The shuttle Prospect of Earnings drifted away from the unnamed planet while Gideon Vale sat upside down in the copilot seat eating dehydrated peaches directly from the packet.
Outside the window, the pulsar flashed again.
The entire ship buzzed like an angry refrigerator.
Martin Krake was writing the preliminary survey report:
Draft Report: YK-441Planet suitable for automated and debt-based extractive operations. Recommend caution regarding radiation exposure and management psychopathy.
Gideon suddenly sat upright.
“Oh my God.”
Martin didn’t look up.
“That phrase has never improved my day.”
“The pulsar.”
“Yes, I’m aware of the giant rotating death lighthouse.”
“We should harvest the beam.”
Martin slowly lowered the tablet.
“No.”
“Think about it.”
“I already have. The answer is no.”
“It’s free energy.”
Martin stared at him with the exhausted expression of a man who had attended too much school.
“Gideon. A pulsar beam is not a garden hose.”
“But it’s energy.”
“So is a nuclear explosion. You don’t put a windmill in one.”
Gideon pointed excitedly out the window.
“That thing emits more energy in a second than entire civilizations use in years!”
“Yes. That is precisely the problem.”
Gideon grinned.
“We build giant collectors.”
“With what materials?”
“Strong materials.”
Martin rubbed his visor.
“The beam contains gamma rays, relativistic particles, magnetic fields strong enough to erase computer systems from orbit, and enough ionizing radiation to cook every living thing instantly if shielding fails.”
“So we use really good shielding.”
Martin blinked.
“Oh, really good shielding. Why didn’t astrophysics think of that?”
Gideon ignored the sarcasm.
“We park stations near the beam.”
“Near the beam, matter becomes optional.”
“We automate it.”
“The electronics would die.”
“We harden them.”
“The atoms themselves would file a complaint.”
Gideon pointed accusingly.
“You always crush innovation.”
“No, I crush hallucinations.”
The ship lights flickered.
Martin gestured upward.
“That pulse alone probably induced currents in half our systems. You know what happens if you try to directly absorb pulsar radiation?”
“Unlimited power?”
“You vaporize.”
“Well maybe not directly directly.”
Martin sighed.
“A pulsar is a neutron star. Crushed stellar core. Twenty kilometers wide. Rotates absurdly fast. Magnetic field trillions of times stronger than Earth’s. The beam isn’t a flashlight, Gideon. It’s a relativistic particle jet from a dead star with anger issues.”
Gideon nodded thoughtfully.
“So…”
“No.”
“But maybe—”
“No.”
“What if Helix funded—”
Martin actually laughed.
“Helix wouldn’t spend money installing decent toilets. You think they’re building megastructures around cosmic horrors?”
Gideon folded his arms.
“You lack ambition.”
“You lack survival instinct.”
A pause. Then Gideon snapped his fingers.
“What if we market it as green energy?”
Martin stared silently for five full seconds.
“You are the dumbest visionary I have ever met.”
“Visionary.”
“I did not say that positively.”
Gideon leaned back smugly.
“One day they’ll call me a genius.”
“One day they’ll name a safety regulation after you.”
The ship AI chimed in suddenly:
AI Health & Wellness AlertNOTE: Direct pulsar energy harvesting proposals have been automatically forwarded to psychiatric wellness screening.
Martin pointed at the ceiling.
“See? Even the ship thinks you’re insane.”
Gideon smiled dreamily out the window at the deadly violet world shrinking behind them.
“Still,” he said softly, “imagine the electrical bill savings.”
Martin closed his eyes.
For a brief moment, he considered opening the airlock.