Silver Search

by Rock Whitehouse

  Ben shrugged. "Not much choice there, Captain. The orientation stars are pre-defined, so we need to drop it in the orbit that FleetIntel has specified."

  "Ugh, right."

  Natalie looked at her Captain with a glint in her eye. "I'd love to have seen us crush that sphere, ma'am."

  "Next time, Lieutenant Hayden; next time, we will."

  "Anything else, Captain?"

  "No, carry on." Joanne turned and headed back to the Bridge. Natalie got her techs started on the loading process. In an hour or two they'd be outside deploying the Sentinel. Then, on to whatever star was next.

  Antares

  Enroute Inor

  Monday, August 29, 2078, 0700 UTC

  The Marines, under the watchful eye of Captain Barnes, worked out with the SLUGs daily. After a few days, they began working Gabrielle, Joe, and Greg with them as well. The routine was simple, really: Put it on, take a brisk walk around the hangar for a half hour, sit ten, back up to walk, sit, walk — on and on it went. They had almost 40 days' travel time, and they planned to use that time wisely. Gabrielle, already fit from her time in the desert, adjusted well after her initial problems balancing something that weighed more than a third of her own mass. For Greg, it was more like a long wade through thigh-deep water. He could carry the thing, but keeping it up for a half-hour was difficult. He woke up every morning with his whole body sore to the touch. Joe Bowles was in very good shape for a man of his age and did not have quite the conditioning curve that Greg did. Still, he was weary of it by the end of each day, too.

  "Joe," Greg asked at breakfast a couple days into the training, "How is it that you're in such better shape than I am?"

  "Well, Greg, I was an Army officer for thirty years. I was not a warrior, per se, just a battlefield surgeon and then, later, a pathologist." Joe set down his coffee. "But I never wanted to dishonor the uniform by becoming soft. I frequently had to deal with officers who kept themselves in the highest state of conditioning you can imagine. I couldn't be some marshmallow rear-area lame-ass excuse for an officer."

  "And you've kept that up?"

  "Some, yes. I'm not as disciplined as I once was, but I keep busy."

  The Marines supervising the training were impressed by the academics, if only for their stubborn refusal to quit and their impressive vocabulary of swear words. Cordero taught them to cuss in Aztec, which made them laugh and broke the monotony. Bowles amused himself and the Marines by describing, step by nauseating step, the worst autopsies he'd ever done. After a week of training, the Marines decided they'd be glad to step out on Big Blue with them.

  Jack Ballard and Carol and the rest of the officers had worked with dummy SLUGs in University training scenarios, so they were familiar with them and the heat and weight of carrying one. Still, they worked out daily to get back into shape. The Intel techs had only a brief, perfunctory exposure to them in training and they had more trouble with it. Two were washed out by Barnes because they just couldn't tolerate the confinement in the apparatus.

  "It's no shame," he said, "Not everyone can do this." The techs didn't see it that way, but there was no getting around the fact that they just couldn't use the damn things.

  After the first week, they started adding more weight. Big Blue was about nine percent larger than the Earth, which meant a corresponding increase in surface gravity.

  The qualification on the 2K7X Infantry Attack Weapon also went well. The 2K7X was a complex system internally, but once learned, was fairly easy to use. It had both direct-fire medium-caliber cartridges and a guided smart cartridge. Leon Jackson explained both to the academics.

  "The direct fire round is accurate to 2000 meters. It has a kick, for sure. It's a big bullet, and there's no way to avoid Professor Newton." He set down the long, heavy-looking cartridge and picked up a blunt-nosed larger cartridge.

  "Now, the guided smart round only works out to like 750 meters. But, if you put the laser on the target, and you hear the tone in your earpiece, it will go out and kill that target. Doesn't matter what the target does, the Golf Sierra will hit it center mass."

  Leon worked them out on low-load training cartridges for both options, and they did well enough, Gabrielle turning out to be the better marksman. When asked how the professors were doing, Leon answered carefully, "Well, they're more likely to kill what's in front of them than behind them. That's good enough."

  Late that night, Carol took down her journal and wrote about her day.

  Dear David,

  Well, I qualified. I guess I shouldn't be surprised — we both did it back at the U — but I was still pretty happy when Leon Jackson signed me off. I hope we don't need them, but if we do, I can hit what I aim at.

  Kinda like you, maybe? HA!

  It's only been two weeks, you know? It's hard when I think of that. There's so much more ahead than there is behind. So much more to happen.

  We'll be at Inor soon for the delivery of the ambassador and the memorial dedication. Not sure how I feel about that — half of me is anxious to see it and half of me is dreading it. Doesn't much matter in the end, since both halves of me have to go. (Did you like that line? I did.)

  I hope all is well with Dan on Columbia. I'm sure he busted you pretty good when you got there, but he thinks the world of you. You'll do great.

  Oh, yeah, and I think the world of you, too.

  Hope to see you sooner than I think.

  —Carol

  ISC HQ FleetIntel Section

  Ft. Eustis, VA

  Monday, August 29, 2078, 1105 EDT (1505 UTC)

  The argument in Ron Harris' office had been going on for several minutes. Even with the door closed, most of the staff could make out what was happening. Susan Scranton's impatience, some staff thought impertinence, had earned her another session with Elias Peña.

  "I don't see—"

  "Then learn to see, Commander. We work together here, and that has proven to be the right approach."

  "It's a waste of my time."

  "It isn't. Doctor Scranton, your qualifications do not extend to excusing yourself from the overall operation of the FleetIntel section. We expect your participation in all aspects of our work where you can contribute." Peña stared at her, throttling back his anger. "And that means areas where you might not realize you can contribute. You're new to the Fleet, Doctor Scranton, and you've been granted a higher rank than is typical based on your education and expertise. But that rank carries obligations. Admiral Harris and I had a discussion about this before he left, and you can consider my words as his."

  She sat quietly for a moment. "I work best alone, Commander. I piss people off, I know, but keeping my focus on the problem in front of me has always worked in the past."

  "I understand that thinking, Doctor, perhaps better than you realize. But here, we work together, and that includes you. I need you in the status meetings like the rest of the staff. You might be surprised what they can contribute to your work, too."

  Her expression made it clear how dubious she thought that idea was. She chose not to respond directly, but instead took the opportunity to change the subject.

  "About that; After looking at the Sigma data in more detail, I've decided it's worth going back to GL 876 to look for remains."

  "Well, Admiral Harris approved that already. You're sure there's something there to find?"

  "I can't be positive, but it's quite possible. We have so little information on these creatures that I think it's worth the effort to see if we can figure out what they are."

  "I wonder about that, Doctor," Peña said in a more collegial tone. "Even if you find a complete body, assuming there is a body somewhat like ours, what will that tell you?"

  Scranton tried very hard not to roll her eyes. She needed Peña's buy-in, even if he had no idea what he was talking about. She tried to answer respectfully.

  "Their bodies, just like ours, are the result of their evolution on whatever planet they come from. Their anatomy is the outward manifestation o
f that evolution."

  "So, you think you can sort of reverse-engineer their environment and general capabilities from their remains?"

  She looked up in surprise. "Well, yes. I didn't expect you to understand that."

  "See, Doctor, we're not so clueless after all."

  She had no response to that, but her face reflected the frustration that seemed to animate most of her conversations with the Intel personnel.

  "I work better alone," she said flatly, as if there were no other possible options.

  "Get over it," Peña said in a tone that sounded very much like an order. Softening a little, he asked, "How much time do you need to prepare to leave?"

  "The gear just arrived, so I need forty-eight hours to check it and repack."

  "I will call Operations and see when we can get you out there. Meantime, go ahead and get prepared assuming you're leaving in three days."

  She nodded in response. Peña looked at her for a long second, considering what to say to crack through her stone outer wall.

  Finally, he just said, "Dismissed."

  Scranton looked at Peña for a second before standing up and leaving the office. She walked back to her own workspace at the back of the section. Elias picked up his phone and dialed the Operations Section.

  "Good morning, Mark, Elias Peña here. Doctor Scranton has decided to go back to GL 876. I think Cook and Harris agreed that Columbia would be the best choice."

  There was a delay as LDCR Mark Rhodes checked on Columbia's status. "She's almost to GJ 3618," he said, "From there it will be about twelve days to Kapteyn."

  "And a day more to get her there from here," Peña commented.

  "Right. We have one of the new Fleet Shuttles available, so that might work. How much gear does she have?"

  "A few hundred kilos. It just came in a couple days ago."

  "OK, so no problem there. When can she be ready?"

  "She says forty-eight hours."

  "OK, so, that's mid-day Wednesday. How about 8 AM our time on Thursday?"

  "I'll tell her. That puts her at Kapteyn on September 13th?"

  "Right. I'll issue an order for Columbia to be there on the 13th as well. It will cut short their check of GJ 3618, but this is a higher priority."

  "Thanks, Mark. I will tell her."

  "Glad to help, Elias." They hung up, and Peña walked back to Scranton's workspace. She looked up cautiously from the carton she was unpacking as if expecting another lecture on collegial discourse.

  "We have a Fleet Shuttle assigned to leave for Kapteyn 8 AM local time Thursday. You'll need to get your equipment down there by Wednesday afternoon. Does that work for you?"

  She looked surprised. "Yes."

  "OK, then, consider it done. It's almost twelve days to Kapteyn, so prepare yourself for a long trip in a small space with strangers."

  She smiled a little. "You make that sound like something unpleasant. Strangers tend to leave me alone."

  "Unlike your new colleagues?" Peña asked with just a touch of humor.

  "Something like that, yes."

  Peña just shook his head in frustration as he left her to her task and walked back to his office.

  Over in Operations, Mark Rhodes verified with Admiral Cook that Columbia was still the choice for this mission and got her explicit authorization for the orders he was about to release.

  ROUTINE 207808291600UTC

  TO: COLUMBIA

  CC: FLEETINTEL

  FROM: FLEETOPS

  PROCEED TO KAPTEYN STATION ARRIVING ON OR ABOUT 207809131200 UTC

  TO PICKUP FLEETINTEL LDCR SUSAN SCRANTON MD AND EQUIPMENT.

  WHEN READY PROCEED TO GL 876 AS DIRECTED.

  END

  Columbia

  GJ 3618

  Tuesday, August 30, 2078, 0700 UTC

  David responded to the call from the Bridge, hustling forward with Katch to see what the Captain was calling about. Dan showed him the message they had just received from Fleet Operations. Dan looked from one of his Intel experts to the other. "Any clue what this is about?"

  "No," Katch answered.

  David stiffened as he read the message himself. "The Sigma battle site? What are they thinking?" he asked no one in particular.

  Looking again at the message, Dan had an idea. "Whatever happened to the sphere you hit?"

  "No clue, Captain. We lost track of it when the Type I's started showing up. It might still be there."

  Alona Melville joined the conversation. "We're supposed to be at Kapteyn on the 13th. That gives us three more days here if we want it."

  Dan nodded. "Correct." He turned back to Katch and David. "How is the survey going?"

  Katch answered, "Lieutenant Hughes would be better to ask, but I'd say we're maybe twenty-five percent complete."

  "OK, we'll do what we can in the next seventy-two hours and then we're leaving."

  "Yes, sir,"

  As they turned to leave Dan spoke again. "David?"

  "Sir?"

  "They're sending us back to where you lost a lot of friends, David. Damn near got killed yourself. Is this going to be a problem?"

  David looked Dan Smith in the eye. "None, sir. Whatever it takes to kill the bastards is fine with me."

  "Very well."

  As Katch headed back to the Intel section, David hung back. "Thanks for asking, Captain, but really, I'm good."

  "Understood."

  As David left the Bridge, Alona Melville sat down next to Dan in the command position.

  "Think he's as over it as he sounds?"

  "Oh, yeah. He's fine."

  "I hope you're right," she said quietly, a question mark floating in her tone.

  "You'll see, Alona. You'll see."

  Melville got back up and left the Bridge, but her words echoed in Dan Smith's head. He really was confident his old friend was good to go on this project. Despite his gentle exterior, David had always had a tough streak, and when it came to this enemy, Dan felt sure he'd be ready.

  Later that night, David wrote in his journal.

  Hi Carol —

  Well you just won't believe this one.

  We're heading off to Kapteyn to pick up some doctor and heading back to GL 876. That's all I know but it has to be some weird intel snoop project.

  Things are going OK here. Dan is the greatest, as I know you know. The Intel boss, Katch, is first rate.

  I'm in a good place here, Carol, and I feel like I finally belong. Not like when I'm with you, mind you. Because that's, well, different. But hear me say again, I love you. Hear me say again, I'll always want to be beside you.

  All we have to do is survive our planet's first interstellar war.

  No sweat, right?

  -D

  September 2078

  Fleet HQ Shuttle Pad

  Ft. Eustis, VA

  Thursday, September 1, 2078, 0745 EDT

  Susan Scranton arrived early, dragging a small bag behind her. Her fleet-issue duffel was already in her locker on board. She looked carefully at the vessel she would be residing in for the next dozen days. It had no scratches or dents in its angular, flat black exterior. It was a new, large fleet shuttle, over thirty meters long. The split hatch was open, the lower half doubling as stairs.

  She had spent most of the afternoon before supervising the pad crew as they loaded her equipment into the cargo hold. In the end, she reluctantly admitted to the loadmaster that the equipment was indeed secure and unlikely to suffer damage in transit. The balance of the load for this trip was tools and supplies for the repair shop at Kapteyn.

  This morning there would be just three passengers to accompany the crew of four. The nominal capacity of the shuttle was twenty, so this trip would allow plenty of personal space, something Scranton was relieved to learn. She walked up the stairs where a female Warrant Officer greeted her.

  "Good morning, Doctor Scranton."

  "Hello," was her noncommittal answer. Scranton looked around at the interior. Functional was the best descript
ion, but she understood functional and didn't care much for luxury. The twenty seat/bed positions were arranged in ten rows of two across. Each had a media viewer for either personal or onboard entertainment. Screens could be lowered from the overhead for privacy, but, in truth, it was going to feel like a very long camping trip in a tent. She hated camping. In the back of the cabin, she could see the small kitchen, and two tables for meals.

  Her greeter gave her a moment to look around, then continued her welcome speech. "We're very light on passengers this trip, Commander, so there are plenty of seats. The forward two rows are for the crew, so pick whatever you like behind that." She reached into a pocket and handed Scranton a keycard. "Your duffel is in locker number 10."

  She nodded silently in response.

  "You listed no dietary restrictions, ma'am, is that correct?" Scranton looked back at the officer.

  "That's correct. I have no restrictions. But I don't eat much anyway."

  "We'll have regular meals on schedule: breakfast starts at 0600, lunch at noon, dinner at 1800."

  "I see."

  "Anything else you need to know, Commander?"

  "No, that will be all." She walked to the last row of seats. "I'll take one of these."

  "If I may, being closer to the kitchen and the showers is actually less desirable. It will be quieter farther forward."

  Scranton walked forward, selecting a spot one row removed from the crew. Scranton opened her bag and started stowing her NETComp, books, and other small items in the storage bins of the seat unit. The Warrant left her, walked forward to the open cockpit door, slipped in, and closed it behind her.

  "So, Cardenas," the shuttle commander asked, "How's our first guest?"

  "Cold, Lieutenant Small, cold as an asteroid's ass."

  Janine Small looked back at her. "Now, now, let's not be judgmental."

  "Or sexist!" said the second-in-command, Ensign Chad Compton.