A12 Who Can Own the Stars?

by Mackey Chandler

  “I have, but they haven’t responded to my call. I didn’t see the need to give it a high priority. Whatever they are doing has been ongoing for weeks now.”

  “Neither would I,” April agreed. “I’ll add a few relevant terms to my own… searches.”

  In about a half-hour she got a text. Chen didn’t bother to call her again. It had a link for the video feed, informed her it could be zoomed by a factor of 150x and named where it was being archived in its entirety. The man was a marvel.

  * * *

  Vic and Eileen considered taking the satellite phone to O’Neil’s After talking it over they decided it had no advantage. If they ran into trouble there was no one in a position to come help them. If they wanted to order something from Nevada, they still wouldn’t get it delivered until the next time they made this journey. It was just something else to carry and at much more risk than leaving it locked up at home while their neighbors house-sat.

  They saw nobody on the road between home and Mr. Mast’s. They did see a family of four working in a big garden beside their home. They waved hoping to show they were friendly. The parents looked up and then went back to work. Their young boy remaining standing, keeping an eye on them until they passed from sight.

  Mr. Mast had two workers putting his garden in too. It was a big enough project that they were staying with Mast and were back at it when the Foys left for O’Neil’s in the morning.

  Along the road, they came upon a woman standing by her mailbox. She introduced herself as Mrs. Parton. She knew them from others pointing them out at the festival, but didn’t do any business with them, and had never been introduced. She asked Vic if they would take a sack of seed potatoes down the road to the chicken farmer and bring back a packet of sewing needles from Mr. O’Neil’s store?

  “I’d be happy to take your spuds to John, ma’am, but we aren’t coming back by this route. If you like, I’ll ask him to send them with any trusted person coming this way.”

  “That would be fine, thank you. Just tell him to have them left in the mailbox,” she said, waving a hand at it. Their family name was hand-painted on the side. Her expression said she wondered why they wouldn’t be returning, but folks tended to mind their own business now.

  “She didn’t know it was us when she walked out on the road,” Eileen observed. “It was only after we were close that she could recognize us. I’m not sure that was wise.”

  “I’m with you,” Alice said. “Folks don’t take their kids into trouble.”

  “Probably true,” Vic agreed. “But the way you are growing you won’t look small at a distance much longer.”

  “Good, stuff should get easier when I’m bigger,” Alice said.

  John thanked them for the seed potatoes and inquired how Eileen was doing raising chickens? He listened to her losses, said she was doing fine for a beginner to have more survive than were lost, and made a few suggestions. They didn’t stay long enough to sit down, anxious to press on to O’Neil’s.

  O’Neil assured them he had a customer go down the road that direction every two or three days to take Mrs. Parton’s needles to her. He took them to his shed right away because Alice was about ready to bust, wanting to see the bikes. A few turns around the yard on them satisfied her and they locked them up and went to dinner. Vic tried to offer payment for dinner, and O’Neil gruffly turned him down. Just gruffly enough to establish he wouldn’t ask again.

  * * *

  “The North Americans are assembling a vehicle,” Chen said in the morning report. “It has been seventeen years since an Earth nation did an orbital assembly other than the Sandman. The modules they are assembling are seven meters in diameter and incomplete, so we have no idea how long they intend it to be finished. It may have a more complex geometry than what the initial construction makes it appear.

  “I don’t see any other explanation than that it is for long range interplanetary flight. Where and why remain a mystery. The only suggestion put forward by my people is that they are assembling their own dedicated Earth orbit to Mars orbit vessel. That would assume they reached some agreement with the Martians to replace the Sandman as a dedicated supply vehicle, and bind Mars to North America politically instead of Europe.

  “Given all the problems in North America at the moment, it seems a huge and expensive undertaking with little potential for any return, much less an actual profit. Likewise, a huge project for national prestige doesn’t seem likely when they have so many other demands on their budget and productive capacity. Your direction on further investigation and your general thoughts about this would be appreciated.”

  Jeff sighed. “Chen is usually more perceptive than that.”

  “It’s a big leap mentally,” April said, defending Chen. “I think I have the dots connected, but I’m still a little worried. I’d hate to tell you what I think only to have you sigh and say I’m usually more perceptive too.”

  “Nah, you are a master of extrapolation from insufficient data,” Jeff insisted.

  “OK, somebody has been buying up crap to make Helium3 according to Joel. We haven’t found out what yet. Joel wasn’t too helpful on that, fearing you’d figure out the process.”

  “That we’d figure it out,” Jeff objected modestly.

  “My helping discover this process is about as likely as my figuring out our star drive without any input from you,” April said.

  “Well, you did give me the old fish eye over his shoulder and keep me from giving the whole thing away when I was speaking to James Weir. If I’d said gravity isn’t a constant it would have been game over. He was smart enough to put the whole thing together from that.”

  “You encourage me. Anyway, somebody isn’t copying France’s fuel process for a new line of BBQ grills. Whoever was doing that would be using it in a starship soon. So North America is our somebody since they appear to be building a radically different new ship. Unless we have another player in the game who hasn’t revealed themselves yet.”

  “Right you are,” Jeff replied, “but it’s worth mentioning that they may be stealing the fuel process but they also have to be well ahead of France in the basic design. Weir’s ship was minimalist, built like a race car to achieve jump and little else. The size of this new vessel indicates they don’t have such a narrow performance envelope. It may be able to haul freight and sustain a longer mission.”

  “You said to steal the fuel-making system. Does Joel have a leak?” April wondered.

  “Discoveries happen, then the underlying theory and engineering advance to the point the next little step to a new process becomes obvious. That’s entirely how I do business. I don’t flatter myself that I’m a giant intellect who invents entire new fields of knowledge. It may be North America came up with the same solution on their own.

  “The information still has value even if it wasn’t stolen. You seem to have a relationship with him now for trading information. Perhaps you should let him know that France isn’t going to have an exclusive lock on star travel among Earth nations for very long.”

  “He might already know,” April speculated.

  “You think they sold the process?” Jeff asked. “I don’t think so. Certainly not to North America. You value an image of having deep intelligence assets. Don’t tell me you don’t,” Jeff said when she made a face. “You might tell Joel about this early, because once they launch everybody is going to know.”

  “You’re that certain?” April still asked.

  “You pointed out the obvious yourself. It doesn’t fit any other use. It’s not a local energy generating system, it’s an energy concentrating process.”

  “I’ll tell Chen too,” April decided. “He may waste time and resources trying to run down dead ends thinking it’s interplanetary instead of interstellar.”

  “Why not?” Jeff agreed. “He’s already freaked out by the weird connections you make, but it never hurts to rub it in a little. It keeps him humble.”

  Chapter 15

  O’Neil wa
s on the list of satellite phone owners Ted Foster shared when they joined his net. He’d never revealed that he owned a phone to them before. Now that they were insiders, he spoke to them about some of the group’s informal agreements, hopes, and plans.

  “You don’t have to,” O’Neil said, “but the rest of us have agreed to forward messages for Arlo Ritner if it’s a matter of public safety or even a hazard specific to a fellow phone owner.”

  “I’d have done that anyway,” Vic said. “But if he becomes our official lawman for the county, I think we should buy him his satellite phone for official use.”

  “If he becomes official, he’ll be the sheriff,” O’Neil said. “That title carries a lot of history in English law. I doubt whether some of these folks can afford to chip in. If it comes to that a few of us who are better off may have to do it on our own. I think four of us can do that.”

  O’Neil, Mast, and himself. Vic thought, and wondered if Ted Foster, the radio net guy was the fourth? It seemed likely. He wondered if Ted hadn’t assigned O’Neil to give him this briefing, feeling he knew the man better than he knew Ted and trusted him. He decided that was just smart and he’d be silly to be offended by it.

  Mr. O’Neil packed them a lunch.

  “If you will take an old man’s advice, only eat half your lunch. You will crash after a heavy meal trying to exert yourselves. You’re using different muscles riding than walking. You’re conditioned for walking. You might even need to stop short of home and camp overnight. If you cramp up and get tired get off and walk your bikes for a while.”

  “We’ll pace ourselves,” Vic promised.

  Cal had exercised his judgment well, and bought them spare parts for all three machines. He also bought them pannier racks and folding storage bins that could clamp to them. What he hadn’t asked for, but was happy to receive, was a single wheel trailer for both big bikes. The price made Vic take a deep breath, but Cal’s note explained they were half the weight of cheaper ones. He also sent three helmets spray painted in muted camo colors, just as he had the bikes. Vic hadn’t thought of helmets. With rocks and gravel washed over the roads, they were a good idea. A lone pine cone could spill you if you weren’t paying attention.

  When they started, he put Alice ahead of them to set the pace. She might be younger, but her legs were shorter and her wheels smaller. He didn’t want her struggling to keep up.

  When they turned off on a new road to go to the state highway, Vic went to a higher state of awareness, alert to any danger. It was hard to watch the road for debris and scan far ahead for any danger in the distance. He soon found that was tiring all by itself. When they started a long uphill climb, steeper than their usual route, he called a halt when Alice stood on her pedals to get more power. They walked their bikes to the crest. O’Neil was right, it was as good as a rest. His calves were twitchy and lower back hurt a little. The ate a little before heading downhill, and he cautioned not getting carried away going too fast downhill.

  The state highway, when they reached it, was straighter with wider shoulders that let you see much further. That wasn’t necessarily good. If something appeared ahead that they wanted to avoid, it was further to reach cover too. At the end of a long downhill, there were four automatic flashers in the median as Vic remembered. They were between guard rails, with solar panels on top of aluminum posts. For a miracle, nobody had messed with them. It was midday and sunny so they were off.

  Vic got out his hacksaw. He was going to cut the extruded aluminum post as low as possible. He’d be crouched down between the center guard rails working, so he asked Eileen and Alice to keep a sharp watch both ways. He waxed up the saw with a hunk of beeswax. It felt like vandalism cutting it. He had visions of a California State Highway Patrol car pulling up and asking him what he thought he was doing? When it was almost cut through Vic bent the post over until the sign and panels were against the ground so they wouldn’t fall uncontrolled. Another minute of sawing had it severed.

  “I’m not sure if the batteries are still any good,” Vic said. “They’re the heaviest part too. I don’t want to haul them home for nothing.”

  “Test them,” Alice said.

  “I have a little multimeter but I didn’t think to bring it.”

  “They have to have a little sensor somewhere,” Alice said. “Like supermarket doors.”

  “A million years ago,” Vic said.

  “On top,” Eileen suggested, “They don’t know how they will be pointed when installed so I bet it looks at the sky.”

  A little glass dome on top looked likely, but covering it did nothing.

  “Dead,” Vic concluded.

  “Turn the panel facing the sun,” Eileen said.

  The LEDs that formed arrows pointing the way around the curve blinked dimly and very slowly when he covered the sensor again.

  “OK the panels still work but the batteries don’t hold a charge,” Vic said.

  “Maybe that’s why nobody looted them,” Alice said.

  “Check the road again,” Vic said. “Nobody has been watching.”

  “We’re good,” Alice said shortly. “I’ll watch so Eileen can help you.”

  When Vic had everything loose and was loading it on the bikes and trailers, Alice wanted to know what the boxes with wires were?

  “I’m pretty sure those are the controllers for charging the gel batteries. Ted Foster might be able to tell us how to use them for our kind, or take them in trade.”

  “This took so long. I don’t think we’re going to make it home today,” Alice said.

  “Neither do I, but let’s get off the main highway and find a good camp spot,” Vic said.

  * * *

  Chen listened to April’s theory that North America was building a starship, but his face said he still had some doubts.

  “My understanding was that the French design was stretching the envelope of its capacity. Doing good just to reach Centauri and then turn around and come right back.”

  “That’s correct,” April verified. “They ran out of fuel and had to be refueled in lunar orbit to make a lunar landing.”

  “So have these North Americans come up with something like what Jeff made, or at least something substantially better than the French version?” Chen asked.

  “Jeff thinks it is the same basic drive as the French, but they have made incremental improvements. It’s as if they made a steam car and Jeff made a gasoline powered car. They may never catch up because of the basic laws of physics, but that doesn’t mean that they can’t refine what they have.”

  Chen looked amused. “Well, if that is the only difference, the North Americans are ahead, for now, having stolen the fuel process, but they will all be on even ground soon enough when the French steal their drive improvements.”

  “You assume it will happen that easily?” April asked.

  “Take an hour and read the history of the hydrogen bomb,” Chen suggested. “See how long it was before everybody had it. The Earthies can’t keep a secret. There is so much ethnic and cultural diffusion nobody has a monolithic population. They erase borders and draw new ones and pretend the new lines on a map mean something. Even the Japanese look homogenous but have ancient divisions and suffer from the invasion of Korean and Chinese cults, and the influence of generations of Japanese carrying hidden heresies they picked up at Stanford and MIT. They are now complaining anew about the Australianization of their country.”

  “I’ll look at that,” April promised. For sure, she knew already it was going to alter how she presented this information to Joel.

  * * *

  Vic led his band down the state highway to the next county road that made a T with the main road, and followed a narrow valley off to the northeast. The hill on the north corner was lower, and wooded on its crown above a brief bluff and a loose slope of scree and rocks. He turned them down the county road a couple of hundred meters and then backtracked up the gently sloped side of the hill. They made sure to leave no trail on the shoulde
r of the road, each taking a different path not straight away from the pavement. The bikes he laid down among the trees partway up the hill, and covered them with boughs cut some distance away from them.

  He made his favorite kind of camp, hammocks strung between trees in a triangle, with a mosquito net and a tarp above each that hung down to the outside of the three hammocks. Three thin camo tarps in a ring opposite each hammock hid them from observation at ground level. You practically had to walk into the camp to see it, especially since you could look straight through at ground level because everything was up off the ground. It fooled the eye.

  They were about a hundred meters in from the bluff, deep enough to be hidden in the dark woods but a short walk to watch the roads and enjoy the sunset.

  “Are you going to build a fire?” Alice asked.

  “Are you cold?” Vic answered her question with a question.

  “No, I just like a fire. We could make some berry tea.”

  “This isn’t camping at the fair,” Vic explained. “A fire makes you much too easy to find. The light, the thermal signature, even the smoke, no matter how small you keep it. It’s hard to make one safely on this sort of forest floor too. I’d rather stay safe. That’s why I worked so hard to make the hammocks hard to find. If you start to get cold put on your jacket early, before you are chilled and have to catch up.”

  “I’m not cold,” Alice insisted, and looked disappointed.

  “I’m going to go sit and watch the roads,” Vic said. “If you want to join me, I’ll be at the end of the string.” He was tying a yellow cord on his hammock strap. “I’m going to take the rest of my lunch and eat it watching the sunset.”

  * * *

  It still troubled April that she had fans. Musicians should have fans. Artists like Lindsey should have fans. She thought the whole idea of celebrity was stupid. She once thought those teenagers who identified with her dark clothing and rebellion when she was a teen would grow up. They had, and remained fanboys. One of the gossip sites on Home told her privately that when they ran an article on her with pix, their Earth traffic tripled. It was a good thing it was expensive and difficult to buy shuttle lift tickets from most places on Earth. Home didn’t have restraining orders, having opted for much harsher measures.