Family Law

by Mackey Chandler

  "The same as explorers."

  "Yep and when space flight got common enough, similar problems came up. Pretty soon a company wouldn't hire a spacer unless they belonged to a Society, because the law made them responsible for somebody they hired, if they got stranded in a far port, unless they belonged to the Society. Back then a fellow might have medical problems and suddenly they couldn't take the acceleration to lift in a shuttle, or they developed some sort of intolerance to the early zero G drugs. The Society got funding from companies, but never enough and there was a limit how much they could ask in dues. They never have been rolling in money and Stanley knew if they were offered generous dues and fine, they'd be happy to support your petition."

  "OK, so we had to bribe them." Lee shrugged. "They need money and we have lots, I can't begrudge 'em. It sounds like they help people. But what about these tests you mentioned?"

  Gordon grinned. "I had to take those years ago. They are written exams and they have the option of doing oral exams if the board decides they are needed. Even the written ones are pretty easy. Stanley has arranged for the Society's lunar office to give you an oral exam. We have an appointment to meet them for lunch at the Explorers' Club, to pay your dues in arrears and their fine for late payment and they will issue you a card for what they call an all around able space hand."

  "Shouldn't I study anything or at least read some of their test stuff?"

  "Trust me. They just want to sit and talk with you. It will be informal and I have every confidence you will be fine, unless you set the room on fire and breach pressure."

  "Oh."

  "I can see comprehension spreading across your face."

  "But I am a competent person," Lee objected looking sullen. "I know how to handle myself on a ship and I'm not a liability to have around," she objected.

  "I'm sure they will be able to tell that after getting to know you. Come on Lee, don't go in there with a chip on your shoulder and make everybody unhappy, including yourself. I'll remind you that as far as they are concerned you are one of those orphans they would try to help if you were asking money instead of giving it. They're not bad guys."

  "You're right. I'll give them the benefit of the doubt."

  * * *

  The neighborhood didn't look very nice. Lee was surprised. Somehow she assumed a city in artificial pressure would be too controlled to get slums. But unless she didn't understand something, that's the impression she got as soon as they turned down this corridor. Little scraps of debris littered the edges of the road surface and the walk ways and storefronts looked dirty. A few of the overhead lights were out and one of the traffic control signs was a stump of shattered composite, with a spaghetti tangle of colored wires hanging out.

  Lee looked across at Gordon and still hadn't worked up the nerve to ask about his dress. When they'd gone to the Museum he'd worn a plain spacer coverall, like he'd used before to do mechanical work on the High Hopes. This time he came out and the coverall was more a jumpsuit, tailored and of a creamy dove gray material. It closed to the waist with buttons of copper wire woven in Celtic knots and he hung a long scarf of an iridescent bronze silk around his neck and knotted it loosely so it bulged out where the first button was undone under his chin.

  He hadn't made any suggestion to her what she should wear and now she wondered if she should have asked his advice.

  They pulled to the edge and slowed down approaching a business with a huge garish banner that announced, "Joe's All Sports Bar." Outside stood two huge bouncers and a velvet rope across the entry. The facade was a sickly salmon or pink with bright yellow accents around the door. The place creeped her out in a way that even the Spacer bars on Derfhome station had not.

  When she realized they had stopped short of Joe's, in front of an establishment with no signage but a set of small brass colored numbers she felt only relief. The place had a single heavy steel door, no window or peep hole and looked different, it was clean, even out into the street and line of dingy smudges elbow high on the horrid salmon colored bar next door stopped, right at the boundary to its white facade.

  "Give me just a moment to eyeball the place and I'll escort you in," Richard said.

  Lee and Gordon sat looking at each other silently. "I suppose rich people get used to sitting waiting for someone else to see if it's safe," Lee thought out loud. "Maybe they learn to have a book on their pad marked to bring up quickly and read a page or two."

  "Of all the rich folk I've guarded," Diana spoke up amused, "not one of them was a reader, unless it was the business papers they never caught up on."

  "What did they do riding around and waiting?"

  "Most of them talked or texted with friends continuously when we traveled. An older lady I guarded simply watched video whether home or traveling. She even watched it eating alone. One client I had pretty much drank all the way from one location to another. She'd leave smashed and arrived smashed. I don't know as I ever saw her cold sober. Another always sat back and closed his eyes. You'd think he was sleeping, but as soon as the car stopped those eyes would pop open."

  "Didn't any talk to you?"

  "Seldom," Aaron replied when Diana didn't. "What would we have in common? They had money, so obviously our thoughts or opinions had less merit. If we had any insight or intelligence we'd be rich like them, wouldn't we?"

  Richard forestalled any further pursuit of the conversation by returning and giving them the all clear. There were some disturbing thoughts hanging in the air Lee still wanted to pursue. Instead she followed Richard to the door. The bouncers at Joe's watched them, looking bored.

  The entry had a vestibule that was shaped and dimensioned suspiciously like a Mitsubishi four man airlock. The closed panel set flush in the wall made her itch to open it and see if it was controls. The doors were flush sliders with no step over, but that shouldn't be all that difficult a modification.

  Inside it was quiet and the lighting level was lower than what she's have chosen. The carpet was a complex design that looked like confetti strewn. Green and gold and a chocolate brown were spotted here and there with almost any color you could imagine. Usually she could pick out a repetition in such a pattern, but none jumped out at her here. The walls were of dark wood in rectangles about a meter on the long side that did repeat, except the real wood grain was unique in each. The ceiling was divided also, but in a multitude of round cream colored domes that were lit inward from the edges of each. The surface was scalloped in lines running to the center in a swirl that emphasized the lighting pleasantly.

  "Welcome to The Explorers' Club," a gentleman in a white jacket greeted them, as if Richard had not been in moments ago. "Your hosts are in The Silver Room if you will follow me."

  The Silver Room seemed more white than silver, although the white walls had tiny silver threads woven vertically. They entered through French doors set in a wall of similar paned glass. The single round table was covered with a bright white damask cloth and the places were set with equally white china delicately trimmed in a silvery metal. Two gentlemen and a lady sat waiting, looking like they were in good spirits, obviously not troubled by any of the reservations afflicting her.

  The men rose to greet them and the older man introduced the Lady Ms. Barrett, his chairman Mr. Singh and identified himself as Mr. Stephenson.

  "Sirs, My Lady, my daughter Lee Anderson. My name is a great inconvenience. You may refer to me as Gordon with no offense."

  "And yet we heard your daughter invoked her full legal name when giving a deposition. A formality so out of local context, it rendered a mob of irate Loonies silent for a moment," the woman said with a friendly smile.

  Lee felt her cheeks flush, but the there was no disapproval on any of their faces.

  "Best to set some things straight from the get-go, than have to argue them later." she asserted.

  "A wise precaution, in my estimation," Mr. Singh agreed. "Nobody is going to mistake your father's citizenship, so he can afford to be a bit more off the cuff
." She'd have to look up that expression.

  "That's the lawyer in Thurston speaking," Mr. Stephenson told her. "He likes to dot every I and cross every T in casual conversation as if it were a contract. In legal matters he is even more precise. We once were updating our members' Get Out of Jail cards and he demonstrated to me that one sentence we had added, would be taken as having three distinct meanings on as many worlds."

  "I've, uh, I've never been in jail. It never occurred to me there could be such a thing as a Get Out of Jail card. If they were very common it seems jails would be pointless. I suppose I should ask what other benefits come from having my spacer's papers."

  At a hand signal from a waiter standing well back in severe black attire, a server in white appeared from behind an Oriental screen and asked if they'd care for drinks, looking at Ms. Barrett. "Champagne, please, something fruity that I can stay with through our luncheon." He looked expectantly at Lee. Remembering what Gordon had tried to order at Derfhome station, she said, "Earth whiskey, neat, with a coke and ice on the side." The waiter didn't twitch, but Ms. Barnett blinked entirely too many times to attribute to suddenly dry eyeballs. Mr. Stephenson suddenly needed to fuss with his mustache, but his hand wasn't big enough to cover his squinting eyes and raised cheeks betraying his amusement.

  Well, let them laugh, Lee thought. If that's too common for a fancy place like this they can just be amused. Gordon ordered his usual bottle of brandy, but then Mr. Singh surprised her by saying, "The same as Miss Lee." Was he trying to hospitably cover her gaffe, or was he signaling she had an ally? She had no idea.

  The waiter rolled up what looked like a Carboloy carrier, but it had a big silver bucket on top, with a large tapered bottle tipped over in it. While another server set the other drinks out, an elaborate wire cage was released from the stopper and the fellow grasped it with a towel. The sudden explosive >POFFff< of gas escaping brought Lee out of her chair in pressure drill mode, before she realized it was the champagne.

  "I'm sorry child," Ms. Barrett apologized with apparent sincerity. "I had no idea you didn't realize it was under pressure."

  "Well, I know you didn't test her on purpose Eileen, but she has my vote already as an Able Bodied Spacer. She was damn well going to find a patch and cover that hole, even if the rest of us sat on our asses and let her save us."

  "Have a pull of your drink Missy," Singh said pouring his own by way of demonstration. "It's right about now the glands catch up with the brain and the adrenaline hits you in an after action shock. The whiskey will take the edge off."

  "You're right," Lee agreed holding up her spread fingers that were shaking already. "Would you mix mine?" she asked the server, "I'm afraid I'd spill it right now." The glass of whiskey was generous, but with an appraising look at her condition, the server poured the whole thing over ice and topped it off with dark brown fluid from a bottle with a wasp waist.

  "I've never seen Coke from anything but a can," Lee offered, trying to find something safe to talk about. A long sip of the drink was good, strongly flavored and subtly different than Coke she'd had before, even without the whiskey flavor.

  "It's an anachronism, sort of like our Society," Singh allowed. "We exist because institutions have great inertia," he asserted. "If we tried to form the Society today we'd face all sorts of social and legal barriers. But once something is in place and serves a purpose it's easier to keep it, than all the infighting to see its functions divided up to various factions."

  "Our purpose right now is to manage it in such a way that it continues to serve a purpose, or acquires new ones if the old disappear." He stopped and took a sip himself.

  "A Get Out of Jail card is an example. It was part of the very early society to see spacemen repatriated if they didn't lift with their ship. Sometimes they were such poor workers or difficult to get along with, that their ship left them behind on purpose. One early tale is of a fellow who had such offensive body odor that he was thrown off on Mars. This was when a transit from earth on an economy freighter took a couple weeks," he explained.

  "They knew it wasn't a matter of cleanliness, because the outbound crew had taken matters in their own hands and scrubbed him down with antiseptic toilet cleaner and a very stiff brush. He stank again in just a few hours."

  "They finally sent him home paid passage, by scrubbing him clean and making him wear a suit liner under his civvies when he boarded the passenger liner. About six hours after they shaped orbit the ruse became apparent. The captain of the liner was reprimanded for making him spend most of the voyage in a service airlock and he ran his air reserves down over half way purging the lock rather than recirculating it. Apparently he also made the fellow spend the last two days in a One-Size-Doesn't-Fit-Anybody emergency suit, with the helmet sealed. They said the crew left it on the tarmac when they lifted."

  Lee was grinning, trying not to laugh not for her dignity, but because she didn't want to miss a word. Singh was a superb story teller.

  "But, sadly, quite a few spacers missed ship because they were sitting in the local jail, having celebrated their passage and liberty in a boisterous manner offensive to the locals. Posting bail, even if it was going to be forfeited, was often cheaper than buying passage, so they started issuing cards guaranteeing bond up to a certain limit. Every once in awhile we up the guarantee and try to keep the wording inclusive enough to fit any port law. I understand you have only been on the High Hopes, but you've been in several ports to come so far. Have you ever got on the wrong side of the locals Missy?"

  Lee was about half way through the drink and decidedly relaxing. Getting her to talk was a good thing as it slowed her down finishing it. She immediately thought of the offended Derf who had objected to her riding Gordon and related the story. Singh drew her out, switched with a question at some point to shipboard life on the High Hopes. They swapped stories back and forth all through a lunch, that seemed to be endless small dishes, until they turned sweet without announcing dessert. Finally the table was clear again with a new set of drinks. Her narrative finally wound around and touched on her parents without any urging and they all had a very good idea of who Lee Anderson was without any testing forms.

  "We're sorry for your loss," Singh noted very formally. "You are very fortunate in having someone you know welcoming you as family. And having your find gives you options in your life many survivors lack. One of the longest standing duties of the Society is offering what help we can, to families who lose their provider in the beyond, or indeed just in the occasional accident that befalls workers in as mundane a job as lifting orbitals. I hope it doesn't offend that we didn't offer such support, but it seemed wise to keep it for those in real want."

  "Offend? That would be silly. Gordon indicated I should kick in something if I join the Society and that makes sense to me. I don't know what arrangements he made that way, but we do the same for Red Tree Clan. I haven't been around people a lot, but it seems to me you take care of your own and if you don't mind acknowledging me as yours, I certainly want to pull my weight, not be a burden."

  "As chairman, you had me with the pressure drill. However there is a form for this and we should have it settled now. Would you get me two shot glasses?" he asked the server. When they came he laid one in front of each of his companions and put their napkins over them. "That's so one doesn't influence the other. Set up is yea, turned bottoms up is nay."

  "As if we couldn't sneak a wink, or a silent word past you counselor," Stephenson said, reaching under to cast his vote.

  "Just you try it, Timmy boy."

  Ms. Barrett was done too and Singh lifted both napkins to show the glasses both were a yes vote. "Welcome to the Brotherhood, Miss Anderson. We'll courier your ID over in the morning. I'll send some literature, but all the current news and bylaws are posted on the web."

  "A small correction," Gordon told Lee. "I've mirrored all the other financial transactions on our accounts, but I'm paid up and current with the Society myself, so I didn't set up anything wi
th them for you. It would have seemed too much like bidding on your membership. You can make whatever gift you are moved to offer yourself."

  "Oh," She looked at the officers, "may I ask what sort of an annual budget the Society runs? Or is that private information?"

  "No, to have charitable status we have to make things fairly transparent," Singh said. "We are running around sixty-million USNA dollars a year in dues. We also have a fund with which we were endowed that stands at a couple hundred million. We try to operate on ninety percent of the dues, but it isn't always possible. We never, ever, spend more than the dues and the interest from the endowment fund. By all standards it's a tiny charity."

  "And basically everybody who is a working spacer is a member?" she asked.

  "By no means, membership is optional for workers who never leave the influence of their home port, such as shuttle crews attached to one planet, dock and space station workers orbiting their home world, or ground support workers. And once a person advances to become a commander in charge of a vessel, they are assumed to not need our protection any more, though some keep a membership still. Gordon has done so although he was Master of the High Hopes coming in."

  "One last question. How much do you guys draw a year?"

  "Usually asking a person's wages is too personal in local culture, but again it is a matter of public records for a charity. There are six other board members you have not met. All nine of us sit the board in addition to other responsibilities and take a single dollar USNA annually."

  "Thank you for your trust then," Lee nodded. "I'll have our bankers at Ceres transfer a hundred million USNA dollars to your accounts to increase your endowment. Plus whatever my dues in arrears are of course," she added.

  "I think we can safely just round that off to the closest million," Singh suggested, pleased. "Your support is appreciated, let us assure you."