“No power for a turn, not without hitting the sheer line. Not enough power or time to cross the rock ridge ahead. No compensator for a powered blade descent. Flat rock auto is the best I can do.”
He brushed Matsuko’s hands from the console.
“Interrogative altitude, airspeed.”
“Passing four hundred at one hundred.” The woman’s voice was low, but clear and steady.
“Nose up. Nose up, three. Airspeed at sixty to seventy as you pass two hundred.”
“Stet. Nose up. Passing two fifty, airspeed, eighty.”
“Nose down a shade.”
“Stet. Nose down. Speed seventy.”
“Flare at one fifty. Flare at one fifty.”
“Flaring—”
The transmission ended as if cut by a knife.
Gerswin stood so abruptly the swivel slammed and clattered into the console behind.
“Was that a transmission loss?” asked a new voice.
Gerswin shook his head, slowly, forcing himself to unclench his tightened fists. He looked at the two console screens, then at the floor.
Matsuko looked at Gerswin’s face, then snapped. “Is two ready to lift?”
“Yes, ser.”
“Launch and vector to three’s last position. Medic on board?”
“That’s affirmative, ser.”
“Launch.”
“Two. Outrider two, this is Opswatch. Cleared to lift. Vector to target is three four five. Three four five.”
“Opswatch, Outrider two, lifting. Will be turning three four five.”
Gerswin looked at the met screen, then at Matsuko.
“Captain, that vector’s wrong. They’ll cross the sheer line.”
The tech on the end console began computing.
“He’s right.”
“Outrider two. Course correction. Course correction. Sheer line at three five zero. Turn two seven zero. Two seven zero.”
“Thanks, Opswatch. Turning two seven zero. How long this course?”
“Outrider two. Estimate five minutes, then a vector of zero zero five.”
“Stet. Turning two seven zero. Climbing to one thousand. Climbing to one thousand.”
“Understand climbing to one thousand.”
Gerswin took his eyes away from the screens and stepped farther back, still shaking his head slowly, as if unable to believe that the flitter had crashed into the rocky flats northwest of the Imperial base.
“…killer planet…Istvenn take it….”
“…the lieutenant couldn’t…no one could have…”
Gerswin’s steps took him to the backless couch outside Matsuko’s office, and he sat down, staring at nothing, trying not to think about how Miri Frantz must have felt as the flitter mashed into the rocky up-thrusts with both forward speed and a descent rate approaching a thousand meters a minute.
But what else could he have suggested? Leaving her on thrusters would have plowed her into solid rock at nearly two hundred kays. If only he’d tried to get a better reading on the actual terrain slope…. But there had been so little time.
If he’d been there…. But he wouldn’t have flown through a sheer line unprepared.
“…have the target in sight…”
Gerswin’s ears caught the transmission from Outrider two, and he jerked himself erect, walking back to the control area, standing quietly behind the swivel where Captain Matsuko sat.
“Understand you have the target in sight?”
“That’s affirmative. Deploying blades now.”
“Stet. Understand blade deployment.”
The console was silent, with only a single amber blip, motionless, as the flitter began its descent.
“Interrogative target status.”
“Opswatch. Target has sustained maximum structural damage. Maximum structural damage.”
Matsuko winced. Gerswin and the other pilots understood the implications of the shorthand expression.
Maximum structural damage to the flitter meant maximum structural damage to the crew.
A hush dropped over the operations area, as the surrounding techs and officers waited.
“Opswatch. Hovering over target. Lowering medic. Preliminary indication is that target crew totally immobile. Totally immobile. Will report later.”
“Stet, two. Standing by for later report.”
Gerswin took a last glance at the screens and moved away until he was in the silent and open corridor between the comm consoles and the now-vacant administrative section of Operations.
He knew the results, but hoped against hope that someone, somehow, had survived the crash, even though flitters did not carry the same crash capsules as shuttles.
The muted sound of murmurs in the control section died away enough that Gerswin could hear the last of Outrider two’s transmission.
“…say again, no survivors…”
The I.S.S. lieutenant took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and started toward the exit portal. He needed to be alone.
Ignoring the sound of steps behind him, he reached the portal before Matsuko touched his arm.
Gerswin stopped.
Matsuko gestured, as if to pull him aside, and the lieutenant followed.
“Greg. You did the best you could, the best anyone could have.”
Gerswin swallowed.
“I made a mistake. Wouldn’t have if I’d been in the cockpit, but so hard to do through comm link.”
“Mistake?”
“Radalt has vertical and horizontal lag. Makes a difference in rugged terrain. She wasn’t experienced enough to look beyond the heads-up to gauge terrain. Can’t do that over remote.”
He shook his head again.
Matsuko shook his head slowly in reply. “I liked Zeigler, and…Miri…you know…but, you…Can’t you not…”
Gerswin looked at the polished tiles of the floor, knowing Matsuko had broken off his response and was studying his face.
“Look, Greg. Nobody else could have given her half a chance.”
“Half wasn’t enough.”
“No. But unless you can find another dozen like you, it’s better than she would have gotten otherwise. Zeigler bent orbit, not you. You even had enough sense to keep the recovery bird from doing the same thing. Don’t forget that.”
Gerswin said nothing.
Matsuko patted him on the shoulder.
“You try too hard to be perfect. Do the best you can, but don’t expect perfection on everything, all the time, even when lives are at stake. That’s a bigger trap. Think about it.”
Matsuko stepped back to let Gerswin leave.
Gerswin could feel the deputy ops boss’s eyes on his back long after the portal had closed between them, long after he had retreated to his quarters.
XXIV
“Tell me, Greg. Does the flitter do what you want? Or do you make it do what you want?”
Mahmood scarcely looked up from his console as he asked the question.
“What does that mean? Another theoretical question?” snapped Gerswin, still wearing his flight gear.
“Not so theoretical as you think. Presumably, you have a goal in mind. You seem to assume that the goal is independent of the means.”
“No. Even a dumb devilkid knows that the means will influence the end.” The pilot took four steps away from the console, turned, and paced back toward the biologist.
“Then why don’t you apply that knowledge to your flight techniques? Without looking at the maintenance records, I’d be willing to bet that while you have the best record of accomplishment, you also have the record of most damage to equipment.”
“Mahmood, have you ever tried to fly gently through the fringes of a landspout? Or to gather data through stone rains and acid winds?”
“Have you?”
“I’ve flown through everything.”
“Gently?”
“You don’t understand.”
“Greg. I’m not fighting you. You are fighting yourself.”
“Fighting
myself?” Gerswin paced toward the blank inner wall, and turned before reaching it, pacing back toward the man and the console.
“There are at least two ways to do anything. Usually, the best way requires both the most understanding and the most direct application of that understanding. Very few people are capable of that. Mostly frustrated athletes.”
Gerswin frowned. Again, the philosophical biologist refused to get to the point. He didn’t know why he ended up coming back to listen all the time. Except…he brushed the thought aside.
“Frustrated athletes? Would you stop to explain that?”
“No. Not unless you will consider stopping to listen, and begin by stopping that continuous pacing. Sit down.”
Gerswin sighed. Loudly, and partly for effect. He let himself thud into the low couch, turn, and let one leg dangle over the arm as he faced the other.
The biologist straightened behind the console, and, for the first time, concentrated directly on the pilot.
“Greg, think about it this way. Our military culture tends to separate people into those who can build or repair things and those who use them. You are a pilot and an officer, trained to understand enough about technology and people to use both. Your techs understand how to repair things, but not really enough about their missions for you to be able to use their products to the fullest degree possible.”
Mahmood waited.
Finally, Gerswin answered.
“So you think I’m just a user? That it’s bad to be just a user?”
“I never said that. Nor did I say that you were. I merely made an observation on the training imparted by our system. Would you say that what you do with a flitter requires as much as you can get from the machine?”
“Sometimes more.”
“Have you really ever studied the flitter? From each single composite plate up? From a series of stress vectors? Have you ever tried to rebuild one with the technicians?”
“Of course not. I’m not a tech.”
Again, Mahmood waited.
“Where are you going? What are you asking? You telling me that I ought to be a tech?”
“Not exactly. Let me ask the question more directly. How can you get the most out of your flitter if you have no feel beyond the superficial?” Mahmood waved aside the objection the pilot was beginning to voice. “Yes, I know. You have your spec charts, and your performance envelopes, or whatever all the facts are that you learn. You are taught all the maneuvers that a flitter will take, and the associated stresses. But who designed those maneuvers? Who set those limits? And how? By trial and error? Or did someone really dig into what a flitter is and what a pilot can do and put the two together?”
“Test pilot.”
“Are you a test pilot?”
“No.”
“Do you want to be one? Or better than one?”
“Of course.”
“Then how do you propose doing it? By going out and doing the same thing day after day? Destroying flitter after flitter, and maybe yourself in the process, by going beyond the established numbers without understanding the machine?”
“You make it sound so simple. Just go out and be a tech. Learn the flitter. Be an instant expert!”
“No. I never said that. You said that. I never said it would be easy. I never said it wouldn’t take time. I only said that it was the best way, and the hardest.”
Gerswin bounced to his feet.
“I don’t know why I listen to you.”
Mahmood did not respond, just let his dark eyes meet the hawk-yellow glare of the young pilot’s.
Finally, the hawk-eyed one looked away.
“Thanks, Mahmood. I think.”
And he was gone, quick steps echoing in the long corridor outside.
XXV
Fluorescent lines on the clay marked the landing area.
Gerswin lined up the cargo skitter, sluggish with the weight of the technical team stuffed into the passenger section and with the effect of the higher altitude, on the rough square between the hills and below the target mountain.
As the nose came up, he began twisting more and more power to the thrusters, bleeding off airspeed as the skitter wallowed downward. Theoretically, the skitter had more than enough power, but the currents swirling around the hills to the north and south of the landing site had left him the choice of an approach into the wind—with the mountain blocking any wave-off—or with the downwind approach with a steeper descent angle, but room for error. Gerswin had chosen the downwind approach. At least that way he could break it off without plowing into the mountains.
He didn’t expect any ground cushion, and there wasn’t any as the skitter mushed down and thumped onto the ever-present purpled clay well within the landing box that had been outlined by the advance team.
“Perdry!” he called. “Too much gusting here. Make them sit tight until I fold the blades and shut down.”
The pilot knew the major would complain, at least to himself, but the last thing Gerswin wanted was some eager beaver tech, running out after the greatest find of the old technology, getting himself bisected by a rotor caught in the uneven gusts.
His fingers moved through the retraction sequence quickly but evenly.
“Blade retraction complete,” he announced. “Clear to disembark.”
As Perdry let down the ramp, Gerswin methodically continued through the shutdown checklist, matching his actions against the lightlist on the console.
By the time he had secured the cockpit, the entire technical team had disappeared over the rise, and he and Perdry were left with the skitter. The cargo, except for a few light cases, also remained, untouched.
Gerswin frowned. Was there any reason why he couldn’t see what all the enthusiasm was about?
“Perdry?”
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
“I’m going to walk up there and take a look. When I come back, you can. Think one of us ought to stay with the bird.”
“Fine with me, Lieutenant. They’re going to be here awhile. A long while. Besides, I saw it.”
“Why do you think they’ll be here awhile?”
“They left all their gear just to take a look. And what they’re looking at isn’t an easy orbit break.”
Gerswin inclined his head quizzically.
“Big doors, like huge portals into the mountainside. They’re carving away the lock with the lasers, but so far nothing touches the metal. Never will, I’ll bet.”
Gerswin closed the canopy, swung himself down from the high steps in the fusilage, and jumped the last meter to the hard clay.
“See you later, Lieutenant,” called Perdry. His long legs dangled from the side of the ramp where he sat staring up at the few patches of grass between the rocks, mostly on the higher parts of the hillside that was mainly red sandstone.
Gerswin took the pathway toward the ridgetop nearly at a trot, absently noting the lack of grubushes and the signs of coyotes or rats, and wondering why. Grubushes and rats existed in the worst of areas. But he did not smell a high level of landpoisons.
At the top of the ridge, he stopped and looked. Scarcely fifty meters below, the technical team was gathered around a portable screen. Fifty meters beyond them—
Massive! That was the first word for the metal portals that hulked above the chunks of fused stone that had already been carved away from the black metal. With the darkness of the metal that reflected no light, they could have been the proverbial Gates to Hades, looming as they did out of the mountainside that rose another thousand meters above them.
As he began down the gentle slope, a number of incongruities stood out.
For one, the stone chunks that had been carved away by the Imperial tech team’s lasers were the same glassy texture all the way through. Second, the last thirty meters before the gates were not clay, but the same blackish and glossy stone that had been carved from the area surrounding the gates. Third, the gates were sealed, not merely closed. Two half-meter wide black metal beams, seamless, crossed th
e entire front of the gates, including the thin line that marked the break between the two.
Gerswin moved silently downward until he could hear the discussion, but not so closely that he seemed to be eavesdropping. Only the first set of Imperial physicians had noted, right after his initial capture, his exceptional hearing and actual reflex speed, and he had done his best since to insure that both were overlooked. Recent examinations indicated only very good physical abilities.
“….some sort of nuclear bonding. Anything that could break the bond would probably destroy most of this mountain range.”
“Why not bring in an accelerator?”
“Darden, do you happen to have one stashed in orbit? Or do you have the fifty million creds it would take to get one here and assemble it?”
“So a frontal approach can’t work.”
“Why don’t we bore parallel until there isn’t any shielding and come in from the side?”
“Do you have any guarantee that they didn’t surround the entire complex with that black metal shielding?”
“Look at it. It had to be added later. Along with the beams. It’s just plated over everything, even over the joint between the two doors. There’s no break at all. Besides, if they could have shielded the whole thing with a nuclear bond, why build it under a mountain?”
“Any other ideas?”
The conversation lapsed for a moment, except for a few mumbles Gerswin could not hear clearly enough to understand.
“Then we’ll try Peelsley’s idea. Take the number one laser bore and probe the sides. Take the most promising, and see if we can find a weak spot.”
Gerswin watched as the cart was wheeled up to the rock next to the right-hand door and connected to the pulse accumulators, which were, in turn, connected to the portable generator.
The pilot shrugged and walked back to the skitter.
Perdry was still propped against the frame of the open ramp door, legs dangling down. He was eating from a ration pack.
“Got another pack here, Lieutenant. Want some?”
“Wouldn’t mind at all. Techs have their own.”
The crewman leaned back to reach behind himself and brought forward the square pack. Field issue, cold but edible, and about half protein, half carbohydrate.
The Forever Hero Page 11