice.
“Have a seat,” General Perry said as the door
closed. “I take it you were delayed?”
“The hospital kept me all day, sir. I didn’t
know you sent for me until about fifteen minutes ago.”
“Organizational inefficiency. The techies
keep promising the next system will fix it. But efficiency seems to depend
more on people than the technology they use.” He looked down and grimaced.
“Give me a minute while I bring your file up.”
Athena tried to keep her face calm and composed,
while she screamed inside. Why does the Chief Astronaut want me? What
have I done – good, bad, or indifferent – that can possibly justify his
personal attention?
“Ah, yes, the alien artifacts.” Perry looked
up from his display. “Interesting data you brought back. More interesting
that the Army isn’t sharing any of theirs.”
“Why wouldn’t they?” Athena asked.
Perry’s mouth crimped in a half-grin. “Coincidentally,
the Secretary of the Army is pushing Congress to readdress the services’
roles and missions. The Navy agrees; they’re afraid of their very role
becoming obsolete.”
“Wouldn’t it be more efficient to leave things
as they are?”
“Colonel, never cite efficiency to
a politician. They’ll remind you that increased efficiency was Hitler and
Mussolini’s best-kept campaign pledges.”
“So, is the Army trying to get primary claim
on all alien artifacts under military control?”
“Ah, you’re fast. Good.” Perry frowned down
at his data display. Athena watched, wondering what he was seeing as he
paged through the data. “The – hologram, I suppose it was, though how anyone
can make a hologram in mid-air – anyway, the map of the solar system that
you caused to appear had certain anomalies. I strongly suspect they are
the locations of more artifacts.”
Athena froze. The first alien artifact, found
five years earlier, had been a massive spacecraft, larger than anything
Earth had ever launched had. It had been stuffed with what most agreed
appeared to be military hardware and soldiers. Enough troops and equipment
to make an armored corps or numbered air force, depending on whether you
considered the heavily armored flyers inside to be tanks or fighters.
“I had some of our astronomers look at the
nearest site. They looked, then hemmed and hawed and said they’d get back
to me on what was there.” He looked up at Athena, his gaze suddenly intense.
“I don’t like it when my subordinates refuse to answer me.”
“I don’t either, sir.”
“No one does. That’s where you come in.”
“Sir?”
“How long are they keeping you in physical
therapy?”
“I don’t know yet, sir. I’m supposed to start
tomorrow.”
“I doubt they’ll keep you all day.” He drummed
his fingers on the desktop. “In the time the doctors don’t use, I have
a project I’d like you to attend to.”
“Sir?”
“I want you to look over these – whatever
they are. Study the available data. Force the astronomers to give you a
straight answer. Or, if they won’t, grab the raw data yourself. Then report
back to me.”
“Sir, I’ve never done much in the way of research.”
Perry snorted. “Almost none, the way
your record reads. Battlefield commission. After the rebels surrendered,
you took OCS and college by home study.” He looked down and paged through
her records. “More than that, you took your master’s and professional development
by home study.” He paged through the records some more. “In fact,
it looks like this is the first time you’ve been off Luna since the war.”
He looked expectantly at her.
“Not precisely the first, sir. I’ve flown
a few missions to stations. Twice here to Glenn Station, in fact.”
“Are you ducking the question, or just not
noticing it?”
Athena sighed. “Sir, I wanted to be on the
frontier.” Wrong. I wanted to be as far from home as I could get.
“I do admit, I was on Luna so long I got used to the gravity.”
“Wimping out?”
“Sir, I’m still capable of doing a half hour
of calisthenics in two gravities in the centrifuge.” She frowned at her
right hand, twitching in her lap. “Or, at least, I was until this injury.”
She looked up at him. “But that’s not the same as spending all day in a
full gravity.”
“Well. Colonel Inkata, you have your assignment.”
Perry paused. “I suppose that the doctors will shield you from it, if you
go to them.”
Athena allowed herself a thin smile. “I have
no desire to have them protect me from work. If anything, I may want to
be protected from them. Especially if they decide I’m not medically qualified
to stay here.”
She paused in thought. “One request, sir.
At least until I grow used to my new situation,” she gestured wildly with
her right hand, “I’ll need some assistance. I used to be right-handed.
I’ll have to learn how to be left-handed now.”
“I’ll see you’re assigned office space and
an assistant with requisite clearance. Contact Captain Hicks when they’re
through with you tomorrow. And one other thing.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Do not allow my secretary to know what I
have you doing.”
“Sir?”
Perry ignored her and clicked a key on his
desk. After a moment, the office door slid open.
“Colonel, if you’ll allow me?” It was the
officer Athena had passed in the outer office. And her flight bag dangled
from his left hand.
Ari stared at the repellent object on Captain
Hessus’ desk. “What is this again?”
Hessus sighed. “It is called a purse.
Most planetary women use them to carry . . . well, I’m not sure what. Maybe
nothing. But, the important point is, almost all of them carry one.”
“So? I’m not a planet-bound woman.”
“No. But it is a convenient cover.” Hessus
opened the top zipper and motioned Ari closer. Despite her revulsion, she
found herself crowding close and looking inside. “We have a top layer of
convincing-looking junk.” He scooped out fistfuls of strange containers.
“They’re called cosmetics. In those cultures, women use them to change
their appearance.”
“Why?”
Hessus shrugged. “In thirty years naval service,
I’ve spent a total of ten days’ shore leave in these cultures. And I found
their females’ actions inexplicable.” He looked up at Ari. “But I remembered
the what, if I never understood the why. The shape and size
are authentic – my intelligence staff pulled them from planetary video
broadcasts.”
Hessus opened a seal in the bottom of the
purse. Ari leaned over and saw the glitter of circuitry.
“There are two devices there. One is a transmitter.
It has two modes. If you push this button,” Hessus pushed one of the decorative
gold buttons on its side, “it broadcasts conversations near it.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
Hessus shrugged. “If you desire it, it’s there.
You can shut it off again by pushing the button.” He pushed it. “Notice
that it’s slightly recessed when broadcasting.”
Ari pushed the button several times, until
she could tell at a glance whether the purse was broadcasting. “Okay.”
“Second radio mode is this button.” Hessus
pushed a different decoration. “That’s the screamer. When it’s pushed,
the purse becomes a homing beacon.”
“What good is that?”
“If the Tartii do as I fear they might, we
will have to rescue you. Knowing your location could be helpful.”
“Oh.”
“It has one more ability.” Hessus pointed,
with both hands, at buttons on opposite sides of the purse. “If you depress
both those buttons at the same time, the purse becomes an electrocaster.”
“What?”
Hessus grinned. “Lethal weaponry, with a range
– in an atmosphere – of perhaps two finger-lengths. We’ll let you practice
a few times on the firing range.”
“I have no intention of killing anyone!”
Hessus shrugged. “I felt it was a good idea
to give you the capability. I want you to practice enough to know how to
use it. I leave the decision of whether to use it to you.”
Ari backed away as Hessus put the horrid thing
back together. I never thought diplomacy would be like this.
Grandmother, I want to change career goals.
How good a linguist do you need to be to earn a place in the Senate?
Of course, it was too late. Or perhaps too
early – if she still wanted to, she could, after she faced the Tartii tyrant.
If Hessus was right, after she had been rescued
from the Tartii.
