The break came and went, and rather than huddle over a folder acting like he didn’t have a clue, he used the opportunity to join the line for the head and send Bob for something more substantial than cookies and Danish. Back early, he flipped to the back of the notebook and began doodling, trying to remember which of hundreds of books might have something relevant to the issue.
Ten minutes later, all he had were rough maps of the Clan’s resource colony Jump routes in the Edge, a half-remembered garrison list, sketches of planets and spaceships, a stick figure in stocks with the legend ‘BITCH’, and another empty napkin that had held a ham and cheese on toasted rye. Can’t wait for her to try snooping, he thought happily.
But an idea eluded him. Probably why The Bitch had brought it out – ‘Business as usual’ was always the hardest thing to change, since so many people and vested interests looking for ways to save pennies on every transaction were involved. Shaving those pennies meant somebody was going to buy their own island, or moon, or… Whatever…
MOONS… Asteroids – millions of rocks in the explored systems of the Cluster ALONE. Space-based populations DON’T NEED planets. Who, What, When, Where, Why, AND HOW do they?!
He felt That Feeling again. He dropped the stylus to the table, feeling faint, sweaty, hands suddenly clammy and shaking. EUREKA! It was all he could do not to ‘SQUEE!’ out loud. The concept of asteroid mining had supplied the Terran Hegemony during their rise to leadership of the Star League through to the Amaris Coup. It was hard to concentrate with The Weasel’s droning on the next meeting topic, but…
Scribbling out instructions to investigate the basic assumptions behind his theory before ordering his deputy on Wake to begin a more in-depth investigation, he waved Bob forward for the notebook – Good ol’ Bob – with a whispered instruction to see to it he had something to present before the Kraken reached orbit, preferably at least a day before their arrival, the better to empty a boot-load of piss into the smug face of The Bitch and her supporters before more of her advisors were able to pass judgement and change the outcome.
Speaking of which…
Keeping a grip on the notebook, he leaned forward to give additional instructions.
“I’ll crucify the person who lets something – anything – slip before this is confirmed, Bob. Anyone. Got it?â€
Bob nodded, non-committal face unreadable, and turned to leave the room quietly.
He couldn’t keep a smug smile off his face as Ivan turned to reprove him for disturbing the course of the meeting, but he did give a condescending nod before leaning back to consider the idea further as The Weasel continued to drone on.
The meeting took forever, as the minutiae of running a multi-planet state in a federal system led by idiots with guns and communist sympathizers covered such ridiculous topics as equipping ‘Wet Floor’ signs with suction cups to remain in place on ships and stations in Kraken-claimed star systems. Not the best use of his time, he judged.
On the plus side, it was a productive meeting for his latest brainstorm, as Bob – Good ol’ Bob! – had been able to confirm several supporting facts and leads on… ‘Enforced Immigration’ in several cases with links to zero-G cultures – descendants of JumpShip owner/operators mostly, but station dwellers with unconfirmed claims in some cases.
A particularly promising bit of news put one of them on the Kraken – the Ship’s engineer. He was looking forward to discussing ‘Screech’ and how it was made illegally aboard the Kraken under his nose (or protection).
The urge to cackle like a mad Scientist was nearly irresistible a few times, but eventually the formalities were over and Bob – Good ol’ Bob! – took point to smooth the ruffled feathers of the useless drones gathering around the table. Deep in thought as Bob managed to lead him from the room without undue confrontation, he emerged from the hatch looking forward to meeting with the department head and hopefully shaking him down for the information he was looking for.
Now that he thought of it, there were other threads he could pull to do something about the depressing lack of innovation and creativity in the Scientist Caste. Clearly, the Ryan Cartel had pioneered linked hyperspace fields as early as three- or four hundred years ago and the techniques had simply vanished over time. Why not move metallic asteroids rather than chunks of ice? And the Word of Blake, religious fanatics and toaster-worshippers that they were, had mastered ‘super Jump’ capabilities during the Jihad, while the Republic’s HPG Blackout and the Fortress suggested some kind of related hyperspace phenomenon.
It was times like these he was proud of being a theoretical physicist. So much easier to make claims than prove them! Promise them the sky, deliver the clouds, I always say! Nobody expects perfection!
More work for Bob and those busybodies in the Caste planetside advocating exploring the sorry state of his credentials after graduating under a cloud of suspicion back home. Somehow, he couldn’t find much in the line of sympathy for telling others to shut up and do their jobs.
