John Ringo - East of the Sun, West of the Moon

“What do you want to bet it was hamsters?” Herzer said with a grin.

“What was the name of that inventor who created gadgets that did things in the most complex way?”

“Bill Gates?” Herzer asked. “Something like that?”

“No, I was thinking Goldsmith or something,” Megan mused. “Good Lord!”

“What?” Herzer asked, not turning away from the schematic.

“I just read the description of the suit plumbing,” Megan said. “Yick!”

“Can I borrow that?” Herzer asked, turning away from the schematic thoughtfully.

“Of course,” Megan said, holding out the thick book.

“Thanks,” he replied, wandering out of the room. “I’ll be in the weight room if anyone needs me.”

When Meredith walked into her office, Herzer was sitting on the weight bench with a heavily loaded weight bar suspended over his knees and a book tucked into his crotch. He appeared to be reading. As she watched, the bar slowly rose up to touch his shoulder and then lowered back down. After one more rep he lifted it to the holder, turned the page on the book and lifted it back down. After four more slow reps he repeated himself.

Meredith turned away from the sight, frowning, and sat at her desk for a moment. Then she got up and walked to the filing cabinet, pulled out a file and sat down at her desk again. The sound in the background was maddeningly repetitive. Flip of a page, clink of the weights leaving the holder, four long, slow, breaths with no real sound of effort, clink of the bar, flip of the page, repeat. Occasionally there would be a grunt of surprise or a disgusted snort. Occasionally there would be a long pause and she could imagine the bar hanging in midair, effortlessly held there, then the breath would be let out, the page would flip, repeat.

Finally, after realizing that she’d just read the same page of a complicated bill twice and didn’t actually read it either time, she turned around angrily.

“Are you actually reading that or just looking at the pretty pictures?” she asked disparagingly.

“I’m reading it,” Herzer said without looking up. She could see a drop of sweat forming on the tip of his nose but if he noticed it wasn’t apparent.

“Well,” she said, glancing at the close-set text on the page, “if you are, you’re reading it awfully fast. Skimming something isn’t going to do anyone any good.”

Herzer paused with the bar in mid-rep, held out in front of him, and a muscle on his jaw flexed. He turned and looked at her, sharply, then began to recite.

“The Mark-14 Quantum communicator has a range of…” he paused and frowned, the bar still held in midair, “sixty-four thousand kilometers. It works by something called a mee-zon generator, whatever the hell that is, and has up to one million discrete frequencies. Although it is unjammable and can’t be intercepted, during the AI wars when the system was used frequently, enemies would install interception devices in them. The systems we’ll be using will be voice activated and frequency agile, whatever the hell that means. There is an alternate implant system which we won’t be using because there’s an attack method through them. Satisfied?” he asked, looking back down at the page. He set the bar down and flipped back a few pages, then grunted in satisfaction. “Yeah, sixty-four thousand.” He flipped back to the page he’d been reading, picked up the bar and began slowly lifting it and lowering it again.

Meredith watched him for a moment and then turned around slowly to get back to work.

“Hello,” Shanea said to the older woman at the door. She’d been passed by the sentries so, presumably, she was safe. “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Herzer,” the woman said, smiling. “I’ve got some lists to go over.”

“He’s in the office,” Shanea said. “Would you like to step in? And you’re…?”

“June Lasker,” the lady said.

“I’ll go get him,” Shanea replied, gesturing at a seat in the entry foyer.

“Herzer,” she said, walking in the office.

“Yeah?” he grunted, pressing a mass of weights.

“Come on up just a touch more,” Bue Pedersen said, his fingers hovering over the bar. “Almost there. You know you’re badly out of shape. That’s only, what, a hundred and ninety kilos?”

“Fisk you, Bue,” Herzer said, dumping the weights onto the rack and sitting up. “What’s up, Shanea?”

“There’s a lady named… June here with some lists…” Shanea said, blinking rapidly. Herzer had taken off his shirt and it was apparent that his upper body was getting corded with muscles; the veins in his arms and torso stood out against pale skin. “Uhmm…”

“Crap,” Herzer muttered. “Okay, Bue, I’m going to be at this a while; they’re probably the technical personnel lists. You might as well get back to the War Department.”

“Can I ask what this is all about?” Bue said.

“Not yet,” Herzer replied. “Soon.”

“Okay,” Bue said, shrugging. “Want me to come back this evening?”

“No,” Herzer grunted. “I’ll be at this most of the afternoon and damned if I’m going to spend all evening pumping weights. Tomorrow is lower body. Say Thursday if that’s okay?”

“I’ll be back,” Bue said with a nod. “Have fun.”

Herzer picked up his shirt and wiped off some sweat, then looked up at Shanea.

“We’ll probably need drinks and some lunch if you don’t mind,” he said, smiling. “I hate using you as a gopher…”

“That’s okay,” Shanea said, blinking again and then smiling. “Whatever you need.”

Herzer nodded his head as she left and then frowned, replaying the reply.

“Don’t read anything into it that’s not there,” he muttered, walking out of the room and down the hall to his and Megan’s bedroom. He stripped out of the shorts and wiped down hastily with a towel, then climbed into a new set and a clean shirt.

“June,” he said as he came in the foyer. “It’s been, what? Three years?”

“About that, Herzer,” June said, smiling and standing up. “You’ve come up in the world,” she added, gesturing around.

“Getting engaged to a council member will do that for you,” he said, frowning. “I take it Edmund put you in charge of finding replacement personnel?”

“Yes, and we’re going to have a fun time,” she added, picking up her valise. “Where?”

“Living room,” he said, gesturing the way. They gathered around the coffee table and June started pulling out files.

“I found six people in Raven’s Mill’s files and federal records that listed a background in late information-age space engineering,” June said, laying out the files. “I’ve put a request in to the Federal Intelligence Agency to find them and they’ve all been identified and located.”

Herzer picked up the first file and looked at the age and grunted. “This guy is over two hundred. I’m not sure he’ll be up to it.”

“That is a problem with several of the personnel,” June said. “The first three on the list are all over two hundred. Another I happen to know is claustrophobic. You realize you’re going to have to deal with situational anxiety on this mission, right?”

“I hadn’t even thought about it,” Herzer admitted.

“The conditions in the shuttles will be tight,” June said. “And the ship is better but not great. Then there’s the fact that they might have to go EVA—”

“I’ve seen that as an acronym,” Herzer said. “That means space walking, right?”

“Yes,” June said, grinning. “It stands for ‘Extra Vehicular Activity.’ You’re getting out of whatever vehicle and moving around. You weren’t into space stuff I take it?”