Charles Sheffield - Between the Strokes of Night

“You sound as though you have made up your mind already.”

“No. I just want to think ahead in case it does happen.” She went across to her desk and picked up a handwritten page. “Here’s my first selection. Sit down again, and we’ll go over it together.”

“But — “

“Get Charlene to help you on this while I’m away.”

“Charlene? Look, I know she’s good, but can she be objective? She’s a mass of insecurity.”

“I know. She’s too modest. That’s why I want her to know she was on my preferred list from the start. While you’re at it, take a look at this.” She handed him a couple of pages of printout. “I just ran it out of the historical data banks. It’s the statement that Salter Wherry made to the United Nations when he started his industrial space activity, thirty years ago. We need to understand the psychological make-up of the man, and this is a good clue to it.” “Judith, slow down. You’re pushing me. I’m not at all sure that I want to — “ “Nor am I. Jan, we may be forced to do this, even if some of us don’t like the decision. Things have been absolutely falling apart around here in the past few months, bit by bit.”

“I know times are hard — “

“They’ll get worse. The way the Institute is getting screwed around, we can’t afford to do nothing. If we’re being raped we have to fight any way we can; even if it means risking Salter Wherry trying to screw us too.”

He took the sheets from her hand, sighing. “All right, all right. If you insist, I’ll blunder ahead. Let’s all become experts on Salter Wherry and his enterprises. But Judith, must you be so crude? I prefer to avoid these unpleasant suggestions of rape. Why can’t we regard this overture as the first touch of Salter Wherry’s perfumed hand in our genteel seduction?” He smirked happily. “That makes it all positively appealing; in seduction, my dear, there’s so much more scope for negotiation.”

From the invited address of Salter Wherry to the United Nations General Assembly, following establishment of Salter Station in a stable six-hour orbit around the Earth, and shortly before Wherry withdrew from contact with the general public:

Nature abhors a vacuum. If there is an open ecological niche, some organism will move to fill it. That’s what evolution is all about. Twenty years ago there was a clear emerging crisis in mineral resource supply. Everybody knew that we were heading for shortages of at least twelve key metals. And almost everybody knew that we wouldn’t find them in any easily accessible place on Earth. We would be mining fifteen miles down, or at the ocean bottom. I decided it was more logical to mine five thousand miles up. Some of the asteroids are ninety percent metals; what we needed to do was bring them into Earth orbit.

I approached the U.S. Government first with my proposal for asteroid capture and mining. I had full estimates of costs and probable return on investment, and I would have settled for a five percent contract fee.

I was told that it was too controversial, that I would run into questions of international ownership of mineral rights. Other countries would want to be included in the project.

Very well. I came here to the United Nations, and made full disclosure of all my ideas to this group. But after four years of constant debate, and many thousands of hours of my time preparing and presenting additional data, not one line of useful response had been drafted to my proposal. You formed study committees, and committees to study those committees, and that was all you did. You talked.

Life is short. I happened to have one advantage denied to most people. From the 1950s through the 1990s, my father invested his money in computer stocks. I was already very wealthy, and I was frustrated enough to risk it all. You are beginning to see some of the results, in the shape of PSS-One — what the Press seems to prefer to call Salter Station. It will serve as the home for two hundred people, with ease.

But this is no more than a beginning. Although Nature may abhor a vacuum, modern technology loves one; that, and the microgravity environment. I intend to use them to the full. I will construct a succession of large, permanently occupied space stations using asteroidal materials. If any nation here today desires to rent space or facilities from me, or buy my products manufactured in space, I will be happy to consider this — at commercial rates. I also invite people from all nations on Earth to join me in those facilities. We are ready to take all the steps necessary for the human race to begin its exploration of our Universe.

It was past midnight by the time that Jan de Vries had read the full statement twice, then skipped again to the comment with which Salter Wherry had concluded his address. They were words that had become permanently linked to his name, and they had earned him the impotent enmity of every nation on earth: “The conquest of space is too important an enterprise to be entrusted to governments.” De Vries shook his head. Salter Wherry was a formidable man, ready to take on world governments — and win. Did Judith have the equipment to play in Wherry’s league?

He closed the folder, his chubby face completely serious. A move to Salter Station. It would be fascinating. But the government outrage and hypocrisy over Wherry’s actions still continued, undiminished (perhaps increased) by success. The popularity of the arcologies, and the flood of applicants to embark on them, only added fuel to the official anger. If the Institute moved, everyone there would have to understand that the decision to join the Wherry empire would add to the outcry. They would all be branded as “traitors” by the U.N. official press.

And once they went out, what then? For many of them there would never be a return home. Earth would be lost to them forever.

The building hummed quietly with the subdued murmur of a thousand experiments, going on through the night. Jan de Vries sat in his easy chair for a long time, musing, peering out of the window into the humid night but seeing only the cloudy vision of his own future. Where was it likely to lead? Would he be in space himself, ten years from now? What would it be like out there? The ideas were difficult to grasp, drifting away from the periphery of his tired brain. He yawned, and rose slowly to his feet. Ten years — it was too far to see. Better think of near-term things: Judith Niles’ list, the budget, the still-unfinished trip report. Ten years was infinity, something beyond his span. Jan de Vries could not possibly have known it, but he had his crystal ball wrongly focused. He should have been looking much farther ahead.

“Either I meet with him personally, or there will be no agreement. It’s as simple as that, Hans.”

“I’m telling you, that’s not possible. He doesn’t hold face-to-face conferences any more; not here, or down on Earth.”

“You see him often enough.”

“Well, damn it, Judith, I am his assistant. Even he has to see a few people. But I have full legal authority to sign for him, if that’s a worry. Check with Zurich for any questions on financing. And if you want to look at anything else on the Station, tell me and I’ll arrange it.”

Hans Gibbs sounded almost pleading. They were sitting in an eighth-gee chamber halfway out from the hub of Salter Station, watching the mining operations on Elmo, a hundred kilometers above them. Electric arcs sparkled and sputtered in random sequence on the surface of the Earth-orbiting asteroid, and loaded cargo buckets were drifting lazily down along the umbilical. From this distance it was a glittering filament of silver, coiling its length down to the station refining center.