Colin smiled, coldly. He had never claimed to be an expert in economics, but rebel analysts had tried hard to predict what would happen when the Roosevelt Family finally collapsed. Their best-case projection suggested that the other families would manage to take their assets for themselves, preventing the collapse from spreading further, yet it would place even more strain on the Empire. And, if they couldn’t prevent the collapse from spreading, the Empire might find it impossible to pay for the war.
“Finally, the Deep Raid Fleet, under Captain Cordova, will raid shipping and other isolated targets within the Core Worlds,” Colin concluded. “This will not only force them to divert additional forces to cover convoys, it will create a sense of unease among their leadership. If we can reach out and touch the Core Worlds, what’s to say we can’t reach out and touch Earth itself?
“I won’t lie to you. The Empire still has a staggering advantage in firepower — and we will be going up against tough fixed defences, no matter how badly corruption has eroded their ability to fight. We could still lose — but the Empire’s self-confidence will not survive.”
There was a long pause. Only a handful knew about the secret mission to Earth, let alone the plans for coordinated action with the underground movements. He didn’t dare discuss that openly, not when news might spread through the fleet and into unfriendly ears. There were so many newcomers that it was quite likely that some of them were reporting back to the Empire. And besides, they’d never figured out how the Empire had managed to locate Sanctuary Asteroid.
Finally, he nodded to Salgak.
The Geek’s voice buzzed as he spoke, drawing attention to the metal implants that marred his pale flesh. Such augmentation was banned in the Empire, even for the upper classes; the Geeks wore their implants proudly, as a badge of honour. Colin honestly couldn’t imagine why anyone would augment themselves so heavily it was questionable if they were human any longer, unless it was a gesture of defiance. The Empire wouldn’t hesitate to kill any scientist who started pushing the limits of research and development.
“We have turned our missile production facilities over to the Popular Front,” the Geek stated, bluntly. “Instead, we have worked on improving the missile systems and developing new weapons and technologies. We have managed to improve the performance of standard shipkiller missiles in several different ways. One of them will give the missiles additional powered flight range.”
Colin smiled. That wouldn’t be too useful against enemy starships — the standard tactic against an overwhelming barrage of missiles was to flicker out — but it would be very useful when they confronted fixed defences. Orbital fortresses weren’t much larger than superdreadnaughts, yet they had no need to devote mass to drives, allowing them to stockpile far more missiles in their hulls. Being able to engage them outside their own effective range would definitely give the enemy a nasty surprise.
“Another modification will make the missiles effective against enemy drive systems,” Salgak stated. “However, we are unable to produce them except in very small numbers. It requires a degree of precision that standard shipyards and industrial nodes are incapable of duplicating. There are also problems with the arming systems; the missiles may have to be fired from very short range, if they are to be completely effective.
“In hopes of tackling this problem, we have been designing a modified gunboat that we hope will be able to launch one or two such missiles. However, cramming drives, shields and weapons into a gunboat hull is tricky. We may have better luck if we leave the flicker drive out, then minimise everything else.”
“The gunboats would not be able to retreat,” Damiani pointed out, sharply. “If the battle was lost, they would be trapped.”
“There are hard limits to how much the flicker drive unit can be reduced,” the Geek informed them. “So far, we have been unable to overcome those limits.”
There was a pause. “Our research, combined with the additional resources captured from naval bases and facilities, has offered several new possibilities,” Salgak added. “One suggests that we might be able to wrap a flicker field around gunboats or missiles, tossing them into the enemy system. Another suggests that we might be able to build a working FTL communicator.”
Colin leaned forward, fascinated. “You believe you can actually make one work?”
“To a very limited extent,” Salgak said. “The flicker drive works by folding space around the starship, creating a link between its start and end point. We believe that we might be able to drive mass-less energy though a flicker field, projecting the energy forward at FTL speeds. However, the system would be very basic. It would certainly not allow us to extend a datanet over interstellar space.”
He paused. “It would also be quite flimsy,” the Geek added. “The signalling might burn out the system.”
“Like how keeping a flicker drive powered up places wear and tear on the drive systems,” Colin mused. For once, the bureaucrats at Luna Base had a point. The flicker drive was temperamental at the best of times — and, once burned out, it was impossible to replace without a shipyard. Imperial Navy regulations stated that a flicker drive was not to be powered up until the time came to jump, which tended to leave a starship taking incoming fire while it’s engineers frantically activated the drive. “But it would be very useful to have a working FTL communicator.”
He considered the possibilities. If the rebels had real-time information on what was happening even a single sector away, it would be easy to outmanoeuvre the Empire. The Thousand Families would be permanently out of date, while Colin could issue orders and know they would be obeyed instantly. Central command would become a very real possibility.
The Empire would really like such a system, he thought, grimly. They’d never have to fret over giving so much authority away again.
“We will work on the system,” the Geek buzzed. “But we caution you that it may be years before the system is workable. We dare not develop a Superiority complex.”
Colin had to smile. Superiority was a story cadets had been forced to read while training at Luna Base. The storyteller had recounted the story of how his side in an interstellar war had built several different superweapons, each of which had presented their own colossal problems when they’d actually been deployed. In the meantime, their enemies had kept chugging out standard starships and weapons… which had given them an overpowering advantage — and victory. Colin had wondered, at the time, if the story had been written by someone trying to justify the general freeze on research. It hadn’t been until much later that he’d discovered that the story actually dated all the way back to the pre-space era.
But the writer was right. They could start throwing resources into developing new weapons, but lose the war because the new weapons failed to live up to their promise.
“No, but we will be outgunned once the Empire gets organised,” he said. “What about actual starship production?”
Hannelore leaned forward. “We have taken possession of the Roosevelt Family’s facilities in the sector,” she said. “Most of them were designed to produce heavy cruisers or lighter ships, nothing heavier. They may have intended to launch a civil war of their own.”
Colin snorted. Somehow, he had the feeling that the Roosevelt Family was in deep trouble, back on Earth.
“We should have our first heavy cruiser coming out of the slips in two months,” Hannelore continued. “Our crews are motivated to succeed; I hope to ramp up production in the next three to four months, once we get the bugs out. We’re also completing the first missile defence ship, but that will require extensive testing before we move to mass production.”