a work in progress, please stand by…
other working titles:
Moebius Trip
The Rainbow Bridge
— or —
Rocke DiSerio’s No-Good Fluxed-Up Cosmic Misadventure
Chapter One: Escher Castle
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We are now entering Martian orbit. Please note that we have turned on the ‘fasten seat-belts’ sign, so buckle in. Have your sick-bags ready, too, those of you who think you might need them. We’ll be turning off the artificial gravity and docking with Escher Castle in about five minutes.”
“By damn!” The old man seated in first class growled to his companion, “I tell them and I tell them! Is NOT verdammt ‘Escher Castle!’ Is Asgard! I should know, I — “
“Of course, Mr Brandt. You built it, sir. You have every right to name your little planetoid.” Bush Tucker chuckled softly. “But ‘Escher Castle’ has caught on with the public, and now people won’t call it anything else. You might as well try to get Americans to use the metric system.”
“Sprocking Grife! Interplanetary Society calls it Asgard! Why can’t — ?”
“Of course they do. You’ve been bankrolling them for decades. And as long as you keep paying me, I’ll call it Asgard or Strawberry Shortcake or anything you like. But you pay me to tell you the truth, sir, and the truth is you’re outnumbered by about twenty billion to one, so — “
“Pfah! Go back and sit with Rocke. Tell Miss Deen I have dictation.”
Bush rose and moved back, and soon Rhonda Deen appeared next to Odin Brandt carrying her com-pad.
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Bush watched Rhonda as she undulated up the aisle and disappeared behind the curtain separating first class from coach. As he took her place, he noticed that his new seatmate already had his sickbag stuck to his face. He was breathing slowly, and his bag inflated and deflated in steady rhythm. “You alright there, kid?”
Rocke DiSerio took the bag away and smiled weakly. His face was beaded with sweat. “I hate free fall, Mr Tucker. Always have. Even the thought of it makes me queasy. I don’t see why we can’t leave the field on until we’re safe in the Castle.”
“And there it is!” Through the view port on Rocke’s other side, Mars’ newest moon loomed into view. “Look there, kid. History’s second largest artifact. Asgard is an unnatural body, and natural gravity would never let it stand. Only Brandt’s inertial field generators allow it to exist. We’ll be docking on that prominence there,” he pointed, “just outside Asgard’s field. Ship’s field and Asgard’s are not compatible frequencies, and if they should touch — “
“I understand, sir, but they can be fine-tuned. Right? I mean, they had to be in order to support all those different planes on Escher’s — uh, Asgard, and — “
“Forget it, kid. Try decelerating at sixty gees like our captain just did, and negotiating that monster ring out there, and Mars, and Asgard, AND fine-tuning your field generators all at once. Too tricky and too dangerous. Pro pilots may be good, but… well, I’d rather take my chances with floating vomit.”
“But still, Mr Tucker, with shipboard computers and — “
“And too expensive. Besides, kid… you ever play tug o’war? Now imagine you’re the rope, only weaker. Gravitational diffraction can be unpredictable and — “
“Attention!” The ship’s captain interrupted them. “Prepare for end of artificial gravity and docking at Escher Castle. Please remain strapped in until your steward arrives to assist you. Welcome to Mars and thank you for flying Safe-Space Travel. We know you have many transportation options, and we appreciate your choosing us for your business and pleasure needs.”
Rocke slapped his bag back over his mouth and immediately voided himself into it. Bush wrinkled his nose in involuntary disgust, but nevertheless was grateful for DiSerio’s consideration. “Rather be smelling it than tasting it,” he thought.
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After the stewards had unstrapped Rocke, escorted him out of the craft, through the airlocks, and into the gravity field of Asgard’s upper terminal, his belly ceased its protests. The terminal’s field was a gentle one-sixth gee as a compromise and a courtesy to natives of Luna and the Greater Asteroids, but at least it was steady acceleration and therefore easily quelled Rocke’s nausea and vertigo. After wiping his mouth with the damp towel, he returned it to the attendant and began to straighten his vest and tie.
Odin clapped him on the shoulder and asked, “Feeling any better, my boy?”
“Uh, yes sir, thanks. Sorry about the fuss, I — “
Odin boomed with laughter. “No fuss at all, lad! Zero gee is nothing to an old space hand like me, except a source of endless amusement! Work for me long enough and one day you’ll wonder why it ever bothered you.”
“I hope so, sir, but I rather doubt it. I was born on Luna, but I went to school on Earth. Every trip home was a living nightmare. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.”
“Some never do,” said Bush. “There’s no shame in drop sickness. You took every precaution and handled it like a champ. You don’t need to apologize to anybody.”
“Born on Luna?” Rhonda brushed back a blond lock and scowled. “Are you going to be able to handle full gee? Many Loonies never — “
“Never fear.” Rocke smiled at her. “Two hours in the Dianopolis centrifuge, four times a week, playing tennis or racket ball mostly. I can take anything Earth gravity can dish out. Just keep me out of free fall and I’ll be fine.”
“Then let us not linger, children.” Odin gestured to their porter and commenced to strut toward the large archway emblazoned with the words “Uelcome to Asgard” in System Standard English, plus a half dozen other different scripts, including Mandarin and Runic. As they approached the gates, he led them to the one marked “Earth Normal.”
They passed through the gate and down the gently sloping ramp. With each step they could feel their weight returning until, at the bottom, they had reached one gee. Before them stretched a dizzying webwork of ramps and staircases extending in many directions, often intersecting at crowded nodes. Many of the double-sided staircases carried pedestrians at right angles or counter-parallel to each other, each seeming to descend in opposition.
The party stopped at a broad landing, and Bush handed their porter their room assignments and his gratuity. The man pushed his luggage cart onto a half pipe structure, smoothly walking up the curve until he appeared to stand sideways on the wall next to them. He turned off of the curve and onto another ramp. Then he hopped onto his cart, and he and their luggage seemed to coast uphill and out of sight.
They moved on to the next half pipe and Odin casually strolled up the side until he appeared to hang upside-down over them. Bush took hold of a convenient grab bar, hoisted himself up, flipped, and dropped up neatly next to Odin. The older men grinned down at Rhonda and Rocke.
“Uh…” Rocke’s face began beading sweat, and he swayed where he stood.
“Vertigo again?” asked Rhonda.
“Nothing to it, kid,” said Bush. “Just walk up the path. Stay between the lines and you’ll be fine.”
“No need for show off like Mr Tucker,” laughed Odin. “If old man like me can do this, healthy young buck — “
“I understand, sir,” answered Rocke. “I mean… I understand the physics and all, it’s just… Well, it’s a little queasy here. We’re at a confluence of fields again, aren’t we? I can always feel it in my guts. I can do it. Just give me a minute to adjust.”
“Oh pish!” Rhonda took his hand. “Close your eyes and walk with me. I’ll let you know when we’re on a level ramp again.”
Rocke obeyed, and they walked together for a while. The flutters in his belly were unsettling, but not as bad as free fall. Eventually, the flutters went away, and he opened his eyes. They were on what looked and felt like a level ramp running through the center of the webbing, surrounded by walkways at all angles, with people strolling or skating freely at various angles to their own orientation. Rocke pulled his hand from Rhonda’s and wiped the sweat off his forehead. “As long as it feels like steady gee,” he said, “my tummy is fine. But it looks insane.”
“Is insane!” answered Odin. “But more efficient. Using both sides of walls and ceilings as floors, I put tens of thousands of us here in Asgard, and still no crowding! Now come children, let’s not dawdle. I don’t like keep pet genius waiting!”
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Prakash Levy leaned over his scope, oblivious to the door sighing open behind him. Before him, a half kilogram slab of prime rib was suspended in a sealed chamber. As Levy adjusted dials the slab began to descend, slowly settling onto the lab bench.
“There’s my querulous comrade!” boomed Odin Brandt’s voice. “Children, meet Kash Levy, only person in Asgard smarter than me! And much younger and prettier, too!”
“You’re late,” answered Kash, still fixed on his scope. Except for answering Odin, it appeared that he was unaware that anyone had entered his sanctuary. “And I hope you meant ‘inquisitive,'” he continued, “I don’t complain all that much, do I?”
“Mr Braaandt!” David Stucco, Levy’s lab assistant, rushed forward to greet their benefactor, ignoring Bush, Rhonda, and Rocke in his eagerness to ingratiate himself. He held out his hand to Odin, but Bush stepped between them and firmly pushed Stucco’s arm back down. “Uh… You’re just in time, sir. Two weeks it’s been in stasis. You said you have a taste for steak tartar?”
“Hang on,” said Kash, still hunched over his station, “we’ll want a tissue sample first.” He twiddled dials and inside the chamber, delicate waldos descended onto the meat, cut off a section and transferred it into a dish which slid through a port and into an adjacent chamber. He straightened and turned. “Dr Stucco, if you’d like, then?”
Stucco took Levy’s place. The remaining slab of meat rose again. Stucco grinned at Odin and said, “I think thirty gees ought to do it.” The slab slapped hard against the lab bench then, splashing bits of gore against the interior of the chamber. He touched a stud and a glass panel opened up.
Odin stepped forward, put his finger into the mass and brought it to his nose. He sniffed carefully, then deeply, then licked his finger clean and smiled. “Perfect,” he pronounced. “Grass fed Martian beef, as fresh as the day he was slaughtered. Help yourselves, children.”
Rocke put up both hands and shook his head, grimacing, but Bush and Rhonda both stepped up and repeated Odin’s gesture.
“Delicious!” said Bush.
“Could use some salt,” said Rhonda, “and a little lemon and Worcestershire.”
While the others were inspecting the preservative properties of Levy’s stasis field, Rocke meandered over to a large whiteboard covered with doodles and scrawls. He frowned and rubbed his chin. “Uh, Dr Levy,” he asked, “why are you dividing by zero here after these triple-cross products? That can’t work with vectors any more than with scalars, can it?”
Stucco sneered. “Maybe you should go back to class before you ask silly questions, boy. You’ve got to differentiate both — “
“I did that already, and I just get a quaternary matrix over a null field. I think there’s been some — “
“Don’t touch that!” Stucco stormed over to inspect the board, “That’s for Dr Levy and myself!”
“Easy, Dave.” Bush tossed another globule of mashed meat into his maw and ambled over, licking his fingers. “The kid didn’t mean any harm.”
“I didn’t touch anything!” protested Rocke. “I did it in my head, and it still ends up trying to divide by zero. Oh! Wait a minute!” He pointed to another section on the board. “There it is. Someone flubbed this triple-cross back here. These vectors shouldn’t be cancelling out, they — “
“He’s right.” Levy stared at the section that Rocke had indicated, then spoke while he erased and revised the complex matrix equations. “It looks like you mistook the right-hand rule for some sinister substitute, David. In your head, you say?” Levy smiled at Rocke. “That was a good catch.”
“I don’t believe it.” Stucco continued to fume. “No one can differentiate fifth order segregals in his head. It took me at least two hours to — “
Odin dropped his arm across Stucco’s shoulders and laughed. “Nu, you think I hire boy genius to be janitor?” He walked him back to the lab bench. “How about you clean up mess here while savants talk maths, eh?”
“Yes sir,” answered Stucco, quietly. “Thank you, Mr Brandt.”
“Good boy.” Brandt turned to Dr Levy. “Is quieter in your office?”
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As the test chamber ran through its clean cycle, Dr Stucco went back to the whiteboard to review Dr Levy’s corrections. He studied the equations, ground his teeth, and muttered under his breath. “Snot-nosed punk. Who asked him anyway?” He held out his right hand, the index and middle fingers splayed out at right angles, and his thumb raised, perpendicular to the other digits. “I’d have caught it in time. I know my job. Don’t need that old bastard’s trick monkeys telling me how — ”
The phone in his pocket chirped at him. He looked at the screen and smiled. “Yes, Mr Boyle,” he spoke softly. “That’s right, he’s here now, with that new math whiz he promised us. Plus his secretary and his hired goon. No, no problem at all. I’ll have it, and you’ll have it, just make sure — No, no, you never have. Not yet anyway. Just see you don’t. Okeh, twenty-one o’clock, Phobos Lounge, I’ll be there.” Stucco pocketed his phone and smiled. “Let Kash fawn over his new pet all he wants. They’ll all be singing a different tune soon enough.”
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“They still at it?”
“Mercy, yes!” Rhonda Deen dropped into the seat opposite Bush Tucker. “I’ve had about all the Pentacostal Integrations and Laurentine Transformations I can take. Pour me some of that.” Bush reached across the table with the pitcher and emptied it into her mug. The frost had long since evaporated from her glass, and he had nursed his drink waiting for her. “I was so relieved to see Mrs Whitaker. And so sorry for her. But it’s all her problem, now.”
“What problem?” Bush smiled at her. “Rocke’s a good kid. And smart, too. Besides, I think he’s sweet on you.”
She sighed. “Yeah, ‘fraid o’ that. I know he means no harm, but…”
“I’m sure you can find some way of letting him down easy.”
“Easy.” She agreed and drained half her cup while Bush waved the empty pitcher at their waiter. “Yeah, Rocke’s not so bad, I guess. After five years of babysitting Brandt’s proteges, I’ve seen lots worse. Still, all these weird mathemagical incantations take a little getting used to. Even harder getting used to Dr Stucco trying to worm his way into the discussion.”
“Ah-huh. I couldn’t bail on him soon enough! Davey’s a little out of his depth. Mainly just sniffing after Odin’s plush tush, far as I can tell. I, ah, do kinda get some of the math, though,” Bush looked into his drink and blushed. “Vectoring in four dimensions becomes second nature when you’re shooting at moving targets, but then… you know, conceptualizing in five or more like Odin, the Boy Wonder, and the Hin-Jew do,” he rolled his eyes and grimaced, “with energy vectors and gravitational flux rotating into plus and minus AND IMAGINARY time components. I mean, supposedly, the accounting works out, but… well, somewhere in that complex time plane perpendicular to three dee space, I guess, that’s where Brandt found artificial gravity and where Kirkendahl and Levy are looking for time travel. And who knows what gets found next in the secrets of nature? From sharp sticks to atom smashers. What new extinction level super threat looms anon, eh?”
From overhead, their waiter swung into view, tethered to the central axle. With her legs curled around the trapeze seat above her, she took the pitcher and silver coin from Bush and agreed to return quickly. She smiled as the tractor cable hauled her back up into the free fall core of the great prolate lobe. The Phobos Lounge was like a giant football mounted on the spire or steeple of one of the many peaks of Asgard. Patrons walked in at one narrow end at an easy sixth gee, then “upgee” to the broader center section where the AG pulled at a relaxing three-quarters. Brandt radiation refracted through the precisely curved cuatrotaenite alloy composing the decking of the lounge, modulating the artificial gravity and cancelling out altogether along the central axis.
That free fall corridor up the center line, around the entertainers’ cage in the middle of the space, was the medium of choice for many patrons and all of the wait staff. With the band playing over everyone’s heads, no one in the house had a back seat to the show. Bush adjusted the mirror on his edge of the table so he could better watch the pretty vocalist and fiddler of the Red Grass Quartet occupying Center Stage tonight.
Opposite the bar, at the other narrower end of the lounge was a large transparent viewport, surrounded by rings of observation seats. Centered in the port was a glittering iridescent field connecting Asgard to Odin’s “Rainbow Bridge,” history’s first largest artifact to date. Nearing completion, the massive articulated ring was in orbit around Asgard’s augmented field, and between them they supported millions of hectares of gossamer sunscreen which powered Asgard, the Rainbow Bridge, and sent surplus energy to the surface of Mars to crack water and other stubborn chemicals out of the Old Soldier’s hide.
They idled at their table, nursing their drinks and enjoying the music when Bush noticed David Stucco swimming through his viewing mirror. Craning his neck, he followed Stucco’s progress through the free fall lane to the viewing lounge. He turned to Rhonda and gestured. “Looks like Odin’s finally sent Davey to bed.”
She looked up, spotted him, and grimaced. “Let’s get out of here before he sees us. I’d rather listen to the boss gabble on about math than deal with Stucco.”
“Suits me.” Bush dropped another coin on their table. “I’m staying at Hilbert’s. They’ve got a lounge off the lobby, English Pub theme, a little raucous sometimes…”
“Good enough!” She finished her drink and stood up. “Let’s stick to the deck and slink out so he doesn’t see us.” As they walked “down gee” up the curved decking, she stopped suddenly and pointed. “What’s HE doing here?”
Bush looked and growled softly. “Cancer and crabgrass! Addison (‘Slow’) Boyle? Does Odin know you’re in his castle?”
to be continued?
Moebius chapter x – The Greigh Area