The Elysium Commission (32 page)

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 correctly…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 the Frankans wouldn't survive, because they'd be 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 that 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 the scout ship or the mission much good if I hit the target 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 was 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 instantly and timelessly. 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 the armor.

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 rattled 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 habitability 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 power.

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 pilot'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. Nestled 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 coastline near Nordhavre, if well below me. Beyond to the east lay the Malmonts and the Nordmonts.

By now my screaming descent had registered on every planetary tracking system, but no one would have the time to react, not since my final approach had been planned away from any cities or PDF defense facilities, and any hastily fired missile would likely harm far too many innocents.

I was at thirty thousand meters at the coastline, and fifteen thousand as I passed north of Vannes. From there I had to steepen the descent and angle slightly north, but I had Time's End locked in. The Classic Research facility's defense screens sparkled in the display, but against a scout at my speed, there wouldn't be much they could do, not with the mission profile and not until I was almost on top of them. By then, if they did hit the scout, the debris would shred the facility as thoroughly as an ultra-ex cluster.

At fifteen klicks out, I began to spread the shields, piling up a shock wave before me. Then, at less than five klicks, beyond the effective accurate range of the hidden weapons and RPFs, I flared, hard, letting the atmospheric shock wave blast toward the Classic facility.

Then I armed the remaining torp and fired.

The reduced-yield warhead blew open a corridor strewn with debris, one that pointed toward the operations control center.

My power reserves were almost gone when I dropped the scout the last two meters onto the plaza on the west side of the crumbled walls of the Classic Research facility. I scrambled out of the restraints, and, wearing space armor, headed for the lock. If I moved quickly, I might actually reach the center before anyone realized I was headed there.

Then matters would get interesting.

By Sabaten afternoon, we had the first indications that the Frankan installation was in place. By then, Legaar's pacing had become incessant, and his demands to know what was happening, the barking of a caged mastiff.

“When will they be ready for us to act?”

“How long?”

“How long now?”

“Not long.” I'd kept saying that often and with less and less patience, if through the rotating shells of purpose and anticipation. Before long, all would be well, and I would be with Magdalena in Elysium, while Legaar Eloi would have to deal with his own fate, ending with a headstone as white as the skeleton of the Garden of Eden.

“Projection field sweep,” I ordered.

Only with a field sweep could we provide the energy to get an accurate screen view of the Frankan pseudoasteroid holding the equipment soon to generate the Hawking field. Once the field reached full power, I could ensure that the Elysian universe would continue to inflate and supersede the poor remnant of the anthropic mess that had spawned it.

“We're beginning to get the power lead, ser,” called the first tech.

“How soon before we can turn the beam on Thurene and leave?” asked Legaar. “Don't we need to leave?” His eyes twitched. “Don't look at me like that!”

“Not that long, after all we've waited.” I turned and kept my eyes on the screens and indicators. The one drawback of the technology was its need for hard conduits, physical energy manipulation, and the avoidance of broadcast power and signal interference. “Two stans after we have full steady power.”

“Two stans? That's too long. We need to leave.”

That was unlike Legaar, but I supposed anyone could bend under strain, especially a bullyboy like the concupiscence king. “I can't change that. That's a tech requirement.” I managed a long, slow breath, trying not to choke on the stench of metal and oil and the excessive scent in which Legaar had apparently been bathing himself since his return from Thurene.

“It's too long.”

“Hawking field flow at ten percent,” reported the lead tech, the one in the center seat. Almost a stan passed before he added, “eleven percent.”

“Come on,” growled Legaar. “We need to go.”

Was he drooling from the corners of his mouth? Legaar Eloi? I hadn't seen that before. His fingers dropped to the weapon at his belt, a sprayergun, the kind that destroyed everything within fifty yards with a fan pattern of expanding fléchettes. He caressed the weapon before glaring at me once more.

“Turn the projection field on Thurene as soon as you can.”

“I will. We don't have enough power yet, and the two fields aren't linked.”

Legaar was clearly becoming more unstable, and I just wanted to be rid of him, but I had to get to the projector controls to do that, and I needed an excuse to do so, because the techs were his. So were the security systems. In this, as in everything, timing was paramount. Even sleep navigates the tides of time.

“Power's dropping off, sers! It's gone.”

Something was wrong, terribly wrong, not that I wanted to blurt it out, but the power indicators from the Hawking field, the field that had been building so predictably and steadily, had vanished. They had not dropped or declined or surged. It was as if the field had not been there at all.

Something attacked the Frankans. Yet there had been no sign of it. It was gone. The entire installation was gone, including the concealed ship, the pseudoasteroid, all as if they had never been. The sweep field revealed nothing, nothing at all.

“Let me have the controls.” I stepped forward. The lead tech moved, more than happy to let me take over when matters were going wrong.

“Fix it now!” ordered Legaar. “Whatever it is.”

“I'm looking into it.” What I was really looking into was getting rid of him.

“Ser! There's an inbound. Aimed directly at us, ser, from an orbital drop.”

Special Operations or the frigging Assembly space service! Legaar would have to wait. “Full screens!”

“They won't stop something at that speed, ser!”

“They'll slow it.” I began to shift the field toward the incoming.

“What is it? You failed me!” Legaar lurched forward, grabbing the tech who had reported the incoming. Legaar was shuddering, almost in convulsions.

Even before I could finish trying to refocus the projection field, I had the feeling that it was too late. The entire facility shuddered. Sections of the facade crumpled under the shock wave. Dust billowed from everywhere. With a rumble, the west end of the building peeled away, and sunlight mixed with more dust. The lights flickered and dimmed, then went out for a moment. I was glad the facility was hard conduit inside and out.

Legaar was gibbering. “Take out Thurene! Take it out!” He held the sprayergun, pointed directly at me.

Things added up. It wasn't Legaar but a clone, and there was no help for it now.

“Yes, ser. Here we go.” The Legaar clone watched as I eased an edge of the field to where he stood. Then I twisted the field and flung the clone
somewhere.
Into the past, deep space, the future, it didn't matter, so long as it was gone.

The techs had vanished. Much good it would do them.

I rechecked the power. The Hawking field was gone, but I had full power remaining from both Time's End fusactors, and that would have to do.

I would not have my loves lie wrecked, steered by the falling stars. Not now, not ever. Thurene and the real Legaar could scrabble on in their anthropic muddled mess of a universe.

Sitting at the field controls, I twisted the main rheostats to divert full power from both fusactors, wrenching it through the helices to create a here-now bridge to Elysium. To my right, the gateway shone as it shimmered into shape, a golden silver arch back to Magdalena.

Thud.
A figure in gold marched from out of the swirling dust, that line of demarcation where the corridor had been ended by the explosion that had ripped away the west end of the building. The shining figure looked like the ancient concept of a robot, for all that it was but an operative in space armor. Still, the operative's steps were far swifter than any automaton and I could not swing the field to remove him and hold the gateway. All I could do was set the timer to cut power to everything in twenty seconds. Once the gateway collapsed, they would never locate me, for the coordinates had always been in my head. That I had ensured.

I set the time, then rose and dashed through the gate, just ahead of the operative in space armor.

Magdalena would be waiting…