Tomlinson grunted. “It seems like the two of you have already discounted that option. Very well, what’s next?”
Sykes turned to the next slide as it came to the fore. “Option two has a chance of succeeding, but the cost may be … prohibitive.”
She did not bother reading the slide, reading the two men’s eyes instead. “And that cost is?”
Volescu answered. “We use our anti-satellite and BMD inventory and take out the shuttles and the destroyer. A deadly weapon system, arguably the most advanced, destructive weapon system ever developed has been stolen, and we have no guarantees that Kelley and his crew only want to take it out into deep space to greet a bunch of aliens. He could intend to extort the whole world. Were this situation duplicated in a more familiar, terrestrial sphere, there would be no question. We would take the hijackers out.”
“Granted, General, but this is no simple stolen plane or tank. It’s not even a stolen submarine. This is currently our one and only existing defense against these Deltans.”
“I am aware of that, Madame President, but it is our most conventional recommended response, and it is the one I prefer. We have a decade or more before the Deltans arrive. We can build another.”
Sykes grimaced. “I agree with the General that we can build another, but not for some time. However, his option assumes we can shoot the damn thing down. I’m sure our arsenal would be effective against the stolen shuttles, but I am a great deal less sure about attacking the destroyer. It’s a good two or three tech generations beyond our missile defense network. And assuming Kelley is inclined to go off mission and is considering an attack on a terrestrial location, we would be ill-advised to make an ineffective first strike upon him. ‘Ms. Nuclear Retribution’ isn’t a real winner as far as re-election campaign slogans go.”
Tomlinson quietly considered the two men, looking from one to another. She shook her head and focused on Sykes. “Noted. Option three?”
Sykes turned to bring the last slide forward on the screen, but hesitated. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but our third option is the one I’m going to be recommending. You, however, are not going to like it.”
“Get on with it, Carl.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
March 7, 2045; USS Sword of Liberty (DA-1); En route Earth Orbit; Mission Day 2
Nathan Kelley lay back in the Commanding Officer’s acceleration couch and looked at the Control Room’s central display. It revealed a beautiful, annotated, illuminated image of Earth with thousands of false color satellite tracks encircling it like rings, a chaotic, iridescent Saturn in miniature. It was an awe-inspiring view, but Nathan was left oddly hollow by it. He seemed to not know how to feel. At that moment, his emotions were a wild mixture of anticipation, exhilaration, contentment, and guilt—especially guilt, and for a couple of different reasons.
There was, of course, the matter of his theft of the Sword of Liberty and the risky abandoning of her innocent joint military crew. But that was largely offset by his conviction that this was the right way to go about things, that such a move was essential to the success of the mission. No, the main source of his guilt—as well as a not insignificant degree of gleeful satisfaction—was because of something he had done which was almost completely unrelated to the Sword’s intended purpose.
Kris popped up off of him with a mischievous smile. She grabbed up her shipsuit, slipping it and her underwear back on with a leisurely grace that he found much more enthralling than the fantastic image of the Earth from space.
She slapped his leg as she finished, interrupting him mid-stretch. “C’mon, spaceman. Get your skivvies on and shake a leg. We’re almost to yon orbit and’ll be strikin’ the mainsail and dumpin’ the scuppers. Ye don’t want to be caught in ye olde freefall with your ass hangin’ out all nekkid-like, do ye? Arrrrr.”
Nathan grinned and sat up, reaching for his own coveralls and paraphernalia. “It doesn’t matter how long you talk like that, you still aren’t a space pirate.”
“Space privateer, maybe?”
“Definitely not. That would involve government sanction—more or less the opposite of where we find ourselves.”
She shrugged. “Oh well, at least I’m a charter member of the 10,000 Mile High Club. And the 50,000 Mile High Club. And the 100,000—”
“And I can’t believe we did that. I’ve always been firmly against hanky-panky aboard ship. Contrary to good order and discipline and all that.”
Kris grinned, stepping in close as he finished dressing. “Well if it’s discipline you want … .” She leaned in and kissed him. “I’ll have no guilt out of you, slave. What else did you think would end up happening? A brand spankin’ new couple, alone on a damn spaceship, with nobody around for hundreds of thousands of miles, on the run from the law as it were? Face it—they’d have kicked you out of the Dude Union if you hadn’t gone for it. You’re practically a pioneering hero now!”
He smiled and kissed her back, his expression easy now, free of tension. “You’re right, Pirate Mate. Consider your leader properly abashed. Now let’s get ready to cut acceleration and maneuver for orbit.”
“Aye, aye, Cap’n! Arrrrrrr!”
They tidied up the Control Room to military precision again, then checked the instruments, verifying their position and velocity. Nathan began to search through the thousands of potential tracks as they approached, but the two SSTOS carrying their compatriots were right at the top of the track priority list. He selected the two shuttles, checked their orbital parameters, and let the computer automatically come up with a rendezvous course. With a few keystrokes, the new course was laid in and executed.
The main drive cut off and they were immediately in freefall. The ship bumped briefly as it turned to a new vector and then “gravity” returned—much reduced—as they maneuvered to join up with Edwards and the rest of the crew.
Nathan scrolled through a number of different displays, checking the status of each of the ship’s many, many mutually supporting systems. He paused at the defensive systems summary, relieved that the threat track list was blank for the moment. He had worried that as the Sword of Liberty closed with Earth and their treachery became apparent, Sykes or another trigger-happy type might try something. For the moment though, they were un-shot-at, and Nathan was glad that the fully ready laser emplacements and railgun had not been employed against missiles or other weapons from his own country.
Kris checked her own displays at her engineering console, verifying the status and health of the reactor, drive, auxiliary, and environmental systems. She really wanted to go check them out herself, but without a crew onboard, there was simply too much that remained to be done for her to have times to place hands on. Satisfied for the moment, she nodded and drifted to each of the other dedicated consoles on the perimeter of the brightly lit bridge/Control Room, squeezing Nathan’s shoulder in passing.
They continued in comfortable, busy silence for a few minutes, until Kris broke the calm with a low, “Oh, shit . . . .”
Nathan jerked his head up from his console and looked over to her. Kris floated, bent down over the Comms station, not bothering to sit in the miniscule gravity. “What’s up, babe?”