"OK, Rex."
"Oh, and one more thing: I don't think we'll see many orcs here, but there could be dark elves. So be on the lookout."
John smiled despite himself. "OK, I'll be careful." Rex signed off and John immediately switched his overlay back to Pacific Northwest, but he tuned to the Dogs’ channel and listened to them chatter. Rex and Duncan talked excitedly about elves and dwarves for a while, and then shifted to discuss how the Russian designer clade had set up a feed where people could follow the Dogs' virtual adventure and how big the viewership was.
John shook his head. He liked to think that he looked and felt younger than his forty-two years, but at times like this - hiking across the surface of the moon with genetically engineering Dogs who were pretending that he was someone named AraJohn, and knowing that thousands of people back on Earth were betting virtual currency of their "success" - he felt very very old and out of place. It was a long way from New Jersey back in the 2020s.
His mind turned away from the Dogs' craziness to the supply situation. Four mules was great, but after having his communication with Aristillus cut off once, he now couldn't stop thinking about it.
"You there, Gamma?"
"Yes, John."
"The birds are still good?"
"Indeed, you walked out of range of the last of my pickets twenty kilometers ago."
Good. Darcy being out of the office for several days had complicated his plans. With Gamma potentially listening in on everything he said, he couldn't tell anyone back at Aristillus about his concerns about Gamma's growth. Still, as long as the new sats were good, he could call Darcy in - he checked his clock - ninety-one hours, and be picked up just a few hours later.
Gamma interrupted his train of thought. "John, when satellite connectivity was down I added comments to your BookShare page. Have you had a chance to read them yet?"
John squinted. BookShare was an Aristillus website. "Wait a second. How did you update the website when the sats were down?"
"I did some from my Sinus Lunicus facility."
John furrowed his eyebrows. "So - wait. When the birds were down, were both your Konstantinov and SL facilities - uh - live?"
There was a pause. "Yes."
"When the sats were down they couldn't talk to each other, right?" He tried to formulate the question that bothered him. "So which was the real you?"
Another pause - a longer one. "They both were for that interval, but data reconciliation is now complete."
"What does that mean?"
"There were multiple of me, but now there's just one of me again."
John mulled over the disturbing implications of that - and then caught himself. Would Gamma correctly interpret the long pause as worry? Better to talk, and hide his thoughts.
"Uh, yeah. So, anyway. Bookshare. I skimmed your comment - you said something about 'The Spaceship and The Canoe' ?"
"The book I referenced is 'The Starship and The Canoe'; the title you mention was a pornographic graphic novel that came out several decades later. As best I can tell it's unrelated."
John coughed. "OK, 'Starship' then. So why do you think I should read it?"
"I didn't say that you should read it; merely that your personality reminds me of one particular chapter, where the author is noting that George Dyson is not a ‘loner’ who wants to get away from everyone. Instead, the author suggests that Dyson was an intensely social person who just has not yet found - or created - the perfectly tailored social environment that he longed for."
John frowned slightly. "I remind you of that?"
"John, is there a single way in which you should not remind me of that?"
"This is the book about a guy who builds a kayak, right? Look, I'm hardly a hippie paddling around the Pacific Northwest."
"There exists a phrase 'heaven forbid' and it can be used sarcastically. So let me say: heaven forbid, John. I would never want to suggest similarities between a formerly patriotic ex-soldier deeply disappointed in his country's politics who has fled four hundred thousand kilometers from home, and then hiked another five thousand kilometers across a desolate rocky landscape with no company except four uplifted Dogs, and a hippie escaping from an academic family by kayaking around the Pacific North West."
Despite himself John smiled. "Ouch!"
"May I ask a question - which augmented reality overlay do you usually pick when hiking?"
John shook his head slightly as he walked, then gave up and grinned. "OK, touché. Yes, it's 'Pacific Northwest'. So I'm a loner disappointed in my original home, out on the frontier, trying to fill a void, and surrounding myself with weirdos and freaks." John kicked a rock as he walked. "Can we change the topic now?"
"Of course, John. I note that your BookShare page shows that you've been reading science fiction from the same era."
"Yes. Do you know of Kevin Bultman?"
"A search of Davidson Equities Analysis shows that he is the owner of Mason Dixon Registry Service in Aristillus."
"Right. Anyway, he's a friend of mine and we talk about the situation with Earth."
"Go on."
"Well, we both think that a military confrontation with Earth is foolish - we'd certainly lose. So we're brainstorming other paths."
"You mention this in the context of me noting your reading habits. Are you saying that century-old science fiction is helping you brainstorm?"
John nodded, and then realized that Gamma couldn't see his body language. At least, not if he was telling the truth about the last rover being twenty klicks back.
"I took a military science class once where the instructor told us about one of the Arab–Israeli wars - this was back before the Caliphate. One Israeli general needed to get his troops from point A to point B, but the roads were blocked. He remembered reading something in the Old Testament about some other general moving troops between the same two points three thousand years before, and he realized that there must be an old forgotten road. He figured out where the road had to be, found it, and took his men along it."
"What was the name of the General, John? And where was the road?"
John shook his head. "This class was twenty years ago; I have no idea. I asked Max once; even he didn't know the reference."
"Fascinating. I'm going to try to dig up more information on this. But, please, go on."
"The point is, sometimes old books have good ideas."
"I have heard that idea before."
"Yeah, I'm not saying it's a new insight; everyone knows that. Heck, Mike, Javier, that whole Boardroom Group bunch quote Patrick Henry and Thomas Jefferson." John felt his left foot slipping a bit on scree and steadied himself before walking on. "My point is that everyone back at Aristillus is referencing the American Revolution, but I wondered if there might be other parallels that most people are overlooking."
"Parallels in science fiction?"
"Yes. Search for 'lunar revolution science fiction', and you get dozens of hits. 'The Moon is a Harsh Mistress' is top of the heap. The 2019 movie is horrible, but it turns out that the original Minear script is pretty good, and the graphic novel and one of the two fan animated series are also decent...but all of those are based off of a book! And in that book there's this one interesting idea -"
"Railguns."
John blinked. "What?"
"Railguns."
"You've read it?"
"I have."
"Huh." John had to think about that. "Anyway, yes, the railguns were interesting, but I was paying more attention to the political negotiations in the middle of the novel."
"Did the negotiations in that novel inspire any ideas for the current situation?"
John sighed. "Unfortunately, no. Trying to remind Earth voters of the American revolution isn't going to accomplish anything when most people don't know any history."
"If you are willing to search for more inspiration via books, please let me add a few more recommendations to your BookShare page - there. I've added some notes, too."
"More novels?"
"Perhaps it's time to leave fiction for a while and concentrate on how to actually structure this society you're trying to create. I've suggested Cowen's 'Ungoverned Somalia,’ Friedman's 'The Icelandic Free State,’ and Bennington's 'Confederacion Nacional del Trabajo y Federacion Anarquista Iberica.’”
"You think my approach of reading fiction was a mistake?"
"No, John, I think it was a very good start. But by hiking here on the surface with the Dogs you have made it clear that you are not interested in fighting the revolution that Mike and the others in Aristillus are planning. That being the case, perhaps you can contribute to an equally difficult problem: architecting a society that doesn't contain the seeds of its own authoritarianism."
The weirdness of simultaneously distrusting Gamma's intentions enough to want to escape back to Aristillus and yet talking with him about how to win the fight with Earth made John's head swim. Not for the first time, he reminded himself that he didn't know that Gamma was a threat - he merely suspected he was.
"A 'good start', Gamma? Since when are you so eager to hand out compliments?"
"I'm sorry if that was inappropriate. Have I caused you to blish?"
"No, it wasn't inappropriate. But 'blish'? Your pronunciation is usually better than that, Gamma."
"My wording -"
"I bet if you used words like 'smile' and 'blush' half as often as you say 'stochastic' and 'logically' you wouldn't." John smiled at his own humor. "But anyway, tell me more about what you mean by 'architecting a society'."
"Very well. I suggest that the trickiest problem is not achieving independence from overarching government but avoiding rebuilding the same government structures - or social patterns that give rise to those government structures."
John pursed his lips. "Hmm. Tell me more."
Chapter 75
2064: Cheap-n-Clean Apartments, Aristillus, Lunar Nearside
George White took his time looking over the kids. "I saw the footage run on some of the channels since the last time we met."
Hugh leaned forward. "Did you like it?"
George turned to him and fixed him with a stare. He let the kid sweat a moment, then - "No. I didn't."
Hugh's face fell.
George breathed deeply, telegraphing his disappointment. "It was just the footage I gave you. There was nothing new. And nothing about Morlock."
Louisa turned and snapped at Hugh. "I told you!"
Hugh spread his hands defensively. "But I thought that getting the story out quickly was important because -"
Louisa cut him off. "We'll do better with the next report, Jamie."
George turned and stared at Hugh until the boy withered under his contempt, then turned back to Louisa. "I know you will."
After so many years working the streets of Chicago it was second nature: pick the weakest from the herd, slap him, and then give a bit of attention to the leader - who couldn't help but see you as having the same good taste and leadership skills as herself. Black street gangs, Asian drug dealers, or white college kids - it worked on any of them.
"Tell me about your next video, Louisa. How much information have you dug up on Martin?"
"We've found a lot on the blogs and discussion boards, and we've purchased reports from Data-Lenz and Davidson Equities Analysis, but we haven't seen anything that really makes a case -"
George pursed his lips. "His main business is Morlock Engineering - you know that. There're a ton of problems at Morlock - substandard engineering, unsafe labor, shoddy machine maintenance...but what he controls directly is the least of it. It's the shadow network you have to pay attention to." George let the sentence hang there.
Louisa leaned forward. "What do you mean?"
"Martin has his fingers in a lot of things. He rents space to dozens of restaurants - all of them operating without government inspections. He's got armed men running a pretend police force at Trusted Security. He's involved with Red Stripe spacesuit rental, he - "
"Red Stripe?" Hugh blurted. "That's the space suit company that killed Allan.”
George let a calculated look of surprise wash over his face. "I'd heard about that death, but hadn't realized he was a friend of yours." He paused. "My condolences.”
"Thank you. So how do we find out about these shadow networks? Do we buy more reports from Data-Lenz, or...?"
"I've got some details on what Martin owns, what the networks are.” He held up his phone.
Louisa pulled out her own phone. "OK, I'm ready."
George held Louisa's eye. "There's a condition."
"Yes?"
"You've got to promise me that you're going to use this. Go undercover. Get some real footage of your own."
"We will."
"I'm serious. I've got other options - there are other journalists who I can give this to -"
"Like who?" Selena asked.
George ignored her. "These details were pulled together by a lot of people in the Underground, and I need to make sure it's not wasted."
Louisa leaned in. "Jamie, can you put us in touch with the Underground directly?"
"Show me what you can do with this, and we can talk." Then, finally, he tapped his phone and sent the data. "There's good stuff there. Org charts show the interlocking board memberships. Some actuarial tables with estimates of the number of laborers killed working on Morlock job sites. Estimated net worths of the various Boardroom Group members."
Louisa looked at her slate and called up the documents, then whistled. "Martin is the richest man in Aristillus?"
George nodded. "For now." As soon as the words were out of his lips he regretted them. He looked at the four kids - none seemed to have thought anything of his statement. Good.
Hugh looked up from his slate. "This is good, I guess. But tell me more about his involvement with the firm that killed Allan. Red Stripe."
"There's what's on paper." George gestured toward the slates that each of the kids had in their laps. "And there's the story behind the story. Red Stripe is owned by Trang Loc. Trang's been here for about eight years. The first few years he worked for Mike Martin." Hugh tapped at his slate frantically, taking notes.
"If you can call slave-labor on an unregulated work site 'working'. At some point he quit and went out on his own. Martin bankrolled him. Whatever Loc does you know Martin is behind it."
Selena furrowed her eyebrows. "Why would Trang come here to be a slave? I mean, we all know that sometimes in the third world factories pay off the local police to round up laborers. But we've interviewed dozens of expats, and they all talk about selling their houses on the black market to buy passage here." She fixed George with hazel eyes. "So how was Trang slave labor?"
Damn it. His instincts had been right; this bitch was slippery. He backpedaled. "Well, you know, I haven't been here as long as Mike and Trang, so I'm just repeating what I've heard." He shrugged. "It might be more of a refugee situation or something."
Louisa rolled her eyes at Selena. "I wouldn't put it past these people to use indentured refugee labor. Not at all. Come on."
Selena shrugged. "OK, fine. But my second question: if Trang was a slave laborer, or indentured or whatever, how did he quit? And if he did quit, why is he suddenly the best buddy of Mike?"
George felt boxed in by Selena's questions but feigned equanimity as he shrugged. "Maybe Martin is blackmailing Loc somehow. I don't know. Look into it if you want, but I doubt it will do any good - all you'll get is the cover story. But this is a distraction from the real point. This isn't about Trang. The story is about the Boardroom Group cabal."
* * *
Selena leaned back in the cheap chair and listened as Jamie laid out the details of Mike Martin's relationships with Javier Borda, a construction bigwig; Hector Camanez, a tunnel farming magnate; Bao Johnson, an 'insurance' broker and protection racket runner; and more.
Louisa quizzed Jamie for details and as Selena listened to the two of them she let her eyes roam the room.
&nbs
p; There was something that seemed off about Jamie, but she couldn't quite pin it down. His manner was charismatic - and somehow just a bit oily.
There was also the fact that his assistance was almost too good to be true. The stories were already packaged, the documents were perfect. She looked down at her slate. It'd be one thing if Jamie had passed them stolen spreadsheets and emails, but these? They seemed to be a custom-made presentation. Almost as if they were designed to feed a story to investigative reporters.
Suddenly suspicious, Selena glanced around the room. There wasn't much that personalized it. A few old-fashioned books on one shelf, a few digital picture frames on another, all turned off.
Jamie had moved on from the Boardroom Group and was talking about Mike Martin's underpaid workers and tunnel boring machines made dangerous by shoddy maintenance.
Besides those two shelves and the cheap furniture, the room was almost entirely empty. The only clothes were two worn and slightly dirty jumpsuits hanging on pegs near the door.
Selena tilted her head. There was something off about the jumpsuits - but what? Were they cut too thin for Jamie's burly frame? Her eyes narrowed. Yes, they were. Those suits would never fit him. Maybe he had a roommate, though? No - just one small bed.
Were those Jamie's clothes? She looked around at the generic furniture and the blacked out picture frames and an even stranger thought gripped her: Was this even Jamie's apartment?
Selena looked at Jamie. He was talking animatedly to Hugh and Louisa. She angled her slate and tapped a button to discreetly take a picture of the jumpsuit. Later she'd be able to enhance the picture and figure out if the clothes were really -
Her slate beeped. Selena looked down. Damn it - she'd forgotten about the two hour privacy lockout on all of their optics and recording software that Jamie had insisted on. Crap.
She took her hands off her slate and thought. There must be some way to do this. There - next to the jumpsuits was a belt with an indentation where it was usually buckled. She tried to memorize the scene - the door was that high, the belt was hung from a hook just below the top hinge, and the dent in the wear mark on the belt was just a few centimeters above the middle hinge.
The Powers of the Earth (Aristillus Book 1) Page 32
