THE ETHOS EFFECT
THE ETHOS EFFECTL. E. Modesitt, Jr.
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In memoriam
For Eric Maier, who always understood the eternal nature of the
struggle shown in life and in this story, with both heart and mind
CONTENTS
COMMANDER
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
DIRECTOR
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
JUDGE
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Tor Books by L. E. Modesitt, Jr.
Copyright
COMMANDER
Chapter 1
Two officers sat side by side in the cramped command couches of the RSFS Fergus as the light cruiser accelerated away from the Galway system. The younger officer, a dark-haired woman with blue eyes and pale white skin, wore the double silver bars of a first lieutenant on the collar of her green shipsuit and the embroidered antique silver wings of a junior pilot on its chest. The older officer, a green-eyed, black-haired, sharp-featured man with skin the color of aged fine oak, wore the silver leaves of a commander, with the command star, and the wings of a senior pilot. Below the wings were the faded characters of his name—Van C. Albert.
“Dust density?” asked Van.
“Point three and steady, Commander.”
“What does that mean, Lieutenant Moran?” Van’s implant continued to show minute fluctuations in the density readings, fluctuations that came from the ship systems, not the dust beyond the hull and shields. While the gravs could theoretically handle accelerations as high as eight while maintaining a steady one gee within the ship, Van kept the acceleration at three solid gees. Anything more created unnecessary strain on the systems for a vessel as old as the Fergus. Then, the RSFS Fergus should have been retired or rebuilt decades earlier, he reflected, not that she hadn’t been a good cruiser for her time, but the newer Argenti cruisers wouldn’t take that long to turn her shields to shreds, and even some of the recently commissioned Revenant cruisers were getting to that point. The Eco-Tech ships were roughly equivalent to those of the Argentis, but no one wanted to fight an Eco-Tech pilot, not the way they were modified, trained, and linked to their ships.
“We could fold nets and jump, ser. The coordinates for Leynstyr are set.”
“Would you recommend that, now?”
“No, ser.”
“Why not?”
“If we wait until the density drops below three, we can make the jump with twenty percent less power.”
“How do you know it will drop that far?” pursued Van.
“It does in most systems, ser.”
“How long would you wait to see?”
“That would depend, ser. If we needed to jump, I wouldn’t wait. Now…the collectors are running in the green…another ten minutes.”
Standing wave message for you, ser. The words burned across the shipnet to Van from the comm officer, Sub-major Parnell.
I’ll take it, now. While still monitoring the Fergus’s telltales, Van shifted his concentration to focus on the incoming message. It was short. Given the enormous power requirements, even with compressions, all standing wave messages were short—and urgent. Nothing short of urgency could justify their use and cost.
Proceed soonest to Gotland, Scandya system, to replace RSFS Collyns, FFA. Orders arriving Gotland via courier…
The authentication codes indicated that the message had come directly from the Chief of Space Operations at Republic Space Force headquarters on Tara. Van had no idea why the CSO was rerouting the Fergus to Gotland, right in the middle of transit from Galway to their assigned picket station off Leynstyr. The Muir had already been on station off Leynstyr for all too long.
“Lieutenant…” Van shifted his attention back to the junior pilot. “What are the accumulator reserves right now? What will they be in ten and fifteen minutes, assuming a standard density drop-off?”
“Ser…let me check.”
Van waited, still trying to figure out the reasons for the change in orders, then flashing back to Parnell. Did you double-check the authentications?
Yes, ser. They were red over green priority, ser.
Van tightened his lips. Red over green meant trouble. At least, it always had. But why send the Fergus, old and creaky as she was?
“Ser…I see what you mean,” offered Moran from the second pilot’s couch.
“Tell me. Don’t just tell me that you understand.”
Moran stiffened, then spoke. “The accumulators aren’t fully charged. It will take about eight minutes from now. We’d come out of jump with less than full power for shields or acceleration. In a combat situation—”
“Good!” Van forced a smile. “You’ve got it. The way things are now, you don’t ever want to come out of a jump underpowered—not if you can help it. I’d like to spend more time on that, but we’ve got to make some adjustments, Lieutenant. We’ve had a change in orders. Reconfigure for a jump transit to the Scandya system. Then, let me check the setup and coordinates.”
“Ah…yes, ser.”
“We just received a standing wave message from the CSO, ordering
