CHAPTER TWELVE
Simron adjusted the emergency air hood slung over her shoulder, careful to keep it from creasing the exotic silk of her sarong or tug at her hoop earrings. Her father carried his hood strapped to a thigh, and his empty cigar-holding hand twitched as they floated down a long catwalk toward an observation dome.
Below—so far below Simron was afraid to look—a stupendous new FTLC, the largest faster-than-light carrier ever built for the Federation’s navy, nestled in a vac dock, but even its mammoth bulk was dwarfed by distance. The monstrous Thakore Yard was one of the largest structures ever built by mankind, outmassing the Great Wall of China and the Egyptian pyramids combined. A significant percentage of the TFN was commissioned here, but that percentage could always be higher.
Down, past the carrier, she glimpsed Saturn’s rings.
“How do you keep doing this?” she asked Thakore. “Is this why your secretaries keep quitting? Because you terrify them with this little jaunt?”
“I cut my teeth on vac walks and high-risk hull repairs,” he said. “Microgravity’s fun, Simmy! Back in the days of steel construction in America, it was ‘American Indians’ that did the high-elevation work. Same thing holds true today. Just different Indians.”
“I did not inherit your gift.” She let her hand slide along a railing to stabilize herself and kept her eyes focused straight ahead on a small group of people waiting on the observation deck. “Seems to have skipped a generation.”
“You hold your own in the board room. That’s Thakore enough for me.” He rapped a thick platinum ring against the railing to alert the people waiting for them of their approach.
“Mr. Thakore!” A secretary pushed off hurriedly to meet him. “We’ve got camera drones set along the initial projection course and media affiliates prepared with their talking points.”
“That’s the easy part.” Thakore floated on into the observation dome and put a hand on Vyom Murphy’s shoulder. The younger man, who looked a great deal like a merely mortal-sized version of his father, wore an engineer’s vac suit with a helmet attached to the small of his back. “The media does whatever we pay them to do. Can’t do that with the laws of physics and the finer points of ship design, can we?”
“Everything’s checked out on the new Fasset drive,” Vyom said. “But I’m a junior lead on the project. We should’ve had Dr. Gerald here to—”
“He’s old. Sickly,” Thakore huffed. “He can watch this from home. This is your win…unless something goes wrong, at which point Gerald will get all the attention.” He glanced at his secretary.
“That contingency is prepared, Mr. Thakore.”
“Win-win for you, my boy,” Thakore told his grandson. “But it’s not just the better drive we’re testing, yes? So let’s hear it.”
“The next-generation field attenuators are projected to increase Fasset drive acceleration by up to six percent,” Vyom said. “Though the initial costs run beyond the current budget ranges of the Federation, we anticipate—”
“Don’t worry about the budget,” Simron said. “That’s for me and your grandfather to work out with the government.”
“They’ll pay.” Thakore’s cigar hand kept twitching. “They always pay. Remarkable how people at war will do that.”
“I’ll defer to you two on that,” Vyom said. He cleared his throat and resumed his rehearsal. “We’re also testing a new drone swarm control technology,” he said. “Predictive software with a higher computational density to offset the time lag from both transmission ranges and the differential of relativistic sublight velocities. The new AIs are—”
“Boring,” Simron said. “Not for me, son. But for the layman. What’s your line for the budget committee when you brief them on this?”
“We’ve upgraded the drone AI systems to handle complex maneuvers just before—or just after—a Fasset drive translation, and the same upgrade will improve drone deployment and maneuvers at extended range,” Vyom replied. “The system potentials haven’t been fully tested yet—”
“No.” Simron shook her head.
“I mean…the system potentials are unlimited,” Vyom said.
“There you go!” Thakore beamed. “We can have him on the board in no time. I doubt I’ll ever get Rajenda out of the Navy before it’s too late. He’ll be too much a military man to grasp the nuances of business.”
“Rajenda’s…a special case,” Simron said.
The secretary touched an earbud.
“Cormoran’s bridge crew are ready to shove off in two minutes,” he said.
“Places, everyone,” Thakore replied, and moved to the edge of the dock. “Where’s my script?”
Camera drones moved around him, and he checked to be sure there was nothing in his teeth, then smacked his lips.
“Two dozen damask dinner napkins,” he said. “Larry sent the latter a letter later.”
Simron pulled her son to one side.
“What’s Grandfather doing?” Vyom asked. “And what’s this about the board?”
“He’s rehearsing,” she said. “He does that before any public statement. It’s good practice. And the family needs you on the board. The budget committee’s going to decide on the next battleship class to go into production sometime soon, and we can’t lose the bid to Astro Engineering like we did with the Hornet interceptors. That one still bugs me.”
“I have my first win with this ship, and then I’m done with being an engineer? Doesn’t that seem fast to you?”
“Hardly. For one thing, Cormoran’s hardly just any old ship. And for another, look how far your father took one victory over the League.” Simron paused and shook her head. “Bad example. He could be the one taking a seat on the board, but he insists on playing spacer again out on the frontier. At least he’s there to keep an eye on your brother.”
“You’re not worried about them?”
“I learned to not worry a long time ago.” Simron swallowed hard and hoped Vyom wouldn’t pick up on her anxiety.
“Ingrid will be happy that I’ll be based on Earth,” Vyom said. “She doesn’t care for the trips all the way out here. Oh—I wanted to show you this.”
He reached into a pocket and removed a small velvet box.
“Vyom, you hardly know my tastes, and it’s not the time to—Wait. What?” Simron snatched the box from her son and cracked the lid. “No. I’m not ready for this. Ingrid, really?”
“Yes, really. She’s incredible. When I’m not working on engines all I want to do is be with her, and even when I’m working, I—”
“You haven’t asked yet. I’m holding the ring. So when? Have you cleared this with her family’s media rep?”
“I haven’t even asked her father yet,” Vyom said, looking at his mother as if she’d grown a new head.
“You’re part of the Five Hundred, son. We have obligations to maximize the event. I am…so happy for you. When are you going to pop the question, and does your father know?”
“I meant to tell him before he left, but Ishtar broke orbit early. There’s a secure message in transit for him. We won’t have the ceremony without him there, so there’s plenty of time to prepare.”
“He should be back on leave in the Fall, so maybe an island wedding? This is so exciting. So much planning to do!”
“I’ve unleashed the kraken, haven’t I?”
“Every mother is like this, Vyom. I kept a pin file of ideas for this event since you started shaving. We get Cormoran’s acceptance trials behind us, announce the new contract, and then your wedding will raise our profile to the top. Marvelous. Marvelous!”
Applause burst out from the group behind them as the enormous carrier detached the final umbilicals and maneuvering thrusters pushed it slowly, majestically away from the dock.
Kanada Thakore raised his arms triumphantly and his secretary passed him a lit cigar.
“I wish Dad and Callum could’ve been here to see this,” Vyom said. “It’s a great moment for the family.”
“Your father thinks the family is just Murphy,” Simron said, “but we’re equally Thakore, no matter how much he may not like it. Sitting in a starship over some Fringe planet isn’t the future, son. This is. He’ll figure that out when he comes home. I hope.”