Eobard Thawne
Fetzen
Hyginus City - Cygni Geminae
With the war officially over, life in the cities didn’t really change much at first, the majority weren’t affected by massive deaths, which hadn’t been so substantial, and sure some jobs were receiving extra bonds and opportunities shifted, but what was the military going to do with this massive ammunition producing industry? Even if they used more in training the current industry was too bloated for peace and would likely go back to pre-war levels, which still was a major avenue for jobs.
There were some changes though- the news screens showed less boring Hyginian politics and instead had boring Intergalactic politics, there were some fancy new ‘parades’ every now and then, the military seems to have really embraced those… And, even if the people wouldn’t see them, there were now in orbit more than just Hyginian ships.
The deal had had its basics ironed out fairly quickly. Azulvista would provide raw resources, manufactured goods, expertise and material at very reasonable rates on long-term loans, so as to allow Hyginus’ tiny economy plenty of space to grow before the debts came due. They’d also bought out a space station in orbit almost immediately, which now played host to a series of colossal GRA freightcrafts, a not-insignificant number of them being retired troop transports.
The freighters had only begun to arrive fairly recently- although mercantilist, the GRA wasn’t about to let so many men and so much material go abroad without drafting a whole lot of paperwork for their captains and crews to fill out. Now that they were here though, it was time to give the Hyginans a taste of foreign systems.
Thus it was that in Hyginus City, in a well-trafficked area outside the city’s main cargo elevator, a small stall had set up shop, a pretty young Azulvistan woman bumbling her way through conversations- matching Tongue Nuevo to the Hyginian’s own confusing conglomerate of a language with mixed success.
“Tastes of a foreign star! Free samples, with more if you fill out a feedback form! ¡Bomba!™ energy! Microwave Coxinha! Azulvistan convenience to your front door!”
Needless to say the shop had near constant supply of customers, with energy drinks and fast foods being the more popularly sold products. Workers bringing the goods down would then buy them pretty much immediately, even with some language difficulties they managed to learn at least some basic phrases like “I’ll take that” “Here’s the money” and such.
In fact it wouldn’t take long for the Azulvistans to set up shop next to the secondary elevator as well and pretty much doubling their business.
There’s now various new food and drinks with foreign brands, they’re all too expensive anyway so people buy them just to try something new, well apart from the energy drinks of which somehow there’s so many you could probably create a new sun with all the tin cans. If before the average person consumed a couple of caffeinated drinks a day now it’s gone to at least 4-5 ¡Bomba! every day, hopefully it doesn’t have a mind-control virus like your regular crazy Twoist pastor would tell you.
Along the new expansion district it’s clear the capital is receiving a lot more funds than any other city, more shops, reopening of collapsed streets and modernisation of the heating system and insulation. Truly they’re trying to make it seem a modern city on-par with foreign ones, occasionally shown on TV, even then proper lighting is still only in major streets.
In the attempt to get more businesses inside the underground city the General-Mayor also bought and cleared large buildings for foreign businesses to buy and operate in, and if that doesn’t work the current orbital stations remain a comfortable place for any HQ, even if it may take a while to get to the city itself.
And even as civilian business exploded with the arrival of newcomers to Geminae, a far more sinister form of business was being prepared high in orbit…
Azulvistan Station - Orbiting Cygni Geminae
It was always a strange sensation – to have poured the mind of a god into such a small vessel. While he hadn’t had an organic body in… ooh, 250 years? 260?, his mind felt… itchy, in such a small digital space.
A single luminous carried him, interlinked with the central AI and database aboard his Avatar class diplomatic vessel, the Chariot of Mars – resembling a set of elegant cylindrical coils enwrapped around a central ‘rod’ of compartments and maybe two hundred meters long, painted in dark reds and emblazoned with the insignia of the Sevenfold Summation and a stylized image of crossed swords arrayed into the shape of a bird of prey.
Through the sensors and viewports of his Chariot, Mars couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the other ship on this mission, sticking out against the void and the view of the massive ringed station orbiting the icy world below. Streams of cargo and patrol ships flowed to and from the station and back to the gate, but with its painfully gray and undecorated chassis the other Avatar class vessel like his own failed to stand out at all.
Roselle, he thought to himself, why the change of heart?
She had always found questions of defense and weapons acquisition dull and irrelevant, but so suddenly – when he was finally proven correct to take it seriously over their centuries of isolation! – she had taken a deep interest in the growing industry of this would-be alliance of powers.
He shook his head. Whatever she wanted, the vote had been clear that he was being entrusted to handle this.
“Open communications channels to the station.”
The skittering crew of current measurement in the control room – their foot tall forms, amalgams of tools and limbs arrayed around a single spherical, almost mushroom-like chassis – set about adjusting the controls, opening up the channels.
Video footage came through of a stern military man sitting at a neatly organized but mostly empty desk, wearing a kind of modified dress uniform – clearly drawing inspiration from both Azulvistan and Hyginian officers, but in the dark red and white of the Summation’s insignia and bearing said insignia on his shoulder pads. He gave a brief, old world two-fingered salute.
In both modern Spanish and formal Hyginian the message was relayed:
“Good day to you from the Sevenfold Summation. I am Mars, along with my associate…" His image gave a smile, but his voice took on a distinctly venomous quality out of sync with his lip movements, “Roselle, members of the Sevenfold Summation. We are here for the agreed discussion and demonstration of Summation technical knowledge regarding military and industrial applications, and to review in what ways we can be of benefit to the great Federation of Hyginus. Requesting permission to land.”
The Hyginians looked at the rather peculiar crew from the Summation, they knew they were an interesting bunch who heavily relied on their technology, but witnessing it live is always a different experience. Out of the Hyginians a man stepped forward and replied to the hologram.
“It is a pleasure to speak with a member of the Summation, I hope you and your associates have a pleasant time here in our system,” he stopped and weighed his words, unsure if Mars could be considered actually here on the station or not, “permission granted.”
“The pleasure is all ours, of course,” Mars replied as the ship navigated to take its place on the station.
Aboard the station – which the various bickering Syndics who had bought it out had yet to dub with a proper name, leaving it as the disappointingly titled ‘Station Hyginus Alfa’ despite no less than five scheduled meetings, one of which had actually taken place, there was a veritable conglomerate of suited-and-booted businessmen and women quietly jockeying for position in front of the airlock.
Then, standing off to one side, a thick, blunted cigar smoldering between his clenched teeth, was Antonio de la Cruz de Lebrón, a thoroughly unimpressed look on his face as his eyes flitted across his countrymen. The doors swung open, and in entered the summation’s representatives. After the debacle at the Meeting Place – the near shootout that had resulted from Mars’ “honour guard” of temperature marines – Mars had been at least convinced to not bring them with him. As such it was just him and Roselle in their machine-shells, scuttling behind the syndicates, moving carefully with their holograms to carefully shake the hands of each patrician as well as the Hyginian representatives.
There was a slight bit of last-minute shuffling as the syndics settled into position, and then the various introductions went ahead. Six patricians meant no less than three paragraph’s worth of names to get through, and as each one tried to squeeze in a few more titles or awards here, the cigar between Antonio’s lips began to ever-so-slightly quiver at the pressure from his teeth, only being relieved from its duty when it finally came time to introduce himself.
“Now that the pleasantries are out of the way… Please. Follow us.” He spread an arm out wide, holding his cigar carefully now that more of it seemed to be ash than tobacco and despite having been off to the side, he somehow managed to cut his way through the gaggle of Syndics to command of the ad-hoc procession as they made their way through Alfa Station’s corridors.
What had once been a spartan and downright ugly industrial space station was now… Still fairly ugly, yes, but work had been done to clear it up. A lot of the clumsy internals had already been gutted and replaced with more efficient Azulvistan engineering, leaving more space for the customary wood paneling and carpets that seemed a bit too cushy for a space station. Still, the lights were bare and fluorescent, the doors clicked and hissed loudly and had to be opened manually, and when they finally arrived at the actual meeting room most of its wireworks was still clearly under renovation that had gone over time and budget, leaving its opulence severely undercut by the day-glow plastic panels fitted over the otherwise bare wireworks. The syndics, split between apologizing and attempting to cover up just how clumsy the whole thing was, only succeeded in making it even more of an uncoordinated mess, and by the time everyone had actually set down the fractures in Antonio’s cigar had grown alarmingly large.
Mars let his hologram smile at the view – for all the attempts at style and luxury the Azulvistans prided themselves on, it was always a pleasant moment when the mask slipped, just a little bit.
Then, Antonio set his cigar less-than-carefully on the ashtray by his seat, and watched as it split and unraveled, his face, for once, completely impassive.
“Well then, is there any ulterior information or suggestion before we go ahead with the presentation?” the Hyginian looked at both the Summation and Azulvistan teams, only for the various Syndics to shake their heads, Antonio’s eyes still fixed on the shattered cigar.
Mars heard a faint “Go ahead” in his mind from Roselle, and with an artificial ‘cough’ into the digital image of his right fist, his own hologram faded slightly as Roselle’s projectors began to intensify for the images they were about to display.
“While regretfully our Gate remained shut for the duration of the war against the People’s Union, we have been provided with extensive archival footage and records of its events, courtesy of our new friends in Azulvista. My condolences to all of those who were lost, and for the inevitable truth we must face with steel-like strength – the number of colonies established remains unknown, and the ways in which humanity has changed are, frankly, unpredictable to a dangerous degree. To this end, it is vital that our nations be prepared for any military eventuality.”
Mars smiled, raising a hand. He wished he could see the look on Roselle’s face as she displayed the first image in soft silver light.
A recording displayed of a group of diplat – the shorter, mole-like forms – armed with strange but simplistic ballistic weapons behind some kind of crudely assembled metal covers, occasionally taking potshots at unknown attackers. Suddenly, there was a series of bright flashes and the cover – as well as the diplat – was completely blown away.
The hologram shifted to a display of a taller and more humanoid diplat creature, particularly focused on the large and clunky rifle-like weapon it was carrying.
“The ArtemisRain Mk2.1 Portable Railgun. Capable of firing spinning iron-titanium composite slugs at Mach 3 – the most powerful anti-infantry weapon ever designed.”
Footage of the reloading process, the battery charging system, along with a mixture of simplified, incomplete schematics began to display.
Once the display was done, one of the syndics – a slender gentleman from Diemgarda named Rúben who had inherited a frankly bizarre number of shares in the small moon’s main arms subsidiary – raised a single hand.
“Although undoubtedly a railgun design has many benefits – especially in environments that are not self-oxidizing or where explosions would be a poor idea, the ergonomics of this design seem… flawed? An experienced Azulvistan soldato can reload their rifle in only a handful of seconds – between the need for both an ammunition and power supply, and the… peculiar method of recharging the device, it seems as if a soldier would be vulnerable for far longer than is necessary?”
Mars’ hologram flickered briefly, before giving a curt smile.
“Well, of course, it’s quite normal for our temperature measurements to be wearing body-armour and helmets, as well as possessing a high degree of natural resilience. But, perhaps…” he nodded, “some other designs?”
There was a bristle of consternation from some of the syndics at the subtle snub towards Azulvistan protective measures, but they nonetheless settled down. This was just the first item on the agenda.
One by one, he went through the new displays.
— “The ChemCore ‘Nose Gun’ Automated Defensive Installation” he declared, the sight of an elaborate two-gunned turret… that schematics quickly revealed was targeting based on pheromone signatures.
Although initially, a few of the Azulvistans had raised eyebrows at the design, the obvious question was fielded very quickly, this time by a statuesque syndic wearing a suit that cost more than the average plebeian could make in a year. “And for targets that do not emit a pheromone signature? Such as, say… a human being?”
Mars narrowed his eyes.
“I mean… humans do emit pheromones.”
There was a brief look of annoyance at the correction, regardless of its accuracy, but the syndic pressed on nonetheless. “At ranges far enough to base long-range weaponry on them?”
“Through field uniforms or softsuits, in the case of marine contingents?” Chimed in another.
Mars and Roselle’s holograms both froze up briefly, before at last Mars just grimaced and shook his head.
“No, I… I suppose not.”
“Ah. Well then.” The interest rapidly faded from the Azulvistan’s faces.
— “The Droideka Micro, for rapid response in confined spaces; easily deployed either by air, into tunnels, or as a quick-response security protocol” the footage displaying a small group of rolling, pillbug-like robots that would unfold into a set of stationary guns and emitting an energy shield around itself… however, their small size meant the caliber couldn’t be more than a millimeter, and the notes on the shield’s battery structure were using a number of expensive, hard to acquire metals
One Hyginian stood up, his dresses are simpler in design than the Azulvistan but still formal.
“Cobalt, Lithium, strong magnets… these materials could be shipped from other systems, but otherwise they’re scarce here. High production cost and complex manufacturing process that has to start from scratch, I doubt it can be made in sufficient numbers to be useful.”
"Well," Mars said with a smile as the silver hologram seemed to flicker briefly, "I'm sure there's the potential of a trade deal there-"
The silver hologram flickered again, as did Mars, before crossing his arms.
"Moving on."
— The next demonstration was, in fact, more of a brief powerpoint presentation – information about a gas-delivered retrovirus that would cause extensive neuron decay, giving enemy soldiers and civilians dementia, paranoid hallucinations, and rendering them comatose in the space of a few days
At this demonstration, Antonio simply reached into his jacket, pulled out a new cigar, then clipped it and set it between his lips. Less than five seconds after he had lit it, an impressive pile of ash had already settled in the tray, the patrician’s face starting to take on a peculiar expression. “So, to clarify, this is a retrovirus, so we risk all the typical problems that come with biological weapons of them evolving out of potential killcodes or containment procedures, that is deployed like a chemical weapon, that then takes days to render targets comatose? Rômulo, can we get up a demonstration of TAX shells on New Terra? Yeah, the assault video.”
Leaning back in his chair, the members of the meeting were treated to a short, noticeably brutal scene clearly taken from a soldier’s helmet camera, Azulvistan soldatos storming across a broad plaza lit up by tracer fire and illuminated by the incandescent glow of a city aflame. Two planes screeched through the sky, clustered payloads bursting over the building the group was assaulting, soldiers scrambling to fit on masks and adjust the seals on their protective garments.
Less than ten seconds after the bombs had fallen, New Terran fire had stopped. Fifteen seconds later, and the soldiers were kicking down the doors, entering a corridor filled with twitching, jerking Terrans, foam spilling from their lips and bloody tears leaking from their eyes.
Mars and Roselle simply stood there as the footage rolled by, their mechanical forms watching intently.
“TAX-3. Toxic Agent X-3, a potent binary nerve agent. Inert when transported, causes the breakdown of the body’s ability to respire within ten seconds of exposure, death occurs without the antidote within three minutes, capable of being deployed en-masse as a gas or liquid where its volatile nature leads to it rapidly sublimating and becoming diluted in the air, or used in an ultrafine powder if you need staying powder.” Antonio stood up, pressing one index finger down firmly onto the table. “If you want to impress us with a chemical weapon, this is what you need to compete with.”
Inside, Mars was boiling - the hologram remained static, but the machine visibly stretched itself out for a moment.
“Incidentally,” an androgynous syndic with a slasher’s grin leant forward slightly, “should any of you be interested in procuring samples of TAX-3 for your own defense needs, we are proud to state that ESM-SA has secured an export license pending final senatorial approval. The substance can be mixed by an imbecile, deployed via artillery, canister, bomb or agent, and will terminate any target. We were very pleased to discover that it circumvented New Terran infantry chemical defences while leaving our own troops unharmed when their protective measures were properly utilised.”
“Interesting, I may have a proposal if you agree.” a tall Hyginian answered, looking mainly at the syndic but also sometimes to Mars. “Since you have developed such dangerous bioweapons, I imagine you’d also have developed countermeasures on the same level. We’ve seen PUNT use ineffective protective gear and how that turned out, it’d then be best to use state of the art equipment against a potential enemy or if rebel elements got their hands on biological weapons.”
There was a brief pause from the syndic, and they drummed their fingers on the table awkwardly. Sighing, Antonio spoke up instead. “ESM-SA doesn’t make military hazard suits, and since were previously getting your current stuff on lend lease… Well suffice to say you’d need a different bunch of suits.”
“Perhaps we could convert a local factory to produce them under license, the stuff we saw already didn’t look too complex, at least not as much as a railgun complete with battery pack.” the Hyginian stopped and opened a bottle of cognac, pouring himself a glass. “Want some?”
There was a shrug from the syndic. “Not while working, no. You’ll need to talk with another representative I’m afraid.”
Mars quietly shook his head, trying not to let the sudden takeover of what was going to be his moment override his social graces.
As the syndicates and the Hyginians discussed further, he raised a single hand and 'coughed' to draw attention.
"We underestimated Azulvistan chemical science, my apologies. But biological weapons don't merely have to take the form of disease, you know."
He smiled slightly, as Roselle's machine nervously backed away a bit.
"Allow me to explain."
His own hologram taking center point and shapeshifting, displaying one genetically engineered monster after another.
— "Biosoldier Template #081, 'Cellbuster'," as footage of a small , clearly alien spider-like creature a few centimeters long was shown to inject hosts with a delayed or remotely triggered explosive
— "Biosoldier Template #153, 'Mandrake Crawler'," as footage of a four-foot long thing with overgrown external lungs and a scream powerful enough to rupture ear-drums, shatter glass, and damage electronics
— There were other templates, of course, each nastier and more bizarre than the last… but to the assembled audience a consistent question kept popping into their minds with ever increasing horror…
As the last of these horrifying chimeras was finally showcased, Rúben once again raised a hand. “Uh… Pardon me for asking this, but why? Just… why?”
Most of the other syndics murmured and nodded in agreement. Antonio simply ashed his cigar, an elbow resting on his desk and his palm pressed firmly against his forehead.
The Hyginians similarly were confused, terrified or just tired from the demonstration, they dared not to ask questions, maybe fearing the answer would be even more batshit insane.
The smile on Mars' face had quickly faded. They weren't impressed at all? Had Roselle been right about this?
"Ahem, well… fear, of course. Each carefully engineered to exploit common enemy phobias or instinctive panic responses. An enemy with crushed morale is an enemy already dead."
Antonio allowed an expression of quiet superiority to slip across his face at this idea, but said nothing, even as Mars held his tongue from adding 'the resources to make them are endless, too'.
"But, of course, warfare isn't psychological only in the realm of combat."
—"The EyeMinder V3", he whispered, revealing an image of a rebel diplat undergoing some kind of interrogation, its head locked into some kind of strange machine. By the time the interrogation is over, the rebel has revealed key information and is left a passive drone.
“This is the first thing you’ve demonstrated that’s not either horrifically inefficient, demented in design, execution or both, or completely without merit for its intended deployment. Anything else remotely like this?” Antonio gestured with his cigar, clearly exhausted.
The other syndics however, had turned to him now with a wide spread of expressions on their faces. The six of them glanced at the rest of the group, then began to quickly speak in Tongue Nuevo, the rapid-fire dog language hopefully incomprehensible to the foreign delegates. The conversation, which at first had seemed like it was going to conclude itself quickly, spun out for first a minute, then two, several different syndics getting just as heated as Antonio seemed to be before the broader patrician finally slammed a fist down on the table, his second cigar promptly exploding at the movement.
“Have we reached some kind of agreement? Wonderful, let’s finish this demonstration, and maybe I’ll be able to salvage a few hours of my life from this travesty of a rotation. Go ahead.” Antonio swung the blade of his hand back over to Mars.
Mars, meanwhile, was staring at Antonio with an intensity he'd no doubt encountered before – the pure and bottled outrage of a person who wasn't used to being so consistently upstaged and shut down. Antonio, for his part, merely began the slow process of clipping and lighting the third cigar of the meeting.
"We-well, I, eugh, this is-!"
Suddenly, his hologram paused again, flickering wildly, before the red machine simply shut off its projector and stood to one side, watching the attendees in silence.
Roselle's silver machine took a cautious step forward.
"Wh-what my colleague was about to say, was, he would prefer I handle the remainder of this presentation. Apologies for, uh, the time wasted so far."
— "The… Vel-Marra Talwyrm," she stammered over the name, as if not used to saying it. The displayed imagery, of an efficient tunneling machine with modular weapon, armour and crew components that was clearly designed for use by baseline diplat. It would need to be scaled up for human use but otherwise required few changes to actually be useful.
For the first time the Hyginians looked mildly interested in a positive way, some spoke with each other and wrote notes down, one stood up and spoke.
“This drilling machine looks efficient and without too many weird details that at this point I would expect. The weapons and armour though, is it meant to dig into a place and start shooting? That’s an interesting idea but I’d like to know if there’s been actual combat scenarios where a machine like this was used.”
Roselle's faceless machine nodded at the question.
"This design is the result of extensive subterranean anti-insurgent operations during the pacification of the diplat. That said, unarmed variations of it see civilian use, particularly in excavation and transportation infrastructure setup."
“Now, this is something I can get behind.” A brawny, well-tanned syndic in a starch white suit and a wide-brimmed cowboy hat leant forward, a grin on his face. “Even ignoring the military applications, you scale this up and it’d blow our current boring machines out the
water.”
“And on the military side… I can already see uses for this.” The final of the assorted syndics spoke up with an approving nod. Even Antonio gestured optimistically with his cigar- the closest thing he’d managed to actual, genuine approval since the meeting commenced.
Roselle gave a gentle sigh, though as much from relief as anything else.
"In truth, it's become very clear to me and my colleague, that we would have been better served offering assistance and technology in wider civilian or space-based infrastructure, not weapons. If the Hyginians would like, I would be happy to discuss some proposals for terraforming groundwork after this meeting?"
“You’d want more of our civilian sector compatriots for that sort of talk, but in lieu of them, I’d be more than happy to have a proper talk if you’ve got more of where that driller came from.” The same cowboy-looking syndic chirped up.
Mars' machine trembled slightly, as Roselle nodded at the cowboy syndicate.
"I think I can arrange something. We do have quite a number of other schematics in a similar vein – primarily subterranean or submersible."
As the conversation went on the Hyginians were more and more interested. All but the one who previously spoke about the biological weapons, now just drinking from that bottle of cognac, were now paying attention and nodding in agreement as the Summation representative showed the design.
“The subterranean types would definitely be useful, both civilian and military types.” a somewhat scrawny Hyginian lady said, fixing her brimmed hat a moment later.
Roselle’s voice tilted slightly, still not displaying any kind of hologram but the machine almost seemed to lift itself a little.
“Wonderful! Um, let me sort through some of the others, then…”
A few designs were agreed to test in more detail – an efficient industrial laser emitter and a "walking" mecha design capable of burrowing, apparently based on some kind of animal from the diplat homeworld among them – before Roselle raised the question of terraforming.
"The people of Hyginus deserve a home that can sustain them. Now, while I and my colleagues would be happy to discuss the options of genetic engineering, I understand why people would be, uh, uneasy with the idea.”
She emitted a holographic image of Hyginus and its various read outs and measurements.
“As it currently stands, Hyginus’ surface is unsuitable for life, forcing humans to live in sealed bunkers or orbital stations. It’s far too cold, its lack of a strong magnetic field leaves it constantly exposed to cosmic radiation, its thin atmosphere is unbreathable for humans, and it suffers frequent collisions from asteroids.”
Roselle’s machine-shell eased itself forward slightly, the hologram flickering before displaying schematics for some kind of generator.
“Now, while there are several areas to work on, the best places to start would be the reduction of asteroids and the creation of magnetic fields. That would provide immediate benefits to infrastructure and operations or transportation of people and resources both to and from Hyginus, while laying the groundwork for further terraforming long term. These are, of course, large scale industrial efforts all on their own, but we have tackled some similar challenges in our home system–”
“And at what cost?” one of the Hyginians asked, soon after the lady with the brim hat followed.
“What my colleague meant is that such a project would have extreme costs, whether the magnet is made of Augustinium or less exotic materials. As for the reduction of asteroid crashes, what are you planning? We could expand asteroid mining but there are multiple satellites around Zacunto , the gas giant and the asteroids that could possibly get on a collision course with the moon are too many to mine all in a reasonable amount of time.”
Roselle’s holographic readouts flickered a bit, her shell almost seeming to shrink slightly.
“Well, those are fair complaints. It would certainly be a large-scale endeavor, but there would be clear long-term economic and political benefits to it. And as for the immediate costs…”
A change, ever so slight, in her tone of voice. Excitement, perhaps.
"Augustinium is a clear starting point for the actual magnets, but we have a number of carbon-titanium and silicon-copper composites that would support the framework and conductors needed for magnets of the size needed. I have schematics for an engine that could use one or more large methane reserves as fuel for the power system; normally it would be impractical but having run the numbers I feel confident to say Hyginus actually already has most of what would be needed."
She displayed new schematics now, for some kind of miniature satellite equipped with a short-range laser.
"And while expanded asteroid mining would help, my proposal is an array of automated defensive satellites. We use a number of them on our own stations and colonies and they’re individually quite cheap to produce and maintain – the issue long-term would be the numbers needed for complete shielding, but even only a tenth the total required could see annual asteroid collisions reduced by 39.2% if we were careful about their positioning."
We’d be happy to take some of those asteroids off your hands, though, she avoided saying.
An asteroid-destroying laser on an orbital station, with powerful batteries of materials rare in this system and a structural shape that can’t reasonably be made by the few space yards they had. If this is the cheap design I can’t think what the expensive one is, the woman tilted her head slightly while thinking, straightening herself just before speaking again.
“Interesting, I’m sure there were already some plans to expand orbital defenses, but I’m worried about the lasers and the systems needed to make them function. I know a more conventional weapon might not have the power to destroy an asteroid, but the batteries required might cost more than you think, also are we sure the solar panels will be enough to power them? They may have been designed with a brighter star in mind.”
“These orbital asteroid defenses don’t seem entirely unrelated to our own strategic defensive initiatives…” The statuesque syndic spoke again. “Ours aren’t primarily designed with asteroid impacts in mind, but they do serve as a proof-of-concept that Azulvista may be able to provide engineering support towards this endeavor.”
The Hyginian lady nodded to the syndic, being able to expand the orbital defenses while adding to this new terraforming project could be quite the catch.
Antonio cleared his throat. “And there is the possibility of outside contractors. Are any here familiar with the ‘Khagnate of the Sky?’”
Roselle nodded, the entire machine shifting slightly in agreement.
"I've read the dossier we have on them, they're certainly a, uh… [i]capable[] space-faring civilization."
“Large manpower reserves, a desire to take apart any rock they happen to spot, and a seemingly endless appetite for more materials, and best of all, they’ll do it almost entirely at their own cost so long as you let them operate semi-autonomously. Sure, we’d be losing long-term profit in the unlikely event we get anywhere close to exhausting the asteroid supply… But they could likely also be tasked with asteroid redirection, for a small fee. Several birds, one very large stone.”
As the one Hyginian finished the bottle of cognac he added his input “If I read correctly they move in large armed fleets and you can never be sure when they’ll decide to leave… or settle down perhaps. How can we ensure there won’t be issues later down the line?”
“We recently crushed a fully militarized, planet-settled war machine that held up multiple fronts across the galaxy for months, and you think we can’t handle a few squatters?”
The Hyginian nodded and grabbed another bottle of cognac from god knows where.
Another Hyginian took over and replied to Antonio “Very true, and remember the Khagnate have some of the best expertise on asteroid mining and redirecting.” He took a moment to look at the syndics “I’m sure we could further both plans, there are already funds for expanding the planet’s defenses, a few orbital stations that shoot down asteroids could easily use that fund.”
Roselle allowed herself a chuckle or two. It wasn’t often she got to rub it in Mars’ face, but she knew exactly what he would be thinking as he impotently fumed inside his chassis.
“Honestly, the more our expertise can be concentrated, the better – if the reduction in asteroids can be eased at little to no cost, then the number of satellites needed will decrease significantly. Plus, well…” she briefly re-displayed the schematics for the laser emitter, “if you happen to use our laser designs, the energy costs go down significantly.”
The Hyginian thought about it for a moment “Will the satellites be built in Summation spaceyards? It would be easier to move them across the Gateway than convert spaceyards here.”
Or make completely new ones, he thought but omitted from saying.
Roselle reached out a hand to shake the Hyginian’s hand.
“An excellent thought – I was thinking that might be the best option, yes. I’ll need to discuss this with my colleagues back home, of course, and the issues of cost and exchange will have to be hashed out, but…”
Her hologram shifted, taking the shape of a slightly haggard looking young woman with glasses, her hair in a ponytail.
“We can discuss all of that properly in time. In fact, yourselves – or other representatives from your nations – would be welcome to visit and observe the production lines at our own shipyards. The Indra, Agni, Moumlet, and Shiva shipyards all have the tools and staff needed to begin when needed. Efficiency and utility, well… It depends a lot on who is making the decisions. Right, Mars?”
The red machine lurched suddenly, stumbling briefly as its red lights were restored. After a painfully long pause it emitted the hologram of the uniformed man once again, his expression stone-faced.
“... Yes. Agreed.”
When all was finally said and done, and the foreign delegates finally ushered out, there was a moment of silence as the syndics stared at each other.
Then, almost simultaneously, there was a unified declaration of ‘they’re batshit fucking crazy,’ perhaps the only sentiment that all six patricians- even ESM-SA’s rather enthusiastic contribution to the meeting seemed to agree on. Antonio, for his part, simply stared at the now-shut airlock leading out of the station, in deep, serious contemplation of if simply throwing himself out now would save him the pain of having to conduct yet more diplomacy with the clearly malfunctioning intelligences they had just met.
“Well. That was a complete and utter fucking travesty. If none of you mind, I’m going to go and get absolutely senseless at the bar. Anyone for orujo? I think I spotted a decent bottle there when I passed by.”
A few mutterings of agreement from the rest of the syndics quickly deteriorated into yet another discussion regarding what, exactly, the group should drink. The whole thing only finally ended when Antonio’s cigar, having put up with the patrician’s frustration-induced mishandling, exploded yet again, ash and unsmoked tobacco fluttering to the floor with the last of his patience.
