Unfinished Business

Chapter Eighteen

Amphora Station was named with great optimism, a few decades back before the War. Nearly every terraformation project used some sort of orbiting platform as a staging ground for the first grueling steps in the process, and later as a conduit for equipment, men and supplies from off-world. But after nearly forty years, those hopes were long dashed, and the station was a tangible stain of the dashing. Its form was perhaps more graceful than similar stations elsewhere, as it was designed to look like the ancient wine vessel of the Greeks. The serene curves that had become the hallmark of Achaean civilization and earliest symbol of international trade had not been chosen for their sublime aesthetics, however. It was a marketing gimmick, pure and simple.

The moon it orbited, Bacchus, had looked like a perfect candidate for terraformation and colonization – over 9000 miles wide, comfortably within the important “Cinderella Zone” (that critically important distance from the primary where water was naturally a liquid – not too hot, not too cold). It had a robust magnetosphere to shield it from cosmic rays, and it had a period of twenty-five hours. A local ring system had adequate frozen hydro to provide the seas and basic atmo. The heat radiating from the jovian planet would keep its eventual temperature balmy. It looked perfect . . . on paper.

In fact the early computer projections indicated that the lifeless orb would eventually have a warm, Mediterranean-style climate, perfect for vinoculture and similar agriculture. The announcement of the terrasayers’ findings was hot on the heels of the first hugely popular vintages of Athenian wines hitting the Londinium markets to rave reviews. The investing public had been enthusiastic about the prospect of another wine producing moon on par with the finest of the Central planets wineries. It became a hot investment tip, fueled by romanticism, an economy as yet unblemished by war, and a top-rate marketing firm.

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