Warp Thrive

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Warp Thrive Page 40

by Ginger Booth


  Its handle was the length of a screwdriver’s, but rounded and dark rubbery, likely insulation. The business end looked something like a pastel orange tubular glass bell, complete with tonsil-shaped flapper in the middle.

  Cope rapped a steel desk support with the handle. He repeated this more cautiously with the bell end, using a bit of sleeve to protect the glassy end from the desk metal. The bell didn’t ring. Then Cope studied the butt-end of the handle.

  “No idea,” Pollan muttered.

  “Battery’s dead,” Cope observed.

  “Power pack,” Teke offered, pointing to a chunky red thing in the toolbox.

  Pollan laughed. “Duh. OK, you got me on that one.”

  Ben picked up the power pack and studied it. No specifications were labeled on the outside. It featured a single out lead with four different plugs, one of which matched the orange bell’s needs. “Got a multimeter?”

  Pollan scrounged in his closet again to supply one. Ben ignored the others for a time as he characterized what exactly the red charger required on input and what its assorted outputs delivered. He kept notes on his pocket tab. Then he laid the power pack in front of Cope. By then, the president was wheedling again, for the bell tool as a gratuity in addition to all images, delivered now.

  “Pollan, be reasonable,” Cope argued. “How many are in on this deal? Spaceways is committed. We can’t back out. We’ll deliver. And you have no idea what the pretty bell does.”

  “And the charger,” Ben suggested. “You didn’t even know what it was.”

  “And the other one,” Teke added. “The prong you hid at the bottom of the toolbox. We need that.”

  “A prong,” Cope marveled. “What, does it vibrate? What do you need a prong for, Pollan?”

  The other was caught between chuckling at the joke, and glowering at Teke. “Physicist, huh?”

  “Denali,” Teke professed, hand over heart.

  “That means ‘crazy nut job’ in Mahinan,” Zan clarified. Along purely for defense, he’d never left the love seat.

  Hunter stretched beside him, and folded his hands behind his neck. “The deal is 20% more valuable with the provisions. Give or take. To several parties.”

  Cope gauged Pollan’s face. “Six star drives, third generation. You get two.” He leaned in. “I enriched the deal for you. I bet that tool makes a lousy vibrator. Gimme.”

  Zan mused, “Or we could come back.”

  Pollan glanced uneasily to the hunter. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning I know where you hide,” Zan explained. “Why, was I being subtle?”

  “Not especially,” Teke assured him.

  “Diplomatic immunity,” Cope confided in Pollan. “Zan can get away with murder. But no threats between friends, eh, Pollan? You still owe me for dumping your hard water.” That was Pollan’s radioactive chore that nearly killed him.

  “If you still held that against me, you wouldn’t be here.”

  “I might,” Cope refuted him. “What ever happened to old Commander Alohan, anyway?”

  Pollan looked squirrelly instead of answering promptly. Ben supplied, “Knifed to death. Couldn’t happen to a nicer gal.”

  Cope grinned crookedly. “Deal, Pollan?” he pressed. “All the images. Two tools and a charger. None of them doing you any good. Hell, I’ll even tell you what this thing does once I figure it out.” He dug the prong out of the toolbox.

  Ben noted its metal had the same oily sheen as the moose antlers. Other than that, it looked like a coated loop, long and bent, like a simple curved wire whisk but thick and rigid, with a handle that matched the bell. When Cope set it down, Ben verified that it was also battery operated, via the same plug as the bell used. Nothing else seemed to use that plug shape.

  It was a sad and rudimentary form of engineering, but they were used to it here in the Aloha system. Most of their residual technology flew way over their heads, the knowledge and skills lost. Matching plug to socket wasn’t much, but it was a start. These inscrutable tools belonged together. Pollan probably wanted the prong as a sample of the unfamiliar antler alloy, and Teke for the same reason.

  Pollan thought it over, his gaze coming to rest on Zan. The hunter cocked his head and bared his teeth. Pollan still hesitated.

  Hunter mused, “You never returned to Mahina, Pollan. Ever think you might?”

  The old chief snorted. “You can’t get me back into MA. I’m a convict. And you’re not in power anymore, Burke!”

  “Mahina Actual, no,” Hunter conceded. “But Schuyler’s a big town now. You can see that by eyeball from here. Big enough to hide in. I lost an election. That doesn’t mean I’m out of power. Notice how I’m on a Spaceways ship. I’m in on this deal. Things that make you go, ‘hmm.’”

  “Hell. Alright. For a second third-gen drive. Screw me and you’re a dead man, Copeland. You may be a fancy company president these days. But you ain’t playing in a boardroom out here. And you’re playing hardball.”

  “I’m a good man, Pollan,” Cope assured him. “So are you. Like Burke says, whenever you decide to hump rego again, we’ll make that happen for you. So give.”

  Pollan was sold. They collected up their loot, and Pollan accompanied them back on the terrifying glass elevator. At his ‘public’ door, they nodded farewell.

  Everyone kept their own thoughts until they were through the funky chimney.

  “You recognized it?” Ben asked Cope softly. “Device number two?”

  “I did,” Cope confirmed. “Once you found the right backup image. All three are priceless.”

  “I didn’t,” Teke complained. “What was the middle item?”

  “Not here,” Cope decreed, before Ben could respond.

  “Cope, I need to speak to you privately,” Ben asserted, in his best captain’s order voice. “Regarding provisions and paddies.”

  His ex grimaced, to Ben’s satisfaction. He’d been grimacing inside ever since ‘extra provisions’ were mentioned. There was only one way he could interpret Prosper’s role in this multi-party deal. This was Cope’s paddy coyote scheme, importing freed Sagamore farm slaves onto Mahina.

  Paddy wagons. Hell.

  61

  “Afraid to be alone with me?” Ben quipped, taking a cross-legged seat on the steel overhead facing Cope, seated likewise. This particular spot was directly ‘above’ Eli’s tree sale rejects, not far from the ventilation bulkhead. When they were free to speak privately, Ben invited his ex to the office. Instead Cope climbed the wall.

  “We don’t do that anymore,” Cope responded, refusing to rise to Ben’s levity. “What you looked over. That was an alchemy module, right?”

  “Definitely,” Ben confirmed. “But we never did characterize all that thing was capable of. I was able to transmute argon from chlorine and potassium, helium from hydrogen and lithium. Tried and failed to make oxygen and nitrogen. It was configured as part of the air system, so I didn’t try anything but gases. I don’t remember the rest. Thirteen years, after all.”

  He’d performed these experiments on the renegade Sanctuary ship Nanomage back on Denali. Cope wondered how exactly the ship, abandoned on the ocean floor, ended up with an argon atmosphere. The sea-bottom city of Neptune breathed a helium mix to avoid nitrogen poisoning at the extreme underwater pressures. Ben carried out the air system investigation for him.

  Thrive didn’t take the alchemy widget, because it was an integral component embedded in Nanomage’s life support matrix. Sass’s parameters specified two good ships, not to cannibalize the newer Nanomage to accessorize Thrive.

  Cope nodded vaguely. “Well, in practice it may be that argon and helium manufacture is all it’s good for. I’d still love to know how it works. Transmuting elements is one hell of a technology.”

  “It is,” Ben agreed. “Provisions. Paddy wagons.”

  “Yeah.” Cope picked at an inner thigh seam on his company coveralls. “I just said ‘Go’ at that meeting. Details should show up this weekend. I expect a rendezv
ous. Not much to plan until we see their transport.”

  “You know what their transport is.” Ben strained to modulate his voice softly. He didn’t trust his temper. “They convert containers, Cope.”

  “Yeah, well the paddies are willing to board them,” his ex countered. “Just like our ancestors volunteered as popsicles on Vitality to come here. Who are we to judge?”

  “We’re educated people who know what that means. The risks. The 10% death rate – or more. Hell, I hear it’s more like 20%. The paddies don’t understand what they agreed to, Cope.”

  “OK.”

  “It’s not OK!”

  “It is what it is,” Cope replied. “Ben, Spaceways has a mission. That mission is to preserve and advance space-faring in the Aloha system. No one else holds our vision. We need those items from the cache.”

  “Even if you pay with paddy lives.” Ben had serious trouble with this.

  Cope shook his head in exasperation. “Turn it around, Ben. You’re helping to liberate paddy slaves, bring them to a new life on Mahina. Hell, I thought this was the part you’d like.”

  If he was supposed to like herding human popsicles, Ben wondered dourly what delights were on offer for phase two. “President, I urge you to reconsider the ethics here.”

  “Duly noted. But we’re committed. Ben, our chances are better with you at the helm. I want you in on this. But I stand by my offer to let you off the hook. That’s not a good choice anymore. On Mahina, you might face prison for the way you left town. Or stuck on MO until we head home. Could be months.”

  “Months. Good. That’s the first timeframe you’ve given me, by the way. So thanks for that.” Ben’s voice rose on that last sarcasm. He scowled and blew out, beseeched himself to calm down.

  “Could be a year or more,” Cope murmured. “Especially if Mahina crimes us.”

  Ben met his eyes searchingly. “You wouldn’t abandon our kids that long.”

  “Not if I had a choice, no. I don’t feel I do.”

  He hesitated a long pregnant moment. Ben waited him out. Cope took time to divulge the deep insights.

  “This is my mission, Ben. Space is our life. The kids are safe, even if we never get back. There’s a thing. Really a series of things, but they lead to a big one. What we’re meant to do. And it’s hard. But to turn my back on that would be like giving up on myself. I’d never forgive myself for it.”

  “What is this big ‘it,’ Cope? You’re not talking about saving Spaceways. You never cared about money. Either of us would be fine leading a skiff team.”

  Cope chuckled at that image. “I told you. Micro warp. No lost years. Stitch the human race together again. Look what we accomplished, Ben, when we linked three worlds together. Yeah, OK, Mahina is doing backlash this year. Then the pendulum will swing, and they’ll do the opposite boneheaded thing. That’s transient noise in the signal. We took a population of what, 150k, and more than doubled it. And miracles became possible. We need to reconnect with other colonies. But we need it on a human timescale. Not 20 years to visit the nearest neighbor like Sass is doing.”

  Ben had to concede that made sense. Space tech was the Spaceways mission. Cope originally meant to use the company to build a shiny new Pono ring hopper. Unfortunately demand was soft. His designs were incremental improvement, not a game-changer, at least until these century-old tubs failed completely. But cutting the immense time lags, to make round-trip travel realistic and repeatable, that changed everything. Even cutting the round trip to Denali to mere months would be huge.

  Cope continued, “Teke’s been working on this for years. But I put him off. No proof, no ‘on’ ramp, too soon, too expensive, too risky. You can’t start with, ‘oops, I blew up a spaceship. Gimme another.’ Then Pollan sent me those first three pictures, all hush-hush. I think they could confirm his theory is on track.”

  He raised a playful eyebrow. “You never asked what my item was.” For the first time in this chat, he looked downright smug.

  Ben’s mouth started to curve into a smile in anticipation. “OK, what was the moose-box?”

  “We believe it’s a quantum transceiver. Awkward tech – you need to position entangled devices on either end. Meaning, Belker had to bring it here the slow way. But then communications are instantaneous. No light speed lag.”

  Ben’s lips parted. Faster than light travel was the holy grail. But maybe that was because FTL communication was impossible. “You think that thing can talk to Sanctuary.”

  “I do. I bet it can reach Nanomage on Denali, too.”

  Ben laughed softly, and shook his head in amazement. “We could talk to Sass and Clay. Maybe.” Possibilities unfurled like flower petals in his imagination. What had they accomplished in their 18-month journey to Denali, save to open a dialogue? They brought home a handful of people, some trinkets, indeed a fortune that they invested in Spaceways. And lately lost.

  But that was nothing compared to knowledge and communications, coordination between worlds. These colonies were so damned small, surviving so close to the edge, their populations falling toward extinction in the unforgiving alien environments. Each world managed to advance in only a few technologies. To bring another world’s expertise on line was huge. Even the minor things – as two men, they could never have made a child together. Mahina relied on eggs harvested from the mother in infancy. Denali conception didn’t need eggs. Their genetic engineering was light years ahead of Mahina’s, because they attempted to adapt humans to their extreme hothouse environment. Sagamore was a feudal dark hole, but its elites escaped to space, and now to Mahina. Their Hell’s Bells space platform blew the other colonies away in advanced materials and manufacturing. They produced the star drive power cores no one else could replicate.

  But the price. Could Ben really go along with this? Did he believe this goal was so damned important that he could participate in crimes? Condemn ignorant little paddies to die? His smile sagged, and he looked to Cope with crumpled brow. He was about to say something. He wasn’t sure what.

  But Cope spoke first, eyes downcast. “Believe in me. And Teke.”

  Ben sighed. He wasn’t sure he wanted to believe in them. However. “I do believe in you,” he conceded. “Don’t leave me out of the planning. I know you think you know everything better than me in space, Cope. But you don’t. Bring me on board all the way. You need the help.”

  “Deal.” Cope clambered back to standing, and gave Ben a hand up. For a moment, Ben thought they’d reel in for a hug and kiss, but no. Cope changed his grip to a handshake. “Partners.”

  “Partners,” Ben agreed wistfully. “Cope?” The man had already turned away, but stepped back to give his full attention. Ben loved that about him. “You think there’s any chance for us? Getting back together?”

  Cope’s eyes widened, and blinked. “Left field,” he noted.

  “Yeah, I started that wrong. I owe you an apology. Complete, utter – Teke told me you weren’t lovers. All this time, I didn’t know. I cannot apologize deeply enough. I was wrong. I should have asked. I grovel however much you want. Which probably isn’t very much.”

  “No, please stop!” his ex begged in horror. He glanced nervously below as well, afraid that someone might overhear. “Don’t do this in public.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “Right. My cabin?” Ben suggested. “Now?”

  Cope visibly struggled with his feelings, then acquiesced. “Fine.” Rather than traipse the walls, he took a few steps to above the catwalk, then flipped himself down to a landing and continued into the officer’s corridor.

  Ben gave him a head start. He felt it beneath a captain’s dignity to flip down from his overhead except in an emergency. The fact that his heart was pounding, adrenaline screaming this was urgent, only made it worse. I won’t run after him and beg. He’d despise me for that.

  By the time he made his dignified way to the cabin, Cope perched on the bed, hunched over, his hands clasped between his knees. Ben pulled a hard chair alo
ngside the bed, one knee nearly touching Cope’s.

  After a couple false starts, the engineer opened. “Apology accepted…and not. No, I wasn’t Teke’s lover. But you were. I didn’t see any future in arguing.”

  “We weren’t,” Ben insisted. “A little frisky once while we were drunk. Regretted when sober. Never repeated. We didn’t think you knew.”

  “He knew,” Cope disagreed. “But he’s not the one who told me. You had a investor on the ship. She reported your stops, assignations. Out of concern for the company, she said. I had a baby, and another on the way. I suddenly just wasn’t willing to do this anymore. The open relationship thing. You were in space. And I kept picturing you with some man or woman who satisfied you better, and –”

  “Don’t, Cope,” Ben whispered. “It’s been eight years. If any of them meant anything, I’d be with them now. I’m not. I’m just not with you.”

  “So what changes now?” Cope asked bitterly. “It’s inconvenient to see me every day, and – Sorry.”

  Ben laid a hand on his onetime lover’s knee, and hunched forward to match postures. “I always wanted to see you every day. I wanted you back. But I thought Teke had you. I wasn’t open to a three-way. I didn’t want to risk what I had left. So I kept my mouth shut.

  “But Cope, we’re not very divorced. I mean, aside from sex, what changed? We own a company together. The house. My ship. Three kids. I come home to you. But now everything is up in the air. Open to renegotiation maybe. We’re together again, and on my turf. I lie awake at night thinking maybe I should knock on your door. Invite myself in for a drink.” He paused. “Should I?”

  Cope breathed heavily, then clasped his hand. “Yeah. A drink. And a think. But Ben, you know me. I’m not here to do…lovers. Hell, marriage. I tried twice and flunked. Not my skill set. I’m here for Spaceways, advanced projects. If it comes down to you or my life’s work, I choose my work. And the kids.”

 

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