Rani snorted, rudely. She’d been in denial too, but it hadn't lasted. Theory might insist that force field generators were as plausible as alien invaders bent on fighting their way to Earth and crushing humanity; practice told her that force field generators were a reality. Her sensors hadn't had flights of fancy when they’d reported missiles striking the force fields and detonating harmlessly. If the Commonwealth ever ironed out the bugs - if they ever managed to produce a force field that wrapped the entire starship in a bubble - the war would come to a very quick and unpleasant end.
And our researchers refuse to believe that it is even real, she thought, tiredly. They don’t have the right mindset to keep pushing the limits of the possible.
“Thankfully, we do have some researchers who dug deep into the theory behind starship drives and suchlike,” Jameson continued. “Their conclusion, after working through a number of computer models, was that the force field is actually a manipulation of the starship’s drive field. In a sense, they have converted the standard drive field into a rocket - and diverted the rest of the output into a forward-facing force shield.”
Paula leaned forward. “Wouldn't that slow the ship? I mean ... the drive is pointing forwards. Right?”
“According to our computer models, probably not,” Jameson said. “The missile - or whatever hits the force field - does not hit a solid barrier. Instead, it is torn apart by a series of tiny, but intense gravimetric fluctuations. The same is largely true of energy weapons, we think. An energy beam would be scattered long before it reached the hull.”
He paused. “This wouldn't necessarily be true of the large-scale force shield they used on Corinthian,” he added. “They’d have fewer concerns about shooting back in that case.”
Rani nodded in irritation. “However it works,” she asked, “can you duplicate the system?”
Jameson hesitated. “Yes and no,” he admitted. “We ... we don’t have the technical skill yet to ... to make the system actually work.”
“But you know how it works,” Paula protested.
“The Commonwealth Navy has effectively designed its own realspace drive,” Jameson said, flatly. “Their drive units are considerably more flexible - more innovative - than anything the Imperial Navy ever designed, let alone put into production. I do not believe that we can rebuild a standard drive unit to project a force field, not without tearing the whole thing apart and rebuilding it from scratch. We are working on designing our own drive system, but it will take months to work out the bugs and put it into production.”
Rani ground her teeth, but she couldn't say she was surprised. The Imperial Navy had simplified everything over the last three hundred years, ever since technological advancement had come to a halt. Most starship engineers really did nothing more than removing a broken component and replacing it with something new, if - of course - there happened to be one in stock. And God help the crew if the automated diagnostic system happened to fail. The components were over-engineered - they had to be - but they couldn't be repaired. A starship that ran out of spare parts was doomed.
And training up better engineers would take more time than we have, she thought. They’d have to be taught how to think first.
She pushed her frustration aside. Taking it out on Jameson would feel good, but it would be cruel and ultimately worthless. It certainly wouldn't get her anywhere. She’d learnt - the hard way - just how much damage a single yes-man could do. If the Grand Senators had learned that lesson, she suspected, the Empire might not have collapsed.
“However, we did come up with something else,” Jameson added. “Actually, two other technological surprises. Both of them are built on missile drive systems.”
He altered the display, showing a pair of modified missiles. “It’s actually easier to fiddle with a missile drive unit,” he explained. “The drives are cruder and considerably overpowered, if only because they’re not expected to last very long. Their additional power reserves gives them a chance to reformat their drive fields before burn-out.”
Rani nodded, impatiently. “And you believe we can use this?”
“We can,” Jameson confirmed. He held out a datapad. “They may not be enough to give us a decisive advantage, Admiral, but they will give the Commonwealth a fright.”
“I hope so,” Rani said.
She sighed, inwardly, as she scanned the datapad. Technological development proceeded in fits and starts, it seemed. There was nothing to be gained by threatening the researchers with dire punishments if they failed to produce. Hell, they couldn't be blamed for their problems. The Empire had abandoned research and development centuries ago. Rediscovering the scientific method alone had taken longer than she cared to think about.
And each research project costs, even if it fails, she thought, sourly. They’re drains we cannot afford.
She looked up at him, feeling a flicker of hope. If he was right, if the technology actually worked, she might just have a chance.
“These weapons,” she said. It was hard to keep the excitement out of her voice. “How quickly can they be produced?”
“We can modify existing stockpiles of missiles within a couple of weeks,” Jameson said. “I believe the finalised version, once we start churning them out of the industrial nodes, will be a great deal neater, but ...”
Rani forced herself to calm down. They hadn't discovered a silver bullet, even if the missiles worked as advertised. And they might not. She had to keep that in mind, no matter how excited she was. But ...
“Start adapting a number of missiles,” she ordered, shortly. She didn't have time to be too careful. “And then prepare briefing notes for my officers.”
“Of course, Admiral,” Jameson said.
And if these weapons do turn the tide, Rani thought, I can deal with my enemies here at leisure.
Chapter Two
“Edward,” Gaby Cracker said. She sounded tired, very tired. “This is your son.”
Ed could hardly breathe as she held out a bundle of cloth. A tiny face peered out, blue eyes flickering from side to side. He took it, as gingerly as he would hold a live hand grenade, and stared down at the wisp of dark hair. Douglas Bainbridge Stalker was small, so small that it seemed impossible he would grow into a young man. The baby was tiny, yet perfect. He was the most beautiful thing Ed had ever seen.
He held the baby in one hand and gently pressed his finger against the baby’s palm. A moment later, the baby’s fingers curved around his. Ed felt a ... a protectiveness he’d never felt before, even back when he’d been trapped in the Undercity. He knew, at that moment, that he would do anything for the child, anything at all. He’d be a better father than his father had ever been.
You won’t lack for anything, he promised the tiny newborn. The baby smiled back at him, turning his head very slightly. And you will be protected from the world.
He passed the baby back to Gaby, who put it to her breast. “The doctors say he’s a healthy child,” she said. “No genetic problems or birth defects.”
Ed nodded, slumping in relief. Birth defects were alarmingly common on Earth, a result of the polluted environment and short-term genetic manipulation. He’d seen children who’d died before they reached their first birthday, just because they needed medical support to survive; he’d seen older children who’d been mocked, beaten or killed just for being different. He’d feared the worst for his son, even though Douglas had been born on Avalon with the very best of medical care. A time bomb lurking in his genetic code might have exploded when his son was born.
“That’s good,” he said. He met her eyes. “I’m sorry I wasn't there ...”
“We knew it was a possibility,” Gaby said. She’d grown up amongst insurgents. She knew the demands war could put on a person’s time. “I don’t blame you.”
“I blame myself,” Ed admitted. A father should watch the birth. “I should have been there.”
Gaby reached out and squeezed his hand. “It wasn't your fault,” she said. Her lip
s curved into a smile. “And you came home victorious.”
Ed sighed. “At a steep price,” he said. “Too many people will never come home at all.”
He sobered. Avalon was celebrating - he’d passed a dozen parties on his way to the hospital - but the funerals would start soon enough. Thousands of young men would never come home, never even be buried on their native soil. Too many bodies had simply been dumped into mass graves, following the final battle and surrender on Corinthian. Maybe they’d be exhumed, once the war was over; their remains logged and identified, then transported back to their homeworlds. Or maybe their families would never have closure, never know for sure what had happened to their young men. War always came with a steep cost. Too many politicians had forgotten that, over the last three thousand years.
They won’t forget again, he promised himself. Military experience is practically an unspoken requirement for political office here.
He forced himself to look at the child. “Did you ... did you name him properly?”
“As we agreed,” Gaby said.
Ed allowed himself a moment of relief. It was traditional, on Avalon, to name children after dead parents and grandparents. She’d been a little surprised when Ed had asked to name their son after his first Drill Instructor instead of his biological father, but she’d gone along with it. Ed had been relieved. His real father was a mystery, one of several possible names. His mother had never cared which of her affairs had resulted in pregnancy. Ed didn't know who had fathered him and didn't really care. The asshole certainly hadn't stuck around after the deed to bring up his young son.
“Thank you,” he said, quietly.
Gaby laughed. “Just remember you’re changing him for the next few weeks,” she said. She sounded tired, again. “He needs to be changed at least ten times a day.”
Ed gave her a long look. Gaby had always been beautiful to him; a redheaded woman who’d been raised on a farm and then in a series of insurgent camps, strong enough to fight and smart enough to understand reality. And diplomatic too, diplomatic enough to convince the Crackers not to continue the war when they were getting most of what they wanted, then to convince a number of other worlds to join the Commonwealth ...
And yet, she looked tired and worn.
“I will,” he promised. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Gaby said. She shot him a mischievous glance. “You do realise that women have been giving birth for hundreds of thousands of years?”
Her tired smile widened. “The doctors say that everything went as well as could be expected,” she added. “I’m tired, but ... otherwise, everything is fine. I should be fit to return to work by the end of the week.”
Ed’s eyes narrowed. “Are you going to?”
“I promised I would see out my term,” Gaby said. “And oversee the next set of elections. A couple of peace parties have been gaining ground over the last few months, mainly on the grounds that we can come to terms with Wolfbane. I don’t want to let them get too entrenched.”
She sighed. “We might be able to come to terms with a decent government, but there’s no reason to believe that Wolfbane will give us good terms,” she added. “They’ll be more likely to use the peace as a chance to prepare for the next war.”
Ed nodded in grim agreement. Neither Governor Brown’s corporate state nor Admiral Singh’s military dictatorship could co-exist with the Commonwealth. The Commonwealth’s technological advances, if nothing else, would practically guarantee a renewed war sooner rather than later. Governor Brown’s backing, according to the debriefings, had depended on keeping the corporations happy, which meant keeping down the competition. Advanced technology would undermine their dominance quicker than open war.
And Admiral Singh has the same problem, he thought. This is not a dispute that can be solved through peace talks and minor concessions.
“Peace,” he said. Douglas Bainbridge - the original Douglas Bainbridge - had been fond of pointing out the absurdity of any number of peace agreements that rarely lasted long enough to matter. “A period of cheating between periods of fighting.”
“A saying that dates all the way back to pre-space days,” Gaby said. She’d read a great deal of political theory since the end of the insurgency, although she’d complained at the time that none of it seemed to be written by anyone with genuine experience. “We have to end the war on decent terms.”
“I have an idea for that,” Ed said. He looked down at Douglas. The baby had gone to sleep, nestled against Gaby’s breast. “But we can discuss it later.”
“We will,” Gaby agreed. She adjusted her position, slightly. “I am looking forward to walking around without a pregnant belly, even if I do keep threatening to topple over.”
“Once the doctors release you, you can go straight home,” Ed said. “But not until then.”
Gaby stuck out her tongue. “This from the person who sneaked out of a hospital bed and climbed out the window to escape the doctors.”
“Said person was also deafened by his CO and then ordered back to bed,” Ed said. He’d been injured before, more times than he cared to think about, but he’d never liked staying in hospital. The doctors had always struck him as being absurdly careful. He’d known he was fine, damn it! “You’re a little more fragile.”
“Just you wait,” Gaby said, rudely. “I’ll show you just how fragile I am.”
Ed sighed as he sat down on the bed. He wanted - he needed - to keep her safe. She was his lover, the mother of his child ... he didn’t want her to come to any harm. He wanted to protect her from everything, even herself. And yet, he knew Gaby would hate him if he tried to wrap her in cotton wool. She’d been fighting in an insurgency since she’d turned twelve, while Ed himself had still been trapped in the Undercity until he reached sixteen. The young Gaby would have laughed at the young Ed ...
Or regarded him as a brutal barbarian, Ed thought. He’d grown up in the Undercity ... and he’d never realised, not until he went through Boot Camp, just how many of its attitudes he’d imbibed. The distance between him and the thugs he’d thrashed, during his sole visit to the Undercity after Boot Camp, wasn't as big as he liked to think. Gaby did far more with her childhood than I ever did with mine.
He looked at the baby and felt another surge of protectiveness. Douglas would have every advantage Ed could get for him, whatever it took. He’d grow up on a farm, where he would learn to work from a very early age; he’d be taught to fight, to defend himself and others ... he’d be taught to read and write and think for himself. He’d have all the advantages that Ed had been denied, thirty-seven years ago. And he would never have to look into the darkness and make the choice between becoming victim or victimiser.
“You can't start dressing him in BDUs yet,” Gaby said, wryly. “He’s barely a week old.”
Ed smiled back at her. “Am I that transparent?”
“Just a little,” Gaby said. “What father doesn’t want his son to follow in his footsteps?”
Mine, Ed thought. The bastard might not even know he had a son.
He looked away, feeling oddly lost. His father was a mystery. There was no way to know, particularly now Earth was dead, who his father had been, let alone if he had survived long enough to watch the planet die. Ed was sure - fairly sure - that he had never followed in his father’s footsteps. The Marine Corps - Douglas Bainbridge and his fellow Drill Instructors - had been his real parents. He’d followed in their footsteps, not those left by his biological father. In the end, God alone knew who his father had been.
“I’ll be happy, as long as he is a honourable man,” he said, finally. Honour - and trust - had been in short supply in the Undercity. It still surprised him, somehow, at just how strongly trust pervaded the marines. But then, anyone who broke trust would be lucky if they merely got dishonourably discharged and kicked out. “And you won’t let him be anything else.”
“I’ll be setting the best example possible by resigning at the end of my term,”
Gaby agreed, sardonically. “And I’ll be glad to retire.”
“Not for long,” Ed predicted. “You’ll want to go back to work soon enough.”
“My father’s farm is practically dead,” Gaby said. “I want to restore it to life.”
Ed nodded in agreement. The farm had been seized after the end of the first Cracker Rebellion, but its new owners had never done anything with it. They’d feared, probably correctly, that their neighbours would turn on them. Gaby had taken him there once, after the end of the insurgency. The farm had been an overgrown ruin - the farmhouse had been damaged by the elements - but it still looked better than the Undercity. But then, the Slaughterhouse had looked better than the Undercity.
Wolf's Bane (The Empire's Corps Book 14) Page 2
