by Timothy Zahn
“Correct. But you may be disappointed. The belt is curiously deficient in the high-density, heavy-metal asteroids which are most profitable for mining.”
Meredith grimaced. How much of the eighty million dollars, he wondered, had gone for those mining rights? “You people seem to have learned the principles of cutthroat business without much trouble.”
“The Ctencri are good teachers; but their lessons have been expensive.”
“Thanks for the warning. We humans are supposed to be pretty good businessmen ourselves.”
“Perhaps.” Beaeki paused at the edge of the ramp and made a sweeping gesture across the torso of his spacesuit. “If you would be interested in buying metal from us, our refinery here may be able to supply small amounts.”
“We would certainly be interested in discussing the matter,” Meredith nodded. “And you should consider buying the sulphur and other minerals we will soon be producing.”
“I will pass your offer to the proper reviewers. Farewell.”
Turning, the Rooshrike walked up the ramp and disappeared back into his ship. Meredith’s escort, which had parked a respectful fifty meters back, drove forward to pick him up, and within half a minute they were speeding toward the control tower and the safety of distance. They needn’t have worried; Beaeki waited until they were well clear before withdrawing the ramp and starting the plasma compression cycle.
The launch, a few minutes later, was more spectacular than even the landing had been. The ship drifted almost leisurely upward at first, its repulsers muted in obvious consideration for the permcrete; but at a hundred meters the white spears abruptly became a pillar of fire, and the ship shot up like a fly off a table. Five seconds later the drive repulsers added forward motion; a minute after that it was lost to sight past the hazy cone of Mt. Olympus to the east.
Seated next to Meredith in the car, Lieutenant Andrews let out a low whistle. “Either the Rooshrike have one hell of a technology,” he commented, “or else the repulsers the Ctencri sold us are about five generations behind state of the art.”
“Probably both.” Meredith felt drained, as if he’d just spent the morning before a hostile congressional committee. “Well, I guess that’s our taste of diplomacy for the week. Let’s get back to work, shall we?”
Chapter 5
BEAEKI’S DEPARTURE COINCIDED WITH the beginning of over a week of relative quiet on Astra, a breather that allowed Meredith to finally get the colony back on some sort of schedule. Whether it was the small concessions he’d thrown to the militants in Ceres or whether the adjustment to Astra’s twenty-seven-hour day had simply worn everyone out, he didn’t know. Whatever the reason, though, he was grateful.
News from other fronts was somewhat less encouraging. The fields at Crosse had finally been enriched enough for planting to begin, but they were still losing metals too fast. Proposals for countermeasures began to clog Meredith’s desk, and he had to pull two of Major Brown’s engineers off construction work to do cost/practicality studies on all of them. The offshore mining had begun, but it was quickly becoming evident that unless the Rooshrike could be induced to buy some of the final products, the whole scheme was going to be a gigantic waste of money. Given the lackluster support the UN was giving the colony already, a failure of its one potential money-making project might induce them to simply throw in the towel. To Meredith that would be nearly equivalent to losing a war, a scenario of national dishonor that he had no desire to preside over. But if there were any other way for the colony to help support itself, neither he nor any of the scientists he’d put the problem to had been able to find it.
The only real bright spot amidst the gloom was that by the end of the week the two remaining flyers were back in the air again. The techs at Martello had finally concluded that Hafner’s earlier guess was correct, that some outside electric field in exact resonance with the repulser confinement fields had allowed the plasma to leak out. Where such a field could possibly have come from was a question no one could answer; but as the flyers continued to crisscross the area without the slightest hint of trouble, even Meredith was finally able to hear their characteristic whistle overhead without wincing.
And on the tenth day the quiet was shattered.
“Now you listen to me, Major: you will stay put. Is that clear? No sweeps, no stunner spray; nothing.”
Sitting in Meredith’s office, Carmen waited for the colonel to finish his conversation, her fury at Cristobal Perez a churning knot in her stomach. Yes, the colonel’s phone had an unlisted number, and yes, her office was just down the hall from his—but Perez still should have called the listed duty officer number instead of putting her in the middle of something that wasn’t any of her business.
“Not unless they start breaking more than windows,” Meredith growled into his phone. “Just go back to observing and keep me informed, okay? … Right; out.” Muttering a curse, the colonel flipped off his phone. “Idiot,” he growled, shaking his head. “The planet’s practically made of silicon and he’s worried about a few windows.” Looking back at Carmen he almost visibly shifted gears. “Right, now. You were saying you had a message from Perez?”
“Yes, Colonel.” Gritting her teeth, she plunged in. “Mr. Perez called me a few minutes ago with a couple of suggestions—”
“You mean demands, don’t you?” Meredith interrupted.
“I don’t know, sir. They did sound more like suggestions to me.
Meredith dismissed the point with a grunt. “All right. Let’s hear them and be done with it.”
“First of all, he again says that Major Dunlop should be relieved of command in Ceres.” The list was short, and Carmen ran through it as quickly and precisely as she could. When she was finished, Meredith grunted again.
“As it happens, I’m still considering what to do with Major Dunlop,” he said. “Relieving him of command is one possibility, but I’m not going to be rushed in my decision—certainly not by some transplanted professional troublemaker.”
Carmen frowned. “Sir?”
“Oh, you didn’t know? Your friend Perez is one of the new breed of college-educated Hispanic Rights activists crowding the landscape these days. Sort of a newcomer to the field, but damn good at it—has one of those golden oratory styles that turns crowds and liberal media inside out. I don’t know who the iron-head was who approved him for Astra, but I intend to get him disapproved and sent back to Arizona as soon as I can.”
“I see.” Perez’s presence here was starting to make sense—perhaps on more than one level. “Colonel … have you given any more thought to the idea of setting up a citizen advisory council? I think it might ease the tension if you announced—”
“Miss Olivero.” Meredith’s voice was soft and excruciatingly patient. “The farm work in Crosse is three days behind schedule, work on Martello’s landing field is being interrupted while Major Brown tries to figure out whether we should be building defenses against that Rooshrike mining group two planets over, and about thirty percent of my troops are currently tied up with civil peacekeeping duty. I’ll tell you just once more: we cannot spare the man-hours a farce like that would cost. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” she said between rigid lips.
“Good. You can tell Perez you delivered his message—and the next time he has something to say, he can write me a note. Dismissed.”
Silently, Carmen got to her feet and left the room, resisting the urge to slam the door behind her. Of course an advisory council would use up time—but so did civil unrest. In the long run the good such councils did nearly always outweighed their costs; she’d seen the studies that proved it. Why wouldn’t the colonel at least give the idea a fair hearing? Was he simply allergic to civilian politics, like so many other career officers she’d known? Or—
Or was it because she was a Hispanic?
“Excuse me, miss?”
She came to an abrupt halt and focused for the first time on the man who had stepped between her and the out
er office door. “Yes, ah—?” she said, trying to figure out where she’d seen him before.
“I’m Dr. Peter Hafner,” he identified himself. “Geologist. I saw you with Colonel Meredith the second night here, when I came to ask about the grounded flyers.”
The memory clicked. “Yes, of course. You wanted to study Mt. Olympus.”
“Right. Well, I’ve been trying to see the colonel about getting one of them—they’re back in service, but I’m way down on the list.”
Carmen shot a glance at Meredith’s secretary, caught the other’s look of strained patience. She’d once worked as a secretary herself. … “Tell you what,” she said to Hafner. “Let’s go to the lounge and you can tell me why a car or plane won’t do. Maybe we can work out something.”
“Well …” Hafner’s eyes flicked behind her to Meredith’s door. “Okay.”
He didn’t wait for them to reach the lounge, but launched into his spiel before they were even out the door. “Let me remind you first of all why an examination of Olympus is so important. For whatever mysterious reason, there appears to be little or no metal content anywhere in the first five hundred meters of Astra’s crust, if the Rooshrike data can be trusted. A volcano like Olympus gives us a sampling of the deeper magma—and if that layer should turn out to be metal-rich, it would give us an indication of where the weak points are for drilling.”
He paused for breath, enabling Carmen to get a word in. “Yes, I remember all this from the last time. You haven’t said yet why you specifically need a flyer.”
“A car doesn’t have the room I’d need to carry a coring tube and driver—the tube breaks down into sections, but they’re almost five meters long. I don’t know if a Cessna can carry them, but even if it can I wouldn’t be able to land as far up the volcano cone as I’d need to. I need VTOL, and that means a flyer.”
They’d reached the lounge now, little more really than a widening of the hall with a few chairs and low tables. Three junior officers sat around one of the tables, deep in conversation; Carmen steered Hafner to the table farthest from them and sat down. The geologist took a seat opposite her, an expectant look on his face. “First of all,” she told him, “I’m not really in a position to do much about this. I’m technically a civilian, and don’t fit anywhere into the chain of command.”
He waved the disclaimer away. “You clearly have the colonel’s ear, though. That’s more important to me now than any silly ranking scheme.”
First Perez, Carmen thought, and now him. What on Earth am I doing that makes me look so authoritative?
“Besides,” Hafner continued, “civilians like you I can talk to. I sometimes think military procedure was set up specifically to confuse and intimidate those of us outside the secret club.”
Somewhere in the back of Carmen’s mind a light flashed on. “You’re having trouble adjusting to Army rules?” she asked casually.
Hafner let his breath out in a whuff. “I’ve had less trouble with the L.A. city government. That’s why I’ve been haunting Colonel Meredith’s office, in fact—I can’t seem to find the right way to go through channels.”
“I know how you feel,” she nodded. “It took me the better part of six months to figure my own way around.” She paused. “As a matter of fact, that whole problem’s been on my mind lately. What would you think of us organizing a sort of citizen’s advisory council to act as—oh, complaint clearinghouse and general go-between with the military?”
“Sounds great,” Hafner said. He cocked his head slightly. “Though … that ‘us’ wasn’t specifically you and me, was it?”
She laughed. “No, I’m not roping you in as cochair or anything. Actually, I’m afraid the colonel hasn’t gone for the idea yet; he thinks it would take up valuable man-hours.”
Hafner grunted. “If it simplified communication, it would pay for itself in the long run.” He leaned back slightly, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “So. I gather you want me to make the same suggestion to him, using my scientific authority or whatever?”
“More or less.” She found herself mildly impressed that he’d caught on so fast. “You don’t need to fake an independent brainstorm, though. All I want is for you to get as many of the other scientists and technical people as you can to support the idea. You’re the real VIPs here, and the colonel knows it.”
“And once you’ve got his permission to go ahead?”
She hesitated only a second. “When the colonel authorizes the council, I’ll get you one of the flyers.”
“It’s a deal,” Hafner said promptly, getting to his feet. “If you’ll excuse me, then, I’ll go find myself a soapbox and get busy.” Whistling something nineties-sounding, he disappeared down the hall.
Carmen stayed where she was another minute before starting back toward her office. What Meredith would think of all this she couldn’t guess, but with any sort of backing from the scientific community, he should find it impossible to refuse at least a trial run. And once set up, the council would be worthwhile—she knew it.
And then life on Astra might settle down a bit … and she would have to finagle a flyer for Hafner. But that was all right; she’d manage it.
Somehow.
Chapter 6
“… AND THE ELECTIONS WILL be exactly two weeks from today, terms to be six months each.” Meredith glared over the top of the computer screen, and Carmen felt the room chill down a degree or two. “Will that be satisfactory?”
“Yes, sir,” she said promptly. A longer preelection period would have been nice, but as long as the council was strictly advisory it didn’t much matter whether or not the best people got on it. “Thank you for giving this a chance, sir. I know you won’t be sorry.”
Meredith leaned back in his chair and gave her a long, measuring look. “It’s a pity you never actually joined the service, Olivero. You have the type of self-confidence that makes for the kind of officer COs either love or can’t wait to transfer.”
Carmen swallowed and said nothing.
“But I like to think of myself as open-minded,” Meredith continued. He reached forward and typed for a moment on his terminal. “So I’m going to give that optimism a real test. As of right now, you are in complete charge of this council: its organization, election, procedures—everything. Your file lists, an impressive paralegal background, so this should be right up your alley. It’ll all be done in your off-duty time, of course.”
Carmen stiffened, but she knew she should have expected something like this. She’d backed the colonel into a corner and he was getting his revenge. “I understand, sir,” she said.
“Good. Now, since your organizational department conveniently keeps track of Astra’s progress versus the original projected schedule, we know that—after two weeks—we’re about five days behind, overall. If we ever drop to ten days behind, your council will be summarily disbanded—no arguments or appeals. If, on the other hand, we ever get ahead of schedule, you can come to me and we’ll discuss whether to relieve you of the extra council duty or else cut back your official work load. Fair enough?”
“Very fair, Colonel,” she said, both surprised and pleased. He was being reasonable about this, after all. “Thank you, sir.”
His mouth quirked in a wry smile. “Just remember this warm glow when you’re trying to function on four hours of sleep a night. Dismissed.”
Not surprisingly, Dr. Hafner was waiting for her in the outer office. “Well?” he asked, getting to his feet.
“All set,” she said. “He took the package pretty much as I’d presented it.”
“Great.” Hafner opened the door and they walked together into the hall. “So … when do I get my flyer?”
“How are you on early mornings and long days?”
“Haven’t had anything else in years.”
“Okay. Have all your stuff out at Martello Base by oh-four-hundred tomorrow. Can the two of us load it by ourselves?”
“We can if we’ve got access to a for
klift.” He gave her a quizzical look. “You’re coming too?”
“I pretty well have to, since I’ll be flying the thing.”
Hafner stopped short. “You?”
“Sure. The Army gave a bunch of us a crash training course right after the Celeritas got shot at and they thought we might be heading into a war. I’m not very experienced, but I am qualified, and flyers are actually simpler to handle than normal aircraft. More automatic systems, for one thing.”
“I’ve heard that.” Hafner still looked unhappy. “Uh … look, I don’t doubt that you’re capable—”
“And if we don’t do it this way, you’ll just have to wait your normal turn,” Carmen put in calmly, “because I can’t shift around both a flyer and a regular pilot without flashing red lights all over my boss’s board.”
Hafner considered for a second, gave in with a wry smile. “Well, since you put it that way, I accept. See you at four.”
The notice, stuck prominently to the Ceres bulletin board, was surprising in and of itself; but to Perez, its coauthorizing signature was even more unexpected. So Carmen Olivero had gone and gotten herself involved. He’d hoped his nudges would do some good, but he hadn’t expected anything this fast. You see, Carmen? he silently addressed her signature. Underneath all that cultural armor you’re just like the rest of us. Hispanic blood does not thin with distance.
He read the notice again, more carefully this time. Meredith, at least, was sticking to expected form. The council was clearly being designed as a cardboard cutout, with a slightly louder voice but no more power than any ten citizens had right now. But that was all-right … because eventually it would change.
Turning, Perez strolled toward the rec center, where other workers would be gathering after a long day in the fields. Ceres’s fifteen hundred civilians would have two representatives on the new council … and one of those, Perez had decided, would be him.
