Lydia nodded. “How long a wait?”
“That’s a little tougher. I can’t exactly back-of-the-napkin that sort of maneuver, but call it six to eight years to get data back, or maybe a little less.”
Sykes frowned. “It’s the better plan, but that’s still a long time to wait for intel.”
Gordon shrugged and said, “It is what it is. Voyager has been traveling for over 70 years, and it’s only in the Kuiper Belt. We’re talking about something light-years away and getting back information in a matter of a few years. You’re just stuck thinking in terms of a single planet. For these sorts of speeds and distances, under a decade is practically real-time data.”
Servers appeared around them, clearing away plates and dropping off yet another fresh round of drinks, as well as a pot of coffee and three cups, cream, and sugar. Lydia smiled and began pouring coffee for each of them. “So we can help you out with a couple of probes, and then in six to eight years we get to find out if it was money wasted on a comet, or if the whole world is about to change. What do you plan on doing in the interim? Or, rather, what would you like to do with all your secretive government funding while you don’t have to worry about pesky things like justifying its use?”
Gordon grinned. “I’ll be working on the ship, the prototype for, I hope, all those warships that we’re going to build as the last line of defense we have against the Deltans. The probe is just a starting point. An actual ship with people and weapons aboard is hundreds of times more complex, and it’s going to take years just to figure out what the best design is. And then that first ship will be the ship. The prototype is going to be our ambassador to the stars.”
“How poetic.” Sykes drank his coffee black, swallowing the whole cup in a single gulp. “And what sort of things are you looking to develop for this ship still?”
Gordon began counting off on his fingers. “Environmental support, oxygen replenishment, living arrangements, waste management, radiation shielding, sensors, weapons—”
Sykes pounced without leaving his chair. “What sorts of weapons?”
“Well, I’ve already sunk money into electromagnetic guns, launchers, and laser systems. Those are all bearing differing amounts of fruit, but I recognize that those sorts of systems won’t be enough to stop the Deltans alone, should they need stopping. What I really need to work on is missiles, and specifically warheads. Along with freeing me up to work with reactor components, how about releasing me to work on weapons-grade materials?”
Sykes pushed away from the table and gestured for his coat. “Nope. Forget it. You get the authorization to work on nukes when the Deltans prove they’re a threat. Figure out something else, include space for missiles from our existing arsenal, or, better yet, forget the offensive systems and go with an ambassador ship.”
“Our ballistic missiles are developed for hitting stationary land targets, not an enemy warship in space. They’re totally inadequate for this purpose.”
“Then leave them off.”
“What about ensuring peace by preparing for war?”
Sykes coat arrived. He stood and slipped it on. “Did you forget? I don’t think any ship you send out there is going to have a snowball’s chance in hell. If you send an offensive capability out there, at worst you’ll piss them off, ruining any sort of diplomatic defense we might be able to make, and at best you’ll give away what little capability we do have. So no nukes. No plutonium, no lithium deuteride, nobody from Los Alamos, nothing.” He turned to Lydia and gave a short bow. “Thank you for a fine meal and a very weird conversation, Ms. Russ. I hope this all turns out to be this nut’s fantasy, because if it isn’t, we’re screwed. Good night to you both.” Sykes downed his martini and headed for the door. He disappeared into the cold, black night.
“I don’t think we’re going to be friends.” Gordon shook his head and turned to Lydia. “I’m hamstrung if I don’t have the access to build some sort of ship-to-ship nuclear weapons.”
“I’m sorry, dear. We’re just the heralds of a much higher-ranked decision group, and even then only two representatives of a much bigger organization. I’m the science side, he’s the defense and never the twain shall meet. I can make decisions on funding for development, but not for weapons development.”
“Is there anyone I can appeal to? The SECDEF himself?” Gordon looked desperate.
Lydia tried to show as much compassion in response as she could. “Who do you think they’re going to side with? You’ve only freshly shucked the mantle of shame.” She reached out and held both his hands. “Don’t worry about it for now. You’ve got years yet to change their minds. Focus on everything you’ve achieved tonight and forget about the rest, if only for a little while.”
He squeezed her hands and looked back at her, his frustration slowly giving way to gratitude and the pleasant shades of memory. “It is so good to see you again, Lydia. It’s been too long, with too much left unsaid.”
She smiled. “I’ve missed you too, Gordon.”
Gordon arched a brow. “I believe you mentioned something about dessert?”
Her smile took on a decidedly different character and she gestured to the wait staff for the check and their coats. “I just might wind up back in your good graces tonight after all.”
7: “THE PROMISE”
August 19, 2040; Lee Estate; Santa Cruz, California
Kristene Muñoz found her quarry in the wood, granite, and stainless steel kitchen of Gordon Lee’s sprawling house. Nathan Kelley sat on a stool with his back to the swinging door, leaning over the center island with his attention split between the steaming mug of coffee in his hand and the suite expanded before him. Kris had no idea what he was reading so intently, but she was in no hurry to stop him.
She carefully stopped the swing of the kitchen door and just leaned back against the wall, a sly smile turning up a corner of her mouth. If he was content to catch up with his reading on their big day, she was content to admire the view. Lee maintained a gorgeous estate, a slice of central coast California heaven, but this had to be her favorite new vista.
It was too bad Nathan was completely clueless, she thought, because he could wear a pair of jeans really, really well.
The last year had been a whirlwind dream for her. She first hobbled into the world of Gordon Lee and his secret project at Windward Tech, still recovering from the injuries she had sustained in her discovery of the enhanced photon drive. As her body healed, she had been read into the mysteries of the Deltans, along with all that Lee had developed and hidden away, and all that he still hoped to achieve. It was a heady time for her—just out of college and the undisputed star of the interstellar program, but she had been far too busy to let her ego swell too much. The drive required refinement and definition, with all the tedious hours and tests – and failures, so many failures – that it took to change scientific serendipity into engineering surety. And now, with the removal of governmental obstruction, her drive became the centerpiece of the next great step in their march to the stars.
Throughout it all, Nathan Kelley had been a constant presence at her side, guiding her, correcting her, mentoring her. It was Nathan that tied all the designs together, and he loomed large in her relationship with Windward. She was also fully aware that her initial attraction to him had deepened as she had gotten to know the man. Kris knew she was now lost somewhere between an unacknowledged crush and unrequited love. It was a rather uncomfortable and lonely place to be, but it thrilled her enough for the moment that she was content to wait things out, to see how long it would take him to catch on, and whether or not he would reciprocate. She self-consciously rubbed her hand over the tattoos on her left arm, something the straight-laced Mr. Kelley would never have.