"To get back to your original question, though, Tor," Bran continued, "About why we don't have velocity when we emerge from supralight." He shrugged. "I might as well use the Captain's word – 'magic'. Jump violates the law of conservation of energy. I can't tell you what happens to energy and inertia built up before a jump; but somehow we always emerge with no real velocity. Valt," He asked, "Do you know of any recent research that can answer that question?"
Valt shook his head. "No. There isn't a lot of research into Jump theory. It's been known to land researchers in asylums. Now, can we get on with the meeting?"
Jirik looked inquiringly at Tor, who nodded, though he still looked a bit puzzled. Jirik suppressed a grin. Discussions of jump theory tended to have that effect on people. "All right," He began, "Let me summarize Bran's and Valt's reports, and state the basic problem. One. The port ID generator is beyond repair, at least without a shipyard. Two. The starboard generator might be usable, if the score in the casing isn't too deep. We can't use the jump engines within a system, of course. If we try to use the starboard generator, and it is too thin, we and the Lass become a rapidly-expanding ball of hot gases. Three. Our other choice is to call for help. This 'Boondock' is a mining planet. Its three moons are just big rocks, so there's no lunar station, no orbital station, and no shuttles. And, the rim tramps that they use for ships out here don't have much in the way of tractor beams. I doubt they could tow the Lass."
He took a deep breath. "That means that we have to hope for an asteroid miner willing to come out here and tow us in. I'd hate to do that. It can get very expensive!"
"Bran," Valt interrupted, "Can't you just weld up the gouge until we get to the planet?
Bran shook his head. "No, Valt. It wouldn't help. Shipyards use machines that bond the metals on the molecular level. All I could do would be fusion weld it. I could fill in the gouge, but it wouldn't add significantly to the strength of the casing – at least, not considering the stress on an ID generator!"
"So the options are to risk our lives trying to light off the ID, or yell for help," Valt summarized. "I vote to call for help. I have no interest in becoming part of a – what did you call it – 'rapidly-expanding ball of hot gases'!"
Tor looked doubtful. "I think I agree with Valt. Uh, we've got a big bonus coming when we get to Boondock, don't we? I mean, we're carrying a high-priority cargo, and there's a delivery bonus, isn't there? Wouldn't that pay for it?"
Jirik sighed. "Not any more, there isn't! We'd have to deliver the cargo within a week to collect the bonus. It'll take more than a week for someone to get out here to us. In fact, we're probably going to end up paying delivery penalties."
He shrugged. "If the tow doesn't cost too much, we should be all right. Our operating funds should cover the repairs, and maybe even get us an inbound cargo." He sighed again. "Bran?"
Bran shrugged. "I'd recommend getting a tow, Captain. It's much safer!"
Jirik straightened. "All right. Bran get back to Engineering and see if you can do anything that'd help. Tor, you and I'll go up and draft an SOS message. Then, I guess we just settle in for a long wait!"
Chapter 1
Captain Jirik Jeffson trudged wearily into the mess deck of the Independent Trader Bonny Lass and slumped into a padded chair. "Damn this gravity!" He complained, "Of all the planets in the universe, we have to get marooned on one with a 1.4G gravity. Where the hell are all the light planets when you need one?"
Bran Fergson answered Jirik's feeble joke with an equally feeble smile. "At least you're built for it, Captain." His eyes compared Jirik's short, burly frame with his own taller, portly body.
"I might be built for it, you tub of guts, but I'm sure as hell not muscled for it! We've been here over a week, now," Jirik continued in an aggrieved tone, "And I haven't even made it into town for a beer. By the time I put in a day arguing with ship's chandlers, it's all I can do to come back here and collapse into my rack!"
Bran snorted derisively. "Beer, hell. You mean beers, plural, and brawls, also plural." He grimaced at Jirik's chuckle, and then continued more seriously, "Maybe you should make an effort to get into town, Captain. Something is strange here."
It was Jirik's turn to snort. "I'd be surprised if it weren't strange. We're a long way from home. After all, we've come clear across the Alliance, from the Empire border to the Rim. You know the kind of people that come to the rim: malcontents, nonconformists, and ne'er-do-wells. Toss in this hellish gravity, and I'd expect this place to be a lunatic asylum!"
Bran's round face didn't smile. "Seriously, Captain, Have you talked to many of these people? What did you think of them?"
Jirik shrugged. "I dunno. I've only talked to chandlers, repairmen and agents, on business. I guess I like 'em well enough. They seem to be my kind of people. Only thing is, they're so damned smug! It's like they know the secret of the universe. I dunno exactly, but it's kinda like those religious fanatics on Yahweh. Y'know what I mean?"
Bran nodded soberly. "I think so, Captain. You mean the sort of self-righteous smugness that comes with the absolute certainty that you are God's favorite person, and that nobody else will ever be as good."
"That's it, exactly!" Jirik replied excitedly. "An air of superiority that's guaranteed to piss off anyone who comes into contact with it. Why did you ask?"
Bran shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Because I think that there is something wrong here, Captain. I can't describe it exactly. It's as though the whole planet is full of fanatics; but they seem to be political, rather than religious fanatics.
Jirik snorted. "There's damned little difference. Religious fanatics have a way of becoming involved in politics. Look at Januvia."
Bran didn't smile. "I know. But I don't think that there's a religious element involved here. Politics out here seem to excite the same type of fanatical fervor, though. At any rate, I'm getting worried that whatever they're doing is hostile to the Alliance."
"Well, I did notice that a couple of them looked kinda strange at any mention of the Alliance – almost disgusted. I didn't pay much attention at the time, but now that you mention it, it does seem odd for Alliance citizens to react that way to their government's name."
Bran nodded. "Exactly. But that's not all. You know how I like to browse in bookchip stores in port." He glanced inquiringly at Jirik, who nodded knowingly. Much of Bran's inport time and most of his money were spent browsing bookchip stores wherever they went. Most spacers are voracious readers; there is a lot of down time on a ship in jump space. But even so, Bran was something special. His collection of bookchips was threatening to crowd him out of his stateroom.
"Well," Bran continued, "There are quite a few of them on Boondock, more than I would have thought such a frontier planet would have. I've been to a number of them here, and they all have one oddity in common. By far the largest section in each of them was devoted to political science. And every one of them prominently displayed the same chip, or rather a set of chips. Now, usually that just means it's the current best seller, some vacuous love fiction or lame brained thriller. This one was a political science treatise published some seventy-five years ago."