68 ENGINEERING SPECIALIST SWENDSEN

After sunset, as the torches burned brightly atop the cupolas of the Whisper Palace, scientific teams continued to analyze the wreckage of the hydrogue warglobe taken from Theroc. Engineers and technicians had spent weeks scrutinizing the broken pieces.

Equipment shacks and outbuildings were clustered around the large tent that had been erected to conceal the trophy from curious eyes. Brilliant lights gleamed down upon pallets of instruments and stored chemicals. Catwalks provided access to the upper portions of the curved warglobe shell. Men and women bustled around the derelict, taking readings and marking down notes.

Accompanied by four royal guards—a mere formality—Peter and Estarra walked hand in hand across the plaza to the flap of the synthetic canvas covering. Some of the technicians noticed the King’s arrival and stopped their work, snapping to attention as if he were an imposing military commander. The guards, by tradition, announced the royal presence.

With a surprised yet welcoming expression on his face, the blond Engineering Specialist wiped his hands on a rag and hurried over. “King Peter, what a pleasure it is to see you! And a boost in morale for my team!” He extended his hand. The guards tensed, but Swendsen remained oblivious. Around them, all work came to a complete stop.

The King graciously shook the man’s hand. “I’m sorry if our visit here is disruptive. My Queen and I don’t want to delay progress.”

“Oh, but it also shows us that you care about what we’re doing and are interested in our results.” Swendsen gestured for the others to get back to their tests. “And why doesn’t your brother Daniel ever come to see our work?”

Awkwardly, Peter answered, “The, uh, Prince has a full scholastic schedule, Engineer Swendsen. He still has much to learn.”

“Ah, don’t we all?”

Estarra’s eyes were bright, her body tense. “I hope your teams find something useful, Engineer Swendsen. Too much of my worldforest was destroyed by these things.”

The King and Queen looked up to watch as large sections of the broken warglobe were lowered from suspensions to new work ramps for further study. Sensors and wires and gleaming detectors had been applied like freckles across the curved hydrogue shell. The diamond hull was blackened and blistered, the edges jagged where the alien vessel had shattered under the heat of the faeros.

The tall Swede was more eager and excited than anyone else, like a child ready to tear off the wrapping from a long-coveted gift. “The warglobe is intrinsically fascinating, but I had hoped to find some Achilles’ heel. Unfortunately there’s simply not enough left of this hulk to give us any meaningful insight into its potential flaws. And we haven’t been able to conclude much about the technology or mechanics.”

He walked quickly to the next station, and Peter and Estarra rapidly forgot their usual regal pace. The engineer ducked under the curvature of a large fragment. “We haven’t found any intact machinery, or engines, or components of their weaponry systems. It’s just a bunch of broken junk.”

The King ran his fingers along the cool, slick surface. “What about analyzing the material composition? Can we replicate it—or at least use the information to modify our fracture-pulse torpedoes or carbon-carbon bond disruptors?”

“Maybe. Four of my best materials researchers are working on a small fragment of the hull. Computer simulations and nondestructive analyses just didn’t give us anything. I gave them permission to unleash all the fury of Earth, hoping to find something that’ll chip the armor.” Swendsen paced around the site. “One man told me the project was a dream come true—using his advanced training and expertise to smash things. He likes that.”

“Well, the faeros managed to wreck this one,” Estarra pointed out.

“Believe me, we’re trying our damnedest to reproduce the technique.” From a slick information screen, Swendsen displayed tables of data and the results of numerous tests, then turned with a tsk-tsk noise from the results. “When I think of how much we learned from dismantling that one Klikiss robot, I wish we could get a fraction as much from this derelict.”

Luckily, this wasn’t the only project the Hansa had in the works. Only a week before, King Peter had made a formal inspection tour of the giant rammer ships under construction, sixty new kamikaze Mantas designed to smash warglobes. Hansa manufacturing facilities also continued to pump out huge numbers of new Soldier compies to help crew EDF ships, though Peter still had reservations about them.

The engineer rapped his big knuckles against the hard diamond hull, and the alien ship completely absorbed the sound. “I’m just not sure how much more we can wring out of this thing.”

Peter nodded. “Maybe it would be better used as a monument for tourists.”

Estarra gave a grim smile. “At least the warglobe was destroyed. Far better that we have a monument to a victory against the hydrogues than a memorial to another loss.”

The following day, Swendsen bustled into Chairman Wenceslas’s office. “You called for me, Mr. Chairman?” He had not changed out of his smudged work uniform from the warglobe analysis site. As he collected himself, Swendsen noticed General Lanyan sitting at a table, rummaging through documents and memos.

The dapper Chairman stood from behind his desk. “Yes, I did. We have some questions about your work.”

Swendsen searched in his pockets, but didn’t find what he was looking for. “I thought I had a copy of my note printouts, but I have no summary report yet on the hydrogue wreckage. My teams have been using all the techniques available, but there really isn’t much to go on. I can tell you the basic material structure, but we guessed that before. We still can’t break it. Or were you asking about progress in the Soldier compy manufacturing lines? You should see what the—”

The Chairman cut him off. “Right now, Dr. Swendsen, I’m most interested in what you’ve learned about that Roamer compy I gave you to study. It’s been several months since the compy shut itself down to prevent me from discovering Roamer locations. We very much need that intelligence right now for military planning purposes.”

Swendsen frowned in confusion, then brightened. “Ah, yes, the Listener model. I believe its designation was EA? Sorry, sir—I have so many different things on my plate.” His brow furrowed. “A very interesting case, though. Voluntary self-wipe. Complete memory erasure implemented by the compy itself.”

“I told you, Mr. Chairman,” Lanyan said. “The Roamers are hiding something, otherwise they wouldn’t have such security measures in place. It’s insidious.”

Swendsen fumbled with his long fingers. “If I recall correctly, sir, you inadvertently triggered embedded Roamer protective programming. You must have asked the wrong question.” He smiled, but the Chairman did not smile back. “It scoured all the circuits, overwrote the memory data with gibberish, reformatted the compy’s brain, and left it a blank slate. A great little programming land mine. Hmmm, maybe we should implement something similar in our own classified systems—it was very effective.”

“I’ll consider it,” Lanyan said gruffly without getting up from his seat.

“So, is there anything salvageable?” the Chairman asked.

Preoccupied, Swendsen wandered over to look out the broad windows of the penthouse office. “Well, all the systems are fully functional, mechanically speaking, but we’d have to reinstall a basic instruction set to make it work again.”

The Chairman turned to Lanyan. “And the compy actually belonged to one of our EDF officers. That raises even more suspicions.”

The General sat up rigidly, shoving the various documents aside. “Yes, Mr. Chairman—EA was technically owned by Commander Tasia Tamblyn. She doesn’t know what happened to her compy, and apparently assumes EA was lost. She filed one or two search requests, but kept the matter quiet. Probably afraid she’d face disciplinary action. Technically, Tamblyn wasn’t allowed to dispatch her compy anywhere without authorization.”

Lanyan pursed his thick lips, as if reluctant to reveal what he knew. “For what it’s worth, sir, I’m familiar with Tamblyn, and I’ve spoken with her commanding officer. Admiral Willis characterizes her performance as impeccable. In fact, Commander Tamblyn was the one chosen to drop the first new Klikiss Torch on Ptoro. Apparently, her brother’s skymine was destroyed by hydrogues, all hands lost, and she holds a grudge. A good soldier, even if she is a Roamer.”

“That doesn’t mean she’s not a mole in our midst,” the Chairman said, “and I don’t want to miss a potential opportunity. There’s too much at stake, too much we still don’t know, especially now that we plan to take a hard-line stance against the Roamers. I’m not sure we should rely too much on this Commander Tamblyn’s loyalty. Isolate her from all matters relating to the new offensive—and find a way to keep a quiet eye on her.”

“If I install surveillance technology on her Manta, she may discover it,” Lanyan said. “And we can’t allow her crew to pick up even a hint of our suspicions. That would affect the chain of command.”

“We’ll be more subtle than that.” Basil turned, clearing his throat to get Swendsen’s attention again. “Reboot that compy, restore all basic functions, and then return it to Tamblyn. Make up some story that explains where it’s been all this time. And then . . . we’ll see what happens.”

“If the compy’s sudden reappearance looks too convenient, Tamblyn might be suspicious,” Lanyan pointed out.

“We are all suspicious, General. These days there’s no way around it.”

Lanyan remained puzzled. “But what does all that accomplish, sir?”

The Chairman just smiled. “Engineer Swendsen can also install a passive surveillance program that will let us record everything that EA sees when she’s with our Roamer friend. The compy will become our spy without even realizing it.”