Citadel: Troy Rising II

by John Ringo

  "We need that fuel for the fleet," the Secretary of Defense said. "We'll need all of it."

  "Forget the fleet," the SecEng said. "Forget the construction on new hulls. They're going to have to be orbital babies for the time being. Troy runs on He3. No power, no air, no water, no Troy. No food and material resupply."

  "How much fuel do ships use?" the President asked, confused. "They don't use that much energy, do they?"

  "Yes, sir, they do," the SecDef said, looking pensive.

  "There's no free lunch, Mister President," the SecEng said. "To boost out of the atmosphere, to accelerate in free-fall, requires energy. Just because they don't have big, thundering rockets, doesn't mean they're not expending as much energy. A Constitution class can lift itself out of the grav well, technically. Imagine the number and size of rockets that would require to lift something twice the size of a supercarrier up to orbit. That's how much energy they use, Mr. President. And it all comes from He3."

  "Can we make them nuclear somehow?" the President asked.

  "No," the SecDef said. "First of all, it would require so much refitting that we'd use up too much fuel doing the work. Second, they can't dump the heat well enough."

  "Troy might be able to," the SecEng said, thoughtfully. "It's actually pretty cold."

  "We have six plants from Los Angeles class subs that haven't been torn down," the SecDef said. "Actually, I think they've already been transferred to your department. Any idea if they can be installed in the Troy?"

  "I'm not sure about the construction requirements and getting the plants to them would be a stretch . . ."

  "When I was in Switzerland I kept thinking that there was someone missing from the summit," the President said. "Anyone know where Tyler Vernon's got to?"

  "He was in the Wolf system last week," the SecDef said. "Checking on the construction of the new fabber, some quality issues from the current one and the fuel plant."

  "I think we need to see if we can track him down, don't you?"

  As the Starfire cleared the gate, Tyler's implant dinged for attention.

  "Hello, Argus," Tyler said. "Is there any good news?"

  The pilot of the Starfire suddenly made a sharp maneuver. Due to the inertial controls, Tyler didn't even feel it. But the chunk of metal the maneuver avoided was clearly visible as it flashed by the crystal wall making up one side of the Starfire.

  "Not as such," Argus said. "There is a critical issue having to do with fuel."

  "I was discussing that in Wolf," Tyler said.

  "On that subject," Argus said. "The President of the United States has been trying to get through to you."

  "I had my com on hold," Tyler said. "I was trying to think of a way to find more fuel. Go ahead and put him through."

  The entire battlefield, dispersed as it was, was visible as the shuttle, slowly, accelerated towards Earth. Tyler tried not to curse. He'd have to shut down all the salvage operat . . .

  "Mr. Tyler, this is the President."

  "Good afternoon, Mr. President," Tyler said, chippily. "How are you today?"

  "The Rangora declared war, I declared that we're not going to fight it alone, the stock market just tanked and we don't have enough fuel to support our fleet, or Troy. I've just found out that we can't even feed the terrestrial power plants which means people that are already sacrificing are going to be without power. My advisors say that you probably don't have enough fuel on hand to complete your fuel plant. The French option is looking better and better. Other than that, things are dandy. You?"

  "I'm in a great mood, Mr. President," Tyler said, grinning. "Just peachy keen."

  "You sound like you are," the President said. "In which case you either weren't listening or you've finally cracked."

  "Or I just found a pile of fuel for the taking," Tyler said, grinning like a fox that just ate the chicken. "I'm not sure how much, but it's enough to finish the Wolf mine unless I'm much mistaken. And the best part is I own it."

  "Along with everything else," the President said, confused. "Where?"

  "The Horvath ships, Mr. President," Tyler said. "The Horvath ships. They weren't going to come into the system without fuel. They knew we didn't have any. All the ones that aren't toast are going to have pretty close to full tanks. I count seven in view that probably have thousands of gallons. We'll just siphon it out."

  "That's . . . ​some siphon," the President said.

  "Yeah," Tyler said. "It's going to be more complicated than that. We'll get 'er done. By the way, congratulations on proving the US actually retains a set of balls. But . . . ​a unified force? You sure?"

  "Better than putting up with crap like Monty pulled in ETO," the President said.

  "That is a point," Tyler said. "Mr. President, I've got to go. I've got calls to make."

  "Fourteen Alpha, Survey."

  "Survey, Fourteen Alpha," Price replied.

  BFM and Butch were cutting out a set of Rangora laser optics. That was about all Butch could figure out of the explanation. That and the "multi-million dollar" part. And "be very careful."

  Survey generally didn't have much to do with the welders. They were working on the ships that were salvageable whole and preferred to not have people bent on cutting them up around.

  "We have a priority tasking," Survey commed. "You're the closest team."

  "We're sort of busy here, Survey," Price replied. "Maybe later."

  "The tasking is from corporate, Fourteen Alpha," Survey commed.

  "Survey says . . ." Butch said.

  "Very effing funny," BFM commed. "Go ahead, Survey."

  "Need you to go find a readout, get it functioning and give us a reading. We'll walk you through it."

  "Roger, Survey," Price commed, cutting off his torch. "Let's go take a walk, Butch."

  "Got the power coupling hooked up?" Survey asked.

  "Yep," Price replied.

  The readout was mounted on a bulkhead not too far from where they'd been working. Problem was, there wasn't any power.

  The sleds had various connections for supplying power, though, and one of them could even be rigged to connect to Horvath and Rangora systems.

  "Set to output of128 volts alternating current, sixty-four hertz," Survey commed.

  "Output set," Price replied.

  "And power up."

  "Power's up," Price commed.

  "What's the reading?"

  "I can't see it from this position," Price commed. "Butch?"

  "Three-one-six-four-seven-nine," Butch said. The implants automatically converted the Horvath numbers. Butch didn't even "see" the actual numbers.

  "Thank you, Fourteen Alpha," Survey commed. "That's what we needed. Break it down."

  "Can I ask what we just did?" Price commed.

  "That's the output for the port fuel tank on that destroyer," Survey replied. "Three hundred and sixteen thousand, four hundred and seventy-nine Galactic gallons. Which are about one point two standard gallons."

  "That's a lot of fuel."

  "For which we should all be grateful. Because it's the only fuel left in the system."

  "Fourteen Alpha, Salvage Control."

  "Control, Fourteen Alpha."

  "Return to the barn. We're being retasked."

  "Roger," Price commed. "We just about had those optics unmounted."

  "Negative," Control said. "Just get back here. There's bigger things doing."

  "Crap," Butch said.

  "I could do with a shower," Price replied. "Let's get out of here, junior. And watch your fricking positioning."

  Nearly twenty years ago, the Horvath had announced their ownership of the Terran system by dropping kinetic energy weapons on Cairo, Mexico City and Shanghai. The Glatun temporarily kicked them out of the system, giving earth time to develop weapons of its own. When they came back they dropped a plague and when that didn't work, dropped more bombs. Then more.

  Since every time the Horvath targeted major capitals, the US government had finally gotten
the hint and dispersed. Congress met through electronic means, video conferencing and voting, and with the exception of the Pentagon, nobody really gathered in large groups. Most major governments had done the same. Nobody wanted to be the target of a Horvath or now Rangora weapon.

  Tyler, therefore, could have had the present conversation in the Wolf system. But he was rather happier with Troy wrapped around him.

  "First priority keep Troy running and continue work to upgrade the SAPL system interlocks," Tyler said. "But at absolute minimum power. Second priority, keep enough fuel going into the Wolf system to keep the work on the gas mine going to completion. I'm trying to prioritize some things there. We've stopped all non-essential production in Granadica and on the SAPL. I'm trying to figure out, my people are looking at, whether we can throw more equipment at the mine to speed things up. The question is priorities, priorities, priorities."

  "We need to keep the fleet fueled," the SecDef said. "You can't have all of it."

  "Park the ships in the Troy, put the crews ashore and draw down their power to minimum maintenance," Tyler said. "If we don't get that gas mine finished, we're all going to be sucking fumes. We need to keep an eye on absolute levels and when we're down to minimum reserves, start pulling people out and dropping them back on Earth. You don't want to leave people in space and out of fuel. That includes Troy, by the way."

  "I'm not sure I can accept simply parking the fleet," the SecDef said. "We need to maintain and train."

  "We've got enough fuel to finish the mine and keep Troy running and the fleet on maintenance," Tyler said. "But those cruisers are gas hogs. They need to be parked for the duration. We're diverting some of the power to get some processors up and running on the lower platform atmo. We also have to build a tanker big enough to handle the output. We'll have some fuel flowing in a couple of weeks. But running the fleet, for now, has to be the lowest priority. I'll make sure you have enough fuel to make up the difference, later. Right now I'm worried about how much fuel it's taking to get the fuel. You can't, actually, just siphon He3."

  "Glad we didn't cut that line," Butch said.

  For once he was doing some real welding. The fuel valves of the Horvath ships were different from the Glatun design the human ships used. Since cutting them out of the tanks was out of the question—the liquid helium wasn't going to remain liquid long if it was exposed to vacuum—a mating valve had to be installed on top.

  The destroyer, alone, had four taps on each tank. It was taking a while. And that was after the valves had been flown up from Earth. Fortunately, some far thinking individual had already had them made.

  "I'm wondering how much this is worth," Price commed. "And if it counts for our salvage shares."

  "We're not cutting it out," Butch said. "And I got a call from my mom the other day. They've got rolling blackouts since the power plants are all down on earth. Dad said the plants having to run half time. So I ain't so worried if we're getting paid salvage."

  "Dude, the only thing that matters is if we're getting paid," Price commed. "If you wanted to be all heroic, you should have joined the Navy."

  The fuel point was inside an armored hatch on the exterior of the mangled, and still slowly twisting, destroyer. They'd had to find the internal release system, power it up, get the hatch open, then get to work.

  "There's more to life than getting paid, BF," Butch argued. "The dudes that mined for the Horvath didn't get paid crap. The Russians used prisoners. The South Africans just paid 'em crap. I'd much rather just be pulling overtime and be able to live free, you know?"

  Butch had managed to get himself wedged into the hatch with three arms stabilizing his sled while he welded. Around him, unnoticed, the star field slowly wheeled as if watching the puny humans battling universal entropy.

  "I think I've been talking to Purcell too much," Price said. "He was going on the other day on the reason capitalism works. I didn't get most of it but the one thing I did get is that getting paid is really what matters. Freedom and getting paid for your work go hand in hand. End of philosophical discussion. You done with your bead?"

  "Just sanding it down," Butch said, regarding his handiwork. "Looks good."

  "Better be," Price said, sliding his sled around. "They want to try them without doing a gamma test. They're in a real rush for this fuel." He extended a grinder and ground out an imaginary spot. "Now it's good. Salvage Control, Fourteen Alpha."

  "Fourteen Alpha, Control."

  "Houston, we have a valve."

  "Roger, Fourteen Alpha," Control replied. "Sending over the tanker."

  "And now we got to mate it up," Price grumbled. "Welders get paid dick so we get all the EVA jobs nobody else wants to do."

  "We're just slightly expensive robots," Butch said. "Which means we get overtime and we get paid. Which you just said was the only thing mattered."

  "Butch, I'm holding a laser and the skin on that sled ain't all that thick."

  "Not the only thin skin around here."

  "We got to match to this thing while we're pumping it off?"

  The tanker was a small one, one of three that kept all the ships in the system supplied. Normally, it filled up at Troy, trundled around the system fueling ships and then went back.

  Now the three minor tankers were all that Sol had to manage and transport their remaining fuel. And they were not designed for salvage work.

  "Do you see an alternative?" Price asked. "Just extend the probe and we'll get 'er hooked up."

  "I don't think we have the delta," the tanker pilot said, dubiously. "This thing has got a lot of rotation. And we're not real fast on maneuvering. And since the probe is rigid, if we get off by even a flicker, we're going to crack it. I say this is a no-go."

  "Well then how the hell are we going to get the fuel off?" Butch asked.

  "That's somebody else's problem," the tanker pilot said. "I'm headed over to that cruiser that's not spinning around like a top."

  "Bloody hell," Purcell said. "Control, the tanker's refusing to match to Sierra Seventeen because of rotation. Advise."

  "We're working with the military on a work-around," Control commed. "Have your people stand by."

  "Okay, A, they're just about on triple time. B, they're soaking up radiation which is why they have a maximum period in EVA. So whatever you're going to do, do it quick."

  "Roger. Understood. Control out."

  "Comet, ready room," CM1 Glass commed.

  Since the boats were grounded, Dana had been working on her certifications. The basic coxswain position was only the start of training. To make CM she had to pass a battery of courses as well as a more flight tests.

  She was, currently, working with the simulator on a complex maneuver and the ping was sort of startling.

  "Roger, CM," Dana commed. "Be right there."

  "We're picking up some field fuel bladders and assisting the civvy salvage crew on taking fuel off the scrapped ships," Glass said. "Our objective is a destroyer, designated Sierra Seventeen. It has a rotation of about two point five rotations per hour in three axes and a velocity of nineteen kilometers per second relative to the gate. It's also gotten well out of pocket. We're not going to stabilize it, we're just going to pull off the fuel. Which will be . . . ​ticklish. Thermal?"

  "This is going to take some coordination," Thermal said. "The blivets are just about the size of the interior of the shuttles. We're going to have to pump down, open up the personnel hatch and pull off the pipes. The civvies will then hook them up. Once they're hooked up, we use the onboard pumps to pump them up to pressure. All that time the coxswain is going to have to maintain a close position on the derelict."

  "Ticklish is right," Dana said, looking at the view of the derelict. The thing wasn't spinning fast but maintaining position was going to be a pain in the ass. She wasn't even sure it could be programmed since the center of mass of the derelict made it constantly work off its standard trajectory. She'd seen some asteroids with worse spins but not many.

/>   "Once you're full, head over to the tanker," Glass said. "There the engineers are going to have to EVA to hook up and cross-load. Then back again."

  "What about our own fuel?" Thermal said.

  "The tanker has refuel points," Glass said. "We are authorized to tank up. But that doesn't mean we get to use it. This is the last mission until the fuel plant is up and running. So get all the qual time in you can. Let's go warm some seats."

  "Dana, I need a hand, here," Thermal commed.

  The whole boat was pumped down so Dana just headed through the hatch into the cargo compartment.

  "What's u . . . ​ Oh," Dana said.

  The engineer was wrestling with something that looked like a giant Mylar balloon. A Mylar balloon that was fairly staticy.

  "I think the balloon is winning," Dana said, grinning. But she grabbed a couple of handfuls of fabric and started getting it unstuck from the engineer.

  "I should have read the manual more carefully," Thermal commed. "It said to keep it in its container until ready for use, but it was a pain-in-the-butt to move that way. So I figured, hey, how much trouble could it be?"

  "Do we even have an SOP for this?" Dana asked, starting to get wrapped in the thing as well. She managed to pull it off and pound it into a corner. "Down!"

  "I don't think so," Thermal said. He'd gotten unstuck and was helping her get it under control. While Dana held it down he wrapped a couple of bungies around it. "That's done it. None that I've found. I'm going to fricking write one when we're done. ‘Field portable annie-plant fuel blivet still in container for movement?' ‘Field portable annie-plant fuel blivet still in container for movement, aye.' "

  "I hope we don't rip this thing," Dana said. "That would suck."

  "It's made of nanotubes," Thermal said. "A nuke could barely rip it. Okay, a nuke would rip it. We can't."

  "Sailors can . . ."

  "Break anything. I know. Speaking of which, next step is getting the pump out of storage . . ."