by Pam Uphoff
Ra’d paused. “Panic? Sounds like I need to research the matter. It was considered . . . something we used for expediency, but needed to discontinue as quickly as possible. Because it built up in the environment.”
Ebsa folded the last of his field pants and carried the pile straight into the Junkyard. Not that the crawler looked like the disastrous mess the transportation people had told him to keep. Nighthawk had done a fantastic job fixing it to better than new standards. Ra’d’s Comet Fall girlfriend was handy to have around. Witches were so good at working metal.
He frowned at his foot locker and dug out some of his mineral samples. A little gold nugget, so to speak, the assay had been nearly eighty percent copper. Native silver . . . He scooped those up and hefted them.
I’ll practice metal working in small bites. And . . . well . . . rings. If I’m ever going to marry Paer, the newsies won't let me get away with a cheap jewelry shop ring. And I really can’t afford the sort of extravagance they’d approve of.
He looked down at the scraps and his heart sank.
Maybe . . . I could get away with a one-of-a-kind handcrafted “art” ring. Maybe.
More likely anything I could make would be sneered at as amateurish and crude.
How can I even think about marrying Paer? What do I have to offer her? I’ve saved up a decent down payment on a house. I could blow it all on a spectacular ring . . .
He dropped the nuggets in his pocket, and headed for the crawler. An hour to gate time. They’d better get moving.
The assay mission had an eight man Exploration Team running security. He and Ra’d were “Science Support,” with secondary orders that involved keeping an eye on the X-team and getting them shaped up for their new job. All eight had been security guards for the Empire’s embassy on the Embassy World, and had recently transferred to Exploration.
Essy, Arc, Boner, Fly, You, Ed, Moo, and Kobold. They were quite gleeful about the sudden jump in what they were allowed—expected—to do.
And lined up and ready to return to the fly and elephant infested World EH 15579, AKA Bonanza.
All the gold fields of South Africa, the diamonds . . . the event that split this world off from what they called the Mainstream Earths must have been in the last 100,000 years. Possibly even more recent. The flora and fauna were all modern Holocene. All that was missing was humans. Or even humanoids, or smart apes. Neanderthals, or Elves. Zero, zip, nada.
Which was really nice for the mining companies. The mission would turn in a report, the world would be auctioned . . . And Teams Fifty and Forty-five would go on to other assignments.
A crawler and a big excavator pulled up next to them. The crawler was a bit crooked and off center.
Ra’d snorted. “Go. Otherwise I might punch someone.”
Ebsa climbed out of the driver’s seat, and headed over.
He eyed the excavator’s height, and got a laugh from the crew cab. Okri, the Camp Manager, better known as Okay Boss since Ra’d had corrupted the whole mission’s modern vocabulary, stuck his head out the door. “Ajha made me take it down to the test track and drive it through the ring. So stop worrying. It will fit through.”
Ebsa grinned and walked past him to the geology lab. “All right. Who’s going to admit to parking like this?”
Vee grinned. The other seven all pointed at him. “I think they want you to drive, Ebsa.”
“Uh huh. And how many times did you drive through those rings?”
Vee squirmed. “My mom called and needed me to come home.”
Ebsa shook his head. “I’d call that sad, except I have one of those kind of mothers too. You have to learn to lie convincingly. Shave a day off your down time, and tell her you have to head back right after dinner. Then you give her the big-eyes and ask if she can fix your favorite ever, no one does it better, dinner. Makes her feel appreciated.”
Vee shook his head. “You’re shameless. I’ll try that, next time.”
Twenty minutes later they drove out of the gate and back into an Africa full of animals with no fear of man. And the tsetse flies, which were the main reason they were stuck using powered gates.
We need a really nasty barren world to use as a hub. We could route everything into it, drive a hundred kilometers and then go through another permanent gate for home.
Ebsa was delighted to see Team Forty-five driving off for their last camp, without hesitation. Good. They’re getting confident. Comfortable with their job. By the time we finish up here, they’ll be top notch.
The aversion spells they’d left on the camp had worked moderately well. The tracks of—of course—elephants trailed through, but very little had been left out that could be damaged. They did have to shove one squishy back squarely onto its pad, and replace the plumbing connections. Apparently it had made a good scratching post.
“So, what’s with the excavator? Going to dig into some of the kimberlite pipes?”
“Yep. I have some locations for the most productive diamond mines on our world.” Okay Boss grinned. “It worked for the gold. Now we can get some serious samples and evaluate them, so the companies that might bid on this world can take a good guess at the costs.”
Ebsa grinned back at him. “So, let’s get to work.”
It was work he enjoyed. A lifestyle he enjoyed. Sweating in the hot sun, sitting around a campfire in the evenings. The geologists and engineers egged him on with his metal working attempts. Showed him how to see crystal structure and facet quartz crystals. He ruined a lot of quartz. Managed to separate gold from copper . . . mostly. With a splitting headache.
Helped sort through whatever the excavator came up with. The kimberlite pipes weren’t weathered deeply enough . . . but a drill and dynamite helped get them plenty of rubble to dig through.
For gold, the Witwatersrand Ridge was right where it ought to be.
“Damn.” The grubby grad student—unfortunately nicknamed Ear Wax—held up a shiny dark lump. “Gold all through it.”
Okay Boss nodded. “We ought to just pack up and turn it over to the auctioneers. But let’s check out a wider area. Turn in everything you find—we get ten percent of the value of what we find, but we have to stop collecting well short of anything that looks like commercial mining. I’ll tot up the value and we’ll split it when we’re done.”
Doc Square picked up another chunk. “And it’s going to be a nice solid bonus.”
***
“So alluvial diamonds are too time consuming to be of any interest to a company?” Ebsa eyed his finds.
“Much.” Doctor Yippy—Ypxe—poked at his findings. “Mind you we’ll mention it, and make your finds available for inspection . . . hang on a sec . . . let me weigh these. It’s actually unusual to find multiple in such a short period. Check the map, I’ll bet your river runs close to one of the volcanic pipes.”
Ebsa shifted over to the mapping comp, and overlaid the satellite photos on the geologic maps from home. My river was . . . “Yeah, it skirts right around this one.”
“Hmm, interesting. Want to practice that faceting on some diamonds? I can credit you for a partial bonus with . . . these two little ones. Practice on this one, it’s got a lot of flaws. This one looks better, you can give that girl you’re pinning for a nice present—if you don’t shatter it.” He frowned and eyed Ebsa. “How did you even see them?”
“Oh, lesson from a Comet Fall Witch. Nighthawk said they mine diamonds by ‘seeing’ higher density points. So I tried that. That’s how I found the big one, there. So I kept looking. And dug wherever I felt something dense.”
“Huh. Well, take these two, and go practice your faceting.
***
Ebsa whistled at the size of the bonus. Two month’s pay! Yippee! Add it to the house fund. A note that popped up on his comm informed him that Paer was Across. And another from his mother.
Yeah. I’ll grab some home time before the next assignment. Relax.
But this time I'll do my laundry first, mostly because I'm
not sure I've got any clean clothes left. Except my suit. I could surprise Mom by being all spiffy . . .
Wearing it did let him wash everything.
And it was all well and good in a northern hemisphere winter, but the corridor to Montevideo dumped him into a mid-summer heatwave. The coat came off, and he abandoned all thought of surprising his mom in a tie.
He walked into the restaurant in the mid-afternoon slack time . . . also known as the dinner prep time.
"Well! Look what just walked in the door! Humph!" His mother looked him up and down, and shook her head. "Paer said you needed a new suit. And I see you need new shirts as well!"
"Mom . . . "
"That old suit was nice, I'll ask Madam Raod who that man's tailor was. Now, I think a wine reduction sauce would be good for tonight's special . . ."
Madam Raod and her husband, the Chief of Police, came for dinner.
Ebsa stayed in the kitchen and tried to not listen . . .
" . . . in Paris regularly he'll need a business suit and a more formal suit."
"Arg!" Ebsa shuddered. "Thank the One for the bonus I just got!"
Laughs from the kitchen crew. "That's what happens to ambitious people." Lupe sounded a bit proud.
Well he's known me since I was a kid. He and Mom worked for the same restaurant until I felt the power and she had to move to the enclave. And when she and Rico opened their own restaurant, Lupe and Jose were the first people they hired.
Jose nodded. "The President's daughter! I think even Madam Taix had trouble believing that."
Ebsa shook his head. "No, she was afraid I'd be so hurt when that snotty High Oner dumped me. I'll bet she hasn't said that since she's met Paer."
"Oh no, nothing but praise for 'that sweet girl' since that cooking contest." Lupe shook his head sadly. "Beaten by a hotdog vendor. It's a wonder you're allowed in her kitchen."
Ebsa grinned. "That was so fun. I missed last year's. I'll bet it was a great deal more . . . organized. I wonder if they'll do it again this year?"
And faintly from the front, Madam Raod’s voice. “. . . tuxedo.”
And his mother. “Yes, and you’re right about the two suits. And shoes, his are scuffed past redemption.”
“Good thing I just got a big bonus.” Ebsa turned back to the stove and got to work.
***
Mr. Safron's shop was next door to a shop specializing in wedding dresses. Ebsa gave the fluffy white confections in the window a wistful look before the two women hauled him into the tailor's.
With two women choosing everything he needed . . . It totaled up impressively.
And it was going to look so good.
Ebsa thought of his crude rings, and sighed. “Next up, rings. I need an art jeweler.”
Oh, the looks from Mother and Stepmother!
Mr. Safron chuckled. “Go talk to Mr. Ortego. He makes some very interesting items.” The address was just a few blocks away.
The women herded him back to his car, and he fetched his rough rings from the trunk.
Mr. Ortega was not busy, and happy to chat.
“I was playing with metal work and faceting while I was in the field. This is sort of the idea I had . . .” Ebsa trailed off as Mr. Ortega’s brows dropped as he stared at the rings.
“Hmm. Well, it’s a nice idea, the mobius strip, yes? But it needs to be smoother, a shining circle. Like this.” The big man stared at the ring . . . and it became a shining circle. “And your idea for the setting is . . . interesting.”
Mr. Ortega stared at it, and Ebsa’s strip holders were suddenly symmetrical and also shiny. “Natural diamonds are . . . not currently popular, but this one has a nice touch of blue. The cut is acceptable. And the matching wedding ring . . .” which was suddenly smooth and shining . . . “Needs a bit of sparkle, and matching the big stone will be difficult . . .”
Ebs pulled out the box of all his practice pieces, mostly very small.
“Paer’s a medgician, she’s in and out of glove dozens of times a day, so the actual wedding rings needs to be low profile.”
Mr. Ortega—whom Ebsa had realized was probably a Withione from the Ortega subclan—looked up from the padded box full of the little faceted pieces. “You did the work yourself? From a larger piece?”
“I’m with External Relations. An Explorer scout. I took a couple of rough diamonds I found as part of my mission bonus, and used them to learn faceting.”
“Well, well. If you ever get tired of the Directorate, come see me for some advanced training. Now . . . You’ve got the big diamond at the top of the twist of the mobius strip. So let’s run some little diamonds in a channel down each side, and on the wedding band, I believe these seven small stones . . .”
It was beautiful.
Everything he’d envisioned, made perfect.
Professional.
Mr. Ortega turned his leftover scrap gold into a thick masculine mobius strip, took a look at Ebsa’s scratched and battered watch, and shook his head sadly. “No stones for you.”
Ebsa ponied up the rest of his bonus to pay for the labor.
All I lack is nerve.
And to pick a time that won’t crash my potential father-in-law’s reelection bid.
***
When he got back to Gate City, he managed a few days overlap with Paer.
They headed for their favorite restaurant, for dinner and chat.
“Avalanche. They were amazingly lucky there were no fatalities, but they couldn’t get their vehicles or equipment out, and better than three quarters of them couldn’t walk out. One guy hiked for the gate, and jumped through unprotected when they opened it.” Per shivered. “I’d never seen what that does to the peripheral nerves before. Ouch! I guess it’s not that bad for everyone, but . . . I gave him a slug of Joy Juice, to the glares of the real doctors responding.”
Ebsa grinned. “You’ve got permission to carry.”
“Yeah, but they didn’t like my using it.” She sighed. “And then they heaped praise all over me for the bone and tendon repairs and would not stop talking about me going to medical school. I . . . am not ready for that yet.”
“Whoo, look at the Hot Shot Agent, dating outside his social circle!”
Ebsa glanced over his shoulder, identified the heckler as non-threatening, and turned back to Paer. And caught a faint sadness in Paer's eyes.
Because she's not the one being called the hotshot agent? Or because . . . well, no husband, no children? Ebsa, boy, you'd better get your plans together. The election is this year, so next year is the wedding. Right?
Although . . . from what I’ve heard . . . perhaps I should reevaluate the political impact of The president’s daughter marrying a Clostuone.
Paer reached across the table. “You’ve got your ‘planning something diabolical’ look on. What are you thinking about?”
“Politics. Will you still love me if I . . . am wrong about a possible . . . umm . . .”
“I will love you no matter what . . . and when are you going to tell me about it?”
“Next week, if my analysis supports my gut feelings.”
Chapter Four
Help or Hinder?
Ebsa stared at his list, the graph.
It was an election year. The War Party and the Isolationists were hogging all the news time. Even the small political parties, the Pacifists, the Nativists, the Strong Federalists, and the Multitude Supreme parties were getting more news time than the Modernists.
And mostly the mentions of Orde were dismissive. “The One are tired, ready for someone new, someone with a vision.”
All the polls had him running a weak third. No big deal this early in the year, with all the attention on the primaries.
But . . . President Orde has been in office for over fourteen years. Re-elected twice. Is everyone bored with him? Ready for something new, despite all the changes Orde has ushered in? Permanent gates, corridors. Diplomacy among all the dimension traveling worlds.
Of course
. . . Comet Fall's successful genetic attack was a serious setback, but everyone knows it was retaliation for our attack on them, one raid too many, after all the trouble we've caused them. And we're back at peace, and anyone who wants their genes back can get them back.
The Conclave was a bit of a disappointment. They just confirmed the current standards, while saying no direct victims of the attack would be reclassified. And they're still arguing.
And it wasn’t like the Helios were his fault. But a lot of people are still upset about their slave raids. About not being able to get all the captured students back.
Ebsa scowled at his list.
Orde needs to get his name mentioned, he needs to hold attention more often. But not a government scandal. Not a personal scandal. He got up and paced the floor.
Of course it will be a scandal. But not the president's dishonorable behavior type of scandal.
So should it be quietly done and over with? Or should it be a year-long social extravaganza? AKA torture.
Torture. Definitely.
Dammit.
But we have to keep it to a few months!
So . . . will this help a faltering campaign, or destroy it?
"Only one way to find out." He paced over to the new suit, laid out on the bed. "Montevideo does the latest Paris fashions, and makes them look better. I think." He finished dressing. Dithered. Slipped the ring into the inside pocket.
"All I need is courage. And brashness. And the gall to make sure this gets a lot of publicity. And the grit to see it through." He carried coat and tie out to his car, and placed them carefully within reach. Dry swallowed. "Courage."
He parked in the "known, trusted" area. Combed his hair, tied the tie just right. At least it was a garden party; any men in tuxes would be guards. Ebsa got out and put on the suit coat. Checked the ring.
