Spinneret (21 page)

“Positive. Even after harvest, crop yield analysis can be done very accurately.”

“And if the Rooshrike open up a shipping route to Earth … ?” Saleh smiled and answered his own question. “We don't let them, of course. Earth is technically within Ctencri borders, and we could simply ask them to keep Rooshrike traders out. Very well; I'll put the matter before Allerton this afternoon, give him a chance to back off on his Rooshrike deal.”

“Why bother? You'll just give him that much more time to prepare for the embargo.”

“Because if we proceed with so drastic an action,” Saleh said coldly, “I want the world community to have no doubt that it was fully justified.”

And whether it actually was or not was almost incidental. That much, at least, every politician knew.

Secretary of State Joshua Purvis looked about as surprised as Allerton had ever seen him.
“What
Rooshrike treaties?” he asked.

Allerton shrugged helplessly. “I gather it's something Meredith has initiated on his own, for whatever reasons. We won't know for sure for at least another week, until the
Pathfinder
comes in. Possibly not even then.”

“So what'd you tell the Lord High Secretary-General?”

“I tried to stall, of course—told him that I couldn't take any action or make any statements until I had Astra's own report on what was going on out there.”

“He buy it?”

“Not really. He offered to fly a U.S. representative out in one of their new Ctencri ships to assess the situation and give any appropriate orders. “Allerton paused, then picked up a piece of paper from in front of him and handed it across the desk. “Complicating matters, I'm sure, a Ctencri ship arrived only half an hour ago and delivered this to Saleh's people. I don't suppose it improved his patience any.”

Purvis scanned the paper briefly. “This is, what, the results of the Rooshrike tests on their Spinneret cable? … Holy mullah.” He looked at Allerton. “This
has
to be a misprint, John. A
billion
pounds per square inch?”

“Check the footnote—that's a
minimum
tensile strength. Apparently even the Rooshrike weren't able to break it.”

“But a
billion pounds per square inch?”
Purvis fumbled with his calculator. “That means … one of those cables could lift over two million tons. That's half a fully loaded supertanker.”

“And don't forget it's less dense even than water, let alone normal metals,” Allerton pointed out. “Now remember that superglue coating and its unique superconducting properties, and consider that Saleh thinks we're trying to keep all of it for ourselves.”

Purvis studied the paper for another few seconds, then put it back on the President's desk. “I think,” he said quietly, “that we'd better figure out right away exactly what our policy position here is—and then make sure Meredith is operating in line with it.” He hesitated. “Whether we're willing to go on being unpopular with the rest of the world because of Astra is your decision, of course. But I think that stand could use a little reevaluation.”

“In other words, you think we should knuckle under to Saleh and just hand over Astra and the Spinneret to the UN?”

“I didn't say that.” Purvis shrugged. “But an embargo of food to Astra would be hard if not disastrous for them, and it's only the tip of the iceberg as far as Saleh's options go. Legally, we may have some mandate rights to the Spinneret cable, but in practice as long as Saleh's got the Ctencri in his pocket he can keep us from getting a single strand of the stuff. In any real confrontation the
Aurora
and
Pathfinder
might as well be space-going tuna boats.”

Allerton grimaced. “You think the Ctencri would give the UN
armed
ships?”

“Before the Spinneret came along they apparently wouldn't even give us advanced star drives; Saleh's now got two. I think the Ctencri see a chance to get in good with me official owners of Astra and are grabbing it. Who knows how far they're prepared to go to protect their investment?”

“Yeah.” Allerton sighed. “Well, then, I suppose we'd better take Saleh up on his offer of a lift out to Astra. Try to straighten things out as quickly as possible.”

“You want me to go?”

“No … no, I think I might just go myself.” He smiled lopsidedly at Purvis's expression. “Come on, Josh—space travel's supposed to be as easy as crossing the Delaware these days. And a lot safer.”

“Unless Saleh decides he'd like you put on indefinite hold,” the other said bluntly. “In which case you could hardly give him a better opportunity,”

Allerton waved the objection aside. “Saleh's neither strong enough nor desperate enough to kidnap a head of state. Not yet, anyway.”

“Maybe,” Purvis said. “Maybe not.”

“It's so nice to be invited here, for a change,” Perez commented as he sank into the chair across from Meredith. “Usually I have to bully your secretary to let me in.”

Meredith's expression remained studiously neutral, and Perez mentally crossed off the possibility that the colonel had a social chat in mind. “I understand,” Meredith said, “that you're thinking about the possibilities of making some spending money off the Spinneret cable.”

“That's right,” Perez nodded. “And I understand you're actually going to do so.”

The colonel's eyebrows rose fractionally. “Miss Olivero told you?”

“She confirmed what I'd already guessed. Was it supposed to be a secret?”

Meredith smiled sardonically. “Don't you wish. Secret deals by the corrupt military dictator—it would have been made to order for you.”

“That's a little unfair, Colonel,” Perez said, feeling his face warming. “I don't deliberately distort the truth—I just try and keep others from doing so.”

“Of course.” Meredith tapped computer keys and swiveled the screen toward his visitor. “Well, here's a little bit of truth for you—see what you think.”

Perez leaned forward.
Preliminary Analysis of Alien Cable,
he read … and suddenly he knew what this was. “It's the Rooshrike test results, isn't it? Is this why you're keeping the trade deal quiet?”

“We've been keeping
the negotiations
quiet; no deals have been made yet. After all, we needed to know more about the cable in order to fix a fair price for it.”

“You're going to use the Rooshrike's own numbers for that purpose?”

Meredith shrugged. “I know what you're thinking, but there's no real way around it. The Rooshrike have both better testing equipment and a better feel for what the cable would bring on the open market.”

“Mm.” Perez thought for a moment. “Perhaps if we offered them a small percentage of what we get from sales to other races … that might deter them from suggesting too low a price.”

“As a matter of fact, Miss Olivero had already put that idea to the Rooshrike representatives. They seem agreeable to it.”

“I see.” A
woman of many talents,
Perez thought with mild surprise. He'd done a little trade negotiation himself some years back; just enough to know that he didn't care for it. Of course, Carmen had the distinct advantage of a seller's market to work with here. “What price range are you talking about?”

“Our current thought is to charge about forty million dollars per kilometer plus the two and a quarter tons of metal that go into a cable that long.”

Perez whistled softly. “That seems rather expensive.”

“It's less than twice the current price of gold,” Meredith pointed out. “And a
lot
more valuable.”

“For study, perhaps. But aside from building long suspension bridges I would think its uses limited.”

“You would, would you?” Meredith leaned back in his chair and started ticking off fingers. “One: loop it back and forth—it's flexible enough—so that each segment lies next to the one before. The glue sticks the whole thing into what is essentially a flat plate; coat it on all sides to take up the rest of the glue and you have sixty square meters of impenetrable material. Put another cable on each corner and get yourself a strong crane and you've got a sling you could carry small mountains around with. Two: wind the cable into a helix and you have a superconducting solenoid—a million applications right there. Three: link some of the cables end to end and make a giant circle out in deep space. Attach a few of these in parallel and you've got the backbone for a wheel-shaped space station. Four: wrap it around a thin metal shell—hell; make it cardboard or sausage skin, for that matter—and you've got a spaceship hull. Do I need to go on?”

“No, I get the idea,” Perez said, impressed in spite of himself. Clearly, the colonel had done a lot of thinking about this—much more than Perez himself had. “I capitulate; buyers will soon be breaking the door down. So why did you ask me here today, since you've apparently got all the details worked out? To rubberstamp your decision?”

Meredith snorted. “Hardly. You keep forgetting that I don't need your permission to govern Astra as I see fit.” He paused, and almost grudgingly went on, “What I called you here to talk about is what we're going to do when we start making money from all this.”

Perez shifted in his seat. “Carmen was talking about that some time back. She seemed to think we'd become a world of parasites.”

“You disagree?”

Perez locked eyes with him. “It's been my experience that, given a choice, people prefer to work for their living. No one on any form of welfare is truly happy to be there.”

“Granted. All right, then, let's assume we want all the people who emigrate from Earth to have meaningful jobs here. What will they be doing?”

“What do you mean?” Perez asked, puzzled. “They'll be doing the same sort of things people do on Earth.”

“Wrong,” Meredith said quietly. “Or haven't you noticed the lack of minerals and useful farmland?”

Perez stared at him for a moment … and then it all clicked; “Manufacturing and agriculture will be gone. Is that it?”

Meredith nodded. “There'll be some of each, but nothing like the percentages in any economy on Earth. It just doesn't make any sense to ship in raw materials to work when we can just as easily bring in finished products.”

“But surely there are similar setups on Earth,” Perez objected, searching his memory for a useful example. “How about—well, how about Monaco? It runs well enough with no minerals to speak of.”

“Is that what you want for your huddled masses?” Meredith snorted. “To be servants and waitresses for tourists? Assuming we could even get tourists to come here, of course.”

“No, of course not—”

“Put them all in government? Storekeeping? Selling insurance to each other? You're the one who wants to make this a paradise for the poor—tell me what they're going to do here.”

“All right, the point is made.” Perez got to his feet. “I agree the problem needs thought, but I'm sure we can come up with an answer. If you'll excuse me, then—”

“I'm not done yet,” Meredith interrupted.

Perez considered leaving anyway, thought better of it, and sat down again. “I suppose you want my word that the Council won't press for new colonists until we've sorted all this out?”

“Not really—I credit you with better sense than that. No, this is about a different matter entirely.” Meredith pursed his lips. “We need to work out some kind of security arrangement with all those warships out there. Miss Olivero thought you might have some suggestions on how we might do that without creating either paranoia or animosity among whoever we send home.”

Perez blinked; it was about the last thing he would have expected the colonel to ask his advice on. “I take it you don't want the whole crowd to stay up there?”

“The Rooshrike don't. They're within an ace of kicking the whole raft of them out of the system and taking over all security duties themselves.”

“Not a good idea—especially after you and Carmen have been holding secret meetings with them.”

“That's what I told them,” Meredith nodded. “We've talked them into giving us a week to come up with a better solution.”

“Hm. Well … perhaps a lottery drawing or something would be seen as fair—” He broke off as Meredith's phone buzzed. The colonel answered, and Perez let his eyes and mind drift out the window and up into the cloudless sky. Six alien races, all of them jockeying for position to get at the Spinneret. He'd talked glibly to Carmen about playing them off against each other, but the more he thought about it, the trickier it sounded. What sort of psychologies were they dealing with, for starters? Could they even assume all the aliens saw profit and loss in the same way? Surely there was overlap of some kind—they all
did
trade together, after all. But for a prize as unique as the Spinneret any of them could easily suspend their normal business methods … to say nothing of their treaties or ethics—

“—wait there; do you understand? Do
not
attempt to—ah, continue until I arrive.”

Perez's attention snapped back at the intensity in Meredith's voice. One glance at the colonel's expression told him instantly something was up. “Are we being attacked?” he stage-whispered.

Meredith waved irritably for silence. “I'll bring everything we'll need. You just stay put. Right.” He broke the connection, punched another number. “Major Barner? Colonel Meredith. Green-seven-go; right away. Rendezvous with me west of target for directions … right. Out.”

Meredith stood up, punching another number, and glanced at Perez. “We'll have to continue this conversation some other—”

“What is it?” Perez interrupted, stepping to block Meredith's path to the door.