The Lotus Eaters

Puerto Lindo, Balboa, Terra Nova

The new submarine pen was intended to base a naval maniple of nine boats and their crews, any three of which could be presumed to be out on patrol or training at any given time. The concrete overhead was a full three meters in thickness and that on the sides not much less. Nine portals led to the Puerto Lindo bay while dual railroad tracks led from the factory, then entered the rear of the pen before descending into the water. With only two Meg Class submarines present, the pen seemed empty and cavernous.

Cavernous it might be, thought Warrant Officer Chu, watching as Meg 3 was railed into the water. Quiet, however, it is not.

The boat, about ten meters by forty, moved on four specially modified and linked flatbeds on two straight and parallel sets of track. This was deafening in the confines of the pen. Huge armored doors slid to either side to permit the vessel entry. That added to the screeching of the rails the sounds of machinery and grinding gears. Lastly were the sounds of preparation, by no means soft, though now drowned out by everything else.

Amidst all that noise, the squish-squish-squish of the thoroughly soaked Fosa walking up behind Chu and Quijana, the skipper of Number Two, the Orca, went completely unnoticed until he slapped palms onto the shoulders of his sub skippers and said—rather, shouted, "I don't believe even the UEPF can see anything with all this shit coming down."

"This place gets twenty-four fucking feet of rain a year, sir," Chu shouted back. "Sometimes more. I don't even know how the antaniae can find each other to fuck."

The armored doors ceased moving, much reducing the ambient noise level.

"You think this will work, sir?" Chu asked, in a more conversational volume.

Fosa answered, "I think so. Neither the Taurans nor the UE are likely to know that Number Three is unfinished. I looked at it before they started to rail it over. It looks perfectly complete from the outside. So if they see it come in and another boat leave they'll probably assume that the boat leaving is Number Three, going out for a test cruise. We've got good reason to think the earthpigs can't see down even fifty feet into the water, so when you go past a hundred they'll surely lose you. When the Orca goes out to probe the Gauls, that's all they should be looking for, just the one.

"Just in case, though, you boys have full torpedo loads?"

"Yes, sir," Quijana answered.

Chu added, "They finished backfitting my torpedo pods last month, sir. A mix of regular, supercavitating, and light for close in defense work."

The dark gray nose of Number Three appeared in the portal opened by the armored doors. Even in the dim light, rain could be seen coming down in near solid sheets. The noise picked up again, noticeably.

"We've fooled 'em before," Fosa shouted. "I think we can again. Arrogant folks, don't you know. And it's not like we're really all that important."

* * *

While Fosa went to watch the new, unfinished sub being railed into the water, Chu called Quijana aside for a little chat.

"Miguel," he said, "I want you to remember that, to date, the submarine force, such as it is, has a perfect record. The number of dives and the number of surfacings are exactly equal. Don't fuck that up."

Quijana scowled. "You're afraid I'll try to use this as an opportunity to make up for my 'cowardice' aboard the Trinidad?"

"Oh, stop." Chu shook his head. "You're not a coward and, no, you're not stupid. Still less are you immoral enough to put your boat and crew at risk over a purely personal matter. But . . ."

"Yes?"

The older man sighed. "Miguel, you've got more talent for submarines than I do. So think I and so thought the Volgans and Yamatans and Zionis who trained us. But you know why you're being the stalking horse while I go in for the test? Because I was afraid that, under pressure, if things go wrong, you might hesitate for just that fraction of a second that might get you all killed. Not hesitate because you're afraid . . . but hesitate because you're afraid of being afraid . . . or showing that you are."

At that, Quijana's scowl deepened.