I dropped the physics journal, which landed on my foot with a soft thud. “Ouch! Mark, wait a minute. It's been a good year. My family's enjoyed all the Washington sightseeing, but I didn't think you'd actually want me to do something at the NSF. I have to keep my research program going, you know."
“Cut the crap, George. I know for a fact that you haven't published a worthwhile physics paper in five years. It's time to earn your pay here."
“I wouldn't even know where to begin,” I said.
“Then look around Washington. Check out the other agencies. See if anyone has dealt with a similar problem.” Mark turned the corner at the end of the bookshelf, then peered back at me. “And don't forget to turn out the lights."
* * * *
“Well, what have you got to show me?” asked Mark, sliding a paper deftly into his outbox. “And what's in that bag you're holding?"
I dropped the brown paper bag onto a stack of papers on Mark's desk. “I did just what you said. It was the Department of Agriculture that gave me the idea.” I reached into the bag and pulled out three potatoes, flaking dirt onto the desk.
Mark leaned over his desk and brushed the dirt onto the floor. “Potatoes, George? What the heck—"
“Let's say farmers are growing too many potatoes. That drives prices down, which is bad for everyone. So Agriculture pays the farmers not to grow potatoes.” I dropped two of the potatoes back into my bag. “We've got the same problem—we pay people to write science papers, and they write too many. Let's pay them not to write."
Mark shook his head. “Whoa, we're not trying to get rid of all scientific research, just the bad stuff."
“Exactly. So we don't pay the good scientists to stop doing research. But when we get a mediocre proposal, we fund them to publish a little bit less for a few years. The worse the proposal, the more we ask them to cut back on their publication rate, and the more we compensate them. Maybe we could even automate the review process."
Mike stroked his non-existent beard, then realized it was gone and pulled his hand away. “Let me think about it."
* * * *
The FBI agent shook his head. “Look, I know that the NSF eventually implemented your idea, but this is the government we're talking about, not Microsoft. Washington doesn't pay huge bonuses for coming up with clever ideas."
I nodded. “You're right, but that's not the end of the story.” I went into the cabin and pulled out an envelope with the hands-around-the-world NSF logo on the front. “I've saved this as a memento. Read it."
The FBI agent slipped the letter from the envelope, unfolded it, and began reading aloud. “Dear Dr. McCarthy: Thank you for your proposal DMR-0808516. I am happy to inform you that your proposal will be funded for $21,750,000. You are asked to refrain from publishing any scientific papers for the next 3,137 years."
Copyright (c) 2008 Robert Scherrer
* * * *
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[Back to Table of Contents]
* * *
Short Story: INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT
by William Gleason
Theoretical models try to describe reality in ways both accurate and usable, but they need revision in the light of new data....
“Bob Roberts, that stuffed shirt, he's your boss?” laughed a grease-covered dockworker amidst the bustle of the loading dock.
“That's enough, Shirl,” Dr. Meadows said as she fitted the neurolink cowl over Harry's scalp. “I know Bob-bashing is everyone's favorite pastime, but give this guy a break, will you? He just got here. Okay, Lamb, suit up."
Harry groaned and rose from the stool. “Doc, I told you, I'm checked out in the MAN. I even know what ‘MAN’ stands for—mechanized, automated, neurolinked. Isn't that enough?"
“You were certified on Earth where it's a convenient 1-g,” Meadows said, turning to study the monitor that showed Harry's uplink pattern being copied into the computer. “But out on Sabre's surface, beyond the gravity-suppression plate FL-35 sits on, it's a most inconvenient 4.7-g. We have to be a bit more careful here."
Harry wasn't ready to surrender. “Look, I know the tokamak won't work near the grav plate, but it's not like I'm going to be walking the three kilometers every day!"
“Give it up, Lamb,” Shirl said, as Harry sized up the giant black suit standing nearby. “Roberts insists on the check. The windbag is all talk and no substance, but he's got rank."
As his shaky fingers fumbled with the seals, Harry tried to ignore the small crowd that was gathering. He exhaled in relief as the imposing suit finally popped open, then he stared morosely into its complex innards, trying to recall the mnemonic that walked him through the entry steps.
“You sure you know what you're doing?” Shirl asked doubtfully.
“Yeah, sure,” Harry said. “Uh, so Roberts is really that bad?"
A tall man in a gray jumpsuit took the bait. “Wait till you meet him! Never takes a turn minding his precious reactor unless newbies are inbound, then breaks his own rules and won't take a partner, not that there are volunteers. Might as well wait to get unpacked, Lamb, you're due for the slaughter—of boredom!"
“Not tonight he isn't,” Meadows interjected through the chuckles. “If Roberts needs anything, somebody else will have to do it. You'll get your surface check tomorrow, Lamb. Right now it's engrams and a button-up—and I have three other people to process, so let's go."
SMASH!That was it! The acronym's first letter stood for “systems check.” Harry reached out and triggered diagnostics. “Neuro uplink is green,” he said. “Sensors online, shields green, structural integrity checks out. Biofeeds and dispensary are green."
“Ready to roll,” said the doctor.
M is for “mount," Harry recalled just in time. He pulled open the leg flaps, turned around, and stepped back and up into the suit. As he shoved his arms into the sleeve constrictors, he continued silently to himself, A is for “attach." At Harry's mental command, the suit's armored exterior folded around him, and the inner lining inflated to conform tightly to his body. He sensed rather than felt the contacts on his skin as the MAN assumed biocontrol.
The second S is for “seal." Harry gave another wordless command and the MAN's outer armor shrank inward
with a heavy sigh, completing the closest symbiosis between muscle, mind, and machine ever devised. It felt like a giant fist had closed around him. Many people said the suits made them feel powerful, but Harry just felt small.
Harry chewed his lower lip. For the life of him, he couldn't remember what the H stood for. The precious memory danced just beyond the ring of faces staring up at him expectantly. Then an amber light flashed. “Uh, I've got a leak indicator,” he said.
“Close your faceplate, ditz!” Shirl shouted and stomped her foot. “Oh, Roberts is going to love you!"
Belatedly, Harry sealed the faceplate and the indicator light winked out, but he could still hear the riotous laughter. Of course, he thought, H stands for “hood." Feeling like the biggest jackass in three galaxies, Harry braced himself for the humiliation of having to ask whether he'd passed inspection. He was spared this indignity, however, when a loud siren began to blare.
A panicked voice sounded in Harry's comlink. “Shit! Roberts is trying to—"
There was a distant boom. Harry felt a pulse, the briefest constriction, and watched helplessly as the unprotected people around him were suddenly tossed through the air like a handful of socks. For a moment there was absolute darkness, until dull red emergency lamps revealed Harry as the only person standing.
A burst of static filled his ears. “—anyone? This is Dr. Roberts. Anyone there?"
“Yes,” said Harry, the word emerging as a croak. “I'm here. Harry Lamb. There's been an explosion. I'm in a MAN suit. I've got injured."
“God, Lamb, I hope you're not an idiot,” said Roberts, “because if you don't do exactly what I tell you, everybody on this planet is dead. Clear?"
Harry swallowed. “Yes, sir."
“Good. Do you know anything about fusion reactors?"
“Yes, sir, I'm a fusion tech. I know all about them."
“Great, another hotshot! Just please tell me you know what a magnetic energy dissipater is, and maybe we'll live through the day. This one needs a replacement power relay. Do you know what I'm talking about?"
Harry frowned. “Dr. Roberts, those things are pretty big. Maybe you should scram the reactor till we can fix things proper."
“I tried that, you idiot!” the disembodied voice bellowed. Harry would have cringed had the MAN let him. “Plasma containment is overheated, and fail-safes won't allow a shutdown without the dissipater! You want to argue with me?"
“N-no, sir,” Harry stammered. He took his first awkward step forward as several people around him began to stir. “I'll load the contactor into a railcar and drive it out."
“Damn it, Lamb, I need you to pull it together!” Roberts exclaimed. “What are they teaching you kids? Things don't just happen, there are causes! Just before the alert there was an aborted discharge from the jump-gate generator. I know it's supposed to be impossible, but I'm guessing there was an energy backlash. Probably fried every coupling between here and the station. That explosion you felt had to be the main junction, which means the railroad is no longer running! Load the relay on a flatcar if you can and push it as far as there's track. After that, you'll have to carry it."
The parts bay was well organized, and Harry easily located the bulky, half-ton component. Lifting it barely taxed the MAN's considerable strength, but Harry suspected it would be different out in the heavy g. Unused to the suit's balance-gyros, Harry felt constantly on the verge of falling as he carried the L-shaped component toward the airlock. But at least the problem gave him something to focus on other than the people writhing in pain around him.
Dr. Meadows’ voice sounded angrily in his ear. “Where are you going, Lamb? Get over here and help me!"
“Ignore that!” Roberts shouted. “Carry out your orders, Lamb!"
“Roberts, I have injured!” Meadows shouted back. “Looks like a damn bomb went off in here!"
“I need that contactor, Ann! Without it, there's not enough medicine in the world to help those people!"
The argument continued as Harry passed through the airlock and started down the path to the railway terminus situated just beyond the grav plate's rim. He paused before a large warning sign demarcating the edge of the field. A few paces beyond it stood the depot, from which three sets of tracks ran off in parallel. Poised on one of them was a flatbed railcar.
“Listen, Bob, I'm the ranking civilian on this station!” Meadows cried. “And I'm declaring a civil emergency! I need that MAN back here now!"
“Lamb, listen to me!” Roberts growled. “You say you know all about fusion reactors? Tell Dr. Meadows what's going to happen if we have a breach!"
To Harry, the decision was easy. Not comfortable, but easy. He stepped across a red and yellow striped line. He wouldn't have thought it possible, but even inside the suit he could feel a heavy weight settle onto his shoulders. A grunt escaped his lips. For a moment he teetered forward, barely managing to hang onto the relay.
He spoke through deep breaths as he approached the flatbed. “The Sabre FL-35 tokamak has fifty-four liquid-helium-insulated superconducting magnets.” He laid the contactor on the railcar. “If insulation failed and a magnet got hot enough to gain resistance, it would continue to heat until it exploded, which would set off a cascade effect in the others. If they all shattered, we're looking at an explosion the scale of Hiroshima."
“Ah ah ah,” Roberts chided as Harry put the railcar in neutral. “Don't forget that the dissipater is shot! Plus, the entire housing is encased in a forty-meter thick, neutron-absorbing blanket of liquid lithium. That'll certainly add to the fireworks if this baby goes off! It'll be like Christmas in Hell!"
If Dr. Meadows was still listening, she offered no response.
Getting the railcar moving took enormous effort, as even the MAN's cleated soles slipped repeatedly on the icy surface. Harry began to wonder if it might not be easier to just carry the component the whole way, but finally the car gained momentum on the low-friction rails and the going got easier.
After a few long strides, Harry found himself engulfed in darkness. Even with the suit's optic enhancements, vision was grainy. The inky air seemed a tangible thing. Every few steps, Harry glanced back at the receding station to reassure himself there was more to reality than just the pale green data readouts scrolling inside his faceplate. Looking ahead, he was amazed he couldn't see the reactor. It was over ten stories tall, yet he couldn't discern even a silhouette against the dim stars on the horizon.
“Lamb, where are you?” Roberts demanded abruptly. “Look, we have another problem. Are you on your way?"
“Yes, sir,” Harry panted. “I have the relay."
“Okay, shit, look, containment temperature's rising too fast. There must be damage to the magnets somewhere, probably a coolant leak. Jesus! Okay, I'm going into the basin, but I'm going to need a patch. Station? Station? Anyone?"
“This is Banyard!” came the surly reply. “We're kind of busy right now, Roberts!"
“Shirley, damn it, I need you to listen to me!” Roberts said. “I need a sheet of polyfib—"
“Forget it, Roberts!” interrupted the voice, which Harry now placed with the dockworker on the bay. “I'm sick of you thinking you know everything! My fucking arm may be broken, and Clutch is dead! You think I give a shit what you need?"
“Shirl, this is Harry Lamb. You've got to listen to Dr. Roberts. If we can't shut down the reactor, nothing else matters. There may be a—"
The flatcar Harry was pushing suddenly tilted and lunged forward. Harry, half stretched over the rear of the car, was yanked from his feet. He screamed as he plunged downward into darkness. A moment later he was jarred by a bone-rattling blow to his midsection. He sailed through the air to land in an awkward heap and then tried in vain to fill his flattened lungs as a million tiny lights exploded in his head. As the darkness groped for him, he caught snippets of conversation.
“...need that contactor..."
“...Lamb? Lamb, you still there..."
“...shit, I found t
he rupture, lower deck..."
Harry's chest screamed in agony as the suit forced air into his lungs. A loud, eerie howl escaped his lips, and death loomed as a blessing. Then a soothing wave of coldness rolled through his body, washed through his brain, leaving him feeling pleasantly detached. Absently, he considered the grim medical data scrolling before his eyes.
“I've got broken ribs,” he said. “Internal bleeding. The MAN says I need a doctor.” He fought an urge to giggle.
“Can you move?” Roberts demanded. “Is the relay damaged?"
“Relay?” Harry repeated distractedly.
Roberts cursed. “Look, Lamb, the suit has pumped you full of painkillers, but I need you to focus, okay? Remember your orders. I need you to bring me the contactor. Can you do that?"
Harry forced himself to sit up. There was no pain, but he felt a grotesque crumpling in his side. Casting his gaze about, he spotted the partially hidden power relay. “I see it,” he said. “It's pinned under the railcar. I'll get it.” He only vaguely noted the ongoing conversation in his headset as he slowly gained his feet.
“He may need help, Banyard!"
“Fine! I'll send out a suit and a patch when I can, okay?"
“Thank you!"
“Yeah, and fuck you, too!"
It wasn't until he was reaching for the contactor that Harry realized he couldn't move his left arm. A quick check showed the suit to be undamaged. It took several seconds after that for his addled brain to realize that the suit had deliberately immobilized the arm because of his injuries.
He grabbed the relay with his right hand and tugged. It inched forward. The railcar lay at a precarious angle and shifted slightly with every pull, but Harry saw no alternative. When the relay finally came free, the flatbed dropped and rocked dangerously before growing still. Exhausted, Harry fell to his knees.
“Got it,” he murmured. “Dr. Roberts, I got it."
“Good boy!” Roberts said. “I need you to bring it here. There's not much time."
Analog SFF, April 2008 Page 14