by J G Clements
The McKinsie Fleet.
by J. G. Clements
***********
Prologue
‘Old Man’ McKinsie walked into my office about a year before I was launched and slapped a newspaper on my desk. Yeah, he was the kind of guy who still read newspapers. “How the hell can it cost over 2 billion dollars to get a rover the size of a golf cart to Mars?” I didn’t point out it was a bit bigger than a golf cart, but I got his drift.
“I imagine the design guys just kept coming back until there really was no money left? Kind of like an ideal gas filling whatever volume is available to it?” The ideal gas thing was obtuse enough that it took him a second to figure out what I was getting at, so it actually calmed him down, a little.
“Its absurd. We’ll never get into space at costs like these.” He plopped into my spare office chair so I discreetly closed the window on my computer and pretended to give him my full attention. Actually, when McKinsie got going you really had to give him your full attention cause he can run rings around you. “How cheap could you design a spaceship?” His eyes bored right into mine and I knew the boss was serious.
“Would I ride in it, or someone else?” I didn’t smile at my joke but waited for him to figure it out.
“You.” He knew about my desire to go into space. And about my ideas on Faster Than Light travel. I was certain FTL travel was possible, but not inside a gravity well. Gravity bends time, time affects Gravity. I wanted so badly to get deep enough into the right region of Space to prove it.
“How much time do I have to design it?” He seemed to be serious and I was warming to the idea. There were three reasons I’d like to get out of this gravity-well called Earth, once and for all. My lack of legs were two of them.
“Three months. Then nine months to build it.” If he meant it, he really was serious.
“Any oversight from Nasa, FAA, other acronyms?”
Still looking me right in the eyes, he tilted his head to the right. Now boring into my eyesight in the clockwise manner. “None. But we probably can’t launch from a U.S. location.”
“Why not? By the time the police, firetrucks, FBI, and FAA get there, won’t I be long gone?” He did smile, at least a little, at that. He enjoys stirring folks up even more than me, and since he’s a billionaire, he can afford it.
“Make it something you can truck around and then re-assemble in a couple days before launch. What do you like to call it? The leggo method?” I was a bit famous around here for that approach to everything. Make a bunch of pieces and bolt them together. Sure beats the herculean designs where you need a dedicated building just to house the stuff. Waste of money. “And one more thing…if it works, I want to make about a hundred more.”
I’m certain he meant that if it didn’t kill me upon blast-off, he’d make a bunch more. But with that said, I was staring at the empty seat. He was already gone and I had a new assignment.
Chapter Zero. EarthStation.
This is Jim-88, McKinsie Fleet, verbal log.
With my thrusters off, I’d been coasting for over an hour, and was inserting myself into Earth orbit. I had let my iceberg…what was left of it anyway… drift free almost a day ago. They’d be along directly to recapture it, and since I didn’t have any experience working this close to the Fleet, they wanted to do it themselves. Fine by me.
I was especially careful as I drew near to what we call Earth Station. As I drifted in, I saw a couple of ships going the other way. Off to corral my iceberg no doubt. Turning my attention away from them, I focused on what was in front of me: Twenty-nine ships, pretty much identical to mine, all rafted together in a sort of floating junkyard that we called Earth Station. It was also home to various fuel tanks, old satellites and a couple of asteroids. Anything anyone captured was deposited here. There were also a couple of the inflatable grow tubes…made of cloth, fifty feet long and 10 feet in diameter…that were being used as greenhouses. And now, if no one screwed this up, a large iceberg to provide water and fuel.
But I wasn’t sure it mattered anymore. Or maybe it would.
I hailed the station and asked if they needed a momentum boost. They answered affirmative, an outbound momentum change. They sent a math simulation to me on where I should hook-on to help nudge them ‘up’ a little bit. Like most things in low Earth orbit, they lose altitude over time and can use a free boost. It was a simple approach and I did a slow fly by, caught the wire, and connected. As my momentum was arrested I traded the kinetic energy of my ship to potential energy for the Station. They were bumped a bit higher in orbit and saved a few kilos of fuel. And fuel is what it’s all about up here. Well, fuel and food is what it’s all about.
I glanced at my watch, I was late and had to hurry. I suited-up, killed the power to my craft and exited the airlock, just taking an extra moment to put some laundry in the net outside. Being exposed to vacuum is not a bad way to clean clothing and I was going out anyway, right?
Someone on the station shot me a line and I hauled myself in with little help from the line-thrower. We cycled in quickly and I didn’t even bother to un-suit since I knew it was close to broadcast time and I didn’t want to be late. All the ships had been designed pretty much the same so I needed no help getting to the main cabin. Frost deposited on my suit, but was quickly re-evaporated before I got to the communications room.
“Hi Sue. You look great!” I said as brightly as I could. About half the fleet was piloted by women, a fact not lost on the other half. Sue and I had been dating, if dating means exchanging text messages about a million miles apart. She is also, however, the unofficial fleet morale officer and can get everyone to work together. She gave me one of those sunny smiles she was known for, and put the microphone in my hand. Pushing me into her operator’s chair, she leaned over me and after a short kiss on the cheek, whispered in my ear. “Screw this up and you’re walking home.” I was about to come back with some witty comment, then realized I didn’t have a witty comment, and besides, the microphone was on. Tonight’s broadcast was special, and several billion people knew it and were listening. I settled for tossing a look at her as she moved out of arms’ reach and back to her own consoles.
The radio was already warmed up…all 200 watts or so…and I saw the standard script I was supposed to read. When I considered what I was about to say, I got goose-bumps. Folks below knew something big was about to be announced but they had no idea. What I was about to say would change their lives forever. I cleared my throat, tried to compose myself, and spoke. “Attention all Earth-based stations. This is the daily transmission from the McKinsie Fleet, transmitted every day at 0800 Greenwich time. We are transmitting on AM Band 550 and we apologize if we pre-empt any commercial radio stations.” I knew that in most of the free world, a lot of radio stations, on all frequencies, were tuning in. In the less-than-free world, the governments were blocking my transmission but the internet made that a pointless task.
With the boiler-plate out of the way, I started on my announcement. “I am Jim-88, and this is my first transmission to you.” In English, this meant that I was the 88th of the 114 ‘illegal’ launches old-man McKinsie made. “I have some video transmissions that we are now beaming into the internet.” I read the card Sue put in front of me, giving the proper urls then continued. I had been coached by one of our many lawyers…lawyers on the ground, thank you…to start at the beginning.
“I am a cold-sider. My work is between Mars and Jupiter and I am trying to find useful materials in the asteroid belt. In case some of you are listening for the first time, cold-siders are working outward from Earth, while hot-siders are working sun-ward from Earth. We locate and harvest ice, useful to sustain us and as a fuel to help us get around.” Even as I droned on with my prepared text, my mind was already replaying what
really happened.
******
Chapter One. The Recruiter
I’m always afraid to bother her. I have no idea what her IQ is and what she thinks about humans, and I live in fear of embarrassing myself in front of her. But when she wants to meet with me, I drop everything and go. I am so in love with her I can’t explain it. Or understand it. And I’ll never let her know. But the tattoo on my collarbone vibrated, so I know she wanted a meeting.
My audiences with her never last more than about an hour. So I’d probably be gone for a little more than half a day: Parking the car at one of the roadside trailheads, I usually hike up about a thousand feet onto one particular mountain, meet with her at a spot we both know, then a thousand feet back down. So tossing a few liters of water and some snackage into my backpack, I was on my way. At six-foot two, I have a ground-eating stride. My technique was to try to walk faster than the smaller insects could fly. It was only when I stopped that I became fly food. So I don’t take breaks.
Like most trails, the first couple miles were reasonably flat. You more or less had to hike far enough into the woods to reach the base of a mountain. Whoever is responsible for State Parks ought to fix that. People come to climb mountains, not bushwhack thru the underbrush.
The rendezvous is in a clearing about a thousand feet up, on the south side of one of the lessor-hiked mountains. The south side gets the sun, so the location was more like an open greenhouse. And I think the granite outcropping gives little purchase for trees to anchor and grow so it stays sunny. Or, just as possibly, it stays clear cause she wishes it to. Either way, it’s a pleasant place that the sun keeps warm, too warm for the insects to gather. You could relax there, even doze-off, and no one would bother you. Unless, of course, she was there.
Twelve years ago I’d have said “she” as a matter of politeness. She chose a female form, not stunningly attractive, but not bad, either. Over time, I came to realize that she truly was female, with her personality traits and mannerisms all pointing that way. I think she knows it gets to me, and uses it to play with my head. And that’s OK, cause I’m trying to play with hers.
She always wears the exact same outfit, a sort of khaki shirt and shorts, but she likes to change her hair style and makeup. Partial toward being brunette, she has also been a surprising number of shades of blonde and redhead. Ten years ago, I think her face was different, too. It was her interest in changing her appearance that made me believe she was really female and not just disguised as one. Or it was all part of her playing with my head. To test my theory, I often commented on her appearance to see her reaction. She was always pleased at me noticing her hair styles, so that clinched the deal: She was female.
It was about two hours of uninterrupted hiking before I reached the clearing. As in all the previous meetings, she was already there and waiting. I never need to make an appointment, either. Whenever the tattoo on my collarbone itched in a particular way, I would come out here. Usually the same day, but sometimes the day after if I was far away. But whenever I arrived, she was already here. I toyed with the idea that sometime I should try to get here by hiking a different route and see if I could catch her by surprise. But that isn’t what they want me to do, and I knew I never would. I am nothing if I am not loyal.
She was on the edge of the clearing, where the granite boulders and open grass combine to confuse your eyes. She blended in reasonably well. If I had not been looking for her, and if she had not moved, it would be easy to miss her. Crossing the clearing, I walked over to her, dropped my backpack…no one sets a backpack down…then sat down facing her. Sort of pow-wow style. I tried to look masculine, hoping to find favor with her feminine persona, but really just enthralled to be in her presence.
She often changed voices…her pitch and such...but her vocabulary and sentence structure never varied. I suppose if you like playing with your appearance and hair, voice experiments were expected. But I wondered if she knew I could tell by her sentence structure.
The way she says ‘hello’ just makes me feel good. For just a second or two she could make me feel like the most important person in the world…or maybe the known universe if I could be that arrogant. And I probably could, given the opportunity. I didn’t say anything, just gave her a polite nod. Her presence was already affecting my mind, and a sort of peace descended on me, causing me to only focus on the present. Any past or future worries were erased.
I smiled and waited. I usually didn’t say much at these meetings until she asked me something. The last thing I wanted to do was to appear like a fool in front of her. Another babbling human, or worse, some sort of pet. She turned her attention to making me a small pot of tea. By her manners, the way she had the equipment not quite between us, but off to one side, it was clear that she was doing this for me. A Geisha girl preparing tea for her client.
I forced the analytical part of my mind to go quiet while I let the emotional part of it operate unhindered. I wanted to enjoy this moment and live in the present. The future could take care of itself. I watched her face and her manners as she worked, and I quietly tried to reinforce the sense of euphoria and peace, yet maintain a perfect clarity of thought. I’m sure she sensed this, because she glanced up at me and smiled before she spoke.
“You are doing very well today. You are relaxed, alert, yet your mind is open to seeing the perfectness” …her word, not mine…”of this moment.” She fussed with the tea materials and sort of continued her lecture in a rhetorical manner. It wasn’t meant for me, but more like she was summarizing it up for herself. “It’s sad that your species isn’t able to relax without sacrificing alertness. You so often confuse exhaustion with relaxing that it damages your spirit.” She poured two cups of tea and set one in front of me. She gave me one of her looks…it conveyed a feeling of how deeply she was concerned about me, then the look dissolved into one of her thousand-kilowatt smiles…that kind that can brighten anyone’s day. “Are you ready to leave yet?”
I knew she already knew my answer. “No, I can continue like this for as long as you need me.”
“Recruiter,” she never called me by name, “my needs are secondary to your interests. It is you who must decide when you are ready to leave. We will never be done with you”…she laughed as she said this, conveying a feeling of cherishment...my word, not hers…that I could bask in. “Come, your tea is growing cold.”
Normally, only I sipped the tea. In all the years she had never put a cup to her lips. So I sipped in silence, while she folded her hands in her lap, and watched me as I drank, seeking approval from me. From somewhere within, I found the courage to ask a question. It had only taken me about twelve years to work up the courage. “How do you know when to meet me here? Whenever you summon me, it varies on how long it takes me to arrive. But you’re always here ahead of me? Do you keep track of me as I climb the trail or do you have me bugged?” She seemed to hesitate for an instant. My impression was she was doing something else for a second, as if her mind was engaged elsewhere.
“I’m sorry. It took a second to understand the word ‘bugged’. No Dear, we don’t have you bugged. But I can know where you are, anywhere on this world. But since you ask, no, I am not waiting here pining away for your presence.” I blushed at this thought, but at some level I wish she did. “Let me explain,” she continued. “The tattoo you wear lets me be tuned to you and your well-being in ways you don’t understand yet.” I ran my finger along my tattoo again, and she nodded. “I can close my eyes, and tell where you are, anywhere on this world. I know when you leave your house to travel here…I can feel it without any needs for ‘bugs’ as you would say.”
“So can you read my mind, know my thoughts?” I was suddenly uncomfortable with that.
Then she did something to throw me off base. She put the cup of tea to her lips and took a sip. I think she wrinkled her nose a bit, hesitated, then took a second sip. I wanted to ask her about it, but she didn’t give me an opening. “No. But I can read your moods, tell how ha
ppy or concerned you are. If you were to injure yourself, perhaps break a limb, I would know instantly.”
“And would you help me then?” I wanted to push her, tease her, to see what she would say.
“Perhaps.” Another small smile from her, she was either aloof, or playing with me. I so wished I could know which one. “If there was no other help for you, I suppose I would be unable not to do something.” I tried to unravel the meaning of the sentence. Trying to buy time, I took another sip. It had cooled just enough. She was using a ceramic cup that was a bit oversized but it was the kind I favored. I tried to be reflective and thought about what she said. ‘In tune with me’. That made sense, thinking about what I did for a living.
We passed the time...she enjoyed being out here. I had the impression she was taking a break from something, and needed this time to relax. I wished she wanted this time to be alone with me, but I could never tell her that. We discussed the weather, and spoke about the types of birds in a tree nearby. She asked me if I knew what species they were, and she explained some of their habits and what they liked to eat. None of the discussion seemed to have a goal, and I did not understand the reason for her interest. But it was unusual for her to just past time this way.
I didn’t ask her about her sipping tea for the first time. No, she’d need to explain that on her own. So instead, I unpacked a few biscuits and nibbled on them as we spoke. She didn’t reach for one, so I concluded tea-sipping was the milestone for today. Noticing a chipmunk nearby, I tossed a piece of my biscuit his way. He dodged it, so as not to get hit, then crept back and happily began to munch. Usually they’d take it and run, but today he seemed happy to share the sun with us in the clearing. Though he did stay out of arms reach. Smart chipmunk. But it also knew I had more biscuits.
I hadn’t realized it, but she watched me the whole time, frozen. “Why did you do that?” She didn’t seem upset, but her question was pointed.
