The Unincorporated War (60 page)

“We’d been looking at various possibilities to solve this problem. Theoretically we could’ve tried to warp space between intervening distances, but as I said, that’s mostly theoretical. Two, we could’ve created a new interstellar drive system that would’ve greatly increased the speed of our present ships, but from everything I’ve seen, a working prototype would still be de cades away. And finally, we could provide a protective shield around our ships as they raced through open space.”

“Which one did you choose?” asked Dr. Nesor.

“The third one … sort of. Thanks to our fusion and compression technologies we can accelerate our ships to incredible velocities very quickly. The only limits were what the human body could stand and what would happen to a ship hitting small objects in space. The faster the ship the smaller an object has to be
to cause catastrophic damage. We lose ships all the time because they go too fast or just get unlucky.”

“Forgive me, Madam Secretary,” said Ayon, “but you said shielding is not possible.”

“Oh, it’s not, at least not now, but we don’t need it. We just need to remove the need for it, by creating a debris-free field.”

Hildegard waited but saw that no one was going to make a snide comment.

“The theory is actually quite old,” she continued, “but there was no way it could be justified under normal economic conditions. Before the war all that mattered was that personnel, supplies, and raw materials could move throughout the solar system; it didn’t really matter to anyone on Earth if it took days, weeks, or months as long as it got where it was needed. So no one ever had an incentive to try it out, until now. We created large drive units and had them boost a large preformed shield, usually made out of ice. The shields are quite vast—”

“How vast?” asked Dr. Nesor

“A little over four hundred meters.”

“That’s a big piece of ice.”

“Correction, Doctor: That’s a big piece of extremely fast-moving ice. Getting the drive units was extremely difficult given the war, but Mosh got us some. We sent the ice ships in waves of three. The first clears the route, the second detects any leftover debris, tracking all potentially dangerous objects in its route, and the third cleans up afterwards. In the outer system the route remains relatively clear, for quite a while. But if you follow a plow group, that’s what we’ve been calling this new system, you’re only limited by the plows’ speed. The safety actually surpasses normal spaceflight. Naturally the longer you wait after the plows have moved through, the lower the safety margin. But here’s what makes the plan feasible, if dreadfully resource expensive—when the plows arrive at their destination we re-form the ice shield and send it back. We never stop sending it on the route it’s taking, so it’s always clearing a path based on a route that corrects for planetary alignment. All a ship has to do is pick a destination and know when the last plow group left or when the next one is leaving.”

“And it really works?” asked Justin hopefully.

“I told you I had good news, sir,” Hildegard said with a bright smile. “We just sent a ship from here to Pluto in less than half the time it would normally take.”

“Damsah’s balls,” said Cyrus. “I mean astounding.”

“What he said, both times,” added Padamir.

Justin turned to Mosh. “What will this take from the war effort to make it work?”

Mosh gave a nod to Hildegard, who smiled as she took her seat, knowing that
she’d topped the meeting. Mosh then got up and the holo-image changed to production figures and locations.

“I’ve already taken the liberty to plan a crash course, pardon the pun. The primary cost will be in the heavy-duty thruster units. Only two places can make them, but the Jovian system is the best place for this purpose. The sensor units can mostly be scavenged from navigational satellites that will become effectively obsolete with the creation of this system. We’ll need two to three plow groups between each of the main transit points. But the value to the war effort will make this well worth the cost. If we push, the system can be up and running in two months; in six it will be comprehensive. Once that happens we can supply our forces in the 180 without having to send them around the ring. It would actually be faster to send something from here to one of the outer planets and then back to another part of the belt than to try to do it directly through the ring. It’ll almost be like we’re shooting the core, but without that pesky UHF fleet trying to blow the crap out of us.”

“Admiral,” said Justin, concern evident in his voice, “won’t that mean fewer ships for the next four to six months?”

“I know, Mr. President, and I can’t say that it fills me with joy either, but J.D. just took out an entire UHF battle fleet. Even with their manufacturing base, they’re not anywhere close to making that up. If we’re going to do this, we need to do it now. With a viable superhighway we can get our fleets and miners where they need to be as fast as the UHF can. It’ll make up for a lot.”

Justin’s eyes flittered over Mosh’s numbers. “Tyler, will you be able to expedite the funding through Congress?”

Tyler stood up sporting an easy grin. “Mr. President, since the last elections the NoShares have a working majority with the Alliance Libertarians. I could get you pronounced king after the Infant Liberation Proclamation … though it would take a little time. This could actually be our first unanimous bill. This highway will revolutionize the Alliance and obliterate distance. With it we can become a functioning civilization—a united civilization.”

“So that would be a ‘yes,’ then?”

“Yes, Mr. President. I’ll need to brief the chairmen of the various committees, but you will have full congressional support for this inside of a week. Not even the Shareholders could object.” Sadma then took his seat.

“They won’t,” said Mosh, who was the effective head of the smaller but still-potent Shareholder party.

“Which leaves us with an issue more difficult to solve,” said Justin. “Admiral, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Admiral Sinclair nodded and then stood up. “If Trang keeps up his new strategy we could lose the war in six months.” He then replaced Mosh’s holo with one
of his own. It was a map of the belt at the 180. There were over a hundred areas covered in bright red, flaming dots that extended across the belt for millions of miles. It was clear from the holo that Trang wasn’t going deep, he was going long—stretching the Alliance’s line with every mile.

“He’s launched over 120 offensives,” continued Sinclair, “at almost all parts of the belt except in a 60-degree arc centered around Ceres. He knows we can respond and turn it into an actual defeat for him. But he’s not afraid to face us; cold-blooded bastard’s not really afraid of anything near as we can tell. He’s just smart.”

Sinclair then replaced that image with that of a typically well-armed miner.

“Our miners are better than their marines. No other way to put it. Soldier for soldier we win, especially on the defensive. But Trang doesn’t care about that. We have a classic attrition situation. He’s pouring in an unending supply of inexperienced marines and spacers into every hellhole we make.” The holo started filling up with smaller UHF soldiers—ten to every one of the Alliance’s. “He loses four or even five for our one. When he gets three to one he considers it a victory. He doesn’t even try to rehabilitate or rotate his troops. He sends them in raw and when they wear out he sends the next group in and the next and the next. Doc,” Sinclair said with a slight grimace as he sat down and closed up his holo, “I think this next bit is yours.”

Ayon stood to address the now-somber group. “Combat in space is brutal on the human psyche. For many humans even normal movement in space can be traumatic. The merciless environment where no human ever evolved can only be conquered and claimed by those with the will do so. That’s why so many humans, the great majority in fact, choose to live on the core worlds of Luna, Earth, and Mars—or at least in very close orbits. Using statistical analysis from the last two years it’s clear that even the marginally effective units the UHF has are drawn from Luna and the orbital habitats of Earth and Mars. In short, at least these marines have a basis from which to start their space-based training. Now if one of these marines has a breakdown, they get shipped back to Earth and are given some other job within the military structure. So they can still be productive. Not so our personnel.

“Here’s where our tremendous advantage can possibly turn into a major disadvantage. Space combat makes all the hazards of our environment far more pronounced, and when a member of the Alliance begins to fear their own suit or the shuttle they’re on because of what they’ve experienced over and over again they become effectively useless.”

“Doctor,” asked Justin, “is there an average number of reanimations per miner?”

“Yes, anywhere from three to seven reanimations. So let’s call it five. Imagine,
then, that you have resident memories of five absolutely horrific deaths, any one of which could have … in fact should have led to a p.d. We have cases, tens of thousands of them, where patients cannot put on a space suit. They become hysterical, catatonic; some have even experienced cardiovascular failure. In other cases they won’t take their suits off. Others cannot be near weapons; many cannot be aware of being on ships. Many can’t be in the dark. I cannot begin to tell you the number of eyelids that have had to be regrown.” She allowed a moment for the group to realize the implication.

“Using basic trauma therapies at the Saturn institute,” she continued, “we’ve been able to get many of these patients to the point where they can be fully functional back in space-born civilization, but almost none we get can be made ready for combat again.”

“This represents a force of over four hundred thousand experienced combat soldiers who cannot go back to combat,” Sinclair added bleakly.

“Look, Doc,” added Kirk. “It seems perfectly reasonable. Why in the worlds would they want to go back? At least from what you described I know I wouldn’t.”

“You have to understand, Mr. Secretary,” answered the doctor, “that these men and women volunteered. They have very strong ties to their community and their friends. I can promise you that if they could go back they would.”

“Exactly how many of that four hundred k are we talking?” asked Sinclair.

“With effective treatment; over 95 percent, and I promise that’s no exaggeration. Sometimes I’m not even sure which is more traumatic, the experience of their having died countless deaths or the guilt of their incapacitation. They feel like they’ve abandoned their friends and comrades, their Alliance,” she then looked directly at Justin, “and in many cases a deep shame that they’re failing you, Mr. President.”

Justin’s face grew rigid. “They must never think that, Doctor. Regardless of what else is done from this point on, I’ll give you what ever general statement, recording, or personal communication is needed to alleviate any undeserved guilt they may have. They owe me nothing. You must make them understand that it’s the other way around.”

“Of course, Mr. President. The institute will be glad for the help. But I only brought it up to show you that the desire to return to combat is there, all that’s been lacking is the ability to do so, that is … until now.”

Sinclair practically leapt out of his chair. “Doctor,” he said, his two fists on the table, “if you can get us four hundred thousand experienced combat vets in under six months we can stabilize the front. Hell,” he said, sitting back down again, “we might be able to go on the offensive. I wasn’t kidding when I said our men and women are better than theirs. It can make the difference between defeat and continuing the war.”

When the doctor didn’t respond to his remark Sinclair said, “Doc, did you hear what I just said? This is vital; we need those spacers!”

“You should tell them,” said Justin, nodding his head.

“I’m ashamed that I even began this research, sir. I just wanted to help them so much and … well … it worked. A part of me is still sorry I didn’t delete all of it.”

“It may have been better if you did,” answered Justin, “but we cannot undo the past, any of it. We must decide the future with all the information at hand. You have to tell them, so they can help me decide.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, and then turned to once again address the group. “EMDR is the basis of modern cognitive therapy, but as I said, none of the traditional forms of therapy were working. But I happened to be in the institute’s criminal treatment center. It’s mostly empty now and a good place to think. Anyhow, that’s when I … when I saw it just sitting there gathering, honest to Damsah, dust.”

“Saw what?” asked Padamir.

Hildegard turned pale. “A psychological audit device?” She turned her glare on the doctor. “What’s wrong with you?”

Everyone around the table seemed to lose their pallor—if that were even possible for a spacer—and remained silent, except for Kirk, whose ears had perked up as he listened with rapt attention.

“I was at a dead end,” continued Dr. Nesor. “There was nothing I could do to help them short of radical drug therapies. We’ve just never had to deal with this level of pain before. There are thousands still in suspension. How can I wake them up to the horror of what they experienced?” She paused and gathered herself together. “I’m sorry. We’re trained to be detached from our patients, but it hasn’t been easy, or even successful. What’s done is done.” She took a deep breath and gathered her strength. “I saw the device and it occurred to me if I were to do primitive EMDR using that device to map out not pathology but trauma I could isolate the trauma and … and—”