by S. H. Jucha
Maria interceded. “So, say Julien designs you a fighter. Who’s going to fly it when the Méridiens return home?”
Renée turned to the General, “Why, he intends to fly it,” she said, pointing a finger at Alex. “Don’t you, Captain?” This created a flurry of conversation, in which Renée and Alex took no part. She stared at him while he pretended to listen intently to the others.
Finally, Alex cleared his throat to get their attention. “Let’s just focus on the fact that we now have an answer to the next aspect of our agreement. And while the Rêveur may only have room for one or two of these fighters, New Terra can build as many as they wish. I suggest we leave Julien to review the data for other concepts that might be of use while he works on a fighter design. In the meantime, I’m headed for morning meal.” And as no one else had eaten yet, they trooped after him willingly enough.
Alex was grateful Renée didn’t return to the subject of who would pilot the fighter once they sat down to eat. She was quiet for most of the meal, but toward the end, she said, “One of President McMorris’s requests—that we devise a means by which to transfer our technology to New Terra without destroying its economy—is outside this group’s expertise—” Minister Drake started to speak but she raised a hand to forestall him, “—but not outside Julien’s expertise. I’ve requested that he develop economic models for the transfer. He needs more information on your financial systems before he can get started and I’ve relayed this request to Major Tachenko, who is gathering the information Julien requires. When he’s finished, we’ll forward the models to you for your consideration.”
The Ministers and General sat there stunned, absorbing the enormous problem-solving power of which a SADE was capable. Minister Drake finally spoke up. “And I expected to be up here for at least thirty days.”
Minister Jaya inquired, “What would it take to get our own SADE?” his expression hopeful.
-18-
Eight days later, Alex and the Méridiens were riding to a second emergency session of the Assembly in a TSF convoy of hover-cars. Renée found she was more nervous about this presentation than the last one, even though much of the burden would be carried by President McMorris.
Major Tachenko’s troopers guided them into the Hall and onto the dais, insuring there was no interference from Assembly security.
After the President’s opening remarks, greeting the representatives and his guests, he got to the heart of his presentation. “My purpose here today is to present the agreement that has been negotiated with the Méridiens and ask for your approval. We won’t debate it today. What I want is to demonstrate why I support this agreement and place the full weight of my office behind its approval.”
“First, you will view a tour of the Rêveur taken by five of our own. And please keep in mind that the technology you’ll see is only what was left after their ship was nearly destroyed.” At his request, the Méridiens had edited out Downing’s blunder. He wasn’t about to embarrass the conservative faction for political gain. This was too important. He wanted…no…he needed the Méridiens to continue to make a good impression.
He turned to Renée, who signaled the holo-vid projector affixed to the lectern. Once again the Assembly was awed by the power of the tiny projector as it displayed the visitors’ tour compiled from Julien’s vid pickups and the Méridien’s implants. They witnessed the grav-pallets and grav-belts in action; heard how medical nanites repaired traumatic injuries and manipulated genetic material; witnessed an imaging display of an embedded implant; and watched Renée’s belt-harness protect her from Étienne’s stun weapon.
The holo-vid ended there and President McMorris picked up the narration without missing a beat. “And you should know that our own Assemblyman Downing volunteered to test the efficacy of the stun weapon himself, although at its lowest setting.” He chuckled and the Assembly responded appropriately, several associates near Downing patting him on the back. “We’ve prepared a live demonstration for you to witness the power of the Méridien technology that our people could have today.”
Above the President, a vid screen activated, displaying a hospital emergency room. A patient lay in the bed surrounded by a doctor and two nurses. “Our demonstration is of the Méridien medical nanites,” the President continued. “Due to the sensitive nature of this information and the potential medical liability, we chose not to test these nanites on an injured citizen, but rather on a TSF volunteer, Sergeant Thompson. His lower right arm was deliberately broken by a surgeon. How are you Sergeant?”
“I would say I’m in pain, Mr. President.”
“Yes, well, thank you for volunteering, Sergeant. Doctor Oberon, the arm appears to be quite swollen and broken, but have you confirmed the break through your imager?”
The vid drone shifted closer to the doctor. “Yes, Mr. President, it’s a compound fracture of the right ulna.”
“Has anything been done to treat the injury, Doctor?”
“No, Mr. President.”
“And under ordinary circumstances, Doctor, how long would this take to heal?”
“About thirty days, Mr. President, with cellular boost injections. He would need another thirty before he could apply maximum leverage to the arm.”
Renée took up the narration. “We’ve become familiar with New Terran physiology through our contact with Captain Racine and your Negotiations Team. At the cellular level, we are amazingly similar despite our hundreds of years of separation.”
The drone rotated to Terese, who had been standing out of sight of the camera. The gathered Assembly had just seen her in the prior vid and her striking red hair, bright green eyes, and pale face were immediately identifiable. She accessed her medical tablet and pulled a small device from its side.
“Terese will employ a cranial wave modulator against the Sergeant’s temple,” Renée explained. As the shiny metal disk, only 1.5 centimeters in diameter, was applied to the Sergeant’s temple, his grimace disappeared, replaced by a calm expression as he slumped back into the emergency ward’s bed.
“Doctor,” the President requested, “can you verify the patient’s state?”
The doctor reviewed his med-tablet. “All vital signs are strong. His brain waves indicate that he’s in a deep sleep.”
“That’s correct,” Renée continued. “Terese’s device blocks sensory input to the brain without interrupting the autonomic nervous system. Since this is an artificial state, the patient will remain asleep, unaware and without pain, until the device is deactivated.”
Terese loaded a small syringe and placed it in a holder beside her tablet.
“Terese is now programming some of our stock of medical nanites, which she will inject into the wounded area.” Renée explained as Terese applied the aero-syringe. “And now we must wait.”
During the next hour, Renée told the Assembly of some of the other technology her people had developed. At the end of her summary, she explained that, per the agreement, all Méridien technology would be given to the New Terrans. It created such uproar that the Hall Monitor had to call for quiet three times before the commotion subsided.
Major Tachenko received a quick comm. She caught the President’s eye and nodded toward the screen. He took the podium once more as the screen was activated. Terese turned to the vid lens and nodded.
“Doctor,” the President said, “would you please use your imager to view the break? And may we have it on screen while you view it?”
The Doctor positioned the imager over the Sergeant’s arm and tapped the controller screen. The vid drone hovered in front of the imager’s screen. He mumbled, “Just one moment, Mr. President.” Then he started tapping the screen again.
“Is there a problem, Doctor?” the President asked with a trace of humor in his voice.
“Sorry, Mr. President, I was told the nanites would accelerate the healing. But there’s no evidence of a break,” the doctor said incredulously. “There’s not even a shadow of one.”
“Terese,
if you could remove the device from the patient’s head, please,” the President requested. The drone pulled back to cover the emergency room bed as Terese did as asked.
The Sergeant came to with a confused expression on his face. “How long was I out?” he asked.
“You were asleep for a nearly an hour, Sergeant. How do you feel?” the President asked.
The Sergeant carefully lifted his arm and slowly rotated it. The noise level in the Assembly ratcheted up considerably, and the Hall Monitor requested silence again.
The Sergeant looked at the Doctor, at Terese, and then back to the screen. “I feel fine, Mr. President. And I don’t mean fine for just having broken my arm; I mean fine as if it was never broken in the first place, although the skin looks a little worse for wear.”
Terese leaned over the Sergeant, who smiled up at her, and smeared a light gray, jelly-like substance, which quickly disappeared into his skin.
“Hello, Sergeant,” Renée called out, since he was no longer focused on the vid drone but on the red-haired Méridien standing next to him. When he finally looked into the drone’s lens, she explained, “Terese has just applied a nanites compound that will heal the skin.”
“That’s fine,” he said distractedly as he turned his attention back to Terese. More than one sympathetic chuckle rippled through the audience.
“Sergeant, your attention please,” the President commanded. “Thank you for volunteering, Sergeant Thompson. Your participation in this demonstration was most commendable,” the President assured him and received a sharp salute in response.
“It’s been my honor to be the first New Terran experiment for alien technology, Mr. President,” the Sergeant piped up. “One request, Sir. Can we keep her?” he asked pointing to Terese, which evoked a round of laughter and stomping from the Assembly.
“That concludes our presentation,” the President said as the Assembly’s applause died down. Your readers are receiving a copy of the agreement as we speak. At my request, this Assembly will stay in session until you are ready to vote, though that period will not exceed seven days. Accommodations have been made at several nearby establishments for the entire body at the government’s expense. You’ll find that information in your readers as well.”
The Assembly was stunned into silence by the President’s words. Not in many, many years had they been unable to control their own calendar. They’d need several days just to analyze the agreement.
The President and his guests exited while bedlam broke out among the representatives. They examined their readers for the relevant files, contacted staff members to relay the news of the mandatory session, and ordered food. Most importantly, they started making comm calls to key constituents.
Powerful representatives supported by captains of industry were shocked to find that the government would control all of the astounding Méridien technology—first, for the manufacture of parts for the Rêveur and the Outward Bound; second, to build fighters; and finally, for dissemination to the public and industry.
Assemblyman Downing and his faction, who were the primary opposition to President McMorris and his Cabinet, applied all the pressure they could to sway other representatives to reject the proposal. They wanted control of the new tech without any government interference.
Downing’s dynasty founder, Clayton Downing I, a Canadian billionaire, had made his fortune from mining and probably did as much as any man to pollute the face of Earth. His mining concerns were what ultimately got him killed. During a visit to upper Mongolia, Chinese separatists attacked the mine, and he was killed in a mortar explosion. Rather ironic since that was what his companies did to the Earth—blew it up—as they strip-mined huge swathes of land.
His son, Clayton Downing II, inherited his father’s fortune and chose to sink billions of NAT credits into the colony ship, the New Terra. The caveat was that his son and family received reserved seats. His daughter chose not to go.
Following the New Terra’s disastrous accident, Clayton Downing III was removed from his sleep-module by crew members and loaded into a shuttle with his wife and two children. It wasn’t, as some later groused, that he was privileged. He was a mining engineer with multiple disciplines in geology, hydrology, and construction, and his wife was a renowned doctor specializing in transplant surgery. Clayton III suffered the drudges of the new colony along with everyone else for eleven years and died after being bitten by a poisonous lizard-like animal.
Representative Downing had been irritated throughout his life that his family was never given its fair due. His ancestor had been the largest individual contributor to the colony ship, and Clayton wanted New Terrans to acknowledge his family as the movers and shakers who helped deliver them to their new home. To make matters worse, President McMorris was an egalitarian, a man who would definitely not pay tribute to his betters, which was how Clayton perceived himself.
But two points worked against the conservative elitists led by Clayton. First, the proposal contained a foreword from the President that it would be the only version of the agreement offered to the Assembly. Second, Julien disseminated the economic models for the distribution of Méridien technology. In each scenario, they heard him narrate the initial suppositions, the technology distribution method, the economic modeling employed, and the results from day one to ten years out. They watched as some companies went bankrupt overnight while others weathered the change and grew enormously rich. Unemployment often spiraled out of control as automation took over; government support services were inadequate to meet the needs of the unemployed. In several scenarios, companies sought out the Méridiens for trade deals, forgoing upgrades to their own manufacturing plants.
The outcome was the same for every model in which technology was controlled by private industry—New Terran society, as it existed today, would come to an end. Only controlled distribution over time would allow their society to retain its essence. Toward this end, Julien recommended the new technology be fed into social entities, such as the government’s health services; power and communications infrastructure; and the government’s habitat experiments.
The conservative opponents argued the economic models were invalid since the SADE’s predictions would inevitably be biased toward the government’s position.
But the majority didn’t agree, saying it didn’t matter how they got the technology. Didn’t they trust their elected President and his Ministers to manage this marvelous bounty? And that was the crux of the argument—who could be entrusted with their people’s future—the industrialists or the government? This was New Terra, not Earth. When the representatives reached out to their constituents to discuss the agreement, the people overwhelming supported the government.
New Terra was a world where voter turnout averaged over ninety-one percent. The people carefully researched their candidates, and the media devoutly published a candidate’s background, voting history, and major supporters. The public kept a close eye on their government.
One day before the deadline, the Assembly majority called for a vote and the agreement was approved, as submitted, by an eighty-three percent majority.
-19-
Within the hour following the Assembly’s vote, the President placed a comm to the Outward Bound. The Team had returned to the Rêveur with Alex and the Méridiens to await word of the Assembly’s decision. They used the time to develop a list of contractors for the manufacturing sites that met Julien’s specifications.
The President outlined the steps he’d set in motion. A location adjacent to Prima’s space shuttle terminal would be the first manufacturing site. The Team’s contractors, who had signed stringent security agreements, were being mobilized to modify the site—power, comm cabling, environmental systems, network and security systems, dormitories, and meal facilities—in expectation of Julien’s requirements. Major Tachenko was responsible for site security.
“The Negotiations Team in hereby disbanded,” the President said. “You are now my Technology Transfer Team.
Congratulations on your promotion!”
Alex placed a comm to Major Tachenko for transport only to discover she was on approach to the Rêveur and would be arriving in hours to collect the Team. They used the university’s memory core to transfer Julien’s master plan: building layouts, infrastructure, and schematics with tech manuals for the machines that would produce the tools, circuitry, crystals, nanites, and supplies the Méridiens required.
The team waited with Alex and Renée for Major Tachenko to cycle through the airlock. She greeted Maria with a sharp salute. Maria motioned the Major over to her and addressed everyone. “I’m ordering two shuttle flights a day at 10 and 20 hours, until further notice. This will prevent transfer delays of personnel or material. But I want you two,” she said, indicating Alex and Renée, “to notify Major Tachenko if either of you are riding so that security is prepared.”
“Understood, General,” Renée said. Then, much to Alex’s surprise, she leaned forward to hug Maria and shook hands with Drake and Jaya, who carefully carried the memory core.
* * *
The new manufacturing location, Transfer Station One (TS-1), was a flurry of personnel hiring and orientation—engineers, fabricators, techs, support personnel, and security.
Julien was in constant contact by comm and shuttle with TS-1 engineers during the fabrication of the first generation or GEN-1 machine. Each new part or circuit had to be flown up to the Rêveur, plugged into Julien’s diagnostic network, and then sent back to TS-1 as approved or failed.
Even with personnel working in shifts around the clock, it took thirty-three days to assemble the first GEN-1 machine. And that milestone was only achieved because a SADE was driving the manufacturing process and quality inspection. The first machine, which Julien had designed as a master, was dedicated to fabricating other GEN-1 machines, whose built-in diagnostics allowed components to be checked for errors, eliminating the need to transport the parts to the Rêveur.
