Chapter Fifteen
Spin One
Teseler led Bowden to the Usrensekt Family autofabbers, housed in a rock-carved space nearly as big as the Otlethes Family’s. The journey to get there seemed a lot straighter and less arduous than it had to get to the Otlethes’ fabbers. Whether that was because Teseler now considered Bowden someone he wanted to work with or because the two locations were just physically closer, Bowden wasn’t willing to guess. Either way, it didn’t take them long.
It also didn’t take them long to come to agreement. With Teseler extolling the virtues of a common ship template, where everyone got the “best of the best,” Teseler’s counterpart in the Usrensekt Family—who was never actually introduced to Bowden—agreed to the plan.
Feeling pretty good about his efforts so far, Bowden called a staff meeting.
“What did you find out?” Bowden asked.
Hrensku looked around the refectory and dropped his voice. “I found out that many of the SpinDogs do not trust you. Does that count?”
Bowden frowned. “Don’t trust me? For what reason?”
Hrensku nodded toward Raptis. “You spend too much time with RockHounds.”
Bowden shook his head. “I also spend time with you, too. Doesn’t that mean anything?”
“It means you are trying to ingratiate yourself with me to steal the SpinDogs’ secrets.”
Bowden sighed. “Did you get anything of value?”
“A little. I found out there is some technology we didn’t have. I made notes.” Hrensku handed over several sheets of paper.
Bowden glanced at the top page and smiled. “I already got the first two.”
“What? How? I didn’t think it would be possible to get the engine technology from the Usrensekt Family. They have held that secret for . . . for as long as I have been an adult. Many Families have tried to acquire that knowledge, but no one has been able to pry it from them.”
Kevin shrugged. “I got Teseler to help me explain the situation . . . and the benefits of cooperating.”
“Teseler . . . helped you?” Hrensku’s eyes bulged. “Despite his primus backing this plan, I never thought the Otlethes would give up their radar system—not the best one, anyway—as it gives them too great an advantage finding salvage in the outer system. It is even better than what the RockHounds have.”
Raptis nodded. “It is.”
“How were you able to force them to donate their technology? What did you threaten them with?”
Bowden chuckled. “That’s the funny part. I didn’t threaten them at all. For Teseler’s part, I just showed him how beneficial it would be to have wingmen with technology as good as his own, so they could better protect him while he was killing Kulsians and being a big hero. The fact that he stood to gain everyone else’s technology if he shared his only sweetened the deal.”
“You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink,” Fiezel noted.
“What is a horse?” Raptis asked.
“It’s an animal people ride back on Terra,” Bowden said. “The saying means just because you show someone that something is in their best interest doesn’t mean they’ll choose to accept it if you force it on them. So I didn’t try to force it on Teseler; I let him come to the conclusion on his own.”
Hrensku nodded. “And because he thought it was his idea, he was more ready to accept it.”
“Not only that, he was ready to help me explain to others why it was a good deal.” Bowden looked at Malanye Raptis. “What about you?”
“My results were about the same as Burg’s,” the RockHound replied.
“The RockHounds have been holding out on their best technology?”
“No. They do not trust you because you live on Spin One with the SpinDogs and are therefore under their thumb.”
“But I’m not—”
“And yes, they were holding out on a number of technologies which even I was unaware of. Apparently”—she lowered her voice—“there is a source of some high technology, a place that some of the leading Families have access to. It’s probably salvage from battles that were fought in the system previously, but I wasn’t able to find out where or what it was.”
“How do we get access to it?”
“You would have to talk to Murphy and get him to talk to the Legates; I was unable to find out any details on it.” She passed him a handful of papers. “I did, however, find some interesting things we can incorporate into our template . . . if you can get the owners to donate them.”
Bowden turned to Fiezel. “What about you? Don’t tell me the Terrans don’t trust me, too?”
“Naw, I trust you just fine,” the former Air Force officer said. “Most of the folks do, too, aside from you being a navy puke.”
“Great,” Bowden said, deadpan. “What’d you find?”
“I went through all the stuff the Olsloov left behind for us. There’s an awful lot of stuff that—if we could use it—would really let us kick the Kulsians’ asses.”
“But . . . ?”
“But some of it is beyond the capability of the locals to autofab, whether that’s because it uses materials they don’t have, or it’s too arcane for them.”
“Too arcane?” Bowden asked.
“Basically, it’s too high-tech. The SpinDog folks I spoke to wouldn’t consider making it.”
Bowden shook his head. “Think you could change their minds, Burg?”
“Probably not,” Hrensku said, looking at the deck. He looked up and his eyes met Bowden’s. “I understand—having worked with you—that some computer technology is safe, but most of them have not worked with you and will be less trusting of it. They will not want to make it, much less install it in their ships.”
Bowden turned back to Fiezel. “What did you find that we can actually use?”
“Well, we probably can’t put it on every ship, as some of the captains will refuse to use it, but we have the capability to use the Dornaani microsat net to provide real-time links to our missiles and other command-and-control functions. We can also use them to gather intel and have them pass it to our command platforms via spectrum-jumping lascom.”
“Well, that’s something, anyway.”
“It is.” Fiezel smiled. “And it’s beyond anything that the Kulsians will have, which will give us an advantage.”
“I’ll take it,” Bowden said. “As greatly outnumbered as we’re going to be, I’ll take every advantage I can get.”
“Like I said, though, some of it is going to be too whiz-bang for a lot of the SpinDogs and most of the RockHounds.”
“Some of my people would probably accept that type of technology,” Raptis said, “assuming it was not too computer intensive.” She pursed her lips. “Reetan Taregon and Festal Lantrax, for sure.” She sighed. “Of course, nothing is as easy as it ought to be.”
Bowden raised an eyebrow. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that, although they would probably be the most trusting of the technology, they would be the least trusting of everything else. They rarely come to the spins as they don’t like the people here, and they never have anything positive to say about the Lost Soldiers.”
“Oh, goody,” Bowden said. “Is there anyone who likes us?”
“Besides yourselves?” Hrensku asked with a laugh. “There are a few, but not as many as you would like. Not as many as I would like, either, if the truth were told.” He clapped Bowden on the shoulder. “I think you’re a passable fellow, but being seen with you gives me a bad reputation.”
“You, too?” Bowden asked Raptis.
“Probably even more so among my people,” the RockHound said. “The SpinDogs see Lost Soldiers on the spins all the time and are more used to your presence. The RockHounds do not see you as often and therefore find it harder to trust you.”
Fiezel chuckled. “Assuming we can find some pilots that will listen to you, Kevin—and that we can get all the goodies from the SpinDogs and RockHounds so we have decent ships to fight from—how do you intend to make this hodgepodge of shit work?”
“It was after your time, but let me tell you about this little concept we had that was called AWACS.”
* * *
The second day’s shilling started out well, and Bowden was able to convince several of the minor Families to ante up the limited technological improvements they had. For all three, it wasn’t much . . . which was probably at least partially to blame for why they were minor Families.
They also had a much smaller autofab capacity. Where the Otlethes had eleven units and the Usrensekt had ten, these Families only had one or two, and not all were spacious enough to build corvettes. However, many of their replicators were highly efficient, capable of producing those subsystems and components that were the most complicated and took the longest to complete. Bowden knew that they had the most to gain by receiving access to the best technologies, so was not surprised when they accepted . . . almost eagerly.
That streak of positivity ended when he approached the entrance to the Trzgarth Family’s autofabber. Although Teseler led Bowden to its outskirts, he refused to accompany him to the entrance. His description of the relations between the Otlethes and Trzgarth Families sounded rather like those ascribed to the Hatfields and the McCoys.
The wide bulkhead-rated portal was—like all the autofabbers Bowden had been to—well guarded. The two men standing outside reached for pistols when he approached, kept them trained upon him even after he had stopped and held up his hands.
“What do you want, Terran?” one asked.
“I’m here to speak with whoever is in charge of your autofabbers.”
“They don’t want to talk to you.”
“Even if I can get them the Otlethes’ radar and the Usrensekts’ engine technology?”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not,” Bowden said. “I’m here to bring those things in trade to your . . . well, to whoever is in charge.”
“I will let him know,” the same man said, “but if you are wasting his time, it will not go well for you.”
“Understood,” Bowden said, suddenly feeling a great deal less sure about this sales strategy. “I am telling the truth.”
“Wait here.”
The man went through the hatch and returned with another man about five minutes later. Just the way that he looked down his nose at Bowden let him know this was going to be a tough sell. But having the best optical tracker is worth it.
“Hi!” Bowden said, trying to keep a friendly tone to his voice. “I’m here—”
“My man told me what you said. What is going to cost me?”
“Well, is it possible to go somewhere and talk?”
“We are somewhere, and we’re talking. Do you really have the Otlethes’ and Usrensekts’ technology to trade?”
“Not with me here, but yes I do. The thing is—”
“What do you want for it?”
“I understand you have the best optical tracking technology of all the SpinDogs.”
“We do, and you can’t have it.”
“Well, I—”
“What else do we have that you would take in trade?”
“Nothing. We’re trying to put together the best template possible, so that when we meet the Kulsians in battle, we’ll be able to beat them. The other Families are contributing their best technology to this effort. Will you not do the same?”
“No, we won’t. There’s no way the Otlethes are going to get our trackers. Ever. We would delete it from our systems to keep them from having it.”
“Is that your final word? Is that what the primus would say?”
The man puffed up his chest. “I speak for the primus. We will provide the ships that we have agreed to produce, but we will not give our best technology to anyone else. Especially you.”
Bowden squared his shoulders. “I see. Well, in that case, you might as well stop making the corvettes, because you won’t be allowed to participate in the attack with us.”
“You would turn down our assistance?”
“Yes,” Bowden said, “I would, and I am. Everybody else has agreed to share their best technology and is doing what they can to prepare for the fight. I have already said that nonstandard ships will not be allowed in the fleet. You can either join us and get everyone else’s technology or you can let us do the fighting for you.”
“Not at the cost of giving you our optical tracking systems.”
“That’s fine, then.” Bowden turned and started walking. He made it three steps before a gun fired from behind him and the round ricocheted off the tunnel wall near his head. Bowden spun to find the man holding one of the guard’s pistols, pointing it at him.
“That was a warning shot,” the man said. “Don’t turn your back on me, ever again, and do not come back. If you do, you will die.”