Freedom's Scion (Spooner Federation Saga Book 2)

by Francis Porretto

  Spooner’s beard, you can practically see deka signs rolling in her eyes.

  “I know. Hope you brought me some clean underwear.”

  A chuckle swept over the visitors. Althea caught her husband’s eye and sent him an inquiring look. He nodded.

  “Look, this is a chancy place. Watch your step. Try not to brush against the walls. I might not have gotten all the sharp protrusions filed down. But I have a lot to show you, and I can’t do that here.”

  Althea turned and sauntered slowly down the corridor. Martin led the visitors into the depths of the orbital workshop, cautioning them to move deliberately and carefully in the Relic’s microgravity, lest they thrust themselves into flight with an unwittingly forceful step.

  “So what did Martin haul us up here to show us?” Patrice said as they settled into seats in her sleeping area.

  “Actually, the showing comes a wee bit later,” Althea said. “First, a lot of telling.” She leaned against the lumpy nickel-iron wall and waved a hand mock-casually. “We think we’ve cracked it.”

  No one spoke, or grunted, or even breathed audibly, yet the spike of surprise that passed through the visitors was impossible to miss.

  “You...think,” Teodor said.

  Althea nodded. “The experimental results from our test crystal are consistent with a fifteen percent increase in the speed of light.” She grinned again. “That’s fifteen percent over the speed of light in a vacuum.”

  A gasp circled the group.

  “What can you do with that?” Teodor asked.

  “With that alone? Not much. But that’s just from the power we have from one eighteen-century-old fission reactor that spends most of its juice keeping us alive up here. If my equations are sound, with a terawatt of power I can get raw space to accept passage at approximately Michelson eighty. Give me a terawatt more, and I can drag a fifty-ton mass up to that speed in about two months.” She pulled a mock innocent face. “Hope to Earth in four months or a little better. That fast enough for you?”

  She swept her eyes over the stunned guests.

  “Rothbard, Rand, and Ringer,” Valerie breathed. “You actually did it.”

  Althea nodded. “We think so, Mom.”

  “Wait a moment,” her mother said. “What about reaction mass?”

  “Don’t need it.”

  “How, then?”

  “Basically, the same technique that allows me to increase the speed of light,” Althea said. “Alteration of the permittivity constant, applied differentially—a front-to-back gradient—over an ovoid volume enclosing the mass to be propelled. A properly distributed effusion of gamma rays and W-plus bosons is all it takes to get the process started. Put a negative charge on the outer surface of the vessel, and you're off. That gives you a reactionless drive and the next best thing to perpetual motion. Only works in a hard vacuum, though, so don't expect to use it for anything groundside.”

  The genesmith appeared near to apoplexy. “You altered a fundamental constant of physics?”

  Althea nodded again. “Should I have asked permission first?” She grinned. “I had to, Granduncle. The only way to breach what we call the lightspeed barrier is to alter the conditions that determine lightspeed. The only way to do that is to increase the permittivity of the vacuum. And the only possibility of doing that lay in Althea's Axiom.”

  “Which is?”

  “Constants...aren't.”

  She pointed them toward a narrow, artfully concealed tunnel that led deep into the planetoid.

  “But you haven’t heard the good news yet.”

  * * *

  The fusion demonstration rig was simpler than Althea’s guests could believe.

  “You really mean,” Teodor said, “to induce a fusion reaction in that?”

  Althea nodded. “A little one. You’ll have to take our word for a few things, though.” She pointed at the electronically encrusted stopcock on the polycarbonate chamber. “Martin worked long and hard on that thing. It counts hydrogen atoms. When pulsed, it allows exactly one million atoms to pass into the chamber. I’ve succeeded in creating fusions that small, but for demo purposes I’ve admitted about two hundred million. Half a second while we power up the pinch field.”

  She nodded to Martin, who stepped over to a bank of switches and flipped two of them. A high whine filled the tunnel as the electromagnets dotted around the fusion bubble powered up. When the whine had stabilized, he wheeled a mechanism that looked like a trolley-mounted Tesla snout toward the bubble. He used markers painted onto the walls and floor of the tunnel to point it at the exact center of the enclosed space.

  “Keep your eyes on the bubble, folks.” Martin pressed a third switch.

  Immediately the center of the bubble flared with an actinic flash. A burst of gentle heat, just enough to be felt through clothing, pervaded the tunnel and swiftly dissipated.

  “Type two stellar fusion. It’s a two-stage process. First, hydrogen to deuterium, then deuterium to helium.” Althea giggled. “Leaves a very useful surplus of unbound electrons,” she said. “We can’t put it to use with the facilities we’ve got. That would take more engineering, and a hell of a lot more equipment. But we can make it happen, without the need for a prior fission reaction or a bank of lasers to cause ignition. The rest,” she said, “is up to you.”

  A long silence filled the tunnel.

  “Then we don’t need U-235 fission for the power plants anymore,” Teodor breathed.

  Martin grinned and patted the strange-looking projector. “One of these devices is all it takes.”

  “And those require...?” Teodor said.

  He grinned. “A few grams of indium perthallate, some charge drivers hooked to properly matched and calibrated klystrons, and a dab of Al’s special sauce.”

  “Bart,” Patrice said unsteadily, “shall we go back down to Hope and start licensing this technology at once, or would you prefer to have lunch first?”

  Althea held up a hand. “Whoa, hang on a minute there, Pat,” she said. “We have to discuss the fee.”

  * * *

  “Four hundred million dekas,” Bart murmured. Softly, just in case speaking too loudly might make it real. Patrice looked as if she were on the verge of a heart attack.

  Althea nodded. “Conservatively. It could come to less. But we won’t need it all at once. The first thing we’ll need is labor. Lots of it. We’re not about to build an interstellar vessel all by ourselves.”

  “But you’re planning to design it all by yourselves,” Teodor said.

  “Yes, we are,” she said. She reached for Martin’s hand. “Do you know someone better qualified, Granduncle?”

  The genesmith’s face flared with color, but he held his peace.

  Maybe we’ve spent too long in orbit. Maybe they don’t think of us as their kin any more.

  “Martin had more than one chore to see to groundside,” she said. “He’s arranged for the construction of a second ground-to-orbit spaceplane, which will be at your exclusive disposal. You’ll have that, and any royalties, present and future, from its design and technology. If we can reach an agreement, you’ll also have the licensure fees from the fusion technology. Does anyone think that’s likely to be a failure?”

  “Al—” Bart started.

  “Yes or no, Bart.” Althea rose and loomed over them, hands on her hips. In the confines of the living quarters, her height and dramatic build magnified its effectiveness. “You’re about to acquire a technology capable of proactively solving Hope’s most worrisome problem, and of eliminating the one and only centralizing feature of Hope life. We’re offering it to the clan for fixed compensation: the construction of a starship to be designed by Martin and me, whatever that might cost. Based on our preliminary designs, we estimate that it will run to about four hundred million dekas. There will be no haggling.”

  The patriarch of the Morelons lowered his gaze to the carpet and lapsed into laughter.

  “What did you teach her about interrupting,
Val?”

  Althea’s mother was laughing too. “Probably that you might be about to hear something you’d like.”

  Althea’s eyebrows rose. “Oh?”

  “You’ll get your four hundred million, Al,” Barton said. “And the usual share in all the revenue your breakthrough earns for the clan, just like always. I was just thinking what a departure this will be for Clan Morelon. We’ve been corn farmers for thirteen centuries. Now it’ll be corn and watts.” He straightened up and smiled broadly. “And space travel. Armand and Teresza were right, though God alone could say how they knew. There’s no one on Hope to compare with you. Will fifty million cover the next year or so, or will you need more?”

  Althea paled and sank back into her seat.

  “That...should do it.”

  He nodded. “Just keep us posted.”

  “Bart—”

  He held up a hand. “Not now, Pat. We’re about to be billionaires. Each of us. Learn to win gracefully, for Rand’s sake.”

  * * *

  Barton stood back as the others exited the Relic and reboarded Freedom's Horizon. When they were aboard, he closed and sealed the outer hatch and turned to Althea. Althea's eyebrows rose.

  “You're not coming back with us, are you?” he said.

  Althea shook her head. “Martin has complete documentation and schematics for the fusion system. Everything you’ll need to build or license it. He’s agreed to remain groundside to supervise the construction of the first working reactors, all the way to completion.”

  He snorted gently. “Another launch, another two million. How much longer, dearest of all my kin by marriage?”

  Althea grinned. “I'll have to get back to you on that, most high and beloved patriarch.”

  Barton nodded, but made no move toward the hatch. Althea's anxieties over affairs on the surface of Hope, well controlled up to then, moved to the front of her brain.

  “Have you picked a scion yet?” she said.

  Barton nodded. “Emma. The council approved.” He held up a hand. “Not to worry, I asked her if she was willing first. The silly girl leaped at it. She actually thinks all the bookkeeping and organizing I do is fascinating. I wonder if she’ll feel the same after she’s done it for a few decades.”

  “How’s Nora?” she said tentatively.

  Barton smiled. “Glowing to outdo a Sexember sunrise. Even more beautiful than the day we married.”

  “And Granduncle Chuck?”

  The smile became a scowl. “Not good. Recovering his balance, but he’s not the Chuck of old. I get nervous when he’s alone for any length of time.”

  Althea nodded, her anxieties undiminished.

  Is something else not quite right with the family? But he wouldn't have hesitated to mention anything like that in front of the others.

  How I miss being able to chat with Grandpere Armand.

  “Something we forgot to cover, Bart?”

  He grimaced. “Something I’d rather not cover, but it can’t wait much longer, and I’d rather you started thinking about it now.”

  Althea tensed internally. Barton sat on a wall-anchored bench and beckoned to Althea to join him.

  “You probably know the clan’s history better than I do,” he said. “We’ve made it a point of pride that we care for our own, no matter what. It’s not a unique stance. Most of the other clans are scrupulous about their kindred, keeping them safe and out of harm’s way. But when we say ‘our own,’ we mean something a little broader than what other clans mean by it.”

  He waved inclusively at the embarkation chamber and the adits to Althea’s and Martin’s tunnels. “You’ve done a good job making your areas safe to live and work in. Well sealed off, carefully machined, no pressure fluctuations. I saw no dangerous protrusions anywhere. I wouldn’t have expected anything else from you, knowing you, and knowing that you knew you and Martin would be up here for years at a time. But the scale of your operation is about to change.

  “In a few months at most, you’re going to have fifty workers up here alongside you. They’ll need a place to live, to eat, sleep, shower, and recreate. They won’t be able to share your tunnels—”

  “I couldn’t have them here anyway, Bart.”

  He nodded. “I understand. So they’ll need a habitat. We’ll have to build it for them, teach them how to live in it and with it, and get it–and them–up to the Relic. But Al, no matter how carefully you engineer the thing, and how elaborately you instruct them in its use and maintenance, it will be a bubble of air and warmth anchored to a sterile lump of rock floating in airless, heatless space. There’ll be mistakes. One or more of your workers will die.

  “You know the story. Dozens of deaths occurred in the shaping of the Relic into a habitat for the Spoonerites. The survivors mourned them, one and all, but they didn’t regret them. There was no alternative to accepting the risks involved if the Spoonerites were to have a stable place to live while they journeyed to their new home. This is different. This isn’t about survival. It’s about your curiosity.”

  Althea started to demur, halted herself. Barton rose, leaned against the nickel-iron wall of the chamber, and fixed his gaze on the outer hatch to the docking ring, the ultimate provision against a catastrophic blowout during a docking.

  “We’ve been sitting here with that hatch half open and thinking nothing about it. It’s unwise, we both know it’s unwise, but we’re casual about it because it’s Martin’s work on both sides of the ring. We know his work is good, that he’d never entrust your life, or the life of a kinsman, to anything shoddy.”

  The head of Clan Morelon straightened. His eyes sharpened as his voice acquired a hint of iron.

  “Althea, from the moment those workers get here, I want you to treat them as if they were our kin, their lives just as precious as yours and mine. You will not tell yourself that they’re getting paid to take risks. You will not put them to any hazard–or any discomfort–you can foresee and avert. And you will not wave away any harm to any of them as unavoidable, ‘just one of those things.’ This entire enterprise is avoidable, and any harm or loss of life that occurs in the process is to your account.” He paused and stared at the floor. “And to mine, for permitting and financing it.”

  Althea planted her hands on her hips. “Are we back to the ‘permitting’ nonsense, Bart? You of all people know the clan could never have stopped us.”

  The patriarch of Clan Morelon inclined his head in concession.

  “Certainly not by force. But I could have refused you the financing you need. And never doubt that I could have shamed Martin out of it. Given how devoted he is to you, it would have been a challenge, but I’m confident I could have done it. He and I have a rapport you’ve never quite grasped. Would you have been willing to go through all this entirely alone, Althea?”

  “...no...”

  Barton smiled.

  He’s become more than any of us could ever have expected.

  We’re blessed to have him.

  “I think you understand me,” he said. “Do you agree? Patrice won’t finance you and I won’t recruit labor for you otherwise.”

  Althea rose, nodded wordlessly, and spread her arms. They embraced. Barton fastened his helmet onto the collar of his pressure suit, stepped through the outer hatch to Freedom’s Horizon, waved once in farewell, and closed it behind him.

  ====

  Chapter 27

  They spent four more years in orbit.

  They were four years of design, of prototyping, of testing and diagnosis, redesign and retesting. Four years of experiments in materials science beyond anything ever before attempted by Man. Four years of delicate probes in highest-of-high-energy physics, seeking the safest possible design for an engine powered by the fury of suns. Four years of shift after shift of pressure-suited workmen, equipped with tools that wielded energies no groundside task would ever require, laboring to express those designs in ceramics and steel.

  Four years shaping an instrument of ul
timate liberation. Four years watching artisans of every sort shape the grandest of all Man’s fantasies into the means for their actualization. Four years to move from a gauzy dream to its physical embodiment, fruit of the passion of heroes and the genius of a lone woman.

  It was not without costs. The original estimates for the required expenditures were within eight percent of the reality. The overage derived largely from the many ground-to-orbit flights required to provision the workmen and ensure their safety. Althea spent her fortune nearly to exhaustion, preserving only her grandparents’ original five million deka bequest as a nucleus for rebirth. Clan Morelon provided the balance.

  There were many injuries. Fortunately, Althea had thought to subcontract the design of the habitat to Hallanson-Albermayer Corporation. HalberCorp’s solution for an emergency ingress portal, a pseudo-living self-pressurizing sphincter that eliminated the need for an airlock, was instrumental in the preservation of several lives. Clan Albermayer also provided an orbital clinic, for an exceedingly stiff fee. Althea agreed to the terms without hesitation. It caused Claire Albermayer to wonder for many days whether she should have demanded even more.

  There were two deaths. The first one was an accident with an X-ray-laser welder. The injury was too swiftly fatal for any emergency treatment to preserve the wielder’s life. The workman’s clan requested that his remains be returned to them. Martin loaded the corpse onto Freedom’s Horizon with solemn reverence, flew the man home, and spoke movingly to the bereaved of his appreciation for the sacrifice.

  The second death occurred when a workman was caught unaware between two moving subassemblies. The crews jockeying them into position had failed to alert others in their path. The collision severed the victim’s spine at the neck. That evening, after a commemorative service among the workmen, at which Martin delivered the homily and many miscellaneous words of comfort, Althea loaded the deceased into a ballistic capsule, inserted it into the Relic’s mini-mass driver, and fired it into the sun.

  For four years, the work continued. Designers and artisans became one in their dedication and focus, a team that nothing could daunt. In the space around the Relic and in the tunnels within it, the team pressed on.