April 4: A Different Perspective

by Mackey Chandler

  "Sure!" Buscemi agreed, surprised, "they're like family. Hell a couple of them are family, extended family, but for real. You have to protect your own," he solemnly assured Mackay.

  Mackay nodded an acknowledgement and softly said a few words in his spex.

  The Chicagoans handled themselves pretty well in zero G, Mackay had to admit. Not with any polish of course. But at least they had the sense not to refuse the motion sickness drugs, or one or two of them would have been puking sick for sure.

  He and Holt hammed it up a little, jumping with a roll-over from surface to surface to accompany them, landing in a squat with both hands on their weapon without needing to reach out and steady themselves, or touch a take-hold. Holt in particular put himself upside down to them a couple times, knowing how disorienting it was to new people. The moves made parkour look as exciting as square dancing.

  On the other side of the bearing Gunny and Chen were waiting spaced well apart. They were not armored up so it wasn't until they paced along accompanying them that it was apparent they were part of the team. Chen was in loose black pants and a black silk shirt. He had the obligatory spex, but wore thin five-toed footies. If he carried a weapon you couldn't tell. A thin Frisbee drone ominously followed him against the overhead and swept side to side silently.

  Gunny looked like he was ready for a nice afternoon at the races or a pleasant picnic. He had on tan slacks and suede ankle boots, a chocolate brown blazer and a dress shirt with an open collar. He had the same serious spex however and his open jacket made no effort to hide the grips of a brace of big pistols just inside the jacket. Nothing in the world could conceal the size of him, or the dainty way he moved like he was half as big as he looked to mass.

  Mackay and Gunny took point and Holt and Chen followed their charges, the Frisbee making occasional sprints out front to survey their path.

  At the elevator Mackay suggested Chen and Gunny accompany two each of the goombas to the casino level and the armored up duo would ride down with the Caporegime, once a safe reception area was ensured. After two loads went down another car stopped, but had several couples obviously on holiday from their dressy casual clothing and the shopping bags.

  "We'd rather wait for an empty car," Mackay politely requested and none of them insisted there was room, but looked relieved to pass and hit their level button again.

  The group was re-assembled on the outer casino/hotel level and a Station Security pair passed them in the corridor. They didn't bat an eye, as Mackay had been sure to inform them they would be on station. As they passed Gunny gave them a salute that had no sarcasm in it at all, so crisp and natural the older security cop twitched and had to force his arm back down against reflex and nod instead.

  "We're tired and off our normal clock," Buscemi reminded them at the hotel. "We're going to eat in and sleep. We won't go to the tables or clubs until tomorrow, so you can come back, say about ten o'clock tomorrow."

  "Would you like a guard posted in the hall?" Mackay asked.

  "Nah, the owner here and I understand each other," Buscemi explained. "He knows nobody gets told what rooms we are in, or that we are in house for that matter. You'd call more attention to us in the hall than you'd help."

  "Tomorrow then," Mackay agreed, happy not to run night shifts.

  * * *

  "So that's how I came to Home and gives you some idea of who I am," Faye told Eric. "What should I know about you and what would you like me to help you learn here?"

  "I like being outside. Not going to do that much here, am I? I can learn anything you want to teach me," he said, almost defiantly. "I'm learning to do business here. I like that because I never had a chance to do it at home."

  "Really? What sort of business are you doing?"

  "I'm trading in obsolete spex and com pads," Eric informed her. "Do you have any old com pads or spex stashed away you don't use any more? If you do I'll pay you cash money for them. Up to a hundred dollars for pads that have at least one add-on port of some kind and seventy-five dollars for spex that have stereo cameras."

  "I do," Faye admitted. "But I don't want to do other business during the school time for which your mother has paid. How about if I bring them day after tomorrow and we can do a deal at lunch time?" she offered.

  "That's fine. I won't ask the other kids here at school. But it seemed to be what we were talking about anyway."

  "Indeed it was, no 'bad' ascribed to you at all. Do you have an allowance to fund your acquisitions?" Faye asked. "I find far fewer of the children have an allowance than when I was a little girl."

  "I'd rather not talk about family," Eric said guardedly. "I don't care to talk about myself all that much," he added. "When I do I usually end up saying something that gets me in trouble. Just say, I have a silent partner to fund my business."

  She was amazed he even knew the term.

  "I do not intend to run to your parents with every little thing you say, even if I disapprove of something. I can think of no faster way to erode a person's trust. Neither do I intend to pump you for information about your parents, or your sister for that matter."

  "Down home the teachers constantly tried to ask sneaky questions of us, to see if our parents were subversive, or if they went to barter meets, or keep a secret garden. If they let it slip their parents smoked in the house, even out in the garage, or kept a gun, or bet on football games, they'd be in foster care and never see them again, fast as can be."

  "My sister is being weird for her. She hasn't been in trouble in weeks. In fact, I can't remember the last time she socked me when she knew nobody was looking. She set off the fire sprinklers the first day we were here, staying in the Holiday Inn and when my dad had a heart to heart with her about how rules up here are different and they really have reasons for them, she seemed to believe him. I wouldn't mind if it lasts awhile."

  "Indeed, I know what you are talking about. People down on Earth are constantly arguing about silly things. It's quite true a fire up here is a very dangerous thing, even more so than down below on Earth."

  "That's what the guy at the Holiday Inn said. You can't open the doors and run outside."

  "Nope, no air outside and this is all the air we have in here," she agreed, gesturing around her. "That's why station kids all learn how to stick a patch on a leak practically before they are properly potty trained," she joked.

  "Well, I don't know how to patch a leak," Eric said, eyebrows lifted in concern.

  "Oh, my goodness. We'll fix that right now."

  She stood up in the corner where she had gone off to speak, away from the others doing their lessons. "Class!" she called with a different voice, Eric had not heard her use before. "Class! Save your files, mark your book. Set your lessons aside. I need to know something right now. Who doesn't know how to put a patch on a pressure leak?"

  His sister Lindsy raised her hand, as did a little Oriental girl and even though he'd just discussed it with her Eric raised his hand, so the other kids knew too.

  "I will get the patch kit and tell you about it. I'm calling maintenance and asking them to bring the leak demonstrator over."

  There were three main parts to a patch kit. A number of fairly thick flexible disks and squares. You peeled a film off the back by a tab and slapped it on flat-handed. There was a bigger sheet to patch a long crack or seam. It wasn't self adhesive, but there was foam you could put on a crack and slap the sheet onto, or put the sheet over and foam the entire edge. A laser candle emitted nontoxic smoke when you held the button down. That allowed you to see a non-obvious leak, or test a patch to see it was working.

  About the time Faye was done explaining the parts of the patch kit, a big black man with almost no neck and a bald head came in with a funny sort of rolling board. But it was neither a backboard or whiteboard, it was a panel of metal wall, like their bulkheads and it was all stained and scratched up where a bunch of different patches had been applied and scraped off.

  "I'm Jon," the big guy told them before F
aye could introduce him, not offering a last name like most adults did. "I'm head of station security. The people you see at the lock when you come in and out on a shuttle work for me. If you have trouble. If you are afraid of somebody hurting you, if you think somebody is in the panels or an equipment room that doesn't look like maintenance, or think something is busted on the station like the water or the electric power or com is acting flaky, or there is a leak like we are going to practice on today, call me. If you call 911 on com you will always get one of my people or me. If you are wrong and mistaken, I'll never yell at you or call you stupid. I had a little girl call me a few weeks ago and tell us something was wrong with the power. I sent my lady Margaret to their cubic and the power was fine. But the hair dryer the little girl was using was more than a little wonky. It was speeding up and slowing down and getting way too hot. She was right something was wrong, but just needed some help making sure exactly what."

  "We're going to patch some leaks now. The guys who haven't done this before, come on up close where you can see real well. It's just kind of a refresher for the rest of you."

  Jon took a hose from the back of the panel and went to a vacuum port on the outside bulkhead. He inserted it and opened the valve with a special key.

  The patch kit was still open on Faye's desk, with the rolling panel beside it.

  "We've got a leak here," Jon declared. "Who wants to come deal with it?"

  "I can hear it," a boy named Malcolm, about twelve years old, declared.

  "You have really good hearing then, come on and fix it."

  He came forward and listened by the panel going to the left side and swung his head right and left. "Right there," he said pointing. "I can see a little pit."

  "Would you use the candle so the others can see how it works?"

  He took the candle, held the button down on the side and the white smoke came out in a thin stream going right in the hole. The hole was so little you couldn't see it from two meters away, but when he moved the candle around the hole, the smoke went right to it from the entire circle.

  "How are you going to patch it?" Jon prompted him.

  "Oh the smallest is plenty," Malcolm said. "Want me to do it?" he checked for sure.

  "Please."

  He took the circular one, black and flexible, gripped the little ridge it had on the back and peeled the film off the front with the tab that hung out. One confident motion planted it flat over the pin-hole. He then used the candle all around the patch without being prompted. It hung in wisps without streaming. He took his finger off and waved his hand through the smoke to disperse it.

  "Do any of you three want to try it?"

  "I'd like to," Eric asked. "Just to feel how hard the patch is to peel and stuff."

  "One hole coming up special order," Jon told him, grinning. Jon smiled a lot, but it didn't have that fakey quality so many adults had. He produced a tool from the back of the roll-along and positioned it away from the recent patch. There was a rubber cup protecting the business end of the tool and when he pressed a button they couldn't tell what happened underneath.

  This hole seemed a little bigger and this time had a definite whistle. Eric did the candle thing very briefly because it was obvious. The new hole had a little sooty ring around it too so it was more visible. Eric grabbed the next bigger patch and ripped the cover off the adhesive. He planted it firmly, not tentatively, with one thrust. The candle showed it was a good patch. Eric was very satisfied.

  "Who's an expert?" Jon asked, switching something in the back. "I got a big crack here, not a fiddling little hole. Who will save my delicate little butt from asphyxiation?" he pleaded. That got giggles. There wasn't any part of him obviously delicate in the least and it was just far enough on the edge of vulgarity to have an adult say butt that they were shocked, but enjoyed sharing the forbidden a little. Down below in North America it would be far worse.

  "I can handle that," a boy about Eric's age said confidently.

  "Ah, Barak," Jon said knowing him by name. "Go to it."

  Barak approached the panel with the candle. It weakly sucked smoke, but on a line a half meter long instead of a point. He took a marker from his pocket and made a mark at both ends of the invisible crack. He unhesitatingly took the foam and foamed an oval around the leak, then took the plastic sheet and doubled it over. He shook it out like shaking a tablecloth out and swung it smoothly to suck down flat on the foam. He brushed with his hand flat, from the center out to spread the foam out under the plastic and then lifted the double thickness he'd made and shot foam between the layers closing it and spread that again with his hand. Then he sprayed the entire perimeter in one motion.

  "Masterful," Jon praised him. "I wish half the adults could patch like that. Two layers are of course, better than one. and the way you swished the sheet in from the side, he mimicked the motion. You looked like a matador trying to tease a bull. The sheet went down flat, with no big wrinkles, which is a plus."

  "You might wonder why you need to be able to do this. If there is a big problem and my security people and the maintenance folks and a lot of other adults are all going to be running around fighting fires and patching really big leaks, then we will appreciate and need your help taking care of the little leaks like this."

  "Thanks Jon. I'm glad we got everybody current on this. We're a little late going to lunch. Would you like to come along with us to lunch?"

  "I'd enjoy that," Jon said. "And if anybody has any questions I'll leave the seat across from me open and you can come ask me," he offered.

  * * *

  At lunch Eric was very surprised to see his sister go over and sit opposite Jon. "Ah, what can I tell you M'lady?" Jon offered.

  "Are you really bald, or do you shave your head every morning?" Lindsy asked. Faye looked stricken, but Jon laughed so hard he had to cover his mouth.

  "Feel it and you tell me," he challenged.

  Lindsy felt, tentatively at first and then hard, carefully back behind the ears and neck. "There isn't a little stubby bristle anywhere," she declared. "No way you could do it that carefully every time. You really are bald," she declared, surprised.

  "You're right and now you have revealed one of the Mysteries of Home," he declared.

  * * *

  "Come on in" one of the goombas casually invited them in the suite the next morning. He seemed much recovered from his ordeals. Buscemi was in good spirits too, sitting back from an amble breakfast. There were five places. That was interesting. Mackay wasn't sure if Buscemi would eat with his lieutenants. He wasn't at all certain what the social order was like within crime families. Gunny assured him, in some interesting detail, that April's friend Eddie could tell him anything he wanted to know about La Cosa Nostra.

  They decided to dress a little less aggressively this morning and picked lower profile under armor instead of the higher grade stuff that rode on top. Neither did they have long guns and although Hall had on the backpack auto-aiming gun, he'd thrown a light windbreaker over it and the snouts were laying curled on his shoulders like some strange necklace of black metal.

  "I have some good news," Buscemi informed them. "I was able to obtain some help from local friends and my boys are packing now. They will have a fellow at the outgoing shuttle to collect all the hardware, so we don't need your services any longer."

  "If that is your judgment. Certainly our contract can be terminated at will. We do know local custom and have zero G skills, but if you think you'll be OK without us we'll be going. If you'd just scan our fee to my pad we're done with each other."

  "I'll send it around when I'm back to my business offices," Buscemi said, waving it away as unimportant. "Shortened to one day instead of three, of course."

  "No. We are due the three days we contracted, even if you withdraw early. I insist," Mackay said with no particular rancor, but firmly.

  The fellow who must be the head goomba looked so sad and shook his head. "You don't 'insist' with the Capo. It isn't respectful," he explai
ned, spreading his palms like he was laying the matter before them to see.

  Mackay wasn't done talking yet, but the goomba to the left of Chen worried he might be and reached inside his jacket. Chen knew he wasn't going to offer them gum, so he proceeded on the assumption they would be taking them all down.

  Chen suddenly had a polymer covered iron rod in his right hand, coincidentally the same length as his forearm. He swung it backhand without even looking to the right. He'd checked the distance to that fellow when they all stopped moving and knew where he was. It smacked him across the forehead with a surprisingly soft >POCK!<. He folded limp as an over-cooked noodle.

  The fellow drawing the gun was by this time showing some wrist again and Chen swung over hand with a will. The wrist made a much more satisfying crunch and the gun fell to the floor. The silly boy leaned over trying to recover it left handed. Chen gave him an unhurried and restrained love tap above his ear, so he joined his friend on the floor.

  The chief goomba was caught by the movement with his hands spread wide gesturing to make his point to Mackay. He was far too slow anyway, but that really left him in an awkward position to respond. By the time he had his hand on a pistol butt Gunny had stepped past Mackay and drawn and extended his Sig. It was cocked, with his finger inside the guard and jammed under the man's nose. He just pushed and walked him back against the bulkhead in three fast steps. He drew the pistol to the side and the man didn't even try to duck. He just closed his eyes and grimaced. Gunny backhanded him on the side of the head and there were three on the floor.

  The juniormost goomba was the smartest: he had both palms showing, standing very still. Both the muzzles hanging over Hall's shoulders had come alive like startled snakes and were both pointing from each side directly at the fellow's nose.

  The whole action had taken a little more than three seconds.

  "Are dollars OK, or would you like EuroMarks?" Buscemi asked, fumbling with his pad, sweat beading up on his flushed face.