Live Free or Die, Second Edition, page 43
The combination of attacks against Earth had gotten the Glatun to at least provide assurances that no more Horvath warships would be allowed through the E Eridani system. When—at this point, not if—they ceded it to the Horvath, Earth might as well get ready for a pounding.
“Senator,” Tyler said delicately. “Two point two trillion tons. The Constitutions, for way of comparison, mass three hundred thousand tons. Six orders of magnitude difference, and we have a hard time getting them to have more than five gravities of acceleration. The door is one billion metric tons and it took every tug in the system four hours to get it open.”
“If we can’t secure E Eridani, we’re still open to attacks,” the senator said. “I think that the Troy is amazing and vital. Don’t get me wrong. I also think it’s worth looking at making it mobile. You’re usually the big idea guy, Mr. Vernon. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought of it.”
“Well…” Tyler said, hanging his head and toeing at the rug in embarrassment.
“You’re kidding?” Admiral DeGraff said, then belly laughed. “You haven’t?”
“I’ve been setting aside ten percent of all extracted platinum group since we started,” Tyler said. “It’s getting to be a pretty big pile…”
“How big?” Senator Lamarche asked.
“Not big enough for the power plant we’d need,” Tyler said, shrugging. “But it’s getting bigger every day we work on Troy. We need two thousand tons.”
“Two thousand tons of platinum?” DeGraff said, guffawing again. “Oh, Tyler, you’re killing me! You’re not seriously thinking of making this thing mobile?”
“We can’t produce the grav plates,” Tyler said, shrugging. “Or the secondary power converters. We need an enormous amount of both. About…two hundred years’ worth of production based on current Sol System output. And, of course, more osmium than has ever been mined in the history of the human race. Possibly in the history of the spiral arm. Most efficient power-plant material. Do you want to know how much fuel it will consume to go through the gate and into E Eridani?”
“No,” Senator Lamarche said. “Yes. I guess I do. Just because the entire question is so absurd.”
“Think of all the buildings we lost, sorry, in New York and Washington,” Tyler said. “In one pile. And made of helium-three, which we don’t even produce yet. That’s three hours’ fuel at one-sixtieth gravity of acceleration.”
“That exceeds the requirements for the six-hundred-ship fleet we’re envisioning,” DeGraff said. “For about ninety years.”
“So, yes,” Tyler said. “I have thought of it. There are some alternatives. We could use an Orion drive. But I’d really rather not have to irradiate the surface, and such a drive is vulnerable to damage. I mean, more damage. Orion is damage in big numbers just as it exists. The big problem remains that we don’t have any onboard weapons that match the defenses. Not by dozens of orders of magnitude. So…if I can get the grav plates for about six hundred Glatun super-dreadnoughts, a power plant the size of a small city and a laser emitter system that can match two hundred VDAs in power…we can get it to move at the pace of a very anemic snail and gut any fleet stupid enough to come in range,” he finished with a grin.
“I withdraw the question,” Senator Gullick said.
“We can’t even figure out how to fill the magazines you’ve got planned,” DeGraff said, shaking his head. “Not with any sort of reasonable budget.”
“Are any of the defenses online yet?” Congresswoman McEntyre asked.
“Uh…” Tyler said. “Sort of. We have one laser firing port and collimator installed and testing. We’re finding that there are all sorts of bugs. The channel has to be in vacuum and when we cut the firing lanes there was all sorts of microscopic material left behind, not to mention trace atmosphere. So we’re going to have to grav sweep each of the ports. We’re building bots for that in the Wolf system at the moment. Once the lanes are swept and we reinstall the focal systems, blast doors and collimator…it’ll be able to fire. We’re still waiting on Boeing for missiles.”
“Looks like you’re having trouble,” Senator Lamarche said.
The tugs were reconfiguring towards the center of the plug, which still wasn’t out.
“Argus?” Tyler said. “Status on the plug?”
“There are spot-welded points in numerous places,” Argus replied. “I’m preparing to do a cut. We’re moving the tugs to prevent confliction. I’m going to have them pull as we’re cutting.”
“This should be much more interesting,” Tyler said.
“What is…” Congresswoman McEntyre started to say. “Oh. My. God.”
Seven VDA mirrors were floating in a vaguely rectangular array within the main bay, SAPL power being fed to them by more VDAs aligned alongside the door.
The congresswoman’s exclamation, and she wasn’t the only one, was from the sight of all seven opening up at once.
There was just enough atmosphere in the bay for the beams to be, for once, visible. They were incandescent lines of fire burning into the refractory nickel iron, portions of which went bright white at the very touch of the petawatt beams.
The enormous chunk of nickel iron finally started to move but the beams continued to cut, ensuring that no more spot welds formed as it was removed.
“Those tugs,” Senator Gullick said. “They’re about the size of the Paws, right? Two stories high, about five long?”
“Most of them,” Tyler said. “Some larger.”
The cluster of sixty tugs was centered in about one-third the area of the plug being removed. Which just kept coming and coming and coming.
“That’s the size of a stadium,” Senator Lamarche said. “A big stadium.”
“Um…” Tyler said. “Bigger. Much bigger. Six hundred meters long, four hundred high, three hundred deep. Twice the length of a supercarrier, about the same length as a Constitution. The plug is going to have to be removed entirely and then cut. We’re planning on almost totally sealing the center within the wall. So we’ll put a fifty-meter thick section of nickel iron back on top of it. Maybe steel. We’re working on some really big steel projects. But welding it is tough. Then we’ll get to work processing the plug for materials.”
“I thought there were supposed to be shuttle bays,” Senator Gullick said. “How are you going to get the shuttles in and out?”
“Uh,” Tyler said. “Really big doors? That’s going to take longer to do than pulling the plug and cutting. I hate fiddly bits.”
TEN
“This is really awesome,” Tyler said.
“Even if it is a fiddly bit?” Nathan asked.
The tube was three meters in diameter with walls of iron that reflected the light from the space suits.
Tyler had just had to check out the first missile tube since it had been an unimaginable pain in the ass to build.
The basic concept was simple, a zigzagged tube that ran from the missile magazine, which was still being constructed, to the exterior of the battlestation. Put in grav plates to move the missiles. Since the missiles were pretty solid state and, with the exception of the capacitors, didn’t tend to explode if they were hit, even if there was a major hit on a full tube, all the missiles were going to do was seal the tube. Shift to another and you were rocking again.
There were…issues. To make sure that an enemy couldn’t get a hostile weapon in, the tubes needed blast doors. Just drilling the tubes was a pain. Putting in the blast doors had started to look like a deal killer. But by building some special mirrors and bots, they’d managed to basically cut out a chunk of the wall on either “side” of the tube. By cutting away some more, they ended up with two “sliding” doors that overlapped and, when closed, extended fifteen meters into the wall of the station. They were operated by grav plates, which had to be supplied with power and controls, and the base of the doors and the plate they rested on had to be perfectly smooth and…
Fiddly bits.
The missile magazine was going to take a while. Not only was it planned with more cubic capacity than the initial living quarters, which meant a bigger plug to pull, it had to have systems to move the missiles into the tubes. Fast.
More fiddly bits.
Troy was eventually planned to have five magazines, each capable of holding two hundred thousand missiles, and forty-eight launch tubes running off of each.
The missile complex was only a small portion of “Zone One.” There were five planned zones. Each zone would be capable of independent operation. It would combine a purely military side, missile magazines, laser tracks, barracks, shuttle and eventually ship bays, repair areas, headquarters, supplies for thousands, support sections, air, water and, especially, a tremendously large fuel storage area.
There would also be a smaller “civilian” area that would house the dependents of the military personnel as well as civilian support staff and a “general support” area that was designed to grow organically just like a small town supporting a military base.
Five was going to take a while. Like, a couple of hundred years. Of fiddly bits.
For now they had one missile tube and one laser tube. But the SAPL had started small, too. It now had twenty-eight million square yards of VLA mirrors capable of generating seventy-one petawatts of power. Doing so, including BDA, VSA and VDA production, had used up about half the “trash” portion of the Near Earth Asteroids. The SAPL division had been busy beavers and every year they just about doubled production while cutting costs. And to make matters better, the “good” part of the asteroids paid for the production.
“You’re getting the new laser mirrors?” Tyler asked.
“Yeah,” Nathan commed. “Capable of handling an exawatt? An exawatt, Tyler? The whole VLA doesn’t put out an exawatt.”
“I’m tired of never being able to concentrate enough power,” Tyler said, running the waldo of the suit over the seal on a blast door. “And it will be capable of it eventually. Of course, we’ll need several thousand VDAs by then.”
“What does UNG stand for?” Nathan asked.
“What?” Tyler asked, continuing on.
“What does UNG stand for?” Nathan said. “Very Scary Array, Very Dangerous Array. What does UNG stand for?”
“Nothing,” Tyler said. “The first time we activated it I got an actual button installed to fire it. And I went ‘ung, ung, ung’ just before I pushed the button. Everybody who had anything to do with it pretty much went ‘ung’ the first time they thought about it. I think the cover acronym is Unified Nuclear Grappler or something. But it really means just…ung.”
“Ung is right,” Nathan said. “Cooling them is going to be a bitch.”
“That is the other reason you’re getting great big helium tanks,” Tyler said. “Speaking of which: When are you digging the air and water tanks?”
“Next month we’re starting on the water tank,” Nathan said. “The main one, that is.”
“I think it’s time for us to have a little accident,” Tyler said.
“I don’t like accidents with stuff like that,” Nathan pointed out. “People tend to, and I don’t want to exaggerate this, vanish in a puff of volatiles.”
“Not that kind of accident,” Tyler said. “Just a little bobble with a VDA when you’re digging out the plug.”
* * *
“I understand you had a little bobble with digging out the water tank,” Admiral DeGraff said. He had been in his position for three years and was just about to retire. But he wanted to stay around to see Troy activated.
“When you’re throwing around that much power,” Tyler said. “Sometimes these things happen.”
“A very suspicious accident,” Admiral DeGraff said. “A hollowed out point at the notional top of the water tank that looks, and I don’t want to sound paranoid about this, suspiciously like a pool. A very big pool. With what looks like a bit of a water park with a little work. Melted out water runs on the walls?”
“I’m not sure how it happened,” Tyler said. “Just a bit of a bobble with a VDA. The rest I ascribe to chaos theory. In an infinite universe… On the other hand, a pool will be a real MWR benefit to the crew. People may just be born, raised, live and die on Troy, Admiral. Surely they deserve something other than endless walls of iron and steel?”
“And do you expect us to pay for a pool, Mr. Vernon?”
“Of course,” Tyler said. “Part of the contract specifications was a water testing area with Earth normal gravity, air and appropriate heating and cooling. You now have one.”
Admiral DeGraff consulted the appropriate files and grunted.
“Hmph,” the admiral said. “The ‘water testing area’ is listed as sixty thousand dollars, Mr. Vernon. You’re going to sell us a sixty-acre water park for sixty thousand dollars? With ‘Earth normal air, gravity, heating and cooling’?”
“There are various cost overruns so far, Admiral,” Tyler said, smiling. “Most of which we’ve eaten. If for no other reason than we’re getting nearly as much for the materials we’re mining as we are for Troy. As long as we don’t have to pay for all the fiddly bits, like the quarters and bays, I’m good. And I rather like the look of the pool, don’t you? We call it Xanadu.”
“Xanadu?” the Admiral said, then nodded. “So you think of yourself as Kublai Khan?”
“I understand he was below normal height as well,” Tyler said, grinning and cutting the connection.
* * *
“Sir,” Argus said over Tyler’s com. “The Gorku manager Zih Temar has arrived aboard the Galactic Miner. He requests a meeting.”
“Subject?” Tyler asked. Having an AI was better than any personal assistant. Among other things, you didn’t have to turn down proposals of marriage. He’d switched to males after the first two female PAs and found that didn’t help, either.
It also meant he could stay aboard ship. He’d more or less permanently installed himself in the Monkey Business. Since the Business was inside the Troy most of the time, it was also a damned secure place to work.
“It requests that the purpose remain proprietary.”
“Interesting,” Tyler said. “Do we know anything about Zih Temar?”
“It is listed as a special assistant to the assistant vice president of Entertainment and Design Management. Effectively, it is in charge of planning corporate parties and choosing which art to put on which walls.”
“Could that be classed as sort of a corporate cultural affairs attaché?” Tyler asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Send a shuttle,” Tyler said. “In fact, send the Starfire.”
* * *
Zih Temar was so plain a Glatun it could have been chosen for an encyclopedia illustration: standard Glatun, one each. The harness was straight corporate drone. Skin tone was absolute middle. Ditto red on the eyes. Nose was a standard Glod short-nosed.
Tyler had never met a more obvious spy.
“The room is secure,” Tyler said. “I have it swept weekly and there are, as I’m sure you noticed, large and bored ‘miners’ in the hallways that seem to have little to do.”
“Sir,” Temar said, setting a data crystal on the table. “A personal message from Niazgol Gorku.”
Tyler set it in a player and a hologram of Gorku sprung up.
“Hello, friend,” Gorku said. “With Horvath control of the E Eridani system and the support they are receiving from the Rangora, hypercom communication may no longer be secure. Thus…
“We’re going to continue to buy materials, but production is slowing. The People’s Council has firmly rejected further ‘military boondoggles’ and also have rejected every draft bill. So even if we build more ships, we can’t crew them. They also refuse to yield on reductions of basic social spending, and taxes are already killing us. Thus, affording more ships is questionable. The production going to ships has impacted entertainment goods and services. The Benefactors are deadlocked and the peace movement is gaining strength. Federal Intelligence has solid evidence that it is heavily backed by the Rangora, but nobody wants to see it.
“The bottom line is that war is coming and we will not be prepared. With luck we will prevail. I have seen little luck for my people of late. I am not optimistic.
“I have prevailed upon certain people, I will not name them, to give certain releases. This good Glatun carries a shipment of not only updates for Granadica of the newest Gorku military and civilian technologies, but also releases. This effectively gives Earth the rights to produce any system of Glatun design, including military systems. There are also one hundred and seventeen blank AIs, the most I could sneak out. All of the rights and releases are authorized but it would be better for everyone involved if you could keep them somewhat secret. If…when war breaks out between ourselves and the Rangora, that will be less important. In the meantime, please try to keep it quiet.
“It will be some time before you can produce the material, much less assimilate it. But you have it now. All legal but…it would be better if no one found out.
“The last item is the most troubling for your system. Certain of my ships have been somewhat upgraded in the sensor department. Also something I would prefer you keep quiet. But the Galactic Miner is one. When it last passed through the E Eridani system, they detected traces of large warships passing through the system. Since they did not go to Sol, they must have gone to Horvath. The traces indicated older class Rangora Devastator dreadnoughts. The Rangora produced forty-two. At least thirty have been mothballed or were. I’m trying to get information on whether they are still in retirement and what the status on the other twelve are.
“The Devastators have two-hundred-terawatt main lasers and thousand-gravity shields. They will shrug off your petawatt lasers. I hope you have upgraded. They also may or may not have the Rangora capital missiles. It depends on what technology the Rangora have shared with the Horvath. If so, they are fast and stealthy, and the Devastators each carry two hundred.
