the school board are looking at some other solution for Tom. Maybe he’ll have a teacher at home. We might even get an e-teacher, but I don’t know how good they are. I did read in the paper there have been proposals for some kind of special schools just for the smart kids, but that wouldn’t be local; Tom would have to board.
Anyhow I don’t want Tom to be taken off to some special school, and I know you feel the same.
I want him to be smart. I’m proud that he’s smart. But I want him to be normal, just like other kids. I don’t want him to be different.
Tom wants me to download some of the stuff from his Heart for you. Just a second …
Emma Stoney:
Back in her Vegas office, Emma sat back and read through her latest submission to Maura Della.
… The antique treaties that govern space activities are examples of academic lawmaking. They were set down far in advance of any activity they were supposed to regulate. They certainly fail to address the legitimate needs of private corporations and individuals who might own space-related resources and/or exploit them for profit. In fact they are more political statements by the former Soviet Union and Third World nations than a workable set of legal rules.
We believe the most appropriate action is therefore to get our ratification of the Treaties revoked. There are precedents for this, notably when President Carter revoked the Panama Canal Treaty by an executive order. And to put it bluntly, since the US signed these Treaties with a single main competitor in mind – the Soviet Union, a competitor which no longer even exists – there is no reason to be morally bound by them …
Malenfant was picking a fight by building his damn spaceship, out in the desert, exposing it to the cameras, and daring the bureaucrats and turf warriors and special-interest groups to shut him down. That boldness had carried him a long way. But Emma suspected that Malenfant had had an easy ride so far; the bureaucratic infighting had barely begun.
Emma – with a team of specialist lawyers mostly based in New York, and with backing from Maura and other friends in Washington – was trying to clear away the regulatory issues which could ground Malenfant’s BDBs just as surely as a blow-up on the pad.
Space activities were regulated, internationally, by various treaties which dated back to the Stone Age of spaceflight: days when only governments operated spacecraft, treaties drafted in the shadow of the Cold War. But the mass of badly drafted legislation and treaties gave rise to anomalies and contradictions.
Consider tort liabilities, for instance. If Malenfant had been operating an airline, and one of his planes crashed on Mexico, then he would be responsible and his insurance would have to soak up the damages and lawsuits. But under the terms of a 1972 space liability convention, if Malenfant’s BDB crashed, the US government itself would be liable.
Another problem area was the issue of certification of airworthiness – or maybe spaceworthiness – of Malenfant’s BDBs. Every aircraft that crossed an international border was supposed to carry a certificate of airworthiness from its country of registry, a certificate of manufacture and a cargo manifest. So was a BDB an air vehicle? Federal aviation regulations actually contained no provisions for certificating a space vehicle. When she’d dug into the records she’d found that the FAA – the Federal Aviation Administration – had dodged the issue regarding the Space Shuttle when, in 1977, it had ruled that the Shuttle Orbiter was not an aircraft, despite being a winged vehicle that glided home.
It was a mess of conflicting and unreasonable regulations, at national and international levels. Maybe it was going to take a bull-headed operator like Malenfant to break through this thicket.
And all that just concerned the operation of a private spacecraft. When Malenfant reached his asteroid, there would be a whole different set of problems to tackle.
Malenfant didn’t want to own the asteroid; he just wanted to make money out of it. But it wasn’t clear how he could do even that.
Malenfant was arguing for a system that could enforce private property rights on the asteroid. The patent and property registry of a powerful nation – specifically the US – would be sufficient. The claims would be enforceable internationally by having the US Customs Office penalize any import that was made to the US in defiance of such a claim. This mechanism wouldn’t depend on the US, or anybody else, actually claiming sovereignty over the rock. There was actually a precedent: the opening-up of trans-Appalachian America in the 17th century, long before any settler got there, under a system of British Crown land patents.
But the issue was complex, disputatious, drowned in ambiguous and conflicting laws and treaties.
Unutterably wearying.
She got up from her desk and poured herself a shot of tequila, a particular weakness since her college days. The harsh liquid seemed to explode at the back of her throat.
… Did she actually believe all this? Did she think it was right? Did the US have the moral authority unilaterally to hand out off-world exploitation charters to people like Malenfant?
The precedents weren’t encouraging – for instance, the British Empire’s authorization of brutal capitalists like Cecil Rhodes had led to such twentieth-century horrors as apartheid. And there was of course the uncomfortable fact that the upkeep and defence of the British Empire, though admirably profitable for some decades, had ultimately bankrupted its home country, a detail Malenfant generally omitted to mention in his pep talks to investors and politicians.
Meanwhile – like a hobby for her spare time – she was, somewhat more reluctantly, pursuing Malenfant’s other current obsession. Find me an accelerator … With glass in hand she tapped at her softscreen, searching for updates from her assistants and data miners.
A candidate particle physics laboratory had quickly emerged: Fermilab, outside Chicago, where Malenfant had a drinking-buddy relationship with the director. So Emma started to assemble applications for experiment time.
Immediately she had found herself coming up against powerful resistance from the researchers already working at Fermilab, who saw the well-spring of their careers being diverted by outsiders. She tried to make progress through the Universities Research Association, a consortium of universities in the US and overseas. But she met more obstruction and resistance. She had to fly to Washington to testify before a sub-panel of something called the High Energy Physics Advisory Panel of the Department of Energy, which had links into the President’s science adviser.
The problem was that the facilities and experiments required giant sums of money. The physicists were still smarting from the cancellation by Congress in the 1990s of the Superconducting Supercollider, a fifty-three mile tunnel of magnets and particle beams which would have been built under a cotton field in Ellis County, Texas, and would have cost as much as a small space station. And in spite of all the megabucks spent there didn’t seem to have been a fundamental breakthrough in the field for some decades.
Well, the news today, she learned now, was that the approval for the Fermilab runs had come through.
It wasn’t a surprise. She had found the physicists intelligent, prone to outrage – but also politically naive and easily outmanoeuvred.
She sat back, thinking. The question was, what she should do with this news.
She decided to sit on it for now, trying to squeeze a little more productivity
