by Brian Smith
Ayers glanced from one to the other. “Did you see some of the topic headers?” she asked. “‘Antimatter Production and Power Generation’? ‘Access of Zero-Point Energy through Trispectrum Energy Focus’? The design schematics for these nifty, compact particle-beam weapons, and the schematics for the facilities that manufacture them?”
“’Advanced Miniaturized Power-Storage Cells.’ ‘Forcefield Generation.’ ‘Trispectrum Space-Time Field Manipulation,’” Drayson added, glancing at Kusaka. “That’s your gravity drive, right?”
Kusaka nodded. “And some other applications that go hand in hand with it, like tractor and pressor fields. It also looks like most of one entire core is devoted to a treatise on third- and fourth-dimensional-sheaf astrophysics. We’re finally making engineering inroads accessing the second dimensional sheaf—the modifications to Banth One are an early version of those. The third dimensional sheaf potentially gives us access to superluminal velocities. It wasn’t public knowledge, but Chiang Tsong and I had already seen the potential there, once we started hammering out workable coordinate systems to simplify the mathematics of these higher dimensions. I don’t think we’re going to scratch the fourth dimensional sheaf in our lifetime, no matter how much of a head start someone gives us. I’m not even sure it will prove useful to us on a technological level.”
“This all came from Campbell’s supercomputer on Titan, right?” Ayers asked.
Drayson looked at her sharply. “How do you know about that?”
“We all know about it, sir,” Ashburn cut in. “By various ways and means. Shiguro-san heard about it from Federov. Bill Campbell and Ty Forester let me in on it a while back. Chief Warrant Ayers learned about it through us, indirectly, as part of her investigation.”
“Then, all of you understand that, strictly speaking, the information on those cores is the intellectual property of the Crandall Foundation.”
Here we go—thanks, Ayers! Ashburn mentally grimaced. He needn’t have worried, however. Ayers was anticipating that response and beat Ashburn to the punch.
“If those cores represent the work of the Crandall Foundation, then that means the Omni Systems synths are the creation of the Crandall Foundation, sanctioned by the foundation, probably funded by the foundation, and built under the oversight of William Campbell, a foundation trustee. Same goes for the weapons and any other technological goodies we find on those cores that are being used by the MIM to conduct this war. Connect those dots with your activities at Schroeter Habitat and the United Martian Federation, and we’re about one short step from being able to say that the Crandall Foundation is responsible for starting the first interplanetary war. Now, are you sure you want to claim those cores and what’s on them?”
Drayson smiled charismatically and shrugged. “Not when you put it like that.”
“What, then? Turn them over to the TOA?” Ashburn asked.
“I’m not sure that would be the wisest course either,” Kusaka said. “Forgive me for saying so, but, honestly, I don’t trust that any national government would handle this data in the best interests of mankind as a whole. There is more as well, and forgive me for sounding selfish: the work on trispectrum physics and technology was spearheaded by three people, including myself, under the leadership and sponsorship of Dmitri Federov and his company. The company may or may not survive and my colleagues are dead, but this is still our work. We were planning to publish the first theoretical papers on the Hyman-Tsong cosmological model shortly after going to prototype on our new drive technologies, well within a year. Just . . . handing the complete solution and its engineering applications to someone else would rob my two colleagues, our company—and me—of our achievements.”
Kusaka looked at Ashburn, his best friend, with a terrible fear in his eyes. “I know this isn’t going to be my decision to make,” Kusaka continued, “but I’d like to see it handled differently, other than just dumping these cores on someone else. I think the one thing we can all agree on is that whoever ends up with them is going to be motivated to profit from them, and not necessarily in the best interests of anyone else. There has to be some workable middle ground, and we need to figure it out before Thuvia reaches Earth.”
“Hear, hear!” Drayson said, clapping lightly. “Smartest thing I’ve heard anyone say all morning.”
Ashburn looked at Ayers, who just looked annoyed. “This is all way above my pay grade,” she said. “I’m in the process of working up a complete report to submit to the 3rd Fleet and the Office of Naval Intelligence upon our arrival. The fact of the matter is that these cores contain some information that amounts to hard military intelligence as it pertains to the war. I—” She paused, and then shot a quizzical look at Ashburn. “Did your recall to active duty come through yet?”
“Yup. All of you keep a lid on it, please: nobody else knows. When we get back to Earth, I go back to being a junior naval officer instead of a Barsoom Traders company captain.”
“Well, that takes the pressure off me, but strictly speaking, sir, this is way above your pay grade as well.”
“No argument, Cheryl. All right—we’ve got a few days to figure this out, and it appears we finally have an agenda to address: how the hell do we handle these cores? I’m asking each of you to individually give the matter serious thought and consideration and we’ll meet, say, day after tomorrow to discuss it again? I think, for now, the matter of those cores should stay with the four of us. It’s already complicated enough as it is. In the meantime, all of us are up to our asses in alligators with other matters. Are we agreed?” Everyone concurred, and access to the cores was locked off by mutual consent, with the encryption key turned over to Ashburn, who locked it in the captain’s safe in his stateroom.
Ashburn and Kusaka went about dealing with their respective companies’ woes, Ayers went back to work on her report, and all three devoted some ancillary thought to the problem of the data cores. As with any group work project, however, each person was secretly hoping someone else would come up with a real solution.
It was Drayson, though, the charismatic chairman of the Crandall Foundation, who bent his total effort to the problem. Used to dealing with prickly, disparate personalities and reconciling conflicting agendas, he would now wield his own skills as a master mediator, and yes—he could admit it to himself now—as a politician—to craft a solution that would satisfy everyone with a stake in this; save his own ass (if necessary); and, most important, preserve the Crandall Foundation itself and its ideals, going forward.
Throughout all the strife, all the danger, all the death and confusion, Drayson had never taken his eye off the prize everyone else seemed to have forgotten: that there were two life-bearing worlds out there at Alpha Centauri, and they were waiting. He still intended that mankind reach them.
USS Ranger
En Route to Earth
Outer Solar System
“Group! Auhh-ten-huh!” barked the adjutant.
The assembled Marines representing the ship’s embarked squadrons snapped to attention in unison. LTCOL Anderson, formerly the deputy and now the newly promoted commander of the embarked Marine Air Group, marched smartly to the center of the hangar-deck formation, took the adjutant’s salute and report, and ordered him to post. The MAG still hadn’t received any replacement pilots or fighters to account for their losses in the action to save Thuvia some four months before, and, given recent events, they might not see any for some time.
However, the slow-grinding wheels of bureaucracy had finally caught up with officially reorganizing the group’s chain of command to permanently fill the holes left by combat losses. Anderson, formerly the DCAG who’d headed up the group’s administrative support and logistics element, had been promoted and given command of the group. CAPT Khatri had been promoted to major and was double-hatted for the time being: he retained command of VMF-51 and was handling the support and logistics elements as well. VMF-52 was still short two of its six human pilots, and today was the day A.J. McClain
would be rewarded for his actions of the day in question.
RADM Costello, now the commanding officer of all that remained of the U.S. 5th Fleet, marched smartly up to the formation and, in turn, he and Anderson exchanged salutes. The adjutant barked a command for 1LT McClain to report front and center; McClain smartly marched to the front of the formation and presented himself.
The admiral’s first act was to officially read the commission promoting McClain to captain and assigning him command of the Five-Two. Two decorations followed: The first was a Purple Heart for the near-fatal wounds McClain had sustained in combat against the Mars Independence Movement. The second was a Distinguished Flying Cross with ‘V’ for valor in combat, awarded for the disabling attack on the enemy gunship which had resulted in the success of the overall engagement. When the admiral was finished heaping accolades on him, CAPT McClain saluted smartly and posted back to his position at the head of his squadron.
Under normal circumstances, that might have been the end of the ceremony. However, circumstances were currently far from normal. Costello leaned in to the CAG, informing him that he’d like to address the group, so Anderson ordered the group to stand at parade rest. Costello got right to the point.
“I know there’s been a lot of scuttlebutt and speculation about what’s happened,” he informed them. “Since I have you all together, I wanted to take the opportunity to pass the latest word personally. As you know, a formal state of war exists not between Earth and Mars per se, but between the spacefaring nations of Earth and the Mars Independence Movement.
“Although we aren’t yet able to post a complete list of losses from the attacks on December first, they’re significant. I’m not going to sugarcoat it, folks—we lost more than a third of the entire fleet, probably more like forty percent. Losses among other Earth-based alliances like the PEA and the CFR range anywhere from thirty to seventy percent, at our current best estimate. The MIM has proven treacherous but capable.
“Defending our nation, and by extension Earth itself, is our primary mission responsibility now. Much of what happens in the near term will happen between the third and fourth orbits from the sun—between planets Earth and Mars themselves. For that reason, responsibility for the entire 5th Fleet AOR is being passed to our PEA allies, who can still support outer-system operations in a limited capacity from Kuznetsov Station at Vesta. U.S. assets, along with those of our TOA allies, are being recalled to Earth for reassignment to the 3rd and 4th fleets.
“While no direct threat to planet Earth has been identified yet, all of us are aware of the potential for kinetic strikes against Earth which have the capacity for causing either mass casualties on a global scale or even an extinction-level event. At last word, the CFSN is recalling its fleet as well, and it is likely there will be an embargo and an interdiction of Martian space once sufficient forces are amassed at Earth to physically safeguard the planet.
“These new orders resulted in the course change we made several hours ago. We’re no longer on course for the Jovian system. When we arrive in cislunar space, we’ll be assigned tasking pertinent to the strategic objectives I just outlined. Use the intervening time wisely. Make yourselves and your equipment ready for war, because we aren’t headed home on the retreat—we’re standing into harm’s way. God bless all of you, and our great nation. That is all.”
“Group! Atten-huh!” the adjutant barked. Costello exchanged salutes with Anderson and then headed back for flag territory with his navy aide in tow; Anderson ordered the group dismissed—apparently, he had nothing to add.
When this was done, McClain’s officers and NCOs promptly gathered in a knot around him, along with a few well-wishers from the Five-One and the dropship squadron. He smiled and accepted handshakes and congratulations; it was all subdued, given current events, and the attention would have made him uncomfortable in any case.
Finally, McClain’s wingman appeared out of the throng, an easy smile on her face. Skate Hess saluted and then held out her right hand to shake his while punching him roughly in the shoulder with her left.
“I know you kiss-ass new squadron commanders are eager to make bank with the brass,” she teased in a low voice, “but get thee down to the Dog House soonest, skipper. We’re going to wet down those captain’s bars before the war really interrupts. CAG obtained a special dispensation from the ship’s captain. The Five-One is taking over the ready alert, and we’re authorized for two rounds apiece—no more.”
“Belay that,” McClain said in a no-nonsense tone. “We’ll drink and celebrate when the war’s won or we’re on liberty, Skate. Until then, it’s Condition III for all hands, and the Five-Two is dry. Hear me CFB, lieutenant: if the troops can’t drink, we can’t either.”
Hess’s smile faltered, grew a little slyer. “So that’s how it’s going to be now, eh?” she quipped.
“Out there, we fight as a team—nothing’s different. In here, things are different. I’m not just one of the ready-room rat pack anymore. You’re a Marine, Skate—you know how it works.”
She stepped back, drew herself up to attention, and saluted. “Aye, aye, sir.”
“Carry on, Hess,” McClain ordered. “And Skate,” he added a bit more softly, “I do appreciate the gesture.”
“Yes, sir,” she smiled.
Barsoom Traders Torchship Thuvia
En route to Terra
Carter Drayson would have preferred a boardroom setting, but this would have to do. The four of them were packed into Captain Ashburn’s modest ship’s office. Mike Ashburn sat behind his desk, while Drayson and Kusaka Shiguro occupied the small couch, leaving the lone chair for Cheryl Ayers.
From the outset Drayson knew better than to try to commandeer the meeting: in this setting, aboard Thuvia, Ashburn was clearly in the leadership position. Drayson could be subtle about it, bide his time, and then work his magic the same way he’d done countless times in company boardrooms or the Crandall Annex itself. A synth steward appeared briefly to serve up coffee, tea, and a tray of snacks before leaving the four of them to their discussion. This synth was of a type they were now calling “classic”—obviously not an Omni. Given recent events, Drayson was mildly surprised that Ashburn hadn’t ordered all the synths to be blown out of the airlock anyhow.
“Let me start with an update,” Ashburn began when they were all settled in. “We arrive tomorrow, but as I expected, the plans have changed slightly. We aren’t just going to be allowed to fly unfettered into cislunar space. We’ll be intercepted and boarded tomorrow by a cruiser, the USS Philadelphia. They’ll come aboard with some Marines, an inspection team, a customs-and-immigration team, and a pair of deputy U.S. marshals.
“The marshals will be here to escort Mr. Drayson Earth-side for his . . . debriefing. We can expect a navy presence on board right up until the time we make lunar orbit, and maybe longer. Cheryl, you can probably transfer straight over to the Philly and start waving your report at the right people. Shiguro-san, you and your team may have to answer some questions—I’m not sure what’s going to come of all that. I understand most of your people are either citizens of TOA or PEA nations, correct?”
“Hai. Everyone holds some form of Terran citizenship, regardless of birth world.”
“Shouldn’t be a big issue, then. Still want to go to Earth?” he added. “Your physical-preparation regimen has been interrupted.”
“We might need to spend a few days doing some centrifuge work before we actually go Earth-side,” Kusaka admitted. He smiled. “That’s not your worry, Mike-san. I’ll also need about six hours for my people to uninstall the modifications to your spaceplane and return her to her stock configuration.”
Ashburn grinned. “I was hoping we were going to get to keep those.”
“It’s still prototype technology, and proprietary,” Kusaka replied. “It appears that those of us fortunate enough to make it to Earth are about all that remains of Federov Propulsion. Like Barsoom Traders, our corporate accounts have been drained dry.
With what’s in my head, some of what’s on those cores, and the company payload in Thuvia’s hold, we have enough assets to begin rebuilding the company and bring the next generation of space-drive technology into mainstream production.”
Drayson saw his first opening. “I may be able to help you with that, but we’ll come back to that shortly,” he interjected. “Go on, please.”
Ashburn nodded. “Well, the good news for Barsoom Traders is that I haven’t been a lone wolf out here trying to tackle the problems. Another company ship, Sola, arrived at Luna yesterday from Ell-5. Her captain is the senior company officer that was left on the roster—she’s stepped up and taken charge, has arranged for short-term credit, and is in the process of establishing temporary offices at the Lunar-4 Station. She asked for my purser to transfer off and take over as company comptroller, and nobody will fix the financials faster than Jerry can. That’s a huge worry off my mind. I can turn the ship over to Gina now without feeling like I’m leaving her totally twisting in the wind.”
“I may be able to help Barsoom Traders as well,” Drayson interjected again. “When we adjourn here, I’d like you to give me the contact information for Sola’s captain.”
“I’ll do that. You may be off the ship by then, but my current plan is to rendezvous with Lunar-4 if the navy has no objections. Now,” he added, “let’s get to the matter of those cores. Any brilliant ideas? Mr. Drayson?”
“I’d like to go last, if you don’t mind,” Drayson suggested.
Ashburn shrugged. “Okay. Cheryl?”
“Like I said before: it’s all above my pay grade. However, at a bare minimum, I’ll need to append to my intelligence report the technical data for everything to do with the Omnisynths and the particle-beam weapons, as well as some of the other data files. As an American and a navy officer, my first duty, arguably, is to turn the whole kit and caboodle over to the captain of the Philadelphia and let him deal with it. As an adult human being capable of rational thought, I also understand how and why that would also probably be the worst thing I could do. So let’s just say that, aside from the data I already mentioned, with me the jury is still out. If I hear any ideas I like better, I might be willing to entertain them. Otherwise, . . .” she shrugged as if to imply that the matter remained unresolved. “From a legal standpoint, I can’t say exactly what’s on those cores. I can always plead a bit of ignorance later if I need to. I’m just a humble warrant officer,” she grinned.
