[Start at the beginning of the novel: Prologue.]
[Go to the Table of Contents.]
Welcome back to Ship of Fools and thanks for reading!
Back aboard the Anóitoi, Lonnie Ester tries to entertain the crowd by playing along with their fantasies, before receiving a rude surprise.
AFTER his conversation with Liz and Marshall, Lonnie Ester migrated back to the bar for another drink, dodging curious and hostile glances like shrapnel from one of the many SpaceOut rockets that had experienced RUD during testing. Most everyone here had some axe to grind with him — the climate deniers, the moon hoaxers, the anti-Bilderbergers. He’d attended the Bilderberg summit only once, and the conversations had been so anodyne, billionaires wringing their hands over the problems they themselves were creating, and which none of their charitable projects could come close to addressing, that Lonnie had almost wished a bomb would go off under the lot of them. He had that much in common with his critics, at least.
Only he could see the true solution to all the problems of humanity: finding a second home for the human race in space, specifically in O’Neill cylinders parked at various LeGrange points around the inner solar system, each capable of housing several million people in conditions as comfortable, or more so, than those on Earth. These colonies would also become foundries for resources extracted from Luna, from Mercury, from Mars and its moons, and from the asteroid belt. Many industrial and extractive processes could be moved to space, reducing impacts to the home world. Earth would once again be a garden planet.
And only he had the engineering vision to make all this happen. The transition to clean energy and transport, in which he was also a pioneer, was just a way to buy more time for the ailing planet. And for all these efforts, what thanks did he get? Hatred and jealousy from those who could only understand money as a motivation. He’d nearly gone broke a dozen times, always pouring capital into the next advance, the next step in providing a backup for humanity in case Earth became uninhabitable. Yet people viewed him as just another greedy billionaire.
And beyond the jealousy, there was the suspicion that the whole SpaceOut project was an escape plan for rich white people, leaving the poor and the dark-skinned behind. As if life on a space station habitat in the first years was going to be some kind of St. Tropez or Ibiza. No, if he wanted to leave anyone behind, it was every variety of lunatic. Maybe, with the right selection of space settlers, based on their brains and their skill sets, a whole new breed of human could be created, one for whom the lizard brain was shrunk to insignificance and the neocortex took full control. Maybe it would be paradise beyond anything the Caribbean or the South Seas had to offer.
Clutching his drink, he found a spot in a corner not far from the bar, partly hidden by a large potted plant, wondering why he’d agreed to come on this voyage. If only he hadn’t sent his flying car back home! The ship was probably out of range by now. But maybe it wasn’t too late to talk to the captain, get off in San Diego.
He got out his handheld to check the ship’s position and found he had no service. That was strange, the ship was supposed to have cell and WiFi throughout, and he’d already logged in when he boarded. He tried sending a text to his assistant back on land, but it failed to transmit.
He was restarting the device when raised voices near the bar caught his attention. Two skinheads were following a middle-aged man in a button-down shirt and cardigan. The fellow looked as if he viewed the bar as some sort of refuge.
“We all need to stand together in the face of the international Jewish conspiracy!” one of the skinheads yelled after him.
The man had reached the bar, but he turned on his assailants. “Jesus loves all his Father’s children. You should be ashamed of harboring such vile hatreds. Now, I just want to get a drink.”
“Fucking fairy,” one said. “I’m glad Jesus wasn’t a pansy and a race traitor like you.” With that, they turned away.
Their target turned back to the bar and ordered a soda-and-lime. While he waited for his drink, he looked over at Lonnie with a spark of recognition. Lonnie quickly looked away. He was in no mood for anyone peddling God’s love, or any other belief.
Too late, the man was approaching, holding out his hand. “Mr. Ester, I am Reverend Paul Lee, of Young Creation Ministries.”
Lonnie shook his hand and risked a smile. Now he remembered, Lee was a popular televangelist — or e-Vangelist, these days — who sometimes popped up in the secular news feeds, usually for some good work or other. Unlike a lot of them, he’d never blamed a hurricane or other disaster on the gays; more the opposite, he was popular because his ministry was a reaction to everything angry and judgmental in Evangelical culture, a needed antidote after the fundamentalist fall from grace in the teens.
The reverend still looked a little flustered from his encounter with the skinheads, but he carried on. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, but I’m a little surprised to see you here.”
Lonnie explained the reason for his presence on the cruise. “And what conspiracy are you here to expose?”
“Me? Oh, I’m no conspiracist. Conspiracies and hoaxes require that the conspirators know the truth that’s being withheld from the masses.”
“So why are you here?”
“Spreading the truth of God’s love. And of course the truth that He created Earth in six days, six thousand years ago. This conference seemed like fertile ground. People with such wayward beliefs are sometimes more open to God’s truth than one would think.”
Lonnie tried not to smirk. “I see you’re a young-earther. And yet you don’t view Evolution as a vast conspiracy?”
“No, just a giant mistake. As I said, a conspiracy requires acts of bad faith among an unbelievable number of people who would all have to keep the truth to themselves. No, it’s a false paradigm, based on the unexamined premises of naturalism and gradualism, but it’s not a conspiracy. The Evolutionists have absolute faith in Darwin’s ideas.”
“And in the evidence, the fossil record for instance.”
“Oh, I could debate the false interpretation of fossils with you all day. And I’d win, too, since you’re neither a paleontologist nor a geologist. I’d appeal rather to your own intellect. You are one of the most brilliant humans of our generation. How could your incredible human brain have come about through mere chance? No, there must have been a Creator.”
“Well, if you’re going to flatter me like that, I guess I’m convinced.”
The pastor smiled. “I see this is too long a conversation for a mere cocktail hour. But seriously, I do have a bone to pick with you.”
That hadn’t taken long. “Doesn’t everyone?”
“It’s about this space resettlement plan of yours, ‘providing our species a home in the stars,’ as you call it.”
“You have a problem with that?”
“Leaving aside slighting humans as a ‘species,’ I believe that God gave us one planet for our home. It is hubris to try to colonize the rest of his Creation.”
Lonnie had to repress a laugh. “I’m no scholar of the Bible, but I do know that it has God telling Adam and Eve to go forth and multiply.”
“Of course.”
“And, as you say, he made us smart enough to figure out when we’d multiplied to the point that Earth can no longer cope with our numbers.”
“That’s right.”
“So our choices are now to go against that biblical — commandment, would you call it? — and limit our numbers, as we see happening on every continent on Earth, or we find a new home where we can keep multiplying. And if I’m not mistaken, there’s no commandment against launching rockets to the moon.”
“No, but if you take the story of the Tower of Babel…”
He was cut short by a squeal of feedback as Sarge Marshall took to the stage, and they both turned to listen. Lonnie was surprised at how run-of-the-mill Marshall’s opening remarks were. Directions to the restrooms, a rundown of the schedule, some special messages for attendees who’d already left their belongings lying around the ship, including some sort of eldritch energy sensor left on a chaise lounge on the lido deck. For a man who thought he was leading the masses out of their brainwashed slumber, this didn’t seem an auspicious beginning.
Then Marshall exhorted the various factions of the conspiratorium to keep their minds open and treat each other with respect and kindness. Lonnie had to laugh at that; he’d heard Sarge talk about ufologists, whom he viewed as fronts, willing or not, for the glober conspiracy.
“In just a minute, you’re going to hear one of the hottest musical acts anywhere on the disk, not to mention a devoted seeker of truth in a benighted age, the one and only, Rock.” Cheers and applause. “But first, I want to draw your attention to two other guests who will be with us for the whole cruise, and I hope you’ll treat them with the same consideration you extend to each other. First, Elizabeth Dare from the New York Times. Where are you, Liz?”
Across the room, Liz gave a wave to scattered boos and cries of “shill!” She looked game for this cruise, but he was still worried about her. First that article from last summer, and now she was asking him about pieces of lost NASA tech. Maybe she’d spent too much time around the “truthers.” Not that he was sure why he cared so much. He didn’t have time for most reporters, other than space nerds, and certainly not one from a legacy outfit with such obvious biases as the Times. But somehow he still had a soft spot for her. He was pretty sure it wasn’t sexual, since she was not at all his type. It was more about respect. Maybe she was a tad too critical of his efforts, but she was sharp and even-handed, unlike some of his other detractors. Besides, rational people needed to stick together, a point underscored by the existence of this floating loony bin.
Marshall had moved on from Liz. “And also joining us as our surprise guest is none other than Mr. SpaceOut himself, Lonnie Ester. Lonnie’s here as part of the deal where he launched me into ‘space’.” He made exaggerated air quotes with his hands, to numerous jeers. “Lonnie claims to be a man of science, so maybe our proofs will finally convince him. In fact, Lonnie, why don’t you come up and say a few words? Where are you?”
“He’s back by the bar!” someone shouted helpfully.
Lonnie groaned, but maybe he could make a good impression and reduce the social friction for the rest of the voyage. He made his way to the stage, ignoring the murmurs and whispers as he passed through the crowd.
“Globalist!” someone shouted as he stepped up to the mic.
“Glober, you mean,” someone shouted back. “And if you’re calling him a globalist, that makes you a glober too!”
Sarge wedged himself in front of the mic. “Let the man speak!” He stepped back and gestured for Lonnie to go ahead.
“Yes, well, it really is a pleasure to be here. I’m sure the whole experience will be… ah… illuminating.” He drew out the last word and got a few hoots. “I’m particularly looking forward to learning the math that explains how our rockets are traveling in circles over a flat disk, not orbiting a spherical globe. And also where I actually was during my two trips to the…” he took a page from Sarge’s book and used air quotes “… ‘moon’.” That got a few laughs.
“Maybe you can even convince me that this is all just a simulation being run by multi-dimensional beings inhabiting a flat planet.” Here he couldn’t help noticing some sort of Tibetan lama standing in the first row in front of the stage, nodding and smiling. “But that raises the possibility for me that none of you are actual people, just NPCs the designers created to make the simulation feel more real. In fact, maybe I’m an NPC too, and don’t even know it.” He mimed his head exploding, to a few more laughs.
“Anyway, I’m looking forward to a lot of interesting and…ah…productive conversations. But you should be careful. When your friends back home find out you’ve been hanging out with a billionaire glober and moon landing hoaxer, they’ll think you’re part of the global — or I suppose that’s disk-wide — conspiracy.” A few more laughs.
He was really starting to enjoy himself, but then someone yelled, “We want to Rock!”
“Oh, of course.” He stepped away from the mic, and Sarge moved in to introduce the band as the musicians and DJ, who had slipped into their spots behind him while he was talking, played an anticipatory groove.
At the bottom of the two steps down from the stage, a bearded man who looked like a security guard gestured toward the swinging doors from which stewards had been bringing trays of appetizers all evening.
“Right this way, Mr. Ester.”
Lonnie didn’t think twice. He’d finished his speech, it made sense to go backstage. He’d done it a thousand times before. He found himself in a passageway leading to the galley, judging by the sounds coming from beyond the far end of the corridor. A couple more security types stood about, looking bored.
Rock came past on his way out to the stage, giving him a slap on the back. “Great speech! I’m really looking forward to getting to know you better. There’s a new crypto you might be interested in. We’ll talk after the show.” With a broad, insincere grin, he pumped his hands in the air and pushed through the swinging doors.
Cryptocurrency — great. He didn’t need a pitch for another Ponzi scheme, and vowed to avoid the singer for the rest of the trip.
“This way, Mr. Ester,” the security guy said, gesturing for him to follow. The two other guards, still nonchalant, had moved into positions behind him.
“Where are we going?”
“Mr. Marshall has some things he wants to show you in his stateroom.”
“So where is he?” He had to shout because Rock had started his first song.
Security Guy leaned in so he could be heard. “He’s bringing another guest. He’ll meet us there.”
“I’ll wait for him here.”
Security Guy gestured at the corridor. “We have to keep this clear.”
As if to demonstrate his point, a steward bearing a large tray appeared at the end of the passage, and they all had to flatten themselves against the bulkhead as he went past.
“All right,” Lonnie said, and followed Security Guy through the kitchens and into the passages beyond. As they walked, he got out his handheld. Still no service, and no reply to his text message, which had failed to send. Strange.
They came to a door and entered the stateroom, which turned out to be a suite.
“Make yourself comfortable, Mr. Ester,” Security Guy said, gesturing at chairs and a couch. “Would you like a drink?”
“I’m fine, thanks.” He went over to look out a porthole. The moon peeked through gaps in the marine layer, silvering the mirror-flat sea.
Security Guy remained standing like a soldier at ease. His two companions had taken positions on either side of the door, still looking bored. But now Lonnie noticed that their eyes kept moving about the room, to him, to his hands, and away. Bored, but watchful.
“What’s this all about?”
“Mr. Marshall will explain when he gets here.”
They were silent for a few moments, the tension rising in the room, or at least in Lonnie’s gut. He went back to staring out the porthole. Maybe this had to do with the cryptocurrency Rock had mentioned. Maybe he and Marshall were going to try persuading him to buy in. If so, these pressure tactics weren’t going to work.
At last the door opened and Liz was practically pushed into the room, another guard following close behind.
“Lonnie?” she asked, looking around the room. “What is this?”
“I have no idea.”
“It’s a kidnapping,” Sarge said as he entered the stateroom, closing the door behind him.
Lonnie’s ears filled with a dull, roaring sound, and his vision momentarily went blank. He felt like he might fall over and had to steady himself against the bulkhead. How long had he been expecting something like this? Ever since earning his first billion. He cursed himself for never hiring more personal security, but this did nothing to relieve the roaring in his ears.
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, please give it a like, a share, a restack, or a comment. And if you really enjoyed it, I hope you’ll buy me a coffee or upgrade to a paid subscription.
A kidnapping! What do you think Sarge has in mind?
Next up: Chapter 10, “On Deadline,” another flashback chapter in which Liz receives a threatening communication.