War World Discovery

by John F. Carr

  Allan touched a switch, and his computer screen went blank. He glanced at the status lights on his console. “SCIENCE READY AYE AYE,” he reported.

  “QUARTERMASTER SECTION REPORT READY FOR JUMP.”

  The station check continued. Then the speakers said, “ALDERSON JUMP IN ONE MINUTE. ONE MINUTE AND COUNTING.”

  “Science section,” Allan said. There was contempt in his voice. “If I was a real scientist, I’d be investigating things. Why does the Alderson Jump rack people up?”

  “Nobody knows that—”

  “Exactly. I should be finding out—”

  “STAND BY FOR JUMP.”

  There was a moment of silence, and the universe exploded around them.

  Allan hung limply from the straps. He felt drool run down his chin, but for the moment he was too sick to care. His thoughts spun wildly.

  For a moment—

  For a moment he had known everything. He was sure of it. During that moment, when he, and Linda, and CDSS Ranger had ceased to exist in the normal universe, he had known, known with utter certainty, how planets formed, how the universe began, why the Alderson Drive worked. Now he couldn’t remember any of it, only that he’d once known.

  It was a common experience. Probably half the people who had made Jumps had felt it at least once. It was also an odd experience, because no experiment ever devised had measured the time a Jump took. To the best anyone could measure, it took literally no time at all. Yet during that zero interval, humans had thoughts and dreams while computers went mad, so that it was routine to shut down all computers except the ones needed for the Jump, and to have those on timers set to cut power as soon as the Jump was made.

  “Linda?” he croaked.

  “I’m fine.”

  She didn’t sound fine. but at first it was hard to care about her or anything else, and after he began to recover from Jump Lag he had work to do. He started the power-up sequences on his computers.

  “All right, damn-it, so what do we do now?” Captain Byers demanded. He reached into a sideboard and took out a bulb of scotch whiskey, popped the top, and squeezed a shot into his mouth.

  “I’m looking,” Allan protested. “Look, it takes time. First I have to establish the plane of the ecliptic. That means I have to find more than two planets, or wait long enough for one to move.”

  “Yeah, I understand that,” Byers said. “I don’t suppose it will hurt your search if I mosey on over to the gas giant?”

  “Not a bit,” Allan said. “I was going to suggest that. It looks interesting. Hey—”

  “Yeah?”

  “Moons,” Allan said. “The giant’s got some. Ten anyway. They’ll be in the ecliptic plane.”

  “Well, hell, of course they’ll be in the ecliptic,” Byers said. He looked critically at Allan, then shook his head.

  “Sir?” Allan asked.

  “I keep forgetting,” Jed Byers said. “Not your fault. Mine.”

  “Captain, I don’t understand at all,” Allan Wu pleaded.

  Jed Byers shrugged and reached into the cabinet. “Have a beer?”

  “Well, thank you, sir—”

  “By way of apology,” Byers said. “Look, you can’t help it if they deliberately crippled your education.”

  Allan frowned. “Captain, I—”

  “You’ve got a PhD, from Cornell, and you’re a licensed scientist,” Byers said. “That what you were going to say?”

  “Well—”

  “And it don’t mean beans,” Byers said. “Not your fault. Look, nobody knows anything nowadays. It’s all in the computers, so there’s no point in knowing anything, right?”

  “Well—it’s not worthwhile memorizing facts,” Allan said. “It’s easier to learn where to find them—”

  “Where to find them. In the computer. Ever think the computers might be wrong?”

  “Sir?”

  Jed Byers sighed. “Look, maybe I’ve had too much to drink.” He eyed Allan carefully. “No recorders. Maybe you got one built into your teeth—the hell with it. Look, Dr. Wu, there was a time when ‘scientist’ meant somebody who knew something, who thought for himself—”

  “Yes, sir,” Allan said. “I know, and I don’t measure up. I know that; I was just telling Linda. They don’t let us do real research—”

  “Maybe it’s worse than that,” Byers said. “Think on it, laddie. The CoDominium Treaty is supposed to stop the arms race, right? So if the CoDominium powers abide by it, everybody else has to, or one of the little guys might get ahead of the CoDominium. Only one problem. Any scientific discovery is likely to have military value. Better to stop it all. So tell me, if you were in CoDominium Intelligence, how would you stop scientific discovery?”

  “Well—”

  “Get control of everybody’s research budget, every country and every company, not just the U.S. and the Sov world, all of them, Swiss and Swedes and the other neutrals. Put your people on the editorial boards of all the journals. Take over in the faculty and administration of the big universities. Elementary stuff. But how can you stop people from thinking? And putting what they think into computer networks?”

  Byers laughed bitterly. “When I was a kid—Wu, do you know how old I am?”

  “No sir—”

  “Older than God. I’ve heard you say it,” Byers said. “Oh, yeah, Ranger’s wired up pretty good. And I know her. I took her out on her first run—”

  “Sir? But that was—”

  “A long time ago. Yep. Making me old enough to remember when ‘scientist’ meant something, which is the point. When I was a kid, we used to think the computer networks would end censorship forever. How can you censor on-line communications? Hah. You don’t. What you do is corrupt them.” Byers swigged hard at the bulb of scotch. “Think about it. Control research, control publications, and feed false data into the system. Know what Planck’s Constant is? No? Look it up in your machine. Maybe you get the right answer. Maybe you don’t.”

  “Sir—” Allan was interrupted by three chirps from his comcard.

  “PLANET DETECTED, POINT SIX THREE AU FROM PRIMARY.”

  “Hey, a good distance,” Allan said. “Maybe we’re lucky after all. Sir, if you’ll excuse me…”

  “Excuse hell! Doctor Wu, go find out if we’re rich, and be quick about it!”

  Five minutes later Allan knew the worst. The planet was barren. So was the only other one in the Habitable Zone. There couldn’t be any life in the system.

  *

  *

  *

  “That’s the story,” Geoffrey Wu said. He signaled to the waiter for another platter of pot stickers. “A new planetary system, with a gas giant. No Belt, though.”

  “I suppose that’s why I’m buying the dinner,” Bill Garrick said. “Pity. But how’d you end up coming to an expensive school like this?”

  Jeff grinned and fished in the pocket of his tunic, found a pink slip of paper, and laid it on the table. “No Belt, but there was something else.”

  Garrick looked at the check and whistled.

  “Peanuts,” Mary Hassimpton snorted.

  “Yeah, well maybe to you, Miss Imperial Banks, but not to Dad,” Jeff said.

  “Lighten up, Mary,” Garrick said. He drained his Chinese beer and lit a pipe of borloi.

  “You’re still grinning,” Elayne van Stapleton said.

  “And you’ve got money. Tell us about it.”

  “Now who’s turn to lighten up?” Mary demanded.

  “Aw, let Elayne be,” Bill Garrick said. “Somebody’s got to study. Why not her? So, Jeff, where did the money come from?”

  Jeff grinned even wider. “Well, none of the real planets were of any use, but they found a good planet after all. It’s a moon of the gas giant.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Mary said.

  “Yeah, I heard about that,” Garrick said, “Haven, right?”

  “Right. Not what Captain Byers named it, but it’s official now that the Holy Joes bought it.�
��

  “So. Your old man did all right after all.” Garrick took the check and held it out for Jeff. “So you pay for the Peking Duck.”

  “Well, all right,” Jeff said. “But I can tell you, nobody got rich—not real rich—from selling out to Garner Castell.”

  Luna Base, 2034

  CoDominium Colonial Bureau Chief John Albert Overton, IV stared at the pile of files, discs and wafers that blanketed his desk, wondering how-in-the-hell he was ever going to catch up. With over thirty worlds to administer and oversee, the Colonial Bureau was drowning in paperwork and reports. And now some underling from the Bureau of Intelligence wanted a chunk of his time….

  Chief Overton removed a cigarette from its pack and put it in his mouth. A flick of his finger ignited the Qwik-Lite and he sucked smoke into his lungs. Tobacco was forbidden throughout space except for in the CoDominium’s headquarters on Luna Base; after all, who was going to tell a Grand Senator he had to give up smoking—no matter how much oxygen it wasted.

  The Senate chamber and government officers were buried so deep into the moon’s crust that not even a direct strike by a nuclear weapon could destroy the underground chambers. To cover the basalt-like stone walls and help dampen the claustrophobia that was endemic to Luna Base, his office had wall-to-wall 3-Vee screens showing the beaches of Southern California, breaking waves and bright sunshine, He released a smoke ring and watched as it slowly drifted across the chamber due to the Luna’s lesser gravity. If undisturbed, the ring would remain floating slowly through the room until it collided with the screen showing the La Jolla shores.

  It was bad enough that last year he’d had to waste several months of his time helping to organize and setup the new Bureau of ReLocation, fighting the Bureau of Corrections every step of the way. It was the Colonial Bureau’s hope that the Bureau of ReLocation, or BuReloc as it was starting to be called, would help administer the movement of Earth’s unwanted to the many undeveloped worlds that awaited her huddled masses—whether they knew it or not, whether they wanted them or not. It was immaterial. Earth was too overpopulated for her resource base and contained far too many fractious minorities. Every day there were new requests demanding the deportation of hundreds to tens of thousands of unwanted bodies.

  His intercom buzzed and his assistant’s voice announced, “Chief, I’ve got Under-Secretary Marshall Wainwright from BuInt in my office.”

  “Right on time. Send him in, Josh.”

  Wainwright, a tall man with stooped shoulders, a nearly bald head with a bad comb-over and a thin nose, shuffled into the room. At first glance, he appeared a non-entity; however, no one who looked into the dark depths of his brown eyes ever thought that again. Besides, nobody without a solid core of ambition and ruthlessness ever rose to even a secretary-ship within the CD Bureau of Intelligence.

  “What can I do for you, Under-Secretary?” he asked.

  “Call me, Wain.” His eyes searched the room and upon seeing the smoke ring asked, “Can I light up?”

  The Chief nodded. “Now, is there anything I can do for you, Wain?”

  Wainwright pulled out a small electronic device, about the size of a pack of cigarettes, and waved it in a circle. When there was no tell-tale screech, he nodded. “I like a man who keeps a clean house.”

  “It’s swept every time I leave or re-enter.”

  “This matter that I am about to relay is a delicate one. There’s a new habitable world, moon actually, that is of interest to the Bureau.”

  Overton nodded. He could think of half a dozen “interesting” worlds, right off the top of his head, that might be of interest to BuInt. No moons though. “Which world?” he asked.

  “The world hasn’t got a name yet. It’s officially designated as the fourth moon of the gas giant Byers II in the Byers System. There’s a big squabble over its designation as a habitable world. The discoverers, Captain Byers and his crew, are threatening to bring a breach-of-contract against the MIT/CalTech Consortium and we do not want to see this case go before the CD Council for adjudication.”

  Overton was about to ask why not, but thought better of it. “It’s out of our jurisdiction. What does BuInt want me to do about it?”

  Wainwright’s eyes searched the room as though hunting for a hidden camera. When they came to rest, he said, “We have need for an isolated world, far from Earth’s eyes for a number of reasons—most of which I won’t burden you with. It has been brought to our attention that this moon might be such a place. We have plans for one of our former agents, who is now the leader of a small cult, to ‘purchase’ this world as an enclave for his New Church of Universal Harmony.”

  “I’ve heard of the Harmonies. Dateline did a report on them recently. They don’t appear to be the type of group that would advance BuInt’s purposes.”

  “They’re not, Chief. However, we need a Potemkin Village as a cover and the Harmonies will do just fine. This world-let has certain advantages that make it ideal.”

  He nodded, waiting for Wainwright to continue.

  “This moon is at the edge of habitable space and so many Alderson Jumps from the nearest habitable planet that there will be few unexpected visitors. Nor are we the only ones interested in this moon. The Bureau of Corrections has been looking for a world where the opportunities of returning to Earth are just about nil. One where the air is thin enough that few babies will be born without expensive birth chambers. We don’t want to be inhumane but, on the other hand, these are criminals who have rejected civilized society and the cost of their continued incarceration on Earth is a growing problem.”

  Overton nodded. “As we’ve discovered at BuColonial, new colonies aren’t anxious to accept them either. The Bureau of Corrections has made the CoDominium quite a few enemies. What can I do to help?”

  Wainwright smiled. “I would like you to contact the University Consortium’s attorney, William Fahran, and tell them that as far as the Colonial Bureau is concerned Byers II, Moon 4 is a habitable world, and that you will send supporting data to support that assertion to the Civil or CoDominium Judiciary—should that become necessary….”

  Overton tried to keep the surprise out of his voice. “Bill Fahran and I went to law school together at Cal Berkeley, but I suspect you knew that.”

  The Under Secretary nodded. “We want this case settled as soon as possible and a survey ship sent to Byers System.”

  “It sounds like you already know a lot about this moon.”

  “We have our sources.”

  Overton nodded. He would talk with Fahran and give him the word. No one got ahead on Earth by thwarting BuInt.

  “We can supply you with whatever you need to get the job done, Chief. The Bureau will consider this a favor and….” His words trailed off.

  Wainwright didn’t have to finish since he knew that having BuInt in one’s debt was a thing of great value. No one could predict the direction of the political winds as the Americans and Russians played their continual push-me pull-me game with the CoDominium.

  “I’ll have a talk with Bill this evening. I’m sure he’ll play ball.”

  Wainwright smiled. “Thank you, Chief.”

  — 3 —

  THE GARDEN SPOT

  Don Hawthorne

  2034 A.D., Wayforth Station

  A class action suit filed by the crew of a CoDominium exploration vessel was upheld today after six weeks’ review of the case by CoDo arbitrators. The suit will now proceed to CoDominium Civil Court for eventual resolution.

  Captain Jed Byers of the CDSS Ranger and his crew were prepared to bring suit against the MIT/CalTech University Consortium for breach-of-contract regarding the Ranger’s claim of a discovery bonus for the Byers’ Star System. Though no habitable worlds exist in this system, the primary gas giant does possess a marginally habitable moon. The Ranger’s master and crew admit that this moon’s qualifications for colonial use are barely within the parameters established by CoDominium law, but it was the University Consortium’s positio
n that the very fact of its being a moon rather than a planet rendered any discovery bonus clauses in their contract null and void. In addition, reaching the new system is by no means easy; it lies at the end of several awkwardly linked Alderson Points, and travel time from Earth is over a standard year. Even so, CoDo arbitrators, perhaps fearing to set a precedent that might discourage initiative among exploratory vessels, passed the case upward in the Civil Judiciary, which is expected to hand down a ruling in favor of Captain Byers and his crew.

  When asked his opinion on the future of the system which now bears his name, Captain Byers shrugged and said: “That’s not my problem anymore. We found it. Now it’s up to the Survey boys.”

  Willard Fahran, attorney for the University Consortium had little to say beyond this: “We don’t see much point in pursuing this any further. The moon isn’t much more than a rock, but the more time we waste on litigation, the less time the Survey groups have to find some shred of value in it.”

  Mr. Fahran would not comment on a statement by Allan Wu, Science Officer of the Ranger, that “ownership” of an entire planetary body for personal exploitation allows very little chance of bankruptcy.”

  2035 A.D., Byers System

  “Geez, this place doesn’t look too good.” Frank Owens, the Navigator, grunted as he hunched over his screen in a posture that would bring misery to his back in years to come.

  “What it looks like is borderline quality dog food,” Brian Connolly, the First Officer, concurred. His voice had that fruity uppah-crust British drawl, and even in the gloom of the bridge, you could tell from its modulation that his posture was correct; his spine would never dare be otherwise.

  “Cold dog food,” Owens continued. He sat up and turned toward Captain Emmett Potter. “Christ, Captain; people are gonna try to live here?”

  “Most likely.” Potter was the end product of ten generations of Narragansett Bay fisherfolk. Though unusually loquacious for a Wet Yankee, he had to be in the right mood, and right now, that mood was not on him. There was too much work to do. He finished tweaking a circuit board and plugged it back into the sensor module. The ship’s master, Farrow, had very little money to spend, and in the months since leaving Wayforth Station Potter had become something of an expert in making do.