The Lion in Paradise

by Brindle, Nathan C.

"Permission?" Yael looked at him, then at his shoulders. "You're a Space Force captain, right?" Jack nodded. "Why would you have to ask permission?"

  "Because," said Jack, soberly, "a Space Force captain may be the master of his ship, but he still answers to a Fleet Captain, Commodore, or Admiral, who can tell him what he can and cannot do when civilians are involved. Or frankly, in a lot of situations that don't involve civilians, too." He grinned. "But I don't think it will be a problem; there's a liability waiver to sign but otherwise it's not hard to get a ride-along approved."

  "Especially because Grumpaw is the Space Force Marines commandant?"

  "Well, no. Because I'm not in your Grumpaw's chain of command. On the other hand, I'm ultimately in his boss's chain of command, so again, I doubt it will be much of a problem."

  "Oh." Yael tossed that thought off, never to be considered again. "So, what kind of ship do you captain?"

  "I command the cruiser USSF Georgia, which is in the refit facility in orbit for a couple more weeks. She's bigger than a frigate, if you've ever been on one of those, and she's smaller than the new battleships BaeNorGrumLockMart has on the drawing boards. But right now she's one of the biggest ships we have." He thought for a moment. "Along the same size as a Shizzle cruiser, actually."

  "I think I read something about that. A cruiser is bigger than the Princess." She referred to the USS Princess of Mars, the liner she'd arrived in.

  "I should hope!" laughed Jack. "Your liner is a little 90-meter intrasystem job, sublight only, holds, what, a couple hundred at best? Half of those crew and service personnel? We carry 450 crew alone, not to mention a company of Space Force Marines and supernumerary quarters for 20 others who might be TDY or traveling for other reasons – like your sister Delaney and her group. And the Georgia is three times the length of the Princess."

  Yael looked at him and smiled, slightly. "Just like every Space Force officer I ever dated, you're in love with your big bad ship." She winked, just to show she was mostly kidding.

  "Smart girl. Stay away from Space Force officers, they'll steal your heart and go off for months at a time aboard their true lady loves. Just ask my ex-wife."

  "Too true," sighed Yael. "The only one I ever dated twice was a REMF who was stationed on Luna. When he found out who my father and grandfather were, his attempts to get me drunk and my clothes off on the second date pretty much floundered." She gave him a sweet, innocent grin.

  Jack nearly died, smothering a full-blown guffaw with a coughing fit. "Sorry," he said, eventually, "the air here always bothers my lungs. Too dry. So what rank was this REMF? And how did he expect to get you drunk, since you have nanos?"

  Yael rolled her eyes. "Ha, ha, Jack. Don't treat me like a child. And it was funny. He was a full commander. And he probably thought I didn't have nanos; I looked kind of young for them, at the time."

  "Wow, Yael. I'll never treat you like a child – you're too damn smart. And I'll bet he nearly committed seppuku after that revelation."

  "Well," she considered, "not quite, but things that had been looking up were certainly looking down at that point. Kind of a shame; he was a great dancer."

  "Eh, you're just as well off. If he was stuck in a position on Luna as a full commander, he was probably done advancing, unless he was in some specialized position in intelligence or Fleet Engineering, or some such."

  "Nope, great dancer, terrible officer, from what I later heard from Grumpaw, who grumbled something like 'Peter Principle', whatever that is. He's still there, apparently, but the powers that be have determined he'll never get out of Logistics unless he retires. At which time they'll give him a nice party, a retirement rank boost to captain, and a wave goodbye."

  "I'd say that's about right. 'Peter Principle,' by the way, boils down to 'promoted past one's level of competence' – it's a callback to a book written when Dad was still a kid in short pants."

  "Thanks! I'd wondered about that, but hadn't bothered to look it up."

  "I've heard," noted Jack, "'dad references' can often be vague, but when you consider Dad was almost 90 when I was born, in my case they're practically impenetrable."

  Yael giggled, but nodded her head in agreement.

  Presently, they came across an establishment with a fairly disreputable-looking exterior and a large, hand-painted sign over the door proclaiming it to be "Forry's Famous Monster Mars Bar". Yael looked askance, as it was clear Jack was steering her toward the entrance.

  "Seriously? A dive? Jack, what kind of girl do you think I am?"

  "Well, for one thing, you're my niece, so what kind of a question is that?" Jack laughed. "Really, the interior is better."

  "What kind of name is 'Forry's Famous Monster Mars Bar'?"

  "It is literally both an homage and a joke on at least two levels, maybe three," said Jack, without explaining further. "But it's where all the best Space Force officers hang out on liberty."

  Yael wrinkled her nose. "This dress is dry-clean only," she sniffed. "If I get crud on it—"

  "I'll pay your cleaning bill," promised Jack. "But you're not going to get crud on it."

  Yael looked grim, but acquiesced to be led inside.

  "Jack!"

  "Hey, Jack!"

  "Who's the babe?" A whistle or two followed that.

  In response, Yael got a look on her face that said, ready to bolt, and Jack patted her arm.

  "Hey, guys, first of all, this is my niece, Yael," he shouted, "and second of all, her mother is my half-sister. You know – the Space Force Marines brigadier who goes around blessing people in her spare time? Remember, she who blesses can also curse. So chill, brothers, chill, and treat the lady like a lady." He grinned to take some of the rough edge off, but Yael saw the steel in his demeanor when she looked at him.

  That quieted things down a little, but didn't reduce the welcome of people who were clearly happy to see Jack. Yael rolled her eyes, shrugged, and let Jack lead her to a table.

  The place really wasn't nicer inside; it looked like it dated from the earliest days of the colony. And it was noisy with shouting and laughing, and a jukebox in the back was playing some kind of loud, obnoxious music. But it was relatively clean and the chairs were free of sticky residue, so when Jack pulled one out for her, she sat down, happy to do so and take a load off. It had been a long walk, and even more strenuous than the same walk on Earth would have been, simply because she had to be extra-careful not to bounce off the floor in the low-G environment until she got her "Mars legs".

  Bottom line, her ankles and calves were killing her.

  A good-looking redhead behind the bar shouted, "Jack, your usual? And what about the lady?"

  "Hey, Cassie," Jack shouted back, "yes, please, and—" he looked at Yael.

  "Would it be too much to ask if they have a nice house Moscato?" she asked.

  "You'd be surprised," replied Jack. "Cassie, an Ares Vineyards Moscato for the young lady, please!"

  "Comin' up!"

  They sat for a moment, Jack waving at people he knew, and Yael just sort of taking it all in. This wasn't the kind of place she frequented, but as she acclimatized to the noise and the déclassé ambience, she decided she rather liked it. It was authentic and honest, down-to-Earth (or maybe "down-to-Mars", she thought with an inward smile), quite unlike the fancy places where she and her acquaintances tended to drink and party.

  Cassie undulated through the crowd with their drinks, and set them on the table. "On your tab?" she inquired.

  "Yep, thanks; the usual gratuity, of course. Cass, this is my niece, Yael, she's visiting Mars on a tour. Yael, Cass. Cass and I have known each other for years. I think she's one of the original colonists." He winked.

  "Not quite, but close," laughed Cassie. "Nice to meet you, Yael. Your uncle's a great guy. Give me the high sign if you need refills or want something to eat." She waved and went back through the crowd to the bar.

  "Wow, that's some red hair," said Yael. "She reminds me of Devorah. Are all redheads hot and sexy lik
e that?"

  "Well." Jack looked smug. "All the ones who have nanos. The problem is, they try to kill men and eat their souls."

  Yael snorted. "Yeah, say that around Devorah and see how long you live."

  "Well, that was sort of my point." He lifted his whisky and touched her wine glass. "Cheers."

  "Cheers." Yael tasted the Moscato and looked surprised. "Wow, that's really good!"

  "Made right here on Mars."

  "No!"

  "Yep. Ares Vineyards grow the grapes in their pressurized greenhouses, in Martian soil with nutrients added, and they come up with a better product than you can find on Earth. You should see the grapes themselves. They're half again the size of the ones you'd normally find Earthside."

  "That's amazing." Yael took another, appreciative sip. "Do they export it?"

  "Probably, but I'd guess under a different name, since you can't just call a Martian Moscato a Moscato and not upset the wine world powers-that-be on Earth. Heaven forfend someone from offworld might sell something better than their own homegrown product."

  "Oh, I see. Like with champagne, or certain cheeses; a cartel demands that it has to be grown or made in a certain place from specific strains of whatever it contains, or it can't be called whatever their special name is."

  "Exactly. So you probably can buy this back home, but you'd have to ask Ares what they call it for export if you want to find it." He winked. "Wouldn't surprise me if they call it 'Marscato,' but I'm evil that way."

  She laughed.

  A man in civilian clothing walked up to the table. "Hi, Jack. Mind if I sit for a moment and have a drink?"

  "Sure, buddy. Take a load off. Good to see you."

  The man smiled and sat down. "Thanks. How's your refit coming?"

  "Ah, a couple more weeks, then we'll be off for shakedown, probably be back to get the inevitable little problems fixed."

  "Sounds great, and yeah, you're probably right. There's always a pesky bug hiding out somewhere. Hi, Cassie. Thanks." He took a glass of whisky from Cassie, who'd appeared at the table with his drink already poured. "On my tab, of course."

  "Of course. Good to see you slumming with us, as always." She touched two fingers to her forehead, grinned, and headed back to the bar.

  "It's not really slumming, you know," he confided to them. He took a sip and sighed, happily. "This is about the only bar on Mars where I can sit down and have a quiet drink without being put upon immediately by a dozen people, because the people here understand me. So, Jack, are you going to introduce me, or do I have to introduce myself?"

  Yael had been staring at him ever since he sat down. "You really look familiar," she said.

  Jack chuckled. "Yael Wolff Fox, meet Elon Musk. Elon, Yael's my sort-of niece – she's Ariela's daughter."

  Elon chuckled as well. "One of the famous five daughters of the Lion of God." He extended a hand; Yael took it, almost flummoxed. "So pleased to meet you. I hope your family are all well. I haven't seen your grandfather in ages, it seems."

  "Very pleased to meet you as well, Mr. Musk." Yael was pleased to note her words came out normally, not as a gush or some other girlish silliness. It wasn't like she hadn't met celebrities before, she admonished herself. But it was true the man who was holding her hand was a legend.

  He chuckled. "Oh, please call me Elon. Everybody else does. I don't like to stand on ceremony, I'm just fascinated by people who do." He winked.

  "I'm reminded of that old Bugs Bunny cartoon," she replied, with a smile.

  "Oh, the one where he's giving the big monster a makeover? I laugh every time I see that," said Elon. "And it's exactly the kind of thing I'm talking about."

  "Well, I'll try not to be that way," said Yael. "You asked about the family. As far as I know, everyone is fine. Mom is on al-Saḥra', running the Space Force Marines presence there, and of course Dad is with her. Delaney, who knows where she is at any given time, except I think I recall she said something about having to do time in 'durance vile', whatever that is, at the Pentagon. My other sisters are well-ensconced in their lives, wherever they are; I think Raven is traveling somewhere interstellar right now, and Yehudit and Devorah are both working on Earth."

  "And your grandfather and, I think you call her your Bubbe?"

  She smiled. "Both just wonderful. They give me hope I'll find a calling and settle down someday with a man like Grumpaw. Not as old, of course," she amended, hastily, and all three of them laughed.

  "So what do you do with yourself?"

  She shrugged. "Mostly I travel around, go to parties, meet people . . . I seem to have a knack for gathering a following. I don't know if that's something I got from Mom, or what. I have no idea, really, what she does, but people always manage to find her and importune her into blessing them."

  "Is it really importuning?" asked Jack. "I mean, it's kind of part of what she does."

  "You can tell she gets tired of it sometimes, and would like to be able to go out without drawing a crowd. Even when she goes incognito." Yael shook her head, slightly. "I seem to draw a crowd like that, too, like on this trip to Mars. I was planning to relax and maybe get some reading in, between planets. Instead, this group of giggly college girls latched onto me and wouldn't leave me in peace. Admittedly, we had fun," she said, "but as Jack pointed out to me on the way here, I'm twice their age, and I don't understand half of their slang or pop culture references. So it was kind of like being a big sister, or a chaperone, even."

  "Huh," said Elon, taking a sip of his drink. "I'm pretty sure I know what you mean, except – and you'll pardon me for the impertinence – I'm a pretty famous guy, and that's why I come looking for the peace and quiet I can find among spacers. They know I've been there and done that, and they accept me as part of their fraternity, even though I rarely leave Mars anymore, and, point of fact, have never been interstellar. So I'm left with the notion that either you just seem like a really fun person to be around, regardless of your age, or – at least in this case – the girls simply saw you as one of them because you don't look older than them."

  "Mom says she's been told she has an aura that draws people to her," said Yael, "and that's why she can't even go incognito without people recognizing her. So I kind of wonder if I have that sort of an aura, just not at the level she does."

  Elon and Jack traded glances. "You know all five of the sisters have some unusual talents, right?" asked Jack.

  Elon nodded. "I'd heard something about it. Probably when I was talking to her grandfather. He and I used to chat fairly often; he knew I could keep my yap shut about that sort of thing, though given my record back in my days on Earth, I have no idea how he knew it."

  "You have an honest face," said Yael, and instantly regretted it. But to her surprise, Elon was amused.

  "I'm glad you think so," he replied, laughing. "I actually do try to stick to the straight and narrow, as much as possible. But I've rarely been told that in my life. Why would you have that opinion already, on such short acquaintance? And I'm asking only because I'm curious."

  "I—I don't know," admitted Yael. "It may be part of the same talent. Helps me avoid getting into trouble I can't get myself out of. It's warned me off any number of men I've met in social situations whom I've later found out were kidnappers, or rapists, or slavers – and often the trifecta. The kind of men my sister Delaney used to hunt and bring to justice, if she didn't just shoot them out of hand. But to be honest, all five of us have that to some extent or another."

  "The best story I ever heard about Delaney," mused Elon, "was the one where she was hunting a drug runner, I think, out in the colonies, and ended up at a bar with a guy who tried to mickey her drink. With her nanos, of course, it didn't work, and as soon as she tasted the drink, she knew the score. I gather she played the drunk, drugged chick and strung him along long enough to get him out of the building, and then shot him dead in the street. Turned out he had warrants out for murder and slavery and general mopery and dopery on six planets – and si
nce we only had about ten colony worlds at that point, that was saying something."

  "And he wasn't even the guy she was chasing," laughed Yael. "Classic case of being in the really wrong place at the really wrong time. That's one of her stories I do know. She's kind of my hero," the woman confided.

  A comm buzzed. It was Elon's. With an embarrassed grin, he pulled it out of his pocket, looked at the screen, and immediately looked concerned. "Sorry, I have to take this," he said, turning it on, and putting the device to his ear. "Yes, Wanda, Elon here."

  He listened. A moment later, shock crossed his face. "Really? When? Just a few minutes ago? Did you call Space Force? Well, then, do! Yes, immediately! Call General Lai and tell her what you just told me, if she doesn't already know it. Call me back when you know more." He lowered the comm, clicked it off, and looked at them. "I'm sorry, but I have to go back to the office. There's been . . . " He looked helpless for a moment, then went on, " . . . an incident."

  "What happened?" asked Jack, worried.

  Elon looked around and lowered his voice. "I hope your ship is at the Deimos shipyard."

  "It is, but—"

  "Phobos is in two pieces," Elon told them, "well, two big pieces of shell, a bunch of little pieces from where it cracked apart, and the petatons of riprap it was filled with – and nobody knows why."

  "Holy shit." The two of them looked at each other.

  "The base, strangely enough, is in one piece, still poked through one of the big shell pieces, but they're going to have to evacuate," Elon continued. "It's going to fall out of orbit, somewhere – we don't know exactly where, yet. Terra Meridiani is not off the plate of options for that."

  "Shit. We're going to lose ships." Any of the ones in spacedock with drives pulled for repair, he meant.

  "We are. Both Space Force, and SpaceX Mars."

  The bar suddenly went completely still, except for the jukebox, which stopped playing after someone yelled, "Shut that thing off!"

  Everyone was looking at the holoscreens.

  They were split, showing two horrific scenes – the view of Phobos from a long-range telescope on Deimos, and a huge building down on its side in . . . Chicago, looked like the chyron said.