He held up his hands as though in plea to Bruce and Pete. “I ask you, isn’t that a child’s fantasy? Has it anything to do with reality? Can you just see this idiotic homesteader taking off on a year-long trip in free fall with an infant child and no medical aid available? Is his wife equally mad to allow her child to be subjected to such a situation? No matter how they tried to exercise it, the kid would be plagued by a hundred different muscle, bone, and circulatory disorders. There would be inevitable calcium resorption from the bone and loss of muscle tone. The same, of course, would apply to the adults, but at least they are fully grown. It’s extremely unlikely that the infant would be healthy after a year in free fall. Would the authorities at Lagrange Five, or Earth, allow them to go? No. Come, gentlemen, Solomon Ryan is not to be taken seriously.”
The door opened behind them and a voice growled, “All right, everybody, the place is surrounded.”
As one, the seven occupants of the small living room bobbed to their feet. It was Sergeant Joe Evola, the Security man. He wore the standard green coveralls, carried a police baton in his right hand, and had a sidearm holstered at his hip.
He said sarcastically, “Hi, Bruce; hi, Pete. Sol Ryan must have been around the corner when he allowed you two up here. It hasn’t been a week and you’ve managed to wind up with the biggest crackpots in the island.” Pete said, “Why the shooter, Evola?”
The surly Security sergeant looked at him cynically. “For self-protection, obviously. You think I want one of these lamebrains to try and jump me?”
Bloch said, “I demand an explanation for this intrusion into my quarters.”
Evola said wearily, “You’ll get it, you’ll get it. Come on, we’re all going to the hotel.” He gestured at the open door with his baton.
“And suppose we refuse?” the woman snarled.
He looked at her as though sorrowfully. “Lady, I’ve got twenty men outside. Why, damned if I know. I could have brought you in by myself. But Al said take a whole squad along, just so there won’t be any trouble. What trouble? Did he think you’d take a run-out powder? Where in the hell would you run to?”
Adam Bloch said, in resignation, “We might as well go. He’s right. There’s no place to hide, even if we were interested in hiding.”
The freelancer and the IABI man accepted the majority will and drifted out the door along with the others onto the town’s street. The day was well enough along that the technicians had already begun to warp the reflection vanes beyond the island’s windows so that dark was creeping over Island One.
If Joe Evola had twenty men at his command, most of them were invisible. He led the way, followed by the group arrested—if arrested was the term—and four more Security men brought up the rear. They bore batons but Bruce didn’t notice side-arms. It was as mild an arrest of supposed subversives as he had ever seen. They headed up the street on the closest route to the L5 Hilton, all keeping silence. The few pedestrians looked at them in mild interest but that was all. Sergeant Evola led them to one of the side doors, rather than into the front entry. They entered the hotel and ascended by a rear staircase to the upper floor. They ran into no other occupants of the hotel.
Pete Kapitz, swearing inwardly at the mistake of accompanying Bruce Carter, had expected to wind up in the office of Al Moore, but instead, they were taken to those of Solomon Ryan. Joe Evola’s four Security men remained in the hall outside. The remaining eight of them filed through the reception room toward the door of Ryan’s sanctum sanctorum.
Ruthie looked up from her desk. “Sol’s expecting you, Joe,” she said. “Go right on in.”
“Wizard,” Joe said, opening the door and standing back to let the others precede him.
Inside the office, spaced around it in comfortable chairs, drinks handy, were Solomon Ryan, Alfred Moore, Ron Rich, and Annette Casey. All of them looked up in disgust or, perhaps in Annette’s case, mere amused resignation.
Sol Ryan looked at Adam Bloch, his face chiding. “I thought you were a friend of mine, Adam,” he said sadly.
The teacher’s voice was even. “I hope that I still am. It is nothing personal, Sol. It is just that I have come to the conclusion that under your guidance, this project is doomed to failure. Perhaps it is under anyone’s guidance.”
“So behind my back…”
“The only reason we’ve continued our discussions secretly is that Mr. Moore’s…Bloch took in the Security Commissioner, “…men go so far out of their way to suppress any free discussion at all.”
“Shit,” Joe Evola muttered.
“Shut up, Joe,” Al Moore told him. “Take these nitwits down to the office. I’ve already made arrangements about them.”
The sergeant herded the five Central Committee members out. They seemed resigned.
Bruce said coldly, “Where are they being sent? To some concentration camp? Or prison?”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Bruce,” Ron Rich moaned.
Annette Casey laughed, took a sip of her glass, and came to her feet. “You two like a drink?” she said. “You look as though you could use one. And sound even more so.”
“Sit down, fellows,” Sol Ryan told them gently.
Bruce and Pete took chairs.
Al Moore said, in disgust, “What’s this concentration camp, prison crap? You think we have so much extra labor around here that we can spare the people to run a prison? Or, for that matter, that we can spare Bloch and his stupid friends from their own jobs?”
Bruce said, “Well, then, what are you going to do with them?” There was puzzlement in his voice.
Ron Rich said, resignation in his voice and looking put upon, “What’d you think we’re going to do with them? They haven’t done anything except sound off their half-assed opinions. We’ll give them a tough lecture about disrupting the project by giving news people and other visitors half-baked ideas that could cause a lot of trouble back Earthside.”
Al Moore said, still disgusted, “We might send a couple of them to the Luna base. Give them a taste of really uncomfortable working conditions. What did they think they were coming up to when they signed their contracts, some kind of Utopian paradise? There’s still a lot to be done up here before living conditions can improve much.”
Pete Kapitz said, his voice mild, “You don’t seem to do so badly, Al.” He looked at Annette, who had gone over to the well-stocked bar. “Make mine bourbon,” he told her.
“I’d like some of that stone-age grappa,” Bruce admitted.
Sol Ryan said to Bruce, “I’m surprised at you, Mr. Carter. We’ve given you every cooperation we could. And in no time at all, you ferret out the most vocal malcontents in the island.”
Bruce took the drink Annette brought him, nodded his thanks to her, and turned back to the L5 head. “They have quite a story to tell.”
Ron Rich said, “Holy Zoroaster, Bruce, with ten thousand people up here, wouldn’t you expect a few soreheads?”
“Yes,” the freelancer admitted. “But I wouldn’t expect the overwhelming majority of the colonists and contract workers to be in that category.”
“And neither would I,” Sol Ryan told him with a sigh. “Have you already taken a poll, Bruce? Where do you get your figures?”
Bruce immediately felt on the defensive. He had no answer to that, really. He said, “So far as there being no prison, nor concentration camp, it looks to me like the whole project is a concentration camp, save for us here in the L5 Hilton.”
Sol Ryan looked uncomprehending. Rich looked further put upon and disgusted. Annette chuckled softly.
Al Moore said, “What in the hell do you mean by that?”
Bruce said doggedly, “It’s been made clear to me that even when a contract worker’s time has been served, he isn’t allowed to return to Earth. If he doesn’t extend his contract, he is supposedly put on standby for Earth transport, and he remains here indefinitely—on standby.”
Ryan was staring at him. “Good grief, why?”
“T
hat’s what I’d like to know. Some have it that you’re afraid to release anybody who might tell the true story of circumstances up here.”
The Father of the L5 Project gawked at him in continued amazement. He said, “But Bruce, the policy of hiring five-year contract workers was only established about five years ago. Only a few who signed up under it have served the time. Those that have are returned home as soon as it is practical.”
Al Moore said harshly, “Wizard. You’ve made an accusation. What’s it based upon? Give us an example.”
Bruce looked over at him. “Very well. Pal Barack told me all about it. When he applied to be returned to Earth, he was given the runaround.”
“Pal Barack?” Ryan said. He looked at Annette.
She shook her head. “Never heard of him, Comrade.”
Al Moore said to her, “Check with Captain Borgia in Personnel.”
All eyes upon her, Annette put down her glass and seated herself at her desk. She flicked on a screen and murmured into it. Bruce and Pete could hear neither what she said nor what was said in return.
Finally, she looked up and said, “Pal Barack, a landscaper, kind of a gardener. Evidently, a member of the WITH-AW-DOH Club along with Adam Bloch and the others that Joe picked up earlier. His contract expired a couple of days ago. Captain Borgia reports that he was in a great hurry to return Earthside; he’s now on his way.”
Bruce couldn’t disguise his surprise.
Pete Kapitz said softly, “I was under the impression that there wasn’t to be another passenger freighter leaving for the Goddard for another couple of days or so.”
Annette looked at him in exasperation. “It would seem that he simply couldn’t wait. The captain sent him over to the moon base by space tug. There’s a passenger freighter in Luna orbit there that is scheduled to return to the Goddard immediately. He’ll be on it.”
“He’s a jerk,” Ron Rich said. “In the long run, he’d be back sooner if he’d waited for the next one due here. It takes a while to get to the moon base.”
Annette shrugged shapely shoulders, took up her drink again and said, “Possibly he figured there wouldn’t be space available on the next ship leaving here. They’re usually more crowded than the ones departing Luna.”
Al Moore said, “If you think we’re lying, I suggest that tomorrow you go to this Barack’s home and check. Call on his neighbors, or locate some of his friends. They’ll tell you whether or not he’s really left. Now, is there anything more you think you’ve discovered that’s sinister about L5?” His tone dripped sarcasm.
Pete Kapitz changed the subject. He said, with the curiosity of the policeman, “What do you mean, no jail? What do you do with your criminals? Ship them back to Earth?”
Al Moore looked scornfully at him. “If we did, every contract worker and every colonist who had a peeve and wanted to go home would commit some petty crime to get the chance to return. Hell no, we make them serve out their contract time. Actually, there’s practically no crime up here, unless you consider smuggling and black marketing. There’s not a lot to steal, for one thing. We don’t use money, we use corporation credit cards. And besides, the type of person who comes up here, on the average, isn’t the criminal element.”
Pete said, still curious, “Well, how about crimes of passion? Two cloddies get into a fight over some mopsy?”
“A couple of neurotics, eh?” the Security head said. “What do you think we do? We turn them over to the Medical department for therapy and, as soon as possible, put them back to work.”
Annette took orders for new drinks, mixed them, and served, while Bruce sat there stewing and feeling increasingly defensive.
A fresh grappa in hand, he said, “From what I understand, the kind of contract your people have to sign, this whole thing is like a company town of the later nineteenth, early twentieth century. The workers are so tied up that they can’t leave, no matter how badly they wish to.”
Sol Ryan took that, even nodding. “I see what you mean and it’s largely true, Bruce, much though we dislike the situation. But, can’t you see? Given the circumstances, it has to be this way. Can’t you understand the expense involved in bringing a worker up here, and especially, a colonist and family? It costs roughly a hundred dollars a pound to bring bulk freight up, but a human being is another thing. They can’t be trusted to mass lifters, they have to come up by shuttle. They have to be put up for sometimes lengthy periods at the Goddard waiting for a passenger freighter going from Earth orbit here to L5. They have to have life support systems every moment they’re in space.”
Ron Rich said earnestly, “Bruce, there’s a billion people down on Earth who’d like to come up here, just for the ride and the experience of seeing L5 and Island One. They’d like to be tourists, spend a couple of weeks or so, and then return home. They’d just love to sign a contract so that we’d be put to the expense of bringing them up and then, after their visit, say, ‘Sorry, I’ve changed my mind. I want to go home.’ We’d go down the drain if we allowed them to do it, Bruce.”
“That’s why we had to do up such severe contracts,” Sol Ryan said earnestly, his irrepressible charm reaching out. “They had a hard time talking me into it, for one. Frankly, I don’t think the contracts would stand up in most advanced countries. But they don’t have to. We’re not under the jurisdiction of the United States of the Americas, Common Europe, or anyone else. But realize that no potential colonist or contract workers have to sign one of our contracts if he doesn’t wish to. He can take it to his lawyer to be checked out, and if his lawyer says no, refuse to join us. Nobody is coerced.”
“But once in,” Al Moore wound it up, “we’re tough. We make sure he or she lives up to it.”
“Holy Zoroaster,” Ron said in complaint. “The way everybody’s talking you’d think anybody who signs with the Lagrange Five Corporation is a damn fool. But look what it means. When you get back, even after only five years, you’ve got a hundred thousand dollars tax clear. But you’ve got more than that. You’ve got on your work record that you’ve spent five years in space. Do you realize what that means? That is, if you want further jobs Earthside? It means that you’re a king. Look at the early astronauts. They were paid plenty, as astronauts, but when they retired there wasn’t a job in the United States that wasn’t open to them. One became a Senator. One became president of a major airline. Others became high executives of any multinational corporation they chose to go into. Some former construction worker in Island One might not get that sort of treatment but, believe me, he has available almost any job in his field he’s interested in. He’s a goddamned hero.”
Bruce sighed. “All right,” he said. “I’m still learning. I’m still just looking around waiting to get convinced one way or the other about things I see. Let me think about it.”
He came to his feet, as did Pete Kapitz, who had largely remained silent during the whole discussion.
Annette said brightly, “Don’t forget, Bruce. We have a date tonight. I’ll meet you in the bar in half an hour. We’ll, ah, reverse that arrangement we started on.”
“Wizard,” he told her, with a slight grin to respond to her jibe. He nodded at the others and turned to go. Pete Kapitz followed him.
When they were gone, Al Moore said thoughtfully, “Did they swallow it?”
“Sure, Al,” Ron said, finishing his drink and standing to go for another. “Why not? It makes sense, doesn’t it? Besides, Carter might have his reputation as a freelancing muckraker, and Kapitz for a top-notch cop. But sum them up, especially out here, and they’re both a couple of cloddies.”
Annette said, “I wouldn’t be too sure. Especially about Bruce Carter, Uncle Al.”
The Security chief looked at her and snorted. “You go soft on anybody you sleep with,” he said. “What do they do to you?”
“Multiple orgasms,” she told him.
Sol Ryan was frowning. “What are you all talking about? We didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. I thought we r
eally went out of the way to explain about the contracts to Bruce.”
“Yeah,” Moore said.
Out in the hall, Pete Kapitz and Bruce Carter headed back in the direction of their respective rooms.
“Too pat,” Bruce muttered.
Pete squinted over at him from the side of his eyes. “You think so?”
“Yes.” Something came to the freelancer. “You know, it’s one thing, the President of France sending up a case of vintage champagne as a present to Sol Ryan, or Islamics sending up ten thousand bucks worth of Beluga caviar. But who in the hell would there be in Sicily that would send him a gift of fabulously aged grappa? Who in Sicily could afford it, for that matter?”
Chapter Fifteen
“The space colony project is offered as the solution to virtually all the problems rising from the limitations of our earthly environment. That it will solve all of these problems is a possibility that one may legitimately doubt. What cannot be doubted is that the project is an ideal solution to the moral dilemma of all those in this society who cannot face the necessities of meaningful change. It is superbly attuned to the wishes of the corporation executives, bureaucrats, militarists, political operators, and scientific experts who are the chief beneficiaries of the forces that have produced our crisis... It avoids the corporate and governmental big-dealing that will be bound to accompany the expenditure of a hundred million dollars.”
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