Double Eagle(科幻战争)-第16部分

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the　town。　Refilling　his　cup；　she　chatted　idly；　to　no　real　point；　as　if　simply　letting　go　of　conversation
that　loneliness　had　dammed　up　inside　her。　Viltry　was　content　just　to　listen。　His　day　had　been
terrible：　the　savage　air…brawl；　the　panic　and　fear。　The　bats　had　locked　them　up　so　long；　they’d　finally
been　forced　to　ditch　their　payloads　and　turn　back　on　the　long；　exposed　slog　for　home。　No　target
destroyed。　No　target　even　seen。　Just　a　portion　of　the　Dish　of　Sand　heat…fused　into　glass。　Halo　had
lost　no　one；　but　five　of　its　machines　had　been　damaged；　and　several　crewmen　hurt。　K　for　Killshot
had　been　unable　to　do　more　than　crawl　home。　Part　of　its　pay…load　had　been　hung；　and　Viltry　feared
that　even　if　it　got　back；　it　might　stumble　on　landing　and　be　annihilated　by　its　own　munitions。　But
they’d　made　it。　Three　of　Egsor’s　wing；　and　two　Thunderbolt　escorts；　however；　had　not。
Some　aviators　dealt　with　the　pressure　of　a　combat　tour　by　drinking；　or　hedonistic　escapes；　others
by　sounding　off　about　what　had　happened　to　anybody　in　the　crew　room　who’d　listen。　That　had　never
been　Viltry’s　way。　These　days；　he　was　afraid　that　if　he　started　talking；　he　wouldn’t　be　able　to　stop。
But　listening　to　the　woman　talk　eased　him。　It　was　like　an　antidote　to　the　tension　of　combat。　It
gave　him　a　touch　of　perspective；　reminded　him　the　universe　was　not　simply　him；　harnessed　into　a　Gchair；
waiting　for　Fate’s　wheel　to　turn。　Her　life　was　evidently　hard。　She　was　forced　to　work　two
shifts：　here　during　the　day；　and　overnight　at　the　munitions　manufactory。　She　was　worried　about　the
tide　of　the　war。　Fresh　food　was　getting　harder　to　come　by。　What　if　the　cafe　was　forced　to　close？　She
had　a　brother　called　Eido；　who　was　serving　in　the　land　army。　She’d　not　heard　from　him　for　over
three　months；　since　the　fighting　at　the　gates　of　the　Trinity　Hives。　He’d　be　home　soon；　she　was
convinced。　She　lit　a　candle　for　him　every　day。
“I　light　three：　one　for　Gart；　one　for　Eido　and　one　for　whoever　else　needs　it。”
Viltry　smiled。　“I’ll　remember　that。　Pardon　me；　but　who’s　Gart？”
“My　husband；　Commander　Viltry。　He　was　a　pilot　officer　in　the　Commonwealth　PDF。　He　was
lost　over　the　desert　the　winter　before　last。”
“I’m　sorry；　mamzel。　Is　he　listed　missing？”
She　shook　her　head。　“I　can　assure　myself　my　brother　is　alive；　because　I’ve　not　had　proof
otherwise。　But　Gart　is　dead。”
The　Commonwealth　had　given　her　a　widow’s　pension；　but　that　had　dried　up　when　the　war…effort
took　its　latest　bad　turn。　Hence　the　two　jobs。　The　lack　of　sleep。
Viltry　noticed　that　the　rain　had　eased。　There　was　a　lightness　back　in　the　sky。　She　would　be　late
for　her　shift　if　they　didn’t　take　advantage　of　the　break。
She　locked　the　cafe　doors；　and　they　hurried　down　the　wet　boardwalk　towards　the　town；　where
the　evening　lamps　were　coming　on。
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DAY　255
Theda　MAB　South；　08。00
“I’m　reporting　as　ordered；”　Darrow　told　the　Navy　guardsman　under　the　adamantite　portico。　The
guardsman　looked　at　Darrow’s　docket　wafer　and　nodded　him　through。
From　the　outside；　Operations　could　have　been　mistaken　for　a　Ministorum　chapel　built　in　the
muscular　Early　Ornate　style。　But　the　many　soaring　spires　and　finials　were　copper　and　electrophytesleeved
detector　columns；　the　braced　flying　buttresses　housed　pneumatic　blast　dampers；　and　where
stained　glass　windows　might　have　glowed；　there　were　deep　shutters　of　loricated　steel。　Operations
dominated　the　north　end　of　the　field　area；　surrounded　on　three　sides　by　metal　forests　of　vox　masts；
auspex　towers　and　modar　arrays；　where　the　ground　was　baked　dry　and　the　air　smelled　cancerously
of　ozone　and　electromagnetics。
Inside；　a　vaulted　and　soaring　atrium　lit　by　caged　lumin　strips　led　to　the　various　control　areas。
Men　and　women　in　the　dark　uniforms　of　Navy　and　the　Departmento　Tacticus　bustled　to　and　fro。
Vox　announcements　called　for　detail　rotations。　Darrow　followed　the　enamel　wall　signs；　and　made
his　way　to　a　busy　staircase　that　led　underground。　The　main　part　of　Operations　was　buried　in　deep；
rockcrete　bunkers　below　the　ground。
Down　below　it　was　cool；　and　the　air　was　damp　and　recirculated。　He　shivered　and　wished　he’d
worn　his　flight　coat；　despite　the　hasty　patching　he’d　made　to　the　sleeve。
There　was　a　series　of　blast　doors　and　another　checkpoint；　where　he　had　to　wait　in　line　under　the
eyes　of　three　burly　guardsmen　while　a　Munitorum　servitor　checked　his　papers；　conducted　biometric
tests　and　issued　him　with　a　duty　pass。
To　Darrow’s　surprise；　Eads　was　waiting　for　him　at　the　main　hatch。
“Reporting　for　duty；　sir；”　Darrow　said；　saluting。
“Call　that　a　salute？”　Eads　said。　“Welcome　to　Operations；　Darrow。　Stick　close　by　me　today　as
you　learn　the　ropes。　Don’t　be　afraid　to　ask　questions；　there’s　a　lot　to　know。　If　I　need　you　to　shut　up；
I’ll　tell　you。”
“Yes；　sir。”
Eads　turned　and　used　his　sensor　cane　to　trace　a　path　into　the　chamber。　Darrow　walked　with　him。
“Expect　to　be　referred　to　as　‘junior’；　Darrow。　Even　by　me。　You’re　not　a　pilot　cadet　down　here。
You’re　a　junior　assistant　flight　controller。”
Darrow　was　about　to　ask　a　question；　but　Eads　reached　out　and　squeezed　his　wrist。　They　had　just
entered　the　chamber；　and　a　hush　had　fallen。
Darrow　gazed　around　him。　Central　Operations　was　a　vast　rotunda；　three　floors　deep。　There　were
two　tiers　of　consoles　around　the　walls；　the　upper　one　accessible　by　an　iron　walkway。　These　console
stations　were　manned　by　Navy　operators；　some　of　whom　were　servitors　plugged　directly　into　the
interface　sockets　of　the　displays。　Above　them　was　an　observation　deck　where　senior　officers
gathered　to　look　down　on　proceedings。　In　the　centre　of　the　chamber　was　the　principal　hololithic
display；　which　projected　a　flickering　tactical　animation　six　metres　into　the　air　from　a　wide；　brassedged
base　unit。　Around　that　stood　a　ring　of　semi…opaque　glass　screens　onto　which　the　modar
returns　were　projected。　A　stern…looking　placement　operator　stood　ready　at　each　screen；　with　a　stylus
in　one　hand　and　an　eraser　in　the　other。
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Around　them　lay　a　further　ring　of　primary　control　consoles；　massive　codifier　stations　that
sprouted　from　the　floor　like　standing　stones。　Each　one；　panelled　with　wood；　its　instruments　turned　in
brass；　had　its　own　valve…screen　pict　display　and　hololithic　repeater。
All　the　personnel　present　currently　stood　or　sat　silently；　heads　slightly　bowed。
A　rector　from　the　Navy　chaplaincy；　imposing　in　his　selpic　blue　robes　and　sable　ruff；　was
intoning　a　rite　of　blessing　upon　the　station。　As　he　spoke；　one　hand　on　his　breast；　the　other　tucked
behind　his　back；　tech…priests　moved　around　the　room；　anointing　the　stations　and　offering　holy　water
from　gold　ampullas　to　those　personnel　in　need　of　personal　benediction。　Darrow　noticed　most
received　it；　even　the　higher　ranking　staffers。
“Let　this　day　be　profitable　and　successful；”　the　rector　said。　“Let　the　strength　of　will　and　the
clarity　of　sight　that　is　the　province　of　the　most　high　and　glorious　Imperator；　he　that　is　the　God…
Emperor　of　all　Mankind；　inform　your　work　this　day。　May　his　glory　be　everlasting；　and　his　beacon　of
enlightenment　shine　to　us　all　in　the　darkness。　For　the　Golden　Throne；　everlasting；　and　in　his　name’s
sake；　let　his　will　be　done。”
The　rector　made　the　sign　of　the　aquila　across　his　breast；　and　everybody　did　the　same。
The　deck　officer　stood；　nodded　to　the　rector；　and　announced；　“Day　shift　begins；　255；　773。M41。”
At　once；　activity　resumed。　A　sudden　wash　of　voices；　of　un…muted　vox　channels。　Deft　hands
chattered　over　metal　keys。　Eads　nodded　at　Darrow　to　follow　him。
As　a　flight　controller；　Eads’s　station　was　one　of　the　primary　control　consoles。　Darrow　helped
him　into　the　high…backed　seat　and　stowed　the　sensor　cane　where　Eads　could　find　it。
“Principal　cortical　plug　and　tech…reader　link；　please；”　Eads　said　as　he　settled　himself。　Darrow
glanced　around；　and　unhooked　the　two　leads　from　a　bracket　on　the　console’s　side。　He　handed　them
to　Eads。　Eads　read　the　raised　identifier　stamps　on　the　plugs　with　the　tips　of　his　fingers；　then　inserted
the　cortical　plug　into　the　dermal　socket　behind　his　left　ear。　The　other　lead；　from　which　withered
parchment　labels　dangled；　went　into　a　second　dermal　socket　under　his　hairline　at　the　base　of　his
skull。　Eads　winced　slightly　as　it　went　in。
The　console　came　to　immediate　life。　The　hololith　display　lit　up　and　began　to　rotate。　The　pict
screen　shimmered　into　life；　showing　a　scrolling　menu　of　tight…beamed　data。　Darrow　knew　that　Eads
was　now　seeing　all　this　for　himself；　in　his　mind。　Eads　began　to　review　the　details。
Darrow　looked　around　again。　Each　of　the　flight　controllers　was　attended　by　at　least　one　junior
aide。　All　of　the　other　controllers　were　sighted；　although　one　had　bulky　augmetic　optics；　but　many
had　enhanced　their　overview　with　cortical　links。
“Vox　mic；　please；”　Eads　said。
Darrow　unhooked　that　too；　played　out　the　flex；　and　helped　Eads　to　fit　it　around　his　ear　so　the
bead　was　in　place　and　the　wire　stalk　set　by　his　lips。
“This　is　Eads；　7513；”　Eads　said　softly。　“I　am　now　on　station。”　He　was　answered　by　a　murmur　of
vox　responses。
His　fingers　began　to　glide　over　the　mechanical　keyboard。　The　data　on　the　screen　altered。　The
cortical　plug　was　simulating　a　version　of　the　console　in　Eads’s　head　so　he　could　operate　it。
“Climate　plot；　please；”　Eads　said　to　the　link。　A　swollen　3D　image　bloomed　across　the　hololith。
“Tactical…　and　quadrant　operations。”　More　changes；　more　overlays。　Hard　yellow　lines　showing
aircraft　tracks；　dotted　red　lines　of　mission　sequences；　winking　green　runes　positioning　the　machines
themselves。
“There’s　a　spare　headset　if　you　want　to　listen；”　Eads　remarked。
Darrow　took　the　opportunity。　What　he　heard　as　he　wired　up　was　a　nonsense　of　human　and
machine　voices；　digital　transmissions；　and　binary　codes　and　atmospherics；　which　sucked　and　roared
behind　the　voices。
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“Use　the　dial　there　to　select；”　Eads　pointed。　“It’ll　seem　overwhelming　at　first；　but　you’ll　learn　to
differentiate　and　fine　tune。　For　the　next　two　hours；　we’re　assigned　flight　control　for　two　fighter
units：　Umbra　Flights　Four…One　and　Four…Two。　There　are　the　mission　parameters；　on　screen。”
Suddenly　nervous；　Darrow　read　the　details；　trying　not　to　miss　anything。　Two　intercept　units；　four
machines　in　each。　Routing　down　across　the　Peninsula　to　the　headwaters　of　the　Lida；　hunting
intruders。　Time　of　launch；　08。15。
He　looked　at　the　brass　chronometer　mounted　above　the　console　top。　It　read　08。14。
Theda　MAB　South；　08。15
“Straps　tight？”　Racklae　shouted；　barely　audible　over　the　rising　howl　of　the　fanjets。
Marquall　nodded。　Racklae　gave　him　a　finger…and…thumb　“O”；　then　ordered　the　ground　crew
clear。　They　jumped　off；　the　last　of　the　hoses　disconnected　and　stowed；　rolling　the　primer　cart　back。
One　fitter　carried　the　yellow　boarding　ladder　away。
Perched　beside　the　cockpit；　Racklae　tapped　his　ears　and　mouth。
Marquall　nodded　again。　He　keyed　the　vox。
“Test；　test；”　he　said。　“Umbra　Eight；　Umbra　Eight；　am　I　loud？”
“Umbra　Eight；　this　is　Lead。　You’re　loud　and　live。　Okay　there；　Marquall？”
“Yes；　ma’am。　Lights　are　green；　I　repeat　green。　Ready　to　lift。”
“Stand　by；　Eight。”
Marquall　made　the　sign　of　the　aquila；　then　looked　up　at　Racklae。　He　showed　him　a　thumb。　The
chief　fitter　grinned；　saluted　him；　and　closed　th