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Authors: Anne McCaffrey
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And so Nimisha called up the shape, dragging in the basic units from other successful designs.
Caleb added a new water-purification system that the Fleet had been perfecting, as well as a top-quality catering system, designed to convert pure protein and complex carbohydrate substances into food that not only tasted exactly as the diner wished but provided the necessary nutrients for the maximum efficiency of the human body. Repair units had to operate autonomously should the ship be damaged in any one of the hundreds of scenarios that had to be programmed into the memory banks from those the Fleet generously opened for the project.
Civilians—like Lord Rhidian, who bought the test Mark 3 from her and effusively praised it—found it more than comfortable and certainly fast enough to meet their requirements. The Rondymense Yard expanded and Jeska became executive director, freeing Nimisha to pursue the elusive ideal with Caleb. The Fleet was attempting to come up with a more economical version, which she and Caleb privately referred to as the Faulty Four, while she refined the satisfactory units of the Mark 3 and started from the beginning to conceive further innovations that would make the Mark 5 nearer to her ideal. She and Caleb spent hours in the Design Room, dragging and drawing, redesigning, reorganizing components, until the day they asked the all-important questions: Would the performance of this design equal Nimisha’s optimum? How much would it cost to build? And how long would it take to complete?
“A projection of its performance capability is twelve percent higher than the Mark Four,” the Designer replied. “It would take no longer to build than the Four, since much of the same basic design has been refined and can now be utilized. Based on current prices for top-grade materials . . .”
“Have I ever economized on them yet, Designer?”
“. . . the cost would take precisely sixty-two percent of the credit currently on deposit.”
Caleb whistled.
“I’d’ve expected a higher cost, considering the complexity of the AI units you’ve specified and the other refinements on our Mark Four designs,” Jeska said, knowing how much Nimisha depended on her opinions. “But I have new contracts just in that will recoup thirty-one percent of that credit within the next two years. Plus the usual maintenance contracts that come in regularly—and I suspect the Zynker-Deltoid Shippers intend to accept our tender for their fleet additions. In short, it’s doable,” she finished, “without your having to invest much of your own money.”
“That’s a lot better than I thought,” Nimisha said, surprised. “And Lady Rezalla will be pleased that I don’t have to touch my capital.”
“So, do we build?” Caleb asked, aware he’d been holding his breath.
“We sure do,” Nimisha said. “Designer, let’s have one more look at those main AI circuits. They have to be in the most shielded part of the hull.”
Meanwhile, Cuiva grew from a toddler to a graceful young girl who obediently did ballet training with her grandmother and was every bit as handy with a soldering tool or construction fastener as her mother had been at the same age.
“How many generations is that wretched Yard going to consume?” Lady Rezalla demanded when she found Cuiva about to set off in the space skimmer when she had planned to take the girl to a new anti-grav ballet that had been sold out for weeks. She had had trouble enough obtaining tickets and was exasperated to find her treat preempted. Cuiva might be content enough to keep her grandam company when her mother was busy, but Nimisha had first call on the child’s loyalties.
“Tionel’s family had it for nine generations, so Cuiva’s only the second for us,” Nimisha said.
“Which would you—” Lady Rezalla began, bending down to the child.
“Mother!” Nimisha interrupted, so abruptly that Lady Rezalla stared at her body-heir in amazement. Nimisha
Caleb added a new water-purification system that the Fleet had been perfecting, as well as a top-quality catering system, designed to convert pure protein and complex carbohydrate substances into food that not only tasted exactly as the diner wished but provided the necessary nutrients for the maximum efficiency of the human body. Repair units had to operate autonomously should the ship be damaged in any one of the hundreds of scenarios that had to be programmed into the memory banks from those the Fleet generously opened for the project.
Civilians—like Lord Rhidian, who bought the test Mark 3 from her and effusively praised it—found it more than comfortable and certainly fast enough to meet their requirements. The Rondymense Yard expanded and Jeska became executive director, freeing Nimisha to pursue the elusive ideal with Caleb. The Fleet was attempting to come up with a more economical version, which she and Caleb privately referred to as the Faulty Four, while she refined the satisfactory units of the Mark 3 and started from the beginning to conceive further innovations that would make the Mark 5 nearer to her ideal. She and Caleb spent hours in the Design Room, dragging and drawing, redesigning, reorganizing components, until the day they asked the all-important questions: Would the performance of this design equal Nimisha’s optimum? How much would it cost to build? And how long would it take to complete?
“A projection of its performance capability is twelve percent higher than the Mark Four,” the Designer replied. “It would take no longer to build than the Four, since much of the same basic design has been refined and can now be utilized. Based on current prices for top-grade materials . . .”
“Have I ever economized on them yet, Designer?”
“. . . the cost would take precisely sixty-two percent of the credit currently on deposit.”
Caleb whistled.
“I’d’ve expected a higher cost, considering the complexity of the AI units you’ve specified and the other refinements on our Mark Four designs,” Jeska said, knowing how much Nimisha depended on her opinions. “But I have new contracts just in that will recoup thirty-one percent of that credit within the next two years. Plus the usual maintenance contracts that come in regularly—and I suspect the Zynker-Deltoid Shippers intend to accept our tender for their fleet additions. In short, it’s doable,” she finished, “without your having to invest much of your own money.”
“That’s a lot better than I thought,” Nimisha said, surprised. “And Lady Rezalla will be pleased that I don’t have to touch my capital.”
“So, do we build?” Caleb asked, aware he’d been holding his breath.
“We sure do,” Nimisha said. “Designer, let’s have one more look at those main AI circuits. They have to be in the most shielded part of the hull.”
Meanwhile, Cuiva grew from a toddler to a graceful young girl who obediently did ballet training with her grandmother and was every bit as handy with a soldering tool or construction fastener as her mother had been at the same age.
“How many generations is that wretched Yard going to consume?” Lady Rezalla demanded when she found Cuiva about to set off in the space skimmer when she had planned to take the girl to a new anti-grav ballet that had been sold out for weeks. She had had trouble enough obtaining tickets and was exasperated to find her treat preempted. Cuiva might be content enough to keep her grandam company when her mother was busy, but Nimisha had first call on the child’s loyalties.
“Tionel’s family had it for nine generations, so Cuiva’s only the second for us,” Nimisha said.
“Which would you—” Lady Rezalla began, bending down to the child.
“Mother!” Nimisha interrupted, so abruptly that Lady Rezalla stared at her body-heir in amazement. Nimisha
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