Citadel: Troy Rising II

by John Ringo

  "Are we sure all the wraps are right on the other modules?" Butch asked.

  "We already checked that," the super commed. "And the hole has to be right since the other modules slid in just fine."

  "Getting in there's going to be a bitch anyway," Price commed, considering the job. "What we need is some really humongous crowbars and hammers."

  "Welders," the super commed.

  "Seriously," Price commed. "We just plane down the joints a bit all around. Then we'll stuff stuff back in to get them to fit."

  "Got any idea how much load this thing has to take?" the super said. "Try sliding it in again."

  There were angled slats of metal that permitted the tugs to move the module into position and slide it into the, supposedly perfect, gap. The module slid about half way in and then stopped.

  "I don't suppose the tugs could just, you know, push really hard?" Butch asked.

  "No," the super commed. He slid downwards and flashed a light up into the gaps. "I can't even see up in there."

  "And we're supposed to get in there and weld how?" Price commed.

  "There's an opening," the super commed, sliding over to it and flashing a light up into the gap again. "You can get through. It'll be tight, but it's doable."

  "What happens if somebody goes up in there while it's like this?" Butch asked.

  "If the module slips and they're between one of the joints and another module?" the super replied. "They get cut in half. Then they get freeze dried so we can hang them up on a wall as a warning to other welders. I don't want that on my safety record."

  "Looks pretty stable," Butch said. "And I'm small."

  "Dude, you did not just volunteer to do this," BFM said.

  "Can you think of a way to get it done?" Butch asked.

  "You're not getting paid extra for this, Butch," Price pointed out. "You never volunteer unless you're getting paid more."

  "BF, we got about a million other jobs to do," Butch said. "There's the shuttle bays, the new military module . . . ​ I want to get this one over with."

  "And I still don't want it on my safety record," the super commed.

  "I'm not going in without permission, that's for sure," Butch said. "So what you gonna do?"

  It took about thirty minutes for somebody, for all Butch knew it went up to Mr. Vernon, to give permission.

  "Butch," Purcell commed. "Be goddamned careful in there."

  "I'll try not to get cut in half," Butch said.

  "And we're going to hook you off to a safety line," BFM commed, clipping a line to Butch's suit. "That way we can pull your legs out when you get cut in half."

  "You are just a ray of sunshine, BF," Butch said, pulling himself through the gap.

  The opening through the first set of joints was tight. A meter by meter area had been cut out of the joints "above" and below so that the space between the modules could be entered. It was tight but doable, even by BFM. Although he was going to have more trouble.

  The area in the middle was no better. Wide, yes, but not much room to maneuver between the two modules. Fortunately, Butch could use the navopak to maneuver. Pulling himself along was out of the question.

  The strips of metal the module was sliding along extended all the way to the back of the section. Butch was careful to avoid the edges since they looked razor sharp. And he had to slide past them to examine every bit of every joint looking for the part that didn't fit.

  But it was watching out for them that gave him his first clue about the problem.

  "Super?" Butch said. "At joint four, the runner is bent."

  "Say again?"

  "The metal the section's supposed to be running on?" Butch said, sending a video link. "It's bent. Just a bit, but it looks like the jam. I think the joint's right but the module's wrong."

  "Stand by."

  "Not going anywhere," Butch said.

  "The module is bent," BFM commed a few minutes later. "Less than two centimeters but that's enough."

  "Figured," Butch said. "What's the plan?"

  "Still working on it."

  "I'm getting paid by the hour. And this is actually sort of comfy."

  "What's the status on your navo?"

  "Four hours air," Butch said. "Two or three on power."

  "You breathe like a bitch."

  "That's cause I'm not a big fracking man, BFM," Butch said.

  "Yes, you are a tiny little man," BFM said in a vaguely Latin accent. "When we are both in prison for messing this up, you will be my woo-man."

  "You could not satisfy me," Butch said. "I have seen you in the showers. You are a large man with a very small manhood. You should be called little wee-wee."

  "Dude, you are so going down for that one."

  "What are you going to do? Crawl in here after me?"

  "You have to come out sometime. Even though you breathe like a bitch, you will run out eventually. And then you will pay."

  "I can go out another exit. You, on the other hand, can barely fit in the main bay. Seriously, BF, I'm not sure you can get up in here to do anything. This isn't exactly wide."

  "What, you want the whole job?"

  "I don't think they thought this through very well is all. It's really tight."

  "You doing okay?"

  "Fine. I like tight."

  "That was almost a joke. Not a good one, but you're getting there. I think you need to get a date or something."

  "Which is about as likely on Troy as . . . ​ Isn't very likely."

  "We need to resolve that virginity problem of yours. You've got to be the only blond virgin over twelve left in the world."

  "I'm not a virgin."

  "Rosy Palm doesn't count."

  "What's your excuse, then?"

  "Stand by . . . ​ Frack. Okay, we're going to pull you out."

  "What's up?"

  "They're going to use the crowbar. And we are back to the barn as soon as we can get you unstuck."

  "There are two broad options."

  Jeffrey Morton was the supervisor of the Phase Two civilian quarters installation. He had a masters degree in engineering with a background in structural—he'd previously supervised the construction of two skyscrapers which were now rubble—and he'd seen his fair share of mess-ups. But things like the Pod Nine issue rarely came to the attention of Chairmen.

  Unless, that is, they lived next to it, were watching the construction and knew the timetable.

  "Which are?" Tyler asked. He'd asked the engineer to join him in the Starfire so they could both observe what was clearly a lack of progress on the project. The pods had just been sitting in the main bay waiting on the fuel situation to get resolved. He was ready to have the next module installed and done. Fracking fiddly bits.

  "The optimal solution is to use a jacking system," Morton said. "We install what is essentially a very large jack and, using the structural stability of the lower modules and the joints, we slowly bend the module straight. Then slide it into position and we're done."

  "Time?" Tyler asked.

  "It will be . . . ​somewhat lengthy," Morton said. "Effectively, you apply power and then wait for the system to stabilize. Which can take up to a week. Then . . . ​repeat."

  "How many times?" Tyler asked.

  "Possibly . . . ​several."

  "So several weeks."

  "Yes, sir," Morton said.

  "Mr. Morton," Tyler said. "You know there's a war on, right?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Sub-optimal?" Tyler asked.

  "We use the runner, or a similar system that is more robust, and jam it in with a tug. That may work. If it doesn't, possibly even if it does, it's going to cause structural integrity issues throughout the module. Basically, it will bend the hell out of not just the damaged pod but at least one other, probably more. These things are big but they're remarkably fragile when you start talking about the sort of force necessary to jam one in."

  "Hmm . . ." Tyler said, leaning back and closing his eyes. He worked his mou
th in thought for a moment then sat up. "You've done most of your work on Earth, haven't you?"

  "Yes, sir?" Morton said.

  "Which means you don't have a lot of experience of gravitics," Tyler said. "The truth is that a jack has the possibility of bending Module Seven."

  "Yes, sir," Morton said. "But we can monitor for that."

  "Did the modules get evacuated sitting there?"

  "No, sir. They've maintained integrity."

  "To get to the monitoring position," Tyler said. "You'd either have to install an airlock or take one long damned way to Module Seven with no movement support. Time, time, ask me for anything but time. Don't push, pull."

  "Sir?"

  "Install a tractor projector on top," Tyler said. "You'll have to have one that can hold onto the upper armor wall at the same time as it's pulling. Which is going to be a bitch to install in that space but it's doable. You might have to cut out some more of the joints to get it in, but it's doable. Then pull the thing up across a broad area. You can even do it somewhat slowly. That means no structural damage to Module Seven."

  "Oh," Morton said, blinking. "Can we make one that will fit? That can . . . ​ Pull in both directions?"

  "There are gravitics engineers that can answer that question," Tyler said, shrugging. "Ask them. But if it works, you should be able to fab it in a couple of days. And it will pull consistently along the line of the bend. And since it can be monodirectional, you can still slide the module in as long as it doesn't pull it up too far."

  "I'll . . . ​talk to some gravitics engineers," Morton said.

  "Machine shop," Tyler said, hooking with his thumb in the general direction of the existing civilian module. "I would suggest you wait until we're back in breathable. And we've got the new fabbers coming in in a couple of days. I'll make sure you have priority. Pilot?"

  "Sir?"

  "Back to the barn. Then we're for Wolf."

  TWENTY

  "Okay," the President said, irritably. "I'm looking at four separate intelligence summaries here. None of them agree on where the Rangora are at or when they might be able to free up ships to come after us."

  "Those were all supposed to be justified through my department, Mr. President," the DNI said.

  "Well, they weren't," the President said. "I've got a DIA estimate, a DNI estimate, a CIA estimate and an Alliance estimate. Which means one thing. Athena?"

  "Yes, Mr. President?" the AI said.

  "Which of these is right?" the President asked. "DIA is saying that the Glatun have broken and are running. CIA say that they are holding all their lines. DNI is saying that the Rangora have performed a successful end run but the primary battle hasn't taken place yet. Alliance says the main battle took place but the Glatun are still holding their core worlds and the Rangora are on the ropes."

  "Rangora losses are hard to quantify, Mr. President," the AI said. "So I would dispute the validity of the Alliance Intelligence estimate. They are teasing very small bits of data out of the little information we have and forming very broad conclusions. One bit of data. The Rangora rarely tend to mention individuals or ships, but a few are considered heroic subjects. One such is the Assault Vector Star Crusher. The Star Crusher was mentioned in several early dispatches. It was involved in the taking of the Mu'Johexam and Zhoqaghev systems early in the war. Then it disappeared from mention. You will remember I referred to Tuxughah. It is possible that it was lost in the taking of that system. But it might still be out there and the Rangora simply are not mentioning it. The Alliance is taking the loss of the Star Crusher as a given, extrapolating more losses on the basis of the known Tuxughah defenses and known and suspected Glatun forces in other systems and coming up with a number that ranges from the Rangora fleet being severely mauled to being entirely destroyed."

  "I see," the President said, setting the analysis aside. "That seems a bit of a stretch."

  "The DIA is looking at Rangora reports and known Glatun forces and assuming that all systems that are not being mentioned have been overrun with so little resistance that the Rangora are victorious already," Athena said. "Also, given that some systems mentioned are deep in Glatun territory that the Glatun have been overrun. They are dismissing the possibility that this is Rangora disinformation. DNI is depending on my initial analysis of Rangora propaganda and if a system isn't mentioned it's still holding. The CIA is depending on State Department analysis which assumes the Glatun to be hyper competent and unconquerable."

  "I think we can throw that one out," the President said, setting it aside. "What's your take?"

  "Somewhere between DNI and DIA, sir," the AI said. "I think that the Rangora have sustained heavy casualties, that they are winning both on an attrition level and on a strategic level and that if the main battle has not taken place yet it soon will."

  "When can we expect an attack?" the President asked.

  "Certainly if they take the Glalkod system," Athena said. "Or shortly thereafter. My analysis is that they took a bit of a shock from the loss of the Horvath assault fleet. Given the amount of time that Terra has been in contact with the rest of the galaxy, we should not have been able to stop thirty-two Devastator class battleships. As you may recall, we very nearly did not."

  "I do recall," the President said.

  "So they are probably reevaluating our defenses and strategies," Athena said. "When they will commit forces and how many is the question. I cannot give even a vague guess on either. But not before they take Glalkod. If we hear of that system falling, we have to assume we will be attacked shortly thereafter."

  ✺ ✺ ✺

  "We lost the Star Crusher?" Major To'Jopeviq said.

  "That is not for dissemination," General Chayacuv Lhi'Kasishaj replied. "But, yes, it was totally destroyed at Tuxughah. The Glatun are resisting somewhat better than our most optimistic analysis but well within the range we anticipated. Their populace is weak, but their military is holding the line quite valiantly. We started this war with sixty-two Assault Vectors, many of them constructed in great secrecy. We, in fact, managed to create over two hundred vessels we were fairly sure were unknown to Glatun spies as well as secret advanced bases along the Glatun frontier. That fleet, especially the Assault Vectors, has been mauled in taking gate after gate. But the core world of Ghalhegil had no fixed defenses. They gathered their fleet there and we eliminated it. The Glatun Navy has, effectively, ceased to exist."

  "What losses did we sustain?" To'Jopeviq asked.

  "That is not your concern," General Lhi'Kasishaj said. "What is your concern is the question of Terra. I am being asked what we will need to reduce their defenses."

  "That . . . ​depends," To'Jopeviq said. "We have no real time intelligence from the system anymore. We cannot be sure how much they have advanced their defenses."

  "You indicated that the fuel embargo would make it impossible for them to complete the battlestation," the general said.

  "Probably," To'Jopeviq said. "General, I am more used to receiving intelligence than generating it. It is all ‘maybe this, maybe that.' I would like to know that they have not completed the first phase of Troy, especially the SAPL receptors and the missile tubes, before I commit to an analysis. Without some real-time knowledge, my current recommendation is to not enter that system with less than twenty Assault Vectors in a stellar array."

  "Impossible," the general. "High Command would never commit such a force to such a minor system. We took Ghalhegil with less than that."

  "Ghalhegil, as you mentioned General, did not have fixed defenses," To'Jopeviq said. "The Troy is unlike anything I have ever seen. It is no more, in reality, than a laser collector and missile base. But what a base. And there was a report, before the connection was severed from the Terran side, that they were beginning construction of another such base, the Thermopylae."

  "But they still have only one of these . . . ​ What was that term? The SAPL? They would have to split that between their fortresses."

  "General, even split I
would not like to take on SAPL," To'Jopeviq said.

  "This may be an unimportant side-note," the General said. "But have you researched a meaning to these outlandish names for their bases?"

  "I have," To'Jopeviq said. "And if I could understand them, I think I might begin to understand humans. Troy was city from one of their great pre-historical epics. The story was told in oral verse if you can believe."

  "They are primitive, are they not," the general said, hissing in laughter.

  "Essentially, it is a very understandable story," To'Jopeviq said. "If you research the reality behind it. The myth is about the stealing of a woman by a prince of Troy and how a great number of separate tribes of what are called Greeks went to Troy and fought to take her back. The reality is that the ‘real' Troy was a rich city that sat on a trade route. The forces went there and captured the city and took their riches."

  "As should be," the general said.

  "Of course," To'Jopeviq said. "But the point is, Troy is a city that put up a great defense and was defeated."

  "They named their main defense after a defeat?" the General said. "How very odd."

  "Is it not?" To'Jopeviq said. "As I mentioned, if I could understand why, I might start to understand humans. Thermopylae, the second such fortress they are considering, is another epic defeat. The names mentioned for other such fortresses are Alamo, Islawanda and Iwo Jima. The latter is even odder. It was a battle in one of their more recent wars, one in which the Americans, who are the main polity of the planet and the primary funders of the Troy, were the victors."

  "What is so odd about that?" the general said. "Of course you name great works after victories."

  "All the others were defeats," the major replied. "And one of the Americans main allies, the Japanese, were the defenders in that war."

  "They allowed them to continue to exist?" the general asked.

  "The Americans rebuilt their country after the war," the major said.

  "So they could exact more tribute," the general said.