A Charter for the Commonwealth

by Richard F. Weyand

  “Crossing the system periphery now, sir,” Asnip said.

  “Sound hyperspace warning.”

  “Sounding hyperspace warning, sir.”

  “You may proceed when ready, Mr. Asnip.”

  Asnip cut the engines to zero, flipped the ship, brought the hyperspace generator up, and transitioned the Stardust into hyperspace. Once in hyperspace, he flipped the ship again, transitioned the engines to hyperspace configuration, and engaged the engines, bringing them up to ten percent. He came around to course eighty-seven mark fifteen on the galactic center, and gradually increased the engines back up to eighty percent.

  “Hyperspace transition complete, sir. Steady on course eighty-seven mark fifteen on the galactic center, engines steady at eighty percent.”

  “Excellent, Mr. Asnip. Secure from hyperspace warning.”

  “Secured from hyperspace warning, sir.”

  The tension on Stardust had ratcheted ever higher the longer they were in the Earth system. When the all-clear from hyperspace warning sounded, a cheer went up below decks.

  They had made it out of the Earth system without being discovered.

  A week later, Lloyd Behm and Abby Swogger were again meeting privately in Behm’s office just outside the Chief’s Mess.

  “All right, Abby. How did it go?”

  “Not too bad, Lloyd. We had five fist fights broken up, a dozen confined to quarters, and three cases of acute ethanol poisoning in sick bay.”

  “That sounds like a pretty quiet shore leave for a couple hundred ratings.”

  “Yeah, and nobody went out the air lock.”

  “I think you having a crew of MPs standing ready at the airlock probably helped that, don’t you think, Abby?”

  “Perhaps. Anyway, all in all, it worked out pretty well. And everybody got to blow off all that tension that built up in the Earth system.”

  “OK. Well, write me up a report on it. Especially what you did prepping for it. We’ll file it with Operations when we get back. Some other ships can learn from what you did.”

  “Sure, Lloyd.”

  “And good work.”

  “Thanks.”

  Doma

  The Dachas were located southwest of Nadezhda, on the shore of the Bolshoye More, the ‘great sea,’ Doma’s largest ocean. The ground car took about thirty minutes to get there from the shuttleport.

  There was no check-in at The Dachas. The entire stay for the eight months the conference would be meeting was being picked up by the Orlov Group. The ground car brought Ansen and Kusunoki through the front entrance into the grounds, at which point they transferred to a small driverless electric cart for the trip through the grounds to their unit. The porters loaded their trunks on another little shuttle, and followed.

  The housing units themselves were small houses built directly on the beach. A combination of landscape walls and vegetation hid the units each from the next. Facing the ocean, the living room had a glass wall that opened onto a lanai with a pergola. There was a gas fire pit on the lanai, as well as a gas fireplace on the wall in the living room.

  “Well, this is very pleasant,” Ansen said as they were let into the unit and shown past the bedroom into the living room. The glass wall was completely open, and the gentle ocean breeze carried the salt air into the room.

  “Beautiful,” Kusunoki said.

  The porters brought their trunks in and placed two of them in the bedroom at Ansen’s direction. The third went into the living room against the back wall, near a small bar in the back corner.

  The head porter explained the accommodations.

  “For anything you want, you simply say what it is. To get the computer’s attention, say ‘dacha” followed by what you would like. If you then say ‘shuttle,’ a shuttle will show up at the front door to take you wherever in the resort you would like to go. You can give the shuttle directions by the name of the guest, rather than the unit number. You can also request the conference center. This end of the resort and its conference center has been reserved exclusively for your meeting.

  “When you wish to eat, simply say ‘dacha’ followed by what you would like. You can request specific food and drink items, or make a general request, such as ‘a light lunch, with white wine.’ Similarly with turning on or off the fire pit and fireplaces, opening or closing the glass door, adjusting the temperature. Anything you would like, we will try to provide.”

  “I imagine you get stumped once in a while, though,” Ansen said.

  “We do, but then we cover that for the next time. Our offerings have become pretty complete over time. If you have no other questions, then?”

  “I have one,” Ansen said. “Can I smoke in here?”

  “Yes, Professor Ansen. The Orlov Group has paid a smoking premium on units reserved for guests who indicated a smoking preference on the questionnaire everyone was sent to determine their needs. As you recall, it inquired as to spouses, children, pets, allergies, and other things. If the guest indicated they preferred a smoking unit, as you did, they have been accommodated. You will note ashtrays and cigar lighters have been provided.”

  Ansen looked around the room, and spotted the ashtrays on the coffee table and side tables in the living room as well as on the lanai, each including a butane lighter.

  “And the conference center?”

  “There as well, Professor Ansen.”

  “Remarkable. Well, I think we’re all set then.”

  Ansen tried to tip the head porter, but he waved it off.

  “Everything has been taken care of, sir. You have no need of money for anything on the grounds, including gratuities, for the duration of your stay. Any office services needs you have, either here or at the conference center, as well. Enjoy your stay, sir, ma’am.”

  And with that, the porters withdrew and left them alone.

  Ansen and Kusunoki sat on the lanai, in two very comfortable cushioned bamboo armchairs, facing out to the beach and the ocean beyond. He had one of the Earth-import cigars and a bourbon from Westlake’s trunk, having found rocks glasses and an icemaker behind the bar in the living room. The crossbars of the pergola were set to allow the morning and evening sun onto the lanai, but to block the sun mid-day, as now.

  “Should we get some lunch, my dear?”

  “Certainly. It would be nice to eat something that wasn’t super fancy ship food.”

  “You order then.”

  “Dacha,” Kusunoki said. “Lunch. Cold ham and Swiss cheese sandwich on toasted light rye, mayonnaise and Dijon mustard on the side. Two servings. Also, small garden salad. Two servings. One salad with raspberry vinaigrette dressing on the side, and one with balsamic vinaigrette dressing on the side. Also, one sweet iced tea.”

  A voice came back from somewhere near the center of the pergola. “Understood. Twenty minutes.”

  They sat and looked out to sea, holding hands, just watching the surf and enjoying the down time.

  Eighteen minutes after their order, the voice interrupted their reverie.

  “Lunch is here. Server awaits admittance.”

  “Admit server,” Kusunoki said. There was no response.

  “You forgot the ‘dacha,’” Ansen said.

  “Dacha. Admit server,” Kusunoki said.

  “Admitting server.”

  A room service waiter came in from the front door with a motorized rolling cart. He said “Good day,” and without any other speech or fanfare laid out their lunch on a pair of folding tables he retrieved from a corner of the lanai and set up in front of them. He made a guess on the iced tea and salad dressings – getting them right – and departed without a word.

  “This. This I could get used to,” Ansen said as he put balsamic vinaigrette on his salad.

  “Indeed. I had heard The Dachas was the premier resort on Doma, but I guess my imagination wasn’t up to the task.”

  After lunch, Ansen relighted his cigar, and sat back with a sigh.

  “Dacha,” Kusunoki said. “How many of the s
ixty-six conferees have arrived?”

  “Forty-two of the conferees have arrived. Two more are currently on their way from the shuttleport.”

  “Dacha, when will the other conferees arrive?”

  “Twenty additional conferees are scheduled to arrive over the next three days.”

  “Dacha, that only adds up to sixty-four. Explain.”

  “The delegation from Calumet was not included as either here or scheduled. Their ship is overdue. No update is available.”

  “Dacha, who is in the delegation from Calumet?”

  “Matheus Oliveira and Sania Mehta.”

  “Well, now that’s troubling,” Ansen said. “I hope they’re OK.”

  “Probably delayed due to some mechanical breakdown. Losing a ship is relatively rare. Dacha, let us know immediately if and when their ship arrives in system.”

  “Understood.”

  “I hope it’s something that minor. I had planned on nominating Mehta as chair of the conference.”

  “Not yourself? You’re the host, you know,” Kusunoki said.

  “Yes, but I think the conference should elect its own chairman. Also, I intend to be an outspoken advocate for certain features and structures in the document. More outspoken than a chairman probably should be. I should give those speeches from the floor, not from the chair.”

  “What about Mehta?”

  “Well, I’ve read her writings,” Ansen said, “and she’s likely with me on almost every issue. But she can keep a lower profile than I would like to myself. I’ve also seen some videos of her in debate and interview, and she’s very quick. Perfect for chairman. But I have to ask her about it. See if she’s willing.”

  “How long can you hold back from selecting a chairman, to see if they show up?”

  “Probably a couple of weeks. Not much more.”

  “Who’s likely to be your biggest nemesis of the coming eight months?” Kusunoki asked.

  “Patryk Mazur. He’s a tough old bastard, and he’s a brilliant speaker. I expect some of the debate to be oratory for the ages.”

  “Why’d you invite him, then?”

  “Because he’s a deep thinker, and he’s honest,” Ansen said. “If he sees a problem in your proposal, you probably have a hidden problem. A problem you didn’t see. But, by the same token, if you win the rational argument on an issue, he will concede the point and then be committed to supporting it. And he’s a great big gun to have on your side.”

  “So you won’t be able to just ram things through.”

  “Not likely.”

  “Good.”

  Ansen looked over at her, saw the twinkle in her eye, and, like so many times before, fell in love all over again. He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it.

  He fell asleep in his chair to the sound of the surf, as the sun moved into mid afternoon. Once he was snoring softly, she got up quietly and went into the bedroom to unpack and hang their clothes.

  The computer spoke to Kusunoki in the bedroom, pitched low so as not to wake Ansen, sleeping on the lanai.

  “Professor Ansen has a communications request from Patryk Mazur.”

  “Dacha, hold the request a moment.”

  Kusunoki walked out onto the lanai. Ansen had been asleep for about two hours, which was as much nap as he should have mid-day if he was to sleep that night. Kusunoki touched his shoulder.

  “Mmf. Wha’? Yes, dear. What is it?”

  “You have a communications request from Patryk Mazur.”

  “Put it through, put it though.”

  “Dacha, put the communication through.”

  “Mazur here. Gerry, are you there?” a baritone voice asked.

  “Yes, Patryk, I’m here,” Ansen said.

  “I thought we might get together. Have you two had dinner yet?”

  “No, I was just napping on the lanai.”

  “How about I come over then? We can eat at your place.”

  “That would be fine, Patryk.”

  “See you in half an hour.”

  When the call cut off, Kusunoki had a question.

  “How do you know Professor Mazur?”

  “We were at Oxford at the same time. He was a year or two ahead of me in graduate school. We debated, and I watched him challenge speakers in the Oxford Union. He was a tremendous debater then, and his skills have not lessened with age.”

  “Is there a Mrs. Mazur? Will we be four for dinner?”

  “No,” Ansen said. “Malwina passed away – what? Five years ago, maybe. I think that’s what the bio I reviewed said. She was a bit older than he.”

  “Did you know her?”

  “No, she was after Oxford. I think he met her on Kodu.”

  “You have a guest. Patryk Mazur awaits admittance.”

  “Dacha, admit Patryk Mazur,” Kusunoki said.

  A tall, thin man in his mid-70s came out onto the lanai from the house.

  “Hi, Gerry.”

  Ansen got up from his chair to shake hands.

  “Hi, Patryk. Long time.”

  “Almost fifty years.”

  “And my wife, Mineko Kusunoki.”

  Mazur and Kusunoki shook hands.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Mazur said.

  “And you, sir.”

  “Patryk, would you like a bourbon?” Ansen asked.

  Mazur looked at the open bottle on the table.

  “Is that a Jablonka knock-off?”

  “No. It’s Earth-import. I’ve been making friends in high places.”

  “I noticed that. Sure, I’ll take a bourbon.

  Ansen pushed the small tray, with an extra glass, a bowl of ice, and the open bottle, to Mazur.

  “Help yourself.”

  Mazur poured for himself and added a couple ice cubes as they all took their seats.

  “I was saddened to note your wife’s having passed when I was reviewing biographies for the Westlake Prize.”

  “Thank you. I still miss her terribly.” Mazur sipped the bourbon, sighed with satisfaction. “So you picked the conferees. I thought it looked like your list.”

  “I didn’t say I picked the conferees.”

  “Oh, yes, you did, Gerry. You just said you were reviewing biographies for the Prize, not reviewing biographies of the winners. No matter. It’s a good list, without regard to who drew it up.”

  Ansen conceded the point with a small wave of his hand. Mazur still didn’t miss much.

  “Perhaps we should order dinner before we get down to business. It will take some time, I imagine,” Ansen said.

  They each ordered dinner – Kusunoki ordered seafood, Ansen a steak, Mazur ordered a large salad with grilled chicken, and the computer specified one hour – before Mazur took up business again.

  “So what are we really about here, Gerry? I have my guesses, of course, but I want to hear it from you.”

  “Anyone with a little study and their wits about them knows sooner or later the colonies will split off from Earth and become one or more independent entities. I was asked to design a government – a classical liberal, open-society government – to be the successor government in the colonies.”

  “And you have money behind you.”

  Ansen opened his arms out to encompass the lanai. “Obviously.”

  “Revolution always was the hobby of the upper classes. And, of course, you have this conference so you can at least pretend this isn’t the product of one old coot from Jablonka.”

  “It really needs not to be, Patryk. The various issues need to be dragged out in the open and debated. There’s no way other way, I don’t think, to do it.”

  “Agreed. And to that point, one of the reasons I came over this evening was to ask you to refrain from using your position as chair to stifle debate and ram your vision through.”

  “I don’t intend to be the chair.”

  “Really.”

  “Really. Patryk, this is too important. Everything needs to be hammered out with all the due diligence we can muster. And I do
n’t want to be hamstrung by being the chair. I want to argue my points from the floor.”

  “Which is why you included me.”

  “Which is why I included you. I figured we would have a lot of fun debating the issues. And you’re an honest debater. We’ll actually get somewhere.”

  “Oh, this will be fun. Gerry, it will be like one of those godawful historical simulations, where the two dinosaurs take the field and fight it out, with all the stomping and bellowing.”

  Kusunoki tittered and covered her mouth.

  “I thought you’d enjoy it. One last go at each other, eh, Patryk?”

  “I’m looking forward to it. I don’t agree with all your ideas, you know.”

  “Any hints?” Ansen asked.

  “No, no. I think I’ll just waylay you on the floor. So who were you thinking of as chairman?”

  “Sania Mehta.”

  “Good choice,” Mazur said. “She’s quick, and she won’t take any crap from either of us. I’ve seen her in videos. Debates, conferences, that sort of thing. Composed. Professional. She’s perfect.”

  “That’s what I figured, too. One problem. Her ship didn’t show on schedule. It may be lost, but that’s a pretty low probability. Probably just delayed with mechanical problems. But transit delays can get into a couple weeks or more pretty fast.”

  “How late are they now?”

  “Four days,” Ansen said.

  “And the rest of the attendees will all be here when?”

  “Three days.”

  “So to accommodate a two week delay, we only need a week of doing something else, right?” Mazur asked.

  “Right.”

  “I think we should have you present your proposal in full, with handouts and markups. The whole whoop-te-do. You got enough for a week?”

  “Oh, sure,” Ansen said. “I built a decision tree on the way here. Everything from basic principles to minor details. I could distribute the file to everyone, and present it as a framework for our discussions.”

  “Perfect. Once you’ve given your welcome speech, Gerry, open the floor to motions. I’ll move we have you walk us through your decision tree. Professor Kusunoki here can second.