Torchship (22 page)

“Thank you.”

“Thank them. I’m not sure you actually have enough to make
the trip worth our while. Unlike my deckhand, I can’t afford to take a few
months off for a vacation. And we’ll need to be compensated for the risk we’re
taking.”

“Of course. Um, how much . . . ?”

Schwartzenberger took him through the lists. Reed balked at
the requirement for a landing craft of some sort. “Can’t your ship land on
Earth? When I researched you the records said
Fives Full
could land
without navigational support.”

“If you think my ship is going to touch an AI-controlled
world we’re just wasting time here. We’re not landing. We’re not even going to
enter any world’s atmosphere.” Mitchie claimed that rule had added two weeks to
the journey.

“I see. I’ll have to find a ship broker then. What else?”

A non-networked, vacuum-rated ice converter was the next
item. After that came additional life support gear, enough power metal for the
round trip, and accommodations for the pilgrims. Food and other consumables
were minor costs in comparison.

The last item was the charter fee and risk bonus.
Schwartzenberger led Reed through the detailed calculations, including the percentage
of pilgrim ships that actually returned.

“I, um, I’m not sure I can find that much.”

“Try. I’m due for a vacation. I’ll rest for three days. If I
don’t hear from you I’ll start looking for another job.”

***

Reed walked out of the exchange and stood under a tree. The
Pilgrim board was quiet. His HUD showed a few ongoing discussions branching as
the full-timers argued back and forth about obscure points. He started a new
topic with the attention-getting headline “WE HAVE A SHIP.” All the participants
switched to reading him as he spilled out the details. Threads branched off
with complaints about the captain’s demands for more money and refusal to land
on Earth. Reed ignored them until he finished the whole announcement.

More Pilgrims joined in as they received the announcement
ping. A few updated their pledges. It only added a hundred thousand keys all
told. The landing craft thread had spawned some actual research. It turned out
there were an amazing number of small spacecraft on the market. The number
meeting their needs of cheap, seating forty, fitting in the ship, and having a
non-networked autopilot was zero. The technically inclined—a group having high
overlap with the pledgers—discussed how to upgrade one.

Reed turned to the money thread. After a minute he
suppressed all the demands that he bargain down the captain to what they
already had. Most of the posts faded out. A later branch stood out. One of the
new members had suggested asking one of the religious pilgrim groups to join if
they could bring enough cash. The newbie had been savaged enough to leave the
board, hopefully not permanently. He sighed. Status in the Origin Set went to
those most eloquent in defending their philosophy of transcendence. Normally he
encouraged that to keep his members from joining other groups. Now it was in
the way of actually achieving their goal. He promoted the suggestion to top
level, sent a notification to the author, and created a new post.

“WE NEED MORE MONEY.” Here he put more details on the costs
and suggestions for raising funds. The stipend kids were prohibited from having
savings but most had accumulated salable property. Reed added some hints on
asking relatives for money (there were a few members he’d pay money to get rid
of). The post had a sizable cloud of complaints attached before he even
finished writing it. He suppressed them and added a follow-up. “If we can’t
fund this from our own resources I WILL bring in other groups starting with the
religious. If we can’t pay them the ship will leave and we’ll lose our chance.”

Before the complaints could start again he yanked off his
HUD. Burton sat on the grass, back against the tree. He pressed a finger to his
wrist, amazed at the speed of his pulse.
We’re finally going to do this.

***

Printouts covered the galley table. The crew looked up from
their reading to wave at the captain as he came in. “What’s all this?” he
asked.

“Research,” said Billy. He pointed out his
trophies—interviews with survivors of trips into non-human space, articles
about past pilgrims, and big as the rest put together, a captain’s book
describing his journey to Old Earth a decade ago.

“Why the hardcopies?”

“Well, um . . .”

Mitchie jumped in. “This lets us dig through it without
anyone knowing what we’re reading. The good stuff we can bring on the trip with
us.”

“Find anything good yet?”

“Confirmation of what we thought. There’s no records from
anyone taking a least-time course. They all took roundabout ones. Some reports
of weird stuff, AIs observing them or provoking them. A few chases.” Billy
nodded along with Mitchie’s report. He’d found the data but had only read half
as much as she had.

“Good work. See anything we want to add to the shopping
list?”

“Nothing the Fusion lets civilian ships carry.”

***

Burton usually slept through notifications of Pilgrim board
activity. It was the only way to get any sleep. It took a continuous howl of
posts, complaints, personal messages, and griefing accusations to jolt him
awake.

All the discussions going on when he turned in had been
overrun by a new controversy. In less than two hours this had escalated to
using the words “coup,” “betrayal,” “rupture,” and other signifiers of imminent
intragroup violence. He called in a sociology consultant to find the patterns
while he searched for the start point.

The ignition source seemed mild enough. The landing craft
committee had announced their success. An emergency landing barge off a
scrapped passenger liner would be rebuilt. The shipyard had demanded cash up
front and been paid two million keys out of the committee members’ pockets
(counted as part of their pledges, naturally).

This had been promptly denounced by the highest-status
members of the community in widely-diverging but always furious tones. Reed was
slightly irked himself—he would have appreciated being consulted on that big an
expense—but it was their money.

His consulting sociologist produced a report. The denunciations
had responded directly to the original post but only after a subpost had been
made. There’d been few direct responses to that one but after it the attitude
toward the top post had changed.

Burton read the catalyst. It pointed out that the barge only
had twenty-four seats and made a few suggestions for how the occupants could be
selected. One was taking the members with the highest “insight” scores on the
board. The resident curmudgeon had pointed out that this standard would exclude
the members who paid for the barge—and since it was their property they could
allocate seats as they pleased. Which ended that thread, and started the
nastiness.

He went back to the sociology report. The conclusion was
stark: “The basis of group status has shifted from success in advocating group
ideals (verbal fluency, participation time) to being able to provide resources
for the group project. High-status members are trying to maintain their
positions by attacking providers and setting rules for implementing the project.
Middle-ranking members are considering new alliances.” The good news was that
both factions considered Reed their leader. The report detoured into an analogy
to medieval Japan before laying out several scenarios for the future of the
group.

Reed shot the consultant a question. “What’s my best option
for maximizing project resources?”

“Endorse providing as a high-status activity. Attack members
Brightlight, Unlimited, and Cirrus for not helping with the project.” He
flinched at the target list—all old friends who’d made his parties sparkle,
recruited followers, and honed Reed’s thoughts into a doctrine that stood
against all comers.
I didn’t create this movement to make friends.

He made a top-priority post, “CONGRATULATIONS TO THE LANDER
COMMITTEE.” He included the opponents by name, saying he was “disappointed that
for all the thought you’ve apparently put into our goals you’ve never been
willing to consider the key issues of resource constraints and priorities.”
Well,
if the schism is bad enough I won’t have more people than seats.

***

Schwartzenberger popped open the inspection hatch on the
barge’s engine compartment. No frayed wires. Tight fittings on the pipes. No
sign of leaks or sparking. “Seems to be in good shape.”

Reed let out a sigh behind him. If the captain rejected the
barge he couldn’t afford a replacement. “Do you want to inspect the autopilot
programming?”

“That’s your worry. I just want to make sure you don’t blow
up my ship. I’ll drop you off by Old Earth. You can make it to the ground
however you want.” He stood in the doorway looking at the close-packed seats. “You’d
said you wanted to bring forty or so people on this trip?”

“We couldn’t afford a bigger lander. So I resorted to
auctioning off the seats.” Schwartzenberger laughed. “It worked,” said Reed
defensively. “Pilgrims from several groups have contributed. We may even have
something left for extra above your fee.”

“Good. Might want to get some extra supplies in case the
trip runs long.”

“I already promised the excess to the stay-behinders. There’s
some hard feelings.” The captain shrugged.

***

The ship’s landing gear was hidden behind the stacks of
containers. Alexi had hooked one up to the crane, only to have Billy disconnect
the cables and return the container to its stack. Now they were arguing over a
layout diagram. Schwartzenberger had been watching from up in the hold. He
considered the several hundred keys a day he was paying for the idle cargo
lifter and decided it was time for an indirect intervention.

Guo walked up to the bickering deckhands. “How’s it going?”

“This lazy idiot won’t let me get any work done,” said
Alexi.

Billy waved his diagram of where the containers were
supposed to go. “The recycler unit has to go in first. It needs access to the
high voltage couplings. If we put anything else in before it gets here we’ll
just have to pull it out again.”

Guo took the datasheet. “You’ve got the recycler in the
bottom layer?”

“Yeah. That’s where the couplings are.”

“I have some extenders. They’re long enough to let you put
it in the upper layer.”

“Huh.” Billy took his datasheet back. “I can switch the
recycler with the storage unit I was going to put on top of it . . . Alexi, get
Food 3 on the lifter and in position.”

With a muttered “Finally” the Edenite climbed into the
lifter’s cab.

“How’s he working out?” asked Guo.

“Tolerably. Knows the work. Kinda rusty. Hates being low man
on the totem pole.”

“Whereas you always know your place.”

“I never tell people how to do stuff they’ve already been
doing. Alexi loves his Fusion standardization manuals too much.” A hauler
towing an open-top container turned off the ring road onto
Fives Full’s
hard pad. “This might be the recycler now, solving our whole problem.”

The new container distinctly lacked air vents and plumbing
attachments. A man in a dark suit climbed out of the truck cab as the driver
started unloading the container. Billy glanced at Guo. He didn’t recognize the
suit either. “Captain, we have a visitor with a container we didn’t order,”
said Billy into his handcomm.

“On my way.” A rope ladder had been rigged from the hold.
Schwartzenberger descended cautiously—Sukhoi’s gravity wasn’t that much higher
than what he was used to but the pad would make for a hard landing.

The suit waited with Billy and Guo. They’d given up trying
to make small talk with him. “Are you Captain Alois Schwartzenberger?”

“I am.”

“I’m Arto Lee of the Sukhoi Liaison Office. You have been
tasked to transport this material for the Terraforming Service. The
instructions are sealed for your eyes only.” He held out a blank sheet.

Schwartzenberger took it with a nod and stepped back. His
thumbprint revealed the message.

Dear Captain Schwartzenberger,

The TFS truly appreciates the extraordinary service you
provided. Unfortunately we have not been able to express that without drawing
undesirable attention to the incident.

On hearing of your current venture we resolved to assist.
The equipment delivered is for your use. We hope that you will complete your
journey safely.

Pandion 7, Coordinator

A file was embedded at the end. Schwartzenberger opened it.
It was a naval manual, titled “Operating Manual: A47Q Semi-Autonomous Target
Drone.” He walked over to the container and looked in. Eighteen missiles and a
console for programming them to fly fixed courses.

“I accept this task, Mr. Lee.” The relieved Liaison Office
bureaucrat made Schwartzenberger thumbprint ten times as many forms as his
Demeter counterpart had. Once he’d driven off the captain tossed the letter to
Guo. “You and Long need to read through this. We’ll have to put some thought
into how best to use them. But I think our odds just went up. Billy, this one
gets the slot closest to the airlock.”

***

Guo was curious about their new passengers, but not curious
enough to help welcome them aboard. He’d put off finishing the connections
between the recycler and the hygiene unit. That put him on top of the containers
as they came in.

The passengers stuck tightly to members of their own groups.
Reed had the biggest contingent. They had their hands full guiding friends with
bandaged eyes or unsteady walks. Even some of the helpers had bandages or scars
from recent surgery. Another group all wore white robes and refused to speak to
anyone else. The rest were typical Fuzies. Maybe longer beards than usual.