“We make you this offer. Recognise our right to exist, place no bar in the path of anyone who wishes to join us and we will trade technology to improve your lives. Fusion power will transform your societies, medical technology will help cure your ill ... there are no shortage of possible pieces of technology we can offer you. But we only offer it on the condition you stay out of our way.
“If you refuse, you will get nothing. We will not interfere with you. But we will not grant you our technology either.”
There was a long silence, broken – eventually – by the representative from Iran, who started ranting about American interference and infidel lies. This time, Steve understood; Wilhelm Tech had openly admitted their alliance with Heinlein Colony and Iran had banned the dongles, which hadn't prevented Iranians from smuggling them into the country. The Chinese, he realised, probably had the same concerns. Their firewalls, intended to prevent their citizens from plotting resistance to their rulers, had been neatly circumvented.
We will have to do something about their nukes, Steve thought, coldly. But it wouldn’t sit well with the pledge of non-interference. Or perhaps we should just leave the Middle East to them.
Komura beckoned to Steve frantically as the roar grew louder. UN security forces were rushing into the room, hastily preparing to separate the ambassadors if the threatening riot actually materialised. Steve hesitated, then allowed the Japanese man to lead him out of the chamber and into a small antechamber. Inside, there was a comfortable pair of armchairs and a small tray of expensive alcohol. Steve took one look, then dismissed it.
“There are some diplomats who wish to talk to you,” Komura said. “In private, I should add.”
He hesitated, then leaned forward. “Are you interested in recruiting a semi-professional diplomat?”
Steve turned to look at him. “And you're interested in being hired?”
“Yes,” Komura said. “Have you ever tried to work here?”
“No,” Steve said. He gave the young man a long considering look, then nodded to himself and produced one of Charles’s cards from his pocket. “Call this number, then go to the address they give you for pickup. You’ll have to undergo a security check first, but if you pass you’ll be welcome.”
Komura nodded. “And if I don’t pass?”
“Nothing bad will happen,” Steve said. “But you won’t get to see the stars.”
***
By the time he finally found time to move to the hotel and meet the reporter, Steve felt utterly exhausted. As he’d expected, several nations had attempted to strike private bargains with him, the French and Israelis being the most persistent. The latter had good reason to need Steve’s technology – they’d offered everything from diplomatic recognition to outright military support – but the former seemed to be playing both ends off against the middle in hopes of coming out ahead. It was a typically underhand dealing for diplomats in the UN.
Gunter Dawlish had started to report from Afghanistan after Steve had retired from the military, but his name wasn't unfamiliar. Steve had read a few of his articles before the attempted abduction, what now felt like years ago. He’d spoken to Craig Henderson and a couple of others he knew who had stayed in uniform and they’d all confirmed that Dawlish was a straight-shooter. Maybe not inclined to take everything said by the military for granted – Steve could hardly blame him for that attitude in an age of spin – but not an ideological or personal enemy of the armed forces.
“Mr. Stuart,” Dawlish greeted him. “Thank you for agreeing to meet me.”
Steve smiled. Before Dawlish had finally been accepted as the first reporter to get a private interview, Kevin had interrogated him thoroughly. The reporter had agreed to let Steve and Kevin read his article before it was posted, then make changes if any were suggested. Steve had agreed, in turn, that the whole interview would be recorded and the only changes would concern his own words, rather than the editorial slant. Later, the record would be released on the internet in any case.
“You're welcome,” he said. “And thank you for agreeing to meet something private.”
“I wouldn't do anything to risk this scoop,” Dawlish assured him. He took a seat and then motioned for Steve to sit down facing him. “First question, then. Where you responsible for events in Afghanistan?”
Steve lifted his eyebrows. “Yes,” he said, finally. “We were.”
Dawlish nodded, then changed tack. “How much of the official story is actually true?”
“Almost all of it,” Steve said, without going into details. So far, the President had managed to cover up most of the DHS raid and he wasn't going to broadcast the story unilaterally. “All you really need to know is that we were kidnapped by aliens, turned the tables on them and took control of their ship.”
“And that there really is an alien threat,” Dawlish said. “Do you believe we can build a defence in time?”
Steve met the reporter’s eyes. “I believe that if we don’t try, right now, we will never know,” he said. “Earth is small beans, by Galactic standards. Most of them don’t even have the faintest idea we exist and care less. But that is about to change. We will be ... protected, if we’re lucky, or enslaved if we’re not. Building a formidable defence is our only hope of salvation.”
Dawlish nodded. “There's been a lot of speculation on the internet about what kind of society you intend to build,” he said. “Some people have been expecting a redneck paradise, with only WASPs allowed, while others think you’re going to build a Objectivist dream, with you as John Galt. What do you really intend to build?”
Steve frowned, inwardly. The President had also mentioned John Galt. Coincidence?
Probably, he decided. “I don’t have time to explain all the flaws in Atlas Shrugged,” he said, after a moment. “Unless you want to turn the rest of the interview into a literary criticism session?”
Dawlish shook his head, hastily.
Somewhat amused, Steve went on. “The short answer is that we intend to build a democratic state built on individual rights and responsibilities,” he said. “Generally, anyone who is willing to accept the rights and responsibilities of being a citizen will be welcome to join us as a voting citizen. We don’t really give a shit – pardon my French – about age, race, sexual orientation or religion. As long as someone is prepared to uphold their rights and responsibilities, they are welcome.”
“That’s interesting,” Dawlish said. “There’s a preacher in Montana claiming you’re going to build a world without homosexuals, Jews, Muslims and Catholics.”
Steve shrugged. “I’m not a member of any church,” he said. “I can't be held responsible for a loudmouth who just happens to share the same state as myself. If anyone else thinks I should be ...”
He shrugged, again. “That’s their problem,” he explained. “Basically, we intend to uphold personal rights and responsibilities. You have the right to do whatever you please as long as you don’t hurt non-consenting adults. If you do, you will be tried by a jury and punished as the jury sees fit. We expect there will be some teething problems along the way, but that’s the basic idea.”
“Some teething problems,” Dawlish said. “I used to study the opening of the Wild West. Just establishing law and order took years.”
“We may well have the same problems,” Steve said. “I have several people looking at legal issues for homesteaders in the outer solar system. Upholding their rights requires a force capable of doing just that, but such a force could easily turn into a major problem in its own right. Just look at the federal government.”
Dawlish leaned forward. “Are you anti-government?”
Steve had expected the question, but it was still tricky to answer. “I believe that as long as humans are imperfect beings, we need some form of government,” he said. “A lawless anarchy might sound ideal, but it would rapidly devolve into the stronger picking on the weaker. At the same time, I believe that the government can grow too big and too powerful and become a b
ully itself. That, I think, is what has happened to our federal government.
“I could cite any number of cases where federal authority has been abused, without any recourse for the victim of federal mistreatment. There are farmers who have been raided for daring to sell untreated milk, small businesses ruined by pointless petty regulations, political correctness allowed to drive wedges between people, policemen abusing the general public, lives torn apart and people jailed because of the tiny difference between a legal and illegal weapon. And, if you look at the laws the right way, everything the government does is perfectly legal.
“But it sure as hell isn't right.
“I don't promise paradise,” he concluded. “Our hopes of creating a post-scarcity society have faded when we discovered the colossal power requirements for constructing matter out of raw energy. Building our society will be a long and bumpy road, but we have the experience of previous societies to guide us and help us avoid mistakes.”
“But you’ll create new ones of your own,” Dawlish commented.
“Oh, certainly,” Steve agreed. “But we’ll try to learn from our mistakes.”
Dawlish nodded. “How do you intend to relate to nations down on Earth?”
“Ideally, we won't have anything more than friendly trade relationships,” Steve said. “Maybe not even that, for non-democratic states. Our intention, as always, is to build an off-world society capable of facing the challenges of the stars. We have no intention of building an empire on Earth.”
“I’m sure the federal government is relieved to hear that,” Dawlish said.
Steve nodded, but said nothing.
“However, there are worse states than the United States,” Dawlish added. “Don’t you think you have a moral responsibility to deal with them?”
“I really hate it when people suggest I have a moral responsibility to do anything,” Steve admitted. “On the face of it, I suppose you do have a point. But let’s face it – we overthrew Saddam and, partly because of problems in the federal government, we wound up fighting a bloody war for six years. There’s still a striking lack of gratitude in large parts of the Middle East.”
He held up a hand before Dawlish could say a word. “I know, we didn't help them as much as we had hoped,” he added. “But it put me off future interventions even before we captured the alien ship. In future, our only interventions will be against governments that refuse to allow their people to leave their states and go to space.”
“I see,” Dawlish said. “I have quite a few other questions ...”
Steve grinned. “I’ve a better idea,” he said. “How would you like to see the moon?”
Dawlish grinned back. “I’d love it.”
Chapter Twenty
Heinlein Colony, Luna
Gunter Dawlish had never really wanted to be an astronaut. They did nothing, beyond flying to orbit and then landing back on boring old Earth. There was no drama in the space program, in his view, nothing particularly exciting. But now ... he took a step forward and gasped as he realised just how weak the gravity on the moon actually was. He could jump into the air and fly ...
“It gets everyone,” Rochester called after him. “We give new arrivals a few days to get used to it before we put them to work.”
“It's bloody fucking fantastic,” Gunter said. He knew he sounded like a kid and he didn't much care. “you could make a mint just letting people come to the moon for a few days.”
“We’re working on it,” Rochester assured him, as Gunter dropped back down to the ground. “Heinlein – the author – talked about people flying under the lunar dome. We’re actually planning to build a stadium for such games in the next few months. Maybe even build some form of antigravity broomstick and play Quidditch.”
Gunter snorted. “Just how big is the colony now?”
“Oh, we’re expanding all the time,” Rochester said. “We have some alien laser cutters to dig into the ground, then human technology to expand and keep expanding. One of our processors turned lunar rock into something we can use to line the colony edges, then we just build the rest of the structure up piece by piece. At worst, all we have to do is dig out a cave, install an airlock and Bob’s the bloke who buggers your auntie.”
He shrugged. “We have around two thousand people working here now,” he added, “with new chambers and living accommodation added all the time. Someone had the bright idea of installing a fish farm, so we’re hopefully going to get some better food in the next few weeks.”
“And we have millions of requests – literally – for places on the moon,” Steve Stuart said. “I think the colony will expand at terrifying speed. But it won’t be the only place.”
Gunter turned to him and lifted an eyebrow. “Where else?”
“We have plans underway to start terraforming Mars,” Steve Stuart reminded him. “And there will be thousands of asteroids to turn into small homesteads. The stars are the limit, quite literally.”
The tour of the colony took longer than Gunter had expected, but he couldn't help admiring just how much work had been done in just over a month. Rochester put it down to an absence of idiotic bureaucratic safety regulations and the skills of a dozen former combat engineers. They were very good at improvising, he explained, detailing some of the problems they’d had in adapting Earth technology for the lunar surface. Even trucks and tractors designed for very cold environments had needed heavy modification before they could be placed on the moon and put to work.
“That’s one of the few laws we have,” Rochester said, as they passed through a large airlock and into an underground chamber. He pointed at a sign on the rear of the hatch. “And common sense reigns supreme.”
Gunter had to smile. The sign read ANYONE STUPID ENOUGH TO NOT CHECK THEIR SPACESUIT BEFORE PASSING THROUGH THIS HATCH DESERVES TO DIE.
“It seems rather blunt,” he said. “What do your people think of it?”
“They put it up,” Rochester said. He shrugged. “On Earth, you have idiots winning the Darwin Awards by sneaking onto railway lines and getting killed ... and then their relatives try to sue the train operators. Or criminals breaking in and then suffering an accident and trying to sue the person they tried to rob. Here ... if there genuinely is someone to blame, they will get hammered, but if it was a genuine accident or the victim’s stupidity we will learn from it and move on. We certainly won’t shut down the whole program for years while politicians beat their breasts and cry crocodile tears for a TV audience.”
He smiled. “We do take care to keep the children well away from the airlocks,” he added. “There aren’t many kids up here, but those we do have are supposed to stay in the lower levels without their parents or another adult accompanying them.”
Gunter looked over at him. “You have kids here?”
“This is a city, or it will be,” Rochester said. “You’d be surprised by just how many people on my team wanted to move their families here.”
He shrugged. “Setting up the school took some time,” he added. “But once we hired some decent teachers the kids started to settle down and study properly. And they love the low-gravity environment.”
“I recall at least one science-fiction novel where Luna-born children could never return to Earth,” Gunter said, slowly. “Is that actually going to be a problem?”
“It could be,” Rochester said. “We give everyone muscle-building stimulants, but someone who stays in Luna gravity long enough will have problems when they return to Earth. Ideally, of course, everyone should exercise frequently to keep building up their muscles, but some people will probably fail to keep up with it.”
He shrugged, again. “As we say, time and time again, you are responsible for your own behaviour,” he reminded Gunter. “If someone doesn't exercise ... well, the condition of their body is their responsibility.”
Gunter shook his head, then looked over at Steve Stuart. “What sort of taxes are you going to have here?”
“We plan to insist that no o
ne is charged more than ten percent of their earnings,” Steve Stuart said. “Both personnel and business; if a business is based here, on lunar soil, it won’t be taxed more than ten percent either. We want to avoid the endless problems people have with filling in tax assessments back in the States. If you earn a thousand dollars, you owe one hundred dollars to the government.”
“I might move here,” Gunter said. “Would you take me?”
A Learning Experience Page 20
