The Lotus Eaters

Amidst all that noise, the squish-squish-squish of the thoroughly soaked Fosa walking up behind Chu and Quijana, the skipper of Number Two, the Orca, went completely unnoticed until he slapped palms onto the shoulders of his sub skippers and said—rather, shouted, 'I don't believe even the UEPF can see anything with all this shit coming down.'

'This place gets twenty-four fucking feet of rain a year, sir,' Chu shouted back. 'Sometimes more. I don't even know how the antaniae can find each other to fuck.'

The armored doors ceased moving, much reducing the ambient noise level.

'You think this will work, sir?' Chu asked, in a more conversational volume.

Fosa answered, 'I think so. Neither the Taurans nor the UE are likely to know that Number Three is unfinished. I looked at it before they started to rail it over. It looks perfectly complete from the outside. So if they see it come in and another boat leave they'll probably assume that the boat leaving is Number Three, going out for a test cruise. We've got good reason to think the earthpigs can't see down even fifty feet into the water, so when you go past a hundred they'll surely lose you. When the Orca goes out to probe the Gauls, that's all they should be looking for, just the one.

'Just in case, though, you boys have full torpedo loads?'

'Yes, sir,' Quijana answered.

Chu added, 'They finished backfitting my torpedo pods last month, sir. A mix of regular, supercavitating, and light for close in defense work.'

The dark gray nose of Number Three appeared in the portal opened by the armored doors. Even in the dim light, rain could be seen coming down in near solid sheets. The noise picked up again, noticeably.

'We've fooled 'em before,' Fosa shouted. 'I think we can again. Arrogant folks, don't you know. And it's not like we're really all that important.'

* * *

While Fosa went to watch the new, unfinished sub being railed into the water, Chu called Quijana aside for a little chat.

'Miguel,' he said, 'I want you to remember that, to date, the submarine force, such as it is, has a perfect record. The number of dives and the number of surfacings are exactly equal. Don't fuck that up.'

Quijana scowled. 'You're afraid I'll try to use this as an opportunity to make up for my 'cowardice' aboard the Trinidad?'

'Oh, stop.' Chu shook his head. 'You're not a coward and, no, you're not stupid. Still less are you immoral enough to put your boat and crew at risk over a purely personal matter. But . . .'

'Yes?'

The older man sighed. 'Miguel, you've got more talent for submarines than I do. So think I and so thought the Volgans and Yamatans and Zionis who trained us. But you know why you're being the stalking horse while I go in for the test? Because I was afraid that, under pressure, if things go wrong, you might hesitate for just that fraction of a second that might get you all killed. Not hesitate because you're afraid . . . but hesitate because you're afraid of being afraid . . . or showing that you are.'

At that, Quijana's scowl deepened.

UEPF Spirit of Brotherhood, orbiting Terra Nova

Frowning at the distraction, John Battaglia, Duke of Pksoi, initialed the electronic tablet showing the daily intelligence report without really reading it. This was understandable; printed, the thing would have run to several hundred pages. What was less understandable was that he barely glanced over even the much shorter summary. If he had, he might have noticed that the intelligence office was unconvinced that—even though a Federates States airship had downed the skimmer from Harmony—that it had been the FSC behind the attacks on Santander. He might also have noticed that the Balboan submarine program had apparently launched another boat.

Then again, Battaglia might not have noticed. Those things were trivial and he was already completely taken up with the coming return of the new High Admiral and his own somewhat precarious political position.

If that twat, Wallenstein, hadn't taken the admiral's staff with her, there would be people to handle this sort of trivia for me. Irresponsible bitch! More philosophically, he thought, Then again, if she were here with the admiral's staff I wouldn't have to worry about it at all.

Pushing the report aside, Battaglia raised his eyes and asked his aide, 'What's on the schedule for today?'

'Sir,' the aide de camp answered, 'a shuttle is laid on to visit the Kofi Annan and the Mitterand. If there's time, the Margot Tebaf is also standing by for a morale raising visit.'

The aide managed to keep her tone neutral through all that. It didn't pay, generally speaking, for Class Two's to question the wisdom of morale visits by Class Ones.

Unlike Battaglia, the aide had read the intelligence report in its entirety. And, while she had noted that the wretched little 'Republic' of Balboa, below, had moved a new submarine from the factory to the sea, she knew—having looked at the specs of the thing—that there was no way it could pose any threat to her own fleet. It never even crossed her mind, no more than it would have Battaglia's, that one tiny little submarine, stuck down below, could matter in the slightest.

Puerto Lindo, Balboa, Terra Nova

'Engage the clicker,' Chu ordered, from his post in the sail. Almost immediately a small box mounted to the hull began emitting a regular clickclickclick, simulating a slight irregularity in a jet propulsor, badly insulated from the escape of sound. It sounded exactly like what one might expect of an inherently complex