by Ted Mayes
Jon asked thoughtfully, “Do you really think that there's going to be a demand for tourism in the near future?”
“What do you think is going to happen when Amanda's story about today and the video that's being recorded now is released to the world? How many people have dreamed of going to the moon?
And add into the mix the emperor's order that astronauts, of any nation, will be granted free passage on flights back and forth, in honor of their bravery. How many former astronauts do you think will be interested in coming here to see that landscape and have the chance to go outside?”
Their food was delivered to the table and they ate silently for a while, thinking. Jon said, “I assume, then, that there are plans to have more restaurants and, what, hotels, up here?”
“There are all sorts of plans. The Foreign Department will handle applications for work permits, the Commerce Department will handle applications for businesses, and Agriculture and Natural Science will handle applications for farms. We have no idea what the demand will be, but we’re sort of assuming the worst.”
There was a pause in the conversation and the meal was almost over before Beth could ask, “Did all this food come up from Earth?”
“Quite a lot of it, especially the canned and prepared food, but I'm told that almost everything in your salad, except for the dressing, comes from the 'Home Farm,' the first functioning lunar farm. I'm going to stop there, while you all are playing outside. And,” he said, getting up, “it's time for us to move on to the next task. Jon, take everyone down to the west end of Broadway,” he pointed in the proper direction, and you'll find a sign saying 'Tourist Excursion' – take the elevator there down and someone will meet you. See you back here in about an hour.”
Jon gathered everyone up and headed in the proper direction. It was mostly a quiet trek, partly because of the view out the great windows, which continued down one side of Broadway, but also because of the almost deserted area where they were walking. They could hear and see more people back at the restaurant, which did, indeed, seem to be the only place that was open as far as the eye could see, but Beth assumed that indicated how few people were actually on the moon. She also realized that it indicated that the empire expected many more people to live here in the future.
The elevator ride down was also quiet and Beth knew she was thinking about stepping out on the moon's surface. At the bottom of the ride, they were met by an optio with the name “Meyer” on his jacket. He led them into a chamber that had a number of outfits piled on tables and helped them find ones that fit. Beth had the impression they were something like firefighters uniforms – pants, boots, coats, air tank, gloves, though the helmets were a slightly modified version of their own combat helmet. The rest of the codjits were getting their gear on quickly and efficiently, like Beth, trusting that their officers knew what they were doing.
Amanda wasn't quite as eager as they others. Beth heard her mutter, “He did say he had done this, didn't he?”
Corporal Meyer had heard her, too. “The consul, Miss? Don't worry about his cojones – he's got a big stainless steel set. He was the first one to try on one of these rigs. Wouldn't even let us out of the ship until he'd run around outside for an hour or so, trying his best to make the suit fail. No, Miss, there's a reason why we'd follow him anywhere!”
Amanda had a strange look on her face, so Beth whispered, “Don't let the reference to cojones bother you. I was complimented once on having a 'big set of brass ones' – and I'm still trying to figure out whether that was really a compliment.”
“No, that isn't it – I've heard lots worse. No, it's just that Michael is … well, confusing. He seems to keep so much hidden, and not just imperial secrets....”
Mueller came by, checking everyone's suit, then, thru the helmet communicator, Beth heard him say “Hans, seal the suits” and her suit inflated with a slight hiss. Then Mueller continued, “First, is anyone nervous about this? Anyone want to be tethered to me?” Only Amanda raised her hand, so Mueller snapped a line to a ring on her waist. “Second, if you want to take a souvenir or two home, there are collection bags by the door.”
Beth heard Amanda break in, “Corporal, shouldn't we just leave everything the way we found it?”
Mueller's answer, “Don't worry, Miss, I'll let you know when the moon is running out of rocks”, was delivered in such a calm, soothing voice that the sarcasm was even more devastating. “Third,” he continued, “once you get past the door, you'll experience the moon's gravity, so take it easy till you get used to it. And, no, I can't explain it, so don't even bother asking how or why. That’s just the way it is. Last, we're going to go out for about fifteen minutes and then come back, so no running off – stay close to me, and I've got the neon orange suit, so you can't miss me. Everybody ready?”
There was a subdued hiss, and then a door opened in the wall opposite the door they'd entered. That led to another room which they entered, and when the door behind them was closed, a door in front, leading to the outside, opened. Then they were on the moon's surface.
It was entrancing, once you got used to the light gravity. The barrenness you could equate to the great deserts on Earth, so that didn't seem quite so strange and the black sky and stars weren't so different from the night view on a camping trip, so you could convince yourself it was a 'normal' thing to do. Of course, having the Earth hanging over your head in the sky was pretty freaky at first, but even that you could get used to. Beth had grabbed a number of bags (and made sure that Amanda had some too). She wanted a rock of her own to take home, and wanted a rock and some soil for Mr. Simpson, her science teacher. She hadn't even thought about stopping to get any when Corporal Mueller said it was time to turn around, so she quickly gathered some totally random samples. She spent most of the way back staring at the mountain they were headed toward, trying to identify the 'huge' windows that had given them their first view of the landscape. When she and Jon finally spotted them, she was surprised – what had seemed so large on the inside was barely visible from the outside.
For one reason or another, the group was largely quiet on their return, to Capitol and then to Broadway. Beth decided that, having seen how small the 'settlement' was from the outside, the view of the landscape from the Broadway windows wasn't nearly as 'scary' as she'd thought it was – it was much easier to see the beauty, now.
Seeing what slavery could be like, though, was anything but beautiful. They'd ridden a light 'trolley' two miles out from Capitol to where a gang of slaves was working, apparently to expand the tunnel system. It wasn't that they were treated terribly, but all they did, again and again and again, was carry a block of stone out of what was going to be a 'field', down the tunnel and stack it on a conveyor belt that carried it off into the distance. It wasn't the forced labor that bothered Beth – after all, basic training hadn't been that different – as much as the mindless repetition of an activity that meant so little. She glanced at Amanda, noting her expressionless face, and hoped she appreciated how 'easy' her sentence was.
By the time they got back to the ship for the return trip, she was tired. Others were tired, too, so Jon gathered them at the back of the ship, which was empty except for them, and told them all to try and sleep on the way back, because they still had guard duty in the evening. Takeoff was exactly at 1400, but before she could get comfortable for a nap, she was called forward by the boss and was asked a series of questions about what she thought of the patron-client relationship that Jon had claimed to get her into Ostia.
It was a tough questioning session. Finally she said, “I'm not sorry I joined the imperial security, sir, and I'm glad my sister is healthy now, but I don't know what to say because I can't see that client status has made much of a difference so far.”
The boss used a dry-as-the-lunar-dust tone of voice when he replied, “No difference for you, other than getting you into the imperial forces, putting you in Jon's platoon and squad, which put you at the top of the class, got you on this specia
l assignment and gave you a trip to the moon?”
Beth found herself blushing, something she hadn't done in a long time. Seeing it, the boss said, “I think I know what you mean, though. For your information, the emperor, while pleased with you and your accomplishments, isn't thrilled by this patron-client thing. Not the least reason for which was that the patron-client relationship originally was for freed slaves, and the emperor doesn't want to go in that direction for freed slaves. So, as of now, there is no such thing as a patron-client relationship, especially between you and young Master Harrison.”
“Thank you, sir. If I may suggest, sir, I think it might be wise to revise imperial policies on enlistment and the providing of medical care, especially if we're going into a turbulent period. I think enlistment and especially medical care should be more widely available.”
“That's already being dealt with, Miss Jordan, mostly because of the situation you found yourself in. You'll be glad to know that the empress shares your opinion on medical care.”
“A question, sir. You know that I'm going to be finishing high school this year. I wondered if you could tell me what the rules are for dating?”
“The empire has no rules for dating in high school. That would be something for your parents to decide.”
“No, sir, I meant,” she could feel herself blushing furiously, “what are the rules about dating … uh ...”
“Dating someone you work with? There the rule is that you can't date anyone in your chain-of-command. For instance, Miss Jordan, you would not be allowed to date me, even if you wanted to.”
“No, sir. Thank you, sir.”
As she turned to leave, he said quietly, “For your information, Miss Jordan, all students, including you, are released to the auxilia while they're in school. None of your codjits will be in your chain-of-command.”
“Sir.”
She returned to her place, hoping to get a nap, but Amanda followed her. Having heard her conversation with the consul, she wanted the whole story – how had Beth gotten in, what was basic like, were there videos of her and her squad in basic. She answered as best she could and finally the questions ended. The last thing she remembered Amanda saying was, “No one knows what 'Imperial Security' means, but everyone knows Star Wars – I'm going to call them Imperial Marines.”
* * * * *
For Michael, the ride back from Luna was relaxed and productive. The youngsters had all gone to sleep, which only reminded him how glad he was that he didn't have to stand night guard duty any more. Amanda was writing furiously, doubtless trying to get her thoughts of the day down on paper. He smiled to himself. He'd heard her comment about calling the imperial forces 'marines' and got a quick note off to the emperor, asking if he wanted the name change to be stopped. The answer had come back just as quickly, 'Sticks and stones, Michael. I don't care what they call us. Besides, that means you get to play the part of Darth Vader!'
He went back to work. Preliminary report on Ark – collection was beginning: text of the announcement of the movement of mass toward the L4: estimate of mass for first, experimental ark: suggested topographical plan: estimated time for transfer of material and terraforming. Preliminary report on Columbus – ETA and a request to increase flight speed: a list (long) of tests to be conducted on arrival: a request for more ships to be added to the project: a list (not nearly as long) of respected scientists whose addition to the project would be beneficial. A report from the Urban Praetor about possible disturbances in the weeks to come: a suggestion for the construction a 'counter/information booth' to be constructed outside the gate, where applications could be submitted: a plan for information 'kiosk' to be constructed at the crossroads of every level, where directions and news would be available. A request from the Commerce Department to consider the requests of businesses for a 'coin' to indicate fractions of a 'nickel': a proposal of several ways that plastic 'coins' could be designed to fulfill this need.
There were other reports to go through, but the announcement that landing was imminent made Michael close his portfolio. He got up and woke Jon, so he could wake up the rest of the youngsters. As he returned to his seat, Samuel was giving him a report on the people who had been contacting, or trying to contact, Amanda. And she was going to put together some video clips to be able to show some of the news organizations. They landed, disembarked and set off for the residence and the collective relief of being back 'home' was clearly evident. The youngsters began quietly talking and joking with each other and even Amanda began acting more relaxed.
Michael returned to his reports when they reached the residence. He worked straight through till 1730 and then knocked off so he could get ready for dinner. He came out of his room at almost the same time Amanda did. He found himself noticing her, and immediately squelched that thought – he was too close to retirement to even think about screwing up that way. First came up and reported that he'd decided to take a split guard, half praetorians and half youngsters. Michael grinned and spoke softly, “You can't fool me, Tommy, you're just interested in getting some Italian food.”
“Don't blame me, Mike – I didn't pick Pietro's for dinner. And I wasn't the one to decide to take the FBI man out to eat.”
“Yeah, but I also don't see you volunteering to stay home, either.”
They formed up outside and moved off, Tommy leading off and Jon trailing. Michael was a little amused that Tommy had included Jon and Beth on this night out and made a mental note to ask his former brother-in-law what he thought about the two kids. They got off the elevator and met Agent Reynolds and his wife just inside the gate. Strolling down the Via Emporia, exchanging casual small talk, they finally arrived at Pietro's. Entering, they were welcomed by Pietro himself and escorted to a private dining room.
It was only when they were seated that Reynolds opened the real conversation. “I know you, don't I?” he asked Michael.
“November of '81, New York City,” he replied.
Reynolds gave a start. “Michael the Bastard!” he breathed. Then, sensing the shock of the two women at the table, he quickly went on, “That was his name on the street, when you could get anyone to say anything.”
“I don't think I thanked you properly at the time for your courtesy and consideration – that was one of the reasons for this dinner.”
Speaking to his wife and Amanda, Reynolds said, “I met Mr. Baxter at that time in connection with the brutal murder of his wife.” Then to Michael, “I didn't find out until later that your wife was expecting at the time.”
Michael shrugged, “She'd only found out that she was carrying our son the week before.”
Amanda, somehow noticing something unusual in Michael's flat tone, said hesitantly, “I understand that those who were responsible were caught.”
“You could say that,” Reynolds answered. “From an informer we knew a particular mafia family was responsible. It seems that a short time later, that particular family and everyone connected to it was exterminated.”
“You don't say,” Michael said, sounding as disinterested as if they were discussing the table decorations. “Everyone connected to the family?”
Reynolds' eyebrows rose, then he smiled. “Come to think of it, the FBI undercover man in that family was 'warned' that it was time to disappear. And even more strange, none of the other families have ever said anything about the disappearance of the crime family.”
“Really?” The tone was totally apathetic.
Reynolds spoke softly, “I saw the compound. It was quite an abattoir.”
Michael shrugged as if it were no concern of his. “However, I think that now your concern is for Miss Ochs, and perhaps for other things?”
Waiters hurried in and took orders while the conversation paused. When the waiters left, Reynolds said, “There is great concern on the part of some for your well-being, Miss Ochs. Some people seem to think you're in the clutches of a raging beast.” He shrugged at Michael as if to say it wasn't his own opinion.
Michael
didn't say a word. Amanda glanced at him, as if expecting him to respond, but when he didn't, she turned to the FBI man. “Do let me know who these individuals are, Agent Reynolds, because up to a few days ago, I wasn't aware that anyone was that concerned for my well-being. Therefore I find it hard to believe that anyone out there really cares anything about me at all. As for the 'raging beast,' I must admit to having a few unkind thoughts about some individuals,” Michael's smile left no doubt as to who was being referred to, “because of their innate ability to be infuriatingly mysterious,” Michael gave her a half bow as if receiving a compliment, “but I've never been in danger from them. I may have been scared to death on some occasions, but that has more to do with certain individuals liking to spring things as a surprise, rather than actually being in danger.”
“One other thing. Though I certainly haven't been given access to all the information I want – and I was told up front that I wouldn't get that access – there seems to have been full disclosure in the answers to other questions I have asked.”
“But, Miss Ochs, aren't you a slave?” Mrs. Reynolds asked, somewhat confused.
Amanda smiled and said, “Actually, I'm a little confused about that. I'm told that someone was willing to pay almost five million dollars for me. Then do you know what this evil slave master did? He put me in a room that rivals a room in the Waldorf-Astoria, let me sleep in the next morning, and has been a disgustingly perfect gentleman since then.” She shrugged. “When I figure out what's going on, I'll let you know.”
The food arrived and smells of spaghetti, veal Parmesan and garlic bread filled the air. The waiters filled their glasses with wine and waited for nods of approval before leaving. Then Agent Reynolds changed the subject. “The six ships that were launched yesterday ...” He left it open ended and glanced at both Amanda and Michael.