Troy Rising 1 - Live Free or Die (17 page)

“And it's pretty much harvest time,” Bruce pointed out, packing up the gear. Time to move
again.

“I'm not a big fan of maple syrup, anyway,” Tyler said. “How many people have we lost in
this charlie fox?”

“Not nearly as many as we should have,” Bruce said. “The biggest lost was a 'Peace Now!'
demonstration in Burlington. They'd gathered around a big old historic maple figuring the
Horvath couldn't possibly hit them. Wrong. Dead wrong.”

“I've had times when I'd find that really funny,” Tyler said. “Somehow, though, it's just
not as funny as it used to be.”

“You've got a call coming in,” Ryan said. “Hypercom.”

“Bet Osama wishes he had one of these,” Tyler said, picking up the link. “Tyler Vernon.”

“Mr. Vernon, this is Saenc Mori with Hypernet Network News!”

“Hi, Saenc. Kind of busy at the moment.”

“You're going to be busier soon,” the reporter said. “The Horvath have sent their final
demands to your President. Stop the resistance and execute Tyler Alexander Vernon or
Washington, Philadelphia, New York and Boston will be destroyed. Their ship is coming up
from the south. Then they will take up stable position over the maple producing regions
and use their lasers to reduce them to ashes. That's as soon as their ship completes this
latest orbit which is now in... forty seven minutes.”

“I guess I got them a little riled,” Tyler said, his heart sinking. Petra and the girls
were outside Boston. “Guess this is it. Can you get a word to the Horvath?”

“We've sort of taken over your broadcast system,” the reporter admitted. “I mean, it's
just sitting there...”

***

“We might as well get out of the news business,” the CBS producer snarled.

“We'd better get out of Washington, first,” the anchor replied.

***

“...so the Horvath should be listening.”

“Fine,” Tyler said. “They want me? I'll be at the summit of Mt. Moriah when they come back
around. I'll be nice and easy to spot.”

“Isn't that suicide?”

“I'm tired of hiding anyway,” Tyler said, jumping on one of the ATVs parked in the cave.
“Let's do this thing.”

***

There were hardly any trails, much less roads, in the area. And what trails were
accessible by ATVs did not make it to the top of Mount Moriah. The last two hundred meters
had really sucked.

It was also... Bitterly cold didn't cut it, in Tyler's opinion. The recent cold front was
yet to completely pass and the air was not only below freezing but, in one of those tricks
possible only in a place as screwed up weather-wise as the White Mountains, humid. He was
standing waist deep in snow in a thin, wind-driven icy fog. It was the sort of cold that
didn't just cut to the bone. It went through three layers of clothes, skin, flesh and bone
so fast that it only stopped when it got around to freezing the marrow. Then it started to
chill the body from the inside out. His parts that were in snow were the warmest parts of
his body. The Horvath had better kill him quick or hypothermia was going to do the job for
them.

Despite the thin fog it was a great view, though.

“I can see your house from here,” Mr. Haselbauer said, huffing up the last few feet to the
summit. “Couldn't you have picked a lower spot?”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Tyler asked. “This is
my
big moment. Get your own.”

“So this is your plan?” Mr. Haselbauer asked. “Die? I figured you were going to use your
secret 'smelting' lasers.”

“The Horvath ship has a shield,” Tyler said, sighing. “We couldn't scratch it. So, yeah,
this was my plan. Die. Sometimes it works. Heroic defeats have led to most of the great
victories in history. Let somebody smarter figure out how to defeat the Horvath ship.
Hopefully motivated by that poor, brave, doomed bastard Tyler Vernon.”

“Figured as much,” Haselbauer said. “Which is why I'm here. Couldn't let the Rebs get all
the credit.”

“You and your Rebs,” Tyler said, shaking his head. He took out his cellphone and loaded in
the battery. It had been out for a couple of months and the charge was low but, what the
hell, it wouldn't have to last long. And with the carrier signal going there was no way
that the Horvath could miss and hit some innocent. Hopefully, with him dead they'd back
off on destroying the region. At least for a while. He fumed for a moment then couldn't
hold it in.

“The only reason you won was you outnumbered us ten to one!
And
had all the cannon foundries! And that might not have happened if Jackson hadn't had his
first bad day
at Seven Pines! The Union's as bad as the Horvath!”

“Shouldn't start a war if you don't have cannon,” Mr. Haselbauer said, smugly.

“Well, that was the point wasn't it?” Tyler said. “The South wanted industries and
northern monopolies, abetted by northern congressmen, wouldn't
allow
it. So when we started to sell our agricultural products to the British for, among other
things, mill equipment, you went and put a block on
that
! An
unconstitutional
block given that it was essentially a one hundred percent export tariff. There's a reason
it's called the War of Northern Aggression.” His phone rang and he pulled it out with a
snarl.

“What?”

“Mr. Vernon, are you and Jason Haselbauer, a noted resistance leader, actually rearguing
your country's civil war in your last few moments? Oh, hi, this is Saenc Mori with
Hypernet News Network. Your cellphone network isn't exactly secure, either.”

“Not much better to do, Saenc,” Tyler said, dropping smoothly into professional mode.
“It's pretty cold up here. Ask those Horvath to hurry, will you? A nice orbital death ray
would feel good about now.”

“On that subject, the betting on your survival is one hundred to one, do you have any
comment?”

“I'll take a thousand credits on the nose,” Tyler said, instantly.

“Isn't that a bit of a risk?”

Tyler closed his eyes and wondered if there was some sort of lobotomy involved in becoming
a newscaster.

“If I live I get a hundred thousand credits, Saenc,” Tyler said, slowly. “If I die, I
won't really care that I'm out a grand. Think about it.”

“True. Well, your bid has been registered by a bookie called Ongotuli the Knife who says
'You'd better be good for it.'”

“Aware that these may be my last words: I'm good for it.”

“You have about three minutes. The moment of decision for Washington, however, has past
and the Horvath seem to have chosen not to fire.”

“Damnit,” Tyler said. “What does it
take
to get these guys to get rid of all our problems for us?”

“You really don't care for city people, do you?”

“Hate 'em,” Tyler said. “Bombing's too good for 'em. They need to be chopped into little
bits and buried alive.”

“And Philadelphia. Apparently the Horvath disagree.”

“Don't care for Horvath, either,” Tyler said. “Especially if they're not going to gut
cities.”

“And New York is still there. The Horvath ship is about to clear the horizon, Mr. Tyler.
Seriously. Last words.”

Tyler thought about it for a second and then shrugged.

“There is no joy without pain. No victory without sacrifice. This is my victory.”

“Very nice...”

“Sorry, cutting in here,” a new voice said. “Horvath ship. Take
no
hostile action in regards to the maple gathering regions or their polity or tribes. Say
again, take no hostile actions or you will be destroyed.”

“This is unacceptable,” a metallic Horvath voice replied. “Who is this?”

“This is Commander Faeth Riang of the Glatun heavy cruiser
Kagongwe
and...”

Tyler was looking up and actually caught the sparkle.

“...not only are you about the size of my long boat, your shields are down. Power down
your weapons and leave orbit so we can negotiate or I will finish what my secondaries just
did with my main gun. Mr. Vernon?”

“Yes?” Tyler said.

“Could you ask your people to possibly begin gathering maple syrup? My sailors are about
to mutiny.”

“Right away,” Tyler said, “Hey, everybody. Olly olly oxenfree! Time to get to work!”

“Thank you. I assure you, you won't have any more trouble from your Horvath...
benefactors.”

Tyler hung up the phone and shrugged.

“So, we froze our ass off for nothing.”

“Can't say that,” Mr. Haselbauer said. “It's still a fine view. Take it the cavalry
arrived.”

“Yep,” Tyler said, feeling strangely depressed. And badly in need of a drink. “And now
we've got to actually, you know, work.”

“Been workin' my whole life,” Mr. Haselbauer said. “Best make some calls.”

“Yeah,” Tyler said, looking at his phone. “Me too.”

He hit speed dial.

“Hi, Petra. Can I talk to the girls?”

***

“Mr. Vernon,” the CNN reporter said to a background of a boiling pan of maple syrup,
“things seem to be progressing well in the maple syrup harvest.”

“Quite well, Courtney,” Tyler said. “Despite some reports to the contrary, the weather is
cooperating very well and it looks to be a bumper crop.”

“So all's well that ends well,” the reporter said. “Mr. Vernon, you said some very harsh
things about the people of our great nation's cities. Surely you weren't serious.”

“Courtney,” Tyler said, seriously, “I'm an American patriot. All of America. I don't care
for certain strains of politics, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't give my life to save the
lives of others. Other Terrans even. I just wish that those who disagree with me could at
least agree on that.”

“So you
weren't
serious,” the reporter said, confused. “Why in the world would you say those things? You
really upset a lot of people. Not to mention making yourself and the people of this region
a primary target! Were you crazy?”

“Oh, I don't like city folk,” Tyler said. “Don't care for their politics, don't care for
their attitude, which is more ignorant and provincial than they can possibly understand
since they're ignorant and provincial. But it doesn't mean I wanted anyone to die. Quite
the opposite. As to why I said it? I'll leave you with the words of the smartest rabbit I
know: 'Please, Br'er Fox! Don' throw me in dat br'ar bush!'”

Tyler looked around the, extremely empty, personnel bay 41816-B of the Glalkod Commercial
Transfer Station One in annoyance. His eyes lit on what was clearly a hypernode terminal
and he walked over. He'd been looking forward to savoring the moment of his first steps
onto a space station. But since his local guide was conspicuously missing it would have to
wait.

“Connect to Fallalor Wathaet, please,” he said.

“There are six hundred and eighty-seven thousand Fallalor Wathaet's on the hypernet
network,” the terminal replied. “Could you com his registry number?”

“I don't have a com link,” Tyler said. “He should be somewhere on this station. He is
probably in a bar and he's probably drunk on maple syrup.”

“Searching, searching... Fallalor Wathaet
eight-two-alpha-two-four-kilo-zero-one-hotel-november-dash-one.”

“Like I'm gonna remember that,” Tyler muttered.

“Tyler!” Wathaet said, slurrily. The background was clearly, as Tyler had guessed, a bar.
“Hey, man! How's it going?”

“You were supposed to meet me at the ship, Wathaet,” Tyler said. “Remember?”

“Oh, yeah, man,” Wathaet replied. “Sorry about that. Hey, just catch a cab over to Kulo's.
I'll meet you here!”

“Fine,” Tyler said, sighing. “Net, I need a cab.”

“There are over...”

“Just pick the closest one and tell me where to pick it up.”

“Very well,” the terminal replied, snippily. “Proceed down the corridor to the passageway.
That's the hallway to your
left
until it comes to a bigger hallway since you're a primitive. The cab will meet you there.
That will be five credits.”

“Tyler Alexander Vernon,” Tyler said. “You should have only one of those.”

“Registering. Please obtain a full registration package at your earliest opportunity.
Thank you. Have a nice day.”

***

The 'cab' turned out to be a floating compartment with seats for two. Small seats for two.
It was smaller than a Terrestrial 'Two-Fer' car and didn't look as if it should be able to
stand upright.

“Uh,” Tyler said, fumbling where he figured the door should be. “I don't know how to...”

“I'll open it,” the cab said. The entire transparent top collapsed into the rear. “Get in.
New, are you?”

“Primitive world,” Tyler said, sitting down. The top quickly popped back up. “Earth. The
maple syrup planet.”

“Oh, yeah, heard of that,” the cab said. “Destination?”

“Kulo's?” Tyler said.

“Right,” the cab said, pulling out smoothly. “Who's that maple syrup guy? Verggon or
something?”

“Tyler Vernon?” Tyler asked. The cab maneuvered skillfully through some light pedestrian
traffic, mostly Glatun but a few other species Tyler didn't recognize, then slid into a
compartment like an elevator. The door closed.

“Yeah,” the cab said. “You think he meant the Horvath should waste the cities? Seems
pretty, I dunno, cold.”

“No, actually, I don't think he meant it,” Tyler said. There was no sensation but he was
either trapped in a room with an apparently sentient cab or he was in a very smooth piece
of transportation technology. He was banking on the latter. There were no flashing lights
to tell him he was going anywhere, though. Not even a bank of numbers. Just walls and a
lack of sensation of movement. “He was just saying that so the Horvath wouldn't waste the
cities. If he could get them to think the maple sugar gatherers didn't care, that took the
cities off the table as hostages.”

“Guess you might be right,” the cab said. “He sure kept consistent, though.”

“Thank you,” Tyler said. “I'm Tyler Vernon.”

“Oh,” the cab said. “Then I guess you'd know.”

“Can I ask a question?”

“Go ahead.”

“Are all cabs AIs in the Federation?”