Authors: Mackey Chandler
"Well it does sound, um, sufficient," he admitted. He had no idea anyone living had ran up those sort of hours and every human who had any serious time beyond the moon, was still was in a fraternity of less than a thousand. "We pretty much have the scooter stripped down already and we have the standard replacements on hand. Of course it will take some time to take any custom modifications you'd like to implement and reduce them to CAD files, which the fabricators and floor workers can read and let out bids for the materials and sub-assemblies."
"One of a kind assemblies we have to fabricate by hand. It's too expensive to write the routines and debug them for robotics. We'll probably have to pull the stripped frame off the work rack for a couple weeks and let the design work and fabrication catch up to it."
Jeff Singh handed him a memory module. "We can make it a bit easier. Here is a complete revised shop manual for the scooter, with exploded views of all the sub-assemblies. It's in a printable format, with the old view on the left pages and the new version on the right, with all the modifications and new components shaded in color. The sequence of disassembly and assembly have been corrected and all the changes there have been color coded also. There is a file showing the delivery sequence for all the components, which have already been let out to prototype and job shops."
"We are going with the faster fabrication method, rather than the cheapest in each case. Some of them are done and waiting to ship already. Some things we wanted to do will simply have to wait until after the first flight. There isn't a bit of cosmetic care taken either. The instrument panel is going to be an ugly open rack with gaps between the modules for example."
"The next section shows the modified moment arms of all the masses which have been changed and the stress analysis of the space frame for the adjusted values. There are integrated mass moments, to adjust the attitude jets for an initial setting."
"The last section shows a profile of all the performance envelopes possible with different suitable fuel loads and consumables for a crew of one to four and a payload of zero to a half ton. The frame currently limits us to a nine G boost. All are based on a worst case scenario, with everything formatted for a navigational computer. Alternative solutions are based on possible degraded performance due to loss of fuel load, or loss or damage to either sort of engine."
"Either sort of engine? I've mixed a lot of scooter pieces but never mounted two different models of engine in one frame. It would be a rather complicated undertaking. What in the world would be the point of it?"
"Why don't you put the design up on the wall and much will be self explanatory?"
Dave put the module in his pad and routed to display on the wall and first looked at a few sections of the entire vessel to get a idea where the changes were. Then he zeroed in on the engine modifications, which seemed to be a separate unit braced in the bells of two of the opposing engines. It was soon apparent two combustion chambers were shells only and the units inside were a sub-assembly.
When he went to the link he was surprised to see it was a rather old NASA document, for a deep space plasma propulsion unit. It ran to two thousands pages of drawings and performance testing data, dated decades ago.
"I know this idea was investigated, but it was never used. Why wasn't it practical and what's changed so you think it's practical now?"
Jeff smiled. "Look at this sub-assembly area, which supplies the electrical power for the two plasma engines. Mostly for political reasons, NASA was unable to use the drives, because the only practical power source was a large fission nuclear reactor, optimized for weight, largely unshielded and driving an elaborate generating system, which in itself was rather complex and heavy. They tried to bring the design back as a stationary plant to power a mag beam catcher, but the economics were never there to position a similar generator in Mars orbit. Short sighted, but that's politics. When Bussard fusion came along it was better suited to generating a direct drive, but of course it can't work in atmosphere."
Dave opened the files for the area, which was not visible in any detail in the larger view and picked a view of one of the four small cylindrical components isolated. He read the assembly part name: "Singh Nano Fusion Generator Model III, Deuterium/Deuterium - 250 Kilowatt" His eyes fairly bugged out when he looked at Jeff. He stopped and considered for a second if this was an elaborate joke. "Singh - that's you?" he asked.
"Yes, it's my design. It is proven out also. Here's what the 30Kw version looks like." He took out the unit he had showed April and handed it over. He knew the man might be skeptical and a finished piece of hardware in his hands would mean more than all his assurances and drawings.
"And you have the 250Kw units? They'll check out also?" He was holding the unit so hard Jeff was afraid he was going to hurt himself.
"They're being fabricated right now. There are no design problems scaling up. Inside, it is just stacking up more units on a longer roll of material, as simple as adding more cells to a battery to get more power. There is no doubt at all they will work."
"Wouldn't it be nice to work on something a little different?" Jeff tried to entice him in the stunned silence. "This will be the first of its class and you'd be the only shop with experience servicing it. We'd be willing to give you an exclusive for servicing all Singh fusion powered craft, which use our proprietary generators, if you can help us maintain security on their inner workings. I do expect them to change the market for very small space craft significantly." It was a huge understatement by any measure.
Dave digested all the implications. Without saying anymore he opened the files on projected performance and started scrolling through the numbers. There were specific flight profiles offered and he looked at a couple until he came to one for a lunar landing with a hefty payload and crew of two. Deep space shuttles used Bussard drives. They were very efficient, but they were not powerful enough for even a Lunar landing. He might as well have been offered plans for a flying saucer with antigravity.
One quality Dave did have was decisiveness.
"Marilyn!" He called to the other office. "You need to work up a contract with Mr. Lewis here. We're getting an exclusive to service his equipment line and a cost plus to assemble a hot job for him." He watched to see if Bob would balk at that financial arrangement. Bob didn't so much as blink.
"Be sure to include any fees for other jobs we need to bump. Tell the shifts they are going to overlap two hours starting in the morning and tell everyone on the Boeing to bring it to a temporary hold at shift end and transfer to the Lewis job tomorrow. But you can call John and Amir to farm what you can out to them. Their shops are both slow now. I want to go over to the bay where their scooter is with these two right now, to get this thing moving. Send out for some sandwiches and stuff, for us and for the whole crew. We won't take time to stop for lunch."
He stood up and offered his hand to Bob. Bob started, like he didn't understand and then realized the man was sealing the deal. He shook Earthie style and found the act felt heavier and much more final to him, than printing his chop on a contract. The shake told him here was a man who if he defaulted would not consider it a legal problem. It would be personal.
* * *
Ernie took a break and had a pay-menu meal, looking out over the gaming floor. The Wooden Nickel was the sort of a place people from a middle class background who made it big, could play without being intimidated by an atmosphere of sophistication and wealth. Everything was nice but not
too
nice. The service was friendly instead of being invisibly efficient.
It tended to look more like a period video of an over-decorated nineteenth century European casino, than the simple décor that really wealthy people favored today. Guests were owners of restaurant chains and car dealerships, local bankers and sports stars. You didn't see royalty, heads of state, or the sort from families of 'old money' like the Waltons, or Gates. The chandeliers and velvet furniture seemed silly after awhile.
He won a few hands of poker, until he got a few hard looks from the manager standing back behind the dealer. He wasn't at the high stakes table since he couldn't afford that, but the pit boss was still concerned for his whole area of responsibility. It was amazing how well you could play when it was someone else's money and you really didn't care if you lost. It afforded an indifference which allowed you to play the psychological side of the game freely. But then he suffered a slow reversal and it left him down about a thousand EuroMarks by the time he took a break for supper.
He was tired and had not asked to be served at the table, or reserved his seat. He found suddenly he was too tired to go back to the tables. No wonder he was losing. He hadn't even been to his room, he had no reason to be pushing himself, but there were no clocks in any casino and it was a treat for him. It must be late on most of the guests' personal clock because the crowd was thin. He left a tip of a twenty EM house chip on the dinner table and walked back toward the casino hotel's connecting atrium.
The Big Shot Slot which dominated the entry usually had a line of players waiting to sit at it. He was surprised to see it empty for the first time, so he stopped and did not sit, but just leaned across the seat and popped a minimum hundred EuroMark chip in the slot and slapped the plate to give it a spin in good humor. A lot of guests had their picture taken dropping a chip in the machine, because it was featured in all the house advertising. Most of them moved on after getting their picture, because a hundred euro minimum was too rich for most of them to sit and feed it for long.
He had actually taken a step away toward the hotel and was stuffing the leftover chips in his pocket, when the blast of sound hit him from behind and the colored lights flashing behind threw dancing shadows on the carpet in front of him. He considered running and denying it was him, but a quick look around showed nobody else close to the machine. The crowd was thin, but every face in sight was looking at him in caricatures of surprise or envy. The floor manager came running up and inserted his boss card to stop the noisy display. With it shut off Ernie could hear the whoops and hooting cheers of a number of well wishers. Especially from the bar. The manager was asking something for the second time, before Ernie heard him and Ernie turned to him and apologized. "I'm sorry. I was so shocked, I have no idea what you said."
"I understand." The man smiled at him. "It would be a shame if it wasn't a bit of a surprise, right? I just need your guest card to credit you, please sir." He asked with his hand out.
Ernie fished in his shirt pocket and pulled the card out, which served as his room key and to buy game chips and such items of food and drink as were not free.
The fellow slipped the white card in a slot in his pad and encoded a new platinum banded and multicolored card, which said "Big Shot" in bold letters. He handed it back to Ernie. "Thank you Mr. Persico. This is immediately credited with your winnings for the full amount. You are also invited to any service in the casino or hotel gratis, for the rest of your stay. If you present this to the front desk they will upgrade you to a Star Suite, in which you have such services as a masseur or live musicians and a chef will prepare your meals as you watch if you like. The house will also provide you a security escort if you should find you are disturbed too frequently on the floor by other guests."
"I'm Allen Roger. Please feel free to ask if there is anything I can do for you. Would you care to have your picture, or any personal information added to the winners list on display at the Big Shot slot machine? Some people welcome the attention and some prefer to maintain their privacy. Of course enough people have seen the win there will be some talk among guests, even if you don't post it."
"I believe I'd rather you just posted the win and don't attribute it. I should tip you shouldn't I? I didn't look up at the display to see how much I was wagering against, before I fed it. How much did I win?"
Mr. Roger looked surprised at Ernie's nonchalance. Most players knew to the centum what they might win. "It's our philosophy at the Wooden Nickel, a gratuity should be freely given and graciously accepted, whenever a guest is moved to offer one, but it is never an obligation." He turned his pad around and showed the display. "You just won a little more than fifty-five million EuroMarks, sir."
Ernie looked at the long number in the display and felt the spit dry right up in his mouth. Eddie was going to kill him. "Allen old buddy. Is there such a thing as a ten thousand EM chip in this house?"
"Yes sir. There are even ten, fifty, or hundred thousand and one million Euro chips." He offered, looking mighty happy at the question, as it suggested the house would be seeing some of its money back.
"And what happens to the winnings if I check out tomorrow and go home?"
Allen consulted his pad before he replied. "You show as a USNA citizen, so we would credit the Visa account you used to pay us, with any credit balance owed at the end of your stay. Due to tax and banking laws, any odd outstanding chips or winnings in chips at the table would be something it was up to you to declare, but it is reported and cashing anything bigger than a thousand Euro chip at check out, has to be paid electronically by our own house rules."
"Then I'll have a hundred, one thousand EM chips for a starter Allen."
The floor manager spoke quietly into his pad and a runner appeared within a half minute jogging along at a good clip, with a fat roll of pearly chips laying in the grooves of a felt lined tray.
Ernie took a single chip off the end and examined it carefully, as he had never bought bigger than a hundred Euro chip before. The material was the hard glassy material of the smaller chips but the hologram inside was a detailed picture of the station, instead of the corporate logo on the smaller denominations. It was probably diamond coated since he had never seen one scratched. Inside he could see a ring of some sort of security circuitry embedded also.