The Elysium Commission

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Coyote one, this is Coyote lead. Even through the links, I could hear and feel Siendra's "voice." Comm check.

  Coyote lead, comm. is clear and strong.

  Max acceleration will commence in two minutes.

  Stet. Understand two minutes...

  The first run was smooth. That was just to make sure Siendra and I both had the profile down. After that it got worse. Much worse.

  Carle—or Shannon or both—made sure everything went wrong. Siendra lost a converter, then a thruster. One of my torps refused to launch. The target projection field was lo­cated off course line...

  I was damp with sweat when I finally left the cockpit simulator and extricated myself from the armor. I was more than ready to walk in the cool of a mortal garden.

  Shannon had other ideas. "You've got a half stan break to get a bite to eat There are rations over there and some water and iced tea. Then we need to get you onto the boards."

  I didn't want to admit how tired I felt I might have been in good physical shape, but operational shape was some­thing else. Besides, Shannon was sweating, too. "Now?"

  "You'll be about that tired by the time you reach the ops center at Time's End."

  There wasn't any point in arguing. I didn't. I walked to­ward the corner of the artificial cavern that held two tables with chairs.

  Siendra was seated at one table. Her shipsuit was damp in places as well. She motioned to me. After taking a ration pack and a large beaker of iced tea, I joined her.

  "How did you think it went?" I took a long swallow of tea.

  That brought a wry smile. "Not bad for the first time we've worked together. Not smooth enough or seamless enough to rest on our nonexistent laurels."

  "Have you flown the Aquitaine before?"

  "Yes, but not since her latest modifications."

  "She wasn't originally designed to carry a scout" That was a safe assumption. No corvette was built that way.

  "No. They reduced crew space to two tiny staterooms to accommodate the larger drives and the oversized convert­ers. It was a rush conversion."

  "Why us?"

  Siendra shrugged. "Who else do they have?"

  "I haven't the faintest idea who the sisters have. Nothing on Devanta is ever what it seems."

  "As things are, they're transformed upon the blue guitar."

  "Blue guitar?"

  "It's a paraphrase from pre-Diasporan poetry. In a way, the Civitas Sorores are that kind of instrument. That's why neither the Frankans nor the Assembly care for Devanta, if for different reasons. The sisters don't foster the illusion that what one sees is reality. In even a moderately high-tech society, the excess of information ensures that what we see is not reality. We're allowed, even encouraged, to select our own personally compatible vision of what we wish reality to be. That's why Thurene needs a shadow knight. Or a

  Fox. There have to tye those who see behind the illusion of reality."

  I wasn't sure aboiit how effective the shadow knight was or had been. The Fox had been a legend who had vanished when he or she had become too publicized. I also realized that I'd just heard the longest statement Siendra had ever made in my presence.

  "For something necessary ..." I broke off what I'd been about to say. I'd almost said that the sisters had discouraged the shadow knight. But, in support of what Siendra had said, I realized that such apparent opposition was an illu­sion. They'd only created the illusion of opposition. Like­wise, I'd have bet that the media stories, ostensibly in support of the shadow knight, had probably come from Legaar Eloi, setting up the shadow knight to be discredited for fading to live up to the media image. Only in the shad­ows of obscurity could the knight of shadows or the Fox of the past flourish. I shook my head. "Excessive familiarity killed the Fox." I took a bite of the ration cube. "It may de­stroy the shadow taught."

  Siendra nodded. "Despite what people say and wish to believe, reality lies in the shadows. Too much light blinds, and too little engenders nightmares and fantasies."

  "You're almost as cynical as Krij."

  "More so in some ways. Less in others." The hint of a faint smile crossed her hps.

  "What are you doing next?"

  "Nav work. Standard positioning won't work the same way once we near the projection fields."

  I had the feeling nothing would work the same way.

  "Donne! You ready for the Phase II intro?" Shannon's voice echoed through the artificial cavern. But then, what was real in a high-tech society?

  "Coming, Colonel." I stood and smiled at Siendra. 'Till later."

  I got a warm smile in return. It was better than words. Shannon led me tp the far end of the simulation bay. The mock-up of the Classic Research center took up that entire end, a space a good fifty yards wide. When I stepped into the "operations center," I found myself facing four operator stations. Those seats were vacant. The boards themselves were almost six yards wide, slanted panels filled with mechanical switches and gauges. Mechanical? Even after Carle's emphasis on the mechanical nature of the setup, the extent of those devices brought me up short.

  I took a position roughly in the middle of the board.

  The main projection field power controls to twenty per­cent.

  The boards had actual rheostats. I reached out and turned the oversized dial. Fifty-one percent. I readjusted the power.

  Set the beam focus at ten yards, coordinates to follow...

  Where were the focus controls?

  I had to search for the information, then move to the sec­ond station. The focus controls were calibrated levers. The coordinates were established by three flat matrices above the focus controls.

  Wrong sector.

  Frig! Sectoral controls had to be entered semimanually.

  From there, Colonel Carle's familiarization techniques got inexorably more demanding.

  I was so tired that my entire body was shaking by the time I finished the session with the mocked-up control boards.

  I just wanted to sit down. Instead, I had to trudge to the med-chamber for a short session with the doctor, then back to the small and elegant dining chamber with the less than elegant food.

  This time, we were served second-rate tournedos with oversauteed white mushrooms, and brown rice that was too crunchy. The servers left, and the doors locked. The secu­rity screen shielded the chamber.

  "The Frankan team has been detected," Fiorina Carle be­gan. "We can run you through two more days of sim training here. On Sabaten, you'll be shuttled to the Aquitaine. Late on Sabaten, once all systems check, we'll begin to shift you to the attack point. We estimate three shifts." Shifts? I raised my Eyebrows.

  "We'll be using the j projection field equipment to move the ship. That way, the Frankans and the Eloi team won't see any energy emissions moving toward their field local point, not until the very last phase of the attack. Their EDI screens might show momentary leakage flashes ... if they're watching, but those will be far below the levels for even a scout The main emissions will appear in back-time and presumably forward-time loci. You'll just have to sit tight until everything lines np."

  "How long before they're in position?" asked Siendra.

  "Anytime from early on Sabaten to sometime late on Domen. It will take a minimum of ten stans to power up."

  "What about Legaar?" I asked.

  "The justiciary hearings will end tomorrow. We expect he'll return to Tune's End."

  "The Assembly fleet?" asked Siendra.

  "It's out of range," Carle admitted, "if it's there at all."

  "Convenient. Close enough to mop up, but not interfere."

  "Why do you think you're here, Donne?" growled Shan­non.

  "Because you can't get anyone better without involving SpecOps and making matters worse, and because I still have a few shreds of idealism remaining. Those are in dan­ger of vanishing as it is."

  I caught the hint of.... something ... from Siendra.

  "Enough. We can only use the tools we have." Carle's professional smile
at Shannon was cold enough to freeze a warm-water lake solid.

  It also chilled the conversation.

  I'd barely finished eating when Shannon announced. "Major... you have another nav session. Captain, the doc­tor and the therapists are waiting for you."

  In the end, after mechanically swallowing the last of some sort of flan that was really a pudding, I walked back to the med-chamber. There the doctor ran brief diagnostics, then replaced the nanite cast on my still-recovering arm with a light nanite med-sleeve.

  A massage followed.

  Eventually, I collapsed onto the bed.

  I had left SpecOps, hadn't I?

  43

  Beyond, our city beckons bright this world falls to endless night.

  Three long days of hearings had frayed Legaar even beyond his normal impatience. For the last day, every word out of earshot of the Devantan Justiciary had been growled or barked at those around him. I'd hoped that he would calm down once he returned to Time's End, but that had not oc­curred. He'd sent me back by flitter, then showed up later. If anything, his level of irritation had increased, and his atten­tion span had decreased. Yet he clearly had gone to one of his spas. His skin was softer, and he reeked of oils, of mid­night nothings with near-mindless cloned nymphs, not that clones ever had to be mindless. That was just one of his pre­cautions, and doubdess necessary for them to stand him.

  For all that, he kept pacing back and forth behind the operators of the control boards.

  'They're beginning their approach, ser,"

  "It's about time," Legaar growled. "We wait here. We're exposed, and they scuttle through the darkness. How long before they can bring the field online?"

  "Online with minimal power would be two stans after ar­rival at the focal point," I said. I'd told him that before, at least once. "Four hours for low-level full power. They're roughly two days out. We'll know more later."

  "You're sure that the PDF and the Assembly can't detect them?"

  "They're stealth to all EDI and standard detectors. We're using projection-typei tags that only register on our screens.

  You can tell that because there's no PDF or Assembly reac­tion. Don't you think that there would be a reaction to a Frankan craft otherwise?"

  "The sisters are devious. So is the frigging PDF."

  "That could be, but until we activate the full fields, there's no link to us. It's just a hostile Frankan force with which we had nothing to do," I pointed out. "Even after that, it would be difficult to prove anything even if the sisters could take this facility, and they can't."

  "Assembly Special Operations could," Legaar snapped.

  "They have to have proof. They invade Devantan private installations without solid evidence, and half the Assembly would secede." I refrained from checking the backlinks.

  Legaar whirled. "This had better work, Maraniss."

  It was more than a little late for that kind of irrational re­proach, more like the mythical Lucifer asking if he should revolt after he'd already raised his standard, but Legaar was far less intelligent than Lucifer, and appearing less so than before the hearings, not that his intelligence had ever been excessive.

  "Oh, it will work." Indeed it would. It just wouldn't work quite the way Legaar thought it would or that the Frankans thought.

  44

  Practice does not make perfect it only reduces the possibility of error. Even so, humans can find ways to circumvent both practice and wisdom.

  For the next two days, I moved from one training setup to the other and back again. By the end of Jueven, Shannon was also adding warm-up and refresher exercises from SpecOps. There wasn't time for more than that, but I'd kept in shape.

  "You haven't lost much," Shannon had admitted grudg­ingly.

  Working in the shadows had provided some benefit, it appeared.

  Early on Sabaten, Siendra and I were strapped into a mil­itary hilifter—a fast high-gee courier. Except for helmets, we were in space armor. I had the feeling it was the first time we'd been together without an overriding imperative in three days—or without the feeling of someone eavesdrop­ping.

  "How are you feeling?" she asked.

  "Rushed, but good. How about you?" I shifted my weight slightiy in the acceleration couch and checked the restraints again.

  "I'd rather not be a passenger."

  I laughed. "Pilot's syndrome. We'd all rather be at the controls. That's because we know everything that could go wrong. That's even when the probabilities are low."

  Final check on restraints. Two minutes to liftoff. That was the pilot. I didn't recognize her from the link, and we'd never seen her.

  Restraints checked, I pulsed back, a moment after Sien­dra had.

  Neither one of us spoke, just waited. Commencing liftoff.

  Unlike the old-style torches, the hilifter started with a moderate two-gee acceleration that increased to six plus before dropping to about a half gee. The last ten minutes brought a one-gee decel. The hilifter rendezvoused direcdy with the Aquitaine. The corvette was tethered to the PDF geostationary orbital station. Tethered, not locked, and without a life-support umbilical. The only connection to the station was the tether and a power/comm cable.

  Locked to target. You're cleared to proceed. Good luck.

  Proceeding, replied Siendra. Thank you. "Helmets."

  I put on my helmet and checked it. Helmet on. Armor se­curity checks.

  Armor secure, Siendra reported. Proceeding to lock.

  The ship-to-ship seal wasn't perfect. That showed in the low lock pressure that dropped once the hilifter's outer hatch opened. The Aquitaine's lock opened to Siendra's codes. We didn't waste time in squeezing into the courier's small lock—and cycling it and getting out of it into the corvette. There's nothing romantic about two sets of space armor in that tight a space.

  Once inside the Aquitaine, Siendra ran through a habit-ability check, then linked, You're clear to enter and inspect the scout, Captain.

  Yes, ser. Proceeding this time. I did take a moment to put my small gear bag in the net in the copilot's minute compartment—essentially a sleeping space padded on all sides.

  Unlike battie cruisers, corvettes weren't designed to carry other ships, even those as small as single-person scouts. Some of the modifications were invisible, such as the beefed-up screens and the detectors that were almost as powerful as those on a batde cruiser. Others were clunky, such as the access to the scout that was attached "below" the corvette.

  I had to unfasten a hatch in the passageway aft of the cockpit manually, then refasten and seal it behind me while floating standing in a tubular space that barely allowed me to squirm around to unfasten a second hatch in the outer hull of the corvette. Below that hatch was the outer lock of the scout. It had been reconfigured with an iris lock so that the scout could be entered while still attached to the under­side of the corvette.

  I pulsed the access codes. The lock did iris open, and I pushed and squirmed "downward" through the lock. Then, with one boot under a hold, floating roughly "upright" in the scout lock, I had to shut the lower corvette hatch manually, ensuring the seals were tight. From there, matters were more routine.

  Scouts had no cabins or spaces, just a cockpit that could barely hold a single pilot in space armor. I wedged myself into the couch and tried to link to the ship. That took a moment because I'd almost forgotten I needed to torn a manual lever to connect to the corvette's power. Or rather the power from the station currentiy powering the corvette.

  Then I ran through the diagnostics and the prelaunch checklist. Other than the lock modifications and the power linkage, the scout controls were standard. It could have been any of those I'd used over the years in Special Ops. It wasn't, not with the beefed-up drives, but it looked that way from the checklist.

  When I was done, I reported. Scout is green and ready for prelaunch checkoff, Major. Request permission to return to courier this time.

  Granted.

  I left the power link in the connected p
osition but powered down everything except minimal habitability. Then I had to go through the lock and two hatches in reverse to return to the corvette and its cockpit. There I took off my helmet and racked it, then levered myself into the copilot's couch.

  Siendra was already there, ready to begin the departure checklist.

  "Did the hilifter pilot know our mission?" I finished checking my restraints.

  "No. She only knows it has to be secret and dangerous. We were delivered to the ship without going through the station, nor was she ever told who we are. She might guess at me. She'd be hard-pressed to come close to you."

  "Do you know her?"

  "It felt like Captain Delacroix, but that's a guess. Stand by for departure checklist."

  "Yes, ser."

  "Restraints."

  "Set and locked."

  "Drives."

  "Off-line."

  "Screens and shields."

  "Off-line."

  "Habitability."

  "Minimum..."

  The checklist showed no problems, and she brought the fusactors online smoothly, then the rest of the ship's systems up to full.

  'Tether and station power."

  "Disengaged."

  Siendra looked at me, then nodded before link-transmitting, Delta OpsCon, Coyote Alpha, ready for de­parture.

  Coyote lead, cleared to depart. Traffic at your two six five, orange, inbound.

  OpsCon, commencing departure this time. Inbound traf­fic noted.

  Stet, Coyote lead.

  I didn't say anything for a good half stan, not until we were clear of traffic and well established on an outbound vector.

  "There's no sign of the Frankans on the EDI."

  "There won't be, Captain. Neither of them nor of any As­sembly vessels. The Frankans are shielded, and any Assem­bly warships will be beyond EDI range."

  "What's the trade-off between shielding and power... weapons?"

  "Almost half of the! available power for drives, Captain." Siendra was sending a clear message. I heeded it. 'Thank you, ser."