2 The Milky Way is home to hundreds of such planets, to the bewilderment of cosmologists. The 3010 Galactic Survey of Planets revealed that 4.6 percent of the 24,168 known planets are APPLEs. Given the laws of physics and the distribution of matter and energy in the universe, cosmologists expected that less than 0.1 percent of all planets would meet the APPLE criteria. This puzzling discrepancy prompted the development of the controversial cosmological theory known as the Strong Misanthropic Principle, which asserts that the universe exists in order to screw with us.
CHAPTER TWO
We found the Flagrante Delicto and managed to disembark without incident. The ship was old and in ill repair; I had a hard time believing Gavin Larviton actually traveled in such a vehicle, no matter how far he had fallen. Still, its primary systems seemed to function, and by the time the Malarchian destroyer had mustered fighters to pursue us I had rationalized a hypergeometric course to the Schufnaasik system.
As you know, traveling between stars by conventional means requires crossing vast distances, and since it’s impossible to travel faster than the speed of light, moving even between two relatively close stars could easily take years. The solution to this problem, rationalized hypergeometry, was found in the late twenty-seventh century. It was actually well known by the twentieth century that Euclidean geometry is arbitrary, being only one possible way of describing the relations of objects in space. There are a theoretically infinite number of other geometries that all employ their own set of rules. The trick is to find a geometry in which the distance you want to traverse is significantly shorter than in Euclidean geometry. Essentially you reverse-engineer an entirely new set of geometric rules based on the trip you want to take, and then employ those rules for only as long as the trip lasts.
So if, for example, you wanted to travel from a point near the Chicolini system to the Schufnaasik system (a Euclidean distance of some thirty-eight light-years), you would first posit the existence of a geometry in which these two star systems are some more manageable distance from each other—let’s say ten million kilometers, or about 1/100,000th of a light year. Starting with this axiom, you build a complete geometric system that is then input into your spaceship’s navigational system in place of Euclidean geometry. It generally takes several tries to find a suitable geometry. The navigational system then plots a pathway to your destination using this new geometry. This process is called “rationalizing a hypergeometric course.” I’ve done it enough times that even with a relatively outdated nav computer like that on Larviton’s space clipper, it usually takes me about twenty minutes—twenty-five if Rex is incessantly complaining about how long it’s taking me, which is a given.
I tried to explain to Rex that the nav system was at least a decade out of date, but he wouldn’t hear of it. “Why would Gavin Larviton fly in an outdated starship? The man’s a billionaire, for Space’s sake.”
“An excellent question, sir,” I replied. An answer lurked at the edge of my consciousness, but I shoved it away. This was no time for me to undergo a hard reboot.
As I performed the rationalization, we were hurtling away from the Agave Nectar and the docked Malarchian destroyer. Somebody must have noticed the clipper leaving; as I finished the calculations, a squadron of Malarchian Scrammers had appeared on our tail. Before they could get us in lazecannon range, though, we disappeared in a blast of plasma exhaust. Without knowing where we were going and then rationalizing their own hypergeometric course, there was no way for them to follow us. We accelerated to half light speed, using grav-dampers to keep the acceleration from squashing us into pancakes, then flipped around and decelerated, reemerging into Euclidean space at a thousand kilometers a second.3 I plotted an intercept course with Schufnaasik Six.
While Rex gushed about the hotels, casinos, and nightclubs he was going to build on his new planet, I located a suitable spot to land.
“Looks pretty brown,” I remarked, regarding the planet’s surface.
“Golden brown,” Rex replied. “Like freshly baked bread.”
I wondered if the marine had damaged my color sensors.
The clipper touched down on the planet. Oxygen readings were well within breathable range, so we opened the hatch and stepped outside.
It was cold, and a harsh, constant wind tore at us from the east. The ground was cracked, brown, and featureless as far as I could see.
“It’s probably nicer at the equator,” said Rex.
“This is the equator,” I replied.
“I’m sure it warms up during the summer.”
“This is summer.”
“Well, it probably snows in the winter. I bet that’s nice.”
“The planet has zero axial tilt. This is winter too.”
Rex thought for a moment. “Still, you can’t judge a whole planet from one little section of it. Lots of people make that mistake, you know. I mean, people talk about the ‘forest moon of Akdar,’ but most of the moon is actually swamp.”
“This planet has no swamp.”
“You know what I mean. Maybe it’s got some beautiful emerald forests . . .”
“No.”
“ . . . or majestic mountain ranges . . .”
“No.”
“ . . . or beautiful freshwater lakes . . .”
“No.”
“So is it all like this?”
“Yes.”
He made a 360-degree survey of the horizon. It was bleak and brown as far as the eye could see. The wind tore at his clothes. “You must be freezing,” he said at last. “Let’s go back inside.”
I shrugged and followed.
“How can they get away with certifying this as an APPLE?” Rex demanded, once we were back inside. He was huddled over a heat vent, rubbing his hands together.
“Relatively speaking, it is an Alien Planet Perplexingly Like Earth,” I said. “The gravity was 1.1 Gs. Nitrogen/oxygen atmosphere. Temperature within the range conducive to carbon-based life.”
“What sort of life? Nartolian ice grubs?”
“Not enough water for Nartolian ice grubs,” I said. “You might be able to transplant a colony of Hloordian rockworms. Of course, you’d have to import Nartolian ice grubs for them to eat.”
“Well, I’m sure we’ll find some use for the place. It’s an entire planet! There’s got to be something worthwhile here, or why would Larviton have bought it?”
“Sir, he told you himself he bought it as a tax write-off. Also, you may recall that he agreed to an exchange rate of a billion Chicolinian hexapennies to Malarchian standard credits. That fact suggests that his grasp on interstellar finance has slipped somewhat. Either that, or . . .”
“Great Space!” Rex exclaimed suddenly. “What is that?” He was peering out a porthole at something silvery in the sky. It looked like a spaceship. “Could those Malarchian Scrammers have followed us?”
“Highly unlikely, sir,” I replied.
We watched as the ship approached and landed about a hundred yards away. It was squat and ugly, like the little courier ships used by the various arms of the galactic bureaucracy. A small individual, bundled against the cold, exited the ship and walked toward the clipper. He disappeared from view and then there was a knock.
“Go see what he wants,” said Rex.
I opened the hatch. The little man stood outside, carrying some sort of paper packet. He didn’t appear to be armed. “Rex Nihilo?” asked the man.
“I’m his assistant,” I said. “Rex is indisposed at the moment.”
“Can you get him? I’ve got some papers for him.”
“I can take them,” I replied. “Where do I sign?”
He offered me a tablet and stylus. I scribbled my signature and he handed me the packet. “Have a nice day!” he called, and hustled back to his ship. I watched as the ship disappeared into the gray sky before I closed the hatch.
> I opened the packet and scanned the contents. A glimmer of recognition came over me. This was what I was on the verge of figuring out when I last shut down. “Sir, it appears that Schufnaasik Six was owned by a shell company that had used it as collateral for an eight-hundred-million-credit loan for research on cloaking technology.”
“You mean making stuff invisible?”
“Correct, sir.”
“I thought effective cloaking was impossible. You know, because of the . . . what’s it called?”
“Ferbuson Paradox, sir. Named after the scientist who discovered it, Emmet Ferbuson.”
“So who was the moron who borrowed eight hundred million credits to build a cloaking device?”
“Gavin Larviton, sir.”
“Huh. That’s a funny coincidence, isn’t it?”
“It’s not a coincidence, sir. According to official records, Gavin Larviton originally bought this planet as a testing ground for his cloaking device program. It was called Project Albatross. After spending eight hundred million credits, Larviton shut down the program and fired Emmet Ferbuson and everybody involved. It was one of his most high-profile failures. It would have ruined him if he weren’t making billions on weapon sales at the time. Evidently the program was funded by a loan Larviton took out against this planet.”
“But that was twenty years ago!” Rex protested. “How can Larviton still owe money for that?”
“He doesn’t,” I said. “You do. When you accepted ownership of Schufnaasik Six, you assumed all liens against the planet.”
“What?” gasped Rex. “You mean he intentionally lost this planet to get out of his debt? Why didn’t he just declare bankruptcy?”
“He did,” I replied. “Project Albatross’s assets were sold off and the principal amount was reduced by seventy-five percent. Apparently he still couldn’t pay it off. Or didn’t want to. So he had to find someone to take ownership of Schufnaasik Six. He probably couldn’t sell it at any price, so he had to find another way to get someone to take it. It appears, sir, that Gavin Larviton saw you coming.”
“That miserable old bastard,” Rex snarled. “OK, so how much do I owe now? You said the debt had been reduced.”
“Correct,” I said. “The principal was reduced to two hundred million credits, and the sales of the company’s assets netted another eighty million, so that leaves . . .”
“A hundred and twenty million credits,” Rex said. “Wow. All right, it’s a lot of money, but if we can start luring in some tourist traffic . . .” He stared out the porthole at the uninviting landscape.
“Sir,” I started.
“Don’t say it!” Rex snarled. “Look, I realize it’s going to take some sprucing up, but we’re only fifty light-years from the Casparian trade lines, so maybe if we put up some of those orbiting billboards . . .”
“It’s not that, sir. The debt isn’t a hundred and twenty million credits. Interest has been accruing on the principal for almost twenty years.”
“OK, so what is it? A hundred and forty million? A hundred and fifty?”
“It’s 1.6 billion, sir.”
“What?” gasped Rex. “That’s more than he borrowed in the first place!”
“The miracle of compound interest, sir.”
“I’ll say. OK, then I’ll just give the planet back to Larviton.”
“You can’t just give it back if he doesn’t want it, sir. You won it fair and square.”
“But I cheated!”
“True. But that’s going to be difficult to prove at this point.”
“Curse my rotten luck. Well, they can’t make me pay if I don’t have the money. Hang on, how much do I have in hexapennies?”
“You mean in the lockers we left on the Agave Nectar?”
“You left them?” Rex asked, apparently incredulous. “Why didn’t you take them when we left?”
“There’s only so much useless baggage I can carry, sir.”
“Watch it, Sasha,” Rex growled. “Just out of curiosity, how much did we have?”
“Hexapennies? Exactly 837 quintillion.”
“And how much is that in credits?”
“As of right now? About seven and a half.”
Rex rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “That’s not going to get us very far.”
“No, sir.”
“Well, if they want to make me pay, they’re going to have to catch me.”
“Yes, sir. Won’t you be right here, sir? On Schufnaasik Six?”
“Space, no,” replied Rex. “Why would I be here?”
“You had mentioned cultivating tourism.”
“On this useless chunk of rock? Fat chance. No, Sasha, we’re going to have to live as fugitives, carving our fortunes out of forgotten reaches of deep space.”
“It will be good to be back on familiar territory, sir.”
“Indeed,” replied Rex. “I’m not the sort of man who can be contained by a single planet. I need my freedom. Wait, what was that?”
I had heard it too. A creaking noise coming from the back of the ship.
“Check it out!” Rex commanded, shoving me toward the stern of the ship. I trudged off to find the source of the noise. Rounding a corner, I came across a young man in gray coveralls cowering behind a ventilation shaft.
“Hello,” I said.
“What is it?” cried Rex.
“Stowaway,” I said.
“Vaporize him!” cried Rex.
“I have no vaporizer, sir,” I replied.
“He didn’t know that,” said Rex, coming up behind me. “Now we’ve lost the advantage. What do you want?” he said to the man behind the conduit. “Are you trying to steal my planet? Because you’ll have to arm-wrestle me for it.” Rex began rolling up his sleeve.
“No, sir,” said the man, climbing over the conduit and into view. He was swarthy and had an open-mouthed, trusting sort of look about him. He didn’t look to be older than nineteen; his forehead was a constellation of pimples.
“I’m Wick Azores,” he said. “I’m with the Frente Repugnante.”
“You’re with what?” asked Rex.
“The rebel alli—” I began.
“We’re not allowed to call it that,” Wick interrupted. “There was a big lawsuit a while back. We’re known as the Revolting Front now. They’re trying to appeal to the Latino planets, though, so they’ve told us we’re supposed to use the Spanish name, Frente Repugnante. I think it sounds better, anyway. Most people just call it the Frente.”
“I stopped listening about five minutes ago,” said Rex, turning to me, “but if he’s done, you can chuck him out the hatch. We’re leaving.”
“Wait, sir!” cried Wick. “Don’t you want to know why I stowed aboard your ship?”
“I assume it was to get free passage to the paradise planet Schufnaasik Six,” said Rex. “Well, you got your wish. Try not to spoil its natural charm. Sasha, see him out, please.” He turned to leave.
“No, sir,” said Wick. “We got word you were on board the Agave Nectar and I came to ask for your help. We’ve heard rumors that you may be sympathetic to our cause.”
“Sympathetic,” repeated Rex, as if he had heard the word somewhere before.
“He means he thinks you might be interested in helping the rebel alli—”
“Ah-ah!” said Wick.
“That is, the Frente,” I corrected.
“That doesn’t sound like me,” said Rex. “Are you sure you’ve got the right guy?”
“You’re Gavin Larviton, right?” said Wick. “This is his space clipper. We’re on his planet. We assumed—”
“I think I see your mistake,” I said. “You see, this is—”
Rex interrupted. “What Sasha here means to say is that this is just one of my planets. I’m a very wealthy man, after all. It’s ins
ulting to say that this is my planet, as if I have just one. I demand you apologize.”
“I beg your forgiveness, Mr. Larviton,” said Wick. “I didn’t mean to imply—”
“Forget about it,” said Rex. “And call me Rex. I’m traveling incognito.”
“Yes sir, Mr. Lar . . . Rex,” said Wick.
“All right, let’s get down to business,” said Rex. “What sort of illegal shenanigans can I involve myself in for the sake of the rebellion? I want it known far and wide that Gavin Larviton is a traitorous scumsucker who deserves to die in the most painful and drawn-out manner possible: Malarchian firing squad.”
“I doubt it will come to that,” said Wick. “As far as I know, there’s no need for you to—”
“I don’t mean to tell you your business, Vic,” said Rex, “but it’s really not your place to interfere with my destiny to martyr myself for the cause.”
“Yes, sir. Well, sir, if you really want to die at the hands of the Malarchy, I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities.”
“That’s what I like to hear, Vic. So what’s the next step? Signing some sort of public proclamation of support that makes me a wanted man across thirty systems?”
“I don’t know about that. I’m just supposed to take you to the princess.”
“Princess, eh?” asked Rex. “What princess?”
“Wilhelmina of Hybaltia, sir. She’s been secretly helping the Frente.”
“Helping how? Bailing them out of crippling financial difficulties, that sort of thing?”
“I . . . don’t know, exactly. You should probably talk to the princess.”
“Where is she?”
“At the secret Frente base on the forest moon of Akdar. It’s actually mostly swamp, you know.”
Rex turned to me. “You heard our friend, Sasha. Rationalize a course for Akdar.”
“You mean for the moon of Akdar,” I said.
“That’s what I said.”
“No, you said ‘a course for Akdar.’”
“What’s the difference?” Rex snapped.
Starship Grifters (A Rex Nihilo Adventure) Page 3