A Sword Into Darkness (13 page)

Gordon grinned.  “I’ll be working on the ship, the prototype for, I hope, all those warships that we’re going to build as the last line of defense we have against the Deltans.  The probe is just a starting point.  An actual ship with people and weapons aboard is hundreds of times more complex, and it’s going to take years just to figure out what the best design is.  And then that first ship will be
the ship
.  The prototype is going to be our ambassador to the stars.”

“How poetic.”  Sykes drank his coffee black, swallowing the whole cup in a single gulp.  “And what sort of things are you looking to develop for this ship still?”

Gordon began counting off on his fingers.  “Environmental support, oxygen replenishment, living arrangements, waste management, radiation shielding, sensors, weapons—”

Sykes pounced without leaving his chair.  “What sorts of weapons?”

“Well, I’ve already sunk money into electromagnetic guns, launchers, and laser systems.  Those are all bearing differing amounts of fruit, but I recognize that those sorts of systems won’t be enough to stop the Deltans alone, should they need stopping.  What I really need to work on is missiles, and specifically warheads.  Along with freeing me up to work with reactor components, how about releasing me to work on weapons-grade materials?”

Sykes pushed away from the table and gestured for his coat.  “Nope.  Forget it.  You get the authorization to work on nukes when the Deltans prove they’re a threat.  Figure out something else, include space for missiles from our existing arsenal, or, better yet, forget the offensive systems and go with an ambassador ship.”

“Our ballistic missiles are developed for hitting stationary land targets, not an enemy warship in space.  They’re totally inadequate for this purpose.”

“Then leave them off.”

“What about ensuring peace by preparing for war?”

Sykes coat arrived.  He stood and slipped it on.  “Did you forget?  I don’t think any ship you send out there is going to have a snowball’s chance in hell.  If you send an offensive capability out there, at worst you’ll piss them off, ruining any sort of diplomatic defense we might be able to make, and at best you’ll give away what little capability we do have.  So no nukes.  No plutonium, no lithium deuteride, nobody from Los Alamos, nothing.”  He turned to Lydia and gave a short bow.  “Thank you for a fine meal and a very weird conversation, Ms. Russ.  I hope this all turns out to be this nut’s fantasy, because if it isn’t, we’re screwed.  Good night to you both.”  Sykes downed his martini and headed for the door.  He disappeared into the cold, black night.

“I don’t think we’re going to be friends.”  Gordon shook his head and turned to Lydia.  “I’m hamstrung if I don’t have the access to build some sort of ship-to-ship nuclear weapons.”

“I’m sorry, dear.  We’re just the heralds of a much higher-ranked decision group, and even then only two representatives of a much bigger organization.  I’m the science side, he’s the defense and never the twain shall meet.  I can make decisions on funding for development, but not for weapons development.”

“Is there anyone I can appeal to?  The SECDEF himself?”  Gordon looked desperate.

Lydia tried to show as much compassion in response as she could.  “Who do you think they’re going to side with?  You’ve only freshly shucked the mantle of shame.”  She reached out and held both his hands.  “Don’t worry about it for now.  You’ve got years yet to change their minds.  Focus on everything you’ve achieved tonight and forget about the rest, if only for a little while.”

He squeezed her hands and looked back at her, his frustration slowly giving way to gratitude and the pleasant shades of memory.  “It is so good to see you again, Lydia.  It’s been too long, with too much left unsaid.”

She smiled.  “I’ve missed you too, Gordon.”

Gordon arched a brow.  “I believe you mentioned something about dessert?”

Her smile took on a decidedly different character and she gestured to the wait staff for the check and their coats.  “I just might wind up back in your good graces tonight after all.”

7:  “THE PROMISE”

August 19, 2040; Lee Estate; Santa Cruz, California

Kristene
Muñoz found her quarry in the wood, granite, and stainless steel kitchen of Gordon Lee’s sprawling house.  Nathan Kelley sat on a stool with his back to the swinging door, leaning over the center island with his attention split between the steaming mug of coffee in his hand and the suite expanded before him.  Kris had no idea what he was reading so intently, but she was in no hurry to stop him.

She carefully stopped the swing of the kitchen door and just leaned back against the wall, a sly smile turning up a corner of her mouth.  If he was content to catch up with his reading on their big day, she was content to admire the view.  Lee maintained a gorgeous estate, a slice of central coast California heaven, but this had to be her favorite new vista.

It was too bad Nathan was completely clueless, she thought, because he could wear a pair of jeans really, really well.

The last year had been a whirlwind dream for her.  She first hobbled into the world of Gordon Lee and his secret project at Windward Tech, still recovering from the injuries she had sustained in her discovery of the enhanced photon drive.  As her body healed, she had been read into the mysteries of the Deltans, along with all that Lee had developed and hidden away, and all that he still hoped to achieve.  It was a heady time for her—just out of college and the undisputed star of the interstellar program, but she had been far too busy to let her ego swell too much.  The drive required refinement and definition, with all the tedious hours and tests – and failures, so many failures – that it took to change scientific serendipity into engineering surety.  And now, with the removal of governmental obstruction, her drive became the centerpiece of the next great step in their march to the stars.

Throughout it all, Nathan Kelley had been a constant presence at her side, guiding her, correcting her, mentoring her.  It was Nathan that tied all the designs together, and he loomed large in her relationship with Windward.  She was also fully aware that her initial attraction to him had deepened as she had gotten to know the man.  Kris knew she was now lost somewhere between an unacknowledged crush and unrequited love.  It was a rather uncomfortable and lonely place to be, but it thrilled her enough for the moment that she was content to wait things out, to see how long it would take him to catch on, and whether or not he would reciprocate.  She self-consciously rubbed her hand over the tattoos on her left arm, something the straight-laced Mr. Kelley would never have.

Nathan took a sip of coffee before turning his head and catching sight of Kris watching him in his peripheral vision.  He started, but just managed to avoid spilling the mug on himself.  Pushing the suite away, he turned his stool to face the colorful, slender girl.  She looked not only like the cat who had eaten the canary, but who greedily regarded the next canary in line.

He answered her smile with a cautious grin of his own and said, “Hey, Kris.  What’s up?”

She shook her head and failed completely to adopt an innocent face.  “Nothin’.  What are you reading?”

Nathan reached back and picked up his suite, stowing its screen and returning it to his pocket.  “It’s your proposal.  There’s some pretty freaky stuff in there.”

Kris shrugged and pushed off from the wall.  “Don’t blame me.  It was yours and Gordon’s idea.”  She walked over to the coffee pot and poured herself a mug, liberally dumping in the cream and sugar.

“No, it was Gordon bitching about not making any progress on the weapons, and me bitching that it was too bad we couldn’t do something with the high energy density of your drive.  But this,” he said, patting his pocket, “this is … how do I put it?  The perfect mix of my greatest hopes and my worst nightmares?”

She held her mug with both hands and slurped it loudly.  “No big deal.  We’ve blown up so many early iterations of the drive that I was already thinking in terms of explosives applications.  I just changed the emitter geometry from a cone to the interior of a sphere to produce a compressive shockwave instead of linear thrust.  Throw some lithium deuteride in there, flash the field, and boom:  mini Bikini Atoll, and no mucking around with the government’s precious radioactives.”

Nathan shook his head.  “A pure fusion weapon … the mythical ‘red mercury’ finally achieved.  They’re going to shit bricks when they find out we just did an end run around the whole arms control process.”

“Screw ‘em.  They don’t want to let us play with nukes in order to defend the planet, we’ll do ‘em one better.”

“Sure, but what I’m saying is that your tech and the relative ease of acquiring heavy hydrogen means we just made it that much simpler for the little guys to become nuclear powers.”

“Hey, I tinker.  Others can worry about security, and all the ethics and politics.”

“Nice.  How very un-Oppenheimer of you.”

Kris shrugged again and took another slurp of coffee.  “I yam what I yam.  Besides, it’s not all doom and gloom.  If my setup works, we can make some friendlier nukes.”

“Friendly nukes?”

“Friendly-ER.  Since this eliminates the radioactive cladding, the tampers, the neutron sources, and the fission primary, we can use any fusible mixture we want in the core.  We can even eliminate the residual radiation that you get from a D-D or D-T bomb entirely by using some aneutronic reaction like hydrogen-boron or helium-3.  It’s a slightly lower yield, sure, but you can plant flowers right after the blast wave passes and the flames die down.”

Nathan shook his head again, this time in dismay.  “You can be one scary chick.”

Kris dimpled cutely.  “I try.”

He stood and stretched, once more missing the lingering appraisal she gave him over the rim of her mug.  Relaxing, he smoothed out his shirt and walked over to refill his mug.  Looking sideways at her, he squinted.  “Green?”

She reached up and twirled a curl of her brightly colored hair around her finger.  “No!  That would just be weird.  This is teal.”

“Right.  Teal is so much more conservative.  What are you trying to be?  An anime character?”

“I looked into getting surgery to have my eyes blown up to the size of saucers, but Windward’s HMO wouldn’t cover it.  I do have a miniskirt schoolgirl outfit though.  Wanna see it?”

Nathan spluttered on his coffee and pulled it away from his burned lips.  “Maybe some other time.  Did you come by for coffee or to torture me?”

“Both and neither.  There’s a storm front moving into the launch area, so they’re advancing the timetable.”

Nathan looked worried and glanced at his watch.  “To when?”

“I believe Gordon’s words were, ‘We’re lighting off as soon as Nathan Kelley gets his lazy ass in here!’”

“Jesus, Kris!  Let’s go.”  Nathan dumped his coffee in the sink and left his mug to be washed later.  He turned and trotted from the kitchen, sending the door swinging wide.

Softly to herself, Kris said, “Run, Navy-boy, run.”  She took another loud slurp and then strolled out, chuckling.

Nathan slowed when he reached Lee’s personal office.  It was a cozy place, stacked high with walls of books, but unlike the gentleman’s study it was meant to emulate, the shelves were filled with technical manuals, science texts, and pulp sci-fi rather than the staples of Western literature.  Newly installed banks of HD flatscreens and communications gear cluttered up the space, further spoiling the old-fashioned aesthetic, but it was far more appropriate for Gordon.

Gordon Lee spoke by video teleconference (VTC) to a number of talking heads arrayed as windows on one of the flatscreens.  Another flatscreen was filled with weather forecasts, shipping and aviation data, as well as radar sweeps for a location far out in the Pacific, a spot approximately 200 nautical miles north of Guam.  The third flatscreen was a video feed, focusing on a stable sea launch platform lost amid the low waves surrounding it out to the distant horizon.  To one side of the platform, the skies darkened with the first signs of rain.

Despite going from preliminary design to majestic reality in only six months, the probe was much more than spit and bailing wire.  Upon finally gaining access to their French reactor, Lee and Nathan had brought together all the speculative technologies they had built up over the last several years in order to build humanity’s first interstellar probe.  Allocarbium frame, lead laminate radiation shields, crystalline alloy skin, pebble bed reactor, and physics-defying enhanced photon drive, the probe brought together so many unproven technologies in one package they were either assured of spectacular success … or else the whole damn thing would blow to bits upon launch.  Conducting the launch away from prying eyes only seemed prudent.

One of the talking heads on the VTC screen was speaking, this one wearing USN blue and gray digi-cammies and a warship’s ball cap, complete with a line of gold fretting on the brim, a commander’s single serving of “scrambled eggs”.  “Control, we have verified the range clear of air and surface tracks.  The VT-UAV is RTB and will be outside of the danger zone in five mikes.”

Gordon nodded.  “Thank you, Captain.  I have no idea what you just said, but I’m assuming that means we’re free to launch?”

The Navy commanding officer scowled.  “Yes, sir, you may launch in five minutes. 
McInnerney
out.”  He turned away from the camera and the destroyer’s crest replaced his image on the flatscreen.

Nathan shook his head.  “You knew exactly what he said.  It’s not necessary to punch the buttons of every single person you meet.”

Gordon turned to regard him and then returned to the checklist he carried in his hand.  “Ah, Nathan.  Glad you could attend.  And I know that, but humorless superior bastards like our good Captain Geary just remind me of the sort of officers that forced you out of the Navy.  He punches my buttons just by being.”

Nathan shook his head.  It was unavoidable, especially these days.  He had left the service behind years ago, but in an ambiguous, unfinished way.  Nathan’s own feelings about it were a confusing mess.  He could not reasonably expect someone on the outside to understand his departure any better.  “No one forced me out, Gordon.  I resigned.  And I never even met Geary when I was in.”