century. You yourself advanced the theory in your manuscript that in a small, closed ecosystem innovation and progress would probably be banned. So with that logic, chances are they've not gone much beyond our own capabilities."
Richard took another tug off the bottle and offered it to Ian. To be polite, he took another swig and then handed it back.
"So there, argument settled then."
"Yeah, I guess so," Ian replied reluctantly.
"You better get back to the galley. I bet Ellen is already at a rolling boil."
"Tell her I'll be along in a moment or two."
"All right."
Richard crawled out. And, standing up with a groan, he started for the door. Stopping, he turned and gave Ian a mischievous smile.
"Think we might find Colony 122? You know, the wom en's group."
"I don't think so, but if we do, what makes you think they'll take you?"
"Hell, Ian, remember I used to be M.D. at the Auraria Normal College for Women, in the Dakota Territories."
"And you barely made it across the border before you were arrested for malpractice and morals charges."
"Ah, now, Ian, you know my uncle the regent of med icine was able to prove the lie those humorless people had perpetrated against me." With a laugh he closed the door behind him.
Colony 122 , Ian thought. That would be one of the easy ones. It was the 500 series that he had not discussed with Richard. The last ones up, built in the 70s and 80s. The exiles. A fair percentage of them had headed in toward the galactic center along with the more innocuous 1-400 series. What really scared him was the exile units and the 500 series. They might be ticking bombs. They were the disenfranchised, the dispossessed of a world tottering toward war—the refugee colonies and the colonies made up of entire ethnic and political groups exiled away from Earth. The 500 series with its liberation groups: the Kurd nationalists, the Botswanian Liberation Group, Dr. Franklin-Smith's political penal unit, or L-3 519, and the Pan-Zionist Russian Nationalists. It was groups like that which gave Ian the real fear that he could not express to his comrades.
Such groups seemed slightly romantic now. They were romantic because 1100 years separated them from the present. And as long as they were so distant, they were safe and fascinating to an age now safely run by the Dem ocratic Bureaucracy, wherein nothing could overcome the inertia of the worldwide state. But he could come face to face with the direct descendants of groups that might not feel too friendly about Earth, and the thought gave him the chills.
He stood up, stretched, and turning, looked down at the small suitcase-size crate that he had been sitting on. Stasz had pointed it out to him while doing an inventory.
Ian had been sitting on a thermomine , a nuclear device capable of vaporizing a quarter-mile asteroid or a million-ton colony in a flash. The Discovery had carried hundreds of such mines when it briefly served on a navigation- clearing detail just before being turned over to the grant foundation. This one mine had not been removed, either through an oversight, or because the logistics officer didn't want to go through the paperwork necessary to remove a thermo device and transport it down to Earth.
Ian gazed at the crate, his curiosity aroused. Finally it got the better of him and he unsnapped the fasteners that held the box shut then peeked inside. It was a little dis appointing somehow; he had expected warning signs and sirens to flash on and the mine to look like some incarnation of evil.
It was simply an ugly black ball with half a dozen silver projections locked upright. An instruction manual was hooked to one of the projections; picking the booklet up, he flipped it open.
Notice from the Manufacturer—Clearance Assured Inc.
Congratulations on selection of the enhanced AB-. 23A adjustable-blast clearance apparatus. Satisfaction assured when operated properly. Any and all complaints looked into at once by our experienced quality
Richard took another tug off the bottle and offered it to Ian. To be polite, he took another swig and then handed it back.
"So there, argument settled then."
"Yeah, I guess so," Ian replied reluctantly.
"You better get back to the galley. I bet Ellen is already at a rolling boil."
"Tell her I'll be along in a moment or two."
"All right."
Richard crawled out. And, standing up with a groan, he started for the door. Stopping, he turned and gave Ian a mischievous smile.
"Think we might find Colony 122? You know, the wom en's group."
"I don't think so, but if we do, what makes you think they'll take you?"
"Hell, Ian, remember I used to be M.D. at the Auraria Normal College for Women, in the Dakota Territories."
"And you barely made it across the border before you were arrested for malpractice and morals charges."
"Ah, now, Ian, you know my uncle the regent of med icine was able to prove the lie those humorless people had perpetrated against me." With a laugh he closed the door behind him.
Colony 122 , Ian thought. That would be one of the easy ones. It was the 500 series that he had not discussed with Richard. The last ones up, built in the 70s and 80s. The exiles. A fair percentage of them had headed in toward the galactic center along with the more innocuous 1-400 series. What really scared him was the exile units and the 500 series. They might be ticking bombs. They were the disenfranchised, the dispossessed of a world tottering toward war—the refugee colonies and the colonies made up of entire ethnic and political groups exiled away from Earth. The 500 series with its liberation groups: the Kurd nationalists, the Botswanian Liberation Group, Dr. Franklin-Smith's political penal unit, or L-3 519, and the Pan-Zionist Russian Nationalists. It was groups like that which gave Ian the real fear that he could not express to his comrades.
Such groups seemed slightly romantic now. They were romantic because 1100 years separated them from the present. And as long as they were so distant, they were safe and fascinating to an age now safely run by the Dem ocratic Bureaucracy, wherein nothing could overcome the inertia of the worldwide state. But he could come face to face with the direct descendants of groups that might not feel too friendly about Earth, and the thought gave him the chills.
He stood up, stretched, and turning, looked down at the small suitcase-size crate that he had been sitting on. Stasz had pointed it out to him while doing an inventory.
Ian had been sitting on a thermomine , a nuclear device capable of vaporizing a quarter-mile asteroid or a million-ton colony in a flash. The Discovery had carried hundreds of such mines when it briefly served on a navigation- clearing detail just before being turned over to the grant foundation. This one mine had not been removed, either through an oversight, or because the logistics officer didn't want to go through the paperwork necessary to remove a thermo device and transport it down to Earth.
Ian gazed at the crate, his curiosity aroused. Finally it got the better of him and he unsnapped the fasteners that held the box shut then peeked inside. It was a little dis appointing somehow; he had expected warning signs and sirens to flash on and the mine to look like some incarnation of evil.
It was simply an ugly black ball with half a dozen silver projections locked upright. An instruction manual was hooked to one of the projections; picking the booklet up, he flipped it open.
Notice from the Manufacturer—Clearance Assured Inc.
Congratulations on selection of the enhanced AB-. 23A adjustable-blast clearance apparatus. Satisfaction assured when operated properly. Any and all complaints looked into at once by our experienced quality
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