over from the Big Bang, had pulled a
few mega-trillion quarks out of a linear accelerator which
circumscribed Hel itself, had sorted them, had stacked them in
orbital shells around the mini-singularities, and had installed
these “cores” in a delivery system. The carrier missile
would perish in the fires of a star, but the core itself would sink
to the star’s heart before the quark shells collapsed, mixing
positives and negatives in a tremendous energy yield which would
ignite a swift and savage helium fusion process.
Navy had its weapon. And now, apparently, a target for it.
“What have you done, Paul?”
“I don’t know, Ion. God help me if you’re
right.”
The passageways were a-crawl with Marines, Marescu swore.
“I didn’t realize there were so many of the bastards.
They been breeding on us? Where’s everybody else?” The
usual back and forth of technical and scientific staffs had ceased.
Civilians were scarce.
At Final Process they were told to report to the arsenal
instead.
They found three civilians waiting outside the scarlet door. The
Director, though, was an R & D admiral in civilian
disguise.
“This’s a farce,” Marescu growled at her.
“Two hundred comic opera soldiers . . . ”
“Can it, Ion,” Paul whispered.
The Director did not bat an eye. “They’re watching
you, Ion. They don’t like your mouth.”
Marescu was startled. Ordinarily, even the Eagle did not bite
back.
“What’s going on, Kathe?” Neidermeyer
asked.
Marescu grinned. Kathe Adler. Kathe the Eagle. It was one of
those nasty little jokes that drift around behind an unpopular
superior’s back. Admiral Adler had a thin wedge of a face, an
all-time beak of a nose, and a receding hairline. Never had a
birthname fit its bearer so well.
“They’re taking delivery on the product, Paul. I
want you to work with their science officers. Ion, you’ll
prepare a test program for their shipboard computers.”
“They’re going to use it, aren’t they?”
Marescu demanded.
“I hope not. We all hope not, Ion.”
“Shit. I believe that like I believe in the Tooth
Fairy.” He glanced at Paul. Neidermeyer was trying to
believe. He was like all the science staff. Keeping himself fed on
lies.
“Ship’s down, Major,” a Marine Lieutenant
announced.
“Very well,” Feuchtmayer replied.
“We’d better get lined out,” the Director
said. “Paul, pick whomever you want to help. Ion,
you’ll have to visit the ship to see what you’ll be
working with. I want your preliminary brief as soon as you can
write it. Josip, get with their Weapons officers and draw up the
preparatory specs for carrying mounts and launch systems. Have the
people in the shops drop everything else.”
Josip asked, “We have to build it all here?”
“From scratch. Orders.”
“But . . . ”
“Gentlemen, they’re in a hurry. I suggest you get
started.”
“They brought the whole ship down?” Paul asked.
Ships seldom made planetary landings.
“That’s right. They don’t want to waste time
working from orbit. That would take an extra month.”
“But . . . ” That was dangerous
business. The ship’s crew would stay crazy-busy balancing her
gravity fields with the planet’s. If they made one mistake
the vessel would be torn apart.
“It shouldn’t take more than twelve days this
way,” Admiral Adler speculated. “Assuming we hit no
snags. Let’s go.” She pushed through the red door.
The completed weapons had a sharkish, deadly look, looking
nothing like bombs. The four devices were spaced around the arsenal
floor. Each was a lean needle of black a hundred meters long and
ten in diameter. They were longer than the shuttle craft intended
to lift them to orbit. Antennae and the snouts of nasty defensive
weapons sprouted from their dark skins like scrub brush from an
old, burned slope.
They were fully automated little warships. The essentials of the
nova bomb occupied space that would have been given over to
few mega-trillion quarks out of a linear accelerator which
circumscribed Hel itself, had sorted them, had stacked them in
orbital shells around the mini-singularities, and had installed
these “cores” in a delivery system. The carrier missile
would perish in the fires of a star, but the core itself would sink
to the star’s heart before the quark shells collapsed, mixing
positives and negatives in a tremendous energy yield which would
ignite a swift and savage helium fusion process.
Navy had its weapon. And now, apparently, a target for it.
“What have you done, Paul?”
“I don’t know, Ion. God help me if you’re
right.”
The passageways were a-crawl with Marines, Marescu swore.
“I didn’t realize there were so many of the bastards.
They been breeding on us? Where’s everybody else?” The
usual back and forth of technical and scientific staffs had ceased.
Civilians were scarce.
At Final Process they were told to report to the arsenal
instead.
They found three civilians waiting outside the scarlet door. The
Director, though, was an R & D admiral in civilian
disguise.
“This’s a farce,” Marescu growled at her.
“Two hundred comic opera soldiers . . . ”
“Can it, Ion,” Paul whispered.
The Director did not bat an eye. “They’re watching
you, Ion. They don’t like your mouth.”
Marescu was startled. Ordinarily, even the Eagle did not bite
back.
“What’s going on, Kathe?” Neidermeyer
asked.
Marescu grinned. Kathe Adler. Kathe the Eagle. It was one of
those nasty little jokes that drift around behind an unpopular
superior’s back. Admiral Adler had a thin wedge of a face, an
all-time beak of a nose, and a receding hairline. Never had a
birthname fit its bearer so well.
“They’re taking delivery on the product, Paul. I
want you to work with their science officers. Ion, you’ll
prepare a test program for their shipboard computers.”
“They’re going to use it, aren’t they?”
Marescu demanded.
“I hope not. We all hope not, Ion.”
“Shit. I believe that like I believe in the Tooth
Fairy.” He glanced at Paul. Neidermeyer was trying to
believe. He was like all the science staff. Keeping himself fed on
lies.
“Ship’s down, Major,” a Marine Lieutenant
announced.
“Very well,” Feuchtmayer replied.
“We’d better get lined out,” the Director
said. “Paul, pick whomever you want to help. Ion,
you’ll have to visit the ship to see what you’ll be
working with. I want your preliminary brief as soon as you can
write it. Josip, get with their Weapons officers and draw up the
preparatory specs for carrying mounts and launch systems. Have the
people in the shops drop everything else.”
Josip asked, “We have to build it all here?”
“From scratch. Orders.”
“But . . . ”
“Gentlemen, they’re in a hurry. I suggest you get
started.”
“They brought the whole ship down?” Paul asked.
Ships seldom made planetary landings.
“That’s right. They don’t want to waste time
working from orbit. That would take an extra month.”
“But . . . ” That was dangerous
business. The ship’s crew would stay crazy-busy balancing her
gravity fields with the planet’s. If they made one mistake
the vessel would be torn apart.
“It shouldn’t take more than twelve days this
way,” Admiral Adler speculated. “Assuming we hit no
snags. Let’s go.” She pushed through the red door.
The completed weapons had a sharkish, deadly look, looking
nothing like bombs. The four devices were spaced around the arsenal
floor. Each was a lean needle of black a hundred meters long and
ten in diameter. They were longer than the shuttle craft intended
to lift them to orbit. Antennae and the snouts of nasty defensive
weapons sprouted from their dark skins like scrub brush from an
old, burned slope.
They were fully automated little warships. The essentials of the
nova bomb occupied space that would have been given over to
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