by Ryk Brown
“Two……”
Lieutenant Commander Kovacic placed his hands on either armrest of his command chair, also bracing himself.
“One……” Luis braced himself against his console as he pressed the button to initiate the burn sequence he had programmed earlier.
“Zero.” Luis put his left hand against the edge of his console as the one-second execution delay expired, and the engines began their gradual increase in power. “Mains are hot,” Luis announced. “Throttle-up sequence initiated.”
At first, all they felt was a low rumble reverberating throughout the ship, much as they had when they first pulled away from the Orbital Assembly Platform over Earth two and a half months earlier. The vibrations quickly grew in intensity as electrical energy from the ship’s four antimatter reactors poured into both engines’ propellant acceleration tunnels, sending the gases rocketing out the thrust ports at incredible speeds.
Luis sank into his seat with increasing force as the engines throttled up. The inertial dampening systems attempted to keep pace with the rapid increase in the amount of thrust being generated by the Celestia’s two main outboard engines. Unfortunately, they had not been properly calibrated and tested prior to departure, resulting in a lag in performance.
“Passing twenty percent thrust,” Luis announced with a little difficulty.
Lieutenant Commander Kovacic looked around. “Not really feeling it. The inertial dampeners must be working.”
“The burn curve has just started, sir,” Luis warned. “It’s going to get worse.”
The lieutenant commander continued to look around as he was pushed into his seat with steadily increasing force.
“Dampeners at ten percent,” Ensign Souza reported.
“Passing twenty-five percent thrust,” Luis announced.
“Okay, now I’m starting to feel it,” the lieutenant commander struggled to announce.
“Passing thirty percent thrust.”
“Dampeners at twenty percent power,” Ensign Souza added.
“Passing thirty-five percent thrust,” Luis struggled to report.
“How high do we have to go?” the lieutenant commander was barely able to ask.
“One hundred percent of our current thrust capability, sir,” Luis reported.
“Dampeners at thirty percent…”
“Passing forty percent thrust,” Luis announced. He knew that the inertial dampeners, even at less than half their rated performance levels, were already having a significant effect. Without them, most of the crew would already be dead or, at the very least, unconscious.
“We’re at fifty percent of max thrust!”
“Jesus!” the lieutenant commander swore as the bridge shook violently.
“Dampeners at forty percent power and still rising!” Ensign Souza reported.
“Fifty-five percent!” Luis could barely make out the readings on his console due to the vibrations.
“Forty-five percent!” Ensign Souza reported.
“Passing sixty percent thrust!” Luis could feel the pressure on his torso lifting slowly as the ability of the inertial dampeners to counteract the force of acceleration continued to improve.
“Inertial dampeners are at fifty percent!”
“Sixty-five!” Luis reported.
Luis continued to report their thrust levels as the Celestia’s main engines burned at an ever increasing rate. Right along with him, Ensign Souza also relayed the power levels of the inertial dampening systems as they were relayed to him from engineering.
“Coming up on max burn!” Luis reported.
“Inertial dampeners are at eighty percent power!” Ensign Souza added.
“Max burn!” Luis reported. “Engines one and four are now at full power, sir!”
Lieutenant Commander Kovacic waited, expecting to hear the same report from Ensign Souza, but did not. “Mister Souza?”
“That’s it, sir,” Ensign Souza reported. “Engineering reports they can’t raise the power levels in the inertial dampening systems any more than eighty-five percent, not in their uncalibrated state. Too much risk of sudden failure.”
“Sir,” Luis said, “if the inertial dampeners were to suddenly fail while we’re at full power…”
“I know, like a bug on a windshield.” The lieutenant commander looked around the bridge. The inertial dampeners were doing their job. The ship was being shaken violently, but it was holding together… for now. “How long do we have to maintain this burn, Mister Delaveaga?”
“Twenty-three minutes, sir,” Luis said, no happier about the situation than the lieutenant commander.
Lieutenant Commander Kovacic sighed. “Ensign Souza, tell engineering to dial the power levels on the inertial dampeners back down to eighty-percent. Let’s not push our luck.”
“Yes, sir!”
“And tell him to feel free to take it down even farther if he feels it’s necessary.”
* * *
Unable to see anything in the darkness outside his helmet, Loki watched the displays on the inside of his helmet visor as the automated navigation system of his Corinari space-jump rig guided his descent. The rig’s terrain-following sensors clearly depicted the narrow opening of the canyon as it rushed up toward him. Loki tried not to imagine the dark canyon walls about to envelope him on both sides. His breathing quickened, as did his pulse, which felt as if it were in his throat. His long descent through the atmosphere of Tanna had been harrowing enough for one day.
The lines on his visor representing the canyon walls slid up and to the sides of his visor, indicating that he had now fallen below the upper ridges of the canyon. The walls were closing in on him as the canyon narrowed. He felt small servos in his backpack activate as the system initiated a slow right turn to match the bend in the canyon. As he turned, he began to see faint images, as the tiny amount of light reflected off Tanna’s third moon faintly illuminated the massive rock walls. Those flashes of visibility only made matters worse, turning the imaginary lines on his visor into real-world obstacles threatening his very life.
The altimeter readout on his visor counted down the meters to touchdown. He followed the lines that compared his actual flight path to the one the navigation system was trying to follow. For the most part, it was doing a good job, with only minor variations that were quickly corrected whenever a servo hummed from behind him.
Where is that landing site? Loki wondered. He was falling at five meters per second, which seemed too fast to him. The numbers in the display were green, and green meant good.
The rig’s automatic navigation system performed two more gentle turns, following the canyon’s snaking curves and adjusting for the gusts of wind that danced off the canyon walls.
I’m getting awfully low, he thought. Any time now… “There!” The flat clearing appeared on his visor as a long, green trapezoid moving from left to right as it came out from behind the canyon wall around the next bend. He could almost see the moonlight reflecting off the tall grass as it waved in the night breeze. Within a minute, the trapezoid was passing under him. The far end was also coming toward him awfully fast, and he was still falling at just under five meters per second. He was thirty meters above the landing site, which itself was nearly a kilometer in altitude above the planet’s sea level.
Twenty-five meters and falling. The trapezoid on his visor was rapidly becoming both wider and shorter. His forward velocity was still two meters per second, and his descent rate was still five. Tuck and roll was not going to work, not at that combination of speeds.
Twenty meters and falling. The trapezoid was now wider than his visor. All that was left was the horizontal line representing the far end of the landing field. On the other side was a forty meter drop, at the bottom of which was a rocky canyon floor.
Fifteen
meters and falling. Servos hummed, and his forward speed began to fall. One and a half meters per second, then one, then one half.
Ten meters and falling. More servos hummed. His body swung forward slightly under his canopy.
Five meters still to fall, and Loki appeared to have all but stalled in his descent. He drew his arms up and crossed them in front of his chest, hugging the reserve chute pack. He tucked his feet and knees together just as he had done in practice. He bent his knees slightly.
The ground hit the soles of his boots hard, harder than they had during his landing practice jumps in the Aurora’s hangar deck. His knees almost buckled, but he managed to twist his body to his right and allow the little bit of forward momentum remaining to carry him forward and down onto his left side. He rolled over once before rolling himself back in the opposite direction to avoid getting tangled in his own chute lines.
“Retract! Retract! Retract!” He called out to his rig management computer through the comm-set built into his helmet. He could feel his back humming as the motors winched his main chute back into his jump pack for easy storage. The last thing he needed was for a gust of wind to fill up his chute, pick him up, and drag him over the edge of the cliff.
Loki remained face down in the tall grass, fighting to keep his body steady as the motors in his jump pack reeled the billowing parachute back in. Several times, he felt the parachute catch on something, threatening to pull him across the field toward the chute, instead of pulling the chute toward him. Finally, the motors stopped, and the cover on the pack slammed shut.
Loki relaxed for the moment, lying face down on the grass in the darkness of the Tanna night. After several moments, he finally got to his hands and knees, then onto just his knees. He reached up and unlocked his helmet, pulling it up and off his head.
The air on Tanna was fresh and warm, even in the dead of the early morning hours. He could hear the distant roar of the waterfalls, the same ones that he and Josh had inadvertently flown through during their first visit to this world. At least he knew he had landed in the right spot. But where was the major?
Loki looked around the clearing as he quickly unbuckled his chest pack and the main pack on his back. Remembering his instructions, he remained low, staying on his knees as he removed his jump gear and prepared it for disposal.
There was very little light in this narrow part of the canyon, as the high walls blocked a direct view of any of Tanna’s moons. Loki thought he heard movement in the field behind him, but like his own gear, the major’s was painted a dull black and gray with antireflective coatings and, therefore, was nearly impossible to see in such poorly lit conditions. Loki’s orders had been to remove his jump gear, stay low, and stay put. Major Waddell was to find him. If he did not, Loki was to seek better cover as close to the landing site as was safe.
With his gear off and piled neatly on the ground, Loki took a position on the ground, tucked safely behind his pile of gear, on the side that left the least amount of open field behind him. With his sidearm drawn and ready, he watched and waited.
* * *
“Have you even considered what message you might send?” Vladimir asked as he cut his dollag steak. “Assuming the lieutenant’s super jump shuttle actually works,” he added as he stabbed a piece of the meat and put it into his mouth.
Nathan looked across the dining table in the captain’s mess at his friend. “You don’t think it will work?”
“Oh, I’m sure it will. It may take longer than his original estimates, but he will make it work. He is a very smart man.”
“I still think it’s a waste of time,” Cameron said as she picked at her salad.
Nathan looked surprised. “You think it’s a waste of time to send a message back to the Pentaurus cluster?”
“No, I think it’s a waste of time to fiddle around with the hybrid jump drive concept. We already know the two technologies don’t work well together.”
“But if the lieutenant is correct in his theories, the range will be doubled, maybe tripled,” Vladimir exclaimed.
“And how long has he been working on it?” she asked. “Nearly three weeks now? He could have outfitted another shuttle with a standard jump drive in the same amount of time, and we’d be guaranteed another functioning jump ship, which we could sorely use right now.”
“She does have a point,” Nathan said.
Vladimir waved his hand, dismissing Cameron’s point. “If it works, we could build more of them—not just to send a call for help back to the cluster, but to communicate within the core. Just think of it; the Jung have to wait months, perhaps years. Jung command, wherever that may be, probably does not even know we have returned yet. They probably will not for many months. A jump shuttle with that kind of range and without the need to recharge between jumps? It could carry messages between a command post and just about anywhere in the core within a matter of minutes. That is a tactical advantage that rivals any jump-enabled warship. Communications, intelligence, and logistics.” Vladimir nodded. “That is what wins wars, my friends.”
“Since when did you become an expert in the art of war?” Cameron asked.
“You forget, I spent years as a ground pounder on Earth. I was even transferred to officer training before Fleet saw my aptitude scores and offered me a spot at the academy.” Vladimir shoveled a load of boiled roots into his mouth. “I learned a few things along the way.”
“Like not to talk with your mouth full?” Cameron said. Vladimir just opened his mouth even wider as he chewed, leaning closer to her so as to annoy.
“He’s got a point as well,” Nathan said as he pushed his friend away from Cameron. “Besides, I didn’t authorize Lieutenant Montgomery’s project with the hopes of getting a message back sooner. I did so because I felt the idea needed to be explored. Also, I had decided to heed my executive officer’s advice, as well as that of my chief of the boat, and no longer use our ship as a test vessel. To be honest, I don’t expect a lot of help from the Pentaurus cluster.”
“Really?” Vladimir said. “After all we did for them?”
“I don’t think it would be a matter of motivation,” Nathan assured him. “Isn’t that right, Major?”
“Indeed,” Major Prechitt, who had been quietly enjoying his dollag steak, agreed. “The people of Corinair will undoubtedly do whatever they can to provide support, but they also have to worry about their own survival. Not only is their world in need of rebuilding, but their infrastructure is currently unable to support the creation of any significant defenses. For now, they have to rely on the Takarans to protect them. After so many decades of being dominated by the Ta’Akar, it is not an easy thing for my people to accept.”
“I suspect that Tug has his hands full as well,” Cameron said. “We did destroy quite a few Takaran ships while we were there.”
“Yes,” Nathan agreed. “The few he has left are spread pretty thin protecting the worlds that were once ruled by Caius. There are outside aggressors that might try to take advantage of the power vacuum and take worlds that are not theirs.”
“They were planning on retrofitting their warships with jump drives, were they not?” Vladimir asked.
“Eventually, yes,” Major Prechitt said. “But for the short term, any increase in military capability on the part of the Takarans could destabilize the tenuous peace that now exists within the cluster.”
“When we left, they were in the process of turning over one warship to each world and training their people on how to operate and maintain their ships. Tug’s intent is to create a balance of power first, then increase it evenly by having everyone upgrade their ships with jump drives at the same time.”
“It is a delicate balance, to say the least,” Major Prechitt agreed.
“Nevertheless, we are planning on sending word back,” Cameron said.
“Of co
urse,” Nathan said. “Better to ask for help and be denied than not to ask when help would have been forthcoming.”
“Nathan,” Vladimir began, pointing his fork at his friend, “you do realize how dorky you sound when you quote historical figures, do you not?”
“What message do you plan on sending?” Cameron asked.
“A brief report on the situation, as well as a request to send whatever assistance they might be able to provide on short notice,” Nathan told her.
“You’re not planning on asking for anything specific?” Major Prechitt asked.
“Like what?” Nathan said.
“Like more dollag steaks?” Vladimir suggested. “We have to keep our strength up.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of ordnance, propellant, consumables, medical supplies,” the major said. “Maybe even more volunteers. You might also ask for mining equipment. If we are to continue fabricating our own munitions and spare parts in order to fight a war, soon we will need to begin harvesting more raw materials to feed the fabricators.”
“You might want to allow the crew to send messages back to their families,” Cameron said. “That would be good for crew morale.”
Vladimir forced his food down so he could comment. “You might want to warn them about that black hole as well.”
“It might be prudent to send all of the intelligence that has been collected since we left the cluster,” Major Prechitt said. “I suspect that both the Takaran and the Corinari analysts could conduct a more in-depth analysis than Lieutenant Commander Nash was able to perform on such short notice, given our limited intelligence assets.”
“That is an excellent idea,” Nathan said, pointing at the major with his dinner fork.
“More so than you might think,” Cameron added. “The more they know about everything, including our own state of readiness, the current operations under way on Earth and on Tanna, and of course about the survival of the Celestia, the better chance they might send us something we can utilize.”