Infinity Beach - Jack McDevitt [39]
“Of course.”
“The engine designs—” Hopkin flashed disapproval. “You could do much better.”
“They’re standard,” said Tripley, puzzled.
Hopkin had an idea to improve energy output. Kim lost track of it early, during his description of intensification of the magnetic fields at the moment of hyperspace penetration. Her physics was too weak to follow the logic, but Tripley listened closely, jotted some of it down, interrupted occasionally with a technical question, and finally nodded his head. “Put it on paper,” he said. “Let me see a proposal.”
She noticed that he never asked about cost.
The basic problem with flight through hyperspace was that the upper limits of velocity seemed to be fixed at a real-space equivalent of 38.1 light-years per standard day. The Karis Limit. It was fast enough for travel among the Nine Worlds and their outlying regions, but there were other places researchers would like to go. Like the center of the galaxy, to which a round-trip would require four and a half years. Would Hopkin’s idea, she asked, push vehicles beyond the Karis Limit?
“No,” he said. “I don’t think there’s any way to do that. But we will be able to save a considerable amount of fuel, and thereby significantly increase range.”
She was eager to talk about Mount Hope. “It sounds,” she said, “like the kind of drive the Hunter could have used.”
Hopkin blinked, not sure of the reference. “Benton,” he said, “I hate to cut this short, but I really do have to be going.” He got up and smiled benevolently. “It was good to see you again, Kim.” He bent to kiss her cheek, shook hands with Tripley, and disappeared out the door.
“It would be helpful,” said Tripley, “if he could really do what he says.” His gaze drifted from his notes to the model Hunter. “I take it the choice of trophy design was yours?”
“We thought it seemed appropriate. Most famous of the Foundation’s vessels.”
A cheese tray showed up. Kim sampled a piece. “I was impressed that you knew about the models,” Tripley said.
“They provide a distinctive decor, Mr. Tripley. Do they represent actual vessels?”
“My name’s Ben, Doctor. May I call you Kim?”
“Of course, Ben,” she said.
His brow furrowed and his eyes caressed the Regal. It was long and sleek, its lines curving in unexpected directions, designed to resist enemy sensors. A beautiful ship. She wondered why warships, of whatever nature, were always so compelling. Was it their utilitarian nature, that they were designed for a single purpose? It suggested Eisenstadt’s misdirected definition of a beautiful woman, but it seemed applicable in this case.
“My grandfather served on it,” said Tripley.
“During the war?” asked Kim.
“He was ben-Hadden’s helmsman.” The pride in Tripley’s voice was evident. He sat back quietly to allow her a moment of appreciation.
The other models were quite striking.
One was saucer-shaped. “This is the Choela,” he said, glancing at the little girl with the dog. “It’s corporate. We have two of them in service, actually.”
And a liner. “The Buckman. Gave out years ago, I’m afraid. But it was Interstellar’s first contract. In my father’s time. Launched us, you might say.”
The final vehicle was a flared teardrop mounted on an elliptical platform. Kim saw no propulsion tubes. It looked somewhat like a turtle. “It belonged to my father,” he said. “It’s purely fictitious. As you can see.”
“No propulsion tubes,” she ventured.
He nodded. “It’s not a very thoughtful design, but it’s what got me interested in the business.”
“A boyhood toy?” asked Kim.
“Yes.”
“What is its name?”
He actually managed to look sheepish. “I called it the Valiant.”
“That sounds like a warship. It doesn’t look like one.” Toy warships usually came bristling with weapons.
“To a kid, everything’s a warship.”
Of the five models it was the most intricately detailed, with realistic antennas and sensor dishes and hatches. Its dark shell was tooled to catch the light. In the flickering glow cast by the fire it was sometimes black and sometimes purple. She touched it. Her fingertips tingled