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enthusiasm would be incalculably great. With only the slightest urging, the
people of Hetaira could develop the sort of mania for Shining
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Sister that is, in other places, reserved for wars or sporting events. The
board of advisers of the Combine decided to allocate funds to make the
attempt. There were a series of sedate news-releases, emphasizing the fact
that success in this venture would be years coming. Nonetheless the trickle of
contributions increased, and kept at a slightly higher level.
The years passed. The Balkadranna Gang, at Fall River Rendezvous, succeeded in
separating enough U-235 to build a graphite-moderated reactor which would not
only sustain a chain reaction, but would generate enough steam to heat the
Rendezvous's buildings and run its power plant. Seeing commercial
possibilities in the new power-
source, a gang in the Horizon Zone began mining uranite and floated a loan
from the
Trading Combine to build an extraction and isotope-separation plant.
Arlla Hannaro was killed, in 610, in an explosion at the rocket-engine testing
site; her son, Vandro Hannaro, took her place as adviser of advisers. In 614,
after an extensive testing program, a multi-step rocket was launched from a
firing stand on the north side of
Skystabber, aimed to land in the middle of Shining Sister's vast ocean. It was
radar tracked as it lofted out of the atmosphere, circled the planet twice,
and then headed across the void separating the sister worlds. Unfortunately, a
component failure caused the small rocket motor in the last stage to fire its
mid-course correction at the wrong time, and to expend its fuel entirely in
that one shot. The radar-trackers then had the pleasure of
watching the spacecraft miss Shining Sister and pass out of contact, going in
the direction of the Star-Cluster.
The contributions to support the work of the Combine dwindled off after that.
Most of the loose money was being invested in nuclear-power projects. Vandro
Hannaro and his associates were not particularly displeased about this last;
they had long felt that the development of nuclear power and the necessary
improvement in nuclear technology that it would foster would be of great
utility in the eventual conquest of space. Less pleasant was the outburst of
uranium wars, reminiscent of the oil-wars of the previous century.
Finally a three-stage, unmanned rocket was launched that successfully dumped
the final stage into the great ocean of Shining Sister's near side. Two years
later the rocket that was to circle Shining Sister and photograph the hidden
side was built; it left the treasury of the Combine empty, and a staggering
total of unpaid debts hanging over the advisers' heads. The excitement that
was generated by the project, however, was tremendous; it was impossible to
hear anything else talked of.
"A lot of public interest, yes," Vandro said, rubbing the fur of his head
nervously, as though he had fleas. "But everybody thinks the job is just about
done, now, and there's no need for further contributions. If we had some way
of raising a little more money "
"A
lot more money," his chief assistant said.
"Look, Vandro," an old man who had been one of Arlla's assistants, and who
might, for all either of them knew, have been Vandro's father, said. "The
rocket is designed to carry three: pilot, instrumenter, and relief. Well, the
first two have to be well trained professionals, so they will be able to react
correctly in case anything, no matter how unlikely, goes wrong. But couldn't
you send a relief up with just perfunctory training
say, half a year if you had to?"
"We could, I suppose," Vandro agreed, "but what would be the point?"
"Look, suppose we sell the third place on the rocket. There must be thousands
of people who'd pay well for a chance to go on that trip!"
"No individual could pay well enough," Vandro said, "not even if his gang
financed him. It would only be a drop in the bucket. Have you any idea " He
paused, a strange look on his face.
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"What is it, Vandro?" his assistant demanded.
"I have an idea."
"Thank goodness. From the way you looked, I thought you had an attack of
stomach-
pain."
"No, seriously, I have what might be quite an idea," Vandro said. He turned to
the old man. "And it's your idea, Zalgo."
"My idea?"
"That's right.
Chance
, you said. Well, that's it!
Chance
! We'll have a lottery!"
Vandro was right. The idea caught the popular imagination. It was understood,
of course, that the winner would be required to meet certain physical and
mental standards;
but it was also realized that if the individual failed, he or she would have
no trouble selling the winning ticket for many times its original cost. Gangs
of speculators bought blocks of tickets, intending to do just that. Vandro
began to worry, as the money poured in, that there was something he hadn't
thought of, something that was going to go wrong, causing the whole idea to
blow up in their his face. He could, for example, imagine the outburst of
murderous fury which would rock the planet at the slightest suspicion of
fraud. He had a recurrent dream, in which the numbering machine on the press
had jammed, turning out thousands of tickets with the same number, which then
happened to win.
The drawing was held at the headquarters of the Trading Combine, at Timber
Lake, with the entire board of advisers watching over it. The winning number
was flashed by telephone and radio around the world, which then held its
collective breath to see who held the ticket.
It was three sleep-periods before the winner, a girl named Lylla Rovodorro,
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