Troy Rising 1 - Live Free or Die (51 page)

“Ah,” Tyler said. “Two children. Christy and Steren. Christy's getting her MBA at the
moment. Wharton which makes me very proud. Steren... wasn't big on school. She also wanted
to be her own person. Which meant she was working as a vet's assistant. She's marrying a
guy named Thomas Schneider. He's a mechanical engineering grad student. I'd guess he's
going to want a job which is no big deal.”

“You haven't met him, have you?” Bryan said.

“I'm supposed to be meeting them this weekend,” Tyler said. “We're having dinner.”

“When I met you they were still kids. I really hadn't realized it had been that long.”

“But interesting,” Tyler said. “As in we live in interesting times. And on that note, I
now have to catch another shuttle so I can make a meeting in St. Louis.”

“Have fun,” Bryan said. “And, Tyler?”

“Yeah?”

“All work and no play?”

“When I find somebody who's willing to think big, I'll think about taking a vacation,”
Tyler said. “In the meantime... I'm managing.”

“My dad is going to already be there.” Steren Vernon had, fortunately, gotten her looks
from her mother. And her stature since she was pushing six feet. The name meant 'Star' in
Cornish. And it fit her eyes which were dark but with a, usually, bright sparkle. Even
more so when she was mad. “He'll probably be talking on his plant, and probably shouting
at somebody, which means he looks like he's raving.”

“You told me.” Thomas Schneider was taller than Steren but had the same general looks.
Dark hair and eyes. They looked a good bit like brother and sister rather than fiancŽes.
“Several times. Vernon party?” he said to the maitre de.

“And you are?”

“Steren Vernon,” Steren snapped. “The heir apparent.”

“Yes, miss,” the maitre de said, nodding. “Right this way. I'm sorry for asking but we do
try to keep people from bothering our more prominent guests.”

It was a very nice restaurant, one of the best in Pittsburg. And that was saying something.

Pittsburg, as one of the larger surviving cities in the US, had become a major financial
and industrial hub. It always had been, just overshadowed by bigger names like Detroit,
New York and Philadelphia.

With all three gone the money and industry had moved to places like Pittsburg, St. Louis
and Indianapolis. They had major traffic problems, though. People were willing to
work
in and around cities. Nobody wanted to
live
near them much less raise the increasing number of children.

Western society was still coming to terms with the first baby-boom since the post WWII
generation. The Horvath changes took time and technology to eradicate. The full course of
treatment was six four hour visits to a clinic that had the equipment. There were, still,
less than two thousand in the US and Europe. They were cycling through about ten thousand
cases per year.

Over ninety
million
children, mostly in the US and Europe, had been born from mothers with what was being
called Johannsen's Syndrome in the
two years
since the attack. The approximately forty-five million daughters
all
inherited it. Absent a huge increase in the supply of advanced medical equipment, and
technicians trained to operate it and doctors qualified to deal with the occasional
problem, there was no way to catch up.

Worse still, girls who were pre-pubescent when they were infected were still at risk. As
soon as they hit puberty they went into heat. Coupled with the prevention of regular
contraception, it was a nightmare. Society was just starting to come to grips with a teen
pregnancy problem that was simply astronomical.

The effect had been studied and, to the sometimes amusement of males, it turned out that
the 'heat' effect was functionally identical to male arousal. Just more varied. For about
seven days during the four week cycle, essentially during their menstruation period, women
had about normal arousal. During the remaining three weeks they were, in the oft quoted
words of some medical pundit, 'Seventeen year old males with choice.'

And there were secondary effects. Since people tended to follow trends, even women who
were not affected by Johannsen's were having babies in large numbers. Prior to the attack,
'native' Germans had a birthrate of one point five. Since replacement was two point one,
they were slowly going extinct.

Last year there had been one child born for
every single female
with Johannsen's in Germany. Which was a good bit of the population. That, right there,
was seventeen million of the ninety. And the trend was projected to continue until there
was a fix.

The situation was much on Tom's mind as they entered the restaurant and he saw his
prospective father-in-law for the first time. Steren had stated, in no uncertain terms,
that she wasn't going to be the only girl she knew without children. She wasn't sure about
the dozens some of them seemed headed for, a friend of hers had the genes for multiple
birth and already had
six
, but they were going to get started more or less on their honeymoon.

He'd said 'Okay' and tried not to wince.

Tyler Vernon was, as anticipated, apparently talking to air.

“Did Gorku give his okay? Okay, then... Well, I don't care if the authorizations have to
be hand-carried. I don't care if
you
have to hand carry them. Get them to Granadica
now
! Because we're going to have the plates by the end of the month and I want spinning to
start the day they arrive,
that's
why! Yes, the end of the month... Because we are very good. I've got to go. I'm serious,
Ozu, they'd better be there in no more than three days or I'm going to cite failure of
contract... Because I can be. Buh-bye.” Tyler snarled and then looked up and smiled.
“Pardon me while I try not to scream.”

“Hi, Dad,” Steren said, giving him a peck on the cheek.

“Hi, honey,” Tyler said. “You must be Thomas,” he continued, holding out his hand. “Thomas
or Tom?”

“Uh... Tom, sir,” Tom said, shaking Mr. Vernon's hand. He'd been told he was short but it
was a bit of a shock. A guy who had done all he'd done, changed the
world
, should be... taller. He'd heard the snickered references to NapoleonÑSNL and other
comedy shows had used it as a stock joke for yearsÑbut he was still surprised.

“Call me Tyler,” Mr. Vernon said. “Since we're gonna be kin. Sit. Stay a while.”

Vernon paused and seemed almost to fall asleep for a moment.

“Communing with your plant, dad?” Steren asked.

“No, just trying to adjust to family time,” Tyler said, looking up and smiling. “I've
gotten so little of it I'm sort of out of practice.”

“I've been available,” Steren pointed out. “Christy's busy, I'll admit.”

“I haven't,” Tyler said, shrugging. “I quit apologizing a long time ago.”

“You've been busy,” Steren said, shrugging. “And... in case I haven't said it.
Troy
?”

“Oh,” Tyler said. “Did that finally break?”

“That you're making a humongo habitat?” Steren said, caustically. “Uh, yeah. Months ago.
And I've been getting jokes from my friends since it didn't come out as large as it was
supposed to. 'I guess your dad came up a little... short.'”

“Oh,” Tyler said, then smiled. “Ah, yes.
Troy
. Yes, it did come out a
bit
smaller than we'd planned. Still... plenty big enough, don't you think?”

“It's a very interesting project,” Tom said. “We did a study of it in my orbital
engineering class. But it was apparent that you'd started with too few volatiles.”

“A bit, yeah,” Tyler said. “But do you have any idea how hard it is to drill into nickel
iron?”

“One point two seven four megajoules per cubic meter of melting energy,” Tom said. “And
then you have to consider dissipation. The thermodynamics are fascinating.”

“You two are
not
going to talk shop,” Steren said.

“Just a bit more, honey,” Tyler said. “Orbital engineering? I wasn't even aware that was a
class.”

“It's hard to get,” Tom said. “There aren't that many qualified professors. Masters level
only at this point. Penn State has a class, though. Dr. Mires. He worked for you, well for
Apollo, for about five years on the Connie project.”

“Eh,” Tyler said. “I'm glad the data's getting out there. We're dying for qualified
people. Between
Troy
and what we're going to be doing with her, and the Wolf projects... We can use every
damned engineer we can get our hands on.”

“Was that a job offer?” Steren asked.

“Can I ask what is causing the somewhat sarcastic mode?” Tyler said.

“I'm sorry,” Steren said. “I just... We never get to see you and you're talking shop.”

“Unfortunately, shop is about all there is in my life, honey,” Tyler said, shrugging. “Has
been since... Well, since you were ten. I'd much rather talk about orbital engineering
than war. Which has been my other preoccupation. So since we're not going to talk about
either, what's the plan for the wedding? Are we talking wedding of the century or a
private little ceremony at the house?”

“If we do wedding of the century it will be covered up with papparazzi,” Steren said. “I
still have to occasionally chase them away from the clinic.”

“Heh,” Tyler said, grinning. “Depends on
where
we have it.”

“Space?” Tom said, grinning.

“All traffic is carefully controlled by Space Command,” Tyler said. “And I know people.”

“We are not having it on some orbital project,” Steren said then paused. “What are you
thinking, exactly?”

“Hmmm...” Tyler said. “I've been thinking about building a ship for my own uses. I suppose
I could get one fabbed up pretty quick. Nice one. Big enough for a fair sized wedding
party. Large viewing deck of optical sapphire. We're casting those
big
these days. I'm not sure about getting an inertial system that permits it to be the dance
floor...”

“Ooo,” Steren said, shuddering. “I don't think I
want
to do my wedding dance over the Moon. Or Earth.”

“Just a thought,” Tyler said. “I could probably still get a custom yacht built to any spec
you'd want from Glalkod Yards. Probably a better choice. Nah, come to think of it they're
backed up too. I've been thinking I really need my own ship. This would be a good
opportunity. I'd give it to you as a wedding present, but I don't think you'd want it.”

“No, thanks,” Steren said. “I was sort of uncomfortable the one trip I took out with you
when I was sixteen. I'll keep my feet on the ground.”

“Could rent an island,” Tyler said. “Fly your friends in. Again, I know people. If we did
it in certain areas the government would be happy to keep out papparazzi. Stay there for
your honeymoon if you want. Please let me chip in for the honeymoon.”

“Done,” Steren said. “We accept. I'll tell you what the plan is when we decide. But if you
want to spring for an island wedding I'm all for it. Sorry, Tom?”

“No problem,” Tom said, smiling. “Whatever you want, honey.”

“Any idea where?” Tyler asked. “Greece? Carribean? Polynesia?”

“Let me look around,” Steren said. “I've tried very hard not to play poor little rich
girl. So I don't really know since I don't run in those circles.”

“Just let me know,” Tyler said.

“Have you been by to see Christy?” Steren asked.

“What you two don't talk?” Tyler said. “She's covered up in work. I'll probably see more
of her when she graduates. I'm going to throw her at LFD at first. She's not into orbital,
either.”

“No,” Steren said. “We're not. So what are you going to do with
Troy
? Inflate it again? Mine it?”

“That is... proprietary,” Tyler said. “Sorry, but it's a big project. There's a lot riding
on it.”

“The basic properties were pretty straight-forward,” Tom said, his brow furrowing. “The
team came to the conclusion that there was no way you were going for a
big
habitat.”

“Nine kilometers is pretty darned big, Tom,” Tyler said. “And let me note, Steren, that
you were the one talking shop.”

“I know,” Steren said, grinning. “I just could see you getting uncomfortable talking about
the wedding.”

“Decide what you want to do and I'll just write the checks,” Tyler said, smiling. “I'm
really looking forward to it. Seriously. But about
Troy
. I really can't talk about it for another... two months. About.”

“When it's cooled?” Tom said.

“When it's cooled,” Tyler said. “Then we
really
get to work.”

***

“Sorry it took so long,” Tyler said.

'It' was a two kilometer in diameter steel washer with divots already cut out for the
support lines. Six tugs were maneuvering it carefully from the gate to Bespin. Which was
going to take about a week.

Because there wasn't an intelligent species in the system, the Grtul had just set up the
gate to orbit naturally. Thus it was rarely near Bespin. Travel times were going to be a
pain.

“No problem,” Byron said, chewing on the end of his pipe. “We've got the spinners and
carbon ready to go and Granadica has been turning out parts like nobody's business. We
also set up a portable separator system in the meantime. We're not at independence from
Glatun fuel supplies but we're at about sixty percent in the system. Doesn't quite cut
down on cost because the portable is pretty expensive. But it's something.”

“We're going to need to talk about tankers,” Tyler said. “Fuel in this system is great. We
need it in Sol. A lot of it.”

“Well...” Byron said, pulling out his pipe and contemplating it. “The Glatun method for
producing tankers is to put them together not too much unlike a regular ship. I've worked
on 'em. I think we can do that pretty well with Granadica's help. Been looking at it.”

“Which takes, like, forever,” Tyler said.

“Yep,” Byron said. “Or we could use the Liberty ship design. But we'd only be pushing
90,000 tons of fuel in each ship. That's a lot of fuel, but not what you're talking about.”

“No,” Tyler said.

“Or, and this is just at thought,” Byron said, staring through the crystal wall at the
giant washer that was about to become the upper portion of a giant space elevator and
which had been constructed in about three weeks. “We could do what you did with
Troy
. Blow up a nickel iron asteroid. Thinner and smaller, mind. Just a big grape looking
thing. Slap on one of the engines and crew quarters from the Liberty ships. Depends on the
size of the asteroid and the amount of fuel, but you could get some boost there. Be slow
but steady.”