Troy Rising 3 - The Hot Gate (32 page)

“I get it,” Dana said, grinning.

“And here I am, sitting in Wolf producing Myrmidons that don’t work,” Granadica said.

“They work,” Dana said. “They just need a little TLC.” She paused and slapped her forehead. “That’s it. That’s what I was missing!”

“What?” Granadica said.

“The…” she said and paused. She was trying very hard not to think about the discussion she and Tyler had had. “Whoever did this program in you… They really cared. About a lot of things.”

“Except how it would make me look,” Granadica said.

“There’s a lot of stuff I don’t think that BuShips is getting,” Dana said, ignoring the comment. “Like… When I got to the One-Four-Three, there were panels that weren’t quite latched in some of the shuttles. They were latched enough that they weren’t going to come loose in most cases. You know what I mean.”

“Secondary latch systems,” Granadica said. “Redundancy in that situation is good.”

“But they weren’t quite in line,” Dana said. “Well, I’m…kind of a neat freak.”

“Good for you,” Granadica said. “So am I.”

“So I had the guys go through and make sure every one was properly dogged away,” Dana said. “Anybody who’s going to take care of their bird is going to do the same. But it was mostly purely visual. That doesn’t get reported at all.

“Whoever wrote this thing didn’t just want people to care for themselves,” Dana said. “They wanted people who would give the birds tender loving care. It’s all about TLC.”

“And attention to detail,” Granadica pointed out. “As you said, anyone who was going to pay attention to the details of keeping the shuttles running was going to do the same.”

“But not necessarily the other way around,” Dana said. “I could see Diaz going through and making them ensure that all the panels were put in proper place just because it was visual. Suds are big on visual. Their problem is they care about looks more than substance.”

“Then you should get along great,” Granadica said.

“Heh,” Dana said. “If I only cared about looks, maybe. And if I was willing to be the simpering little idiot. Not gonna happen.”

“What did you think?” Tyler asked. “Did you have much time to talk?”

“Hours,” Dana said. The junket to the Franklin Mine took them in closer to the extremely variable M Class Wolf 359. Thus she was having to carefully watch for major remnant coronal mass ejecta zones as well as high radiation belts. It wasn’t the easiest system to navigate for that matter.

“And?”

“And I wish you’d let my engineer sit in his bucket for once, sir,” Dana said. “But, yeah, there’s problems there.”

“I’ll let him have the seat in a minute,” Tyler said. “Any ideas?”

“Get her a new shell.”

“That’s it?” Tyler said.

“No,” Dana said, maneuvering past a zone of something so strange she wasn’t even sure what it was. “She’s depressed. We got that far. She’s also…professionally unhappy. Not so much over the faults, she can deflect that, she’s… Bored?”

“She likes producing ships,” Tyler said.

“She doesn’t like mass producing anything,” Dana said. “I’d say it’s at the level of PTSD.”

“Which is a problem,” Tyler said. “She’s a factory.”

“She’d probably prefer refurbishing those Rangora ships we captured,” Dana said. “Since they’re not all standardized, she’d always have to be producing different stuff. Having to work out the engineering. She’s not feeling…challenged.”

“Real world issues with all of that,” Tyler said. “BAE’s got the contract for one thing. Can you think of a fix that doesn’t take her out of use for a significant period? I can think of a way to get her a new shell.” He winced. “A very pricey way and one that cuts into system production in a very big way, but a way.”

“I think it would be worth it,” Dana said. “Sir, what were the Glatun like?”

“Why?” Tyler said. “I mean, I dealt with them, but not to a huge extent. What do you mean?”

“Because she’s not Terran,” Dana said. “She’s Glatun. But to the extent she is at all like Terrans, I really think she’s more…she than he.”

“I don’t get you?” Tyler said.

“Not even she,” Dana said. “But she for…our culture. Maybe even gay. Sophisticated at least. She cares about appearances. Part of her depression is the shell. She just knows she looks old. That matters to a woman. Maybe I’m making this too personal but she agreed she’d ‘feel’ better with a new shell. I’m wondering, I guess, if the Glatun were really into looks. Did they even have facelifts?”

“Hmmm…” Tyler said then nodded. “This is applying human culture to alien and that doesn’t always work well. But advanced and successful human cultures invariably develop a strong body image. Put another way, having succeeded in the area of function they become addicted to form. Glatun were into body modification which might have been their expression. We only used those places for plants, but they were, yeah, very into body conscious and clothing conscious actions. Fortunately, the first aliens we encountered were…pretty similar to humans all things considered.”

“So that’s a big thing for her creators,” Dana said. “Which means that programming, whether part of the original programming or not, is part of her core cultural programming. She’s been around that culture her whole life.”

“Crappity, crap, crap, damn,” Tyler muttered. “Just bondo is out, then. It will need to be a full new shell. And that means a complete rebuild. You got any idea how much that’s going to cost?”

“More than a depressed AI?” Dana asked.

“Think a complete Constitution,” Tyler said. “Will it fix it?”

“No,” Dana said. “But it’s as necessary as anything else. I’m thinking about the rest. While I’m watching the engineering panel as well as flying.”

“I get the point,” Tyler said, getting up. “I’ll get Velasquez in here. Keep thinking. This is good stuff. And…thanks.”

“If you can get the Suds off my back, you’re welcome,” Dana said.

“Oh, I think we can safely say that problem is abated at the least,” Tyler said, chuckling.

* * *

“Ministers,” Tyler said, securing his seat belt. “There are no good viewscreens on these boats, obviously. So we’re going to do something that may seem a bit crazy.”

“Not seem,” Admiral Duvall said, tugging hers tighter.

“Could you be more specific?” General Barcena asked.

“We’ve entered Wolf’s atmosphere,” Tyler replied. “At this level in the atmosphere it is breathable. Very close to earth normal which is extremely odd in a gas giant but the universe is an odd place. Since there is no good way to truly see the mine from inside one of these shuttles, if there is no strenuous objection, we’re going to drop the assault ramp.”

“That will…” Dr. Palencia said, his voice rising to nearly a squeak.

“Open the interior to fully breathable atmosphere,” Tyler said, looking over his shoulder and grinning. “With, however, one heck of a drop on the end of the hatch. You’ll note that I have one of the front chairs. If you’d like to rearrange, Dr. Werden, Dr. Barreiro, General Barcena? Perhaps let someone else take the positions of honor?”

As “protocol” would dictate, the senior members of the party had the four forward, center, seats. Which meant all they had to do was stick out their legs to touch the forward bulkhead. As they had noted, there was insufficient room to fully stretch their legs. They were flanked by Admiral Duvall and Dr. Palencia.

“If you are asking if we’re afraid…” General Barcena said, dangerously.

“Not at all,” Tyler replied. “I started off by saying this may seem a bit crazy. But… You really need to see this. It is beyond cool. Oh, and these are going to be the really cold seats as well.”

“Dr. Barreiro?” Dr. Werden said, one eyebrow raised. “I was raised in the mountains. I can handle the cold. But you are from the Pampas. I could understand…”

“I shall be fine,” Dr. Barreiro said, crossing his arms.

“Admiral Duvall?”

“I don’t consider it a great risk,” the Admiral said, rechecking her seat belt. “And I’m looking forward to the view. I will mention that the external temperature is five point five degrees.”

“Celsius,” Tyler noted. “A brisk day, admittedly.”

“You’re from New Hampshire, sir,” Duvall said. “I’m from Southern California.”

“Is that a serious objection?” Tyler asked.

“Coxswain, 1MC,” the admiral replied.

“Coxswain,” Parker answered over the intercom.

“Drop main assault doors.”

“Drop assault doors, aye, ma’am.”

* * *

“Engineer,” Parker said. “Open main assault doors.”

“That is my father in there, you know,” Velasquez said, nervously.

“The proper response is ‘Open main assault doors, aye, EM,’ ” Parker said. “It was not a suggestion.”

“Open main assault doors, aye,” Velasquez parroted. “Here goes…”

* * *

“Virgin mother of God,” Dr. Werden said as the wind hit them.

The Franklin Gas Mine was a space elevator five thousand kilometers in length, from the deep extraction pipes to the orbital “upper deck.” The only portion the delegates could view from their seats was the lower separation deck. That was large enough. Based upon a steel plate two kilometers in diameter, the deck held all the equipment used to separate Helium Three from the dozens of other gases in the gas giant’s atmosphere. What they were mostly seeing was dozens of stacks that towered as high as small skyscrapers. From their position, it looked like a city hanging in the clouds.

Very windy clouds for that matter. The interior of the shuttle felt as if it was being blasted by a hurricane. The landing platform was clearly visible from their position and it was apparent that there was a large reception group awaiting the DPs. The main value of the reception group, at the moment, was creating some perspective for the enormous scale of the construction. They did indeed look like ants.

“Every time I think there are no more wonders left,” Dr. Barreiro shouted. “You were correct. This is something that needs to be seen with the naked eye.”

“You were also correct about the temperature,” Dr. Palencia pointed out. He had his arms crossed and was shivering.

“They have the gear for this on the station,” Tyler shouted. “Admiral, let’s get in for landing.”

“Coxswain, take her in!”

* * *

“Not with the ramp down,” Parker muttered. She was having a hard enough time holding the boat steady with the shifting winds and the aerodynamic effect of the ramp. “Raising ramp for landing, Admiral.”

“Roger that. And turn up the blowers!”

* * *

“Welcome to the Franklin Gas Mine!” Blair Fleming shouted, throwing a thick coat over Tyler’s shoulders. The manager of the mine was not much taller than his boss. With a shaved head and the same beard/mustache combination as Tyler, they looked a bit like father and son.

The reception party had come armed with dozens of similar coats and the DPs were soon covered up against the cold. The reception party mostly had to force them into the coats because the DPs were simply goggling at the sights.

The mine was surrounded by towering billows of clouds in every color of the rainbow. The effect was from a combination of electrical interactions, the planet had a very active electromagnetic field, high levels of noble gases and the photosynthetic and lithotropic bacteria that were the cause of the breathable atmosphere. The clouds themselves flickered with pent-up lightning that from time to time grounded itself out on the support cables of the mine.

The support cables towered upwards, quickly lost in the clouds. Composed of literally millions of strands of continuous carbon nanotubes, the four primary support cables split within view, dropping down to the station to connect at 64 different points. The “final connect” cables were each more than three meters thick and did not terminate at the lower platform but continued down deep into the planet’s atmosphere.

“I don’t think they’re listening,” Tyler shouted back, grinning.

“Where are the elevators?” Dr. Barreiro shouted.

“They’re not in sight at present, sir,” Fleming said. “They’re both on a run. It’s four thousand kilometers meters to the upper platform. They’re rarely in sight. With all due respect, sirs, we’ve been waiting out here for a while and it is, as usual, not exactly shirt-sleeve weather…”

“He’s saying he’d like to get inside!” Tyler shouted. “We’ll get another view on the way out.”

* * *

“I understand that you are extracting Helium Three,” Dr. Werden said, looking up at one of the enormous refinery towers. “And I know that all of…this is necessary. But…why?”

The tour had already gone on for two hours and the delegates were starting to be less and less sanguine. They were slowly beginning to realize that not only was the Franklin Mine a refinery hanging in mid-air, not only was it a massive refinery hanging in mid-air, but that it’s complexity left any Earth based oil refinery to shame.

“Concentration,” Tyler said. “You’ve noticed that we all squeak a bit when we talk.”

“Helium in the atmosphere,” Dr. Palencia said. “Obviously. So there is quite a bit there already.”

“Just a trace of hydrogen as well,” Fleming said. “Too low for it to be a fire hazard but about six times that of earth.”

“Helium Three is an isotope of helium,” Tyler continued. “A rare one. There is only point zero, zero, zero, one, three, seven percent helium three in helium. That’s less than one part per thousand in the helium. In this atmosphere, at the level we’re pumping, there is seven percent helium. There is less than one part per million of Helium Three.”

“A one gigawatt per hour power plant uses about ten kilos of Helium Three per day,” Dr. Velasquez said. “That takes pumping…ten million gallons of atmosphere?”

“Uh, hundred million gallons of atmosphere, sir,” Fleming said. “You were off by an order of magnitude. Kilos and gallons of He3 are…not the same.”

“Which, by the way, we produce…?” Tyler asked.

“About every thirty seconds, sir,” Fleming replied. “Now that we’ve gotten the deep separators working. The combination with the upper separator system has this as the most efficient gas mine ever created. The remaining Glatun consultants are rather proud.”