Chapter Twenty
Milton - 3751 C.E.
It was the couple's good fortune that the only space ship Lieutenant Korolyov could provide for Paul and Beatrice at short notice for their journey onto Earth was the Ambassadorial Cruise Ship, SS Milton. The luxury space ship was diverted from its journey from Jupiter orbit to the Asteroid Belt to carry the diplomatic baggage that was considered too great a risk for any commercial ship that travelled across the Solar System.
The few diplomats and ambassadors aboard the luxury ship couldn't complain about the delay to their flight when it was explained how critically important to the Interplanetary Union the diversion was. Even the Jovian Ambassador for Earth knew that there were things that took precedence over her prompt arrival at Jupiter's South American embassy.
Paul now knew what real luxury was. Even though the Milton wasn't an especially large ship—being less than a kilometre in length and most of that engine—the passengers' suites were roomy, opulent and marble-faced. Paul and his wife shared a generously appointed apartment whose windows looked onto a courtyard with a fountain, an array of marble statues and a small swimming pool. There were three spacious reception rooms and four bedrooms. The paintings on the walls were all originals and almost certainly priceless. Although it was a luxury of unimaginable waste in a climate controlled space ship, every room had a fireplace in which real logs smouldered on a real fire whose smoke wafted up to the level above.
Paul could have happily spent every moment of the journey from the Asteroid Belt to the Moon in the confines of the suite, but Beatrice was less easily satisfied. After just one day of making love in all four bedrooms and by the tinkling fountain in the marble courtyard, she was eager to explore the rest of the ship. As Paul could offer no objection, the couple wandered out from their apartment along a broad featureless corridor to the room-sized elevator that whisked them off to the many entertainment lounges and restaurants. Diplomats expected not only the highest quality accommodation but also plenty of social space.
Paul soon became aware of just how awkward he was in the company of diplomats, aristocrats and billionaires who, despite their politeness and firm handshakes, soon came to the conclusion that this was at least one Godwinian anarchist they needn't trouble themselves with in future. They were far more taken by Beatrice who adapted well to the dress and demeanour of a society princess. She was remarkably well-informed about the shakers and movers of High Society and Big Business, many of whom were the selfsame people.
Paul was more at ease when Beatrice and he visited the ship's bridge. This was probably the least opulent room on the Milton, but it was still well-appointed. While Beatrice remarked knowledgeably on the original paintings hanging from the wall, which to Paul's eyes appeared to be nothing more than splodge-like caricatures of fruit and vegetables, what interested him most was the ship's holographic view of outer space.
"What's that?" asked Paul as he pointed at what seemed to be a revolving pencil.
"We have a legal obligation to monitor all ships within a million kilometres of the ship, but we routinely keep track of almost every ship within the Inner Solar System," said the boatswain. "That ship is relatively close. It's perhaps less than a hundred thousand kilometres away."
"It's a ship, then?" said Paul, who immediately regretted asking such a question. It could scarcely be mistaken for a meteor or comet.
"It's a cruise ship, probably from Ceres," said the boatswain. "They carry several tens of thousands of passengers in very cramped conditions. They typically travel from one part of the Asteroid Belt to another, but this one appears to be travelling to Mars. That will take it a very long time. On average it will suffer from a death-rate of at least a one percent. It could be much higher."
Paul did the arithmetic in his head. "Do you mean that hundreds of passengers will die on that ship?"
"As I said, the conditions are extremely crowded and these old space ships frequently suffer from critical system failures. The ship's interior is composed of hundreds of interlocking sections that rotate to give a semblance of gravity. Entire sections may fail and this will inevitably result in the instant death of everyone in the vicinity. There might be hull-breaches from space debris. More commonly there might be an error in the ratio of oxygen to nitrogen in the atmosphere of one of the sections. Sometimes the temperature control system might stop working. When there is a failure in one section of the ship there is no possible way for the unfortunates to move to safety without compromising other sections. It's a very old design of ship that was never intended to be used for people transportation nor to remain in service very nearly one and a half thousand years after it was assembled."
"Why do people choose to travel that way?"
"They're probably refugees," said the boatswain. "Ceres has been at war for so long and with so many different nations that it's now one of the poorest space colonies in the Solar System. Not many other colonies welcome refugees except as cheap—dare I say expendable—labour."
"And what's this ship?" asked Paul as he pointed at a space craft that was very nearly spherical but bristled with so many spines that it resembled a rolled-up hedgehog.