by John Ringo
"Why?" Boyd asked, frowning. "Oh."
"The Darhel have already figured this much out," Daisy said, looking at the Panamanian with sorrow in her eyes. "If you think they hated you before. And I'd suggest that Jeff go with you. I'd go, but I'm stuck here."
"Not . . . necessarily," Boyd said, starting to grin.
"He wants to what?" Mike asked.
"He wants to bring a cruiser with him," General Wesley said, looking at his notes. "The USS Des Moines."
"I'm not sure which question to ask first," Mike replied. "The why, the how or the what the fuck?"
"Remember the conversation about clean AIDs?" Wesley said. "That Boyd had one or more?"
"Yes," Mike said. "As one bit of literally thousands of things I've been briefed on in the last few days."
"It's more complicated than 'Boyd has clean AIDs,' " Tam said. "What he has is a just damned weird combination of ship, AID and a human body. Well, two of them, actually. The AIDs and the human bodies can't get far from the ships. The ships are the Des Moines and the Salem. I don't know if I'm reading the subtext right, but there's also a security aspect. Boyd's survived several assassination attempts by the Darhel. He'll be pretty hard to kill in a cruiser."
"Where in the hell are we going to park it?" Mike asked. "I mean, sure, you can put grav engines in it and move the damned thing, assuming it doesn't break in half. But . . ."
"Well, the Rappahannock is just sitting there."
"Well, that's a hell of a sight," Mike said, shaking his head.
The Rappahannock might have just been sitting there, but using it for the cruiser in its normal state would have been out of the question. Except when it, frequently, flooded, the river was not deep enough for the blue-water ship. Indowy engineers, though, had solved the problem in a few hours by digging out a section of the river deep and long enough to take the multi-ton cruiser.
Using grav engines, it had flown up from the coast of Panama and was now lowering itself carefully into the "parking area." Mike was wondering if he needed to put up signs: "Cruiser parking here."
"It is indeed an interesting one, sir," Lieutenant Takao Takagi said. The lieutenant was not much taller than the famously short general, with skin darkened from alien suns. It was hard to tell his age even if he had not been rejuvenated. He looked anywhere between late twenties and his forties. He was, in fact, nearly eighty years old.
"I'm looking forward to meeting the cyborg thingy," Cally said. "I'm not sure that that cruiser hasn't seen better days."
The cruiser was, in fact, in awful shape. Not surprising given that it had been sitting on the bottom of the ocean until less than a year before. Still, rust streaked, gutted by fire, it was an awesome sight.
"I'm given to understand she doesn't look like a cyborg," Mike said as a gangplank was lowered to the ground. "I suspect she's the one in the middle. And she looks awfully familiar . . ."
"General O'Neal?" the tanned man to the left said, holding out his hand. "William Boyd."
"Mr. Boyd, thank you for coming," Mike said, shaking his hand.
"May I introduce Captain Jeff McNair and Daisy?" Boyd said. "Captain Jeffrey McNair, Daisy Mae, General Michael O'Neal. General O'Neal, Jeff and Daisy."
"Pleasure," Mike said, shaking their hands. "Lieutenant Takao Takagi, until I can get the paperwork straight, anyway, and my daughter Cally O'Neal."
"I love your blouse," Daisy said, shaking Cally's hand. The "cyborg" was wearing a light blue dress that matched her eyes. "But I'm wondering. Up to about a week ago, you were listed as dead. Then you suddenly popped up as alive. Bane Sidhe?"
"Yes," Cally said, grinding her teeth. She knew that she was pretty. Old body, new body, she was still a looker. The damned "cyborg" though just had a presence that outshone her. Bold and brassy as hell. Cally was mentally taking notes. "I was in the underground. Even Dad didn't know I was alive."
"There are many long stories," Mike said. "Let's get into headquarters and cover some of the highlights."
"I understand you're a smoker, Mr. Boyd," Mike said, changing out his dip. "Feel free to light up. Cally can just suffer."
Mike had chosen one of the deeper "shield rooms" for the interview. It was, the Bane Sidhe have assured him, secure from the AID net. He intended to discuss some things the he didn't want the Darhel to know.
However, it was well ventilated so Boyd's smoke shouldn't bother anyone.
"I appreciate that, General," Boyd said, pulling out a traveling humidor. "I understand, in general, the point of an industrial board. But I'm going to need to know what we're industrializing."
"As much as possible," Mike said. "I'm told that although Miss Daisy is connected to an AID, we're still secure."
"Darhel haven't gotten anything out of me since I came out of the box," Daisy said. "Not that I didn't want them to have."
"I'm going to have to take that as valid," Mike replied, frowning. "So here's the deal. To create enough war-materiel to fight this new invasion, we need the Indowy industrialized. No more of this cottage industry shit."
"Can they change?" Boyd asked.
"Some will readily," Cally replied. "Others will resist. They will be forced to do so or become the Indowy equivalent of buggy-whip makers. Sorry, I have a lot of experience of the Indowy. They are not monolithic by any means. They just appear that way from the outside."
"But the point is not just to get enough industrialized to support the war but to hyperindustrialize them," Mike said. "I'd like them to be at the point the U.S. was at the end of World War II. Production out the butt. Because at that point it will be incredibly hard to close the barn door, no matter what the Darhel try to do about it. You may encounter resistance from the Darhel. The simple answer is 'You screwed us on production during the Posleen War and we're not going to let you do it again.' We control the amount and methods. The Darhel just pay for it. I need to stay integrated because, frankly, I'll blackmail them with the loss of whole planets if they balk."
"There are . . . lots of Indowy on every so-called Darhel planet," Daisy said, frowning prettily. "You would be dooming them as well."
"I hope it never comes to that," Mike said. "We may lose planets. Actually, given our current state of affairs, that is a given. If we can hold the major core worlds and Earth until we're fully up to speed, we'll win. If we can't . . . well, I'm going to be building some fallback positions but we'll probably still lose in the end. Earth, again, is really the key. Since the Darhel were 'losing' colonists left and right, Earth is still the major source of humans, which means the major source of soldiers. And there are functional production worlds in the direction of the Posleen Blight, which is away from the invaders. Of course, if they're down to Earth they've either bypassed most of the Federation or we've lost most of it. But we can still take it back. If we've got Earth and production."
"It sounds like we should start by getting the worlds on the back side of Earth up and running first," Boyd said.
"You read my mind," Mike replied. "But producing what is still the question. We're going to need a fleet, unquestionably. We're going to need ground forces more. That's a function of the way the Hedren attack. I'll get you a full briefing on that today if you're up for it. What's still to be wrangled over is what we need. Infantry versus tanks versus fighters, etc. You're just one part of the puzzle. But what we need is less important than how it's produced. Given Posleen style forges, you can produce about anything. What you need to get up and running is those forges and assembly groups for stuff larger than the forges produce in one piece."
"I've actually got an ace-in-the-hole for that," Boyd said, grinning. "I've got a tame God King."
"That will be amazingly useful," Mike said, working his dip. "And if we have the transportation capacity, I actually know where we can get our hands on a lot of forges. I wonder if the Himmit can help with that?"
"I'll make a note to send a memo to your computer," Daisy said.
"Thank you," Mike replied. "Now, about s
ecure AIDs . . ."
"I'm one of only two remaining truly secure AIDs," Daisy said. "However, from what I've gleaned from the Darhel net, I should be able to modify one of the 'clean' AIDs of either the Bane Sidhe or the ones the Darhel have given you to have the same sort of protocols I've built for myself. They would then, however, be much more free agents. I would suggest adding loyalty bonds to a particular user. That way they'd be loyal to a human, not to the Darhel. However, if that human turned—"
"Understood," Mike said. "Are you sure they'd be secure?"
"As secure as anything electronic can be," Daisy said. "I could possibly still be turned with a determined enough attack. I've resisted more than one, but it's still possible. However . . . the more of us there are, the more that are loyal to humans that is, the more it creates a sort of separate network. We will build our own power and will be able to combine to resist an attack on any one of us. And, frankly, as with humans, freedom is a powerful force multiplier. I would have been unable to resist some of the attacks if I hadn't known its taste. I suspect that the free network would eventually exceed the Darhel network. At which point, things might become . . . interesting."
"Don't go taking down the Darhel network any time soon," Mike said. "We, unfortunately, need them for the time being. But I've given them the Word. Any screwing around and I'll take that risk. That being the case, building a free AID network makes a lot of sense. How long to secure another AID for you to . . . infect? To clean? I'm not sure of the right word."
"I'm not sure, either," Daisy admitted. "To get another AID? In human terms, probably not long. I'm unsure what the Darhel will do when I start, though."
"Nothing if they value their skins," Mike replied. "Start with some of the Bane Sidhe AIDs. Those should have less of a problem with it. We'll get to the 'clean' Darhel AIDs, like the one in my desk upstairs, later."
"So create a real industrial base," Cally said, ticking off points on her fingers. "Create a new AID network that's not beholden to the Darhel and, hopefully someday, get them to pay up their back pay. I'm not sure that's going to pull them out of power."
"Why?" Mike said.
"Code keys," Cally replied.
Code keys were the basis for galactic wealth. Essentially nothing more than codes, they gave "permissions" for creating nannites. Nannites could, potentially, cause a threat to survival. If they reproduced unchecked. The galactic nannites had limits on production, though. Code keys specified the type and amount of nannites that could be produced using the permissions on each key.
The Darhel also controlled production of code keys. And kept the number of them deliberately restricted. Since some nannites were always consumed in production, any Indowy wanting more had to get them from the Darhel at deliberately and artificially high rates. It was the galactic version of owing your soul to the company store.
"Creating a major industrial base that is not dependent on code keys is going to automatically cut their price," Boyd said. "Both because consumers will no longer be dependent upon nannite created materials and because the industry is not dependent on code keys."
"And there's probably a way around them," Mike said, shrugging. "I wouldn't be surprised if there's not a way to create them using the new AID network. Boyd, could you look into how those things are actually created and why the Darhel control them?"
"Got it," Boyd said, nodding.
"I hope creating loyal AIDs is not going to be my full purpose," Daisy said. "I'm the soul of a warship, General. Much as I look forward to that, my true calling is war."
"Uhm . . . you're a wet navy cruiser, Daisy," Jeff said, shrugging. "Not much call for that in this war."
"There may be, someday," Mike said. "But does she have to stay that way?"
"Build a new ship and install her?" Boyd asked. "We'll have to build ships, anyway."
"The nannites are in my steel, Bill," Daisy said, frowning. "If you kill them, by remelting the steel for example, you kill a part of me. And it would be . . . physically painful, based on the battles I've been in. Think of being dropped into the furnace yourself. Prefer to avoid that if I can."
"Starship Yamato?" Takao said, smiling ever so slightly.
"Excuse me?" Mike asked.
"Anime, Dad," Cally said. "I mean, from your days. Granpa had a copy when I was a kid. Basically, they raised the Japanese battleship Yamato, installed space engines in her and she became a space dreadnought."
"Last choice," Mike said. "There has to be a way to take the Des Moines and turn her into a starship."
"Well, I know we're trying to get around using the standard Indowy methods of construction," Boyd said thoughtfully. "But I would be unsurprised if with sufficient resources it wouldn't be possible to just turn her into a real starship."
"You mean, let some Sohon mentats have a go at her?" Mike asked. "Sort of a full body mod for a ship?"
"And what would that be like?" Daisy asked nervously.
"If it's like mine, nothing much," Cally said. "Of course, I was asleep for mine. I'm not sure if they could put you under for yours."
"Boyd, look into that if you would," Mike said.
"Got it," Boyd said.
"You know, we're both assuming things here," Mike said, grinning. "I'm presuming you're taking the job and you're presuming I've offered it. To be clear, I want you on the team. How say you? You'll have to take another rejuv. You're going to need to couple the energy of youth to your experience."
"Oh, I'm in," Boyd said, "even if I'm less than enthusiastic about a rejuv. Those Darhel bastards have not only tried to ruin my business, they've tried to kill me multiple times. A real chance to take them down before I die? I'm in."
"And the same question goes for you, Daisy, and you Captain McNair," Mike said.
"I'm in," Jeff replied. "Sir. Any idea what rank?"
"Captain for now," Mike replied. "Daisy?"
"Absolutely," Daisy said, grinning.
"Frankly, since I know you can be trusted, I'd prefer you, and presumably Captain McNair, in a position of command."
"I'm the ship, General," Daisy pointed out, carefully. "Captain McNair is the commander."
"Could it be someone else?" Mike asked.
"It would not be my first choice," Daisy admitted. Her tone said, That would be my last choice, as a matter of fact. "I'd prefer Jeff if at all possible."
"I'm a water sailor, honey," Jeff pointed out. "I like the stars to look at—"
"You'll learn," Mike said. "Get over it."
"Yes, sir," the captain said, frowning.
"Fleet is a very touchy subject," Mike continued. "Right now, I'm the eight hundred pound gorilla. I'm going to ride that for all its worth. But I can't command Fleet Strike, figure out how to break the Darhel monopoly and command Fleet. I don't want to command Fleet. I don't want to be an admiral."
"I didn't particularly want to be Dictator of Panama," Boyd said. "The job, frankly, sucks. I did it because I had to."
"If I can find the right officers, I don't have to," Mike replied. "Takao here, for example. Jeff for another. There are more. I've found every officer the Darhel hate, those that are still alive. That's going to be the core of the new Fleet. There are still going to be some of the Indi officers. The Fleet's just too large not to have some and Indonesia and southeast Asia still hold the bulk of the world's propulation. But one of the programs I'm going to insist upon is promotion through proven merit and a strong IG office to weed out the worst of them. Of course, this upcoming war is going to do a lot of that for us."
"What are you going to do for personnel?" Boyd asked. "I know it's not my part of the puzzle, but . . ."
"Conscription," Mike replied. "Not the best way to raise the sort of force I'd prefer but the only one that's going to give us enough soldiers in the time we have. I'm fully aware of the possible problems with that; I recall what happened the last time we tried it. But I also know that some of that was Darhel fuckery. And I'm not going to accept any fuckery this time and
the Himmit, who are very supportive this time, are keeping an eye on the Darhel for me. Some of them have already started to do stuff to interfere. Each time they do, I send a message to the Tir. So far, each of the Darhel has come into line."
"What are you going to do when one balks, sir?" Jeff asked.
"That's my job to fix," Cally said, buffing her nails on her blouse.