Serhati nearspace
With a stomach-churning lurch, Caesar’s Ghost dropped into normal space.
“Nice one, Kat,” Michael murmured while he scanned the command plot, happy to see that they were not about to crash into some sucker entering Serhati nearspace at the same time.
“Thanks, sir. Main engines to full power … now. Transmitting ID and flight plan to Serhati nearspace control. Ground links will be online in seconds … stand by. Okay, sir, links are up.”
Sedova had dropped the lander right at the leading edge of the drop zone for nonmilitary traffic, as close to Serhati as she could get it, the Ghost’s blunt stern facing planetward, ready for an immediate deceleration burn. Michael had crossed his fingers at that part of Sedova’s plan; dropping into a strange system ass first, unannounced, and without the benefit of up-to-date traffic schedules was generally considered a bad idea. The chances of surviving an impact nose first were not great; ass first, they were nil. But survive they had.
Michael turned to Jaruzelska. “Admiral, sir. Go ahead.”
“Thanks.” Her eyes rolled up under half-closed eyelids while she commed the Federated Worlds ambassador to the Sovereignty of Serhati. Michael left the admiral to spoil the woman’s morning cup of tea: When the poor sap had woken up that morning, she could not have known that her day was to be wrecked in quite such spectacular fashion.
The face of the Serhati duty controller appeared on the command holovid, eyes narrowed with concern. “Caesar’s Ghost, this is Serhati nearspace control.”
“Go ahead, Serhati.”
“There are irregularities in your ship data. We have no record of any Federated Worlds mership matching your registration, nor have you filed any flight plan. For that we will be lodging a code violation against you. Terminate your deceleration burn immediately and adjust vector to take station on space battle station SSBS-45. Transmitting approved flight plan to you. Any deviation off vector risks use of deadly force. Acknowledge. Serhati nearspace control, over.”
Sedova kept her voice noncommittal, matter-of-fact. “Caesar’s Ghost, negative, negative. We are non-combat-effective Federated Worlds lander registration PHLA-442566, carrying wounded urgently in need of medical attention. We are also critically short of life support supplies, and our driver mass levels are dangerously low. In accordance with the Hague Convention, essential we land to receive immediate assistance. Request you designate landing field as matter of extreme urgency. Federated Worlds embassy has been advised of our arrival.”
The Serhati duty controller sat bolt upright and leaned forward; he stared open-mouthed. “Ah, um … Caesar’s Ghost, stand by,” he said in a strangled croak. The man had never seen a problem like this before, Michael guessed. Judging from the color of his face, the excitement was a bit too much for him.
Michael glanced across at Jaruzelska, who was still deep in her com to the ambassador. The ambassador’s job was to make the Serhatis believe the Feds would wipe Serhati off the face of the map if they laid a finger on the Ghost before it landed safely. Michael was confident she would: The Federated Worlds might not be the power it once had been, but it possessed the military grunt to destroy a puissant planet like Serhati without breaking a sweat, and he would bet good money that the Serhatis knew that.
If the Serhatis called the bluff, the Ghost would be forced to stay in orbit. That meant circling Serhati until the Hammers came and scooped them up. Of course, the Serhatis would protest furiously at the Hammers’ abuse of their neutrality, but it would be too late by then. He would be on his way to Commitment and an appointment with a DocSec firing squad while the rest of the survivors headed for a Hammer prisoner of war camp.
Michael did the only thing left to him: He crossed his fingers and prayed hard. It was not much of a plan, but it was the best they had.
At last Jaruzelska’s eyes opened.
“Done,” she said. “Ambassador Sharma will do her best, so we’ll keep going.”
“Roger that, sir. Bet she was surprised.”
“More stunned, I would say,” Jaruzelska said. “I think I’ve spoiled her day.”
Sedova did not wait for the Serhatis to decide whether to allow Caesar’s Ghost to land. Shaking as main engines at emergency power reduced her speed for reentry, the Ghost started its fall dirtside, the planet’s largest continent-a dark sprawling mass under scattered clouds tinged gold and pink in the early-morning sun-opening out below them. Sedova ignored the Serhati controller’s increasingly hysterical bleatings of protest as she fine-tuned the lander’s vector for reentry.
“Go for it, Kat,” Michael said.
“Roger, sir … Serhati nearspace control, this is Caesar’s Ghost. Life support status now critical. Estimate one zero, I say again one zero minutes remaining. Main engine flameout in five. Will attempt v-max reentry. Request immediate clearance into Norton Field. We don’t have the driver mass to go anywhere else. Wish us luck, Serhati”-nice touch that, especially the panicky tremble Sedova injected into her voice; or maybe it was for real, Michael thought-“we’re going to need it. Caesar’s Ghost, over.”
“Stand by, Caesar’s Ghost, stand by. Out.” Michael tried not to laugh. Eyes screwed up and lips puckered into a grim slash as if someone had shoved the blunt end of a pineapple up his ass, the duty controller was an unhappy man, a man in considerable pain. He was not having a good shift.
“Main engine cut off … now”-the Ghost fell silent-“Serhati control, am committed to a v-max reentry direct to Norton Field. Request emergency services to meet on arrival. Caesar’s Ghost, out. All stations. Visors down and make sure you are well strapped in. For those of you who’ve not been paying attention, we’re doing a v-max reentry, so this will be rough.”
Michael flipped his visor down and waited patiently until a row of green lights confirmed that he had a good suit. He commed the seat to tighten his straps as far as they could go, the crash-resistant seat molding itself around his head and body until he could barely move. Not that it made any difference to his chances of survival; if Caesar’s Ghost broke up while traveling too fast to allow crew and passengers to eject-and there was a significant chance it would-they were all dead.
“Command, loadmaster. All suits are green, cargo compartment, casualties, and pax secured for reentry, ejection systems armed.”
“Command, roger,” Michael said. “Admiral, sir. We’re good for reentry.”
“Roger,” Jaruzelska said calmly.
“Over to you, Kat.”
Sedova just nodded, her whole attention focused on turning Caesar’s Ghost nose on for reentry.
“Caesar’s Ghost, Serhati nearspace control. Reentry approved”-yes, Michael thought exultantly. Not that it made much difference; the lander was committed, so it did not matter what the Serhatis said, but at least they were not shooting at them-“stand by reentry plan for landing at Norton Field. You are warned that any deviation …”
Yeah, yeah, yeah, Michael murmured to himself, tuning out; we’ve called that bluff. He concentrated on watching Sedova’s every move. Not that he had anything to offer her. Sedova had graduated in the top 5 percent of her command pilot class at combat flight school. If a v-max reentry was beyond her capabilities, it was definitely beyond his. Compared to Sedova, he was a rank amateur.
Sedova pitched the Ghost’s nose up for reentry. Plunging planetward, the lander started to feel the first tenuous threads of Serhati’s upper atmosphere. A thin high-pitched whistle developed rapidly into a full-blooded scream as Caesar’s Ghost ripped the air apart in its plunge to Earth, nose and belly armor glowing first red, then white-hot as ablation started in earnest, leaving a fiery tail to mark its passing. Hands locked tightly onto the arms of his seat, Michael prayed-hard-that Caesar’s Ghost would get through this. At normal reentry speeds, any lander could complete ten reentries a week without breaking a sweat. V-max reentries were another matter; heated by massive compression, Serhati’s atmosphere would reach 13,000 Kelvin as it tore past, too much for the lander’s armor to resist, the excess heat carried away by ablation of the carbon-impregnated ceramsteel, the lander tracing a blazing arc across the sky as it dropped to earth.
In the end, a v-max reentry was a race to see which happened first: a successful transition to winged flight or ablation of the armor until none was left. Without armor, Caesar’s Ghost would not survive two minutes before superheated plasma broke through her inner titanium skin and she disintegrated into a flaming shower of burning wreckage.
Trailing fire, Caesar’s Ghost plunged deeper into Serhati’s atmosphere. The lander shook violently as the aerodynamic stress built, its artificial gravity struggling to absorb deceleration, pushing the lander’s frame to its limits.
“Approaching max g,” Sedova announced, her voice calm. “Stand by pitch down. Hold on, folks.”
Michael braced himself, hands locked onto the arms of his seat. This was the most critical, the riskiest phase of the reentry; in a v-max reentry, this was the point where the command pilot risked her life and those of her passengers and crew. Reducing pitch minimized the g forces acting on the lander but exposed more of the lander’s lightly armored nose to superheated air, increasing the risk of thermal breakthrough into the hull. When v-max reentries went to shit, it was during pitch down, and everybody knew it.
When-after a lifetime-Sedova pitched the nose back up, Michael allowed himself to breathe out. Slowly the lander’s speed bled off. Maybe, just maybe, they might make it, he thought.
The rest of the flight turned out to be an anticlimax, not that Michael was complaining. He’d had all the excitement he could take. Extending the wings in small increments as the lander’s speed decayed, Sedova flew a perfect engine-off approach into Norton Field, kicking the engines back into life only when the Ghost neared the threshold. Dropping steeply and still traveling at speed, she extended the lander’s huge triple-slotted flaps, the landing gear locking down with a muffled, metallic thunk, then pulled Caesar’s Ghost sharply back onto its tail in the vomit-inducing maneuver called-without any affection at all-“walking the blowtorch.” With the lander now held up entirely by the power of its main engines, its nose pointing nearly vertically into the sky, Sedova rammed the belly-mounted thrusters to full power, killing the Ghost’s speed. Crossing the threshold, Sedova eased back on the throttles and rotated the Ghost’s nose forward and down, dropping the lander with a crunching thud onto the runway. Braking gently, she let the lander run before turning off the runway and coming to a stop. Caesar’s Ghost was surrounded immediately by what had to be the best part of Serhati’s planetary defense forces.
Sedova broke the stunned silence.
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for flying Sedova Space Lines”-Michael noticed that her voice shook ever so slightly-“and welcome to Serhati. You may disembark now. And make it quick, please. I’ve set the self-destruct charges to blow in five minutes.”