Quiet and unassuming, Basil Wenceslas moved through social circles. He smiled when he was supposed to, bantered when expected, and filed the details in his mind. To an outsider, he never showed more than a fraction of his deepest thoughts and intricate plans. The Terran Hanseatic League depended on it.
A well-preserved older man whose age was difficult to determine even with close study, he had access to vigorous anti-aging treatments and availed himself of cellular chelation techniques that kept him limber and healthy. Dapper and distinguished, he wore impeccable suits that cost more than some families earned in a year, but Basil was not a vain man. Though everyone on the observation platform knew he was in charge, he maintained a low profile.
When an overeager mahogany-skinned media charmer asked him for an interview about the Klikiss Torch, he diverted the woman and her recording crew to the chief scientist of the project, then melted into the small crowd. Watching. Observing. Thinking.
He looked out at the great ball of ochre clouds that made Oncier look like a poorly stirred confection. This system had no habitable planets, and Oncier’s gas mix was not particularly appropriate for harvesting ekti, the exotic allotrope of hydrogen used in Ildiran stardrives. This out-of-the-way gas giant was an excellent test subject for the unproven Klikiss Torch.
Chief scientist Gerald Serizawa talked smoothly and passionately about the upcoming test, and the media crew pressed forward. Beside him, technicians manned banks of equipment. Basil scanned the control panels, assessing the readings for himself. Everything was on schedule.
Dr. Serizawa was completely hairless, though whether because of a cosmetic choice, a genetic predisposition, or an exotic disease, Basil did not know. Lean and energetic, Serizawa spoke with his hands as much as his voice, gesturing broadly. Every few minutes, like clockwork, he grew self-conscious and clasped his hands to keep them motionless in front of him.
“Gas giants, such as Jupiter in our own home solar system, are on the edge of a gravitational slope that could send them into stellar collapse. Any planetary body between thirteen and a hundred times Jupiter’s mass will burn deuterium at its core and begin to shine.”
Serizawa jabbed an insistent finger at the media charmer who had approached Basil earlier. “With this rediscovered technology, we can push a gas giant such as Oncier over the mass limit so that its core will ignite nuclear fires and turn this big ball of fuel into a brand-new sun—”
The woman broke in. “Please tell our audience where the increase in mass comes from.”
Serizawa smiled, delighted to explain further. Basil crooked his mouth in a faint expression of amusement. He thanked his luck that the bald doctor was such an enthusiastic spokesman.
“You see, the Klikiss Torch anchors two ends of a worm-hole, a tunnel ten kilometers wide.” It was clear his listeners knew little about wormhole mechanics and the difficulty of creating such a huge space-time gap. “We open one terminus near a superdense neutron star, then target the other end at the core of Oncier. In the blink of an eye, the neutron star is transported into the planetary heart. With so much added mass, the gas giant will collapse, ignite, and begin to shine. This light and heat, you see, will make the largest moons habitable.”
One of the media recorders pointed an imager at the white glints orbiting the pastel gas planet as Serizawa continued. “Alas, the new sun will burn for only a hundred thousand years, but that’s still plenty of time for us to make the four moons into productive Hansa colonies. Practically an eternity, as far as we’re concerned.”
Basil nodded unobtrusively to himself. Typical short-term thinking, but useful. Now that Earth was part of a much larger galactic network, though, true visionaries would have to operate on a completely different time scale. Human history was only one small part of the canvas.
“Therefore, the Klikiss Torch opens up many new opportunities for the Hansa to create habitats that meet the needs of our growing human population.”
Basil wondered how many swallowed that explanation. It was part of the answer, of course, but he also noted the huge, gaudy Ildiran warliners standing watch, reminding him of the real reasons for this extravagant demonstration.
The Klikiss Torch must be tested not because there was a desperate need for extra living space—there were many more acceptable colony worlds than humans could ever settle. No, this was a move of political hubris. The Hansa needed to prove that humans could actually do this thing, a grand and extravagant gesture.
One hundred and eighty-three years ago, the Ildiran Empire had rescued the first Terran generation ships from their aimless journeys through space. The Ildirans had offered humans their fast stardrive and adopted Earth into the sprawling galactic community. Humans viewed the Ildiran Empire as a benevolent ally, but Basil had been watching the aliens for some time.
The ancient civilization was stagnant, full of ritual and history but very few fresh ideas. Humans had been the ones to innovate the Ildiran stardrive technology. Eager colonists and entrepreneurs—even the space gypsy riffraff of the Roamer clans—had rapidly filled the old Ildiran social and commercial niches, so that humans gained a substantial foothold in just a few generations.
The Hansa was growing by leaps and bounds, while their stodgy alien benefactors were fading. Basil was confident humans would soon subsume the ailing Empire. After the Klikiss Torch demonstration, the Ildirans would remain impressed by Terran abilities—and deterred from any temptation to test human mettle. Thus far, the alien empire had shown no sign of aggression, but Basil didn’t entirely believe the altruistic motives of the cozy Ildiran neighbors. It was best to maintain a prominent reminder of human technological abilities, and better still to be subtle about it.
While the test countdown proceeded toward zero, Basil went to get another glass of champagne.