I gave a copy of our logs to Ishmael and his lizard buddies and a “well done” for the performance of their DJ-2 design and performance. Ishmael said, “Thank you for your praise of their efforts. You have no idea how much that really means to them. Emotionally they are different from us even more than in their physiology, and while they don’t easily take offence, they are quite the opposite when receiving praise. They practically live for that and when received from someone sincere engenders a loyalty beyond what you or I would expect. You will have to be very careful when giving them instructions—if you asked them to commit suicide, they would without a single question.”
“Good to know, Ishmael, although I value their contribution too much to even think about asking something like that of them.”
“Just so you know Jase, they have been working on a Mark III of the Dopey Joes as well as the Cracker-2s which they are designating Cracker-3s. They would like to show you a small presentation of what they have come up with.”
“When would they like to do that?”
“The presentation is only a few centas long, so if you have time now, I can call them in, and they can show you.”
I glanced at the time and said, “Yes, by all means. I have fifty centas before I meet Elaine, so if they are ready to go, let’s make it happen.”
Two centas later, I was being treated to a demonstration that showed missiles of both types with MIRV type warheads. While the payloads of each MIRV unit were a bit smaller than our Cracker-1s, there were five of them packed in a casing only about twenty per cent larger in diameter than the first generation, and they can use the existing launchers.
When I asked what had led them to this design, the spokesperson said, “We have read about the concept of force multipliers in various Terran histories. It took us a while to figure out what your species meant by that, once we grasped your meaning, we looked at everything we produce to see where it would best fit.
“The best place we found was in your anti-fleet weapons—you have the concept applied in most of your other weapons. Then we had our packaging engineers sit down and design the packaging so to present warheads to the enemy that had no more than a twenty per cent smaller destructive capability and no more than a twenty per cent larger aggregate cross section.
“The individual warheads are longer and of a triangular shape that when clustered in groups of five allow the use of the existing launchers. Each warhead uses the Cracker-2 controller, and in both systems, the MIRV deploys just ahead of the short-jump or sprint mode.”
I was speechless for a few moments as I tallied up the advantages we would have had on the last mission. When it dawned on me that fifty-thousand missiles would have been much better than ten thousand, I chuckled, “Once again, great job and an excellent idea. How soon can you begin production of these and get them out to all the carrier groups, Leopards and Talons?”
There was a bit of silence before Ishmael spoke up, “They have been producing them for the last fifteen cycles, most of the plants on Terra have been upgraded to produce the new casings. There are close to a half million in stock now when full production is achieved, there will be a million per cycle being produced.”
“Holy crap!” I exclaimed. “With this kind of firepower, we can plan on meeting the main swarm in about one hundred cycles. Thanks again all of you. There is light at the end of the tunnel, and it ain’t the train!”
A short time later, I was meeting with Elaine, she noticed my mood right away. I waited until we were back in our quarters before I told her about the latest developments with our weaponry. She smiled a sad smile and said, “I’m happy for you, Jase, I really am, but I would be so much happier if something more constructive put the smile on your face and the bounce in your step.”
Thinking about it, I realized I should have led with what was really making me happy. I couldn’t unring that bell, but perhaps I could drown at least a part of it out with another one. I told her about the Leviathan-Class ship I was claiming for us. She just stared at me for a moment and asked, “Are you serious? What about all of our friends?”
“I thought that was clear from the other night before I left on this last mission. I want to take them with us. Tuxedo and Ginger will come along, and so will most of our cohort. We haven’t even felt out anyone else yet. Once the coming battle is over, and our plan becomes public knowledge, I’m pretty sure many more will want to join.”
She just shook her head and gave me that sad smile again. I thought to myself, “Well, that went well.”
I decided to clean up and took a shower. When I got out of the head, she had left the suite, only Serena was there waiting for me. “I really screwed that up, didn’t I kid?”
“Yes, you did dad. I know you meant well, but sometimes you get ahead of the curve a little. Give her time to think it through. I’ll go with you anywhere you want to go any time you want to go.”
“Right now I think I’ll head to Benji’s Place. Are you coming?”
“Sure, let’s go.”
When I got to Benji’s, I found Tuxedo already there, and we were soon joined by Rusty who had just gotten in from Saturn Station.
“The ships are all back from the mission, and I hopped a ride straight here. I’d have come with you on Righteous Claws except you’d already gone by the time I’d wrapped up my log entries,” Rusty said.
I looked at him and saw a little hurt in his eyes and realized I’d been selfish on more than one front. “I’m sorry, Rusty. I was just so excited to get home. I didn’t think to let you know I was leaving.”
Never one to miss an opportunity to let me know her thoughts Serena chimed in, “Dad, you need to slow down a little and give the rest of us time to catch up. You may also want to think things through a little more. Elaine is feeling a little hurt, probably because you are making decisions for her instead of with her and that is not like you.”
“I know little one, sometimes my life just gets in my way. I’ll try to do better—help me work on that, will you?”
“Ok, but do try to be a little more aware of those around you and their feelings.”
Tuxedo looked over at me, “Where is Elaine?”
“I don’t know Tux. Wherever she goes when she is disappointed in me, I suppose.”
“Well, Ginger is on her way and will be here in about a half deca. Let us get some ales and talk about your last mission since she wouldn’t let me go on it with her.”
24
WHEN THE COMMAND CENTRE WAS built on the fifth floor of our headquarters I had a low rumbling in my gut that despite the progress we were making on all fronts there would be rocks thrown in our path by Murphy in a random way. A Terran year had gone by, and I thought we would soon be making inroads with the US after their presidential election was over in just two months. Steve McLeod was now the front runner and had returned to the US after Lauren Smith died.
Steven, who had been forced to take refuge in Canada after our return, was replaced as vice president the day Smith had resumed office after a protracted hospital stay. Her pick and her party’s favourite, Helen, Hell-on-Wheels, Wheeler. Hell-on-Wheels was sworn in as president the day of Smith’s supposed suicide and was the other front runner in the race for president. Steve McLeod, who was running as an independent, was eight points ahead of Wheeler in the polls that mattered.
Murphy’s law as I had learnt it states: “If something can go wrong it will go wrong and at the most inopportune time.” My life’s observations proved it was accurate, at least where humans are involved. Murphy showed up in early September when Amanda McLeod fell ill and when diagnosed with a rare blood disorder that was usually fatal. We lifted Steve and Amanda to Mother of Glory where, knowing the risks imposed by their ages, opted to undergo the nanite treatments that all immigrants to the Confederation of Species must receive.
The morning of their treatments, Steven McLeod, former president and vice president, withdrew from the race for US President choosing his wife over his politic
al career. Helen Wheeler became top dog in the race. Hell-on-Wheels had gotten her nick-name when she ran with a Southern biker gang during her college days, and her pedigree for being a champion bitch went back to before the US civil war.
One of her great-greats had been a US Senator and then a political leader in the Confederated States of America when Louisiana seceded from the Union. After the South lost, he joined the Knights of the White Camellia who was allied with the Democratic party and organized terrorist campaigns against blacks, Jews and anyone else who supported equal rights. They worked particularly hard to craft laws that would prevent blacks and women from voting. Unfortunately, he survived to breed and pass his virulent beliefs on to his successors. By the time Hell-on-Wheels came along, the family’s fertile fields of intellect and emotions had been well and truly ploughed and sown with the seeds of hate; she is a hater of the first water.
That she became the party darling is a testament to how corrupt the “party of the people” had become, matched only by a different form of corruption in their opposites on the other side of the aisle. Blinkered pig-ignorance knows no bounds. By the end of October, she was the clear front runner and was expected to take the election handily on 2 November.
A group of us viewed the inaugural proceedings on 21 January 2028, and Steve McLeod and his wife both shuddered when they heard and saw Helen Wheeler swear the oath. Steve turned to me and said, “I honestly don’t understand how my country has drifted so far from our original goals. Yes, it is true that our form of government isn’t perfect, but it was a damn site better than this, not all that long ago.”
“Yes, it was,” I replied, “but the rot had to be there for a long time for it to devolve this far this fast. I suspect it began when political office became a career instead of a duty. It’s a shame your founding fathers didn’t see that coming and include a statement that the principle of responsible government demands that a government only lasts as long as it retains the confidence of the people it governs. I’m not sure term limits would work, but that could have been another option.
“In any case, it is what it is, and all we can do is try to mitigate the damage to us when it comes—and it will.”
Steve nodded his head sadly, “Time will tell, Jase but I suspect we are only seeing the first drops in a storm of shit that is about to rain down on my people that will make the events of the last year look like a walk in the park.”
I had no idea at the time how prophetic those words would turn out to be.
Fifteen cycles later I was working through my message queue when I got a comm from Silent, “I thought you would want to know your friend, Pete Sandusky, had to go bolter three nights ago. I’ve been monitoring the chatter from the States since Lauren Smith’s disciple, Helen Wheeler won the presidential election last November. Two days after the inauguration Wheeler decided to start rooting out any possible opposition and set plans in motion to track down anyone you had been in contact within the US. Pete was listed as a high priority for assassination, and a team was dispatched a week ago. Bad weather slowed them down, and he was able to make it to Canada and safety.
“Pete is sheltering at a safe location and has Pooky and his cat with him. I’ve dispatched two more cats and two Terrans to keep watch in case Wheeler tries to pursue him outside the US. Wheeler has reconstituted Smith’s old covert organization and is building a shadow organization even larger and more covert than the original. I believe it is just a matter of time before she begins working to turn the country into a police state. Most alarming is she has made contact with many of Smith’s old overseas contacts, including the network that has the missing nuclear weapons. We have been monitoring them rather than capturing and interrogating them, but it may be time to get more actively involved. We will also continue to monitor your friends and keep them safe.”
“Thanks, Silent, I think you’re right. We can’t leave that stuff in the hands of Terrans who would use it against us, or worse, their own kind. Put a plan together and let’s see if we can pull their fangs completely. Keep me apprised on both fronts,” I replied before closing comm.
I had time to finish up my messages and get my briefing from Jacky. Jacky is every bit as qualified to run this show as I am. About the only thing she lacks is she is too kind. She had reviewed all of my correspondence and had replied to those she knew how to deal with and only left those of a more personal nature for me. I commed Ishmael and asked him if it would be permissible to offer her a deputy position on my staff to take care of business while I was away.
“Jase, it is a compliment to her and an indication as to how much you have grown in leadership for you to consider asking. Yes, I think she would be delighted to be your deputy. I would suggest you make her position equal to Johnny’s and let them work out the work split. If one of them is to accompany you on missions, the other should be empowered to act in your stead at all levels.
“Between you and me, I think she would be a more robust negotiator than even Johnny, and I know from experience he is no slouch. She has at times run our businesses while I was on our Ark and each time showed a jump in productivity. She is beyond a doubt, the sharpest mind I’ve had the experience to work with. I’m glad I mated with her—if she were competing against me, I would probably be out of business by now.
“I’d also keep it quiet. If my cousin the Emperor were to find out, he would recall her to the Ark to run his affairs. He’s been after her for ages to come work for him. If he should order her back, she won’t be able to refuse.”
“I’ll keep it hush-hush, Ishmael, and thanks.”
I commed Johnny and filled him in, and his response was, “Well, it took you long enough. If you had put off getting good help much longer, I was going to say something. That it is Jacky you want to give the position to is even better, she’s much better at organizing than I am. I’m only a page or two ahead of everyone working with her, she’s finished the book.
“When you have made her the offer send her to me if she accepts and we will work out the task split. Just so you know she took care of my desk while I was with you on this last jaunt and when I came in this morning, I actually had to look for some work. You’ve made a good choice.”
I spoke with Jacky and offered her the position of Deputy Director of Operations, and she accepted it. I made it retroactive to when she had started coming in and overseeing production and making sure my message queue was taken care of.
◆◆◆
Thermopylae dropped out of FTL above the Plague mega-swarm at a quarter of a lightyear distance. She had full stealth and passive sensors only. Our mission was to do a thorough recon of the region of space surrounding the immense fleet of ships and make sure they had no surprises waiting for us. Our sister-ship, Destiny was in a similar position below the swarm, and our five sister Talons were arranged around the fleet in a lopsided pentagram formation. They would fly in an ever-expanding search pattern around the swarm while Destiny and Thermopylae would do the same above and below until all ships had pushed out three and a half light-kilocycles beyond the swarm’s periphery. We have been doing this every fifty cycles for the last three hundred; this was to be the last recon before we struck the huge swarm with virtually everything we’ve got.
The shipyards, motherships and Arks were continuing production in cooperation with a few of our allies on Terra to build a second fleet and arm it in the event we failed and were destroyed. They were also building a massive fleet of shuttles of similar size to our attack units but were giving priority to lifting Terran refugees so much of the weaponry and armour were being deleted and the specialized environment to support Squids was removed entirely. The new shuttles had the capacity for nearly five thousand seated Terrans.
On the last mission, we had gotten a count of over fifteen million enemy ships, and despite that, it was clear the swarm was cannibalizing its smaller ships for reaction mass. That it had grown was a clear indicator undetected swarms had joined since the last mission thirty cycl
es ago, but we wouldn’t know by how much until our fleet was deployed and we had enough probes scouting the swarm for an accurate count. If the space we were scouting was clear, our fleet would jump in four cycles and be loaded for bear.
We were in the position where the game theory of Maximin, maximum gain for minimum loss, had come into play. Our shipbuilding for the coming battle had reached the point where it was taking more time and resources to arm the ships we had than we could afford and every cycle that passed increased the chances the swarm would grow beyond our ability to destroy it.
There were more, smaller swarms out there, probably headed our way, but we planned to destroy this mega swarm and then deal with the newcomers as we found them and hoped we had time to rearm before they showed up. We also wanted to keep another mega-swarm from forming so we had finally accepted the war wouldn’t be over anytime soon. The plague reminded me of the Energizer Bunny—it just kept going and going and going…
We had a similar scouting force out beyond Sol checking out another three and a half light-kilocycles along our flanks and out toward the end of our galactic arm. Most of them were Swift Fangs, both AI and crewed varieties, and there were hundreds of each. We also planned on leaving two hundred scouts as pickets in the space we were currently checking as an early warning system in case we missed some small swarms. We didn’t want to allow the Plague to flank us or crawl up our backsides. Paranoid? Yeah, but just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean no one is out to get you.
As we cleared a sector, we sent a signal to our picket fleet, and a pair of scouts would drop in and go quiet while we moved on. We had two cycles left to clear this space, and our fleet was already moving into the locations where we had left our first pickets, two light-ticks from the swarm and just out of their sensor range. As our attack elements with their fleet train carrying supplies of food, fuel and ammunition arrived, they would set about pre-staging and performing final checks before the main event.
Conflict! Page 24