A12 Who Can Own the Stars?

by Mackey Chandler

  “Sure, you ask him. Most of them were associated with some sort of university, tell him to watch their previous positions for changes in their status,” Jeff suggested.

  Chapter 9

  The metal awning was partially down at the rear of Alice’s old house. The top of a tree caught it coming down in a storm and buckled a corner support, taking it almost to the ground. Since the prevailing storm winds came from that side it didn’t hurt the concrete patio as a shelter at all. There were still lawn chairs outside, grimy with dirt and cobwebs, and a steel fire bowl turned over out in the weeds they could drag to the edge of the concrete.

  The back door was open but there was no damage to the floor inside because it was sheltered by the awning. There were leaves and pine needles blown inside just like on the patio. Arlo and Vic cleared the house though there was no sign of anyone. There was a stain across the living room ceiling that showed it leaked when it rained and mold growing up the walls in that corner of the room.

  Alice looked behind the back door and found a broom nobody had bothered to loot, certainly not the Olsen’s. Other things were visibly absent. The kitchen table was there but the chairs were gone. All the cupboards were hanging open and bare spots testified to things taken. A few pieces were busted on the floor and Alice swept them in the corner safely out of the way, trying not to raise the dust. That obliterated the footprints of previous looters.

  “Don’t be shy to look for things you can use,” Alice said, “better you than strangers.”

  Vic found a box of borax under the sink. The cardboard was all bowed out ready to burst, but he dumped a plastic keeper of cereal and transferred it. The silverware drawer was pulled open and the knives were gone, as well as the knives from an empty block on the counter. The forks and spoons and serving pieces were all still there.

  “These are nice. I’d like to bury these with the jars of nuts and bolts to recover later,” Vic requested. “Everybody has them from before the day but somebody will need them when they start a new household or their family increases.”

  “Knock yourself out,” Alice invited. “I think mom had another good set for company in the hall closet. You can look. I’d need a chair to stand on and they’re all gone.”

  Vic didn’t need a chair. The shelf was full of light bulbs, an antique slide projector, and photo albums. Something Vic hadn’t seen since visiting his grandparents years ago. A box was marked ‘Christmas Ornaments’ and nothing else that looked promising. That was probably why it was undisturbed. It was all the debris of a lifestyle that didn’t exist anymore. Vic took them down and put them against the wall with a sort of reverence, not like other looters who threw things on the floor behind them that they didn’t want.

  Sure enough to the back of the shelf was a wooden chest with a complete set of silverware. It was heavy and when he checked Vic was surprised to see it was sterling.

  “These are very fine,” Vic told Alice. “It’s a shame to hide them in the closet. If they were mine, I’d have used them for every-day. It’s just insane nobody looked at the shelf closely because it seemed to be all junk.

  “Take them then,” Alice invited. “We’ll use them back home if you like them.”

  Vic looked up at Alice, not because of the gift but because this was the first time she’d referred to the Foy’s place as home. It rattled him a little and to cover he said the first thing that popped in his head. “Maybe you should keep them. They’re worth quite a bit of money.”

  “Maybe somewhere back East. And the money isn’t much use to me either, unless you arrange to spend it for me. I know you have a bank account in Nevada and can buy stuff but would it be worth taking that with you next time you go?” Alice asked.

  Vic thought about it. “It’s awfully heavy to ask Cal to fly them out,” Vic said, hefting the chest. “Then he’d have to find somebody to take them back East where there are still people who will buy luxury goods. The market for them as silverware probably doesn’t exist now. They’d most likely be sold for scrap. Every time they get handed off to a new person, moving them to where there is a market, somebody would want a fee, so we wouldn’t get much back at this end.”

  “See? If they are worth something again in the future, they’ll still be worth it if we use them now,” Alice reasoned.

  “Thank you,” Vic said, not fighting the gift anymore.

  “I’m going to sweep the patio,” Alice said. “We’re going to sleep out there, aren’t we? It’s not as bad as the Olsens, but it’s musty in here and I can’t sweep the carpeted rooms with a broom.”

  “Yes the dust and mold and stuff are making my eyes itch and nose run already,” Vic said. “I’ll find something to put the silverware in and be out in a minute.”

  Alice went out to sweep and Arlo had the fire bowl on the edge of the concrete and was cutting branches off the downed tree to make a fire. Mr. Mast was taking a walk to the rear of the weed covered back yard, after looking in the garage and bringing them a spade and a rake. He was looking around with his rifle at the ready, providing them some security.

  Vic came out with the stainless pieces all rolled in a drape from the kitchen window.

  “I’m going to bury this right by the corner of the patio. It will be easy to remember and find. Especially if we send somebody back for things instead of coming ourselves. I want to take the good silver along even though it is heavy. Who knows when we’ll get back here?”

  There was a border of bricks around the perimeter of the patio, not easily visible but enough to trip over unseen in the knee-high weeds. Vic dug inside it, removing a dead decorative shrub. He emptied the dirt on an area rug so he could fill it back in without leaving obvious traces. He got down about a half meter and there was the sharp sound of shattering glass. He expanded the hole bigger than he intended and found a rusted metal cap still screwed on the top of a big pickle jar.

  He continued working around it with the spade, being careful not to bust it further. When the hole was all around the jar to the very bottom, he got the spade under it he tried to lift it but it was too heavy. Arlo came when called and held the end of the handle while he got a double-handed grip near the metal and lifted. Between the two of them, they got it over the edge of the hole without dropping it and dragged it clear.

  They called Alice and Mr. Mast came too, taking a break from guard duty as it was almost dark. The jar had a sack of silver dollars and a couple of smaller gold coins. There was a checkbook with a couple of credit cards tucked in it with expired dates. A folder of papers in a plastic sleeve were life insurance policies and the payoff letter for the property. Of more immediate use, there were two boxes of a hundred .22 cartridges, and a good compass in clear plastic. The sort you laid on top of a map.

  “Wow, buried treasure!” Arlo said. “Your dad must have buried this out here. You didn’t know it was here?” he asked Alice.

  “No, he must have done it when I was busy with something. Sometime between The Day and when they got sick. I was a lot younger,” she said with no irony at all. She had been forced to grow up way too fast.

  “There was a shrub right on top of it,” Vic said. “He probably was putting it under that for the same reason I was. It would be easy to find later. He would have been worried about somebody with a metal finder back then. The shrub would keep them from searching right over it. I’d be surprised if anybody is using one now with homemade batteries.”

  “We can get some nine-volt batteries flown in,” Mr. Mast said. “I think it might be a good idea after seeing this. We should check around here further and back at the Olsen’s. Around any place where we do salvage operations,” he decided. “I have a pretty good hobby-level detector in the barn if it still works. I’d rather not put a metal detector on the trades wanted board for the fair. No point in giving too many people the idea.”

  Arlo got a sudden intense expression. “I wish we had one right now. Let’s dig a little deeper,” He suggested.

  Mr. Mast looked shocke
d. “Damn, I should have thought of that.”

  Vic dug a little in a circle around the depression they’d left. If he found another big jar, he didn’t want to bust it. After a bit, he handed the spade off to Arlo.

  “I think there might be another shovel in the garage,” Alice said and started to go there, running right into Mr. Mast’s extended arm.

  “Don’t go there,” he insisted.

  “Why not?” Alice asked. She didn’t like being ordered around like that.

  “It was winter when your folks died and the ground was frozen,” Mast explained. “They didn’t bury them. They just rolled them up in a bedspread and put them in the garage. I’m sorry, but I don’t want you to see that.”

  For the first time, Alice started crying. Eileen had kind of expected her to do that just from seeing her old home. But it took a lot more. She was a tough little girl. She didn’t go to Eileen however. She just turned inside Mast’s arm and leaned on his chest sobbing.

  “We can bury them before we go,” Arlo offered.

  Alice shook her head no. “I don’t want you to have to move them. I don’t want to see them or think about that even. Just cut up the rest of the dead tree and pile it on them, then burn the whole garage down.”

  Mast looked at the distance between the house and garage. “If the wind direction holds, we can do that in the morning when we leave,” he agreed. “I don’t think the house will catch and the woods aren’t dry enough yet to burn. There are some cans of motor oil in the garage nobody took. It will make the fire burn longer and hotter.”

  When Mast let her go Eileen walked her over to a lawn chair and used the broom to brush it off and made her sit there. She did a chair for herself and they both sat to watch Arlo continue digging. It wasn’t long until he said, “Yep, I see some wood.” That turned out to be a piece of scrap plywood. When it was lifted something blue showed a few spots through the dirt.

  The blue turned out to be the plastic top of a square container like you’d slide under your bed for storage. It would probably hold a good-sized pair of boots. Inside was a plastic case with a very nice .22 pistol, an extra magazine, and various cleaning tools. The case was wedged in tight with more boxes of .22 ammunition and a holster.

  “Damn, you are rich girl,” Arlo said.

  “I already have the revolver that fits my hand. Can you use this when you do police work later?” Alice asked Arlo.

  “No, it’s really not suitable and I’d feel I was robbing you. Just the ammo alone is worth a lot in trade at the fairs. And that is so nice to offer, but I think you’d come to regret not having it later as a legacy from your father. I wonder why he buried it? You’d think after The Day he’d have kept it handy to use,” Vic said.

  “He had the rifle,” Vic pointed out. “He might have been preserving this as wealth or had a sentimental attachment to it. The way it was buried with the silver that was too heavy to carry and the pay-off letter for the house makes me wonder if he was planning on moving on? This place is too far from any water, and there was no decent heat in the house but the fireplace.”

  “We all huddled around the fireplace when it got really cold,” Alice confirmed.

  No wonder they got sick, Vic thought, but didn’t say anything.

  “After we have a bite, I’ll drag the fire bowl out a little and it will give me enough light to keep cutting wood,” Arlo said.

  “And I’ll take turns with you,” Vic promised.

  “I’m too old and fat to chop,” Mr. Mast said. “I’ll just help Eileen with supper.”

  * * *

  “Mr. Hall? Claw Security making a delivery for Mr. Colombe.”

  Irwin made a show of turning his nameplate on his desk to double-check and then agreed that was he. The fellow was having nothing of any humor. He presented his card.

  OK, the name wasn’t familiar but the bear footprint logo he knew. That outfit changes names like he put on fresh footies. The uniform was very military and that combined with the intense attitude of the fellow put him off for reasons he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Part of it was the low-slung quick draw holster tied to his leg. People who dressed so extremely were usually posers besides being Earthies. He had a minion left standing sideways by the door with a small wheeled piece of luggage.

  “Let me put my chop on your receipt,” Irwin offered. “You can put the bar right on my desk. I’m calling an associate to take it to the vault in a moment. We have a local security company arriving to take a load to the Moon this morning, so it won’t even be here an hour.” He added that because the fellow was looking around at the bank and not seeing the sort of massive security he expected.

  The fellow looked at the hanko askance and asked for a conventional signature.

  “That’s no problem,” Irwin said agreeably and signed under the stamp and even added a thumbprint without needing to be asked.

  “You can keep the carry-on,” the fellow volunteered. “It costs more to take it back than it’s worth.” He gave a little wave and his minion wheeled it over to Irwin’s desk.

  Christian Mackay came in just then with a hired hand and a freight cart following like a dog at heel. The lead Earthie security looked at them with astonishment and then amusement. In contrast to his intimidating uniform they had on lunar soft armor. The locals knew what that looked like, so they tried to soften the look. Their hoods were up but they left their faces bare. Christian Mackay had on a Hawaiian aloha shirt over his armor and his subordinate Sheila Tubby had on a Mickey and Minnie Mouse t-shirt.

  Besides the casual dress, Mackay had a pair of security drones hovering over each shoulder and a single Singh laser pistol. Sheila had a 30mm grenade launcher loaded with flechettes and a new item from the Moon, an ultrasonic knife. In this case, configured as what is known as an Arkansas toothpick. A long double-edged dirk with a minimal guard and a grippy handle.

  “You are all headed back down to the dock anyway,” Irwin pointed out. “If you want to cover Mackay and Sheila’s rear to the shuttle it will ensure your client's item gets off to the Moon safely.”

  “It’s signed for. I don’t care if you toss it out the lock in the general direction of the Moon now. Not my concern anymore,” the lead man said with a smirk.

  “Earth Think,” Mackay said, and didn’t add a word of explanation as it was obvious that was sufficiently damning on its own.

  “And you have nothing to do with Earth? I can hear Boston in your speech as clear as anything. North of the Charles,” he said, putting on the accent and lifting his nose to look down it. “And you,” he peered at Sheila intently, “Tongan maybe? I was told I might see a few of the island folk up here.”

  Sheila just ground her teeth and wouldn’t speak to him. She had a huge smile but right now it looked more like a wolf’s smile below smoldering eyes.

  “She’s Indian,” Mackay informed him, “but we’re both Homies now.”

  He sneered at Sheila who only came up armpit high to the three men. “Dot or feather?” he asked.

  “Do you see either, jackass? I’m Choctaw here or below on the Slum Ball.”

  “Oh…” He used a perfectly normal Algonquin word to describe her. Unfortunately, by use, it was rendered a slur long before Custer became a pin cushion.

  Sheila held her main weapon secure against her chest with her left hand and pulled the toothpick out, bumping the end of the grip on her hip to power it up. The knife made a brief chirp as it climbed up through the audible frequencies making everyone’s ears pop with transient overpressure. She’d taken two full steps towards the Earthie when Mackay tackled her around the knees. She then pulled Mackay who was near double her mass along the deck another half meter with the grippy elbow patches on her armor.

  “No talk, just GO,” Mackay told the Earthies, hanging on hard. They retreated in some haste though they got jammed up trying to go through the door at the same time.

  “Promise you won’t chase after them if I let you go?” Mackay bargained.
r />   “What? On my stubby little legs?” Sheila asked.

  That wasn’t an answer and Mackay wasn’t fooled to take it for one.

  “Yeah, I’m past chasing them. Do I still work for you?”

  “Of course. It’s not like you wanted to kill a customer.”

  * * *

  Arlo was going to bust the windows out of the garage to make it burn better, but Vic objected to the waste and took the time to remove the panes. It was quick work with a knife on the old putty. He just carried them to the woods and leaned them up against the side of a tree away from the house.

  Black smoke poured out of the windows and open man-door on the side until suddenly the inside lit up bright from the flashover and flame belched out of the openings. They left then, certain what they intended was accomplished. The house seemed in no danger and if it did catch fire, they wouldn’t risk their lives fighting it. As they walked away something popped loudly in the fire, overlooked paint cans maybe.

  When they had walked three or four kilometers they stopped and looked back. There was a smear of dark smoke blowing away to the northwest and not much new smoke joining it from below. They turned away and Alice never looked back again.

  When they got to where William scrambled up the hill his bag was still lying in the road. Something had pulled the stuff out that Vic had stuffed back in the sack. Probably from the scent on it. The plastic was blown over in the brush. They just walked past.

  * * *

  Chen very rarely called Heather directly. His summaries for all three usually served her needs. Jeff gave him most of his assignments and April somewhat less so. April had her own sources of information on Home. They both had more need of Chen’s expertise with Earth politics than Heather. She had much less trade with Earth than Home. She was more likely to be the source of lunar intelligence to him. Where she had interests due to being an officer of their bank or other business interests, she put off most of that responsibility on them so she could run her kingdom. They didn’t seem to resent it and only bothered her for major policy decisions.