They Said It Would Be Easy (April Book 7)

by Mackey Chandler

  "I think the job is wearing me down," Jon suggested.

  "When is the last time you had a vacation?"

  "Let me look that up," Jon said, pretending to enter a query in the com. "I heard that term sometime I'm sure. It sounds familiar. It is English isn't it?"

  "Have you even taken a weekend off?" Muños asked.

  "Not in living memory," Jon admitted. "Where would I go? Certainly not down to Earth. We're not exactly welcome most places, and I'm not sure it's safe still. I'm not interested in New Las Vegas. I'm not a gambler. I don't care for most of the things people consider entertainment. Even as a child I detested carnivals."

  "You don't have to go anywhere. Take a week and relax...Buy a book or two, or a movie if you prefer," Muños suggested. Got to one of the clubs and listen to some music," Eduardo said. "We'll be getting some luxury items back in the clubs within a couple months."

  "I'd go somewhere," Jon told him, "if I had anywhere interesting to go."

  "Maybe go to the moon, just to see what it is like. You haven't been there have you?" Muños asked.

  "No, I might like that. Can you get to an Apollo site?"

  "I understand it is a little bit of a rover ride from Armstrong, and they have an area roped off they don't want trampled. But there are some Ranger sites you can see from Central," Muños said.

  "I'll think about that," Jon agreed.

  * * *

  Irwin was used to seeing everybody in the corridors armed to the teeth. He wasn't used to seeing body armor. There was very little of it worn on Home. When two armored up men took up positions flanking his door it tripped his caution circuits. It was a bank after all. Traditionally banks did get robbed, even if it would be stupid on Home. They also had more than the usual gear. Helmets and boom mics for tactical com and spex with flip down magnifiers and low light viewers. The one man said something. Likely to somebody on com as he wasn't looking at his partner.

  Irwin triggered an alert with his spex. Dan would watch from his office and cover him. Dan kept an antique Browning BAR behind his desk, and to that the body armor might as well be silk crepe. Irwin only had a pistol. He wore it more to fit in and avoid razzing for being unarmed. However he opened his desk drawer and flipped a manual switch. That made the grit Claymore built into the front of his desk live. It would only reach two thirds of the way to the door. But if these two intended trouble they would approach closer.

  They stayed at the door, but a strikingly beautiful young woman in the same uniform turned in the door and approached. Tall but thin, and dark haired. She had on a vest but not the helmet or full armored rig of the men, and a simple pistol in a holster under her elbow. On the opposite side she wore something he hadn't seen in a long time. A kukri. She walked very purposefully and confidently. As she got closer Irwin revised his estimate of her age from late twenties to older but indeterminate, with life extension. That was interesting. Did she survive the flu on Earth with life extension therapy?

  "Mr. Hall? I'm Supervisor Thapa for Trinity Security. We have a shipment at the north dock for you and I'd like assurance you will receive it before pulling it off the dock and transporting it. I was told you will receive items for Huian Lee?"

  "Yes, Huian is our customer, we'll be glad to take receipt of anything she wishes to deposit. The north dock is customary for freight, but you'd have been much closer using the south dock."

  Thapa looked around at the mostly open floor plan, the big windows on the corridor and the glass doors. "Do you have a separate depository where you'd rather take delivery?" she wondered.

  "No," Irwin said, amused at her discomfort. "This is very secure. There are hidden systems and everyone here is armed. This is the main business corridor, and if someone attempted to rob a business here it wouldn't be pretty. Everyone wears spex and is armed. Once the alarm went out on the local net, and an image or description, the cafeteria and communication offices would empty out of irate citizens looking for the miscreants."

  "The civilians really would act, and not just seek shelter?" Thapa asked surprised.

  "We once were invaded by USNA Space Marines in full hard shell battle suits. Their first squad didn't make it to the airlock on the south dock. One of our security ladies dispatched them and blew their shuttle folded over double. The other squad probed in from the north dock, trying to reach the Holiday Inn. Three of them made it that far and when they entered the hotel another of Jon's security people was waiting and invited them to surrender. When they tried to point a weapon at him he detonated a Claymore in their face, and that was that."

  "Explosives and Claymores are very rough to use inside a habitat," Thapa said, alarmed.

  "Yes, McAlpine did mention later, relating the story, that it blew him the other way – clear into the next room, and knocked him out. It rather destroyed the Holiday Inn lobby too, but it was effective."

  Thapa nodded, probably more in acknowledgement than an endorsement of such insanity.

  "Would you like to read the manifest, before I signal my team to move it?" Thapa asked, and held out an actual clipboard with hard copy.

  "Sure," Irwin said to humor her. He read it, and steeled himself to display no emotion, but he realized he had a problem.

  "That will fit in our vault," Irwin said, returning the papers, "but could you possibly divide it into five or six loads, and bring them down slowly, or wait between each load? I'd like to get each lot well under a hundred kilograms. I can hold this end secure if you need your two fellows there to do it," he said, nodding at the pair at the door.

  "Yes, I can do that. It always helps if I know why I'm doing something," she suggested. "More trips means more exposure. More risk by our normal procedures book."

  "We're on the outermost part of a spinning wheel," Irwin reminded her. "We are constantly moving things around the rim, but it's entirely too much trouble to plan and move a counterweight to keep the wheel in balance when we move large items. The system just barely stays ahead of everyone converging on the cafeteria at lunch time, which will also happen in about two hours."

  "Ahhh," Thapa said, the light of understanding dawning on her.

  "There are automated systems, that use the water we keep in reserve, to maintain balance. But they aren't terribly fast acting, so bringing the gold down in smaller lots will allow the pumps time to move sufficient mass to adjust," Irwin explained.

  "Very well," Thapa agreed. "I will pull these two fellows, and go back to the dock. I'll take your word on your own security, and use mine to cover the shuttle at dock. I'll be back in about a half hour."

  A little more, Irwin thought. It was a long haul down the main shaft when moving heavy stuff, but he just nodded agreeably. She'd find out, and he wasn't on any schedule even if they were.

  He flipped the switch and disarmed the device on his desk. The interesting thing about this shipment was it wasn't all Good Delivery Bars. There were containers of all sorts of bullion coins, small bars and some shot he suspected was casting stock for jewelry.

  Apparently all sorts of smaller holders decided they couldn't keep it safe on Earth. There was always a shovel and secrecy, but then you could be questioned under duress to reveal the location. Irwin could see the advantage of being able to say that it is gone...shipped off out of your jurisdiction. With the software that was common now it would be verified. He should suggest to Huian that a code word should be instigated to include in any requests for a return of the metal. Something to indicate to them that the withdrawal request was being made under compulsion.

  Supervisor Thapa impressed Irwin. She had a high level of confidence and the bright light of intelligence was obvious in her eyes. Perhaps after the second lot was safely in their vault he'd see if she would care to take a break and have lunch with him. It would be about that time by then, and the corridor traffic seemed a plausible excuse to get her to briefly suspend operations without it sounding like he was asking her for a date. Just a banking executive showing hospitality to another charming l
ovely security executive.

  * * *

  Frank called his friend John and shared the web search results he's gotten for April Lewis. "It's a shame. We had a lot of good free publicity from April wearing our creations. But now she has a new source up there, and I have to admit this is a well crafted design. Even if she does wear one of ours again it's old news now."

  "He's another Frank. Maybe people will get confused and think it's you still," John suggested.

  "I didn't say it was that good," Frank snipped.

  "Well we can hardly invite her back," John said. "They made it pretty clear she and hers aren't welcome. Politics is so stupid. I thought she was a lovely young person."

  "It's not clear if there is still any danger from the flu for gene mod people," Frank said. "They don't address the problem clearly and contradict themselves in the news outlets. Hardly the sort of sources on which you'd want to bet your life. I'm just glad we didn't have that cruise and life extension therapy a couple months earlier, or we might be dead."

  "But we still want it...and there is no telling when it will be safe again. But they are accepting travelers again on Home, so apparently they have the matter under control there," John said.

  "Are you suggesting moving there?" Frank asked. "Could we make a living there in design and fashion?"

  "Apparently someone can," John said, waving at the image of April on the screen. "You could always branch out and license your designs. There are inquiries about that every month. And the economy is so bad...Selling one-off creations for full price has been lean lately. Have you looked at the real estate pages lately? Honolulu is in a real slump."

  "Hmmm. I'll think about it. I have felt like we're in a bit of a rut lately," Frank admitted.

  John said nothing. He knew better than to over-sell something.

  Chapter 14

  "Special delivery for Mr. Singh," the FedEx guy said at the entry.

  Jeff went to take the box there, instead of telling the house to let him in. He and Walter had things on the screen he didn't want seen, much less recorded with someone's spex.

  The package was suitcase sized and had a folding handle, which meant it was over six kilo. But it didn't need a hanko, a scribbled signature on the pad was sufficient.

  Jeff brought it in and weighed it, then put it on the small table they kept clear for coffee and when they ate lunch in. He rolled it over slowly both ways and made sure it hadn't been slit, and the tamper proof tape was all intact. His pad sniffer didn't detect the common boomies. It weighed exactly what the shipping notice said and looked intact. He was expecting it, so he went ahead and opened it. An unexpected package would have been sent to be x-rayed and maybe remotely opened.

  "You're really paranoid," Walter said. He was amused, and that offended Jeff a little.

  Jeff pulled off his t-shirt. Walter had never seen him bare chested. He always undressed and dressed again in the bath to maintain some formality.

  "See the scar?" Jeff asked him, pointing it out, high on his shoulder, with his finger.

  "Yeah?" Walter looked a little upset in the sudden change in behavior.

  "A Chinese assassin shot me in the cafeteria. It's not paranoia when anybody is really out to harm you," Jeff assured him. "A hundred years ago it would have probably killed me. Thirty years ago it would have left me with a damaged shoulder, that would never be one hundred percent again."

  "And I've sat right next to you there and never realized," Walter worried.

  "Professional assassins have really good aim," Jeff assured him. "They're very unlikely to waste shots and hit you by accident." He shrugged his shirt back on.

  "I can't tell you how reassuring that is."

  "On the other hand, if it's a bomb you might not make out so well," Jeff said.

  Jeff's opening of the package suddenly took on a more personal interest.

  "But as I expected, it's my holographic seals," Jeff said, "this time."

  "Good, are you going to get them in circulation soon? I can take part of my pay in them and start using them if you want," Walter volunteered.

  "I'm waiting on the card stock from the moon to put them on. I wanted to use our local product. It's another small check on authenticity too, because our card stock is easily differentiated from Earth products. It would be a major pain in the butt to set up making soy and beet paper specifically to try to counterfeit small denomination bits. It doesn't seem like it would be worthwhile."

  "How many?" Walter asked, frowning at the exposed packets of seals. It looked like a lot.

  "Twenty thousand. I'll have more soon if these seem satisfactory. Want to count them for me?" Jeff asked. Walter didn't dignify his odd humor with a reply.

  "That's going to be a lot of work, sticking all those seals on the cards," Walter said.

  "I'll have Eric take care of it. He wanted the job, it's his problem," Jeff said, smiling. "And you also seem to know what you need to do for the next few days. I'm going along on the next freight run to Central. I have a little project that needs my attention."

  * * *

  Jeff wasn't really sure how to make charcoal. All the information he could find online was suitable for Earth, and most of it was full of qualifiers and warnings reminding people doing it would be subject to strict air quality rules in most developed countries. That's probably why so much charcoal came from Brazil. He couldn't use the wood gas for heat, because his air was too precious. He was basically faking it from minimal information.

  Freight was always averaged up to the next full kilogram, so why give that away free? He brought his wood blocks in five and six at a time. Once he had sixty kilos of hardwood blocks accumulated from fill, to bring his other shipments up to weight, it was time to give it a try.

  Jeff had a stainless vessel made with a black oxide film on it. Sitting that in the focal point of a big aluminized Mylar mirror should produce somewhere between eight hundred and a thousand degrees in the vessel if his calculations were anywhere close. He had no firm idea how long it would need to carbonize. The cubes were two centimeters on a side. If they didn't char all the way to the center that was fine. He decided the simplest way was to bring it up to heat, and hold it there until the out-gassing fell off quite a bit.

  Jeff regretted making a thousand liter alcohol tank now. It was too big. But he left it in place to collect for the future, and transferred the two hundred liters he'd saved so far to a two hundred fifty liter tank. Heather owned the next two hundred liters, which would accumulate faster too. When he got twelve kilograms of charcoal he looked at it, trying to visualize the amount of charcoal that would be on the inside of traditional barrels. He'd split a couple chunks of the charcoal chunks open, and the ones from the middle had a wood core left. Twelve kilo still seemed like too much. But it should work all the faster with any extra charcoal.

  He still only used half of it, combining the raw alcohol and charcoal in the smaller tank, and setting a pump to work sucking it from the bottom and dumping it back in the top. Now all he could do was wait. The pure alcohol had no color and no flavor. He'd tasted it, and it was awful. Once it had some color and flavor he needed somebody who could tell him if it was any good.

  * * *

  Li looked over his shoulder at the blue and gold flag fluttering behind them. There was some traffic in the harbor as they took the Tobiuo out. He kept expecting somebody to call on the radio and ask what the Devil sort of flag he was flying? Maybe not officials but just some other boat, curious because it was an entirely new flag. It had never flown from an Earth vessel before, and it was pretty big.

  They had all their correct paperwork ready if anyone wanted to see that they were properly flagged. Home law allowed for civilian weapons. That was one of the few real laws the Assembly had decided to make. They didn't try to define them as defensive or light, unlike most Earth nations that would allow small arms but not a deck cannon. That allowed Li quite a bit of wiggle room.

  The ability was there to be called into s
ervice by the Home militia if they had a Home citizen in command. Which was a future possibility. Insurance was not an issue. Li was a little disappointed that after all the preparations nobody appeared to care. He and Tara both still wanted to visit Home. But the advantages of taking their flag right now were too many to pass up.

  The Tobiuo was all fixed up. The large glass in the salon ports had been the hardest to repair. The original company making them didn't seem to be in business now. Their telephone returned a not in service message and their e-mails bounced with no such address. They found a reasonable replacement locally of armored glass of the sort used at street level in areas with a lot of vandalism. It wasn't too expensive in large rectangular plates. But it was horrible to have cut into rounded shapes. It took a water jet with an abrasive slurry to cut it cleanly.

  The bullet holes were very hard to find a trace of from the outside. Inside they hadn't tried too hard to make them invisible. In the engine room there were obvious patches, but very strong. The diesel still did not run, but they were promised a replacement manifold printed of moon dust, according to Jeff. The internal dimensions and flanges and bolt holes would all be the same but it had thinner walls, so it wouldn't be much heavier.

  Their pilot house was an arch across the wheel with a clamshell on each side that folded up and out like gull-wing doors. One of their minor modifications was to replace the glass and layer composite material on the inside so that it was about as secure as a well armored limousine now when closed.

  * * *

  Dick's dad owned a fab and prototype shop. He was a year younger than Eric and looked up to him. Eric had several businesses, something Dick intended to copy soon. Dick had access to all the junk bins and material racks at his dads shop, was free to use fasteners and tools, as long as he didn't get too greedy with stock and put things back where they belonged. He'd learned that tough lesson a couple years back. He even had a few basic tools of his own.

  Nobody asked Dick what he was making anymore, as long as he stayed out of the way. He took Eric along but made sure he understood the ground rules and wouldn't mess up a good thing for him.