Matt now sat in probably the most uncomfortable place he’d ever been in, and that included crawling through two miles of human sewage during one particular mission he’d rather forget. Namely, he was live in front of cameras, sitting at a (rather nice) oak table, with a microphone shoved into his face. His dress uniform was a bit uncomfortable, but he took a bit of smug pride in the fact that the uniform still fit like a glove. To his right sat one red-haired Miles Lawton, a lawyer who’d been recommended to him by Certain People. Lawton was most definitely a private citizen and not hired by the state, which unfortunately meant that those Certain People couldn’t pay him. Matt grumbled internally about having to pay the guy’s retainer, but he figured it was probably worth it. He had to admit, the guy seemed really sharp. Even if this recommended lawyer was literally blind as a bat; Lawton wore a pair of tinted-black round glasses and had a white cane in front of his left hand, which he made a great show of fidgeting with in a clear effort to draw the camera’s attention.
A blue carpeted expanse, patterned with white bits, stretched out in front of his table, and beyond that extended a line of seats safely ensconced behind their own oaken bulwark. Some senator of some stripe occupied each seat, and in the center sat one Senator Horatio Wilson, the head of this committee. Now, Wilson might be a decent politician as such things go but he was also, in Matt’s professional opinion, an officious little weasel-faced prick.
The senator gave what he probably thought was a winning smile. “Captain Tocco, we appreciate you coming here today.”
“A Congressional subpoena does have a way of motivating oneself to show up,” replied Matt. He made certain that he sat bolt upright, with the appropriate welter of fruit salad displayed upon his left breast. He hoped it looked good for the cameras.
There was a rippling murmur of laughter from the onlookers behind him. He and Lawton had worked out the general strategy in advance. Play to the crowd, play up the aw-shucks-I’m-just-a-soldier angle, and make it clear that he was not here of his own free will.
Senator Wilson’s smile faded. “Indeed. Well, you must understand that these are unprecedented events, not only in the history of our country but of the entire world.”
“Yes, I understand,” replied Matt. He folded his hands in front of him, waiting for the politician to continue.
Wilson looked a bit lost; was he really expecting Matt to just ramble on? What an idiot. Matt had been through SERE, he would eat any bug anytime anywhere if anyone dared him. He was also a sniper; he could win a staring contest with a mountain. Or even with Lawton. Maybe. The dude had his poker-face game on point.
“Er, well. Yes. You see, Captain, the reason that we called you here today is that we are still trying to determine the events leading up to the starting of this affair.”
“The events are known. I’ve already spoken about what happened, under oath.” He’d lied his ass off under oath, of course, but he wasn’t about to say that out loud.
“Of course, of course.” Wilson peered at him over his spectacles in a clear attempt to appear shrewd. “But we are just curious. You appear to have been instrumental in arresting the individual, one, er…” The senator performed a bit of page-flipping theater. “Ah, yes. One Agent Lasky. His arrest led, in turn, to the arrest of Ned Struck.”
Matt had received enough coaching from Lawton to know what to say here. “Senator, with respect, those are both ongoing federal cases. I can’t possibly comment upon them here.”
Wilson responded with a plastic smile. “I wasn’t asking you to comment. I’m merely suggesting. You were instrumental in the first contact with the alien Coalition, you were also present at Camp David during the thankfully aborted attack upon that facility and managed to kill two of the attackers. It is also on record that you were present during Agent Lasky’s arrest. Such a repeating pattern of involvement is curious, is it not?”
Matt and Lawton had come up with an elaborate game of footsie to communicate with each other before having to do the ‘cover the mike and whisper in the ear’ game. He nudged Lawson’s foot once, which was shorthand for do you want me to improvise?
He received a nudge back from Lawson, which was an affirmative. Matt smiled back into the senator’s face. “Sir, you must understand. The first contact with aliens was a complete fluke. They’d landed near my house, and I was out walking when I met them and the team led by Ms. Chao Me Chu.”
“Yes, we’ve heard her testimony. Apparently, you managed to meet these aliens before she and the soldiers even arrived.”
“Only through sheer dumb luck, Senator. Anyways, my point is that this entire thing is a case of what the British would call ‘in for a penny, in for a pound’. Thanks to my previous career, the government decided to keep me involved because, hey, I was already there, after all, and I knew how to keep a secret. So they kept using me.”
The senator frowned. “You knew how to keep a secret that you’re talking about now.”
“I remind you, sir, that I am subpoenaed by Congress and also under oath. Plus the secret in question is well out of the barn doors, so to speak, and is at present stampeding for the horizon.”
Wilson performed another few theatrical page-flips, only to be interrupted by someone from the opposition party from one of the other chairs. This was a Hispanic-looking lady by the name of Senator Maroto, judging by her name-plate set in front of her.
“Senator Wilson, while I appreciate the need to properly document these events, may I ask the purpose of this questioning? Captain Tocco has performed significant service in the defense of our country. I’ve read his unredacted file; if it were up to me, he’d be sporting a Medal of Honor around his neck. He did what was asked of him, nothing more.”
The head of the committee glared over at her, then back at Matt. “Why were you out in the woods, in the snow, in the middle of the night?”
Matt did another single foot-nudge, and received a single nudge in return. “Senator…and please forgive me, I am not calling your valor into question…but did you ever serve?”
The question seemed to throw Wilson. “Well, no. I do appreciate your service, but there are many ways to serve one’s country. I merely chose another.”
Matt smiled his best ‘Aw Shucks’ smile. “Of course. As I said, that was not an attempt to question your bravery. But there are certain things you encounter during service in the armed forces. Things which civilians don’t understand.”
Wilson pushed his spectacles back up his sharp nose. “Well, I’m sure you’ll enlighten us ignorant and common folk.”
“Sleep,” replied Matt.
The committee members looked at each other in confusion. Finally, Senator Maroto spoke. “Captain? I’m afraid we don’t understand.”
He performed a bit of pantomime as he spread his hands in a ‘there it is’ gesture. He hoped the cameras caught it. “Sleep, Senators. I don’t care which branch you serve in. Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines, or even the Coast Guard. Take any grunt from any of those services and give them a nice warm bed and eight hours of uninterrupted nap time, and I guarantee you will wind up with the happiest person in the world. Hel…Heck, I’m still probably a couple hundred hours behind on my proper amount of sleep myself. And I was an officer.”
“I am still waiting for a point, Captain,” snapped Senator Wilson.
“My point is, that kind of lifestyle unfortunately means that your sleep schedule is well and truly…um, messed up once you’ve been in for long enough. You wake up before dawn, usually. But sometimes you also wake up in the middle of the night and can’t get back to sleep.” Matt shrugged. “That happens to me, now and again. The best cure I’ve found is to go tramping around outside until I feel tired again.”
Senator Maroto leaned forward. “So that is what you were doing when you encountered the Coalition?”
Matt nodded.
“We need a verbal response for the record,” she added.
“Ah, right, sorry ma’am. Yeah, that’s what I was doing when I ran into them. Bit of a shock, I don't mind telling you!” He gave a folksy chuckle. “But they were pretty nice, they kept saying they were friends so I didn’t freak out too much. Well, maybe just a little bit. Plus there was no attempted probing, which I can tell you I very much appreciated.”
A louder ripple of laughter sounded behind him, and he figured he’d try to keep playing to the crowd. “Not to mention, the translator software was still in…dunno what they’d call it nowadays, version zero-point-one? Anyways, we were mostly speaking like the proverbial cavemen at each other while the software got properly updated.”
Matt heard another, softer bout of laughing behind him and relaxed. Okay, this was just probably a crossing-t’s-dotting-i’s type thing.
Senator Wilson steepled his fingers, a bit of obvious theater for the cameras. “Captain Tocco. Are you sure there isn’t anything else you’d like to tell us? Nothing more than in the official record?”
“It is what it is, Senator.”
“Hmm. Well, I have received word from a reliable source that there was a firefight of some kind in the woods very near where you made contact with these so-called allies.”
Matt froze, but didn’t let the slightest bit of concern show on his face. Instead, he smiled and nudged Lawton’s foot twice.
He and his lawyer put their hands over the microphones in front of them while Lawton leaned over and whispered in his ear. “He’s fishing. If he had a solid source, he’d have paraded it out before now. Call his bluff.”
Matt leaned back and regarded the officious little weasel-faced prick. He pictured, merely as a mental exercise, exactly how long it would take for him to cross the tens of feet between him and the Senator. Then he pictured how he would deliver the killing blow to Wilson. Throat? Yes, that should work quite nicely. One solid elbow-whack to the trachea, then he could step back and watch down at the weasel-faced fucker as he choked to death on his own saliva.
Some of his mental gymnastics must have shown in Matt’s eyes, because Senator Wilson leaned back a bit.
But, when Matt replied, his voice was mild. “That’s a very interesting source of information, sir.”
“It’s more than interesting!” snapped Wilson, then realized he looked a bit too unhinged.
Matt smiled. “I mean, heck, we supposedly have reliable sources that the moon landings were staged. Doesn’t mean a thing one way or the other. Oh, by the way? I believe we totally landed on the moon. Just for the record. Heck, we should have the Coalition dudes go up and retrieve the Apollo hardware still up there. Should shut up those conspiracy guys, am I right?”
Amidst another round of tittering, the chairman reached for his gavel. The laughing subsided before he could properly use it, which amused Matt to no end.
Wilson fixed Matt with what he probably thought was an intimidating glare. “I have testimony, from someone who was tasked to clean up a significant amount of spent ammunition, what you soldier-types call ‘brass’, from an area right next to where you encountered the Coalition spacecraft.”
“Technically it’s a landing boat, sir,” replied Matt.
“That is immaterial! There was a firefight! What actually happened, Captain Tocco?”
He sat for a long moment, then shrugged again. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, Senator, so I can’t possibly comment. This sounds like something more suited to testimony in a proper court of law than a public hearing.”
Senator Wilson didn’t relent. “This is no mere public hearing! This is a SENATE hearing! You will answer my questions, Captain! Why did you kill those men who attacked Camp David? Was it because you were afraid that they’d found out about the truth, that these aliens are taking advantage of us all and want us fighting each other so that they can sweep in and take over and turn us all into their little slaves…”
The murmuring behind Matt grew greater as he bowed his head during the politician’s rant. Finally, he looked up. “Senator.”
The soft interruption stopped the man in his tracks.
“Forgive me for being impolite, sir. But it’s a very simple calculus. A man comes into the room with a weapon, pointing that gun at me or anyone I value? I will then kill them. If he doesn’t want to die, then he hadn't ought to point a gun at me or mine. It's insincere.”
Senator Maroto gave a discreet cough, one loud enough to be picked up on her own microphone. “I propose a twenty-minute recess.” She glared over at the chairman, who was now subsiding in his seat with the inevitable air of someone who just realized he’d said the quiet part out loud into the ether for everyone to witness. “Captain Tocco, we appreciate you taking the time to meet with us. I don’t believe we’ll need you again. However, are you available to meet again for these proceedings, should we need it?”
He gave Maroto his most winning smile, which was quite winning indeed. “Anytime, Senator Maroto. Just tell me when and where.”
Inside, however, he was seething. Somebody involved with General De Vries’ cleanup had talked. In spite of Senator Wilson burning his career down to the waterline, this whole mess was not over. Not one little bit.
__________
The pilot tugged at his bright-orange pressure suit. It had been a while since he’d worn one; thankfully, it was baggy enough to accommodate the added poundage he’d accumulated in the interim. In theory the suit’s color was so that, if he ejected over the ocean, he’d be visible while bobbing on the waves. It was a nice thought, although trying to eject from this particular plane was not something that could be called things like ‘nice’ or ‘sane’ or even ‘survivable’.
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
Thanks to his expertise, he’d been fast-tracked into what was now called either ‘tanking’ or ‘the Icelandic trip’. He was still getting used to having actual skin again over a lot of his body instead of leathery scar tissue. Still, he and his current, unconventional RSO (Reconnaissance Systems Officer) had run through the simulators after his rebirth and he felt pretty well re-settled into having a normal outer body again.
Next to him scuttled the multi-legged, chrome-clad figure of Kifa, safe within its hardsuit. Thanks to that, Kifa might indeed survive an ejection if it came to that. The powers-that-be had suggested making a custom pressure suit for her, but the alien had gently reminded them that its current suit was built to withstand the rigors of vacuum and more.
The pair emerged from the hangar, moving around the giant exit doors to behold their ride. The pilot’s breath caught in his throat, seeing a wonderful shape he’d never, ever thought he’d lay eyes on again. They both stopped, on instinct.
“Ooooohhh!” Kifa tapped its pedipalps together in imitation of a human clapping. “Very beautiful!”
The pilot grinned. “The Blackbird is one sexy beast, ain’t she? This one’s been rebuilt.”
Before them both sat…no posed a black, streamlined shape which oozed pure adrenaline and sex appeal. It was a shape which young, sweaty-palmed teenagers might put up inside of their closet door instead of the latest bikini-clad fashion model. It didn’t look quite like the original SR-71s; both cockpits were wider, in order to accommodate potential xyrax pilots. The aircraft now had a gaggle of mechanics swarming over her as they performed last-minute checks.
He regarded the plane he was about to fly with a critical eye. He’d had enough experience to pick up on a machine’s mood. Such superstitious notions were dismissed by most engineers, but then again those engineers didn’t have to fly in the damned things they’d created. Sometimes, a machine just didn’t want to cooperate, and his intuition could pick up on it.
This one? This plane, newly rebuilt as she was, was eyeing him with a challenging gaze. Think you can pilot me, tiny man?
The pilot walked forward, Kifa in tow. He greeted the mechanics near him. “Bob, Wade. Hey Jim, how’s the kids?”
Even though they knew it was coming, the mechanics stared at the chromed spidery figure next to the pilot. But Kifa gave them a wave of a pedipalp and they instantly became its biggest fans. Thanks to lots of interviews by the xyrax members of the Rithro’s crew, arachnophobia was becoming a lot less common amongst humanity. The aliens were so cute and helpful and so very much concerned about not being a burden.
The aforementioned Bob stepped forward. “All right, sir, we gotta check your suit. Um, how do we check hers…?” He motioned towards Kifa.
“It, not her,” replied the pilot. “Don’t worry. That suit has at least three redundant life support systems and monitors. We managed to tie them wirelessly into the sled’s control systems.”
“Yes! It works quite well!” added Kifa brightly.
“Um, okay.” Bob checked the seating of the pilot’s helmet, then the seals on his gloves and its other fittings. “Looks good.”
“How’s she doing, Jim?” asked the pilot.
Jim smiled. “This lady wants to fly high and fast, my man.”
“Then let’s not keep her waiting, shall we? Give me a minute, just gonna make a walk-around myself.”
The pilot walked away from them all, alongside the black-clad, titanium flank of the craft he was about to take into near-space. He reached up with one gloved hand and trailed his fingers with a feather-touch alongside that fuselage, as if he was trying to calm a skittish racehorse. He disappeared around the back of the craft, then came back around the other side. He performed a few more strokes alongside the airframe, then ducked under the sharp, shovel-like nose of the ship.
“She’s ready,” he proclaimed.
The next little while involved both he and Kifa getting strapped into their respective cockpits. Thanks to input by Kifa on how the Coalition did things, its ‘seat’ looked more like a saddle than a standard human chair. Once they were strapped in, the canopies swung down and sealed the pair into what was, essentially, a giant machine made to turn fuel into speed. Or, if things went wrong, it would become a very fast coffin for the two of them.
“Pilot, reporting,” said the pilot.
“RSO, reporting,” said Kifa.
Once the comm checks were good and they’d run through the checklists, the pilot took a deep breath. “Ready, Kifa?”
“Absolutely!”
The surge of twin giant engines at his back made the pilot grin; he didn’t feel the pull of scar tissue on his face as he did so, which made this even better. The ship below him acted just as he expected; this was intended to be a training and shakedown exercise for the prototype Blackbirds, to see if it would be good for it’s intended role. He carefully fed power into the engines as he taxied out onto the runway. He didn’t need to worry if Kifa was paying attention to procedure; the xyrax were literally born to be pilots.
“Power up,” he said, in the laid-back drawl always assumed when talking to ground control.
Kifa let out an involuntary whoop as 32,500 pounds of force slammed them in the rear. The pilot didn’t smile, but he did take pleasure in the familiar pressure as he eased the craft into the air. It was just like old times. As Jim had intuited, this machine wanted to fly. It surged off of the runway right when the pilot expected it to, and he blinked back sudden, surprising tears.
The alien’s voice adopted his laconic tone. “Looking good, altitude is increasing as expected. Let me know when you want me to vector you to the tanker.”
“Will do.” Thanks to the drilling in simulations, he and Kifa could pretty much read each other’s minds from the slightest change in voice. After he’d brought the aircraft up to the initial refueling altitude, he dropped the professional tone. “What did you think of the takeoff?”
“It was quite something! I’ve been through much greater acceleration, of course, but in space there’s no reference points. When you see the landscape outside go that fast, it’s very exciting!”
“I’ll bet. All right, let’s go get topped up.”
“I’m sending you the vector now…”
This was the main reason why the Blackbirds had been retired in the first place; the planes were extremely thirsty and thus very expensive to keep operational. They needed refueling right after takeoff and frequently during flight. The tanker aircraft was right where expected, though, so at least they wouldn’t have to abort this test flight. The boom itself stuck out behind the ordinary-looking plane like a wasp’s stinger, flanked on both sides at its end with winglets to control its orientation.
The boom operator’s voice sounded in both of their helmets. “XCOM-One, this is Kelo-One.”
“Kelo-One, this is XCOM-One, I copy,” replied the pilot. Somebody had a sense of humor when naming this particular aircraft. “Coming up behind you now…”
Once he’d performed the necessary aerial dance to link up with the refueling boom, the boom operator dropped his dry manner. “Hey there, Kifa! What do you think of your first flight?”
“The refueling process seems quite complicated, but I understand the need for it. And you are both very skillful! Perhaps one day you will not need to burn hydrocarbons to achieve this capability.”
“Aw, now, don’t say that! You’ll put me out of a job!” The boom operator let out a chuckle to let Kifa know he was joking.
The pilot smiled. “Hey, dude, with your skills you could always go and clean house at those carnival games. There’s somegood money in fuzzy stuffed animals.”
“Insert ironic laugh here. How’s she running?”
The pilot ran a gloved hand up and down along the triangular top of the dashboard. “She’s happy to be flying again.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Man, I never got a chance to refuel one of these babies. It is quite the sight.”
In a while, they’d completed the refueling. Thankfully, on this particular flight, they’d only need the one top-up to complete the checks. With some delicacy, the pilot decoupled from the tanker and banked the Blackbird away and up to the left of the tanker.
“Thanks for the gas, dude,” said the pilot.
“You are very welcome. Have a good flight.”
“We’ll try. All right, Kifa, I’m heading up to altitude. Go ahead and run through the checks on the new sensor package.”
“Yes! I hope this works.”
The pilot raised his engine throttles up past their stop, keeping an eye on his speed and the number of TEB shots he had left to ignite his afterburners. As expected, the TEB count decreased by one as there was another slam in his back. The tanker vanished behind them within a few seconds as the aircraft gained in both speed and altitude.
The re-fitted Blackbirds had a design quirk which would have make Kelly Johnson himself scratch his head in puzzlement. Their cameras and sensors pointed up, not down. Instead of trying to get photos of hot-spots below, this craft was intended to get information of hot-spots above. Instead of visual imagery, much of this new plane’s gear used radar and shorter-ranged EM to gather intelligence on what was going on in orbit, rather than what was going on beneath.
To be honest, it was a bit of a stop-gap measure, just in case the Breakers took out the satellites in orbit. Ground-based radars could also help, and were also more powerful than anything on board this plane. But the problem was they were, well, on the ground. This aircraft was intended to get orbital intel at any particular place and time, regardless of the Earth’s rotation.
By the time Kifa pronounced the new sensor package good, the ground now had a definite curve. The sky overhead was black instead of blue, and the plane was pretty much at speed.
“Well, Kifa, by now our plane is a foot bigger than when we took off.”
“I still don’t understand why you measure things in body parts,” replied Kifa.
The pilot chuckled. “I can answer with one word. Tradition. All right, ready to give it a go?” He clicked a new switch on the panel in front of him. “Ground Control, this is XCOM-One. Are you receiving?”
After a brief pause, they replied. “XCOM-One, this is Ground Control. The Datalink is looking five-by-five. You are at a go for data collection testing.”
The bandwidth of modern electronics was one of the big things the pilot had to get used to. Well, that and trying to figure out orbital mechanics under Kifa and other’s tutelage. He was getting pretty good at the latter, thanks both to Kifa and to a very polite Canadian astronaut who put up with his stupid questions and fumbling attempts with good humor. Before, one had to wait until they landed to get the photos/data to the analysts. Now, one could just beam it down via several different data-links to get eyes on the situation in real time.
As Kifa began the data collection tests, the pilot took a look out of the window to his left. They’d taken off at dawn, and yet the sun was now well above the horizon thanks to their altitude. “God, I missed this view,” he muttered.
“Datalink is secure and transmitting,” said Kifa. “So. Am I a Sled Driver yet?”
“Almost.” The pilot leaned back in his seat. “Hell, they’re even talking about breaking out the YF-12 prototype they’ve stashed away in Dayton. That’ll have some actual air-to-air missiles on board. Although, against a foe in orbit that seems about as useful as a bucket of spit.”
“The Breakers do sometimes send down probes to begin their, um, cleansing,” replied Kifa. “Such a craft could shoot them down if needed.”
“If you say so. Still, everything seems to be going well. If this test flight is successful, then we’ll switch roles and you get to drive. They’ve already got a modified control panel for you at the ready.” He looked down at the welter of gauges, buttons, and dials in front of him.
That was his big worry. Oh, sure, they’d do some taxiing tests to make sure Kifa could operate the controls properly. But the leap from taxiing to actual flight was a big one, and he hoped that his teachings were enough to prevent the alien pilot from creating a spectacular crater for itself.
__________
Even though they were safely ensconced in a BAE Systems facility in Newport, Dwight was still worried that it was too close to the shipyard building the Sea Dragon. He was sure that, at any moment, Joachim and Blake were going to come busting through the door with ten more revisions to the design. The ‘OG’ engineers who’d laid out the initial launches for the repairs had somehow gotten roped into designing the damned thing up on the screen. The three engineers present also had Llewellyn Ellis from BAE, plus the fireplug shape of General De Vries and the much-slimmer figure of Admiral Tsuneo. The latter was here thanks to a long-distance flight from his carrier group, which was now making its way around the tip of South America.
The big screen showed them all something about as far from the usual foil-covered, fragile design of usual human spacecraft as one could get. This one showed a big chunky cone of armor up front, with purloined battleship gun-barrels mounted on individual turrets rather than the multiple-gun turrets of the original naval vessels they’d come from. The guns at the moment lay flat against the sides of the ship, protected by the rim of the cone which projected over them. Below that stowed gun battery was a quartet of slab-sided radar systems, each pointing in a different direction. Beneath that radar array showed the openings of missile tubes, pointing in various directions.
“So we’ll need at least two throws into LEO,” said Dwight. “This is the first one. It’s the life-system and main weaponry module.”
Tsuneo looked stepped closer and critically examined the missile tubes. “I may be biased, but I don’t like the lack of escorts.”
“We can launch drones out of the missile tubes,” said De Vries. “Trying to get a human-rated fighter put together will take too long. The drones will be tied into the ship’s Aegis system.”
The admiral rubbed his chin. “That could work, if combined with the missile system. At least our sensor baseline will be improved. Will the drones be armed?”
The general gave a feral smile. “Of course. They’ll be armed with what we’ll be slinging out of the guns as our sucker punch.”
“Ah, yes, that could work.”
“What about the other module?” asked De Vries.
Dwight clicked the remote in his hand, and the screen switched to a mostly cylindrical-looking craft, with twin large nozzles projecting out of the back. “This is it. The drive system and fuel tanks. We assemble the two in orbit. Should be pretty much plug-and-play. Much simpler than when we built the ISS, that’s for sure.”
“What about the third module?” asked Clara.
Llewellyn groaned. “We finally got people working on the damn fusion components for the Rithro, not to mention we finally got the go-ahead to launch this much fissionable material into space. I guarantee that final module will get stuck in committee for a looong while.”
“There are legitimate concerns about nuclear proliferation,” said De Vries, “especially if we have that many bombs in one place."
“Hmm.” Clara considered the module on the screen. “Okay, so we won’t be able to accelerate like the Rithro, but at least we can add to their firepower.
“Why no rear armor?” asked Tsuneo. “The Rithro has conical armor at their rear. I’m assuming it’s there for a reason.”
“Well, we’ve up-armored around the engine bells, but we can’t do a lot of shaped armor back there as with the Rithro,” said Dwight. “It’s too much of a mass hit.”
“Would it be better to wait until we actually get a fusion drive going?” asked Ned.
“That’ll take too much time,” said Clara. “We kind of know enough to help them fix the busted drive on the Rithro, but it’s a long road between here and there. Probably a year at the very least, probably more like three. I guess we should consider this design the Gen One of…whatever we wind up calling this.”
“I still like dreadnaught,” said Llewellyn.
Ned grinned. “Nah, battleship.”
Admiral Tsuneo let out a rare laugh. “I wish I could nominate the term carrier, but sadly that will have to wait until we get some proper space fighters on board…”
They all flinched as the door into the room almost banged open. Joachim strode through, followed by Blake.
Dwight’s heart sank as he put on a false happy face. “Hey! How are things going at the dockyards?”
Joachim glared at the screen, but then again he tended to glare at everything. Even the pair of senior military men remained quiet. After a long, tense moment he nodded. “Looks good. Please, show me the other module.”
The engineer clicked back to the first image. “Here you go, sir.”
Another endless few seconds ticked by. Finally, mercifully, Joachim nodded again. “Okay. The life-support system should work.” He turned to the two military people present. “Will the weapons work? I have to confess, such a thing is outside of my expertise.”
For once, De Vries looked to be at a loss at Joachim’s suddenly polite manner. “Um, we think it will. There may be a few iterations between here and the final design, especially with the guns.”
Joachim looked at the screen one last time. “Excellent. The Sea Dragon construction is going well, I must admit much better than I expected. We should have at least two available by the time these two modules are finished. Probably before then.”
“That leads to the next question,” said Llewellyn. “Where exactly do we build these damned things?”
“We and our allies have come to a consensus,” said De Vries. “Brookhaven. It’s got the right mix of expertise, plus we’re building a facility right next to the water so we can float the modules down to mate them up with the Sea Dragons.”
Admiral Tsuneo let out another laugh. “Long Island? That’s not exactly remote. It’s pretty built up, are there any open areas where we can put that facility?”
The general nodded. “To my great surprise, yes. There’s a nuclear power plant just north of Brookhaven, near Shoreham beach. It’s got a nice open area right next to it. We should be able to build it there without having to bulldoze anyone out of their homes.”
In the meantime, Dwight had switched to an overhead view of the area in question. He zoomed in, switched to satellite view, and nodded. “Yeah, it’s open enough. But there’s nothing there. I mean, it’s trees. No infrastructure, no foundations.”
“We’ll have to build everything from scratch,” added Clara. “Even if we do it purely pre-fab, putting it together will take ages.”
Blake gave a discreet cough. “What’s the soil like? I mean, how stable?”
“Pretty decent,” replied the general. “We won’t need to prep the site, just level the trees and then start digging and pouring.”
The SpaceX engineer rubbed the back of his neck. “Right, so we can pour the foundations pretty fast. As for the structures themselves, we have used a solution down in Texas that works quite well and you can throw them up really fast.”
De Vries gave him a dead-eyed stare. “Look, I know your boss likes using them. But I am not building humanity’s very first dreadnaught-battleship-whatever-the-fuck inside of a goddamned tent.”