COPYRIGHT 1995
JOSEPH J. LAZZARO

This story first appeared in the September 1995 issue of Analog
Science Fiction Science Fact Magazine

                    BEN FRANKLIN'S SPACESHIP

                               BY 

                           JOE LAZZARO

                               AND

                         PETER L. MANLY


     Silence on a spacecraft is a heart-stopping sound, for it
means the air scrubbers have ceased working.  Captain Jakeson
snapped his eyes open and in the dim emergency lighting and saw his
clothes floating in freefall in the center of his cabin. 
     "Damn!  The engines are dead!"  Holding onto the edge of his
bunk, he stabbed at the intercom button to call:  "Bridge!"      
The speaker remained silent.
     He glanced out his window and saw that the giant saucer shaped
antenna was still intact.  She looked like an umbrella towing a
beer can.  Franklin was the first electric powered space ship,
driven by microwave energy beamed across space.  She converted the
radiant energy into electricity, powering the ion engine complex. 
He had felt proud to be her master, setting new records of speed
and endurance.  The Franklin was the only ship that could travel
under constant acceleration, a fact that was driving the other
aerospace transportation and supply companies out of their
collective minds.  It also changed the economics of Earth-Mars
travel, substituting high-value goods for their usual passenger
load.  Indeed, a good chunk of the company's net worth was tied up
in this single cargo.  Because of the sheer value of the mission,
Jakeson had resigned himself months earlier to the possibility that
his brand new ship just had to be the target of corporate and
political intrigue. 
     Fear, determination, and a slight edge of anger filled his
mind.  He knew that in space, fear dulls your thinking and
ultimately can kill.  While easing out of the bunk, he ran down a
mental checklist which would isolate the cause of the power failure
and if it turned out to be sabotage he'd track it to the source
with vengeance. 
     Nobody screwed with his ship and got away with it! 
     He mentally backed up and reminded himself that he first had
to find out the nature of the problem, and that it might not be
just sabotage.  He also reminded himself that the ship was of a new
design and that all the bugs might not have been ironed out.  He
groped for the emergency flashlight and reviewed his position. 
With the engines out, the ship was well past turn-over, more than
halfway to Mars.  They were on battery power and could last only a
short time. 
     Then a scraping noise from the stateroom entrance caught his
attention and he heard the engineer ask:  "Captain? You in there?" 
     "Yes, Smitty.  Come in."
     Jakeson stood as the engineer opened the door.  "All the
displays just died.  No intercom either." 
     "You got any idea what caused this?"
     "Not yet, Sir.  Can't tell anything until we get the computers
back online.  We're working on that now." 
     Jakeson pulled himself toward the stateroom door.  "Have you
seen any other crew?" 
     "Just Vinnie in the galley.  He said he'd stay put until he's
needed somewhere else." 
     Jakeson paused at the ladder leading upward.  "Get back to the
engineering section, and get ready to feed a report to Jonesie. 
I'm heading for the bridge." 
     The emergency lights provided dim illumination at best, but he
preferred their feeble glow to the total blackness of space.  He
tried to reason out the situation calmly, clinging to his training. 
He was damned sure that it was not yet time for the Franklin to go
into free fall.  The computer had not announced any divergence in
the flight plan, either routine or emergency, which normally
proclaimed all course changes.  He rifled through his brain, trying
to come up with an answer.
     The ship's basic structure was not THAT complicated.  Had the
antenna complex malfunctioned, or lost its link with the
transmitter?  Or maybe one of the individual engines had failed,
causing a system shutdown?  There was no way to determine the
trouble without the computers, and valuable seconds had already
ticked away.  At least he hadn't heard or felt an explosion.      
This was one of the "quiet" failures. 
     Glancing up the ladder which ran the length of the ship, he
saw a shadowed face looking down helplessly and bellowed:  "You
know what happened?" 
     "No, Sir, I..."
     "Then stay put up there!" 
     He gently pulled himself up and headed for the bridge, hoping
to find answers in the ship's control center.
     The bridge held a telescope and the communications antennas;
the rectenna and ion engines were forward of that.  He moved
onward. There were no other crew members on the ladder to be seen,
and he hoped they were all at their emergency stations by now. 
After what seemed to be an eternity he entered the bridge, its
normally bright displays and computers all dark.  The emergency
lights barely lit the chamber, giving the scene a ghastly
appearance as he spotted First Officer Suzanne Jones.
     "Report!" he snapped.
     Jonesie waited at her command console, a look of controlled
concern playing across her face.  "The first thing to determine is
whether an engine failed, the rectenna malfunctioned, or if the
beam stopped.  I can't give you any answers until the network comes
back online. For the moment, we're running on emergency battery
power." 
     "But why are the computers down?" Jakeson asked peevishly. 
"Aren't the damn things running on uninterruptable power supplies?" 
    "Yes they are, sir.  I don't have a good technical
explanation.  Perhaps a power spike went through the system?"     
"Well, reboot the damned things and let's have some answers."     
"I'm working on that.  But it'll be a few minutes, sir."      There
was nothing to do but wait, and Jakeson grudgingly strapped himself
into his command seat, glaring at the dark display screens.  He
rolled his eyes to heaven, knowing how finicky computers could be,
and with life hanging in the frigging balance.  He could operate
computers, but didn't eat, sleep, and breathe the machines like
Jonesie did.  She was a total computer geek if there ever was one. 
    After a time, Jonesie floated over to Jakeson's station.  Her
face showed some relief, but she still looked as if she'd tasted
sour milk. 
     "We've managed to get the computers back online.  Good thing
someone around here does triple backups.  From all the data, it
looks like Earth's orbital power station simply isn't transmitting
any longer." 
     "You're sure it's not a problem on board the Franklin?"     
"Yes, sir.  The orbital microwave beamer must be out of action."  
    "Hmmm."  Jakeson frowned.  "I really don't like that answer. 
We can only rely on battery power for a few days, and that's only
if we take almost everything offline." 
     "That's my recommendation, sir."
     "Get ready to make a signal then.  I want to transmit our
current status back to base, and find out what the hell's happening
back there." 
     Jonesie pulled herself back to her station.  Flipping several
switches, she spoke to Jakeson decisively.  "You're on the air!"  
    Jakeson used few words in describing their current situation.
They were without engine power, but with no obvious structural
damage.  They were running on emergency battery power, but that
power could last only a few days at best.  He also requested an
immediate status report from base.  Then, as he locked the handset
into place, he queried the revived computer and found that the
message would take six minutes to reach Earth.  Glancing at his
watch, he saw that it would be at least twelve minutes before he
could expect an answer.
     He looked up at Jonesie.  "Keep the channel open.  They may
have already transmitted an explanation before we sent our
question." 
     The minutes dragged on.  Smitty reported the intercom back on
line, adding that the engines were operational -- they just lacked
power.  Twelve minutes came and went and stretched to fifteen, and
just as Jakeson was about to transmit a second, heated request for
information, the channel came alive.
     "Um, Franklin this is Beamer.  Your message is received and
we'll... ah, get back to you.  Beamer out."
     Before he could build up a good, angry head of steam for a
retort, it occurred to him that the orbiting microwave power
station Beamer might be in the middle of their own emergency.  He
could envision them handling a fire or a blowout, not able to take
time to answer his radio messages. 
     "Jonesie, sounds like Beamer's got a problem.  Can you swing
the high gain antenna over toward Earth and see if we can pick up
any local signals?"
     "Aye, Sir!"  Her hands flew across the keyboard as she watched
her displays.  She listened quietly for a few minutes, her face
cold sober.  "Sounds like normal radio traffic to me."  She shifted
frequencies several times.  "If Beamer had a problem they'd be
screaming for help, but all the emergency frequencies are quiet." 
     "Well, then, see if you can get me a link to Corporate
Headquarters.  I need to know what's going on!" 
     Several minutes later Jonesie reported:  "Sir, I can't get
into our usual relay satellite.  I think they changed the
transponder codes." 
     Jakeson knew the ship was equipped with puny radios which
could be heard only by the company's privately owned satellite with
special antennas and he glared at the microphone.  "Ain't it great
working for the cheapest company in the System?"  Then he stopped
to consider his options.
     "Try to raise Mars," he suggested finally.  "They're closer to
us anyway." 
     "I'll try, sir, but they aren't expecting a message from us so
I doubt their antenna is pointed in the right direction." 
Furthermore, we're no longer following our planned trajectory since
the engines shut down.  Even if they wanted to call us they'd point
at a place thousands of kilometers from where we actually are."   
   "Well, give it a try anyway.  And see if you can pick up any
news broadcasts.  I'm going below." 
     "Aye, sir." 

     Jakeson was floating in the engine maintenance bay when
Jonesie reached him.  "Sir, there's a news broadcast I think you
ought to hear.  I'm recording it." 
     Jakeson pressed the intercom button.  "I'm on my way."      
He pulled himself into the bridge and she said:  "I'll rewind the
recording."
     The speaker came to life:  "...while stock in the tiny Martian
company has tripled in value..." 
     Jonesie reached for the controls.  "Oops.  Rewound too far.
It's the next one I wanted you to hear." 
     "Let it play!"  Jakeson barked.
     The broadcast played on:  "...invented a new process for the
manufacture of Solar cells with twice the efficiency at one tenth
the cost.  In other news, Space Ventures announced they may be
having trouble with their new cargo ship, the Ben Franklin.  The
experimental spacecraft has not been heard from in five days.  Even
though her skipper is an experienced spacer, company officials fear
the worst." 
     Jakeson lowered his brows and thought.  For the past four days
he had sent in regular reports and they had been acknowledged as
usual.  Something was fishy.  Now he found he couldn't communicate
with the company or anybody else. 
     "Jonesie, I think we just heard our own obituary." 
     She gaped at him, astonished.  He looked up and said, "Pull up
the cargo manifest on your screen.  I'm going to look over the
ship's papers.  When he returned to the bridge he asked:  "What's
the highest value cargo we have?"
     She ran a finger down the screen.   "Well, for a single lot
about a third of the cargo mass is power system components for the
Mars colony.  After that, um, the medical equipment is pretty
expensive.  The rest is construction stuff to expand the colony. 
It's things they can't make yet for themselves." 
     Jakeson studied the ship's papers for a moment.  "You know,
Jonesie, we're more valuable dead than alive.  Those power system
components in the cargo bays are just Solar cells, and with the new
ones coming on the market they aren't worth a tenth of what the
company paid for 'em."  He waved a sheaf of papers in her face. 
"But the cargo is fully insured and the ship, too.  If we reach
Mars then the company loses a bundle." 
     "Sir, they wouldn't..."
     "I think they already did." 
     He pressed the intercom button.  "Smitty, get up here.  Have
I got an engineering job for you!"  When the engineer arrived,
Jakeson asked him:  "Smitty, did you ever wonder why they collect
Solar power in Earth orbit and beam it to the ship rather than
mount the Solar collectors on the ship?" 
     "Yes, Sir, I did.  I believe the answer was that they could
switch power from ship to ship more easily and they could sell
unused power while we were docked and loading." 
     "Yes, I bought that excuse myself.  But I think the real
reason was to exercise control.  They have the on/off switch in
their hands." 
     Smitty sighed, and then brightened after a moment as he
scribbled some notes on a piece of paper.  "I think I may have a
solution to our little problem."  He held up the note.  "These are
just some preliminary calculations, but I think we can vacuum-weld
the Solar collectors in cargo to the microwave antenna and power
the ship's engines.  We'll get only about half the thrust but we've
got enough consumable supplies to get to Mars." 
     Jakeson grinned."Exactly my own idea but I hadn't carried the
design as far as you have.  Get working on it.  Use any available
crew."  He turned to his first officer, "Jonesie, see if you can't
rig one of our radios to the high gain antenna.  At some point
we're going to have to talk to Corporate Headquarters.  And keep an
ear on the news.  I expect they'll have a nice funeral service for
us and I don't want to miss that!"
                               ***

A month after her scheduled arrival, the ship sidled up to Phobos
Station and startled the Mars traffic controllers. 
     "Good to see you Franklin!  We thought you were lost."     
"Just a little detour, Phobos," Jakeson replied.  "We took the
Scenic Route." 
     Jonesie interrupted:  "Sir, I have an urgent call from
Corporate Headquarters on Mars." 
     "Tell 'em to wait."
     "Aye, Sir!"
     Jakeson got himself a squeeze-bulb of coffee, paced the ship
an thought hard before returning to the bridge to accept the call. 
     "Put 'em through." 
     The video screen lit up to show a fat little man sitting there
with a forced smile on his face.  "Captain Jakeson!  What a
pleasant surprise to see the ship and you, alive." 
     Jakeson had met this corporate hack twice before.  Deevers was
a mid-level manager in charge of acquisitions who didn't have a
sincere bone in his body.  After the earlier meetings, he had
wanted to wash his hands.  It felt good to be on the offensive.   
  He leaned forward and smiled back.  "I understand that your
company considers us dead.  Do you have business with us?"      
Deevers appeared at a loss for words.  "Um, why yes!  We thank you
for delivering our cargo to Mars orbit." 
     "'Our' cargo?  Let me cut to the bottom line.  You and your
corporation no longer own either this ship or its cargo.  Two days
ago you received the largest insurance payment ever for an
'irretrievable' shipping loss.  Legally, the ship was then salvaged
by us." 
     Deevers sputtered.  "But, but, you are our loyal employees. 
You were working for Ventures at the time." 
     Jakeson smiled.  "Loyal employees?  I bet you cut off our
salaries on the same day you cut off the microwave beam!" 
     "Now please, Captain, I'm sure we can clear up this little
misunderstanding.  I'd like to..." 
     "CAN IT!  We have no business to conduct."  Jakeson reached
for the cut-off switch." 
     "Captain, if you're claiming the ship?  That's mutiny!"      
Jakeson winked at Jonesie.  "No, this is not mutiny.  It's only
mutiny if the CREW revolts against the commanding officer, not if
the commander revolts against the powers that be.  I am being
insubordinate, not mutinous.  There's a difference."  He grinned. 
    Deevers looked like he was close to having a heart attack. 
"You don't think you have a chance in hell of winning, do you? Just
our legal staff alone is larger than 85 percent of the registered
corporations." 
     Jakeson's smile got bigger.  "I don't have to win, just keep
this ship tied up in the courts until the moon develops her own
atmosphere."  He leaned back in his command chair and tapped his
fingers.  "Tell the company they can buy back the cargo at fifty
cents on the dollar.  That's a real bargain, and the price will be
seventy-five cents on the dollar tomorrow.  The price goes up
accordingly each day.  And if they don't buy the cargo, tell them
that I'm sure the settlers would love to get their hands on it for
ten cents on the dollar." 

Readers are invited to comment on the story via Internet to
lazzaro@bix.com and petemanly@bix.com