chief of boat? What's your name?' 'C-O-B.' 'How do you spell that?' 'C-O-B. Chief. Of. Boat.' Sir, in all honesty, no, I can't think of any others unless the CO wants to go. In that case, I'll stay back and get the boat ready to go. That's my job, after all.”
“The Marines are sending enlisted people,” the CAO said. “And Captain Prael hasn't been on the previous missions.”
“Then I'd suggest Red, sir,” Bill replied, then blinked rapidly, realizing he could not for the life of him recall Red's real name. “Petty Officer First Class Ian . . . Morris. Not particularly articulate, either, but with two prosthetics from two missions, he's not going to have to be.”
“Get that done, Captain,” the CAO said. “Make sure he's available and everybody gets down to DC tomorrow. Early.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Weaver and Prael both replied, simultaneously. Weaver didn't look over to see his CO's reaction.
“Any questions, Captain Prael?” the CAO asked.
“No, sir,” the CO replied.
“Then I'm out,” the CAO said.
The screen blanked and there was an uncomfortable silence.
“You'd better get moving, XO,” Prael said after a moment. “You've got a lot of work to do.”
“Yes, sir,” Bill said, standing up and walking to the door of the shield room.
“Weaver.”
“Sir?” Bill replied without turning around.
“We'll talk when you get back.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes, sir,” Eric said, nodding into the phone. “Yes, sir. Aye, aye, sir. Yes, sir. Understood, sir. Gung ho, sir. Yes, sir. Good night.”
“You sure weren't saying much,” Brooke said. She'd combed out her hair and changed into a nightgown but stayed up, yawning, as long as her husband did.
“I'm a lieutenant,” Berg replied, finally getting a chance to strip out of his uniform. “We generally just take orders. The difference between a private first class and a second lieutenant is that a PFC's been promoted twice.”
“What's happening?” Brooke asked. “Is it a mission?”
“Sort of,” Eric replied. “But not the way you're thinking. I've got to go to DC tomorrow. Something came up.”
“And you can't tell me what,” Brooke said.
“Honestly, I probably could and get away with it at this point,” Eric said. “But I'm still under orders not to discuss anything I do with anybody. Can you . . . ?”
“I'm fine with that,” Brooke said, stretching in an arch that drew down the front of her already low-cut nightgown. “Among other things, I suspect it would be a long conversation. And I've got other things on my mind.”
“What were we talking about?” Eric said, hurrying with his boots.
“Miss Moon,” Weaver said as the slight linguist exited the Looking Glass. “I see you redyed your hair.”
Union Station was the central hub for the increasingly defunct Washington Metro Line. The Chen Anomaly generated dozens of Looking Glass bosons per minute. They then proceeded on a path more or less parallel to the surface of the earth in apparently random zigzags and eventually came to rest. There they generally sat innocuously, still in rare cases opening up a gate to an unexplored world.
However, the millions of inert LGBs that the Anomaly had generated over the past years could be moved to another spot and then linked to any other boson of the same frequency. By moving two to two separate points that the movers wanted to link, a portal could be established between any two points on Earth.
Moving an LGB was no simple technical feat. The boson first had to be charged with static electricity using a massive Van der Waal static generator. The generator was similar to a plasma ball but much harder to construct, requiring a formed ball of metal with an absolutely blemish-free surface. Given that the minimum size to be of any use was over ten feet across, the first few had been enormously expensive. But as time went on, manufacturing processes and technologies improved to the point that creating one cost
“The Marines are sending enlisted people,” the CAO said. “And Captain Prael hasn't been on the previous missions.”
“Then I'd suggest Red, sir,” Bill replied, then blinked rapidly, realizing he could not for the life of him recall Red's real name. “Petty Officer First Class Ian . . . Morris. Not particularly articulate, either, but with two prosthetics from two missions, he's not going to have to be.”
“Get that done, Captain,” the CAO said. “Make sure he's available and everybody gets down to DC tomorrow. Early.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Weaver and Prael both replied, simultaneously. Weaver didn't look over to see his CO's reaction.
“Any questions, Captain Prael?” the CAO asked.
“No, sir,” the CO replied.
“Then I'm out,” the CAO said.
The screen blanked and there was an uncomfortable silence.
“You'd better get moving, XO,” Prael said after a moment. “You've got a lot of work to do.”
“Yes, sir,” Bill said, standing up and walking to the door of the shield room.
“Weaver.”
“Sir?” Bill replied without turning around.
“We'll talk when you get back.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes, sir,” Eric said, nodding into the phone. “Yes, sir. Aye, aye, sir. Yes, sir. Understood, sir. Gung ho, sir. Yes, sir. Good night.”
“You sure weren't saying much,” Brooke said. She'd combed out her hair and changed into a nightgown but stayed up, yawning, as long as her husband did.
“I'm a lieutenant,” Berg replied, finally getting a chance to strip out of his uniform. “We generally just take orders. The difference between a private first class and a second lieutenant is that a PFC's been promoted twice.”
“What's happening?” Brooke asked. “Is it a mission?”
“Sort of,” Eric replied. “But not the way you're thinking. I've got to go to DC tomorrow. Something came up.”
“And you can't tell me what,” Brooke said.
“Honestly, I probably could and get away with it at this point,” Eric said. “But I'm still under orders not to discuss anything I do with anybody. Can you . . . ?”
“I'm fine with that,” Brooke said, stretching in an arch that drew down the front of her already low-cut nightgown. “Among other things, I suspect it would be a long conversation. And I've got other things on my mind.”
“What were we talking about?” Eric said, hurrying with his boots.
“Miss Moon,” Weaver said as the slight linguist exited the Looking Glass. “I see you redyed your hair.”
Union Station was the central hub for the increasingly defunct Washington Metro Line. The Chen Anomaly generated dozens of Looking Glass bosons per minute. They then proceeded on a path more or less parallel to the surface of the earth in apparently random zigzags and eventually came to rest. There they generally sat innocuously, still in rare cases opening up a gate to an unexplored world.
However, the millions of inert LGBs that the Anomaly had generated over the past years could be moved to another spot and then linked to any other boson of the same frequency. By moving two to two separate points that the movers wanted to link, a portal could be established between any two points on Earth.
Moving an LGB was no simple technical feat. The boson first had to be charged with static electricity using a massive Van der Waal static generator. The generator was similar to a plasma ball but much harder to construct, requiring a formed ball of metal with an absolutely blemish-free surface. Given that the minimum size to be of any use was over ten feet across, the first few had been enormously expensive. But as time went on, manufacturing processes and technologies improved to the point that creating one cost
Similar Books
