“Fuck you, fatty! I’m going to come in there and I’m going to kick your ass!”
“Hi, a man is trying to break into our building,” said the secretary into her headset. “We’re on 14 Federal Court, behind the Taj. It’s in the Financial District. No, he doesn’t seem to be armed. We have asked him to leave, he’s a former employee. Wait, he’s just walked away.”
“Is this Legal, at my own fucking company?”
Damien stood in the middle of the street. Around him, hats and gloves walked fast, noses red and eyes tearing. He blew on his freezing fingers. The morning sun was peeping between the sky scrapers. It lit, but did not warm.
“Good morning Damien,” said a familiar voice on the phone.
“Do I know you? Why the fuck am I not allowed in my own building? I want Charlie fired.”
“You do know me Damien, though you may not remember me. It’s been over a year. This is Sam Snyder. I’m head of legal at Spektorov Investment, and per your contract with Mr. Spektorov, I am also the legal department for Sun Star Prospecting.”
“What? Sam?”
“Charlie is doing what he was told, Damien. What I told him to do.”
“What the hell is going on?”
“Damien, Elijah Newman’s loss was a tragedy. However, the company needs to keep running, and we all have responsibilities. Mine is to tell you that under the contract you both signed, in the event of death, criminal prosecution, or severe and debilitating illness as determined by a physician, the affected parties shares revert to Spektorov Investments. Mr. Spektorov thereupon came to own two thirds of Sun Star Prospecting, making him the outright owner. Also, under the sixteenth clause covering incompetence and irresponsible conduct, the majority owner may strip the shares of the minority owner, for the good of the company. Mr. Spektorov has invoked this, as Mr. Newman’s death was your fault.”
“You son of a bitch!”
People in the street stared but pretended not to, as they passed. A police officer gave him a dirty look.
“You were in command of that mission. You are fully responsible. You also signed an affidavit absolving Mr. Spektorov and Spektorov Investments of any responsibility, in case of accident or death, on the mission.”
“I signed no such thing!”
“Oh but you have, Damien. I’d be happy to produce it for you, in court, if you’d like to see it.”
“This is insane. You – you conned me! You were always his fucking lawyer!”
“There are no highly convenient coincidences, Damien. If you want to debate this matter further, I will charge you fifty dollars a minute for my time. Otherwise, you are free to attempt legal action against us. I will send you a copy of your contract in the mail, as it appears you have not read it closely. Good bye, Damien.”
The line went dead.
“How does it feel to own the solar system?”
The waiter poured the champagne and left. Daryl Spektorov and Sam Synder toasted.
“I’ve honestly not had a chance to sit down and think about it. I’ve been working nonstop with Chairman of the Senate Appropriations Committee. Tomorrow I’m flying to Washington to meet with the Air Force.”
“The whole Air Force?”
“It feels like it, yeah.”
“I thought governments couldn’t buy asteroids? The Outer Space Treaty.”
“No one in 1967 said anything about a company buying an asteroid, and then the US government buying that company. I’m not going to sell them the whole asteroid, no.”
“Why not?” Snyder cut into his Kobe beef steak. “I thought that was the plan.”
“That was the basic plan, what we talked about with those two idiots. My plan if the mission went well, was always a lot bigger.”
“How much bigger?”
“AT 43 has everything. It’s like someone carved out a little piece of the Congo, and put it in space. It opens up all kinds of construction possibilities in space. That’s what I want to get in on.”
“That’s not your business model. You’re a VC. This is the best time to sell Sun Star Prospecting. Daryl, it’s worth billions!”
“Chump change,” he made a face. “Why sell resources to other companies to do space construction? Those companies don’t even exist now, or they’re very small – startups.”
“Two-man startups? Harvard-MIT sorts?”
“If we’re lucky, yes. But whatever their size, we can buy them. No one gets to build anything in big in space, unless we sell them the materials. They’re welcome to cut past us and claim their own asteroids – except that we’ve got Sun Star Prospecting robots crawling all over the best ones. Our ones.”
He finished his champagne. Unbidden, a waiter refilled it for him.
“For preferential rates and access, we ask Uncle Sam to give us a large lump sum up front. This goes into space construction equipment, staff, assets, whatever. We set up heavy engineering factories on AT 43. Meantime, we signs deal with the big players like Boeing and Huawei. We manufacture for them, under license. If they don’t agree, people will buy own shitty substitutes instead – because they’ll cost nothing in comparison! We’ve already cherry picked space prospecting. Now let’s corner space construction.”
Snyder sat back, nodding and smiling. “I love it. I think it’s a lot of work, but you’d be crazy not to try with a pay off like that.”
“That’s what I thought. I can get out of the VC business, and be a square.”
“A square with an industry. So that’s going to be? Making big space ships?”
“Oh no, to hell with spaceships. Orbital habitats is where it’s going to be.”
Synder frowned. “Like, for endangered birds?”
“No, for endangered people. Think of it, climate-proofed towns. They do all their own farming. There’s no storms, no hurricanes, no droughts. You don’t have to worry about Land Efficiency laws: you could even get away with raising cattle. Real beef, Sam! People can have large homes, large yards, large offices. And no climate refugees, panhandling on every street.”
“You want to build Suburbia, in space?”
“Well of course, and why not?” Spektorov leaned forward. “White, middle class Americans are the highest spending consumers in the world. We have data from the 1940s on, that Suburbia is what they most want to pay for. It’s not a product to them. It’s their culture. A culture that’s been under economic assault since the early 2000s. That was the first generation of Americans went into the workforce, who could expect to make less money than their parents did. Can you remember what a shock that was? Sam, if we don’t create Space Suburbia – someone else will.”
Sam whistled and shook his head.
“That’s a hell of a project, Daryl. Let’s put it that way.”
“No. Going to the stars would be hell of a project. But there’s no money in that.”
Sam laughed. “Oh, don’t worry Daryl. You can take that up as a hobby, you know, for retirement.”
Daryl looked up, suddenly, his knife and fork still.
Sam raised an eyebrow and kept chewing. “What?”
“Yes, you’re right. I suppose I could.”
2051 (ten years later) Spektorov Foundation, Alexander Graham Bell Orbital, Low Earth Orbit
“So?” the man leaned back and sipped his drink. His steering wheel recessed and the cart began self-driving. “What do you think?”
“I like the campus format,” said the suit. They drove past white buildings with thick ivy. “It’s a nice change from Sun Star Tower.”
A pair of joggers waved as the electric cart passed them. Sprinklers erupted over a lawn; the water arcing further in low gravity. Off the side walk, a segway was parked by a bike rack. None of the bikes were chained.
“I was never in favor of the Tower,” said the man. He wore a golf-shirt, shorts, and loafers. “But we needed something in the city and land was too expensive.”
The suit snorted. “Ironic, given that we make the stuff.”
“I wanted to move us up here instead, but the board hated the idea,” they pulled alongside a café. People sat out around white tables, sipping lattes and reading tablets. “So I gave this space to the Foundation instead.”
They got off the cart. It left them to wait outside a conference that was ending. They sat at a vacant table and an attractive server took their order.
“You should try the Viet Robusta. It’s local,” said golf-shirt.
“Grown here?”
“We have a few organic farms and vineyards. Aphrodite is self-sufficient in food except for some luxuries.”
The suit studied the server as she left. “Pretty girl wait staff. Daryl, I’d say you have luxuries covered alright. What is she, college-age?”
“That’s Jenny. She came to us from a refugee camp in Lousiana. Even in space, you still need wait staff. Sure robots are dirt cheap, but who wants them, really? We bring up low and semi-skilled workers to do those jobs. You just screen for the right traits. Once they’re up here, they take night classes. After a few years they graduate; gain residency; and a free apartment.”
“Upward mobility. Is that the real deal, or just so that no one can say you’ve created an underclass of gardeners and housekeepers in space?”
“It’s the real deal, Sam. But they have to work at it. They can’t make the grade; they’re fired and sent back. There are no hand outs here.”
“Nice. I can’t stand welfare.”
“I have no problem with welfare. I just think we need to be careful not to turn people into beggars. We give preference to boat people. Makes it harder for people to attack us.”
“I assure you, plenty of people find nasty things to say about Daryl Spectorov and Sun Star Mining. We just hired someone in PR to study the effect of your speeches on trolling patterns.”
“Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. For better or worse, it’ll give the trolls something new to rant about,” he pulled out a tablet. It threw up a holo display as large as a salad bowl.
Sam smiled. “So what are we talking here? Do you want to grab another Near Earth Asteroid? 2028MD should last us for at least another three years.”
“No, not asteroids. Not new orbitals. This,” the display changed to a detailed, tube-shaped, wire frame. Sam leaned forward and peered.
“Well what is it?”
“It’s a ship.”
“Those are some insane fuel tanks. Those are fuel tanks, right? What is this, some kind of outer planet space probe on crack?”
“It is a space probe. It’s also a bit of a factory, a nursery, and a space station.”
“You want to what? Colonize Jupiter?”
“No, not Jupiter. Those aren’t Argon or Xenon tanks. Those are either going to be Helium Three, or even antimatter. This will be the first ship humans send to another star.”
Sam lost his smile. He sat back, and the server returned with their drinks. He picked up his cup and stirred it slowly, deliberately.
“Something tells me you’re not excited by the idea.”
Sam looked up, brow furrowed. He kept stirring for a few moments.
“Well, it’s not what we do, Daryl.”
“I know, but I think it’s something we should seriously look at.”
“Seriously look at?” Sam frowned. “Daryl, are you out of your mind? This is completely against the spirit of everything we’re doing!”
“Everything?”
Sam looked away. He seemed to be lost for words.
“Yes, everything,” he leaned forward, his eyes dark. “The entire point of the Sun Star Foundation, your foundation, is to make up for the image of Sun Star Mining, your company. This company makes gardens of Eden, and puts them in the skies of a dying world. Gardens for the rich, with just a twentieth of the people they could support. Gardens where people eat organic food, raise Kobe beef, and play golf. While on Earth, nearly ten billion people go hungry.”
Everyone else around them had gone quiet.
“The Foundation’s mission is to help climate refugees and conduct eco-repair programs. To channel profits into helping those left behind. It’s critical for our image, and the morale of our workers. Workers like me. Not to fund extravagant projects with no bearing on people’s needs.” He shook his head slowly. “Come on, Daryl. How could you be so out of touch?”
Daryl sipped his coffee slowly. “You certainly never were one to sugarcoat. You’re dead wrong about one thing. It does have bearing on people’s needs.”
“How does a starship help Bangladeshi boat people?”
“Because exploration and science are always important, especially in times of crisis. They are investments in our future, and we cannot stop doing that. If we do, we’re as derelict in our duties as the generations that brought us here.”
“This isn’t self-repairing dykes and drought-proof rice we’re talking about. This is building a spaceship to reach another star.”
“Precisely. How does that not advance science? We can’t even guess at what we’ll learn. This ship would fly to the Alpha Centauri system. We know it has at least one world with free oxygen in its atmosphere. That’s the surest sign of Earth-like life there is! You can’t tell me that this an investment,” he gestured to the hologram, “we shouldn’t be making.”
“Actually yes I can,” he jabbed his finger at the floating design, “I’m specifically pushing the case that we can’t make this investment. How much money is something like this going to cost?”
“Well, I’ve done some calcu – “
“No, stop. This isn’t scholarships for runaway, African, child soldiers. Even your entire personal fortune couldn’t bankroll a project like this. You’re not putting together modules Daryl, you’re developing technology. When has that ever been cheap? You’ll have to go to the board. Where is the return on investment? How can you make this something they would invest in? Even if they said yes, we just don’t have the money. We’re one company, Daryl. Something like this needs a group of nations.”
Daryl smiled.
“Oh come on!”
“I’ve done some calculations. An international program is indeed the only way this could be funded. Nations have already come together for clean energy and eco-repair. The UN High Commission for Refugees’ funding exceeds the GNP of some nations. The world is pretty good at getting serious, Sam. I think the Sun Star Foundation should get the world behind an expedition to Alpha Centauri.”
“Oh, the world is good at getting serious alright. Let’s ask the Maldives, shall we? They world got pretty serious once their UN delegation took up more dry land than their country did.”
“Come on, Sam. You know what I mean.”
“Do you know what you mean? You want to work with nations that only deliver when there’s a knife at their throats? And the UNHCR orbitals are not paid for with the world’s money. They’re paid for with the Big Four’s money. Sure, places like Korea and Switzerland throw in a bit. But that’s only so that they can look like they’re paying. Its protection money we pay to the poorest countries, to evacuate their desperate to space.”
“You mean less developed countries.”
“No, I mean poorest. ‘Less developed’ implies that they’re in the process of getting their acts together. Most of these places were decolonized almost a century ago. Those still blaming Europeans are no longer able or interested in making meaningful change.”
“Can we do this without sounding right wing?”
Sam’s eyes narrowed. “You have lobbyists in Congress, both America’s and China’s. You’re the last person who gets to pretend he’s not right wing. A spade is a spade, Daryl. If we can’t agree on the facts then this conversation is pointless.”
“Can we move on?”
“I’ll take that as agreement. The world comes up with the money for the UN’s refugee orbitals, because it has to. It’s political, not philanthropic. Africa and Asia are full of uneducated, poor, and bitter people. Every penny spent resettling them in
space, is spent on defense. It’s Low Earth Orbit, or drone strikes and Chinese peacekeepers. You can’t expect that level of international spending and cooperation for a starship, Daryl. If anything, they will see it as a competing interest. They will say yes, take control, and delay it forever.”
“I fully understand the politics of the resettlement orbitals. You may recall they were our idea.”
“Sun Star was strong-armed into giving up the tech to build them. Pretending that it was our idea, was my idea.”
“And under you, the PR department has done such a good job, even I can’t remember. But the Big Four understand that no crisis, no matter how dire, should kill science spending. They got where they are, because they’ve always invested in research. Often, they’ve researched their way out of crisis. Eco-repair and climate refugees will be no different.”
“Again I ask you: how will sending a ship to Alpha Centauri, help Bangladeshi boat people?”
“I think I just answered that.”
“No you didn’t. How will you make this real for a climate refugee? How can you sell this to them?”
“It will give them hope.”
Sam laughed. “Hope? Who needs hope?”
“Without hope, there is no reason not to turn to extremism. A Centauri mission will create hope, for all peoples, around the world.”
“Orbitals create hope. Your number comes up, and you’re out of the slums. Off to somewhere with more space and food. There are no minorities to fight with. There’s just one language, one religion, one caste.”
Daryl threw up his hands, “Christ, what makes you call that hope?”
“Have you met these people, Daryl? Your typical climate refugee is not big on middle class values. People learn to spell or to hate. They only rarely do both. If you try to force your values on them, they push back violently.”
“Well I can’t accept that.”
“Well you have to. This ship is a dream of a better era. People will support this Daryl, lots of people. But you can’t expect the whole world to get behind it. Only the rich, or those lucky enough to be born in a prosperous nation, will support this. People like us.”
The Ice Moon Explorer Page 6