Waseem looked at his screen. "Maybe ten minutes?"
Darcy shrugged, sat down at her console, and surfed to SurfaceMining.ari.
Darcy felt a brief hum run through the ship as the AG drives spun up and spun down. A moment later the hum returned, and again dropped away.
Waseem typed something at his keyboard and leaned back in his chair. "The cal run should take care of itself for a few minutes."
Darcy saw that the disagreement between Fournier and Mike had reached the front page of SMA. Crap. Mike had been stressed recently, and this wasn't going to help.
Waseem craned his neck and looked at Darcy's screen. "Oh, I read that. That story makes no sense. Mike wouldn't try to steal Fournier's space, would he?"
"No."
"So what -"
"I shouldn't speculate."
Waseem took the hint and let the conversation drop. Thank goodness. Waseem was a nice kid, but -
"So how long have you two been dating?"
Darcy tried not to roll her eyes. Maybe if she answered one or two questions he'd let it go. "Ten years."
"Mike must be really cool. I mean, escaping, founding Aristillus, digging all those -"
"Cool?" Darcy suppressed a laugh. "No, Mike's not exactly what you'd call cool."
Waseem looked disappointed. She realized that Mike must be a sort of hero to the poor kid. She took pity on him and opened up a little. "Mike's not cool. He's...effective. That's not quite the right word, but - yeah - let's leave it at effective."
Waseem seemed downcast. "Effective?"
Darcy sighed. "Have you ever met him?"
"No. I just saw the interviews. Well, the one. Why doesn't he give more - "
"Because - as I've been telling you - he's not 'cool.' He doesn't care about promoting himself. He's got hours to tinker with an old bike, or to design a rifle, but he doesn't have thirty seconds to talk about himself." She sighed. "Explaining himself to others - heck, working with others - isn't one of his hobbies."
"So you like Mike because he's effective?"
Darcy looked at Waseem quizzically. "No. I like Mike because ... well, because he's a force of nature."
"I know what you mean. I've met a few CEOs back on Earth. Like Steve Bowser, of Transportation Solu-"
Darcy shook his head. "No, Mike is nothing like Steve Bowser."
"But the forcefulness -"
Darcy found herself growing annoyed. "When Bowser was arrested in the CEO Trials he turned state's witness and gave false testimony about other executives. That's how he got his current job. Mike would never do something like that." She paused. "He had the opportunity and he didn't do anything like that."
Waseem nodded. "Yeah, I read about that." He paused. "So, would you say that you and Mike -"
Darcy put on a smile - polite, but icy cold. "Waseem, Mike and I really don't like to talk about our personal lives. You understand, don't you?"
Waseem was suddenly embarrassed and backpedaled. "Oh, of course. Sure." He looked down, then back up. "Sorry."
"No harm done." She tried to give him another smile, a little warmer, to take a bit of the sting out of the slap, and then turned back conspicuously to the console. Her browser was still displaying the front page of SurfaceMining.ari - along with the article that had started the whole conversation. She clicked it closed, opened a new tab, and typed in a URL for an Earth news website. There was the normal few seconds of lag, but then the icon kept spinning. The page wasn't loading. She clicked refresh and got the same result.
Hmmm. That was odd. She turned away from her console. "How's that calibration coming?"
"Just tweaking the third-order variables in the PID loop. Maybe three more minutes."
Darcy clicked "reload" on the page, but it again refused to come up.
Chapter 14
2064: Goldwater facility, Aristillus, Lunar Nearside
Darren Hollins, the CEO of Goldwater Mining & Refining, stared at the bookshelf in his office, but he was deep in thought and the spines of the books were a blur.
He swivelled in his chair to face Arnold. "The prospecting satellites are only five years old. Either one going out is possible, but do you really think they'd both go out at the same time? No, there's something else going on."
Arnold opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted when his phone beeped. He looked at it and then turned to Darren. "I sent an email to John about some mineral deposits I want him to look at while he's hiking the Moscow Sea." He paused. "And they bounced."
Darren shrugged. "You're saying that like there's some significance. What's the point?"
"We rent bandwidth from Gamma. If our satellites go out, the email should have been forwarded by Gamma's birds. But it didn't, so we know they're dead too."
Darren took a deep breath. "OK, so it's war, then."
"An invasion this soon?"
"No invasion. Not yet, anyway. I don't have many contacts, but I've got some, and I'd know if there was an invasion planned. But it's starting."
Arnold cocked his head. "So what do we do? Mike Martin has been talking about this for years. I can set up a face-to-"
"Slow - slow. We don't know how this is going to play out, and we don't need to jump into bed with Martin so quickly."
"Why not? If this is the war starting, then he was right all along. We need to talk to him."
"Yeah, he was right - but he's also a loose cannon. Being right about the problem doesn't mean he's also right about the correct response. Some situations are better handled with finesse. Look how he handled the CEO Trials."
Arnold raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't underestimate him. He built Aristillus. He's a fighter -"
"I'm not underestimating him, Arnold. Not at all. You've met him, right? You know his energy. It's just that being a fighter isn't always the right strategy. This might be a situation that can be resolved via negotiation."
Arnold looked dubious. "That worked in Peru because we had contacts. We knew who to talk to, and we got word before the mine nationalizations happened. Here, we don't even know what's going on, or who to -"
Darren held up a hand. "Solvable problems."
"Solvable how?"
"What do we mine?"
"Gold."
"Indeed. If we need to develop contacts in DC, we've got the means to do that."
Chapter 15
2064: Moscow Sea, Lunar Farside
The walls of the tent arched from the floor and met overhead, the blue rip-stop inner layer divided into hexagons by the heat-pipes.
John balanced the plate in his lap and used a fork to twirl a ball of noodles before spearing a chunk of Cajun chicken.
Blue said "Do you miss the food in Aristillus?"
John swallowed. "I like most of the meal packs in the supply drops." He smiled. "And Duncan is always willing to trade for the other two, right D?"
Duncan looked up from his plate, gave a bark of agreement, and turned back to his food.
"But you humans have more taste buds than we do. Darcy is always taking about the restaurants and the street vendors and -
"And dabbawala delivery men. And custom dumpling vending bots. Yeah, I know; I've heard her. Darcy's a foodie. Not all of us care that much. Besides, meal packs remind me of being back in the service. The good parts."
Max's ears pricked, his mangled left one only rising to half mast. "Speaking of the army, do you ever -"
John grimaced and changed the subject. "Is this the last of the cajun chicken?"
Blue nodded. "Until the next drop."
Duncan's ears stood at attention at the topic of food. "When is the next drop? "
John tried to remember the exact dates but Blue beat him to it. "The last one was five days ago, so the next is another six from now."
Duncan held his plate up and licked it, and proposed, "Let's get more chicken next time."
John nodded. An easy enough request.
Rex saw an opening in the conversation. "We never settled the question about better d
ata from Gamma."
John sighed. "What is there to settle? He gives us the data he gives us."
"Why doesn't he give us better data?"
"You might as well ask why he gives us any data at all. A secret to happiness is be thankful for what you have, not resentful for what you don't have."
Duncan licked his already clean plate once more and then asked, "So why does Gamma give us any data at all?"
John shrugged. "You already know my theory – Gamma is bored and we're one big reality TV show." "You should ask him."
"I have asked him. Gamma doesn't like to talk about himself. He keeps turning it around into -"
John was interrupted by a chime from his suit. That was odd. He swallowed one last spoonful of pasta, chicken, and cream sauce before tossing his plate into the cleaner, walking to the edge of the tent, and bending low under the curving roof. With a practiced maneuver he stuck his arm into the mating hole and reached up inside the suit to snap the com unit out of its recess in the back of his helmet.
John looked at it, and then looked up at the four Dogs. "We've lost contact with Gamma - three overflights, and no email, not one package update - nothing."
Blue looked at him. "What does that mean?"
John shook his head. "I don't know."
Chapter 16
2064: Benue River Restaurant, Aristillus, Lunar Nearside
Mike looked at the menu on the wallscreens over the stainless steel counter. He had no idea what to order. "Bao, you picked Nigerian - what's good?"
"I like the goat meat burrito with a side of dodo. Dodo - that's fried plantains."
"Burrito? Is this a Nigerian place or Mexican?"
"Chiwetel likes Tex Mex, so there are a few funky things on the menu. Trust me, though, you'll like it.”
They reached the front of the line. A young smiling black face looked up at them from behind the register. The girl couldn't be more than thirteen, Mike guessed.
Mike ordered first. "Hey there - I'll have the goat burrito and - what was it? 'Dodo' ?"
The girl nodded, then lilted his order back to him. "One goat burrito and one dodo, coming up. You probably want some obe soup with that too, I bet. Ground tomatoes, chicken, onions - spicy, and really good. It's my dad's specialty!"
Mike, amused, looked at her more closely. Above the clean uniform top (with a nametag that announced her as 'Ewoma'), there was a well scrubbed face, a wide smile, and hair that seemed intent on escaping - at least a little - the constraining bun.
"Nice pitch, kid, but I'm not in the mood for soup. Tell you what, though - I'll let you upsell me something to drink."
Ewoma nodded and recited cheerfully, "We've got ten kinds of beer on tap, eight local and two imports, and another twelve kinds of bottles. The menu's up there." She pointed to a wallscreen with a flourish. "All of them are ice cold. Just the thing to wash down a spicy burrito!"
Mike shook his head. "Have iced tea?"
Ewoma, now off script, dropped into a more natural, but still cheerful, tone. "We've got iced strawberry zobo - it's tea, with fruit juice and sugar. I like it."
"OK, great, give me a large zobo." Mike paused and looked at Ewoma more closely. "How old are you?"
Ewoma looked at Bao and got a quick nod. "I'm twelve."
"You're great at your job, but shouldn't you be in school now? It's not even 2pm."
She looked at Bao and again apparently saw whatever it was she was looking for. "I was in school in Nigeria during the Troubles, and then the school and half the town got burned down when the PKs came, so my mom and dad home-schooled me - and they still are."
Mike nodded in acknowledgement. Lots of people in Aristillus had similar stories. "You know, Meade Prep isn't that expensive; even if your folks -"
Ewoma lost her deference and crossed her arms. "My folks said I'd go to Saint Patrick's if I went anywhere, but even that's a waste of time. I can learn all the academic stuff online in the morning and then I can get to work before the lunch rush starts. And here I get to talk to customers, and order inventory - I even helped my dad fix the walk-in when it broke. I don't want to go to school."
Mike mimed rocking back on his heels and held up one hand, as if to ward off an attack, but he was grinning. "Well, holy crap - OK, you win." Mike reached for his wallet but stopped halfway there. "Make sure you come talk to me if you're ever interested in working for a bigger business."
Ewoma uncrossed her arms and smiled. "I like working with my mom and dad...and besides, profits are up 12% since last quarter, and the revenue per square meter is 10% above average for this neighborhood, so why would I want to leave? But even if I do decide to leave some day I'd rather work for myself than a boss."
Mike blinked. "I can respect that." He paused and thought for a moment. "...but take my card anyway." Mike tapped a button on his phone to send her the information.
Ewoma looked down at her phone and her eyes widened. "You're Mike Martin?"
Mike nodded. "Yeah."
"The Mike Martin?"
Mike grimaced. "One and only."
"Oh, wow! I can't wait to tell my dad." Ewoma looked down at the register. "Let me clear this - lunch is on the house."
"I appreciate the offer, but I can't accept -"
"No, really, my mom and dad -"
Mike held up a finger. "I do appreciate it. Look, if you really want to give away food, give it to someone else in line. But I'm paying. I insist."
Ewoma narrowed her eyes and stared at him hard, then finally tilted her head in acknowledgement. "Let me shake your hand, though."
Mike looked around and saw that people were staring. Jesus. He sighed, and then leaned over the counter and quickly shook hands before paying and collecting his food from the far end of the counter.
Bao and Mike settled down at a table, surrounded by a sea of dark faces. Bao smiled. "So what do you think of Ewoma?"
"I hope she never decides to go into the tunnel boring business."
Bao laughed. Mike took a bite of his burrito. "You were right about this place - not bad at all." He swallowed and then looked at Bao. "But let me get down to it. Two topics. The first - I've told you about that bullshit with Leroy and the tunnels, right?"
Bao nodded.
"Kevin at Mason Dixon said he'd talked to Aaronson's registry, but the negotiations are going nowhere. Aaronson and Leroy are dicks, and Kevin's a nice guy, so he's getting his ass handed to him. I think we might need a show of force to get Leroy and Aaronson to back down."
"A show of force?" Bao said.
"Yeah, I thought -"
"And more importantly, 'we'? 'We' who?"
"Trusted Security. Your -"
"Mike, Trusted Security is basically mall cops. Literally mall cops on some of our contracts. Our work for you - guarding your equipment storage warehouses and breaking up an occasional bar brawl between your roughnecks - is about as deep in the shit as we get. We're not an army."
"Your guys are armed."
"Yeah, technically, but in six years, my guys have never shot anyone. Mike, my guys get promoted based on customer feedback, and they lose their weekly bonuses if they draw their weapons. What do you think that does for corporate culture? Think about the kind of people we hire - and who we fire." He turned up his palms. "If you think I've got a company of light infantry in my back pocket, you couldn't be more wrong. The biggest action we ever had was a Mexican standoff with a Chinese shake-down gang at an herbal medicine shop - and I had four guys quit because of that."
"A Mexican standoff with a Chinese shake-down gang? That should be the punchline to a joke."
"Listen to me. You want us to do a show of force against Aaronson's Cartesian Registry Service? Aaronson is backed by Fournier, and Fournier uses Abacha for security. Abacha. You know their reputation. So we're going to start playing tough guy, and go up against Abacha? Screw that. No way I want to borrow that trouble."
Mike scowled. "If you won't intimidate Fournier and Aaronson, then who will? I've talk
ed to most of the other security firms -"
"Not my problem."
Mike sat back in his chair, frustrated. "OK, look - I know it's not your current business model, but you could open a new division. With the way the tunnels are expanding, and the rate at which refugees are arriving here from Earth, you know that your firm is going to be twice the size by next year."
"I hope so - but that doesn't change the fact that there's no market demand for an infantry company."
Mike pressed his lips together and then played his final trump card. "The Earth governments are going to be up here in a few years - you know that they're not going to let us go without a fight. So we're going to need infantry to fight them off -"
Bao shook his head. "With the economic collapse they're in, they're not going to come up here - they're too busy fighting over the scraps. If you ask me, Aristillus is a service to them: we're an escape valve for the disaffected. They want us here, to drain away the partisans from Texas, Alaska, Nigeria -.” He paused. "Besides, they don't have the AG drive."
"So you're refusing to staff up a heavy weapons group?"
"Mike, if you want a private army at your beck and call, you're going to have to build it yourself."
Mike stared at him for a long moment. "Maybe I will."
* * *
Mike and Bao bussed their plates and then stepped out of the restaurant and into the tunnel. Out on the sidewalk Mike looked up at the tidy buildings. "I was in HKL recently."
"HKL? They used to call that Old Office Park, right?"
"Yeah, that's the one." Mike pursed his lips. "Place is a mess now - disorganized and sloppy."
Bao looked around at the tidy storefronts and the clean apartments and shrugged. "Remember what this place looked like four, five years ago? It took some time, but Little Nigeria is nice now - people have been setting up restaurants, learning enough English to fit in, accumulating capital. The Chinese influx only picked up steam with Chairman Peng's Second Heavenly Campaign. Give them time. They'll fit in soon enough."
"No, that wasn't a culture rant - I was talking about the infrastructure. Messy plumbing. They've got extension cords stretched over the road bed. They've got catwalks made out of old scaffolding, for God's sake, and - "
The Powers of the Earth (Aristillus Book 1) Page 6
