Freehold

by Michael Z. Williamson

  The next morning, there was a knock at her door, just after she woke. She answered it wrapped in a towel and still bleary from waking, and accepted a package from a System Express courier. He was young, and pretended not to stare at her as she signed for it.

  She felt amused again that signatures were used and not thumbprints. Very old-fashioned, these people. She opened the envelope, which was from an insurance company, and dumped out the contents. The cover letter was full of the usual greetings, etc. Then she read the part about "Associated Liability wishes to thank you for your assistance in yesterday's accident at the FreeBank Tower construction site. We are informed that you donated labor and materials to assist in extricating our client and that your clothing was damaged on the scene. The enclosed draft is reimbursement for your losses and any inconvenience you may have suffered. If it is insufficient, please contact our office to discuss the matter. Also, we welcome the opportunity to discuss your own insurance needs at any time." It was signed by a company agent and attached was a draft rom. She plugged it into her comm and gasped. Cr1000. That would replace her cloak, shirt, shoes, water bottle and buy her two more outfits besides. Expensive ones.

  She woke Rob, who had stayed up to work. He shook his head to wake himself and said, "Sure, it's legit. They'd rather pay you than the professionals. It's great PR and it's the decent thing to do. I got mine a little while ago. Cash it and enjoy." He stumbled back in to sleep and she cleaned up for work. It still felt odd to bathe twice a day, but everyone here did so at least that often.

  She had to repeat the story for Myrol, Karen, Hiroki and the others. Oddly, she still wasn't scared. It had just been too shocking to feel real and she hadn't had to do anything but pass bandages and assist. The danger had never really impinged on her, so she hadn't had cause for worry.

  It was a long day and brisk. The holiday weekend litter and all the gear had been torn down and piled for removal. She set lawn machines to trim and fluff the worn grass and reseeded a couple of bare spots. She kept notes and photos of the areas she passed, so they could be taken care of later. Sprinklers were dousing the dry growth, trying to revive it from the ordeal. There were still scattered pieces of trash under bushes for her to retrieve. She could see other workers chasing out the occasional leftover drunk, staggering awake and heading home. Apparently, some people celebrated for days afterward.

  Children from five to teen by Earth reckoning screamed cheerfully through the park. Few adults were in sight. She was finally getting used to the idea that it was safe for kids to do that. No one would abduct them, bullies were rare and the older kids would stop the few there were. Nor would parents sue the park if a child had a minor accident. It was accepted that parents bore sole responsibility for their children.

  One of the local gangs came through, music blaring. They wore red bandannas and canine teeth and black cloaks, shades and lipstick. That would be the Masters. She'd been shocked to find gangs here and even more shocked to find they were not feared or hated. They were nothing like the petty thugs in Earth cities.

  The Masters claimed as territory an eight-block square north of the park. Their boast was that it was the safest, cleanest urban environment in the system. To that end, they patrolled regularly at all hours, organized community sales and cleaning parties and kept vandalism and petty crime under control. There'd been a minor incident the month before, when a troubled youth had been caught graffitiing a building with bonded polymer spray. Two of the Masters had scuffled with him and he'd tried to resist. He hadn't been seriously hurt, but City Safety had taken him to a hospital for observation. The gang had apologized publicly, but stressed that they would not allow that behavior on their "pave."

  The idea of street gangs being a desirable and safe environment for youths and a useful aid to safety in the city was an irony that made Kendra chuckle every time she saw them. They were the politest, most helpful teens she'd ever met, even asking permission before raiding the trash for useful items for sales or for the poor. They'd donated and installed a climbing frame in the north playground a couple of weeks earlier and were talking about adding another slide. They were snagging trash as they walked through, too. A couple of them waved and grinned. She waved back. One of them wandered over. "Hey, lady, how goes?"

  "Good. Tired," she said. "That was a great display, huh?"

  "It kicked. Hey, Ms Chang, the mother of that boy you found, says to thank you a lot."

  "Oh, sure, she's welcome. Glad he got found," she said. She remembered that vividly, too. The young boy had come running crying to her the week before. He'd gotten separated from his mother and had headed for Kendra as the closest thing to an official. She'd taken him to the garage and asked for help. She had no idea what to do with a lost child and had been scared of the responsibility. City Safety had already had a report and took him home a few segs later. The thought of a lost child in an Earth park made her shiver, but every time she turned around here, the safety of the system was pounded into her yet again.

  The Masters wandered on, the music and their intense young energy fading in the distance.

  Back at the garage, Kendra and coworkers cleaned and performed preventive maintenance on the big machines. As they worked, Kendra dug for more info. "Hiroki?"

  "Yes?"

  "How is the park financed?"

  "We get a small stipend from the city, quite a bit in donations from civic groups, corporations and wealthy individuals and user fees wherever possible," he explained. "The vendors, concerts, any large meeting or reserved pavilion space generate fees."

  "Isn't that rather sporadic? How do you manage cost accounting?"

  "Very carefully," he said with an inscrutable grin. "Karen does a lot of juggling to keep things as steady as possible. At the moment, we have a small reserve."

  "Ah," she said, understanding. "And who owns it?" was her next question. Most of the outlying parks were clearly private but accessible property. But Liberty Park wasn't, and the Freehold Constitution prohibited the government from owning property.

  Hiroki grinned an inscrutable grin. "No one does," he said. "It was always a public area, always maintained, and everything grew up around it."

  She said, "But then those people who squat here—"

  "Actually could claim in court to own a chunk of land," he finished for her. "It's never come up, isn't likely to and would almost certainly lose in court or by duel."

  She pondered that at length. Whenever she thought she had a handle on things, something else odd came up.

  Idle thoughts aside, she considered her future. She was finding the work a bit challenging, but only as an intellectual exercise. She didn't belong to anything here and it bothered her. She needed more to her life than gardening and plumbing and setting out chairs for concerts. The work wasn't objectionable, wasn't hard, but wasn't giving her anything other than a roof and her meals. She'd been an equally small cog in the UN military, but could look at the news and see things being done that mattered. This was pure fluff and getting on her nerves already.

  Her thoughts were interrupted when, several segs before quitting time, a brilliant purple coupe with garish green stripes and what sounded like a huge turbine pulled up across the gate. Marta hopped out, wearing what for her must have been scummy clothes—shorts and tunic. They were bright red and emphasized her figure well. Running up, she spotted Kendra and said, "Hi, dear. Do you have plans tonight?"

  "Ah, no," Kendra replied.

  "Up for some?"

  "Sure, what?"

  "Concert at Dante's, over in Delph'. My treat. See you at your place at six-fifty?"

  "Okay. Thanks," Kendra nodded, a bit surprised.

  "Great! Gotta run—client," Marta explained. She kissed Kendra quickly but hard, turned and vanished. The car screamed off the drive, all four tires leaving compound behind. As soon as there was clearance it lifted into the air.

  "Ladyfriend?" Karen asked behind her.

  "Ah, no," Kendra said, startled as she turned.
"Just a friend." She was really embarrassed at being kissed in public and was blushing hard. She thought her ears must be glowing. She decided to mention it to Marta when they met up.

  After work, she hurried home to get ready for the date. Rob was at his comm, working. He apparently hadn't showered or eaten all day. He had to be busy, knowing local customs. She threw a sandwich together and handed it to him. "Thanks," he acknowledged. "Did Mar find you?"

  "Yes, and kissed me in public," she told him.

  "Hmm. I can see why that would bother you. I also see why she didn't think of it. The two of you could be really good for each other."

  "Meaning?" she asked.

  His grin grew back. "Never mind. Idle thought. Oh, your comm downed the info you wanted. Next time, let me know. I can find the stuff cheaper than most commercial programs and I get a discount on access."

  "Thanks, but you don't need to," she said, smiling back.

  "Lady," he said, turning slightly, "I buy my mem a googlebyte at a time. Twenty or thirty yoctobytes is hardly a dent. Not a worry."

  "All right then, thanks," she said, acquiescing. "Did Mar invite you?"

  "Yeah, but this block has to be ready by two tomorrow. I'll be staying here."

  "Get some sleep," Kendra insisted.

  "Sleep is for wimps . . ." he began. It was a mantra of his and she'd heard it all weekend long. She joined him for the rest.

  " . . . Healthy, happy, well rested wimps; but wimps nonetheless!"

  Leaning close, she wrapped arms around his shoulders, licked his earlobe and whispered, "You need sleep so you can make love to me later."

  "I'm out," he agreed. "Are we still flying tomorrow?" he asked. He'd offered her a ride aboard a combat vertol and she'd been intrigued.

  "Oh, yes!" she agreed. She wasn't going to miss that.

  She walked into her apartment, showered and put on clothes from her small selection that was appropriate for evening wear. She chose a shoulderless tunic with a mandarin collar and stretch slacks in gray, with a broad belt for her pouch and holster. Done, she headed for the kitchen alcove and mixed up a soup that would have made Rob scream in disgust—thick with starches and with a paucity of spices—and ate while reading her loads.

  The news from Earth was available in the Freehold system, but most of it had little market. There was an interest in trade and industry, although not as much as Kendra expected. Earth was regarded as a backward, slightly industrialized source for second-rate products. She appreciated the irony that the public back home regarded the colonies as rustic and rural agricultural backwaters.

  Considerable digging had yielded what she sought. She found the listing on her parents' business, saw it was doing well and wished again she could send them a message. They must think her dead by now and she wondered what they'd done with her personal belongings. Or did the government still have them as "evidence"? That was a common enough occurrence. Still, her vid gear, music, clothes and such wouldn't have done her much good here. There was no word on her brother, either good or bad, but he often didn't post to his site for weeks at a time, with all the fieldwork he was doing in grad school.

  The general system news was slightly worrisome, containing many negative references to Freehold, its businesses and politics. The North American regional report listed crime, weather and special events. She had trouble remembering that it was only a day old, that being the minimum time for a message to crawl to a ship in transit, be received before jump and retransmitted immediately after. Most of what she had downed was the same news it always was, but she read intently, enjoying the closeness she perceived from loads written in a language she could understand. When done, she switched to local news.

  If Utopia was defined as a lack of news, Freehold was not Utopia. A Citizen had been shot by an offended plaintiff and was hospitalized. The editor of Jefferson Live News announced that it was the seventh shooting of the year. That couldn't be right, she thought. Minneapolis, at fifteen million people, typically had about fifteen hundred by mid-year, and firearms were illegal for all but police, federal officers and a few state and local agents. They had less than seven percent of that total here, per population. It didn't seem possible.

  The suspect was in custody and would be tried as soon as the investigators put a case together. Since a Citizen was involved, the government had hired an investigator on contract, having none of its own. There was a side issue of the contractor having previously been owned by another Citizen and hints that favorites had been played. Politics mixed with a murder was so suddenly familiar that she laughed in relief. At least some things never changed.

  There was a huge financial row over Resident Service Labs. Since there were no government standards, most manufacturers paid to be rated by one of three large or several smaller rating firms. The firms' integrity was their stock in trade. RSL employees had apparently been caught accepting bribes for ratings. Instantly, all companies rated by them had lost business by concerned customers. The other two large houses were promising to rate them as soon as was practical, but refused to rush the jobs, not wanting their own quality to suffer.

  Quality Assessment Specialists had offered a discount to all the injured parties and was likely to move into the top three. RSL seemed destined for bankruptcy. So did the handful of operations that had bribed them, and their senior staff would likely be indentured for life. Simple enough.

  The problem was that all the injured businesses, and all the soon to be former employees of RSL, wanted blood, as did the owners and shareholders of RSL against the employees in question; they'd been hurt and needed compensation. Several insurance companies were involved as well. There were suits from clients against the companies that had bribed for ratings, and by more insurance companies, who wanted settlements from both the bribers and RSL. There were more than tenthousand plaintiffs party to the suits already and more seemed certain. Then there were suits by employees against employers. Citizen Hernandez and four others had agreed to referee several mass settlements as soon as the facts of the case could be established and to hear the other cases as quickly as possible after that. Their regular case loads were deferred among several other citizens. The news estimated that the government's cut of the settlement was likely to be close to half a billion credits.

  In other news, the Freehold military was conducting an exercise near one of the jump points. An Earth fleet was on the other side and was conducting "safety inspections" of ships entering Earth space from the Freehold. This had happened before, she vaguely recalled. It hadn't seemed important from an Earth-based view, but from a tiny nation like this, she suddenly saw the intimidation it could create. Earth didn't like the lack of cargo manifests made possible by the Freehold's laissez-faire approach to trade, but couldn't do anything until the ships were in their space. Then, however . . .

  They were apparently seizing some shipments, if the crew didn't have a good story as to who they were transporting for. Both the carriers and the shippers were outraged and had filed complaints. In response, some in the Assembly were calling for more action against the Freehold.

  Had she walked into a war? she wondered. Then she decided she had to be reading too much into it. It was just politics and something she'd never paid much attention to. Not until now, anyway.

  She finished digesting the headlines and out of curiosity, dug for info on the Freehold Military Forces. She found a wealth of information and selected some graphs and figures as her first inquiry.

  It was tiny! The whole military establishment numbered less than one million on a planet of two hundred eighty million, and thirty million more in the Halo. The Table of Organization & Equipment was actually available to the public, and listed tons of hardware—vehicles, aircraft, spacecraft, support equipment and heavy weapons. She was just treeing another search, with a note to Rob as to what she was seeking, when Marta called through the door, "Anyone here?"

  "Come in. I'm just about ready," Kendra replied.

  Marta walked in a
nd smiled. "You look good, lady. Grab your cloak and let's go."

  "Okay," Kendra agreed. She eyed Marta up and down and noted she was wearing a black unitard. It was cut high and low to emphasize her snaky hips and firmly muscled chest. She wore black makeup painted as spiderwebs across her face and her hair was tied straight down in back and left its presumably natural black color.

  "That seems a little plainer than usual," Kendra remarked.

  "Yeah, well, this is social, not professional. Should I dress up a little more? Does it look all right?"

  "It looks great," Kendra assured her. "Let's go."

  Marta had left her car running, which shocked Kendra. No, it wouldn't be stolen; she was learning to accept that fact, but didn't they care about pollution? Then she remembered that the fuels here were formulated to minimize it. They were also dirt cheap and the vehicles extremely efficient, if not economical. She climbed in and fastened restraints as Marta nailed the throttle again.

  Kendra hung on in terror as Marta wove through traffic and north out of town. Her responses to Marta's cheerful conversation were rather terse, because she kept remembering that there were no traffic laws, only advisories. Her mind kept seeing an advisory that two women were splattered here last month, so please slow down.

  Once out of town, the traffic density dropped drastically and she relaxed slightly. It was odd not to be flying, but the view was interesting. Marta explained her plans. " 'Cabhag' is the name of the band. They're very eclectic, so there should be at least some of it that appeals to you, but I think you'll like it all; they're very good performers. We have time for a bite first and I know a great place nearby. You like lamb?"

  "Umm, no. Unless it's vat raised," Kendra said apologetically.

  "Oh, well. They have some good seafood, or so I'm told, but I hate the stuff so I wouldn't know."

  "That'll work," Kendra agreed. She'd decided that marine animals were low enough on the chain that she'd manage to eat them. It still made her feel a bit adventurous.