April 3: The Middle of Nowhere

by Mackey Chandler

  "Um hmm," Ruby was pursing her lips like she either knew all that or wasn't much interested. "Pick something and then we'll get some of those other details out of the way for you. There is a shortage of qualified help in most fields here, so don't get all down just yet."

  "I'd like the roast beef dinner, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans and coffee, please."

  Ruby lifted an inquiring eyebrow to Freidman.

  "That sounds fine to me too, I'll have the same and my thanks too."

  "Freidman sounds Jewish," Ruby guessed. "Are you observant? The gravy has mushrooms, but I can put some chicken gravy on it if you'd rather."

  "No need, I'm not very religious that way. My parents weren't either."

  The portion seemed generous and included a small salad and a couple slices of wheat bread and real butter. They took the trays to the far wall away from the few groups.

  "Are you going to ask her how she knew who we were?" Freidman asked.

  "Not me. I figure they make the passenger manifest public and she read it. The thing that is surprising is she is interested enough to read it. It can't be just for us. She must make the effort to check it out whenever a shuttle comes in."

  "She's a neighborhood watchdog. I've seen one before. Having one can be very good or a constant trial depending on if she is the sort that calls the cops when she sees somebody breaking into your place, or if she is the sort who calls the city because you haven't taken your trash can in fast enough for her."

  "Well we seem to be very much in her good graces and I'd certainly like to keep it that way. I do wonder if she knows not just our names, but who we are. I'm not about to ask because it can't make matters better as far as I can see and it might easily make them worse."

  Freidman just nodded enthusiastically, his mouth being full.

  Ruby finished serving another customer and called out fairly loudly to the dining room. "Gabriel! If you're done eating I have an errand for you." A lanky teenage boy closed up the hand comp he was reading, cleaned up his tray and went around behind the counter out of sight.

  It wasn't long before the kid reappeared at their table. "Ms. Dixon said to ask how you want to be listed on station com and I'm to run and get you spex while you are eating."

  "Don't you need to take some money along for that?" Freidman asked.

  "If Ms. Dixon asks Zack to send you spex he'll do it on her say-so."

  "I'm getting the impression Ruby is not a simple waitress," Isaac Freidman said.

  "There is nothing simple about Ms. Dixon," the boy informed him frowning at such an idea. "She always knows what's going on and her husband Easy is sudden death in both hands," he said holding his hands out open and closing them. "You keep both of them happy with you and life gets a lot simpler on Home. I'm pleased to do her a little favor anytime she wants."

  "How does she do this? Do you know?" Brockman asked.

  "I've got no idea. You know how a snoop may know you are taking up with a new lady before your current sweetie or your mama knows?"

  "Yes, I've seen that sort of thing before," Brockman admitted.

  "Well Ms. Dixon is nothing like that," the young fellow told him. He turned his head a little like he wanted to check she wasn't right behind him and then stopped. "She knows you're going to take up with the new girl before you realize you're thinking on it. It's scary," he assured them.

  "That's interesting," Eric agreed, privately reserving judgment that he must be exaggerating just a little. "Would you happen to know what sort of background she's from?"

  "She's from Detroit, spent a hitch in the Air Force, she said she was a Loadmaster, whatever that is and she is some kind of doctor of music, taught at a university for awhile."

  Eric and Isaac just looked at each other. A cook with a doctorate?

  "How you want to be listed? She doesn't see me go soon she's gonna ask why."

  "Eric Brockman is fine."

  "Isaac Freidman is good for my com," his buddy said. "You want it written down?"

  "Not unless you use some weird spelling. I'm young, not stupid," he told them.

  "No insult intended young man," Brockman apologized.

  "That's okay, you're used to Earthies. I won't be long." He left jogging.

  "After we see if Santos is on com I'd like to call Miss Lewis," Isaac said.

  "Sounds like a plan," Eric agreed.

  * * *

  The sovereign of Spain, Carlos, called up his cousin Phillip who was a horse nut. He pretty much invited himself to their estate for a 'few days'. No need to be too specific in case his wife didn't recover as quickly as he hoped. Being king it was pretty hard to turn him down, but truth was Phillip really did like him. It was easy enough to tell the difference. Not that he wouldn't occasionally impose himself on someone who found him in dislike, if say the fellow had a problem like an over abundance of pheasant or partridge with which he would lend a corrective hand.

  Phillip knew from the past that Carlos was an easy guest who didn't hang on your elbow all needy. In fact if he had a reason to be gone a day himself it was no problem. The servants kept the place running smoothly and an extra guest or ten was no problem.

  The very next morning in fact Phillip did exactly that, running off for a business meeting and leaving Carlos to breakfast with his family and another guest. His wife Adriana was with child and no great horsewoman anyway, so he asked their other guest if he'd like a ride? When he declined he was reduced to finding a riding partner from among the stable hands. His security rode, but they were no fun. They spent all their attention scanning the trees for snipers and made single word replies or even grunts to his attempts at conversation.

  Ernest, one of the trainers, was happy to go with him, saying he had a Bay that needed to be exercised. He started saddling her up and was going to do the Appaloosa the king had favored before next, while the security fellows took care of their own. They had been here before. Carlos threw a blanket on his ride antsy to go and waved Ernest away when he tried to his help.

  "I guess I remember how to saddle a horse just fine," he groused. "It's not like my arm is broken." He lofted the saddle in place with an ease Ernest honestly hadn't felt in a few years. He soon caught up and they finished about the same time. Earnest usually gave his sovereign a little help to mount, his horse was pretty tall, but before he could approach to do that he swung up in the saddle with ease, eager to get going. In fact he clicked his tongue at the big gelding right out of the gate and gave him a little heel. "Wake up big boy!" he barked at the horse and brought him to a trot, laughing. He was too far ahead to see the amazed expression on the trainer's face.

  * * *

  "Hello, are you Miss Lewis?" the young man on com asked earnestly.

  "I'm April, unless you are a bill collector, in which case you have the wrong com code. But we won't be talking long if you don't identify yourself."

  "Of course, I'm afraid I'm paying so much attention to how to make the call that I'm forgetting basic phone courtesy. I'm the Eric Brockman, who wrote and requested your help to get myself and Isaac Freidman to Home. Gabriel, a young friend of Ruby the cafeteria worker, obtained spex for us and he's showing me how to detach a camera and establish a call to you. Here, let me show you my buddy Isaac." The camera swung to the side and showed another face wearing spex. The fellow brought a hand up and gave a tentative wave.

  "Have him show you how to bring Isaac in on a conference call," April suggested.

  "Sure, that's no problem," a detached voice assured him. First we set up your camera the same, like this. You see a thumbnail down in the corner? Okay, now go back and pull down the menu for com and pick the network icon, now click on the plus and you'll have a line that says - build a conference call. Now pull down your addresses and double blink on Freidman." Her screen split so both lieutenants were visible.

  "So you finally made it up here! I wasn't able to communicate with Papa-san for a long time. I had no idea what was happening, but he said he'd collect you
if I couldn't, so I had every confidence in him it would happen. He doesn't make promises lightly," she assured them.

  "So you didn't hear the reports his ship was lost?"

  "I did, but discounted them given the sparse report. If they had a body and claimed a DNA match I'd start to worry. A dinghy and some junk on a beach? No way. Papa-san wouldn't bite off more than he can chew sailing and I've rode through a storm with him before."

  "We were fortunate enough to have relatively calm sailing, but in general we observed the same level of competence you're suggesting in everything he did. We really appreciate your efforts to help us. It's no exaggeration to say we owe you our lives."

  "Well you are certainly forgiving for the fact we were turning a mountain to gravel while you were trying to get out from under it. Glad you don't hold a grudge," she laughed.

  "It was war. I'm not about to sulk because you did it better than us," Freidman spoke up.

  "And glad it's over," Brockman took the conversation back. He seemed the dominant one.

  "I'm sure you had some adventures though. I'd like to get together when you can and hear some. I'm always looking for breakfast partners if you could meet me some morning soon."

  "Actually, we need to see you for business if you could arrange a service for us. We should have asked Mr. Santos if he could help us close out our North American bank accounts, but it didn't occur to us to impose even further upon him at the time. Now that we are up here he suggested you might know somebody better positioned to do it from Home. He indicated his contacts on Earth worked much better face to face and doing a physical delivery."

  April got an abstracted look and pursed her lips up. "I'll have to ask someone. He is a partner on the same bank board with me and he recently did basically the same thing for me, but that was from an Italian bank. I don't know if his reach extends into North America. Give me a second."

  April was talking to somebody she didn't invite into the call. Freidman looked at Brockman and silently mouthed, bank board? Brockman just looked off at the screen above their tables showing an environmental scene ignoring the aside. It looked to be Oriental from the style of the decorative bridge and the Koi fish gliding along beneath the flowering lily pads. April could still see them even if she was focused on somebody else. Something that simple she might lip read.

  Their displays suddenly added a young man, older than April but still maybe eighteen or nineteen years old. He didn't look like a bank executive either.

  "Hello, I'm Jeff Singh, Senior Partner of the System Trade Bank of Home. Do I understand you have not made any attempt to access your account since you have been at odds with North America?"

  "No, we were always afraid if we withdrew cash or paid for something it would bring them right down on us in short order," Brockman explained.

  "Very likely, but you don't care if they know you are on Home now?" Jeff asked.

  "If we aren't safe here where will we ever be safe?" Brockman asked. "We don't have the skills to create new identities and probably don't have the funds for it even if you know somebody who could arrange it. Yeah, we'll stop trying to hide now that we're on Home."

  "That's your judgment if you don't think they want you bad enough to send assassins. Now, our bank doesn't have direct access to the North American banking system. I doubt that we will be welcome to do business in North America for a long, long time, given the political animosities."

  "However The Private Bank of Home is grandfathered into that system and they have not tried to toss them out yet. They have a number of very influential Japanese owners they likely don't want to provoke. We have a good working relationship with them. We'll find out if they can extract your funds and then we'll see about moving them where they can't be clawed back. Are you free to meet me over there at the moment?"

  "You bet we are. If you can grab those funds it will make things a lot easier for us. What sort of fees do you think will apply?" Brockman asked.

  "Why, just the usual wire transfer fee, I believe they charge a hundred dollars USNA at this end to receive it. No charge to open an account with us. That moves it where they can't demand it back. Do you need a card to access it? Or would you like some cash?" Jeff offered.

  "What is the currency on Home?" Freidman finally got a word in.

  "There is no official currency. The System Trade Bank is coining twenty-five gram platinum coins called Solars, but they are not in wide circulation yet. Most folks use EuroMarks or USNA Dollars. There are some Tongan Pa'Anga floating around because they lift most of our supply. You don't see much else in any quantity. Plastic is the norm except for a few small service businesses and private clubs."

  "Then a card for each of us," Brockman at least checked for a visual okay from Freidman, "and a small amount of cash."

  "I'll meet you in about a half hour then?" Jeff asked. "It's getting late into first shift and they don't keep their doors open the off shifts."

  "That's fine," Brockman agreed.

  "See you over there," April agreed and logged off.

  "Miss Lewis is coming?" Freidman asked surprised.

  "You heard she has an interest. Surely you would like to meet our benefactress?" Brockman asked.

  "Of course. I guess I'm just feeling swept away by events. We have so very little control over what happens to us now. It's scary."

  "Ha! Scary would have been going into Jackman and turning ourselves in to the local cop."

  "No, might as well shoot ourselves in the head and save them the trouble," Freidman said, then there was an uncomfortable silence, because Freidman had come close to doing just that after he shot President Hadley.

  Gabriel was sitting patiently, watching them use the spex. "Are you gentlemen satisfied with the gear?" he asked, smiling.

  "Oh yeah, It's nicer than the military grade stuff we used in the Navy," Freidman gushed. "Here," he said grabbing his wallet, "you need something for your time," he insisted.

  "Ms. Dixon sent me," Gabriel reminded him standing up and stepping back from the table. "She'll take care of me. She'd be irritated with me if I cashed in on her kindness. You can remember me if you have some other work for me. I'm the only Gabriel on station com. If you need a courier or escort for Earth people, tutor for young kids, a bartender or server at a party, any kind of odd jobs like that you give me a call."

  "Bartender?" Freidman asked after he walked away. "He doesn't look old enough to drink."

  "Who knows what the law is on that here?" Brockman pointed out. "We really didn't get to research Home like we would have if we hadn't been in hiding. I suspect we should have done so with more diligence when we were on the Santos boat, or even just asked them. I bet they researched Home a lot better than us before deciding to come up."

  "We were sort of committed in any case. After all the stress of sneaking around and hiding it was too easy to relax and take a break from constant vigilance. Time to buckle down again."

  "Yes and maybe we can hire Gabriel to tutor us on local custom and law after we get done with whatever Santos needs," Brockman suggested.

  * * *

  Papa-san looked over the rooms they'd just rented critically. He was used to better accommodations, certainly more spacious, on his boat. That and the lack of any natural surfaces like wood or stone was sterile and depressing. He expected better, even for a Holiday Inn.

  "It's temporary," Mother reminded him. Not needing to ask what he thought at all. It was plainly written on his face.

  "Remove the ability to turn the lights off and this would make a wonderful sensory deprivation cell," he grumbled.

  "When we are out I'll find a florist and buy a plant or spray of cuttings for the corner there. We can add a few humanizing touches and take them with us when we move to other quarters," Mother proposed. "I suppose there are probably some prints to be had and surely the big screen there can be tuned to some pleasant environmental channel."

  "You make anywhere home," he complimented her. "Good thing I have you to keep
me sane. Sort of…" he added after a pause.

  "I value much of your craziness," she admitted giving him a hug.

  "Let's see if the cafeteria food is as bland as the rooms," he suggested. "If it is let's open our own place and drive them out of business."

  "Let me change into something warmer. They keep it cooler here than I expected."

  "That's fine, but keep it good for zero G in case they call us for the freight shuttle and you might bring a jacket or sweater too, because it might be cooler yet near the dock."

  "Are you going to call the lieutenants?"

  "Not until we have a docking time. Let's just have dinner for now and relax."

  "Yes dear," she agreed, amused at the idea of him relaxing. Maybe on the surface.

  Chapter 27

  "Pretty expensive looking place," Freidman said while they were still outside. The dark wooden panels and green trim would have looked rich even on Earth.

  "Freidman and Brockman," Isaac announced to the clerk occupying the desk nearest the entry. Brockman seemed unusually intimidated. "I believe Mr. Singh should have called by now and set up an appointment for us."

  "Yes, the director is setting up in his office and Mr. Singh is on his way. Let me show you in, would you like some coffee or other beverage?"

  "Coffee would be nice, just black for both of us please," Isaac still spoke for them.

  The office he led them to was an oddity. It was the director's office at one end with a desk and a glass wall into the common area, but behind a short conference table that seated six and had a huge screen on the far end wall. You'd never see them combined like this on Earth. There were two men in traditional Earth business dress working at open computers on the long table.

  The front desk minion announced them, but did no introductions and disappeared to get the offered coffee. The older man, Irwin Hall, introduced himself as the director and asked for their identification and bank cards. His associate Dan Prescott just looked up from the computer and nodded when he was introduced.

  "I understand we probably have one shot at a wire transfer and then once your authorities have you located there will no advantage to keeping the accounts accessible. It's good you deal with separate banks. We are doubly fortunate both your banks allow you to initiate wire transfers electronically. Only about a third of American banks do so. We're going to try to do both transfers as close to simultaneously as possible. If you'd write out your password it will save seconds accessing the account. I doubt you'll need it again, but if they would leave the account open for some reason you can always change it."