East of the Sun, West of the Moon tcw-4

by John Ringo

  “Right,” Peterka said, taking the head of the table and gesturing for them to take seats. “You’ve seen the plans for the ship and you’re finding new techs and cannon fodder. You’ve a plan to take the ship, yes?”

  “Yes,” Herzer said, raising one eyebrow.

  “And you’re ready to start training, eh?” Peterka continued. “You’ve got the mission licked, right? You’re bloody screwed, lad.”

  “Why?” Megan said, sharply.

  “I’ll show you why,” Peterka said, standing up and going over to the covered statues. Removing the cloths over them revealed two space suits on manikins. One was a suit something like an ancient wet suit with a bulbous, clear, helmet. It was mostly bright silver with bands of blue. The other was a complicated set of armor, somewhat close fitting, with odd joints and broad fins on the shoulder and back. It was a dull bronze in color.

  “This is what we made for the first team,” Peterka said, gesturing at the armored suit. “The fighters and commanders. The skin suit was for the techies, eh? Well do you know how many dwarf hours went into making those bloody armored monstrosities? We’d just completed the last suit. Making forty of them took us two bloody years!”

  “Ouch,” Herzer said.

  “And all the people they were fitted for are six feet under,” Peterka continued, angrily. “Two bloody years of hard work by the best dwarven wrights and it’s down the drain!”

  “So you’re saying no armor?” Herzer asked.

  “Not good bloody armor,” Peterka said. “We’re brainstorming ideas. Have been since the team went down. The skin suits are semiarmored themselves; we’ve thought about throwing standard armor on top. But there’s heat regulation problems, bloody bad ones. And we need armor now so your team can start training now.”

  “How fast to produce the skin suits?” Herzer asked.

  “Slow enough,” Peterka noted. “Some of the ones we’ve stored can be cut down and restitched, although that’s going to take long enough. We’re gathering more fabric; the goats are damned pissed, I’ll tell you.”

  “Goats?” Megan asked, biting her lip to keep from laughing. “They’re made from wool?”

  “Spider silk,” Peterka snapped. “It’s a bloody ancient technology, but it’s still around. The goat milk has spider silk strands in it. Milk ’em, extract the silk, spin it, weave it and you’ve got spider silk cloth. Six layers of thin spider silk cloth bonded with a sealant then a plasteen insulator layer. Six more layers of silk and the heat transfer layer. Had another bit of luck there, there’s an old tech that’s basically a giant tree leaf mod. Bond that in, hook up to the vascular system and run liquid through it for heat transfer. You understand the problem, there?”

  “No clue,” Herzer said, shaking his head. “I spent the last couple of weeks reading up on the damned ship. I saw the armor design specs and the skin suits, but it didn’t cover how they were made.”

  “Space ranges from bloody hot to bloody cold and naught between,” Peterka said. “And I’m talking three hundred degrees Celsius in the sun and damned near zero in the shade. Those suits are made from beryllium bronze modified so it’s not particularly heat reactive and they were still going to expand and contract like mad. We’d worked around that, especially at the joints. But you can’t let that hit the human body. So the suits have the plasteen insulator, just about as close to a zero transfer insulator as you’re going to find. With me?”

  “So far,” Herzer said.

  “Problem is, the human body generates one hell of a lot of heat,” Peterka pointed out. “Enough that you’ll drown in your own heat in no more than fifteen minutes if you don’t get rid of it. Can’t sweat, can you? Not and not blast yourself into space.”

  “Okay,” Herzer said. “Thus the leaf thing.”

  “Right,” Peterka said. “Run fluid through it and it carries away the heat. Actually absorbs a bit of the sweat as well so you’re not drenched all the time. Problem, space is a lousy conductor itself. Air carries heat away on Earth. Ain’t none in space, soldier boy. Getting rid of heat is the A-Number-One problem in space.”

  “What about air?” Megan asked.

  “Air’s easy,” Peterka said shortly. “There’s these things called air-bottles. Recirculate it through scrubbers to get out the CO2 and you’re golden. Heat’s the problem.”

  “Thus the big vanes on the armor,” Herzer said, gesturing.

  “Right,” Peterka said. “That would allow the heat to escape. If you were in shade. System had a thermometer system that shut it down automatically when it got too hot on the surface. There was a heat sink that would carry you over. Very damned complex system and one we hadn’t actually been able to test very well.”

  “How did the skin suits handle it?” Megan asked, looking at the suit that was vaneless.

  “Well, they actually sort of used sweat,” Peterka admitted. “A certain amount of water is gathered from the vascular system and it was released in measured amounts. Evaporating water is great for carrying off heat, lots of caloric transfer in evaporation. But it won’t work with armor, even appliquéd armor.”

  “Appliquéd?” Herzer asked.

  “Slapped on the outside,” Peterka said.

  “Don’t tell me you don’t have an answer,” Megan said.

  “We have one, but it’s not a good one,” Peterka said. “Ice packs.”

  “Ice?” Herzer asked.

  “Yeah,” Peterka said, sighing. “We’ll hook up a system to run the water through ice packs. The ice packs will melt and turn to water. Eventually, you’ll get damned hot and have to change the packs. We’re looking at some of the problems with it right now, but it will probably work. But you’re going to generate the most heat when you’re most active, like when you’re fighting. You’re not going to be able to say ‘Excuse me, Mr. Orc, could we pause a moment while I change my ice pack?’ ”

  Herzer laughed at that and shook his head.

  “Right, safety tip: keep your pack changed.”

  “You think it’s funny now,” the dwarf said, shaking his head. “They’ll only last about fifteen minutes!”

  “Oh, hell,” Herzer said. “That’s bad.”

  “Why?” Megan asked.

  “Most fights last longer than that,” Herzer replied. “Okay, this is part of your design. We’re going to need some way to… turn a switch or something, and switch to a new pack. That will be a training item, but the fighter will switch to a new pack when we’re about to engage in combat or as soon as possible after. And back if that one gets used up. Three or four would be nice.”

  “Two or three is the most we’ll be able to do,” Peterka said, picking up a note pad and making a note.

  “Okay, you’re going with appliquéd armor?” Herzer asked.

  “Have to,” Peterka said. “We looked at all sorts of possibilities, laminar, scale, but your fighters already have their own damned armor. Fittings will have to be replaced but there’s no reason not to use it. Some… expansion and contraction issues, but lorica will flex for that and the light carbon steel they’re made of is actually pretty resistant to thermal cracking. They’ll tend to be… brittle in the shaded areas, though. Keep that in mind. Have to be careful about the collar area as well. Might put a bronze ring in to prevent it contracting too much. Have to put an insulator layer on the inside or when it heats up in the sun it’ll burn away your suit. By the way, did I mention radiation?”

  “No,” Herzer said, sighing. “You did not.”

  “Forgot that layer,” Peterka admitted. “The skin suits have an outer layer of xatanium. Very dense material developed in the twenty-third century specifically for suits. We’ve scrounged up enough of it over the years that we had a decent stock. At least for one thin layer. Very rad resistant but not totally. You’re only going to be good for about an hour exposed to the sun. That’s up where you’ll be working, mind. In closer to Earth, don’t get out of your vehicle if you can avoid it. Van Allen belt will have you making tw
o-headed kids in about five minutes.”

  “Got it,” Herzer said, sighing.

  “The armored boyos will be a bit better off,” the dwarf admitted. “But not much.”

  “How long for us to have minimal training gear?” Herzer asked.

  “Years,” Peterka laughed. “You’ll have most of your team fitted in a few weeks, if I can find seamstresses we can trust. I’ve got six right now, all dwarves. They can only work so fast, even with powered sewing machines.”

  “I’ve got one,” Megan said. “A very good seamstress. And trustworthy; one of my aides.”

  “Seven,” Peterka nodded. “Everyone on the team will have to be carefully measured. The armor will have to be refitted, helmets refitted, we can mostly use those from the last team except for the locks. The packs for the armor suits will have to go outside the armor and we’ll have to run support from the suits to the armor.”

  “Megan gets armor,” Herzer said. “Councilwoman Travante is not expendable and she’ll have the best you can get her in the time available.”

  “Absolutely,” the dwarf said. “There’s a set of armor that will probably be the right size to modify and I’ll get my wrights to work on that right away.”

  “Okay,” Herzer said. “There was nothing in the briefing materials about fighting in zero g. Thoughts?”

  “Don’t if you can avoid it,” Peterka said with a bitter chuckle. “If you’re free-floating, especially on the surface of the ship, you’re totally screwed. You can grapple, maybe, if you can even get near your opponent. And we’ve got some devices for that,” he added, pulling aside one of the other cloths to reveal a selection of devices. One of them was a large pick-axe but the rest were a mystery.

  “Right, this is a punch-stiletto,” Peterka said, picking up one of the devices that was a long tube with metal spikes sticking out to either side. “If you’re grappling, you can press it against your opponent and…” He touched a stud and a spike slammed out of the end of the tube. “Penetrate a soft suit easy enough, a hard suit if you’re at a joint, maybe. But if you don’t have a good hold, it will just spin you off into oblivion, got it?”

  “Got it,” Herzer said, holding up his hand.

  “Hold on.” Peterka picked up another tube and slid the spike into it. There were cutouts for the spikes on the side and he pressed the assembly down on the table, grunting in effort as the weapon was reset. “Cocking one of these things is a bloody beast,” he noted. “Safety,” he added, pointing to a switch. “Release,” he said, pointing at the stud.

  “It’s safe if it’s on green?” Herzer asked, handling the weapon carefully.

  “Yes.”

  Herzer took it off safe and pressed the stud. He was surprised by the recoil of the thing; it nearly flew out of his hand without being pressed against anything. “Hard to use.”

  “Won’t be anything easy about fighting in space,” Peterka said. “Generally, though, the whole inertial thing is overrated. You’re going to be using mag-boots. You won’t be able to jab without worrying if you or your opponent is going to be doing a flying Dutchman—”

  “Sorry,” Megan said, “term?”

  “Flying Dutchman,” Peterka said. “Floating off into space forever.”

  “Ah,” Megan replied with a grimace. “Thanks.”

  “But you can use your weapon’s momentum,” Peterka said, picking up the axe. “Ever trained with an axe?” he asked.

  “Not lately,” Herzer admitted.

  “Then don’t try anything fancy,” Peterka said, lifting the axe. “Set up a figure eight. Swing up and down one way, bring it around, swing up and down the other,” he continued, demonstrating. “Use the pick end for armor, the axe for soft suits. Don’t try to drive through your opponent. If you’re pushing down when it hits, you’ll be lifting yourself up. Use the momentum of the weapon only. Don’t try to maneuver; if you lift a foot you’ll probably go flying off. You’ll have safety lines, but I don’t think you’ll have time in combat to use them. We thought about installing small thrusters but they’re damned hard to use so… no thrusters. If someone does a Dutchman, you might be able to use a shuttle to recover them.”

  “Two handed,” Herzer noted. “No shields. No way to form a shield wall.”

  “Nope,” Peterka agreed. “Shield wall’s easy enough to break in space.”

  “How?” Herzer asked.

  “Reverse the figure eight,” the dwarf said with an evil grin. “Hit the shield coming up. You’re being pressed down into the hull, your opponent just got a couple of dozen kilos of impetus away from it. Shield goes or he does.”

  “Range weapons?” Herzer asked.

  “Don’t bother in zero g,” Peterka said with a grunt of laughter. “You know an arrow bounces up as it’s fired, right?”

  “Sure,” Herzer said then shook his head. “Completely off the target.”

  “It’ll just head off to nowhere,” Peterka said, nodding. “Same problem with a crossbow for different reasons. We’d considered a type of air-gun but it’s probably not worth the time on training.”

  “Interesting assortment,” Herzer said.

  “We considered a bunch of other things,” the dwarf admitted. “Clamping and severing weapons, for example. Got a few of them around if you want to carry them. They’re damned slow to use, though. Recommend you have a few boyos with the polearm version, though.”

  “Why?” Megan asked.

  “Well, they’re dandy for keeping Celine’s little toys off aren’t they?” Peterka said with a grin, revealing the last table, which had only a long pole with complex devices at both ends. One end looked very much like a scorpion pincer while the other had a winch of some sort on it. “Spread the jaws,” Peterka said, pressing a stud at which the jaws flew open. “Press it against a target,” he continued. When it was pressed onto the arm of the bronze armor it quickly ratcheted down to a snug fit. “Then crank,” he said, twisting the crank on the end. The jaws moved very slowly but as they watched, the armor began to deform. After a period of about ten seconds of hard cranking, the jaws suddenly snapped most of the way through the armor.

  “Like I said,” Peterka told them, letting go of the weapon and dropping it to the floor, “it’s slow. But thorough.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Oh, now this is homey,” Courtney said, looking at her room. “And where is Mike going to sleep? And the kids?”

  “We’re going to move beds into one of the rooms for the children,” Lieutenant Commer said nervously. “Mr. Boehlke will have the room adjoining yours.”

  “Well, there’s indoor plumbing,” Courtney said, opening up the door. “That’s a change…”

  “So, how do you like the digs?” Herzer asked, knocking on the door of the room.

  “Tell me that Megan’s got better facilities than this?” Courtney said.

  “Nope,” Herzer replied, shrugging. “Okay, a little better. A bit more room and her own bathroom, complete with shower and toilet.”

  “You dragged us up here for this?” Mike asked incredulously.

  “You’re not here for a vacation,” Herzer pointed out. “You’re here so that your kids, and you, are protected.”

  “So I’m going to be cooling my heels while Courtney does whatever it is she’s going to do?” Mike asked, angrily. “Take care of the kids?”

  “There’s a problem with that?” Megan asked, coming down the corridor. “Hello, Courtney, Mike.”

  “No, of course I can take care of the kids,” Mike snapped. “It’s all I’ve got to do, isn’t it?”

  “Uh,” Herzer hummed, interjecting himself between the two. “There’s a few points I’d like to make before Mike tries to kill a council member and gets turned into a newt…”

  “I wasn’t going to—”

  “I wouldn’t do that—”

  “Yeah,” Herzer snapped. “Megan, please chill out for a second. Mike, you’re going to be doing something other than taking care of the kids. I can thi
nk of a half a dozen things. And you’ll get briefed on what’s going on around here, as soon as I get a chance, okay?”

  “Okay,” Mike growled, glancing at Megan. “But that better be soon.”

  “It will be when I can get to it, Mike,” Herzer replied. “I’ve got about a billion other problems on my plate.”

  “Who’s going to take care of the kids?” Courtney asked, frowning.

  “Four,” Mike pointed out. “From swaddling clothes to four.”

  “Babies, bleck,” Herzer said, then shrugged. “For the time being, Shanea.”

  “What?” Megan snapped. “Why Shanea?”

  Herzer closed his eyes for a second, then turned and simply looked at her.

  “Okay, so she makes the most sense,” Megan said after a long glare. “But you could consult me next time.”

  “I hadn’t thought of the problem until it was brought up,” Herzer admitted. “I thought there would be enough people here to handle minor details. But there aren’t. Are you aware that they don’t even have the cooking staff replaced, yet?”

  “No,” Megan said. “Who’s going to cook?”

  “Well, there’s all these women…” Mike said then stopped when both Megan and Herzer fixed him with a glare. “What? It’s true! Besides, Herzer, I’ve had your cooking. You can’t boil water. Pass.”

  “I’ve gotten better,” Herzer said. “We’re probably going to be getting food from the legion for the time being. But there are a billion details to work out and I haven’t even figured out who is in charge.”

  “Ahem,” Lieutenant Commer cleared his throat. “You are. Sir.”

  “What?” Herzer snapped.

  “Colonel Carson was the base commander, sir,” the lieutenant said, nervously. “I suppose, that the position devolves to either you or the countess.”

  “I don’t have time to manage the base and get ready for the mission,” Herzer said angrily.

  “Sorry, sir,” the lieutenant replied, ducking his head.

  “Don’t be; you just gave me more bad news,” Herzer said, throwing up his hands. “Megan?”