Chapter 141 - Advanced Rocket-Tree

  I didn’t want to come to Canaveral without checking in on a few other projects. The first was one of a series of test rockets I had planned. Testing and iterating smaller rockets were necessary intermediary steps towards fielding our first manned (goblinned) space mission. There’s a lot more that goes into achieving stable orbit than just pointing the rocket at the sky and turning it on.

  The US competed with Russia for years to prove that our stolen German scientists were better than their stolen German scientists. It’s NASA’s worst-kept-secret that many of our early advances in rocketry stemmed directly from the innovations of the rocket programs which had been used in World War II to launch bombs across the English Channel. But that’s enough for the history lesson.

  I looked at our first test rocket being finished up, which, you know what? Yeah, we were going to point at the sky and turn it on. But it was for data. Specifically, I wanted some metrics to see how much goblin scat we were going to need in order to reach free-fall in Rava’s lower-than-Earth gravity. We also needed more detailed metrics on rate of burn, acceleration, and how Raphina’s mass would affect orbital dynamics.

  The rockets we were piecing together were smaller than the one that carried Sputnik into space. Counter-weighted cranes moved sections into place, while noblin igni carefully welded metal seams with torches and spark-welders. Unlocking prerequisite technology like air compressors and electricity had shot our construction and manufacturing capabilities into the 19th century. The tribe was beginning to unlock so many interconnecting component technologies now that I’d had System suppress all but the most important Goblin Tech Tree notifications.

  System, how much fuel have we reserved for the first launch?

  <43% of your predicted capacity is stowed at Canaveral Bluff.>

  A deafening roar and a blinding flare erupted from the west end of the bluff.

  <41%>

  I sighed. “I need to do something about these unauthorized rocket motor “tests” the local engineers keep running,” I said, idly.

  Armstrong tapped his fingers together, trying and failing to suppress a grin. “You mean, say, letting me ride on one?”

  “Slow down, space goblin. We’ll make an astronaut of you yet,” I answered. “But it doesn’t involve blowing yourself to smithereens on a test pad.”

  I whistled for John, and a minute later, he showed up caked in soot and smelling like the back end of a cow. He saluted.

  “Test went well?”

  “Aye, boss.”

  “And the one before that?”

  “Aye, boss.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “So then let’s not light anymore off until we iterate on the design.”

  John’s ears drooped down. “Aye, boss…”

  Yeah, yeah. Rocket party pooper. I looked to the pyramid on the north side of the bluff. “You’ve been here a week with the Midnighters. What’s your read on them?”

  John thought to himself for a moment. “They’re cold,” he said.

  I tilted my head. “I guess bugs aren’t the friendliest sort.”

  “No, no, they’re cold,” said John, wrapping his arms around himself and pretending to shiver.

  I rolled my eyes. Of course the goblins had tried to make a cuddle puddle with the Midnighters. They’d done it with paladins, orcs, and if Ifrit had bodies that weren’t metal and springs, they wouldn’t be safe, either. Heck, that was probably why Rufus was always so eager to be away from the bluff before nightfall.

  John snapped his claws. “They’re real smart, like. Surprised ‘em that we knew ‘bout stuff like gyro-scope’ems and gimbals and spy’em scopes. Asked to see the glass furnace. They ask the canoneers about loads o’ stuff and the moon, too. Real keen on the moon.”

  “Well, they did at least partly come to study it…” I said, looking at the pyramid. The eclipse was coming soon, and I could already see the elite queen’s guard staging the priestess’ palanquin. “Or so they said, anyway. No one seems to trust them. I think it’s time for a closer look at this new observatory. And maybe a few answers.” I looked at Rufus. “Would you mind accompanying me? I might need your lie-detecting skill.”

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  Rufus hemmed and hawed for a moment, looking at the steep steps. “Well, that is to say, King Apollo, it might be best if…”

  “The pyramid is on the opposite side of the bluff from the helicopter landing pads,” I said.

  “I would be happy to lend my services.”

  The Midnighters watched as we approached, the lower-level serfs making no effort to stop our progress as they halted work and bowed. If you’ve never seen a humanoid bug bow, which, why on Earth would you have? It’s a very segmented, disjointed gesture. Carapace doesn’t make for easy folding. I looked around at the construction. There were certainly a lot more of the Midnighters. They must have been consolidating from their other parties that had been seen throughout Lanclova. There were almost as many Midnighters at Canaveral as there were orcs at Apollo City.

  As soon as we passed, the serfs returned to work. 2 Soldier-caste bugs with levels in the mid teens stood guard on the lower terrace. They must have been given instructions to watch for my crown and steel spring legs because they moved aside, snapped to attention, and ground the butts of their spears into the dust. They had four slender, carapace arms, and curiously used two to hold their weapons.

  “Hail, Apollo-King,” they said. Well, I couldn’t fault the Midnighters their propriety. If the Javeline had come out the gate with manners like this, they might not have ended up as bacon. But flattery is often a sharp dagger meant to get past defenses. I couldn’t let it go to my head.

  A little. Maybe I could let it go to my head just a little. I straightened my back, planted my fists against my hips, and rose to my impressive meter or so full height. “I’m here to speak to the priestess.”

  “You are expected,” said one in their buzzy insect voice.

  “Such was it cast,” said the other. They both made an identical gesture with the two hands on their left side, making the shape of an eye, as I’d seen the others do. Totally not creepy at all. What really surprised me was when one of them switched from the eye gesture to forming a circle over their head.

  “Ad Luna.”

  Armstrong echoed the gesture behind me.

  I pushed past the two guards and started to scramble up the steep steps of the pyramid.

  “Hey boss, what’s got you all weird?”

  I glanced back at my scrapper chief.

  “Eh, weird-er?”

  We ascended the pyramid, moving toward the telescope that had been erected in a traversable gimble. By the time we reached its zenith, the eclipse was coming overhead, and I was once again treated to the uncanny spectacle of watching Cla’thn unfold herself from her much-too-small palanquin and stand up to her full height. She was at least three times as large as me, so at least half-again as tall as a human. Yet she was built like gossamer, and I worried the breeze on the top of the pyramid might blow her away.

  The Palanquin had been staged next to a slowly spinning piece of clockwork that I realized must be a stellar model. I approached it, looking at the tiny brass orbs rotating around a central sphere that must be this system’s star. Between the books Rufus had brought me, none had discussed celestial bodies beyond Raphina. With the sheer size of the moon, its reflected light washed out a good deal of the night sky on this side of the planet. With how many poets and authors on Earth were inspired by Luna, I had to imagine the effect was magnified on Rava. Why even care about other floating rocks when you can see forests and seas and mountains hanging in the heavens?

  Raphina and Rava weren’t hard to find on the model. I found the little two-planet system dancing around each other. Rava was the system’s fourth planet of seven. And if the planets were to scale, Raphina was probably about the size of Mercury while Rava I was coming to believe was closer in diameter to Mars.

  The rest of the planets spun around the brass star, each with their own constellations of moons or rings on tiny brass rods.

  “Do you like it?” asked Cla’thn, rubbing the fine hairs on her forearms together to produce her voice. Her attendants carefully held back the sheer fabric so that it didn’t interfere with her speech.

  “It looks like Ifrit work,” I said.

  “Well spotted, King Apollo. It was made as a gift for our last queen, nearly 600 years ago.”

  I pointed to the innermost planet. “What’s this one called?”

  “Tsoval. The first among worlds, named for the first queen, may her light ever shine.”

  I pointed to the ringed planet in the fifth spot

  “Zzrannica. Our lady of halos.”

  I scratched at my chin and studied the model. Something was bothering me about it. Armstrong reached out to poke at the furthest planet, but I slapped his hand away.

  “I wasn’t gonna break it, boss!” he said, but his eyes shifted back and forth. He’d been keen on some mischief.

  “The model has a problem,” I said. “Raphina isn’t orbiting Rava once per day. It’s not geosynchronous, and it’s not tidally locked.”

  “As I said, this artifice is quite old.”

  “But it was clearly designed this way,” I insisted. “Otherwise Rava wouldn’t be able to articulate at all, like this moon here,” I said, pointing to a moon of the sixth planet that connected via a simple peg, rather than a track. “Moons don’t just suddenly switch to a geostationary orbit within a few hundred years.”

  Priestess Cla’thn tilted her head. “Do they not?”

  “I…” I stopped. Did they? This world, maybe this universe, was very different from the one I’d come from. 600 years ago. According to Rufus and Taquoho, that would have been before people started to hear…

  System, did you break the moon?

  No answer. I turned back to the priestess. “What about the rest of the stars? Do they move as well? The orcs and my other friends say that you can read the future in their movements.”

  The Midnighter attendants chittered, and it took me a moment to realize they were laughing. The priestess waved a hand at them in admonishment and made one of her four-handed gestures (the significance of which was completely lost on me) before answering. “It is not the stars that move, but ourselves. We see mere reflections, o’ king. Ripples of our actions that precede us into the future.”

  “Except here,” I said.

  “Except here.”

  I put my hands on my hips. “Well, I think it’s time you told me why you really came here.”