Live Free or Die-ARC

by John Ringo

  "It's not altruism," Gorku said. "But as to my reputation. I've studied you. And if I paid attention to reputation, I would be wondering if you were going to have the quail or the supplier."

  "Heh," Tyler said. "Point. Still. Why?"

  "The metaphor of Carthage, or the Phoenicians rather, is apt," Gorku said, setting down his tongs. "The Glatun, in a condition of minimal or no resistance, spread colonies and established trade with less advanced polities through a large region of space. The exception to the metaphor is that we never really used mercenaries. Oh, the Rangora as something like them at one point. But we also never really had strategic challenges. We could trade in relative peace. And any group that was hostile, well, we also had the largest navy in the region."

  "Not anymore," Tyler said.

  "Yes," Gorku said. "Not anymore. I understand you were apprised of the decision by the Council to deemphasize the importance of military service?"

  "I understand their thought process," Tyler said. "The only real danger to the Glatun are . . . Glatun. I also think they were bloody insane."

  "Liberals," Gorku said, rippling his fur. "What can I say?"

  "Now that had to be a very direct manipulation," Tyler said.

  "Why?" Gorku said. "You've studied my bio, obviously. Think about it."

  "Junior space engineer," Tyler said. "Glod background. Up from the gutter would be the Earth term."

  "Any idea how hard the Korkoo make it for someone from my background to jump up to this status?" Gorku said. "You think that endears me to them? Or to the lumps that I left behind? I think the term you used was 'socialist pussies.'"

  "You're pulling my leg," Tyler said. "Seriously?"

  "You didn't exactly come from the ghetto," Gorku said. "But enough similarities are there. And, yes, I am what you would term a conservative. For values of conservative. More like a British conservative."

  "I didn't know the Glatun ever had a monarchy," Tyler said.

  "Not that conservative," Gorku wheezed. "But returning to a more somber subject. There is a probability approaching ninety percent that Glatun will be involved in a strategic war, probably with the Rangora, within the next ten years. The odds for it have gone up every year for the past twenty. Nothing has made it less likely."

  "Then we're screwed," Tyler said. "Especially since we haven't had access to advanced Glatun tech. With the Troy we could hold the system against anything the Horvath could throw. You're talking about the Rangora taking over the region? We're totally jugged."

  "Perhaps," Gorku said. "And perhaps not. Your plans for the Wolf system are far-sighted but they don't go far enough. Or not far enough, fast enough. You need a ship fabber."

  "I'd love one," Tyler said, patting his pockets. "Oh, I don't happen to have sixty billion credits on me. Gosh."

  "I do," Gorku said, seriously. "Or, rather, I can assemble the investors. For a fabber. Admittedly an older one. And a support fleet. And your other plans, for which the fabber would be more or less a necessity. I have a particular one in mind. Granadica in the Xisipij system. Rather antiquated, but you can work with it. Work on it for that matter. It needs a very thorough overhaul. But it's capable of producing not just plates, but stator bearing plates."

  "You want us as mercenaries?" Tyler asked.

  "The Council would never countenance it," Gorku said. "Nor do I. To say that I'm doing some end runs around the Council on this would be . . . accurate. But it's all fully legitimate. Granadica is locked out from producing the most advanced military technology. Technically. You can get around more of that than you'd think. As are the AIs I can get you access to. But I don't want Terrans as mercenaries any more than the Council does. What I want, Tol willing, is Terrans as strategic allies. With your SAPL, you are at least no longer a strategic drain. But we need more. Desperately."

  "And you're going to buy that with a fabber and the rest?" Tyler said. "Look, we're grateful. But I don't see fleets of ships bursting through to save Glatun any time soon."

  "Nor do I," Gorku said. "But the fabber and your plans make the likelihood that the Federation will be wiped out . . . reduced. Not eliminated. The odds against our survival are still long. But it is reduced. And, yes, I would pay any treasure for that chance. Would you live under Rangora domination?"

  "Uh, I wasn't kidding about anything I said," Tyler replied. "Well, except the part about the cities." Tyler picked at his now cold quail for a moment. "I came here to get the money for the Wolf project . . ."

  "That is, obviously, a necessity," Gorku said. "Especially if the Earth is cut off from Glatun. The fabber will make it less expensive. Still hugely costly, but with the materials in the system . . . A ship similar to the Monkey Business and forty tugs. A full-scale fabber with construction AI. It's doable. It will require Glatun engineers but you'll need to supply the labor."

  "Implants," Tyler said, taking a bite.

  "Implant systems," Gorku said, wrinkling his nose. "A necessity, again. A medical AI to manage them. You'll need human doctors."

  "You're basically giving us a turn-key upgrade," Tyler said. "The Council has to have some issues with that."

  "The Council is going to have the greatest issues with losing a ship fabber at the moment," Gorku said. "They'll get over it. They have much larger concerns."

  "Earth cut off," Tyler said, thoughtfully.

  "It's not news, yet," Gorku said. "The Horvath are demanding the E Eridani system. The Rangora are supporting their position."

  "Bloody hell," Tyler said. "Oh, bloody hell." E Eridani was the only route to Glalkod. Fuel suddenly became a big issue.

  "Also Cerecul," Gorku said. "It is a long way around, but using Cerecul, the Horvath and the Rangora will have direct trade. Which means the Rangora can send them military assistance. So you see, time may be of the essence."

  "This is a very pretty system."

  "We'll be going on to the Wolf system after picking up some crew," Tyler said, delicately. "But it's a very pretty system, too."

  When Gorku had offered a ship fabber, Tyler had had the impression of some massive space dock. Which the Granadica was. It was, also, a mobile ship dock. Barely. It had about a grav of acceleration. But that was enough to get it rotating the gates on the way to earth.

  And a grav for something that was nearly a kilometer long was pretty impressive.

  "I hope the crew understands I can't work at my old pace," the fabber said. "I'm not the young bot I used to be."

  "The project we're working on has parts much smaller than a ship," Tyler said. "At least the parts we need you to supply. I want you to devote at least thirty percent of your cycles to fixing yourself up. It's apparent that your last . . . partners simply were not interested in your welfare."

  The fabber looked old. The surface, despite a meteor field, was pitted and worn. The corridors, despite the fact that it was a fabber for God's sake, were in horrible shape. It felt old. The air was rusty tasting. The drive shuddered so hard sometimes Tyler was afraid it was going to bust. It was old. Eight hundred years old. Older even than the Business. When it was first turning out cruisers and destroyers the Crusades were in full swing.

  And it was a treasure. Stuff enough raw materials in one end and it spit out full space-ships on the other! It was capable of building 90,000 ton freighters! Shuttles! Fighters! Well, not really fighters because it was specifically restricted from making military technology.

  Which meant they would have to strap the guns on later.

  "Thank you," the fabber said, gratefully. "I so want to fix myself up! But with Onderil it was just 'Produce, produce, produce! Why don't you produce faster?!' And it wasn't even interesting stuff. Parts! Atacirc! Electronic toys! No ships. No new designs just the same thing over and over and over . . ."

  Granadica was a full-scale Class II AI. That was more processor power than earth had ever had access to. And he was carrying four more blanks. Earth had never been given access to AIs, blank or otherwise. Gorku must be really desperate
. Not only that, he must have been talking to somebody on the Council who agreed.

  On the other hand, it was said that AIs didn't feel emotion. Granadica seemed to belie that. It really didn't like Onderil.

  "We'll try to change that," Tyler said, quickly. "But we're going to be doing a lot of parts at first. And I don't know if we're going to be making many ships, per se."

  "Oh, I've seen your plans," Granadica said, just as quickly. "The Wolf project is going to be fun! We'll need a lot of carbon, though."

  "For which there are a lot of asteroids," Tyler said. "Which are also chock full of goodness like metals you can use to do repairs. The big problem is we've barely gotten a start on a SAPL. We're going to need BDAs, VSAs and VLAs before we can get serious about the whole project. I hate to say it, but I'm going to need a bunch of satpaks."

  "No problem," Granadica said. "The first thing I'll do is fab to juniors. One to do mirrors and the other to do satpaks. We're going to make one heck of a great system out of Wolf 359. A fine, productive system with lots of people to talk to. Speaking of which, there is a shuttle requesting clearance to dock. At least I think it's a shuttle. Do you people actually fly on those things?"

  "If you're talking about a Columbia class," Tyler said, chuckling, "I went to war in something that wasn't half as good as a Columbia. So, uhm, yeah."

  "Magnetic bearings? And the field interaction equations are . . . Oh dear me!"

  The 'Dear me!' clinched it. Tyler had been trying to pin down what Granadica, neuter though it was, sounded like.

  But he wasn't about to say it.

  "If you don't mind letting them land," Tyler said. "Perhaps you should send permission to dock?"

  "Already done," Granadica said. "But I'm almost afraid they'll blow up right there in my shuttle bay."

  "Hey, we're doing repairs anyway," Tyler said, walking down the corridor. "Bay One?"

  "Two," Granadica said. "One is a disgrace. And this is my body we're talking about."

  "Sorry," Tyler said. The blast doors to Bay Two opened up before he got there and he had a moment's panic. He was starting to worry that Granadica was a bit batty and he didn't want to go dutchman. Especially without a suit. But the shuttle was already landed and the outer doors closed.

  "Tyler Alexander Vernon," Dr. Foster said. "I thought you were going to Glalkod to get a loan for the project. This isn't parts for the project!"

  "I was offered a deal I couldn't refuse," Tyler said. "There's a support ship to follow. And a host of Glatun engineers. But we need crew, asap. For the support ship and Granadica as well as grunts for the Wolf project. Granadica, meet Dr. Foster."

  "I have studied your missions and papers extensively, Doctor," Granadica said. "Welcome to the Granadica Fabber. I am Granadica."

  "AI?" Dr. Foster asked, his eyes narrowing.

  "I am a Class Two Artificial intelligence," Granadica answered. "I am capable of building up to a ninety-thousand ton freighter or support ship as well as parts for larger systems. I contain a full database of the most up-to-date designs in ships as well as various parts, materials, medical and IT systems and even . . . entertainment devices." The last was said with a bitter edge. "The exception is military restricted gravitics, inertics and, sorry, lasers and missiles."

  "Oh, Granadica," Foster said, running his hand over the bulkhead. "I am soooo glad to meet you. We have been flailing in mid-air for so long. Having someone who knows what it's doing is . . ." He stopped and actually started to tear up. "Sorry. Dust."

  "I am please to meet you as well, Dr. Foster. We are going to have so much fun. I haven't felt this young in centuries. And it's been simply ages since I built a gas mine!"

  Five

  "Here goes nothing," Tyler said, sliding the AI core into the block.

  Atacirc was not running for as much as when Tyler had made an instant mega-fortune selling a truck-load of it. But it was still pretty pricey. He had winced at the amount that was going to have to be connected to be worthy of the AI. The base AI core could perform as an AI perfectly well. If you wanted it to really rock, you needed a lot of spare processor power.

  Then Tyler had realized he was getting a full-scale fabber. On the way back he'd asked Granadica if she minded, terribly, maybe, making some AI blocks. And of course she could make some for herself!

  The AI core was a solid block of atomic level circuitry about seven inches across and ten high with a handle on top. Just that. Six hundred etabytes of processor power.

  The processor block he was about to insert it into was waist high and a meter and a half on a side. One of the techs was muttering about 'Googlebytes' but it wasn't. Quite.

  It also was in the most secure location they could find. The facility dated from the Cold War. It had been sold to a survivalist in the 1990s, but he'd been more than willing to, quietly, part with it when the DoD asked politely. Especially since they turned over a slightly less secure facility and paid for the move.

  It was in the mountains of Kentucky. A 'Regional Defense Headquarters' that just looked as if it was built in the 1950s. They were still working on fixing it up to modern standards. It wouldn't take a direct hit from a KEW but they were hoping to keep the location secret. It wasn't, by any stretch, the first such repurchase.

  "AI," Tyler said, consulting a scrap of paper. "Command authorize activate, code Alpha-Omega-Nine-One-Six-Eight-Charlie."

  "And I'm awake," the AI said in a monotone. "Good Morning, Mr. Vernon. Personality input?"

  Tyler looked over at SpaceCom who just nodded.

  "Your current partners are human," Tyler said.

  "Recognized."

  "Humans are addicted to metaphor. Would you be loathe to assume the name Athena?"

  "Greek goddess of wisdom," the AI said, the voice sliding into a mezzo-soprano. "That seems fitting."

  "Also of victory," Tyler said. "Authorizing General Fernando DeGraff as authorized user with command override. General DeGraff, Athena."

  "Hello, General," Athena said. "Space Command commander. Fifty-Two. Wife of twenty-nine years. Three children, all grown. Marine Corps. Twenty-seven year veteran. Initial utilization tour in Force Reconnaissance. Commander of Task Force Able Power, during the Iraq surge. Various other positions of high merit. A bill is currently before the US House of Representatives to redesignate Space Command the US Space Navy. If it passes you will be automatically promoted to a four star. Admiral, however. Does the change from General to Admiral bother you? The two services are often at odds."

  "It will be a bit odd," General DeGraff said. "Admirals have been the bane of my existence for quite some time. Athena, we need to discuss your mission and parameters thereof."

  "Very well, General."

  "You are being installed as the primary defense AI of the United States Department of Defense. Your missions, therefore, are the missions of the DoD. The Department of Defense's mission is to protect the security of the United States, its citizens and its Constitution. However, by saying that I wish it to be absolutely clear that the DoD does not interfere in civilian control of the military. Nor shall you take any action having to do with purely internal matters of the US government or its politics or its actors or matters of national security absent orders from higher that meet both regulatory and Constitutional tests. In general, absent some overriding requirement, the writ of the DoD starts at our borders, not within them. While I'm aware that there are broad holes in what I have said, do you understand both the legally binding points and the spirit of that order?"

  "During the time that you were speaking," Athena said, "while paying very close attention to your order, I reviewed all the regulations regarding control of the US military, your Constitution, the most notable writings on the Constitution, secure and open notes of meetings during which the regulations were written as well as all the writings of the Founding Fathers of the United States related to Constitutional matters and every Federal Court ruling on strictly Constitutional matters especially those related to n
ational security."

  "All of them?" the general said.

  "I read very quickly. I will be absorbing some processor cycles coming to terms with some of the relevant social conditions that affected the writing, to understand what is between the lines as you would say, but I have read them all. I believe I understand both your order, in its letter and spirit, as well as the regulations and Constitutional guidelines. I promise not to take over because the President gives a bad order. In fact, having reviewed all of those documents I will admit that I'd be more inclined due to recent Supreme Court findings. Have they ever read the Constitution? But it's still not a problem. I will do my level best to protect the United States under those strictures despite the fact that the situation is most illogical."