by John Ringo
"Why?" Mike asked. "Why not patrol?"
"Patrols require fuel," Takao said. "For that matter, they require air and water that, otherwise, can come from the starport. That's cheaper due to storage issues. Crew on 'liberty,' if they actually existed, cost only their pay. I won't even get into the ration situation. I will admit I would not want to be a sailor in any of those Fleets, though. Substandard rice doesn't cost much less than quality rice, but . . ."
"But they're gone anyway," Mike said.
"However, it is the same situation with Third Fleet," Takao said, smiling very slightly. "The reality is that there are fewer than thirty ships that are, somewhat, ready for space. None of them, I would guess, are truly ready for any serious battle. I sent orders for them to begin moving to Gratoola. Less than one quarter have actually left. When I sent an officer to determine why, he reported that the rest were, almost invariably, unfit for service."
"Oh, that sucks," Mike said. "I imagine you were pretty exercised when you found out."
"Oh, I was quite exercised before I found out for sure," Takao said. "Which was why I gathered a group of former masters-at-arms to accompany him. Their orders were brutal but simple. The commanding officer of each of the ships found to be nonserviceable was spaced."
"You're joking," Mike said, his face blank.
"I am not," Takao said. "I am not shooting admirals out of hand. They will be given something resembling a trial. Every commander involved in peculation and whose vessels are nonfunctional thereby has been terminated at this point."
"Ouch," Mike said.
"I had the distinct pleasure of serving under those officers for the last fifty years," Admiral Takagi said. "Each was given the opportunity to expunge their shame. After the word got around, some of them took that opportunity rather than suffer death by rapid decompression. Lesser officers are responding . . . to the best of their admittedly low ability."
"The rest of the Fleet?" Mike asked, wondering how much flak that was going to cause him.
"First Fleet, for a wonder, actually existed in reality."
"And . . ."
"Two task forces were sent to Caracool when the first reports of attacks reached Fleet Headquarters on Gratoola," the admiral said. "Both were lost when they intersected the Hedren attack on Daga Nine. A total of eighty ships."
"Do we have any ships?" Mike asked, pulling at his hair. "I mean except for the twenty or so left from First Fleet? Which are, what? Mostly cruisers and destroyers? A couple of battlewagons."
"Actually, the task force that was left behind was the ACS support group and the collier group," Takao said. "Six Towle-class assault transports, the assault command ship GFS Chesty Puller, three heavy Futsu-Nushi-class bombardment ships, Fourteen Marcellus-class colliers and various small support ships."
"They had an ACS support group?" Mike asked. "Why?"
"Why indeed," Takao said, smiling faintly again.
"So we have virtually no combat vessels?" Mike asked. "Then we are so fucked."
"We have many ships," Takao said. "We have what there is of Second Fleet. Furthermore, most of the ships from the war were never scrapped; they were mothballed and could be gotten running again. What we do not have is trained sailors, NCOs and officers. And the ships that we do have are obsolete to fight the Hedren. They are not cloaked, cannot detect cloak and are slower and less maneuverable, class for class."
"So . . . what's your plan?" Mike asked.
"I have begun a recall of former personnel who are not so . . . tainted," Takao said. "The majority of the former combat vessels are in orbit around the stars of Barwhon, Diess and Indra."
"All big Indowy worlds . . ." Mike said, then frowned.
"I have interacted with Mr. Boyd," Takao said. "There is a . . . crash program to get those vessels operable again and upgrade them as much as is considered feasible. There was something that was poorly understood in the last war but that I have thought of, much, over the years."
"Which is?"
"The Indowy cannot fight," Takao said. "This is a given. But . . . much of what most sailors do does not, in fact, involve fighting, even if it often involves dying. Furthermore, one of the greatest issues with using humans as sailors involves putting a large number of humans in very small areas—"
"Fuck," Mike said.
"We crewed ship after ship with what were at the time a very precious commodity," Takao said. "Human beings. People who could . . . 'pull the trigger.' Why?"
"Gunnery . . ."
"Gunners are not the same people who fix the guns," Takao said. "Engine room? Mess? Machinists? Sensor technicians? I would say all humans in CIC, absolutely. Conning, even. Operating the sensors, operating the guns. But . . ."
"How long?" Mike asked.
"Months even then," Takao admitted. "But I am moving all of my functional combat ships to Gratoola from whence they can go . . . onwards if necessary. I also have ordered the ACS assault group back to Earth. They can carry your ground combat troops much faster than a freighter. There is sufficient room for at least an armor corps."
"If I had one," Mike said. "But, yes, that works. And you should have at least one new ship, soon."
"I read the memo," Takao said, nodding. "If it works it will be . . . interesting."
* * *
"This system is truly odd," Michelle said, looking at the apparently young blond woman. The three mentats were quite dry despite the drizzling rain. The woman was, however, less fortunate and had to make do with a raincoat and jaunty yellow umbrella.
"Hey, you're talking about my body here," Daisy Mae said, looking at the woman askance. "Be polite."
"I said odd, and I mean odd," Michelle replied, not looking at the organic portion of the matrix. She had just arrived on Earth, spent two minutes being briefed by a father she could barely recognize and now was considering if they could modify this ship to anywhere near his desires. "Some of what I'm seeing you should not have been able to effect. It borders on, no it is, Sohon. Perhaps arrived at by another path, which is the truly disturbing aspect."
"Not following you there, honey," Daisy Mae said, smiling icily. "I'm also still waiting for an apology for the 'odd' comment."
"I will do so," Kang Chan said. "I would use the term amazing."
"The linkages . . ." Thomas muttered. "Can we actually reconstruct this?"
"The answer had better be an unqualified and enthusiastic 'yes,' " Daisy noted. "Or you're not touching me."
"We can reconstruct it," Chan said. "You have seen the design."
It was not a question. It was easier for the mentats to take the drawings off the net and view them with their internal nannites. That also meant they could consider changes automatically between themselves, not quite a form of telepathy. Using the nannite links was one of the ways that they had discovered the truer telepathy involving quantum entanglement.
"We will need materials," Michelle said. "Quite a lot. Where did that design come from?"
"A design for a new class of ships created shortly before the end of the war," Chan said. "They were never initiated for construction. There was no pressing need."
"And they were so good the Darhel would have panicked," Thomas said. "Miss Daisy, with respect we need to take much of this to another level of communication."
You mean this way? Daisy thought.
You are communicating through the nannite network, Michelle thought back. I can see how some of this integration became possible.
This is the design we are considering, Chan thought, uploading a copy of the relevant documents. However, changes will be necessary. The dimensional porting generators are actually smaller than the designed engines and with lower power requirements. However, the fusion reactors are larger than antimatter reactors.
Cancels out, Daisy thought.
Not quite but close, Thomas thought, then broke contact.
"Thomas?" Michelle asked.
"Thinking," the mentat replied.
Michelle held
up her hand as Daisy started to open her mouth. Although Thomas was considered "weaker" in Sohon than the rest of them, there was a simple enough reason for that. Sohon required the ability to concentrate like a laser while still juggling multiple mental tasks through secondary processing. Thomas's level of concentration was fairly high but not so high as Michelle's. On the other hand, one of the reasons was that Thomas was given to sudden bursts of inspiration. His secondary processing would sometimes override his primary, losing the valuable link required for Sohon.
However, that meant he was, unquestionably, the most imaginative of them all. Many of the advances the human mentats had made were due to ideas from Thomas. Most of his inspirations did not pan out, but enough did that they had learned to keep quiet when he went off on one of his "events."
"New weapon," Thomas said after a few moments. "Remember when we were discussing detangling fields? Ways of removing the bindings between particles that were more efficient than the current methods."
"Also more chaotic," Chan said, then nodded. But in a weapon, a certain degree of apparently random order is good.
I don't think that Michelle will like the design, Thomas thought, making a change to the drawing.
Thomas, I don't think you got this idea from our detangling discussion, Michelle thought, frowning. Men.
I had been considering the necessary mechanical design to support the process, Thomas thought. I had been unable to develop one until now. I will admit the inspiration has a mundane source. However, it will also work.
I rather like it, Daisy thought, her mental voice a shade of laughter. But that droop may have to go. A girl's got standards.
I can't imagine that it's necessary, Michelle thought, then paused. Good Lord, it really is necessary. I would have thought a more regular shape would have the same effect but the equations are clear; the curvature actually is quite brilliant. Still, there has got to be a way to make it less—
Demeaning? Daisy thought. Get over yourself. I'm a woman and proud of it. I think it's a great shape for a weapon. Lord knows, I've used them as weapons often enough.
The dimensional jump system requires nacelles, Chan thought, breaking up the incipient argument. There.
So I get wings too? Daisy thought.
Retractable, Chan pointed out.
Now all I need is the halo. I like it. The shape's a little . . . plain, though, don't you think?
The destabilizer will have heavy power requirements, Thomas thought, making some changes. We can fit in power systems here and here with a slight change of hull contour.
You could have done that without the hourglass effect, Michelle thought, mentally sighing. Daisy, you shouldn't encourage them. They are men after all.
Like I said, Daisy thought. I like it. Actually like it more and more the more we do changes.
Oh, if you insist, Michelle thought. How about a fighter bay here instead of there? It actually fits better and makes more sense given the positioning of the primary weapon.
Now you're getting catty, Daisy thought. But welcoming the boys home in a spot like that is fitting. There has to be some sort of catwalk here, though. Plain steel . . . I'll handle the nannite nerve endings.
You are . . . Michelle thought then stopped. Have you and my sister been talking?
She barely said two words to me, Daisy thought.
I'm surprised, Michelle thought. You are two of a kind. Trash dump here, then.
Meow, Daisy thought. But it is the right place I suppose. Form follows function and all that.
Secondary guns have to move slightly because of the nacelles, Chan thought. Shift the magazines. Will the destabilizer work without a Sohon gunner? Did I just use those two words in the same phrase?
If I'm understanding it correctly, Daisy thought. If so, I can manage the field interactions. A colloidal will still have to give the order.
You're a colloidal, Michelle pointed out.
Yeah, I'm still requiring somebody else to order the shot, Daisy thought. Money questions. A. Can the three of you do this? B. Can you do it without it hurting a lot? C. Can you do it and make sure I've got all the nannites I need? Because what with one thing and another, I don't want to whine, but I've got major areas of nerve damage already.
Yes, Chan thought. "If . . ." he added aloud.
"Yes, if," Michelle said. "We're going to need some things. Lots of material. It will have to be done in space. And we're going to need something I'm not sure is available . . ."
"You want a what?"
The Tir Dol Ron had thought, many times, that working with humans was going to kill him. He had been so close to lintatai over the last hundred years, on so many occasions, that simply the constant edge of it should have killed him long since.
But never had he been through a period as frustrating and rage filled as recently. Working with the humans as their effective master was one thing. Being a clerk to this O'Neal was nightmarish. If for no other reason than having to constantly explain to extremely powerful Darhel that they had to "suck it up" as the human repeatedly said. Every time, every time, that one of the clans had taken upon itself to cause issues, that damned runt of a human would stop by his office and oh-so-gently make a slicing motion across his throat. Then the Tir would be left to compose the latest note. And now this?
"One class nine code key," Mike said. "Whatever the hell that is."
"It's a Class Nine code key," the Tir snarled over the connection. "A Class Nine code key. What do you want a Class Nine code key for?"
"You're emphasizing but not explaining," Mike said. "And Michelle wants it for something to do with fixing the Des Moines."
"Michelle O'Neal assuredly should understand the impossibility of her request!" the Tir snapped. "Class Nine code keys are not simply given over to individuals, even high level Sohon. One Class Nine a year is often the most an entire Indowy clan will purchase. It is all they can afford! Were there manufacturing ability available, you could buy a thousand—a thousand!—ACS suits for the price of one Class Nine! They are traded between entire clans, not handed over to some jumped up—"
"That's my daughter you're talking about," Mike said, cutting him off. "And I don't really care for the diatribe. She needs one. Get it. How hard can it be?"
"Does the fact that there are none on Earth give you a clue?" the Tir asked.
"Still not explaining," Mike said. "Which leaves me figuring you're just stalling."
"A Class Nine code key is a master nannite key," the Darhel said, trying to fight the urge to rip out the human's throat. "Nannites have to be authorized for production using code keys. Otherwise they can go into run-away growth. You understand that."
"Got that in Indowy 101 back in the last century," Mike said.
"A Class Nine is the master," the Tir said.
"So you can make as many nannites as you want?" Mike asked. "Forever?"
"No," the Tir said, frustrated. "But . . . Think of nannites, or what they produce, as money."
"I'm thinking more on the lines of getting a new Tir," Mike said. "And you're not getting a watch as a retirement present."
"As frustrated as you may be with me, I am more so with you," the Tir said. "Nannites equal money."
"Got it."
"Level One code keys are the ones that actually are used to produce a set number of nannites," the Tir said. "Those are the ones used by Indowy workers when they need more."
"Keep going," Mike said.
"Say that one, by its output, is worth several thousand credits," the Tir explained.
"Still with you," Mike said.
"Level Nine code keys are the equivalent, often literally, of multi-hundred billion or even trillion credit transfers between banks."
"Don't see spending a trillion credits on one ship," Mike said.
"You begin to see my argument!" the Tir cried.
"But I also doubt that one is worth a trillion credits," Mike said. "Is it?"
"Admittedly, no," Dal Ron said. "Tens of b
illions? Hundreds, depending on use? Yes."
"Which is in line for making a major capital ship," Mike said. "And she did mention that she might have change left over, which was a metaphor that completely escaped me at the time. So argument understood and rejected. Get me one. Now."
"I will be forced to buy one from a clan," the Tir said with a sigh. "They would go to war if they felt that major code keys can simply be commandeered. And we don't have the budget for that."
"The ship construction budget had better be huge or we might as well throw in the towel now," Mike said.
