The Hot Gate: Troy Rising III-ARC

by John Ringo

  “Nope,” Dana said. “You might want to start with a forty degree yaw on port nine. This is mostly going to be fiddly thruster work.”

  “Forty degree yaw, port nine, aye, EM...”

  * * *

  “Okay, this time it’s a bit easier,” Dana said. They’d gotten Twenty-Two’s thrusters and grapnels working again, the mirror reoriented and finally into place. “All we have to do is cut the grapnels and back away slowly. Don’t start backing until the grapnels are cut. Can I get a readback...?”

  * * *

  “And we are done,” Dana said.

  “Thank the Mother Virgin!” Valdez commed. The coxswain of Twenty-Four had had no previous comment on the evolution and had done very well all things considered. It wasn’t his fault that Sans cut the grapnel a fraction of a second too late.

  “So now we go refuel,” Dana said. “Purely for safety and training purposes. Which will require some very ticklish docking maneuvers. Then we go get the next set.”

  “Aaaaah!”

  * * *

  “Comet, Raptor. Private.”

  “Go,” Dana commed without speaking. She still wasn’t comfortable with direct comming. At this point she figured she never would be. But she could play the tune.

  “What’s the status of your crews?”

  They had the second mirror nearly in place after all the fun of in-space refuel. But everyone was starting to drift off the carets. The mirrors, fortunately, had some flex. But things were getting iffy.

  “Getting worn out,” she replied. “They’re not used to this sort of driving.”

  “Same here,” Raptor commed. “Once you get that mirror in place, discontinue evolution.”

  “Discontinue evolution, aye,” Dana commed. “RTB?”

  “Negative. RON.”

  “Joy.”

  * * *

  “And we’re...done,” Dana said.

  “What’s the next mirror?” Valdez commed. He and Tarrago were both CM3s but Valdez was Flight Division Leader.

  “That’s it for today,” Dana said. “We’re done-done until tomorrow.”

  “Great,” Vila commed. “I can hear my rack calling me.”

  “You mean the fold-down one in your flight compartment, right?” Dana said, teasingly.

  “EM?” Valdez commed.

  “We’re on a Remain-Over-Night,” Dana said. “Since there’s no military facilities nearby, that means we’re racking in the compartment. I hope you guys have your inventory of boat rations onboard.”

  “This is...” Palencia sputtered.

  “We’re forty-three million kilometers from base,” Dana said, trying not to let the exasperation enter her voice. “That’s a really significant fuel use. And as slow as we were taking it, it took us eight hours to get here. We’re not going to waste the time and fuel to go back. We’re closer to Earth than we are to Thermopylae. And, no, you can’t go home for supper, EM.”

  “It had not crossed my mind, EM,” Palencia replied.

  “As to the rations, I checked your stocks because I thought we might be RON,” Dana said. “So...have fun camping, boy scouts.”

  * * *

  “Oh, God, I want a shower,” Dana said.

  Three days of moving mirrors and even she had to admit it had been a right pain in the ass. Twenty-Two’s grapnel had finally given up the ghost but they’d figured out a way around that. And Twenty-Four had one out. On the other hand, pretty much all of the birds in Raptor’s division were down one or more grapnels. Twenty-Eight had been more or less hanging out with nothing to do since it was down three. Nineteen, from Division One, was working on spare air since the recycler’s had gone out. That had to suck. But her division was, with the exception of the grapnel stuff, still in the green. Go Division Two.

  With eighty-four mirrors moved, by their group alone, it was time to head back to the barn before something serious broke. She wasn’t sure but this might have been the longest continuous mission for Myrmidons since their initial test series. Raptor at one point had equated it with flying a fighter plane around the world for four days without any checks. Put that way, the fact that they were still functional at all was surprising.

  “I would never have thought I would look forward to the rather uncomfortable bed in my quarters,” Angelito said. “To simply flop or take a shower first? This is a great philosophical question.”

  “The first thing is you check your suit,” Dana said. “Then you get to decide.”

  They hadn’t spent the whole time in suits. When they were in “down” time they could climb out of them. Angelito had, politely, moved into the cargo compartment to change out of his. He had still been a bit weirded out being in the same compartment with a sleeping woman. She figured he was going to go find a girlfriend or Rosy Palm pretty quick after they got back.

  “Raptor, Comet,” she commed.

  “Go.”

  “Do we have to dawdle along at a hundred grav all the way back?” Dana said.

  “We’re going to reach within fifty percent of max velocity as it is,” Raptor replied.

  The Myrmidons on this long of a run could easily reach velocities that were somewhat problematic. First there was the whole problem of relativity. The Myrmidons could, on long runs, start to push into areas that were called “relativistic.” It all came down to Einstein’s E=mc2 . Part of the back math of that said that as an object approached the speed of light, its mass increased. One of the reasons it was theoretically impossible, before the gates, to exceed the speed of light was that mass increased exponentially as you approached the speed of light. Something had to “push” that mass, fuel in the case of Myrmidons, and eventually you didn’t have enough energy. Besides, it went right up the closer you got and you could never quite reach the speed of light no matter what you did.

  Didn’t really matter. Myrmidons couldn’t manage it no matter what. It had been calculated that given onboard fuel the closest that a Myrm could get was about .03 c. The most that anyone had noticed was that pulling full power for more than an hour caused a tiny fraction of increased fuel use. But that created all sorts of other problems. Because not only did mass distort, so did time.

  As you pushed further into relativistic zones, time “slowed” inside the vehicle. To the crew and passengers there was nothing to notice. But when you got back to base you found out that your clocks were really off. Theoretically, you could spend one duty day traveling and find out it was three on the “outside.” They called it Rip Van Winkle time. The Navy was still arguing whether “normal” time or relative time counted for time in service. So far it hadn’t been a major issue. Given operations and maximum velocities, Dana had only ended up a few minutes off of “real” time due to relativity. But it was interesting.

  And particles. Light got very strange as you started to push into “relative” space. Light started shifting. Ultraviolet, which was everywhere, started turning into microwaves, which could be very impolite. X-rays, which were common enough, turned towards gamma rays. The screens and the armor could handle some gamma but enough of it was going to kill you eventually.

  Then there was the problem that calling space “vacuum” was being polite. Especially in the inner system there were masses of charged particles as well as micrometeorites to consider. The “maximum velocity” of a Myrmidon was based on the probability of survival of the boat if it hit something the size of, say, a human finger while going at a teensy tiny fraction of the speed of light. They had light screens but an impact at that sort of speed got dicey no matter how you cut it.

  “Yeah,” Dana said. “That’s sort of the point. We can cut this run in half if we pull max thrust.”

  “And if one of these over-worked boats loses an inertial compensator pulling four hundred gravs, the crew turns to mush,” Raptor pointed out.

  “This is not a challenge when I say this,” Dana said. “But my division’s compensators are going to hold. We’ve been running checks the whole time. They’re good.”
>
  There was a long pause before Raptor replied.

  “Division Two has permission to detach from formation and return at maximum acceleration to Base,” the flight leader said. “Division will not exceed four thousand meters per second square of acceleration. Division will slow acceleration at the slightest sign of failure of any core drive, shield or inertial compensation system. Division will not exceed thirty million meters per second velocity. Division will, and let me make this perfectly clear, observe all safety and astrogational warnings. Gimme a readback on that, Comet.”

  “Division will not exceed four thousand meters per second square, aye...”

  * * *

  “Booyah for attention to critical engineering imperatives!” Dana caroled as the Thermopylae came into view and the decel started to fall off.

  Pulling three gravs—except for a brief turn-over—for four hours had been a bitch. But they’d managed to cut the same amount of time off of the run and that shower was practically in the bag.

  “I can breathe again!” Vila commed.

  “Now you know why I have you lazy asses in the gym every morning,” Dana replied.

  And more importantly, to her personal way of thinking, the compensators and drives on the boats had worked like a charm.

  “And why I had you guys sweating on repairs.”

  “We take your point, Engineer’s Mate,” Palencia commed. “I am very much looking forward to my rack. And comming Sancho from the comfort of my rack to taunt him.”

  “Division Two, Leonidas,” the Thermopylae’s AI commed. “Welcome back. You’re early.”

  “We’ve been pulling max,” Dana said, stretching. Their spacesuits acted as G suits—compressing to keep blood from pooling in the legs—so she wasn’t in any real pain. But it had been uncomfortable as hell. “Looking forward to a shower. We are, sorry, pretty tired of the... Spartan lifestyle we’ve been living the last few days.”

  “Good one,” Angelito said, laughing.

  “Unfortunately, you’re going to have to wait on your sybaritic joys, DivTwo,” Leonidas commed. “We’ve got a hold on all entering traffic until we get Granadica in the bay.”

  “Doh!” Dana exclaimed. “How long?”

  “Not long, honey,” Granadica commed. “I’m through the gate and crawling up to the Therm now. Take a look!”

  Dana swiveled her vision blocks to the indicated vector and squealed.

  “Granny! Is that really you!”

  The fabber was now a kilometer of pristine stainless steel with the exception of enormous laser etched script spelling out her name. She positively glittered in the light from the distant sun.

  “You look fah-bulous!”

  “Don’t I just,” Granadica replied. “I think I’ve only got about ten percent original parts what with the first major maintenance cycle and this last one.”

  “Well, you are looking good,” Dana said.

  “So are your boats,” Granadica said. “You’ve kept them very well. But did you really need to pull that much accel for four hours? You know that puts a lot of stress on the systems. They’re going to need to be fully certified as soon as you land.”

  “There’s a standard maintenance cycle for high stress flight, Granadica,” Dana said. “We were going to have to do a thirty-sixty cycle on them, anyway, given how long we were continuously operational. Otherwise I wouldn’t have done the fast run. And it’s going to wait until tomorrow. I want a shower.”

  “Those boats are your life, Engineer’s Mate,” Granadica said. “What if the Rangora come through today? We’re going to need them up and running!”

  “Granadica,” Dana said, dangerously. “We have mandated crew rest for the remainder of the duty day. I am not going to have tired engineers who have been living out of their suits for the last four days pulling maintenance on my boats. I run a tight ship in my division, Granadica. Unless you can find some area where I am not performing to designated standard and condition, and good luck on that one, keep your sticky fingers off my division. We clear?”

  “Yes, Dana,” Granadica said, meekly.

  “Just so we’re clear,” Dana said. “I’m glad to see you. It’s good to have another friend around. And sometime I want to talk about the grapnels. I don’t think we came up with the right hypothesis at the talks. I think there’s something theoretically wrong with the design.”

  “I was part of the design team,” Granadica pointed out.

  “I know,” Dana said, hastily. “But I think it’s something...funky.”

  “How funky?” Granadica said. “Hold that thought. I’ve got a tricky maneuver here.”

  The fabber was a kilometer long and three hundred meters wide. The main bay doors of the Thermopylae were three kilometers wide on the exterior but only a kilometer on the interior. That wasn’t a tight squeeze, but the fabber wasn’t exactly maneuverable. It wasn’t really designed to move around a lot. The drive systems and maneuvering thrusters were more to keep it in a non-orbital position in deep space. There were tugs to help it move through the opening but from Granadica’s scathing monologue they were, in her opinion, less help than hindrance.

  “I’ve got it, Leo!” Granadica sent over the open channel. “Have Tug Nine stop thrusting. I’ve got it!”

  “You are approaching unsafe position on your aft, Granadica,” Leonidas replied.

  “Watch your own butt, you pervert! See! Got through fine.”

  “Internal safety is my responsibility,” Leonidas commed. “You shall allow the tugs and support ships to move you into position.”

  “They’re gonna scratch my brand-new shell!”

  “The grapnels have been covered in rubber, Granadica,” Leonidas replied. “And it was not a request.”

  “It’s like listening to an old married couple,” Angelito said.

  “And they barely know each other,” Dana pointed out. “This is going to be...interesting.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  “I checked the four-nine-eight,” Valencia said, in an exasperated tone.

  Deb was doing her usual ghostly “walk” through the division, ensuring that all her little lambs were attending to their proper tasks. She paused by Twenty-Three, though, when she heard Valencia apparently talking to himself. She could hear him talking to himself because, unlike the conditions before she left for Wolf, the Squadron Docking Area was remarkably quiet.

  Not, as had been the case for most of her tenure with the 143rd, because all the engineers except her division were ghosting in their rooms or the food court, but because they were all very busy performing actual maintenance. In their suits. Mostly with their helmets on. Per regulation.

  If the squadron had experienced some shock at the arrival of the new “Norte” command contingent, not to mention Commander Echeverría and the clear and unmistakable threat of being removed from the Alliance “for cause,” the arrival of Granadica had been more along the lines of being hit by lightning. Repeatedly.

  As Dana had suspected, Granadica took much the same approach as she had upon arrival. The difference being that Granny could “see” every action of every member of the unit whenever they were in monitored areas, find them when they were in unmonitored areas and nag them, constantly, about what they were doing wrong. Through their implants.

  Two engineers had had to be sedated and returned to earth because “the voices in their heads” wouldn’t stop. The rest had discovered that if they just did the tasks, to standard, Granadica, generally, left them alone. If they didn’t, she was going to keep nagging them and nagging them and nagging them until...

  “AIEEEEE! THE VOICES!”

  Which was another reason Dana was mildly concerned that Vel had his helmet off and was talking to himself.

  “You saw me check it,” Vel said. “It was a good check and it met specs... Why? It does? O-kay... Damnit. I just checked it. Why? How?”

  “Vel?” Dana said, flipping through the hatch. The cargo bay was under gravity but she was used to that. �
�Everything okay?”

  “Did you know that sometimes these things got out of spec because you’d adjusted one of the other plates?” Vel asked.

  “Yep,” Dana said. “Rarely, but it happens.”

  “It’s like chasing your own tail!”

  “Not if you do it in the right sequence,” Dana said. “Unfortunately, the sequence depends upon which set of plates you’re working on. And I don’t know that there’s an SOP for it. Who were you talking to?”

  “Granadica,” Vel said, blushing. “I...didn’t want to ask you if you were busy and...”

  “And I didn’t have that much to do right now,” Granadica said. “I was not interfering, as I understand your meaning, in your Division, Engineer’s Mate.”

  “No issues, Granadica,” Dana said. “Thank you for your assistance. Can I ask a question?”

  “Any time, Dana, you know that,” Granny said.

  “There isn’t a standard operating procedure on that evolution,” Dana said. “I’m not even sure why it occurs and it seems to be something you just run across from time to time.”

  “It has to do with the specific gravitic frequency adjustment,” Granadica said. “The math is obviously complex but it occurs under predictable conditions. And there’s a straightforward adjustment series for it.”

  “Which means there should be an SOP,” Dana said. “Unfortunately, I don’t know how you do an SOP.”

  “You write it and submit it to your chain of command,” Granadica said. “You’ve seen them. You just follow the same outline. Who then, if it passes their review, submits it to BuShips through channels. BuShips reviews it and decides whether to make it a fleet-wide SOP or not. The issue is applicable to more than just the Myrmidons. I’ve had the same issue crop up in the Constellation we just received. Frankly, I don’t think much of the work that BAE did on it. Just terribly sloppy. They talk about my quality control?”

  “The problem being, I don’t know why it occurs,” Dana pointed out. “You just run into it.”