Chapter 9 – Plan Foxhound

No sooner had the gifts from the Drake been parcelled out than an invitation was received, addressed to the Governor from the Captain of the CSS Arthur C. Clarke. Michael Deschenes brought his second-in-command, Colonel Chaz Desrochers, with him on board the Clarke.

He and Chaz were met by Captain Todmorton and his senior staff, all resplendent in their Fleet Auxiliary dress blues. They were standing at Attention, or a version thereof – the Fleet Auxiliary tended to embrace foot drill with even less enthusiasm than their Regular Navy counterparts – and were introduced in turn to the Governor, to whom they would be reporting to for the foreseeable future.

Michael's Navy counterpart, Admiral Van De Graaf, arrived moments later, accompanied by his aide, Lieutenant Simonetti. They had spent the last hour or so inspecting the CSS Caldecot Castle, much to its crew's discomfiture – the Admiral was a stickler for details and discipline.

Captain Todmorton made an offer of luncheon on board his proud new command, which both Marine officers accepted with pleasure.

Michael realized he had his own social obligation to discharge at that same time. He sent a subvocal request down to Decurion Redburn on Thule. Could she please host a welcoming luncheon at Camp Shackleton's base brothel, the Beauty Saloon, in his name for the Drake's passengers and officers? Samantha reported back that she was delighted to do so.

Lunch on board the Clarke consisted of lake perch fillets “hotel D'angleterre” with a watercress salad, followed by poached pears. As the dessert dishes were whisked away and replaced by coffee and tea by crew's concubines not assigned to the Sciences Division, Michael turned to Toddy and regarded the nervous man warily. “And the real reason why we're here?” he challenged.

As Toddy cleared his throat, Lieutenant Payne, dressed in his Fleet Auxiliary dress blues for once, broke in. “I believe, Captain, sah, that's my cue.”

Gratefully, Toddy nodded to the bearded science officer.

To the astonishment of both Michael and Vincent, Payne dug into his left jacket breast pocket and pulled out an old-fashioned pocket watch, opened the antique's cover and tapped the glass. “Yes, it's well after one. My orders,” he explained as he snapped the watch closed and returned it to the pocket from whence it came, “are to tell you and the Captain after one in the afternoon on today's date, exactly what the mission of the Arthur C. Clarke is.” He nodded at Toddy. “Not even the good Captain of this flyin' laboratory knows about Plan Foxhound.”

He leaned back and, in his Southern patrician tones, gently began his lecture. “The first part of the mission of the 12^th was to get trained up, and to determine how well, or how poorly, the Sa'arm could handle conditions on arctic planets like Thule. That you knew.”

Michael nodded. So far, nothing he didn't already know.

"Of course, things don't always go to plan – that's why the decision to hold a full-blown inquiry into young Decurion Redburn and her 'Children's Crusade'. We needed to know exactly how well the Sa'arm could adapt to fightin' on a skatin' rink.”

"Tactical plans never survive contact with the enemy,” Michael joked.

"Well, her tactical plans managed to survive quite well, an' that's why she's the youngest Civil Service officer in the Confederacy.” The lieutenant took a sip of his tea as the two flag officers reflected that he seemed to know more than a mere researcher should know about the tactical and strategic situation in Sector 12.

"The second part of the mission you might have guessed, but I'm makin' it official. This ship is to proceed to Hesperusat with the next relief fleet, to gather data as to the feasibility of Plan Foxhound. We're to confirm that Hesperus Three is indeed a dead world, and if it is so then we're to try engineerin' an ice age on that planet.”

Michael, Toddy and Chaz all started. “An ice age?” Chaz challenged. “Artificially inducing an ice age?”

"Exactly,” Payne gently nodded. “We want to turn Hesperus III into another Thule. We don't know if it's a good candidate or not, but we have to try.”

"But, why?” Toddy demanded.

"Cain't you guess?” Payne challenged. “If it works on Hesperus, it should work on Earth. The big idea that Central Command has, Plan Foxhound they're callin' it, is that when organized resistance ends on Earth, we'll trigger an ice age there, and freeze the planet. Then we'll send in the 12^th Division, or as much as we can spare, plus any local Earth units we've managed to create or rescue during the big final evacuations, and take the planet back.”

"Every species on the planet will be rendered extinct, if you make Earth into another Thule,” predicted Michael with concern. His thoughts were for the inevitable pockets of humans that would have been left behind. “This iceball had nothing on it until we built the domes.”

"We're supposed to trigger the ice age after organized resistance has ended,” Payne reminded his audience. “At that point, much of the indigenous life on the planet will already be converted to stew, and what's left over won't be far behind. Many species will already be extinct.” Payne shrugged fatalistically. “For the rest, it'll be a case of whether the lifeforms die by the hand of the Swarm or by the hand of Man – there won't be a third alternative.”

Lieutenant Simonetti, a puzzled look clouding his handsome face, wondered, “But just how do you 'engineer' an ice age?”

"Easiest way is to create massive dust clouds, to block out the sun and reflect its heat.” In front of Payne, the AI showed a planet being bombarded by meteorites. “We've got a whole ring of dandy ammunition in orbit between Mars and Jupiter we can fire at Earth, and besides we can make chaff light enough to hang in the atmosphere for years, to reflect the Sun's radiation even more efficiently.”

"Like nuclear winter?” quizzed Vincent.

"Exactly. Or like Krakatoa raised to the power of 10. After that volcanic blast, the worldwide temperature dropped 1.2 degrees Celsius for some five years. Add to that, the impact of massive absorption of greenhouse gases. We think we can drop the Earth's temperature far enough to create a very fast-acting ice age, which means a drop of at least six degrees Celsius. If the projections are right, once we start Operation Foxhound as they call it, within six months every piece of land on the planet will be completely frozen over, and ice will extend almost to the equator.”

"Lord have mercy on any humans left on Earth when Plan Foxhound becomes operational,” Vincent murmured, shocked by the apocalyptic nature of the operation they were contemplating.

Michael and Chaz looked at each other soberly. Like everyone else, both in the Human Diaspora and still on Earth, they'd tried hard to avoid thinking of Earth's ultimate fate. The room was silent as everyone present struggled to imagine what kind of life would be able to survive that gruelling environment.

Melodie and her daughters were impressed by the family restaurant their new sponsor had referred to as The Beauty Saloon. The fancy Art Deco decor, the fancy meals, the fancy cocktails, the fancy glassware and fancy silverware, all lent the place an air of sophistication. In the corner of the main ball room, a small but talented live jazz band, all dressed in tuxedos, played Gershwin show tunes as a handful of shift-clad concubines and their uniformed sponsors kicked up their heels on the vast dance floor. Concubines in light blue shifts waited tables, and a few people nursed fancy cocktails at the long ebony and chrome bar.

Samantha enjoyed a mocktail called a Cardinal Punch, pregnancy having forced her off booze. Clarisse took her lead from the Decurion and had a cocktail as well, choosing a Coco Colada, unaware that the drink she was served likewise contained precisely zero alcohol.

All three were startled when Danny Bachelor, his naked girlfriend Diana and her equally naked mother Penny joined the dining table. Melodie cocked a questioning eyebrow at her sponsor.

"The Governor's head concubine decided to show her love for him by taking a vow of nudity,” explained Samantha's mother Monica. “And her daughter decided to do the same thing when she and Daniel fell in love.”

"Ah, I see,” nodded Melodie, as if she understood. To the amusement of the long-time Thule residents, however, she couldn't hide the bewilderment she actually felt.

Clarisse and Candy were a little less freaked than their mother, having seen similar displays on Earth. Still, Diana and Danny were only twelve, Clarisse's age.

Samantha had changed the subject, to Melodie's relief. “We'll have our first goalie school class at three this afternoon. That gives us enough time to get in a little relaxation.”

Candy noticed one particularly hot looking woman drinking a Martini at the bar. The brunette looked like she was in her early 20's but, thanks to Darjee medical technology, she could easily be a grandmother. She wore an emerald-green Chinese dress slit almost waist-high, decorated with dragons and flowers done in fine gold thread. An orchid was perched just over one ear. The way the woman's B-cup bosom moved, it was clear she wasn't wearing a bra. The slit should have revealed some sort of panties, but it was just possible she didn't wear anything down there, either. Add in black patent-leather shoes with a two-inch heel and manicured toenails in the same scarlet colour as her carefully varnished fingernails, and the result was an exotic beauty.

That this particular exotic beauty was draped decorously around the two metre tall Marine standing next to her made it clear just what her intentions were: mating, and as soon as she could talk the tall man out of his pants. From his reaction to her running her long fingers through his blond brush cut, the feeling was mutual. He responded to her caresses and French kisses by placing one hand under her dress, firmly on her bare butt.

Candy found herself getting somewhat breathless as the scene got hotter. Looking up from her plate of mild chicken curry, Samantha noticed where her youngest concubine's eyes were fixed and leeringly offered, “You want a closer look?”

Candy blushed scarlet and attempted to change the topic. “This is good,” she observed, holding a forkful of food. “What's it called again?”

"Country Captain,” Samantha nodded. “The recipe just got here with the Clarke, apparently someone in the crew is from Virginia, from whence this dish comes.” She cocked her head. “But you've been holding that five centimetres from your mouth for the past five minutes.” She indicated the amorous couple at the bar. “Did you want to see more of that?”

"Ah, no.”

"Bullshit,” Samantha smirked. She turned to Melodie. “Does Candy help you with your goalie classes?”

Melodie shook her head. “She's never shown much of an interest in hockey.”

"OK,” decided Samantha, turning back to Candy. “Hang around here today. There's a boy doing a Redburn. Chuck got a six point eight. He'll be over as soon as his enhancements are finished.”

"'Doing a Redburn'?” Clarisse was intrigued.

Samantha gestured to her dependant Mickey. The eight-year-old girl was happy to elucidate. “On your fourteenth birthday, you have your first CAP score, over 6.4 preferably, your first fuck, and have your first pregnancy – or for guys, the first time you get a girl pregnant. And if you're a sponsor, you register your first concubine. And you stay nude for all twenty-four hours, starting at midnight.”

"Oh,” Candy mouthed, shocked, as her mother's eyes bugged out.

Clarisse was intrigued. “'Redburn' as in....” She pointed to her sponsor, who was grinning like a Cheshire cat.

Mickey and Samantha both nodded. “Oh,” Mickey added, “and you have your birthday party in the base whorehouse.”

"Candy, dear,” Melodie commanded, “there's no way I'm letting you go to this boy's birthday party, if it's in the base brothel. You're staying here.”

Samantha leaned over the table and waggled her finger under Melodie's nose. “One, she's my concubine, and what I say goes. Not you.”

Melodie paled at Samantha's dead-serious look. “And two?”

Penny leaned over and whispered into Melodie's ear. “What?” she exclaimed in astonishment. “But -” She pointed to several nearby tables where other families with young children were having lunch, the dance floor where a few concubines were dancing to the live band, and the blue-shift-clad concubines who were clearly waitressing.

"This is the base brothel?” Melodie was incredulous. Both of her daughters stared at their mother in shock.

Around her, everyone but her daughters burst out laughing, nodding in affirmation.

Samantha led Melodie to her first class. The students were still changing into their hockey gear in Dressing Room #1. Melodie looked at the dozen little tykes, ranging in age from five to ten years of age. Like everything else in the Diaspora compared to Earth, there was both the familiar and the different about this dressing room.

First, to accommodate a team of Marine-standard-package players, it was larger than what would be typical for the community rinks she was used to.

Second, the showers at the back were both larger than even the typical ones in the change rooms on Earth and had a clear glass wall that was definitely not designed to provide the user with any privacy.

Third, the toilet and urinal were both likewise out in plain sight, a clear glass pane providing sanitary protection between change room and toilet.

Fourth, and perhaps more interesting to her current thought processes, her class was co-ed. She was used to the rule that, for co-ed teams from Novice up, the few girls changed in a different room from their male teammates. Community rinks throughout her native province of Manitoba were quite rigid in enforcing the rule even in Swarm-Era Earth. Not in the Diaspora, though: Marine-big daddies and more variably-sized mommies were helping their darling offspring of both genders get changed in the same room without fuss. Over in the corner, she could see her sister concubines Vickie and Callie, whom she'd just met at lunch, helping Allison into her skates and pads.

In Dressing Room #2 next door, the Frank McGee Moody Blues Minor Atoms (the chairman of the youth league for the Frank McGee Arena, the man responsible for naming the teams, was a nut for classic rock 'n' roll) were changing after practise. Of the seventeen nine-year-old youths, six were girls – and Melodie could hear the showers running. Poking her head into the change room, she could see this dressing room was laid out exactly the same as Dressing Room #1. Three naked boys and two naked girls were soaping up under the shower heads, as another line of naked girls and boys waited their turn. Another difference between her Earth experience and the Diaspora: kids out here were made to have showers after a workout. And nobody saw a need to close the dressing room door to protect the kids' nudity from prying eyes.

Melodie herself was wearing a form-fitting one-piece outfit that kept her quite warm, better skates than she'd had back on Earth, and suitable padding to prevent injury. It also left her camel toe quite visible, a potential piece of embarrassment that she had not yet realized.

Out on the ice, the Zamboni was laying down another flood so that Melodie's students would have a nice smooth surface to work with. Melodie and her class waited at the home team bench for the machine to work its ponderous way off the ice so they could get started. She noted that her sponsor, as promised, had arranged for some skaters to assist her – one of whom was Samantha herself. She also noted that Samantha's belly seemed to have a bit of a bulge to it – she would have assumed that with the Darjee medical technology, Samantha would have to spend maybe five minutes in a med tube to get rid of that, no exercise required. She hadn't clued in, and nobody had told her, that her sponsor was pregnant. To Melodie, Samantha looked far too young to even be a volunteer, and certainly too young to be pregnant.

Melodie was intrigued by the frequent use of the poppy in the design of the arena. As the Zamboni juddered its way ponderously off the ice, she had a chance to ask Samantha about it.

"Frank McGee was a Lieutenant in the Canadian Army in the First World War,” Samantha advised her. “He was killed in September of 1916, during the Battle of the Somme.”

Melodie began to see that naming an arena during the Sa'arm War for a hockey hero who died in battle made eminent sense.

The pencil-slim aircraft thundered through the landing range nearest Martello One One Nine. On both sides of the low-flying craft, plumes of snow erupted from the surface, kicked up by the hypersonic shock wave it created. This range was used to practise troop landings, using Panther and Leopard assault shuttles, Horsa and Hamilcar landing pods, and Kitten self-transporting nexuses. This martello was there both to provide support to the trainees and to prevent the Swarm from using the ready-made landing site.

"I see why they call it 'Cheetah',” commented Lieutenant Carruthers. His men had just finished building the prototype from plans forwarded to Thule from Azahar's research boffins. “Damn, that's fast.”

"Looks even faster when it's flying nap-of-the-earth like that,” observed Lieutenant-Colonel Walker, the newly promoted commanding officer of the 121^st Infantry Battalion. “Have you dropped Kittens from it yet?”

"No, that's tomorrow's run. The AI needs to analyze the flight data from today and confirm that the Cheetah's operating within design parameters.”

Above their heads, the prototype arced gracefully toward its nest aboard the orbital fortress.

Aboard the Arctic Princess late that Saturday, still in orbit over Earth, Sandy and Lyn entered the pod to discover new cargo was being delivered by a Fleet Auxiliary rating.

"Take care of this,” the rating advised. “It's a special gift from Tribune Whitefeather for the Governor of Thule.”

Both women stared at the gift. “Are you sure he'll want it?” ventured Sandy cautiously.

"Apparently Governor Deschenes had this before he was extracted,” the rating advised them. “Anyway, the AI has all the instructions and will let you know what to do and when to do it.”

"Charlie, c'mere.” Lyn gathered her curious kitten into her arms. “You don't want to scratch the Governor's gift.”

"Have a good trip, ladies,” the rating told them as he exited the pod.

"Say, when do we leave for Thule?” asked Sandy.

"Dunno for sure,” the rating said. “I'm not part of this ship's crew, I'm assigned to Copernicus Base.” He pointed to the Governor's gift. “I just got asked to do this little task because I've dealt with those things before. AI, are you permitted to respond?”

"The Thule colonizing fleet will be breaking orbit Sunday evening at twenty thirty-five hundred, Private Osborne.”

Private Osborne nodded. “Anything else?”

"Can you stay for a bit?” Sandy begged hopefully.

Reluctantly, the handsome Fleet Auxiliary private shook his head. “I need to get back to Copernicus Base. I'm still on duty. Sorry.”

As the hatch closed behind him, Lyn whispered to Sandy, “Still trying to lose the old cherry?”

Sandy nodded quickly. Her face reflected her frustration as she chewed on her lower lip.

"Maybe one of the crew can do the deed during the cruise,” Lyn suggested.

"Maybe,” agreed Sandy. To get her mind off her mounting hormones, she turned to the Governor's gift. “In the meantime, what the hell are we supposed to do with that thing?”