Free Limits by Larry Niven Page A
Authors: Larry Niven
ships that will go that far, let alone cargo…ships…” And then I saw what they had in mind.
“Only one ship,” McLeve said. “The Shack itself. We can move it out into the Belt.”
“How long?” Dot demanded. Hope momentarily made her beautiful.
“Three years,” McLeve said. He looked thoughtful. “Well, not quite that long.”
“We can’t live three years,” I shouted. I turned to Jill, trusting idiot that I was then. “The air system can’t keep us alive that long, can it? Not enough chemicals—”
“But we can do it!” she shouted. “It won’t be easy, but the farm is growing now. We have enough plants to make up for the lack of chemical air purification. We can recycle everything. We’ve got the raw sunlight of space. Even out in the asteroids that will be enough. We can do it.”
“Can’t hurt to make a few plans,” McLeve said.
It couldn’t help either, thought I; but I couldn’t say it, not to Dot and Jill.
These four were the final architects of The Plan: Admiral McLeve, Jill Plauger, Dot Hoffman, and Jack Halfey.
At first the most important was Dot. Moving something as large as the Shack, with inadequate engines, a house in space never designed as a ship; that was bad enough. Moving it farther than any manned ship, no matter the design, should have been impossible.
But behind that potato face was a brain tuned to mathematics. She could solve any abstract problem. She knew how to ask questions; and her rapport with computers was a thing to envy.
Personal problems stopped her cold. Because McLeve was one of the few men she could see as harmless, she could open up to him. He had told me sometime before we lost Ty, “Dot tried sex once and didn’t like it.” I think he regretted saying even that much. Secrets were sacred to him. But for wha t ever reason, Dot couldn’t relate to people; and that left all her energy for work.
Dot didn’t talk to women either, through fear or envy or some other reason I never knew. But she did talk to Jill. They were fanatical in the same way. It wasn’t hard to understand Dot’s enthusiasm for The Plan.
McLeve had no choices at all. Without the Shack he was a dead man.
Jack was in the Big Four because he was needed. Without his skills there would be no chance at all. So he was dragged into it, and we watched it ha p pen.
The day McLeve suggested going to the asteroids, Jack Halfey was thoroughly amused, and showed his mirth to all. For the next week he was not amused by anything whatever. He was a walking temper tantrum. So was Jill. I expect he tried to convince her that with sufficient wealth, exile on Earth could be tolerable. Now he wasn’t sleeping, and we all suffered.
Of course our miseries, including Jack’s, were only temporary. We were all going home. All of us.
Thus we followed the downer news closely, and thus was there a long line at the communications room. Everyone was trying to find an Earthside job. It hardly mattered. There was plenty of power for communications. It doesn’t take much juice to close down a colony.
We had no paper, so the news was flashed onto a TV for the edification of those waiting to use the transmitter. I was waiting for word from Inco: they had jobs at their new smelter in Guatemala. Not the world’s best location, but I was told it was a tropical paradise, and the quetzal was worth at least as much as the dollar.
I don’t know who Jack was expecting to hear from. He looked like a man with a permanent hangover, except that he wasn’t so cheerful.
The news, for a change, wasn’t all bad. Something for everyone. The United States had issued a new currency, called “marks” (it turns out there were marks in the US during revolutionary times); they were backed by miniscule amounts of gold.
Not everyone was poor. Technology proceeded apace. Texas Instr u ments announced a new pocket computer, a million bits of memory and fully programmable, for twice what a calculator cost.
“Only one ship,” McLeve said. “The Shack itself. We can move it out into the Belt.”
“How long?” Dot demanded. Hope momentarily made her beautiful.
“Three years,” McLeve said. He looked thoughtful. “Well, not quite that long.”
“We can’t live three years,” I shouted. I turned to Jill, trusting idiot that I was then. “The air system can’t keep us alive that long, can it? Not enough chemicals—”
“But we can do it!” she shouted. “It won’t be easy, but the farm is growing now. We have enough plants to make up for the lack of chemical air purification. We can recycle everything. We’ve got the raw sunlight of space. Even out in the asteroids that will be enough. We can do it.”
“Can’t hurt to make a few plans,” McLeve said.
It couldn’t help either, thought I; but I couldn’t say it, not to Dot and Jill.
These four were the final architects of The Plan: Admiral McLeve, Jill Plauger, Dot Hoffman, and Jack Halfey.
At first the most important was Dot. Moving something as large as the Shack, with inadequate engines, a house in space never designed as a ship; that was bad enough. Moving it farther than any manned ship, no matter the design, should have been impossible.
But behind that potato face was a brain tuned to mathematics. She could solve any abstract problem. She knew how to ask questions; and her rapport with computers was a thing to envy.
Personal problems stopped her cold. Because McLeve was one of the few men she could see as harmless, she could open up to him. He had told me sometime before we lost Ty, “Dot tried sex once and didn’t like it.” I think he regretted saying even that much. Secrets were sacred to him. But for wha t ever reason, Dot couldn’t relate to people; and that left all her energy for work.
Dot didn’t talk to women either, through fear or envy or some other reason I never knew. But she did talk to Jill. They were fanatical in the same way. It wasn’t hard to understand Dot’s enthusiasm for The Plan.
McLeve had no choices at all. Without the Shack he was a dead man.
Jack was in the Big Four because he was needed. Without his skills there would be no chance at all. So he was dragged into it, and we watched it ha p pen.
The day McLeve suggested going to the asteroids, Jack Halfey was thoroughly amused, and showed his mirth to all. For the next week he was not amused by anything whatever. He was a walking temper tantrum. So was Jill. I expect he tried to convince her that with sufficient wealth, exile on Earth could be tolerable. Now he wasn’t sleeping, and we all suffered.
Of course our miseries, including Jack’s, were only temporary. We were all going home. All of us.
Thus we followed the downer news closely, and thus was there a long line at the communications room. Everyone was trying to find an Earthside job. It hardly mattered. There was plenty of power for communications. It doesn’t take much juice to close down a colony.
We had no paper, so the news was flashed onto a TV for the edification of those waiting to use the transmitter. I was waiting for word from Inco: they had jobs at their new smelter in Guatemala. Not the world’s best location, but I was told it was a tropical paradise, and the quetzal was worth at least as much as the dollar.
I don’t know who Jack was expecting to hear from. He looked like a man with a permanent hangover, except that he wasn’t so cheerful.
The news, for a change, wasn’t all bad. Something for everyone. The United States had issued a new currency, called “marks” (it turns out there were marks in the US during revolutionary times); they were backed by miniscule amounts of gold.
Not everyone was poor. Technology proceeded apace. Texas Instr u ments announced a new pocket computer, a million bits of memory and fully programmable, for twice what a calculator cost.