Starship: Free Mars

Part 7: Let the Games Begin

Part 7: Let the Games Begin

“What!” Tate exclaimed. He had heard and understood Glory’s news, but asking the question gave him a chance to think. “How can you be reassigned already? You’ve only been the director for what? Two months?” They were lying in bed after a particularly vigorous session of love making. He reached over and brushed the hair back so he could see her eyes better.

She nodded helplessly. “My new orders came yesterday. I have two weeks to requalify on a Slipher Scout, then it’s off to break the Space Service’s blockade of Vesta.”

In the week since Tate had started work on mathematical development of fusion theory, he had been deeply immersed in working with the other mathematicians to integrate what he had in his notes and memory. He had stayed with Glory five times during the last week, and she was the only thing that could distract him from his work. For the first time in a long time, he was happy. Now this.

“Wieger,” he said emphatically.

“What?”

“It was Wieger,” Tate nodded, “paying you back for upsetting his nice little plan to close the fusion project down so he can put more funding into the tri-beam energy cannon.”

“What are you talking about?”

Tate smiled sympathetically. He took Glory’s hand and gave it a polite kiss. “You, my dear, are a line commander, well versed in three-dimensional battlespace control. I, however, have seen combat in the passive-agressive wars of the bureaucratic battle fields.”

She sighed and said, “Tate, sometimes I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Funding,” he said. “That’s what is all about.” He laughed a little. “New planet, but the same old games. Wieger wants to impress Naval command, and he sees the fusion engine as a crack-pot project promoted by the President for political reasons. Now that we’re finally making some serious progress, the best way to throw it off track is get rid of the director.” He sighed. “Vesta is just an excuse. It’s a nice promotion for you, but it is a way to manipulate the Special Projects division.”

“He wouldn’t do something like that—undercut Carlson, I mean.”

”Oh, no. He would never do something like that.” Tate snorted. “Unless there was a way to hide his finger prints.”

His thoughts raced far afield. Priorities. It was all about priorities. Carlson’s. The Navy’s. Wieger’s. Everyone had priorities. Well, so did he. The fusion engine project was the first thing that had excited him professionally in… How long had it been since he had been this worked up about something? He and the other team members had been making feverish progress, and he wanted to continue. But it was more than that. He turned and looked at Glory. “I love you, Glory,” he said.

He had never said it before, and he was afraid of what her reaction might be. She looked at him wide-eyed for a moment then came into his arms. He held her for a long time after she had stopped weeping. Eventually they both went to sleep.

During their mid-morning break the next day, Tate made a deliberate effort to turn his thoughts away from the complexities of the Franentz Equation. Since his notes had not included the full notational system of the original, Tate and the others were trying to rebuild a consistent structure from scratch. Rather than try to recreate the electro-magnetic based symbology of the original, Tate had recast the equations into a more topologically based system he was more comfortable with.

No, he deliberately turned his thoughts away from dynamic dimensional spaces to bureaucratic dynamics. He took his first sip of tea and said, “Seth, I heard Wieger say this whole project was Carlson’s idea?”

Martin Sethson set his mug of tea on the table and nodded. “Yeah, when the Artemis left, there was a lot of talk about fusion engines. They set up the project shortly after that.”

“I didn’t realize Carlson was that keen on science.”

“Ah,” Seth said, “I get what you’re saying. Carlson is a politician, but a good enough one to get on and ride a popular idea.” He picked up his mug and took another sip. “No, I figure it was Gaulaven’s idea.” He sat the mug back down. “Him or someone in his office.”

Bits and pieces. That’s what Tate picked up over the next week. Bits and pieces, but each one contributed to a pointillistic portrait of the bureaucratic power structure. As the picture clarified, he started to make a few contacts.

Tate had moved to Glory’s apartment. He stayed with her every night after she announced her reassignment, and when she left, she invited to stay there and look after Francis. Francis was her cat—a large, aloof, and furry thing. The cat had never paid much attention to Tate when Glory was around, but the third night after she left, Francis flopped down on the couch beside him.

The cat was a creature of habit and so was Tate. Two weeks later, the cat lay warm against his thigh in the evening, and Tate idly rubbed his fingers through her fur as he worked through the sequence of relations in the operator matrix. He, Seth, and Mason would pool their efforts tomorrow as they continued to work through the tangled mess.

He looked up at a rattle in the door latch, and Francis jumped down and eagerly padded to the door. The door opened, and Tate smiled in surprise. “Glory!”

“Hi, Tate,” she said and bent down to acknowledge the cat.

“What a surprise,” he said happily. She set down her travel pack and Tate hugged her close. The cat had been thin company. He had missed Glory.

“Yeah,” she said weakly. “What a surprise.”

Tate put his hands on her shoulders and held her at arms length so he could look at her. She had cut her hair back to space length, but she would not meet his eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “What happened? I thought you said you would be gone for at least a year.”

“I was physically disqualified.” She finally looked at him, but her brow was creased by a frown line. “Tate, I’m pregnant.”

Pregnant? He heard the word, but it took a moment for the import to sink in. When he realized what she had said, he smiled and took her in his arms. “Oh, Glory. This is wonderful news.” He had a thought and pulled back a little. “This is wonderful, isn’t it? Are you okay?”

She pulled away and sat down on the couch. The cat immediately claimed a spot beside her. Tate dimmed the light before he sat down on her other side. He put his arm around her. Although he knew what he wanted to say, he did not know what her reaction would be. “Glory,” he said softly. “I love you. Will you marry me so we can raise this child together?”