Carnifex

Lossy. It's a chemical property that refers to the conductivity of a material. Simply put, we can make the shell 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 shell 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 —'

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, 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 bitch. 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, 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. 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 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 assume 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. We are getting into the realm of things which countries might classify 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 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. 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 vindictive?'

Parilla held his own tumbler out to be filled. 'Okay, maybe not the Gauls. But they did 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