“Doesn’t she always? You clowns never do anything around here until I leave.”
All Abigail Bemis would say over the phone was that Charlie should come to her place for dinner; she’d prep him for the meeting.
“That was good, Ab. Can’t afford real food on Earth.”
She laughed and stacked the plates in the cleaner, then drew two cups of coffee. She laughed again when she sat down. Stocky, white-haired woman with bright eyes in a sea of wrinkles.
“You’re in a jolly mood tonight.”
“Yep. It’s expectation.”
“Johnny said you had a surprise.”
“Hooboy, he doesn’t know half. So you didn’t get anywhere with the Senator.”
“No. Even less than I expected. What’s the secret?”
“Connors is a nice-hearted boy. He’s done a lot for us.
“Come on, Ab. What is it?”
“He’s right. Shut off the groundhogs’ TV for twenty minutes and they’d have another Revolution on their hands.”
“Ab …”
“We’re going to send the message.”
“Sure. I figured we would. Using Farside at whatever wattage we’ve got. If we’re lucky—”
“Nope. Not enough power.”
Charlie stirred a half-spoon of sugar into his coffee. “You plan to … defy Connors?”
“Fuzz Connors. We’re not going to use radio at all.”
“Visible light? Infra?”
“We’re going to hand-carry it. In Daedalus.”
Charlie’s coffee cup was halfway to his mouth. He spilled a great deal.
“Here, have a napkin.”
From A Short History Of the Old Order (Freeman Press, 2040)
… and if you think that was a waste, consider Project Daedalus.
This was the first big space thing after L-5. Now L-5 worked out all right, because it was practical. But Daedalus (named from a Greek god who could fly)—that was a clear-cut case of throwing money down the rat- hole.
These scientists in 2016 talked the bourgeoisie into paying for a trip to another star! It was going to take over a hundred years—but the scientists were going to have babies along the way, and train them to be scientists (whether they wanted to or not!).
They were going to use all the old H-bombs for fuel—as if we might not need the fuel some day right here on Earth. What if L-5 decided they didn’t like us, and shut off the power beam?
Daedalus was supposed to be a spaceship almost a kilometer long! Most of it was manufactured in space, from Moon stuff, but a lot of it—the most expensive part, you bet—had to be boosted from Earth.
They almost got it built, but then came the Breakup and the People’s Revolution. No way in hell the People were going to let them have those H-bombs, not sitting right over our heads like that.
So we left the H-bombs in Helsinki and, the space freaks went back to doing what they’re supposed to do. Every year they petition to get those H-bombs, but every year the Will of the People says no.
That spaceship is still up there, a sky trillion dollar boondoggle. As a monument to bourgeoisie folly, it’s worse than the Pyramids!!
“So the Scylla probe is just a ruse, to get the fuel—”
“Oh no, not really.” She slid a blue-covered folder to him. “We’re still going to Scylla. Scoop up a few megatons of degenerate antimatter. And a similar amount of degenerate matter from Charybdis.
“We don’t plan a generation ship, Charlie. The hydrogen fuel will get us out there; once there, it’ll power the magnetic bottles to hold the real fuel.”
“Total annihilation of matter,” Charlie said.
“That’s right. Em-cee-squared to the ninth decimal place. We aren’t talking about centuries to get to 61 Cygni. Nine years, there and back.”
“The groundhogs aren’t going to like it. All the bad feeling about the original Daedalus—”
“Fuzz the groundhogs. We’ll do everything we said we’d do with their precious H-bombs: go out to Scylla, get some antimatter, and bring it back. Just taking a long way back.”
“You don’t want to just tell them that’s what we’re going to do? No skin off …”
She shook her head and laughed again, this time a little bitterly. “You didn’t read the editorial in People post this morning, did you?”
“I was too busy.”
“So am I, boy; too busy for that drik. One of my staff brought it in, though.”
“It’s about Daedalus?”
“No … it concerns 61 Cygni. How the crazy scientists want to let those boogers know there’s life on Earth.”
“They’ll come make people-burgers out of us.”
“Something like that.”
Over three thousand people sat on the hillside, a “natural” amphitheatre fashioned of moon dirt and Earth grass. There was an incredible din, everyone talking at once: Dr. Bemis had just told them about the 61 Cygni expedition.
On about the tenth “Quiet, please,” Bemis was able to continue. “So you can see why we didn’t simply broadcast this meeting. Earth would pick it up. Likewise, there are no groundhog media on L-5 right now. They were rotated back to Earth and the shuttle with their replacements needed repairs at the Cape. The other two shuttles are here.
“So I’m asking all of you—and all of your brethren who had to stay at their jobs—to keep secret the biggest thing since Isabella hocked her jewels. Until we lift.”
“Now Dr. Leventhal, who’s chief of our social sciences section, wants to talk to you about selecting the crew.”
Charlie hated public speaking. In this setting, he felt like a Christian on the way to being cat food. He smoothed out his damp notes on the podium.
“Uh, basic problem.” A thousand people asked him to speak up. He adjusted the microphone.
“The basic problem is, we have space for about a thousand people. Probably more than one out of four want to go.”
Loud murmur of assent. “And we don’t want to be despotic about choosing … but I’ve set up certain guidelines, and Dr. Bemis agrees with them.
“Nobody should plan on going if he or she needs sophisticated medical care, obviously. Same toke, few very old people will be considered.”
Almost inaudibly, Abigail said, “Sixty-four isn’t very old, Charlie. I’m going.” She hadn’t said anything earlier.
He continued, looking at Bemis. “Second, we must leave behind those people who are absolutely necessary for the maintenance of L-5. Including the power station.” She smiled at him.
“We don’t want to split up mating pairs, not for, well, nine years plus … but neither will we take children.” He waited for the commotion to die down. “On this mission, children are baggage. You’ll have to find foster parents for them. Maybe they’ll go on the next trip.
“Because we can’t afford baggage. We don’t know what’s waiting for us at 61 Cygni—a thousand people sounds like a lot, but it isn’t. Not when you consider that we need a cross-section of all human knowledge, all human abilities. It may turn out that a person who can sing madrigals will be more important than a plasma physicist. No way of knowing ahead of time.”
