Been There, Done That

by Mackey Chandler

  Lukas shook his head no. “I disagree. I have a strong feeling this is going to be so big that when it is finally exposed that there will be no covering it up.”

  * * *

  The tailor shop was decorated in colors and surfaces that reminded Pierre of his parent’s seaside vacation condo thirty years ago. It was amazing how colors and styles of chairs could be associated with a certain period down to almost the decade. There was a huge port with a view of the moon, but then Pierre remembered that if it was a port everything would be whizzing by. It was a display screen made to look like a port, probably from one of the hubs on the hab that didn’t turn. At least it didn’t have curtains to push the theme. Surely the shop wasn’t that old. Home hadn’t existed back then he was pretty sure.

  There were a couple really old robots standing to each side of the faux port like suits of armor or cigar store Indians. The semi-humanoid form had never really caught on anywhere but Japan. Pierre found them a little creepy, though he remembered there was a restaurant that used them as novelty servers when he was a child. These were so old they had a patina, and no one had made any effort to refinish them.

  Frank offered Pierre coffee or tea, which he hurried off to get. It was Cindy however who came over and examined his jacket with a critical eye. She rolled the lapel over and turned the cuffs back without asking permission, as comfortable intruding on his personal space as a doctor would be familiar with your body. It was impossible to be offended, especially when she said: “This is very fine hand work. We can do the same thing by machine now, but it hasn’t been that long ago it couldn’t be equaled. And a good thing it’s possible now, since there are very few left alive in the trade who know how to do it by hand.”

  “It’s by a very well regarded London shop,” Pierre said. “I have a few Italian suits too, but they tend to be a bit more stylish. I won’t wear them for work, because I need a dead serious and somber appearance for matters of state.”

  Cindy didn’t ask what state, so Pierre was resigned to the idea he could forget any chance of anonymity.

  “This is my normal mode of dress. I have little opportunity to dress casually if I’m not at home. However, I’d really like something that doesn’t shout I’m an outsider and draw attention to me walking down the corridor,” Pierre explained.

  Cindy pursed her lips. “I can make you less conspicuous, but honestly, off the one G level here you’ll walk so differently than locals it will catch the eye of a lot of the natives, especial the old timers. You aren’t armed, which people notice, and your shoes and haircut both scream Earthie!”

  “I’m very willing to switch to a pair of soft comfortable shoes. I see people wearing some that look like slippers to me.”

  “Have Eric take you by a footie machine,” Frank said. “I’d have to charge you three or four times as much to make them here.”

  “Thank you. I suppose I could have my hair cut too,” he said with a grimace, and ran his hand across it.

  “It grows out,” Cindy pointed out. “Probably back to where it is now in about three weeks.”

  “I’m going on to the Moon, so I suppose that doesn’t matter. I’m reluctant to spend a large sum for a weapon, just for show, that I can’t take back to Earth.”

  “Can you shoot?” Cindy asked. “I wouldn’t suggest wearing it just for show if you don’t know which end to grab. It’s not something that can be taught in an hour and then send you out in public, carrying.”

  “As matter of fact, I have military experience, and France, though in the Union, has fewer restrictions than you might think.” He didn’t add for high officials. “I own a lovely antique Browning Hi-Power, but it would be a nightmare to get it here legally. I’d be scared of a misstep in some other jurisdiction, getting it seized and destroyed.”

  “Zack’s, that’s a ship’s chandlery and sort of a general store and fancy grocer, rents pistols if you want,” Eric told him.

  “That’s interesting. I didn’t know that, dear,” Cindy said.

  “I believe I can muddle along without one,” Pierre insisted.

  She regarded Pierre again. “I also doubt you plan to spend much time strolling up and down the corridors to be inspected by the natives. Where do you want to go and what do you want to do that I can suggest appropriate attire?”

  “Oh, the only hard appointment I have is to join a young lady for dinner at the Fox and Hare this evening. Miss April Lewis if you know her.”

  Cindy laughed. “Everybody knows April. She speaks pretty frequently in the Assembly. Also she’s a client. She’s very likely to be dressed elegantly to go to her club. You don’t want me to send you off there looking boring.”

  Pierre grimaced. “As you say, but neither do I want to be cutting edge and a peacock. That can be pathetic in an older man.”

  Frank came back with coffee in a French press and a tray of cookies and sandwiches. “Nonsense, you aren’t fat and saggy,” Frank said bluntly. “Everyone is gene mod and has life extension now. I expect the next thing to be the older gentlemen bleaching their hair a bit at the temples to restore their mature look.”

  “You’re ahead of the trend dear,” Cindy said with a smile.

  “Why did you say her club?” Pierre wondered. “Do people have a habit of patronizing a particular place where their social set expects to find them?”

  “That’s one of those publicly known things I can tell you,” Eric volunteered. “April is one of the owners. She has an interest in the Fox and Hare. I couldn’t tell you how much, but she is involved in its operation enough to have designed the logo it uses and the sign in the corridor.”

  “On Earth she wouldn’t be allowed to patronize a club, much less own an interest in a place that serves alcohol,” Pierre protested.

  “I’ve never been there myself,” Eric admitted. “I’d feel a bit pushy to try until I have my majority voted. I’d be afraid of being turned away and word getting around I had no idea what was appropriate behavior.”

  Pierre had so many question from that he didn’t know where to start.

  “We still have customs about what are adult things, even when we don’t have laws,” Cindy informed him. “The club doesn’t have laws about who they must serve either. I know for a fact they won’t accept people without a shirt or long pants. They had to post that at the door for some idiots until word got around.”

  “Then I put myself in your hands, since you know local custom.”

  “Excellent,” Cindy said, making a show if rubbing her hands together in anticipation. “I do my best work when a client doesn’t have all sorts of preconceptions.”

  “Do have a nibble,” Frank urged Pierre. “The cucumber and pimento cheese sandwich is quite good, and I baked the raisin cookies myself in the back room. You too, Eric I made enough.”

  * * *

  “Mo, I want to have a talk with you about the atomic separators and some other things” Heather said. “I’ll have a few other people there. After supper, say 1730.”

  “You should know the workers got tired of various technical descriptions of them. There being no common name for the devices, they seem to have reached a consensus to call them French mills,” Mo said.

  “Fine, there is probably a French name for them, but I don’t care what we call them,” Heather allowed, “at least that is printable in proper Earth society. If you fight people on slang it makes you look stuffy and authoritative.”

  “You’ve seen my reports, I assume. I’ve been sending you build and product numbers. You haven’t had any comment on them, but I took that for satisfaction. I better ask specifically now though, in case your spam filter ate them.”

  “More my foolishness filter,” Heather said. “My executive mail box won’t accept anything from an Earth address, so I only get messages from our own people who need to tell me breathlessly that the light fixtures have been dutifully checked and two defective lamps replaced.”

  “Do you need any newer or different numbers?” Mo i
nquired.

  “No, this is going to be new matters, not a rehash of what we’ve been doing, and more of a policy discussion,” Heather said, and closed the call.

  Mo was still nervous. He’d been expecting Heather to ask if he was really committed to Central, because his family was still on Home and he spent every leave there. Heather hadn’t explicitly said she was happy with him, and right now he really wanted to hear that said plainly. But if she was going to jump on him about that, why would she bring other people in? That wasn’t Heather’s style to dress you down in front of others. Not unless you came to court and stupidly asked for it in a public setting. He needed to press Linda again to come at least look at the Moon, so if he was asked about that he’d have a good answer. Right now he couldn’t make the commitment he wanted and needed to make.

  Heather for her part had no idea what a problem his situation was in Mo’s mind. She had other concerns and hadn’t picked up on his insecurities at all.

  * * *

  “This won’t make me look ridiculous?” Pierre demanded. “It would get me invited to leave or even arrested for deviate behavior on much of Earth.”

  “Short jackets are the style now for men. This is a very conservative interpretation of them,” Cindy assured him. “It’s in a muted color for Home, without piping or fancy buttons. It isn’t tapered tight and high on the waist, doesn’t even button, and it has absolutely no embroidery or sparkles. The cape collar turns down if you don’t like it sticking up.”

  Pierre turned sideways and regarded it with suspicion. Nobody dared wear anything so form fitting on Earth. He kept himself in a fit condition or he wouldn’t dare either. He tried to imagine everyone dressed like this at a diplomatic function and had to dismiss the ugly thought from his mind. Modern medicine had just about eliminated obesity, but no pill could make you look like you didn’t sit at a desk all day. Far too many refused to take time to visit the gym or even a daily walk. He was not used to a jacket that didn’t go down past his hips. Frock coats were in again, back on earth.

  The old robots Pierre had thought static displays activated and fussed with him, looking for loose threads and letting him look in a plain old fashioned mirror instead of showing him an all-around video camera pan. Then they retreated to each side of the faux window and parked again.

  “You look like a stack of Solars,” Eric assured him, busy finishing up the snacks Frank brought. “Stop looking at your butt, there’s nothing wrong with it.”

  “Out of the mouths of babes,” Pierre muttered.

  “I’m a guy not a babe,” Eric objected. “But some of the babes may approve. With Life Extension so common, my sister said older looking men are considered a little exotic now. Girls are looking interesting to me now, but they still don’t make any sense to me.”

  “A different usage,” Pierre assured him, and decided not to warn him his perception of females might not clarify going forward. “The ribbon under the foot is strange too. I’m used to tugging my pants up when I sit so the knees don’t get baggy. I do that without thinking about it, but can’t with these pants. My tailor would glare at me if I bagged the knees out.”

  “If it were a fine woolen fabric that would make sense,” Cindy agreed. “This stuff is stronger than steel. If I gave you a sample you’d be hard pressed to rip it by hand unless I notched the edge to give you start. A little thicker weave of the same stuff would stop pistol bullets.”

  “I’ll try not to test that,” Pierre quipped.

  “The ribbon keeps it from riding up in zero G. I can’t believe it’s thick enough to bother you. I thought you’d object to the shirt,” Cindy said, frustrated.

  The shirt was medium blue with gold stars in geometric patterns. Much lighter than the jacket that was almost purple.

  “I like the shirt,” Pierre admitted, “so much so I’m thinking of having you make a couple more of similar design. I’d forgo the jacket to show off the shirt.”

  “I’d glare at you for that. Take it off or just open it up later in a less public setting, but not in a club. Would you take your suit jacket off back home in a fancy restaurant?”

  “No,” Pierre admitted. “It doesn’t need a tie?”

  “Nobody wears a tie here,” Cindy insisted. “I’ve tried to sell scarves and can’t get anybody to go for them either. If I wanted you to wear a tie I’d have given you a proper collar to show it off correctly.”

  Pierre hadn’t thought on that. The shirt had an odd zipper hidden under a placket, and was open at his neck.

  “But a few people wear capes,” Eric piped up.

  “But not with a short jacket,” Cindy insisted. “He’d look like a foolish bullfighter who forgot his sword and montera hat.”

  “I never knew what that was called,” Pierre admitted.

  “Fashion has as much endless lore as any other specialty,” Frank said.

  “Indeed, I once knew a woman whose doctoral dissertation was on the all the cultural variations of grass skirts,” Cindy said.

  “Alright, I yield to your expertise,” Pierre agreed. “Make me two more patterned shirts and plain pants on the same pattern, please, suitable to wear without a jacket if I so choose. You may pick the colors and embellishments. I could wear this with Earth style slacks for a lawn party or a private informal dinner,” he said plucking at his sleeve. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it for sale so I would be a bit daring to wear it for my friends back home.”

  “That’s how fashion trends start,” Cindy told him punching instruction in the auto-tailor, “though most often trends are started by people who have the skills to make their own things. We’re done then, when the machines finish your shirts.”

  “Thank you.” Pierre offered his new card for his purchases.

  “You’ll have to stick it in the port yourself,” Frank reminded him. “It won’t process if your thumb isn’t squarely on the taster pad.”

  * * *

  Mo arrived at Heather’s door at 1720. He didn’t figure he’d be first and he was right. Dakota was already there as he expected. Jeff, who Mo knew was at Central, and Kurt, who had worked for him on quite a few projects, were also there. The surprise was Dr. Holbrook. To be honest, the doctor intimidated him a little. He’d spoken with him twice to help him move and set up some equipment. Mo knew he spent time at Marseille too. The doctor was careful not to speak down to him, but he had a precision to his instructions that impressed Mo.

  Having anticipated Heather’s housekeeper would put out treats, Mo had a light dinner. That paid off as they had the sovereign’s private coffee offered up, and pastries with imported flavors such lemon bars and pecan rolls. Mo took as much as he figured he could without looking greedy and saw from his plate that Kurt dove into them pretty heavily.

  “I’m going to make a presentation for a large project,” Heather informed them. “Please hold your questions until I put the bare outline before you, because the answers may be coming in what I say next. I don’t have a written outline and I may lose my train of thought. I promise it won’t be so long you forget your questions, and you are welcome to take notes. Jeff and Kurt already know the basics as they are principals in actuating it. However, I’m asking that what I say be held in confidence right now. It will by its nature be public in a matter of months, but until this project is active I ask non-disclosure. Anybody want out?”

  “I’m willing to sign such an agreement,” Dr. Holbrook told Heather.

  “Doctor, we do things a little differently than the lunar republics. You are not sworn to me, neither are Kurt or Mo. Still I expect loyalty of an employee. As sovereign if you betrayed me, I don’t have to establish it in a court and betraying me is betraying the nation of Central. I am the court of final appeal. If I am very certain you did so willfully I’d just shoot you dead. I’d hate to ask anyone to do the ugly deed for me, but if it took tracking you down in a different jurisdiction to which I don’t want to go, I would farm it out.”

  “Fair enough, but
it really means something to me to sign something, so that doesn’t really make any difference to me. I’m still in.”

  Heather looked around, nobody seemed inclined to head for the exit.

  “April made a suggestion for which we have a window of opportunity,” Heather said, crediting her. “We have a superior space drive which will allow us to access the outer system with much more ease and speed than any of the Earth governments can at present. Jeff is in the process of building the second vessel, the Hringhorni, to use this drive. Kurt is a member of the crew, which is in training, and will test the new vessel soon.

  “We also have the atomic separator technology which I’m told has been dubbed the French mill. The proposal is we use the new vessel to do a quick survey of the minor planetoids such as Ceres, and establish structures there, if only moon-huts. We should take samples and do seismic testing to determine if we can use French mills and set up a mining operation on these bodies. The suggestion is also to put a radio beacon on them as a sign of ownership. This is just a quick first pass of a week or two, and then the ship is needed elsewhere.

  “We hesitate to do it as a strictly commercial enterprise. All of us, we three partners that is, doubt the Earth governments would respect our corporate ownership, so we shall hold them under the color of my sovereignty. Do you have suggestions or questions?”

  “You have a working version of the space drive that killed James Weir?” Holbrook asked.

  “Similar,” Heather admitted, but was somewhat dismayed how quickly he jumped to that conclusion. Well, she hadn’t invited him because he was stupid.

  “Better, if the bloody damn thing doesn’t kill you,” Holbrook said.