Live Free or Die, Second Edition, page 45
“Don’t tell me you didn’t design it this way,” the admiral said. “It’s made for flying.”
“Okay,” Tyler said. “I won’t. Or that the outlet system is designed so that nobody can get stuck on it.”
“There have been accidents,” the admiral said. “Several. One man died.”
“And their contracts stipulate that any injury suffered during recreational periods are not covered by workman’s comp,” Tyler said. “We paid off the life insurance on the death and we’re covering the major medical on the accidents. As we’ve paid off on the fifty-three people killed in the making of Troy and the literally thousands of major to minor injuries. Space is a very dangerous place, but people are going to find crazy stuff to do, Admiral. The make-up of the people who volunteer for space jobs leans heavily to the slightly insane. Or, at least, adrenaline junkies. Making a place for them to get their stupid out was a way to keep them from, oh, seeing how long they could breathe vacuum.”
“That is…a point,” the admiral said thoughtfully.
“What I’m worried about is the first complete moron to try to dive in the water recycler,” Tyler said. “It’s just as big and would be much worse than space since water absorbs light. We’re not real sure about the physics, but there’s not going to be much spatial orientation. Since it’s a micrograv environment and water, the bubbles from SCUBA aren’t going to go up. There’s going to be zero, absolutely zero, spatial orientation as soon as you get far enough away from the walls, which you’ll do quick, to see them. At which point anyone trying it is going to be lost in a void.”
“I think we might have to put a ban on SCUBA gear,” the admiral said.
“Their suits are SCUBA gear,” Tyler said, gesturing outward. “This was intended to, at least for a while, keep these overzealous idiots from trying it. Eventually someone will. I just hope he brings a safety line. Or she.”
“I’ve noticed the prevalence of shes,” the admiral said, heading back to the door.
“If Troy and the SAPL can’t hold Sol System, Troy won’t survive,” Tyler said. “Eventually they can starve you out or you’ll run out of fuel. But if the Horvath or, God help us, the Rangora hit Earth so hard it’s essentially destroyed… As long as Troy can keep fed, and we’re getting ready to put in a big hydroponics section, humanity will survive, Admiral. Civilization will survive. So, yeah, we’ve used the ‘equal opportunity’ program to get as many females onboard as possible. The civilian side is going to have schools, including colleges and even a research university. We’re going to try to get artists, sculptors, singers, entertainers, comedians when we get enough room.”
“Battlestation and Ark?” the admiral said. “I had wondered.”
“Don’t sweat it,” Tyler said. “You’ve got enough to worry about with getting the station up and running. But, yeah, it’s an Ark. Let’s hope we don’t need it to fulfill its secondary function.”
* * *
The admiral hadn’t mentioned steak and lobster.
Tyler was polite enough to return the favor and not mention that as a resident of New Hampshire he knew the difference between good steak and lobster and the sort Yankee traders sold to the U.S. military.
“This is great,” Tyler said, tucking in.
“And just a little weird,” Commodore Pounder said. “I was a lieutenant commander when you sold your first load of maple syrup to the Glatun. Thirteen years later we’re eating lobster on, face it, the Death Star.”
“So that raises a question,” Captain Sharp said. The tactical officer looked up and tilted his head to the side. “No press present and we’ve all got security clearances. How long were you planning Troy?”
“Heh,” Tyler said, setting down his fork and wiping his mouth. “Since I was about nine. If you mean seriously planning it? Since the Horvath came through the gate. I never in a million years thought I’d be able to do it, mind you. And I didn’t. A lot of much smarter people built this.”
“Still a very long way to go,” Colonel Helberg said, carefully cutting his lobster. Ripping it apart was clearly a barbarian American custom. “Combining getting the military side up and running with the ongoing construction has been an interesting chess game.”
“Infrastructure versus direct production,” Tyler said, resuming cutting the rather tough sirloin. “It’s been a juggling act the whole time I’ve been doing this. I mean, face it, we’ve been at war with the Horvath since before I sold that first load of syrup. Figuring out how much direct war material to produce versus infrastructure has been the juggling act.
“Fortunately, we’ve figured out how to make the VLA mirrors out of material for which we don’t have much direct use. The rest is…tougher. Build fabbers or ships? If we build the fabbers now, we can build more ships later. We need ships now. We need mirrors now. Tugs or frigates? Tugs or launches? Granadica can produce one of the Myrmidons a day. It takes two days to produce a Paw-style tug. The tugs have an infinite variety of uses. Myrmidons have utility but they’re more focused. Speaking of which. Captain DiNote?”
“Sir?” the boats commander said, looking up.
“The Myrmidons can operate rather well as tugs,” Tyler said. “They only have about thirty percent of the operational power but they have magnetic grapnels which are, face it, the same tractor system as a tug. Just less powerful. You’re probably going to get some requests for assistance in…well, construction, if you will.”
“Doesn’t bother me,” the captain said, nodding. “It will give my people some operating experience.”
“If it’s work on the Troy…” the admiral said, looking pensive. “I could see doing that. Direct commercial work…?”
“I understand the problem,” Tyler said, smiling. “The flip side is that we’ll be paying you guys for the time. So your people get boat-handling experience and the training time gets paid for by my company. And we then triple bill the U.S. government for it.”
“That is…” the admiral said, looking thoughtful.
“Reality,” Tyler said, chuckling. “And we get taxed on any profit we happen to make which then goes to pay for the triple billing on the shuttles we’re borrowing from the government in the first place.”
“My head hurts,” Captain Sharp said.
“Hey,” Tyler said. “I’m not charging you for laser time. Be happy.”
“There is a charge for laser time?” Commodore Marchant said.
“Hmmm…” Tyler said, his mouth full. He cleared it with a sip of wine and wiped his mouth again. “About a penny a megajoule last time I checked. That’s for purely internal charging, mind you.
“The SAPL is owned by a separate corporation from Apollo but they’re both subsidiaries of LFD. So we have an internal charge rate. SAPL upgrades and maintenance, even R & D and overhead, and there’s an amazing amount of overhead, get paid by charging for laser time.
“For external charging, cutting plates for the Constitutions and Independence, for example, the rate is about triple. That’s standard, it covers overhead and secondary charges as well as a slight profit. I know about it, but I don’t really get involved unless there’s a dispute about charges between the different corporations. That’s the sort of thing I, alas, spend too much time having to manage. It’s like any other for-profit business. You have to find the price-point that will let you make the most money. Charge too much and BAE or Raytheon either tries to get into competition or figures out ways to not use our service. Charge too little and the SAPL corporation eventually goes out of business and you guys will have to buy it and run it.
“I’d rather prefer someone else was in competition at some levels. I’d like to see what other corporations would do with the same basic concept. And there are the usual mutterings in Congress about a monopoly. Fortunately, we’re not incorporated in the U.S. so they can’t technically force me to break up the SAPL or Apollo or any of the other places I’m in a monopoly position.”
“You’re not incorporated in the U.S.?” Captain Sharp said, blinking rapidly.
“Nope,” Tyler said. “LFD is. Apollo, the SAPL, Wolf and all the rest are all incorporated in Tonga. We pay taxes as if we were an American corporation because most of the ground-side facilities are in the U.S. And corporate charges in Tonga that aren’t chump change. But by being officially based in Tonga I avoid all sorts of hassles. No EPA telling me I can’t melt asteroids because it changes the space environment.”
“You’re joking,” Captain Sharp said. “Tell me you’re joking.”
“There is…” Tyler paused and shrugged. “Was a very active space environment movement. Humans have already raped the Earth, they shouldn’t be allowed to rape space as well. I had to deal with them somewhat when I first started mining. Their tendency to concentrate in certain geographic localities means that the core of the movement is somewhat reduced.”
“Yeah,” the tactical officer said. “Like the joke about the Horvath targeting.”
“Excuse me?” Tyler said.
“Um…” the TACO said, looking uncomfortable. “Never mind.”
“The joke about Horvath targeting methods is that they only ever read one thing written by a human,” the admiral said, since the silence had gotten uncomfortable. “Shakespeare’s admonition that the first thing we do is kill all the lawyers.”
“Hooo…” Tyler said, trying not to laugh. He’d noticed one time the statistic that the occupation most reduced percentagewise by the Horvath attacks wasn’t police or firefighters or even secretaries, but members of the American Bar Association. “I guess that’s one of those forwards I deleted. But, ooh, that’s cold.” He still couldn’t help but chuckle.
“I guess you’re not generally dialed in on such things,” Admiral Kinyon said, shrugging. “But when the shock of the bombings and the plague finally wore off, it was laugh or cry until the rivers were tears. I guess the height was about two years ago. I remember because I was commanding the Clinton CVBG and my chief of staff was addicted to the things.”
“I suspect that could have been taken badly by some of the other officers,” Tyler said. “Especially those who lost people in Diego.”
“His wife and three children were more or less dead center of the impact,” the admiral said. “So nobody said anything about it. But every morning briefing he’d trot out the new list. And then just before we made port in Perth he ate his .45. Which is why I know a lot of bad jokes about the bombings and plagues and tend not to tell them.”
“Yes, sir,” Captain Sharp said. “Sorry, sir.”
“Not a problem, Captain,” the admiral said. “The term is faux pas. One of the purposes of social events like this is to find out each other’s hot buttons. Also to talk shop because no matter how many meetings you have, all the information people need doesn’t get passed around.”
“Thank you for that explanation, Admiral,” Colonel Bolger said. The Marine colonel was picking through the remnants of his lobster and didn’t really look up. “I’d always wondered. Since I was a JO I’d just sort of assumed it was so you’d feel like a whore in church from time to time.”
Tyler spit out a glass of wine, half of which went up his nose. But it wasn’t really noticed as most of the group broke into relieved laughter.
“Are you quite well, Mr. Vernon?” Admiral Kinyon said, trying and failling to keep a straight face.
“Fine,” Tyler gasped. “A little endive went down the wrong tube.” He coughed and cleared the last of the wine, then shook his head. “Ahem. But on the subject of talking shop…Ah…Damn, I’m not sure if this is the right venue. It’s about intel.”
“As Captain Sharp pointed out, most of us have appropriate clearances,” the admiral said, shrugging. “And Troy is, to say the least, a fairly secure environment.”
“I passed on some intelligence to…um…higher?” Tyler said. “I’m just not sure if it got to you guys even though you’re the main group that should have it.”
“About?” Captain Sharp asked.
“Uh…” Tyler said. “Some ship traces in the Eridani system.”
“I’d wondered where that tidbit came from,” the admiral said, taking a sip of wine. “Yes, we got it. I’ll just add that there is some…” He paused and his head came up as if he was listening to something.
The conversation slowly died away as, one by one, the officers all lifted their heads and looked off into the distance. Tyler recognized the attitude. It was someone unused to plants getting a—
“Mr. Vernon?” Argus said. “The Glatun free-trader Partan Crossing just came through the gate on an unscheduled run. There is a Horvath fleet in the E Epsilon system.”
“How many?” Tyler commed, still picking at his lobster.
“Thirty Devastator-class Rangora battleships,” Argus said. “Nine Iquka battle cruisers and seven Odiqa frigates.”
“Mr. Vernon,” the admiral said, setting down his fork and standing up. “A situation has arisen…”
“Which is difficult,” Tyler said, taking a sip of wine. “We still can’t close the door and use the SAPL internally. We haven’t even started the bypass systems. So you have to decide whether to use it internally, and thus possibly protect the primary systems, or close the door and protect the soft materials in the bay.”
“We’re closing the door,” the admiral said. “And with that, we need to get to work.”
“So do I,” Tyler said. “Since you can’t close it without my tugs. And even then it takes some time. I need six, though.”
“Very well,” the admiral said. “Whatever you feel you need.”
“And you’ll want to assign Captain DiNote’s people to assist,” Tyler said. “I’ve already sent the order to scramble the tugs to the plug.”
“My people are moving,” DiNote said.
“And so must I,” Tyler said.
* * *
“Nathan, you got the word about the Horvath fleet?”
“Got it,” Nathan said. “And I just lost all my tugs to closing the door.”
“Yeah,” Tyler said. “Except six. They’re going to pull the slag from a bypass. Now.”
“We don’t know when the Horvath are coming through,” Nathan protested. “You’re going to leave them out in the cold.”
“They’re just machines, Nathan,” Tyler said. “We need a SAPL bypass put in, now. We’ve got the materials, right?”
“Yes,” Nathan said. “I’m moving the tugs into position…”
“Use the Ung beam.”
“Ung,” Nathan said. “I don’t really think of that as a construction system. But if you say so.”
“Don’t jog it,” Tyler said. “We’ll back-fill or something later. Just drive it straight into the bay.”
“Yes, master!” Nathan said in a deep baritone. “It shall be done!”
“Not a time for levity, Nathan,” Tyler said. “I’ve got other calls to make.”
* * *
“Dad?” Christy said. “Do you know what time it is?”
“I’m on Greenwich, honey,” Tyler said. “And I’d call, anyway. There’s a corporate helo headed to your condo. Get in it and go.”
“What’s happening?” Christy said, trying to wake up. It was 4 AM in Philadelphia and with the latest team report turned in, she’d been partying. Waking up quick wasn’t happening.
“Horvath,” Tyler said as the city alarms started going off. Her building had one of the new air-raid sirens and it started shrieking fit to wake the dead or even terminally hung over.
“Oh…” Christy said, grabbing her head. “Are you going to be—”
“I’m in a fortress,” Tyler said. “You’re not. Just get in the helo and go!”
* * *
“We’re getting full power transferred to UNG 14 now,” Nathan said.
“Let’s be careful to avoid fratricide,” Tyler said. “We’re probably going to lose enough ships to the Horvath.”
Six tugs were arrayed by a single spot, not far from the closing door, on the surface of Troy.
The requirement was, hopefully before the Horvath came through the gate, to blast a hole through the wall of Troy, clear away the melt during the burn, clean it of any debris left from the burn, install sapphire collimators in both ends and then get the hell out of Dodge.
In essence, all that was needed was a standard laser tube, just oriented to the rear to capture the power of the SAPL and feed it through Troy. The “mouth” needed to be wide enough that it could be fed from well away from the area of battle and systems needed to be in place to make sure the incoming beam or beams went into the laser tube and didn’t damage the surroundings. And they were planning to go straight through because there didn’t seem to be enough time to install all the crap for a jog.
Other than that, all they needed was a laser tube.
Before the Horvath came through the gate.
The first tube, using a VDA, had taken nearly a week to burn.
Two light-seconds out was an UNG mirror waiting to go. About to receive the full power of the SAPL, as every other project in the system was shut down and every ship started to run for whatever it considered to be cover.
The six tugs were because if they were successful they were about to “mine” one-hundred-and-fifty-thousand tons of nickel iron with the usual admixtures. Nickel iron required about one point three megawatts of power per second per ton to melt.
The UNG beam was pushing about sixty petawatts of power. Neither Nathan nor Tyler believed the calculations they were looking at. What they said was they were about to burn all the way through Troy in a second and a half.
“Ung, ung, ung,” Nathan muttered. “Argus…initiate burn.”
“Oh…my,” Tyler said as the UNG beam hit. A relatively small spot on the surface of Troy seemed to explode outwards.
“We’re not cutting through in a second and a half,” Nathan said. “Thank God. But we are cutting a one-meter tube at about ten meters per second. The first tug is already overloaded and we’re getting significant spalling and dust.”
“Arrange them in a circle,” Tyler said. “Between all six they should be able to capture the full cut.”
