SURVIVAL TEST
by
David L. Burkhead
CHAPTER ONE
Full Earth and Gibbous Moon shown in the sky
Richard Schneider, President and CEO of FutureTech Industries, pushed himself
off the construction hauler. He clipped his brake to the tether that ran from
The Rock, the small artificial silicate asteroid that served as an anchor, to
the O’Neill Construction Shack. The Shack and the Rock each revolved around the
docking fixture at their common center of gravity to provide a modest artificial
gravity in the Shack.
The moon hung to one side of the rock appearing to pull slowly away from it as
the rock moved through space. The Earth lay sixty degrees away from the
moon--four times its size and many times as bright. In the distance, the
partially completed space colony, O’Neill sparkled in the sunlight.
Schneider slid down the tether, his brake restraining his speed until he landed
next to the airlock. When ships arrived, a pressurized tube provided a
shirt-sleeve environment from the docking fixture to the Shack. When no ships
waited, as none waited now, entry and exit proceeded as Schneider entered.
Julia Markham, commander of the O’Neill construction project, met Schneider as
he finished cycling through the airlock. "Everything go well?"
Schneider nodded. He removed his helmet and took a deep breath of the fresher
air in the construction shack. A slight scent of pine tinted the air, not strong
enough to be annoying, just enough to kill the sterile scent of recycled air.
Schneider welcomed the change after six hours in a pressure suit. The corridor
stretched in each direction, narrow as a concession to the need to cram so many
people, their offices, and supplies into a limited space. Pastel paints covered
the walls in shades of blue and green. Coves along the upper corners of the
corridor hid the lights, providing a soft, even lighting as they reflected off
the ceiling. The chirping of crickets sounded at the edge of hearing from hidden
speakers.
Schneider had told the people designing the construction shack to make it as
comfortable as possible for the people working here. They would be facing long
hours, far from home, in cramped quarters. Anything they could do to relieve the
unpleasantness would help. The shack had to come out in one piece so the
capacity of their ships limited its size, but other things could be, and had
been, done to improve its comfort.
"I found a few problems that I think we can fix. They're mostly procedures and
equipment that need updating. The few personnel problems I found are small and
easy to fix. You've got good people."
Julia smiled. Schneider had hired her not long before beginning his inspection
tour of FTI’s off-Earth facilities. When he looked at her resume he had been
about to pass her over. She had no technical training at all. He never did no
what had moved him to offer her an interview. She stormed into his office like a
small hurricane, full of sound and fury signifying . . . everything. On
reflection, he decided that he did not need someone with technical training to
supervise the construction of the O’Neill colony. He needed someone who could
herd cats. Julia Markham seemed that person. So far, she had not disappointed
him.
"I always thought so. I'm glad you agree." She held the upper body of his suit
while Schneider stepped out of the legs.
"I figure we'll have the hull completed in about a year and a half," she said,
"the entire colony in about three. Ahead of schedule."
Julia's looked at Schneider with chocolate-brown eyes, wrinkles just starting to
crease their corners. No gray yet touched her hair which she wore woven into a
tight braid that wound around the back of her head.
"Officially--" Schneider grinned. "--I don't want to know about that. If I did,
then the board would want me to revise the schedule and any problems that
cropped up would make us fall behind the new schedule and we'd look bad. Let's
just keep it at five years and if we come in ahead of that, we look good." With
Julia’s assistance, he hung the suit in the locker. She handed him a bottle that
contained only water, but it tasted pure and sweet and helped to wash the
metallic taste of canned air out of his mouth.
"If you say so, sir."
"Good." Schneider stretched kinks out of his muscles. A bad knot ached just
above his right kidney. It seemed every time he turned around there were new
aches. Still, he thought that he was doing pretty well for a man in his sixties.
"John been giving you a hard time?"
John Millhouse served as Schneider’s second on this inspection trip.
"He's been poring over our computer records. I think he's examined every bit
personally." She shrugged. "He seemed a little put out that we don't have any
problems in the software. The last I saw of him, he was mumbling something about
streamlining."
"I'll have to have a talk with him. Programming's not his field and I know
you've got eight top-flight programmers here. I hired them myself."
"Oh, I don't know," Julia said. The corners of her eyes crinkled. "It might do
those eight programmers good to have Mr. Millhouse light a fire under them."
"If you say so."
A comppad at Julia’s belt beeped. She unclipped it. "Markham."
A moment later, she looked up, her lips tight. "Mr. Schneider. It's
communications. They want to know if you can come down there right away. Mr.
Cadretti needs to talk to you."
Schneider scowled. What could Lincoln Cadretti, FTI's executive VP, want? "Tell
them I'll be right down. Also, have John called. If Lincoln’s problem is as
important as it had better be I'll want him available."
"Yes, sir." She tilted her head to one side and waited, looking at him.
Schneider nodded. "You too, Julia, if you want."
"Yes, sir." She relayed the orders into the comppad.
#
A few minutes later, Schneider entered the Comm center. This small room housed
the computer-controlled communications routing equipment as well as the stations
where the communications technician monitored that automatic equipment. This
room also housed the two-way video terminal.
Although the original design had called for computers to handle all the record
keeping and scheduling for this room, that had not happened. Instead, plastic
checklists and schedules clung to Velcro spots on the walls and marked in red
and black with the grease pencils clamped in holders alongside the consoles.
"He's here, sir," the communications technician said into the microphone.
"Lincoln?" Schneider slid into the seat that the technician vacated. "What's
wrong?"
The nearly three second lag required for Schneider’s message to travel to Earth
at the speed of light and Lincoln’s response to return seemed longer to
Schneider.
"Mr. Schneider?" Cadretti's voice came from the speaker at last, as his worried
face stared out of the screen. "I've just got a call from the New York office.
Things just went belly up at the U. N."
"Talk to me," Schneider said. "What happened?"
"We did as you said--our lobbyists convinced Congress and the President to
support our position, at least at first. The Ambassador to the U. N. tried
several compromises. We even offered cut back fares and assistance to less
developed nations who want to go into space. The North Africans wouldn't buy
it."
Schneider drew in a sharp breath. The North African Confederacy had unearthed
old provisions of the 1979 Treaty on the Moon and Celestial bodies. They had
reiterated the old claim that "common heritage" meant "common property" and the
industrial efforts of private companies like FTI were in violation of that
treaty. They denanded equal shares of all that production developed in space.
Schneider had been watching the news with some alarm. Over that past several
years President ibnAllah’s speeches, proposals, and policies slipped further and
further from reality. In the last few months his comparisons came close to
claims of divinity. Schneider shuddered. How could he, how could anyone, predict
what someone like that would do. The last thing they needed was a holy war. That
ibnAllah had pulled North Africa into the twenty-first century and tripled their
standard of living in some ways only made things worse. It ensured that he had
wide popular support for whatever he wanted to do.
"By themselves they wouldn't be much," Schneider said.
"No, not by themselves," Cadretti agreed. "But they've got a lot of support from
the smaller nations. Even a couple not so small. I think a lot of people are
just plain jealous of what we’ve done." Cadretti paused. "For some reason, the
U. S. is dancing on eggshells around the North Africans. I don't know why. I
know this guy’s nuts but...."
"I see. Go on."
"Finally, some fool diplomat undid all our work. America's U. N. ambassador made
a counter-proposal where private industry would have to share their production
equally with non-spacefaring nations, but not government activities like
Lunaville."
"What!" Schneider levered himself half out of his seat. An instant later, he
relaxed, collapsing back into it.
"I know," Cadretti said a long three seconds later. "It didn't do them any good
though. The North African Ambassador laughed at the proposal. I mean he
literally laughed. He got up out of his seat and laughed. He demanded that the
U. S., and he named the U. S. specifically, give him everything they asked for
or face the Wrath of God. He used those very words, I swear. Then he walked out
of the hall. He spoke very calmly about it, but he seemed to be very serious."
"Surely the U. S. isn't going to give in to them?" Schneider asked.
"I don't think so," Cadretti said. "But this afternoon, less than an hour ago,
North Africa withdrew all their embassy personnel from the U. S."
"That sounds ominous," Schneider said.
"Yes, sir. We think they're going to make a military strike somewhere. With that
big army they've been building it seems obvious they intend to use it. I don't
know if they plan to fight a drawn out war, or just do a little raiding. God,
sir, the ground station for our SPS prototype is in Chad, right where the North
Africans can get at it. If they intend to make us some kind of object lesson,
they could kill or imprison our crew there--over two hundred people."
"Lincoln," Schneider kept his voice low. "I want all possible pressure put on
Washington. Do whatever it takes but make sure that our people are protected."
"What if Washington won't cooperate?"
"Then hire mercenaries; I don't care. I want our people protected. If you can't
protect them, then get them out of there. Whatever you have to do, I'll
approve."
"Yes, sir," Cadretti said.
As Schneider shut off the radio, he heard Millhouse's soft whistle behind him.
He looked up. "You heard?"
"Enough," Millhouse said. "So is FTI going to war?"
"I hope not," Schneider said. "Lincoln has enough sense to evacuate the plant if
it gets bad. We've already proved the concept." He shook his head. "I'd hate to
abandon the plant, though. We've got a chance to fix the damage of thousands of
years of subsistence farming draining the soils in that part of the world and
I’d like to be a part of that."
"I never expected anything like this," Julia said.
Schneider stood up. "Let's just hope that cooler heads prevail."
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