The two stared at each other for a long moment.
Kevin broke the silence. "Before we can even talk about a one-time resolution, we can never have a problem like this again. This - issue - proves the system isn't working. We need some third party system to sign and publish all the registrations."
Aaronson looked surprised. Surprised? Had this bully actually been thinking he and Fournier might get away with running the same shakedown more than once? After a moment Aaronson shrugged. "OK, fine. Have your tech guys talk to mine. But that's not going to be cheap. Let's change that number from four to five."
"Bullshit. Two, and the new system is in place within two weeks."
"Three."
"No, two."
"Three."
"Come on, Aaronson, meet me in the middle."
"What's the middle?"
"Two point five."
"OK, tell you what - halfway from there to three. Two point seven five."
Kevin realized that he should probably sleep on this. This was a huge amount of money - probably more than the paper profits the firm had ever generated. He'd have to borrow heavily to make this happen - but he wanted this Aaronson annoyance out of his life, and he wanted Mike to stop bothering him about the issue.
He nodded. "OK, we've got a deal of two point seven five...and we have that new logging system up and running by the end of the week."
Aaronson shrugged. "I've got your offer of 2.75. I'll talk to Fournier and see what he thinks." He smiled coolly.
Kevin could feel his right eye twitching as he turned and left.
Chapter 26
2064: Morlock Engineering office, Aristillus, Lunar Nearside
Mike leaned back in his chair, put his boots on the steel plank desk and tipped the wireframe model of the D-series TBM forward and back on his slate.
The D-series was sweet. It had a 40 meter diameter - double that of the current top-of-the-line C-series machines. Of course, the huge cross section came with a staggering cost. Not to mention that sourcing the parts locally would mean even more money: investing in joint partnerships with vendors, paying to get them to tool up to build the thing.
It'd take some work to raise the capital, but then, oh, the ROI! Not to mention the vast tunnels he'd bore. The overhead disneys and atmospherics in Aristillus were good now, but with tunnels 40 meters across -
His phone rang. He glanced at it - Fournier. Mike let it ring and then go to voicemail as he zoomed in on the cutter head of the mining machine. Twice the diameter meant four times the cross section, and that meant the machine was going to take four times as many cutting teeth, which meant -
His phone rang again. It was Fournier. Again.
Mike answered, annoyed. "What? No, Leroy, I'm not coming to your office. Kevin passed along Aaronson's blackmail attempt, and I've got three words: Go. Fuck. Yourself. You're not getting a penny from either one of us."
Leroy's tone might sound civilized and cool to someone who didn't know him, but to Mike every syllable telegraphed smarm and deception. "Mike, Mike - blackmail? Let's back up. If that's what you've heard then clearly there's been a misunderstanding between Kevin and Neil. Look, I know you don't like me very much, but let's settle this like adults. There's a lot at stake - Veleka Water can't get into that tunnel until we settle our diff -"
"You think I'm going to pay you to make this right? Screw it. I'll eat ten million in losses before I pay you a penny - and I'll make sure that Veleka and everyone else knows that you caused this problem."
There was a long pause from the other end of the line, then Leroy continued. The smarminess was gone and the son of a bitch actually sounded a bit conciliatory. "Mike, I'm not asking you to pay anything. Mistakes were made, we can work it out. Maybe some of the problem was my fault -"
"Some?"
"Mike, I can eat crow. But meet me halfway. I'm going to be in my office from four 'til five, and I'd like you to swing by. It'll be worth your while."
Mike grunted noncommittally and hung up. He picked his slate up and zoomed in on the arms that placed prefab tunnel wall segments in position... but he couldn't get Fournier out of his head.
Was it possible that the guy was actually being reasonable?
Screw him. Fournier'd been insufferable from the moment he stepped off the boat with nothing but the clothes on his back, a huge trust fund, and four brand new German-made TBMs.
And oh, the arrogance. For the first year or more it seemed that Fournier couldn't let a conversation with anyone go by without reminding them he was richer than Mike, the man who'd started the colony. How could anyone tolerate him? Yet they did.
It had taken three years, but how sweet it had been when Mike pulled back ahead of Fournier in the annual Davidson Equities Analysis rankings.
Mike looked at the slate and realized that he'd been tilting the same image back and forth for several minutes. Damn it. He was obsessing about Leroy and not paying attention to the cutter-teeth of the D-series. Crap - he'd let the asshole inside his head.
Mike scowled and tried to push the situation out of his mind. On the slate the TBM wall segment arms stared back at him. A moment ago he'd been entranced by them and now the CAD model swum in his vision. He paged angrily to another diagram and zoomed in on the digging shield and the hydraulic rams. He scrolled it back and forth, unable to make anything of it.
He couldn't regain his concentration. Damn it.
Mike was more than willing to tell Fournier to go fuck himself. He'd take a huge financial penalty when he couldn't deliver the tunnel to Veleka Waterworks, but Fournier'd be fucked too: a half dug tunnel was of no use to anyone.
He contemplated the idea for a minute.
A big middle finger to Fournier would be satisfying, but he couldn't afford the penalties right now - he needed that cash to get the D-series built.
Fuck.
Mike pulled his boots off the desk, stood up, and swapped his slate for his phone. His finger hung over the screen indecisively. He absolutely refused to pay the blackmail that Neil had told him about...but Fournier had pooh-poohed the idea earlier. Was it possible that Neil had misunderstood? Was Fournier really willing to settle this like adults?
He wouldn't count on it, but maybe there was a chance. And with all the other shit going on - Earth attacking the satellites, the ominous rumblings and pointed leaks from DC - resolving just this one thing would help.
Chapter 27
2064: May Bug Coffee House, Aristillus, Lunar Nearside
Mike mopped up his maple syrup with the last chunk of his French toast. Damn, it was good. What was the secret? When he tried to cook French toast it ended tasting like bread in a thin layer of sulphury eggs. Thank God there were tons of restaurants now - the early days had been exciting, but he didn't miss squatting in a tent and eating canned-stew-and-rock-grit while wearing a space suit.
Darcy said, "You know, I could cook that for you at home."
Mike swallowed and shook his head. "Coffee's better here." He waited. And on cue -
Darcy exploded "What are you talking about? The coffee here is exactly the same! You even insisted that I buy their beans." She spluttered to a stop. "Oh."
Mike grinned, having tricked her yet again. She crossed her arms but couldn't resist smiling. "Michael Martin, you are the biggest pain in the butt it has ever been my misfortune to meet."
Mike took a sip of his coffee, nodded in agreement. "It's true. I really am terrible to you."
Darcy began to wad up her napkin as if to throw it at Mike but he put up one hand, placatingly. "OK, OK, fine. I wanted to come here because in an hour I'm meeting with a few guys about carbide teeth for the new D-series."
"Local fabrication?"
"I hope so. The carbide-crystal- growing ovens they need are expensive, but I'm going to make introductions and try to help them get the funding."
Darcy shook her head. "The lack of capital bites us again."
Mike nodded. "I was complaining to Javier about it yesterd
ay. Turns out there's a name for it - 'the curse of the frontier.’ They had the same problem two hundred years ago building railroads and canals in the US."
"So what's the solution?"
Mike's face clouded. "Government bonds."
Darcy laughed. And, despite himself, he laughed with her.
She asked, "So you've got a meeting on carbide teeth - how's the rest of the D-series coming? Picked a fab shop for the cutter shield?"
Mike realized what Darcy was doing: deftly steering the conversation away from a discussion of government, a topic guaranteed to get him riled. He knew she was doing it, but damn it, the distraction worked. He loved the D series and he loved to talk about it. The systems were so elegant and the maintenance was going to be so much easier. Not only would it cut a wider tunnel, but with 60% lower downtime it would cut more distance per day. Mike leaned into the topic and explained the improved hydraulic pumps in the cutter head thrust system - and then he looked up and saw Darcy's glazed eyes. Damn it, he'd nerded out again.
He stumbled to a halt. "...uh... so, anyway, the design is coming along well." He shifted gears awkwardly. "But, um, what are you doing today?"
"Preflight on the Wookkiee at hangar three -"
Mike put his coffee down. "Already?"
"Bilge Demir at Veleka paid for another load of water, and you've had a load of earth movers ready to go at Tho Quang for a week now."
Mike scowled. "You know I don't like you heading out on these runs. And now that Gamma's sats got burned -"
"Someone's got to do them."
"That doesn't mean it has to be you!"
"Someday I'll be married and have kids. Maybe." The last word was pointed. "Until then, I've got a career."
Mike scowled. This argument. Again. "We've been over this. Building Aristillus takes all of my time right now."
"How much time does it take to get married?"
"That's not - you know what I mean."
"No, Mike, I don't."
He looked around. He hated this conversation - and he especially hated it in public.
He leaned in. "I've got to build Aristillus. We need population, industry - everything. The war is coming, and we have to get ready."
Darcy put her napkin on the table. "If we've got to build industry and bring people here, my job is even more important than I realized. I should get on to it right now."
"Hey, that's not fair. In a few years -"
"Mike, if we're in this as a family, then you get to tell me if it's safe to fly or not. But if we're in this for some greater goal - well, the city needs me to fly."
She stood.
"Wait - Darcy, wait." He stood. "It's dangerous out there - and it's getting worse by the day."
"Then I should start the run as soon as possible, shouldn't I?"
Mike watched her departing back.
God damn it.
How the hell had that gone so wrong so fast?
Chapter 28
2064: South China Sea, Pacific Ocean, Earth
Captain Tudel stood in the swaying assault boat, one gloved hand holding the railing in front of him, the other steadying the light-amplifying binoculars. Where the hell was the freighter? He was sick of this - sick of the stench of the salt air, sick of standing up in an assault boat all night long, sick of -
Wait. There, amongst the phosphorescent glow of ocean algae, a streak, black against dark gray. He tapped the pilot on the shoulder and pointed. A moment later the motor whined and the boat surged.
Would this be the one?
The first ship they'd seized had been a false lead - they'd searched every millimeter of it and hadn't found any of the odd machinery, the extra battery packs, or the thick power cables that the advisers had told them to look for. Nothing special, just a fucking blockade runner full of rice, electronics, and other useless crap.
Trailing that first ship, waiting until it was far enough from shore, taking it, searching it, and then rewarding his men with some of the crew before the cleanup and the scuttling had taken four days. Four days of bullshit.
And now they were three days into the search for this one, and it was probably going to be another charlie foxtrot.
God damn it, he didn't have time for another disappointment; his review was coming up in another five weeks. The promotion board for light colonel was tight - tighter than any other board he'd been through yet. And this was his last chance. Up or out. He needed something impressive, and he needed it soon.
Fuck.
But maybe this freighter, growing larger in his binoculars each time they crested a wave, maybe this one would be the one they were looking for.
It had better be.
Six minutes later the pilot turned the wheel and cut the power and they fell into an easy pace, riding alongside the much larger ship.
The pilot nudged the assault boat - and then they were touching the bigger ship. Tudel reached out and touched the freighter's hull...and felt the thick rubbery coating. For a moment he didn't believe it, but he pushed again and felt it give. Damn. Just like the advisers had said. For the first time in months he smiled.
"All right, people, let's go!"
A second later there were muted pops and rope ladders snaked up the sheer wall of the hull. A moment after that, a dozen of the able-bodied began the long climb. Tudel put a hand on the ladder and followed them. Behind him the other boats in the squad pulled closer.
By the time Tudel clambered over the gunwale railing the first squad was already splitting in half. One fire team set up a perimeter while the other assembled the winches and prepared to haul the Alternately Abled Soldiers up.
Which was more fucking bullshit. Not only did he have to haul the gimps around just to make quota, but then he had to do a delicate dance: give them too much action and they complained that they were being unfairly put in danger, and give them too little and they complained that they weren't being given the opportunities they needed for advancement.
Not to mention the fucking hassle of dealing with the rest of his troops when they pissed and moaned about the AAS. The American troops took the sensitivity training seriously - most of their mocking and eye-rolling took place when no one could see it - but the Nampulas and the Colombians weren't as polished. They'd mock the six soldiers that they were constantly hauling up, belaying down, or carrying packs for, and they'd do it publicly. But if he called them on their shit, or God forbid, used a bit of discipline? Then they'd hold the fucking racial harassment statutes over his head like -
Tudel felt the tap on his shoulder. He looked around. The AAS were up and the platoon was ready. Good.
He pointed to one lieutenant and indicated that his platoon should guard the toehold, then pointed to the second one. Leapfrog. That way.
The orders were passed and the platoon began to move toward the stern where the four story bridge was located.
Halfway there his earpiece crackled. "Captain, check it - I see some of those power cables they told us to look -"
God damn it. "Radio silence, asshole!"
- and then Klieg lights on the bridge tower snapped on.
The troops ahead of him were black silhouettes against the white glare and the deck was streaked with long shadows cast by his men and the equipment on the deck. There was a frozen moment, and then Tudel and his men scrambled for cover behind cargo containers, stanchions, and pipes.
Tudel keyed his mike and was about to ask his lieutenants for a sitrep when he saw that privates Erik and Michelle, two of his goddamn waivu, were standing in the middle of the bright deck looking lost.
"Get down, you assholes!”
The loudspeakers on the ship crackled to life. "You, on the deck - identify yourselves." A brief pause, and then "...and surrender!"
"...And surrender"? As an after thought? Jesus. As fucked as his own unit was, the idiots in the ship were even less organized. A good sign. Tudel let go of his mike and cupped his hands around his mouth. "This is a joint United States / United Nation
Peacekeeper action force and this ship is under our control - surrender now!"
There was silence from the loudspeakers.
Tudel slid his hand back to his mike. "First Platoon: cover the windows on the bridge. Fire if you see any movement. Second Platoon: leapfrog forward and take the door."
Second Platoon stood and rushed and Tudel slid out from behind the stanchion where he'd crouched and joined them. It took long seconds to cover the hundred meters of deck, and the unit - disorganized and sloppy - spread out as it moved. Tudel wished he could say he was surprised, but he'd have been more surprised if they executed well. Fuck it; you deal with the material you're handed.
Tudel reached the last equipment cluster before the bridge and stopped to look over his shoulder. Half his troops were still straggling forward. God damn it.
Suddenly there were loud thumps from somewhere below, as if heavy equipment buried somewhere in the ship was being activated, then an overwhelming smell of ozone hit him. What the hell? A moment after the smell reached him, a deep thrumming sound, not quite mechanical but not quite electronic either, whispered into his head. It started quiet but got louder by the second, and a moment later he could feel it in his gut. He took a step forward and almost tripped, catching himself with one hand on the equipment.
The deck felt unsteady, as if the ship was tilting to one side. Tudel looked at his feet, then at the sea - but, no, the sea was calm. What the fuck? Did the expats in this ship have some sort of weird weapon - some area denial shit? He looked at the trailing troops again, still straggling toward the position. Most of them were leaning awkwardly to the left as they jogged, and then one tripped.
The thrumming note increased in volume, and his stomach lurched. And then he knew. He keyed his mike. "We've got the right ship - and they've turned on the drive. They're launching! Take the door. Now, now, now!"
Tudel didn't wait to see if the order was understood or obeyed - he ran. The sensation that the deck was tilting grew stronger. Gravity was no longer pulling straight down, but off to one side.
Ahead of him the first soldier to reach the door tugged on the handle and - nothing. Locked.
The Powers of the Earth (Aristillus Book 1) Page 11
