April 8: It's Always Something

by Mackey Chandler

  Kurt would have to communicate with the beam dogs he knew. He couldn't do that as circumspectly as with Singh, but at least they were just working people and not as politically sensitive as Singh. The guys harassed him pretty hard when he said he was going home to Alabama, and he'd served it right back to them the way beam dogs all talk trash to each other. Kurt suspected he might not get any bargain on a voucher out of sympathy now.

  * * *

  April finished her advanced Japanese class, shut down the com console, and relaxed on the couch feet up and leaning back. She was nodding and listening to a new band she'd found. They were from Belgium and she didn't understand the Dutch vocals, except every once in awhile a word sounded like English, but she wasn't sure if the meaning was the same just because they sounded similar.

  Sitting sideways, the end of the com console faced April, and her Tongan mat decorated the wall behind it. Her coffee cup was still on the corner and she almost got up to rinse it and put it in the machine, but the music was really good and she closed her eyes and let it finish. When it paused she looked again. The cup fairies hadn't cleaned up for her, so she put her feet down and got ready to clean up after herself. She had this sense of dislocation...Something wasn't right. She looked at this end of the room every day and the pattern was etched in her brain, but something was out of whack and she couldn't put her finger on what.

  If Jeff was here I'd ask him, crossed her mind. He wasn't, and she didn't want to call him for just a feeling without something concrete. If she mentioned it later she knew what he'd ask, because they'd had that conversation a number of times. He'd ask if she documented what seemed wrong to her. This time she intended to be able to say yes, so she carefully held her head still and took a video with sound of the scene, with the highest definition her spex could use. Since photography wasn't a special hobby of hers, she didn't keep professional level equipment, and her spex were about two generations behind the cutting edge. So the image was only about twenty four megapixels.

  When April saw Jeff again she'd see if he could figure it out. He was smarter than her in a lot of ways, and she wasn't afraid to put a problem to him because he didn't make fun of her. Really, he tried to make her feel better most of the time by telling her he valued her ideas. She didn't argue, but suspected he was just being kind. She sort of threw all sorts of ideas out there. So one was bound to stick now and then.

  Chapter 3

  "Yeah, I'm holding two vouchers. I'll sell them both for four Solars each," Tony offered. "If you pay me right now I can FedEx them after my next shift and you should have them three days from now. They aren't priority lift tickets, but you should get a seat within a week of asking for a reservation."

  "Four Solar would ruin me," Kurt complained. "You wouldn't get that much selling to a broker on New Las Vegas."

  "Of course not!" Tony said. "The brokers expect to make something on the deal. But if you call a regular broker you'll pay more than four Solar. They buy from idiots who blew their whole bankroll to the last centum playing and cutting up and can't even buy breakfast waiting for the shuttle back to Home. I like to take a break too, but I'm not an idiot. I always quit with a little walking around money in my pocket."

  Kurt couldn't argue. He'd called three brokers. Two who gave him business cards at different times passing through NLV and ISSII, and one who a friend without any vouchers to trade had suggested a few hours ago. The cheapest a broker had offered to sell a seat to him was six and a half Solars.

  "Look, I need to get to Home but then I need to pay for a shuttle transfer to Central, and yeah, maybe a couple meals along the way. Four Solars will leave me mighty tight. How about three Solars now for a voucher, and my contract to pay you another Solar no later than a year?" Kurt offered.

  "One voucher? The price was two for eight Solars, because I have a ten Solar investment I want to buy into now, and that will put me over my numbers into it. If you just want one the price goes up to five Solars. If you buy both you can hold one and make a profit on it. Especially if you can wait a bit. You know they are trending up steadily. I'm not hearing you say you don't have it, just you don't want to pay the going rate. Well suck it up sweetheart, they're in short supply and nobody made you drop back to the Slum Ball."

  Kurt stifled a sharp reply. Every time he blurted out what he thought things just got worse. Tony might be his last chance to get back to Home before he ran his funds down below ever recovering. Right now he could picture himself in the refugee, oops...migrant camp outside town. He felt like a refugee, and if he waited a couple months he might not find a seller for five Solars. At least he was pretty sure Tony would actually send the ticket. If one of the brokers took his transfer and didn't send the voucher, what exactly could he do about it?

  "You still there?" Tony asked into the silence. They weren't running video.

  "Yeah. I'll transfer the five Solars right now." Kurt got the account information and gave his address, emphasizing Tony needed to require a signature. He could just see the envelope thrown on the front step and stolen by some idiot child who wouldn't even know what he had. He wasn't going to take any chances – he would stay home after tomorrow and watch for the FedEx guy to deliver it.

  "OK," Tony said. "I show the transfer as good." He repeated Kurt's address back to him, which hopefully indicated he really did intend to send it. Kurt was torn between relief he was going back and despair he was starting over with so little money. It wasn't like he could walk where he wanted to go like these Earth people fleeing their homes. He didn't take it at all as a friendly goodbye when Tony said: "So long Kurt, a pleasure doing business with you."

  * * *

  "Huhhh..." Hussein made a face to match the rough exclamation, and held the glass back up to the light. It wasn't quite the obscene yellow it had been some months ago. It was trending more to a buttery hue than the Slivovitz color it had in the first sample he'd tried.

  "How old is it again?" he inquired of Detweiler.

  "Almost a year now. I didn't mean to suggest it is mature," he was quick to say. "Singh just gave me three hundred milliliters this time, and said he had some friends who wanted to try it. Consider it more of a progress report. I personally am curious how far it will progress, and how fast of course."

  "One hopes they remain his friends," Hussein said, "and didn't have any unrealistic expectations."

  "It's far from anything either of us would serve, even as cheap mix," Detweiler admitted.

  His club, The Fox and Hare, had been serving vodka based drinks from the same lunar source. They'd had a couple month advantage because their owners had a business relationship with the sovereign of central. Hussein was selling the same product from the Quiet Retreat now as production increased.

  "I'm thinking...just totally guessing, that it may be drinkable as mix at four years," Hussein said.

  "That sounds reasonable," Detweiler agreed. "Though the carryout trade will probably use it as a straight drink by then." They were both already selling bottles of vodka at nearly by the glass prices for take away, but to dinner guests only, not walk-ins.

  "Out somewhere from eight to twelve years it may be a decent whiskey," Hussein decided, "It's just too early to tell. It's remarkably...woody. Like a cheap Chardonnay."

  "One good thing is, if it does develop well, young Singh has started another batch," Detweiler revealed. "He will keep doing that as the storage space is much cheaper on the moon, and the volume of agricultural feed stock is increasing steadily. So if it works out, we do have a decent volume of supply in process. He split this last batch in two however. Half is aging on the same schedule as this first lot, and the other half he's keeping at seventy degrees to see if it ages more quickly."

  "Now that's an interesting idea," Hussein admitted. "If he were doing it in the traditional wooden barrels instead of a sealed system, the evaporative losses would just kill him."

  "Undoubtedly, many traditionalists will decry the perversion of a perfected system." Detweiler p
rotested. "But we'll have to do some blind taste tests and see how it stacks up to Earth whiskey. I believe Singh already has some volunteers, but he's aware we'll give him a professional report. The amateurs are unlikely to say much negative since they don't seem to be paying customers."

  "Oh they'll pay," Hussein said laughing. "Singh will extract all sorts of business deals and alliances over their thirst. I don't believe he's anywhere near the callow youth he projects when he stands up to give idealistic speeches in the Assembly."

  "The odd thing is, I think he was rather disconnected, like some brilliant people seem prone to be," Detweiler revealed, "but the Lewis girl is huge influence. She's an owner in our club you know, and I see them come in together. She has moderated that side of him quite a bit."

  "I notice you didn't say a bad influence. She isn't just enchanted with all his money?"

  "Oh no, no. He needed a good grounding in social things, and he treats her as a real full partner. I don't think she's a plaything anymore than the other one, the queen." Detweiler said.

  "Oh, the Sovereign of Central," Hussein said. "Don't call her Queen of the Moon to one of her subjects or you'll get a big lecture on how she isn't."

  "I'll call her anything she wants as long as she sells me good vodka," Detweiler told him.

  * * *

  "Things seem to be coming together," Jeff said, carefully. April caught his tone and lifted a skeptical eyebrow. He didn't seem fully convinced.

  "But you're deeply suspicious of how they seem?" She inquired when he didn't elaborate.

  "Always. It never goes smoothly for very long before there's some complication. It's always something. I'm not sure what I'm missing, but I get this nagging feeling I haven't thought of everything, or I'm missing something "obvious" and somebody like you or Barak will point it out to me soon."

  "I know what you mean," April agreed. "A couple days ago I was sitting where you are and I couldn't shake the feeling something was wrong. I even took a video of this end of the room and looked at it again yesterday. I still couldn't see anything odd, so I finally just wrote it off to unreasoning apprehension. I even switched and viewed in infrared to see if something showed. Nanimo, zip, nada..."

  "You've been paying attention to me, to record things, I'm happy to see that. Do you still have the recording?" Jeff asked.

  "Sure. You think you'll see something I wouldn't? It's my own living room," April protested.

  "I won't see anything, but load that video to your com there, and I'll get a program from my man Chen that I've seen him use for comparing satellite images. Then while I'm doing that I want you to sit here and take another video at the same settings. Try to sit and get the same angle as before. Then we'll compare them to see if anything has changed."

  "The change would have been before I had the eerie feeling," April protested.

  "Maybe, but you grow accustomed to changes. Humor me," Jeff requested.

  April took the shot Jeff wanted and joined him at the com console. He already had the software downloaded and the first image up on half the bigger screen. April added her fresh pic to the screen. Once he had both side by side Jeff told the computer slowly and carefully, like it was a stupid child, exactly how to compare and mark any differences. It processed for just a heartbeat, eliminating the small differences in angle between the two shots. It drew a highlighted circle around only one small location. On the corner of the con console there was a small dot. The corner had a stainless trim covering it to hide the sharp edges and prevent visible wear.

  "Oh great. I found a spider over by the view port. If I have another bug I'm going to freak out."

  "Spiders don't live on air. If you removed a spider it would increase the chances of finding a bug in the future. But look how this dot is exactly centered on the corner strip and the same distance from the end. It appears to be a fastener." Jeff then leaned over and looked at the end of the console. There was no fastener.

  "If it was a fastener there would be one at the other end of the strip," April pointed out, and frowned. "And on the other corner too. All the interior stuff here is glued or welded."

  "Let's zoom in and enhance it," Jeff suggested. He triggered the computer's attention with the key word 'com', and enunciated carefully what he wanted. The view zoomed until the dark dot was a fuzzy image a hand's breadth across on the screen. It sharpened after about twenty seconds, but it was still pixilated. "It's still working," Jeff said, pointing to the turning swirl in the corner.

  When it cleared it was disappointing. It appeared to be a standard button head hex screw. April said as much, then added: "But it isn't."

  Jeff wordlessly got out of the seat, making April back up, and went around the com console slowly inspecting it, with his left hand on top bracing him as he leaned over. He stopped on the other side and stood back straight with the strangest look on his face. He made a little come her gesture for April to join him, and then pointed.

  The little black bump had assumed a similar position on the stainless trim on that corner, where the com console approached the wall. It had a clear hex depression that was very convincing. Jeff suspected there would be a tiny camera lens hidden in the shadows at the bottom of the hex.

  April offered her knife that was her constant companion, and Jeff used helmet talk to silently communicate: "Something to contain it."

  April searched the kitchen quickly. Plastic seemed like a bad idea. Spacers kept hardly anything in glass by long custom. She retrieved a self heating metal can from the trash that had held chicken stew. It was already rinsed out and pretty dry even. Best of all it had a fit lid instead of a peel open foil to hold leftovers without transferring them.

  Jeff kept an eye on the dot until she returned. He positioned the can below it and flicked the dot off aggressively with the sharp edge of the knife. The dot landed in the bottom of the can but immediately flashed red hot and started smoking. Jeff jammed the lid on and immediately moved away.

  "Outside, right now! House, shut off all ventilation. Come on April, we're going to the infirmary."

  April grabbed her com pad off the console in passing, but followed Jeff quickly. It felt strange. She hadn't been out in public without her pistol for months. But she trusted Jeff when he got that urgency.

  "Tell me if you start feeling ill," Jeff demanded as he walked fast. "Strike that, tell me if you start feeling anything at all unusual."

  "It was just a little smoke and you sealed it in pretty fast," April objected. "I didn't even smell anything, so how much harm could it do?"

  "You might not. Neurotoxins can be odorless and delayed in action. I'm calling ahead with my spex and I want Dr. Lee to watch us and test what's in the can," Jeff insisted.

  It was three hours before they got an all clear. Nothing showed for active biological agents. Finally the report showed the fumes were from a tiny battery shorting out. That was apparently its failure mode to protect itself from being reverse engineered. Like the traces of battery chemicals most of what they could infer from the fused contents were that it contained a camera sensor and a single dedicated chip. They could have figured that much out with no chemical analysis.

  Jeff requested what was left to sent to the YYR corporation they partnered with for spy bots. Perhaps they could find out something more from the remains. It was upsetting that the bot was more advanced than anything their rep, Natsume, was sharing with them.

  Back at April's cubic they were both subdued. April made coffee and brought out brandy she hardly ever indulged in. She owned the bottle from before the move past the moon and it was still half full. It went directly in the coffee and Jeff didn't make a move or gesture to refuse it.

  "It makes sense now it wasn't toxic," April decided, "But it was a good call to worry it might be," she allowed. "Conservative," she appended emphatically to show her approval.

  "Tell me why," Jeff requested.

  "Think on using such a snoop robot. It's one thing to plan its destruction if it is revealed, but i
t takes your planning to an entire different level of hostility and risk to just kill whoever finds it. It didn't come here straight from the airlock. That would be like shooting a shot blindly into the whole of Home and accepting the political consequences of hitting just anybody."

  They sat and drank the coffee for a bit and she asked: "Don't you agree?"

  "I'm not sure I do. Isn't that exactly what they did when we were in Low Earth Orbit and they fired a rail gun with a load of shot at us? They knew it was like firing a load of buckshot into a crowd, and they didn't really care who they hit. It feels like the same thing to me," Jeff said. "I just can't believe that they could build a bug so small. We haven't found a snooping mechanism for so long and all of a sudden – wow. If they get much smaller we won't be able to see them."

  "Well, you showed how to find them," April pointed out. "We just need to automate it. Build a little roving army of...spider bots. I want one to move around my apartment and do what you just did. Compare the scenes of its previous rounds to what is here now and capture or destroy any infiltrators. You need to talk to Jon about allowing some into the wild to keep the whole habitat safe."

  "Every time you set your pad down or throw your spex on your bed it will change the scene and confuse it," Jeff protested.

  "Then make it smart. Make it to learn how common objects look from any angle. Or if there isn't enough room for that much processing internally let it have a link to an artificial stupid big enough to handle the questions for it," April insisted.

  "It doesn't have to be as small as this one," Jeff said, pondering the problem. "Neither do I think I can make it fly and do everything else it needs to do too."

  "No, of course not. Do you remember the little crabs we saw on vacation at the atoll? I don't care if they're this big," April said, holding her finger and thumb open, making an oval that might hold a chicken egg the long way.

  "I can do that," Jeff decided. "With chameleon feet. I'll prototype a short run and then see what kind of bulk price YYR can give us. They might have some suggestions too."