“Uh…” Bill said, suddenly realizing that he’d put his foot in it.
“We’re not, sir,” Mimi said, grinning. “Those were all real words.”
“I apparently need to go back to school,” Spectre said dryly. “Among other things, I have no basis on which to make a decision of my own. I have to depend utterly on your and Commander Weaver’s recommendations. That is not a position a captain wishes to be in. The worst part about it, from the POV of a captain who wants to be an admiral, is that the future space navy is going to have to have commanders who do understand what you just said. One question, though: Why couldn’t we get this information before we went through that last transition?”
“We didn’t have the data, sir,” Bill pointed out. “Until we figured out how to fit the data we have to a curve we had nothing to go on. We couldn’t have it until we reached this point. Now we do.”
“Will we have to do this every single time?” the CO asked.
“No, sir, I think Mimi is right,” Bill said, scratching his head again. “Once we’ve done it and figured out how to use our instruments to do this, we should be able to measure the needed data for the fit before we enter into the spacetime fluctuations.” Weaver smiled and felt that feeling that he always did after solving a hard problem. That feeling was different than the ones he got from successful command decisions. Both were satisfying but he had missed the problem-solving feeling quite a bit. “That means we’ll be able to write algorithms to handle it automatically. Plug in the nature of the system and the computer will tell us how to do it. Hmmm…”
“Very well, Commander Weaver,” the CO said after a moment. “Recommendations?”
“Oh,” Bill said, jerking out of his reverie and pointing to the forward viewscreen. “Warp One, sir, and point it at the star. Stop when we hit the first gravity wave. I’ll recompute based on that.”
“Pilot, make it so,” the captain said. “Miss Jones, why don’t you take my seat again?”
“Thank you, sir,” Mimi said, climbing up in the swivel chair and strapping in. She spun around so she could watch Weaver work.
The boat headed for the star for about three minutes, then everyone felt the strange disorientation of the grav transition.
“All halt,” the CO ordered.
“Dropping to normal space,” the pilot said. “All halt.”
Bill looked over at the gravitometer that had been mounted by his station and punched in the results from the last gravity wave. Now that he knew about the effect he was already considering changes to the software to automate the process, but for the time being he was going to have to do it mostly by the seat of his pants.
“Captain, permission to take the conn,” Bill said.
“Navigator has the conn,” the CO replied as another gravity wave passed.
“Oh, I just wanna die,” Miriam muttered. “Thank you, Tuffy.”
The spider sank down and wrapped the back of her neck in its legs and started to purr.
“Thank you, Tuffy.”
“Pilot, set eyeball course for the star,” Bill said. “Set for Warp Three Dot One Four Six. Initiate on my mark.”
“On course,” the pilot said, swallowing nervously. “Warp Three Dot One Four Six set.”
Bill looked at his instruments and waited.
“Three, two, one… mark!”
As the gravity wave just started to hit, the boat went into warp, hurtling forward. There was still the sick-making feeling of sudden free fall followed by lateral pressure, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as the first transition.
“Tchar,” Bill said, opening up a communicator to the engine room. “How’s the ball?”
“Holding,” Tchar replied. “I have increased the strength of the mag field so as long as we take no more than one point six Earth standard gravity laterally it should be fine.”
“Good to hear,” Bill said, watching his instruments.
“XO?” the captain asked.
“All stations report condition green,” the XO replied. “Boat is holding nominal.”
“Congratulations, Commander Weaver,” the CO said as a gentle wave passed through the boat. “It seems to be working.”
“We haven’t hit the max G yet, sir,” Bill said. “But if my calculations are right—”
“Point Three Two Four more warp,” Mimi said. “In about ten seconds.”
“You’re sure?” Bill asked.
“The wave is going to double up,” Mimi said. “That way you’ll skip right past it. At this warp… I think we’ll hold together.”
“I see the point you’re talking about,” Bill said. “Pilot… Prepare to increase to Warp Three Dot Four Seven Zero on my mark. Four, three, two, one… Mark!”
The wave was heavier than the others, but not boat-shattering. And almost immediately after, the waves fell off to nothing.
“Transition zone passed, sir,” Bill said.
“Captain has the conn,” the CO said. “Astrogation, course?”
“Head for the star?” Bill asked. “There are two known planets in the system, both gas giants. One is in close, two astronomical units out, the other at about twenty-eight AU. Recommend we simply head inward to about one AU, literally keeping an eye out for planets on the way, and park in an orbit around the sun. At that point, the science team can start scanning. We’re going to have to adjust to local movement, though.”
“That’s going to be interesting,” the XO said.
“Turns out you’re not up to be implanted by an alien monster, Hatt,” Jaenisch said as the morning formation broke up. The Marines, like everyone else, had huddled in during chill but it was time to get back to work. “We’re doing computer assisted training. Berg’s getting fitted for his Wyvern. Tomorrow is more Wyvern maintenance for most of the platoon but Berg’s going to be in the sim for the next three days, then he does a Wyvern Common Tasks test. If he passes that we’re scheduled for ten hours of team train in the sims. If you don’t, Nugget, we’re going to be doing more maintenance, so you’d better pass.”
“I usually smoke WCT,” Berg said. “Shouldn’t be an issue.”
Berg had been involved in loading the Wyverns and had seen them lining the missile compartment, but this was the first time he’d seen the manual for one.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, scanning the directory. Wyverns were pretty easy to get around in; they more or less mimicked normal human motion. The tough part of WCT was always the communications and sensors section. And the commo and sensors section of the manual was three times the size of the Mark Four. There was also a zero-gee section of the WCT. Basically, the WCT had been doubled in size. He set the pad down and adjusted his bodysuit. The one problem with the Wyverns, from Berg’s point of view, was that you had to wear nothing but this damned cat-suit.
“They’re a ball-buster,” Lyle whispered. “Hop in.”
Wyvern 6719 was opened up and ready for an occupant; the straps and sensors, though, were either removed or dangling in place.
The Mark V Wyvern was three meters tall. Two and a half meters of that was the “Pilot Compartment,” the big “belly” of the armor where the human rode and piloted the machine. Extending more or less from the shoulders were metallic arms capable of almost full range of motion and extending from the “hips” were relatively stubby metallic legs. Mounted on top, where a human’s head would be, was the primary sensor pod, a dome that was currently showing its standard black. Like the rest of the Mark V, it could mimic various colors and patterns. Inside the sensor dome was the sensor suite composed of not only visible light cameras but thermal imagery, lidar, radar and, in the Space Marine version, sensors to detect just about any known particle.