“The one who was younger, even, than you, when he went out there?”
“That’s the fellow. He accurately explained the Fore Trojan catastrophe, long before anyone else. He’s a father four times over these days. Like me, he’s concerned about the level of ability of recruits to work in space. A lot of people are dying because the basic certificate doesn’t really cover enough.”
“And your solution?”
“A couple, two, three years from now they will be happy to shunt me to BuPers... that’s considered another dead-end job. I’ll write new specs for certificates in the Fleet. Engineering, navigation, electronics, life support -- the whole nine yards. And there won’t be just one level of certificate. There will be various levels, and it will take a number of those certificates to qualify to stand bridge watches. Even those in charge of the coffee service.”
Charlie nearly dropped her tea. “Oh! Oh! Are you going to have a coffee service certificate?”
“I don’t think I can justify it -- but if you want to stand bridge watches, you’d better be able to brew a good pot of joe even if you don’t drink it yourself.”
She smiled slightly. “Eagle -- the young man on his habitat -- he and I agreed that they need more civilian certificates out there as well. He’s setting up a task force to come up with what they need... we thought a joint expansion would be most effective.”
“Steph -- you’ve never thought small. This is... grand. Huge. Like everything else you’ve done.”
“And, I get to stop feeling sorry for myself about the fate of my husband and the origin of my daughter.”
“There’s nothing to feel sorry about either.”
“Not from my point of view. I won’t let it paralyze me, but I’ll never turn away from it.”
* * *
Charlotte looked at her mother. “You don’t have a problem with this? My going to college?”
“If it is your wish, no. You are certainly smart enough and knowledgeable enough to attend college.”
“I’m going to get crap from others, right?”
“Yes. On the other hand, so did I. I survived. You will too. Ignore them.”
Charlotte put her hands on her hips. “Mom, you looked like you were fourteen. You were fourteen. I look like I’m fourteen, but I’m eight.”
Stephanie chuckled. “True enough. But I have a secret weapon for you.”
“And that would be?”
“An Order in Council from the Federation Council, confirmed by the Federation Supreme Court. You are whatever age I say you are.”
“And how, exactly, does that help?”
“Your teachers will see in your records that you’re fourteen... not eight.”
“And if someone figures it out anyway?”
“They’ll have a fight with the Federation Council and the Federation Supreme Court. Not many want that kind of fight.”
“But if someone does?” Charlotte insisted.
“Then, my dear daughter, I will take them aside and explain in great detail to them the error of their ways.”
“And that will make them stop?”
Stephanie grinned. “Count on it.”
“And you won’t be upset with my choice of major?”
“Well, I wouldn’t like to see you major in performance art so you could become a mime. Things like that, I wouldn’t like -- but if it was your wish, I’d swallow what I think and wish you the best.”
“Grandma thinks I should be a biologist. You want me to go into physics.”
Stephanie shook her head. “You have never once heard me express an opinion about what you should do with your life... well, true, I did teach you right from wrong and things like that. But what you want to do has to be what you want to do -- not what I want. Lord knows, I don’t think my parents expected a world-class physicist who turned all military.”
Charlotte ignored that. “I’m going to study chemistry.”
“That sounds interesting.”
“You’d say that about basket-weaving.”
“Probably -- but basket-weaving won’t hold your interest.”
Charlotte looked at her mother for a moment then sighed. “The one thing I can’t compete with everyone else on is experience.”
“That comes to all of us over time; there is no getting around it. Yes, you have a prodigious memory and I’ve never seen you make the same mistake twice -- which short-circuits some of that, particularly now. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“I still want to live at home.” Charlotte smiled at her mother. “I really can’t imagine leaving. I suppose that’ll happen eventually.”
“Eventually. It’s part of our nature that at some point we decide we want to strike off on our own.”
“Your nature? Or mine?”
“Charlotte, I’ve been honest with you from the earliest I thought you could handle it. You have a lot of genes that Dick and I didn’t contribute. Originally, they said it was twenty percent -- but the more they study genomics of everyone, the more of those were found. They’re rare, I’ll grant you that.”
“You’re not giving a number any more, are you?”
“Charlotte, they’ve identified about 60% of that 20% they couldn’t initially identify. They will identify more; a quick visual inspection shows that you are more human than any chimp ever born. Yes, you are different. But you would have been different even if no one had been fooling around with things that shouldn’t have been fooled with.”
“Have you learned anything more about those who did it?”
Stephanie shook her head. “I left the investigation years ago, but I still am in the information loop. I’m not sure who is the most obsessive about it -- the Germans or the Chinese. The Germans see it as a personal insult; the Chinese come at things from an entirely different angle. They are obsessed at finding out what they can. Except that we don’t know anything.
“The Koopianers left. We know now virtually everything they took with them. It was more than enough to jump-start a small colony and keep the knowledge base up and running. There was a decent amount of redundancy as well. It’s a special annex question these days on every single certificate exam.”
“Am I holding your career back?”
Stephanie chuckled. “I spent the first three plus decades of my life working flat out, fourteen, sixteen or even more hours a day, seven days a week. Lately, I’ve been relaxing and catching up on my recreation. I don’t exactly dazzle on a surf board, but I’m not bad.”
“I know you. I think I know you better than anyone, even Grandma. You’re up to something.”
Stephanie grinned. “How could you ever suspect something like that of your mother?”
“A year ago you went to China and spent three days.”
“Touring their space industries.”
“Sure, their space industry. You’ve made three trips to Atlanta in the last six months. You haven’t made three trips to Atlanta in the prior six years. Were you touring their space industries?”
“I was working on budget appropriations for the BuShips. We’re trying to come up with an algorithm to determine how many Fleet ships we can build and not crush everyone with taxes.”
“And you couldn’t just dash off a plan?” Charlotte asked, a tinge of sarcasm in her voice. Her mother’s plans were famous.
“Don’t I wish! It’s not too hard to get the money to build a ship. Even two or three ships. I want to build two new ships every year for the Fleet. That’s a lot of money. Up to now they’ve wanted us to come back every year for a new allotment. I want to have a construction plan that extends for a lot longer than this year.”
“The costs decline every year.”
Stephanie nodded. “What I’ve been working towards is a formula that takes into account economic growth, the declining cost of goods and generates a steady state percentage of the economy of spending on Fleet hardware.”
“Mom, I don’t understand math like you do... but that’s a simple set of linear equat
ions that you could do in your sleep.”
“Well, of course. However, politicians are strange beasts. They really don’t want to hear your plan to plug a few numbers into some equations they can’t read -- much less understand -- and give them budget projections for the next couple of centuries. They feel like they should have more input -- and get paid by their friends and cronies for deciding things their way.”
“Corrupt politicians,” Charlotte said darkly.
“Well, you might put it like that; I might as well. The politicians though, call it ‘business as usual.’”
Charlotte looked at her mother steadily. “You have always had a knack of producing a ready explanation for everything.”
Stephanie smiled at her daughter. “I was a professor. I liked that job more than any other I’ve held. The first line of defense of a good professor is solid knowledge of the subject matter. The last line of defense is a good knowledge of how to use baloney sauce to obfuscate until you can find out the right answer.”
Charlotte laughed. “Baloney sauce, eh? You can’t even say the words, can you?”
“Not can’t, my dear. Won’t. I’m a lady. Hopefully I’ve taught you a little of that along the way as well.”
“Well, I can say those words... but I won’t.”
The two chuckled together.
Then Stephanie spoke her last piece. “I’ve never lied to you, Charlotte, and I’ve tried to make the times I couldn’t tell you all the truth as rare and as infrequent as possible.
“The Federation is old enough now to stand a few course corrections. Back in the beginning I had a lot of good ideas that politicians took umbrage with. One thing politicians, most of the old school politicians anyway, didn’t like was term limits. I’d written those in my original draft of the Federation charter.
“They decided on six year terms for the Council and the Council President, with no limit on how many terms. The remote sovereignties are much stronger and much more numerous now, and the Council is going to announce an overhaul of the charter later this year. Like most things in politics, there was a compromise. Term limits are in -- but the basic term now for a Federation elected official is seven years -- limited to two terms in a lifetime. That’s for any Federation elected office.
“There are certain offices that are appointed by the President or the Council, requiring Senatorial confirmation. Because I have absolutely no regard for such bureaucrats, they have four-year appointments -- it’s more like an at-will employment contract -- also with a maximum of two terms at the Federation level. There will be no hereditary bureaucracy in the Federation.”
“And how does that affect the Fleet?”
“Admiral Castleman doesn’t know it yet, but he’s served his second and last term as Chief of Fleet Operations. He’s about three weeks from finding out. At that point, as usual, the Fleet will propose a list of names of officers they feel are qualified to take over his job.
“Ideally, there should be several. I know Castleman. There will be two names on it, his and the Port Admiral from New Cairo. That admiral oversees the Port operations there. Castleman expects to be initially declined, but that no one wants a Port Admiral in charge of the Fleet. He’s hoping to be exempted from the changes; grandfathered in, so to speak.”
“And you, Mom? What about you?”
“They would never consider me. However, Castleman has never understood politics at that level. He feels he’s essential and irreplaceable. He’s neither. The Federation Council currently has thirteen members and a President. Seven from Earth, six from off world, and then whoever they pick to lead them... the President only to be a member of the Senate like the rest of the council. So far, the Earth block has always picked someone from Earth to be President. Soon, I expect, that will change.”
“And what about you? You ducked my question.”
“No, I didn’t. The Federation Council will vote on who will be the next Chief of Fleet Operations. They will generate their own list of candidates.”
“I thought you never wanted that job?”
“I’ve thought lots of things that have, over time, proven I was incorrect. Once again, I’m proved wrong.”
“You’ve never cared about that sort of thing before. What’s up?”
“Her name is Krista Jacobsen. She’s about to be made head of BuScience. If I get the nod, the very first thing I will do when I sit down in Castleman’s chair is transfer her to BuPers.”
“Personnel? You hate them most of all!”
“And so does Admiral Jacobsen. She sees eye-to-eye with Eagle and myself about certification. We’re going to do a ground-up overhaul of those, too. Not just for the Fleet, but for civilians in space as well.”
“It’s always in the news. About how dangerous it is to be in space.”
“It is dangerous to be in space. One in ten, Charlotte. Those are the odds. One person in ten who tries to move to space dies in the first couple of years. I’ve done everything humanly possible to bring that number down... but I haven’t been able to touch it. Admiral Jacobsen had the Rescue Branch after John Gilly; she couldn’t touch it. Eagle has begged, pleaded, and has done everything a habitat manager can do -- even though he’s the most successful manager to date -- he’s failed to bring it down. We’ve all failed.
“This is something I’ve faced before. It requires going back to the drawing board. We will go back to the drawing board.”
Charlotte furrowed her brow, and it stayed furrowed for more than a minute, before she looked up.
“The people who die -- they aren’t affecting things. It’s those who’ve been in space for a time -- the survivors -- that your changes will affect.
“One in ten die in their ‘formative’ years in space... but you are losing about two or three percent a year beyond that. The changes you want -- those will reduce that.”
Stephanie studied her daughter. “I’ve never wanted to make an issue of your age; I’ve tried to avoid making an issue of experience. I can see I was right. Still, I think we can bring the ten percent down. You’re right, it’ll be easier to bring down the two or three percent. Experience really does matter in space.”
“I think, Mom, you’re running into the fundamental limits of human nature. Nine out of ten people can adapt. The rest can’t. I think you are going to have to look groups of people in the face and tell them that. ‘Nine out of ten of you can adapt. One out of ten can’t. Those that can’t will die.”
Stephanie pounced on the obvious exception. “If you tell people that, it will convince the cowards to quit.”
“Most of that sort will never have gotten that far. I wouldn’t exactly call them cowards, but they certainly aren’t adventurous. They are people who are aware that they don’t have the ‘right stuff.’ If they didn’t withdraw early on, your numbers would be even worse.”
“You’re saying that there is an irredeemable number of people who aren’t competent, but who will try anyway?”
“I don’t have your experience, Mom. God willing, I’ll never go into space, because I don’t mind betting a dollar with nine chances of ten in winning -- but I’m not willing to bet my life when there’s a chance in ten I’ll lose it.”
“And me?”
“You?” Charlotte sniffed. “You’re too anal to get killed in space. One day, you’ll fall off your surfboard, hit your head on an unexpected rock and check out.”
“Thank you for that vote of confidence, Charlotte. I intend to die on my 113th birthday of complications of having too much whoopee earlier in the day.”
Charlotte laughed. “If anyone can pull it off, you can.
“Will I be there?” Charlotte asked seriously after a moment’s pause. “Or am I a mayfly?”
“I have no crystal ball, Charlotte. But I offer this: You have had accelerated development during your early years. If I was a betting person, this would be no surprise. I suppose there are those who would be okay with you going out like a mayfly. Myself, I’m a contrarian. My f
eeling is that you were given genes to speed your formative years, and then to extend the rest of your life.
“When you were six months, you looked two years old. When you were two, you looked four. When you were six, you looked eleven. You’re eight and look fourteen. While the absolute age difference is growing, the relative age is shrinking. You’re slowing down, Charlotte. Again, if I was a betting person, I’d say by the time you’re sixteen, you’ll look twenty. By the time you’re twenty -- you’d look 22, but that’s within the normal error range of age guessing.
“I expect by the time you’re forty, you’ll look thirty-five -- and keep on ‘growing younger’ after that.”
“I’ll be fifty and look forty?” Charlotte asked.
“That’s the way I see it. Of course, I could be full of baloney sauce.”
“When I was four, you taught me the rules to poker. When I was six, you taught me about bluffing. You took my allowance away for months.”
“And raised it, right after you figured it out.”
“You raised it -- afterwards. Not before.”
The two shared a smile.
“Except in poker, you’ve never lied to me.”
“Except in poker,” Stephanie confirmed.
“And what kind of poker did Dad play?” Charlotte asked.
“It is given to any of us, Charlotte, to do some things better than others. Your father was a lousy poker player. When we got married, we honeymooned in Las Vegas because I was sure that no one who knew anything about me at all would ever look for me there.
“We each took five hundred dollars to ‘gamble with.’ Your father was broke before dinner the first day. He was a good, good man, Charlotte. He didn’t whine, beg or plead, or spend more than what we budgeted. He did, however, mooch meal tickets from me.”
“And you?”
“In two days I was ahead a quarter million dollars. Then the casino people politely told me that Caltech grads are persona non grata, and would I please refrain from further bending the odds?”
Charlotte clapped her hands with glee. “You were banned in Las Vegas?”
“Indeed so.”
“For my generation that’s a status symbol like being ‘banned in Boston’ a century ago!”
Rescue Branch (Kinsella Universe) Page 40
