Erica sighed. “And I went along with it, like an idiot. I changed priorities again. In fact, I’ve been doing it almost daily. The work that suffered was the building of jigs, specialized manufacturing equipment for things we needed in quantity, learning to cast that damned finicky foam in large sections, and other things which would pay off a little further down the road. To meet the new schedule we had to use the toolmaker’s equipment we brought up here with us as production equipment. Instead of making bigger and faster fabricators, we overloaded the little ones making bolts and widgets. Instead of building purpose-built chemical plants for bulk organics, we used the general purpose synthesizers we were supposed to reserve for speciality stuff. Down went the curve.”
“Yep,” Raul added. “All the while we were dipping into our stocks of replacement parts at an alarming rate. Carbide and diamond tips were being broken, and we hadn’t built the facility to make boron nitride chips for replacement tools. Bearings were wearing out. Indicators were failing. When a machine was trashed too badly to be used, the load shifted to the ones that remained.”
Erica stared at the screen. At last she said, “Mr. Otoya, I apologize. You tried to warn me about this. I didn’t listen. I don’t know what I can do to fix this screwed-up mess I’ve made, but, I promise, there will be some changes.”
Erica got up and trudged toward the hatch. Raul stared after her. When she was out of earshot, he turned back to his computer. “Of course, changes are the whole freaking problem,” he mumbled to himself.
Erica Thompson paced back and forth in the cramped confines of her office, stopping periodically to examine the screen of her computer. “Come on,” she muttered. “How long does a freedom of information order take anyway?” She checked her watch. Even allowing for the lengthy transmission delay, the inquiry should have gone through hours ago.
The computer beeped, and she dove for it, hitting the keys before she was even in her seat. She paged through the correspondence files and reports eagerly, stopping occasionally to read parts in detail. “The scumbags,” she mumbled on the average of once a minute.
Buzz Santi knocked, thought he heard a faint reply, and entered Erica’s darkened office. A single desk light was focussed on the only wall decoration, a crude and simple carving of a bearded elfish face in a small piece of oak branch. Erica Thompson had her work-seat reclined, and her eyes were closed.
Buzz began backing toward the hatch, when Erica stirred. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were taking a nap,” he whispered.
“Oh, no!” Erica exclaimed, waving him back in. “Just lost in thought. Bright lights make me tired after a while, and the dark clears my head. Come in.”
“We were worried about you, Erica,” Buzz offered. “You’ve hardly been seen out of your office for three days now.”
“Well, sometimes I get that way when I really get involved in a project, Buzz,” Erica explained. “Raul Otoya showed me a new toy about a week ago, and I’ve been learning how to use it. I’ve also been checking some records. I’ve pretty well figured out how we got into this mess. Now I need to see if I can get us out of it. Just took a couple of big steps in that direction.”
“Don’t think you have to do it all at once and all by yourself, Erica. Don’t be afraid to ask for some help.”
Erica turned to her chair to face the computer. “Don’t worry, there’ll still be plenty for everyone to do when I come up with a plan. Come here, I want to show you something.”
Erica wiggled the joystick on her chair arm and brought up a display on the computer. Buzz stepped behind her desk and took a seat beside her. Erica gave him a lesson in production statistics that lasted the better part of an hour. The productivity graph was on-screen when they finished.
“You’ll recall that shortly before the first downturn, they announced the development of solid-state sodium-proton cold fusion,” Erica said, pointing to the left-hand peak. “The same basic mix of rare earths and metal oxides that make high temperature superconductors, gamma pumps, and tailored catalysts possible could also be used to make molecular-scale proton accelerators. Since these picotechnology molecules were essentially superconductors, there was already a partial Higgs field present. The electromagnetic force could be suppressed in the target node, and modifying two Higgs vectors could expand the strong and weak forces, enlarging cross sections to give better than break-even yield. Put gamma pumps around them to trap the energy, and voilà, portable, clean, simple fusion power.
“I remember reading about it in the scientific literature at the time,” Erica continued. “I didn’t miss its importance, but it seemed like a natural technological progression to me. I wasn’t following the news in the mass media, and neglected to consider how the economics would affect us. Rare earth futures quadrupled overnight.
“As a result, an ‘advisory board’ approached our sponsors and convinced them that they should push ahead posthaste with the transport development project. It was gently explained to me by our sugar-daddies that perhaps we should accelerate whatever construction phases we could, to try to mollify some criticism they were getting from their investors. So, like an idiot, I agreed to try.”
Erica pointed to the downward inflection in the middle of the graph. “This is where they formally imposed Go-Triple-M on us. It was proposed by that ‘advisory board’ I mentioned. I finally took a close look at that den of vipers, and guess what?”
“What?”
“If you made a list of everyone who wanted to build transports in Low Earth Orbit, and who argued that this scheme was unworkable, you would have the board who came up with that inane milestone schedule we’ve been busting our humps to meet. I’ve done a little back-calculating. I think they expected us to fail before this. We been doin’ good.”
Buzz bit his lip for a minute. “Well… Erica, you’ve just told me we’ve been programmed to fail. Maybe that means we’ve got nothing to be ashamed of, but I’d hardly say this is good news.”
Erica tapped the left-hand peak. “Five times the productivity of comparable workers on Earth, Buzz. Look at it. How can that much talent, surrounded by plenty of energy and more raw materials than they know what to do with, possibly fail if you give them some freedom and get out of their way? The only limit up here is human talent, unless we allow ourselves to be held back by contrived limitations. If we stop squandering our most precious resource, I think we will succeed.”
Buzz stared at the graph and pondered. “So, how do you propose to fix things dirtside if they’ve already got it in for us? We’ll obviously never be able to keep up with their timetable.”
“For starters,” Erica leaned back in her seat and looked at her watch, “in about… eighteen minutes… they’ll be receiving a list of grievances, naming names and citing facts, which I intend to be the basis for a lawsuit. Basically, I’m suing for breach of contract due to the imposition of new rules after we were stuck up here, and demanding that they allow us to go back to the way this place was supposed to run in the first place.”
Erica winked at Buzz. “I’m really starting to like this communications delay. Waiting hours for a reply makes me less inclined to fire off a hot-headed response, like I used to.”