(posted on 12-09-2000)
Safety, Chapter 1
How could this happen? he asked while holding the object and rapidly repeating the same question in his head.
Quite simply sir, it cannot. Those rods were designed to sustain an equivalent of fifty metric tons of pressure per square field centimeter before giving way. In addition to that, the Salvage and Recovery Officer, Master Chief Toby Kennison, told his captain, no rod has ever, in the history of Confederation Research, Development, Testing and actual field use, been broken in that manner.
Then how the hell DID it happen!? Captain Jules Blue shouted. He was right to be angry, in his mind at least. Because of that simple platinum-molybdenum rod, the force field of a section of hull in the stern had failed, causing a small hull breach to become an explosive decompression, killing sixteen of his finest crewmen in their sleep when the inner hull they were sleeping against gave way to the explosion one deck above them.
Sir, First Officer Lieutenant Commander Delman Tharsis said, I do believe that there will be a rational explanation for this.
I want it ten minutes ago- let me hear conjecture now! he says in the calmest voice allowed while still fingering the split platinum rod.
Take a look at that rod, sir, Kennison bravely spoke up. Tell me what you see.
He took nearly thirty seconds to analyze what he was holding. He saw, among other things, a two centimeter by four millimeter rod split about five percent off of center down the length of the rod itself. He also saw the cause of death of not one but sixteen people under his direct command. It would be so much better for him, he thought, if the rod did not bear the serial number M5DGA115. That dreaded identification seemed to mock him- had the rod been blank, it could tell him nothing that his mind could interpret as a form of communication. But that alphanumeric code, split horizontally right down the middle of the characters, just seemed to stare through him. To him, it was as if it was taunting all that could see it. I see a particularly murderous and remorseless piece of machinery, Chief.
Anything about the detail that you think would be relevant?
What's your point, Chief?! Blue snapped.
Look at the negative end, sir. You should see a slot.
Looks like a manufacturing defect to me, he said, looking at the two millimeter square slot in the negative end. The whole damned thing is split right down the middle from this.
Sir, manufacturing defects as blatant as this are impossible. This was not a defect.
Are you saying that this was sabotage? Blue asks, calming down in the hope that there was someone connected to this loss of life that he could personally rend limb from limb.
More heinous than sabotage, sir. In my learned opinion, this was the result of a directly planned and coordinated attack.
So someone opened up the field emitter box, and split this thing in half?
No, sir.
Then what did happen?
If one were to shoot a micro- plate bullet from a highly calibrated MP rifle at the negative end of a statically charged platinum rod inside of a closed circuit, one would get the result that you are holding now.
That is impossible. A rod in a closed circuit cannot have its polar ends accessed in any way without opening the circuit, Lieutenant Francis Henry, Chief of Security said, speaking up for the first time.
If it werent for the uranium residue found inside the field generator and that rod, Sir, I would be forced to agree. This does, indeed seem impossible.
Then how can it have happened. Blue asked through a statement.
I try to keep up with the rumor mills these days sir. Among the things currently being written about is the revived concept of teleportation.
The short silence that ensued was broken by the words elicited by a few menacing stares. The current mission of this ship, the U.S.S. Rolling Thunder, a mark III Frigate, was known only to three of the four people in this room and a few of the officers on the ship, as well as a few privileged people at Command. It involved surveillance of several Rebel planets by this ships crew from several captured and converted merchant freighters. Two ordinary looking rebel aligned freighters are slated for destruction for this mission, to be replaced by the identical pair of ships being carried by the Rolling Thunder. Cargo will be delivered to the planet, but technical problems will arise to prevent the ships from leaving orbit very quickly.
The Captain knows of this technology simply because his ship is the vessel that will be implicated in the capture of this technology.
The First Officer knows of this because the man whom he is expected to replace, should anything go wrong, is aware of it.
The Chief of Security needs to know this, to take certain precautions against attack by teleportation device.
But should the Master Chief in charge of Salvage and Recovery need to know this? they wonder.
Toby, Blue says, breaking the silence, ...Im going to tell him, Del, he says at his first officer, countering a forceful stare. Toby, our current mission is to launch several craft to reconnoiter a planet in Rebel space that is known to be experimenting with teleportation technology.
I assumed as much, but now that I know what were about, it makes everything a whole lot clearer...
What do you mean?
Well, Captain, you remember that battle we had gettin here. The first time our shields went down, the Rebel ships ceased fire. They paused, according to the battle logs, fired a few shots after our shields went back up, and then left.
What are you saying? the Chief of Security asked.
I believe not only that the Rebels have teleportation devices, but also that there is a mole incorporated in this plan Command has given this ship and her crew, and a spy on this ship who has and knows how to use an MP rifle equipped with a very capable teleportation device, Kennison said.
Silence ensues, broken only by the commands of the captain.
Tharsis, call full alert, plot a speed course to bring us to the next waypoint, the First Officer leaves the conference room immediately. The door of the conference room closes to the sound of Delman Tharsis shouting commands to the bridge crew. Henry, I want the full sensor record of the whole ship searched from bow to stern at the time index given to us by the Chief here. Search the entire ship for an MP rifle. to which the Lieutenant responds by saying:
Aye Sir, as he stands to leave.
What about me, sir? The chief asks.
The captain brings the Chief up to speed on the plans ahead.
You will assist us on these plans from this point on as a technical advisor, understood?
Sir, yes, Sir, the chief responds.
Head to security and give the Lieutenant a hand.
Yes sir, he says as he stands and leaves.
Blue examines the pieces of the platinum rod in his hands one last time, and seals it back inside the clear silver anti-static 'EVIDENCE' envelope on the table.
He stands, calmly, and walks to the large computer console on the far side of the conference room. He thinks of the crew he lost in the attack. Knowing there is someone who can pay for this turns his rage into a ball of black light in the pit of his stomach.
Once upon a time, Julius Benjamin Blue was a poor kid on the mean streets of New Los Angeles on the planet of Landfall, living day to day stealing what he needed to survive. One day, his hand slipped into the back pocket of one of the greatest middleweight boxers in the history of the Confederated territories, Maxwell "Junior" Harding.
Junior Harding used the lightning fast jab, which made him one of the greatest fighters ever to walk the ring, to grab the wrist of the 14 year old trying to lift his wallet. Blue, struggling against the powerful grasp of the veteran fighter, did the only thing he could think of at the time: he struck the Old Pug in the face, breaking his nose.
Junior, amazed at the spunk and power of the kid in his hand, was unfazed by the hit, which, by this point in his life, was merely a minor wound to him; his nose had been broken fifteen times. His mind was not on the pain of the cracked bridge or the hot, wet feel of the blood as it ran down his face and chin onto his shirt. His mind was now on the potential Welterweight Champion in his hands.
He dragged the urchin, screaming for his life the whole way, to the gym he owned with his trainer, Gordon "Hoplite" Perry.
Instead of cutting him from chin to groin, using his liver as bait for fishing, and letting him hang on a hook to bleed to dry, like Blue was thinking, Junior instead taped up Blue's wrists, put gloves and boots on him, and forced him to show his power on the heavybag to Hoplite.
By the time Blue graduated four years later from the high school he thought he would never reach, Junior had turned a street urchin smelling of joint and week old clothes into a Three Time Junior Welterweight Champion, and a straight 'A' student on his way to the Confederation Officer's Academy in Portland, Oregon.
It almost broke Juniors heart when he learned that his star pupil would not be pursuing the Galactic belts of Boxing, but his tears of disappointment turned to tears of joy when he realized that Blue wouldn't have to take the road that he did to achieve success.
Blue, a boxer at heart, glances one last time at the bag on the table. The words of his mentor concerning a broken nose, the advice given to him in his corner during a fight (against a man called "Full House" by his opponents; he just gave him the affliction for the first time), come to mind only now: "Just hit back! Don't miss a beat; the bum in the other corner would want that the most!"
Blue faces the wall, concentrating on what he sees as the face of the man who killed sixteen of his best enlisted officers.
The hole his fist leaves in the wall of the conference room next to the primary viewer would need two days of work to effect repairs. The viewer, on the other hand, would never again display as clear or sharp as it did before.
(This message has been edited by Jon Egunner (edited 12-09-2000).)
