Troy Rising 1 - Live Free or Die (45 page)

***

Spreading the beam stopped spalling. But...

“I'm just not believing this,” Nathan said. “It's melting this thing like...”

“A thousand cubic meters is raised to melting temperature every ninety minutes,” Bryan
said, looking up from his calculations. “Even with the conduction of nickel iron it is
melting effectively. If you could just park a ship with this much firepower and beam it at
Troy
, you could kill it. Well, everyone
in
it.”

“Yeah,” Tyler said. “Except you'd have to bring your own sun with you. And in the
meantime,
Troy
would be pumping this out at the ship. About the only thing that could damage
Troy
is... this. So we'd better be careful securing it.
Really
careful. Among other things, I don't want the Horvath or anyone else who might enter the
system hacking it and pointing it at
Earth
.”

“And you should be able to heat the whole thing in... about three months,” Dr. Foster said.

“That I'll wait for,” Tyler said, grinning.

“Except it's overheating,” Nathan said, stopping the beam. “Moving to secondary array to
maintain the heat. The VDA is super-cool, though.”

“Cryogenic,” Dr. Foster said with a satisfied tone. “Cools off fast, too. Should be ready
to go again in about five minutes. And when you're doing the full melt you can use VSA and
BDA to do most of it. When you've gotten done with the wings on the asteroid, I'd like to
take the VDA apart and see how it held up.”

“Fine,” Nathan said. “Yeah, temp is nominal again already. You guys go have fun. I've got
an asteroid to melt.”

“Fun, yeah,” Dr. Foster said, grumpily. “Now I've got to figure out how to mass produce
these things.”

“Be glad it's a nice simple engineering project,” Tyler said. “I've got to meet with
Glatun bankers.”

“I thought this was a done deal,” Tyler said, crossing his arms.

“We thought the investment was valid as well, Mr. Vernon,” Suw Qalab said then flicked his
nose. The Vice President for Investment Strategies of Onderil's Glalkod region was clearly
as annoyed by this 'little setback' as Tyler. “But the... overall strategic situation has,
unfortunately, changed.”

“Banking strategic or military strategic?” Tyler said. “We're not even talking about the
Terran solar system? And we've got that pretty much
secured
. The Horvath would have to get through the
Terran
system to get to Wolf.”

“Both the banking strategic and political strategic,” Qalab said. “And less in relation to
Terra and the Horvath, which are, after all, minor issues to the Glatun, than
core
issues. Have you been reviewing the news lately?”

Tyler closed his eyes and accessed his plants searching for data on the Glatun strategic
situation. He hadn't really looked at it since the first time he'd examined the Glatun.
When he found what Qalab was hinting at he nearly fainted.

The previous month, the Glatun Council of Benefactors, the oligarchy that made most of the
major decisions for the Glatun government, had agreed to cede to the Rangora strategic
control over fifteen uninhabited solar systems. Most of them were systems in the border
zone between Glatun occupied systems and the Rangora. The systems had been disputed by the
Rangora for nearly sixty years. They felt that since they still had an expanding
population, they just needed the room. The Glatun, for very good strategic reasons, wanted
the systems to act as a neutral buffer.

Something had changed the mind of the Council lately. Nearly simultaneously there had been
less noticeable news reports. The Council had raised taxes, increased fleet production,
which had been nearly moribund for ten years, and started a recruiting drive for the
Glatun Fleet. Digging into that, Tyler was unsurprised to find that it was not going well.

“The Rangora,” Tyler said.

“The Rangora,” Qalab said. “Much of our investment money has dried up either due to the
new taxes or because it is being invested in military oriented programs.”

“Damn,” Tyler said. “I have
no
use for war. I hate the losses involved, of course. But they
really
get in the way of building infrastructure. They're
waste
. Why the hell can't sophonts be
sensible
about this stuff?”

“You are...” Qalab paused. “I'm sorry. You are fairly well known for a human among the
Glatun. The maple syrup, of course, but most especially as a warrior. 'Give me liberty or
give me death.' The battle in the
Star Fury
.” He kicked his head up and down and wrinkled his nose in puzzlement.

“I said I don't have a use for war,” Tyler said. “Never said I don't know how to
do
it. There's a time to fight and a time to not. Getting into a war over border systems? The
Rangora aren't going to
use
those systems. There are no habitable planets, the gas giants are all in the cold belt and
they have a low relative level of helium. This is a power grab, pure and simple. Those
piss me
off
. And...” He paused, wondering how much he should say.

“The Rangora Fleet outnumbers the Glatun by nearly six to one,” Qalab said, filling in for
him. “They are, individually, inferior. But many. And it takes
time
to build ships. I believe the Council is buying time.”

“You think they're going to attack the Glatun Federation,” Tyler said, leaning back.

“In time,” Qalab said. “Yes. That is the general consensus among... people who pay
attention to such things. I am one such. I have to be. It affects... risk.”

“Better believe it,” Tyler said with a snort. “You can buy all the time you want but
you're not going to be able to buy sailors. You guys have almost erased your warrior
ethic.”

“That was a strategic calculation on the part of the Council,” Qalab said, ruffling his
back fur in a shrug. “I am not in a position to say if they were correct or not. It has
assured a long period of relative stability within the Federation.”

“And now it's going to bite you in the ass,” Tyler said. “Okay, under the circumstances, I
can understand if you guys don't want to pony up for this investment. I'm not sure where
that leaves me, but I've just seen there are bigger issues to think about.”

“Indeed,” Qalab said. “I hope that we can do business in the future. Our previous
arrangements have been most lucrative.”

“Yeah,” Tyler said. “And it looks as if I'm going to be selling a lot of metal to you
guys. I just hope
you're
good for it. What a universe.”

***

Tyler stood outside the Onderil offices and just thought for a moment as the beautiful
Glatun of Glalkod station swirled around him.

On Earth, a meeting involving the sort of sums he was discussing with Onderil would have
had thirty people in it. Assistants, note-takers, lawyers. More lawyers.

The Glatun, between the power of implants and the power of their AIs, had paired away most
of the excess. Tyler had hired time with a Hurin legal AI to review the terms of the
contract. Onderil, of course, had their own. When a point came up the two battling AIs
couldn't resolve, he talked it out with Qalab and then the AIs went back to battling over
the exact verbiage. No need for note takers. No need for assistants.

On Earth there was another layer related to such entourages that was less about need than
face. Having a big entourage was a sign of prestige.

The Glatun bankers, though, acted like Terrestrial old money. They eschewed any
unnecessary sign of wealth. The banks were neat, tidy, orderly, rich looking. But if there
was no need for hangers-on there weren't any.

It was almost like a reversion to the customs on earth when banking was in its infancy.
You talked face to face to avoid electronic tinkering, you made an agreement and you
walked away. It was... refreshing.

If it had only worked.

Tyler wondered how many of the, clearly wealthy, Glatun laughing and chatting along the
main station boulevard were paying
any
attention to the cleft stick they were in. Was this what it was like in Paris in the
1930s? Rome in the 7th Century? Most of the beautiful people coasted on comfortable nest
eggs, inherited wealth managed by the few Glatun left with even
ambition
like Qalab. And their main ambition was to make another megacredit, not take the chance of
dying in the vacuum of space.

Tyler had to wonder, again, if he'd hitched himself to a falling star. He bought ships
from the Rangora but that didn't mean he trusted them not to knock off a minor planet if
they had the chance. And they were tight with the Horvath. The closest thing Earth had to
a strategic partner on the galactic scene was Glatun.

They were screwed. Again.

“Mr. Vernon,” an older Glatun said, nodding in a gesture that was oddly Terrestrial. Well
but not flashily dressed, unlike most of the 'beautiful people.' A short-nose. Tyler had
learned to tell the difference. The 'long nose' Glatun or 'Korkoo', were generally
considered to be more cultured. If for no other reason than some historical quirks of
location and hard-nosed trading on the part of the original race had tended to concentrate
wealth in the hands of the Korkoo. Most of the Council of Benefactors were Korkoo. The
Glod, short-noses, were thought of as more boorish. Glatun crackers. They made up the vast
majority of the underclass but also of the military, what there was of it.

This guy was dressed like a fairly substantial Korkoo, the harness didn't come off the
rack, but he was a Glod. Odd.

“What a surprise to find you standing here.”

“Sorry,” Tyler said, stepping to the side. “Am I blocking the door?”

“Not at all,” the Glatun said. “Oh, I am being remiss. I am Niazgol Gorku.”

“Gorku Corporation,” Tyler said, nodding. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Tyler
refused to act surprised. And there was no way this was coincidence. That was not how
Niazgol Gorku worked.

Most of Tyler's early business had been with Gorku and he still did a lot of business with
them. He'd taken the time to research the history and leadership of all the corporations
he dealt with. Gorku had always been interesting. It had been a fairly moribund firm run
by a conservative set of the traditional Korkoo businessmen.

Niazgol Gorku had more or less rocketed up the ranks by sheer force of ability. Started as
a crewman on one of the company's freighters. Worked his way to captain in two years then
operations manager of the region in another two. Ten years later, he was the CEO. Five
years later he was the majority shareholder and the Chairman of the Board. Which was when
he changed the name of the company.

He'd continued to innovate when most other corporations were willing to coast. He had two
of the three remaining exploration ships despite the fact that, with the exception of
earth, they hadn't found a decent trading partner in centuries.

Tyler was well aware he was dealing with someone with decades more experience and probably
twice the sheer brain-watts. So he tried very hard not to check his wallet.

“And, no, this is not coincidence,” Gorku said, reading his mind. “I am interested in your
Wolf 359 project. I was wondering if you'd care to discuss it over lunch.”

“Interested enough to invest?” Tyler asked.

“Yes.”

“I'll buy.”

“I rarely eat out,” Gorku said. “Perhaps on my ship?”

***

“How is the quail?” Gorku asked.

“You either have a really amazing robochef,” Tyler said, “or a five star human chef stowed
away somewhere. And
great
ingredients.”

“I have a really amazing robochef,” Gorku said, wheezing a chuckle. “Which was repeatedly
reprogrammed
by a five star human chef until it could accurately reproduce his most complex recipes. He
took it as a challenge and nearly committed suicide when even
he
could not tell the difference in a blind taste test.”

“Can I hire him?” Tyler asked, taking another bite of quail.

“Alas, no,” Gorku said. “He lived in Paris.”

“Ah,” Tyler said. “We... lost a lot of good people.”

“That you did,” Gorku said. “
Too
many good people. And we are about to lose so many more your losses will be, pardon me,
insignificant.”

“Big surprise you're paying attention to the strategic situation,” Tyler said, taking a
sip of wine. A
small
sip.

“I was surprised you had not been,” Gorku said.

“I've been a little busy,” Tyler replied. “Surely the Rangora aren't going to lay waste to
your worlds.”

“They won't
have
to kill us by the billions,” Gorku replied. “Sufficient disruption and that many will die
from famine. Space stations don't run on their own. A stray missile will gut a city and
kill a few million. One hits a space station and
everyone
will die.”

“Depends on the space station,” Tyler said.

“You speak of
Troy
.”

“I'm not surprised you know about that, either,” Tyler said.

“I'm looking at it and going 'Why didn't I think of that?'”

“I didn't think of it,” Tyler said. “I read about it as a kid and never quite got over the
wonder.”

“Your science fiction,” Gorku said. “Have you considered, carefully, the progression of
Glatun history?”

“You weren't nearly as advanced as humans at first contact,” Tyler said. “And I was unable
to find any reference to space travel or even the
concept
until first contact. Which I found a bit odd.
Cyrano de Bergerac
wrote SF for God's sake. I don't get there being no Glatun interest in space.”

“Glatun is in a solar system with very little in the way of interesting objects,” Gorku
said. “No bright gas giants such as your Jupiter. No dawn star like your Venus. And no
moon.”

“Eh,” Tyler said. “Okay, I'll take that as a good reason.”

“Thus we had no novel concepts to engage upon,” Gorku said. “And no enemies, thus no
need
for novelty. We have used basic Ormatur technologies, with very little advancement, ever
since. Successfully, mind you. The Glatun had, once, their Hobbesians among us. But by the
time we went to space, we were an almost entirely Smithian group.”