Two more items were swiftly disposed of, then at last Stavenger said, “The final item on our agenda tonight is a proposal by Dan Randolph, head of Astro Manufacturing.” He turned slightly and prompted, “Dan?”
There was some scattered applause as Dan stepped up to the podium. Astro employees, Dan thought. Stavenger moved off-stage.
He gripped the edges of the podium and looked over the crowd. He had no notes, no visual aids. For several moments he merely stood there, thinking hard. The audience began to murmur, whisper.
Dan began, “Halley’s Comet will be returning to the inner solar system in a few years. Last time it came by, Halley’s blew out roughly thirty million tons of water vapor in six months. If I remember the numbers right, the comet lost something like three tons of water per second when it was closest to the Sun.”
He waited a heartbeat, then asked, “Do you think you could use that water?”
“Hell yes!” somebody shouted. Dan grinned when he saw that it was Pancho Lane, sitting up in the first row of the balcony.
“Then let’s go get it!” Dan said.
He spent the next fifteen minutes outlining the fusion rocket system and assuring them that it had performed flawlessly in all its tests to date.
“A fusion-driven spacecraft can bring in all the water you need, either from hydrate-bearing asteroids or from comets,” Dan said. “I need your help to build a full-scale system and flight test it.”
One of the women councilors asked, “Are you asking Selene to fund your corporation? Why can’t you raise the money from the regular sources?”
Dan made himself smile at her. “This project will cost between one and two billion international dollars, Earthside. None of the banks or other funding sources that I’ve approached will risk that kind of money. They’re all fully committed to rebuilding and mitigation programs. They’ve got their hands full with the greenhouse warming; they’re not interested in space projects.”
“Damned flatland idiots,” somebody groused.
“I agree,” Dan said, grinning. “They’re too busy doing what’s urgent to even think about what’s important.”
“Out of all the corporations on Earth,” someone called out, “surely you can make a deal or two to raise the capital you need.”
Dan decided to cut the discussion short. “Listen. I could probably put together a deal that would raise the money we need, but I thought I’d give you a chance to come in on this. It’s the opportunity you’ve been waiting for.”
“Selene doesn’t have that kind of money at its disposal,” said one of the councilmen.
“No,” countered Dan, “but you have the trained people and the facilities to build the fusion rocket with nanomachines.”
A hush fell over the theater. Nanotechnology. They all knew it was possible. And yet…
“Nanomachines aren’t magic wands, Mr. Randolph,” said the councilor seated closest to Dan, a lean, pinch-faced young man who looked like a jogging fanatic.
“I understand that,” said Dan.
“At one time we thought we could develop nanomachines to produce water for us by taking hydrogen from the incoming solar wind and combining it with oxygen from the regolith. It was technically feasible but in practice a complete failure.”
Recognizing the councilman as one who loved the sound of his own voice, Dan said curtly, “If nanomachines can build entire Clipperships they can build fusion drives.”
Another woman councilor, with the bright red hair and porcelain-white complexion of the Irish, spoke up. “I’ve been stuck with the job of treasurer for the council, the thanks I get for being an honest accountant.”
Dan laughed, along with most of the audience.
“But it’s a sad fact that we don’t have the funds to spare on your program, Mr. Randolph, no matter how admirable it may be. The money just isn’t in our hands.”
“I don’t want money,” Dan said.
“Then what?”
“I want volunteers. I need people who are willing to devote their time to the greatest challenge of our age: developing the resources of the entire solar system.”
“Ah, but that boils down to money, now, doesn’t it?”
“No it doesn’t,” said a deep voice from the middle of the theater. Dan saw a squat, heavily-built black man get to his feet.