"Let me guess. They want to work towards some sort of treaty?" Holland asked.
"Yes. Nobody is going to ask the Assembly to create a treaty," Jeff said. "It's a crap shoot what the Assembly will decide to do once you get them rolling. Right now nothing is prohibited, so what is the advantage? Any change could only be some restriction, because we can already do as we please. If anyone did try to add restrictions they would be opposed, maybe even called out."
"That's undoubtedly a foreign mindset," Holland said, nodding gravely. "They are used to sitting down with their peers and deciding what the little people will be allowed to do, and how much of the action they can skim...pardon, tax from them. You have to be confusing to them. You weren't shy to say you have agents, and you have weapons. No company would ever admit to either here. It makes you sound like you have the authority of a government."
"I do have authority," Jeff objected. "People work for me gathering information. What does it matter if you call them agents or analysts? They observe and report. Yes I have weapons. Most Home citizens do. Most of our ships are armed, and nobody has to clear their use or possession, they all have the authority to use them, and bear the consequences and liabilities if they do."
"Even I'm getting a little mental disconnect here," Holland said, making a vague motion around his head. "Governments and corporations exist to diffuse responsibility, if not outright hide it, too often. To whom are you responsible? Who licenses your weapons? Who says what the limits of your business are and all the obligations to your employees? Who is the governing authority over you?"
"I am subject to censure by my peers if I offend their sense of right and wrong. If I fail to meet the terms of a contract they would come down on me with both feet I assure you. It's a very small community here. I'd be shunned, frozen out of business if anyone had the least doubt of my honesty. There are no millions of greater fools to pass a loss or failure along to and then discard their custom because there are plenty of other marks to fleece."
When Holland looked at him unbelieving Jeff added, "I govern myself, the same as other Home citizens, and nobody says nay to me unless they have a complaint after the fact."
"Now that is a very dangerous concept," Holland said, looking genuinely alarmed. "I wouldn't put that out in a public interest article. I have to live with my authorities even if you don't seem to have any. If I did write that up my, editors would kill it, and then they'd start looking at my submissions with a more critical eye, because they wouldn't trust me."
"All the previous assemblies are available as public record on our net," Jeff told him. "You're a journalist. If you can't access them I bet you know somebody who can. If you examine them you'll see what I'm saying is true."
"I'm not doubting you," Holland said. "The veracity is not the point. The story may be there and a few people will go to the bother to retrieve it. But if I shouted the story from a well known public forum they'd be very unhappy with me. This would be seen as subversive. There's a broad range of attitudes about Home in the political community. A few are just terrified of you."
"Subversive? I wasn't suggesting you advocate our way. I wasn't even really suggesting you report it. I was just explaining how it works for background. I thought you might somehow be more receptive than the others about explaining why I protect my property. Perhaps I read too much into your apparent interest."
"So you were hoping for a more favorable treatment? And what do I get out of it except an opportunity to shoot my career in the head?" he asked, making a gun with his hand and holding it to his temple. "I've been keeping a low profile and avoiding controversy as a game plan already, and you want me to suddenly take a very unpopular position by trying to justify your actions? Why would I want to do that?" Holland asked.
"Well, it seems like your job, to present things fairly and from both sides, or as many sides as exist. Sometimes things are complicated with more than two simple ways to view them," Jeff said.
"You are, to put it charitably, naive. I can't really condemn you. I was too. In fact I was naive for far too long, which is how I got into this miserable racket. However I'm not going to throw away a degree and almost ten years in the profession to try to reform the industry.
"Let me explain. I have no idea how long this utopian experiment of yours is going to last. But it is dangerously attractive. I find myself thinking I'd like to come see it, and maybe, just maybe, consider joining in the experiment myself. It scares me. When it fails it will likely be devastating. I have no clue how it will fail or what will become of you people.
"It's so attractive I apparently let it show on my face. If the public was encouraged to examine it I can predict it would cause all sorts of problems. The vast majority of those who find it attractive have no chance of really immigrating, do they?" Holland demanded.
"No, actually we already have a huge influx of people right now. To the point rents are crazy and there just isn't anywhere to stay. People are renting out sleeping space on their living room floor," Jeff said.
Holland nodded. "And if people are jealous of what you are doing, and they can't come to you, do you know what they are going to do?"
Jeff shook his head no.
"They will agitate and complain and try to get the same things put into effect right where they are. The bureaucracy isn't going to accept half your ideas without a huge fight. It's entirely too much freedom. These ideas pushed just a bit could foment outright rebellion," Holland warned.
"I'd hate to do that," Jeff admitted. "We need stability on Earth and I'd like to do business with Australia, not disrupt it. But I'd be embarrassed to ever say there can be too much freedom."
"Then I suggest you leave well enough alone," Holland advised him, ignoring the crack about freedom. "The story about your bomb is already old news and dying a natural death. If you try to explain your position all over again it will only remind people about it. There's a time to just shut up, even if you feel you are right and want vindication. Better to let it just be forgotten than make trouble for everybody, including yourself."
"Your advice is appreciated," Jeff said. "It seems very good advice to me." His brow was furrowed with a look of concentration. Social things were hard and he was thinking on it all intensely.
"I will let this story fade out. However, things will stabilize here. Your predictions of failure have too many forces working against it. I'm working on it. For example I have a partnership trying to create more housing. If you are really attracted to the idea of coming to Home, you might think on this as a possibility. You will eventually see it's not failing. Sometime my enterprises are going to get to the point they need a spox. You can tell I'm not exactly a silver tongued devil. If you could come to believe in the system sufficiently you might advocate for it, as a job. It doesn't seem too great a leap from newsperson to...what? Minister of Propaganda? What would the civilian equivalent be? Something that sounds better," Jeff suggested. "That word has negative connotations."
"Public Relations...Did you call to make me a job offer?" Holland asked, shocked. "Are you proposing I defect?"
"Not at all. Your own statements made me think of it. It's not a hard offer. But think on it for the future. Keep it in the back of your mind. You infer your present circumstances are not happy. You are candid in admitting the limits of your present government without my speaking ill of them to you. If you get to where you are unhappy enough with the entire package to risk emigrating, then perhaps we can talk. That's all I'm offering," Jeff said. "Maybe we can talk again in a year or two."
"I am insane, but I won't say never. I might call you some time."
"Good, I'm glad we talked then." Holland still looked shell shocked when Jeff disconnected.
Jeff just briefly felt bad. He'd told Chen he wasn't going to offer the man a job. Well, that hadn't been his intent, and he hadn't, exactly. It hadn't been a promise, so he stopped worrying about it and dismissed it from his mind.
Chapter 12
The road t
o Armstrong was mostly long straightaways and several gentle curves that could be negotiated at speed. It was only interesting because it was Kurt's first time. He could see how it would get quickly boring. There were hills in the distance several times, but the bumpy regolith near the road didn't have enough variation to make any part of it remarkable. There were no human structures at all.
The other drivers he'd asked for tips or items he should take along all agreed. Most of them said to bring a good book or music, and warned him to set the alarm for the end of the controlled portion of the road, to loud. If it was a good book, or if you closed your eyes with the music, you could ignore the gentler alarm until the much louder collision alarm jolted you out of your reverie.
Kurt was assigned a van to allow him to drive without a pressure suit due to his bandages. Some trucks had a separate pressurized cab and most drivers elected to wear a suit as an extra layer of safety even if they planned to sit out loading and unloading at dock. A van allowed him to walk out the rear if there was room and enter the terminal. He'd been assured he was hauling small packages and there would be a clear path to exit before he was unloaded. He'd entered the same way, and found there was a path, but it was quite tight even without wearing a pressure suit.
The alarm warned him that he needed to resume manual control, and the steering wheel vibrated as soon as he put your hands back on it. You could tell by the feel it was on manual again. Kurt was new at this, so he gently turned it to the left, towards the centerline to confirm to himself he really did have control again. The truck dutifully eased left at his input and he corrected back right before it warned him he was leaving his lane.
"Maintain a minimum thirty kilometers per hour. At the street sign for 16th Street S.E. brake starting at the sign and turn right," his navigation software instructed him. The route was shown on the heads-up screen and highlighted in pale yellow.
A brighter yellow ball started blinking at the intersection on his screen when he reached the turn-off sign and continued until he made the turn and straightened back out. He followed instructions to make another turn, drop to twenty kilometers an hour, and turn into a drive for the Armstrong Supply Depot. He was told to stop behind another vehicle at the end of the short ramp and wait for the truck park traffic to clear before proceeding.
Kurt watched a much smaller vehicle leave the docks and exit around the building rather than out the access road beside him. After it disappeared around the corner of the building the truck ahead of him pulled into the middle of the park and turned around. There were a few seconds hesitation and it backed to a dock door and mated to it. Not door, port, Kurt reminded himself. Door would make him sound like an idiot or an Earthie. A green light over the port came on after about ten seconds. There was room for six vehicles to unload, and only two were occupied.
"You may enter the center area and turn the truck away from the terminal," his navigation said. "You will be instructed to engage automatic docking and this program will terminate. Do not touch any of the controls while docking is underway or the program will terminate and you will have to affirm there was no emergency to a live operator before it can resume."
That seemed easy enough. Kurt drove towards the terminal and made a sweeping turn until he was pointing looking back at the entry road. The screen on the dash showed, "Docking net detected. Touch X to terminate connection to navigation and control. Docking will auto-connect. There may be a delay before docking initiates. Be patient please."
Kurt touched the big X in a box, reaching across himself with his left hand. The right was bandaged and didn't activate the screen, he'd tried it when he left Central. The screen changed to a backup camera view. There wasn't any delay as it had warned was possible. The truck backed up slowly without any further instructions, the steering wheel turning slowly one way and then the other to line him up on the port. The truck slowed as it came within centimeters of the dock, and then there was an almost imperceptible bump, then a sharper brief motion as the grapples locked and sealed the van to the terminal.
"Seal confirmed and pressure is equalized. Your vehicle will automatically unseal if you do not terminate the process from your control screen within thirty seconds." a different voice told him. "If you intend to leave the vehicle through the freight port please touch the second X box on the screen and unloading will be delayed until you enter the terminal and confirm your entry on the com screen assigned to your port."
Kurt touched the lower X and got out of his seat, careful not to bump his hand on something, the cab of the truck still unfamiliar to him. He had to turn sideways and shuffle a bit to get past the narrowest place where a big skid with a box on top intruded. When he got to the dock there was a com station protected by upright bollards, and a man waiting. He took care of marking his arrival on the screen and got out of the way before turning to the man. A loading bot glided into the van immediately.
Nobody had mentioned he'd be met. The fellow was young, had short hair, but still more than Kurt was used to seeing on suit workers. He had on all tan clothing that looked like a uniform but had no insignia or rank markings. More importantly he had on a pistol with a lanyard. It didn't look like a Taser.
"What's that?" the man asked, pointing at Kurt's bandaged hand.
"What does it look like?" Kurt asked. "It's a bandage." It surprised Kurt because it was obvious, and he'd already grown used to not fielding stupid questions all the time, like Earth.
"I have to ask if that's permitted," the guy decided.
"Ask who?" Kurt asked.
The guy opened his mouth like he might answer and then instead said: "Wait here." He walked far enough away to keep Kurt from listening and talked earnestly into an ugly com pad instead of using the warehouse com console.
"You can't leave the terminal area with that unless that is opened to inspection. There could be anything inside," he informed Kurt when he returned.
"I didn't intend to anyway. I was promised a half hour turn-around at most. I'm not even picking up anything. This is my first time here, but I was told there's a coffee room and a restroom for drivers in the terminal, that's all I need."
"Follow the blue line on the floor and it'll take you to the break room. Don't go off in the stacks or beyond the break room to public pressure," the fellow warned sternly.
"Sounds good to me," Kurt said, and bit off what he wanted to add. He really did need to stop being so...expressive, even if the fellow was an ass.
There were two drivers in the coffee room. One in a suit without a helmet and one in overalls. They were sitting across from each other at a table, one with his feet up on a second chair. Kurt sat with the improvised foot stool between him and that driver.
"Careful," Kurt said, pointing at his boots on the chair. "If the guard comes in that'll probably get you thirty days in solitary."
"You mean the concierge?" the fellow asked. "That and the valet parking just mean this is a fancy place now. If you really want to frost his cookies ask him to run into pressure and buy you a bottle of Bourbon. The commissary here has a few pints for about twelve hundred bucks, USNA. He got all prickly when I asked him to run a simple errand."
"He isn't allowed to say he's on duty," the other fellow said. "You're just trying to trip him up and make him reveal his true nature. I came to attention and gave him a proper salute when I came in. I think he might have sprained something keeping from returning it by reflex."
Kurt lifted an inquiring eyebrow and tapped his ear, then twirled a finger around to ask if they weren't being monitored here.
"Yeah, undoubtedly they are listening," the near man replied. "I'm way past playing pretend, gave it up years ago. It's always something. If they don't like it they can make me go back to Central. I'll take my cargo with me and they can have ration bars tomorrow instead of the potato salad and other stuff I brought. I'm told they just started this silly crap of guarding the entries two shifts back. As if we're going to back up a long trailer with an armed squad and invade th
em through a freight portal." He added a disdainful snort.
"Earth Think," Kurt judged it. "Oh well. Not my problem, I don't have to live here. This is my first freight run. I'm on light duty because of my hand," he said lifting it to show what he meant. "In a week I'll be doing something else. If they give me a hard time I'll turn the run down tomorrow. There's lots of other things I can do one handed."
"Yep, heard about that," the guy across the table said. "Friend of mine was having breakfast when you...got hurt. He said after the show you put on he'd like to see what you could do with a tactical spork. He's seen a little action himself. Spent a few years in the Pan-Arabic Protectorate and it left him a warped sense of humor, like so many vets."
Kurt could feel his face burning with a blush. "Is the coffee worth trying?" he asked avoiding any further discussion of his actions in the cafeteria.
"Not as good as ours. Cheap dark roast." the fellow said, amused at his evasion. "The machine will take ten dollars USNA if you have them, but it won't do a currency conversion. If you pay a bit it gouges you the full bit and doesn't give any change."
"Thanks," Kurt said. He did have dollars still. Might as well use a few.
"What you hauling?" the lounging one asked when he came back.
"A whole bunch of packages, mostly small, in a van. I've got no idea what's in them. I wasn't even given a manifest to be able to look," Kurt realized. He hadn't thought about it before. "It was so easy, and almost all of it automated. I can't see why they don't make the whole process automated. If they don't want to automate the yard maneuvering here and switching systems they could have one guy do it remotely from a tower who can see all the yard and ports."
April 8: It's Always Something Page 15
