by John Ringo
"There you go," Tyler said, pulling him to his feet and walking him to the door. "Now you're cooking with fuel oil. If you need anything, you've got my number . . ."
"There," Tyler said, shutting the door and brushing his hands. "It's all about people. Speaking of people . . ."
"Butch," Price said, looking in the welder's room. "We got a hell of a thing, here."
"What's up?" Butch asked. The older welder hadn't been around a lot lately. Butch didn't have many other friends among the welders. Not really people to hang out with. He was feeling sort of put out.
"They're bringing in the damned Indies," Price said.
"Well, there goes this job," Butch said, angrily. "It's always like this with corporations."
"Maybe," Price said. "Purcell wants a meeting."
"We don't have enough people," Purcell said to the group of assembled welders, fitters and other EVA artisans. "We just got orders to speed up installation of the large vehicles bypass, the power center and we've got a new door project. That's on top of the work being done on Thermopylae. What's going to happen is each of you is going to be assigned a group from the salvage operation we're hiring on contract from E Systems. They're not going to know diddly except how to cut out stuff and it's going to take a lot of work. The upside is it's a bump in pay across the board. Probationary employees with sufficient experience to manage a team are going to be paid as team leaders. Team leaders that get bumped, which is pretty much all of you, are going to be paid as group leaders and so on. Pretty much everybody's going to up their pay by at least fifty percent."
There was a muttering of agreement to that at least.
"They going to be staying?" one of the fitter leaders asked. "I don't see Apollo giving up cheap labor."
"Everything, and I do mean everything, that I've seen says this is a temporary situation," Purcell said.
"They'll stay," a voice from the back said. "Some of them. The good ones. Or they'll be back. But that's not a bad thing."
Butch turned around to see who said that and blanched.
"Crap . . ." Price muttered as Mr. Vernon walked through the group.
"Hey, guys," Tyler said, stepping up on the podium Purcell was using. "Let me give you the skinny. First the part that nobody has really been talking about. We are, in case you hadn't noticed, at war. So when it was apparent that Apollo couldn't handle the salvage, and we need that salvage for some reasons I'll get to in a minute, we hired E Systems to work on it. And I know there was some muttering about that at the time. You guys make a nice chunk of change off salvage and you felt like you were getting cut out. I couldn't at the time, and can't now, think of a good way to make that up. This is one way, sort of.
"The point being, as you know, they hired a bunch of Third Worlders, showed them a suit and put them to work. And those poor, and I do mean poor in every meaning of the term, bastards have been dying like flies. I nearly pulled the contract they were taking so many hits. But I didn't. Cause we need the salvage. Why?
"Cause the ‘power center' isn't a power center. We've been pulling all the power systems off those wrecks and been installing the ones that aren't totally trashed. Sure. But we've also, as you might have noticed, been installing all their laser systems that are in good condition.
"That's the laser power of a whole fleet in one place. And we've been bringing in more as Granadica and Hephaestus can make them. We are trying to, as fast as we possibly can, duplicate the power of the SAPL internal to Troy. Because if we've got Thermopylae on one side with SAPL and the Troy on another with the same power, we're going to shred anything that comes through that gate."
He looked around at the workers with a hard expression on his face.
"Any. Thing. So I had you guys working on installing the systems and those poor bastards from Indonesia and the Philippines and Pakistan and Ghana and wherever ripping it out. Cause you guys are trained and prepared to build and they didn't know anything but how to cut it out. And not much of that. We needed those power plants, we needed those lasers, and we needed those relays. And we are going to use them to teach the Rangora a lesson they won't soon forget!"
"Yeah!" Butch said.
"We have some updated intelligence," Tyler said. "It's not solid but we're pretty sure that the Rangora are going to be coming back. Soon. With blood in their eye over the loss of their Aggressor fleet. They're not going to be pussying around this time. They're going to be sending their heavies: Assault Vectors.
"I know you guys have been watching the Rangora propaganda. And most of it's big lies and more lies. But it's hard to lie about how bad and nasty the AVs are. They're big, ten kilometers long, a kilometer wide. They're tough, shields tough enough to handle a swarm of Glatun missiles and armor twenty meters thick. They are an absolute bitch to kill. For earth to have any chance to survive, to keep us from being slaves to the Rangora, Troy and Thermopylae have to be able to dish out every living hell on those AVs. So I told the people that report to me that everything else takes a back seat. We are going to make Troy and the Therm into the toughest, nastiest, bad-assedest platforms in the galaxy."
"Hell, yeah!" Price shouted.
"To get that way, fast enough," Tyler said, "we needed people. So I told E Systems to send me their best. Only guys who have figured out how to survive in that screwed up environment. Guys who could do the job. You guys, who know how, are going to be doing and teaching as fast as you can. Because, people, we do not have much time. In no more than a few months we are going to have the Rangora here, determined to squash us once and for all. So you can bitch about it. Or you can work your asses off trying to save you homes, save your family, save earth. Oh, and get a bump in pay out of it," he added with a smile.
"Take that," one of the workmen said. "But . . . you said they're going to stay?"
"Like Mr. Purcell said," Tyler said. "If some of them are good enough, if you guys recommend, we'll send the earthside to go through the full training course. You know how hard it is to find people that can do this job. You guys, and I'm not blowing smoke, are the cream of the crop. But if you mean am I going to say ‘Hey, we've got all this cheap labor, why keep paying top rate?' Hell, no. We're probably going to have to go back and redo half the work when we've got time. You guys are, sorry, pretty much irreplaceable which is why you get paid so damned much."
"Not enough!" someone shouted from the back of the group.
"Gimme a break," Tyler said, grinning. "Know anything that pays more that doesn't involve a master's degree? And you're worth every penny. When my bean counters start bitching I just say ‘You wanna do this work?' In case you weren't aware, the books of Apollo are open. You guys can go see what the pay rates are for the whole company. A probie makes more than most groundside managers short of executives. Most of you guys make more than Purcell.
"If I have my way, and I usually do, every one of you is, someday, going to be doing his job. Or owning your own space company. You don't have to worry about getting displaced by cheap labor. You only have to worry about how much any one person can do. Even when the war ends, there's going to be plenty of work. You guys are at the forefront of this entire industry. You own space.
"But one more thing about the Indies as you guys put it. They work slow but they also don't take breaks. It's their culture. Total productivity is close. Work with that. They also have a lousy, and I do mean lousy, approach to safety. That's not going to fly here. You guys are going to be responsible for their safety. And you know how much paperwork goes into any accidents. Unless you want to be spending unpaid time doing paperwork, make sure there aren't any. They don't have personal suits. So make sure their ship-suits are good before they hit death pressure. Your plants will handle translation but they don't have a clue about culture. Work with it.
"You're the responsible party in this. You're the big boys. Figure out how to get the job done. That is why you're getting paid the big bucks. And always keep in mind that every second counts. Because we are looking down
the barrel of one big damned gun. Keep that in mind every moment. Stay safe and get the job done. And with that, I've got to go kick some executives in the ass."
"Good news, boys and girls," CM1 Glass said, looking around the ready room with a grin. "We have new quarters."
"The bays are done?" Bruce said.
"The bays are done," Mutant said. "Our mission for the day, for a change from hauling scrap, is moving in."
"No more working on the exterior in EVA?" Bruce said, hopping to his feet and doing a little dance. "Hallelujah!"
"This was supposed to be a couple of months ago," Hartwell said. "What was the hold-up, do you know?"
"They wanted to wait for most of the work on the large vessels bypass to get done," Glass said. "There is apparently about to be some major work done on the door and in the main bay. So we're all moving in today. And by all, I mean all nine Constitutions, all fourteen Independents and us."
"I hope someone has the order figured out," Dana said.
"The Connies are moving in first," Glass said, grinning. "Then the Independents. We're last. Which is just fine by me because no matter how big the port is, I don't want to share it with a Connie."
"Okay," Dana said. "I know I've said this before . . ."
"But that is officially insane," Hartwell finished for her. "I so totally agree."
The "large vessel bypass" was the new way for ships to get in and out of the Troy. Instead of going out the door of the main bay, what was essentially a very large missile run had been constructed. First a very large chunk of the internal wall was removed. Then "ports" were cut in the sides. Some of them were for the 142nd bays which had been constructed by several companies on Earth and shipped up. Each Myrmidon now had an individual pressurized bay to land in and each Flight had a hangar deck for work on the shuttles.
More "ports" were cut, large enough to hold the Constitutions and Independence frigates. Those were capable of pressurization and even acting as construction docks with their installed tractors. But they were mostly planned to be left unpressurized. The Constitutions were bigger than a super-carrier and the cubic larger than a similar drydock. Even for the Troy, that was a lot of atmosphere.
The last part was the most fiddly. A run had to be constructed between the bays and the exterior. The run, large enough to hold a Constitution comfortably, also had to be designed to withstand enemy fire. The last had taken some work but the same basic construction as the missile runs, a series of zig-zags with heavy blast doors, worked for the ships. Just on an enormous scale.
Once everything was in place, a portion of the cut-out wall was reinstalled and the largest airlock ever constructed welded into place. Currently both sets of blast doors, each massing more than a Constitution, were open to receive the full Troy fleet.
The Warren Harding was, cautiously, maneuvering through the lock, guided along by a dozen Paws. The Harding, as wide as a supercarrier was long, fit quite comfortably.
"This is going to take all day," Dana said. Getting the nine Constitutions into place had already taken three hours.
"Nope," Hartwell said as the first Independence approached the lock. It didn't even need tugs. The lock was seven hundred meters wide and four hundred high, plenty of room for the frigate. The frigate just flew in, slowly, and disappeared from sight. Thirty seconds later the Sam Nunn lit off its drives and followed.
"You seen what they're doing with the main door?" Dana said.
"Yeah," Hartwell said.
"They cut off the inner quarter," Dana said. "What's up with that? It's going to weaken that point in the armor."
"Oh, gee," Hartwell said. "A kilometer of armor instead of a kilometer and a half. And I have no clue. But you didn't see what just arrived from Wolf, did you?"
"No," Dana said.
"Heh," Hartwell said. "Heh."
"Okay, Jinji," Butch said, trying like hell not to sound nervous. "You guys understand your jobs, right?"
"Yes, Mr. Allen," the Indi foreman replied. He sounded a bit annoyed. Maybe cause Butch kept repeating himself. "It is not hard."
It might not be hard, but Butch was sweating his first job with the E Systems guys. He wished he'd been given something . . . smaller.
The group, who were actually Egyptians, were pretty good guys. Jinji, which was about as much as Butch could handle of the guy's name, was older than he was. And, to Butch's surprise, Christians. He thought everybody in Egypt was Islamic but when the subject had come up Jinji had, politely, corrected him. Butch had never heard of Coptics before but they apparently worshipped Christ which was a sort of "whatever" thing.
What wasn't a "whatever" thing was the job, doing tack welds on a spring that seemed to stretch from the Troy to Earth.
The group, Butch in a sled to provide power and the Coptics in their sled-suits, was well back from the incoming spring. Like, half a klick. When it was in position, they were supposed to weld it, carefully, in a precise spot, to the main door. Once the tack welds were in place and certified, SAPL would do the main weld. At which point the main door would have a spring right in the center, three hundred meters across, four hundred high and with a wire diameter of seventy-five meters.
Butch had about freaked when he saw what had been done to the main door. The SAPL had cut a chunk about four hundred meters deep out of the inside of the door in a straight line. That had been set to the side then the door closed again. They'd already installed about four more locking bars, each a hundred meters in diameter, about half way through the plug. Nobody was going to be getting that door open didn't have the combination.
Why they wanted God's slinky tacked onto it was another question.
"Spring has landed," Construction control commed. "Begin welding operations."
"Okay," Butch said. "Let's go. And take it slow and careful."
"We will be very careful," Jinji said.
The closed with the base of the spring until they were fifty meters away.
"Okay, deploy the laser lines," Butch said. Now that they were actually doing something he was fine. It was worrying about doing it that had freaked him out.
The sled was towing a heavy rig with five welder heads attached. The heads were 416 series which meant they had exactly zero options. They generated a ten centimeter long, three centimeter wide, beam. The Indies could mess that up but only by pointing it at themselves and putting it practically in contact with their suit. The lines were thirty meters long which was about as far as he wanted any of the Indies away from him. He was shepherding them like a mother hen.
He also wasn't going to turn the laser on until they were ready to weld.
The team picked up their heads and spread out pretty professionally. He didn't think much of their suits, they were pretty clunky, or their training, they didn't know dick about welding, but they were doing okay.
"Mr. Allen," Jinji commed. "We should not weld. The object is moving."
"Moving?" Butch said, closing with the spring. Jinji was right. The spring was slowly moving around and even gapped from time to time. "Dammit. BF?"
"Spring's moving," BF commed. "We got that."
The senior welder wasn't just managing Butch's team but three others.
"Well, what the hell?" Butch said.
"All teams, stand by," CC commed. "Anomalous movement on weld item. Do not, say again, do not begin weld."
"Guess maybe we'll grab it and hold it in place," BF commed.
Butch rotated his cameras to look up at the spring. It towered as high as a skyscraper and was bigger around than the base of the great pyramids. The Paws maneuvering it were clearly having a hard time keeping it in one spot.
"Hope not," Butch said.
"I was joking, dumbass," BF commed. "Stand by."
"Control, we're over thinking this," Purcell said. "The spring's interacting with the microgravity of the Troy. The Paws are trying to compensate. Let it drop and see what happens."
"We're considering that," CC commed. "Just stand by."
"Roger," CC commed. "Roger, that's the agreed solution. Have your personnel back off. Way back."
"All welder personnel, retract welding equipment," Purcell commed. "Then retreat to the edge of the door."
"Pull 'em back, Jinji," Butch said. "Don't know what they're going to try but this apparently ain't working."
"Yes, Mr. Allen."
Butch was wondering what the solution was going to be. But when the Paws just released the spring, he was sure that was a bad idea.
And he was wrong. From a half a klick away it looked as if the spring hadn't moved at all.
"Let's try this again," Purcell said.
"It is still moving, Mr. Allen," Jinji commed.
"Yep," Butch said.
It wasn't moving as much, though. Just seemed to be slowly sliding around in a small circle. And all the portions he could see were . . .
"Control wants to know if your portion is in contact," BF commed.
"It's in contact," Butch said. "It's moving around though. Looks like about . . . three centimeters."
"Roger," BF said. "Stand by."
"Yeah," Butch said. "That's us. Standing by."
"We are being paid, Mr. Allen," Jinji commed. "And all is by the Will of God."
"All weld personnel," CC commed. "Deploy welding lines and stand by for simultaneous weld. Report readiness."
"Oh, this is going to be fun," BF commed. "They want to see if they can get tacks in with it moving. Hold it in place with the welds."
"That's dangerous as hell," Butch pointed out. "Jinji, grab the welders. But don't start welding yet."
"Yes, Mr. Allen."
