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Chapter VII: Anticipation

“When playing mind games, never forget to shape the terrain to your advantage.”

~ Alphis Nool, 25– 108 A.E.

507 A.E. May 03, 07:24:53 Local

JP “Sol” Starwind

New Earth Imperial Order, Delan III, Red Heaven, ENS Legacy

“There’s no way we can win,” I mutter, disheartened.

“This isn’t fair!” Soma says, crossing her arms. “Those aren’t even ships! They’re just flying engines!”

“Can’t we just rejigger some of the, uh… engine things?” I ask, sort of just running out of relevant words. Soma and Danther stare at me. “I need caffeine?” Nothing. “Alright, alright, I think I actually need to learn how these engines work.”

Danther smirks. “You actually going to listen this time?”

I roll my eyes.

“Okay, what do you already know?”

“Well most of the ship’s mass is in the engine cores, right? —99.34 percent, in Legacy’s case. Soma said that at some point, right?”

Danther nods.

“Well we use gravity or whatever to make those engine cores move and, because it’s so much of the ship, the ‘real’ ship parts are sort of just dragged along for the ride.”

“That suffices.” Danther closes his eyes, translating my words from idiot, I suspect, to see if I missed anything critical. He nods. “Modern engines are designed around the principal of directing gravitational windows on volumes of extreme mass to affect the ship’s acceleration on a non-uniform scale,” he, uh, agrees—I think—and I try to feign a look of comprehension.

“If you enact a force on a large percentage of the ship’s mass,” Soma clarifies, “the engine cores, the rest of the ship is kind of just dragged along, yes.”

“So why aren’t we faster? With the Earth-spec gravity field creator things, can’t we just, I don’t know, make the gravity stronger than the others by sheer, uh, tech-ness?” I think for a split second. “We could, uh, reallocate resources to create more gravity window dilators?” I suggest. “Maybe from that giant cannon in the ship’s nose.”

Danther grins, however, the expression proud, rather than patronizing. “See, you can understand this stuff when you put your mind to it.” I open my mouth, but he holds up a hand. “But it’s boring, I know. Anyway, accelerating a several ton projectile to—well, hmm…”

“The engine cores are made of delectium,” Soma says, “one of the many exotic forms of matter made from arrangements and types of fundamental particles and preons different than ‘native’ matter.” My mind starts to go a little fuzzy; the theoretical periodic matrix of matter was always a brain-melting subject for me. “The details are irrelevant, but suffice to say, delectium is a type of matter that doesn’t share an equivalent force to the strong nuclear force our matter has.”

“That’s the one that holds atoms together, right?” I ask.

“It’s what holds nuclei together,” Danther corrects.

“Same thing,” I say, waving off the semantics.

“It’s not the sa…,” he begins, sighing and burying his face in a hand.

“Anyway,” Soma continues, “Delectium does have a different type of force—a sort of bonding force that clusters the sub-atomic particles it forms into pseudo nuclei of giant size—large enough to see.”

“So, is that like gravity?”

Danther’s knuckles pop. “We’ve already explained—” He takes deep breath through his nostrils. “In that matter groups into wells, yes.”

“So… like electromagnetism—” I begin, and I think Danther is about to have a stroke from the strain on his face “—but if electromagnetism had only one charge instead of two and that one charge attracted itself?”

“You’re asking if it is like a monopolar version of electromagnetism?” he asks in a mutter, more to himself, it seems. Danther’s stress seems to dissipate, overtaken by a thoughtful air. “You know… that’s a fair approximation, actually.”

“The delectium forms spheres downright colossal by atomic standards,” Soma says. “Like neutron stars, but smaller.”

“They are more or less like small, stable neutron stars,” Danther says with an offhanded air, mind concentrating on something else.

Soma looks at him then rolls her eyes. “The reason we cannot simply increase the gravitational force on the engines is because the half meter delectium sphere excerpts force on a fettrium facilitator, which in turn distributes the force to the ship,” Soma says. “But yes, that engine is so massive that if you were to put your hand on it, you would feel about a g and very slight time dilation.”

“Really?” I ask. “Time dilation?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be enough for you to perceive without aid, but it’s significant enough that relativity needs to be accounted for when calculations are made.”

“Okay…,” I reply not wanting to venture any deeper in to that science. “What now?”

“The engines can’t be any stronger because the force would essentially crush components of the ship,” Danther replies. “Specifically, the fettrium configuration only can handle about point two petanewtons of force, which is impressive, allowing this particular ship to accelerate at almost 20,000 SAUs or Standard Acceleration Units.”

“Meters per second squared,” Soma adds, seemingly a little annoyed.

“So… around two thousand g’s?”

“About, yes,” Soma says.

“Anyway,” Danther says, “there’s only so much an engine can take—my engine design was an attempt to find a better, stronger balance between the delectium and fettrium—the former has quite a few subatomic particles with different properties and the latter’s five-layer chemistry is mathematically complex. Any solution has to be elegant, to say the least. I managed to increase maximum acceleration by only less than one percent.”

“That’s still significant,” Soma says, encouraging.

“Thank you,” he says, grinning a little. “In a straight race, Legacy will be competitive, but a lot of this race is traditionally concerned with obstacles and the like. There’s just too much back and forth.”

“Isn’t a ship this size supposed to be nimble?” I ask.

“It is,” Soma says. “Extremely, in fact. The problem is we are competing against ships that are only nimble.”

“No combat capacity, minimal crew, everything in the design stripped down to be little more than a flying shield emitter,” Danther adds, rolling a hand. “This ship’s material density will probably mitigate any need for inertial countermeasures, but all of those other ships will have every acceleration countermeasure on the market.”

“It’s—!” Soma beings, incensed. “It’s—! A joke!”

“That’s not even the real problem,” Danther says, sighing.

“No?” I ask.

“Well, while this ship is extraordinary, it’s utilizing some outdated—”

“Excuse me!” Soma says.

“Well, it’s true,” Danther says, belligerent. “While you have ridiculous amount of resources at your disposal, there have been some advances in engineering in the last several centuries.”

Soma crosses her arms.

“Soma,” Danther says, voice sympathetic; she looks over. “To be fair, trying to enact some of those changes yourself without a facility would be like me trying to perform structural bone surgery without aid.”

“Apology accepted.”

“I didn’t—”

“What’s more, it would be like doing so with trillions of credits on you,” Soma adds with a superior air. “Updating modular components is one thing; something serious like that is another.”

“Back to the point, though—those flying engines,” he says, shaking his head in disgust. “They have zero practical purpose, but they sure can stand up to structural stress.”

“Can’t we implement any of that stuff?” I ask.

“It would take too long,” Soma says.

“And Soma has a point about how dangerous it would be to start fiddling around with this ship without one hell of a—”

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Soma glares at him.

“—without one significant… uh… well it would be a tempting target, is all.”

“But…,” I start.

They both look at me.

“Why not enhance the engines with warp or force emitters?” I ask, confusion mounting.

“We could, but maneuvering engines are about stability,” Danther replies.

“What about using gravity to affect the whole ship, rather than just the engines—wouldn’t that allow for more force?”

“Another point of engine is to minimize the amount of volume needed to be dedicated the systems; whole ship emitters would be fascinating—interesting possibilities, to be sure—but it compromises too much space.”

The whole thing just bothers me. “Why do we even need a better engine than what we have?”

Danther wipes his face with his hand, forehead beginning to twitch a little.

“What I mean is with spatial warping and the rift and all that, isn’t acceleration kind of… I don’t know, irrelevant?”

“Because it’s interesting!” Danther says with the tone one might use when talking to an idiot.

I snort and Danther rolls his eyes.

“So…,” I begin, swallowing my smile as an idea occurs to me. “There doesn’t seem to be much to the do about the warp field, but why don’t we use the thrust engines in the straightaways?”

The two just stare at me, but then Soma slowly turns to Danther, eyebrow raising, expression smug as a smirk thins her lips.

I’m not sure if it’s a good idea to continue or not, but I do anyway. “You know, the surface area of the engines is larger, right, and the mass would be significantly less …so, uh …more thrust? …at least in one vector?”

Silence.

“Sounds like he’s got—”

“Oh, shut up, Soma!”

Her smirk only grows.

“What?” I ask.

“We were having a discussion about utilizing one’s favorite part verses optimally running the whole.”

“Okay! Okay!” he says, throwing up his hands. “The whole thing— it’s just— there’s a reason no one uses them anymore, is all!”

“Yeah,” Soma says, smugness growing. “Because people are idiots.”

Danther glares at Soma. “Because everything is scarcer here.”

Soma rolls her eyes. “Matter-antimatter pairs are not that hard to find; you make it out like you are starved for void resources when you use the same energy in other applications. Rationally speaking, this ship would only use a kilogram of antimatter every what—twenty-six seconds at max burn? How much food does a crew consume?”

“It’s just so… archaic.”

“Yeah, but so is communicating with your face holes when you have neural, yet you still do that.”

Danther shakes his head, both sympathetic and frustrated. “I… well I know they are more effective in certain circumstances, but it’s such an inefficient use of space.”

“As is having decks rather than all crew operating in sim pods.”

“Yes, but the human mind has certain psychological needs.”

“More like someone has a phobia of being stuck in a sim, unable to discern whether—”

“Soma, that is a real condition with real possibilities for—!”

“I know—I’ve seen Inception.”

“You’ve what?”

“Bwaaaam.”

“What?”

“Never mind. What’s more, if we were to remove someone’s favorite engine, the amount of thrust we could—”

“Yes, yes, but a thrust engine is like a giant signal flair! It is impossible to—”

“And when is stealth going to be a factor in this race?”

Danther looks at her, Soma raising an eyebrow. He sighs. “I give up.”

“You see, Sol,” she says, looking at me, “that’s why the engines are there, but people nowadays are so obsessed with efficiency and stealth that they willingly eliminate all their options.”

Danther rolls his eyes. “I said you win.”

She laughs. “Sorry, that was unfair. Yet…”

“What?” Danther asks, unamused.

“No, it occurs to me that this is exactly what we need to even the playing field a little.”

His annoyance fades. “They want to field ‘ships’ that are more or less designed to operate in metaphorical vacuum; we field engines that technically follow the rules: neither rift, nor warp.”

She grins. “Exactly.”

“What now?” I ask.

“Just get into one of the sim pods,” Soma says, eager. “You’ll understand once you do it.”

507 A.E. May 03, 17:57:09 Local

Soma

New Earth Imperial Order, Delan III, Red Heaven, ENS Legacy

He’s a natural… I knew it as soon as he had the inertial dampeners lessened to “feel” the ship’s movements. Humans are wonderful that way. There’s no conscious computation of physics as it’s experienced—well, for most—or carful crafting of equations in order to make things work. Humans just sort of instinct their way through things. Sure, there needs to be consideration and practice to get better and the fundamentals have to at least be understood, but so much of what they do—so many things that require absurd amounts of inter-coordination—is relegated to subconscious instinct.

I’m almost jealous.

I watch as he maneuvers the synthesized ship around a tight turn, the rear swinging wildly as the whole thing shifts into a horizontal drift. An hour ago, he had failed the maneuver repeatedly—doing this or that wrong and messing the whole thing up. But now he makes the turn every time, it just another little detail of the track that has been relegated to repetition as he tries to conquer another goal.

Beyond that, he’s better at this than most. He had said he practiced flying ships in sim before for fun, but there’s a natural talent underneath that too. There’s an elegance to the way his mind breaks down situations and figures out what to do; he rarely wants an explanation for how something works, preferring to see it functioning or feel it done—he even prefers the touch of controls in addition to the pure efficiency of neural command.

Even so, I worry about those stupid other “ships” in the race. The whole idea is stupid—like trying to determine which ship is most durable and competing against chunks of armor. The whole idea is infuriating.

“What’s wrong, Soma?” Sol asks, suddenly beside me, simulated ship controls dissolving into a kind of stylized code.

“Just thinking about the other ships.”

He grins. “Don’t let it get you down,” he says, and I want to point out just how disheartened he was when he first learned about them. “As long as we put up a good performance, we’ll get off okay.”

“I guess,” I reply, dubious.

“There are other races, too—ones that judge actual ships and how they perform in more well-rounded trials. …I guess Khal just figured this one was so close, and he had the access to get us in without too much trouble.”

“He is more complex that just ‘bad,’” I reply.

“Yeah,” he says, making one of his funny expressions, sort of crinkling his lips. “He’s a dangerous mixture of smart and, uh, dangerous.”

“Eloquent,” I say, grinning as I give him a sidelong glance.

He shoves my shoulder gently. “Shut up.”

My grin widens.

“So, what do you want to do after the race?” he asks, sipping a drink that doesn’t exist; humans are so weird. “I told you a lot about the other races and the like, but that was before you began talking to me and I haven’t had the chance to ask what you want to do.”

I think for a bit. “I don’t know.” I pause, pondering some more. “I suppose more races—real races—would be fun.”

“What did you do when you left port? —I mean, if you don’t mind me asking. Is than anything worth doing again.”

“No,” I say, sighing. “It was mostly rift mining,” I add with disgust. “I have probes all over and whenever one discovers a decent vein of materials I depart and mine it for a while. That’s mostly just an excuse, though; I know a pretty good place where the resources are always excellent.”

“That explains all the tech on this ship.”

“Yeah,” I admit, sighing again. “I did some exploring too; found a couple planets that might be worth showing off—I have some more resources tucked away here and there, mostly in one where nobody else can access.”

“There’s a lot of money in prospecting,” he says, nodding. “But I think I’d be fine just visiting other worlds and not having to deal with all the paperwork—staking the claim, proving habitability, etc.. Whenever something gets all bureaucratic like that… eh.”

I chuckle, and he looks over, smiling.

“Tomorrow’s going to be fun.”

“Yeah,” I agree.

507 A.E. May 04, 07:31:05 Local

Luna Veriley

New Earth Imperial Order, Delan III, Red Heaven, The Emerald

“Pardon, what?” I ask, getting into my express transport.

“You have been reassigned to Lanver Station for the day,” Mr. June says, as my transport alters course, beginning toward Dowin’s corporate shuttle bay. “A client of Dowin needs a clandestine negotiator, I expect.”

“Hmm, any details?”

“None listed.”

I make my way to the nearest shuttle when I arrive, Mr. June taking care of all the details as I prep the ship for planetary egress. A minute later, I’m off. Opening a holo window, I look down on the planet as I ascend. Whoever first called them “jewels of the void” was inspired, the phrase so apt. I just love the way Delan III’s oceans display that dark, depthless ultramarine where it’s deep, lightening its way to aquamarine at the shores. I adore the greens of the forests: rich, verdant, and dark in the boreal regions and alive, tropical, and light near the equator. Even the white at the tips of mountains and the poles is magical. Yet, almost as soon as the sightseeing has begun, it ends, final approach notice coming over neural.

I leave the shuttle, but keep the holo window open, passively following my neural nav to what I assume must be a briefing; it has been quite a while since I have had such an undocumented assignment, the only logical explanation some sort of cooperative project either with sensitive security concerns that bears only a single explanation in an isolated room or perhaps something last minute. I reach my destination, entering what appears to be… a posh suite.

Khal stands before me.

“Ms. Veriley,” he says with a grin.

“Mr. Khal,” I say, not entirely annoyed with him, remembering the chocolates, Champaign, and roses. “I should have expected this.”

“Should you have?” he asks, grin growing to a smile. “Have I become that predictable?”

I don’t reply, raising an eyebrow.

“Furthermore, do you know what this is?”

“I should have expected you,” I correct, narrowing my eyes. “What are you up to this time?”

“I noticed you haven’t taken vacation since you began working for Dowin.”

“And are you my vacation?” I ask, unamused.

“No, no, not exactly,” he says though a laugh. “Though I would not be averse to the notion.”

I roll my eyes.

“A-ney-way,” he says with that annoying way of his where he breaks up a word’s syllables. “Mr. Starwind and Mr. Minth are in today’s race,” he says, and my irritation dissolves.

“They’re what?”

“Yeah,” he says, amused. “They got their hands on a ship and I sponsored their entry.”

I narrow my eyes. “Why?”

He shrugs. “Hmm, motives.”

I roll my eyes, grinning despite myself; I try to turn away, but a glance toward him shows me he’s already seen. “You’re so determinedly vague.”

“Well, what can I say other than your mind’s worth the effort.”

I flush a little. “Why have you brought me here?”

“To watch, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me—”

“Yes, yes, Ms. Veriley.”

“I… I wasn’t going to say that,” I say, hoping he gets the hint.

He sighs, and I stop myself. “I meant that as a complement.” He pauses. “You want to see those two succeed. I…,” he begins, but smirks, looking away. “I think that’s sweet’a you.”

I blush more, but this time I don’t think he sees.

“I pulled some strings and put you on ‘assignment’ to ‘observe the races’ as Dowin has assets—yaddi-yadda—but, in reality, the point is to just, well—to just have some time off… enjoy yourself.”

“That’s…,” I begin, thinking. “That’s rather sweet of you.”

“Don’t go calling me sweetheart, now.”

I roll my eyes again.

He walks past. “Well, enjoy.”

“Khal?” I ask before I realize what I’m doing.

“Yes?” he asks, a twinkle of knowing pleasure in his voice.

“Could…,” I begin, trying to think of something. “Could you show me… how to set up the feeds?”

“Of course,” he says, coming back. He walks over to a plush couch and I sit as he brings up a number of holo screens, announcers, pundits, and other spokespersons appearing near feeds of ships, diagrams of engines, and other various things. A moment later, he looks back. “Good?”

“Perfect.”

He begins out. “Well—”

“You’re going already?” I ask, accidently interrupting him, though continuing on anyway.

“I was.”

“You…,” I begin, and he tilts his head.

“I…?”

“You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

“When have you ever made things easy for me, Ms. Veriley?”

“L-Luna,” I say, shaky.

“Pardon?” he asks, grinning ear to ear.

“Just call me Luna, you insufferably difficult—!” I say, sighing. “Man.”

His grin becomes a smirk as he sits. “I suppose I could stay a while,” he says through that stupid expression. I try to pay attention to the holo screens, but I can’t keep his annoying smirk out of my peripheral gaze.

“Stop,” I finally say.

“What?”

“Stop grinning.”

“Do me a favor first?”

“What?” I ask, despite myself.

“Stop being so adorable.”

I catch a rather unladylike comeback before it reaches my lips and shove him instead.

“Oh,” Khal says, interest caught. “The, uh, ENS Legacy has given itself clearance for takeoff.”

“Did you just say ENS Legacy?” I ask, staring at him.

“Yeah.” He turns, giving me a significant look. “That’s the ship Sol and Danther are in and neither of them has any idea—they just think it’s any old Earth ship.”