Live Free or Die-ARC

by John Ringo

  "I can imagine," Tyler muttered.

  "Skull hardening. Ribcage reinforcement. Micro-armor sub-integument weave . . ."

  "You do all that with nannites or something?" Tyler asked.

  "Nah, gotta do a full strip," Cori said. "Don't have the time today."

  "And by full strip?" Tyler asked.

  "Pull off all the skin and muscle and adipose tissue and do the plant," Cori said. "Takes a few hours."

  "Skip," Tyler said. "Maybe next time."

  "Whatever," Cori said. "Space-man's package . . ."

  "I'll take the basic package plus the natural athlete package, thanks," Tyler said. "Keep it simple for now."

  "Customer's always right," Cori said. "Louisa, where we at?"

  "Authorizations all in place and registered," Louisa said. "We can start any time."

  "What does start mean?" Tyler said.

  "First we've got to get a mapper into your neural system," Cori said. "You might want to hold your head still."

  "You're going to stick a wire in my head?" Tyler asked, starting to turn around.

  "Oh, no," Cori said. "Already did that. That's why I said stay still. Right, Louisa, start the mapping."

  "If you could please think about your first memory," the AI said, pleasantly. "And, remember, this is for science. So be honest . . ."

  For the next thirty minutes, Tyler was put through possibly the most unpleasant experience of his life. 'Mapping' consisted of a long series of seemingly random questions 'Think of the taste of blue . . . ', flashes of random memories, muscular twitches and occasional strange feelings in odd parts of his body. All this culminating in . . .

  "OW!"

  "And pain mapping complete," Louisa said, in a kindly tone. "There, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

  "Yes," Tyler said, panting. It had felt as if he'd been dropped in hot oil and even though the sensation was gone the memory of being dropped in hot oil was still right there reminding him this is what it feels like to be dropped in hot oil. "That was bad. That was bad on toast."

  "Well, it really was for science," Louisa said. "Now that we have one human mapped it won't be so bad for the rest. We'll just have to check what the differences are and they'll be right and tight. So . . . Now comes the invasive bit. You'd probably rather be out for this. Permission to put you to sleep?"

  "You have to ask for that but not to put a wire in my head?" Tyler said. "And put to sleep is an expression on my planet . . ."

  "Anesthetize you so that you'll be unconscious through the rest of the procedure," Cori said. "No big deal. We just activate the sleep centers of your brain and then lock you down so you can't wake up while we're rummaging."

  "I've done stranger things," Tyler said, settling in. "I think. Okay, go ahead."

  "And we're going out in three, two, one . . ."

  * * *

  "What happened?" Tyler asked. "You guys started yet?"

  "Done," Cori said. The beetle was across the room cleaning some instruments. "That'll be five and a quarter, please."

  "I don't feel any . . ." Tyler started to say. Then the tornado hit.

  "VAGOG'S GARGOBOTS! GET 'EM WHILE THEY'RE . . ." "INTERGALACTIC COSMETICS ANNOUNCES . . . !" "INTERSTELLAR SUPERDEALMART! INTERSTELLAR SUPERDEALMART!" "BIG BARGO'S BARGAIN BARN!"

  "AAAAH!" Tyler screamed. His head was filled with images, most of them so alien he couldn't even process them, as well as a string of seemingly random commercials. He couldn't even hear himself think.

  "Crap," Cori said. "Louisa, put up a trans-block. I forgot he was getting his first node-plant."

  "Ah . . ." Tyler said as the cacophony cut off. "That was . . ."

  "You are going to have to learn how to control your implants, Mr. Vernon," Louisa said. "I'll adjust them so that they are dialed up to high protection. But if you want to be able to fully and openly communicate you're going to have to learn how to filter."

  "And how, exactly, do I do that?" Tyler asked.

  "It's a skill," Louisa said. "The implants work interactively with your brain so the more you use them for more different purposes the better you get. But you won't get the full use until you start to grasp the full function of the implants. You are, at some point, going to have to open up."

  "If you can . . . dial them up or down . . ." Tyler said. "I don't want people to have remote access . . ." He suddenly realized he hadn't, in fact, opened his mouth. Just thought the query. More like mused on it.

  "I can," Louisa said. "Here. While you are still a patient and in this room. Otherwise you are quite well firewalled. Why would anyone use a system that was not secure? The first thing you might want to be careful of is comming when you don't intend to."

  "Great," Tyler said. Aloud. "I need to use these to buy some stuff. How do I . . . ?"

  "You'll figure it out," Cori said, dragging him out of the chair. "I've got another customer coming in. Go play with them. Have fun. Good bye."

  Tyler found himself back in the disreputable service tunnel.

  "Excuse me," what he at first took to be a robot said. "You're blocking the door."

  "Sorry," Tyler commed, standing aside. When the robot went through it was apparent it either had a thing for Glatun hair down its back or it was a Glatun cyborg.

  Tyler walked down the service tunnel quickly. Fortunately, other than a little blood, there was no signs of the nonchalant gentle Glatun from earlier. As soon as he reached the main corridor he looked around for a hypernet terminal but the only one was clearly broken.

  "Crap," Tyler said. "Taxi," he said, thinking at his implants. "I need a taxi."

  "Itthe cab," a voice responded.

  Voices in my head. Great.

  "Hi, I need a cab to take me to my lodgings," Tyler said. "I'm not sure of my location, but I'm near Kulo's . . ."

  "Dispatched," the voice replied. "Two minutes."

  "Thanks," Tyler said. There was a distinct . . . feeling of the communication being cut off.

  "Well," he muttered. "That worked."

  "Hey, buddy, can you spare a credit for a veteran?"

  Tyler looked at the rubbish besmeared Glatun and shrugged.

  "I can, I just don't have a way to do it," Tyler said. "Sorry."

  "That's okay, man," the bum said, then wandered off.

  "The more things change," Tyler said as the cab pulled up. It was pretty much the same as the last one. Come to think of it, the green stain on the cover . . .

  "Hey, Tyler!" the cab said, dropping the canopy. "You waiting for me to get stole or something?"

  "Not at all," Tyler said, dropping into the cab.

  "Where to?" the cab asked, pulling out without waiting for the information.

  "I've got it here, somewhere," Tyler said, pulling out a piece of paper. He cleared his throat. "The Ghozhozizpilhowacxashaphiq . . . This is worse than a Hawaiian name . . . cawobeyxolegul . . ."

  "The Ghoz," the cab said. "No problem."

  "What does the name mean?" Tyler asked as the cab pulled into one of the transport . . . elevators?

  "Big Nice Hotel," the cab replied.

  "In Glatun?"

  "Oh, no. Course not. That's in Ogutorjatedocifazhidujon . . . That's enough. They're sort of this arm's main hospitality race. Call 'em the Ogut."

  "Oh," Tyler said. "We really don't know much about the species in this region. We got an initial download from the first Glatun we encountered but it's so large and so poorly indexed . . . Google's still working on it."

  "You need to get some plants," the cab said.

  "I just did," Tyler said. "I'm still trying to figure out how to use them."

  "You'll get used to it," the cab said as the door to the . . . transport box? opened. It whisked out into a corridor that was well lit and lined with what looked to be upscale shops. Well-dressed Glatun and a variety of other species more or less packed it. The cab had to move slowly.

  In about three minutes they pulled up before an ornate façade resembling, of all things, the front
of a tomb.

  "The Ghoz," the cab said. "That's three credits."

  "Authorized," Tyler said. The canopy popped down and he climbed out. "I guess if I call for a cab, I'm probably going to get you. Which is fine."

  "As long as I'm available and not too far off," the cab said. "Have a nice day Mr. Vernon."

  Two of the big sauroids, in a sort of quasi-military uniform, flanked the double doors of the hotel. Tyler contemplated them for a second and the word 'Rangora' flashed into his head. He instantly knew the general outline of their territory in the galaxy and, as he probed a bit more, their strategic relationship, competitive neutrality, with the Glatun. They were considered slightly lower technologically advanced, aggressive and expansionistic. Individually, within the Glatun Federation, they tended to work in menial jobs that required more strength than smarts.

  "Do you need help with your bags, sir?" one of the Rangora asked.

  "Uh, no," Tyler said. "They were sent ahead."

  He'd had to send more than bags. There were no foods known in the Federation that humans could consume. Since the 'milk run' Gorku Corporation freighter only ran once every thirty-two days he had to be prepared to stay a long time so he'd included in cold storage three month's rations. Since the Glatun could, somehow, inhibit any degradation in organic materials, 'rations' meant a very choice selection of foods. He wouldn't be surviving on MREs but he would have to cook for himself. That was okay, though, cause he was a pretty good cook.

  He was planning on being on Glalkod station for some time. He had to get more information about the Glatun before he could progress to the next stage of his plans. Earth needed Glatun technology but he wanted to figure out how to learn Glatun technology. He didn't want Earth constantly dependent on the Glatun. The close call over maple syrup had convinced him that Earth needed to be technologically and strategically independent of the Glatun to the greatest possible extent. Not to mention he was looking forward to kicking some Horvath butt.

  The same thought had occurred to most Earth governments. But the fact was, until there was more to trade with the rest of the Galaxy, he was in the strange position of having more available credit to do something about the disparity than any five earth governments. And since most of it was banked, and traded, off-planet, it was remarkably hard to tax.

  If he had the choice of turning over his credit balance to Washington to do something or doing it himself . . . He'd take his chances.

  "Checking in, sir?" the Rangora asked, opening the door.

  "Yes," Tyler said. He thought 'Ten credit tip' and the Rangora tipped his helmet at him.

  "Thank you much, sir."

  "No problem," Tyler said, walking through the doors.

  "Mr. Vernon. A pleasure to have you in the house."

  The speaker was a meter long caterpillar. That was about as far as Tyler could get. Unlike caterpillars it had large, mobile, antennae. But it was still more or less caterpillar shaped, its skin patterned in a wild array of colors. I'm talking to a psychedelic caterpillar.

  "Yes I am, Mr. . . . ?"

  "Chuphosh Yaph Mufup Phexigh Chugh Thogab Neyuch Peh Toshash Ghutoch Zizh Lhinosh," the caterpillar said. "Most sophonts call me Chup. Welcome."

  "Thank you," Tyler said.

  "Your room has been prepared," Chup said. "If you would follow me?"

  The main lobby was large and ornate. Tyler wasn't sure what most of the metals, woods and cloth were, but they looked expensive.

  When he'd gone on the hypernet he'd searched for a good hotel on Glalkod station that could handle multiple species. He'd apparently found more than good. He wasn't sure he wanted the expense of staying somewhere like this for as long as he contemplated staying. He could afford it, but he had a lot of stuff to buy and no real idea of the costs.

  Chup led him to what Tyler figured was an elevator. There was the usual absolute lack of sense of movement and it opened on a large room.

  "Four rooms," Chup said. "Bedroom, bathing room, sitting room, kitchen. Adjustable grav beds. Extensible grav bed in the couch in case you entertain company. Usual suite of entertainment devices."

  "I'm still learning how to use implants," Tyler said, walking across what he presumed was the sitting room to what could be either the bathroom or the bedroom. As he half expected, the door didn't open.

  "Why don't I just leave all the doors open until you're more comfortable," Chup said, dilating the door.

  The room was a bedroom. And it looked about like any hotel bedroom he'd ever seen except for the bed which was . . .

  "That's sort of odd," Tyler said.

  The bed appeared to be two pieces of glass suspended in mid-air.

  "I'm sure you will find it quite comfortable," Chup said. "It's adjusted to your surface gravity. The lighting is adjusted to near natural sunlight. And while we had a bit of trouble with some of your bathing arrangements, I think you'll find those in order. Furthermore, we have a cookbot programmed with a variety of earth dishes if you prefer to use room service or visit one of our several first quality dining facilities."

  "Thank you," Tyler said.

  "We aim to please," the caterpillar said. "We admit that learning the needs of a new species are always challenging, but we do our level best. We were unable to successfully design concubine bots but . . ."

  "No problem," Tyler said, thinking 'High tip.'

  "Thank you very much, Mr. Vernon," the caterpillar said. "If there's anything else?"

  "Not that I can think of right now," Tyler said. "I'll just . . . relax."

  "Since you are still getting acquainted with your implants and the conditions," Chup said, "I can set our AI to monitor. That way if you need anything you can simply ask. Nothing, of course, will be released about such monitoring. We are very strict about our guests' privacy."

  "Please," Tyler said.

  "And I will leave you to your relaxation," the caterpillar said, wriggling out of the room.

  Two

  Tyler stretched out on the oddly shaped but surprisingly comfortable couch and intertwined his fingers behind his head. Since getting on the tramp freighter in Manchester twenty hours ago he hadn't really had a chance to relax.

  Manchester, NH, was coming on to being Earth's biggest spaceport much to everyone's surprise. Unlike Burlington, it had suffered little damage in the war and was central to several major maple production areas. Since Earth was still only trading maple syrup, that meant that was where the traders landed.

  The Horvath had geeked to giving up the maple syrup but they were bound and determined, to the point of battle, to hold on to the heavy metal mines in Russia and South Africa. The Canadian production areas overlapped the maple regions so production from that area was still under negotiation. And they'd raised the subject of the metals Tyler's company was starting to extract from asteroids. Their position was that they owned all heavy metals in the Sol system. Since sovereignty can be defined, at bottom, as 'might makes right', they were standing on firm legal ground. Tyler's position was that they owned it as long as they could keep it. He intended to end that condition very soon.

  He decided it was about time to figure out this implant thing and just thought about the Horvath.

  Instantly, information started flooding in. It wasn't overwhelming but it was complete and organized more or less as he needed it. He realized that the system was not only responding to his forefront thoughts but lower-level concepts. The information, since he was mostly worried about the Horvath as a threat, was concentrated around their strategic position in the galactic region, military and industrial capability and resources. It was neither more than he could absorb nor was it scattered. He wasn't even sure exactly where the information was coming from. He could see why Earth's firewalls would look a bit like 'looking through an open window.' You just thought about what you wanted to know and there it was.

  "Wow," Tyler muttered. "I've got to get rid of my Google stock."

  As he examined particular bits of information, more wo
uld become accessible. He delved, for a while, into Horvath reproduction habits and cultural implications. Horvath had two sexes, male/female, more or less corresponding to standard Terran form even if their basic physiology was completely different. They did look a bit like squids, though. The females laid a single egg in a nest which was then fertilized by a selected male. Gestation was six months. The nest was kept by the male, the female laid and left. After birth the young were moved to a crèche where they went through a series of moltings over twenty years and then were released as adults. Males, almost invariably unrelated biologically, did most of the rearing. Robots were replacing them as the Horvath advanced. Child-rearing was not high on the list of Horvath jobs.