Against All Odds

by DePrima, Thomas

"The designers returned to the drawing boards for the new weapons systems. Before the Battle at Vauzlee, one torpedo from every tube every fifteen seconds was more than adequate. Vauzlee, Higgins, Stewart, and two wars with the Milori showed us we needed a faster rate of fire. Torpedoes are stored and loaded in clusters of sixteen now. The time required to have another torpedo in position to fire has been reduced from fifteen seconds to two-point-three seconds for each torpedo in the cluster. It takes six-point-nine seconds to swap clusters, so the average time to fire is under two-point-six seconds. The ship has fifty-six tubes, so we can put eight-hundred-ninety-six torpedoes on target in under thirty-five seconds and be ready to begin firing another eight-hundred-ninety-six less than seven seconds after that. All loading is handled automatically, so we won't lose people if a torpedo room is struck during an engagement unless something happens that requires the presence of engineers. There will always be a torpedo ready when a tactical officer has locked onto a target and the number of available tubes means the tac officer can instantly select from high-explosive, bomb-pumped laser, nuclear, or WOLaR torpedoes.

  Better still, the new torpedoes don't fly a straight line to the target— they zigzag randomly, which makes it much more difficult for enemy gunners to kill them. Just when you think you'll get a lock, the torpedo changes direction— just enough to make you miss."

  "That's great. Will guidance specialists still have a role?"

  "The designers have improved the software considerably and the torpedo will still strike the target in the approximate area identified by the tactical officer at the time the torpedo is fired. If the ship is in the enemy database, the torpedo will target the weakest point within the target area, but having a guidance specialist assigned to each torpedo can improve the kill rate because he or she can alter the trajectory if another torpedo arrives at the intended target first. The specialist can then retarget another point or, during a battle, another ship."

  "This ship is aptly named. Ares, the Greek God of War. I'm glad I don't have to go into battle against him."

  "More tubes with a substantially higher rate of fire, more laser arrays, and Dakinium Shielding. We can't go wrong. I'm sorry you weren't able to get the ship command promised to you."

  "Admiral Moore did tell me at the time it would only happen if I could be freed up from whatever duty assignment I had when the ships were ready to launch. Given our current situation I can't argue with the fact that I've been too involved to be freed up here. It's hard to believe the promise was made during a different war."

  "Let's hope this war is the last one we'll know in our lifetimes."

  "Amen. Did you arrange for Eliza's promotion?"

  "I was staffing the ship, needed a good second officer, and she was on the Promotion Selection Board's list for Lt. Commander. I naturally grabbed her as quickly as I could before someone else did."

  "Christa is on the list as well."

  "I know, but Steve Powers wanted her for his new ship. And since he was already her commanding officer on the Chiron, she went with him."

  "Steve got a new ship? That means that…"

  "Yes, Christa is on the Hephaestus. She's probably asleep now since you didn't schedule a visit to any of the other newly arrived ships."

  "I would have if I had realized Steve was here as well as you. As soon as I spotted your name on the Ares crew list I stopped what I was doing and made arrangements to come up here."

  Captain Gavin chuckled. "We'll have plenty of time for socializing. I don't imagine any of us will be going anywhere until after we deal with the Uthlaro."

  "I like your optimism. I hope we'll be going somewhere after they arrive."

  "We will. With Admiral Jenetta Carver in command, nobody doubts that. You have an unparalleled talent for tactics. If anyone needed more proof than what you've done before this latest war, they only need look at the record so far in this one. You've destroyed more than nine hundred ships in combat and lost just— what— seven people and no ships. All four of the belligerents have surrendered unconditionally and we only need mop up this last task force to end the fighting."

  "We've been…"

  "Don't say you've been lucky, Jen," Captain Gavin said, interrupting. "I know you like to think that, but it does you a tremendous disservice to say it. The people you've defeated know it wasn't just luck, at least those who survived the encounter with you. And even your detractors in Space Command have finally started to acknowledge it wasn't just luck."

  "I have detractors in Space Command?" Jenetta said, feigning surprise.

  Captain Gavin smiled. "Not all that many— just the ones who are jealous of your abilities, success, and popularity. Of course, that probably includes half the officer corps."

  "I've never let it bother me."

  "It hasn't hurt your career. Even the ones who are highly positioned haven't been able to touch you. Admiral Hubera, for instance."

  "Well— I knew about Admiral Hubera. He was just as rude to me when I appeared at the Admiralty Board a couple of years back as when he was my instructor at the Academy. I was recounting some basic facts so everyone would understand my position and he snapped at me that they already knew what I was saying and that I should get to the point."

  "He sure wouldn't win any popularity contests with the people he's worked with over the years. He's probably the most vocal among the detractors. The rest of us are solidly behind you and tremendously grateful you're out here instead of an officer like Hubera."

  "Thanks, Larry. I'm grateful you're here. The Uthlaro are definitely coming and we need our best commanders for that conflict. They don't have Dakinium, but their ships have three layers of tritanium and are well constructed. Worse, their warriors always fight to the death. They won't stop coming at us while a single warrior lives. The fighting so far has mostly been with small battle groups and we've fought only with the DS ships, but the Uthlaro have massed for the final battle. Our DS ships are seriously outnumbered, so I'm forced to use older, non-DS ships. It's going to be a lot tougher and a lot bloodier."

  "What's the line-up like?"

  "With the arrival of your force, I have one-hundred-forty-one ships, seventy-four of which are non-DS. Sixty-two of those are M-Designate and twelve are Mars built. Most are destroyers, but we have two battleships and six cruisers. Our DS ships include fifty scout-destroyers, four destroyers, two frigates, two cruisers, and nine battleships."

  "And you're expecting the Uthlaro when?"

  "Around the beginning of March."

  "Based on the activity at the yards when we left, they must be readying additional ships for your command."

  "I'm expecting perhaps as many as twenty more scout-destroyers, but that should be it. The yard folks busted their backsides to get us all the large warships that could be completed before then at the expense of working on ships which they knew couldn't be ready in time. I'm grateful for their efforts and will be happy with whatever additional ships we can get. At this point, I'm not afraid the Uthlaro will overrun us. It's the potential cost in lives that bothers me."

  "Have you worked out your plan?"

  "Pretty much. We'll jump in with the DS ships first and do as much damage as we can. If things get too hot, I'll call in the reserves. But if we can do it with just the DS ships, I'll hold the others back."

  "What are the odds?"

  "We're expecting two-hundred-six Uthlaro warships, so if we get those additional twenty scout-destroyers we'll only be outnumbered by forty-five ships. Of course I'll try to convince the Uthlaro commanding officer to turn around and go home, but I seriously doubt that will happen. And once we engage, we'll have to crush the life out of them because there can be no other outcome."

  * * *

  "This is so incredible, sis," Christa said, as the three sisters toured the governor's palace after dinner. Cayla and Tayna padded along on either side of the trio. "I thought your quarters on Stewart were incredible when you were the commanding officer there. This place makes the
m look like a hovel."

  "It is the Governor's Palace, Christa. I think there must be a law somewhere that says it has to put you in awe," Jenetta said, grinning.

  "Do you think your palace on Gavistee is anything like this?" Eliza wondered aloud.

  "I've learned that our palace was used for the basic template, but this place is quite a bit smaller."

  "Smaller?" Eliza questioned.

  "You have to remember that our palace on Obotymot was originally built for the King and Queen when they visit there. Much of the Royal Court travels with them whenever they go anywhere, so they need adequate accommodations for hundreds of people. There are a hundred suites, and each suite has five bedrooms. The main bedroom is for the Royal and the others are for their attendants. Perhaps we can take some downtime after this war is over and visit there. I'd love to see the look on Mom's face when she gets there."

  "What's the current situation with the atmosphere?" Christa asked.

  "Every report I receive states that it continues to improve with each passing year. The planet is warming again and the growing season is lengthening. Soil erosion has slowed considerably, but the loss of topsoil will be a problem without major fertilization efforts. The outlook for a complete resumption of crop production in the next decade is good."

  "How far has the estate sunk into debt supporting your citizenry without any income from crop yields?" Eliza questioned.

  "Not nearly as bad as I originally expected," Jenetta said. "Between the royalties from the books we wrote about Dakistee and the manufacturing royalties on my patents, we're in good shape. When things get rolling again, we could break even in a few years."

  When they had returned to Jenetta's quarters and the corridor door was closed, Christa asked, "Has anyone ever raised any objections to the patents you stole?"

  "I didn't steal anything, Christa. I discovered a few examples of consumer products that the Raiders were using on their stations, but which were unfamiliar to me. I paid some people to reverse-engineer the products and prepare construction plans and specifications with my own money. I then paid for an exhaustive search of patent records in the galactic archives. Finding no encroachment on existing patents, I patented them and then found companies willing to manufacture and market the products for consumers. Every single penny from royalties went into the Obotymot Relief Fund we established. I didn't even reimburse myself for my expenditures. To my way of thinking, the Raiders are just reimbursing the citizens of Obotymot for the suffering inflicted on them when the Raiders hijacked relief shipments from Nordakia."

  "I don't have a problem with it," Eliza said. "The Raiders missed a good bet by not patenting them first and I'm happy they've been deprived of any benefit from them."

  "I don't have a problem either," Christa said. "I'm glad to see the royalties going to help our people."

  "How are things on the romance front," Jenetta asked. "Have you heard anything from Adam lately, Christa?"

  "Not in almost six months. I guess it's over. We had some good times together but we could never seem to get past the issue of me not aging. It bothered him a lot more than he would admit. Since the Hephaestus launched I've been spending a little off-duty time with a doctor aboard ship, but I'm still trying to determine if he's more interested in me or in our DNA."

  "How about you, Eliza," Jenetta asked.

  "My love life is just as lackluster these days. And it was difficult leaving so many of my friends on the Bellona— but I couldn't wait to get out here where all the excitement is. And I love the new ship; it's incredible. I guess I'll have to make new friends. How about you and Hugh?"

  "We still exchange vidMail a couple of times each week. It's been difficult not telling him what's going on out here, but he understands the need for security even with the special encryption codes I made for our correspondence. Any code can be broken, as we've proven often enough. So, much of what we talk about is inane stuff. He knows he'll never get out this way while he's on the Bonn. That ship, while ideal for most patrol activities back in Region One, is too old and too slow to be used out here. So he's applied for transfer to a scout-destroyer. It's possible he might make it out here in one of the next groups to be launched."

  "That's great, Jen," Christa said.

  "Yeah," Eliza said in agreement. "What's it been, like eight years since you've seen one another?"

  "Eight and a half. It seems like twenty, though. Long distance romances are difficult, but at least he doesn't seem to have any hang-ups about me not aging, or any intense interest in my DNA that make his affections suspect."

  "Speaking of DNA," Eliza said, "has anything ever been heard about Mikel Arneu? Did he die on Scruscotto when the Milori attacked Raider Ten?"

  "I haven't heard anything," Jenetta said. "As far as I know, the site hasn't been excavated yet so we don't know how many died in the underground complex. I've been too involved out here— first with the Milori and then with the THUGs— to look into it. The mine that fronted for their operation was rich in platinum and palladium, so it stands to reason that someone will eventually dig it out. Perhaps then we'll find out if Arneu survived. If he did, it's a sure bet he's set up a lab somewhere to continue his work in age prolongation. He's obsessed with becoming immortal."

  "Immortality seems so overrated," Christa said. "I can understand the desirability for a DNA process that allows a person to enjoy the strength and vitality of a young body throughout their life, but why would anyone want to live forever? It seems to take all the excitement away. If you know you'll live forever, there's no urgent need to explore and learn. You figure you'll absorb it anyway at some point. It seems you'd lapse into a kind of ennui about everything. We haven't suffered from those feelings because we don't know how long we'll live. We really only have Arneu's statement we might live to be five thousand years old. The scientists admitted they didn't know— only that we'll live beyond the average hundred-fifty years modern medicine gives us."

  "There's also the fact that our profession is highly dangerous," Jenetta said. "We may not live long enough to die of old age."

  "Yeah, we heard about the fighter you've reserved for your exclusive use," Eliza said grinning, "and the treetop-level flights over islands and open sea at full speed. Everyone's worried you might kill yourself before the Uthlaro get here."

  "You get just as much pleasure from speed as I do," Jenetta retorted, "but I've attained a position where I can explore such proclivities without open censure. It's one of the few perks in being the supreme military commander of Region Two."

  * * *

  Chapter Sixteen

  ~ June 17th, 2284 ~

  The mantled figure ducked quickly into a darkened alleyway at the sound of voices approaching from around a street corner. Wearing a dark cloak that extended from head to toe, the figure melded easily into the deep shadows of the moonless night and remained unseen by two men who passed the alley entrance. As the sounds of footfalls receded into the distance, the furtive figure reemerged and walked with undisguised haste through the narrow back streets of Old Boston on Earth. The buildings that lined the streets were dark at this hour except for an occasional ray of light that peeked from between window curtains.

  With a final glance over its shoulder, the draped figure climbed several stone steps to a wooden door and gently knocked in a coded sequence. A narrow slot in the door slid open and a pair of evil eyes squinted out.

  "Let me see your face," a gravelly voice said.

  The thin figure pulled the cloak back slightly, just enough to expose facial features to the eyes in the slot. As the door opened enough to permit entry, the figure restored the cloak to its former position.

  "Top of the stairs," the burly bodyguard grunted.

  The covered form brushed past him and glided up the stairs without uttering a word. Upon reaching the upper floor, a slender hand snaked out from between the folds of cloth and twisted the handle of the first door on the right, then pushed gently.

  An enor
mous cigar hung from the lips of the large man sitting behind a hopelessly scarred desk in an otherwise empty office. The small room was hot and stuffy, and reeked of cigar smoke. Wet with perspiration, the occupant's short black hair was matted down on his head. He was leaning comfortably back in his 'oh-gee' chair when she entered, his feet propped up on the desk. He dropped them to the floor with a loud thud.

  "It's about damned time you got here," he said.

  The figure pulled back the cowl to reveal a fifty-something woman. With shoulder-length brown hair, her average face would not have seemed out of place at a parent-teacher night or perhaps at a civic meeting where community betterment issues were being discussed.

  "I tried to come during my last trip dirt-side, but I thought someone was following me."

  "Who?"

  "I don't know. I never spotted anyone for sure, but I couldn't shake the feeling. I didn't want to lead anyone here. I simply went shopping before returning to the shuttle."

  "Do they suspect you?"

  "I don't think so. I've heard that Intelligence agents follow different employees from the Jupiter Foundry Works at times— not because they're suspected of wrongdoing but simply on a random basis. I left the thing in a rental locker at the skyport rather than carry it back to Jupiter. I retrieved it tonight after I was sure no one was behind me."

  The man looked at her intently for several seconds before asking calmly, "What have you got?"

  "What you asked for, of course," the woman said with a shaky voice as she pulled her hand from her pocket and held out a long cotton sock with something weighing down the end.

  The man accepted it and let the contents slide out onto his hand. The cylindrical chunk of composite material was about eight centimeters long and three centimeters in diameter. "This is it? This is all you could get?"

  "You're holding the best kept secret in Space Command. They don't exactly hand out free samples and I couldn't just walk out with a large chunk under my arm. The entire manufacturing process is contained within a single, kilometer-long forge/foundry machine. The raw material arrives from— somewhere— in huge shipping containers that are handled exclusively by bots. The input end of the forge is in vacuum, so there's no chance of getting any raw material samples, and access to the forge on the two sides is limited to bots, senior technicians, and supervisory inspectors. On one side, large tanks of chemicals are replaced by bots when they're empty. The only markings on the tanks are color codes. On the other side, scrap from the cutting and shaping process is ejected for recycling. Bots handle that chore exclusively. Only supervisory inspectors with top clearance have full access to the two sides of the forge. Senior techs are allowed in when a supervisor or inspector is with each of them. Finished parts, already cut and shaped, come off the end of the line and are stacked and packed for shipment. That's where I work as a parts inspector. Every single milligram of material coming out of the forge must be accounted for and a dozen cameras watch our every move."