“Well,” she said, wiping imaginary sweat from her brow, “after a hard morning, I’m going to take a break, read a study, and then go to lunch. Have fun making our request to the military without giving them anything to reproach us for. Say it’s routine – we updated our questionnaire.”
“Yeah, that’ll go over well – and they’d want to see the update. I’ll make up something more plausible.”
She laughed.
At lunch, Christy carried her own – civilian – reader into the mess hall, and sat at a table reading from it. As she’d never connected it to any military network, they’d have no idea of what she’d stored on it before arriving at the base.
“Ah, Doctor Burnett, you’re back. Did you have a good R&R?”
Christy looked up to the smiling face of Colonel Westorn. She had a bite. In the months she’d worked here, she’d never even seen him near the mess hall. She smiled back.
“Yes, a very good one.”
He continued smiling, but something in his eyes chilled Christy. Could she really pull this off? If Jensen and the others feared for their lives for merely failing his ‘programming’, what might Westorn do to her should he find out her true intentions? He sat down across from her.
“So, a week with nothing but relaxation – no thoughts of work? Must have been nice.”
Fishing. She grinned at him. “You caught me, Colonel. Although we still don’t fully know how the mind works – I know, I know, scientists have been saying that for hundreds of years – we’re getting closer all the time.” She laughed, “And, yes, they’ve been saying that, too. However, one of the things we do know is that answers often come when you least expect them.”
“Like when you’re lying on a shady stream bank, watching the clouds go by?” he prompted.
“Exactly,” Christy replied. “With work only a bad memory, it suddenly comes. Then the mind can’t think of anything else.”
“Care to enlighten me?” Westorn gave his best attempt at a careless aside. He needed more practice. Or perhaps he simply led her on to her own destruction. Could he know of what had happened to her; had he actually ordered it? She inwardly shuddered at the thought. But, no, for some reason, she trusted Jensen. And if Westorn knew, he’d act decisively. No playing around for men like him.
“Definitely not, Colonel,” she said to his surprised look. “I’ve heard of what happens to contractors who raise false hopes. They never get another contract.”
The colonel looked at the backs of his hands, as if inspecting his nails. No need to inspect them; a manicurist had obviously done a good job.
“Only if they cost us money,” he said, eyes flicking to her.
She saw his suppressed laughter, and smiled gamely. “Perhaps, and perhaps not. Simply spouting crazy ideas can earn one the state of pariah.”
Christy noted that no other patron of the cafeteria joined them at the table, though business had become brisk. Indeed, few sat at any table near them, but crowded the other ones. Had they seen the colonel in action before? Should she fear him even more than she already did? How could Jensen expect her to pull the wool over his eyes? She could still back out. She could just do her job – the job the Army paid her for – and then leave. Of course, that would mean leaving Jensen and his men to their fate – to die if Jensen made no mistake.
“Please,” he asked, “just between you and me, totally unofficial and off the record. You’ve made me curious.”
Christy looked to the grey cafeteria walls for a moment before looking back at him. She bit her lower lip. “I really shouldn’t.”
He waited, expectantly. So, like a child with a secret she needed to tell, Christy allowed her face to show her excitement. She leaned forward.
“You’ve brainstormed, no doubt.”
He nodded, also leaning forward a little, mirroring her.
“And in brainstorming, you come up with wild ideas, most of which should never see the light of day.” She acknowledged his knowing grin with one of her own. Conspirators in the telling of tales, huh? “But then, perhaps days later, something may click.”
“And something clicked?”
She nodded, sombrely. “Something clicked. You know my specialty concerns language learning. We have a well-known and trusted program. My work for you is more problematic – but you knew that before offering the contract. Nonetheless, even with language tuition, some of our sleep-learning subjects do little better than they would with typical instruction, and some few even worse.”
Colonel Westorn nodded sympathetically.
She grimaced. “And we still can’t predict who will or won’t take the training.”
“But?”
Oh, yes, he had access to her files. Probably a flag popped up each time she accessed them, definitely when she entered something.
“Something a colleague wanted to investigate came back to me. But it’s not what he wanted to investigate, but how. I think I can achieve a much higher positive result – if this works out. It probably won’t, which is why this little discussion is completely off the record, as you put it. But just the thought excites me. When I get back to my labs, I’ll have to do some preparatory experiments. I’ll probably be ready to approach someone with a detailed proposal in six months or a year.”
Westorn’s attention sharpened. “Get back to your labs? I thought you’d have a deal for me when you returned.”
“I almost did,” she said as a confession. “But this could be big. I might possibly make enough on this to indulge my ‘whims’ – as you put it before I left. But it’ll cost, and I’ll have to take care. I can’t afford to sink all my money into something that might go nowhere.”
Westorn leaned forward some more, his hands on the table, elbows out to the sides as if protecting them from the prying eyes of others. “And if I could help you, there?”
Hooked.
“You don’t understand, Colonel. You know of full bio-back suits?”
His eyes went flat, and she felt pinned by them. Had she gone too far? She deliberately misread what his eyes told her.
“Exactly. Expensive. I made a call to the Bowlinger brothers – they’re scientists of whom you may not have heard.” If what she suspected were true, he’d have done more than just hear of them. “They recently used two bio-back suits in a very successful experiment. I asked them what it would cost me to rent them and the attendant equipment.” She sighed. “I can afford a month – maybe two – without backing.”
Westorn’s face relaxed. She’d removed his suspicions.
“And with full bio-back suits, the participants can have the routines placed in their muscle memory as well as the theoretical knowledge of it placed in their minds. That should speed up the learning considerably.”
“Can you accomplish what you need in a month?” he asked, never mentioning that he had a whole raft of such suits at the ready, one of which she’d worn, though she had no memory of it.
“I don’t know. I only need a hint that I’d get a very positive result. Then I could approach a Trans-Planetary Corporation or maybe even the Families.” She almost laughed at his expression. She’d thrown him a curve there.
“The Families? A TPC? What do they have that I don’t?”
Well and truly hooked. Now she would see what she would see.
“Space. Optimally, I’d like to conduct the experiments in a zero-g environment. Zero-g will work much better than the flotation chambers I have the participants in, and the flotation chambers aren’t nearly large enough to allow the bio-back suits full range of motion. And, after all, who might have more need of my sleep-learning techniques than someone on a ship in the middle of nowhere with no top-flight engineer or specialized mechanic at hand. Perhaps an accident occurs that incapacitates their own specialists. Yes, I can see them backing me if – and only if – I give them something solid to base their decision on. Besides that, I’ve heard that a zero-g environment is more conducive to putting subjects into the state of mind I want th
em in for the sleep-learning process.”
Westorn had both relaxed – his momentary suspicions allayed – and tensed; he might lose her. He studied her for a long minute. She tried not to shiver under his gaze, and forced herself to take another bite of her now-cold meal.
“Don’t do anything hasty,” he said.
She laughed as if genuinely amused. “You must not have heard me; I’m looking at six months to a year. And it’s just a brainstorming idea at present. However, I have something more concrete – something which I would like to discuss with you on an official basis.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“We kind of got sidetracked by my flight of fantasy. Something occurred to me that may increase our success ratio.”
“And that’s why you want to re-interview some of your previous subjects?”
She frowned, then relaxed the frown. “Ah, but of course you’d know. Yes. But it won’t cost much. Just a few hours of their time – assuming you have any still around you can free up.”
“Anyone in particular?”
Suspicious?
She waved her hand negligently. “No, anyone at all. Actually a range of those who scored highly, moderately and poorly would help, but other than that, it doesn’t matter. I might not even need the spread. Again, this is a result of brainstorming, and I can’t guarantee that anything at all will come of it. It’s either a possibility confirmed or a line of research to discard.”
Westorn stood up. “I’ll see what I can do. And if your interviews go well?”
“Then I’d like to do a trial run of several of the soldiers who didn’t do so well before, getting them to take a language-learning module. Only a few days. And I’d like two that haven’t gone through the training, as a control.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Language learning?”
She smiled. She had him. “I have masses of data there to compare with any results I get. Language learning isn’t in the same category as what we’re attempting, but it’ll give me the basis to give you a proper proposal without costing much in time or equipment.” And it resided in the category for which Westorn had perverted her ideas.
He nodded. “I’ll get on that.”
Yes, she’d just bet he would.
“Thank you, Colonel.”
As he walked away, she felt slightly nauseous. She looked down at the rest of her meal and realized she couldn’t possibly eat it. It might just come up on her again. What had she gotten herself into?
EIGHT
AZORES
Tuesday, Jun 15th
“People, sit.” Oberst Dreschler followed his own order.
All twenty-five shuttle-fighter commanders sat about the conference table for the debriefing.
“You did well today. Everyone reported ready at least 80 seconds faster than called for. Sehr gut. And you reacted well to the new elements we introduced. Any discussion? Major Baumeister?”
“Sir. Again we did a simulation against the Nord-Amis. If they truly go against us one day, we’ll have to face the threat of a massive submarine-launched missile attack. Should even a few of those get past our defences, we won’t have time to launch all five waves – perhaps only two or three.”
Müller sat, rapt; she spoke to him, had given him a long look before beginning. The others didn’t look quite so interested. Everyone knew the situation; everyone pretended to not know. The fourth and fifth flights had very little chance of launching in event of a surprise attack by the North Americans. He looked over to the oberst, whose smile had disappeared.
“I think we all know the odds, Major Baumeister.” And he would know that his own odds of surviving were small. He had no chance to escape the island. The Americans, if they did not destroy the base completely, would invade, and he could expect no help from mother Europe. Once he had launched all the fighters he could, his mission ended – for all practical purposes.
Müller looked at his face. Oh, not happy at all. Müller refrained from looking at Baumeister again. She took a large chance here. That seemed to militate against her operating with Schmidt against him. He wondered at her purpose in bringing this up.
“Yes, sir. However, I’ve spent the last two weeks going over the launch sequence, and I believe I’ve found a way to cut five to seven minutes from each wave.”
Now all the pilots leaned forward fractionally. Though her first words had done morale little good, the thought of a half-hour cut from total launch time could mean life for another wave. Dreschler’s frown disappeared.
“I know you, Frau Major, and you wouldn’t have brought this up without doing proper study. What have you found?”
Baumeister laid out her findings. Everything seemed logical, and nothing impossible. She fielded questions from the other pilots, giving cogent answers. Her ideas would work. They would need to train – both pilots and ground crews – but it would be worth it.
She finished with, “In case of surprise attack by the North Americans – or anyone else – we can save another flight.” She said that while looking directly at him, though she quickly looked at everyone else in turn. “We would, of course, have to continue the war from one of our stations, as such an attack would prohibit our returning for fuel or repairs.” She had returned her gaze to Müller.
“Excellent, Frau Major.” Oberst Dreschler smiled his approval. “I will send this up for immediate action. I expect we will officially train on this within days. In the mean time, we will implement those procedures that do not require official approval to implement.”
Müller had other thoughts. So, Frau Major, you present me with an interesting problem.
If his new thoughts on the subject were at all correct, Baumeister had just invited him to join her in what could be called anything from dereliction of duty all the way up to mutiny. It could mean both of their careers, if not their very lives. They would have to keep their wits about them to prevent any other from intuiting their mostly-silent discussion.
* * *
DENVER
Friday, June 18th
Dr Christine Burnett felt like she had entered into a war of wits. Somehow she had to give just enough information – accurate information – to Colonel Westorn in order to get what she wanted, yet not enough to enable him to improve his perversion of her research. She figured she had a slight advantage in that she knew that he had access to her files while he didn’t know she knew. If he ever found out.… She didn’t want to think about that.
The knock at her door caused her to jump in her skin.
“Come on in,” she called. Her eyebrows rose slightly when she saw who had knocked.
“You wished to see me, Ma’am?” Sergeant Jensen asked. He looked worried, but she couldn’t tell it from his voice. “I received orders to report here.”
“Ah, yes.” She looked down at the sheet that had arrived only minutes earlier, the one which her attack of nerves had caused her to put off reading – a mistake. His name sat at the top of the list, and he had knocked precisely on time. “Sergeant Jensen, right?”
Did Westorn know something? Did he suspect? Had he seen her leave with Jensen when she took her R&R, and he now wished to see her reaction? Did that mean he had bugged her office?
“Yes, ma’am. Why did you ask to see me?”
She heard his slight emphasis on that final word. She smiled, and waved off any worry he might have.
“Oh, I didn’t. I just asked for a sampling of previous intakes.” She grinned at him, not feeling like grinning. “You can blame your chain of command for picking you, not me.”
She noted the relief in his eyes. No, Sergeant, I’m not that stupid. “However, you can blame me for getting called back. I fear, in retrospect, that our debriefings missed a few vital areas. Now, I’d like to guide you through your experience, and you can tell me what you recall.”
For the next 60 minutes, Christy took him through the process of sleep-learning, and delved into his physical and mental reactions to each stage, referring to her data sh
eets as he answered her questions. Only one of the questions had any import at all, and she wished Westorn luck in making any sense of the interview. She certainly didn’t look forward to doing the others, but the waste of her time might get her exactly what she – and the sergeant’s people – wanted.
“Thank you, Sergeant Jensen. I think that about does it. Based on your answers, I think you may be a good candidate for a language-learning experiment. I’ll be asking for volunteers, so this is a heads-up to give you time to consider it. If it goes well, you’ll probably learn some basic German.”
Jensen’s eyes narrowed a fraction, and she gave a millimetric nod in return.
“OK, I’ll think on it. When would this take place?”
She laughed. “Oh, I don’t even know that it will. I’ll have to pass the request up the chain of command – your chain of command. Thank you for your cooperation. I hope I’ll see you again.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it, Sergeant.”
Jensen rose with her and left. Another soldier stood outside the door waiting.
“Come on in, Corporal. Take a seat.”
Christy sighed. She wished she could delegate the whole set of interviews out to subordinates, but she couldn’t. She needed to show Westorn that she was knee-deep in her research, hoping for that breakthrough. She could basically write off the next few days.
The corporal sat at her invitation, and looked at her. His eyes revealed the question that she couldn’t answer. At least they posed no menace, unlike the eyes of a certain colonel she knew. She looked down at her file and began once more.
Arch looked in on her at the end of the day.
“Dr Burnett?”
She blinked her eyes, and looked up. “Oh, hi, Arch. What is it?”
He smiled at her. “Actually, that’s my question. What are we doing?”
“We’re trying to improve our results. If we do, we may get more contracts from the Army.” She watched his eyebrows disappear into the hair that hung over his forehead. She laughed out loud. She had spent the last couple of months complaining to him about all things military, and now she wanted more contracts from them?
Not With A Whimper: Destroyers Page 5