by S. H. Jucha
“What? I can’t get to the coin?” Cecilia asked, with a pout.
“Enough, you,” Liam replied sternly, but he couldn’t maintain a straight face, and it spread into a grin.
Cecilia’s smile faded, as she asked, “Do you think it’ll work … the captains’ plan to raise the funds?”
“I haven’t a clue, Sergeant,” Liam replied. “Right now, I want transparency. I want all of Pyre to see the incremental deposits and the accumulated amount until the account is emptied by transferring it to the YIPS or the spacers’ rehabilitation fund.”
“Yes, Sir,” Cecilia acknowledged. When Liam exited the office, she accessed the account. To her surprise, Pyrean Green was already several thousand in coin richer. She smiled to herself and transferred fifty in coin from her personal account, feeling quite satisfied. Afterwards, she opened a channel on security’s servers, added the account view, and sent a Pyrean-wide message about the Pyrean Green channel.
Liam received Cecilia’s note that the account was online, and he opened his comm unit to access the channel. He too was taken aback to see the account was growing in small increments even while he watched it. Smiling, he accessed his personal account and contributed two hundred in coin to the attempt to resurrect Pyre. I wonder how much you’re going to contribute, Commandant, Liam thought.
Emerson dropped into his desk chair with a thud. The control he thought he possessed seemed to be slowly leaking through his fingers. It was obvious that his staff, from the major to the sergeants, no longer worried about keeping their positions. Major Finian and Lieutenant Higgins seemed to be the worst of the lot, and Emerson suspected they held knowledge that could hurt him. The thought made his blood run cold.
Emerson picked up his comm unit and tapped a stored number.
“Have you heard about Harbour’s YIPS account?” Emerson asked Lise.
“Everyone has heard about Pyrean Green,” Lise replied with disgust. “The good news is that there’s nothing but small deposits. Even though there’s already thousands of them, they don’t total more than two hundred and fifty thousand. The captains don’t stand a chance of raising the necessary funds, at this rate. If they’re forced to use their own coin, it might empty their reserves.”
“I don’t think that last part is true, Lise,” Emerson replied. “Those two captains have delivered three huge loads of slush to the YIPS. I think they have the coin between them.”
“If they have the funds, then why the charade?” Lise asked, upset at having her good mood smothered.
“That’s obvious, Lise,” Emerson said. “This is an opportunity for them to galvanize Pyreans into a common cause.”
“It must be those documents,” Lise retorted in anger. “I’m sure Harbour’s found them, and, if Cinders is in league with her, then he knows about the documents too. That’s the reason the two of them are trying to foment a rebellion.”
“Uh-oh,” Emerson muttered.
“What?” Lise asked.
“Get to your monitor and look at the account,” Emerson replied.
Lise hurried to her desk, linked her comm unit, activated the monitor, and selected the icon she’d programmed. The first thing that caught her eye was the account balance. For hours, it had crawled slowly and incessantly upward. Now, it was jumping, even as she watched. She scrolled down the list of recent deposits. They no longer averaged fifty or so units, but seven hundred or more.
“They still have a long way to go,” Lise said, trying to sound positive.
“Let’s hope so,” Emerson said, ending the call.
-32-
Pyrean Green
Idrian and Rufus were following the growth spurt in the Pyrean Green account, along with every other downsider, during their spare moments. Within the first day, the account passed its first million mark, and deposits weren’t slowing.
“What are you suggesting?” Rufus asked, when Idrian arranged a conference call with Dorelyn.
“Rufus, this is the perfect opportunity for the council to make a private but significant gesture. Later, we can claim that it showed the council’s intent to undertake a new direction in dome government.”
“You want the council to make a major contribution to the Harbour-Cinder account but not claim any credit now?” Rufus asked incredulously.
“Not now,” Idrian said.
“I like it,” Dorelyn replied. “The transactions are anonymous, except to security, but they’re required to get the Review Board’s consent. Lise will never know unless Emerson has his people do some snooping off the books.”
“If this alien experiment succeeds, the council has to be seen as having backed it,” Idrian argued. “We can give permission to have security verify our claim that we were major contributors to the effort. It would be a huge validation of our group.”
“How much were you thinking?” Rufus asked.
“There are eight family heads on the council now,” Idrian replied. “I was thinking we should donate at least fifty thousand each.”
“I could afford that,” Rufus replied.
“You can afford much more,” Dorelyn shot back. “Fifty thousand is too little.”
“What are you thinking?” Rufus queried, with trepidation. He wasn’t risk-averse, but he’d always insisted on generous returns for his risky investments.
“The fund is over one million,” Dorelyn explained. “If we contribute a paltry four hundred thousand, it will evidence our support, but it won’t make an impact in the minds of Pyreans.”
“She’s right, Rufus,” Idrian added. “I say we need to more than double the account balance.”
There was silence on the call, and Rufus was about to object, when Dorelyn said, “Two hundred thousand apiece. Let’s do it.”
The council agreed, despite Rufus’ efforts to persuade them to accept a lesser amount. Dorelyn and Idrian organized the transfer of funds from the members to a new account that was kept private. That allowed it to be identified by a number only and not a name.
When the council’s private account held the entire 1.6 million in coin, Idrian transferred the funds to the Pyrean Green account.
Shock rippled throughout Pyre, when monitors and comm units displayed the doubling of the YIPS account. The rumor mills worked overtime discussing who might be capable of contributing such an extravagant amount of coin.
While the uproar over the major depositor continued, Dorelyn called Idrian. “I must confess, Idrian, your idea was a brilliant strategic maneuver. Are you angling for the Council Leader’s position?”
“More than anything, Dorelyn, I’m interested in seeing the council replace Lise Panoy and bring a stable governing body to the dome,” Idrian replied. “My fear is that the family heads might be caught sitting on the sidelines, when the planet recovers and is opened to settlement.
* * * *
In the Starlight cantina, the regular meeting of the four wealthy patrons, three men and one woman, was on again. In the past two months, they’d become a fixture in the establishment. An attendant made nice tips, ensuring their favorite table with lounge seats, situated next to a view panel, was always saved for them.
As far as the four patrons knew, none of them had made a contribution to the YIPS account, and it had become a major topic of their discussions. The primarily voiced concern was that there didn’t seem to be a means of generating a return on their investment.
“Here’s something to think about,” Hans Riesling said. “Suppose one way or another, the captains raise the funds and the alien device is successful … confirmed by data, of course?” He left the question hanging in the air.
“If things come to fruition, as you suggest, the question on everyone’s lips will be: Did you contribute?” Trent Pederson replied.
“You could always say that you did,” Oster Simian quipped.
“What if security releases the names of the contributors?” Dottie Franks asked.
“Why would they do that?” Oster objected.
&nbs
p; “I don’t know that they would,” the female patron replied. “I’m just asking what if.”
“I think it might be time to stop playing it safe,” Trent said. “The situation has ventured far past the question of investment and return. It’s become a political position, and the citizens will want to know who stood on which side.”
“Meaning?” Oster asked.
“Meaning, I’d like my children or grandchildren to enjoy a green planet. What about you?” Trent asked, turning to gaze at Hans, who’d proposed the supposition.
“If you’re asking me,” Hans replied, “I contributed about three hours ago.”
“I realize this might be an indelicate question,” Dottie said. “But could you give us some sort of indication as to the amount of coin you contributed?”
“You want to know what it took to salve my conscience, is that it?” Hans asked.
“If you could,” Dottie replied.
“I transferred a third of my liquid assets,” Hans replied. He leaned back in his seat, sipping on his drink and enjoying the shocked expressions on his fellow patrons’ faces.
“What is this? You trying to establish a legacy or something?” Oster asked.
“We won’t live forever,” Hans replied. “My grandfather was a miner who struck it rich. He died in an accident on an asteroid four years later. My father took my grandfather’s legacy and grew it through investing in shipping. He never stepped once into space. I’ve inherited the wealth of these men. Giving up a third of my coin won’t hurt the tremendous assets my children will receive. But, I want to give them more than coin, I want to give them a future. You have to ask yourself: Are you living for yourselves and just for today? Or do you want to play a part in something more significant, something that benefits generations to come?”
* * * *
It had been four days since Harbour and Jessie started the Pyrean Green fund. It was no longer an idle hope. Instead, it had surpassed eight million, and deposits continued to roll in, small and large.
Much to Lise Panoy’s chagrin, Jordie and others were reporting to her that downsiders were contributing to the fund. Two contingents were forming. The first was a fad created by the sons and daughters of the wealthy. They were hurrying to be considered part of a unique clique — one that showed they could thumb their noses at the governor and the status quo.
The other group had no uniform definition. Small to moderate amounts were attributed to them. The reports indicated they came from cooks, house attendants, gardeners, technicians, cargo crew, and sundry other professions. No names accompanied the messages delivered via security’s informants. Either there were none available, which Lise doubted, or they chose not to share them.
The latter condition bothered Lise. She could sense her absolute control of the domes slipping away. Staring out her office’s rear-facing window, Lise calmed her anger and thought through the changes that had affected the domes. She’d considered the removal of Markos Andropov as an opening for her and thought the governorship would continue on as it had done under him and his family throughout the centuries.
Now, Lise realized that the removal of Markos had stirred downsiders’ emotions. Typically, the governor relied on a divisive message, pitting downsiders against topsiders. But, the aliens presented a new reality, and the separation of Pyre’s stations and domes no longer mattered. There were greater considerations.
The other thought uppermost in Lise’s mind was the 1.6-million-coin contribution to the Pyrean Green fund. It irked her that none of her sources had uncovered the origin of those funds. It occurred to her that a conglomerate of stationers might have been responsible for the largesse. Having had that thought, she berated herself. Moments ago, she’d been considering the changes evident in the domes’ citizens. Putting the two ideas together, it struck her that the families might have been the source of the funds.
Having made the leap, Lise continued to stare out the window, letting the greenery soothe her mind, while she reviewed the families one by one. In her mind, she put them in one of two groups, those she considered too timid to rebel and those who would want the governorship. What she failed to do was consider the possibility that the major contribution heralded a greater level of cooperation among the family heads than the domes had ever seen.
The question Lise proposed to herself was what to do next. Events were headed in a direction that excluded her, and she needed to find a means of upsetting the trends. Lise returned to her desk, picked up her comm unit, and called her head of security.
“I think it’s time to disrupt the progress at the YIPS,” Lise said, when Jordie sat on the other side of her desk.
“Are you still adamant that there are to be no deaths?” Jordie asked.
“A death doesn’t serve us,” Lise replied. “Besides, it’s too risky. It would take some sort of explosion to resemble an accident, wouldn’t it?”
Jordie nodded his head, and Lise grumped in reply.
Drumming her fingernails, Lise asked, “What are our options?”
“We know little about the aliens. Our agents can’t get close to them,” Jordie replied.
“Why not?” Lise asked.
“Many reasons,” Jordie replied. “First, Harbour and Cinders’ people use ear wigs to understand them.”
“Can’t one be stolen?” Lise asked, interrupting.
Jordie shook his head, explaining, “The aliens are on the YIPS for the day shift, and then they’re collected and returned to the Belle.”
“The aliens could lose an ear wig, if they’re jostled,” Lise suggested.
Again, Jordie shook his head, which he could see was annoying Lise. “From our agents’ observations, the alien ear wigs might have comm control. Sometimes they jabber on, and Pyreans don’t know what they’re saying.”
“Okay, you were telling me why our agents can’t get close,” Lise reminded Jordie.
“The captains have tasked their people as minders. Two human spacers, engineers, or techs are with each alien, at all times. Harbour and Cinders must have been heavy-handed when they gave out the orders, because the minders get off the shuttles with their aliens and stay with them throughout the day. Occasionally the ratio varies a bit when the Jatouche are in meetings, but, before they break up, the minders are back with them. At the end of the day, the aliens are escorted to the shuttle and returned to the Belle.”
“Really?” Lise asked, and Jordie was happy to be able to nod in agreement on this one. “This might work to our advantage. Suppose you were to target a threesome. Whom would you choose?”
“The minders and the aliens sometimes switch up, depending on the meetings they need to attend,” Jordie replied. “If we were to try to target a particular human and alien pair, it would be difficult.”
“Put that aside,” Lise ordered. “Who’s the weak link, the one individual who’s indispensable to the operations?”
“That would be a YIPS engineer by the name of Olivia Harden,” Jordie replied. “She’s the key figure coordinating among the aliens and the human engineers and the techs.”
“That’s who we target,” Lise said, a satisfied smile on her face.
“And what are we trying to achieve?” Jordie asked. “Injury to her that might take a while to heal? Or are we trying to sow a little discontent between the aliens and our people?”
“I like the latter idea,” Lise replied. “You say there’s always a threesome.”
“Yes, sometimes six or nine, walking as a group,” Jordie replied.
“Whom does Olivia accompany?” Lise asked.
“She’s usually with one or the other of two aliens. We don’t know them by name, but the agents know them by sight. One appears to be quite aged, and the other is young. They must be of singular importance, because I’m told Olivia is often seen in their company.”
“Perfect, we target Olivia, and, odds are, we’ll get a key alien,” Lise said. By now, she was smiling. It was a fierce expression that made Jordie uncomfort
able.
“Did you have something in mind, Governor?” Jordie asked.
“Oh, yes,” Lise replied, her smile widening into a savage grin.
-33-
Excess Energy
A YIPS conference room was festooned with monitors, displaying line three and various parts of the Jatouche’s device. Crowded around the central table were Olivia, Gatnack, Drigtik, Bryan, Pete, and many other individuals.
Gatnack held everyone’s attention, as he expounded on the transformations that line three would undergo to produce the metals that were needed.
As a propulsion engineer, Bryan was studying the temperature levels that would be maintained throughout the processes. He made some quick calculations and passed his comm unit over to Olivia, nudging her arm, since he was approaching her from her left side.
“This is going to create a long-term problem,” Olivia said. “We’ve got the gases to drive production for the two months, but the YIPS can’t keep line three operational indefinitely after we convert it nor can they afford to convert the other lines.”
“Is there a problem, Olivia?” Gatnack asked.
“It’s the temperatures for your metals, Gatnack,” Olivia replied. “The YIPS is an old facility, built soon after the arrival of the Belle. It burns gases to drive the furnaces. It’s not the most efficient of processes.”
“Why wouldn’t you want to use the output of our intravertor to drive your lines?” Drigtik asked.
“Wait,” Pete exclaimed. “What’s the intravertor putting out? I thought it was radiating the heat as coherent light, a laser beam.”
“That’s an option,” Drigtik replied.
When Gatnack saw the humans stare at Drigtik and him expectantly, he laid out the other options available to the Jatouche’s intravertor.
“You’re describing microwaves,” Pete said, when he heard one of Gatnack’s explanations.
The Jatouche were unfamiliar with the term, but quickly shared it among themselves, adding the term microwave to their vocabulary.