Oregon Coast
As the sun dipped below the Pacific Ocean, the shore guns along the Oregon, Washington, and southern British Columbian coast opened fire on the Fog Fleet still stationed some distance offshore. Even considering the range, just a couple dozen miles, the accuracy of the guns was terrible. Only around one round in ten detonated harmlessly against the foe's Klein Fields.
Further from the shore, a short-lived wave of light swept across the countryside as hundreds of BGM-225 Cavalier anti-ship missiles launched from a variety of platforms lit off their boosters and rocketed toward their distant targets.
As the missiles entered their terminal boost phase, in a hardened silo just south of the little town of Depoe Bay, the submersible USS Merrimack dropped into the water. She was a small ship, just over two hundred feet in length.
She employed a magnetohydrodynamic or 'caterpillar' drive which, after nearly a hundred years of development and a few pieces of Phoenix-developed tech, was finally a practical, if slow, method of silent underwater travel. Her carbon-fiber hull was layered with anti-sonar active tiles, rounding out her stealth abilities.
The Merrimack began to advance down the short, cleverly concealed tunnel leading to the ocean as the missile barrage impacted the Fog ships. She reached the end of the tunnel and slipped out into open water, becoming all but invisible.
In the command chair of the Merrimack, Captain John Gallagher watched the displays in the 'CIC' of his ship and went over his mission.
The ongoing artillery assault on the Fog was going terribly. Which was the idea. Many of the shells contained cluster warheads. Each of the small bombs was set to detonate on a different random timer. Combined with the acoustic jamming gear loaded into a few of the shells and the massive detonations from the conventional shells, sonar was worse than useless.
Of course, the Merrimack was designed to operate in just such conditions. Using pre-placed transponders and special optical gear for guidance, it silently glided toward its target.
"All right, gentlemen," Gallagher said, addressing the twenty-eight man crew of his ship, all of whom were located inside in the command cradle in the center of the ship. "We have three potential targets for our salvage operation. Given the conditions and relative locations of the wrecks, the target we have selected to loot is Serra Three, the former USS Nicholas. I'm sure I don't need to say this, but stay on edge. This is a very dangerous operation, and nothing quite like it has ever been attempted."
(X)
Concept Comm System VR Space
"So, Alaska," Flagship Arizona of the Fog East Pacific Fleet prompted, "Please explain your failure to me."
The two Mental Models, whose vessels were currently miles apart, were sitting in a Virtual Reality space projected by Alaska, a circular stone platform on the side of a misty, snow covered alpine slope. There was a small table at the center of the patio, where the two appeared from a distance to be relaxing.
"I'm sorry, flagship," Alaska pled, looking miserably down at her empty teacup. "I messed up-"
"You messed up?" Arizona challenged, raising an eyebrow. The Flagship's Mental Model was a woman in her early twenties, with long, dark red hair, harsh features, and dark eyes. She routinely wore full plate armor, parading around in it like it was a sweatsuit. "That seems like a grave understatement."
"Really?" Alaska turned her head upward to meet her flagship's face.
"Yes," Arizona said, "I'd say you utterly, completely, and miserably failed. Saying you messed up implies a certain degree of mediocrity in the failure, which was clearly absent in your case. Your data suggests that you caused damage to the enemy craft before you permitted it to escape. Was it meaningful?"
"N... no." Alaska admitted.
"Hummm." the crimson-haired battleship's representation licked her lips like a wolf circling for the kill. "What leads you to that conclusion?"
"The enemy craft continued operating at full efficiency, indicating that all systems damaged were secondary, or backed up by secondaries with equal effectiveness." The smaller battlecruiser explained, hanging her head such that her long, jade hair draped over her shoulders partially obscuring her face. "I can only conclude the damage done can most likely be easily repaired."
Arizona laughed, a smile breaking through to her face as she bounced in her seat and slapped the table. Alaska jumped in her seat, started at the sudden action. "I had forgotten." the battleship chortled, still chuckling. "You are pretty smart. I was just going to say the damage was insignificant because the enemy made it back to base. In any case, that makes it kind of funny you fell for an obvious ploy like going for the fighter instead of focusing on the SSTO."
"I'm sorry F...Flagship," Alaska said, whimpering. "I just..."
Abruptly, Arizona's demeanor returned normal, as if the conversation had never happened. "In any case, I was able to spin my report to Yamato, so no one's getting any actual consequences." She sighed before continuing. "Also, Saratoga and her..." she paused for a moment, tapping a finger against her head, "Singulare, I think she said, a heavy cruiser called Seydlitz, are being transferred in. There's always drama during transitions, and I have to go deal with it. You may go."
(X)
North-East Pacific
The Merrimack went into action almost before it reached its objective. As it coasted to a stop, dozens of robotic arms extended from ports on the side of the submarine and reached out towards the wrecked Fog destroyer.
They went to work with a variety of implements, scanning the hull and deck before extending cutting implements, coaxing apart the mostly dead nanomaterials to reveal the priceless components within.
The vast majority of a Fog ship was made out of more or less raw nanomaterials. However, many of the components that had more specialized roles were made of more permanent materials. In particular, nanomaterials couldn't handle the energy load of power systems, meaning they had to be made out of priceless, permanent, necessary components.
As the robotic appendages detected these gems, they switched to manipulator tools which carefully collected the components and transferred them to secondary arms, which carried them to ports into the submarine's hull. Other arms wielded strange devices that were essentially a combination pump, sieve, and sluice box, implements to filter active, 'live' nanomaterials from those that had been destroyed by the Eladrin's attack, or 'died' after the Union Core of the destroyer lost control of them.
Gallagher looked over the readouts of the ongoing salvage operation. They were finding good stuff so far, in about the same proportions as the Second Midway salvage haul. Unfortunately, that meant no Thanatonium. The enemy torpedo, power plants, and anything else containing traces of the exotic material self-destructed on the sinking of the ship, meaning that Phoenix scientist had only been able to infer its properties.
However, it looked like-
"My God." Captain Gallagher whispered, "Could that be..." He snapped his head up. "Helm, move us two hundred feet, bearing," he consulted the display, "One hundred twelve degrees. Salvage teams; be on the lookout for Fog reactor modules."
The Merrimack shifted position and began the first harvest of Thanatonium in human history. They collected nineteen power modules in all, each several feet in diameter and nearly twice as tall as a man.
Amidst the suppressed excitement, no one took any particular note when an absent-minded junior salvage tech directed the arm under her control to pick up a small flattened metal sphere about the size of an open hand, boldly emblazoned with the symbol of the Fleet of Fog.
(X)
Appalachian Mountains, Virginia
Eric Glenn rode in the first car, facing backwards. He was almost fresh out of Armor School where they had put him on the train out of Fort Benning.
He sighed. Honestly, he wasn't entirely sure why he had agreed to 'volunteer' for Armor School. The United States covered nearly all of North America, and was the only real military power on the continent, and tanks weren't really any good against the Fog.
The train plunged into a tunnel. Eric stiffened as the outside light was cut off as, then relaxed as tunnel lights began flickering past him.
The train felt like it was moving downward, slowing into a gentle curve. The other people in the car began whispering to one another. Eric frowned. Apparently, none of the others had expected this either.
The train continued into the darkness for several minutes, braking as it descended. Eric felt the train level out onto a straight course and begin braking harder.
The moment the train ground to a halt, doors opened at either end of the compartment. Eric stood up, collecting the suitcase that contained his current meager belongings, as well as a backpack containing other assorted odds and ends. He never had gotten out of the habit of carrying one.
Eric walked to the end of the car, down a short flight of steps, and off the train. He was one of the first off, and it only took a few minutes for the car to empty. A man in dress uniform bearing the insignia of captain stood in front of the assembling troops.
The floor was bare concrete, and the wall appeared to be steel-reinforced stone. The first thing Eric noticed was the heat, dry but constant, like standing in front of an oven. If he strained his ears, he could hear the sound of heavy machinery in the distance, though he had no idea what it could be for.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," the man said, as the last stragglers exited the train," I am Captain Hoffman, and I have the privilege of welcoming you to Forge One. As there is presently no Forge Two or Three, we just call it The Forge. Now," he said, turning around, "if you'll follow me."
Hoffman led the group, which probably numbered somewhere over a hundred, down a long passageway, continuing to talk as he did so.
"As you can probably guess, we try to keep this facility as secret as we can. In essence, the purpose of this facility is to maintain the ability of the Unites States military to wage war, even in the case of a major Fog bombardment."
He said nothing for a second. "Also, this is where we work on some... special projects. Ones we want to keep out of the sight of the Fog, and therefore the public." Hoffman stopped in front of a large door. Eric guessed it was about fifty feet tall, and at least as wide. Engraved in large, bold print across it were the words SUPERHEAVY BAY ONE.
Hoffman walked over to a button mounted on the wall next to the door and pressed it. A klaxon sounded, and the door slowly slid open, retracting into the wall. Captain Hoffman bowed and waved the group forward.
The door led to a balcony overlooking a massive cavern. Eric looked down.
Sitting on the floor of the cavern was what looked like a tank, but far, far larger. It was roughly square shaped, with steeply sloped sides. The gun was casement mounted, but judging by the position, it appeared the whole upper portion of the vehicle rotated like some sort of massive turret. Just judging by the scale, Eric knew the main gun had to be massive, but it was somewhat overshadowed by the absurd size of the vehicle.
The edges of the massive turret bristled with something which, straining his eyes, Eric could make out to be smaller guns, probably for point defense. There were five smaller turrets, mounted on the corners and center of the flat top of the turret. Eric realized with a start that, given the scale, they had to be about the size of the turrets of the tanks he had trained on.
"This," Hoffman said, gesturing, "is the Heavy Ordnance Ranged Utility System. HORUS for short. After the Fog appeared, it was clear that our weapons weren't even remotely powerful enough, and we didn't know whether any of Phoenix's projects would pay off. This was the result of the Army's efforts." He paused, surveying the various shocked expressions of the soldiers.
"In short, they went fancy. We went big."
"Any questions?"
(X)
Phoenix Infirmity
Ars awoke slowly. He looked around, confused for a moment, and then realized that he must be in the Phoenix infirmary. The Eladrin had been pretty beaten up when he had flown it into the hanger, and he supposed he must have put a lot of strain on himself with the neural interface system.
He took a deep breath, then stack a few pillows and propped himself up. He felt... not bad, exactly. Certainly not how he would have expected to feel after being in the hospital for... huh. I wonder how long I was out. He thought, picking up his glasses from a table next to the hospital bed.
There were several IV racks set up next to his bed, but none of them presently held anything. Beyond that, the room was strangely bare, lacking the computerized equipment he would have expected to see in such a room.
Suddenly, the door opened. "Oh, Ars! You're awake?" Ars did a double take. It was Melissa, and she was talking to him like he was an actual human being, a complete one-eighty from her behavior toward him in the previous months.
"Anyway," she continued, oblivious to his surprise, "I wanted to check in on you before I go to pick up the new pilots. You were in pretty bad shape when you came in. Guess you really went up to eleven on that spinal tap facing off against the battlecruiser."
"New pilots?" Ars said, his voice soft. "I guess I screwed up then," he looked down. "I'm sorry I couldn't get that battlecruiser. I guess I should be glad I didn't fail badly enough to kill the program."
Melissa sprang forward, grabbing his shoulder and pushing him upright. "No! You didn't screw up at all. You did better than anyone expected. Marcus flew to St. Louis after the battle and used your victory to get Congress to double our funding and give us the money to bring the remaining Eladrin units to operational status."
"So," Ars said, still somewhat confused by Melissa's behavior, "Will the other pilots be kids, like me?"
"Afraid so. An adult can't properly make the connection." Melissa said, voice hardening abruptly. "Oh, that reminds me," she said, her voice returning to what it had been for the rest of the conversation. She held out a small black, velvet-lined box "They decided to give you this."
Ars took the box and flipped it open. Inside was a pair of epaulettes, each consisting of a pair of vertical silver bars.
"They're giving you a commission, O-3. Direct from the President himself," Melissa said. "It's something of a tradition that fighter pilots are officers, and I guess they wanted someone with the rank to be flight leader."
"I'm flight leader?"
(X)
Phoenix Engineering Department
"So, Commander, glad you could make it down here, sir." Raphael said, saluting Commander Marcus as he exited the elevator into the engineering department.
"Good to see you to, Raphael. How's work going on my Eladrin units?"
"Well. We moved in the last one, Amaterasu, I believe, yesterday. Salamander is going to be the first one ready. Want to see?"
The Commander grinned. He was surprisingly young for his rank and position, having been just out of college when the Fog attacked, and on occasion he seemed much younger. Raphael couldn't blame him, he was exactly the same. That was why his job was so fun.
"Follow me."
(X)
Phoenix Fabrication Facility
"So this," Raphael said, tapping the glass wall just under the 'PLEASE DO NOT TAP THE GLASS' sign, "is Eladrin Epsilon-7. We call it Salamander."
The massive aircraft was sitting on the floor in the center of an equally large room. Commander Marcus and Engineering Chief Raphael stood in a long hallway lined with massive windows overlooking eight such chambers. The Eladrin, Salamander, was sitting on its own legs, with only minimal supporting equipment. It was surrounded by all manner of complex equipment. Phoenix engineers, Marcus could see at least twelve, attended to the machines and performed enigmatic tasks on the exposed inner workings of the craft.
"This Eladrin is specialized in directed energy weapons." Raphael said. He pointed at the partially striped wings of the craft. "It carries a pair of heavy lasers, one mounted under each wing. Of course, the real beauty," he continued, pointing at the nose of the craft, "is the energy projector swivel mounted behind the nose. Most powerful weapon we've developed, though it has some problems."
"Like what?" Marcus said, frowning. "I hope that-"
"It's not that bad." Raphael assured. "Essentially, we had to build the Eladrin around it. The power draw necessitated an oversized reactor, which is the main thing. Once we had all that power available, though, that made the lasers an excellent choice for the wings, and also allowed us to upgrade the engine."
"What's the catch?" Marcus muttered.
"Well, we ran into some problems with heat management. That was what shelved this model. However we've solved that, but it required us to replace some of the armor with radiative plating, which hurt the durability of the craft. We upgraded the Tesseract Field and the point defense a bit to compensate, but it's still something to consider."
"And when will it be operational?"
"Three weeks, maximum. Sooner if we get more personnel."
"I'll see what I can do. We've got plenty of money, but finding qualified people who we can clear, and can trust, to work on this stuff has been the bane of this organization for the past fifteen years."
"I know that," Raphael sighed. "Anyway, if you direct your attention to the window behind you, you will see Eladrin Gamma-5, Leviathan."
Marcus turned and looked down into the second engineering bay. Like the previous one, it contained a massive Eladrin surrounded by heavy equipment. The similarities ended there. This Eladrin was massive, at least twenty or thirty feet longer than any of the others, and had been stripped down far more than the first, with several cavities open to give access to the inner workings of the craft. Several engineers had their head and shoulders hidden in the craft, and one man had everything above his waist hidden inside the aircraft.
"In any case, this was the first one we built that was actually approved for combat. It was initially built to carry big guns, small artillery pieces really. However, no conventional weapon we could realistically mount on an aircraft could do any damage against the Fog, so this model was shelved. Now that we have the Starlight Rifles and HVMs, though..."
"Leviathan grew fangs."
"Exactly. And this one is a real monster. Five, count 'em, five, HVM launchers, two 105mm Starlight Rifles on side Swivel mounts, and a centerline Ordnance Hypervelocity Missile launcher. Beyond that, it was built with ceramic armor, not the nano mix we use today. We are in the process of refitting it at the same thickness, which will make this thing a pain to kill. It also projects a Maxwell-Tesseract Field much stronger than any of the other Eladrin units, though it needs that, given its comparatively inferior maneuvering abilities. This one should be operational in a month."
Marcus smiled.
(X)
Phoenix HQ
The doctors let Ars out of the infirmary about midday. He'd subsisted entirely off of IV drips for the past three days, and so he was understandably ravenous. Given that Melissa was still out collecting the new pilots, he felt relatively safe going to the central mess hall to find something to eat. He went to his quarters and changed out of the hospital robes into the Uniform of the Day, then made his way to the mess. He only got lost once.
Entering the bustling mess after the quiet of the infirmary was like taking one of Melissa's buckets of iced brine to the face. He collected a tray, pausing briefly as a laser scanned his face. He took his tray to the buffet lines.
There didn't seem to be any particular meal or culture represented; stir-fry and roast beef were served next to the taco, omelet, and frozen yogurt stations. Ars got some of everything.
His next challenge was finding somewhere to sit. The entire sitting area was filled with black-uniformed men and women who seemed to occupy most of the provided area. Ars walked out of the buffet area carrying his tray, surveying the tables looking for somewhere to sit. He was hoping to find an unoccupied table, but it looked like-
"Ars! Why don't you sit over here?" Ars jerked around, almost dropping his tray. It was Raphael, Head of the Engineering Department.
"Um, okay," Ars muttered, making his way toward Raphael's table.
"So," Ars said, setting his food on the table and sitting down. "Odd seeing you here. Why aren't you in the Officer's Mess or down in Engineering?"
Raphael shrugged. "I prefer the vibe here, I guess. Plus, the Officer's Mess is in E Shaft, halfway across the complex from Engineering. I'm not getting much time off lately, and I'd prefer not to spend most of it walking around." He grinned. "Thanks for that, by the way."
Ars twirled some lo mein on his fork and ate it. "I don't think it was me, though, really." He said as he ate the pasta," I mean, all I did was fly the thing."
"Don't be modest." Raphael said, then held up a finger. "One second. Sometimes it feels like the rest of the department personnel are a bunch of headless puppies without me."
Raphael pulled out a slim phone, pressed a button, and raised it to his ear. "Ethan, that's stupid. The power connections on the Energy Projector need to be Perfect. That means no Design Evolution Trade Offs. Take it off the Forward Lateral Maneuvering Thrusters; with the thrust vectoring on the main engine, they don't need to be perfect. Besides, if the bird takes enough damage that the thrust vectoring doesn't work, I think the pilot would have bigger problems."
"What was that?" Ars asked, finishing his omelette.
"One of the engineers working on Salamander needed a pointer. When you're designing something, you can't have everything be perfect. Improving component or system in one respect generally hurts it in another. That holds doubly true for an aircraft, and triple for something like the Eladrin."
Ars tilted his head. "Really? Why?"
"Complex, experimental system." Raphael said, waving his hand. "Anyway, you've got to see the Energy Projector system we're installing on Salamander." He reached down, picked up a laptop case from beneath the table, and withdrew a packet of papers. "We call it the Ameliorator."
Ars raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
"Look," Raphael said, putting the paper on the table. "Power draw of 12.1 jigawatts, and an output of far more than is reasonable. I won't say we strapped our first experiment in matter energization onto the front of the Eladrin; I'm almost certain I've purged all the records indicating that's the case. Basically, we energize a particle beam, then fire it in a concentrated cascade at the target. Even against a Fog Capital ship, we expect that to be noticeable."
"That's... impressive." Ars said, eating a spoonful of ice cream. "What would it have done against that battlecruiser I fought?"
"See, that's hard to say. There are actually two ways to damage a Fog ship. One is to saturate the Klein Field until it collapses. That's the normal way. The other is called 'breaking the bottom' of the Klein Bottle the Field generates. Basically, you hit it with so much energy in one place that it can't absorb it all. A Fog Superheavy Cannon would probably to that, and so would a strategic-level thermonuclear weapon. The only reason we know about the phenomena is that we had an ultra-precise gravity-measuring satellite, originally intended for earth science, in orbit at the time your father nuked the Fog."
"Yeah." Ars looked down at the multitude of mostly-empty plates at his seat. "My father."
"Anyway, the Energy Projector is designed to break the bottom of a targeted Klien Field. If the field is weak enough, or is under sufficient strain, it should be able to just smash through."
"And once that happens, it's like the Starlight Rifle writ large."
"Exactly."
(X)
Phoenix Commander's Office
"Alright, Tadayoshi, explain to me just what it is I'm looking at." Marcus said, examining the intelligence report.
"This is a report from one of our remaining satellites." Kuroda Tadayoshi said. The man was an old soldier, having served in the JSDF for nearly two decades before being stranded in the US when the Fog blockade came down.
'"Are you sure?" Marcus said. "Because I thought it was a blue plate of spaghetti."
Kuroda coughed. "That would be a gravitic distortion measurement. In any case, judging by the distance, speed, and magnitude of the distortions, it appears that we have multiple Fog submarines converging on two areas; San Diego and the Columbia River."
"We have submarine nets..." Marcus reminded the man.
"But they won't stop anything," Kuroda finished. He had worked with Marcus for years, almost since the founding of Phoenix, and the two thought along very similar lines. He was Phoenix's head of intelligence and Marcus' most trusted advisor.
"I suppose they want us to deploy the Eladrins to do something about it, then."
"They haven't made an official request, but yes, I would imagine that they would want something along those lines."
"They do realize that the Eladrin units aren't anything resembling ASW platforms. Most of the weapons have no ability to penetrate significant amounts of water. We built them to target surface platforms, and they know that."
"Still, after our previous performance, there is no way they can't make the request. I doubt they would go so far as to make it an actual order, but still..."
(X)
Stephenson Farm, Ohio, Pilot Candidate Home
"You're asking my son to do what?" Edmund Stephenson said.
Melissa, pilot candidate Isaac Stephenson, and his mother and father were sitting in the dimly lit living room of family's prosperous farmhouse.
"I represent Phoenix , the organization that has developed the Eladrin system . We need you son to pilot one." Melissa said, trying to give nothing away by her face. "You will, of course, be amply rewarded for your son's sacrifice. We will have to ask you to go into something like the Witness Protection Program, as you could become a potential target for Fog attacks. However, Phoenix could give you any sort of life you liked."
"But... why him?" Mr Stephenson asked, clearly mystified. "I understand he's almost old enough to go to war, given the situation, but give how powerful the Eladrin is, I'd think you'd want that kind of power in the hand of a reasonable adult."
"I'm sorry, but that's classified information. You can be sure there is a very good reason for it. All I can-"
"And why our son?" Felicity Stephenson said, holding back tears. "We lost one child in the bombardment, and every day I pray the damn Fog won't take another. How... how can I agree to send Issac into something like this?"
Melissa took a deep breath. She felt terrible. Of all the pilot candidates, Isaac Stephenson was the only one who had grown up in a stable family environment. That was unfortunately rare these days; Melissa was one to know about that.
"I want to do it, Mom." Isaac said. This was the first time he had spoken; he'd been quiet for most of the discussion. "If they need me, then... look, the Fog aren't just going to go away on their own, right? Someone needs to fight them."
Edmund took a deep breath. "If you want to do this, then you have my blessing. I'm very proud of you."
Melissa looked at the two of them, then back to Felicity. "I think... that your son is right. You lost a child to the Fog, but the Eladrin offers an opportunity to vastly reduce the price of a war against the Fog. We lost more than half a million soldiers in the Final Battle. How many mothers will suffer as you have in this new war if we don't have your son?"
"Then go, take him." Felicity said, beginning to sob. She looked at Isaac. "Just promise me that you'll come back to us."
(X)
Ars put down the straight bar and checked the communicator/phone thing the medical staff had asked him to carry. He had been embarrassing himself in the gym, lifting weights and going over his sword forms as Melissa implied would be good for his health.
He had one message, from Melissa.
Inbound with new pilot. Dropping him off, need to collect next one. Show him around, just give him the same tour I gave you. That's an order, maggot.
Huh. Ars thought. So Melissa must be back to normal. I guess that incident in the infirmary was just an anomaly.
(X)
The elevator hatch carrying the dropship descended from the ceiling, but this time Ars stood alongside Commander Marcus as it descended.
The platform touched down and the copilot's door on the craft opened. A tall, fair-skinned boy with rounded, noble features, and bright, fire-red hair emerged.
Ars stepped forward as he approached and held out a hand. "Hello, I'm Captain Ars Black, the first Eladrin pilot. Welcome to Phoenix."
(X)
"And this." Ars said, as the door slid open, "Is the simulator room. I've probably spent five hundred hours here in the past month and a half."
"Wow," Isaac said, said, looking at the row of five simulator machines, each several times the size of bus. "This whole base has been pretty impressive."
"I guess," Ars said. "Anyway, a lot of this is actually the neural interface gear. Then Eladrin's use a more refined system."
Isaac approached the second machine from the right wall, next to the simulator Ars had used during his training. "Wait, neural interface?"
"They didn't tell you?"
"No... Should they have?"
Ars shrugged. "In any case, it's basically a set of microneedles apparently. Two in the base of the skull and a set down the spine." He tapped the nape of his neck. "If they told anyone, don't think they'd get any recruits for this job."
Isaac looked far less disgusted than Ars had expected. "That's... impressive. Do you have to worry about your brain being hacked?"
"No, they explained it to me. Everyone's brain is unique, so it would be absurdly hard to write a brain virus, and it would have to target a single person. Plus, humans aren't machines; a virus couldn't really control you, and would fade quickly."
"Cool," Isaac grinned. "With that settled, then, can I give this thing a whirl?"
"I suppose so," Ars said with another shrug. "Simulator time is important, after all."
"Well, alright, then," Isaac said, starting to climb up the ladder to the simulator cockpit. "What scenario will we be flying?"
Ars grinned back. "Dogfight."
(X)
The two superfighters were simulated flying over the Central Pacific, with the Fog and major weather effects turned off. They were currently circling each other about twenty miles apart.
"So, I've never done this before," Isaac admitted from his position strapped in behind the simulated controls of the Salamander. "Should I be worried?"
"I've never done it before either," Ars said, focusing on his own controls, not a hint of irony in his voice. "I've minimized the control difficulty on your settings, so this is just a battle between the two of us; my superior experience controlling this thing won't matter."
"You didn't have to do that," Isaac said. "Now come at me."
Isaac broke his circling rotation, cutting toward Ars. Ars flared his engine and began to climb. Ars' HVMs had more throw weight then Isaac's lasers, but were on fixed mounts and thus very difficult to use in a dogfight. His 88mm Starlight Rifles were less powerful, but he had more of them, and they were able to rotate freely.
That was, of course, discounting the Energy Projector, but Ars doubted that would be much use in a dogfight.
Abruptly, a beam of energy split the sky below Ars. The corona from the beam was impressive, but it was still a miss. Ars began to climb in earnest, his speed dropping off as his plasma drive strained against the gravity well of earth.
A second beam of energy, though much less powerful, flickered across the area around Ars before it locked onto him. His Maxwell Field shimmered, becoming reflective as it dissipated the energy of the attack.
He rolled over, bringing his Starlight Rifles to bear. The distance had closed to only a few miles now, and Ars unleashed a barrage of superheated plasma at his rapidly approaching target.
Isaac was still at the extreme edge of the plasma weapons in their default state, but one of the bolts struck, triggering a flare in his Tesseract Field.
There was no time for Ars to consider his next move as his opponent closed, "Railguns to direct fire, anti-air mode."
As the two Eladrins shot toward each other, their railguns began to chatter. Ars watched as the integrity of his Field began to drop. The other craft was better suited for a close range joust; he couldn't win this fight. He jackknifed up, allowing his opponent to pass beneath him.
Isaac began to come around and raise his nose, but Ars had a superior position and hammered the other pilot with his Starlight Rifles. Isaac returned fire.
(X)
"So," Commander Marcus said, watching the simulated battle. "They seem to be getting along well.
"I guess," Melissa said.
The pair continued to watch in silence for several more minutes as the Eladrins continued to battle. Melissa was scheduled to be picking up the next pilot, but she figured there was enough slack built in to her schedule that it wouldn't really matter. In any event, she could go supersonic over the Great Plains for a few minutes to catch up.
The fight began to wind down to its inevitable conclusion. Ars seemed to have dragged it out. He had taken far more damage than Melissa figured he had needed to, but eventually he lined up a direct shot on the heavily damaged digital Salamander with his heavy plasma gun and ended him. Melissa had only known the second pilot for a few hours, but she had read his profile. Everything she knew about him indicated that he was the sort of person who wouldn't like being given an unfair advantage.
She wondered if Ars knew that.
(X)
Stel sat at the desk in 'her' room in the orphanage. It was a simple, if somewhat rickety, assembly of undecorated varnished wood. Really, it summarized the entire orphanage nicely.
The whole place was something that, before the appearance of the Fog, and the resulting bombardment, would have been considered badly out of place in the twenty-first century. That was then, however, when people had the privilege of living without the threat of potential annihilation hanging over them, and all the luxuries granted by trade across the seas.
That, however, was then, now was a completely different animal. The bombardment by the Fleet of Fog had created hundreds of thousands, millions even, of orphans. With the ongoing economic downturn created by the blockade, fewer people were willing to adopt than otherwise might.
To counter that, the government had been forced to foster the bombardment orphans onto just about anyone willing to sign a piece of paper, hopefully excluding anyone guilty of a major felony. Despite that it hadn't been even remotely enough and, in one of the extreme moves that rapidly became the trademark of his administration, President Viktor Antonov had re-introduced the concept of major institutional orphanages.
Somehow, Stel had ended up in one. She imagined that it was the same as the countless others in her situation; parents vaporized in a corrosive detonation, and pulled out as a bawling infant who had somehow been spared by some kind stranger or rescue worker. From there, she had been sent to one of the newly organized orphanages. At least she hadn't wound up in the refugee camps.
When she was younger, she had fantasized that she had been different. Perhaps, she had imagined, her parents had been traveling at the time and had simply lost her in the chaos. Or maybe her father had been a brave navy captain who had died gloriously fighting under Admiral Black at the Great Battle or Second Midway.
Of course, as she grew, she came to understand the improbability of such fantasies and set them aside, like her few childhood toys.
Particularly in the early years, it hadn't always been easy. The newly created 'children's homes' frequently were poorly organized, and hers had been a logistical nightmare. Stel keenly remembered the early years, the fights over the available food with the other girls; dealing with the strange, seemly random, absences of key goods.
It had been hard living with the frequent shortages of basic items. She had coped with it better than most; a fact which, when she had learned of her Russian heritage, had given her no end of amusement.
Stel had never been the biggest girl in the orphanage, but she possessed a strength that contradicted her rather average stature, something that had served her well in the occasional fights that ensued between her and some of the others. Though she would have never considered herself the most intelligent of the girls in the orphanage, she was still very clever, more so than she gave herself credit for.
As often as random items would become scarce, there were often strange bounties of similarly random items. Stel had proved herself very good at putting such items to rather creative uses. One time, when several crates of plastic cement had been delivered in lieu of any sort of shaving equipment, another girl had tried to take her carefully stockpiled collection of razor blades.
Stel had set a time and a place for the fight, poured the plastic cement across the synthetic floor, and wrapped her shoes in wax paper. When her opponent had arrived, she sprayed her with the activator for the plastic cement.
She looked back down at the history homework on the desk in front of her. It was on the East China Sea Conflict, also known as World War Three Lite, a war in 2027 that managed to involve all the various issues that had been accumulating in that part of the world for several decades.
Unfortunately, Stel knew very little about the East China Sea Conflict.
There was a quiet, hesitant knock on the doorframe. It was Diana, a quiet girl and one of Stel's roommates.
"Umm... there's someone here to see you." She said.
"Fair enough." Stel stood up, climbing out of the rickety chair and setting foot on the thin carpet that covered the floor of the room. She shook her short brown hair, which covered most of her neck, then smoothed it out with her hand.
Stel walked to the door, pausing to put on a pair of threadbare slippers. She then made her way out of the room, into the bare, whitewashed, and door lined hallway. As she walked down the two flights of stairs to the lobby, where visitors would be greeted, she wondered why anyone could have any reason for wanting to visit her.
She was deep enough in her thoughts that she almost walked into a tall, red-haired woman rounding the corner into the stairwell.
"Oh, excuse me," the other person said, taking a step back, then extending a hand. "I'm Melissa. I'm here representing Phoenix. You may have heard of us. Anyway, I have a proposition for you."
(X)
It is truly amazing, Captain Nicholas Mantle though, wrapping his fingers around the railing of a platform mounted on the forward face of the superstructure of his ship, what man can accomplish when backed into a corner.
His ship was a 20,000 ton Lloyd-class heavy cruiser, the David Hackworth. She was a powerful vessel, capable of carrying more the one hundred and thirty capital missiles on her integral Vertical Launch System, and carried more than twice that number of interceptors and anti-air missiles. She was also armed with nine 8.5inch hybrid propulsion main guns, mounted three each on two forward turrets and one rear turret. She was more heavily armored than anything pre-Fog, with belt and deck armor several inches thick made of the latest titanium-steel nanoalloys and ceramic 'sandwich' composite.
At present, however, the Hackworth was nowhere near combat-worthy. Her main guns had been removed, along with just about everything not bolted down, not to mention a fair bit that was.
The ship was also several hundred miles from the nearest major body of water.
Nicholas looked down. Presently, his ship was resting on the back of a massive multi-kiloton crawler , a vehicle designed to carry heavy warships from the nation's shipyards, located safely in the interior of the nation along the Great Lakes, to the underground fortress-ports where the canal network didn't reach.
Currently, his ship was ordered to proceed from the lock where it had been removed from the Mississippi River Canal Network, through a pass somewhere in Colorado, then go north, to the region where Seattle had once stood.
The crawler averaged something like four miles an hour over the ground they were currently traveling.
It was going to be a long trip.
(X)
Alaska sat in her favorite perch, a decorated nest in the superstructure of her ship-body. She flicked through the data reports she had gathered on the opponent she had faced.
It was a lavish space, occupying the area where the bridge of the ship had been on the battlecruiser. Bookshelves lined the room, and there was a thick carpet on the floor, a tall four-poster bed in one corner, and a massive, ornate wooden desk opposite. The room's dominant color was green, but white and gold trimmed or highlighted much of its contents.
Collecting the data, of course, had been very easy, particularly after the announcement of the Eladrin Project . She had simply scooped up everything on the human datanet related to the projected. From there, it had been easy enough to decipher the identity of the pilot of the machine which she had faced.
He was one Ars Black, the son of the great human ship master who had led the humans in their sole victory during the final battle. He had fought competently, far better than any other human in that conflict. He had used greater weapons with greater skill than any of his counterparts, and in turn achieved greater results.
It appeared that his son was cut from the same cloth. Admiral Octavius Black was dead, but Captain Ars Black was of the same blood, a descendant with potential.
I wonder what kind of person he is. Alaska thought, picking up the 1/100th-scale (plush) replica of the enemy 'Eladrin' she had created for intelligence purposes. I have to find out more about him.
The Mental Model sat like that for a while, pondering the nature of her enemy.
(X)
Eric Glenn leaned back in his plastic 'classroom' chair. He really hadn't expected the sheer volume of academic work involved with becoming a crewmember on a tank that outweighed most destroyers.
He was in a long room, cut from the stone above The Forge. With bare whitewashed cinderblock walls and a tile floor, its decoration was spartan, but that was a step up from the bare stone common in the underground manufacturing base. Long tables lined the long sides of the room with computer workstations at regular intervals, each one with a hopeful HORUS gun crewmember seated in front of it.
Currently, there were seven HORUS guns in various stages of construction. Each one needed a crew of twenty-one; a commander, a driver, a navigator, a gunner, two gun techs, five engineers, three reactor techs, five secondary weapons operators, a radioman, and a radar operator, so there were enough slots for most of the selected candidates. However, competition over who would be place where was fierce.
Overall, though, the project was going well.
(X)
"So," Kalar inquired, "What do you think of the new pilots?"
"I'm not sure." Security Chief Elizabeth. "I mean, the first one was alright, I suppose, but it's a bit early to tell on these new ones. I still have doubts about the first one, to be honest."
The pair was currently walking through a major hallway, dubbed the 'Grand Concourse', in J shaft. It had a higher ceiling than many halls in the base which, when combined with the gentle panel lighting, made it almost possible to forget that you were underground.
"What do you mean?"
"I... I'm not sure, exactly. Something about him just seems a little bit..." The Security Chief put a hand on her forehead and began twirling her hair around her finger. She was an extremely well-endowed woman of medium height with brown hair and dark, hard eyes.
"Well," Kalar continued, "we do have a psychologist on staff. That should help."
Kalar sighed, keying open a door. "I am a doctor. Nominally, at least. I picked up enough brain... stuff in med school to know we can't really hope for normal with these kids. We're looking for very uncommon traits within a small, exceptional portion of an inherently unstable section of the population."
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Brain stuff. You fill me with confidence. Anyway, the second kid, Isaac, seems ok, but the other one, Stel, I think, seems a bit... disturbed. Not like the sort of person that needs to be commanding the destructive firepower of an Eladrin."
Kalar grinned. "I disagree. Have you read her profile?"
"Yes."
"Did you check some of the attached incident reports?"
"No," Elizabeth said, sighing. "I've been rather busy this past week since the first mission. We've had a massive influx of new people, and vetting them has been a bitch."
"Well, in any case," Kalar said, "some of the ways she dealt with the other girls there were... impressive. I think she's exactly the sort of person we need controlling an Eladrin."
(X)
"You know, when I took this job." Isaac said, wiping sweat off his brow, "I expected glorious combat against the enemies of mankind. Sure, I figured there would be a fair degree of personal danger, and brutal training would be par for the course."
Isaac put the massive crate he was lifting down on the cart. "But manual labor? If I wanted that, I would have stayed home."
The three pilots had been assigned to help move a variety of items from one of the Engineering storage chambers, a large room in the bowels of the underground Phoenix headquarters. In this chamber, the white walls and tiled floors common in the base had given way to bare concrete and metal walls.
Metal tracks for the variety of powered carts used to move cargo criss-crossed the floor, like a twisted reflection of the grid of metal rafter bars on the ceiling. Given the room's lack of use, and thus low priority for climate control, and its proximity to the heavy machinery of the fabrication center, it was oppressively hot.
"Your home is gone." Ars said, grunting as he picked up a crate. "Tragically, some villain detonated a massive ammonium nitrate fuel oil bomb on your farm. There wasn't enough left of the Stephenson Family to fill my cocoa mug."
"You're hilarious," Isaac muttered.
"I find this rather pleasant." Stel said. "After all, it's not as if we have to do this all day."
"That doesn't change the fact that we still have to move that." Ars said, pointing his finger at the one remaining item the pilots had been tasked to move.
The item in question was a large piece of fabrication equipment, a heavy prototyper cage. It was large enough for Ars to stand or sit comfortably in it, were it empty. With the various other pieces of equipment in it, it was much heavier than he was.
"It's too heavy to just move," Stel said, "Let alone lift onto the cart platform."
"I think we need a plan. We have these drones," Ars said, tapping one of the drones with his foot, "let's use them."
Isaac shook his head. "They're too stupid. Let's just lift it."
It was true. Verbally instructing the drone was a painstaking process, and the team lacked any of the computer equipment needed to instruct them the old-fashioned way. The flat-topped drones could carry a massive load, but that was useless it you couldn't get them to do what you wanted them to.
Stel had wandered over to the far wall, and appeared to be examining something hanging from it. "We have also have these poles," she said, holding up a long metal rod.
"Fine." Isaac said, crossing his arms. "We'll do it your way. Where do you want me?"
Ars swallowed. "I'm not sure, exactly. What if we-"
"The way you spoke implied you had a plan." Stel said. "You're confusing me."
"I don't see why we don't just try to lift the thing." Isaac muttered. Then he raised his voice. "Stel, come help me with this."
Ars watched as his two fellow 'pilots' tried, and failed, to lift the heavy cage. He knew this would happen. Why couldn't they have listened to him? Stel hadn't done anything related to The Program, and neither of them had ever touched an Eladrin. Their units weren't even finished.
As his comrades strained, it dawned on Ars that he was, in fact, their commanding officer. He could just order them to help him. That would solve all of his problems.
Still, he needed a plan first. Simple machine were useful to move large objects. What could I use here...? Ars through back to the emergency prep section of the Engineering Orientation. He walked over to the response kit mounted on the wall, entered a non-emergency use on the pad mounted next to him.
Where... there it is! Ars grabbed a coil of composite fiber robe, intended to be used to remove debris from a trapped worker, and a pair of magnetic grappling clamps.
He took a deep breath. "Isaac! Stel! Help me move this thing. That's an order."
Isaac turned toward him and raised an eyebrow. "Order? You aren't Commander Marcus. I don't remember hearing anything about listening to you."
Stel turned to face him as well. "I agree."
"You should listen to me because I'm a Captain and you don't have any rank. That means I'm in charge."
"You said it yourself." Isaac shot back. "We don't have ranks. We're not part of the military yet."
"No, if you want to help, then try to get this stupid drone to do something," Isaac said, kicking a drone hovering near his feet, which took off across the floor.
Ars' arms began to shake. He suppressed the reaction, an act which took conscious effort. They hated him. I should have known they would have, he thought, turning away from the other two. After all, what else could I have expected?
Ars stalked past the other two, who were now attempting to coax a drone to stand by next to the cage, presumably to slip under once they had lifted it. Carefully avoiding looking either of the in the eye, Ars climb the three bottom horizontal bars of the cage like rungs on a ladder, then quickly attached the rope to the magnetic clap, and then secured the clamp to the top of the cage.
He attached the other end of the rope to the second clamp, then tossed it over one of the bars on the ceiling. Hoping to the ground, he grabbed the dangling magnetic clap and he walked over to the wall, where he looped it through a heavy metal bracket protruding from the wall horizontal to the ground.
"Drone, here." Ars said firmly, pointing at the nearest drone and jerking his arm toward himself. "Maximize traction," he said, kneeling down and attaching the magnetic clamp to the back to the drone, "Pull load, that direction."
The drone extended several outrigger wheels, and began to move forward. However, before it had moved more than a few inches, the rope grew taught and the drone's wheels began to skip on the floor.
Ars stared at it for a moment in dismay. He heard footsteps. Ars looked up. It was Isaac, carrying one of the heavy boxes.
"What do you-" He began, only for Isaac to cut him off.
"I'm here to help." Isaac said. "You need more traction." He set the box down on the back of the drone
Stel walked over, also carrying a box. She put in down on the robot, and its wheels began to gain some actual traction.
"Get another drone over here." Isaac said, "They can link together to increase their pulling power."
Several minutes later, five drones, loaded with a significant fraction of the crates, had been linked together in a star pattern. Slowly, they began to strain forward, and the prototyper began to rise.
"Come on," Ars urged, his anger evaporated. "Guys, I think its going to-"
There was a sudden groaning sound of stressed metal, then, before any of the pilots could react, the screech of tearing steel.
Ars whirled around in terror. The bracket on the wall was bending, deforming. Something was trickling down the wall underneath it. It was-
The metal tore, ripping free of its anchors and flying across the room. It shot toward Isaac, tumbling through the air, and dealt a glancing blow to Isaac's head. He dropped
From where the bracket had anchored, a frothy torrent of liquid began to gush into the room.
Simultaneously, the prototyper cage, which had rose to nearly a foot in the air, dropped, landed on an edge and, in what felt like painfully slow motion, fell on its side.
Ars rushed to Isaac's side, but Stel wave him off. She didn't speak, but Ars understood the look she gave him.
I've done enough already.
(X)
Alaska waited on the prow of her ship-body, watching the flotilla of approaching ships. The group was led by the Assault and Suppression Vessel Saratoga, and also contained the heavy cruiser Seydlitz, who was permanently assigned as her protector, and a handful of light cruisers and destroyers too small to be able to project their own mental models.
She sighed. Arizona was also approaching the rendezvous point, on a different vector. She had avoided the flagship ever their conversation after the encounter with the Eladrin.
The distant group of ships closed began to slow as they closed. Alaska was still rather ashamed of her conduct in the battle. The Flagship had made cognizant points about her performance, but she did wonder what she could have done better, other than not focusing on the Eladrin.
It took only a few minutes for the Assault and Suppression Vessel to reach Alaska, her attending heavy cruiser trailing only a few hundred yards behind and to the side. Waves broke over the bow of the flattop and crashed on the side of the ship as it pulled up alongside her.
A shadow fell across the deck as the massive Suppression Vessel slowed to a stop on Alaska's starboard side, the golden traceries across her hull pulsing as the ship applied its massive gravity engines to overcome its immense inertia.
Behind it, the heavy cruiser Seydlitz began its own turn, its gunmetal Fog patterns, which were more geometric than those of any ship Alaska had ever seen, radiated a more steady light as the rear starboard quarter of the ship seemed to lift into the air.
The prow of the Seydlitz was driven down into the water as it applied engine power perpendicular to its keel. A massive wave of water rose into the air, sparking in the sunlight for a moment before it fell into Saratoga's shadow.
And then onto Alaska's head.
As Alaska rubbed the salt out of her eyes and applied her Klien Field to her clothes, the Seydlitz came to a stop at a right angle to Alaska and Saratoga, very nearly touching the hull of the larger Suppression vessel.
At about the same time, the Flagship pulled to a stop on the other side of Saratoga. Abruptly, a long gangway shot out from the top deck of flattop and hammered into the deck with a resounding clang, a pair of spikes extending into the hull material to anchor it in place.
It was a signal, and none too subtle, to board the larger vessel. Alaska, still slightly damp, made her way up the plank, hands out to steady herself.
Alaska made her way to the top of the gangplank, breathing a sigh of relief as she stepped onto the stable main deck of the massive vessel, then began to survey her surroundings.
On the other side of the flight deck, near the command tower, the red-haired mental model of the Flagship also boarded the ASV. Elsewhere, the flight deck was empty. The pair of elevators at the center of the deck sat in their elevated positions, flush with the deck. Alaska slipped one of her shoes off and ran a toe over the deck material, flush with the apparent grain of the 'wood'. As she expected, it had the metallic texture common of Fog nanomaterials, with the chill expected on a ship in the North Pacific.
Slipping her shoe back on, Alaska began to run across the flight deck toward where the other two Mental Models were gathering. From the bow of the ship, she spotted another mental model walking across the deck. The fourth model drew closer and as she closed Alaska began to be able to discern her features.
The new Model, Seydlitz, was tall, with blond hair somewhat shorter than Alaska's own. She had bright blue eyes, and also appeared to be extremely well-endowed. That bothered Alaska a bit for some reason, but she wasn't sure why. If she wanted-
"Alaska!" The Mental Model talking with Arizona, who Alaska now saw was somewhat shorter than the Flagship, turned toward her.
"Ah, Alaska." Arizona said, turning toward Alaska and putting her hand on her hip. "We were just talking about you."
Saratoga turned toward Alaska, who looked over the first Assault and Suppression Vessel Mental Model she had met. The top of Saratoga's head only came up around the middle of Alaska's chest. The girl, it was hard to think of her any other way, had bright blue hair, with equally bright green eyes.
"Hello, Alaska," Saratoga said, nodding. "Flagship Arizona was just explaining to me about your encounter with this new human battle system."
Alaska held up her hands. "Well... see... the thing you have to consider is-"
Saratoga laughed. "Oh no, I think you did quite well. After all, Arizona said we've never even heard of this new type of enemy."
"Heh heh... yea." Alaska blink twice, then decided to try changing the subject.
"So, um, as an Assault and Suppression Vessel, what exactly would your capabilities be?"
"That's classified."
Alaska and Arizona turned toward the new speaker. It was the tall, buxom blonde from before, who walked toward the knot of taking ships with a quick confident stride, a harsh expression on her face.
"I apologize," She said, "But on order of the Supreme Flagship of the Pacific Theater, the exact abilities of an Assault Ship have been placed under seal, pending strategic necessity."
"I see." Alaska said, frowning. That really didn't make any sense at all. "So," she said, smiling, "Who are you?"
"I am designated Heavy Cruiser Seydlitz," she said, "Detached on permanent service as Singulare to Assault and Suppression Vessel Saratoga. I also-"
"Um, people, I'm picking something up."
"What is it?" Arizona said, her voice urgent. "Is it-"
"No." Saratoga said, "It's-"
With a roar, something massive broke the surface of the water. The prow of a ship. It continued upwards, water cascading off its turrets and gantries. Alaska craned her neck, watching as the massive ship rose hundreds of feet into the air. Something detached from the top, just as the upward motion of the ship ceased.
In what seemed like slow motion, the front half of the vessel plummeted down toward the ocean, drawing the stern out of the water until, with a tremendous noise, it hit, sending a massive fountain of water into the sky.
A figure landed on the deck in a three-point landing, a laptop held under one folded arm. The Mental Model, for it could be nothing else, wore a sleek grey leotard the color of an overcast sky hiding a bright sun, the same as the Fog patterns on her hull.
"Ladies and gentlemen," she said, looking up at the Flagship. "Iowa is here."