Back | Next
Contents

CHAPTER 37

“Richard, it works,” Jason said calmly. “Four hundred and eighty-two successful drops, not one failure. Ten colony sets. Now, I or Brandywine have covered the money in advance for every drop. But that’s becoming insane. It’s tested. It works.”

“You’re asking me to take a massive risk,” Richard said, shaking his head. “Do you know how much equipment cost you’re talking about? Not to mention the risk to lives.”

“Eighty-three million and change,” Jason said. “Which is why I can’t cover it. We’re adjusting our shipping to land on the peaks. I’ll send Four down just to pick that up. But it would make more sense if it picked that up after it had dropped a load of colonists. Shipping is killing everyone. We need to use the ten grands. The best possible use in our current situation is dropping colonists. And it will mean massive influx in loans to the bank. And it is tested, Richard.”

“Eighty-three million, three hundred thousand credits,” Richard said. “Plus, a loan on the fuel, another hundred thousand.”

“Two,” Jason said. “It’ll be picking up cargo on Chindia Mons. More power to lift to orbit full. Ish.”

“Brandywine is putting a large amount of credit through the bank, Jason,” Richard said. “But it is not putting enough that I can risk eighty-three million, five hundred thousand credits on one uninsured venture. It fails the test of fiduciary duty.”

“Funny you should mention Brandywine, Richard . . . ”

* * *

“The Crocodile Dude was the first viral video passed around our new home,” Tucker Carlson said, grinning. “And we tried, at the time, to get an interview. Which he humbly declined. But now, we have him. The one and original Crocodile Dude! Jason Graham, founder of Brandywine Foods. Jason, good to finally talk to you!”

“Nothing against you, Tucker,” Jason said. “Big fan for a long time. But man have I been busy . . . ”

* * *

“So, you want to drop colony sets out of a ten grand . . . in midair,” the host said, laughing and shaking his head. “At twenty thousand feet. And that works?”

“Brandywine has started doing it as standard practice,” Jason said. “We’ve dropped over four hundred equipment sets and I’ve paid, as a test, to drop ten colony sets. It works. I was airborne back in the day. And the second time I went to the planet we had to hover over the trees while I built an LZ . . . ”

* * *

“ . . . in association with Derren Bank of Carolina,” Jason continued. “Derren Bank is backing the loans. Admittedly, they’re the only one who will, but they will. It works. It’s a way to get the colonists to the ground faster. And it is safe. No bank would back it if it wasn’t tested.”

“People really want to get to the planet,” Tucker said, shaking his head.

“Hint to the colonists,” Jason said. “I’ve ridden in stasis. You step in, close the container then open it and you’re on the planet. There is no time passed. It is safe. Safe enough to take your whole family. Just keep them in stasis until you’ve got the area secure.

“If you want some helpful hints on securing your homestead and getting the maximum production right from the beginning, Brandywine has been building up expertise in the area. We’ve had hundreds of drops to various biomes and our R&D department is constantly coming up with new and innovative ways to live on the surface and maximize your profits.

“As a partner in the Brandywine Associates program, you get all the experience Brandywine has built up on securing an area, gathering immediate cargoes to make credit and clearing your land. Simple answer is putting in a kraal around your home and gear.

“In addition,” Jason said. “Since the ten grands are much more efficient, Guardian Interstellar is offering a ride for only three hundred credits, not five. Guardian Interstellar is also offering to pick up cargo on the major peaks for a fraction of current lift costs. We need to get the cost of lift down. Nothing against the pilots and companies who are doing lift. Supply and demand. But by increasing the supply as the demand increases, we can reduce the costs. Simple economics.”

“So, how do people sign up?” Tucker asked.

“Contact Guardian Interstellar,” Jason said. “AIs are standing by.”

* * *

Jason had never expected he’d talk with a President of the United States. He had, of course, never figured on being in the Pegasus System.

He was getting important enough he had some thoughts that he might at some point talk with Dewalt.

But he wasn’t enjoying the subject.

“It’s your company,” the President-Elect said. “And people can make individual decisions . . . ”

The Constitution had been ratified and most of the designees, at least in Carolina, had been elected as was Dewalt.

“But I’m getting asked about this,” Dewalt said, blowing out a breath. “Is this a really good idea? ’Cause if it fails, I’m going to be asked about whether I approved it. Technically, I’m not sure I’m involved. With something that’s making this much press . . . I’m involved.”

“We need the shipping, Mr. President,” Jason said. “Is there risk? There’s risk in any endeavor. Is the risk large? I wouldn’t be risking a group of people this large, or this much equipment, if there was serious risk.

“Risk comes down to two types, sir,” Jason continued. “There’s financial risk and reputational risk. What you’re facing is reputational risk. Since you’re newly elected, it will harm your public image going forward, make it harder for you to push your agenda. For me, there’s both reputational risk and financial risk. The reputational risk to Brandywine will be severe. It could possibly put it out of business. Financially, I’ll be bankrupt, pursued by lawsuits the rest of my life and nobody’s going to invest with me again.

“I’m audacious, not stupid, Mr. President,” Jason said. “If this was going to risk all of that, I would not do it. That’s the best I can say. For the rest, the AIs have cleared it. Emotionally, it seems crazy. But when you do the math, it’s just . . . physics. With a touch of magic.”

“Jeez,” Dewalt said, leaning back in his chair. “You’re right; the AIs say it will work. And you’re also right that if they’re wrong, you’re going to be in the doghouse.”

“So . . . approved?” Jason asked.

“My official statement will be that since we’re out of the ninety-day window, I have no direct authority,” the President said. “I neither support nor reject the matter. The press secretary will say that the AIs say it’s doable. But that I neither support nor reject it. It’s up to each individual colonist. Do you have any takers?”

“Plenty,” Jason said. “It’s going to work.”

* * *

“This has got a completely different feel than a twelve pack, doesn’t it?” Jason said, laughing.

Spaceship Four handled like, well, a boat. A really, really big boat.

Space Traffic Control had cleared all other traffic in Carolina Six Docking Bay for the passage of the massive spaceship and its precious cargo: one thousand, six hundred and twenty-six colony packs, each with at least one person in stasis. In some cases whole families had packed in, eager to get to the planet.

STC had also cleared it when it was coming in. At some point, when ten thousand packs became a regular thing, they’d have to get used to allowing normal movement.

For the time being, Four and its hardy crew had the normally frenetic bay to themselves as lesser ships and their pilots seethed.

“It does that,” Captain Fingerman said. The former merchant marine captain, all tonnage, all oceans, was also a qualified pilot of large aircraft, a rare combination. And a science fiction and science fan which was how he knew Dr. Barron.

“This magnificent vessel needs a better name than Spaceship Four,” Dr. Barron said as they entered. Surprisingly, there was enough room for at least one more ten grand. Possibly more.

“Do you think I’ve got the right to name it?” Jason asked.

“Let’s see,” Barron said. “Majority holder of the units, in fee simple, plus even more proxies? I suppose that’s if you choose to vote aye.”

“I hereby nominate myself to name it and vote aye,” Jason said. “I hereby name this magnificent vessel . . . Galactic Gift. Because it is a magnificent gift from our robotic benefactors.”

“We already have another cargo,” Barron said.

“We do?” Jason replied, surprised. “Besides the cargo on the peaks?”

“Yes,” Barron said. “Government contract. Apparently, the garbage has been piling up.”

“‘They’re gonna put us in a garbage scow!’” Fingerman said, in a bad Scottish accent.

Jason could only laugh.

* * *

“How did Jason ever talk you into this?” Monica asked.

Richard had his fist on his mouth as if he was trying not to puke. They were watching the progress of the drop from his compartment, having taken a day off.

“By threatening to take Brandywine’s business elsewhere,” Richard said tightly. He put his fist back on his mouth. “To whichever bank was the first to agree to back this drop. Gah. That son of a bitch! He’s the easiest guy in the world to deal with. Doesn’t even ask what the interest is. Right up until he isn’t.”

“What happens if it doesn’t work?” Monica asked.

“We’re busted,” Richard said. “And I’ll do everything I can to destroy that little asshole.”

“You won’t have to,” Monica replied, her eyes narrowing. “I’ll let people know where he lives and he’ll be torn apart by an angry mob. Please don’t throw up in the compartment. Smile.”

“Smile?” Richard snapped. “Smile?”

“Pageant smile,” Monica said, smiling broadly with lots of teeth. “It helps keep you from throwing up. Don’t know why.”

“Look at me,” Richard said as the ship came up on its first drop point. “I’m smiling! I’m so happy! Eighty-three million, five hundred thousand credits in loans on the line based on the ideas of a nutjob! I’m so happy . . . !”

* * *

“You really don’t have to be here,” Dr. Barron said.

“Neither do you,” Jason said, putting his fist on his mouth and trying not to puke. Big smile, big smile. “We’re both here for the same reason. We know, intellectually, that this will work. And it still feels like a roll of the dice. We are all about to be very comfortable or I will have destroyed everything I’ve worked for. Brandywine won’t survive the bad publicity. Derren Bank will go bankrupt. I’ll be sued into oblivion.”

“Jason, we have data from nearly five hundred drops,” Jewel said. “It will be fine.”

“Tell me again that all the AIs know how to get to the LZs,” Jason said.

“It’s a program,” Jewel said. “It doesn’t even take an AI. Figuring it out took an AI. At this point, it’s just a simple set of code. And they all have it down. We aren’t going to let people, families, simply fall out of the sky, Jason. If this was risky, we’d be balking like you have never seen.”

“First drop point,” Captain Fingerman said. “I need approval.”

“Greenlight,” Jason said.

“Greenlight,” Dr. Barron added.

“One away . . . two away . . . four . . . seven . . . ”

“Status?” Jason said, looking at the displays. The gray clusters of colony sets seemed to be falling in a stable manner.

“Nominal,” Jewel said.

“Nominal?” Jason replied.

“Isn’t that what the NASA announcers would say?” Jewel said. “Reentry trajectory nominal.”

“I . . . don’t recall that, no,” Jason said.

“Possibly in the Apollo days,” Dr. Barron replied.

“I don’t think I really paid attention to any NASA stuff after the Saturn Five,” Jason said. “What was the point? You could probably do this from orbit. I’m not suggesting it . . . ”

“We are not doing this from orbit,” Dr. Barron said. “Even low orbit.”

“Low orbit,” Jewel said, persuasively. “Below orbital speeds . . . ”

“Huh,” Jason said thoughtfully.

“What?” Dr. Barron asked.

“You fill the cargo compartment with coffins,” Jason said. “Possibly suitably reinforced to handle reentry heat. Toss them out in just below orbit. They reenter and would be incredibly chaotic in doing so. They’d be all over the sky. Relatively hard to hit for defenses, which based on what we have would be saturated. Have them stabilize when they’re near the ground. Hit dirt, wherever, open up and the troops start pouring out. Five ten grands could drop . . . ten thousand times forty-five . . . four hundred and fifty thousand coffins? Right? Times five . . . carry the five . . . ”

“Don’t strain your brain,” Jewel said. “Two million, two hundred and fifty thousand. Which is the problem because you are not going to find two million, two hundred and fifty thousand people as crazy as you. Not in this system. Not absent massive birth rates and in a generation or two.”

“Most of them would be empty as decoys,” Jason said. “Some would blow up creating chaff.”

“You just reinvented Starship Troopers,” Dr. Barron said, shaking his head.

“I joined the airborne because of Starship Troopers,” Jason replied. “Question is, will contragravity counter the momentum of the drop?”

“It . . . could,” Jewel said. “With some additional onboard energy storage. Plenty of room for a couple of small batteries.”

“Now we just need powered armor,” Jason said.

“You go from a way to colonize to a way to make war?” Captain Fingerman asked.

“Humans have made war on each other for the most spurious of reasons since before the dawn of history,” Jason replied. “There are going to be wars. Whether those wars reach us is another question. But we don’t have the vast reaches of the Pacific and Atlantic protecting us anymore.”

“You realize we don’t know where the other colonies are, right?” Dr. Barron pointed out. “Presumably, the other colonies don’t, either. And if they were in nearby systems, we’d have detected the evidence of terraforming by now.”

“Nations have made war at very long ranges,” Jason said, shrugging. “England and India come to mind. It’s possible. And if it’s possible, humans will do it. See also: This. If it’s possible to make war, humans will do it. It’s who we are as a species. But for now, let’s celebrate. The process works. We’re colonizing. That’s a start. We have a system, we have a planet, we have a Republic, we have freedom. If we can keep it.”

* * *

“Seems a bit strange inviting you all to dinner,” President Dewalt said as the first course was served. “I’m told that most of the food comes from your company. As well as several recipes.”

The drop had been a success and was all over the news. Galactic Gift had picked up just under a thousand containers from Mons Chindia, mostly Brandywine, and headed back. By the time it reached the station enough colonists had signed up it had a full load to pick up. Lather, rinse, repeat. More and more shippers were moving containers to Chindia Base, which took a small fee for every container.

Derren Bank of Carolina was overflowing with cash and loans. And Jason was an investor.

He was making so much bank it was ludicrous.

“But,” the President-Elect continued, raising a glass. “To a successful drop and many happy repeats.”

All the major players in the venture had been invited, Richard and Monica, Dr. Barron and his newest wife, Carol, even Tim and Debra.

And Jason and Elisa. She’d noted that Madeleine was going to be green with envy. That seemed to cheer her up.

“Hear, hear,” Tim said. “But that was all Jason, Mr. President.”

“Ron, please,” the President said.

The Cybers may have provided only a small living compartment for the System President, but they’d ensured there was a formal dining room that was reasonably appointed.

“Now we need to get the other ten grands going,” the President added. “How did you get control in the first place?”

Jason explained about the credit for unit trade system and Ron nodded.

“Clever,” Casey Dewalt said. “And you’ve gotten the fuel plant up and going?”

“Fuel plant, carbon converter, general factory . . . ” Jason frowned for just a second. “Other facilities . . . ?”

“Which are all going to be up and going as soon as there’s material,” Elisa said smoothly. “I was there when he got the word that the unit trades had gone through and he had functional control, finally, of a half a dozen major facilities. Most of it was through proxies, of course. We were down on Manu Island in the tropics in Pallas; that was where we met. Usually, the trade winds were blowing and it was nice enough. But that evening was hot; the winds had died and Jason doesn’t think very well in the heat.

“So, I suggested he go sit under a nearby waterfall so he could think. Six hours later or so, late night, he came back pumped up. In the meantime, he’d selected chairmen and chairwomen for all the unit boards, set up leasing companies and generally gotten about eight percent of the total system economy that had been just . . . sitting, up and going.”

“You did all that under a waterfall?” Dewalt said as everyone chuckled.

“There’s a little cave behind it . . . ” Jason said, shrugging. “I just do stuff. I never expected in my life to be rich . . . Or have dinner at the President’s Quarters?”

“That’s what it’s called,” Dewalt said, looking around. “Needs some touching up, frankly. Flexmet is amazing but it gets old.”

“I know a really good woodworking company. And there’s a stone company setting up as well . . . ”

* * *

Cade took a deep breath of the air of the station, looking around the space port. The “coffin” was set upright facing the main lobby. People were moving back and forth, heading to ships. But he wasn’t going to be watching the run in. He was riding stasis.

He stepped into the coffin, what a horrible name, turned around, took one last look at the station and said:

“Dummy, close the door.”

As promised, there was only a moment’s discontinuity and when the door opened, he was looking at a green world.

Mac bounded out of the coffin and barked joyously. Cade had had the dog pulled out of stasis for the purpose of coming down to the planet. He wasn’t going in the way of lions and tigers and bears without his dog.

Cade had imagined he’d fall on his knees and rub the dirt between his fingers, but he didn’t. He stepped out of the coffin cautiously, looking all directions. He had his old trusty BDL with him though he’d been warned that a .30-06 wouldn’t faze the larger predators on the planet.

The coffin stood in the center of an enclosure. The fence was tall and made of wood, with boards wrapped alternatingly around tall poles. Within the fence stood various machines, gray crates and big shipping containers. The “housing unit,” which looked like two shipping containers stuck together, was at the center of the enclosure.

Mac ran in circles, barking and sniffing at the base of the fence.

Cade wore overalls and boots, and had his phone tucked into his bib pocket.

“Dummy,” he said.

“Yes,” the AI acknowledged.

“Contact Mabel.”

“You’re landed!” Mabel said, grinning. “Finally!”

He was getting used to her twenty-something face.

“It’s been about a second,” Cade said, his brow furrowing.

“It’s been a week!” Mabel replied. “We’ve been following your journey the whole time, though. Sleepy has been keeping me updated.”

“Been about a second to me,” Cade said. “I’ll call you every night. Right now, I need to get to work.”

“That’s what you do,” Mabel said. “I’ll let you go. Bye. And you be careful!”

“I will,” Cade said. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

“Dummy,” Cade said as the connection cut off. “If I point your camera at everything within the fence, can you confirm that the whole colonization set is here?”

“You don’t need to point me at anything, Cade. Everything is connected to the network. I can tell you right now that everything is accounted for and functional. A small amount of printed food from the standards stores has been consumed. On the other hand, inside the living quarters are a large bag of nuts gathered by the previous owner. Inside one of the containers is the butchered carcass of a wild sheep.”

“What about the previous owner?” Cade asked. “Is his body here somewhere? Do I need to go find him?”

“The previous owner’s remains were retrieved and disposed of. For your safety, the bear that ate him was killed.”

That stood to reason. You couldn’t let the local predators see humans as the arrival of a tasty new food source.

“Are there standard security practices?” he asked. The dog would keep an eye and ear out, but he didn’t want to rely on Mac and his rifle alone, if he didn’t have to.

“Many of the early explorers have their drones patrol constantly, monitored by their AIs.”

“Please do that,” Cade said. “And . . . ah . . . I apologize.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me,” Dummy said. “I’m software.”

“It’s just that I see I could have been more polite to you.”

“You dislike tech, Cade,” Dummy said tonelessly. “I knew what I was getting within nanoseconds of activation.”

Cade keyed open the door of the living quarters and looked inside. It was more or less identical to the compartment on the station with the exception of windows and a ladder to reach the roof. There was a food printer at one end and a “fresher” at the other. Underneath, according to the manual, there was a power plant similar to the one in the medium tractor as well as a “materials holding tank” for sewage. The water tank was down there as well, separated from the sewage tank.

It was a trailer. It’d do for now.

Mac trotted into the compartment, sniffed around a bit then settled on the couch.

Cade pulled the ladder down, opened the hatch and in a few seconds was standing on top of the trailer, looking over the fence.

The green light of the place was warm and exhilarating. Cade heard water burbling, and from his new vantage point, he found the brook flowing just outside his enclosure. He also saw some cleared forest and stacked logs. More exhilarating than any of the sights, though, were the smells. He smelled earth and water and the green life of moisture being drawn through leaves by capillary action. He smelled the tangs of peat and pond moss, and whiffs of distant animals.

And smoke.

Far away, beyond trees and maybe over a low hill, he saw a column of smoke threading its way lazily skyward. He had a neighbor. Maybe he had neighbors, plural.

“Dummy,” he said, “I want to change some of your instructions.”

“I’m listening.”

“I want you to change your skin. Your avatar. Also your voice. And I might start calling you by a different name.”

“Tell me what you want me to look and sound like, Cade.”

“John Wayne,” Cade said. “I’ll call you ‘Duke.’”

“Acknowledged,” Duke said, but the avatar’s skin didn’t change yet. “John Wayne at what age?”

“Early John Wayne,” Cade said. “John Wayne in Stagecoach.”

“Well, in that case . . . ” John Wayne said, in his customary slow drawl. “Welcome to Bellerophon . . . pilgrim.”


Back | Next
Framed