Yes, the director calls, at about six am my time. I don't sleep, so he's not waking me up.
"Hello, this is Chris Carlson, how can I help you?"
"Hello, I'm August Allard, director at NASA. I understand you have some transportation services I might be interested in?"
"I figured leaving a card on Curiosity would get your attention. But yes, I can lease you drones for a hundred thousand US dollars a month that can get anywhere in the solar system in sixty hours or less, without concerns of launch windows or weather. Interstellar, too, but that takes longer… not 'generational ship' longer, just a few months within galaxy."
"That's a very bold claim."
"Yes. And you wouldn't be talking to me if you didn't see the advertisement I left on Mars. Well, a picture, anway."
"Indeed. What kind of carry capacity are we talking about here?"
"Weight isn't particularly relevant, volume dominates. You'll need to be able to load and unload whatever it is through a ten foot by ten foot doorway. We can negotiate the inner layout within certain limits, but past the doorway you're looking at a thousand square feet of floor space with a ten foot ceiling, although I can expand that," I'm planning on equipping buffed minions - the Alteration Sphere can grant Starflight, other buffs protect the minion from radiation and such - with a Keyhome. I can expand that by linking a demiplane with Warp Portals.
August considers, "So you couldn't ship something like the Harmony Module on the IIS intact."
I quickly look it up - 4.4 meter diameter, which is 14 feet, "Well… the leased drones won't be able to manage that effectively…" my minions can use Warp's Portal option, but not Enduring Portal, so they can only keep the door open for sixty six seconds at a time… and without Flawless teleport, loading and unloading gets 'interesting' when the door shows up on a random spot on a demiplane of mine. Which means the timing problem isn't something they can surmount, "But as long as it's not often, I can personally shuttle larger payloads, as long as they're unoccupied at the time. And of course, there's always the on-site assembly option. And if you do want to establish a permanent base somewhere, I can also set up something like my airport portals."
Director Allard considers that, "I've been through those. They can be interplanetary? You could build us a literal road to Mars, twenty seven meters wide?"
"If you want to build a suitable isolation facility around it Earth side," Air doesn't seem to pass, so it shouldn't matter, but this guy will think of it, "Then I'll cheerfully open a portal of whatever size fits, up to ninety feet in diameter, to whatever location you'd like on Mars, for…" Oh, go for broke, "One billion dollars US."
The man on the other end of the line pauses, "I will find the portal budget. Just for reference: Would you also be able to do the moon the same way? Would be nice to be able to run launches out of a lower gravity well… I would also request a demo of this drone you reference. I'll want to figure out what kind of communications and sensors it can carry while it flies."
I shrug, not that he can see, "Sure, no problem. If you have a lander or something ready to go that will fit, I can have her drop it off on the moon or something for you."
August pauses again, "Her?"
Ah… "Yes. These units are drones in the same sense that most ants or bees are," and by similar logic, I'm the queen, even though I'm a guy, "I make them, and they're perfectly obedient to me as long as I'm not pointlessly cruel… but yes, they can problem solve, carry on a conversation, and do artwork. So yes, 'her' is correct for that pronoun."
The director asks a pertinent question, "Are these drones slaves?"
Yeah… if I say this enough times, maybe I'll convince myself, "They're not human, even if they look it, and they're getting a form of payment they consider valid and sufficient. If one were to run away from my service, I would only go after her if she was abusing the tools she had with her - and at that, mostly because human law enforcement isn't equipped to deal with them if they go rogue - I mean, what’s a beat cop going to do to a girl who's equipped to soak small meteor impacts and travel the stars? A service revolver simply isn't a threat. So no, she's not a slave, even though her payment doesn't take a form you'd recognize." Conjuration companions are paid in immortality: As long as I'm around, I can re-summon them when they're killed.
"All right, but I reserve judgment until after I've spoken with her."
"Not a problem at all. When’s good?"
We set a time and date - and yes, he'll have a test load ready - and hang up.
I go about my normal routine, and thirty minutes before the scheduled time comes, I teleport to the front desk at Cape Canaveral Space Force Station with a Companion in tow, holding a Keyhome in her warp storage. I hit her with a Permanent Alteration earlier, so she won't be shifting into a dragon any time soon, but she's good to go for spaceflight.
I'm thirty minutes early, and it's raining, but there's a chesty young woman with very clear skin holding a sign saying "Carlson", and she's regularly glancing at a print-out as she looks around. She sees me and walks my way, brushing her long blonde locks out of her blue eyes as she sashays towards me, her hypnotic hips drawing my eyes, her uniform seemingly a size too small as her vest clings tightly to her chest and her skirt to her hips, exaggerating her curves.
I should spend more time with Jessica.
I read her nametag: P Swift. Knowledge (Nobility and Royalty) apparently serves for rank insignia, so I greet her somewhat properly, "Hello Lieutenant Swift. I'm surprised you're already waiting for me this early."
She gives us a salute, which I return (even though it feels odd when I'm not wearing a uniform), "Good morning Mr. Carlson, or should I say 'Goddess Carlson'? You apparently impressed several people, as they cleared my entire day for this. And after I saw the picture they gave me, I agreed. I was out here at six am. I'm yours for as long as you're here. Whatever you need." Her tone is perfectly professional, but her choice of words….
I check the photo she's holding… ah. It was taken by the rover. Right. I went there. OK, that makes sense now.
"Well, I'm not very demanding, so … lead the way."
She leads us both past the crowds and the tourists, to where a group of an older man in a business suit, three old men in various uniforms (way too much brass and ribbons on their chests), and three men in space suits all stand around waiting and chatting. They’ve got the helmets off, but why… ah. I think I get it. They’re the payload. Also explains the shovels and containers - they want to bring some moon rocks back. Eh, that’ll do fine. I wonder what the briefcase is for?
As we get there, Lieutenant P Swift introduces the old men first, “First off, this is August Allard, director at NASA," she indicates the man in the suit, and continues with the men in uniform, "These are General Lorrin Aston, Caelan Lester Hart, and Terrance Walter Harrell,” and turns to the astronauts, “And these are Majors Parry Orval Bisset, Jayson Abner Wade, and Conner Dannie Willey.” And then she turns to me, “And you all know that this is Mr. Chris Carlson, the Goddess of Arcana.”
No, I’m not going to remember them. At least not the generals. Maybe the astronauts. Astronauts are cool. Going into space on rockets… brave souls. A pleasure to meet them. I make a point of shaking all their hands.
“So… my pitch is a demo. I’m guessing that Majors Bisset, Wade, and Willey are the payload to the moon?”
They all nod, and I continue, “Well, meet your ride,” I point at my Companion, “She’ll be driving today. If you would…” I nod at her. My currently unnamed conjuration companion pulls the Keyhome out of the pocket in her flesh, and opens the door. I went with a “blank” Keyhome for this, as I had no idea what they’d be shipping.
“Would you like to inspect the interior? I went with an unfurnished one as I was somewhat expecting a vehicle. It’s a simple matter to set them up with walls, handholds, furniture, and so on as well.”
The generals and astronauts go around the door floating in mid air first. This particular one is styled as one of those bay doors - a bunch of metal slats that slide up and roll into a ball in the top. They do go inside, where it’s a thousand square feet of bare floor space with a ten foot ceiling. I went with a rectangle on this one - fifty feet wide, twenty feet deep, and the door in the middle of one of the long sides. The walls and floor are of no particular material: They’re literally just where space ceases to be, and they stop movement because there’s no THERE beyond the border to go to. The generals examine them closely, touching the non-walls, and looking back at me periodically with puzzled expressions. Eventually, though, they nod, and step out. The astronauts step in, carrying their equipment with them.
The generals salute the majors, who return it. One of the generals speaks to me: “Well, we’re ready when you are.”
I talk to my companion, “Take them to the moon, let them walk around as much as they’d like, then bring them back. If you run into problems, call me.”
She nods, and does so, closing the Keyhome door, putting it back in her flesh pocket, and taking to the skies like… well, like a rocket. The clouds prevent us from seeing her quickly enough.
I look at the generals, “Well, it will be some hours before she gets there. Do you have anywhere from which we can monitor this?”
They lead me to mission control…
