by Nick Webb
“Well, not necessarily controlled. I mean, when we want the reaction to happen, we do want it to happen all at once. Like I said, boom. If there’s no boom, there’s no bomb, uh, so to speak.”
“So?” He tried to appear patient. But in truth, he hated talking to scientists. They could never get to the point.
“So we need to precisely control when the reaction happens. And furthermore, we need to make sure it doesn’t happen accidentally. The default state needs to be off. We can’t have anti-matter devices sitting around, getting old, and exploding on us. We need them to be safe long-term, and make it impossible for them to go off on their own. It was the same deal with nukes for hundreds of years. We got really good at making those things stable long-term. But all this anti-matter business is new, and a few years ago the team here made a breakthrough.”
She stood up and went to the whiteboard. Isaacson tried not to let his eyes glaze over as she pointed to a few equations. Shit, didn’t she realize it was a friggin’ foreign language?
“Look—the Schrödinger equation for a single atom. Dolled up a bit since it’s anti-matter we’re talking about, and a pretty big atom—tungsten’s wave function isn’t exactly aesthetic. But for our computers it’s no problem to crunch through. Turns out, if you get the electron wave function surrounding it into this configuration,” she waved toward another equation nearby, “the anti-tungsten will stay put. And it takes a very precise signal to change this wave function. You can’t just throw the bomb at something and hope it explodes. You need to trigger it right at the moment of impact.”
He nodded. “And you do that remotely? From a safe distance?”
“Well, no, it’s still triggered internally. There’s a complicated set of electronics inside the casing that detects whether the bomb has been launched, or is just taking a beating. That way you can’t detonate one by just hitting it, or, for example, destroying the ship carrying the bombs. The casing is basically indestructible to any outside force. Nearly solid chunks of reinforced tungsten-iridium composite alloys don’t break easily.”
He waved his hand repeatedly to move the conversation along. She needed to get to the point. Fast. “So tell me, Sergeant, say a foreign power were trying to sabotage these. Make them inoperable. How would they go about it? What’s the easiest way?” He watched her face, looking for any sign of suspicion. Just to be safe, he added, “The president is worried about this, yes. We need to be sure we can count on these devices to work when we deploy them, and therefore we need to know how someone else could conceivably disable them.”
She nodded, not the least bit suspiciously. “Oh, that’s actually pretty easy. Just adjust the wave function of the surrounding material, such that it doesn’t respond to the trigger signal.”
“Adjust? How?”
“Any kind of adjustment, really. The wave function is imprinted during manufacture by an external field, but it’s easily changed.” She pointed to one of the equations. “For example, take the coefficient of the wave function of the surrounding material. Optimal is exactly two-pi. Six point one four yada yada. Change that to six point one five, and, whoops! No boom.”
He nodded slowly. “And no boom means no bomb.”
Chapter Fifty-Eight
New Dublin, Eyre Sector
Bridge, ISS Warrior
Again?
Vishgane Kharsa had to be bluffing. But more importantly, what had he meant by again? You will be made an ally, again?
He nodded to Ensign Prince, indicating he initiate the q-jump.
Nothing.
The Dolmasi’s smirking face continued staring out from the screen. “Trouble, Granger?”
“Ensign, have you initiated the drive?”
“Aye, sir. Everything reads normal. But, uh … nothing happened,” Prince shot him an apologetic look.
Granger raised his head. “Commander Scott. Talk to me, Rayna. What’s going on?”
Silence.
“Commander Scott, come in.” Granger glanced at his ship status board. Everything normal. “Engineering, come in.”
A familiar voice came over the comm. “Everyone’s here, Captain. Can I help you?”
Hanrahan? “What’s up, Colonel? What’s wrong with Commander Scott? Why aren’t we moving?”
Before the response came he knew the answer. He glanced up at the empty chair at the science station. Dammit, Shelby, you better be alive or I’m going to kill you.
The colonel’s voice drawled slowly, almost triumphantly. “Captain, we are not going anywhere because I have intervened on behalf of our friends. The crew is fine.”
Shit. He should have known. Hanrahan was in the conference room when Proctor had detected two Swarm meta-space signals coming from the vicinity. “And Commander Proctor?”
A pause. “She is not fine. Gave her quite the knock.”
From the viewscreen the Dolmasi grimaced—probably a smile. “It appears you’ll be staying here for the moment, Captain. Prepare to be boarded.”
“Like hell,” he muttered. He made a cutting motion toward his neck and Ensign Prucha terminated the channel. He glanced at his tactical screen—over seventy-five percent of the fleet had left. But the rest seemed to be staying—either intentionally or not.
The comm came to life. “Granger, this is Captain Barnes. We heard.”
Granger growled. “Get out of here. Save yourselves.” The sensor status screen showed the armada of Swarm and Dolmasi ships approach. Less than twenty thousand kilometers now.
“Sorry, Granger. The fleet’s broken up. You’re not in charge anymore. We’re staying to protect you, you old bastard.” He could almost hear the smirk in the other captain’s voice.
“This is a death trap, Barnes. Get the hell out.”
“Granger,” began Barnes, “you taught us all something over Earth two months ago. Yeah, you went down with the ship, but that’s your duty. Any of us would have done the same. But you cling to life like a cranky old bastard and you don’t stop fighting. And against all the odds, you came back from death and the void itself to continue the fight. So no, Tim, we’re not going anywhere.”
Granger sighed. Hero worship was a bitch. Another glance at the tactical screen told him there were nearly thirty-five IDF ships still with the Warrior. Not enough to even mount a serious defense, much less win against a nearly equal number of Swarm and Dolmasi carriers. But maybe it would be enough to give him time to get his engines back.
“Captain Barnes, take the lead. Mr. Diaz, my Lieutenant XO, will command the Warrior in my absence.”
Barnes swore. “Where the hell are you going, Tim?”
He motioned to a marine at the door to hand him his sidearm, and shoved it into his waistband behind his back.
“To get my ship back.”
Chapter Fifty-Nine
New Dublin, Eyre Sector
Bridge, ISS Warrior
Proctor stumbled along the hallway, blood streaming from her head. Hanrahan had hit her good—the butt of his assault rifle had nearly split her head open and she wondered if her skull was fractured.
But she had the sample. The scenario replayed over and over again in her mind on continuous a loop—walking up behind him, intentionally falling, extracting the sample. Then the world began to swim. It was a wonder she’d gotten away.
She paused at an intersection, trying to remember where she was going. Several crew members ran past, and a few stopped to try and help. She waved them off—clearly there was an emergency going on—the klaxons were blaring and the red lights flashed. Swarm? Dolmasi? Russians? Some new enemy? Another race from the Concordat of Seven?
She’d come off the lift—she could hardly remember getting on it—and glanced around. Where was she going?
She recognized the hallways to sickbay. Her lab. That’s where she was going. And it was just down the hall. She tried to run, but stumbled and nearly blacked out. Damn—she’d lost a lot of blood. A hand grabbed her shoulder and she spun around.
�
��Commander! What happened? We’ve got to get you to sick bay.”
Doc Wyatt held onto her arm and tried to guide her down the hall. Given Colonel Hanrahan’s recent actions outing him as a likely Swarm agent, she was relieved to see Wyatt. He’d been present with the Vishgane when she’d detected two meta-space signals. Hanrahan too—but he was the source, she was sure now. Not Wyatt.
“No,” she said, stopping outside the door to her lab. “I need to check on something.”
“Come on, Commander, you’re in no condition to be on duty.”
“No, it’s important. Special mission … I … special mission. Science. Granger ordered me….” The words were a jumble coming out of her mouth. Thankfully, she could still think. Or could she? The hallway started spinning again.
“Come with me, Commander. We need to stop the bleeding. Come—sickbay is just down the hall.”
She wrenched free of his grip and bolted into her lab. Before he could catch up she shoved the needle into the sample chamber and shut it, flipping the power on to the scope. Within moments the sample would be scanned and she would see the viruses infecting Hanrahan’s blood.
“Commander! That’s enough!” Wyatt dashed into the lab after her, but before he could wrench her free from the scope she peered in.
Red blood cells. T cells. Plasma. Ah. There it was. The virus. Hanrahan had been infected, all right.
Then it was true—they could now detect Swarm-controlled people. She breathed a little easier—at least now they could neutralize one of the Swarm’s most potent weapons.
“All right, Doc. I’ve done what I came for. Let’s go.” She allowed herself to be led off and out the door before stopping suddenly. “Wait!”
“Oh, what is it now, Commander? If you lose any more blood you’ll need a transfusion, and judging by these sirens there’s about to be a whole lot more wounded coming down who’ll need it more than you.”
She pulled free of his grip and returned to one of the lab tables, searching for something. Her vision was hazy, and the room spun violently. Her head ached. Ah, there it was. A tiny micro-syringe. She plucked it from a pile of disheveled lab material and slipped it into her pocket.
“Ok. Sickbay,” she said, nearly collapsing into Wyatt’s arms.
Chapter Sixty
New Dublin, Eyre Sector
Bridge, ISS Warrior
“Come with me,” Granger said to the marines standing guard at the doors of the bridge. They nodded and readied their assault rifles. “Hopefully you won’t need those. Keep them lowered. Do not shoot on sight. Let me talk, but wait for my signal. Be ready for anything.”
Granger led them down the hallway toward the lift, and once inside, the ship started bucking and shuddering under the assault that accompanied the arrival of the first Swarm carriers. Dammit, his place was on the bridge leading this battle, and here he was, going to plug another hole in the dam.
But he was the only one that could plug this particular hole. Within a minute the lift doors opened and he strode out into the hallway that led to engineering. The space was almost identical to the hallway outside engineering on the Constitution, and he was immediately struck by a memory. Just two months ago, he’d stood outside those doors with two other marines, sending them to their escape pods while he continued on to what he thought would be his death.
The doors did not open. He raised his head. “Colonel Hanrahan, this is the captain. I am outside engineering. Let me in there, now.”
The colonel’s voice boomed over the speakers in the cramped hallway. “Alone?”
He glanced at the two marines, clutching their assault rifles at the ready. “Just a standard marine escort, Colonel. Three of us here. Let me in there and we can work something out.”
The doors slid open. Engineering appeared deserted. Granger stepped forward, signaling for his men to follow him. He felt the bulge in the waistband on his back, but resisted the urge to reach back there and pull the sidearm out.
The central command console was unmanned, so they continued down the vast bay. The power plant looked normal, as did the standard drive. He supposed the q-jump drive looked fine, too, but there was no way to determine its status without an engineer inspecting it. Where the hell were all the engineers?
He rounded the corner to the coolant bay, and stopped. The entire engineering crew was on the floor.
Dead?
One of them moved—a young engineer laying on his front, turning his head to look at Granger. His eyes were wide—the man was terrified.
Hanrahan, flanked by an entire squad of marines with their rifles aimed directly at Granger, stood close to the far wall.
“I didn’t think you had the balls to come yourself, Granger. What’s that they call you? The brick-layer? Always sending others to do your dirty work for you. Thanks for proving me wrong. Our friends out there will be delighted that I’ve got you cornered—you’ve been betraying us for long enough.” He motioned his men forward with his rifle. Were they under the Swarm’s influence, too? He noticed that Hanrahan kept his words vague, possibly because he needed his men to think he was apprehending Granger at the behest of one of the other captains.
“Wait,” said Granger. He took a step forward. Toward Hanrahan. Vishgane Kharsa’s words came back to him. You, too, will be made an ally, again.
Again. That confirmed it—Granger had at one point been under their control. Maybe he still was. But at least he still felt in control of himself, and while he felt like that he was going to figure out a way out of this.
It also meant he had, at least at one point, been able to communicate through organic meta-space transmission. He had no idea how it worked. How in the world they could generate a meta-space signal with bodies was completely beyond him. Not even Proctor had any idea.
But he had to try. He focused on Hanrahan’s face. Locked eyes with him. Tried to connect, to speak, to feel. To shout a word at him with his mind. STOP, he said. STOP. STOP. He concentrated on that word, and on that face, and on that concept: STOP.
Hanrahan cocked his head, looking confused. He motioned for his men to pause, and he walked forward until he stood just steps away from Granger. Hanrahan still had his assault rifle trained on him.
Had it really worked? Regardless, he needed to seize the opportunity. Create enough confusion in the other man that would give Granger the time he needed to act.
“I’m a friend. Just like you,” said Granger.
The marines all looked confused, but Hanrahan’s eyes narrowed. “A friend? You were a friend, but you were lost. You turned back. The reports say you are no longer an ally.”
“Those reports were wrong.”
Hanrahan looked perplexed. The rifle still pointed at Granger’s chest. “Our friends are never wrong.”
“They know about me, you idiot. I’m in deep cover. They’re testing you. Seeing if they could trust you with their friendship.”
Hanrahan’s face looked hopeful. “And?”
Granger grinned. “You’ve done … admirably. Our friends are pleased.” He concentrated on the man’s face and concentrated: GOOD. GOOD WORK. WELL DONE.
The assault rifle lowered slightly. Granger smiled more broadly, and extended a hand. Hanrahan let the rifle dangle from the strap and reached for the handshake.
They touched, hands gripping. Hanrahan’s eyes went wide with shock, then anger. But before he could lift his rifle, Granger reached around, grabbed the sidearm from his belt, pointed it at the colonel’s chest, and fired.
Blood sprayed out from his back.
Hanrahan stumbled backward. He coughed blood. The rifle dropped. He fell to his knees.
But he smiled. “Doesn’t matter,” he rasped. “They’ll get to you, Granger. You will be a friend again. Our greatest ally. Through you, we will claim Earth.”
Granger fired again. Blood splattered. The ship rumbled from the battle raging outside. Hanrahan slumped to the ground, still rasping. “How’s your XO? Last time I saw her, she didn’
t look so good.”
“Sickbay. Doing just fine,” replied Granger.
One last bloody smile. “Good. Wyatt will take good care of her. He’s always been a friend.”
A friend? Shit.
Hanrahan’s head thudded onto the ground, his eyes cold. Granger looked up at the confused marines. “Put your weapons down. Now.” One of the marines faltered, and set his rifle on the floor. “All of you. Go on. I promise you’ll be safe. In case you hadn’t noticed there’s a battle going on out there. Swarm’s banging us up something fierce. Wouldn’t you rather have me up there saving our lives than down here dicking around with you sons of bitches? Now. To the ground!” He pointed to the floor as he yelled.
The rest of them complied. He waved toward his two marines to pick up the weapons, and scanned the engineering crew on the floor until he found Commander Scott. He knelt down next to her. “You ok, Rayna?”
She seemed shaken and dazed. “Fine, Cap’n, just fine. He ain’t hurt no one. Kept telling us he was our friend. Sure, he kept saying that with a rifle pointed at my face, but … kids these days.”
She was rambling. He gripped her shoulders and looked her in the face.
“Rayna, I need the q-jump drive now. What did he do to it?”
“Nothing, Cap’n. Just made me disable it. I can fix it up right quick.”
“How long?”
“Ten minutes?”
He helped her to stand. “Move.”
Commander Scott rounded up a few engineers and they retreated to the command station. “Get them in the brig,” he said to his two men, pointing at the rest of the marines. “We’ll sort them out later.”
The ship lurched and bucked some more. He needed to be up there. But he had one last problem to fix. One more person to rescue. The lift doors closed behind him and he raised his head to speak the destination.
“Sickbay.”
Chapter Sixty-One
New Dublin, Eyre Sector
Bridge, ISS Warrior
