Morgan Selwood 1: Supertech

by Greta van Der Rol

  SUPERTECH

  by

  Greta van der Rol

  The Fleet invested in her education but did they train her for ... this?

  Ensign Morgan Selwood is a Supertech, bioengineered from birth, fresh out of the Academy and tasked with designing a control system for an experimental fighter. The job seemed like a dream come true and a real career booster. She's up for the challenge but the specs and modules tell only part of the story—what Morgan discovers can put not just her career, but lives at risk.

  Dedication

  A heartfelt 'thank you' to my long-suffering writing buddies for helping me

  to get this story into shape (you know who you are).Very special thanks

  to Dale Furse for coaching me through writing 101.

  SUPERTECH

  Copyright ©2011 by Greta van der Rol

  Cover by Greta van der Rol

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the copyright owner except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Second electronic publication by PubRight

  Published in the United States of America with international distribution.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Copyright

  SUPERTECH

  Excerpt from Morgan's Choice

  About the Author

  By the Same Author

  SUPERTECH

  Morgan slapped her hand on the panel that opened the door to the broom cupboard also known as her office. Lights flickered on as she entered. She really must bring in a broom and a bucket to finish the look. Another day in paradise. She flung her bag into its usual corner and sagged onto the chair. What riveting task would Cam have found for her today?

  Concentrating on the dataport, she flicked the mental switch in her implant to meld with the base’s computer system. The impersonal lens became a coloured highway, transporting packets of data back and forth. Morgan sent her ID, which she’d long since changed to system administrator, and looked around for changes.

  Ah. A new frigate up on Gens Brasna Two, the larger of the maintenance base’s two orbital space stations. She sighed. Dead boring. Routine annual checkout and recalibration. They wouldn’t even ask her to move her backside out of her chair for that. Nothing in her in-tray. She’d finished this week’s work yesterday morning. Oh, well. Might as well play with the simulators.

  She browsed the list of simulator scenarios for a star destroyer, meant for Fleet engineers, navigators or officers on advanced training. This one sounded good; Star destroyer in orbit around a planet, main drives failed, orbit decaying.

  She’d barely started diagnosis when Commander Campbell’s voice jolted her out of the system.

  “Morgan. ENSIGN SELWOOD.”

  Damn. She hated being forced out of a meld. She sat back in her chair, eyes closed, waiting for the woosiness to pass as her brain reset itself for the physical world.

  “Hi, Cam, what’s up?” she said through her implant.

  “Got something for you, Morgan. Stop playing simulators and get yourself into my office.”

  Heat rose to Morgan’s face. She hadn’t realised he knew. But then again, she’d never felt the need to hide the fact she played on the simulators. Besides, she could always call her activity research. Anything a Supertech wanted to know and then some. If they ever posted her somewhere worthwhile, the knowledge would be useful.

  “On my way.”

  She stood, a glow of hope flooding through her, and hurried down the corridor to Campbell’s office.

  He sat behind his cluttered desk, top button of his rumpled uniform undone as usual. A sharp mind hid behind that scruffy exterior. He had little regard for regulation creases and mirror shine on shoes and that suited her fine. He pointed a finger at his visitor’s chair. “Sit.”

  She sat. “What have you got? Another intermittent fault on that frigate upstairs?”

  He grinned. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

  “Yep. Took me all of six hours.”

  The smile faded from Campbell’s face. “I wonder when they’re going to see sense? You must have really, really upset Captain Jorvik, you know. Wasting a Supertech on a maintenance depot…” he shook his head. “I would have thought you’d been punished enough after six weeks.”

  Six weeks. Was that all? It felt like six months.

  She shrugged. “I guess they sent me here because they couldn’t send me to a prison planet with the rest of the no-hopers.”

  She stared at the window simulation in Campbell’s office. Five levels above them drizzle fell from an overcast sky. Fat droplets collected on the virtual glass and ran down like tears. Jorvik’s face rose in her mind, a malicious glint in his eyes as he presented her with her ensign’s stripe and her first posting. Gens Brasna. High on minerals, low on weather and living conditions.

  “I didn’t think even a martinet like Jorvik would have been quite so stupid. You’re too rare and valuable for that.” Campbell ran a hand though thinning hair, making it stick out even more around his head. “Never mind that. Here’s something that’s certainly worthy of you.”

  He slid a datacube into the reader on his desk. A holovid display of a fighter rotated in the air between them. Streamlined and sleek, canards, and forward-sweeping wings.

  “That’s an SU-43,” he said. “A brand new, versatile attack fighter, space and atmosphere capable, to be carried on star destroyers and deployed at ground bases. It’s the replacement for the K-11. This is a prototype. They want you to build the fighter’s control system.”

  Woohoo. A real job at last. She could have jumped up and kissed him. “Okaaaay. Thank you thank you thank you.”

  He laughed. “Happy now? Come on, Supertech. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  The day flew past as she collected background information and read up on fighter control systems.

  After work she bounced into the apartment she shared with Brad.

  “Hey. Had a great day, lover, how was yours?” She threw off her coat and flung it onto the nearest chair.

  Brad grinned up at her from the couch and turned off the holovid. “That’s a change. Tell me about it.”

  She pirouetted, landed on his lap and engulfed him in a kiss.

  “I have to create a control system for a new fighter called the SU-43,” she said when she came up for air.

  The arm around her waist loosened. “Oh yes? What’s an SU-43?”

  “Don’t tell me you’re interested? You’re never interested in what I do.”

  “In fighters, sure. That’s what I do.”

  “It’s a replacement for the K-11.”

  “I’ve flown K-11s. Quite a few times. How’s it different?”

  “Totally reconfigurable wings. Forward slanting with canards when you want manoeuvrability, backswept when you need stability, wing length can be changed, wings and canards can be kind of joined together to create one smooth delta-wing surface. Wings and canards are retractable, so the craft can be stored in a smaller space. That’s an improvement for a star destroyer.”

  “I guess. Weapons?”

  “Laser cannons forward and aft and missile tubes under the fuselage.”

  “Are the missil
e launchers Techwares?”

  “I don’t know. Does the manufacturer matter?”

  His hand stroked her back, up and down, but absently. “Guess not. But Techwares are solid, problem-free and accurate.”

  “I can find out for you.”

  He grinned and hugged her shoulder. “I know you can, babe. But let’s not bother right now. A celebration is in order. Let’s go out for dinner and then on to the dance club. We can show each other some moves.”

  She sat up. “Sounds good. And then we can come home and practise some more horizontal moves.”

  He laughed. “That sounds even better. Go get changed, then.”

  She skipped off to the bedroom and pulled out her red dress while Brad changed into grey pants and a dark blue jacket. She liked his body, fit and strong. The scar still showed on his left leg, a long white line but he hardly limped at all and the injury certainly hadn’t stopped his ability to dance. Vertically or horizontally.

  Gens Brasna may be the armpit of the Fleet, but at least she’d met Brad here. Nothing was irrevocably bad. And Captain Jorvik could put that small fact wherever he’d like it, with her compliments.

  She slipped on dancing shoes, the heels high enough for elegance without causing nose-bleed. “What did the doctor say?”

  His fingers stopped in the act of buttoning his coat. “Another month and they’ll consider sending me back to my squadron.”

  A month. Her heart almost stopped. But he was a fighter pilot, only here on Gens Brasna to recuperate, regain his skills flying refurbished ships as a final check before they went back to active duty. She knew that. Now the knowledge transformed into a hand around her heart, squeezing.

  “Hey.” He crossed the few steps between them and took her face in his hands. “This new assignment is a good sign. Do a good job and you’ll be out of here, too. Love you.”

  He kissed her lightly then pulled her into his arms and clamped his mouth over hers. She moulded against him, eyes closed.

  He pushed away at last. “Come on, we need to eat first.”

  She managed a laugh. “Guess so.”

  “And who knows? Maybe they’ll post you to Leviathan.”

  Yes, maybe they would. She’d been a good girl so far, hadn’t put a foot wrong since she landed here. The last thing she wanted was to lose her commission. If Gens Brasna was bad, the prospect of going home to Sal Moneo with her tail between her legs… No. She’d never do that.

  Morgan almost skipped into work the following day, bubbling with barely suppressed joy. A job, a real job. She connected with the computer, called up the schematics for the SU-43 and began to design the control system. She’d spent some time yesterday checking the controllers for the K-11s and a number of other fighters and reading up on the literature. The system would be a closed-loop neural network, collecting input data from sensors within the machine and modifying the flight characteristics accordingly.

  So many variables to consider; drag, flex, angles, external wind speed and temperature in atmosphere and the absence of those elements in space and a heap of others. The existing tech was a good jumping-off point. She could innovate a little more after she’d seen what the SU-43 would do with something similar to what was already out there.

  First things first; a whole slew of parameters to set up, all depending on what the aircraft was supposed to be able to do. She went back to the contract documents, entering minima and maxima which would define the best the aircraft could be expected to deliver.

  A few days’ work and she had a prototype ready to test in simulations.

  Now to match the pie-in-the-sky with the real world. She went back to the contract to check the capabilities of the components.

  Extron Avionics had won the tender to build the entire aircraft. Out of curiosity she looked the firm up. Five years old, never built a fighter before. Odd. Why would they give a contract to a new firm? She went back to the tender process itself. Four companies had responded, one of them Techware, the firm Brad had mentioned. Extron’s bid was certainly far and away the cheapest, by a good twenty-five percent. The company trumpeted a new material, lightweight, strong and cheap. But the main reason for the reduced quote was that Fleet was going to supply the control system.

  Alarms bells tinkled in her head. A control system supplied by her. And a brand new product called ‘durafibe’ for the fuselage, a composite from a recently discovered plant fibre reinforced with carbon. It hadn’t been used anywhere else before. Uh-oh. Durafibe was still experimental. Her feeling of unease growing, she followed the data trail to the test results. Oh shit. The material tested to well below the maxima Fleet required. But the company set out assurances that the new substance was undergoing further development and would be finished in time for a production run in the following year.

  Morgan leaned back in her chair and broke the meld with the computer system.

  They couldn’t be serious. They couldn’t possibly be planning to build a brand new aircraft with experimental materials. Surely.

  She’d have to talk to Campbell.

  She found the Commander in his office. He swivelled around from his monitor when she knocked on the doorframe. “You look worried. What’s up?”

  She perched on the edge of his visitor’s chair.

  “Aircraft design isn’t my specialty, Cam, but this SU-43 business bothers me.”

  “In what respect?”

  “The design will work. I’m just worried about this Extron crowd who won the tender.”

  The two lines between Campbell’s brows deepened. “So? I expect they tendered a lower price.”

  “Yes, they did. Cam, this crowd has never built anything for a space-faring aircraft before. They’re contracted to build the whole damn ship and this durafibe stuff they’re going to use for the hull is still experimental.”

  “Morgan, it’s not your problem. You’re a Supertech. You build information systems, not aircraft. And you don’t write contracts.”

  “Sure, Cam. But my future husband is a fighter pilot. He flies those aircraft and yes, I’m very interested. I took a look at the tender. I’m no lawyer, sure, but it seems to me we’ve got plenty of obligations to them and they have sod all to us, except to deliver a product that works. Eventually.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  She stared at him. The lines in his face seemed deeper, his eyes sunken and the normal glint of humour had gone.

  “They’re giving us lots of assurances that this new material they’re developing will be ready in time. But if it isn’t, we just wait. No penalties, no compensation. And the control system I build will revert to them. They’ll own it.” She shoved a hand through her hair. “They owe us nothing. We fit in with them. So I looked at the Techware tender to see what they offered. The comparison’s… oh… a take-out to a gourmet meal.”

  “Just do your job, Morgan.” Campbell’s hands had clenched into fists, the knuckles white.

  A tingle of alarm wriggled down her spine. “What don’t I know, Cam?”

  “Admiral Makasa is pushing this thing. It’s his baby.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “Morgan, he’s the boss of the whole munitions section.” Campbell glanced around nervously as though his every word was being recorded for playback to the admiral.

  “Well, does he know about the tenders? Maybe we should tell him.”

  Campbell slammed his hand flat down on the desk. “No. Do your job. Design a control system. You have the model, you have the simulation test bed. You said you wanted a challenge. Get on with it.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh man, are you serious? Sure I can program the control system. But if the fucking wings fall off, what do you want me to do about it?” She leant over the desk at him, her weight on her hands. “You know what they’re gonna say? Oh, sorry. Here’s a new one. And there’s nothing we can do about it.

  Campbell tried to meet her eyes and looked away. “Don’t blast me with your mercury glare, Ensign. This is bigger
than both of us. Get on and do your job. What you were built for.”

  Built for. The words seared her soul. Modified at birth, she carried more computing power in her implants than all the processors on a battle cruiser. But nobody could see that. She was just another woman, except for her eyes. They were artificial, able to connect to dataports and yet still see what a human brain saw. To people like Campbell they looked like they were made of mercury; silvery, fluid; a nice, obvious reminder to all that she was different, strange. He couldn’t match her gaze; not many people could.

  Morgan pushed herself to her feet and slouched back to her broom cupboard. Cam hadn’t called her Ensign since a day after she’d arrived on Gens Brasna. This Makasa fellow had to be pushing him hard. Well, maybe he didn’t know about the faults in the contract. Sometimes senior officers were told what they wanted to hear, not what they should hear.

  She checked all the tenders, listed the problems as she saw them, asked questions about the quality of the components and returned to Commander Campbell with a report.

  “It is my problem, Cam. I can design a control system constrained by the limitations of the materials but if they don’t come up to specification—”

  “Then you’ve done what was asked of you. We’ll go back to the manufacturers and hold them to account.” Campbell played with a laserpen, turning it over in his fingers.

  Morgan folded her arms. “I told you I’d tell it like it is. Isn’t that part of my job?”

  He shook his head. “No, it’s not. You build information systems. That is your job. You’ll have to learn to work with the system, Morgan.”

  “I never have before, which is why I’m here. Why start now?”

  “Well, you might want to be somewhere else, for a start. Maybe this is a test.” He looked at a point just above the bridge of her nose, still absently twirling the laserpen. “You could get yourself taken off the project. Do you think that would help? Either the project or you?”