After the gel had expanded to eighty point zero one four kilometers in diameter (the point zero one four was necessary for shrinkage), a sialon mist was painted onto the surface of one half of the shell. An overlap of two kilometers was applied beyond the equator to ensure structural integrity. That portion will be cut away later.
When the shell had hardened sufficiently, the siHcone was cut to release the argon and strips of the pliable material were peeled from inside the sialon shell. Preliminary surveys with the EDM and laser interfer-ometry indicate perfection within 0. 5 microns across the hemisphere.
When I left, crews had begun curving foamsteel and graphite structural members to support the shell. That reinforcement will be bonded to the sialon shell in tapering radii according to the specifications lined out in the schematic.
I'm dead tired, yawning as I write this. If I close my eyes, all I see are giant silvery bubbles and huge spraying machines. I'm going to sleep now, satisfied that I've managed to make one of the most difficult pieces the Lord Commander requires for his project. I doubt I'll get more than a couple of hours of sleep before some moron hammers at the door to inform me about some disaster or another. No matter, we'll solve it.
That's what engineers do.
If I dream about eggs, I'm going to be sick. -Excerpt taken from Dee Wall's personal journal
"We're going to make it," Lark announced from the engineering chair just behind and to the left of Skyla's command chair.
Over the days, the cramped cockpit aboard Rega One had become the boundaries of their universe. Reality consisted of endless pressure as they lived under a constant two gravities. Holo displays appeared, provided data, and disappeared again in an endless cycle of observation, analysis, and projection. Progress was measured by the flickering lights and digital readouts on the instruments which tracked their progress against that of the fleeing CV.
The bridge dispenser catered to their physical sustenance and they slept in the conforming command chairs. The only break came with the inevitable trip past the hatch to the toilet.
The change in Lark had become marked. A grim sense of purpose had taken hold of the girl. As the long hours stretched and the distance between the two ships decreased, Lark's responses became terser. The two frown lines in her forehead seemed permanently engraved. Through it all, Lark had pitched herself into learning the systems, and her skill
at the targeting computer had risen in quantum leaps until she could score hits sixty percent of the time.
Which, Skyla reflected, translates into victory-providing we get at least two shots at the CV.
"Looks like you'll get your firist fight, kid."
Lark studied the monitor screen. "Do you think I'll know the difference between a drill and the real thing?"
' 'You'll know." Skyla flipped the monitor reset, clearing the screens-a precaution to determine whether any of the ship's systems had looped themselves. "But if you've trained properly, you never have the time to think about anything but doing yourjob."
"Yeah, well, do you think I've trained properly?"
Skyla gave her a cocky grin. "You won't know that until the shots have been fired. I won't either. Of course, if the shooting stops and you hightail it to the toilet and finally come out fifteen minutes later looking real abashed, we'll both know who crapped where, won't we?"
"A bottle of Ashtan rye says I cut it just fine, Skyla.
wil ITaken. " The monitors had all reformed their images thout appreciable differences from the present display. Comm buzzed, announcing, "Subspace message incoming, Regan Imperial Military Code." "Run it."
The comm monitor fuzzed, stabilized, fuzzed again, and finally organized into Rysta Braktov's gnarled features. "Greetings, Rega One, this is Commander Rysta Braktov of the Regan Battle cruiser Gyton. We've just completed our interception of the freighter, Victory. "
Rysta's shriveled face hardened. " Victory exploded as our LCs closed for boarding operations. If I was to guess, they'd rigged the reactor to overload when the proximity alert circuits were triggered. In the event Ily and Arta were aboardwhich I don't believe for a moment-they could not have survived the detonation. "
Rysta sucked on her lips for a moment, the action pulling her wrinkles out of shape. "Wing Commander, my guess is that Arta and Ily are in that CV. Be very careful in your attempt to capture them." She hesitated, eyes glinting as she looked into the monitor. "My most fervent prayers are going out to you, Wing Commander. I pray to the Blessed Gods that you get both of them.
-Gyton will collect her dead and revector to your position. We'll be late getting there, but we'll offer whatever assistance you may require. " The old woman gave the briefest of nods. " Gyton out."
Skyla thumbed the comm button, staring into the monitor. "Attention, Qyton, we have received your transmission and acknowledge. Your warnings are noted and appreciated. We also concur with your assessment of Victory as a decoy. We anticipate interception of the stolen CV within twenty hours. We'll keep you informed as to the status of the operation. Rega One sends her deepest sympathies for your casualties. We will take no chances. Good space to you, Qyton. Rega One out."
"Message sent," the comm intoned.
"Did I hear that right?" Lark asked. "They were going to collect their dead?"
Skyla settled back in the command chair and began chewing on the knuckle of her thumb. "Yeah, kid. They tried to use standard boarding tactics, dropping LCs on the ship's hull. From there, armored troops would cut their way inside, overpower the crew, and take the ship. The only problem was, Ily knew that they'd try and do exactly that."
"So, what do you think they could to do us?" Lark asked. "They have to know we're closing on them. By now, they've got to have figured out that we're going to catch them before the jump. "
Skyla rubbed her face in an effort to massage life into her features. Her intent gaze had returned to the holo tank which marked the CV's location. So, what can you do, Ily? Explode the CV in ourfaces in the hopes it will work the same way twice? Or do you think you can shoot it out with us? Use your tactical superiority? What's your plan, bitch?
To Lark, Skyla stated, "Whatever she's figuring on, it won't be any fun to be on the receiving end."
"So what are we going to do?"
Skyla cocked her head to stare at Lark through slitted eyes. "We're going to hope I'm a better pilot than Ily is."
Gyton carried two high-performance launches. Now both raced time and mass on a mission everyone hoped wasn't
futile. The craft consisted of ninety meters of long flat wedge. The cabin rested inside the oblate nose and seated twenty in sybaritic elegance suitable to the foreign dignitaries and visiting military personnel that the launch usually carried. Just behind the bulkhead rested a mighty reactor capable of thrusting the slim sword-shaped vessel forward at close to forty gravities.
Now the Commander's launch proved every ounce of her muscle.
Inertia tried to pull Chrysla through the restraining belts that held her in the launch's passenger seat. Around her the plush upholstery proved an ironic contrast to the urgency of the mission. Even the wall paneling shook as the launch fought to match course and velocity with its spinning target. Angular momentum inexorably pushed Chrysla to the left, sapping every muscle in her body as she fought the gs.
"Sorry." The pilot's voice didn't carry any hint of apology, nor did anyone-Chrysla least of all-care. Anything would be permitted on this trip, so long as the launch's occupants survived, and they made the desperate rendezvous with the shattered LC they now pursued.
Chrysla avoided looking at the monitor inset on the forward paneling. There, a battered LC tumbled lifelessly against the smeared background of the Forbidden Borders. Matching with the rotating junk would take skill and nerves of liquid steel.
Be alive, Mac.
For an eternal instant, Chrysla hadn't been able to believe what she'd seen.
She'd been standing on the bridge, fighting that sense of premonition. That
blinding white flash had strobed through space where an instant before the fat bulk of the Regan freighter had been riding a thin spear of reaction mass toward light speed. Everything was devoured by that brilliant nova of light-including the three LCs that had been dropping like motes onto the hull.
Even Gyton had shivered under the onslaught.
Chrysla had stared uncomprehendingly, frozen by a paralysis of disbelief. And then she'd made a low moaning sound, agony torn from a wounded soul. She'd screamed, "No!" beating her fists against the monitor console.
Rysta's cool presence had remained a constant as the Commander barked orders and the stunned bridge officers replayed the telemetry and sorted out the disaster.
Boyz, and her LC, had died instantly, a section of Victory's hull blowing through the assault craft like a hammerhead through an egg. Andrews' LC had ruptured, but maintained some sense of structural integrity as it was blasted outward, spirals of leaking atmosphere marking its trail.
And Mac's LC had just barely had time to react. She'd changed attitude, arcing away from Victory when the concussion batted her forward. She, too, leaked atmosphere in frosty curls, the clearance lights dead, her comm ominously silent.
Rysta had ordered the launches-the fastest craft available to her-to space immediately for the two surviving LCs. No one really expected much. To have survived that much energy would have taken a miracle.
And for the moment, Chrysla was praying desperately for that miracle.
"Five minutes," the pilot's voice assured. "Remember, stay seated until I sound the 'all clear.' We're going to have to do some pretty dicey maneuvering to close."
Chrysla glanced uneasily at the other two passengers. The man was called Med First Josh Car and the woman had introduced herself as Pen York; both were emergency medical technicians trained for rescues of exactly this kind. Each now ran a final check on the equipment contained within a portable unit strapped to the deck.
I pleaded with him not to go, Chrysla reminded herself, thinking back to the last time she'd seen Mac. He'd practically forgotten her, his attention on his troops who were about to risk their lives in an attempt to capture Ily and Arta alive.
Chrysla closed her eyes, the blinding flash forever logged in her memory. Arta Fera, what sort of monster are you? How could you have my body, my genes, and brain?
And if Mac were indeed dead? I'll get you both! I'll make you pay!
"Lady Attenasio?" a soft voice asked.
Chrysla blinked and stared up at the female med tech from the rescue team. The woman smiled reassuringly, adding, "He was in the command control module behind the flight deck. That's the most protected part of the LC_1 ma'am.
There's a good chance."
Chrysla nodded, her insides gone brittle as Sylenian ice. "Thanks. "
The launch shook and strained, accompanied by a creaking of structural members. In the monitor, the cartwheeling LC had grown larger, the spirals of leaking atmosphere barely visible as the craft's supply was exhausted. The attitude adjustments made by the pilot refined the launch's vector until she appeared to be at rest beside the revolving LC.
"We've matched," the pilot called. "All clear. Rescue team, you may proceed."
The med techs were instantly on their feet, moving with purpose. Chrysla hit the release, checking her own suit. Rysta had told her, "You ought to just stay here and wait.
It won't do you any good to see him if he's dead in there. " Chrysla stepped into the air lock and energized her helmet field, breathing deeply to ascertain that the system was functional. Her suit rippled along her body as the pressure dropped. Above the hatch, the status lights flashed through their colors, finally glowing green for the 'all clear.'
Pen cycled the lock and pushed the hatch open. The action triggered the formation of frost as atmospheric vapors crystallized and drifted out into the blackness.
Josh had shouldered a bulky looking tube. He now sighted at the axis of the revolving LC and fired a grapple into the hull. After tying off, he lifted his equipment case and clipped it to the line, pushing it out into the vacuum.
Quickly, he clipped his own restraint onto the line and followed. Pen was just as efficient.
Chrysla paused, staring at the LC where it spun in the launch's lights. The rear of the LC had collapsed under the blast, rents visible in the rumpled hull. The thrusters were silent, not even vapor trailing from them.
Reflections of the launch's glaring spots flashed on the cockpit glass for the briefest of instants.
Mac, you've got to hold on. Just a little longer.
Chrysla clipped her safety ring to the line and pushed off through the tug of the launch's gravity. Before her, she could see Josh as he tied off, and drifted over the hull toward the emergency hatch above and just to the rear of the cockpit. To make his way, Josh had to fight angular momentum as the LC
tumbled. Handhold, by handhold, he drove pitons
into the hull by means of a pneumatic hammer that puffed vapor with each discharge. The line strung behind him gleamed tautly.
Pen had begun to follow, moving the equipment cases along the radius of the hull. Chrysla turned as she approached and used her legs to kill her momentum.
A wash of nausea gripped her. She was falling, weightless, and the entire universe was spinning around her. Careful, you're going to make yourself sick.
You don't have time for this.
Chrysla closed her eyes, feeling her way along the line, somewhat comforted as angular momentum gave her a down again and her inertia became a factor to movement.
"Lady Attenasio? " Pen's voice came through the earpiece. "Are you all right?"
"Bit of nausea. It's nothing, Pen. I'm on my way up." Chrysla ground her jaws, sweat prickling on her skin as she muscled her way along the line, crested the curving top of the LC, and braced herself in time to see Josh manually crank the hatch open. A brief puff of foggy crystals drifted out to spiral away into the void. The launch lights shot a momentary rainbow through the dissipating frost.
Josh hit his suit lights and used his arms as a pivot to dive into the hatch.
Pen braced herself, handed the equipment case down to him, and followed.
Heart in her throat, Chrysla took a deep breath and lowered herself into the black interior. Josh and Pen had moved to the flight crew, placing an instrument to the pilot's head.
"Still alive." Josh turned to the copilot. "This makes two. Pen, get a stim shot into them, and drop a pressure hood over them. Standard battery of antishock complex and stabilization hormones.
Chrysla braced herself on the bulkhead and threw herself against the manual override that unlocked the hatch leading down to the command center. It wouldn't budge.
"Josh?" she called, "Help me!"
"Easy, Lady, if it's not opening, there's atmosphere in there. " His lights played across the dead bridge monitors as he moved and they glittered like ghost eyes. "We've got to bleed it out, otherwise, if First MacRuder's alive in there, the decompression could kill him."
Chrysla bit her lip, struggling for control of her frantic emotions. "All right . . . how? "
"Down by your right foot. There, see the arrow? That points to the valve. Give it a half turn. You should see atmosphere begin to jet out. And, Lady, we've got to be careful. If he's alive, we don't have much time after the atmosphere is gone. Do you understand?"
"I do. "
"These guys are stable," Pen called. "Both are breathing, pulse strengthening on both of them."
Chrysla vented the emergency valve, satisfied to see a fountain of frosty air erupt. Seconds passed like eternity. When the pressure began to drop, she threw her weight
against the handle again, feeling it give. The hatch opened stiffly with a puff of freezing mist.
A knot had formed under Chrysla's tongue, and her innards tingled with suspense and worry as she stepped into the command center. Mac remained strapped to his chair, his face a bloody mess. Both of his legs flopped limply to the side, evidence
of broken femurs. Similarly, his neck was canted at an odd angle.
Dead! He's dead.
Josh shouldered past her, raising one of his instruments to Mac's blood-matted hair.
"I've got brain waves, but he's fading fast. Rot it, Pen, get in here and shoot this guy up! I'm guessing we've got a fracture between cervicals four and five with associated damage to the spinal cord. Neck immobilization is necessary first thing."
Pen shoved past a paralyzed Chrysla before pressing a syringe against Mac's skin. She wrapped an inflatable collar around Mac's neck and gently positioned his head as the collar inflated. A suction tube was utilized to pull clotted blood from Mac's nose and mouth. Pen nodded as frosty breath curled up in the freezing vacuum. With deft fingers she slipped a hood over his head and energized the oxygen flow. From a handheld unit, Pen read off statistics.
"Is he Chrysla's words evaporated as she spoke them.
"He's alive, Lady. But just barely. Brain waves indicate he's pretty shocky.
The chemicals are going to work on him. Should shut off most of the nervous responses. What we're
doing is putting him into a sort of physical stasis so that his system doesn't deteriorate. "
Pen snapped two wires into an energy pack, then eased Mac's head back. "You might not want to watch." Chrysla flinched as Pen drove the sharpened tips of the
wires through the hardened armor and into Mac's chest. "Maintains a minimum heartbeat," Pen explained. "Next, I'm running a scan. From the way he's sprawled, we've got a lot of broken bones."
"Pen!" Josh's call came through the comm. "I've got one alive back here. I need you."
Pen shot a quick look at Chrysla, warning in her dark eyes. "Use the thermal wrappings. Every exposed centimeter of skin must be protected." Then she was gone, ducking through the hatch that led back to the assault benches.
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