He made sure his thumb was on the taste square and stuck his card in the machine. It only took about four minutes to make them and they appeared in a alcove when a door lifted. The screen invited him to try them on and report if there was any problem with them.
They slipped on fairly easily, although the inside had a bit of a rubbery feel to them. There was a zipper in the back at the heel with an impossibly tiny disk to zip it. The disk however had very sharp diamond checkering and lifted easily. Once run all the way to top you could feel a distinct detent when you pushed it down against your heel. The slipper didn’t feel anywhere near as soft as he’d expected. It was very much like a favorite pair of boat shoes he owned, but better.
Pierre was going to ask what to do with his shoes and socks, but when he turned around Eric had Jenifer standing there with a bag to take them.
“You think of everything,” Pierre complimented him.
“Not nearly, that’s how I feel about April,” Eric said, “but thank you.”
* * *
Albert Hass of INTCEN dutifully took the joint report from CiS and Auditing. They earnestly urged him to investigate what was happening on Mars. Their concerns were reasonable and insightful. He agreed and intended to do so.
It amused him they implored him to hurry because the next supply mission to Mars was assembling and he needed to make arrangements to get an agent sent before there was another six month delay. Did they really think they didn’t have anyone keeping an eye on an entire planet? There would be an agent to watch the Martians, and another, to watch the watcher. Not from INTCEN proper, but a smaller much more exclusive branch of that agency. A Department kept far enough from public view that these bureaucrats certainly would never have cause to know it by name. Indeed, beyond a name and channel to inform them, Hass knew little about the shadowy department himself.
* * *
Eric instructed Pierre in the mapping software, and guided him in using it to find his way to several features of Home that were actually interesting. He felt somewhat confident he understood it now. It was getting late enough Pierre Broutin felt a little pang of hunger. He’d had a light lunch on purpose, both to be hungry for supper and not to impose on Eric’s hospitality unduly. “Am I going to make you miss supper with your own family?” Pierre worried. “Will they be upset?”
“No, it’s better for me. My dad is on the Moon right now and won’t have leave for another week. My sister is working on a commission and won’t be home until later than your reservation. I’d rather not be home alone with mom, because she will pick at me without Lindsey for a buffer. Of course Lindsey says the same thing. We’re always better off with both of us facing her. I still have to sleep some hours at full G for medical reasons so I might not even go home tonight.” That wasn’t strictly true, but it was far too complicated to explain to Pierre.
“I didn’t mean to pry into personal things,” Pierre apologized. “I’m sorry you don’t get along well with your mother. I never had much opportunity to be at odds with my parents. They were very busy and I was pretty much raised by nannies and tutors. When my parents traveled and vacationed they never took me or my brother along. Then I went off to private school and college. I knew the servants better than them.”
“My mom is OK. She let my dad get us off the Slum Ball didn’t she? But she has a lot of Earth Think she can’t let go.”
Pierre didn’t want to touch that with double gloves, so he changed the subject. “I need to get back to my room for a shower and to dress. Do you want to get a snack along the way to carry you over ‘til your supper?”
“No thanks. Once I deliver you I’m going over to the Barracks and have a cheeseburger. You need to be seriously hungry to finish one of Cheesey’s burgers and fries,” Eric said.
“Where are these Barracks?” Pierre wondered. It sounded military.
“That’s the zero G housing floating off a few kilometers,” Eric said, with a wave that didn’t really try to point at it, but just defined it as elsewhere. “It’s another thing Jeff came up with, but he’s just a minor partner. He really doesn’t like them to be called that, but shame on him for not naming them something that would catch on. Some of the people raised on Earth who didn’t want them built at all, tried to tag them as The Projects, but it didn’t take.”
They had been chatting all day, but Pierre was quiet walking to the Holiday Inn, mulling over some of Eric’s disquieting assumptions.
When they arrived at the Holiday Inn Eric marched right up to the desk.
“My courier dropped off a couple packages for Mr. Broutin. I’m guiding him today.” The clerk nodded and put his things on the counter.
“You don’t have to come in,” Pierre said, alarmed. “I can take those things.”
Eric regarded him with a puzzled expression. “If you need your privacy,” he allowed with a shrug.
“On Earth I’d be arrested for taking a minor in a hotel room,” Pierre said.
“Earth Think,” Eric grumbled, disgusted. “The clerk knows me and I know you aren’t a creep. That was obvious. But do whatever makes you comfortable.” The clerk had already turned away and was pretending not to hear. Eric went to one of the lobby chairs and got a pad out to read while he waited. Pierre was going to be uncomfortable either way now, so he went with what was familiar.
* * *
Markus, head of the Committee on Public Order, informally know among their own as Marduk's Holy Guard, told his directors. “INTCEN has given us multiple reports of irregularities in both supply and personnel on Mars, at a level that suggests a broad conspiracy with political motivation. Paul, I believe you have assets in place?”
Paul touched the pad in front of him on the conference table. “We have two full agents, number 71 and number 103. 103 is an Eye of Enki. 103 is assigned general intel collection tasks, and 71 to watch him, each unaware of the other’s status. There are also two secondary sources who are paid, and think they are working for the Turks and the Russians.”
“I’m sending you the file,” Markus told Paul. “That an investigation exists is sufficient at this time for the rest of you. If you see anything unusual related to Mars direct it to Paul through me.”
* * *
“Look me over,” Pierre asked of Eric. He was nervous and irritated with himself for being nervous. April was a partner in a spacer business and there were other routes and sources for France besides her and her partners. That’s what he kept telling himself, rationally. But there was the L1 limit and such a long list of dead ships. She’d made a deep impression on him clear back when she was only fourteen, maybe even a couple months shy of that, he corrected himself. She had a presence in person that was hard to explain to others.
Pierre had been lobbying Joel his boss for years, even before Joel became Prime Minister, for France to have closer relations with Home. His boss had joked way back at his first report about April and her partners that he should have a better gift in hand than his used cufflinks the next time he saw April. He had that in his pocket now, but it had been a harder sell than he’d expected to have France pay for it.
Despite it being his idea, Joel now objected that one gifted heads of state, not teenage girls. Pierre pointed out Heather was a head of state, April her peer, and his likely conduit of influence to Heather. Sylvia, her mother never seemed keen on a closer relationship. He felt he knew April a little, Heather much less, and Jeff not at all. If he hadn’t been funded, Pierre would have bought his own gift, but even though he wasn’t impoverished he didn’t have the resources a nation could afford to toss away as a trivial gesture.
“Cindy really made you look good,” Eric reported after doing a walk around. Pierre had been looking for a report about a stray bit of fuzz or a clinging thread to be remove, much less than Eric’s broader assessment. Nevertheless he nodded his thanks to Eric for the inspection.
“Let’s go to this club if it isn’t too early. I don’t want to be standing waiting for her to show,” Pierr
e said.
“April won’t play status games with you, like being fashionably late,” Eric said. “I know about that kind of thing,” he said, because he saw Pierre’s surprise. “If you arrive first, her Maître d’, Detweiler, would just seat you or invite you to sit at the bar. Nobody would think they scored any points one way or another.”
“Since you don’t go to clubs yet, how is it you’ve come to know the workers?”
“They have stuff couriered all the time. I’m not a customer, but I see stuff go in the back door all the time, the same for the other big club, the Quiet Retreat, and a few other places in beam-dog country that don’t officially exist.” Eric said.
“But nothing seems to be illegal here, so why would they hide?”
“People still have sensibilities. No reason to rub their noses in it if they would be offended by openly advertising. I suppose somebody might even call them out. Folks whose tastes are in the minority find dark clubs just fine. I suspect that may be part of the attraction, that they are told about them by friends instead of an ad in What’s Happening. They pay just as well for couriers. That’s all I care about.”
That seemed remarkably pragmatic to Pierre from such a young man.
* * *
“Messier Broutin, to guest with Miss Lewis,” Eric announced to Detweiler at the entrance to the Fox and Hare. Pierre was still staring at the sign hanging in the corridor. He knew the motto was a German idiom, but liked it anyway.
“Mr. Detweiler will take good care of you,” Eric said. “I’ve enjoyed working with you. Good evening to you.”
“Yes! Thank you, Eric.” Pierre snapped his attention back to the moment, from gazing at the sign. “Here, a little something extra for you,” Pierre offered, holding out several of the bits.
“No, thank you, I’m the owner and working for April, so I wouldn’t feel right to take a tip. If I pleased you, consider hiring me in the future,” Eric suggested.
“I certainly will,” Pierre promised. “I kept your card.”
When Eric walked away Detweiler was waiting patiently. He motioned to a hostess and then the reservations desk, getting a nod back from her. Apparently they had just reversed roles and he was seating Pierre personally instead of handing him off to her. That made him feel special for an instant, but then he realized the extra care was probably for April and not him.
“Your hostess is present, if you’d follow me,” Detweiler suggested.
The club was smaller than he expected. The lighting was subdued and there was music on but one had to strain to hear it. It was slightly below the threshold at which he could identify it. There was no taint of tobacco or cannabis, though he’d been told neither was illegal on Home. When they were most of the way across the room he realized there wasn’t any odor of perfume either.
April was seated on the upper level in a high backed banquette around a half round table. It was cantilevered from a post on the outside edge to leave you foot room. It could seat the two of them facing each other face to face if they sat to the very edge. There was room for a third person facing outward, but four would have to be very friendly with each other. April was tucked to the back somewhat so she was facing outward a bit instead of near the edge.
Pierre took the oppose side and did like April sliding in until the seat curved, but not crowding her. The upholstery was leather, and with the half gravity made sliding in easy. That let him see the stage without awkwardly craning his neck and April was likewise an easy glance to the side.
“Monsieur Broutin,” April acknowledged with a nod.
“I believe you’re grown enough to call me Pierre,” he offered.
“Fine if you’re comfortable with that now,” April agreed. “You have not changed in appearance from what I remember, but I see you have a different tailor.” She couldn’t suppress a smile at that.
“Your guide, Eric, was very helpful. He took me to Cindy and Frank. I am informed they have your custom also. I didn’t want to be so glaringly obvious as an outsider. You don’t look all that different yourself, but it is mildly disquieting. You look a year, perhaps a year and a half older at most, and I still somehow had you pictured in my mind to appear much older. I suspect Eric would label that Earth Think,” he said ruefully.
“You didn’t search and find web sources and gossip sites to get a current image? I’d have thought your own department would have assembled a file on everyone who you’d expect to deal with, or requested one from your intelligence people to provide one before you came up,” April said.
“Joel is playing these cards very close to his chest,” Pierre said. “Indeed he has been very candid that he hasn’t told me every detail. So I cannot be read with facial and biometric software to analyze my every twitch and blink to key words.”
“Oh, you’re a buffer,” April understood that.
The server appeared and asked if they would like a drink menu or an appetizer menu. “Both please,” April responded.
They were handed a printed blue sheet and a white sheet instead of a display. It was dated today and lacked any illustrations. One of the beer selections was already crossed out. It wasn’t all that limited however. Who really needed more than two kinds of scotch? Broutin thought.
Pierre was delighted to see April was wearing his old gift of pale green champlevé cuff links when she lifted her menu. He’d had no idea what to expect, from the black militaristic outfit that had made her famous with Earth teenagers to an elegant gown. Unlike either, she was wearing a brilliant white shirt with a Mandarin collar and a collarless dark green quilted vest with piped edges.
She had spex much like his, though he couldn’t really tell one sort from another at a casual glance. They were set clear, and he’d noticed quite a few people put a tint on them. That seemed rude to him when one was with company. He hadn’t even bothered to learn how to do that yet.
Behind the spex were earrings that took his breath away. They were Emeralds as big as the end of his thumb hanging below triangular diamonds that were respectable all on their own. They weren’t of the flawless sort of perfection that said they were lab grown, they were mottled with inclusions one expected in a natural stone, the sort that would be worth a fortune in a matched pair. He was suddenly very happy he had something worthy in his pocket. He’d never have been able to personally spend enough to compete with that sort of gem. They would bring the cost of a fancy resort home if they were offered at Christie’s.
“You still wear the cuff links I gave you,” Pierre noted with a smile.
“Yes, I really do, and it’s not like setting the picture your aunt gave you out when she comes to visit and then hiding it in storage until the next time.”
“Also, those are magnificent earrings,” Pierre had to compliment her.
“My grandmother’s,” April said, but looked sad.
“An inheritance? It seemed to sadden you,” he said, regretting he’d said anything, and trying to sound suitably sympathetic.
“It’s complicated. My grandparents gifted us with items although they are still living. They wished to keep them in the family and perhaps keep the Australian government from seizing some of them. These were given to my brother but he’s deceased and I inherited them from him.”
“Ah, I had no idea, my condolences.” Pierre didn’t pry further, and wished suddenly he did have a comprehensive report, a cheat sheet such as she expected, for dealing with her, listing every known relative and idiosyncrasy. He’d put offering his gift off until the mood wasn’t so melancholy.
The server returned and Pierre hadn’t even looked at his menu sheets.
“I’ll have the watermelon-berry-mint slush with vodka and bring us a big appetizer assortment,” April ordered, “enough for four people.”
“That sounds rather interesting. I’ll try that drink too,” Pierre said, happy to have an out without everyone waiting for him to search the sheet. He noticed the server didn’t ask if anyone else was joining them. Hopefully he could share s
ome appetizers, since they didn’t ask what he was having.
Chapter 7
Agent 103 recorded the every other day movie they received from Earth off the MarsNet. He never voted on the requests, to avoid showing any particular interest in which one was selected. His computer extracted any news and instructions using specialized steganography software. His exclusive government created program carefully avoided any of the known signatures of commercial or free versions. Usually he got a simple, “No news – carry on.” message in the first minute of the lead before the main feature.
This time it worked away until ten minutes into the movie. That produced an unusually long document to read. It described all the inexplicable oddities the logistics software was unable to reconcile with reality, and the pattern of people returning to Earth earlier than expected. It was so detailed, he’d read it again later, but he used the back door into the local administrative computers to do and cover up a search right now. The sort of detailed search, with multiple branching inquiries, that couldn’t be hidden in the bandwidth of traffic to and from Earth. Besides which the lag in communications due to human altering of the search parameters could stretch it into weeks of processing.
The results were very grim. He’d summarize them in a report, but he had been given no way to send a document back as detailed as he’d received, which it would have to be to prove what he’d found. He hoped they trusted his judgment and analytical abilities without extensive proofs. He composed a message and inserted it into a regular report that was watched on Earth.
Further analysis of local data suggests 94% certainty that in addition to forcing early returns, some person or organization has engineered selective homicides. These all appear as an increase in outside deaths clustered around the end of the first year of service on Mars. It had no effect on the high rate of accidental deaths in the first ninety days of residence. The most likely number of additional fatalities is three +/- one. I will investigate further. Since I am in a third tier administrative position with no reason to ever engage in outside activities, be aware my own death in this manner would likely be a homicide and a confirmation of my analysis. Expect more data to follow, as I am able to investigate the cited material diversions deeper. – 103
Been There, Done That (April Book 10) Page 10