Gravity Rising (The Parallel Multiverse Book 2)

by Ward Wagher

  Larry shrugged. “I guess I had it coming. Honestly, Mags, we really don’t have enough to eat in Cambridge.”

  “Things are tough all over,” she said. “That’s what makes this place so amazing. I almost feel guilty about being here.”

  “Don’t,” he said. “I thought about this a lot. Do you think the people of the Palatinate are luckier than the rest of us in the world?”

  “What is luck?” she responded. “How can you even define the flow of time? They are definitely fortunate, here.”

  “Every conversation I have with people about the neat things that this place has usually concluded with them saying something like we built it. We grew up with our committees and representatives telling us what to do. These people just go out and do things.”

  “That seems so chaotic,” Maggie said. “I mean, that must be wasteful. And we don’t have a lot of resources to waste.”

  Larry laid his fork down and rolled his tongue around in his cheek. “These people seem to be doing alright.”

  “But, how well do they take care of the poor?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen any poor people, so far. I suppose we could do some research. It seems like we have complete access to their net.”

  “As far as we know,” Maggie said.

  “As far as we know,” Larry repeated.

  They ate silently for a while, enjoying the food. They looked up as Arthur Winkleman walked quickly into the dining room. He stopped at their table.

  “Excuse me for interrupting your breakfast,” he said, “but I need to make a trip over to Urbana, today. There are two seats available on the aircraft if you would like to ride along.”

  “We sure would,” Larry said. “When are we leaving?”

  “Fifteen minutes. My car is out front, and you will need to leave with me immediately.”

  “Give us a minute to collect our computers,” Maggie said.

  “Forgive me, but we have rather severe weight limits. You may bring your coats, but that is all.”

  Larry nodded. “We’ll get our coats and leave, then.”

  “I took the liberty of asking the hotel staff to collect your winter wear. They should be back in the lobby when we come out.”

  “Then, let’s go,” Maggie said.

  They had to walk quickly to keep up with the Paladin.

  “How does he do that?” Maggie muttered as they trotted behind him.

  “Who? Arthur?”

  “Yeah. He’s an old man.”

  “He’s pretty spry,” Larry commented out of the side of his mouth.

  In the lobby, two staff members stood, holding their jackets so that Maggie and Larry could quickly enrobe themselves. They had to trot again to catch up with Arthur, who was moving through the front doors of the hotel at his usual fast pace. The driver held the car door open for them and then scampered around to get behind the driver’s seat.

  “How do you have so much energy?” Maggie asked Arthur.

  He laughed. “Oh, I have not repealed the law of entropy. These old bones complain every morning when I struggle out of bed. It’s just that I am having so much fun. Each new project is exciting.”

  “How did you get to be the Paladin?” she asked.

  He looked over with a raised eyebrow. “No one else wanted the job. Most of the leadership of the Palatinate is consumed with building their own businesses and communities.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us you were the Paladin?” Larry asked.

  “Why, I thought you knew,” he said. “I did not realize the Northeast was so insular. It struck me how surprised you have been with everything you have seen here.”

  “I don’t understand why people in Cambridge are not aware of this. And we didn’t encounter much about it in Charlotte or Columbia, either.”

  Arthur looked out the window as the car traversed the frozen roadway. “The people in the Carolinas seem to be jealous of us. They are doing very well, themselves. However, their leadership cannot seem to resist the temptation to meddle in the economy. They are good people, but rather inept at times.”

  “What are you not showing us, Arthur?” Maggie asked.

  He gave her his soft smile. “I have shown you everything you have asked to see. You have access to the net. We do not limit traffic in any way.”

  “Would we know, if you did?” Larry asked.

  Arthur gave an old-fashioned look. “Lawrence, I had thought you were smarter than that. Did you try to push the limits of the net?”

  Larry blushed. “I’m sorry, Arthur. I’ve been absorbed in my own problems.”

  “Exactly. We have a free society here. We insist that the government keep the lightest touch on people. I think providing the maximum amount of freedom encourages the maximum of innovation.”

  “We were taught to not allow businesses to take advantage of people,” Maggie said.

  Winkleman snorted. “And do you think laws will constrain anyone truly bent on evil?”

  “What other way is there? People have to be managed to keep them out of trouble.”

  “Who will manage them?” he asked.

  “Why, the leadership, of course,” Maggie said primly. “It requires vision and leadership.”

  “And who chooses the leaders?”

  Maggie folded her arms, the fabric of her jacket causing wiffing sounds. “I know I’m being simplistic, Arthur. But, I know the mayor and council of Montreal kept us out of trouble any number of times.”

  “At what cost?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  Winkleman leaned back and used the headrest to support his neck and head. “I have read a lot of history, my friends. The most successful nations; those that advanced mankind were unfailingly unfettered, risk-taking cultures. The ancient Greeks and the early Romans are good examples. Later you see the Italian city-states like Venice, the Dutch, the British and the Americans all encouraged risk-taking as part of their culture. The unbridled mercantilism and later Capitalism is what dramatically expanded what people were capable of doing.”

  “And these people also poisoned the environment and developed such evils as slavery,” Maggie argued.

  “Very true,” Arthur conceded. “Yet, they eventually curbed such evils and made real efforts to repair things.”

  “But, it didn’t need to happen at all!”

  “So? Who would have stopped slavery from happening in the American colonies, given the chance?”

  “Surely the people of New England...”

  “Who had no problems with indentured servitude,” Arthur interrupted. “Listen, I find the concept of slavery as abhorrent as you. But, the concept of human rights is a relatively recent invention when you look at the span of human history.”

  “I would think that with some guidance, our advancement would be smoother, and we would hit so many blind alleys.”

  “And who is going to determine which alleys are blind? Who has that knowledge?” Arthur leaned forward and pointed to Maggie as he spoke. “Don’t you think there is a certain amount of intellectual hubris to that kind of thinking?”

  “No,” she insisted. “Everyone cannot attend college, nor should they.”

  “And who makes that determination?” Winkleman asked. “What if it were me? What if I decided that Lawrence here would never amount to anything?”

  “Isn’t that what you are doing?” Maggie asked.

  Arthur laughed, heartily. “Touché, young lady. If you want to know the truth, several of my people have wondered if I have entered my dotage. No, there’s something about Lawrence that has intrigued me since I received his note. I am taking a risk by investing in his education. I may be wrong. This may be a blind alley. But, I don’t think so.”

  Larry sat quietly, not able to think of anything to contribute to the argument but fascinated nonetheless.

  “But, you are part of the leadership,” Maggie insisted.

  “Yes, but I am not utilizing a rational analysis of Lawrence�
��s work. I am an entrepreneur. I look for opportunities. I believe that for the relatively limited amounts I am investing in this project, will pay off. And if not, the downside is not terribly painful. But, I am counting on Lawrence.”

  “That seems kind of cold.”

  “Come now,” Arthur said, “you cannot have it both ways. Your philosophy for guiding humanity is very cold and calculating.”

  “And that is what you are doing,” she said.

  “Yes, but I am risking my own funds and time. I am doing what a nation of entrepreneurs is doing here in the Palatinate. I am not forcing Lawrence to accept my proposal; or you, either, for that matter. You are perfectly free to reject my offer and depart. I would be disappointed if you did so, but I would not hinder you.”

  “But, it just seems...”

  He interrupted her again. “And here we are at the airport. We will not solve this argument today.”

  Someone had been watching for them, as a hanger door opened, and the driver took the car inside, the door closing behind them. It was very cold in the hanger, although there was no wind, of course. Several strange-looking craft sat crouched in the shadows, looking like giant insects frozen in tableau.

  Arthur opened his door and stepped out. Larry pushed open his door and climbed out, Maggie scrambling to follow. Winkleman marched across the polished concrete, the reflection of his shoes keeping pace. Once again, Maggie and Larry trotted to catch up. The man seemed perpetually to be in a hurry.

  “This is Abby Creitzman, our pilot for today,” Arthur said, waving to the miniature brunette standing next to the device.

  She shook Arthur’s hand, then Maggie’s and Larry’s. “The weather is looking good for today’s flight. I estimate a thirty-minute flight, depending upon winds aloft. We can board at any time.”

  “I’ve never seen an aircraft like this,” Larry said.

  “We call them Grasshoppers,” Winkleman said. “Now we need to get aboard. My schedule is tight.”

  The strange looking aircraft had a flattened central passenger compartment with what looked like a cargo pod underneath. Five streamlined projections arranged radially around the craft mounted ducted fans. They walked between two fan-pods to the side of the passenger compartment, where a hatch stood open.

  The pilot pointed Larry and Maggie to the back two seats. The seats were constructed of a plastic framework that suspended a canvass-like fabric. She climbed into the front left seat, and Winkleman carefully pulled himself into the tiny cabin and dropped into the right front seat with a heavy sigh.

  “I must encourage the people at Urbana to be more aggressive in clearing the snow from their airfield. Then we could use a real aircraft.”

  “Well, Sir,” Creitzman said, “then you would miss out on the adventure, today.”

  “If you please, Abby, I do not need an adventure today. I abandoned adventures about forty years ago.”

  “One uneventful flight coming up for the Paladin,” she declared.

  The pilot flicked a couple of switches, and the flight instruments came to life. She watched as the displays booted, then settled down. She reached for more switches and the fans spun up with a dissonant buzz. The sound would have been annoying, except that it was very quiet in the cabin.

  “A lot quieter than in the airliner,” Larry commented.

  Creitzman nodded and squeezed a button on the control stick. “Hoosier One ready for hanger doors.”

  A disembodied voice came from somewhere in the structure of the craft. “Roger, Hoosier One. Doors opening.”

  She eased the craft off the floor of the hangar so smoothly Larry did not notice until they started moving. When they had moved to the apron in front of the hangar, she halted in a hover.

  “Indianapolis Control, Hoosier One.”

  “Hoosier One, this is Control.”

  “Request clearance per flight plan.”

  “Hoosier one, Control. You are cleared for departure. No traffic at this time.”

  “Thank you, Control,” Abby said. “Hoosier One departing.”

  The sound of the fans increased, and the little craft leaped above the roof of the hanger and continued climbing. The pilot banked around towards the west and the passengers felt a surge as the speed increased.

  “This is flying,” Larry exclaimed involuntarily.

  The pilot didn’t look back, but he could see her grin from his seat.

  “You see, Sir,” she said. “Our passenger has stated it accurately. “This is flying.”

  “Oh, posh,” Arthur said. “And if you scatter our body parts across an Indiana cornfield, that will be dying.”

  She snorted. “This is the safest way to fly, and you know it.”

  “You will excuse my skepticism, please, Dear Abby.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The tiny aircraft flitted across the Indiana sky as Maggie and Larry stared out the panoramic windows. The pilot seemed to be chewing something as she constantly scanned the sky. Winkleman read from a small tablet in his lap.

  “How far can this fly?” Larry asked.

  “The accumulators hold a charge for about an hour’s flight. Our flight today will last a half hour.”

  “So, you will recharge the accumulators in Urbana?” he continued, “or, will you just fly back on the remaining fuel?”

  “Oh, no,” Abby said, “we will absolutely recharge the accumulators before we depart. The rules say we must retain enough power to return to our departure point if the destination point is closed for some reason.”

  “So you can’t really go any further than Urbana, then,” Maggie said.

  “Correct. It is right at the limit of what we want to do. We do not have sufficient ability to forecast the weather to do otherwise. We could set this down almost anywhere, but we don’t want to be caught in the open during a winter storm.”

  “Makes sense,” Larry commented. “Where are these made?”

  “A small company in Columbus assembles them,” Winkleman said, without looking up from his reading. “Another company in Saint Louis developed the accumulator cells. In fact, that was one of the reasons we brought them into the Palatinate. They have an impressive tech base.”

  “Columbus?” Maggie asked.

  “Columbus in what used to be the American state of Ohio. We now call it the Buckeye Territory.” Winkleman shook his head, with a sigh. “The names people assign...”

  Maggie studied the ground far below the aircraft. “Not many people here, either,” she said.

  “That is very likely our biggest problem,” Arthur said. “We are sparsely populated and that inhibits the growth of the economy.”

  “That just does not make sense,” Maggie said. “In Montreal, the city fathers have set up a system for issuing permits to parents for children. We cannot support too many people.”

  “That is sad,” Winkleman said.

  “Yes, it is,” she replied, “but it is necessary.”

  “Oh, I doubt that. Mankind has been able to expand, even in the worst conditions. Sometimes it is difficult, but it only requires will.”

  “But, it is cruel to bring children into a frozen wasteland,” Maggie said.

  “The Laplanders did it for centuries,” Winkleman said. “They had no complaints. The people in Alaska are doing well, and expanding.”

  “It’s just irresponsible,” she insisted.

  Winkleman continued reading his tablet and did not answer. The conversation stopped, and the background hum of the fans intruded. The aircraft bounced up and down in the light turbulence. Maggie sucked in her breath but said nothing.

  “There’s the airport,” Abby said, pointing out to the left.

  Larry and Maggie leaned over to look. In the center of a field of unbroken snow was a large building with a curved roof. It was bright in the glare of the winter sun. A small patch of concrete in front of the building showed where someone had been shoveling. Abby circled the building once at about five-hundred feet off the ground. When they
came around to the front of the building, the tall doors slid open. Abby flew the little craft into the hangar and touched down lightly. There were three other grasshoppers parked in the building, along with a conventional airplane.

  “All in a day’s work, Boss,” the pilot said.

  “And you have my thanks for a pleasant flight,” Winkleman said. “Will you be joining us on the trip into town?”

  “No, Sir. I need to get the ‘hopper recharged and checked out. I will be here when you return.”

  “If you get a report of weather moving in, please call me,” he said. “I do not want to be trapped here, waiting for a blizzard to subside.”

  “I understand, Sir. Have a good day.”

  “Thank you, Abby.” He turned to Larry and Maggie. “I have a meeting with the University president scheduled. I asked him to give you a brief tour and allow you to speak with the Science faculty.”

  “That’s very good of you, Arthur,” Larry said. “I look forward to it.”

  Winkleman glanced at Maggie and said nothing. He turned and walked quickly to a door along the side of the building. They followed. Abby stared at them as they walked away, and then walked over to where a charging station was mounted on the floor and began unwinding a power cable. She dragged it over to the craft and plugged it in. She walked back over and studied the readouts on the charger, and then she began a walk-around to inspect the grasshopper.

  The door Winkleman used opened into a large garage, containing several cars, trucks and a couple of tracked vehicles. To the right was a wall with windows and a door into what seemed to be the airport offices. A middle-aged man dressed in a sweatshirt and stocking cap stepped into the garage.

  “Well, now, Mr. Winkleman. Good to see you.”

  “Good to see you, Geoff. Couldn’t be bothered to plow the field, I see.”

  “It has the looks of there being another big blow tonight,” Geoff said. “Hardly worth plowing the runways. They’ll just fill back in.”

  Winkleman grunted. “Are you our designated driver for today’s visit, then?”

  Geoff fished in a pocket and pulled out a toothpick. “I ‘spect so. Nobody else here, today.”

  “Please be sure to leave the offices open,” Winkleman said. “Our pilot is in the hangar, and I am sure she will want to get in to warm up.”