A Shift in Priorities - Sequel

[Dain]

The main drawback of solid fuel is that once it burns, there is no throttling down. It will burn at full blast until the fuel is exhausted. This makes them a liability both for safety reasons as well as useless for any mission profile that is more complicated than 'generate a lot of thrust quickly and in one go'.
And even as launch boosters they are not optimal. Ideally larger spacecraft want to throttle down and back up again during the early phases of ascent to be able to safely and efficiently push through the period of maximum atmospheric stress on the vehicle. A purely solid fuel first stage doesn't have that option.

As the bottom line concluded, this technology is stricly limited to putting payloads into simple orbits... or ballistic trajectories.

 

[Tuna-Fish]

And even as launch boosters they are not optimal. Ideally larger spacecraft want to throttle down and back up again during the early phases of ascent to be able to safely and efficiently push through the period of maximum atmospheric stress on the vehicle. A purely solid fuel first stage doesn't have that option.

Sure it does:

Spoiler: solid rocket thrust profiles

Also, solid rockets can be "turned off" by changing the nozzle configuration into something that does not produce net thrust, or by somehow reducing pressure inside the casing to a point where combustion stops. Most rockets that use SRBs do either or both. A really crude solution is to just blow up the nozzle -- without a nozzle with a throat, most SRBs don't do much in space.

The big downside of SRBs is that everything must be pre-planned perfectly, and if anything unexpected happens, your only option is pretty much to keep following the plan, regardless of if it makes any sense anymore.

The current champion of the "look how solid my propulsion is" cup is LADEE, a probe that went to the moon on top of a 5-stage solid fuel rocket. The cross-section of each stage was fine-tuned to match the requirements, and after the final solid stage was exhausted there was iirc less than 1 m/s of error in the velocity in the rocket.

For any useful satellites, you of course still need some kind of liquid-fueled attitude control system, but those and booster rocket engines are very different beasts. I can see a solid+monopropellant system working as a moon architecture, although the stack would mass a lot more on the pad than cryogenic liquid propellant version.

 

[rast]

Society has no business to permit degenerates to reproduce their kind.
(Theodore Roosevelt)

There was no doubt: she was pregnant. That was slashing, really. But, good grief, she was thirty-eight today. Would it turn out well? Makambo was as proud as he should be. Yet, the bloke was – of course – looking forward to sire more kids. Should she survive childbirth, she was due for the next pregnancy… It was going to kill her, rather sooner than later. Medical care in this country was a joke.

Yeah, it was a big problem indeed. Many women hereabouts were pregnant. But there were no midwives and no gynaecologists. – The expectant mothers were no primitive savages who might manage without medical support; they all had been born and raised in the USA; they needed doctors and nurses… One was heading for a debacle. She had enquired: the survival rate was one in three. Only one third of those women who had already given birth were still alive…

It had been clear from the start that this society was bound to shrink. With – on average – only one woman available for every ten men, shrinkage was inevitable. But with two out of three women not surviving pregnancy and childbirth, extermination was threatening. Something had to be done. Anne Robbins was determined to achieve an improvement.

Queen Vera was pregnant too. However, she had at her disposal the only professional physician found in this godforsaken country. – Big Chief Amagasfano should nevertheless be able to perceive the quandary. One couldn’t plough ahead as hitherto. One had to ask the Germans for help. They were guarding the islands; one ought to be able to contact them.

She had already started to bludgeon Makambo. He was the one to propose to Amagasfano. – The trouble was that Makambo hated Amagasfano. Asking the man for a favour would cause him pain. But it wasn’t a favour; it was a dire necessity…

 

[rast]

The art of government is to make two-thirds of a nation pay all it possibly can pay for the benefit of the other third.
(Voltaire)

Field Marshal Dang Gangjun loved those displays. It had been hard work to train his staff to do them correctly. They had to show the reality, nothing but the reality; sugarcoated information was useless. And it wasn’t his staff alone; all subordinate staffs had had to be taught to stick to strict truth as well. Accurate reporting was essential. – Now, he could review the strength of his forces every morning – and be sure it was the real thing he was looking at.

Yes, it was an impressive array. Men and machines under his command were truly numerous. And the equipment was quite good. Much of it was made in the US – to Dang’s displeasure, but nevertheless of excellent quality. Morale of the troops was outstanding. A pity there was no war pending at the moment… Well, the Russians weren’t forgotten; there still was a score to be settled with them.

Right now, the point was moot anyway. The Great Qing Empire had been ruffled, yet ancient China had survived fairly intact. Běijīng and Shanghai had been rebuilt – to a certain extent. The rest had to be left to private initiative. The outlying provinces in the north were still waste, but they had never been part of the Middle Kingdom of old. There truly was no need for self-deprecating.

One was the Asian hegemon, no ifs, no buts. Hence one ought to perform accordingly. Dang couldn’t abnegate that he felt a certain sympathy for Chiang Zhongzheng. The man had known how to wield China’s power. Kicking out all aliens had been a masterpiece. And the aliens had lumped it. Because Chiang’s power had been obvious to all. – In fact, relative to the population count, Dang’s displays were clearly showing that Chiang’s armed forces had been smaller than his, Dang’s, were today.

But the Little Man from Sichuan was insisting that China should continue to eat humble pie. Dang didn’t like it. It was unnatural. The Middle Kingdom was the centre of the world. Deng’s gibberish about the economy was blatant rubbish. – Should he really tolerate these shenanigans?

 

[rast]

I enter into each planet, and by my energy they stay in orbit. I become the moon and thereby supply the juice of life to all vegetables.
(Bhagavad Gita)

While MARFAK was unswervingly busy chasing its tail, SUS had geared up to stage another spectacular stunt. On June 2nd, 1959, the Brüderchen Bhaee – once again – hoisted the Große Schwester Mā'usa to the upper stratosphere, from where the glider promptly darted into outer space. But Mā'usa’s objective wasn’t Earth’s orbit, it was the Moon. – The Indians had decided to repeat DELAG’s Grand Tour of October 1952, when Egon Zengerle and Hansi Hächer had successfully circled around the Moon.

Piloted by Kiaan Singh Dhillon and Hitesh Ramal Ghosh, Mā'usa left Earth’s orbit on the eighteenth turn and headed for Luna. Of course, Puri Control was guiding every move – however, SUS had managed to instal a zusie, which was precalculating the next move – or at least it ought to do it. Ghosh was the one to struggle with the gadget, while Singh Dhillon was performing as jockey. SUS was utilising the navigation system DELAG had originally developed for the Zengerle-Hächer mission – and subsequently had refined. It had been part of the package the Indian Federation had bought.

Designed for short orbital operations, conveyance of passengers or cargo, the Schwestern did not feature facilities. That was limiting their employability. Already Zengerle and Hächer had suffered from health problems after their flight; sitting in replete nappies for several days was no fun – and due to cause infections. In fact, a short trip to the Moon was considered the ultimate limit for what was feasible with the DELAG system. But the government in Lahore had urged SUS to do something sensational.

 

[rast]

I’ll go anywhere as long as it’s forward.
(David Livingstone)

Hah! These Indians had done it again, had outdone the MARFAK dozy devils– and had scored a nice PR hit. Max Sikuku wasn’t surprised. His ideas how to structure the Middle African space effort had been smiled away – and a bureaucratic monster with two left feet had been created. And it hadn’t even been the lousy socialists, but the grandiose MANaP dudes, his coalition partners, who had done it. – Okay, he had turned away from MARFAK ab initio and produced SIRAB out of thin air, but it was vexing nevertheless to have these Indians cocking a snook at Middle Africa.

Vice Chancellor Gottfried Idodi certainly wasn’t the person to alter anything connected with technology. Nor were the SDPMA functionaries – and their praying partners in government – in general prone to understand the problems at all. No, in their perception MARFAK was the ideal space agency; it offered ample jobs for over-the-hill comrades and other welfare cases. – It was hopeless. He should stop bothering. SIRAB was doing well. The MAX-1 mission had been an outstanding success. But he couldn’t manage Middle Africa’s space effort single-handedly. Building a space-going missile was one thing, setting up an entire space enterprise quite another matter.

Yet, look what the cunning Indians were accomplishing with just a single Dornier Projekt SR aircraft and two space gliders. Their economists must have a feast day every day. – Could SIRAB be morphed into a serious competitor for MARFAK? What did it take to breed kosmonauts? He would have to discuss the issue with Herbert K’nilowe. Two or three kosmonauts would do; one didn’t need a whole bunch of them. And what could be earned in the process? – The technical side was manageable, said the scientists and the engineers. It would take more tests, of course, but a manned mission was feasible within the next two years.

 

[rast]

All progress depends upon the unreasonable person.
(George Bernard Shaw)

At Ras Fartak, Wernher von Braun had noticed the Indian space adventure with indifference. He was quite familiar with the DELAG system and its limitations. So, let the chaps muck around with the stuff; it was about all they could do. – However, in the Ottoman capital, many important people had become excited. OŞU was blowing an elusive clutch of funds – and the rotten Hintliler were stealing its thunder. When was the highly esteemed space agency intending to produce results at long last?

It was Mirliva Şengör Bey whom the high level wrath was hitting in the first instance. The General did not hesitate to share it with Director Ba’Mansur and Doctor Fırıncı. And together, the three had come flying down to Ras Fartak to breathe down von Braun’s neck. – Well, there was nothing to worry about. Gökyüzü Atılgan Üç, Sky Charger Three, was ready; as was the capsule, Göktaşı – the Shooting Star. Training of the kosmonauts was still ongoing, but the lads were basically fit for action – at least the best five or six of them.

So, yes, one could mount a launch, sure. One had two GAÜs here at Ras Fartak. Making one of them ready for launch would take nine days. The Göktaşı, though, had to come in from Sakarya; such a transport usually took seven days. Then, the capsule had to be checked – and checked again. Counting everything up: how about June 29th? Would that be all right?

 

[rast]

Such is the lesson of history. It shows us that all civilizations derive from the white race, that none can exist without its help, and that a society is great and brilliant only so far as it preserves the blood of the noble group that created it, provided that this group itself belongs to the most illustrious branch of our species.
(Arthur de Gobineau)

Since establishment, the DVU had been able to rely on a stable electoral base that regularly bestowed them forty to sixty seats in the Reichstag – and similar results in the state diets of Hesse, Thuringia and Bavaria. They had even risen to 124 Reichstag seats in the March 1949 election. But thereafter, decline had set it. Actually, the party held only four pathetic seats in Berlin, ten in Darmstadt, nine in Gotha and six in Munich.

What was the reason for this decline? Neither the withdrawal of Julius Streicher, the movement’s founder, who had ended in a lunatic asylum, nor the imprisonment of Erich Koch, his successor, had done much harm. No, it was the rise of the star gazers of the AFV that had hurt the party. Why should die-hard xenophobes and racists suddenly vote for these degenerates? Well, it had to be the charisma of Herbert Weller. People were trapped by his charm – and simple folks from rural areas seemed to fall for him a good deal easier than hard-boiled metropolitans.

But now, a palpable change might be achievable. Franz Josef Strauß, a talented young man from Bavaria had become the talking point of the crackerbarrels. He had been minister of war in the Schmidt Government, but had been fired because of a scandal precipitated by Jewish muckrakers. In a knee-jerk action, he had won chairmanship of the Bavarian section – and was now applying for national party leadership. The current chairman, Ferdinand Werner, was aged and infirm – and pretty much a drab pipsqueak.

Strauß had drive and a certain – rugged – charisma. And he had a message: the Jews were the enemies of civilisation; and the Heymshtot was their stronghold. He ought to be able to win voters back – and lead the party to new grandeur. One had nothing to lose; one could only gain.

 

[Ciryatur]

Oh no...

 

[luis3007]

Oh yes, finally some conflict

 

[rast]

Ambition. An overmastering desire to be vilified by enemies while living and made ridiculous by friends when dead.
(Ambrose Bierce)

Okhrana Generál-mayór Ivan Tikhonovich Savchenko was honestly nonplussed – and quite delighted. Who would have thought that a simple political operation should develop into such an outright success? The opportunity had been too auspicious to let it pass. How stupid can you get? Drinking too much in a foreign capital – and getting involved with prossies – simply called for being punished.

It hadn’t been planned, it had just happened. One of the whores was working – as a side job – for the journalist who was Savchenko’s man. The other journalist was only a useful idiot. The slut had called the scribbler. The scribbler had called his agent handler, who in turn had alerted Savchenko. It all had occurred at a push. In the end, the man had been found snoring on a hotel bed.

The agent handler had identified him. No doubt, it was the German minister of war. What a trove! Savchenko had immediately realised the political implications. – But… this was the Heymshtot. And the bloke had got drunk by his own efforts, and had himself invited the whores … It could be done without that the Okhrana’s involvement became apparent.

A half-naked man is found in a backyard. And journalists write about it. – Quite straightforward, no need to report anything up the line… It wasn’t Savchenko’s fault that the Nyemtsi were so fastidious. – And now, the bloke was raging and raving against the Jews and the Heymshtot, shoving the country closer towards Russia. Wasn’t that cute?

And, of course, the radical reform of the German armed forces, which the man had instigated, was now faltering. This was good for Russia. A pity that Savchenko officially had done nothing, so he couldn’t claim the merit. But that was professional risk, wasn’t it? – Well, he still might write a book about it – after retirement.

 

[rast]

I see that it is by no means useless to travel, if a man wants to see something new.
(Jules Verne)

While the Indians were celebrating the safe return of Mā'usa and were crowding the streets of Lahore to cheer Kiaan Singh Dhillon and Hitesh Ramal Ghosh, and at Ras Fartak the preparations for the first Ottoman manned launch were progressing on schedule, MARFAK, motivated by louring threats emanating from Daressalam, was doggedly working to get another manned mission together. But evidently DELAG had delivered shoddy material; despite frantic efforts one was getting nowhere.

At Prerow and Achinsk people were also preparing new launches. Obviously, the impact craters one had chosen for landing sites were pretty much unsuitable for finding water. The hot lava that had filled them after the meteorite had hit could be trusted to have vaporised any water that originally might have been there. Therefore, the next landfalls ought to occur much closer to the crater rims. Perhaps one could strike water in places without lava. It had to be tried.

Director Hans Kammler, though, had already stopped viewing the moon missions favourably. Even if there was water hidden somewhere, it couldn’t be made readily available with current technology. The lunar missions would continue to be launched, of course, but the future should belong to Donars Hammer. Design of the device had advanced considerably. Once it had been built, one could move out and catch an ice meteor. That was an approach much more promising than drilling through lunar rock.

It was the ‘Martian Way’ as described by the author Isaak Ozimov, but it was a splendid idea nevertheless. And it was doable with the technology at hand. One had already moved around the Weizsäcker Suns, one knew what to do. – And with the powerful Hammer the task would become easy-peasy. One had still to work out what should be done with the ice once it had been dropped on the Moon, as the sun was going to melt it pretty soon.

 

[rast]

This season has been full of rewards. The dinners and banquets just keep on coming. It’s great. We want to carry on as long as we can.
(Andrew Jackson)

A strange request had been received. The Kaiserliche Marine had passed it through posthaste, seemingly glad to get rid of it. Hans Kroll, quite nonplussed, had tasked his staff to compile all information pertaining to the issue. It wasn’t much. The Churchill government had imported several thousand – how many precisely one didn’t know – Negroes from Nigeria, and several hundred white women from the US. The blacks had been intended to provide the workforce. The women had been earmarked as spouses for the English sailors. But somehow the arrangement hadn’t worked as Churchill had planned. Blacks and whites had fought it out to the death; the women had been the victor’s prize. – And now, the government of His Majesty, King Amagasfano, was requesting German aid.

Who the heck was King Amagasfano? Nobody knew. There had been a King Gerald; this was the last hard information one had on English royal affairs. Gerald David Lascelles had been an expatriate living in Russia, before he had acceded to the throne. – Amagasfano must be a Nigerian. So, the title was ridiculous by all means; the man was likely to be the big chief of the blacks. But the application was nevertheless lying on Kroll’s desk. They were requesting, urgently requesting, medical support for their pregnant women. – Should one meet their wish? Did one have an interest in preserving this Negro ado in England? Certainly not…

But perhaps one could harness the issue to remove the whole outfit from English soil. Medical help versus repatriation to Nigeria. – Kroll didn’t think the Negroes were going to re-utilise the nuclear weapons scattered all over England. Their threat potential was minimal. And their society was doomed because of the very limited number of women. So, the offer of repatriation should meet acceptance with many blacks. The chiefs, who certainly had secured white women, might resent, but the rank and file could only profit from the offer. – Yes, that should be a sensible approach. Safe the babies and the women, and get the whole pack off your back. And shouldn’t they accept, one would just maintain the blockade – and do nothing…

 

[rast]

There’s no such thing as no chance.
(Henry Ford)

Mexico was doing better than she had dared to hope, Victoria Keller was glad to admit. Yes, millions had perished – but the other half hadn’t. And they kept the nation running. The economy was working, not always hitch-free, but all things considered adequately. There were many people who had been quick to grab the opportunities offered. Many former emigrants to the US were coming back, sensing the better chances to be available hereabouts. – It was, to a large extent, due to President Lázaro Cárdenas. The old fox knew how to make people work together – for his ends.

The US was busy elsewhere. This was a boon for Cárdenas, because he could proceed at will – without having the overly powerful neighbour interfering. Only an elusive group of businessmen from Texas was still looking towards Mexico – and, hard to believe, the president had managed to garner them as investors. It was a nice bonus, but not an essential. One was not trying to resettle the depopulated areas. Only chosen points were manned. That, already, was taxing the manpower reserves. Yet, the system was performing. The cities were kept supplied – and the countryside was getting by.

Those parts of the country not hit by the plague had remained fully intact – in principle. And – as experience was showing – they could spare quite a good percentage of their population, who then could go south and operate the chosen infrastructure – the transport system, mines, and certain plantations. Mexico had been self-sufficient as far as foodstuffs were concerned – and that hadn’t changed. One still had to export natural resources in order to earn the money required for importing sophisticated stuff.

Victoria was currently working in the transportation branch. Keeping roads and rails open was quite a challenge. But it was the prerequisite for everything else. Those manning the outposts had to rotate in and out unimpeded. This was important. They were operating in shifts – a fortnight in, a week out. And the natural resources had to be conveyed to the ports. As nature was allowed to take over vast stretches of the country, it was trying to overrun the lines of communication as well. One needed efficient machinery – and herbicides. And the president was not allowing Korean budget stuff in; he was insisting that one had to buy in the US.

That was goofy. The US producers were busy head over ears to supply the domestic emergency zones: former East Canada, the Caribbean, and the Midwest. They simply were not capable of satisfying the Mexican demand – at least not now – and not tomorrow. – The Koreans were offering wonderful machinery. They had gained much expertise when fixing the situation in their – or rather the Japanese – nuclear sites. Victoria was just preparing a new motion to convince the president. But the man was pigheaded. It was going to be a tough session…

 

[rast]

You can remember a single deluge only, but there were many previous ones.
(Plato)

Little Ice Age, yes, another one obviously, Fritz Loewe was auguring. It was evident now. The data were unambiguous: the Baffin–Barren–Grounds–Glacier was growing. The growth was slow, but it was growth nevertheless. It was an interesting phenomenon. – One knew that glaciations had occurred in Europe and North America at about the same time. Yet, had they really been parallel? Or could they have been separate events happening at the same time? The European ice had originated from the glaciers of Scandinavia and Novaya Zemlya, while the American ice had come from Greenland and the Cordilleras.

So, could Greenland alone start a glaciation, after the European glaciers had been removed by the Weizsäcker Sun? Or would BBGG cause the Cordilleras to ice up too? That had to be investigated. – Anyway, BBGG was due to influence weather in North America. It was going to become colder – by one or two degrees Celsius on average, but much colder on the Great Plains, that vast blizzard avenue. However, would there be more moisture? Then the glacier should continue growing. Or would the weather turn dry? – Fascinating questions… Loewe was grateful to be living right now. Scrutinising this phenomenon was going to become a windfall for climatology.

It was good that Greenland belonged to Denmark. Hence, one could observe everything from close quarter. The KWI Met had been allowed to set up a research base at Godthåb. Preparations were well under way. Danish colleagues were going to join the team. – The Greenland ice had stopped growing after it had created BBGG. So, had precipitation wandered westwards? – There would be no ice advance within the next hundred or two hundred years, this was clear. BBGG was still too small for that. It had to grow considerably to march the ice tongues off.

Loewe was determined to find out which mechanism was feeding BBGG. That was the crucial question. One knew that the ice had been there – during the last four glacial periods of the past. But one had no idea which process had fed the glaciers. Cold stage wasn’t ice age by default. During the last glacial period, it had taken several thousand years, until the ice had started marching. During that time, the ice shields had continually grown, one believed. And finally, they, by then up to three kilometres thick, had started pushing forward the ice tongues.

The current phenomenon was too small to go global. It could only influence the weather in North America – and even there, people on the West Coast and on the coast of the Caribbean might not even notice the difference – at least for many, many years.

 

[rast]

The telephone will be used to inform people that a telegram has been sent.
(Alexander Graham Bell)

His application had been approved. They had even promoted him. He was a captain now – and had been transferred to Project Donars Hammer. Only that they hadn’t told him what the Hammer was… Wow! He knew now. He was earmarked as jockey of the test model – or rather models, should he survive the first ride. – In principle, the task was simple: scoot up and stay alive. Once in orbit, he would be recovered by a conventional craft. Acceleration would be tough, but short.

The gadget didn’t exist yet – or rather as scale drawing only. That was good. And he had an option for piloting the real Hammer, if still alive. – There would be unmanned test shots, of course, before he had to grab the helm. So, his chances weren’t all bad – only minimal… Jochen Zeislitz was nevertheless in good heart. He clearly could see that the new system was the future. One really could cruise through the solar system, if it worked… To Mars in a fortnight. That would be cool.

He might see Saturn in his lifetime – and come home for Christmas. He would, however, only be the pilot, not the captain of the Hammer. The exact crew number hadn’t been fixed yet. But there would be a real captain – or colonel for non-navy types – and a first officer, a navigator, pilots, and the machine room crew, plus the scientists. – The Hammer was going to be huge. Yeah, it was to be a real spaceship, not a small tin can. – Jochen was wondering how the sound would be. One certainly was due to hear the explosions, when they were pounding the baffle slab…

 

[rast]

The army, as usual, is without pay; and a great part of the soldiery without shirts; and though the patience of them is equally threadbare, the states seem perfectly indifferent to their cries.
(George Washington)

Like all of Cuba, Guantanamo Bay Naval Base had been overrun by the plague – or rather by Cubans fleeing from the plague while carrying it along. There had been fighting, bitter fighting without pardon – and without purpose, as the ships had been at sea. The victorious Cubans had made havoc of the installations. Thereafter, nature had started to repurpose the infrastructure.

Nevertheless, the US Navy had decided to reutilise the facilities. The bay, the port infrastructure and the airfield were still perfectly useable. All buildings required… well, forget the buildings; one could do with tents and shags. The garrison wasn’t numerous, just sufficient to operate the airfield and a small repair facility for naval vessels. The main type of use was transfer of crews. The replacements came flying in; the relieved were flown out. It was a lonely outpost.

There was nobody. Cuba was desolate; the sea was empty. Some braves had ventured to visit nearby Santiago de Cuba in their leisure time. They had quickly come back. No nice place… It was a dreary post indeed. Even the relieved were not celebrating; they were on edge to mount the plane and get off. And the replacement crews were arriving sluggish and disgruntled; they might get drunk though – but wouldn’t turn merry…

Such a crew was about to depart with the destroyer USS Stevens. Four months of pointless cruising in the empty Caribbean lay before them. The bloody Venezuelans on Jamaica were doing whatever bloody Venezuelans might do on a depopulated and devastated island. One couldn’t see them; there were no ships, no planes, no nothing. Were they there at all? – Most probably. There was radio traffic. They were talking with the homeland, mayhap complaining about their dull mission…

If one was lucky, one might detect one of the ghost subs. These were ex-German boats manned by Middle Africans. The bloody Venezuelans had formed a foreign legion for guarding the ABC Islands. The only foreign country contributing men was Middle Africa. These subs were extremely difficult to detect, but it could be done if one was acting skilfully. It was a popular sport, even if the majority of the crew couldn’t participate in it, – and the only detraction available.

 

[rast]

Dirt is not dirty, but only something in the wrong place.
(Viscount Palmerstone)

The final victory of Emilio Aguinaldo’s party was perhaps good for the Philippines, but not for Captain Haikā Nobutoshi. Who might hire his services now? Who was in need of a humble tramp freighter to smuggle his stuff past the bogeyman? There was no other conflict smouldering in the region. A pity…

The Banda States, this agglomeration of microstates wilfully created by the Dutch, were generally too weak to pick a quarrel. They were underdeveloped backwaters inhabited by happy ignorant people. – Singapore perhaps? They had recently been annexed by Siam, hardly a reason to be pleased. – The Sultanate of Sumatra? They were perpetually complaining to be tamped down by the infidels ruling Siam and India.

But no, these were no armed conflicts – and they had more than enough ships of their own. – The Kame Kiiro was too small to travel far or carry much. The chaebōl were doing shady business with people in Central America; people who shouldn’t be where they were – and who had an ardent interest to arm themselves. But that was beyond his vessel’s range. A pity…

What about the Chinese, his employers of old? They had stopped supplying Aguinaldo’s enemies already before the final offensive, because they couldn’t spare the effort – or had lost confidence – or didn’t need the Philippine resources any longer… Haikā didn’t know exactly. But the American helpers had withdrawn from China; they had to manage all transports with their own means now.

This circumstance might offer something to earn. Could he afford sailing to Guangzhou? Yes, just about. It would mean performing low profit coastal transport. Well, half a loaf was better than none… The Aguinaldo government didn’t need his services any more. He was free to move. Okay then, it had to be tried.

 

[rast]

To arrive at the simplest truth requires years of contemplation.
(Isaac Newton)

Curse the rain! It was cold, even in summer; unlike at home, where it was warm all year through. You could catch a cold from it – and die. Ohawadi Anuforo was crouching below a road bridge and waiting for the precipitation to stop. It was raining quite often hereabouts; and the vegetation looked like it. You could see how it undertook to overgrow the legacy of man. It would take many more years until everything was covered, but the fringes had already started to move forward.

It was – Year Three after the Plague, right? And the second year since he had come here… Moving around wasn’t hazard-free, but quite possible, if one was acting with circumspection. He had discarded his bicycle long since; it was too fast to be a safe means of transport. Walking slowly – and listening carefully – was essential. The dog packs – well, they had turned into true wolf packs – had become fewer and shyer. They were now preying on wild animals – and were not accustomed to meet humans at all.

Ohawadi had run into such a pack recently – by happenstance. They hadn’t attacked him – and both sides had eventually retreated in opposite directions. Nevertheless, he wasn’t keen to repeat the experience. The next pack might actually be hungry… What he hadn’t found yet were humans. Finding them had been the reason he had left his tribe in the south. – But he had come upon traces! Three abandoned fireplaces, excrement… There had to be someone around.

Immunes! Baneful Englishmen! Or, hopefully, an immune English maiden… He was carrying two doses of the antidote. To extricate his desired lady from the pest. – The rain had stopped. Time to move on. He wasn’t using the paved roads – or the railway lines, but was cautiously moving cross country. He had to remain covered – invisible, so to say. A ghost casting for ghosts…

A bird! Alarmed, but not by him. Too far away… – Ohawadi dissolved into the shadows. About three hours until nightfall… Slowly, he was edging forward. Was there something? Someone? – But nothing seemed to be coming his way. There had to be a track, though, which he had to identify – and to trace… Was this the direction the bird-call had come from? Yeah, pretty much. And there were treadmarks in the wet grass. – Bingo!

 

[rast]

Today every invention is received with a cry of triumph which soon turns into a cry of fear.
(Bertolt Brecht)

Designing the nukes for Donars Hammer was another exercise in miniaturisation. It wasn’t a new approach entirely; one had done it already for the artillery. But this time, the yield had to be smaller still. The gunners had been happy with results between 2.5 and 15 KT; the spacers wanted 0.2 KT. – It was doable, of course. Heinz Maier-Leibnitz had supervised the calculations. The spacers were ready to accept the size developed for the gunners: 149 mm in diameter – and a length of maximal 450 mm.

In fact, the gunnery method was extremely useful, thought the spacers. An automatic rapid fire gun would dart the nukes beyond the pusher plate where they were due to explode. One nuke per second was considered the standard rate of fire during liftoff. In space, the rate could be considerably lower. Maier-Leibnitz couldn’t yet see how the spacers intended to steer their craft. Well, it wasn’t his problem. His department was responsible for designing the nukes, not for manoeuvring the device.

A test series had to be made ready with highest priority. Siemens-Schuckert would do the actual construction. Maier-Leibnitz was in perpetual contact with them. There was going to be an initial unmanned vehicle, a simple one-shot version. Once this trial design had been evaluated, a manned vehicle was to be tested. That was going to be the tricky part. The gadget had to be slow, as no kosmonaut could possibly survive the acceleration possible with nuclear pulse propulsion.

That was why the spacers wanted 0.2 KT. Maier-Leibnitz understood that the manned test vehicle would be huge indeed, almost as large as the real thing – only that the crew would consist of one man only. And the missile only had to move upwards, manoeuvring was not required. However, the nukes his team was due to develop were going to serve for all purposes. They would be little technical marvels. Good that shaped charge technology had already been miniaturised for the artillery models. Hence, one would have no problems meeting the deadline.