Chapter 6 – kind of big – “The Middle of Nowhere”

Chapter 6

Jeff called April and asked to came over with Heather a couple hours after the shooting. It was really unusual to see Jeff angry. April remembered what Gunny had said about wanting to see if he really shot laser beams out of his eyes. Except that look would freeze anything solid rather than vaporize it. Jeff, angry, spoke softly and was scary cold.

“Jon said the man who tried to shoot you had tattoos that are common to Chinese special forces. They just don’t seem capable of leaving us alone. You know I’ve been diverting some income to buy rods. They are cheap and very hard to stop. However they have to be dead on a target to do any damage since they are just kinetic weapons.”

Bad enough to knock out a nuke sub, Gunny thought but didn’t say anything.

“I have five other special weapons stealthed and in orbit. They use a new tech based on some of my mom’s work. I wanted to sneak one off and test it before releasing them to you and Heather, but this decided me to give you the orbital elements and go codes. If you call them up in your spex or on a screen you can see a cone of possible maneuver. Or if you designate a point on the Earth’s surface it will tell you when the next one can reach it.” Open your pad and I’ll transfer the full data set to you.”

“Why couldn’t you test these like you wanted?” April asked.

“I needed two vehicles. One to carry a sample around the other side of the sun, and one to record the test and return. It’s expensive and would take months. It’s hard to cover up buying and sending them off. And more important right now it would take too long and waste one of them when it will be months before I can get the materials to make more. I’m sure they’ll work, I’m just not sure what the yield will be.”

“You must have a guess though,”

“I’m pretty sure it will yield fifty megatons. If it fused all the hydrogen and lithium it would yield near a hundred megatons. My Mother thinks we may get secondary reactions fusing heavier elements.  You get declining energy boosts from secondary reactions all the way to iron after all. I’d be really, really surprised if as it is presently configured it went over two-hundred megatons. That may sound like a big range, but it’s all within an order of magnitude,” he pointed out.

“How do you intend to use these?” April asked, worried.

“I’d reserve them for if Home itself is directly attacked, or if one of we three are assassinated. If you find some circumstances that warrant using them, you have the codes now. I wouldn’t expect you or Heather to use them lightly,” he assured her.

“If my assassin had succeeded?” she wondered.

“Beijing and the entire communist party hierarchy there would be a huge smoking crater, decapitating China as the strategists say.” He looked like he wanted to say more, so she kept quiet. Gunny looked scared to death.

“If you drop one on Beijing, and that just hardens their resolve, the other four dropped off their coast will remove half their population and a third of their industry. It would remove them as a world power for the next several decades. If that doesn’t break them talk to my Mum. She’ll finish it for you. I don’t know how, but said she can, and I believe her. Although if it has gotten to that point I’m guessing she won’t need requests to act on her own. She has no love of China.”

“Does China have any idea its existence is so precarious?” April asked.

“No, and I doubt you could convince them. They are such arrogant liars they can’t imagine anybody else isn’t like them. April, they still think they own my Mother. They are just frustrated they can’t reclaim their slave and the value of her education. They are very bad people.” he said sincerely.

“Not so much different than North America,” Gunny growled. “I’m paying hundreds of thousands of dollars to basically buy my freedom from them,” he pointed out.

“Thank you for listening,” Jeff told them. “I know it’s late and you have to still be upset about the shooting, but I just felt like if I waited until morning to tell you and pass the codes I was taking a chance. I feel like we are all at risk now, every hour, and I wanted these codes in you and Heather’s hands.”

“Not my business, but I’m curious since you are letting me hear this, it isn’t something the militia has access to?” Gunny asked.

“No this is our private system. I don’t think ill of the militia, but I’m hesitant to give that many people access to a system that can obliterate a few hundred square miles with one strike. There are a lot of armed merchant ships now, so no telling who has private weapon systems. I do doubt if anybody has weapons this large,” he allowed.

“But you don’t know,” Gunny suggested.

“No, no way to really know because there are no laws or limits to give us authority to even ask,” Jeff agreed. “Atomic weapons are 1940s technology after all,” he reminded them. “Getting the materials is the only real barrier. Laws have always been secondary to the physical difficulties of obtaining the plutonium or uranium. These weapons don’t use either. If I found a way around that somebody else may have also,” he said modestly.

“Well, we know Loonies can make at least tactical nuke size weapons. I wouldn’t be surprised if they could manage strategic sized,” April guessed.

“If they think on it,” Jeff suggested, “they may see you could use the devices they already have in an implosion geometry to compress fusibles. It would require detonator circuitry with very accurate timing, but only slightly better than a plutonium fission bomb.”

“If you see a way to do it that easily then the only safe way is to figure everybody has them,” Gunny decided. “I’ll keep this to myself,” he volunteered, though they hadn’t asked.

* * *

April didn’t sleep well. She thought she was over the shock of the assassination attempt in the cafeteria as soon as her heart rate was back to normal. Instead it roused memories of her gun battle on Earth when Preston Harrison had tried to arrest her. Jeff’s announcement and the burden of the codes probably didn’t help either. The mish-mash of irrational confused images woke her up and she had to get up and have a hot chocolate and calm herself before she could go back to bed and eventually sleep.

In the morning Gunny was not up and she went ahead and went back to the cafeteria for breakfast without him. Ruby wasn’t there and she wanted to thank Ruby for protecting her face to face, not on com. She was surprised when Gunny arrived at the cafeteria door at a jog. He slowed down and walked in normally, but she wasn’t fooled. She’d heard him running. He’d been really moving only three or four paces outside the door.

He scanned the tables first, and only then, after she was located and the room appraised did he get a tray and go through the line.

“Aren’t you afraid to be here alone after yesterday?” he asked when he joined her.

“Not especially. If they can throw an assassin a day at me I won’t hold out very long anyway. It costs a lot to send one up here. Surely we have until at least the next shuttle before we have to worry about another.”

“Perhaps. I am a professional paranoid. I’d don’t want to make any assumptions if an error means you are dead. I read last night that they have a solution to long term Bucky Ball toxicity and new life extension treatments might take us out to about three hundred years. It would be a shame to see that cut off for you at sixteen.” Gunny suggested.

“Look at the curve for life extension,” April said cutting a climbing graph in the air with her hand. “If we’ll have three hundred now the curve is really turning up sharply,” she said running her hand almost straight up. “I can’t imagine another thousand and more won’t be added on during that new period. Pretty soon homicide and suicide will be the only serious sources of morbidity. Beside the people who die young from stupidity before they have a chance to get any sense. Males especially,” she said trying to tweak him a bit. He didn’t bite. He agreed actually.

“I don’t think you’ll ever completely get rid of people who thrill seek like sky divers and folks who race cars. But I bet most will shun risk taking. Maybe even pay for delivery of groceries and stuff in order to hole up at home to avoid the risk of travel and exposure to disease.”

“True,” April agreed, “but trauma medicine is getting better and better too. You may have to really splatter yourself beyond scraping up or burn yourself up to be permanently dead.”

“And yet they still can’t freeze a large mammal and have it thaw completely normal and live a full life after. If your buddy Jeff really does make a star ship somebody better perfect that or it will be a mighty long boring trip to those stars if you need spend it awake.”

“That’s a problem. I assume there is probably somebody working on it who is a wizard at the biological sciences, just like Jeff is working at nano.” April looked up sharply. “In fact I know just the person to commission,” she said suddenly happy.

Gunny had jerked and scanned the room quickly when she looked up so abruptly. April examined his breakfast and he hadn’t eaten much at all.

“Gunny, do you need a couple days off? I’m afraid yesterday imprinted you and you can’t relax. Maybe there is some Post Traumatic Stress you need to deal with? There’s medicine that eases that isn’t there?”

“You should be the one stressed. Nobody was shooting at me.”

“I am a little. I had weird, mixed up dreams last night and got up in the middle of the night and walked around and made myself some hot chocolate. I’ll go by the clinic after breakfast and talk to the doc on duty about it.”

“I’ll listen to whatever he tells you, but I’m not going to take anything that slows me down or will numb my valid judgment.”

“Okay, but eat please. You can’t stay fast and alert without fuel either,” she pointed out.

Gunny considered his omelet. “I’ve let this get cold. I’ll get it heated and some fresh hot cakes. Maybe you are right. We’ll both talk to the doc.”

When he came back Margaret was with him.

“Thank you so much for your protection last night,” April said. She went around the table and hugged her after she put her tray down. Margaret hugged her back and didn’t hurry to end it.

“That’s why I was here,” Margaret explained. “Alvin tagged that guy when he got off the shuttle as bad news, and we had a watch on him every time he moved. Jon had me pre-positioned in the cafeteria as soon as he left his room and headed this way.”

“You knew he was after April?” Gunny asked, frowning.

“No, we just figured he was up to no good. He could have been after somebody else, or been a saboteur. He was just too young and in too good a shape to be a pharmaceuticals salesman. If we knew he was targeting April, or anybody else, we’d have never let it progress so far.”

“Good, I wouldn’t approve of using her for bait,” he said bluntly.

“I will never do that. Not only do I value her personally, after last night I’d never do anything to piss you off. I Tased him, but it was just following through what I’d started. By the him I hit him he was a dead man standing. You had two rounds in him before I fired. I was primed to draw and watching him. You had to react to his actions from a blank slate.”

“You’d have gotten him before he fired though,” Gunny ceded, “and Ruby…That woman is scary. She pushed off the counter instead of just using traction to go at him. I’m not sure she wouldn’t have had her knife in him before he had that pistol extended and aimed.”

“Even if he got it extended, it’s tough to aim and fire effectively with a face full of scalding hot coffee,” Margaret pointed out.

“Ed Page works out with our Thai Chi group most Wednesdays,” April told them. “We don’t just do the slow. We even do sword. He wasn’t getting up to ask the guy for the next dance.”

Margaret, had to yank her napkin up and catch her explosive laugh. She folded it over and wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “Sorry, your droll humor catches me now and then. I just had this mental image of Ed posed holding his hands held like guys do to ask for a dance. By the way, Jon has the guys pistol and says it’s rightfully yours as a trophy of combat,” she told Gunny.

“Wow, the cops Earthside would never do that. I think you should give it to Ruby.”

“Ruby probably has better,” April told him. “I know she and Easy own a Singh laser. Easy is the sort, well, when we flew together he brought his own Russian anti-armor missiles along. He had those and was holding them before the war last year. So who knows what he owns now?”

“Fine, then give it to Ed. He was just as brave as Ruby and maybe he needs an upgrade from a coffee mug.”

“I’ll tell him. Jon instructed medical to not do an autopsy on the guy. He just had them doing a toxicology work up, because Ruby said one of the reasons she was so suspicious of him was he had dilated pupils. They may have had him on some kind of drug.”

“That would be stupid. It would ruin your sight picture. April wants me to see the clinic about some medication for PTS. I have concerns it would mess up my ability exactly like that.”

“I’m on a low dose of two drugs that complement each other. I have been over a year, since the war. I haven’t felt any need to adjust them for yesterday.”

“Well whatever you’re taking sure didn’t seem to slow you down. I find that encouraging,” Gunny said.

“Are you modified like April?” Margaret asked. “You just got here so you couldn’t be a customer of Jelly, could you?”

“Jelly?”

“Nickname for our local gene-mod doc from his college days. He’s Okay and I’d say he’s just as fast as you or April. I can’t afford it yet.”

“Ruby wondered the same thing, but no, I am as I was born. I’m just naturally quick.”

“If you go to the clinic talk to Dr. Lee. He’s the one who helped me. Later guys.” She was done with her light breakfast and hurried out.

“So, she fought in the war?” Gunny asked, fishing.

“She wiped out a squad of a dozen Space Seals by herself and folded the Heavy Space Shuttle Cincinnati over double, with its nose against its belly. In all fairness she did write on the lock not to enter or they’d be met with lethal force. The idiots came in anyway.”

“You have some scary friends.”

April decided that was some genuine humility. “Come on let’s see if this Lee is in.”

Doctor Lee was in and busy. They waited while he treated a beam dog who got pinched by a slow moving but massive truss. He left limping a bit with a three day rest order. He wasn’t happy to lose suit hours even though he got base pay, and even less happy that he was cut off from drinking while he used the pain medication.

It appeared Dr. Lee and one nurse practitioner were the entire duty crew.

“What do you do if you get a bunch of casualties all at once?” Gunny wondered.

“I have an off shift doctor I can wake up. There are a number of people trained in Emergency Medicine I can call on, and residents who have said they would respond in an extreme emergency trained as nurses or military medics. It’s possible to overwhelm local medical facilities anywhere,” he asserted.

“That sounded more critical than I intended it to. It was a serious question. I am looking at living here so it concerned me.”

“You have the same level of medical care here you’d expect in a suburban city in the USNA or Europe. If you need very specialized surgery you have to go down to a large Metro area just like if you lived in a very small town in Idaho. There are places in large cities that have better trauma centers. But really good trauma centers are the result of areas where violence is common. Living close enough to one to be taken there is often riskier than living further away and having less chance of needing it.”

“Then your crime level is very low here?” Gunny asked.

“I do not believe we have treated anyone in the last year injured as a result of crime.”

“How about that guy in your freezer with a knife stuck in his back and the three rounds I put in his chest?”

“I don’t count war and political assassination as crime, but believe me, he was well past any possible treatment when we got him here. That’s a pattern I am seeing. Such violence tends to produce dead bodies and little treatable injury. Even when we had fighting on station back in the war there were only six wounded I am aware of needing treatment.”

“Ask Jon if you want,” April suggested. “I don’t know if he keeps records of minor problems, like if somebody is drunk and disorderly and he escorts them home. He has not presented what you’d consider a felony to the Home Assembly since the war. He has the authority from the company to expel troublemakers who are just working here on temporary contracts.”

“Interesting. I’m used to more crime even inside the sheltered environment of a base.”

“We are a small community. A lot of crime like theft is harder to do here than down in an Earth town. You can’t take your loot and drive to a town a little bit away to sell it,” Lee said.

“I’ve seen you don’t have big apartments full of status symbols. And some things like a video screen everybody seems to have one. There aren’t any ‘have nots’ to steal out of envy.”

“How is the clinic funded?” Gunny wondered, looking around at an abundance of equipment. “Can three thousand people generate enough income to make it viable?”

“Mitsubishi carries most of the expense because they need it for the construction workers. The voting citizens agreed to kick in eight hundred dollars each as a base fund.”

“A month?” Gunny interrupted.

“No, annually. That all covers cubic, power and some of our upkeep on equipment. We are charging a hundred and fifty dollars an hour for myself and the other doctor. And we are the only pharmacy for now so we make a little on drugs.”

“I assume my USNA medical card is no good here?”

“No, just as you could not use on Earth in a foreign country we would not be reimbursed if we offered treatment on it. However we have a policy of no tiered prices. Everybody pays the same and we will try to quote as accurately as possible what elective services will cost. Did you want an estimate on some service?” He looked funny at April. “Do you need privacy?” he added.

“No, April is my employer at the moment. She actually urged me to come along because she intended to see you for the same reason. We are concerned we may be suffering from a degree of PTS. We, well, we’ve had a lot of people shooting at us lately. It’s not paranoia because they really are,” he emphasized.

“There are characteristic patterns of brain activity for which we can look. If they are evident to a degree there are several drugs that can offer some relief. If there is a really severe problem then there are stronger drugs and behavior therapy, but I’d say offhand that is not present or I’d see an overt presentation of inappropriate behavior.”

“Such as?”

“Well you were willing to sit sideways to the door and look away from it. That is not the behavior of a severe case. I’d say we need about two hours of diagnostic time, which includes taking a general medical history and some base line testing, a brain scan and reading it. Say four to five hundred dollars and if you need a prescription it will probably run twelve to fifteen dollars a day.”

“Sounds cheap. Let’s do it. Can you do it right now or do I need to come back?”

“Right now. We might get interrupted if I need to treat someone, but that’s not likely. Here let me give you a questionnaire on your pad,” he held his out to transfer a file. “I have April’s data. If you’d go in the first room there and fill it out I should be done with April when you come out.”

April was done and even had a couple bottles of pills on the counter beside her when Gunny came out. Dr. Lee was wiping out a clamshell helmet with a sani-wipe. “This is a military field model of NMR scanner. We use a lot of military and EM model equipment because it is more compact. We have full body scan too, but this is optimized for the brain and has specialized software. If you’d sit here we’ll project some images and sounds and get a baseline response.”

Gunny sat tense for awhile. The helmet played tones and showed various scenes and then music. Dr. Lee walked around behind him and picked up a clipboard from the counter.

“Ah that’s Virginia,” Gunny noted after a scene. “Heh, you have some oldies too he commented about the music.”

Dr. Lee didn’t reply. He watched the readout on the helmet and when it reached a certain point he slammed the clipboard on the counter with a crack like a pistol shot.

Gunny levitated straight up a good three inched grabbing the chair arms like he might float off. He gasped and started to reach up for the helmet and then controlled himself. “Was that really necessary Doc?” He was very unhappy.

“I’m supposed to use a starter pistol, but we had reports that some patients threw off the helmet and the sight of even a starter pistol triggered worse responses. It really was necessary to generate a startle response.  And yes you have a spike response I’d recommend mitigating with medication.”

“Did you do that to April too?”

“I’d rather not discuss details of April with you. In any case she is much younger. The growing brain is different and has different concerns. I can offer you appropriate medication that will make you process threats much better. You will be able to do your job just as well and not wear yourself out expending attention at unsustainable levels. You should sleep better too. And yes if you compare medications with April you will see that while you share one, the others two are different.”

“It won’t slow me down?”

“It absolutely will not reduce your reaction time.”

Gunny sighed. “Okay then I’ll try it.”

“I’ll write you a prescription for three weeks. If you feel it is making you ill in any way come see us right away. If you have any unexplained rash or difficulty breathing or anything serious like that, please don’t hesitate to request emergency transportation.”

“Is that likely?”

“No, some doctors don’t like to admit there might be any problem, but hey, some people can’t take aspirin. You never know who will have an allergy. If you are happy with how you feel get a refill when the three weeks are up. If you want another scan to try to quantify how it is working I’d be happy to do that.”

“How many refills do I get?”

“We don’t work it like that here. You’re an adult. If you need drugs we’ll sell them to you. If you want our advice a prescription is a recommendation not a straight jacket. You want to try something else based on what you read or sell or give these to somebody else, well, it’s your property not mine. You have the freedom on Home to be very smart or very stupid. Up to you.”

“April mentioned even marijuana is legal.”

“Yes, but the plant varies considerably in potency, and it is terribly inconvenient to smoke in our environment. If you want it for an actual medical condition and not just recreational use I’d suggest looking into synthetic cannabinoids. There are different ones tailored for specific uses. Many of them will treat medical problems at a dosage that doesn’t induce euphoria.”

“This is going to be an adjustment for me coming from North America.”

“I’m sure it is,” Dr. Lee agreed. “But we haven’t had that long to adjust ourselves,” He punched in an order and got two small bottles from an automated pharmacy panel, he opened them and checked them critically before handing them to Gunny. “I’ll bill you against your com code number. Most of Home runs a cash or 30 day business settlement. If you think of any questions here is our com,” he offered it and let Gunny take the address. “They won’t bother me off shift unless it is an emergency, but they have your data here.”

“You have to have a life too, Doc. Thank you for the help.” He gathered his medicine and  followed April, standing at the door already.

“That was reasonable, but I suppose I should see about some kind of insurance for really catastrophic medical expenses.”

“I’m not sure who sells it,” April admitted. “You’ll have to research it.”

Gunny looked at her alarmed. “You have enough strangers shooting at you to consider it for yourself,” he suggested.

“Maybe. You can tell me what you find out. You heard what Dr. Lee said. You tend to be dead more often than just wounded in his experience.”

“I wish you wouldn’t say that like it’s a positive thing.”

April stood in the corridor indecisive.

“Forget where you parked?” Gunny joked.

“I’d have never believed that possible before I visited Earth,” April admitted. “I’m not hungry yet, but by the time we go home we’ll need to turn around and head back for lunch. I’m not sure what to do.”

“Do they have delivery or carry-out?”

“Actually, I inherited shares in a company that picks up food at the cafeteria and delivers it to your door for a small fee. But we’re so close, we can get stuff in a thermal pack to take back.”

“Let’s do it then. I haven’t seen that yet.”

“Okay,” she said, turning back the way they came. “I have Eddie coming to talk business this afternoon. I don’t want to worry about rushing back to meet him.”

Chapter 5 of “The Middle of Nowhere”

Chapter 5

April started researching what was available to study economics. She’d find a formal class, but needed to know enough to even pick one. Jeff would expect her to do much more than a superficial look at the subject, and if she was going to be a bank owner she really should have a grasp of the matter. She hadn’t been thinking of all that when she first had the idea they should grab rights to have a bank while the window of opportunity was open on Home.

The array of books available was overwhelming. April usually didn’t approve of popularized guides, but saw a book entitled “Economic Jargon and Surviving Economics 101” That got bought along with what were said to be classics, “The Wealth of Nations”, and “The General Theory of Employment, Interest and Money”. She had to admit they looked a little dry.

Eddie called her up and wanted to talk. He assured her it was too long and complicated to cover over dinner. She set aside tomorrow afternoon with some trepidation. He didn’t sound upset with her, but she still had doubts about her trip, and whether it was as successful as others seemed to think.

Gunny was still watching recordings of Home Assemblies. April set a timer and allowed an hour to try to absorb economic jargon, and then she’d join her Japanese class. She hadn’t been in the active class so long they probably forgot who she was.

When the timer went off she was ready to move on. She had a hundred new words spinning in her head. Words she was used to using having new meanings were more difficult than entirely new ones. The language of economics seemed a bit archaic.

April knew Gunny would take tea, so she went ahead and made it to move around after sitting so long. They didn’t have active furniture that moved around under you like some offices used. It might be more productive, but April agreed with her Dad that you need a mental break too.

Gunny got up and stretched, and went off, probably to use the restroom. April took a slight break to look at the stocks. Nothing big was happening or the screen would have alerted her by changing line colors. But she examined trends and then looked at the news.

She had almost two hundred key words and phrases for her bots to gather. That was going to go up when she added economic terms. There were a number of stories about Home, commercial matters mostly. Contracts let and a couple stories about the new ring being built. Jeff’s name came up a few times and the Rock was mentioned.

She’d skimmed over half when she came to a story gathered by the key word Santos, the name of the Earth family with who she’d been staying.

América del Sur Noticias Netos: Buenos Aires, (auto translated) – Search and rescue services report no sign of the American pleasure vessel Tobbiko registered to Tetsuo Santos. A rubber dinghy with the ship’s name and various articles of clothing and food containers washed up on Horn Island shore north of the Drake passage. Chilean air assets aided in the search out of Puerto Williams. The vessel is assumed lost in the dangerous seas close to the Antarctic Circle.

“Gunny, look at this!” He got up and came over. She was too shocked to send it to his screen. She thought while he read it. When he finished and looked at her he was surprised she wasn’t upset anymore.

“It’s bullshit,” she said with absolute conviction.

“You think so?”

“Mama-san told me the Tobbiko was much stronger than boats made just thirty years ago. She said it could be pushed under by a rogue wave that would crush and demast those sort of boats and it would just bob back up. No way they got broke up and sank in the easiest season to make the passage. Papa-san wasn’t the sort to take her into something he didn’t have the skill to do.”

Gunny pursed his lips and considered it. “If this were true you’d have heard from Adzusa by now. Until we hear something from her I don’t believe it either. He just decided to disappear himself lock stock and barrel. I bet some of the intelligence community are skeptical too.”

“I’m not going to call the lieutenants in Maine. In some form Papa-san will make his pickup or he’d have arranged to let me know.”

“You going to say anything to Adzusa?”

“No. No condolences tells her I don’t believe it. Saying anything else is a security risk. If it was true she’ll contact us personally with details.”

“I agree. I bet this indicates he decided to leave Earth. He’s abandoning his contacts and networks if he’s going to fake his own death.”

“Wouldn’t they continue to have value?”

“Their value declines with time,” Gunny explained. “Their value hinges on people never being entirely sure he is fully retired. If he’s still seen as a potential player he has leverage. If he left Earth and took up permanent residence off planet I think that would end most of his influence anyway. Home just isn’t big enough or old enough to have an influence in the intelligence world. Maybe someday,” he allowed.

April thought about it. “I’m going to just keep my mouth shut. I’ve got to log on my Japanese class or miss it again. Want to go get some supper after that?

“Yes, but let me know when it’s near. I want to shower and change first.”

* * *

“Get ready if you still want to go,” April said much later. “We’re about done here and the instructor is giving us his usual little summation and pep talk.”

Gunny grunted a response and disappeared to his room.

Her time with the Santos had polished her Japanese. The household help, not her hosts, had taken the time to couch her by explaining the common daily speech about laundry and meals and shopping trips. They had even patiently repeated phrases in both English and Japanese when she was completely out of her depth.

The instructor and even a few fellow students had expected her to be rusty after an absence, but instead she had improved her accent and vocabulary. Quite a bit of it had to do with fishing and sail boat handling, but those terms can be used nicely to build analogy and metaphor.

“Assuming my paperwork comes through clean and complete, I believe I’ll set things in motion to assume Home citizenship and pay the severance taxes to end my North American citizenship,” Gunny said.

“How much do they ding you to leave now? Most folks who come up here plan it ahead and just abscond.”

“It will run about three-hundred-thousand over my regular taxes by the time I am done. I figure about a third of what I’ll get for my house if that isn’t screwed up. I put enough in my account to cover my utilities and the summer taxes when they come due. We’ll see if they get applied or if somebody snatches them. At least the account accepted the deposit.”

“If they don’t, want me to drop a rod on it so they can’t make anything from stealing it?”

“Let me see what else I can do before you bombard North America for me,” Gunny asked. “I suspect that might work against me being able to freely visit the continent too. That was one of my goals in leaving quietly and politely.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure when I’ll feel free to visit Hawaii again.”

“You are young. Smart to keep it open if you can. You may really want to go down in fifty years from now.

“Or I might not even be in the system in fifty years.”

Gunny looked at her funny. “What system?”

“Why, the Solar System,” she said, like it was obvious.

“You feel confident that is a possibility?”

“Jeff is working on it.”

“Okay.”

The cafeteria was past peak for supper, starting to empty out. April got fish and chips and a side salad with chilled shrimp and a lemonade. Gunny got weinersnitzle with potato pancakes and sauerkraut with apples.

April went to the far wall away from the coffee where everybody congregated. She greeted several people passing through, but nobody stopped her. She sat looking back as always because she enjoyed the people watching.

Margaret from Security was sitting against the other wall right by the entry. Usually nobody sat there unless it was full because it was as far from the line and coffee as you could get. But she had a pad open and some hard copy on the table like she was working. Which she confirmed even before April unloaded her tray. A message appeared in her spex that she was working and couldn’t visit, so April just replied ‘OK’ in text with a flick and blink of her eyeballs since she had the tray in both hands.

There was Mr. Muños, as usual the center of a deep discussion, and Ed Page who was a multi-tasker with an actual computer open, not just a pad. He’d eat breakfast and watch the news and manage his stocks while listening to the Muños group and not miss any of it. There was a new guy by the coffee she didn’t know, but he had eyes only for the girl with him.

Ben Patsitsas the author came in with his usual scarf around his neck. On his heels was a new guy, Oriental, but big. He looked more like he belonged in the other cafeteria with the fit, young vacuum rats and beam dogs.

She had her stuff all off the tray, so Gunny pulled it over and set his tray inside hers and sat down beside her, eating off the tray. He hadn’t done that last night.

It finally slowed down enough there was nobody in the food line waiting and Ruby came out with a rag to tidy up the coffee area.

April stabbed a few pieces of salad and a shrimp on her fork when Gunny stood back up. What she didn’t expect was his big hand reaching in past her arm to tip her over backwards chair and all. She wasn’t even half way to the floor before there was a >BOOMBOOMBOOM<.

Her ears were ringing and she looked up laying on her back and saw Gunny drop the hammer on his new pistol and slide it back in his holster before he reached a hand down to help her up. She had to switch her fork to the other hand to accept his help. Once she was up he reached back and sat her chair upright and took off for the commotion over by the coffee machines without a word of explanation.

April followed him wondering what was going on.

The Oriental fellow who came in last was sprawled on the floor. He was a gory mess in the middle of his chest and weirdly his hair and the shoulder of his shirt were all wet but steaming. There was the handle of a kitchen knife sticking out of his lower back. Just then Jon rushed in with McAlpine. When he saw the body he breathed a visible deep sigh of relief and holstered his weapon. He pulled a chair up at the next table and made a call on his pad while Margaret hovered over him and Gunny leaned in and said a few quiet words. Then Gunny quietly spoke to Ruby, and she laughed and gave him a play poke.

Gunny came back to her and put a big hand on her shoulder. “Let’s go sit back where we were, and Jon will come tell you what’s happening when he gets it sorted out.”

“I can’t eat now,” April protested.

“Neither can I,” Gunny agreed. “Maybe after the adrenaline high wears off a bit. I need to just sit a minute. I’m kind of shaky.”

“Oh, Okay.” April was more willing to accommodate his need to sit than her own. She watched Jon finish talking to Margaret and the medical crew showed up and bagged up the dead guy. Jon conducted brief separate interviews with Ruby and Mr. Page and somebody showed up from maintenance and was cleaning the floor and all the tables and chairs on that side of the room.

“What did you say to Ruby?” April asked. She thought it bizarre she’d laughed.

“I told her she scared the crap outta me running up directly behind my target like that.”

“She thought that was funny?”

“She suggested the Chinese fellow was so wide I couldn’t have missed him with a brick.”

Most of the crowd there left and the few who stayed moved over where Margaret had been sitting. The cleaning guy sprayed and wiped Mr. Page’s computer and helped him move it. Ruby came out and gathered all the trays and plates wearing gloves, and took them to the back.

The next shift cook came in and after a brief word and a hug Ruby headed out the door, obviously done for the day. The new cook took both carafes of coffee away and cycled the pot.

When Jon was through with everyone else he took Gunny over two tables away and had a conversation in low tones. She caught a couple words, but her ears were still ringing a little.

Finally Jon came to her last, and Gunny took a seat on the other side of her.

“Take this,” Jon said putting a capsule by her glass. “It will keep you from having any permanent hearing damage from the gun fire. Your ears are probably ringing aren’t they?”

“Yeah, a little.” Gunny had just swallowed one too, and she chugged her’s with some of the lemonade. It was good and she took a couple more swallows of it before putting it down. She didn’t tell him she’d taken them before down on Earth.

“Tell me what happened since you walked in the door of the cafeteria today,” Jon asked.

April related everything she could remember. Even who she observed was here and the way Gunny ate off his tray instead of removing everything to the table. Then how she’d been shoved back and she’d had to curl forward to avoid banging her head, and what she’d observed when she followed Gunny to the other side of the room.

Jon just nodded a few times, and stayed attentive, letting her go at her own pace.

“The fellow who was killed waited until you looked down at your food, and then stood, drawing a pistol as he stood. He was looking right at you and it’s pretty obvious he’d been warned how fast you are and was waiting to move on you until you had your attention elsewhere. He really should have been patient and waited for both you and Gunny to be looking down. Not that it would have saved him, but I would have thought it was obvious Gunny is a guard. He discounted him entirely too much.”

“Why wouldn’t that have saved him?” April asked.

“Watch the security video,” Jon invited, and sat his pad open to her and played the captured scene in slow motion.

The man sat his tray down and seated himself, but he didn’t scoot his chair in. He looked to the right where Mr. Page was looking at his computer screen. There was an empty chair between them and he was the closest of the group with Mr. Muños. He glanced to the left but there was nobody close, just Margaret clear across four rows of tables against the far wall.

Page’s eyes flicked to the left when the man looked away, but his fingers never hesitated continuing to click, click, click away at the entry he was making.

Ruby was walking slowly, sliding a rag along the edge of the counter, but she was watching the new guy from behind and frowning.

When the man started to stand back up he already had his hand on his gun on his left side worn cross draw. He stood too abruptly, telegraphing something wasn’t normal. Ruby shoved off the counter hard with her right hand. The rag went flying and revealed she had a twenty centimeter chef’s knife clutched in her hand under the rag. It was three long steps to the man.

Mr. Page threw the mug of coffee in his left hand with no discernible hesitation at all. He couldn’t have seen the gun yet, just the motion that shouted it was being drawn.

The man was still hunched over slightly, gun just a little higher than the table edge when Gunny’s first round hit him right in the breast bone. The coffee mug hit the side of his face just about when the second round hit him a couple centimeters from the first.

By the time the coffee was a explosion of drops splashing off his face there was a violet aura of electric discharges arching through them and all around the man’s head. Margaret had discharged her Air-Taser dead on the man’s head, and it looked like she had the power level set lethally high.

The man spasmed from the Taser, gun hand jerking up past the point he’d have thrust it forward, hand opening in a claw. The gun would continue climbing and sailed over the group talking to Muños to bounce off the next table onto the floor.

His back arched from the electrical jolt, helped by the impact of a third slug from Gunny. He was bent the other way now, backward. Ruby slammed into him from behind with her left shoulder, not taking time to slow down. Her right hand slammed the blade into his back to the hilt right where a kidney would be.

Ed Page was pushing himself up off the table, obviously intending to offer further violence than the coffee mug. But by the time Ed was fully vertical the man was going down the other way, rolling off the edge of the table from Ruby impacting him from behind. Ruby yanked sideways on the knife handle, twisting it in the fellow, and it was wrenched out of her hand as he went down crooked, falling on his side.

Ed Page stopped his motion, needing a step to stop his forward momentum, and it was all over except for a vicious kick Ruby gave the fellow after he sprawled on the floor.

“Poor son of a bitch had no idea what hit him,” Jon explained unnecessarily.

“Who would want to hurt me bad enough to send somebody all the way up here?” April asked, shocked.

“Well, the remnants of the Patriot Party, any of the genetic purity nuts, maybe even rogue elements of the USNA government or military all come to mind,” Jon guessed, “but I’m guessing just from his appearance that it is the Chinese who are still peeved with you, this time.”

“Do you think Jeff or Heather might be targeted?” she suddenly worried.

“I called then and cautioned them on the way over here,” Jon assured her.

April looked at Gunny, thinking how she’d told her mother she didn’t really need him here. She dug in her pocket and got the platinum coin she’d got from Jeff. “Performance bonus,” she told him and flipped the bright thing to him. He snatched it out of the air, looking pleased.

Another snippet of “The Middle of Nowhere”

Chapter 4

Sleeping in low G was a treat. You barely dented the mattress. It was almost like floating on your back in water. She still had her clothes on from last night. Either she or Heather had managed to get her shoes off. She was in the back against the wall and Heather was curled up arms crossed in front of her and head pinning April’s arm. In this low G it didn’t even cut off the circulation and make it tingly.

April could see the glow of the clock on the com board, but it wasn’t pointed this way. Not that she had any appointments. It was just habit to know. Her bladder was telling her it was on a timeline though. She hated to wake Heather up.

Heather saved her the trouble by waking and stretching like a cat. Then she seemed to realize she wasn’t alone, the extra arm gave it away, and tried to get up real slowly and not disturb April.

“I’m awake. No need to be sneaky, but hurry back so I can have a turn at the bathroom.”

“Okay,” she went off barefoot and left the door open a crack. When she came back she had a glass of water and a bottle of pills.

“You need anything for your head?” she offered.

“I’m good. I’ll be right back.” She used the toilet and washed her face and rinsed her mouth out. Maybe Heather would loan her some shorts and a top. They’d be big but clean.

Heather was still in bed with an arm thrown over her eyes.

“You didn’t drink much more than me,” April protested. “A couple beers with supper and that one drink after we moved. Maybe you just have a headache. It happens.”

“No, I get one sometimes from just a single glass of wine. I should know better. The Naproxen will kick in soon and it’ll dull it. Breakfast will help too.”

“Can I borrow some gym shorts and a t-shirt? I’ll run my stuff through the quick cycle and put ’em back on after breakfast.”

“Top left and middle right drawers,” she offered with a wave of her hand, eyes still closed. “You shower first and I’ll lie here and let the pills do their thing.”

When she came back Heather was asleep again. She eased back out and stuffed her clothing from last night in the laundry unit. It would pump it down and vacuum tumble it on quick cycle. Good enough one time for something she only wore six hours or so.

Barack, Heather’s little brother was hanging around out in the big room looking forlorn.  He brightened up to see her.

“Hi April. Wow, I haven’t seen you in a long time. You’ve got Heather’s stuff on.”

“Yep, I didn’t go home last night. Heather let me stay here. She’s back asleep so I’m going to just be quiet until she wakes up again.

“She didn’t drink again did she? She can’t do that,” he assured her solemnly.

“Indeed, you are right, she did, and is paying for it.”

“Let’s make breakfast then. She’ll want it when she staggers out.”

“I ‘m not sure I want to mess with your Mom’s kitchen. She might have something planned.”

“Nah, she’s on New Las Vegas and won’t be home until Tuesday. I can make pancakes. You want me to show you how?”

Heather woke up again to a strong spicy scent that made her mouth water. She used the bath again showering and letting the hot water beat on her face. By the time she was presentable Barack and April had the grill and most of the dishes cleaned up. On the table was a plate of pancakes with pumpkin pie spice and pecans in them, and hot sausage patties. A small fry pan was waiting to finish off eggs for her. Best of all somebody had made coffee.

“You’re hired. When can you start girl?”

“Barack showed me how. I had no idea how to make a pancake,” April admitted.

“Mmmm. I may have to promote him to minor minion.”

“What is he now?”

“Just barely above a nuisance.”

“It isn’t nice to talk about people like they aren’t there,” Barack protested.

“It isn’t nice to put a tea bag in somebody’s wet wash.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Three months.”

“See?”

“I think three months seems longer to Barack than to you,” April offered.

“Whose side are you on?” Heather asked beady eyed.

“Yours, in the long run. Barack is a resource.”

“Umm,” Heather restrained her tongue with effort.

“So, we had an almost duel and you got the bank started on paper. I can’t believe nothing else happened while I was gone,” April said trying to change the subject.

“Those are the biggies. I think we were hesitant to speak around Gunny at first. They got a company started to go capture a snowball. Probably from around Jupiter. It’s going to be tough making the actual vessels to do it. There is still a shortage of all sorts of materials. We don’t have the cash to buy into it, but maybe we can get some work from them. Jeff would rather we wait and get involved in a stony asteroid capture. I can’t start to tell you all the foreign money coming into Home now. Not USNA but the smaller ones, Greece and Italy and Iceland. You’d have to be stupid not to grab a share of it.”

“Is the suit cleaning module selling?”

“Oh yeah, but how many p-suits are there to de-stink? It’s a limited market. He is always coming up with nice little inventions like that. They are a steady money not a big hit. Let’s go in the living room where there are cushions,” Heather said and topped off her coffee. Barak cleaned up her dishes without being asked.

Heather sat in a love seat and closed her eyes. “House, dim lights thirty percent,” she ordered. “Jeff and I have some friends on the moon working on making our own semiconductors. We have a lot of germanium in the Rock and when they vacuum distill it out it isn’t that far off the purity needed to make diodes and transistors. It’s use has kind of lagged silicon in the industry, but if it’s what you own a ton of then it’s time to look into using it again. We’re looking at how we can use iridium and gallium too because there will be a lot of that. The lunar people keep asking about our real estate venture on the moon. Not that I don’t welcome their business, but I don’t understand why they don’t just claim right by where they live. It’s not like there isn’t plenty of wide open spaces.”

April sat in an opposing love seat. They were crème leather and had a narrow table between them of that limestone with tiny little fossil shells in it. Barack came in from the kitchen and surprised her by sitting hip to hip and wiggled under her arm.

“He’s got a crush on you,” Heather told her.

April felt him stiffen. “He’s welcome to have a crush on me,” April said, giving him a squeeze. “I might steal him away and have pancakes every morning,” she joked.

“I’m not old enough to have a crush,” Barack protested, embarrassed still.

“A crush isn’t necessarily about sex,” Heather explained. “There’s a guy in the radio room has a man-crush on Jeff, and he’s straight as can be, but he just adores him. Maybe English doesn’t have good words for it, admiration, idolization, fandom, something like that.”

“I like April,” Barack said taking her hand. “I think that’s a good thing. You do too. All three of you look happier when you’re doing stuff together.”

“True,” Heather agreed.”She scared the snot outta me going to Earth. It’s nasty down there.”

“Maybe we should put one of your drives on Home like they did the Rock and push it off around Mars or someplace further away from Earth.” Barack suggested.

“Now there’s an audacious plan. If you suggest that to Jeff he’ll start planning how.”

April didn’t think it was all that farfetched.

* * *

         Gunny was intently studying the screen when she came in after noon. It was almost time to have lunch despite her late breakfast. She decided not to ask if he made it home last night. He hadn’t quizzed her and it was none of her business.

“How can you operate Home on the taxes you charge?” Obviously that was what he was reading. “I’d pay less tax here than the property tax on my house in Maryland, never mind income taxes, sales taxes, retirement taxes and medical taxes, excise taxes, luxury taxes and fees on my phone and automobile and, well, you get the idea.”

“We pay air and water and fees for infrastructure maintenance. If an airlock controls go bad or a lamp in the corridors burns out they fix it. They have to keep the air plant up and cover leakage and stuff. If they ever have to do something huge like replace a bearing at either end it’ll cost us thousands of dollars each.”

“That’s just like a condominium fee to keep common elements up. It’s cheap.”

“Then you will probably want to pay tax so you can vote on stuff, right?”

“Not until I get my status straightened out with the Navy. I decided you are right and I should leave gently if possible. You still feel like talking to Wiggen for me?”

“I’m happy to try,” She looked at the com clock. “It’s nine something in her morning. I find most people are still putting out fires and sorting things out at that hour.”

“Yes, but if you wait too long they are hungry for lunch and will be irritable or blow you off so they can go to lunch. Same thing towards the end of the day. You know, there is probably only an hour – hour and a half twice a day it’s optimum to call a working person.”

“Okay, lunch first, and then we call Wiggen. Write me out a cheat sheet with the names of the guy who sent you to me and the one who wanted to arrest you, and anything else I need.”

“Ruby, this is Gunny. He’s working for me, at least temporarily. Ruby is the best cook on Home. She can do special orders if you have taste for something.

“Huh, got you some muscle,” Ruby said appraising him frankly. “I saw him when you came home. Wasn’t sure who was guarding who. He looks like he’ll do,” she decided checking out the gripes showing above his waist band, and offered her hand to touch.

“Ma’am, a pleasure to meet you.”

“All mannerly too. Very nice.”

“What’s fresh?” April asked.

“We have some really nice cantaloupe, and some raspberries that are over ripe and may be gone tomorrow. They finally got some sausage that may be hot enough to suite you.”

“I’d like a double order of pancakes with the raspberries in them and on top too. A half cantaloupe, and a couple patties of the hot sausage.”

“And you, big boy?” Ruby asked Gunny.

“Same, but just two pancakes, please.”

Ruby squinted at him. “On a diet?”

“Indeed, I have to limit my carbohydrates or I start to pack it on.”

“You fooled me. I was sure you were gene mode like this one,” She nodded at April. She turned away and started their orders.

When she came back Gunny couldn’t help himself. “Ma’am, may I ask why you thought I was modified?”

“Your eyes. The doc who is modified to be so fast has quick eyes. They track side to side faster than normal. April was the same way after she had that mod. You’ve got the same look.”

“Thank you. I appreciate the information.” She seemed to have more, but just nodded.

“Not much gets past her does it?” Gunny asked when they were well away.

“She’s smart and pretty fast for an unmodified person. You might find it interesting she was a professor of Medieval Music. Her husband was the command pilot last year who set up the ambush of the Pretty as Jade and the James Kelly, and destroyed them.”

“I take it one should be polite to his wife as a matter of self interest?”

“Yes, but also she is trained with weapons, being an experienced loadmaster on combat aircraft. Not to mention she prepares your food,” she added after consideration.

“A small kindness now and then even seems appropriate,” he looked back, reappraising.

“I do a little trade with her,” April said, and then regretted it.

“What do you supply? Spices or something?” Gunny asked innocently.

“Information,” April admitted. Determined not to lie to him.

Gunny opened his mouth like he was going to say something. “This coffee is Okay, but not as good as the stuff at your house,” he said after a tiny pause.

“Thank you. We carry the same blend on our ships.”

“Ten-fifteen in DC,” April said checking her pad on the way back. “Let’s do it.”

April had Gunny sit to the side of the camera angle. His note was in front of her. She punched in the number Wiggen gave her when she was staying with the Satos in Hawaii. It had failed when they tried using it during the coup.

A young man in an Earthie style business suit appeared. “Please do not identify yourself. This number is among a group which was compromised. Your number is no longer useable, but a new number will appear on your screen which is not available to me. If you have code words or authentication procedures they remain valid and will be required to validate the new number.  Please record or memorize the new number before disconnecting. This number will return to general service within 30 days and will not work again.” The screen went gray except for a ten digit number and a blank entry box.

April recorded it and hesitated. She had no password. On a guess she typed April Lewis and hit enter. The system accepted that and disconnected.

“Well, looks like we’re not the only ones couldn’t get through,” Gunny said.

April punched the new number in. She didn’t get Wiggen, she got a very well dressed middle aged woman behind a desk. “May I have your name and business please?”

“No, I’m not sure I want to do that. I expected President Wiggen direct. The way things have been going I have no idea if you are her secretary or her jailer.”

“I can assure you she is very much in control of her office. She is however in a meeting that is sufficiently important she is taking no direct calls. If you’d like to hold she will take the calls after in the order she wishes. I’d say in another twenty minutes at least. If you wish to remain anonymous be aware she may give priority to identified callers. She will however be made aware the call is from an off planet number.”

“That seems reasonable,” April had to admit. “Please inform her April Lewis of Home called about a personal matter and I’ll await her call back. It is not an immediately life or death issue.”

“Thank you Miss Lewis. Your call is in the queue,” she promised and logged off.

“I’m going to read some of my stuff from my brother. You want some tea? I’ll make a pot.”

“Sure, I’m still catching up on the Assembly videos. I’ll take some tea.”

It wasn’t twenty minutes, but over an hour went by before April’s com chimed and she transferred it to the big screen at the com desk. President Wiggen shocked April. She had bags under her eyes and was slumped like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

“Miss Lewis, I was advised you were on the manifest for the Home supply shuttle. Your bodyguard was listed too. Did he really accompany you to Home? Or was that a ruse to lift somebody else?”

“Oh, that was Master Sergeant Gunny Mack Tindal. He’s really the reason I’m calling. He got caught up in the coup attempt on you. He tried calling Captain Yoder who assigned him to me and got a Captain Maddow who claimed to have no records of his duty assignment at all. He wanted to arrest him, so Gunny took the advice of the State Department lady and grabbed his cash money and disappeared with me.”

“Ah, yes, I’m familiar with more of the details where they touched my personal protection. Captain Maddow actually was innocent of any conspiracy. He was however put in as a placeholder to get Captain Yoder out of the way. He sat in the stockade for a few days as did some others, but we sorted it all out and none of them will suffer for it.”

“Well, Gunny wasn’t so sure he wouldn’t get sorted out into a shallow grave somewhere. He might lose his house if his automatic payments aren’t made for utilities and taxes. He’d really just like to take the retirement he has the service to qualify for and be done with it.”

Wiggen’s face already tired went to unhappy. “I’m sorry he didn’t have confidence we’d straighten things out. We weren’t going to let them start executing our people. Maybe he thought the coup would succeed,” she speculated.

“We didn’t actually know there was a coup until we got up here,” April assured her. “We simply were cut off and couldn’t contact anyone. Then we had a missile attack on Mr. Santo’s home and an unknown force, maybe Chinese, landing aircars in their woods. We ran for it.”

“Yes, you took care of the Chinese sub in your usual subtle manner,” she accused. “The train of reentry vehicles blazing across the sky was on the TV news everywhere that night.”

“Well, if you know some more subtle way to stop one lobbing missiles at you let me know. At least I didn’t use anything explosive on it, just some plain old Rods from God,” April said.

“And the aircars?” Wiggen demanded.

“What about them? I didn’t even shoot at them. When I shot the missile down it just happened to crash on them.”

Even Wiggen couldn’t help smiling at that. “From anyone else I wouldn’t believe that,” she assured her. “It’s just…” she seemed at a loss for words.

“My one friend on Home said that by the most amazing coincidence there seems to be a history of expensive damage, death and destruction strewn closely behind me. I never meant that to happen.”

“Very well put. I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll direct the Navy to retire the Master Sergeant with a clean record and all his proper retirement. The arrest warrants against him and others that night are already gone. I owe him that for his service. As to his house and other personal affairs, that is yours to straighten out. Smart politicians don’t get involved in things at that level, it always looks dirty to someone, and I didn’t make him yank his money and run. I’m still not sure I shouldn’t be a bit miffed on that. I suspect the way this conversation is going he is in no rush to come back?”

“I don’t think so. I’m hoping to hire him at least temporarily.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Wiggen asked.

“I also have to thank you for your previous invitation to the state dinner, but I think it would be best for both of us if I stay home for now.”

“Oh God yes,” Wiggen agreed. “I have a few guests who’d probably crawl over the table to attack you with their silverware. Not that it wouldn’t be entertaining. Now, if there is nothing else, I have some other calls to return, and a nation to run,” she said drolly.

“That’s all. Thank you for straightening that out,” April said heartfelt.

Wiggen disconnected with a nod.

“Well, you weren’t the last call to get returned,” Gunny noted.

“And she didn’t ask anything about the Santos.

“I got the impression most people who know him would be happy to ignore Santos, and hope he returns the favor.”

“He’s a sweet old guy,” April said. “I can’t imagine why anybody can’t get along with him.”

Gunny remembered reading Santos’ folder. Santos the congenial host was a sweet old guy. Santos the master spy was scary. There was nothing he could say. Nothing he should say, it was classified, after all.

Snippet – 2nd Chapter of “The Middle of Nowhere”

This is the third book in the “April” Series – “Down to Earth” being the second.

Chapter 2

The next morning when she got up it felt strange to be in her own room. Somehow it made her feel about eight years old. She showered and dressed, and when she went out Gunny was sitting watching the recording of the second assembly of Home. “You been up long?” she asked.

“Hours and hours. It’s been boring and I thought I’d go mad waiting.”

“Just got up, huh?”

“Yeah, just saw your mom before she took off. She explained something you should know. Part of the reason everybody was in such a jolly mood when we arrived. Last night when we were in Tonga, the Patriot Party made a big move and tried to pull a coup on Wiggen. They let them carry it out far enough to really nail down who were talkers and who seriously intended to overthrow the government. There were about seven hundred arrested and about three hundred killed. The Patriot Party is pretty much gutted. Word was getting out while we were on our way up in the shuttle. Most folks here figure you precipitated it with Harrison.”

“Does that change anything for you?”

“Not for the better! They were willing to allow me to be arrested if it helped them flush out all the bad guys. Never mind the danger to me or to you. That terminates my service. I gave them years of loyal service and they use me like a pawn. I’m done.”

“I don’t blame you, but wouldn’t it be smart to leave as gently as possible? You know they screwed you, but if you can leave and still get your retirement, sell your house, and feel free to go down there again openly…Well, I’ve heard living well is the best vengeance. If things get back to normal, and I can call Wiggen, I might even be able to put in a good word for you.”

“Amazing advise from a young lady who ends her disputes by orbital bombardment.”

“How about if we go get some breakfast. I think much better on a full belly.”

* * *

         Gunny declared the cafeteria breakfast ‘not bad’. April bought him the standard service plan and he got his own card. He could get anything on the menu as often as he wished. Any special orders or catering he had to pay upfront. Air and water she’d arrange off her pad.

April pointed out a number of characters and told a few stories about them. Nobody mobbed them but five different people stopped and welcomed her back. They walked out down the main business corridor and she pointed out the bank, employment agency, ship’s chandler and general store, as well as a shop new since she left offering bespoke clothing for men and women

“Is there a gun shop? I really need to buy something. Is that a problem?” he added.

“Nah, you want a laser?” April suggested. “I have to go get one from Jeff and explain I loaned mine out. I can try to get you a deal if you want.”

“As much as I’d like to try one out, I’d rather go with what I know right now.”

“In that case, Zach sells firearms,” she turned back to the Home Chandlery and Provision Company. “I remember seeing them on his special board.”

First think she did was buy Gunny spex and sign him up for com service. She figured she’d cover that as he might be on call. Then she let him see to his own pistol.

There were three pistols laying on the carpeted counter. Gunny wasn’t happy with any of them. Two were caseless Sigs and one was a Portio Custom Arms chambered for 10mm Hornady. He’d never carried that caliber before, but it looked like he was going to try it.

“What kind of ammo you stock in 10mm?”

“Full metal jacket for cheap target shooting, frangible copper rounds, special segmented defense rounds,  memory metal rounds, armor piercing and special hard core armor piercing.”

“A box of each and three of the cheap plinking stuff. I need a hanging holster and a lefty inside the waistband clip holster. You got a leather holster? I’d rather that than synthetic.”

“I do indeed. And I will throw in a free cleaning kit and a bottle of neatsfoot oil.”

Gunny tried his new card and was relieved when it worked. He loaded and holstered the new gun and clipped it inside his pants on the left, cross draw. The rest was bagged. He reached and touched hands lightly with Zack instead of shaking grounder style.

“Ah, another little custom thing,” April said, embarrassed she hadn’t told him.

“Yeah Mr. Muños taught me that one last night in the cafeteria. I think he’s going to be a friend. He impressed me. That feels better,” he said, pressing the pistol against his hip with his elbow.

They walked back home in companionable silence. “What is on the agenda for the day?” He finally asked when they were inside.

“I need to talk with my Grandpa about Bob’s businesses. I suppose Jeff and Heather next and Eddie Persico or the other way around if one is busy,” she prioritized. She put a call in to her com and waited. “And I need to get back with my Japanese study group and see if I learned anything visiting the Santos. I’m hoping my instructor thinks my accent is a little less horrible.”

“You’re still in school?” The idea seemed to surprise him.

“I don’t ever expect to not be in school. There’s too much to learn. I need a ticket for ground landing shuttles too, and I bet I’ll never get back to Hawaii before my student driver permit expires. I’ll have to start all over again,” she complained.

Gunny just horse snorted through his nose in amusement.

“Hello little gal,” her Grandpa greeted her on the com screen.

“Gramps when can we get together and talk?”

“Right now if want. I’m at home.”

“Yeah, please. Come on around.” His apartment was cut out of common cubic, like Bob’s, but it had its own door on the public corridor. It was a seven meter walk. He had the codes so he came right in a minute later. April introduced Gunny and he went off to the other side of the room and seemed to get engrossed in his pad. Gramps had a cheap portfolio, well stuffed.

“I know you’re probably wondering if this was something your brother did after your breakup with him. I think you will be happy to know he wrote a will leaving everything to you right after your first business venture together. Remember what that was?” He asked smiling.

“The  meal delivery service? Where we picked up a meal from the cafeteria and delivered it to peoples apartments? I was what? Nine years old?”

“No, even a little before that. I think you supplied the money again, because he’s spent all his and he took care of all the footwork.”

“Oh, the used clothing. He offered to buy clothing from tourists after they wore it. Why clean it or take it back to Earth when he’d give them more than the retail price for dirty and used? That worked pretty well didn’t it? Even though we got maybe two or three tourists a month back then. And he picked up the down leg luggage shipping it freed up cheap too.”

“It did,” her Gramps agreed. “It’s interesting, Bob sold the company off, but retained an interest. He was still getting a small income from it. He did that with almost every venture that succeeded. Individually they aren’t much but they add up to a nice little income. Here, there is a folder on each one, and notes about any obligations you have.” He gave her a short stack of hard copy and a memory chip.

“Then making me his heir wasn’t something he did in guilt. It gives me hope I didn’t cause his other – behaviors.”

“We’re all responsible for ourselves little gal. You can influence people, but blaming your behavior on others is a lie. Nobody made your brother selfish,” he insisted. “If you assign blame for what a person is then who made Eddie generous? See? If a person has good qualities people are happy to allow it is their own volition. In fact I imagine it was just plain inertia that you stayed his heir. It reflected his earlier personality, not lately.”

“I don’t understand why that happened. Mom and Dad or not selfish. You certainly aren’t selfish. He wasn’t raised that way so where did it come from?”

Her Gramps shrugged. “People are complicated. I’m not sure it is learned. There are all sorts of things folks do that we just put up with because they are not extreme enough to warrant intervention. Where do you draw the line? Pretty soon you are counseling people for taking the last biscuit.”

April remembered some fellows who rushed to hog all the stuff in the cafeteria, and saying something didn’t sound too extreme to her at all, but she didn’t say it.

“We gave Bob’s clothing and shoes and stuff we were sure you wouldn’t want to charity. Fred Folsom in station com who preaches a Sunday service keeps a locker of household things for folks who need a hand.” He explained.

“We saved this for you though,” he said opening the box he’d kept to last and laying the contents out on the couch between them.

A few memory modules were a mystery she’d have to explore, a food service card apparently he didn’t like to carry, A couple certification cards for environmental tech and some IT specialties. A couple hard prints of photos. The one on top was a girl on a beach. That must be her grandparent’s neighbor in Australia. Decency dictated she should be notified.

There was a short stack of business cards with a rubber band. The top one was blank with a hand written blurb, probably a password. It said – SAF)dz$PckXib.  Out of curiosity she checked and the other side was blank too. A tiny two bladed pen knife was sharp and apparently unused. It had elaborately embossed and enameled handles with a level of finish that said expensive. There was also a common multi-tool still new in the box.

Oddly there was a man’s tie, something she had never seen Bob wear. It was so different she could see why they saved it out of the clothing for her. Besides being a mystery. It was very pretty, with shades of blue and grey in a fine basket weave and subtle dark red edging to the grey parts, rolled to fit in a small clear box that was almost a cube. On the back a little label said, ‘Hermes – Paris and underneath that – SILK. She rolled it back up and fit it in the box again.

“I suspect these things were gifts,” her Gramps suggested.

That left a small decorative box. It had a sliding top in a dovetail grove, but no notch for your finger like most of that sort had. Fitted so closely it wouldn’t slip on its own. The grain was matched to the body so maybe they didn’t want to mar that. There was a band of carving around the sides and a very complicated dragon inlaid on each end. The inside was divided with thin wooden partitions.

There was a substantial rose gold chain. What they call an anchor chain but the links were puffy like they had been made out of dough and allowed to rise. There were some plain gold hoops, an impressive pair of simple diamond studs and the emerald and diamond earrings her grandparents had given Bob. April pulled those out and held them. She couldn’t help it, she started quietly sobbing.

“Those mean something to you,” he grandpa said, arm around her shoulders. She couldn’t answer she just nodded yes. She put them back in the box. The chain she put on over her head. Her Gramps held her until she stopped crying. Then they put everything back in the portfolio and  closed it up.

“I’ll read the business summaries in the next couple days,” April promised.

“They’ve been waiting, a couple more days isn’t going to matter,” he assured her. He went in the kitchen and made them tea without asking. He used the big tea pot and carried a cup to Gunny too who nodded his thanks.

“What are you going to do now?” her Gramps asked gently. He must think her fragile, April thought. He never used that hushed tone of voice.

“I have to see Heather and Jeff, she still has the Moon thing going on. Eddie deserves to hear what all his money bought. That looks a little better than it did yesterday. At least we know the Patriot party isn’t going to be in power next year. What are you doing now?”

“I’m helping Heather get her expedition ready as I promised you. Jeff and I are still working on some things even though we have the next generation of ship designed. We are saving up ideas for the next level of ship, and beyond. I’m getting some treatments from Jelly you were worried I’d skip. He can do everything important for life extension therapy without me going down to Italy. I’ll see you soon, Dear,” her Gramps promised and patted her knee. He got up and made a abbreviated wave of his hand to Gunny who wasn’t even looking up, and left.”

She took the personal items in her room and returned to the living area. It seemed rude to disappear and leave Gunny alone without a word. It wasn’t like having a guest,” she thought. But it wasn’t anything else that fit the rules of behavior she’d picked up either. She contacted Jeff and Heather and agreed to see them over supper. Gunny saved her from wondering what to do by announcing he was still not adjusted to Zulu time and he was going to take a nap. That sounded pretty good actually, so she said she would nap too.

Snippet – First chapter of “The Middle of Nowhere”

The Middle of Nowhere

By: Mackey Chandler

Third book in the “April” series.

Sequel to “Down to Earth”

       April was tired and a bit depressed. Her trip down to Earth was a failure. She hadn’t rescued the two lieutenants who had asked her to help them get to Home. She had certainly tweaked the Giant’s Nose as far as irritating North America. But she couldn’t see she had really improved anything about the USNA ignoring their treaty obligations with Home. She’d spent a great deal of Eddie’s money, but if it made war less likely as he was hoping she didn’t see how. His fortune was still at risk if whoever replaced President Wiggen wanted war with Home.

About the only thing she could claim to have accomplished for sure was Preston Harrison was not going to ride the Patriot Party ticket to the USNA Presidency. He’d tried to arrest her and she’d shot him dead for his trouble. Her Earth hosts the Santos intimated that might not have been the best PR move of all time. However the fool swore to her face he’d kill her family and nation as his first official act. What did he expect?

Whatever their private plans and opinions April doubted other candidates would make such a public threat if they ever intended to stand under an open sky again. She’d certainly be happy to put a smoking crater where any of them showed themselves. Harrison had certainly underestimated how difficult one young girl could be to drag off under arrest.

Things were sort of a mess. Her Earth hosts were unsafe to go back to their home and instead were going off to do her job and rescue the men she’d intended to extract. Her bodyguard was sitting in the other shuttle couch beside her, apparently betrayed by his own government, the same as the lieutenants. Mixed up in politics that didn’t concern him. Assigned by Wiggen it was true, but because she’d asked for him, and she felt responsible.

She had to sort out the businesses she’d inherited from her brother. She wasn’t even sure what all of them were and if he’d left anybody in charge running them. There was the real possibility some people would blame her for precipitating his apparent traitorous theft of the armed merchant Home Boy and the destruction of it in Lunar orbit while collaborating with the USNA.

Since she’d walked away from her interest in their courier business and left her share to him she certainly had not expected him to leave anything to her. She had bluntly made clear she didn’t approve of his business practices and had separated herself before going down to Earth. So why had he left everything to her? Why not their parents or her grandfather? A friend even, if he had one. Was it guilt?

Just about everyone she knew had a good reason to chew her out or blame her for things ending in such a muddled mess. She wasn’t looking forward to facing the music.

This was a freight shuttle, so it would dock at the north end. They wouldn’t go to the passenger dockage for two people. Not unless they were high end VIPs, and VIPs didn’t ride freight shuttles. To switch docks was another hour for the flight crew, a couple hundred bucks of propellant for maneuvering jets and an expensive hour on the shuttle airframe to move it. The north end was industrial and lacked carpet and bright colors and shops. There would be an unlocked com pad at the airlock with a camera and touch pad for crew. Jon might not even send security all the way up to the north hub for one person knowing both crew and she would direct them to check in.

“I don’t know much about Home,” Gunny spoke up from the other couch. “I mean I know about you, because I read your folder. That told me a little bit about Home, but otherwise I only know what I’ve seen on the news, and we know how reliable that is. Are there any customs I should be aware of to avoid offending people?”

“I’ve been thinking about my own problems so much I didn’t stop and think about what you need in practical terms. I have a bad habit of assuming everybody knows what I do and probably more. Look, I’m not sure who I’ll get you placed with. I have to look at the companies my brother left me. One of them may need you,” she assured him.

“Believe it or not we got an actual employment agency running before I came down. How about if you stay on as my bodyguard for a month? You hang out with me and I’ll try to explain things as they come up. You can read the recordings of the public meetings when Home was formed. Especially the few before the war will explain how we voted to break off with North America. You can meet people and get a feel for how things work. I have to go around and smooth things out with a whole lot of people. Don’t be surprised if some of them are angry with me. I didn’t get the basic things I intended to done on Earth and blew a bundle trying. But I don’t think anybody will be mad enough to hurt me. Guarding me shouldn’t be hazardous.”

“How much you paying, and where would I stay?”

“Say, a hundred-ten for the month plus basic cafeteria access and your air and water fees. The Holiday Inn is really expensive for a month. Let me see if the company still lets transients rent out space in the company barracks.

“A hundred-ten?”

“Yeah, thousand dollars, USNA, unless you insist on EuroMarks.”

“That seems, generous,” he said. So generous he was somewhat dubious.

“It won’t after your first hundred dollar t-shirt and you need to buy lunch off station and it’s a forty-five dollar cheeseburger and a fifteen buck beer with a ten buck tip.”

“I see,” Gunny said slightly stunned.

“If we hadn’t had the devaluation back the year before I was born think what it would be.”

“That’s of course easy for me to remember. My paycheck was suddenly one tenth what it was the month before. The prices didn’t all instantly adjust either. I kept a bunch of clean uncirculated notes figuring they would be worth more as collectibles in my lifetime rather than turn them in. I’m pleased I’m on the plus side of that deal already.”

“But if they were in your house or a bank box you might never recover them.”

“No, no. They are out in the piney woods. You have to dig down as far as my arm will reach  under a big old pine tree where you have to crawl under the branches. You get down there and you find a screw out cap. Then the stuff is on a line hanging down at the end of a three meter plastic pipe. There’s old money, some newer money, a few gold coins, and a spare pistol. I’m sure I’ll be able to recover it someday. I have the GPS coordinates memorized.”

“Kind of hard to do that on an orbital habitat.”

“Not at all. I can hide stuff on a ship or an aircraft. That’s one way I can earn my keep. I will teach you how to cache stuff so others don’t find it while I’m working for you. Perhaps there are a few other tricks an old man can teach you if you want.”

April was still processing the original question. “Gunny, we don’t have many customs different from North America, I can’t think of anything important, but I’m sure we’ll run into little things as you get settled in. But we do have a lot less laws. Don’t assume anything you see is illegal by ground side standards. You can let your minor child alone in your apartment, or let them go to the cafeteria unsupervised. They can be in public in short sleeves or even shorts. Marijuana and tobacco are legal to own and use, but it is against regulations to pollute the air or have an open flame in public spaces. And you can own and carry any crazy sort of weapon you want.”

“Burn in thirty seconds,” announced their pilot. After a very sort burn there were a couple minor taps on the attitude jets and the lurch of the grapples pulled them the final couple centimeters flush to the station with a >clunk<.

The number two passed through and opened the airlock hatches. The pilot waited at the hatch of the flight deck for them to exit before she’d leave her vessel. There was the slight pressure change when it opened and they had to swallow and force a yawn to get their ears to feel right. Neither had any carry on to deal with. April motioned Gunny ahead. He’d never been in zero G and she wanted to watch and help him. He was so big he sort of blocked the view, which is why she was to the outer door before she saw it was the tunnel for the south end passenger docks.

She grabbed the edge of the flange. “Why aren’t we up at the freight docks?” she asked their copilot. “You didn’t have to dock here for us.”

“We were told the north docks would create a problem. It isn’t set up to handle a crowd meeting the shuttle,” she explained.

Just then Gunny reached the end of the tube. It did have a line for newbies to go hand over hand. April heard a murmur of voices. She hurried after him without another word to the crewwoman. Where the tunnel opened up there was Jon manning the entry station himself, and here outside spin where they restricted access were her parents and Jeff and Heather, Ruby and Easy, Eddie, Doris, her Grandpa Happy, and a couple of Jon’s off duty people as well as a half dozen of the militia guys.

Around the entry bearing to spin there were folks elbow to elbow all around the rail looking through at them, and there was a banner strung beneath it that said, “Welcome Home April”. It was so long you had to watch it a full turn to read it all. The crowd noise indicated there were quite a few out of sight on the other side of the rail. She looked up there and most of them waved. What else could she do? She waved back. Then a dozen people all tried to hug her at once and she was squished. Somebody had her left hand and was patting the top. She couldn’t even see who it was so she just squeezed back.

She folded her arm over her ribs worried she’d get bumped but people were careful though they still reached to touch her hand.

Gunny had been signing in at the entry com before she’d looked up and waved. It didn’t look like she was going to get a chance to log in. She was more or less dragged along by both hands and elbows as the mass of friends and family all took off for the rim of the bearing like a bird flock. Somebody kindly grabbed her by the belt in back and pulled her over to the rail as they approached it.

She gave the rail a symbolic touch but there was no need to swing over it. More hands grabbed her patting back or arm or shoulder, whatever they could reach, urging her along and a succession of people most of whom she at least knew by sight hugged her.

The astonishing thing was the brief greetings spoken softly in her ears as she was passed along. “Good job, good job, welcome back.” – “You scared us. Damn Earthies.” – “Hated to see you on the slumball, but thanks for going.” – “‘Bout time you came Home.”

She had home and a bed in mind. They ended up at the cafeteria. A hand fell on her shoulder and a male voice asked what she wanted? “Coffee please,” she told the fellow, giving the hand a touch. Wasn’t he from maintenance? She wasn’t sure. The coffee when it came had whisky in it. Pretty good whisky by the taste of it. She didn’t object. Music started up and people started dancing on the other end of the room. The chairs all scooted down and one with Gunny was inserted next to her.

Somebody reached past and slid a plate unasked in front of April and then Gunny. They had a nice little steak and fresh rolls and butter. It didn’t take long before a cold shrimp plate and a sweet potato casserole and fruit salad got passed down the table to them.

Gunny had a glass of amber fluid, the same as hers minus the coffee. “I’ve never seen so many civilians with weapons,” he said in shock, “and all of them pissed off at you just like you warned me,” he said straight faced over the noise. “I’m moving. People want to talk to you,” he pointed out with folks reaching across his dinner and leaning out past him. He moved down to the end of the table but opposite so he could see her.

The chairs next to April kept changing owners. Eddie took too long talking to her and somebody grabbed his chair back and dragged him off into the crowd. The next chair was just slid down and it was her mom.

“I am so glad to see you,” April turned and hugged her as best she could sitting down. “I thought I’d just come home and get Dad to settle my hired man Gunny in and I could go to bed and sleep a shift. Do they still sell transient bunking down in the Animal House?”

“He’s your body-guard isn’t he?” her mom asked.

“Yeah, but I just have him on a thirty day contract. I imagine I’ll find him a slot somewhere else. I don’t really need him here,” she insisted. “He’s sort of another rescue. He got caught up in the politics for guarding me and they wanted to arrest him.”

“You should keep him close, not all the way across the station. We boxed all Bob’s stuff up for you, and gave away his clothing to charity, but the cubic is still partitioned off and there is still a bed in there. Why don’t you stick him in there?” her Mom offered.

“Wouldn’t that make you feel weird, having somebody in Bob’s room?”

“I’m not going to make it a shrine. Some folks leave everything like it was as if maybe the person will walk back in some day if they keep it the same. I’m sad, but that’s just sick.  I’m not in denial, Honey. I just haven’t got around to hiring out the remodeling to tear it out. Go ahead and use it. Even a hot bunk with a small locker is around two hundred-fifty a day in company housing. No reason to throw that away. Besides, if you have a body guard use him for now. The same people who would hurt you down on Earth might infiltrate somebody here.”

“Okay Mom, thanks.” April had worried. She thought her Mom favored Bob, just like she was sure she and her Dad were closer. But if she didn’t seem any warmer she didn’t seem any cooler either. That was a relief.

When Bob had gotten so selfish and driven he’d tried to take advantage of their parents. Her Dad had firmly resisted. April wasn’t sure if her Mom could have resisted without her Dad to quietly point out what was reasonable and not. She worried she’d be blamed for Bob’s actions, but so far nobody was looking daggers at her.

“I’m whipped. This is nice, but I need to get home and get some sleep.”

“Collect your man then and we’ll go home. These folks are all charged up and out of sync with your day by almost twelve hours. Let them party on and you can talk to them when you aren’t sleep deprived.”

April gave Gunny a ‘come on’ jerk of the head and he excused himself. It was Mr. Muños next to him. That was a good choice to find out a lot about Home in short order. But he had to be tired too. He could speak to him another day.

Sequel to “April” – second chapter

I’m well along on my sequel to April. I have not named it yet and no, May will not do. It has some necessary lead in material that any sequel needs to catch the reader up to date. It may be a spoiler if you have not read “April” so be warned if you don’t want to see spoilers.

The first chapter is a set up for further action in the book and not very interesting standing alone. That’s why I went on to the second chapter. As always any insights and comments are very welcome as long as they are slavishly positive fan boy raves.

Chapter 2

April carefully appraised the gentleman across from her. He looked older to her in the way she was coming to associate with Earthies. However she knew from her research yesterday he was only forty-two. On Home now the norm was to have life extension therapy or LET and start it as early as possible. That meant as soon as a person was firmly into adolescence for most doctors.

When it was new many people delayed for years because of the expense and fear of leading edge treatments, waiting to see how others fared before they committed themselves. But now it was cheap enough if you could afford to live above the atmosphere you should be able to buy life extension, and a whole generation of pioneers had grown from adolescence to adulthood carrying the basic elements of LET. There wasn’t enough data yet to show getting an early start had any great advantage, but that was the common assumption. There was enough data to show all the dire warnings about sudden gross mutation and raving madness were nonsense, mostly.

April’s parents first bought it for themselves. Obviously they needed it more, and still managed to afford it for her and her brother later. Only her grandfather was still visibly lacking the treatment and April was afraid to ask him why. She knew he had the money to buy it.

Below on Earth it was still priced beyond most of the middle class unless they devoted their whole means of living toward it. It was controversial and even outlawed some places. Oh, in absolute numbers there were a whole lot more North Americans with life extension treatments done on them than the whole population of Home, but they were a tiny fraction of the population down below, wealthy, and already keeping out of the public eye. The smart ones kept their status secret for their own safety, some politicians and media stars adding gray to their hair now instead of color.

Once looking older might have built confidence in a person because their face to the world declared this was a person with some experience in life. Now, on Home it was more likely to say – Here is someone that is poor and can’t afford to take care of himself or worst here is a religious nut who feels life extension is profane, a presumption to medically turn aside the stroke of heaven. Such a religious stand on LET was not exclusive to such groups as the Amish, but common to many who otherwise embraced a modern society.

Her breakfast companion was bald on top with a wreath of short gray hair reaching in a band around the back of his head from temple to temple. That was unusual because there were cheap treatments to fix that problem which didn’t involve LET at all. But it was a sure sign he had not started any life extension therapies or that little matter would have been cleared up and other small changes would have had him looking closer to thirty. She’d seen that happen with her father when he lost his little crow’s feet around his eyes and his skin smoothed out. Otherwise he seemed fit enough for someone who was in his forties, but not vain. He didn’t have on any makeup or tattoos either, and a simple bracelet was his only jewelry.

April had seen him a number of times in recent months having breakfast alone in the cafeteria. She made a habit of observing people here, and his behavior was consistently different than others. For one thing he always looked happy. Not the mindless happiness which some simple folk have or the false mask some devious people put on to beguile the unwary. He seemed to be genuinely satisfied with life every morning, poised and relaxed not rushing through his breakfast and jumping up to hurry off like some driven working people but savoring his food, reading the news off his pad or doing the same thing April did, watching the crowd and enjoying seeing the variety of people interacting. She was predisposed to like him before ever speaking with the man.

She’d been behind him in line before and heard him charming and chatting with her friend and favorite cook Ruby. He’d complimented her skill and gently flirted with her without being vulgar. She trusted Ruby as a judge of character and knew if Ruby had doubted the man’s sincerity she would have cut his banter right off.

Yesterday, the last time she saw him in line however something remarkable had happened which had taken all the casual out of her interest in him and sent her home to research his history as a priority over her planned business for the day.

It was a remarkable coincidence that she sat down and glanced up in time the witness the scene. The time window was literally seconds. There was a couple at the front and a secretary she knew worked in one of the offices here on the full gravity corridor next in line and the doctor at the end behind her. The woman had on Earth style business dress with those silly hard sole shoes they wear.

As they moved up someone had spilled something on the floor and as the woman stepped forward on it her heel slid forward, knee locked straight, going out from under her uncontrollably and she struggled to regain her balance long after the point recovery was hopeless. She jerked her tray back and up as she fell, and her silverware and full mug of coffee went sailing over her shoulder straight for the doctor.

April just happened to look up at that instant to see clearly what happened. His left hand shot out like a snake striking and gathered the tumbling utensils into his hand. Then, after they were snug in his palm he snagged the mug with an index finger through the handle. The coffee was a long brown splash still climbing in the air when he stepped out from under it like it was falling at lunar gravity instead of standard and reached out with his free right hand and cradled the falling woman’s head to soften her fall. He succeeded enough to keep her from sharply cracking the back of her head on the hard floor. Likely he saved her from serious injury.

April had been working out with Jon’s exercise group every Wednesday doing Tai Chi both unarmed and sword, and watched people of other disciplines working out. She knew the normal limits of reflex and training. She was certain the doctor had moved with greater speed than any normal human was capable of doing. He had not just swatted the items away but gathered them in a controlled manner that spoke of being so fast he had time to carefully observe the action and grasp all four objects with thought as to what he was doing. It had looked more like rehearsed stage magic than a spontaneous save. She replayed and replayed what she had seen in her mind again and still had a sense of awe.

Yesterday she found Dr. Ames had moved here soon after the hostilities ended with North America last year. He had gone on vacation to Hawaii and then just never returned to his tenured, secure position at the University of California Riverside. Instead he had lifted with a very small shipment of his most important belongings on a supply shuttle from Tonga. It was as slick a carefully planned defection as she had ever heard of anyone doing successfully from North America, and it was done with no public fuss.

She had no doubt if he could slip away that smoothly he probably got all his money out too. Financial restrictions were the biggest handle the USNA had on defectors. In fact the terms of surrender Home had imposed on North America last year addressed freedom to travel to Home but made no provision to force them to allow the transfer of assets for emigrants. It was up to people to be smart enough to do so themselves. That was a sort of unofficial intelligence test that kept the flood gates from opening for just anyone who wanted to emigrate.

She also was able to document online that the man was associated with the U of C Davis Veterinary program. That would have been regarded with suspicion down below. The inclusion of animal genome in humans was perhaps the touchiest legal aspect of genetic engineering in North America. If you tested for non-human code in your genome it was enough in North America to have your citizenship revoked and either be deported if you were naturalized or imprisoned if you were native born. So to even have a human geneticist associated with a veterinary school in North America was to invite an uncomfortable level of scrutiny from the government and religious groups. The slightest rumor or accusation invited the modern equivalent of a mob of villagers with torches and pitchforks storming the castle.

The name of the Agency regulating gene mods in North America said it all. The religious forces which had demanded its creation named it The Genetic Hygiene and Heritage Board. So you knew from the start promoting change was not what it was all about. Most USNA students insisting on a Genetics career track were in foreign schools by the time they were in graduate work and never returned to America to seek employment.

Italy was the country of choice for careers or treatment involving human gene mods, because China was still a strange and difficult place for a foreigner to live and work. China’s anything goes attitude was hard for even the most liberal genetic modification proponents to swallow. China didn’t even have an authority which considered the ethics of genetic manipulation so the only limit was each researcher’s conscience. At least Italy, having gone through one cycle of banning and then a moderate relaxation, had some concept of ethics. You might easily get your eye color altered in Italy but in China they wouldn’t balk if you wanted webbed fingers and toes.

Dr. Ames was named Gerald, and she had no idea what he went by or if he liked to be formal or casual. But the fact he had accepted her invitation to breakfast without insisting on knowing what she wanted to talk about or how she was acquainted with him was a good start. He was not an M.D. She thought – hoped – the company he had formed was aimed at offering genetic modifications if the title was any indication. After a year of independence the making of new law and custom was still proceeding with slow caution on Home. There was no legal basis for incorporation yet in Home law. There might not ever be as some were arguing for personal responsibility being more important than promoting a uniform environment to attract business to the habitat. Certainly there was no shortage of business coming to Home on their terms so far. So his business had to be a DBA unless he had some silent partners.

The name on his corridor door, and his business cards, one of which she had acquired, was Custom Tailored Genes. The name alone would get his office burned out in California. If he had sold genetic services here yet he was still keeping a low profile because nobody had bragged or complained about him yet on the business rating boards. That raised the interesting question of how he was supporting himself if he hadn’t sold any of his services. Home was an expensive place to live.

Dr. Ames had carefully inspected his silverware by eye and passed a small pad over the utensils and breakfast. She assumed he had a pad plug in which looked for pathogens, but he wasn’t as fussy as some Earthies who wore gloves or even masks in public. Of course some of the recent epidemics gave them cause to be cautious. Her own mom could be a bit of a clean freak when they went Earthside.

He had a substantial breakfast of waffles carefully brushed with butter and piled with fresh strawberries and blueberries and covered to excess with whipped cream, and an eggs and bacon plate to the side with orange juice, but paid attention to the waffles first. He wasn’t in any hurry to talk either, patiently waiting on April after a brief greeting.

“I do the same thing,” April told him nodding at the waffles. “If you don’t eat them fairly quickly they get all soggy and aren’t very good.”

“Yes the butter slows it down but you really have just a few minutes before they are all limp. When I came up here I wondered what the food would be like because I do enjoy eating so much. I was really getting tired of the pressure at the University to put on a public display of limiting consumption. Skipping a decent meal doesn’t really mean anything if there is no mechanism in place to let a starving person buy the food I just skipped. I knew having all the equipment and space to cook myself would probably not be practical. I have to say, I am very pleased with the service available on the standard monthly contract. Do you have a private kitchen available to use Miss Lewis?”

“Yes, not what an Earthie would consider a real kitchen but we have a two burner stove top and a small combination oven, as well as a coffee maker.”

“Then your family must have been fairly well to do to have room for that even before you gained notoriety last year for your part in the revolution.”

April blushed because she was already uncommonly conscious of the fact her family had a much bigger apartment than usual even before the war and the hostilities over the Rock had improved the family fortunes. Since then she had become much more publicly visible as a crew member of the Happy Lewis. Now there was no way to conceal her interest in Lewis Couriers and Singh Technologies. Her family’s partnership in the captured asteroid trailing Home in orbit, the Rock, hidden behind a corporate name before, was too well known now. It had been easy to turn such comments aside before by saying everybody on Mitsubishi 3 was relatively wealthy because it is so expensive to live here you have to be well off. But now her finances were so public it was impossible to shrug them off.

“My grandfather was among the riggers and beam dogs who constructed the station and he came from a family of working people who were all shrewd investors and savers. He put all his money in buying cubic here when it was speculative and undervalued. If he hadn’t acted boldly the family wouldn’t have had the financial base to buy into the Rock. We still own cubic outspin on the North end and we were one of only two families that didn’t throw their zero G cubic away cheap when the South hub cubic opened to the public for dockage. Everyone said, ‘Who is going to dock up North where there are no facilities?’ They didn’t see the industrial value.”

“And unlike some Earth families I’ve observed where the family fortune creates conservative caution in the second or third generation yours seems bold still, Miss Lewis.”

“Thank you, I hope so,” she agreed. “I haven’t seen the world carefully taking care of the shy and tentative I’m sorry to say. But if it doesn’t offend I wish you’d call me April. I’ve never felt like a Miss Lewis.”

“Well, I appreciate the offer. It sets my mind at ease.” He heaved a big sigh of relief from a tension she wasn’t aware was there. “It would please me to call you April, and honored if you would call me Jerry. Although if you eventually count me a friend you’ll find most call me Jelly.”

“How did you get such a name? You seem nicely trim and not Jelly-like at all.”

“Perhaps now, but when I was in school they didn’t have the meds they have now and I constantly struggled to keep an acceptable weight. I’m one of those unfortunate people who when they carry extra weight wear it as a soft disgusting spare tire right around the middle were it squishes over the belt. Not one of those flat sided solid fellows who look like a fireplug,” he illustrated with his hands, “On top of which I had a reputation for always having a pocket full of jelly beans and when I met friends I’d offer them a few so the name was an easy choice.”

“And why,” she asked genuinely puzzled, “would it be such a relief to be on a first name basis with me? A lot of people are very uncomfortable with such informality. I met a very nice Frenchman, a Msr. Broutin last year and he would agree to call me April, but he was more comfortable to be addressed formally himself. Using his given name made him feel as funny as Miss Lewis did me. But usually older people like formality and the younger ones don’t.”

“I was relieved because I was concerned perhaps you or your family disapproved of my business and this meeting was to tell me so. When I saw you were gene mod yourself I thought surely that couldn’t be, but then when you asked to be on a first name basis I know you wouldn’t extend that courtesy to someone you’re going to ask to leave.”

“Leave? Jerry, I have no authority at all to ask anyone to leave anything. Not even this table, certainly not Home if that’s what you meant. Banishment is the worst possible criminal punishment the people voted for so far. It’s reserved for those who we don’t want to live with anymore.”

He took the chance while she was talking to polish off the waffles and placed the platter of eggs and bacon on top of the empty dish.

“Well you may have no official authority,” he agreed, dusting the eggs heavily with black pepper. “But I’ve been generally informed that what the Lewis or Singh families want to happen generally does. When I came up here a few months ago everybody from the agent who rented me my cubic to the fellow who fibered up my data net said what a great place the habitat was, how the future was here and a man could do anything he could dream, and don’t piss the Lewis or the Singh clans off or they will flush you out the airlock in your boxer shorts and teach you to whistle without air,” he said, and went calmly back to his breakfast.

“Why would anyone think such a thing?” she argued indignantly. “I can’t think of one person these people have ever actually seen me harm. I mean, we did run down those troopers that invaded us from the Cincinnati, but they were invaders after all. Margaret had already blown half of them to hell and gone at the dock. She blew their shuttle folded over double. Now there’s a lady with whom to be very polite,” she advised him. “I helped Easy fry one outside the Holiday Inn, but Neil was the one who nailed the rest of them in the lobby with a homemade Claymore when we chased them in there. Jon’s crew and the Prentice family wiped out so many of them in the corridors I don’t even know if I ever did get a decent hit on anyone out there blasting away in the smoke and confusion. North corridor was just horrible – bullet holes and fires half way across the station and a trail of dead Earthies in breached armor. And it’s true Easy and I toasted the Pretty As Jade when we ambushed those two ships but I was sitting laser weapons board and had hardly even got a start on burning the James Kelly, just took their laser mast out, when Eddie put a missile in them and made ‘em confetti – made my contribution kinda moot.”

She stopped suddenly, stricken, realizing how counterproductive her testimony was, and sank her face in her hands in understanding for the first time. “Oh crap, I never stopped and really thought out what it all looked like before,” she admitted.

“Indeed, by the most amazing coincidence there does seem to be a history of expensive damage, death and destruction strewn closely behind when you get rolling. If it isn’t by your own hand you can’t blame people if they think you must at least be an inspiration to this crew who seem to run with you. I might point out, when your people got through with North America the best they could come up with for the Presidential succession was the Postmaster General. Most of us assumed the rest of them hadn’t gone into hiding to avoid taking the office. That took what? About a week? Speaking as one who has just recently come up, and I still maintain contacts below, they are still trying to hide from the public just how badly you pounded them. In military circles I believe the term is decapitation.”

“Yeah, well, I heard they stopped trying to dig into the bunker at Cheyenne Mountain and the Deepwell bunker they’re calling the Charleston bunker now on the news. The mountains are so broken up inside they shift and are too dangerous to open up. They’d have to work down from the top like a strip mine, and what’s the point anyway? Nobody is alive in there.”

“Hey,” she said, thinking back on what he said. “Who says I’m gene mode anyway?” She managed to sound a little indignant for the privacy issue, but her heart really wasn’t in it.

Jerry just lifted his chin and looked down his nose at her basic four thousand calorie breakfast with an expression that invited her to deny it.

“Well, yeah,” she admitted, defeated, and changed the subject quickly. “So, I have a couple questions for you but I really don’t mean to coerce you to answer them because I’m a Lewis. Just for me, not anything to do with Home or the militia. If you want to tell me it’s none of my business and to butt out it’s fine,” she assured him.

He took a sip of coffee and nodded his agreement for her to continue on those terms.

“You’re in the gene business but I notice you don’t try to pretty yourself up so the customers are impressed with how you look. I mean, for most people it’s a huge part of it. Maybe the most important part for some. They may want to live longer but if you gave them the choice between living longer and looking good I bet not a few would take the looks. So I’m wondering why? I saw you catch the lady’s stuff off her tray yesterday morning and I know you have to have some alterations to be so fast. It has to be a real advantage to be that quick. Is that something you’d sell?”

“Well, yes. I intend to offer a number of mods eventually but I’m rather cautious, waiting to see how the political landscape settles out here before I make myself too conspicuous. Eventually I’d like to attract business from off station, but if there is a sudden movement to restrict such things I’ll be in a very bad situation. I’ve cut myself off from North America and I’m not sure where else I’d be welcome. I’ll do some gene business eventually, but I’m not so broke I will worry about buying lunch for some time. I have some other small sources of income. You however make two who’ve noticed this mod,” he said with a grimace that briefly replaced his happy face.

“After I made the mistake of moving too quickly I went back up to get my bowl of oatmeal from your friend Ruby. She didn’t say anything to me, but when she turned around she held it and the little pitcher of cream on a saucer well up off of the counter and just let go of both of both and turned away. I have to say she is very fast herself for an unmodified person. She was turned fully, back to me before they had fallen very far. By the time I caught it without spilling anything she wasn’t even watching. I thought at first she was testing me, but on thinking it over she would have watched if it was a test. She was just telling me that she had noticed. I think that’s just how her sense of humor works.”

“Not much gets past Ruby. Her husband was our primary command pilot on the Happy when we rescued the Singhs. Among other things she is a Doctor and professor of Medieval European Music and has military experience.”

“She makes a wonderful Western omelet too,” he added.

“Sometime have her make you an asparagus and mushroom omelet with Monterey Jack

cheese,” she suggested.

Abruptly her expression altered and she changed the subject as a thought hit her. “I bet you would be one tough sucker to shoot wouldn’t you?” she asked, looking at him real hard. “You’d see the person reach their aim point and start to squeeze the trigger and – zip – you’d not be there to be drilled. It would actually be harder to shoot you up close. Better to stand off down a corridor and hose the whole hall down with a continuous beam.” She illustrated with a sweeping index finger.

He looked down at the finger of death sweeping over his breakfast with considerable apprehension. “April, believe me I understand and appreciate the survival traits you have. The same as you can appreciate a leopard in a nature video. But it’s harder to look up in a tree and admire one hanging off a branch looking down on you like it’s reading the luncheon menu. You are a lovely young woman and so dangerous you don’t look at someone and say ‘Can I take him?’ You progress directly to ‘How?’ But when you think about it you unconsciously shift your weight to the left and cup your hand, poised like you are thinking through the motions to draw and burn the life out of me. I really think you need to learn not to telegraph these things so I can enjoy my breakfast and not be sitting here considering ‘Could I possibly reach the door if I jump up to run, and zig – zag fast enough?’ it does not aid one’s digestion.”

“I’d think it would be more effective as fast as you are to close on me instead of run.”

“You flatter me,” he assured her, looked pointedly at the pebble textured handle sticking forward from her wide belt. “Whatever the handle is connected to I don’t want a close up experience with it.”

“The aikuchi? It’s a present from Genji Akira,” April said, touching the hilt lightly. “He sent it as a gift after he won the Publishers and Editors award with a piece which used some material about me. I suppose he was apologizing in a roundabout way that he didn’t ask permission to use his stringer’s pix of me. He indicated this was a proper mate to a couple pieces my grandfather gave me. He thought it a bit easier to carry than a tanto.”

“The Japanese writer? I didn’t even know he’d won something. Would you care for some more coffee?” he offered, getting up with his own empty cup.

“Please.”

When he returned he commented on the coffee, “Smells good.” He took the small pad he favored and passed it over the cups as he had done when he sat down. You couldn’t see the laser.

“You are checking for bacteria?” April inquired.

“Actually this one checks now for bacteria, viruses, drugs, poisons and pollutants.”

“Nice. I didn’t know they had gotten so much coverage in a pad plug-in. The coffee here is OK, but my friend Heather’s mom Sylvia Anderson has me to dinner now and then and she has me appreciating a much better sort of coffee. She serves a very mild roast which isn’t as bitter, and it’s the sort we buy now for our shipboard use. She’s one of the few people here who really get serious about cooking. I’ll introduce you if we get a chance. Now they have a real kitchen.”

“April. You mentioned a Msr. Broutin. You don’t seem the sort to drop names, but I have to ask, are you speaking of the Foreign Minister of France?”

“I don’t think so. I thought he was some sort of art broker. I meet him at the lady’s house I was speaking about, Sylvia, just before the war. From what he said over breakfast he was there to speak with my friend on behalf of the Treasurer of Lebanon. Nice middle aged fellow – spoke English with almost no accent, just sort of softly inflected. A handsome fellow with a bit of a pointy nose and a little patch of gray at each temple, and dressed like a million Euro. He had on one of those expensive handmade suits which hang just perfect around the collar,” she demonstrated stroking both hand like she was smoothing lapels down, “even when he sat, and the cuffs actually unbuttoned to fold back to wash. He had cuff links on I asked about and he made a present of them to me. I wear them all the time now. I should really get some more.”

“For the Treasurer of Lebanon? He seemed perplexed, tapping his pad. “Is this him?” he turned the little pad around and she had to look close to see the small screen.

“Well! I’ll be,” she was genuinely surprised, “it is him. He never mentioned he did any government work. But then why would he?” she shrugged. “He wasn’t here for them; he was doing his friend a favor.”

Jerry refrained from explaining how much some people delight in flaunting their position and power at every turn. He suspected she would be disdainful of such pettiness.

Jerry stopped talking for a bit to do a search and kept pecking at the pad while stuffing his face. After a bit he admitted, “Ah – my mistake really. He was appointed after he was up here, but quite soon after the whole mess last year, when the previous Minister was sacked.” His eyes narrowed slightly, and he looked at her. “You wouldn’t have had anything to do with that though would you?” he asked suspiciously.

“No not, uh, explicitly,” she denied automatically, and could see Jerry purse his lips at the qualifier. She wondered now if Broutin had turned the knowledge his visit gave him to some advantage. “He was nice. He warned me the North Americans would blockade us.” She wanted desperately to get away from discussing politics, and grasped for anything.

“The French have this cute custom of kissing,” she started to relate with a smile, remembering how he took her hand and brushed her knuckles with his lips, but when she looked at the expression on his face, she cut it off and said, “No, never mind. I can tell you think I’m making things up.”

“On the contrary I don’t think I’ve heard the half of it. How many other famous people do you know?” he asked directly.

“The most famous person I will ever know is Jeff Singh,” she said without hesitation.

He carefully considered how she phrased that and marked it as important to remember.

“A lot people have been trying to figure out if it is Heather Anderson, or if you are Jeff’s girl friend. Care to let me in on it so I have the straight stuff instead of rumor and gossip?”

“People shouldn’t worry about such things. I’m surprised they’re even interested. We’re all three business associates. Jeff and Heather worked together before me. But I know for a fact they both take anti-bonding medication so they don’t get distracted with romantic complications. But we’re all three bound together in a lot deeper way anyway.”

Our lives, our treasure, our honor, in friendship and loyalty, April thought silently with an inner surge of pride, remembering a toast, a solemn oath and an earnest hope for a nation that had come wonderfully true, but said nothing aloud. That story was way too private to share with anyone, even her grandpa. “If you look at the question, well, why shouldn’t we both be his friend?”

He wanted to say people don’t do that, but they do he knew, if not easily or often, and he’d feel stupid to say otherwise. Still, he thought it would be a rarity if they were close without conflict or deception. Anti-bonding meds or no he had seen even chaste same sex friendships destroyed over refusing to share a friend. The very expression best-friend was singular. Not best friends. Maybe a mate and a best friend? But he had also seen people drive away a spouse’s friends from before their marriage… He realized he had stopped chewing and frozen up all conflicted unable to answer her.

He suddenly wondered if that was why he hadn’t married, because he assumed it would limit whom he could have as friends. How could such a young girl make him ask such disturbing questions about himself? April saved him from answering that he had no idea by going on.

“So, how about your modification to reflexes, is it something I could buy?

“You know I’m not a Medical Doctor don’t you?” he asked carefully. “It’s one of the big reasons I’m here, because I can pursue what I’m interested in without being hampered by studies and regulations which would slow me down. Back on Earth I’d be old and dead before I could accomplish anything. So everything I do will be experimental and there will be risks which are unacceptable to North American law and regulation.”

“We’re results oriented here. You can’t be licensed because we don’t have such a thing yet. Don’t know if we ever will. You must feel this mod is safe or you wouldn’t be carrying it in your own body.”

“More than you can know,” he said, surprised at her perception. “The reason I don’t have many modifications is two-fold. One,” he said lifting a thumb in the European manner, “it was safer in North America to be visibly lacking in any life extension when my work was already suspect, and two,” he said lifting the index finger, “I plan to live a long time so I don’t want any modification done I am not sure I can undo later if something better came along. I’m in good shape and there’s no reason I can’t wait and let the technology mature another twenty years or so before I commit to any significant therapy. Since I’m not living down there I can be a little more liberal with minor treatments which show. When I knew I was defecting it was easy to convince myself to do this treatment because I reasoned it could help me if I were on the run. I’d be harder to capture, and much harder to shoot as you pointed out.”

“I researched you a bit. You were involved with veterinary. Does your treatment use animal genes? I don’t know how I’d feel about that, but I know a lot of people are squeamish about using them.”

“The reason behind the prejudice is people imagined because we don’t know what all the genes express, if we added cat genes say, which altered the eye, we might be adding an unknown change. We might change personality for example, and become a killer lacking in compassion like a cat with a mouse, and far less human. It’s sort of a modern version of the animist belief that you take on some of the qualities of the animal when you eat it. And it has its basis in the same error – not understanding in detail how the process works at a molecular level,”

“Now it is true, in the early days of gene mods, when we just looked for a marker, entire blocks of genes were moved to create a change when it was not understood how all the instructions in the block were expressed. That fear might have had some basis in reality then. But it would be a far greater risk something far less subtle would be expressed wrong, like a change in an enzyme or hormone which would cause the person to be sick or die. Especially when they could not control the insertion point with any accuracy. They created quite a few problems with that crude method including inducing cancers.”

“Now what I do is quite different. I find a model for faster reflexes and then create an entirely artificial gene with that information which causes your body to create the same sort of mechanisms but without ever taking an actual physical piece of genetic material from an animal and inserting it. There is no opportunity for extraneous instructions to be dragged along.”

“But doesn’t that accomplish the same thing?” April protested.

“Let me illustrate. Say your ship built here has a motor in the back with a stainless steel valve and you find out the Chinese have a valve made of titanium and it works a little better than yours. Now if you capture a Chinese ship and yank a valve out of it and adapt it to substitute for your original it’s fair to say your ship is part Chinese now isn’t it?”

April nodded in agreement.

“But if I hear that report and go back to the shop and tell them, ‘Make up some new valves to connect to our pipes, but make them out of titanium now. Change the dimensions or whatever you need to do in our design to take advantage of the new material so it works better but start from scratch with new materials.” Now, is the ship still part Chinese, or is it all Home?”

“It’s all Home but you aren’t as sure you are going to get what you want from the change if you didn’t understand why their valve is better. You may think it’s the material and it turns out it’s the shape of the innards or it how bolts on the pipe or something.”

“Right you are. And so you better have the guy doing it be someone who knows all about the different kinds of valves and why they work. If you don’t have someone like that better leave well enough alone. And there are still lots of poorly understood processes in the human body which we would be wiser to leave alone right now.” He looked in regret that all his plates were empty and salvaged one little fleck of whipped cream that had escaped on his finger and stuck it in his mouth.

“So, is there any down side to being faster?” she pressed to know.

“Oh yes, you are more likely to hurt yourself. It becomes much more important to stay in good shape with training. You might tear tissues or even break a bone if you act rashly without being conditioned. And as I found with Ruby if people become aware of your edge they tend to play tricks on you.”

“If you would consider treating me what do you need?”

“I’d need permission from your guardians,” he said, but stopped because she was shaking her head emphatically no.

“I’m a legal adult. You can check the public record. I have the honor of being the first person on Home voted their majority instead of attaining it at an arbitrary age.”

“I’d heard about that but I didn’t know anyone who had done it. When I meet someone how am I to know if they are a minor or an adult?”

“For business I’d check the public records. Really, even with a set age of majority we still needed documentation before because it was becoming difficult to judge a person’s age with LET. But most of the people here are adapting the social convention that adults wear weapons even if just symbolic ones like a Sikh’s sword might be a pin on his turban. So if you meet a young boy in the corridors and he has a knife on his belt chances are he’s an adult. You might think about doing it yourself. It’s getting to be people think you’re an Earthie if you aren’t carrying,” she teased.

“Then all I really need is a copy of your genome and a history of your in vitro modifications and your usual medical history. I’d still encourage you to discuss the change with a trusted mature friend. Do you have somebody who you’d trust their wisdom in the matter?”

“My grandfather will do fine. He’s extremely safety conscious.”

“You should also not take any anti-viral medications. I’m afraid you are going to have a mild cold for about three days and you’ll have to isolate yourself to avoid passing it to others. I have a counter infection but you’d put us in an awkward legal situation if you were negligent and carelessly changed someone’s genome who might nor welcome it. You also can’t take anything which compromises the immune system, and you must be absolutely sure not to get pregnant. I’m happy actually to have a famous client from an important family. So let’s keep my fee reasonable. Is fifty thousand EuroMarks good for you?”

“Sounds fine. I’m concerned though. Is the infection tailored to me? Is there any danger the infection would be fatal or damaging if someone got it off my laundry or by coming in my room?”

“No the carrier is a really mild corona virus which produces such mild symptoms many people aren’t even sure they have a cold. They may get a bit sniffly or feel tired. But people can get very upset if something is forced on them against their will, even through carelessness. And an accidental transmission might be to someone pregnant or immune deficient.

Are you developing other treatments?

“I will be continuing some studies with that goal. The delay right now is I have to buy lab services somewhere to have them run tests on mice. I’ll supervise remotely and send samples back and forth, but I’m already living in the back of my office cubic and I doubt that housekeeping would like me sharing it with twenty thousand white mice even if I could afford them here.”

“Any chance you could make a mod to help a person take higher acceleration?”

He didn’t hesitate long before shaking his head no. “You better look to an engineering solution on that. It’s way too complex for me to tackle at this stage.”

“Since you’ve had your treatment do you feel any faster? I mean does it alter your time sense? I’d hate to feel like everything around me was in slow motion and it would take forever to get through the day.”

“Funny you should ask that. I never thought of that possibility before I did this. It would have been a big shock if I’d felt such an effect. I feel like I always did but when I move I’m able to get there a little faster. It may look fast to you but it just feels natural to me. Slowed time sense is one of the unpleasant withdrawal effects of a number of addictions. So I do know it’s possible to induce it. In studying the matter I found out a few athletes are capable of basically the same level of performance I’ve induced but I could never get one to agree to allow me to take samples and do biopsies. I’d really like to have access to such a person someday.”

“I’ll mail you what you need. And the fee. Say, half now and the remainder on success?”

“Works for me,” he agreed. “Shake on it?” he offered across the table relaxed.

She grasped his hand firmly and smiled at him. There was just a moment’s awkward hesitation where she delayed letting go of his hand. Looking him eyeball to eyeball. He thought how she could have stopped him from pulling away if she wished, better reflexes or no. He could picture the dagger coming out in the other hand while the right held him trapped. It was a chilling thought which flashed on him unexpected.

As if to underscore it was a lesson she told him, “If you are going to be a spacer now we don’t shake. It doesn’t work in zero G so it’s better unlearned. Just touch your finger tips in the palm of my hand.” This time he reached up and her finger lightly brushed his palm at the same time he touched hers. It was a gentler custom, and so much safer too, he thought.

First chapter possible book

I’m tempted to write an action book similar to David Drake’s work or John Ringo’s Kildar series. The main character is a bit larger than life and the action fast and rough. The language is coarser without going totally nasty, but it appeals to a different audience. Don’t expect the people to be exploring their inner self in long thoughtful self examinations while the bullets crack by.

Her is my idea of opening a book with quick action and minimal scene setting. Tell me if it is too graphic or not enough. More gun porn or less?

Chapter 1

            Looks are deceiving. Garret looked as relaxed as a big cat sprawled in the chaise. He was reading a new novel, but his eyes left the page frequently and scanned the surroundings. Hypervigilant was the official diagnosis he’d received leaving the service. In his case it would have been an accurate assessment when he’d entered training if they had only tested him then. Three tours in the sandbox left him in a mental state the Psychologist could not really imagine. He was attuned to the slightest noise, the smallest scuff, insignificant dislodged pebble, or a tiny glint off metal or lens a kilometer away.

That was why he was alive and so many of his companions weren’t. Given the choice he couldn’t see being aware of his surroundings as a bad thing. It beat cold and dead. He’d been discharged and back home a year now. Logically it was time to relax a little, but the human brain is a funny thing. It yields a proven survival mechanism very reluctantly.

His house had a very good security system. Most people would have turned it off during the day and set it at dusk or even bedtime. It was on now even though he was out back by the pool. In fact it had sensors along the property edge  and spaced around the grounds in a pattern that would be very difficult to evade. His father had a basic system in but he’d augmented it.

The sensors included cameras on the walls and poles along the property perimeter looking in as well as out. What appeared to be sprinkler heads in the lawn were not. They were heat and proximity sensors. The Bluetooth earpiece he had on occasionally gave him a false alert from a stray pet or bird, but he preferred that over a  system set for only an aggressive intrusion.

A tall glass at his elbow was dew speckled halfway up with ice still in it and a twist of lemon to flavor it. Clipped inside his jeans on his left hip was a 10mm Ed Brown. The new one with thin grips to allow a double stack magazine for the new Hornady 10mm Magnum rounds.

Garret took a sip of the cool drink after he flipped a page and got his thumb back in the spread. He had an e-reader, but he also had quite a collection of classic paperbacks.

Two things happened at once. He’d just looked up to examine his surroundings and a flicker of movement took his focus to the glass patio doors. Simultaneously there was  warning buzz in his ear that he had an intruder on his security system. The reflection in the glass was a dark human shape silhouetted against the white west wall of his property behind him. The shape definitely had a helmet on and he landed with that slight flexing of knees you saw in a gymnast that made a perfect dismount at the end of his routine.

Garret rolled off the chaise on the open side opposite the table and glass. He looked up just in time to see the figure pixilate and vanish from sight into the background, almost. There was a bright specular reflection of the sun on the man’s visor that didn’t quite disappear, and he still cast a partial shadow although it was faint as it got further away from the feet.

A bright line split the air with a crack and the back of the chaise blew out with a spray of cushioning material and a flash of vaporization around the hole that materialized. Some of the hot fragments cut across the back of his left hand and he felt a couple pepper his cheek.

Garrett already had his pistol pointed in the right direction and didn’t give the man a chance at a second shot. He laid the sights just under the bright point that still pinpointed the helmet faceplate and squeezed gently. The trigger broke just like a day at the range, sharp as a glass rod cracking. For eight thousand dollars it damn well should.

The outline of the man reappeared instantly, his head thrown back and a cloud of chunks and spray behind it that indicated there was an exit wound. The masking device failed spectacularly flashing a coarse pattern of pixels of all colors and brightness. His arm was extended from firing at Garrett, but at fifteen meters he could not make out a weapon.

Garrett had just had three tours in hell. If there was one thing his hind brain could process it was tactics. If he was facing somebody who could materialize out of thin air the next place for one to appear would be – behind him. He rolled over to the stub wall against which the BBQ grill was set and sat up looking back at the house. He waited bracing his pistol on a raised knee and almost gave up on a second appearance after thirty some seconds. Then there was a faint violet flash in a distinct circle in the air he’d missed the first time and two black clad figures dropped from the air between him and the house back to back.

The far one landed slick as the original intruder and the near one landed a little off balance crouching deeper and touching the patio tiles with a spread hand to recover. His first round went over the crouched figure taking the far one in the back of the helmet. It didn’t penetrate like it had on the faceplate, but it snapped his head forward and staggered him. He had just caught himself against the shove by throwing his arms up and taking a bracing step when the second shot went in the gap opened up between his helmet and collar.

They near man had recovered and was half way vertical again. His suit was starting to react to the environment and make him vanish, and he was swinging a large carbine around on a harness strap to bring it to bear on Garrett. They were much closer, around four meters away and he could have hit him with a brick, much less an Ed Brown.

He wanted this one alive if he could and shot him just above the knee. It didn’t get through his armor he could tell, but it made his leg buckle and he caught himself again with the left hand spread on the tiles, dropping the muzzle of his weapon.

Garrett took slow careful aim and put a round in the back of the man’s left hand shattering it. Support gone he rolled on his left side. He tried to bring the weapon up again but he was laying on the harness strap and it was too short to swing away from his body. He rolled on his belly and tried to do a one handed pushup to clear it. Garrett shot him through both buttocks. With a little luck he’d busted the hip bone somewhere.

He could not believe the man still managed to pull a knee under him and plant the right hand flat on the ground to try to get up. He carefully shot the other hand, but this round hit further back and blew out the wrist almost severing the hand.

The man must be on some kind of drugs, because he was pawing at his chest trying to do something with the shattered left hand. He was sideways to Garrett now and he aimed at the helmet knowing he couldn’t punch a hole through it, but he could rattle the man’s brain by brute force if he absorbed enough foot-pounds in the helmet. He shifted his aim off center just a hair, not wanting to break the man’s neck. The shot gouged a furrow in the helmet and slammed the man’s head back. He crumpled in a limp pile finally, dead or concussed Garrett didn’t know.

It took a bit more than a thirty count for these two to show. He rushed forward and grabbed the near man by his harness and dragged him back to the short wall. He dumped him there and got his pocket knife out rolling the blade open with his thumb. Two slashes freed the carbine from the harness, and cut his chin strap so he could tilt his helmet off.

The man’s face was nothing special. Some sort of southern European Garrett would guess. Slightly olive and a blocky wide peasant face. Hair black and slightly wavy. But there was a band of tattoo crossing his face from ear to ear, straight across the nose. It was an intricate band of tiny geometric shapes, deep blue with tiny triangles of red and green, abstract art instead of representational, like the trim Arabs used to decorate things.

He retreated to the end of the stub wall where he could duck behind it either way for cover. He wondered if the thirty second interval was something their equipment dictated, or if it represented how long it took somebody to make command decisions.

But nobody new appeared at about the same thirty second interval. He scrambled back to the man and cut his belt that held a pistol and knife as well as several cases. He didn’t seem to have pockets. There was some kind of electronics on his chest and he cut that loose. He could see the man was still alive from the bleeding, it didn’t seem as bad as it should have, especially the shot through his wrist, it should have been a nasty squirter and there was just a tiny pulsing dribble that stopped as he looked at it. He looked down and the man’s blood was smeared across his wounded hand. Shit…He hoped he didn’t have hepatitis or any of a dozen other nasty things.

The carbine was lighter than a firearm, but still substantial. It had a recessed two position switch on the left side and a similar paddle switch with four detents on the top rear where you could work it with your thumb. He checked all that out and looked around again even though his security system was giving him an all clear again.

He lifted the weapon and pointed it down into the pool. When he pulled the trigger it drew a white line with a crack and a big puff of steam boiled up into the air. He pushed the switch on the left down and tried it again. Nothing happened but the holographic sight had a yellow light flash in it. That had to be the safety.

Another look around saw no hostiles, and he flipped the safety off and thumbed the top switch from second to third detent.  He fired into the pool and the crack left his ears ringing and the reflections of the shock wave slapped him in the face. The water rolled back so hard it sloshed out of the pool at both ends. When he recovered he discovered the beam had punched through the opposite wall of the pool and the tiles were all bulged up from below in a line a couple meters past the edge of the pool.  The last power detent had to be a real bitch he decided.

So far he’d made a lot of noise. As far as he knew nothing had reached outside his fenced back yard to tell anyone where all the noise originated. He knew how hard it was to assign anything but a general direction to a big boom. But he had a feeling he couldn’t just sit tight and hope the police would drop the matter once the shooting stopped. He was almost certain they would do a hot house to house without waiting for warrants. And he had two bodies and a prisoner to hide. No way he could get them all hidden in time to pass a walk through. It was time to bug out permanently.

Another violet circle formed between him and the house, but vertical this time, angled a little toward him and part of the glowing edge was actually below ground level. It seemed a bit taller than wide, an oval. Apparently they changed the insertion format when they failed. He was still holding the unfamiliar weapon, but had no time to switch. He wished he’d counted again. It must have taken them a good three minutes or more to open the third hole from wherever…

He aimed too high as the first armored figure came out of the hole in the air in a dive and rolled. He corrected and followed and triggered the weapon. It ablated a huge chuck of armor off and rolled the man away, but he was still moving before he even came to a stop. That didn’t leave him many options. He thumbed the top lever all the way to the fourth detent and fired again.

The beam was the same except it didn’t pulse. It stayed on as long as he held the trigger down and after less than a half second it ate through the armor and the man disintegrated in a messy steam explosion. He just had a brief and not too clear image of limbs flying and he had to shift his aim to the next person emerging holding the trigger down hard.

He was off again, low this time, the man running out instead of diving, carrying a canister of some sort cradled in his arms. The beam cut him off just below the knees and his swing carried it to the open oval and the third fellow emerging ran full tilt right into it and went down too. He reversed burning the last man to emerge in the head which wasn’t as spectacularly messy as the first.

The fellow with the canister had one end open and was fumbling with it. Garrett cut both his hands off at the wrist with the beam and zig zagged the beam across him several times awkwardly as he fell back. He didn’t blow up but he was a charred ruin. The barrel of the carbine was hot now the air over it shimmering.

He was pretty sure the canister was something nasty, some sort of demolition charge, and he rushed forward carbine at ready and looked in the hole in the air. It appeared to be a corridor inside the glowing ring, not like a normal building, but more like a ship with metal bulkheads and artificial lighting. He could feel the air flowing out of the hole so it was at positive pressure on the other side.  Where the oval was in the ground was a step down from his patio. He laid the carbine down so he could grab the canister.

The end cap on the canister was hinged back and there was a knob set about half way in an arch of strange symbols. The symbol its pointer was turned to was showing in a small screen steady and not changing. It was a timer and the loop handle beside it had to be the initiator. He’d used satchel charges not too different himself. Question was, how fast was the timer? Long enough to let them get back to safety he’d guess. He checked the corridor again. Nobody coming but there was a bend in it about three meters back.

Well if they wanted to play rough he’d take a chance. If they kept pouring people into his back yard long enough they’d overrun him. There were twelve calibrations and the knob was set half way. He grabbed the pull loop and yanked. It yielded a little like it was a plastic material. It resisted until it got about a hand’s width away and then ripped out.

He lifted the can in both hands and heaved it for the bend down the hallway. It wasn’t that heavy, maybe eight or ten kilo and he saw it hit and bounce around the corner. He snatched the carbine and ran to get out from in front of the opening counting and dove to the pavement behind the strange portal, opening his mouth and covering both ears.

When he got to the nine count the ground smacked him in the face and even through closed eyes he was dazzled by the flash. He had to have passed out briefly, because he woke on his back but he didn’t remember landing. When he rolled over he looked and the oval was gone. Overhead there was a second sun just starting to shrink. It was far enough from the normal sun that they cast weird double shadows.

The bodies that were in front of the opening were gone, except there might be a burnt smear in the fused dirt that extended from the middle of his patio to the house. It just caught the corner and sheared it off. The shock wave had knocked the rest of his bedroom into the center of the house. His east fence was down flat except for a section that was just gone where the grass was vaporized off the dirt in a straight lane. The street was slick and steaming shiny black where the line of destruction crossing it had melted the pavement. The house across the street caught the blast square on and was knocked flat into the back yard and burning pretty good already. The rubble of his corner had a couple wisps of smoke already. It would be in flames in minutes.

Everything hurt when he got up. He didn’t have much time. He was surprised he couldn’t hear sirens already. He grabbed the unconscious soldier and stuffed his com and pistol in his belt and dragged him one handed by the harness to the garage. The other hand had the carbine and he wasn’t sure which he’d keep if he had to lose one.

Inside the garage his pickup was parked pointing out. He raised the tonneau cover and stuffed the man in the rear. He had no time to fuss with him and he had stopped bleeding on his own, which was freaking weird. He turned to his cabinets and withdrew two big soft carriers and tossed in after him. The weapons he put in the cab.

It was insane, but he ran in the house. There was already smoke crawling along the ceiling out of the hallway. He ran in his study and the safe was set to open by turning to the final number. He hefted the heavy ruck off the floor of the safe and unhesitatingly grabbed just his best rifle. When he slammed it shut he spun the dial for all the good that might do. He really doubted he’d even get back to open it. The smoke was much thicker when he cut through again. He walked fast leaning over holding his head down out of it, eyes burning.  It was hotter too. He knew he’d pushed too close to disaster. The back couple rooms might have already flashed over.

The ruck and rifle went in the cab even though it was illegal and way too visible. He wasn’t about to put them with the guy in the back even as badly hurt as he was. He started the truck and reached up and hit the garage door opener. He was rolling the window down even as he went down the drive.

He could hear sirens now in the distance. He turned in the driveway of the third house down and cut around the house on the grass. Into the neighboring yard behind and out on the next street. The ground was dry and he hadn’t even engaged the four wheel drive. When he looked back there was no obvious ruts across the lawns, just a couple lines of pressed grass. He kept his speed down and left the other subdivision turning north away from town and all the fuss.

When he stopped on the outskirts of town to top off his tanks he could see a column of smoke billowing up from his old neighborhood. It was a shame, he had grown up in that house and was attached to it. He doubted there was much that could be saved from what he’s seen. And when they got there they’d have the house across the street to deal with too. At least he knew the Zimmerman’s both worked and wouldn’t have been at home. Not that it was his fault. He’d been attacked and he had no idea why.

He got past the cashier into the rest room without showing his face. Only one customer looked at his bloody hand and face and turned away with that vacant look that said it was none of his business. After he cleaned up he bought some bottled water and a couple sandwiches he settled in for a drive. His one buddy had a cabin north almost into Oregon, and he intended to go there without checking in a hotel along the way, even if he had to drive through the night.

Eight hours later his main fuel tank was empty. He didn’t like dipping into the auxiliary, so he pulled in a truck stop. He was past Sacramento and he could go east and follow mountain roads now if he needed to. He had fuel to make his buddy’s cabin, but wanted full tanks when he got there if he could. Taking the back roads would use more fuel too.

His commercial Diesel permit was tied to his credit card. He was  limited to ten gallons at full price if he paid cash. He’d stop and make another purchase to fill the tank and again and before he got too close to his friend’s cabin. He wanted a shower, but worried about the prisoner in the bed. He didn’t want to come out and find the cops investigating why somebody was pounding on the inside of his hard tonneau cover.

He pulled to the edge of the lot and parked where the floods would shine in the bed when he opened it up. He put his hand around his pistol under his jacket and unlocked the cover left handed. He was prepared for the prisoner to be dead or to attack him, either way.

The man was laying on his side back against the auxiliary fuel tank that occupied the front quarter of the bed. He had gotten a bandage from some pocket and wound it around the really severely injured left wrist. It looked to be elastic. All Garrett could figure was he used his teeth to open it and help wind it on. He should have searched the man but he never had time.

The man was conscious however, eyes alert and watching him. He had a big scab on the hole blown through his right hand. That was simply impossible. It would have needed surgery to close it up and then skin grafts and a month of healing to look like it did now. The fellow made no effort to sit up or speak. He wasn’t dressed that outrageously. Except for the armor because it was impossibly thin and the tattoo he could have been county SWAT in black tactical.

Well, if he could bind that wrist up he could drink out of a bottle. He broke the seal on a bottle of water and took a drink to show him what it was and that it was safe.

The cap he put back barely finger tight and rolled it across to him. It came to a stop right against the man’s chest. He picked it up right handed, fingers all working which was freaky. He took about half the bottle down at once and made a gracious nod, turning his head slightly.

“Gaz,” he said softly. There was no hint of a second syllable.

” Lei è italiana?” Garrett asked.

“Italian? No, I speak,” he hesitated and looked genuinely dismayed. “My prime language is similar to Spanish. I speak a little English but not well, and not your idioms.”

“I’d like to talk to you, that’s the only reason you are alive. However, if you make it difficult I will dump you on the roadside. Make it really difficult and I’ll kill you. You want to get out and walk away here or continue with me?”

“The others are dead then?”

“All dead. Even the ones above in your ship.”

“Caquetá! How could you possibly?”

“You picked the wrong bad ass to invade. They put three more through after you. Apparently they figured it was going to hell and sent a fellow through with a bomb to clear a landing zone. I left the timer set and tossed it back through that opening in the air. It bounced around the corner into your ship and – BOOM. I saw the fireball up above. I assume that was at an orbital level? It was sort of obvious. I toss a bomb in here – it goes boom above. Suitcase nuke I assume?”

“I don’t know your names for them – but a bomb, yes. That was to clear the area of any of our machines. Rule one is you don’t leave behind samples of advanced machines. If they sent three after me and you killed them…” He seemed to make it a question.

“I did,” Garrett affirmed and gave a nod to familiarize him with the gesture.

“Destroying the ship will delay things. We have not lost a ship in centuries. They can’t slip time in small sections. It will be a delay to note the ship does not report and send a new one. The team with the bomb would not have set it off if they had recovered our equipment. But now I think they will just pop a bomb through set to explode quickly. A big bomb because things might have been moved already by the locals.”

“You had a box on your chest. Will they detect it and pop a bomb on it?”

“Yes. It can be turned on remotely too. If you have it you must remove the battery.”

“I don’t know how, and how can I know you won’t just call for help with it?”

“You don’t. But if you don’t trust me with it please throw it away here and start driving again as fast as possible. When an operation goes this bad they will not try to recover me. All they will care about is cover your ass.”

“You got that idiom just fine. I’m an idiot, but I’m giving you the radio. If you look like you are using it instead of pulling the power I’ll shoot you. Understand?”

“Yes, I understand.”

“Come on up to the cab then,” he said reinforcing it with a hand gesture. “If you don’t want to walk away no reason to ride back here in the dark. Can you make it on your own?”

“I think so.” He was stiff and a bit wobbly. He came over the side and was slow to let go. He held on with his right hand and held the left tight against his chest, protecting it. The door was a struggle to open and he couldn’t slam it hard enough to close it. But then he shouldn’t be able to walk. By right he should have bled out. Garrett closed the door for him and walked around to the driver’s side.

The fellow was leaning his head back, taking deep breaths.

“You hurting? You want something to help with the pain?”

“I have little machines in my body. They make pain medicine for me. But if you have something that doesn’t slow down my breathing I’d welcome some.”

“Here, these are Naproxen. They don’t suppress the breathing reflex. Take them and finish off the water.”

When he had the pills in him Garrett dumped the radio in his lap. “Pull its teeth.”

That got a brief grin. “That’s a new expression for me. Here, see the latch I am sliding to the outside? Do the one on your side. My left hand is useless.” The entire bottom edge of the radio popped out about a half centimeter. The soldier held the latch with his thumb and got a finger in the opening. The battery when he rolled it out was triangular and had a large contact plate on each end.

“Don’t, uh, I don’t have the word. Don’t bridge from end to end with metal. It will get really hot.”

“Don’t short it out. No problem.” Garrett stuck it in the center console.

“There were no lights on. It had not been turned on remotely. We can go without needing to run for our lives.”

Garrett drove out of the truck stop and merged back on the expressway.

“You are not afraid to be within reach of me?” the fellow asked.

“Don’t get too full of yourself. The only reason you are alive is I wanted a prisoner to question. If you decide you can finish the job I can do without the talk. I’d say my twelve year old niece could finish you off, shape you are in. I’ve taught her to take care of herself and she’d shove a number two pencil in your ear right flush if you got frisky with her. Right now if you take me up on walking away I predict you will be dead or in Federal custody before the sun comes up.”

“I am instructed.” The fellow said. Sounded like he meant it.

“Trading me for the Feds is a bad bargain. They will interrogate you with drugs and pain. You heal fast but I bet you can’t breathe underwater, and those boys can inflict pain I doubt even your little machines can cancel out. I won’t torture you. If I figure you are bullshitting me I’ll just dump you in the desert and see if you don’t cook in the sun without water like anybody else, and feed the buzzards and coyotes fast enough.”

“How can you trust what is told to you to stop pain?”

“I can’t. But the Feds have instruments that will read your brain patterns and they will know if you are lying or if you plain don’t know.”

“We had no idea you were that far along.”

“Bit off more than you could chew huh? That explosion in space is going to put everybody on alert. Nobody will admit it was theirs and they are all going to be on a hair trigger for anything threatening their satellites and space stations. If you have another ship show up they will likely have three or four countries shooting at them.”

“Where do you imagine I’m from?” the man asked with renewed interest.

“Well, I read a bit of science fiction, I can make a better guess than most.”

“What is science fiction?”

“Writing about possible futures. Speculating, guessing about what new technologies will be invented and how people will live with them. Trouble is our world changes so fast by the time you write a story and predict something half the time somebody is selling it before you can get the book printed.”

The fellow looked horrified. He seemed to be on the edge of saying something and decided against it shutting his mouth with a visible effort.

“No way you come from another world in our universe. That pretty much leaves you coming from our future, or from a parallel world very similar to ours.”

For an instant Garrett thought he was choking, then he realized the man was laughing so hard he couldn’t get his breath. The tears rolled down his face and he took a long time to gain control again. It took several false starts before he could speak.

“If my commander could hear you say that so, so, it’s just so. He would simply soil himself. You understand?”

“Matter of fact is our expression. If your commander heard me say that so matter of fact he’s shit himself. The second is not a polite expression, but what most folks would say.”

“Yes,” he agreed nodding vigorously. Was that natural or had he picked it up already?

“Science Fiction is illegal in our culture. Fiction even about the past is frowned on. It is officially viewed as lying and deviate behavior.”

“Well they don’t ban it for us,” Garrett pointed out. “So if I was you I’d have to ask, What sort of things do they know are possible they don’t want anyone speculating about among their own people? My take on it is once you have the concept something is possible the rest is just engineering.”

They rode along for some minutes in silence as he digested that idea.

There were scattered clouds above in the night, something Garrett knew by the light of the moon and the lack of stars in patches. Suddenly the bottoms of the clouds and the ends toward them were illuminated by a flash that faded away. After a minute a dull red sun climbed

over the south horizon behind them.

“Shit, they just killed a couple million people to cover up a couple weapons and radios? They could have negotiated with us before. Now there will be no quarter.”

“What does this mean? No quarter?”

“The way I let you live? None of that. Not even if you surrender with your hands up.”

“We are trained not to surrender. If my commander captured me now he’d gather the whole assembly and kill me in front of everybody. I didn’t fight to the death and worse I let you capture my equipment and kept them from tracing it.”

“So why didn’t you?”

“It’s stupid. It’s always better to live. I’m a soldier not a, caquita!, I don’t have a word again.”

“Shit, I recognize that from Spanish, and I think fanatic is the word you are looking for.”

“I thank you for the water, he said changing the subject. “I don’t mean to complain, but my injuries are making me very hungry. Would it be too great a favor to ask to be fed?”

“Actually, by the laws of war I owe you certain treatment, including food, shelter, medical care, and to pass on any packages and communication from your family. That is if you give your parole and agree to stop fighting against me.”

“Rules for war? I’ve never heard of such a thing. Why would you even have such a thing? How can you have such a thing? Don’t you just fight until you win or lose?”

“Once upon a time we could. When we got to the point that the weapons were so terrible they could destroy cities we had to limit things. Now we have rules about targeting civilian populations and treatment of wounded and prisoners. They are what they call the Geneva Conventions and the Hague Conventions mostly. Otherwise I’m sorry to say my people can get pretty ugly.”

“And how long have you needed this law of war?”

“Well now, there were actually rules of war in the bible two thousand years ago. You were prohibited to cut down all the trees around a city. Especially the fruit trees and olive trees. You were not permitted to kill all the kids and old people and sell the women off as slaves.”

“The modern rules of war came about after war was mechanized. Aircraft and artillery throwing fire and explosives and poison gas and biological agents all can get carried away. Then nuclear explosives – well if that isn’t what you guys used  there behind us it is pretty similar in effect. Those modern rules have been in their fourth update for about the last hundred years.”

“You can make a bomb like you saw go off behind us?”

“Yeah. They stopped making them so big. They really aren’t very efficient. Better to drop three smaller ones than a huge one.”

“You have so many?”

“Oh sure. Some of the big countries have the makings for thousands even if they don’t keep them assembled. They have hundreds mounted up and ready to deliver anywhere in the world in about twenty minutes. Even some of the tiny countries have hundreds. That’s why we need to keep a lid on it. If they start flying we could glass over a small country in a couple days.”

“Glass, like this?” he touched the windshield.

“Yeah. Some of the small countries. They mess with you they could end up a green glass parking lot. You know? They’d glow in the dark a thousand years.”

“How do I give this ‘parole’ to be your prisoner?”

“Just agree to stop attacking me. Does your word mean anything to you?”

“I am third generation of a conquered world. My grandfather fought the Overlords. We still speak privately of such concepts beyond just winning or I would be dead now. I advice you not to regard our Overlords as capable of such acts. They will think you a fool and kill you first chance they get.”

“Not more than once.” Garrett said smiling.

“Your uh, payback, is harsher if your rules are violated, right?”

“Got it in one.” Garrett admitted.

“I give my parole then. I think I understand it. I’m almost sure.”

“Hell of a concept to absorb huh?”

“My command has a doctrine to grab a group of hostages and interrogate then when finding a new world of man. That’s what we were going to fan out and do from your home. There were about twenty people we could detect at home in the sub-section of houses yours was in. They do not do a slow, time eating survey to see what they are dealing with. Not even when we find satellites like we did here. Am I right in thinking by bombing behind us they have already broken your rules of war?”

“Yes, they have. We’d have talked before, now it’s going to be a matter of retribution.”

“Another word I don’t know.”

“That’s Okay, I think they are starting to show you,” Garrett pointed into the sky. A couple pulsating  bright dots were headed south west faster than he was used to seeing a satellite move. Another hotter dot came down from the north east to intercept them. Four small sparks climbed away from the first pair at incredible acceleration to meet it.

“Look away!” his passenger warned.

The warning was perfect. He looked down and blinked. The flash was incredible. It had a double component so at least two of the missiles detonated. He slowed down a bit. If a flash blinded him temporarily he didn’t want to run off the road at speed. He held it at forty-five mph so he could feel the edge of the pavement and run off the shoulder if needed.

One after another a series of missiles lifted to their left and climbed away to their rear. The angle changed as each lifted tracking some unseen target until they were cutting across their front to the east. Dawn was starting but a steady flickering lit the scene like a steady strobe as warhead after warhead silently detonated. Finally a huge flash lit them from high and behind them. He had flash blobbies in his vision, but not so much he couldn’t guide the truck off onto the shoulder. He had no choice as the engine ran rough and then quit.

“That last big one fried my engine electronics. Man I bet it fried half the continent. That was a big sucker.”

“I imagine that was our ship dying. They can defend themselves from a certain number of missiles. But we have never had to fight anyone who throws one after another in the air like I just saw. I can’t imagine the wealth we just saw fired into the air.”

“That was just one base. I’m not sure which one even. Vandenberg back where we started would have been pounding the shit out of them too. I think it would take more than the one bomb we saw to put them out of commission. They probably had multiple locations from here and Japan and China hammering them if they came in from the west like those missiles were tracking. . They likely got hit with orbital weapons and lasers and crap from naval assets. I know damn well San Diego has ballistic defenses for the fleet. Alaska might have been able to reach them too. Maybe even the Russians if they have stuff in Siberia.”

Garrett looked around. There was a big truck and a couple cars stopped going the other way far ahead. The truck had managed to get off the pavement. One of the cars was half off and the other stopped in the left lane. There was no other traffic on their side. The road went down at a shallow grade into a valley and on the other side of a small bridge climbed away. The other vehicles were on the other side of the bridge, perhaps three miles away. The valley was pines and no sign of human habitation. It was the bright light just before the sun came up and the clouds above were clearing.

“I doubt I can walk far. I understand if you have to kill your prisoner,” he said resigned.

“First of all I don’t do that. Second of all if we sit here awhile the computer may  reboot and run. I’ve read they do if you were not too close. If not we can sit for a day or so and let the big boys get through throwing those big ones around and I have a spare computer wrapped in foil beneath the rear seat. I got a junk yard extra just in case this happened.”

“You planned on the possibility of your own people having just this sort of war?”

“Sure did. I don’t want you to think that is common. The government plans on a war. The power companies and data centers and banks and such are all hardened as well as the military against EMP from nuclear weapons. But guys like me? Private individuals who stock up on food and weapons and such. I bet there are not more than a couple hundred thousand of us in North America. Folks prepare for storms or riots or earthquakes, but not usually nuclear war.”

“We are so, so…”

“Short of words again?”

“Do you have a word for painful violent sex inflicted against your will?”

“Ah, we are so screwed, is the idiom. One of the milder ones at least.”

“That, most emphatically.”

“Here, work on this for now,” Garrett have him a granola bar. “You have a name you want me to use?” Garrett asked after a bit.

“One,” was what it sounded like.

“If I use that around others it will seem odd. May I suggest a variation?”

“Please.”

“Juan with a breathy H sound is the closest name in Spanish. In English that would be John. How do those strike you?”

“English is the language of this area, right?”

“Officially. Spanish is a close second, and you look close enough to a Hispanic that nobody would blink at it.”

“But the English speakers are dominant right?”

“Yeah, not like your Overlords, but they have the upper hand it’s true.”

“Upper hand. Interesting. John it is, please.”

Across the bridge the big truck threw a puff of smoke from its twin stacks.

“Let’s give it a try.” Garrett turned the key on. The dashboard lights ran through their usual sequence. That was encouraging. The starter he expected to work. It’s circuitry was fairly robust. The engine did fire however, first roughly and then caught enough it kept going without the starter. He ran it up a few times with the throttle. When he eased off it returned to a normal idle. When he dropped it in gear that engaged just fine too.

When they passed the cars there was one person in the car partly on the shoulder. There was nobody in the one in the passing lane. He wondered if they got a ride in the truck?

About ten minutes later two Highway Patrol passed them flat out. There was no traffic and they weren’t bothering with lights or siren. They didn’t give their truck a glance.

Five exits and a half hour later was a truck stop. His dark grey shirt and pants were unremarkable. So dark he’d thought them black. “If you take that armor off your shirt looks just fine. You just imitate what I do and you’ll be Okay. If anybody asks about your tattoo tell them it is an Indian thing. If they push tell them your family was from Mexico.”

“Mexico?”

“Yeah, that is the country to the south, not all that far away. They have a big Indian population.”

“I need to uh, shit, but I don’t know the polite word.”

“You say, I need to use the bathroom or the restroom. There are stalls in there for privacy. Fasten the latch, and there will be a roll of soft paper to wipe yourself clean.”

“No place to wash?”

“There are basins to wash your hands,” he illustrated with his hands, “but you can’t drop your pants standing at them. It’s firm custom. Here, this is the best I can do.” He produced a small pack of wet wipes. “Use the paper then these. I’ll buy some more in the trucker store, but try to make them last.”

“Eddie” A stand alone short story

 

“Eddie“

By

Mackey Chandler

            I remember the first time I saw Eddie. We didn’t really meet. I was in the cafeteria trying to eat breakfast and there was the usual parade of people with problems, or petitions, or just trying to suck up to the boss, all clueless to the fact that the boss just wanted to eat her English muffin in peace and let the coffee slowly boost her brain into some semblance of function. If they could just wait until 0900 my office officially opened for business and we’d have a whole long shift to sort out the problems.

Eddie was reading the news on a hand com and chatting with a bunch of outside workers. He seemed the sort who listened a lot and laughed easily instead of dominating a conversation. The yard dogs were running close to the clock. They needed to get in the locker room and suit up. That wasn’t something you rushed, but if you had too much suiting up time versus work time the foreman would start to bitch about the ratio, no matter that the safety regs said you couldn’t impose a time limit for suit checks.

There was one of those lulls in the noise level you’ll get in a big room, and I heard Eddie tell the boys, “You guys run along. I’ve got plenty of time and will clean this up.” He didn’t get any argument at all, just a few muttered thanks and the half dozen men at the table were happy to hurry out the door.

Eddie shuffled a few plates around consolidating them on a stack of trays and made a trip to the trash bin. When he returned he made up another final stack to finish the clean up, but settled back in to finish reading the news. The first time I looked he was sitting with just coffee in front of him, but now he seemed to be eating breakfast. I saw him spreading jam on toast and wondered, just a little put off, if he was eating after somebody.

I’m a bit fastidious I admit. My mother constantly warned me not to share food with kids at school when I was growing up. Of course in the 20’s that made sense, it wasn’t just excessive mothering. There was the mouse flu out of Africa, and that especially nasty form of Norovirus that showed up in Toronto, and others I can’t remember by name. But even considering how my mom trained me I’d take toast if a friend offered it. It’s hard to see it as unsanitary to share somebody’s untouched toast off a separate plate.

I should have been glad it wasn’t wasted, because no matter how we urged people to only take what they would eat, there was always food thrown out. A damn shame when you consider what it cost to lift. Still, it made me notice him, and Eddie isn’t a very noticeable guy. He was older than most Loonies, but the buzz cut many wear for inside a helmet looks about the same whether it is blond or white.

That was the same week in 2048, right at the start of the year, that the Chinese and Israelis got nasty. So I wasn’t thinking about Eddie or any trivia once the crisis gripped us. We were all dealing with the fact nobody was lifting much off Earth as long as the those idiots were lasing each other’s satellites and using kinetic weapons in LEO. Nobody wanted to get caught in the cross fire and lose a shuttle or crew to mistaken identity. Later I found out what was a big problem for us was a godsend for Eddie.

Armstrong was hovering around two thousand population then. That doesn’t sound like much now, but it strained our supply lines at the time. Our shipping schedule was very firm for about six months ahead, with about a five percent margin for shifting loads to accommodate unexpected needs or badly estimated usage. We had a little production of salad greens and

sprouts and even an experimental fish tank. But nobody had yet seriously considered raising corn or wheat, or bringing chickens or rabbits to the moon. We were way too dependent on lifted supply.

Well, the flare up, or whatever euphemism you want to apply to a Sino-Israeli space war shot the hell out of all our plans. A week may not sound like much of an interruption. I’m sure nobody went hungry. Nobody died because the surgery or pharmacy ran out of supplies. But we didn’t know it was only going to last a week and the stress of not knowing had an amazing effect on morale. People were glued to their screens watching the news blogs and commercial channels. Not just on their free time either.

If we punished people for taking shift time to watch the news we’d have had to punish everybody. Even the outside workers in suits and rovers would clear their official traffic with the dispatcher and then ask, “Anything happening with the Earthies?”

When things settled down quickly everybody heaved a sigh of relief. But we were a week out of synch and had to make it up somehow. Dated medicines and such got priority. I was administrator so I caught the blame for the worst screw up, even though it was a food service tech who made the actual mistake. Just let me say that you may think you know what is important to people but you are probably wrong. Having nineteen hundred people pissed off at you because they ran out of coffee can set your thinking straight in a hurry. Being one of the caffeine deprived drudges yourself doesn’t help.

Of course one of the other things bumped off the first few supply ships, besides the unfortunate choice of coffee, was the usual two percent or so capacity that was allotted to private shipping. FedEx, RightNow/PayPal, and UPS all contracted space on an ‘as available’ basis. Suddenly “as available” meant none

Having nineteen hundred people e-mail orders to Earth for instant coffee, brewers, espresso makers, gourmet beans and such, on top of all the normal commerce, had to produce an impressive backlog in the shippers holding bins.

Just as we didn’t know when the Chinese and Israelis would stop bashing each other, the shipping companies undoubtedly had no confidence in when we would get our act together and have excess capacity to sell them again. If administrators will cut off nineteen hundred caffeine addicts with whom they are sealed up in an intimately close environment how much confidence would you have in their judgment?

All that apparent demand lead the shippers to quickly acquire their own lunar spacecraft. Something they had all avoided, despite having fleets of conventional aircraft on Earth and shuttles for LEO. UPS won the race to land the first private cargo craft on Armstrong field. They had an orbit to orbit maintenance scooter outfitted with extra big tanks and landing jacks. They cut it in half and stuck in a cargo module in complete with brown paint and a gold logo slapped on just like their trucks have carried on Earth like forever. It wasn’t very efficient and it didn’t have much capacity, but nobody was arguing with their rates either.

The next time I saw Eddie was in my own office. Valentine’s day it was, 2048. My assistant Cheryl was talking to him as I came past returning from a meeting. He immediately excused himself and disappeared. Cheryl followed me into my office and offered me a piece from an open box of chocolates, the sort shaped like a heart and covered in gold and red foil. It was at once familiar and as foreign as a horse standing in my office. The sort of little thing from Earth that you didn’t realize how much you missed until you saw it again. The absence of all those small comforts was why it was a hardship post more than any real danger.

“He seems a little old for you,” I said around a mouthful of chocolate. I got a nut fudge, which was fine with me, “but if the man can score chocolate on the moon he’s a keeper.”

“Oh, that was just the delivery guy,” Cheryl informed me. “The chocolates are from Bob Hanson who is with the MIT team. The ones who take turns going around to the backside observatory. I guess it gets pretty lonely over there with three guys on separate shifts and hot bunking over a long dark lunar.”

“What happened to Chris the rover driver?”

“Oh, I still see him now and then. You know how it is, kind of like the chocolates, it’s nice to have an assortment,” she said smiling.

Back then Armstrong had about three men for each woman, so there really was an assortment. For some, like Cheryl, it was a veritable smorgasbord. There was no comparison to Earth; only the best got sent to the moon so the box was full of ‘good ones’.

“Here, if you need chocolates this is his card. I already put him in my address book.”

You didn’t see many business cards on the moon. In fact it was pretty much a sign somebody was an Earthie or at least a new arrival. “Love Sent” it said on hot pink over a heart. “Discreet and affordable, personal gift shopping, candies and love tokens, delivered with your message – Eddie – comcode 2222.”

I tucked it in the crack along the edge of my monitor where the bezel didn’t fit. There was a line of AVOs, job tickets, and personal appointments. I read once that when computers were new people thought paper documents would disappear. How foolish.

The comcode bugged me. I was sure we didn’t have 2,222 people. And as people rotated back Dirtside the numbers were reassigned. I called the radio shack and asked our head techie how she came to issue a number ahead of the current usage range.

“Oh, Eddie came in and asked if he could have that one. He explained he wanted something easy for people to remember. As far as I could see it wasn’t against any rule, and I didn’t see what it could hurt, so I changed it for him. Is that going to mess up something?” she asked worried.

“No, I don’t see how it could. I was just curious how we got a comcode higher than our population. It jumped out at me. I don’t want us to get like Earth with senseless bureaucratic rules about everything.”

That summer, yeah we were all so tied to Earth thinking and North America so we still thought of June and July as summer, we had a big increase in tourists. The cost dropped down to where we had ten or twelve at a time. That was all our new Holiday Inn could accommodate, even at double occupancy. Before that two or three a shuttle stayed in transient bachelor quarters.

I was running to a meeting at environmental, and there was Eddie standing in the commons with a group of six that were visibly tourists. You don’t even have to see them walk; they stand different. The way he faced the group and his gestures pointing out things made it obvious he was giving them the nickel tour. There was a paper laying in the corridor, and I immediately blamed the tourists in my own mind, sure they were bringing littering along with every other form of Earth sloth and rudeness to the Moon. I was right, sort of. I scooped up the

offending paper, but didn’t throw it away. I have learned the hard way never to throw away a piece of paper until I was sure what it was.

The meeting in environmental had already started. I didn’t get chewed out for being late, only because I was Chief Administrator. The Department Head John Yoho still looked daggers at me as I slid into my seat, but it was quickly obvious I wasn’t missing anything. He was still rambling over a rehash of our last meeting before he got around to any new business. The man was as boring as watching moon dust fall.

I looked at the paper I’d scooped up under the edge of the table. I knew when John finally got around to saying something new he’d pause dramatically and say – “Now, that brings us to the present.”  It was as set in stone as a religious ceremony.

The paper was an advertisement. Quite a nice piece of printing, good color in a trifold brochure on glossy paper. Nothing you couldn’t do in a good printer, but somehow I suspected it was Earth work, commercial printing at that. It said -“Take a Day Tour on the Moon. Do you or your small group want to see something not on the official tour? Do you want to visit with natives in their home and meet like minded Loonies with the same interests and hobbies as you? Any interest that can be safely accommodated is available. Do you want to ease the expense of your vacation? We buy unused luggage allowance, either way, or leave your dirty laundry on the moon after wearing it, and receive typically 3x the retail price of your items left behind. Exclusive picture files available for tour members only.” The pix in the brochure were pretty good. He’d managed to make our commons look about the size of a football stadium, and I’d never seen the cafeteria looking so neat and uncluttered. “Call Eddie – Armstrong comcode 2222.”

John still hadn’t recounted all of the department’s history from its founding so I folded the brochure closed and over again and slid it in my pocket. The question briefly worried me that Eddie must be so busy with all these entrepreneurial pursuits that I didn’t see how he could attend to a day job. However, even then, most of the activity in Armstrong was private sector. We set it up that way from the start. The people like me, who were public servants were only about forty out of two thousand.

John Yoho, just mentioned for example, was not my employee, but a contractor hired to keep our air and water services running. He was nice to me not so much because I ranked him as because I was outside his chain of command entirely. The air would have to be pretty nasty before I could think about terminating John’s contract. I mean, everybody goes home from the moon. We even send our dead back to bury. But we’d do a lot to avoid sending somebody back early. It made everybody look bad and was expensive. So if I thought Eddie was short changing his boss, it really wasn’t any of my business.

That year was different for a lot of small reasons. We had some businesses display small pumpkins and gourds for the season, and they just smiled when you complimented them on it. One day in the fall there were suddenly autumn leaves mysteriously scattered on the deck in the auditorium. Maple and Oak, Aspen and Hickory. Bright red and orange and yellow. People took them home and they ended up decorating apartment doors and monitors and bulletin boards. Not a few ended up woven in people’s hair like a pagan fairy crown. There were none left for Housekeeping to clean up so how could anyone complain?

In the winter suddenly there were greens displayed and wreaths hung on business entries. A few businesses started putting out a dish of mints or hard candies. Things were slowly getting – comfortable.

* * *

            It isn’t often a subordinate comes to me with a problem they can’t handle. I have good people and give them lots of freedom, so it really bothers me when they have an ugly problem and I don’t see any way to help.

Aerron Fisher came in to see me about March of ’49. He looked upset and hadn’t e-mailed me or called so I knew it was bad. He walked in and flopped in an unruly heap in my chair.

“I have a girl in my programming section. Nice kid. Delores Bray. Everybody calls her Faye though. Does good work. But she has a real problem and I don’t know how to solve it. She’s so upset she can’t work. I wouldn’t trust her work if she tried, and I might have to send her back home on disability leave.”

“For emotional distress? Is she treatable here, so we don’t have to transport her?”

“No, I don’t think there is anything we can do. It’s not like it’s unreasonable distress. Something would be wrong with her if she wasn’t upset. Her mom has one of those fast growing brain tumors. The sort that only give you about a two week window to start treatment. They have an orphan disease treatment but it’s not covered by public medicine, and it costs fifty thousand up front for the injections.”

“She only makes thirty five-k a month and sends three or four home to Mom every month to help her. She spends most of the rest for cafeteria fees and cubic. The couple thousand a month leeway she has she just pisses away. She’s young and I don’t think anybody ever showed her anything about managing money. I talked to payroll and there is no way we can advance her that much against her salary. She can’t get a loan down below because her credit and her mom’s before she got this job were horrible.”

“Aerron, I found out quite a while back that private charity to your subordinates can be a disaster. Invariably others find out and resent it as favoritism or you get buried under requests.”

“I agree, and frankly I’d probably never get it back as a loan. The girl isn’t evil, but I’d hate to count on her suddenly becoming competent financially. It wouldn’t ruin me, but that’s more money than I can comfortably throw away.”

We sat there looking at each other, unhappy and not seeing any solution.

My secretary Cheryl came to the door and cleared her throat. “I know you didn’t ask me, but with the door open I could hear, and half way down the corridor to Engineering probably. I don’t know for sure if he can help, but you might want to give this guy a call.” She handed me a small neat business card on plain white stock. “Payday Loans – reasonable rates – small personal items bought and sold – pawn for jewelry and precious metals, Eddie – comcode 2222.”

“This is getting ridiculous,” I objected, and handed the card to Aerron. “Is there anything this fellow doesn’t dabble in?” I’m not sure we really need loan sharks on the moon. Next he’s going to open a pleasure palace with him as head pimp, or get a bootlegging business going.”

Aerron squirmed around all uncomfortable and looked down at the floor.

“What? If you tell me he opened a hook shop I’m not going to be amused. And you sure as hell better not whip out a business card offering a free one to new customers!”

“Houses of ill repute are traditionally run by women, a madam, not men, and I really doubt with two thousand people here that somebody isn’t pursuing the world’s oldest profession at least on a part time and unofficial basis. There are several, uh, clubs, of people with very

exotic tastes in personal relationships that have formed. I’ve even had a few subtle hints that I could join in at least enough to find out if it worked for me.”

“Really? I don’t know whether to be insulted or complimented I haven’t had an such an invitation.”

“Sharon, you are a sweet lady. And your sort are the backbone of the race as far

perpetuating the species. But reports are that you are totally oblivious when seriously flirted with. You might as well have ‘mundane’ tattooed across your forehead. You’re just fine for an administrator. Not too radical, not too smart. Stable above all. But don’t expect this bunch to be as plain vanilla as you. We have swingers and swappers, hell I know for sure we have a scene and even furries. Just be happy the natives aren’t running up and down the public corridors in paint and feathers scaring the tourists.”

Not too smart? I didn’t care for that. And yet I’d made the same observation about geeks and academics failing to connect with others. “Meet like minded Loonies with the same interests and hobbies,” Eddies brochure had said. It made me wonder if that was code for something more.

“Which leaves the bootlegging.”

“What?” He grabbed me right out of my introspection. “You can’t be serious.”

“He didn’t offer. I approached him.”

I wanted Aerron to wilt under my gaze, but he looked back unashamed.

“You know alcohol is one of the few items absolutely prohibited from being shipped up. Well, they make no more exception for ceremonial use than they do for casual consumption. I wanted Kosher wine for my Seder. Eddie seems to fulfill every other need people approach him with, so I asked if he could help me with that.”

“Is he a smuggler on top of everything else?”

“Probably,” he said with a dismissive wave, “But no need. Alcohol is prohibited. Grapes are not. Now somebody else would have just supplied the grapes, or worse raisins, and told me to look up wine making on the net. Eddie affirmed he was not an idolater and otherwise was qualified, and arranged for a machgiach to supervise his wine making by video conference, made sure there was a teshuvah to validate that process, and got his product certified with a proper hechcher. He had bottles hand blown and printed a rather nice private label. It was a very pleasant dry red with a nice nose and we enjoyed four glasses of it with Seder dinner and set the usual cup for Elijah.”

“Now if you don’t approve Madam Administrator, I have to warn you I can get very nasty about religious freedom and civil liberties. If you have never studied the American period of Prohibition I suggest you call it up on your screen and consider the lessons learned from that farce. Fermentation is too common a natural process to outlaw. You might as well outlaw gravity to make coming to the moon cheaper. I strongly urge you not to make the same error of judgment the Prohibitionists made.”

As a matter of fact,  history was my first major and my real love in school. I was very aware what a failure Prohibition was but I still parroted the official line to Aerron.

“Yes, but the moon is a hazardous environment. You don’t make mistakes in a spacesuit or you end up dead very quickly. Alcohol has no place in that kind of situation.”

“This is dishonesty.” He waved the rule aside with another flip of his hand. “For an exploration crew living in a hut or a rover yes. But we are way past that sort of frontier living.

When was the last time you were out in vacuum with a suit on?  On Earth people who fly planes, police and firefighters and hospital workers all know they can’t drink for a set period of time before coming on duty. Yet Earth abides somehow,” he allowed sarcastically.

“There are only a couple dozen people here who need to be on call to get in a suit and go outside at any moment who should never have a drink. It’s a holdover from when public money lifted everything we needed. Nobody wanted some reporter announcing how much a bottle of Bourbon cost to transport to the moon. And they were trying to give us a squeaky clean image. Well it’s way past time to dump that crap.”

It had been over three years since I put a suit on and went outside. They do it for you at your orientation when you first come up. Since then I’d only unrolled and pulled on an emergency suit annually, before it was inspected and rolled back up.

“I agree. I’ll make a note of it to publish a rule change. We’ll strictly limit restrictions to rational safety considerations.” When you are wrong you are wrong. Better to say so early and get started fixing it, than to resist change long enough to prove to everybody you are an ass.

“If you guys are through arguing do you want me to call Eddie or not?” Cheryl asked.

“If you want to call Eddie in I should get my programmer to come sit in at the same time.” Aerron said.

“Why don’t we do it over lunch tomorrow?” I suggested. “I’d rather do it in a more relaxed atmosphere than over my desk. The poor girl will feel like it’s a trial in here instead of a chance to get some help.” I also wasn’t sure I wanted to promote Eddie’s loan service in an official way either. Something doing it in my office would suggest.

“Now that’s the kind of idea that makes you good at what you do,” Aerron allowed.

Once Aerron was away, and Cheryl was calling Eddie with a lunch invitation, I opened the public files and looked for Eddie. I didn’t have a last name, but there were only five Edwards in residence. A glance at their official images told me none were our Eddie. Interesting. I thought about running it as a middle name, but it could just as easily be a nickname.

* * *

            I brought Cheryl along. I’m not sure why. It just felt right. Maybe having another woman so it didn’t appear so male dominated. Maybe for me instead of Faye if I were honest. We got there early and went off to the back wall. Everybody normally clustered close to the coffee pot. Only one person was too dense to see we went off by ourselves for privacy, and Cheryl waved him away with a emphatic gesture that seemed very out of character for her. There was more steel there than I suspected.

Eddie arrived before Aerron and Faye. He got a cup of coffee and sat down smiling and looking too damn innocent for my taste.

“We’re all going to eat Eddie. Why don’t you get something too? It will help give it a less formal set to the meeting. The young woman we are trying to help needs all the tact and soothing we can manage. That’s why I didn’t have it in my offices where she might feel more like it was a disciplinary hearing than an attempt to help.”

“Well,” he smiled and hesitated.

“Tell Marcy to put it on the Director’s account.”

“Well, that’s different. I was taught never to pass up a free feed. Do we have lobster on the menu today?” he joked.

“When we can pull lobster pots up from the depths of Mare Tranquillitatis. But I know somebody who can probably get them with a few days lead time,” I said pointedly.

“Ah, it’s handy to know a fellow like that,” he said, and went off to the serving line with a smug little smile.

Aerron came in with Faye and she was about what I expected, the name already told me she was a twenty something. I never knew a Delores or a Faye growing up. Names wax and wane in popularity and shift from group to group. We had several girls named Edna and Eunice in my class, but not a single Betty or Alice which my mom found strange. And when my friends Ruby and Queena came to take me along to a concert mother was surprised they weren’t black.

Faye however, looked like her mother had already died. She wasn’t just worried, she was grieving already. You could forget being on the moon how many people below have no resources and no hope. It wasn’t nice to see it here. At least Aerron made her pick out  a meal with him and guided her over. Eddie was actually ahead of them but fussed around with the condiments and such until he was on their heels coming over.

I spoke right away, not wanting any awkward silence or Faye getting twitchy. “Faye dear. Aerron and I are both concerned and feel terrible for your mother. We’ve been searching for some way to help you get the funds you need. There isn’t much here on the moon to work with, but we’re given to understand Mr. uh, that is, Eddie here, will make small loans. We don’t really have any rules about personal loans between people. I’m just concerned nothing develops where anyone is taking advantage of our people. Loan sharking and such are usually covered by state laws, and we only have Federal law. I imagine it will be awhile before we have a real bank office in Armstrong. Doing your banking online is so easy, and nobody really needs cash for anything.” Eddie gave me an amused look at that, but what surprised me was how Aerron scowled at me clearly unhappy at what I’d said. I made a mental note to find out why they both disagreed so strongly.

“Would you explain what you need and Aerron and I will listen and advise you if you don’t mind our input in your business.”

Faye explained her mother’s medical condition. The details were irrelevant to whether Eddie would write her a loan, but he didn’t tell her that, patiently listening to all the details and even asking a few questions with seeming genuine concern.

“Miss Bray, I certainly see your concern and it seems a worthy reason to indebt yourself. May I ask you a few questions in front of the others?”

“Sure, I don’t really have any secrets. Aerron and Ms. Hadley know everything.”

“Very well. I get the impression from what you say that your mother is an intelligent and forceful person, but that being from a rural upbringing she may have difficulty dealing with an urban sort of attitude and a bureaucratic maze. Does that seem like a fair statement to you?”

“Yeah, I think you understand just fine.”

“Then if we can reach some sort of accommodation on terms I’d like to suggest we have a professional patient’s advocate follow her through the medical procedure and validate everything the hospital does. They not only can demand to see the medication wrappings used to check their authenticity, but are familiar with the treatment codes and normal availability of services. They make sure the patient gets what she is paying for and often a patient with a visible on site advocate seems to spend less time waiting out in corridors and such. The advocate standing there

with the well known purple cap on seems to be have an amazing clarifying effect on the mental processes of doctors and nurses.”

“That sounds really nice if I could afford it,” Faye agreed. “It sounds expensive though. How much would it add to the hospital bill?”

“I’d write it off as an expense just to know my money loaned was being well spent. It would be a shame to see your mother treated less well than she deserves. Now, the question of loaning you the funds needs to be addressed separately from your need and the appropriateness of the purpose. I hope you understand. That’s how business is done.”

“Oh I do. I’d take charity in a minute, if that’s what it took to keep her alive, but if I can pay for it I’ll actually feel better, and if you knew my momma she would too.”

“Very well. What sort of monthly payment do you feel you can afford to repay me?”

“I make about thirty-five thousand. My cubic and air-fee and cafeteria fee, and water all add up about twenty-eight k. A hair more with com fee and power. So I have about six k a month I can do with as I please. I send maybe half of that to momma to help her support herself. It doesn’t sound like much but it goes far down there. She has a ration allowance and gets the negative income tax every month. She plants a huge garden and keeps chickens, but that feeds half the neighborhood as well as her. I have to have a little for personal items like soap and toothpaste. So I could give you five thousand a month until I’m paid up. Does that sound like enough to you?”

“While I admire your spirit in the matter, that doesn’t sound practical to me. Do you really want to stop sending the extra money each month to your mother right when she needs it perhaps more than before? If she feels ill from the treatment she might need some help around the house instead of being out in the garden fussing and weeding. And can you really go a year without a new blouse or shoes, or something to keep your spirits up like a video or some fresh music?”

“It would be hard,” Faye admitted. But it seemed little enough if we both sacrificed.”

Eddie shook his head disagreeing. His mouth was full of burger and we waited for him to clear it so he could continue.

“What I’d suggest is you pay me back fifty payments of a thousand dollars a month principal plus fifty dollars interest. Fifty months may seem forever to you, but if it leaves you enough to live on comfortably you can sustain it. However, I’ll only do it if you agree to save a thousand dollars a month into your own account for as long as you are paying me off. Once you see what it is like to have some money sitting there as a protection I believe you will like it and perhaps even continue to save after our business is done. Could you also write down your mother’s address and contact information?” he asked. He shoved a small pad across to her.

I saw a huge problem there so I butted into this conversation.

“Eddie, that sounds easier, but paying less than the full interest means you have a big balloon to pay off at the end of the loan. How do you think Faye is going to deal with that?”

“I did not intend to write an amortization schedule and shift the unpaid interest to the end. I will be happy in her case with the set fee each month. If she pays it off early I intend to still ask the fee considering it is modest. After fifty payments of a thousand-fifty she will be free and clear.”

I couldn’t believe it. Faye was so ignorant of financial matters she didn’t seem to twig to the fact it was barely disguised charity. It was certainly a kindness. I wondered if it was a give-away to make sure I didn’t come down on his other activities? If so, he was going to have a rude awakening if I found him charging some other Lunnie a usurious rate, or any other scheme I thought injurious to my people.

“Faye honey, it’s a real good deal,” I told her, “I’d take it myself in a heartbeat. Why don’t you have Eddie write it up and we’ll all look at it tomorrow and you can sign it?”

“I’m rather busy, and I don’t have the luxury of a personal assistant like you do,” Eddie said. “Why don’t you have Miss Polzinsky,” he nodded at Cheryl, “write it up and you can be quite confident of the wording and accuracy?”

“Did you follow everything well enough to write it up?” I asked her. From all appearances she was busy eating lunch and not listening at all. I should have known better.

She gave me a wry look that asked if I really thought she was an idiot.

“Fine then. Lets meet again tomorrow and finalize everything.”

“Same place – same time?” Eddie asked.

“No, let’s make it after lunch tomorrow in my office.” I wasn’t going to let him put the old soft touch on me for lunch again that easy, and I intended to make him stay after and answer some questions about who he was and just how far his business dealings extended.

“Why don’t I come back to your office right now,” he suggested, surprising me. “I’d like to use your com and get the ball rolling. I’d just as soon you know it’s taken care of also.”

“Sure, come on back with me,” I agreed. “That way you’ll be around if Cheryl has any questions writing the contract.” I noticed he wrapped up his uneaten fries and a dessert in a napkin and slipped them in his pocket.

Back at my office Eddie seated himself in my chair with an ease I found disconcerting. The screen quickly showed a live receptionist and surrounding graphics for a legal firm. Harold, Green, Harmon and Greyhawk it said in gold letters on the wall behind her. There were forms across the bottom of the video window for file transfer and encryption selections.

“EP here Toni. I need to talk to Al Green right now.”

“Yes sir, paging him,” she agreed with no argument at all. The receptionist’s office made mine look like the janitors closet. Green’s office when it appeared looked suitable for royalty to hold court. I thought the city outside his window was New York, but I wasn’t a hundred percent sure. Wherever, it was mostly down from his vantage point.

“Al, I have something I want you to take care of today. You don’t have to do it personally, but check back and make sure your people got it all right before you go home.”

“Hello Eddie. I’ve missed you too. Don’t you want to know how everything is going? I’ve been using my power of attorney right and left in your absence. Aren’t you a bit concerned?”

“Nah. The market has been in the pits. Wouldn’t matter what you do. Everybody lost a ton of money the last few months unless they held a narrow range of issues. What the hell do I care for a number anyway? Am I too broke to pay your billings?”

“I think you can still cover a couple hours. You look friggin’ weird with that gorgeous mustache gone and your hair all mowed off. Quite a lag in transmission I’m hearing. You’re on the moon aren’t you Eddie?”

“Yes, and that’s privileged information. I’m calling on borrowed com so don’t bother the nice lady and call back here looking for me. Now, I want you to have a patient’s advocate contact this lady,” he gave Green the data for Faye’s mother, and outlined the problem. “I want her walked through with an advocate at her elbow all the way, not just a daily check up. She’s rural and poor and I don’t want to hear she was treated with any lack of respect because of that.

There’s a lady I used before, she should be in my personal records, Marta Singh. She’s not only a certified patient’s advocate but an attorney also. I liked that combo. She’s her own expert witness. See if she’s free to work a client right now.”

“Is this associated with any particular corporation?”

“No, but you can pick anything remotely connected to health care and have an associated  charitable foundation pick up the funding. Put ten million or so in a irrevocable Visa card and give it to the advocate. Make sure the patient has support after treatment and is stabilized back in her home environment before everybody walks away. If she needs somebody to clean house or do her shopping for awhile see to it. If that means somebody to tend her garden you find a gardener, or a farmer I guess since she raises vegetables.”

“Okay. Can I run what’s brewing past you before you hang up?”

“No, I’m sorry. I’m just not interested. You can have one of your clerks write a summary for me. I do want to know what is required to open a community based Federal credit union and a list and samples of what forms need filled out. You can expect I’ll be drawing funds to start that, and send it to me general delivery, Armstrong. Anything else?”

“No, it really is nice to hear from you. Don’t be such a stranger is all.”

“Thanks Al. If I’m back on the Dirtball for any reason I’ll stop by. Maybe even get away for a couple days and fish or chase the little white ball around. My love to Dorothy. Bye.”

“Goodbye Eddie.” The lawyer looked dismayed to be losing him already.

“Eddie Peterson,” I accused him before he could even turn away from the screen.

“Yeah, notorious weirdo and wannabe hermit, if there was anywhere left for a hermit.”

“Reclusive Billionaire is how the newsies usually describe you.”

“Nowhere left to recluse yourself either. If you get lucky and draw a permit for a wilderness area you can sit on a mountaintop and pretend you are a guru for two weeks, then the entry permit expires and you better be leaving. If not they send a chopper in and charge you for kicking you out.”

“So which company here in Armstrong do you own that you are secretly lurking around running?”

“That’s the funny part. I have an interest in several, but none of them are aware I’m here. I’ve been inside Selene Survey to deliver chocolates, I’m happy to see it seems to be well run with lots of bustling activity and camaraderie. The fact it makes money is nice too. I’ve sold autumn gourds and mini-pumpkins to We Can Do That Personnel. They seem to run a tight ship too. They certainly keep a close watch on petty cash, and although they saw the wisdom of catching the public eye with seasonal decorations they were modest in their choices and didn’t pay to put them where the public wouldn’t see. I’ve been my own secret shopper survey. I haven’t named any of my new businesses or even used a DBA. I just sold things as Eddie. Nobody ever pushed to know Eddie who?”

“But we don’t have open immigration. You must have come in on a business authorization. You have to buy a return ticket as a tourist with a thirty day maximum turn around. I know I’ve seen you around for a year.”

“Yeah, well you know now I’m not poor, so it wasn’t that hard to write off my return ticket. I found I really liked it up here. I thought about it the night before I was supposed to go back and dropped an e-mail to the shuttle service that I was indisposed to fly and would take a flight back when I felt better.”

“You can’t do that Eddie. If we let anybody come who simply wanted to what would it be like?”

“Hmmm,” he seemed to consider. “No more labor shortage? Well, less of a labor shortage for sure. I doubt there are enough who could afford to come to swamp you. Just as I doubt if I am a vanguard of thousands of illegal billionaires who will end up sleeping in the corridors for lack of cubic within their budgets. More business as the market determines who succeeds or fails? Right now your conservative analysis of which businesses to allow in means you have to pretty much see a guaranteed success to consider it, and any you let in are then shielded from competition. Even the Soviet model of a centrally controlled economy wasn’t set up for such certain failure.”

“Why didn’t you propose a business and come in the conventional way? There are lots of open slots in our economy you could have filled.”

“I did. Are you really too bureaucratically blindered to see that?” he asked irritated. “Oh, none of them were anything you and the development board would have approved. Heavens no! They were all service companies that wouldn’t be a poster child for your administrative skills. None were mega-projects worth calling a press conference to announce. I made a game of it really. I decided I’d limit myself to the funds I already had in my debit card I use traveling. I had a bit less than thirty k on it the morning I called and begged off my return. I decided if I still had the touch, if I still could make something out of nothing and a little hard work I’d allow myself to stay. I was sort of pretending I was stranded and gamed how I’d survive if I really didn’t have a fortune backing me up on Earth. If I couldn’t survive and thrive on what I had and make my way locally then I’d buy my passage back and give up on the idea of staying.”

“And you’ve survived for over a year on thirty k? I find that hard to believe.”

“No, no. You underestimate me. I’m hurt by how badly. As of this morning,” he flipped open his small computer and checked the screen, “I survived and have increased my bank roll to  Eighty-Seven Thousand, Seven-Hundred and Sixty-Two dollars. There are so many people who desired my services I can’t keep up with the demand. I wish I were twins. You’d be shocked at the list if I showed you everything I’ve done in the last year. I could have handled Ms. Brays loan from local funds, but I stopped my game this morning. I think I made my point, I can survive quite well here on my own, and once you knew about me the game was pointless, since part of the challenge was hiding.”

“So, you are ready to buy that return ticket, and end your extended vacation?”

“Whatever gave you that idea? No, I live here now. I may go to Earth for a vacation sometime, but this is my home. I intend to continue much as before. I find it really pleasant to be able to deal with people without being surrounded by security. I was concerned what would happen when somebody did recognize me. I shouldn’t have worried. Loonies are basically different from Dirtsiders. When I’d been here about a month I ran into a former employee, Red Harman. He saw me and just said, “Hi Eddie. Good to see you.” That’s it. He was deep in another  conversation and kept on going. There’s nowhere on Earth I can get treated like that.”

“I don’t see how I can let this arrangement stand.”

“I’m pretty sure you can’t stop it. Not only have I stopped playing the game with just my pocket money, but I already have a lot of people who depend on me now for services. If you send me packing to Earth you are going to piss off a lot of your own people. And it would be for a very limited benefit. It might inconvenience me for a week or two. I can spend twenty billion or fifty billion or whatever it takes to put myself back up here, and then you’d have thrown away my goodwill as well by playing the evil bureaucrat with me. Are you really foolish enough to want me as an enemy?”

“I’ll think on that,” was all I agreed. He was wise enough to just nod, satisfied.

I simply didn’t bring any of it up when Eddie came to sign the Bray papers. He’s not stupid, neither did he.

* * *

            I saw him a lot more after that, but spoke to him infrequently over the years. When I retired I realized that it was Eddie who had made it possible for me to stay in Armstrong. Otherwise I’d have been back on the Slime-Ball hunched over a walker in a crushing full G. That’s what moved me to go acknowledge it to him, and offer thanks, when I heard he was dying.

“I’ll open up another door for you before I’m done,” he said with that devilish look of his.

I didn’t know what he meant, but now I do. It’s been a long time since I wore a suit, but it was important to come out here. His lone headstone is turned so the sun never degrades the carving, but it’s easy to read in the backscatter. It says “Eddie Peterson  1979 / 2071- a rich guy from Earth – first man to come to the moon and stay.”

END

All Rights Reserved

A new stand alone short: “Breakfast of Champions”

Breakfast of Champions

By

Mackey Chandler

                Secretary of State for the United Americas the honorable Lewis Poule examined the urgent  message printout with distaste. The third alien race known to Humanity in Survey System 8423, three hundred odd light years from Earth had suddenly developed a problem. The Abroteen as their own language named them and their world, more commonly known as the Beagles, were upset about some matter that was difficult to explain. Very few Humans spoke much Abroteenian and none with absolute confidence. The Abroteenians spoke English but with a occasional lack of rational syntax and seeming spontaneous word combinations that resulted in it being called ‘Abrish’.

The Beagles had a steam engine level civilization that had not lifted them off their planet. So an error in dealing with them would not result in a nuclear bombardment or UA ships being excluded from their part of the heavens. However trade with them was very profitable. They bought electronics and machined goods that were difficult or impossible for them to produce, and trivially easy for automated machine tools to create. They sold handmade crafts and exquisite jewelry at a price impossible to match with human labor.  That trade should be safe guarded if at all possible.

The United Americas ruled from the Aleutians to Tierra del Fuego. They basically owned the Western Hemisphere, but The Eastern Bloc, the self styled Association of Allied States were in direct competition for off world resources both system and interstellar. If they didn’t patch things up with the Beagles the Easties would be there sucking up to them with better trade terms like white on rice.

The trouble was there was an election in four months. President Hernandez was going to lose even if it was publically impossible to admit it. He personally would be removed as Secretary because the likely winner Senator Wu hated his guts. The place to be was here looking to his interests and profitable retirement. Not three hundred light years away on a God forsaken primitive planet arranging a trade treaty that Wu would try to repudiate when he returned.

He brought up his organizational chart to consider who he could send. Everyone directly under him was too senior to send. Most of them knew they were outgoing already and would resign before they would accept a mission isolating them from home during the presidential transition. Most had seats on various corporations and  charities lined up waiting for them. Many were too old physically to wish the rigors of travel and months of isolation. They were fond of their comforts with good reason.

His finger went down, down, further down the organizational chart, hesitated a few times but ended up on the fifth tier at the end of a branch. John Champion was Deputy Assistant to the Associate Minister of Interstellar Affairs. He was young enough to travel with no issues and ranked low enough he’d likely not be purged by the incoming administration. Best of all he would likely know any refusal of an assignment would mean he would never advance to the next level and his career would be over before it ever took off. Perfect.

Secretary Poule wrote a brief memo having the Trade Minister Belson brief Mr. Champion on what was an acceptable outcome for their negotiations and send him off with limited portfolio.

* * *

            Mr. Champion was ambitious. Rather than protest a hardship post he was nodding agreement before the Minister finished briefing him. “You can count on me sir. I’m happy to have a chance to prove myself,” he said, practically snatching the portfolio out of his hand.

“Your attitude is commendable. Tell me, have you ever been off planet?”

“No, sir. Not even to Luna. I’ve been to Tokyo and Cape Town for the Department. If you have any suggestions from your own experience I’d be honored if you would share them.”

Don’t go, was what immediately sprung to mind, but he could hardly say that…

“You are slightly built Deputy Champion. That is an advantage. Accommodations on a space ship tend to be cramped. You should limit what you plan to have open and use aboard ship. Four outfits are probably sufficient. You can ship the rest ahead. I’d have it sealed under bond because anything shipped interstellar is worth a great deal just in shipping fees. Usually the fees exceed the costs of common items like clothing. But the common things you are accustomed to aren’t available in the Beyond.”

Champion looked confused but held his tongue.

“If you have any medications you favor take a supply. Especially any prescriptions. If you have a favorite candy or liquor spend the money to send a case ahead. I’d take an extra com pad and several libraries of reading material and videos. Read up on the world and see what the travel guides tell you to take. One world they may suggest a pair of rugged boots and on another world an insect net. I’ve never been to Abroteen myself so I suggest you do some research.”

“Four outfits? I thought a diner jacket, Tuxedo and white tie ensemble, for shipboard and maybe entertaining on planet.  A formal day coat for official calls. A few business suits for informal meetings, some sports clothes and exercise outfits for using the gym and sauna.” He stopped at the look he was getting.

“Abroteen has never been a port call for passenger liners,” the Minister assured him. “There is no tourism for either their culture or any unique natural features. It is just too far out for the amount of time most have for a cruise too. It is a commercial system and there are regular bulk carriers and on rare occasions a military vessel will stop to show the flag. I’m not aware of any business that was so urgent the Department ever sent a fast courier. The occasional businessman or academic studying the Abroteen take passage on a freighter with passenger accommodations, which is what you will do. You don’t have to worry about dressing for dinner or using the gym. Since the invention of gravity plates nobody has seen any need of a gym on a freighter.”

“Oh.”

“Indeed, this will not be a vacation. But it is a chance to enhance your career. It is a serious problem and you would not have been chosen to go take care of it if we didn’t have the upmost confidence in your abilities,” he lied.  By the time he got to Abroteen he’d likely have new bosses completely unknown to him back home. Whether he did well or failed would no longer matter much to the people who sent him. They’d be retired.

“Go, do your research. I’ll make sure you are given a generous allowance for personal items and shipping, and I’ll see you get the hardship stipend for the remoteness alone. Don’t doddle, but in the next two or three days have the Department book passage for you.” He leaned back with a finality that announced the interview was over. With a little luck the kid would shut up and go away.

“Thank you sir, I’ll do my best,” he said, standing up clutching his papers. He appreciated the brevity so much he shook the boy’s hand.

* * *

            The Beagles were not much to look at. Champion couldn’t see why they’d picked up that name. Beyond the ears they looked more rabbit-like to him, especially when they moved fast, they loped more than ran. They were not as entirely hairless as Humans, but wore clothing, tending to trousers and tunic for both sexes. The norm seemed to be wild patterns and glorious embroidery rather than solids. He’d never seen one in the flesh. It appeared they didn’t maintain an embassy on Earth.

The videos of the planet were so similar and familiar that when something was alien it was all the more jarring.  The streets looked like historic pictures of Human cities in many ways. The gas lights with glass globes and cobbled streets might have been from pictures of old London.

A steam locomotive has to look a certain way due to the physics of the engine. The cars though were not the same. Instead of the railroad providing cars they were private. They ranged through every size and color imaginable. Apparently garish decoration was a form of advertising. A gypsy caravan would be deemed bland in comparison. Some were simple flatbeds and some palaces on wheels. One could rent a car if you were not wealthy enough to own one. Or you could own a car and sell space on it independently of the railroad. The world was rich in metals and that was how they paid for Earth goods. Their money was coinage and any script just a certificate to be redeemed for coins.

John Champion loaded most of the material to his com to study on the trip out there. The advice from Minister Belson he took to heart. He spent his own funds to acquire a formidable supply of coffee and Scotch. He bought eight boxes of the best Havanas, fifty dollars a cigar.  The Department paid the shipping and not a penny of their money went to the goods so they could not complain. It was all just ‘personal goods’. If he returned early he could likely sell them at a profit.

Clothing he found out was dirt cheap on Abroteen. A hand tailored suit was the cost of a light lunch back home. However a pair of knit briefs with an elastic waist couldn’t be had for any price. He loaded up on dress socks and t-shirts. Hand knit socks and even bespoke shoes and boots were cheap. But a pair of light running shoes with all its synthetic materials was strictly an Earth luxury.

“Deputy Champion? This is Lisa in Travel Services. I have three vessels leaving within the week. You have your choice between the a Greek flagged vessel that carries a crew of six and four passengers, or a Brazilian vessel in which you would be berthed in the bunk of a crewman they are running short, or an American flagged vessel with a crew of six and again accommodations for four passengers.”

“Is that four and six combo pretty common?” John asked.

“Yes , a lot of Advanced Composites/Boeing hulls are set up that way.”

“Do you have any advice? Have other Department people shared their experiences with you?”

“Unofficially, I would pass on the Brazilian ship. If you bunk in the common room you will have zero privacy for six weeks. The Brazilians have almost no concept of personal space in an already cramped environment. And I’m told they tend to spend their off shift naked or nearly so if that would bother you. They tend to cook a lot of very spicy food and you will eat whatever the crew does.”

“Thank you, unofficially I really appreciate the straight story. What about the Greeks?”

“The Greeks are rumored to run a really easy going ship. If you are not standing watch and don’t have the conn they  are not big on regimentation. The stories about Greeks liking boys are said to be true on long voyages. They are pretty easy going and open about that too. They drink a lot off duty. And some have just raved about the Greek food, but others came back vowing to never eat anything with  tentacles or feta cheese the rest of their life.”

John thought about his size. He was very slight framed and boyish. Skip the Greeks.

“How about the American vessel?”

“Culturally it would probably be the easiest. And it’s always good to support our own merchant fleet,” Lisa agreed.

“Is there a ‘but’ in there somewhere?” John asked.

“Not a big one. The vessel is the Yellow Rose, and it is a private ship, not a large corporate line. They actually have better safety inspections and cleanliness reports than the big lines. It’s just the Master and owner is a Texan and tends to hire westerners. Some find the subculture irritating. But of the three I’d take the Yellow Rose if it was me lifting,” she assured him.

“I appreciate your candor.  Book me with the Yellow Rose, please.”

* * *

            A shuttle was really not much different than an airliner. Especially not any different from a ballistic hypersonic. When he crossed the dock and hit the call button by the hatch of the Yellow Rose it was a different world though. It was a real airlock not a door, and it opened into a corridor not one big cabin. The walls had take holds if they had to be in zero G, and the ship smelled different.

The Second Officer, Will, shook his hand and saw him to his cabin. He grabbed the bigger bag without being asked as if he were a porter. He was thin but maybe twenty centimeters over the two meter mark. He didn’t explain if the name was his family name or given. The man had on Jeans and a checked shirt with piped edges and snaps instead of buttons. He didn’t affect a hat, but he did have on boots. The corridor rang with the hard heels. At his neck was an oval of turquoise on silver as a bolo tie. John didn’t know that particular subset of jewelry, but he knew a piece of hard rock turquoise like that was probably worth five thousand dollars. He had on ring and bracelet to match. His belt buckle was very different but John didn’t want to stare at it.

“Let me show you where everything is,” he told John agreeably. It was so cramped John stayed at the door as Will lowered and raised the bed, which took half the floor space, showed how to open the locker and set the lock. There was the luxury of a private bath about a meter square with a toilet and fold down sink. With the door closed there was barely room to stand and turn to use the shower or you could do so sitting on the lowered toilet seat. There was no tub.

The wall screen was big and you could set it for a variety of decorative themes. Lighting and ventilation and a temperature range of six degrees Celsius could be set. A fabric chair folded up and hung on the wall. Gravity could be set plus or minus a fifth G.

“Watch schedule and a short bio of each crew member is on the computer. The ship runs on Zulu time. Mess schedule is on there too. There are always cold sandwiches and snacks in the mess. Beer with your palm print. Crew gets less, you can have one every three hours since you have no duty. If you had any bad allergies or religious dietary restrictions they wouldn’t have taken you as a passenger. But if they screwed up on that now is the time to run before you are stuck with us for six weeks.”

“We have a really good environmental suite on the Rose, you should have no trouble running out of water. We allow sixty liters a day and a generous allotment to the galley for you. If you hit forty liters in the shower the ship’s computer will warn you and again at fifty.”

“Is there an allowance for laundry?” John asked.

“There’s a shore bag in the locker. If you leave any laundry out in the corridor the purser or cook will take it to be vacuum tumbled. That generally gets it cleaner than wet or dry cleaning. There is a recessed take hold in the wall you can tie the bag closure to. I don’t recommend you use it on woolens regularly as they get dry and brittle unless you restore lanolin to them with a spray. And it destroys leather, but it works really well for everything else. Computer is built in the com. You can plug your unit in and the ship will give you free cycles as they are available. If you try to hack into the ships computer I must tell you Captain  Travis sees no humor in it, and he is the law between the stars.” He wasn’t smiling at all and John sensed he wanted a response.

“Thank you, I’ll take that advice to heart.” That got a nod, and he excused himself.

He tried the bed. Set it a little harder. Then eased off the gravity a little. He had room to lay flat on his back with his arms at his sides, and not a hands breadth more. He thought about Will fitting in a standard bunk. He wasn’t sure the man could even get his legs straight.

The computer said it was 14:07. Dinner would be served at 17:30. He looked at the crew bios briefly and set the on-screen wake up timer to take a nap.

After the Second Officer John wasn’t sure what to expect. Would they all be dressed in western garb? Or would they wear uniforms? He wore his own jeans and a plain shirt hoping to fit in.

He was a few minutes early. There was a place set at the end that must be for the Captain. Nobody was at the other end seat. Three crewmen were already seated along the opposite side. Two he recognized easily. One didn’t look much like his picture at all. And the Second Officer was there, still in his western garb, while the other two were casual but not uniformed.

There were apparently only three passengers. His place was marked with a card furthest from the Captain. Another passenger, a man, was seated next to the Captain. He was dressed casually in Khakis and a sport shirt, and John would bet a week’s wages he had on tassel loafers under the table. Between them was a petite woman of Oriental ancestry dressed in whites that looked almost like a tennis outfit except for the large broach on her collar he suspected was a video cam.

The Captain entered and sat down. He was dressed casually, but better than either of his male passengers. He had on chocolate brown slacks and an open collar black shirt that was either real silk or a good synthetic. A very light jacket was unstructured and a deep crème with a lot of texture and darker threads scattered in the weave. He was entirely bald and had simple hoop earrings.

As soon as the Captain sat a crewman hurried in and started serving with a cold shrimp cocktail.

John noted the crewmen didn’t touch a fork until the Captain took a sip of water. However he engaged the near passenger in conversation after sampling one shrimp himself.

The man, Albertson, was forthcoming about the purpose of his visit to Abroteen. He dealt in small electronics from hand-held games and phones to hearing aids. The natives had not even possessed telegraphs when contacted. Someday they would make their own, but for now modern electronics might as well be magic. The products were deliberately made to be difficult to reproduce too.

The woman, Wu, got his attention next, and John was surprised she was not just of Eastern extraction but a native of Macao. The Abroteen had bought a very limited amount of batiks and printed silks from Earth, but trade in them was uneconomical. She was going to establish a manufacturing facility and bring in a half dozen Human workers to print on native fabrics. They would hopefully keep the process a trade secret.

It bothered John that Eastern sphere commerce was coming to a Western influenced world, but it was a tiny niche market. He’d known they didn’t technically own a patent on the world like a colony. But one never heard of cross trading in the news unless it was a conflict. He was somewhat upset his briefing did not cover just how much cross trade went on between the two spheres of interest.

The Captain glanced around the table and laid his fork across the edge of his appetizer plate. John saw why he delayed now. Everyone was through and the server took that for a signal to clear that course.  It paced the dinner at a pleasant tempo.

“Mr. Champion,” the Captain finally got to him. “I’m given to understand you are a government official. Does your visiting Abroteen  portend a change in status for the world?”

“I hope not. As I understand my instructions, I’m to smooth over some matter about which the Abroteen are upset. I don’t have an in depth briefing, but the local ambassador is supposed to tell me more. If I can placate them readily I hope things remain relatively unchanged and I can return home swiftly with a quiet resolution to my credit.”

“You haven’t been to the world before?” the businessman asked with a raised eyebrow.

“No, I’ve been reading everything I could, and I brought a lot of material along to read on our voyage. Perhaps Ms. Wu and you would give me the benefit of your own experience and help me avoid any pitfalls?” he suggested.

Wu inclined her head to give Albertson first privilege.  The crewman returned with grilled steaks and sweet potato fries. He didn’t ask anyone how they wanted them cooked, John noticed.

“Keep everything as simple as possible,” he counseled. “Are you familiar with the blanket method of trading?” he asked John.

“No, I have no idea what you mean.”

Captain Travis took a bite of his steak and nodded his approval to the crewman. John found his pink in the middle and faintly seasoned. He had no complaints.

“If you don’t share a language with someone you can still trade. You lay a blanket out and put an item you wish to trade on it. Several identical items are easier actually. The other side of the trade puts what they consider a fair exchange on the blanket. If it is agreeable you take away the item offered and leave your offering. If you don’t like it you can just let it set, or you can remove one of your items to change the exchange ratio and see if that will be taken. If you want an entirely different trade offered just move it over to a new blanket. Get the picture?”

“Yes, you bid back and forth until one side accepts the offering.”

John was surprised to see all the gristle and almost all the fat that edged a strip steak was trimmed away. But then he realized; why pay to haul something that would be discarded? The sweet potato fries had something hot on them. Hot paprika maybe? They were good.

“Well our trade with the Abroteen has never successfully progressed beyond this method. The few times we tried writing an actual contract in English it was a disaster. We still sometimes trade by laying things out physically, but fortunately we have good hard translations of numbers and our respective calendars.  We can for example put a drawing of a miniature machine screw on a paper with a number to be delivered and a local date. They then write in how many coins of what metal they will provide for those terms. If they cross out an item and write in a new offer it is just like moving the physical item. This progresses down the sheet until both sign their chop under the other’s offering and ‘yes’ or ‘no’ which terms we are very certain on also, or one side just removes the paper and terminates the negotiation.”

“That has resolved any problems?”

“Well, a few times I have seen trades where I signed and wrote ‘yes’ and the fellow let it sit for a few days and then wrote ‘no’. I suppose that is buyer’s remorse. No harm. The only time a fellow brought his copy back and crossed out his ‘yes’ and wrote ‘no’ we called in a bunch of other traders and told them we didn’t understand. They started yelling at the trader pointing at his chop. He wasn’t having any part of it. Most of the Abroteen that have any status wear some sort of medallion around their neck. I can’t translate them of course, but they ripped this guy’s medallion off and beat him around the head and dragged him outside. We never saw him again so it’s pretty plain he isn’t a trader anymore,” he said smiling. The crew all seemed to find that amusing.

“How about you Ms. Wu? Are you an experienced Abroteen trader?” John inquired.

“No, this is my first trip. However I had extensive training with several experienced hands. The primary thing I had driven home was the agreement to avoid cultural pollution by introducing new technologies. I will have to take significant pains to not let our in house techniques be observed and copied by the natives.”

“How is it we can supply electronics with integrated and optical circuits but batik is forbidden?”

“Batik is an immediately adaptable technology. They will get it all eventually, but the idea is to make it a prolonged process to slow the culture shock. By the time they can dissect a cell phone and understand what makes it work they will have advanced to the point they are ready for it.”

The Captain spoke up. “The cynic in me notes this concern for their cultural stability happens to have the happy effect of extracting the maximum possible profit from the conveyance of the technology. I’m glad to report it will continue well past my projected retirement.”

“Seriously Mr. Champion, if you are not familiar with all the details of the Technology Transfer Protocols I’d review them carefully and ask the Ambassador for the latest files on them,” Wu said. Albertson nodded solemn agreement.

The server had returned and put out hot yeast rolls and various relishes.

“The ship has fairly up to date files on the matter if you care to check the partial Web in the public files,” the Captain offered. “We need them to review manifests and any personal items we take down planet. A lot of spacers just stay on the station for fear of breaking  the regulations. If you just go down with your clothes on your back you are pretty safe, if you don’t talk after a few drinks.”

“We don’t know anyone like that,” ventured the Second. “Well not on this ship,” agreed the Engineer.  It didn’t seem sarcasm. He was spreading apple butter on a steaming roll.

“There was the fellow who bought a Abroteen muzzle loading rifle as a collectable,” Travis reminisced, “he looked it over and asked the smith if he’d put on a rear sight with a hole instead of a post. They line two posts up. Then he was dumb enough to bring it home. They didn’t have too hard a time tracking down the source of that improvement when peep sights showed up all over suddenly.”

Albertson nodded at the story. “One of our people got in trouble and got handed a hefty fine. He chartered a fishing boat and when he lost a hook to a big fish he put the new one the line with a snell knot. He tried to say knots were obvious, but they didn’t buy it. The natives never invented it and it’s about 40% stronger than the same line and hook just knotted on the eyelet. Pulls in more and bigger fish, so it is significant to both industry and the ecology.”

Dessert was a choice of baked custard or a coconut-lime ice cream.  John went with the ice cream and it was served with a few mint leaves and a thin slice of lime. Ms. Wu got the custard and it was drizzled with a caramel sauce. Six weeks of this and his pants might not fit.

* * *

            The next morning John was a bit grumpy. He liked a cigarette or two in the morning and that was prohibited on a space craft as was his evening cigar.  At least there was decent coffee available and he added a dash of whiskey from his flask. It wasn’t his usual breakfast of Champions being minus the nicotine but it would do. He slept in to ten O’clock and showering and dressing took him a half hour so he only had an hour and a half wait until lunch. He entirely avoid the disgusting uncivilized sight of people eating half cooked eggs early in the morning. By noon he was functional and ready for human company.

Lunch turned out to be an informal affair, a simple buffet set on a sideboard. Only one crewman sat at the table and the lady was not present at all. Mr. Albertson ate with his computer open on the table working and gave him one polite nod. Another crewman came in and hastily assembled a sandwich and a few pickles and such and hurried out. Next time he’d do the same John decided. He retreated to his room and studied the object of his travels further.

It would be easier to take the Abroteen seriously if they didn’t look like a bunch of clowns. Both sexes favored baggy pants and tunics. They apparently had some rule against plain colored fabric. At least in the pictures he was studying he had yet to see a garment without a printed pattern, mostly shiny fabrics and eye assaulting yellows and reds and orange. Even the occasional green or blue was of the fluorescent variety. Then add polka dots or swirls or geometrics including checker squares. Tops and bottoms seemed to be deliberately mis-matched. If he had only known he’d have brought some plaid Bermudas and a paisley shirt. When in Rome and all that.

He woke up early, his personal clock still  off, and threw on the previous day’s outfit just to go grab a carafe of coffee. It was just past 0500 on the ship’s clock and Mr. Albertson was coming out of Ms. Wu’s room with his tie over his shoulders and carrying his shoes. John nodded pleasantly at him but the man stared straight ahead and pretended he didn’t see him. That amused John. The man didn’t need to be embarrassed on his account. It did surprise him how quickly they came to an understanding. But then both were professionals at negotiation. He hoped to do so well on Abroteen.

* * *

            The last shipboard dinner was a relief. He’d tired quickly of every variation of grilled meat and experienced at least a dozen kinds of beans in tomato sauce with something or another added. The bread had some form of corn in it way too often for his favor, and the variety of vegetables was too limited. He did not consider Cole Slaw a vegetable. The desserts he had to admit showed some imagination. He didn’t recall any of them repeating the entire trip. The sole time they had fish it was fried catfish, and he had absorbed a lifetime limit of barbeque sauce. Ms. Wu had been increasingly absent as time passed. He suspected she was saving a bite from lunch or hitting the snacks in the evening.

* * *

            Docking came very late in the day by the Zulu time the ship ran on. Middle of the night really, but he was ready to get off the ship. He’d gone to bed early and caught almost four hours of sleep. Even if this was the God forsaken middle of nowhere the crew assured them there was a decent hotel on station. They were going there before heading down. They agreed to send his luggage with their own and he planned to stop for a drink and a bite of anything neither Tex or Mex and sleep for about eighteen hours to get in sync with the local clock.

The purser opened the lock and lead the passengers down the ramp to the dock. There was an official with the station to verify their identity and log them on the station. John hung back and watched the process with the other passengers. There was an anxious looking man standing back on the dock who ignored Wu and Albertson so he had to be waiting for him. The fellow was small, perhaps a hair shorter than John even, and had a receding hair line and the start of a middle-aged belly.  He presented his State Department credentials and passport and watched them get scanned. As soon as he had them back the fellow rushed forward and offered his hand.

“Deputy Champion? I’m George Yates with the embassy. We are so happy to have you. The situation with the Abroteen has actually deteriorated. They are holding up trade on a number of shipments waiting to speak with you. They refuse to speak with the Ambassador anymore and are waiting for you. I get the impression they think Ambassador Rollins might be lying about sending for a special envoy. The last few days there have even been people outside the embassy throwing stones and shouting nasty things.”

“Could you be more specific about their complaint? I keep hearing generalities.”

“Well, we had a dispute on a trade deal. There were some bad units and the supplier didn’t have enough spares on hand to cover the bad ones so they demanded a cash refund if they couldn’t make good on the defective units. Cash on Abroteen means coins. They wouldn’t take any check or credit or script of any kind. So the native company asked for arbitration. The supplier seemed to agree, but when the Ambassador offered to be an arbitrator they simply made fun of him. And they complain we don’t respect their law which we don’t see at all. It seems to accept arbitration.”

“Made fun of him how?” John inquired.

Yates blushed deeply and scowled. “It’s just scandalous. They mocked him for being old and I’m ashamed to even repeat it, but they called him a “lard ass” in public. They said he couldn’t defend the contract and to get a serious arbitrator. I have a private shuttle on hold. Follow me and we’ll drop right away. We’ll be given priority clearance.”

“This is the middle of my night,” John protested. “My luggage is all going to the station hotel and I have a seat reserved to drop with the crew of the Yellow Rose in about thirty-six hours.”

“Oh my, no. It is the express order of the Ambassador you come right now. I dare say we might have riots if they find out you are on station and dilly-dallying.  I’ll see to it your luggage is forwarded.”

What was there to do? He followed the man. The shuttle was the smallest he’d ever seen. Two crew seats and two passenger seats behind. They only had the one pilot however. An economy that he didn’t appreciate. This whole things was slowly pissing him off. He desperately needed another cup of coffee, a smoke, and he didn’t appreciate being bullied.

They dropped away from the station and the pilot asked control for a hot straight in approach. The drop was hot alright. The air outside was glowing as the shuttle sliced through it. The way the pilot yanked the shuttle around in a couple high G turns left him swallowing hard to keep the last cup of coffee down. The runway approached at an angle that made John think they would crash on the end of it and solve all his worries. That was when he realized there was no engine noise. This was an unpowered glider shuttle and they either landed in one pass or crashed.

The flare out squashed them in the seats and the nose lifted so high the runway disappeared from the forward view. Then when the wheels touched down they were thrown forward against their straps for a long time as the shuttle braked down the long runway.

“I’m opening the hatch and dropping the stairs,” the pilot informed them. “They’ll have to put a new door gasket on but they said they are willing to pay for  that to save you sitting in here fifteen minutes waiting for the hull to cool. Just be sure to hold your arms in and don’t grab the hand rail until you are a couple steps down the stairs. The hull right around the hatch opening is still hot enough to burn you or singe clothing.  Thanks for your business,” he added.

There was a vehicle waiting on the tarmac, sort of a mini-trolley with a ridiculously thin tall smoke stack and lots of brass trim.  It had a platform on the back with stairs up from each side and most of the coachwork was wood with magnificent carving and bright painted panels of art inside the fancy moldings.

“This is what passes for a limo locally,” George Yates informed him. It was comfortable inside with a half dozen big plush chairs. There were no seat belts and the no steward of any sort. As soon as he was seated George pulled a cord dangling by his chair and the vehicle lurched forward making a chuffing noise that built to a steady hum.

“Internal combustion engine?” John asked him. He had seen a few automobiles in museums and seen one operated at an event in a park. But he’d never ridden in one.

“External actually. It has a steam engine and is more like a little locomotive than a car.”

George was making a call on his phone as he spoke. John didn’t catch much but he caught a few ‘sirs’ so the man must be speaking to the Ambassador.

“We are going directly to the Abroteen Supreme Court,” George informed him. “The Ambassador will meet us there.”

“What exactly do you do at the embassy George?”

“I’m an aide to the Trade Delegate and concern myself with trade from other spheres,” He explained. “I’ll be watching closely what Ms. Wu who come out with you is up to,” he explained and gave a little wink.

John just about choked on the unexpected wink. George was a spook. He didn’t look like one.

* * *

            The Ambassador got out of his own limo and waved it away as they approached. He was pushing the edge of ‘elderly’ John decided. He was carrying enough extra weight he wouldn’t be winning any sprints, but portly would have been a kinder description. it was disgraceful to mock the man if only out of respect for his office.

The Abroteen Supreme Court looked as serious and important as any Earth nation court. The building was imposing and marble, but black marble veined in green and white and gold. There were columns across the front, but they were hexagonal instead of the fluted round Greek columns of Earth.

The steps were spaced for alien limbs, shallower in height and deeper in width. They required two small steps instead of one. There were guards at the doors, dressed the same so it must be a uniform. They wore weapons sheathed, but carried a little wand like a conductor’s baton.

“Hold! Who wants justice?” one guard asked, but they crossed wands like they were halberds or something, not little sticks.

“Ambassador Rollins, Aide Yates, and Deputy John Champion of Earth,” John growled.

They both stamped solidly on the pavement and said, “Pass Deputy John.”

“Friggin’ nonsense,” John muttered. “Who did they think we were?”

The hall they entered was wide and impressive. The floor was laid with mosaics that seemed to tell a story. He saw mountains and rivers and castles depicted, armies clashing and sailing ships maneuvering. Eventually he saw railroads and cities without walls. It had to be a history.

It ended in a circular room under a dome. The floor was a depressed circle with stairs leading down to a floor only twenty meters or so across. Two groups sat across from each other and nine Abroteen sat between the two. One of the nine stood up and waited. The guard who let them in came up beside them and announced: “Deputy John, Champion of Earth and associates.”

“Little fellow ain’t ya?” the Abroteen asked insolently.

“You can’t imagine how tired I am of hearing that,” John assured him. “I’ve been big enough for everything life has thrown at me including better men than you. I came here straight from docking. You want to get this show on the road or you want to stand and trade insults until lunch? I could easily ask where the hell you bought that clown outfit you got on? My God the purple!” He shook his head.

“Really John,” the Ambassador started to reprove him, but the Abroteens on  both sides drowned him out stomping on the stairs with their boots. By the third stomp they were in sync and fairly rocked the place with the noise.

“Why are they doing that?” John asked.

” That is their way of applauding. The crowd likes your spunk I’d say,” George told him.

“Good, good,” the official agreed, “We go to the sacred yard.” He announced. Everyone got up and headed out the back way.

“What’s this about?” John asked. “They go outside for hearing instead of using the fancy building? It don’t make sense.”

The mob from inside was surrounding something ahead of them and others were streaming in. They made just barely enough room to let them in. He got to the inside and it was a big circle of bare dirt, about fifty meters across, but groomed like a clay tennis court. That was something with which John was intimately familiar. The same official that led them made a sweeping gesture inviting him on the dirt, but held a hand up and stopped the Ambassador and George.

John looked at the crowd pressing in. He didn’t have to know the language to know what they were doing, coins and slips of paper were changing hands with much discussion and flashing of fingers held up as numbers. They were placing bets on the outcome.

“You show respect finally,” he said. “We go Earth we give Earth law same stuff.”

“That is a huge thing, Deputy Champion,” the Ambassador called from the edge. “We’ve been trying to get an agreement on that with them since we made contact. That’s why no Abroteen have ever visited Earth. They always refused to subject themselves to our law. They demanded even their cook and janitor have diplomatic privilege.

“How does this work?” John demanded. “I ready to arbitrate, but where are the parties at conflict?”

“You Earth Champion,” the Abroteen explained slowly like he was speaking to a little kid.

“You for Earth company. Abroteen Champion soon here. He for Abroteen company. No split, no draw. You win say settlement. He win he says. Simple. You go out circle lose. You die lose. You both die complicated. Do over or companies say  heads or tails,” he said making a flipping motion.

“This is a trial by combat? That’s not what we mean by arbitration! This is not at all what I expected to be doing!”

The alien shrugged big shoulders inside his purple robe. “Tell scholars work Abroteen/English dictionary,” he suggested. “You in circle,” he said pointing at the ground. “Walk away now lose. Stay you fight,” he promised. “First Ambassador say he be Champion. Old as rocks and no faster. Now you,” he couldn’t read the alien face but he sniffed disdainfully.

“I am not leaving this circle,” John told him between clutched teeth. “Where the hell is this Champion?” he             asked enraged.

“He there,” pointed the purple fellow and stepped back outside the circle.

An Abroteen stepped in the circle and got a modest thumping of feet for his efforts. At least a few folks were cheering the home boy on. An official of some sort came into the circle and stabbed a big sword into the dirt by each Champion. “Visitor, first. Pull from ground to start,” he instructed.

“Thank you,” John said looking the sword over. It was ridiculously big. The coffee was working through him and he left the sword there since it was his option, and walked to the edge of the circle. There was a low murmur from the crowd. Some apparently thought he was going to walk out. He unzipped his pants and relieved himself on whatever passed for grass. A few of the natives barely got their silks out of the way before he let loose. He walked back to the sword amid a bunch of what sounded like sneezes.

“They’re laughing,” George called from behind him.

He didn’t have to ask if they were laughing at him, because he looked across the circle at the Champion. He was very unhappy, shifting his weight from foot to foot and looked at John slit eyed.

Hmm, so that’s what they look like pissed off. He needed a smoke and really didn’t give a damn if this over sized bunny worked himself up until he had a stroke waiting for him. He drew out a cigarette and lit it. There was a ripple of surprise through the crowd at the lighter. Pretty soon the near edge of the crowd melted away from the smoke, coughing.

“Do you fight Deputy Champion?” The guy in purple called from the sidelines.

“There some kind of rule how long this can take?” John growled at him.

“All end by sundown,” he admitted, unhappy. John was starting to understand their body language a little. Both the purple clad fellow and the Champion were exhibiting extreme nose twitching. He might be a rabbit, but John did notice he was a damn big rabbit, about half again as big as most of the others in the crowd. Twice what John massed at a guess. Besides really not liking any references to his size, John had also grown up with a father who would give him a second licking if he came home beaten. There wasn’t a whole lot of back down built into his personality. He tossed the butt down and stepped on it, and yanked the sword out of the ground.

The Champion made a theatrical show of drawing the sword and thrust it at the heavens. Then he swirled it nimbly in figure eights, shifting it from hand to hand, and ended with it held double handed before him in a high guard.

“That’s mighty pretty,” John said loud enough for the crowd to hear. Another round of sneezy snickering ran through the ranks. John started walking steadily toward him. He didn’t know much about sword play, but the object was to stick him with the damn thing. He was having trouble just holding it up so there was no way he could get fancy with it.

The hired Champion of the Eastern Continent Trading Company was a professional. He knew all seven hundred and thirty-six sacred movements of the sword in perfection. Each posture and movement had a proper response. The holy eighteen initiating actions started a duel. From them one could move into ever increasing complex branches. Only certain actions followed one another. The hand was set up for the next motion by the previous. It was as formalized as ballet. He had no idea what the hell this crazy alien was going to do holding the sword at an angle no Abroteen wrist could duplicate with all the grace of a butcher getting ready to stick a Princhen fat for market.

He wanted to initiate the exchange, but John was already shoving the sword forward in the general direction of his guts. It sort of looked like a number twenty three, the woodpecker, which was not a proper opening gambit, but he shifted to the corresponding defense.

The sword was simply too heavy to hold up and when John got it extended one handed the point plunged out of his control right under the graceful guarding movement of his opponent and sank into the alien’s foot. The noise the fellow made was definitely a new one he’d not known an Abroteen could make. He barely managed to hold on to the sword. It seemed to be stuck in the boney part of the foot and the noise it made when he jerked back made John a bit sick to his stomach. It almost yanked out of his hand.

The Abroteen seemed to be too angry to be subtle anymore and hobbled forward with the sword raised straight overhead in both hands.  He doubted he could deflect such a stroke so John turned and ran along the edge of the circle. The crowd was yelling all sorts of things in Abroteen. He had no idea if he was being called a coward or urged on to greater speed. Maybe they just saw their bets close to a pay-out. The Champion could not keep up with him with the injured foot and he pulled away.

After two turns he was about a third of the circle ahead, the alien was losing heart and gave up a straight pursuit. He turned and crossed the middle to cut him off.

John stopped. He was as tired of running as the alien, who hobbled across the circle leaving a line of red footprints behind. He approached John cautiously, sword back to the side like a baseball bat. Nothing fancy now, he just wanted to cut him down like a tree.

As tired as he was he drew back slightly and telegraphed his intent. He swung with everything he had and it swished audibly through the air over John’s head as he ducked. Abroteen can’t squat. Their back legs don’t bend that way. He followed through wildly, having expected resistance that wasn’t there. He spun, dropped the sword trying to balance, took two mincing little steps and poised, toes over the edge of the circle arms wind milling to avoid a fall.  John planted a foot flat on his big bunny butt and shoved. He sprawled flat in the grass.

There was s shocked silence and then a minor earthquake of applause.

The purple guy walked out blank faced. “What your will hot-shot Champion?”

“My will is to go get a meal and sleep half a day. About this time tomorrow I’d like to speak with somebody from both companies and find a solution that is just.”

“Huh – Not make contract never was?” he asked surprised.

“That hardly seems fair to me. I want to ask questions. It seems to me both of them were being a bit unreasonable and I want to judge after getting facts.” He ignored the noises from the Ambassador.

“It shall be done,” the purple clad  fellow said in perfectly good English for once, and damned if he didn’t bow.

* * *

            The next day on the Ambassador’s balcony, he looked out over the Abroteen’s capitol. If he looked in the distance it didn’t look much different than Paris. He wondered if they would keep it pleasant or mess it up with sky scrapers and huge boxy buildings as they learned ironwork. He’d slept until almost local noon.

The Ambassador was having lunch, a chilled soup and cucumber sandwich. He didn’t have much to say.  At first he thought it was disapproval of his cigar and the whisky he requested for his coffee. But after awhile he figured out the man was afraid of him from the previous day’s performance. He was pretty sure it wasn’t a set-up. The man had no more idea than him what the Abroteen intended when they arrived.

If they had accepted the Ambassador as a Champion he would have walked right out of the circle once he understood. That would have been bad for Earth’s reputation in the long term. That was likely the other half of why he was unhappy with John. He knew he’d have never even tried.

“If their Champion had you balanced on the edge of the circle he’d have cut you down from behind instead of planting a boot on your ass. You know that don’t you?”

“Undoubtedly,” John agreed. “He was young and aggressive and would be looking to be hired as a Champion again. He might have bumped me out if I hadn’t stabbed him in the foot, but there was no forgiveness after that. I’m satisfied it serves our interest to show them a gentler way.”

“That in itself is probably a social intervention. Those can be worse than technological revelations. However, if you read the protocols as Ambassador I have the ultimate local say in what is a violation. I thought your improvisation yesterday was masterful actually, but I’m concerned what you are going to do in this meeting today.”

“I have no idea what I’ll do before I hear the matter,” John explained spreading his hands. “All I can assure you is I will do nothing to put Earth in a bad light, or act spitefully toward either party. Surely that is enough to accomplish when matters are thrust upon us like this?”

“You could have cancelled the contract out as they expected and as they surely would have done themselves if they had won.”

“Yes, that would have been the easy solution. But I’m not sure it would have been the best thing for how they regard us. Perhaps there is a better solution they can respect and see as superior.”

“See here, you sound like you intend to meddle in their law.”

“Not at all,” John insisted waving the idea away, “I’m Champion and I won so I can do anything that pleases me and it comports perfectly with their law.” He was right and the Ambassador knew it. But he probably wished he wasn’t enjoying it so much.

“Could you have the kitchen bring me something after all?” he requested. “I think I could face one of those sandwiches if they could find some meat to stuff in the thing.”

* * *

            “His Excellency isn’t joining you?” George asked  when he got in the limo.

“He indicated he had other talks with the political leader while I speak with the judiciary.” John explained. “I think he did that to remove himself from whatever I do. Tell me George, which way did you bet on the outcome of the duel yesterday?”

“I bet five gold pieces against you at ten to one,” he admitted sourly.

“Do the Abroteen bet a lot?”

“They bet on bloody anything! They stop and buy a sweet roll and they will toss the store dice for double or nothing. They sit in a café having a toot and they will bet on what song will come on the radio next. If you roll against them make them use a cup. These boys have magic fingers,” he complained.

“I didn’t think you were as clueless as the Ambassador,” John told him. “Come along if you want to see how it goes. I don’t think they will argue with a Champion about his guests.”

* * *

            They were lead to the same tiered bowl under the main dome of the Supreme Court. The crowd was smaller today, the nine judges separating a small group of Abroteen from an even smaller mixed group of Abroteen and humans.  If the Abroteen company executives were at the trial yesterday John didn’t recognize them. The Human company owner immediately apologized for not being at the trial. “We were on station, by the time we were told and had a shuttle hired it was all over,” he explained.

The nine indicated he should seat himself on the steps below them, and invited him to officiate however pleased him. They motioned George to sit behind them. As soon as he was seated on the third step the Abroteen who had been in purple yesterday approached and held out the sword he’d used. “You left this stuck in dirt. It polished, sharpened and got sheath. You guardian now. It third ranking instrument arbitration our court.” He had on an eye searing tangerine tiger stripe today. How could John turn it down? So he took it with both hands.

John sat, put the sword across his knees, and asked the Earth company to pick a spokesman.

They apparently had that all arranged. A middle aged fellow in somewhat casual clothing stepped up and faced John.

“What is your position with the company?” John asked for the crowd.

“I’m Bert Ferguson, founder and principle stockholder still.”

“Who are those two in expensive suits frowning at us?”

“Those would be the company lawyers,” he said without needing to look.

“Can they practice Abroteen law?”

“Anybody can practice Abroteen law,” the fellow insisted. “You come before the court and state your case. There are records of decisions, but no real lawyers like we have. The lawyers are for me to deal with Earth law.”

“Tell me in your own words why things got to be such a mess we progressed to trial by combat.”

“We sold the Eastern Continent Trading Company a couple thousand walkie-talkies. They have far less population over there. It’s a lot drier, and it will likely be a long time before it is economical to use cellular systems. They are using them for stuff like keeping in touch with shepards and for police with their deputies. The rich even buy a few for their servants, that sort of thing.”

“We reserved a hundred to replace any bad ones. That seemed plenty given our experience with similar units. These aren’t cheap kids toys, they are mil spec hardened units that should be dust proof and water proof and very shock resistant. Trouble was they turned out to be crap. We ran out of replacements and we’d sent most of the money home. We retained just enough cash for local expenses and we simply don’t have the money to buy them all back. Once they invoked arbitration that ended any further settlement by law.”

“Did you understand what they meant by arbitration?”

His lawyers were trying to hush him, but he answered anyway. “Not at first. I was pretty sure what they meant later, because we had a couple champions come and offer their services. Apparently having a government hired Champion is like having a public defender at home, a token defense for the poor. It’s a way for the inexperienced or guys who lost but survived like yesterday to get back on the game. I didn’t know what they meant about The Circle until then.”

“Did you tell the Ambassador about that?”

“I don’t tell the Ambassador anything,” the man scowled. “He lives to tell us we can’t do anything and would be happier if this world was closed so he wouldn’t have to actually do anything.”

“Are you still willing to make good on either the funds or the radios?’

“I have new radios. Another brand but they are on the same band. They were already in the pipeline but the guy from ECT wouldn’t wait for them. The money went to pay for them back on Earth. It’s spent. So it’s the radios or nothing.”

“I may have some questions still. Who speaks for the Eastern Continent Trading Company?”

“Me,” said an Abroteen standing quickly who looked too young.

“What is your position with the company?”

There was a brief discussion of position with a couple councilors.

“I middle son and heir.”

“Why isn’t the owner speaking?”

“The family says me to speak. Papa owns. He holds,” the boy showed with a hand, “but for us.”

“Why did they decide that?” John asked, refusing to let him off the hook.

“Father doubt everyone,” he explained. John had never seen an Abroteen wring his hands before. “Has been good. Was needed. But now bad. Doubt old house servants, doubt me.”

“So the family does not feel the same?”

“No, we count days. Same as old business. Done faster can’t. Earthmen want money fast same we want radios fast. Too late what old man do we hear.”

“I am ready to make a decision. Last chance to speak if you don’t think I have all the facts.”

“Know this, Champion. We gave money back. Not like Earthman.”

“If you get new radios do you think your buyers will give them another try?”

He considered that briefly. “Most. They need. Most want radios not money, nobody want wait no radio, no money. I same,” he concluded and sat down.

“I want you, Mr. Ferguson to replace the bad radios with new ones, and give the Eastern Continent Trading Company an extra new radio for every ten they turn in. After ninety days no more bad radios can be turned in. You can’t promise they will last forever. At the end of ninety days we end all obligations and any new deal between you two has nothing to do with me or this trial. If you want to trade with each other in the new radios besides replacing the old ones that is up to you two to work out terms. I suggest you ask Mr. Ferguson to post a performance bond if you buy from him again. Questions?”

“Bonds are not recognized in Abroteen law,” Ferguson informed him. “I’d be willing, the bookies or the banks would write one, but most forms of insurance are not recognized as enforceable contracts under their law.”

“They are now. I demand they be allowed as a part of my judgment.”

“Will that stick?” Ferguson asked shocked, looking past John to the Supreme Court.

“He can do?” the Trading Company heir asked big eyed with surprise.

“Word of Champion is law,” the guy in the tangerine tunic answered simply.

John stood up and laid the sword across his shoulder. “Last chance to say anything before I declare the matter settled. Don’t complain later you didn’t get to speak.” He looked around. There was a murmur of voices, even among the Court, but it died out and nobody stood up.

“We’re done here,” he announced and turned to the Court. “You want me to hang on to this?” he asked, patting the sword.

“Unusual was justice of Champion,” the guy in tangerine admitted. “The Court says all of them it served both parties most excellently. Third sword now named Sword of Earth Justice, good you guard.”

* * *

            “You certainly have those boys snookered,” George said when they got in the limo. “I was sitting back there on the steps and the junior member of the court was whispering in my ear. He said you were playing with the other champion and it is only in great strength you can afford to show mercy. I can’t believe you changed the whole mess about insurance by decree. The Ambassador has been beating his head against the wall on that since he came here.”

“George.”

“What John?”

“What Deputy, you mean, or What sir? If you want to go back and go in the ring with me I’d be happy to accommodate you. I imagine the court would find it very entertaining. Swords or bare handed, pickle forks or road flares, I don’t really care. The spook thing doesn’t impress me any more than all that fancy sword twirling the kid did. Understand?”

“Yes sir, I will decline that invitation, thank you.”

* * *

            The Ambassador asked John to dinner. He got dressed decently for the first time since Earth. It was just the two of them, and an impressive dinner for two. There were several Abroteen items that didn’t really provide any nutrition, but could be tolerated and were a novelty.

“You did a smashup job on this my boy. The head guy, the Tas they call him, was very happy with the outcome,” he said smiling and jolly.

“If you are pleased too then I’m satisfied. I wanted a good note in my file for a job well done and a quick turnaround home. A little career builder for when something comes open for a promotion. Could you have your secretary inquire what will be leaving for Earth soon with an open berth?”

“Yes, I just had him search that,” the Ambassador said smiling. “I think I can promise you a substantial promotion too,” he said agreeably. “The sister ship to the one you came in on, the Hopalong Cassidy, will be undocking in about eighteen hours. It’s a bit of a rush, but I intend to be on her.” That got a quizzical look and a slow feeling of dread from John.

“The Tas was rather adamant the Earth Champion should remain here. Lord knows he was never happy with me. I will make every effort to press for my temporary assignment of you as acting head of mission be followed by a full formal appointment as Ambassador. Let me tell you, very few young men of your age have ever snagged a ambassadorship, but I think your record here will leave them little choice given the insistence of the Tas. You have accomplished more in a few days than has occurred over the last several years. I hold no resentment of that, but I’d look rather silly and superfluous to stay on after such sweeping changes.”

“I don’t know what to say, sir,” John said stunned.

“I can imagine,” Ambassador Rollins said smiling. He stood offered his hand. “I’ve been trying to get relieved for the last year,” he admitted. “This is a perfect opportunity for the both of us.”

“I wish you the best in whatever your new endeavor is, sir,” he shook his hand numbly.

“Thank you, Champion. I’m seventy-two you know. I have quite a few healthy years left with medicine the way it is. I intend to find a quiet little place in the Caribbean with good fishing and relax  and enjoy myself for awhile. George will brief you on other more mundane matters we have been dealing with day to day. I’ve got to finish packing up the mementos I’ve collected if you will excuse me.”

He laid his napkin on the table and marched out.

George came in and sat at one of the other chairs with no setting.

“What just happened here?” he asked rhetorically.

“I believe you were a victim of your own success, sir.”

“Are you eager to be relieved at this post too, George?”

“Not at all, sir. I will in time go home, but until then I will make the most of my time here.”

“How many humans on Abroteen, George? Is there any sort of society?”

“There are usually less than a hundred humans on world. However they change rapidly as the ships come and go. Most traders and spacers would find an invitation from the embassy for dinner a treat, so society here might be what you make it.”

“I take it Ambassador Rollins did not chose to do that?”

“No sir, he looked down on merchants and spacers. But I don’t, and a word to the wise, if you treat them with respect you find all sorts of favors offered. There is considerable traffic on the ships off the manifest if you know the crews.”

“Smuggling?”

“No need to smuggle, sir. Everything is pretty much wide open if you are respectful of the protocols for technology transfers. And very few get out away from the Capitol and see any of the world. It is a very rich world in metals as you know. Perhaps I should mention that even as isolated as the Ambassador kept himself his trinkets and mementos we packed up and sent up to the ship added up to about eighty kilograms. Every local merchant and prince that came to see the Ambassador over the last four years brought some ring or medal or little bowl or statue as a gift. Most of that eighty kilos is gold and platinum.

“No kidding? I suppose there might be a bright side to this posting after all.”

“I don’t get gifted much,” George allowed. “But I get out into the country every few weeks. They have a decent rail system and you can go to a small town to do a little trading on your days off. Just to give you an example  I had a pilot friend run me in a box of ballpoint pens last month. They are allowed technology. I set up a little table in the town market and paid the local cop a silver coin to ignore me. I traded for this and that people brought more than cash money. One old woman brought me a old pail with a hole worn in the bottom, about a sixteen liter bucket and held out for two pens. She was very happy with herself. The bucket was platinum.”

“I take this to mean you aren’t holding a grudge about yesterday?”

“There is no advantage to getting in a pissing match with the Ambassador,” George concluded. “You are either very, very, good or incredibly lucky. What does it matter to me which really?”

“I’m not the Ambassador yet.”

“Hah! The bookies are betting forty to one you are confirmed by the end of the month. No way I’ll take a gram of that sucker bet.”

END

All Rights Reserved

New stand alone short – “A Mother’s Son”

A Mother’s Son

By

Mackey Chandler

            Theodore looked out the narrow port of the ballistic express and watched the glare of the sun disappear behind the curve of the earth. He’d be on the ground six hours before it managed to catch up. He took another sip of champagne and his implant scrolled a message in his corneal display warning him his blood alcohol was at .016. If he had another glass he’d be turned away at customs and refused entry to the Caliphate. It was irritating to have his AI in nanny mode but safer when he was working. Some people hardly show any signs they had been drinking at that blood alcohol level, but Ted knew he had little capacity for alcohol and would be pulled aside for testing. His clients would bump his per diem back if he had to sit in customs until he dried out or even worse get stuffed back in another flight and not be able to pin down the source of the rumor he was tracking. He’d even get stuck with paying his round trip fare if he was sent back.

His clients spent big money on rumor futures and trend insurance. Especially terror and organized crime futures. The street talk was about a genotype targeted infertility plague that would cost five figures in ransom for the antitreatment, or six figures plus if they refused to pay and had to reverse engineer and counteract it themselves. Three of his clients were in active pharmaceuticals, and one was a protection mob that didn’t want some upstart horning in on the limited market for medical ransoms. Corps only budgeted so much for employee protection before they saw direct action as being the better long term investment. Given two adversarial deals they were as likely to spend their discretionary funds on wiping out the older threat they knew better than the new threat that would require research. Ted looked at the odds of that happening and discretely shifted some of his personal investment out of medical coercions and into natural disaster futures from behind several proxies.

The weather and volcanic activity had been on a flat trend for nine years and he figured it was time for a upswing. When he plotted it against historic cycles and sunspot activity he was even more convinced, even though his assessment was contrarian.  That’s where you made the real money; bucking the herd and being right when you did so. He took a small sip of the Champagne making it last if he couldn’t have a refill. There were no alerts popping up, but he checked zinc futures in depth and his bets on the Super Bowl. Zinc was sweet and he still had faith in the Packers. At least enough not to throw the bet away on a buy back. All that took less than thirty seconds so he still had almost five thousand long seconds to fill with something before his flight touched down in Manama.

Tomorrow was his four hundredth birthday, and he was feeling sorry for himself. He was making it just fine day to day. If he stopped working right now he projected he could retire for another hundred years, probability ± 12%, before he had to work again. Trouble was, in a hundred years all his skills and knowledge would be obsolete if he didn’t stay on the treadmill. He’d have to find a new line of work or take a downgraded retirement like his mother. Once you did that almost nobody ever came back to the real world. It wasn’t that he was burned out. Far from it. If anything he was bored. Last time he’d taken vacation he’d come back to work after three days before he went nuts. Sitting on the beach, watching the surf with his link down he’d lasted as long as it took to suck down one Margarita before he  started running extrapolations on his implant to predict the pattern of short and high waves. He hadn’t tried really cutting himself off completely – shutting not only his link, but also his implant for about twenty years. Last time the sensory deprivation had unnerved him so badly he’d taken several days to recover from the experience.

If he didn’t want to retire and wasn’t unhappy with his work what did he want? What would make him happy? It had to be a challenge and he suspected it had to be soon, or he would succumb to the primary source of morbidity in today’s population – suicide. He’d seen enough agents and traders who should have been happy falter just a bit to where you thought they were just down for a couple days, and then you’d hear they were gone.

Perhaps he should have taken Sandra up on it when she proposed to him. He checked memory – one hundred seventeen days since she’d broached the subject and he thought about it every day. He’d said no quickly, but that hadn’t put her off dating him. They’d spent a two day together just a week ago. If she was seeing – or pursuing – anyone else he saw no evidence of it. He talked to her pretty much daily. He talked to several hundred people a day normally, keeping networks alive, but she was different. He didn’t need to talk to her and took time anyway.

His immediate thought at her offer was they didn’t have enough in common. Not enough for a life together. They’d never share the same work. He’d met her in the diorama club. Most everybody collected something, and with the trend for professionals to invest in large houses, how well your collection was displayed was as important as the pieces themselves. You needed to fill the empty rooms with something or it looked silly.

He primarily collected tools and displayed them in a twentieth century home workshop. She collected turn of the twenty first century home appliances and kitchen items and displayed them in a 1998 home kitchen. They both had museum quality displays that had won prizes. Maybe that wasn’t enough upon which to base a life on together, but even her job was interesting when it was her explaining it. He’d never had any interest in the law before meeting her. Pretty much everything he’d done with her had been fun because he was doing it with her.     Maybe her offer could be renegotiated… Ted thought of her contact code and let the link form through ship com. He expected vision and sound but got text messaging…

LawyerShark:  Hi Ted

TeddieBeah:  I miss you Sandy

LawyerShark:  Rough day?

TeddieBeah:   No more than usual – but I’m asking myself some serious questions…

LawyerShark:   Work?

TeddieBeah:   No – yes – maybe – personal life more – I’m not happy.

LawyerShark:   I’ve known that for awhile

TeddieBeah:   Do you miss me?

LawyerShark:  A little – but we’re not joined at the hip  : )

TeddieBeah:   You offered something more permanent.

LawyerShark: Yes – you didn’t think long before saying no…

TeddieBeah:   I’ve been regretting that – because I have been thinking about it every day. Is there a reason you went to text? Bad hair day? (evil grin)

LawyerShark:   I’m on the Moon. The trans. delay drives me nuts with real time video. I’d show you how much I miss you if you were here.  ; )

TeddieBeah:  LOL – safe to say from a million miles away…

LawyerShark:  The Moon is closer than that.

TeddieBeah:  Always with the legal precision – call it poetic license.

LawyerShark:  U R a snoop not a poet.

TeddieBeah:   Hot job? You didn’t say anything about a lunar trip last week

LawyerShark:   Hot enough to pay 3x for a direct lift ticket instead of an orbital transfer. More than that is too hot to put in an IM.

TeddieBeah:   Your job is more exciting than mine. Dinner when you get back?

LawyerShark:   Maybe….Are you considering a counter-proposal?

TeddieBeah:   More like a hostile takeover…..

LawyerShark:   I’ll think about it too. Maybe a limited contract? Five year – no kids?

TeddieBeah:   Renewable if both agree?

LawyerShark:   Any contract can be renewed if both agree…YOU might want to change the terms before five years – one year to start maybe

TeddieBeah:   Dinner  when you are back and talk about it if you still want to then?

LawyerShark:   Back to Toronto in two days – mid-day Thursday.

TeddieBeah:   Back to Atlanta tomorrow – Meet Harrington’s on the Chesapeake for dinner?

LawyerShark:   Reserve a room – two day maybe? –  and a sailboat if the weather is fair?

TeddieBeah:   Yes and yes – I’m clear to do that. Bye then – rip into them Shark…

LawyerShark:   Don’t worry – there will be blood in the water – bye………

A thought closed the link and he stared out the window not really looking at the scarce splashes of light on the dark planet below. It was the high Asian plains so there was still little to shine into the night sky. He was thrilled at the idea of marrying Sandra and scared to death at the same time. He’d been married once in his first century and even in the fog of time distance he still remembered it had been bad. He’d been very young and stupid, and his mother had been hard on the girl giving her hell at every turn.

He’d tried to explain to her that his mother had never approved of him either, but she saw every slight as a battle to be drawn out and won. Sandy wouldn’t put up with it. She’d give her some hell right back. Ted learned even before leaving home as a young man to simply ignore his mother’s complaints and go ahead like nothing had been said. Four centuries later it still worked. At least now he’d learned enough to ration her to one call a week.  His brother Harold had tried to explain the sheer necessity of that to him for almost a century before he adopted the practice.     Harold had a family and his mother would have them in a constant uproar if she called daily – or  more. He had only himself to be put in an uproar, and felt obligated to take her calls for years. Finally his doctor had laid down the law and protested he could not counter the anxiety the woman produced, not even with drugs. When faced with being pushed into an early rejuv he couldn’t afford he finally got a spine.

Now if she called again the same week he refused the call. It had only taken a few hundred tries before she realized he, the good son, meant it just like Harold. She still was simmering over the time last century he had visited Triton to write a series on their mining industry. She honestly had no clue why they could not just chat back and forth normally at that distance. He’d given up trying to explain it. Damn sure she wasn’t going to give Sandy a hard time or he’d cut her down to a call a month – see if he wouldn’t. In four centuries almost anyone can manage to grow up. Even a mama’s boy.

There was a slight feeling of dislocation, an almost unperceivable tug forward that made Ted look out the port. There was a faint golden glow standing away from  slight flare of the lifting body shape. He pulled his harness he had never taken off nice and snug. If anything happened it probably would be of no use, but old habits are hard to break. Finally there was a soft chime and the cabin crew announced what he had already noted – that they were in approach for Manama. He wore long sleeves and an embroidered hat in respect of local sensibilities.

He accessed his translator service and made sure he had the latest local slang, names in the news and current events for the district of  Bahrain and the Greater Caliphate. He looked enough like the locals to fit in well. He’d had his hair and moustache trimmed in the local style, and his white shirt was sewn with the proper shape of collar and double front pockets with plaits currently in style. He carried his documents and a few other necessary items in a small belt purse instead of a western wallet. Not that he was going to try to pass for a local. He just wanted to be as little off-putting as possible. They would know he was a North American as soon as he opened his mouth, but at least they might not tag him as Jewish and as an investigator so easily.

* * *

            The medical supply firm which he approached in Manama, supposedly to buy a compact gene sequencer should pay it’s sensitive people more. Fifty thousand EuroMarks and a ticket to Yemen had been sufficient to get a copy of their customer list going back six months. The young woman who supplied the list had called in sick the next morning and plead a family emergency was taking her home. It should take her employers several days to figure she wasn’t coming back. Yemen was conveniently beyond her employers ability to summon her if her male relatives forbade her to return. By the time they had any desire to really press the point they’d have greater concerns.

The one address on the customer list which stood out was a user of agricultural equipment, not medical devices and systems. That had been the smoking gun he was looking for. Other investigators were already pursuing that anomaly and Ted was done with this case and speeding home, still headed west by a coincidence of available connections, losing a day to circumnavigation, which would cut into his per diem. That was ok, in his work that averaged out.

* * *

            Sandra wore tailored tan pants in the current loose style, with scarlet piping along the seams and edges. A safari jacket with a padded shooting shoulder showed a matching scarlet lining at the collar and cuffs. Not only unusually modest, but it had enough body he suspected it was armor. A wise precaution considering some of the places she traveled. She enjoyed explaining the padded shoulder’s function and seeing people’s discomfort. But she didn’t constantly try to tweak him, just the majority of the so mundane public she regarded as fools. The host at Harrington’s remembered them although it had been at least a year since they’d been in. Even if it was just hospitality software he appreciated being remembered. They declined companionship and entertainment and accepted a table in the public area. Both of them enjoyed the feeling of being in a group even if they didn’t want the adventure of meeting strangers tonight. They had entirely too much of a private nature to discuss.

The scallops were marvelous, faintly browned on the edges, with just a hint of Sherry. The fireplace near their table was real, not simulated. Every once in a while a waiter would add a piece of wood so the reality of the extravagance was not lost on anyone. Ted skipped the wine after a few sips wanting his faculties for the proposal. Sandra had it recorked and sent to their room after the entree.

Ted plowed ahead with his proposal, wanting to resolve it so he could either enjoy the rest of their date or wallow in his misery. It seemed to amuse Sandra and she accepted his proposal for a year, signing it electronically with an almost absent minded indifference before they even had dessert. By the time they retired to their room the court had recognized their contract and they were man and wife. He would have carried her across the threshold, but she declined teasing he would hurt himself or bang her head on the doorway. If she wasn’t a traditionalist it still felt like a honeymoon.

They both traveled so much in their work it didn’t matter which home they favored. Both of their homes were investments and they determined to keep and use both of them, rendezvousing in whichever was handy to meet. A few more changes of clothing and some toiletries were all the move either needed.

* * *

            Next week, Ted was in Singapore, Sandra was off somewhere in secret. What he didn’t know he couldn’t accidentally divulge. Business over for the day he was looking forward to his mother’s weekly call. Usually it was strained. He’d try to tell her in a simplified way she could understand what he was doing in his profession. Even though they got video and the extravagance of printed out news papers at her retirement community he could tell she didn’t really understand what he told her. In her mind governments still told corporations what to do, and hazard futures were immoral because you were betting that bad things would happen, and profit from them if they did. He’d tried to point out death insurance let you profit from a predictable bad thing with little effect. At least this time he’d have good news to tell her about marrying Sandra. He was sure she’d disapprove of some detail, probably that she had not taken his name, or keeping both houses. She disapproved of his massive house for one person before. She was proud of the fact she was content with four hundred cubic meters, and didn’t see why one person needed any more. The fact she had no ground or air car, no need to entertain large groups, no hobbies that required room, and the retirement village served all her meals didn’t matter. Her unit did have the luxury of a snack kitchen where she could prepare pop corn or even sandwiches if she didn’t want them delivered from the community kitchen. She had an exaggerated idea of the independence this gave her.

He was relaxed in his hotel, soft music playing when she called. The picture that came up was just flat not a holo. He wondered if her phone died if she could even buy another 2D now. The people at her retirement village were such fossils some probably used audio only.

“Where are you Teddy?” He could see her examining his background, looking for clues. She still had glasses, not trusting any surgeon to ‘mess with her eyes’, and refusing the modern deep rejuv that would alter basic genetic defects instead of just rewinding the clock. Ted wondered if they still made butterfly glasses with rhinestones or if those were the same pair she’d had forever.

“What does it matter Momma? My number connects you to me wherever I am. I’m in Singapore tonight. In a hotel room that could be in New York or Berlin. They’re all the same.”

“Traveling is not good for you. You never eat properly traveling. I hope you have some prunes or something to keep your bowels moving.”

“Believe me Momma, if the hotel didn’t serve safe nutritious food they’d be out of business in a week. It isn’t like the old days when you were growing up. You can’t hide anything like that today. I check to see if there are any complaints on the net before I even make a reservation. And they have a beautiful gym. I swam laps this morning before I had breakfast and went out for business.”

“I called on your birthday last week but I couldn’t get through.”

“Did you leave a message for me?” Ted gently prodded.

“You know I don’t talk to a machine. I’m your mother not a phone salesman. You should take an extra message on special days.”

“Yes Momma, taking a deep breath and staying calm, but I remember when Harold let you call special days too. You called everything on the calendar. The high holidays and the new year, the legal holidays and the commercial ones like grandparent’s day. My God Momma, we’re Jewish and you called on St Patrick’s day, Valentine’s day and Christmas!”

“It don’t hurt to fit in,” she protested. “That’s why I named you boys like I did. There are too many won’t give you the time of day if your name sounds Jewish. I was being practical.”

Ted wanted to tell her that was out of date too. Here in North America it almost was, but last week in the Caliphate it would have been worth his life to wander around the back streets marked as a Jew.

“Momma I have some good news that will make you happy,” he said, ignoring the previous argument.  “Sandra asked me some time ago to marry her and after some thought I brought the idea up again last week and she accepted.”

Ted could hear the deep sigh clearly. “Is she a nice Jewish girl Teddy?”

“Well, I don’t know Mamma. We never talked about religion. I’m not sure if she has any strong religious opinions at all. What does it matter Momma? I haven’t seen the inside of a synagogue for a couple hundred years myself.”

“It matters to me. And I wonder what sort of a wedding you will have. Do you think I want to go in some church and see you married with a big cross hanging behind a preacher?”

“Momma, we’re already married. She affirmed my contract and registered it with the court before we were even done with dinner. We never considered having a big formal ceremony and inviting people.”

“That’s not married,” her face went into that mask he knew too well meant she didn’t approve. “That’s a business merger.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way. I thought you’d be happy for me.” Ted decided now was not the time to tell her it was a one year renewable contract.

“Is she from a good family? Are they people of substance or did she marry you for your money?” she asked suspiciously.

“The financial part of our agreement says we keep our financial affairs separate. That’s what most couples do now Mamma. I have no idea how much she makes, but she has made partner in a very well regarded law firm. Most firms pay their partners well and add a bonus of fifty or sixty million a year for even the newest partners.” Ted knew that would sound like a lot of money to his mother. “She has a beautiful home in Toronto nicer than mine, and a small flat on the moon. We are keeping both houses. I don’t know much about her parents except they are younger than you. She is only in her second century and they were only in their fifties when they had her. They retired early too. They live in Armstrong.”

“That’s the moon, isn’t it?”

“Yes Momma. The sector that lives under American law.”

“But she’s Canadian?”

“I…I don’t know Momma. I’m not sure where she was born. She might have multiple citizenship or declared herself extraterritorial. A lot of lawyers do that so they can’t be accused of bias. It doesn’t matter much unless you are living off  negative income tax.”  That was a sensitive subject because his mother’s savings had not kept up with inflation, and she was more and more dependent on the distribution.

“Whatever,” Momma said in slang mode that was almost four centuries out of date. Every year her usage got further from the main stream so he was almost translating their conversation to understand it. “So when can I meet your new wife?”

Ted kicked himself for not anticipating this. He imagined she’d want to screen her, but not ask for a physical visit. Maybe he could manage her away from the idea…

“She’s working Momma. I don’t even know where because her current assignment is a secret. She should be done in just a few days and when we are together again I’d have her screen…er, call you.” That would cost him an extra call, which she’d try to keep asking for once he yielded a bit, but better than a trip.

“A call is not like seeing someone face to face. Are you ashamed to have her see your mother? Are you afraid I’ll be old fashioned and embarrass you?”

Yes, he thought, but didn’t dare voice it. The way med-tech was going they could both be around another four hundred years, and if he had kids she could get a court order for visitation more generous than anything he wanted to grant. He had no desire to emigrate to the outer system to avoid her. He liked living on a planet with skies and real gravity.

“You know traveling doesn’t agree with you,” he reminded her. “If you’d only let me get you a decent holophone. You can’t tell the image from the real thing.”

“You can’t hug a holo. Besides, I want to see how this girl lives and what sort of person she is to take care of my son.”

He bit off telling her he could take care of himself just fine and he didn’t marry her to take care of him. It would have been wasted. It had been sixty years since he’d taken her outside her retirement village. The last time he’d taken her on public transportation and she’d asked out loud  in her booming voice, “What the hell kind of freak is that?” when she saw a gene altered gentleman. She had to have seen them on TV, but maybe she thought they were special effects not real. The judge although noting such behavior was the norm when she was a youngster, and that she choose to be isolated in her period retirement home, had fined her fifty thousand dollars and told her not to come out in public if she didn’t learn what was acceptable behavior. Ted was sure it didn’t mean anything to her because she never stood before the judge in a physical courtroom. The hearing was done on com and the money never left her hand – it was just numbers that changed in an account she never looked at anyway.

“Maybe I should bring Sandra there. Remember how much trouble it was last time you traveled?”

“I want to see how this Sandra of yours keeps her house and what her taste is. I have to buy you a wedding present yet. It’s just across the lake to Toronto. Why don’t you bring a car? You’re always telling me you make plenty enough money. Surely you can afford to hire a car. Martha my neighbor I play cribbage with hires a car and driver every Christmas to go visit.”

“I’ll do that, Momma,” he relented, seeing no way out, and dreading a present that would need stored and hauled out for displayed if she came to visit again. “When Sandra gets back and we are both going to be at her place I’ll give you a call.” That satisfied her and he was able to wind it down and terminate. His usual post-Momma headache pounding, he got some analgesics out of his case and washed them down with mini-bar vodka. They hit like a ton of bricks when washed down with the booze. A car was a better idea, an extravagance he hardly ever bothered with for himself, but much cheaper than a fine for insulting strangers if she blurted out some inane observation again. Much cheaper if the judge saw the record and noted her previous conviction. He did maintain a license for air and ground. No need to take a chance she’d insult a driver.

The rest of the week went slow. The impending visit hanging over him like a sentencing hearing. He wrapped up his work sooner than he expected. He didn’t realize the cloud hanging over his head was so visible. One of his sources he expected to bribe had spilled his guts for free and seemed anxious to be clear of him. The man thought he was the object of the smoldering resentment on Ted’s face. The normal TeddieBeah looked like an angry Bruin this week. He got twice as much work done radiating anger like some sort of beacon. When he was able to retreat to the comfort of his own condo in Atlanta he signed himself off as unavailable for assignment. He did that so rarely that there was no objection.

A long run on the track and a comfort food breakfast at the community dinning hall of grits and real eggs helped soften his mood. He walked home to his workshop and put on some calming music. He’d displayed his workshop at the Pittsburgh convention in the spring. And taken the second prize losing out to a fellow who had a 2010 garage. The fellow had deserved the blue ribbon easily. There were no hard feeling over it. He wasn’t that competitive. The first prize diorama had not only a real 2006 Jeep but all the working tools and instrumentation to maintain it. The fellow even had some exotic tools like an arc welder that took special license and certification to own just as side items in his display. There were numerous extra details such as period containers of auto body products like polish and wax. As a fellow exhibiter he’d been invited behind the rope and even sat in the Jeep talking to the owner. The fellow had a video of him driving the manual control vehicle on a private ranch road out west. He’d joined half a dozen other auto owners there for a vacation and traded rides. They had all managed to pilot the behemoths around with no radar or computer controls and not bump into one another. That was amazing when you read how many thousands of wrecks had happened every single year back when auto controls were not mandatory. It made him wonder why they had been called automobiles back then when they really were not automatic at all.

His own display was a woodshop of the same period. He had class A through C power tool operator licenses for drill press, router and power saw. His Dewalt saw was an original antique with a cast iron table and a old 115 volt motor he had to run off a step down transformer. Because the man held the same certificates he’d allowed the Jeep exhibitor to cut a block of walnut with his help, and route his name on the face. The fellow had been really tickled. It took a full two days to ship everything back from Pittsburgh and set it back up at home again. Unwrapping each tool and hanging it on the peg board just so. He’d started a project of boxes before going to Singapore. He’d had the wood on order for over a year. Real Oak not simulated. They were glued up with mitered corners and he’d flock the inside when they were done. The lid was topped with a bought wood knob. That was his next acquisition – a lath for turning that sort of thing. A couple hours cutting and assembling and his frayed nerves were much better. He wished he had been born of an era one could do this sort of work for a living. He knew a CNC machine center and robotic handler could do in seconds what had taken him hours. But there was a satisfaction you couldn’t get by rendering it on a screen and having it returned completed to your hand with no effort.

Between the comfort of his own home, and soothing time at his hobby, by the time Sandra was back home he could join her and was able to calmly ask her to meet his mother. She didn’t seem put off despite his warnings that his mother was a caricature of herself, a twenty first century New York Jewish Mother in full plumage. He carefully warned her what subjects were sensitive and needed care or avoidance. In their home she rarely wore more than a sports bra and baggy shorts. Sometimes nothing at all. His warning to be modest was laughed at and she finally chased him away saying she had to get ready and he should calm down and go pick her up.

The guard at the retirement village checked his ID with more care than he’d received at classified government installations. He was directed away from the residence wings to the recreation and enrichment hall. He rolled over with the electric taxi motor in his nose wheel. It was too close to bother to lift and the elaborate landscaping looked like his fans would damage it.

As he parked he figured out the gardeners were not professionals but residents doing the flowers beds and sculpting the hedges as a hobby. He had to admit the results were impressive. Every bit as much a labor of love as his woodworking.

Walking through the doors was always strange. The furniture, the lighting fixtures, everything was dated like walking on a period movie set. Even most of the residents had on older fashions. He wondered who made them. Surely the originals were long worn out. It almost felt like the color should drain away from the scene and leave it sepia like an old faded photo.

His mother was sitting dressed for her outing and enthroned in a lounge chair like a queen for a day. She had on a suit with a straight skirt and a handbag that belonged in the Smithsonian. Her shoes were utterly impractical. He was glad they weren’t marching around an air terminal. Not to mention such shoes were considered kinky sex toys now. A fact that would horrify her. She even had a funny little hat pinned on her hair. Thankfully she was not quite old enough to consider a pair of gloves necessary for a public outing. Ted wasn’t sure by how many decades she had missed that custom. He could remember seeing them in flat movies that were not too far behind her era. A hard sided suitcase at her feet announced that she considered Toronto an overnight trip. He wasn’t about to correct that with the circle of cronies in pants suits and blue jeans inspecting him to see if he was worthy to remove their queen.

“Momma, you look lovely. Ladies,” he acknowledged, and bowed gallantly to the hostile audience. He snatched up the suitcase before she could force him to engage in chit-chat with her minions. “We’d best go,” he suggested adding a little white lie. “There’s rain coming soon and I’d rather have clear skies to cross the lake.”

“Oh you’re taking an air car,” one of her purple pant suited retainers said with obvious distain. “I always get queasy in those things.”

“It’s a five hour drive to go around through Buffalo,” he explained. “On auto it’s rarely more than twenty minutes straight across.”

“Don’t worry,” his mother patted her companions knee. “Teddy’s father always flew us about back when it was all manual. He was a as heavy handed and clumsy as a flier as he was with everything else,” she said , winking. “and I survived that too.” They all exchanged smirks and seemed to share a private joke in which Ted was left out. He was happy his mother stood up and they could flee the circle of harpies.

They taxied out of the security gate, Ted being more certain now that blowing the flowers  lodged flat wouldn’t go over very well. He turned into the slow lane, turned it on automatic and control granted them an immediate rolling lift. It was a glorious pretty day and the windows darkened on the sunny side as they lifted into sunlight. Downtown Cleveland was a bit to the west on their left and they could see the Canadian side before they had cleared the near shore. There must be a lot of traffic today for them to be slotted so high. This was Sandra’s flyer. His was in Atlanta. He only used his locally and always went commercial between their homes. He thought his mother would comment on it, the mauve interior with plush fabrics obviously not his taste. But she seemed oblivious. The noise increased subtly as the car switched from lift to forward acceleration. In just a couple minutes the pattern of waves in the water below was falling visibly astern. There was a slight vibration to the slipstream that said they were pushing the Mach, then the nose dipped almost imperceptivity and the noise faded back so conversation was easier.

“Sandra’s condo is in a rather large community just like mine,” he tried chatting up his mother. “They average about three thousand occupied units. Quite a few families. Some people like it so well they stay and just buy out a different floor plan when their needs change. That way they keep the same kitchen and services package. My place in Atlanta has private garages, but hers has a community parking deck. That’s not much of a burden because her car here,” he patted the dash, “is smart enough to go park itself.”

“Does she know any of her neighbors then?” her mother seemed actually interested.

“Oh yes, She had a little party back before we were married and there were two neighbors there. One an artist lady who works in physical media, and an older gentleman who is retired now, but used to work in banking. I gather quite a few meet each other for tennis and chat in the exercise rooms and pool.

“Is that it?” Momma asked. A sprawled clump of buildings loomed close in front of them. They were on a long shallow dive aimed well below the horizon straight at the complex.

“Sure is. We should be down in five minutes.” He let the car stay on auto but laid his hands loosely on the yoke – just in case. A stab with his right thumb would override and put them on manual. Then he’d better have a very good reason to explain why he did so to control.

Sandy’s car was a luxury model and wasted a few grams of fuel making a gentle transition to hover and touched down so lightly they couldn’t feel it. They knew they were landed when the turbines spooled down to silence. As they walked away the car taxied away to park itself silently.

The landscaping was not nearly as impressive as his mother’s building. Security however was just as tight. Momma seemed a bit put off, but didn’t complain when she had to press her hand flat on a glass panel for the guard. She did wipe it first with a frilly hankie. The guard watched from a holo screen, unsurprised. The people in this complex went in an out a great deal more than a retirement community, and he had to cover several entries. There would have been much more of a delay if Ted hadn’t cleared all his momma’s information ahead of time with security.

Ted hoped the inside would impress her. Her retirement home was old fashioned. It had hallways like a hotel. The sort of building the current generation would dismiss as a rat warren. Here the residences opened on a common courtyard in groups of eight. It was a domed area like a little park, with a short passage at two corners to other courtyards. Even that was wide not a hallway, with benches and art to break it up. They only had to walk to the far side of the first courtyard to reach Sandy’s door.

“Hello, we’re home,” he called for his mom’s benefit when they stepped in. He’d dropped a message on Sandy’s implant when they landed, but he knew from experience his mother would find it spooky if they communicated silently. Something smelled good, stronger than he was used to. He was nonplussed when Sandra came out of her hobby room wearing a costume she used for exhibitions, but she took over hugging his mother and chatting away so she never noticed his confusion.

“That’s your show getup.” Ted IM’d her so she’d read it off her heads-up privately.

“Ted take your mother’s things down to the blue bedroom,” she instructed ignoring his message. “I have just a couple things to wrap up in here and we can have a bite. Would you like to step in my kitchen for a moment Mother Weis?”

“Oh, Just call me Sara,” his mom said in a buttery voice he hadn’t heard in a long time.

“Don’t be juggling my elbow,” Sandra instructed him by implant as he walked the suitcase down to his mother’s room. “I can’t trade IM’s or audio and not show it to where she will figure out we’re talking around her. I’ll give you audio but just listen,” she warned him.

“My goodness, I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve seen a young woman in a shirtwaist dress,” his mother gushed.

“Do you like it? There is a lady in the building who can make clothing from your measurements for almost any period. Here, sit at the table and I’ll finish up and take this in the dining room.”

“Why don’t you just serve us here dear? I’m sure there is plenty of room and it seems so much more intimate.”

“If you’d like. Here, I have a pad and table cloth for this table. I’m ever so careful of the enameled top.”

Ted came back to find the Sears table which he knew to be insured for seven hundred thousand dollars actually set for dinner with antique Corelle and almost priceless real glass tumblers. The smell he’d noticed coming in was now identified by a loaf of bread cooling on the sideboard. He wondered briefly if Sandy faked that, putting an unsliced loaf in a warm oven, but the bread fit too tightly in the antique loaf pan. She’d actually baked bread in her oven.

They were going to sit and eat with her best collection pieces. He was scared to death. One mistake could ruin a piece that might be insured, but that didn’t mean a replacement piece could be found. It might take years for one to come up at an auction.

“Sit down Ted. You look like you need a drink. Would you like a little wine?”

Ted pictured himself holding a glass of red wine over her antique Irish Linen tablecloth. It would be like holding a grenade with the pin pulled. “No, please, just a glass of water would be fine.” He sat on one of the chairs carefully. He’d never sat on one before. His mother and Sandy babbled on about roast beef and new potatoes and he eased the chair up to the table careful not to stress it. They hardly knew he was there.

The beef was tender as could be. That was fortunate, because he was afraid to really cut hard with his knife. He knew it was silly but he could see the precious plate splitting in two under his cut. Everything he did was awkward – calculated – and when Sandra insisted she would serve dessert in the TV room he was relieved even though he had never heard they had a TV room. He’d gladly follow anywhere they wanted to go to get away from the terror of damaging something.

The TV room turned out to be Sandra’s office. It did have the biggest wall screen in the house. To his relief they didn’t screen anything though. Sandy had the screen on an environmental channel with great herds of African beasts on a dusty plain. He knew his mother was disgusted with most modern  entertainment, but she was content talking away with Sandy. She seemed genuinely interested in her work. Sandy was relating a case she had tried on Luna and if the legal details were beyond his mother she approved that way Sandy had made sure the scum who had committed fraud was brought to sure justice. Finally his mother started yawning, and Sandy insisted on showing her to her room.

“I’ve had such a good time,” his mother said getting up. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve had such a good visit with Teddy.” Ted just smiled. He hadn’t said a thing for hours.

“You just speak my name out loud if you need anything,” Sandy told her giving her a hug. The house AI will call me if you need me. I have to be up and away early, but I’ll have the community kitchen lay out a nice breakfast for Ted and you in the morning.”

“Oh, that too bad. But I’m glad we had this evening.” If he’d done that to her his mom would have given him hell for ducking out on her. He was amazed. Sandy had her wrapped around her finger. He just sat still, scared he’d do something to spoil it as they walked down the hall. Momma didn’t even say good night, busy chatting away with Sandy.

* * *

            “You are amazing,” Ted told her when she returned to their room. “I’ve never seen anyone tame the savage beast like you. I’m so relieved that is over and I don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

“Oh she’s nothing. She’s a sweetheart. I’ve had experience with much worse.”

“I’ve met your mother,” Ted objected. “Both your parents are very modern people. I can’t imagine them giving you are hard time like my mother, or being an embarrassment in public.”

“No, not my mother, my nonna, my granny.”

“You’ve never mentioned her. What’s she like?”

“She was born in 1930. It was the Great Depression worldwide. There was no work and no money so her family had to go back to the Italian mountain village where they had roots to survive on the family farm.”

“That’s even before my mother’s generation.”

Sandy nodded agreement. “Then when she was almost thirteen the Fascists took all the men away from their village as unreliable.”

“Fascists?”

“World War II – what they call the First Atomic War now. So she got involved with the resistance, the partisans. She’d quite proud she learned to handle a rifle as well as a man and shot or blew up a few Nazis herself.”

“That’s – remarkable.” Ted had never held a real firearm.

“So after the war the family came to America. She did too many jobs to even start to tell and ended up in a nursing home in 2027 when she was ninety-seven years old. She was frail but sharp mentally. Of course I wasn’t born yet. My parents hadn’t had their first rejuv even. I have pictures of her in the nursing home. She was the stereotypical Old World grandma in all black with the button up kidskin shoes and a head scarf. In 2032 she had her first rejuv. It took really well, and her next one was even better. To look at her today she looks about like a natural sixty. A very robust sixty. And she dropped the period clothing so you’d never notice her in a crowd. She’s likely one of the oldest people alive today, coming up on her fifth century.”

“So she’s a handful? Does she live in a period retirement home like my mother with people her age?”

“Not at all. She lives in a regular community on Sicily and she climbs on the shuttle any time it strikes her fancy and goes to visit my folks in Armstrong. As far as a handful…If I tried to handle her she’d give me her beady eyed look and tell me not to teach granny how to cut hay.”

“So, Italy, she…I mean your family must be Catholic right? Have you told her you married a Jew? Is that a problem?”

“Not at all. When I screened her she said any people the Nazis and Fascists hated so bad couldn’t be all bad.”

“Does she uh…get in trouble out in public like my mother?”

“No, if she makes a point you can bet she can defend it or it can be taken two ways. She has implants and has declared herself extraterritorial. She cave dives for fun and keeps a shuttle certificate current for orbit to orbit and airless landings. She said if you have a backbone and can drink like a man, we’ll have her blessing.”

“Backbone? Oh…” he hadn’t heard that usage in awhile. “Well I better lay in a supply of Sober-Ez  if we ever visit her.”

“That might be a good idea Dear,” Sandy said giving him a peck, and calling the lights out. “She’s coming to meet you this weekend.”

“Dear God,” he whispered to the dark.

END

All rights reserved

Ball and Chain – A stand alone short

 

Ball and Chain

Mackey Chandler

            “It’s this damn Slump,” Tim Kirkland grumped. “There’s no market for even Earth mined materials, how can Luna possibly develop an economy without exports? If it wasn’t for defense they’d have probably pulled back and mothballed the Moon bases already. For sure they would have if they weren’t scared the other fellows would snatch the whole Moon. When things get back to normal and scarcity kicks in again things will open up. I’ve had my application in for Luna now for seven years. I’m way ahead of most folks in the Queue.”

“Are you applied with the Americans, Indians or the Chinese?” Aaron asked skeptically.

“The Americans and Indians both actually. The Chinese wouldn’t take my reservation without a full deposit and an assurance I wasn’t signed on with anyone else, snotty little buggers.”

“I’m tired of hearing The Slump, The Slump, as an excuse for everything,” Aaron growled. They should tell the truth and call it the Greater Depression. You’re thirty-two years old man. How long has it been The Slump for you?”

“Call it twenty, twenty-six years. Depends on if you count from 2008 or 2012. I remember as a kid we had it pretty good. I was an only, but still, we used to go out to eat a couple times a week. My mom and my dad both kept a car. My God those were cars too, big lumbering steel beasts built like a battle tank.”

“Let’s be honest. Is there any guarantee it won’t still be The Slump twenty years forward from now? Other than the same promises just before every election?”

“Prosperity is just ahead. It’s as certain as global warming,” he said sarcastically. The continued cold weather was as responsible for the prolonged slump in the economy as any political stupidity. Nobody had ever disavowed the carbon treaties and such, they simply stopped talking about it. Maybe they hoped people would forget, but they hadn’t.

“You could save enough to go by the time you are forty likely. If you don’t marry and if you don’t get caught with your ‘investments’.”

Tim made a squelching motion with his hand and grimaced. It was a family burger place, and noisy, but he hadn’t pulled the battery on his phone, and you just never knew when you might be monitored at random. He pulled it now, and pulled the foil faced paper from under his fries and wrapped the phone in that too.”

“My, you are getting paranoid,” Aaron marveled. “Don’t you have your minders on the take so you don’t have to worry about such things?”

“You can buy off your security folks but it gets expensive. I’d rather make the effort and keep my profits maximized. Anyway, you know I don’t just want to take a two week lift as a tourist. I want to live up there, maybe even beyond the Moon if that happens in my lifetime.”

“If you’re that much of a risk taker I’m encouraged. I wanted to run a solution past you, but wasn’t sure you’d have the guts to consider it.”

“If that’s your idea of drawing me into a warm feeling of camaraderie you need to work on your presentation. If I’m such a cowardly lout you can find someone else better I’m sure.”

“No, I don’t think so. I don’t know anyone as eager to go to the Moon, except my nephew Eddy and he’s just turned twelve, so that’s a bit of a wait too. What if I had a way to open up travel not just for you, but for everyone? We can’t change the economy, but there are other factors in the equation to alter. Changes that would do a world of good for quite a few people. I have a little development I’ve been working on. I have a patent application in on it right now actually. It can change the expense factor of lifting to the Moon, and everywhere else above Clarke orbit too.”

“Lift vehicles are a very mature Technology,” Tim objected. “Nobody is willing to build  nuclear rockets for political reasons. I suspect they have a few actually, but if they do it’s damn black and likely to stay that way. I know you do fiber design and nano fabrication for the University. I’m pretty sure you’re the smartest guy I know, Aaron. But I don’t see even you designing an anti-gravity machine in that home workshop of yours.”

“Not at all. But you are aware they have had materials now for about five years, which could be used to make a Beanstalk?”

“As in “Fountains of Paradise”? A humongous ball and chain on the Earth? I read it would take about fifty-Trillion dollars to put a real one up, and that was US dollars, not Canadian. I can just imagine every jihadist in the world salivating at the idea of getting a tactical nuke on an elevator car if they did build the thing. I don’t like to characterize us as the poor cousins, but if it gets built it will be the Americans. Canada doesn’t have that kind of wealth free to use, and it will take a huge application of military and political power to run the thing. You have to buy off some nation on the equator, and then pour enough troops and equipment around the base of the thing so nobody thanks you for building it and then nationalizes it. I can’t think of anywhere around the Earth’s waist I’d want to trust.”

“Yes, but, it was a Russian, Tsiolkovsky, who developed the concept, long before it was popular in fiction. But a ball and chain is restrictive, this is more like a lifeline thrown in stormy seas. I’d like you to give me your word that you will hold this closely confidential, and I’d like to invite you over tomorrow evening to demo a few things for you.”

“Well,” Tim huffed, raising his eyebrows. “I’m not used to such gravity and formality, but you have my word as a gentleman, if such a thing can truly exist today.”

“It does if you wish it,” Aaron assured him. “I’ll pick up the tab today too,” he offered and swiped his paycard for both meals.

* * *

            “I’m here to see the stuff,” Tim growled in his best gangster style when Aaron opened the door.

“What, no body guards? No evil henchmen waiting in the car?” The absurdity of a wiseguy named Timmy made him smile, but he’d never tell his friend that.

“I prefer minions. They’re much more cost effective and low key.”

Tim hung his jacket and stood on his boot heels in turn to step out of his boots. He’d been here before. It wasn’t a house rule, but if he left his boots on Aaron’s eyes kept going back to them, worrying about his crème carpets.

“I hope you can wrap this up in time for the game.”

“Who’s playing, uh, you mean hockey I assume?”

“No, Bocce Ball,” he said and rolled his eyes.

“I don’t think I have any beer, you’ll get cross with me.”

“I have twelve cooling in the car. They won’t freeze for another hour.”

“Let’s get downstairs then. They lose all their fizz if you pop them slushy.”

 * * *

            “This is a pair of die maker’s stereo magnifiers,” Aaron offered, putting his on to show Tim how. “You turn the knob on the left to adjust the magnification. The right knob adjust the little headlight at the temple pieces. The over shade is to protect from laser so don’t be tipping it up.”

He picked up small bit of metal with a frosty stone set in it. “This is a diamond anvil with a nice tapered hole drilled through it. I have a piece of Bucky wrap that is strong enough to build a space elevator looped through the diamond. And the anvil slips into this handle,” he said sliding a hand grip back until the anvil snugged in hollow on his side, “so you can pull on it without slicing your fingers off like a cheese cutter.” A tube surrounded the line on the other side.

“That’s so thin, do you loop that through and tie a knot by hand? I’d never feel it.”

“You’d feel it when it cut your fingers. The line is braided of nine smaller fibers. You clamp it two places, push them towards each other to spread them open, and interweave the end back into itself. Now, this is as far as the line reaches from the wall over there.” He pulled on the handle and it didn’t come past the edge of the bench he was using. Tim squinted along the line in the direction of an anchor set in the concrete wall. He could see a few centimeters of it finer than a hair, and then it was lost to sight off toward the wall.

“I’m going to have you snap this, but I want to anneal a place near the anvil. If it snaps at the other end the whole thing can whip back and cut you. When it breaks near the handle it will fly toward the wall.” He pulled a pocket laser and laid the tiny line across a graphite block. He pushed the switch repeatedly and  a red spot glowed hot each time. “There, pull on it a bit, see how strong it is.”

Tim picked up the hand piece  and pulled it. It came to a definite stop, but was free to move side to side. The line to the wall was long enough you couldn’t feel the arc. Tim leaned until his weight was hanging on it.

“Amazing stuff.” Tim said. “There is no give to it at all.”

“Now go ahead and give it a good jerk. I can break it so I know you can.”

Tim took a stance, so he wouldn’t overbalance and turned his hand around with the protective tube sticking up through the middle of his fingers. He gave one pretty good jerk, but it didn’t snap. He backed his swing up a bit further and snapped it clean with one hard pull. He followed through but didn’t lose control.

“Tough stuff,” was all he acknowledged.

“Indeed. Now this is the new thing I brought you to see,” he said picking up a similar but bulkier hand piece. “It is a bit thinner so crank up the magnification because I want you to see it better”

Tim leaned in and adjusted the viewer.

“See the wedge pushed in the hole with this one? That’s an electrical contact. Now observe the surface color of the thread.” He flipped a switch that stuck out of the grip. “Did you see that?”

“It went from dull black to kind of shiny I think.”

“Yes. That’s exactly right. Now I want you to do the same thing as before, except…”

Tin snapped the line taunt with everything he had.

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

The handle ripped out of his hand and he doubled over his abused wrist holding it against his waist with his other hand.

“Holy shit. Nothing should be that strong,” Tim objected hopping up and down a little.

“Did you break it?” Aaron asked concerned.

“I didn’t hear a crack, but I think I better put some ice around it and watch it a bit. You can damn well go out and bring the beer in. You could have talked a little faster Dude.”

They stayed upstairs and watched Toronto starting against Detroit. The wrist didn’t turn funny colors or swell quickly so they concluded he didn’t break anything.

“I’m thinking about it,” Tim said. “I still see problems.”

“I know a few. I have something else to show you after the game.”

“To hell with the game,” Tim said getting up. “Toronto zero, Detroit two. They have the better goalie and that’s how it will wrap up. If it doesn’t I’m down six-thousand dollars in the morning. Try not to hurt me with this next demo.”

“I know you are concerned about a site for a Beanstalk. I have a model prepared to show you a concept. Here we have our globe.” It was a globe too, taken off the usual mount and put on an electric motor shaft.

“This is our base location,” he pointed out a screw firmly driven into Ecuador on the globe.

“Here is our counter weight,” he produce a golf ball with an eyelet screwed into it and a straw colored thread dangling. “The tread is just Kevlar, but it is our cable.” He looped the thread around the screw and tied it. The tread reached all the way around the globe and just enough to hang it back over the screw.

“Stand back, I cracked myself on the knee with this first time I spun it.”

“You’re dangerous man.”

Aaron retreated to a switch and turned it on. The globe spun and flung the ball out. It whipped around the globe in a blur until he killed the switch again and it dropped and bounced to a stop.

“Yep, that’s just what I pictured,” Tim agreed.

“But that isn’t the only way to do it,” Aaron told him pulling a screwdriver out of his pocket. He took the screw out of Ecuador and started turning it into a hole he hadn’t noticed. It was Toronto.

“But, you can’t do that,” Tim objected.

“Would you rather Vancouver?” Aaron asked pleasantly. “It has a better climate I admit. And you don’t have to bring shipping for the elevator up the Saint Lawrence. But there are financial reasons and political considerations. I certainly don’t want it in Quebec, and it’s about a tossup for shipping grain off the plains. I suspect a great deal of rye and oats will be riding up the thing.”

“That’s not what I mean. You can’t just screw the bloody thing on anywhere. That’s cheating.”

“Why?” Aaron asked him. “Oh it might get a bit difficult above above sixty degrees north. But at Toronto you have significant angular velocity.”

“Well, you know, it’s out of balance. It has to hang off the center straight.”

“Ah,” Aaron sighed agreeably, You’re going to hang another on the other side so we don’t unbalance the earth and make it wobbly all over the place. I expect some die hard environmentalist  to bring that up actually. I didn’t think you so Green.”

“Well not wobble,” Tim insisted indignantly. “I know the elevator won’t mass that much compared to the Earth, But it won’t pull straight. This is just a shell. The real Earth pulls with gravity, so the line of force pulling on the counterweight down,” he demonstrated with his hands, “won’t be in line with the tension on the line,” he asserted, very happy with himself.

“And the counter weight would not be exactly at the Clarke orbit. In fact it would be just a hair more difficult to match a spaceship with it and dock than on a perfect equatorial orbit,” he went on and finished repositioning the screw. “But then too, a lot of other users in Earth orbit might be just as happy  not to have this huge battering ram of a counter weight whizzing about the planet right in the plane where they want to naturally orbit free floating objects.” he pointed out.

“But tell me. If there was no gravity involved where would the counterweight float when you spun up the system?”

“Right in the lane of rotation. At right angles to a line through the poles.”

“Okay, ” Aaron agreed, retreating and flipping the motor on again,”pretty much like this right?”

The ball zoomed around in a plane that passed through Toronto.”Now gravity is pulling the golf ball down too. It must be dipped down toward the floor a half degree or so. It just swings over on the thread a bit and finds an equilibrium position right?”

“Too small to see, but yeah, must be,” he agreed.

“Now if we were talking about using material that was strained almost to the yield point, I’d worry about having it in a slight arc with side forces on it. The primary problem has always been the weight of the cable hanging on itself, not the tension or forces of cars climbing up and down. My new material is so much stronger there’s no need to worry about that. We’ll have a good engineering margin like proper designers know is necessary. None of this building the world’s biggest high speed centrifuge with no protective cage.”

“Crap, I feel stupid.”

“Not at all. We just changed a part of the equation everyone assumed was a constant.”

“Let’s go back upstairs. I need another beer.”

* * *

            “Can you tell me in short sensible terms why it’s so strong?

“It’s a form of Bucky too. You have a long bucky-tube and create regular defects on the side walls. There is a high temperature superconductor inside and it cross links through these defects and locks the fibers together. It’s similar to how wool felts up when you pack it, but on a molecular scale. You work harden them by moving them around and more of these side opening line up and bound. So it grows stronger as you load it and unload it. It has about the same strength as regular bucky tube material. But if you hook a battery up it will actively resist being elongated. It actually pulls back against the force applied. Pull more, it draws more current. You reach a threshold where it can’t draw any more current and it fails spectacularly. Obviously using it to build you need a very reliable power source to trust something with actively powered mechanical properties. You start off with a big roll of bucky with the material inside and keep rolling it down thinner and thinner. At the end you have to draw it through diamond dies in an intense magnetic field.

* * *

            “Would you like to help me build it?” Aaron asked. “I mean, you’re going there anyway, right?”

“I’d love to see you build it, but you need some real high-powered business help to bring something like that to market. You need investment bankers, and lawyers and people I don’t know.”

“You want to go yourself. This will open the road faster than anything on the horizon. You can go while you are still a fairly young man. It will be all the other applications that pay for the Beanstalk. That will be your work for a long time. Somebody else I wouldn’t be sure they wouldn’t get bogged down with all the other applications and never get around to building the Stalk. I’ll have other people for various things, but I want you for my business guy. This is going to change everything about bridges, and body armor, and rotating devices, pressure vessels, high pressure chemistry, synthetic diamonds and other materials. All that has to be started and the use of it known and standard before the cable goes up. I’m willing to let you have the majority ownership of the Beanstalk as a separation bonus when we are done. By that time you won’t want to work for me anymore, and I will have so much income from the other uses it’s silly to think I can want for anything.”

“Aaron, you are talking Billions of dollars to own an orbital elevator. I don’t have the kind of capital to start to do a mailing to promote this thing.”

“So we start with lesser applications. You are good with business, I’m not. At least there isn’t any cloud hanging over my rights. I was smart enough to document all my work on this. Every time I logged on the computer and the time line of every physical experiment I did. There is not a dollar of Government money or an hour of University time involved. I own the intellectual property clear. I’ve even kept a more detailed log of my work for the University so if they say – “Well, you must have worked on it sometime.” I can say – Here, show me where it fit in. Was it while I lectured all day on April 8, 2019? Just lets have one thing clear,” Aaron said and looked at him hard. “You try to screw me out of the whole thing, and I’ll cut the living heart out of your chest and let you die looking at the bloody thing.” He was holding his hand out cupped between them and looking Tim right in the eye.

Tim looked at his palm like he could see it beating there. “Partner, those are the kind of contract terms a guy doesn’t forget. I’m still in.”

* * *

            “I thought twelve years was wildly optimistic,” Aaron said. “Ten years was fantastic. You did a fine job, Tim.”

“I thought twenty years was downright depressing,” Tim countered. “I didn’t want to ride a gurney up the damn thing.”

They both stood and watched the dots of elevator cars accelerating away up the shiny black column. So huge it seemed unreal, and the fact it tilted off the vertical over toward the South still looked strange to Tim.

“I thought we’d have more resistance, especially from the Americans, but everything fell into place, especially the last couple years.”

Tim just looked at him with that superb poker face.

“What? You know I can’t read you when you are like that. But it tells me you have something going on in there you don’t want to reveal.”

“The government got a lot more cooperative two years ago. Remember when General McPherson was retired?”

“Yeah?”

“They called me in the morning you flew to Hong Kong. You remember that trip?”

“Sure, we were having trouble getting cobalt. The guy who controlled it was there.”

“McPherson had a bunch of Air Force goons, come by and give me one of those invitations you can’t turn down to go talk with him.”

Aaron thought a minute and nodded. “Now I remember, I got the appointment and if I took the fast plane I could be there for breakfast and head right back. You weren’t in your office and neither was Madeline, so I called a car and hustled to the airport. I knew you had stuff to do anyway, so you wouldn’t have come along.”

“You remember when you called me next?”

Aaron made a show of thinking. “It’s been two years. From the hotel?” he asked.

“Nope, you called from the plane. General McPherson had just explained to me that the government couldn’t let one man in private control of their access to space as a matter of national security. He was letting me know I was expected to help them in the transition to nationalization.”

“Son of a bitch.” Aaron said.

“So right at that point you call, doing paper work and talking to me on the side all distracted. I know exactly what you sound like when you are doing that.  McPherson wanted to know what was happening. I informed him that as soon as he pulled me in you, by some strange coincidence, were on a private supersonic headed for Hong Kong within ten minutes. I told him that was the first time in eight years you’d walked out like that without telling me. His communication tech looks at him and says, “Voice analysis says a bit more than 97% probability of truthfulness.”

“There’s no way he could have known we set this up,” he objected. “That’s when the other two guys with us wearing stars started getting all twitchy.

“You can listen in I assume,” I told them and went back to your call. “You never noticed.”

“Well sure. You were always covering the mic and yelling at somebody. I never twitched at a little dead air time. I guess that would sound strange to somebody who doesn’t know us.”

“So I asked when you would be back, and as usual you were noncommittal, so I took a chance,” I said, “Aaron tell me straight. Are you coming back?”

“You always say weird stuff like – Are you going to stay in Fuji with the native girls? Some of us have work to do Aaron. Don’t you think it’s time to buy Peru? I distinctly remember one time I had you on speaker phone and you told the whole executive board of Mitsubishi you didn’t think I loved you anymore. They all think to this day that we’re secret Joy Boys. That’s how I know your calls are over. You never say hello or goodbye like normal people.”

“Do you remember how you signed off?

“Nah, it’s been too long. I always try to be as big a smart ass as you, but it’s hard. You’re pretty damn quick.”

“Give me a reason,” you said. It had just been a particularly nasty week here with snow and ice. That could explain why you said, “I might find the climate more pleasing in China,” you said that and hung up.

“That sounds…”

“Yep, couldn’t have said anything better if we’d had a play book and worked it out ahead of time. They thought for sure you were defecting. The jackass looked at his creep with the military grade lie machine. Kid just shakes his head he isn’t reading any deceit at all.”

“The General says, “You expect me to believe this private citizen penetrates our security better than we hack his, and is willing to fly away from all this wealth he has created these last eight years and will start over again in China?”

“So I told him a little bit of the truth.”

“I don’t expect you to believe anything. But one of my main jobs is spreading his money all over the planet as fast as it comes in, so some self-important fascist, who couldn’t start to create what he has created, can’t just walk in and steal it without even a gun in his hand. That ‘private citizen’ just sold licenses this quarter greater than the GNP of France,” I told him.

“What can we do? One of the other Generals asked.

“I have no idea,” I told him. “I have no idea who he uses or how he gets intelligence. Are you familiar with when his University sued him and tried to take his patents?” I asked them. “His lawyers came into court with twenty-six spiral bound notebooks. They were provably his holographic documents by the handwriting and their age was testable. They were too extensive to have been generated as a fraud in the available time. They detailed any period of ten minutes in his life for the last six years to prove he made his invention on his own time. They documented every drive, every meal, every phone call and movie he saw. He even documented when he took a crap. What kind of a man foresees he’s going to need something like that? Every point you could check like stopping to buy fuel for his car or if he bought a coffee with his paycard was accurate. I do know for damn sure I’m not going to cross him.”

“Thank you, Tim.”

“Don’t thank me. I related to them the little speech you gave me about ripping my living heart out and letting me die staring at the bloody thing if I tried to screw you.” The asshole actually had the nerve to look at his techie and confirm I wasn’t making it up.”

“Oh, my.”

“All I could suggest to them was that they dismantle whatever idiotic scheme they had devised and if you thought they could be trusted to mean it you’d find out and  you’d come back. I wasn’t about advise you what to do when you obviously had better sources of advice than me. I was going to go back to work and hope the whole sorry mess blew over. And I did.”

“Wow, the whole thing was a gigantic bluff,” Aaron said smiling. But his eyes weren’t laughing anymore than they had been for the heart speech.

“Was it? You always have kept everyone separated doing their own job. I barely knew we have a Security department for example. Except they are there instantly if you need them. I thought maybe it was bluff, but Hiroshi saw me last year and started reminiscing about when you flew out to talk to him. Funny how people remember and replay a visit with an important person when mundane things are forgotten. A fellow might be in the army and sixty years later what he remembers is the day the President  visited his outfit and shook hands with him. Hiroshi said how impressed he was with your decisiveness. He remembered how you dashed to the plane in order to get there for a breakfast meeting and then called him when in the air to make the appointment, not the other way around. ‘How can you turn down a person with that force of will?’ he asked.”

“Well it’s been two years, those things get kind of hazy,” Aaron allowed and looked at Tim with honest affection. “You know, I told you I wanted you for my business guy. It wasn’t really your concern who took care of other matters, or how. I’d say everyone did a splendid job. It’s time for me to hand over the rest of my stock in the Beanstalk like I promised. You’ve had your fill of running back down here for little problems these last couple months. I expect I’ll come up for a weekend and see how you are doing. You can show me the sights, take me to Apollo Park.”

“I’d love that, but don’t dawdle. Things are so much cheaper now, and building up so fast, I expect to be able to buy commercial passage to Mars pretty soon. I think I’d like to see it before it is all crowded.”

Aaron nodded agreement but had that distracted look he always got when he was really thinking. “I expect you already know, it would be much easier to build an elevator on Mars than Earth. I mean, as long as you are going there anyway,” he pointed out.

END

Rights reserved

Godzilla sort of scene – snippet

This is from late in April past where I will snippet chapters. It deals with Home making war on North America. I hope I get the epic disaster flavor right-

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Martin Crain was seven hours into his work day. Tired and sucking down some coffee to carry him to the end. A little more than another hour and he’d drop his road train of three trailers at a routing yard in St Louis, and get a room. He was almost to the Mississippi bridge when a East St. Louis cop car and an Illinois State Trooper both passed him going flat out. They didn’t have their lights on but traffic was light and the two left lanes mostly open.

His dashboard display worked for GPS, but the satellite based traffic warning system had been down for a couple weeks. His eyes flicked up to it anyway out of habit. The traffic coming the other way was about the same as his side so that was a good sign. He thought he’d get past whatever the cops were responding to until he got another mile and saw the backup. There were about two dozen road trains and big rigs stopped in the two right lanes. A handful of private cars could be seen in the third lane about two hundred meters ahead right at the edge of the bridge. He flipped on his flashers and braked to a stop in the second lane.

Martin shut his engine off quickly to conserve fuel. He waited until two more trucks were stopped behind him so he knew nobody would be plowing into his stopped rig and locked his cab and walked forward to see what was wrong.

The Illinois State trooper was parked across the left lanes, and the city cop across the right. There was some kind of pounding coming from the river, like a jack hammer but slower. When he got all the way to the front the cops had reflective tape draped from the center divider to their cars in turn and to the last reflector on the shoulder before the bridge abutment itself.

The drivers were four deep around the city cop and he couldn’t even get close so he asked a fellow driver hanging back if he knew what was going on.

“Somebody is tearing up the cable support delta tower on this side of the river. I’m from the second rig there in the right lane. When I stopped you could see the concrete dust drifting out from under the bridge deck.”

Martin looked around. There were no aircraft in sight, and no sounds like a gun firing. It didn’t make any sense.

“If it’s serious why aren’t they blocking off the bridge from the Missouri side?”

“Damned if I know,” the other driver told him. “The cops said they called them over there. I guess that’s why they call it the ‘Show Me’ state.”

Just then the constant crack, crack, crack was drowned out by a long shriek of tortured steel tearing. The near tower fell, thankfully away from them, falling straight along the highway. The cables sang like giant guitar strings, then tore out of the nearby foundations and whipped high in the air following the tower. The deck of the bridge was smashed down into the water out well past the center of the river. The rigs like Martin’s still filling the eastbound lanes crushed like toys. Water from the river fell all around them like a sudden heavy rain. The delta tower on the opposite bank was pulled toward them briefly in seeming slow motion, and then rebounded and fell on the Missouri approaches the same direction the near tower had fallen.

When all the noise finally died down Martin looked at the other driver standing mouth still hanging open and staring in horror.

“Well I guess that showed them,” he agreed.

“April” First Chapter Snippet

Building on Prologue posted last – book is done at 200k words. A big fat book.

Chapter 1

            Art checked the time again. It was 09:27, Sunday, Oct 3, 2083. He was finally past the three day hold he’d been ordered to endure and to able take his mission active. He was tired of wandering the boring corridors or eating in the cafeteria watching these irritating people, unable to say anything to them about their antisocial acts. Patience wasn’t something that came easily to him.

He’d suspected two of the other passengers in his shuttle as likely fellow agents, but no one had contacted him and he’s seen neither of them these three days.

He stepped out of the elevator with careful little steps, taking the measure of the acceleration on this deck. The clumsiness he experienced changing weight every time he stepped out on a new level was starting to wear him down because it seemed beyond him to acclimate to it. It was doubly irritating because he’d done so well in zero G.

The attitude of people was wearing him down too. At home he was used to civilians being afraid of him in uniform, especially when they saw the gray shoulder patch that said he was on interservice loan to Homeland Security.

This corridor was at a nominal half G, the lowest used for habitation, and he picked up speed warily as he turned with spin and headed for the elevator down to the next deck which would be about 70% G.

He’d circled all around his target’s apartment, making sure he had a clear mental picture of what surrounded it in three dimensions not trusting the blueprints he’d studied to be current. The Singh kid wasn’t home. He’d made sure he was starting breakfast at the cafeteria when he’d quickly ended his own breakfast and left. The boy had stayed away from the apartment returning late every day so far.

If only the father had taken his son when he went off station, it would have made his mission much easier. The boy was sixteen, still a minor, so it was illegal abuse under USNA law to leave him at home alone, but Singh hadn’t boarded him out or hired a sitter while he was gone. As far as he could tell reading the directory there wasn’t any care facility for teens on the habitat, and no commercial sitting services. They seemed to just ignore quite a few laws that were taken for granted below. It had shocked him at first and he didn’t understand why his briefing hadn’t spelled out how different it was on the hab. It was like a different country.

The schedule for the nanoelectronics conference the father was attending at ISSII said he’d be gone over a week and Art’s superiors somehow knew the man would be staying on after it ended too. A number of sentences started but not finished and significant looks between his superiors convinced him there were a lot of details they hadn’t felt it necessary to share with him.

The father’s workplace was definitely off limits. He had stretched his orders yesterday and done a light surveillance of the Lucent Lab where Singh worked as part of his ‘acclimation’. Their security was as tight as the rest of the station was lax. Not only electronic, but armed guards at a single choke point entry. There was no way was he getting in there without a court order to open up in his hand.

Art was going as fast as he felt safe to shuffle along touching the wall tentatively and was slowing down to turn the corner when he heard a colophony of shrill voices and the rapid scuff of little feet overtaking him. He stopped short of the corner his back to the wall and waited to see what was passing him.

Four local children went by with a floating gait, graceful as antelope in slow motion. Chattering over each other in a strange slang so fast and loud that he couldn’t figure out what any one of them was saying. They all looked to be eight to ten years old and dressed bizarrely. Not a one of them would have made it through a security gate at a school or mall in North America looking like that without being turned away or held and their parents called. Not that they were technically illegal, but Neighborhood Defenders considered community standards too, not just the letter of the law, and eccentric appearance was disruptive. That they might have their own community standards was something beyond Art’s rigid world view.

All of them were shamelessly bare legged in shorts with sticky footies. They all had expensive spex on even though they were little kids. Letting kids wear expensive stuff in public was just begging for them to be robbed or worse. At least it was down below. Only one of them had gloves on while they were out touching every grubby call button and take hold in the public areas as if they were safe in their own homes, and there was not a mask, knee pad, elbow pad or head protection of any sort to be seen on any of them while they were out running wild in the public corridor.

Not only were they completely unescorted by an adult and half naked for any perv or terrorist out prowling around to snatch but the one in the lead didn’t have any sort of shirt on at all. The reason for that was obviously to show off the colorful dragon drawn curled across his belly, under his left arm, up the back and looped over the shoulder with its snarling head staring at him with boggled eyes and open jaws.

When they passed the one in front with the dragon spun around in mid leap to take a look back at him, and his face was very Oriental with strong epicanthal folds on the eyelids. The motion threw out long braided pigtails startling him. A bare breasted boy was bad enough, but surely they wouldn’t let a little girl go out in public with no top on! Unless they allowed long braided hair on a boy…He couldn’t decide which would be worse. The thought was so shocking he gasped at the audacity of it, either was indecent, and the tattoo! That was beyond the pall.

He certainly hoped that was a fake. He couldn’t imagine a child having a real tattoo. At least he hoped it was just body markers and would fade out in a week or so. Earthside you might let your boys swim topless if you had your own very private pool, and some folks would mind their own business if they found out. But if you tried that in public, even if they were escorted, Family Services would have them in custody in a heartbeat for endangerment, and you’d be on trial for neglect. Lately, public sentiment was such that even short sleeved shirts were frowned on in really conservative areas. Some restaurants would refuse you service in shorts or short sleeves, adult or child.

The middle children ignored him in passing, but the last child in line seeing the front runner look back kicked off the deck like a ballerina en Pointe and made a lazy turn in the half G examining Art with the tactless stare children use. It was hard to tell, but this one also appeared to be a girl although the hair was shorter and she was strikingly Caucasian with corn silk blond hair and bright blue eyes.

She threw her arms out to slow her spin enough to look Art over better and on her forehead the shiny cabochon of a Public Eye lens on a headband looked him over too. That was not-something-he-wanted, to be on a video archive somewhere. Maybe her folks made her wear it for her protection even if they were crazy enough to let her out of the house alone. In that case, he could hope the vid would scroll off private storage in a few days.

She pulled her arms in to spin faster and landed just in time to join hands with her friends to the front as the lead kid grabbed a take hold bar and swung the whole line of his friends around the corner. The arched line of them swung around the corner in a crack the whip maneuver that Art would not have believed possible if he hadn’t seen it. The end girl curled up and hung on against the snap double handed by stretching back out to ease it. So comfortable with the gymnastics that she took time to look over her shoulder at him like he was the strange one here. Somewhere on the other side of the corner she must have found a take hold and the line disappeared from his view in a reverse maneuver.

By the time he eased around the intersection they were gone from sight and just their voices echoed down the empty corridor. They looked like a bunch of savages, he thought. Even the kids in the Arabic Protectorate weren’t as bold when he’d done patrol there. These kids looked at you without a trace of fear on their faces. He found that really offensive.

Down a level on the elevator and along the corridor at a new rhythm brought him to his target’s door. Not only was there not a visible camera on the residence hallways, there was no real security system on the door either, just a taste and code lock. It never occurred to him that cameras were deliberately visible only for the intimidation factor.

Naval Intelligence had used a government inserted back door to get him the entry codes off the habitat’s computers. He could have cracked such an easy entry himself, but he had learned early to not display too many skills or his instructors asked where he had acquired them. His small hobby of burglary as a teenager had never been discovered or he’d have never been accepted into the service for anything but scut duty.

The same caution had kept him from asking the experienced fellows about the prospects of liberating souvenirs on missions. All he needed was one self righteous straight arrow blabbing to ruin the game he had planned.

Art pulled his pad off his belt and ran it around the hatch edges checking for hidden security systems with his military plug-ins. If he somehow alerted the station security he had a set of get out of jail free documents in his pouch. That wouldn’t be the way to impress his superiors on his first solo though, to need bailed out. His briefing had emphasized – if you can’t achieve your objectives, withdraw without making our activities known. In other words – don’t screw up. If they wanted to draw public attention to the investigation they’d just walk in with warrants, not send in an operative.

            He pushed the call button just to be sure there was nobody inside. If it was linked to somebody’s phone he’d ask for the wrong name. After a pause he punched the stolen numerical code in and the door opened without a hitch. He stepped through into the dark, closing the door, and pulled a small light out. There didn’t seem to be any manual light switch near the door so he took another chance and said aloud, “Lights up.” They came on full without any alarm even at a strange voice, so he was encouraged. Even in a walled and gated community Earthside this place would have never lasted a week without being robbed by somebody, maybe a grade school kid. It was hard to believe that anything of value could be in such an insecure place.

He took a deep breath happy to find he still got that deep thrill of being in a forbidden place he’d had as a teenager, even if he did have government sanction now. The place was ridiculously small for the home of a well paid and important worker. Everything he’d heard on Earth was these people were all rich, and here this nano-electronic engineer was living in an apartment the size of his parents garage. He was starting to doubt he’d find anything worth boosting for himself while he was here.

A quick walk through was in order. The house com console was an unlikely place to keep anything really sensitive. Most of its memory resided in the network and it could never be made sufficiently secure. Of the two tiny bedrooms the first obviously belonged to the teenage son with very casual clothing and a mess of study papers and printouts on the desk. The kid was a pack-rat with boxes of junk and electronic parts piled in the corner and bottom of the closet. Some sports equipment was piled on the unmade bed and a mound of visibly dirty footies and grimy socks was piled by the desk.

The father’s room looked like the jackpot with an actual stand alone computer. He cut all data feeds in and out and sealed the ventilation as he’d been trained. There was still no alarm, so the environmental controls depended on positive reporting, not fail safes. The shoe box size computer unit was optical fibered to the wall screen instead of wireless, and had no network connection at all. That was damn suspicious for a computer able to do some complex modeling. Who monitored his usage if it was off line?

His briefing had not told him explicitly what he was seeking. He was to bring any and all technical materials and computer memory out with him and let somebody else evaluate it. The computer looked like the target, but first he did a general toss of the room. He took his general purpose tool out and used the pliers to get a grip on the carpet in the corner and systematically pulled it all up. He pad-scanned the mattress and pillows but used his knife and slit them open just to be sure. There were some old fashioned hard print codex books and he riffled them and all he got was a few personal photos and old receipts that might have simply been bookmarks. They were all commercially published so nothing he’d want even if technical.

There was little clothing but he pulled each piece off the hangers and the few with pockets he either searched or simply squeezed the pocket to feel for anything. There was a hard copy file with some legal papers and some currency with writing in a language he didn’t know. It was all non-target material but in the bottom there were three small gold coins, and this was just the sort of personal bonus he had hoped would be common when he applied for training. He carefully sealed them in a pocket, somewhat satisfied.

He wanted to be able to exit immediately once he dealt with the computer so he took a moment to relieve himself. He used the toilet and returned to the bedroom and made a simple line drawing of a laughing seal with a globe of the world balanced on its nose, and the barest simple outline of the Americas on the sphere. No point in having this much fun and not intimating who tossed their place. It was always good to sow a little fear.

It didn’t directly violate his orders he reasoned – since they had to infer that the seal was meant to be a SEAL. He wasn’t going to draw any anchors around the globe or anything blatant. He drew it right on the big thin screen on the wall, ruining the plastic surface with the vacuum marker, ignoring the little voice in his head that said this was a bad idea.

He was finally ready to do the computer and get out of here. A quick check with the pad showed no outgassing from any explosives and there was no signal being sent over the power cord. It shouldn’t have an alarm or booby trap. He took the multi-tool and snipped the optic fiber. If disconnecting the power raised some sort of alarm he would immediately trot out the door with the whole box under his arm. It was a normal push and twist plug at the wall, but no connector at the case, so he unplugged it and then immediately cut the cord almost flush with the case. Still no alarms, so he relaxed another small increment and pulled a chair up to crack the box open for the memory.

The case was a little taller than wide and he used his multi-tool to take the fasteners out of the two top corners. Then he tipped it on its side to raise the bottom corner where it was easy to get at. There was a sort of boiling sound he could feel through the case and he immediately felt heat on his face. He jumped up in a panic, so hard he left the deck in the low G, knocking the chair over behind him, and whipped the box back upright, but it was too late.

There was a plum size ball of white hot molten steel already melted through the side of the case before he could tip it back. It was far too hot to look at so he had purple flash blobbies floating before his eyes before he could look away. Art had heard of thermite before in training, but never seen what it really looked like first hand. The composite counter top was holding up better than the metal computer case had but it was sizzling, melting a crater, and giving off lots of smoke.

The horrible plastic fumes were already making his flash shocked eyes water. There was a plastic waste basket under the desk and he grabbed it running for the shower in the tiny bathroom, desperately muttering, “Shit, shit, shit,” all the way. The flow was good and he had an almost full waste basket in seconds.

Rushing back in the ball was visibly lower in the counter top and he tried not to look directly at the glare of it. It was not through yet, the low G was helping him there, and he sloshed a big splash of water across it. The steam that flashed back rolled up the wall to join the layer of gray smoke fanning out across the overhead, burning his hand holding the rim of the basket badly enough to make him jump back.

There was a drawer underneath the shelf the molten metal was eating through and he yanked it open and hastily dumped the rest of the water in it on top of the pencils and pens and things, and slammed it shut. The steam that had flashed up condensed on the cool bulkhead immediately, where it ran back down cutting clean streaks through the soot, and pooling like ink on top of the counter. He ran back to the shower coughing at the burnt plastic smell and filled his improvised bucket again. Behind him he heard the sudden hiss as the white hot mass fell in the drawer with a layer of water in the bottom.   By the time he ran back in it had melted through the pens and such then the bottom of the drawer before he could get the waste basket under it. The water in the drawer poured out slowly in the low G right on top of the diminished but still molten ball. That was a lucky accident he hadn’t foreseen, but it helped a lot that all the water was directed right where he needed it. He slowly poured the new pail of water on it too, forcing himself not to pull back when the steam billowed up even though it made him gasp and cough. At last it eased off until it was simply making a sizzling boiling sound instead of the breathy sound of steam flashing.

When he’d dribbled the last of the water out he stepped back and tossed the empty waste basket on the bed. He hands were shaking from the realization he had barely stopped it before it melted through the deck into the next apartment. As it was the metal decking slumped around the dull lump so it was a close thing. He poked it with his toe, but it was welded tight to the metal deck. It was still hot enough it boiled off an expanding dry circle around itself as he watched, water fizzing on the expanding circle between wet and dry.

He glanced up at the seal and globe he’d drawn. Maybe that hadn’t been the very best idea, but it was too late now. He certainly wasn’t going to try to roll up the big thing and take it with him. He stumbled back to the bath again, pulling the bedroom door shut behind him to close off as much of the stink as he could. He turned the shower on dead cold, and very low flow, adjusting it to a fine mist. He stripped his glove and held his burnt hand in that cold spray as long as he dare. At least no skin had come off with the glove. He stepped back and stripped as quickly as he could, the burnt hand slowing him. The shower mist in the small room cleared the stink from the air pretty well. He soaped up his sooty face left handed, checking it in the mirror set at face level in the stall. He tried to ease on a little warmth in the spray, but as soon as it hit his burnt right hand he gasped and turned it back cold. It was a bright pink, but he decided it wouldn’t blister or peel right away. Once he looked presentable he eased the blow dry on and stood shivering as the stall flushed with warm air, holding his right hand above his head out of the direct flow.

He was recovering enough to be angry now. If he had some bobby trap of his own he’d gladly leave it but his superiors had debated at length before allowing him just a pistol and frangible rounds. He was sure they had come close to sending him unarmed. Right now he was so hot he would have cheerfully left a nuke for these damn people if he had one. Somehow, he had to get back and get a piece of these people another time – to even up the score.

It was awkward to dress one handed. His shirt was so sooty he decided it would be less obvious inside-out than filthy. But the air in the tiny living area was not too bad when he went out. It didn’t make his eyes water and burn as they had in the bedroom. He punched for the door to open, called lights down, stepped through, and locked the door from outside with the number code again.

He was just happy not to meet Fire and Rescue responding in the corridor. Back at the Holiday Inn, he’d get some ointment from his kit on the burnt hand and some fresh gloves. Well, he thought. How in the hell am I going to write this up to sound like it wasn’t a total screw up?

 

Prologue to the book “April”

As an alternative to the last two previous snippets posted about alien contact, I have a book further along about a space habitat set in a much closer time frame. Here is the opening prologue for that book:

 

APRIL

by

Mackey Chandler

Prologue

September 12, 2083 – Boise, Idaho

            Colonel James Harris, USNA Aerospace Forces watched the vendor’s team fussing over the MNQR and checked the time again anxiously. His commander liked to write orders that read like the one he was operating under today: “You will be prepared for a test at 1400 Zulu.” These civilians seemed to take that to mean, “It would be nice if you could…” They made him nervous with the cabinet still open, when less than seven minutes remained on the clock until the scheduled test run.

The new and very highly classified device they were examining didn’t offer all that many possibilities for a catchy acronym, but they were making do with pronouncing it as Moniker. The Multiverse Neutrino Quantum Receiver. He understood it was at its heart a quantum computer. That was about all he understood. He wasn’t an ignorant man or a technophobe but when they tried to explain how it worked the whole idea sounded just  irrational to him.

How it worked might be exotic, but anyone could understand what it was supposed to actually do. It was the same as radio, a way to transmit information, but with a different media. It detected a neutrino flux with a sensitivity that was similar to how their conventional receivers detected ordinary electromagnetic radiation.

Where before a neutrino detector required a huge tank of fluid buried deep underground, and could barely sense a source of the elusive particles, this new device detected the sum of events in an unknown but vast number of  parallel devices. That’s where they lost him. When he had asked what the transmitter was like that produced those pulses they had brusquely informed him he had no need to know, that was another group’s concern.

The unit they were testing was not an experimental set, but the first generation portable unit that, hopefully, a military techie, a rating, could set up and use in field conditions. They had the first group of ratings observing today.

After much discussion a civilian technician latched down the cover on the equipment much to Col. Harris’ relief. Three large elevated screens let everyone in the room see what was happening. A clock in the corner of the center screen showed less than two minutes to the first scheduled transmission. People stopped moving about, grabbed seats, and all the murmuring died away in anticipation.

The counter in the corner of the screen reached zero and right on cue a series of spikes scrolled in the upper right corner of the screen. That raised a murmur of satisfaction among the technical crowd. The spikes changed from a constant series and started having gaps among them. The left screen started representing this variation as blocks of ones and zeros. The last display interpreted the timing of the pulses received as spatial information. On a see through representation of the Earth, continents looking like they were embossed on a glass globe, a tetrahedron formed through the globe between the three detectors and the transmitter. Unless there was an island in that part of the Pacific he wasn’t familiar with, they must have it on a ship. Today they were building on previous successful tests and trying to tweak the bandwidth a little wider.

“We don’t have any drop outs here,” the chief researcher said over the open network. “All three receivers check against each other…What’s that?” he interjected.

On the crystalline representation of the globe, the three lines marking the cords between the receivers and the transmitter were flickering. When they faltered  three new lines were drawn  forming a pyramid with a new apex off the location in the Pacific, and indeed off the Earth’s surface slightly into near space.

“What the hell?” the head honcho started, and then it was as if his question itself triggered a response. The wave forms flowing so smoothly seconds before dissolved in a meaningless hash on the screen, and the data scroll ended.

While the man stood, open mouthed, one of the rating, carefully kept back from the current activity spoke up. “That’s jamming. I’ve seen the same thing in satellite  controlled UMVs, Run your gain way down and you might be able to localize it.”

Nobody replied to the lowly fellow, but several lab coated civilians got their heads together and started entering something manually on a keyboard. Some of the numbers on the screen started a slow scroll down, and abruptly the globe reappeared and the data resumed with all ones imposed, but the directional lock was lost.

“It’s a 400 MHz buzz,” the one technician reported without turning around. “Not nice clean pulses either but spikes, dirty spikes with quite a bit of variation, but no deliberate drop outs like we were inserting.”

Recovering, their boss found his composure again. “See if you can get the receivers to compare variations and get a directional lock.”

The underlings played at it, selecting various length packets until they approached near a millisecond in length to reacquire, and the three lines reappeared pointing to a spot in the sky. Further refining narrowed its location down to about twenty meters. They opened a smaller window scaled to show detail and watched, quietly arguing with each other and making hurried calls to the other receiver teams. “We can write a specific program for it later to get a closer fix on the location – narrow it down off the recorded data too if we want,” one fellow announced. The track on the screen was following an orbit, but it was wobbling like a badminton shuttlecock that was broken.

“Jim, can you get your boys to check what is at that location we’re stacking? Here’s an address to tap into the running data,” he offered, showing his pad.

He spliced his office into the feed and listened intently to the quick reply from Space Command Tracking before he turned to the waiting scientists.

“The elements you are feeding them are a dead match for the habitat Mitsubishi 3,” That produced a lot of indignation and several outright objections.

On the screen, the strong emissions ended much more abruptly then they had started.

“The Japanese? The Japanese can’t even make the…uwff!” One of them got cut off by an associate’s elbow before he could say too much.

“I find it real hard to believe they have even a transmitter, much less a receiver,” he told the one who cut him off, holding his ribs. Both of them glared at each other. “To speak of them being so far ahead they are designing powerful jamming devices is ridiculous.”

The lowly young soldier who had suggested it was a jammer spoke up. “Doesn’t mean it was designed as a jammer,” he pointed out. “My wife has an old  hair dryer at home – no intent involved at all – but when she runs it – it jams the hell out of the TV.”

They looked at each other with new purpose, and still no acknowledgment of his help.

“So,” one said slowly, “we need to define all the categories of devices that might generate such a signal as an unintended consequence,” he very tentatively proposed.

“Don’t worry on it too much son,” Colonel Harris told him. “Mitsubishi 3 may sound Japanese but it’s the American subsidiary of the company that built number three, so it’s under USNA law.  I’d say long before you can think-tank a list of what it could be somebody will simply go take a look-see and we’ll know exactly what’s causing the fuss.”

And generations later…

The world of aliens with a racial memory described in the prologue posted last meet men. Those with the advantage of perfect memory have spread through the world and subdued it. It would be a very homogenous society but accidents still happen. Can those with damaged memory survive?

Handicapped

            Generation 27 of the new Third Bloodline peered through the fronds of a fern-like leaf at the new clearing. Her skin was a tiger strip of black and bright green with just enough dapples of yellow and orange to break up the pattern and mimic the blossoms on the air plants that hung everywhere. A smaller copy of her camouflaged visage, Generation 28, looked from behind her shoulder, gripping a fighting arm for reassurance. The way she clung was a step back from the healthy independence she had just started to show. If any of her sisters had added a generation 29 word had not reached her yet, but she was close to breeding age.

She was terribly fond of her young daughter. She didn’t have what human’s considered a name, just the twenty-eighth generation daughter who lived in the big valley beyond the wide river on the edge of civilization, and a mental picture of her unique pattern of tiger stripes and spots. Even the valley and the river had no name beyond being associated with all the visual true memories since the first Sister walked up to its banks and saw it. Everybody knew what you meant by the river unless you made a point of saying the old river across the mountains where our mothers used to live. That did not mean they were simple or any less given to discussing deep questions than humans. They had three times as many words for rank, status, and social standing as humans used. And while theft of personal items like a spear or necklace was unknown, theft of real estate was a very serious problem. One that was usually associated with murder of the owner.

She reached awkwardly across herself with a small unclawed feeding arm and gave a reassuring pat to the delicate long fingers curled around her muscular lower arm.

“No dear,” she assured her daughter quietly, “I know this isn’t anything at all like we have a true memory of, for all that is worth.”

The rumble of a bulldozer pushing dirt toward them made them confident they could speak safely with privacy. The horrible racket had awakened them at first dawn vibrating through the earth more than the air. But here in sight of the strange monster the air was so thick with its noise they both folded their ears down flat in discomfort and squeezed their ear orifices almost closed. Their overall appearance was strongly reptilian, with a smooth slightly pebbled skin capable of color changes, but the ears were huge scooped affairs worthy of a fox. Another of the strange things had flattened the top of the hill removing all vegetation and pushed a collar of protective dirt around both sides of the huge egg sitting part way down the slope. But the near one was steadily pushing a ridge of  dirt parallel to the unpaved track marking their territory.

It was a relief that this new thing apparently recognized the treeless trail marked ownership and was not to be ignored. The same sort of trail to their left that marked another Sister’s territory was getting the same respect. Where the two boundary trails turned away from each other, the long pile of dirt had turned with each leaving a small triangle of neutral ground about fifty paces on a side. Technically, they were on neutral ground too, on the outside of their perimeter walk. The strip that ran between them and their neighbor’s boundary roads was a free zone anyone could use to travel through between their territories, although neither neighbor kept it as free of small trees and hazards as the walkways to each side. Some might cheat taking the landowner’s walk to avoid pushing through the brush, and trust their ears and nose to duck back in the neutral center if someone came patrolling their land. But it wasn’t a smart idea and some were so surly they would turn and track you if they found strange scent or tracks along their road. On the inside of the road there was no question how to behave. An intruder there would be attacked without challenge or quarter. If that ridge of dirt was a boundary of sorts or would be flattened into a real perimeter road, they had even left a decent gap for a neutral zone, not trying to see how close they could come without a challenge like some pushy neighbors. Still, yesterday the land there had been unclaimed wilderness, and 27 had not thought anyone would be marking it off so soon. She  had rather hoped for her daughter to claim it and live next to her. That was a distressing hitch in her plans.

“Look, what are those?” 28 asked. Some things came from orifices in the egg which closed back up. They had the look of living things, flexible with proper arms and legs which the thing pushing dirt around did not have. She wondered briefly if the huge egg was somehow living also, but rejected it. It had that hard look of a made thing like the dirt pusher, although not the boxy shape. It didn’t squish out at the bottom from its weight and it had that hard shiny look like a rock that the dirt pusher had even though it’s shape was complex. Besides what living thing could lay an egg that big? It would be the size of a mountain. It was disturbing but somehow she was sure they were both made things as much as the spear in her hand.

“Whatever they are they at least have arms and legs even if they are short a pair,” 27 said lifting her heavy middle arms. The three middle fingers and two thumbs curled around the shaft of her weapon mirrored the symmetry of her finer feeding hands, but were not only short and less flexible but held long curved retractable claws that were not entirely under conscious control.

“They are carrying things!” her daughter exclaimed. Indeed the three creatures had a number of items hung on straps and clipped on belts. Two of them had items in their hands that seemed adapted to carry. 27 had never seen a handle and had no word for it. I suppose that is what you have to do if you don’t have enough hands, she thought to herself a little smugly. The third creature was colored much different in splotchy greens that reminded her of her own coloring much more than the bright colors the other two showed. There was something about the way it carried the single dark object before it that made her uneasy. It had an at-the-ready manner that reminded her of an irate landowner with a spear in each great hand.

“Do either of you fools have anything to do with this perversion?” A voice asked them from entirely too close.

27 slowly turned her head and forced herself not to take a step back. Her neighbor had joined them on the neutral strip so stealthily they had been unaware in all the noise. She was blended in the jungle plants and shadows perfectly not ten paces away, which was the purpose of their coloring after all, but she was shamed anyone could walk up on them undetected even with the roar of the dirt pusher and the overwhelming stink of raw dirt and crushed vegetation.

“We have no idea what this new thing is neighbor. We came to see when we heard. You we have seen passing on your patrol road of course.” She did not mention she had never slowed to exchange a greeting or news like neighbors sometimes did if they were civil. In fact she did not even know the Sister’s lineage she had been so stand-offish.

“Do you have any true memory of such creatures, Neighbor?”

“Indeed, I do. I am of the Eleventh Lineage of the Twelve and Generation 112,214 of my Line,” she bragged, “and we have memory of very similar creatures over 80,000 turns of the seasons ago. They had six limbs not four but they were all clawless grasping hands like you see there, because they were all tree dwellers and very tasty too. My line ate the last of them very quickly because they were such a treat and slow of wit.” She turned her head straight on so all four yellow eyes came to bear on them, the two on top of her bulging brain case and the two wide set in the hollows above her jaw hinges.

“They smell just as tasty as I remember too,” she said her nostril slits opening wide with no mannerly covering hand wasted on them. 27 wondered how she could smell anything over the earthy smell with a faint burnt tang to it even though she saw no open flames.

“And yet these seem to walk on the ground and are busy removing all of their trees instead of climbing in them, and it would seem very odd for witless beasts to carry so many made things,” her young daughter was brave enough to speak up and suggest to their neighbor.

“My error offering treasure of experience to…” Her words failed her not having one to describe her contemptible neighbors. “Has your egg mother told you why your heritage is as  short as a tree slug youngster?” she asked with her lips curling back in disgust showing shocking pink gums above a mouth full of shark’s teeth. “Or has she been too ashamed to tell you what sort of world you’ve been brought into?”

“I understand our mother of 27 eggs back was a story teller and went to the sea. She fell on the rocks and hit her head so hard it cracked and was even misshapen when it healed. If she lost much, she still remembered many old tales, which we remember quite well thank you,” she said defensively. I see nothing to hold any shame. We didn’t push our ancestor onto the rocks nor have we memories of eating our own Nest Sisters as I am told some Lineages must bear.”

“How dare you,” the nasty neighbor hissed, all the color draining from her face until it was gloss black. “The shame you should remember is the shame your mother should have felt knowing she was going to drop an egg with no legacy of memory passed on. If she had the mentality left to feel shame. The undamaged rest of the Third want no part of you I can tell you! She should have thrown herself in the sacred sea when she woke so damaged. Or at least had the sense never to wade in the river and expose herself to the males in season. She had to know she’d make some mental cripples with no heritage – no experience.”

“Every Line from the Mothers of the First Dozen Eggs started with no memory but her instruction,” 27 pointed out. “In a million turns of the seasons I doubt there will be all that much difference between us and the original twelve. They all survived through a twenty-seventh and twenty- eighth generation and muddled along on that skimpy heritage, so we will too,” she assured the prejudiced neighbor.

“If you survive,” their neighbor admonished. “There have been other defective Lines arising from the twelve because of injury or disease and I don’t remember one that lasted 1,000 seasons without the wisdom of their dames. And the Great Mother had to have many Sisters in which the True Memory didn’t awaken, yet where are they? They certainly didn’t compete having to learn everything anew each generation like the animals.”

“Agreed then, we’ll just have to see won’t we?” 27 replied, struggling to keep her lips relaxed, and happy she could still see the strips on her nose despite the taunts.

The bulldozer that had been industriously working back and forth stopped this time when it came up to the berm it was constructing and didn’t back up. There was a single round shape on a stalk that turned to them and the dark eye that looked at them was much like a water bug would turn to you before you snatched it from the rocks. It had that hard surfaced look rather than a wet eyeball, but none of them doubted it was an eye observing them. The creatures by the egg stirred, excited about something and the two bright ones abandoned the things they had carried out and started walking toward them. The one in mottled colors plucked at them trying to hold them back, but when he was holding one the other would advance and he couldn’t hold both at once. Of course the poor thing only had two arms. Finally giving up he seemed to decide if they were going to approach the jungle, he would be in front and hurried around them gripping the object he carried differently now.

“Well of course they are the road builders,” Jason told Edna. “If they weren’t they would stay well away from the track there, because it’s a good place to become prey.”

“I wish you could have at least taken time to go back in the shuttle and put on body armor and get a heavier weapon before approaching them,” Lieutenant Hamilton complained. “Look at the size of these creatures. I only come up to about that heavy middle arm, and I bet they cover a good two meter in one stride.”

“Ah, here comes lunch,” their older neighbor sighed. “There isn’t much meat to them it appears. I hope you don’t mind if I claim seniority of the hunt since this isn’t on either one of our territories?”

“Your privilege,” 27 acknowledged,   but I’m not sure these creatures don’t regard that ridge of dirt as their own boundary road. They could be going to go along and flatten it when they are done. They are so different, who is to say they don’t build things different too? But they seem intelligent to me using made things. If you cross that line they may be offended by your trespass.”

“Hah! As if I’d respect a boundary from such bite size stuff. We’re talking about a snack not people fools. I know you remember so little, but these tree dwellers often mimicked intelligent behavior. But one good roar and a charge and you’ll see they throw down any branch or rock they picked up and scatter in panic. If I’m too slow to snatch all three help yourself to a little snack. You’ll probably never get the chance again. I thought they were all extinct even on the edge of unsettled territory like this.”

“That doesn’t look like something they picked up off the forest floor,” 28 whispered to her mother. Now that they were closer, the shape the front one carried was complex. It had all kinds of boxy shapes and a large rod sticking toward them with a hole on the end like a reed when you snap it off to pick your teeth.

The three strange creatures were smaller than even the young daughter, but still bigger than most of the game they ran on their land. All the big game was only True Memories long hunted to extinction. The humans hung back behind the bulldozer that had fallen silent now, seeming to find comfort in the shelter.

“Man, look at the size of that sucker on the right,” the one in camo greens exclaimed.

“Oh! I didn’t even see that one,” the woman confessed.

“You better hope there aren’t another half dozen none of us see in the shadows,” he suggested.

“All the data we saw from orbit and from the drones was there were seldom more than one big animal in each marked territory,” Jason reminded them. He always had an opinion and was quick to share them. “I think we are looking at both our neighbors from those two plots behind them. One large creature in each well marked territory suggests they must be carnivores too. If they understand territorial marking, they may be smart enough not to come over our berm without some sort of invitation. Look, they all have spears. What I wouldn’t give to get one of those and see how the head is fastened on and from how far away the stone was collected!”

“Just stay close enough to get behind the dozer, and be ready to duck, because I don’t want to be pulling one out of your chest,” Lt. Hamilton told him.

“I’m going to see if I can communicate with some simple signs,” Edna informed them.

“Let me go up behind the blade, and you both stay back here until I’m in position,” Hamilton ordered them. “Then you can step out – but not more than two steps away from the back of the dozer and wave your cap or whatever the hell you think will amuse these monsters. They scare the crap out me,” he admitted.

“They’re beautiful,” Edna protested. “Look at the colors. I think I saw that big one ripple its stripes on its nose like a chameleon just now.”

“Uh huh,” Mark Hamilton agreed. He was estimating the big one must weigh about five hundred kilo or a bit more of it was anything like a bear internally. He dialed the projectile size on his gun up to 25 grams and left the velocity at max which would be about 1,200 meters a second. There was no way he could hang on to it dialed up like that at full auto so he dropped the bipod on the front over the dozer blade to absorb the recoil.

Even Jason was a little nervous now and took his laser pistol out and made sure the safety was off and the power set on high. Somehow, it didn’t seem sufficient protection anymore looking at the native from less than a hundred meters.

“Of course we want to avoid hostilities if at all possible,” Jason reminded them. “If we get on bad terms with these fellows we might have to even move to a new location to get somebody who will talk to us.”

“Uh huh,” the lieutenant agreed never taking his eyes away. He was more concerned with surviving the next ten minutes than long term relations.

“I’m going to ease a bit closer, slowly,” the crabby neighbor informed the mother and daughter. “You’d be surprised how close these tree dwellers will let you sneak up on them if you don’t move too sudden. I remember hundreds of successful stalks,” she explained as she edged away.

“Why does she keep insisting they are tree climbers, Momma?” 28 asked in frustration.  “We haven’t seen one in a tree and she already admitted the ones she remembers had six limbs instead of four.”

“Well daughter, I’m just like you. I don’t have the memories of a 100,000 ancestors rattling around in my head just as vivid as if I lived it myself. But from what I have seen these old ones have so much True Memory it’s hard for them to have an original thought of their own. It’s true our poor damaged Line mother was hurt so bad she had to be taught like a nest dwellers new chick who doesn’t know how to fly the first season, but these old ones seem to think there is never anything truly new, just variations on what they remember. Sometimes I think if they didn’t remember a Line Mother doing it they couldn’t squat and take a piss on their own.”

The big native the humans watched walk out of the ferns and brush moved slow and smooth, gradually standing up until it was on its hind legs. It had the hindquarters of a Kangaroo – built for hopping – and took exaggerated high steps to clear the thick bushes. The rear feet showed the digging claws with which it ripped encroaching small trees and bushes out of the ground on it’s boundary roads as it patrolled, and the rear had a single huge talon curved down that would let it perch like a bird or disembowel prey larger than anything they had seen with their sensors.

The lower set of arms were heavy with huge hands more like paws set on definite shoulders. The neck that came up from those shoulders was massive though, almost as thick as the torso below. In the front set closer together was another pair of much more delicate arms and dainty fingers sprouting from where the sloping shoulders blended into the neck, but naturally going up from those joints instead of down like the lower.  They were folded in front now unused in almost a prayerful gesture.

The eyes on top of the domed skull were foreword looking and in a crease that offered a little shelter. Below, another set of eyes just above the jaw joints were so far apart the creature must have near 270 degrees of vision. The muzzle was obviously a carnivore, fairly heavy, not slender like a crocodile, with the nostrils like a pair of curly quotes very active with the slits moving and the size of the upper snout suggested a huge volume for processing smell. The skin was finely textured without deep wrinkles and brilliant with camouflage that combined all the best elements of a tiger and a salamander. The mouth showed no teeth protruding when closed and any doubt of its intelligence was lost with the spear it carried in it’s middle hand, and the fact there were bracelets around both wrists of those heavier arms.

Edna stood where she had stepped out from behind the dozer frozen by the sight of the native free of any obscuring foliage. “It’s a dragon!” she exclaimed at the sight of the native uncovered by any vegetation. Finally, she remembered her purpose and held her hands up palms open to show they were empty of any threat. Unfortunately, the gesture was the same as a native used to display threat by spreading its fighting arms ready to slash. Although she lacked the proper claws, her fingers still did a pretty good imitation.

Number 112,214 of her line reacted with all the hardwired memory of seeing that threatening gesture thousands of times over the centuries. That such a puny creature would dare make the gesture was infuriating. She threw her own fighting arms wide in a threatening sweep claws unfolding in a deadly arch of black points. She dropped her spear as irrelevant. Weapons were for people not game, and screamed a response that ran off the high end of the human’s hearing into the ultrasonic. But the overpressure still painfully hammered on their ears. The size of her open maw of bright pink lined with rows of black triangular teeth was impressive. Edna, who had taken two long steps out from behind the dozer made it back to shelter in one leap.

Seeing the tip of her tail whip back and forth with increasing frequency, the lieutenant, who had owned many a cat who did the same before pouncing, instinctively knew that an attack was a virtual certainty now, and it was just going through the internal programming for the rush. He dropped the butt of his gun aiming well over the native anticipating her leap and was as scared as he had ever been on any score of nightmare worlds.

Behind the challenging neighbor, the mother and daughter were disappointed to see her crouch to spring. They didn’t know what these new things were but their neighbor was obviously too far gone in battle lust to stop, and both doubted if any of the small creatures would escape.

As the stripped shape threw itself across the ridge of dirt, Lt. Hamilton realized it would cover a third of the distance to them in one hop. He squeezed the trigger back pushing down hard to try to track that upward leap, but the front support came off the blade he used as a rest and the muzzle climbed free on full auto and tracked her better than he could have consciously. The line of bullets climbed up her front one round hitting right through the massive skull and the last three rounds cutting the empty air ahead of her before he could let off the trigger. In all six rounds as big as his thumb hit and warming from impact the memory metal in them expanded from a blunt cylinder to a mushroom with a 20mm diameter head. They exited her back making a wound you couldn’t cover with a flat hand. Even something the size of a small ground car could not survive such massive wounds, but the head wound alone was fatal.

The mother and daughter looked at the broken form of their neighbor laying sprawled in death in shock. They had not anticipated such a reversal. Their mouths hang open like a human in surprise. With their dentition, however, it was not a very friendly gesture.

Lt. Hamilton pushed himself off the front of the track where the recoil of his weapon had pushed him and brought it back down at the ready again on the top of the bulldozer blade.

“Please, please, please don’t do the same,” he softly begged aloud of the two still standing watching him from the other side of the dusty ridge. It was the first time he had ever shot an intelligent alien and he found it profoundly disturbing. Shooting humans had never hit him a badly as this. He was also shaken to realize if the dragon had not telegraphed what it was going to do he might not have been able to track and shoot it before it was on them. These things were fast! He really didn’t want to shoot the other two and have his name go in the history books as slaughtering the first contact on this world.

“I’m going to do something,” the mother told her daughter, “You stand still, and if it is the wrong thing and I die remember not to make the same mistake.” She lowered her fighting arms dropping the spear on the ground and held her small feeding arms up palms out, fingers spread, in the same gesture the bright colored two armed creature used.

Lt. Hamilton responded by moving the muzzle of his weapon slightly off center from pointing right at the bigger one’s torso.

“Well, that’s one thing learned,” she told her daughter nervously. “Now I’m going to see if she will let me take a step away if I do it again.” She made the same gesture and took a step back toward what she thought of as the safety of her territory. When she didn’t die in burst of thunder like her neighbor, she did it again.

“I think I’ve got it. Why don’t you try it and see if you can catch up with me here?”

The daughter copied the gesture and repeated step by step until she was back even with the mother. When they were all the way back out of the neutral zone on their own road they stopped. The three at the dozer had a discussion they could hear low and the two behind stepped out and repeated the open hand gesture and backed away toward their egg. The one with the weapon backed away too but never laid the weapon down to make the gesture.

Sudden realization hit 27. “That’s what they were showing us with the hands. They were saying we are not armed. They don’t have claws even, and they don’t have any other arms to carry weapons so it is an absolute statement. The one with the weapon of course didn’t do so, but he wasn’t stepping away from shelter and seeking a parley. Our neighbor made a big mistake.”

            No, she corrected herself thoughtfully, she made a whole series of mistakes.

Now that they were back at their egg, the small creatures seemed reluctant to go inside although they had the opening working again. The smaller one who had made the first gesture made another. It seemed harmless since the armed one stayed still.

“I’m not sure what it means mother, but just repeating their gestures  seems to be safe. May I respond this time?” 28 asked her mum.

“Go ahead.”

The young dragon one raised a single dainty open hand and waved. That seemed to satisfy the three and they filed back in the hole in the egg which closed.

“Whatever are we going to do with these strange new neighbors who are so dangerous mother?”

“We are going to patrol our land and go over and patrol our late neighbors land too, until you can hold it yourself” she said still staring at the distant egg. “And next season although you are too young I will swim in the river and hope for another quickened egg, and we will stop each time we pass this strange place on our road and make the gesture of peace and what I think is the respectful gesture of leave taking, and we will wait until your sister is as big as you and I can take turns patrolling your boundaries with both of you. Then when our legacy is safe in you and a generation sister I will walk over to these creatures’s berm and try to learn more about how to talk with them. Who knows? Perhaps they will try to talk to us again if our neighbor did not scare them away forever.”

“We know two gestures and I will speak of what I plan with you both so that if I fail you will not only pass the True Memory of what has worked from today but you can even learn from what has failed if the worst should happen. It seems to me now that all these old wise ones carrying such a treasure of memory are perhaps carrying a burden when they have to deal with a new thing and try to impose the narrowness of what they know on it. They remember everything that worked and was preserved in memory. I intend for us to learn the other half of life’s lessons – what doesn’t work. The Sisters of the Twelve have been throwing away half of life’s lessons because what kills you is never remembered.”

27 started walking along their road away from the alien egg and strange activities. She was still thoughtful and walked until the clearing was out of sight and groomed the trail yanking encroaching bushes from the edge with her huge rear talons as if it were any normal day, and not the day everything changed. 28 stayed silent sensing she was still not done with her answer.

“And if we succeed in communicating,” She finally added, “I intend to find out what sort of memories these strange small creatures carry that have such powerful weapons, and I don’t intend to share it with our esteemed  sisters of the Twelve Lines that hold us in such derision. No, I don’t even want to be accepted back as a crippled part of the Third Line anymore, and have to remember the shame of years we were outcasts. We will simply be the The New Line apart from the Twelve with no false pride in Generation numbers and no disdain for anything new. The Twelve can scramble to keep up with us if they want to share our new world.”

 

 

Prologue for new book

I would like to consider what would happen if humans meet a race with perfect memory – not just of their own life but a encyclopedic memory of their ancestor’s lives. That line of thought made me consider – How exactly would the aliens themselves adjust to the transition from what we consider normal memory to a racial eidetic memory? This story will consider that and then the next snippet will deal with first contact with humans. I’d very much appreciate comments on the whole idea and my implementation.

A New World

Prologue

She woke up slowly, aware of a pearly glow surrounding her and drifted off again. Her memories were cloudy. It was like a computer full of data but only a tiny fraction could be displayed on the screen at one time. She could remember smells but not what they identified. Single words but not build them into a sentence.  As her brain mass increased that fraction increased, but it was still such a struggle. She sometimes drifted back asleep before she could retrieve the full portion she wanted.

Her memories were getting vivid and more than she could sort, time was something she sensed while awake now, but she was not yet aware of the separate times she slept. Once when awake she had a sudden surprise as her world was suddenly shrouded in shadow and then physically shifted as she was tumbled over and repositioned in an unaccustomed move that left her dizzy. But it also gave her something new, a memory that was clearly different than the previous memories. This new event was walled off from the others in a second set she had no labels for yet. Another time she became somewhat more alert and became aware of her own snout projecting into her field of vision from between her lower eyes. She retained that memory in the new set also and expected to see it when she opened her eyes. It was a start to a sense of self.

There was something wrong though. Her greater store of memories had a similar picture of a snout, but it was courser and different. The pattern of stripes on it was not the same, and it had something her present one didn’t. It took another cycle of sleep before she could think of it and it was a sound to her –scar- yet it was too much to remember what it meant exactly or indeed what a word was exactly before the sleep took her again.

This time she dreamed and remembered what it felt like to walk and move limbs she had been strangely unaware of in a sort of paralysis. She remembered swimming in a warm river and laying quiet in the shallows as a few small males swam around afraid to come close but helpless to go away against the force her pheromones held over their tiny minds. Finally one grasped her tail and slowly pulled himself up it until he could release his milky cloud of life giving fluid. The released from his hormonal haze he fled in terror from this huge creature he found himself grasping. She remembered laughing at the expected antics.

Now that the thought of movement returned she felt suddenly confined and stretched to stand but came up against a confining wall. Her head was bent over and her tail curled up in front of her but she could get no leverage against this confining prison. Her tiny arms tucked under her chin were useless to even reach this alabaster barrier, but her heavier arms below had no such trouble. The only problem was the barrier did not yield even when she struck against it so hard a new and unpleasant sensation jolted up her arm from the abused hand. Her lower limbs didn’t feel all that different to move but when she gathered both of them and struck at the slippery surface the effect was much different. A huge section shattered in a star of shards all still stuck to the sticky membrane lining her prison. Another swipe tore this film away and the light that flooded in caused her to close her eyes at its brilliance. What was even more overwhelming was the flood of odors.

She stopped trying to get out not from exhaustion or caution, but in mental overload at the flood of memories too complex and important for her to process yet. One idea seemed imperative. A whole list of these new smells fit under the classification of people. The strongest of them even evoked a memory of a face, kindly and intelligent with handsome stripes that were bright with the high contrast of a calm and open personality. There was an identity that went with that face but it was a complex of history and ancestry that was more than her mind could hold yet. When she looked back at the opening it was filled with an enormous yellow eyeball. The sight made her try to run with instinctive fear at anything that big. Surely something that big could swallow her in one bite with no trouble, but she only succeeded in jamming her head into the narrow end of her prison and ripping the opening even bigger at the other end.

Something was wrong. None of this made sense to her. In her store of memories nothing living was as big as that huge eyeball indicated, nothing at all.

So her brain slowly reasoned it out, still sluggish for reasons she didn’t understand, if it can’t be that big, I must be – small. It didn’t make any sense. She had no memories of being small. She sorted through those memories awkwardly.

She did remember being smaller than someone. She suddenly realized it was her Egg-Mother. She remembered only coming up to her mother’s mid-arms, and remembered them holding her firmly while her delicate feeding arms groomed and stroked her.

A deep voice rumbled from outside. “Come little daughter. Don’t give up so easily. Your Egg-Mother will be back from the hunt soon and you’ll miss your share if you are too lazy to push your way into the world today.”

The words were still too complicated for her but she recognized the pattern of emotion in the words, concern and something that matched the face she remembered – amusement.

Gripped with a new determination she attacked the ragged edge of the opening remembering now how to use the claws on her sturdy lower limbs. The eggshell came apart until it lay in fragments around her. It was not the only one. It simply added to the litter filling the nest, and among the shards were three more eggs with curved unbroken sides. Even more startling were the two other chicks separated by those unhatched eggs, straining their necks toward the kindly face she had remembered. She was hunger too she realized. But overriding the hunger was confusion and disbelief. How could she be a chick? She couldn’t think of all the words for it, but chicks were dumb. A lot dumber than she was aware she was even though she was struggling to think.

While she struggled with these thoughts another big figure loomed over them covering a big chunk of the sky. She looked up and it was like looking in a still pond. The face above her was what she remembered in such detail right down to the scar on the muzzle. The feeling of dislocation was intense. That’s me! Was all her present thinking ability could formulate. And yet right away she saw it was not her. It was the me of a thousand memories, but not the me of the second set she was adding to minute by minute.

“This one of yours is odd,” the original person said to the one that had come up. “She focuses on you like she is a couple months old instead of just opening her mouth to be fed.” I hope she eats OK.”

When her Egg-Mother started shredding the game she carried and feeding the communal nest her friend’s fears were unjustified.  Her new daughter accepted the meat just as readily as her nest sisters, if not as noisily. If she didn’t know better she would have sworn the chick was trying to speak instead of just react to the feeding. That was silliness of course. A youngster didn’t start to form recognizable words until about four seasons. Every Egg-Mother thought her own child was prettier and smarter than its nest sisters. Since this was her first she especially didn’t want to give her more experienced nest partners reason to laugh at her, so she kept silent.

* * *

When the chicks started to stand and walk the difference was disturbing.  A few passes back and forth and the new chick walked with a grace and control that was disturbing.  At a half season the young ones’ heads were still over large and when they swung them about they tottered as it threw their balance off.  Watching the strange one, the eldest of the nest watchers was moved to exclaim, “Gods, this one will shame us all as a dancer when she has her growth!”

With the egg shells cleared away the nest sisters brought wood shavings and sweet grass to litter the nest while the new ones learned to control their bodies.  They were astonished when the precocious one climbed out of the nest and struggled with weak claws to dig a hole for her excrement. The ground there was far too hard packed by many feet, but the duty nurse lifted her further away and scooped a hole with her clawed lower arm. They watched silent as she did her business like a child with three or four seasons and trotted back to the nest.

The eldest of the watchers walked into the middle of the biggest patch of flat ground not occupied with others and did something they rarely saw. She raised her tail and struck the ground three blows. At her age she no longer moved easily and the blows must have hurt, but she didn’t hold back, striking with a force that would recall their sisters for a good kilometer in every direction. She stood there, very erect, keeping her own counsel while the crowd grew silent and expectant around her.

When enough time had passed for the most distant sister to have arrived at a moderate run she stepped up on the edge of the nest so she could see the furthest face regarding her.

“I am called Blue-dot, because I have a neck marking on my face,” she indicated the unusual feature with a delicate upper hand. “I have held on to life for twelve twelves and two seasons. Is there another who is elder to me to speak first?”

The crowd looked expectantly at a couple of the visibly older specimens present and all of them made that little quivering rocking motion with their head that was a no.

“Very well, I struck the ground, as is the ancient custom, because there is a danger to all.” That made a few, especially a few of the very young look about at the jungle and sky.

“The danger is not external, as we have heard our mother’s mother dealt with back before the egg eaters were exterminated, and when many of us lived where the earth itself threatened on occasion to send forth fire and dust. This is a danger it may be more difficult to wrap your mind around. Imagine if you would that we walked away and abandoned these chicks to hunger and cold to die.”

That made the crowd shudder and one youngster that was not even of breeding age herself to cry out – “Never!”

“That is not the way of people. We don’t leave our young alone like the animals who have no sisters to stand guard while we hunt for our daughters.”

“Indeed. And yet we also have perceptions the animals don’t. We don’t waste food and time on those that are born blind or with the deformed mouth that will never allow them to hunt. Those with the deformed foot or other defect we kill with sadness before they have grown to be more aware of their own passing.”

“If you are speaking of my egg,” Short-tail the mother of the strange one spoke, ” I have avoided saying anything because she is my first. I didn’t want to sound foolish by claiming she is different. Every mother thinks the sun only rose in the morning for her chick, and I wanted to display more wisdom than that.”

“But I must object nothing she has done is a defect. I have considered if she may be a threat to the others of her generation. She may move with more mastery than her peers, and she probably could harm them because she has use of her limbs and claws they can’t match. However I have watched carefully, and never seen her act aggressively. Not once has she nipped or swiped at her nest mates. I will not be silent or agree she is a danger to the others.”

Perhaps unconsciously her lower limbs were unfolded. She hadn’t spread her claws in display, but her posture suggested she’d take them all on before she’d let them harm her chick.

“I agree,” the eldest sister hurried to assure her. “Your chick is very much different, but not at all defective. Our old custom addresses defects, but here we have something new and strange we don’t have a custom to deal with. What do we do when a chick is superior? When it has obvious advantages over the others? I fear we may fail to appreciate the opportunity sisters.” A look around showed they were listening but were still not sure what point she was trying to make.

“Ah, you don’t see it yet,” she told them. “Perhaps my years do give me an insight I can’t easily share.”

“Sister Bright -X,” she called to one of the older ones like her, “What will happen when Short-tail takes her hatchling back to her estate for the change of season?”

“At the rate she is going the youngster will be ready to mark her own territory as soon as she is physically big enough to hunt the smaller game. Maybe her fifth or sixth season.”

“Yes, you’ve seen it too. And that means Short-tail will be back in the river and forming another egg before the rest of you who laid this season return. Why some of you may raise your daughters for a full fourteen seasons before pushing them out. Short-tail’s chick may be back here to breed before you are again!”

“In a hundred generations…” One voice said in awe.

“Exactly. In a hundred generations, if she or her chick breed true to this type… Her line will own the valley all the way to the mountains. Their chicks will own the interior of the continent and be pressing back the sisters who colonized the shore of the far sea at the same time we did this side.”

“It’s not just early development,” one of the elders said. “If she is as competent about hunting and management, and taking the lead among her people as she is walking and speech, she will dominate.”

“So,” Blue-dot asked, looking around. “Do you want our culture and our branch of the people to dominate the new continent? In honesty in a thousand generations it will probably mean they will own the world.”

“You are asking if we will allow the daughters of our bodies to be supplanted,” one sister noted in horror.

“Yes, but our essence will be incorporated in them,” Blue-dot pointed out.

“How so, when nobody can compete with them?”

“Because for a long time they will only find our males in the streams with which to mate.”

They all stood silent absorbing the idea. Nobody gave any thought to any inheritance through the males. They were simply turned out into the wild to survive or not according to their abilities. Their smaller, darker eggs were buried in the hot river banks and not even tended.

It’s true, every so often you’d see a prominent marking, or a dominant odor and you could guess from what line a male had carried features over to a new female. But the emotional tie was to the mother. All the language and tradition came from the female side.

“I was afraid if I did not speak, someone would piece this all together in their mind, and feel threatened,” Blue-dot explained. “All it would take is one quick snap of the jaws, and such a thing might be reasonable in the person’s mind who did it. I for one would not judge after the fact. But I’m asking you all to consider it now and decide what is right before acting. I think we should protect this chick as the savior of our heritage.”

“You are asking us to decide to pass our philosophy and song and language as more important than the bond of our bodies,” one summed up.

“Is that not why we crossed the sea?” Blue-dot asked. “Did not the rigid society of our old land offend us? Which is more important really? Do you want to go back to having our estates measured off for us instead grasping all we can mark off?”

One of the elders who spoke before, Bright-X spoke again. “Maybe. You are assuming her daughters will breed true but not her sons. Who knows if either or both will breed this quality? We need to find out and act accordingly. You know my mother breed to a male from Red-X or I wouldn’t have this face,” she declared rubbing her prominent cross stripes. “I suggest we do a new thing and tend a nest for her male egg. When it hatches we should mark the hatchling so that we will know if we breed with it in the future. They mature their second season. We’ll know what we are dealing with in short order. If her males breed true then we can all have superior daughters of our body. If not we may have to ask her to yield her male eggs so something of our bloodline remains in the population.” Bright-X  shifted posture to show she was done speaking.

“Let us leave the matter for more seasons as needed. Is there anyone unwilling to wait and see how Short-tail’s males breed before taking any action? Do you all agree to protect her chick the same as the others?” Blue-dot slowly scanned the crowd so none could say later they had no say. “Very well. We shall attend the matter when she has produced a male and we have seen it breed,” and she stepped down tired from the unaccustomed stress.

* * *

            The male was conflicted with hormones and fright. The sister suppressed a laugh, scared it would chase this skittish male away. He was a little one, two seasons old, swimming hard just to deal with the current, and on his snout was a scar drawn cross hashed to be obviously artificial. Males did stick their noses in the damnedest places and not a few had natural scars. But this one was marked as belonging to Short-tail. His tail was just fine whipping against the flow. She had gotten her name because her tail had been nipped short by a nestling sister, not any defect. Big-nose stayed still letting him perform his instinctive function and hoped her egg would prove out the theory they all hoped for – that they could each have such precocious daughters of their body. It was no accident she found him. She had laid in the shallows all morning and chased away a dozen other males after examining their snouts closely. This was an entirely new thing among her people to select a mate.

If there are several such select males each should have their own scar mark to differentiate them she mused. What would be other shapes that would not be confused with natural wounds? When her sisters came up to see what she was doing she had drawn an X ,a V and An O in the sand. It didn’t take them long to suggest  D and Z.

* * *

            Bright-Star was five seasons old when her vocal apparatus matured enough to form all the sounds of her elder’s speech.  Before then the baby talk of her species was not a cultural affection but a physical limitation. Other than toilet training and swimming little was taught until then. It was no accident that yes, no, and thank-you of mature talk could be formed by juvenile throats. Patience had its limits.

The fact that this young one could accurately describe what had happened on occasions well before her hatching disturbed them. They already knew she was precocious  The idea she actually remembered the things she claimed was so unlikely it took a long time and many repetitions of detailed memory before they accepted it. Once they did it became a mark of deep respect to be asked to instruct her in the hunt or the making of braid work or weapons. The healers took her into the woods and showed her the best herbs and mushrooms. The fisher folk showed her the secrets of driving the water dwellers into a pen, and the fire makers shared the secret of making new fire to drive the herds before it.

Now what they were all holding their breath waiting to see was if it bred true in her or from the same line’s males. If it did they could see the world was theirs.  They gathered the three fiercest of fighters and appointed them to guard her night and day.

When the trait was passed on from males there was a collective sigh of relief. This presented much less opportunity for conflict, at least within their own clan. As for the old society across the ocean, there was much discussion of what it would take to work as a group and remove them from their territory. Most were in favor of consolidating their hold on the new continent – first.

END

Shorts – Get no respect

It’s hard to make money with short stories. The effort to sell them is more than to write them. And bad writing seems to show up more clearly when you can’t hide it in a nice fat book. I’m going to assemble my shorts – perhaps even add a couple new ones – and market them as a collection. One of the stories will be this:

Improvement

By: Mackey Chandler

 

The number of stars gathered around the monitor was impressive. They were all general officers and Captain Joe Buckley was tense with so much high powered brass looking over his shoulder. So far he’d been able to answer all their questions in a manner that kept his own boss lurking in the background smiling.

“So this software has two solid intercepts to it’s credit?” General Hyatt asked.

“Yes sir, we had two real world intercepts at White Sands with both the advanced Patriot system configured for ballistic intercept and also the third generation Arrow developed with the Israelis. We have it running the fourth generation Arrow right now. The software remains unchanged but the Arrow hardware is slightly improved. Those changes in the Arrow have all been validated by the Israelis including four actual launches and intercepts.”

“So, show us on the screen the limits of what you are actually protecting right now,” General Polzinsky requested. Joe tapped a few keys and a dashed line defined a parabolic arch that cut around Baltimore to the north, well out over the Atlantic, and back in across the coast enclosing most of the East shore of the Chesapeake. There was a shaded area outside that line with diminishing probability of an intercept from Pittsburgh down to almost  North Carolina.

Major Leo Champion stepped back in to control the presentation. “If there is an intercontinental launch we expect the national system to deal with that. The big advantage of this system is it can deal with submarine launches the national system is not designed to catch. The time to impact on a sub launched missile can be as little as twenty seconds if they have the guts to get in really close.”

The screen flashed solid red three times rapidly in time with a buzzer. A box appeared out over the Atlantic beside an X and text in it said, Bandits (4) +37.5154N/-73.9292W – 12/04/09 – 1407:23 – Impact (2) +38.8100N/-76.8672W – 83 sec. Impact (2) +38.8946N/-77.0094W –88sec.

“I didn’t know you were going to run any exercises for us today.”

“We’re not, that’s a real launch,” Joe told him in a strangely calm voice. “Just beyond the continental shelf. You were right sir, They didn’t have the balls to ride right up the Potomac.”

“Aren’t you going to do something?” asked General Hyatt asked.

“It’s all automatic at this point. No human is fast enough to run it. D.C, and Andrews are targeted,” he mentioned conversationally.

The box on the screen had been joined by two circles over the Chesapeake that said MIRV separation confirmed – interceptors hot. The impact count was in the last thirty seconds.

The screen turned blue and text appeared. “The configuration of your hardware has changed three times since installation. Windows Genuine Advantage requires you to confirm the authenticity of your copy of Windows. To avoid running in limited mode you must call your Microsoft customer service representative and get a new validation number. Attempting to reboot will result in limited functionality until you call your customer service center. This is for your protection.”

Of course none of them had time to read the entire message.

Book Cover Attempt

This is my first effort at trying any ‘painting’ program. Gimp in this case. I will read the instructions and try again. He is supposed to have a middle arm in the pic but it looks like a hip…The whole thing needs brightened a bit but not too much. I want a sinister lurking quality.

Second pic is closer to what I want but details now really look crude. Have a ways to go.

 

Find my books on Amazon

Search for:

Recent Posts

• Unedited snippet of “I Never Applied for This Job”
• An unedited snippet of my WIP
• Improvements coming
• Unedited snippet of “I Never Applied for This Job”
• A Kindle Deal for December

Recent Comments

• Cheryl on Unedited snippet of “I Never Applied for This Job”
• Rick on Unedited snippet of “I Never Applied for This Job”
• Jennifer on Unedited snippet of “I Never Applied for This Job”
• Zebulon Dakota on Unedited snippet of “I Never Applied for This Job”
• Michael on Unedited snippet of “I Never Applied for This Job”

Archives

• March 2025
• February 2025
• December 2024
• October 2024
• September 2024
• July 2024
• May 2024
• March 2024
• February 2024
• January 2024
• December 2023
• November 2023
• October 2023
• September 2023
• August 2023
• July 2023
• June 2023
• May 2023
• March 2023
• February 2023
• December 2022
• September 2022
• August 2022
• May 2022
• April 2022
• December 2021
• November 2021
• October 2021
• September 2021
• August 2021
• June 2021
• May 2021
• April 2021
• March 2021
• February 2021
• January 2021
• December 2020
• November 2020
• October 2020
• September 2020
• August 2020
• June 2020
• April 2020
• March 2020
• January 2020
• December 2019
• October 2019
• September 2019
• August 2019
• July 2019
• June 2019
• May 2019
• April 2019
• March 2019
• February 2019
• January 2019
• November 2018
• October 2018
• September 2018
• August 2018
• July 2018
• June 2018
• May 2018
• April 2018
• March 2018
• February 2018
• January 2018
• December 2017
• November 2017
• October 2017
• September 2017
• August 2017
• July 2017
• May 2017
• April 2017
• March 2017
• February 2017
• January 2017
• December 2016
• November 2016
• October 2016
• September 2016
• August 2016
• July 2016
• June 2016
• May 2016
• April 2016
• March 2016
• February 2016
• January 2016
• December 2015
• November 2015
• October 2015
• September 2015
• August 2015
• July 2015
• June 2015
• May 2015
• April 2015
• March 2015
• February 2015
• January 2015
• December 2014
• November 2014
• October 2014
• September 2014
• August 2014
• July 2014
• June 2014
• May 2014
• April 2014
• March 2014
• February 2014
• January 2014
• December 2013
• November 2013
• October 2013
• September 2013
• August 2013
• July 2013
• June 2013
• May 2013
• April 2013
• March 2013
• February 2013
• January 2013
• December 2012
• November 2012
• October 2012
• September 2012
• August 2012
• July 2012
• June 2012
• May 2012
• April 2012
• March 2012
• February 2012
• January 2012
• December 2011
• November 2011

Categories

• -Snippets-
• > Gallery <
• Ramblings