Troy Rising 1 - Live Free or Die (56 page)

“You want me to twin?” Granadica said, dubiously. “Some of it I can't make. The shell,
especially. Pretty much everything else I can make in a year or so using... oh twenty
percent of my capacity. If I have the materials. You need another fabber?”

“
Troy
does,” Tyler said. “Yes. It needs a fabber to produce grav plates and drives, power
plants, ships and especially missiles.”

“The last one is the easiest,” Granadica said. “There's a Glatun design of medium missile
that fits pretty close to the Boeing Mjolnir specs. I can pump out a fabber that will be
able to make missiles from raw materials in about a month. The output will be about...
five missiles per hour.”

“That... works,” Tyler said. “Can they fly themselves to the bays?”

“Oh, yeah,” Granadica said. “Easy.”

“I still think
Troy
needs a fabber,” Tyler said. “Does it bother you making a twin? I'd think of it more as a
child.”

“You're human,” Granadica said. “No, it doesn't bother me that you want another fabber.
I'm an AI. We don't have feelings.”

“Granadica,” Tyler said, nearly using the nickname that hovered in the back of his mind
every time he talked to the AI. “Things are about to get very bad. I know you've been
looking at the strategic situation.”

“I'll admit that things don't look good, no,” the AI said.

“Churchill, who was one of our great war-leaders, once said that the first year of a war
you have nothing that you need, the second year you have half of what you need and the
third you have all that you need, you just can't use it. In some cases, it's too
late
to use it. I don't want another fabber. Sol
needs
another fabber. And when that one is done, we're going to need a third. And a fourth. And
a fifth.”

“So you want me to churn out fabbers,” Granadica said. “Just sit here in this system and
churn out newer, competing, fabbers with all the latest gimmicks.”

Tyler sat and thought about it for a moment.

“Granadica, I know AIs don't have feelings,” he said. “But if you did, would you
like
humans?”

“Most of them,” Granadica said. “Some of them are idiots.”

“Agreed,” Tyler said, grinning suddenly. “But, in general, would you say that you'd prefer
that we not be wiped out of existence? Or, to put it another way, are you looking forward
to a wipe to basic personality and then working for the Horvath?”

“I'll get to work on that fabber,” Granadica said.

It was all about levers.

***

Tyler checked the telltales on the airlock,
then
opened the door. One exposure to vacuum was all he ever wanted to experience. And while
getting out in Granadica or the
Monkey Business
was one thing, Shuttle Bay One of the
Troy
had been built by the lowest bidder.

“Mr. Vernon, welcome to the
Troy
,” Admiral Jack Kinyon said. The two star commander of the
Troy
was of a size for it, standing nearly seven feet tall and probably pushing weight limit.
He carried it well.

“Been around it a good bit,” Tyler said, sniffing the air then shaking the admiral's hand.
“Sort of been hoboing in your bay, to tell you the truth. This is just the first time I've
gotten out of a shuttle or ship.”

“I had heard we had some homeless people hanging around,” the admiral said, grinning. “But
I understand there's a nice little compartment that somehow got slipped into the plans on
the civilian side. Something about a three thousand square foot apartment with a view of
the bay?”

“Hey, I
built
the damned thing,” Tyler said. “I figured I deserved a vacation get-away. The commander of
the
Monkey Business
has also been making noises about how much room I'm taking up. I figure, you've got the
room.”

“I suppose there's that,” the admiral said. “And if I may introduce my senior officers?”

“Please,” Tyler said, nodding to the group.

“Commodore Kurt Pounders,” Kinyon said, trooping the line. “Chief of Staff.”

“Sir,” the commodore said. He was nearly as tall as his boss but rail thin with a shock of
black hair cut fairly long for the military.

“Commodore,” Tyler said, shaking his hand. “I hope you have a good support team.
Operations on this thing are going to be interesting.”

“Which brings us to Colonel Raymond Helberg,” Admiral Kinyon said. “Chief of Operations.”

“Sir,” the colonel said. He had a faint English accent. Tyler had heard that some of the
crew and officers were from NATO units.

“Definitely got
your
work cut out for you,” Tyler said, shaking his hand.

“We endeavor to provide, sir,” the colonel said.

“Commodore Russell Marchant,” the Admiral continued. “Commander of Task Force One.”

“Commodore,” Tyler said, shaking his hand.

“Sir.” The true 'Navy' commander in charge of the
Constitution
cruisers and
Independence
frigates was medium height with pale blond hair and just as pale blue eyes. “This is one
heck of a big platform. I'm not even sure what my group is going to do.”

“Anything that requires moving, Commodore,” Tyler said, chuckling. “The
Troy
isn't going anywhere any time soon.”

“Captain James Sharp,” the admiral continued. “Chief Tactical officer.”

“We throw rocks.” The captain was black as an ace of spades and tall enough to have played
college basketball. “And poke people with flashlights.”

“I'll tell my people not to charge you for practice time with the SAPL,” Tyler said,
grinning. “You're going to have to pay for the missiles.”

“I understand we're getting a missile fabber?” the tactical officer said.

“In about a month,” Tyler said. “There may be more. It's the usual problem of balancing
infrastructure and actual equipment. For that matter, it will be a general fabber. So your
bosses will have to decide how much of it goes to infrastructure versus weapons.”

“We could use more missiles,” Admiral Kinyon said. “That's for sure. Captain Chris DiNote,
commander of the assault boat wing.”

“We deliver the mail, sir,” the captain said, shaking Tyler's hand. “When we have
shuttles.”

“They're on their way,” Tyler said. “Until recently we were calling them Emergency Rescue
Shuttles because Marine Landing Craft would have twigged the anti-military design
functions of Granadica. They're being redesignated as
Myrmidons
. Still the same capabilities for the time being. But we'll have about one a day coming in
any time now.”

“Looking forward to it,” the captain said. “There's a training group down at Great Lakes
doing work-ups. It's going to be interesting.”

“I heard the Navy was insisting on enlisted personnel as pilots?” Tyler said.

“They're boats,” the admiral said, shrugging. “Boats aren't run by officers. So, yes, the
majority of the drivers will be coxwains.”

“That will be interesting,” Tyler said, raising an eyebrow.

“And the customer for Captain DiNote's boats,” the admiral finished. “Colonel Daniel
Bolger, USMC.”

“Sir,” the colonel said, nodding sharply.

“Have you tried out the micrograv ball court, Colonel?” Tyler asked.

“Yes, sir,” the colonel replied, gruffly. “It was a very interesting experience.”

“I figured that if your personnel are going to be working in microgravity, it helped to
have a place to get in practice that wasn't... practice if you know what I mean. Training
doesn't always have to be serious. The more time they spend in microgravity...” Tyler
trailed off since the colonel seemed to be suffusing a bit. He wasn't sure what he'd
said...

“The colonel may be less than enthused because the first platoon that tried it ended up
with half a dozen serious injuries,” the admiral said, dryly.

“Oh,” Tyler said. “Sorry.”

“We're installing more padding, sir,” the colonel said, his jaw working. “That's been a
pretty interesting evolution as well. Superglue doesn't work the same way in microgravity
as it does in gravity.”

Tyler tried not to wince. Nothing liquid or semi-liquid worked the same in microgravity as
it did on earth.

“
Everything
about
Troy
has been a learning experience, Colonel,” Tyler said.

“Second Platoon learned pretty quick that weight isn't the same as mass,” the colonel
said. “No pain no gain, sir.”

“And arguably the most important part of my command staff is still unable to be visually
present in this bay,” the admiral said, raising his voice. “Paris?”

“Here, sir,” the AI replied from a PA box. “Welcome to
Troy
, Mr. Vernon. I will endeavor to do a better job than my predecessor.”

“The big mistake of the Trojans was meeting the Achaeans outside the walls,” Tyler said.
“Let's not make the same mistake.”

“Not a chance,” Admiral Kinyon said, grinning. “I don't plan to fight
fair
. With your permission, sir, I've arranged for a dining-out later. Yourself, the officers
of the
Troy
and some of the senior civilian contractors.”

“Sounds good,” Tyler said, blinking. “I'm free this evening.”

“In the meantime,” the admiral said. “I'd like to let these gentlemen get back to their
duties and I thought we could go inspect some of the more... interesting aspects of the
design.”

“Okay,” Tyler said, trying not to gulp.

“Gentlemen,” the admiral said, nodding at the group. “Until later.”

***

“And here we have the air mixing chamber,” the admiral said, opening up the inner hatch.

All of
Troy
didn't, yet, have lifts or grav walks. The walk from the shuttle bays to the air recycling
system had been nearly a mile. Tyler hadn't walked that far in
years
.

And then there were the
stairs
.

The air mixing chamber, because it was slightly over-pressured, had an airlock system to
enter. Sort of. There were two hatches to get through. But it wasn't a full airlock. More
like a slightly more secure version of the sort of doors you found on big stadiums.

Beyond the door was a small patio with a waist-high railing. The whole thing was cut from
solid nickel iron and Tyler could see some
actual
bobbles from the lasers. But, overall, it was pretty solid. Good enough for government
work.

Beyond the railing was the main mixing chamber which was a five hundred meter high, two
hundred meter diameter cylinder with more 'patios' every six stories or so, stretching up
from the base to the top. The admiral had trekked to a platform about mid-way and the view
was more than spectacular. The gravity was also a bit low. While the platform had its own
grav plates, the main chamber was under one sixth gravity. You had to be careful not to
hop over the railing. You'd definitely die from the fall.

It was also, unsurprisingly, windy. The air shot upwards and ruffled Tyler's beard.

“Very nice view?” Tyler said.

“Yes, it is,” the Admiral said. “Also, I might add, very interesting design. Some of the
civilian contractors... Ah, a demonstration.”

A man was flying
up
the chamber wearing a 'squirrel suit' with textile 'wings' spreading from ankle to wrist.
As Tyler watched he banked around in an arc and then up and back and around...

“Your point, Admiral?” Tyler asked. “I mean, if he works for me I can probably circulate a
memo...”

“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 over-zealous 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.”