A Sudden Departure (April Book 9)

by Mackey Chandler

  "Do you think so?" Jeff asked mildly, far less jealous of his reputation than April. "By their standard no Earth currency is a security. The point they seem to be missing is they should be. But people aren't as stupid as they think. They know. Or at least those who matter. For what exactly can you redeem a North American dollar? You never know from day to day. Isn't it odd, when you think about it, that you have to take your dollar to a third party to get anything for it? All the issuers will give you for it is cancellation of debt to them."

  * * *

  Karl was too tired to be hungry. He looked at the stir-fry and picked up a fork determined to get it all inside him. He'd left one day this week without eating and just fell into bed exhausted. In the morning that was a mistake. He was ravenous and he didn't get breakfast as part of his pay. He got lunch but quickly found out he couldn't eat heavily and go back to work. He'd found a couple granola bars in his things from home, and ate those for his breakfast that morning. They weren't nearly enough to do the job. And then he had nothing for the evening.

  Aaron the cooks helper had been astonished he was so stupid, but at least he told him what to do. Karl thought it would be theft and pilfering to take food home, but Aaron assured him nobody would say anything if he got extra rolls and jelly or saved a portion of his meal to take home and eat cold for breakfast.

  He was still dubious, but nobody said a word to him when he rolled a slice of ham in bread, folded it in a napkin, and stuffed it in his pocket. He was prepared to blame Aaron if anyone called him on it. Aaron's kindness ended there however. His attempt to solicit a loan until payday only produced laughter.

  If he wanted to eat free he also had to eat it in the kitchen at the end of his shift. He couldn't come back later and eat in the dining room unless he wanted to pay. On the other hand he could put as much as he pleased on his plate and get bread and stuff like pickles or hot peppers. Aaron warned him not to take too much and throw it away or the cook would have a fit. So far he'd eaten everything.

  There wasn't much packaged in disposable bags or containers, and what was packed that way got the empties put in the recycle bins. Tomorrow he'd have to ask Aaron if it was OK to use a bread bag to take stuff home instead of a napkin. It would still get recycled after all, just with a little added delay. He thought it wouldn't be as stale in the morning and he wouldn't have crumbs in his pocket.

  Karl had to be on the job a two week period and then he'd get paid a week later. They said they'd open an account for him. He'd been shocked his phone no longer worked to buy stuff. He'd never really thought of it as using his mom's account before. The fact it wasn't really his phone either hadn't occurred to him. His mom had been nice enough not to demand it back. But it wasn't on her account now. He'd find that out when the service fee for com was posted against his new bank account next month.

  Security had picked up all his clothing and personal items from his mom's apartment and delivered them to the barracks. There were only three bunks open and all were the same and on the top third level, so he left everything in the locker assigned to that bunk where they'd dumped them. He didn't own a lock and had no way to buy one, so his locker remained open to the world.

  It said a lot about the sad state of his wealth and possessions that nobody appeared interested enough to even rummage through them. They were unchanged in the same heap every night as he left them that morning. It was a good thing the barracks had a vacuum tumbler to freshen his clothing before work, because he no more had money to pay for laundry than he had folding skills to make the pile in the locker neat and organized. He had three pants, five shirts, and an extra pair of shoes. That was a lot, because most clothing was lifted from Earth and expensive. You couldn't just wear footies at work.

  * * *

  "Dave's working on something else," Jeff said. "I suspect it's another drone for James Weir, but they're keeping tighter security on this one. He has a big chunk of the shop curtained off, not just a tarp thrown over it. I refuse to snoop inside his shop. We have a good relationship with the man, and if I sour that, other fabricators aren't as good. Even if he didn't say anything, others might pick up on the fact we were estranged if I alienate him."

  "Whatever he's building must be bigger. Do you think he might be going for a manned ship next?" April asked. "What would you do if you were him?"

  "I'd be terrified to send anybody, even a volunteer. We simply don't know if it's survivable. The drone was able to reach a sufficient velocity to make a transition, but did you see it?" Jeff asked. "The thing was like lace. It must have burned every bit of its fuel. I suspect his fusion reactors are improved too. I've never seen containment devices like it had added on, but I'm not sure it could make even the initial transition with the extra mass of a pilot and life support."

  "You keep saying, I think, and I suspect," April said. "You have some pretty detailed pix of the thing. Why don't have some experts do a really detailed analysis of it? Get some numbers for mass and how much power it had to produce to accelerate like we saw."

  "I could do it myself but I don't have time," Jeff complained.

  "Understandable, but who could you hire?" April demanded.

  "That's awkward too. Normally I'd have asked Dave to do such a vehicle analysis, but it's obvious I can't ask him. I mean I could. . . look how easily he could do it. It's all in his files already!"

  "There's a half dozen small shops who could do the same thing, aren't there?" April asked.

  "Yeah, but they all work with each other and Dave. Any of them I ask might let him know I'm trying to compile the specs on something he built. It would be the same as asking him."

  "Not at all," April insisted. "You saw something in a very public venue. Asking somebody with engineering knowledge to analyze it is not at all the same as trying to extract it from the fellow who is obligated to keep it confidential. One is morally slimy. The other irreproachable."

  Jeff frowned. "I depend on you for social standards. If you say so I'll depend on it."

  "Trust me. It's perfectly normal to want to know about the drone. Nobody is going to be upset with you for that except maybe James Weir, and he doesn't get a vote. His reasons for wanting it to be secret are pragmatic not moralistic."

  "OK, I have a frame guy who can do it well enough. I'll put him on it today," Jeff decided.

  * * *

  "Sweetie, I'm going to ISSII day after tomorrow. Then on to Sandman to make the transfer to Mars. Want to have dinner at the Fox and Hare before I have to go?" April's grandfather asked.

  "I'd love to, tonight please. It'll be a last taste of civilization for a while for you. I doubt they have nightclubs on Mars yet. At least their website makes it sound very frontier-like."

  "We'll see," Happy said dubiously. "I suspect a lot of that is public relations. We had luxuries and entertainment when we were the second ship to ever make orbit around the world. They might emphasize that to keep down the number of tourists distracting them. Also they aren't really independent. They still depend on tax dollars from the participants. Voters like the idea of a frontier and exploration, but they seem to want monk-like sacrifice from the noble pioneers. They'd hate to pay for them to be more comfortable and have more fun than the folks paying their way."

  "I imagine you'll still find a poker game," April predicted.

  Happy smiled. "I hope so. I'm taking six decks of cards, in case they're hard to come by."

  "Make sure what their laws are," April suggested. "I'd hate to hear you got deported because you broke some silly gambling laws. I have no idea whose legal system they use, do you?"

  "There are seven supporting nations, and people from a number of non-supporting nations, just like Home. They'd never be able to rationalize the different systems. So it's run by a rule book and executive council. The rule book can only be updated once a year unless it's a life or death emergency, because people got upset with it having changes every few weeks. I read it. Some of it seems silly, but I didn't see any deal breakers."r />
  "What seemed silly?" April wondered.

  "You can own specimens of Mars rocks or soil," Happy said, "and even bring them back with you when you leave Mars, but you can't display mineral specimens in your living quarters."

  "That is odd. There's probably a story behind that," April decided.

  "If I ever find out I'll let you know," Happy promised. "I'm not sure I want to ask. I may sound critical if I start questioning the reasons behind all their rules immediately."

  * * *

  April called and asked for a table. Usually she added a disclaimer that if they were booked up she wouldn't take a table from a paying customer. Detweiler, the partner who was the club maître d', even told her when it was booked solid a couple times. Tonight she didn't ask. If she was imposing a bit to exercise owner's rights it was a very special occasion. If they had to bring out an extra table and scrunch them all a little closer together. She knew they could do that.

  Her grandpa met her at her cubic and walked her down to the club. It was totally unnecessary but sweet of him. He was sort of old fashioned that way. He'd forgone his usual Hawaiian shirt and dressed very conservatively for the occasion, even wearing a long sleeved dress shirt, but no tie.

  The club had a sign on the corridor with a cartoonish fox and hare. She hadn't designed it, but she'd conceived it and had it made. It had a fox in checkered vest and glasses, with a hare holding a big old German clay pipe. The sign said, "Wo sich Fuchs und Hase Gute Nacht sagen," which a friend had explained to her was the German equivalent to the American phrase "The Middle of Nowhere." They were standing on snow before a leafless woods with a twilight sky. It still amused her.

  Detweiler showed them to a small table, second row from the stage. There was still another bigger table empty behind them so she didn't feel guilty. Their waiter appeared with a tray of appetizers before they even had their napkins in their laps.

  "Taking up mind reading?" her grandpa asked, but not in a mean way, amused rather.

  "A favor from the couples at the first banquette," he said. "Attribute the clairvoyance to them."

  They looked up and former President Wiggen and her writer husband Ben Patsitsas were dining in the private alcove. With them were the exiled sovereigns of Spain, apparently back in good graces of their nation in fact, but not publically yet.

  Happy waved and Ben acknowledged it with a tilt of the head, so he must be their benefactor.

  "They. . . those four, seem an item to me now," Happy said, but his voice framed it as a question.

  "That's the conclusion I came to also," April agreed.

  Happy seemed content with that confirmation, and didn't pursue it further. April was just as happy with that, as it seemed to make her grandpa uncomfortable. Maybe because they were his age. She wouldn't say anything against any of the four. They were all good people.

  The radishes carved as roses were almost too pretty to eat, and they were cupped in something green like a real bud. She wondered idly what they used to make them stick. Everything on the tray was a delight to the eye. They didn't say anything for awhile skewering the tidbits and trying the different combinations of them in the three sauces. The carving held the sauce nicely.

  "I want to give you your going away present before the lights dim and they start the acts," April said. She laid a block of cards down with a thin ribbon holding a memory card on top.

  "Bits?" Her grandpa seemed surprised at that. He carefully tugged the knot loose to remove the ribbon. A quick shuffle confirmed they were gold certificates.

  "When you find a poker game on Mars, I'm betting the pots are eclectic," April predicted. "You'll have a mix of currencies if not IOUs. I thought I'd stake you a little. It's only two hundred bits, but I wanted them to fit in your pocket. The memory card is an image. I wasn't sure you had mass or space allowance to take the original, but I have possession of it and will hold it for you. It's hard to see on a little tablet screen so I suggest you look at in your spex."

  Happy lifted an eyebrow, intrigued, and slid the card in his pad. When he sent the link to his spex they darkened deeply to display it on the inside. April was satisfied when his mouth fell open and then slowly curled into a smile.

  "Lindsey drew that. She assured me she took the time to research everything from files, but if there's anything wrong, anything out of period, she'd like to know."

  The center of the drawing had two suited workers on the opposite sides of a truss. Happy was facing the view point a little more than the other fellow. He had on his helmet painted as a knight's helm. His face was clearly seen and he showed the tip of his tongue in the corner of his mouth and was giving a right eyed wink, which was a sarcastic 'right. . . ' in helmet talk.

  The other fellow had his head turned further, but Lindsey consulted the records and made sure he was recognizable in profile as Chuck Fenton. The turned head was necessary to display the nude on the side of the helmet. The ample woman was lent a small degree of modesty by a strategically located explosive rivet kit. Some of the open kit was floating away, and her one arm disappeared around the back of the helmet to an unseen companion. The kit on the helmet was mirrored exactly by the one Chuck was using, but with better control.

  The background was muted as in all Lindsey's art, but some of the station frame being build was attached to the end of the central truss in the lower right corner. The opposite lower corner had the arc of the Earth showing, and between the two men but high enough not to be distracting, was a pale moon.

  "She nailed it," Happy confirmed. "The lighting is fantastic. Most people can't get that right."

  "Lindsey just couldn't figure out any believable way to show the other side of his helmet," April said. "She asked if I'd allow her to do another drawing with you both placing a hull plate to show the other side. She wanted to do that one offset to one side a little, with an obsolete scooter detailed in the background. I commissioned this as an exclusive but she offered the next one with print rights in exchange for the original. Since it impinges your privacy I told her I'd leave it up to you."

  "Make her a counter offer," Happy requested. "I'd like her to give you the two originals as a gift. You have nice stuff on your bulkheads, but I think you can find room for these. If not you can always put them in the entry or the loo. After she has them done I'd like a full sized print of each. I have an annual mass allowance in my contract and they can catch up with me on Mars. Just make sure it's shipped in a hard tube not fiber board. Maybe a piece of titanium conduit to protect them. If you want to release her from the exclusivity clause I don't care. It can sweeten the deal for her to be able to sell the prints as a series if she wants. I wouldn't mind being a famous face on a Lindsey print."

  "I'm sure she'll take that deal," April said. "You do realize her prints are going for a half Solar each in runs of a hundred? You don't want to ask for a cut of that, with your face selling them?"

  "No, but if she wants to take the series past two we can get a little greedy. How much do her original drawings go for now? I know she's sold a lot on Earth, not even trying to market them there."

  "I've had people send me text messages from Earth and offer me twenty Troy ounces for the big one in my apartment. I don't have any idea how they even know I own it. It has to be by word of mouth because it's never had prints made of it. They must just be going by a description too, because I've never seen an image on the network, not even a bad spex image, squared back up and sharpened."

  "You're awfully picky who you let in your place. I can't imagine any of your friends photographing your art without asking, but just telling the story that you own an original they might not think harmful. Even on Home I think that unwise, because it makes you a target for burglary," Happy said. He thought about it briefly. "Somebody might have taken a pic of a friend or a group together and never thought about your art being the background of the image. Things get loose like that all the time without any malicious intent."

  "This is almost as big and I'm sure s
he'll make the other to match it. So you are probably gifting me with a fifty Solar pair of paintings," April warned him. It seemed extravagant. She should have given him a thousand bits. . .

  "I am neither impoverished to worry about it, nor worried for my future. Anyway. . . I'm about to sell off some zero G real estate to some youngsters for a bundle of money. They'll be a couple decades paying enough on that to keep me comfortably in sandwiches and footies without any other income." Happy said, smiling widely.

  April forced a smile. Happy hadn't definitely said he'd sell the north hub cubic to them before now, but the joy was tempered by his intimation that she could expect the price not to be discounted. That was only fair. He'd worked and invested years to own that. Not like a gift painting that just fell in his lap.

  Chapter 11

  "Oh ho! Jeff exclaimed. "Have you looked at your messages from Chen lately?

  "Not for hours. If it's really important he has my code to push it through," April reminded him.

  "Our buddy James Weir, has enrolled in a piloting course."

  "Which sort?" April asked.

  "Orbit to orbit," Jeff said. "He is insane of course, if he intends to pilot a ship through a quantum transition with no idea what happens on the other end."

  April shrugged. "Neil Armstrong probably fits that definition of insane. If he'd waited until it was safe the city would have a different name, maybe Russian. I know I wouldn't fly that hunk of junk he trusted. But where would we be if he hadn't?"

  "I've looked at Jim's bio online since we met," Jeff said. "He's an academic. He has no business piloting an experimental craft on a high risk journey. You know he isn't going to build up any hours first."

  "I bet he hires a senior pilot and goes as number two. Just like when I flew the Happy Lewis with Easy. I think he's too smart to do otherwise."

  "That makes sense," Jeff agreed. "But I predict he'll be logged on as in command for the transition to have his name in the history books."

  "Didn't one of the polar explorers do that?" April asked. "I think one of his minions actually got ahead and reached the pole, but he had him back off and went ahead to claim it alone. Silly really, it was his expedition, so his achievement anyhow."