The Admiral considered the desktop for a moment, then said in conversational tones, “By the way, Ensign, I know Professor Wenisant quite well. He told me he received his SU-43 information from an anonymous source. It seems he tried to trace the origin, but he couldn’t. Neither could our intelligence people. Isn’t that interesting?”
He glanced at her face. His eyes sparkled with almost contemptuous triumph.
“The prototype SU-43 will be delivered to this station next week. From then, you have three months, Ensign. I look forward to the launch demonstration. Dismissed.”
She saluted, performed an impeccable parade ground about face and left the room, feeling like a rodent in a cage. With a large black feline circling around it.
Brad was waiting for her when she came home, standing in the living room with his arms folded. “Makasa was here for you?”
“Yes.”
The two lines between his eyebrows drew closer together. “I told you not to do it.”
“It’s, okay, it’s okay. I give up. You all win.”
Damn, it rankled. She’d tried a simulation with the stress factors set a little higher just yesterday. The wings really had torn off.
“You’ll do as you’re asked?” Brad searched her face, his hands on her shoulders.
“Yes.” But she didn’t have to like it.
“Great.” He pulled her into his arms. “If you’d kept on with this… I don’t know what I would have done. But look on the bright side. We get to stay together for another three months.”
She pulled away. “What do you mean, what you would have done?”
He flushed. Her heart froze.
“I’ve got a career, too, babe.”
“Oh, so behave or I’m out, is that it? Wedding off?”
“Don’t be like that. I want to get married. I love you.”
“You love me but? I’m being set up and there’s fuck all I can do about it.” She blinked away the tears pricking at her eyes.
“Sweetheart, at least you’ll be able to make it work.”
She shrugged him off and pushed past him, into the bedroom. “Yeah. Until the wings tear off.”
“Babe—”
“Leave me alone. Just leave me alone.”
The disassembled SU-43 arrived on schedule at Gens Brasna Two. The engineers put the aircraft together, ran their stress tests and sent Morgan the results. She calibrated the control system accordingly.
Brad ran the first test flight, a routine take off, a trip around the base and a landing. The engineers pronounced themselves satisfied with the aircraft’s behaviour and with the results of a close examination of the components.
“That went well,” Brad said. “The ship handles beautifully. You done good.” He planted an affectionate kiss on her lips.
“Good. We’ll put it under a bit more pressure over the next few days.”
Signs of stress started to show where the wings and canards extended from the fuselage.
“We should can this, Sir,” she told the chief engineer, Senior Commander Fleming.
He shook his head. “Not a chance. Makasa wants this passed to get funding. Reset the parameters lower so it isn’t a problem for the demonstration. We can fiddle with the details later.”
“The details? Sir?” He couldn’t be serious. But he was. The rage spewed out. “This is the fucking airframe we’re talking about, not the décor.”
Fleming sucked air into his lungs, blowing himself up like a barrage balloon. “You will not talk to me in that manner, Ensign, Supertech or not. You will do as you are told. Or you can explain yourself to Admiral Makasa.”
In her mind’s eye the black cat prowling around the cage grinned.
She reset the parameters and loathed herself for weakness.
The bedside clock’s red letters showed 0250 hours. Morgan lay awake, staring at the low ceiling, listening to Brad snoring gently beside her. Look at the choices. I endorse an unsafe fighter that’s okay ninety-five percent of the time. And the Galactic Spirit help whoever’s flying it the other five percent. And if I don’t, Brad’s for the scrapheap, Cam doesn’t get his comfortable retirement and I… I’m checking weapons calibrations on frigates in for annual service.
Moving carefully, Morgan eased herself out of bed and made herself a cup of coffee in the apartment’s tiny kitchen. Makasa. A big, black cat with a paw full of strings attached to Extron, Campbell, Fleming, Brad, her. He had them all dancing to his direction.
For something to do, she looked up his profile on the information system. Yes, a prince, third son of a king. Probably bought his commission. Married, three wives, eleven children. Good grief. Maybe he was slimmer when he was younger. He’d put her off sex altogether. Imagine that on top of you. You’d need a reinforced bed.
She scrolled through to the next section, listing his career postings and business affiliations. He was even on the board of a couple of philanthropic organisations. Where did he get the time?
She stared at the wall, sipping her coffee. She’d never felt so impotent. And so wrong.
“Whatchadoin?”
She started. Brad stood in the doorway in his sleeping shorts, blinking sleep from his eyes.
“Just looking at Makasa’s background.”
“You’re not getting any wrong ideas?” His voice held a warning note that was starting to grate on her nerves.
“Don’t worry, your career’s safe. I’m just curious.”
He gestured at the holovid. “How about sharing?”
“Sure.” She directed the images onto the screen instead of viewing them on her retina.
“That’s interesting,” he said, lowering himself down on the couch beside her. “He’s on the board of Galaxy Vision.”
“Why’s that interesting?”
“Galaxy Vision’s a philanthropic organisation that helps refugees and war victims. There was some fuss about them getting money from some of the large weapons manufacturers. The religious lobby said that was wrong.”
An alarm bell tinkled in her mind. “Weapons companies? Which weapons companies? Extron?”
“Naw. Don’t think so.” Brad yawned. “Come back to bed.”
“You go, I’ll just finish my coffee.”
He wandered off.
Morgan looked up Extron, Galaxy Vision and Makasa.
The morning of the launch demonstration dawned overcast and drizzly, a normal day on Gens Brasna.
Makasa himself turned up with an entourage, including several other tame admirals and politicians. A reviewing stand with a roof was set up on the parade ground so that the dignitaries could watch the SU-43 go through its paces in comfort. They set up an enormous holovid so the visitors could watch Brad’s fighter in space and in atmosphere up close, as well as seeing it roar past on its final, triumphant run. As Supertech on the project Morgan was, of course, expected to attend. She put on her dress uniform, white pants, white jacket. The stylised eye, symbol for a Supertech, gleamed on the upper sleeves. They could take away the symbol but not the knowledge, not her talent. That hard-won stripe on her shoulder; that was another matter altogether.
She’d weighed the odds, searched her conscience. The day of reckoning had come. It should be fine. If she could get her stomach to stop carrying on like a stew on the stove.
Resisting the urge to go to the toilet one more time, she straightened her shoulders, winked at herself in the mirror and headed off to watch the demo.
Brad took off and blasted up through the clouds into space. The aircraft disappeared but they’d sent up a K-11 to capture the action on the holovid. All eyes turned to the screen. The wings and canards had retracted. The silver cylinder that was the SU-43 pivoted, spun on its axis, traversed a square. The audience hardly reacted. This was only what they expected. Then Brad took the machine back into the atmosphere. The fighter streaked down from space, the protective force field for re-entry glowing white-hot. Wings and canards deployed, the SU-43 dived down below the clouds and performed hig
h speed loops and rolls and some low-speed runs with the wings reconfigured.
Perched up in the back row Morgan curled her lip as Makasa graciously soaked up congratulations from another admiral and the Confederacy Minister for Defence. Toadies. Makasa looked around for her, his smile exultant as he gave her a tiny nod.
Morgan’s face twisted in revulsion. Creep. So he thought he had her beaten, did he? Well, she hoped he’d enjoyed the show. Now it was her turn. For better or for worse.
The SU-43 had disappeared again, building up speed for the final run. She took out her comlink, set to the ship’s data port, and concentrated. Brad had straightened the machine up, wings parallel to the ground, low and fast. Maybe she should have warned him. Too late now. Closer… a little closer… Now. Her brain linked with the fighter’s control system.
The engines purred, running easily, well below capacity, as fast as the control system let it. She adjusted the permitted output parameter and the purr turned to a growl. The tachometer slammed on another ten percent.
Level with the reviewing stand she set a ninety degree course alteration. The wings and canards responded. Its engines howling, the fighter arced around the right angle and streaked straight up.
Gauges recorded overloads. Error routines generated warnings. Alarms flashed in the control system. They’d be braying in the cockpit but she couldn’t hear them. Sorry, Brad. They have to know the shortcomings. She sensed him wrestling for control, trying to override to manual. Not this time.
The cockpit display showed the graphic of the fuselage, the stress fracture red and growing. She’d protected the wings and canards. But not the missile launchers hanging off the machine’s hull.
Slowly, gracefully, one missile launcher tore off the body, tumbling down towards the ground in leisurely arcs. Morgan slowed the fighter down, reset the parameters and allowed the control system to balance the forces. Time to go home.
She withdrew.
Eyes closed, she let her body sag back against the seat, sucking air into her lungs. The breeze felt cool on her face, drying the sweat. She’d done the right thing. Maybe Brad would see it that way. In time. Maybe.
Silence.
Or perhaps not. Someone stood beside her. She opened her eyes.
Makasa towered over her, resplendent in his white dress uniform, his face contorted with rage. On the lower steps of the reviewing stand faces turned to watch the spectacle, oblivious to the holovid where the SU-43 had shaped to land.
“Can you explain this fiasco, Ensign?”
Steady Morgan. Other people’s careers are riding on what you say in public right now.
She kept her voice low. “You’re not going to use me. Get your experimental material right before you throw lives at it.”
Makasa swelled, glowering down at her with all the weight of his authority, his black skin darkening to purple in his fury. “You dare to speak to me, a senior admiral of the Confederacy Fleet, in that manner? I’ll have you arrested.”
“You can arrest me if you want to but you’d better check your comlink before you go any further.” Her heart might be beating too fast but she’d kept her cool.
He pulled his comlink from his belt. Emotions flowed over his face, quickly controlled and suppressed for the public audience. His eyes flicked over her face, unable to match her stare. If anything it made him angrier.
“I will need to discuss this matter with you in private, Ensign. Report to Captain Liemen’s office and wait for me there while I attend to our guests.”
Without another word he stalked down the central walkway and turned to speak with the Minister for Defence. The lackeys crowded around him. Morgan stumbled off the reviewing stand, a wave of exhaustion washing over her as much from the clash with Makasa as from flying the SU-43.
“You okay, Brad?” she said into her comlink.
“Yes. No thanks to you. That was you up there, wasn’t it? What the fuck were you playing at?”
“Sorry, Brad. I just couldn’t let them get away with it. I’ll explain later.”
He ended the call before she’d spoken the last word.
Her eyes pricked and her throat filled. Marriage. Just another set of handcuffs, so she’d heard. She’d done it for him; in a way; him and the other fighter pilots. Why didn’t he understand?
Her heart heavy, she dragged herself to Liemen’s office and waited outside the door until Makasa arrived, grateful for the opportunity to regroup. This interview would be the real challenge. She’d done her homework. She went over the data once more in her mind. She was taking on a three star admiral, with the full force of the Fleet behind him. Talk about the little boy with his finger in the dam. One mistake and she’d disappear in the flood.
Makasa came through the door and gestured with a jerk of his head to follow him into Liemen’s office.
“And what do you hope to achieve, Ensign?” The Admiral filled Liemen’s chair, hands steepled on the desk in front of him. His eyelids were half closed, his expression unreadable.
Morgan stood, legs apart, hands behind her back. “This isn’t about the SU-43. You knew that material wasn’t ready. It’s been tried before. Only the results weren’t released.”
“True. I had hoped you could do a better job.”
“I’m not sure about that. I’ve been doing some digging. I found out that through a raft of front companies, you own Extron. I have proof, and it will be provided to everybody that matters if anything happens to Brad or me. I figure you already have Commander Campbell in your pocket.
“You know, as I was checking through all this, I got to wondering what it was really all about. I checked the personnel records; you got me this post, not Jorvik; you put me with Campbell. The orders are there; your office, your signature. Then I got to thinking. Would you really go to all this trouble and risk your career to sell a few fighters? Given you’re already a multi-billionaire?” She shook her head. “Nah, I didn’t think so.”
Makasa’s face had become a mask, impenetrable. “Go on.”
“I’m a bio-engineered intelligence. People like me are rare as hens’ teeth. I can’t imagine the cost of modifying my brain as a baby. And then on top of that you’ve put me through the Fleet Academy. I’ve cost the Fleet a lot of money to be stuck in an armpit like Gens Brasna. So now, at last, I asked myself why? Why wasn’t I just kicked out to start a career in a design works somewhere? So I considered the differences between me and the other Supertechs I’ve met and the difference is that they behave themselves. So then I thought, what if that was it? I didn’t behave myself? And I got to thinking what a Supertech with imagination and a criminal mind could do? And the answer is control anything that’s run by a computer. I could clean out a bank, hold a city to ransom, bring a star destroyer to a halt, destroy a planet’s economy.”
She grinned across the table at the fat admiral. “That’s what you wanted. My mind set is different. You saw that from my academy results. What you want is a Supertech who’ll do naughty things under your direction.”
He shifted his bulk and the chair protested. His lips turned up slightly in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Very good, Ensign. Now consider the possibilities. You’re clever and you have initiative. I can make you rich. With your talents, we can manipulate the stock market, hit the casinos — anything. You’ll be very, very well paid for your efforts. You can buy a house on one of the resort islands, or maybe the whole island. Take your lover along with you. Do whatever you want in between occasional assignments. What do you say?”
“You can make me rich?” She snorted. “I can make you rich. Richer. No thanks. I won’t be manipulated.”
“Do you think so?” His beautiful voice was soft and dangerous.
“If you hurt me or Brad, I’ve fixed it so that the story will come out in all its sordid glory, to the media, the High Command, the Government and everybody else I could think of. Trust me on this. And by the way, that includes killing me or causing me an incapacitatin
g injury. Remember, I’m better than a tame Supertech because I’m sneaky. What you are going to do is cancel this project and send Brad and me to Leviathan.”
Her heart thundered. Just like that. Demand laid on the table. Over to you, fat bastard.
He’d make a good poker player. “I’ll consider your request, Ensign.”
“No. You’ll agree now, or find yourself out of a job. Trust me, Admiral, I’ll take you down.”
Makasa tilted his head so all she saw was tight black curls. The climate conditioner knocked softly, a counterpoint to the thudding of her heart. But she’d won; he’d have to give in.
When he looked up at her again a smile was beginning to work its way over his face.
“Congratulations, Ensign Selwood. You’ve just saved your life.”
Her jaw dropped. “What?”
“You’ve worked out a number of things,” Makasa said. “As you say, a bent Supertech is very, very dangerous. When the implant is fitted the brain is modified to ensure obedience and conformity to a certain level of ethics. But, although it’s very rare, sometimes those changes are unsuccessful. We keep track of our creations from the day the modifications are made, partly for that reason. We usually… ah… dispense with individuals we feel we cannot trust. You were different. Not as malleable as you should have been, but without the criminal streak that had been evident early in the other cases. So we decided to test you.
“You were recalcitrant at the Academy and that’s vanishingly rare. The bent Supertechs tended to conform in public and try to keep their devious behaviour secret. I’ll not deny we had our doubts and some urged me not to take a risk but you became a superb Supertech; a superlative Supertech. So we sent you to Gens Brasna. Bored you stupid to see what you did. Commander Campbell has been keeping a close eye on you in your time here. If we’d seen any sign of a criminal bent — well…” Makasa waved a fat hand.
Morgan shivered.
“So the SU-43 thing?” she asked. “How did that fit?”
“I wanted to see how you would react with your commanding officer, who you liked, and your lover, being set up if you did not perform,” said Makasa. “You went outside the military system several times to try to prevent something you didn’t approve of from going ahead, but you never actually did anything particularly illegal. Then, at the end, you exposed the flaw in rather dramatic fashion.”
Morgan Selwood 1: Supertech Page 3