Neil turned his attention from the vehicles to the people. A trained observer - and he was one - would note that it was a typical cross section of north country farmers, miners, and construction workers. There were fewer women and children than one would find on an average street, but there were some. Almost all of the people climbing out of their vehicles were wearing backpacks and most were carrying tool bags or pushing hand trucks loaded with boxes and small crates.
A line was starting to form up near the warehouse roll-up door. Neil looked at his phone.
It was time.
He swung himself out of the truck. Without a word, the other men in the cab and the bed of the truck got out and began unloading their own duffel bags and boxes.
He heard the gates being dragged shut and a chain rustling.
Neil zipped his Carhartt jacket over his Melbourne Reconstruction Electrical Services t-shirt, slung one duffel bag strap over a shoulder and lifted his other duffel and his tools, and headed to join the line.
To his left a guard climbed the rungs on the side of a shipping container. Neil put his load down and watched without making it obvious. The man clambered to the top, reached into his pocket, fumbled with a small device, and put the thing back in his pocket. Neil's phone beeped at him and he pulled it out and looked at it. The 'no signal' icon was flashing. Jammers. He nodded in approval; these guys were competent. More competent than the majority of the people he'd worked with in his career.
The man on the container yelled to get everyone's attention then addressed the crowd. "OK, the gates are locked - this is it. You should have a printed barcode receipt, but if you're a last-minute addition, get your gold out and make sure that the two people vouching for you are standing nearby."
He paused for a moment and looked around the crowd. "If you don't have your receipt or the gold, we'll deal with that... but you're not getting on the ship tonight. Anyone here who doesn't have one or the other?" He waited a moment and then continued. "OK, good. In a minute we're going to open the door, and I'm going to ask you to walk into this warehouse -" he gestured " - and we'll process you out the back and onto the boat.
"If you've shipped cargo ahead, it should already be on board. For carry-on stuff, you've got to carry it with you or get someone to help you; we're not porters." He looked behind him, at someone hidden from Neil and the others in the queue, and apparently got a sign. "OK, no need to shove, but let's get moving. The boat leaves the dock in thirty minutes."
The routine was well choreographed - the warehouse door rolled up a few seconds later and several workers in logoless yellow t-shirts that still conveyed 'I'm an official' fanned out to help massage the mass of people into a line.
Neil picked up his rip-stop duffel and his battered tool chest. The other men on his crew hoisted their packs, duffels, and plastic bucket tool organizers, and shuffled forward as the line started moving.
There was quiet conversation elsewhere in the line, but Neil and his men stayed silent. This was it; what else was there to say?
Five minutes later the band of electricians had passed through the door and were in the warehouse. A yellow-shirted guide consulted a slate and dispatched each traveler to separate queues. Neil followed his directions to the leftmost scanning station.
Neil put his bags on the folding table. A yellow shirt pushed them through a scanning box with a logo that said 'Soredex Dental Imaging Division.’ Neil stepped through the scanning gate.
The man behind the table used his slate to scan the unfolded printout that Neil held out for him. "No guns?"
"Didn't think there was much call for them."
The staff member looked at him. "Seppo?"
"Huh?"
"You're American?"
"Back and forth. Childhood here, then over there after fourth grade - fourth form - then back here for the Reconstruction."
"Carpetbagger, eh?"
Neil shrugged. "I try not to get involved in politics."
The yellow-shirted worker let his gaze drift down to the Melbourne Reconstruction Electrical Services logo on Neil's shirt that was peaking through the top of his Carhartt jacket. "You take the PK's coin?"
"Figure I paid most of that coin in the first place - is it a crime to want some of it back?"
"Not a fan of the peakers?"
The electrician looked around. "I don't reckon that any of us here sold our furniture and let our leases lapse because we're fans of the PKs."
The man in the yellow shirt snorted. "Fucking well said, mate. OK, grab your bags and queue up at that door over there."
Captain Dewitt smiled. He wasn't much of an actor, but his "Neil Keenum" routine had worked perfectly.
He picked up his luggage and walked to the indicated door. Behind him were his dozen hand-picked men - all combat vets, all US citizens, and not a single one of them with a clean cultural sensitivity rating in their personnel file.
Twenty-five minutes later they were aboard the Wayward and the lines were cast off.
Two hours after that the engine cut off and the cargo freighter rolled in the dark sea - and then Captain Dewitt heard the deep thrumming and felt the weird sideways twisting in his stomach as the anti-gravity drive powered up.
Chapter 64
2064: MaisonNeuve Construction office, Aristillus, Lunar Nearside
Leroy broke the connection, waited for a second, and let the carefully composed look on his face fall. He slumped deeper into his chair, and then, after a moment, leaned forward and pulled the glass of gin from where it had been stashed out of camera view.
Father. What a miserable son of a bitch. Leroy took a sip, then raised the glass to mockingly toast the empty room. Now that the phone was off, he addressed the man. "Etienne, you self-satisfied asshole...do you have to make it that hard to get just a small loan from the family trust?"
Leroy took another sip.
And, of course, he'd had to choke down the lectures about Addison's most recent promotion in the ministry, and Leon's and Martial's newest triumphs.
God damn his brothers. Success came so easily to them - they'd had their paths paved by Etienne. Connections to banks, introductions to venture capitalists...the paterfamilias was willing to help them out. But for him? What did Father give to Leroy? He'd invested just a pittance in LawLink. Then, after that failed, he'd barely helped with Greenstar at all. Sure, lots of advice, a loan - a small loan! - and introductions to investors...but he'd done nothing to sell the deal. Without real investors where did that leave him?
Leroy poured a second - and then capped the bottle. Just two, no more. He had to figure out his next step. That miserable son of a bitch Martin hadn't coughed up the cash he'd hoped for, and now father released only a fraction of what he needed...
Lack of follow-through - that was Father's problem. He'd helped with the first two companies...and, of course, another small pittance for MaisonNeuve. But when LawLink had regulatory problems, or Greenstar didn't get funding, or MaisonNeuve's TBMs broke down and needed expensive modifications for the lunar basalt, where was father? Off at charity balls, or golfing with his partners, or sailing with his "friends.”
Bah.
The glass was empty again. Leroy started to reach for the bottle, and then remembered his promise to himself.
He thought about the loan from the family trust. A loan, not a disbursement. Damn it, he'd never have had to take the money in the first place if Martin had paid up. Why hadn't the man been reasonable? Leroy had tunneled that cubic - and it was closer to where his TBMs were located anyway.
What the fuck was wrong with Martin? A man had to play ball from time to time, and Martin, that miserable shit, didn't - wouldn't - understand that simple fact.
Leroy leaned forward and poured himself a third glass. He toasted the room again, spilling a splash on his desk. "Martin, you bastard, here's to you!"
He took a sip, and then leaned forward and wiped the spilled gin off the wooden desk with his handkerchief before the alcohol could make t
he shellac sticky.
Fuck you, Mike Martin. You'll get yours.
Chapter 65
2064: May Bug Coffee House, Aristillus, Lunar Nearside
Hugh breathed deep. The coffee house smelled good - better than it had any right to smell. Fresh roasted coffee, blueberry muffins, something cinnamony -
"So what do you think?"
Hugh looked at Louisa. "You mean about what story we should do?"
Louisa rolled her eyes. "What else are we talking about?"
Hugh looked down at the table, embarrassed. "Well, we've got a lot of possibilities. Tax avoidance -"
"Link death. That won't get any hits at all, unless we package it as a 'Ten Things' list, and that's utterly inappropriate."
Hugh felt that Louisa was waiting for him to agree, so he nodded. "Right, of course not. But there are other topics: lack of regulation, pollution of the surface - "
"I like that. Here's an angle: it's a UN Heritage site. Shows their disrespect.”
"Right. Uh, also industrial and labor issues. Are they using undocumented workers -"
"They're all undocumented."
Even without meeting Louisa's eyes Hugh knew the look of disappointment there. He looked around for support. Selena was paying attention as she sipped her coffee, but didn't seem to be taking a side. Allyson was picking at the take-out vegetarian pad Thai in front of her with her chopsticks and seemingly ignoring both of them.
Hugh continued gamely. "Yeah. But economically oppressed workers, then? I mean, the vegetable farms -"
Allyson put her chopsticks down. "Speaking of vegetables, I'm not even sure that these are locally sourced."
Selena blinked. "I'm pretty sure that with the cost of transportation from Earth all the food is locally grown. That's part of what Hugh was talking about."
Hugh flashed Selena a quick smile.
Allyson poked at the food with a look of concern. "Well, maybe it's local - but is it organic? I just don't know. I mean, they claim it is - " she waved vaguely at the plaques on the wall "- but who knows? I'm not even sure that this trip makes sense any more. Maybe we should all just go -".
Louisa cut her off. "We all agreed on this. This is an opportunity - not just to make our careers, but to do a lot of good."
Allyson gestured down. "But the food-"
Louisa's face pinched. "Jesus. You can do a 'detox spa,’ or whatever the fuck it is you do, when we get back home."
Hugh raised his eyebrows. That was mean, even for Louisa - and, yes, Allyson was offended. Louisa must have seen it too, because she relented. "OK, sorry. But the food - we can work with that. The workers have to eat this stuff, with no regulations, just assurances from 'Animal Inspection Council' and 'Food Purity Ratings'" - she scoffed. "That's the story, right there. Who are these shadowy groups? Are they accountable to the voters?"
She grinned at her own joke. She looked around the table. "That gets us started - but there are millions of other abuses we could cover."
Hugh nodded. "It's like traveling back in time to the Dark Ages."
Louisa ignored him and focused on Allyson. "And you, Allyson, are the one that's going to help me blow the lid off it." A pause. "It's our responsibility. We've got to stay here and do this, right?"
Allyson sighed. "Well, I agree that we've got to 'be the call for change.’” She put her chopsticks down. "OK, fine, I'll stay."
Louisa leaned forward. "Good." She looked around the table. "Now - let's brainstorm related angles. We need an arc - a sequence that plays well. The food isn't inspected by the government, just by for-profit corporations. That's where we start. What does that chain to? The workers, they're forced into living here, far from their homes, by market pressures - wage slavery. That's two. And what about their living conditions? Small apartments, no access to the green spaces, no schools."
Hugh snuck a look at Allyson...and saw that she wasn't even looking at him. He should speak up. He should show that he was decisive, that he had ideas. He cleared his throat. "Well - let's not forget that people shouldn't even be here on the Moon. At least, not until there's a political consensus, I mean. Is this what we, as a nation, want to prioritize?"
Louisa made a note on her slate. "OK, good."
Hugh looked to Allyson to see her reaction. Nothing. He'd have to try harder. "And speaking of uncoordinated decision making, this place -" he gestured to encompass all of Aristillus "- is pretty much the definition of sprawl."
Still no reaction from Allyson, not even a hint of an appreciative smile, but Louisa was nodding. "Good point. Look at the immense amount of money and effort that's being spent in this boondoggle. Those are resources that could be better spent rebuilding Northern China and bringing Chairman Peng back into the fold, or switching sub-Saharan Africa over to sustainable farming. Lots of things."
From the corner of his eye he noticed that Allyson brightened at the mentioned of farming. Sustainable farming. Of course. Damn it. He should have led with that, to let Allyson realize that he cared about clean food. Crap. He had to pay attention, he had to get better at this.
Louisa made another note and then looked up at them.
"This is good." She leaned forward, conspiratorially. "Guys, this is going to be huge for us. The credentialed press is covering the same old stories - terrorism in Texas, oil profiteers in Alaska, the Caliphate Wars. But this -" She tapped the table to emphasize her point. "This right here. This is a huge story. And we've got this scoop all to ourselves." She looked at Hugh. "We're going to be able to publish, right?"
Hugh nodded - he'd talked to his mom, and she liked the idea. And then he caught himself. He was nodding. Nodding. Like an idiot. He should say something, be more foreceful. Louisa was running this conversation. He was never going to get Allyson's attention - get her to notice him as a guy - unless he said something bold.
But what?
Louisa always knew what to say. And how to say it. She was like his mother that way. But he never knew what to do. It came easy for some people. Right now was a perfect example: Louisa's pitch was getting more exciting as she herself got more excited. She was talking about her goals - exposing the capitalists and forging a career in journalism - and her enthusiasm was loud and contagious.
Out of the corner of his eye Hugh saw a Chinese worker in overalls and a Nigerian in a dashiki and jeans seated a table look up from their go board, and reconsidered. Maybe her enthusiasm was too loud.
Hugh held his breath, but after a tense moment the two men went back to their game. He exhaled.
Louisa reached a crescendo, slapped the table to make her point, then leaned back from the table and settled in a cross-armed posture, clearly pleased with herself.
Hugh gathered himself to say something but Selena spoke first. "I've been trying to get cultural background. Lots of the Americans blog, so you can learn a lot there, but the Mexicans, Nigerians, and Chinese don't - not as much, at least, so I've started talking to people on the street."
Louisa looked at her. "That's interesting. I'd been assuming that we want to look at class fault lines...but now I'm wondering if we want to look at racial divisions -"
Selena shook her head. "I don't think so. Culturally, the groups are remarkably similar. Europeans, Whites, Asians - they all say they're here because of taxation and unrest. Chairman Peng, the Caliphate, the PKs in Nigeria and -"
Louisa leaned forward and jabbed the air angrily with her fork. "That's bullshit to put the PKs in with those other groups. Those troops are out there protecting these people. To even suggest otherwise -"
Hugh looked around the table. Maybe this was where he should show leadership? He could agree with Selena. Backing her against Louisa - that would be good, right? He could show Allyson that he wasn't afraid of an argument. And he'd be defending a woman. He cleared his throat. "Wait a second. Selena's just reporting on what people tell her. If their truth is that -"
Louisa's jaw clenched. "So now you're an anarchist like the ringleaders here, Hugh? I'm no
t the only one who remembers the slogan 'a 22nd century society in the 21st century,’ am I?"
Hugh held his hands up placatingly. "No, wait. I'm just saying that the point of journalism isn't - " He swallowed. "It's our job to find actual opinions on the ground and report on it, right?"
"And what if the actual opinions on the ground are bullshit?"
"Hang on. We know we're right. The truth - properly considered - supports our position. So the better we report the truth - and the more persuasive we are – the better we -"
Louisa's glare was fierce. "You think that the expats have a valid point? You buy their arguments?"
"Louisa, come on. That's not what I'm saying. The expats are in the wrong, but that doesn't mean that we can't listen. Maybe even with some minor degree of sympathy." He stole a glance at Allyson and saw that she was listening to him. And maybe even approving a bit? He pushed on. "It's important to understand the difference between theory and practice. We all agree that the Global Fair Deal is a noble end-"
"That's right, and if you listen to -"
Hugh, feeling a bit bolder, held up a hand. "Hang on. I grew up in Washington. I've seen things the rest of you haven't. Even if the goal is good, that doesn't mean that the implementation is perfect, so gathering these other opinions -.” He looked to Allyson and saw that she'd drifted away and was poking at her food again. Damn it.
He wanted her paying attention to him. He gambled on the direct route. "Let's ask Allyson." Allyson looked up. "Maybe it's better if people who aren't enthusiastic about the Global New Deal just leave - but maybe not. What do you think?" He could feel himself sweating. Damn it!
Allyson shrugged and played with her food for another moment, then answered. "Well, there's two things. The Global Fair Deal is a good idea, but I'm not sure that the government has the right to stop individuals from opting out."
Louisa pursed her lips and Selena nodded.
"But I also don't think that individuals have the right to take equipment and air and even water from Earth and put it up here, all without asking for a consensus first. I mean, water is the lifeblood of our ecosystem - they can't just take it."
The Powers of the Earth (Aristillus Book 1) Page 26
