April

by Mackey Chandler

  "Either sort of engine? I've mixed a lot of scooter pieces but never mounted two different models of engine in one frame. It would be a rather complicated undertaking. What in the world would be the point of it?"

  "Why don't you put the design up on the wall and much will be self explanatory?"

  Dave put the module in his pad and routed to display on the wall and first looked at a few sections of the entire vessel to get a idea where the changes were. Then he zeroed in on the engine modifications, which seemed to be a separate unit braced in the bells of two of the opposing engines. It was soon apparent two combustion chambers were shells only and the units inside were a sub-assembly.

  When he went to the link he was surprised to see it was a rather old NASA document, for a deep space plasma propulsion unit. It ran to two thousands pages of drawings and performance testing data, dated decades ago.

  "I know this idea was investigated, but it was never used. Why wasn't it practical and what's changed so you think it's practical now?"

  Jeff smiled. "Look at this sub-assembly area, which supplies the electrical power for the two plasma engines. Mostly for political reasons, NASA was unable to use the drives, because the only practical power source was a large fission nuclear reactor, optimized for weight, largely unshielded and driving an elaborate generating system, which in itself was rather complex and heavy. They tried to bring the design back as a stationary plant to power a mag beam catcher, but the economics were never there to position a similar generator in Mars orbit. Short sighted, but that's politics. When Bussard fusion came along it was better suited to generating a direct drive, but of course it can't work in atmosphere."

  Dave opened the files for the area, which was not visible in any detail in the larger view and picked a view of one of the four small cylindrical components isolated. He read the assembly part name: "Singh Nano Fusion Generator Model III, Deuterium/Deuterium - 250 Kilowatt" His eyes fairly bugged out when he looked at Jeff. He stopped and considered for a second if this was an elaborate joke. "Singh - that's you?" he asked.

  "Yes, it's my design. It is proven out also. Here's what the 30Kw version looks like." He took out the unit he had showed April and handed it over. He knew the man might be skeptical and a finished piece of hardware in his hands would mean more than all his assurances and drawings.

  "And you have the 250Kw units? They'll check out also?" He was holding the unit so hard Jeff was afraid he was going to hurt himself.

  "They're being fabricated right now. There are no design problems scaling up. Inside, it is just stacking up more units on a longer roll of material, as simple as adding more cells to a battery to get more power. There is no doubt at all they will work."

  "Wouldn't it be nice to work on something a little different?" Jeff tried to entice him in the stunned silence. "This will be the first of its class and you'd be the only shop with experience servicing it. We'd be willing to give you an exclusive for servicing all Singh fusion powered craft, which use our proprietary generators, if you can help us maintain security on their inner workings. I do expect them to change the market for very small space craft significantly." It was a huge understatement by any measure.

  Dave digested all the implications. Without saying anymore he opened the files on projected performance and started scrolling through the numbers. There were specific flight profiles offered and he looked at a couple until he came to one for a lunar landing with a hefty payload and crew of two. Deep space shuttles used Bussard drives. They were very efficient, but they were not powerful enough for even a Lunar landing. He might as well have been offered plans for a flying saucer with antigravity.

  One quality Dave did have was decisiveness.

  "Marilyn!" He called to the other office. "You need to work up a contract with Mr. Lewis here. We're getting an exclusive to service his equipment line and a cost plus to assemble a hot job for him." He watched to see if Bob would balk at that financial arrangement. Bob didn't so much as blink.

  "Be sure to include any fees for other jobs we need to bump. Tell the shifts they are going to overlap two hours starting in the morning and tell everyone on the Boeing to bring it to a temporary hold at shift end and transfer to the Lewis job tomorrow. But you can call John and Amir to farm what you can out to them. Their shops are both slow now. I want to go over to the bay where their scooter is with these two right now, to get this thing moving. Send out for some sandwiches and stuff, for us and for the whole crew. We won't take time to stop for lunch."

  He stood up and offered his hand to Bob. Bob started, like he didn't understand and then realized the man was sealing the deal. He shook Earthie style and found the act felt heavier and much more final to him, than printing his chop on a contract. The shake told him here was a man who if he defaulted would not consider it a legal problem. It would be personal.

  * * *

  Ernie took a break and had a pay-menu meal, looking out over the gaming floor. The Wooden Nickel was the sort of a place people from a middle class background who made it big, could play without being intimidated by an atmosphere of sophistication and wealth. Everything was nice but not too nice. The service was friendly instead of being invisibly efficient.

  It tended to look more like a period video of an over-decorated nineteenth century European casino, than the simple décor that really wealthy people favored today. Guests were owners of restaurant chains and car dealerships, local bankers and sports stars. You didn't see royalty, heads of state, or the sort from families of 'old money' like the Waltons, or Gates. The chandeliers and velvet furniture seemed silly after awhile.

  He won a few hands of poker, until he got a few hard looks from the manager standing back behind the dealer. He wasn't at the high stakes table since he couldn't afford that, but the pit boss was still concerned for his whole area of responsibility. It was amazing how well you could play when it was someone else's money and you really didn't care if you lost. It afforded an indifference which allowed you to play the psychological side of the game freely. But then he suffered a slow reversal and it left him down about a thousand EuroMarks by the time he took a break for supper.

  He was tired and had not asked to be served at the table, or reserved his seat. He found suddenly he was too tired to go back to the tables. No wonder he was losing. He hadn't even been to his room, he had no reason to be pushing himself, but there were no clocks in any casino and it was a treat for him. It must be late on most of the guests' personal clock because the crowd was thin. He left a tip of a twenty EM house chip on the dinner table and walked back toward the casino hotel's connecting atrium.

  The Big Shot Slot which dominated the entry usually had a line of players waiting to sit at it. He was surprised to see it empty for the first time, so he stopped and did not sit, but just leaned across the seat and popped a minimum hundred EuroMark chip in the slot and slapped the plate to give it a spin in good humor. A lot of guests had their picture taken dropping a chip in the machine, because it was featured in all the house advertising. Most of them moved on after getting their picture, because a hundred euro minimum was too rich for most of them to sit and feed it for long.

  He had actually taken a step away toward the hotel and was stuffing the leftover chips in his pocket, when the blast of sound hit him from behind and the colored lights flashing behind threw dancing shadows on the carpet in front of him. He considered running and denying it was him, but a quick look around showed nobody else close to the machine. The crowd was thin, but every face in sight was looking at him in caricatures of surprise or envy. The floor manager came running up and inserted his boss card to stop the noisy display. With it shut off Ernie could hear the whoops and hooting cheers of a number of well wishers. Especially from the bar. The manager was asking something for the second time, before Ernie heard him and Ernie turned to him and apologized. "I'm sorry. I was so shocked, I have no idea what you said."

  "I understand." The man smiled at him. "It would be a shame if it wasn't a bit of a su
rprise, right? I just need your guest card to credit you, please sir." He asked with his hand out.

  Ernie fished in his shirt pocket and pulled the card out, which served as his room key and to buy game chips and such items of food and drink as were not free.

  The fellow slipped the white card in a slot in his pad and encoded a new platinum banded and multicolored card, which said "Big Shot" in bold letters. He handed it back to Ernie. "Thank you Mr. Persico. This is immediately credited with your winnings for the full amount. You are also invited to any service in the casino or hotel gratis, for the rest of your stay. If you present this to the front desk they will upgrade you to a Star Suite, in which you have such services as a masseur or live musicians and a chef will prepare your meals as you watch if you like. The house will also provide you a security escort if you should find you are disturbed too frequently on the floor by other guests."

  "I'm Allen Roger. Please feel free to ask if there is anything I can do for you. Would you care to have your picture, or any personal information added to the winners list on display at the Big Shot slot machine? Some people welcome the attention and some prefer to maintain their privacy. Of course enough people have seen the win there will be some talk among guests, even if you don't post it."

  "I believe I'd rather you just posted the win and don't attribute it. I should tip you shouldn't I? I didn't look up at the display to see how much I was wagering against, before I fed it. How much did I win?"

  Mr. Roger looked surprised at Ernie's nonchalance. Most players knew to the centum what they might win. "It's our philosophy at the Wooden Nickel, a gratuity should be freely given and graciously accepted, whenever a guest is moved to offer one, but it is never an obligation." He turned his pad around and showed the display. "You just won a little more than fifty-five million EuroMarks, sir."

  Ernie looked at the long number in the display and felt the spit dry right up in his mouth. Eddie was going to kill him. "Allen old buddy. Is there such a thing as a ten thousand EM chip in this house?"

  "Yes sir. There are even ten, fifty, or hundred thousand and one million Euro chips." He offered, looking mighty happy at the question, as it suggested the house would be seeing some of its money back.

  "And what happens to the winnings if I check out tomorrow and go home?"

  Allen consulted his pad before he replied. "You show as a USNA citizen, so we would credit the Visa account you used to pay us, with any credit balance owed at the end of your stay. Due to tax and banking laws, any odd outstanding chips or winnings in chips at the table would be something it was up to you to declare, but it is reported and cashing anything bigger than a thousand Euro chip at check out, has to be paid electronically by our own house rules."

  "Then I'll have a hundred, one thousand EM chips for a starter Allen."

  The floor manager spoke quietly into his pad and a runner appeared within a half minute jogging along at a good clip, with a fat roll of pearly chips laying in the grooves of a felt lined tray.

  Ernie took a single chip off the end and examined it carefully, as he had never bought bigger than a hundred Euro chip before. The material was the hard glassy material of the smaller chips but the hologram inside was a detailed picture of the station, instead of the corporate logo on the smaller denominations. It was probably diamond coated since he had never seen one scratched. Inside he could see a ring of some sort of security circuitry embedded also.

  He took three more of them at a time until he had ten, which was a comfortable handful and laid them on Allen's hand, which seemed to know when to appear under them without actually being held out waiting for them. "Thank you, Sir," he said very casually, like he often got a ten thousand EM tip. Who knows? Maybe he did. The other ninety he took by handfuls and stuffed in his jacket pockets, less one. One he left on the tray and nodded at the young runner saying, "That's for you kid. Might as well spread it around a bit, huh?"

  "Yes Sir! Thank you Sir!" He agreed, making it disappear, retreating with the empty tray before anyone changed their mind, looking very happy indeed. He had just got a very good day's wage, for a two minute walk.

  "Good night then, Allen." He offered and started for the hotel side again.

  "Good night, sir. Thank you. And luck to you tomorrow too sir." He quickly called after him, with apparent sincerity.

  Ernie found he had three offers of marriage, a proposed business partnership and a few less formal offers, before he could make the desk and show the fellow his Big Shot card. As he was shown into a private elevator, he hoped he would have lost some notoriety by tomorrow, or he might have to take them up on the body guard to fend people off. Mostly he was thinking how to keep any newsies from taking too clear a picture of him to compare with Eddie's public pics and wondered if he could persuade Eddie to allow him to keep some of the prize. For someone who was supposed to keep a low profile, quiet presence, he had sure screwed up. How could he explain it was a lark and he never thought of the possibility the stupid machine would pay off on a single spin?

  * * *

  Eddie was waiting for a reply from Jon. He had pretty much explained the circumstances he had found and firmly recommended bringing the defecting lady scientist back to M3 with Dr. Singh. In fact he was determined already to do so no matter what Jon said. He had never met her, nor been united with Singh, which was starting to irritate him. The excuse today had been they were escorting the lawyer he had intended to consult with to see him, because they considered it too risky to take him to the lawyer and he needed privacy. He found himself a house guest of the Agapitos. He was pretty sure he was a guest and not a prisoner. They provided him with a guest room in their own home last night and allowed him access to com and privacy to encrypt his messages to Jon.

  He also retained his weapon and baggage. He was not sure exactly how he had made the transition from suspect outsider to trusted ally, but it had seemed to be complete by the time they left the table at the Marriot yesterday. The mail from Jon decoded with a onetime pad, stated they were getting a scooter ready, which could make the trip to pick up both scientists and him. It was a relief because the atmosphere here was even more hostile than he had anticipated, with the unexpected Chinese problem.

  Agapito seemed sincere in his fear of the Chinese and being a local Eddie didn't favor second guessing him on the danger. They would have to arrange for the passengers to get to the dockage and board the scooter somehow. Their idea of having the two scientists marry was going forward, after some initial consternation on the part of the couple, but it was going to happen in private, with the station commander being taken to where they were and station security being quietly informed what was happening.

  If they were asked to stop them from leaving, the marriage documents would be presented and verified and security would regretfully inform the Chinese authorities it was a basic human right under the UN charter, to not be separated from your spouse. The heavy handed Chinese were not the favorite neighbors of the other nations represented on the station and setting them up for a nose snubbing failure was something they looked forward to as a special treat. However the Agapitos were taking care of all these details.

  He was very aware he had not fulfilled his other mission, to communicate with the Security head here for Jon and get an assessment of the overall view of things from his foreign perspective. He wasn't sure what his hosts would think of him wanting to meet the man. The fact they might have to wait days for pick up and he was mostly sitting waiting instead of doing something to help, was wearing Eddie down.

  * * *

  Wednesday afternoon Oct 13, 2083 April had to take time for herself. She craved some activity, from too much time sitting at the com. She was back at the head of the list again to use a running room and wasn't going to pass on it today. She got there early and choose a beach run. The last time she'd picked a virtual beach run it had been a Southern California beach and a blonde Surfer Dude in baggie trunks and sun glasses, had come over and ran with her.

&nbs
p; This time it was a black sand beach in a location she was not sure of and a Polynesian girl who was as thin as a Greyhound and ran barefoot with her hair streaming behind her. She didn't want a hard workout, because she was supposed to work out for the first time with Jon's group this evening. No hill climbing, or obstacles on which she might trip or hurt herself. Just a steady even pace to leave her damp, but let her think as she ran and easy enough to go straight to supper as a cool down walk.

  She listened to the news along the way as she often did and the weather was eclipsing all human activities in North America. The change of climate this century, as predicted, had finally resulted in an increase in temperature, after an unexpected drop earlier in the century. But it was apparent as such only to a scientist. A precise average temperatures seemed unimportant, when the average was briefly experienced between increasingly extreme swings. The amusing part was, now that they finally had a small rise, most scientists were saying they were overdue for an ice age.

  St. Louis yesterday experienced a morning storm, which dropped snow for the morning commute at -7°C, followed by afternoon temperatures near 46°C. Instead of planting wheat further north in Canada and oranges well North of Florida, companies were exploring economical ways to grow crops sheltered indoors against extremes and gene mod varieties that could survive punishing winds and mild drought.

  The newscaster recounted how the increase in price of food and shortages in impoverished nations, resulted in new disapproval of public displays of abundance. It drove increased membership in environmental groups and economic activists. Restaurants were faced with protestors at their doors and boycotts of beef and wine producers, were joined by a movement to drop the showy use of cake as a celebratory rite for birthdays and weddings. A bakery in Atlanta had its windows smashed out by a mob and the display of wedding cakes destroyed.