Against All Odds (36 page)

"Have you worked out your plan?"

"Pretty much. We'll jump in with the DS ships first and do as much damage as we can. If things get too hot, I'll call in the reserves. But if we can do it with just the DS ships, I'll hold the others back."

"What are the odds?"

"We're expecting two-hundred-six Uthlaro warships, so if we get those additional twenty scout-destroyers we'll only be outnumbered by forty-five ships. Of course I'll try to convince the Uthlaro commanding officer to turn around and go home, but I seriously doubt that will happen. And once we engage, we'll have to crush the life out of them because there can be no other outcome."

* * *

"This is so incredible, sis," Christa said, as the three sisters toured the governor's palace after dinner. Cayla and Tayna padded along on either side of the trio. "I thought your quarters on Stewart were incredible when you were the commanding officer there. This place makes
them
look like a hovel."

"It is the Governor's
Palace
, Christa. I think there must be a law somewhere that says it has to put you in awe," Jenetta said, grinning.

"Do you think your palace on Gavistee is anything like this?" Eliza wondered aloud.

"I've learned that our palace was used for the basic template, but this place is quite a bit smaller."

"Smaller?" Eliza questioned.

"You have to remember that our palace on Obotymot was originally built for the King and Queen when they visit there. Much of the Royal Court travels with them whenever they go anywhere, so they need adequate accommodations for hundreds of people. There are a hundred suites, and each suite has five bedrooms. The main bedroom is for the Royal and the others are for their attendants. Perhaps we can take some downtime after this war is over and visit there. I'd love to see the look on Mom's face when she gets there."

"What's the current situation with the atmosphere?" Christa asked.

"Every report I receive states that it continues to improve with each passing year. The planet is warming again and the growing season is lengthening. Soil erosion has slowed considerably, but the loss of topsoil will be a problem without major fertilization efforts. The outlook for a complete resumption of crop production in the next decade is good."

"How far has the estate sunk into debt supporting your citizenry without any income from crop yields?" Eliza questioned.

"Not nearly as bad as I originally expected," Jenetta said. "Between the royalties from the books we wrote about Dakistee and the manufacturing royalties on my patents, we're in good shape. When things get rolling again, we could break even in a few years."

When they had returned to Jenetta's quarters and the corridor door was closed, Christa asked, "Has anyone ever raised any objections to the patents you stole?"

"I didn't steal anything, Christa. I discovered a few examples of consumer products that the Raiders were using on their stations, but which were unfamiliar to me. I paid some people to reverse-engineer the products and prepare construction plans and specifications with my own money. I then paid for an exhaustive search of patent records in the galactic archives. Finding no encroachment on existing patents, I patented them and then found companies willing to manufacture and market the products for consumers. Every single penny from royalties went into the Obotymot Relief Fund we established. I didn't even reimburse myself for my expenditures. To my way of thinking, the Raiders are just reimbursing the citizens of Obotymot for the suffering inflicted on them when the Raiders hijacked relief shipments from Nordakia."

"I don't have a problem with it," Eliza said. "The Raiders missed a good bet by not patenting them first and I'm happy they've been deprived of any benefit from them."

"I don't have a problem either," Christa said. "I'm glad to see the royalties going to help our people."

"How are things on the romance front," Jenetta asked. "Have you heard anything from Adam lately, Christa?"

"Not in almost six months. I guess it's over. We had some good times together but we could never seem to get past the issue of me not aging. It bothered him a lot more than he would admit. Since the Hephaestus launched I've been spending a little off-duty time with a doctor aboard ship, but I'm still trying to determine if he's more interested in me or in our DNA."

"How about you, Eliza," Jenetta asked.

"My love life is just as lackluster these days. And it was difficult leaving so many of my friends on the Bellona— but I couldn't wait to get out here where all the excitement is. And I love the new ship; it's incredible. I guess I'll have to make new friends. How about you and Hugh?"

"We still exchange vidMail a couple of times each week. It's been difficult not telling him what's going on out here, but he understands the need for security even with the special encryption codes I made for our correspondence. Any code can be broken, as we've proven often enough. So, much of what we talk about is inane stuff. He knows he'll never get out this way while he's on the Bonn. That ship, while ideal for most patrol activities back in Region One, is too old and too slow to be used out here. So he's applied for transfer to a scout-destroyer. It's possible he might make it out here in one of the next groups to be launched."

"That's great, Jen," Christa said.

"Yeah," Eliza said in agreement. "What's it been, like eight years since you've seen one another?"

"Eight and a half. It seems like twenty, though. Long distance romances are difficult, but at least he doesn't seem to have any hang-ups about me not aging, or any intense interest in my DNA that make his affections suspect."

"Speaking of DNA," Eliza said, "has anything ever been heard about Mikel Arneu? Did he die on Scruscotto when the Milori attacked Raider Ten?"

"I haven't heard anything," Jenetta said. "As far as I know, the site hasn't been excavated yet so we don't know how many died in the underground complex. I've been too involved out here— first with the Milori and then with the THUGs— to look into it. The mine that fronted for their operation was rich in platinum and palladium, so it stands to reason that someone will eventually dig it out. Perhaps then we'll find out if Arneu survived. If he did, it's a sure bet he's set up a lab somewhere to continue his work in age prolongation. He's obsessed with becoming immortal."

"Immortality seems so overrated," Christa said. "I can understand the desirability for a DNA process that allows a person to enjoy the strength and vitality of a young body throughout their life, but why would anyone want to live forever? It seems to take all the excitement away. If you know you'll live forever, there's no urgent need to explore and learn. You figure you'll absorb it anyway at some point. It seems you'd lapse into a kind of ennui about everything. We haven't suffered from those feelings because we don't know how long we'll live. We really only have Arneu's statement we might live to be five thousand years old. The scientists admitted they didn't know— only that we'll live beyond the average hundred-fifty years modern medicine gives us."

"There's also the fact that our profession is highly dangerous," Jenetta said. "We may not live long enough to die of old age."

"Yeah, we heard about the fighter you've reserved for your exclusive use," Eliza said grinning, "and the treetop-level flights over islands and open sea at full speed. Everyone's worried you might kill yourself before the Uthlaro get here."

"You get just as much pleasure from speed as I do," Jenetta retorted, "but I've attained a position where I can explore such proclivities without
open
censure. It's one of the few perks in being the supreme military commander of Region Two."

~ June 17
^th
, 2284 ~

The mantled figure ducked quickly into a darkened alleyway at the sound of voices approaching from around a street corner. Wearing a dark cloak that extended from head to toe, the figure melded easily into the deep shadows of the moonless night and remained unseen by two men who passed the alley entrance. As the sounds of footfalls receded into the distance, the furtive figure reemerged and walked with undisguised haste through the narrow back streets of Old Boston on Earth. The buildings that lined the streets were dark at this hour except for an occasional ray of light that peeked from between window curtains.

With a final glance over its shoulder, the draped figure climbed several stone steps to a wooden door and gently knocked in a coded sequence. A narrow slot in the door slid open and a pair of evil eyes squinted out.

"Let me see your face," a gravelly voice said.

The thin figure pulled the cloak back slightly, just enough to expose facial features to the eyes in the slot. As the door opened enough to permit entry, the figure restored the cloak to its former position.

"Top of the stairs," the burly bodyguard grunted.

The covered form brushed past him and glided up the stairs without uttering a word. Upon reaching the upper floor, a slender hand snaked out from between the folds of cloth and twisted the handle of the first door on the right, then pushed gently.

An enormous cigar hung from the lips of the large man sitting behind a hopelessly scarred desk in an otherwise empty office. The small room was hot and stuffy, and reeked of cigar smoke. Wet with perspiration, the occupant's short black hair was matted down on his head. He was leaning comfortably back in his 'oh-gee' chair when she entered, his feet propped up on the desk. He dropped them to the floor with a loud thud.

"It's about damned time you got here," he said.

The figure pulled back the cowl to reveal a fifty-something woman. With shoulder-length brown hair, her average face would not have seemed out of place at a parent-teacher night or perhaps at a civic meeting where community betterment issues were being discussed.

"I tried to come during my last trip dirt-side, but I thought someone was following me."

"Who?"

"I don't know. I never spotted anyone for sure, but I couldn't shake the feeling. I didn't want to lead anyone here. I simply went shopping before returning to the shuttle."

"Do they suspect you?"

"I don't think so. I've heard that Intelligence agents follow different employees from the Jupiter Foundry Works at times— not because they're suspected of wrongdoing but simply on a random basis. I left the thing in a rental locker at the skyport rather than carry it back to Jupiter. I retrieved it tonight after I was sure no one was behind me."

The man looked at her intently for several seconds before asking calmly, "What have you got?"

"What you asked for, of course," the woman said with a shaky voice as she pulled her hand from her pocket and held out a long cotton sock with something weighing down the end.

The man accepted it and let the contents slide out onto his hand. The cylindrical chunk of composite material was about eight centimeters long and three centimeters in diameter. "This is it? This is all you could get?"

"You're holding the best kept secret in Space Command. They don't exactly hand out free samples and I couldn't just walk out with a large chunk under my arm. The entire manufacturing process is contained within a single, kilometer-long forge/foundry machine. The raw material arrives from— somewhere— in huge shipping containers that are handled exclusively by bots. The input end of the forge is in vacuum, so there's no chance of getting any raw material samples, and access to the forge on the two sides is limited to bots, senior technicians, and supervisory inspectors. On one side, large tanks of chemicals are replaced by bots when they're empty. The only markings on the tanks are color codes. On the other side, scrap from the cutting and shaping process is ejected for recycling. Bots handle that chore exclusively. Only supervisory inspectors with top clearance have full access to the two sides of the forge. Senior techs are allowed in when a supervisor or inspector is with each of them. Finished parts, already cut and shaped, come off the end of the line and are stacked and packed for shipment. That's where I work as a parts inspector. Every single milligram of material coming out of the forge must be accounted for and a dozen cameras watch our every move."

"So how did you get this?"

"It fell off a pile of scrap being carried to a recycle container by a bot in the limited-access side room just as a supervisor entered. It rolled, unseen by everyone but me, out the open door and wound up under a parts cart. I was just fortunate to be passing at the time. I waited until the shift was changing and retrieved it when no one was watching. Good thing they don't perform cavity searches. They rely on simply having all employees strip and discard their disposable overalls. We're then passed through showers before being allowed to enter the locker room, naked, where our regular clothes are stored."

The man looked at the woman and then down at the sample in his hand. A look of disgust shrouded his face.

"Don't worry, it's clean," the woman said with a scowl. "I washed it off after I took it out. Damn thing hurt like hell. I bled for a week afterwards."

"You're being well compensated."

"Speaking of which," the woman said, "when do I get what you promised?"

The man grimaced and said, "How did you get this through the screening machines at the skyport?"