Captain Arnol chose that moment to raise his voice, speaking not just to her but to all the gathered crew. “The ship that we see below us has been named Avenger, an apt title given our aims. As most of you know, a ship of this make is designed to descend through the gas giant’s outer atmosphere, and as it drops it begins to spin. The speed of revolutions becomes so great that it forms a sort of mini weather system, almost like a submerged whirlpool. Once it has this island of relative stability established, it continues sinking down to where metals are flowing as gaseous liquids, and begins processing.”
“The central pillar rising up through the undersection contains laboratory, factory, and storage bins,” the chancellor said, picking up the discussion. “The ship’s power plant, anti-grav stabilizers, and thrusters are all located in the underbelly of the upper section.”
“A highly specialized vessel, with ample space for hiding everything necessary for our actions.” Arnol turned to the chancellor, his craggy features sharpened by proximity to his new command. “Although I confess I am baffled at how you could keep a full battle-ready weapons system a secret.”
“Aye, sir,” Guns spoke up from farther down the aisle. “This is not just ordinary defenses we’re speaking of. Seems any basic inspection would uncover an attack system.”
“We did so by separating them entirely from the ship,” the chancellor replied as their airship began sinking down alongside the vessel. At such close quarters the ship’s size became even more formidable. “May I suggest that we allow your crew to begin familiarizing themselves with the flight deck, and we will see to these other matters.”
****
The black-robed diplomat was unable to hide his astonishment. “You say the new boy completed the initiation trial his very first time?”
“Powered up and began segmenting the quadrants without hesitation,” Digs answered. “Almost as though he had been trained as a monitor before.”
Beady eyes probed. “Why almost?”
“Because he didn’t know the quadrants. He had a vague idea, but he was off by tens of parsecs. Like he was trying to draw along lines he had maybe glimpsed once in a book.”
“And yet he knew,” the diplomat murmured.
“What to do? Absolutely.” Digs had been around long enough to have observed how the other monitors treated the diplomats, mixing disdain and caution in careful doses. He stood because he had not been offered a chair, but did so in an insolent slouch. He was doing well enough to be able to count himself as one of the inner circle, whether or not he still wore scout’s robes. There would be no more bowing and scraping to the likes of this desiccated old prune. Not ever again. “He didn’t fight the power-up, not for an instant. Just rode the wave, caught sight of the expanded timescape, and knew exactly what to do. Split space by quadrants, more or less anyway, and isolated his goal, and honed in. Focused, fast, and precise.”
The diplomat rubbed his chin for a long moment before saying in dry undertones, “How fascinating.”
“Sure is.” Digs did some probing of his own, hid his keen watchfulness by idly scratching an itch he did not feel. “You act as though you wanted him to fail.”
“It would have been more convenient,” the diplomat murmured to himself, then stiffened abruptly and focused once more on the young man standing before his desk. “That will be all.”
“What do you want me to do for his next stage?”
“Take the customary steps,” the diplomat snapped, irritated by his momentary lapse.
“Sure you don’t want to put him under something a little more intense?” Digs pretended to be the diplomat’s ally. “I mean, you want me to break the kid or what?”
The gaze sharpened into a calculating beam. “You could do that?”
“Just say the word,” Digs answered, and hid his loathing with the training of one trapped on Citadel for almost four standard years. “I can break him like matchwood.”
****
Rick stood at the back of the little group traversing the cavern-way on their floater and tried to make sense of the confusion that surrounded every contact with Consuela.
As they had descended from the airship, he had moved up close and said, “We have to talk.”
She had turned to him, not with the pleasant politeness he had expected, but rather with a keen glance that probed very deep. Down to the layers of himself where even he felt uncomfortable. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“What are you talking about?” He kept his tone overly casual. “I just have something important I need to tell you.”
She had spent a moment in silence, which somehow lent extra weight to her gaze, as though she were measuring him. “Come to the pilot’s station when you’re back.”
The pilot’s station was the most public spot in the entire control room. In the ship for that matter. But something in her gaze had left him certain that nothing would be gained by protesting. Rick had simply nodded and turned away at the sound of Guns calling him.
It was only now, as they continued down the winding cave, that he wondered why she seemed so much in control. This was not what he had come to expect from women. Normally control was totally his, without his even asking for it. He felt furious at the way she was treating him, leaving him both unsettled and aching for her. He didn’t even understand why he felt so attracted to her.
But he did. He couldn’t deny the fact. And the way she treated him only seemed to feed the flames.
The natural cave through which they passed had been expanded into a vast series of underground factories and warehouses. Great passages opened up at regular intervals, the rock still bearing the blast-marks of hasty carvings. The air around them was filled with floaters, piled high with men and equipment and with the battering sounds of metalworking.
“We have worked under one watchword—secrecy,” the chancellor was saying from his place at the floater’s bow. “The same concept dominated our planning. To work on more than one ship would have aroused suspicion, but at the same time we sought to enter the battle with our identity unknown. We have arrived at, in my opinion, a rather novel solution.” He nodded to the ground forces officer beside him, a stocky woman with eyes and hair of steel gray. “Take over, Engineer.”
“Aye, sir.” She turned to the gathered group and said, “Mining ships work on the pod system, scouting out prospective sites, ferrying men and supplies, establishing a moonbase away from the strain of gas mining. We registered this one as having a dozen multipurpose pods, then added some changes of our own.”
“Battle pods?” Guns’ voice rose a notch. “You armed pods?”
“To the teeth,” the engineer affirmed.
The floater landed in an empty passage, unmarked save for a single pair of great steel doors. The engineer stepped down, said, “Now if you’ll just come this way.”
But Guns was going nowhere. He turned to Arnol, said, “Begging your pardon, Captain, but this has been tried before. Pods are suicide machines, good for bringing in a swift initial attack, but only with men deemed expendable. That’s why all you see these days are robot pods, even though computer-driven actions are more predictable and the communication links slow down reaction time. With the small number of pods we’re talking about here, I can’t see us using them effectively against a heavily defended base, even if I were willing to see my own men go down in flames.”
It was the chancellor who responded. “Your sentiments are most worthy, Weapons Officer. And I might add that they match our own exactly.”
Guns turned a pained expression toward the chancellor. “Sir, I hope you’ll believe me when I say I’m for this mission one thousand percent. But I’m a weapons man to the bone, and I need to go in knowing my men’ll have at least a fighting chance.”
“Weapons Officer,” the chancellor replied, “we are hoping to avoid all casualties whatsoever.”
“Then pods just won’t work, sir, manned or unmanned.” Guns clearly looked uncomfortable holding center st
age, but his cautious nature forced him to speak. “The problems are well known. Weapons systems powerful enough to take on a pirate ship, much less a base, need a full-purpose power-pile behind them. Batteries and storage systems are dandy for a single blast, but there’s no telling how many shots we’ll need, nor how long a battle will last. That means sooner or later my men and I will be sitting up there, our shields down, with nothing but stout hearts to defend ourselves.” He turned to Arnol in helpless appeal. “Sorry for sounding off like this, Captain, but I’ve got the success of this mission to think of.”
Arnol looked at the chancellor and said, “When it comes to matters in their fields, I have every confidence in my men and their judgment. If Guns says a pod will not succeed here, I would be loathe to put him or any of his men in one and send them off.”
But the chancellor did not appear the least perturbed by their concerns. Instead, he turned back to the engineer and said simply, “Tell them.”
“We redesigned the power plant systems,” she replied. “Shrunk them by a factor of thirty, worked out a different shielding, held them to almost peak power.”
“I thought that was impossible,” Guns said weakly.
“So does the Hegemony,” the engineer replied.
“If there is anything that might assure you of our commitment to this project,” the chancellor said, “it should be this and the material we used in constructing these secret pods. The resources of three planets have gone into this project.”
“Now if you will please follow me,” the engineer said, and ushered them toward the massive doors, which began to rumble open at their approach. Beyond the colossal portal, all was shadow and half-seen forms. But what Rick could make out left him breathless.
“Lights,” called the engineer, and the sudden illumination drew a gasp from every crewman’s throat.
A jet black flying saucer floated overhead.
That was Rick’s first impression. But at closer inspection, he saw that the shape was more like the head of a spear. The leading edge flowed smoothly out into a flat knife-edged line, without sharp angles or any other evidence of construction whatsoever. It looked like some substance that absorbed light had been reduced to its molten state, then poured into a gigantic spear-shaped mold. There were no protrusions, no rough edges, no openings or closures or visible weapons.
Guns walked under the ship, back out, inspected how the center segment belled out both above and below in perfect symmetry, creating a central portion perhaps twice the height of a man. It was hard to tell exactly, for the curvature was so smooth and so gradual, and the material absorbed every particle of light. His eyebrows were almost in contact with his hairline by the time he turned back to the engineer. “How large a power plant did you say?”
“I didn’t,” she replied, clearly enjoying his reaction. “But it is capable of holding a force ten charge through three fusion bolts while maintaining full acceleration.”
If possible, his eyebrows crept even higher. “For how long?”
“You would die of old age,” she replied succinctly, “before your energy supply runs dry.”
Arnol walked off the ship’s twenty-pace length, his head upturned and brow furrowed. He turned back and demanded, “Where did you lay your hands on elemental trinium?”
“Another of our many secrets,” the chancellor replied. “One of our allies is the planetary system that supplies this material for all diplomatic and battle-fleet vessels. They too suffer under the Hegemony yoke.”
Guns demanded of the engineer, “What weapons?”
“Phasers, neutron missiles, improved stun-bolts, strafers,” she replied proudly. “And a new form of energy lance.”
“Not to mention the pod itself,” the chancellor added, motioning to the engineer.
From an inner pocket she pulled out a small control console and fingered in a command. Silently the ship began to tilt, until the nose was pointed directly downward. Another command, and the leading edge was brought within arm’s reach.
“Careful,” the chancellor warned.
Cautiously Rick reached out a hand, touched a substance that was neither hot nor cold. He ran his hand down the edge, drew back with a startled cry. He looked at his finger and saw that it was bleeding.
“We did not know if we would be facing an atmosphere world or not,” the engineer explained. “Elemental trinium can be shaped like a sword, and that is exactly what we decided to do. You will find, if you are ever forced to attack through wind and storm, that there is virtually no drag or buffet whatsoever.”
Guns examined Rick’s hand, gave him a handkerchief, said with eyes agleam, “The lad’s bloodied the ship. I say it’s his by right.”
“A dozen well-armed individual battle pods,” Captain Arnol said to Guns. “Split into four groups of three, attacking in utter secrecy and without any warning whatsoever. What say you, Weapons Officer?”
“A challenge worthy of our finest effort, Captain,” Guns said, excitement racking his voice up taut. “A battle to go down in history.”
“So say I also.” Captain Arnol turned to the chancellor and gave a formal bow. “Sir, I accept the commission and the challenge.”
“The hopes of our three worlds will go with you,” the chancellor replied in equal formality.
“Battle pods are an ungainly name for such a fine vessel,” Guns observed, his eyes still on the upended ship.
“We thought the same,” the engineer agreed, “and have come to know them as Blades.”
Chapter Eleven
“It looks like a Formula One race car from the twenty-third century.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s incredible.” Rick could not think of what he had seen and stand still at the same time. He paced about the pilot station, ignored the stares and smiles cast his way, and talked with his hands. “I mean, the thing is a racer’s ultimate dream come to life. I asked what the thing would do, you know what the engineer said? Thirty gravities. Zero to thirty gravities instantaneous acceleration. Do you know how fast that is?”
“No.”
“Neither do I.” His laugh had a frantic quality. “But I bet it’s faster than I ever thought I’d be driving. Especially something that doesn’t even have wheels.”
Consuela sat, calm and untouched by his excitement. “You realize I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”
“A fighter,” he exalted. “The best fighting ship you’ve ever seen. It makes the F-14 look like something the Wright Brothers designed. This baby is a dream.”
“A dream,” she said, “or a nightmare?”
That stopped him. “What do you mean?”
“We are doing this to save people from years of oppression and being ravaged by pirates,” she replied quietly. She sat with hands folded in her lap, her features composed in a mixture of sorrow and youthful beauty. “The hopes of an entire planetary system go with us.”
“Sure, I know that,” he said, but had to wonder why he felt so ashamed by her words.
Consuela eyed him with that same sense of unspoken wisdom that had so unsettled him earlier. “What was it you wanted to see me about?”
“Oh, yeah.” It was with a vague sense of disappointment and defeat that he sank into the seat next to hers. “I went back last night.”
“Back?” Her dark eyes opened in surprise. “Back home?”
“Yeah. Your mom’s in the hospital. But she’s okay, and Daniel’s there with her.” Swiftly he recounted his experience of the night before, glossing over the disquiet he felt from Daniel’s words.
But Consuela noticed his discomfort and demanded. “Are you telling me everything?”
He hesitated, again caught by her seeing more than he was comfortable with, then went on, “He talked about some stuff.”
“Good,” she said quietly. “Maybe Mom will listen to him.” A fleeting shadow passed over her features, then quietly she added, “Maybe I should too.”
He open
ed his mouth to ask what she meant, but was stopped by Dunlevy hastening up the broad stairs to the pilot station. “Ready to continue with your lesson?”
“Yes,” Consuela replied, and then said to Rick, “Thank you for going by to see her. I know it meant a lot.”
He did not try to hide his disappointment over their lack of intimacy. “I doubt if she even noticed it.”
“She did, I’m sure of that.” Her gaze pierced deep. “I’m very grateful, Rick.”
He nodded, turned away, and made his way back down to the weapons station. Her reaction was not what he had hoped, but clearly there was nothing more coming. Not now. It would have to do.
****
Consuela lay in the darkness of her cabin, surrounded by the scents of newness. The quarters were very generous, far larger than what she had been given on the last ship, and on the same level as the control tower. She had been accorded full pilot’s status, at least as far as her cabin went.
She should have felt pleased.
The cabin’s only light came from the console by the door, ever alert to react to her voice commands. She sighed and rolled over, tired but not ready for sleep. So much had happened. So much.
The ship’s departure had been set for the following day. That afternoon, the chancellor had formally handed over the ship to Captain Arnol and wished the crew success. That evening, Consuela had heard the crew discuss the Hegemony’s surprising willingness to let Arnol transport the ship. They had agreed among themselves that Arnol was granted permission for this voyage only because the Hegemony never intended him to reach his destination.
Even so she found it both pleasant and comforting to return to the disciplined routine of ship life. And there were familiar faces surrounding her, both in the control room and through the ship at large. Chief Petty Officer Tucker unbent enough to smile at her every time their ways crossed. And Adriana had come aboard as assistant to the ship’s doctor.
The Dream Voyagers Page 21
