by Garon Whited
Things have, by and large, gone pretty well. Now I’ll tempt fate and see if it all comes apart when I visit Apocalyptica for a while.
Apocalyptica, Tuesday, September 9th, Year 11
I came out of the Manor’s shift-booth and realized I had a problem. I go into my quarters in The Manor, lock the door, and leave the building. If I’m gone for an hour or two, it’s no big deal. If the time dilation runs like crazy and I’m gone for a week, though… As far as everyone else in the house is concerned, I’ve been locked in my rooms for the week. It was fine when it was just Mr. and Mrs. Gillespie. They don’t expect to keep track of my comings and goings. If I’m out of touch for a week or a year, they simply didn’t see me leave. They also don’t ask nosy questions. With dozens of people in the house, we now have a rumor mill and a multitude of noses to poke into things.
Crap.
The only solution I can think of, at the moment, is to find someplace secluded and build another shift-booth. Then I can visibly leave the building and drive away. Damn it, people are so inconvenient!
I grumbled to myself as I walked down the wide transit hallway, past the other shift-booth doors, followed by one of Digoenes’ hovering drones. As I passed the door to Harper Valley, I recalled Mary’s request for a night out. If the time differential with The Manor worked out… Harper Valley? Or Peyton Place? Galaxia is nice, once we get off the planet’s surface, but it’s a three-day ride on a space elevator just to get to orbit, to say nothing of transit to a habitat station. I don’t even know if the capsules are light-tight. They probably have windows so people can enjoy the view.
Wait, wait, wait. I need to ask the right questions. For starters, what would Mary enjoy? It’s not about me. No, I’m thinking about it wrongly already. What would we both enjoy? She already pointed out she drags me off to have fun and I go along because it matters to her. It’s not just about doing something she enjoys, but something we can enjoy together.
Ever since… Ever since Bronze died, I haven’t enjoyed much. I’ve had some fun, yes, but all the vibrancy, the interest, the passion in my existence seems… dull. Pastel. Muted. It’s not that I don’t enjoy myself. Or maybe it is. I’m not usually sad, as such, but all happiness is mild, fleeting. I can’t run with the wind, only sit and feel the breeze. I don’t know how to describe it.
I was still wondering what sort of date to go on when I entered the media center. Everything lit up when I cracked the hatch. Diogenes spoke through the media center speakers.
“Good afternoon, Professor.”
“Hello, Diogenes. How is everything?”
“I am not one with it, so I am unable to answer.”
“Not one with…?” I groaned.
“Zen you have caught my joke?”
“Stop. Please.”
“Is it not funny? My ability to extemporize humorous remarks is still indefinite.”
“It’s clever. It may even be funny. I liked it.”
“You expressed a negative reaction.”
“You know how Mary and I trade quips and pretend to dislike them?”
“Yes.”
“Welcome to the club. With this sort of humor, the groans are the applause. I don’t know why it works that way. It just does.”
“As you say, Professor.”
“So, what’s going wrong or going right?”
“The new magnetic bottle should be on line in eleven hours.”
“Wonderful! Where did you put it?”
“Six thousand meters south of the first one, outside the primary blast and radiation zones.”
“Good thinking.”
“It was the location to which I evacuated the original construction equipment.”
“Ah. That makes sense. Just build the new one where they were already standing.”
“Exactly. Would you prefer to go there now or after sunset?”
“Hmm. What are my transportation options?”
“The site does not have an enchanted gateway, but it can easily have a congruous locus to be targeted. Both the pedatruck and the Grumbler are available. A cargo drone or dirigible can be retasked for transport. The flight tests on the supersonic personal transport have been completed; it is now at your disposal. A helicopter is available, but will require recharging at the destination. We have a hovercraft, as well, but there are terrain features which require considerable detours from the straight-line course. If you care to wait, I can construct an electromagnetic catapult to launch you to the site.”
“I’ll pass on the catapulting, thank you.”
“As you wish. I suggest using the local transit gate to Cybertron—”
“Mary says I can’t call it that,” I interrupted.
“May I?”
“I suspect she means she forbids it being named ‘Cybertron.’ We’ll continue to call it Denver, since it’s near enough to the Denver crater. If we come up with a better name for it, we can change it.”
“Noted. My suggestion is to take the shift-booth to Denver, then utilize aerial transportation to the site. However, it may be more practical to ship the solar plasma tap here for enchanting rather than transport you and enough powered crystals for the task.”
“Reasonable. We’ll do it your way.”
“Very good, Professor. I have also completed a preliminary test rig for a mini-gate and a force field.”
“Excellent. Is it local?”
“Silo nine.”
“I’ll have to go up to the surface for that one, won’t I?”
“Yes, Professor. It is not connected via tunnel.”
“Remind me later, or bring it here. Where’s Mary?”
“She departed through the Hidalgo Trading Company shift-booth.”
“Is there anything she might want to steal from there?”
“The probability approaches unity. However, her stated intent was to deal with some matters of business involving the companies in which we have interests.”
“Fine.” I rubbed my forehead. “I’ll see her later, I guess. What else is there to knock out? I’d like to deal with whatever’s piled up and get back to The Manor.”
“T’yl has not repeated his request, but it remains an action item on your list.”
“Gotcha. What else?”
“The Moon has repeated its request for contact, with variable phrasing, at irregular intervals. My analysis of the Moon and its inhabitants is ongoing.”
“What do you have so far?”
A hologram of the Moon sprang up as the lights dimmed. I walked around it as Diogenes spoke.
“I have identified nine lunar population centers. There are also seven probable centers of industrial activity, with or without meaningful human presence, on the lunar surface. I am unable to passively scan the far side of the Moon, but analysis of space traffic within one diameter of the lunar surface indicates a probability in excess of ninety-five percent for three more population centers. Two additional population centers are probable. Industrial activity on the far side is indeterminate.” Lights sprang up on the hologram, small and sharp on the near side, fuzzy and large on the far side—probable location areas, rather than definite coordinates.
“Any idea how many people we’re talking about?”
“Also indeterminate. Lunar colonization primarily involves tunneling, rather than surface construction. Estimates from all data indicate a population between four hundred thousand and forty million.”
“That’s a pretty broad window.”
“The available data are not exhaustive.”
“I imagine.”
“With my new sky-scanning equipment, I have also noted space traffic to and from various orbits of the Earth. There is a complex of space habitats at Lagrange Point Four. Telescopic observation shows a large, cylindrical habitat rotating on its long axis. Measurements indicate the outermost deck has simulated centrifugal gravity equal to Earth. Other stations are in low Earth orbit.”
“What are those for?”
“They perio
dically launch craft to skim along the upper atmosphere before docking with another low-Earth-orbit station. The purpose of these expeditions has not yet been ascertained.”
“Interesting.” I watched a holographic representation of a launch and the track of the flight to another low-orbit station. “Do you know what sort of fuel they use?”
“Spectroscopic analysis shows it is an aluminum/oxygen fuel. Given the technical references available, I hypothesize it is hybrid rocket utilizing finely-sintered aluminum as the fuel and liquid oxygen as the oxidizer. The specific impulse is poor, but the raw materials are readily available on the Moon.”
“If they’re just dancing around in orbit, they don’t need a powerful fuel. Wait. Is it good enough for lunar launches?”
“Yes.”
“And they have lots of it. Hmm. They’re still burning it for something. Flight training, maybe?”
“I have not determined the purpose of these expeditions.”
“Yeah, I got nothing, either. Okay. Any signs they’re warlike or hostile?”
“No. However, I should point out efforts would be made to conceal such signs from observation.”
“I agree, but if they did have obvious military preparations, we wouldn’t have to wonder. All right. What do we have to go through to answer their hails without risking return fire?”
“Extrapolating from past experience, I have already dispatched an all-terrain vehicle south along the one-oh-six meridian, away from all current resource, production, and population centers. It is presently just south of what was Chihuahua, Mexico.”
“Assume the worst case. Someone could track the signal to the truck. Could they track the signals between the truck and us?”
“The possibility is remote. The residence complex is buried and concealed. Most of our data transmission is through fiber-optic cable, micro-gate connections, or quantum entanglement. EM traffic in any local area requires only short-range transceivers. The truck is equipped with a direct micro-gate connection to the Denver production site, while another connection links the site to the residence complex.”
“I’m kind of glad I enchanted those communications gates,” I mused. “I never thought about how they would double as secure communications channels.”
“Yes, Professor. However, if you wish to expand our resource base beyond the Western hemisphere, we may wish to consider orbital communications satellites.”
“Do we even have the capability to launch communications satellites?”
“We have the technology and resources to place satellites in orbit. We do not have the equipment on hand.”
Privately, I felt an overpowering urge to have my own space program. I tromped on it. I’ve been learning patience. Besides, we might have neighbors who already established protocols and traffic patterns for Earth-orbit.
“What would you suggest?” I asked, instead.
“The three main surface-to-orbit methods in my current library are the traditional rocket, the electromagnetic catapult, and the space elevator. Each has advantages and disadvantages in our situation.”
“Wasn’t there a space program thing where satellites were launched from a cannon?”
“Yes. Due to the stresses involved, it is more useful for sending fuel and durable freight than instruments or personnel.”
“I imagine. Okay, tell me about the other three.”
“Rockets and shuttles can be built more quickly, but have high operating costs. The electromagnetic catapult requires specific geography if used as a human-launch vehicle; a longer, lower-acceleration catapult is required. Shorter, high-acceleration catapults for less delicate cargo can be built more quickly and in more locations. The space elevator requires the manufacture of the cable, as well as extensive earth-based mounting. It also involves considerable rocket-based equipment during the initial installation, making it the most expensive to build. It also has the lowest operating cost.”
“So, the most efficient is, once again, the most expensive to build.”
“Yes, Professor.”
“Either way, we need rockets or a catapult to build a space elevator, right?”
“Yes, Professor.”
“Don’t we have gravity manipulation technology we swiped from some other universe?”
“There are a number of theoretical drives, as well as several space-only gravity engines, but none of the worlds we have currently catalogued has a technology sufficiently developed for use in achieving orbit.”
“Dang. Well, keep an eye out for something better.”
“Yes, Professor.”
“We might as well survey someplace for a spaceport. And for a catapult. And for a space elevator. Let’s get the groundwork before I have to start thinking about which one is most likely not to piss off the neighbors.”
“Program running.”
“And another thing. Before we do anything with the unpredictable and possibly armed neighbors, do you have yourself backed up?”
“Yes. Caution: The backup crystal is not an operational crystal. It is a archival memory crystal only.”
“But it contains the programs of your personality and memories?”
“Yes, Professor.”
“Good. Keep it updated. No, keep several in series. Have robots switch out through… hmm. Make it Free City and Foothold. Use those worlds for off-site storage. Even if the Moon re-nukes this world into a radioactive wasteland, we can still preserve you.
“Come to think of it,” I added, “since we’ve got an emergency bunker on Foothold as a backup base of operations, you might move an independent processor there, as well. We may as well start the Foothold expansion from bunker to backup base. We won’t be running a Von Neumann process in Free City, but you can use it as an auxiliary resource point for Foothold.”
“Of course, Professor. I recognize you are being unreasonably paranoid, yet I thank you for considering my survival.”
“I hope you’re right about the unreasonable part. People are often okay as individuals or small groups, but when you start getting to the point where you have governments, they become capricious and unpredictable.”
“Statistically, larger numbers are more predictable.”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? I find people have a chaos factor. I think it goes along with sapience.”
“You may be right.”
“Anything else?”
“No, Professor.”
“Good. What time is it in Karvalen?”
“Sunset in approximately six hours.”
“I’ll see what T’yl wants and check in with Tianna. If Mary gets back before I do, ask her if she wants to go to dinner.”
“Where shall I take her?” he asked. I did a double-take and realized he was kidding.
“About your sense of humor, Diogenes…”
“Yes, Professor?”
“Keep working on it.”
“As you say, Professor.” He sounded amused.
I left the media room, changed in Wardrobe—my weskit slowly liquefied and crawled up over my shoulders, dripping gradually down to form a cloak appropriate to my medieval-ish outfit. I also strapped on my atom-edged sword of ludicrous sharpness, reflecting how I missed Firebrand. Maybe I should recover it from Bob and go explore some more worlds. It would like that as a break in routine, probably. On the other hand, I know it enjoys being a fiery symbol of authority while I’m off being boring.
I popped through the shift-booth in Karvalen.
Karvalen, Tuesday, December 6th, Year 8
Technically, the year is “the eighth year of the reign of Her Majesty Lissette, the Bright Queen of the Kingdom of Karvalen,” but that’s a bit of a mouthful. It’s been a little over eight years, locally, since I quit the King business. Time does weird things between universes.
My shift-booth is a small, closet-like affair in the Temple of Shadow. When setting it up, I debated whether to add it to the formerly-royal chambers in the mountain-palace, but decided on the Temple for tw
o reasons. First, bad people know I show up on a random basis. Eventually, they will probably—over time, almost certainly—have an unpleasant surprise waiting for me. Second, if they’re going to do it, they may as well have to go through hundreds of knights, priests, and wizards, as well as a quasi-deity.
Welcome back, said said quasi-deity. How goes the vacation?
“Pretty well. Just recently we blew up a fusion plant by accident.”
I saw. What went wrong?
“Well, the gateway we were using for a tap into stellar material—wait, you saw?”
Sure.
“I thought you needed worshippers to connect to a universe.”
Yes. And at least a moderate magical flux. But you provided both.
“How? When?”
The people.
“The refugees are worshipping me!?” I demanded.
No, no. Not them. The other people. The natives. Homo Apocalypticus?
“Oh, those people. How did that happen?”
You went out and taught a few of the tribes how to make fire, rather than just carry it around. You also taught them how to make bows and arrows.
“So?”
You did it at night, dunderhead.
“I’m allergic to being attacked by cavemen. It’s safer to meet them at night.”
Yes, but you made an impression. They’re a primitive, pre-civilization—or post-civilization—bunch and think you’re one of their gods.
“I guess it could work that way. Do they have many gods?”
Not that I’ve ever met. It’s a low-magic world.
“Wait. How do they… It’s a low-magic world, so how do you get anything out of it?”
You keep generating more magic. Remember the self-replicating solar conversion modules? You may not have noticed it. When you’re there, you’re usually in proximity to an electromagical transformer. Those solar panel spells are starting to have a measurable effect. Dedicating a transformer to power their self-replication function for however many years it is over there sped up the timetable quite a bit.