“We have fission bombs, thanks to Medeiros. We have fusion bombs, or at least the plans, thanks to the USE and Colonel Butterworth. We’ve been able to size up the plasma spikes somewhat, but there’s a practical limit to the size of the magnetic containment. We’ve probably reached that. It’s enough for the smaller Others’ vessels, but not enough to seriously harm the death asteroids or cargo vessels.”
Garfield popped up a diagram. “We’ve got the basic concepts of the cloaking figured out, but we weren’t able to salvage enough hardware to see how the Brazilians were actually doing it. Which means we’re starting from scratch. This appears to have been another one of those accidental discoveries, so it’s not just a matter of hours thrown at the problem. We’re going to need some breakthroughs.”
Someone at the front commented, “Without the cloaking, we can’t get the bombs close enough to be effective. They’ll just zap them or shoot them down. I think it’s safe to assume the Others have things like missiles as well.”
“We can get the items close enough,” someone else responded, “if we transport them in the cargo hold of a battle-wagon.”
There was silence as everyone looked at each other. We all knew what that meant. The battle-wagon would be destroyed in the explosion as well.
“We could put AMIs in some battle-wagons and make them suicide bombers.”
I felt my eyebrows climb up my forehead. That was actually not completely idiotic. We’d have to think about how many dreadnaughts we’d staff with AMIs, though.
“Or SCUT-based remotes.”
I looked around. “Okay, who is that? Those are some good ideas. Maybe you should be on the committee.”
Someone stepped forward. It was Elmer. “No thanks. I’m just trying to spare my hide.” He grinned around at the audience and we finally got some laughter.
“There’s also relativistic ramming,” another voice interjected.
I shook my head. “We thought about that. It would have to be busters, or something that could be directed. And even so, you’d have to launch weeks before the encounter, and you’d have to plan it to intercept the enemy at the right place and the right time. Chances of getting it right are too low. Plus they’ll see the approach from a light-hour out with SUDDAR and they just have to dodge. The busters would have a ridiculous tau and wouldn’t be able to react quickly enough. If we forget about relativistic speeds and just stick to our normal ramming, they won’t even feel it. Or they’ll just zap ship-busters a couple dozen at a time with those big zappers.”
There was a short silence as everyone digested this.
We knocked around the weapons issue for a while, but soon realized we were all rehashing the same information. I ended the meeting, and we broke into groups. Technically, this was the social part of the get-together, but we’ve always been a workaholic. Each small crowd turned into a single-issue discussion group.
In one group, Jacques was doing an informal presentation on the Pav. I found Bob, Bob-1 that is, in the audience. I stepped up beside him; he nodded an acknowledgement and turned back to the presentation.
I wanted to say something to him about the Deltans—to commiserate, or express sympathy, see how he was doing, something. He was effectively banished from their society. He’d pretty much adopted the tribe as his family, and to be cast out like that couldn’t be easy.
But, you know, we are Bob. Smart, driven, and socially inept. I focused my attention on the presentation.
The Pav seemed, in many ways, to be very human. Okay, they were furry, had group marriages, and ran around on all fours. But other than that...
The Pav tended to a sort of natural socialism. They had social institutions for the less fortunate, but those seemed to be supported by private funding. And well supported, too. Pav governments, even the types that, on Earth, would have been heavily interventionist, tended to be lean and hands-off. On the other hand, the Pav were, by human standards, about as organized as a basket of puppies. I wondered what effect introducing Robert’s Rules of Order would have on them.
Jacques finished his presentation, got a round of applause, then the questions started. I grinned, nodded to Bob, and wandered off.
So many Bobs. So much intelligence in this room, if I did say so myself. So much control of resources, spread over a sphere that might be approaching a hundred light-years in diameter. And we couldn’t put together a plan to protect a single planet. With a grimace of self-loathing, I popped back to my own VR.
65. Grandpa
Bob
January 2195
Delta Eridani
Archimedes hovered like a nervous father as Belinda cleaned up her new pup. Buster smiled at him, but I could see an edge of irritation as well.
It’s the sacred duty of every parent to drive their kids crazy. Especially when they become grandparents. I grinned at the thought of my mother and father as grandparents, doing their best to make Andrea and Alaina insane. Then I had to wipe my eyes as the thought brought back a cascade of family memories. A quick frame-jack allowed me to get it together without missing anything.
Belinda handed the pup to her mother-in-law and started cleaning herself. Diana rocked the baby for a few moments—very likely another universal—then smiled at Archimedes.
It was a picture-postcard moment, if you could ignore the bat-ears and pig snouts and fur. And I wanted, more than anything I’d wanted in a long time, to be able to share in it. Archimedes and Buster would have been fine, but Diana would go screeching to the elders at the first sign of a drone. Damn, I disliked her.
In his forties, now, Archimedes still showed exceptional good health. He was, of course, the first generation of Deltans to grow up with the improved nutrition that The Bawbe’s inventions had brought to the tribe. But even so, he seemed to be aging slowly for a Deltan.
I thought of pestering Bill again about the androids, but he had so many projects on the go, not the least of which was the terraforming of Ragnar?k. Bill was good-natured about it, but I had to believe that I was being a bit of a pain.
Just the same, he said he was close. A decade or two at most. It just wasn’t a priority. I suppose I could offer to help out, but realistically the Deltans and the armaments project still occupied most of my time. And anyway, no one likes a kibitzer.
I pulled out of the surveillance drone, and picked another that was spying on Caerleon, the new Deltan village. Caerleon was situated in another of the old abandoned village sites—not surprising, since whatever made it a good location the first time would still hold true. With the reduction in gorilloid populations and alteration in gorilloid behavior, the village was a good deal safer now. I smiled sadly at the thought. That was the result of my efforts, and they couldn’t take that away from me.