He blinked. What was she talking about? It didn't matter. "OK. Great."
Louisa smiled curtly. "Our theme, our deep story is clear: showing the chaos that a lack of responsible oversight creates. But it can't be dry - we've got to make it pop. That means a human angle. Harm. Something people can understand in a ten second clip."
"The show is going to be ten seconds?"
"What?" She blinked. "No, of course not - but we need a teaser trailer that has good video. So what can you give us that makes good video? Orphans? Maimed workers? Actually, that would be ideal. If there's someone with visible injuries..."
George thought for a moment, then nodded. "Sure, I know people. I can set up some interviews."
"English speaking, with good video presence," Louisa clarified. "Kids, women, maybe an old Asian man would be best. No Africans." Louisa paused, realized what she'd said, then started to backpedal. "Uh, I mean -.”
George shook his head. "I'm American. I get it. You want people the viewers can relate to."
Louisa's lips pinched together. "Exactly. And, actually, we can have Africans. Some cute African kids would be great. Just no African men. You know, given the whole sub-Saharan PK thing." She paused, and seemed to feel a need to explain further. "The -"
George held up a hand. "No, it's cool. Now, I'll work on lining those up, but can I give you some advice?"
All four of the kids nodded.
"There are a lot of firms here in Aristillus, and you've got to realize that some of them are pretty straight arrow. If the colony gets legalized and brought into the fold, these are the ones that are pretty much following all the rules, even before there are rules. You follow me?"
Another round of nods.
"But some firms are more 'cowboy' than others. They use older equipment, they don't use UNESCO-accredited training materials, and so on. Have you heard of MaisonNeuve?"
This time he got a bunch of shaken heads. No. George fought back a sigh. Jesus. He had to spoon feed these idiots everything. Which not only was more work, but it also meant that the shit he was being paid to spew was more obvious. He rubbed his hands on the legs of his jumpsuit. Fuck it. He'd give them the shorter version - if they were even halfway competent they'd research it on their own.
"Well, MaisonNeuve is one of the good ones. Living wage, safety standards, all that shit. I've got some worker safety violations, but they mostly come from other mining firms like -"
Louisa nodded but interrupted. "We definitely want to cover the safety, but we both know the real story is the lack of planning, the chaos-"
George pursed his lips. This was going to be tricky. He couldn't push the Morlock angle a second time or it would be obvious. So how to get back on target? "OK, the lack of planning. Here's the thing - 'follow the money' - am I right?" He looked around. The kids were hanging on his words.
"Unsafe labor, lack of planning, flouting of SITTER export regs - these things aren't separate. You can't look at the lack of regulation without looking at who's behind it. This stuff isn't happening by accident. It's more of a - well, I guess you'd call it a conspiracy. A master plan." George sat back and spread his arms over the back of the couch. His hook was baited.
Hugh started to ask "Who -?" but Louisa cut him off.
"Tell us!"
George smiled. "You've heard of the Racketeering and Unjust Profits Act?"
Louisa tilted her head. "It's familiar. Ten, twenty years ago?"
Selena nodded. "It expanded on RICO, and led to the CEO Trials. Part of the Global Fair Deal." George nodded - and noted that he'd been right. Selena was the smart one.
"Right. Look up the details online, and go through the list of RUPA violators. You're going to see a lot of names." He paused. "Then look around this place." George gestured beyond the concrete walls of the small apartment with its dumpy furniture and improvised shelving of discarded shipping boxes. His wide arms included all of Aristillus.
Louisa's eyes blazed. "RUPA violators here? Who?"
George smiled and let the pause stretch out longer and longer. He looked to Louisa. She was hanging on his words. Perfect. "Mike Martin. Unplanned sprawl, child labor, unsafe work conditions. It all traces back to him. And to his cabal. He calls it 'The Boardroom Group' - have you heard of it?"
Louisa shook her head.
"No surprise - they don't advertise. The group isn't made up of all the CEOs here, but it's got a lot of them. Mike Martin, Kevin Bultman, Javier Borda. Find yourself a dirty player here in Aristillus and you can be sure they've got a seat at that table." George scanned the three girls. "Ladies." He nodded at Hugh. "Gentleman. This is the kind of story that has legs."
Louisa could barely contain herself. "It's better than that! This Aristillus series was already a career maker, but now this connection with the CEO Trials? This is gold, Jamie - solid gold." She smiled. The expression looked awkward on her; she had a face cut out for seriousness, not for smiling. "We'll definitely get our journalism licenses, even if the books are closed. I mean, for starters. But if we play this right, this could be my ticket to a senior position at - " Then, as quickly as she'd bubbled over she regained control: the smile disappeared and the serious look came back. George could see the force of will as she stilled her hands and placed them in her lap.
Louisa took a breath. "We've got to make this work as one big narrative arc, but we can't spread ourselves too thin. I think we should start with the worker safety thing. That'll have great visuals, if Jamie can get us some victims. And if they were injured on a job site tied into this RUPA cabal."
George knew a few amputees. For the right price they'd repeat whatever he fed them. "Not a problem."
Louisa tapped her slate with her thumb; the excitement was still there, but it was constrained. Ordered. Controlled. "Let's talk visuals. Beyond the interviews, what can you give us? Footage from inside factories?"
George shook his head. "No. Background checks keep me out. The private police here know me. You're going to have to go undercover yourself, or recruit sources to shoot footage for you."
The guy - Hugh - leaned forward. "How will that work, Jamie? Don't we need papers? They'll see that-"
A corner of George's mouth turned up. "No. Half the people here come from war zones and don't have any papers, and half the employers here are anarchist nutjobs and don't want them. You'll be fine."
Louisa leaned in. "When we met at the restaurant you said you were headed to a protest. Tell us about that."
George kept the smile off his face. He didn't even have to prod them; they set up his lines for him. He leaned in himself and lowered his voice, conspiratorially. "Stuff is heating up. Some of the workers are getting fed up with the cabal. I was there - and I've got video. Give me an email address and I'll send them to you."
Louisa's thin predatory smile was back. "Jamie, this is great - really great."
And now George let himself smile.
Leroy had balked when he'd named his price, but no one could say that that French-Canadian fuck wasn't getting his money's worth.
Chapter 69
2064: Morlock Engineering office, Aristillus, Lunar Nearside
Mike looked up. Wam was standing near the newly repaired conference room window expectantly.
Mike groaned. "Wam, I do not need another fucking problem right now. The Veleka tunnel issue still isn't fully resolved, we're behind schedule on rubble clearance because that last fucking load of bulldozers are somewhere in a orbit instead of down here where I need them, Javier is trying to give me charm school lessons, Karina Roth and the damned Boardroom group -"
Mike realized that Wam's eyes were wide and he stumbled to a halt. "I shouldn't be venting at you. OK, what's going on?"
"Problems with the Bao Johnson contract."
"What Bao Johnson contract?"
Wam sighed. "You signed it three weeks ago."
Mike shrugged. "I sign a lot of things. I've been distracted. Remind me."
"You asked me to increase cas
h-flow, because of the Veleka shortfall, and the need to fund the Morlock militia and the e-p-door project."
This much was familiar. "Yeah, I remember. Go on."
"And you told me that you'd been talking to Bao at Trusted Security about a partnership and asked me to finalize the deal."
"And?"
"They had some contracts they couldn't fill, and we've got a bunch of militia already on the payroll." Wam shook his head. "You really don't remember this at all?"
Mike fixed him with a hard gaze.
Wam sighed. "OK, OK. We set up a separate company to hold the First Morlock - Lowell structured it as a security/insurance firm - and Trusted subcontracted a few jobs to us. Bao does all the marketing and overhead, and our men get practice working as a team, learn the tunnels. And -"
"And?"
"The good news is that we get twenty k a week."
Mike raised his eyebrows, then smiled. That was good news.
"Ready for the bad news now?"
"Hit me."
"Remember how I said that Lowell structured it as a security/ insurance firm?"
Here it came. "Yeah."
"That means we pay out insurance claims if our security fails."
"So let me guess - one of our security guards beat up the friend of a Senator's son?"
Wam chuckled darkly. "No, we haven't heard from that asshole since we paid out - totally quiet."
"Excellent."
"The thing with Trusted is nothing that bad."
"So what is it then?"
"Bao just called. One of the security contracts we own now is Leon's Poker House. A few hours ago some Mormons smashed up the place and threatened the working girls."
"We agreed to defend Leon's?"
"Mmm hmm."
"Leon's, right in the same tunnel as the Soldner Homes complex? Leon's, right next to all the new Mormon arrivals?"
Wam sigh. "Yeah."
"Let me guess. We didn't pick which gigs we took - Bao hand picked them and gave us his dogs?"
Wam winced, embarrassed. "Yes."
"Fucking great."
Wam was silent.
Mike sighed. "Not your fault, Wam. I should have negotiated this deal myself - or hired someone to run this who's got experience in this area." He paused. "We're all overworked. Fuck it. So give me the details - what do you need from me?"
"We signed the version four security contract - it's one of Lowell's standard ones. That means three things. First, we're responsible for adjudicating who smashed up the casino and threatened the hookers."
"That's easy enough - the Mormons, right?"
"Yeah, we've got video. But it's still a process. Then number two, we need to make them pay up - torts. Then three, we get to take twenty percent off the top for our troubles and hand the rest over to the casino owner."
"And?"
"And the first Morlock Inc. has warm bodies - all the militia men - but we're not actually set up as a full-service security firm. We don't have an investigator or a negotiator, or any of that. There's no process, Mike."
Mike rubbed his eyes, then pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're too polite to say it, are you?"
Wam held back a smile. "Say what?"
Mike put his head down on his desk dramatically, then spoke through the muffling of his arms. "Too polite to say that this idea of using the First to pick up a security gig was idiotic. That I got us in over our heads." He raised his head and looked at Wam.
Wam's smile started to show. "I wouldn't say idiotic..."
Mike waited for the other shoe to drop.
"...but I might be persuaded to say 'not very well thought out.’”
Mike nodded. "Fair enough."
"...or I might use the phrase 'spreading yourself too thin.’”
"OK, I get it-"
"...or perhaps 'a distraction when you should be-'"
Mike raised his hands and feigned warding off blows. "All right, stop kicking a man when he's down. So what are the actual action items?"
"First: adjudicate the malefactors."
"That's a quote from one of Lowell's contracts?”
"Mm hmm. Just means that someone in authority has to decide who the bad guys are. Since you're not just CEO of Morlock Engineering, but also CEO and one hundred percent shareholder of the First Morlock Volunteers, you either create a process or just do it yourself."
"If it's quick, I'll just do it myself."
"I thought so. I just have to document it." Wam tapped something on his slate. "OK, I'm marking you as chief investigator. Let's start the investigation." He gestured at the wallscreen and the video started.
It was a typical multi-angle composite, built up from dozens of cameras on Leon's Poker House security network. The interpolating editing software was decent: the virtual camera first focused on the marchers coming down the street, banners high. The point of view kept retreating as the marchers advanced. Confused Chinese immigrants stepped out of the way. The sound slowly ramped up and the chants became louder.
Wam froze the video. "Here, on the left -" A box highlighted the figure " - is Mark Soldner, LDS branch president -"
Mike sighed. "I know Mark." He rubbed his eyes. "Oh, do I know Mark. Go on."
"Right. Boardroom group. And here, next to him, is his wife Carrie-Anne Soldner. Next we have their three sons and two daughters, George, Anne, Christopher, Joan, and Gaskell." Boxes popped up around each. "The facial recognition software has names for most of the others in the crowd, and the majority of them are all living in apartments owned by Soldner Apartments or in homes sold by Soldner Homes."
Wam fast forwarded through twenty minutes of chanting and picketing. "And here the first rock gets thrown." The video slowed, showing some of the younger men throwing rocks and then the crowd streaming inside and overturning poker tables. Wam paused the video. "I'll give the Mormons one thing, they're polite even as they're busting the place up. Did you catch how they said 'please' when they asked the gamblers to step back from the tables?"
"OK, so now what?"
"Now you make a legal finding and I document it."
"A legal finding? Like Mark Soldner is behind this?"
Wam tapped his slate. "OK, that's done. Just two steps left."
"I negotiate with the Mormons’ rep and get them to pay damages, right? Who's their legal services provider? Abacha? LAWS? Negotiated Rights?"
"No. I already spoke to Mark, and he was quite clear - he uses Negotiated for his business stuff, but on the church and community stuff, they're independent."
"Independent?"
"Yeah, you've got to negotiate with Mark directly."
"It's never simple, is it?" Mike sighed. "Can you arrange a sitdown with Mark?"
"Already set up. Three o'clock today, his place. Address is in your phone."
"Thanks."
Wam looked at Mike for a long moment. "How is everything else going?"
Mike shrugged. "I feel buried in this shit." He gestured at the spreadsheets, tunnel plans, militia rosters, and CAD drawings of TBM machines spread across several wallscreens. "I can't get ahead...and now I've got to deal with Mormons."
Wam grew serious. "I know that this is the point in a feel-good chick flick where your assistant tells you what a great job you're doing juggling all of this - but I'm not going to say that. You've got to prioritize, Mike. Dealing with the Earth threat should be your highest priority. If you don't solve it, a lot of people are going to go to jail."
"Jesus, you sound like Javier." Mike looked aside, then back. "So what's your advice? Should I ignore the Mark Soldner issue?"
"It's in your lap now, so you've got to deal with it. But it shouldn't be in your lap in the first place."
Mike scowled. "We need this the Trusted Security subcontract to fund the Morlock Volunteers and the e-p-doors -"
Wam shook his head. "We don't need this. Money is fungible. Cut your expenses. You keep iterating the design of the rifles. You're starting to staff up the Second Morlock.
You're paying for design work and prototype parts for the D-class TBM." He looked at Mike sharply. "Have you looked at how much you're spending on that?"
"It's not that much -"
"Mike, I reviewed the spreadsheets just this morning. You're pouring cash into a startup that's making carbide teeth."
"I'm not 'pouring' money in. And besides, once I get the D-series up and running I'll be able to rub it in Leroy's face and deliver cubic for half the price -"
"Mike, who gives a shit about Leroy? Forget the D-class TBMs."
Mike shook his head. "The D-class is going to be so much more efficient that -"
"Now is not the time. Put the D-class TBM on the shelf. Stop tweaking the rifles. And stop picking up new projects."
"It's not that easy -"
Wam shook his head. "Mike, stop arguing and listen to what I'm telling you. I know you like construction equipment more than you actually like running a business. But the war is breathing down our neck, and we need to win it. People - a hundred thousand people - here in Aristillus are risking their lives. You complain about Javier, but he's right - everyone is looking to you to be a leader. You need to step up and lead." He paused. "And a leader prioritizes."
Mike met Wam's eyes - and Wam didn't look away.
Mike crossed his arms.
God damn it.
He hated it when Javier and Wam ganged up on him. And he especially hated it when they were right.
Chapter 70
2064: First Class Homes and Offices construction site, level 6, Aristillus, Lunar Nearside
The crew chief raised his voice over the sounds of drills and abrasive cutoff saws. "Hang on, let me get Javier."
He turned, cupped both hands over his mouth and bellowed, "Javier!" A man a dozen meters away looked up from a large slate displaying architectural drawings. The crew chief waved him over.
Javier handed the slate to another man and walked toward them, slipping through gaps in the metal-stud walls that were going up with amazing speed.
Captain Matthew Dewitt - or, rather, Neil Keenum, electrician - looked over the new man as he approached. He was older, brown-skinned, with a salt-and-pepper goatee. Matching hair peeked out from under his scarred white hard hat.
The Powers of the Earth (Aristillus Book 1) Page 29