Paper or Plastic

by Mackey Chandler

  "Pretty soon nobody would know how," he concluded quickly.

  "Got it in one - as you told me the other day."

  "But the principles of ship building are all there," Rog protested. "They must be written down, at least a lot of them and people still build utilitarian ships."

  "Yes if you want a work boat or a garbage boat. But can you imagine what a fancy boat built by such a business would look like? And it isn't just the people who build them either. Over time you lose the people who admire that kind of work and want it. Some of the people when they saw blue jeans from Earth were just puzzled."

  "They're just pants," they said, "why would I want to spend a couple months of pay for a pair of pants?"

  "I find the jeans pretty easy to believe. There was a political unit here called the Soviet Union a few years back. They came apart and ended, but they had the same attitude, that they would not supply the sorts of things people really wanted. They had the same thing there. Somebody going to the USSR would be stopped on the street and people would offer him several months' wages in local money for his jeans. Some people wised up, filled their suitcase up with jeans when they went there and sold them all before they came home."

  "Well it's everything, Roger. Clothing, ground cars, furniture, anything that can be made prettier, or isn't absolutely necessary, Music, movies. We don't have jewelry, can you imagine? Oh, some artistic people will hang something pretty on a neck cord, but not commercially. We don't have horse racing, or casinos, or fireplaces in homes that have a furnace. We don't have Jacuzzis or public art like murals, or statues unless they are 'instructional'. We don't have little flowers on our toilet paper, or shirts with stripes or polka dots. Our cereal comes in plain grey bags, not fancy boxes with pictures on the front. Our computers don't come in sleek plastic cases, with artistic logos telling what brand they are. Our ground cars don't come in wild colors and metallic finishes, with all kinds of shapes and walnut dashes and leather seats," she ranted.

  "Pritsha Roger, we are boring and we are poor." She was near tears.

  "Uh-oh, looks like our old friend wants to see us again," Roger said, looking in his rear view mirror.

  Martee turned around and looked out the rear window of the pick-up truck cab. The big black and white cruiser that had stopped in the camp grounds two days ago, was behind them with its roof lights blinking.

  "What are you going to do Roger? Will you have to shoot him too?"

  "Martee! You have to stop thinking like that. You can't just shoot cops left and right, everywhere you go. Pretty soon somebody will notice. At least we'll stop and see what he wants, as long as he isn't waving a gun in our face like your fellow did. It can't hurt to talk first. Now, keep your hands in sight and try to look friendly when he comes up," he said, while he eased off the pavement obediently. "Sometimes, you just have to make nice-nice," he told her.

  Chapter 7

  "Mr. McGregor", the deputy nodded at him. "Ma'am," he nodded separately and deeper, at Martee across the cab. He seemed relaxed. He even put both big hands on the open window frame. At least he didn't keep one hand down near his gun. That was encouraging. But the fact he knew Roger's name worried him. The man had not asked to see his ID before, so why had he bothered to look it up?

  "I'd be happy with Roger as long as we're friendly," he offered the deputy. "I haven't done anything to make you officially upset with me I hope?" He looked at the engraved name badge pinned above the man's shield.

  M. Davis, it said. He probably had a long name or something like Marion that was out of fashion now. Roger had been too shaken the first time they met the man, to look and remember his name.

  "No, sorry if I alarmed you. I guess it's natural to worry when you get pulled over, but could you go back to the cruiser and speak with me for just a minute? I'll let you folks get on your way then – won't take but a moment."

  "Sure, we're not in any big hurry today. No problem." But Rog was glad he didn't have a monitor on his forehead, showing his heart rate.

  They walked back between the two vehicles and the deputy looked unhappy. "I have a question. You might think I'm prying, but I honestly have a reason. Is the lady staying with you now?"

  "Yes, I took her home and made her dinner last night and she stayed overnight. I'd rather you didn't tell some of the church ladies in town about that. The truth is she slept on the couch and nothing happened. But folks would never believe that, I don't think. Truth is I'm real fond of her and she might stay awhile. Who knows what may come of it? It gets lonely out there sometimes. She was with me all day if something has come up missing in town, or anything like that."

  "No, no, nothing like that," he waved the idea away with one hand. "You wouldn't believe the stuff a cop sees around town – sometimes the church ladies – hell, sometimes the preachers – get in compromising situations. You have to learn to keep your mouth shut, or you could cause all kinds of trouble with gossip in a little county like this. Doesn't take long before the whole clan is pissed off at you, if you say the wrong thing about one of them. So don't worry about me mouthing off. The waitress Mary says she jokes with you regular like and you are OK," he added and stopped, thinking before going on.

  "The morning after you left with the lady…" he hesitated.

  "Martee," Roger supplied, since the pause said he wanted to know. "Not sure how you spell it. She hasn't actually named where she is from before she came to the US, but she sounded Baltic, Eastern European to me right off. I'm helping her learn more real English – slang – not book learning.

  "Well, Mary said a man came in, dressed real ugly like Martee was, if you'll pardon us noticing. He had a picture of her and asked a few people if they had seen her. Mary is no dummy and she said the guy really creeped her out. Couldn't say why but she said he gave her the shivers. I give that some weight. Mary may not be a genius, but she knows people and has unfortunately known her share of creeps, to ID one when they come on her radar. He didn't ID himself as a cop, or document server or anything. I looked around town for him and he was gone. Nobody saw him park, or get back in a car either. Just want to warn you there might be some kind of trouble following her. I assume you are sure you won't wake up and find she has robbed you one morning and snuck out the door?"

  "No, I'm pretty sure I'm safe that way. She told me up front, she had to avoid some nasty characters looking for her. I better tell you she was honest in saying they were real bad ones, so I knew what I was getting into. If you see them you can figure they are armed and they are some flavor of political cop from her home. And they don't much care if they are out of their jurisdiction. If she seems a little skittish around you, remember she is from one of those places where people are terrified to have the police at their door. She figures they will snatch her if they can get away with it. I don't want you to run into them and get hurt because I wasn't straight with you about what they are. Don't be surprised if they have body armor on, too."

  "Damn, aren't you just a bit concerned to get yourself involved in that deep a mess?"

  "You know," Roger smiled at him. "Since I've been out of the service things have gotten downright boring. If any of these foreign assholes come around – well, I've been taught how to play rough too."

  "OK young fella, you're full grown and I sure can't tell you what to do. Do you have a shotgun at home?"

  "Yes sir. I sure do." And enough other arms that you'd crap a brick to see them all, Roger thought, amused.

  "Well, if I was you, I'd put some heavy shot in it and prop it where it's going to be real handy."

  Roger pretended to screw his face up like he was thinking. "We're going into Cooperville to get some clothing for Martee. She had to abandon her luggage when she ran away from these people. We'll get some other things, but they have a sporting goods store in town. I think I'll buy a pistol there today."

  "That might not be a bad idea. You had training in the service to shoot pistols didn't you? Not just long guns?"

  "Yes sir. Wasn't
too bad with one, but I will practice with it a bit when we get back to my cabin. I don’t think anybody is close enough to be bothered by it. But if anybody does hear it and calls you, be aware I may make some noise."

  "That's fine, Roger. If you have any trouble getting cleared on the computer check, have Frank there at Mountain Sports call my dispatcher and ask for Martin and I'll try to straighten it out. I appreciate you told me up front about these fellows. I don't appreciate anybody nosing in on my jurisdiction, not even Federal, much less foreigners who have no right. I assume your lady friend might not have ID if she doesn't have any luggage. Mary commented that she didn't even have a purse. I sure don't want to know about that, but you might talk to her about it, since any trouble happens and she's on the scene it's going to be a problem."

  Roger just nodded gravely and the deputy looked satisfied and got back in the cruiser without another word, not big on goodbyes.

  Martee watched wide eyed as the cruiser made a wide turn across the opposite shoulder and went back the other way. Roger climbed back in.

  "He's not a bad sort at all," Roger informed her. "He wanted to tell me somebody was looking for you in town. Somebody in an ugly suit, with your picture. A fellow who Mary didn't like the looks of at all."

  "He didn't have a picture of the agent you shot?" Martee asked.

  "Now that's a very interesting question. No, just you. I'm not sure what that means. They could know he is dead, or they might figure he is still on your trail and don't want to ruin his cover."

  "Maybe we should go back and see if the body is still in that hole?"

  "That is one thing we are absolutely not going to do. If he is there we've gained nothing and if he isn't the place will be covered with all sorts of sensors and cameras, if not a live watch. I suspect you must be new to this desperate criminal on the run game?"

  "You might say that. It's only been three days now," she admitted.

  Martee played with the radio all the way to Cooperville. Earth music seemed to overwhelm her as much as Earth cooking.

  Cooperville was bigger than Sitra Falls. It had its own city police, not county, with two cars on two shifts and a volunteer fire department. You even had a few things like pizza parlors, that the town could support two of. It was big enough you could buy a six-pack of beer, or stop in the clinic and everybody in town wouldn't know it by the next day. Frank at Mountain Sports knew Roger well, but he wasn't surprised the deputy didn't know that. Frank kept his customer's privacy better than the local doctors, or maybe even the priest.

  Roger took Martee along with him and looked around at nothing in particular while there was another customer at the rear counter. Frank wouldn't wait on two people at once anyway. When the lone customer left, he took Martee back to the case with handguns.

  "What sort of pistol you got Frank, with not much recoil, but can handle body armor with the right ammunition?"

  "Not a blessed thing unless you use non-factory loads."

  "Well, armor aside, what has low recoil, but can do some serious damage point blank?"

  "Single shot OK?" Frank asked, looking at a Thompson Contender.

  "I don't think so. Not for me. For somebody I have to train.

  "You mean for you to train someone. If you are buying for someone else," he said, pointedly not looking at Martee, "I don't want to know about it."

  "Yes of course," Roger agreed. "I misspoke."

  "How about this?" Frank pulled out a very slim revolver with a long cylinder and swung the cylinder open. The shiny metal had a ring of grey around each of the five holes. "Hafnium-aluminum frame. Stainless insert in the barrel and titanium in the cylinder. Six pounds pull double action and half that when you cock it. It shoots .17 HMR. Not much kick at all." He laid it on a soft pad on the counter. It had cushy rubber grips that were ugly and dull, but tacky in your hand even when sweaty.

  "That's the one with the plastic tip?"

  "Yeah"

  Maybe he could get some standard size carbide die pins to sub for the plastic. They went through the paperwork and computer check to purchase and Frank told them to come back in a couple hours. Roger asked how many boxes of shells he had. There were sixteen, so he asked if he could have half of them. Frank told him to take ten.

  "We'll pick a holster when we come back," Rog told him. "If you have a red-dot sight that will mount go ahead and put it on. Not a big one, just 30mm or 40mm max, with variable dot size and illumination."

  There were two stores in town, besides a big box discount store, that had women's clothing. Roger took Martee in the nicer looking store and took the situation in hand. He didn't want the clerk to treat her badly because of how she was dressed in his things. He immediately explained she had lost all her luggage and was in his clothing due to an emergency and needed to start from scratch.

  The fine silk panties she readily agreed to, but the bra she turned down. She actually laughed at it, which the young clerk didn't seem to find offensive. A camisole for modesty as an alternative she accepted, especially because it was lacy and pretty. Socks in several weights and a pair of stylish but sturdy hiking boots, were joined by an expensive pair of air-cushion cross trainers. He could tell she loved the bright yellow accents.

  Roger explained he wasn't concerned with the price, but made sure she knew how to read the price tags for when she had to buy something alone. Jeans he knew would be a hit, but she also got some shorts despite the late season and a pair of wool slacks in a rich combed fabric, that surprised him with how expensive they were. The store had some Woolrich and Pendleton items and he urged her to get a navy jacket that fit her perfectly and a couple nice sweaters and turtle necks. T-shirts she hesitated on and he simply suggested she buy one of each color. It was as hard as forcing ice cream on a child.

  When she picked a couple button-up blouses she stopped and stared at a white blouse from Ecuador, that had parrots and jungle leaves elaborately hand embroidered all over front and back. She seemed awed and unbelieving it could really be bought, not displayed in an art museum. It cost almost as much as the slacks, but it was stunning. It really was folk art rather than just a covering.

  "How could you ever force yourself to wear this and actually get it dirty?"

  "Buy it," he ordered and draped it on top of the others she had over one elbow, ignoring that shell shocked look she was getting again.

  Some hankies, some gloves, a knit hat and very important, a small clutch purse which he gauged for size very critically – then they were done. He hated having the datum of the purchase in the system, more than any worry about the cost. Martee wore a complete new outfit and carried his loaned things in a bag.

  When they went back out there was a jewelry store next door. He hesitated before stepping in. It was the sort of place he knew they wouldn't get out of cheaply. But it seemed to him she should have at least one item of jewelry. Earrings are out right now, he thought. Her ears are not pierced. Rings get in the way and I'm going to teach her to shoot.

  "Could you show us a chain please?" he asked. "Something in a twenty-two or twenty-four inch length with a nice clasp?"

  The sales lady pulled a double loop in loop chain out in a bright yellow gold and laid it on a black velvet tray. Martee looked at it but didn't bother to pick it up. The lady seemed to read that as a no and pulled another chain out in a deeper gold, almost red. It was a double anchor chain, with the thick rounded links. Martee immediately picked that up and played with it.

  The clerk put the other chain away without a word and came around the case to help fasten it in on Martee's neck. When she turned a mirror around and showed her how it looked, Martee puckered her lips and Roger was afraid she'd start crying like she had with the food. He quickly just handed his card to the woman. The clerk gave him a sudden intense look he didn't understand and she gave a little bob of a nod and went to run the card.

  Oh, he suddenly realized. I didn't ask how much it cost. He was actually embarrassed. He didn't want to look like a sucker.
When the clerk brought the slip to sign she had a velvet case and she showed the sticker still attached to the lobster clasp, so he knew she didn't take advantage of him. Martee decided to wear the chain.

  "You know, I don't want to offend you," he said as they went back out on the sidewalk, "but there is something you could do to disguise yourself, quite a bit more than a change of clothing."

  "What's that Roger?"

  "Your hair is straight and fairly long. Very few women wear their hair that way. It's usually just little girls right now that follow that style. Is your hair important to you to keep that way, or would you consider cutting and styling it?"

  "I think I'd enjoy that actually. The whole idea to take only what you need and leave enough for others even includes things like personal services. I've had more than enough of it. I agree with your reasoning. It doesn't put food on anyone's plate, for me to have ugly hair, does it? Silly isn't it?"

  "Usually people that do that here do it for religious reasons. We have some people who view bright clothing and decorative items as evil too. They use horses to plow their land and live pretty much like people did a couple centuries ago with no electricity. I have to ask though – do your bosses live as simply as they encourage everyone else to?"

  "They get the same sort of deal as the workers. They live in company housing and use company transportation. It's just the company provides a little bigger housing and a driver for their car, to save precious minutes of their day so they can work more. They still get told every day, just like the rest of us, if they take more than their share somebody somewhere will go to bed hungry or cold. In all honesty the things they use are just as drab and utilitarian as everybody else's, even if they have a little bit more. If they have beautiful things they must hide them away."

  "Look," he said. "I can look up a hair stylist on my phone if you want to go there first, or we can go get some lunch first. Which would you like? "

  "Let's do my hair. Then I'll be pretty for lunch."

  Roger started to do a search on his phone and then thought better of it. He turned and retraced his steps to the jewelry store and went back in. The clerk he remembered had nice hair and happily did not have another customer yet.