Another Word for Magic

by Mackey Chandler

  “Ah, a clan Derf not a townie? We don’t get many of those in here. Thank you, tipping your bartender is a long-standing tradition if you are pleased. I’ll take a bonus gladly. Why don’t you grab a low bench for Derf from the dining tables and bring it over to the end of the bar? You stick out blocking the aisle here. You’ll be out of the way there and I’ll come down and talk to you when I get slow times.”

  “If it gets that slow perhaps you could fit a partial lesson in early?” Clarke suggested.

  “I don’t want to short my employer. But if you want to order a drink, I’ll mix it in front of you, explaining what I’m doing.”

  “Marvelous. You aren’t making one now. What might Humans ask me to mix at a fancy dinner party that has a nice buffet?” He screwed his muzzle up thinking. “There might be Derf drinking too.”

  “I’ll start you out with a basic Martini,” Iverson said. “Bring the bench over and I’ll have everything down there to do a demonstration. The rule of thumb for the house is to use eight shots of liquor serving Derf for one shot used with Humans.”

  Clarke went for the bench. This was going to be fun.

  “It isn’t just making the drink,” Iverson explained before touching a bottle. “A good bartender adds some showmanship. You don’t just pour. You pour and pull the bottle away so there is a long stream.” He demonstrated. “The trick is in a snap of the wrist to cut it off. Also, you don’t just shake. You turn it into a little dance as if you really enjoy doing it.”

  Clarke could see how that would be amusing.

  The crew was vacuuming the carpet in the dining room later and Iverson had just demonstrated a daiquiri. It was almost as good as a julep. Clarke briefly considered having Iverson make one of each again to do another careful sip versus sip comparison between the two to ascertain the truth of the matter. It seemed important.

  “I think it’s time to wrap it up, buddy. They’re going to turn the lights out on us pretty soon. I’ll call you a car. Can you make it out to the car OK?”

  “Yeth. I-am-perfectly-fine,” Clarke said enunciating each word carefully. He stood to demonstrate that and swayed a little but didn’t fall over. He pulled out the Mother’s credit card and made sure his thumb was on the taste pad. Iverson touched his bar pad to the card, kept a poker face at the total, and got a welcome approval light.

  “Stop back and tell me how the party went if you’re in the area,” Iverson invited.

  “I’m tharry, that-would-be-a-security-breach,” Clarke assured him.

  * * *

  “This is strange,” Dakota said. “There are three gentlemen here from Australia, France, and Brazil, and a lady from India, asking an audience with you. They came over unannounced in a private limo and are sitting, awaiting a response at the main entrance at the road terminal. They weren’t pushy at all.”

  “One doesn’t usually think of those countries as being closely aligned,” Heather said.

  “No kidding, but on the public com they crowded in so I could see all of them on the screen. They are all dressed very formally in the current style with long coats and Ascots like hundreds of years ago. At least they skipped the hats. The lady is in a long tunic and pants set that manages to almost look like a sari. Not a blessed one of them has spex. I checked. All of them are listed on public sites as working with their governments in their foreign services, but none of them are the top guys. They didn’t say anything about security and I didn’t see any behind them. What do you think? Do you want to talk to them?”

  “Did one of them seem to be their spox?” Heather asked.

  “The Brazilian fellow spoke for them but the first thing he did was introduce the others.”

  “Send somebody to bring them down or have somebody up top do it if it isn’t too disruptive. Let them know once you have an idea how long it will be,” Heather decided. “Amy,” Heather raised her voice to be heard in the kitchen. “Get a light lunch and beverages for seven. No, wait. One of them is Gunny, so figure for eight. They are coming down from the surface so be ready to lay it out anywhere from a half-hour to an hour from now.”

  “I’m on it,” Amy called back.

  “I have Isaac Anosov coming in from Armstrong with a truck,” Dakota said. “He had a high-value cargo that couldn’t be sent on a self-driver. He could park the truck to recover later and escort our guests down on a cart.”

  “Ask him if he’d mind doing that,” Heather said. “You can’t get two words out of the man normally, but they don’t need a tour guide. I can think of a few I’d be scared to have drive for them for fear we’d end up at war with all of them.”

  “The old Finn, Jaako,” Dakota volunteered as an example.

  “Oh, dear God, yes. Even his own brother can’t stand him. Let Isaac know what he’ll be hauling Earthies and ask him to make nice-nice.”

  “He says that’s no problem,” Dakota reported in less than a minute. “I’ll call and let the Earthies know he’ll pick them up in about fifteen minutes.”

  The delegation was happy to hear they would be received, because their driver wasn’t willing to wait for them, instructing them to hire locally to take them back or call him to come back. Since their governments were picking up the tab, they’d have paid him to wait for several days if necessary. He found his daughter’s tenth birthday more compelling than their necessities or affairs of state.

  The tiny public terminal where the road ended had a few benches and some vending machines. The benches looked so fragile to Earth eyes that they sat down carefully, afraid they’d break. They were very springy but nowhere near breaking and surprisingly comfortable once they tried them. They each had a small soft-sided bag in case they needed to stay overnight. They moved them away from where their driver had dumped them by the airlock to the seats. The vending machines had coffee, tea, and chocolate that they expected, but also espresso shots, brandy, and butter at additional cost. The machine to measure your feet and produce custom footies was interesting. Other things made no sense at all. Why would little green tins of Bag Balm to soothe the chapped udders of dairy cows be sold on the Moon? There were bags of something called No-Stink-Um and John’s Helmet-No-Dust. At least they could figure out why those might be useful from the names.

  The Australian tapped his card on the pay-port and was offered coffee at A$18.00.

  “Is it any good or is it colored water?” the Brazilian asked?

  “It’s better than I’m used to at home,” he admitted.

  The Brazilian, being from a coffee producing nation was dubious, unaware the Australians grew coffee. They just kept most of it at home rather than export it. He swiped his card on the pay-port and hesitated just a moment at the display. National pride kept him from saying anything aloud. They wanted R$94 for the same cup. He paid but walked back in shock and said nothing. At least he had to admit it was a decent cup of coffee.

  Isaac parked his empty truck on the surface lot and made his way in through a private entry for drivers. Dakota had a cart waiting for him and in a few minutes, he pulled up outside the bollards marking off the pedestrian area where the Earthies were waiting.

  “I’m your transport to see my sovereign,” Isaac announced. He stayed seated and made no move to help them with their bags. The minister from Brazil set the example for them by grabbing his own bag. That was good because Isaac would have repeated the expression his mother often asked, “Are your arms broken?”

  Six people were a snug fit on the two benches. Isaac handed his helmet bag to the rear seat and asked them to put it in the rear box with their luggage. He got underway without any discussion. He didn’t introduce himself or, typically for him, bother to tell them how long their drive with him would be

  The French fellow ended up next to Isaac upfront. He looked him over with a quizzical expression. When he spoke, he had that slow methodical way of speaking that said he’d thought over what he wanted to ask and was speaking carefully.

  “You are wearing a pressure suit. Did y
ou just get off a spaceship before coming in?”

  “No, I just came in from driving a truck to Armstrong. I’m not a pilot. I can’t say it ever appealed to me to try. There are automated trucks running to Armstrong all the time but if cargo is very high value or hazardous it’s always taken by a Human driver. An automated truck is too easy to jack. All you have to do is stand in the road and the AI will stop for you. If it looks like a hijacking I’d switch to manual and drive right over them. It keeps the recipients honest too. I record the unloading and get a signed receipt.”

  “What sort of high value cargo needs such extraordinary care?” the Frenchman asked.

  “I don’t think my Lady would appreciate my sharing that much of her business with foreigners,” Isaac said.

  He wasn’t particularly forceful about it as if it upset him. The French minister just nodded and said that seemed reasonable.

  The Indian delegate leaned forward to talk around the Frenchman.

  “I’m surprised by your suit. Doesn’t your truck have a pressurized cabin like our car? Our driver didn’t wear a suit and seemed unconcerned for us or himself.”

  “Oh sure. You’ll probably ask next how often they fail and lose pressure. The fact is I’ve never heard of any ground vehicle having a catastrophic pressure loss. But I’m a belt and suspenders sort of guy when it comes to vacuum. If we do have a failure, I don’t want them telling future visitors that they never fail, except for that poor devil Isaac Anosov.”

  The French fellow laughed. “L'exception qui confirme la règle.”

  “Yes, you don’t want that as your epitaph,” Isaac agreed.

  If they were surprised he understood French, no one insulted him by saying so.

  “A commendable attitude,” the Indian lady said. “On Earth we have hundreds of people perish every year because they trusted their vehicle to cross a desert without extra water or to drive through ice and snow trusting the heater to keep them alive.”

  “The Australian spoke from the back seat. “Yes, we still have vast stretches like that in our interior. I wonder though if you Spacers don’t become more cautious, having access to Life Extension Therapies? Do you think it makes you more risk-averse?”

  Isaac thought about it a bit before answering.

  “I’m assuming none of you have had life extension. We learn to tell the little differences between natural people and gene mod. I understand some Earthies who get illegal modifications dye their hair and there are cremes that actually make wrinkles?”

  “That’s true,” the Indian said, “but there are big differences between what is legal in various countries. Some things that are considered normal medical treatments in one country may be illegal gene mods in another. I have been treated to remove family traits that favor heart disease and a tendency to have a rare cancer that is very difficult to treat. But I’d be seen as a monster in North America. I’ve had nothing to change my appearance.”

  Isaac nodded. “I figure you have all seen your fortieth birthday. Consider how differently you think about everything now than you did at twenty.”

  He paused to let them do that. None of them wanted to comment on that.

  “There is a natural progression of one’s thinking with experience. It impacts far more than how much risk you will accept. You get increasingly accurate spotting lies and defective personalities. It’s a shame in natural people that just when those talents are maturing, they start to decline physically. Some as young as in their sixties. That hits them in their cognitive abilities as much as their strength and reaction times. But how much difference do you imagine exists between the thinking and attitudes of a genuinely healthy ninety-year-old or a hundred-and-thirty-year-old person from your forty-some years? Will the difference be more or less than the twenty-year gap you see to your youth?”

  Nobody replied but they all looked concerned.

  “That’s the gap you’ll be dealing with speaking to my Lady Heather,” Isaac said in case they didn’t get the point clearly.

  “May one ask your age?” the Indian was bold enough to ask.

  “I’m a youngster. I’ll be eighty-eight in a couple of months,” Isaac said.

  “If I saw you at home, I’d judge you to be in the mid to late thirties,” the Frenchman said.

  “I have the life extension and extra things like the ability to synthesize my own vitamin C and a few other micro-nutrients internally. I’m a bit stronger and quicker than I was naturally even when young. I passed on the option for a fast metabolism that would require I eat a lot more. You can usually add such things if you decide you need them. It’s like adding accessories to a ground car. I don’t need quite as much sleep as I used to but they have yet to come up with a gene mod to let me breathe vacuum,” Isaac said sadly.

  “There are rumors the Chinese have produced Humans with gills who can breathe water,” the Indian said. “It has long been uncomfortable being neighbors with them.”

  “It has long been uncomfortable being neighbors with Earth,” Isaac said. “Don’t be surprised if my sovereign is blunt about how uncomfortable. We commonly call it the Slum Ball and worse. I’m just sworn to her, not a peer to be a close confidant, but she holds court and issues statements that make it plain she doesn’t mince words and dance around issues.”

  “We rather noticed that with her public releases,” the Brazilian said drolly.

  By that time, they were on their first long elevator drop.

  “How far are we going down?” the Australian asked.

  “Kilometers,” was as precise as Isaac would volunteer.

  “Are we there yet?” The French fellow joked in a higher-pitched voice.

  “Oh, you have children,” Isaac observed, amused. It was nice they weren’t humorless. “We’ll be there in another twenty minutes or so,” he promised.

  * * *

  “I got your fusion generator from New Japan yesterday. It was our last out-sourced sub-system to be installed,” Alonso said. “How much did this thing cost that you needed to have armed security deliver it?”

  “Near as much as the rest of the vehicle and all the accessories,” Lee answered honestly.

  “I should have charged you more,” Alonso decided.

  “By the time I want a new one I’ll have some income again and you have my permission to gouge the daylights out of me for it,” Lee invited. “I won’t argue at all.”

  “And we’ll make it two-thirds the mass and several times the thrust,” Alonso predicted.

  “Did they deliver it fueled up?” Lee asked

  “Not tanked up but two liters of four-nines heavy water in a separate carboy. It looks like you could drop it from orbit undamaged. I loaded it up for you.

  “Does that mean you have it installed already?”

  “All the flanges, mounting holes, and connectors were to spec so that took about a half-hour,” Alonso said. “That’s just what I’ve come to expect with New Japan equipment. You can watch me lift it if you want to keep your dainty little behind safe on the ground or take it up with me riding second. Whenever you can find the time that is.”

  “I’m calling a car to come over right now,” Lee informed him.

  “I kind of suspected you might,” Alonso said but he was talking to a blank screen.

  The first thing Lee noticed when she walked into his office was a Dutch door had been added to the shop area with a sign on the bottom half that declared in large letters – RESTRICTED AREA – NO ENTRY WITHOUT PERMISSION. It was too bad Alonso needed to do that, but she was glad to see it.

  “Permission to enter requested!” Lee called loudly through the door.

  Alonso was in plain sight. She was just harassing him a bit.

  “You aren’t a spy, are you?” he asked. “We grill spies and eat them.”

  “Long pig is the English idiom for that,” Lee informed him.

  “I knew that. I would teach you English if I had time, instead of that dialect you speak.”

  “Is that w
hat you decided to do with the fellow you caught the other day? He didn’t look very appetizing.”

  “I followed your advice, but he seemed defective. He had a definite crack up his butt. I decided to spray him with fluorescing green crack finder so nobody would mistakenly install him in anything life-critical.”

  “You didn’t,” Lee exclaimed.

  “I certainly did,” Alonso insisted. “Magnaflux would hardly have been appropriate.”

  “I applaud your sign,” Lee said. “I know it’s solid custom but that removes any question about it being a private area for flaming idiots and spies.”

  “I put black and yellow safety tape across the floor at the hangar doors too. It says no trespassing in English and Derf. I won’t go so easy on another invader,” he warned.

  “I wouldn’t expect you to,” Lee assured him. She put her hands on her hips and turned, regarding the aircar. Alonso wasn’t stupid and figured she was done talking about Sam.

  “It was up on a rack last time I was here,” Lee said. “It looks a lot different.”

  The car had no landing gear. Instead, the thruster pods on arms swiveled down vertically to suspend the car above the floor. It was much more stable than the way conventional aircraft had gear projecting from beneath the fuselage. It was even better than the skids of a conventional aircar. Right now, it was sitting with a dolly under each pod to allow it to be pushed around.

  “Have you tested it at all?” Lee inquired.

  “I’ve checked that there is power and data to all the pods and run diagnostics on the computers. That’s just on battery power and they are all charged up. The cabin has been pressure tested to three times Derf standard. You could lift her on battery power alone but just to move around the tarmac. I wouldn’t want to go very high without firing up the generator. The paperwork and manual said it takes about ten minutes to bring the generator up to full power from a dead cold start and that drains a good chunk of the battery reserves heating the core up. I figured to let you have the honors. I’ll instruct you of course.”