The Lotus Eaters

You know I have more children now, three of them. Don't worry. No one will ever replace you in my heart. But they are fine children . . . I think you would like them. I tell them about you, too. The oldest, the boy, asks me about you and the babies all the time. He's been sent away. And even though I told him it was because he is my designated replacement, I know in my heart that I sent him away for safety's sake, too.

Watch over the boy, if you would. We need him. I think he's going to be better at this even than I am.

Balboa is changing. I wish you could be here to see it. Just about everyone with a will to work has a job now. Do you know, the City has the lowest crime rate of any major city in this hemisphere? Of course, there are those who call the punishment the crime. But I don't care what they think or say.

I never cared what anyone thought but you.

And that's all. I'll be here for a couple of days. I'll visit. I have to, after all. I've done some really shitty things I need to talk to you about.

Sadly, Carrera stood up and began to trudge the half mile back to the house. About halfway there he heard the steady whopwhopwhop of one of the Legion's IM-71 helicopters. He quickened his pace.

* * *

Fernandez was waiting at the Finca Carrera's front porch when Carrera arrived. The intel chief was seated in a white painted, wooden patio chair, under the eaves, reading a book and intermittently sipping from a rum and coke that had been brought to him by Lourdes. He noticed Carrera, afoot, walking up the gravel road to the house. Before Carrera could even ask, the intelligence officer sat alert, closed the book and blurted out, 'We have an opportunity, Patricio.'

'What's that? Can we talk about it here?'

Fernandez didn't even have to think that one over. 'Best not. Let's walk, shall we?'

'Sure. Let me tell . . .'

'I already told Lourdes,' Fernandez said. 'She's chatting with Linda's mother.'

'Fine,' Carrera said, turning in place and walking back toward the cemetery. 'Let's talk.'

Fernandez stood, closing the book upon a place-saving finger. He followed Carrera back toward the cemetery. Once they were out of earshot of the house, Fernandez said, 'The Charlemagne is coming. In about ten days.'

Carrera thought for a moment, trying to remember where he'd heard the name before. He halted for a moment, poking his tongue around his molars for a while, while trying to recall. Then it hit him. 'The Gallic aircraft carrier?'

'Almost a super carrier,' Fernandez corrected. 'And she's coming with her full battle group.'

Carrera shook his head, doubtfully. 'We don't have any reason to think the Taurans are planning to attack in a month.'

'Clearly not,' Fernandez agreed. 'Though I expect the visit is for the air wing to train over our ground. But that wasn't what I meant. I mean that with the second Megalodon Class sub tested and ready for operations now, we have an opportunity to see if we can penetrate the ship's defensive screen to get at it.'

'Ohhh. But why tip our hand?'

'I wasn't planning on tipping our hand,' Fernandez answered as he kicked a small rock from the roadway. 'I thought we could use the second one, with its clicker going, to distract the Gauls while the first one, clicker off, slips in close.'

'You talked to Fosa about this?'

'Yes,' Fernandez nodded. 'He agrees it would be a unique opportunity to test the submarine.'

'How are they going to do it?'

'We've got two built,' Fernandez answered, 'and another that's close enough to completion that we could make it . . . mmm . . . not seaworthy but at least floatworthy.

'Fosa's got two possible plans. Plan A, he says, is where we'll sail one out of the pens, with its clicker disengaged, and conceal it in some little inlet along the Shimmering Sea coastline. The almost finished one will take its place. The other finished one will then sail to a rendezvous point where it will meet with the one we hid by the coast. Plan B is we mount a clicker to the tender we use to shadow them for test dives. Both subs sail with clickers on, but at a predetermined time the one with the tender will shut its off, and the tender will start clicking to simulate the sub's being there.'

'Plan B,' Carrera said, without hesitation. 'If we used Plan A, and someone spotted the sub and someone else, say Tauran Intelligence noticed it wasn't clicking, the secret would be blown.'

'Plan B, then,' Fernandez agreed. 'The two of them will then link up at sea and sail to a point outside of the range of the Charlemagne's escorts and take station, one to a place above the lowest thermal layer—if there's more than one—that's still within depth capacity and one below it. The one with the clicker engaged will be above. There will probably be only one thermal layer, mind you, though with the cold current in the Shimmering Sea and the undersea volcanism there may be more.

'At the point where the escorts notice the one above and come after it, it will break off and head for the Puerto Lindo sub pens. The other will press on until it is within engagement range of the carrier and maybe scoot around a little to make sure they can't detect it. Then it will come home, too, and we'll move the floatworthy one back to the assembly plant as if we discovered some flaw during testing.'

Carrera thought as the pair of them continued to walk. Possibility one: We don't test beforehand and when the war comes maybe we surprise the Taurans and maybe we're the ones who are surprised. Two: We test and it's a flop; the Taurans catch us and find out about the Meg Class. Three: We test and get away with it.

It's a better than fifty-fifty bet, I think, because we know we're running the test and the Taurans don't.