Freelance On The Galactic Tunnel Network by E. Foner (best beach reads of all time TXT) 📗

from the room. She was recording the presentation audio with her tab, but her fingers tapped away almost mechanically on the virtual keyboard, taking notes about the hologram on display and the scale of the work.

“Disappointed, right?” Dollyman continued. “For those of you who wonder why we aren’t talking about building our own colony ship or raising the money to commission aliens to build one for us, there’s your answer. Colony ships are one of the milestone achievements of advanced species, and the costs are, if you’ll excuse the pun, astronomical. But, there is another option, the one we’re here to talk to you about today. Sally?”

The grey-haired woman returned to the front of the stage. Dollyman passed her the tab and then stood to the side. Sally swiped at the screen, and the hologram of the Dollnick colony ship section was replaced by a somewhat smaller cylindrical vessel that looked like it had been through the wars.

“This is the Chorp, a Class B Drazen colony ship that was recently towed into a Sharf recycling orbital for scrapping. The jump drive is a pile of slag, the environmental systems have been shut down for hundreds of years, and at some point the asteroid deflection system was scavenged for another vessel, leading to multiple impacts. Before you ask, we aren’t bidding on the Chorp. The reason I’m showing you this hologram is that I’ve seen the Drazen estimate for restoring this ship to liveable condition, and it came to a half a trillion creds.”

This time the audience groaned, but the presenter continued relentlessly.

“That’s right. If one in twenty humans alive today coughed up a thousand creds each, humanity could be the proud owner of an empty Drazen colony ship capable of moving approximately two million of us to a new home.”

“So what are we doing here?” a new voice cried out in disgust.

“I’m glad you asked that question,” Sally said. “The purpose of the Colony One movement is to make humanity aware of the sacrifices required to become a true space-faring species, sacrifices we were never called on to make because of our early admission to the tunnel network. That’s the tough-love part of our presentation, but now let me show you what awaits us, or rather our grandchildren, if we back our words with deeds.”

The rest of the presentation, large parts of which were licensed from Grenouthian documentary producers, took the audience through the range of missions colony ships were capable of performing. Georgia had always thought that these giant vessels were basically moveable space farms that provided a temporary home to emigrants, but it turned out that they were worlds in miniature, intended to preserve a full civilization.

“What happens if after generations in space, the best world a colony ship finds is already occupied?” somebody asked during one of the breaks for questions.

“If the colony ship belongs to a tunnel network species, they would be bound by Stryx rules,” Colony One’s legal expert replied. “Before you ask, the number of possible scenarios is mind-boggling, but in all cases, the first step is to contact the Stryx, who would send a science ship to evaluate the situation.”

“What if the colony ship wasn’t sent by a tunnel network species?”

“You don’t want to know.”

Eleven

“Morning,” Marshall greeted Ellen. “Nice to have you back.”

“I’m surprised you’re still here,” she said, spreading her blanket next to his. “I’ve been all over the planet the last couple weeks, but I thought you’d had enough of Earth for the time being.”

“I left the day after we met and I returned this morning,” he said, rising to help her unload the rented floater, which was piled high with goods from her ship. “I did a Moon run and then decided to come back until I leave the system for Rendezvous.”

“I’ve never been to the Moon. What’s it like for trade?”

Marshall shrugged. “A little of this, a little of that. About the same as what you’d see at any moon colony. My older brother leases a crater there that he’s turned into a greenhouse. His wife is a botanist and it’s sort of their retirement dream.”

“You mean a crater, as in—” Ellen spread her hands as if she were describing the fish that got away.

“Not that big,” he replied with a laugh, and returned to the floater for another load. “What did your proprietary trading platform suggest to you this time?”

“They’re still pushing disposable stunners and tablecloths,” she said in disgust. “I decided to bring everything they recommended over the last three months to clean house before Rendezvous.”

“Fire sale?”

“Pretty much. I’ve got enough data for the piece I’m writing. Now I just need to round it out by getting some interviews with other traders who have used the Advantage platform. I’ll do that at Rendezvous.”

“Did you get any trading done in the last two weeks?”

“The truth is I was too busy meeting with journalists. It looks like the replacement news syndicate I was telling you about is going to become a reality.”

“Does that mean you’re in line for a promotion?” Marshall asked, helping her set out an array of Horten art glass.

“I messaged my boss I wasn’t ready to give up the trader’s life to become a full-time editor, so the paper made up a new job title for me. Meet the new Earth Syndication Coordinator.”

“What does it mean?”

“I’m on the hook to return here once a month for the next year and meet with correspondents about projects they want to sell us. By pre-buying stories from investigative journalists, the Galactic Free Press will have some control over the syndication feed, rather than just taking whatever comes up. It’s sort of like middle-management, I guess, but at least I have the rest of the month to myself.”

“Smart of your boss,” Marshall observed. “If they had