Parker's Folly (33 page)

“Great!” the Gunny said sarcastically. “So we may have to take on a whole planet full of alien hostiles when we get there. I think we need to advance our training schedule.”

On a Navy vessel, the captain usually has a private mess where he can either dine alone or with a few invited guests. This precludes the need for the ship's other officers to be on best behavior in the wardroom and also cuts down on informal petitions to the Captain during a meal. Since Folly was a private yacht, not a Navy vessel, such accommodations had not been included.

Captain Jack had a choice of eating alone in his sea cabin or taking meals in the guests' dinning room, which doubled for the officers' mess or wardroom. He was just finishing a light dinner, preparing to relieve Gretchen for second dog and evening watchs, when Ludmilla approached his table.

“I beg your pardon, Captain, but might I have a word?”

“Certainly, Doctor. Please take a seat.”

Ignoring the Captain's invitation to sit, Ludmilla continued. “I would like to apologize for my earlier behavior, my disbelief of your explanation.”

The Captain pushed his chair back from the table and looked Ludmilla in the eyes. “On reflection, it was unfair of me to ask you to accept so much fantastical information so soon after your ordeal on the ISS. Your reaction was quite understandable.”

He is trying to let me save face,
Ludmilla realized,
this will not do.
“Captain, I spoke ill of you before other members of this expedition. I even questioned your sanity in front them. As a medical doctor I should never have done such a thing.”

Jack wrinkled his brow in thought.
This is no perfunctory apology,
s
he is really serious about this. Very well
. “Dr. Tropsha, I accept your apology, think nothing more of it. We can move forward as though it never happened.”

Relief softened Ludmilla's features. “Thank you, Captain.”

“And now that that is over with, I would count it a favor if you would resume calling me Jack when we are alone.” Jack motioned to the empty dinning area with a sweep of one hand.

Ludmilla looked around, surprise registering on her face. “They have all gone!”

Jack placed his napkin on his plate and standing, moved next to her. “I must stand the next two watches tonight, but tomorrow my evening will be free. Would you join me for dinner, if I promise no new unbelievable revelations?”

“Yes, Jack,” she said, her pale blue eyes looking deep into his, “I would very much like to take up where we left off.”

The cargo hold was under zero-g, its cavernous space filled with bouncing, grotesque figures in graphite black. At first glance they moved randomly—like ping pong balls in a lottery machine—ricocheting off of the bulkheads, deck and overhead. Upon closer observation, they were also bouncing off of each other.

More specifically, all the smaller figures were concentrating their attention on a single outsized individual. The large grotesque was swatting its tormentors away like flies. It landed on all fours and came off the ceiling at fairly low velocity, allowing two of the smaller ones to hit it from opposite sides simultaneously. The triad of figures cartwheeled, throwing the two smaller ones off in new directions while the central figure tumbled end over end.

As the combatants collected themselves for another foray, Lt. Curtis, who was observing from the second deck internal airlock, signaled an end to the exercise. The large figure righted itself and drifted toward her, removing its helmet to reveal Lt. Bear's furry white head within. “That was just starting to become fun, Lieutenant,” he opined.

The helmet he held in one large gauntleted paw was much different from the clear fishbowl models that the shore party had worn. It more closely resembled a motorcycle helmet with a dark, wraparound visor area and solid material everywhere else.

His two assailants proved to be JT and Washington, the two largest members of the remaining cadre. They were also clad in the sinister looking near black armor, which closer inspection showed was made of many narrow segmented bands. The bands encircled limbs and torsos, and overlapped in complex patterns in areas requiring joint movement.

The dark, graphite color came from the armor material itself—a metallic ceramic reinforced with an overlapping matrix of nano tubes. Hard, refractory and almost shatter proof, it was similar to the ship's hull material, though lighter in weight. Beneath the bands of hard ceramic was a layer of complex polymer that helped hold the individual bands together while providing flexible movement. The polymer remained flexible over a wide range of temperatures but had an additional property—when struck sharply the molecular chains throughout the impacted area locked together, stiffening the armor shell and helping to distribute the force of the blow.

“From the way you just gang-tackled Bear, I'll just bet that both of you boys played football in high school,” Gretchen said with a crooked smile on her face.

“Just a little coordinated teamwork, Lieutenant.” JT smiled and high-fived his co-tackler. Washington just grinned, it was fun being able to hit someone flat out in practice without worrying about hurting them.

The Gunny came drifting over to join the conversation. “You two were supposed to pin him so I could hit him from behind.”

“Yeah, about five or six more of you and I might have to put some real effort into this,” Bear snorted. He was panting a bit though Gretchen did not doubt his ability, or eagerness, to continue the roughhousing.

“So how do the suits feel? Is there enough freedom of movement? Do the joints bind?”

“It feels pretty good to me,” JT remarked. “Your not going to do any jumping jacks with it on, but it didn't hinder me much at all.”

The Gunny nodded agreement. “Yeah, there is some restriction if you try to lift your arms high above your head. It's hard making the joints full motion without creating vulnerabilities.”

As the rest of the Marines gathered around, LCpl Reagan said, “I'm getting a bit of chafing around the underarms and groin area.”

“Me too,” added Two Can. The smaller man was obviously more taxed by wearing the additional armor than big men like Washington and Reagan.

“We'll see what we can do to improve the tailoring in the next version,” the Gunny added. Overall she was feeling pretty good about the way the armor was turning out. If they had been wearing this stuff in the crater the Moon spiders would not have wounded any of the shore party.

“The field of vision is a bit restricted,” fretted Sizemore, who suffered from claustrophobia.

“We're working on that, Corporal. Final version will have cameras for wraparound vision, overhead too. Plus, it will have heads up displays for sensors, targeting and map info. You'll be able to see the positions of the whole squad at a glance.” JT was greatly enjoying working on this stuff, it was way better than the Army's proposed Future Force Warrior gear.

Gretchen looked to Bear and asked, “how about you, Lieutenant? Any chafing or binding?”

“Not really. My limbs don't swing around as much as you monkeys' do. I think I'm going to need more cooling though, it was getting damn hot when we were bouncing around.”

“Yeah,” JT made a note, “We are going to have to add bigger back packs with more environmental capacity. And we are going to need to redesign the rail guns to work with the armor's bigger gauntlets.”

“I've got some ideas about that,” the Gunny volunteered. “Have you ever seen a KTS—a Kel-Tec Shotgun? Very compact, with dual 7 round tubular magazines. If we use a similar design for the 20mm launcher and add the 5mm flechette launcher on top we would have a weapon with a lot more room for mittens and bigger selector controls.”

JT's eyes lit up. “I know just what you're talking about, I fired one at a local gun shop. Since the rail gun launchers don't need to eject empty shells it will work out even better. If we put a rest on the butt that fits over the forearm at the elbow you could easily fire one single handed.”

Looking at the assembled Marines, Gretchen shook her head.
They're like a bunch of kids, anticipating Christmas morning with presents under the tree. I just hope we don't get a bunch of them killed.

Ludmilla had just finished doing her rounds in sick bay and was headed to her quarters for a quick nap. She wanted to be fresh for her dinner with the Captain—second chances are rare in life, as she well knew.
You will not screw this up, Luda,
she commanded herself.

Coming out of the companionway from the upper deck she almost ran into Ivan, who seemed to be lurking in the passenger's lounge area as if waiting for someone.

“Hello, Ivan. I have not seen you around much these past few days,” Ludmilla said in Russian.

The Russian Colonel replied in the same language, “I have been studying the ship's specifications, those that I can gain access too. Which is what you should be doing, instead of acting like a party girl with the Amazon Lieutenant and the news whore.”

Ludmilla's face hardened into an emotionless mask. “You act like an uncultured peasant! Explain yourself.”

“Do you deny that you were drinking in the lounge two nights ago with your new girlfriends? Or that the blond newswoman spent the night with one of the helmsmen—the  cowboy? Do you think this is a vacation on the Crimea or a cruse on the Baltic?”

“How dare you! You who have been sneaking around like a KGB spy trying to steal secrets from everyone. Beware, Ivan
Alexievitch, or you will end up like that little would-be rapist.”

“Who? Tommy?” Shock registered on Ivan's face. “I have been looking for him, do you know where he is!”

“He is locked up for assaulting that poor girl. He is lucky that the Chief handed out the punishment, the Captain might have been even harsher.”

“Tell me where he is!” Ivan made a lunge for her, but Ludmilla skipped away, avoiding his grasp. Early in her career in the Russian Federation Air Forces, where both the vodka and testosterone flow freely, Ludmilla had taken up practicing Russian martial arts. That included Combat Sambo Spetsnaz, otherwise known as Systema, and more traditional Sambo. Still, Ivan outweighed her and as a doctor, she knew better than most the difference between male and female upper body strength—she definitely did not want to grapple with him.

“I warn you Colonel Kondratov, I will shout for help if you persist.”

“There is no one else around,” he sneered. “The Marines are playing with their new toys and the crew is either standing watch or sleeping.”

“You are a fool, Ivan. Do you not realize that the ship's computer monitors everything that happens on board?” Adding in English, “Is that not correct, Folly.”

“Yes, Dr. Tropsha. I continuously monitor all habitable spaces on board to ensure the health and safety of the crew.”

“Who was that?” Ivan demanded, panic in his eyes as he looked furtively about the empty lounge.

“That is the voice of the ship's computer, Ivan. Do you think that the Captain does not know about your subterfuge, your skulking about with that little weasel?

“
Sooka! You traitorous bitch! All you want to do is worm your way into the Captain's bed.”

“Go to hell, Ivan. You were the one who told me I should do just that. Perhaps I will sleep with Jack, but not for Russia and certainly not for you. Stay away from me,
ot'ebis'!
”

With fear and hatred in his eyes, Ivan exited the lounge aft, toward the crew's quarters.
J
ebat
'-
kopat
'
! Thought Ludmilla. I have to warn Jack about Ivan. How do I explain that my countryman is a horses ass? And I was so hoping for a simple, romantic evening.

The Captain was flitting around his cabin like a nervous
maître d
' picking up and rearranging small items. There was a magnum of Champagne cooling in a bucket between the chairs in the sitting room, two glasses waiting on the table. Since this was a visit of a (hopefully) personal nature, Jack had dispensed with the steward.

Come on! You're acting like it's the first time you've had a woman over to your place. Well actually, this is the first time I've had a woman over to this place, at least the first time for purely social reasons.

The voice of the ship's computer interrupted his building panic attack. “Dr. Tropsha is at the door, Captain. Should I invite her in?”

“No, Folly. I'll get the door.” Jack almost ran to the cabin door. Before opening it he paused to smooth his jumpsuit and check his appearance in the mirror on the wall.
Well, here goes.
He pressed the control and the door slid open.

“Good evening, Ludmilla,” Jack said in what he hoped was an even, measured tone. “Won't you please come in?”

Ludmilla smiled. “Good evening, Jack. It is good to be here, again.” Jack stood aside with a welcoming sweep of his arm. Ludmilla entered the cabin and the door slid silently shut behind her.

“I thought that we would start with some champagne this time. A toast as it were to new beginnings.”

Ludmilla walked over to the champagne bucket and examined the bottle resting there. “Taittinger, Comtes de Champagne Blanc de Blancs 1998. Very impressive.”

“Really? Is that a good year?”

“Quite, and hard to find these days.”

“Well you can credit TK Parker's good taste, or that of his wine steward. I just looked in the ship's stores and picked one. Should I pour?”

“Yes, please do.” Ludmilla hesitated, and then said with some trepidation, “Jack, there is something we need to discuss before the evening can progress.”

Jack looked up from pouring the Champagne.
Now what? I hope she's not having second thoughts about my sanity.
“Go on, what's on your mind?”