"And what may be said for their hulls?" Morbius prodded.
"Oh. Yes. Dodecahedra. The hull shape is novel. I've no idea how good it is," Piper answered. "The ability to accelerate in multiple directions without turning--not all directions, if I've analyzed them right--is new. It's tactically very useful. You can shift power a lot faster than you can pivot a two million ton hull. Multiple axes means they can get closer before our xraser fire is effective. The warp transit geodetics were anomalous; that needs much more numerical analysis."
"All these new things. Why give them away?" Tina Truong, the younger but not more junior IOnEU specialist, asked. "They were FEU secrets. Why tell us? Distraction? Advertisement? Flaunting FEU technical superiority, as if they thought we didn't know they were way ahead of us, and they wanted us to find out?"
"Error," the Hexagon Lord said. "Technical issues are for military and intelligence corporations. Off-continent questions were important. Do not force too much news to be consistent. All is compatible with Lincoln being a chance blunder. I said so earlier. They showed us things by accident--except the cat-delegate. Dates reveal transit time, Alpha Centauri through wherever to Sol via FEU methods. Days. That's long for them, based on limited data. They must fly cross-system, warp point to warp point, multiple times. The cat shows they have changed their mind on biosculpt--or have some reason for pretending to have changed."
"What about the Azores?" Charles asked. "It's been a while since I was a delegate personally. Back before they knew who I am. That meeting was strange."
"A while," Barbara snorted. "A century and a half? Before the final Convention was signed? Why disturb the tone? They know we refer everything to New Washington. They refer all to Berlin and Paris."
"I was referring more to the content than the FEU style," Charles answered. "If they want a delegate to wear a fur suit, he wears a fur suit."
"Not a suit, Charles," Barbara said. "His arms bent all wrong ways."
"Returning now to the content of the talks, we have...oh, who hasn't said anything directly yet?" Morbius pointed sequentially at the Melissa McGuire, the Lord of the Hexagon, and the two interns. Sandra didn't flinch when his finger pointed in her direction.
McGuire perched her chin on her interleaved fingers. "The main question--why this ultimatum about handing over territory? Lincoln could be accidental. There was a minor shooting engagement that appears to have damaged no ships. Why was their response to propose that we hand over the entire solar system, and leave visible the steel fist behind the silk flowers? It's not as though they lost a bunch of ships, the way they did at Second Charon."
"No plan is so frightening as an unfortunate coincidence," the Lord of the Hexagon said. "Three months ago, the Clarksburg warp destination was empty. That's robot probe data. Three months is not much time to set up bases and a fleet, so they are unlikely to have a supported fleet on the other side. However, three months is plenty of time for a reconnaissance squadron to come through from several warps away. The FEU statement reads like they were surprised to discover Lincoln was not empty. Proposing to take our worlds is the puzzle."
"Was this an effort to find out about Pontefract tubes?" Charles asked. "They know travel times via hyperspace. If we already knew about the Lincoln shootout when they ask, we reveal that we have a faster way to get here and there than they do. We do. Pontefract Tubes. Are Tubes really secret? Electronic signal curtains, the Guild of Spam Assassins, the Total Extermination of Foreign Intercourse Act,... notwithstanding, many Americans do not approve of non-intercourse and might sabotage the policy If we can hide the Pontefract effect from them, perhaps they can hide from us that they know about it. Our secret is far harder to hide than theirs would be. If they know, why aren't they more curious?"
"What are the European strategies?" McGuire asked. "What do they want? They're greedy. They want our worlds. They thought they had the warp net, so they owned all stars --more or less--and are miffed to learn that they don't. They thought they gave us the loser worlds in this system, kept the best for themselves. Now they want our share, too. Complaining we shot at each other -- totally routine, not interesting. Article 599 -- why was it mentioned? Why not just claim we're all war criminals, like they did last time, so we owe them all our money? Kapitan Mors, you negotiated Article 599. What were you thinking when you write it?"
"Escape clause," Barbara answered. "Also, I expected at war's end we'd return after a bit to open diplomatic, trade, and travel relations. Article 599 is a path to open those." Grant Thomas's jaw dropped. "Well, it is. Go back and read the language. With an open mind. Azores covers all contingencies, not just the ones that turned out to matter. I didn't expect something different was happening until, oh, the first half-dozen Senators had been assassinated for advocating diplomatic relations with foreign countries--that took a decade, after all." It was always so easy, she thought, to shock the younger generation.
"`We want your worlds' is not a synonym for `a hundred fifty years ago, we made a bad deal. Can we start over?'," the Hexagon Lord said. "Not in two centuries of diplomatic games have I heard anything so strange, even including the seven-player Diplomacy alliance against another player." Sandra Miller peered at him. Diplomacy was a seven-player game. He smiled back, whispering `ask after, amusing tale'.
"How can there possibly be a mutual security threat?" Jacobsen challenged. "Their foes--if there were any, which there are not--would be our allies."
"Perhaps the sun is going nova? Your imagination doesn't limit their strategic analysis. Successful Gaming: Opening Remarks." Sandra glanced at the Lord of the Hexagon. A smile passed between them. "I read your new book. The other side might find what you missed. That's why it's called `surprise'. Besides, they might have bad analysis, be diagnosing a change in kilt lengths as a major security threat."
"The cat," Grant Thomas said. "There must be other clues the FEU does biosculpt biotech." He caught the IOnEU representatives shaking their heads. "How did we miss it?"
"We don't make mistakes that big," Tina Truong objected. "There's a sampling program. We get pollen, birds, insects blowing through the continental defense screen. We do lots of biowarfare searches. We have fine-grained satellite reconnaissance. We find nothing exotic."
"Except, of course, our feline guest," Grant noted drily. He caught a trace of stiffening on Morbius's face. Arguing with guests was not entirely approved. "OK, so this time it's a feature, not a mistake."
"Perhaps, being off the continent, it wasn't a biosculpt," Sandra proposed. "Perhaps it came that way. Just because we've only found sterile worlds around other stars doesn't mean they're all sterile." The Lord of the Hexagon actually smiled warmly. The rest of the room frowned. She frowned back. "Morbius? Do you want off the continent or not? You may disapprove of my hobby, but reading science fiction is hardly European."
"I do," Morbius said approvingly. "And your suggestion is at least as sound as an unknown FEU biosculpt program that we have managed not to detect while it was making cat-people...Creations that have never before been seen out of doors. Indeed, I found volunteers, and have a B Team elsewhere working on precisely your suggestion. Grant?" He turned on his second intern.
"Off the continent the other way. The tabby that talks is an amputee in furry power armor. Power armor like yours, Sandy, except cuddly. Lincoln is part of the attack they're preparing. They had ten minutes to spy out Lincoln--what could they learn in ten minutes, give or take?" Grant asked.
"A fair amount," Jacobsen remarked. "I'll be able to say more when the ASN eventually gets its chance at the data."
"Say again?" Barbara asked. "Eventually?"
"My civilian superior directed--while waving a draft budget--that State take top billing on working over the data--because this is purely a diplomatic misunderstanding. We're ordered not to look at the Lincoln data for a few weeks--officially ordered, signed, stamped, and sealed. State's analysts are trying to identify the names of the FEU warships from their IFF responders. Names will
reveal the FEU diplomatic stance," Jacobsen explained.
Tina Truong buried her head in her hands. "That's never ever worked. Discrediting that idea is the first bit of homework given to every IOnEU intern."
"It is my sworn duty to endorse the wisdom of my civilian superiors of the Federal Senate," Jacobsen said. "And for three weeks not a finger will be raised to do an official analysis of the data. I was even ordered to go on leave so that I can't tell my Warrant Officers not to do what I have told them not to do." He gazed piously skyward. "Of course, in peacetime I do write my own leave orders." He clasped his hands in prayer. "I told my subordinates precisely and exactly in full and complete detail all of the things they are not ordered to do, so my superiors can be told exactly and completely that my staff was not ordered to do them. But why did the FEU run so fast, and not say anything? A little talk would have given them at least 20 minutes more scanning. A 'we're sorry...we'll pay reparations...one of our ships has shorted a jump capacitor...we'll leave as fast as we can.' would have given them a couple hours."
"We can't ask the FEU for several days, until the next Azores session," Arthur Smith observed. "We here won't script American remarks for that meeting. What may we glean from FEU remarks, remembering they were totally scripted? I made a few notes. In particular, they went out of their way to behave as though they thought we colonized Centauri by traveling through hyperspace. Note they identified Centauri only as warp grid coordinates, not as a place. Only one of them remembered how far away Centauri is from Earth; none of them ever used the name. That's every indication they think we use warp gates for interstellar travel."
"What did the cat mean 'in your years'?" Grant Miller asked from his corner of the room. "Is there another year? I mean, we're on the same planet, so the FEU year has got to be ours. Doesn't it?"
"The FEU calendar differs from ours when it computes leap years," Flora Barnes agreed. "That difference doesn't crop up until 3400 AD. It seems unlikely the FEU has recently adopted the Islamic calendar. Why didn't they say Alpha Centauri, rather than that bunch of numbers?"
"Perhaps they think using light years is like using kilometers, something we don't do. They might have thought they would say "four light years" and we wouldn't understand without translation. They refuse to understand why our American Standard Units are better than their French Imperialist units, or they'd see why light years are mutually comprehensible," Kirby Lee suggested.
"What's this about confiscating weapons?" Grant asked, highlighting a section of the text.
"Grant!" Sandra did not quite shout. "They're Europeans. They rape people. Boys like you too, Grant. They know, they try it, MinuteGirls and friends blow their heads off. They want us unarmed when they try." Sandra paused. Every woman in the room except one was giving her a thumb's up. Kapitan Mors seemed distracted. Of course, Sandra thought, Kapitan Mors had lived through the period when American women were raped regularly.
Kapitan Mors nodded gravely. "Europeans are hoplophobes. It's a contagious mental disease. That was a, not the, reason for the Incursion."
"Who is allied with them?" Tina Truong said. "That cat-delegate is strange."
"In military technology we'd call that a list question," Kirby Lee said. His notepad projected a mapholo against the far wall. "Places with starships. Places with good genetech. Places we think talk nice to Europeans." Three overlapping sets of countries were labeled in three colors. "That's not real helpful. Most East Asian places wouldn't take well to our furry friend except as a bodyslave. Most places friendly with the FEU copy FEU opinions of genetech and biosculpt. List looks annoyingly empty. Or the FEU has new opinions about body sculpting."
"Go back a moment," Jacobsen said. "About weapons. Our FEU friends are not Vikings--the Incursion wasn't officially 'pillage, burn, rape pretty girls'. It was 'make our American friends better'. Safe opportunities to rape our women is not what they planned for their objective. After Second Charon, they demanded reparations, production from Mercuric mines, not Mercury. They didn't care what Americans on Mercury had for guns while we were producing new hulls for them -- though of course we never gave them the hulls. Why the change?"
Three angry female voices cut Jacobsen off.
Through the commotion, Sandra heard the Hexagon Lord's whisper. "Learn your opponent's victory conditions. They matter." She looked over her shoulder. They exchanged winks. Sandra leaned back in her chair, considering what she had just heard. Arthur Smith was entirely correct. Jacobsen was just being realistic. The Europeans would be delighted to have her body as a benefit of conquering America, but her body -- overfirm by European standards -- was not going to be the casus belli.
"IOnEU is searching the logged world transmission records," Flora Barnes said, her mind still on the cat-delegate. "It's a raw-record search. Ms. Tabbycat isn't found by any search pattern that we know. We had to improvise. It's a big search. That's why we couldn't help with Sandra's combat simulations — our complete computing power is tied up." Barbara pursed her lips. A project that could tie up the computers of a major intelligence corporation for a significant period of time was an enormous undertaking.
"Gentlepersons!" Morbius's voice cut through the din. "Has anyone identified any other questions that we have not yet considered?" He waited patiently for an answer. "In that case, we shall disperse into smaller groups and consider more thoughtfully the issues we have identified thus far." Matched lists of questions and names appeared on the display wall. Sandra looked wistfully at Arthur Smith, who was tagged for a different discussion group. Had he been trying to hit on her? Not really. Not aggressively, anyhow. He was certainly wonderful to listen to and brought no pain to the eyes.
Chapter 8
"While most billets within MinuteGirl ranks are logically named, the titles "Master of the Sword" and "Mistress of the Sword" both date from a far earlier era. The Masters of the Sword, almost all of whom are actually women, are ultimately responsible for physical, combat, and tactical aspects of MinuteGirl training. The usually-much-younger Mistresses of the Sword are the small number of young women who embody the ultimate success of that training. The rank badge of a Master of the Sword is a small white-metal collar tab in the form of two crossed swords. The rank badge of a Mistress of the Sword is a collar tab in the form of a flat, black-metal Roman sword. By custom, a Mistress of the Sword only wears her rank badge if she expects that she is about to contribute her life to The Glory of The Republic."
...MinuteGirl Manual, 38th Edition, Cosmopolis National Press, Cosmopolis, Washington, 2127.
ANTECHAMBER, OFFICE OF THE SUPREME COMMANDANT
SUPREME HEADQUARTERS, STARFLEET EUROPA
PARIS, FRANCE, EUROPEAN UNION
1115 ET 4 MAY 2174
"Good morning, my Admiral." Genevieve Villiers beamed at the wan-looking figure of her commanding officer. She knew what had happened to him so far today. The Gisbures, bless whatever they used as souls, had wanted to confer about the forthcoming Proserpine offensive. As this was yet another offensive to recover former Gisbures territory, it was for them a religious matter, appropriately discussed in the hours before sunrise. Then the President and the Chancellor had wanted to be briefed on the situation, not to mention implications of the FEU stand with respect to the American colony at Alpha Centauri.
Fleet High Admiral Bernard Rohan nodded in response. "Good morning, Captain. May I at least hope that my breakfast is still waiting?" He managed a weak smile.
"But of course, my Admiral. And I refreshed the coffee when I determined your actual arrival time," she answered. "May I in turn hope that you are not unwell?"
"Unwell, no. In need of sleep, yes. I think I am about to make the Ministry of Joyous Labor into happy men," he answered. "They say I should take more time off. I believe I want to give them a week. Or perhaps two." The Ministry enforced FEU maximum work laws, was forever complaining about the laxness with which StarFleet proclaimed emergencies that let its senior officers work forty or even forty-eight hours in
a week, but never quite had enough influence with the Union Supreme Senate to bring StarFleet squarely under its thumb. "The Chancellor was most inquisitive. So was the President. So was the Light Lord. Then, of course the evening before last, the Captain-General of the Commando Assault Forces had her critical issues needing private discussion."
"But of course," Villiers answered. The Commando Forces were the contribution of the Scandinavian League, which in military matters was firmly tied to the Union. The woman in question believed that she was the avatar of a Valkyrie. She certainly had the build and other inclinations. If Bernard were still walking, the discussion could not have been too stressful.
"Fortunately our Russian and Turkish friends yesterday evening only wanted to end the briefing by sharing a few drinks with friends," Rohan noted, referring to his male counterparts in the FEU Army. Of course, some people would phrase the count differently than few. "I hope I have not kept anyone waiting for too long?"
"Commodore Beyerlein undoubtedly was prepared for possible delays you might experience," she answered. "And he is waiting outside your office. I gather that he has significant matters to discuss."
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