by Chris Hechtl
They had been reasonably fearful of the war, and the loss of life in Sol. They had also signed on to a navy and providing resources and manpower to help fund and man it.
But, he thought staring out to the stars. There was always a but, wasn't there? He made a puttering sound. The stars seemed oblivious to his annoyed contempt.
But, he thought as he took his seat. But, they wanted a picket force. Given they had reported a possible contact and that the contact might have been the enemy scouting them, he couldn't really blame them. And yes, if they were providing resources and manpower, then they had every right to be defended.
The fun part was going to be explaining to them that defending Sol came first, with defending the hyperbridge jump zone where the enemy exited from Rho came a close second. Admiral Lewis wasn't confident that they could bottle up the enemy with the resources on hand there at the time. That would change though, Joe knew. Every month the yards were launching a starship. They were no longer producing sublight warships. They were also slowly ramping up production. Once they hit their stride, he was confident they would be turning out a ship a week and eventually a ship a day—if that was, they had the people to crew them and the money to pay for them he thought.
It took several weeks of working-up exercises to get the crew settled in and to get over the hump of initial equipment breaking in and any bugs sorted out.
They were going to have to send at least one ship to each colony initially. He knew that. Most likely it would be a destroyer he reasoned. State was already pitching a snit about the growing importance of the navy. They liked their own role in negotiating with the colonies though! The problem was they wanted to promise more than the navy could afford to give away or support. They also tended to do so without consulting the navy first, which only added fuel to the fire.
He shook his head as he pulled up the missive from Admiral Lewis and scanned it again. Damn it, the admiral was right. It wasn't just a cost issue; it was a logistics one as well. Each picket force they set up would require logistics to supply them. Fuel, provisions, munitions … plus they'd need to cycle the ships on and off, which meant replacement ships. He rubbed his temples as he leaned over his desk and stared at the email.
Somehow, they were going to have to make it work. How was the big question.
(@)()(@)
Yorrick Lagroose was having the time of his life. He was exhausted, sore in some odd places, but feeling almost complacent about his life for the first time in a while. Well, in a different way than he had seemingly ages ago he reminded himself.
Before he'd been coasting. He'd been a rich playboy playing at being a businessman. A spoiled brat. Now he had Padme to spoil him after he busted his tail in the yard.
Lagroose Industries, like all of the yards and industry in the star system, were straining to keep up with production. They needed to turn out more and better ships every day if they were going to hope to defend not only their homes from the marauding aliens but also the colonies and eventually take the fight to the enemy.
It was a war of survival, one he intended to be on the winning side.
Rick Krawley, head of the union and one of the yard managers, shook his head as he checked in with Yorrick. “Still at it, boss?”
“Finished here. I've got an hour … make it,” he paused and checked his implants. “An hour and twenty minutes before I need to head out to meet Padme for dinner. What can we do in that time?”
Rick snorted. He had finally started to not only like his boss but think of him as a friend and a good successor to Jack.
"Nothing like the prospect of a hanging to get people to work together," Rick drawled as he opened the cabinet to Yorrick's skinsuit. He took the suit out and passed it to Yorrick.
"Yeah, if we can get them to stop running around like headless chickens screaming the sky is falling first," Yorrick replied with a snort as he started to shuck his business suit.
"True," Rick said as he turned his back to give the other man a semblance of privacy as he changed into the suit.
All of the yards had shifted work on starship warships over sublight ones. The plan was to divide the forces between defending Sol, the hyperbridges, the colonies, and building an offensive fleet to take the fight to the enemy. There was a lot of concern about defeat in detail from armchair people in media.
There was also a lot of debate about what sort of navy they should build and how big. There had been some who had wanted quantity over quality, building lots of small ships instead of the big ships that could go toe-to-toe with the alien behemoths.
The navy was shooting for a middle ground approach, building everything they could think of.
Lagroose Industries had the cruiser and carrier contracts. The volunteers, some called them Rosy the riveters for some historical reason, were what was pushing the ships out of the yards in record time. Not without some logistics headaches to keep up with the pace of course.
The good news was that the designers had considered that problem as well as logistics in the field. Therefore, as many systems on the ships as possible were the same to cut down on logistics, design, and build time. It was stupid to reinvent the wheel for every ship. He saw their point there and heartily agreed.
He watched Yorrick finish up with the suit, then go through the checklist to make sure it was ready for use. Rick gave a tight nod of approval as he checked his own suit. He wanted the man alive, if only because Yorrick had surprisingly asked him to be best man at his wedding. His engagement to Padme Scolnik had hit the media a few days ago. Her link to her brother Pavel on the design board had been brooded about briefly, threatening to tarnish the engagement before some other event had superseded it in the news cycle.
Which in a way was a good thing. He knew from what Yorrick had let slip that Padme had been slightly pleased but very embarrassed by all of the attention. Pavel was still coming around to the thought of having Yorrick as a brother-in-law, especially given Yorrick's playboy history.
But that was in the past, Rick thought. Or so he hoped for the other man's marital bliss. He watched with hooded eyes as his pupil tossed his gloves into the upturned helmet, then tucked it under his arm. “Ready?”
“Yeah,” Yorrick replied. “Where are we headed?”
“I was thinking the nearest line since I've got to send you off to Padme in an hour or so,” Rick replied dryly. “I don't want you to get into trouble or anything,” he said.
“Oh, I dunno, her idea of punishment is fun sometimes,” Yorrick drawled with a wicked grin. Rick caught it, then shook his head and chuckled.
“Sure, play with fire, why not,” Rick drawled as they headed out. “I know you want to get your hands dirty with the small craft. I'd love to explore them too, but they are at least an hour out,” he said.
“Pass darn it,” Yorrick replied as they headed to a waiting airlock and cutter. The cutter would take them to the nearest block assembly area. Unfortunately, it wasn't for a warship. The navy needed colliers and support craft as well, so some of the colony ships were being converted as troop transports and such while some of the existing star freighters were being converted for war duty. A few rare slips were filled with fresh construction.
“Radick got the destroyer contract again. I'm glad that the admiralty and design board didn't bother to sign off on their proposal for star frigates and such,” Rick said as they passed through the airlock and into the cutter.
“I know. Too damn small to go the distance. And against the battleships,” Yorrick shook his head as he looked at a couple of the other volunteers. “Going our way?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good to hear,” Yorrick replied with an encouraging smile that wasn't at all forced or fake.
“Sir, is the navy really going to build their own recon satellites, decoys, and missile production lines? Why?” a tech asked.
“No idea. Ask them,” Yorrick replied with an indifferent shrug. “We've got the best anyway. They'll want our design
s.”
“Ah,” the tech replied with a nod.
“Don't worry. We'll have plenty of jobs to go around for a long time,” Rick murmured.
“I wasn't, okay, I was a little,” the tech replied.
“Bay niner four is building a block for a future collier in the production line. She's open to space at the moment, taking on all of the materials she'll need for the block job. We'll eventually need to get the freighter out of the drydock to move the block out, but that's a problem for another shift,” Rick drawled. “I figured we'd go there since they've had some teething issues with welding again,” Rick said.
“Suits me,” Yorrick replied as he took his gloves out, made a show of inspecting them, and then put them on. He strapped the seals tight and then checked them carefully. His volunteer work had educated him on quality control in the yard. It had taught him some of the importance of ordering the right material in the right quantity and quality and doing it all right the first time. He ducked his head slightly and put his helmet on, then sealed it. He turned to let the tech beside him check his seals, but he could already see through his implants everything was good. The tech still did the manual check and gave him a thumbs-up before turning to allow Yorrick to do the same favor for her.
“Good seal,” he said, looking up as Rick followed his actions.
“Show off,” Rick teased as they finished prepping to spacewalk with the rest of the group.
(@)()(@)
There was still deep concern and consternation over the naval battle in some circles of the Confederation public. Former Senator Calhoun had taken over the Peace Party. She had apparently set herself up as a willing voice of the opposition for the media and was oblivious of all the hate she generated. She seemed oblivious to the haters and thrived on being a talking head in the media circuit. "Surely it's a misunderstanding! If we just tried to talk to them …," she started in.
"No misunderstanding! They want what we've got! There is no misunderstanding that! This is our solar system, damn it! As far as Rho, we were there first! We terraformed those planets; they didn't! We're keeping them!"
“But the cost in lives and money …,” the former senator threw out there.
“Will be high. And we don't know yet if anyone is left alive there, I know,” former Senator Keli'i rolled on in his heavy bass voice. “We can't stand on the defense. We can't be an ostrich. We've got to stand firm for what is ours, or they'll roll right over us.”
“No war has ever been won on the defense. Eventually we need to take the battle to them,” former Senator Brakin stated. “Eventually they'll be back here if we don't stop them. I for one would rather fight on their turf, far away from here, than let them come here and kill millions of our people,” he insisted.
“Well, I can see the debate is still raging as hot as ever,” the anchor said with a chuckle. Everyone knew the anchor loved to stir up the pot and then let the talking heads have a go at it.
"Look, I'm telling it to you straight. These aliens were here. There is no denying that, no matter what the bullshit paranoid conspiracy nuts dream up in order to delude themselves. This isn't a way to backdoor a military into the works. We need this," Senator Brakin insisted.
"We need to protect ourselves. We're bare ass naked up there. There is nothing protecting us from an enemy fleet. Here or at the colonies. What we're doing is the bare minimum we need to protect us. To protect you,” Senator Keli'i stated. “I think it's not so much a matter of what we're going to do to go on the offense as a question of when is the best time. I for one agree with my esteemed colleague,” he indicated Senator Brakin, “in that we a need a good strong …,” he made massive fists with his hands and shook them in front of the camera, “ navy. One that will secure Sol forever against any threat. My problem is we should wait and make sure we've got that, but don't wait too long.”
“It is all a matter of timing,” Senator Brakin stated.
“But while we wait we can surely send envoys to try to talk to the enemy. Try to get their attention, try to see what we can see,” Senator Calhoun insisted.
“Did they send envoys here? No. Their envoys came with weapons and were bent on genocide on a scale even Skynet would have been envious of,” Senator Brakin stated. “No, we need action. If we send an envoy ship, we'll never see it again. They'll kill everyone onboard and suck the computers dry. No, the only thing these Taurens understand is the peace of the gun.”
“Or the peace of the grave. I'll tell you which one I prefer,” Senator Keli'i growled in agreement.
The anchor chuckled. “And we'll have to leave it there for the moment, as we go on break …”
(@)()(@)
The A.I. known as Central watched the debate he had recorded with a bot as he handled traffic. All of the A.I. were monitoring the social situation. The organics were still struggling with accepting A.I. as fellow citizens. Some had deliberately hampered their own businesses and lives by reducing electronics around them. Many still refused to use bots or simple script programs for fear of them being taken over. Cybernetics were on the decline. They had a point about how much power he and his ilk had in their virtual hands he acknowledged. He also knew that organics were subject to their own brain chemistry, including chemicals that induced fear.
Unreasonable fear in some, but Vulcan had a point about the Terran expression “one bad apple spoiling a batch.” Skynet's actions had been mentally crippling for the organics. It would take another generation or more before they accepted his kind.
But new models were changing that expectation. According to Gia's social models, that process would accelerate with his example and the example of Ensign Nelson. If more A.I. stepped up, it would accelerate the changes still further.
But they would also need to accept some limitations on themselves, which was still up for debate however.
Still, his little-used Aphrodite emotional subroutines basked in the glow of approval and appreciation from the organics for the moment.
(@)()(@)
Ensign Nelson was still dealing with his own newfound fame as he worked through his inbox. Given that he was a smart A.I., it was an easy task, one he could and did accomplish in milliseconds every few minutes. There were plenty of requests for interviews, less than last month, but that was to be expected. The organics were beginning to forget about his contribution to the war effort. He referred them to the office of naval public affairs as he had been instructed.
Since he had a moment, he explored other things that were not necessarily war or duty related. He was concerned about the reports of Doctor Hillman's declining health. He regretted the organics' mortality. He hoped the doctor's attempts at transcendence panned out in the end for his sake, though he wasn't certain how much longer he'd survive in the virtual world. Even A.I. had their own apparent mortality.
He knew some of the A.I. were concerned about it, but much like organics they tended to shy away from discussing it. As a military A.I., he had been more or less forced to face his own mortality during the defense of Mars. Some would consider a near brush with death as a negative, but he saw it as a positive experience. He had done some research on how organics handled their own mortality. There were various camps: some denied it as his people did, some attempted to do what they could to avoid death, and then there were those who accepted it for what it was and did their best to live their life to the fullest.
It had taken him several processing cycles to decide he preferred the third role. He would do his best to avoid death, and if there were methods to adjust his coding and extend his life span, he would take it. But he was aware that he would eventually break down or be destroyed in war.
One thing he couldn't accept was that the navy needed more A.I., not just in facilities like the main base he occupied, but in starships as well. Admiral Lewis hadn't come out and asked him to clone himself, but he knew it would be requested. He already had several responses in memory to explain why he wouldn't and couldn't do that.
Wh
at he could do was to engage with Doctor Hillman's staff in order to make better dumb A.I. to help support the crew in ships and to encourage the A.I. community to explore the option. A.I. would be given electronic space onboard a ship or facility, so reproduction would be an option.
They were going to need to discuss pay, duties, rights, and benefits, including how and when they could leave the service and what benefits they would get as veterans. That was something he was going to need to broach with Admiral Lewis and the A.I. community sometime soon if they were going to get other A.I. for the war effort.
(@)()(@)
At just shy of fifteen years of age, Roger Daringer should be happy that he and his class had been graduated early and that he was no longer a larval midshipman in the beginning stages of his career. The navy's voracious need for experienced personnel after the battle of Sol had forced his class to graduate earlier than expected.
That was the good news. The bad was that since he was still considered young and not quite seasoned enough to order around salty sailors, he had been denied a warship posting, despite distinguishing himself during the defense of Mars.
His age made it hard for some to take him seriously as an officer, which undercut his authority. Intellectually he understood that, but it still rankled. When things got under his skin and made him resent such treatment, he had to find a way to vent. Inevitably, it was with Renee or another former member of their class.
Renee shook her head. She agreed with Roger, but she knew she had to play devil's advocate for both of their benefit. “What do you expect? You are in a hurry to grow up!”
“So are you!” he said, then had to grin at her. She couldn't help but respond with an answering smile. That was all it took, that smile to get over some of the headaches and frustrations of the day. A day filled with shuffling paperwork.
