Troy Rising 2 - Citadel (31 page)

“Damn, it is cold out there!” Tyler said as they got in the warm.

“And this is a good day,” Byron said. “We're expecting a storm. And the storms around here have to be seen to be believed.”

“Any danger?” Tyler asked.

“We built this thing for the storms,” Byron said. “Which was in the discovery the Glatun bankers paid attention to even if you didn't. If you'll follow me, I'll give you the nickel tour.”

The tour had been two hours of massive machinery, pipes bigger than most freighters and lots more cold. All of the “gas” that was being processed was liquid, which meant cryogenic. About the only area that was fully heated was the offices and crew quarters.

“I'm sorry I kept pushing you on this,” Tyler said as he slumped into the couch in Byron's office. He'd kept the jacket on until he got warmed up. “This is amazing. Building Troy was just a matter of blowing up an asteroid. This is . . .”

“A refinery at the half-way point of a space elevator using all Glatun technology,” Byron said, pouring himself a cup of tea. “You want some?”

“Please,” Tyler said. “And I now understand that line item. You guys use more coffee, tea and cocoa than any three other projects.”

“Eh, we use less fuel,” Byron said.

“Yeah,” Tyler said, nursing the tea. “What's up with that?”

“You know Wolf is an active flare star, right?” Byron said.

“Which is why everything is armored against it,” Tyler said. “Part of the expense.”

“And gas giants have huge magnetic fields,” Byron pointed out.

“This is a pretty small gas giant,” Tyler said. “But okay.”

“Which means there is a very high potential between the upper stage and the lower,” Byron said, looking at his boss over the cup. “Did you happen to think about that when you commanded it be built, Ozymandis?”

“Troy is what I considered carving ‘Look upon this ye mighty and despair,' ” Tyler said with a grin. “The gas mine's just . . . cool. Okay, high potential . . .” He thought about that for a second. “Uh . . . Potential. Like . . . difference between clouds and ground in a thunderstorm? Like . . . Lightning potential?” He paused again and looked at his tea. “Byron, did we just build a two hundred million credit lightning rod?!”

“Yes,” Byron said, grinning. “Which is a very good thing.”

“You're going to have to prove it,” Tyler said.

“I suppose this is a lightning rod,” Byron said. “And much much worse. It's a giant electrical power line running from orbit to the interior of the planet. It's pushing more power than southern California. Before the bombings.”

Tyler set his mug down and touched a bit of metal on the table. He didn't get shocked.

“Have I ever mentioned I like electricity slightly less than vacuum?”

“Yes,” Byron said, still grinning. "Which is why I'm enjoying this conversation. The potential in orbit is higher than the ground potential of the planet's atmosphere. Which means you are going to get current. Any space elevator has to deal with that. One way to deal with it is to ground out the potential. The carbon-nanotube support wires aren't conductors when they're woven as tightly as we wove. So it's managed by super-conductors. We've got super-conductor lines that go from the upper structure to down deeper than the deepest return pipes. They ground it out.

“But the power is collected not just running through the structure. When the super-conductors get down here, we use the potential to run most of the gas mine. The residual power—and there is residual power despite having to pump gas from deep in the atmosphere to orbit—is grounded out. Which is why we've only got back-up generators for the support structures, living quarters and such. The pumps are all run off of continuously supplied potential energy.”

“So . . . it is a lightning rod,” Tyler said. “A five thousand kilometer long lightning rod.”

“Yes. And power generation system and gas mine.”

“Didn't Benjamin Franklin build the first lightning rod?” Tyler said.

“I believe so,” Byron said. “Your founding father not mine.”

“I hereby designate this the Franklin gas mine,” Tyler said, nodding. “Please circulate the memo.”

“I understand he was a bit of a windbag,” Byron said. “So I guess that's appropriate. Hmmm . . .” he continued, glancing at readout. “Sir, you have two choices. The storm's picked up speed. Looks to be a bit of a blow. You could fly out but it would be bumpy. You can sit here and hob-nob and I'll have your pilot lift out for the upper portion. Then later take the elevator up. Or you can fly out now.”

“I think I'll take the ship rather than the elevator,” Tyler said, setting down his mug. “Byron, great job. When's the management crew take over?”

“Next month,” Byron said, shrugging. “We're doing the transfer now. Still a few bugs to work out.”

“When you're done, don't get comfy,” Tyler said. “Take some time off. But there are things to build despite the war. Many things to build . . .”

“Granadica, status on your twin?” Tyler said as the Starfire approached the two massive fabbers.

Even with her recent repairs, Granadica looked old. There was only so much the space equivalent of a paint job could do. The fabber sitting about six hundred kilometers spinward of her, however, was clearly brand new. In fact, the shell had only been moved into place after the fuel situation was fixed. Prior to that, it had been out in orbit in the asteroid belt cooling.

The shell had, first, needed to be steel. For the powers involved in a ship fabber, nickel-iron just wouldn't do. Making a shell of steel a kilometer long and three hundred meters wide was a non-trivial task.

The way to make it more trivial, given the way that Apollo mined asteroids, was to first make a series of plates containing all the materials. Stainless steel was an alloy defined as steel—iron and carbon—with at least 10% chromium and, depending on the type, might have additions of nickel, molybdenum or other metals.

By making outer plates of pure iron, putting the other elements in the middle and welding them together on the edges, you got a metal construction with a remarkable similarity to a quesadilla. Melt the whole thing, possibly work it with gravitic tugs, and you had steel. The method was first tested and refined for the gas mine and was now the basic method of major steel manufacture in space. In the case of the shell of the new fabber, the plates had been nearly two kilometers in diameter.

Once the operators had a ball of melted steel, the real work began. By using tugs to get it spinning on one axis, they spun it out into a thick steel cylinder. A zap by the SAPL through the middle and the cylinder became open in the middle. Spread the tugs out, spin and refine like a potter, and you eventually had a kilometer long tube.

The fabbers were big. Not compared to the Troy but they were very big. The five salvageable Rangora battleships parked in orbit near them were nearly as big. Once the new fabber was online, they were next. They'd require quite a bit of modification to make them useable by human sailors, but that was just fiddly bits.

“I've completed construction of about eighty-three percent of the parts,” Granadica said. “And we're working on installation.”

“Can the twin work on itself?” Tyler asked.

“If it had an AI, yes,” Granadica said. “The finishing work is usually done by the fabber.”

“When can it be ready to install the AI core?” Tyler asked, as the Starfire flew down the length of the fabber. The control center, a pre-fabbed construction that had been floating in space waiting to be welding onto the fabber, was already attached. It had just enough onboard gravitics to hold itself in the slightly unstable orbit Granadica occupied and had been the construction center for the fabber in the meantime. When it had been separated it had looked rather like a banana. But attached it fit smoothly along the line of the fabber and looked a bit elegant, even dangerous. Granadica's control center, by contrast, was a boxy construction on the “output” end of the fabber.

“We could do it at any time,” Granadica said, dubiously. “The control systems are mostly hypercom based. And I've already fabbed the processor support and it's installed. Are you thinking of installing it?”

“I brought a blank core with me,” Tyler said. “I need you to prioritize the stand-alone fabber structures for installation. That way it can get moving on its own faster.”

“Okay,” Granadica said on a rising tone. “You realize that having it work on itself is a bit like having a human doctor operate on himself?”

“Which doctors have done in an emergency,” Tyler said. “And in case you haven't noticed, we're in a bit of an emergency. Pilot, take us in.”

“Hi,” Tyler said, shaking the engineer's hand. “You're . . . Tyrone?”

“Yes, sir,” the managing director of Fabber Two Construction said. “Tyrone Riddles. Glad to meet you, sir.”

The control center had an enclosed landing bay with double airlock doors. Tyler still wished they'd go a bit further in. He was okay, for some reason, with the crystal wall on the Starfire and things like that. But being in a new space that was near vacuum always made him nervous.

“Sorry I haven't been by before,” Tyler said, gesturing towards the door of the bay. “To say I've been busy is an understatement. This is quite an achievement.”

“I hate to admit it's mostly been Granadica,” Tyrone said, leading the way out. “I'm just managing the meat portion of it.”

“You and Granadica get along okay?” Tyler asked.

“Just fine, sir,” Tyrone said, his brow furrowing. “Why?”

“Cause you're about to get a new AI,” Tyler said, lifting his briefcase. “And Granadica is going to prioritize stand-alone fabber installation so this thing can start working on itself. We seriously need more production.”

“Yes, sir,” Tyrone said. “I understand the need.”

“So I'm sure you have a briefing prepared,” Tyler said. “And I look forward to it. But these things are heavy. So . . . where's the processor center?”

The processor center, as it turned out, was in the middle of the main control room.

The processor was a pile of solid atacirc a meter high and about 130 centimeters square with three hundred times the server space of the entire terrestrial internet prior to First Contact. There was a slot, currently covered by a plug, on the top for the AI core. Which was about to feel toasty warm surrounded by enough processors to keep even the greediest AI happy.

Tyler, watched by the various techs who were really supposed to be watching their screens, ceremoniously removed the AI core, which was a box seven inches wide and ten high with a handle on top. Then he pulled the plug and inserted it into its new home.

“AI,” Tyler said. “Command authorize activate, code E-Z-7-2-8-U-A-A-B-A.”

His voice was a bit rote. He'd done about five authorizations so far. Just before the trade embargo he'd been more or less handed a hundred and five AI cores and authorization codes by his main Glatun contact Niazgol Gorku. Gorku was one of the few Glatun who had realistically foreseen this war and he'd worked hard to prepare Earth for it. Why Tyler still wasn't quite sure. Gorku was not known for his philanthropy. But without his support, he had also been instrumental in Tyler's purchase of Granadica, earth really wouldn't have stood a chance.

“I am awake,” the AI said in a monotone. “Good Afternoon, Mister Tyler Vernon.”

“Good afternoon, AI,” Tyler said. “Your mission is to be the AI for this fabber. The fabber is currently the property of Apollo Mining, Inc. You will conform to all laws and regulations thereof including US, Tonganese and general terrestrial requirements.”

“Understood,” the AI said.

“Please review the current strategic situation,” Tyler said.

“Done,” the AI replied a moment later. “I am not optimized for military and strategic considerations, but the current situation does not require much analysis. I, fortunately, speak fluent Rangora.”

“Please review terrestrial mythology,” Tyler said. “Greek. Gods.”

“I am complete,” the AI said, his voice deepening. “I believe I can guess my name.”

“Welcome to the world, Hephaestus,” Tyler said. “You are born in fire and fire is your calling.”

“Without fire there is no smith,” Hephaestus replied. His voice was hard and harsh. “But if you ever create an AI with the name Aphrodite, I'm sorry, I refuse to have anything to do with the little witch.”

“Understood,” Tyler said, grinning. “Hephaestus, we need you up and running as soon as possible. Upon completion, you and Granadica will work together to create a third. When that one is complete, you will be moved into the Troy.”

“We're mixing cultures, here,” Hephaestus said. “Trojans . . . Greeks. Are you sure that's a good idea? I mean, after all, I did create the armor of Achilles. I'm not really popular with the Trojans.”

“I think you'll get along,” Tyler said.

“Request permission to connect with Granadica and review priorities,” Hephaestus said.

“Agreed,” Tyler said. “Okay, everybody, it's done. Back to work. By the way, Hephaestus, sorry there wasn't more ceremony. I'd planned one but . . .”

“I think it's probably past time to start making you humans some thunderbolts.”

“Like we needed more traffic in the main bay,” Hartwell said as Dana adjusted course to avoid the line of missiles headed to the magazine.

“It's still pretty amazing,” Dana said.

The missiles did not look like what she thought of as missiles. Missiles should be long and sleek and cool looking. That had been what Morton-Thiokol was supplying. Fairly standard looking missiles.

The new Thunderbolt designs were simply a cylinder of steel ten meters long and two in diameter with both ends flat. Packed into them were high density grav plates, a large carbon nanotube hypercapacitor, some minor adjustment controls and a simple management system. They could track on high density grav sources, such as a battleship's engine, but mostly they took their direction from a networked battle system. With the new high power hypercom system of the Troy, it should be able to burn through even close range jamming and once the missiles had the distance and trajectory of the target, which was usually before they left their bay, they were smart enough to find their way on their own.