“In the old days, the money people would have wised up by now. We all have to breathe the same air, right? But now politics is all driven by the public’s self-interest. Mob rule via the ballot box. ‘Don’t build that dam, don’t spoil my view, don’t bring those refugees into my neighborhood and lower my property values. I’m afraid of fusion power.’ It goes on and on.”
Toying with his coffee cup, Anthony felt vaguely like a kid called to the principal’s office.
“Somebody has to do something, Mr. Taulke,” Teller said. “And that someone is you.”
Anthony blinked, his poker face sliding off. “Me, sir?” He laughed to fill the empty air. “I already tried, remember? I wanted to use bio-seeding to reduce the carbon compounds in the atmosphere.” The hot memory of bitter defeat filled him anew. In a lifetime of business successes, the bio-seeding initiative had failed in spectacular fashion. Public ridicule had been deep and widespread. “I failed, and you know why, sir? Those politicians you were just talking about, they turned public opinion against me.”
Teller nodded. “You’re right, Anthony. You’re absolutely right. And you had the right idea back then, too. But poor execution.”
Anthony flushed, his anger getting the better of him. “Poor execution?”
Teller waved his hands. “Calm down. Not what I meant. There’s profit in suffering, Anthony. You tried to convince the public to take their medicine but never had enough money or smarts to beat the private interests set against you. The climate change industry manipulated public opinion through the media, and the public ate you alive. That’s all the media seems good for these days: filling people’s heads with nonsense until they believe anything because everything sounds like bullshit.”
Anthony took a moment to rein in the old frustrations. He tried to bleed the sarcasm from his tone and failed. “What’s your solution, Mr. President?”
Teller took a moment, poured himself another cup of coffee. He offered Anthony another cup, but he demurred.
“Secrecy,” the president said finally. “How long would the Manhattan Project have lasted if the public knew we were building the greatest weapon in the history of the world out here?” He swept his arm toward the window. “They would have protested, and Congress would have wanted hearings. Even the Allies might have protested, looking beyond the war to the world after and the US having too much power in it. The whole thing would have died the death of a thousand cuts and we’d all be speaking Japanese today. The secret to success was secrecy.”
Anthony processed what Teller was saying. “So you want me to restart my atmospheric seeding program?”
“In secret. ”
“What about the UN? I mean, climate is a worldwide problem. We can’t just seed the United States.”
“Do you not understand the meaning of secret , Anthony? I’ll handle the UN when the time comes.”
Anthony took a moment, but only a moment, to consider Teller’s offer. “I’ll need money, Mr. President, and lots of it.”
“H told me about the shortfall in your cash flow. She’ll get you whatever you need.”
A passing cloud shadowed the sunlight streaming in through the window.
“How did you know I’d say yes?” Anthony asked.
Teller’s lips bent upward. The changing light gave his expression a feral quality. “I just offered you a chance to literally save the world, Anthony. No one says no to that.”
Anthony couldn’t stop the grin creeping across his face.
Maybe someone would say no. Certainly not Anthony Taulke.
Chapter 11
Ming Qinlao • Shanghai, China
“You got your hair cut!” Lily’s face was puffy with sleep and she had the creases of crumpled bed sheets imprinted on her cheek. She was still blinking the sleep from her eyes.
Ming’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of Lily’s naked skin. Her gut ached, and not from Earth’s greater gravity. Lily looked adorable in her morning messiness.
“Yes,” she said. “Do you like it?”
“Guess I’ll have to.” Lily rubbed her eyes and moved closer to the lens. Her handheld’s field of view panned wildly across the rumpled bed and the clothes on the floor, then gave a teasing peek at their loveseat against the outer wall. “Are you wearing makeup?”
Another pang of homesickness. Ming drank in the morning sounds of Lily shuffling in the bedcovers. The two-hundred forty thousand-odd miles separating them seemed suddenly small.
“Yeah,” Ming answered. Her voice felt lifeless. “Part of the job.” The increased gravity made her face feel like it was slagging off, but the makeup artist had done a phenomenal job making Ming appear young, confident, and in charge. If only she felt that way.
Faced with Lily in all her waking beauty, Ming’s resolve in accepting the reins of Qinlao Manufacturing seemed to evaporate. She was giving up her quiet life of predictability on the Moon for … what? A seat at the table of the rich and powerful? A chance to carry on her father’s legacy? Or was it sticking it to Auntie Xi that appealed most? She’d had another sleepless night, wrestling with the choice she’d already made.
Lily’s face fell from joyful to concerned to resigned. She drew back from the lens. “You’re not coming back are you?”
The aching, empty space beneath her breastbone collapsed. She hadn’t known how to say it, how to break it to Lily … to herself. And now, Lily had gone and done it for her. The two-second time delay in Earth-Moon communications made things worse. The hurt and anger on Lily’s face hung there, accusing.
“No, I’m not.” What else was there to say? A bunch of words that amounted to those three. Ming opened her eyes to the air to keep them dry, to avoid crying and ruining her mascara. “I’m sorry.”
“We could’ve avoided this, you know.” Lily’s face hardened in anger. “Why didn’t you tell me who you were right at the beginning?”
Why, indeed? Not telling Lily about her family when she’d met her was understandable, but that didn’t explain why she’d kept up the pretense even after they’d moved in together.
Pretense, a fancy word for lie. A lie of omission, but a lie just the same .
“I—I wanted you to love me for me, not my family’s money.”
Two seconds passed.
“Bullshit,” Lily spat.
Ming blinked in surprise at the sudden hatred in her ex’s voice. Her ex. The finality of that realization hurt more than she expected.
“Don’t quote me some rom-com line about what true love is supposed to be,” Lily said. She pulled the bed covers up. Ming saw the gesture for what it was: you’re not entitled to this intimacy anymore, Lily was saying. I’ve revoked your privileges.
Lily’s features hardened like wet stone. “Did you think I was stupid? No one has the cash to just buy out a work contract on the Moon. I knew you came from money, but I thought—I hoped—you loved me enough to tell me the truth.”
“I’m sorry, Lily,” Ming said again, feeling smaller by the second. “I never meant to hurt you. But I need to stay here.”
“And what am I supposed to do?”
The two second delay felt like an eternity.
Ming started to speak: “I’ll pay for your—”
But the screen was already dead.
Ming dabbed at her eyes and checked her reflection. She’d managed to save her makeup, at least. She drew a deep breath and pulsed a message to Marcus in the next room to bring her mother and the stylist team in.
Even with the pain meds her joints ached from dealing with Earth’s heavier gravity, and she had a persistent, low-grade headache from the operation to implant her retinal display. The constant influx of information still felt weird in her head. One more thing Ming would have to get used to in her new world. She stood, drawing her silk dressing robe more tightly around her shoulders.
“That’s done,” she said when they had arrived. “What’s next on the agenda?” Her voice sounded cold even to her.
A young m
an wheeled in a rolling rack of business clothes for her to choose from, while an older woman fussed with Ming’s hair. Her mother indicated outfits the young man should pull from the rack for a closer look.
“We meet with the board in an hour,” Marcus said. “It’s a formality. They know no one has the votes to overrule the appointment, so they’ll go along with it—for now. I expect Xi to start lobbying for her diversification plans as soon as she finds her footing, so we need to be ready to counter her.” He made a sour face. “Also, Xi got herself appointed as the board representative for the investor meetings this afternoon.”
Ming waved away the hairdresser. “Will that be a problem?”
Marcus hesitated, but Wenqian said in her amplified voice: “Xi will lay low for now. She’s making a new battle plan. Be careful what you say in front of her.”
“You’ll be there, Mother. You can tell—”
“Your mother will not be there,” Marcus interrupted. “You need to present an image of independence and strength. Any notion that Jie’s daughter is any less capable than the man she’s replacing will just play into your aunt’s hands.”
Ming nodded. She’d relied on her mother in the past few days—had it been only a few days?—but Marcus’s advice felt sound. “I understand. You’ll be there, Marcus?”
He inclined his head. “If you wish.”
“I wish.” She turned to the clothing rack, considering her choices. Jie Qinlao had been famously informal in his dress, often showing up to meetings in coveralls from his visits to the shop floor. It worked for him; it was authentic. But she needed her own space, her own image.
Wenqian had chosen three outfits: a yellow sleeveless dress, close-cut and slim; a conservative, dark-blue business suit with a cream-colored, scoop-necked blouse; and a neo-modern gray morning coat, complete with a silk cravat and dark trousers for contrast.
The last combination struck Ming as contemporary yet traditional. Unexpected, playful, with a hint of masculinity. And all that together implied mystery, the unknown.
She chose the morning coat. Marcus frowned, but her mother nodded in agreement.
• • •
The boardroom of Qinlao Manufacturing was a window on the world of the old and the new. The transparent eastern wall overlooked the bustle of Shanghai on a mostly clear day. Construction cranes expanded the ever-growing city skyward. Outside, aircars and drones darted between plumes of smoke from car exhaust and factories below. On the opposite wall hung a mosaic of Qinlao’s past, from the very first ion drive manufactured half a century earlier to the latest micro-implant, like the one Ming now wore in her own eye. In each invention—from large to small, from complex to simple—Ming saw a bit of her father.
Her stomach, still fluttering from dumping Lily, grew lighter still at the thought of formally stepping into her father’s shoes. Outwardly, she smiled serenely .
The unusual outfit had done its job. She’d noticed the curious glances when she’d entered, flanked by Ito and Marcus. The grayhairs on the board were trying to reconcile the unknown variable Ming represented with the sparse details their spies had reported. It was good to have them off balance for now, second-guessing their first impressions of her until she had a chance to solidify the desired image.
Marcus took his time introducing the board members. Dong Huan was one of her father’s earliest investors, an ancient man with a hunched back and a gap-toothed smile. He owned a fraction of a percent of shares, but he’d been on the board from the beginning, one of the first venture capitalists to show faith in Jie Qinlao’s potential. Ming took the old man’s hand and bowed low in a sign of respect.
She granted similar deference to two other minor shareholders, also old friends of her father’s, one an economist and one a professor at Tsinghua University.
There were two Westerners, young white men in expensive suits who represented a hedge fund and a pension plan for California. They nodded at her and shook her hand with neutral, sweaty grips. She knew they cared only about profits and were allies of Auntie Xi’s diversification plans—as long as they made money.
Then there were the major shareholders. Auntie Xi, of course, whose smile appeared painted on. She hung in the background of every introduction, quick with a word or a sidelong glance to her allies. Finally, Ming was introduced to the representatives from two major family manufacturing conglomerates, strategic partners of Qinlao Manufacturing: the Hans and the Xiaos .
Ming approached JC Han before Marcus had a chance to formally introduce them. Jong Chul Han was a contemporary of her father’s, and the two men were cut from the same blue-collar cloth. Weathered, sunburnt features showed under a carefully combed, silver-gray pompadour. The Hans led the Korean peninsula in manufacturing prowess.
He took Ming’s outstretched hand in both of his own. His grip was dry and strong as he bowed to kiss her hand. She allowed the ancient affectation out of courtesy.
“We’ve met before,” Ming said.
“Indeed we have, young lady. In Japan, on a job site. You were seven years old and the apple of Jie’s eye. He was a good man, Ming. I am sorry for your loss.” His voice was low and warm, grandfatherly. Despite his familiar manner, Ming liked him immediately. She vaguely remembered the meeting he’d mentioned, and the memory carried mixed emotions for her father. Tears threatened.
“You are very kind, Mr. Han. That was a long time ago. I am honored you remember me.”
The old man chuckled. “Forgetting you would be difficult. Your father spoke of you often.”
She studied his face, trying to discern if this was flattery meant to garner favor with her as the new CEO.
“He told me just last month you were the most productive construction engineer on the Moon,” Han continued. “Reminded him of himself, he said. Efficient, without patience for waste.”
He leaned in close enough for Ming to feel his warm breath on her cheek. “Don’t look so shocked,” Han whispered. “I am glad you are taking his place, Ming. He would be so proud right now.” When Xi leaned in to listen, he backed away.
That left the Xiao family; or rather, their virtual representative. In place of an actual attendee, the Xiaos had sent the hologram of a lawyer. Even on her first day, Ming recognized the obvious sign of disrespect that had, prior to the meeting, sent mild-mannered Marcus into a fit of rage. As the largest shareholder in Qinlao and the largest manufacturing conglomerate in China, the Xiaos had expected to be consulted in the choice of Qinlao’s new CEO. Marcus suspected they’d even been promised it by Xi.
Ming had deliberately saved them for last. She approached the holo-station where the life-sized image of the lawyer stood waiting. The holo was quite good, with only a tiny bit of transparency in the image. He appraised her with cool eyes, then bowed. “It is an honor to meet you, ma’am.”
Ming did not return the bow. “But not enough of an honor to travel here in person?” she asked, careful to keep the rancor from her voice. This was more than the chance to make a first impression on the Xiaos. It was also an opportunity to demonstrate to the board just who Ming Qinlao was.
The man’s professional mask faltered a bit. Clearly, he hadn’t expected to be challenged by a twenty-something engineer from LUNa City. “Scheduling issues prevented Mr. Xiao from attending, I’m afraid.”
“I was talking about you.”
“Oh … I was only notified at the last minute.” The man’s image shuffled its feet. “No personal insult was intended, I assure you.”
“Who said anything about a personal insult?” Ming asked. “I would never expect such a petty gesture from such an esteemed family.” She waited, watching the lawyer weigh his options for response. Just as he was about to speak, Ming said, “No matter. Please convey my best wishes to the family and thank them for their support.”
Ming sent a signal from her new retinal implant to break the connection. The lawyer’s image evaporated.
“What are you doing?” Xi was at her side, hissing in Ming’s
ear. “The Xiaos could crush us if they wanted to.”
“Setting a tone, Auntie,” Ming said, turning away from the old woman to survey, face by face, the rest of the board. Some wore shocked expressions, mirroring Xi. Others were smarter, their faces impassive. Marcus was smiling. “I am Qinlao Manufacturing now, and I will not be disrespected.”
Her gaze settled on Xi. “By anyone.”
• • •
The rest of the day was a blur. The board vote to confirm her as CEO had been uneventful and unanimous. While surprising to Ming, Marcus explained that no board members, not even Xi, wanted to be seen as publicly unsupportive toward their new chief executive officer. “Consider it a last gesture of respect for your father,” he said. “But make no mistake, Ming—you have enemies there.”
Marcus had also organized a brief press event. Ming’s speech was short and sweet, with an emphasis on maintaining the course set by her father. She was sure to mention the board’s unanimous approval of her instatement, an ad-lib of which Marcus approved. “It will help stabilize the value of QM stock,” he said .
Her outfit looked stunning on the newsfeeds and she even picked up a few fashionista commentaries. Everything had gone just right on the first day.
It was well past ten when Ito opened the door to her father’s apartments adjacent to the Qinlao headquarters. Ming dismissed him for the night and wandered alone from room to room.
An office; a workshop with half a dozen incomplete prototypes on the benches; a kitchen stocked with noodles and tea, her father’s two dietary staples; and a slew of spare bedrooms. One was stately and spare, clearly her father’s. In another, the décor and video gaming chamber suggested it was where Ruben stayed when he and Sying visited. Ito’s quarters were just off her father’s office.
Ming inhaled deeply as she walked. The whole apartment smelled of him, a combination of oil, cleaning solvent, and pipe smoke. The elements that had defined her father’s life.
She picked up the image of the two of them at a job site, the one from the memorial service. Its 3D motion made her smile. Unlike at the service, there were no eyes but her father’s in the photo watching her now. Ming looked around for a picture of Sying and Ruben but found none.
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