Escape Velocity: The Anthology (18 page)

      
An ascent tube sparks from beneath the ship, snakes down beside Jacob. Jacob holds up his hand, palm out. Kasim bows, touching his fingertips to his chest, his lips, his forehead.

       “
Salaam,”
he says.

       “
Shalom,”
says Jacob, and steps into the tube.

Jacob’s ship hangs motionless in deep space, braced energetically against the slow roiling of spacetime, adrift on gravity tides. There comes a mighty flare of stellar fire. Sundered atoms flash past. The etheric fabric heaves and Jacob’s ship recoils, corrects, and hangs still once more. A bright ember glows on the black face of space.

       “
May God give you rest,” whispers Jacob, alone.

Galactic Collision

A Poem by Magdalena Ball

In the crackling wake of our galactic collision

Shaking fans of stars from still-wet hair

Hazy, frightened

Remnants of our newborn cocoon visible

Amidst space junk

Primordial remnants

Of the dwarfs we once were.

The centre of our wreck

Brought to light by fireworks,

Our pain crisscrossed

Filaments of dark dust.

It’s difficult to come to terms

With this rebirth.

Cold hydrogen gas

Giant molecular clouds

Condensed deep in your heart’s black hole

Expand into a cartwheel blaze

Cosmic showdown.

Still simmering

From the transformation

Of equal-weight individuals

Into a single spinning spiral,

We wipe crusty eyes in the silence

Of a billion year conjoined spin.

The past nothing more than memory

Caught on film by Hubble,

The future an open door

We can only enter

In perfectly aligned motion

Testing

Kaolin Fire

‘
Testing. Testing.’

      
Six metal walls: floor, ceiling, four lateral barriers to the outside world. Two circular windows faced each other, leading out to bleak and inhospitable darkness. A table sat a little off from the center of the room, surrounded by nine chairs.

       ‘
Testing. Testing.’ The tone drones on monotonously.

      
In six of the chairs sit a grim group of intellectuals, faces drawn long, trying to make the best of their situation. Their gaze avoids the three empty chairs, the two windows, and the vat of bubbling liquid in one corner of the room.

       “
Johnny to bat: Ace showing, skinny hidden, dealer’s got eleven up.”

       “
Hit me.” The test pattern was growing dimmer.

       “
That’s a deuce for you, nothing wild. Some harsh reality for ya folks, three showing, skinny hidden.”

       “
Hit me.” The test pattern was growing dimmer. He dipped his hand into the bowl of pinkish gruel in the center, and had a sip of thick liquid. Life ... life wasn’t that bad, when you got used to it.

       “
A jack smothers. Ace and a deuce, nothing hiding nine or over.”

       “
Bust.” There was a sigh from the crowd.

       “
Signal’s still there, could last another five minutes. Pass it on, Mike?”

       ‘
Testing. Testing.’ Fainter.

       “
Right-o. George, I see a lovely little lady sitting there up top, what would you like to play?”

       “
I’d like a hit if you don’t mind.”

       “
Call ‘em as you want ‘em. Laying down a cute little eight, how’s that suit you?”

      
George smiled and flipped his down card. “Twenty one.”

      
The crowd clapped, always appreciative of a good turn of luck. Especially appreciative of a good turn of luck.

       “
Well, Steve, on to you. A four up, whatcha hiding?”

       ‘
Testing. Testing.’

       “
Umm. Pass.”

       “
You sure? Best you’ve got is a fifteen; dealer’s showing some wealth on the table...”

       “
Pass, Mike.”

       “
Well, I suppose there is a bust on the table. I can understand a hesitance to play. Especially with a twenty-one also up. Jones? A four showing...”

       “
I think I’ll have to stick with the coward’s way, I’m just not feeling my oats right now.” He helped himself to some gruel, looking sick to his stomach.

       ‘
T .. sting .. te .. ng.’

      
The people about the table paused and looked around at each other, hiding their thoughts from themselves as best they could.

       “
Jake? You’ve got an ace up, how can I do you?”

       “
Ah, what the hell. Hit me.”

       “
Ten down, didn’t do you any good.”

       “
Yeah, I think I’ll stay, thanks. I might flirt with it, but I’m not suicidal yet.”

       ‘
... tes .khkhk. es .khkhkhk.’

       “
Well, that’s it. Looks like it was on your hand, Johnny,” said the dealer, looking at the guy who had busted.

       “
Looks like it is.” Johnny got up, stretched, walked over to the corner of the room, and lay his head down on a large flat rock.

      
The dealer got up and stood over him. “You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to scream. You have the right to an enjoyable life for so long as you can win it. In you, we will live on. In us, you will live on. I pray that what you go to, if there is such a thing, is better than this.” There was a polite and respectful spattering of applause. The dealer brought a large rock down hard on Johnny’s skull.

      
The group got together and undressed the corpse, shared his clothing, and went about disseminating the meat. Less choice parts of his body were poured into the vat, chemically burbling to itself, turning biomass into steam, steam turning a turbine which was connected to a large radio transceiver and a small speaker.

       ‘
Testing. Testing.’

      
On his way back to the table, Mike tossed a furtive glance out the window of the shack. Outside lay a barren wasteland and the stripped-down wreckage of a spacecraft. “Okay, George,” he said. “Your deal. Clean up the table.”

Freer Enterprise

Lawrence Buentello

By 2040, the lunar renaissance began in earnest with the first robotic colonies; by 2050, the first habitable lunar stations were complete, though they were chiefly military affairs from a variety of countries; and by 2070, the first civilian tourists began descending for brief periods on the lunar surface, the rich and powerful who braved the hazards of space flight to satisfy their adventurous spirits. By 2095, however, colonization of the lunar surface slowed within the powerful grip of bureaucratic hands, and the population of Luna Central remained at only two thousand. Protocol and procedure had become the standards of space exploration, and between participating nations little consensus could be achieved.

      
And it was in 2100 that Marcus Keilley managed to construct, over several expensive flights, a private residence on the surface of the moon.

      
Keilley referred to it as his ‘summer house’ though the humor was lost to the government officials who declared the structure illegitimate. That no one had paid close enough attention to him as he unloaded his cargo from the transports and directed his team of contractors to begin construction of the small, yet efficient terrarium twenty-five kilometers from Luna Central was also insulting to the International Space Administration, since Keilley had neglected to get the agency’s permission to build such a domicile.

       “
I haven’t broken any treaties,” Keilley said in the meeting room of Luna Central’s Director of Operations, “and so I find your objections ridiculous.”

       “
We’re still investigating that point,” Russell said, sitting back in his chair. The middle-aged man sitting before him smiled and folded well-manicured hands over his knee.

      
Keilley, heir to several fortunes accrued by his late father, the genius behind the multinational Fusion Corp., seemed innocuous enough in his casual attire. Russell’s disdain for the man was bound in his own prejudices toward capricious, rich elitists with no respect for scientific imperatives.

      
Keilley smiled. “I’ve followed every guideline to the letter. You’ll find no discrepancies. The international flavor of Luna Central affords travelers the option of petitioning participating countries for the importation of materials providing they fall within acceptable parameters.”

      
Russell waved his hand over his desk and scanned virtual documents.

       “
You petitioned ten different nations for the right to transport scientific instruments for the purpose of pure research. Really, Mr Keilley, how does your little domicile qualify as ‘pure research’?”

      
Keilley smiled warmly, a disarming gesture that caused Russell to open his eyes wide with interest.

       “
Each component listed on the manifests was either shipped for survival purposes, like the water purifiers, or for purely scientific measurements, like the gamma-ray detectors. I brought no weapons, no contagions, and no chemical laboratories for the creation of dangerous substances.”

       “
I realize that,” Russell said. “If I may be plain, it looks like you’re building your own station.”

      
Keilley laughed as he ran a thin hand through his silvery hair.

       “
Exactly, but I like to refer to it as a summer house. Strictly for my own use.”

       “
I thought the suggestion was merely hyperbole. Your intention all along was to build a vacation home for yourself? On the moon?”

       “
Precisely.”

       “
But that’s absurd!”

       “
Why?”

      
Russell closed his mouth and considered the question. After a moment of clarity he was able to speak again.

       “
Because everything that happens here is precisely calibrated through co-operative agencies. Do you think this is ocean-front property in Florida? People just can’t travel to Luna, build a vacation home, and expect to thrive. This world is harsher than the harshest environment on Earth. You’d never be able to keep it going, I assure you.”

       “
And yet,” Keilley said gently, “I’ve managed to build one right under your nose.”

       “
You’ve exploited loopholes in the process and violated exploratory laws.”

       “
I’ve violated no laws. My little house is beyond the territorial limits of Luna Central. I’ve paid for the construction myself. I simply used the resources available to me. Why do you feel I’ve done something wrong?”

       “
Mr Keilley, you’re an opportunist. I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but I assure you that your conduct will be reviewed by the Administration and your little ‘experiment’ aborted. This is not a place for bored, wealthy men to exercise fiscal irresponsibility.”

       “
Irresponsibility?” Keilley held his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender. “Perhaps. But now I’ve built my residence I intend to make certain that my property rights are well established.”

       “
Property
rights?”

       “
Of course. I’ve filed a petition with the Administration to have my little acre recognized as private property.”

       “
Mr Keilley, are you insane? Do you really think anyone would grant you lunar property rights just because you built a structure on the moon?”

      
Keilley remained calm. “Mr. Russell, I’m not concerned about the opinions of others. I’ll press the matter in the international courts. I have a convincing argument, after all.”

After refusing to disclose that argument, Keilley retired to his terrarium − ‘the most expensive summer house in history’. The stunt and argument erupted Earthside. Since he’d violated no laws and worked within the constraints of convoluted multinational lunar interests, the press could only speculate as to his motives, which, most critics suggested, were exploitative.

      
The Governing Board for Luna Central could only refer Keilley’s conduct to governing bodies Earthside, but none could come to a consensus. Over the previous few years Keilley had been very busy attaining multiple citizenships in many countries, so that any one governmental declaration would not affect his status as a legitimate space traveler. Frustrated, the Board took a vote on Keilley’s lunar legitimacy, but no agreement could be reached between representatives.

      
When Keilley finally returned to Luna Central, he gave a short statement to the effect that he was declaring his estate on the lunar surface and would file for independent recognition from the participating nations. Russell threatened to revoke Keilley’s passport, but since this could only be executed through consensus and initiated by a violation of international policies, the threat held little merit.