Mathematical Shell Game

I've never claimed to be the smartest guy around. Seriously, who wants to be THAT guy? Non claims aside, I'm not stupid, and I have a smart girl-friend. I recognize that I have a smart girl-friend, and I'm not threatened by it, so I guess that makes me smart in at least one way.

So why don't I understand the logic of engineers? I don't mean the logic which makes things work. I am confused by the way engineers think when it comes to solving problems. I seriously believe that if two engineers were trapped in a deadly situation with two different engineering solutions, they would die discussing it if a Station Tech weren't around to make the decision and possibly hand them tools.

Engineers are smart people, but very often I seem unable to lingo the gap, and I find confusion instead of the enlightenment I am seeking.

For example:

• Tech: I have a two and a one, but the spec says it equals four. Do you know where I can find the other one?
  
• Engineer: Where did you get the one?
  
• Tech: It came with the spec.
  
• Engineer: That's not a one. You need another two.
  
• Tech: Ok. Where can I find another two?
  
• Engineer: Why do you need a four?
  
• Tech: It came with the spec.
  
• Engineer: Ok. So you have a two and one. The spec calls for a three on that.
  

Which explains why Station Techs use One-tape to fix everything.

Symbiotic Doc

Doc Hester is 117 years old, and when she makes a decision, it stays made. She summoned Paula and me to LG Medical, and proceeded to explain that she didn't have much time left in this world, and would have been gone already if she had not injected herself with a sentient virus several years ago. Then she told us she intends to become part of the station, and asked for our help.

"Wha...?"

Have I ever mentioned we are all crazy?

"You're going to pair with a large symbiote... become a symbiont... almost immobile," Paula said quietly. "I'm not sure..."

"Eventually," Doc Hester said, "But Signe Hester will be long dead by then."

Which is when my ears caught up and I blurted out, "You're going to become part of the enviro systems and that sentient virus-cluster-whatever."

Doc gave me one of those looks which makes me feel like I'm part of an experiment. It went on long enough that I got nervous and asked, "What?"

"You refused to try a symbiont," Doc said. "I expected you to object."

"I never refused... exactly," I said uncomfortably. "Look... I'm still trying to believe Paula moved in with me. I don't need another... whatever, right now."

The Doc laughed. Giggled really. Just like the first time we talked about the Thoughts of the Submind.

So Paula and I have been using our spare time to get Doc started on her quest to become... I'm not going to ask because I probably wouldn't learn anything from the answer. The bonus oxygen is the extra time I have been spending with Paula.

Borrowing Silence

I may have mentioned that I don't much like driving grip-loaders. Back on Ceres Station, the local brain-tech called it 'Optic Vertigo,' pointed at his eyes and said, "It's all in your head." Then he had a big laugh while he wrote up a prescription for desensitization. I hated him for months, but he told me a couple of things which I later decided made him a friend.

1. "Think about all the things you could be doing which are worse."
   
2. and, "Stop looking into deep empty space you stupid monkey."

The first one is easy to do. My favorite thing to think about is the noisy intoxicated meaningless noise from boredom parties... I'd rather die slowly in vacuum than go to those things, and that always makes me feel a bit better about riding an ion stream capable of taking me into complete emptiness.

Not looking into space... Believe it or not, it helps if you close your eyes. At least you don't expect to see anything when you do that. If you have to open your eyes to move or do some work, keep your eyes on the helmet displays and your own hands. Simple to say.

As for noisy parties... One specific get-together provided enough negative shielding to get me through seven days of vac-scout recon work in the Ten-Ten asteroid cluster. There is nothing quieter than a single person ion-drive vac-suit. Even grip-loaders are noisy by comparison. And the silence I found out there almost made up for every bead of sweat I produced during that week.

We space dwellers live inside of machines... big, noisy, non-stop machines... and when the rhythms change, we get a bit cranky. These launch platforms, infinitely better than nothing for providing weight, are very very noisy. People have been complaining (Not to me, because I encourage Curious to laugh at them.)

Me? I have decided that if noisy parties can get me through Optical Vertigo, then the silence of space can get me through a few weeks of variable gravity and whimpering, groaning station noises.

Down Time

When I was about five years old, I experienced my first extended period of weightlessness. The first night, I was too exited to sleep. I slept very well the second night--after my mom forcefully strapped me into the sleep harness. The third night, I started to miss my bed. Some people like sleeping weightless.

Have you ever awakened, happy and warm, and held there peacefully by the weight of blankets--despite the pressure in your bladder? Even if you use a cocoon, waking up weightless is not the same. First of all, you have to use low-gee facilities... No, first of all, you have to FIND the low-gee facilities without 'up' to help you navigate... THEN you have to USE the low-gee facilities.

After almost two weeks of low to zero Gee, I just had my first five hours of down time in my very own bed, in my very own room. The place in question being my new room aboard a converted launch--one of several rooms Paula and I claimed for ourselves, a chaos of cats, and a tribe of chimpanzees. Also included is the resident super-bug which seems intent on infecting all of Fort Falling with cat-trees, bug pods, and endless types of vines. It felt so good to sleep in a bed, and to then let my feet find the floor and the waste facilities without conscious effort, that I didn't even mind stubbing my toe on a tree root.

I guess what I'm trying to say is Fort Falling has survived and appears to be on target. Six weeks to our new orbit and several ships full of OSA representatives. Funny thing is, I'm more worried about stray cats then I am about the end of our journey. I have complete confidence in Counter-Spin Rick's ability to make serious trouble for any number of troopships. Like I've said before, get on with the scary guy, and let the rest take care of itself.

Fire and Ice

As I write this, the initial flash cut is burning furiously. In about five hours we set off the charges which will literally blow the two halves of Fort Falling apart. One half will get kicked away from Saturn initially, but will eventually crash into the ring plane. On the other half, we will ride the initial explosions and flaming ice-boosters into a tighter, more sustainable orbit.

I'm trying very hard not to freak.

I spent the last three days checking cat trees (a.k.a. cat traps), and rounded up a dozen more cats. None of them were happy to see me, but without weight (or a magnetic symbiote) they couldn't get away from me. I transferred all twelve of the wildest felines I've ever met to a large cat-tree living in one of the converted launch platforms. I suspect availability, opportunity, and weightlessness three times every day will encourage symbiotic relationships.

It's spreading. Kelly wants me to take care of her two 'domestic' cats for a couple of weeks while she gets fitted with a symbiote. I agreed to do so before her stated intentions caught up with my brain. Since it isn't my business, I kept my mouth shut. No matter how scatter-brained she seems at times, Kelly wouldn't agree to something unless she understood completely.

Apparently Counter-Spin has a symbiote and a specialized vac-suit already. He sent us pictures of himself standing on one of his new slush bombs, and there were half a dozen of Doc's ice-pods scattered around. Each one of those pods contains a tiny ecosystem with bugs and rodents.... like we need more of those around. I'm afraid to ask why Rick is planting them on a ball of slush he intends to crash into an OSA troopship.

Paula wants me to get one of those symbiote things too. I told her I would rather we survived the next two months before making friends with the local space-flu.

Skating on Air

If you think it involves wearing blades on your feet and using them to propel yourself as fast as you can against the direction of spin, then you got it in one. Spin weight is about 0.1 now. This is just enough to be annoying without being useful, but about right for EMF Eddie's crazy new game.

He came by my ship with ice-skates, and dumped them next to my sleep harness where I wasn't sleeping. Paula must have let him in.

"Let's go," Eddie said.

"Where?" I asked, looking at the skates suspiciously.

"Frozen Alpha One," Eddie said unhelpfully. That's what we called the entire level below the soon-to-be-not Tangent Track. The place was covered in ice, which explained the skates. "I'll spot you 100 meters."

"I'm not putting those things on," I said, attempting to settle in my sleep harness with almost no weight to settle.

"150 meters."

"For what?"

"The tangent."

"Go away, Eddie. I'm depressed today, and I like it that way."

"Not a chance. Right now is the only opportunity I will ever have to beat you at Skating for the Tangent."

"You're crazy. Go away."

"Are you forfeiting the game? I was hoping for a challenge."

"Forfeit?" I grumbled, stiffening. "I didn't agree to play your silly game."

"Off course you did," Eddie said cheerfully. "If I remember correctly, your complaint went something like this: 'I would do anything to get away from these tedious zero-gee exercises for just one day.'"

He did a horrible impression of me, but I guess I had said something like that while running a stupid treadmill the other day.

"Fine," I said, struggling out of the harness. "But you agreed to spot me."

"Do you want that all on the first run, or spread out over multiple races?" Eddie asked with a grin.

He beat me seven out of twelve in Tangent Skating, but I beat him five out of six racing the other direction. We are already scanning the station designs to find a place for our new skating track.

Ceres Rising

The OSA tried to kidnap my parents right out of Ceres Station. I am very very very upset about this, but I can't take it personally. A large number of people living in Fort Falling have family on Ceres Metro, and the OSA claims they need protection.

Fortunately, someone smarter and wiser than I am saw it coming. My dad says they got advance word from one of the Ceres mining facilities, and every known OSA operative in the area has been arrested and exiled under threat of vacuum.

The Alliance mouth-piece has been screaming foul and threatening trade sanctions for the last couple of hours. They must have sent all available troop ships to Saturn System, and I'm thinking that's not real smart for someone who intends to kidnap hundreds of people on Ceres Metro. Jupiter System has already sent relief supplies to Ceres--escorted by a friendly diplomat with broad discretionary powers.

The petition to ally ourselves with Jupiter System has already been signed by most of the people living here. It has been crazy busy. Station gravity is less than useless now--but it will be another 10 days before we blow Fort Falling in half and start burn for a stable orbit. Zero-Gee exercises suck.

Slush Bomb

The Dizzy Pig Bar and Grill serves a great Slush Bomb. It's cold, and has alcohol. Counter-Spin Rick isn't talking about drinks. The Slush Bomb is named after an accepted ice mining practice.

For the record, I didn't know any of this until One Track's chimp-snicker encouraged me to look into it.

A slush bomb is a generic term for a man made ball of slush, (mixed water and water-ice for you geniuses) usually very large, and always under acceleration. Acceleration is the 'bomb' part. Ice busters are good at making slush bombs, but it's easier and cheaper to bring in the big chunks of ice, so they don't do it often.

Why? Liquid water doesn't last long in vacuum. It goes from ice to vapor almost instantly. To make a slush bomb, a heat source (usually clean burning fuel) is injected into the center of the ice, so it only melts on the inside. Any water leaking out would freeze shut the leak.

The idea is to maintain a core liquid temperature while the slush ball is moving and growing (smashing into smaller chucks of ice, cracking open, leaking water, freezing together). Surprisingly, ice boosters are designed to do this.

Now--give Counter-Spin and his ice buster friends an excuse to aim one or more slush bombs at an OSA troopship. Rick is positive he can bury the ships in ice without fatalities, but he says if OSA is sending troops, it ain't with flowers. Either way, if it works, we will be adding rescue duties to our unpacking of boxes.

One Track

Joe's rail conversion is finished. We can start using it after the flash-cut and initial burn to get us away from the condemned half of the station. Station gravity is down to about 0.8 Gees, and will be nearly useless in another two weeks.

The OSA has decided to make an issue out of our 'suicidal independence.' It would be funny if the timing weren't so suspect. They know we've shut off the mag-gyros, and the station will be a lot easier to board by force when it's not rotating. They will be in system about the time we have reached our new orbit, if it goes that far.

When we sent Counter-Spin Rick the daily update, he grinned like a psycho and said, "I'll take care of it." I'm afraid to ask what he has planned, but I'm fairly certain those ice-boosters he has been planting in lower orbit are part of it. Also, an unusual number of ice-miners are out 'prospecting.'

I mentioned Rick's statement and my suspicions to Kelly.

She gave me a bright smile and asked, "How does one take the measure of a man? From the length of his life? Or from the size of his accomplishments? Better to measure the joy he finds in living, don't you think?"

Which was probably a very profound thing to say, because I still don't get it. Rick's version of joy involves a lot more danger than mine--and something called a 'slush bomb.'

And how many chimpanzees are living on this space station anyway? The one living with Kelly is called "One Track," and he finds slush bombs quite funny. Kelly beams happily as she explains how hard it is to get him to change directions once he makes up his mind.

Finally--what is it about my forehead that Kelly always has to kiss it before I can take my confusion and go home?