The Turret: Starclan Foundation

by James McAlliater

  “MacAlister, what can I do for you?” Admiral Alimonte’s voice rang in Jock’s ears.

  “Admiral, there is a situation that threatens the entire ship production plan. I’m getting my company’s lawyers on a conference call.”

  “Computer, suspend all recording, command authorization Peter Timothy One Zero Nine.”

  “Recording suspended.”

  “Okay, Jock, what gives?”

  “Jock, I’ve got Ronald Sims on the line. What’s going on?” Sandy was concerned now.

  “Mr. Sims, Sandy, I’ve got Admiral Alimonte on the line as well. Here is what Dennis has told me so far:

  “General Aerospace Developments is threatening to hit us with patent suits unless we pay them huge royalties on the power plants, weapons, and drive systems in the new ships. Their claim is that my designs are based upon my father’s work, and that his work was their property.”

  “Are your designs based upon his work?” Sims’ rich baritone voice asked.

  “Only in a general sense, but, yes.”

  “Was your father working for General Aerospace when he developed those theories?”

  “He did work on them in General Aerospace’s labs, but he developed them well before he began working there.”

  “That may not matter. If he signed an Intellectual Property release, anything he worked on in their labs belongs to them.” Sims sounded beaten.

  “Could there be anything else that precluded that?” Sandy offered.

  “Hell yes! Jock, your father was working at General Aerospace labs under Naval orders. I issued those orders! They did not employ him; he was on loan to them from the Navy. Even if he did sign such an agreement, it would not be enforceable. Everything he developed, physical and intellectual, is the property of the USF Navy.”

  “That may be true, Admiral, but they could still bankrupt us with appeals.” Sims countered.

  “They can’t bankrupt the United Space Force Navy!” The Admiral’s voice had a way of booming even at low volumes.

  “There is another option. Ron, what if we filed a wrongful death suit against them?” Sandra quietly asked.

  “Well, if we have proof of any unusual occurrences or irregular procedures, we could claim gross mismanagement of government funds. They would have to open up ten years of financials and other company records. The loss of your father to Starclan and to you would be huge. If the Navy joined the suit, even General Aerospace couldn’t survive the attorney’s fees, let alone the punitive damages.”

  Jock drummed his fingers on the table for a moment.

  “Admiral, what do…”

  “Hold on, MacAlister! This involves your private company, even though you’re partnering with the Navy. I have zero experience here. I’m not qualified to advise you.”

  “Understood, Sir! Ron, file the wrongful death case. Do it. Today.”

  ***

  Chrysler Building

  55th Floor

  New York City

  Standard Earth Date May 9, 3449

  “THEY’VE WHAT?” The fist slamming down onto the polished wood desk punctuated the question.

  “They’ve filed a wrongful death suit, sir, against General Aerospace Developments, for the death of Nial MacAlister. The suit was filed May 5th.” The tall, balding man had lost a touch of his usual grace at the outburst.

  “You waited four days to tell me?”

  “We wanted to run an analysis of the suit to see what their chances of winning were, and have The Board’s recommendation for you, before we informed you, sir.”

  “And?” Sheldon Malone’s voice gained considerable control at the possibility of losing the suit.

  “They will likely win. The Board recommends a settlement.” The tall, balding man’s jaw tightened imperceptibly in anticipation of the onslaught to come.

  “If they win, what happens to General Aerospace?”

  “IF we go to trial, and MacAlister wins, there will be no more General Aerospace, except as a wholly-owned subsidiary of Gravitas Propulsion.”

  Sheldon sat for a moment, very still, very quiet.

  “What do they want?” he asked after the uncomfortable pause.

  “Control of G.A.D. Fifty-five percent of the company, exactly. And exactly sixty percent of any future stock issues. And that we forego all claims of any patent infringements, past, present, and future.”

  Sheldon Malone slumped backwards in his massive chair. He hated this job very much.

  ***

  L-2 Shipyards Orbital Dock

  Construction Jig Alpha

  Heavy Cruiser CA-1

  Standard Earth Date May 9, 3449

  “Is there a hero in the house?” the sweet voice boomed over the comms at much too high a volume level.

  “Sandy?” Jock looked up from the technician he was watching, “Nice work, Jenkins! Keep it up! Next time, though, make sure the readout isn’t installed upside down? You’re finish work is top-notch, don’t ever change it.”

  “Aye-aye, Sir! And, thank you, Sir!” Jenkins replied from under a console.

  “Jock, it’s the lawsuit…”

  Jock activated his personal comm unit as walked into the corridor towards the captain’s quarters. He had appropriated the suite for himself until the ship was far enough along to turn over to the naval crew.

  “Hold on a second, I’m almost to where we can talk.” He jogged the last twenty yards and slid into the ready-room. “OK, go ahead.”

  “Did I make you all out of breath?”

  “Not since I’ve been up here. I was just hustling to keep you all to myself.”

  “Jock, they settled.”

  Jock sat down hard. Somehow he hit the chair; he was unaware of it.

  “Jock?” Sandy’s voice held a touch of concern. “They agreed to all of it.”

  “Oh, my.”

  “So, handsome, what are you going to do now?”

  “Give it to Dennis. He needs a pension, and they won’t be able to bullshit him.”

  “Good thinking; it was his idea anyway. I’ll have Sims draw up the papers.”

  “What? It figures! Gunny sees through bullshit like no one else. Oh, get a sitter for tonight.”

  “What?”

  Jock smiled as he heard the change in her voice.

  “We’re having the special at Giovanni’s.”

  “Who?”

  “You and I. Tonight. Giovanni’s. The restaurant our rehearsal dinner was at, remeber?”

  “Jock, you’re in lunar orbit!”

  “Yeah, well, I’m taking some personal time. After dinner, I think you should get me all out of breath. In person-like.”

  ***

  Chrysler Building

  55th Floor

  New York City

  Standard Earth Date May 10, 3449

  “The room is cleaned now, Mr. Malone. It’s all yours.” The butler’s much too stuffy voice declared.

  “Was that a joke, Jamison?”

  “Not that I am aware of, sir.” The faintest of smiles flash on Jamison’s face for the briefest of instants, more of a twitch than a smile.

  Sheldon Malone walked over to his desk, and looked around on the floor, on the desk, and even up on the ceiling. His eyes lingered on the boxes taped shut. Boxes full of my things. Packed up as an eviction notice!

  “The cleaning crew did nice work. Tell them to stay around a bit.” Sheldon hit a button on his comm as he sat down behind the desk. “Mr. Stack, if your dogs are not too fatigued, I have someone they would like to m-e-a-t.” A grinning Sheldon chuckled at Jamison, enjoying the butler’s face growing pale at his words.

  ***

  United Space Force Academy

  United Space Force Academy Hilton

  Cape Canaveral, Florida

  Standard Earth Date June 22 3449

  Jock looked carefully at the image before him. He studied it intensely, searching for any flaw, any piece of the picture out of place. Finally satisfied, he turned on his heel shar
ply and walked out of the hotel room.

  This was the third time. The first time, there were a few graduates and a cadet there. They formed an honor guard for him, though he doubted they knew why he was there. Still, it was a kind gesture of respect.

  I wonder what I’ll find this time? Probably no one, I hope. Two hundred and forty six graduated this year, Jock thought as he walked through the night. Spotless Dress Whites; he’d been lucky last year, as the driving rain seemed to stop the second his foot hit the sidewalk outside the hotel.

  Last year the entire graduating class, all in Dress Whites, was lined up along the path to the chapel. All of them, an honor guard waiting for him. Why? Thankfully the Academy Commander was receptive to discouraging the formation of an impromptu honor guard this year. We’ll see if it stuck.

  Jock started up the path to the chapel that bore his Great-Great Grandfather’s name. He had the card, and the flowers. I wonder what they do with these after I leave?

  Jock stopped for a moment. He looked to his left, towards Mama Rooney’s. He looked down briefly, and then began walking to the chapel.

  Just outside the doors, he looked up at the inscription above the doors; “MacAlister Chapel”. His head bowed again, and he gently placed the flowers and card to the right of the steps. He froze for a moment, and swallowed hard, remembering that night at this spot. Tears welled up and blurred his vision, but he was not seeing with his eyes. His heart saw Sharon there, nervous as he took her hand and led her into the chapel that night.

  Jock stayed in the chapel a little longer this year. He came out as the campus clock chimed midnight, nearly fainting at the sight before him.

  On the edge of the path was a line of graduates, each in spotless Dress Whites, each holding a single flower. As Jock watched, a graduate would walk up, remove their hat, and place the flower next to those Jock had brought.

  Jock didn’t have to count the number of those single flowers. He just knew it would be two hundred and forty six.

  ***

  AG-1 Thistle

  Asteroid Belt

  Standard Earth Date August 2 3449

  Captain Jock MacAlister stared at the target in the center of the small cluster of asteroids on the bridge’s viscreen. The ship seemed familiar in some ways, but United Space Force had upgraded and expanded nearly everything. Gunny would never recognize her, Jock thought.

  His attention came back to the matter at hand. The Space Tug Thistle had been purchased by the USF to serve as a weapons testing platform. This allowed the few ships in service to remain at their posts while new weapons were developed, allowing the new class of ships to be built faster and construction started sooner. When building a new class of cruiser, the first few ships always took longer to finish than the rest of the class. There were always bugs to be worked out, unforeseen problems, and unintended consequences of building with advanced designs, no matter how thorough the planning had been.

  The Thistle was a great choice, as she buzzed with excess power whenever she wasn’t towing a barge. Her engines were overhauled, enhanced, and updated, her gravity docking clamps were modernized, upgraded and modified to hold modular weapons platforms, and her crew accommodations were expanded considerably. Her shielding was also increased in anticipation of applying energies unknown.

  Jock’s attentions were focused on the three-mile wide asteroid roughly in the center of the cluster. The test was set here for a reason; the cluster would tell them as much, if not more, about the weapon’s value than the target would.

  “Detonation in ten seconds.” The familiar surroundings kept Jock waiting for “dear!” or “handsome” to follow, but Sally had been retired; Jock suspected Dennis had her installed as his house‘s domestic control system. The new computer’s voice did sound like Sally, but only if she had settled down and had a few kids, and had started taking sedatives regularly. She would bore Dennis to death, Jock laughed to himself.

  “Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Detonation.”

  Jock mentally counted down the four-minute delay for the light of the event to reach the Thistle. Waiting was the worst part. Oh, he knew the device would work. Well, should work. Probably. Maybe. The nature of the device dictated the great distance from the test. Jock knew they could be safe a lot closer. Maybe.

  Four minutes can be a long time. Jock looked around the bridge at the four crew members there; Lieutenant Charles Walker at the nav/helm, Lieutenant Theresa Long at sensors station one, Lieutenant Commander Haja Zafy at sensors station two, and Commander Mat Musa Wan who operated the test weapons. These were high-ranking people for so small a crew, but these were important tests. Earth’s survival may depend upon their success. While a lot of information about the Bug’s home world and intentions had been deciphered from the system on board the alien scout ship, detail such as the number and composition of vessels that would be sent against Earth was not there. They’ll have to wait until they receive the scout’s message, Jock thought. I’m glad I recruited the best brains for this. BBs, Sharon would have called them.

  “Approaching visual Sir.”

  “THERE!” Lieutenant Walker pointed at the screen all eyes were glued on.

  “My God!” Jock watched the target flash briefly, then collapse into itself at a rate that increased as it became smaller. But the effect of the weapon did not stop. The nearby asteroids began moving, slowly at first, then with ever increasing velocity towards the shrinking target. More and more began falling into the target, which had begun to glow from the heat. Every asteroid within ten miles of the target fell into the glowing ember of compressed hellfire, while outside the ten-mile boundary, nothing moved.

  “Coming up on the three-minute mark, Mister MacAlister.”

  “Thank you, Mister Musa. Any local effects?”

  “Only a slight variation in the background gravitation, Captain.” LC Zafy’s cool voice reported. “Sort of like a wave passed us.”

  “Was that anticipated?” On Jock’s ship, with these men, a question not directed at a specific crewmember, it was directed at every crewmember. But you had better have an answer with value if you replied to it.

  “What was the time delay, Mister Zafy?”

  “None measurable, Captain.”

  Communications!

  “Captain, are you thinking of using this as a communications system?”

  “Let’s see what the data tells us, Mister Musa, but yes, that was my thought. You’re the Wizard of Waves, do you think we can modulate it?”

  “Easier than modulating old style radio waves, I’d say, Sir.”

  “Okay, people, let’s keep focused on the test we’re running. Charlie, ET since activation?”

  “Elapsed time since device activation is twelve minutes and forty seconds, Captain.”

  “Almost there. How is the data stream, Miss Long?”

  “Solid Sir. We’re getting feeds from every sensor, and monitored data is centered on predicted values.”

  “Okay, don’t let up, people, stay sharp. We’re almost there. Mister Walker, engine status?”

  “Reactors hot and ready, engines purring like sleeping panthers, sir.”

  “Heh, thanks for the colorful visualizations, Charlie. Time?”

  “Coming up on scheduled shut down, Sir.”

  “There it is! Right on time! Readings?”

  “Background gravity, nominal. Background radiation, nominal. It’s off, Sir. You did it!”

  “HOO-RAH!” The four on the bridge let out the ancient cheer.

  “Okay, Mister Walker, take us in closer to the target. Mister Zafy, send to Admiral Alimonte: GravTorp testing completed. We have a weapon! ”

  “Aye-aye, SIR!”

  “Well done, everyone!” Jock smiled at his crew.

  ***

  West Lake Road

  Skaneateles, NY

  Standard Earth Date April 7 3466

  “This is good.” Sandy MacAlister sighed as she held up the glass, gazing at the fire’s flickering throug
h the ruby red liquid inside. Her head rested on her husband’s lap as he smiled at her, absentmindedly stroking her long blond hair.

  “The wine, the fire, or the company?” The contentment in Jock’s voice carried his smile with the question.

  “Yes. Yes. And yes.” Sandy snuggled just a little closer as she sipped the tangy Baco Noir. “Oh, Jock, this is so nice. Are you sure you don’t want to retire? We could spend every night like this.”

  “Not yet. As soon as the ships come out at a fast enough pace, I’ll retire. I would do more good at Starclan in R & D then.”

  “Hmmm. You being home every night. That is such a wonderful thought.”

  “That it is, Lass! That it is.” Jock took a sip from his glass and set it down, his expression falling from serenity into concern.

  “Sandy, have you made the plans for picking up Jack at the end of the year?” Jock’s voice reflected the apprehension his face displayed.

  “What’s wrong, dear? That’s the third time this week you’ve asked me that. Every thing’s all set.”

  “I have to stay a day past graduation, two days past his last class.” Jock stopped stroking Sandy’s hair, placing his hand on the rug next to her shoulder, as if bracing himself.

  Sandy sat up, and turned to smile gently at her husband.

  “Yeah, so? Why is that a problem?”

  “I need to tell you why.” Jock lowered his eyes as he spoke.

  “Oh, the flowers for Sharon? You’re worried about that? Of course you’re going to leave them this year. I scheduled it into your trip,” Sandy stated simply.

  “You, how, what, you know about that? You, you don’t mind?” Surprise and relief fought for control of Jock’s voice. I don’t deserve this woman.

  Sandy leaned close to her husband and kissed his lips with that gentile passion that always sent tingles up his spine. She knew it drove Jock mad.