Empire & Ecolitan

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  The Lieutenant did not acknowledge his statement, but was already kneeling to reopen the hatch.

  Berlan stood on the other side of the hatch, ostensibly checking the bulkhead panel containing the lock circuits and controls. As the Lieutenant dropped through the full iris of the hatch, he looked up to meet the Major’s eyes, then looked away.

  “Berlan!”

  “Yes, Captain?”

  “Did you run a full-surge through the screens?”

  “No, Captain. Can’t until we’re clear of the station. We’re at a standard lock port, not at a Service lock.”

  “Sorry…forgot about that.”

  Jimjoy nodded imperceptibly. She asked the right questions, although he wondered why the Carpenter had not been able to get a full-Service lock.

  He caught Berlan’s eye. “No facilities for couriers?”

  “Not for a Ramsour, Major.”

  Jimjoy nearly choked, turned the feeling into a cough. “The Commander Ramsour? Her father?”

  “Uncle.” The tech’s voice lowered. “She won the Armitage…understand they couldn’t deny her pilot training…finished in top ten percent…with everyone out to bust her.”

  “Berlan…are you spreading gossip again?”

  The Lieutenant looked up at the two men before flipping herself up and into the passage with a single fluid movement that Jimjoy envied.

  Berlan flushed.

  “Don’t listen to him, Major. He thinks the whole universe is out to get me because Steven Ramsour was my uncle. But his paranoia counters my unfounded optimism.” She resealed the hatch and straightened, brushing back short black hair with her left hand. The hair was too short to need brushing, but even that nervous gesture was graceful.

  Jimjoy glanced at the standard embossed wings and name on her gray shipsuit—LT RAE RAMSOUR, ISC.

  “Yes…the name is Ramsour. That’s me.”

  Jimjoy merely nodded. The more he heard, the less he liked it.

  “Have you ever heard of a Commander by the name of Hersnik, Lieutenant?”

  “Hersnik? I don’t believe so.”

  Jimjoy was convinced she had recognized the name, especially when she did not ask for his reasons for asking the question.

  “Carpenter? Berlan, release the double-damned lock and give me a hand with your flaming fresh food.” The gravelly voice issuing from the lock control panel could only be that of the missing R’Naio.

  Berlan reached for the control.

  The Lieutenant nodded sharply toward the control board. “Let’s get you on your way, Major.”

  Jimjoy turned, took a step, and dropped back into the copilot’s shell, this time cinching the straps in place.

  “Skitter pilot, too?”

  “Sometimes.” He realized that the Lieutenant, while not experienced, was sharp. Too bad that she was being allowed to climb too fast, although that was also predictable. Intelligence, arrogance, grace, looks, and disguised femininity…and a case to prove for the entire Service—Hersnik had a lot to work with, and Jimjoy had probably handed him the solution to two problems on a platter.

  He thumbed the checklist prompt.

  “Power one…”

  “…standby,” she answered.

  “Power two…”

  The checklist was quick enough, and the Carpenter showed in the green.

  “Alphane beta, this is Desperado. Standing by for pushaway. Orbit break, corridor three. Clearance delta.”

  “Desperado, beta. Cleared for break. Estimate pushaway in three stans. Clearance is green. Report when clear of station.”

  “Beta, Desperado. Stet. Will report when clear.”

  “Lock links are clear, Captain.” Berlan’s voice was raspy through the board speakers.

  Sssssssss.

  Only a faint scraping sound marked the separation of ship and station.

  “Don’t,” cautioned Jimjoy as the Lieutenant looked from the DMI to the course line display.

  “Don’t what, Major?” Her voice was low, sharp.

  “Don’t report clearance until we’re actually powered.”

  “Sloppy procedure.”

  “Survival procedure.”

  “Care to explain, Major?” Rae Ramsour’s face stiffened.

  “No. You can trust me or not. Couldn’t explain, but don’t survive as Special Operative without trusting your instincts. Hersnik is out to get you and me. I set you up. Not intentionally, but I owe you. Now…trust me or not. Up to you.”

  Her mouth had dropped slightly, but only slightly, at his mention of being a Special Operative.

  “Special Operative?”

  “Why else would I be going to New Kansaw on a courier?”

  She shook her head. “You handle the comm, then. Since you seem to think it will make a difference.”

  “Might not. Can’t hurt, though.”

  Jimjoy could feel Berlan looking toward them, but the technician said nothing. Neither did R’Naio, wherever she was.

  He waited as Ramsour’s long fingers played across the board, watching as the DMI showed greater and greater separation from beta orbit control, waiting as the ship’s acceleration built.

  “Alphane beta, this is Desperado. Reporting orbit break this time. Outbound corridor three. Estimated time to jump point four plus five.”

  “Desperado, beta control. Understand four plus five to jump. Interrogative delay.”

  Jimjoy could tell that Ramsour wanted to ask the same question, but had not.

  “Beta, Desperado. Require additional en route testing of equipment. Power shunts were not available Alphane station. Proceeding as cleared this time.”

  “Stet, Desperado. Your clearance is green.”

  Jimjoy continued to watch the panel, particularly the energy tracks on the EDI, to see if beta control would launch a message torp. But the EDI showed only the station and a single incoming ship, cruiser-sized, on corridor two.

  “Paranoid as Berlan, aren’t you?”

  “More, probably,” answered Jimjoy. “Would you mind another paranoid suggestion?”

  “Suggestion? Or a strong recommendation?” Her voice bore a tinge of exasperation.

  “Whatever you want to call it.”

  “I’m waiting, Major.”

  “Boost your angle…enough that we’ll end up at about plus two by jump point…”

  “Be happy to, but won’t that actually delay our jump time, not to mention the distortion?”

  “It would…if we wait until projected jump time.”

  Ramsour half turned toward the Special Operative. “Major, I do not appreciate half-explained, ‘I know best,’ patronizing schemes. While I appreciate fully your interest in maintaining both our hides, I personally operate a great deal more effectively when I fully understand what is intended. And I might actually be able to help.”

  Jimjoy repressed a smile.

  “All right. First, what’s the normal-matter-density distribution pattern relative to a system’s ecliptic? Second, what’s the purpose of a jump corridor? Third, why do the normal power cross-channels not allow diversion from the polarizer?”

  “So we don’t get turned into particles of various sizes?”

  “Try again, and would you mind boosting our angle, say—”

  “Since I don’t yet understand your machinations, Major, please feel free to make the correction you would find appropriate.”

  Jimjoy could see the woman set her jaw. She also had the legendary Ramsour impatience, it appeared.

  “If you wouldn’t mind.” He turned his attention to the board, blotting out her coolness, and began making the adjustments.

  He could still feel her eyes on him, and on the board, as her fingers jabbed at her own calculations.

  “Rather a subtle course pattern, Major.”

  “No sense in making it obvious. It should look like carelessness, at least for a while.”

  “All right, Major Wright. I’ll go back to basics. First, matter density normally decreases with t
he distance from the mean plane to the ecliptic. A defined jump corridor is merely a path of lower matter density leading to one of the closer points outside a system where the matter density is low enough to permit a safe jump. Third, the grav polarizer is not cross-connected to the power shunts because a courier has an acceleration capability sufficient to damage an unfielded ship and its crew.”

  Jimjoy nodded. “Why do we have to stay in the ecliptic?”

  “Because…oh…it’s basically the lowest-power, least-error approach. But how much time will you gain? And how far into the reserves…?”

  “Not at all.” Jimjoy grinned. “I took the liberty of restoring full cross-connections to the Carpenter. Figure we’ll be clear enough to jump in about another one point five to two standard hours. In another ten, fifteen stans, start boosting accel. Drop to zero just before jump, and shift field and drives to screens.”

  “Are you planning the same sort of reentry?”

  “Why not? If you screw up a jump and end up too far above the jump corridor, what else can you do?”

  The Captain of the Carpenter shook her head slowly. “Should work.” She paused. “But why don’t more people figure it out?”

  “It’s in the more obscure tactics books, but what’s the most expensive part of operating a ship?”

  “Energy costs.” She paused, then asked, “But how does that square?”

  “It doesn’t.” He couldn’t help grinning further. “Question isn’t just energy. Matter of accuracy. Too far above the ecliptic, and the standard jump calculations don’t work. They include a constant for matter density. The level of variation increases exponentially with distance from the mean galactic plane…”

  “That’s a fiction.”

  “Mean galactic plane…you’re right again, but it’s useful in approximations of this sort.” Jimjoy paused to modify his early changes to the ship’s vertical course angle. “Some of the commercial freighters use the tactic all the time, especially on runs where they know the density variations. They change over time, unlike the corridors, which exist because of internal system dynamics. But the changes are slow. Problem is that military ships go everywhere, and besides, we’re not at war. So why complicate the business of navigation, not to mention boosting energy costs?”

  This time Rae Ramsour was the one to nod. “And every hot pilot would be trying to cut time, and flame the energy costs.”

  “You’ve got it. Also, the debris level is uneven, and over time that can play hades with screens.”

  “So for economic and maintenance reasons…”

  “And to simplify procedures for young pilots, not to mention increasing the defense capability of Imperial systems.”

  “How? What’s to prevent attackers from copying your tactics?”

  “Habit…and lack of information.”

  She laughed, brittlely. “It takes energy to determine local matter variations, and since no one but the Empire has the energy…but what about the Fuards, or the Halstanis, or the Arm traders?”

  “If they have, they aren’t telling, and neither would I.”

  Jimjoy continued to watch the board indicators as he talked, in particular those showing the cruiser inbound to Alphane on corridor two. But the cruiser bored in toward the Imperial planet and its orbit control stations on a steady course and angle.

  “Major, you are dangerous. No wonder they want you off Alphane.”

  “So are you, Lieutenant. And consorting with me won’t help.” He tried to keep his tone light, even as he tapped an inquiry into the board.

  “Desperado, Alphane beta. Interrogative time to jump. Interrogative time to jump.”

  “Rather interested, aren’t they?” noted Jimjoy.

  “Beta control, Desperado. Estimate three plus to jump. Three plus to jump.”

  “You lie effectively, Major.”

  “Just doing my best to preserve the Empire’s assets.”

  Rae Ramsour shook her head again.

  Jimjoy took a look at the spacial density readout and smiled wryly. If the thinning continued at the current level, jump was less than a standard hour away.

  XXXVIII

  “LESS THAN TEN stans to jump.”

  “I have this feeling,” murmured the Captain of the Carpenter.

  Jimjoy looked at the senior Lieutenant. “Recommend sealed shipsuits for jump, Captain.”

  Ramsour frowned. “What else haven’t you told me?”

  “Call it mere instinct. But if our shields have a flaw, the loving Emperor forbid, we won’t be in any position to—”

  “—make repairs. Or react.” The courier’s Captain straightened. “Berlan, R’Naio. Seal shipsuits for jump.”

  “Sealing suits, Captain.”

  Jimjoy sealed his own suit with the plastic shield, triggering the internal comm system. “Comm test.”

  “Clear, Major. Berlan?”

  “Hear you both, Captain.”

  “R’Naio?”

  “Clear enough.”

  “Would you like to set the jump, Major?”

  “If you don’t mind, Captain.”

  “Be my guest.”

  “All hands, strap in for maneuvers.”

  “Strapping in.”

  “Strapping in.”

  Jimjoy touched the controls, shifting power from the grav polarizer to the drives. A momentary lightness was replaced by the acceleration of the stepped-up drives.

  “Major…”

  “We’ll be fine.” Jimjoy’s voice was calm, but crisp, as he concentrated on positioning the ship for the jump. He doubted that anyone would be waiting at the fringes of the New Kansaw system, but if they were, they would scarcely be prepared for the jump-exit velocity he had in mind.

  “And I thought the Captain was a hadeshead…” The gravelly mutter was not meant to be heard, but the internal shipsuit pickups were voice-actuated and sensitive.

  Jimjoy grinned. He might yet improve Rae Ramsour’s situation, if only by comparison. Even if his presence as a noticeably senior officer had put her in an impossible position.

  “Two stans until jump.” Jimjoy could see the Lieutenant trying not to squirm in her shell.

  With less than thirty seconds before jump Jimjoy diverted all power from the drives to the ship’s screens, then watched the screen indicators, bleeding some of the power back to the jump generator.

  “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six…”

  At the word “six,” Jimjoy dropped all power into standby, letting the ship’s cutouts take over. Weightlessness brought his stomach into his throat. As he swallowed it back into place, the wave of blackness that defined a jump flashed over him.

  The blackness subsided, though the weightlessness did not, as the Carpenter popped back into normspace.

  As he studied the controls, Jimjoy was scarcely surprised. Internal pressure was dropping to zero, and the shields were inoperative.

  “Remain suited. Internal pressure loss.” He began to unstrap. “Captain, appreciate it if you left power off both drives and screens until I see if I can locate the cause of the problem.”

  “You don’t seem surprised, Major.”

  “Would have been surprised if there hadn’t been a problem.”

  Jimjoy unstrapped and made his way to the access hatch, where Berlan had already begun to open the iris. The tech said nothing as the Special Operative slipped down into the space below.

  As Jimjoy suspected, one of the superconductor lines was black. That was the easy problem.

  Berlan watched as Jimjoy eased the spent line from first one socket, then the other. Installing one of the spares was done almost as quickly.

  “Captain, power up on the screens.”

  “Powering up.”

  The line shimmered dusty silver.

  “Screens are in the green, Major.”

  “Course line?”

  “Estimate two plus to New Kansaw orbit control. We’re at about one and a half plus on the high side.”

  “What’s th
e reserve on oxygen?”

  “Two full pressurizations.”

  The Special Operative removed the temperature probe from the equipment locker and began to sweep the lower deck, concentrating on the inside hull plates.

  One of the plates behind the screen generator was noticeably colder.

  “Dropping the screen generator off-line, Captain.”

  “Can you make it quick, Major?”

  “Debris?”

  “Not for another fifteen stans at our inbound.”

  “Stet.”

  Jimjoy used the manual shunt to drop the generator offline. Then he squeezed around the bulk of the generator. A neat hole had been drilled, probably with a laser cutter, at an angle to the plate, virtually invisible unless looked for. The secondary ship’s screens probably had held a plug in place on the other side. When the screens failed, the internal pressure had knocked the plug out and depressurized the ship.

  The sealant tube in the small equipment locker did the work.

  Jimjoy repowered the screens.

  “Ready to repressurize, Captain.”

  “Repressurizing, Major.”

  “Stand by for atmospheric tests, Berlan.”

  “Internal monitoring ready, Major.”

  Jimjoy climbed out from the lower deck hatch, leaving the iris open. Then he strapped back into the copilot’s seat.

  “Wonder you Special Operatives can even function, you’re so paranoid,” noted the Lieutenant. Her voice was dry.

  “Some days we have trouble.”

  “Internal atmosphere tests normal, Captain. But it’s still cold. Suggest you wait another five stans before you unseal.”

  “Thanks, Berlan.”

  Jimjoy studied the control board, looking for a discrepancy, any discrepancy. Surprisingly, he found none, and that bothered him.

  “What next, Major?”

  “We dock at New Kansaw orbit control, and you wait for Lieutenant L’tellen. I report planetside, and Berlan checks out all the hull plates and runs current tests on all the superconductor lines. You become more paranoid, and R’Naio poisons everyone with fresh food, assuming that any of those comestibles survived the instant vacuum packing they received.”

  “No more fresh food,” muttered the other tech.