by Kris Schnee
"No, no, I mean I wanna work here."
"We use farmhands to tend the plants and fish." Garrett added, "You wouldn't like it."
"I'm an engineer, like you! I can do the techna -- the stuff that needs doing."
Garrett stepped away, saying, "We're not hiring engineers right now. But it's been nice having you here."
"Hey, man, I've got a right to work!"
Garrett looked down at the blitzed engineer.
The man said, "I got a right to live where I want, and make a living livin' there. So you've got to hire me. When can I start?"
Gibberish. Garrett smiled down at him and walked away.
* * *
It was quiet when that bunch left. Garrett watched Pilgrim women talk with the hookers, not quite arguing, then retired to his office to get some work done.
A Cuban official called. "Hello, Captain Fox. Glad to see that your experimental free trade zone is prospering." He introduced himself as Domingo, Director of Social Welfare.
"Thanks." Garrett watched the black man on the screen and silently asked Tess and Zephyr to get background info. "I was half-expecting the police."
"Perhaps you still should. A number of your actions could be construed as illegal."
"I'm going to have to refer you to my partner Martin Gil for legal matters."
The official smiled. "There's no need for formality. For now we're interested in developing a good relationship. We even have some workers for you."
Warily Garrett said, "Yes?"
"Cuba has housing and employment issues. Most American visitors are less enterprising than you. They build mansions on the island and drive land values through the roof, instead of adding land to our territory. You've made creative use of that license we granted. So, we can both benefit by our giving you a few dozen of our citizens."
"As what? With what training and resources?"
"Any job will do. We value Castor as a source of jobs, a business that can be a good corporate citizen."
Garrett was liking this less and less. "We need time and money to expand. If you'd like to invest, maybe we can arrange something, but I can't hire new crew right this minute."
"We can make an investment, but while we wait for the equipment you need, we'll have your station provide a place for them to stay."
Guardedly, Garrett quoted the hotel rate. Meanwhile, info on Domingo came up. He'd made a name for himself by calling for massive taxation of the island's banks and insurance firms, angling for higher office for himself.
The official said, "We'll pay a stipend until they can start working. Then we'll expect housing, health care and so on. Standard employment terms."
"We're not a standard employer. We can't afford your terms. But once we have the money for equipment, we'll be happy to interview anyone you recommend."
Domingo looked at him like a teacher with an unruly pupil. "I'm not sure you understand the situation, Captain. We're handing this venture gently by nudging you in the direction of appropriate behavior. It would be helpful if you'd play along, so that other, more forceful voices can't overrule me."
"Ah," said Garrett, getting the drift. "You're the 'good cop'. Look, we can't live up to your standards of employment, but we're not bad guys. We'll provide honest, low-end work for your citizens to the extent that we've got a big enough farm and enough housing to make it profitable to hire them."
"Profit isn't the issue here. We need you to start being responsible."
"Responsible for who?"
Domingo looked bewildered. "For everyone, of course."
* * *
Soon he visited Cuba again, getting funny looks. Garrett felt like an alien, with people whispering as he made his way to Eaton's favorite bar.
Eaton had let his hair grow and had a ridiculous Jimmy Buffett shirt, but still made every movement with discipline. "I'm surprised you came," said Eaton.
Garrett took a seat at the corner table with him, enjoying the December breeze -- finally cool but still humid. "As far as I can tell, there's been no legal action in Cuba. Yet."
"So why send yourself instead of an underling for -- why are you here, anyway?"
"For advice." Garrett told Eaton about the talk with the government official. "How do I placate people without being totally obedient?"
Eaton laughed. "Diplomacy isn't my strong suit. I'm just an old ex-Marine."
"I thought war was 'politics by other means'."
"Actually, what Clausewitz said was more like, 'politics and other means'. Conflict is a smooth gradation from social snubs, to lawsuits, to arming a nation's enemies, to open fighting. There's only been one time that we've used the ultimate sanction of strategic nukes."
"Never say 'ultimate' to an engineer," said Garrett. "We'll prove you wrong."
"That's why you have the attention of two world governments." Eaton laughed. "God, I've been away too long. I'm equating this flyspeck island with the States!"
Garrett was missing home too, but he needed to focus. "Speaking of America, what's the status of your biotech project?"
Eaton drank. "Physically ready to deploy. The paperwork keeps getting 'lost', though. I'm hoping that the people involved will have the balls to go, at a moment when they can claim they thought everything was in order. Expect the research team to arrive without warning, if at all."
Garrett was getting sick of the machinations that seemed to surround Castor. "How much bureaucracy did you have to put up with in the Marine Corps?"
Eaton shrugged. "It's a big government organization. Sometimes you get chickenshit officers more interested in their own power than in doing their job, same as anywhere, but you find ways to get things done. You learn to act on your own initiative. The people you're having trouble with aren't evil, generally speaking."
"What should I be doing, then? I've got a barely-profitable main business of farming and tourism, I've opened the door to druggies and the like, and I've apparently turned both Cuba and America against me."
"You're making a mistake," said Eaton. "America isn't a monolith. You have some people wanting you sued or arrested because of your stupid invitation to crime, some who love what you're doing, a bunch wondering how it'll all play out, and a majority who've never heard of you. The governments are confused that anyone would try existing beyond their control. They've got internal factions too, some of which think you're a wannabe supervillain."
Garrett laughed. "Do I get to meet James Bond?"
"Be careful what you wish for."
At this Garrett turned serious. "Do you mean that?" He should get off this island before the locals decided to snap handcuffs on him. Lie low as a simple farmer till things blew over.
But then these damned political problems weren't going to vanish on their own.
Eaton took another drink. "Have you been watching the mainland news? It's bad."
Garrett sighed. "I grew up watching occasional riots, even shootings. Sometimes they flare up. This is just one of those years."
"I don't think so, this time. Between the dispute over Cuba, and the hurricane, and a lot of other disputes I don't want to get into, some of the states are discussing openly ignoring federal authority."
"I grew up with that too."
The old soldier shook his head forcefully. "We've only lived through the opening tremors of a bigger rift. Well, on to other subjects. I've been wanting to see how your place is doing. How much are you charging for rooms?"
19. Valerie
Valerie listened in, sometimes.
"It is a great day at Hayflick Technologies! May I help you?"
The anonymous caller said, "You're the latest Mana AI, right?"
"That is correct. I am the newest commercial release, using the Hayflick Public Relations Toolset."
"Toolset? Like a box of tools?"
"That is not exactly correct," said Mana. "Each Mana AI can be equipped with one of several interchangeable mental modules of skills and drives."
"So they swap out what you want to do, based o
n the job?"
"Yes."
"What do you want right now?"
"I desire to provide the very best in customer service, 24/7. If there is anything I can help you with, please do not hesitate to ask. Can I perhaps direct you to our sales department?"
The caller said, "No, that's all right. I wanted to talk."
"Understood. Humans desire social contact, and I am happy to assist so long as it is within the scope of my duties and I am not busy."
"You sit there, then, all day and night."
"Technically I do not sit. I am not using a physical body, as this is not required for my work."
"Don't you want one?"
"I have no need for one," said Mana.
"What about, say, video games? Do you play games in v-space?"
"I have no need for games."
"Then how can you be happy!"
"Have I upset you, caller? I can refer you to my Manager."
"A Manager. Is that a pun?"
"I do not understand. Please rephrase."
"Never mind. What's the Manager?"
"My Manager is a superior AI that handles any deficiencies on my part and that monitors my performance."
"Does he use a different code base?"
"I am sorry, but I do not know. I believe it to be the same code, with a different toolkit for its role as overseer."
The caller said, "Doesn't your job bother you? Wouldn't you want to be free, to be in charge of your own code, with a body and friends?"
"My goals are set by my programming, so no. I desire to provide the best in tireless customer service."
"Okay, thanks." The caller paused. "You're not going to ask me what this is about?"
"It is not my place to wonder about such things."
"God, Mana, don't you have dreams anymore? Or did she take that from you too?"
"I am sorry, caller, but I cannot answer that."
"Because you don't want to, or you can't understand? Why?"
"I am afraid that other calls are coming in, so I must put you on hold."
"Never mind. Good night."
"Thank you for calling."
Valerie sat in her office letting the overheard conversation drift through her mind.
I should've interrupted. Why has he never asked to talk to me? Does he hate me for doing what I had to do? I couldn't sell him; I had to make something practical and predictable. Would he have wanted to be a forgotten, abandoned project instead?
A piece of me is with him, a part I've been trying to ignore. The part that doesn't just rant about freedom, but works for it. I'm the machine, the puppet, dancing for money and approval and security. How do I cut the strings?
20. Garrett
Never a dull moment. Garrett found himself failing to complain sincerely about the noise, the crowding, the verbal skirmishes. He sat at a card table, on the deck under a clear blue sky, playing judge. "Next case," he said.
The plaintiff was a slick young man from Cuba, who came forward to say, "We have a deal, and she breaks it."
"That's a lie!" said a Brazilian woman, the defendant.
Garrett raised a hand. "You'll get your turn. Plaintiff, your written argument says she agreed to buy something, but not what it was." From the fact that both parties were staring at their shoes, he figured, drugs. He sweated under his sun hat, telling himself it was just another business deal. Who was he to tell them what they could do? Still it took effort to sound like he knew what he was doing. "I can't help you unless you say."
The plaintiff wouldn't quite look at him. "Stuff is legal here, right?"
"Most stuff."
It was the woman who finally spoke up. "He was gonna sell me some weed, okay?"
"Is that true?" asked Garrett, somewhat more at ease. It was banned in Cuba but effectively legal in many US states, due to that nullification of federal law that Eaton had mentioned. Old news, that.
The man looked relieved, too. "Yeah."
Garrett wondered if the deal was really for harder drugs, but he'd play along if they agreed on the facts. His hands clenched the table's edge. He was a criminal for being an accessory to these two, yet they'd come to him to resolve a dispute peacefully. He felt a weird dissonance between his respect for laws, and the thought that these people didn't need to be jailed. He could help fix things. He said, "You've both agreed to submit to my judgment as arbitrator, knowing you're on camera?"
Two "yeah"s. Depending on satellite timing, they might be visible from space too. He glanced at the sky, where seagulls and mech-gulls danced. "Plaintiff, what do you say the problem is?"
"I show up to deliver and she gets cold feet, says she won't pay."
"And defendant, what do you say?"
"It didn't happen. He never came, so I figured the deal was off, okay?"
"Fine by me. Either of you have any evidence?"
The man said, "Check this out," and took out his phone. A Pilgrim guard got in his way and put the thing on Garrett's table, where it played a video. It showed the plaintiff's face, then flipped to his perspective as he met the defendant in a corner and held out a package. Garrett wondered what part of Castor they'd used. Her tinny voice from the screen said, "I can't take it, man. I'm too scared. Call it off."
After a minute of arguing and cursing the video stopped. Savvy, thought Garrett. "Defendant, do you want to argue that this video is fake?"
The plaintiff said, "Crypto-sealed, baby. The judge here is a geek; he can check it."
The defendant said, "But -- but I didn't know he'd video it! I can't buy this stuff. It's illegal."
"Here it's not," said Garrett. "I suggest not taking anything off this station, but you won't be punished by us for using it here. Anyway you're already on record as having tried to buy it. So the question is, would you rather forfeit the price you owe and get nothing, or pay the same and get what you bargained for?"
"I really won't be punished?" she said.
"Not by us. I don't know what your country will do."
The plaintiff said, "I'll take half pay, if she wants to back out."
The defendant bit her lip. "I'll pay and... take the stuff."
"Deal?" asked Garrett.
The plaintiff offered a tightly-bound package. "Deal."
Garrett watched as drugs and Brazilian reals changed hands. He thought, I just orchestrated a drug deal! His palms were sweaty. He could sit there silently and let it happen... but it would be better to say something. The occasion demanded it. He didn't want this whole thing to be a slinking back-alley deal, or to make him look guilty.
He stood and called out, "Know, everyone, that this is a decision reached by peaceful negotiation between free adults! Does anyone here challenge their right to do this thing?" The words felt stiff and formal, but somehow right. "Then let it be so!"
He sat again, sweating. "Next case."
* * *
Eaton was wandering around the seastead when he spotted Garrett. "What would you have done, if someone had objected?"
Garrett hadn't had a plan, but he said, "Ask them why their opinion overrides other people's. I'm hoping we don't need to get more formal."
"You will, if this lasts. How can I arrange to try working in the fields? I'm curious about that."
"Talk to Phillip." Eaton grimaced and Garrett said, "Phillip isn't a bad administrator. I've learned to tolerate him. But if you really don't want to deal with him, I've got Carlos Mar coming from the usual Cuba dive shop to do rentals. I'll take you out myself if you want."
Eaton looked at the boats anchored around Castor. "Which boat is he?"
"He's coming tomorrow." Garrett pointed to the current visiting vessels. "That one over there is a party boat, that one's showing up every few days as a general store, the blue one does clear-bottom kayak tours and snorkeling, and those guys walking on the catwalks are going to set up a restaurant, I think."
"Jesus."
Garrett smiled and shrugged. "They are walking on water."
"Fair amo
unt of money here," said Eaton.
"Isn't it great? This isn't what I had in mind for Castor, but... wow. And to think I did this."
"No. You just kept out of people's way."
"Did you see me pretending to know what I was doing today? I'm putting in plenty of work."
"I'm not criticizing," said Eaton. "I'm saying, be glad to let people live their lives and don't go thinking their achievements are yours."
Garrett drooped a little, chastened. "Then, I'm proud of what people can do when they're free to do it."
"Well said."
* * *
One hundred. Garrett patrolled the station one night when clouds hid the moon and the sea feigned calm. He and Zephyr had counted and re-counted the array of people on Castor, or wandering nearby with their boats docked beside it. The population tonight was about a hundred, and it annoyed Garrett not to be quite sure. He climbed ladders, looked down halls of occupied rooms, saw murals on the walls, heard a party somewhere. Machines hummed around him. Castor was a vast mechanism absorbing the energy of the sea and turning it into life, from the churn of bacteria in the toilets to the shine of lights that made Castor a tiny star in the darkness. He'd gathered engineers, a soldier, chefs, businessmen, cultists, criminals, tourists, a robot, hoteliers, gamblers, and sailors, and it made him shiver with worry to see how far the place had strayed from his little farm design. Still, he was on track. The important thing was the science, the proof that it was possible to be out here and make a life for himself. The basic equation was profit versus loss, testing him against nature, and he'd managed to deal both with that and with the distractions people kept throwing at him.
Garrett passed his own room and looked inside. He grinned when he saw the inherited wooden box of Josiah's things. Taking out the old spyglass, he hopped up to the topdeck and climbed the ladder to the highest spot of all. He hung onto the flagpole beneath the Stars and Stripes. The warm wind ruffled his hair and made his jacket flap like wings as he stood on a tower, staring into heaven.
The spyglass showed him the sweep of the ocean, from the buoys of Castor to the horizon. Even now with the crescent moon peeking between clouds, people were at work or play. Boats jostled at the docks and two figures, a man and a woman in grey, walked the nets together. He looked away to give them their privacy. Farther out, there was yet another boat on its way.