Books by George!

“Please find her,” Rudolph asked.  “She’s a very good woman, always treats her ranch hands honestly, never hurt a soul who didn’t deserve it in her life.”

“I’ll try,” Winston said.  He touched his brow and went on his way.

Waiting for him at the Post Office were several pieces of mail for the sheriff’s office, a stack of telegrams all waiting for delivery from the Western Union Office next door, a thick envelope for him from the East Coast, and to his surprise a letter from Germany. 

“Fellow with the same name as that Prussian scientist.  You sure you want a piece of mail from Germany?” The clerk stared at him suspiciously and waved the letter from the land of the recent foe.

Winston glanced at the return address.  “Same name because it is that Prussian scientist.  He’s actually Swiss.  Met him in Denmark during the war. Haven’t heard from him since the war ended.”

“You were in Denmark?  Not with our boys over there?” the clerk asked, now even more suspiciously.

“I was staying in Denmark,” Winston said.  “We got into the War.  Embassy warned me:  Germans think I’m a spy, because I keep travelling to Germany on short trips. If I take a ship home from Denmark, I’m apt to be detained by their Navy and shot.  If I stay put, the Germans will wonder what I’m spying on. They had half-a-dozen guys following me around, doing nothing for their war effort. So I stayed put.”

“And I see I have another customer,” the clerk announced as he handed out the envelope.  “Good work taking six men out of the Hun war effort.”`

“Thank you.  Always good to talk,” Winston answered, forcing a smile.  One more stop,  he thought, and I reach the Sheriff’s Office and start writing.

* * * * *

“Precisely,” Bronkowski said.  “While licensing is only mandatory within the Republic, all neighboring states have willingly and voluntarily agreed to impose the same requirement on their naval architects, so don’t think you can hire from some lesser species beyond the pale.”

Willingly and voluntarily, my backside, Broadbent thought.  Those agreements were obtained by bribery or force.  “An interesting point,” she offered. “Of course, it would be illegal for us to hire a naval architect of another species, one who was not an Anglic Union citizen.”  Not my fault, her mind continued, that Republic engineers are all very narrowly trained.

“Said again,” Bronkowski said, “without registration with us, you can’t design a spaceship, you can’t equip it, and it can’t go anywhere.”

“That is an interesting set of rationales,”  Broadbent said.  “From your analysis, it follows that we probably are not building any spaceships.  I’ll tell the managing committee about what you said.. Any further decision is theirs, not mine alone.” She pinched her nose.  “Are there more issues?  Did you have other business?” she asked. 

“As a practical matter, if you recommend to your Board that you should register your spaceship, that would be a very positive outcome.  It would show that you understand the importance of an appropriate relationship between the progressive thinking of the Stellar Republic and the respectful obedience reasonably expected of citizens of insignificant powers.” 

Broadbent wondered if Bronkowski was able to open his mouth without offending people.  The smart money looked to be against. 

“However, “ Bronkowski continued, “after you have done that, especially if you were successful, your usefulness to Bulger Spaceyards might deteriorate.  In that case, there are any number of Republic Starship firms that would be delighted to employ a highly competent attorney such as yourself, especially one who understands Union law so well. I think I could guarantee that your salary would be at least twice what it is now, with guarantee through a bonding service of at least twenty years’ pay at that level.”

“I see,” she said.  “That’s very generous.” Why, she wondered, is he pushing this line, which a cynic would call attempted tortious interference in my contract?  That’s a lot of money, at least in Anglic Union pounds, that he is proposing to put up.  “However, I am entirely happy with my present employer, to whom I always give honest service, so I don’t think I would be able to accept.  I will still call the attention of the Managing Committee, on which I sit, to the issues you raised, which actually are of interest, so someday we might choose to register a ship of ours with you, assuming hypothetically that we want to design and build a spaceship as you suggested.”

“The Stellar Republic Intelligence Services are all-seeing,” Brankowski answered.  “Also, given your circumstances, well, if I were running your operation I would be vigorously planning to build spaceships.  We seem to  have different perspectives on the matter.”

“I welcome you to the club of people who think we have started designing our own starships,” Broadbent said.  “It is already an extremely large and unselective club, of which I am a non-member.”

“You are denying it?  Would you care to hear my reasons?” Brankowski asked.

“Ah,” Broadbent answered, “now we reach serious negotiations. Not, mind you, that I am saying we are planning on building a spaceship, though it is res ipsa that we could. However, you have raised the issue, so I will politely treat it as a hypothesis for the purpose of discussion.”  Her tea brewer beeped.  It had brewed the tea for a large mug of beverage, bringing the water not quite to a boil, steeping for the correct number of minutes, and emptied the tea into a mug.  Peltier-effect cooling blocks had then dropped the tea to a drinkable temperature.  She raised the mug and toasted Brankowski.

“Coffee?” he asked.

“Tea,” she answered.  “Keemun, from an Australian estate.  If you were here, you could share it.  Alas, you are not.  Please discuss.”

“Keemun.  Wonderful.  Alas, I am too busy to travel,” he answered.  “However, there are practical consequences.”  She raised her eyebrows.  “Please point them out to your superiors, who will doubtless understand what I am saying, even though you do not.  First, spaceships not registered, meaning registered even before construction started, cannot carry goods to or between Republic starports.  You can build a ship, but it would have next to no use.  Second, owners of unregistered ships cannot buy or license devices protected by Republic patents.  That means no alpha drives.  That means no high-field fusactors.  You may build a hull, but it will have no power or ability to fly.”

“I see,” she said, her tone as bland as warm milk.

“Third,” Bronkowski continued, “your Union has no licensed naval architects, no one authorized or qualified by the Stellar Republic to produce your starship design.  It is illegal for a licensed naval architect to work on the design of an unregistered starship. It is impossible for someone who is not a licensed naval architect even to begin designing  a spaceship, for which you need a large team of designers, each licensed to design in their specialty.  For a typical freighter there are, in round numbers, two hundred specialties, so you need two hundred designers.  You cannot even design this ship, let alone build it, unless you register it with us.”

“What do you mean licensed?” she asked.  “The Anglic Union at the time of its foundation banned occupational licensing.  Or do you mean licensed by the Stellar Republic?”

Winston pulled his pocket notebook, jotted down bead colors and the author of the table.

 “Sorry I wasted your time with an unsolved mystery.”  He recovered the samples.

“No  not a waste,” Karl said, “and I’ll get you some names, people who are experts on naming minerals.  I’m just a well-studied amateur.  If you write them, say I sent you.”

“I’ll certainly do that, sir,” Winston answered.

His next stop was Rudolph Schudel, Swiss Jeweler.  The sign had ‘Swiss’ in particularly large letters, with a painting of the Swiss flag on each side.

Rudolph Schudel was a short, stocky man with a perpetual smile.

“Welcome to my humble establishment,” Schudel said, “what may I do for you?”

“I’m trying to solve a crime case,” Winston explained, “and I don’t even know if I actually have a clue.  However, I have two pieces of jewelry that were found on the ground near what might’ve been a crime scene.  I wonder what you might tell me about them.”

“I’m always happy to help an officer of the law,” Rudolph said. “I’m not what you would call an expert witness, but I can tell you what I see.”

“One might be an engagement ring, but there’s no sign of the stone. The other might be a wedding ring, but I don’t recognize the metal.” 

Winston pass the two items over to the jeweler, who pulled a loupe from one of his drawers and examined carefully the two rings.

“Considering first the engagement ring,” the jeweler finally announced, “Very odd. Appears to have been a theft.  There’s no sign of the gem. But the braces that should’ve been holding it in place look to be in perfect condition.  Possibly they weren’t sized correctly.”

Then he stared at the other ring, his face darkening.  “Where did you get this ring! I know it very well, since I did the sizing! You can see my store’s seal on the ring’s inner surface. The letters next to it are initials. That metal you didn’t recognize is platinum. But it should still be on the finger of Mrs. Jameson! What was done to her?”

“That’s what I’m trying to solve,” Winston said.  “As I said, I found the two rings on the ground, next to each other, but there wasn’t a body there. But if you’re sure that ring is hers, the sheriff’s office will lock it up until we can find her or her heirs.”

* * * * *

The sign next to the door read ‘Honest Ike’s.  Gemstones bought and sold.  Metal ores assayed.  Special offer on quartz geodes.’ Inside, several counters displayed rocks for sale.  A much older man sat at desk writing. A small bell jingled as Winston eased the door open.

“Hello?” Winston called. 

“Good afternoon, Deputy,” the man at the desk said as he stood.   “I’m Karl Eisenhower.  How may I help you?”

“I’m Winston Cooper, Sheriff’s assistant. I’m trying to solve an unfortunate incident, and have a clue I don’t understand.”

“I’m happy to help, but what can an assayer and gemnologist do for you?” Karl asked.

Winston opened his satchel took out a small bottle, and shook out from a single crystal. 

“I was curious if you could tell me what this is?” Winston asked. “It’s a beautiful color, but I don’t recognize it, and it was on the scene of the crime.”

Carl stared at the deep violet stone.  “Never seen the like,” he announced. He stared through magnifier. “Looks to be a nice clean crystal, no flaws or inclusions, more like quality window glass than one of our local gems. I can do two fast tests which might give a clue.  Do you have more?”

“Lots.  Don’t worry about breaking it.”  Winston watched while Karl did a few things with equipment on the shelf behind the counter, then shuffled through line of books.

“Specific gravity is way high,” Karl announced.  “It’s harder than corundum, not as hard as diamond.  My standard handbook doesn’t list anything like that. I’m embarrassed to say, Deputy, that it’s not a standard local mineral. It’s not even a rare local mineral. I’ve never seen it before. To say more, you need someone to crush it up, analyze it, say what it’s made of, but I don’t have the equipment for that, and I’d hate to destroy something this pretty. It’s very pretty, especially for a young woman with eyes close to that shade, so I suspect there’d be a market for it.”

“Well, sir, thank you anyhow,” Winston said, tipping his hat.

“Wait.  One more test,” Karl said.  “Takes a few minutes.  Borax bead analysis.  That sand will be the easier, unless those violet stones gave you some dust.”

“A tiny bit.”  Winston watched while Karl pulled out a bottle, ignited a Bunsen burner, touched something at the ends of two wires to the sand and the dust. Finally he pulled down another book and ran his finger down a long table.

“The colors should tell us which elements are present—yes, it’s a bit more complicated than that.”  Karl turned off the burner.  “Those combinations of bead colors…there’s no such thing, and that table is supposed to be complete, every known element.”

“I seem to recall that there are certain fees involved,” Broadbent said, “large fees, payable in Stellar Republic currency, a commodity in very short supply within the Anglic Union given your new trade regulations.” Let us see where he goes with that, she considered.

“The fees are very reasonable,” Bronkowski said, “and easily paid under our highly equitable trade regulations, namely the space yards in question agree to take a Stellar Republic spaceship construction firm as its senior investor, in which case the senior investor pays the fees.”

“I’ve heard of several of these,” Broadbent said.  She shook her head.  “It always seemed that after a while the senior investor ended up owning and then closing the yard in question.”

“Oh, on rare occasions business does poorly,” Bronkowski said, “and then the senior investor has to protect its investment in what was, after all, a small, fourth-rate shipyard.”

“I see,” Broadbent said.  “Of course, taking a foreign investor as a partner is illegal in the Anglic Union, so such arrangements are not worth discussing further here.  Foreign investment in the Union is illegal.”  She paused.  Bronkowski drew back.  Hadn’t he known, she wondered, how Union investment laws worked?  “So why would we want to register, ignoring financial issues?  You must have some good reasons.  Please tell me about them.”

“Madame Broadbent,” Brankowski said, “all across the galaxy, this is how things are done.  Before you build your spaceship, you must register it.  With us.”

“Curiously,” Broadbent said, “we are not someplace across the Galaxy.  We are here on Earth, the home world of mankind, in the successor state to the nation that gave mankind manned interplanetary flight.  We do not need to ask the permission of foreigners to build spaceships.  After all, we’ve been doing it since before your Republic did.”

“If you do not register it,” Brankowski said, “there are also practical consequences.”

“Actually, for that matter,” Broadbent asked, “why do you think we are planning on building spaceships?  You are not the first person to contact us on this topic, though most letters we get are nice people trying to sell us things.”

His Honor pointed at his automobile. “My office.  Back veranda is all shade.  Which reminds me, you must be Winston Cooper, mustn’t you?  Sheriff’s said lots of good things about you, how sharp you are, even if you did go to some Eastern college.”

“Yes, sir, Mayor Starling,” Winston answered.  “And the veranda sounds to be a fine idea.”

“Oh, Winston,” Radnor said,  “Three guys overflew the length of the rail line in an airplane.  They found the missing trains.  Destroyed.  No signs of survivors. The little towns are gone.  Governor wanted a posse to ride and look for people still living.  I said ‘not my jurisdiction’.  Thanks to the legislature, my jurisdiction stops at the Jameson Ranch.    Besides, something killed the two men in the signal tower.  It was locked up, but poison gas would do it.  I’m not riding into poison gas.”

“And I have waiting a pitcher or two of my mint tea,” John Starling said, “cooled overnight. You clearly need it.”

* * * * *

“…so that’s what I found,” Winston Cooper concluded.  He took another swallow of the Mayor’s tea.

“You’ll be writing it all up?” Grandpa Cooper did not make that sound like a question.

“Later,” Winston said.  “I still have three or four stops, detective work, before I get back to the office.”

“Just so it’s today,” Grandpa said, “so your memories are fresh.”

“Yes, sir.  And I appreciate your hospitality, Mayor Starling, but I must be on my way.”

* * * * *

Interesting, she thought.  Is it a random guess, or does know something that I don’t? “I’m sorry, Legate, but I seem to have missed something here,”  she answered.  “The Anglic Union to my knowledge does not register space ships.  Our ships have file entries in All the Galaxy’s Merchant Space Vessels, our entries now    actually being reasonably up to date, but that’s a courtesy to our regular customers, not a registration.”

“If you build a space ship,” Bronkowski said, “you have to register your construction project.  It’s  the law.”

“That’s a very interesting claim,” Broadbent said.  “Could you by some chance reference the Anglic Union Legislative Code section to which it corresponds?  I hadn’t been aware we regulated space ship construction.”  What, she wondered, is he talking about, given that we do not seem to be building spaceships, and why does the Stellar Republic care?

“I am not referring to Anglic Union Law,” Bronkowski said.  “I am referring to True Law as set down by the wealthiest, most progressive, and best-run star nation in the galaxy, namely the Stellar Republic.  Under our laws, before you start to build a starship, you must register your plans and have them approved by Republic inspectors.”

“I still seem to be missing something,” Broadbent said.  “We are in Northern California, a part of the Anglic Union, not someplace in the Stellar Republic.  Why do your laws matter here?”

“Of course, you are in the Anglic Union,” Bronkowski said calmly.  “I actually was aware of that.  However, it is generally the case that space yards in minor nations along our borders willingly and voluntarily agree to participate in our registration process.”

Big Gap Here.

Legate Bronkowski on Building Spaceships

Tara Broadbent leaned  back in her desk chair.  She had had her desk rotated through 180 degrees, so it now faced the coastline looking north, rather than facing her door.  The change also meant she had the sun at her side, not in her face, as it dipped into the Pacific. Today was a dreary late Fall day, with high but dark clouds promising heavy rain in the late evening.  She poked her autobrewer, setting it to making another large cup of tea.

One of the Seldon Legionaires who occasionally guarded her commented on her increased assassination hazard.  She had her back to the door.   He’d been unable to explain why ‘idiot walking up corridor’ was more likely than ‘missile flying through window’, and dropped the matter. 

Her intercom chimed.  “Broadbent here,” she said.

“Ms. Broadbent?” Mable’s voice came through loud and clear.  “There is a call.  Republic Legate Bronkowski.  He wanted to talk to Doctor Chelan, but I told him legal calls all went to you, and you were both on the Governing Committee.”

“Just a moment.”  Tara pushed her desk documents to the rear of the desk, out of line of site of the screen camera.  “Ready.”

Bronkowski’s frowning faceappeared on her vidscreen.  “Legate Bronkowski,” she said.  “How nice to see you again.  I hope the weather in Anglic Center is treating you well?”

“Good morning, counsellor.  The weather is indeed well.  My view is doubtless less attractive than yours. I am calling on official business,” Bronkowski announced.  “On behalf of the Stellar Republic, I must raise with Bulger Space yards certain legal issues.  I expect to speak to Doctor Chelan, not be fobbed off on an assistant.”

“Thank you for confirming that you are calling about legal issues,” Broadbent said.  “A competent staff will undoubtedly have informed you that I am our Senior Legal Officer, so you actually did want to talk to me.” Of course, Tara thought, the likelihood that you have a competent staff is just a bit limited.  “If you had reached Doctor Chelan, whose expertise lies not in the practice of law, he would have passed you to me.”

“Fair enough,” Bronkowksi answered, has facing turning ruddier.  “In any event, it has been called to the attention of the Stellar Republic that Bulger Space yards is preparing to design and build unregistered space ships, which has serious legal consequences.  You need to register what you are going to build.”

Bill Gordon preceded him over the rail bed to the assembled dignitaries.

“Gentlemen, and ladies,” he said, “rails are out for a considerable distance, more than I’d care to walk in this heat, meaning we’re going to have to reroute trains. I’ve got no idea how far south the break is, only that it was further than I could see.”

“I have to get to Phoenix!” The speaker was a tall young woman, wearing the blue jeans and checkered shirt you’d expect of someone who spent most of her day on the back of a horse. Despite a very wide hat, her tan was deep.  A trim figure and well-cared-for tall boots confirmed Gordon’s interpretation of her career through life.

“Humble apologies, ma’am,” Gordon said, tipping his hat as he spoke, “but you can’t take a train where there are no rails, and the rails are simply gone. I’ve seen washouts before, but nothing like this.”

She held up her hands to the sky.  “What the Good Lord provides we must accept.  Someone here can tell me how long it’ll take to get to Phoenix.”

“Ma’am, the railroad will be moving as fast as possible to get you to your destination.”

That, Gordon thought, was the Prescott railmaster, doing something Gordon had almost never seen, namely being meekly polite to a customer.

“There just aren’t a lot of North-South lines, the rail master said apologetically, “I’m afraid it’s through Albuquerque and Tucson or through Los Angeles, and figure a two-day trip each way. That’s the best I can do, sorry.  But we will honor your ticket, whenever you want to go.”

“Thank you, sir. Into each life some rain must fall.” She turned around and walked off.

Winston turned sideways until he was facing his grandfather and the mayor.

“Your Honor, grandpa,” Cooper said, “I have something of a report, but as there may have been some murders I should give it privately.”

“Ongoing criminal investigation,” Grandpa Cooper said.  He glared at the newspaper editor.  “Mike, that means ‘Sheriff Cooper had no comment.’ Off the record, that means we don’t know if people were killed, or if they were struck by lightning, so we’re trying to find out.”