Hidden Variables Read Online Free PDF Page A

spectre? It is the most expensive shade in man's history, a sad reminder of what might have been. It is the unoccupied hulk of Lungfish, the empty space shell that still sits up near synchronous orbit. The U.S. and European industrial consortium who funded the launch and assembly of Lungfish at a cost of more than two hundred million dollars have declared that the project to make use of it has been abandoned.
    'The future of the empty shell (four million cubic feet of working space!) is now uncertain. The consortium would certainly accept any reasonable or even nominal offer—but who is likely to make one?
    'Meanwhile, get out your telescope some clear night just after sunset. With a two-inch refractor you'll easily be able to see Lungfish. And broken dreams are up there with that ghost.'
    "What the hell is this, Lips?" Meyer was still frowning over the piece when Len came back into the room.
    "Space for sale—working space."
    "Up there? You're out of your mind."
    "Not if you try logic. Point one: you'll be outside the jurisdiction of any Government. They can't come in and close you down, because even if they could ever agree who would do it they don't have a space force in the U.N. Point two: I've looked at the economics of it. We could carry our materials up and our products down for a tiny fraction of their value. It wouldn't add more than a couple of hundred dollars a pound. For what we work with, that's like nothing."
    "You'd never be able to land it."
    "Not true. The Free Trade Zones would welcome a space facility. You'd have to grease a few palms with each cargo, but that's something we already know all about."
    Meyer leaned back in his seat. "You're serious about this! I should live so long."
    "Sure I'm serious—but we can't take step one with that damned Senator Macintosh blocking all movement on space manufacturing." Len came over to Meyer's side. "I'm dead serious. I'm even volunteering to set up the whole thing. Before I can do that, I need some encouragement from the rest of the operations that there's interest. Are you willing to carry it up the line for me?"
    Meyer looked up at him sharply. "What's your angle? You looking for control?"
    "I'd never be given it. No, I'm simple-minded. I want one percent of operations. And I'm willing to wait until everybody else has earned out their investment before I begin taking my percent."
    "That keen, eh?" Meyer whistled softly. "You know, Lips, you've come on fast the past four years—some of the local operators say it's been too fast, but I don't agree. Tell you what I'll do. I'll take this over to the Central Council meeting—give me all the facts you have—just to see what reaction it gets. There's no way it'll fly first time around, everybody has to let it stew for a while and look for loopholes. If you rush things, that's the death of 'em."
    "I've waited a long time. I can wait longer." Len had automatically reached over into the left hand desk drawer and pulled out an indigestion tablet. Sal Meyer watched the movement, shook his head unhappily.
    "Still got the ulcer? You should take a break sometime, go off to Vegas and get laid. When you get to my age, you lose interest in raising hell." Meyer stood up, grunted, and rubbed at his chest. "And the damn doctors won't let you do it anyway, even if you feel like it."
    Len was watching him shrewdly. "You ought to be up in Lungfish yourself, Sal. You'll add years to your life—that's a nice effect of low gravity, no heart strain."
    Meyer didn't speak, but Len saw the change in the hard old face. Converts were sometimes made in the strangest ways. Len spoke as Meyer was turning to leave.
    "If we did go ahead with this—in a year or two, I mean—we'll need to put political pressure on a few people. For a start, that Lunar Agreement has to go."
    "Well, if that's all we have to do, I'll be surprised." Meyer laughed. "I'll push it along, Lips—but don't hold your breath waiting."
    * * *
    "They'll buy it, Garry. But