The Elysium Commission

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  She was a good pilot. Even with automatics and the ship's system vector analysis, most pilots still have to make several course corrections on the shortest of in-system hops. That's with a defined physical body as a destination. Three stans later, with only minimal words between us and one minor course correction, we came to rest in a relatively dust-free area well out-system of Devanta and its moons. "Rest" was a relative term as well. Our position was close to stationary with regard to the system bodies.

  "Now what, ser?" I knew very well. But what else could I say?

  "We wait. It could take as much as a stan for them to check all the vectors before they can use the projection field to move us."

  "I think Eloi or his people used something like that to move me, but it didn't take a stan."

  "They moved youi from a predetermined position at a close to predetermined time to another predetermined loca­tion. Even so, you're fortunate you survived."

  "I did have a nanite bodyshield."

  "You triggered it before you knew what was happening, didn't you?"

  "Yes. If you wait until you know what's happening, it's too late."

  'That's true of the best in any high-intensity occupation. It's why you survived your tours in Special Operations and why Colonel Shannon pushed for you."

  At least, she wasn't calling me "Captain."

  "Do you know if Colonel Carle wanted someone else?"

  "She never indicated that to me, one way or the other."

  I didn't know what exactly else I could say. The di­chotomy in Siendra between the person I'd glimpsed at times in recent weeks and the dispassionate consultant and professional officer left me disconcerted. I understood the need, yet I felt that, in her, those two individual aspects of her being were far more separate than in anyone else I'd ever known. I also felt that the width of the gap between the two "selves" was anything but good for her.

  Yet... who was I to make any judgment of her, even silently? I had my own dichotomies. Was that because I felt each man must become the hero of his world? Or that I struggled to escape a permanent dream, one interrupted neither by day nor night?

  Neither by day nor night? That sounded like a phrase of Siendra's ... and someone else's as well. But whose?

  Words and phrases swirled through my thoughts. I didn't need the distractions, and I pushed them away and accessed the shipnet, carefully, checking indicators and screens. Our detectors could barely make out Devanta, Bergerac, and Voltaire. I still didn't pretend to understand why a field that would eventually focus on Time's End required or used a Hawking field so far away, but Carle had just said to think of it in terms of a lever and a fulcrum, with Voltaire as the fulcrum, and the distance from the field multiplying the impact in both time and space.

  The space around me seemed to contract.

  "Ser... they're locking in."

  At that moment, a brilliant light, intensely white and in­tensely blue, both and neither, blotted out everything. Then, as suddenly as it had flared through the corvette, it was gone. We were back in normspace. Somewhere else.

  Even as I tried to locate us, Siendra was faster.

  "We're within half an emkay of target point two."

  That was good. Any distance of less than one point five emkay was acceptable.

  "Frig ..." Siendra murmured.

  "Ser?" I could tell she was focused on the comparator. I didn't understand the physics behind it, but it used the stellar field of the local sun to determine absolute system time. Or whatever it was that we perceived as such. There was no such thing as absolute universal time. More than a few of the deists had been appalled when early interstellar travel had proved that. Most, like humans throughout history, still denied what technology and science had verified. Often time after time, century after century.

  "The field displaced us foretime almost two stans."

  That had been presented as a possibility, if remote. It also meant I had less man a stan to get into the scout and ensure all systems were green and ready for launch. "I'd better get moving."

  "Go."

  I was already out of the copilot's restraints. I made sure that they were retracted before I donned my helmet and left the cockpit to wrestle with the two hatches.

  A quarter stan latef, I'd finished the checklist and had the scout's fusactor on tine. I was sweating inside the armor, and that would leave me clammy later.

  Coyote lead, Coyote one, ready for launch. Interrogative estimated time.

  Estimate one eight minutes before projection transfer.

  Understand one efght minutes. Standing by. What else could I do?

  I checked the EDI, but there were no major energy sources within range of the scout's detectors. Several bea­cons appeared, basically locators on dark bodies in the Tro­jan group, the kind of space junk that screens and detectors didn't always pick up.

  As I waited, I found my thoughts drifting back to Sien­dra. Just who was s|ie? The quietiy humorous and witty woman who saw far more than she let on? The brilliant reg compliance consultant? The extraordinary pilot? Of course, she was all three, but... behind the different facades which attribute was paramount? Or was the gestalt something beyond the attributes?

  Was I being fair or accurate? Could anyone be described in terms of perceived attributes? Could I? Why was I trying so hard to define a woman I'd ignored for years? And why had I ignored someone so quietiy attractive and intelligent? Merely because she was my sister's business partner?

  The second field transfer swooped in on me even more quickly than the first and with the same bicolored brilliant light. That I hadn't sensed anything jolted me as much as the sudden shift in position. My personal questions about Siendra had to wait

  In the instants after we were hurled back into normspace at an impossibly high velocity relative to system bodies, I ran through the system diagnostics. All indicators remained in the green.

  Coyote lead, Coyote one in the green. Ready for launch.

  Stet. Coyote one, commencing acceleration this time.

  Ready for acceleration.' I was pressed back into the scout's couch even before I finished my link to Siendra. Gee forces continued to build before leveling out at close to six, jamming me into the back half of my armor. That was the way it felt, anyway.

  Except for the comparatively large-mass system bodies, my detectors showed nothing. I would have liked to link into those of the corvette, but that link didn't exist. All I could do was watch and wait. The theory behind the attack approach was simple—seemingly impossibly high in-system velocities, coming in-system from out-system, at such high speeds that no standard defense could adapt, and so suddenly that the defenders had no time to react by spraying all sorts of matter into the scout's flight path.

  The gee forces remained stable.

  Time to release. Fifteen on my mark. MARK!

  Stet. Fifteen from mark.

  The magcouplers let go exactly on time, and the gasjets separated us. I hit full accel as soon as I had enough separa­tion, and my attitude didn't leave the drives angled at the corvette. The scout's gee load was actually lower than the corvette's had been, but the cumulative velocity continued to build. I had to push away the thoughts about where I'd end up if anything went wrong.

  My concentration—and calculations—had the scout di­rected on a course-line vector fed into the scout from the corvette just before separation. I knew my detectors wouldn't pick up the target for the first quarter stan after separation. That knowledge didn't help my state of mind as the scout accelerated in-system| on a direct line for Voltaire, thou­sands of emkays ahead, yet with that distance shrinking prodigiously. Somewhere behind and above me, Siendra was piloting the Aquitaine on a curved arc that was sup­posed to bring us together for a rendezvous just short of Voltaire. If I hit my targets correcdy ... if the interaction of the projection field and the scout and my modified torps worked as designed...

  If they all didn't, the odds were still that die Frankans wouldn't survive, because they'd b
e slashed to shreds by the energy and debris that would result from imperfect har­monies, but some of that debris would be me and the scout I was working for harmony, because that was the only way I'd survive.

  Suddenly... I could pick out the energy distortion pat­tern that marked my target entry point. All I had to do was make the center of tfyat faint sphere of energy distortion. Even with the EDI focused and on full sensitivity, that tar­get area winked in and out of existence. Although the brief­ings hadn't mentioned it I had the feeling that I wouldn't be doing myself or ijbe scout ship or the mission much good if I hit the targfct area at a time when there was no energy distortion.

  Then indeed, I would be headed downward to darkness on extended wings. Even if scout ships were only lifting bodies without wings.

  The energy target field flicked in and out of existence. There was some sort of pattern, but the analyzer couldn't determine it Not only that, but there was no way to deter­mine distance and closure because the energy wasn't in the "now" long enough for the EDI to lock in the range. I kept the acceleration constant.

  I was almost on the pattern when it vanished.

  My gut reaction wis to cut the drives. I didn't I boosted the acceleration slightly, all that I could, and the energy field swelled around me. This time, the white and blue merged into a coruscating intensity that burned through my closed eyelids.

  I opened my eyes and focused on the shipnet. Ahead, swelling rapidly, was a roughly spherical shape that looked like a solid nickel-iron asteroid. The EDI emissions indi­cated that it was neither solid nor an asteroid.

  Torp one... arm... launch.

  Torp two... arm... launch.

  As soon as the second torp was away, I used the steering jets to angle the scout, so that the continuing acceleration would carry me wide of the target.

  I was supposed to be well clear before the torps struck, but I had no way to tell if the separation was adequate. It must have been, because the EDI registered a violent surge of energy, and the minimal shields of the scout shuddered. That was it... no sound of explosions in space, because nothing carries sound. No lighting up of things because there's no atmosphere to diffuse the light. Just a flare of energy on the EDI.

  Then ... there was another brilliant blue-white flash that filled the scout, if instantiy and tunelessly. Had that been a backlash from the collapse of the Frankans' Hawking field ... or from the sisters' far weaker field?

  Before I could speculate more, I lurched forward against the restraints as the scout hit the second energy pattern, and red-violet light flared around me. On the far side of that, I was farther in-system.

  Behind me the EDI indicated a faint haze where the pseudoasteroid had been. That haze showed that it was still there. Yet, before I had entered the projection field, it had been destroyed, with only residual dispersing energy and no haze.

  I hoped that meant that I'd dropped backtime some—but not too little, I hoped. More would be better than less, within limits. The chronological uncertainties could be more than an inconvenience, it was clear.

  I steadied the scout on the course line aimed at Voltaire's north pole, immediately cut the acceleration to nil, and began checking the EDI and detectors for signs of the Aquitaine and Siendra.

  Five and a half minutes later, the energy haze that rep­resented the Frankan installation flared, then vanished. I couldn't help but take a deep breath.

  I was still worried.'From what I could tell, my in-system velocity was more than thirty percent higher than calcu­lated. The time-drop-delay had been calculated, theoreti­cally, to let the Aquitaine get farther in-system so that with my higher velocity I would make the rendezvous from out-system, but the delay had been less than projected, and that could mean more than a little trouble.

  Another three minutes passed before I could detect the Aquitaine.

  Coyote lead, approaching from your one seven three.

  Coyote one, Coyote lead standing by for link. Couplers ready. Suggest decel.

  I almost laughed at the dryness of her tone, even over the link. I immediately hit full decel for three minutes. I was still on decel as I checked closure. Still too fast.

  Request thirty percent acceleration. Decel beyond my parameters.

  Stet. Accelerating this time. Forty percent.

  Siendra was right. Absolute velocity didn't matter where we were, just so long as we were on course and linked. Rel­ative closure rates were everything ... if we had enough power reserves.

  Even with full decel, I was still closing too fast. I cut power to the shields and fed it into the drives. The scout shuddered, and the converter temperature began to rise to­ward redline. The Aquitaine continued to accelerate, and the closure rate dropped into the amber. High amber, but amber.

  The converter temp flirted with redline but remained just below.

  Sweat oozed down the back of my neck, leaving my shoulders cold in thearmor.

  Coyote lead, estimate CPA in one plus twenty. I finished fine-tuning the scout's shields so that they matched the hull profile.

  Coyote one, couplers ready.

  Shields flat, retainers charged. Standing by.

  The docking was hard, so hard that I raided around in my armor and my forehead hit the armaglass. Somehow Sien­dra used the gasjets to lift the Aquitaine's aft section, then contracted her shields to the corvette's hull.

  Linked and secure, Coyote one.

  Well done! Very well done, Coyote lead. After a moment, I added, Thank you.

  You did your part just as well, Coyote one. Thank you.

  What else could I say at the moment?

  Altering course this time. Coyote one.

  Stet. Interrogative time to transition.

  Estimate one six standard minutes.

  Stet.

  I went back over the scout's diagnostics. The shield gen­erators were barely in the green, occasionally flickering into the amber. Power reserves were down, barely enough for the last phase of the mission, but the drain for habitabil-ity until my next separation from the Aquitaine would be minimal, comparatively. All I had to do was watch and wait.

  I did that, noting as Voltaire—and Devanta beyond— grew larger and larger in the detector screens.

  Coyote one, two plus to transition.

  Stet. Coyote one green. Standing by.

  The diffuse energy focus was barely discernible on the scout's detectors.

  We twisted back through time and forward in distance, so that we were barely above the level of a geostationary orbit around Devanta.

  Backtime estimated at twenty-one minutes.

  That wasn't that long in the grand scheme of things, but it should have been enough to leave Maraniss and Eloi without enough time to react.

  Coyote one, commencing reentry this time.

  The Acquitaine didn't have low-level atmospheric land­ing capabilities. The only spacecraft that did were shuttles like the hilifter and scouts. Siendra's job was to get me down into the high stratosphere on the proper course line because scouts didn't carry sensitive enough nav gear for long-range planetary orientation. If I wanted to surprise Eloi and Maraniss, I needed to be on target at high speed.

  Stet. Interrogative ppwer.

  Power parameters Will be tight, Coyote one.

  If Siendra said they'd be tight, they'd be tight.

  How tight?

  Tight.

  The scout couldn't Calculate those vectors and power re­quirements, but my guts told me she wouldn't make it under those conditions, and she'd be too high for a safe capsule drop and too low for orbital recovery. The proverbial dead pdot's curve.

  Interrogative power with a release at minus two.

  Negative early release.

  If you don't release Coyote one at minus two to release, Coyote one will sever links and accelerate at that time.

  There was the slightest hesitation.

  Will release at minus one point five.

  Stet. Coyote one will go full power at one point six mi­nus
. I wouldn't, because that was just outside my limits, but I had to tell her that I wouldn't let her stretch it out.

  Stet. Even over the links she didn't sound happy. I didn't care. I wanted her to have a chance to get out of it all alive.

  Three plus twenty to release at minus one point five.

  Understand three plus twenty—now ten—to release at minus one point five. Standing by.

  Even with the scout's shields at max, the outside temps were rising. That always happened with high-speed reentry. Nesded beneath the corvette, with fluxes and high-temp os­cillations swirling around the scout, I was effectively blind. I would be until I was well clear of the corvette and lower in the stratosphere.

  Centered on reentry course line this time. Two to release.

  Standing by for release.

  The corvette bucked, then steadied. I checked all the readouts. Still blind.

  Releasing now! Good luck!

  There was no point in replying, not with the instant infer­ence upon separation.

  The scout tried to buck upward as we separated, but I held the nose down, making sure that I wasn't overridden by the emergencies. I didn't want the Aquitaine suffering any last-moment damage.

  For the next minute plus, all I could do was hold the scout in the right heading and attitude. Then the instruments began to register. I was only five degrees off heading, but coming in high and hot. I made both corrections quickly. At my velocity, waiting could be fatal.

  Once more, after I was on target, the fallback position was even greater destruction. If I failed on the final ap­proach, there would be little enough left of Time's End. If I made the approach and failed to nullify the console, both the PDF and the Garda were standing by to attack in force if necessary. I didn't want to give them that option. Call it a matter of pride. Also a matter of survival. With their weapons, neither the scout nor I would survive.

  Once the outside temps dropped, I raised the nose to kill off more speed and increase my rate of descent to get closer to the planned descent angle.

  After a few moments more, the screens registered the western coastiine near Nordhavre, if well below me. Be­yond to the east lay the Malmonts and the Nordmonts.