* * *
“What do you think of it?” Jeff asked. It wasn’t an idle question. He was paying a substantial fee for the man’s expertise as a distiller. The fellow swirled the whiskey around the glass and sniffed it thoughtfully. He didn’t do as Jeff expected and immediately address the drink itself. Perhaps he was being polite.
“Are you using the same char blocks in this second batch as the first?” Tim asked, with a wave that encompassed the looming stainless steel tank from which Jeff had drawn the sample.
“Basically yes, though maybe half are a new batch of wood.”
“Might I see two or three of the old ones from the first batch?” Tim asked.
“Sure. Hang on a second and I’ll get them. Sit if you like,” Jeff offered.
“Also, provide a way to cleave them in half, if you would please.”
When Jeff came back he had three of the blackened cubes, and a Japanese pruning knife. He didn’t have anything like a hatchet, but he had a mallet to strike the back of the knife. Tim took another sip, so it must not be terrible.
Tim rolled the cubes around examining them, and sat them back down. Jeff figured out he was ascertaining which way the grain ran. Tim was gentle, taking a number of cautious blows to split the blocks, but that way they didn’t have to chase any split so vigorously the pieces flew off to the floor.
“Ah yes, attend here please. You see the center of your wood is largely unchanged in color?”
Jeff nodded, not trying to prompt him.
“That’s pretty much wasted, or if you should allow it to age a very long time, it could actually be to your detriment. You see, it will take a very long time, ten to fifteen years likely before the diffusion conducts the taste of the unaltered wood to the spirits. That isn’t the flavor you should be seeking anyhow. You need to use smaller blocks or drill cross holes if you wish.
“Your heat needs to reach deeper to toast the wood so it yields flavor. Right now, you have a narrow band of wood in the condition you wish, enclosing untreated wood and surrounded by too much char. You lack the wood that gives favorable flavors, and have formed too deep a char, which will remove desirable fractions along with the unpleasant.” He paused long enough that Jeff felt he was seeking a response.
“I see. How should I alter my process to correct this condition?”
“You need to heat the wood slower and longer. The heat level these blocks experienced should only be applied briefly at the end, and you should flush the atmosphere at pressure once while still hot at the end, so the volatiles you have driven off do not condense and get absorbed back into the char surface. Then seal it and allow it to cool.
“You need to sample your blocks in just this manner to make sure they have been correctly prepared before you use them. You might have to do several small batches and resign yourself to wasting a few until you have the method perfected.
“If you do that then you might have an interesting and palatable whiskey in six or eight years. It won’t be an Earth whiskey, and I doubt you will ever make the process copy that taste closely, but it can be a fine drink with its own character,” he judged. “If you really want a consistent product you need to go beyond expert taste testing. You need a specialist in the organic chemistry of distillation and the proper equipment to do quantitative liquid chromatography. The chances of hiring such talent away from an established firm are very slim, so my suggestion would be to find someone with a passion for the art and develop your own standards and expertise in house.”
“There’s no way to save this batch is there?” Jeff asked frowning. “It wouldn’t be a process I’d repeat, so it would be useless as a process.”
“I’m sure there is a market for anything,” Tim allowed, “however, if you intend a favorable reputation, and wish to attach it to a label. I’d sell this off unbranded, or use a throw away branding people won’t associate with your important line. You could use it premixed or a novelty item with added flavors.”
“I’ll do that,” Jeff agreed. “If you ever change your mind and want to stay on Home or the Moon let me know,” Jeff said. “I’d be happy to hire you full time or part time. Heather would probably have lots of other duties that could keep you busy and would be interesting in other food processing areas. We’re just getting started really.”
“Thank you, but no. I like to walk among trees and sail. I want to feel the wind on my face and to experience fifty different restaurants in a year. This was an interesting vacation, and I’m glad I took it, but this will never be home to me. I’ll keep this as a remembrance of a once in a lifetime trip, and hang it on a neck chain,” Tim said, holding up the Solar that was his fee.
* * *
General Bellini looked at the map display in horror. The Texans had control of the area annexed and the force it would take to dislodge them was simply not available to him. In theory maybe he had the numbers, but he didn’t have the transport to move them or the logistics to feed them and supply ordinance for a protracted campaign.
The key to their grab was the swift placement of road blocks and control points on the new borders. They had special forces airdropped onto the road and river crossing points, especially both sides of the Mississippi at the thirty third parallel line. Both banks of the river at the parallel was one place they did rush in heavy artillery and were still flying in a plane load of ammo for the big guns every couple hours. They planned to use a great number of rounds if he contested the river with them there.
The planners had brilliantly infiltrated combat engineers who simply bought or rented civilian bulldozers and front loaders and pre-sited them to quickly build fortifications at those check points while the people to man them were still falling from the sky. Now that those fortifications were in place, they were continuing to cut tank traps and clear fields of fire that would make recovery of those assets more difficult by the hour.
If he removed the military support to the states he still had, he faced likely rebellion to his rear as well as a battle before him. Quebec in particular was a seething pit of intrigue just waiting for a moment of weakness to rebel. The Sons of Liberty, who were basically the remnants of the Patriot Party holding their fingers crossed behind their backs, were stronger in the northern states. One miscalculation could find God’s Warriors hammered from both sides, with the Patriots holding many important sources of their supply.
The catastrophe was piled on top of his personal one. He’d just been diagnosed with an inoperable cancer that had spread beyond any reasonable chance of treatment, and a miracle there seemed as remote a possibility as taking Louisiana back. Another man, faced with his own end and an impossible tactical situation, might have decided to go out in a blaze of glory leaving a legacy of acting on principle in the face of certain defeat.
Bellini wasn’t sufficiently psychopathic to tear down his world as an angry parting gesture. He employed any number of officers who would accept those orders without a twitch. He thought he could make a list of them fairly easily.
Some of those same officers might kill him to keep him from doing what he was thinking about doing now – compromising with their internal opposition. But that was no longer the threat to him it would have seemed a month ago, was it? He smiled. If that happened they might save him a painful slow end in bed with a bunch of tubes and wires fending off the inevitable. He might even die a martyr if his secret illness was never revealed.
“Lieutenant Brink, I wish you to take a private letter for me to the head of the Sons of Liberty,” Bellini said, quite calmly. “I’ll dictate.”
Brick looked alarmed, because they rarely credited the Patriots with their newly chosen name in private without appending some sarcastic derision. This was a sea change, and it gave him a chill. His reaction was readily visible.
“Now we’ll see if the little weasel is the first to try to kill me,” Bellini thought.
* * *
Pierre went to the lobby ten minutes early. He had a small case with his remaining cash,
his letter of credit should he need it, and the gold bars. He wouldn’t have to double back to his room to get it, and the room didn’t have a safe such as he was used to expecting in Earth hotels. They offered the use of a safe in common in their office, but that seemed even more cumbersome than just carrying it. Nothing else in his big bag was valuable enough to worry about.
His guide wasn’t in evidence yet. That was OK, he personally felt if he wasn’t a little early he was late, but other people had different customs. After he’d vacationed in Turkey he thought he was immunized against being shocked by any lack of promptness.
There was a love seat opposite the desk, out of the way, beside a stand with a single serve coffee maker and a covered tray of pastries and muffins for guests. It was only a few minutes until the hour so he determined he should wait and have a real breakfast with his guide.
The young boy sitting in an arm chair nearby got up and approached him. Pierre wondered if he was about to meet his first Home panhandler.
“Mssr. Broutin?” Eric asked, and presented his business card double handed. He didn’t quite bow, but the way he leaned forward to present his card suggested it. He didn’t look a bit Japanese. M3 was Japanese though, wasn’t it? Pierre took it double handed since that was the way it was presented.
“Do you speak Japanese?” Pierre asked, which he immediately regretted. What he really wanted to know was if the boy was Japanese by culture, but it seemed an awkward question to put that way.
“Sukoshi dake,” Eric said, and made a rocking gesture with his hand. “Not much,” he added when there was no look of comprehension on Pierre’s face.
Pierre nodded and looked at his card since Eric didn’t have a hand out.
Eric Pennington
Nation of Home – Com Code 1972
Used Personal Electronics / Courier Services / Food Delivery
Contract Services in Light Manufacturing
Pierre lifted an eyebrow and regarded the youth. “You don’t seem to limit yourself. It says nothing about guiding tourists. I’m constantly astonished that young people aren’t precluded from working at all as a matter of law.”
“I do whatever needs to be done. I can’t do vacuum work. Nobody would trust my maturity to even instruct me in that. I might pass a pilot’s exam and get my certificate, but I doubt anyone would trust me with a vessel worth a few thousand Solars just yet either. There are limits on what I can do. How do Earthies learn to do business without doing it? There are so many things about doing business that you really can’t learn from a book.”
“But aren’t you missing the book part of it right now?” Pierre asked.
“Just today, yeah. I had a class to study in History and a Chapter in Materials Science to study. I’m recording the History class and will read everybody’s questions and discussion. If I need to I can ask the instructor about it. I like history, so chances are I already know more detail than the program demands.
“The Materials Science is a flow class. Everybody comes in and finishes up at their own pace so there is no start and stop. I can read it when I want. That’s tougher. It’s a whole bunch of stuff about glass steel with phase diagrams and talking about energy states,” Eric said, rolling his eyes.
“Guiding an Earthie is a rare opportunity. You don’t get to interact with people from a different culture on any schedule. You grab the chance when it presents itself, and nobody would argue it isn’t educational. Besides, I get to do something for April, and her triad is an excellent association to cultivate. I’d do it for free, but she said to charge her whatever I felt it was worth. How many folks will give you a contract like that?”
“Not many, I’m sure. I’m in government service, so I’m not used to thinking in business terms. I’m more concerned with the relationship between governments, and how they regulate business. One affects the other of course.” Broutin decided not to argue that there was a cultural divide with his guide. Why alienate the boy first thing before they got to know each other?
Eric nodded. “You’re the Foreign Minister of France. April didn’t mention that, but I did a search on you while I was waiting.” He touched his spex to indicate how. It still unnerved Pierre to see such an expensive appliance on young children.
“You did a face search?” Pierre asked, resigned to it being common here.
“No, before you came out. You were the first three cites just by name on the Earth web. But it did have your portrait. People would just walk past you in the corridor but you have to expect a lot of them are going to do a face search on you if you walk around dressed like that.”
It would have been easy to take offense at that, but the boy didn’t have a trace of animus in the statement, just fact. “I have already had occasion to regret dressing distinctively on my trip here,” Pierre admitted. “This mode of dress has benefits on Earth, but I did not anticipate it drawing unwanted attention here. The last time I visited Home, or at least M3, it wasn’t such an issue.”
“If you want to go stealth let me know. After breakfast I can take you to a tailor shop my sister works with, and they can make you look like a native in a half hour or so,” Eric offered.
“I have yet to do a currency exchange,” Pierre revealed. “I need to do that before any shopping. Indeed, I only have a few dollars Australian. I may be short to even buy breakfast.”
“Nah, food is cheap. Mitsubishi subsidizes it. I think the hot breakfast buffet is about fifty bucks Australian. But I never use up all my cafeteria card credit. I can put you on it and save your cash.”
“I thank you. Let’s go then. If I sit around here much longer I’ll be hitting the sweet rolls,” he said, gesturing at the snacks provided for guests.
“That stuff doesn’t stick with you. We can do much better,” Eric promised.
* * *
“The omelette was marvelous,” Pierre admitted. “I didn’t expect fresh mushrooms and Gruyrè cheese here.”
“In the public cafeteria?” Eric asked. “I can almost assure you it’s fake cheese from the Moon, and the mushrooms will be from there too, though they are easy to grow for real. The eggs are imported, but I think maybe they mix freeze dried in the mix for scrambled or omelets, and save straight shell eggs for over easy or pouched where you can’t fake it.”
“Then they did an amazing job,” Pierre said, not entirely convinced.
“We get salad stuff and really good faux cream cheese,” Eric said. “I like that on bagels. I’m not sure of everything they’re doing yet, I’m more interested in the eating than the business side, but I know they grow boneless beef. I haven’t had any yet but they have it for sale to fix at home and in the fancy private clubs. It’s a little pricey for my family.”
“Where would you suggest going to exchange my EuroMarks?” Pierre asked. He really didn’t want to pry into Eric’s family or their economic status.
“Well, if you are doing any business with April and her people, I assume you don’t want to tell them every bit you own. That pretty much means you go to Irwin at the Private Bank of Home. He and Jeff do business, but they keep completely separate accounts. I keep my own accounts with Irwin even though I work for the System Trade Bank.”
That knocked Pierre back into a bizarre sense of wonder again. Eric couldn’t have accounts in France. He wasn’t sure he could anywhere on Earth, much less work for a bank. What could he possibly do for a bank? If he did do their courier work, who would bond him? Maybe he cleaned their offices at night.
“Then by all means let’s go see Mr. Irwin,” Pierre said.
“Irwin Hall, Mr. Hall if you want to be formal with him,” Eric explained.
* * *
Diana laid her phone face down on the table. Sylvia was holding both hands around a mug of coffee taking a sip now and then. Gunny was laying out brunch from a thermo-pack a young lady had just dropped off. Eduardo was slouched low in his seat, eyes almost closed, and looked like he might be going to sleep. Looks were deceiving.
�
�April Lewis just gave me a wonderful idea for a business,” Diana said.
Gunny looked at Eduardo slowly, and Eduardo Muños lifted one lazy eyelid and gave him the old fish eye back. “We heard a little,” Gunny admitted.
“What? Don’t be that way! If you have an objection to it say it plainly instead of trading sly sarcastic looks back and forth,” Diana demanded.
“Why didn’t she keep the idea for herself if it’s so wonderful?” Muños asked.
“She has so many irons in the fire she likely has to prioritize,” Gunny told him. “Maybe this just fell off the bottom of the list she can actually implement.”
“She did say a bunch of reasons it would be difficult to do, but she asked for a cut of the action in exchange for the idea. I promised her a percent.” Diana said.
“That’s good then, if she bothered to keep a finger in on the action it’s probably viable and it will get behind the scenes support from those three so she gets her percent,” Gunny said. “It’s a percent here and a percent there. You got off easy. Sometimes it’s three percent or even five. You have no idea how it all adds up. Your contribution will probably cover my pay to be her body guard.”
“Seems like easy money to me,” Diana ribbed him. “You can go off for other gigs and take a vacation without any notice.”
“It always looks easy to others, standing around in the background like a potted plant, until you have to eat a bullet for someone. It was a lot harder when we were in Earth orbit. Moving out here has cut way down on the crazies and assassins. But if she wants to visit another hab I drop what I’m doing and cover her back, not that she isn’t pretty dangerous all by herself.”
“I noticed she wasn’t in any hurry to get you back,” Diana admitted.
“She won’t ask me to escort her to the Moon,” Gunny predicted. “Central is, if anything, safer than Home. But who is this old friend she mentioned as meeting here, Sylvia? I thought I’d met all her old friends by now.”
Been There, Done That (April Book 10) Page 6