Minutegirls

By George Phillies

Massive space battles! Hand-to-hand combat! Politics! Hot babes with guns!

Minutegirls... Nice young women who just want some good clean fun with power armor, plenty of high explosives, and a few cute Minuteboys.

It's 2174. From the hills of American Manchuria to the depths of Outer Space, America's Girl Militia battles Franco-German treachery to shield the American Stellar Republic.

In American Manchuria, Chinese infiltrators seeking to restore the Chinese border of long ago face off against Minutegirl border guards. Rachel Goldsmith and her fellow volunteers of the Bella Abzug brigade must use American heroism, training, and ingenuity to fight the foreign invaders.

At Alpha Centauri, the 18 states of the American planets Lincoln and Markoff field their Planetary Self-Defense Fleet. Grand Commodore Pyotr Eustasovitch Kalinin must again and again lead his ships to victory against the outnumbered but technically superior fleets of the Federal European Union and their mysterious allies.

In Paris, Federal European Union High Admiral Bernard Rohan is tasked with ending the American challenge, on European terms, while at the same time satisfying the alien allies whose existence is a secret even from the European people.

The reclusive Professor Morbius and his close friends, they whose strategy a century ago saved the United States from foreign domination, are trusted by their fellow Americans to provide leadership. But what is the strategy when you cannot even name the enemy? Morbius's intern Sandra Miller is a Mistress of the Sword, the Minutegirls' elite of the elite, but it is her wits, not her combat skills, that must sustain her through a political maze and a seemingly hopeless romance.

Senator Alphonse Humbert Meyer, chair of the States of Lincoln Senate Committee on War, must persuade his fellow Senators to defend Lincoln effectively. He may be commander-in-chief of Lincoln's military, but key decisions come from fellow Senators: Helene Duclos's Constitutional Restoration Movement always disagrees. Thoughtful Elspeth Thorne's Liberty Tree Party gives wise advice, but few votes. Senator Donna Caravelle's Social Justice Party speaks up for other issues. The despised Thomas Fuller's Democratic-Republican party calls for income taxes, conscription, government funding of scientific research, and other absurdities. Only Meyer's Movimiento Moderate Central usually supports him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: George Phillies
• Release date: Sep 15, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370100910

George Phillies

George Phillies is a retired Professor of Physics. He also taught in Biochemistry and in Game Design. His scientific research is focused on polymer dynamics. He also writes science fiction novels and books on politics. Books by George Phillies include:FictionThis Shining SeaNine GeesMinutegirlsThe One WorldMistress of the WavesAgainst Three LandsEclipse, The Girl Who Saved the WorldAiry Castles All AblazeStand Against the LightInpreparation: Practical ExerciseBooks on Game Design SeriesContemporary Perspectives in Game Design (with Tom Vasel)Design Elements of Contemporary Strategy Games(with Tom Vasel)Stalingrad for Beginners - How to PlayStalingrad for Beginners - Basic TacticsDesigning Board Wargames - IntroductionBooks on PoliticsStand Up for Liberty!Funding LibertyLibertarian RenaissanceSurely We Can Do Better?Books on PhysicsPhysics OneElementary Lectures in Statistical MechanicsPhenomenology of Polymer Solution DynamicsComplete Tables for ‘Phenomenology of Polymer Solution Dynamics’

Book preview

Chapter 1

"Article 1. This document governs the cessation of hostilities between the Federal European Union, as represented by its Foreign Minister, and the United States of America, as represented by delegates of its Popular Army. Hereinafter, this document is referred to as 'The Azores Convention'. The Azores Convention is agreed to be equally valid in its English, French, and German versions. The signatories acknowledge that they have not reached an understanding as to whether the cessation of hostilities described herein is temporary or permanent in nature.

"Article 2. It is agreed that the cessation of hostilities, whichever its nature, will take place on the eleventh minute of the eleventh day of the eleventh month of this year 2054, Gregorian calendar…

"Article 27. The Signatories agree to specify that American associates of the Federal European Union, including all officials of the former American government and all officers and non-commissioned officers of the former American government's Armed Forces, who did not adhere to the Popular Army, as well as their relatives who did not adhere to the Popular Army, and their movable property, shall without exception be transferred to the territory of the Federal European Union or other agreeable place, at the expense of the Federal European Union, without hindrance by the Popular Army, and that they shall there enjoy pensions, appropriate to their ranks and offices, to be paid by the Federal European Union.

Treaty of Termination of Hostilities between

The United States of America and

The Federal European Union

...November 11, 2054

ARMOURED CRUISER Isandhlwana

CLARKSBURG WARP POINT

ALPHA CENTAURI

April 19, 2174, 3:17 AM Flotilla Nominal Time (FNT)

The brilliant brass glissando of the Soviet National Anthem rose triumphantly through Pyotr Eustasovitch Kalinin’s bedroom. Every lamp came to maximum brightness. Bozhe moi! was his cursory grumble. The tune was utterly out of date, but it still brought him immediately awake, just as it had a century and a half ago, when he’d been a cabin boy in the Far East Russian Republic’s doomed navy. He threw himself out of bed. The brass stopped, replaced instantly with the sharp four-note trumpet of ‘Beat to Quarters!"

Fleet General Quarters! called the annunciator. Fleet General Quarters! This is an actual event. I say again, this is an actual event!

He peeled off his pajamas, all the while staring at the bedroom’s video display. A roil of lines represented gravitic stresses around the warp point. Someone was doing a preliminary scan, preparatory to coming through a warp point they’d never charted. Isandhlwana’s crew would be bringing their ship to battle stations, Senior Captain Allison Wolf would need to get her ship and squadron in hand, and very definitely none of them needed a flag officer staring over their shoulders. He should not arrive on the Command Deck in less than five or ten minutes.

Servots, Kalinin said, Full shower, then dress uniform. He stepped into the suite’s master bath, let water and soap and washcloths and towels sweep around him. Four minutes later, his autobutler had combed his hair, trimmed his nails, and dressed him, down to carefully draping his dark green and bronze swallow-tail coat and the copper-bronze stole that marked him a Grand Commodore of the States of Lincoln Self-Defense Fleets.

He paused to look in the bedroom’s full-length mirrors. Every thread was in proper place, from his coat’s high-swept collar to perfectly polished shoes. Captain Wolfe set her ship’s etiquette for personal weapons; he very much did not regret that his dress sword would stay in its cabinet. The video display continued to show the warp point. Someone was indeed preparing to come through, and far more rapidly than he would have thought possible.

Butler? Kalinin addressed his suite’s fractional AI. Inquire of Captain Soames if he is ready, and if so if he would join me in the Flag Officers’ Sitting Room? Senior Vice Captain Gerald Jubilation Soames was the liaison from the American Solar Navy, here to observe and give an opinion if asked. Kalinin walked briskly through his suite’s Great Room, the lushly carpeted floor absorbing the sound of his footsteps. A gesture swept open the cabin airlock doors.

Soames, a black ghost against white walls in the black and gold-trimmed uniform of the American Solar Navy, stood erect next to the marble fireplace.

Commodore, he said, nodding politely.

Captain, Kalinin answered, giving a similar nod to an officer of another service. Am I being slow, or are they warming up to pass the warp point rather quickly?

Quickly indeed, for mapping, Soames answered. Much slower than if they had a portolan.

Could they have a partial map? Kalinin asked himself. But surely they would have been noticed when last they made the scan? We had detectors very soon after Pontefract’s theorem was confirmed, well before anyone had a working warp drive. He shrugged. We should be off to the Flight Deck.

* * * *

The last of the massively armored doors protecting Isandhlwana’s commanding officers swished open. Kalinin strode through, Soames in his wake, nodding politely when the Door Guard loudly announced, Good Morning, Grand Commodore Kalinin. Kalinin was pleased to note that Isandhlwana’s crew kept with their duties, leaving Senior Captain Wolfe to face her superior.

Good morning, Captain, Kalinin said. Good, if a bit early. What do we have?

Captain Allison Wolfe was a short, heavyset, dark-haired woman. She raised her eyebrows. "The Clarksburg Warp Point is being scanned. Fleet General Quarters has been set. Sir, Mogadishu and Second Kabul ramping up apace with us -- full power from their gates in two minutes. Institute Pond reports full power now. Second and Third Monitor Divisions need another six minutes. Reconnaissance frigates are at full stealth, full power in four minutes. Lincoln notified by message torpedo as per regulations; minimum return time is pushing an hour."

Very good. We get to wait, Kalinin said. Carry on. Kalinin took his seat on the rear command dais, and gestured Soames into the neighboring position. Kalinin had once served in a wet-water Navy, that of the Republic of Far East Russia just before the Twelve Corner War, and preserved the command style of a professional navy of the early twenty-first century. He was not a martinet, but he had very clear ideas about how chains of command functioned. He would command the flotilla, leaving Wolfe to command her ship and squadron. His opposite number, Grand Commodore Ter-Minassian, was prone to watching small details of operations at lower levels. His questions almost always led to distinct improvements in how operations advanced. However, Wolfe was a career placeholder, fond of every word passing through the proper channels before it was acted upon. After a session with Ter-Minassian overlooking her activities, she tended to be more than a bit crabby, not to mention sensitive to her prerogatives of rank. Kalinin preferred to leave her feathers, as bedraggled as they were, unruffled.

Kalinin was personally inclined to believe that any serious attack on Lincoln would involve fleets of starships traversing normal space under their faster-than-light rapidity drives. After all, Sol to Lincoln was four light years or six months' cruise time. Only straight-line naked eye navigation would be needed. To reach Lincoln via warp travel would require crossing unimaginable megaparsecs outwards, reversing course in a galaxy distant from the Milky Way, and finding precisely the right combination of warp transitions to return to Alpha Centauri rather than Andromeda. It would also involve traversing large numbers of warp gates without blowing up in the process, a task admittedly far more likely to be accomplished by the probable Federal European Union attackers than by a Lincoln warship.

Grand Commodore Ter-Minassian maintained that the fleet should be deployed at Lincoln in low orbit, behind the planetary ether screens, where maintenance and retrofit operations would be greatly simplified. He also wanted the Reserve Fleets laid up in ordinary there. His presentations to the Commander-in-Chief dwelt on the advantages of deploying modern ships whose systems were mostly in working order. The States of Lincoln Joint Senates War Committee dwelt instead on defending the choke regions, and decreed that the SLPSDF would deploy on the warp points, ready for immediate action with such ship systems as happened to be functional. Kalinin allowed that the Commander-in-Chief had shown no public sympathy to rumored private complaints, from several Senators, that Ter-Minassian’s real interest was not in improved fleet maintenance but in improving his access to the agreeable young women of Lincoln. That criticism of Ter-Minassian seemed unreasonable. The Grand Commodore spent most of his time on Lincoln piloting a deskcomp. Besides, even ignoring the three stewards allotted each flag officer, it could hardly be claimed that there were no women among the crews of Isandhlwana and her sister ships.

Alarms shrilled. A bell rang, more and more rapidly. The primary holographic display sprang to life. Geodetic scanners revealed a roiling distortion of the metric all across the warp point. Ship serviles, the nonlinear descendants of twenty-first century artificial intelligences, superposed identifications on the geodetic distortions.

The ship’s Gravitics Officer made passes over her instrument panel. Kalinin struggled for a half-second before pulling her name to mind. Swenson. Astrid Swenson. Her voice came clipped and fast. Breakout! Breakout! Multiple breakouts in warp gate main sector, range 310,000 leagues. Breakout patterns correlate as European Union and unknown warpships.

Wolfe spoke into her own mike. Speak at me, Electronics. What do we have? A secondary screen came to life. The display identified the view: Electronic Warfare Deck --- CPO-13 Jesus Jiao MacPherson, On Duty.

"Electronics. MacPherson here. I have multiple radar and lidar sources at each breakout point. I show 14 ships. Ten match EU patterns. Database is still trying to match others. Anaximander datafeed is down. They lit up their screens in a real hurry."

Kalinin gave himself a few seconds to think. Anaximander was a Hellenic-class reconnaissance frigate, posted atop the warp point for fast reads on warpship breakouts. Ideally, Anaximander would have had all screens lit up at all times. Budgetary realities meant that Anaximander only lit screens when necessary.

Mac, what were their feeds showing before screen ignition killed transmission? Wolfe asked.

No signal, sir, the EW Chief answered. They had emergency transceiver maintenance -- something broke. Not the best possible time, not on station, but that's budget. Polystatic illumination should be coming up...here we go.

Kalinin told himself that the Lincoln Fleet was the best in the American Stellar Republic. Postponed maintenance reflected budgetary stringency. You ran systems until they failed, then fixed them when you had a chance. Polystatic scanners frustrated homing attacks. Radar buoys emitting with matched frequencies and phases illuminated the warp point. Radar scattering and an exact knowledge of each buoy's location gave sharp images of the visitors, without revealing where the defense flotilla or its buoys were located.

What are the EU ships? Wolfe asked.

And what were the unknowns, Kalinin wondered ? Database 'still trying to match', indeed. They must be real unknowns. He recalled a clever superior who had inserted the radar image of an unexpected target into one SLPSDF exercise. In under two seconds, the database servile had correctly identified "Friendly: Frigate, Sail; Armament: Solid Shot Cannon; Maneuverability: nil; Registry: United States Navy Surface Warship Constitution". A match taking many seconds to generate would be all fuzzy logic inference with no resemblance to real data.

Sir, MacPherson answered, "I read three battleships---likely DeGaulle class, four large cruisers---likely Firenze class, three picket vessels---likely Prince Edward or Khrushchev class. Unknowns are three picket vessels, one indeterminate large ship. Indeterminate large ship very active on multiple radar and lidar bands."

Mjojo considered the odds. DeGaulle class battleships ran around 130,000 tons, while Firenze were closer to 30,000. The picket craft were harder to resolve; eight to ten thousand tons was believed correct for a Prince Edward. The EU flotilla faced three Ancestral-Victory-Class armoured cruisers -- Isandhlwana, Second Kabul, and Mogadishu -- each of 1.3 million tons, nine Lake-Class Monitors -- Institute Pond being the lightest at 150,000 tons, and three 40,000-ton Old Republic reconnaissance frigates, plus the Anaximander whose survival as a solid body beyond the next few seconds was uncertain. Even including the unknowns, those were significant but superable odds for the American forces.

"Anaximander firing up her combat lidars. Anaximander going active with radar and lidar, continued MacPherson. Anaximander arming torpedoes."

Targets going to high-power targeting radar, MacPherson announced. I count five sources -- all on the unknowns -- in the 20,000 BevaSteinmetz bands. Scans from unknown targets do not, repeat not, match EU profiles. Neutrino profiles of unknowns do not match EU fusactor profiles.

What are they targeting? Wolfe asked. Kalinin allowed that she must be acutely displeased to have this intrusion perturb her regular schedule. One late evening, she and Kalinin had stood the dark watch. She had explained to Kalinin in no uncertain terms what she thought of her future. She planned to serve out a few more terms on station before she retired to the Inactive Reserve. Life extension or not, multiple half-year cycles in the isolation of a warp point overwatch flotilla were taking important sections out of her life. In all the decades she had served, there had never been the least indication that anyone was on the other side of any warp point, let alone the least suggestion that her squadron would ever perform a useful function.

Could her squadron do something useful? Wolfe had serious reservations. However, the States of Lincoln paid most generously for her nominal services, so the certain knowledge that automation performed critical maintenance tasks, leaving her three dozen crew members to focus on simulation training and private hobbies, gave her confidence that her ship would perform vaguely as designed. Kalinin had been disappointed but not surprised by her attitude towards the SLPSDF. After all, Alpha Centauri's warp points had been picketed for the last eighty years. In all that time, nothing had appeared through any of them. Robotic probes sent through the points reported that the systems on the far side were deserted. Permanent observatories beyond the points might provide early warning of visitors, but the funds to pay for those observatories were nowhere to be found. Immortality possibly let people occupy the same position until they fossilized and were sold to a museum. Wolfe had taken full advantage of the possibilities.

Was there something else Wolfe should be doing, Kalinin asked himself? A perfectionist like Grand Commodore Ter-Minassian spent his time running elaborate checks on the Automatic Maintenance System, alternating with gaming scenarios in which hostile starships engaged Isandhlwana and her flotilla. For those with Wolfe’s less demanding personal standards, reading the logs to determine which systems were least badly neglected was entirely adequate. Kalinin had been pleased to note that some of her more junior officers were taking corrective action on maintenance. After all, given enough raw materials, an Armoured Cruiser could eventually fabricate a copy of itself, including the maintenance shops, so there was no reason not to keep the automated maintenance shops in operation 24/7.

High resolution images from observation buoy Clinton-seven, reported Swenson. "Definitely three EU deGaulle class battleships, four Firenze class cruisers, three Prince Edward Class Frigates with Agile-Two refits. Four unknown ships, 3 escorts designation Chimera, one larger designation Corvus. Neutrino emissions of unknowns match boron-cycle fusactors."

MacPherson chimed in. Ma'am, there is no record of EU forces using boron cycle. This is a first.

"Radio transmission from Anaximander, Swenson reported. Anaximander challenging unknowns. Transmission on overhead..."

"...United States Ship Anaximander. This is the United States Ship Anaximander hailing warpships newly arrived in the Clarksburg Warp Point. This planetary system is fully under the jurisdiction of the United States of America. In the name of the United States of America and the Azores Convention, I order you to identify yourself in full. Unless you are in distress, I order you to withdraw along the path from which you entered the system. I say again, under the Azores Convention I order you to identify yourselves and withdraw from this system. Comply immediately, or I shall be obliged under the Azores Convention to open fire. This is the United States Ship Anaximander..."

Kalinin allowed that the European squadron might react poorly to the message. However, the Joint Senates had specified what was to be said, so that was what Anaximander was saying. The American assertion that Alpha Centauri was American territory relied on a somewhat enthusiastic interpretation of the Azores Convention, that century-and-a-half old temporary truce negotiated at a date when interstellar travel was barely more than a hypothetical possibility. The Europeans might well claim that Centauri was linked by warp points to the Solar System, and was therefore European. It might not help European equanimity that the United States had neglected to tell the EU that Americans lived outside the Solar System, let alone that there were eighteen American states on Alpha Centauri's habitable worlds, Lincoln and Markoff.

I'm not hearing a response, Captain Wolfe noted. The Europeans aren't responding.

Patience. Grand Commodore Kalinin had kept the athletic figure he’d had even in his brief stay in the Far East Russian Republic’s Rozhestvensky Naval Youth Academy. His nervous tension showed only as the fingers of his two hands pressed together. Would his subordinates sense his concern? So far, American forces had the ten-to-one mass superiority that fleet doctrine identified as being required for a favorable outcome. Nonetheless, previously unknown hostile ship classes were an unpleasant surprise. Let us be patient, he repeated. So far as we know, they're as surprised as we are. They're Europeans, so they're much slower than an American Captain and crew would be, were our roles reversed. We knew in principle someone could come through the Clarksburg point, though the Clarksburg system has always been deserted. They most likely think they are a million light years from Earth, and wonder how we got here.

Yes, Sir, Captain Wolfe acknowledged. Kalinin felt silent relief that he, rather than Wolfe as senior Captain, was commanding the engagement. He was a precise tactician. In simulation evaluations, his colleagues claimed that he always handled difficult positions brilliantly. He always thought there was a best path, sometimes not a very good path, and took it. Wolfe never quite took simulations seriously. How would she respond to real combat? Not well, Kalinin suspected, not unless it was combat with memo pad against the Remfotron electronic supply serviles.

The luck of the draw had put him here now for a month's observation of flotilla readiness. It could have been his peer, Grand Commodore Ter-Minassian. It was not that Ter-Minassian was not able. A less competent man would never have risen so quickly to the swallow-tail coat of a Commodore, let alone the copper-lace stole of a Grand Commodore. He was, however, sometimes a bit aggressive. Ter-Minassian had had the highest ratings at the Federal General Staff College, the three years he'd spent there before being promoted to Grand Commodore of Lincoln. He'd be commanding the American Solar Navy by now, Kalinin expected, were it not for Ter-Minassian’s misfortunate circumstance of birth: Ter-Minassian’s grandmother had spent a term as Congresswoman from Khamchatka, soon after the Siberian Republic was added to the Union, so Ter-Minassian was Constitutionally ineligible to be an officer of the American Solar Navy.

Anaximander now had a response. The babelizer morphed the FEU message -- in French, as expected -- to 'Americans, erect your limbs. Americans, give me your gun.' "

Very good, Kalinin said. My compliments to the Armored Cruiser Division, and as soon as we have full power we shall go to active evasion. Please advise Flag Captains Quintana and Liu that their Squadrons will advance in combat box formation the moment their Monitor Divisions have come to full power,

We'll close? Wolfe asked. This isn't a precise match for any of the contingency plans.

Indeed, Captain Wolfe, it's not a match at all, Kalinin noted. It's not a reconnaissance or diplomatic vessel. It's not a major attack. It's not someone trying to violate the Non-Intercourse Act. It's none of the above, and matches no contingency plan. However, as I have noted in my reports to the Joint War Committee, the number of contingency plans we are allowed to maintain is not very large. Junior Commander Mjojo? We have a few moments. Analysis and recommendations?

Grand Commodore, we are 310,000 leagues from the warp point center, Mjojo answered crisply. Wolfe’s fourth-in-command took the question calmly. "That's five light-seconds, minimum safe distance with power down. We're 50 minutes to the warp point if we go to maximum acceleration and make a firing pass, more like 80 minutes depending on how they move if we want to arrive at the warp point at zero relative speed. Anaximander is immediately outside the primary warp zone -- 30,000 leagues from warp center, ninety degrees north relative to us from the warp point center. The Europeans are spread over 10,000 leagues, not maneuvering or firing. We cannot assist Anaximander before she engages. Recommendations: Anaximander should perform her primary mission -- reconnaissance -- and engage the unknowns if she fires." Kalinin’s memories took him back to his time as an instructor at the Champaign Naval Academy, the first lesson in astrogation, the cadet being required to imagine the six cardinal directions: Starward, Sunward, and, standing near the starcore, feet on the plane of the ecliptic, facing Lincoln as he moved leftward around the sun, the four compass directions: Down and up were South and North, with and against the orbital motion were West and East.

"Why not engage a DeGaulle? asked Wolfe. Hurt their capital units first."

Ma'am, answered Mjojo politely, "A Hellenic-Class Reconnaissance Frigate can not hurt a deGaulle. Besides, we know what a deGaulle carries. We don't even know what the unknowns are, let alone their armament."

Well said, Wolfe answered. Kalinin nodded agreement.

"So advise Anaximander," Kalinin indicated. To Mjojo's eye, Kalinin's posture showed the slightest relaxation. Kalinin had agreed with his analysis. Then Mjojo understood. What would Kalinin have done if Wolfe had disagreed? Mjojo knew that his analysis was by the book in a circumstance where the book analysis was completely sound. If Wolfe hadn't masked her disagreement, Kalinin might have had to overrule his flagship's captain in favor of a lowly Junior Commander, one Gabriel Mjojo, or suffer the consequences of her weaker tactical judgement. That might not, Mjojo considered, sit too well with the person who would remain as his immediate superior after Kalinin returned home. Sooner or later, Mjojo allowed, Wolfe would retire, and he would float one more position up the seniority ladder. In the meantime, he had to come out looking well, or make sure that things were demonstrably someone else's fault. The latter was by far the more reliable procedure within the SLPSDF.

MacPherson's voice came over the intercom. "Images from Anaximander, all opponent classes." The holodisplay gave detailed views of the invading ships. The Isandhlwana's data servile plotted an image match. Kalinin looked carefully at the display. deGaulle and Firenze classes agreed with intelligence data. The Prince Edwards appeared to have additional previously unreported radar arrays across their bow and stern. The unknowns remained unfamiliar: The pickets were simple flat-white dodecahedral hulls, while the larger vessel was a long line of fused dodecahedra.

Petty Officer Bader, Wolfe spoke into her tab microphone, your analysis on unknown vessels, as soon as possible. Even in a State Defense Force, as soon as possible was generally understood to be as a synonym for yesterday.

Arthur Bader's shaven-scalp head appeared on another holodisplay. ‘Fleet Intelligence Center’ the display's channel tag read. The hull shapes are standard warp field forms. There are no extension spines. They presumably generate their warp fields proximate to the hull. That's a breakthrough for the Europeans. Use of boron-cycle fusactors is novel. FEU radar above the 3,000 bevaSteinmetz band is novel.

Novel? Kalinin asked.

No indication of tests, sir, by the Europeans, Bader answered. Though we're pretty sure the FEU does its serious weapons testing out-of-system. The large ship has an extreme aspect ratio, at least 7-to-1. It resembles no type or proposed type that I know.

Break, break! Swenson interrupted. "Missile separations, Firenze 2, 3, unknown picket 4. Apparent target is Anaximander. Anaximander signals she is engaging with soliton torpedoes. Anaximander is returning torpedo fire." She brought the torpedo tracks--clearly bracketing the Anaximander's position--up on the main datascreen. Further target tracks showed the unknowns firing on the nearest static radar buoys.

Engineering full power, Another voice came through the intercom systems.

Monitors at full power in four minutes, Swenson reported. No glitches in anyone's power-up sequence.

Torpedo tracks etched lines across the screen. Isandhlwana's officers waited for the monitors to finish powering up, helpless to intervene until the entire flotilla could energize drives and weapons.

"Anaximander firing soliton torpedoes," MacPherson reported. Across the void, high-tech ball lightning surged from the Anaximander toward the incoming missiles, the lightning's path firmly under the control of on-missile plasma-state quantum logic circuits. The men and women in Isandhlwana's control room stared at the display. A dozen blobs of incandescent gas hurled through the void. All but one missed their intended targets.

Doesn't say much for our antimissile defenses. Kalinin shrugged. Further antitorpedoes streaked from the Anaximander, clusters of a half-dozen bolts bracketing the track of one incoming missile after the next.

"Anaximander countermissiles may be inadequate with regular fire, MacPherson reported. Incoming missiles from unknowns are pulling a solid 200 gees. Flight time will be slightly under seven minutes." Anaximander continued its countermissile fire.

All ships are powered up, reported Swenson.

Flotilla, this is Flag. Kalinin spoke to his microphone. Bring up full screens and main drives. Assume open cone formation nine. On my signal, All Ahead Flank. Center cone on the deGaulles. All ships, spinal xrasers to target unknown picket vessels One and Two then Prince Edwards in order of increasing distance. Fire for effect. Hold fire on each target for thirty seconds, then cycle through target list. Swenson, supply target list and timing.

"Anaximander going to continuous fire on soliton antitorpedoes, MacPherson reported. Anaximander xraser point defenses engaging."

Assuming formation open cone nine, Swenson announced. Ready for flotilla ahead flank. Two minutes to open cone formation.

Captain, Kalinin asked, Be so kind as to give us All Ahead Flank, would you? And please estimate time of arrival at stop.

Do it! Wolfe snapped at Mjojo.

Aye, aye, ma'am, Mjojo responded. He taped a sequence on his keypad. Executing. Currently estimate 78 minutes to stationary arrival. Can't give you more accuracy until we see how the Europeans maneuver. His superiors had been talking, but he had set up the half-dozen plausible American maneuvers on his taccomp. Sooner or later, Mjojo thought, Kalinin might notice that Mjojo was consistently ready at once when Kalinin requested that the flotilla displace. With Kalinin, Mjojo could at least hope for favorable notice. With Wolfe, there was no such possibility.

"Anaximander got five of twelve torpedoes, MacPherson reported. No sign of torpedo detonations. Other torpedoes closed on buoys Dog One through Dog Four. Buoys Dog One, Three, Four ceased to radiate. Torpedoes appear to have reached the ends of their powered runs."

Second-echelon buoys standing by, Swenson reported.

Kalinin held up one hand. We're still seeing the visitors, I believe? Let's reserve those buoys until we lose tracking.

"Signal from Anaximander, Swenson said. Captain Bevilacqua proposes that the incoming were reconnaissance drones. Loss of buoys was collision of unshielded buoy with torpedo drive field. She reports her outbound are high-yield devices. Crossloading data. Anaximander required vollied soliton torpedoes to hit incoming missiles."

All flotilla ships. Xrasers firing, Mjojo reported. This was not a comfortable position. The hit percentages of Anaximander's antitorpedoes had been truly bad, and that failure could not be put down to crew error. Unknown pickets are maneuvering sharply. Range and target size make solid hits marginal to attain. On display 3, the FEU ships pivoted repeatedly as they changed course. Data overlays revealed that the unknowns were also maneuvering wildly, but presented nearly a constant aspect toward the Anaximander.

One of the unknown picket ships flared green, then seemed swallowed by a yellow haze that faded back to green and blue and finally to black. Had him for a few moments, Mjojo said. Analysis of his screens in another minute.

Unknowns apparently have spherical drive cores, Bader reported. They're making sharp turns without changing their main axis at all. FEU's never done that before. It's not something in our book, either.

There is rather little, Kalinin said, not quite to himself, in our book that is not in theirs. Alas, the reverse is not true. Kalinin wondered if the Senates would reconsider their opposition to Fleet basic research and development budgets. In a period of budgetary stringency, Ter-Minassian had vigorously urged the Joint Senates War Committee to focus on maintaining ships in space, rather than directing the Navy's shipyards to develop new weapons that no one could afford to deploy. There had been a natural appeal to political reality. Most major parties other than the Democratic-Republicans-allowing that you could describe a 3% minority party as ‘major’-categorically rejected government manipulation of applied research beyond the military specification stage. Senator Meyer, Committee Chair for the past decade, had been more sympathetic. Kalinin wondered if Meyer had made progress, or if his Committee’s crackdown on bootleg research efforts had been more significant in retarding development.

"Tracking on Anaximander torpedoes, MacPherson said. Anaximander firing second volley." A half-dozen sharp blue lines etched themselves across the battle plot display.

Note their formation, Kalinin said quietly. A flat plane of ships is apparently the FEU standard, or so ASN Fleet Intelligence reports. However, the large unknown is falling behind the plane. Perhaps it's not primarily a warship.

Now we'll get a few of them, Captain Wolf announced. Kalinin's silent shrug gave poignant testimony to his doubts. The Anaximander was very heavily outmassed. Even against American countertorpedo defenses, the half-dozen torpedoes Anaximander had fired were highly unlikely to reach their targets. EU defenses had to be swamped before they could be penetrated.

One track after another disappeared. The final two torpedos flared brilliantly. Detonations, reported MacPherson. "Can't tell if it was a defense or something Anaximander did."

All ships: shift xraser fire to torpedo plasma clouds, Kalinin ordered. xrasers to wide dispersion. He paused, then continued to the officers around him. The cloud is not maneuvering, so we're sure to hit. Atomic fluorescence will tend to blind our European friends, helping further missiles to penetrate... Lieutenant, we have a few more moments for you to hone your skills. What is the strangest aspect of their behavior thus far? What would you do in this situation?

Sir, there's no behavior to be strange. They're out of our effective xraser range, given that they are maneuvering. They're not firing more missiles. There's no sign of xraser or laser counterfire. They're just dodging, Mjojo answered.

Very good, Wolfe inserted.

Precisely, Kalinin noted. Almost parked. Are they waiting for something? Are they unusually slow, even for Europeans? Did we take them entirely by surprise? Or are they doing something we don't recognize yet? Whatever it is, they're spending their time before reacting. Though they got off their first torpedo volley fast enough.

"Anaximander is maneuvering behind the plasma fluorescence, Swenson reported. Anaximander will pass through it in another three minutes."

We perforce wait, Kalinin announced. His wife wished he would read fewer sea stories from prior centuries. The adventures of Hornblower and Harrington and Hererra brought with them an antique vocabulary.

"All ships, shift fire back to unknowns when Anaximander enters danger cone of our xraser fire," Kalinin ordered.

"Anaximander firing third and fourth torpedo volleys, Swenson reported. All at different accelerations."

Clever. Cascade attack plan. Flotilla! Kalinin spoke, "In the event that Anaximander torpedos detonate short of target, you will without further orders shift xraser fire to the plasma cloud nearest the enemy. Kalini looked back at his officers. With multiple accelerations, we get to walk the fire in at the enemy, shifting xraser fire from one explosion to the next as detonation occurs."

"Anaximander approaching fluorescence," Mjojo said.

Breakthrough! Breakthrough! Swenson nearly shouted. Europeans are opening warp gates. The intruding ships flickered and faded as they dropped into foamspace.

Continue the advance, Kalinin ordered. They know we're here. We can't hide by staying at a distance. Let's be close enough to get them by surprise if they come back.

Warp gates closing, Wolfe announced. Do you wish to follow them, sir? she asked dutifully.

Kalinin's eyes betrayed his thoughts to Mjojo. Kalinin was wondering what would happen if he answered in the affirmative. American ships attempting warp transits had one annoying tendency. A third of them were never seen again, each time they made a transit. Not this time, I think, Kalinin said. This matter is one for the diplomats. He paused. "Perhaps it always was. Captain Wolfe, I wish an all-ships conference as soon as Anaximander stabilizes her screens enough that she can maintain a solid hololink. Please transfer complete records of the engagement to another message torpedo, and transmit to Lincoln. Also, please ready my pinnace for a return to Lincoln. I imagine that the Joint War Committee will want to chat me up quite soon enough."

Aye, Sir, Wolf answered. Will you want a message to Defense Fleet Yards? she asked.

After the All-Ships conference, Kalinin said. They'll have been alerted by our first message torpedo. The contingency mobilization orders in force are adequate for what needs to be done this morning. He hesitated Are any bitransit torpedoes operational?

Sir, No, Sir, Swenson answered. We could have one ready in four hours, give or take. Kalinin considered his thoughts, just before the EU contingent had arrived. Wolfe had been content to read maintenance logs. If she had given more attention to maintenance, might a torpedo have been ready now? Maintenance was an issue Wolfe didn't care about, but perhaps he should have worried about the question himself. Or perhaps he should have circumvented her by making maintenance a direct command responsibility of selected junior officers. That sort of initiative had to be handled carefully, but in the long run initiative might pay off.

Let this be done, Kalinin answered. Fire it through the warp at first opportunity. Let's try to see what's on the other side. And start readying more of them, in case we lose the first.

Chapter 2

"Adams observed that we study warfare so that our grandchildren may study architecture and decoration. Thanks to the wonders of modern medicine, we each have the privilege of doing both. I have studied and taught War; this the -- I am too modest to say my -- MinuteGirls can attest. I am happy to respect the taste of those of my neighbors who wish to build homes that not only are their castles but that have the same military effectiveness. I choose not to do so..."

Morbius, defending his proposed design of the Palazzo Splendoroso Morbius to the Rutland Town Planning, Building, and Fortification Board, June 2098.

THE PALAZZO SPLENDOROSO MORBIUS

RUTLAND, MASSACHUSETTS

April 19, 2174, 8:22 AM EST

Miss Miller? A high-pitched, quavering voice echoed across the windows of the Palazzo's primary atrium.

Professor Morbius? The response was a clear soprano. I'm on the upper overlook. The house servile is complaining about the watering and growth of the vines, but I can't see anything wrong. Sandra Miller stopped her inspection of the cages that supported some of the atrium's hanging gardens. Yesterday had been her day off. The doubled hours of swimming and weight training and simulator drills had left her, if not quite stiff, at least aware that she had exercised vigorously. This morning she'd done a few hours of data organizing. This bit of a break to work out the not-quite-stiffness was entirely welcome.

Dear, there's no need for you to be doing that. It's really very kind of you, but you're an intern, not staff, and even on a holiday like today that's not part of your duties. The slow clump of feet marked Morbius's climb up the spiral staircase toward Sandra's position.

"Professor. I like your gardens, I like looking at them, and I wouldn't want to think that your dear plants were going dry through no fault of their own," she answered sweetly.

I see. So what did you find? The clumpf-clumpf became a pad-pad as Morbius, breathing heavily from several flights of stairs, reached the outlook and trudged along the mezzanine to Sandra's position. They look green. The soil? Morbius was a short, thin man, black-haired with pointed Van Dyke beard. He carried a datapad in his left hand; as he walked, his right hand traced lightly on the guardrail.

It seems as damp as the rest of the garden. But the sensors say it's dry, she answered as she turned to face him. Sandra Miller was of more than medium height, round faced, solidly figured, her red-brown hair cut down to short, thick curls.

They smiled at each other. It seems to me that that section of sensors goes bad every five years, Morbius announced. House? Maintenance record, garden sensors, my vicinity? And display? The house servile put script on Morbius's datapad. As I said. It's happened before. Perhaps this time the tech will be better. Fortunately the valving is limited--no more than so many pints per day -- or we'd be flooded. House. Non-emergency. Tomorrow, after the holiday, contact the support staff. Remind them of the repair record. And ask why self-repair didn't handle this. Morbius toggled his datapad. That’s the memo to you tomorrow.

I'm not complaining that you're properly dressed for gardening intervention, he announced, referring to Sandra's low-cut boots, sea-green denim trousers, and blue-green-plaid shirt, especially since you made a note on your schedule asking me, and I said 'casual' for the day's dress. Unfortunately, this thing from New Washington, he waved his datapad, means I really needed you to be in Full Dress uniform ten minutes ago...oh, there was no sane way to predict that.

Sandra blushed deeply. I'm sorry, Sir, I...

There's nothing to apologize about. Unless you have working precognition. You don't, do you? I could always use a precog to help my pitiful stock market investments. In any event, to make a long story short, your Internship duty is to play messenger. You are going to Concord. As soon as you change. Yes, I know what day it is. You are taking my aircar. My personal aircar. Yes, I know what traffic will be. The flight servile will be told I personally view this as a major emergency. And I will call Concord Air Properties while you are changing. That will get you through. These two dataslips are from Secretary of State Cornelius, who never panics -- well, perhaps if the wine did not age well--deliver them, go with the two people carrying them, and get them back here by, oh, seven this evening. You might not get a chance to do any studying, but it looks interesting. Any questions?

Sir? She raised an eyebrow, mouth in a half-smile.

What did I forget? Morbius asked patiently.

Sandra ticked off on her fingers Who the two people are, exactly where I find them, where we are going,... Should I worry about why I need Full Dress? As in, she thought to herself, which hand weapon and how much ammunition?

"Oh, right. Sorry, I got ahead of myself. Your intermediate destination is The Great Hall of The Republic in New Washington, where Secretary Cornelius is staging a briefing on, I can't tell you, on a topic covered by the major loophole in the Suppression of Security Act, which you will learn about when you are en route. Yes, that loophole, the one we put there on purpose. The Secretary asked me to find my two good friends who as usual are not on the net, get them to New Washington on time--just before noon New Washington time, so you will get to watch the parade and flyover before you head off crosscountry--that's why you need my car, for transsonic--you get to listen to the briefing yourself--and bring them back here, as per the schedule on this dataslip, Morbius explained. He knew I'd know where to find them."

Pick up people, shuttle them about, bring them back, as per schedule. Check. Sir? She waited for his attention. There are only about one million people likely to be there. For whom am I looking, and how may I find them? And what does this have to do with Full Dress rather than regular uniform? But that sort of detail he always gets right, every time.

They will be found immediately in front of the William Baptiste Memorial. They always are for the parade. Be sure you have my card with you; you will need to use the emergency paths to get through the crowds, and the MinuteBoys are picky about keeping them free for emergencies. However, you should have no trouble finding them once the parade starts. The newsnets are really fond of occasional shots of the two of them taking salutes. Yes, my good friends Barbara and Charles. They always go to the parade, Morbius said.

Yes, Sir! Charles. Barbara. Captain Zero. Kapitan Mors. Sandra hoped her mouth did not sag too far open. If you were a Morbius intern, you met interesting people, went to strange places, and represented Morbius wherever you went, but even for one of his interns that was a heavy guest and travel list. The list explained why the Professor said 'Full Dress'. She was about to play messenger and escort for the two founding Commanders of the Popular Army themselves, so she needed to look the part, no matter how often they claimed they had retired.

That settled the weapons question, too, she thought. Between Secretary of State Cornelius, who was in the Line of Succession, and the two Captains, in whose defense she would not hesitate to die if need be, she would want the deadliest weapon consistent with her uniform. The nice part of Full Dress was that the somewhat impractical Phoenix shawl became the highly practical Phoenix cape, complete with optional cowl and lots of pockets for extra ammunition and hand grenades.

So these are the dataslips for Charles and Barbara, and this slip is your briefing, including New Washington flight patterns for my car. Better get on with it, he announced.

Twenty minutes later, airborne over Sterling, Sandra let the car fly itself while she talked with Concord Air Properties. Morbius had contacted Concord. The serviles had immediately shifted her conversation up to an actual human on duty. Women's Defense Forces, noted Sandra, doubtless not officially on duty, the uniform only in honor of the day.

Professor Morbius is such a wonderful man, the Air Properties Manager explained, but I can't give you a landing spot I don't have. Wait. About a mile back. His Honor the Chair of the Selectboard's space--give me a moment. I know he landed with his wife. She faded off screen. Sandra knotted her fists. Morbius did not complain if you failed at the impossible, but he would remind you of things you had overlooked, things that made tasks possible. No matter how polite he was, his suggestions were always painfully embarrassing. Taken care of. You'll have to walk in. The Chairman asked for a photo, you parked in his space. And at your convenience your autograph. If our serviles can agree on your priority, I'll have a space cleared right behind the Monument for after. Your car will take relocate orders from us, ground point to ground point?

Authorized, Sandra said. The car's servile agreed. Thank you very much.

Dear, my grandmum was in Albany. The Professor's girls rescued her. Any time. The image dropped out. Sandra shuddered slightly at the Albany image. The Siege had been a major battle of the Incursion, 'The Second Dien Bien Phu' being mildly overstated, ignoring the detail that the Vietnamese-American who commanded the besiegers had had a great-great-grand-uncle at the first Dien Bien Phu. Christopher Giap had only gloated a bit on explaining the coincidence during the FEU surrender. For the Americans of Albany who had been detained before they could flee, the Siege had represented hunger, labor impressment, and a fair chance of death. Sandra took the moment to tap instructions to her house servile; the photo would be on her desk waiting for her autograph.

Sandra made another check of her pockets. That was silly. The House servots packed things, and never forgot. Datapad. Dataslips. The cape was weighted, so the ammunition in the lining pouches didn't change its balance. And in the other pockets? What had Morbius told the house servots to give her? Two beautiful black crystal boxes, the embossed logos being...this had to be a really serious situation, whatever it was. Her datapad was ready with a protocol reminder on handling the boxes, just in case. And for her, with a cover note I cannot order you to wear these, but they are not inappropriate, and may resolve challenges, a case with two pins. The ruby M on white enamel, atop a square gold backing, marking her as his intern, was something she almost never wore. If you believed in nonhierarchical organization, you believed that you didn't pull rank. Morbius would always say that it wasn't rank, just a reason why people might expect your judgement to be sound. On went the pin. The other pin? Small, flat, black. She'd never worn the sword before, not counting ceremonies. It was certainly an interesting way to warn her about a possible future. More than once Charles' and Barbara's escort had had to earn their swords the second time.

She bit her lip and pinned it to her other collar tab. Someone might see it and complain up to the Dark Lady about her putting on airs. And she would say? She'd say that she trusted Morbius's judgement more when she didn't understand it, because that was when his unique insights into the world came into play. And she'd say that the Suppression of Security Act's loophole only arose under conditions that made the sword plausible. She paused to check her gauss pistol again. It was clean, ready, loaded, safed. What more could you ask for--except a target-rich environment? The traditional answer was the recoilless gauss pistol, the effect on the wrist of the regular gauss pistol being pointedly noticeable. That was why she did her swimming and running and weight training, in an era in which biosculpt made weight training almost obsolete.

The aircar made its final bank and started a near-vertical descent into Concord. She allowed the landing space would become apparent when the ground approached. Subway systems or no, the Patriot's Day Parade really did bring a million people to watch the parade. Traffic was horrendous. A final side-shuffle brought the car into an adequate though not large space. Some people ignored landings, allowing that serviles would almost certainly handle maneuver an aircar better than a human driver could. She let them land her, but watched the ground clearances, her hands firmly off the controls.

The engine hum died. Her shock harness folded away. As she made to stand, the driver's door retracted its gull wing to let her leave. Data pad displayed map, cleared paths for emergency vehicles, MinuteBoy check points on the paths, even a shortest route. The aircar serviles confirmed they were ready to hand off to Concord Air Properties.

The walkways were choked with people. MinuteGirl Full Dress uniform did not lend itself to steps faster than a brisk walk, but people stayed enough clear of the Phoenix cape that she could weave sideways through the masses. As she approached the Monument, it became clear that all viewing spaces were taken, and that people were following their datapads' leads off to the sides. In the end, every person would have a view, almost every space would be filled, and further progress through tight packed humanity would be impossible. There were ample lanes through which traffic could pass. They were blocked vacant with barriers and MinuteBoy sentries so that in an emergency people had a way to exit quickly.

She would need to negotiate her way through a sentry post. People might wonder why she was walking down a lane that was supposed to be entirely clear, but those lanes were her only route to the Two Captains. There was a sentry post with four MinuteBoys manning it. That seemed excessive, but potentially they had to face off small children who were not clear on the no concept.

I'm Sandra Miller, she announced to the MinuteBoy at the post front. I need to carry a message that cannot go by datanet to people at the William Baptiste Monument.

I'm sorry, the MinuteBoy announced, I am not authorized to let you pass. No exceptions.

It's extremely urgent, she added. Please? She considered adding 'New Washington is invoking the loophole in the Suppression of Secrecy Act', but the kid at the gate might not yet know what the Act did.

I'm sorry, the MinuteBoy at the post repeated, "but no exceptions actually means no exceptions, even for MinuteGirls. Those are my orders."

Sandra tugged open her cape, dropping the cowl behind her. Now its scarlet framed the turquoise of her dress uniform, incidentally letting him see the collar tabs and blue-black holster of her dress gauss pistol. She gestured open-handedly. I'm carrying a personal message from Professor Morbius, himself, she tapped the pin, to Captain Zero, himself, and Kapitan Mors, herself. She pulled Morbius's card from a cape pocket. Perhaps the MinuteBoy would notice her collar tabs. Perhaps he wouldn't.

Look, I said... The MinuteBoy was starting to lose his patience. Sandra held up her hands in front of her chest. He was a friend and ally, a fellow American, not someone you could treat like an enemy or lose your temper with.

Chiller, Smith, announced one of his companions, She's trying to do her task, just like we are.

But I can't... I'm sorry, I really need to get my watch commander. Flustered, the original MinuteBoy turned to his datapad. Post 13. Post 13. As soon as possible. MinuteGirl playing messenger wants permission to use the Emergency Lanes. Transmitting recorded conversation now.

Within two minutes, an older MinuteBoy appeared on a scooter. A nametag on one pocket read Jones-13. He asked Smith, is there a problem? Concord makes the rules, we just enforce them. Smith pointed mutely at Sandra. Jones-13 took in Sandra and her uniform. Eyes went slowly from one collar tab to the other, then back again. Sandra decided his eyes had darted down, eventually moving from shirt pockets and belt to her choice of personal armament.

I'm Sandra Miller, with Professor Morbius's messages. She waved his card. The Professor said that this is an extreme emergency. Jones-13's eyes went again from one collar tab to the other, staring hard at the sword, then let his datapad scan Morbius's card. She was not quite annoyed to conclude that his