by James Peters
“Got it.”
The truck wasn’t lined up correctly, he backed the bumper into the trailer hitch. The whole time, I just stood there, forgetting to motion.
“Dumbass!” Keb said, stepped out of the truck, looked at it himself and backed it up again, this time aligning it perfectly. Keb hooked up some chains and dropped the trailer on the hitch, connected a wiring harness. He handed me the keys and said, “Keep it under fifty, and give yourself extra stopping distance.”
I made my way back to the big house. Nicholai had gathered a stash of supplies to load into the shuttle, and he had some servants do the manual labor. Marco, as usual, dressed in his usual ass-less leather chaps but now including a new leather jacket. Babs, the female chimp, followed him around like a servant following a king. Nicholai gave special instructions to one of the servants to take care of the Commander while we traveled. As we finished, the sun went down.
“You ready to go, mon? Nicholai said.
“Ready as I’ll ever be. What’s our plan?”
“We follow da line of true twilight, at an hour and twelve minutes afta’ sunset. Den we travel at about a thousand miles per hour, all da way to Montana. It’s standard procedure for stealth, follow da’ terminator.”
“Where’d you learn this?” I said.
“Maven. She taught me a few things ‘bout stayin’ hidden. ‘Course, she’ll be expectin’ us to appear right on schedule.”
Nicholai turned to Marco. “And you, monkey-mon? You ready?”
Marco gave a smart salute to Nicholai, turned to Babs, and gave her a quick wave. Then he jumped into the shuttle.
With that, we launched and began the trip. I’d have a little less than three hours to prepare for Maven.
Chapter 26
Predictive Analytics 101
ESS Dissolute Ultralog-Complete™ Log, recorded in accordance with the Patriotic Love for the Empire and Freedom of Monitoring Act. Released under Imperial Order #C53TH341
Denton Morrow sniffed turned side to side until he determined the direction it came from. He followed his nose down a corridor and into the Emergency Evacuation area, to find Mr. Smiles leaning over, his back facing the entry.
“Everything OK in here?” Denton Morrow said, stepping inside. The gorilla had expelled the contents of his stomach all over the floor.
“Oh my gods!” Denton said, gagging as the contents of his own stomach started to boil over. He broke out in a cold sweat, turned 180 degrees and marched away, fanning himself. “Clean that up, Smiles! What next?” He made his way back to the navigation sphere.
“Smooth jump,” Perry said as Denton stepped inside. Perry disconnected from the controls and looked to be ready to take a break, his eyes tired and his breathing deep. “Preliminary positional data is showing at least an eighty-seven percent positive correlation between our expected location and where we appear to be.”
“And that means?” Denton asked.
“We ended up roughly where we planned. We’re safe now, and there’s nothing I can do until nav-com tells me it knows our position and can accurately calculate our vector of movement. What most people don’t know about Chronos Drives is that yes, they take time to spool up for the next jump, but in most cases that delay is based on the nav-com figuring out where it is and not energy draw. A ship like the Dissolute has ample power production capability to recharge a drive, on average…”
“Mr. Tremblan, you have a way of taking a simple concept and making it an in-depth discussion.”
“Thank you,” Perry said. “Based on what I know about you and this mission, I’d predict that your next question is going to be ‘When will we be ready to jump again’. I have a ninety-nine point eight four percent confidence…”
Denton Morrow nodded. “Is there anything that you can’t predict with incredible precision?”
“If an event is considered ‘Normal’, I can predict with a high level of precision. In this context, ‘Normal’ is an event that has had a historical tendency to occur or falls in the expected realm of possibilities, even though it has never happened yet. I can see you aren’t exactly following, so let me give you an example. We’ve never seen an example of a condor dying in mid-flight, then falling from the sky and crashing into the Emperor’s land transport, causing it to crash and take the Emperor’s life. But it’s conceivable, and through sufficient calculations, I can give you odds of it happening.” He paused for a moment. “Roughly one in seventeen trillion, in case you were wondering.”
“Oh yes, I was very curious about that,” Lt. Morrow said with an eye-roll. “So what isn’t a ‘Normal’ event?”
“They’re called Black Swans.”
“Black Swans? Why?”
“In statistics, a Black Swan is an event that has never been considered to be a possibility, which suddenly occurs. It’s a complete surprise, and just the idea of them makes me and most professional statisticians uncomfortable. I’ll give you the example that I was taught at University: For thousands and thousands of years, nobody ever saw a black swan, nor ever thought it was possible for a swan to be born any color other than white. Then one day, a black swan is born at an ancient king’s compound. The king sees the black swan and is convinced that it’s a sign of a curse on him, so he turns to run to find an advisor and steps in front of a moving carriage, killing him. The events were so unexpected; no level of predictions could have foretold of that king’s death that day. The word gets out that the king died as a result of a curse, the Kingdom falls into a state of chaos, and within a year, it’s taken over by another feudal lord. That’s a Black Swan, and they are the only things that truly scare a person in my profession. They are completely unpredictable and can have dire consequences.”
“Could you theoretically predict when we were due for an event like this, even though we have no idea of what that event was? Is there any pattern?”
“The smartest statisticians in the Galactic Empire have studied this quietly and within our own circles. We have come to a consensus that these events are completely unpredictable. Besides, based upon their nature, if we went on a heightened alert based upon something that could possibly happen, would we be more likely to exponentially increase the impact of the event?”
Perry raised his thumb and forefinger to his forehead. “Although I haven’t personally looked into it, the topic is dismissed in my professional groups as improper research, to a certain extent.”
“Are you saying it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy? By predicting a major event, you increase its likelihood of occurrence?”
“Effectively. There is also the fear of raising a concern about something that may possibly happen that is not defined and cannot be predicted. A statistician that does that isn’t a statistician. He’s a soothsayer. If a statistician falls into that category while in the Imperial service, there’s another name for him: dead. So, the area of predicting a Black Swan is avoided, and seldom discussed other than in an academic manner.”
“Yet you told me about it. Why?”
“Purely an explanation of the limitations of my skills. I didn’t want you to think something that wasn’t true.”
“I see. Well, let’s hope we don’t run into any Black Swans on this trip.”
Lt. Morrow saw motion from the corner of his eye, and he turned to see Magnus Aldis walking through the hallway, carrying something large in his arms; so large he had to turn sideways to get through the doorway with it. That something looked quite similar to an HFG-9900 railgun, grenade launcher, and plasma cutter that should have been locked up in the armory. “Mr. Aldis?”
“What do you want?” Magnus said, turning, and in doing so pointed the nasty end of the weapon toward Denton.
“What are you doing with that weapon?” Denton Morrow said as multiple barrels, each easily capable of killing him on the spot, greeted his gaze.
“What, this little thing?” Magnus said, raising the weapon and painting a bright spot of targeting laser on Denton’s chest. “Cleaning a
nd maintenance.”
“Point that thing away from me, Mr. Aldis, or we’ll have a serious issue on our hands.”
The laser target moved toward the floor, then shut off. “Now, why do you have the weapon and where are you taking it?”
“I was taking it to my quarters. I was just going to tear it down and clean and rebuild it. Also, I’ve been thinking about adding a little something to it.”
“What could you possibly add to the HFG-9900?”
“I dunno. It seems like it’s missing something. I’m thinking of adding a bayonet to it.”
“You want to add a bayonet to the HFG-9900? Under what possible condition would you need a bayonet?”
Magnus shrugged. “Maybe if I ran out of ammo?”
“That thing is, by definition, a rail gun. A standard mass cube for a rail gun is good for, I don’t know, thirty-five thousand shots?”
“What if I need to kills thirty-five thousand and one? I’ll need a bayonet.”
“You can’t just use the plasma cutter? Or the grenade launcher?”
“Let’s say there’s a flammable atmosphere. Bayonet time.” A smile snaked across Magnus’s face as he pretended to stab someone with the weapon. “Anything else, Sir?”
Several grunts appearing in the hallway, taking notice of the conversation.
Denton ordered, “Take that weapon, strip it down and thoroughly clean it. When you are done, I want you to add a bayonet to it, Mr. Aldis. When you are done, return it immediately to the armory. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir!”
Lt. Morrow turned on his heels and made eye contact with some grunts. They spun away and all made themselves busy as he walked away. He hadn’t taken more than a few steps before Dr. Mitch Sorren appeared.
“Lt. Morrow, I’m glad to have caught you. I’ve sent you several messages reminding you of the requirements for you to undergo a complete physical. I’ve yet to see a reply…”
“A physical? I’m in perfect health,” Denton Morrow said, turning away, but the doctor grabbed his arm.
“That is up to me to decide, not you. Imperial directives give me complete authority, up to and including removal of a commanding officer if they are unfit for duty. Until I perform my examination, I cannot say that you are fit for duty. In fact, you feel clammy, and your pulse rate is higher than it should be at rest…”
“I see. How about a week from—”
“How about now?” The Doctor said. “I must insist.”
Denton Morrow recognized a no-win situation, so reluctantly said followed the doctor to the Medical Room. “Fine.”
Morrow sat down on an examining couch and stared at the doctor.
“Remove your clothing and put this on.” The doctor handed him a blue and white checkered gown; much larger than necessary, yet still didn’t cover the parts Lt. Morrow really wanted to.
“Let’s get the worst part over with first,” The Doctor said, pulling a handle in the ceiling panel, allowing a monstrous medical device to lower slowly into the room; a round manifold with a dozen or more reticulated arms of various designs, functions, and sizes extending from it in all directions. As the doctor lowered the device, it awoke with lights blinking and arms moving in robotic rhythm. Cold metallic arms grabbed the Lieutenant by the arms and legs, spreading everything to allow a complete exam, much more complete than the Lieutenant had hoped. He couldn’t help but tense up.
“Relax. We call this thing The Executioner, but trust me, it looks worse than it is,” Doctor Sorren said, but his voice didn’t exactly say ‘trust me’. Just as the physical began, a woman’s spoke from behind the Lieutenant.
“There you are, Mr. Morrow,” Natastia Briggam said as she entered the room. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“As a matter of fact—” Denton Morrow started until the doctor interrupted.
The doctor answered, “Come in, Ms. Briggam. and you can talk to the Lieutenant. The view’s a little better from this side.”
“It couldn’t be worse,” she said, working her way around the doctor until she faced Denton Morrow. Machinery whirred and the machine pumped, probed, and poked
“Now, Mr. Morrow…” she said, as he heard at the door. “Come on in, Mr. Smiles. Why don’t you come around here next to me?” The gorilla grimaced at the medical equipment and stood next to Natastia. “Where was I? Yes, I’ve been looking over the duty rosters, and I’m not pleased with a few of your selections. Did you know that on rotation C you do not have an active engineer on duty, and on rotation A you have two?”
“Thank you for bringing that to my attention. But the majority of the engineering tasks are purely maintenance driven, and two engineers are needed for many of the routines. The plan was—” Denton said.
“The plan is unacceptable. For tasks requiring two engineers, you’ll create a hybrid schedule. For the rest of the shifts, at least one is to be on duty at all times. Do I make myself clear?”
“You do, Ma’am. But while we are on this mission, I have authority to set the schedules as I see fit. If this schedule does not work, I will adjust it as I see fit.”
“Hrmmph. This will be officially recorded.”
“Of that I’m certain.” Lt. Morrow had tried to sound calm and in control, but his voice cracked a little as The Executioner got a little more personal than he liked. Someone rapped at the door.
“There you are,” said the cook, A.K.A Cookie McCookerson. “I needed to discuss the menus for the trip. We had an issue with the food loadout. We didn’t get a complete selection, so we’re going to have to make do with some things.”
Denton Morrow’s brow raised. “Great. The gang’s all here. Are we missing anyone? Anyone at all? You make sure food is ready when the crew’s hungry. If that means rice three days a week, I don’t particularly care.”
The Executioner adjusted Denton’s position, spreading his legs wider than natural for a more intrusive procedure, causing the man to cringe and cough. “Doctor, don’t you think this procedure would be safer with fewer people in the room?”
“That’s really not necessary. The Executioner creates an antiseptic field barrier. It’s completely safe. We could theoretically do this procedure with you submerged in a waste-water collection pool and you’d still be safe.”
“That actually sounds like an improvement. Now everyone but the doctor get out of here. I mean it, out!” His scanning gaze met shrugs as the crowd filed out.
***
Three weeks passed on the Dissolute. It hadn’t been rice, but rather beans a part of every meal; breakfast, lunch, and dinner all included some form of beans to stretch the food offerings, with predictable results. The air-scrubbers worked overtime to try and keep the air “fresh” but couldn’t keep up, so the entire ship smelled like a toilet. Luckily, the crew became somewhat desensitized to the odor.
Perry watched as the ship’s nav-com’s positional and vector plotting displays changed within the navigation sphere. He had the magnification set to a level that allowed the approximate location of the ship display as a slowly shrinking egg, and the direction of travel shown as what appeared to be a perfectly straight line. But as he zoomed out, that line turned into a cone. The cone slowly drew in upon itself as the calculations continued. He did a few mental estimates in his head and decided they’d be ready for the next jump within the hour.
He called the Lieutenant on the intercom. “Lt. Morrow. The calculations are nearly complete for the next jump.”
“Thank you, Mr. Tremblan. I’ll make sure all the preparations are made.” He stood up, checked himself in the mirror, and marched to the cockpit, where he made a ship-wide announcement to prepare for Chronos drive jump. Then he started working his checklist, ensuring that the right lights remained lit. With all the boxes filled, he settled into the cockpit, in order to watch the jump.
“The drive is ready,” Perry said on the intercom.
Denton Morrow said as his gaze fixed on the star-field. “Mr. Aldis, initiate the drive.�
�
Magnus released the cover that protected the button from accidental engagement, and pressed it with a sharp jab.
The star-field change before Denton’s eyes. He scanned the ships gauges to confirm everything was within standard specifications, and as he turned toward the door, he sniffed the air. “Oh my gods, not again.”
Chapter 27
Re-untied and it Feels So Good
Maven’s patchwork shuttle repair had been a work of art. Meticulous in detail, she clearly had spent a considerable amount of time on it and it did its job well, with one exception. The added mass of the titanium plate upset the natural balance of the ship, as well as the aerodynamics. The resulting resonance turbulence made the ship unstable at 1000 MPH, with a rocking motion that built upon itself in terrifying exponential growth. If we eased the speed back to about 850 MPH, it smoothed out. Or if we punched through to 1200 MPH, it found stability again. So we adjusted as we went, falling back behind our ideal point and then overshooting it just a bit to try to maintain our average speed. It reminded me how much I hated traveling in an atmosphere.
“Maven be listenin’ on this channel,” Nicholai said, adjusting a radio control. “We should be in range now. ‘Member what we agreed to.”
“Got it,” I said as I thumbed the microphone and called. I felt like I should be using code words, and for a moment thought of calling in as ‘Lost Sheep to Bo Peep’ but thought better of it. Besides, Imperial radio is signature coded for security, so nobody on Earth would ever hear anything more than a crackling static if they happened to be on the same frequency. I kept it simple. “Maven. Come in Maven. This is Raka. Come in Maven.”
I waited for a few moments and repeated the call.
“Raka. Is that you?”
Immediately I recognized her voice and my butt tightened.
“It’s me. The job’s done.”
“The job’s done? This is a secure channel. Tell me more.”