Troy Rising 1 - Live Free or Die (12 page)

“Why?”

“War,” Ldria said. “With one of four other major polities. The Rangora are at the top of
the list at thirty-seven percent likelihood. Then the Ogut, Barche and Ananancauimor.”

“If this is known to the central AIs, surely they are preparing for war,” the admiral said.

“Unfortunately, that is not entirely possible,” Ldria said. “Your species has begun to
enter its final decline. Your birthrate has dropped sharply. Less than one half of one
percent of your species enters your military. There is a permanently unemployed class that
is approaching thirty percent...”

“I know all that,” the admiral said, testily. “But in the face of war...”

“You really don't want me to cover it all, Admiral,” Ldria said. “Take your AI's word for
it. You're facing a war and you're most likely going to lose.”

“So intervening with the humans drops the likelihood of such a war?” the admiral asked.

“No, sir,” the AI replied. “It reduces the likelihood of
losing
. The war is more or less inevitable. It is possible that one of the central AIs has
already predicted this. If so they are keeping the information very close. But I doubt
they have factored the humans. If they have done a similar process cycle, they are looking
at termination of the Glatun Federation by war in fifteen to twenty turns as a better than
seventy percent likelihood. With
no
way to survive.”

“The humans are, sorry, primitives,” the admiral said. “I don't see them being the balance
between winning and losing a major interstellar war.”

“Admiral, you understand the problem of such a wide-ranging analysis,” Ldria said. “There
are too many variables to sort out. It is what you Glatun would call a hunch except that
it reports the results as variables. There are many, many unknowns. We could, through one
of the new gates, encounter a more hostile and dogmatic regime with high advancement at
any time. Thus the ten year result. Or one that would be a better ally than the humans
thus low probability results that indicate long-range survival. My results, however, are
solid. I can give you some small data items that may sway your personal analysis.”

“Very well,” the admiral said. “Go ahead and try to change my mind.”

“Humans are, at present, primitive,” Ldria admitted. "Well behind the Glatun in
technological advancement. But unlike most races the humans do not slowly evolve
technologically. Their history is replete with examples of very fast technological advance
mixed with periods of relative stasis. Part of the analysis indicates that they were what
is termed 'cuspal.' They were on the edge of developing most of the basic technologies for
functional space travel except a gate.

“Further, they are not behind the Glatun at the point that the Glatun encountered the
Ormatur. Rather ahead of that point, in fact. Far beyond the relevant first contact point
of the Horvath. The Horvath had no mechanical transport systems at the point of contact,
no information systems and still use the latter poorly. Humans have rudimentary AIs. They
had a nascent space program and a fully developed, albeit primitive, information
distribution system. They were closing in on fundamental understanding of gravitics and
energy conversion systems are one step away from that. They had the basic concept of
implant technology and only need refinement to adopt it. They are likely to not slide
forward slowly but positively
leap
. With a large population that is at least in parts technologically savvy they have the
basis for a major industrial base, space-faring and not only system defense but powerful
ships within as little as twenty years. Given what I believe some of them are
contemplating, ships that will be the savior of the Glatun.”

“If they get the Horvath off their necks,” the admiral said. “And what about the humans as
a threat?”

“That is the flip side to the analysis,” Ldria said. “Humans do not always hold true to
allies. A degree of self-interest is in their nature. That is, however,
strongly
culturally affected. Targeting for rapid advancement the
right
culture is key. If the Glatun become friends with the
right
cultures, by the time the cultures forget what they owe the Glatun, the Federation will
be in senescence anyway. Handled properly they will be a strong ally in the wars that are
coming, the Glatun's protectors in your old age. Handled improperly? They will join with
your enemies to drag you into a dark age from which your species will not recover in ten
thousand years.”

“Which culture?” the admiral asked. “And how, exactly?”

“The humans have a saying: Comes the moment, comes the man,” Ldria answered, flashing a
hologram of Tyler Vernon. “Make this man your friend, Admiral. But in a very
particular
way...”

***

“This is Saenc Mori with Hypernet News Network Eight and I'm talking to Terran Tyler
Vernon, the maple syrup king! Mr. Tyler, welcome to HNN Eight!”

“The Ocho!” Tyler replied with a broad but closed-lips smile. “I'm so happy to be speaking
with your viewers, Saenc!”

“And we're happy to be speaking with you, Mr. Tyler! You don't seem uncomfortable with
dealing with extraterrestrials despite the fact that your world has only recently made
first contact.”

“One of my fondest dreams was to one day speak with wise and wonderful beings form other
planets, Saenc,” Tyler said. “The opening of the gate was a great thing for all our
people.”

“But you're under the tyrannical boot of the Horvath, Mr. Tyler.”

“Now, now, Saenc. The Horvath are our
friends
. For the paltry sum of all our precious metals they provide us with protection and the
occasional clearing up of our orbital systems.”

“Protection from what, exactly?”

“We're still trying to figure that out, Saenc. From the Glatun, presumably, since you and
the Horvath are the only species we have encountered. Are you hiding some deep, dark,
dastardly secret, Saenc? Come on, you can tell me.”

“No, of course not, Mr. Tyler,” the reporter said with a sneeze. “You are so
funny
! So the Horvath are really your friends?”

“What else am I going to say with a Horvath battle-cruiser holding our orbits, Saenc?”

“Hypernet Network News has learned that the Horvath are now demanding all of earth's maple
syrup which they intend to trade with the Glatun. What do you have to say about that, Mr.
Tyler?”

“Maple syrup is interesting stuff,” Tyler said. “It's not a few mines. Thousands of people
over an area of nearly ten thousand square miles, almost entirely rural, have to stumble
out into the bitter cold and snow to tap hundreds of thousands of trees and collect the
syrup. Then hundreds of maple distilleries have to boil it down since it can't be moved
far before processing. If those people decide it's a good day to sleep in... it becomes
very hard to collect any significant amount of maple sap. I, of course, fully intend to
collect every bit of maple syrup possible for our Horvath friends and benefactors. But I
can't do it all by myself, Saenc. We have about two months until we have to start
collecting maple syrup. I suppose we'll just have to see what happens.”

“We Glatun would hate to have our maple syrup supply cut off,” Saenc said. “That wouldn't
be very fun.”

“I know, Saenc,” Tyler said. “Nor would having our cities turned to ashes. But I can't
make thousands of people go out in the cold, Saenc. We'll just have to see what happens.”

“There has been talk of armed resistance, Mr. Tyler.”

“Well, what would be the point of that, Saenc?” Tyler said. “All we have is a few deer
rifles. We can't exactly shoot a Horvath battle-cruiser down. What I really fear is that
our Horvath benefactors will feel so justifiable irritated by the inaction of local sap
collectors that they'll destroy the trees. It would be hard, but a big enough orbital
laser will clear out most of the major sap collecting areas. And it takes at least twenty
years to grow a decent maple tree. If they do that, you'll be missing out for a looong
time.”

“And on that note, we're out of time,” Saenc said. “Thank you for talking to us Mr. Tyler.”

“My pleasure, Saenc.”

“And we're... clear. Seriously. Off the record. Not for attribution.”

“Gonna get our maple syrup when they pry it from our cold dead hands. Take that as a
'notable resident of the area.'”

“Gotcha. That'll give it some punch.”

“Well, if it ain't ole collaborator Tyler himself,” Mr. Haselbauer said.

“Say that with a smile, partner,” Tyler said. “Can I come in?”

“If you promise not to take all my maple syrup,” Haselbauer said, opening the door.

Tyler divested himself of his outer gear in the foyer that was standard for a house of any
size in New Hampshire and shook himself as soon as he got into the living room.

“Da... dang it's cold out.”

“You Rebs got thin blood,” Mr. Haselbauer said. “Mabel, I think Mr. Collaborator needs
some coffee.”

“Coming right up,” Mrs. Haselbauer said, bustling in and shaking Tyler's hand. “Don't mind
him. He's just riled over Revenuers as usual.”

“Revenuers coming up from Manchester's bad enough,” Mr. Haselbauer said, leading the way
to the cellar steps. “Up in space is a bit much for my old brain.”

He led Tyler down into the basement and opened up his gun safe.

“Got this off a free trader for a jug I had stashed by,” he said, tossing Tyler a rifle.
“Works, too. Don't worry. Isn't no electronics down here.”

“Laser?” Tyler asked. It had the sinuous look of Glatun manufacture.

“Yep,” Mr. Haselbauer said. “Took out a white pine just fine. Made sure it was when the
Horvath were in... what's that term? Retrograde? Somewhat like that. Figure it's old but
it's what we could get. Actually... got a good few off him. Her. It. Revenuers come up
here after our syrup they're going to get a bit of a surprise. Isn't going to take out
that Horvath ship.”

“No,” Tyler said, tossing it back. “And it's not going to save the cities.”

“Between you and me,” Mr. Haselbauer said. “I would rather keep them standing. Don't care
for Washington and Boston and New York. Don't mean I want to see them as craters.”

“No comment,” Tyler said.

“I sure and hell hope you have a plan, youngster,” Mr. Haselbauer said.

“I have a plan,” Tyler said. “What I'm hoping is that I don't have to use it.”

***

“So, what do we got?” Tyler asked as he walked into what was laughably called 'Mission
Control.'

The room was a clutter of wires. Most of the equipment was hand-made and mostly by the
group of scientists and lab techs that clustered around the room's biggest plasma screen.

“Asteroid 33342 1998 WT,” Dr. Bryan Foster said. The head of the Aten Mining Project, he
had degrees in optics, astronomy and geology. He also was available when Tyler went
looking for somebody who had a clue what they were doing. His name actually came off of
the nearly defunct
TradeHard
mailing list. He'd once sent Tyler a rather scathing e-mail explaining all the mistakes
Tyler was making in orbital mechanics. Shaped something like a hairy Buddha he was in his
fifties and 'just getting started.' “AKA Icarus 195 AKA a whole bunch of other names that
various astronomers have tried to get to stick. We're just calling it Icarus even though
it's not.”

“Nickel iron?” Tyler asked. “And is this the best candidate?”

“Well...” Bryan said, shrugging. “It's the best candidate that's in the right orbit right
now. It's got the bonus that it's one of those really potential nasties some day. What is
called a 'Potentially Hazardous Asteroid.' Turning it into a bunch of cars would do the
world a favor.”

“What about...” Tyler searched his brain. This wasn't the asteroid he thought they were
looking for. “What's the name. Starts with an A... Egyptian god...”

“That's most of these,” Dr. Foster said. “You mean Apophis?”

“Yeah,” Tyler said. “I thought that was the big problem asteroid.”

“It is,” Dr. Foster said. “Potentially. It's not going to hit earth
soon
, but the way things are going it's going to hit sooner or later. And when it does, it's
going to be a major hit. So we'll have to take it out sooner or later. We thought about
Apophis. But when you set this up, we put all the mirrors in Venus orbit. Cause you said
'Put 'em in Venus orbit we'll figure out what to do with them later.'”

“Yeah, so?” Tyler said.

“Apophis is too close to
Earth
orbit,” Dr. Foster said. “We'll get around to it. But we threw all this stuff down nearly
a quarter AU to the sun. So for right now, we're
too far away
to melt Apophis. Being too far away from earth orbit is not
normally
the sort of thing we're
used
to having as a problem with space probes. When we got around to thinking about it, we
realized we'd kind of screwed up.”

“My bad,” Tyler said. “Like you said, we'll kill it sooner or later. So we're going to
melt... What's it? Icarus? And can we get useable stuff of it?”

“Yep. Or rather, probably. Just one problem.”

“Which is?” Tyler asked, sighing. It all seemed so simple when he was thinking about it.
Like, for decades.

“We don't know what the hell it
is
,” Dr. Nathan Bell said. The acknowledged asteroid expert was damned near as big as Mr.
Haselbauer. He also had a bit of a southern drawl when he got excited. “It's physical
characteristics are just odd. We don't know quite what it's composed of.”

“Well, we will in a minute,” Dr. Foster said. “Just as soon as we put power on target.”

“We'll know the external chemical characteristics, yes,” Dr. Bell said. “But the internal?
Until we really heat this puppy up we won't have a clue.”

“And it's going to take either a lot of time or a
lot
more mirrors to do that,” Dr. Foster said. “The good news about Icarus is that its only
three hundred meters across and rotates about every three point seven hours.”

“And that is good because... ?” Tyler asked.