Petr nodded his head. “Proceed.”

Uninvited, Jesup accompanied Petr and Kif as they made their way closer to the milling scientists and their tools.

A phalanx of computer monitors and other machines formed a large bulwark ring around a central holographic table, while multiple large-screen projection monitors showed exterior shots of the depths of space. At least forty white-coated individuals worked at various stations, monitoring and inputting information. Though he found the whole exercise fascinating, Petr knew most of it passed over his head.

To each his own. To each his contribution to the Clan.

They stepped carefully over what seemed like kilometers of twisting, multicolored wires—interconnecting all of the various computers and electronic equipment—around bustling scientists and between tables before breaking into the relative calm at the eye of the storm around the main holographic table.

“As you know, ovKhan,” Kif began immediately, “there have been numerous attempts to create a large, mobile, simulated gravity, and until today, all have failed. They tied themselves too firmly to centuries-old technology: drastically increasing the size of a gravity deck, spinning the entire ship, latching the DropShips onto a spinning collar and so on. All failed and will continue to fail because they rely on such outdated methods, rather than changing the paradigm within which we work.”

Jesup and Petr shared a brief, hidden smile at the pompous tone and obvious jab at Jonnic’s own research.

“Please turn your attention to the central display, and I will provide an explanation of what is about to unfold.” Scientist Kif waved his hand at the holographic display, showing an Invader–class JumpShip in exquisite detail.

“My epiphany occurred almost three years ago during the Voidswimmer’s refit at the Tukayyid orbital yards. There, I watched an extrusion of a carbon polymer composite cable, part of an attempt to make a cable with the strength to create a space elevator. Though those attempts continue to fail, I reasoned the tensile strength, in ratio to the thickness of the cable and required length to create a full standard gravity, would allow for the creation of a series of tethers for DropShips, provided they could be spun within the necessary parameters.”

Though Petr fought his mind’s impulse to drift, the man’s technical jargon made him glassy-eyed; instead, he gave his attention to the display, concentrating on remembering the information gleaned from progress reports.

The initial challenge was to understand the need to create standard gravity. Though literally millions of Fox Clansmen lived most of their lives in microgravity, there was a significant enough number of downsiders who lived on Fox-controlled Inner Sphere worlds that large-scale, movable simulated gravities needed to be built for training these personnel. This goal had proved elusive as a result of technical and structural limitations.

Until today—at least, that was scientist Kif’s claim.

The Invader hovering in the air before him represented the quintessential JumpShip: bulb at the front end, connected to a five-hundred-meter, relatively narrow length ending in the stationkeeping drive and solar sail array, giving rise to the ubiquitous description “needle thin.” Close to the middle of the vessel, a narrow, collarlike structure circled the diameter of the JumpShip, housing cargo holds, docking collars for DropShips and small-craft launching bays. Nearly four months of in-transit reconstruction had radically modified that section.

The previously flat plane of the collar was now broken in two, a fifteen-meter gap between each overhanging outer section providing a view of the interior section in the middle. Petr knew from the reports that that central, mostly hidden section now spun. Those extensive modifications, however, did not captivate him so much as the four monstrous cables anchored to the central trough that swung out to where four DropShips lay tethered.

Two Mules, a Mammoth and a Behemoth kept station at different distances, the twin Mule s and their 11,200 tons of empty weight tethered at equal distances of just more than a kilometer. The 52,000-ton Mammoth was tethered at less than half that distance, and the gargantuan 100,000-ton Behemoth at half again. As the DropShip’s cargo weights shifted, their tethers would adjust in length, automatically compensating (that much came through from Kif’s endless talking).

The whole thing suddenly reminded him of a child’s toy he’d seen on some forgotten downside years ago: a top, with four strings attached, metal beads at the end of each. If spun correctly, the beads created a counterbalance, increasing how long the top would spin, while eliciting oohs and ahhs from the gathered children as the sun glinted off the solid-appearing line of metal spinning in a flat arc around the top’s center. Yet if spun poorly, those strings would tangle hopelessly, stopping the top before it could even begin spinning. As he stood arrested for that moment, Petr watched a half dozen children try to spin the top, and only one of them succeed.

Jesup’s words filtered through the memory, giving Petr a moment of disquiet. Is Kif that child to set it spinning correctly, or will it be hopelessly tangled?

“By your leave, ovKhan?”

For an instant, Kif’s voice held the timbre of a small child; then Petr shook himself from his reverie. Concealing his unease, he nodded. “Proceed.”

With a smile almost childish in its glee at the coming victory, Kif nodded to his scientists, who fell to their tasks, entering alphanumerical sequences only they could understand into several remote command consoles.

Though he knew what to expect, Petr still felt disappointed as long minutes passed and apparently nothing happened. The grins and nods of the scientists, however, told him they were excited about something he could not see.

Petr decided to focus on the monitor showing the interior of cargo hold 1 of the distant JumpShip. A giant skein of wires spun into view, connecting the control monitors to the bulkhead of the Invader and the housing for the mammoth axle. He had a sudden image of a living, breathing machine, the scientists tapping into the mechanical beast with their devices in an attempt to control it. He shook his head at this flight of fancy.

“So exciting,” Jesup commented. Kif looked at Jesup as if he had just become aware of his presence, then nodded firmly before returning to his work.

Petr smiled at the scientist’s obliviousness to the sarcasm. Another handful of minutes bled away, and finally he could see a change. The holographic display showing the entire vessel and the visual feeds from numerous shuttles arrayed around the ship revealed movement.

The cable’s length required the DropShips to spin up at a glacial pace, or his tangling top image would prove all too accurate. The experiment should have bored Petr, but the scientists’ ability to be mesmerized by the minute shifting of objects hundreds of kilometers distant kept him enthralled. The minutes ticked into hours as the DropShips showed visible movement. Petr still did not understand the technology, but he did understand the potential of such technology.

A little more than four hours after the experiment began, a terrible Klaxon began to blare, demanding immediate attention. Petr quickly found the monitor displaying the warning, but he could not make sense of the information cascading across the screen.

“Scientist Kif, what has occurred?” Anger began to burn as the scientist ignored his question. As he opened his mouth to demand an answer, Jesup laid a hand on his shoulder.

“They have enough to worry about, ovKhan. Let them work,” Jesup advised.

His aide’s serious tone jarred him more effectively than harsh words. Petr nodded his understanding. There would be enough time for trials later.