“I haven’t had much luck with the Non Disclosure Agreements, although it’s almost certainly true that we will prevail. But the cost has been -- shall we say -- steep. Of the two people who violated theirs, one is dead and the other is serving twenty to life.”
“I don’t understand why you’re keeping it secret,” Dick told her. “The tale should be told from sea to shining sea.”
“Oh, the government allowed us access to the media. They came, they saw, they heard, they were revolted and ran away, terrified that their little tiny PC heads were going to spin around on their necks. They can’t quite get past their prejudices, which is sad and ironic, hilariously funny, and wickedly cruel all at once.”
“Well, they might not want to hear it, but I do,” Hank told her. “I admit to being really curious what it’s like out there.”
“Well for one thing, I hope you don’t suffer from claustrophobia. One of the Federal guys that came through did, and they had to sedate the poor bugger. They thought taking him outside the cave the Far Side door was in would help him, but when the Big Moon came up, he literally had a seizure, and they knocked him out and brought him back.”
“And, because of circumstances beyond our control, if either of you gentlemen was African American, the conversation would never have started. It’s too dangerous for blacks on the other side of the door.”
“How’s that?” Dick asked.
“That’s some of the funny, sick irony. Our friends are what most people call white, although their skin-color is more akin to that of the southern Italians. Their enemies, and I do mean racial enemies, are black. They’ve been fighting for about fifteen hundred years, their time; call it almost eighteen hundred years of ours. In that world it’s the blacks who hold white people as slaves. The whites where we are kill the blacks on sight, while the blacks give you a choice -- a slave collar or they kill you too.
“Lucky us, we got there just as an ancient war started back up. Moreover, our friends are going through a bit of political trouble as well, having just stuck a sword through their then-King and then picked a new one. And there were other troubles as well. In theory, things are calmer now, but that’s today. Tomorrow? Who knows?
“The Tengri, the black slavers, have been kicked off the mainland, but they are about a hundred miles away, on an island. They have cannons and muskets; I showed our friends how to make crossbows, because before that, all they had were longbows. The Tengri have ships the equivalent of those around 1800; I recently introduced our friends to the concept of tacking in a sailing ship. They are in the process of converting their existing large ships to keeled vessels, but it’s going to take a while, and new construction is a year or more away.
“I’ve shown them how to make gunpowder the equal of what the Tengri have, and pouring cannon is exciting, but relatively straight-forward. I’m looking for someone who is familiar with smelting and processing iron ore to steel -- whoever that is, they will be rich beyond avarice in no time, because they are going to need tons of the stuff.”
“Raw materials?”
“Most of the continent they are on is jungle, but there are still some mountain ranges that make the ones here on Earth look like pikers, or so I’m told. They have reserves of timber and minerals that have to be seen to be believed. Coal, ditto. I haven’t heard anything about oil, but considering the amount of coal, there’s bound to be a lot of that around as well.
“Plus, their mineral abundances aren’t the same as on Earth. There are some amusing differences.”
“Amusing how?” Dick asked.
Hank laughed. “You’ll like this!”
“Basically, the most important one is that the relative abundance of gold is greater than copper is here -- and copper there is less abundant than gold is here. They use copper for money and in jewelry like we use platinum. Gold is used for children’s trinkets. They treat it like we treat pot metal.”
Dick swallowed. “So, paying us in gold...”
“They’ve offered to trade me straight across, gold, silver and platinum for all the copper I can give them. They think they’re cheating me and feel bad about it. I’ve tried to tell them that they don’t need to feel bad, because I’m making a huge fucking profit -- and so are they. What’s wrong with that?”
Dick laughed. “In college economics they make the point that trade is not a zero sum game. When I give you something and you give me something in exchange, we don’t end up with zero -- we each end up with something we each wanted more than what we held. We make a profit, at least in our terms of relative worth. A farmer sells a miller a bushel of wheat and gets money he can use for seed and tools. The miller adds value to that bushel of wheat, grinding it up. He sells the flour for a profit as well, and you end up with bread on your table, a full stomach, and you think the bargain was well made. You’ve profited, the miller has profited, and the farmer profits. Everyone has more than he started with.”
“Exactly,” Andie told him. “And multiply that with abundant natural resources and you have a solid base. Their planet isn’t like ours. They have no seasons; they are in a region with weather a lot like you’ve got here in the summertime -- except it’s year-around. Their farmers get four or five crops a year. They have far more people available for extra labor than we would have.
“They have built some humongous walls, like Hadrian’s in England and the Great Wall of China. It was an effort, but the farmers could keep the people fed well enough. Now, once again, they have another series of great projects, with leaders who have guts and gumption to get the job done. I tell you true -- I like these people. They are rational, hard working, and at least as honorable as the average American.”
Dick was silent for a moment. “Five hundred miles of track -- I can get you a deal on that. How are these folks for saw mill technology?”
“I never saw one,” Andie said, suppressing a giggle.
“What sort of wagons do they have?”
“They carry a ton or so; gravity there is a smidge less than it is here. They use a draft animal roughly equivalent to a camel-tempered ox.”
He laughed at that. “We can get a portable gas-powered mill and take it up to where the trees are. You say that they have plentiful coal and are going to be ramping up steel production?”
“Yes.”
“Good, coal tar is given off in the process that converts coal to coke. We probably will be using wooden rail ties, but we will be using wooden trestle bridges as well. Coal tar creosote quadruples the working lifetime of those spans.”
The discussion went on from there, covering a myriad things, quite of few of which were interrelated.
* * *
Kris eyed herself in a mirror and grimaced. “You realize that I look like a fast-food server from a chain called ‘Rook?’”
She was wearing a white shirt, white jeans and a black tie, with a baseball cap on her head that read “Rook.” She looked frumpy.
“It’s a rite of passage,” Kurt told her.
“We all have to do it,” Ezra assured her.
“Look me in the eye and tell me that it serves some sort of purpose beyond humiliating me.”
“That’s the idea, Kris,” Kurt told her. “The idea is to render people down to the common bits, and then reassemble them into a new whole, one that is more in line with the mission statement.”
Diyala, sitting on the bed, offered her own opinion. “The Tengri never wear white. It is the color of surrender, and it’s hard to keep clean. Tengri should look their best all of the time.”
Kris sighed inwardly. Andie had been a bad influence. Andie thought that too many people spent too much time fine tuning their appearance, and she just did the minimum necessary to look okay. No fancy clothes, no makeup, and she kept her hair short. Every time Andie saw Kris running her hairbrush through her shoulder-length hair she would say something disparaging. Kris had, mostly, ignored her, at least about the hair.
She gave Kurt a mocking salute, gave another
to Ezra, and went out into the hotel hall, pulling her one bag behind her. She rode down the elevator and went outside, to where Captain Stone was waiting for her in a Norwich minivan.
“Captain, permission to come aboard?” Kris asked, unable to pass up the joke.
“Oh, put a cork in it, Rook!” the woman said good-naturedly. “Right now the Corps of Cadets is falling in for morning roll call. In a short while, they will assemble for morning PT. Major Sandusky assures me that you will be able to miss that without embarrassing us.”
“Yes, sir,” Kris told economically.
“Good. You get to skip PT today. Instead, I’ll take you up to your room and introduce you to your roommate and your two suitemates -- you have seen their personnel files. You understand that it would be far better if they never know you’ve seen them?”
“I’m aware of that, Captain.”
“They will see you squared away before you go to breakfast. After breakfast you will assemble with the others for the first business of the day. For your classmates, that will be close order drill. For today you are excused, and will be introduced at a staff meeting instead. You will have English this morning, and calculus this afternoon, as a student. You will brief the Corps of Cadets at 1600, using the outline the Commandant and the President of the University went over with you yesterday. Afterwards, a question and answer session, followed by dinner and study time.
“I cannot stress too much that you are going to have problems. Adjust to them. There is going to be curiosity, frustration, jealousy, more curiosity, and then more curiosity still.
“After today -- you will have to make your own way, Rook.”
“I’m prepared for that,” Kris told her mildly.
Captain Stone nodded. “It’s not going to be fun.”
“Captain, being bunkered down on a hillside with people shooting at you isn’t fun either. I know which I prefer.”
“One thing you should remember, Cadet, is that you’re not unique. One fine day in Iraq I was in the fourth Humvee in a convoy. The truck in front of us exploded in ball of fire without any warning. Also, without warning, something came through the ballistic glass of our windshield, passing between the driver and myself.
“It hit the post for the fifty caliber and exited out the right rear of the vehicle. Both holes were about a foot in diameter. When it hit the desert outside, it finally detonated. It was a 155 mm artillery shell. The crater it left was almost identical in diameter to our Humvee’s length.
“Two people in the vehicle behind us took shrapnel from the shell. Our Humvee was drivable, and we had no injuries except to our underwear, which had mysteriously turned brown. Four guys were killed in front of us, two wounded behind us. These things happen, Cadet.”
“I imagine so. I also imagine that, like me, you’ve thought about it a time or two.”
“Indeed so.” She let go of the steering wheel with her left hand and rubbed her name tag. “But I’m still here, and I’m still intent on the mission.”
“And that, Captain, is what I want for myself. I’m just a little vague on what the mission is.”
They pulled up in front of the dorm, and Kris followed the captain inside. She rapped briskly on a door on the fourth floor, and opened it almost at once. A young woman looked up from a desk, saw who was in the door, and yelled “Ten Hut!” and snapped to attention.
“As you were,” Captain Stone said without hesitation. “Rook Mirableu, when I asked Foxtrot’s company commander who would be the best Rook to deal with something out of the ordinary, she told me that you were as out of the ordinary as you can be. I’ve brought someone along with me who is going to take that distinction away from you.
“Rook, at my side is Cadet Boyle. Cadet Boyle is to be considered as having passed the Rook phase of your training. Later today her status will be discussed in more detail, but for now, you are to assume that she hasn’t got any more of a clue than you did, on your first day of Orientation Week.
“You are to see her squared away, see that she is briefed in the areas she will need during the day. You both have the hour after lunch free; you will make a detailed tour of the campus with Cadet Boyle.
“You are not to gossip or discuss Cadet Boyle with anyone else at Norwich -- faculty, staff, or student. You will defer all questions to the Commandant until dinner tonight, after which you can do as you please. You may ask one question, now, however.”
“Isn’t it a contradiction in terms? A cadet who doesn’t have the basic skills of a Rook?”
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Her situation is similar to yours, after a fashion.”
Captain Stone turned to Kris. “Rook Mirableu’s parents are American ex-pats who have lived in France since before she was born. Her father was a sergeant in the French Foreign legion, her mother was an American consular official. When Rook Mirableu turned eighteen she rather surprised her parents by opting for US citizenship. Now she is here. Rook Mirableu speaks English, French, German, and Spanish.
“Rook Mirableu, I am told to warn you that Cadet Boyle has two bodyguards who are permitted access to your quarters at any hour of the day or night. You will want to dress accordingly, as they are both male, and so apprise your suitemates. I will leave you two to get acquainted.”
Captain Stone turned and left. Kris eyed the other girl. She was about her own height, five eight, similar brown hair, although Mirableu’s was half way between Kris’ and Andie’s in length. Both of them had roughly the same build.
“Two guys to protect you, eh? Are they cute?”
“One out of two. The other is more like a bodyguard emeritus.”
“And how is your situation like mine?”
“I’m not entirely sure. Maybe because your father served with a foreign army. I did that.”
“The Legion?” the young woman seemed both startled and skeptical.
“No, not them. Another one.”
“And you’re ignorant of all the things a Rook needs to know, but you’ve passed basic leadership?”
“Yes.”
“How, may I ask?”
“I served in a foreign army, ending up as an officer.”
“Ah! Which one?”
“You’ve never heard of it. I’m Kris Boyle. I’d like to call you something besides ‘hey, you!’”
“Erica Mirableu, formerly of Paris. And you are formerly of?”
“Hollywood,” Kris told her.
“Hollywood? The one in California? The movie place?”
“Yes. I know you have a lot of questions about me, but right now I have more questions about what I need to know about life here at Norwich. At 1600 hours you will have what I’m about explained to you.”
“That’s normally extra-curricular activities, not a briefing. There’s a commandant’s time at 1830.”
“This will be two hours. This is changing the schedule. You might as well relax to that -- I think your schedule is going to undergo a great deal of change in the next few weeks.”
“Are you talking about the President’s Project? The one with the prize?”
“Yes. I understand personal honor is important here.”
“Yes. It’s why I’m here. My parents wouldn’t know honor if it bit them on the ass.”
“I know honor,” Kris told her bluntly. She gestured at the laptop behind Erica. “You can go there and key in ‘Kristine Boyle’ and find the answer to the question of the day, and learn almost nothing about me or what happened to me. You would not earn any honor among the rest of us if you were to do that. Or if you told anyone else.”
“I’d never! Where do you get off talking about our honor?”
“I have mine; you have yours. I can’t avoid you, and I honestly don’t want to. But if you don’t know who I am now, you’d better have a really good explanation how you came by the knowledge before 1600.”
“I’m offended.”
“So, you’re offended. A few months ago, two friends and I trusted some others. We took t
hem in, made them our friends and coworkers; we told them everything. In exchange they tried to kill us. So, for the time being, I’m not the trusting sort.”
“Kill as in... dead?”
“That’s right. Dead. One of them is dead now, and the other pled guilty to kidnap and attempted murder. He got twenty to life.”
“Well, I won’t get on your bad side.”
“What I would like is to quickly go over my schedule with you. Tell me how I’m supposed to be dressed. Clues about how early I should be and all of that.
“What are the NCOs and officers of Foxtrot Company like? The tactical officers? How do I stand at attention? How do I salute? When do I salute? All sorts of things like that.”
“Well, it’s 0650. In forty minutes the mess hall opens for us. We have to be there, eat and be done by 0800. First classes are at 0830. What’s your first?”
“English at 0930. I have to attend an officer’s call earlier. I’m not going to have to attend close-order drill.”
“Okay, which classroom is your English class?”
Kris gave the room number and Erica nodded. “We’re in the same class. What other classes do you have?”
They had calculus together in the afternoon, but except for ROTC, their schedules were different on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
Kris drew herself up to what she thought was the position of attention. “I’m at attention. What am I doing wrong?”
For the next half hour Erica showed Kris things like attention, parade rest, left face, right face, about face and the like. She even saluted, which was something she’d never really thought about on Arvala. They didn’t do it there.
Finally, they were walking towards the mess hall/cafeteria.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen. Eat like the rest of us, I guess,” Erica told her.
“What do you mean?”
“Rooks who haven’t passed the leadership phase eat at attention. You sit upright in your chair and your utensils move at right angles.” She mimed moving a fork vertically from a mock plate, until it was even with her mouth, then putting it back the same way.
Kris grimaced. “One day I’ll tell you about my friend,” she told the woman.
The Far Side Page 61
