Reunion

by Greg Mutton

  JT laughed, ‘actually we did, sort of. But this is a hell of a lot more than it looks… Helen, maybe you and Amy should explain.’

  ‘Thank you sir’ Helen motioned to the table. ‘If everyone would take a seat, we’ll begin.’ The scraping of chairs and soft murmuring followed. She started at the end of the table that held the ancient weapon.

  ‘This is the weapon that gave us the idea for Sling Shot. It used an old form of magnetic propulsion instead of an explosive charge to fire the projectile. Back in the latter part of the 21st century, these weapons became very effective. One naval vessel was built for the Oceanic Navy and its only offensive weapons were two huge magnetic propulsion tubes. A projectile, similar to that one on the table, was loaded into the weapon where a moving magnetic field was established and that propelled the projectile forward at incredible velocity. This was far in excess of anything that could be obtained with conventional ballistic or missile technology. The downside was it had to be aimed manually as it had no guidance system.

  ‘What we have done is take the concept of magnetic linear acceleration and apply gravimetric technology to do the same. Our long tube actually is circular and runs round the entire ship. The projectile we fire is a lot different but is still hampered by accuracy … it still needs good aim.’

  ‘Are you saying you somehow used Greenbach’s Gravitron drive system in this?’ Wilson asked.

  ‘Yes, a highly modified system.’

  ‘Why? What’s wrong with torpedos?’ Grogan chipped in.

  Silas answered. ‘Cost… it simply costs way too much to build and destroy torpedos. Every time one is built, there is the cost and complexity of the drive system, the guidance system and then we blow it up. This will be far more effective and efficient; the projectile on the table is the standard unit for this weapon. Weighing less than a tenth of a torpedo; it takes up less than that to store and costs far less. We estimate these units will cost around five to ten percent of a torpedo and it will be faster; what is the maximum speed of a torpedo?’ He didn’t wait for an answer, pressing on regardless. ‘I’ll tell you: point five light. Amy, what was the speed of those three units fired today?’

  Amy Rodregas smiled. ‘Point six light; we didn’t need any more.’ She could see the questions forming on the generals lips. ‘We can fire this weapon at various speeds, depending on the situation. So far, our max is point nine five light. The only issue is with the need to aim the unit. We are currently testing a modified projectile design that has a guidance system to see if it can do what we want.’

  ‘But the energy it released on the target… surely no solid lump of metal can do that?’ Sol asked.

  ‘You’re right captain,’ Amy replied ‘However, this is not a solid lump of metal. Only the outer case is made of metal.’ She moved to the projectile and removed one side. ‘Inside is a hybrid of Barainium and composites to contain a charge of antimatter. It’s the antimatter inside that causes the damage. Matter collides with antimatter, Physics one oh one mutual annihilation. That’s why this weapon is so impressive.’

  She tapped an icon on the data pad in front of her and the view screen came to life. It ran a short presentation showing the working of the system, the design of the projectile and a brief history of the ancient technology, including both the old ship and the other weapon on the table. At the conclusion of the presentation, everyone in the room was impressed with the potential of the resurrected weapon system.

  ‘Did I see correctly… the name of that old naval ship… was it Valiant?’ Wilson asked.

  ‘Yes Ma’am, she was commissioned for the old Oceania Navy, the Long Axis Gunship Valiant, launched in twenty ninety six,’ JT answered with some pride.

  Admiral Wilson stood. ‘Gentlemen, we currently have fifty of these old vigilant class ships mothballed at Jupiter Station. Silas, Jeff… I want you to come up with an action plan to convert them to the new… what did Salina call them… ah yes, Manta Class. This is to be of the upmost priority and outside of this room, the project is to be considered classified top secret. Nobody, I repeat nobody is to discuss this with anyone else. I’ll convene a preliminary meeting for next Tuesday at ten hundred hours, at Headquarters. All of you are to be there and we will then work on the conversion timetable and training program. Thank you for a most enlightening morning.’ She turned to Amy and Helen and shook their hands, ‘this is a fantastic achievement, well done. Now, as officially I’m not here, I better get ready to go fishing.’ With that she rose and left the room.

  Amy moved across the room to speak to Sol. ‘So, Captain, you’re the one who banged my ship?’ The chief engineer offered her hand to congratulate him. ‘Good shooting.’ Sol took her hand, noticing the firmness of her grip.

  ‘I may have banged your ship,’ Sol quipped, ‘but I think we came off second best. Not only did you totally destroy the target, but you blew a twenty metre hole in the side of the base ship!’

  ‘And we only used a small antimatter charge,’ Hellen chipped in.

  Sol looked to JT as the latter cocked his head in the direction of the door. The two stood and exited the ward room, walking in silence to the transport pod.

  ‘Bridge,’ John commanded and the doors closed behind them. Ten seconds later the doors opened and the bridge lay out before them.

  ‘Captain on the bridge,’ an Ensign announced as John and his guest stepped out of the pod. He realised that the ship was technically still at red alert status ‘As you were,’ he replied. ‘Jarad, cancel red alert and stand down battle stations.’

  The crew was extremely proud of their compact work area — no wasted space; every piece of equipment was functional and critical to operations. Every one of the bridge crew had been involved in the redesign process and this was evident in the efficiency of the layout.

  ‘Can I have your attention?’ The bridge crew stopped and looked to their captain. ‘This is Captain Radchak,’ he said, placing his hand on Sol’s shoulder ‘the enemy who just tried to take us down,’ JT announced. He looked to his first officer, ‘We’ll be in the ready room.’

  ‘Aye sir,’ Jarad replied as his captain led his guest to the rear left of the bridge and through the door to the ready room. It wasn’t a large space, measuring approximately five metres by four metres with the curve of the hull giving an illusion of more area, the large view ports on this wall adding to the illusion. Under the view ports was the captain’s desk with a couple of comfortable looking guest chairs; the centre of the room held a low table and two curved leather lounges where six people could sit comfortably. On the wall behind this was a food and beverage dispenser.

  JT headed for the lounge. ‘Take a load off, Sol.’ Both sat. ‘We’ll be back at Earth station in about ten minutes, time to catch up on the last five years.’

  Eight minutes later their conversation was interrupted by Jarad’s voice.’ Captain, can you come to the bridge?

  They stood and moved quickly to the bridge door. As they entered, the first officer moved to exit the command chair. ‘Sir, the dock commander has requested we delay our arrival for another ten minutes’.

  Changing or terminating any parameter of a ship’s course once it has entered a worm hole wasn’t done easily or casually. The calculations were complex; it was only ever considered in extreme situations. Their return had been given the highest priority — thanks to Admiral Wilson — so the request was totally unexpected.

  ‘Navigator, do we have a reinsertion option?’

  ‘Possibly, but it’ll put us very close to commercial flight paths,’ Lieutenant Morgan replied. ‘It will give us the time that the dock commander requested.’

  ‘OK, make it happen,’ JT replied. He turned to the comms officer. ‘Open a channel to the dock.’

  The Dock was actually one of Abracorps’ construction facilities and housed both commercial and military construction operations. There must be a good reason for this delay, given the security classification of the flight.

  ECS Valiant,
this is Orion dock command, the voice on the communicator was Elron Mansfield, dock commander.

  ‘This is Captain Abraham, what’s the problem Elron?’ JT asked.

  Sorry captain, but we have some issues with media coverage and need the extra time to contain the situation. He sounded strangely embarrassed as he made this revelation.

  ‘What media coverage?’ JT was puzzled. Their flight was not worthy of any media coverage; in fact, the media outlets had been deliberately kept in the dark.

  Again my apologies; Friday is departure day for Rhapsody and unfortunately, Albrecht has arranged for a media day prior to the launch.

  Elron didn’t need to elaborate. Damien Albrecht, CEO and majority share-holder of Vision Cruise Lines, had commissioned Rhapsody of the Stars, the largest cruise vessel ever built. With very good political connections, he usually got what he wanted — their current situation being the case in point.

  ‘No problem, we’ll deviate and avoid any encounters until you give the all clear; Valiant out.’ The comms officer cut the connection.

  ‘Comms please inform Admiral Wilson of the delay and number one, make sure we are well away from any commercial traffic.’

  ‘Aye, Captain,’ Jarad replied.

  ‘I better go and discuss the situation with the Admiral. Why don’t you have a good look around the bridge?’ JT suggested to Sol, who replied with a nod, then turned to his weapons officer. ‘Guns, can you show Captain Radchak around? Just make sure he keeps out of trouble… and don’t let him touch anything!’ JT chuckled as he headed for the pod.

  ‘Yes Captain,’ Helen responded.

  The pod door slid open and the three Admirals entered the bridge. Before the traditional announcement could be made, Admiral Wilson spoke.

  ‘As you were. John, can we use your ready room?’

  JT shrugged and led them across the bridge and into the room.

  ‘What is bloody Elron up to?’ Wilson was agitated to say the least.

  JT replied, ‘It appears Albrecht has arranged a media circus for Rhapsody today; Elron wants us to stay clear for a while until he can clear a flight path for us.’

  Admiral Wilson just shook her head, ‘Well if we have to wait, I don’t suppose you have a bottle of that single malt your father always keeps back on the dock?’ The mood lightened as JT moved to his desk and came back with glasses and a bottle.

  ‘I wouldn’t be an Abraham if I didn’t have some of this — I’d probably be disowned.’

  ‘Why anyone would build a ship as big as Rhapsody is beyond me.’ Sam Grogan mused.

  Morris answered. ‘Simple … greed; Albrecht seems to think that it will pay for itself in five voyages. If that’s so, he says he’ll build more; only problem I had with the decision was the lack of security. It appears that some political pressure was exerted and the design was approved with only a minimal security presence on board. Thankfully, its first trip is nowhere near the bad-lands.’

  Everyone took the offered drinks and drank in silence, the thought of the massive cruise ship probably foremost in their minds.

  Captain, the first officer’s voice came over the communicator, the dock commander has secured a flight path for us for the next twenty minutes.

  ‘Proceed number one,’ JT replied. ‘Looks as if you’ll get some fishing in after all, Admiral.’ This brought a smile to Admiral Wilson’s face. Everyone was a little more relaxed now and the normal buzz of conversation resumed.

  Valliant’s new course kept the moon between her and the dock, well away from prying eyes and the media. Although still technically a vigilant class vessel, Space Corps wanted her mods kept quiet.

  ‘What happens to that dock now?’ Sol asked, still looking at the huge facility, now vacant.

  Silas answered, ‘”Project Galileo”. Funding has been authorised by the Council and construction should begin in a couple of weeks.’

  Valiant slid effortlessly into dock 7 and all umbilicals silently attached. Once atmospheric conditions were stabilised, the air locks opened and the three Admirals disembarked and headed for their patrol ship, now berthed at the opposite side of the dock. Within minutes it had departed for Earth.

  JT & Sol stood and watched as it disappeared from view.

  ‘What now?’ Sol asked.

  ‘I have been summoned to the Station,’ JT replied referring to his father’s request that he spend his next few days at the family property in central New South Wales. One of his father’s passions was the raising of pure-bred Hereford cattle and their company held vast tracts of land for that, as well as many other agricultural operations.

  ‘Seems that there is a family dinner tomorrow night and I have been shanghaied into it. I think you should join me — I need some cover from the “join the company” attack that’ll surely come.

  It was no secret that JT’s father was expecting his eldest son to join the company and take the reins. But it was his mother who was the main protagonist. She was like a dog with a bone over the issue. So far, JT had avoided the inevitable confrontation — mainly by staying away — but this time he had no excuse, so he had to go home.

  It was Abraham family tradition that the first born son inherited the CEO position, and JT was no different. All his predecessors had gained their education, done military service, as JT was doing, and then returned to run the company. Whether he liked it or not, this was his eventual fate. The best he could do was delay that day for as long as possible.

  Sol chuckled. ‘A seat at the family feud? No way I can pass that up.’

  ‘Thanks, I think,’ JT replied. ‘Now go and have a good snoop around — I know you’re just dying to. I’ve got to finalise things and organise the crew leave with Jarad. We should be ready to leave around sixteen thirty hours.’ With that he walked back onto the bridge.

  It took longer than he thought to arrange things. There were issues that he needed to finalise: paperwork from the dock supply section; requisitions for parts and equipment for the repairs and finally a long discussion with his father about the weekend.

  It was just after 17:00 when JT finally made it back to the ship. Sol was waiting for him in the shuttle bay.

  ‘Sorry, got a bit caught up,’ John apologised. ‘Let’s get going.’

  They walked towards the rear of the bay where John stored his personal transport: a prototype AC185 Hawk two-seater fighter — Abracorp’s latest addition to the company’s armament catalogue. Designed to operate in both space and atmosphere, it was equipped with a standard Gravitron drive and a small displacement unit. Fast in both arenas, it could hold a displacement factor of 20 for short periods. The design brief was for a fighter and ground support vehicle and, so far, this prototype had excelled in both.

  ‘Seems it pays to be an Abraham,’ Sol smiled with this taunt.

  ‘You mean costs!’ John replied. ‘The “powers that be” couldn’t make a decision on building this prototype … they just kept stuffing around, as bureaucrats do. Abracorp paid for this one … everyone else will get them at the Corps cost. The best part is I’ve been designated as test pilot. Come on; let’s see if you still remember how to fly.’

  3

  Aaron woke slowly, his head taking longer than normal to clear.

  He opened his eyes, but couldn’t make anything out — it was still too dark.

  ‘Lights, fifty percent,’ he commanded and the lights slowly increased until his surroundings became clear; he was in his room at the Morgan Hotel — the only place he stayed when he was in Central City. He sat up.

  ‘Curtains open.’ The heavy drapes covering the windows began to slide back, revealing the vista of the city skyline.

  His room was on the 105th floor and gave him what he considered the best view of the city. He climbed out of bed and stood at the window, enjoying the scene before him; tall elegant buildings some topped with gardens and pools, others with roof top restaurants — already busy with the breakfast crowd. His head was still full of cotton wool, probably due
the third bottle of Altarian Claret they had enjoyed with their meal.

  The previous evening Aaron had arranged to meet a friend at the Flame Grill, his favourite restaurant in the city, perhaps in the galaxy. As he was about to enter the establishment he had received a call, his date had an urgent matter to attend to and couldn’t make it. As a new trader, she was working hard to build her business, something Aaron remembered from his early years. He accepted the fact and arranged to complete their date next time they were both back on Argos.

  The lure of a good dinner was too great so he decided to dine alone, if he had to. He remembered walking in the door and noticing a stunning redhead sitting at the bar, talking on her communicator. He sat at the next seat just as she finished her call, visibly unhappy with the outcome. Up close, she was even more stunning, flame red hair, green eyes, small upturned nose and lips that could only be described as luscious.

  His throat suddenly dried up as he tried to introduce himself. ‘Hi,’ was all he could manage to say and as she turned toward him. The effect was immediate. He felt his heart quicken and the room suddenly felt hotter, as if the atmospheric controls had malfunctioned.

  She looked at him, studying him before she spoke. ‘Hello,’ she finally replied.

  Aaron’s mind was blank; he couldn’t think of anything to say — at least anything that would sound even remotely intelligent. ‘Care for another?’ he asked, noticing she had drained her glass.

  ‘Thank you,’ she turned to the bartender, ‘Same again, please.’

  Aaron’s composure had returned. ‘I’ll have the same.’ He watched as the bartender measured out two fingers in each glass and then put in two ice cubes, swirled them for a couple of seconds, then poured each drink into a fresh glass, minus the ice.

  ‘I don’t like my scotch watered down.’

  Aaron smiled, ‘Good call, Glenfiddich — 30-year-old — why spoil it with water? I’m Aaron,’ he said as he held his glass up in salute to her taste.

  ‘Petra,’ the woman replied.