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Absen waited outside the Combined Council of Earth with only a little trepidation. His conscience was as clear as any man’s could be: all his reports were honest, and he believed EarthFleet Investigative Service kept corruption and graft to a minimum. He knew of nothing that he might do better, though he thought some others could.
Almost two decades after the Eden Plague had reshaped humanity, society found itself less changed than most people had expected. Human nature had been adjusted, but not perfected. On the sliding scale of morality, the normal setting had tipped a bit toward the social good, but there were still as many definitions of that word as there were people.
Violent offenses had dropped by over ninety percent, but people still found reasons to hurt or even kill. Property crime and exploitation crime had dropped as well, but not quite as much. It was easier to rationalize the usual rackets like drugs, smuggling and prostitution than knocking someone on the head for their wallet.
This reduction in crime was all to the good, because Absen knew it still took every ounce of effort to vault Earth’s military technology far enough forward to take down this world-killer on its way. He felt rather like a Napoleonic admiral trying to develop a way for his sail-powered frigates and ships of the line to defeat a World War Two naval battleship.
When the Council’s attendant nodded to him and opened the door, he entered the room.
Smaller than most people expected, it held one representative from each nation seated in three concentric rings, stepped down like a half-circle theater or indoor arena. Aides and onlookers occupied the outermost banks of seats, but were barred from the “floor” during the actual session.
Absen took the podium in the center and, after introducing himself, launched into the main part of his report. “The Ceres project is proceeding apace with no major snags. Barring surprises, we will have reached maximum efficient production in about three years. This leaves two to three more years to produce warships.”
A discreet red light flashed in front of the man directly before Absen on the first row. He had the right to ignore questions until he was finished with his initial speech, but given who had pressed the button, he decided that would be unwise. “Yes, Chairman.”
Daniel Markis leaned forward to speak into his stalked microphone. “I’d like to hear more about these warships. It’s all been kept very hush-hush, even from me, but we’re in the fourth year of our nine-year effort and I’m sure Earth’s leaders would like to know a bit more. There have been some disturbing rumors.”
Absen was fairly certain Markis knew the answers to his question, so he must be asking for the benefit of the others. Well, it had to come out sometime, and he was prepared. “Yes, Mister Chairman. Naturally EarthFleet wanted to be certain of our courses of action before they became known, to keep those rumors to a minimum.”
“But you are ready to tell us something now? About these suicide ships?” Markis prodded.
“Yes, sir.” Absen cleared his throat. “First, let me say that the name is not strictly accurate. Suicide, kamikaze, is a tactic of last resort, but we want to be sure we cover all possible eventualities. Given the stakes, I felt this was only prudent.”
“Admiral, just spit it out in plain language. Your job is not at risk. Nobody is gunning for you. We just believe it’s time to tell the people of Earth what nine years of sacrifice and hard work are going to buy, and going to cost.”
Absen looked down at his notes, on old-fashioned paper because of the restrictions on devices in the Council Chamber. He shuffled them for a moment, then folded the sheets deliberately and slipped them into the breast pocket of his dress whites. Then he lifted his eyes to Markis, locking gazes with him. “Fine. I’ll give it to you all straight, without any political bullshit. Just remember, sir, you asked for it.”
Sipping from the water glass on the podium gave him a moment to shift rhetorical modes. He decided to just talk to them as if they were his staff and not his masters.
“There’s a principle in wargaming called the ‘Fuzzy Wuzzy Fallacy,’ based on Lanchester’s Laws regarding conflict. In simple terms, it says that cheaper and more numerous is more likely to win against expensive and few – in the long run. There are lots of corollaries and caveats, but all of our modeling has upheld the theory.” Absen leaned forward on the podium.
“The Meme employ this principle by overwhelming their enemies with cheap hypervelocity missiles in huge numbers, backed up by very robust and extremely maneuverable naval units – their ships, such as this Destroyer. To defeat them, we must mitigate three advantages.” He raised a finger.
“First, the large number of missiles they will fire. Modeling and simulation has shown that if we build big ships, they will be easy to hit and will get pounded to dust. The scout ship we fought hit Orion with nine hypers and killed more than half the crew, damaging the ship proportionally. Conservatively we expect this Destroyer to be able to launch hundreds, or more probably thousands, of missiles per salvo. Nothing we can build can stand up to that directly. Anything we could fashion – fortified asteroids for example – that could take the pounding, may not maneuver well enough to engage.”
Absen held up a hand at the flood of red lights that came on. “Allow me to go on. So, we don’t try to stand up to them. We make maneuverable ships that won’t get hit as often. I liken it to the PT boats of World Wars One and Two, each of which carried torpedoes that could sink much larger ships, and relied on speed and small size to avoid getting killed.”
“But what about this kamikaze notion?” Markis insisted.
“These attack boats, for want of a better term, will be heavily armed and lightly armored. Their job will be to press home against the enemy at speed, launch our overwhelming number of weapons, and if necessary, ram the Destroyer and blow their fusion devices. If necessary.”
“Why not just use robot ships to do the same thing?”
“We considered that, sir. Two problems. One, we can’t program a computer smart enough to cover all eventualities, and two, the lightspeed delay makes remote control unworkable. We’ve run every simulation, ladies and gentlemen. There are strategies that are more efficient – that result in lower casualties – but none more effective. Without pilots willing to kamikaze, the best chance the wargames give us to win is thirty-one percent. Less than one in three.”
“And with the pilots?”
“More than fifty percent.”
Silence fell on the assembly for a moment, before murmuring started as representatives conversed with their neighbors. After a moment Markis, as usual the spokesman for the rest of the world, asked, “This was the best solution?”
Thank you, Absen thought, as he realized the Chairman was carefully leading the Council toward the only possible conclusion. “Yes, sir. The best we could find. Now realize,” he raised his voice, leaning into his microphone, “that this is just the fleet strategy, of the mobile forces that will close with and kill the Destroyer. My monthly reports detail the defensive strategies using orbital lasers, railguns, missiles and a whole bunch of other technologies to mitigate its attack on Earth and to reduce the Destroyer’s options. I’d be happy to take questions on these items, but it’s likely that Production Minister Ekara or my J4, General Travis Tyler, can answer those better than I can.”
Despite this attempt at deflection, Absen spent the next hour addressing as many questions as he could, as Markis got out of the way to allow most of Earth’s hundred-odd remaining nations to speak. The admiral knew enough of politics to realize this consensus-building process was important, and that the horses all pulled harder when the whip hand stayed light.
