Zenith: The Interscission Project, #1

Chapter 1

October 2176, Washington, D.C.

Martin flipped up his collar against the chill breeze and listened with half his mind to the memorial service. His gaze drifted along the ranks of the bereaved on the opposite side of the cemetery: a legion of men, women, and children, most dressed in black and bundled up against the cold. They listened stoically to the politicians who took the stage, one after the other, to shed crocodile tears and pontificate beneath the overcast, colorless sky.

Damn vultures. Do you really think any of us care what you have to say? The opportunism irritated him, but hypocrisy was hardly in short supply after the tragedy. Martin was observing from a distance because he wasn’t sure his presence would be welcome among them—not after his failure to prevent the carnage.

Commander Atkins? a voice asked from behind him.

He tensed but didn’t turn around. No interviews. Speaking of vultures...

I am not from the press. I was wondering if we might discuss a potential career opportunity?

Martin faced the stranger suspiciously. And who the hell are you?

The man seemed aggressively ordinary: slight of build with pale skin, hair the color of damp straw, and washed-out blue eyes. He was dressed in a plain black suit and tie, a stark contrast to Martin’s navy blue dress uniform.

The man held out a business card. My name is Henry Bradford, and I am the Chief Executive Officer of the Starfire Technology Group.

Martin raised an eyebrow as he accepted the card. Isn’t that the company that makes tourist ships for billionaires?

Henry smiled. In part. We manufacture customized spacecraft and satellites to meet the specific design needs of our corporate and military clients.

Martin examined the business card, shrugged, and slipped it into his breast pocket. Fine. What do you want?

"I understand that you and the other senior officers of the CSS Heracles have been placed on administrative leave pending the completion of the inquest into the Trinity Spacelines disaster."

Martin scowled and turned away, back to the memorial service. Yeah, we’re grounded until the Brass decides whether we screwed up or not. Standard procedure.

"Given the difficulties in reconstructing the destroyed aircraft, as well as the extensive structural damage to the Heracles, I’m told a final ruling is not expected for at least six months, possibly even a year."

Maybe. What’s your point?

In the interim, have you considered civilian employment?

Martin chuckled. Right.

Have you ever heard of the Interscission Project?

Martin faced him again, curious despite himself. I’ve heard rumors. Some kind of new propulsion technology. Very highly classified.

The drive technology was developed by several multinational corporations pooling their technological expertise, but they needed someone to build a ship that could take advantage of it, and they wanted the best. Henry grinned. "And I can honestly say that we are the best."

Martin said nothing, merely waited expectantly.

Henry handed him a sealed envelope. What I am about to tell you is elaborated more fully in these documents. I have been authorized to share them with you for reference, so you can make an informed decision about the offer I am about to make. The executive paused for a moment. I assume I don’t need to tell you that if those documents leave your possession, you will be arrested for corporate espionage.

Naturally. Martin shrugged. So, what’s your offer? Get to the point.

Your information is only partially correct. The Interscission Project is designed around a new form of spacecraft technology, true, but it is not a method of propulsion so much as an alternate method of travel.

Martin frowned. What’s the difference?

The core technology is based on principles of folded space-time.

I beg your pardon?

The larger spaceships in the fleet have artificial gravity, do they not?

Of course.

Gravity is a localized deformation of space-time. At its most extreme, that distortion can actually puncture space-time entirely, creating a channel between widely separated locations in the universe. Henry smiled. Our job was to build a ship that could survive the journey across that channel.

Are you saying you’re building a starship? whispered Martin.

Yes. Henry gave him a pointed stare. But this is a strictly civilian project, without government or military involvement. And therein lies the problem.

Martin cocked his head. How so?

Almost all spacecraft at this level of complexity are military in nature, so our possible experienced candidates for the crew are limited to former military personnel. Generally, these candidates are available for reasons of retirement, disability, poor discipline, or outright criminality. Hardly the pick of the litter.

So, you can’t find anyone suitable? I find that hard to believe.

Oh, we found someone. Captain Walter Keystone had resigned his commission due to a family emergency, which has since been resolved. He was quite enthusiastic about the project.

So, why are you talking to me?

He was traveling from Brisbane to meet our project team in San Francisco, along with a number of key flight officers he’d recruited to the project, when his suborbital transport apparently collided with a decommissioned and undocumented satellite. He looked past Martin to the memorial service. You know the rest.

Martin resisted the urge to follow his gaze. And now you’re looking for a replacement.

Yes. We are also looking for additional experienced candidates to serve as the senior flight officers.

Are you asking me to recruit other members of my crew?

It would be optimum to have a crew that is both experienced and has an established working relationship. I assure you our compensation packages will far outstrip anything the military has to offer. Henry extended his hand. We hope you and your crew will consider joining us.

Martin stared at the outstretched hand for a moment before tentatively shaking it. I’ll review your documents and then present my crewmates with the information. I can’t make any promises on their behalf.

Of course. But you should impress upon them that this is a unique opportunity to make history, Commander. Henry nodded at the mourners on the opposite side of the cemetery. Life is short. Best to make your mark while you can. I look forward to hearing from you.

Henry turned back to his waiting limousine. Behind him, Martin stood alone in the cemetery, staring at the envelope in his hand.

Chapter 2

November 2176, San Francisco, California

Trevor stood at the window of the wood-paneled conference room, looking down at the new arrivals as they exited the limousine. Below, Henry greeted each of them in turn. He knew the two men were the pilot and engineer of the Heracles, but there was nothing obvious to indicate which was which. One was deeply tanned and athletic, wearing bronze sunglasses with his black hair styled in short spikes, gazing around the shipyards with unconcealed interest. The other was paler and more serious.

So, these are our saviors, said Jennifer, from beside him. She didn’t sound particularly impressed.

Trevor shrugged. We needed a crew, and they’re are the best we’ve been able to find. He snuck a sidelong glance at her. Would you rather have finished the ship and let it just sit there until the military found a way to take it away from us?

She sighed. These people are soldiers, Trevor. They might take it away from us regardless.

That’s not going to happen. Henry would toss them out an airlock at the first sign they might sell us out.

Jennifer nodded, saying nothing. Then she raised an eyebrow as the second man broke into a grin and elbowed the man in glasses, pointing out the sleek black jetcopter on one of the nearby helipads. The other followed his gaze and pursed his lips to whistle in appreciation, his expression one of naked envy.

Okay, so they have good taste. I’ll give them that.

Trevor rolled his eyes. You and your damn greasemonkey fetish. Don’t tell me you’re finally going to warm up to having them on board, just because they like your ride.

She gave him a stern look. Says the man who couldn’t change a flat tire without three industrial robots and a supercomputer.

Oh, please, he said with a snort. I’m not that bad. Two robots, tops.

She laughed and was about to respond when the door opened and Henry walked in, leading the two flight officers behind him.

* * *

Charles took in the way the two scientists went silent when he and Martin entered the room. Obviously, we’re not as welcome here as we’ve been led to believe. The woman, short of stature with mousy brown hair, wore a white coat marked on the breast pocket with the staff and serpent of the medical profession. The man was taller and more gaunt. Long black hair partially covered his intense green eyes, which observed them with cool detachment.

Charles assumed a mask of professionalism that concealed his true thoughts. Martin, of course, was as bright and cheery as ever, smiling at the civvies from behind his sunglasses. It was just another facade, Charles knew, designed to allow outsiders to underestimate him. The younger man played the fool when it suited him, but Charles knew from experience that Martin was studying their new potential employers like insects pinned to a board, calmly evaluating the strengths and weaknesses each had to offer.

Henry sat at the head of the conference table. Please, everyone sit down. I think introductions are in order before we start the information session.

They all took their seats: the officers on one side, and the scientists on the other. If Henry noted the conscious divide between them, he gave no sign.

Jennifer got the ball rolling. I am Dr. Jennifer Donovan, Starfire’s Director of Engineering and Special Projects, as well as its Chief Medical Officer, specializing in long-term maintenance of closed environments.

Trevor inclined his head. Dr. Trevor Sutton, Director of Information Technology and Automation.

Charles nodded and introduced himself. "I’m Lieutenant Commander Charles Davenport, Chief Engineer of the CSS Heracles for the past seven years. He glanced at Martin, who seemed disinclined to speak. This is Commander Martin Atkins, our Senior Pilot and Navigator. He’s been with the Heracles for a little over three years, serving as First Officer for the last fifteen months."

And I am Henry Bradford, Starfire’s CEO and Director of Research and Development. I was the Principal Investigator of the Interscission Project that developed foldspace drive. He smiled at Martin’s apparent surprise. Thought I was just another suit, did you?

Charles watched Martin immediately mask his expression.

You didn’t give me any reason to think otherwise, Martin said.

There is no deadweight at the Starfire Technology Group. Henry chuckled at the commander’s apparent discomfort. Everyone on this project has been chosen because they have shown exemplary skill in areas of expertise critical to the long-term success of the mission.

Martin laughed. And then there’s us.

Including you, answered Henry.

Martin flipped his sunglasses onto his forehead. How are we exemplary of anything?

Charles sighed. Marty, pipe down.

Martin shrugged. What? I’m just curious. Why us? And don’t spin me the line about us being the only ones available. This could be the most significant advance in spaceflight for the last two hundred years. You don’t put that kind of trust in someone you scraped off the bottom of the barrel. We haven’t signed onto this project yet, and I’m not convinced there’s not another agenda in play here.

Henry watched him calmly, the silence stretching to an uncomfortable length. Finally, he nodded. "In that, you are correct, Mr. Atkins. You were not the only available candidates. You were the best available. He took a deep breath. Lieutenant Commander Davenport holds advanced degrees in physics and mathematics. He only enlisted with the military as part of a family tradition, or he’d most likely be in academia now. That he has continued to publish while serving as Chief Engineer on board the Heracles speaks volumes about the quality of his mind and education."

Martin continued to smile pleasantly. What special qualifications do I have that make me such an asset to the team?

None, said Henry, without blinking an eye. Although you are Mr. Davenport’s superior officer, you have significantly less field experience and limited scientific training. You’re here because of your actions during the Trinity disaster.

Martin looked suddenly uncertain. What? How—

I called in a favor and was able to review the Bridge audio and visual records of the incident, said Henry, cutting him off. "You tried to save the other ship, but when you realized it was hopeless and that the Heracles was about to be destroyed, you were the first to counsel Captain Drake to abort the attempt."

Martin swallowed. So, I’m here because I wanted to save my own skin? That’s hardly a compliment.

No, it’s not. But you’re missing the point. Henry’s stare bored unflinchingly into the younger man’s. You reminded your captain that her primary duty was to her own ship and crew. His imperious glare swept over the two flight officers. I don’t need heroes on this mission. I need survivors. No matter what happens on the other side, it makes no difference unless you return. We chose you, not because of your courage in making the attempt to save Flight 273, but because you knew when to step back and save yourselves. If you have any illusions to the contrary, you might as well walk out that door right now, because you’re useless to me.

Martin slid his sunglasses back over his eyes, his face impassive. The others sat frozen in their seats. The brittle silence lengthened.

Finally, Martin turned to face Trevor and Jennifer, who were staring at Henry, aghast. So, who owns that sweet ’copter out there?

Chapter 3

Charles set his bag of groceries down on the hall table and let the door swing closed behind him. He glanced around the hotel suite and picked out Martin in the semidarkness, stretched out on the couch and flipping channels on the holoscreen. The younger man’s sour expression silenced the greeting Charles had been about to utter. Instead, he picked up the grocery bag and made his way into the rudimentary kitchen, carefully laying out the food he had purchased before pulling pots and pans out of the cupboards.

How do you want your steak? he called out.

Whatever, came Martin’s sullen reply.

Charles set the cookware on the stove and turned to face his crewmate, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned against the counter. You’re not a coward, Marty.

Martin dropped the remote, his head snapping to the side as he stared at Charles. Recovering, he scowled as he felt around in the dark for the remote. Of course, I’m not. Why would you say something like that?

Because it’s all you’ve been thinking about, ever since Bradford made his ‘I need survivors’ speech back at the shipyard. Charles sighed. He really got under your skin, didn’t he?

Martin slumped in his seat. I didn’t do anything wrong. We would all have died if we hadn’t let them fall. Everyone on the Bridge knew that. I just happened to be the first one who said it out loud.

Martin...

I know! I know it wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. His voice grew rough with bitterness. I know.

Charles studied his best friend’s tense posture and decided on a tactical withdrawal. Medium okay?

Martin nodded as his hand finally made contact with the remote. Sure. He went back to flipping channels.

Charles turned back to the meal and thought dark thoughts about Henry Bradford. The briefing had been detailed and to the point, and by the end, Charles had known that both of them were going to sign up. We’re sailors at heart, and there’s no greater call than uncharted waters. He just wished the son of a bitch hadn’t decided to single out Marty to make his point. The destruction of Flight 273 weighed heavily on all of them, but Martin lived to fly. The younger man savored the power and control he wielded, and he’d become a shadow of himself in the months since they’d been grounded. To Commander Atkins, the prospect of getting back in the pilot’s seat was worth any price, even humiliation in front of his crewmate and best friend.

Fucking corporate suit. When this mission is over, boyo, remind me to look you up in a dark alley. Charles almost wished that watching his friend sacrifice his self-respect to stay on the team was enough to be a deal breaker, but in all honesty, it wasn’t. And unfortunately, that said a great deal more about Charles’ priorities than about Bradford’s.

Chapter 4

The tinted glass shield slid over the windows of Trevor’s office, and the holographic circuit diagram hovering in the room’s center brightened in the gloom. Trevor tapped the hologram, enlarging the three-dimensional representation of the control chip schematic. Frowning at the extent of the changes to the original design, he touched the phone control on his virtual desktop and activated the avatar for Edward Harlen, the microcircuitry engineer who had proposed the modifications.

Ed, could you come to my office for a moment?

A moment later, the avatar blinked green, indicating the voice message had been received. Trevor turned back to the virtual display and started up his customized suite of diagnostic models. A minute later, the results came back. Fifteen percent improvement in response time. Holy crap. How the hell did he manage that?

He blew up the design further, following the intricacies of the glowing lines and symbols, trying to reconstruct the principles of the information in his mind.

A soft knock at the door soon distracted him. Enter.

Edward—the youngest member of the information technology team—pushed open the door and walked in. Barely out of his teens and drawn from Arclight, one of the newer nanomanufacturing corporations in the Interscission Consortium, Edward’s most striking feature was not his brown hair cut short in front and long in the back nor his average frame clad in a short-sleeved blue shirt and black denim jeans; it was the short silver bar clipped to the bridge of his nose and projecting twin disks of blue light to either side, just in front of his eyes.

The design proposals Arclight had submitted to the project in recent months were superior to anything Trevor had ever seen, even from established companies with far larger R&D budgets. When he started making discreet inquiries, they had all led back to one man: little more than a kid who had shown up at the public office of Arclight one day with an innovative schematic for a novel form of three-dimensional printing that had left their corporate engineering team’s jaws hanging open.

Admittedly, some of their surprise had been because the design was scrawled in felt-tip pen on the back of a movie poster. Edward had told them the design just came to him, and that he had a number of similar ideas. Within two months, the young engineer had become a central figure in the Interscission Project, and Trevor had no doubt that his star would continue to rise for years to come.

Edward’s gaze immediately darted to the virtual schematic, his eyes illuminated by the glowing blue refraction fields hovering a centimeter in front of his irises. He grinned. Did you run the diagnostic package yet?

Smartass, thought Trevor. Edward’s juvenile glee was almost comical, especially when paired with his antiquated reading glasses.

Yes, I did. How the hell did you come up with this?

Edward shrugged. It came to me.

Trevor chuckled. Of course. He focused on the design again. This is very impressive, Edward. Some of your best work yet. Assuming all the predictive models pan out, we can put these into production immediately and have the maneuvering control systems upgraded in a couple of weeks. I’m sure our new pilot will be grateful for the improvement in fine control.

Edward’s smile slipped, his eyes widening behind the glowing lenses. Pilot? Did the flight crew sign the contracts?

Yes. Trevor raised an eyebrow. "I’m surprised the news isn’t all over the complex by now. The Chief Engineer and Senior Navigator from the CSS Heracles accepted our offer and will be joining the team immediately. Henry was planning to introduce them to the rest of the crew and scientific support teams on Monday morning, during the general staff meeting. In the meantime, they’ve already started working with the subteams in their respective areas of expertise."

Edward licked his lips. Will they be working with us?

There was a curious intensity to that question, which Trevor didn’t understand. Lieutenant Commander Davenport will be working mostly with Dr. Donovan. This chip redesign you’ve created will probably mean we’ll have to block some time together with Commander Atkins to go over the upgrades to the Navigation package. He looked more closely at the young engineer. Why?

Edward started for a second, and then his expression changed, becoming simultaneously more guarded but obviously feigning innocence. "No reason. They’re kind of celebrities these days. The info that’s leaking out about the damage to the Heracles during the rescue attempt was pretty shocking. I don’t think the people who criticize them know how close they came to dying."

Trevor remembered Henry’s ‘survivor’ speech from their initial meeting with the flight crew. "True. But those two know, and they have to adjust to the knowledge