by M. D. Cooper
* * * * *
Back on the Sylvan, Victoria set aside her second glass of an excellent Old Terra Marlborough, a beverage she had not offered to their guest, who had just left. She called up the recording her office had made of the meeting with Rosalind Bianchi’s assistant.
Bit of a nervous man, she thought idly, as she reviewed the flight records he’d brought showing that the logs of shuttles arriving and departing from the Muzhavi Bowl now bore Enfield idents and tail numbers.
Excellent. She’d have to see about stepping up this AI trafficking business; it was turning out to be quite lucrative.
Victoria couldn’t care less that AIs were sentient. Human, AI—it didn’t matter one whit to her what kind of trafficking her organization engaged in.
Had human trafficking paid more than that of AI, well then, her holds would have been filled with grubby, stinky flesh. This was much more pleasant; AI cylinders were much smaller than human bodies—and they didn’t smell.
Victoria added today’s recording to her file on Bianchi. The Minister knew she had the recording, of course. Victoria used it to ensure Rosalind’s cooperation, in case the Minister decided she ever wanted out of their little agreement.
Sadly, Bianchi wasn’t quite sharp enough to have figured out how hollow Victoria’s threats truly were. She wasn’t about to expose the woman; she needed Bianchi to defeat that stars-be-damned AI, Lysander, in the polls.
Victoria’s little puppet was going to ensure that the laws excluding sentient AI from holding certain jobs were not declared ‘unconstitutional’. She knew damned well that if Lysander won, that would be at the top of his list of reforms.
But that, she could not allow. As long as AI were relegated to second-class citizenry, they were one step closer to being seen as things and not people.
Things were commodities. Commodities could be bought, sold or...otherwise acquired.
And isn't it convenient that I'm in the 'acquisitions' business....
BROTHERLY BONDING
STELLAR DATE: 07.03.3189 (Adjusted Gregorian)
LOCATION: El Dorado Executive Air Field (General Aviation Area)
REGION: Tomlinson City, El Dorado, Alpha Centauri System
“…with over 400 million hectares of national parks to enjoy, a wealth of biodiversity, and a wide variety of landscapes, don’t you owe it to yourself to take a trip down to El Dorado and experience its natural beauty in-person?”
Ben suppressed a frown as the groundcar pulled up to the Bad Attitude Bar, the destination on the pin Jason had sent him the day before. He absently accepted the groundcar’s transportation charge, and schooled his expression to be a bit more pleasant than he felt as the door slid open and he exited.
The bar sat on the less polished side of the El Dorado spaceport. The stench of fuels and lubricants that assaulted Ben’s nose emphasized its working-class roots. He guessed that the melliferous odors were coming from the row of hangars that rose up behind the bar.
He had a difficult time reconciling the fact that his refined and educated wife had a brother who was, for all he could tell, essentially a bum.
Judith Andrews was an impressive woman, and he’d been captivated by her from the moment they’d met at a debate hosted by the University of El Dorado some years back. Even though she was not a native, Judith’s degrees in biogeochemistry and planetary zoology made her an expert on El Dorado.
The university had recently appointed her to chair the Department of Planetary Sciences. The department’s primary objective, as laid out by the FGT, was to monitor the planet's development.
Or, as Ben liked to think of it, to make sure the Future Generation Terraformers hadn’t screwed up, causing the planet to go off the rails somehow.
Judith’s brother, on the other hand, seemed to have been born without the drive to succeed. Unless it was succeeding at snowboarding. Or base jumping, or asteroid skipping. Or any number of other extreme sports Ben knew Jason had mastered.
Jason was a good twenty years Judith’s junior, so that might contribute to their differences. Maybe they grew them different in Proxima, and Judith was the exception. She’d been away far longer than her brother, so who knew?
Ben strode purposefully toward the entrance of the Bad Attitude Bar, barely missing a collision with a grimy someone exiting the establishment. Pivoting out of the way just in time, Ben pasted on a smile that he hoped didn’t look too fake, then steeled himself for the onslaught.
He paused just inside the entrance to give his eyes a moment to adjust, and winced at the music. Jason called it ‘honky-tonk’, and swore it was Old Earth classical music. Ben hated it.
His eyes took in the darkened interior, where tables sat in front of walls decorated with old, wooden propellers and other aviation memorabilia. Pinned around the props were torn shirts in varying colors and styles, with names and dates scrawled on them.
Jason had told Ben and Judith that these shirts represented a timeworn tradition, dating back to Old Terra. In those days, flight instructors didn't have realistic, interactive holosimulators in which to instruct their students; they flew actual aircraft for hours on end, students ensconced in the left seat behind the yoke, while the instructor sat behind the co-pilot's controls on the right.
After the instructor judged the student to have a solid, instinctive feel for the aircraft, the student was turned loose to fly the machine for the very first time on their own. It was at the same time both terrifying and exhilarating, and a moment no pilot ever forgot.
After completing that first solo flight, the student pilot’s shirt was ceremonially ripped up the back to commemorate the event. The tradition was nearly fifteen hundred years old, and the shirts hanging in the bar were testament to that fact. Scrawled boldly across the fabric of each shirt were words that proudly proclaimed the student pilot’s name, the date of the solo flight, and the spaceport where it had occurred.
Ben’s surveyance of the bar was interrupted by the thunk of a dart hitting home, and the cheering of onlookers. He turned toward the sound and spotted Jason, leaning indolently against the bar, a beer in one hand, and a dart in the other.
* * * * *
Jason had been aware of Ben the moment his well-dressed, somewhat uptight brother-in-law had stepped inside the Bad Attitude.
He grinned to himself. Dude needs a change of clothes. And a beer. Judith had said that Ben was working long hours lately; maybe he just needed to let his hair down a little. If that was the case, Jason would be happy to oblige.
He turned as Sam—the woman whose plane was in the hangar next to his—nudged him.
“Your turn,” the woman grinned up at him, nodding at the dartboard. A bit distracted by his musings over Ben, Jason tossed his dart, not taking his usual care to disguise his aptitude.
Oops.
He came to himself when the dart whacked the center of the bullseye with a little more force than necessary. His companion whooped loudly and reached over to plant a wet, sloppy kiss near his mouth.
Jason could’t help but grin at Sam’s antics. She was a fun drunk, a bit too touchy, but she looked after his plane when he was away, so he’d forgive her extra attention.
Granted, it wasn’t entirely unwelcome, but Calista Reinhart had been on his mind more than a little of late.
“That’s the ticket, flyboy,” she said with a leer and a slight slur, leaning her body against his. Grinning, he lifted his drink in salute as she spun around to take her turn.
“Day-um,” he drawled lazily, as she managed to land a respectable shot in the inner ring.
Jason caught Ben’s eye and saluted him with his last dart, then flung it at the wall, purposely missing the dartboard altogether.
“Whoops, guess you won again!” He reversed his cap, settling the brim properly in front, and saluted her with it as he pushed away from the group.
Jason indicated a table in a corner, farther away from the crowd, so they could talk without yelling.
“What b
rings you to the Bad Attitude, Ben? Interested in a flight lesson or two?” The glint in Jason’s eye surely must have told Ben that he was joking. In case it didn't, he added a wink for effect. He was surprised to see the man nod.
“Maybe. I just thought, you know, since you decided to stay in El Dorado a bit longer this time, it might be nice to get to know you better.” The side of Ben’s mouth kicked up. “You’re family, after all.”
Jason peered at him for a moment, shrugged, and settled back in his chair. “I’m an open book,” he said, then waggled his glass at Ben. “Want one?”
“Sure,” Ben said. “Whatever you’re drinking.”
A beer? Really? Not likely. Jason knew Ben was more of a bourbon guy, sometimes scotch…he had to give the man props for manning up in a place that only served craft brews.
Jason waved his hand, activating the menu. and placed their order.
* * * * *
Ben sat across from Jason, smiling. It felt forced, but he hoped it didn’t show too much. He needed help, and he had a feeling that Lysander would be more than a little displeased if Ben sought out someone other than who he’d recommended. Plus, it didn’t feel right to just come out and ask Jason for assistance without at least a little small talk.
The servitor brought their drinks, and Jason lifted his in a salute.
Ben returned the salute, then looked down at the foam-capped drink in his hand, wishing it were a fine, craft-made spirit instead. He could really use a good single malt scotch right now, instead of the beer the bar kept on tap. Organic, oak-aged, mellow, with a—
He stopped, sighed mentally, and resigned himself to drinking something a bit less flavorful and a lot less potent. He thought he’d done a credible job of masking his distaste until he caught Jason’s knowing smirk.
“Here,” Jason said, and swapped glasses with him. Ben sniffed, cocked an eyebrow at him, and took a drink.
“Iced tea? Really?”
Jason shrugged. “I know nano can scrub alcohol from our systems pretty quickly, but no need to make it work any harder than necessary right before a flight.” He grinned. “Besides, I like tea.” He lowered his voice. “Just don’t tell anyone—it might damage my reputation.”
Ben set the glass down and looked at Jason appraisingly. “And now I’m wondering how much of that is an act, and how much is real.”
The ‘flyboy’ leaned back, raising his hands slightly. “Busted.”
Ben narrowed his eyes at the man sitting across from him. “The ‘aimless wanderer’ act, too?”
Jason shrugged, then shot Ben an easy grin. “Never been any reason to disabuse you of that notion, to be honest.”
Ben shook his head as the pilot lifted the glass of beer, then set it back down without drinking from it. “So…what brings about this desire to mingle with the seedier side of El Dorado?” Jason asked.
“Well…I have a few free days coming up, and was hoping you might take me hiking and rappelling up at Muzhavi Ridge.” He looked concernedly at Jason. “You do know how to rappel, don’t you?”
That surprised a burst of laughter from Jason. “Um, yes, but what in the stars prompted this?”
Ben managed to look embarrassed and a little ashamed. “Well, your sister seems to think I need a bit more ‘physical activity’ in my life.” He shrugged. “She suggested the ridge, and it sounded interesting, so I thought I’d ask.”
Jason paused a moment, thinking. “Yeah, I suppose we could make that happen.”
“I’m free tomorrow.” Ben forced a laugh. “Maybe we should do it before I lose my nerve?”
Jason shook his head at him.
At first, Ben thought Jason was about to turn him down. Then he felt the man’s eyes sizing him up.
“No time like the present,” Jason agreed. “I’ll take you up to the top on an easy trail, but it’ll still take a few hours—that way you won’t be too worn out—then we can rappel down. Work for you?”
At Ben’s nod, Jason continued. “Send me your sizes; I’ll have gear ready for you in the morning when I pick you up.” He paused, a quizzical light gleaming in his eyes, and Ben felt his pulse increase just a bit. “You sure there’s nothing else you want to tell me?” Jason pressed.
Ben smiled at him. “No, no, that’s it. Just want to spend some time outdoors. Can’t say I’ve done that in a very long time.”
“Well, all right, then. I imagine you don’t want to meet at my apartment…” he added a bit cryptically, but then Ben remembered the cat.
“How about we meet at the elevator and go downside from there? Would you mind if we went a bit later in the afternoon?”
If Jason thought the request odd, he didn't say anything about it. Most likely, he assumed Ben had a meeting, or wanted to keep their excursion short.
His brother-in-law had other reasons, though.
They talked a bit more about various topics, such as what it was like for Jason to haul freight in the black for weeks on end, and how it felt to work behind the scenes, piecing together seemingly unrelated bits of information that would bring criminals to justice.
A few hours later, Ben found to his amazement that he had enjoyed himself. Jason had an easy manner that Ben had dismissed as lack of motivation, but he now realized hid a keen intellect and sharp wit. More than once, Jason had made an observation that had surprised a laugh out of Ben.
Maybe an afternoon spent hiking Muzhavi Ridge won’t be so distasteful—as long as he doesn’t bring that damn cat along.
* * * * *
“You’re not going to stand me up, are you?” Ben asked Jason as he stood to leave. “I’m really looking forward to dropping down the side of a mountain tomorrow.”
Jason looked bemusedly at his brother-in-law. Of all the things Ben had ever said to him, this was by far the strangest. From what he knew, the guy was a suit, a desk-jockey.
Granted, he worked for the Secret Intelligence Service, so what he really did was anyone’s guess, but Jason assumed it was mostly reading reports or approving security clearances. He certainly wasn’t the outdoorsy type.
But, hey, Jason was all for a person deciding to better themselves. Trying new things was usually a good start along the whole betterment path.
Linking with an automated sporting goods store, Jason placed an order for the clothing and equipment Ben would need the next day. He paid a rush fee to have the order delivered to his apartment the next morning. Once the order was confirmed, he glanced at the chronometer on his HUD.
Oh, good. There’s time for another game of darts before I head back up to the ring.
He couldn’t wait to tell Tobias about his plans for tomorrow. The AI thought Ben was a bit uptight, too. He’d find this turn of events rather amusing.
THEFT
STELLAR DATE: 07.04.3189 (Adjusted Gregorian)
LOCATION: Grande Promenade, Sonali
REGION: El Dorado Ring , El Dorado, Alpha Centauri System
“In a surprise move, Avalon Mining announced this morning that it had signed a contract with TransOrbital Systems for several newly-designed heavy haulers, which coincides with Avalon’s announcement that they will be expanding their mining operation half an AU further into the Dust Ring. To accomplish this, the company plans to build three new mining platforms….”
Terrance looked up at the imposing and overwrought façade of the New Terra Restaurant, then over at Enfield Aerospace's Chief Pilot as they approached its entrance at the edge of the Promenade’s greenspace in the capital city.
“You really enjoy spending my money this much, Rhinehart?” Terrance gestured to the restaurant in front of them as he looked over at the tall, athletically built woman striding by his side.
Calista Rhinehart glanced at him with an arched eyebrow, but didn’t respond as they climbed the restaurant’s steps.
Enfield's head of security, Daniel Ciu, coughed a laugh from Terrance's other side. It was quickly stifled as Terrance shot him a dark look, but its effects were obviously wast
ed on the man. Daniel's eyes danced in amusement as he raised his hands, shooting Terrance an innocent look.
Well, as far as Terrance was concerned, he owed Calista a meal at a ritzy spot anyway, as thanks for the successful completion of the ESF contract for the Icarus fighter. That was one for the win column.
Although he did find it odd that Daniel had insisted they dine here. The head of Enfield Aerospace’s security had been rather adamant on the time, too….
“Sir, yes, sir,” Calista belatedly replied to Terrance’s question, her dark eyes slanting up at him as the corner of her mouth quirked the slightest bit. “Always happy to spend your money, sir.”
Terrance gave an exaggerated sigh. Calista knew he hated it when she ‘sir’ed him. Which, of course, was why she did it.
Daniel, on the other hand, resumed his chuckling. “You’re awfully easy to bait this afternoon,” he remarked. “I thought you corporate types had better poker faces.”
Terrance sent a mock mental glare Aaron’s way, while Calista finally joined Daniel in outright laughter.
“Fine,” he said. “But if you three jokers ever want lessons on a real poker face, that can be arranged.”
Aaron was notorious for his quirky humor, and Daniel was forever begging people to stop encouraging him. ‘You can go home every evening’, he told them. For Daniel, the puns never stopped.
Terrance suppressed a stab of envy at the thought. He heartily detested his grandmother Sophia’s ‘request’ all but ordering him not to embed with an AI just yet. Though he understood the matriarch's reasoning, he didn’t agree with her logic.