Space Nation
Wayne Deeker
"That's what we need for the Tricentenary celebrations," Vizier Sha Tin exclaimed, his scaly skin flushing purple with joy. As the holographic news program hovering above the briefing room table concluded, he thumped the projector's desk switch off and jumped down from his chair. "A national starship program!"
Standing behind him, Vizier's Adjutant Ruchmon sighed, spreading the fingers of his three-fingered hands and glancing at the wall-chronometer.
"Sir, don't a quarter of planets in this sector have commercial starship programs? Everyone just buys from them. Do we need our own?"
Strolling to the convex window, Sha Tin stood on tippy toes, unable to see out. "Yes, yes. A starship program. I have a vision. It'll showcase our numerous technological and scientific achievements." Sha Tin turned, glaring up at his Adjutant. "Why aren't you getting this down?"
Ruchmon flipped open his domestically-made wrist-mounted note computer. He thumped it twice but it remained silent. "Yes sir," he nodded, miming using it, "'Numerous technological and scientific achievements'."
"We'll start small first, of course," continued Sha Tin.
"Of course."
"Just to establish capability. We'll launch say in three years."
"Three ye -!" Ruchmon gulped. "Sir, isn't that an election year?"
"Now, now. Yes, that's what we need, a starship program. Starship, starship," he liked saying the word.
Ruchmon checked the chronometer again, poured water from a jug on the briefing table and sat. "To do what, Sir?"
"What? Do?" Sha Tin glared at him from the window.
"What for, Sir? What national need would it meet?"
"Need? Every powerful planet has starship program. That's what we need." He climbed back into the Vizier's chair at the meeting table, using the retractable step. "Research! Yes, that's it."
"Research." Ruchmon sighed again. "Okay, what about the massive ongoing infrastructure investment? The Congress already amended your budget twice."
"Infrastructure," he mused. "Infrastructure. I don't know what you're raving about, man. I said starship program."
Ruchmon nodded. "A starship program of how many ships, sir?"
"Well, one of course. To start with. We have to start small. Yes one, I think, for now. Not too expensive, mind!"
"One, not-expensive, scientific, starship. In three years?"
"Now you're talking! I like that. Get on with it." Sha Tin buzzed his chair left and right.
"Sir?"
"Get the geeks in here. I want to talk to them tomorrow."
Ruchmon introduced the visitors seated around the Vizier's briefing table. "This is Professor Xatier from the University of Lurrp." Xatier tugged at his tweed jacket imported from Earth, displaying its stylish leather elbow patches. "On his right," continued Ruchmon, "is Senior Pro Vice Chancellor Mortop from Zuxn University of Technology; then we have - "
"Yes, yes," interrupted the Vizier. He remembered something his favourite mother once said about speaking to people. "Yes. Good morning." He buzzed a button, making his chair rise a bit more. Another button started yesterday's holo-broadcast above the table. The room watched a mighty sleek starship leave a spacedock. Over the dramatic music, Vizier Sha Tin said, "Earth just launched this. Completely new class, three times the size of the previous. We're going to do one too."
The room erupted into laughter.
Frowning, his cranial skin colouring green, Sha Tin opened his mouth to speak.
"What the Vizier means," said Ruchmon, "is that we are going to do an experimental mini-starship. To establish capability."
"Why?" asked Xatier.
Ruchmon twitched involuntarily. He glanced at the Vizier who flapped his hand irritably. "For research," said Ruchmon. "You can do whatever experiments you want, have as many payloads as you can fit on it. Your payloads, you can run them how you want. No more buying time on foreign instruments. We'll leave all that up to you."
The room quietened for a long moment. Director of the National Office of Research, Dr Fujian, asked, "How much?" Unsupported by nasal apparatus, his thick-framed Earth-style spectacles slid down over his scaly face whenever he tilted forward. Fujian poked them back.
"Yes, yes, there it gets tricky," said Sha Tin. "You know about the budget. You all have to work together. You pool your agency resources, we'll double whatever you come up with from the Vizierial sl-discretionary fund. We should manage twenty million or so."
"Three years?" Fujian scanned his colleagues. "It can't be done. Not from scratch."
"We don't need to reinvent everything anyway," said Professor Xatier. "Most of it's available commercially."
"Yes, yes," the Vizier beamed. "Ruchmon will sort out the paperwork. Let's celebrate." He thumbed the intercom button on his chair's arm.
"Coffee!"
The Vizier's aircraft landed before a small bunker-like building. Inside the foyer milled a small herd of lab-coated types. Dr Fujian stepped forward, bending down to greet the Vizier and party. "Welcome to the National Office of Research engineering facility," he said, poking his glasses. "Would you like the grand-tour, sir?"
"What for? You dorkwits have dorked it up!" the Vizier yelled up at him, colouring green. "Let's just get on with the dorking crisis meeting."
Dr Fujian sullenly led the way through to the meeting room, passing metal doors leading to a large hangar. The Vizier didn't notice the home made "Welcome Vizier Sha Tin" posters visible through the doors' windows.
The small meeting room remained dim even after Dr Fujian called "lights". A model of a lumpy, slightly sad-looking starship rotated slowly on its stand in the centre of the meeting table. Sha Tin stood on tippy toes to look through the picture window at the engineering hangar. "Not much is going on!"
Professor Xatier, possibly wearing the same jacket as before, said from the chair behind the Vizier, "Of course a lot of it's in the orbital space dock. That's where the space frame is. Some of it."
The Vizier took a chair. "Yes, yes. Get on with it," he scowled, looking from Xatier to Fujian. Xatier nodded to Fujian.
"Okay," said Fujian. "Right." He coughed and poked his glasses. "Okay. Well, remember two years ago we said we could never build our own spaceframe from scratch in the time available?"
Vizier Sha Tin glared at him.
"Okay, well, so we tendered the spaceframe to foreign commercial suppliers. But the thing was, we got five tenderers, but only one met the specs. We had no choice but to take them. Even though - " Fujian trailed off, looking into his lap. His glasses fell off completely.
"Even though?" prompted Vizier Sha Tin.
Professor Xatier continued, "Even though they'd never built a complete spaceframe before. Components, yes. We paid four million for a concept. We were going to customise their basic module to house our payloads."
"I see," said Sha Tin quietly. "So you dorks went for el cheapo, and now the company's gone bust, leaving us completely dorked!"
Xatier, Fujian and the others shifted uncomfortably. "But we had ... Only because of the impossible political deadline," moaned Fujian. He rubbed his glasses on a cloth.
"Okay, it's no-one's fault," soothed Ruchmon. The Vizier glared at him. "What now?" Ruchmon asked Fujian.
"What now? It's over." Fujian's eyes teared up. "We can't finish it. We just grabbed as much of our stuff as we could before the administrators took over the company. The Earth government helped us move it back here. We have most of a spaceframe, in pieces, and most of that is undocumented or broken. We don't have the facilities to put it together. Even if we did, it can't be done in the time available." He sniffed. "We don't even know what half this stuff does. We'd have to test everything."
"What do we have?" asked Ruchmon. The Vizier drummed a hand on the table, holding his round head in the other.
"We have some payloads. Good ones," said Professor Xatier. "We have the temporary spacedock the Earth government loaned us. Several foreign companies and governments have offered help. What we don't have is time, money or people."
"Yes, yes." Vizier Sha Tin tried to swivel his chair, but couldn't reach the floor. He thumped the table, his cranial skin glowing bright green. "Now listen, you dorks. This is what we're going to do."
Thousands had gathered at the spacedock observation deck, maybe tens of thousands, Ruchmon thought. In a quiet spot away from the throng, he saw his beloved's face on the new wrist-computer he'd bought on Earth during the last official visit.
"Diplomats from half the galaxy. Well, minor diplomats," he laughed. "But the Earth Ambassador is here," said Ruchmon. "She said hello to me. Hold on, got another call." He flipped channels. "Yes, sir?"
Vizier Sha Tin's tiny image said: "What the dork are you doing up there? Get down here now. We're starting."
The VIPs and spectators had already assembled around the panoramic viewing windows. At one end of the huge observation deck a sextet of musicians in formal dress played classics. Through the window all watched the final umbilical attachments withdrawing from the lumpy and rather small starship, brightly lit from the spacedock scaffolding, hanging in space.
Ruchmon grabbed a goblet of fizzy blue liquid from a passing waiter's tray but had barely tasted it when someone thumped his back. "Oh, you must be the media consultant," Ruchmon mopped his suit. "How are we doing?"
"Name's Vic," he said, crushing Ruchmon's hand. Even after several visits to Earth, Ruchmon had not adjusted to this disgusting human custom. "'Kay, over here mate," said Vic, a hand on Ruchmon's back guiding him through the throng towards the stage.
"Ad media from half the galaxy. Top dollar too," said Vic. Reaching the stage near the main viewing window, Vic stopped. Sha Tin waved and toddled over from the stage.
"Yes, yes," he said quietly. "Vic, let's run through this again."
"Right mate." Sha Tin coloured. "Sorry, I mean Vizier. 'Kay. Band over there, check. Invited nobs, check. School kids to make up the numbers, check. You and the Ambassador give speeches up there. Short and sweet, badda-bing. You look to the camera up there on the balcony, see?" Sha Tin and Ruchmon turned. "That's the only live bit. We intercut stock of the ship in spacedock. You press the button, we cut to more closeup stock of the ribbon and champagne."
"Ribbon and champagne?" asked Ruchmon.
"Just let them handle it," said Sha Tin. "Stock? You mean that stuff they did last month?"
"Right, mate," said Vic. "'Kay, then, this is the best bit." Vic tapped the glass behind him. "The window here is really a screen. It's a real spacedock but there's nothing in it. All this is computer generated." Sha Tin and Ruchmon peered again, through the glass they still believed, at the starship apparently behind it. "Monitors all over the place show your speech, cut to the stock of the champagne. Then the GGI stuff kicks in, everyone here sees starship ShaTin cruise off into starry yonder, monitors show the same thing. Interviews later, you and the actor-geeks."
"Interviews," said Sha Tin. "We didn't talk about that."
"Look mate, do you wanna do this right or not?" Sha Tin coloured again. "Anyway, remember, I said they were advertorial media. Not journalists. We screened 'em of course. We've already briefed them about the story, they won't ask you any curly ones. They'll make it easy for ya." Sha Tin relaxed. "Mate, I said, top dollar."
"And the screen and all this CGI stuff?"
"You get what you pay for," said Vic. "This is top stuff. But hey, it's still cheaper than a real starship. A bit."
Vic clicked open his wrist communicator; the band started the National Anthem. "Okay, mate," Vic slapped Vizier Sha Tin in the back. "You're on, your national-hero-ness." Vic grinned. "We'll see you again in a few months for the election."