“He’s high-tailing over the crest of the hill,” Arlo said. “We were in sight behind you, so he knows there are at least us and who knows how many strung out behind us.”
“Was that the Olsen brat?” Vic asked Alice.
“I don’t know. He was too far away. He was skinny enough to be William and he had jeans and a sort of dirty green patterned shirt like that. But I couldn’t see his face. Men with beards all kind of look alike to me from very far away,” Alice admitted.
“Why would it be him? Arlo asked.
“The rest of them should have come home yesterday, so I thought maybe he was coming to see why they didn’t show up,” Vic said.
“OK, that makes sense.”
“He dropped something in the road up ahead. Maybe it will give us a clue.”
“Poke it with a long stick,” Arlo warned him. It could be a booby-trap.
“You’re paranoid, and I’ll cut one right now,” Vic agreed.
Then Mr. Mast caught up and they had to explain everything.
“No boom,” Arlo said. He sounded disappointed.
Mr. Mast was standing away across the road keeping an eye on the hill.
The sack had a pair of well-worn socks, a plastic sheet all balled up, not folded, and a plastic water bottle, mostly full.
“That’s their water bottle,” Alice said. “Or at least they had one just like it.”
“Want any of it?” Arlo asked her.
Alice just made a face.
“I’m just going to leave it right here then,” Arlo said. Vic nodded agreement.
“Let’s space out again,” Vic said and started walking. It was too early to switch.
* * *
Jeff, April, and Heather were all together again, enjoying a quiet supper. Heather’s housekeeper, Amy, was dismissed for the evening to give them some privacy.
“I have a really tough decision to make,” Jeff said.
“Take the apple,” Heather advised. “That leaves more of the blueberry for me.”
“Done, but my mind was on other stuff. Has Dakota said anything to you about her daughter Annette?” Jeff asked her.
“Rarely. Maybe two months ago she went over to Camelot for a couple of days to see her. She didn’t have any stories to share when she came back. She doesn’t chat about family stuff.”
“She’s been administrator there well past the agreed upon time. She informed me she didn’t intend to make it a lifetime career and I’d better start looking for someone to replace her,” Jeff said.
“We have about three times as many people at Central as when she started. There must be somebody with the skills. If you want to bring somebody in from Home I don’t care. I leave Camelot up to you. It wouldn’t ruin my day to have them go their own way. It’s not like they contribute much economically to Central. I’ve never demanded a cut of the casino earnings because I don’t approve of it. I know you can’t legislate morality, but instead of washing my hands of Camelot, now I find myself dealing with Martians too.” Heather said. “I’d rather not associate with either of them, truth be told.”
“I have several people in mind who I could put in charge there. My bigger problem is what to do with Annette. She’s sworn to you. I was hoping maybe you’d have some idea how to use her.”
“What did she say?” April asked him.
“She didn’t volunteer any preference at all,” Jeff said. “Just to leave Camelot.”
“And you didn’t ask?” April demanded.
“Ohhh,” Jeff said, suddenly sheepish.
“People aren’t components to rip out of one socket and plug in another,” April said. “I swear, just when I feel we’ve socialized you, you do something like this.”
“The young woman is quite bright,” Heather said. “If you don’t offer her something attractive, she’ll have no trouble finding work from me or others. Dakota has a family property and she could just work at developing that or start her own business.”
“I’m asking what to do, aren’t I? I know that about people. I thought maybe Dakota might have lobbied Heather for her because she is her daughter. She might be just as ready to leave off working for me as she is to leave Camelot, and too polite to say so.”
“I’d regard it as a hardship post,” April agreed. “Not because of you though.”
“That’s part of the problem. I feel like I’m sentencing someone to work there more than assigning them. If I send somebody I value there, it may alienate them from me once they find out how difficult and unrewarding it is. I still don’t have anybody for the job who speaks Mandarin.
“We’ve tried to dilute the Chinese population there by bringing in others and they quit at the end of their first contract. Annette got them to be self-supporting with the casino, but I’ve never been able to get a critical mass of outsiders there to start up a different industry like manufacturing. Anything like that the Chinese invariably feel is suitable for peasants and they won’t touch it.
“I have a bunch of people who all want to be administrators and no workers. It bothers me too that they treat the few people who will get their hands dirty like... well, like dirt.”
“Why don’t you let it go?” Heather asked. “I’ll release any sovereign interest.”
“When China and I came to terms and they ceded the colony to me and I felt responsible for it. You are responsible for conquered territory under international law. Even if we are not signatories to that, I think it is a reasonable point of law. We did cut it off from their control with the L1 limit. I’m reluctant to just irresponsibly walk away from it with no benefit. We’ve wasted so many hours on it there should be some reward. If I knew then what I know now, I might have just forced them all to go back home to China and shut it down.”
“It’s a classic white elephant,” Heather said. “The Chinese benefited because it was the sort of thing big countries have for prestige. Any country who is anybody has to have a Moon colony just like they have to own at least one aircraft carrier, a national airline, an army with fancy uniforms, and a bunch of buildings with big columns and steps out front. There must be some middle-size country with the rest of the toys you can sell it to who want to impress their friends and allies. Don’t just walk away, sell it.”
“I thought about selling it to them,” Jeff admitted. “But the numbers just aren’t there. They make enough to pay their way but not enough margin to pay me anywhere near what it is worth for the whole, and how would they settle who has what interest in the common infrastructure?
“I had some investors to start up the casino, but none of them were interested in taking it over even after it was profitable. Instead, they have begged off and asked to be bought out one by one.”
Heather raised her eyebrows but Jeff didn’t get the message, making her say it.
“Maybe they were all perceptive and you should heed the collective opinion.”
“Oh, actions speak louder than words.” He finally got it.
“They’re from a classic low trust society and would cheat and obstruct. You’d never get paid what they agreed to anyway,” April predicted. “I’d walk away from the housing aspect of it. Give them their homes and sell off the casino and the infrastructure. The casino business has obvious value and you can sell the power generation and environmental support. The new owner can charge all the residents utility fees to recoup that. You just have to install meters. Not that I don’t expect them to try to bypass them and steal the services too.”
“I like it. I won’t feel I am abandoning them. They get title to their home for nothing, so how can they possibly complain? They never had any ownership of it under the Chinese. I could heartlessly sell it to somebody who would start demanding rent. The new owners and they can have the joy of each other.”
“You’re selling it with a vast improvement from when you got it,” Heather pointed out. “As much as I dislike gambling it would have been an impossible money pit if Annette hadn’t developed the casino. You should give her
a chunk of the sales price if you get a buyer. She earned it and deserves it.”
“And whatever you do, don’t self-finance,” April said. “Cash upfront. If they need to get a mortgage let them go to the bankers.”
Earth bankers,” Jeff said. “I don’t think Irwin would touch it. I’d advise him not to.”
“You should tell Annette what’s happening and use the opportunity to ask her what she wants to do next,” April insisted. “Even if she has something in mind already it shows a personal interest you should demonstrate with your high-level people.”
“Alright, I will,” Jeff agreed. “You already sell lunar real estate. Do you want to sell Camelot for me?” Jeff asked Heather.
“In my spare time? Get the lady who sold April her place,” Heather suggested.
* * *
“Maybe it was a launcher tube, and the projectile is gone,” Walter Houghton said. “He made a gesture like he was holding it over his shoulder like a rocket-propelled grenade and even tilted his head like he was sighting along it. Even though he had gloves on he didn’t risk lifting the tube to his shoulder in jest and contaminating it.
Dr. Holbrook had a sour look on his face. He was all over the spectrum for different aspects of personality. But humor was a deficient area for him. At least he recognized this was humor even if he didn’t appreciate it. He didn’t go into a long dissertation about why it couldn’t be a weapon carrier. Just the fact it wasn’t big enough should have sufficed. The tube was more of a size to be a musical instrument and flared slightly on the flanged end. It would be wonderful if it was a launcher. Then it would probably have a handle on it giving some clue what sort of hand or tentacle grasped it and actuated it.
“Marks on the flange indicate the Martians removed fasteners holding it on a flat plate. We’ve checked the surface marks with electron microscopy and they aren’t just fresh looking. The depth of oxidation indicates it was removed in the last couple of months. We’re not sure why the other end doesn’t have a flange,” Holbrook said.
“I’m a design guy,” Houghton reminded him. He was a doctor too, but his boss still favored theoretical work over practical matters. He might as well have been an engineer in Holbrook’s estimation.
“There is a step in the rim of the other end. If you check that carefully I’d bet you will find traces of a gasket or dissimilar metal. The tube was inserted through a hole in sheet metal, but the other end fit in another hole where it wasn’t accessible to bolt in. That’s why the flange is on one end. It might have been another sheet, like the other side of a double-wall bulkhead or a machine. It might even have been a port on a distribution manifold,” Walter guessed.
“That’s an awful lot of supposition on thin evidence,” Dr. Holbrook objected.
“Ten grams at even odds says it will fit those specs,” Walter offered.
“Yes, I know you said you’d bet on the idea, but the sovereign emphatically warned me not to gamble with you,” Holbrook said.
“She doesn’t like any kind of wagering,” Walter said.
“Indeed, but her warning was very specific to you,” Holbrook insisted.
“That’s probably the nicest thing anybody will say about me today,” Houghton said.
Holbrook didn’t argue with that. He was uncomfortable with Walter’s relationship with their employers. It differed from his in ways he didn’t understand. Walter used to live with Singh on Home. He couldn’t imagine doing that.
“What else do you suppose about it?” Holbrook prompted him.
“Well, this electrical connector on the side is obvious. I’d say our Martian friends unplugged an electrical line for us there too. If it were just ripped out there would be damage. There was some sort of retainer or they wouldn’t have a flat around it.”
“Yes, the drag marks where some sort of clip locked it in are as fresh as the flange marks. I would theorize that half-sphere sticking up was a locking detent. It is at the end of a long simple spring in the scans. The clip likely had a hole into which that locked.”
“Shucks, you could do this without me,” Houghton complimented him. “That looks like gold inside. Is it?”
“It is, and it also has microscopic drag marks at six points inside the hole. The thickness of the gold indicates it wasn’t designed to have a design life of thousands of insertions and withdrawals. It was a part they didn’t anticipate replacing often.”
“One connector,” Houghton noted. “I’d say it’s low voltage DC, and the return was a common ground through the flange. Have you tried feeding any power to it?”
“Not yet. We’d like your thoughts on that too.”
“This wasn’t built by idiots. If it has polarity it should either be indifferent to being hooked up reversed or have protection built in. If you start at a few tenths of a volt and try one polarity and then the other it should display high resistance one way from something like a blocking diode, and draw current the other way. Eventually, it should do something when you get near its normal operating voltage. If it doesn’t, try interrupting the current or give it a waveform.”
“But what do you think it does?” Holbrook demanded.
“I have no idea,” Houghton said, but he was looking at it hard.
“I find it hard to believe you don’t have at least six different ideas,” Holbrook insisted. “That’s your specialty, wild flights of fancy to put a science fiction writer to shame.”
“Oh, well, if it’s wild flights of fancy you want,” Houghton said with an appropriate swoop of the hand. “It could be a speaker system and will play classic jazz with the right input or a sonic death ray that will reduce you to jelly. It could be part of a pneumatic delivery system like banks and department stores used to use to send paperwork between floors. It could be a delivery tube from his private kitchen to the captain’s cabin to shoot him cans of cold beer. It could be some sort of tentacle conditioning device that invigorates the weary appendages after a hard day, like a foot massage machine. It may be a plain old air duct and the electric powers something like an invisible fence to keeps vermin from having the run of the ship by blocking their passage. If you power it up, I don’t suggest sticking your fingers inside, it may give you a nasty jolt.”
Holbrook noted that was exactly six. He was glad he hadn’t asked for twelve. What was it like inside that mind? Was it just a blizzard of random ideas bouncing around like a hailstorm of ping pong balls?
“Point taken,” Holbrook agreed. “We won’t stand in line with it or point it at anything important just in case it is some kind of death ray.”
“Call me when you are going to fire it up,” Houghton begged.
Chapter 8
Vic had no idea what to expect of the Olsens’ house. He somehow had a mental picture of a yard strewn with trash and the doors hanging open, because he already had a bad opinion of the family. The reality was there was no clutter around the house, just a bundle of kindling wood on the porch.
It appeared the family had trimmed back the trees and brush around the home further than had been allowed before The Day. Some stumps were showing along the edge of the woods. Maybe they were cut for fuel. Probably not trimmed back far enough to save it if there was a wildfire, but enough to help with security if anyone wanted to sneak up on them, like he wanted to do right now.
“Vic, if you will be patient, I will work my way around to the opposite side of the cleared area so I can see the back end of the house but I’ll stay in sight of you. Once I’m satisfied with my view of the exit, I’ll wave my hat at you and advance to the back door. You go to the front. That way nobody can sneak out the other way. Mr. Mast, will you follow me part way and stop when you can cover both doors?”
The older man just nodded yes.
“Where should I go?” Alice asked.
“Stick to Mr. Mast but stay clear if he needs to shoot,” Arlo said.
“I’m pretty sure all the Olsens are accounted for,” Vic said.
“All the more reason to be
cautious if anybody is in there,” Arlo said. “They don’t belong and may think we are the rightful owners returned.”
“OK, but we both call out and we have to be careful we don’t shoot each other, coming in from opposite sides like that.”
Approaching the front steps Vic saw the side windows were open just a little to allow air to circulate but keep the rain out. The front windows, sheltered under the porch roof were wide open behind their screens. The door was unlocked which he expected given the windows.
“Kitchen clear!” Arlo called from the back.
“Front room too,” Vic called out just as loud. He stopped and listened just like he imagined Arlo was doing. There was no activity stirred from their entry.
“Dining room! Waiting for you,” Arlo called.
“Coming!”
Arlo was waiting to one side of the door from the kitchen, not exposing his back to the outside entry. Vic noted that as a good idea.
“I’ll go down the hall and clear the rooms one by one,” Arlo volunteered. “Just cover the hall for me so nobody comes out while I’m in a room.” He slung his long gun and favored his pistol for this job.
“I’ve got it,” Vic assured him.
Arlo came back holstering his pistol. “The bedrooms are clear and the closets too,” he told Vic.
“I’ll call in Mast and Alice,” Vic said.
The house smelled bad. The upholstered furniture in the living room had sheets or blankets thrown over them because the stuffing was coming out. The floor had grass and dirt tracked in and no obvious attempt to clean it. They might not even own a broom, Vic thought. A vacuum would be useless now.
“Don’t go in the bathroom down the hall,” Arlo warned. “I closed the door for a reason. Nobody has bothered to dump water down the toilet in a long time.”
Alice came in with Mast behind her and looked around. She didn’t seem surprised or disgusted so Vic figured this must be how she expected it to be.
A12 Who Can Own the Stars? Page 12
