A Shift in Priorities - Sequel

Dain

That's quite ambitious considering that they have precious little long-term space travel experience. Kinda like hoping to design an ocean liner right after constructing your first boat.
They're never going to get the funding for that dream.
 

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Available energy is the main object at stake in the struggle for existence and evolution of the world.
(Ludwig Boltzmann)

Kindergarten! thought Jochen Zeislitz. One was back to Kindergarten. Okay, it wasn’t wrong to practise with intensity. But had it really been necessary to replace all pilots? He was the only one left from the Mars crew. All his co-pilots and all the lander crews were newbies. Hence, one was training come hell or high water. It was demanding – physically and mentally.

And at the same time, one had construction teams on board. An astronomical observatory was being installed, while he was flying training manoeuvres with his pupils. The Admiral – still the same Carl Emmermann, thank goodness – said it couldn’t be avoided. The observatory had been ordered immediately after return from Mars. But designing and building it took some time. One should be glad it had become available before departure…

Anyway, St. Nick’s Day was still up as scheduled time of departure. And the newbies were only new to the Hammer, not to space. – There were, however, no girls among them. The crew for Jupiter would be all male. The navy folks had prevailed this time, obviously. For the weekend trip to Mars, women had been acceptable – just about. But for a serious space voyage, one was better off without females.

Jochen knew he wouldn’t come back to Prerow before mission start. That was all right for him. Perhaps he could snatch a trip to Mondstadt, when the lander crews were exercising landing manoeuvres. The Jupiter system with its twelve moons would require quite of lot of flexibility in that respect. Ganymede was huge, only slightly smaller than Mars.
 

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Politicians are not born; they are excreted.
(Marcus Tullius Cicero)

Yep, the socialists were again coupling with the bigots. Emil Muramba was due to run for chancellor once more, with Dietrich Kilduna of the BMC as vice-chancellor and foreign minister. Okay, another preacher to lull foreign diplomatists into subeth. It wouldn’t do much damage. Middle African foreign relations had proven to be pretty much stable – and not prone to sudden convulsions.

No, the real sensation was Seppel Mobutu: minister of the interior! That was quite a career for a plain MARB workman, even though the fellow certainly had gathered longstanding practise as labour union mandarin. Max Sikuku was aghast. The SDPMA was the party of the workers, sure. But a genuine worker in control of the interior? Was that wise?

Well, there was no overarching police force in Middle Africa. The police was controlled by the regions. Mobutu would only have the Staatsschutz, the civilian counterespionage service, under his thumb. That wasn’t much. – Had the bloke, said to be the coming man of the socialists, been fobbed off with a petty position? Or what was going on there?

One could find out, on occasion. The parliament was a gossipy place. Max had always taken care to entertain good relations with his fellow deputies – and their staffs. Quite in passing – and kidding – one could collect a lot of information. Perhaps he would undeck something useful…
 

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Success is 90 % perspiration and 10 % inspiration.
(Thomas A. Edison)

Final sprint, mused Helga von Tschirschwitz, while watching the Raumbus approach the Hammer. The starship looked like a shark accompanied by a tight swarm of cleaner wrasses. Yeah, boarding the big beast was an awkward procedure, quite a proof that only trained kosmonauts should be sent up – and not politicians, journalists and other ilk…

Of course, Helga had taken – or rather been ceded – a seat in the cabin. The steward was attending the passengers in the rear anyway. Those passengers were her camera team and a bunch of technicians. The latter were to install an additional set of antennas.

Indeed, communication would be a problem – between Prerow and the Hammer. The distances were going to be enormous. It was not really a problem for the Hammer to address Raumkolonie and thus Prerow. They always would know where to find Earth – and they had ample energy at their disposal.

But the other way round, it would be difficult. Raumkolonie’s energy was limited – although its solar panels were being enhanced substantially right at the moment. It had been decided that the Hammer – after completion of the Jupiter trip – would be parked alongside Raumkolonie, so that its reactor could permanently supply energy to the station.

It was believed that the starship – at that point in time – would be too contaminated to allow permanent occupation any longer. Yet, its reactor still could be put to good use. But that was pie in the sky. Right now, Raumkolonie had to cope with solar panels and voltaic cells.

The Raumbus had finished decelerating. It was floating alongside the Hammer now. “All right, gentlemen, thank you for your hospitality. I’ll join the crowd now. See you tomorrow.” The pilots muttered some civilities. Helga climbed into the passenger room. Suit priming had already started.

The steward beckoned her to his side – and checked her suit. No big business, she never had taken off helmet or gloves. She was an old hand – quite accustomed to travelling like that. Okay, ready for deflation…
 

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Everyone who wants to know what will happen ought to examine what has happened; everything in this world in any epoch has their replicas in antiquity.
(Niccolò Machiavelli)

It looked as if the Russians were focussing on the Kazakh Republic. The game plan ought to be simple: excite the Russian minority to rebellion, then support them in the ensuing civil war. – Josef Dembitzer thought it was a test. They were trying to find out how far they could go. The Kazakh Republic was weak, that was no secret. What would their protecting power, the Ottoman Empire, do?

Yeah, do not bother the creepy Germans and their precious COMECON chicken-run, leave the mean Chinese alone, zero in on the weakest neighbour. The Rodinyadniki had promised their voters the world; now, they were in a quandary – the world was not inclined to fulfil their wishes. A success – even a small one – was urgently needed.

Well, the Ottomans certainly would not sit idle. The pattern was not new. In the Great War, the Russians had tried to instrumentalise the Christian Armenian subjects of the Sultan – and the Ottomans had done the same with the Muslim subjects of the Tsar. For many Armenians, this had ended fatally. – Today, there were almost eight million Muslims living inside the Russian borders – compared to 2.5 million ethnic Russians dwelling in the Kazakh Republic.

The war for Uyghur independence had shown how skilled the Pan-Turans were – or had been? – in conjuring up guerrilla bands and other unpleasant occurrences. Therefore, the Russians might ask for more trouble than they were ready to take. – Would the Sublime Porte be rash to resort to nuclear means? Dembitzer and his staff weren’t sure. One didn’t have much information on their current doctrine.

But one certainly was going to find out…
 

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It is easy to discover what another has discovered before.
(Christopher Columbus)

Coming home third was nothing to crave for. But OŞU didn’t have the option to be anything but third. Beating the Germans or Russians was off the cards. One could, however, take pride in being the first of those who followed after RRA and NASA. – Mare Tranquillitatis had been chosen for the first manned landing of the Ottoman Space Service on the moon.

The mission was Haberci-18. The Uzaylılar were Binbaşı Adem Ustacı, Yüsbaşı Recep Kalfalık, and Mülazımler-ı Sani Enver Çiftçi, Berkan Celil, and Ercan Göktürk. Of these, Kalfalık had the unthankful task of remaining inside the Haberci, while the four others travelled to the lunar surface with the Kedi lander.

It was Wednesday, November 21st, 1962. The landing occurred without problems. Ustacı was the first to step on the lunar surface. Unfortunately, he had forgotten his text – because of the pent-up tension. But he knew he had to say something. And so Binbaşı Adem Ustacı took possession of the Moon at the behest of the Ottoman Empire.
 

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Politics is not a science, as the professors are apt to suppose. It is an art.
(Otto von Bismarck)

Major Ustacı’s declaration didn’t provoke forceful responses from Germany and Russia. One had scrutinised the situation long ago. Without feet permanently on the ground, any such declaration was null and void. Germany and Russia might indeed claim the territory on which their respective lunar settlements were located. But no one could claim possession of the Moon as a whole – or any other extraterrestrial body.

Hence, explanatory statements were issued to the media – but no fierce protests launched via the diplomatic channels. The gutter press in both countries tried, of course, to raise fuss, but the subject would not incite the masses. Not even the Rodinyadniki and the Deutsch-Völkischen considered it worthwhile. That Ustacı had only produced hot air was too obvious to all.

In ĺstanbul, however, the declaration, though delivered unintentionally, was well received. The binbaşı had shown pluck – and had done the right thing – once he couldn’t remember his text. One had to establish Ay Şehri – Moon Burgh – as fast as possible. When this had been accomplished, nobody would dare to ridicule legitimate Ottoman colonisation. Going for NPP was fine and dandy, but one mustn’t neglect getting a fat piece of the lunar pie. Pertaining orders were immediately sent to Ras Fartak.
 

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We must look for consistency. Where there is a want of it we must suspect deception.
(Arthur Conan Doyle)

Attentively, Mirliva Zaghros watched the visitor enter and approach. A midsize blonde woman in her late thirties – or perhaps early forties, well-rounded, expensively dressed – and heavily made-up. The jewellery worn looked positively high-class, yet was far too exuberant to appear subtle.
“Merhaba. Be seated, please.”
“Yes, Bayan Paşa.”
The voice sounded clear and affable. The perfume, however, was heavy. Was there alcohol in the scent? Yes, and it wasn’t cologne...

Indeed, a respectable madam, at first look. The dossier, though, told of a wild life. For years on end, the woman had worked for the Istihbarat – out of self-defence, because the Okhrana had been chasing after her. Yeah, she had been on Moscow’s hit list – for an unsavoury love affair with the Tsarevich… Love affairs had been legion in her life. But only those with other women seemed to have been true ones. – Eventually, one had removed her to a safe place – on Kıbrıs.

But now, one needed her again. The situation in the Kazakh Republic was tense. And being a native Russian, the lady could be put to good use. The mirliva waited until an orderly had served tea before addressing the woman.
“I take it you have been briefed on the situation in the KR. The Vezir-i-Azam has decided to send help. I’ve been tasked to direct the secret service portion of this aid package. And I’ve been alerted to your special abilities…”
The woman giggled.

“Even the fiercest terrorist usually has a wife – or at least a girl friend, who is as gossipy as any other woman. I want you to work this aspect. You’ll have a squad of girls under your command – and be part of my outfit. We’ll be based in Qarağandi, but will, of course, work all over the country. You’ll be given the temporary rank of Yüzbaşı. We’ll travel the day after tomorrow. Any questions?”
 

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Never underestimate the incompetence of government.
(James Cook)

A training trip to Venus! Jochen Zeislitz was abuzz. The Morning Star was at inferior conjunction. The distance was only 41 million kilometres – or rather had been, yesterday, November 12th. It was a weekend trip indeed. – One still had construction teams on board. The Admiral said it didn’t matter; the Kaiserliche Marine was doing that on a regular basis. – The question was: should one land? Or at least send a team into the atmosphere? After all, the Russians had already been in orbit around the planet.

It was an excellent opportunity to examine his co-pilots, Werner Aßmann and Fritz Meyer, although one wouldn’t even attain maximum speed. It was just about accelerating and decelerating – and manoeuvring for orbit. But it was the real thing, better than any simulation. – The ultimate challenge, however, would be sending a lander – or all of them – below the clouds. It was possible; the dinghies had been constructed for operations in the Jupiter System. If they could land on Ganymede or Callisto, they should also be able to touch down on Venus.

Fritz was just in train of swinging the bus into close orbit, when the veto arrived. The government did not allow any landing operations on Venus. The landing craft must not enter the atmosphere. – Now, look at those spoil sports! What did they think was going to happen in the Jupiter System? Life practice was the best preparation for it. True, it was risky, a little bit. But who had mastered Venus would also be able to cope with Ganymede or Europa. After all, the four large Jupiter moons were believed to have atmospheres.

Okay, Venus was hot – and they were cold, very cold most probably. But spacecraft were designed to withstand both, heat and ultimate chilliness. – But the Admiral was adamant. The government’s order would be obeyed. – Hence, one could gape at the cloud covered planet, that pearly enigma – and guess what might be below the cloud cover. Not even exploratory sondes were on board. They hadn’t been delivered yet. A terrible pity…
 

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The reasonable man adapts himself to the world; the unreasonable one persists to adapt the world to himself. Therefore all progress depends on the unreasonable man.
(George Bernard Shaw)

Hans Kammler was hopping mad. Godawful government was infringing on his prerogatives. Krosigk and his old boys’ club had – to cap it all – activated their senile stubbornness – and were exercising the who-pays-the-piper game. The ban on landing on Venus had been aimed at him, to drive home who was calling the tune.

The buggers were controlling the money anyway. That provided them ample opportunity to influence things. Why then were they insisting to micro-manage affairs? – Was Strauß on their tails? The DVP was attacking on several fronts at the same time. Gmeinwieser, Kornbichler and Steinle had been killed because the Krosigk government had rushed the Hammer to Mars – prematurely – in order to influence the national election.

That wasn’t entirely incorrect, but was of course resolutely denied by the government. However, Strauß was also complaining that they had no concept at all. The Hammer was a freak that could land nowhere. It couldn’t support colonisation of the Moon – and the journeys to Mars and Jupiter were pure propaganda without any scientific use.

Well, evaluation of the data gathered on Mars was going to take years; and there was almost no hope for any epochal discoveries. – But Strauß didn’t stop there. He was accusing the government to squander precious taxpayer money for cheap stunts. There was no overarching concept for colonising space and for spreading Deutschtum to the planets.

The problem was that Strauß was right in many points. The Krosigk team had been pushed into the defensive – and was reacting nervously. This didn’t bode well for the journey to Jupiter. Perhaps he should arrange some secret signals to be exchanged between him and Emmermann in case of emergency. A communications breakdown could easily cancel the government’s options to interfere…
 

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Change is the only constant in life. One’s ability to adapt to those changes will determine your success in life.
(Benjamin Franklin)

He was Wukr el-Shabazz now, a humble worker at Kayi on the Nahr As-sinigȃl, the Senegal River. And he had converted to Islam. – Escaping from WAU custody had been quite an adventure. These people, however, hadn’t known that he was a champion in getting away. They had put him through the mill – and then had decided to extradite him to Venezuela. Their big boss once had been president over there; hence, they were entertaining close relations with that country.

Well, the Venezuelans would put him into a work camp again – for the rest of his life. That was not desirable at all. But because he hadn’t been accused of any crimes committed in the WAU, his detention had been rather mild. Bolting had been a cinch. – Where to go to? Portuguese Guinea or Ala Ka Kuma? The Portuguese were evil colonialists, suppressing and exploiting the natives.

Therefore, he had headed for Ala Ka Kuma, the land of the free. Yeah, they would not ask silly questions – if he was a true believer. Conversion was easy; you just did it. Of course he had to start unobtrusively. So, he was now toiling as an ore miner. It was drudgery – and dangerous, but better paid than farming or track working. He intended to accumulate some cash – and then move on – to Bamako or Dakar.

A new life was waiting for him. Wukr el-Shabazz was going to become a famous… well, teacher or something like that.
 

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It is a strange fact, characteristic of the incomplete state of our current knowledge, that totally opposite conclusions are drawn about prehistoric conditions on Earth, depending on whether the problem is approached from the biological or the geophysical viewpoint.
(Alfred Wegener)

The respectable colleague McCormick from Memphis, Tennessee, in the United States, had submitted an immensely interesting article to the Zeitschrift der Deutschen Gesellschaft für Geowissenschaften – German Journal of Geology. His observations and data about climate change in North America were sensational indeed. But an error had slipped in nevertheless: McCormick assumed the growing of trees was a sign indicating a warm stage.

Well, it wasn’t. Trees were growing whenever the summers were warm enough. Therefore, trees would also grow in a cooling climate. One had to observe which kinds of trees were growing where. But generally, the growth of trees was predictable until true subarctic conditions prevailed. Below a median air temperature of 6° Celsius during the growth period – the warm half-year – no trees could grow.

That meant McCormick’s observation of a general cooling down wasn’t contradicted by trees growing in the US Midwest. They were growing, as McCormick had explained, because no farmers and no grazers were preventing their growth – and not because the climate in that area was getting warmer. No, McCormick’s data were conclusive: a cold phase, perhaps even a new cold stage, was drawing near.

Hermann Wölken had already written a letter to McCormick, congratulating him for his outstanding work – and expounding the tree issue. He had also proposed to attribute the lack of climate change along the US East Coast to the still steady Gulf Stream. – Yes, indeed, a new cold stage seemed to be forming. That was exiting. One could observe it – and record everything.

It was established that the Laurentide Ice Shield had contained about sixty percent of the ice mass of the last ice age, the Weichselian – or Wisconsinan. That stipulated that North America should take the lead also in a new cold stage. The question was just: how long was it going to take? Would one see radical change during one’s own lifetime? Or would it be a slow process, taking many centuries?
 
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Everything comes to those who hustle while they wait.
(Thomas Alva Edison)

Delivery time! One could see why the Hammer was a phase-out model. Launching all those shuttles and space busses that were swarming around the big whopper must cost a fortune indeed. Well, what the heck! The supplies rolling in were all needed for the grand journey. It was hard work though. There were no dockers; the crew had to receive and store away the stuff.

Jochen Zeislitz, as a pilot, wasn’t required in his primary function at present. And as an experienced kosmonaut, he was ideally suited for EVA work. Receiving the goods was a dangerous job. You could get killed. But it was less tiring than dragging off the clobber and shelving it. He was taking turns with Werner Aßmann and Fritz Meyer, his co-pilots.

The two were ready for action; he had taught them everything he could convey. – The observatory was installed. Captain Frerichs, the chief navigator, said it was okay; not quite what the Feuerdrache was bound to get, but it would do. – The chief engineering officer, Captain Patock, was only shrugging his shoulders. He and his folks had the reactor and the gun ready; the voyage could commence…

Yeah, one more week. Six more days of grafting – and one day of preparation. One would – as a matter of fact – start on Saint Nick’s Day, December 6th, 1962. If the old geezers in the Wilhelmstraße didn’t change their mind in the last minute. But departure had already been announced officially. And Helga said public opinion was almost one hundred percent in favour of the enterprise.
 

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I shall always consider the best guesser the best prophet.
(Marcus Tullius Cicero)

These space travelling Germans are a horrible lot, mused Isaak Yudovich Ozimov. They fly to Mars – only to destroy mystery, kill all stories and legends, and ruin the genre. Now, they are about to do the same with Jupiter and – en passant – the asteroid belt. If that is progress, it’s pretty much disenchanting. They are so utterly unromantic. Even this appalling accident, the death of three kosmonauts, had nothing that could make a good story.

Okay, one had to admit that – almost certainly – Earth was the only body bearing life in this planetary system. All those countless stories about Martians – and Venusians – had been unmasked as twaddle. Man was alone. – Was there life in other sun systems? Intelligent life moreover? There should be, somewhere… But spinning stories about it was becoming increasingly difficult.

The Germans – and well, yes, the Russians – were shooting down the fantastic element. What remained was craftsmanship and profane science. The Hammer was just an incredible powerful machine, a crude but effective instrument – driven by violent nuclear explosions. There was no gracefulness in it. And Russia’s Indrik Zver was just copying that strong-arm approach.

So, what should one weave stories about? Violence in space? Was a space war probable at all? Not now, and not in any foreseeable time… – Or nuclear showdown on Earth? That was a conceivable threat. It might happen, any time – and even by accident. But it would be a mirthless tale. – Hope was what was required. Speculation was creating interest. Just flying thither and having a look was too unsubtle…

Russian readers – who were the foremost buyers of his stories – loved mystery with solid scientific backdrop. And, of course, Russians had to be the heroes. – Signals from outer space? Would that work? Or rather time travel?
 

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Few people realise the immensity of vacancy in which the dust of the material universe swims.
(H. G. Wells)

Good grief, another speech… Reichskanzler Johann Ludwig von Krosigk was once more excelling in the art of lulling everybody and his dog to sleep. At least, this time, the crew were completely equipped with earphones which also served as noise insulation. Jochen Zeislitz wouldn’t bet who really was listening. The Admiral obviously – and quite ostensively – was.

The Hammer was alone. The fleet of space busses and transporters had disappeared. And one had manoeuvred away from Raumkolonie – a little bit, using the chemical correction jets. But not too far, as Helga’s camera team lodging over there had to be able to film the Hammer’s departure.

From the corner of his eye, Jochen saw the Admiral move. Hastily, he turned his earphones to loud. Yeah, station checkback… “Ready, Sir!” he croaked, just in time. The check went on. Then, countdown followed. All right: ignition! Boom! Boom-boom-boom! The whopper was moving. Laggardly, like a steamroller. But accelerating nicely under the impacts. – Jupiter, look out! We’re coming!
 
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You don’t know what you don’t know.
(Socrates)

It couldn’t be denied, scientific progress was centred on Germany and Russia. One was cut off, was only copying what the KWI and the Russian Academy of Sciences were concocting. Yes, one was a nuclear power. Yes, one was producing modern technology. But one was lagging behind. That was unacceptable. – Throughout history, the Middle Kingdom had been the world’s foremost power.

Only in the last century had the western powers, Britain in the lead, outperformed the Great Qing. That had been an effect of the so-called Industrial Revolution, undoubtedly an achievement that had outclassed traditional Chinese ways of dealing with technical progress. However, this mustn’t be allowed to become an entrenched habit.

China had the potential of outmatching the foreigners. The figures were unambiguous. Chinese pupils were beating comparable American students in general intelligence, mathematic aptitude and technical understanding. Thanks to the treaty of friendship with the US, such surveys had become possible. His university had conducted several of them.

America, the US, was an amalgam of Brits and continental Europeans, hence those people who had profited from the Industrial Revolution – and had subjugated the world. Therefore, the figures should also be valid in comparison with contemporary Germans and Russians.

The margin wasn’t large, but measurable. It ought to suffice. Even after the Far East War and Fēilóng, the Middle Kingdom had far more people – and thus children – than Russia and Germany together. – The Little Man from Sichuan didn’t know anything about this yet.

The chap had been educated by German socialists. His world view was half-European. One had to show him the significant achievements of the Middle Kingdom in the past – and the potential to excel in future. Máo Zédōng had the dossiers ready – and an appointment in Nánjīng..
 

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Don’t underestimate the value of doing nothing.
(A. A. Milne)

For a major city in a Muslim country, Qarağandi wasn’t half bad. Sure, there was no accounting for taste – and the Kazakh part certainly was… well, overblown. But the Russian boroughs were quite modern – and really exemplary as working class neighbourhoods. Nevertheless, agitation and discontent were rampant among the ethnic Russians. Lera Bobkova was still in the process of gathering first impressions and facts.

Her agenda made her a poor Russian woman from the Emirate of Bokhara. She had fled suppression down there – and was hoping to earn a rail ticket to Omsk – or Chelyabinsk. A working-class family had taken her in. Misha and Lena and their kids Pavel, Boris and Katya were kind people – to a fellow Russian, but hating the Kazakhs from the bottom of their hearts.

This was an ideal environment for infiltrating the Russian underground. There were meetings – at irregular times – which Misha and Lena – or one of them – were attending. And there were names murmured in the kitchen. Lera wasn’t pushing. She had found a job as charwoman. That enabled her to stay in contact with Mirliva Zaghros and her outfit.

She wasn’t earning much; it would take many weeks to accumulate the money for a rail ticket. Until then, she should know the ways of the insurgents. – Was there a threat that the rebellion might strike out during that period, the Mirliva had asked her. Who could tell? Well, time would tell…
 
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