"What pressure? I thought our food production system was doing well. Less than 20% of our population can produce enough to meet our needs."
Tara nodded. "Yar, and we've got fewer and fewer Planetborns interested in taking up farming. Actually, since you did your 'private property' thing, it's gotten a little better. But our population is expanding, which means our food requirements are expanding."
She shrugged. "Oh, it's not an emergency, or anything. It's just one of those day-to-day irritations that sit in the back of your mind and gnaw at you, you know?"
Ken nodded. "Of course I know. I have several of those myself."
Chapter 22
Thirdmonth 12, Year 34 A.L.
"Vlad, you can't retire! I need you!"
Vlad shook his head. "I can't do anything that young Jenson can't do better. Besides, I'm 96 now, I think." He grinned. "Now I know how Cesar felt, all those times I talked him out of retiring."
He sobered. "You don't need me now, Ken. Lee is doing a great job. Oh, I guess I could keep my seat on the Council, just to keep my hand in and help maintain your majority." He smiled. "Besides, I've got almost four years before I'll qualify for a pension."
"That's right!" Ken said, almost desperately. "You can't retire yet. I've got you for another four years!"
Vlad's smile reappeared. "Oh, I think I've got enough laid aside to carry me through, especially with Susan's income. Don't try to game the gamer, Ken. I've always wondered what life was like for those no-hopers that used to hang around the square. This is my chance to find out."
"Humph," Ken grumped. "Some of them still are. Gamblers, thieves, even a couple of beggars have turned up. If you need something to do, help me get rid of them. Or even better, think of a way to stop Jack Brooks from bringing all the Earth vices to the colony."
Vlad shook his head. "Won't work, Ken. You know how I feel about Brooks, but I've got plenty to do. Elaine won't resign from the Explorers, and neither will Ron, of course. So, when you and the Council send them haring off somewhere, somebody's gotta take charge of spoiling those twin boys. Susan's still working, and Tara's getting married next month. Besides, nobody's better qualified to spoil a kid than a grandfather.
"Oh, relax, Ken," he continued. "You know my tablet code if you really need me. How about this: I'll keep my Council seat, and we'll consider me a part-timer, a consultant, on call."
Ken carried on for almost an hour, but was finally forced to realize that Vlad was serious, and that his 'consultant' offer was the best deal he was likely to get. He reluctantly agreed.
In truth, though, he had to admit that Vlad had a point. Lee Jenson had the kind of quiet competence Cesar Montero had displayed. Privately, he was rather assuming that Lee would be elected Administrator when he retired. But Ken was no Vlad Renko. He wouldn't retire easily. Or soon.
******
Jack Brooks didn't consider himself a subversive, and he certainly didn't consider himself a crook. He was merely ambitious, and largely unhampered by a conscience. He just wanted to be rich.
As a boy growing up, he had admired Douglas Ryles, and had watched the man's rise with admiration. When Ryles became Director of Gambling Control, Jack knew that when he grew up, he wanted to be Doug Ryles.
His parents disapproved of his hero worship of a man they considered a fraud. But what did they know? They were Earthborn, and his father worked long hours in the machine shop for the same "pay" as guys who didn't do anything!
That was the big thing, see? Ryles was finding a way to become rich even in a society where everything was rationed and allocated. His mom might complain about Ryles, and loudly claim not to trust him, but she was a regular customer for Bingo at his casino.
His father claimed that Ryles was only supposed to get the same allowance as everyone else, but everyone knew he was becoming rich. After all, he was paying those bully boy "collectors", wasn't he?
Ryles' sudden fall hit Jack hard. How could it happen? The man had so much power! And then, almost overnight, he'd been disgraced and he and his men were working in the fields. And only a few weeks later, he was dead, along with his muscle and even Montero. Jack was in shock for days. But then, he decided he was missing something, and he began studying any records he could find on Ryles, carefully analyzing the man's career.
Ryles had overreached, he decided after weeks of research. He reluctantly admitted that while the man wanted to take over the colony, he simply wasn't tough enough, or smart enough to handle the job. Even if he'd succeeded in becoming Colony Administrator, he'd have made a mess of it. Probably been assassinated, Jack admitted wryly. His hero had feet of clay.
Jack quickly identified Ryles' "it's not your fault" method, but he had to admit that by the end, even that was wearing thin with the people. His big mistake, though, had been tangling with Montero and Renko. Ryles might have been a 'wannabe', but the Montero/Renko team was the real deal; strong, tough and smart. Ryles had been outclassed from the beginning.
Well, he decided, he wouldn't make that mistake. Montero was dead, but Terhoe showed the same kind of strength and intelligence, and Renko was still a power on the Council. So Jack wouldn't try to challenge them. He didn't want to run the colony anyway. He just wanted to get rich. He followed Terhoe's career with interest, and he'd been patient. He was certain that his chance would come.
For over a year, he lived on the basic allotment while looking for an angle. His father became disgusted with him, and threw him out of the house. Jack moved into a nearby vacant dome. For a while, he worked as a card dealer and Bingo caller; he was becoming convinced that the quickest available road to wealth lay in gambling, and he wanted to learn everything about it.
Since Ryles' fall, gambling had seriously declined in the colony. Oh, there were still plenty of Bingo games, but they were colony-run and penny-ante. Bingo, while still popular, was no longer the obsession it had been on the voyage. People had other concerns, now. And tainted by the memory of Ryles, the really profitable games, like poker and blackjack, had almost disappeared. They were slowly coming back, though.
Jack realized that his time had come when the rumors began to circulate that the Council was planning to change to a metals-based currency and establish private ownership of property. Terhoe was said to be trying to transition to a capitalist, rather than a communist, society. There was some resistance, but a lot of the Earthborns approved. The Planetborns, of course, had no experience of anything but the shipboard-style communism, and were more doubtful. But Jack delved deeply into the comp, and learned a lot about capitalism. It sounded like just his style. When capitalism arrived, Jack would be ready.
The large dome housing Ryles' casino as well as his home had sat silent and dusty for several years when Jack abandoned his small outlying dome and claimed it. The dome had originally housed a family of five before the plague. It was far too large for a single man, and even to Jack it sometimes felt creepy. But if the rumors were true, he planned to own a casino when private enterprise arrived. Even some of the gaming tables and Bingo equipment were still there. He hoarded his meager allowance, cutting his expenditures wherever possible. He began running a few informal poker games, and began accumulating ship scrip. Mostly, though, he was cleaning and renovating the casino and its contents.
Ryles's efforts to convert a family dome into a casino had been limited to knocking out a couple of walls to produce a single large gaming room. But Jack had a larger vision. The two remaining rooms on the ground floor were now smaller game rooms, for private games. Jack had moved his office and bedroom upstairs, to what had originally been small childrens' rooms. He'd cleaned and refurbished the original kitchen. Although he ate nearly all his meals at the mess hall now, he had plans to use the kitchen later. He also salvaged a small emergency comp from the ship. He programmed it with the ship comp's entire collection of music, as well as a surveillance program using cameras salvaged from the dorms. By this time his meager savings were gone, but he didn't begrudge the investme
nt. It was a near thing, though, and he eventually had gone back to Bingo calling and late-night poker games while he awaited capitalism's arrival.
Terhoe's changes hit the colony like a whirlwind. Suddenly there was a list of occupations, and a pay amount listed by each one. A Med Tech with an MD would no longer receive the same allotment as a farm worker or mechanic with the same sized family. Card dealer and Bingo caller were near the bottom, but that was fine with Jack. If his plans worked out, he would be the one paying the low wages, not receiving them.
Then, a few weeks later, a currency based on silver, copper and zinc replaced the beer-based ship scrip. The Council established exchange rates for each type, which established their relative values.
And Jack was ready. By offering a few zincs above the standard, he hired three Bingo callers, and spread the word he was hiring card dealers. Then he placed a large announcement in the newsie, and opened for business.
Business was slow, at first. He was competing with the colony-run Bingo games, and though his games offered bigger prizes, they also cost more. Besides, the casino was still dogged by its association with Ryles. For awhile, only the small number of poker and blackjack games kept his casino going.
After awhile, though, Terhoe's changes led to increased disposable income, and people began to realize that Jack's casino featured bright lights, music, atmosphere, and refreshments, in contrast to the stark spareness of the colony Bingo games. Business picked up, and soon Jack was showing a profit.
Now, only ten years later, Jack was already rich, by colony standards. The casino was crowded nearly every night, and the kitchen sold finger food to accompany the beer and even the harder liquor now available.
As soon as the casino began showing a profit, Jack bought several of the surrounding domes; he was looking forward to possible expansion, and their residents had been complaining about the late-night noise, anyway. He'd found an old Earthborn who'd claimed to know how to distill high-proof liquor. After some research on the ship's comp, he'd set up a still in one of the neighboring domes, and hired the man to run it, using farm waste to produce drinks that were 40% to 70% alcohol.
But Jack was becoming bored. It was all too easy. For over a year, now, he'd been looking for another way to expand his operations. His current focus was the purchase of agricultural lands just outside the Castle's walls. Population pressure was beginning to build inside the walls, and there was talk of either extending the walls outward or simply building houses outside the wall's confines.
So, Jack was buying farm land bordering the wall by the hectare. If they decided to expand the walls, they'd have to buy his land, hopefully at his price. If not, even better. He'd been dividing his hectares into housing lots ranging in size from 100 to 1000 square meters. Others were beginning to catch on, and prices were rising, but none of the competition had his resources.
He'd considered establishing prostitution, but had decided the colony was still too small, the market too limited. Besides, there were still labor shortages. There was no real underclass of uneducated girls without hope for their futures.
No, his next move would probably be to establish a branch of his casino up at the mines. He liked being rich, and wasn't bothered by the well-known fact that Terhoe considered him a parasite and an irritation.
******
Jorge Fuentes was frowning deeply. "We're getting some funny reports from the R65C aboard the airship," he said. "That thing's been patrolling for ten years, now. Maybe we need to bring it in for servicing or something."
Ken sighed. Jorge had developed a habit of running to him with anything outside the ordinary confines of the mine. More annoying, he found it impossible to summarize. Information had to be dragged out of him, bit by bit. "I thought the airship came back every couple of weeks for servicing. Have you talked to Miguel? He's the head airship mechanic."
Jorge looked irritated. "Well, sure. But he says there's nothing wrong with the airship. He thinks there might be a problem with the R65C."
Ken was getting impatient. "Well, that's Frank Wong's baby. What does he say?"
"He says it's not due for servicing for another five years," Jorge reported. "He ran some tests, and says it's working fine. But he can't explain the reports, either. The weird readings all come from one place, about 500 klicks north of here."
Ken forced patience into his tone. "So, what do you want to do, Jorge?"
"I think we should send out a geologist or two, with a few of your Explorers, to see what's going on out there. These are really strange readings. They don't make any sense at all."
Finally! Ken thought. Well, why not? The Explorers had not been on a mission in months. Ron had been complaining about it, until his mother had announced she'd accepted Hans Trager's proposal. Now, of course, both Ron and Elaine were up to their necks in wedding arrangements.
By now, Ron could probably use a break. "Okay Jorge," he replied. "I'll talk to Frank and to Ron Creding and see what we can arrange."
He never got the chance.
It was early evening, and the colony was bustling when the growing darkness was suddenly replaced by an actinic glare that outshone the sun. Seconds later it faded, but suddenly the lights went out. The lights aboard the ship flickered slightly, but remained on.
Ken was in the square, discussing arrangements for Tara's wedding. He whirled and pounded off toward his office. Before he reached it, though, he'd already realized what had happened. The Cobb Drive had exploded. He altered course and headed for the ship. His office terminal would be as dead as the lights, and so would his tablet. Judging by the lights, though, the ship's terminals would still be able to connect him to the comp.
The emergency programs, designed over forty years and a hundred light years away, had functioned flawlessly, Within microseconds of detecting the loss of the power signal, the programs had switched to emergency power reserves.
In response to its own emergency programming, the comp had begun analyzing the situation and its cause. By the time Ken arrived at Cesar's old office in the Dorm 7 training room, its analysis was complete.
Ken burst into the room, puffing mightily. He headed straight for the terminal. "Please press your thumb to the identification pad," the computer intoned in the mechanical voice that so annoyed anyone but Cesar Montero. Ken did, and was relieved when Evelyn's image appeared. "Good evening, dear," the computer said in Evelyn's voice. "How can I help you today?"
Ken rolled his eyes. "You can tell me what's happened, and what we can do about it."
"Of course, dear," came the reply. "At 1842:13 local time, the power broadcast from the Cobb drive ceased. Analysis of the Drive's status for 30 minutes prior to that event indicates a dramatic disturbance of the antimatter containment field at 1842:12:56 local. Probability is 89%, plus or minus 9% that a small meteorite, similar to that which damaged the ship, holed the drive. Probability is 99.97% that the drive has been destroyed.
"Emergency power has been activated. At current usage levels, power reserves are sufficient for 132 hours. Activation of the ship's emergency fusactors is recommended. Emergency inspection is underway, but both fusactors have current inspection reports."
Ken nodded. "Is the 'net still functional?"
"The computer net was powered by the Cobb drive," the comp replied calmly, "and is currently nonfunctional. Only shipboard resources are available."
"Can the 'net be restored using available resources?"
"The computer net can be restored locally," the image replied, "but resources are insufficient to extend service to the mines without compromising the availability of local services. I must add that restoring the computer net will reduce power reserves to 110 hours."
"Restore power to the comp net, and connect me with Lars Norstrom."
The image faded, to be replaced by Lars Norstrom's grin. "Hi, Ken. I figured it'd be you. We're already on our way back to the ship. Are the inspections current on the emergency fusactors?"
Ken smiled with r
elief. People like Big Lars were more precious than diamonds. "The comp says so. It also said it's running emergency inspections now. You don't seem very surprised."
"I'm not," the big man replied. "That Cobb Drive powerplant idea was always a crap shoot. Did you know that 5% of colony ships blow up when the Drive is activated, before they ever get out of the Sol system?"
Ken started. "No, I didn't."
Lars shrugged. "Well, EarthGov doesn't exactly brag about it. But we were lucky the damned thing got us here, double-lucky it didn't blow up when we detached from it, and triple lucky that it worked as long as it did."
"Well, I guess we're on our own now," Ken said. "Any suggestions?"
"Aw, don't worry about it, Ken," the big man said easily. "The ship has two emergency fusactors. The big one is intended to power life support and ship services. The other, smaller one, is designed to provide power for a colony of up to 6,000 people."
Ken frowned. "We've got over 8,000 already," Ken said, "and we've still got a lot of growing to do!"
Lars nodded. "Yar, but the ship's almost empty now, except for Hydroponics. The life support fusactor will have excess capacity, and between it and the colony fusactor, we'll be fine until we can get a bigger one built. We've got plenty of palladium for now, though you're going to have to get that survey airship busy looking for more rare minerals. We’ll need 'em in a few years."
"You make it sound like this is just a minor hiccup."
Lars chuckled. "It is. We're almost to the ship. Where are you?"
"I'm in Cesar's old office on the ship, but there's no reason for you to come here. You and Jana just need to get those fusactors online as soon as possible."
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