whose name he knew from the scientific literature, and the professor in Florida had commented on favorably. The result had been a place with Wade’s obscure group at Berkeley. True, the work involved a relatively unexplored fringe quantum effect without much promise in the way of immediate tangible return — which was precisely the reason it was unexplored — not the center of mainstream Heim physics that Shearer had dreamed of; but in the way that mattered to him he was free — as free as it seemed possible to get in the kind of society that had come to be, anyway — and still work in advanced physics with any kind of support at all. And that, he supposed resignedly, was about as much as could be hoped for in a world that he was told was shaped by harsh, immutable laws — the work of nature, not humans — that permitted it to be no other way.
“Attention.” An announcement from the cabin speakers broke his reverie. “We’ve received clearance from downrange and are initiating a five-minute countdown. Make sure seat harnesses are secure and any loose objects stowed.”
And now he was moving on once again, this time to another world completely, for how long he didn’t know. Was there some goal at the end of it all that fate had in store for him, he wondered, like fulfillment at the end of the wanderings of one of those heroes of ancient sagas? Or was it simply nature’s way of saying that the world just didn’t have a place for him? If so, it seemed that a lot of people these days were getting the same message.
CHAPTER NINE
The interconversion between electromagnetic and gravitational energy that formed the basis of the Heim drive derived from an immensely strong magnetic field rotating at high speed. However, this didn’t entail any cumbersome mechanical rotation of anything material. As in conventional electric motors, it was the motion of the field that mattered, and this could be accomplished by a suitably phased combination of currents circulating in stationary conductors — which was just as well since the Tacoma was comparable in mass to, and in size somewhat larger than, an old-time naval cruiser. But because of the nature of its primary propulsion system, its basic geometry was circular, thus rendering the notions of advanced space machines in the form of “flying saucers” that had permeated the popular literature for a century fortuitously not far from the mark in terms of what was eventually realized. Indeed, there were still some diehard devotees who took this as proof that the claims had been right all along and the “real thing” was still somewhere out there. By far the prevalent view, however, and one of the few consensuses that Shearer was inclined to share in unreservedly, was the opposite, since if Earth’s explosion out from the solar system in recent decades wasn’t enough to make any lurking aliens show themselves openly, the overwhelming likelihood was that there weren’t any. And for what it was worth, experiences so far in the nearby reaches of the galaxy were consistent with that conclusion. None of the sapient races encountered by Terran explorers had proved as advanced as Earth’s technologically, or anywhere close. As a popular aphorism held, “Someone has to be first.” Or as someone in Shearer’s group had put it earlier in the week: “UFOs are real, and they are us.”
“It’s usually called the nuts game, but it’ll work just as well with these.” Shearer came back to the table with a box lid containing the plastic counters, disks, tiles, and tokens that he had collected from the games scattered about the C Deck messroom, which also served as a recreation center. “Forget what they look like. Everything counts the same.”
The four people seated at the long table by the wall waited curiously. A metal bowl emptied of its normal content of fruits and snack items stood in the middle between them. Jerri was one. Roy, the Mouth, of course, had to
“Attention.” An announcement from the cabin speakers broke his reverie. “We’ve received clearance from downrange and are initiating a five-minute countdown. Make sure seat harnesses are secure and any loose objects stowed.”
And now he was moving on once again, this time to another world completely, for how long he didn’t know. Was there some goal at the end of it all that fate had in store for him, he wondered, like fulfillment at the end of the wanderings of one of those heroes of ancient sagas? Or was it simply nature’s way of saying that the world just didn’t have a place for him? If so, it seemed that a lot of people these days were getting the same message.
CHAPTER NINE
The interconversion between electromagnetic and gravitational energy that formed the basis of the Heim drive derived from an immensely strong magnetic field rotating at high speed. However, this didn’t entail any cumbersome mechanical rotation of anything material. As in conventional electric motors, it was the motion of the field that mattered, and this could be accomplished by a suitably phased combination of currents circulating in stationary conductors — which was just as well since the Tacoma was comparable in mass to, and in size somewhat larger than, an old-time naval cruiser. But because of the nature of its primary propulsion system, its basic geometry was circular, thus rendering the notions of advanced space machines in the form of “flying saucers” that had permeated the popular literature for a century fortuitously not far from the mark in terms of what was eventually realized. Indeed, there were still some diehard devotees who took this as proof that the claims had been right all along and the “real thing” was still somewhere out there. By far the prevalent view, however, and one of the few consensuses that Shearer was inclined to share in unreservedly, was the opposite, since if Earth’s explosion out from the solar system in recent decades wasn’t enough to make any lurking aliens show themselves openly, the overwhelming likelihood was that there weren’t any. And for what it was worth, experiences so far in the nearby reaches of the galaxy were consistent with that conclusion. None of the sapient races encountered by Terran explorers had proved as advanced as Earth’s technologically, or anywhere close. As a popular aphorism held, “Someone has to be first.” Or as someone in Shearer’s group had put it earlier in the week: “UFOs are real, and they are us.”
“It’s usually called the nuts game, but it’ll work just as well with these.” Shearer came back to the table with a box lid containing the plastic counters, disks, tiles, and tokens that he had collected from the games scattered about the C Deck messroom, which also served as a recreation center. “Forget what they look like. Everything counts the same.”
The four people seated at the long table by the wall waited curiously. A metal bowl emptied of its normal content of fruits and snack items stood in the middle between them. Jerri was one. Roy, the Mouth, of course, had to
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