by Lee Correy
We kicked it around for another thirty minutes without coming up with anything that seemed reasonable or within the capabilities or intentions of possible antagonists.
“Be prepared for something to happen in about a week,” I finally told them. “We don’t know what it will be, but they dropped the first shoe in Santa Fe. When they’ll drop the other shoe remains to be seen, but drop it they will.”
I had to explain what I meant about dropping shoes.
And we didn’t have to wait long for the Tripartite to do it.
Chapter 9
Flying Down to RIO
“PowerSat Corporation, InPowSat, and InSolSat just cut SPS power beams to eleven rectennas in small countries.”
It was the middle of the night in L-5, so the telecon was obviously an emergency. The Landlimo Corporation people ensconced in Vershatets were accompanied by Captain Kevin Graham, and the level of concern was evidenced by the fact that Rayo Sabinos Vamori was on the net along with Shaiko Stoak, CEO of Commonwealth Glaser, and Donalo Jon Tomason from the engineering firm, Rose & Mariyama, Inc. Corner montages showed Heinrich von Undine in Topawa and Trip Sinclair in Houston.
“We expected something like that,” Ali spoke up from where he sat next to me.
“Why, Ali?” his uncle asked.
“It’s the quickest way to exert leverage on countries who haven’t gone along with the Santa Fe Tariffs and the Commonwealth embargo. I think I know who PowerSat pulled the plug on, but tell me anyway.”
Shaiko Stoak named them: “Rectennas are cold at Echebar, Negri Sembilan, Selangor, Tongan, Hanian, Dragona, Natalia, Ugarit, Mazara, and Ghanzhi. Notice to expect cessation of service has been tendered at Alderney, Nireg, Atacama, Sorat, Annom, and Tregganu, plus nine rectennas in mainland China.”
“Any reasons given?” Ali asked curtly.
“Default on power bill payment in some cases. Others were told their credit lines had been re-evaluated,” Sinclair reported.
Shaiko Stoak—I could see Tsaya’s resemblance to her father—remarked, “We wouldn’t reduce a credit line without consultation. That’s an excuse!”
“Of course, Shaiko,” Rayo Vamori told him. “Vaivan, what’s our trading status with each of those countries?”
“The eleven cut off the powersat net have either diverted their space traffic to the Commonwealth or have ignored the Santa Fe embargo.”
“We’ve been diverting manifests destined for those countries,” Kevin Graham put in. “In some cases, captains of inbound ships got instructions in mid-flight from their contractors to divert to Vamori-Free. Some League captains have ignored their nation-of-registry directives declaring their registry invalid for use in Commonwealth facilities and claim registry is only a factor of convenience.”
Trip Sinclair said. “Not under old United Nations’ treaties that were never revised. The nation of registry has liability and accountability for space vehicles operating under its flag.”
“The General should be here,” Vaivan insisted.
“Tsaya won’t move him out of the sterile environment for two more days,” I put in. “I’m his deputy.”
“With no offense intended, Sandy,” Rayo said, “we need The General’s advice.”
“You’ll have to learn how to get along without it. You’re doing fine so far.”
“How much capacity has been dropped off the powersat net?” Ali tried to get back on track.
“Fourteen gigawatts,” Shaiko reported. “The cut-offs involved split beams, so no powersat is totally off-line, but One-Zero-Five-East and Six-Zero-East have near-zero loads.”
I didn’t like that. “Which powersats will have near-zero if they pull the plug on Annom, Nireg, and Sorat?” I asked.
Shaiko consulted a nearby display before replying, “Two-Zero-East and One-Zero-Five-East.”
“That drops One-Zero-Five-East down to zilch, doesn’t it?” I observed.
“Pardon?”
“Any load left on One-Zero-Five-East if Annom and Sorat go off?”
“No.”
“What are you worried about, Sandy?” It was Vaivan who caught my concern.
“A ten gigawatt powersat can pump a big laser, Viavan,” I explained. “A high-energy laser—they’re called hell beamers from their acronym, H-E-L—is limited in beam power density and range only by its energy source. If it’s a self-contained unit, the space facility is large and vulnerable. But if a hell-beamer’s energized remotely, it’s small and hard to identify. Powersat One-Zero-Five-East could put its ten gigawatts into a hydrogen-fluoride hell-beam station to punch a beam right down to surface from GEO!”
This was obviously news to them. Rayo Vamori broke the silence, “Is there a battle station over us?”
“The Aerospace Force has them over all parts of the world in sixty-degree inclined geosynchronous orbits. Kevin Graham’s captains have spotted them.”
Ali said slowly, “I’d better pay Peter Rutledge a visit.”
I went with Ali to the Resident Inspection Organization’s headquarters, GEO Base Zero.
Ali needed a pilot, and he wanted me to meet those upon whom the delicate stability of space power depended.
I’d never known any RIO people. They kept to themselves as an a-national paramilitary organization with a tradition of non-involvement. They had to be aloof. Thanks to RIO, there hadn’t been a conflict in space since the Sino-Soviet Incident.
Ali wanted to make certain that RIO knew what was happening with the powersats. He was also covering his anatomy by insuring that Powersat One-Zero-Five-East or any other powersat didn’t get its power beam redirected to a hell-beamer.
The approach to RIO Headquarters was a two-man job. The first challenge from RIO came at a thousand kilometers. We answered with the proper transponder code. Then we had to close at no more than ten meters per second, matching orbits and station-keeping ten klicks behind at zero closure rate. There we were thoroughly scanned. Once we proved we were sweet, pure, and unrefined as well as incapable of swatting a bee in revenge for being stung, they put a RIO pilot aboard. She strapped into the jump seat between Ali and me and flew the ship. It was rather disturbing to sit next to someone wearing about twenty kilos of Comp-X around her waist. From her accent as she reported on her comm set to RIO Approach, she was Japanese. I knew she wouldn’t hesitate to self-destruct and take the ship and the two of us with her if we tried to ram GEO Base Zero.
The portlock guard was polite but firm: We had to leave our iklawas with him. Nobody was armed in GEO Base Zero and RIO members were deliberately unarmed at all times. An escort led us to the quarters of Inspector Peter Rogers Rutledge.
Peter Rutledge turned out to be veddy British even to his gingery mustache which matched his red hair. Even in the non-uniform of RIO, Inspector Rutledge would have looked at home in the Officer’s Mess of any Royal Aerospace Force station. RIO policies tried to eliminate all national tags, but they weren’t successful. Knowing the Britishers as I did, I doubted that RIO would ever be able to strip Rutledge of his quintessential English appearance, attitudes, and mannerisms; they were as deeply rooted in him as my own American traits were in me.
Rutledge spotted it immediately we were introduced by Ali. “I say, another Yank for your cause! Good show, Ali! You Commonwealth blighters are building quite an international cadre. I dare say you might become as multinational as we like to believe we are in RIO.”
“We’ll take all the help we can get, Peter…”
“On your terms, of course.”
“One Colonel Chase is enough for anybody.”
“Right-o. Never caught the bloody mercenary, have you? Pity Interpol isn’t what it used to be. Can’t understand why the French have stubbornly refused to computerize it. Well, I can’t offer you civilized hospitality of a drink or even tea. Policy.” As we slipped into stools around his conference table, Inspector Rutledge went on, “Best get on with business, then. What was so bloody important that you couldn’t ring me up about it, A
li?”
“You know about PowerSat Corporation cutting back output to eleven rectennas and possibly cutting ten to fourteen more?” Ali asked.
“Of course, old boy. Resident teams are on every powersat, you know. And we have rather secure signals systems…”
“This leaves some powersats with excess capacity,” Ali pointed out.
Rutledge nodded. “We don’t anticipate that to last. PowerSat Corporation can’t afford to have idle capacity. Their stockholders will begin to complain a bit on the next quarterly report. Rather, they’ll make more nuisance if the declining quantity of delivered power is reflected in the stock markets.”
“It already is,” Ali pointed out. “PowerSat stock dropped five points today in Houston, three in New York, and seven in London and Hong Kong.”
“Fascinating! We don’t track such things, of course.”
“You should. Economic factors have a bearing on potential military activities, Peter.”
“Quite true,” Rutledge admitted, stroking his mustache. “I was quoting Commandant Otasek’s official policy. On the Q-T, one must keep up with what’s happening in the world to be most effective in this job, as I’m sure you realize since we’ve discussed it. But PowerSat’s financial situation wasn’t the reason you came to chat.”
“You understand why PowerSat is pulling the plug?”
“Something do to with a meeting in Santa Fe, wasn’t it? I seem to recall you were present for a time.”
Ali nodded. “Peter, I’d appreciate it if you’d keep an eye on Powersat One-Zero-Five-East.”
“Oh?” There was an entire question encased in the former Britisher’s word.
“If PowerSat carries through its threat to cut space power to Annom and Sorat, One-Zero-Five-East won’t have any customers on the ground,” Ali explained.
“And we have a tendency to get a bit nervous with ten gigs sitting idle above our horizon,” I added.
“Oh?” Again the complete question in a single word.
“The United States Aerospace Force has a number of stealthed objects in a sixty-degree-inclination geosynch orbit.” I didn’t know how much Rutledge knew, but I didn’t tell him everything.
“We know of them.”
“Some of them are hell-beamers.”
“Really?”
“Do you know something about them?”
“Something.”
“Well, Inspector,” I said with a sigh, “I just wanted to make sure you realized that the power beam of One-Zero-Five-East could be redirected to one or more of those…uh, objects, which would certainly power a large hell-beamer.”
“We’re rather well aware of a number of things going on, old chap,” Rutledge replied in an off-handed manner. “But, Ali, I’m rather glad you thought to call One-Zero-Five-East to my attention. It confirms some information we’ve come onto. I suspect we’ll lay on some additional surveillance and stand ready to take whatever steps we can to keep the balloon from going up.”
“Peter,” Ali put in quietly, “you should also be aware that we’re ready, willing, and able to help…”
“And perhaps engage in a bit of action yourself if RIO doesn’t?” Rutledge interrupted with a slight smile.
Ali nodded. “If we have to.”
“That’s probably down the road yet,” I added. “Redirection of a power beam to a hell-beamer would be an act of war, and things haven’t escalated that far yet.”
“RIO isn’t charged with the responsibility for taking action,” Inspector Rutledge reminded us, “because we’re only sentries. We’ll sound the alarm should we detect something awry. However, as I’m certain you’re well aware, Ali, sentries are often capable of defending themselves.”
“Yes, and you can count on us if you need us.”
“If the situation escalates that far, old chap, your Landlimo Corporation will also find itself rather actively occupied. Oh, don’t raise your eyebrows, Ali! What makes you think I wouldn’t know what you’re doing?”
“You and who else?”
“Come, now! We wouldn’t enjoy one another’s trust if either of us were to run hither and yon snitching like school boys, would we? I need to know these things as vitally as you do should RIO have to take appropriate action.”
“What sort of action would RIO take, Peter? I know your Commandant. He’s a righteous, principled, peace-loving man who hates to fight,” Ali fired back, “the modern incarnation of his national hero, Good Soldier Shweik.”
Rutledge said nothing for a moment but pulled at the ends of his ginger mustache.
“Sometimes one needs a Good Soldier Shweik, old chap. After all, it’s not RIO’s responsibility to fight. We’re just supposed to give the warning.”
“Then stand aside and let the blokes go at it?” Ali mimicked our host and added, “Peter, I don’t think you’re going to be able to step aside. You’ll be right in the middle of it.”
“Hah! Yas! There is that, isn’t there? But don’t be so certain it will get that far, Ali. RIO must defend itself, mustn’t it, especially after it’s done its job and things get a bit sticky, what?” Rutledge paused, then disengaged himself from the table, indicating he considered the meeting over. “If it does come to trading swats, we’ll all be in the thicket, chaps. Jolly good that you’re siding with the Commonwealth, Baldwin. As for One-Zero-Five-East, we’ll pop over and see whether or not they appear to be getting ready to cook something.”Neither Ali nor I said anything until after we’d returned to our ship, undocked, threaded the needle of clearances and vectors, and dropped the RIO pilot. Alone together in trajectory back to L-5, I asked Ali, “What did you make of that, chum?”
His answer surprised me. “Peter Rutledge is on our side.”
“Really? He was as non-committal as a loan officer.”
“He had to be. How much do you know about RIO and how it’s run, Sandy?”
“Only what I’ve read, which was reasonably extensive because the Academy wanted future officers to understand RIO not as an adversary, but as a potential obstacle.”
The Resident Inspection Organization had been the factor which permitted the powersat network. Without non-national or international inspection, who was to know whether or not a powersat also contained a hell-beamer? Who could have ascertained whether or not an attack satellite was hidden in the structures of the photovoltaic panels? And who’d be sure that the power beam wouldn’t be diverted—as Ali and I now feared—from the ground rectenna to an otherwise passive and silent hell-beamer satellite? Could someone really pirate the pilot beam that kept the power beam phased on the rectenna and then concentrate several power beams on an Earth or space target, even though the power density of a single powersat beam is only one-fifteenth that of a microwave oven?
These questions left unanswered posed a military threat which in turn made a powersat a military target because nobody could take chances if an armed conflict appeared imminent.
A powersat is a terribly vulnerable thing—square kilometers of solar panels and bus bars carrying megawatts of power. No businessman, entrepreneur, financier, banker, or investor would have risked a worn penny on a powersat that was a certain target in the opening moments of any future war. Neither Lloyd’s nor Macao’s would or could have underwritten the insurance required for the long-term financing.
Obviously, a non-political international inspection organization was required. But how could it be organized, financed, and operated to insure that it remained non-national? That had been an enormous problem.
But technology always creates the new social organizations necessary to finance, manage, and control it.
People hacked away at the problem until RIO was organized at the Hartford Convention.
RIO was formed with the funding from the groups who’d lose the most if a powersat were attacked as a military target, whether it was an actual threat or not. The damage or destruction of a multi-billion dollar powersat would be an expensive loss to the insurance underwriters.
&n
bsp; The world needed space power and the insurance consortiums were the critical bottleneck. Whether or not there were economic pressures applied is a moot point today because the fraction of a percent that was tagged onto the kilowatt-hour consumer electric bill amounted to billions of dollars in insurance premiums which in turn more than paid for the 2,000 RIO inspectors and specialists with their independent communications and transportation systems.
Rutledge had been accurate in using the sentry as the analogy for RIO.
A lot of people didn’t understand that an unarmed RIO was considered to be veryeffective. If a resident team or one of the ubiquitous spot inspection teams under the command of Rutledge found something unusual, there were two options open to the team leader: (a) report it covertly to RIO Headquarters for evaluation there; or (b) in a real emergency communicate the military activity to everybody. In the latter case, it was then important for RIO to get out of the line of fire.
Because of its unique a-national character and novel operational methods, RIO often acted in strange and unfathomable ways. Unarmed as they were, they posed no military threat to anyone. But the threat of their capability to saturate the comm/info network with the danger cry of the watch dog was a sure and certain restraint on military space activities.
I suspected—and knew in some cases—that RIO had intelligence operations which penetrated deeply into nearly every military organization in the world. It wouldn’t have surprised me, either, if their intelligence activities also embraced the world of commerce.
A lot of military planners had spent a lot of time and effort drafting plans and programs for circumventing RIO. The Aerospace Force—whose job was ostensibly to keep and guard the peace, too—had a continual highly-classified think-tank activity going on “should it be necessary to activate such plans and programs.” But the job of any military service is to ensure the security of its nation. It was said a long time ago that “all’s fair in love and war.”
