Carnifex. Part 6

We're going to commission it.

The ship had started out as a bargain. Purchased for three and a half million FSD, and needing about twelve times that in overhaul, it had seemed like a relatively cheap, and potentially highly profitable, way of transporting aircraft to the war zone and perhaps even suppressing Salafi piracy in various areas of the globe that had fallen under it. Then the cost of Yithrabi crude had hit eighty FSD a barrel and an oil powered ship had seemed rather less of a bargain. Just moving the ship, slowly, halfway around the globe used about six and a half million FSD worth of diesel. And there was no guarantee that the price wouldn't go up. There wasn't even a guarantee of an adequate supply. Nor were the thermal deploymerization plants built or building-so far in Balboa really up to more than domestic consumption. Indeed, they didn't even cover most that that, yet.

Someone suggested nuclear. But it was not that big a ship, at about two hundred and twelve meters in length and twenty-four in beam, measured at the waterline. Oh, sure, this was much larger than some of the nuclear submarines in use by the Federated States, Volga, Zhong Guo, Anglia and Gaul. But the submarines didn't have to account for a flight deck, or fuel for aircraft. In any case, no one except the Volgans was willing to sell a militarily capable nuclear reactor to a private military organization for an essentially private warship. It just wasn't going to happen. As far as the Volgans went, they had lots of redundant reactors from their rusting fleet, but n.o.body really trusted their reactors.

I wonder if the FSC or Anglia would have been more cooperative if they'd known the Legion was already already a nuclear power, a nuclear power, mused Carrera, standing by the dock. mused Carrera, standing by the dock.

Enter the Republic of Northern Uhuru, which had a new design for which they needed money. This design used tennis ball-sized spheres of mixed graphite and uranium instead of the more dangerous, expensive and difficult to dispose of uranium fuel rods used by others. The RNU was willing to sell. Even better, since the reactor design was modular, and not all that large, it could be constructed inside the ship. Hooray!

Except that even one miserable module provided more than five times the power the ship needed. Worse, each module cost about one hundred and twenty-five million FSD. Talk about cost overruns Talk about cost overruns. The RNU went back to the drawing board, coming back some months later with a much smaller design, costing about seventy-five million, and producing only twice the power actually needed. Carrera had been offered two of the things for one hundred and thirty million so perhaps that one Suvarov Cla.s.s cruiser might someday sail again, after all.

"But that's still twice as much as we need," Carrera had railed at the design team.

"Yeah, Duque...but...see...there are things we can do with the extra power. Lasers."

"Laaa.s.ssers...," the ship's redesign team had echoed when their chief said that.

"Lasers?"

"Oh, yes. Lasers. Shoot down incoming missiles...aircraft...cruise missiles...even sh.e.l.ls. Lasers."

And so the ship had been fitted with three high-energy lasers; one each bow and stern on projecting mounts, plus one over the superstructure, or island. Add another seventy-five million to the cost. Then, once one has a ship into which one has sunk some hundreds of millions of dollars, one starts to give a lot of thought to protecting one's investment. Guns it had. The lasers helped, too. Armor was right out. That left maneuverability.

"You want me to spend what what on this new drive?" on this new drive?"

"But it only makes sense, Duque. The electric, podded, variable azimuth drive would make the ship turn within its own length. And we can get substantially increased speed, too."

After that, the twenty thousand spent for a bronze figurehead of his lost Linda, with her b.r.e.a.s.t.s demurely covered, had seemed pretty cheap to Carrera. In the end the thing had cost just over a quarter of a billion, not counting aircraft. All that just to get eighteen helicopters (three of them equipped for Anti-Submarine Warfare), twelve light attack aircraft modified from crop dusters, eighteen slightly slightly lengthened and widened, and substantially upengined, Cricket light recon birds, eight remotely piloted aircraft, and a demi-battalion of light infantry into some littoral area where they could raid. lengthened and widened, and substantially upengined, Cricket light recon birds, eight remotely piloted aircraft, and a demi-battalion of light infantry into some littoral area where they could raid.

Even with that light an aircraft load there had been problems. None of the older Volgan helicopters that were suitable, available, and affordable fit both the hangar deck's 5.3 meters of height and the dimensions of the elevators. Conversely, none of the more modern helicopters produced by the FSC or Tauran Union were capable enough or affordable enough, although they fit the hangar nicely. In the end, they'd decided-rather, the legate of the cla.s.sis cla.s.sis, Roderigo Fosa, had decided, since Carrera had simply given him a budget and said, "You figure it out"-on a newer Volgan helicopter, The Yakamov YA- 72 that was offered for sale for surprisingly little. figure it out"-on a newer Volgan helicopter, The Yakamov YA- 72 that was offered for sale for surprisingly little.

Little was not, however, nothing. The twenty-two YA-6s purchased had still run nearly fifty million FSD, with spares.

It is is a fine chopper, a fine chopper, Carrera thought. Carrera thought. But still; fifty million....And it doesn't mesh logistically with the IMs we already have... But still; fifty million....And it doesn't mesh logistically with the IMs we already have...

Sighing at the cost, Carrera approached the ship's bow. Fosa, the legate commanding the cla.s.sis cla.s.sis, or fleet, followed, leading Mrs. Parilla who had been selected to do the honors for the rechristening.

Let's hope somebody hires us to use it.

2/10/466 AC (Old Earth Year 2521), UEPF Spirit of Peace One might have thought that a figurehead on a starship would have made little sense. Nonetheless, United Earth had for centuries had hundreds of thousands of otherwise unemployed and unemployable "artists." Some of them were even capable of more than flinging dung onto a canvas and calling it "art." Of those, some numbers had been commissioned to create figureheads for the Spirit Spirit cla.s.s of UE starships. cla.s.s of UE starships.

Spirit of Peace had been a.s.sumed to be a representative of all Earth's peoples, for only a joining of all the people could hope to bring peace. Thus, her figurehead had been a mixed race beauty. It looked quite a bit like the figurehead for the had been a.s.sumed to be a representative of all Earth's peoples, for only a joining of all the people could hope to bring peace. Thus, her figurehead had been a mixed race beauty. It looked quite a bit like the figurehead for the Dos Lindas Dos Lindas, for that matter.

Which is decidedly ironic, thought High Admiral Robinson, sitting in his quarters, half turned from his desk. His uniform trousers were partly undone since he was being f.e.l.l.a.t.ed by his fleet sociologist, Lieutenant Commander Iris Khan.

Khan, despite having one distant ancestor from the region of Pakistan on Old Earth, was blonde and blue-eyed. Kneeling between Robinson's legs, her eyes stayed upturned, intent on the High Admiral's face, even as her mouth worked diligently to give the High Admiral the quality of service to which his position ent.i.tled him.

Normally Robinson used the captain of Peace, Peace, Marguerite Wallenstein, for his physical needs. The captain, however, had duty at the moment and Khan had been otherwise unemployed. She would do. Marguerite Wallenstein, for his physical needs. The captain, however, had duty at the moment and Khan had been otherwise unemployed. She would do.

Indeed, she does very well, Robinson thought as he reached out a hand to force Khan's head down and his p.e.n.i.s into her throat moments before e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n. She stayed that way, her lips against the root of the High Admiral's p.e.n.i.s, even when a yeoman entered the quarters with the fleet's morning report. In the UEPF there was no shame in servicing one's betters. Only after the yeoman had left did Khan back off to lick away the still leaking residue. By that time the High Admiral's face was blocked by the report. Robinson thought as he reached out a hand to force Khan's head down and his p.e.n.i.s into her throat moments before e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n. She stayed that way, her lips against the root of the High Admiral's p.e.n.i.s, even when a yeoman entered the quarters with the fleet's morning report. In the UEPF there was no shame in servicing one's betters. Only after the yeoman had left did Khan back off to lick away the still leaking residue. By that time the High Admiral's face was blocked by the report.

"That will be all, thank you, Iris. I'll call you if I need you," was all Robinson had to say.

A few last licks and Khan closed the Admiral's trousers, refastened his belt, stood and turned to go.

Just before she exited the cabin, Robinson ordered, "Send your husband to me. I want to go over some developments down below with him. It seems the local mercenary chief isn't content with merely having a ground army. He's got a major warship now. I wonder what's next."

3/10/466 AC, Obras Zorrilleras, Cuidad Balboa, Republic of Balboa Cheapness was a watchword for the Legion. Let others pay the expense of being on the cutting edge of military and scientific research; the Legion didn't need that. Instead, the Obras Zorrilleras, Obras Zorrilleras, the research and development arm of the the research and development arm of the Legion del Cid Legion del Cid, concentrated on stealing, reverse engineering, modifying, and occasionally-after evaluation-outright purchasing of technology. Even so, they did some original work, too.

They'd had some successes. The modifications for the Dos Lindas Dos Lindas had come from OZ's naval bureau. They'd had a strong hand in the remanufacture of several smallish nuclear weapons captured in Sumer half a decade before. The small unit tactical communications system, or Comsys, was likewise their design, modified from a wireless cell phone system in broad use around Terra Nova. had come from OZ's naval bureau. They'd had a strong hand in the remanufacture of several smallish nuclear weapons captured in Sumer half a decade before. The small unit tactical communications system, or Comsys, was likewise their design, modified from a wireless cell phone system in broad use around Terra Nova.

The big projects now were stealth, something the Federated States had a near monopoly on and which they would not share even with very close allies like Anglia.

Carrera had some potential uses for stealth, in the air, at sea and under the sea. That made it an OZ priority.

"We've got three things for you, Duque," the chief of OZ, an immigrant named Pislowski from the Jagielonian Commonwealth, said. "Two of these are the same basic technique but applied differently."

Carrera, Pislowski, and three others sat at a cheap conference table deep inside the main building for OZ. The researchers hadn't thought to provide refreshments. Instead, three models stood atop the table.

How refreshing, Carrera thought. He loathed briefings, meetings, and all the rest of the modern world's bureaucratic time-sinks. Refreshments tended to make it worse, not better, since they invited people to stay too long and talk too much. On occasion, Carrera thought of enacting a regulation requiring all meetings and briefings in the Legion to be conducted standing and in the rain. Carrera thought. He loathed briefings, meetings, and all the rest of the modern world's bureaucratic time-sinks. Refreshments tended to make it worse, not better, since they invited people to stay too long and talk too much. On occasion, Carrera thought of enacting a regulation requiring all meetings and briefings in the Legion to be conducted standing and in the rain.

Pislowski smiled, pointing a finger. "It was that b.l.o.o.d.y Volgan's idea."

The Volgan-his given name was Pyotr smiled back. He then picked up one of the models, a strangely proportioned aircraft. "As my friend has said, it was my idea. Technically. Better to say I was the one who pulled together some things I'd seen and read over the years. Some of that came from Jagielonia. This is a glider we've nicknamed the Condor. Condor."

"They build many gliders in Jagielonia,' Pyotr continued. "Their interest goes back many decades. Even when I was doing design work for the Volgan Empire, it occurred to me that a glider has many advantages over an aircraft, even for combat purposes. It is fuel efficient. It is easy and cheap to maintain, even if it has an engine, as some do. It is quite easy and cheap to train people to fly a glider. Because a glider is so cheap and easy to fly, there is no great reason to require that the highest caliber men be chosen as pilots. Ground support requirements are only a tiny fraction of what is needed for a high performance aircraft. A glider is also relatively difficult to pick up on radar."

"Still there are disadvantages," Pyotr admitted. "A glider cannot carry much of a load. It is slow and not very maneuverable. It must be raised to a considerable height by some means, most commonly another aircraft. It depends upon natural updrafts in the air to keep going. With an auxiliary engine many of these disadvantages can be at least partially overcome. But with an engine, the glider becomes much easier to acquire, either on radar or by infrared from the heat of the engine and exhaust. Georgi and I have an answer to that."

Georgi, the senior of the two Volgan designers, spoke up. "Sir, do you know anything about radar?"

Carrera answered, "a.s.sume not."

"Yes, sir. Radar is microwave energy, traveling through the air. It can also travel through other things, ground and water, for example, but with less range and accuracy. When the energy reaches something with a density different from air, it reacts. In effect, it radiates back from whatever it hit that was different from air, if the material it hits is capable of radiating back. Some materials radiate back poorly or not at all. These change the microwave energy into heat. Is the Duque Duque familiar with the Federated States Air Force's P-71?" familiar with the Federated States Air Force's P-71?"

"I know of it as a name. I've seen pictures."

"Here's a picture you didn't see," Georgi said, handing over an eight-by-ten black and white of a remarkably odd-looking aircraft.

Carrera took it and looked at it carefully. He asked, "What's that dark ring around it?"

"Bats," Georgi answered. "Hundreds and thousands of stunned, crippled or dead bats. They couldn't see the plane and flew into it, usually killing themselves. You see, bats use sonar which is, in some ways, similar to radar. The P-71 presented no surfaces to bounce back the sonar signals to the bats. So they couldn't 'see' it and flew into the plane. The P-71 presents a very small radar, or sonar, cross section. Too small for bats to see."

Pyotr took up the briefing, once again. "There are three primary factors that affect an aircraft's radar cross section. These are size, materials, and shape. Although it is the least important factor, if two aircraft have exactly the same materials and shape, but are of different size, the larger will have a greater radar cross section. These gliders will be quite small. For shape, the important things are to have no sharp edges, no flat surfaces pointed toward the radar. For materials, there are two...oh, tricks, that we can use. The first is, construction wise, the tougher. Radar notices the change in density of an object in the air. To the extent that that difference is tiny, radar is apt not to notice. We plan to build gliders based on a spun carbon monofilament and resin sh.e.l.l. The sh.e.l.l itself can be made 'lossy'-"

"Glossy?" Carrera interrupted.

"No, sir. Lossy. It's a chemical property that refers to the conductivity of a material. Simply put, we can make the sh.e.l.l to absorb much radar energy and convert it to heat."

Carrera sat up. "Won't that give the glider away?"

"No, sir. The radar energy is small so the amount of heat produced in the sh.e.l.l is quite small and the polyurethane outside of it is almost the best insulator known. A plane might pick up the heat; a missile will not lock on very well."

"But we were discussing radar. By itself, the lossiness of the carbon monofilament is not enough. So outside of that, we shall build up polyurethane foam of decreasing density. The 'dielectric constant' of the outermost polyurethane will be-" of the outermost polyurethane will be-"

Interrupting, Carrera asked "Dielectric constant?"

Pyotr reminded himself that he was dealing with a soldier, not a scientist. "Air has a dielectric constant of 1. The outermost polyurethane will have a DC of 1.01, near enough. At that difference, only an immeasurable amount of radar energy will radiate back. Not enough for a receiver to notice. As the radar penetrates the polyurethane, each increasingly dense layer will also radiate back a small amount; again, not enough to notice."

"The polyurethane itself will be reinforced by carbon fibers in the mix, which tend also to absorb radar energy. Inside it will be suspended a great many tiny metalicized chips. The chips will be curved to disperse radar energy outward on one side, or focus, and then disperse it, on the other."

Seeing Carrera's lack of comprehension, Pyotr explained. "The mix being sprayed on, the chips will be in random positions within the polyurethane. In almost all cases radar which hits them will be bounced away from the radar source. For those chips-and remember; they'll be tiny-that point directly toward the source, the radar will hit the convex or concave curves and be scattered so only a small portion of the energy is returned. These chips will also decrease in size as they near the outer surface. Where the P-71 has precisely calculated facets to insure the smallest possible surface pointed toward a radar, we will let random nature do much the same thing for us. Being random, it is possible that more than a desirable number of chips may reflect in the same direction. But the mathematical odds are plainly on our side. We can ground test each glider for particularly vulnerable areas, and use those with unsatisfactory chip alignment as something like a throw-away cruise missile, or as drones on recon missions. I believe you mentioned an interest in throwaways?"

"Yes." Carrera gestured for the Volgan to continue.

Pyotr nodded vigorously. "However, we cannot count on the plastics - the polyurethane and the carbon monofilament - to completely defeat the radar. Even the chips will only do so much. Inside the glider will be several objects that could give back quite a large radar cross section. The engine and the control package are problems. Even the pilot's skull will give back some radar energy. We plan on encasing the engine and control package in small, faceted, flattened domes of highly lossy material. These are much cheaper and easier to design and build than a full airframe like the P-71. They will reflect radar either down or straight up, and away from the radar source. The pilot, too, will be similarly covered although only on five sides, plus a partial-he has to see, after all."

"We have still to determine the best materials and composition for the propeller and wings. We might even go to a small jet engine. Likewise, we are arguing about the pilot's canopy. Neither of these problems appears insurmountable. For a guidance package for use as a drone we think it is possible to use a fairly simple computer and cheap, civilian model, global locating system. We would have to subcontract that out, however."

Carrera stopped writing in his notebook. "Range?"

Georgi answered, "Up to thirty-seven hundred kilometers, about twenty-three hundred miles, without a pilot, with maximum fuel, and a payload of over one hundred kilos. That is, if it doesn't have to expend fuel getting airborne."

"Maximum payload?"

"At twelve hundred kilometers, three hundred kilograms with pilot. Self lifting. These are approximations."

"Cost?"

"Under three hundred thousand FSD per copy. Possibly as little as two hundred and fifty. That doesn't count R&D costs. We will need thirty or, better, forty million to begin real development."

"Thirty days. Present me a budget." Carrera paused, then continued. "What's the rest."

Pislowski pointed at the largest of the models on the table. It looked to Carrera much like the Dos Lindas Dos Lindas, but with somewhat different lines.

"The same basic idea for stealthing the gliders can be used to stealth a ship. That is the aircraft carrier you have been restoring. We can create slabs of the polyurethane, carbon fiber, chip composite and..."

"No," Carrera interjected, holding up a restraining hand. He was already frustrated beyond belief with the cost of the carrier. "I've spent enough on that b.i.t.c.h. It's not intended to stand in line of battle against anyone who really counts. At this point, stealthing it is not necessary."

Shrugging, Pislowski pointed toward the third model, this one midway in size between the aircraft carrier and the glider. "We've taken to calling this an Megalodon Megalodon, or killer whale. It has nothing like the stealthing features of the gliders; the material would not survive the pressure. Instead, we stole the idea from someone down in the Federated States."

Carrera noted mentally that the Megalodon model was facetted, just as had been the P-71 in the picture shown him by Georgi.

"Bounces sonar instead of radar, doesn't it; just like the bats in that photo?"

"Correct, Duque Duque. The submarine itself is plastic...acrylic, actually." Pislowski removed the top of outer facetted fairing with his hands. "Inside, it would use either a hydrogen peroxide system, or some other air independent system, for propulsion. Extremely quiet."

Carrera looked long and hard at the model. Under the fairing was a cylinder than bulged out to a larger cylinder in the middle. Noticing his finger edging toward the bulge, Pislowski said, "That's where the torpedoes will be housed, in a rotating carousel turned, probably, by hand. It's only a thought, though."

The diving planes on the model were outsized, almost like wings. Pislowski explained, "The ship can glide forward as it rises or sinks. We have an idea for pumping out the ballast tanks by heating and cooling ammonia inside a flexible, condom-like, sheath. The ammonia would expand, displacing water from the tanks, or contract, allowing it in, and all fairly silently."

"Costs?"

"We have no no idea, Legate. It depends on too many things that are out of our control. Will the Sachsens sell us peroxide systems? We don't know. Will the Anglics sell us the machinery to make thick acrylic cast tubes seven meters in diameter? Not if they know what we want it for. We can a.s.sume these will be expensive, though, especially if we have to develop them for ourselves. I am guessing here; maybe two hundred million each." idea, Legate. It depends on too many things that are out of our control. Will the Sachsens sell us peroxide systems? We don't know. Will the Anglics sell us the machinery to make thick acrylic cast tubes seven meters in diameter? Not if they know what we want it for. We can a.s.sume these will be expensive, though, especially if we have to develop them for ourselves. I am guessing here; maybe two hundred million each."

"All right," Carrera conceded. "That's a bit high for us. But I do like the idea. Send us a budget request for R and D only."

Pislowski nodded. "There is one other thing, Duque Duque. We are getting into the realm of things which countries might cla.s.sify as top secret. I..."

"You think you need a more secure location than the city," Carrera supplied. 'I agree. It will take about a month to prepare things but at the end of that time I want those working on your more...mmm...let us say your more clandestine clandestine projects to move to the Isla Real." projects to move to the Isla Real."

4/10/466 AC, Isla Real, Quarters #1 The evening breeze cooled even as it kept off the mosquitoes. In the distance could be seen the lights of half a dozen merchant ships plying their trade between The Federated States, Atzlan, and Secordia, at one end, and the various republics-in-name-only, at the other. Still other ships pulled into and out of the Transitway.

"You really think it's going to come to a fight with the Tauran Union, Patricio?"

Carrera sighed and looked at his host. Parilla was short, stocky and dark. Pushing seventy, his hair was still mostly the jet black of the indians and mestizos who made up much of his ancestry. Only a distinguished frosting of gray at the temples betrayed his age.

"Eventually, yes, Raul," he answered. "We might be able to hold it off for a few years. But, in the long run, they're here for the purpose of confronting us, of supporting the civil government in confronting us."

"But why? I don't understand. We're fighting the fight they should be fighting. We're protecting them. them. It doesn't make any sense." It doesn't make any sense."

Carrera reached for the bottle of scotch sitting on the table between the two as he answered, "That's an interesting question. I thought for a while that it was the Gauls. After all, they've never quite forgiven the FSC for building the Transitway after they, themselves, failed to. And the Gauls are vindictive, make no mistake about it. But that that vindictive?" vindictive?"

Parilla held his own tumbler out to be filled. "Okay, maybe not the Gauls. But they did did send their troops here. They did entice the rest of the TU into sending their troops here." send their troops here. They did entice the rest of the TU into sending their troops here."

"All true," Carrera conceded. "But think about the TU; how do they see themselves except as an organ of the World League. And what is the World League an organ of? What do they see as their spiritual foundation?"

Both men looked skyward to where the United Earth Peace Fleet mixed its lights with the stars beyond.

4/10/466 AC (Old Earth Year 2521), UEPF Spirit of Peace High Admiral Robinson looked drearily from the window of his cabin at the green and blue planet spinning below. The planet spun in both senses, objectively, around its own axis, and subjectively, from the spinning of the ship around its axis to produce a practical artificial gravity. On the whole, the image would have made Robinson ill even if what went on, what had gone on, below hadn't sufficed.

So frustrating that I've lost in Sumer. Ah, well. At least I haven't lost the war, Robinson thought. He then amended the thought, Yet. Yet.