The only problem with the live practice was that the Stirium weather system did not produce a single storm, so O’Casey had to create artificial turbulence. The two Lieutenants handled that okay, but O’Casey still felt vulnerable, particularly since the Manhattan Trials were held in the dead of winter, when Kalenden weather was the most unstable.
“Why are they called the Manhattan Trials?” Lieutenant Carter asked at a briefing one morning.
“The island on which the trials are conducted on Kalenden is about twenty by eight kilometers. It bears a striking resemblance to the chief borough of New York City on Earth. So, the trials were named in its honor. Manhattan was the chief financial district on Earth, even after China became the leading economy.”
This was a good a time to address the physical layout of the games, so O’Casey activated a three-dimensional image of the playing field. “For nine months each year, the entire island is occupied with shuttle training and maintenance. For the remaining three, it’s converted into a replica of the ancient city, complete with hardened holographic buildings. The real Manhattan had a large open area in the middle called Central Park and that’s where the takeoffs and landings will take place. The shuttle crews must show their ability to bring the shuttles in without disrupting the city’s normal activities. Of course, the buildings present an unusual challenge, since they create wind canyons that make it difficult to predict landing conditions. Anyone who crashes into a building is automatically disqualified.”
“The buildings on either side of the park look different than the others,” Eaves observed.
“That’s because they’re permanent structures that house the observation platforms. To maintain the illusion of New York City, the platforms resemble prominent apartment buildings and museums that once lined the prestigious streets alongside the park. During the trials they’ll be filled with dignitaries from all over the quadrant.” He zoomed in on the image to show just Central Park and its surrounding streets. “Do you see the cables and tracks running up Fifth Avenue and Central Park West?” Eaves and Carter bent closer to the image and saw miniature railroad locomotives tethered to the now floating platforms. “During the trials, these observation platforms use anti-gravity-membranes to hover parallel to the playing field so that spectators can get the best view. The operator can adjust altitude to match the incoming shuttles and use the cable system to move north and south as shuttles land at various points in the park.”
“Cool,” Eaves said, “Who gets to observe?”
“The Quadrant Council, the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Shuttle and Fighter Command and nearly every influential business person in this corner of the galaxy. It’s a chance for these luminaries to get together and do some unofficial wagering. Plus, most of the big business contracts for the next year are signed during the trials. They love this competition, because the shuttles move so slowly that there’s plenty of time to conduct business. Each of the shuttle crews are also entitled to ten tickets in the VIP observation building, so you can have your parents or girlfriends occupy a premier spot at the trials.”
“My mom will love that.” Carter said, “It’ll be her excuse to buy a whole new wardrobe.”
O’Casey continued. “The competition consists of seven trials. Separation and docking from the deep-space host, upper altitude maneuvers, lower altitude approach, interference from proximate aircraft and landing and take-off. Speed is not foremost, although it can be a tie-breaker at the end of the trials. Accuracy, precision and passenger comfort are the three criteria that make up the lion’s share of your point total. Additionally, you’ll be exposed to two emergency conditions called “randoms,” because the timing and nature of the emergency is selected randomly by the course computer, once all twelve teams have logged in. The randoms you encounter may include loss of power, loss of instrumentation, an unruly passenger, or loss of communication with either Ground Control or your ship. In each case, you have to complete the drill you’re working on in the best fashion possible.”
“But, what if one crew draws two easy randoms, such as an unruly passenger and loss of instrumentation, while another draws really severe problems like loss of power and communications?”
“That’s the luck of the draw, I’m afraid. More than once, my assigned team has been in a substantial lead, only to be taken down by two seemingly insurmountable randoms. Plus, you shouldn’t underestimate any of the randoms. An unruly passenger may be able to fire a stun blast that knocks you two unconscious.”
“Anything else we need to worry about?” O’Casey turned to address Eaves’ question.
“Probably the biggest problem is the weather. Some years the sky is clear and stable, other years have seen raging blizzards. No matter what occurs, the trials continue until one team has won all seven trials, or is the only team left.”
“Has a fighter team ever won the competition?”
O’Casey smiled. “Not yet.”
“At least our odds have gone from ‘impossible’ to ‘not yet,’” Carter voiced.
“I wouldn’t be spending the prize money,” O’Casey replied mildly. “Your task today is to memorize the buildings on Manhattan Island, as well as each landing pad in Central Park. Remember, accuracy earns the most points. And so you know what your competition’s capable of, last year’s second place team lost by being a mere three meters off-center on their landing. The winner has re-entered this year’s competition.”
“What’s the single biggest mistake to cause disqualification?” Eaves had an intense look in his eyes.
“Most people think it’s the randoms, so they spend all their time practicing for that. But, I believe it’s the canyon winds swooping up Fifth Avenue and the Avenue of the Americas. The danger is greatest at the southern end of the park where the buildings are tall on three sides. That doesn’t put the shuttles in danger of crashing, just their being blown off center at the moment of touch down.”
“How do you protect against that?”
“That’s another homework assignment, Mr. Eaves. I’ll program the simulator to give you some unexpected blasts from different quarters as you prepare to land. You figure out what actions to take so that you can land within two meters of center, perfectly squared at every corner. When you can do that consistently, I’ll believe you have a real chance in the competition.”
O’Casey left and Carter and Eaves poured over the map of Manhattan. Carter detailed a plot of every building and street, programming the coordinates into his personal navigation device. He could have downloaded the program, but that would fail to save the information in his mind, where it would be needed in an emergency. Before he was done, he knew the basic architecture of ancient New York City better than most city planners of the time.
Meanwhile, Eaves fed blue dye into the blowers programmed to simulate the weather conditions that could arise, constantly changing the wind direction to see how the various canyons influenced the flow. It was well past dinner before either of them spoke or even realized they were hungry.
No one saw much of the two Lieutenants after that. Brighton relieved them of all duties except preparing for the competition and the shuttle simulator became their effective quarters. At the end of three weeks, Eaves exited the simulator with a stack of paper and approached O’Casey and Brighton. O’Casey held out his hand as Eaves handed him the papers. Carter quietly joined the group, an expectant look on his face. O’Casey looked down at the stack of paper, read the first page, quickly turned to the second, third, fourth. He started handing them to Commander Brighton, who had done his best to restrain his curiosity.
“Well, then,” O’Casey said quietly, “ten landings with the wind coming from every point on the compass, with unexpected turbulence on six of the ten.”
Brighton’s jaw dropped as he thumbed through the pages.
“This can’t be right!” It indicates you landed dead center, with no more than 85 centimeters variance. And square on every corner. That’s impossible!” Eaves and Carte
r said nothing.
“How many attempts did it take to get these ten?” O’Casey asked.
Carter couldn’t suppress a grin. “These are the last ten attempts in succession. Look at the time signature and simulator sequence.”
“Unbelievable!” said Brighton with a broad grin. “We’ve probably ruined the best fighter team in the fleet, but gained the most highly-practiced shuttle team ever to enter the competition.”
“Don’t go giving them false confidence,” said O’Casey fiercely. “A simulator isn’t the same as the real thing and they’ll be up against top-rated crews.” Eaves expression remained unchanged. “But, I have to tell you that the two of you are far better prepared than any team I’ve ever entered. You’ve done great work and will do us proud.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Eaves said and started to return to the shuttle.
“Hold up a moment, Lieutenant,” Brighton said. “What are your intentions for the next three days before we enter the Kalenden orbit?”
“Practice, Sir,” Eaves replied seriously. He and Carter looked exhausted.
“I’m afraid you can’t do that, Mr. Eaves. I’m placing the simulator off-limits for the next three days.” That shocked all of them, including O’Casey.
Eaves eyes flashed and he replied fiercely, “But, Sir, we have to keep our concentration. We’ve worked so hard, we can’t let down now.”
“I understand that, but my orders stand. Dismissed!”
Eaves was furious and Carter looked like he’d been kicked in the stomach. It was obvious that Eaves wanted to smash his fist into Brighton’s face or, barring that, the nearest wall.
As Brighton started to walk away, he added, “I’d like both of you in my quarters in one hour.” Without turning to look at them he left.
When the door sealed behind Brighton, Eaves turned to O’Casey and pleaded, “Can’t you do something about this, Sir? How can he do this to us? Does he have money riding on another team?”
“Don’t say that, even if you’re angry,” O’Casey said sternly. “The Captain and Mr. Brighton have moved mountains to help you two get ready, so there’s got to be a reason for the Commander’s order. In the meantime, go get some lunch and keep your appointment. You can help us polish the shuttle’s logo after that, if you like. Wouldn’t want you passing the reviewing stand with any grime on the Allegro’s insignia.”
Eaves sat down in a chair and put his head in his hands. “I can’t believe this, I just can’t believe this,” he said over and over. Carter walked to the simulator. It knew his footsteps well enough to waive the usual retina scan and had opened its door hundreds of times during the past three months. But, not this time. An order from the First Officer trumps a request from a First Lieutenant. Even the metallic voice of the computer sounded sad when it denied entrance. “Come with me to the lunch room,” Carter said, with as much cheer as he could muster.
“Later,” Eaves replied sullenly, “I’ve got to take a walk.”
An hour later Eaves and Carter met at Commander Brighton’s door, which opened at their approach.
Brighton recognized the anger evident in Eaves’ slumped shoulders. He invited them to sit. “I’d like to show you something.” He reached for a small object on the end table next to his chair and handed it to Eaves. “Read it aloud, please.”
“First Place, Lieutenant Thomas Brighton, in the CCXXVIII Precision Maneuvers Trials of the Kalenden Heavy Battle Fleet. Acting Helmsman.”
Eaves looked up and for the first time, met Brighton’s gaze.
“The year before we received this, I made a mistake that disqualified my ship from the trials. The Captain was furious with me because our ship had always been one of the top three during the previous ten years, winning first place six times. He was a fanatic about the trials and our disqualification devastated him – he wouldn’t talk to me for nearly three months, always issuing orders through a subordinate. I wanted to transfer off the ship, but Fleet Command deployed us on deep-space duty to squelch a drug trafficking ring near Stirium. That was the most miserable time of my life, particularly since there were a couple of other Lieutenants in the wardroom who delighted in my reduced status. The Captain wouldn’t let me anywhere near the helm, and assigned me to supervise the guard duty in the brig. What a come down! I was cut from operating a 20,000 ton frigate to watching drunken sailors throw-up on a mattress in lockup. I figured I’d never get another promotion and would be the oldest Lieutenant in the fleet.”
“What did you do wrong?” Carter asked.
Brighton ordered a warm drink and continued, “Captain Mackinaw had drilled everyone to the point of exhaustion on precision docking to the space port. He tried to practice every maneuver he could think of, knowing we were likely to get a random. But, as the trials progressed, our random didn’t come, which only increased the tension. Not only were we assigned to dock at the Elite Terminal, where all the dignitaries were observing from a glass-walled observation lounge, but the Admiral in charge of the games had been the Skipper of my Captain’s first ship, so Captain Mackinaw was anxious to make a good impression. On our final approach, he was speaking very quietly. He always liked to speak just above a whisper when giving his most important orders. I think he believed it made him look calm and in control. But, I was so tired from practicing and practicing and practicing. I’d been sneaking off to the simulator after lights-out so I could work a few more drills. I’d figured out how to hack into the security system and make it appear that I was a member of the cleaning detail whenever I showed up after hours.”
Eaves’ face colored slightly, but Brighton didn’t seem to notice.
“We’d successfully attached three of the four mooring cables when a simulated meteor struck the docking station – our long awaited random. It hit the station’s port side, just as we were firing our starboard thrusters to make the final connection. Of course, that meant the station started moving toward us, as we were moving toward it. We were coming in too fast, so I instinctively fired the aft port thrusters to compensate for the terminal’s drift. The noise was incredible and the simulation made it sound like the meteor was tearing through two or three levels of the station. That’s when the Captain spoke, ‘Port thrusters, Mr. Brighton.’”
Brighton paused, his eyes looking up and to the left. “’But Sir,’ I protested, ‘I’ve already fired the port thrusters.’”
“Apparently he didn’t hear me, because he shouted back, ‘Obey my order, Lieutenant!’ There was nothing to do but fire the port thrusters a second time. With three tethers attached, our aft port quarter swung away and down, crashing into the docking station’s fuel nipple. I felt the sickening crunch as it collapsed and looked on in disbelief as it flooded the docking bay with radioactive coolant. That, of course, forced evacuation of everyone in the observation stand. There was pandemonium on both the station and our ship as we attempted to disentangle ourselves from the rigging.”
By now Eaves and Carter were both sitting forward in their seats. “But why did the Captain order you to fire a second time?” Carter inquired.
“That was the question that smothered all other thoughts in my mind, particularly when the Captain bounded up to me and started screaming, ‘Why did you disobey my order Lieutenant? Why did you humiliate us?’”
“‘But, Sir, you ordered me to fire Port Thrusters. I tried to tell you I’d already fired them.’ I was so embarrassed I wanted to scream at him. Then I saw recognition in his eye and he shouted back, ‘I ordered you to Abort Thrusters!’ I’ll never forget the look on his face. It was like his whole world had collapsed and all because of a single confused command. He was furious, ashamed and devastated, all at the same time.”
“Why did it matter so, much?” Eaves asked. “Docking errors aren’t that rare.” This was the first time Eaves had spoken since the shuttle-bay.
“I can’t say, for sure. But during my exile, the First Officer took me aside and said the Captain had come from a second-class family and the t
rials had been the only thing that gave him equal status with the others in his class at the academy. I imagine he saw the crash as the end of his being treated as an equal.”
“So how did you win the next year?” Eaves asked earnestly.
“After four months of guard duty, I was walking back to my bunk one night when I bumped into the Captain coming around a corner. I averted my eyes and apologized, then stood there, not knowing what to do. He didn’t speak for perhaps twenty or thirty seconds and when I sneaked a glance at his face I saw that he was struggling with his emotions. I braced for the worst but instead he said in his quiet voice, ‘Mr. Brighton, join me for a drink in the Officers Lounge.’ Wow, that sure took me by surprise.”
Looking into the Lieutenant’s eyes, Brighton continued, “When we took a booth in a quiet corner, I glanced around and saw that everyone in the room was pretending not to watch us. The Captain must have seen it too, because he leaned forward and said, ‘Lieutenant, I owe you an apology. I made two mistakes that day. The obvious one is that I spoke too quietly for you to hear me and then cut you off when you attempted to provide the information I needed to make a correct decision.’ I responded that I shouldn’t have cut the starboard thrusters and fired the port thrusters until he gave the order and was sorry I ruined everything. The words just came spilling out. He held up his hand for me to stop. ‘No, you did exactly what you should have done. I’d given you authority to bring the ship to its final position and shouldn’t have interfered.’ All I could do was tell him thank you and try not to cry. I was only twenty-three at the time.”
“You said the Captain admitted he made two mistakes. What was the second?” Eaves asked.
“That was a real surprise. He told me that he’d been so anxious to win that even when he’d received a report from the Simulator Chief that I was making unauthorized use of the simulator at night, he did nothing to stop me. He apologized for driving us so hard to win.”
“I protested that it was my fault, but he brushed that aside. ‘It was my mistake. I never should have let you become so tired. In combat, your men need to be as rested as possible. Instead, I let you become fatigued. Who knows if you’d have heard me clearer if you weren’t so tired?’ That left me too stunned to say anything.
Assault on Cambriol: The Manhattan Trials Page 19