by Paul Anlee
The guards in the room leaned forward at the mention of a bullet, and Greg hastened to explain, “Don’t worry. It’s only a little piece of potato, and it’ll only travel that fast within the purple part of the light beam.” The guards relaxed a little but remained alert.
“If you look at the far end of this light beam, you’ll see the color changes to yellow. Just before the potato plug exits the beam, another RAF field will increase its apparent mass by a factor of thousands, to fifty grams. However, it won’t have enough travel time in that part of the beam to lose any of its acquired velocity. And, just for good measure, we’ll increase its physical hardness just before impact.
“Now, for those of you who do remember high-school physics, you might be thinking that the friction of the air on the super-light potato plug in the purple beam would slow it down before it ever reached the yellow beam at the other end. Normally, that would be true. However, in this case, the reduction in the Higgs field interaction that removes the mass of the potato also proportionally reduces the air friction. The potato plug will act as if it’s in a vacuum. Let’s see what the result is.”
He took aim and pulled the trigger. The wooden board split apart with a loud “crack!” The protective steel plate behind it rang out as it absorbed the impact of the potato plug.
The audience jumped and then laughed nervously. The German Chancellor reached over and picked up the piece of potato from where it landed after bouncing off the metal plate. She held it up and squished it between her thumb and forefinger, for all to see.
Greg explained, “The basis for rockets is action and reaction. When propellant is expelled from one end at high velocity, it exerts a force on the rest of the rocket in the other direction. The RAF generator allows us to alter the relative masses of the propellant and ship. Increasing the acceleration of the propellant makes the rocket move faster. It’s a bit more complicated than that, but you get the idea.
“We calculate that a properly outfitted ship could travel from Earth to Vesta in five to seven hours.” Several individuals gasped, and lively chatter threatened to take over.
“So, how much is all this gonna cost us?” Representative for the New Confederacy, Secretary of State, Virgil Hartland’s Texas heavy drawl cut through and refocused the diffused attention.
Faces turned his way as he continued, “I mean, the technological wizardry y’all have shown us today is remarkable. But at some point, we have to win the support of our voters. And the world economies haven’t exactly been hummin’ along the past thirty years. Most of us here are not in any position to go to our voters and ask them to pony up for another ‘make work’ program. We tried sippin’ from that well a few times too many this century.”
Greg was dismayed by the number of heads nodding in agreement. He wondered if they’d been listening at all. Didn’t they realize they were discussing the end of the world? There is no ‘Plan B’ here, folks!
His first impulse was to walk around the table and slap each one of them upside the head. He resisted. Barely. Instead, he tried to make his point in a different way.
“Your electorate will all be dead if we don’t do this,” he said.
“Well, hell,” Hartland replied, “They’re pretty much all gonna be dead anyway, no matter what we do, aren’t they?”
Greg was stunned. He accepted the inevitable massive loss of life the planet was facing. He and Kathy hadn’t held out much hope of saving more than a token sampling of humanity, just enough for it to survive. Maybe I was naïve to hope preserving the human species would be motivation enough. He looked to PM Hudson in silent desperation.
The support he sought arrived from a completely unexpected source: Reverend Alan LaMontagne.
“Now Virgil,” he began, his deep baritone automatically commanding attention. “Do you truly believe that God would abandon His people in this hour? Can’t you see that He has brought these two gifted, young scientists and their miracles to show us the way forward?
“Our Lord means to give us Dominion over His universe. Our Promised Land is not confined to this planet. Who are we to question God’s Plan and Methods?”
As he spoke, the Reverend’s voice grew in fervor and power. “When the Great Flood came, Moses and his family built their sacred Ark. They knew that everyone and everything not on that Ark would be destroyed in the Great Deluge, but did they question the Lord’s Promise? No! Though they were charged with the responsibility of rebuilding all of humanity and all of the animals on the entire planet from the few they were able to save, did they ever lose Faith in their God? No!”
Despite many of the leaders not being Christian, and none belonging to any of the more evangelical sects, Greg could see they were nonetheless captivated by LaMontagne’s inspired message. He made to jump in and take advantage of the swing in sentiment, but the Reverend was not finished his impromptu sermon.
“Clearly, the Lord has decided to end our time on this planet. Earth is full of sin and humanity is due for one final cleansing. We are being given a Holy Mission to save what we can and take His Word into the greater unknown. The Lord has spoken through these two young people and delivered to us a new message. We are ready. We can save our people. We can choose the purest, the most qualified, the best of humanity, and we can start again. The message is ours to heed, and heed it we must. Heed it, we will.”
As LaMontagne’s entreaty came to an end, his eyes blazed with Yeshua’s Glory for all to see. Secretary Hartland, feeling publicly admonished, lowered his gaze and fiddled with his pen.
Sporadic scattered applause threatened to break out but was abruptly squelched under the withering glare of those who thought the Reverend had spoken beyond his position. LaMontagne may have led a Church, but he did not lead a country, and certainly not their country.
No one, however, could deny that his words and fervor were a compelling force.
Greg and Kathy glanced at each other, sharing their surprise at the change in attitude around the table. All they needed were a few words to move the conversation toward quick agreement to their plan.
Sensing a pivotal moment, President Chu stepped in. “Your passionate words have moved us, Reverend. Nevertheless, we must live in the practical world, especially those of us who govern countries which do not find the ‘Word of God’ quite so compelling.”
LaMontagne’s face grew red.
Chu picked up the thick printed package in front of him and addressed Ms. Hudson, “Madam Prime Minister, your scientists have provided most compelling evidence of the threat we face with this Eater anomaly. Their plan to save humanity is bold and faces many technological challenges. With their guidance, our best scientists and engineers will be able to overcome these challenges. I am convinced of that.” He surveyed the room, seeing signs of agreement around the table.
“Yet, these challenges pale in comparison to the economic and political obstacles in our way. Humanity is tired. We have struggled for decades with turmoil, with practically zero economic growth, with insurmountable sovereign debts, and with political maneuvering designed to keep wealth and power in the hands of those who have abused it for centuries.”
He glanced at the European and North American delegates. He placed his hands on the edge of the table, looked down, and sighed gloomily while the other leaders contemplated his words.
He shifted his gaze squarely to LaMontagne. “Perhaps humanity’s time on Earth is over. Perhaps this is our final challenge, a test to determine whether or not our species is worthy of the stars. I do not know that. I do know this test could not have come at a worse time.”
He turned his gaze to PM Hudson. “Perhaps, Madam Prime Minister, your geniuses could tell us how to maintain our economies, and how we provide for our people while we construct the rocket ships to transport these construction robots.
“If the whole world is working on this project, who do we borrow from to finance all of this? How do we avoid destroying our industries, even our currencies, while we adjust so q
uickly away from our current concentration on consumptive stimulation and toward a completely new basis for economic expansion? How do we tell the billions to sacrifice themselves, their labor, their futures so that we can save a few precious millions?”
Too late, Greg realized their error. He and Kathy had been focused on the technological challenges inherent in building and colonizing a safe haven for humanity among the asteroids. They’d been thinking that as soon as everyone saw it was necessary and possible to save even a part of humanity, they’d eagerly support their endeavors.
Here, they were speaking to political animals, leaders who not only felt the burden of responsibility for their people but the severe challenge of trying to herd those people in a single united direction.
Since the start of the twenty-first century, people had been evenly split on almost any social or economic issue one cared to name. In the absence of an ability to prove one point of view or plan was better than another, politicians had been blown here and there by the weekly opinion polls.
People yelled, people cajoled, people ranted all over the internet. No one listened to anyone else. Sane, rational conversation died out, while freedom of speech and democratization of opinion blossomed.
Perhaps Kierkegaard had forecast this end many years ago when he’d complained that, “People demand Freedom of Speech as compensation for the Freedom of Thought, which they seldom use.”
Without any filter of professional journalism to distinguish between lies and truth, between expertise and bluster, between opinion and evidence, politicians found it easier to “say any damned thing” to move the wind of public opinion in their favor during elections. They could worry about policy and leadership later.
It was no surprise that winning became more important than leading when everyone viewed politics as a team sport.
Greg could see this meeting was not going to go well from this point on. He made one last desperate attempt to salvage something.
“We apologize, President Chu, for not devoting adequate planning on these issues. As scientists and engineers, our natural inclination was to focus on the technological over the sociopolitical or economic.”
Chu bowed in his chair at Greg’s gracious recognition of their gaff.
Greg continued, “However, if you and the other leaders will permit us, we will devote every effort to devising a complete plan by tomorrow morning. If your schedules permit, could we ask for one more day of your time to present the second part of our proposal?”
A murmur rose around the room. Greg could only pick out a few words: “Impossible… Ridiculous… Waste of time… Foolishness,” and the like.
President Chu stood and the room hushed. “You have impressed us with your technical capabilities. We hope your abilities in the economic and political arenas will prove equally impressive. What you have outlined, so far, is sufficient to convince us of the importance of this issue in addition to its technological feasibility. Yes, China will allow one more day for you to present us with a more thorough plan.
“In the meantime, you have already given us much to contemplate with the assistance of our advisors. I believe we have accomplished all we can in this meeting.” He bowed and made his way to the exit, his entourage scrambling to follow his hasty departure.
PM Hudson quickly stepped in to close the meeting in a controlled fashion.
“I hope you will join us here tomorrow morning at 10:00 for a discussion of the second part of the proposal from Drs. Mahajani and Liang. For now, I urge you to refer to the material before you, in consultation with your scientific advisers, for the answers to any of your technical questions. This meeting is adjourned until tomorrow morning.”
She flashed Greg and Kathy a single glare, pivoted on her heels, and strode from the room.
Crap!—Kathy sent to Greg. That didn’t go as planned.
24
A protective bubble of air appeared in outer space. Across the bottom surface was a small section of uprooted scrub from the planet Gargus 718.5. Its convex bottom traced the outline of the field that held the vacuum of space at bay. On the flat top of the dirt stood Brother Stralasi.
“Where are we now?” he asked.
He waited for Darak to answer. Sometimes his companion liked to take a moment to appreciate the beauty of a new planet from afar before shifting down to the surface.
Looking straight ahead, Stralasi saw no planet, only a small, brilliant white sun with a hazy scattering of stars outlining a dim galaxy in the background. He glanced left and right. Around it, there was nothing but deep blackness of space, far darker and emptier than normal. Except for the glare of the sun directly in front, nothing else was visible.
We must be outside any major cluster—he thought.
“Darak?” No answer.
Stralasi turned around to ask again. There was no one behind him. The Good Brother stood alone on the little patch of land in the traveling sphere.
“Very funny,” he called out. “You can show yourself now.”
Nothing. Stralasi held his hand out in front to shade his eyes from the sun, and inspected the immediate vicinity outside their air bubble. Had Darak stepped outside for a moment of private reflection? His moods can be a challenge to withstand. But even when he felt the need for silence, Darak never strayed far away. Outer space was the perfect sound barrier; a millimeter was as good as a kilometer.
Stralasi saw no sign of his companion.
He was alone!
“Darak! Darak, where are you?” he called, a little more insistently this time. For that matter, where am I? Where is this? His thoughts flitted from question to question, all without answer. Has he abandoned me? Or is he nearby? How will I find him? What if something happens to him and I get stranded here? How will I get back to the Realm?
Oh, sweet Alum, save me!—he implored, clenching his eyes tightly against his isolation. He gave Alum the Living God a moment to answer his prayer. Nothing.
Sweet Alum, save me!—he repeated, over and over, rocking back and forth.
He opened one eye first, hoping, and willed Darak to appear. Then, the other eye.
He was still alone, and a deeper panic set in.
Dear Alum, show me the way. What should I do? He clasped his hands in prayer and started pacing the length and breadth of the little piece of turf under his feet. He went around and around the tiny chunk of home. Gradually, his years of training and practice took hold.
He remembered his calming exercises. He let his eyelids drift downward and shifted his focus to his breathing. He slowed his steps, and concentrated on emptying his mind. His pounding heart calmed.
That’s it. Breathe in, two, three, four…and breathe out, two, three, four. Inhale goodness and light. Exhale darkness and fear.
Still no sign of Darak. No planet nearby. No way to get out of here. The thoughts came without bidding and threatened to drag him back into the babbling, mindless morass of fear.
He inhaled deeply, and squeezed the air out through pursed lips, pushing the terror away with his breath. He opened his eyes and turned his gaze outward, beyond the tiny piece of dirt and rock on which he stood.
Keep calm and think!—he admonished himself. The way Darak always tells you. A shimmer of light below and off to one side drew his attention, but the ground beneath his feet blocked the view. He ventured to the edge of the small patch of turf, and shielded his vision from the glare of the sun to take a better look.
His eyes traced the dim outline of a gray ribbon as far he could see in either direction. Its graceful arc curved inward following a solar orbital path, one normally occupied by a full planet. Clusters of color glowed from the inner surface. Bright whites, blues, browns, and greens.
A ringworld!
He’d only seen such a place from space once, during his last time playing tourist before joining classmates at the central Alumita on Home World.
As the oldest and most important part of the Realm—apart from the Hall of Alum in the Origin syst
em—Home World had long ago converted the resources of its entire system into such an artifact. In fact, not one, but two ringworlds now circled the Home World sun.
The architectural origin of the ringworlds was lost in antiquity and muddled folklore. Alum preferred people not to think about the distant past outside of the official history.
In some of the more persistent stories, ringworlds were associated with a man called Niven. Regardless of its origins, the basic design continued to be the best way to provide a comfortable habitat for enormous numbers of humans around a single sun. Other clever designs had been tried and abandoned; the ringworld outlasted them all.
The ringworld was, as its name suggested, a single giant construct, a circular ribbon surrounding a central sun. The diameter varied from system to system, depending on the intensity of the sun at its center. Ringworlds spun at a rate that provided one Standard gravity to its inhabitants.
Most ringworlds—if the word “most” could be used to describe something so rarely constructed—boasted a living surface about a million kilometers wide. High outer walls at the edge held in an agreeable atmosphere. Day and night were provided by enormous dark sheets that ran on rails along the walls above the atmosphere.
A ring encircling its sun at a distance of two-hundred-million kilometers could provide over a thousand trillion square kilometers of living space. A single ringworld offered enough space to comfortably fit one hundred trillion people, ten percent of the entire population of all other planets in a galaxy. No wonder there weren’t many of them. They were not yet needed.
Now, why would there be a ringworld way out here far from the major part of the Realm?—Stralasi wondered.
Pop! Stralasi jumped, momentarily startled by the unexpected sound behind him.
At last, Darak has decided to join me! He turned, a broad, relieved smile already forming on his face.
With his first glimpse of the source of the sound, the Good Brother stumbled backward to the edge of the bubble.
Heart pounding, he dropped to one knee and fixed his gaze on the surprisingly delicate bare feet of the three-meter tall Angel sharing his small sphere. He didn’t dare look into what he knew would be beautiful, deadly eyes.