Weight of Gravity

by Sheron Wood McCartha

  The man is a maniac, Deane thought.

  The speeds were dizzying, with ships changing positions in a blink of an eye. Debris cluttered the area, forcing them to duck and weave around deadly fragments.

  “Get to clearer space,” Deane commanded.

  “We’re out.” Bashar’s helmet bobbed in response.

  Deane stared, trying to make sense of the confusion.

  Jet leaned forward. “One of ours is in trouble.” A red light blinked on their monitors.

  Garrett pointed. “Over there.”

  “Hold on, Henry. We’re coming.” Bashar’s fingers became a blur over his console.

  Deane signaled his nav. “Give Bashar the co-ordinates, Garrett.”

  Garett punched in numbers. “Helm has the data.”

  “Go, helm.”

  “I’m on it,” Bashar muttered, as the ship dove to the right and swung up to approach the attacker.

  “Enemy at twelve o’clock high. You have the numbers, Harry. Fire when ready,” Deane commanded.

  Harry fired, as they lifted and soared overtop of an attacking Fallen, watching it explode from their direct hit.

  “Clear the area!” Deane yelled.

  The screen showed shrapnel growing larger in the viewplate and a burst of light, then he sank into his seat as the ship spiraled straight up. Abruptly, the outward screen showed only stars.

  “You got them,” said a voice, who Deane recognized as Captain Longstaff. “Nice work, Red Team.”

  “Fragging Fallen got me,” said the gravelly voice.

  “Well, Sam, we’ll give you a fancy burial and say awful things about you,” Longstaff responded.

  The sim screen went to black, and the lights came on. Dazed, Deane shook himself. It had been all too real.

  ***

  “It’s cheating when you write the program,” commented Captain Henry Longstaff. He took a sip of an exotic amber drink called T’aile and appeared to be getting drunk fast.

  Everyone was congregated in one of Sunpointe's lounges. After program leader Sam Spencer loosened a collar, Deane called for a drink. Around him, mentally exhausted cadets sat upright in chairs aware of the presence of senior officers. There were, however, a few cadets who appeared shell-shocked and stared off into space.

  Sam Spencer banged down a mug of beer. “Wrong! The program evolves along with the action. It uses machine learning. I had no idea of what was going to happen next. Obviously.” He rubbed a hand through his hair. “Those bastards took me out. Technically, I’m dead.”

  “You do look a little pale around the edges,” commented Henry, tilting his head. He turned to Deane. “Thanks guys, for saving my life, by the way.”

  “Least we could do.” Deane smiled back at him.

  “Lord, that debrief was brutal,” Garett complained.

  “You needed it,” Sam growled, taking another gulp of beer, not happy with the results of the simulation. “Better to die a hundred times in sim than once in real space.”

  Bashar signaled for another drink. “I’m bringing in a pool table. Time these klutzes learned more about kinetic energy and how to use it. Richard discovered the game when he visited the Earth2 Station and got me addicted.”

  Three seats over, Lucas snorted.

  Bashar leaned forward. “Would you have set up that bank shot?”

  Lucas stared into his drink. “I'll admit it was a brilliant move.”

  “I’m not believing my ears,” Jet chortled.

  “Me neither,” Garrett agreed, throwing an arm over her shoulders and getting it shrugged off for his effort.

  “Wait a minute.” A light bulb went off in Deane’s head. “You’re Bashar De Fyre Elitas, the original helm on Braden Steele’s ship. No wonder you’re so good.”

  A toothy grin emerged on the handsome face. “We actually fought those buggers and beat them with only three ships in our ragtag bunch. Lead them on a merry chase until we wiped them out, using Braden’s brilliant strategy.”

  “They’re real!” Deane spun in his seat to stare.

  “Fragging right, they’re real.” Captain Spencer nodded vigorously. “My Terran Fleet also fought them. We were generational ships, not warships. They devastated us. A mere twenty-eight survived. And that was only because we were able to jump.”

  Fate, jump? thought Deane. Life was getting serious.

  Chapter 37

  Undercover

  Back in her Ching T’Karre home, Solanje picked up her son and crooned to him. Filtering through the window, the sun’s rays lit their two heads, haloing them with a soft glow. Its rays slid across the white-washed walls as the sun slowly sank into the horizon.

  The courier had yet to arrive.

  Then, she heard a flurry of activity outside and quickly returned the child to his playpen with a nod at the minder. Almost colliding with her house manager, she put out her hand and snatched the white envelope from his grip.

  “Hand delivered to you, Honorable Mistress.”

  “Thank you, Rihab.” She whirled around, intent on entering the house when her niece Sousi came through their front courtyard.

  “Sousarrisa, you’re here,” she exclaimed.

  “And not a moment too soon,” her niece said. “Is that it?”

  “I think so.” Solanje turned over the white envelope, feeling the small padded squares inside. She opened the door for them to enter and called out, “Baba, make tea with ice. We have work to do.”

  “I’m ready.” Sousi shook off her cream-colored headgear and the outer cloak of her white abela that protected her from the sun.

  “I’ve set up the computers already.” Solanje dumped three black chip packets onto the table, picked up one, and handed it to Sousi. “I’ll take systems, starting with the computers. I know that best.”

  Sousi nodded. “Which leaves structural integrity and power supply to me.”

  “Finally, your high-priced education comes in handy.”

  “Very few women took engineering.” She paused as a small smile curled her lips. “Grandpier was appalled.”

  With a laugh, Solanje observed, “We do that to the poor deluded man.”

  “However, J’ai Jen supported my choice.”

  Solanje shrugged. “The main reason why you should marry him.”

  Souci tilted her head. “Not because he’s smart, handsome, and an awesome lover?”

  “That all passes eventually, but a supportive spouse makes for a happy marriage. Don’t worry, he has enough quirks to be an interesting challenge.”

  “Indeed.” Sousi turned over a chip in her hands. “So, Richard believes someone may be sabotaging the program?”

  “He is of the opinion.”

  “And Bashar has agreed to fly one of these ships?”

  “Sousi, I’m not going to talk about it.” Solanje turned away.

  “You weren’t supportive?” Her niece raised an eyebrow at her in an accusing manner.

  Solanje swung back around, her eyes blazing with anger. “I demanded to fly with his crew. He refused. He said no mother of his son was going to risk her life dodging missile fire.”

  “And you said?”

  “Better it not be repeated aloud.”

  Sousi laughed. “So, you volunteered to shift through top secret stolen material to track down any irregularities.”

  Her hostess nodded. “Richard agreed that I was uniquely qualified to understand spaceships, more than anyone, since I programmed the systems on Braden’s ship. I figured with you fresh out of school with your aeronautical engineering expertise, you could help.”

  “And those military chauvinists would never suspect two silly Ching T’Karre women were investigating them.” Sousi clapped her hands and laughed.

  In the next room, little Sarjen echoed her clap with his own hands and added a high-pitched squeal.

  Solanje gazed over at her son, hanging on the rails of his playpen. “Richard also said I would be highly motivated to make sure the ship flew safe and sound.
”

  Sousi put a hand on her arm. “He obviously has never seen Bashar pilot one.”

  Solanje rolled her eyes. “Too true.”

  ***

  Upset by the call requesting an unexpected meeting, Richard stepped into Trace Walker’s office. “I’m in the middle of heavy simulator training. Why do we need to meet now?”

  Trace stepped away from a window and leveled a look at Richard. “There’s been an accident.”

  “Oh, frag.” Richard collapsed into one of the beige office chairs. “I know it isn’t Elise. So, who?”

  “It happened in the shuttlebay.”

  Richard ran a hand over his face. “Oh, no. Not good. Your operative?”

  Trace nodded. “It gets worse.”

  Richard’s head came up. “How?”

  “This morning, I visited with Cory Henderson, head of Tygel’s space center.” Trace sat at his desk and flattened out the palms of his hands, then rubbed the Heartwood surface. “They have received a time-delayed transmission from Commander Bradley.”

  Richard leaned forward. “And…”

  “The fleet has spotted a cluster of approximately fifteen, or so, unidentified objects deep within our solar system, heading this way. He suspects it could be the Fallen, but there’s no positive confirmation yet. However, heat emanations are recorded inside the objects.”

  A spike of fear ran through him. “Can the fleet stop them?” Hope sprung up inside…

  Trace wearily shook his head. “Whatever it is, is going at an incredible speed and well ahead of the fleet.”

  “Even so, the fleet has jump capability.”

  A gust of breath burst from Trace. “Corey asked if the fleet could return to Alysia and help us. Commander Bradley said he would have to poll the fleet on the idea. They aren’t military ships, merely exploratory in function. Although they have weapons on board this time, they’re limited in effectiveness for a heavy engagement. He asked if we even wanted them to return.”

  “What did Corey say to that?”

  Trace grimaced. “Something about a rock and a hard place.”

  Silence permeated the room for several seconds.

  Finally, Trace stirred. “So, the President asked General Forte to move up the testing for the prototype. The General claims the ship isn’t nearly ready. Sean said to get it ready.” Trace raised an eyebrow. “Ji managed to pass along quite a bit of sensitive information on the program’s details before he was killed. Has your crack undercover team come up with anything yet?”

  “There’s a debriefing tomorrow.”

  “Tell them to be careful. Ji’s death was no accident. Whoever you’ve got evaluating his material could be in serious danger.”

  Richard choked. He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. He felt the sweat pop out all over his body.

  Oh, frag.

  A muscle jumped in Trace’s jaw. “Whoever murdered Ji has shown they are deadly serious about covering up whatever is going on. And for me, that confirms your suspicion of foul play. Find out what they have done and who is behind this before that test run.”

  Dazed, Richard nodded. Frightened, he realized that the game had turned deadly, putting people who mattered to him in harm’s way. He needed to find out if the ship was compromised, and soon. He wanted no more deaths. He headed toward the lounge to meet with Bashar, hoping to find answers.

  ***

  Ten or twelve cadets clustered around Bashar in Sunpointe’s student lounge. Before them stood a rectangular table with a green suede cover, wood railings, and odd round pockets at each corner and in the middle of the long sides.

  “All right,” Bashar chalked up a cue stick as he eagerly glanced around. “We have a few days off and my wife wants me home, so I’m going to need a little traveling money. Who wants to play?”

  The taller cadet, Deane, narrowed his eyes and stepped back. “Aren’t you wealthy or something? Jet said you own a large villa in the Ching T’Karre.”

  Bashar smiled. Not a stupid kid. He’d done his homework.

  Lowering his stick, the desert sheik leveled a gaze at him. “Do you have any idea how much it costs to feed a herd of Lompir?”

  “I’ve never even seen a lompir,” Deane exclaimed.

  Bashar chuckled. “Ugliest creatures alive, and ornery to boot. Also, they’ll eat you out of house and home.”

  Out of the corner of his eyes, Bashar noticed Richard hanging at the entrance, looking around as if searching for someone.

  “Never mind. I see the perfect candidate for our game. He has more money in his pocket than you poor sods have in your entire bank accounts.” Bashar smiled. “Let me see if I can persuade him to join us.” He flicked his stick at Richard, who turned to wave.

  “If so, Matilda will be dining on sugar cubes and rolling in hay. Wait here and warm up while I arrange my ticket home, and maybe some extra coins for some of you eager players.” Bashar laid his stick on the table and wiggled his dark eyebrows at the snickering group.

  Casually walking over to Richard, he leaned against the door jamb. In a soft voice, he asked, “Did you get it?”

  With trembling hands, Richard managed a handshake, passing him two microchips, which Bashar quickly pocketed by scratching his chest. He stretched and winked at the group that stood staring at them from around the pool table.

  In a low tone, Richard said, “Tell them they need to be extra careful. Someone murdered Ji yesterday for poking around where he wasn’t wanted. So, this is all for now. Also, Sean’s moved up the test date. We’re running out of time. Bring me a report as soon as you return.”

  Bashar straightened as the words jolted through him. Murder! He’d never considered the assignment dangerous. In space, he was used to danger everywhere, but not in his own home. He needed to get home and stop Solanje from any more investigations. With a whisper, Bashar said, “Shake your head.”

  Puzzled, Richard shook his head.

  The eager looks turned away, and a game started up.

  With a glance over at the pool table, Bashar murmured, “I’ll help the girls after I get home. If there’s a problem, we’ll find it, but after that, Solanje is off the project.” He clutched Richard’s arm and said loudly, “You don’t know what you’re missing. Are you sure you don’t want to play a game?”

  Startled, Richard glanced at the pool table. “Maybe, I could …”

  “No, Richard,” he hissed. “Those kids are sharks. They’d empty your pockets.”

  “Well,” Richard shrugged. “Perhaps another time.”

  “Good choice.” Bashar nodded. “Now, I have to go earn some traveling money.” He jingled loose coins inside a pocket of his dark pants and strode off.

  Richard exited the lounge and returned to Trace’s office to report delivery of Ji’s last microchip. Walking back, he worried about Trace. The I.N.Sys Director’s eyes wore the dark circles borne of too little sleep and sunken cheeks sharpened by too many missed meals. His formerly muscular body didn’t quite have the firm tone that Richard remembered from their early days running every morning together. Riding a desk was wearing on Trace. The black turtleneck sweater only emphasized the shadows on his face.

  Trace rocked back in his chair. “You successfully delivered the package?”

  Richard nodded. “The package has been delivered.”

  While his finger massaged a tired eyelid, Trace said, “A few other countries are building prototypes and don’t want the Democratic Union to win the contract for construction of the fleet. To work efficiently, all ships in the fleet must have the same design. The Ching T’Karre has a prototype they’re working on, and The Diechwrathe is pushing their design by the United Republic. They’re not far behind us and would be delighted if our ship malfunctioned, and they got the contract. Lily Santine’s family is a major manufacturer and holds a substantial stake in the development of the United Republic’s design.”

  Richard frowned. “You might want to do an in-depth personnel search for any connections
to her company, or the United Republic, among those working on General Forte’s project.”

  Trace sighed. “Frag, Richard. Half the population of the Democratic Union is related to people from regions in the United Republic.” Trace looked up at him. “Have you considered using the Timelab to see how events might turn out. We’re expending a lot of effort on the say-so of your daughter without any evidence to substantiate what she has told you.”

  Richard shifted in his chair, “Didn’t Henderson report they’ve identified what might be a fleet of ships headed this way?”

  “A premature conclusion. A cluster of moving objects was sighted that might or might not be ships, which are currently tracking toward us inside our solar system. Could just as well be rogue orbiting asteroids.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  “No, you’re probably right. You have that annoying tendency. So, has there been any recent communication from the Timelab?”

  “No.” Richard rubbed his arm and gazed at the floor. “Fate knows, I’ve tried. I’ve revisited the lab several times, but there’s no signal originating from down the line. It can be as simple as the future Timelab is closed down for some reason, or it could be there is no future to access.”

  “That’s not what I wanted to hear.” Trace closed his eyes. “You have less than two weeks to find a reason to stop the prototype’s test, or General Forte is going forward with the current schedule.”

  Chapter 38

  Complications

  Bashar was glad to be back home, although the Ching T’Karre seemed hotter than he remembered. Idly, his eyes caught on a collection of colorful pillows resting on a modern, white couch in his white-washed living room. He picked up a cold drink, its ice offering relief from the oppressive heat and smiled at his wife and niece, saying, “The President really wants that fleet contract. He’s pushed forward the date for testing the prototype.”

  Solanje stiffened. “You’re not part of the crew testing it, I hope.”

  Bashar smiled at his protective wife. He knew she’d worked hard on the investigation. However, their one area of deficiency involved the weapons system, and that bothered him. He wasn’t able help, either, as Braden’s ship hadn’t been armed with weapons, so he’d no expertise there.