The Mordicai Incident

Ajax found Cutter and Ronald waiting for him in the spaceport hanger the next morning. TIL Bonventure had been pulled out into the sunlight and sat apart from the more common designs. She was bigger than the passenger shuttles and prettier than cargo-haulers. As he admired it, he became aware that someplace, someone from an enemy zaibatsu was snapping holo-forms of the sleek, black form waiting on the pad.

“So this is what you didn’t need a test pilot for,” He said and let his face split into a wide grin as Ronald and Cutter approached. “Very impressive, Chief Engineer.”

Ronald patted the black hull. “She’s all ours and we’re gonna do things that’ve never been done before. We could do Avalon in two hops.”

“What’s that?” Cutter said with an irritated, perplexed look. Technicians still scurried around the landing gear making last-minute adjustments.

“Jumps, stops, it’s all the same,” Ajax said and waved a loading team toward the few pieces of gear left in his Banshee. He could frequently guess where people were from by what they called the event. “Everyone has to stop at refueling points along the way or risk a T-O… that’s a terminal overshoot. It’s what happens when you don’t have enough fuel to slow down once you come out of transit. You drift past your aim-point into deep space. Unless there’s a rescue ship around, you could be lost for good.”

Bonventure was tricked out with stealth shrouds over the four engines, stacked two per side, built to absorb IR and reduce her signature. The fuselage, seen from the side, resembled an aerodynamic wedge that tapered to a nose, the command cabin bulging from the upper surface. Between the cargo bays, the undersurface was slightly concave to provide lift.

I wonder how fast I can get her into orbit? Ajax thought as he looked skyward. If the lift-engines were as powerful as had been assured, they would get him up quickly.

“Take care of her,” Cutter said and offered him a hand. “We sent word to Alpha Centauri out a month ago. They should be expecting you.”

Leda smiled contently and embraced him.

"Don’t be gone long,” She said in his ear and gave him an extra squeeze. They walked him to the crew-ladder leading up into belly of the ship. Leaving had always been easy for all of them- a necessary skill in the underworld. Ajax had never known when a cargo would come up, or when Interpol would get a hot tip from an informer. It was not good business to plant roots, but things felt changed, this time seemed different, Leda had thrown him off his balance and suddenly he regretted having to go.

"I'll see you when I get back." Ajax said and he would try to. “I guess whether it’s twelve months or twelve years depends on the company.”

“I’ll still be your liason, if you want me,” Leda said and moved to stand next to Cutter. The engineering crew, led by Devolte, started up the ladder, disappearing through the ventral hatch. “We’ll have a lot to catch up on.”

“Mr. Cutter, you won’t regret this,” Ajax said as the last man was in. He gestured toward the sky. “I guess someone’s still looking out for me.”

“The company believes in you, Ajax. Remember that. It’s all that matters,” Cutter said and took several steps back, away from the exhaust port of the nearest lift engine. “You’ll receive your instructions on your way out of the system. We’ll be speaking again soon, I promise you.”

His command cabin lit automatically up when motion sensors arranged around the compartment detected his presence. He slid over the center console into the pilot’s seat, pulling the 4-point harness down over his head. The snap of it locking into place sent a chill up his spine. The ORACLE prompt flashed from the primary display in the instrument panel, demanding –LOGIN-.

The cordless commo-headset was where he left it, hanging from the headrest on the navigator’s acceleration couch. He stretched out to grab it and lowered it over his crown. Once in place he could hear the chatter of the rest of the small crew, five techno-weenies spouting rude gibberish to each other back in engineering as they completed their checks and buckled in. They would learn to be more civil once a few months had passed in what he called the great “out there.”

“Login Ajax, four-three-zero-five.” He said. The ORACLE traced his voiceprint and compared it to the sample on file. Login accepted… appeared on the PR/DPL and words in a pleasant feminine tone came out of the bridge speakers. "Ronnie, I think I’m ready up here.”

"Engineering is go. All systems in the green." Devolte called back. “No faults detected.”

“Initiate primary startup.” Ajax said and the instrument console began to glow. Switches flashed as systems activated in sequence. TIL Bonventure slowly came to life

-Primary Startup Running- Oracle reported. Red and green anti-collision lights started pulsing on the outer surface. The eight lift-engines began spooling up, reactor driven turbines spinning on super-conducting bearings, powerful enough to lift all five hundred tons of the ship to a hover. The sound of them winding up increased in pitch and volume as more power was applied and they turned faster. The engine temperature LCD emitted a mild signal as the refrigerant pumps cooling the bearings registered an increase. In minutes, all eight engines were humming in synchronicity, the needle on the RPM gauge was climbing into the tens of thousands of rotations per minute.

-Warning. Temperature Spike- Oracle reported as a debris cloud billowed out from around the tripod gear. The engines had reached operational speed. Ajax caught a glance out of the side window at Cutter and Leda, now retreating from the dust thrown up by the engine wash with their hands over her ears. The control cabin was be shielded against sound as well as radiation.

“TOC control, this is TIL Bonventure, requesting departure clearance.” Ajax said. The voice of the spaceport traffic controller came back through his headset almost immediately.

“Clearance granted, Bonventure, your flight plan is on file,” The controller said rapidly. “Wind is out of the southwest at fourteen kilometers per hour, visibility unlimited to orbital transition. NOAA has issued a solar activity warning that should remain in effect for the next two days. All out-system lanes are clear. You are number three in line for transorbital departure.”

"Roger, tower," Ajax replied. Test number one would be if they got off the ground. He settled his hands into the ergonomic flight controls and stretched his fingers out. “Controls set to auto-launch.”

-Launch Cycle Engaged- Oracle replied.

“Ronnie, so tell me,” He called back as the spike on lift-engine RPM’s grew wider and the Bonventure started moving. Part of the automated launch cycle was a hover sideslip into the loading platform hiding the streamlined mag-lev caddy. “Have you ever been thrown away before?”

“Nope… never,” Ronald called back over the intercom. The catapult drew 200 Gigawatts to move each 500-ton shot and several dozen miles of heavy guideway to get it close to Mach 1. Support towers carrying the guideway over the water to dry land were massive and deeply anchored into bedrock. “I’ve always heard it was somewhat distressing.”

Locking bars rocked the spacecraft as they closed down over the landing gear. Ajax realized that his heart was pounding as he looked southwest. The caddy-return clover at the end of the guideway terminated the line outside of Lakehurst, New Jersey. From there TOC McGuire would control of the last part of the launch.

Autonomous systems commands scrolled down his data-monocle as the ship’s computers performed checks in 30 seconds that would take a human team hours. “Enjoy it, Ronnie… it’ll be like the first time you ever had sex,” Ajax said and glance-clicked on the selection, “SCRAM preheat” when it appeared in the feed. “You have had sex, right? Are you aware of the act? Well, if you aren’t, this is what it’s like.”

“This is a poor time for jokes.” Ronald said and closed the connection. Intakes had opened in the hull and raised scoops into dorsal and ventral positions. The twin SCRAM-FLO engines in the back burned a liquid Hydrogen/ liquid Oxygen mix and were efficient enough to get Bonventure out of the atmosphere with only a half-load of fuel, but the SCRAM-FLO only worked above 400 M.P.H. The catapult provided that for only a few credits per pound.

"Man departure stations." Ajax said and he tugged on his restraints to ensure that they were secure. He poked his head forward and watched the previous launch curving out over the ocean. The display on the navigation console changed as his search radar began sweeping the sky. Eight contacts were logged; two civilian dropping on JFK, and besides the outbound track of the previous launch, military flights were lifting out of the government track that ran from Redstone Arsenal to TOC McGuire. A large display rose in front of the ship’s nose a large square flashing green as a countdown appeared in orange numbers beneath it.

“Catapult is charging,” Ajax said. The square flashed faster as the numbers dropped toward 00:00. When it went solid green the display would drop and the caddy would start it’s trip down the guideway. “Don’t hold your breath for this… just try to breathe normally, you’re going to feel a gigantic hand on your chest.”

“Bonventure, this is tower, transferring to TOC control.”

“Roger, tower,” Ajax said as the countdown passed 30 seconds. “I’m connected with TOC remote host. Launch command guidance synched and locked.”

“Happy high-roads, Bonventure. It’s been a pleasure.” Tower signed off with the traditional JBMS farewell as the display dropped out of sight and the launch caddy started forward. During night launches, the lights from surrounding neighborhoods dimmed as each shot passed, the lights in the tower never did.

At Mach .551 the engines started rumbling, offering just a hint of what would erupt with sufficient speed, the computer matching engine power to each increasing kilometer-per-hour. The hazard boards posted along the guideway remained green at Mach .512 and .601.

"Bonventure is up." Ajax said as his felt the tow bars break beneath him. Once free, the landing gear folded into the belly of the ship, which curved neatly outward over the Atlantic doing Mach .771 as the SCRAM-FLO’s took over, vibrating the whole ship as they pushed him back into his pads, intoxicated by acceleration. He took a deep breath and pressed the timer switch on his Krono-Tek.

He grunted as gravity pushed him into his seat, the SCRAM-FLO’s roaring, fire-breathing dragons that lifted him on a column of smoke that could be seen from Massachussetts to DC. At 150 kilometers downrange, the hybrid SCRAMs lacked sufficent air to breathe. The air-intakes retracted into the hull and the hybrid engines converted to rockets, pushing the ship out of the atmosphere. At three hundred miles high and moving at 3 kilometers per second, Bonventure made her maiden escape from gravity. Ajax squeezed the timer button on his Krono-Tek to mark his time. He’d gotten into orbit in just shy of six minutes.

“Not bad at all.”

Ajax felt his arms lift off the armrests of his acceleration couch as the engines cut off. Against the starfield, military ships around Alpha Station moved like slugs, crawling slowly toward the Kupier jump points while Bonventure glided past.

“Welcome to orbit, gentlemen,” Ajax said and retrieved the few items that had become unsecured during launch, several pens and his small datapad which floated about the cabin. “How are you guys doing down there?”

"Gah! I'm going to be sick!" Ronald called back, followed by the sound of retching. Ajax had experienced Space Adaptation Syndrome before and knew that Devolte would be uncomfortable for days until he adjusted, but there was a large supply of anti-emetic tablets stocked onboard.

***

Cutter and Leda watched the Bonventure until it was too far away to see… a speck lost amid the altocumulus clouds.

“Did you get some genetic samples?” Cutter said. Leda nodded and opened her purse, taking out a vial of viscous white fluid out of a cooling jacket.

“About a quarter of a fluid ounce,” Leda said and handed the vial over to Cutter. “I must’ve been a milkmaid in a past life. It came straight from the source so there shouldn’t be any cross-contamination from me.”

“The lab boys will screen it before it goes into the genetic library,” Cutter said and yawned as he dug his car keys out of his coat. “You two seem compatible. The company might sanction some offspring.”

“If he makes it back,” Leda said. “And if I’m not too old by then. They could be gone for a while.”

“If the company wants your offspring we don’t need him or you,” Cutter said and removed a small disc from his pocket. “Here. Heads up.”

He tossed the box to Leda, who was surprised but still managed to make the catch. It was a microdisk, the type used for high-grade video recording.

“What’s this?” Leda said as she examined it. The adhesive plastic seal on the case had been broken.

“It’s the video record taken from your house last night. I got it from the psych department once they were done with their evaluation. Keep it, lase it, do what you want with it.”

Leda was stunned but tried to cover it with a smile before he noticed. Cutter gave no sign that he did.

“Thanks, maybe I’ll keep it for some night when I get a client who isn’t so talented,” She said and slipped the disc into her purse. Such records were usually retained. “Why?”

Cutter took a seat on the hood of his Avianca and folded his arms.

“I was on Octavia during the crisis with fifth commando. We raised a lot of hell in the Octavian rear areas." He said and hesitated.

"I watch the news," Leda said. “I heard all about it.”

"My team had been inserted a few kilometers behind the line during the high point in the fighting there; almost a year before it really went into the crapper," Cutter said slowly. "We were making our way towards a command bunker when we ran into an ambush. We lost half of our guys the minute they opened up. It was…" He paused to search for an appropriate word.

“How terrible.” Leda said and frowned.

“Our nodie raised two Navy fighters flying backup for an orbital strike on a supply dump. There wasn’t much left for them to hit after the battlewagons got done, so the flight leader got a vector from our nodie and told us to sit tight until they got there.”

“So how does Ajax fit into this?” Leda said cautiously but slowly was beginning to understand.

“Our nodie knew how to direct air strikes, so he brought the fighters in right on target.” Cutter said and used his hands to show her how the fighters had come in. “On the first pass he took out the militia that had blocked off our escape route with cluster bombs. I never saw such carnage in my life. It was right after that the flight-leader got cut up by anti-aircraft lasers. The guy never had a chance to eject.”

“So what happened?” Leda said.

“The wingman could’ve bugged out and saved his own ass but he just kept making attack runs,” Cutter said and folded his arms again. “I got the radio when the radioman’s head disintegrated and every time I called for support we had it. These Octavians, they couldn’t touch him. Missiles, small-arms, nothing, he’d pop flares and disappear like a feking ghost.”

“Utburd,” She said to herself and he nodded. “It sounds like you owed someone a favor.”

“When he’d used up all of his cluster bombs, the guy went to work with his hepacs, keeping the militia away from us while we withdrew and found a dust-off site,” Cutter said, looking out over the spaceport as if it were the battlefield. “He circled us until the skims arrived to take us out. I found out later that the pilot’s name was Melvin Kinkaid. My report helped get him the Nova Cross. In my opinion he deserved more.”

Cutter opened the door to the Avianca and got behind the wheel.

“I owe him his privacy, at least that much.” He said and started the Avianca, she waved at his back as he drove away.

Leda slipped the disk into her purse and twirled Ajax's keys around a finger as she checked her Krono-Tek.

“Fek!” She swore and let her face briefly contort into an angry grimace. The morning rush hour was just getting into full swing. It would take her forever to get back to the office.

***

All eyes at the NOAA Space Environment Center were watching the feeds collected from observation satellites in high orbit, a constellation of more than a dozen, each one oriented on the Sun. The star was nearing the end of an 11-year cycle of activity, marked by increased sunspots and solar flares around magnetically dynamic regions.

The senior controller had a degree in astronomy from CalTech and had been with NOAA for 20 years. In that time he’d developed an instinctual sensitivity for what he called the “moods” of his pet star. It was angry; he could feel it. They’d registered several M-class flares from the Sun’s northern hemisphere and a gigantic X-class, each one larger than a hundred Earth’s, the most powerful flares the office had recorded in 200 years of watching. Like a Vulcanist watching a smoldering volcano, the senior controller felt something massive gathering its strength.

“How’s the geomagnetic field holding up?” He asked the NOAA technician manning the satellite downlink console. The X-class flare had been pointing away from the Earth when it erupted, a fortunate thing, for the EMP released from it would have fried every unshielded satellite and spacecraft all the way out to Jupiter.

“Still unsettled,” The tech replied as he watched a pair of sunspots that had been forming for weeks in solar region 6659, matched by a duo emerging along the same latitude, a classic N and S group forming + and – charged poles. “There were some pretty strong magnetic aberrations on the last spectrum we took. I don’t know, we might have to shut trans-atmospheric traffic down until things quiet down a little.”

“We can’t do that,” The senior controller said and rubbed his tired eyes. He’d been up for 22 hours straight, kept awake by insta-caff and contraband stim. “Orders from the top. It costs billions of credits a day to keep a major spaceport out of service. We can’t shut down anything unless we detect a big one heading our way.”

“It’s their funeral,” The tech said and shrugged. “Our job is to watch and report, not tell them what to do. They’ve made that clear often enough.”

“Yep,” The senior controller said and paused as he felt a chill pass through his spine. He experienced the same feeling just before the last X-class flare had erupted years before. “Zoom in on six-six-five-nine.”

Just as the technician complied, the sunspots in region 6659 disappeared, hidden by a bright flash that dazzled the electronic eyes of watching satellites. A solar flare much larger than an X-class. A gigantic magnetic “bubble” of ionized gas on the surface of the Sun had burst. Around 20 billion tons of plasma was expanding into space at 2000 km/second, racing toward the Earth.

“Christ and Allah.”

“We’re starting to get some preliminary data coming in,” The technician said as he tore his eyes away from the spot outshining the Sun. “This one was big. Peak output was ninety ergs per centimeter squared per second. ”

“Classify this flare as Mega-ninety then.” The senior controller said and watched the flare gradually fade, disappearing as it lost brilliance and was overwhelmed by the light streaming from the Sun’s photosphere. “Issue an immediate solar storm warning to all power generation facilities, spaceports and spacecraft in orbit. We’re going to get some effects coming in.”

“We just got secondary confirmation from NorCom-Holloman,” The tech said and complied by pushing an icon on his soft touch screen that sent an automated message to computer terminals worldwide. “I’ll bet the Northern Lights are going to be pretty tonight.”