“Are you saying we won’t make it?”
“No, Governor, I do not say we will fail. I only caution you that despite the most strenuous exertions, it is unlikely that we will succeed entirely.”
Their eyes held for a moment, then Horus nodded. If they were no more than three months behind, they were still working miracles. And the marshal’s integrity was absolute; if he said every effort would be made, then every effort would be made.
“On a more cheerful note,” Tsien resumed after a moment, “Admiral Hawter and General Singhman are doing very well with their training commands. It is unfortunate that so much training must be restricted to simulators, but I am entirely satisfied with their progress—indeed, they are accomplishing more than I had hoped for. General Tama and General Amesbury are performing equally well in the management of our logistics. There remain some personnel problems, principally in terms of manpower allocation, but I have reviewed General Ki’s solutions to them and feel confident they will succeed.
“In my own opinion, our greatest unmet training needs lie in the operational area. With your permission, I will expand upon this point following Marshal Chernikov’s report.”
“Of course,” Horus said.
“Then, if I may, I will ask Marshal Chernikov to begin.”
“Certainly.” Horus turned his bright old eyes to Chernikov, and the Russian rubbed a fingertip thoughtfully over the table as he spoke.
“Essentially, Horus, we are well ahead of schedule on our PDC programs. We have managed this through allocation of additional manufacturing capacity to construction equipment and the extraordinary efforts of our personnel.
“We are not so advanced on our orbital work, but Geb and I agree that we should be on schedule by the end of next month, though it is unlikely we will complete the projects very much ahead of schedule. Nonetheless, we believe we will at least make our target dates in all cases.
“Despite this, two problems concern me. One is the planetary power grid; the other is the relative priority of munitions and infrastructure. Allow me to take them in turn.
“First, power.” Chernikov folded his arms across his broad chest, his blue eyes thoughtful. “As you know, our planning has always envisioned the use of existing Terran generator capacity, but I fear that our estimates of that capacity were overly optimistic. Even with our PDCs’ fusion plants, we will be hard put to provide sufficient power for maximum shield strength, and the situation for our ODCs is even worse.”
“Excuse me, Vassily, but you said you were on schedule,” Horus observed.
“We are, but, as you know, our ODC designs rely upon fold-space power transmission from Earth. This design decision was effectively forced upon us by the impossibility of building full-scale plants for the ODCs in the time available. Without additional power from Earth, the stations will not be able to operate all systems at peak efficiency.”
“And you’re afraid the power won’t be there,” Horus said softly. “I see.”
“Perhaps you do not quite. I am not afraid it will not be available; I know it will not. And without it—” He shrugged slightly, and Horus nodded.
Without that power net, the ODCs would lose more than half their defensive strength and almost as much of their offensive punch. Their missile launchers would be unaffected, but energy weapons were another matter entirely.
“All right, Vassily, you’re not the sort to dump a problem on me until you think you’ve got an answer. So what rabbit’s coming out of the hat this time?”
“A core tap,” Chernikov said levelly, and Horus jerked in his chair.
“Are you out of your—?! No. Wait.” He waved a hand and made himself sit back. “Of course you’re not. But you do recognize the risks?”
“I do. But we must have that power, and Earth cannot provide it.”
Maker, tell me what to do, Horus thought fervently. A core tap on a planet? Madness! If they lose control of it, even for an instant—!
He shuddered as he pictured that demon of power, roused and furious as it turned upon the insignificant mites who sought to master it. A smoldering wasteland, scoured of life, and raging storm fronts, hurricanes of outraged atmosphere which would rip across the face of the planet…
“There’s no other choice?” His tone was almost pleading. “None?”
“None that my staff have been able to discover,” Chernikov said flatly.
“Where—” Horus paused and cleared his throat. “Where would you put it?”
“Antarctica,” Chernikov replied.
There’s a fitting irony in that, Horus thought. Anu’s enclave hid there for millennia. But a polar position? So close to the Indian Ocean bio-system? Yet where would I prefer it? New York? Moscow? Beijing?
“Have you calculated what happens if you lose control?” he asked finally.
“As well as we can. In a worst-case scenario, we will lose approximately fifty-three percent of the Antarctic surface. Damage to the local eco-system will be effectively total. Damage to the Indian Ocean bio-system will be severe but, according to the projections, not irrecoverable. Sea-level worldwide will rise, with consequent coastal flooding, and some global temperature drop may be anticipated. Estimated direct loss of life: approximately six-point-five million. Indirect deaths and the total who will be rendered homeless are impossible to calculate. We had considered an arctic position, but greater populations would lie in relative proximity, the flooding would be at least as severe, and the contamination of salt rains would be still worse when the sea water under the ice sheet vaporized.”
“Maker!” Horus whispered. “Have you discussed this with Geb?”
“I have. It is only fair to tell you he was utterly opposed, yet after we had discussed it at some length, he modified his position somewhat. He will not actively oppose a core tap, but he cannot in good conscience recommend it. On the other hand—” agate-hard blue eyes stabbed Horus “—this is his planet only by adoption. I do not say that in any derogatory sense, Horus, yet it is true. Worse, he continues to feel—as, I believe, do you—a guilt which produces a certain protective paternalism within him. If he could refute the logic of my arguments, he would oppose them; his inability to support them suggests to me that his own logic is unable to overrule his emotions. Perhaps,” the hard eyes softened slightly, “because he is so good a man.”
“And despite that, you want to go ahead.”
“I see no option. We risk seven million dead and severe damage to our world if we proceed; we run a far greater risk of the total destruction of the planet if we do not.”
“Marshal Tsien?”
“I am less conversant with the figures than Marshal Chernikov, but I trust his calculations and judgment. I endorse his recommendation unreservedly, Governor. I will do so in writing if you wish.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Horus sighed. His shoulders slumped, but he shook his head wryly. “You Terra-born are something else, Vassily!”
“If so, we have had good teachers,” Chernikov replied, eyes warming with true affection. “Thanks to you, we have a possibility of saving ourselves. We will not throw away the chance you have given us.”
Horus felt his face heat and turned quickly to another point.
“Maker! I hope you didn’t plan on discussing your concerns in order of severity. If your munitions problem is worse—!”