The greatest struggle for Fortis was not the symbolism of Misty’s dominant religion. The spiritual logic was not out of reach. What he struggled with was the sudden slow pace of life. The sea journey was a jolting experience intellectually, so his mind was busy enough. The first week of travel on Johnston Island brought a more physical brand of adventure. The month of religion instruction was actually rather mundane in itself, though the sudden insights were constant. But the waiting for news of how things transpired with the ranger and Elder Bradley was a nagging worry the whole time.
George had other business to attend to, and Fortis made new friends on the college faculty, as they devoted time tutoring him one one one. So he was caught off guard when, after almost a month, George turned up at his door just before dawn. “Looks like the ranger didn’t make it. Fisherman found his kite off the coast south of here,” he announced.
Fortis invited him inside. George was about as bubbly as Fortis was anxious to hear the story. “We were shocked by one thing. The wreckage included a hot air balloon. Not completely enclosed, just a way to create a pocked of warm air. So it was just enough to enhance the rate of climb for the kite. Our boy had several small ceramic canisters of hydrogen and a tiny burner. Best we can tell, he would fire up the balloon when he couldn’t get a lift from the winds, but still had to collapse the bag at glide altitude to get forward travel.”
“But you don’t use hydrogen much for heat, do you?”
“We’ve been able to extract it for quite some time, but we don’t have the means for condensing it to liquid. Refrigeration requires too much power. Some limited compression storage is possible, but it’s very inefficient. Most production facilities are bunkers. A cluster of windmills running non-metallic dynamos will be clustered together right near the machinery to prevent the need for metal wire. We use the ceramic hotplate technology to warm stuff. If we need more heat, we have a separate windmill pull water from a well, and some of that electrical power operates some ancient water fracturing equipment we imported. We pull the gases off and inject them back into an oven. The fracturing units operate pretty much on demand. They include a mechanical compressor with a small chamber.
“We have tried, but could never make hydrogen economically feasible for shipping. Mostly we use it in melting glass and firing ceramics. What our ranger friend had would have cost almost as much as two ships and the resources to operate them for the same trip, so why would anyone bother?” George shook his head in wonder. “Somebody was pouring extravagant resources into his mission. Too bad. We found his remains still attached to the harness.”
Fortis thought for a moment. “Why do I get the feeling at least one of the clans involved has a factory?”
“So we believe,” George affirmed. “My own clan is one of them.”
Fortis took a moment to absorb that. Meanwhile, George produced something from under his cloak. He shook out a dark red robe, just like the ones worn by the professors in the academy. However, this one had no patches of yellow and purple, but a thin stripe of each down both shoulders. “Put this one, Fortis, and let’s take a walk.”
“So I’m a professor, now?” Fortis was trying to catch on to the complicated symbolism of the garments he had seen so far on Misty. “What do the stripes mean? I haven’t seen anything like that before.” Fortis wrapped the robe about himself.
George led him down the hall. “You aren’t a citizen of Johnston, but a free employee. There are precious few of those anywhere on the planet.”
“So tell me why the Harbor Master wore black, with leggings,” Fortis asked as they descended the stairs.
They exited the wooden door at the bottom which led into the hard packed street. “Judicial authority. He exercises the Council’s power, separate from the Sheik. That, while he technically remains a vassal of the sheik. I suppose you would call it an extension of the Law of the Sea, which is often echoed in space travel, no?”
Fortis nodded. “Yes. A Port Master has similar authority, typically used to handle unruly hands or passengers who escaped a captain’s execution outright when the ship lands. It’s part of the treaty system for space travel.”
George grinned. “Same here. I was acting Port Master when you arrived.”
Fortis was almost bursting. “And I suppose we have no idea whether that ship of mine is gone, yet?”
George pretended the question was an unimportant distraction. “Of course,” he said, watching something down the street. “Bradley is a good man. He promptly sent a message bird as soon as the dust settled. Bird arrived an hour ago.” Then he grinned broadly.
Fortis sighed deeply. “And for all we know, another has returned by now with some other mission.”
“You would know better than I. News on Misty travels very slowly, as you know.” Again, the broad mocking grin.
“And Acting Port Master Bradley will greet them faithfully according to Council’s wishes. But I doubt any of the visitors are so anxious to travel as we do here on Misty, only to confirm what I reported. Should I suppose Elder Bradley had any sample trade goods or something?”
They rounded a turn sloping down toward the forest. Cocking his head to one side, George thought about it. “Most likely he did. His specialty is business management, so I have no doubt he quickly seized upon the opportunity. He’s a mystic, but finds business negotiations a major form of entertainment. I’d wager he raided Francis’ closet for a selection of goodies before he left.”
Abruptly George turned to him. “How soon can you be ready to sail north?”
