Rhysling’s Rue - Chapter 22

“Clyde, get your ass over here and help with this thing!” Roy glared over at his brother who was finishing a cut with his usual careful slowness.

“Then grow a fuckin brain cell and put it down till I’m done! I’m not gonna rush just cause you want to go moon over a woman who doesn’t even know you exist!” Clyde carefully inspected the edges of his finished cut, taking a trimmer and making a minute adjustment before nodding to himself in approval.

“She does too, I saw her lookin at me just yesterday!”

“Have you looked at your shipsuit lately Roy? She was probly tryin not to ralf on ya.” He helped his brother fit the panel that had started the discussion into place before triggering the molecular welds. “Besides, I don’t think she has any time for that sort of thing and certainly not for the likes of us. Maria likes you, why not go talk to her? Still out of your league but no harm in tryin, yeah?”

“Wiseass.” They spent a moment checking the welds. “You really think she likes me?”

“She bought you a drink dumbass. Yes, I think she likes you. Now go, take some time off. I’ve got a meeting for a new project.”

“Better you than me, brother. That shit makes my brain hurt.” Roy sauntered off, making his way out of the bay toward the dorms.

Clyde took a few more moments to stow tools and lock everything down before heading to officer’s country to get into proper uniform. It bothered him that officers got private quarters where enlisted were in barracks. Still, having the space and the private refresher was nice, even if his quarters were little more than a cubicle that reconfigured for his desired use and was just large enough to lie down in comfortably.

It took both a sonic shower and a water shower before he felt clean enough to put on his Undress Mess uniform and settle the maroon beret just so over his curly mop of blonde hair. Once satisfied every crease was sharp enough to shave with he made his way to the designated meeting room, deep within the most secure sections of R&D.

The room itself was unremarkable but the assemblage of top brass and legislators which occupied it made him fairly certain why he was there. Before he had time to get much further a voice cut through the low babble.

“Now that Commander Barrow has seen fit to join us we can begin.” Clyde blushed to his toes as all eyes turned to look at him. “Oh don’t worry yourself son, we weren’t really waiting on you. Get yourself a drink and lets all get settled cause we’re gonna be here for a bit. Food over on the sideboard if anybody gets peckish.”

The President of the Belter’s Confederation led by example, seating his powerful frame in a chair which seemed almost inadequate for his bulk. “We have further word from the Saturnians. As of yesterday they have launched not 2 but 4 of their new class of Strike Carrier! They should arrive well ahead of the Earther fleet at Uranus so there is a bit more hope. The Martians are on track for 3, possibly 4 of their own but launch windows are beginning to close. We all know Jupiter was hit quite badly and they have barely enough to survive but they are still sending a frigate…”

That news hit harder than he’d expected. That a nation as powerful as Jupiter had been before the war could only field a frigate? It felt cruel to ask even that but it would have dishonored the offer if they didn’t accept.

“Harlow… Can’t we like, sell em a ship on credit or something? I know they won’t accept a gift but they want to contribute and if those men are gonna die with us I’d like to make it count for something, do em a proper honor ya know?”

“Eloise… If any of us can figure a way you’ve got my full backing and I’m assuming the rest of you concur?”

There were nods and murmurs of agreement from all in the room, Clyde included. He still wasn’t used to being an elected official, it seemed just as odd a hat to wear as that of officer but he could see the sense in it and so agreed.

“Now Legislator Barrow, I believe you have some news for us?” Harlow Thompson steepled his giant fingers and regarded Clyde down the length of the table..

Clyde rose self-consciously, resisting the urge to straighten his uniform. “Your statement a moment ago brought my news an added dimension. I’ve managed to pull some whisker laser transmissions out of what we thought was random noise and discovered something quite astonishing. It’s a mathematical formula which will enable us to build immensely destructive weapons, ones that can take down a capital ship with just a few solid hits!”

He cleared his throat. “The problem is these things require quite a lot of fairly complex gravitics technology and building it is going to take time. Jupiter can furnish crew… I say we give them our entire capital fleet.”

The room erupted in pandemonium, finally silenced by the bellowing of the President. “Goddammit, sit down and shut up!” After everyone had found their seats again and order reigned he glared down the table at Clyde again.

“Son, I think you should explain yourself. You’re suggesting just giving our entire warfighting capability away to a nation that has been less than an ally at best?”

“No sir. I’m suggesting we give them our old generation of craft. Our production programs have better than tripled initial targets in the outlying production centers. With the new weapons we will go to battle with a fleet ten times as strong as we give away and still be seen as altruistic for giving our poor brethren in need a way to fight.” Clyde unconsciously squared his shoulders as he spoke.

“Damn, boy. You musta read Machiavelli young!”

“I think that mighta been Sun Tzu, maybe even Mitchell.”

“Hey, Pete and RePete, can we talk literary derivations later?” Harlow’s tone was teasing and the two Petes blushed as they settled back into their chairs.

“Last I heard those new ships were still 3 months in the pipeline. What the hell happened?”

“Skilled labor sir, and lots of it, mostly bringing heavy construction equipment with them. 10 new fabs came online just this week and each of them can pump out a Dreadnought in under a month, in time to make it for the battle.”

“Clyde, what the hell are you talking about? Dreadnoughts? The damn things are next to useless even if you build em around a giant cannon!”

The babble in the room continued along those lines before another bellow brought silence.

“I’m getting a little tired of sayin this, but son, you better explain yourself.” The glare and steepled fingers were back although Clyde thought he detected a glint of amusement. He was actually enjoying the show!

“Ok… its this simple. Fighters as we know them are now a liability.” It took another moment of babble before he could continue. “These new weapons are standoff capital ship killers and they aren’t small. They need a fairly large ship to carry enough of them and enough countermeasures to be an effective force. The most effective way to make that happen was to dust off some of the old Dreadnought designs and then modify the hell out of them. Lots more armor, firepower, massively overpowered engines and shields.”

“Fighters, in that environment? It’d be sending people on useless suicide missions. Even our new dreadnoughts will be vulnerable. Space warfare… all warfare I guess… has just changed completely. Carriers still have their uses but not in this sort of space battle.”

Clyde sat down, having said his piece.

“Mbotu, you’re the Admiral. What do you think.”

“Harlow… Mr President… Sir…”

“Dammit, just come out with it!”

“Do it. Every bit of it, and put everything we have into it. I’ve seen the weapons data sir and it is even more revolutionary than my young protégé suggests. More than that, share it in ways that can’t be intercepted by the Terrans. We can’t hold this for ourselves sir. The belt cannot be a new dictator!” His shoulder slumped. “Besides, we’ve been here before. The simple knowledge that it is possible will lead someone to the mathematics and…” he shrugged.

There was a long period of silence in the room before the President spoke.

“Ready to vote?”

No one responded.

“There being no further debate desired by the committee, I move we accept the recommendations of the Commander. Seconded?”

Both Petes raised their hands “Seconded” “And thirded”.

“Ok, lets see the nays.” No hands moved.

“The Ayes?” All hands raised.

“Then in my capacity as President of the Belters Confederation I certify this vote. Lets be about it folks.”

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Katerina paced back and forth in her quarters, following a line she’d walked often enough to imagine even the hard decksole showed some residual mark. It had taken months for them to cobble together even just this tiny frigate that was all they had to offer and now she wasn’t even being allowed to launch! The frustration ate at her until she finally forced herself to sit and start reviewing the schematics she knew by heart.

She’d managed to allow it to occupy almost her full attention so the chime of her com was almost jarring. She slapped the com to open the link. “Chen.”

“Captain, your presence is requested in the Senate chambers at 28:10.” She recognized the voice as the Prime Minister’s secretary and was on the verge of asking why when the connection terminated with a little double beep.

She almost resumed her pacing but checked the time and realized she just had time to make it if she hurried. A quick change to full-dress uniform and she hurried to the shuttle bay, her pinnace closing up and moving even as she found her seat. Europa was a fast trip and soon she found herself descending through a seemingly endless lift which deposited her in a grand entrance area. She was quickly pulled to the side and into one of the doors which led to the Senate floor directly.

No one seemed to be interested in telling her anything about what was going on so when led to stand beside and in front of the dais she did so with a mixture of curiosity and dread. The gallery was as full as it could be with a quarter of the Senators dead or missing and she heard the commotion behind her which she assumed was the Prime Minister and the Speaker of the Senate taking their places.

The gavel confirmed it and the crier sounded the traditional convocation. With that the senate was in session.

“I’ll get right to the point here since we don’t have a lot of time.” The Prime Minister’s clear soprano dominated the room. “We have done our best to offer something to the war effort and we all know the best has been a single frigate. As doughty as the Prince Andrew is and stout of heart as we know her crew to be we all know it is a gesture made for honor, not for any real help we can lend.”

She waiting for the susurration of voices to subside. “We all knew this to be true but until now have not dared to speak it in this chamber. We all know why… none of us wanted to be the first to say we were beaten. That our nation wasn’t even on its knees anymore but lying prostrate, awaiting only the coup de grace.”

“Madam Prime minister…” the thickset middle-aged man who rose to speak twisted his hat into shapelessness in his hands. “We all know this. I don’t think any of us need to be told just how badly fucked we all are. Whats the point of all this?”

“Senator Sarko…” She paused… “Fyodor. You’re right, none of you need to hear how bad things were…” She paused for another moment to see the use of the past tense register on each face. “We have been offered a gift horse, ladies and gentlemen. The Belter’s Confederation has offered their entire order of battle to us, no strings. We have the trained personnel to crew them and I have accepted on our collective behalf.”

It took over 10 minutes for the general hubbub to die down enough to allow Speaker Molotov to re-establish order.

“We will abide by rules of order in this chamber!” his attempt at a stentorian bellow left much to be desired and was instead relayed by the sound system as a reedy whine. It had its desired effect however as the various Senators resumed their seats, almost every light lit as a request to speak.

“I know you have questions. I do too and this office is most definitely looking this particular gift horse in the mouth. They have openly admitted they are building an entirely new fleet which they expect to be ready in time to meet the Terrans at Uranus. There are new weapons designs that surpass anything we’ve ever even imagined and we’ll be working on how to integrate them into the existing ships we’re being given.”

“Here’s where it turns out we can actually make a real contribution to not just the war effort but the long term balance of power we all know needs to be established to end this war. We happen to have quite a bit of advanced gravitics research and fabrication capability and that’s one thing the Belters and Martians lack. These new weapons depend on those components and if we can make enough to outfit the combined fleets, even just partially… Then we stand a chance. A chance to fight our way to peace.”

One by one the lights signifying requests to speak had winked out until none were left.

“Until now, we could only offer our most decorated and senior naval officer the captaincy of a single ship. As of now, I submit to the Senate a request for her confirmation in the rank of Admiral, her duties to command the refit and the combat duties of the Jupiter Navy.”

The voting lights lit, every one of them blue in approval.

“Katerina Svoboda Chen, by unanimous approval of the Senate of the Jupiter Union you are promoted to the rank of Admiral and are now in command of the Jupiter Navy. May your actions bring honor to our ancestors!”

There were shouts of acclaim but Katerina had no time. She had to find out just what sort of Trojan Horse she’d been given and what the hell she could make out if it in time enough to make any difference at all. She strode out of the senate chamber, finding herself back in her pinnace before she quite realized it and was soon in her ready room just off the bridge going over the truly staggering amount of information from the Belter’s gift, noting they had already boosted harder than would have been possible with human crew… at least given the gravitics technology that had been state of the art.

Given the stated intent to provide the ships without crew she presumed that was precisely what the Belters were doing and it made perfect sense, even shaving more than 2 weeks transit time from previous estimates. She made an attempt at understanding the technology behind the new weapon and grasped the basics but got the data immediately to her science and engineering teams to see what they could manage to do with it.

One thing she was sure of, fighters had to be designed out of the equation and that made her ships useful in a somewhat limited way. All that space devoted to fighters and crew could be devoted to armaments instead although they wouldn’t have any way to retrofit anything like a launcher, at least not internally.

She backed off for a moment from the problem, let her mind wander back to old atmospheric fighters and bombers, even surface navies and suddenly the solution presented itself. She spent a few minutes speccing out a preliminary design and sent it over to her head of engineering, waiting for the incredulous response. When it hadn’t come after several minutes she was beginning to worry until suddenly her door slid aside to reveal a short balding man in a state of either anger or high excitement, she couldn’t quite tell which.

“Ok Pavel, out with it. What do you really think?” She quirked an eyebrow.

“Of all the goddamned misbegotten downright fucking insane things you’ve asked me to do over the years this has got to top the list! Do you have any idea how many man-hours are gonna have to go into building that fuckin feed system alone? You, Admiral, are straight up fuckin nuts.”

“So you can get it done in the timeline I need?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. What in hell possessed you to turn those things into torpedo boats?” Pavel scuffed at an imaginary spot on the decksole with his toe.

“Hey if you can think of a way to make them more combat effective with the new weapons I’m all for it. I got the idea from the old Earth surface navy in the first world wars. This way we can add a linear gravitic launcher and get almost the same effect as a launch tube. It should make for a nasty little surprise when they read us as transports and discount us to focus on the Belter Dreadnoughts.”

After another moment she softened her expression. “Now come give your grandmother a kiss and go get things moving, ok?”

Pavel crossed the room and brushed a very young-looking cheek with his lips.

“You know you can do it Pavel. We’re all depending on you.”

“Gee thanks Gran. No pressure there…” he muttered as the hatch closed behind him.

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“How’d the test go?” Ted sighed with relief as he detached his legs, wiggling the stumps in freedom.

“We deliberately went for low yield and still got more than enough to punch a hole right through the Hermes. The energy transfer would be enough to rip the rest of the ship in half. The gravitics tech Jupiter shared was a hell of a boost!” Helen seemed both elated and a little subdued.

“So now you’re thinking you’re a dinosaur just waiting for the big rock?”

“Feels a little like that, yeah” she admitted, arching her back into her knuckles and stretching as she removed her own shipsuit.

“I’ve been thinking about it… Barrow was right when he said fighters were obsolete but this ship isn’t limited to just fighters. He was wrong about carriers being obsolete… he just didn’t think quite far enough outside the box. Chen had the beginnings of it when she thought to convert the smaller carriers the Confederation provided into gunboats.”

He waited for a response and got an expectant eyebrow cocked in his direction. “Carriers have always been standoff weapons platforms by necessity and I don’t think we should abandon that role at all. In fact we need to stand off a bit further, outside the active sphere of combat entirely if possible. We have to abandon fighters in the old sense, absolutely… but we can field a purpose-built gunboat, faster and better armed than the converted carriers. R&D has come up with some interesting designs we can build out quickly enough to be able to hot-berth a double complement… 120 craft in all with the design they like best.”

“And the pilots?”

“Well those that have seen it were half impressed, half scared so I’d guess its just about right. Pete thinks it’s a dream to fly…” He realized he’d let slip a bit more than he’d intended.

“So they’ve already built one behind my back then?” her tone wasn’t angry, more teasing.

Ted blushed a little. “3 actually, although the last is the one that should go into production. Pete loved em all but the first one would have been a deathtrap for anyone but him and the second… well they tried to overcompensate and it flew like a brick. I took a run in Shiva 3 and she’s a sweet ship but definitely built for war.”

“So which particular bright soul in R&D came up with this gem?” Helen grunted a little as she eased herself into another yoga position, the stress of the day leaving gradually.

“Stacy of course. The girl is… I don’t even know how to describe her. She’s like this whirlwind of ideas and they come so fast she can barely get one out before she’s on to the next and the rest of her group is sitting there wondering what the hell happened. They’ve literally got 3 teams just viewing recordings of her and everything she’s doing and they still have to go back over some of it several times.”

“Why am I not surprised? I’ll admit I can’t even begin to keep up with her mentally, she’s so far ahead of me I feel like a kindergartner talking to a college professor. I do worry about her emotionally though…” Helen breathed rhythmically for a moment before continuing. “She’s decided to take on not one but two mates and so young…”

“I wouldn’t worry about her. She went in with clear eyes and an open heart and the three of them together is a thing of beauty… they belong. They each fill each other’s missing parts.” Ted paused in his own workout, puffing with exertion. “They are an odd triplet, that’s for sure, but no stranger than you and I.”

“So about these gunboats… with everything working flat out how many can we build and supply 2 full torpedo loadouts to? Take the Hermes out of the picture entirely and its 120 with it.” Helen was warming down now, feeling limber and more relaxed.

“Maybe another 300 but I have no idea where we’d find crew for them. The gunboats take a 4 person crew and that’s with everything automated that can be. Hermes’ flight crews are just enough for her 120.”

“You’re still inside the box there, teddy boy…” she tickled just under his ribcage when he was looking the other direction drawing squirming laughter.

“Not just yet but that can be remedied!” he drew her in for a kiss and they savored for a moment before separating. “I think we both need a shower.”

An hour or two later when the shower and its associated activities had concluded and they both lay there, lazing in the microgravity of their bed Ted finally asked.

“Ok, so what am I missing here? Where do you plan to conjure up qualified fighter pilots that can be trained up for gunboats?” He tickled a nipple and watched it crinkle in response.

She tickled a similarly sensitive spot and watch the response in turn. “Well, there’s this whole navy which has given up on smallcraft entirely and is retooling for dreadnoughts… and all those poor fighter jocks left out in the cold…”

He laughed in response and shortly she joined him in his mirth.

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“Hey, you remember Ted? Guy who lost his legs and went out on his own after?”

The tall woman turned to her shorter and much stockier companion. “Yeah. I wonder what happened to him after all this shit…” she gestured around at nothing in particular.

“Well wonder no more cause it turns out he’s one of the big muckety-mucks out at Hephaestus and word is he and Hunt are an item.” Dubois grunted a laugh.

“Well I can’t fault him for taste…” Markham replied. “Beauty and brains, whats not to like?” she grinned at her shorter companion.

“Any idea what our new assignment is?” Vladic interjected.

“Not a peep. As of 3 hours ago we’re black-boxed. I can tell you we’re heading to Uranus but we already knew that. Now take your meds and make sure there’s no wrinkles under you cause we go to 5 gees in 10 minutes. You do not want to wake up on the other side of this with a strip dug out of your hide.”

Within 5 minutes they had each verified all was as it should be and the meds were kicking in so that they were mercifully unconscious when the full burn hit, machines forcing air and blood to circulate rather than pool.

When they awoke technicians were helping them out of their couches, guiding their steps until they regained a sense of balance and could walk on their own. They were escorted to quarters in what appeared to be newly built portions of the presumably wrecked station and given the time to freshen up, shower and etc before dressing in the new uniforms they’d been provided. When they met in the common area there was some debate over the insignia they each bore. It was a stylized representation of the solar system and beneath was the familiar splash of the Belter’s Confederation.

They all turned to face the pair who walked in, their postures casual in a way that most navies would never have accepted but for Belters it was the equivalent of standing at attention.

“Welcome” came the warm contralto of the sharply uniformed woman who stood at ease, the Sol Navy emblem unaccompanied by any other “To the Sol Navy. As you can see by your insignia, even though we are unified we retain our identities, the differences that make us more than the sum of our parts. None of us want to see a repeat of what Earth tried to become and we all know the threat is still quite real. Between us we should be able to defeat the Earther fleet but it will take every one of us pulling together or all will be lost.”

The silence that filled her pause was deafening until the man who stood beside her filled the void. “Ok, now that you’ve had your chance to be all awestruck at our August Commander” the capitalization was obvious in his emphasis “here’s the lowdown. I know you lot were looking at being a bunch of out of work fighter jocks who’d lost their taste for prospecting and wondering what the hell you were gonna be doing.”

There was a general rumble of agreement. “Well as it turns out, we happen to have need of more pilots to man these nifty gunboats that are gonna be a bit more like attack torpedo bombers than anything else and we figured there was only one batch batshit crazy enough to fly em.”

“Hey it ain’t like you got room to talk Ted!” came from the back of the crowd.

“Markham, you know damn well I’m my own special brand o crazy…”

A ripple of laughter spread through the room when Hunt nodded and grinned. “Oh he’s special alright…” she waited just long enough “Bless his heart…” That brought gales of laughter and a mock wounded expression from Honore.

“Now I’m going to turn you over to the tender mercies of your new instructor. Commander Von Richthofen, do us proud.” Honore stepped back to let the man who’d just entered in a sharply creased shipsuit take center stage.

“OK, first things first. Yes my name is Manfred Von Richthofen and yes my I’m not sure how many greats grandfather was the “Red Baron”. Just call me Manny in person, my call sign is Red. Got it?”

“You lot who saluted, knock that shit off. It looks sloppy and just… wrong on a Belter anyway. We might be Sol Navy but we’re Belters before we’re anything else and asking for that kind of subservient bullshit won’t fly anyway so why bother, right?”

“Aye sir!” came a general if somewhat ragged response and he facepalmed in response. “Smartasses…”

They laughed. “Ok, here’s the drill. You’re gonna be running rotating sims and classes until we have enough craft operational to have actual exercises. You’ll be split up in crews of 2 with 2 support crew as well. They won’t be Belters so do your best to make things smooth, ok?

“You mean we’re gonna be workin with Terrans don’t you?” the tone was almost accusatory.

“There isn’t really such a thing as a Terran in the old sense except on that fleet. Their whole planet is effectively wiped out, however many might actually manage to survive in that frozen hell. They are refugees, Solarians in the truest sense with no planet to call home… yet they choose to stand and fight with the rest of us for freedom. We have lost much… but they have lost all and yet here they are with none but a Sol Navy patch on their uniforms. Let me make myself clear. The first one of you that casts aspersions at one of these brave crew for their origins gets cashiered on the spot.”

There was a nervous shuffling of feet and a good many glances at the floor in shame.

“Good. Now you’re going to be flying something like you’ve never even thought of. Its essentially a gravitic launcher for rotating single use torpedo magazines coupled with about 10 times as much power as you should ever need. As an afterthought somebody strapped a crew compartment onto it cause why not…”

He waited for the laughter to die down. “Your threat environment is going to be heavy and because we had to focus on primary armaments your defensive capabilities are going to be a little unusual. Each ship has 2 pilots because 1 of them will be flying a swarm of defensive drones for each ship. 2 EWOs for the same reason. This might be risky as hell but I have no intention of allowing it to become a suicide mission. Make no mistake, we will lose people… but if we lose the war who is to care?”

“Now on another note, I’m sure many of you have noticed that there’s only the one carrier just yet and he already has a double complement. Our area of operations will be distinct from the Hermes and we will be operating without a carrier support structure. Instead each of your craft will be assigned to one of several repair/reprovision craft. Now all of this will be evolving over the next couple of months because everyone is retooling and rebuilding to accommodate the new weaponry. We don’t know whether the Terrans have managed to find out about it but we have to assume they have and are working to get up to speed on it as quickly as we are.”

“What about Saturn and Mars and the Belter fleet… Jupiter even? Are we just counting them out? You make it sound like this is all going to be on us.”

“Mazrin, right?” the young lieutenant nodded, her flaming red hair wrapped in a painful looking bun. “When you get a chance do a search for “Murphy’s Law”. There’s a lot to it but the basic idea is that whatever can go wrong, will, and at the worst possible moment. When you’re fighting a war you have to plan for the absolute worst case scenario and then make it ten times as bad… and generally that way any surprises are good ones.”

“So you’re saying we have to act like its all on us no matter what?”

“No lieutenant, I’m saying its all on you” he pointed at her, then next to her “and you” and again “and you, on me just the same. Yes its on us as a unit but its on each of us individually just as much. Yours might be the golden BB that wins the war… or you might perish saving someone else who does but for each of you, you are a missile, straight and true at the heart of our would be enslavers. Each of you can be the one that makes the difference, for good or ill.”

Mazrin nodded her understanding as did several of those in the crowd.

“Now, each of you have 23 hours to recover from your time in high G and I expect just about now you’re getting hungry. You’ll each find your quarters assignments and full maps of the station on your wristcomps so you’re all dismissed. See you in 23 hours.”

Manny chuckled to himself as he read the list of personnel needing release from the brig. It was a fairly even split between Terrans and Belters with the odd Martian and even one or two of the original yard dogs. There didn’t appear to be any serious injuries and a lot of simmering tension had been released so overall he considered it a good result although many officers would have been more than a little unhappy about it.

Harry would be getting them whipped into shape and getting the first rounds of physical conditioning underway. The massively overpowered ships required crew in top physical shape simply to remain conscious during extreme maneuvers just like fighters did and he intended his crews to be the best they could possibly be. 2 weeks of sims and conditioning and they would have 20 of the new craft available to start shakedown cruises and do some limited wargaming in physical space to get a real feel for how it felt to fight the ships. There was a pause of a few days built into the construction phase to allow functional feedback to be incorporated into the design and it promised to be a much more potent weapon that its size suggested.

Meanwhile he had some very tongue in cheek shouting to do and he found himself rather looking forward to it.

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“Commander your presence is requested in briefing 3-Alpha.”

“Acknowledged.” Higalik terminated her connection and squirmed her way out of the cockpit, swearing at the awkwardness of the layout. There were definitely going to be some design changes made when she got back from whatever this latest meeting was about.

She arrived to find a crowded room and what seemed at first glance like pandemonium but with a little observation resolved into very enthusiastic working groups. For a time no one took notice of her presence until she suddenly found a hand on her elbow, pulling her into the middle of a discussion.

“So the commander here is the one who needs to be helping us design these things, its her people that will be flying them after all!” The speaker shoved a hand through the errant hair that kept falling into his eyes.

“What the hell are you on about, Chief?” She regained possession of her elbow. “I thought our fighter designs were mostly settled?”

“They were but we can’t build fighters anymore… like, at all!”

“Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” A tablet was shoved into her hand and as she looked through the schematics and absorbed the ideas she began to understand the excitement. When she finally looked up she realized the hubbub had ceased and all eyes were on her.

“OK… so the chief is right. We can’t build the kind of fighters we had planned but he’s wrong that we can’t build fighters. We just have to rethink what a fighter actually is, specifically how big it is. We need to be able to carry enough of the new torpedoes to make it worthwhile and with our current resources that says single use launch cartridges. If we built the same basic configuration but about the size of a small corvette we could mount 8 10 torpedo racks externally on each one. They’d have to be mag-launched though because all the gravitics tech we can manage to make will be needed for warheads.”

She’d been sketching while she was talking and her designs were projected onto one wall. The babble of noise was beginning to rise again when she thought to add one more thing. “By the way, whoever is designing the cockpit layout… stick Freddy here in there and see if he can manage to move around. That abomination you lot had prototyped this morning needs to go on the junk heap. Took me 2 minutes just to get the hell out!”

The next 20 hours were spent in endless meetings and design sessions but by the time she collapsed into her bunk still clothed the beginnings of a complete redesign had taken shape. Even the ships themselves had to be rebuilt to a degree and all while in flight but when it was finished what had started out as a formidable force would be orders of magnitude more effective. They had a chance to shift the balance, to ensure the Terran fleet’s destruction where before it had been accepted that even a stalemate would be a good result.

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Carolina checked and rechecked to make sure she’d filtered the faint whisker-laser transmission out of the information-stream that made its way to the various ship’s stations and swore to herself. There hadn’t been any leakage at all and yet somehow they had the data!

It made her hidden role all the more important as the new weapons were being manufactured by every ship in the fleet now and she had to ensure her cutovers went unnoticed. When the time came, she intended to redirect the fire of the flagship at the others and do as much damage as possible before return fire obliterated it. There had been very limited contact between herself and the mysterious outsider, enough to make clear they were the originator of this technology but this contact had ceased since she’d informed them that the Terran fleet had somehow learned of the new weapons and were manufacturing them as quickly as possible.

The terror that had been her constant companion since the war’s beginning had somehow mutated, become anger and a fierce determination to bring this horror to an end on her own terms. As far as she knew they were the only terms on offer.