The Powers of the Earth (Aristillus Book 1)

by Travis J I Corcoran

  Rob Wehrmann turned to Karina. "This idea that it might not be governments is stupid. But let's say for a second that it's not the US and the UN behind the hijackings, but just rogue units. If that's the case, then that makes it even more useful to have militias."

  Mark Soldner nodded in agreement. Mike restrained his urge to smile as another of Javier's predictions played out.

  "No one's saying we need to fight yet," Mike said, resisting the urge to add, “because you're all idiots who can't see what's right in front of your faces.”

  "We can hope for a negotiated settlement." Even that partial compromise felt false and hypocritical, but he tried to keep the disgust off his face. "But we need a credible fallback, which means building up militias anyway. That means that we need to find and recruit men with military backgrounds to help us form militias."

  ...as I've been saying for years now.

  Rob Wehrmann grunted a gruff agreement. "Good." Mike raised an eyebrow. Good? In Javier's breakdown Rob was one of the neutrals. If Rob was saying 'good,’ maybe they were slightly ahead of the game. Mike let his eyes slide over the faces around the table as he calculated.

  There were twice as many people as last time. In theory the newer members had been invited by consensus of the existing members, but in practice they were mostly Javier's picks. Mike had listened to Javier's briefings and promptly forgot half the details, but he knew the bottom line: the "militant ancap" faction had been strengthened.

  Albert Lai - tentatively marked as a member of the "detente" faction - shook his head. "We can't just negotiate as a pro forma checkbox before we fall back on a military solution: we need to be serious and negotiate as if this is real, because it is. Forgive me, but the idea of a military response is ridiculous - we don't have remotely enough people in Aristillus to fight off an invasion."

  Mike grinned inwardly. Albert was a neutral, at best, but he'd teed things up for Mike's next point perfectly. He realized he was letting the smile slip out, and quickly blanked his face. "Albert, I agree that we don't have enough people to fight. The first half of agenda item six is finance. The second is manpower." He looked around the table. "We need more people."

  Mark Soldner looked up. "You mean immigration."

  Mike nodded. "No one knows exactly, but the best guess is that we've got around a hundred thousand people here. Say that five percent of those folks are willing to raise arms against Earth forces. That's just five thousand people. The US army has more people scrubbing toilets that. Hell, according to the papers, the PKs have twice that many troops being investigated for child rape. I don't see any way that we can stand up to that sort of force unless we staff up."

  Mark furrowed his brow. "You folks may have better numbers, but based on how much housing I'm selling, we're growing at over twenty percent a year. I take your point about manpower, and I think that that can be addressed with targeted recruiting, but if anything, we need to slow general immigration down a bit so we can nurture a culture -"

  Hector, who'd been watching the debate silently with his usual innocent face spoke. "A culture? What culture specifically?"

  Mark blinked at the interruption. "Pardon me?"

  Hector's gentle smile didn't slip. "What culture should we nurture?"

  Mike looked at Hector, then at Mark. Javier had war-gamed a lot of scenarios, but not this one. A question about culture - was Hector just scoring a quick rhetorical point, or was there going to be a deeper disagreement with Mark? And if so, what? Was this a Latino/Anglo rift? Or a Catholic/Mormon one? Or something else?

  He looked at Javier out of the corner of his eye, silently asking the question. Javier shrugged.

  It was easy to underestimate Hector, but beneath the baby face and quiet manner there was competence and intelligence.

  Mark met Hector's eyes, and Mike could see the calculation. After a moment Mark spoke. "I'm not saying anything about race or country here - I'm only arguing for a culture that - in the long term - is conducive to reasoned liberty."

  Hmm. This potential fault line between Mark and Hector was interesting. Mike filed it away for more thought - and realized that he was starting to think like Javier.

  But there was something else about Mark's phrase that struck him. That phrase - "reasoned liberty". That had the feel of a land mine. Mike wanted to interrupt Mark and drill down on it, but Javier had insisted that he avoid interrupting an adversary in the process of self-immolation. Or even one in the process of putting a foot in his mouth, which Mark seemed to be doing. Mike made a note on his slate and turned back to the debate. Javier's advice turned out to be good - left to his own devices, Mark found himself in a sprawling four-way fight with the three Hispanic CEOs in the room.

  He looked at Javier from the corner of his eye and saw the hint of a smile. This was unexpected, but good, perhaps. Might opposition to Mark push a few people into the 'militant ancap' faction? Mike tapped his stylus against one palm as the fight dragged on. Infighting was good, but he was growing tired of this. The clock on his slate said that it had already been five minutes, and he wanted to get this meeting over with. He had emails about the D series TBM he needed to respond to, a debt spreadsheet that he needed to work on before his next meeting with Lunar Escrow and Trade, and so much more.

  He cleared his throat - and realized that not only was Javier watching him, but had been doing so the whole time.

  Javier shook his head slightly. Mike sighed. Damn it. He understood Javier's reasons, but just sitting here as windbags talked was as boring as hell.

  He looked around the room - and realized that he wasn't the only one who was bored. Rob Wehrmann looked pissed - and just a moment later he slapped the table and raised his voice over the din. "Guys, I don't give a shit about fighting over North American immigration."

  Mark raised a hand. "This isn't about North American immigration, this is about -"

  "Jesus. I don't care. Can we just table this and move on?"

  Mike looked at Javier, got a nod, and hammered his gavel. "Rob's right. Let's fight about culture some other time. The important fact is this: right now we've probably only got around five thousand people who would fight." He looked around the room. "And that's not nearly enough. Not enough to fight, and not enough,” he looked to Karina, "to serve as a credible alternative in negotiations."

  Karina looked at him seriously. "Mike, I'll back more immigration to help us bluff, but you're deluded if you think we can fight. Negotiation is the way out of this."

  Mike blinked. Deluded? Him?! He felt his face flush. He was the only one in this God-damned room who really understood the situation. Karina might be good at business, but she had no idea how the real world worked. She thought that everyone would just sit down and discuss things like her and her friends chatting over mimosas at the country club. Where the hell did she get off, sitting there with her Wharton MBA and her thousand-blueback business suit and telling him that he was deluded?

  Mike scowled. "Karina, you're being an idiot - there's no negotiating our way out of this." Next to him Javier cleared his throat. Mike glanced, saw the expected warning, and shrugged it off. Javier was his mentor, not his boss, and this was important. Unless he could make these fools understand what was coming, the war was going to roll over them and they were all going to be killed or jailed for life.

  He turned to the rest of the table. "Jesus, people. We all know the truth - and if you don't admit it, then you're lying to yourself. It's time to fight! Remember the CEO trials? Did any of them succeed in negotiating their way out? How about the protesters and the legislators from the Five Texases? Did negotiation work for them?" He put his hands on the table. "Let's stop the bullshit - there's no way that negotiation is going to accomplish anything."

  Javier cleared his throat loudly and around the table there was a murmur of conversation. Mike spoke over both. "We all knew we'd have to fight sooner or later. We hoped for later, but we don't get to pick when - the government does. And they've picked. They've burne
d satellites, they've hijacked ships, they've executed prisoners, right here, at Aristillus. The war is on our doorsteps. But right now, with our population, we can fight, but we can't win. We need more people!" He slapped a palm on the table to accentuate his point.

  The conversation was getting louder, but it wasn't hostile. He looked at Javier and got just a raised eyebrow neutral look back. Javier was too cautious, sometimes.

  A voice at the far end of the packed room asked, "So what do we do?"

  Mike nodded. This was the question he'd been waiting for. He leaned forward. "There's an equation." He ticked off the points on his fingers. "Total population times fraction under arms equals fighting force."

  He scanned the room. "First, let's talk about fraction under arms. As of three weeks ago, I converted my rifle club to a militia and began recruiting. I'm paying my employees, and their friends and families, if they sign up and drill. I've got one battalion formed and I might start a second. I suggest you all do the same."

  There was excited babbling but Mike spoke over it. "Second, we need to increase our population. Right now, we've been punched in the face by the PK hijackings, and the temptation is to pull back - to run fewer ships, to go defensive. That's natural - but we need to do exactly the opposite. We need to be aggressive, lean into the punches. We need as many people up here as possible."

  Kevin raised a hand. "If we're looking for more people on our side, what about the Dogs?"

  Karina Roth whipped her head around. "The Dogs?" The disdain in her voice was palpable.

  Kevin shrunk a bit under her gaze. "Well... yes. Have you met any of them? They're all rabidly anti-PK, and -"

  Karina rolled her eyes.

  Kevin scowled, but pushed on. "They - they're very smart. I think they could -"

  Rob Wehrmann cut him off. "What the hell are a bunch of animals going to do for us anyway? Let's not make this more of a freak show than it already is. Next thing we know you'll be asking about Gamma."

  "Well, why not talk to -"

  The noise around the table got louder, drowning Kevin out. Mark tried to speak above the babble and couldn't.

  Mike gaveled for quiet and got it. "We can talk about Dogs and Gamma later if we want, but we're off topic." He pointed. "Mark."

  Mark tipped his head. "Mike, on the topic of immigration, I hate to use the phrase 'ideologically reliable', given the taint that the government has given it over the last twenty years...but we do have to worry about the PKs and the US and the rump EU sending sleepers up here."

  Mike nodded. "Probably they will. But fewer boats and tighter security isn't going to help. Sure, the shipping companies can check biometrics against social networking graphs, or whatever. In the Anglosphere, where shit is halfway under control, that might work. But in the African war zones, the Chinese refuge camps, Georgia, Russia?" He shook his head. "There's no way that any internal security force you can dream up will catch every sleeper the governments throw at us."

  Mark shook his head. "Mike, that's exactly my point. That's why we need to cut the influx to the bone before -"

  "We've probably already got sleepers here."

  There was a babble of excitement but Mike waved it away. "Remember the lesson of Baltimore and LA -"

  Mark threw up his hands. "Baltimore and LA? They just prove my point! We didn't secure our borders and we lost a city because of it!"

  The room was getting loud again; more and more people were raising their voices. Mike yelled over them, "No, they prove my point. Why was the LA bomb discovered? It wasn't port security. It was two taco vendors who saw the clues, who blocked the truck and pulled the driver out. All the back-scatter x-rays, cryptographic manifests, hundreds of thousands of TSA and PSA and SSTA employees - none of that stopped the container from getting through. It was the Anselmo brothers that saved Los Ang-"

  Mark snorted. "So we should outsource our security to taco vendors?"

  Hector and the other Hispanic CEOs started yelling. Mike balled his fists and yelled over them. "Yes, that's exactly my point! Adopting border controls is taking stupid ideas from our enemies. We're smarter than that. What's next? Ninety percent taxes? Mandatory promotions to any employee who gets a doctor's note that says they've got a mental illness? Punitive penalties for -"

  The gavel was banged, and banged and banged again. Mike turned and saw that Javier had grabbed it and was smacking the block over and over. Mike caught his eyes and saw that the anger was back. Why? What the hell was Javier's problem?

  ...And then he looked up and realized the full extent of the chaos in the board room.

  Ah, shit.

  Javier kept banging the gavel and the room slowly, reluctantly, quieted. But just as the last angry voice quieted, there was a new noise - a disturbance in the outer office. What the hell?

  Mike turned and looked through the glass wall that separated the conference room from the cube farm - and saw a crowd. What were employees doing here on a Saturday?

  Was it the logistics team - wait - were they carrying banners?

  He blinked. Protesters?!?

  With a loud crash a potted plant punched a hole through the glass. The rest of the window crazed and for a second the shattered glass hung together then large pieces fell from the frame.

  And then the chanting started: "Unsafe conditions, profits before people, shame, shame! Unsafe conditions, profits before people, shame, shame!"

  What the fuck? Mike looked at Javier, who shrugged, likewise befuddled.

  Mike turned to the boardroom group and yelled over the protest. "Ladies, gentlemen - I think we should adjourn. The door behind you will take you to the garage."

  Mike picked up his phone and placed a call. "Yeah, about two dozen of them. Trespassing. Yes. Fucked if I know."

  The members of the boardroom group got to their feet, looking as mystified as Mike felt. Where the hell had this come from?

  As the boardroom group filed out through the back door Mike turned and looked the masked protesters and noticed their cameras.

  Who the hell were these people and what the hell were they going to do with the footage?

  And where the hell was security?

  Chapter 68

  2064: Level 3, Aristillus, Lunar Nearside

  George White pushed through the door of the bakery and walked past the glass cabinet of lotus seed buns, dowry cakes, and fa gao and sat in a chair at one of the small tables. From here he had a perfect view of the door of the rented apartment across the street.

  A Chinese woman stepped from behind the counter, smiled, and spoke in some foreign language.

  George looked up at her in annoyance. "I don't know what you're saying."

  She switched to English, still smiling. "I asked if you're from Calabar?"

  "What?" He scowled. "I'm American."

  She blinked. "Oh, I thought you were Nigerian."

  George stared at her with lidded eyes, waiting for her to go away.

  "Can I get you something to eat? Some coffee?"

  George scowled and shook his head, then turned back to the apartment across the street. "No. Nothing."

  "I..." The woman paused. "This is a business. You need to -". George ignored her. Wait. There. On the sidewalk across the way the four kids arrived at the apartment. He stood and brushed past the woman. He put one hand on the door, and then stopped. He dialed his phone.

  "Leroy, it's George. The college kids are here. No, of course I'm not going to introduce myself to them as George. Jesus, do you think I'm an idiot? What? No, I haven't decided yet if I'm going to give them the protest footage."

  Behind him the Chinese woman was jabbering at him. George turned and shushed her, then went back to his phone. "Look, these idiots think they're journalists. You want to slow play a situation like this. No. Look, just trust me."

  George pocketing his phone and stepped through the door. Outside he waited for a break in the stream of automated cargo trucks, jitneys, buses and cars then sprinted across.

&
nbsp; The kids were facing the door of the apartment as he approached them.

  "Hey guys!".

  They spun. He'd studied the files more since the last meeting. From left to right: Hugh, Louisa, Selena, Allyson. Not that he'd admit that familiarity to them. They were still strangers, at least on paper. "Good to see you. Sorry I'm late - foreman kept me after."

  The one with dark curly hair and the blue eyeglass frames - Louisa - smiled. "Jamie! No, not at all!"

  "Good." George pulled a key-card out of his pocket and held it up. The kids obligingly moved out of the way and George stepped forward and unlocked the rented room. He walked in, leaving the door open behind him. A moment later they were seated on the couch and chairs.

  The chubby kid - Hugh, the senator's son - spoke. "So, Jamie, you said that you've got some stories to share with us?"

  "Do you have anything on unsafe foods?" Allyson blurted out

  George nodded. "We can talk about unsafe foods, but food is just one part of the - uh - social justice problem here, as I'm sure you know."

  Allyson nodded.

  "There's a bunch of issues.” George went through the memorized list. "Unsafe work conditions, lack of regulation, racial discrimination, zero job-training." He paused - what was the phrase that Leroy wanted him to use? Ah, right. "If you approach all of this stuff from an economic perspective, you get a more coherent narrative."

  Selena raised one eyebrow. "You said in the email that you work in life support repair, so I'd have thought that you'd have a story about unsafe labor practices or something, but these other issues seem a bit surpr -"

  Louisa cut Selena off with a chop of one hand. "No, this is good stuff.”

  George compared the two women. Selena didn't have the narrow-faced, glasses-wearing university look. She wasn't as forward, and she didn't call the shots like Louisa did - but she seemed sharp. Sharper than he'd guessed from her file.

  He'd have to keep his eye on her.

  Louisa turned to him. "Jamie, say that we want to investigate the nexus of lack of economic planning and lack of safety regulations -"