In a three-dimensional model of space, the shortest route between any two points will be a straight line. All other things being equal, this would be the most efficient path for a ship to take not just in terms of time but of fuel expended, as direction changes waste energy.
When traveling on a scale of interplanetary distance or greater, all other things frequently are equal. When the distances are interstellar, that frequency approaches one hundred percent. The fact that three-dimensional space is comprised primarily of… well, space… means you can generally draw a line between any two arbitrary points within it and not have that line cross any obstacle much more significant than an atom.
Of course, most “points” in space that are worth visiting are in motion relative to each other, but so long as that motion is predictable it’s still perfectly possible to calculate a straight line route. When somebody spoke of “charting a course”, this was pretty much what they meant, unless there was a region that had to be avoided for reasons such as politics
As the other defining characteristic of three-dimensional space is that it exists in three-dimensions. The straight route between two points will rarely be on a level plane with either the surface from which a vessel is departing or the surface upon which it will land.
The straight path between the point at which the Rebellion had been at and the point at which they could first intercept the Fickle Finger of Fate at their optimal speed brought them up “below” the much, much larger vessel. Dick had adjusted their course on the last leg of the approach to make it more or less head-on from their point of view, but the immensity of Fortunato’s complex made it seem less like they were drawing near to it and more like they were plummeting headlong into it.
While nominally a vessel, the Fickle Finger was the twenty-seventh largest surviving artificial body in deep space that had been constructed in the preceding billion years. It could move under its own power, but for it to sustain a faster-than-light field for one day would cost more in gold than the gross domestic product of any one planet.
Notably, it was the largest structure that could perform that feat at all.
Where most vessels and stations had a somewhat dull appearance, with running lights to make themselves stand out in the darkness of the interstellar void, every inch of the Fickle Finger gleamed or glowed. It was an artificial star of neon and chrome, a navigational aid which guided mariners as reliably as Polaris ever had, on the surface of Old Earth.
“That is a casino?” Galatea asked, looking down upon the garish spectacle with visible distaste.
“Technically, it’s eleven casinos,” Dick said. “Along with seven hotels, hundreds of restaurants, five amusement parks, three water parks, seventeen golf courses, two stadiums, and a retirement village.”
“An’ a zoo an’ a shoppin’ mall,” Regan added.
“Yes,” Dick said. “And a zoo and a shopping mall.”
“Just one shopping mall?” Galatea asked.
“It’s the third largest in the galaxy, and top-rated in quality,” Dick said. “Or so I have heard.”
“I’m gonna have to visit one or the other o’ those,” Regan said. “Need to get meself a new pair o’ boots, like.”
“Save the shopping for another trip,” Lilliana said, her voice being relayed over the commline from her own room, where she lay on the bed with her eyes tightly closed. This was the optimal position, she’d discovered, for pretending that the large mass that would be clearly visible if she had been on the command deck did not exist. “I’m going to need a bodyguard, so this time’s going to be all business for you and me.”
“Point of order?” Leo said. “Shopping is a commercial transaction, ergo, a form of business.”
“Hey, yeah,” Regan said. “Ergo.”
“To bring this monorail crash of a conversation back around… what in space are all of those accomodations meant to accomodate?” Galatea asked. “This hulk is floating in the middle of the very deadest of dead space. The nearest occupied body is Rylea, and there’s no way the Rylean economy could support this monstrosity.”
“It started out as a casino catering to vessels plying this stretch,” Lilliana said. “When Fortunato started offering the same sorts of amenities and services of the best chain casinos in civilized space to people traveling in the fringes, it became a destination in its own right and he had to add a hotel. The first casino couldn’t handle all the business, so he built a second one, and so on. At this point, his empire’s so big that he doesn’t own any of the individual businesses except for the original casino. He just collects an outrageous portion of their profits in rent, protection money, and franchise fees.”
“Protection?” Galatea asked. “He should be paying for protection himself. A jewel this plum has got to be a magnet for all the lowlife scum in the region.”
“It’s a casino,” Leo said. “That’s the idea.”
“Fortunato’s navy could probably beat that of Rylea and their three largest neighbors in all directions,” Dick said. “It’s small but extremely well-equipped in terms of both manpower and ships. Few governments can afford the sort of capital investment that Fortunato’s made in protecting his holdings.”
“And it is into this den of lions we are walking, willingly?” Galatea asked.
“You don’t have to walk anywhere,” Lilliana said. “Stay on the Rebellion. Individual ships docked at the Finger are considered sacrosanct and inviolable. Fortunato wouldn’t break that rule for anything. It would be terrible for business.”
“You’re gambling an awful lot on that,” Galatea said.
“Oh, no, not at all,” Leo said. “Just you. The rest of us are going ashore.”
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