Gunny was ripping into a lobster that looked big enough to be the lead alien in a science fiction horror film and the bounty spread on their table was shocking to a culture of self denial and constant propaganda about scarcity. Some skinny whiner would wring her hands and bemoan that they were enjoying themselves, while people starved in Ethiopia or the Sudan, or wherever there was a famine this year.
Nobody could explain how starving themselves would magically transport a single calorie to where it was needed, but it wasn't about facts, it was all about image and feelings.
April had strong feelings that it was all stupid.
The fact was that she missed another core aspect of the pix, which was that she looked like a million bucks. Three or four million easily, in the bespoke dress and jewelry. The bare arms were too risqué for North America too, though the Europeans would snicker at that.
The tone was slightly scandalized that she could drink and be in a place with gambling at her age. and then the author dropped the big bomb that the server was overheard saying it was the owners table. Said owner being the lovely Miss Lewis, treating her friends and family lavishly. She was burned up at that public revelation of her private business more than anything.
April considered the whole thing and decided that dignifying it with any response was a waste of her time. If these people didn't have a life they could grub after whatever small satisfaction they got from following hers. She closed the site and made no reply to the sender.
Tomorrow April would be condemned in classrooms and pulpits all across the country, a counterproductive act, which simply alerted her fans in the unlikely event some kid didn't get a text and link from his friends, to go view it.
In Honolulu Frank Fabbri and his friend John clasped hands and whirled around, hooting and doing a happy dance. The amateur pix did a surprisingly good job of showing the lovely detail of his dress. That didn't always happen with a black dress, but in the dark club it was not excessively back-lit. The fine detail of stitching and tiny pearls showed plainly. The De Luco jewelry looked wonderful. The middle pic was focused in tightly on April and the diamonds looked bright and big.
She was lifting a delicate deep flute of faintly pink tinted Champagne, laughing charmingly, but luckily her arm didn't get in the way of the necklace. Whatever sort of camera the snoop used to shoot the pix, it was good enough you could even see the tiny bubbles in the Champagne. Frank was aesthetic. He'd drop a bragging note to the site right now, that the dress was his handiwork, while the article was fresh. Big bucks spent freely could not buy advertising as effective as this.
By the day after tomorrow there would be knock-off copies of her outfit in big cities. Frank would make a pro-forma objection to being copied, but file no formal legal case. It was really more free advertising. His customers didn't shop in knock off dives, so he lost no business. Very little irritated parents and authorities today more than emulating a spacer in look and style, especially with the bare arms bucking the trend of public prudery.
The club scene did remind April of something though. The young man Gabriel had turned her down to do some graphics. Ben Patsitsas the author did his own book covers, so she knew he was an artist and could do what she wanted. She called him on com and was lucky to catch him answering.
"Ben, I've seen your book covers. I'd like to commission you to do some art for me, not a book cover, but a sign for a club in which I have an interest. Yes, to hang in the corridor," she confirmed. "It should be round or oval and at the top I want 'The Fox and Hare' like you see on English pubs. Then across the bottom, 'Wo sich Fuchs und Hase Gute Nacht sagen'. In the middle I'd like a fox on the right and a hare on the left facing each other. They should be clothed, however, like fairytale characters. I can see the fox in a cute little vest, maybe with eyeglasses and the hare in a jacket or sweater, with a German style pipe. They are standing on snow and in front of a woods that has lost its leaves. The sky behind the trees is in dusk, but cloudless, with a pink to violet shading. The snow reflects and picks up these colors. Do you think you could do that? Tapping glasses together? I suppose that fits the business. Can you do one with and one without? The one without, have them doing a very short bow or head nod to each other. Whenever you get it done is fine. It's not like it's for an opening or anything. Thanks Ben."
* * *
Some people would have rented private cubic for a private business meeting. Sweeping a new and unfamiliar place for listening and recording devices could be difficult. Those used to more of an agency environment rather than corporate customs might have arranged a meeting in a park, or a small restaurant picked at random. Eric didn't have the money to spare.
The seven men gathered around a table in the Home cafeteria. They picked one off to the side, away from where everyone gathered by the coffee pot. That and simply how all of them looked, large and dangerous, gave them all the privacy they needed. They each brought their own breakfast to the table and waited on Eric to say why he asked them to come.
"I'm Eric Brockman. I'm a former protective detail officer for the President of the United States of North America. I'm a native of the American west by culture and no longer associated with North America. This is my partner Isaac Friedman. He has a similar background, although he is a New Englander."
"We were fortunate enough to retain our freedom by coming to Home, but we are in need of employment and security in various forms is what we know. I'm interested in forming some sort of security company, or failing that a mercenary company. Two people are not enough to conduct much of a business, except perhaps a private investigating company. We've had one small job already providing dock security. There is also the challenge of securing financing, because we fled with little in the way of assets." No need to say things had improved a little.
"I'll let each of you introduce yourselves, saying what you feel is important. Isaac do you want to add anything?"
Isaac itched to stand, but didn't want to call attention to their group. He leaned forward. "Eric is too modest to tell you, he was recently combat handgun national champion. He is an accomplished shooter. I'm not in his class, but he just spent the entire winter season training me. I'm as good as he can get me, so consider me at least a competent shooter." He leaned back done, but looked to his right to invite the next speaker.
"I'm Christian Mackay. I also have a partner," he gestured to the younger man, "Dan Holt. We are also unable to live in North American jurisdictions. We both have experience working security for New Las Vegas. So we are up on zero-G dexterity, casino liaison and non-lethal weapons. We arrested a couple Homeland Security officers, loaners from the Postal Inspectors and Naval Intelligence. Dan here broke his fellow's nose and I, well, I probably got carried away. I dislocated my fellow's shoulder and broke the opposite collarbone and stunned them both, my guy in the face. He was starting to irritate me," he admitted. That got smiles all around. "No way they can ever forgive that from a couple local cops."
"What did you two do to be unwelcome in America?" Dan directed back to Brockman.
Eric looked at Isaac and he shrugged, as if to say, "What are you going to do?"
"We shot the President and uh, most of his immediate detail. They were going to put us against the wall and shoot us, because Hadley was off his nut and running things by decree. He was angry we dragged him out of the Deepwell bunker before it collapsed."
"Well that's gratitude for you," Gunny acknowledged.
"I know you," Brockman said, looking at Gunny hard, trying to place him.
"Master Sergeant Mack Tindal. Call me Gunny. I was third, in the combat handgun nationals, where you placed first."
"What else do you do?" Eric wanted to know.
"I'm an armorer. If it's small arms I pretty much know it and what makes it work. I do training and evaluation. Set up testing regimens and remedial help for shooters having troubles."
"How did you get kicked out?" Isaac asked bluntly.
"I was caught between factions when t
hey tried to do a coup on Wiggen and I had no confidence I wouldn't be unfortunate collateral damage, so when I had a little problem guarding Miss Lewis in Hawaii I joined her in evacuating to Home."
"What sort of a little problem?" Christian Mackay inquired.
"We were having a pleasant barbeque around the pool and aircars started dropping in the woods nearby and a Chinese nuke sub decided to lay a cruise missile on us. Ruined the party."
"You had assets to deal with that great a threat level?" Mackay asked amazed.
"In theory I did and found I was cut off from all of them. Miss Lewis had to handle it all herself. If you get to know her you'll find she doesn't have a subtle bone in her body. She went straight to heavy laser fire and orbital bombardment to solve the problem, but we still found it advisable to evacuate a compromised position. The retreat involved other people and resources I'd rather not discuss," he informed them, making an obvious conclusion.
"Like the rest of you so far, I got caught up in North American politics," Otis Dugan admitted. "I'm another ex-military gun mechanic and just spent two years working for Safety Associates of Atlanta. I recently had to visit Los Angeles for them and was on the same flight as a fellow intent on visiting the city for the purpose of assassinating President Wiggen. He nearly succeeded too," he added.
"I watched the Navy boys arrest him and escort him back to Atlanta. They never let him off the plane. However they did not cover as far as anyone picking him up. When I got off they mistook me for him and I got handed their operation on a platter to bust. I wanted to emigrate off world anyway, now was a perfect time because I doubt they would show proper gratitude for my interference, like Brockman and Friedman here found out, no good deed goes unpunished. I hated to leave my boss so precipitously, because he was treating me well, but I fled on the first shuttle I could book."
"I don't know," Brockman told him. "Our principal was off the wall crazy. Are you sure they wouldn't have thanked you? Given you a reward even?"
"The government seems deeply infiltrated with Patriot party and other radical elements. It's hard to know safely with whom I'd be dealing. Their gratitude might last as long as Wiggen stays in office and then I'd get my proper reward in their eyes. I might get a Freedom Medal I wasn't allowed to show anybody, but I doubt their largess would extend to allowing me to keep the fee the assassin was paid," he predicted. That got a round of hooting laughter.
"How about you?" Gunny directed at Lee Chen, "I was told you'd be here and informed Brockman after I told Miss Lewis I needed a few hours off. I was told very little about you except we have mutual friends unnamed. What do you bring to the table?"
"I too am a refugee. I am persona non grata in China. I am however free to travel on a Vietnamese passport. I also have fled to Home but find myself too poor to retire, given the prices we found here. My skills are more agency oriented and I have active contacts in Asia that could be of benefit. I also appear to be the only one with a family. That will color my view of risk taking. I'd hesitate to do mercenary work, unless no other employment presented itself."
"Will that be a hindrance other ways?" Gunny wondered. "Will you be worried they may be taken hostage, or slip and reveal something?"
"I was in Vietnam when it became obvious it would be prudent to leave. I dropped a code word on my wife and she and the children got themselves out of China with no hard exit plan laid out for them. They not only secured transportation, but helped other families of agents leaving. My wife and twelve year old boy killed the chief police agent in charge of preventing them from leaving, when he attempted to arrest them. I don't think they will hold anyone back. Indeed I'd not hesitate to use them as assets, in the proper circumstances."
Ruby chose that moment to approach their table and set a vacuum flask of coffee on the table for them. "Whatever mayhem you rough characters are hammering out, if you need an expert space ship pilot with combat experience and a proven history of destroying both USNA and Chinese spacecraft, come see me. My man Easy is the best hot pilot on Home and he'd be cut to the core if something went down and he didn't get a piece of it," she promised them. Then she turned and marched away without waiting for a reply.
"Well, we seem, transparent," Chen said dismayed.
"I wouldn't worry about it," Gunny told him. "I'm assured nothing gets past Ruby," who he named, since she hadn't bothered to introduce herself. "I am also assured by reliable sources she holds information rather tightly," he promised. Brockman and Friedman shared a significant look, but stayed silent on the matter. "I doubt anybody watching thought we were a book club meeting," he pointed out.
* * *
Back on the Moon, Heather was looking at samples of the sintered iron products the Armstrong people were making. There was a rifle barrel, threaded objects and gears using ingenious forms and cores. However, creating panels big enough for airlock doors was going to be challenging. Jeff was experimenting with spraying and sintering them in layers like a 3D printer instead of pressing and lasing them. The density was slightly better too. That might be to the good, because the microstructure from the first method was perfect for retaining lubrication, but she was worried all but a surface layer was still somewhat gas permeable and would leak if both the surfaces had any cracks or damage at all.
"Do you have your com off?" Johnson asked from the com shack.
"Yes, it's set for you, April and Jeff. Anybody else can wait until I get some work done," she said firmly.
"I think you should take this call," he insisted.
"Connecting," she said begrudgedly. It was President Wiggen waiting, looking right in the camera. Heather actually smiled. "I thought you disliked me too much to ever call," she said surprised. "At most I'd have expected an underling. What can I do for you?" she offered, quite pleasantly.
Wiggen blinked a few times, like she wasn't expecting such a warm welcome. Then she unaccountably smiled too. "I had my doubts a sovereign would accept a call from an underling," she told Heather. Serious or taunting Heather couldn't tell for sure, but she was smiling.
"I'm not that full of myself yet," Heather informed her. "I have not started terrorizing my peasants to build palaces, nor started collecting gold plated weapons, as is traditional."
"But you are allowing your people to pursue a case before the world court, that is embarrassing us all out of proportion to your size and resources," Wiggen accused gently. "This legal case is just another embarrassment that my opposition can use against me. Do you really want to do anything that helps put one of the anti-space crazies sitting in the White House?"
"I actually advised my people to not pursue that case," Heather informed her. "If they wish to do so I will not go to the extreme of forbidding it. I helped them stop being oppressed, but my justice won't reach to make them whole, so I can hardly deny them that justice wherever they can get it," she reasoned. "If I make them shut up and accept the treatment they fled here to avoid, then in their eyes I will have joined those oppressing them. How long do you think I'll remain in charge here in that case?"
"But the court is for states," Wiggen pointed out. "they couldn't file with just your permission, it had to be with your cooperation. Besides, I have directed the abuses that were listed be corrected and I specifically told Armstrong not to pursue payment for the things taken that were necessities of survival. That seems to me to have gone a long way towards making them whole as you say."
"Your people just give you a briefing summary, don't they?" Heather asked. "I bet you never saw the actual World Court document, you were just told it existed."
"Yes, of course I operate from summaries, I do have a country to run and frankly there are not enough hours in the day already to wallow through legal papers."
"I know the feeling," Heather allowed. "If you had the whole thing in front of you, then you'd see it was not filed for The Central Lunar Kingdom, it was filed on behalf of the Kingdom of Tonga. Your people apparently didn't find that significant. We have a special relationship with
Tonga, that has certain reciprocal rights guaranteed for each of our citizens to enjoy in the other's territory," she explained.
"The King is very worried his subjects here will not be safe, nor their property rights respected, until we have normalized relations with Armstrong and by extension the entire USNA. He will not even allow them to come up here until it is resolved. I could not overrule him without a breach and the agreement is important to us," she assured Wiggen.
"So far your people in Armstrong have not done what you say you ordered. They will not pass com calls either way. They have tried to lure critical personnel back, because of problems with systems, but refused to reply when any inquiry was made about wages or conditions on the basis of it being a re-hire. Nor to offers made to act as consultants. If they didn't intend to ask for equipment back, or payment, they never communicated that to the people holding it," she added.
"I wouldn't believe you, if you hadn't been right before about my administrator taking it upon himself to chase after his eloping employees. I've given the orders to correct every complaint in the legal brief and I had the acting head of the colony returned under arrest."
"Elopement is far too gentle a term for serfs fleeing for their freedom," Heather told her, but calmly. "From a practical point of view, the administration over at Armstrong is corrupt from the top down. I doubt you will get compliance to anything but their own local desires, until you remove everyone who had any administrative authority," Heather predicted.
"I'll straighten it out if I have to rotate the entire population out," Wiggen promised grimly, grinding her teeth. "I appointed a special investigator and he will crack heads if he has to, in order to see my orders followed down to the least detail."
April 4: A Different Perspective Page 9