A Conversation with Kelly Grace Smith

I stopped by Kelly's office to drop off a high priority package. While I was there I reminded One Track the governor's office needs extra environmental protections. It's a chimpanzee joke--I'm not sure Kelly understood.

"There is something a bit frightening about your ability to manipulate people," Kelly said as she watched One Track prod humorously at the organic venting.

"What?" I asked, startled. "Who's talking? You threaten to put lip stain on foreheads. If that's not manipulation, I don't know what is."

Kelly has a warm laugh. "Needs must, dear boy. This doesn't change my admiration for your unconscious skill."

"Yeah? When did you first notice I was a master manipulator? Maybe I'll figure out how to do it on purpose."

"When Paula started asking questions about you," Kelly said.

"What?" I asked, feeling like I had just missed part of the conversation. "Paula?"

"She often came to me for advice," Kelly said. "Still does on occasion."

"Right," I said. "So I asked her out, and you told her what? That she should stay away, but somehow I tricked her into moving in with me instead?"

"She asked me, and I quote, 'Does the snarky little guy really like animals that much, or is he still trying to get between my legs?'"

"Both," I said.

Kelly smiled. "Exactly right, young man. Exactly right. And I barely knew you at the time."

"With no Paula in hydro--I would have done everything the same," I said, shrugging. "Up until the point Paula turned my private ship into a hydro-lab anyway. It would have been a lot harder to round up all the cats, and of course, without Submind and the chimps..."

"Of course," Kelly said. "There were also the vines. I must admit, I exaggerated my initial reaction to the Submind vines to observe how you would react. Your disgusted cursing and irreverent comments about chimpanzee games was the perfect reaction. If it had been your intention to calm an hysterical elder, you could not have planned it any better.

"Maybe I did."

"You are incapable of telling an emotional lie, Dizzy. Paula couldn't stand against that kind of power."

"Seriously, I didn't know she was moving in until my ship was under siege."

"Love and war," Kelly said. "Love and war. You got what you wanted, didn't you?"

"Well, yeah. But it's not like I... Is there something you want, Governor? Because I'm starting to feel a bit manipulated."

Kelly laughed and gestured at a pile of urban lash-up sketches on her desk. It's a very friendly laugh. "Project Pumpkin Patch. I need 24 urban hubs up and ready for habitation within a year. I need you to oversee the project."

"Project Pumpkin Patch?" I asked, holding back a giggle. "That's a chimp name. I bet they look like pumpkins, except for the spokes."

Kelly nodded, eyes bright with laughter.

I thought about it for a minute, then I said, "My dad doesn't want to leave his political career on Ceres Station, but my mom wants to retire and move here... not that there'll be much retiring. Help my mom. Talk my dad into moving here."

"I'll do my best," Kelly said, cocking her head slightly.

"Me too," I said, turning to leave. "Paula's singing tonight. Stop by if you have time. Bring One Track. Looks like he needs to get away from the enviro-systems for awhile."

Matters of Trust

Recent events in my life have become temporarily classified. Sorry about that. It shouldn't be too much longer before I can release details. For now, I believe I will provide some background details.

My dad is a politician. That's one of the reasons I left Ceres Station. He started as tug-suit pilot; worked the collar as a grip operator. That got him nominated for neighborhood rep. He enjoyed weeks-long scouting flights for high nickel rocks; where the gravity streams through the asteroids. Those flights got him elected to station senate, but I hated them--the grip of the suit and being surrounded by movement.

My mom is a teacher. I didn't leave because of that, but I have no interest in being a teacher either. She started as a zee dancer; a fact which still embarrasses my father every chance I get. She also taught me how to play spinball, or, to not give up, at least. I'm pretty sure, with my feel for momentum and my uncertain temper, that I take after my mom.

I'm glad they are here. I haven't said much about them because, if you haven't figured it out, this is where I talk about stuff I need to get out of my system. Even if I don't get to show it to anyone right away, there's relief to be found in the spewing of data.

My sister Jen died when I was six. I remember she was fun, and liked cats. It's possible the feline residents of this space station owe their lives to her. I think Nana blamed herself for some reason--maybe for not doing enough. Why else would Nana became a station tech after Jen's accident, and teach me to always be nice to cats?

Frost River Harvest

I sat down and watched the vast expanse of ring-scape move past the station, and I wondered if I should try to locate Paula. It had taken me over an hour to locate Frost River's observation deck. Not that it's hard to find, but the Frost River Festival tends to choke the corridors with revelry and noise. It makes it hard to get around, especially if you are trying to go by the navigation markers painted on the walls and floors.

"Hey," little Kammie said cheerfully, bouncing into view from nowhere. "It's Minister Jackson. Are you allowed to be in danger of fun, Minister Jackson?"

"Kammie," I said. "How's it going? Your father around somewhere?"

"Why? Are you afraid of me?"

"Yeah," I said. "That's it. I'm sure it has nothing to do with your lack of puberty, and I certainly wouldn't worry about your safety in a wreck of a space station full of questionably sane geniuses. A station managed by a group of corporate sponsored puppets, no less. Oh, yeah, let's not forget the current state of Festival rebounding down every corridor. Have you heard of Darwin?"

"Ouch," Kammie said. "If my mom heard you call her that, she'd fill forms out at you."

"That's hours of data pushing, KamKam. I think I'll let it slide this time," A woman said--Kammie's mom, and probably the corporate puppet.

"Thank goodness," I said, more or less at a loss for words.

"Rachel," she said, holding out her hand.

"DeeDee," I said, shaking it. "Or Dizzy."

"Cordie mentioned you," she said. "You are mated to Paula? Yes?"

"Um. Yes. Paula told me about it just the other night."

Rachel giggled. "How do you...." Rachel paused, turned to her daughter, and said, "Why don't you go check on your suit, Kammie?"

Kammie disappeared in a tiny shriek of joy.

"You need something?" I asked.

"I met Paula when she came over to explain how the big sign works," Rachel said. "Paula is so smart. I didn't understand everything Paula said, but I'm sure Kammie got all of it. She was so excited about it, and Paula said it was open spec... Well, Cordie and I had to let Kam get one of those sym creatures so she could design her first vac-suit, and now she's even smarter than she was before."

"Can't use the good equipment without one," I said, not sure where, if anywhere, this was going.

"How do you... how do you get on so well with Paula?" Rachel asked. "She's so much smarter than you and me, and... I mean... I'm sorry."

I laughed. "Paula will have to explain for herself, but for my part, she's hot."

"Hot? That's it? You're just going to be a man and say, 'she's hot'? What's that got to do with... with talking to each other?"

"She agreed to go out with me." I said. "She doesn't talk down to me. She's fun to sleep with, and she's still sleeping with me. She grows the best beer trees I've ever tasted. She likes me because I stayed to save the cats. She likes that I ask silly questions. She likes that one of my best friends is a chimpanzee--mostly chimpanzee, anyway. And... she asked me to marry her."

"I want to understand my daughter, DeeDee," Rachel said. "I want to talk to Kammie, but it's not as easy as it was a year ago. She's changing so fast. What do you and Paula talk about?"

"Every day stuff," I said. "Listen, Rachel, you can't let Kammie's intelligence influence how you treat her. Especially if she has a symbiont and knows how smart she is."

Rachel nodded.

"Paula told you to ask me about this," I guessed.

She hesitated, but nodded.

"I still don't understand why Paula moved in with me," I said. "But I know she won't leave without a damn good reason. She explained it once, but I don't really understand. I keep expecting to wake up."

"Yeah," Rachel said. "Me too. My daughter is nine years old, DeeDee, and I only understand half of what she says."

"That's pretty good," I said. "When Paula is in demo mode, I can only pretend to understand that much."

"But Kammie's only nine years old."

"Yeah. You said that. So she's smarter than you are, and soon to be a lot smarter. So what? There are chimps on this station who are smarter than both of us. Why do you care? Really?"

"I want to make the right choices for her. Maybe something like medicine would be a better career path."

"Or maybe," I said. "If she is doing something she likes, like building ships maybe, she'll be the one to crack the speed of light thing."

"I... Yeah. But I don't know how to talk about any of that stuff."

I shrugged. "Ships need interior design work, and I'm sure Kammie will be talking about boys any day now. That's what Paula seems to think, anyway."

"I didn't..." Rachel stopped and gave me a horrified look. "Oh. Oh no. Paula is right. And it's Festival. I will need to warn Cordie about the boys. Soon. Maybe after I tie him up. Now, I should go rescue the suit technicians from my offspring. Thanks, DeeDee. See ya."

"Yeah," I said. "See you later."

Then I sat there and watched the orbiting parade of prototype ships the Three Brains had hatched for the Festival. They might be crazy, but they grow beautiful ships. Paula and two Flaming Slush Bombs found me a few minutes later.

War Dogs

"Rick," I said. "They were bred for war. I read up on it. I don't want them on my ship."

"They're only dogs, Dizzy. Two dogs."

"I have two ship's cats. And you know Pipster is prone to kittens." I said.

"These dogs love cats."

"That's what I'm afraid of," I said. "What's wrong with your ship that you want me to give them a ride?"

"Misty threatened to set them on fire."

"Misty?" I asked. "Why?"

"Bosco ate three of her thruster plants, and Tieshe chewed her favorite loop swing."

"But fire?" I asked, and then added. "What's a thruster plant, and what's a loop swing?"

"Misty's a chimp, Vac-head. She sits in the loop and swings from a rope--when there's weight enough."

"Oh. Right." I said, pausing for a few seconds. "Explain the stupid thruster plant, or I'm calling security."

"That's where the fire comes in. Misty is developing a Submind pod which grows solid fuel thrusters," Rick said. "For Submind slush bombs. Only she's working on a small scale, and she says Bosco ingested enough fuel to burn for several hours."

"Not a chance," I said. "Spend some money and hire care facilities. They can stay on the station."

"I can't," Rick said. "The Brianiacs need to fit them for a pilot harness."

"What language are you speaking?" I asked.

"You know. The three brains."

"Yeah?"

"We're growing powered flight suits for the dogs," Rick said. "So they can ride herd on the slush bombs."

"Oh," I said, considering. "Like I said, those dogs were bred for war. There must be fifty ships with flight plans to the Frost River Festival--find another ride."

Martian Ice

"They're going to bomb mars," Simon said, busting into my office.

"What?" I asked, "With those slush bombs? I thought you knew that."

"No! With Submind bombs. Submind!"

"So what? The place could use a bit of life," I said. "Even if it grows up to be sentient cactus."

"Cactus?"

"Desert plant," I explained.

"Oh," Simon said, pausing to collect to himself. "No. It's... it's going to rain Submind pods... with the water I mean."

"That sounds dangerous--more like hail."

"That's what I said," Simon said. "Rick just laughed at me. Told me I didn't have to come with them... when..."

"Yeah," I said. "I get it. That's Rick. He thinks everyone is crazy for a fight. What Simon has to do is forget about Rick and find out if Submind and Doc approve of this plan. If not, figure out the real story. Knowing Rick, it's little parachutes or something."

"Para..." Simon said, stopping to clench his fists and, from what I could see, count to ten. "Yes."

"That's why we call him Counter-Spin," I said. "That, and things like slush bombs make him happy. Just think of all the ice Mars will be getting."

"Whether they want it or not," Simon said.

Signal Lights

I was hanging out in the station's main receiving area, trying to look official and in charge without getting in the way, but mostly waiting for Paula. It's a nice place to catch your breath.

The station's main port of entry has a Submind conceived reception area. It's a garden of wonders, full of sights and smells no spacer has encountered outside of a class A hydro-park. Every spacer stepping onto this station instantly understands the benefits of letting a sentient virus into his or her life.

That day there were a series of short range shuttles making runs to a recently arrived family transport ship. Those things usually carry two to three thousand people, and spend weeks, or months, between ports. I believe upwards of 500 people from that ship went through our immigration office. I probably saw a hundred of them while I watched and waited happily for Paula.

A little girl and her father, who had been walking past and gawking in all directions, spotted me and my official looking name badge. They stopped, and the little girl asked, "How do you keep the sign on the outside from spinning with the station?"

"Um," I said stupidly. "I don't know. I never thought about it."

"Why not?"

I shrugged. "Paula's a genius. I've found it's best if I let her do the heavy thinking."

The little girl held out her hand and said, "I'm KamKam Levaron. Most call me Kammie."

She couldn't have been more then nine or ten years old. I glanced at the father, who shrugged and nodded, and then I shook her hand. "DeeDee Jackson. Some call me Dee. Some call me Dizzy."

She let a brief giggle escape, and said, "This is my dad, Cordie Levaron."

"Hello," I said, shaking his hand.

"She intends to be a pilot, and build her own ships," Cordie said. "No matter what."

I nodded. Some kids are made like that.

"Do you know who designed it?" Kammie asked. "Is there any information in your system about it?

"Paula came up with the basic design, and I suppose Submind took it from there," I said. "But it grew, like moss or something, so I doubt if you will find the information you want anywhere in the system."

Cordie was frowning at me. He obviously thought I was making it up.

"You mean heavy thinking Paula?" Kammie asked. "Where can I find her?"

"Right behind you," Paula said.

Kammie spun around in surprise.

I waited for a moment, but it seemed like Kammie was tongue tied.

"Seriously," I said. "How do you keep that giant Fort Falling sign from spinning with the station?"

There was a round of chuckles, and Paula promised to meet Kammie later to answer some questions. I gave Cordie advice on where to seek employment and who to speak with for the best living assignment. Then Paula and I went to lunch, where we spoke idly of children's names, and other domestic matters.

Singularity Shift

"Let's get married," Paula said.

"What?" I asked, in shock. That was not one of Paula's favorite words.

"We could work out a standard life contract," Paula said. "Two kids with options for more."

"The last time we talked about this," I said carefully. "You told me never to bring it up again--something about this being no place for children."

"And you told me to let you know if I changed my mind," Paula said.

"Yes," I said. "Yes, I did. I'm just surprised."

"You always are," Paula said.

"When?"

"I'd like to have our first child in about two years."

"Yes," I said, feeling around in the dark. "Where do I sign?"

Paula giggled and grabbed my hands. "In the morning."

Relativity Factors

Doc asked me to stop by her office to answer some questions. I always ask questions in return, just to even things up.

"Do you always know your temporal inertia? Can you feel the difference in your relativity from normal time flow?" Doc asked.

"I can feel 1.618, and the inverse like you said. It's a natural cruising speed. The Golden Highway."

"You can't tell when you're 'cruising' at relativity one?"

"More or less," I said. "But I'm a lot more certain about 1.618."

Doc nodded. "Time is such a fluid aspect of reality that holding it tight allows it to slip away."

"Yeah," I said. "There's something calming about having a break from time, then coming back after someone else has cleaned up the mess."

Doc just looked at me.

"What does that look mean, Doc? If you're going to keep using it, I'd like to know what it means."

"You are a clown savant, DeeDee, and I am amazed at your antics."

"Thanks," I muttered. "Is there a reason we're discussing my use of time?"

"An old friend of mine is coming for a visit, and he has expressed in interest in your obsession with time dilatation."

"In me?" I asked suspiciously. "Or time dilatation in general?"

"You."

"Great," I said. "I'd rather not put on some kind of theatrical display, if that's where you're going. I get enough of those requests from Kelly."

"No. Paula demanded that I get your permission before sending him the sensor data she collected," Doc said, sounding a bit frustrated.

"Really?" I asked. "Sure. Why not?"

"Indeed. Reggie will have questions when he gets here."

"That's really serious," I said. "Paula doing that, I mean."

"Yes," Doc said. "I was also hoping you would make some notations about what you remember during certain time ranges..."

"Sure," I said, turning towards the door. "No problem. Later though, Doc. I promise."

Cluster Bombs

I like to explore the meaning of things. I poke and pry and beam lights, and I either get bored and find something else to explore, or I figure it out and find something else.

"How many grapes are in a bunch?" Eddie asked.

"All of them," I said.

"I knew you'd say that."

"Then why'd you ask?"

"How many grapes are in a cluster?"

I shrugged.

"What if you pick the grapes? Is it still a cluster? Or a bunch?"

"It's a bunch of grapes, Eddie. A lot of them. Many grapes all in one place. Do you have a point, or are you practicing some arcane language theory to discuss with Governor Kelly?"

"So you wouldn't distinguish between a cluster and a bunch?" Eddie asked.

"I don't why I would," I said. "It's a random number of grapes, maybe ten, maybe a hundred. If you think it's important, give me a reason to make the distinction."

"I think a cluster is still part of a whole--all the grapes connected," Eddie said.

"Why do I care about this, Eddie?"

"It's not a bunch if they aren't connected."

"Why not, Eddie? If I say a bunch of psychos, or a cluster of people, you wouldn't expect them to be tied together with a vine. They are connected because of what they are--psychos and people. Why's it got to be different for grapes?"

"Rick has three of these--ice things--made up of eight slush bombs each. They're huge, and not really slush any more, and... he wants to call them 'cluster bombs,' only, they're going to break apart and...."

"And you got into an argument about the name," I said, guessing.

"It's a stupid name," Eddie said. "It'll scare people. They'll think the things are going to explode."

"I doubt it, but let's hope the Martian Republic believes that when the time comes," I said. "What was your idea, that it's so much better?"

"Submind Life Pods."

"Yeah," I said. "Sorry. I'm going to have to go with Rick on this one."