The Heart of Matter: Odyssey One (6 page)

The space-only design would have been more effective in its element, of course, but the board hadn’t really believed that there would be need enough for such a thing. The majority of conflicts in Earth space were still
on
Earth, or at least directly connected to some Earth-bound resources. Space-only fighters would have been superfluous in that case.

Was that decision a good thing or a bad thing?
Eric wasn’t sure.

Versatility was good, of course, but it was clear to him that the Block was the least of their worries now. The Drasin, whoever was guiding them, and whatever else existed out in the very large galaxy they lived in were a great deal more dangerous, and with the Drasin, at least, if they got into your atmosphere, then you’d already lost half the battle.

He wondered what they would name the new class of ship but was interrupted in his musing by a booming voice from behind him.

“Eric! There you are, you little scut!”

An involuntary smile crossed Eric’s face as he turned in his seat to see a familiar figure approaching him. He responded to the insult by rising crisply to his feet in an academy-straight stance and snapping off a perfect cadet salute at the man. “Commodore, sir!”

Cdre. Gregory Wolfe glared at him, then just chuckled ruefully as he returned the salute sloppily. “Put that away before you hurt yourself.”

Eric Weston grinned, relaxing as the commodore stepped in and the two men embraced quickly, slapping each other on the backs.

“Damn, Wolfe, it’s good to see you in person,” Eric told his old friend. “I didn’t know they let you off Demos.”

The commodore nodded as they broke apart, and Eric realized that he actually did look good. Like the
Odyssey
, Demos Base most likely fell under the mandatory exercise rules that covered all microgravity workers. Either you worked out or you worked planet-side, no exceptions.

Not even for captains
.

“I’ll have you know that I’m the warden, not one of the inmates.” Wolfe grinned back as they stepped apart. “And I have some leave time coming, so when I heard you were being ordered out, I decided I’d take it. You been briefed yet?”

Eric nodded, sobering up. “Yeah. A couple times.”

“I can tell from that look that it’s a mixed blessing.” Wolfe grinned wryly. “Am I right in assuming that you’re taking the next shuttle down?”

“That’s the way things turned out,” Eric confirmed.

“Excellent. I’m scheduled on that one myself,” the commodore told him. “Though, I was afraid I was going to miss you.”

“You almost did,” Eric replied truthfully. “I was held up by another briefing with a suit by the name of Gordon.”

“Gordon?” Wolfe frowned. “You mean Seamus Gordon?”

“I don’t know.” Eric shrugged. “He didn’t give me another name.”

“He wouldn’t.” Wolfe scowled. “He’s a little intel pissant who doesn’t like his first name. Brown hair and eyes, hook nose, and a stupid smile that never goes away?”

“Sounds like the guy,” Eric confirmed.

“Watch that one, son,” Wolfe told him. “He’s trouble in a cheap suit.”

“Might be,” Eric said, “but I’m due to be a couple dozen light-years away from him. I don’t care what ABC agency he’s working for, he can’t throw a spanner in my gears that far out.”

“You have to come home someday,” Wolfe countered with a grin.

NACS ODYSSEY
Earth Orbit

▸CHIEF PETTY OFFICER Corrin grimaced when she heard a snap from a short distance away, and turned her attention to see just what was going on. Since the
Odyssey
began taking on stores in earnest, it had become clear that the crews charged with organizing the process were in need of more than a little polish.

Chief Sittler glared at the face on the other side of the transmission. “No, you listen to me. If I don’t get clearance for those numbers in the next ten minutes, we’re shipping it back to you. Is that clear enough?”

“Yes, Chief,” the flustered young woman on the other side replied.

“Good. The clock’s counting down,” he snapped, then closed the connection.

“Trouble?” Chief Petty Officer Corrin asked, glancing over at him.

“Just the regular bureaucratic red tape.” Sittler sighed. “Sorry for the distraction, Rachel.”

“No problem, Sit.” Rachel Corrin shrugged. “Just get that stuff out of here, OK?”

He smiled ruefully. “If it’s mine, I’ll have it stored twenty minutes after they finally tell me what it is.”

“And if it’s not, or they don’t, I’ll have it loaded on that shuttle in fifteen.” Rachel grinned in return.

The two chuckled slightly at that, only to be interrupted by an insistent tone from Sittler’s data plaque. He pulled it from the thigh pouch and glanced at it for a moment. “Well, I’ll be…”

“What is it, Sit?” Rachel asked, glancing over.

“It’s mine, all right. Prototypes for some new ship-killer rockets for the Angels. I guess they decided to let us test out all the new toys,” Sittler replied, uncertain whether he should be happy about that or not.

Rachel Corrin snorted. “You think you got it bad? You should hear the cursing coming from Marine country.”

“Oh? What happened there?”

“I guess some bureaucrat decided that we needed some heavier firepower…”

“Can’t fault them there.” Sittler grinned.

“No, I suppose not.” Corrin smiled in return. “But they sent us this monster of an armor package, I guess. Twelve feet tall, walks on two big feet…both of ’em left, to hear Greene tell it, and a fresh-as-the-driven-snow butter-bar to pilot it.”

Sittler winced. “Ouch.”

“Gets better.” Corrin smirked. “Apparently it’s got a NICS-based control system. Looks like your guys aren’t the only lunatics in town no more.”

Sittler stiffened. “It’s got a what? You’re shitting me!”

“’Fraid not, Sit.”

“Damn it!” Sittler cursed. “The captain is gonna have kittens!”

“What? Why?” Corrin frowned, puzzled.

“Don’t you—no, of course you don’t. Sorry, Rache,” Sittler replied, waving his hand. “I forget that most people don’t pay that close attention to the Angels. You know how we only have a single flight of ’em?”

“Yeah…Well, they’re expensive planes.”

“Sure, but not that expensive. It’s harder to find pilots able to handle the NICS control system than it is to actually build the damn things,” Sittler griped. “During the war, we never had enough pilots and always had too damned many planes. The captain and Steph aren’t gonna take too well to competition stealing qualified people away from the Angels.”

Corrin shrugged. “Hey, it’s just a groundhog. It’s not like he’d likely have applied to fly one of your babies, anyway.”

Sittler sighed. “I suppose. Still, it’s not gonna go over well at first.”

“Shit happens,” Corrin said, then smirked. “Now, get this shit out of my bay!”

CHEYENNE MOUNTAIN
NAC Military Command Colorado

▸DESIGNED TO WITHSTAND a near-nuclear strike in the mid-twentieth century, the Cheyenne Mountain facility housed NORAD, the North American Aerospace Defense Command, for over a century before the underground facility was refit to handle the joint operations command for the short-lived Allied Nations counteroffensive at the start of the Block War.

By the middle of the Block War, with missile threats looming on either side of the American continent, the joint chiefs were moved from the Pentagon, which was considered a soft target for the new ground-penetrating explosives despite the extensive underground bunker systems then in use, to the Cheyenne Mountain facility.

Since then, the Confederation had maintained and constantly upgraded the area’s defenses against ballistic and energy threats, and the mountain stronghold had become the defacto primary command center for the entire NAC.

Admiral Gracen walked briskly through the stone tunnels with her aide, ignoring the few others moving about on
their own business, and hooked a sharp right into a large conference room.

“Gentlemen.” She nodded to the generals, admirals, and various high-ranking political figures waiting there. “Sorry to have kept you waiting, but I’m afraid something came up.”

“That’s all right, Admiral.” A three-star general nodded as he motioned to a seat. “We all understand the vagaries of command. Have you conveyed the orders to Captain Weston?”

“I have, General. He’s accepted them and will have the
Odyssey
prepared to leave the system within two weeks,” Gracen said as she set up her things on the table and sat down smoothly.

“I still don’t like the idea of letting that man have another chance to get us in even hotter water,” a one-star general said, scowling. “It’s only pure luck that things have turned out as well as they have.”

“We can all appreciate your concerns, General McGivens,” a man in a suit said calmly. “However, removing Captain Weston from command at this time would be ill-advised.”

“Only because your damned PR department turned the man into a national hero!” the general growled back.

“Gentlemen!” the three-star said gravely. “Please. This is hardly the place, nor the time. Whatever else we might think, I believe that we can all agree that we need better intelligence on both the Priminae people and their enemies. And to get that, we need to send the
Odyssey
.”