by Rick Shelley
A combination of factors had led to the inclusion of what had previously been decried as "useless luxury." The size and cost of the latest Nilssens had declined, making the addition of a fourth to each new ship more practical. But the rationale had little to do with the momentary comfort of soldiers. A fourth Nilssen gave a ship an element of redundancy, a "spare" in case one was damaged during a combat contract, allowing the ship to perhaps escape destruction without being forced to wait in hostile space until repairs could be effected.
Lon arranged to view Golden Eagle's first Q-space transit of the voyage from the launchmaster's station, one of the few locations that offered the illusion of a direct window on space. The dome-shaped protrusion boasted fioor-to-ceiling monitors giving a real-time view outside, allowing the launchmaster to handle incoming and outgoing shuttles as if he could actually see them. The resolution was so high that the illusion was nearly perfect. When he first stepped into the chamber, Lon felt an instant of vertigo, as if he had stepped out into open space.
"Whew! That's something," Lon said. There were only two other people in the room, an ensign and a petty officer. The only interior lighting was muted, coming from the complink monitors and various status lights on different pieces of equipment, all of which were arranged in the center of the room.
"Yes, sir," the ensign agreed. "It gets everyone the first time, and some people always have that kind of reaction. I've even seen people gasp for breath, as if they thought they stepped into a vacuum." The ensign chuckled. "By the way, sir, we've got about five minutes before Q-space insertion."
Lon glanced at his watch and nodded. He had started making his way toward the dome as soon as the thirty-minute warning sounded. That hadn't changed, even though the reason for it did not exist about Raptor-class ships. Tell everyone what's coming so it doesn't catch anyone by surprise.
"Don't expect to see much during the jump, Colonel," the ensign said. "It's really not much of a show."
"I've seen it on monitors—small monitors—before, Ensign," Lon said. "I just want to get the, ah, full effect."
"You will get that here, sir," the ensign said. "Best view on the ship, better than what the skipper has on the bridge."
Lon walked around the center island, looking outward, picking out stars he could identify, and the rockets of some of the other ships in the fleet, hot points of light.
One minute before Q-space insertion there was another warning broadcast throughout Golden Eagle. The entire armada would jump simultaneously and, if every ship's calculations were correct, emerge in the same formation at the far end of the transit in one of the major shipping lanes, forty light-years away.
Thirty seconds: another warning. At ten seconds, a countdown was broadcast on the loudspeakers:… Three… two… one. "Q-space insertion," the loudspeaker announced.
Under the last numbers of the count, Lon had felt the ship's normal vibrations increase markedly as the Nilssens cycled up to full power. There was no audible sound to accompany the vibration. The Nilssens were in separate pods outside the main hull of the ship, with the connections well insulated. The vacuum of space carried no sound. As the voice on the loudspeaker said "Q-space insertion," the view around Lon changed instantaneously. The familiar rich star field visible from Diligent's system was replaced by a featureless, uniform light gray. There were no visual clues to tell the observer how far away the "horizon" was.
"A void without form," the ensign said, "like it says in the Bible. I know what the manuals say, sir, and I had to sweat my way through the transformational math in training—the basic, practical levels, not the deep theoretical stuff—but I can't really say I understand it. The Nilssens generate an ovoid bubble of quantum-space, a pocket universe, that is just barely larger than the ship. Theoretically, we are tangent to every point in the 'real' universe, but we're all alone, out of touch with that universe or the similar Q-space bubbles holding each of the other ships in the convoy. The Nilssens stress the bubble just so for just so long and then reverse polarity, dropping us back in normal space however many light-years we may have jumped. Our bubble universe will disappear, cease to exist, its Big Bang and Big Crunch happening just minutes apart—if time has any real meaning in it—the only evidence that the bubble ever existed a series of gentle gravity ripples that damp themselves out until they can't be detected. That's why we wait three days between transits, to make sure the, ah, residue from one jump doesn't affect the next."
I know the theory, Lon thought, but he just nodded, not paying much attention to the ensign's school text recitation. Lon was too busy staring at the blank gray surround, illuminated only by the few exterior lights Golden Eagle showed.
The transit did not last long; they rarely did. Two minutes after Q-space insertion there was an announcement that extraction would occur in thirty seconds. Lon waited. Again there was a countdown through the last ten seconds and then normal space blinked back into view, abruptly. The star field visible through the dome's monitors was considerably different. Other ships were visible, right where they were supposed to be—as far as Lon could tell.
"Thanks for the briefing, Ensign," Lon said. "An interesting show."
"Glad you're so easy to please, Colonel. Always nice to have company here. Don't get many repeat customers."
Lon kept busy during the voyage. He spent hours each day studying the database on Elysium, committing as much of the material to memory as he could—concentrating on the most likely area of operation, the region surrounding the capital, University City. He sketched out possible plans of attack, based on the information that Chancellor Berlino had brought to Dirigent, and the updates contained in the MR that had arrived just before the fleet left. Lon scanned large-scale maps, looking for whatever advantages of terrain might be found. What would I do in this circumstance, or this? Try to determine what the enemy might have done in the four weeks between the dispatch of that MR and the arrival of the Dirigenters. The final plan, based on what the Dirigenters learned when their ships emerged from the final Q-space transit of the journey, would be made by Bob Hayley, but he would seek the advice of Lon, the senior staff officers of the two regiments, and the battalion commanders, as well as the planners in the combat information centers of the fleet ships.
In addition to the routines of administration and his planning efforts, Lon had to reserve an hour each day for physical exercise in one of Golden Eagle's four gymnasiums. An hour was spent with the SMO, Dan Norman. Eight hours for sleep, guaranteed by the patches that Major Norman had prescribed, another two hours for eating and other personal necessities.
"You're doing well," Norman told Lon the day after the second Q-space transit. "And the regiment is holding together nicely as well."
"I'm staying too busy to… brood," Lon said.
"That's part of the therapy. By the way, unless something goes terrifically haywire with your blood chemistry in the next twenty-four hours, I think we'll be able to forget that second session in the trauma tube."
"Best news I've had since we left home," Lon said. "We might have had trouble fitting it in, since Colonel Hayley wants a full staff meeting on Peregrine before we make the final transit. Senior regimental staff and all the battalion commanders and executive officers. That could take most of a day, with the commute there and back." Peregrine was the ship carrying Colonel Hayley and would serve as flagship for operations during the Elysium contract. Its combat information center would coordinate all activities of the ships and would handle communications between the fleet and the force on the ground.
The three senior Elysians—Chancellor Berlino, Minister for External Affairs Beoch, and Treasurer Chiou—were also present for the planning session aboard Peregrine, more as observers than as participants; primarily, they were there to answer questions. The conference was held in a room next to CIC, in the area of the ship between crew territory and the passenger section. There weren't enough complink stations around the U-shaped table for everyone to have a place. Staff offic
ers and seconds-in-command had seats behind their principals.
In the center of the U a three-dimensional projection of Elysium and its system spun, mimicking in scale the motions of the real system. Elysium's sun was slightly hotter than Earth's sun. Elysium was slightly farther away, giving the planet conditions very similar to those on Earth, Diligent, or hundreds of other worlds that humans had settled. So many hospitable worlds had been found that colonists rarely had to accept anything that was not "just right."
"Tomorrow morning, we transit Q-space into the Elysian system," Colonel Hayley said once everyone was seated and the initial small talk had ended. He gestured at the holographic chart. "The plans we make today must be seen as extremely preliminary and subject to almost certain change once we are in-system and learn what developments there have been since the Elysians sent that last MR. The information that contained will be twenty-nine days out of date when we hit Elysian space, so it is possible that the situation may have changed drastically." The Elysium contract was no different from any other in that regard, and the situation was often much worse. The available information might be two months or more old by the time the mercenaries reached their destination. Most commanders made a point of emphasizing the age of their data.
"As a precaution, the fleet will emerge from Q-space in three separate elements, widely spaced, too far apart for the enemy to easily intercept all of us even if they're sitting there just waiting for us to arrive." He cleared his throat and made a hand gesture. A chief petty officer from Peregrine's crew, sitting at a console at the rear of the room, inserted red arrows in the holographic map, all well away from the system's ecliptic, two coming from
"above" and the other from "below." Colonel Hayley detailed which ships would come in at each point. "The commanders of each ship already have their navigational data," Hayley said. "We will—subject to change once we see what the New Spartans have waiting for us—be able to rendezvous in attack orbit seventy-one hours after we emerge from Q-space." That elicited a few soft murmurs around the table. Standard doctrine called for ships to emerge seventy-two hours, or more, out from any significant planetary mass.
"An hour is the most we can afford to risk, even though the commanders of all the ships agreed that it leaves a considerable safety margin," Hayley said. "The problem is that we don't know how considerable. But being able to get into position even that much sooner might give us a slender advantage, even though we can expect that the New Spartans will calculate our course and speed in fairly short order once we emerge from Q-space." He smiled. "We should, at a minimum, throw a hint of uncertainty into their planning. If we're willing to chance doing one thing that the 'book' says we shouldn't, what else might we attempt that they won't be expecting? That is, at least, our hope.
"The basics of our attack plan are fairly simple, again, depending on what we find." Hayley gestured again, and the CPO at the controls adjusted the holographic view again, moving Elysium to the center, enlarging it, and showing only the surface of the planet and space directly around it. The amount of surface detail increased, and the district centered on the capital was highlighted in a bright yellow.
"Agamemnon and Odysseus will move to engage the enemy's capital ships with their own weapons and the Shrikes they carry, striving to keep them fully occupied while we put troops ashore. If the enemy's strength and disposition on the ground have not changed significantly, the initial landing assault will include seven line battalions, leaving 7th Regiment's 4th Battalion aboard ship as reserve. The heavy-weapons battalions of both regiments will also remain aboard ship until our people on the ground establish safe LZs to bring in their tanks and guns and we can use Shrikes to cover the landing of their equipment. If initial operations go well, the delay might be no more than an hour or two. If necessary, we can use a landing by 4th of the 7th as a diversion for the heavy weapons." Another gesture, and the projection of Elysium stopped rotating and the image of the highlighted area trebled in size.
"Once on the ground, our initial objective will be to engage the enemy around University City and break the siege. Once we break the cordon the New Spartans have thrown around the capital, we can start working to roll up their line and—hopefully—convince them that their contract is one they cannot fulfill."
"Do you plan to use all the Shrikes against the enemy ships?" Tefford Ives asked. "Or will you reserve some to cover the initial landing?"
"That depends on how the New Spartans use their fighters. If they withdraw all of them to defend their ships or to attack our vessels, we'll use all the Shrikes in space. If they leave some fighters low to oppose the landing and continue interdicting local air travel, then we may divert some of our Shrikes to keep them occupied." Hayley cleared his throat again and let his gaze drift all the way around the table.
"Just remember, gentlemen, this is still extremely speculative. The New Spartans have had four weeks to redeploy, reinforce, or even withdraw their forces. Until we see what assets they have in place and how they are deployed, we can't make firm plans, and even those will be subject to change depending on how they react to our arrival. But this briefing will allow you to tell your men what our thinking is at present. Make sure everyone knows where we stand." Keeping everyone as informed as possible was standard procedure in the Corps. Bob
Hayley went perhaps a little farther than some commanders.
"Right now," he continued, "I just want you to recall one important provision of our contract. If we arrive in-system and find that the New Spartans have massively reinforced their presence beyond what we can expect to handle readily, our instructions are to report that fact to Dirigent immediately and await our own reinforcements, even withdrawing from the system, if necessary, to avoid useless losses before those reinforcements reach us. We don't spend our men carelessly."
CHAPTER NINE
Lon spent fifteen minutes with his battalion commanders before they all returned to their respective ships. He asked how things were going, repeated Hay ley's admonition to make certain the men were told everything, then wished them luck. "The next time we meet, we should be on the ground on Elysium." Lon and his senior staff officers waited until all of the battalion commanders and executive officers had left before they boarded their shuttle to return to Golden Eagle.
"I don't know if it's progress or not," Lon said after his shuttle had been launched from one of Peregrine's hangars, "but we've come a long way in how quickly a major operation can be planned and executed. Back on Earth, as late as the end of the twentieth century and into the early twenty-first, an operation this size would have taken weeks—more likely months—to plan and launch, and there would have been none of the improvisation we'll have to do in less than three days to actually decide how to use our assets. The planners would have had virtually constant surveillance information available to them throughout the planning period. Half a century earlier, a major operation might have taken a year or more to plan and mount."
"I seem to recall that there were exceptions," Ives said, "operations on the scale of what the Corps gets involved in that were planned and executed in short order. And operations where one of the major powers of the time couldn't defeat an enemy whose total population was less than the size of the military force that could have been brought to bear against them."
Lon nodded. Torrey Berger, now a major and regimental operations officer, spoke. "There was a lot more to consider in the last half of the twentieth century. That was the era of massive nuclear weapons establishments. The two major powers had enough nuclear warheads to totally waste a hundred planets, and no way to get those warheads anywhere but their own world."
"That's one concern we don't have today, thankfully," Lon said. "It's been more than seven hundred years since a nuclear weapon was used, almost as long since the last stocks on Earth were destroyed."
"Assuming, of course, that no one has started making them again, Union or Buckingham, for example—or even Earth," Ives said. "The information is available. The t
echnology hasn't disappeared. Constructing one would be much simpler today than it was then. You'd just have to program molecular assemblers and make certain they had the necessary raw materials."
"I can't see anyone risking that," Lon said. "The repercussions if the secret got out would be too overwhelming."
Twelve hours remained until the fleet would make its final Q-space transit, emerging in Elysium's solar system. Lon had talked with nearly every man in his headquarters and service complement. It gave him a chance to judge the morale of his people firsthand, though surveying the H&S ranks was certainly not the same as talking with the frontline troops. One more remove from the heart, he thought as he ate supper with his staff, one more stage of isolation. There was the expected level of tension, but nothing so great as to give him cause for alarm. Some tension was needed; it wouldn't do to have the men as relaxed as if they were going to a picnic in one of the parks around Dirigent City. The talk among his senior officers at supper was generally casual. There was curiosity about what they would find when the fleet emerged in Elysian space, speculation about what the New Spartans might have been doing the past month.
Lon did more listening than talking, observing the faces of his officers. And he attempted to take stock of his own mental condition. I'm doing pretty well, maybe better than I've felt just before hitting hostile country since… before Junior was born. Lon's worries had not evaporated, but they were no longer paralyzing him. Junior. Angie. The unborn baby not due until after Lon was scheduled to get back home, even if he spent six months on Elysium. Sara. Sometimes I wonder how she's put up with me all these years, Lon thought with a smile. Between the brooding before a contract and the long absences, it's a miracle.
After supper, Lon spent a couple of minutes chatting with Tefford Ives, mostly about minor administrative details, then retired to his stateroom—actually a two-room suite—leaving instructions that he was not to be disturbed until three hours before the scheduled Q-space transit except in case of emergency.
