"I'm not sure how I'd do that," he admitted. "But if I wanted to send the opposite message, 'We're just about ready to blow you away.' I'd increase my pings to maybe a fifteen second interval. I think if they should do something like that, with all respect for your command, Sir, we should come to a halt or at least dead slow."
"Sir, we could surface at that point and use the international distress frequencies to call them on the radio," the weapons officer, Jones suggested.
"I'm quite reluctant to do that Mr. Jones. I'm afraid that the loss of the Silverfish, especially with the Moniker system onboard, would be enough reason for our own to take us and them out with a ballistic missile or a hypersonic from Hawaii, and no concern how it looks."
"Yes Sir. I can see that. I'm not sure the Homies would allow that, Sir. And if they did succeed I imagine the launch source would end up looking like a certain Chinese space port."
Chaffee looked surprised. "You think they have an over watch on their ship and intercept capabilities?"
"Above the water is much more their natural element, yet they moved to immediately protect it from submarine threats like us. I can't believe they didn't have that threat covered first. Do you remember the Spacer girl in the news awhile back, who destroyed a Chinese sub near Hawaii?"
"Yes, and PACCOM was upset they could pop up so close to the island undetected," Chaffee remembered. "They were aware of it as soon as it breached, and wasted time talking back and forth, trying to get permission to fire on her. They could have had a missile on it in ninety seconds, instead the Spacers laid a veritable barrage of kinetic weapons on it about four minutes later. It was overkill, and a horrible public relations failure, foreign weapons like fireballs streaking across USNA airspace one after another. The civilians all had time to call each other and run outside to watch it like a fireworks show. But you have to have a very precise location to target with Rods from God sort of weapons. I really doubt they are accurate enough to hit a hypersonic in flight. If it's facing the right way the pilots can actually duck. And a ballistic weapon is an even smaller target."
"Yes, but since they have weapons in the hundreds of megatons range...How close do you have to get to swat something out of the air with that big a boom?" Jones asked.
"Now that is an interesting question, Mr. Jones. I hope we never have to find out. I'd rather not be close enough to write the after action for that scenario."
* * *
Jeff wasn't sure who would be at the duel. Mr. Muños had made clear on previous occasions that he expected to officiate. But every challenge until now had been resolved by one party or the other yielding, or failing to meet, and being expelled by the Assembly.
The old location to call a duel had never seen use. The new location in the third ring was better. The industrial segment of the corridor was wider, the acceleration felt like a standard G, and facing each other so closely in the plane of rotation the ballistics would be effectively like being on Earth.
People had no idea from the challenge what weapons would be offered. Patrick gave not a hint. No matter how wide the corridor or what backstops were positioned, a lot of people would be reluctant to risk the chance of a stray shot catching an innocent bystander. For all they knew the idiot Earthie might pick blunderbusses. Jeff expected several people to take video, but wasn't sure if anybody would stream it to public channels. It seemed a bit tacky to broadcast.
When they came to the elevators there were a half dozen people waiting to go down to the new ring. But when Jeff and April got on and hesitated, waiting for the others to board, they waved them on. He thought about it as they dropped, trying to understand why, and decided it was a respectful gesture.
They were about ten minutes early, cutting it finer than Jeff had planned. There were about thirty people lined up along the side. Someone, probably Mr. Muños, had managed to convince them all to stay to one side. Jeff only recognized about half of them. A few looked like they were beam dogs by their attire. He saw three with video gear, but one surprised him. Adzusa Santos was there with a full professional video rig. He had no idea she was on the hab, and April would certainly have certainly told him if she'd known.
April squeezed his arm and gave him peck on the cheek. She didn't have anything more to say and went over to Adzusa and gave her a hug.
"Mr. Singh," Eduardo Muños, called to him, and motioned him over.
Patrick, or whatever his real name was, was waiting there. He was dressed in heavy trousers with a substantial belt, but a thin sleeveless shirt with no arms. It showed off that he was obviously a serious body builder. His arms were cords of intertwined muscles. He had tattoos, which surprised Jeff. God's Warriors opposed any body modification, not just internal gene mod, but tattoos and piercings. Even pierced ears. But then he probably got them before joining the movement, Jeff decided.
"It is my obligation to ask both parties if an accommodation can be made before blood is spilled," Mr. Muños said.
"Just get on with it old man," Patrick said disrespectfully.
"No. First I'll have my say, then we'll 'Get on with it.'" Muños said evenly. "Should you survive, Mr. Patrick, you will have a day of life, and then tomorrow morning you will meet me here at the same time and place and I'll have the pleasure of killing you for your cheek."
"I have no regard for what you consider your honor," Patrick said, "or your opinion of mine. I intend to leave Home on the first shuttle to anywhere after killing Mr. Singh. Your assembly will not have to expel me. Your death has no value to me and my business here will have been done."
"I see," Muños said icily. "Do you have your choice of weapons?"
"I do." Patrick removed the case under his elbow and opened the lid for Muños. There were two daggers in the felt lined case, points both in the same direction, oddly. Most cases for presentation of knives or pistols placed them facing in opposite directions for a pleasing symmetry. Not entirely utilitarian, the daggers were of fancy Damascus steel, the blades heavily etched to show off the pattern. The guards were minimalist, more to keep one's hand from the blade than to fend off another. The hilts wound with twisted wire like a classic sword, for a good grip.
Muños took the entire case and turned, laying it on the floor, hiding his actions with his back. He picked up the weapons, taking them completely out of the sight of the duelists, so Patrick would have no advantage if they were not equal weapons in every way. Patrick looked very uncomfortable. When Muños turned around he offered Jeff the choice of the two.
Jeff picked the one in Muños left hand. It was a little closer to him. When Muños gave the other to Patrick he observed the oddest thing. Patrick got very still for an instant when Muños thrust his hand out to offer it. Then he took it with an unnatural delicacy for a man accustomed to weapons. His fingers held carefully, like it was glass and he was scared he'd drop it. Jeff examined the man's face, but it showed nothing, except contempt for Jeff.
"You shall both walk each way ten paces at my command," Muños instructed. "Turn and face each other. I shall drop this handkerchief," he said, withdrawing a silk pocket square from his jacket. If you turn or charge before you have reached ten paces or before the handkerchief reaches the deck, it's my responsibility to burn you down before you can engage the other illegally." He drew back his jacket to show his weapon and establish he was prepared to do so.
Jeff couldn't remember if Muños ever showed a weapon conducting the Assembly, but he had to look when Muños said burn instead of shoot. It was a laser pistol of his own manufacture.
"A gentleman of your age, shouldn't you have your pistol in hand if you intend to intervene?" Patrick asked with false delicacy.
"Do you think so?" Muños asked. Suddenly the laser was under the man's chin, rock steady, the pressure of it tilting his head back. It happened so fast it was like a magic trick, the move from belt to chin unseen. He might as well have plucked it from behind Patrick's ear, like a coin whose appearance was a mystery. Jeff suddenly decided Muños had fou
nd time to have some deep gene mods.
"Perhaps not," Patrick allowed. If he was rattled he didn't show it. But he had not managed to display the slightest ability to react in time to protect himself. Jeff had to wonder that he didn't learn anything from that. Did the man think he would be slower than Muños? Did he have a fanatical belief in divine intervention? Muños put the pistol back in its holster with exaggerated slowness. For the first time Patrick didn't radiate arrogance, but that was too late and not enough change to matter.
"Turn, gentlemen, and advance your pace by my count." When he was done and at ten he instructed them to face each other. Jeff removed his jacket, retaining it by the collar, and switched the knife to his right hand. He'd accepted it with his left. Patrick considered and switched hands to the opposite. Jeff was surprised he didn't object to the jacket as an unfair advantage. Still, Jeff was examining the dagger carefully, still trying to figure out Patrick's strange behavior. He turned the blade and watched the light play off the pattern and the thin shiny cutting edge. Then he saw it. The very point, for only a few millimeters had a stain. It wasn't quite as shiny as it should be. Nobody maintaining such showy pieces would have failed to wipe them quite clean.
Muños looked from one to another and dropped the red silk to the deck.
Patrick took a step forward confidently, but stopped and looked astonished when Jeff rushed at him headlong. A couple steps into it Jeff hauled back with his arm to throw. There was no subtlety to it and it was telegraphed plainly to Patrick. Jeff had no experience throwing knives. There was no effort to try to make it arrive point forward. He just threw it as hard and as fast as his gene altered muscles and reflexes allowed. Which was very fast indeed.
Patrick unlocked his knees and started to duck under the throw. He was far too slow and only succeeded in lowering his face into the path of the weapon when it would have caught his chest had he stayed still.
He did however manage to get an arm up to fend it off. It bounced off high from his upswept arm, leaving a streak of red showing across his forearm. After almost hitting the overhead, it struck one of the beam dogs who cried out angrily. Jeff had no idea if Patrick even felt the cut. Jeff changed direction and switched his lead foot, cutting across the man as he slashed at Jeff, passing him on the opposite side he expected and sweeping his jacket down to deflect a cut already awkward for being on the wrong side.
They both whirled about, Jeff turning faster but he stopped, facing back, and didn't close on Patrick again. They were almost as far apart now as when they had turned at Muños' command. Patrick never did turn completely to start back at Jeff. He stumbled as he turned, took three steps sideways and then one backward, each slower than the last, off balance like a drunk and fell. He did try to throw his weapon, far too late, falling over backwards and half way to the deck. It landed barely a third of the way back towards Jeff, and hardly slid at all on the nonskid deck covering.
Patrick went into horrid convulsions, his back arching. He looked like he was trying to shake himself apart. Jeff was sick and horrified to see the beam dog who was struck doing the same thing. His partners were trying to help him, except for the fellow who, figuring the situation out quickly, stepped on the blade and held it down covered before anyone could try to pick it up.
Jeff walked over and picked up the dagger between them very carefully, holding the point safely high in the air away from casual contact, before anyone approached him. "I claim this trophy by right of battle," he announced.
Mr. Muños went over, to recover the other, and put it in the case. The beam dog talked to him to make sure he understood the hazard before he'd consent to remove his foot.
"For God's sake be careful with that," Jeff said when Muños offered the open case to collect the second weapon.
"I know," Muños said, fastening the clasps with special care. "Unless you object, I'm going to put a couple turns of tamper-proof tape around this. It scares me as bad as a box of cobras."
"It might be cobra venom for all I know," Jeff pointed out. "Maybe worse. I have no idea what works in seconds like that."
Jeff turned his jacket in his hand to find the front and put it back on. There was a slit down the back most of the way from the collar to the very hem.
"There might be toxin on that," Muños warned. "give it to me and I'll have the medic bag it as biohazard."
Jeff handed it over with exaggerated caution. Holding it away from him. When Muños turned away to do dispose of it Jeff finally turned himself to join his people.
"I hope you don't mind, I've invited Adzusa to come have breakfast with us," April said.
"It's not like we had a private tête-à-tête scheduled," Jeff said. "The more the merrier, but I'm afraid I ruined my good jacket. I'd be scared of it now even dry cleaned and vacuum tumbled."
"That we'll speak about later," April promised. "In private."
Chapter 23
"This is unacceptable," Colonel Norman declared, like the universe trembled at his displeasure. "I want a fast plane, a hypersonic if one is serviced and on call, with a big enough weapon to take out that damned bulk carrier and anything remotely near it, including the Silverfish. Who the devil named that anyway? It sounds like a stinking bug."
"The Secretary of the Navy," his aide said, "back...under the Wiggen administration." One had to be careful how things were phrased. "Under the last elected administration," would be construed as a critical statement. You might as well say under the last legitimate government. "The man probably never saw a silver fish in his life. Be glad some Senator didn't urge him to name it the Cockroach."
"Treat it like one," Norman ordered. "I want it squashed, and I want immediate word when that is accomplished. It's out in the middle of the Pacific, nobody is close enough to argue they're harmed, only a few nations have enough satellite coverage to even know it happened."
And why is that? His aide thought, but refrained from asking the colonel. It took too many mental steps for the boozer to connect the fact the Homies pretty much cleared the sky of sats a couple years back, to the idea they might be irritated and do something nasty if their ship was harmed.
"Yes, Sir, Sending that to Hawaii right now. It's the closest place to launch a weapon," he said. And if they retaliate, they will know it was from there, not anywhere near us, was his other thought.
Unable to connect PACCOM, his screen said, in a red rectangular box. Secure cable does not show response. Civilian pipe also down. The last told him it wasn't a single point error.
"Switch priority cable traffic to an encrypted satellite link." He chose off the message form.
"Ground station Maui does not respond. Uplink tests and confirms. Downlink unable to get station confirmation on ping," the screen said.
"Test secure terrestrial radio link, PACCOM, now." He selected, and waited a few seconds.
"No automated response from far station. San Diego, Seattle and Anchorage all report failure," the system reported.
Crud...It's always something, he thought.
"I'm sorry Sir, I have no com to Hawaii," he said.
"That's impossible," Colonel Norman said.
* * *
It really wasn't a party. April was glad nobody reveled in bloodshed or cracked jokes. Still, the gathering wasn't as somber as a funeral, but it wasn't a celebration. The mood was predominately relief. April called before even heading home and ordered up a big buffet. It might have made more sense, as many as they ended up with in her apartment, to just go to the cafeteria.
Jon was deep in discussion with Chen, Irwin with Tetsu, and Muños came in late with somebody she didn't know in tow and got in a long conversation with Jeff. That was fine with April because it allowed here to drag Adzusa off to one end of a couch and interrogate her over coffee.
"This duel happened too fast for you to have heard about it and come from Earth, so you were here already," April reasoned. "Can you talk about why, or is it a big secret?"
"Not at all. I'm here because Mitsub
ishi took control of the habitat again," Adzusa said. "It has generated far more interest in Japan than you might think from the news. Of course, nobody is pushing a public debate about it, because it's seen as defying the North Americans. Another time the various political parties would be arguing with each other over this sort of an action. Now, everybody is sort of holding their breath, because the North Americans aren't regarded as very stable. In fact, some privately say they are institutionally insane. Nobody want to take a hard position that could become very uncomfortable if the USNA government, or one of its factions takes note of it. If the North Americans start something like a trade war, the outspoken could catch some of the blame for supporting the removal. Or worse, they could counsel caution and be seen as siding with the Americans. That wouldn't be very popular right now."
"How do you feel about it?" April asked.
Adzusa opened her mouth and visibly caught herself and shut it again. Then she looked over everybody in the room, which April found paranoid. Did she think any of them might be USNA agents?
Still, even after her inspection, she answered very carefully.
"It's probably a good thing they test themselves on...a lesser issue. I think further estrangement is inevitable. If a greater issue presented itself, suddenly, then I'm not sure they wouldn't fall back on habit and knuckle under to the North Americans."
"You sounded like a politician testifying before an investigating committee," April complained.
"I have people who trust me that I must be careful not to compromise, even by accident." Adzusa said.
"Probably some of the same people you're talking about didn't trust me enough to confide in me. I'm just much better at figuring things out than what they'll credit me. That doesn't mean I feel free to say just anything when I know it'll cause them trouble, even if I'm not sworn to secrecy."
"Anybody else, I'd think that was over the top puffery. But I've seen you connect the dots often enough I wouldn't bet on it," Adzusa said.
April 8: It's Always Something Page 30