The Armageddon Inheritance fe-2

by David Weber

  Yet he’d made himself wait, and time had proved the wisdom of his decision. Ruthless and implacable, yes, and also a man tormented by shame; Tsien had been those things, for it had been his officers who had betrayed their trust. But he’d been just as ruthlessly just. Every individual caught in his nets had been sorted out under an Imperial lie detector, and the innocent were freed as quickly as they had been apprehended. Nor had he permitted any unnecessary brutality to taint his actions or those of his men.

  Even more importantly, perhaps, he was no “Westerner” punishing patriots who had struck back against occupation but their own commander-in-chief, acting with the full support of Party and government, and no one could accuse Tsien Tao-ling of being anyone’s puppet. His reputation, and the fact that he had been selected to replace the wounded Hatcher, had done more to cement Asian support of the new government and military than anything else ever could have.

  Within two weeks, all attacks had ended. Within a month, there was no more guerrilla movement. Every one of its leaders had been apprehended and executed; none were imprisoned.

  Nor had the chilling message been lost upon the rest of the world. Horus had agonized over the brutal suppression of the African riots, but Tsien’s lesson had gone home. There was still unrest, but the world’s news channels had carried live coverage of the trials and executions, and outbursts of open violence had ended almost overnight.

  Tsien bobbed his head slightly in acknowledgment of the compliment, and Horus smiled, turning back to the display as ODC Two grew within it.

  The eye-searing fireflies of robotic welders crawled over the vast structure while suited humans floated nearby or swung through their hard-working mechanical minions with apparently suicidal disregard for life and limb. Shuttles of components from the orbital smelters arrived with the precision of a well-run Terran railroad, disgorging their loads and wheeling away to return with more. Construction ships, raw and naked-looking in their open girder-work, seized structural members and frame units on tractors, placing them for the swarm of welders to tack into place and then backing away for the next. Conduits of Terran cable for communication nets, crystalline icicles of Imperial molycircs for computer cores and fire control, the huge, glittering blocks of prefabricated shield generators, Terran lighting and plumbing fixtures, and the truncated, hollow stubs of missile launchers—all vanished into the seeming confusion as they watched, and always there were more awaiting the frantically laboring robots and their masters.

  It was impressive, Horus thought. Even to him—or, possibly, especially to him. Geb had shared Tegran’s remarks about the Terra-born with him, and Horus could only agree. Unlike these fiercely determined people, he’d known their task was all but impossible. They hadn’t accepted that, and they were making liars of his own fears.

  He and the generals watched the seething construction work for several minutes, then Horus turned away with a sigh, followed by his subordinates. They stepped into the transit shaft with him, and he hid a smile at Tsien’s uneasy expression. Interesting that this should bother him when facing totally unexpected ambush by traitors within his own military hadn’t even fazed him.

  They arrived at the conference room Captain Robbins had placed at their disposal, and he waved them towards the table as he seated himself at its head and crossed his legs comfortably.

  “I’m impressed, gentlemen,” he said. “I had to see that in person before I could quite believe it, I’m afraid. You people are producing miracles.”

  He saw the pleasure in their eyes. Flattery, he knew, was anathema to these men, however much of it they’d heard during their careers, but knowing their competence was appreciated—and, even more importantly, recognized for what it was—was something else.

  “Now,” he said, planting his forearms on the table and looking at Tsien, “suppose you tell me what other miracles you plan on working.”

  “With your permission, Governor, I shall begin by presenting a brief overview,” the marshal replied, and Horus nodded approval.

  “In general,” Tsien continued, “we are now only one week behind General Hatcher’s original timetable. The resistance in Asia has delayed completion of certain of our projects—in particular, PDCs Huan-Ti and Shiva suffered severe damage which has not yet been made entirely good—but we are from one month to seven weeks ahead of schedule on our non-Asian PDCs. Certain unanticipated problems have arisen, and I will ask Marshal Chernikov to expand upon them in a moment, but the over all rate of progress is most encouraging.

  “Officially, the merger of all existing command structures has been completed. In fact, disputes over seniority have continued to drag on. They are now being brought to an end.”

  Tsien’s policy was simple, Horus reflected; officers who objected to the distribution of assignments were simply relieved. It might have cost them some capable people, but the marshal did have a way of getting his points across.

  “Enhancement is, perhaps, the brightest spot of all. Councilor Tudor and her people have, indeed, worked miracles in this area. We are now two months ahead of schedule for military enhancement and almost five weeks ahead for non-military enhancement, despite the inclusion of additional occupational groups. We now have sufficient personnel to man all existing warships and fighters. Within another five months, we will have enhanced staffs for all PDCs and ODCs. Once that has been achieved, we will be able to begin enhancement of crews for the warships now under construction. With good management and a very little good fortune, we should be able to crew each unit as it commissions.”

  “That is good news! You make me feel we may pull this off, Marshal.”

  “We shall certainly attempt to, Governor,” Tsien said calmly. “The balance between weapons fabrication and continued industrial expansion remains our worst production difficulty, but resource allocation is proving more than adequate. I believe Marshal Chernikov’s current plans will overcome our remaining problems in this area.

  “General Chiang faces some difficulties in his civil defense command, but the situation is improving. In terms of organization and training, he is two months ahead of schedule; it is construction of the inland shelters which poses the greatest difficulty, then food collection.”

  Horus nodded. Chiang Chien-su, one of Tsien’s nominees to the Supreme Chiefs of Staff, was a short, rotund martinet with the mind of a computer. He smiled a lot, but the granite behind the smile was evident. Less evident but no less real was his deep respect for human life, an inner gentleness which, conversely, made him absolutely ruthless where saving lives was concerned.

  “How far behind is shelter construction running?”

  “Over three months,” Tsien admitted. “We anticipate that some of that will be made up once PDC construction is complete. I must point out, however, that our original schedules already allowed for increases in building capacity after our fortification projects were completed. I do not believe we will be able to compensate completely for the time we have lost. This means that a greater proportion of our coastal populations will be forced to remain closer to their homes.”

  Horus frowned. Given the ratio of seas to land, anything that broke through the planetary shield was three times more likely to be an ocean strike than to hit land. That meant tsunamis, flooding, salt rains … and heavy loss of life in coastal areas.

  “I want that program expedited, Marshal Tsien,” he said quietly.

  “Governor,” Tsien said, equally quietly, “I have already diverted eighty percent of our emergency reserve capacity to the project. Every expedient is being pursued, but the project is immense and there is more civilian opposition to the attendant disruptions than your Council anticipated. The situation also is exacerbated by the food program. Collection of surpluses even in First World areas places severe strains on available transport; in Third World areas hoarding is common and armed resistance is not unknown. All of this diverts manpower and transport from population relocation efforts, yet the diversion is necessary. There is little
point saving lives from bombardment only to lose them to starvation.”

  “Are you saying we won’t make it?”

  “No, Governor, I do not say we will fail. I only caution you that despite the most strenuous exertions, it is unlikely that we will succeed entirely.”

  Their eyes held for a moment, then Horus nodded. If they were no more than three months behind, they were still working miracles. And the marshal’s integrity was absolute; if he said every effort would be made, then every effort would be made.

  “On a more cheerful note,” Tsien resumed after a moment, “Admiral Hawter and General Singhman are doing very well with their training commands. It is unfortunate that so much training must be restricted to simulators, but I am entirely satisfied with their progress—indeed, they are accomplishing more than I had hoped for. General Tama and General Amesbury are performing equally well in the management of our logistics. There remain some personnel problems, principally in terms of manpower allocation, but I have reviewed General Ki’s solutions to them and feel confident they will succeed.

  “In my own opinion, our greatest unmet training needs lie in the operational area. With your permission, I will expand upon this point following Marshal Chernikov’s report.”

  “Of course,” Horus said.

  “Then, if I may, I will ask Marshal Chernikov to begin.”

  “Certainly.” Horus turned his bright old eyes to Chernikov, and the Russian rubbed a fingertip thoughtfully over the table as he spoke.

  “Essentially, Horus, we are well ahead of schedule on our PDC programs. We have managed this through allocation of additional manufacturing capacity to construction equipment and the extraordinary efforts of our personnel.

  “We are not so advanced on our orbital work, but Geb and I agree that we should be on schedule by the end of next month, though it is unlikely we will complete the projects very much ahead of schedule. Nonetheless, we believe we will at least make our target dates in all cases.

  “Despite this, two problems concern me. One is the planetary power grid; the other is the relative priority of munitions and infrastructure. Allow me to take them in turn.

  “First, power.” Chernikov folded his arms across his broad chest, his blue eyes thoughtful. “As you know, our planning has always envisioned the use of existing Terran generator capacity, but I fear that our estimates of that capacity were overly optimistic. Even with our PDCs’ fusion plants, we will be hard put to provide sufficient power for maximum shield strength, and the situation for our ODCs is even worse.”

  “Excuse me, Vassily, but you said you were on schedule,” Horus observed.

  “We are, but, as you know, our ODC designs rely upon fold-space power transmission from Earth. This design decision was effectively forced upon us by the impossibility of building full-scale plants for the ODCs in the time available. Without additional power from Earth, the stations will not be able to operate all systems at peak efficiency.”

  “And you’re afraid the power won’t be there,” Horus said softly. “I see.”

  “Perhaps you do not quite. I am not afraid it will not be available; I know it will not. And without it—” He shrugged slightly, and Horus nodded.

  Without that power net, the ODCs would lose more than half their defensive strength and almost as much of their offensive punch. Their missile launchers would be unaffected, but energy weapons were another matter entirely.

  “All right, Vassily, you’re not the sort to dump a problem on me until you think you’ve got an answer. So what rabbit’s coming out of the hat this time?”

  “A core tap,” Chernikov said levelly, and Horus jerked in his chair.

  “Are you out of your—?! No. Wait.” He waved a hand and made himself sit back. “Of course you’re not. But you do recognize the risks?”

  “I do. But we must have that power, and Earth cannot provide it.”

  Maker, tell me what to do, Horus thought fervently. A core tap on a planet? Madness! If they lose control of it, even for an instant—!

  He shuddered as he pictured that demon of power, roused and furious as it turned upon the insignificant mites who sought to master it. A smoldering wasteland, scoured of life, and raging storm fronts, hurricanes of outraged atmosphere which would rip across the face of the planet…

  “There’s no other choice?” His tone was almost pleading. “None?”

  “None that my staff have been able to discover,” Chernikov said flatly.

  “Where—” Horus paused and cleared his throat. “Where would you put it?”

  “Antarctica,” Chernikov replied.

  There’s a fitting irony in that, Horus thought. Anu’s enclave hid there for millennia. But a polar position? So close to the Indian Ocean bio-system? Yet where would I prefer it? New York? Moscow? Beijing?

  “Have you calculated what happens if you lose control?” he asked finally.

  “As well as we can. In a worst-case scenario, we will lose approximately fifty-three percent of the Antarctic surface. Damage to the local eco-system will be effectively total. Damage to the Indian Ocean bio-system will be severe but, according to the projections, not irrecoverable. Sea-level worldwide will rise, with consequent coastal flooding, and some global temperature drop may be anticipated. Estimated direct loss of life: approximately six-point-five million. Indirect deaths and the total who will be rendered homeless are impossible to calculate. We had considered an arctic position, but greater populations would lie in relative proximity, the flooding would be at least as severe, and the contamination of salt rains would be still worse when the sea water under the ice sheet vaporized.”

  “Maker!” Horus whispered. “Have you discussed this with Geb?”

  “I have. It is only fair to tell you he was utterly opposed, yet after we had discussed it at some length, he modified his position somewhat. He will not actively oppose a core tap, but he cannot in good conscience recommend it. On the other hand—” agate-hard blue eyes stabbed Horus “—this is his planet only by adoption. I do not say that in any derogatory sense, Horus, yet it is true. Worse, he continues to feel—as, I believe, do you—a guilt which produces a certain protective paternalism within him. If he could refute the logic of my arguments, he would oppose them; his inability to support them suggests to me that his own logic is unable to overrule his emotions. Perhaps,” the hard eyes softened slightly, “because he is so good a man.”

  “And despite that, you want to go ahead.”

  “I see no option. We risk seven million dead and severe damage to our world if we proceed; we run a far greater risk of the total destruction of the planet if we do not.”

  “Marshal Tsien?”

  “I am less conversant with the figures than Marshal Chernikov, but I trust his calculations and judgment. I endorse his recommendation unreservedly, Governor. I will do so in writing if you wish.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Horus sighed. His shoulders slumped, but he shook his head wryly. “You Terra-born are something else, Vassily!”

  “If so, we have had good teachers,” Chernikov replied, eyes warming with true affection. “Thanks to you, we have a possibility of saving ourselves. We will not throw away the chance you have given us.”

  Horus felt his face heat and turned quickly to another point.

  “Maker! I hope you didn’t plan on discussing your concerns in order of severity. If your munitions problem is worse—!”

  “No, no!” Chernikov laughed. “No, this is not quite so grave. Indeed, one might almost call it planning for the future.”

  “Well that has a cheerful ring.”

  “Russians are not always melancholy, Horus. Generally, but not always. No, my major concern stems from the high probability that our planetary shield will be forced back into atmosphere. Our ODCs will be fairly capable of self-defense, although we anticipate high losses among them if the planetary shield is forced back, but our orbital industrial capacity will, unfortunately, also be exposed. Nor will it be practical
to withdraw it to the planetary surface.”

  That was true enough, Horus reflected. They’d accepted that from the beginning, but by building purely for a weightless environment they’d been able to produce more than twice the capacity in half the time.

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “I am about to become gloomy again,” the Russian warned, and Horus chuckled. “Let us assume we have succeeded in driving off the scouts but that Dahak has not returned when the main incursion arrives. I realize that our chances of survival in such an eventuality are slight, yet it is not in me to say there are none. Perhaps it is unrealistic of me, but I admire the American John Paul Jones and respect his advice. Both the more famous quote, and another: It seems a law inflexible unto itself that he who will not risk cannot win. I may not have it quite correct, but I believe the spirit comes through.”

  “This is heading somewhere?” Horus asked quizzically.

  “It is. If we lose our orbital industry, we lose eighty percent of our total capacity. This will leave us much weaker when we confront the main incursion. Even if we beat off the scouts quickly and with minimal losses—a happy state of affairs on which we certainly cannot depend—we will be hard-pressed to rebuild even to our current capacity out of our present Imperial planetary industry. I therefore propose that we should place greater emphasis on increasing our planetary industrial infrastructure.”

  “I agree it’s desirable, but where do you plan to get the capacity?”

  “With your permission, I will discontinue the production of mines.”

  “Ah?”

  “I have studied their capabilities, and while they are impressive, I feel they will be less useful against the scouts than an increase in planetary industrial capacity will be to our defense against the main incursion.”