A12 Who Can Own the Stars?

by Mackey Chandler

  “No, we all just run around the corridors naked in paint and feathers,” Diana said dead-pan.

  “I see… Then, some nice feathers, and blue paint?” he asked. “I look good in blue.”

  After they had a good laugh at his expense, he got serious again.

  “Is there anything about this you don’t want me to repeat?” Nick worried. “They are going to interrogate me. If they put me under the cap there very little they won’t know.”

  “Nick, we used to obsess about what we did where it might be seen,” April told him. “What we came to find out is that even if you tell people secrets directly most of them won’t believe them. They often won’t believe their own eyes if it contradicts what they know. Don’t worry about it. Just go ahead and tell it as you remember it.”

  After Jeff docked on Home they exited to the north spindle. A young man was waiting who touched hands with Jeff and went aboard to take it on to the Moon. They proceeded to a security console at the hub entry and each touched a screen there. The screen flashed green and said WELCOME to each.

  “The computer knows us,” Diana told Nick. “Jeff told Home security he was bringing a passenger in. Jon isn’t going to run an officer up here for one passenger he and April both vouch for. Touch it like us and it will prompt you.”

  When Nick touched it the screen showed yellow and black letters asked, “NAME?”

  He typed in Nicolas Naito and hit the register bar offered under that.

  “WELCOME, NICOLAS,” it said and went back blank.

  “That’s it?” he asked unbelieving. “No numbers, no history, no fees?”

  “It would have asked you to wait here for an interview with a security officer if you weren’t with us,” April told him.

  “Honey, that’s just the start of strange things you’ll see,” Diana promised him.

  * * *

  “Diana and Nick seem closer than I expected,” Jeff said after they turned off in opposite directions at the half g level.

  “Good neighbors are a treasure,” April said neutrally. “Let’s go home.”

  “You don’t need any alone time? I can go to my office,” Jeff offered.

  “Don’t make me coax you. I’m too frazzled and tired,” April said.

  “OK, and I want a long hot shower to get the suit smell off me,” Jeff said.

  “And take-away from the Fox and Hare. I don’t want to go anywhere,” April said.

  “Not tonight, I’m tired too, but in the next couple days I want to go to Central,” Jeff said. “We have the Hringhorni is coming in and I want to hear their report and talk to Barak about some things. We haven’t been with Heather often enough lately and worry about her being so wrapped up in the kingdom we grow apart.”

  “Let her know we’re coming,” April warned him. “She honestly is busy but will delegate or put things off if she can to clear time for us. I wouldn’t say anything about growing apart though. That might hurt her feelings that you think it’s even possible. Just act to prevent it, not talk about it.”

  “OK, you understand these things better than me,” Jeff acknowledged.

  Chapter 18

  “Annette, what is going on?” Dakota asked her.

  “I told you I was leaving Camelot, Mum. I got a call from Jeff yesterday that he closed his deal to sell Camelot. We agreed I’d just leave when that happened with no further notice. You know how crazy those people have been. We wanted to avoid any unpleasantness. I took a hopper to Armstrong and I wanted to do some shopping before I come home. I’ll take the morning bus and be home tomorrow. I’m not in a rush to do anything. I want to take a few days off before I start thinking about what to do next. Jeff indicated he might be able to get me some specialized training. Did somebody from Camelot call and worry you?”

  “No, a courier service just called and asked if I could receive a package from Jeff for you. I told them to route it here to my office rather than at home. If you were going to buy a nice courier bag at Armstrong don’t bother. They gifted you with a lovely one.”

  “That’s nice. Jeff probably told them to do that,” Annette guessed. “He indicated he was going to pay me a bonus for everything I did to make Camelot viable and more valuable. He offered to put it in an account for me but you already handle my money for me and I’m happy with that. He’s supposed to pay me in cash and I probably won’t spend it. I’ll just keep it as a keepsake of my first real job. I never keep any cash so it will be nice to have some. The bag is a nice touch. He can be so strange I’m surprised he was so thoughtful.”

  “Did he tell you how much he intended to gift you?” her mom asked.

  “Just that it’s the same as the real estate lady’s fee. It’s a bonus, a gift, so I didn’t want to seem crass and ask how much right away.”

  Dakota just nodded. She had raised the girl not to be demanding or avaricious.

  “Well, he didn’t send any coins so it may be awkward spending it,” Dakota said, “He sent two of these in the bag.”

  She hefted a long gold bar the size of a demi-baguette in front of the camera to display it.

  Annette looked at it uncomprehending for a moment.

  “Two of them?” she asked finally.

  “Yep, two kilograms each,” Dakota assured her.

  “I take it back. He thinks that’s funny to have that delivered because I was too nice to ask what my bonus would be.

  “No, you were right the first time. He’s strange. If he did it as a joke that would be a sign he’s improving at social things. On the other hand, we may look back and laugh at it later. That’s the nature of absurd experiences. If I were you, I wouldn’t complain about it. But I think one would suffice as a keepsake. You can’t relate, but on Earth, we’d be joking about putting these into service as a doorstop or a paperweight.

  Annette smiled and nodded, she had no idea why you’d want to stop a door from cycling or press paper but resolved to look up what those things were, later.

  “Could you deposit those for me, just like you did my pay?” Annette asked.

  “No, I think this is a good opportunity to make you learn to do your own banking and investment. It’s a good thing to know and part of growing up we’ve put off. I’ll put these on your com console dear. They’re your problem now.”

  “I’m rather wealthy then, suddenly, aren’t I?” Annette realized.

  “Middling, for the Moon. Think about it carefully and don’t blab it to everybody right away,” her mom advised. “As soon as you have a little money everybody will have a scheme to make you richer or have their hand out for some charity. If they don’t know it buys you some peace.”

  “Thanks. I’ll study it and learn how I want to handle it. Any other suggestions?”

  “Well, speaking as your mother, a nice thank you note to your boss would be in order.”

  * * *

  “Can April and I come back three days from now?” Jeff asked. “Deloris will be bringing the Hringhorni back home and you always like a face to face report. I’d like to sit in and maybe have a one on one with Barak a day or two later.”

  “Make it two days if not three,” Heather said. “They need to decompress from their trip just as much as you two did from Earth. I’d like to hear your story too, not just a bare bones text.”

  “I have to detail every stupid thing I did for you?” Jeff asked.

  “You survived, so likely the only stupid thing you did was going down in the first place. You can tell the crew about it. Maybe they can learn something from it. I’ll have Amy put out a cold lunch for everyone. They always like that.”

  “Nick and the other Hawaiians were very welcoming to us. I have no idea why we were targeted. I haven’t asked, but I doubt there was enough left after the truck bomb blew up to give any clues about who sent it. But April was right. Earth is just too dangerous for us and we are going to end up dead if we keep letting ourselves get lulled into thinking it’s safe again.”

  “You don’t think it had to do
with the gold?” Heather asked, surprised.

  “What would be the advantage?” Jeff asked. “I’d taken possession of it so ownership had transferred. If my buyers wanted to retain it, scattering it all over the airport parking apron wouldn’t have seen it returned to them. And that was only part of the payment. Nobody tried to stop or divert the bank transfer. Neither would a third party try to steal it that way. They would want a chance to quietly load it and haul it away. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I see your logic,” Heather agreed, “but I don’t know who to blame.”

  “There’s such a spectrum. On the one hand, China and North America always have it out for us,” Jeff said displaying one palm. “On the other hand…” he looked at the other palm, dubious. “I think we can rule out Japan and Iceland. But it might be some faction, even inside a friendly nation instead of nation states.”

  “Well yeah, North American political parties, even those out of power. On that other hand there are space nuts in most countries cheering us on, and people like the Amish who have so little in common with us I can’t see how they’d care one way or the other.”

  “People slip up,” Jeff said. “They brag to wives or lovers and then break up. They get drunk and babble. Chen or Jan may find something a year from now.”

  “Put out a reward if nothing turns up for free after a while,” Heather suggested.

  “I’ll do that. Are we good to visit?” he asked again.

  “Yes, I’ll clear most everything, but I hold court the morning after you arrive. That’s too big a deal to skip. It’s a set tradition now I don’t want to break.”

  “That’s fine. Maybe nobody will have a problem to present.”

  “Don’t I wish,” Heather said, “that hasn’t happened for a long time.”

  * * *

  Lindsey looked at the Earth news sites. She’d been trying to teach herself caricature, the last few months. Political cartoons were some of the best examples of that art. It helped that she could view multiple photos of a politician and then the artist’s take on their features. She was already firmly of the opinion that a lot of the artists couldn’t draw a realistic image of their subjects if their life depended on it. She felt an almost life-like image with just slight exaggeration was much more effective than examples closer to totally fictional characters.

  The cartoon she was looking at now showed the Australian Prime Minister and his Education Secretary. The Education Secretary was drop dead gorgeous. The artist tried to make her best features overdone, exaggerating the chin, squeezing the face more heart-shaped, and making her large eyes almost child-like. The Prime Minister was cruder, but he’d started less attractive. They were having a difference of opinion that had been leaked by a third party and her position was more closely aligned with public opinion. That happened to agree with Lindsey’s opinion of public education from her experience with North American schools. In the cartoon, he was seated jammed in a small old-fashioned school desk and she was instructing him with a thin long pointer and a physical whiteboard.

  It just irritated Lindsey how badly it was done. She grabbed a sheet of paper and sketched rapidly. She did the Secretary almost photo-realistically. Just simplified enough a viewer would be sure it wasn’t a photo slightly posterized. The story she told was all based upon body language. The secretary was seated on a bench with the Prime Minister. The caption balloon had the Secretary saying they were in perfect harmony. To Lindsey’s mind, the hypocrisy made it as negative for the Secretary as the Prime Minister. However she was leaning away just enough to reveal revulsion, and her hands were clasped together but shifted away from him, arm held to her side closer like she was afraid of contact. She did have her head turned toward him a bit, but it was in such contrast to the body lean it looked uncomfortable and strained.

  Lindsey allowed herself to exaggerate his baggy eyes slightly, because the public associated that with dissolution, and his already pointy nose was pointed straight at the viewer to emphasize it. They associated that with the upper class unfavorably. His seating was loose and knees spread in the manner that spoke of a low-class lack of self-awareness.

  She tried to clear her mind and look at it with fresh eyes and decided to change the font. She scribbled her signature in the corner last and sat it on her camera platen to archive.

  “This is how you do it,” she wrote to the news site and sent it off attached to the mail.

  A half-hour later she had a light blinking on her com. When she answered, it was a man she didn’t know, holding a print of her cartoon.

  “You submitted this, but didn’t state any terms or payment to use it. It’s damn good. What are you asking for it? I want to run it for the next two days while the issue is hot.”

  “Oh, you’re the editor I sent it to?”

  “I’m Jack Tollar, an editor but not the head editor listed on site,” he said, refusing the urge to correct her grammar. “He doesn’t deal with this, but he sent it down to me and pretty much said to get the rights to run it. I don’t recognize your signature or your style. Is that a pen name? And why is this connection so laggy?

  “That’s my real name. I’m a citizen of Home, which is why there is a three-second delay. It’s not an equipment issue. We’re on the other side of the Moon. I grew up in North America and my family moved up here. I do political stuff, but usually just for Home. Most of my work is portraiture and fine art. That issue just happened to resonate with me and I couldn’t resist being all snarky.”

  “That you were, in fine form,” the man admitted.

  “You can’t afford my rates. I don’t advertise to Earth but when I sell down there it’s usually to space nuts, and I get a thousand dollars Australian for a print, not an original. Just take it. I’m not sure when or if I’ll be inspired to do another. I don’t see it as a viable market for me.”

  “I have to pay you something for legal reasons,” Tollar said. “Name a number.”

  “Oh, OK,” Lindsey said, indifferently. “All rights in perpetuity, five thousand Australian.”

  “Thank you,” Tollar said, a little strained. “Do you have a physical address?”

  “Just send it to the Private Bank of Home in my name. They know who I am.”

  “If you have other work, I’d gladly consider it, Tollar said.

  “I captured your addy. If something else motivates me I’ll show it to you, bye.”

  * * *

  “There’s an Earthie sitting waiting for court,” Dakota said when she came to work. “He was first, standing alone outside the door when I opened up.”

  Heather was still at the breakfast table with Jeff and April. They’d sat there talking and never bothered to move to the living room. Dakota sat and helped herself to a muffin.

  “Let’s go watch,” Jeff suggested. “It’s always entertaining but he might be better than usual.”

  “Why not?” April agreed. “I don’t want to ruin my good mood trying to work until she’s done.” She thought a moment.” I wonder if any Earthies watch for entertainment?”

  “Ask my IT guy,” Heather said. “I don’t restrict access. Not even to the archives.”

  Right on the hour, they entered the audience hall and Dakota noted the date, stated the scope of the court, and suggested some might want to withdraw and settle their differences privately with less risk. Nobody took the opportunity.

  “The custom is first come, first served. If you’d step to the carpet you can state your case.” Dakota told the Earth gentleman.

  He left his attaché case on the bench and stepped to the carpet without notes. Despite the expensive Earth suit and silly hard shoes, he wore expensive high-end spex.

  “I am Dirk Crabeth. The Martian Republic has retained me to speak to you and ask your intentions concerning the contract you partially fulfilled, and if you intend to continue removing surplus personnel and collect your final payment?”

  “If you are bringing a matter between states, it has been our custom to con
sider those things in private after considering civil matters. Can I invite you to attend myself and my partners in my residence after I hold court?” Heather invited.

  “We are aware of that from examining the previous transcripts. I was asked to request a reply in open court on the public record.”

  “As you wish. I don’t know how well you know your clients, but candid discussion in a public forum is as likely to be an embarrassment to them as us, if not more so,” Heather warned.

  “My firm was engaged by interplanetary text message, which is a first for us. I’m aware I have no special standing before your court and plan to make my plea based on moral imperative rather than case law, of which little exists in deep space.”

  “Very well, I need to explain where we stand from our point of view. You are welcome to say how that seems to you, and freely contradict it.

  “This wasn’t a commercial contract, but a concord between sovereign states. The First Republic of Mars, even after declaring independence, had a dependent relationship with the European Union and continued the scientific mission of the outpost. It was only after they completely abandoned the scientific mission and engaged in a bloody revolution that the Second Martian Republic arose. It would seem the European Union citizens financially supporting the Martians felt the same because their donations have collapsed.

  “I submit it is no successor nation. We rescued scientific staff in two flights, for fear they would be outright killed for lack of environmental capacity. We took significant measures to increase that capacity, such that the pressure is off them for a time.

  “We didn’t have a relationship of high trust with the First Republic, and find no basis for a deeper trust in the Second. We received two artifacts as pay for removing two shuttle loads of unwanted scientists. The service and payment thus stand on a rough par, and if they wanted to pursue a similar arrangement, they would have to negotiate it anew as a new nation. I refuse to send ship and crew to a landing where I fear they will be hijacked or outright killed to acquire the tech and capacity in our ships,” Heather said and nodded to Crabeth that it was his turn to speak.