Kotka was the company's largest docking station, positioned just beyond Luna. Asteroid mining ships on the Belt routes would dock there to refuel, restock, complete repairs, whatever. It had congested in recent weeks as ships came limping in from the Belt.
"Are you trying to raise my anxiety?" said Ramdakan. "Do you want to give me heart palpitations? Just hearing the word 'Kotka' grows an ulcer on my ulcer. The station is a bleeding wound right now. Money is pouring out of there like water. Food, salaries, heat. It's doing nothing but draining us."
"So why not turn it into revenue?" said Lem.
Ramdakan put down his fork and wiped his mouth. "You've got my attention."
"We know that the Formics can send reinforcements from their ship now," said Lem. "Who's to say they won't send more? Who's to say they don't have ten times that number ready to launch right now? And who's to say those reinforcements will land in China next time? Couldn't they just as easily drop into Europe, America, the Middle East?"
"The media is already saying that," said Ramdakan. "What's your point?"
"My point is this is a business opportunity if I ever saw one. Earth needs a shield, Norja, a defensive wall between it and the Formic ship. That way, if another round of Formic reinforcements is deployed, we'll blast them before they reach the atmosphere. No military has done this yet because a) we didn't know the Formics had reinforcements, and b) everyone has been too busy attacking the mothership. We've been playing offense when we should have been playing defense. And now, since every military spacecraft in the world has been destroyed in fruitless attacks, there's no one else out here to provide this shield but us."
"Our pilots aren't soldiers, Lem."
"Of course they are. I was out there, Norja. I saw normal people like you and me take on these bastards toe-to-toe. We're miners, yes, but that doesn't mean we don't want to defend our planet. Look at the Battle of the Belt, Norja. Do you think any of those ships were crewed by soldiers? No, they were manned by average people--people like the crews we have right now at Kotka."
"Yes, and every single one of those ships in the Battle of the Belt was destroyed, Lem. You want to send our boys out there to die?"
"That's just it. We're not sending them to attack. We're not putting them up against the mothership. We're sending them to form a wall to stop additional reinforcements. We're waiting for troop transports to come to us. And let's not forget that these are transports, tiny ships. Our PKs could take them out easily."
"Where's the revenue generation? What you're proposing would drive us into bankruptcy."
"Every nation on Earth will pay through the nose for us to provide this wall. They don't have a choice. Either they finance it or they have nothing between them and Formics raining down on their cities and gassing their civilians. We have relationships with these countries. Most of them are our clients already. Tell them we only ask that they help cover the cost of ship maintenance, fuel, supplies, and salaries. Then we inflate those expenses and pocket the difference. And if they don't want to unite and form a single, global shield directly between Earth and the ship, we do it on a country-by-country basis. So the U.S. buys a shield to protect U.S. airspace. And Russia buys a shield for Russian airspace. Et cetera. In the absence of a fleet, I guarantee you these countries will pay through the nose. And if they don't, we go to the private sector. Companies with large, valuable real-estate holdings will pay to have those properties protected, even from near-Earth orbit. The business model works regardless of the client. We're giving people what no one else can, Norja. Peace of mind."
"And what about the pilots and crew?" asked Ramdakan. "How do you know they'll agree to something like this? Right now they're getting paid for doing nothing."
"The ship I captained to the Kuiper Belt is docked at Kotka. It's called the Makarhu. The current captain, Chubs, is a friend of mine. He would jump at the chance. The rest of the crew would as well. I know them. They want this. And Chubs is a respected captain among the other crews. He can sway them. And if that doesn't work, we'll dangle the money carrot. Everyone will get double time plus hazard pay."
Ramdakan scoffed. "How could we afford that?"
"We won't have to," said Lem. "Earth will foot the bill a hundred times over. Best of all, the company looks like the savior and shield of the world."
Ramdakan was quiet a moment, his fusilli long forgotten. Finally he said, "Why are you coming to me with this? Why not go to your father?"
Because I need the Board to see I have value, Lem might have said. Because I'm not about to throw Father a lifeline and pull him out of the grave he's dug himself. Because I need to bring the company success while it still feels the sting of Father's failure.
But aloud Lem said what Ramdakan needed to hear. "Because I trust you, Norja. Because you understand finances and profit potential better than anyone. Even better than Father. You can build the model for this in your sleep. You could sell it to the Board today if you wanted to."
Ramdakan nodded. He liked the sound of that. He pushed his plate away. "Have you written this up, given it a framework?"
Lem tapped his wrist pad. "I just put it in your in-box."
Ramdakan nodded again. "I'll talk to some people and get back to you. We'd need to move on this quickly."
"I agree."
Ramdakan made a move to leave but then hesitated and looked back. "Your father won't run this company forever, Lem. There are some who say he shouldn't be running it now, particularly after this business with the drones. But I'm not one of them. Ornery and headstrong as he is, I'm with him to the bitter end. You can count on me for that."
"I'm glad to hear it," said Lem.
"But when the day of his departure does come, I hope you'll stay with us, Lem. Even if the company goes in a different direction. We can always use someone with your skills."
Lem kept his face unreadable but inside alarms were going off. "What do you mean a different direction?"
"I know you, Lem. I've known you since you were a bump in your mother's belly. You're ambitious, just like your father. You're so much like him when he was your age, it's frightening. But there are those on the Board who want nothing to do with you. They know you want to run this company, and they'll fight you tooth and nail for it."
It took a moment for Lem to find words and when he did he tried making a joke of it. "I'm not sure which is more surprising, that there are people who think I'm gunning for the company or that I have enemies on the Board."
"Don't play innocent, Lem. I know you want your father's position. Everyone knows it. Hell you probably deserve it. But it's not going to happen. Ever. It's not good for business."
Lem blinked. And then quickly recovered, smiling again, appearing blase. "And pray tell, Norja, why am I bad for business?"
"Because you're a shadow of your father, Lem. You're brilliant, don't get me wrong. You're savvy, educated, innovative, a real entrepreneur. You'd be a better CEO than most. But you're not your father."
"Of course I'm not my father," Lem said. "No one is my father but him. Are you suggesting only a clone of him can run this company once he's gone?"
"If you were CEO, Lem, the world wouldn't give you a fair shake. They wouldn't see you for the great man that you are. They would see you as a lesser version of your father. That's all. Why did Lem get that position, they'll say? Because he earned it? Because he deserved it? No, because of nepotism. Because Daddy dearest is tossing junior a bone. He's no Ukko Jukes, they'll say. He's a child of privilege who only earned his success because his father helped him every step of the way, clearing the path before him."
It was such an unfair thing to say, such an infuriating notion, such a flat-out lie, that Lem had to grip the table to control himself. If anything, Father had hedged up his way, dropped obstacles in his path, made him scrabble and fight and claw his way to every success. He was a child of privilege, yes, but that didn't mean he had any privileges. In Father's school of parenting it meant the opposite.
> "I know that's a hard thing to hear, Lem. I know that sounds cruel. But that's the heart of it. And it would be unwise for the company to appoint a CEO who creates that kind of impression. It makes the company look weak. Like we've taken a step backward. It would be an invitation to our competitors to come at us claws out, fangs bared. You know why we squash MineTek and WU-HU and the others right now? You know why we have the market share we do? Because your father haunts their dreams, that's why. Because he's Ukko 'Iron Balls' Jukes. Because whatever they're cooking, they know Ukko is cooking something better. You're a pretty boy, Lem. It's not your fault. Your father married well, and you got your mother's genes. Your face is on the nets. Women swoon over you. Juke Limited can't have a CEO that makes women weak in the knees. We need a CEO that makes competitors wet their pants."
"So you want a tyrant?" Lem asked. "A Genghis Khan? That management approach died a long time ago."
"You're not hearing what I'm saying," said Ramdakan. "If you weren't your father's son, this wouldn't be an issue. If your last name wasn't Jukes, you would probably be on the shortlist. You've accomplished great things, Lem. But since you are the son, the world would put you up to greater scrutiny and find you wanting."
He made a sympathetic face and reached across the table and patted Lem's hand like a parent comforting a grieving child. Lem almost recoiled at the touch. It was such a condescending thing to do.
"I tell you this because I care about you and your father," said Ramdakan. "The Board is already doing everything it can to keep you out, Lem, despite your father's protestations, and they're not going to stop. In the end they will win."
"What do you mean, despite my father's protestations?"
Ramdakan seemed surprised by the question. "Do you think your father wanted to send you to the Kuiper Belt? No. He wanted you here on Luna with the company, close to him, shadowing him. But there were those on the Board who saw you as a threat. They knew Ukko would give you more attention than he would give to them, and they feared they'd eventually lose their seat on the Board to you. So they lobbied that your father send you to the Kuiper Belt for two years. It will give him leadership experience, they said. It will give him a chance at command. They hoped you'd fail, of course. They hoped you'd get whacked with a giant asteroid. And now that you're back, they lobbied to have you sent to Earth as a partner in one of our failing subsidiaries. A death sentence. They wanted to exile you, Lem. Send you into obscurity. So your father gave you the nothing job you have to simply keep you in the company. He wasn't going to overrule them and force them to hire you. That would be hell for you. So he protected you by creating an assignment away from them with your own people who knew your value and who would follow your leadership. Whether he did you a favor is still to be seen."
Ramdakan pushed back the curtain and stepped out of the booth. "I'm sorry I'm the one telling you this, Lem. But you deserve to know the truth. I'll take your idea to the Board. We'll build this shield. Who knows? Maybe that will cause some on the Board to warm to you. But don't hold your breath."
And with that he was gone.
Lem paid for the meal and left the restaurant in a daze. The magnetic sidewalk outside in the French Quarter was as busy as ever: window-shoppers, couples in arms, street performers and vendors; as if nothing were amiss in the world. Everyone's living a lie, Lem thought. Including me.
He breezed by the crowds, took the tube to where his skimmer was docked, and then flew west toward the warehouse.
Everything he knew about Father had been flipped on its head. Was it true? Had Father wanted him to stay on Luna? Lem had always assumed that Father had sent him to the Kuiper Belt because Father had felt threatened by him. It had never occurred to Lem that there were other wolves at play here. And yet hadn't Father spoken to Dublin and Chubs in private and asked them both to protect Lem? Lem had assumed that Father had done so to assert his control over Lem, to diminish Lem in the minds of his crew. But maybe Father had done so because he knew there were those in the company eager to keep the prince from reaching the throne. Maybe he genuinely feared for Lem's safety.
And his current assignment. Had Father actually done him a favor by keeping him outside of headquarters in a newly created position? Was everyone on the Board that vehemently opposed to Lem, that threatened by him?
He found it hard to believe. He knew all the Board members on a superficial level; he had met them all casually at various events. But other than Norja, who Lem had known all his life, most on the Board had joined the company or risen up from the ranks while Lem was off making his fortune elsewhere. Lem knew their resumes, of course, he knew their skills and education and expertise, but he didn't know them personally. He didn't know their hearts. Maybe they were as devious and scheming as Norja had suggested.
But if so, why would Father keep them on? Why tolerate that level of infighting?
Because Father would say a little feverish competition was good for business. He'd say it keeps everyone sharp.
Plus there was the fact that every member of the Board was extremely accomplished and highly valuable. Any CEO would want their counsel. They could have horns and forked tongues and tails out their backsides, and still Lem would be reluctant to let them go. In fact, any one of them could easily be Father's replacement. No one in the business world would bat an eye if the company were to appoint any one of them to that position.
But would the business world react the same way to me? he wondered. Or would they, as Ramdakan suggested, balk and turn up a nose of scorn? Suddenly Lem was unsure.
He arrived at the warehouse to find Dr. Benyawe and the rest of the engineers hard at work on the prototypes. Benyawe still hadn't spoken to him since the drone attack. Lem had been back at the warehouse for a few days now, but she continued to avoid him.
Lem was pleased to see that someone had finally hauled away the leftover space junk that Victor and Imala had left unused, thus removing a visual reminder of the events. Not that anyone was likely to forget, of course. Wherever Lem went in the warehouse these days he could feel workers' eyes boring into him. There goes the man who let Victor and Imala die. There goes the callous snake who cut all communication to the shuttle before the drones attacked.
Lem stepped out onto the warehouse floor and sensed the same scorn from everyone. The room fell quiet, and suddenly the entire staff was intensely focused on their work in front of them.
What do you expect of me? he wanted to ask them. A confession? A mournful cry of regret? You want me to flog myself? Weep and wail and gnash my teeth? Subject myself to sackcloth and ashes? Of course I'm sorry it happened. Of course I hated having to do it. But there was nothing I could do. Not warning them was a kindness, people. A mercy. Can't you see that?
No, they wouldn't see that. They only saw that he had deserted two of their own. And yes, that's how they saw Victor and Imala now. Not as outsiders. But as members of the team. It was ludicrous. Victor and Imala had been among them for only a few days, and yet by the way everyone was acting, you would have thought the two were close personal friends with everyone on staff.
This is how martyrs get their fame, Lem thought. As soon as you die, you're suddenly a hero.
Benyawe called to him from the center worktable. "Mr. Jukes. Could I have a moment of your time, please?"
Mr. Jukes. She was being formal with him. That would only make things more awkward. But he smiled pleasantly and joined her.
On top of the table were two metal cubes, each a meter square on all sides. A narrow cable ran between them, connecting them like giant bolas. In the middle of the cable was a reel with at least fifty additional meters of cable, suggesting that the two cubes could be stretched apart for quite a distance without severing the connection. It was a modified design of an idea that Lem had pitched to Benyawe almost a year ago, a replacement for the glaser; using the same tech, but safer. She called them shatter boxes.
"We conducted the first test today with a prototype," said Benyawe. "I though
t you might want to see it." She made a hand gesture above the worktable, and a holovid appeared. In it, a small mining vessel in space approached a second larger ship that had been stripped of parts so severely that only its skeletal structure remained. Benyawe paused the vid. "We're nowhere near an asteroid big enough to conduct a real test obviously, so we found a decommissioned ship listed for recycling and hauled it a few thousand klicks away from Luna."
She started the vid again. The smaller ship slung two shatter boxes toward the skeleton ship at high speed. As the shatter boxes spun toward their target, the reel between them unspooled more cable and the distance between the boxes grew. Then suddenly the boxes converged on the ship, attaching themselves to opposite ends. An instant later the skeleton ship was ripped apart, not in a single explosion but in a series of lightning-fast explosions in which every piece broke into smaller and smaller constituent pieces again and again until there was nothing left. No ship, no shatter boxes, just fast-moving dust that was gone an instant later, flying off in every direction into the vacuum of space.
"Quite the disappearing act," said Lem. He asked them questions after that. How did the sling mechanism work? How easily could the shatter boxes be aimed? Could they hit a moving target traveling at a high velocity? And what about safety, could these be used in near-Earth orbit without endangering the planet?
Benyawe understood why he was asking. "You want to use these against the Formics."
"You just proved to me what the shatter boxes can do to a ship," said Lem. "This is far more destructive and effective than our lasers, which are the only weapons our ships have and which were never designed as weapons in the first place. I don't want to damage the troop transports, Benyawe. I want to obliterate them."
"Transports?" Benyawe said.
He told her what he had proposed to Ramdakan. The shield. Using Juke ships and crews to stop additional Formic reinforcements. "I want to arm every one of our ships with shatter boxes, Benyawe. I want our crews proficient in their use. That means the sling mechanism must be able to hold several rounds of shatter boxes at once or there must be some system for quickly reloading the sling. I don't want our ships armed with only one shot. I want them picking targets and taking down as many as they see."
Earth Awakens Page 17
