Tudel crept forward.
Maybe his career wasn't irrevocably fucked after all. Could this be another last minute save? It wasn't a sure thing, but these freakish mutants could maybe help him.
Sure, he'd lost one ship and a few men. That was a black mark, and there was no way around that. But Bonner and Opper had already shown that they could cope with a bit of mess as long as he got results - and he was getting results. Finding this secret base on the farside of the moon? The brass would love that. Especially since it hadn't shown up on any of the minisat photos. It had been him, Major Frank Tudel. All him. He'd seen the lights from the facility and brought his ships down to investigate.
He crept forward. Nothing yet.
And there was more. This Dog hunt? If you looked at it right, he was cleaning up a leftover mess. That was gold. Solid gold. Above and beyond how it would play with the brass, it would sure as shit earn him some cred with BuSuR. The Bureau had more juice in DC than the DoD did these days. Yeah, this was going to work out. Maybe he could still get light colonel like the generals had hinted - and after that? Maybe he could maneuver for a job over at BuSuR.
Tudel rounded a bolder, and saw a man on all fours. He shouldered his rifle and brought it into firing position.
Wait, not a man. It was one of those Dogs.
The Dog saw him and turned its head. Tudel squeezed - one shot to the center of mass! A loud keening howl came across the radio. Ha! Nailed it! He let it scream for a second and then squeezed the trigger again and put an end to the abomination. Three more shots: two more to the center of mass, then one to the weird elongated helmet, which shattered satisfyingly with a nice spray of air and blood.
Over the radio there was more screaming, this time human. Was that Tai? Nelson? Tudel keyed his mike. "Sergeant Tai, what the fuck iss going on over there?"
Suddenly there was a flash of movement. Something metal, blurred by speed. A thing - a machine? - was galloping down the slope of the promontory. Tudel started to step back, but it was too late - the robot closed the distance in a fraction of a second and hit him dead on. The impact folded him forward over the robot and his head smashed hard against his faceplate.
He was being run over. Tudel flailed at the machine, trying desperately to grab a hand hold, to halt his slide under it.
He was going to be crushed.
And then his left hand landed on a bar, a rod, something, and he clenched his fist around it, just as both feet were swept out from under him.
He swung a foot back to find purchase-
And found nothing.
Fuck!
He was falling - and the spider-robot-thing was falling with him.
He lifted his head and looked up. The robot was above him - and behind it the lip of the crater was moving up and away. The wall of the crater slid past.
God fuck shit!
Tudel and the spider robot rolled as they fell; the crater rim disappeared and black sky replaced it. Above him the robot's legs thrashed and thrashed.
The fall went on.
And on.
Why was this taking so...
Suddenly Tudel remembered the low lunar gravity. Holy hell, he might survive this, if he could avoid getting crushed under the robot. If he could just twist -
And then they hit.
Chapter 99
2064: Karen's Fish, Aristillus, Lunar Nearside
Mike dipped the fried calamari into tartar sauce, chewed, and swallowed. "What do you mean you're not afraid? The satellites just got burned again. That's twice. And this time they started by taking out the ones over Farside. That should scare you - hell, it scares me."
Mike looked at Darcy to see if his words were getting through, but she was looking down at her plate, spreading wasabi onto her sashimi with a chopstick.
He continued, "How are we even debating this? Your ship - your ship -was hijacked by the PKs. How can you possibly think that this is a good idea?"
Darcy picked up a piece of tuna, dipped into soy sauce, then put it back down. "Mike, I'm not disagreeing with any of those facts. What I am saying is that if you're going to open source the AG drive, it's not as simple as uploading a CAD drawing of some rotors and magnets and cryo-coolers. If people are going to actually use it, we need a lot more."
Mike scowled. "Like what?"
"A click-and-forget nav package, for one thing. The UI we've got now is too complicated. It's for power users, and you're proposing that we hand this insanely complicated tool to neophytes and then expect them to use it correctly the first time." She shook her head. "People will die if you do that. We need something simple - a big green button. That means that we need to lock-out launching from certain latitudes and longitudes, a tool to auto-calibrate the AG drive, self-tests, abort procedures - "
Mike waved her points away. "Darcy, the situation is insanely dangerous. The Earth governments are boiling over, and propaganda webcasts from that fucker Hugh - excuse me - and his friends aren't helping. We lost the RTFM, the Wayward, and Character Forming - and we came damn close to losing the Wookkiee - with you on it! And now with Gamma's sats burned again-"
"They burned the satellites before and nothing came of it."
"That was before. Who knows what they've got planned this time? You can't go out again. It's too dangerous."
"Mike, do you accept that we need to open source the AG drive in order to get a critical mass of population?"
Mike pursed his lips and said nothing.
"You can stay silent if you want to, but you're the one who said those exact words to me, so that counts as a yes. Next question - do you accept that as one of the original authors of the navigation code that I am the best one to develop and test the idiot-proof open-source version of the program?"
"Look, you're one of the best, but -"
"Yes, I'm one of the best, and the other top people are working their asses off on other parts of the project. Heck, Ponzie isn't just reworking the drive design, he's also coming with me on the calibration runs. So that's two points in agreement. Third question: to make sure that the auto-calibration features work on actual hardware in the actual Earth gravity field, we need to test in actual Earth gravity: true or false?"
Mike glowered. "Send an unmanned ship. Do it remotely."
Darcy was incredulous. "With a multi-second coms lag? And, worse than that, without having my own eyes on the prototype mini drives? And what am I supposed to use as my eyes and ears as I'm editing code four hundred thousand klicks away? Cameras? And what if I need to adjust some calibration screws or tighten a loose connection?"
Mike crossed his arms silently. Darcy pushed on.
"Look, I'm going on a Fifth Ring ship. Their security upgrade is good - all their ships have been retrofitted with reinforced hatches and man traps behind each door, and they're working with Bao at Trusted Security to get some armed men on each ship. They're even talking about claymores on the deck, and - "
Finally Mike exploded. "I've told you I don't like this, and I've told you why. You can't take risks like this!"
Darcy fixed him with a look. "Mike, I don't appreciate that tone -"
Mike pushed his chair back and stood. "Fuck my tone. I don't appreciate you going out on a God-damned stupid run after I've told you not to."
"Mike, please sit -"
"No, God damn it!" He balled his napkin and threw it down on the table. "I'm not going to sit and listen to this - this - idiocy!" He turned and walked past the silent diners at the other tables staring. After a few steps he turned back. "If you get caught by those bastards, I'm not coming to get you."
Darcy stared at him, open-mouthed.
Mike stalked out of the restaurant, the blood pulsing in his ears.
He pushed through the front door.
God damn it. Why did Darcy have to take these risks? If she got caught, he'd - he'd - he made a fist and punched his thigh. He had no idea what he'd do. Which is why he had to stop her now, before she went.
He reached the si
dewalk and looked for his motorcycle before remembering that they'd taken a cab together. He grimaced, looked up and down the sidewalk, and then set off for the nearest taxi stand. As he walked he rubbed a hand over his forehead and his bristle cut. Damn it! He wasn't perfect at keeping his cool in business negotiations, but at least there when you raised your voice and called someone an asshole, you could just apologize and then go on to reach some compromise position. But this? What the hell sort of compromise was he supposed to reach, anyway?
On the one hand, Darcy was right: the revolution needed the open source AG drive to boost the lunar population. Even with the shipping companies running their boats around the clock, the lines of would-be emigres were already stretching out months into the future. The bitching on the discussion boards was reaching a fever pitch as people who had sold their houses and cars for illegal gold were forced to cool their heels, waiting for a slot, hoping not to be arrested. So, yes, transportation needed to be crowd-sourced. Hell, that had been his point in the first place! And, yes, Darcy was the right person for the job. Fuck - even though he hated to admit it, she was even right that the only way to do the job was to go to Earth.
But on the other hand, she'd been taken prisoner once already, and the war was heating up. If she went again -
God damn it.
He just didn't know what to do.
The cab stop was just up ahead.
"Mike!"
He just wanted to tell Darcy... Shit, he didn't know what he wanted to tell her. If only-
"Mike! What are you doing here?"
He looked up and saw Javier.
"Jave - what are you doing here?"
"I just had dinner with Mark Soldner down the way. Listen, I've got to tell you a few ideas -"
"This isn't a good time."
"You're going to want to hear this."
"Javier, I'm serious, can we do this later? I'm not in the mood."
Javier was uncharacteristically excited. "Give me a few minutes; then I'll let you go."
Mike sighed. It seemed he couldn't get out of this. "OK."
"You know I was reaching out to Mark, trying to patch things over between the factions in light of the new attack on the satellites? Well, we got to talking about financing the militias, the e-p-doors, some lobbyists on Earth."
"And?"
"And it's all going to require money. A lot of money."
"That's not news."
Javier nodded. "So Mark and I were talking about how to finance it. I told him that idea you and I have kicked around - each member of the board taking loans against their firm and property and kicking into the pool. Mark had a different idea. It's based on REITs."
"REITs?" Mike saw Darcy exit the restaurant behind Javier, then turn and see him.
"Real estate investment trusts - it's a synthetic instrument, a diversified bundle of shares in various pieces of real property. But the point he was making was that instead of each of us taking loans by ourselves, we use all these assets together and issue one centralized set of bonds. Not as individuals, but as the Boardroom Group."
Mike looked over Javier's shoulder at Darcy - and she was looking at him. He caught her eye and the two looked at each other for a long moment. Mike tried to let her see that he - what? That he didn't want to fight? That he was sorry? But that despite all of that he still really didn't want her to go on the mission?
Whatever got through, it wasn't enough. After a moment Darcy turned and walked down the sidewalk in the opposite direction.
God damn it! Why did women have to be so obtuse?
"Mike, did you hear me?"
"Yeah, I heard you."
"So what do you think?" Jesus. He preferred Javier in his normal laconic mode, not this hyped-up caffeinated version.
Mike sighed. "Uh, it sounds decent, I guess. I don't know. I need to think about it some more." Behind Javier, Darcy had disappeared, lost around a corner or behind other pedestrians.
Shit.
"Well, wait. It gets more interesting. This is where the magic happens. After we bundle the resources, we leverage them."
God damn it - Darcy was gone. But what was Javier saying? Leverage the resources? Mike's eyes narrowed. "Leverage them? How?"
"Fraction reserve banking."
"What does that mean?"
"We start a bank under the aegis of the Boardroom Group, collateralized with real assets - some of Mark's buildings, stock in Morlock, stock in my firm. The bank creates a currency which gives us liquidity. An army fights on its stomach, right? Well you keep an army's stomach full with liquidity." Javier clapped Mike on the shoulder. "We're going to win this war!"
Mike blinked. What was Javier going on about?
A taxi slid silently up to the curb next to them.
Javier glanced at the car. "Anyway, you said this wasn't a good time for you, so I'll get out of your hair. Let's talk tomorrow, though, OK?" He pumped Mike's hand once, and opened the door to the taxi and climbed in. A moment later the cart accelerated away silently, leaving Mike alone at the curb.
"We're going to start a bank? What the fuck?"
Chapter 100
2064: Kaspar Osvaldo's home, Aristillus, Lunar Nearside
"Sorry about dinner." Kaspar gestured with a slice of pizza "- but with Marianela taking the girls to Ignacio's soccer game - well, you don't want to taste my cooking."
Matthew swallowed. "Pizza's great - it's the soda that's weird."
Kaspar raised a finger in mock-seriousness. "Ah, that's where you're wrong. Sugar cane is the only proper way to make a cola. We may not have the official blessing of the firm, but we have sugar cane...and the recipe."
Dewitt took another bite. As he chewed Kaspar returned to his ongoing explanation of Aristillus. "The Chinese here aren't as simple to understand as the Americans and the Nigerians, but it's not that complicated. There are separate waves of them, but once you understand that those were caused by Chairman Peng's First and Second Heavenly Campaigns, you realize the difference is just geographical, based on where the fighting was."
Matthew took a sip of soda. "But ideologically - the Chinese here hate the PKs like the Nigerians do?"
Kaspar shook his head. "No. They never saw peaker troops on the ground back home. Besides, after what happened to anyone in China with a political opinion over the last fifty years, most of them just want to keep their heads down and work hard."
"So if it came to fighting -"
"The Chinese are a pragmatic people. For thousands of years they've learned to figure out which strongman is going to win, then back them."
"So the Chinese will back the PKs."
"Is that what you think I just said?" Kaspar brushed the semolina dust off his hands over the empty pizza box, then stood. "Come, let's go out to the garden."
Dewitt followed the older engineer to the courtyard. This was the third time they'd gone out here to talk, but it still made him shake his head. He knew that the rich here in Aristillus had great homes - one of his men had found a photo spread of Leroy Fournier's mansion in a web magazine - but even the middle class had a stunning amount of space.
Kaspar caught him taking in the cloud-dappled blue sky overhead, the fountains, and the fruit trees and shrubs. "It's beautiful, isn't it? Marianela designed most of it. Much nicer than the small apartment we had for our first two years here."
Soon they were talking about real estate prices, home loans, and architecture. Interesting, maybe, but irrelevant.
Each man in Matthew’s team had a task. Some were tracking down maps and engineering drawings, some were building the explosives they needed for later (bizarrely, the precursor chemicals were available in hardware stores without even ID), and others were joining militias under assumed names and learning their tactics.
And then there was the task he'd saved for himself: gather strategic and political information.
Matthew steered the conversation back to the demographics and ideological groupings of Aristillus. "You said America
ns make up maybe half the population here -"
"Yes. The mines, the smelters, the drilling - those jobs are almost entirely filled by Americans. It doesn't hurt, of course, that three of the First Five are Americans."
"Were Americans."
Kaspar shook his head. "Have you met Mike Martin? No? I suggest that when you meet him you tell him he's not an American any more."
"Really? Why?"
Kaspar laughed out loud. "No, I'm joking. Don't do that."
"So tell me what the American expats are like.”
"Eh, you know, you're one of them!"
"Well, yes - but I'm new here, and I spend most of my time at work. I barely know anyone here. But you - you've got a good eye."
"What do you want to know?"
"Well, you were talking about the Chinese. How do the Americans compare? Factions, groups, politics - that sort of thing."
"There's not much to say. They're about as angry as the Nigerians, but a bit more - what's the right word? - political, I guess. The Naijas just hate PKs and American troops, but they might - might! - deal with a government if they had to. The Americans here, though - they're nuts."
"How so?"
"Unwilling to compromise."
"Are there any fault lines?"
"For a while I thought there were, but that whole Lone Star versus Big Dipper thing, it's just for show. They argue at work, and then they go out for beers together afterward. Hell, half the Americans knew each other from secret message boards, going back decades."
"You're saying that lots of the Americans were involved with terror rings?"
"If you're talking about The Five States Militia and the North Slope Army, no, most of the Americans here in Aristillus sat those out...but I can't tell you how many times two American friends of mine tell me that they met each other twenty years ago while discussing something online."
"So the factions - Texas, Alaska, New Mexico - those loyalties don't run deep?"
"They're not factions, they're just..." he shrugged. "'Clubs' is the best word."
The Powers of the Earth (Aristillus Book 1) Page 44