Mind Over Ship

there’s a pent-up demand for high-quality inner-system space habitation systems. With the revenue we generate, we will double or triple our shipbuilding capacity. Thus, the extra-system colonization, which is all you ever think about, your highness, would not be harmed in the least by our enterprise. We might actually increase it.”

Meewee shook his head and said, “You are the last person I would expect to be quoting the murdered and absent Myr Starke to me.”

But Jaspersen’s proxy ignored him and addressed the others around the table. “Adam will now show us how it works.”

Everyone turned to Gest, whose response from his office at Mezzoluna involved a round-trip transmission lag of about a second. Yet before he could answer, Meewee said, “You can’t change bylaws, let alone the consortium mission statement, on a procedural vote. You all know that. You need a supermajority.”

But when Gest lurched into speech, everyone around the table hushed Meewee. “Thank you, Saul,” Gest began. At the same moment, a scale model of an Oship appeared floating over the conference table. “Here’s one of our colony ships. In fact, I see that it’s the Chernobyl.” The ship’s name was stenciled in Roman as well as Cyrillic script on the revolving habitation drums. “Its structure is basically a tandem hoop frame with thirty-two hab drums strung on each hoop. Except for stabilizing rockets, it has no propulsion of its own. Instead, an electromagnetic torus centered in the hub acts as a target for particle beams supplied to it by Heliostream.” As Gest spoke from Mezzoluna, the model over their heads began to change. The ordinarily invisible torus target in the ship’s donut hole glowed red. “Most of the energy the torus intercepts is turned into motive force, the rest is used for life support. Our first refinement would be to tune the torus for micro wave reception instead of particle beam.” The torus glow changed from red to green. “What’s more, only the outer, sunward ship in a roll of Oships needs to have a torus field at all, which will lead to a great cost savings.” As he spoke, more Oships appeared and stacked up against the first like a roll of candy. Their hab drums were all steadily rolling, generating gravity for their inhabitants. From the hoop frames there blossomed solar collectors and dishes and targets of one sort or another. They looked like sprouting leaves and flowers. The evolving model was mesmerizing.

“The typical parked space arcology will house ten to fifteen million persons,” Gest went on. “We already have in hand tentative orders for over a hundred arcologies.”

Half a light-second away, Adam Gest paused to look around the table at the individual board members, stopping at Meewee. “About now,” he said, “someone is bound to ask, But what about resources? Won’t we be robbing our extra-solar ships to do this additional work? My answer is no. As for raw materials, we already have an exceptionally rich stockpile of nickel/iron asteroids at Trailing Earth, and many more en route from the Kuiper Belt. Chapwoman Extrusion, which Trina has purchased, will be able to supply us the extra construction extruders. My yards are infinitely expandable, and increasing the number of my construction ’beitors will prove to be no problem. We’ll have to talk to whoever buys Chapwoman’s Exotic Fields about retuning the toruses. And the last time I checked, Heliostream is able to supply us with all the micro wave energy we could possibly need. Thus, we already have the extra capacity in place.”

When Gest seemed finished speaking, Zoranna Alblaitor, who had been waiting impatiently, spoke up. “Gest has covered material, facilities, and energy, but what about labor? Applied People would have to start whole new batch lots of jacks and johns to meet the increased demand. We’re talking years of maturation and training, and then what? When the Chinas come online, and demand for our space habitats drop, what do I do with all the surplus iterants?”

Meewee nodded enthusiastically. “I agree. There’s more to this proposal than simply rounding up more asteroids. What about tenants? Wouldn’t we be robbing from our own pool of potential colonists? Why should anyone spend a thousand years traveling to Ursus Majoris when they can hop to a colony at Leading Mars instead? No, in my opinion, this is an unnecessary diversion of our energies and a bad idea. Our mission is not an easy one, my friends, and this space condo fantasy is just that, a fantasy. It is not GEP’s mission to fill the inner system with your consumers, no matter how profitable. No thank you.”

When the debate ended and the ballot was counted, the vote fell along predictable lines. With eight for and three opposed, the final decision fell to Andrea Tiekel, as Meewee knew it would. So it was with heart-thudding relief that she killed the amendment.

Jaspersen seemed disappointed, but not much. His toy head bobbed in Andrea’s direction. “Nice to see where you stand on this, my dear.”

The young woman laughed. “I’m just getting used to this consortium the way it is, Saul. I don’t think I’m ready to let anyone change it into something else yet.”

Plan A

Ellen refused to sit in either Georgine’s or June’s lap. She insisted on sitting by her own real self, propped up in a chair, to receive her realperson guests. “Oliver TUG,” she said merrily to the gargantuan man that Lyra escorted into the Map Room. “A pleasure to see you after all this time. And who is this youngster you’ve brought with you?”

“I’m no youngster, Myr Starke,” said the smaller TUG. “I’m Veronica TUG. We’ve met on a number of occasions.”

Ellen did a double take but recovered quickly and quipped, “Well, Veronica, it would appear that both of us have shed a few dress sizes.” That brought appreciative chuckles from the TUGs, who were offered seats and refreshments.

ANDREA, DEAR, WAKE up, E-P said. We’ll want to watch this.

Andrea struggled to surface from unrefreshing sleep in her tank. A frame opened in front of her depicting a monstrous baby and equally monstrous guests.

“TO WHAT DO I owe this visit?” Ellen said. “I must tell you that I’m leaving my production company and may have less need for your, ah, specialized services in the future.”

Oliver, wiping cookie crumbs from his lips, cleared his throat. “First, we would like to offer our sympathy on behalf of Charter TUG for the loss of your mother.”

“My mother?” The word “mother” hung in the air like a hazard sign. Ellen’s ungainly head wobbled a little, and Georgine and June, seated on either side of her, held their breath. Georgine patted her pockets for the clicker, but Ellen went on, “Thank you. My mother is dead.”

“Yes,” Oliver continued, “and you nearly ended up that way yourself.” He said this in a leading way, but Ellen seemed dense to his meaning, so he spoke more plainly. “Wee Hunk hired us to perform a special service in that regard, and we have come today to collect our payment. We are sorry for the loss of your mentar as well as your mother, and we hesitated contacting you sooner.”

“My Wee Hunk is dead.”

“We know, and we are sorry,” Oliver said, shaking his head in sympathy. “Perhaps we should postpone this reckoning up until a later time.”

“No. Not at all,” Ellen said. “Tell me how much it is, and Lyra will make a transfer.”

“It’s a rather steep amount, myr, because of the danger involved and the costly equipment confiscated or destroyed, not to mention the greasing of many hands.”

“How much?”

“Two hundred fifty thousand UDC.”

This gave pause even to the lifelong aff, but she said, “You weren’t kidding, Oliver; that is steep. Tell me, what service cost me that much?”

Oliver seemed uncomfortable and glanced at the ceiling.

“Don’t worry about eavesdroppers, Oliver. This whole house has the rating of a good quiet room. You can talk freely here.”

Oliver remained doubtful, but he continued. “We were instrumental in extracting your head from that house