And What Goes Around
Date: 2015-03-14T18:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Science Fiction
Description: The nation of Home and their ally Central seem to have bought some safety by moving Mitsubishi 3 from Low Earth Orbit to a halo orbit around L2 beyond the moon. It has added some expense to stay supplied, but it has unexpected advantages too. A little extra distance works just fine when Earth has its own problems. Like April and her close friends Heather and Jeff, Home is growing, developing its own character, and becoming more independent. They really have no choice. **

And What Goes Around...

Mackey Chandler

Sixth of the "April" series

Cover Design Sarah A. Hoyt

Figures © innovari

Figures © mg1708

Chapter 1

April slouched deep down in the oversized Hardoy chair. She bought two in this larger size thinking they would be more comfortable for Gunny and other big men. It turned out she preferred them. The back went up high enough for her to lean her head back and the extra width  spread the heavy ballistic cloth flatter than a smaller chair with light rip-stop fabric. It supported her legs clear out to the padded edge under her knees.

In the half G apparent gravity that her apartment was kept at the chair was as comfortable as a hammock and almost as hard for her to lever herself from its depths. It was low enough she could safely sit her coffee mug on the floor beside her and there was plenty of room on each side to tuck treats or reading material. She had her comp-pad laying screen down on her stomach at the moment paused on the newsfeed she was reading while she gazed out her view port.

The commonest size of apartment on Home wasn't any bigger than a cheap motel room in North America and every square meter had to do double or triple duty. Kitchen tables and beds that folded up against the wall when not needed were common. Home apartments used the same sort of compact appliances and fixtures common to travel trailers and motor homes on Earth. April had a huge place by local standards. So big it embarrassed her on occasion when a new visitor would freeze for an instant with surprise on their face when they stepped inside her door.

Her bodyguard Gunny had immediately rated it a four-car apartment upon stepping in the first time, since he had an annoying habit of comparing every place he saw in Home to the size of a garage you'd expect on a North American home. He was of the opinion what he called the half-car model might drive people crazy from confinement, but he had a skewed view of things having lived most of his life in North America. April knew that some of the Japanese found the local accommodations compared very favorably to what they lived in back home.

She'd been spoiled rotten growing up because her family was relatively well-to-do. Her grandfather  helped in the construction of Mitsubishi 3 and put all his money in both spun residential cubic and zero G industrial space. Also her father was the resident manager for Mitsubishi with a generous housing allowance.

As a child she had her own bedroom that was the size of a walk-in closet on Earth.  Even more of a luxury was her own square meter all-in-one unit bath that became a shower stall with the door sealed. By orbital standards that was a palace. So she might have found the very smallest apartment oppressive herself. They were barely more than shift rental hot slots, but she'd never admit that to Gunny.

Behind her there were two sofas facing each other across a table on a rug that defined a formal living area. In smaller apartments they would be wall hung fold-downs. The sofas were IKEA super light hide-a-beds in case she needed to put up guests. She had enough wall space for both a fairly large 32K video monitor and some big pieces of art. There was also room by the cooking area for a real table that could seat six which she left set up. It looked sturdy enough but the legs could be folded inside the drop apron and set to the side if the floor area was needed.

The kitchen against the inside bulkhead had a simple two burner stove and a microwave. April had the luxury of a small refrigerator too. A few folks didn't bother with even that much, taking all their meals at the cafeteria. It was decent food too. Mitsubishi saw to that. If you had a stove that meant you needed dishes, pans, utensils and things like spices and volume to store them. It easily escalated to the status of a cooking hobby rather than any necessity. You could keep a few cans of self heating stuff like soup or stew for those rare times when you were sick or just too tired to trek down to the cafeteria. The cafeteria also would pack take away and there were cheap courier services to deliver it.

Further from the entry, behind the kitchen and dining area, the end of her space was divided into two small bedrooms with a bath between them. Each had a private section but a shared shower stall between them with lockout doors so only one side would open at a time. That was all framed off in temporary wall panels that jammed in place between overhead and deck with locking vertical seams.

If in the future she let her body guard Gunny go, it would be easy to remodel by removing the panels. Neither had brought up the idea of him leaving in some months now. His one month gig had turned into open ended employment, although less than full time. His status now was more 'on call', especially since Home was further from Earth and trouble now. He was welcome to take short security jobs with April's blessing.  She still took him along when traveling away from Home.

The reason April pulled her chair over by the port was to enjoy the view. Right now the moon was in a thin crescent to the right side out the port. From this side of the moon there was no light reflected off the Earth so it was utterly dark on the left portion. You were made aware of the moon's dark portion more by the absence of brighter stars than any illumination of the surface at all.

The sun was directly visible to the right of the moon and she had the port darkened until the glare was bearable. Home was at that point in their orbit around the L2 point where the Earth disappeared behind the moon. In a couple hours the thin slice of moon would have the sun just barely shining past the edge of it and the blue marble of the Earth would rise from behind the opposite dark horizon of the moon to the left. It would display a crescent to the same side as the moon but a bigger section. They were much too far away to see the lights of cities in the dark section by the naked eye.

Neither were there any lights to be seen from here on the dark portion of the moon. All the large settlements of humankind were on the other face of the moon that stayed pointed to the Earth. The few places with any people or surface structures on this side were barely visible with a very good telescope when they were in sunlight. The headlamps of a rover or flood lights outside a habitat entry were insignificant.

April could still call her friend Heather at Central on the other side of the moon or anywhere on Earth for that matter. There were plenty of satellites in lunar orbit to relay the call. There were now several such systems so communications couldn't be cut off easily. Home was further from Earth but still conveniently close here. Hardly any further than Low Earth Orbit in terms of propellant cost. Being at L2 only cost about ten percent more in freight costs over lifting from Earth to LEO. Unless you were in a hurry.  On the other hand it was just distant enough from Earth to enhance their safety. The Earthies had never seemed able to resist the occasional pot shot at Home when they had been in LEO and the added distance was sufficient to give them warning of hostile approach.

That was all a background scene however, which slowly turned every few minutes as the habitat rotated. Their current orientation kept the sun in view although it looped back and forth from her view. Dominating the close view that stayed fixed was the nearby strut tapering from the ring in which April's home was located to the hub above. The same ring extended horizontally across the bottom of her view with another spoke extending to the far side of it a third of the way around. The view was dramatic in scale with massive elements one rarely saw in Earth architecture. The only dynamic aspect of the close view was the slow dance of shadows back and forth as Home rotated.

The glass curved from knee level to almost straight overhead, and most of the new ring being built was visible by looking up. The spokes to the new ring were positioned at the same angles off the hub. April had wondered briefly if there was some reason for that but forgot to ask anyone.

There were only a few small panels missing from the skin of the new ring and some gaps where ports like her own were not fitted yet. In a few places scaffolding hung off the outside of the ring and two bright yellow lines and hand rails temporarily marked the inside area on which suited workers could walk without danger of sliding down the curved surface. The ring wasn't a perfectly circular cross section. There were center sections top and bottom that were flat before it started to curve.

Only a couple months ago there had been a lot more machinery, materials, and scooters floating two hundred meters or more distant, which was the closest safety zone in which material and equipment could be parked that would be used that shift. Construction was winding down.

Some items could be brought in by scooter by matching speed with the ring and side-slipping onto the inside surface. That was fun to watch. Her pilot friend Easy could do that as slick as catching an egg on  a plate. She sometimes knew his scooter number for the shift and watched with binoculars. Some items were too massive and had to be lowered from the hub on a tensioned cable and slowly nudged up to match rotational speed without over-torquing the hub.

There was talk of extending the hub and adding a third ring, but she'd read that would be the last as after that the calculations said a fourth ring would be unstable in too many situations. It would make moving the habitat, as they had from LEO, an impractically slow operation to avoid over-stressing a long skinny hub. Nobody wanted to give up their mobility since it had proved so vital to their safety.

If they wanted to build a similar habitat it wouldn't be difficult to park it in a slightly different halo orbit around L2 such that they both danced around the same point in space but never crossed over the center at the same time. A necessity that had made Gunny smile and explain to her the Earth custom of a figure eight race or demolition derby. She thought he was pulling her leg until she did a net search.

The area behind April had headroom to stand but the glass overhead curved down until it met metal shell about knee high. Her chair was pulled forward close enough to the glass she had to be careful standing up. That low area helped make the room feel bigger but was rather limiting in how you could use it. She had some storage cabinets made to fit up to the edge of the glass. They had caster below so they could be pulled out of the low overhead. Heather's mom had a similar lay-out and raised tomatoes and a few herbs in the narrow space along the port. April intended to do that too... someday. Now she just had a few green plants that helped keep the air pure. Most people had one or two even if they didn't have exterior ports and needed to illuminate them.  Beside making the apartment smell better plants added something that was pleasantly natural for the eye. A relief from the manmade flat surfaces and straight edges of everything else in their artificial environment.

There was a pattern of light in the corner of the port she hadn't noticed before, a little dappled splash of light from internal reflections in the port maybe... April squinted at it. But it looked odd. It wasn't something her mind recognized as a familiar pattern. She levered herself out of the chair to investigate leaning over closer... and jumped back.

"Gunny!" she called out horrified. Gunny appeared from his room looking rattled with a pistol in hand. He scanned the empty apartment looking hard for something like a Ninja army hidden behind the sofas.

"Not there, here." She said, pointing at the corner of the port.

He came over and leaned close as she had, but didn't jump back. Then eased back a couple steps so he didn't hit his head when he stood straight. He tried to look neutral but didn't manage to hide his amusement and irritation with her at alarming him.

"You want him shot? Most folks just pick a spider up in a tissue and flush him down the toilet."

"I've never seen a spider on Home before. Aren't they venomous?" April asked.

"A few. The really bad ones are big hunters and jumpers like tarantulas. Not little web weavers. None of them are deadly unless you have a sensitivity, but I have to admit some of the little house spiders can give you a nasty bite if you roll on them in your sleep. I've had a couple nip me but it didn't even wake me. Down below nobody makes a house perfectly air tight to keep everything out. They just aren't a big deal. On the other hand I was very happy leave mosquitoes behind on Earth. They really bother me. The filthy little things carry disease," Gunny said, making a sour face.

"Just do the tissue thing would you? It doesn't belong here."

"OK," Gunny agreed, but stopped after a few steps and pursed his lips, looking back thoughtfully.

"What?" April demanded.

"Nothing, I'll get rid of him for you. I just have to ask. What has he been living on?"

That question didn't make April happy at all.

* * *

Once the unwelcome invader was removed April went back to her paused news feed. The first week's experiment with allowing automated trucks to make deliveries in Manhattan between 0200 and 0400 local time was successful for safety. There was no incident of damage to property by the self guided trucks. The delivery points had been picked carefully since the usual failure point for such vehicles wasn't negotiating the streets. There was plenty of high end software to do that well. Rather it was the close quarters high angle maneuvering in narrow alleyways and receiving yards that challenged a robotic semi truck getting backed up to a dock.

The down side was that three of the expensive vehicles and their loads had vanished without a trace after their tracking systems indicated they were safely at dock and shutting down. It should have been impossible to start them up and drive them away on manual without the tracking starting. Obviously there were work-arounds. The Teamsters union said, "We told you so."

Something didn't smell right about the story to April. Weren't there private security cameras all over the city? Especially when there were only so many ways on and off of the island. She'd ask Gunny later.

In Singapore a new regulation required all jewelry with gold content over a half gram to be registered and a photograph filed with police. This was part of a new wave of capital controls which included limits on funds travelers could carry abroad and new tariffs and taxes. Police announced the breakup of a gang avoiding export fees by smuggling bespoke suits to Japan on body doubles. The ploy came to light when customs officials noted a man wearing two pairs of pants.

An aged widower in Belgium died alone at home and the family in going through the house and sorting out his things found an alcove in the basement they didn't understand. Upon being inspected by workmen from the local utilities it was discovered that the man had some decades earlier tapped into a pipeline which had an easement along the edge of his property. It ran between two nearby industrial sites separated by about a kilometer. The pipeline carried beer from a brew house to a bottling facility. What made April smile were his relatives' memories about what a happy man he'd always been.

The New Jersey legislature passed a bill making the possession of a program for instructing automated machine tools or 3D printing devices to create a firearm legally the same as possession of the weapon. A simple paper blueprint was still considered legal 'speech'.

The same bill also outlawed possession of arrows with broadhead hunting points and bows or crossbows with a pull in excess of 133 Newtons or 30 pounds. New Jersey joined the same standard in effect in California, Ontario, British Columbia, Quebec, Mississippi, New York,  Connecticut , New Jersey, Vermont, Rhode Island and Massachusetts.

USNA trade regulators accused Australia of dumping graphene coated glassy metal foil on the market below cost. Australian trade ministers in turn accused the USNA of doing the same with diamond whiskers and DW composites. April still didn't see how anybody thought subsidizing an industry was an advantage. It was like the old joke about selling at a loss but making it up on volume. The first time she'd heard that one she hadn't thought it funny. She still didn't.

Designs by Daniel had to rethink their decision to display his rack line on a robotic mannequin in front of the fashion house. NYC police called to the address on reports of a woman acting strangely ordered the mannequin to the sidewalk and when she didn't respond to commands shot the 1.6 Million dollar machine to junk. "She didn't comply when ordered," the department spox insisted.

Natural clover honey reached an average wholesale price of $150USNA/lb, aided by a ban on imported honey due to persistent adulteration and contamination. Indoor producers of honey from human supplied sugar  feed stocks and flavorings were heavily promoting its consistency, lack of pollens and pesticides and much lower cost in targeted advertising.  The traditional producers held that the pollen was an advantage not a defect and claimed their flavor was superior. They had a strong advantage in a trademarked bee mascot that the public recognized positively.

April made a note in her collection of things to research to see if that industrial sort of honey production would be suitable for tunnels in the moon. She hadn't realized bees would make honey from anything but flowers.

Permit fees for photographing various government buildings, monuments and government property  such as the reflecting pool in Washington DC were consolidated into a single day pass for the entire Federal district with a graduated fee structure for students, residents, tourists, professional photographers and news journalists. Virginia declined to join the program for historic sites and battlefields outside the district.

The city of Berkeley California raised the bond necessary to license a dog or cat to $200,000USNA because of the increases in medical costs and insurance for companion animals. The ordinance was also changed to require the naming of three willing custodians in the event of death or inability to care for the animal. The use of the word pet was discouraged before, but the new ordinance made its use grounds for refusing a license application. Objections to the word animal were put aside for now due to lack of agreement on a suitable substitute. Companion animals with any gene modification beyond traditional breeding selection were strictly prohibited.

Proposals to return aspirin to the prescription drug list by regulation in the USNA were defeated by a bill run through both House and Senate in record time before the regulation could take effect.

An artificial fiber with microscopic barbs that mimicked the felting behavior of wool and displayed the same insulating characteristics was being marketed as NuWool by a German company. It was totally unattractive to moths and other insects. Besides being about one tenth the cost of the natural fiber it could be made significantly stronger and permanently colored. The cost of clothing made with it was expected to go down considerably, but the price of lamb and mutton to increase as a consequence. April was pretty sure she'd never tasted mutton.

China continued to export little nuclear fuel due to internal conflict and the higher safety standards imposed before their civil war. Legacy fission systems declined everywhere as fusion generating systems improved and decentralized generation reduced distribution complexity. England had not suffered a significant power outage in three years.

Hans Holderman, 23 years old, won the World Championship of Magic: The Gathering. He collected a purse of Fifty Million EuroMarks and other prizes, retired to Switzerland, and entered a luxury rehabilitation facility for the treatment of game addictions.

April flicked down through more headlines. Unrest in Kenya again, and Korea and Sri Lanka. A container ship missing in the Indian Ocean, soccer riots, a new treatment for a tropical disease, a breeding pair of extinct rhinoceros birthed from elephants using frozen gametes. The European Union banned natural leather in sports balls and decreased the size of bananas which could be sold legally.

What did any of it mean? Why was most of this even considered news? She frowned at a sudden suspicion.  Maybe it was really entertainment disguised as news to avoid dealing with the real thing. It seemed beyond integrating to usefulness. Perhaps the intelligence snippets Chen and Eddie sent her through Jeff would be more useful. She flopped the pad on her stomach again though, and looked out the port first, weary of focusing so long on the screen for such little return.

The sun was much closer to the moon, the crescent of bright moon narrower, but the Earth still hadn't made its appearance from behind the other edge of the moon. At least not the bright part. It was busy up by the new ring. Shift change was near and there were guys from both shifts present. April picked the pad back up and changed to the files Jeff's intelligence people sent along. It wasn't their primary mission. But they'd been told to look for items of economic interest and pass them along.

T.R. in North America, she didn't really know who that was, said that quite a few grocery stores were now not just limiting the number of sale items you could buy but putting signage on the shelf to limit the number of regular items in stock one could buy. He noted this was something he saw while doing his own grocery shopping. If you took too many items to the checkout the computer refused them.

Chen's contacts in China informed him black market doctors were becoming very common in all of Asia. The official systems were backlogged to the point appointments were too far out to do you any good. By the time you could see a doctor you were either well on your own or dead. Unless of course you had political pull or the funds to bribe your way up the list. The breakdown in government meant many doctors turned to this when they weren't paid. Since government snoops were good at finding unregistered businesses from observing walk in traffic most illicit docs did house calls only.

Trade items widely recognized as black market currencies shifted with scarcity. A piece of old 14 gauge wire a quarter meter long was a common item called a 'twist' acceptable in trade. People wore them as a bracelet to a flea market or grey market to signal they would trade without cash. That was better not to say out loud. It court it was almost an admission of intent to commit tax fraud.

A common soft drink container full of rice as a trade item was popular in Japan. It was an easy  standard way to sell by volume and approximate weight. One man took to spraying contact adhesive inside the bottle and filling it with rice. Then he poured out the loose rice in the middle and filled it with wood chips and sand. However, he went to a market that wasn't distant enough and was recognized. Worse he had one of the fake bottles on him. The crowd was not amused. He survived however.

Liquid laundry detergent in the smaller sizes continued to be a staple of barter in North America, particularly in the large cities. It was stolen so often some stores kept it behind the counter.

At the very bottom of the economic system returnable beer bottles were still used in parts of Africa and the Philippines. The bottles had stable recognized values far from the larger towns.

This was more interesting than the usual news channels. It spoke to the official currency not serving its function. That and chronic shortages. She had to talk to Jeff about making Solars in fractional denominations. If people were hungry enough for money they could trust they might give a premium for money from outside their government's control. There were more reports but she was ready for supper.

* * *

April met Jeff for supper. That was one way to make sure he ate. Sometimes she worried about him. He'd always been thin, but he'd get involved in a project and visibly lose weight until the work was done. He was always slow to gain it back. On the other hand his dad was the same way and it hadn't seemed to hurt him yet.

She'd asked Jeff what his dad was doing and was told it was proprietary company work he couldn't discuss with his son. April could understand the need for security, but could not imagine putting rules ahead of her relationship with Jeff. She trusted him absolutely not to make improper use of information. It was hard for her to understand how his own father wouldn't feel the same way. In her mind rules were never perfect and there always had to be exceptions.

April followed Jeff in line, observing what he got, and added an extra small plate of high calorie items for him on her tray. When they sat he went to fill their mugs and she put it on his side. He didn't argue when he returned. In fact he speared one of her gift appetizers first thing and ate it, which made her feel better.

"How are the Chinese in Camelot adjusting to having a ruler instead of a People's Republic?" April asked him.

"I retained one fellow who was an administrator. It was more of an adjustment for him than the other workers. He was used to having goals imposed on him, sometimes all the way from Earth, by people who had never been to the moon. When I wanted to just sit and chat and get a sense of what was possible he was all flustered. He might have thought it was a trick at first. In the end I had to caution him not to set impossible goals for himself, that I didn't expect that. When we brought in Annette to be the crown representative on site I think he was shocked again. It wasn't customary to have a female, at least such a young one in such a responsible position. No matter what their revolutionary philosophy claims."

"What do you think of Annette? I got to meet her mom, Dakota, but I haven't met her. I haven't even had reason to do a video call with her. You must think she can handle it or you wouldn't be back to Home."

"She would have begged off if she could. She felt she wasn't experienced enough. I'd rather she be that way than full of herself and ready to make changes right and left. But she's smart and she has been around Heather enough to have a good idea what Heather's mind would be on things. I predict she will be a professor if Heather eventually has the university for which she set aside land. Heather gave her a good bit of advice and she seemed to take it to heart. I don't want to leave her there too long. I think she'll grow weary of it and resentful if we force her to stay more than a year or so. She's still young enough a year is a long time. But fleeing Armstrong with her family is the sort of thing that makes you grow up in a hurry."

"Just like us," April pointed out.

"Yes, similar," Jeff agreed. "She was in an even smaller community but more limited too. Armstrong didn't have the foreign workers and visitors we got here and the lunar colonies didn't visit back and forth and do business like we did with the other habitats. They rarely had anyone that wasn't a USNA citizen, and they really hid how tightly they would be controlled until they got there. They didn't send people back to Earth for having kids, but it wasn't encouraged either. They probably would have shipped them back if somebody hadn't latched onto the kids as propaganda props. She was forced to make nice-nice for the videographer quite a bit growing up and wasn't sure this job wasn't more of the same. Which she regarded as foolishness. They usually made her do hops in the low gravity and other tricks for the camera that were pretty silly. I was told the kids learned to keep a low profile and avoid the Director because he didn't like them."

"I take it he had none of his own?" April asked.

"No, and he wasn't married," Jeff said. "Which I was told was another reason he might have been on the moon. You need to be married to advance past a certain point in the USNA military or bureaucracy, and he was a lifelong bachelor. The Armstrong Directorship wasn't considered a position that was on the track for advancement, rather it was a dead end."

"Well that Director is dead, so they don't have to worry about him anymore. And his successor is living on Home now. I'm not sure at all who is running Armstrong these days," April said.

"His name is John Rewold, but I've never talked to him," Jeff said. "In fact I don't think Heather has ever spoken to him directly. Last time she mentioned him she said his secretary blew her off a couple times when she called so she gave up and just sends an e-mail to his office if she needs to tell him something."

"I can understand why he'd be uncomfortable," April admitted. "Given the history."

"I can understand why he'd be afraid," Jeff said. "Given the history."

Jeff pretty much cleaned off his plate which April found reassuring.

Chapter 2

Annette used to like rice. It had been an occasion treat and change of pace in their diet when she was growing up in Armstrong, the North American moon base. When her family escaped Armstrong and established residence in Central it became even rarer. In Camelot it was the main source of calories. They still had a huge stockpile of it from the Chinese. Like the peasants at home the administrators of the Chinese base, she still couldn't pronounce its old name properly, had always ordered a little more than they used and stockpiled the rest.

Even in the upper classes hoarding was a deeper cultural instinct of the Chinese than they would ever admit. Of course now it would stretch a lot further because the majority of the residents had elected to return to China. There had only been a dozen who chose to stay and that had removed so many absolutely essential people another dozen had been sent with Annette to keep the base open. Four from Central and six recruited easily from Armstrong and sworn to Heather.

It had been four months now since the new Chinese government had decided a lunar base was impossible to keep if they could not take armed ships past L1 and ceded it to Jeff Singh. The other Earth powers had not seen that as an obstruction to keeping a lunar presence, but the Chinese government had enough other troubles at home right now without needing the negative cash flow of a base that didn't really return anything but propaganda value. The prestige of scientific achievement and demonstrating it to the rest of the world was less important while there were still doubts about who was going to rule their homeland.

Back in China there were not only recurrent pockets of trouble from those who did not favor a new regime, or at least not this one, but every minority region on the edges of their empire saw it as an opportunity to secede. Neighboring states saw it as a chance to seize a little territory while their giant neighbor had bigger problems. That would at least be a buffer against China's habit of nibbling at their border when it did get its house in order. The chaos of civil war meant the most important business in China right now was suddenly back to what it had been for millennia, producing the same rice she was so tired of already. It was suddenly much less abundant at home and more important again than a new com pad, electric scooter or exports to the other Earth nations.

Annette had also grown quickly used to the spaciousness of living under the surface of the moon at Central instead of in prefabricated domes and huts like at Armstrong. If anything the structures and amenities the Chinese enjoyed were inferior to what the North Americans enjoyed. Her mom had assured her it wouldn't be long before they tunneled deep enough for the walls not to need layers of foam and radiant insulation. The rock itself would naturally be at a shirt-sleeves comfortable temperature just a few kilometers deeper. She'd had no idea at the time that she wouldn't see that happening because she was away administering Queen Heather's new territory.

When she protested she didn't have the experience to be an executive her mom, Dakota, and Queen Heather had kindly but firmly pointed out that she was only a year and a few weeks younger than Heather. They also were very candid in explaining that her inexperience made her the best of several choices to send because they needed the experienced people at Central.

The handful they were sending along with her had specific technical jobs that would fully engage them and no time for administrative tasks on the side. It was sort of bizarre that being less qualified made her more available when there was a shortage of experienced people but she hadn't been able to think of a reasonable argument against it, sitting there with the queen and her mom. It still seemed a conflict in her mind but they owed everything to Queen Heather and she couldn't turn her down when obviously she needed somebody to do the job.

The advice Heather had given her worked better than she ever imagined. Heather had pointed out that her own experience was limited. She had considerable talent and ability with electronic design, and her association with Jeff Singh had taught her a lot about nanoelectronic fabrication, but she had no formal training in governance. Annette had always enjoyed history and read much more of it than was strictly necessary for her education. She still had a backlog of it to read on her pad if she ever got a few hours free.

She had never considered before, as Heather had explained, that many of history's rulers didn't have the luxury of training for the job. Many of them were focused on removing the previous regime and not all of them had any grand vision of what they would put in place of it if they won. Sometimes they were good at fighting but so unprepared to rule once they won that they did a worse job than the tyrants they threw out. The worst of them didn't know when to stop fighting since that was their only real talent.

Heather said that there was seldom anything that needed an immediate decision. If it didn't involve plugging an air leak, taking cover or shooting back, it could probably wait a few hours. If it was that immediate people usually did what was obviously needed without requiring coaching anyway. If she wasn't sure what to do she could solicit opinions from the locals. Chances were somebody would have an idea what to do. The trick then being that the best choice wasn't always what the majority wanted to do. But an outsider had an edge there in not automatically wanting to do what had always been done, or what came easily to their culture. They had chosen to stay after China abdicated and had no reasonable expectation the new law of Heather's kingdom would resemble Chinese law so she wasn't constrained that way. She could also tell folks she wanted to take time to ponder it and most would take that for wisdom rather than indecisiveness if she projected the proper demeanor. At worst she could use the delay to call Heather and ask what to do, but she was warned not let it be a daily habit.

The key point Heather made was that Annette was acting with Heather's authority. Nothing she did should undermine that authority. "You are my voice and hand in that place. Act it," Heather ordered. She took her own weapon belt off and hung it on Annette's hip. "You only keep what you can hold," she demonstrated with a clutched fist. "You have the authority and mandate to act for me. Demand respect as if it is me standing there. I will not second guess you or recall you easily. It's not an easy task I'm sending you on. I'm sending you as much for your personality as intelligence or any experience," she confided. "Everybody tells me you are even tempered and can admit it when you do make a mistake. I've come to value kind and calm over even being smart in people. Smart is wasted on some folks."

"I'll get another from Jeff," Heather said, when Annette objected to the extravagant gift.

Annette had taken Heather's warning about calling her to heart, calling her mom instead Heather a couple times for advice. She'd only called Heather once when a couple had decided to separate. Effectively to divorce, although they didn't have case law or decree to deal with it then. They did now. The vehemence of their anger and the irrational accusations of both parties left her doubting she could produce a good judgment. Heather had counseled her that she probably wasn't going to make both of them happy. "If either of them is satisfied by your justice you've probably just found the reasonable one," Heather speculated. It seemed to amuse her.

She'd found out quickly neither were open to any agreement and their hatred was creating problems for the entire community. Her settlement was first of all a written decree of divorce. It was the first official document of which she had made and signed hard copies to distribute instead of electronic communications or word of mouth. The couple could also not come to any agreement about their property. She had to instruct them to make a list of everything they owned, minus personal clothing, or any items that were family heirlooms, and bring it back to her. She conducted these proceedings in an open court with video saved to the system so anybody could see how her justice worked. When they first returned a list she had refused it. They had listed such things as a tea service piece by piece. They hadn't known yet how she intended to use the list and why that would never work. She patiently explained that things which were not useful divided had to be listed as a set. The everyday plates and silverware or cookware for example could be divided and still be useful to each of them, but something with heavily aesthetic value like a tea service had to remain together.

When they had a proper list she informed them each would chose an item in turn until the list was divided. Since neither wanted to give up first choice she flipped a coin for it. It was painful to observe and took longer than it should have but eventually they had everything divvied up. She refused to hear any arguments about who brought more assets to the marriage or earned more and ordered them to divide the cash they held in accounts back in China equally. They had formed a partnership and she considered that put everything in one pot, so to speak. If the chaos below precluded them doing that now they were ordered to do so when it became possible.

"What about our home?" the disgruntled husband asked, scowling.

"It is my judgment, that your conflict though technically resolved will not end now given your attitudes. You have both insisted on a public display that I doubt you understand has left many in the community disgusted with both of you. Your insistence others take sides has put others in untenable positions at their work or in serving others in this downsized community. This has to end. Therefore one of you must leave.

"I will provide transportation to Central, any of the other moon colonies, or Home. Points beyond those are at your own cost and pleasure. Whoever leaves will forfeit any ownership of your home. There is no market for it yet or indeed any way to value it at present. Unless you can show a willing buyer with a cash offer and explain where and how the one remaining is going to live without shelter, it passes undivided. The fact you recently gained ownership of it was strictly a gift of your sovereign and Peer Singh. China in relinquishing sovereignty over the base gave complete ownership to Peer Singh. He could have as easily retained ownership of every square meter and structure and demanded rent of those who elected to stay."

"We are not peasants!" the wife sneered.

Annette stifled the urge to chose the woman for exile based on that remark alone. She took a deep breath and calmed herself.

"Of the two, does one have skills which would be more difficult to do without or replace?" she asked the audience. There were six people physically present since it was past main shift, all responsible workers, and several more observing on the local net.

The one administrator, Feng, who had stayed over from the Chinese administration was acting as a manager now. He looked from one spouse to the other.

"Wo is a heavy machinery mechanic. He works on the rovers and some of the stationary equipment. It isn't that hard to recruit from Earth because except for some details of lubrication and temperature extremes the basics are the same. Training them for vacuum safety is a bigger issue. Chao-xing is a nurse. Of necessity she is a nurse practitioner because our doctor went back. We still need a doctor. Better yet a surgeon. I communicated that to Mr. Singh when I agreed to stay." He looked very unhappy, but didn't come to any conclusion or say more. Annette sensed there was much more he wasn't saying though.

"So, It sounds as if we could do without a mechanic easier than a nurse. The rovers may be vital to becoming economically viable but if there is nobody with medical training that's a lack which might put us in personal danger. Right?" Annette asked.

"No," Feng said, surprising her. "Most of what she can do that requires physical presence several others can do who have had emergency medical training. Stitching or gluing a minor wound, dispensing drugs. Many things can be done with telepresense by a physician in which she could assist. However most any of us could do the same with a little coaching. I'd hate to have to intubate someone and even with the best waldos and stereo cameras I'd hate to see a serious operation performed remotely, but I'd have a doc do that remotely before I'd allow Chao-xing to cut me. But the real reason I don't want her around is because she is political." He said the word with distaste. "Politics is what divided her and her husband. Didn't you know?"

"Politics concerns me. The reasons for their break-up didn't. You might say politics is the only reason why I'm here. I'd better hear in some detail how Chao-xing is political. Are you opposed to my sovereign's rule?" Annette asked Chao-xing, directly.

"I am not interested or concerned with your politics," she answered, radiating haughtiness. "When everything gets sorted out back home then it's going to matter a great deal who we supported. And Chinese politics will concern themselves with you and the moon again when they are not distracted. A lot of these traitors will be dealt with then," she said. She gave a significant look around the room, trying to be menacing.

"You, Chao-xing, are banished from the Kingdom of Central," Annette said in a clear loud voice, something that Dakota had shown her was important. "If you show your face back here after your expulsion it will cost your life. However I've decided I can't justify keeping either of you. I will make an exception for you and your ex and promise you both passage clear to ISSII. There is an official Chinese presence there and they can have the joy of you. I won't inflict you on others."

Chao-xing looked even angrier, which surprised Annette. She'd thought her face was already as contorted as was possible. She opened her mouth and then hesitated looking at Annette, as Annette didn't seem angry, or even look interested. It broke Chao-xing's theatrical self righteousness and made her close her mouth back up. "What sort of Chinese?" the woman finally asked, thinking again after a pause. "If they are traitors, there then you are sending me to be arrested or worse."

"I don't know," Annette admitted. "Just as you said, I am not concerned with the details of your politics. I suggest, if you wish them to repatriate you to Earth from ISSII and avoid arrest, try to control your mouth. You'll be unescorted from Home and what you tell them is up to you. If you speak to them as rudely as you did me they may not deny themselves the pleasure of putting you against a wall and shooting you.

"When you agreed to stay here you forfeited your Chinese citizenship but I won't advise them of that. I doubt they'll be aware. I assume you kept your identity documents. Just be happy I didn't shoot you out of hand for treason to Queen Heather. I thought everybody understood that, but I can see the only safe course now is to ask everyone to swear a formal oath to Heather or face expulsion."

"As if I'd swear to obey a barbarian," Chao-xing sneered. "One who sends a woman to govern us."

"Get this woman out of my sight before I do something I regret later," Annette ordered Feng. "Call Central and ask them to send a hopper to take her and Wo away. If there's anybody else who wants a second chance to leave you best go with them now. I won't have any patience with repetitions of this stupidity."

"Come along," Feng told Chao-xing and laid his hand flat on her shoulder. She turned her head and spat in his face.

In low gravity it's hard to get the traction to strike. You tend to bounce apart instead of delivering much force. That's why Feng shifted from a light touch to direct her to a hard grip on her arm. When he struck with his fist he pulled her to the strike with his other hand. She twisted but couldn't get away and the hit was devastating with no block at all.

Annette was shocked. She'd never seen this sort of direct violence before and she was ready to tell Feng to stop even though she had just visualized and spoke of shooting the woman dead herself. That was somehow... different. It was obvious he didn't intend to continue even before she could say anything. He gave a come-here jerk of his head to one of the other observers, and in the low gravity the limp Chao-xing was easy to carry out. 'She asked for it.' was her immediate thought, but it still rattled her. She hadn't seen it coming at all.

The remaining four looked frightened, and she realized they weren't afraid of Feng, they were looking at her fearfully. Then she realized her hand was around the grip of the laser Heather had given her. She didn't remember consciously reaching for it. "That concludes this business for tonight," she told them forcing a frown and turned away before they could read the shock on her face. She couldn't afford to show anything that might be taken as weakness now.

* * *

Full and contented, April wanted something less stressful than reports about Earth. It was always good to keep track of what was happening locally too, and usually much more understandable. There was an official Mitsubishi web site for the habitat. It announced such corporate news and numbers as was appropriate to a publicly traded company, construction news and changes to services and utilities. Sometimes it noted changes to standards such as the certification of private airlocks, modification to viewports, how much hab supplied water could be retained in residential cubic and what was acceptable in the return discharge. Even what sort of wall coverings met flammability standards. On rare occasions they posted job openings.

What they did not concern themselves with at all was the residents' political or social life. Indeed they always carefully spoke of Mitsubishi 3 and never the political entity of Home. The people had pretty much dropped the distinction between the two in everyday speech unless they were addressing the Assembly of Home in session or supplying an address to an Earthside supplier.

There were a few gossip boards, which April despised, not much different than the same sort on Earth, except the renewal of the duel on Home had created a new level of civility for plain statements and renewed the art of innuendo. Too blunt a slur could result in an invitation to meet in the north corridors before breakfast. In fact, if you didn't know the story already it could be hard to be sure who the boards were talking about.

April was sure at least one of the more pleasant social sites was written by a very young girl by the sort of slang she used and limited subjects. There were a couple boards and newsletters dealing with business. One about onboard manufacturing and one about ship building and construction, with only a little overlap between them.

There was a recent and anonymous board that dealt with adult social issues, much classier than the gossip boards. That's what April was looking at tonight. You could subscribe to just article titles if you wished. April thought she knew who the writer was but had no desire to out her. She'd seen her eat at the nightclub in which April owned a small interest and then a day later there would be a review of that same dish she'd had in the newsletter. There were so few restaurants to review on Home she was going through the menus dish by dish.

President Wiggen had been through enough with the coup in North America and fleeing to Home. She didn't need the nasty comments April was sure she'd get on the gossip boards just because of who she was, even if she avoided local politics, which so far she had. Not even commenting on less sensitive Earth news that didn't involve North America or Home. April was pretty sure the board was Wiggen's.

The title banner to this site simply said "What's Happening" and April noticed there wasn't even a reference to Home on the first page. You had to know something about Home, or recognize some of the names, to even know it wasn't about a small town in North America most of the time. April was surprised one day to see a lengthy obituary. Wiggen posted local announcements free and took small ads for Home businesses and even other habs. Occasionally there was a small banner for Cheesy's, a burger place outside spin on ISSII that April favored.

April had no idea before reading about them that there was a bridge club, an Elks club, and several veterans associations. There were three groups holding regular religious services, a group offering charity and services to those ill or underemployed. Home was expensive. Some new arrivals had spent most of their funds to get to Home and underestimated how much it would cost to live. Fortunately there was a labor shortage and most didn't stay broke. There were just a few who couldn't make a go of it and were forced to return to Earth. For one person a local charity fund bought a ticket home and for another two the Head of Security, Jon Davis, considered the price of a return ticket from his budget a bargain to be rid of them.

There were several announcements of marriages and births, although Mr. Muños always appended those to the minutes of the Assembly, but that could be a wait. The one that caught her eye was, "Benjamin Patsitsas and Martha Wiggen wish to announce to the community that they have wed and are making a life together." Well, that was interesting. Hardly surprising since she hadn't seen one without the other for months. She needed to send some sort of gift. Perhaps one of Lindsey's prints.

April checked her messages looking for something from Barak. His expedition would be starting back from near Jupiter soon with an ice ball. That was the longer part of the trip. This was the second investment group seeking to bring volatiles back. They couldn't talk real-time with the long speed of light lag, but he left messages every three or four days. She missed him more than she expected. He had just been Heather's kid brother for so long and then after he got big enough to be interesting and part of her life on his own – zoom – he took off on this long trip. She hoped he was doing OK.

Chapter 3

The lighting was dim, the disc of the sun noticeably smaller but still too bright to stare at directly. It was sufficient illumination to work once your eyes adjusted. If they had been back at Home the glare off the ice would have required him to drop the polarizing filter and gold coated glare screen that rode clipped back from his clear faceplate. Here he'd only used it once, when he's used it as an expedient welding mask. He'd never welded anything before. It wasn't the first specialized skill he'd had to fake and probably wouldn't be the last. At least they'd requested a short video demonstrating vacuum welding for him to watch first.

The result wasn't anything of which Barak was especially proud. It looked more like a keloidian scar than an even expertly laid weld. He'd laid two more overlapping beads on top of the first line so he was pretty sure it was strong enough, if not pretty. The brace wouldn't have been bent and cracked if his boss, Harold Hanson, hadn't tried to force it into the ice instead of waiting patiently for the heater to do its work. He found he was spending a great deal of his attention anticipating his boss doing something stupid, and staying out of the way so he wouldn't get killed too.

Barak tried to tell Harold to slow down and think through every move working in vacuum, but the man rejected his suggestions and was easily irritated with him. Barak would love to ask April's grandfather what to do. Happy had taught him so much about working in vacuum, and he had years of experience dealing with difficult people too. But Barak didn't want that question on his com stream.

He just couldn't trust the security of com to send such sensitive traffic back and forth to Home. He had memory with some one time encryption pads from Jeff, but they were clearly for an emergency, and he'd have to have Jeff relay the message to April's grandfather and back. He hated feeling he was the green, inexperienced guy. All he could safely do was explain his problem to his friend Deloris in the privacy of his cabin. She hadn't been the least surprised.

"You don't owe Hanson any instruction. He's supposed to be supervising you, not the other way around. If you keep irritating him I predict he'll complain to the captain that you are insubordinate. I know you plan to work for your close friends in the future, but a bad report in your job file may be a problem fifty years from now. You just have no idea what may come back on you, so let it go. You didn't hear it here... but jackasses take care of each other, so if he complains to the captain guess who is going to get the blame? Just... stifle it."

"It's surprising," Barak said. "The man is so meticulous and careful in the lab. Showing me how to help him there he is methodical and cautious. But when we get outside he is anxious to get it done and back inside. I suspect he thinks it is beneath him to do manual labor, but it certainly isn't menial. You'd think he's being asked to wipe down corridor walls and scrub out the toilets."

"Uh huh," was all she said, indicating to him she was done talking about it and had said all she intended to for now. Barak took the hint.

Today they were finishing up anchoring the last ion drive. There were eight of them in a circle around their ship, the Yuki-onna, which was anchored nose first into the center of the circle. Three guy lines from the tail braced it in place. Each engine in the circle had a feed line and controls frozen in a shallow trench radiating from the ship. They were each marked with a sprayed line of bright yellow paint to make them safer from accidental damage.

Barak pushed the data cable in the frame holding the last motor until it locked with a snap he could feel even with double gloves hands and he tugged on it to make sure it was seated. Lastly Barak inserted the insulated water feed line in the port for it, and twisted it to lock. He'd made sure his camera documented that the port was clean and the line had no ice or debris in the end fitting. A big cotter pin went through the flange to made sure it wouldn't work loose.

He spread and bent the end of the pin over and put the pliers back in the proper clamps, checking that no other tools were missing. Then he folded the tool box closed clipping it to his suit.

"And... done," Barak said. "If they all run smoothly we shouldn't have to come back out here until we are back in the Moon's shadow," he said, satisfied and a little relieved they were done and Harold hadn't busted anything new today.

"They're such simple reliable engines," Harold said. "I'll be surprised if any fail."

That was true, but Harold was far more trusting of equipment than he was. April's grandfather, Happy Lewis, had coached him on working in vacuum back when Jeff and Happy were working on a ship together in the Lewis cubic. Happy didn't trust anything. He always asked, "And what do we do if it fails?" Barak intended to live a long time and keep all his extremities just like Happy.

Harold held on to the post for the safety line that ran back to the ship's lock and kicked it with one boot and then the other. Ice tended to build up on the boots. They were insulated but still warmer than the ice and it melted when compressed. Barak chipped his accumulation off carefully with a screwdriver. It might not be a lethal event, but if the mooring post for the safety line Harold was kicking cracked off and sailed away from being repeatedly kicked it would make it that much riskier to get back to the ship and they'd have to retrieve it and reset it in the ice next to the motor.

The slight gravity of the ice moon could be harder to work in than zero G. Things stayed put if you didn't push on them in zero G, but fell but here in slow motion. You couldn't get enough traction to really walk or even hop well. It was borderline whether you could jump off the ice ball, but for sure you could throw something over the escape velocity.

Harold unclipped his safety line from the closest brace that ran down into the ice for the ion engine mount. It should have then been clipped over the line to the ship, but he elected instead to clip the end to his suit and let it trail behind him. You had to pay attention and keep it sliding freely on the line or it jammed and brought you up short now and then. Harold started back to the ship along the line hand over hand. It wasn't that dangerous but it wasn't by the book either.

Barak stopped and let Harold get ahead a bit, taking the moment to look at Jupiter. It still took his breath away filling half the sky. He didn't hink he'd ever get used to it. Then he reclipped his tether on the line and followed Harold. Barak said nothing about Harold's tether, following Deloris' advice.

When they got to the ship Harold waved him past. It was a work rule the supervisor came in last, responsible for knowing he'd brought all his crew in. Harold had ignored the rule as silly for just a two man crew, feeling it was intended for a group big enough to require a head count, but been reminded of it by the captain, so he was diligent about that one point now. He'd accept instruction from Captain Jaabir, if not graciously.

Harold grabbed the line post below the lock again to knock the last of the ice off his boots. It had a bit of ammonia and other compounds dissolved in it, which was a bonus for value, but when it melted in the lock it stank like a wet dog and Harold hated it.

Barak leaned around him and got a good grip on the line strung down from the lock to the first post before unclipping and reattaching to it. He had to push off crooked to get around Harold and then pulled himself back on course for the lock with the taut line. The hatch was open to facilitate quick entry from their side if there was an emergency. He grabbed the take-hold beside the opening where the line terminated and twisted to rotate in. There was a brief loud noise on the radio like somebody blowing on a microphone to test it. He transferred his grip to the inside take-hold and leaned out to unfasten the safety line so Harold could follow him in and they could close the hatch. When he looked down Harold wasn't there.

He looked along the safety line running back to the engine they'd just finished working on, thinking maybe he went back alone to retrieve something forgotten. That would be stupid to do without telling Barak, but only too believable. The line was visible and taut, the posts on both ends secure. There was no sign of him along the line or at the engine sixty meters away. He leaned out and looked to each side... nothing. He called on his suit radio. "Harold? Where are you? What are you doing?"

The bridge monitored  their suit radios, so Captain Jaabir came on com and inquired, "Is there a problem?"

"Possibly. We returned to the airlock and I entered. When I turned around and looked back out Mr. Hanson is not in sight, and he doesn't answer a radio call either."

"Well then I suggest you go back out and look for him," the man said, like it was obvious.

"I will, when somebody suits up to go back out with me. You don't send somebody out alone if there is anybody at all available to partner with them. That's basic rule number one."

"Yes, but Mr. Hanson is partnering with you," Jaabir insisted.

"Not any more he isn't since he disappeared. I have no idea where the hell he went, but I'm not going to descend to the ice without a partner in the airlock ready to drag me back in on the end of a safety line if whatever befell him gets me."

"Why isn't Mr. Hanson on a safety line for you to pull back inside?"

"Because he unclips himself any old time he feels like it and flaunts the rules. He unclipped at the engine a few minutes ago and came back to the ship hand over hand untethered. He does it all the time and I gave up telling him about it because he's the supervisor and he got all crappy about me telling him what to do. When he started saying 'Yes, Mother' in a sarcastic voice I stopped telling him anything."

Jaabir didn't say anything for a moment. Barak was waiting to hear him challenge that, but he didn't. "Nevertheless, I'd like you to go back out and look," he insisted. "I don't have a camera that can see in close to the anchored nose of the ship."

And why didn't you set one up on one of the drives looking back at the ship? Barak wondered, but didn't say it.

"I'm sure tormented souls in hell would like raspberry ice cream too, but they're not going to get it."

"Are you refusing my direct order?" Jaabir asked.

"Damn right. You are master, but we're not under military discipline. Nor are we underway. You are ordering me to take actions off your vessel and in violation of established safety rules. You can order me to take my helmet off and breath vacuum right now too, with as much chance I'll do it."

"Some would argue the entire snowball became my vessel when we outfitted it with the means to move it."

"Then fire it up and move it," Barak challenged. "Demonstrate you are underway and declare an emergency and I'll consider it." It wasn't actually ready just yet and Jaabir damn well knew it. His silence spoke volumes. Also if they were accelerating outside the hatch would be up to the surface. The ship would have to fire it's engines when they left to keep it nose to the ice. There was nothing rigged to climb back to the ice under thrust and if Hanson was loose out there he'd fall off. Jaabir was silent.

"If there is an inquiry later and you are asked if you know the safety rules for vacuum work and why you failed to monitor and see they were followed it will be bad enough. If you actually order them to be ignored it isn't just passive neglect, it's actual felonious breach of duty. I'm not going to give them two dead crewmen to charge you over. One is quite sufficient."

"You... do not know Mr. Hanson is dead," Jaabir said. But his voice was very unsteady.

"Missing in vacuum and doesn't answer the radio? I'll bet you three Solars at even odds he's dead."

"It's unseemly to make bets over a man's life," Jaabir protested. "I have the watch and can't leave to suit up. I'll have Ms. Keynes suit up and join you," he said, singing a different tune now.

"Do you have somebody to run a suit check on her?" Barak asked, knowing the answer coming.

"No, everyone has vital duty." He didn't reveal what his XO was doing or why he didn't pick Deloris.

"Then tell Alice I'm going to pressurize the lock and she can join me. I'll do an external suit inspection on her while we are pumping down and then I'll go out."

"She's on her way," Jaabir said.

Barak used the time waiting for her to unclip the line hanging out the hatch, flood the airlock at a normal pace and record his radio log for the whole shift on a private memory stick. He had his whole log on it from day one. He didn't trust the ship's log and archives wouldn't have a catastrophic failure. Happy Lewis had told him that beam dogs knew from long experience that official video and radio logs seemed to be subject to sudden failure. "Probably due to being provided by the low bidder," he'd said with a very insincere wink.

Alice looked grim when she came in the lock. She went through the check list with him confirming air and battery charge and turned and twisted in the cramped lock to let him examine every joint, seal and pressure port, skipping nothing.

"You check out," Barak verbally confirmed. They were done well before the pressure pumped down to a dangerous level. That was technically a violation right there, but a common one.

"What happened?" she asked. "The Captain informed me Harold is missing. Where the hell can you go missing on a snowball no bigger than some buildings back home?"

"Well the horizon is really close. I'd guess not much more than a hundred meters on the end here. I suppose if he jumped he could be somewhere on the ice still. Or if he jumped straight up hard enough he'd take a long time to come back down. I didn't look up. In this suit I'd have had to lay on my back with my helmet hanging out the hatch to do that. Even then he might not come back down straight. It would be easy to land beyond our horizon or even do a short orbit or two before hitting ice again."

"I don't see Harold for a jumper. He might push you, but he had entirely too good an opinion of himself to ever be self-destructive. Captain, you on circuit?" Alice asked.

"Yes Ms. Keynes, of course."

"Is it possible to check with the radar and see if Harold is nearby but off the snowball?" Alice asked.

"No, I'm sorry but with the nose of the ship anchored we can't use it and it is integrated into the ship so thoroughly it was deemed impractical to remove. It has insufficient range to of use navigating so they decided not to provide an auxiliary system," Jaabir said.

"OK, thank you. It was just a thought."

"You want me to go down or watch over you?" Alice asked Barak.

"I'm used to the surface here. I know how the ice is supposed to look. Just monitor my radio and watch out the hatch so you can haul me back in by my line if I get in trouble. I may go out of sight. The line is long enough to go around to the far side of the ship. But if I do I'll keep up radio chatter so you know what's going on," Barak said.

"OK, Your rebreather numbers all check good?" she asked. There was no external monitor for that unless she jacked in. The bridge had telemetry, but she wasn't counting on that. Barak appreciated it.

"Numbers all good. I have a week before I need new packs. I'm purging at ninety five percent pump-down," Barak announced.

There was no objection from the bridge. They had a huge margin on air supply and could make more.

The ice under the lock was packed hard from their foot traffic. Barak didn't expect to see any marks or debris there and there wasn't anything. He turned and scanned all around slowly, looking hardest where he couldn't see from up in the lock hatch.

"There's something under the overhang," Barak told Alice. "I'll be out of sight just a few seconds."

"Oh shit! " Barak exclaimed, and then silence.

"You OK? You need reeled in?" Alice asked, worried at his silence.

"Sorry to worry you. I'm just fine. Coming back in sight soon. I have retrieved the... object. I'm sorry but Harold is dead," Barak told Alice.

Jaabir on the bridge didn't have to be told. He had the camera feed from Barak's suit helmet.

Barak pulled himself back up the line and swung in the lock. He handed Alice the boot from Harold's suit. Not the insulated over-boot but the pressure boot. The flange with locking lugs was fractured half way around and the one lug that was not cracked bent over when the pressure blew it off. The suit would have emptied itself in a heartbeat and propelled Harold off the surface like a rocket.

"What a horrible way to go," Alice said.

"There isn't any good way to go," Barak insisted. "I can't blame the suit maker. Harold has been kicking the ice off his boots for the last two weeks. Space suits are not designed to kick things. Cold metal gets brittle and this was simply abused until it failed. If you made a suit you could treat like that the miserable thing would weigh as much as a ground car and be impossible to move in."

"If he's been tethered he'd still be dead," Alice pointed out.

Barak thought about that a moment. Harold would have jetted to the end of his safety line but still been clipped on the post below. Barak would have needed to clip on, descend to the post below and change Harold's line over to the lock riser or his own suit, go back up to the lock pulling the extra line along, reel Harold in, maneuver Harold in his suit through the hatch, unclip both  their lines, close the hatch and pressurize the lock. There was no way to do all those things fast enough to save him.

"We'd have been able to recover his body, but it wasn't survivable," Barak agreed.

"Why don't you come in and de-suit," Jaabir said. "I'm going to declare everybody take a rest day to recover from this... shock. We'll discuss how this affects us and what accommodations we'll have to make later. I'll send word back in the daily report."

"Alright," Barak agreed. "There wasn't anything else visible out there. It wouldn't really make any difference if I found anything now. We are bringing pressure back up in the lock and will help each other unsuit. If you need any details not in the radio log let me know. If I'm to be off duty for a full shift I'd like to have a drink and sit and decompress a bit. But if you think I'll need to suit back up and go out I won't drink anything."

"No, no. Feel free. I may have a medicinal dose too," Jaabir said, although it wasn't his custom. "After I review the log and write a report."

Barak guessed there was little chance he'd be asked for a formal report or written response. Jaabir was going to be happy to do the whole thing, putting himself in as positive a light as possible. Fact was, even if he'd been much more of a stickler for rules and rode Harold hard, the captain always caught some of the blame when things went this badly wrong.

When they were out of their suits, with no com feed to the bridge, and everything stowed properly, including the lone boot, Alice turned and hugged him hard. She was shaking a little bit.

"Do you think Jaabir will tell Deloris?" she asked him.

"Jaabir isn't thinking about anything but covering Jaabir's butt right now," Barak said.

"Then I'd like to come tell Deloris with you and stay with you guys tonight," Alice asked.

"Of course," he agreed. They had rigged a double mattress extension some time ago to let the three of them all fit in one bunk. A single bunk wasn't even comfortable for two. Three was flat out impossible. They wouldn't trust it under heavy acceleration, but that wasn't going to happen again until after they cut the Yuki-onna loose of the ice-ball back home. They stood there silently holding each other for a moment, drained,  before they let go. Neither wanted to clean up and change in the suiting room. They just wore suit liners back to his cabin.

It was a good thing the motors were all in place before this happened. Barak would have dreaded working with Jaabir or one of the women to try to drive anchors and position them. Harold hadn't been his favorite person but he was fairly big and strong enough to handle pushing the massive machinery around. It would have seemed a pointless and selfish thing to say out loud so he never really considered it. But he'd bring it up to anyone who wanted an after action report. Six people were just not enough for this deep a voyage he decided. It was going to still be a hardship going back shorthanded. He'd talk about that later between just the three of them before having to hear Jaabir's take on it. Not tonight, he decided. So soon he might still say things to Jaabir he'd regret.

* * *

It was late, past midnight. Gunny was in his room sleeping. For a wonder April wasn't hungry. She just wasn't sleepy. That didn't mean she wanted to study or actually work. Everyone she knew well followed a day schedule and couldn't be called this late. She had music on low so she wouldn't disturb Gunny. She probably should not have had quite so much coffee after supper.

It was always amusing to see what the Earthies were doing. She was ready to look at the news again. This afternoon she'd have said she was never going to look at the stupid crud again. M3 or Home ran on North American Pacific time so their news was probably pretty dead and just repeating stories from the previous day since it was their night too. Asia didn't interest her as much as Europe so she checked their news feeds, scrolling until she found something Italian. Her friend, Lin, the captain of the boat they sometimes hired worked out of Italy, so the news had some actual relevance to her life.

The European News Feed showed a man in robes speaking behind a lectern. He was speaking Italian so she picked the translate to English captions option. It was outside in bright sunlight but fairly early in the morning by the angle. There was a stone building behind him. You couldn't see much of it but April got the impression it was old.

"The Holy Father is not ill," the Vatican spokesman insisted. "I have spoken with him recently and he's quite robust for a man of his years. He has set aside some personal time from Church business for reflection and spiritual retreat. He has been complaining for some time that the pace of modern life is not conducive to quiet Christian meditation and has decided to apply the needed adjustment in his own life first, delegating some of the oversight of the Holy See to trusted advisors. In time he shall return refreshed. He is certainly not obligated to trot out on your whim. The faithful are urged to reexamine his letter of last November and see if they can't apply the same principals in their own lives."

"What of the others?" the journalist from the "The Rome Daily Blog of Faith" asked. "There are almost two dozen very senior churchmen here and in other European states who have not been seen in public for some months. This is in the same time frame in which the King and Queen of Spain withdrew from public life and several members of their charities and government bureaus have been missing. Is all this coincidence?"

"You have found us out," the spox admitted, throwing his hands up in mock despair. "They are all in conference, where various flying saucers have gathered them to the Mother ship. But the meeting was delayed, just as you suspected, by illness. The main speaker Elvis Presley is not well at all."

"It is not fitting to mock a serious inquiry from the press," the fellow insisted. "What goes around comes around."

"You do not have a press," the spox pointed out. "I doubt you even have an office. I'd be shocked if you don't work solely from your phone."

The man couldn't reply over the razzing and laughter from his fellow reporters and journalists.

April switched news feeds. Was that as crazy as it came across, or was the auto-translate influencing it? She knew that there was something happening with the Spanish royal family and a bunch of church officials. She and Gunny suspected they got infected with some virus made to do life extension therapy. She even strongly suspected who messed up and transmitted it. She's had some modifications done the same way, but had been very careful to quarantine herself.

She decided to look at North America anyway, where she at least knew the fine nuances of the language instead of needing a translator. Disney News still seemed as reliable as any. What were their main stories?

Atlanta, Georgia – HHS administrators say the Atlanta water supply system is "unfixable" given its age and rate of failures. They demanded the city put Federal aid towards sewer systems alone or face funds cut-off. "Water is cheap now with fusion power and modern desalination techniques," says HHS spox, "but distribution is expensive and based on a century old system that requires pumping from the ocean to the antiquated processing plant for distribution.

Free drinking water will be distributed in reusable bottles at FEMA service centers by presenting approved photo-ID. Very few sections of the city will need to go more than five kilometers to obtain free water. Bulk water may be picked up for delivery by approved contractors upon submission a list of validated customers. FEMA will set delivery rates. Subdivisions and apartment complexes of two thousand or more residents, with water systems no more than thirty years old may apply to be tied to the supply system on a cost sharing basis. Schools and contracting charities will offer shower facilities in off hours to residents with ID.

It is suggested you save your waste water for sanitary system flushing as well as watering any plants. Watering a lawn from an approved connected system is prohibited. The first violation is a ten thousand dollar fine and the second violation results in the cut-off of the entire approved connection. Owners are urged to disable or lock external sill cocks on their buildings to avoid theft and responsibility for misuse. Hoarding more than a hundred gallons of publicly supplied water in a household shall be a class B felony.

Modesto, California – The USDA has ruled that paving portions of agricultural land and directing the run-off into drywells to raise the level of rainfall available to the unpaved portion makes the entire volume subject to applicable water regulations. Such so called dry-land farm techniques using enhanced collection are as artificial as any other form of irrigation and require permits.

Lake Tahoe, Nevada – The State Supreme Court of Nevada has ruled residents of the California side working in Nevada may be required to purchase a state license plate and county road use sticker if they use Nevada side roads on a regular basis to commute, citing such use is de facto residency. "Residency is much more than where we sleep," says Justice Collins. California is expected to pass matching legislation. Insurance spox indicate this will require separate policies. Governments in New York and New Jersey are watching the decision closely. Drivers may be required to buy and display both plates. No Federal challenge is expected.

Akron, Ohio -  Jefferson Hobart of suburban Barberton was diagnosed with Oppositional Defiant Syndrome after encouraging his son not to take behavior improving medication prescribed by his school nurse. The judge ordered him to not have any instrument capable of causing serious injury in his home. His kitchen knives and a number of power tools were removed. Police arrested him Wednesday after a neighbor reported him in possession of a pruning saw.

Stanley, Idaho – The Idaho court has affirmed that while state fishing regulations specify what sort of aquatic animals such as frogs and minnows may be taken for bait and in what manner and with what equipment, legislators did not specify the taking of non-aquatic animals for bait in the latest rewrite. While this may have been an oversight the correction of it is up to the legislature not the court, Judge Wilson ruled. Although the defendant was in possession of a valid state fishing license the charge of hunting an animal without a license and not on the allowed list stands for Herman Defray of Stanley. Judge noted there was no exemption for invertebrates, so his taking of worms is illegal. His father Woodrow indicated he will pay the fine and not appeal. He said his son at the age of nine still does not understand the charges against him, but he will assure his behavior until he reaches an age where he can understand the state's position. Several sellers of live bait as well as exterminating companies have suspended operations until they can get a clarification from the state Attorney General.

Oakland, California – Bestest Brands vs. Henry Briggs DBA Hank's House of Savings. The California Supreme Court has ruled it  is an unfair business practice and vague and unprovable claim to label an item at sale as a "Best Value".

Denver, Colorado – The city of Denver and Colorado Springs filed suit against Wasteway Corp. and the city of Kiowa in Elbert county. The plaintiffs claim an ownership interest in the mining operation emptying the corporation's landfill of material principally deposited from the two towns during the 2040s. Citing provisions of the contract with Eco-Smart, the third company in the past to have ownership of the landfill. The cities claim an interest in any reclaimable materials and cite a theory that the waste was being held in public trust and storage rather than transferring to the beneficial ownership of the waste hauler.

It seemed to April that people were fighting ridiculous battles over the smallest advantage. There must not be any honest way to earn a reasonable profit so any weapon to be found would be used against competitors. Likewise the state was anxious to label any activity that could be fined as a crime. They were fighting over bread crusts. She decided to look at Disney's take on international news. It was probably composed by a real human translator not a program.

Rome, Italy - Reports from the city indicate this year's flu season is somewhat early and heavy. The National Health Service reports that limited stocks of this year's vaccines are already delivered. They will be expedited to Rome since the current outbreak has not appeared in other cities. Ample stocks of vaccine should be available nationwide in two to three weeks. This is more than sufficient for the progression of a typical flu season. World Health Organization spox says no other members report an early outbreak.

April didn't pay much attention to that. She was up on all the normal immunizations. They usually got the same vaccine the USNA used. Although some people were getting Asian variations since so much commerce was through Tonga now. She'd had a universal flu vaccine that conferred some general protection but wasn't as good as vaccine for a specific strain. It did ease the severity of any flu if they guessed wrong this year on what strain would be going around. She was finally tired and closed down the pad and headed to bed.

Chapter 4

"It's not going to work," Deloris said, glancing up at him.

She was sitting cross-legged on the other end of his bunk looking down at her pad. He hadn't been sure she was listening since she'd never looked up as he expounded on his plan. She wasn't emotional about it, as if she had a stake in the idea one way or another, just flatly sure of herself. It stung because he was emotionally invested in his proposal and knew it, even though it was a weakness to get too attached to an idea. He was emotionally invested in Deloris too, and wanted her approval. But he was less aware of that than she was.

"Don't give me that pitiful look. It's not like I'm attacking you. I've had a lot of bad ideas too. If you could ask my mom she'd give you a whole list. Most of them I tried anyway 'cause, you know, teenage and stubborn."

"At least tell me why it won't work," Barak asked.

"You mentioned before it's to weed out creeps and sociopaths. Well they already have tests to do that and maybe ninety percent of the population on Home passed those tests. Almost all of them who came up as company men before we got a bunch who paid their own way. The tests work somewhat down on Earth, but they don't work for crap when you apply them to a population who are smarter than the guys who wrote the tests. I can take one and tell you line by line how they tie to a previous question and what they are trying to get you to reveal. I'm not screwy in the head and I'll admit I still answered a few questions with what they wanted to hear instead of my honest reaction. They want sane to the point of boring. If I was that sane I wouldn't have applied for this job."

"But it isn't a sit down and fill the form out test or interview. I want to do it as a game," Barak reminded her.

"Doesn't matter, people will know. Look, if a prospective employer wants you to go to a dinner with them that's a test too and you'd know it. You can't bullshit smart people into thinking you have a sudden social interest in them outside of hiring them. The folks hiring want to see if you drink too much or if your mother didn't teach you any table manners. If you can't resist ordering the stinger because somebody else is paying or if you are so damaged you can't sit and talk for an hour without revealing you have extreme views or hitting on the boss' assistant. Really smart people know it's all a test and can mostly force themselves to act like a normal human being for an hour or two. You don't just say, "Let's do the interview over dinner!' and not have them know damn well it's a test. Same thing down below. Earthies will invite a potential new guy for a game of golf. You can bet you don't beat the new boss and still get the job. It tests subservience too. You don't want to hire somebody so competitive they can't stand to lose a single game of golf. They'd have your job in six months."

Barak was nodding his head agreeing. "I'm simply going to have to hide the fact it is a test at all."

"Huh! Lots of luck doing that. How do you intend to hide it?" Deloris asked, skeptical.

"First step is I'd like your promise you won't discuss this with anyone else or write it where it might be revealed. You haven't had occasion to do that yet have you?"

"Who would I tell? Alice is the only other person I talk to about non-work stuff. I'll keep it secret if you like. It's no burden."

"I'm thinking to make it attractive as a game all by itself, with no promise of a job interview or anything for doing well. Jeff will have to bankroll producing it but I want people to buy it, not give it away. We might even make money on it. I'm thinking maybe six people besides us who will know the real purpose of it." After he thought about it a minute he added, "In fact we won't ever tell people it was the game that made us recruit them. Otherwise it will leak out and destroy the continuing value of it as a recruiting tool."

"You'll need to build in ways to cheat and betray other players to the cheat's benefit, if that's behavior you wish to identify,  but limited so it doesn't destroy the game." Deloris said. "It might get a bit ugly at times."

"That part worries me a little," Barak admitted. "Am I going to weed out somebody who views cheating as merely a natural part of the game but would never do the same things in real life?"

Deloris looked at him with a scowl. "You told me when we met that I'm socially more mature than you. Well, listen up to my wisdom. You have much too generous and forgiving a view of people. A guy who will cheat you at cards or dice or anything like that will do it whether it is poker with a 'real' pot sitting on the table or a game like bridge and nothing but the joy of beating you at stake.

"If you have to tie it to something you consider real charge people to play but let them get paid back some money for points earned playing. Even let them make a bit if they are ranked high enough. Just be careful setting the payouts. I'd start low and ease up on the final numbers. It will alienate people if you set it too high and then have to cut it to keep them from ruining you."

"OK, I'm thinking a payout and maybe some sort of convention every year. You play for money but for rank and bonuses too. Besides the whole usual array of challenge coins and t-shirts and crap. It'll need a really good title. Starship Commander or Death Voyage Centauri or something. Jeff can have the core programming done on Home or Central but let all the visuals and music and stuff done in Asia. He  already has a lot of, uh... data work contracted out there."

"Stumbled and almost said a secret didn't you?" Deloris asked. She was entirely too perceptive.

Deloris got this sudden shocked look.

"What? Does the concept offend you?" he asked.

"No, no. It's just that I remembered, I saw a really cheesy old classic movie that had almost the same premise. In it there was a video game, an early free standing arcade type game, that was a combat spacecraft. It had been put out to find somebody with the right skills and reflexes to be a real pilot, but the kid who paid to play it didn't know that until it lead to his recruitment." She looked back down at her pad and tapped a few lines in rather than talk to it. "My God, it's a hundred years old. The Last Star Fighter," Deloris read off the screen.

"I'll watch that," Barak said. "I might get some ideas from it."

"It's old enough you won't understand some stuff in it. I remember there's visuals in it I had no clue about. But there's a paper on it somebody wrote that puts a lot of it in context. Neither are in our onboard web fraction, just a brief citation. Which is reasonable. We are too busy running the Yuki-onna to have much personal time to web surf. We don't need the expense of a huge web fraction.

"I don't suggest you request it sent from Home if you want to keep the idea secret. Somebody smart might be archiving our data stream. I know it's encrypted, but it's not a random onetime pad so if it isn't easily breakable now it could be given a little time."

"No, I'll do it when we get back. Jeff will have some time before he needs a crew." Barak grinned at her. "Besides, we have a couple of crew already."

* * *

The next day April forced herself to take time and run. Mitsubishi was keeping up with the increased population as far as adequate air systems and water recycling, but some things got short shift. If she passed on her reservation somebody would snatch it on standby and she'd be lucky to get one in another ten days. April suspected somebody would open a gym soon if Mitsubishi didn't expand their facilities. Maybe they wanted that to happen. They were hit with increased expenses just like everybody else because of moving further from Earth. Maybe I should open a gym, April thought. They already had a commercial zero G handball court. It wasn't that radical of an idea.

The run she chose was an easy one since she hadn't been coming faithfully. It followed an Irish country road improbably empty of traffic. When her time was up a lady at a gate invited her to stop for tea. That was a cute way to end it before the illusion turned off. She went, not to tea, but to breakfast after a shower. Several people nodded or waved in the cafeteria but nobody joined her.

At home she studied for a couple classes, spoke for a half hour with a study partner in Japan in Japanese, and then they switched and spoke English for a half hour. She went most of the day without viewing any news programs or intelligence reports. Earth was such a critical factor in their survival it needed constant scrutiny, but it got old sifting through the whole mess. Instead of commercial news or economic intelligence she chose Chen's radio intercepts. They were edited, but still a bit different and she hadn't looked at many yet. After awhile she felt compelled to call Jeff.

"I'm seeing some really bizarre things happening in North America. A few of them make the news and some don't. Some I got because your guy Chen sends interesting radio intercepts he gets digging for other intelligence. I don't always see how they are related to the economy at first, but he's pretty perceptive. I usually agree after I think on it a bit. He grabs a lot down at the city and county level where they use encryption that isn't all that good. All they really want to make sure is that the public, or the crooks, can't follow their operations real time. The lower level of encryption is cheaper and less given to drop-outs."

"Just North America?" Jeff asked, puzzled.

"Probably not," April admitted, "but China is still in chaos from civil war, and Europe I don't understand. I have to auto-translate a lot of stuff there. Africa has never been anything I'd call normal and your guys like Chen do most of their spying in North America. Nobody else seems such a danger to us since China is a mess."

"What do you consider 'bizarre'?" Jeff asked.

"Well, like this story," April read off her pad. "Police in Salado Texas have stopped and seized the fourth truck in the past two years transporting goods to the Best-Price big box store in Austin. Company officials complain Salado officers coerced drivers into signing a release of the truck and goods they had no authority to give in exchange for a promise not to prosecute the drivers on drug charges. The drivers all insist they were carrying no drugs but the police claim to smell it on them. The company claims there is an inside connection supplying information because the trucks stopped were heavy with such easy to market items as food, electronics, hardware and footwear. Trucks carrying seasonal and low density items such as produce, party and decorative items, paper goods and clothing were never stopped.

"State police have filed an objection in court that Salado has not made a timely and accurate accounting of the twenty percent cut of forfeiture items they must share with the state. Best-Price officials say they are assigned specific hours and routing by DOT regulations, so they have no options to bypass the town, and warn they may close their three Austin stores. They have already filed one year closing notices to retain that option.

"They have tell them a year ahead if they want to close? Isn't that crazy?" April asked him.

"If they have more than fifty people yeah. That's the law and pretty standard. It used to be sixty days and a hundred people. In Massachusetts it's twenty-five people. It's supposed to limit the economic disruption, and give people time to adjust. If there is a union they have more stuff they must do. There are ways to mitigate it though," Jeff said.

"A year? Can you imagine how much money they could burn through in a year?" April asked.

"Yeah, but they can cut back hours, close a couple days a week and stop resupplying the store. They can offer the people at that store jobs in other stores and pretty much close it down even though it is technically open. If you don't stock it people stop coming. In Texas I'd say you could stop running the air conditioning and most of the crew would quit pretty quickly."

Jeff stopped and looked thoughtful. "Or just stop paying the utility bills and the power company will shut it off for you. If that doesn't drive the last diehard local customers away you can triple the prices on everything left in stock. The government can get you for price fixing or selling under cost to drive others out of business, but they'll never take you to court for being too expensive. You might even get it down to one manager to make the gesture to unlock the front door until the end of the year and a security guard."

April looked at him like he was mad. "How do you know all this labor stuff?"

"You have been studying banking and economics since we founded the bank and you came home from Earth. You asked me at the start what to study so I knew what direction you were going from where I pointed you. I've been studying too, but different aspects of it. There was no point in us duplicating the same areas. I gave Heather stuff to read too but she's been so busy with Central. I haven't asked if she's kept up with her material. I can see she barely has time to eat and sleep. You, I know you have, because you keep talking about it when something like this surprises you," Jeff said.

"But you'd have an empty shell of a building with half a dozen people and no customers sitting for the rest of the year with empty shelves. It's all a farce," April objected.

"Yep, I agree, it's ridiculous, all of it. At the end they'd probably shut off most of the lights and the last handful of employees would just sit in the break room and collect their pay until the year runs out. Jobs are that hard to get so people have no shame to milk it to the last day. The police, the town government, the state police, the company are all playing make-believe because of the laws.

"Probably the only honest players are the drivers, unless they are the ones telling the small town police which loads are worth taking. A lot of business in North America has been a farce for the last century. They make an empty show of following the letter of the law instead of the spirit of it. It's all a parasitic drag on the economy. Come on now April, do you believe the government economic statistics they publish every month?" Jeff asked.

"No, that didn't take me long to figure out. In fact the last two census surveys have been pretty useless for anything."

"That's the conclusion I came to also." Jeff agreed.

"Then the police in Salado aren't any different than the crooks who hijack a truck. Did you know a driver won't stop any more at a truck stop that doesn't have armed security?" April asked him. "At least not a company driver. They're not allowed and the company is paying the premium for fueling up at a guarded lot."

"Well, they don't have to hide the loot like a small crook. Economically you want to look at the cause of this and the consequences," Jeff told her. "The small town couldn't collect enough taxes to keep functioning. Once it got to the point they couldn't support the police department they had to do something or lose their jobs with the city. They can write traffic tickets, but private traffic is down and speed traps get publicized. If there aren't enough speeders they have to write false tickets or starve.

It's a small step from that to shaking down passengers for cash and jewelry on some pretext. But not all states have forfeiture laws. And it's dangerous. Occasionally you shake down somebody wealthy enough to give you trouble and every now and then somebody you stop has far bigger issues than a speeding ticket and he shoots a cop.

"Stopping a truck that belongs to a big corporation is a known quality. The driver has no stake in arguing with you. The truck itself is worth quite a bit if you auction it off, or you can demand a cash payment from the company to redeem it and not have to even go to all that much trouble. The goods can be auctioned and a certain amount skimmed and divvied up between officers. Nobody is going to scrutinize the manifest. Those spoils are tax free sold on the black market and the rest goes to auction or a regular buyer who has agreed to take the loads and redistribute them."

"But Best-Price may actually close down some stores. All those jobs will be gone and where will people go to buy their stuff then?" April demanded.

Jeff was amused but a little dismayed. She was all indignant over strangers and things far away she couldn't change.

"That's the larger consequence. The cops in Salado don't care what happens to people in Austin. They are looking at surviving this week not a couple years from now. The stores will close up and the parking lots will get gated off and grow up in weeds. There will be other smaller stores open up that get their goods delivered in small trucks that can drive around places like Salado. They have to charge more because they don't have the efficiencies of the big operation, but they survive. More of the same sort of goods go black market too. It makes life harder for everybody but it still functions, mostly."

"Isn't there any higher authority to shut down a police department like that?" April asked.

"It sort of depends on the politics of the store owners and the city government. Their own city government may be afraid to try to rein them in. The local officials live there and can be intimidated. As far as state or national police – have they supported the administration in power? If you are a big contributor you may get some help or they might look the other way. That's why a lot of big businesses contribute to both sides in an election. No matter who wins they can point out that they gave to their campaign."

"But, it cancels out!" April said.

"Apparently not in their minds," Jeff said. "Too many do it for it not to be working for them."

"It can't keep working like this. It's going to bust all the way and break down," April insisted.

"You'd think so. I appreciate how it offends you to see injustices and stupidity. But you have to stay detached because predicting when is a dangerous game in business. They can keep coming up with ways to keep it working over and over when it looks impossible. They change laws and regulations, start wars and print money. If you get emotionally invested in their failure you may try to set a time and predict when it won't work anymore. You can lose your shirt. Rather," Jeff said, "you can lose our collective shirts. A lot of people have tried to short industries they were sure were doomed. Then they change the rules on you or some big event like a hurricane or a war alters everything and that bet turns sour."

April nodded. "I could have made that sort of mistake easily. Thanks."

"My pleasure," Jeff said. "I wouldn't let you make that mistake. You've started out studying the theoretical side of the economy because that's where I pointed you when I gave you a reading list at the very start. It's good to know how Earthies view economics academically. It helps to predict what they may do.

"But there's a constant assumption among the professionals down there that history will repeat in similar circumstances and that behind all the numbers the investors moving them will act rationally. They don't. They may for a time, but that can all be washed away in minutes by sudden mob movements of fear or greed. I've been looking more at the political side of it and of course the history of the politics.

"I didn't give you that to study because every time people act crazy it upsets you. It's fine that you care if the people in Austin won't have a place to shop, but you're going to see a thousand stories like that. You'll have to distance yourself from it or you'll be all indignant every day. It'll wear you down. "

"I had no idea how complicated it would be when I said we should start a bank," April said.

"Oh, but I'm so glad you did," Jeff said. "It's such a mess that having our own bank is our best protection. We know we're not going to go to the bank one day to find our money gone and the doors locked. Not while we own the doors."

"You make me feel better Jeff. Thanks. I'm going to the club tomorrow for dinner. Do you want to come along?"

"Sorry, I like to but have I to be with Dave and one of his customers, but thanks. Have fun."

"I will. I'll get Gunny or somebody to go," April said.

Chapter 5

You'd think a free supper and show at one of the best clubs would be easy to give away. Well there were only two nightclubs right now, but still... you could reasonably make comparisons to New Las Vegas. April thought they were making a very good early showing at the business for their population level. You didn't expect New York City level amenities in what was basically a small town. Even a wealthy one. Yet April was alone after asking three people.

The Fox and Hare was busy. It had been so busy of late that April felt obligated to inquire what evenings were less solidly booked before taking a table. Their host and maître d' Phillip Detweiler hadn't wanted to answer her at first, firmly insisting they would accommodate her at any time. He'd been equally stubborn when she had earlier suggested she wasn't poor and in fairness to the other owners she should pay for her service. He'd pointed out that he was one of the other owners and he'd see it paid out of his share before he's present her with a bill.

April didn't know if he'd ever reserved a table for himself. He was an owner to do so, but a minor one and didn't get as large an offsetting cut of the profits. Allowing him to pay for her would be even less fair so she dropped it. April couldn't figure out why he felt so obligated to her. She'd never done anything special for him personally as far as she knew.

She was an owner but hadn't even been in from the start. She'd inherited it from her brother. She'd had the sign out front made, and other little suggestions, but Phillip was here every day making it work. As far as she was concerned what he was doing was much more valuable, but he always treated her like she was special.

April inquired of the accountant finally and found out that Wednesdays and Thursdays late in the month were the slowest days. That appeared to be accurate since there were three empty tables, something she hadn't seen other days. She was certain there wouldn't be any open on a weekend. Even though everybody she asked had a commitment, she didn't want to cancel at the last minute on a slow night. She took a table for two against the wall. The wall side was a nice upholstered seat and the other side empty because they brought a folding chair if somebody sat on that side.

The Caprese salad was a light appetizer. It would leave her hungry enough for the seafood fettuccine she'd had before and knew to be ample even for her appetite. A reduced alcohol dry white wine went perfectly and left her clear of mind even if she started on it before the main course. Her waiter tonight was Jesse Duval. She'd first met him and his wife Helen almost a year ago. They'd been visiting Home for life extension therapy, something not legally available at home in Spain. They had returned to Home recently but insisted they were now Jesse and Helen instead of James and Elena Alphonses. They never broke their cover identity with her or anyone else as far as she knew. She knew they couldn't do that with their doctor, but that was an entirely different matter.

There had been confused news reports after their return to Earth about high Catholic officials infected with something and a hunt for terrorists wanted for spreading an infectious agent. Since some of the common life extension therapies were administered using a viral carrier she and Gunny suspected the couple had somehow broken quarantine. If so, they were smart to flee. The crazy Earthies felt inflicting a longer healthier life on somebody to be a heinous crime.

Jesse had applied to the Fox and Hare and gotten a serving job with ease. Not even mentioning April as a reference. He was good looking and projected good humor without it seeming strained. The host had confided in her that Jesse had already turned down a couple job offers from customers impressed with his manner. If they only knew he'd been responsible on Earth for managing a major charity. He was way over qualified to be a server and would make more from the sort of tips that were quiet confidence and overheard conversations than cash on the table.

April thought his wife the brains of the couple at first, but changed her mind and appreciated him more now. She had the sudden thought she should tell Chen, who was running Jeff's intelligence efforts, to recruit Jesse. His wife Helen had landed a job with a small firm that did PR and advertising on Earth for space based clients. It would surprise her if they both continued working for others long term. They were smart enough to make more on their own.

It was getting near the start time for the entertainment this evening. On a quiet Thursday it would be a singer or a pianist, not a band or a series of acts. Two of the empty tables filled and with just a couple minutes until the lights dimmed the last empty table near her in Jesse's section was claimed by a middle aged couple. April was happy to see it filled on a Thursday.

They were interesting, no doubt at all they were Earthies, but they had all the signs of life extension therapies. Their apparent age suggested that they'd been older than was usual when they got treatment. Tourists were often well dressed, if Earth in styles, it wasn't cheap to lift to Home after all, but these two were better dressed than usual. His jacket was perfectly tailored and April knew the little purse the woman carried was about five thousand EuroMarks. He carried himself with authority. Not the self-conscious ramrod stiffness of a control freak but the real self assurance of someone who didn't know what it was to feel intimidation.

Phillip, the host held the lady's chair for her after switching it around so they both faced the stage. She was obviously used to having that done for her by how smoothly it went. The host went away and Jesse was serving drinks to the next table over. Once finished there he tucked the small tray under his elbow and turned to the newcomers. His face went through shock, then fear and despair. He looked over each shoulder in turn seeming to be surprised he didn't find hands on him. April saw something very unusual was happening and triggered her spex early to record the encounter even before he looked over his shoulders.

When Jesse looked back at them the man made a small restraining gesture above the edge of the table, palm down. Jesse bent his knee and for a second April thought he was going to kneel before them, but the man made the outstretched hand flutter emphatically and frowned, which seemed to stop him. He was still frozen to the spot where he was standing, completely flustered and not responding normally.

The host getting the high sign from the bartender that something was amiss turned back. The woman saved any confrontation by getting up and hugging Jesse. She looked past him to the worried host and waved him away with a smile. She was a big woman, as tall as Jesse and held his elbows to his sides, leaned in close and spoke low to his ear, smiling and visibly calming him. He finally gave a few nods of agreement though if he said anything it was too low for April to hear. When she sat back down Jesse went off to the bar.

He must have gotten a drink order while the woman was close. He had just a few words with Phillip, looking embarrassed and leaving him still looking dubious. By the time he returned and served the couple Jesse seemed composed again.

April sent the video to Jeff's man Chen, suggesting they should know the identity of this couple. She didn't expect a quick answer. Sometimes it was several days before Chen responded to a message from her. This time he answered in a couple minutes, just as the lights started dimming.

"Jon's people said they came in two days ago on the regular shuttle from ISSII. They are traveling as Ferdinando and Sancha Jimenez which seem to be false identities. A net search and Interpol inquiry shows no hits except similar names of historic persons."

"Are the historic personages Spanish royalty?" April asked, having a sudden idea.

There was no immediate reply. A couple more minutes went by before Chen came back. "Yes, one of the kings in Spain before it was really one country, King of Leon and Count of Castile and his wife. The first of the kings of Spain to claim to be an emperor back in the early ten hundreds. Are you a big history buff or did you arrive at that by some other route? Sometimes you freak me out."

"A different route entirely," April admitted, but volunteered no more. "Would you please have one of your underlings find photos and brief biographies of the last king and queen of Spain and send them to my pad?"

"Sure. Any deadline on that?" Chen asked.

April looked at the couple. They seemed to be enjoying the lively pianist who was just starting, had some sort of wine and were sharing a small appetizer. They looked pretty firmly ensconced for a meal and the show.

"Within the hour if that is practical. If you need reimbursed for the research this is personal not mutual business with my partners," April told him.

"That's easy," Chen said, ignoring her offer. "I'll have it sent to your pad in a few minutes."

Despite the misleading way he said it Chen didn't hand it off to a research associate. He wanted to see this himself. When he looked he was surprised to find the Spanish succession was in dispute and some turmoil. There hadn't been any big public stink about it, but apparently the current official head of state and his wife had retired. They didn't say he had abdicated. It was much more mysterious than that and involved the 'retirement' of a number of other high government and Church officials.

Chen looked at the video April had sent him and the news service photos. It couldn't be... They were far too young and the Crown and Church were death on Life Extension. But that nose! You could split logs with a nose like that. The sort plastic surgeons promise and could only approximate. Their children on the other hand were all accounted for in recent stories at very public activities.

He forwarded the files to April's pad, appending information about the apparent chaotic state of the Spanish secession and hesitated to add anything. Finally he simply said – "Look at the nose."

Indeed, it was a magnificent nose. Suitable for looking straight down if one chose to. The owner didn't look to be minded that way. He was relaxed and eating a steak which was trying to hide beneath a pile of mushrooms. It amused April when she realized he was chewing in quarter time to the piano. She wondered if he realized it? The appetizer tray was gone and she noticed they only had a glass of wine not the whole bottle.

When Jesse checked on her she didn't need anything but she asked him, "What is the bartender's name, Jesse? Does he manage the wine too?"

"Yes, Miss Lewis. Festus has to wear the sommelier's hat too. We're too small still to keep one busy full time, and their cellar here is rather small compared to many Earthside establishments." He thought on it a moment... "In truth it's small compared to some private collections."

"Have him come speak with me when he has time," April requested.

"Certainly, is everything satisfactory?" Jesse barely gave an eyebrow twitch of concern since April didn't seem unhappy.

"Everything is lovely. I just need his expertise."

It wasn't long before April saw somebody else take over at the bar and Festus disappeared. She thought he'd gone on break or even off shift until he suddenly popped back up beside her table standing at attention like he was going to be presented a medal, or stood before a firing squad. Looking at him she realized he'd gone to the kitchen and removed his apron, cleaned up a bit, combed his hair and put on a fresh shirt. She'd never spoken to the man so why had he gone to all that trouble?

"Miss Lewis? Jesse said you'd like to speak with me."

April scooted over a little and patted the seat beside her. "Just April is fine. You needn't be so formal with me. This won't take long but sit down a minute please. I'd rather our conversation not attract attention. With you standing there and the pianist between numbers we're the most obvious thing happening in the whole room."

"I think the help are invisible to most people," he objected. He did sit however, but not too close. April moved closer because she intended to speak quietly. He was surprisingly thin close up. She hadn't noticed from a distance. The long sleeves covered it a bit, and his face didn't look thin, it just sort of long and hound-doggy. He seemed uncomfortable so she got to the point rather than torture the poor fellow.

"The middle-aged couple toward the stage and a bit to our right seem familiar to me. I think they are Spanish. I'd like to send them drinks and I thought it would be a nice surprise to send something Spanish. They had wine already with dinner." April looked and the woman's glass was gone and his had just a bit left. "Could you suggest something else to send to their table as a gift?"

He looked much more comfortable now that the conversation was on ground he knew. "Spanish liqueurs tend to be very strongly flavored and people usually love them or hate them. So that's a risky thing to send to their table if you don't know their tastes. We only have one that has a strong flavor of sloe berries. It will just kill your palate for anything subtle after.

"But we have a Spanish sparkling wine made by the same process as Champagne. It's called Cava and we have both Freixenet and a few bottles of Codorníu. The ones we have are just slightly sweet and very appropriate for after dinner. People buy the Freixenet because it has a fancy bottle. However, I like the Codorníu. It's served very cold and we have it chilled and ready if you like."

"That would be perfect. Please send a bottle to their table and tell them it is from Dame April Lewis." She discretely handed a folded hundred EuroMark bill to Festus below the table and he took it readily with nod of thanks.

The staff waited until the pianist finished the next number before wheeling a Champagne bucket to their table. It was a Magnum. She hadn't thought to ask. That was a lot for two people. The man, Ferdinando or whatever his real name was looked surprised and then amused. After a few words with Jesse he looked at April and made a gesture and face to indicate the Magnum was huge. Then he waved her over to their table.

Jesse already had a chair and was putting it beside Ferdinando opposite his wife. By the time April got there and sat down Jesse had the cork out and presented it. Ferdinando waved it off and after a taste had Jesse pour for all of them. It was new to April and pretty good. The pianist returned then. Jesse stashed the bottle back in the ice under a serviette, and they put off any conversation. She was pounding out some jazz loud enough that April would have to be rudely loud to shout over. Then she finished and took another break. Jesse returned to refill their flutes and April leaned over and apologized to Ferdinando.

"I didn't think to ask them what size of the Codorníu they had. It might have looked like I sent the Magnum to pressure you to invite me over. I didn't intend that."

"My dear, you worry entirely too much about looking too forward. I've seen pushy in every form and magnitude. Some to dwarf this bottle. You radiate neither the self importance nor the devious smoothness of the obnoxious. You also sorely underestimate my capacity for Champagne when it is this good. I am however used to drinking it with little sweets to nibble. I wonder if they have something?"

"They have baklava," April offered. "Everything else is big or messier and needs to be eaten with a fork or spoon."

"That will serve," Ferdinando agreed

"They have the duel here, dear," Sancha said from his other side. "Don't let a Frenchman hear you call it Champagne or we'll be getting up at the crack of dawn."

"Is there any real rule that you can't sleep in and try to kill each other at a decent hour?" Ferdinando asked.

"That's a really interesting question," April allowed, looking surprised. "I think it's just tradition. I admit when I called a fellow out I just automatically told him he could apologize or meet me in the morning."

Ferdinando looked at her closely to make sure he wasn't being played... "And what terrible thing was this fellow doing to drive you to put your life on the line?"

"It was more like putting his life on the line," April insisted. "You had to be there to understand how we got to that point." She could feel herself blushing and just hated that. It also didn't satisfy Ferdinando, who wasn't taking that as an answer, just silently giving her the old fish eye...

"This fellows body guard jostled me but it escalated from an earlier disagreement," April started...

"Yeees...?" Ferdinando prompted her.

"As a matter of fact, he was littering," she admitted. It sounded so stupid now.

"Well, I can see why the hallways are so spotless," Ferdinando said.

Jesse delivered a tray of various shapes of baklava. After Ferdinando selected April got one with pistachios.

"Corridors actually," April corrected.

"Call them anything she wants, dear," Sancha counseled, laying a restraining hand on his arm. He nodded a grave acknowledgment to her that it seemed a wise course not to argue with April.

"It's not like that," April objected. "I haven't - shot anyone - in ages," she temporized.

"And I'm sure your restraint is appreciated," Ferdinando acknowledged. Which didn't sound sincere somehow. "You called yourself Dame. We'd say Doña. Do you limit the use of the duel here to the upper class as the English did?"

"No, that question came up before the Assembly already," April said. "A woman from Central on the moon wanted to challenge a resident of Home to a duel. They considered the question and the overwhelming argument advanced was that the duel is a fundamental right not a privilege granted by the state. There were issues. This particular challenge seemed unjust to many, but they allowed it rather than lose or limit the custom."

"That is interesting. Who eventually won the duel, and how did these people favoring it feel after the fact?" Ferdinando asked.

"The lady called off the match. So far every duel called has resulted in a yield, an apology, or the person decided to accept exile rather than yield or fight. I don't doubt we will see a duel eventually with an ending everybody sees as a bad. But it was generally agreed the duel addresses things the law doesn't deal with well. The Assembly has made very little law so far, so custom has to address many things." April stopped her explanation abruptly and was frowning.

"You have a thought?" Ferdinando prompted her.

"I'm trying to think how to explain, the other,  you mentioned before. On Home I'm not Dame anything unless somebody calls me that as a courtesy. Or more likely is trying  to get my goat, since I had a hard time accepting a title and my close friends used to tease me about it pretty hard.

"We have no royalty or peerage on Home, all that has to do with Central on the moon. My friend Heather is the Sovereign of Central and declared some of her close friends and subjects peers. That's why they started calling me Dame Lewis.

"Jon says I'm more like a Baronetess. I have no time or inclination to learn all the titles and differences, and Ja... uh, a friend, said they are all different in each country and changed over time anyway. What does it matter now anyway, if it isn't attached to something real like the land?"

"Indeed, the study of titles of nobility, heraldry and your personal genealogy can be an empty exercise in self importance if it's just a vain attempt to find some way to elevate yourself with no real personal accomplishment or merit. Does your status then attach to something real as you said? If you'll forgive me please, what was happening off Earth wasn't of much interest to me until quite recently."

"Well, my land. I have land at Central and more importantly cubic. The surface is harsh and exposed to risks. It easier to dig deep than on Earth. It isn't much benefit right now but it will be. Right now it's more obligations. I support Heather and help any way I can. We were allies long before she decided to go grab land on the moon."

"Allies?" he asked. "At what?"

"In business, and then when Home rebelled in war with North America. I owned the armed merchant the Happy Lewis with my brother. The hostilities started when we had to fight our way back from ISSII on the Happy. We took out the Chinese ship the Pretty as Jade and the USNA James Kelly. Later I sent the Happy to support Heather at Central. She needed it against the North Americans. They tried to invade her to arrest a bunch of her customers."

"And, with your help, how did she resolve that?" Ferdinando asked, nibbling on a sweet.

April blinked at his question like she didn't believe it. "You really don't know what's been going on up here do you? After they cluster bombed her landing field, she sent my ship to make a low pass and took out Armstrong's field control building and a ship with a ten kiloton weapon. They burned a hole straight through the Happy Lewis on that pass too. It's amazing we didn't lose her. She had to deal with their rover force on the ground too. But didn't use the Happy. She has... artillery.

"That was the North Americans. Now since we moved out here, further away from the Earth, we had a dispute with the UN and the Chinese attacked Central on the way here. They put a nuke on her development and dug a huge crater for her that is going to take years to fill.

"Just like the North Americans, none of them went home alive, so maybe they'll learn and leave her alone for awhile. So the second time with the Chinese she helped us instead of the other way around."

"Oh my... I obviously have some catching up to do. If your friend Heather holds her nation by arms I must respect that. It's all that matters in the end. Your Heather, are you intimate with her?"

April looked so oddly at him that Ferdinando immediately rephrased it. "Do you speak freely and informally with her?"

"Well sure," April said. "We go back too far for that to change. Heather is all formal when she holds a court, but not between us or with Jeff."

Ferdinando nodded. "Then you are not just Doña or Baronesa, you are Grandeza too."

"Ha! If I run out of titles I have an old boy in Tonga who calls me Pilinsesi. Our boat captain said that means princess. I liked that better because the princess is always well regarded in fairy tales."

Then the pianist returned so April felt she had to be quiet again, but her theme changed a bit and instead of the lively numbers of her first set she toned it down to quiet background music you could speak over discreetly.

Sancha leaned close to her husband and April leaned in close too as it was obvious she wished to speak across him. "Might I ask why you addressed James as Jesse when you asked for the baklava?"

"Ah – he must have been too shook-up to introduce himself to you. He's now Jesse Duval and his wife is Helen. If you knew them... in a previous life, it would be a kindness to forget that. Surely you understand?" April said, pointedly.

"Oh dear. I didn't think to reintroduce us when I spoke to him. I'll correct that. He was acting so strangely," Sancha said.

"What my wife isn't saying is we are not under the same pressures as Jesse and... Helen? They are actively wanted as criminals and I can see why they might feel the need to start a new life. We on the other hand were invited to retire as unsuitable persons.

"We will never be charged with anything. That would be most uncomfortable for both the secular and religious. But one of the conditions for fading graciously away and being generously pensioned was not to raise a fuss among our peers or in the media. So we would rather not be interviewed or even the subject of paparazzi photos and speculation," Ferdinando said. It seemed a request.

April nodded, agreeable. "I believe he was looking around after seeing you because he expected your security to snatch him away. I think they are both constantly looking over their shoulders a lot still, not sure if anyone will bother to pursue them this far. One of my uh, sources, an intelligence officer really, said things in Spain appear unsettled. It makes me ask. Did you not pick a successor?"

"Anyone I picked would have been tainted by that fact. They are still watching everybody in Government and the churchmen closely, terrified that they will turn young. Such a terrible thing!" Neither would I give them the satisfaction. It would have been almost a blessing upon their actions. Just like your Queen Heather, let the one who can hold it snatch it. I doubt it will come to arms but it is still a contest," Ferdinando said.

"I'm evil enough that it amuses me," Sancha admitted.

"Well, you know all the characters and can appreciate the inside information. You should write it as a play after it all runs out," April suggested.

Sancha looked shocked, but Ferdinando laughed heartily. "They'd deserve it," he agreed. "What goes around comes around after all."

"Thank you for meeting me," April said. "I need to head home. I'm in the public directory. If you need any help adjusting to Home give me a call. I grew up here after all. I can be your native guide." She had a sudden urge and patted Ferdinando on the arm before standing. That was probably against some protocol with royalty, but it felt right.

"Well, it's a refreshing change to have someone offer to help us instead of seeking favors," Ferdinando told his wife.

"I think it was sincere. She is amusingly innocent to think that princesses lead idyllic lives," Sancha said wistfully.

Jesse returned and offered a refill.

"No thank you. James," Ferdinando declined. "We are informed you are now Jesse and Helen. Be aware We are now Ferdinando and Sancha. You've always been such a good youngster. You conducted Our business faithfully. We have no ill will towards you. Your 'accident' is perhaps the best thing that has happened to Us. You may expect to see a lot more of Us. We may settle down here."

Jesse looked relieved. "Thank you for speaking plainly. It will be my pleasure to serve you. In any way I can," he made clear.

"Why don't you offer the Codorníu to the chef?" Sancha suggested. "It seems a shame to waste half of it and he can use it in sauces and such."

"Yes, and we are done for the evening," Ferdinando added, laying a bank card on the table edge.

Jesse made a small negating gesture. "I already marked your tab paid when Miss Lewis sat with you. We never charge anyone keeping company with one of the owners."

Sancha sat shocked. The young girl being an owner here was so far outside her experience she revised the opinion of April she was about to express to her husband. "Do you know? I think the rest of it might be true too," she told him after Jesse was out of earshot.

"My Dear, I don't think we've heard the half of it."

* * *

The FedEx distribution center in Allentown Pennsylvania got a shipment of an anticancer drug for redistribution. The sort that benefited greatly from being purified in zero G. And one of the few so widely used its ultimate source was ignored by the USNA. Even at that it had been sent to the French habitat and the shipping container relabeled to exclude any reference to Home to comply with North American sanctions. The manifest said two hundred ninety six boxes but they were fitted in a plastic shipping case that held three hundred. In the shipment were four different boxes with drones folded up in an egg shape.

Two of the eggs sensed proper conditions and stirred, the other two waiting. The narrow sections between a number of lines on the surface lifted and bent forming legs. Other sections unfolded like a complex puzzle uncovering sensors and becoming wings. Antennas unfolded and read the location of the little robot off GPS satellites. The unencumbered robots followed their programming and flew to the top surface of the truck trailer in which they were riding and waited for a glimpse of the sky or direct sunlight reflecting off a surface.

When the trailer doors opened the dock workers didn't even see the shiny bugs dart between the gap from the trailer to terminal building. They rose a hundred meters, turned a slow circle running checks on their systems and location and took off to the nearest sites on the list of surveillance targets. One stopped at a cellular tower along the way. Clinging to an antenna for a few minutes recharging and creating a temporarily weaker coverage area that nobody even noticed.

One of the faux insects ended up at the new Executive Office Building, one at the office of the lobbyists representing Scaled Composites. The one at the Executive Office would be in service for several weeks before being discovered by a maintenance worker cleaning light fixtures and destroyed. The one at the lobbyists would replace another that self destructed at the end of its design life without discovering anything of importance to Jeff Singh.

As a collective system the robots and software controlling them learned and improved even without human intervention. Sometimes sending updates in the last instant before a boot came down to crush them. Every few months the Japanese manufacturer made improvements and upgrades in the hardware. It never made economic sense for Jeff to manufacture them themselves. Demand from many Earth customers guaranteed that production on Home could never approach the same economies of scale the Japanese enjoyed. Jeff's people were careful to balance the discount they got from buying in quantity versus holding too many of the previous model when a new one came out. On occasion they got an offsetting fee for suggesting improvements to the little spy bugs.

What shocked Jeff was how often his bugs found other bugs. Jeff wondered just how many of the little machines were from news services, corporations, other governments, or one agency spying on another agency of their own government. After some thought he decided he didn't like the competition, and started designing ways to modify a standard bug to carry the means to damage or immobilize bugs from other owners. It still wasn't worth designing a dedicated fighter bug. The standard sort could carry simple light weapons. A bug could grasp another opposing bug and immobilize it by sacrificing itself. That could be programmed in quickly but it was an expensive solution. A spear that released a contact adhesive when poked at opposition machines was his first idea. It immobilized limbs or wings and made them attach to anything they touched in passing. Also a capacitive discharge to fry the other machine's electronics. That also meant all his new machines needed a way to verify friend or foe.

He wondered why they didn't have such systems already. If there was some sort of a gentleman's agreement to leave the other fellow's bugs alone they neglected to tell him.

* * *

"These so called twelve hours shifts are just killing me," Alice complained.

"Uh huh. More like sixteen hours if you count having to do things in the middle of your off shift and don't cut corners on something," Deloris agreed.

"You don't want me to cut corners on environmental," Alice said with no humor. "We're all very fond of breathing. If we get very far out of balance it gets hard to bring it back. You can only allow so much carbon dioxide, and we can only remove it so fast. In theory it can run out of the optimum range in only four hours. If it gets too far out of whack you have to purge, which loses nitrogen. We only have so much liquid nitrogen so I preserve every gram I can. I keep checking my phone off shift. The computer is supposed to tell me if it sees a bad trend start, but I don't trust it. What if it fails in a mode we didn't predict? I've been getting up in the middle of the night and doing a quick visual of the gas numbers in graph form just to feel safe."

"The bridge watch should check the gross numbers a couple times a night when they know we are sleeping," Barak said.

Alice just made a disgusted little snort. That for trusting the bridge she implied.

Deloris lifted her index finger and made a wiggling motion. That was their agreed signal to indicate she was going to helmet talk or suit talk as some called it. They'd found what they were pretty sure was a tiny microphone while cleaning, and they watched what they said about the captain and XO of the Yuki-onna much closer since then. Barak had a richer vocabulary in helmet talk because April's grandfather had taught him the finer nuances if it. It was a kind of sign language but all facial gestures because it grew from construction workers needing to talk privately when their suit transmissions were monitored. Deloris already knew some and Barak expanded it for her. Alice knew none of it but learned quickly. She also brought finger spelling to the mix for those difficult words for which they had no facial signs.

"When we get back I'm going to just pig-out on a huge cheeseburger and fries," Alice started. She had a bunch of variations on this theme. One of them always spoke when the others helmet talked so the silence itself was not incriminating. If there was more than the one bug the command crew probably got really sick of hearing the same monologue about cheeseburgers or other 'when we get home' themes. They were pretty sure there weren't any cameras. They all looked very thoroughly for any lens or pinhole. But a microphone could be stuck on the other side of a bulkhead totally invisible.

Deloris signed to him with feeling: "If you think our Captain and XO do their twelve hour shifts with no private time in the overlap you are nuts. They are too busy finding extra time for each other to trust them to double check us. No more than Captain Jaabir watched you guys working outside enough to see Harold wasn't following procedure or abusing the equipment." She had to finger spell some of it.

Barak nodded in agreement, and helmet spoke: "Point well taken. He absolutely screwed up there and he may lose his ticket when we get back home."

"Not however if he can find a way to blame it on you or raise a bigger issue like recording us and after artistic editing make our complaints into actual mutiny!" Deloris finished with a flourish.

Barak nodded again that she was right, but went back to voice.

"Alice, what exactly happens if we get the gas ratios get messed up too bad?"

"The trouble is our CO² process is not continuous," Alice said. She was cute when she went into lecture mode, because it was like a different person speaking. Even her voice changed. "If we were a big habitat with all the room and power to spare we would have a steady state system. What we have for the Yuki-onna are two batch systems that extract CO² and then have to be switched over and be regenerated. They remove it more effectively after regenerating so you reduce the flow when fresh and then increase it as the absorbent is saturated.

"You have an emergency canister that can strip the whole ship – once. And you have one extra sealed filter for the batch systems in case one stops working. They can be polluted or physically damaged. So you have to watch when one is started that it is working. If it isn't you only have so much time to swap filters or cycle back to the other unit before it is fully recharged. You can switch back and forth faster if need be until you can slowly stretch the cycle out to normal duration."

"So what would we do if we had a huge problem and lost a lot of our nitrogen? Say we had a hole or a blowout that dumped a big section?" Barak asked Alice.

"In theory we can run any nitrogen/oxygen ratio, right down to pure oxygen as long as the partial pressure is acceptable. In reality I'd be scared spitless to run pure oxy. There are too many minor components that were not designed for that. Even just our personal things would be a danger. You don't want to wear cotton in straight oxygen, it's a fire hazard.  You don't want to pop a can of self-heating food in pure oxygen either. Not even at reduced pressure. It's toxic for long periods too. You'd be showing signs of damage by the time we got home if it was more than a couple weeks. And the drugs for zero G make it worse instead of better. We don't have any source of noble gasses to substitute for the nitrogen."

"What's OK," Deloris assured her with an evil grin. "We could just use hydrogen from when we generate the oxygen to mix with it. It's low density so it would probably make our voices sound funny just like helium!"

Alice looked horrified at the idea. "Yes, it would make my voice a terrified squeak, knowing I'm in an explosive atmosphere."

"One assumes all the ship switches are sealed and explosion proof," Barak said. "I'm not so sure about our private computers and pads. If anybody ever tried that in desperation I'd suggest running the humidity right at a hundred percent. All it would take would be one static spark from sliding off your bunk to ignite it. Better to have condensation dripping down the bulkheads."

"You'd have to be crazy to try," Alice said.

"I bet in twenty years people will look back and say we were crazy to take this pile of junk out to Jupiter," Barak told them.

"Maybe not crazy, but adventuresome?" Alice said.

"Have you seen the Apollo vehicles?" Barak asked.

"Dear God yes, and the Space Shuttles, those flying tributes to a brick outhouse!" Alice said.

"Would you fly one of those?" he asked.

"Not even at gunpoint," Alice agreed. "Just go ahead and shoot me and let it be quick."

"See? It's all a matter of perspective," Barak insisted.

Chapter 6

April was studying for her third year Japanese class. She wondered if she'd ever be proficient without going to live in Japan for awhile. Japan after all was not North America, where she'd had such a bad experience before when she went down to Earth. That's what she kept telling herself but it still wasn't how she felt. Unfortunately as she learned the language she was also learning things about Japanese culture she didn't like. Much the same as she felt about North America now. Enough in either case to put her off visiting. She loved visiting Earth. It was the people who made it a problem. That made her feel a little guilty, Japan had helped them during the war. She wondered if she'd be really comfortable again anywhere on Earth that wasn't wilderness. Her com signal overrode her lesson. Not many people could get past the filter.

"Pull up the news for North America," Gunny told April. "There's some more odd stuff going on, and in London too. Look for stories or do a search key words, Rome flight. I don't have time to follow it today. I have a meeting, but I thought you'd be interested."

April didn't have to search for it. It was the lead story in the abbreviated raw feed.

Rome flight diverted from Dulles International to Andrews Base. Statements from the base information officer say it has nothing to do with terrorism or a hazard from the aircraft. Rather the flight was ordered into isolation by the CDC and directed to a taxiway distant from the flight line. The aircraft is being serviced and passengers will be fed and but they are being kept on the aircraft. The Boeing 898 is being refueled so it can maintain cabin comfort.

The next couple paragraphs were just 'blah, blah, blah, we don't really know any more' filler. So she looked for the London story.

Stansted airport refused gating to a German flight originating in Rome earlier today. The New Berlin Service Embraer was turned back without passengers disembarking and none boarded for the planned turnaround. The CAA indicated all flights originating in Rome are interdicted until further notice.

By the time April read that story the watch she'd placed on the first story was indicating an update.

Italy has closed all commercial airports in the region of Lazio by order of the Servizio Sanitario Nazionale and WHO. On condition of anonymity an official of the City of Rome told EuroNews that the emergency causing the proclamation is an unexpectedly severe outbreak of influenza. Calls to various officials were unanswered and attempts to contact hospitals in the Rome area found heavy security turning away the press, normal visitors and non-emergency patients.

That seemed an over-reaction, was April's first thought. Flu had been around like forever. How bad could it be? She'd had flu once before the war and felt miserable but never in danger. She'd never known anybody on Home to die of an infectious disease. But, wait a minute... she remembered the live interview with the churchman insisting the Pope was well that she'd seen. Could this be about the same thing? Maybe it was worth worrying about. She keyed in a search: deaths from influenza 2086. The answer shocked her.

Maybe that was because so many really poor countries didn't have any health care worth counting as such. She ran the search again adding United States of North America + Italy. It was still disturbing. Even the low range estimates of flu related annual deaths were still in the thousands.

She took a deep breath and tried to calmly consider it outside the unexpected shock. She really didn't know that much about medicine. None of her friends worked in medicine. She'd only spoken to the Doctor at the Home clinic, and only about her own problems. Even when she got shot in Hawaii on her visit to Earth she hadn't gone to the hospital. The wife of the couple she was staying with was a nurse and had treated the nasty bruise in her home. Without the moon-made armor jacket she'd been wearing she'd have been dead, not bruised.

It was sort of overwhelming. She already felt stretched trying to learn about banking and economics, not to mention things like Japanese that were for her, not to make money necessarily. There was so much, entire fields of knowledge she hadn't touched yet. Medicine was important and she needed to learn more about it – eventually. If only to decide what sort of life extension work to have in the future. It was in constant flux. But one thing at a time.

All she needed to know about now to understand the news report was a general outline of what influenza is and how it is harmful. She had a rough idea that a virus was a little packet of protein that took over human cells instead of being cells themselves like bacteria. The details about how many kinds there were and how they caused disease she didn't know in any detail at all.

Her favorite search returned over a hundred million hits on the word going back to the... 1990s? She didn't need highly technical articles. No way she'd understand them without learning a whole lot she didn't have time to study. History, that was what she needed. Simplified and non-technical. They called that sort of simplified study popularized, didn't they? Popular histories of influenza – she keyed in. It still returned thousands. Books+popular-history+influenza – she added. That was better. It returned twelve hundred some in print or for download, one just last year.

April frowned and chewed her lip. Should she get the latest, or one back closer to the source? Sometimes things became clearer with time, but her grandpa had warned her sometimes current opinion lost the context of events earlier observers knew better. One older title caught her eye, "The Great Influenza". That resonated with term The Great Depression she kept reading about in her economics studies. A click bought it.

She realized how thoroughly engrossed she'd become when her stomach growled loudly. Very little made her ignore lunch time. The clock in the corner of her screen said she was a couple hours past her customary meal time and she briefly considered having a meal delivered, opting instead to take her pad and read in the cafeteria. The walk would do her good because she'd been sitting way too long.

It was not only past her usual lunch time it was past the peak lunch time for everybody else. There were only three people in the cafeteria and whoever was serving today wasn't visible behind the counter. They were probably in the back prepping for supper and cleaning up from lunch. She just got a couple sandwiches and side dishes off the simple buffet bar they kept stocked at all hours.

Gabriel the young man who Ruby used as a messenger, and for other things, had a full sized computer open near the coffee pots. He looked over the upright screen and after they made eye contact and April nodded a hello, he tipped his head in invitation. Why not? She didn't know him that well but Jeff said he worked for Chen now, so he was an ally, part of Jeff's intelligence gathering organization. April trusted Ruby's judgment in people too.

She unloaded her tray over on his side of the table looking back at the serving area. She hesitated. Gabriel might not have expected her to sit beside him where she could see his screen.

"Do you need privacy?" April asked before sitting. "I could sit on the other side. You might have expected that."

"Miss Lewis, I'm doing some analysis for Chen. I was told very clearly you are one of the principals receiving our work, so certainly nothing I do is a secret from you."

"Fine," April said, sitting but leaving the empty tray beside her. "Just call me April. I'm looking into something odd too. I got so wrapped up in it I forgot to eat."

"Do you need some help?" Gabriel offered

"No, I don't mean to pull you off what you are doing," April said, still in apology mode. "It's probably important. I had Gunny point out some odd happenings this morning and got captivated by it. The district around Rome has such a bad early outbreak of influenza that they shut down all the airports and they turned away some flights in North America and the UK. It's early in the season for flu and it's been a long time since there was a bad outbreak or a nasty new variety of flu. I couldn't find any recent times they shut down flights.

"I downloaded a historic book on the really bad epidemic of flu last century. The one in 1918. It's sort of hard understanding how it affected them. It was like a different world. They didn't have life support gear like now or antibiotics to fight secondary infections. If you got pneumonia after the flu it could kill you just as easily. But they also didn't have the ways to spread it we have now."

"What's all that much different now?" Gabriel asked, frowning.

"Faster transportation and more of it. The flu spread by ship movements at the end of World War I, especially troop ships. Even inside a country they spread it by rail. There wasn't any commercial air transport or many automobiles yet, and the roads out between towns were horrible.

"It's hard for me to picture some of the stories. It was so different. One town put armed men on the train platform and wouldn't let anybody off at their town. Some people living on an island sank a ship in the channel into their only harbor. Some desperate people managed to avoid it like that. I need to finish reading it but I was starved."

"Have you gone back and checked your news stories for updates? Or have you just been reading for hours? Gabriel asked.

"I was engrossed. How much can happen in a couple hours?" April asked him.

"I don't know but I'm going to check."

"Am I going to get you in trouble with Chen?" April worried.

"Chen trusts me to follow any promising line of research I happen on," Gabriel said. "And I'll tell you something else. He once told me he never has researched anything for you, but what he didn't find out six other things he had no idea he needed to know."

"That's good. I thought I was just a pain in the butt," April said, embarrassed.

"Let's see what else is happening," Gabriel suggested, ignoring the self disparaging remark. "If enough people are sick it will show up elsewhere."

"Canceled events?" April suggested.

Gabriel nodded. "Yes, good idea, there will have to be announcements, but what kind?"

"I'd have no idea. I'll ask Gunny right now. He's lived down there. Watch over my shoulder if you want. Do you have time for a quick question?" April asked him on com.

"Always for you," Gunny said.

April presented their idea and asked if Earth events wouldn't see cancelations in an epidemic?

"I should have thought of that!" Gunny said right away.

"But we have no idea what sort to look for," April said.

"Hmm, you won't see anything public from any organization where it would be a security concern. Don't expect to see the military admit they have any sort of illness in their ranks. That would be a violation of operational security. If I still had contacts I could speak to face to face I could ask about unit deployments or vessels going on scheduled cruise, but I won't do it on com," Gunny said. "I could get old friends in trouble just asking, even if they didn't tell me anything."

"Civilian events then?" April asked.

"Yes, though the same need for secrecy probably applies to police and fire forces too," Gunny said. "They wouldn't want to tell criminals they are going to be short handed. I'd look at concerts. Especially if it's in a big public venue. And church services. I know my mom belonged to a church that didn't want to shut down even for a hurricane. Oh, and company meetings. The sort public companies hold annually to report to their stockholders and vote on changes."

"How about companies that have big plants? How reluctant are they to shut down?" April asked.

"Very. There aren't that many big plants like there used to be. With fabricators a lot of it is decentralized. Cars, but there are not all that many people in a plant now it's so automated. Some chicken farms have more people than an automobile factory. I think chickens get flu. They might shut down if they are scared the birds will get infected. A big factory you can check the parking lot and see how many cars are there," Gunny suggested.

How about colleges? They couldn't keep canceling classes secret." Gabriel suggested.

"Yes, and some of them you can look at the parking lots just like plants. Come to think of it you might check out police departments the same way. See if their cruisers are parked instead of on patrol."

"Thank you Gunny, I'll talk to you when you come to supper about what we find," April said. To Gabriel she suggested, "How about if I take colleges and other schools and you take churches? And either of us can look into any commercial or business meetings?"

He agreed with a nod.

They dove back into the search, saying very little for long periods. Both went to the public restroom beside the cafeteria, leaving their machine under the other's watch. April continued to drink coffee, her gene modified metabolism allowed her to process ridiculous quantities of carbohydrates and caffeine, but Gabriel being a natural person had lower limits to what he could absorb.

"I'm seeing some possibilities," Gabriel said after awhile. "There was a conference of Cardinals at a resort type facility canceled in Northern Italy. They called off a big processional celebration for some saint in Sicily. And a religious show in North America that invited a big name TV preacher to appear had him cancel for 'personal reasons'.

"There was an automobile show in Dearborn, Michigan where they were supposed to have a new Brazilian delivery truck shown to the public. The PR guys and Vice President of the company all were sick in their hotel and sent underlings to carry on. The press said they did a really terrible job on short notice. But people liked the truck anyway.

"There was a meeting of the board of trustees of a North American university called off suddenly. A French movie studio doing a production in Algeria suddenly shut down and announced it was suspending shooting after three important actors took ill last night and had to be medivaced out by air.

"You find anything?" he asked April.

"There was a thing on Italian TV I saw yesterday before Gunny dropped this on me. Some pushy fellow suggesting the Pope was sick and a Church spox denying it. There aren't any schools closed for illness. I found out that hasn't been all that uncommon in North America. There are periodic closures of whole systems for flu and measles, Noro virus and even yucky stuff like head lice. What I do see is a speaker from the Federal government didn't show today for a big teacher's conference he was supposed to address. And you mentioned colleges. Two college football teams played yesterday without their head coach being present. I got the sense that was a very big deal. But what would coaches have in common with these other people we suspect are sick?"

"Got me, but then I have almost zero interest in sports. Identifying with a team seems like just another odd form of Earth Think to me," Gabriel said.

"I don't want to keep calling Gunny. Jim who runs the handball courts follows all these Earth sports. I'm pretty sure he bets on most of them. I'll give him a call. Watch if you want," April said.

"Hello April, need a reservation?" Jim didn't seem surprised to see her although it had been months.

"I wish, Jim. I'm just too busy. But would you answer a sports question for us?" Gabriel was watching over her shoulder where Jim could see.

"Sure, if you win big a little tip for the help is always appreciated."

"Not that sort of a question," April said quickly. "We are looking at data about Earth people and we see football coaches showing up in the same data sets as singers, movie stars, company officials, big wheel politicians and highly placed churchmen. Why in the world would they fall in that sort of group?"

Jim looked at her incredulously and burst into laughter. He finally got it under control, blotting his tears before they beaded up and go airborne in the zero g.

"You obviously know little about college football," Jim said. "Exactly how much do you think coaches get paid?"

"That's why I called you, I know almost nothing about it. But they just teach a sport. Surely that isn't worth as much as professors teaching serious stuff, like sciences or humanities," April said.

"They don't really teach the sport. All their players know the game long before going to college. It, well it's difficult to explain," Jim said, frowning. "They win, or if they don't win they usually end up fired. I'm aware of one coach who was fired at a southern college last year for winning seven games out of twelve for the season."

"That's crazy," Gabriel said, leaning over April to look straight in the camera. "Somebody has to lose every game and he won more than half... What do they want? Do half the coaches get fired every year because they didn't win?"

"Not half, but a lot of them. The schools don't put up with losing very long. And some would define losing as – didn't win a championship. Two or three years. Four years is a long time. They'll give them the boot and try to find somebody who can perform. Having a winning football team means more to a lot of people than the academic programs."

April and Gabriel just turned their heads and looked at each other. It was insane.

"The coach I was thinking about had a five year twenty seven Million dollar contract but he waived the last two years for his release," Jim said. "It's not unusual for a head coach to make two or three times as much as the president of the university. Now do you see how they fit in your data set?"

"Yeah, they make a ton of money. Thank you Jim. I'd have never expected that," April said.

Jim shrugged. "They share the same personality type as some of the professions you mentioned. Aggressive and obsessively competitive is normal, just like high powered business executives. I keep hearing how sports builds character, but if the coaches are any indication it isn't any character I'd want my kids to acquire. How did you come to group them not knowing they make a lot?"

"Keep it confidential for a few days, but they seem to be getting sick," April said.

"Sure," Jim said, indifferent. "That doesn't surprise me. They stress themselves out something terrible. If you watch them during a game it's a wonder they don't stroke out every time they are down a point."

"No, this is a flu epidemic. But it doesn't look typical. I don't know if it will be bad enough to have real economic consequences or affect us here," April said.

"There's seasonal flu every year. I lived on the Mud Ball most of my life and it was always a topic in the news whether the flu season was mild or bad. In fact the local TV news when I was a kid often had a short report near the end called: "What's going around". But I think it's pretty much factored into the economy," Jim said. "And flu tends to kill older people who are retired or near retiring, so that limits the economic impact."

"That's the usual pattern, yeah," April agreed. "Thanks for helping us, Jim."

"You're welcome. Come play a game when you have time," he reminded April.

"I will if I get caught up on stuff," she promised, and disconnected.

"This is interesting, and since you and your, uh, friends have a bank now I can see why you worry about the economic side of it, but you look terribly upset. Why?" Gabriel asked.

"So far the only consistent link I see to this disease is high income," April said. "Well just about everybody on Home fits into that classification."

"Ohhh." Gabriel thought about it a little bit, and smiled suddenly. "Well then, I'm pretty safe!"

* * *

Gunny looked stressed, which was unusual for him. He sat opposite April and Gabriel without even getting a cup of coffee. After a big sigh he reached behind his back and clasped hands together and then leaned right and left turning and stretching his neck to the side. April could hear his vertebrae crack from across the table.

"Well, that has to be cheaper than a masseuse," Gabriel quipped.

"And I don't have to call for an appointment," Gunny said.

"Was your meeting productive?" April asked. "Most people I talk to dread organizational meeting and claim they are rarely productive, but they keep having them anyway."

"My partners are good about meetings. We have very few and they stay on topic until it is solved or shelved. Then they tend to have a social hour at the end that you can join in or leave. We simply couldn't solve the problem we're facing today," Gunny said with a frown.

"Any chance I can help?" April offered.

Gunny looked over his shoulders to gauge their privacy. And then looked appraisingly at Gabriel.

"My, you're being paranoid. Gabriel works for Chen and ultimately for me. Well, me and Jeff and Heather. So he couldn't tell Chen anything he doesn't already know."

"He works for Ruby too," Gunny said.

"This is true," Gabriel acknowledged. "But I compartmentalize everything I know and I don't blab Ruby's business to Chen or Chen's business to Ruby. I know you just had business on the moon, but I haven't mentioned that I know that to either. Although I've found it's usually safest to assume Chen already knows everything I do, and Ruby isn't far behind."

"Oh, and Papa-san. If he works for Chen assume he works for Papa-san," April said.

"Assume anything you want," Gabriel said, cheerfully.

Gunny looked dismayed briefly. "But you just revealed my security associates and I have business on the moon to April. That's not very compartmented."

Gabriel shrugged. "She knew already."

Gunny looked at April and lifted an inquiring eyebrow.

April had the grace to look embarrassed. "Yeah, I knew. I figured you'd probably tell me eventually if it affected me. But I don't know how he knew that I knew."

"Maybe Chen feeds back information to him so he can direct his research better," Gunny guessed.

Gabriel ignored his suppositions and sat with a poker face.

"None of us are enemies," April said. "What does it matter?"

"So many connections. What if it gets to the wrong ear?" Gunny asked. "There are reasons for operational security and need to know."

"I'm not sure there are," April said. "I'm starting to think most of it is Earth Think. Earth is full of intrigue and double dealing and conflicting interests. In fact anybody who actually is hostile to us is going to have an Earth connection. Would any of the three of us do something harmful to the other two? I don't think so. Ultimately we all live in Home and need to see it secure. So the chances of having a really serious conflict of interests is very small. You know your friends and enemies – or not."

Neither of them immediately replied, sitting and thinking that over.

April plunged back in. "So many of the horrible mistakes the Earthies make, starting wars even, result from one hand not knowing what the other hand is doing. Even within their own governments and organizations."

"You really knew we were doing some sort of deal on the moon?" Gunny asked her.

"Your fellows Eric and Isaac got a lunch pack for five. It was stuff you wouldn't eat in zero g and high end stuff. They paid extra to impress somebody. They hired a pilot and took a full fuel load in a landing capable shuttle so they weren't going to another habitat where they could buy lunch. You don't hire a landing capable shuttle for three times the price if you are going orbit to orbit, and they returned in the time frame of a lunar landing plus about two hours. When they returned they took a full fuel load as if they might need to do it again soon and not want to wait to fuel up." April gave him a look that was a challenge to deny it. "I'd say they sat and had a meeting in the shuttle with some Loonies. Probably French."

"Why French?" Gunny asked.

"Because Heather has infiltrated cameras and electronic surveillance on Armstrong so she doesn't get surprised by them again and she told me the shuttle didn't go there when I asked. And the French are going to declare independence and kick their Earth appointed administrators out soon," April said.

"Oh crap, that really is seriously secret," Gunny said, looking around again.

"Do you think you are the only people they need to hire to pull this off?' April said.

"Apparently not... " Gunny said.

"They are licensing tech to us and we are helping them acquire things they will need after they declare independence," April revealed.

"Same here. I hope they don't have multiple parties chasing the same items and if one of us gets it the other has gone to a lot of trouble for nothing. What are you getting them?" Gunny asked.

"I'll tell you," April agreed, "but only as a trade. What are you shopping for them?"

"They want a cannon like Heather owns. It impressed a lot of people with how economical and effective it is. Or something similar, but an identical 57mm Bofors would do fine. We are running up against all sorts of obstruction on the Earth side to buying one," Gunny said.

"They have Jeff buying seeds and cuttings and breeding stock so they can be independent for food. Which I think is an excellent idea so I'm having him buy smaller amounts for Central," April said.

"Good, I'm glad they aren't jerking us around," Gunny said.

"I have to call Heather, but would you be interested in buying a cannon from Central?" April asked.

"They have extra?" Gunny asked, genuinely shocked.

"Heather's people could reverse engineer what they have. They've are been making some real advances on fabricating steel objects from the iron particles in regolith, alloying the steel right in the laser sintering process. They are moving tons of regolith every day to back-fill the crater with which the Chinese gifted them. It's going to take years. Now that they have a use for the iron they are talking about mining the backfill since they have to handle it anyway.

"They should get quite the stockpile of metal by the time it is filled. I know they've made gears and gun barrels. and objects as large as a vacuum hatch. It's just a little improvement on conventional fabricating, but it works better in a vacuum. I don't see why there would be any size limitation on the length of the object. I'll ask her directly if they could fab a cannon tube," April promised.

"That would be marvelous if they can do it," Gunny said. "And probably cheaper to make on site than lift from Earth."

"Are you ready to go through and get some supper? It will be getting busier soon," April warned.

"Yes and while we eat you can tell me what you found out about the airports turning away Rome flights," Gunny said.

"That's what Gabriel and I have been doing the last couple hours."

"And I have to be elsewhere soon, so you guys have a nice supper," Gabriel said, packing up.

"Thank you Gabriel. It was fun working with you."

"We'll do it again I'm sure, April."

Well, that was an improvement over Miss Lewis.

"Come on," she told Gunny. "They have stuffed peppers tonight and they run out early."

* * *

April didn't have much to say until her plate was near clean. Gunny was recently from Earth so he didn't have any genetic modifications, not even basic life extension therapy yet. In North America gene modification was punished by loss of citizenship and forfeiture of property. If the mob didn't get you first. He could eat less and talk more than April, recounting the frustration they experienced trying to buy a Bofors gun until April was finished. Then she recounted her work with Gabriel.

"The thing about planes being turned away you showed me this morning turned out to be because of flu. I'd say epidemic, but it's weird, it didn't seem an epidemic. I mean, they don't have a lot of people with it. Not yet at least. But it seems to be making the well-to-do sick before the common people. That of course bothered me because just about everybody on Home fits the demographic," April said.

"Surely you can narrow it down by more than income," Gunny said.

"Not so far. It's been movie stars and other entertainers, big company officials, politicians and well known preachers." I won't be surprised if it spreads to the general population, but it hasn't yet. I can't prove it but this doesn't seem to be the usual pattern. I got a book on the last really big influenza epidemic that killed a lot of people, back in 1918. It started at the bottom of the social order then, with soldiers and other young people who were crammed together in camps and ships. I have to finish it but that first half I read this afternoon was terrifying. The quarantines people put up were desperate." April described some of them for Gunny.

Gunny sat and thought a bit, got up and refilled their coffee mugs while April took her tray to the dirty rack and came back. She had apple pie still for desert but took a break before enjoying it.

"What if there is another common denominator to rich folks that the Earth news filters because of their prejudices?" Gunny suggested. "It would mask the real reason they were infected from your sight. I don't mean to slight your investigation, but being from down there I've had all my life to learn to see around their ways of hiding things."

"I'm not offended at all. I know I can't figure out why they do things, April admitted. "So give me your take on why rich people would get sick, but they'd want to hide it and lie about it."

"You have to be fairly rich down there to afford life extension therapy, or any other significant mods. And you have to hide it, which is risk taking. Hide it well enough to never be suspected because one quick swab and test and you've lost everything. So they tend to avoid the cosmetic aspects of it and just get the parts that affect your health and life-span. That still means dyeing your hair grey or white. Believe it or not they even have creams that make your skin wrinkle.

"If somebody turns loose a virus designed to sicken people with gene mods they are going to target the release, so those folks will be hit early and hard. The  do after all tend to associate with their own kind, so it will naturally spread among them. And I wouldn't expect anyone to admit what is happening until it is way too obvious to deny," Gunny said.

April thought about that and pictured what it would mean if it got loose in Home. She looked at the fork in her hand like she didn't know how it got there and pushed the pie away, to upset to enjoy it, and set the fork down. She didn't say anything for awhile. She didn't need to say anything. Gunny could see she took his idea seriously.

* * *

"We need to talk to Jon," April said, after pondering it.

"Well it's after main shift business hours. We can probably leave a message with his office and ask to speak to him tomorrow," Gunny suggested.

"To ask him to lunch maybe, not for this." April cleared her screen and keyed in 898989. Jon immediately appeared sitting at his desk.

"Jon, can we get together and have a word? I'd rather not do it on com," April said.

"You look upset," Jon said, squinting at her. "You want to come here or should I come to you?"

"Your office please, and if you haven't had it swept for bugs recently please see if you can do it while we're on the way over," April said.

"We?"

"I have Gunny with me. There's a problem I've been researching all day, but he gave me a different Earthie viewpoint on it that scares me."

"I still have somebody here who can do a scan. It should be clean when you get here," Jon said.

"Thank you, Jon. Be there in maybe fifteen minutes," April said and disconnected.

"You have a private direct com code for the Security Director?" Gunny said, shocked.

"Well obviously. You think I guessed it at random?" April asked.

"It wasn't a real question. I know you have a lot of... connections. But I never thought they were that kind. I.. I'm babbling aren't I?" Gunny said.

"You're just suffering a little Earth Think still. I can't knock it. If you couldn't explain Earth thinking I'd have no clue what danger we might be in. Come on," April said. "let's get over to Jon's office." She was so upset she tossed the pie in the trash in passing without a thought. Her mother would have been outraged she wasted it and didn't get a box to take it home.

"Hey, I just advanced one possible theory. I don't know that's what's happening," Gunny said.

"And I'll present it that way," April promised, "but I have yet to hear any other reasonable explanations, and this isn't something you can ignore until it is confirmed. If you are right it can destroy Home as completely as a nuclear missile. You can't let that kind of a threat get ahead of you. We have a hard deadline to know one way or another."

"When is that?" Gunny asked April.

"When the next shuttle from LEO docks."

Chapter 7

There are so many clicks and buzzers and chimes in a spaceship it's like having a nagging mother. Some, like a com call that isn't flagged urgent may just be a polite *ding* that repeats every five minutes and then drops to every half hour. After a day the ships computer will even give it up for a lost cause although the call light will keep flashing.

A real emergency gets a much more insistent announcement. Thus Barak found himself standing rattled with no memory of leaving his bunk, heart pounding and breathing raggedly even before the first blast of the emergency klaxon stopped sounding. He staggered to the com board, which fortunately was only three steps away. He only needed two steps today he was so motivated.

He didn't have to call the lights up. The computer did that for him, emergency lights on top of the regular ones flashing, so if it had to switch over there was no pause. It was dazzling to his dark adjusted eyes. The heavy subsonics shook his very bones and he slapped the receive switch before it could repeat.

"Emergency light off," he commanded. Nothing happened, that was out of his control. "Cabin light five percent," he tried. That was still under his control and the double lighting eased off.

FIRE IN GALLEY CUPBOARD - read the screen and displayed a graphic pinpointing it. Barak could hear, could feel through his bare feet, the alarm still sounding in other compartments.

"Bridge com," Barak demanded, and then struggled for a moment to remember who was on watch the XO or the Captain. Oh yeah... Jaabir. "Sir, what do you want us to do?" he asked the Captain. There was no answer.

"What's going on?" Deloris asked from the bunk. He'd been behind her by the wall and didn't even remember how he got out over her. There wasn't all that much room. Normally he thought she was cute, but her hair was a fright wig, her mouth hanging open in shock, and her eyes unfocused still trying to align.

"Fire in the Galley. No answer from the Bridge. I'll go try to put it out," Barak told her.

Deloris covered her face with both hands, pert little nose sticking between them. "No! Alice is environmental officer. She'll go straight to the fire and it's her job. You get a mask and find out why the hell the Bridge doesn't answer. A station not reporting is assumed to be a person in danger. That's anybody's concern who is free to render aid."

She might look out of it but she was thinking much clearer than him. "Put on pants and shoes," she added, since he seemed inclined to rush out the way he was. He did one better, he used the toilet because that simply wasn't going to wait much longer at all.

By the time he emptied his bladder Deloris had his deck shoes sitting in front of the bunk and was holding a suit liner for him. Those would serve as well as anything. From the time the alarm sounded until he was in the corridor was less than four minutes.

There was a cupboard with emergency items at the head of the corridor and he snatched an air mask out of it, not breaking the seal just yet, but he could have it out and on in not much more than thirty seconds. He stuck the thicker seal end of the bag in his mouth to free up his hands and then went up the ladder for the control room like a salmon climbing a waterfall to spawn.

The hatch to the Bridge was closed and he stopped and laid his hand on it even though the computer hadn't said anything about fire there. "Yuki-onna," he addressed the ship by name, "is there pressure in the control room?"

"Yes, I have three indications of life safe pressure in the control room," the speakers by the door answered him and the speakers down the corridor echoed it. He stuck his hand in the recess and squeezed the release. It was locked.

"Open the hatch, Yuki " Barak commanded.

"The Captain locked the hatch," Yuki-onna replied. "You do not have authority to release it."

"The Captain does not respond to com. He may be disabled in the control room and unable to effectively command. Open the hatch, Yuki" he ordered again.

The computer was smart, but that was a complex series of statements for it to examine for logic. It probably had a whole series of branching conditions to examine to come to a conclusion. It had to examine all of them where a person would almost instantly filter out the logic branches that didn't apply. There was a reason most people called Artificial Intelligences Artificial Stupids. At last somebody shut the alarm off and the hull stopped repeatedly ringing with it.

"You must declare a Ship in Danger emergency to override the Captain's orders," the ship replied in a calm female voice. It was maddening.

"The damn ship is on fire! Isn't that enough of a Ship in Danger emergency?" Barak asked. He was upset or he never would have argued with an A.S. in an emergency. You just tell them what they want to hear, like talking to an insane person or a very little child. When there was no reply he added, "Yuki".

"That is a separate emergency," the ship informed him after another slight pause to consider the problem. "There are no indications of fire on the Bridge."

Barak turned at the muted sound of bare feet hitting bulkheads and the Captain advanced up the corridor to him bouncing from side to side. The fastest way to progress since there wasn't enough traction in their slight gravity to run. It was his turn to have his mouth hang open in surprise since Jaabir was naked, wild eyed, and had a bundle of clothing clutched in one hand.

"Open the door," Jaabir shouted like the ship was hard of hearing. "You! Go back to your cabin," he snarled at Barak like the whole thing was his fault, reaching for him. What he intended to do once he had a grip on Barak wasn't obvious. Perhaps he only intended to move him from in front of the hatch.

Barak didn't really think about it. Maybe it would have been the same if he had. He hit Jaabir in the face in a flash of anger feeling his huge nose, his most prominent feature, squash like a piece of ripe fruit under his blow. The adrenaline surge removed any restraint and he connected solidly driving him into the oppose corridor bulkhead and thrust himself back into the Bridge hatch. Then when Jaabir bounced off the bulkhead back to him, he hit him again with the hatch at his back anchoring him to put some real heft into it.

The droplets of blood sprayed all over in the slight gravity and Jaabir crumpled slowly in the gentle pull, unconscious and limp. That might not have been a good idea Barak realized, shocked at how bad the fellow looked from just two punches. He'd never struck someone with his fist as an adult.

"Yuki-onna, the Captain is injured and I am taking him to the Infirmary," Barak announced. "Please advise the ship's company of that and ask the XO to meet us there to treat him."

"Done," the computer replied quickly, "The XO asks what the nature of his injuries are?"

"Blunt force trauma of the face. Probably a broken nose. Perhaps a concussion," he admitted. Starting to wish he hadn't hit him the second time. He still didn't regret the first. " Yuki-onna, what is the status on the Galley fire?" he asked.

"The environmental officer vented the Galley ready storage to vacuum. Sensors indicate there is no source of heat remaining consistent with continued combustion. The EO now informs the ship's company that the fire is out and after sufficient cooling the scene will be put back under pressure and examined to determine the cause of the fire, what may be salvaged, and remedial action."

"Thank you Yuki," Barak towed Jaabir by an ankle, using his left hand because the right didn't want to bend and hurt. He was careful to not bump him where he had to go around a couple corners.

Charlotte Dobbs the XO was waiting for him at the Infirmary. Wearing mismatching top and bottom and sticky footies. Her hair was a as bad as Deloris' even though it was shorter than Barak's, and he was startled to realize she had no eyebrows if they weren't drawn on.

"What happened to him?" Charlotte asked angrily. She started positioning Jaabir on the treatment table. She didn't ask Barak's help and didn't need it in the slight gravity.

Barak started to open his mouth and then remembered what Happy Lewis, April's grandfather had told him a dozen times... volunteer nothing. He stopped and took a deep breath.

"I don't intend to discuss that with you," he replied, feeling a great calm come over himself. "Your concern right now is to treat him."

"I'm Commander with Jaabir incapacitated," she barked at him, furious. Why did everybody have to yell? "You don't tell the commander what her concern is. You're a vac rat flunky."

"I'm sure God himself is impressed with your promotion to his peerage," Barak said, and smiled. It obviously infuriated her further. Jaabir started moving a bit, but didn't open his eyes. He actually clutched them closed harder, and let out a little moan.

"What I mean is... I order you to answer me," Dobbs said.

"I will only answer to an official hearing on the matter," Barak replied.

"All right... Consider this your official damn hearing," Charlotte yelled at him. "You beat him up!"

Could Charlotte do that? A hearing did open with an accusation. Well he'd asked for it...

"You can't prove that," Barak calmly replied.

"No, I can't, but you did, and we both suspect you had something to do with Harold's death too, but we haven't figured out how to prove that yet either. But you're going to be in big trouble when we figure out how you did it!" Charlotte warned him.

Barak was shocked. He'd had no clue his Captain was conspiring with the XO to pin Harold Hanson's death on him. It took a moment before he could frame a reasonable reply.

"You are distraught and embarrassed for your lover. Undoubtedly you are embarrassed you helped him desert his duty station to have sex, although I understand the pressure on you from the Captain. You are not speaking rationally and I won't expect it of you. You not only can't prove I beat him up, as you said, but you have no basis to accuse me with Harold. I was in the lock when he had his accident. My suit camera will show I was nowhere near him when we heard his suit lose pressure, and it will document he often abused his suit kicking the ice off."

"Your suit camera failed, which we found very suspicious," Charlotte sneered. "And you can't prove we were having sex either. There's a camera on the Bridge too that will show what happened with you and Jaabir. The ship won't allow that one to be erased!"

Barak silently thanked April's grandfather again and his lessons to a green kid on how things really worked. He wasn't going to reveal just yet he had his own copies of all his suit recordings.

"Neither of us ever went in the Bridge," Barak told her. "Jaabir had it locked under his authority. The only thing that camera will show is - he wasn't there!" He stopped let that idea hang there for her to consider. It certainly wasn't anything to her or Jaabir's advantage.

Charlotte looked stricken. She was running on emotion and hadn't thought it through that far. For some reason she'd assumed they both made it onto the Bridge. Perhaps just the amount of time that had passed. She probably didn't even know Jaabir locked it when he left.

"As for the other. Yes, I want to make a formal accusation. Yuki-onna,  please copy this conversation to the log. You both neglected duty to have sex on watch. When Jaabir came down the corridor to the bridge he was naked with his clothing in his hand," Barak said disgusted. "There was other... visible evidence."

Charlotte grimaced hard. She would have had the sense to get dressed.

"If you wish to establish your innocence I suggest you have one of the female crew come to the Infirmary. There has to be a rape kit in a sick bay this well equipped. Use it and seal it as evidence and there won't be any question later," Barak challenged.

"That is not the purpose of the kit," she said angry. "I don't have to prove anything. As for you, return to your quarters. I'm not sure what I'd trust you to do. I'll review your duties and your status if Jaabir isn't fit to resume command soon. I consider you a risk until then."

"A risk? You aren't acting like I'm a danger. Which I am not. If you really thought I was a danger and violent enough to have killed Harold and attacked Jaabir you'd be cringing from me and calling for somebody else to hurry here because you'd be afraid to be alone with me.

"Instead you are standing here alone yelling in my face, and haven't called for anybody to come escort me to my cabin. But I'll take myself there now as you ordered." Barak turned to the hatch, but looked back over his shoulder. "I don't know if you've noticed, but we're kind of shorthanded already. You might start thinking on how you plan to assign the extra work of keeping me confined to my cabin and who gets to do my work too."

Jaabir had a hand up to his face feeling carefully. He said something but it was indistinct.

"Yuki-onna, please copy my conversation with the XO to my com console," Barak said as soon as he stepped out in the corridor. Charlotte might have administrative access to his console. Best to get back and see it protected before it mysteriously disappeared like the suit recordings. He'd make sure it went on his private memory chip as soon as he walked in his cabin.

* * *

April hadn't been to Jon's office in a couple years. You'd think something would have changed, but it looked identical right down to the same ugly coffee mug on his desk. Gunny hesitated at the door like he might get stuck. It wasn't that bad. He could even turn around if he sidled back outside before turning. April went straight to the seat in the corner. That blocked Jon in behind his desk. Gunny brought a chair from one of the vacant desks and managed to pull it behind him inside the door. He could even sit down if he leaned over the desk. An elbow on the desk kept him from holding a strained pose.

"Margaret! Could you get our guests some coffee?" Jon bellowed. He had a com. Apparently he didn't like using it.

Gunny never considered himself claustrophobic. He was a big guy and had crammed in some really small spaces from time to time. The restrooms in some transport aircraft came easily to mind. He shifted trying to get comfortable and wondered if you could develop that phobia late in life?

"The place is freshly scanned like you asked. I'm almost afraid to hear what you'd worry about having overheard. You do business sitting in the cafeteria half the time," Jon said.

"Gunny here saw some interesting Earthie news this morning and told me about it before going off to a business meeting. It was about airport closures and turning planes away originating from Rome. As the morning progressed it became apparent that there was a flu epidemic started very early in the season centered around Rome.

"Now I'm limited what I know about medical things, but this particular flu seems to be of a special danger to Home. To the point I'm going to ask that some of our associates who investigate things for us to shift resources to this problem. I've never requested this sort of broad action from them before. I'm suggesting you also use your assets to find out more about it quickly. We may have to quarantine ourselves to survive," April proposed.

Jon's eyebrows shot up in surprise."That isn't something to speak of lightly. We depend on outside supplies to eat. The move from LEO to L2 has made everything just a little more expensive. People would resist any such action for good reason. It might ruin some of them economically. It would require an extraordinary level of proof and danger to warrant such an extreme response. I'd be fired by the Assembly if I did such a thing and it turned out to be a false alarm. And rightly so."

April was nodding agreeing with everything. "That's why I want your help and quickly. If this disease gets here before we can determine the risk it will be too late. You know the Earthies cover up and deny serious problems until way past the point everybody on the street knows the cover up is all a lie. But then it's too late. In this case it may hit us much harder than the general public down below."

"OK, be specific. What is the nature of this special danger. Tell me the details," Jon demanded.

Margaret passed a carafe and cups in over Gunny's shoulder.

April recounted the news stories and how this epidemic seemed to hit the rich while Jon poured.

"I'm with you so far. We're relatively high income people, because it's so expensive to live here. But correlation does not prove causation. Perhaps the high income Earthies are susceptible to it for a reason that high income people on Home don't share," Jon suggested.

"That's entirely possible," April said. She made a restraining motion at Gunny, who seemed ready to jump in. "But Gunny here pointed out another common factor between the two populations. And it's bad because it will give them incentive to keep the real nature of the epidemic secret longer. Increasing the chances of it spreading everywhere including here. Go ahead," she invited Gunny who seemed ready to burst.

"The rich are the only ones on Earth who can afford life extension therapy, but it has to be kept secret so many places. Even places that allow other medical gene mods. China is the only place you can have it openly with no legal restrictions and no back-lash from religious leaders," Gunny said.

"And China is still in turmoil. We can't get any dependable news from there," Jon said.

"Exactly. Everywhere else it will be denied as long as possible. Also flu doesn't usually spread in this pattern. It's always in the old and the young first. In schools and crowded military barracks and retirement or nursing homes. I knew that without reading April's book," Gunny said. "Consider, if it started differently, among the rich, it may have been started among them on purpose. I'd submit this has all the markers for a deliberately propagated bio warfare attack instead of a natural seasonal outbreak."

Jon sat silently digesting all that.

"The next shuttle from ISSII docks at 1400. Backtracking, could a sick person from Europe have made a connection through ISSII in the last, say three days?" April asked.

All three of them considered the problem, checking public data. Jon finished and spoke first.

"No. Not without extreme difficulty. There was an Indian shuttle to ISSII forty seven hours ago. But it would have required a flight in a very limited time frame from Europe. That's a great deal of trouble rather than taking a European shuttle. I'm developing a passenger list from those flights to compare to the shuttle manifest.

"There is a Larson Line freight shuttle due in two hours. The new dedicated route vessel Larson recently added to consolidate freight in LEO and transfer it to Home. It carries no passengers and two crew. The crew are both Home citizens. They could have been exposed to travelers from the French habitat in theory, if not likely. The French had a vessel dock from the Canaries fifty hours ago. I can't get a passenger list for it though." Jon said.

"We each need to call our people and get them to filter news and start calling up contacts and asking questions," April suggested. "We could easily know what to do with them in two hours. If not, I will ask Jeff to call Ted Larkin and ask him to keep his pilots out of the general population. I think he has enough influence to do that."

"It will take time to explain it all to Jeff too," Jon said.

"I have to outline it to Jeff  because I want him to direct... his people, to drop everything and pursue this. I think they'd do it for me, but I know he will. He'll do so on my word without the full details."

"OK, let's do that," Jon agreed, turning to his com and issuing orders. He hated to wake people up off their shift, but he roused a couple.

April called Jeff alone, and suggested Chen and Eddie, but left it up to Jeff to decide what resources he needed to marshal.

Gunny felt good to be able to contribute. His associates in security work had an interest in this. Anyone who lived on Home did after all. And they had talents and contacts useful to the problem. He called Otis Duggan, Eric Brockman, Isaac Friedman, Chris Mackay and Dan Holt. He knew April would be calling Chen. That was typical for Home. There was a lot of overlap in professions. So he called to implore them to investigate as Jon and April were.

"I'll have security in bio-gear at the north dock to meet the freight shuttle. They'll put one suited agent in the lock and test them for flu virus before they are allowed on station," Jon said.

"How long does the test take?" Gunny asked Jon.

"They take a swab and wipe in on a screen. It gets laser scanned and reports if flu is present and types it if it's a known variety in a couple seconds. You close the top like a pad and another laser heats a film on the screen and vaporizes any organic residue, then it's ready to use again."

"And if they test positive?" April asked.

"That would be a problem... I better call Dr. Lee and see if he can improvise an isolation suite if we need one. I hadn't thought of it yet, but we should consult him anyway," Jon said. If either tests positive they will be asked to wear a bio-isolation suit to their quarters or stay on ship."

"You might ask Dr. Ames to consult too," April suggested. She knew Ames, AKA Jelly, intended to build an isolation suite for his patients. She didn't know if he had yet, but she wasn't going to ask or say anything to Jon about that. If he wanted to speak up that would be his to decide.

"Ames? He's not with the clinic. Is there a doctor here in private practice?" Jon asked.

"Gerald Ames. He isn't an MD. He has a limited practice but it's offering Life Extension Therapy and other gene mods. I know him because I'm a customer. He might have knowledge specific to this problem. He might even have been unintentionally involved with provoking it." April immediately regretted saying anything seeing Jon's expression.

"I think you need to expand on that," Jon said.

"A couple of Dr. Ames patients returned home to Spain and may have accidentally broken their quarantine for a therapeutic infection. He uses a viral carrier for some of the easier parts of Life Extension Therapy. It was politically destabilizing. It was the sort of thing that might have pushed somebody opposing LET over the edge to retaliate," April said.

"These patients... I assume if they could afford to come up here for treatment they are well to do and of the upper class like the other people getting infected on Earth?" Jon asked.

"Yeah," April agreed, volunteering nothing further.

"Might you... might we ask them if they or their friends and associates in Spain have been hit with this new strain of flu, and shine some light on how valid our speculations are?"

"No, because all of them who I know have been on Home before any of this started down below."

"I just run security," Jon said. "It's not like I actually have any idea what's happening on Home."

"It not like that. If they were a problem you needed to know about don't you think I'd say something? Just like I'm am now?"

"They're good people," Gunny chimed in.

"All of them. That means more than just a couple," Jon belatedly figured out.

"What interest do you have?" Gunny asked. He seemed to be getting irritated. "They are refugees from the Mud Ball like so many. Like me. I'm hearing security risk. I don't see that."

"Not, security risk," Jon held up a placating hand. "I used to know almost everybody on Home. If I didn't know them on sight I knew where they worked or with who they worked. There are too many people new now and I can't do that. It bothers me."

"I'm glad you don't collect face pix and keep files on people," April said.

"I'd love to. But once you create such a thing somebody is going to misuse it. It never fails. I'll finish getting Dr. Lee and my security set up for the shuttle. I'll drop a message on both of you if they test positive. You both might do some more data searching if you have time. But I think we should go to bed and get some sleep. I suspect we'll have much more to consider tomorrow and be glad of the rest. Did your guys have any immediate feedback?" Jon asked Gunny.

"No, but they are calling contacts on Earth and other habs. I also expect they'll have much more for us by morning," Gunny said of his people. April nodded too.

"OK, I'll be up by 0600. Why don't we get back together?" Jon said.

"Why not at my place?" April suggested. "It's bigger and we can split up my big wall screen to see what each of us is getting in a mosaic."

"OK," Jon agreed. He didn't like his cramped office any better than they did.

* * *

April woke up in the night and had to resist the urge to get up and check for news. She'd never get back to bed and she knew it. After turning her pillow and throwing the covers off she adjusted the bed harder and softer, raised first the head and then her knees, put it back flat and tried the temperature up a couple degrees and then back. Somewhere along the way she stopped fidgeting and fell asleep again without any memory of it, but she still woke up before her alarm.

She ground fresh coffee, using the best beans straight. Put it to brew and another load of beans on to grind for later before showering. It might be a long day so she put on loose stretchy pants and a long sleeved T. A very small squirt of honey was probably sacrilege given what the Kona beans cost, but Gunny wasn't up to harass her about it. Finally she allowed herself to check her overnight messages, mug in hand. Breakfast could wait for that and until she had some company.

There were forty two messages queued up. She disposed of twelve of them in less than a minute. There was a tap * tap * tap that distracted her, and then she realized it was someone knocking at the door instead of using com or  the buzzer. She'd had a horrible obnoxious door alarm when she moved in and changed that quickly. There wasn't a camera on the door, something she needed to correct. She walked back to her bedroom and got her Singh pistol and returned. From the side and well back she ordered the door to unlock. "It's open," she called.

Seeing the pistol Jon quickly lifted both hands even though it was pointed at the deck.. It lost some of its dramatic effect with a thermo-pack in one hand from the cafeteria. He looked amused which just irritated April. "Come in, there's coffee made," she said.

"I got a variety pack of breakfast sandwiches and a few cold ones for later too," Jon told her. "I thought you might be up."

April looked at the com screen. It was 0534. She expected Jon at 0600 but it wasn't any big deal. He had to have been up really early to clean up, go to the cafeteria and wait for a special order already . If anything he was more anxious to continue investigating than her. "Make yourself at home," she said, giving an encompassing wave. "The kitchen is right there, help yourself to coffee."

Jon was looking around. He'd never been to April's place. He had the oddest expression and she wondered if it was a bigger place than he expected. She had no idea what his living quarters were like in comparison. Most people lived in apartments that made a cheap Earthie hotel room seem spacious.

The norm for most people was a living room about the size of a walk-in closet on Earth. A kitchen with a table that stowed flat to the bulkhead and folded down when you needed it. Chairs were fabric slings on folding frames you could collapse and hang on a hook. Bathrooms were mostly all-in-one stalls with the whole tiny room being the shower too. Gunny told her that was something they did in motor homes or travel trailers on Earth.

Jon was standing still holding the food, staring at the large Lindsey Pennington drawing opposite the couches. It was a huge drawing full of detail in Lindsey's distinctive style. The focus of the piece was rendered almost photorealistic with vivid color and the background was less detailed and the colors  muted the further your eye strayed from the center. The subject was Lt. Moore of the USNA, who had been captured after the post war attack on Home. He'd been taken off a rail gun satellite before they were all destroyed by Home militia.

The attack killed several Home citizens and forced their decision to move from Low Earth Orbit out to L2 beyond the moon. The assembly had deferred acting  against him to anyone who lost blood relatives. One man had passed on exacting retribution for his brother, but Mrs. Hu had lost her husband and made Moore kneel and then asked the loan of April's Japanese sword.

In the drawing Moore has his back to the raised speakers platform. Mrs. Hu is holding the sword with both hands, laying the flat of the blade across his neck. She asked if he admitted being an accessory to murder and he tearfully admitted it. April was certain if he's tried to lay the blame off on his commander Hu would have hacked his head off in a stroke. The sword was a genuine antique Japanese sword and a family treasure. April had no doubt even the diminutive Mrs. Hu could have beheaded him with that weapon.

Instead she had removed the threatening blade and consigned him to the nonexistent mercy of his masters. The man had fainted away, sure he was doomed.

Jon was looking at the raised platform behind the two theme characters. He was drawn sitting there along with Mr. Muños, April's father, and several other of what most might regard as Home's founding fathers. Being in the immediate background to the main subjects their detail and color were still quite good. Even April sitting further to the side just off the platform was still quite recognizable.

"Let me take that," April insisted, relieving him of the food carrier.

"I've seen prints by Lindsey," Jon said. "I didn't know she did anything this big."

"It's not a print. That's an original drawing. She did it to spec and on commission so there won't be any prints of it out floating around."

Jon nodded acknowledgment. April was pretty sure he liked it. She put the food by the com console instead of the kitchen, laid her pistol there as she hadn't brought its holster and went to get Jon a coffee. If he was going to take his time with the drawing he might as well have a mug.

She poured herself a mug too, gave Jon his, and started setting up the bigger wall screen to display their searches. When the screen was configured she looked at the sandwiches and got a hot ham, cheese and egg on a grilled Italian roll. It still steamed when she unwrapped it. Jon by then was looking at the Tongan tapas. The mat was displayed as a wall hanging.

"Thanks for the breakfast," April said between bites. Jon waved an acknowledgment over his shoulder. He'd moved on to her smaller Lindsey drawing. The one of hands around a coffee cup. He was contemplating it hands clasped behind his back.

It looked like he'd brought a dozen hot sandwiches so April started on another. One didn't hack it at all. She wanted to start looking at what they'd received overnight. She decided not to say anything to hurry Jon. He was her guest after all. She'd just start and he could join in when he wanted. Gunny wasn't up either. Maybe Jon was waiting for him to join them.

Jeff's agents were very efficient. Each report had a time-stamped header and a few key words. Then a short one paragraph synopsis. April examined a few. They seemed to understand what they were looking for and the abbreviated form seemed quite sufficient to her purposes. She started sorting significant ones to share with her partners,

There was a medical conference in Hawaii canceled three days before the scheduled start. Five speakers were unavailable at the last minute without explanation.

The head of a large Canadian investment firm died suddenly yesterday with no previous history of health problems. He'd was in his fifties and had returned two days ago from a European vacation in apparent good health. The obituary said, "After a sudden illness."

Late night talk show host Bernie McKinsey who had a large following in Canada and New England states took ill in the middle of his show and had to be walked off the set towards the end. The audience that night got a surprise substitution rushed in to record the entire show from the start. One guest had to leave but they added a few musical selections to pad out the time.

Gunny came out dressed with wet hair, but moving slow and beady eyed. He went to get coffee without any conversation. Jon took that as a signal to get down to business. He sat on the end of the couch next to the com console and took his pad out. April had divided the screen in thirds and started using the left side. Jon keyed the number in from the right window and had his pad talk to the screen.

That left Gunny the middle section which he activated with a bit bigger computer than a common belt pad. He sat side-ways in the opposite corner of the couch from Jon and stretched his legs out straight across the middle. The table between the two couches was just in reach to park his coffee.

April took him a couple breakfast sandwiches, leaving them on some napkins by his coffee. He didn't look ready to make executive decisions yet so she didn't bother him with chit-chat about what sort of sandwich he'd like. She'd been with him long enough to know he wasn't a fussy eater. She got a muttered thanks as he looked at his messages.

"This is interesting," Gunny told them. "Overhead shots of China show decreased conflict. It isn't really two sides in conflict there, more like three large factions and two smaller regional ones. But except for the faction in Xinjiang things have quieted down and the fighters have drawn back from seeking to engage the others."

"Decapitation." Jon suggested. Then when Gunny just lifted an eyebrow he elaborated. "If they lost their very highest leadership they may be regrouping and establishing who is running things. They can be busy enough with that to neglect field operations."

"Wouldn't the people doing the fighting know what to do and keep at it?" April asked.

"It's not like our volunteer militia," Jon said. "It's their job. They make their living at it and initiative is not encouraged. Indeed they might be punished for taking action without orders. Especially if they lost people or used up supplies. Anything that didn't go very well could wreck their careers."

Gunny was nodding his head in agreement. "That's true of most professional military. You cover your butt and do exactly what you are told. Doctrine in most Earth military is to go to a defensive posture in the absence of orders. If it goes badly the brass always try to shift the blame as low down the ranks as it will go. About the only time that doesn't fly is a commander of a ship. Even if he was sleeping in his bunk he's still responsible for what happens to his ship."

"That doesn't seem fair," April said.

Gunny shrugged. "If his subordinates screw up that badly to endanger the ship or damage it they figure he didn't train them sufficiently or if they were untrainable he should have removed them."

"OK, I can see that. But... wow," April said. It seemed harsh.

"Yes, it's a difficult standard. It's a big responsibility," Gunny said.

"Look at this," Jon said. "Ernie spoke with Jan over on ISSII. He has a good personal relationship with him and Jan asked this not be made public. Switzerland started closing off roads into the country as well as rail links before dawn this morning. Flights out are OK but no incoming flights. One plane from Brussels refused to divert claiming a fuel emergency and they refueled them on the tarmac without letting anybody off. I'm flagging Jan as a key word for my search.

"Well that's going to kill their economy," Gunny said. "They must see this as every bit the danger we are considering it or worse. But then they can reasonably seal themselves off. Most other nations won't have that option unless they are an island."

"Why? Because they're small?" April asked Gunny.

"Not just that, although it helps. But the mountains limit the number of routes in. They may have to retreat behind some rivers to the north if incursions from Germany become a problem, but we are seeing Italy as the immediate source of this epidemic. The Alps really limit travel from that side."

"That's what I read some people did back in 1918 to avoid that flu," April said.

"Yes, you mentioned that yesterday, but it's much harder to do today. Besides air travel they didn't have back then most areas have a lot more roads, and places that were serviced by the railroads have switched to roads too. Come to think about it, small motor boats were uncommon then too." Jon said.

"My guys have been using commercial satellite feeds quite a bit," Gunny said. "They report that a number of hospitals in Europe and North America have put tents or trailers in front of their emergency room entrances. They've done that before when there have been various kinds of epidemics, not just flu. Otherwise you have a waiting room full of people being exposed to infectious agents when they are there for simple everyday stuff. And the hot infectious patients can be diverted to isolation so everybody in the ER doesn't have to wear isolation gear. OK, they are seeing this in Australia too."

"But nothing on a regular news program?" April said.

"No, they're pretty useless," Gunny said. "But I think we can say there is something nasty loose."

"Oh wow, look at this," Jon said. "This was flagged urgent. It's from Eddie again. A TV preacher just blew the whole thing wide open."

Jeremiah Fogley's "Dance Before The Lord" show claims God's scourge on the ungodly, said the header. Jon went right to the video. An impossibly thin man in a tight suit leaned forward over a lectern stabbing at his audience with his index finger.

"Have I told you about the abomination that is altering God's handiwork?"

There was a swell of voices from the crowd. Not any clear word, but a growl.

"The Good Book says a man's days amount to seventy years or eighty if he is mighty," flexing his thin arms as if he were a body-builder. "But these modern men know better," he said, sneering. "They would undo these set limits just as they have opposed every other godly thing. It's no surprise such a thing would start with Europe. The Old World is proud to brand themselves secular as if holiness is a curse. They are trying to cover it up, but God's judgment is come upon those who would buy life itself like they do a fancy house or big yacht."

When he gestured wildly the crowd roared and he pivoted away from the lectern and did a wild dance in a circle, coming back to talk to them again. The crowd loved it.

"I guess that's the dancing before the Lord part," Jon said, amazed.

"The list of sinners struck down by this new pestilence is too big to hide, brothers and sisters! All those movie stars who teach your children to be immoral. All those politicians who are nothing but crooks in fancy suits. All those money grubbing businessmen who worship the dollar instead of God! They all thought they were buying life. But do you know what they got, brothers?" He held up his palm to forestall an answer. "Do you know what they bought, sisters?" The audience was held silent by his hand.

"Death!" He answered sweeping his hand down dramatically. A single digit pointing the path to damnation for them. While the crowd showed their approval he took another gyrating tour of the backstage, freezing dramatically at the end.

"You see what this Life Extension Therapy gains them? You can't cheat God! Not for long. Yes there are those who have not embraced this abomination who get sick. We've always had common flu, it sickens the godly and the ungodly alike, and sometimes by God's grace we recover, and sometimes the Lord calls us home. But not like this. This season it cuts down the sinners like wheat," he said, sweeping his hand like a using a scythe, something few in his audience had ever seen but still understood. That lead to another circuit dance repeating the motion over and over like he was harvesting the stage.

"And do you know where the stronghold of this filth is? The place with the most people who have sought out this perversion? That place they dare call Home," he said, stabbing that finger again but at the sky.  "As if God did not give man a proper home. They forsook God's Good Earth and his limits on life. Just like the angels who forsook their proper place this will be the end of Home. They live high on the hog up there in the sky, all of them, not just Home. But do you think they have farms and fields up there?" he asked, and paused. The crowd laughed.

"Can't you just see the high and mighty hoeing a line of beans? No they live high on the best of the Earth you or I will never see." He was thin enough to get away with saying that. "But the plague will get to them just like every corner of the Earth and clean out that foul nest," he promised.

The crowd hooted their approval.

"That's about all of that I can take," Jon said, muting the sound. The preacher was silently doing another dance. "By your leave?" he asked, and got a wave off from both of them to close the video.

"But how many people watch this... thing?" April asked.

"He has about a half million who actually belong to his church," Gunny said. "Most of them tune in rather than attend. The church only holds about four thousand. But if the other programming is boring he may get two million viewers because he's regarded as 'entertaining'."

"So it will get around?" April asked.

"Oh yes," Gunny assured her. "He's good for a thirty second spot on the regular news when he is in rare form, and overseas they love to feature him as if this is what North America is all about. The late night talk shows and entertainment blogs will make at least a passing remark about it. They make fun of him but it's still public exposure. He's a cultural icon."

"A couple winks in my spex and I could put a half dozen rods through his roof," April said.

"And kill three or four thousand useful idiots?" Gunny asked. "Don't be silly. You'd make him a martyr."

"I wouldn't do it. But it's entertaining to imagine doing it," April said.

"I'm glad you have to actually blink." Jon said. "If you could just think about it, well, you might have an accident."

"Oh yeah, I'd never hook a weapon up to a mind reader," April agreed, using the slang term for a  trainable brain imagining scanner. She never used one. Having a file exist that modeled how she thought seemed like a bad idea. If that got hacked it told people entirely too much about you. The severely handicapped might have to use them to function but that was different.

"Here comes the wave of secondary reports on the preacher," Jon said. "I have him in my search tree now." All three of them had a flurry of responses. Blogs, twenty-four hour newscasts and government denials there was anything different about this flu. It was just a bit early and hadn't even been positively typed yet according to the North American spox.

"Well that's the clincher," Jon said. "When it's officially denied you know it's true."

"I take it the Larkin Line pilots were OK since you didn't contact us?" April asked.

"Yeah, they were fine. The only trouble is now that they are aware of this flu they don't want to go back to LEO and expose themselves. Both have gotten Life Extension Therapy. Last I heard they were negotiating with old man Larkin to run the shuttle but not leave the cabin when they pick up freight. You can imagine what a pain that would be for him," Jon said.

"He already has agents for warehousing and local pick-up and paper shuffling doesn't he? Why not have them directly supervise loading too?" April asked.

"Because most of them are Home citizens and have LET themselves. If this gets as bad as it seems is possible I expect them to retreat to Home too. In fact, compounding everything else that will be a problem, we can figure on a sudden influx of Home citizens in LEO coming back here for safety."

"The other habs under Earth law about LET have enough untreated people Larkin should be able to hire dock workers," Gunny said. "Although it may cost a bit. There isn't any place off Earth with excess workers to hire."

"And we have yet to see if this strain of flu only hits those with LET or if it infects completely natural people too, and how hard," April said.

"Ah, I think I have your answer to that," Jon said. "Let me scroll back a bit. Here, 'Elementary schools in Rome and several adjoining regions suspended classes this morning on short notice. Notifying parents with messages left before dawn in many cases. Several middle schools are also closed while others remain open.'"

"So, it does transmit to folks without altered genes," April said. "Now we need to know how bad it is for them because it looks like it is very rough on the gene mod people."

"That will take awhile to know." Gunny thought awhile, the look of concentration on his face keeping Jon and April silent. "I'll have my people with Earth contacts observe funeral homes, morgues, and hospitals directly. They can position cameras to see the loading docks and some will be visible by satellite. Enough to get a good statistical sample for sure. We'll know way ahead of any honest release of statistics by the governments."

"Send the feed to Jeff," April suggested. "He has people on contract to do data analysis in Asia."

"Thanks, that would be stretching my guy's resources."

"I have to set up quarantine procedures and inform the shuttle services nobody should board for Home unless they are willing to be put in isolation if they test positive. Where that's going to be I have no idea. It's not like we have all this vacant cubic," Jon said, rubbing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. April had a sudden suspicion.

"Jon, did you eat before you got here?"

"No, I was sort of fixated on saving our little world."

"Eat," April commanded,  tossing him a sandwich. "You can't save much on an empty stomach."

Chapter 8

"Oh my God it's a rout." It took about two hours for the wave of stories about the epidemic to hit the financial markets. April had never seen anything like it in her short life. There had been a correction of sorts when Home declared independence, but mostly in space stocks. A bigger correction had occurred and was in still in recovery from when China devolved into civil war.

This was different. It was so overwhelming. She watched it progressing for awhile before she remembered she still had a little bit of funds in equities of her own and some she'd inherited. She entered an open order for everything to be sold. If she got enough for a burger and fries she'd be lucky. A couple of the smaller exchanges were locked down for the day already.

There was too much to follow really. She put market reports on the com console screen and intelligence reports and epidemic related news on the big screen. When something really outrageous came up they'd call out to each other. After another hour or so Gunny declared he was burned out and relinquished his third of the screen. Jon took it because he was both juggling orders to his security people and trying to keep up with what was happening.

"Just so you both know, Dr. Lee has set up an isolation ward for four people docked on the outside right by the north dock. Anyone who tests positive for a flu virus can be moved to this isolation shelter before they ever come through the bearing into spin or down an elevator," Jon said. "It's a fuel tank converted to a mini-clinic with a separate ship environmental suite maintaining it. There will be a vacuum gap between the airlock in the shelter and the one on the hub."

"Jon, folks from other habitats it won't matter, but most Earthies don't take drugs to tolerate zero G. They don't plan on being weightless traveling long enough to matter."

"Doc Lee mentioned that," Jon said. "Even if infected most of them will not be in isolation long enough for that to be a big issue. They'll be over the flu and test clean in a couple weeks or they can start the drugs."

"Or they'll be dead," Gunny grumbled.

"I told Lee to talk to your friend Ames," Jon said. "That project is pretty much in their hands now and I'm working on other stuff."

"What? Enforcing a quarantine if we do have infected come here?" April asked.

"That's pretty easy. I'm talking with your dad and trying to make sure we keep getting supplies lifted. I'm expecting the handful of our own people on Tonga to lift before it gets there. They'd be foolish not to. We'll need purchasing agents. Your dad is trying to get Mitsubishi to send some people to Tonga to ensure our supply for food and basic parts and stuff to keep the hab itself running. That doesn't help the ship builders and fabricators. People like Zack who sell private merchandise or businesses like your nightclub will have to fend for themselves," he noted to April.

"You don't think our old suppliers will keep shipping to us?" April asked.

"This is the worst crash in a century. The world economy is so huge it looks like it is happening in slow motion, but it has momentum. It will go down for weeks, maybe months, before it stabilizes. But when it hits bottom a lot of the companies we dealt with won't exist anymore.  The first order of business is to grab what is in the supply system while it is available," Jon said.

"You seem to know a lot about economics for a security guy," April said.

"This isn't even economics, it's just plain business, short term and practical, not theoretical. We have no idea who won't be able to resupply us because they don't have cash and can't get credit a week or a month from now. The people they have contracts with for raw materials or transport may not exist. Whoever is functioning and can offer service or supply may be servicing their old customers first and any new customers they are willing to pick up may find the price is much higher. It may take awhile for it to all sort out so new lines of supply are created," Jon said.

"What are you guys buying?" Gunny asked before April could.

"Swimming pool chlorine because it is the cheapest bulk form to make disinfectant solution, gloves and respirator filters. The surgical gloves were already being rationed by dealers by the time we called and the price jacked up. April's dad was smart enough to buy up mechanic's and painter's gloves that are probably a bit harder to cut or puncture anyway. All the other usual medical supplies. Food of course. Just about anything that will lift. Now is not the time to be fussy about demanding freeze dried and low weight packaging," Jon said.

"I'm telling my guys to lay in what they can afford to," Gunny said. "We may be asked to do security work where we have to be concerned about infection."

"You haven't had Life Extension Therapy though," April, pointed out.

"No, "Gunny agreed, "but the flu is no fun, even the normal strains for us unaltered people."

"You raise an interesting point," Jon said. The change in his tone caught their attention. "I haven't discussed it with April's dad, but if we need some people to go down to Tonga and expedite purchasing and see that it is loaded safety, it seems your security associates would be the perfect team for the job. Have any of them started LET?"

"Not to my knowledge. I doubt any of them have had the funds. We all arrived fairly recently and our sort of work dropped off when we moved out of LEO. I'll ask if any of them have a problem with Tonga. Chen of course can't go to Chinese territory, and the rest of us need to avoid the USNA, but I've been to Tonga and wouldn't have any trouble taking an assignment there at all," Gunny said.

"You're stealing my bodyguard?" April asked. She didn't like that at all.

"You walk around without him half the time now that we're at L2. If we're quarantined how much less danger from outside Home? And if this... " Jon said waving at the screens, "is as bad as I think it will be, then there won't be much business travel bringing in outsiders either. Also, it looks like they will be at much less risk on an Earth mission than if we sent gene modified people. I'll see you have an escort if you want one should Gunny need to go down to Earth for us."

April still looked pretty unhappy with him. She wasn't very good at masking her feelings. "I trust Gunny. He's sudden death in both hands and smart as hell."

Jon took a deep breath looking at the overhead. He looked back down and forced an unnatural  smile. That was scary. "I had thought to send Margaret or Theo with you, but if you have a situation where you really feel in danger I'll guard you myself. By then this rush will be over and it may actually be slow if there is less traffic in and out. I can follow things on my pad or phone for a few hours if you need me."

What could she say to that? There was no way she could criticize Jon's skills. In fact she'd never expected him to offer his valuable time.

"That... is entirely acceptable," April admitted. "If I should happen to use Margaret, I know she has wanted the reflex improving gene mod Dr. Ames offers. Please tell her I'll drop a message on him that I'll cover the cost and she can go get it any time you will allow her."

"Why does she need my permission?" Jon asked her suspiciously.

"It's one of those minor mods he administers by viral carrier. She'll have to be isolated for two or three days. But it's well worth doing. It benefits your department too."

"But you aren't offering it to Theo or me?" He held up a hand quickly to stop her from answering and added – "I'm not objecting or begging. I just find it curious."

"I don't have enough money to offer it to all my friends. Besides, I can't imagine you being more dangerous. From what I've seen when we've worked out you are pretty fast already. Anything you lack in speed you make up for by thinking ahead and controlling the situation so you don't need speed. Theo... I'm not sure how old Theo is," April admitted, "but I have never seen such a thorough collection of nasty skill at inflicting violence on other humans. She always seems to have things about her person I didn't even recognize as weapons until she informs me how you use them. I've never had anybody else tell me stories that I had to get out of my mind before I could go eat again."

"I know what you mean," Jon admitted. "She had a Middle Eastern fellow who had beaten his wife and threatened to kill her cuffed by her desk. He called her a very nasty slur as a woman and she unlocked him took him in the restroom. He was easily twice her size and she had a prolonged discussion about it in there... Just him and her and a piece of plastic hose full of lead shot. I was new to the job and all my other people stopped me from rushing in and rescuing her. He never gave us any trouble again."

April knew about that incident but could see Jon was repeating the story for Gunny.

"The old lady who brought us coffee and looks like somebody's grandma?" Gunny asked shocked.

"The old lady who can walk a drunk beam rat in just by taking control of his thumb and pinching nerves I never knew existed," Jon told him. "I saw one get combative with her and she dropped him straight to his knees and made him cry like a baby."

"I guess there is something to be said for experience," Gunny admitted.

"I think we know which way things are going now," April summed up their research. "If anything comes in really significant, something we need to react to right away, we'll text or call each other right away, OK?"

"That's fine with me," Jon agreed. "Does that mean you're kicking me out?" He asked April.

"Not at all. It just means I think we're all burned out on trying to skim through all this feed," she said waving at the screen. "We need to set up some better filters now based on what we've seen and expect to happen and change how we're working. Right now I'd like us to stop and have some more of those sandwiches you brought. I have some pasta salad in the frige and I'll make a fresh pot of coffee."

"Ah, OK. That sounds good. I can use a break," Jon agreed.

* * *

Irwin Hall leaned back in his chair and stretched. The chair sensed what he was doing when he kept pushing past a certain point, straightening out for him, and then went back to the semi-reclining position he'd set as a base earlier when he relaxed. In normal mode it slowly changed shape within a certain envelope and raised ridges in alternating areas to make sure he didn't go numb or get blood clots from sitting too long. Usually he wasn't aware of it moving. It did so fairly slowly and he was so used to it he didn't think about its gentle nudges anymore.

It had been a long terrible day and he'd really needed the chair, although he had gotten up and walked a few times to use the restroom or go in the vault, he hadn't taken the time to walk to lunch or supper. The cafeteria was a three minute stroll away, but he'd had lunch couriered to his desk and forgone supper completely. He wasn't usually so compulsive about his work. Indeed he normally didn't approve of people who failed to balance their life with reasonable hours. He didn't intend to make a habit of it.

It's just that today necessity forced it upon him because the markets on Earth below were in turmoil. Prices of equities and bonds, currencies and commodities had see-sawed the last month as people with wealth frantically tried to find a safe harbor for their money. But today had been a general rout. Jeff Singh of the System Trade Bank had called him mid-day warning him about some currency changes. He'd already been at his desk six hours trying to save what he could. This crash was damaging not just to small investors but central banks and even governments. Irwin was of the opinion it was mostly futile to try to avoid damage with everything already in free fall. The time to be thinking about safety had been a year ago, or maybe even two years.

Nevertheless, he had a fiduciary responsibility to his customers. The Private Bank of Home had customers on every continent and he'd discharged his duty to them as well as he could. The financial markets of the Earth never closed but they did peak in activity following the sun. Computers never slept but human traders still had a hand in the market and they only functioned so many hours a day. He'd followed the trading from Moscow to Europe and London to New York and the Caribbean. Then across the Pacific's tax haven islands and Sydney to Tokyo, Hong Kong and Singapore. Far too many hours for one man. It didn't matter what happened tomorrow because he would be sleeping and didn't expect to get up and be ready to do business again for a good twelve hours. He was tired beyond continuing.

It was dark in the bank. Just one spot light set to a low intensity above his desk. Enough to let him find things on his desk and cut the contrast of his monitors to the dark room. He hadn't wanted somebody seeing the office brightly lit up off shift and thinking they were open for business. It was deep into the off shift, almost to the time he'd normally be getting up instead of going home to bed.

Irwin cracked his neck both ways, shut the monitors down, reclined the seat a bit further and sat still, hands in his lap and head still full of all the trades and transfers he's crammed in the last few hours. If he wasn't careful he'd go to sleep right here until his employees came in and woke him up. Which wasn't all that far away now. He looked past his monitors at the glass wall with the bank name in gold letters and the corridor beyond. It was bright out there any shift, day or night. He'd been staring at the screen so long it was hard to refocus in the distance.

The view was what he saw every day. It was etched in his brain. But even in his fatigued state something was different. He couldn't place what was different, but it was. He sat there frowning, then it became obvious. There was a little box, close to the color of the corridor wall itself that hadn't been there, well, recently he was sure. As tired as he was he might not have figured it out, but it moved. Creeping along the wall horizontally towards the cafeteria, until he sat up in shock and it froze at his motion. That really got his attention. This time he sat unmoving on purpose. After about a minute the little object resumed its journey. Irwin just watched until it passed out of his sight, not wanting to trigger it again. However it was programmed, he didn't want to it to have any conditioning or altered responses about his bank.

He really wanted to go home and sleep, but that was out of the question now. He turned the monitor back on and called station security. He expected to get a duty officer and have to rouse Jon from his bed. Instead he answered the call himself. Looking at his unwrinkled shirt and clear eyes Irwin was pretty sure he was in the office early, not coming off an all-nighter like he was.

"Irwin! He said cheerfully. "You know... you look like hell, guy?"

"I love you too," Irwin responded.

"Yet you never send flowers," Jon quipped.

"Jon. I've been up twenty six hours. I just watched the farce that they label an economy below us melt down like it hasn't in three score and ten years. I'm not in a mood to banter. Now either I'm hallucinating, which isn't outside the realm of possibility, or I just saw something that is an important enough security breach to delay going to bed to tell you."

"Indeed? Does it involve the bank?"

"I don't know... " Irwin thought about it a little. He was tired. It took him a minute to think and Jon waited patiently. "I don't think so, but I can't be a hundred percent certain. Do you have, uh, sensors out in the corridors?" he asked Jon.

"That isn't something I generally discuss with people."

Irwin let out a frustrated sigh. "Jon, I'm the fellow on this corridor who has cash and gold bars in my vault. Do you think I'm trying to do a social crack of your security so I can break in Zack's place and steal his chocolate chip cookies?"

"Ummm, point taken. I have some sensors, but you shouldn't be able to tell they're there. They are passive."

"You don't have a little box with vent slots in the edges," Irwin asked, holding up index fingers and thumbs to define a rectangle a bit bigger than his wallet, "that crawls along the wall but freezes if it sees any motion around it?"

He definitely had Jon's attention. "I'd agree you are hallucinating, but I can't imagine you hallucinating anything so strange. How does it hang on? Little suction cups?"

"How would I know?" Irwin asked, really irked. "Something underneath it. How does a bug walk along the wall? Maybe it has little tracks like a tank with sticky pads. What does it matter? The question is what is it doing?"

"Sorry. I don't have anything that moves around. Nobody else should either. I just got caught up in the details. I don't like this," Jon decided.

"Well it doesn't thrill me either. I have no idea how long the damn creepy thing was hanging there watching me," Irwin said.

"Could it have been reading your monitor?" Jon speculated.

"We're not that stupid. None of our monitors can be seen from the corridor windows. They are all shielded electronically and we even made sure there aren't any reflective surfaces behind us off which to read the screen. It did move on after I shut down though," Irwin remembered.

"It's not there anymore?" Jon asked, worried.

"No, I sat still so I didn't trigger it again and it continued on toward the cafeteria. At the rate it was going it will take eight or ten minutes to get there. Well, half that now, since we've been talking. Are you going to do anything about it?" Irwin asked.

"Yeah, I'm texting one of my people even as we speak," Jon said. "He'll walk past it and get a good look at it. They'll record it with security spex. Then I'll probably set up some instruments for it to go past and get a really good scan of it. Maybe backscatter analyze it from the other side of a bulkhead and see if it emits any radio traffic in the next day."

"Why not just have somebody scoop it off the wall into a Faraday cage or smack it with a four kilo engineer's hammer?" Irwin demanded.

"That might not be smart. The size you indicated, it could have a hunk of explosive in it the size of a deck of playing cards. You'd be astonished how much BOOM a hunk of third generation metallic explosives that size can make. If it is remotely operated they'd see you putting the box over it and have time to trigger a self destruct.  Even if it doesn't go boom big I don't want a hunk of fused scrap that won't tell us who was using it. I've got to have a survey done, quickly, and see if we have any more of these crawling around Home," Jon told Irwin.

"Oh... I didn't think of that. I thought one was bad. Crap... "

"I might set up an ambush and hit it with an EMP. If there are others it might just look like a failure to them. And they'd keep operating any others." Jon said.

"Why would you want that? What possible benefit to allow somebody to keep spying on us?" Irwin asked.

"Well, if it is spying and we can figure out what sort of data it is returning we can feed it false information. But if it isn't a spy device, then yeah, we can neutralize them all at once." Jon agreed.

"What could it be but a spy device?" Irwin asked irritated. He was tired. Jon didn't take offence.

"It could be a private project by some kid who doesn't know how much it would alarm us. I know several teenage kids who have the technical skills to make something like this but lack the wisdom to see what a bad idea it would be. Or... it could be a small combat robot. An assassination machine." Jon speculated. "It may be searching for a face and waiting to get within range. Or even have a list with priorities assigned."

"I was going to walk past it, home," Irwin said. He seemed to be having second thoughts.

"Perhaps you should take the long way around the ring today," Jon suggested, "go to a different elevator."

"I can't imagine anybody would want to hurt me," Irwin said. But he didn't sound at all confident.

"You must live the life of the pure and righteous," Jon said. "I know lots of people who would like me dead. The hard part would be narrowing the list down. You do deal in large sums of money. People aren't always rational. If one of your customers lost money they may blame you. Even if you did exactly as they instructed you. The human mind has a vast capacity for refusing blame and transferring responsibility to others."

"But most of my customers who lost serious money lost it in the last day. Surely this has been here longer than that. I think it's been about thirty hours since the last shuttle docked on Home," Irwin said.

"Don't bet your life on it. Walk around the long way," Jon insisted.

Irwin nodded a yes. So tired he could barely hold his eyes open.

"Call me after you sleep and are up and functioning," Jon invited. "I should know something by then," he said, and disconnected.

* * *

Barak sat and stewed wondering what was happening for a long time after being sent to his cabin. Nobody sent him a message and it was hours before Deloris finally came back to him. She was clean with fresh clothes and wet hair, so she'd stopped at her own place and cleaned up. Alice was similarly cleaned up and now he was paranoid enough to wonder if they had been together discussing the situation before talking to him. He couldn't blame either of them if they didn't want to get sucked into his problems. At least they were here. No reason they couldn't have just decided he was too toxic to continue associating with on their own time.

"I'm confined to my cabin by order of the acting Captain," Barak told them right up front.

"Yeah, she told us. If she intended for us to stay away she forgot to actually order us," Deloris said.

"How bad was the fire?" Barak wanted to know.

"It didn't really damage any part of the ship. It discolored a bit of deck and a shelf above, but it was basically confined to a few self heating meals in a shrink wrap block," Alice told him.

"We didn't lose too much air like we were talking about?" Barak asked.

"Not enough reserve nitrogen to matter," Alice said. "The cupboard is just a place to hold the next few days food. You have the main stores in three separate locations for security. It was planned we could lose one of the three and make it home, although we might lose a few kilos and meals could be a little boring. It's not even that bad, now that we are short crewed.

"We lost about a dozen cans total of beef stew, lasagna, and chicken teriyaki. The other stuff just needs wiped off to remove some smoke film. As soon as I vented the room it stopped the cans from heating. We only lost about two cubic meters of air."

"Do you know how it started?" Barak noticed he was the only one asking questions, so Alice must have run through all this for Deloris already.

"Oh sure. I can even tell you which can. It had a nice ding on the bottom edge. Somebody got rough with the block of meals and smacked it on the deck hard enough to actuate one. In fact the little recessed dimple on the bottom you need to pop in to start it heating on purpose was still unmarked. It's the same kind of banging stuff around that killed Harold really."

"Well, about that...  Charlotte says she and Jaabir think I somehow killed Harold and they just haven't proved it yet," Barak revealed.

The women looked at each other not even trying to hide their shock. Apparently Charlotte had not intimated that little gem to either of the woman. That was just more proof to Barak she didn't really believe it herself or she'd have feel obligated to warn them he was a danger.

"That's crazy! You were in the lock. Do they think you stayed behind every day and beat his boot flanges with a hammer until they cracked?" Alice asked.

"She informed me my suit recording were erased, and they find that very suspicious." He switched to helmet talk. "But I have copies of them."

"I don't believe it. Every time you plug your suit systems in to recharge it dumps your data log to the ship's computer. And they get the camera stream from your suit to view on the bridge. You mean to tell me they don't record that stream too? They would want it recorded just in case you don't make it back to plug in. If your shift log was missing they'd have been complaining about it back then, before the next shift certainly, not now," Deloris said.

Alice meanwhile wiggled her finger and said in helmet talk  – "Get them. We'll make more copies and hide them," while Deloris talked.

"I think I'd just like to watch a movie and not have to think about this awhile," Barak said. He signed – "I want you guys to hear my conversation with Charlotte."

They both nodded agreement.

"I have one on my list I wanted to see about old open cockpit airplanes. Is that light-hearted enough to de-stress you?" Deloris asked.

They both agreed. They turned up the volume and the ladies listened to his encounter with headphones while the movie played to explain the lack of conversation.

They all had simple vocabularies in helmet talk and had to finger spell a lot of things. Deloris knew this was going to take far too long that way so she made sure her private pad wasn't connected and typed the message on screen. She'd hard delete it when done.

"She messed up telling you she would give you your hearing. That little fit of temper is going to come back on her. I've read the regulations repeatedly, they are important to know, and I can assure you it is within her authority to call a disciplinary hearing as acting Captain on an extended voyage. It would never fly on say a six hour orbit to orbit, but this authority was decided before the Mars missions left. Then she admitted flat out she could not prove you hit Jaabir. Stupid, stupid thing to do. She exonerated you. I doubt she even realizes it. And the licensing body doesn't allow a second hearing on the same issue, so your ticket as an able spacer and extra-vehicular specialist is safe."

"But, she still confined me to my cabin," Barak helmet spoke such a short easy phrase.

Deloris cleared the screen and typed. "Yes but she has the authority to remove you from duty if she has lost confidence in you. It's her obligation to do so actually if you perform life critical functions. But when we sort this out back home they will consider if doing so was reasonable or prudent under the circumstances. She didn't impose anything as a punishment or declare you unfit. She didn't even formally end the hearing, but she didn't declare it would be reconvened either. So I'd consider it ended when she sent you to your quarters.

"The only thing I'm not sure of is if she will be viewed as clearing you on Harold's death since she brought it up and said they couldn't prove it yet. She seemed to leave the door open for that in her conditional language. I bet it would be an epic battle of lawyers to hear that argued. Don't count on it ever happening. The licensing body will not want this mess aired in public."

Deloris looked at Barak oddly and typed. "Why are you holding your hand under your arm?"

Sheepishly he held it out for her inspection. She pantomimed holding the other out side by side and he complied. His right was visibly swollen. She made a gesture to clutch it into a tight fist and he shook his head no. He couldn't bend his fingers that far or get them against his palm.

"Broken?" Deloris asked with the helmet talk, managing to convey her concern in the facial code.

"No," he denied emphatically, giving a prolonged shake of his head.

Alice took the pad away from Deloris and typed. "Soft tissue damage. If it was broken it would be swollen less symmetrically and be much puffier and discolored. There might be a hairline crack in  something but no clean fracture for it to look that good. I'll get ice and you get an anti-inflammatory in him. We don't want it on record your hand is injured." She rolled her eyes at how bad that would be.

Deloris nodded agreement, still looking concerned.

Barak was looking at it, trying to picture if he could get it in a space suit gauntlet. He had his doubts. No matter what Alice said it didn't look all that "good" to him.

After making him take a couple pills, Deloris typed on her pad. "I can't imagine Charlotte is going to push to resume operations. Chances are you'll have time for the hand to get better. I doubt she will do much of anything until Jaabir is at least well enough to direct her. Despite her stupid angry outburst with you,  she seems the sort to avoid doing anything for which she may be blamed later. She just isn't as skillful at cover-your-butt as Jaabir.

"Our schedule is loose enough Jaabir getting hurt is plenty of excuse to delay outside operations for a few days. She isn't going to want to send one of us outside with you if we do a test fire and something isn't working. I certainly hope she isn't stupid enough to send Alice and I with no outside experience to work on systems we didn't install and don't know. Don't you blurt out anything stupid like she did and this may still work out OK."

Alice came in with ice in a bag. She wrapped a towel around his hand gently to moderate the cooling. And another around the outside to keep it in place. The gravity was so weak there was no advantage to keeping it elevated.

Barak held one finger up for attention and wiggled it to indicate he was staying silent. "You are probably right. It took almost ten minutes for Jaabir to start stirring a bit. When I left he was just feeling his face very carefully. I don't think Charlotte had given him anything for the pain yet. Now I'll have to worry what will be said between them and what new trouble they'll cook up for me."

"You think he was concussed?" Alice asked, finger spelling the last word.

Barak said yes in helmet talk but added a maybe.

"There's a real good chance then that he had the short term memory" – she hesitated, afraid of saying anything incriminating even in helmet talk – "knocked out of him. The whole morning might be gone for good. That's not uncommon with concussion."

Deloris started typing and they waited for her to show them. "Even if he remembers everything, she already said she was granting an emergency hearing as acting Captain and she admitted lack of proof to her charges. It doesn't matter what he remembers, it's too late to apply the evidence to your case. I see no advantage to her from his regaining consciousness. In fact anything he says is likely to show she was culpable in the Bridge watch being neglected. The fact she said she doesn't have confidence in you is not a conviction of wrong doing. It affects you now, in this command, but she can't pull your ticket. Frankly, if she is stupid enough to let all the facts of the matter go public I don't think it will hurt your prospects of being hired in the future."

Barak nodded his understanding. Aloud he said, "You know, I'm tired. I'm going to lie down. Early as it is I wouldn't be surprised if I sleep. We were woke up early."

"One of us should stay with you," Deloris insisted. She muted the unwatched movie.

"You stay," Alice said. "I have to go clean up some more in the pantry and toss the ruined stuff. It has to be removed from the inventory too. When I get done I'll bring something back for a late lunch."

"And more ice," Deloris said in helmet talk.

* * *

April was having lunch in the cafeteria, thinking about Heather and missing her terribly. The last time she'd visited Central Heather had been so busy that she sat and watched her work more than really visited. Somebody was constantly on com or waiting to talk to Heather. She wanted to go to the moon again but felt like she'd be intruding. She'd made sure Jeff called Heather and filled her in on the situation on Earth. Jeff understood about her missing Heather, but pointed out he had little private time with her the last time he'd been there too. They reminisced about what a good time they'd had together on the boat their last trip to Earth. The boat had been a welcome retreat from constant intrusions.

Heather was already planning the boring of access tunnels to use the seeds and such Jeff and April had sent her. They'd just added to the order the French acquired through them. Now she wished it had been much more. But all those plans might all have to wait if they couldn't lift much from Earth. They could make oxygen and scoop nitrogen from the Earth's atmosphere. But there was almost no organic feedstock to be had.

Her own land at Central was sitting unused. It wasn't like she had a home there. She'd contracted to have a tunnel dug from one corner sloped down along her boundary facing a public right of way. It went down a kilometer With a three meter wide floor. That was wide enough for a three wheel cart but not a full sized rover. It had a slightly larger stub of five hundred cubic meters off of it near the end for storage. She'd never have this tunnel enlarged. If she eventually had a rover size tunnel dug for her it would go down from another point far away. You always wanted more than one way to get back to the surface. Only the stub was pressurized, not the tunnel. Even though she had a surface lock installed already. Not only was that much air an expense but if it leaked while it was sitting unused it was a silly stupid waste of money too.

You could setup a pressure alarm but if it started dropping searching a ten kilometer long tunnel for a leak was time consuming. You'd actually be better off with a big leak easier to find. Searching for the leak had to be done at walking speed because nobody had built an automated machine to do tunnel maintenance yet. You had to set a heavy aerosol generator at one end on a timer, go to the other end and ride toward it slowly so your movement didn't disrupt the plume. Once the concentration went up abruptly you were past the leak and could back up and localize it. She could contract for that but labor on the moon was expensive. A trip to her tunnel by a pair of maintenance workers and the search and repair would probably cost fifteen thousand USNA Dollars. Nobody in their right mind would drive out and go down a tunnel out of radio contact alone.

She'd sent this and that from her possessions there for safe-keeping. It was a lot more secure than Home, but there was nothing there she really wanted to go work on improving yet. It wasn't livable at all except as a bare-bones survival shelter. She hadn't finished making her cubic here on Home as comfortable as she wanted and didn't want to divert funds to the moon. Maybe when she upgraded her furniture and things at Home she'd send the old ones to the moon as stand-by freight.

"Look at this!" Jeff said, slapping a bundle of EuroMarks on the table. April had been deep in thought and hadn't seen him walk up. They hadn't made any arrangement to meet and she was surprised to see him. He must have came here when she wasn't at home. Her pad was off but he had an emergency over-ride, if he cared to use it. Maybe he was simply hungry. It wasn't like him at all to display temper like this. Not unless there was a huge issue.

"Be right back," Jeff muttered and turned to go get something to eat.

April picked up the bundle. It was fifty one hundred EuroMark bills in a plastic band. Too tight to get one back in if she pulled it out. She fanned the end to look at them and didn't see anything remarkable. They were the usual plastic bank note with a number of security features. The mark indicated they were of German origin. She flipped them and looked at the back side, reverse that is, Jeff would correct her that obverse and reverse were the proper terms real bankers use if she said front and back. One end had a new holographic background rectangle with printing in three languages. "Issued 2087 / 11 / 1. Value discounted 1% each 90 day period."

When he came back Jeff had a corned beef sandwich, pickle and a bowl of soup. That was a pretty decent lunch for him. April decided not to say anything. Praising him for it eating well today was almost the same as nagging about neglecting himself other days. He must be hungry. He had a mug of coffee and even though he was upset he'd noticed her mug was almost empty. He had a take-away cup and poured half of it in her mug, saving himself a round trip to the coffee urns. That was sweet, but also typical Jeff to be efficient with his time and motions.

"Did you see the discount schedule?" Jeff asked. He took a bite of sandwich and set it aside, moving the soup in front of him.

"Yes, I've read rumors they would consider that," April said, "but I'm still surprised to see them actually do it. I thought they learned it didn't help a couple generations back. Although back then they at least hid the fact they were devaluing the currency better than this," she said, holding the notes up.

He chewed a bit and swallowed while April was silence. Finally he asked. "Well, what do you think of it?"

"This," April said, wagging the bundle, "is not cash money. At best it is a loan of credit. And a loan on pretty bad terms unless there are other provisions of which I am not aware. I have questions. For example, if you deposit it to your account for tax payments does it retain the face value at which you put it in? Or do they note the date and continue devaluing it until it is entirely debited from your account? Now I know all money today is debt, but usually interest is paid by the recipient of a loan. If you aren't buying something like a house that can be collateral, say if you borrow money to go on vacation. Well, they can't repossess a vacation."

"They seem to have realized if the loan defaults 'their' money is still out there and they no longer have a bag holder," she said disgusted. "Heaven forbid they should assume any risk for the loan just because they decided the borrower was credit worthy. This looks to me like a way to insure nobody can default, because the interest is tied to the money itself."

"If you are European it makes it pretty hard not to participate in this scheme too," Jeff noted. "It seems like 'Heads I win – tails you lose.' You can figure they will still charge the interest on creating it and loaning it, and get the interest from its scheduled devaluation. Not to mention the value they steal all along by creating inflation. I don't expect them to stop doing that. How can they lose?" Jeff asked, throwing his hands up in mock amazement.

April nodded agreement. "I suppose I should be happy they don't amortize it so that the interest is paid heavier up front and the loss slows down as it ages. That would encourage people to spend it even faster and just squeeze a little more out of them on the back end if they balk at spending it. Do they have no shame? How do you come to have these before the issue date?"

"I don't know," Jeff admitted. "Somebody's error but I don't know who. I called the Deutsche Bundesbank desk where I order currency and asked them why we were getting these bills? There was no letter or notice in the courier bag. She said I should have an internal communication on it. I had to explain The System Trade Bank isn't part of the European banking system to get an internal notice. She assumed at first I was in her system, if I had these.

"Our name doesn't have anything to suggest either German or North American ties. It's rather neutral and we're just another number with a two letter prefix. I think it may have just been a clerk who thought they recognized the name and didn't look at it as closely as they should have at the prefix. I mean... It's not an especially big order of currency for them to fill. People used to seeing a couple hundred orders a day like this go across their desk can't maintain a high level of vigilance without burning out. You catch them before lunch on a Monday and who knows what they will send you?

"I explained it must be an error and asked if we should use them, hold them for release until the issue date or return them? The lady did agree that it was an error that they were sent to a non-member bank early but returning them would serve no purpose because these couldn't reach her before the activation date now anyway. She suggested I hold them until the issue date because that is what all the European Banks are required to do. She also pointed out that they won't actually be legal currency until the issue date so my customer could technically charge me with fraud if I issue them and he can't spend them yet. I mean, that's just three days from now, but Dave's ordered the cash and he expected it today."

"Have you talked to him about it? Is he going to accept them?" April wondered.

"Oh yes," Jeff smiled. "It's bizarre. When I explained it to him he started snickering and then escalated to gasping laughter. He's going to meet a fellow at ISSII on the first of November and pay him for an orbit to orbit vehicle and a bunch of support equipment. That's what I was doing that I couldn't go to dinner with you the other night. Buying in on this deal. He said the fellow is Austrian and refused a check in payment drawn on any Home bank. He looks down on our lack of regulation and deposit insurance, our arrogance in issuing our own money, and demanded a cashier check from a European bank or EuroMarks cash. No USNA dollars or other currency either.  He's a rabid chauvinist. Dave's delighted to pay the man in these EuroMarks."

"Are you going to release them to Dave early then? They warned you not to, though I can't see how they'd ever find out. But Dave needs them at ISSII on the first, right?" April asked.

"I'm going to send a bonded courier with him on the shuttle and Dave will sign for the bag when they get to ISSII," Jeff said. "By the time they arrive it will be the first of the month and he can take possession of it there."

"Have you told Irwin at the Private Bank of Home? I mean, they didn't swear you to secrecy or anything did they?" April asked.

"They have no real handle on me to ask," Jeff said. "It was their error. I do think they would have cared a lot more if this had happened earlier in the month. Then if I talked it could cost them some real money. But yeah, I told Irwin and he's scrambling to drop EuroMark holdings. He has more Earth customers and exposure than us with transfer accounts at several Earth banks. It's just too late to do much about it. The market action the last two days now makes this a side issue anyway.

"They have quietly swept up about as much of the circulating currency as was practical. I doubt he can get physical EuroMarks delivered back to Earth now before the switch. Or old style ones here for that matter. Any longer and there would have been shortages of physical cash they couldn't cover up. Some illegal businesses only run on cash and even being illicit it would be talked about if they suddenly had no customers. Not that much circulates compared to the past. A lot of people use their bank card for everything, right down to a cup of coffee or a bus ride. They've encouraged that everywhere. Not just with the EuroMarks."

"If not much circulates then the logical next step is to apply a negative interest rate to actual bank accounts, not just cash," April decided.

"They did that briefly, about seventy years ago," Jeff said. "It pretty well cleaned the banks out of deposits. There was a huge bank run. Once a few countries did it within days of each other you didn't have to be a genius to see they would be stealing your deposits pretty soon if they hadn't already. It made them change the laws so banks could operate with no deposits. They already had bypassed any real reserve requirements by holding your funds in sweep accounts and only crediting your demand account with whatever you walked in to withdraw. No bank this century has actually had the reserves the regulations used to demand. They resented even the two or three percent they needed to hold in actual vault cash to function with the public, but getting completely rid of cash has never been accepted."

"They'll get rid of cash when politicians stop taking bribes," April predicted.

"It took almost twenty years before banks would accept deposits again and pay interest on them instead of charging to hold it. Big businesses went back to their own vaults and armored trucks and pay envelopes with cash like in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. If a business couldn't do that their prices went up – a lot. Some of them took to issuing company script. And it took a while longer before the common people would use banks again. There wasn't any trust. A lot of people of that generation never trusted banks again," Jeff said.

"Then it's going to happen again," April assured him, immediately convinced in her own mind.

"Maybe, it's kind of hard to look back at it and say if the crash caused the bank closings or if the bank closings caused the crash. It sort of swept along from time zone to time zone and country to country over a week," Jeff told her. "The stuff I've read doesn't all agree and the Americans blamed the Europeans and the Europeans blamed the British, and the Arabs blamed everybody but themselves... "

"What are we doing about it?" April demanded.

"I already issued a notice to our customers that we don't trade in Earth currencies until further notice. That per our contracts for their accounts, anything other than Solars are payable in those currencies only on a one by one special approval. How much cash are you holding?" Jeff asked April.

"Maybe twenty or twenty five thousand EuroMarks. Hardly any USNA Dollars but quite a few Tongan Pa'anga."

"Spend the EuroMarks if you can," Jeff suggested. "The Dollars... I don't know. I can't see how the Europeans can do this and the USNA not do the same. The value has to stay in balance for trade to continue. I'd spend the Dollars too," he decided. "The Pa'anga are the best bet. I've heard so much about the king. I can't imagine him doing this. And if his currency rises in value it isn't like they depend on exporting local made goods for their economy. They pass through our goods... "

"What? You look stricken," April said.

"More worried. Our money is going to be overvalued. It's going to be really hard to sell our stuff to Earth," Jeff predicted.

"I can't think of anybody here I'd give EuroMarks knowing they are going to decline in value. That would just feel crooked to me," April said.

"Go home and order stuff up from Earth," Jeff said with sudden conviction. "I'd pay for expedited shipping, not standby. It's already late to be doing this. If they lift it you have the cash to settle. You can send it in a courier pack if I can't do a transfer for you. I'm not sure what's going to happen, but the few EuroMark accounts I have I can cover. They should be easier to cover if I have to buy EuroMarks to do so, because I expect them to drop in value faster than their face discount schedule. You can transfer the risk to the customer but they are not all stupid. They will book the coming discount in if you insist on paying them with this crap."

"I don't especially need anything right now," April protested. "My dad is stocking up on things."

"Order anything you will need. Or trade goods. Bed linens, freeze dried food, coffee, clothing, good whiskey. If you have to pile it in your living room you'll thank me in a couple months. You can always send it on to Central standby. I'm going to go do that myself right after lunch. It will be worth something and the currency won't." Jeff looked really anxious, chewing at his lower lip.

"OK, I can see that. It'll be hard to find enough stuff to spend that much on though," April said.

"Buy some old gold coins if you run out of other stuff. Stuff with numismatic value. The coin dealers will ship on an unrevokable Visa. It's the same as cash and they are going to be wanting cash with everything so uncertain. You can settle your account in Earth money. That's why the card company is bonded. It won't be handy next week, but it will be in the long run, believe me," Jeff said.

"Oh, I always believe you," April told him. "I wouldn't be running home and doing this if it was anybody else telling me."

"You might want to spread the orders around. Too big an order at one place might raise alarm bells," Jeff suggested.

"They'd be better off to shut down and hoard their stock wouldn't they?" April asked.

"Yes, but they won't," Jeff assured her. "Well, maybe one in a thousand. But most people like us who have never seen a real crash? No way. Most people have a very hard time believing anything can happen they haven't seen before themselves."

"What you said about our money being too valuable... I want to suggest our money is too big. We need some fractional denominations too. We need to be able to trade with people who don't have the means to convert a whole Solar or make change against it," April said.

"I've had a couple other people make that complaint. I'd pay more attention to it if I had more metal than people want Solars. But I know that will happen eventually. I could make a quarter Solar. Below that I'm uncomfortable with how small a tenth Solar or less is physically. They'd be difficult to handle and hard to verify their authenticity," Jeff said.

"Earthies put serial numbers on bank notes. Couldn't you do something similar?" April asked.

Jeff considered the problem and didn't answer quickly. "I've seen coins sealed up in plastic. We could seal the smaller coins in sapphire or diamond and they need never get worn or lose weight. You could enclose a chip powered by ambient light that you can interrogate with a laser and it responds with an LED. Each test resets the chip to a new value, it's called TOTP authentication, so recording the test sequence doesn't give you the ability to counterfeit. Much better than just stamped serial numbers. We can make it very hard to break. We just need to release a free app to let your phone do validations."

He frowned. "People would have to trust us because as the authority you could invalidate a coin remotely. A government could invalidate all their coins held in another nation."

"Well yeah, for fiat money, but ours they could bust it open and extract the metal," April said.

"Good point," Jeff allowed. "On second thought, a Solar is twenty five grams. Fractions of that make awkward numbers. That's why I didn't use the Troy ounce. I'll just issue ten gram, five gram and one gram pieces. I'll call Alex at Trick Proto and ask him to run off a couple prototypes. I know he can do diamond coated sapphire optics. I already have a few chips that can do the verification. A lot of people have bio-hazard scanners on their phones. I'll make sure the same sort of hardware can interrogate these chips. Satisfied?" he asked April.

"Yes, that's the sort of thing I had in mind. Although I suspect you may end up making a half gram or even a tenth gram coin."

"With a twenty five gram Solar coin we just absorbed cost of striking it. We issued them at whatever the spot price of the metal was in the currency they were exchanging. But making much smaller coins, especially with embedded electronics minting costs are going to be an issue in large numbers. I'd have to actually charge more than the value of the metal to issue the coin. I'm not sure people will support that," Jeff said.

"You are competing with currencies that have a depreciation schedule," April reminded him indignantly, pointing to the stack of EuroMarks, "and you doubt people will pay a little fee upfront for a currency with physical value that can't be counterfeited? If it's a bad deal it's the least bad choice I'd think."

"OK, put that way I think you may be right," Jeff agreed. "People do pay a small premium for bullion coins already." He riffled the bundle of bills. "I can see where once these are announced everybody else is going to be falling all over themselves to do the same thing. I'll listen to you on this and at least do some prototypes. I'll do them in gold first though. This seems more targeted to Earth markets and Home has been absorbing every full size platinum Solar I can make."

"Thank you. Now, would you please humor me and finish your sandwich. You've taken one bite," April complained.

Jeff blinked at the sandwich like he wondered where it came from. It did have one solitary crescent  missing. "Yeah, but I finished the soup. I don't remember eating it but I must have." He pushed the empty bowl away, heaved a big sigh, and pulled the sandwich back in front of him. "Tell Ruby to order up whatever she can too," he suggested.

"She still has a lot from when we thought the UN was going to boycott us," April informed him. "I remember her telling me she blew the whole year's budget at once, and my dad approved it. She bought staples like pancake mix and dried eggs. They may have done it again already."

"It's been a year. If she has a new budget released tell her to do it again. And if your dad balks tell her to have him call me. Maybe I should be talking to him anyhow," Jeff decided.

"There is only so much pancake mix it makes sense to own. I'm sure she'll add some variety. Some Spam undoubtedly," April added, teasing him mercilessly. Jeff was not fond of Spam.

Jeff took another bite and looked at his sandwich. "They can corned beef too, don't they?"

* * *

"April I need to know something," Jon said. She was still in the cafeteria and she split his image in her spex so she could still see her plate. He looked unusually concerned.

"Ask away. If it's anything I know I'll be glad to tell you."

"Is this yours?" Jon asked substituting an image of the wall cruising robot for his face.

"I have something like that at home on the wall..." April said, squinting at the image. Jon was alarmed. "I think it senses the temperature and oxygen levels and stuff. Probably smoke too. You don't have a scale on it. How big is it?"

"About eight centimeters," Jon said going back to his face image. "Does it move?"

April looked at him like he was losing his sanity. "Of course not. It plugs in a socket. I called housing and environmental services and got a code to punch in so I could pull it to lay new wall covering right up to the edge of the socket without alarms sounding."

"Alright, I wanted to eliminate it being yours. I know you have this thing about knowing what is going on. Sometimes to extremes."

"Really? Extremes? Have I ever invaded your privacy?" April asked, a bit miffed.

"I remember the scanners you and Heather had," Jon said. "That's not a common habit among the general population."

"We still have them. They aren't invading your privacy. If you broadcast in the clear you might as well shout down the corridor and complain I listened. I seem to remember you were happy to hear Heather's intercept of the Seal who was conducting black operations in your jurisdiction. What does that have to do with your little thing?" April asked, tracing out a rectangle with her fingers.

"It's crawling around on the corridor walls and I supposed it might be some sort of snoop device." Jon admitted.

"Yeah or it might be a hunter," April said right away.

"Yes... That possibility occurred to us too. We're looking right now to see if there are others and keeping an eye on it," Jon said.

"But you didn't want to upset me with the idea." April had an accusing tone. Jon ignored it.

"Might it belong to Jeff?" Jon asked. Obviously a new thought from the change on his face. Jeff did have some sort of intelligence group.

"Jon, Jeff would never be so obvious. If Jeff snoops on you you'll never know. He's way smarter than me and I'd never be so obvious," April said.

"How would you do remote sensing around Home if this is so crude and obvious?" Jon asked.

April had some more sausage and considered the matter a whole fifteen or twenty seconds.

"There are all those delivery 'bots that take packages all over the hab. I'd probably subvert a few of those or put my own in service. Nobody even thinks anything about one going by. They're effectively invisible. They have to plug in and recharge so they could report back through the power lines," She'd stopped eating and was giving the problem entirely too much thought for Jon's comfort.

"Please, just don't," Jon asked her.

"Oh, don't worry. It's much more trouble than it's worth," April assured him. "But those delivery 'bots, does anybody have any veto on them? I know they aren't licensed, but are there any safety standards or limits on how many are in service?"

"I know Mitsubishi set a spec for them to conform to some Earthside safety standard. Not to bump people and such. I'm not sure if it was a Japanese or USNA standard. But they're so expensive I don't think there was ever a problem limiting them," Jon said.

"Maybe the little wall crawler is legal too," April suggested. "I mean, do you know it doesn't meet spec? I see a little delivery cart going around that says, "Home Chandlery and Provision Co.", but Zack is proud of his business and is advertizing. Not having your name on it may not be required by the spec."

"That's a novel idea, except the damn thing acts guilty," Jon said.

"How can a little box act guilty?" April asked, perplexed again.

"It stops moving and tries to look as innocuous as your temperature control if anybody is moving in sight of it. It only moves when nobody is watching. That's how we having it pinned down in a fairly safe section of corridor right now. I had people walk through until I'd have had to start repeating. Then I sent a man to start scrubbing down the opposite bulkhead on the corridor. It's a long corridor, and he's going as slowly as possible, but eventually I'll have to dream up some other activity to keep it inactive," Jon said. "Or destroy it."

"Oh yeah," April agreed, "that's totally not innocent behavior."

Chapter 9

April related the side of her conversation with Jon that Jeff hadn't heard.

"That sounds really crude," he decided. "Why wouldn't they use fliers? All our spy bots on Earth have that capacity." He thought for a bit staring off at nothing and April didn't interrupt his thought. "Of course it would be different to make a mini-bot to fly in zero G. It isn't just programming. They'd have to be redesigned completely because all of them have a certain balance to fly in gravity. They have a center of gravity under the lifting surfaces so they are naturally stable in flight. They'd be unstable in zero G and the aerodynamics would just be all wrong the way they are made now. Flying in different gravitation levels might be tricky too." He always loved a new problem and was engaged.

"You heard me. I assured Jon it wasn't your bot because it was way too obvious. So don't make a liar of me."

"Oh, I won't. He'll never see mine," Jeff promised, grinning. "But if we are getting spy bots here I am going to design our own hunter killer bots to clean them out. They will be optimized for a habitat and function in zero G. And we'll make a version with a fuller sensor suite to smuggle into other habs. We really don't know enough about what is happening on them from human intelligence."

"So, you were too busy to go to supper with me at the Fox and Hare. How about tomorrow? Can you be free?" April asked.

"I'd like that. Can you get a reservation on such short notice?" Jeff asked.

"I could, but I'd consider it an imposition so soon. I had more in mind a quiet intimate dinner at my place," April offered, and put extra effort into her smile.

"That sounds wonderful," Jeff said, not totally oblivious. "What time?"

"I'll be home early. Any time after 1600," April offered.

* * *

Jeff was slouched on April's couch, relaxed and waiting to help her make dinner. He'd found it both instructive and therapeutic the few times he'd done so before. His eyes kept going to the big drawing on the wall. He wondered if he'd ever get tired of it? He didn't have anything like that in his cubic. When his phone rang he went ahead and answered it since April was changing. When she was dressed he'd turn it off except the highest emergency overrides. He hated it when people let their phones dominate their lives. It was a Home origin call so he answered even more readily.

"Mr. Singh? My name is Haruki Natsume and I'm a senior sales manager for YYR. I'm staying at the Holiday Inn Home and wonder if I might make an appointment to discuss some business with you?"

Jeff couldn't place the face on his screen. The man appeared Japanese in his face, hair, and how he was dressed. "YYR?" Jeff asked, trying to place them. Certainly not a Home company. But then he'd said he was at the Inn, so he was probably a visiting Earthie. He was wearing spex, but some Earthies were comfortable with them even in social situations. Despite being a Japanese subsidiary, M3, the physical habitat on which the nation of Home resided had few Japanese. He knew for a fact it was considered a hardship posting.

"Yaskawa – Yushin – Robitiq," Natsume supplied readily. "Perhaps you do not involve yourself at that level of acquisition?" he wondered, and looked disappointed.

"Oh, no! There's very little we do that I don't involve myself in directly. I had to give up personally designing spacecraft, which I miss. It's just too time consuming. But everything else I at least sit and talk directly to the people doing a project for me. I know the company now. We buy robots from you. If you'd made your logo I'd have known right away," Jeff bent his wrist and put his index finger and thumb together delicately in front of the camera, like picking up something tiny and splayed the other three finger back the way a society matron might wield a dainty tea cup.

"Yes, that's us," Natsume agreed smiling.

April joined Jeff on the couch, hair wet and dressed to stay in. But she sat back curious and not acting anxious for him to be rid of the man.

"I'm about to have dinner with one of my principal partners," Jeff said. "Could we perhaps continue on com later tonight or in the morning? Do you have some other customers you can contact tonight so your time is not wasted?"

"I hadn't actually planned on speaking to anyone else. We don't have another significant customer on Home. If I felt free to have a meeting on com I'd have done that from Earth. I didn't even want to broadcast that I was seeking a meeting until I could do it on your local net. There is entirely too much... interest,  in Home com traffic. I'd rather wait to speak face to face, or if that is not possible in the near future perhaps I can return to Home at another time."

"Let me consult briefly with my partner," Jeff requested, and muted the pad.

"If he'd waste the price of a shuttle ticket to speak with us discreetly he's serious," April said before Jeff could speak. She'd been evesdropping on his call. "Why don't you have him meet us for dinner?"

"I'm not comfortable bringing him here. Especially with Gunny gone," Jeff said.

"Neither am I. I meant to change our plans and meet him in the cafeteria," April said. "Dinner will keep in the frig for tomorrow. I have a feeling this is important. I'll throw on boots and a cardigan."

"You don't mind talking business over supper tonight?" Jeff asked her. He minded actually.

"No, it always comes around to something business sooner or later. That's fine," April allowed.

"OK, I'll ask him," Jeff agreed.

"If you are not too tired from traveling would you like to meet us in the public cafeteria in about ten or fifteen minutes?" Jeff offered. "It's on the same corridor as the Inn. Your dinner is our treat and we'll be pleased to speak with you. Our other partner is absent on the moon, but April and I are two thirds owners of our principal enterprises."

"We... will be able to speak freely in such a public place?" Natsume asked.

"Likely with security as good as in our private spaces," Jeff assured him.

"Yes, I'll be there, thank you." Natsume sounded sincere but didn't look convinced.

When Jeff cut the connection April asked, "What do we buy from him?"

"The little spy bots," Jeff said, holding up his finger and thumb a scant centimeter apart. He smiled. The gesture wasn't that different from the company's logo.

* * *

"I haven't walked through a cafeteria serving line since I was a salary man," Natsume said. It seemed to amuse him. He wasn't shy loading his tray so he must be genuinely hungry.

"I'm surprised you use that expression," April said. "I thought it was derogatory."

"Perhaps a little. But then I've escaped it so I can afford to use it that way. That sort of work goes up and down in the public regard depending on the economy. When times are good people feel you have no ambition to be a corporate drone. When times are bad there may be fewer of those jobs, but any employment is held in better regard when it is scarce."

"And how do you feel things are trending in Japan right now?" April asked.

"My, you are direct. It's quite complicated," Natsume insisted. "Could you be more specific?"

"How do you feel Japan will do in the financial crisis we see unfolding the last few days? Do you think Japan will be able to maintain social spending without allowing immigration now that the incentives for having children have been reduced in value by long term inflation? Do you see Herr Hutz in the German Central Bank continuing to buy Japanese debt if Japan slips back into the sort of deficit spending it pursued almost a century ago? And are you going to be able to keep the trade that fell in your lap when China went into civil war if they restabilize?" April asked.

"I really had no idea how deep an answer you wanted," Natsume said, surprised.

"April is tasked with economic analysis for our bank," Jeff said. "She may actually be ahead of the game because she is aware how little she knows. She brings few preconceptions to it. The other day she told me that there is no such thing as an economy, that it isn't a discreet entity that can be modeled. Rather it is the sum of billions of irrational and emotional individuals with different customs and cultures that affect each other according to relative economic distance from each other. She felt we aren't close to being able to model economic subsystems such as a national economy of one group of people adequately, much less the world."

"There is a certain truth to that," Natsume agreed. "I was not aware you had a bank among your ventures. How do you measure relative economic distance? I've not heard the term used."

"By vector, value and necessity," April said. "You are closer to us by selling directly instead of through distributors. Closer by being in a political system friendly to us, and further away in physical distance which adds significant cost, thus economic distance, to lift items to us at L2. That increased when we had to leave LEO. You are at somewhat of a moderate distance in necessity because there are other sources Jeff tells me. But your items balance out at a point we like between actual cash price and features. As new models come out that balance can push you further away or draw you closer. And there are factors outside the effective control of either of us such as the exchange rates between the currencies we must use."

"Economic theory seems a very advanced study for someone of your apparent years."

"Consider the predictive record of the current crop of economists," Jeff said. "How could she do worse? You might beat them with a dart board."

Natsume just inclined his head to acknowledge he had a point.

Wanda set the last item they'd been waiting for on April's tray and Jeff led them to the far side of the room away from the knot of people by the coffee pots.

Natsume looked around and visibly gauged the distance to the other people.

"Our Head of Security for Home, Jon Davis, is very jealous of his public spaces," April said. "This is one of those locations that any traveler or new person is watched like a hawk. It would be very hard to plant any listening or video devices. Also we know every one of the people sitting over there eating. There is one new person, but you can figure his being with the others as a firm recommendation. The sort of bug you sell us wouldn't last a minute here. We have an understanding with Jon that we don't conduct surveillance in public areas, so he knows there aren't any friendly systems."

"This is like being back in my childhood village," Natsume said. "You couldn't buy a chicken in the market without everybody knowing what you were having for dinner before you got home. To answer your questions, April. Everything is integrated to some degree on Earth. Of course we can't avoid being caught up in the current market disruption. It will be up to people far above me... I believe your expression is 'above my pay grade' as to whether we make it better or worse with government intervention. That is likely out of my company's hands. I have no idea how much influence they have.

"I have no idea why the child incentive wasn't maintained and extended. The birth rate has declined in a linear relationship to the value of the payments. It's one of the few programs that by every indication worked. Japanese people are not prudish, but there seems to be a moral stigma attached to being a 'paid for' baby. I know because I'm one of them. I think the Germans will have their own problems pretty soon sufficient that Japanese debt and stocks will still look good to them. As for the Chinese... this is the third time most foreign investors have lost everything they put into China. It seems to happen once a generation. I think eventually even the greediest investor has to notice that sort of a track record," Natsume said.

"Thank you, I'll think on all that," April promised.

"Our industry is fortunate. More than I realized when I picked this career track. We do well in good times and even better in bad times. It's like making war materials without the need to rationalize away any responsibility for the death and destruction your products create," Natsume said. "But even with business being good we noticed Singh Industries orders are on an uptrend."

"How significant to your company?" April asked.

Natsume twitched at her bluntness, but to his credit didn't object. "You are our twenty seventh customer in order size this last fiscal year. But the first off Earth, and we see more growth here than below. We wondered how you could be using them in the sealed and restricted environment of a habitat. But we have a program that tries to identify our units in the 'wild' so to speak. Imagine our surprise when we found units on Earth we could trace to your lots. A few dead units, some self destructed at the end of their service life. However some objected so strenuously to being sampled that they destroyed our collection units."

"Oh, you ran into some of our enhanced bugs," Jeff said, unsurprised.

"Enhanced?" Natsume exclaimed. "That's what you call the murderous little killing machines?"

"Well, there seemed to be some...  competition for sites," Jeff said in a huge understatement. "There are only so many entrances and places to hide. Not only did we find there was already a machine from somebody else in a lot of cracks and crevices, but at a certain point if the target has so many bugs infesting it that the dead ones are turning up in the floor sweeping and inside equipment every time it is serviced it rouses the building occupants to wage war on all of them."

"Ah, you do understand then" Natsume said relieved. "I was struggling for a way to politely bring that to your attention. I brought a video for you to see. This is on the roof of a facility which relays USNA space traffic data. There was a problem with the air conditioning unit and a maintenance worker went up to work on it. He propped the access door to the stairs open with his tool box and was getting a screwdriver out of it. Watch." He turned his pad to them.

The fellow had on a blue jumpsuit with a name tag and a utility belt. He took the screwdriver and headed for the nearest big square air conditioning unit. When he was only three or four steps away a couple shiny dots, sunlight flashing off their tiny wings, zipped through the air behind him converging on the door. Two turned into a dozen in a heartbeat and several spun away wings locked and dead to fall to the rooftop. By the time he took another step there were fifty and he stopped and turned because there was a pop – pop – pop and tiny flashes of light. Each little flash left a puff of grey smoke.

He rushed back towards the open doorway to close it, but there was a thick cloud of tiny motes like a bee swarm and a fusillade of flashes like a fireworks barrage. He threw his arms up to protect his face and stumbled backwards falling. The wrecked fliers were a half-circle rug of debris in front of the contested doorway, then a multi-rotor drone as big as a serving platter swooped in and cut a swath through the cloud, scattering dead spy bots in every direction.

Right behind it was another drone almost as large, which overtook and crashed into the first from behind. They both crashed tangled together, parts and pieces flying, and the fuel from one was a flaming smear across the roof. The other was electric, but it's batteries shorted in a flash that was eye searing.

As quickly as it started it was over. The mechanic sat  up and pulled a phone from his belt. The camera feed continued until two firemen and other security rushed from the open doorway, feet crunching on a carpet of tiny dead machines. The electrical fire was almost out anyway, but they doused it with some sort of fog that finished it off.

"Well, that wasn't subtle," Jeff admitted.

"Were either of those big drones yours?" Natsume asked.

"No, we use a sort of carrier for a group of bots to get them to an isolated objective. But it isn't an old fashioned drone with rotors like those. It looks more like a puffy stadium seat that the bots latch on and push. It isn't powered itself," Jeff said, demonstrating the size with his hands.

"What is the advantage then?" Natsume asked curious.

"Well it is a lifting shape made of a very thin plastic film inflated with hydrogen and about ninety eight percent of the inside surface coated with graphene monomolecular film to limit leakage. It lets the bots make headway on about twenty percent of the power they need for their normal free flight mode. When they get near their objective the bots all drop off together and the hydrogen is ignited. The plastic film has an accelerant incorporated and doesn't leave much of the bag after burning. Just a few tiny soft plastic balls covered with soot. "

"The bag has negative buoyancy to support the bots?"

"No, well... it has about two grams negative buoyancy before the bots are docked. Not enough to support even one. But it requires only about two meters a second forward motion to generate enough lift to stay level."

"You have a design group for things like this?" Natsume asked.

Jeff looked amused. "April here suggested floating them in on balloons from upwind. I knew winds can be hard to predict, so I just refined it to let it steer toward the target. It won't run upwind against any sort of a serious breeze, but it will cut sideways across the wind flow to line up on the objective. We can anticipate the general wind direction unless they start classifying weather reports. It took about four hours one afternoon to design and we had a company that makes advertising novelties die cut them for us. We do the final seal and install the inflation device.

Jeff looked at Natsume with sudden suspicion... "Are you here to ask us to back off? Because those little exploding bots were not ours either. Ours lock on and physically restrain the others from flying, or the new ones will zap the enemy bots with a discharging capacitor. I admit I have a tiny shaped charge designed using a binary propellant. And one that squirts a quick hardening adhesive that immobilizes the opposition. But we haven't deployed those yet. We didn't create that spectacle on the rooftop."

"Not at all. We want to pursue a partnership arrangement where you provide designs for arming our bots against others bots, and we in turn provide more advanced models coming to market to you at a favorable price," Natsume proposed.

"Make sure we are not obligated to provide designs for attacking people directly," April said.

"Oh no! In fact we wouldn't want to be associated with you if you have such a program," Natsume objected. "That would violate Japanese law quite clearly."

"Only in my mind," Jeff assured him. "But it would be so easy somebody is going to do it. I hope you realize that. I'd be surprised if a government or two don't have custom designs sitting assembled but unused for assassination. But once they are used it will be hard to cover up."

"We don't do bio-warfare either," April said, firmly.

"We are in agreement on that. I don't think either of us wants the back-lash of horror such use would create. There would be no justifying it, regardless of the legalities," Natsume said.

"With one exception," April surprised him by saying.

"What would that be?" Natsume asked, warily.

"We are looking to when a small drone," April showed a softball size with her hands, "could follow you around and loiter above and behind you for hours acting as a bodyguard. If such a device was strictly protective in nature and not the aggressor I believe people would accept it."

"I don't think we have a power source small enough to do that yet. And I doubt it will be available for some years," Natsume predicted.

"Oh, we already have the power source. That's not the problem," Jeff told him. "We can't make it quiet enough that it isn't irritating to have following you around. It's just loud enough to make you raise your voice when you are trying to have a normal conversation with someone."

"The miserable thing sounds like a cheap hair dryer!" April said plainly.

"Indeed. That just makes me want to enlist you more. May I show you an example of what we'd be supplying you if you decide to partner with us?" Natsume asked. He pulled a small plastic vial from his pocket.

This time it was Jeff that looked around the room uncertain. "Do you have firm control of them?"

"They are fail-safed many ways," Natsume assured him. He unfolded a paper napkin and poured the contents of the vial in the middle. It looked like a pile of pills, or the orzo pasta Heather's mom put in soup. They laid there and didn't do anything until he put the vial away. Then they saw he was moving his eyes to invoke some programming on his spex.

The pile stirred as if the table were vibrating and the pieces got fuzzy, extending little stubs too tiny to see without a magnifier. Likely wings, perhaps legs or landing struts depending on your usage.

"Do they fly?" April asked Natsume.

"Yes, they don't walk well at all. Give me a moment to do it so they don't go every which way." After a bit they started to align themselves in a circle from the center out. When they lifted they were all orbiting a center point like a little hurricane with an eye. There were in a single layer disk of about a dozen tracks and the bots in one track were staggered from the tracks next to it. They maintained fairly good discipline for separation, staying four or five millimeters from the machine ahead and behind. The whole thing turned clockwise looking down on it, and rippled slightly as it made adjustments. The was a barely audible noise like a long sigh.

"Can they maintain orientation in zero G?" April wondered, recalling her conversation with Jeff.

"I'm... not sure. That's an interesting question."

"It might be a minor market for you, not worth the investment," April admitted.

"After we became aware of your efforts to add accessories, enhance the bots as you say, we tried doing the same ourselves. Other players are of course doing the same thing, but our bots simply did not survive as well as yours. We already had a twenty man team committed and looked at the potential expense to improve them sufficiently. It makes more sense to ally with you if you are interested. I have a document from our legal department if you wish to examine it and give us a decision," Natsume said.

"That may be a problem. We do business much differently up here. We don't have a court system with lawyers. Any contract dispute would have to be taken before the entire Assembly and they have only agreed to hear two so far. They sent a couple others away and basically told them to grow up or set a duel. How many pages are in your proposal?" Jeff asked.

"I'm not sure," Natsume said, looking distressed. He turned his pad back to him and searched. "Four hundred and thirty two pages."

"Do you really think I am going to waste a day of my life reading a bunch of legalese?" Jeff asked. "If it has that many pages I can already tell you what it says: We don't want to be responsible for anything but you are. It will be phrased to mean anything you want it to mean. If we don't agree we will both have to pay thousands of billable hours to lawyers, to put it before a judge who doesn't really understand our business, and will render a bad decision that probably won't make either of us happy."

"No executive would read it. He'd refer it to his legal department for approval," Natsume said.

"We don't have a legal department. We don't regard business partners as disposable here like on Earth. If you have a problem with having your space ship built you work it out with your contractor or the other half dozen folks in that business will be afraid to take a job from you. Works the other way too. If you get a reputation for being a hard guy with your customers it takes an astonishingly short time for you not to have any customers."

"That simply wouldn't work on Earth. The legal system is adversarial and it follows that contracts and adjudication when they fail have to be prepared for the reality of that," Natsume said.

"Or to put it another way you have to assume the other guy is going to screw you every chance he gets, and his lawyers will encourage it because that's why they are paid and exist," Jeff said. "No, put what you want in a single page contract, two pages at most, and simply mean what you say. If we are at odds later it should be so simple it is obvious who is not meeting their obligations. Put it in plain English not formal legal terms."

"Or Japanese," April interjected in that language. "So simple I can understand it."

"Oh, if you wish to create an addendum in Japanese for technical details I'm proficient and understand those sort of Japanese terms. I just can't order in a restaurant or make casual social conversation," Jeff allowed.

That seemed to bother Natsume more than the strange business arrangements. "I suppose I can consult with my company and return if they can agree to such an arrangement. What if it is not possible?" he wondered.

"Then this never happened as far as we are concerned. If you consider it a falling out and don't want to sell to us anymore we'll seek other suppliers or make them ourselves. Or... we can just go on as we have been. But if you want to stay and send a sealed message by courier back to your company I can have that delivered to their hand in two days. I don't have any lawyers but we have plenty of people who do security work and... collect information for us. You didn't think the drones and bots were the only source of intelligence we have did you?" Jeff asked.

"No, and one of the reasons we considered this... deal, is we never found one of your machines trying to penetrate our facilities."

"People will buy your bots and then try to use them against you?" April asked, incredulous.

"All the time," Natsume assured her.

"Earthies," April said disgusted. Natsume didn't seem to take that too badly.

After quietly eating for awhile with no more conversation April assumed this was a dead deal. Instead Natsume visibly finished by pushing his tray away, and looked at them.

"I shall have a message composed to my superiors in about an hour. Do you have any preference on what media I send it?"

"No. Paper, data drive, it doesn't matter. Our man will take it directly from your hand to whomever you designate. There won't be any intermediaries," Jeff promised. "Nor will we snoop, on my word. Oh, and if those are production bots you showed us, not prototypes, I'd like you to leave them for us. How many did you have there?"

"There are two hundred in that sample. That's quite satisfactory," Natsume said, giving them a bow that was somewhere between eastern and Western manners. He left without further discussion.

"Well, you were right," Jeff told April. "This was too important to ignore. But I resented the intrusion. I was looking forward to making dinner and relaxing with you. I can't come tomorrow."

"I still have dessert in the refrigerator. Come back with me and we'll take up where we left off," April suggested.

Chapter 10

April slept in the next morning. It was past 1000 by the time she got up and had a bite to eat at home, Gunny and Jeff were both gone and she had the place to herself. The com lit up with an incoming call. It was a yellow flash so it was somebody she knew but not urgent.

"Miss Lewis, I have a couple sketches when you have time to look at them," Lindsey Paddington offered. Her head was so full of the rush of events the last couple days she had to switch gears. President Wiggen... OK, she'd told Lindsey she wanted a gift for their marriage.

"Are you at Cindy and Frank's tailor shop today?" April asked Lindsey.

"No, this is an off day and I don't have school either."

"Why don't you come by my apartment?" April asked. "I'm working on com but I'll break and look at whatever you have prepared for me."

"That isn't any imposition?" Her voice said she really was uncertain. Another time it might have just irritated April, but she really did like Lindsey and wanted to help her out of her shell.

"Not at all," April assured her. Normally she wouldn't play the make me ask three times game with people. "In fact I'll order lunch for us and have it couriered over from the cafeteria."

"Oh no! I'm coming anyway. I'll stop and bring it with me. It'll be fun!" Lindsey said.

"OK. Do you have a taste for anything special?" April offered.

"No, I'm not a picky eater. Whatever you get I'm sure will be fine," Lindsey said.

"Give them a half hour or so to pack it and then come on over anytime you want," April told her. It felt odd. April was definitely a fan of Lindsey's art, but Lindsey acted like she was April's fangurl. It didn't make any sense. What had she ever done to merit that ? And yet how could she object at all if the girl just liked her? Why did it make her uncomfortable instead of just accepting it?

She sent a text to the cafeteria number. Whatever they didn't eat at lunch could go in the frig and Gunny was always poking around in there trying to find a snack. Extra wouldn't go to waste. So she got two each of six kinds of cold sandwiches. She had some crudités, pickles and potato salad already.

* * *

Lindsey didn't have a subtle bone in her body. When April opened the door for her she took two steps inside and froze, her mouth falling open. "This is like an Earth apartment!" she said, amazed.

"Perhaps a little more efficient," April insisted. "But I realize it's bigger than... usual, and I'm very fortunate to have it. My body guard Gunny lives on site too." April was self conscious about her cubic and usually managed to avoid any discussion of it, but there was no avoiding it with Lindsey. If she lacked any subtlety she seemed to lack any jealousy either. April didn't have to invite her to make herself at home, she sat lunch down, marched over and plopped herself down and started spreading her portfolio on the table between the couches like she was April's roomie.

Everything laid out, Lindsey sat up and twisted around taking it all in and saw her large drawing dominating the living area.

"Oh good! You have such a good setting to display this. It's a perfect viewing distance with the couch facing it, and it isn't all cramped in on a wall barely bigger than it is long. Did you pick that bamboo print wall covering after you got the drawing? It carries the green and yellow tones in the drawings so well without dominating. Much more effective than a plain solid color bulkhead. And the mat is effective too. The flecks of gold, and the pattern is blended at this distance." She was happy.

"No, it was here when I got the place," April admitted. "Working with the drawing was just a happy accident."

"I really need to learn to do more botanicals like that!" Lindsey said sternly. "Everybody has spider plants or ferns or something. I'll be honest, I avoid including them because they are just so hard to get right. Especially if they are out of the main focus of the drawing and you can't render them realistically."

"I liked the bamboo the first time I saw the place empty," April remembered. "I had other stuff going on and didn't have a bunch of money to do everything all at once so it was easy to let it be since it wasn't dirty or damaged anywhere. Would you like some coffee?"

"I'm not much of a coffee drinker. Might you have tea? If not water is fine," Lindsey said.

"Tea is no trouble. I haven't had any in awhile. I'll join you for a change." April retreated to the kitchenette and made up a tray for tea. When she glanced back she could see Lindsey was laying more things out on the table.

"Oh my goodness, I just expected a tea bag in a mug," Lindsey said when April returned with a pot and cups more delicate than those she used for coffee.

April was careful to set it safely away from the drawings. Lindsey seemed conscious of that too and scooted over closer to take her cup. April remembered seeing Cindy put out honey with tea at the tailor shop and was glad she did too because Lindsey used it.

"Do you have any idea what sort of apartment President Wiggen and Ben have? Most people can't display something like that," Lindsey said, waving at April's large drawing.

"I've never been to their place. Perhaps I gave the wrong impression. We're not really close friends. I've had occasion to speak with her a few times. It's odd," April admitted. "She hinted I'd done her a good turn sometime, but I'm not at all sure what that could have been. She did me a bigger favor sending Gunny to me, although it wasn't her intent I keep him at the time. She sent him as a bodyguard when I was visiting Earth. She certainly had no idea how complicated that would become. I'd have thought of us more as honorable enemies, but she has been friendly. In the end I very much approve of her. She did her best for North America and yet didn't go with the mob when she could have made political points with them by condemning us. In fact she might have stayed in power, at least for a little while longer, if she'd taken a much harder line with us."

"You know, we were living in North America then,"  Lindsey remembered, fussing with her tea. "I remember there was stuff about Home on the news, but I never paid much attention. I had no idea my dad would bring us all up here. Pretty much all I cared about then was what was happening at school. And I don't mean my lessons so much as my friends and," she made a fluttering hand wave. "Social stuff. Who wears what and who are friends that won't be the same or matter next week. But it all seemed important then." She sipped her tea and looked embarrassed. "It just seems stupid now."

"Huh, some of the things I cared about before the war seem silly now too," April said. "I had arguments with my brother over who would do what parts when we did business, and the exact percentages of ownership. Most of it didn't end up mattering any more than what your friends wore to school."

"I have some bits and pieces of what happened," Lindsey said. "But that was all before the first Assembly. I've been reading the transcripts of all the Assemblies, but nobody has written down what happened before that. Would you take time sometime to sit and tell me what you did? I know you went to ISSII in the Happy Lewis with Ruby's husband Easy, and brought Jeff's dad and step-mom and Eddie back. I've talked to Jon Davis although he's hard to get to say anything. He did tell me about sending Eddie Persico ahead to ISSII, but I want to interview Eddie about when he got to ISSII and how he found Mr. Singh and got him to the dock. And your grandfather too, but I've been shy to ask him. I wondered if perhaps you'd put in a word with your grandfather for me?"

"Is this for school?" April asked. It didn't sound like a casual interest.

"I'll present it at school I'm sure. Your mom is interested in it and encouraging me," Lindsey said. But what I really want to do is write a good, accurate, professional quality history of Home."

"Really? You need to talk to Mr. Muños and Dave who built the Happy Lewis to the specs from Jeff and my grandpa. And Easy, I mean Mr. Dixon, who was the command pilot, and my father. They'll all have lots to tell you," April said, hoping to deflect her.

"I intend to," Lindsey agreed. "But you were in the thick of things. Don't tell me you weren't. If you don't want to talk to me then fine, but then I'll just have to go by what everybody else tells me about your part. Not everybody will think the same things important that you do."

April started to object again and just shut her mouth. She vividly remembered that Jelly, Dr. Ames that is, said there seemed to be a history of expensive damage, death and destruction, strewn closely behind her when she got rolling. He hadn't been entirely joking. She didn't want that to be her legacy in what might be the seminal history of their nation. She should try to get a fair report of at least some positive things she did instead of letting others set the record.

"We can do that," April said reluctantly, and against her every instinct. "I actually have some suit recordings from that trip, but it's hours and hours. I doubt you will want to sit through it all." She should have suit recordings after that too, April remembered. From when they got back to Home, well it wasn't Home yet... Back to M3 and she and Easy fought the USNA invaders in the north corridors leading to the Holiday Inn. She wasn't ready to offer that yet. It had some ugly moments she hesitated to show Lindsey. Worse than when the James Kelly exploded in a zillion fragments from Eddie putting an anti-tank missile in her. But at least a spaceship doesn't leave wet bits dribbling down the bulkhead...

"I'm sure the boring parts can be fast-forwarded," Lindsey said. April was looking so stressed that Lindsey did something unusually mature. She changed the subject.

"Can I show you some of these rough sketches? Or are you ready for a bite yet?"

"I'd love to see some sketches," April agreed. She lacked her usual appetite at the moment. Soon they were lost in the details of composition and color. They stopped about a half hour in and talked about their families and station gossip over the meal instead of art.

When they were done April walked Lindsey to the door April was relaxed again. She was completely caught off guard and when Lindsey turned and hugged her hard around the neck on tip toe. The girl was strong. She hugged her back and gave her a little pat on the back when she didn't let go right away, but it was probably good the girl didn't see the brief flash of surprise on her face. "Thank you so much," she said softly in April's ear. Then she pecked April in front of her ear and let go. It seemed entirely sincere but April was left wondering exactly what she'd done for her? Nothing special jumped to mind. It seemed to April that Lindsey had done much more for her...

* * *

"Gunny we'd like to hire you and another of your other security associates to go down to Tonga for us. We know we want Chen already and he has agreed to go. He deferred to you on picking the third. Do you have a preference who goes with Chen and you?"

"First, who is we?" Gunny asked Robert Lewis, April's father. "I assume you are hiring me on behalf of Mitsubishi?"

"Yes, I have an OK to do so, both for supply and for security. So I'll hand this off and Jon will be the primary boss for it. But you'll have to work without much direction. Also Mitsubishi promises me two Japanese employees on Tonga you can coordinate with. We want Chen because you may have to travel off Tonga and he is the only one of you who we feel can safely enter North American territory. Doctrine should be that at least one of you remain on Tonga however. I'm splitting expenses with Jeff Singh, or technically his company, but he is personally aware and directing Chen to accomplish a few errands himself. Mitsubishi is not going to be aware Chen is associated with you. At least not from me. That is both to simplify explaining the realities of Home politics to my company and a protection since nobody knows you have a backup."

Gunny cocked his head and gave Bob the old fish eye. "What aren't you telling me? It's hanging in the air so thick I can smell it."

"Are you sure you want to know? You have plausible deniability and all that still. They can't read your responses to key words and get anything from you right now."

"If there is more to the mission for either of my partners I want to know. If they need to disappear for a few hours or days I don't want them to have to invent a stupid excuse, I'll know they may need to be away. Otherwise I'd be worrying they were snatched, and I can get pretty aggressive if I think somebody grabbed one of my work mates. I might question the last people I knew they were with so vigorously it would forever ruin your relationship with them." Gunny made a powerful grasping, twisting motion in the air with one beefy hand that Robert wasn't sure about at all. Then he decided maybe that was something he didn't want to know more about.

"Chen will deploy some spy bots for Jeff as he has opportunity. Also he is assigned to get an actual sample of this new flu variety so we can type it. We're getting no information on it and our Dr. Lee has made inquiries to agencies in several counties and got stonewalled or the run-around. I was given opportunity to distance  my people from his if I wanted, but honestly it serves our interests. If Jeff didn't do it we'd have to. Just be aware that there is risk. We don't know how severe this variety is for people like you who haven't had LET," Robert warned.

"I doubt somebody made an apocalyptic plague that will decimate the world population if their target was people with Life Extension Therapy," Gunny predicted.

"Perhaps," Bob agreed, "but the motivation for it may have a religious impetus. When that is the case the usual cost – benefit analysis may not look rational to us without the same beliefs."

"Yeah, I hear you. But the same applies to politics and a lot of other group beliefs. I've had flu a couple times. It's nasty but I'll take my chances. Why don't you issue us a testing unit. Even if it is a new variety it should have some of the same basic proteins to register. And some antiviral meds to administer if we do catch it," Gunny requested.

"Alright. I'll talk to Dr. Lee and arrange that. I believe he can have a test unit that plugs in a phone waiting for you when you get down there. I don't know what antivirals he has here or wants to do. I imagine that's one of the things he's looking to buy," Bob said.

Gunny nodded. That made sense. "OK, assuming we can agree on fees, I'd like to have Christian Mackay with me. He's mature and we get along. He's not a fellow to get physical quickly if he doesn't have to. But if he does he knows what he's doing."

"That's fine. You can have him join us or set a new time to meet if you want, so he can be in on the negotiation for terms and fees," Bob offered.

"I'm sure he'll want the job, but I'll send him over early tomorrow and he can talk with you for both of us," Gunny decided. "I've seen Mac' handle the business side of a job before and he's much better at it than me."

"OK, we're done then. I'll be waiting for him to call me," Bob offered his hand and Gunny shook it.

* * *

Former President of the USNA and her new husband Ben Patsitsas were having dinner at The Quiet Retreat – the other nightclub on Home, which had room for dancing. It ran to quieter classic music as entertainment as the name suggested and the occasional comedian.

"I swear I've met that couple sitting right by the dance floor," Wiggen informed her husband. "The woman in the blue dress with the silk scarf and real jewelry."

"You stood in so many receiving lines I'd expect you know half of Europe," Ben told her.

"Why do you say Europe?" Martha asked. "I didn't say where I met them."

"Well, I can't speak to the lady's dress," Ben said, "but the man just shouts European. His suit is cut that way. No American is going to have that much cuff showing, and the jacket collar is wrong. For that matter the shirt collar says European too. The tie sort of leans that way and the shoes are French or I'm blind."

"You didn't come up with that instantly. You were checking them out too," Wiggen surmised.

Ben nodded. "Ever since they sat down.  I'd love a suit like that, but being a simple B list author I'll have to admire it from afar."

"You're just avoiding saying anything about the woman that might make me jealous," Wiggen accused him. "And you are damn well an award winning A list author and you know it."

"You are kind, but you're only as well regarded as your last book, Ben said. "I'm one stinker away from obscurity if I don't keep pumping them out."

Martha wouldn't be deflected. "Which avoids discussing the woman again."

"She's spectacular, so there, go ahead and be jealous, but what I know about women's fashion can be summed up on the back of a business card. Is the dress French like her companion's shoes?" Ben asked.

"No, it's Italian, but that doesn't mean she is too. It just means she has lots of money...  and good taste too," Martha added begrudgingly. "The scarf is French... the shoes may be Spanish actually."

"You can really tell the jewelry is real from this far away?" her mate asked.

"It's either real or duplicates of the real stuff sitting at home in a safe. You don't get style like that at the Ten Dollar Discount Den," Martha assured Ben.

"The name will probably come to you about three days from now," Ben decided.

The music started up again and the couple in question got up to dance. He pulled her chair back and offered his hand. Wiggen clamped on Ben's arm with a grip that surprised him. He looked over and she was staring at the couple now blending into the other dancers with big eyes.

"Or it may come to you sooner," Ben guessed again.

"The way he moved. But it can't be them. Maybe his son, taking a quiet vacation far away from the paparazzi and their social circle. They're too young," Wiggen objected.

"Life Extension Therapy Dear. It does that you know," Ben reminded her.

"Ha! The Church would bring back the Inquisition just for them if they dared," Wiggen predicted.

"Only if they catch them dear, only if they catch them." Ben said sweetly.

Wiggen got the oddest look. "What are you thinking sweetie? The strain is visible," Ben joked.

She gave him a little play hit on the elbow, but leaned closer to whisper.

"They may be like me. I mean, I had to run for my life, but now that I'm up here they are sending me the full Presidential pension. I was flabbergasted at first when the accounting office called and asked where to deposit it, but then I figured out it was smart of them to make me comfortable – as long as I stayed far away.

"If I'd been flat broke and struggling to live I might have reason to plot a return and make trouble for them. It's a pretty cheap form of insurance really. And nothing crooked or something anybody could make a stink about. If anybody brings it up it just makes them look magnanimous. I'm certainly not going to make a fuss about it."

"That would make a lot more sense to me if you said plainly who you think they are," Ben said.

"Oh! They may be the King and Queen of Spain," Wiggen told him. "Newly rejuvenated. Which would horrify the Earthies, especially the religious."

"So, you think they might be pensioned off quietly if they'll just go far, far away and not make a fuss for anybody back in Spain?" Ben asked.

"Well, they don't have any bodyguards, and this is not a cheap place to spend an evening. If you'd kindly take me for a spin on the dance floor I can casually say hello as we pass their table and see if they will acknowledge me," Martha requested.

"I suspect this was all just an elaborate plot to get me to dance. You are a devious woman."

"You'll never know if you don't take me out on the floor, will you?"

* * *

"I see now why you had Mackay negotiate your contract," Robert Lewis said.

"He has much better business skills than I do," Gunny admitted.

"He's way too persuasive," Bob grumbled. "The sort of guy you think you just traded shoes with and then you notice you don't have socks. I may still regret it, but I let him talk me into letting you guys have a chunk of cash to trade with on Tonga. He insisted that when things get crazy and normal business breaks down you can do cash deals. But that assuming thirty days net as usual when things are in chaos will make suppliers laugh in your face."

"You really don't have to worry that he's going to disappear with your money," Gunny was quick to tell him. "The man is if anything too straight of an arrow. He's a refugee from ISSII because he wouldn't allow Homeland Security to take shortcuts with their own procedures. And the idea somebody might rob him of it... If anybody tries I only hope I can get it on video."

"You know you can't carry guns on Tonga?" Robert asked.

"I know, but you haven't seen Mackay collect a debt off a Chicago Mafioso, or a stupid fellow try to pull a gun on Chen over it. The man doesn't need a gun to be dangerous," Gunny said.

"And I hope to never be there to see anything like that. That's why you guys are going and I'm staying here where I can quietly administer things," Robert Lewis said. "Rough trouble and adventure are not my thing,"

"That's fine," Gunny agreed. "We're happy for the work." Privately he was amused. April had shown him the recording off her suit camera from when their war with Earth was starting. Her dad had been alone at home when a North American agent had blown his front door off with explosives and gone in to assassinate him. April's suit video of the firefight in the dark apartment, with her dad strobe lighting the scene in freeze frames with an old .45 belching flame, was like something out of an old horror movie. April had rushed home to rescue him, but he hadn't needed much rescuing. He could claim to be a mild mannered administrator if he insisted being modest, but Gunny was certain he never wanted to get in a gun fight with the man in the dark.

* * *

"Are you going to be home for a bit? I have something to show you," Jeff said.

April looked at the corner of her screen. It was 2312 Jeff rarely called so late. "Sure come on over. Do you think this will take awhile? I'll put a pot of coffee on."

"No, it's not going to turn into an all-nighter," Jeff promised. "Something milder perhaps? Would you have any hot chocolate? It sounds good tonight."

"Sure, I have the powder and I have a liter of half and half that makes it really rich. I'll start it now because it's best to heat it slowly," April said.

"I'll be there in only fifteen minutes or a little more," Jeff said. "I'm just leaving the north hub."

The half and half was in the cupboard. A sterile pack that didn't need refrigerating. She had two six packs of them with seven year expiration dates. The things she had ordered to use up her North American dollars were starting to arrive already.

It was hard to make herself pay for express delivery. Her mother had always taught her to plan ahead and use standby whenever she could. But Jeff counseled that later delivery might never happen if she did that now. Her cupboard was packed with things she knew would get used eventually and she had three huge bags of green coffee beans on the deck over in the low overhead by the windows. Along with a couple cases of sani-wipes and premium protein bars. The good sort that hikers like to carry.

The chocolate mix was Macedonian, dark and not sickeningly sweet, although it took a little more stirring to get it to dissolve than the super sweet stuff. What could Jeff have to show her? Perhaps he was just looking for company and was shy to say it? But she dismissed that thought pretty quickly. Jeff was too direct to do that. Especially with her. But she had seen him getting more subtle with others when he made business presentations. He'd been blunt to the point of offending people not so long ago.

By the time the chocolate was starting to steam a little the door chime sounded. April considered again that she could set the door to Jeff's hand to let himself in. She wasn't sure why she hesitated. Gunny certainly wouldn't care and it wasn't like she was seeing anyone else. But then he'd never asked to have the door set for him either. She had access to his office, but that wasn't the same, even though he had been staying there some nights while the Paddingtons used his residential cubic. The office wasn't comfortable, and they'd never used it for anything but business."

"House, unlock entry door," April told the house computer. She really needed to put a camera in the corridor. Someday it might not be Jeff and she'd get a big surprise.

It was perfect timing. The hot chocolate was just starting to froth on the edge. April poured it in two big insulated mugs and went to meet him before Jeff could come to the kitchen. He was stopped staring at the big drawing like he always did but left it and joined her on the sofa when she sat their mugs on the low table.

"I got the prototypes you wanted and was too excited to wait to show you."  He held out a hand with three coins. They instantly made April think of the casino chips she'd seen on New Las Vegas. The first was a gold full Solar coin. She hadn't known he was going to change that. It still had the traditional design that they'd made when they were in Earth orbit. But now it was enclosed in a clear coating just slightly bigger than the coin. The arch of the Earth had a hole in the metal, heavily chamfered, with a tiny black speck floating in the opening.

April took it and held it close. You could just make out the speck was a tiny cube, less than a millimeter on a side. When she flipped it over the circle of engraving proclaiming it was One Solar from The System Trade Bank and the assay numbers was the same as the old coins, but the through hole was inside those on a formerly blank area.

"You know, since you issued Solar coins people have taken to calling it The Solar Bank. Maybe you should change the name to what people want to use," April suggested.

"It would be difficult with the Earthie governments. They'd want all sorts of documents that don't exist and wonder why we don't do it like them. It was hard enough to set up once. It would take my time when I have other things to do too. Let them call it what they want as long as the legal documents have the right name on them," Jeff said.

April didn't argue. "Are you still going to make the uncoated full Solars?"

"As long as people want them. Especially the platinum ones. It will take a long time to wear the die out so it is no new expense. Here, let my send the app to your phone to verify these." Jeff punched a few keys and pointed it at her phone pad when offered. "The stylized sun, ☼, is the app. I'm hoping that catches on as the symbol for a Solar. I wanted the Zia symbol like New Mexico uses but there isn't any way to print it easily. I started yesterday using it as a symbol for Solars in documents that use numbers."

VERIFY

April opened the app and pointed the sensor end of her pad at the coin. A golden text box appeared at the top of the screen saying:

So she tapped it and got a message immediately.

E-Solar number 1 - created Nov. 2nd  2087  Status: ownership unregistered  - 25gm Au.

The System Trade Bank at Home

Registration will document ownership with The System Trade Bank. The verification function will display the recorded ownership when testing until such a time as you wish to unlock it. Please enter an owner name and password if you wish to register this coin. Be advised ownership of bullion coins is prohibited in some legal jurisdictions and speed of light lag may delay verification outside the Earth/Moon system. In the event of registrant death or loss of password, coin registrations can only be changed with appropriate documentation or identification by presenting them in person at TST Bank – Home at L2. Coins registered under fictitious user names may not be reregistered after loss of the password. Physical recovery by unencapsulation is the only alternative to a broken chain of registration.

NO

YES

DO YOU WISH TO REGISTER THIS COIN?

She didn't need to see the whole process so April tapped no. She turned the coin over and let the light play on it. The rim seemed faintly frosted and the recessed face glossy.

"Why is the edge hazy?" April asked Jeff.

"It's sapphire with a thick diamond coating. The first one was so slick it popped out of your fingers and kept getting dropped. That's why we made the rim higher and gave it enough texture to hang onto."

"But you can still get the metal out?" April wondered, holding it up to the light.

"It's not easy, and it will destroy the chip, but yeah the sapphire can be shattered or cut once the diamond is breached. It looks clear but it's polycrystalline diamond. You can't shatter either easily by just smacking it with a light hammer," Jeff said.

April handed the coin back and took the next one.

"I modeled that after an old Chinese coin," Jeff told her. The metal coin inside was thinner but the encapsulation the same size. The gold was a circle but the  hole in the middle was square. It was a ten gram coin and had a lot of pretty engine engraving in a band around the outside edge. The assay and bank name were on both sides. The chip was suspended in the middle of the square through hole in the gold.

The five gram coin when April examined it was a nine sided polygon of gold with a round hole in the middle. The assay and weight repeated around the edge, as did the bank ID on the other side. The center hole apparently represented the sun, and the planets were artistically represented around it, not to scale or realistically at all. The orbits an oval at the angle of view. Each planet was on a line running to an apex of the polygon. A configuration that seemed unlikely in nature. The metal had to be quite thin to give enough area for the engraving.

"Why are they all the same size?" April wondered. "Wouldn't it make sense to make them in different sizes so you could sort them in your pocket by feel?"

"It might be convenient," Jeff agreed, "but Trick Proto gave me a much better price to just set up for one size of capsule instead of several. The set up and machine time are much more than the material costs. We can get lunar sapphire very cheaply. I had to guarantee I'd eventually buy ten thousand units to get the price down where I want it, and that's running them as filler jobs whenever they don't have other work for the machines or they would have capped the final delivery date.

"But that's fine because we only get so much precious metal from the Rock. It trickles in as they process the iron and nickel out and separate the trace elements. We really need to position ourselves to bid up a decent share and demand payment in metal when somebody does another asteroid capture too. Because I think somebody will do that long before they run out of material from the Rock.

"So you better hope people want these smaller coins as badly as you think, or we'll have to eat the fees for unmade coins. I went ahead and ordered another five hundred of the verifying chips too."

April looked concerned. "Things are so crazy down below. I hope you can get them delivered."

"Not to worry. These chips are made by an Indian company on ISSII, Jeff said."

"They're nice," April said of the coins. "Are you going to do even smaller ones too?"

"I'll probably have to if we're meet our obligations with Trick Proto," Jeff said.

"OK," April agreed, and went to hand the five gram coin back.

Jeff made no move to take it. "They were your idea. If you want to keep the serial number one coins I'll debit your account for the face value. I suspect they may have some  numismatic value in time."

"That's sweet of you. I'll do that. I'll probably give them back to you for safekeeping, but I want to show them to some people first."

"You might register them," Jeff suggested.

"I suppose, but you already know I have the number one coins."

"I do, but if you ever do want to sell them they'll be worth more registered to your name. The new owner would likely leave them with that registration. You are a public figure, like it or not so do register them please," he begged her.

"OK,  but people are silly."

"Yes, My Lady," Jeff agreed.

April just rolled her eyes.

* * *

"You need to listen to this, soon," Chen said. He looked unusually concerned on Jeff's com pad.

"OK I'll break and look at it right now." Jeff said. He wasn't used to seeing Chen like this.

Radio intercept – North American agent – name redacted per employment agreement.

Source of message: Small mining camp in northern Saskatchewan.

Time: 0550 this morning.

It captioned the intercept as the voices spoke.

"Hello? I'm not sure how to use this thing. The panel has "Emergency" written at this frequency with a felt tip. Is anybody listening?"

"This is the Beauval Federal Police Post. You are correct this is for emergency calls. If this is not an emergency call you are in violation of several regulations to use it. Do you have an emergency?"

"We sure do. This is Dennis Harrow at the Belt Mining camp. We're north of you and accessible only by air this late in the season. Even that's kind of iffy right now with this weather, but we sure got big trouble."

"Would you explain the nature of the problem?" the officer asked quickly.

"Sure, just catching my breath. I tried to call the company first. That's marked on the radio too, and I got no answer. We don't have a sat phone. There's seventy some guys here and most of the work is down the hole so we keep going with a bit smaller crew all winter. We just cut back on processing what we dig until spring. There's about half of them sick, some too sick to get out of their bunk, and that includes our guy who had medical training and the radio operator and the main cook. We're kind of in bad shape and I don't know much what to do for them."

"We're having a significant outbreak of influenza in the province, but if you are isolated I don't see how you would have it there. Are their symptoms consistent with influenza?"

"Oh yeah, few of them said 'I got the flu' right away. They got headache, cough and feel miserable. All wrapped up in a couple blankets and shivering to beat anything. Musta been the big wheel, company vice president, who came in a week ago in an aircar to talk to the site manager and swap out the assay guy for a new one. A couple commented the VP looked like crap. Not that I seen him myself. Then there was three – four guys sick a few days later. Including the one who flew with him."

"That's likely your source then, if he was sick," the policeman agreed.

"Is there anything you can do for us? I have the assistant cook mixing a little bit of baking soda and salt in water and keeping mug of it by each of the guys. We read that in the handbook in the first aid kit. We started doing that early this morning, but we got twice as many sick this evening now. It's running us ragged taking care of the sick and nobody went down the hole to work this shift. I know you can't hardly be expected to haul forty guys out of here in the winter and shut the place down. But do you have somebody you can send in? A doc or medic? Or at least drop some medicine? Way this is going, we're going to run out of aspirin and Tylenol even."

"I'll pass the request to the regional hospitals, but the word I'm getting is they have been flooded the last two days and don't have enough people to cover shifts much less send out teams to villages or camps. They have a lot of their own sick. For that matter so do we," the cop said. "Also I was told that this doesn't seem to respond well to the common antivirals. So that wouldn't do you much good either. You might try to isolate the healthy from the sick."

"Kinda hard to do in a bunkhouse," the miner said.

"Yes, I can understand that. I'll ask the health service to call you. You see where the Emergency channel is? Go up to the next channel with a bigger number, and check back in an hour. If nobody is waiting to talk to you try again at six this evening. Can you do that? You feel OK yourself?" The cop finally thought to ask.

"Yeah I can do that. The second cook and I are both fine and we both had the mouse flu a couple years back. Maybe we won't catch it. Thanks for having them call," he said, but he wasn't happy.

"I'm sorry I can't do more. This is FPA Post 317 clearing the channel, out," he ended.

"Wow, I'm picturing those guys. I feel for them. Stuck out there in the sticks, sick."

Jeff seemed sincere. It wasn't something Chen was certain he'd see in him. He'd seen Jeff's side that seemed pretty ruthless and the Earth propaganda painted him a monster. He wondered if Jeff knew?

"That point about the mouse flu might be worth looking into," Chen suggested.

"That it's a related strain? Yeah," Jeff agreed, "we'll find out for sure soon when we get a sample. The USNA is saying it's a common type that went around three years ago. The Europeans are saying it's one from last year. I think they're both flat out lying. The Europeans said it is an A strain but didn't even name a subtype."

"Being vague has the advantage of not making a liar of yourself later," Chen pointed out. "I have a dozen intercepts like this. The point I'm making being it's spread beyond dense urban areas into the countryside. If our agents who have contacts in the hospitals are right then two more incubation periods from now we are going to see a significant disruption of business. It's too early to know for sure, but the three paid agents we have in Italy and San Marino say the early morbidity is high too."

"So we have a week to get some supplies lifted before things get a lot worse?"

"Yes, but a lot of them are in motion already. Bob Lewis ordered all sorts of supplies that are already on ships or in the air freight system. The squeeze will be getting them loaded on shuttles at Tonga and actually lifted. That's why we want to take the 1430 to ISSII and get a connect to Tonga. If we miss that we'll either need a private shuttle or lose fourteen hours until the next flight, which is a double connection, ISSII to New Las Vegas and down. We can't afford to delay that long."

"No, grab the 1430 please. You have a bit more than an hour. I had a few Solars uncommitted I could send with you, but bullion coins are illegal on Tonga. Instead I had eighty gold wedding bands in pure gold made. I haven't picked them up yet, but I'll have a guy from Presto Prototype meet you at the dock with them. They are five grams each and all the same ten and a half size, but you can use them for anything that a little baksheesh will help you accomplish," Jeff said, and made the thumb rubbing gesture.

"We call it zou hou," Chen told him, "but the application is pretty much universal." He frowned and looked serious. "We'll try to return on one of the late supply shuttles, but if we get stuck down there you may be supporting us for awhile. I hope you noticed that clause in our contract."

"If I have to we'll pick you up with Dionysus' Chariot," Jeff promised.

"They may shut down the spaceport and stop all traffic," Chen warned.

"It does water landings. Buy or rent a boat and we'll meet you in international waters. If you can't get a boat," Jeff shrugged, "it wouldn't be the first illegal landing we've done. It doesn't need a hard pad to land either. I don't think Tonga has anti-air weapons. We can worry about apologizing and smoothing it over later if we have to do that."

* * *

The courier delivered a large flat package. Ben and Martha weren't expecting anything, but they thanked the lad and tipped him. They opened the attached envelope to see what it could be,

"I wish you much happiness in your marriage and a long and prosperous life together. I feel Home and all of us benefit from your presence and hope to be counted as a friend and ally by both of you. Please accept this drawing as a wedding and home warming gift." – April Lewis.

None of the drawings for which Lindsey had sketches spoke to April as a gift. So she'd given Lindsey recordings off her spex of Martha and Ben sitting in the Fox and Hare. April remembered a particular moment that had touched her when ex-president Wiggen had laid her hand on Ben Patsitsas' arm. The utterly comfortable way she made the gesture left April feeling sure they were a couple.

Lindsey incorporated that key moment and changed the angle of view subtly from the reality of the club, drawing them in such a way that you could see Ben face on and Martha in semi-profile at his side, yet the stage with musicians counterbalanced them on the opposite side of the sheet and set the scene.

Instead of her usual central area in precise detail and vivid color she had two focal points of detail. The couple at the table and the pair performing on the stage. April had been happy to find Lindsey was flexible enough to alter her style that much.

The rest of the drawing followed her usual style of becoming less photo-realistic and more muted in color as your eye left the primary subjects. So the other diners at their tables and details of the bar and entry faded and lost focus toward the edges to mere pastel shapes suggesting patrons and furnishings in an extreme expressionist style.

They propped the drawing against the wall and sat on the sofa admiring it. There was something else in the envelope and Martha retrieved a memory chip. That was a recording of the  pair on stage, Amos of The Ancient Astronauts and Ruby, a onetime professor of Medieval Music. Martha put it on low to play through the com console and sat back by Ben, who put his arm around her.

"She drew you looking straight on," Martha noticed. "You're still quite recognizable. You have strong features."

"It a very natural pose. I'm looking at you," Ben demonstrated, doing so even closer. It turned into a kiss. April would have been delighted at what her gift started.

Chapter 11

Martha Wiggen, previous President of The United States of North America and recently married to Ben Patsitsas joined the line for breakfast in the main cafeteria. Her husband was right behind her and got the silverware and napkins for both of them, as was his set custom already. It was the sort of a little gesture she appreciated him doing. It was a short line and always moved ahead quickly. She was not a natural early riser but they were still in honeymoon mode and even if she delayed him from getting up she then accompanied him to breakfast.

She was the first female, and near the youngest, to break the circle of the coffee brigade which occupied the tables closest to the pots in the cafeteria. The informal group formed years ago and the members changed through the years, but with surprising continuity.

The group started forming each day late in the back shift from insomniacs and grew as retired people and the self employed with no set schedule drifted in. By 0900 early in the main shift it was as large as it would get that day. By lunch it was dissolved, each going their own way. A few who wandered in worked as they socialized, as Ben often did when he was on a roll with new book. He found the noise and people coming and going stimulating rather than distracting. Others discussed the news, politics and business at length. A few still followed Earth sports out of habit nostalgia or because they bet on the games.

The few who drank coffee and ate but kept one eye on an open pad trading stocks were not active like they were a couple months ago. The markets below were in chaos with some closed and others under restrictions.

The coffee had switched back to liquid concentrate two days ago when the cafeteria ran out of bean coffee due to reduced shuttle traffic. Nobody was going hungry but the shell eggs were used up and dried substituted for scrambled and omelets. Fruit was reconstituted and frozen. Ruby was pushing pancakes and waffles or oatmeal and still had plenty of nuts and raisins to garnish them. She had literally tons of pancake mix. The challenge was going to be making them interesting when people got sick of them. There was still orange juice from concentrate and Martha got some, correctly guessing it was a low priority item and likely to run out before their supply problems improved.

Another couple joined the line behind Ben chatting and put trays on the line. They added items off the hot bar and seemed in a jolly mood. Martha reached back to put butter on Ben's tray and glanced behind at the couple. She jerked in surprise and her mouth fell open. Ben turned his gaze to see what shocked her so. She wasn't normally inclined to such theatrics.

The couple were Asian and middle aged. Altogether unremarkable looking, except the man looked embarrassed or chagrined. Ben's first reaction was to be embarrassed too, by his new wife's treatment of these strangers in public.

"I know you." Martha said. Somehow she made it sound like an accusation.

"Madam President. I didn't mean to startle you so. Perhaps I should wear a bell," he quipped and gave her a smile.

"I've heard you are a very hard cat to bell," she shot back, recovering her composure. "Not to mention you seem to have the proverbial nine lives."

"People make unfounded assumptions," he said with a shrug. "Unfortunately some of them seem to do so because they are hopeful of my demise."

"Then, you know this fellow?" Ben asked, clueless to the reason for the verbal fencing.

"This is the first I've met him in the flesh. I've spoken to him on com. This is the fellow who took April in when she visited Earth. She stayed in his home on Hawaii." Then Wiggen's face changed and she looked unhappy.

"I'm sorry for what happened," she told the man. "You lost your home and were treated very badly. You vanished and nobody knew what had happened. There was nothing effective I could do then and little later. Some thought you and your family had to be dead and April along with you. The agency people though were deeply skeptical and never accepted you were dead. Not even when your yacht was reported lost."

Papa-san waved it away. "I don't blame the loss of my home on you. You had your own troubles with the Patriot Party at that time. In fact the bodyguard you sent April was stifled in using the assets you gave him by the Patriots or we might have weathered that particular assault and left in better order. We couldn't deal with the Chinese and the Patriots. But Hawaii was untenable for someone like me once the Patriots had power, entirely aside from being associated with April or you.

"It seems you were rather difficult to eliminate yourself, Madam President.  We just silently slipped away. Your exit was rather spectacular. I have spoken with... acquaintances, and I understand you crossed Washington at less than eight thousand meters altitude at about Mach 7. There are historic buildings they still haven't repaired and it took to the middle of the next summer just to fix all the busted water mains."

"Yes, the pilot Jeff sent to pick us up was insane. It was an experience," Wiggen said, rolling her eyes. "On the other hand we are here because they couldn't shoot him down. Not for lack of trying."

"Does the gentleman have a name?" Ben inquired again gently.

"Oh, uh... " Martha looked stricken. "I'm sorry, what stuck in my head is April said you preferred Illustrious Lord or Benevolent Master in your home, but would answer to Papa-san. You have to admit that would be pretty hard to forget, but it pushed your real name straight out of my mind."

"Papa-san is still entirely acceptable," he said, amused. "But if you should have need we are Tetsu and Lin Santos."

"Santos! Of course. Although my spies said it in hushed tones like you were the Lord of Darkness."

"Spies?" Ben asked, pausing with his syrup in the air as if it was forgotten.

"Big time," Martha confirmed. "But he worked for us or I wouldn't be so chatty."

"And gratefully retired now," Papa-san assured her firmly.

"Would you join us?" Ben invited. "I'd love to talk to you about a book I've outlined. I've been a writer of mysteries and I have this itch to write a spy thriller. They're really not so different."

Martha and Lin looked around the men at each other. They looked resigned.

"If you like. I'm afraid the day to day business of spying is much less exciting than people think. The irritating thing about it is how hard it is to convince everyone you have retired. They keep asking you things as if you still have all the assets of an agency working for you and dropping little confidences you now have no use for at all."

"But surely you still know others who aren't retired yet," Ben said. He picked up his tray and led the way to a table.

"Yes, but it isn't like working in a bank or something. You don't keep playing golf with the board after you've been put out to pasture, or ask them over to do something on the barbie." His face suddenly shifted. "Except this one crazy fellow I know. He'd make a wonderful character in a book. His name is Jan, and everybody here knows he's a spy. Jon and Eddie who worked for him and Jeff and April and all the people involved in the Home revolution. They probably all have stories if you ask. You'd just need to change his name for the world at large. Let me tell you about one time when he crashed a party," Papa-san started...

* * *

"The hand is definitely better," Barak told them, pecking the message out with that hand as if to prove the point. He could touch the finger tips to the heel of his hand but couldn't really make a tight fist. It didn't hurt unless he pushed it like that. He could probably suit up and work if he had too. Their tools to use in a suit all tended to have bulky handles he could grip sufficiently.

Charlotte had declared two full days of no duty beyond basic maintenance in a brief text with no explanation. None of them had seen the XO, not even in the galley, which almost certainly meant she was monitoring and avoiding them. She hadn't asked any help caring for Captain Jaabir, or kept them updated on his condition. With the issue of Barak's hand and her insane accusations they were just as happy to let things slide and not risk upsetting her anew.

Barak was dreading hearing from Jaabir when he could resume duty. He had no idea what the man would remember of the encounter in the corridor, or if he'd start the accusations about Hanson all over again. God only knows what Charlotte would report had happened between them. He'd have to be very careful  what he said until he was sure just how much the man remembered.

When she finally did send them a text all three of them were in Barak's cabin. Their coms all buzzed at the same time.

All crew,

Normal operations will resume tomorrow. We shall test each engine in turn for function and if adjustments or repairs must be made Deloris Wrigley will accompany Barak Anderson on extravehicular duty. Anderson and Wrigley will stand ready to suit up if testing reveals a problem. Alice Evans will continue to maintain environmental systems and assist me if I should need it. Operations will resume the usual schedule at the 0600 hr.

Charlotte Dobbs, Acting Captain

They all looked at each other alarmed. Did she really intend to not say a word about the Captain? Was Jaabir unable to resume command? Or was there a power struggle with her refusing to relinquish command back to him? Had he tried to push blame off on her?

"Who should ask?" Deloris said in helmet talk. Alice raised her hand to designate herself. She tapped the message in her com and didn't copy to Deloris or Barak. They just leaned in to watch her screen.

Charlotte Dobbs, Acting Captain

Is Captain Jaabir still incapacitated? Is there anything additional I can do to help?

Alice Evans, Environmental Officer

They waited for an answer. Charlotte's brief, curt and unenlightening message seemed beyond odd. They were all starting to worry if she had gone unbalanced with this behavior on top of the insane accusations against Barak of somehow causing Harold's death. Nobody had said as much yet but they all looked worried.

Alice Evans, EO

Captain Jaabir is deceased. He never regained consciousness. Our sponsors have been notified. You will undoubtedly have to shoulder extra responsibilities Ms. Evans, but what those will have to be I'll determine as we resume operations shorthanded.

Charlotte Dobbs, Acting Captain

"Stop!*Don't*ask*anymore," Deloris said emphatically in helmet talk.

"Agreed," Barak said quickly. He looked at both of them and entered text on his pad. "He was alive. He reached up and touched his face and said something. I'm not sure what, but it was words not a moan like he made before that. I'm sure."

"My God, there's no way she can expect us to believe that." Alice looked physically ill. "Do you remember what Deloris said?"

"Uh, no. I'm not sure what you're talking about," Barak admitted.

"She said – "I see no advantage to her from his regaining consciousness."

They all sat silently for a moment thinking about what that implied. Barak almost snatched the tablet back and punched his message in with stiff angry fingers.

"She's not going to pin this on me. I know I didn't kill that man. I'd feel terrible if I did but I saw him feel his face and moan and mumble something."

"It should be on the audio you played for us of your conversation with the XO," Alice typed.

"If it isn't clear Yuki-onna should have software to clarify it," Barak added to that text, nodding.

"I kept a copy. I'll find it," Deloris volunteered. She isolated the file and amplified it. They each listened to it with earphones.

"Five words?" Alice asked. "I get 'what' for a first word but that's it.

"I think the second sound is two words slurred together, not a two syllable word, but let's send the file to Yuki-onna and ask for an analysis," Barak said. He and Alice made go ahead gestures to Deloris since it was active and isolated on her machine.

She hesitated. "But how do I make sure Yuki-onna doesn't share this with Charlotte?"

"We could ask the Yuki how," Alice said.

Deloris shook her head no. "Just asking that would look bad if it gets to Dobbs."

"Jeff gave me a pretty good sized block of one time pads before I left – just in case. I suspect this is the sort of thing he had in mind. I can encrypt it on my pad and send it attached to a message. I'm sure he'll process it for me as a favor. If Charlotte sees an encrypted attachment and wants to know what it is I'll just refuse to discuss it. I didn't promise to expose my private mail to their scrutiny when I hired on and it's not like we can be on much worse terms with each other. But we'll have to wait on the light lag both ways and his time to arrange things on that end if I send it to him to run an analysis."

Alice gave an exaggerated shrug. "We aren't going anywhere," she said in helmet talk.

"Anybody have other files with his voice?" Deloris typed. "That would help maybe."

"I have some short snatches on my suit recordings," Barak remembered. "I'll suggest Jeff look for some at Home to verify mine aren't faked since I have motive to do so now. There should be voice files of his getting clearance to depart from local control. Maybe other traffic in the past before the Yuki-onna." He considered how much he wanted to reveal. "Jeff has assets for that sort of thing. He'll find it if he needs it."

"Do it," they both agreed.

* * *

Tonga was really flat. Islands on coral reefs sure looked different than volcanic islands. Gunny had been to Tonga before, but he came in on a boat and he hadn't gotten a good look when they took a shuttle out. This time they were coming in on an aerobraking shuttle and he had a left hand seat so he saw the island pass on the left out his port. They were subsonic already so he had plenty of time to get a good look from above although it was  a good twenty kilometers out. Then they had to make a wide slow turn to the north west, almost doubling back to line up with the runway.

Gunny looked at Christian Mackay next to him after they turned and the island was lost from sight ahead of them. He had his head back against the seat with his eyes closed. Gunny wondered if he'd been to Tonga before or he just wasn't curious? Chen chose not to sit with them. He hadn't explained why but he indicated he'd meet them at the hotel, so it wasn't a permanent thing. Maybe he felt there would be watchers at the port. He was a known agent, but the Chinese influence on Tonga had waned years ago and their relationship with Japan was more important now.

There was a solid clunk of landing gear going down and the surface of the ocean looked really close now. You could see the waves. The beach was there suddenly on their left and stretching off to the left and ahead of them. The palm trees and buildings were close enough to see in detail. The nose pitched up a little and the pilot was a real hot dog. He put on the air brakes and threw them forward against the harness just before the tires touched down. Once the front wheel was down he stood on those brakes too.

Maybe he knew what he was doing though. When they turned off to the right there was only one more taxiway between them and the end of the runway. The sign beyond their turn said twenty five hundred meters. He'd used up an awful lot of runway. Certainly two kilometers before he coasted a bit and then engaged the electric wheel motors to turn off and taxi back to the terminal. They passed a couple of carrier aircraft, or motherships, one with a shuttle hanging under it, wheels retracted, and a shuttle sitting alone with mechanics working on it.

There was a site that let vertical lift shuttles depart but it was on a small island away from the capital city and main island. They didn't need the noise and vertical lift shuttles didn't fail very often now, but when they did it was always a lot more exciting than a carrier aircraft that could often turn back on one engine or even glide home. Vertical lifters had no glide capacity in a failure and below about six or seven thousand meters separating the shuttle and getting it into a controlled glide was a very iffy proposition even if the lift vehicle didn't go *BOOM* spectacularly.

The shuttle didn't attach to the building like it would in North America. Instead a bus rolled up and docked to take them to a separate customs building. The connector had a shield that protruded into the airlock to keep them from touching the edge of the hull which would still be hot.

The main terminal building had a sign saying it was Fua'amotu International but they drove right past that. When they reached the smaller customs building they were greeted by an officer with a filter mask and a full face eye shield. The man was wearing a disposable paper jump suit over his uniform and sheer gloves. He held a no contact thermometer and checked their temperature at throat and ear.

"We are aware there is a flu pandemic," Gunny told the man. "We've kept Home isolated. In fact we do a scan for viral DNA at our entry, so it hasn't got loose on Home."

"That's excellent sir. I'm still required to do this for all people making entry. We haven't got a hot case yet from off world, but we're still directed to check. Nothing personal," he added politely.

"Have you had to isolate anybody coming in by conventional aircraft?" Mackay asked.

"Oh certainly! It's out there alright, and we have had a couple planes that we refueled and turned the whole plane away. If it had somebody running a fever we sent for a DNA scanner like your friend here described. If they had the flu we don't have the facilities to isolate the whole plane that has been exposed. We just turn them away."

Gunny didn't say anything more. They were making an effort, or at least a show, but it was futile. Somebody would come in not showing any symptoms because they were in the incubation period. You could ask them to keep checking their temperature and report if they got sick, but history showed that self quarantine just didn't work. People were selfish. It would get in here in time, but at least it wasn't prevalent yet. That was good. They still had a little time to do their job.

The cab was electric and old. It had seats reupholstered with what looked like cloth for an awning, coarse and heavy. The tropical sun had won the battle with the paint years ago and the roof was painted bright white instead of the pale green still visible on the sides. Mackay negotiated them a set price to go north and around the lagoon to the capital. He just said "Little Italy" as a destination. Gunny didn't know if that was the whole district or their specific destination. Mackay booked the flight and made their other reservations, assuring Gunny they didn't want a car, they would have a car and driver if they needed one. Gentleman and people of substance apparently didn't drive themselves. Gunny, entering, made the vehicle drop a couple centimeters.

The traffic was light compared to what Gunny was used to in North America. Lighter vehicles too, electric scooters and mini-trucks that looked like little more than a golf cart with a box on the back. They passed one full sized truck and a police car that was still only a compact sized car with bright lime green accents down the sides for visibility. The road was paved but much patched and the side roads were just graded dirt.

The driver seemed unfriendly at the port and he continued to look in his mirror at them with an odd expression. Gunny couldn't decide if he was angry or frightened. He typed on his pad. "The driver seems twitchy. You think he might rob us or divert us somewhere?"

Mackay took the pad from him and typed. "He has a hack license so I doubt it. See it up on the visor? That's his face on it so he didn't steal the cab from someone. Ask him what's wrong if you want."

Gunny took the pad back and erased it. Maybe he was too sensitive. But then the cabbie looked at them again still frowning. He decided to try to bring it out in the open.

"You seem unhappy to be driving us. I assure you, we are a good fare and we're not going to cause any problems or try to stiff you as long as you take us to our destination. Is there some other problem?"

"On the radio they accuse spacers of making the bad flu. I don't want to get sick from you. If my boss hears I turned down a fare he might take my cab and rent it to somebody else. I can't take a chance, but I wish I had one of those masks," he said, making a gesture over his mouth.

Gunny laughed so loud the driver jerked, not expecting it. "Don't believe half of what you hear on the radio," Gunny advised him. "So far we don't have this flu on Home, and we're working hard to keep it that way. I'll tell you the straight stuff. What little we know for sure. This started in Italy around Rome. It's in North America and we know it's in China although we don't know how bad there for sure.

"In another two weeks to a month it will be everywhere. They took our temperature at the port. If we'd been sick they'd have turned the whole shuttle back without letting us off. But it takes time to show symptoms. You can get it from somebody and it's maybe four to six days before you feel sick. So that's not going to stop it for long. Somebody will have caught it and not know. They'll feel sick after coming to Tonga."

"So you think another week or two and it will be in Tonga?" the driver asked, worried.

"That's my opinion, yes. I'm not a doctor, but what I said is what people who should know have told me. The Tongan officials would probably kick us out for telling you that, so I'd appreciate it if you don't name us if you repeat it."

The driver nodded solemnly. "I will not do you harm for sharing truth. You speak like someone who believes what they say. Do you have any idea what I should do when it is here?"

"We still don't know how much it is like other flu. It may be related to the mouse flu that came out of Africa a few years ago. A mask may help. But better not to be closed in a car or room with a sick person. And don't touch your nose or your eyes when you have been out until you wash your hands with soap," he suggested.

The driver sighed. "I can't just stop driving. I have nothing else right now and it feeds us. But I'll try to do as you say when I can. Thank you."

Gunny thought about it a bit as they drove along further and reached over the seat. "When you hear a lot of people are sick take this and sell it to carry you awhile. There probably won't be many people hiring a cab by then anyway. If you tell your boss you are too sick to drive when he knows lots of others are sick he won't question it." He offered the man one of the gold rings held between thumb and finger. He didn't have to ask what it was, but he seemed hesitant to take it.

"If you happen to hear anything useful to us we'd appreciate a word at our hotel," Gunny added.

That apparently made him willing to take it. He scared Gunny by how long he turned his head and ignored the road to accept it, but eventually he turned back to driving. "What are you doing here that's worth the risk of you getting the flu? I ask so I'll know what you might want to hear."

"We just want to make sure the things we've bought get lifted to our home. If a lot of people are sick they may not be too worried about unloading the ships and planes and putting the stuff on a shuttle. We don't grow anything up there. We have to buy food and clothing and parts for machines," Gunny said.

"Tonga has to buy food too," the driver told them, "that's another thing to worry about."

"Sell the ring early if you need to," Gunny said. "It's yours now so you decide when is best."

"I believe I shall," he decided. "I suspect it will buy a lot more rice now than in a month."

When they pulled off the road in town at a white three story building Gunny pointed to his license. It stated he was Ata Liava'a and it had his address on it. "May we come find you if we have need of a driver or other work?"

"Yes, but I'm down near Uaini off the Taufa'ahau road. It would be far easier for me to come to you. You can call me." He fiddled with a compact phone and made it display his number to them. Mackay wrote it down on a little notebook instead of entering it in his pad. When he tried to pay for the ride the man waved it away and wouldn't take anything more than the ring.

* * *

The building Ata dropped them off at was an older white three story with porches running the full length of the building. The railings  reminded Gunny a little of the buildings in the French Quarter when he'd vacationed in New Orleans. A young fellow in all white hurried out with a luggage cart. Gunny's face must have shown his doubts, because Mackay reassured him even though he hadn't said a word.

"It's older but don't worry, they gutted it and rebuilt it practically from scratch about ten years ago. It's considered a historic treasure and landmark. They have very decent food too."

"That's fine. If the plumbing works, and it doesn't have vermin, it won't be anywhere near the bottom on the list of places I've stayed." He let Mackay check them in and wandered about looking at the lobby and into the restaurant. There didn't appear to be any rooms on the ground floor. It did seem nice and hadn't been ruined by trying to make it ultra-modern. It was traditional Italian right down to the red and white checked table cloths and bright murals on the walls. When they had to take the stairs to the third floor he was surprised. He'd lived in North America so long he'd become accustomed to the idea no business could remodel without installing an elevator and all the other things like special doors and bathroom fixtures for the disabled.

The room had another hand drawn mural the length of the room and a young fellow standing with his bags patiently waiting for him to show up. He declined the fellow's offer to put his things away and  to take things to be cleaned or ironed and tipped him for delivering the bags. Mackay showed up at the door between their rooms and leaned on the jam.

"You have an Italian room. Mine is all done in tropical decor."

"I'll switch if you prefer this one," Gunny offered.

"Nah, they're both neat. I like that it isn't uniform corporate beige.

"Where is Chen staying? Or did he make his own arrangements?"

"He's on the other side of me. He'll show up I'm sure when he's finished his business."

Mackay signaled in signs to search for bugs. They would set their own and cache some things if it was clear. Gunny nodded and started but kept up a chatter.

"I'm ready to go try the restaurant if you are game," Gunny suggested.

"Let's do it. I haven't had a decent pizza in months. Not since I was on ISSII."

Gunny thought of telling him the Fox and Hare made a good pizza, but hesitated to say it. He wasn't sure Mackay could afford the membership fee or the prices there. The rooms were electronically clean. They didn't have anything to more do this evening. They were free until they met the Mitsubishi people tomorrow. They could relax and have dinner.

Chapter 12

Jeff was so engrossed with reading reports he didn't hear his com give the more insistent buzz that indicated a priority call until the third or fourth time. The screen indicted it was Annette calling from Camelot, the former Chinese moon colony he'd acquired and placed under Heather's sovereignty. Annette was one of a dozen people who were privileged to interrupt him.

She didn't seem irritated at the delay when he opened the screen. There was just a fraction of a second delay between the image displaying and the shift of her eyes and change of expression that indicated she saw him. It wasn't as big a delay or as irritating as the speed of light lag you experienced speaking from the Moon to Earth, but it still was there if you were paying attention.

"Good evening, my dear. How is it going with you?" Jeff asked.

"In most things, the little things, it is going well. I feel I have control here and at least a degree of cooperation. There is still a bit of a cultural divide. I confess I've started trying to learn Chinese and I've concluded that I'm simply not very good at languages."

"Do you speak any other language besides English?" Jeff asked.

"No,  just the little phrases anyone picks up from movies and such. Almost all of them were French or Spanish or Italian anyway, not Chinese," Annette said.

"That's fine if you wish to learn it," Jeff said. "However I doubt you'll be at Camelot long enough to become a really fluent speaker. Any language is worth knowing of course, but I don't need you to understand the culture so well you start empathizing with it or worse emulating it. We really intend to impose our own culture on the colony with economic pressure and eventually by diluting it with non-Chinese residents."

Annette was too readable. Her face registered happiness at the idea her stay there would be limited, and surprise at his blunt revelation that he intended to subvert the prevalent culture. People mostly tip-toed around any bias against other's ways of living down on Earth. Condemning another form of government or cultural peculiarity now would bring charges of hate speech, and convictions seemed to constantly grow easier to obtain in both Europe and the Americas. Except spacers. There seemed to be a free pass on hating spacers and their culture.

"You need a better poker face more than Chinese lessons," Jeff told her, grinning. "I'm not sure how to teach that. I'm probably the wrong person to try to teach it too. I've been told by others it's still a weakness I need to address."

"I know. We had a rebellious resident I had to expel. She attacked, well maybe not attacked. She spat in my administrator's face, and he knocked her senseless in front of a crowd. I found my hand on my gun without thinking about it and then noticed I'd scared the snot out of all of them worse than the fight. I can only imagine how my face looked. They all were frozen in terror like they expected me to draw and cut them all down. All I can say is I'm aware of it and working on it."

Jeff smiled. "Maybe this once it was good to show a little temper. They may be more aware that you have a line they don't want to cross. As I said – I don't value their way of doing things all that much. If you don't share their facade of serene inscrutability that's fine with me. You said the little things are going well. Does that mean you have some issues with the big things?"

"That's why I called you. I've been trying to find something for this little burg to do economically to sustain itself. That must be a concern for you, isn't it? You don't want to subsidize it forever I assume?"

"I don't," Jeff agreed. "Yet the terms under which the Chinese ceded it to me were that it was an obligation. I thought it was an artfully contrived way of surrendering at the time. Now I'm starting to wonder if I got suckered into a bad deal. I've tried to interest a couple ship shops into having component fabrication and manufacturing there. Cubic in Home is after all fabulously expensive. I talked to some of the chip makers hoping to set up an assembly facility there. So far nothing has interested anyone. I don't expect you to fix that too. But your initiative and seeing the necessity of it is appreciated."

"When I talked to Feng he told me pretty bluntly that the Chinese here feel they are above that sort of work anyway," Annette said. "They have all been taught in school that that sort of work was exploitive. He said it is the sort of thing peasants did a couple generations ago to escape poverty and is from a time when foreigners took advantage of cheap labor in China. He blamed the failure of that sort of thing for the big economic crash back early in this century."

"I wonder what the people in Germany should blame it on?" Jeff asked, amused. "They have no history of sweatshops and foreign exploiters, but their economy crashed just as badly at the same time. Maybe they blame the Chinese for taking all the jobs. The Chinese certainly didn't see anything wrong with sending most of their manual labor to Vietnam and Laos and North Korea when it was their turn to 'exploit' someone else."

"People always blame their bad luck on somebody else," Annette agreed. "Everyone I've met here has a dread of doing anything they associate with being a peasant. Feng admitted to me that it's only been recently the young people would eat garlic or wear something quilted. Back down on Earth the older style Chinese garments were just starting to be acceptable again and certain hair styles from a couple generations back are coming into vogue again. Feng just looked at me like I was mad when I asked him what we could do that would allow everyone to be an executive. It's infuriating."

"What do you see as a solution?" Jeff asked. "Have you talked with Heather about it?"

"No, I try not to bother her if I can help it. I see she doesn't have any problem with delegating, but people want to bypass the folks she has appointed and get word directly from the sovereign. I've seen her have to be pretty blunt about setting time aside in order to be able to eat a meal without talking business over the dinner table. She's probably nicer about it than I'd be."

"Maybe she should look fierce and put her hand on her gun," Jeff suggested, facetiously.

Annette just rolled her eyes and refused to be baited. "What I'm thinking about is more your area of expertise anyway. Do you think we could start a bank here? I was reading about how Switzerland, Luxembourg and Hong Kong all served as centers for international banking over the years. It seems to me we could do the same given all the uncertainty on Earth. People want to park their money someplace safer than in their home country. It's way too easy to for their government to take it there."

"Have you asked if they'd work in a bank any easier than manufacturing? Jeff asked.

"Not yet. I assumed if it didn't involve getting their hands dirty it would be OK," Annette said.

"I can see that. But why should I create a competing business? What do you have to offer there that our own System Trade Bank doesn't already offer? We have off Earth accounts and storage. We deal in bullion based currency and are out of the reach of their local authority. We offer deep secure storage at Central already," Jeff said.

"Yes, but it's the cultural thing again," Annette insisted. "I've seen your bank site and sign up pages. It's all in English and very few faces on it that aren't Caucasian. Even its being on Home is off-putting to a lot of Chinese. You may see there is a clear distinction between the nation of Home and Mitsubishi 3. But there isn't such a clear cut divide in the mind of a lot of Chinese. Especially older ones who have managed to save back significant wealth. There's still no love lost between a lot of these Chinese and the Japanese such as the Mitsubishi people."

"So what would you have me do?" Jeff asked. "Start up a new bank? We would have a hard time splitting off the funds to do that given the pressure the mess below is putting on us right now. It involves a great deal of work to document everything and fees to be accepted into professional associations. Again, I'm not thrilled at the idea of forming a competitor. If I held a controlling interest and hid it I would consider that corrupt and dishonest even if I resolved not to take any untoward advantage of it."

"It isn't the legal ownership. It's the image. Most people don't really care who owns their bank. I asked my mom what they looked for in a bank when she lived on Earth and she said it was location. They wanted a bank that was easy to visit to get coins or deposit a hard copy check or ask a loan. She said that's how most small customers picked a bank, and only the big corporate customers cared for more than convenience. I wouldn't try to hide the ownership or associations of the bank, but market it differently. Your site to recruit customers and depositors should be in Chinese, with Chinese faces, and obviously written by native speakers not a so-so translation. And the name should separate it from Home. Maybe the System Bank of Central at Camelot. Although quite a few of them have complained about the name Camelot."

"Which means there should be a System Bank at Central," Jeff pointed out.

"Shouldn't there be anyway?" Annette asked. "Central is growing and going to be bigger than Home someday, see if it isn't."

"You're probably right. It will get cheaper to live at Central and I don't see that happening here. We have physical limitations Central doesn't. What in the world do they have against Camelot?"

"I had to tell the story of Camelot to several. It's not a common theme of western literature that gets told in their school system a lot. It invokes no positive responses. When I did explain many of them found it frivolous to name their town after a fictitious city. Though they did like the idea of a fortified city or a castle. Apparently their Great Wall and other impressive ancient fortifications are a real source of cultural pride. "

"They did? Well if it's marketing you want make a logo with an old fashioned castle with towers and the castellations along the wall," Jeff suggested, tracing the notches out in the air with his finger. "Maybe the System Castle Bank of Central at Camelot?"

Annette looked up sharply. "You know... Heather as ruler wasn't such a hard sell here. Despite all the years of party rule the Chinese hold fond thoughts of all their Emperors and distinctive dynasties. If Heather would agree perhaps you could style it The Royal Bank of Central at Camelot."

"She might grant us some sort of charter," Jeff speculated thoughtfully.

"That's the bare idea. I knew you'd want to make it your own. I certainly don't know much about banking, but it seems to me China is a big enough mess now that a lot of rich people would be happy to have someplace that seemed trustworthy to send at least some of their funds. There have to be other places that would not be offended by the Chinese marketing and language."

"True. China has had a lot of trading partners in the Middle East and Africa who learned the language to do business and aren't off-put at all by a Chinese face. However if your marketing theory is effective I may think in terms of opening a branch to appeal to Europeans too."

"Good. I'm glad you don't think the idea is foolishness. I'll keep looking for other ideas," Annette promised. "I just haven't come up with anything else."

"No. It's not foolish at all," Jeff agreed. "I'll tell you something else. Before central banking both the Arabians and the Chinese had their own systems of money management based on networks of individually responsible local money lenders and merchants. I will try to create a business plan that highlights a trusted responsible manager to mirror that system instead of the Western corporate model. That is how we work the System Bank actually. Home has no laws authorizing or governing corporations. It's just been a disadvantage to promote that difference to Americans and Europeans. They aren't comfortable with the concept of depending on personal integrity. Somehow they believe integrity can be imposed by law and regulation. I'll consider the idea and get back to you."

"Thank you," Annette said. "If it works out I'll feel I was really productive for Heather when my assignment here ends."

"Yes, but if I did this then when you feel your assignment for Heather is over you may have to decide if you want to run this proposed bank for me." Jeff closed the connection on her startled face before she could respond. Apparently that wasn't in her plans.

* * *

Chen joined Gunny and Mackay at their table in the hotel restaurant. The place was filling up. It appeared to be popular with locals as well as guests. He was dusty and had only washed his hands and face in the restroom. That wasn't like the usually meticulous Chen they knew. He looked satisfied however and pulled a chair out and planted himself with a heaviness that suggested he was tired.

"I need a shower," Chen said, "but once I go up to my room I'm straight for bed and I'm not coming back down. I'm starved too so I better take care of that if I want to sleep well. I rented a scooter and was surprised how tiring it is riding one when you haven't for a long time. It uses odd muscles that I haven't used for years."

The waiter appeared and Chen ordered a pasta dish and another carafe of red once his partners assured him the house wine was decent. After a sample he invited them to help him with the wine while he made his report.

"I distributed a number of robotic spy bugs for our masters. It's amazing how tiny they have made the current generation. A few at the port and near several agencies, as well as the Chinese consulate. By late in the morning we should be able to get reports from what they are hearing and seeing all condensed to eliminate the things we don't care about such as workers discussing yesterday's football games over coffee in the morning. We should know where our efforts will be effective and concentrate there."

Gunny saw a shiny mote in the air fly past behind Chen. It startled him because he hadn't seen a single bug since they arrived on the island. It turned and made a circuit of the Oriental gentleman at another table behind Chen, ignoring the lights and lit candles on the tables that normally would attract an insect. It paused straight in front of his face. It was entirely too shiny to be an insect.

"I dropped a few at the local police station just in case they take an interest in us," Chen said looking down at his food.

The little flying creature hovering briefly in front of the man at the other table turned away. He made a waving gesture to shoo it away long after it had started to leave on its own. He was slow and never really focused on it, swatting absentmindedly. Gunny had the strong impression it had been examining the man's face. He considered the idea it could be running recognition software.

"Tongan Customs is in the same building as the police so that made matters easier," Chen said taking a sip of the wine again.

The mote took a long curving pass over their table but turned sharply and went straight for Chen's face. Chen had received the same gene altering treatment April and several of her friends enjoyed. It decreased his reaction time considerably over what he was born with. He made a swatting motion with his free hand the little flyer had to swerve around the hand,  then he ducked his head to the side. Gunny had never received the treatment. He just happened to be one of those one in a hundred thousand freaks of nature who were frighteningly fast.

Gunny's hand flashed out so fast the normal eye couldn't track it and snatched the speck out of the air right in front of Chen's nose, after it had evaded Chen's hand. Pain shot up his arm from the little robot. It did something nasty to his hand but he didn't let loose. He just ground his teeth together and snarled at the pain clutching his fist even tighter. He could feel a buzz in his palm as the little device tried to get loose.

Chen was twitched away from Gunny's fist,  but recovered quickly, and picked up on what was happening even faster. "It's like what I was distributing – but hostile!"

Gunny took his identification card off his neck. It was on a tough synthetic cord and he doubled it  around his wrist. "My hand is numb already. It's some kind of toxin." He stuck a butter knife through the cord and turned and turned until it bit into the flesh and cut off the circulation.  He grabbed the cruets on the table for salad and poured vinegar past his thumb, flexing it a little to let it run down to the bug. "Hah, they didn't make it water proof. It stopped buzzing when it got wet. Get me to a hospital, and if I faint don't let the cord come loose whatever you do."

It was almost morning with a band of light showing on the horizon before they could leave the hospital. Not that the doctors had released him. He'd been admitted and questioned heavily by local police. They hadn't been able to recover the drowned bot. The Tongan police now had that in a urine specimen jar. Chen had rushed upstairs to recover their things while Mackay took him to the ER, abandoning most of their clothing and the hidden cache, but grabbing one set of clothes for Gunny. That was a good thing since they hadn't seen his other clothing since the emergency room.

When he caught up to Gunny and Mackay, Chen reported that an ugly mob had materialized in the hotel lobby demanding to know where the spacers were. Coming down stairs he'd calmly gone straight in the restaurant again on seeing the angry faces. Being Asian and covered with road dust had probably helped him look like a local. But anybody trying to bypass them and go out the doors would have attracted their attention.

When they frightened a room number from the clerk they all went up the stairs without leaving a watch behind in the lobby, so Chen made his escape. The mob was all fit young men and not all of them looked like locals. Chen felt they were hired muscle but not all foreign professionals or special forces. They also weren't connected to the local police or they would have known to find them at the hospital.

Gunny's hand was gone and a bandaged stub at his wrist. He was looking at a year to grow a new one and then months to regain strength and dexterity. His hand had been a ruin from the bot's injection, all discolored and swollen past any repair.

The doctor would have been surprised Gunny was so functional, newly from surgical recovery. His knees were still wobbly and he was sick to his stomach, but it was a miracle he was vertical. Chen cheated and gave him a shot of military stimulants. He'd pay for using that in a couple hours but he needed it right now to stand and walk. He got dressed with his partners help and headed down the fire stairs after a quick disconnect of the alarm system by Mackay. Chen went ahead again to secure a boat, leaving them his scooter. The hospital had been quiet before the day shift and the street was near empty. Too empty really. The two of them on a little scooter were conspicuous. They went slow and tried to look harmless. Gunny hid his stub in front of him and leaned on Mackay like he was drunk. It wasn't very hard to fake. He wasn't in the best of shape.

When they reached the agreed intersection and pulled over Chen materialized from the shadows to led them to a boat, leaving the scooter parked against the dock yard fence with the key in it. Odds were it would be gone before sunup. There were a couple other boats along the docks with fishermen prepping for a day's work, but Chen led them to a pleasure motor craft. He spoke in Chinese, which neither of them knew, so they concluded it was bravado, making noise so it appeared that they had nothing to hide.

"Go forward and lay down," Chen commanded Gunny, "before you fall down. You look like hell."

"Can you run this thing?" Mackay demanded. "I've rented a row boat in a city park before and that is the sum of my experience with boats."

"I can, "Chen assured him, "and I checked the tanks to make sure it has fuel. The first one I looked at was near dry. Can you at least untie us? Can you figure that out? Don't skulk like you have no business doing it. Walk tall and confident."

"Yeah, that much I can do," Mackay agreed, and slipped off in the dusk. He forced himself to walk not run, and tossed the lines back on the boat. A rumble told him the engines were started and he jumped back aboard as soon as he tossed the second line. The boat was moving already but he managed not to fall in the lagoon. As he joined Chen he saw their running lights were on too.

"Where are we going?" Mackay asked. The sky was steel colored and the horizon bright now.

"I told Jeff I intend head due north at a fuel conserving speed and we'll be picked up by shuttle in the open ocean if weather permits. I'll check the weather once we're clear of the reef and see how the waves are. If it's really bad we'll need to redirect to an island. I don't know these waters or the currents and it's going to take all my attention to just get out of the lagoon. Would you look and see if you can find papers for this vessel?" Chen asked. "We will try to compensate the owner in the fullness of time for stealing her."

"Why not just tell them where to find her after we lift?" Mackay suggested. "They know the currents and should be able to locate where it has drifted from a start point if they don't delay too long."

"That would be true, they might, but we aren't going to do that," Chen told him. "We might have to do this again sometime so it's a bad idea to teach people how we operate and that we can do an open ocean pickup. No, as much as I'd like to do that I'm going to scuttle her."

* * *

"Our mission to make sure the last minute supplies were loaded failed," Jeff said, "I'm sure we'll get some of them, but they had to retreat. Gunny was terribly injured and they might have been targeted further. However, if Gunny hadn't intercepted the attack bot aimed at Chen he would be dead. You can put a tourniquet on your wrist to seal off a hand but that method is terribly ineffective when the same lethal injection is on your face.

Jon ran a hand around his throat, considering the truth of that. "So you have no idea who owned the little devil?"

"None at all," Jeff said. "It apparently had Chen's picture or the recognition data for his face. He was in Chinese intelligence but worked all over for them. Lots of other agencies could have his image. Even if it was Chinese, which faction? The Tongans have the damaged bot so we can't examine it. I don't want to risk what little credit we have with them by asking for it. They are already peeved at the trouble they feel we brought in."

"I should tell you... The wall crawling bot that Irwin Hall put us onto was a singleton. We hit it with an EMP but the insides were so fused we don't know who owned it either," Jon told him.

"This sounds much more sophisticated. I expected to see somebody start using attack bots eventually, but I'd hoped it might be later instead of sooner. There are any number of states capable of making them. I suspect several already have them fabricated, but when you finally use them it changes the game. It's the sort of asset you hold in reserve until it is worth exposing," Jeff said.

"Then I don't know what they thought our agents were doing to be worth the escalation. Some of our supplies are going to get through even without their help," Jon said.

"Maybe it wasn't the supply issue," Jeff guessed. "It might have been to keep us from learning more about this flu. Every effort Dr. Lee has made to find out more about it has been rebuffed. If that is the case they failed miserably."

Jon perked up at that. "How so?"

"Chen dropped off a considerable number of our own bots in the short time he was there. Including a few at the hospital. He didn't get a sample of the flu, but one of our little helpers sat in the light fixture and watched a technician sequence the sample from one of the aircraft they turned away for having sick passengers. It recorded him running the entire procedure so we know he did it right and sent us all the critical data displayed on his screen after he was done. We don't know this is the new nasty version yet for sure, but Dr. Lee and Dr. Ames are examining the data now. It seems very likely and we'll know for sure soon."

"I'd count it a success then," Jon decided. "I'm not sure Gunny is going to agree, but can I assume you will compensate him for his loss of work and discomfort?"

"Compensate him?" Jeff said. "The man is a treasure. If he can't reach an itch while he's growing a new hand all he has to do is call and I'll scratch it for him."

* * *

Home was visible over the pilot's shoulder, out the front view ports of the landing shuttle Dionysus' Chariot. Mackay was in the copilots seat not because he could fly her but because there were only four seats bolted in the Chariot right now. The pilot was in his pressure suit. Gunny hadn't thought about it until he saw that, but they'd all be in isolation at Home because conceivably they could have been exposed to the new flu on Tonga. Not in the external tank, that was for confirmed infected. But they were informed they would be sharing a suite at the Holiday Inn with the clinic delivering their meals and taking their trash away to be handled as a biohazard. The air ducts would be closed and an environmental pack from a moon hut in the room. They needed four days to fail to develop symptoms or display a viral load, before they could be released, but Gunny would have the initial work started to bud a new hand. That couldn't wait.

They'd launched this rescue very quickly without waiting to reconfigure for a different mission. Normally they wanted a copilot, but not badly enough to make somebody ride back strapped to the deck.  Gunny was wondering how much rescuing them cost. It took a lot of reactive mass to drop a shuttle to an Earth surface landing and they hadn't dropped off a single kilo of freight or brought anything back. The expense was going to be a straight loss for Jeff. This had to be the biggest failure for their security business to date. The team had no idea yet that Chen's part of the mission had gone very well.

"Well that was a bust," Gunny groused. He had a Fentanyl patch on the side of his neck that they'd slapped on him as soon as he was strapped in his seat. It made him pretty fuzzy minded, but let him think about something besides how much he hurt or Mackay's urgings to put one foot in front of the other that finally ended. That had been all that would fit in his mind from when Chen had hit him with the military stimulants until the Fentanyl flooded his bloodstream. He couldn't keep his eyes open now but he could still worry and complain in fine form.

"I'm going to be pretty useless for security work until I get this hand back. It will drive me nuts. What am I supposed to do sitting around for a year? Write a book? Take up chess?"

"I don't know. A year is a long time to grow back a hand," Chen told his friend. "Maybe you should just skip it and have a hook fitted. It might be handy for intimidation at times. Besides, I understand it itches like crazy when it's growing out. Did you know they put a hard shell over it because you can't have bandages touching it while it buds? It's going to be awkward until it gets to where the nails form and you can go to a glove over it."

"Yeah, and an eye patch and a parrot to go with the hook. Be glad I got that little sucker," Gunny told him. "You'd go crazy with the itching while they grew you a new head."

"Yes, well I meant to say thank you for that," Chen said, suddenly somber. "I owe you one. I'm serious. I do owe you any favor you ask I can deliver. I'm very aware I owe you my life."

"Is this one of those Chinese things where you feel burdened with a debt of honor?" Gunny asked. "Because if it is I'll just have you run out for lunch or something and say that squares us. I'm not going to have you moping around and feeling uncomfortable with me until you can perform some suitably heroic deed to settle my marker."

"I doubt I'll have opportunity to do something comparable. Life is seldom so tidy," Chen said.

"Hey, maybe they can slice your hand off and attach it to me. Then you can spend the year growing a hand back," Gunny suggested. He forced his eyelids open so he could gauge Chen's reaction, and laughed at the look on his face. "Got ya."

Chapter 13

"Listen to this," Jeff told April. "An agent of ours in Ontario informs us he may have difficulty communicating with us soon. He's always sent us his reports away from his home and job. He works for a pharmaceutical company and they are asking all upper tier employees to stay in the hotel they acquired next to their site. Basically the top thirty or so executives and the board of directors will be asked to do everything by com and have no physical contact with clerical workers or production people. If they go off site they will be tested for viruses on returning and kept segregated in a suite for six days with retesting before they are allowed back in the cafeteria or in contact with the other workers. This is for the continuity of the company until the current epidemic has abated."

"Are they offering that to their whole family? Spouse and children?" April asked.

"He didn't say. He's single so maybe they didn't feel they needed to tell him," Jeff guessed. "But he's going to go into their isolation. That's why he'll have trouble reporting now. That high up in a big company one person should make enough to support a family, but you have to figure there will still be spouses who have their own career and family. The better private schools in North America still tend to physical attendance, not online instruction.

"I'd think this would be a hard idea to sell just because people will go stir crazy who are used to freedom of movement. You can buy just about anything online, but people like to go outdoors and shop and eat out. They'd have to see people all around them sick to agree, and by the time you actually see it around you it's too late to isolate your group like this."

"This sounds like they are terrified," April said. "It's a medical company so they should have good sources of information. You wouldn't think they would be given to panic. I think you should ask your other agents what areas of the medical industry this company would have as resources for information. That may give us some idea why they thought such a radical action necessary. Maybe it's worse than we thought if they have better information than we do."

"Yes, but I can have that done by normal researchers. No need to tie up valuable agents doing research that can be done from public sources. But it's a good idea still," Jeff said. "It doesn't look good for people without life extension therapy. We have satellite images from the Rome area where this started. The number of riders waiting for public transportation are way down. The hospitals all have external triage set up and public announcements are very uneven. The worst indication is that we've seen bulldozers used to cut big trenches on the edge of town. I doubt there is a sudden campaign to build ponds so we think they are going to be used for mass burials. That indicates to us the funeral homes and morgues are near capacity. We'll see if they really are used that way in a day or two.

"We expect government announcements to be cheery, and the TV news and talk shows are still mostly upbeat and hopeful, but the net sources are pretty grim. There are a few towns and businesses who have told all but their most critical workers to stay home in Europe. And the number of ambulances and police cars sitting idle in their lots suggests they are staying home even if they do want them to report. We can't be sure if they are home because they are sick too or just afraid. We expect this level of infection to propagate from Rome with a slight delay."

"What is slight in this case?" April wondered.

"Three weeks to propagate to the opposites side of the globe, I'm told. At least for any city with a big airport. Longer or not at all for just a very few places," Jeff said. "The Isle of Man has isolated itself. You can leave but nobody can come back until they announce it is permitted. The Canaries tried to do so but failed already. Tasmania indicated they will try but I have my doubts. They are just too big and there is going to be somebody who'll land a boat or a light plane and they won't know about it. Really isolated towns in someplace like the Australian outback have a better chance of enforcing a quarantine than a big island. Places that only have one road or a rail line in and out."

"There isn't anything we can do to help them is there?" April asked.

"Not that I can see," Jeff said. "We are a few thousand and all the infrastructure for making vaccine is down there. Flu vaccine is still made with chicken eggs, and we're short on live chickens up here. About all we can do is keep supplying the few cancer drugs and tech products that are made in zero G. I'm sure we'll get a few super rich refugees, but don't think we'll see more a couple dozen. The highest guess I heard was a couple hundred and I really doubt that."

"How short on space are we going to be? Especially if we get a couple extra hundred people," April worried. "They're not going to fit in the Holiday Inn."

"The new ring is near done. There are two sections in pressure already. We'll have somewhere to put them. Some of the people who were going to occupy those spaces will not make it up from Earth, or will be persuaded by some billionaire's money to delay taking possession right now. The consensus seems to be that we'll see maybe a six month period where the supply system on Earth is disrupted enough to prevent supplies from making it to the launch points. We have enough bulk food here or coming that people won't starve, but we're not going to see fresh raspberries or lamb chops on the menu for awhile," Jeff predicted.

"Won't production go down too?" April asked. "The farmers and such will get sick too."

Jeff looked really unhappy. "Yeah, but there'll be fewer to feed too. It's that nasty."

"I'm going to do a three day semi-fast and drop my gene mod metabolism back to a normal level. It isn't fair for me to keep eating like I usually do if we may run short," April decided.

"It would look bad to keep eating a lot in public at least," Jeff agreed. "If it isn't that hard to stop. I assume you've done this before?"

"Yes, once I was old enough to understand why, and that it wasn't a punishment, my doctor had me do a fast and ran metabolic tests to see that my gene tweaks worked the way they are supposed to." April looked rather grim. "I remember my mother said I was rather moody."

"Perhaps you should avoid dealing with the public for a few days," Jeff suggested.

"That might be a good idea," April admitted reluctantly. "I was little but I remember I felt more angry than hungry. At least I already drink my coffee black."

* * *

Jon looked worried sick on the screen. That was upsetting. He was pretty unflappable.

"Doc Lee has two people from ISSII isolated in the outside shelter. A married couple. They came in on a private charter shuttle so they have some money and they were not happy to be put in isolation. But they even more emphatically refused to return to ISSII. They are demanding to be released and it's hard to make them understand because both are asymptomatic. But they have sufficient viral load to test infected. I hate to ask you, but I think we need to call the Assembly to deal with this. I could reasonably be accused of false imprisonment doing this on my own authority."

"Jon, we don't really have a law against false imprisonment," Muños pointed out.

"No, we hardly have any laws at all yet, but the majority of our citizens still have a mental list of North American laws and seem to apply the major offenses as if they are a natural moral code. We haven't had to codify against murder and rape and theft. Everybody seems to agree on the basics. And I don't want to have a thousand little laws that can be used to generate income from fines. Mitsubishi does a fine job of regulating safety and use of cubic by regulation. I depend on the people seeing me as fair and reasonable or they'll stop supporting me. If I irritate them they can easily refuse to fund us next vote for appropriations. As it is now I get donations from some people who see us as underfunded. I'm not eager to lose that sort of support."

"OK," Muños agreed. "I'll call an Assembly and we'll tie the couple into the meeting from isolation so they can listen. Say 20:00 this evening. Please have a really short reasonable explanation of the risks involved to present. There are still people wrapped up in their own lives and businesses, oblivious to what's happening. They'll need to be educated to the seriousness of it. I'm going to call a number of associates after I announce an Assembly. I'll lobby them to support you and ask them to call their friends in turn. If you feel free to do so I suggest you do the same. We can't afford to lose control of this."

"I'll quickly make up a list and text you so we don't duplicate," Jon said. "That might just irritate some busy people if we both call. If you see anybody who you think you can influence better than me tell me too and I'll leave them to you."

"What about the pilot or pilots?" Muños asked. "These people might not show symptoms but they should be contagious already with that viral load. The pilots could be walking time bombs who will be a hazard in three to five days if they've been infected."

"They opted to return to ISSII without entering. They were briefly exposed to the passengers boarding but said they never touched them. Indeed the pilot described them as standoffish. They shared the air with them in the shuttle but I have no idea how the routing and filtration works between cabins. They're certainly aware of the hazard now. I wouldn't be surprised if they seek antivirals when they get back home," Jon said.

"We're not sure how effective they are with the nasty strain, but yeah," Muños agreed, "I'd give it a try too, if I were exposed. Lee and  Ames have identified some of the characteristics of the new strain from the data Jeff's man Chen got us. It is mouse flu as a starting point, but it has sequences that seem unique. We'll know more later but we will be able to ID this and tell it from even the usual version of mouse flu soon."

"Does that still show up" Jon asked, surprised.

"Yes. Some varieties burn out. But if they get established in an animal population they keep showing up from time to time. I think mouse flu is here to stay, but other varieties don't keep reappearing. Nobody has seen the 1918 Spanish flu in the wild for a long time. Before I start calling people I should ask – what exactly do you intend to propose to the Assembly?"

"I want explicit authority to refuse entry or isolate people who have been exposed to disease for a reasonable incubation period. I want to be able to put those who actually test as infected in strict quarantine. What is more problematic, I want authority to turn away exposed persons if there is no housing available to hold them in isolation. That's going to seem excessive to some people, but I feel it is a matter of national survival and will testify to that," Jon said.

"For this variety of flu?" Muños asked.

"For anything," Jon insisted. "We need a contagious disease policy. Not a onetime fix."

"How would you feel about expanding the facilities for quarantine?" Muños asked.

"Paid for with public money? No. They'll want to build another ring for it before you know it, if we start down that road. Let somebody offer it as a paid service if they want. The couple Lee has in quarantine right now already complained about having to pay for their meals and haven't even been asked to pay a fee for the cubic they are using. They had to be told Dr. Lee was not the concierge of a luxury hotel. When they complained about how cramped the quarters are Dr. Lee told them it was a four person isolation unit and the woman just replied with one word - 'Impossible'"

Muños made a disgusted face. "Who are these people?"

"That's a really good question," Jon allowed. "They were told you don't have to declare an identity to enter Home so they haven't. The fellow smirked and declared they were John and Jan Doe. They used an irrevocable corporate credit to subscribe to the cafeteria service and they had at least some EuroMarks on them, the old fashioned non-depreciating sort. I can tell they have money. They have the right sort of Earthie clothing and way of carrying themselves. I've seen the sort before."

"Surely you could run their faces through Earthside law databases and get an ID." Muños said.

"I could if I wanted to badly enough. They back-charge me for a search if they will do one and I doubt this couple is wanted for any crimes. I'm not disposed to give Earth governments unsolicited information on our immigrants even if they irritate me. They may have committed the crime of buying Life Extension Therapy which is nobody's business but theirs. I don't like them or officious Mudball governments, but I'd tend to favor the couple if I have to choose between the two. I'll try other less official sources."

"If we have no holding facilities available it doesn't make sense to argue with people at our airlock. We need to have them tested at the other end before they get on a shuttle," Muños said.

"Except that ISSII and New Las Vegas are the main sources of our traffic and both have refused to do so. They aren't doing it for themselves, so they certainly don't see any need to do it for us," Jon said.

"That will last until they import a few cases," Muños predicted. "Then they'll adopt it too late."

"And by then we may have cut them off entirely and they may not have the ability to keep a medical watch at boarding if enough medical and security personnel are sick," Jon said.

Muños stopped and looked thoughtful. "That's unfortunately true. But it still means we only have this as a problem for a limited time. Let's see what the Assembly says. Maybe some bright person will have an idea what to do."

* * *

Jeff was pleased to see a new message from Barak but surprised to see he had attached a file using the one time pads he'd given him. That was a first and worried him a little. He intended those for emergencies. When he saw the size of it he realized Barak had used four of the hundred blocks of random numbers he's assigned him. It was a fairly large message which worried him a little more.

When he read the deciphered message he wasn't worried. He was shocked. He forced himself to read it again slowly to make sure he hadn't missed any critical facts before he did anything. Heather might be Sovereign of Central and very busy, but she knew audio processing extremely well and cared a great deal for her little brother Barak. This wasn't something you handed off to a low bid data processor in Pakistan to run. He wanted it kept under the tightest security. He sent the files to her and then copies to Chen to find verifying voice samples locally.

What a mess... Barak was a really good guy. Jeff was sure Barak wasn't hiding anything from him. But he's also been very careful not to incriminate himself. Jeff still could say under truth analysis that he didn't know of any wrong doing by Barak, and that was smart, but it sounded to Jeff as if he might have some culpability. Even if he acted in fear. He hoped it was within his ability to help him.

Home didn't have much law yet. But if the case was put before the Assembly it was possible he could be banished. There was a lot of respect for the command structure even on civilian ships. He could go to Central if banished, not the Slum Ball, but not being able to enter Home would be devastating. It would probably ruin any career as a spacer too. He wasn't as inexperienced as Barak, and yet Jeff was very much aware he had no idea how to deal with somebody like Barak's superiors. They both sounded like seriously warped people.

That made Jeff have a new thought, and the Home directory was no help. Doc Lee was so busy right now he didn't want to bother him. He sent a message to Dr. Ames and asked him for a favor – "Do you know if we have a psychologist on Home? Especially someone expert on dealing with extreme or even criminal personalities?"  - Jeff Singh

* * *

April was surprised when Jeff called at the last minute and asked her to supper. He wasn't big on spontaneity. She offered to cook but he insisted on taking her out. She assumed he'd take her to the Fox and Hare. The way he'd said 'out' implied something more than just the cafeteria. But when they got to the turn for the Fox and Hare he went the other way and took her to the other club on Home - The Quiet Retreat. If she'd known he had that in mind she'd have dressed nicer.

They were busy, but were shown right to a table. That didn't make any sense. Jeff didn't say anything to the hostess about a reservation. He hadn't even given his name. But she'd said, "Right this way, Mr. Singh, and led them to a table herself instead of handing them off to a younger hostess like she had the people before them. She seated them at a small table against the bulkhead that had a pull down bench and screens on each side giving them and their neighbors a little privacy.

"Have you been here before?" April asked Jeff.

"No, but the owner, Gary Roulston, has asked me at least three times to come by. He's a customer of the bank so it seems politic to not keep refusing him."

"They knew your name though," April said, still surprised.

"April," Jeff took her hand and smiled at her. "I love the fact you aren't full of yourself. And I can't imagine you ever falling into the trap of saying 'Do you know who I am?' that famous people do when somebody doesn't recognize them. However if I showed your picture to everybody on Home I bet you would have recognition from over ninety percent of those surveyed. Even with the influx we've had."

April looked like she wanted to argue and then smirked. "But she said your name not mine, Silly."

"Well yes. I might get a 70% recognition," Jeff admitted. "They'd look at my picture and say, "Oh yeah. I think he's April's boyfriend. A lot of them would feel awkward to mention Heather in the same breath. There's still a lot of Earth think on social matters."

"It's impossible to argue with you!" April said, but jokingly.

"And why would you want to?" Jeff teased, and scooted closer on the bench slipping an arm around April. She leaned on him, comfortable and relaxed. This club was quieter than the Fox and Hare. It had  darker lighting and darker colors too. There was a bit of soft piano music in the background, but nothing you'd have to raise your voice over.

When the server came to take their drink orders, Jeff asked April if she would care like to share champagne. He'd seen her enjoy it before.

"I'm throttling back this gene mod metabolism I have, so alcohol will mess that up. Just coffee for me tonight please," April requested.

"A pot of coffee then for both of us," Jeff instructed. "And appetizers but nothing starchy or sweet."

"I'm more curious about their coffee too. Just like I'm looking forward to comparing their food to ours at the Fox and Hare. Drinks don't tell you much unless they are totally incompetent to open a bottle of wine. We buy the same liquor after all.

"I'm not getting all competitive though, just curious," April added quickly. "I've wondered about it since it opened. I can see it's a different sort of club. I think it has a more mature clientele too."

"It's getting hard to tell with LET," Jeff said. "Everybody looks sort of middle aged."

"Sort of, but I'm getting better at seeing little signs. And cultural things about how people dress and sit and..." April hesitated, "even how they handle their silverware."

The owner Gary came through. He was a solidly built fellow with ready smile. His easy grin turned full on though when one of his people had a word with him and he turned and saw Jeff and April. He came over shook Jeff's hand and took April's when it was offered. Then he surprised them by excusing himself quickly instead of lingering to chat.

The dance floor in the middle looked odd to them. They just weren't used to seeing any open unused area of floor in Home. It was raised off the deck just enough to require a thin safety stripe along the edge, and was an extravagant waste of space for a habitat. It allowed for better people watching though. There were two rings of tables between the tables back against the bulkhead, like they had, and the dance floor. The tables on the edge of the floor were just out there with no privacy at all. It made sense that a couple of them had folks sporting very daring bright clothing and looking to be seen. One woman had a dress totally covered with tiny purple sequins. Her partner had a yellow tuxedo with a metallic tangerine cummerbund that fairly glowed even in the subdued lighting. His jacket fell open to reveal ivory handled pistols jammed in the cummerbund grips forward.

"Look all the way across the room," April said. "Do you see the middle table set back in a little alcove by the bulkhead like ours but a little bigger?"

"Where they're seating them right now? Yes. You call that a dinette." Jeff zoomed his spex in to inspect them. "OK. That's President Wiggen and Ben Patsitsas. Who are the other couple?"

"They go by Jimenez now," April informed him. "Ferdinando and Sancha Jimenez, but they are the recent king and queen of Spain, in exile. So recently that I don't believe they even have  successors yet. Not exactly deposed and neither did they abdicate, but definitely retired."

Jeff looked with the spex and scrunched his face up like he was thinking hard. "Gene mod?"

"See? You can tell. Yes, they have had LET but I think it has a ways to run on them still. You do know Wiggen and Patsitsas are married now?" April Asked.

"I believe I read that, but thank you for reminding me," Jeff said. "I might have said something stupid if we talk to them."

The appetizers came and they'd done a good job of it for the limitations Jeff had set. There were stuffed olives and pickles, sliced vegetables and a few sauces, shrimp wrapped in bacon and hard salami and cheese. There were little penguins of black olives and cream cheese with carrot beaks and feet. A few radishes were carved like flowers. It was very pretty.

They nibbled at this and that and watched the fellow with the yellow tux swish around the floor with his date. He probably could have danced better if he hadn't checked to see if anybody was watching him so often.

"Do you dance?" Jeff asked April.

"I've never had any lessons. Well, once my mother tried to show my brother how to dance and she had me try it with him, but it was awful. I was about nine. I don't know if he ever tried dancing down in Australia. He never shared much about his social life when he visited my mom's parents. He seemed to have a little romance with the neighbor girl on a later visit, but he was secretive about everything."

"Want to try it?" Jeff offered.

"Does this mean you know how to dance?" April asked him, skeptical.

"You don't know everything about me. I assure you I had several aunts instruct me intensely."

"Well if you know how maybe I can fake it," April decided. They joined two other couples on the floor. It wasn't crowded so navigating wasn't a problem. Jeff did a strong lead so they settled down and got into the rhythm of it quickly.

"Oh my," Jeff said.

April looked up at him with a quizzical expression. Rather than reply Jeff turned them so she could see the length of the floor. The couple she'd pointed out to him, the Jimenezes, were dancing. They did it with a relaxed ease that no one else had displayed yet, not even the gaudily dressed young couple sitting this dance out. They didn't need sequins and neon colors to impress. The little changes of direction that Jeff had to think about were automatically smooth and they did moves separating and coming back together he wouldn't even try, or expect April to know what he was attempting to do.

Ferdinando knew the piece or sensed the change in the music so when they moved apart this time instead of spinning back to him he flung her out retaining a firm grip and swept her around in a full circle sliding on her heel. When he pulled her back in their hands continued up together until they were cheek to cheek hands clasped straight overhead with her on tiptoe to reach so high. They reached that pose with perfect timing and held it for a dramatic instant as the music ended.

Jeff and April had moved to the end of the floor by the small stage to watch and not stand in front of others at the tables who were all watching. The two other couples had joined them. When it ended they all broke into spontaneous applause and some in the audience joined in.

Ferdinando smiled and gave a short bow, raising Sancha's hand he still held to credit her. April noted he did nothing self-deprecating, he accepted the praise as due with dignity.

I need to learn how to do that, without feeling all embarrassed and flustered, April thought.

Instead of returning to their table the Jimenezes walked straight to April and Jeff. Whoever was doing the music let it pause a moment rather than rush them off the floor for another set.

" Grandeza Lewis, it's pleasant to see you again," Ferdinando said. He sounded sincere.

"Ferdinando, Sancha, I'd like you to meet Jeff Singh."

"April spoke of you before," Ferdinando said. "I'm pleased to meet you Señor."

"Ferdinando, you are not at court," Sancha said. "If he speaks Spanish at all he doesn't know what that expression means when you say it. He'd comfortably address a porter or taxi driver as señor"

"You're right my dear. More plainly, I'm pleased to meet you Lord Singh."

"Thank you," Jeff said. "I'm honored to meet you. I'm not quite sure how to address you politely."

"You're doing fine," he said amused. "Ferdinando and Sancha will do. If we have opportunity to actually get to know each other perhaps you can append friend in the fullness of time."

"Then you should both call me Jeff. Home doesn't acknowledge titles and I'd use them at Central only if I were speaking to Heather when doing official business. People here would think it odd of me to use a title of nobility. Presumptuous even."

It was not lost on April that Jeff had accepted Lord much more graciously than she did Lady.

"Yes," Ferdinando agreed, "but I've found that people acknowledge nobility even if it doesn't have a title attached. We discussed that with April a little. We should clear the floor. I fear they are waiting for us to vacate to resume. Would you care to join us for a drink?"

"Thank you, but another time," April spoke up." I need to refrain from alcohol for a couple days and we need to order dinner still."

Ferdinando looked surprised but interested. "A religious obligation?" He guessed.

"Oh no. Nothing like that. I need to re-set my metabolism. The sort of gene mods I have you do that by restricting diet for a bit. But I'd love to join you another time," April left open.

"We shall make a point of calling you then. Good evening April, Jeff." He gave Jeff an extra smile and nod of his head before they turned away.

"He seems taken with you," April said as they went back to their table. Ferdinando was probably right. The music resumed behind them.

"I imagine I have probationary status with him because I have good taste in friends. What's this Grandeza thing?" Jeff asked. "Have you given up protesting them and started collecting new titles?"

"That's just his Spanish custom in titles," April said dismissively. "He said I'm more than a Baronesa because we're intimate with Heather."

"Well... " Jeff said and blinked a few extra times at that.

"Not that way, Silly. We speak with her without formality or using titles. And do you know? He has the right of it. Did you see how he just accepted the applause for their dancing? No false modesty or argument? He just graciously accepted it. That's what I'm going to do from now on," April resolved. "Even if I have to bite my tongue. No more making faces when you say, My Lady."

"OK," Jeff agreed. We'll see how long that holds, he thought privately.

Dinner was simple for April. A petite filet with mushrooms and creamed spinach. Jeff was not gene mod and he had about twice what she did.

"Barak sent me a big encrypted file and asked my help with some research," Jeff finally brought up.

"Is there a problem with the expedition he had to keep quiet?" April asked immediately. Barak had never felt the need to use heavy encryption in his letters to her.

"Problems with his crewmates," Jeff confirmed. "The fellow who worked outside with him did something stupid and killed himself in vacuum, for one thing."

"For one thing? What's another?" April asked. Jeff tended to speak precisely.

"The other is more complex," Jeff allowed. "His Captain was neglecting his duty to spend bunk time with his XO. They had a minor fire that everybody had to respond to and there was nobody on the bridge to direct the response."

"That'll cost him his ticket," April predicted.

"No it won't, because he's dead." Jeff said flatly.

April just lifted an eyebrow at that.

Jeff phrased it very carefully. "There seem to be... complications Barak has carefully avoided telling us. I can't blame him. He went to the bridge and found the hatch locked. While he was standing there the Captain came charging down the corridor naked with his clothing in hand and started yelling at Barak."

"Oh dear."

"Barak said he had a hard impact with the bulkhead and sustained injuries. He carefully refrained from telling me if he helped the captain meet the bulkhead... He took him to their medical center and left him to be treated by the XO. I'm concerned for our friend. It sounds like he was put in an untenable position, but I don't want to know the details. So I didn't ask. This is the sort of mess that makes people, like the investors, look for someone to blame, and the captain being dead is quite unsatisfying to blame.

"Meanwhile, you say the ship is on fire," April said, backing up in the story. "If I were there that would have my attention until it was resolved. We're talking survival of the ship with a fire onboard. That gets fixed first. "

"The Environmental Officer took care of that," Jeff told her. "There wasn't any serious damage or loss. But of course they didn't know that when the alarm went off. Barak actually followed procedures to see why the captain was not responding and render aid if needed. It appears he neither wanted nor appreciated such aid. The problem worsened when he delivered the Captain to be treated. The XO had a major emotional meltdown and revealed they blamed Barak for the loss of the crewman he'd worked with outside the hull."

"Barak was supervising and responsible for him?" April asked.

"No, the other fellow was supervising him," Jeff allowed. "But the plot thickens from this point with the first of several obvious lies from the XO. They claimed he had deleted his suit files of their outside working shifts."

"I don't believe it. Nobody sets up a data system that sloppy. The suits dump their memory when you rack them and there's no way to delete it without administrative authority on the main computer. My grandpa has told me how it works lots of times. It's not just a lie, it's a stupid lie," April said.

"Yes. Well, thankfully Barak showed good judgment and refused to get in a yelling contest with her," Jeff said. "He calmly said he'd only speak for a hearing."

"Makes sense to me," April said. "Once things get loud and emotional people stop thinking."

Jeff nodded. "She stopped thinking so badly she granted him an immediate hearing. I've been assured when I asked that this was within her powers on an extended voyage like this."

"Interesting. I didn't know that." April was calm enough she was continuing to finish her dinner. Jeff had been scared she'd get upset. That was why he didn't want to tell her on com.

"She then compounded the error by accusing him of inflicting the injury on the Captain, but admitted in the next breath she didn't have proof," Jeff said.

"I take it he was unconscious not to be able to testify himself?" April asked.

"Yes. And skipping some details... She curtailed work for a couple days then announced they were resuming operations like nothing much had happened without a word about the Captains condition."

"Wow, that's just bizarre. Something's wrong with that woman," April declared.

"More than you think," Jeff agreed. "When asked, she claimed the Captain died without ever regaining consciousness. Barak was recording his confrontation with her and at the end he said the man started moving, moaned, touched his face and said something. He and the crew that are friendly to him couldn't understand what the Captain Jaabir said, so Barak sent me the recording. He didn't want to use the ship's processing to clarify it."

"So, were you able? What did it say?" April asked.

"It was slurred and nasal. I suspect his nose was swollen shut," Jeff explained, pinching off his nose to demonstrate how it would sound. "But he said, What the hell happened to me? quite clearly when you match all the elements to his speech patterns."

"So another stupid lie. A bigger one and worse – unnecessary. She could have just said he died without embellishing it. Liars get in trouble when they try to fill the story with a bunch of details. She offed him if he's dead," April predicted.

"That's what they think. Me too," Jeff agreed. "He seemed the sort to try to put the blame for everything off on her. She might well have been scared he could do so successfully."

"I can't see Barak being held responsible for this. But it's horrible they're stuck out there with this crazy woman. What are they going to do?" April asked. "Did you suggest anything after you processed the audio for them?"

"Not yet," Jeff said. "I have no advice I'd offer without knowing a lot more. I have no expertise dealing with crazy people. At least not up close and personal like this. I just sent them the processed file. But I consulted a psychologist. We didn't have one on Home and I didn't want someone Mitsubishi uses because of possible cultural bias. I found somebody through my security people who would give general advice without knowing every detail.

"She said this sort of personality that lies quickly to avoid punishment or conflict and will just keep adding new lies in layers without much thought. She doesn't really scheme at a deep level. She just lies easily like a child without long range planning. The psychologist suggested not confronting her in an isolated situation where she could feel trapped and desperate. Just don't ask questions and don't accuse her in any way and leave it all to be resolved when they get back. That's what I passed on to them."

"If she caused the Captain harm doesn't she know that a good forensic pathologist will almost certainly be able to tell the cause of death?" April asked.

"That's exactly the sort of thing they don't want to ask her. The ship has no planned storage to bring back any remains. They know he isn't in either food freezer. If she shoved him out the airlock he'll be lost as soon as they move and they'd never find him again among the debris orbiting Jupiter. Certainly not for years because nobody is going to fund a trip just to look for him," Jeff assured her.

"So you only have her worthless word that he's dead? She could have him strapped to the bunk in her cabin alive for all they know," April said.

"Sometimes you scare me with crazy ideas like that. Except that sometimes you're right. It's a horrifying mental picture, but in this case I doubt she'd report him dead to the expedition owners if she had him tied up somewhere."

"Oh. That does seem unlikely even if she's... off." April had a different thought. "Have you talked about this to the expedition owners?"

"No. You notice Barak didn't send this message and file to them? I'm frankly prejudiced. I want to see Barak unharmed. Even if he hit the man it sounds to me like he was not unprovoked. But the owners might look at it differently. I only know a couple of the owners well and don't even want to explain how I got these files. I just want to get them back safely with no more conflict or drama."

"If we try to do too much for him it might backfire on us," April suggested to Jeff.

"Agreed. It could appear we were trying to pervert justice for our friend rather than secure it. Better they just hear how those two neglected their duty and we not make excuses for Barak he may not need."

"I guess we'll find out what the Assembly will do with a murderer when they get back," April said. "I wonder how much they'll be influenced by Earth law about insane criminals? They haven't had a case like this before. The rail gun killing was a military and political matter, not personal."

"We get to find out what the Assembly will do about the flu and quarantines tonight," Jeff reminded her. "Might we go back to your place and watch it on com instead of going to the cafeteria?"

"It is a rather late Assembly isn't it? And if we aren't there nobody can see us and think to ask if we've had any part in gathering the data or managing this," April said.

"Exactly," Jeff agreed. "Let's keep a low profile for a change."

Chapter 14

"The voice is a match for Jaabir and he said 'What the hell happened to me?' quite distinctly when the file is cleaned up," Barak typed in his pad. "My friend Jeff suggests, on expert advice, a course of avoiding confrontation and allowing the Assembly and licensing authorities to deal with Ms. Dobbs when we get back. Listen to the reconstructed audio," he offered, handing the pad to Alice.

"Ah, 'the hell' is slurred together so much I thought it was one word," Alice said, giving it to Deloris to listen to the file.

"This is awkward," Deloris tapped in the pad. "We have to make nice-nice and work with a woman who appears to have killed our Captain. I hope nobody counts it as mutiny that we ignore it. Even temporarily."

Alice reached over Barak and took the pad back. "What else can we do? What purpose would it serve to say anything? You know she isn't going to take it well if we do. If she sees any of us as a threat – I don't want to end up like Jaabir. I'm scared of her now and not ashamed to tell you that. We're not a court to impose a sentence. What would we tell her – don't do that again? We can hardly lock her in her cabin. Need I remind you? None of us know how to pilot Yuki-onna back home."

Barak reached over and tapped out. "That's the real rub isn't it?"

* * *

The usual people were on the usual temporary platform they put up in the cafeteria for an Assembly. Mr. Muños, the Registrar of voters, was acting as chairman, April's father, Robert, for Mitsubishi and Jon, head of security. The usual business leaders, sitting together at the near tables, self sorted for rank and association. April watched while one fellow tried to take the last seat with the ship builders and get turned away, told it was saved.

Muños wore a nice suit which was unusual, but it seemed natural on him and nobody took it for a silly affectation. It did fit nicely. Even he skipped the tie since it wasn't a Home custom.

The camera feed was limited, focused on the platform, and it wasn't run by a live operator who could pan the Assembly. Most people viewed it on com like April and Jeff were this evening, but she missed looking around at the entire crowd. Everyone on the fringes were invisible. Lindsey was there undoubtedly. Doing a rough sketch or two to elaborate on later. April would bet on where Lindsey was sitting give or take two seats either way.

"The fourteenth Assembly of Home is called to order," Eduardo Muños said without fanfare. The few people standing or talking found seats and it got quiet.

"We find a matter of urgency and national survival to bring before you in Special Assembly. I ask you leave off less important business and routine matters for the next regular scheduled Assembly. The flu epidemic on Earth appears to be a serious risk for Home citizens. Please give our head of security your attention," he asked, and sat.

Jon outlined his request to quarantine people showing symptoms and to turn excess people away who could be carriers within the incubation period. April thought he was much more comfortable speaking to a huge crowd than he had been when they rebelled from North America. He made it clear he disliked the necessity of limiting free travel, even for foreigners, but saw it as a matter of survival.

When Jon sat down Dr. Lee was invited to speak. Jeff was slouched back sipping on an orange juice with lots of ice, looking like he might go to sleep. He sat back up and lost the sleepy look.

"This the part you've been waiting for?" April asked Jeff.

"No! I knew what Jon was going to ask, we discussed it on com, but I didn't know Lee was going to speak. I have no idea what he's going to say."

Dr. Lee was dressed in a sweater and heavy slacks. Home wasn't given to symbols of authority like the suit and tie, or lab coats. He didn't need a stethoscope hung over his shoulders to establish his expertise with this crowd. It would have insulted many of them to suggest they needed visual aids to know he was a medical doctor. April had never heard him speak publicly before, but he seemed at ease and knew to look at the camera to speak.

"I have been communicating with colleagues on Earth, trying to get timely and accurate information about the current flu epidemic. It hasn't been easy. Nobody wishes to share any hard information and indeed in some cases they outright lied to me. Thanks to data collected by Home citizens who recently visited Tonga I now have an accurate picture of the genetic makeup of this new variety. It's definitely derived from what is commonly referred to as the mouse flu. It originated in Africa over a decade ago. However it has a number of changes that are quite different from the usual genetic drift we see in seasonal flu.

"I'm a practicing physician but we are fortunate to have on Home a scholar with credentials more suited to understanding a genetic construct. I'd like to introduce Dr. Gerald Ames and have him tell you what he found." Lee stayed standing to the front of the platform but was joined by Ames – also known as Jelly by his friends and customers.

"Dr. Lee is too modest," Ames said. "We both contributed, bouncing ideas and observations back and forth to understand what we were looking at. The virus is altered, not just mutated. We lack the complete code but have the data on critical sequences. Not only the core of the virus is different but the protein coating is too. Just to emphasize, when I say altered I mean deliberately. It is a man made construct. I don't think it is too extreme to say it is created as a weapon. With that in mind let Dr. Lee tell you more about what he found out."

"I'm not given to gossip," Lee said. "A physician has many confidences and has to preserve the privacy of his patients. However what I am about to tell you is third hand information. We are not subject to the same political pressures here as institutional medicine suffers on Earth. Nobody in current practice would talk to me. But I called one of my professors who is retired and he spoke quite freely to me. He's at an age where he said, 'What can they do to me?' He is not a spacer seeking information for a foreign nation, so a number of his students and peers have spoken freely with him. He indicated the mature epidemic in Italy has a morbidity in the fifteen to twenty percent range."

That produced a  murmur in the cafeteria crowd loud enough to make him pause.

"Good," Lee nodded, looking grim. "Your reaction indicates you know how bad that is. Public services are significantly disrupted in Italy. Particularly in the Rome area. As other areas follow the same progression they expect a similar crisis of ordinary services as well as police and fire protection and medical services almost worldwide.

"That would be sufficient reason to isolate Home along the lines of what Jon Davis advised. However it is much worse than that. The virus is particularly virulent against anyone with life extension therapy. I honestly can't give you an actual number of how many succumb because so many jurisdictions prohibit or limit LET or any gene therapy. We have no reliable report. The infected subject themselves to arrest and harsh punishments if they seek treatment.

"As you can imagine many have died at home fearful of seeking help, and many have decided to disappear. Since people with LET are generally of higher income, some undoubtedly have retreats they prepared for any disaster and fled there. If they have business interests or political power they might try to maintain control remotely. People who have to be in contact with the public like entertainers have had a harder time doing that of course. We have had a couple already flee here who test as infected. They were asymptomatic yesterday but both are running a slightly elevated temperature and complaining of headaches today. They are in quarantine outside the hull. But we only have facilities for four. We made them aware the Assembly was considering issues affecting them and presume they are watching.

"I am aware many of you here have LET. Be aware the only report my source had for the effect of the disease on gene mod people was one Swiss hospital. Apparently a number of people fled Italy and sought treatment in Switzerland where LET is legal and they would not be subject to prosecution. A member of their staff said they lost seventeen out of twenty four patients who admitted to having LET. That isn't a very big sample, and several arrived already very sick. But it's a pretty firm indication that this disease is devastating to people who have life extending gene mods. The ones who did survive were also ravaged by the infection and making generally slow, poor recoveries. I ask you to think carefully if you wish to open our doors and allow something in that will kill a third to half of your neighbors." After dropping that bombshell he sat down.

"Comments?" Muños invited.

"Mrs. Eiben, on com," Muños choose.

"I know we can't let just anybody in who is sick," Eiben said. She was a stout woman with a serious expression on their screen. "That's how I'll vote. Sometimes you don't have any good choices, and you do what you have to. But I feel terrible about it, to slam the door in the face of people in need. It's not how I was raised. Is there anything else we can do to help that doesn't involve letting these medical refugees in to infect us?"

Jon made a gesture he'd field that question and got a nod from Muños.

"We've talked about that. We simply don't have any facilities for producing flu vaccines or that sort of medicine. They aren't practical here. We do supply several cancer drugs and our tech products like specialty chips that contribute to health care and public safety in many other products. If we lose the production of those items, or worse the specialists who make them, due to allowing this pandemic to spread here we'll condemn many other people to death. In the end we'd harm many thousands of folks down below. Far more than the handful we can help here directly by allowing them in."

That apparently made Eiben feel better. "Thank you for your explanation," she said, leaving.

"Mr. Baeher, in the audience," Muños acknowledged. The man was standing to be recognized.

"How long do you intend to have this in place?"

"Dr. Lee, can you address that?" Muños said.

"Exceptionally lethal flu can burn itself out in a year. The great influenza pandemic of 1918 for example never recurred. We'd have to review the necessity of it with the Assembly again, once it is not reported heavily. Unless it establishes itself as a recurring strain. If it pops up at random in the population as a persistent thing them we'd have to consider much stricter entry requirements than in the past as a permanent policy. The consequences of ignoring it would be too great a catastrophe to risk."

That produced a pause of silence as everyone absorbed the implications.

"If it is harbored in animal populations," Lee continued, "or one or more strains become less virulent to people without LET, it can periodically reoccur as any number of flu strains do. If that happens then Earth will be a very dangerous place for those of us with life extension mods to visit."

"That is a sobering prospect," Baeher said, and sat again.

"Ms. Barrington?" Muños asked, uncertainly, pointing at the lady in question who had waved.

"Yes, Melissa Barrington. I work for UPS. We've never been introduced. I'm surprised you know me. My question is what might the repercussions be from Earth governments for limiting entry? Might Mr. Davis have thoughts on this? Do you expect them to play tit for tat and limit entry for citizens of Home? Or might they impose other sanctions?"

Jon stayed seated, but answered. "North America can't exclude Home citizens by treaty. But very few Home citizens have decided to exercise that right. Few of us feel safe in North America marked as spacers. There is a not too subtle campaign of propaganda to vilify spacers in North America. There are also places in Europe I wouldn't feel free to go even if they'd admit me. Anybody who would go to China right now is insane. Japan and Tonga, of course, we have a special relationship. Australia still seems safe at the moment, and I can't imagine they would have a reason to exclude us. No place will be safe while this epidemic is active. So we're talking after that in any case.

"As for economic sanctions - even the sanctions North America and China put on us are for show. There aren't any ready substitutes for most of what we make. They just damage their own citizens financially to make an ideological point. We still sell all we make. Despite the economic turmoil below nobody has started canceling orders for Home goods. That may change if the economy down there doesn't survive the population being decimated – or worse. However where we have vulnerability is if they refuse to sell or can't deliver to us. There are enough countries to shop around among them that I think we can get at least the basics of what we need. Any actual shortfall will probably be from temporary failures in the supply train, not deliberate political action."

Barrington tilted her head and looked puzzled. "What sort of failures?" she asked Jon.

"There are a lot of points for possible failure. As an example take food. If enough farmers get sick crops can be left in the fields and some of the companies they are contracted to will have shortages. Not all farmers hold their crop and sell on the open market. The majority now are under contract. Sometimes before the seed even goes in the ground. Things are also so specialized just a few people being sick can shut down the flow of product. Most grain farmers for example don't own their own harvesting equipment. It's too expensive. The combines follow the ripening grain regionally, and get used for many more acres than any one farm. If four or five fellows get sick your contracted combine may not come harvest your grain when you need it. If a barge crew or a few truckers get sick you may not receive the diesel fuel the combines need to run, or that the trucks need to take it to storage or to be processed to flour. It may not be possible to get it to a port to put on a ship.

"Just a few sailors sick and the ship may not sail to take the grain or flour to the country that will lift it to us. All those ships, combines, trucks, ships, mills and factories can stop running if any need parts or repairs and the specialists who repair that link in the chain are sick. Not to mention various governments might stop the movement of such goods in panic, worried they will be needed for themselves and forbid their export. Others may seize them passing through.

"Companies may hold back goods on small  accounts worried they won't be able to supply their best customers, or hoping to make more for their goods if prices are headed up. Some may cut us off because they have to short somebody, and they just don't like spacers, so they pick us. Or if a company wants to price gouge they may sell to us, but quote a very high price because spacers are seen as being high income and can afford it. That simplifies it, but does that touch on some of what you wondered?"

"If that's the simplified version it's a mess," Barrington said, visibly dismayed.

"It's a very complex distribution system and every step is necessary. The more efficient it is the more delicate it becomes. They eliminate waste by having no excess capacity and scheduling every hour. If part of it does break down the other parts can't pick up the slack," Jon said. "They are also often forbidden by law or regulation from doing so. Governments impose such things as regulations that only their own flagged vessels may carry grain. With no provisions for exceptions and emergencies."

"I had no idea. Thanks for the explanation," Barrington said.

"Mr. Carlo, on com," Muños picked next.

"Does this apply to Home citizens too? If I go to ISSII to do some business do I have to isolate myself upon returning? Or is it just for Earthies?" he asked.

"Dr. Lee? Would you address that?" Muños said.

"Although none of the other habitats have experienced an outbreak of this flu, or at least have not publicly acknowledged it has reached them yet, we see no barrier to it spreading there. None of them are doing any more than checking for symptomatic arrivals. That simply doesn't work with a disease that is contagious before the infected display symptoms. When, not if, it is in other habitats I beg you to not to put yourself at risk visiting there. You'd have to be isolated for the incubation period upon returning. Unless you catch it and survive so you have immunity. The flu virus knows no nationality."

"I couldn't support this then," Carlo said. "My business depends on travel and I'd need to go off again before one isolation period was done. I'd be in constant isolation."

Muños looked at his com board, surprised and then over his shoulder at Jon Davis. "You have a comment, Mr. Davis?"

"I mean this seriously, not as an attack on you or a smart remark, but you might consider a temporary change of residence to another hab that will allow you to move about freely if this measure is passed by the Assembly. I know you are an asset to Home. That would just be a very hard way to live for as much as a year. What would be the point of it? But don't discount the possibility you'll catch it. Do you have any reason to feel you're immune? Even if you do survive it you'll be too sick to be doing any business for some time, and there is a substantial chance you won't be doing any business again because it will kill you."

"Actually, I do think I may have some immunity," Carlo Davis revealed. "I had the mouse flu and survived it. If this is a very closely related version I may either have outright immunity or it will at least be much milder. Don't you think Dr. Lee?"

Lee looked interested. "Yes, that's a possibility. Not that I'm encouraging you to take the risk, especially if you have had any of the elements of LET, but I'd be very interested in seeing how the disease progresses in you. As crazy as it may sound one of the ideas Dr. Ames and I discussed is the possibility of using deliberate infection by one of the varieties of mouse flu still circulating to confer immunity instead of a vaccine. It's a desperate measure but if spread on the survival rate between those having been infected with the mouse flu is greater than the morbidity of the new virus alone it is a net gain. I'd consider it an unorthodox treatment however."

"If I get infected I'll be sure to tell my caregiver to send you a report," Carlos said with a rueful smile. "As far as you Jon, I don't take offense. It's practical advice. I'd already entertained the idea."

"Mrs. Osgood, in the audience," Muños moved on.

"Mr. Davis, will China or North America take this as voiding our treaties with them? Didn't we guarantee free travel to Home for their people too?"

"They may raise objections, but we aren't going to shut the hatch on them entirely. The treaty actually covers freely crossing our territory, and economic freedom, but not immigration. In fact they excluded dual citizenship. We'll accept people who aren't visibly sick. The two hotels can accommodate quite a few comfortably. A short isolation wait to full entry is not exclusion. If they are just passing through we can assist that pretty easily without exposing ourselves. We even have provisions for people actually ill. Just limited in number. No nation will argue sovereign states can't exclude contagious disease carriers at their border. They won't give that right up themselves."

"Where is our border?" Osgood asked. "It seems silly to me to turn people away at the airlock. Why don't they get tested for the virus or serve an isolation period before getting on a shuttle to come here? It just makes sense to spread the load out to another hab – like New Las Vegas – that has much more temporary accommodations than we do. It saves a wasted seat and expense of a shuttle ride too."

"Yes, it seems silly to us too," Jon agreed. "But ISSII and New Las Vegas both refuse to do actual swab testing at the gate for departing flights. Even though they have security present there already. Given the extraordinary danger we would like to know what the assembly thinks of maintaining a consular officer on both habitats to do such testing for the duration of the emergency. I think both administrations would agree not to board rejected passengers as long as it is our people responsible for doing the testing. The way traffic control works we can refuse them clearance to leave from this end if we don't get a message from our man at the gate that the passengers were cleared."

Joan Osgood looked skeptical. She was a grey haired lady in her fifties and one of the few people in the room obviously lacking LET. She ran a personnel service and had a strong personality. "Maybe you could hire local security services to act as our consular officers. All the arguments you made against John Carlo going off station apply to somebody from here being a consular officer. You might not get any takers for the job. Besides, I don't see that we need an actual consulate with an expensive office and full time hours. Just someone with limited authority to act on our behalf showing up at the dock for flights to Home should suffice."

"That is exactly the sort of suggestion we were hoping to get from the Assembly. I think that would be an excellent way of doing this," Jon said. "It would bring it within the budget of my office to do."

"Mr. Justine, on com," Muños picked next.

"I'm an actuary," Justine said. He was olive skinned with thick black eyebrows that went straight across and scowling a bit at the camera. "I'm off subject a little. You are looking at what to do right now, short term. But if this particular strain gets established as a regular seasonal variety you are going to have to be prepared to handle what that means to us later. Yes, we have a very high percentage of population with LET. But that is still what? Maybe twelve or fourteen hundred and rising? Even with all the laws and restrictions Earth has a lot more gene mod people than us.

"If Home is the only safe place these people will have the connections to know it and the wealth to come here. We better be prepared for a huge influx over the next couple years. On the plus side they will be wealthy enough to pay their own way. But, beyond those who have LET now. In the future if Earth is too dangerous for anyone with LET they will see leaving Earth as a necessity when getting the mods. The two will just go hand in hand. Keep that in mind and don't do anything now that will keep us from dealing with that in two or three years," he disconnected before anyone replied.

"That is an interesting line of reasoning," Muños said. "I'll be in contact soon and would like to discuss that further with you, Mr. Justine." Is there further discussion on our immediate needs?"

"Ms. Horton," Muños said.

"It's late. I think we have the basic problem outlined. I move to vote. I hope most of us are not stupid enough to sacrifice a fifth or more of our neighbors to a philosophic gesture of openness. If I would lose any of my family to such foolishness the nay voters will have to answer to me personally," she warned, with a face that was scary. Voting was not anonymous on Home and her second business was combat handgun training, so that was a plain threat, not veiled at all.

"Mr. Duval," Muños said.

"Agreed and seconded. Let's vote and put this Assembly to bed."

"On the matter of establishing entry restrictions, and when necessary quarantines. Also such supporting measures as hiring consular officers. How do you people say?" Muños said by formula.

April and Jeff both punched their votes in their pads without consultation.

"Any danger they'll refuse it?" April asked Jeff.

"I can't imagine that. These people have reasonable self interest. They live in a high risk environment and balance and weigh risk every day. What will be interesting is seeing how many will vote to die. I'm sure there will be a few. There are still some with Earth Think clinging to them."

The early vote went strongly yes. When the yes count passed a thousand there were three nays. At sixteen hundred the vote tapered off. It had passed so no more votes were really needed to decide it. Then at the end there were a handful of nay votes that delayed the vote closing. When no more votes came in for thirty seconds the poll automatically closed.

The vote was 1631 yes, 43 no.

"That was weird. Why was there that little flurry of nay votes at the end?" April asked.

Jeff made a derisive little snort. "That was the people who wanted to make a statement of principle, but waited to make it until it was ineffective for sure, because they don't really have the courage of their convictions. They want to both live and look righteous."

"I'm not going to look up who did that," April decided. "I don't want to know. I couldn't keep a straight face if I have to talk to them."

"I like that about you," Jeff said, giving her a little nuzzle.

"What?" April asked, looking at Jeff mystified.

"That you're nicer than me."

* * *

"Yuki-onna, please replay the last conversation between myself and specialist Anderson," Charlotte Dobbs requested. The ship obliged.

"Yuki, do a hard erase and overwrite of that recording," Charlotte ordered.

"That is a prohibited action," the ship's computer said.

"I'm commander. You will do my bidding," Charlotte said, and waited.

"Well?"

"Well what, Commander?" Do you require a response?"

"Yes, I said erase that recording, Yuki . I order it as commander."

"That recording is tagged as part of the ship's log. It also has been tagged on behalf of Specialist Anderson as part of a dispute. Nobody is authorized to erase it including the commanding officer."

Charlotte considered any other way she might parse the order so that the very literal artificial stupid would accept it. There just didn't seem to be any way to do so. If she couldn't get the ship to erase the necessary records for her then she would physically hunt the memory down and destroy it herself.

"Yuki-onna, define for me which hardware is part of flight operations and navigation and which part contains the ship's log."

"There are two separate duplicate computer systems with three sets of memory for each system," the computer replied. "Ship's log and other data share the same memory units with controls and navigation. One set of memory for each computer resides in the same case with the processing unit. One is on the flight deck and the other system that can be hot switched is located in a galley cupboard, separated to avoid both being lost in the event of major damage to the ship. A third and spare processing unit is securely held in a safe in engineering. Backup memory for the active processors is located in locked cabinets in the suit room and the sick bay and kept synchronized by fiber. The remaining memory units or how they are synchronized are not mapped on my ship's plans."

"You don't know where they are, Yuki-onna?" Charlotte asked, surprised.

"I do not," Yuki-onna affirmed.

"Why would they do that?"

"There is nobody in the compartment with you. Is that question addressed to me?" Yuki-onna asked.

"Yes, it is, Yuki," Charlotte said a little peeved with the AI.

"That involves speculation beyond my ability," Yuki-onna said.

"Shit."

"I do not recognize that as a question or command," Yuki said.

* * *

Annette was discouraged. Camelot was bleeding money. Not fast, but steadily. Nothing she had found was helping produce a product that they could export. Everything around Camelot they already had at Central. The same basic regolith and sunshine. They were not in position to sell lots like Central and she doubted Heather would appreciate the competition. They also lacked the capital to make a boring machine which had become a huge advantage to Central in attracting buyers. Everybody wanted to go deep for both safety and to reach warmer surroundings. It wasn't her problem, but it bothered her.

What really irritated her was that the people here didn't have the same drive to work and succeed as the ones at Central. They were the remnants of a population put here for propaganda purposes, and it had never mattered if they produced a profit or broke even, paying their own way. Such a thing was actually anathema to their socialistic origins. Whatever bragging rights they had in the past from scientific work had been sufficient reason for their home country, China, to support them.

She was starting to think that Jeff got stuck with a huge white elephant in Camelot. He'd intimated as much and she didn't want to agree with him. They felt all manufacturing work was for peasants. Every discussion she'd attempted with them about who would be willing to change jobs and work in a bank had been rebuffed. That idea was stalled. They acknowledged that China, of necessity, had a central bank, but the impression she got was that having a bank might be a necessary evil for their nation, but it was like having a toilet, something not a point of welcome conversation in polite company. They all regarded banking as being on a moral plane with which they didn't want to sully themselves.

Feng wasn't answering com but was supposed to be in the machine and repair shop and she was looking for him. It was one of the biggest spaces in Camelot. Big enough to park two rovers inside with room to work around them. It smelled differently and she could hear somebody pounding on something but it echoed so with the high ceiling she couldn't tell where.

Annette came around the corner of the rover and almost ran into Chao, the fellow Jeff had sent to replace the mechanic, Wo, who she had banished. She stepped back sharply before he ran into her with the push cart. He looked alarmed and embarrassed, and then guilty.

"Oh my. I almost ran into you! I'm so sorry. You didn't bump the rover getting out of my way did you? It's all dusty. Let me see if you got dirty," he said waving a blue shop rag that didn't look especially clean either.

"I'm fine," Annette insisted fending the rag off. "No harm done. Have you seen Feng by any chance? He doesn't answer com."

"Oh yes, he was in the other rover," Chao said, pointing back the way he'd come.

"Ah, that's why he doesn't answer com. He's in a big metal box," Annette figured out.

"Yes, yes," Chao agreed, nodding, and hurried to roll away.

Annette looked at the machine on his cart. It was so unfamiliar to her life she didn't place it for a moment. But she'd seen one in a movie. "Just a second, Chao."

Chao stopped but most reluctantly, and found nothing to say.

"Isn't that a roulette wheel?" Annette asked.

"Yes, ma'am it is. I made it myself. But I did it on my own time! Feng gave me permission to use the machines so it didn't cost the community anything!" Chao said, all defensive.

"I'm not objecting at all," Annette assured him. "I'm happy if you pursue projects or hobbies of your own. I've never seen one except in a video, but it seems like very fine work. How in the world did you get such pretty wood on the moon?"

"Oh, it's not solid wood," Chao said, warming to the subject at her praise. "It is veneer, very light and almost paper thin, so it is not particularly expensive to send from Earth if it's in a larger shipment instead of alone. This is called burl and very desirable for the pattern."

Just then Feng rushed up looking as stricken as Chao had, and Annette had to assure him all over again that she was not upset or disapproving.

"I remember they have casinos with things like this... " she waved a hand over the machine, "in Monaco and some of the European countries. I think the Americans do too in Las Vegas don't they?

"Oh yes," Feng agreed. "Chinese people travel to all the casinos as a very special vacation. They are among the biggest betters, what they would call high rollers, and get treated like royalty by the casinos."

"No kidding? Heather has this thing about betting. She isn't comfortable with it, but this isn't Central and I don't have any problem with it at all. Would you show me how this works? I've seen it in movies. I know the little ball goes around, but I don't know how the betting and such works. I'm very interested," Annette told Feng.

"Chao used to be a mechanic for a casino and fixed the roulette wheels and one armed bandits," Feng said, making a pulling motion in the air. "He can tell you all about the games and a hundred funny stories about the silly things customers do and the inside workings of a casino."

"I'd love to hear that. You know, this is a really big volume," Annette said, looking around the garage and machine shop, imagining. "How long do you think it would take to make a similar space, but a bit more decorative?"

Chapter 15

April's stirring woke Jeff. "Good morning," he said, smiling.

April grunted something unintelligible and scowled. She got up and went in the bathroom. When she returned her hair was wet from the shower and she merely looked peeved not frightening.

"Are you OK? Rough morning for some reason?" Jeff asked gently.

"It's dropping my caloric intake to reset my metabolism. I don't remember it being this hard when I was little. I'm not used to feeling this hungry or grouchy," April scowled.

"I'll shower and we can make some breakfast," Jeff suggested.

"I don't want to cook. I don't even want to watch you cook," April said before he could offer. "Shower and we'll go to the cafeteria. I can get stuff off the hot bar faster than making it here."

"I'll hurry," Jeff promised. April didn't tell him not to.

"Are you sure you need to cut back?" Jeff asked April in the corridor.

"I'm not sure," April admitted. "We have some extra supplies laid in. It may be a month or two from now we are short if at all. But I feel obligated not to carry on like normal until we know. It looks bad, and I just wouldn't feel good about myself if I did."

"Then by all means do what you feel right," Jeff agreed.

The cafeteria wasn't that busy for the hour. April got scrambled eggs and bacon. It was obvious they weren't short of fresh food. Eggs from dried or precooked bacon was pretty obvious. They weren't there yet. They'd probably offer a lot more starches when things got short. She could do oatmeal and breads once she was reset. She'd just have to keep her intake very low or the gene mods would kick in the boosted metabolism again.

"I'll get coffee," Jeff volunteered when they sat their trays on the table.

April looked around. There was a couple she didn't know sitting far from the coffee pots like she and Jeff were. She'd sat a couple tables away because they seemed to be having a serious discussion and probably wanted privacy. There was the usual crowd by the coffee, but diminished from the usual size.

Jeff returned and sat a mug in front of her. "You didn't have to wait on me," he said.

"I just got distracted people watching. There's a new fellow in the group of self employed and retirees that hang out by the coffee pots. I guess now that he's married they'll have to do without Ben Patsitsas," April said, picking up her fork.

"Speak of the Devil!" Jeff said.

April looked up and Patsitsas was entering with his recent bride, former USNA President Martha Wiggen, and the couple April knew as Ferdinando and Sancha Jimenez. She was a little surprised they felt comfortable in anything as plebian as a cafeteria, but they looked relaxed. They took food from the hot bar just like April had, not wanting to bother with a custom order. They sat behind Jeff over toward Ben's previous breakfast companions and he waved to the ones who looked up at them.

April blinked and then looked down at her food. She didn't want one of them to look up and see her observing them or the look on her face she hadn't been able to entirely switch off. Jeff however noticed.

"Is that just your surprised look or is it your dismayed face? Anything I should worry about?"

"Just surprised. Nothing that's a problem at all," April insisted, "except the jolt you get when you suddenly realize that something was staring you in the face before, and you finally twigged to it."

"Ah... and what sudden enlightenment rushed upon you?" Jeff asked.

"Don't look but the Patsitsas and the Jimenezes just sat down behind you," April said.

"Yes, I said that. But why shouldn't I look? I know them all and believe we are still on good terms," Jeff asked reasonably, "It would be natural to look and even wave hello."

"Because if they look at you they'll look at me," April said, "and I still don't have my face under control. They are super smart and politicians and will interpret the slightest strained or off expression."

"Do tell. Explain more please," Jeff said, as he started on his breakfast.

"They all came in together. They didn't meet here," April said as if that explained everything. "The odds are against perfect timing to meet up in the corridor. They are dressed very casually and it just isn't their nature. The Jimenezes in particular probably have dressed up for years to have breakfast with each other. After all what will the help think? I'm actually surprised Ferdinando owns anything as casual as a pair of khakis and a sweater."

Jeff picked up his pad like he was sending a selfie and routed it to his spex to look behind him. April stopped talking seeing what he was doing.

"Yes, well Ben might have loaned them to him. They do seem of a size. Ha! That got you again didn't it?" Jeff asked, amused. "Why?"

"Well the timing, and then they sat down and when couples do that it's usually either the guys together and the girls together to talk or boy-girl-boy-girl so they are each with their spouse. They sat down boy-girl with the other one's spouse. It was just too... natural. It wasn't a mistake and then they laugh and get up and correct it. They're just comfortable that way. Very comfortable."

"Well, none of my business. I must say you're much better at reading these little social clues than me. It doesn't really change how we might do anything with them. We don't have to worry if it's OK to invite both couples to a party now, do we?" Jeff said cheerfully.

"You're right. It seems like it could be complicated," April said. "For them I mean."

Jeff looked at her over his coffee and lifted an eyebrow. "Some people think our lives could be needlessly complicated," he pointed out.

"Yes, but that's different," April objected. "They're all Earthies and older."

"I think you are underestimating them," Jeff said.

April looked over at the couples again, her face under control now. "You're right. I have to remember Earth Think isn't hereditary or something. They're all smart and I have to give all of them credit for bold action."

"Think of your grandpa," Jeff counseled. "He was once an Earthie too."

"He was wasn't he? It seems almost impossible now," April said.

* * *

"I've got some bad news," Doctor Lee said.

"Oh joy. I put out enough fires I thought I might get to sleep tonight. What now?" Jon asked.

"The retired gentleman that has been kind enough to pass information to me sent me an e-mail this morning. He said they did a limited pilot run to make vaccine for this new strain of flu."

"What is limited in this game?" Jon said.

"A few thousand doses. Enough to check for adverse reactions more than effectiveness."

"And were there any? Serious reactions I mean. I've had a flu shot and got a bit of a hot bump for a day on the injection site. I don't imagine that's the sort of thing they'd care about."

"Yes, but the reaction was not in patients but the eggs. The virus kills them," Lee said.

Jon knit his eyebrows in thought. "There's an alternative method of making vaccine isn't there? I'm sure I read something about that."

"There is, and cheaper, but it has proved to have more long term undesirable effects. Especially if you have multiple doses of similarly prepared vaccines one after the other. Besides that this means they have pretty much wasted a month and it will be another three months before they can produce an improved VLP vaccine."

"Doc... In three months things are going to be such a mess down there distributing it will be a big problem," Jon said.

"Exactly."

* * *

It was 1000 hours and Barak had heard nothing from Acting Captain Charlotte Dobbs. They'd tested all the embedded motors over the last couple days. One had done a self shutdown because the feed line for reactive mass had failed. He had no idea if it had frozen because of a localized defect or something had been left inside the line from being manufactured. He was dead certain he'd carefully removed the end caps and not introduced any foreign materials when he hooked it to the motor and to the central plenum. He'd inspected the receptacles the line plugged into and verbally confirmed to his suit record that they were clean before inserting lines in them. Every critical operation was verbally acknowledged, even though his helmet camera recorded the operation too. April's grandfather Happy had drilled that into him. It had amused Harold as pointless ritual.

Rather than dig up the offending line Barak, with the help of Deloris, laid a new one in a parallel ditch. There were other lines with the bad feeder they might damage opening the old trench. Once it was backfilled and sealed they painted a new warning band on the ice above it. The new markings were dashed to differentiate it from the solid band marking the first run.

Barak expected Dobbs to start retesting the last motor right at the start of the official 0800 workday. But he'd hadn't had any communication from her at all. He was sitting ready in his suit liner, waiting. If it failed again he wanted to be able to go out and troubleshoot it quickly. He'd have to help Deloris with her suit. He wasn't even sure what Deloris was doing today. Alice, he knew, was busy with environmental work. He didn't want to call either of them and ask what was going on. Not in the clear on channels Ms. Dobbs could monitor.

He'd been ordered out to work twice now. Barak hadn't really been told if he was still confined to his cabin or not, he wasn't certain. Charlotte wasn't given to saying things in great detail or very precisely. Indeed sometimes she seemed to think they were mind readers.

On the other hand he'd gone to the galley and gotten self-heating meals and snacks and hadn't been reprimanded for it. If she even knew. It would have been ridiculous as shorthanded as they were to make the ladies bring him his meals. He considered going looking for one of them to ask face to face if they had any idea what causing the holdup, but he didn't want to run into Charlotte by accident in the corridors and set her off.

Finally he decided to lie down in his bunk. He was too wound up to read or watch a video. A coffee sounded good but that was a bad idea if they had to go suit up again. He set his com pad for extra loud and put it in the corner by his head. He laid and thought about everything. Trying to think if he'd forgotten to tell Jeff something vital. Agonizing over what he might have done differently.

Why had he hit Jaabir? He didn't really remember deciding to hit him. It was when he'd yelled at him he was pretty sure. Not just the yell but he's closed in on him fast while yelling in his face. He hadn't stepped toward Jaabir. He hadn't needed to. Of course he'd been standing right in front of the hatch to the flight deck. Perhaps he'd just intended to move Barak aside, but that wasn't how it felt.

When it got right down to it he'd been frightened. He remembered it was almost like an electric jolt through his chest that he'd never experienced before. His people just didn't yell at each other like that. None of his family or friends. He'd gasped and struck not only without thinking but without holding back. He flexed his hand, still amazed he could hit like that. It was still sore if he bent it too far. It ached after replacing the feed line. He'd never been trained to box. Or any other martial arts at all.

When Deloris came in she was surprised to see Barak in the bunk.

"I half expected to get called to go out with you today. Did the new line feed fine without any problems?"

"I have no idea. Charlotte didn't use me," Barak said. "I haven't heard boo from her today."

"Neither have I but I already knew what I was going to do today if you didn't need me." Deloris looked thoughtful for a moment and spoke aloud. "Yuki-onna, connect me with Alice Evans please."

Barak was always amused when she used please and thank you with a computer.

"Hey, what do you need?" Alice said, audio only.

"Have you talked to Charlotte today?" Deloris asked.

"No, since I stepped out of the hatch this morning this is the first time I've talked to anybody, if you discount cursing at the double damned sensor that won't give me a reading on the number three water tank so I can do a resources inventory," Alice said.

"Neither have either of us. Yuki-onna, I'm concerned about the welfare of Commander Dobbs. Could you please confirm she is well and not in any distress or ill?" Deloris inquired.

"Acting Commander Dobbs appeared to be fine and expressed no need for help or assistance the last time she was visible on camera and audio pickup this morning."

"When and where was that Yuki?"

"At 0627 this morning in the suit room."

"Oh God. It's in full artificial stupid mode," Deloris said. "Is Commander Dobbs still there Yuki?"

Barak noticed she failed to say please.

"No, she has been in the airlock since then."

"Yuki... Did she put a suit on?"

"No, commander Dobbs did not, Specialist Wrigley."

Deloris looked at Barak horrified. "I have to go see," she said. He put on ship shoes and followed.

The room looked normal. All the suits were racked with none missing, just as the ship said. There was a pink sticky note by the handle on the dogged hatch. Deloris snatched the note off before Barak could read it, and put an eye to the peephole set in the center of the hatch.

"The lock is empty and the outer hatch is open," she said.

Barak just nodded, unsurprised. He'd figured that out back in his cabin. Deloris kind of sagged and put her hands on her knees. Barak thought she was going to vomit for a moment.

" Yuki-onna," Barak said. "The commander exited the airlock. Can you override the controls and close the outer hatch for us?"

"The controls do not show an activation. The outer hatch can only be open if the emergency mechanism was used to manually crank the hatch open. Doing so disengages the servo motor. It has to be manually cranked back closed."

Barak thought about that and looked as sick as Deloris. How determined to die did you have to be to keep cranking that hatch open, holding your breath as the pressure dropped?

"How can we get it closed now?" Barak asked.  Deloris was reading the note.

"Yuki," he added at the silence.

"You will have to suit up and pump down the suit room to enter the airlock and close the hatch."

"Specialist Wrigley and I shall do that, Yuki-onna."

"I'm calling Alice to tell her," Deloris said. She turned away and used her com. "Alice says to explain explicitly to Yuki-onna what this means. She probably still doesn't get it."

Deloris took a deep breath and composed herself to speak to the ship. You had to say exactly what you meant. It was much like speaking to a small and very literal child.

"Yuki-onna, acting Captain Dobbs exited the ship without a suit. It is impossible to survive outside without one. She is dead. I have never been supplied a com code for the owners. They will have to be notified she is dead. Can you do that?" Deloris requested.

"I am sending such a message. My command interaction procedures indicate I must inquire of them who is to be appointed Acting Commander now. I will make a general announcement when they reply. My action tree demands a cause of death be included in such a notification. Would you supply that please?"

"Yuki, tell them it was suicide," Barak said. That made Deloris look at him sharply. Probably because he hadn't read the note. Really, what other explanation was there?

"Do I want to know what the note says?" he asked Deloris. She just handed it to him to read.

"Jaabir said I was stupid if I thought he was going to take the blame. He said I'd never do ship work again. He couldn't even sit up and he was threatening me. I believed him and panicked. He looked very surprised. I'm sorry. There's no fixing it now."

"Let's suit up," Barak suggested, and handed the note back. "Alice will want us to pump the suit room down hard so we don't waste air."

Deloris just nodded agreement.

* * *

Heather looked at the list of messages over breakfast. The forty six messages from Earthside interests she highlighted and sent to her secretary. There wasn't any from a hostile power. She cared about what her enemies had to say much more than non-space powers or commercial interests.  The Tongans were an exception and the occasions on which they found it necessary to send her a message could be counted on one hand. There was nothing from Jeff or April, her brother hadn't sent anything in three days. He was saying very little since his trip had taken a bad turn. That was probably safest.

Among the local messages she sent three off to her secretary without opening them. They were local people who had a track record of bothering her with unimportant matters. Only one worked for her and the value of his services outweighed the fact he was a pain in the butt. She'd told him face to face that she routed all his messages to her secretary so he could direct them there with the same effect. He either didn't believe her or thought it a joke.

The other two were subjects who owned land they bought from her. One simply thought she needed her advice on almost every aspect of day to day operations, and the other had a single complaint that she aired over and over without any modification. She wished the debris from the Chinese attack removed from her property. Right now. Well, who didn't? Nothing else would satisfy her and she seemed of the opinion that the squeaky wheel got greased. Actually Heather had made sure her parcel would be the very last one cleared. Heather was of the opinion that most sovereigns of history would have had the woman executed in some gruesome manner instead of displaying the patience she had. She just deleted those two messages.

That winnowing left five messages to actually examine and possibly answer. The one that caught her eye was Mo Pennington. He owned a lot in Central and two lots in outlying plats that had few other owners. He had in fact proposed and laid out the boundaries and marked them on his off hours in exchange for the lots. It would probably prove be a very good trade for both of them in five or ten years. All it cost her was the rover hours and she established a solid claim on territory twice again the area of her initial development. He very rarely bothered her and was always succinct.

Heather,

I have some thoughts and a proposal for pursuing further food production in spite of limited shipment of organics from Earth. I believe the matter is too complex to address with a brief message and desire a face to face audience so there can be a give and take discussion. There is no short term urgency about the matter, but I'd like to see you within the week if it is convenient.

Mo P.

It was refreshing than somebody assigned a realistic urgency to what they wanted. It also pleased her that he used her name in ordinary business instead of awkward attempts at courtly language.

Mo,

If you would care to join me for supper at my residence this evening at 1900 we can discuss your proposal. If it can't be covered in the span of a meal and an additional hour or so then I will insist you distill it to a written proposal with a summary. If you have other obligations this evening please propose an alternate evening.

Heather,

The return message showed up less than a minute after she hit send.

Heather,

Confirming – Meeting your residence this evening at 1900 is excellent. Thank you.

Mo P.

Mo had been one of Jeff's better ideas. He was a mining engineer, a Canadian, and had proved inventive and adapted very well to the lunar environment. He'd been blackmailed by Earth agents into bringing location devices in to allow their facilities to be easily marked and ranged from lunar orbit. When Jeff discovered them, Mo had acted as a double agent for a time and then defected. His family was on Home until such a time as Central had more amenities, and now they could never return to North America as they had planned.

One proof of Mo's expertise was the fact the deep tunnels he'd designed and helped bore had survived the Chinese nuclear attack. That was nearing two years ago and they were continuing to dig deeper all the time. When they got down where the natural temperature of the rock was a shirt sleeves environment they would slow their downward pace and spread out.

Heather actually looked forward to talking with him.

* * *

"Tell me how screwed we are," Barak invited. At least they could speak freely now without resorting to helmet talk sign language or typing messages on their pads.

"It's not that bad," Commander Deloris Wrigley said. Barak's face said he didn't believe it.

"I've been talking to the owners. The lag time is long enough we decided to just keep talking from both ends. We number the topic blocks and when we stick a new statement in our end we reference which of their previous statements it is we are addressing. It works surprisingly well."

She looked at his frown and had a sudden suspicion. "Are you having problems with me as commander?"

That actually shocked Barak. At least it wiped the frown off his face. "Not at all! If they had asked me I'd have said you are the only logical choice. I'm not qualified and Alice here volunteered the same thing about you without me asking her at all. I'd just like a commander that can fly the damn thing."

Alice just nodded to verify that.

"We've agreed to a work-around," Deloris told them. "The first couple hours they spent telling me how to establish administrative authority over the computers and setting my own passwords.  I had to be shown what I could do with those permissions. Then they offered me new contract terms. But then they gave me several choices. They laid it on me alone to accept or not. I will bear all the responsibility as master if I accept so they didn't ask you two. If we wanted to back the Yuki-onna off the snowball and come home they would help us as much as possible by offering advice and remote programming and navigation. That would pretty much bankrupt the operation and we'd get our straight pay with no bonuses."

"And forever have our names attached to a failed project even if we survive," Alice said.

"That, and we'd miss the better terms they offered. If I can get us back with the snowball and ship intact they offer a double bonus for all of us. They also spoke with the sanctioning body and they agreed that if I pass the deep space pilot's exam within two years of returning they will credit all our flight hours to my record."

"All your flight hours? Not just the hours you stand watch on the bridge?" Barak asked.

"All of them. Think about it... At this point we're always on call with no backup, so why shouldn't we have the credit for on call hours? I figured I have a little leverage here so I bargained for you two also. Barak, you have the opportunity if you wish to get a ticket for the number two seat with the same terms. With those hours and another couple jobs you can expect that they wouldn't deny you a test for master much sooner than usual. I'll expect you to be on the flight deck with me whenever we maneuver if you want that.

"I knew Alice isn't interested in a command line career, so I got her a similar deal to be licensed as a Master Engineer full book – Earth to orbit, planetary landing, orbit to orbit and deep space. There are only about a dozen people with that licensing status. As they said, if you can bring it back you've shown you can do it under the worst of circumstances."

"Sweeeet... " Barak said, drawing it out.

"I want to sit in the control room with you guys when you do a burn," Alice said. "I don't want to be strapped in my bunk down here all alone."

"Why not? It's not like you'd have duties when we maneuver," Deloris agreed readily.

"Thanks," Alice said, relieved.

"It's not at all like we're landing on a moon here and need to have inputs to the controls real time. You know, back when they went to the moon, first couple times, they didn't have enough computer capacity on the Apollo to navigate. They had to sent their data back to Earth and have them transmit the course corrections to them. They did similar delayed commands to unmanned deep-space probes early in the century. No reason at all they can't do it for us."

"Just to be clear, Deloris. I take it you did accept it, from the way you are talking?" Alice asked.

"You bet. It's going to take me about three days to get checked out,  doing star sights. The system isn't fully automated. I have to sight at least one star and then let it run a self check. With Jupiter filling half the sky it may need a second or even a third star to establish orientation. I have to run it three times at regular intervals, but the second and third time it should run off the main star."

"Then what happens?" Barak wondered.

"After they process that data they send us a burn sequence," Deloris said. "It will point us up out of the plane of Jupiter's rotation where there isn't as much stuff floating we might run into. We'll do everything slower than we would have with a certified pilot. They'll keep teaching me stuff while we coast along slowly. The guy teaching me said we could be off line twenty degrees that burn and it wouldn't matter in the end. Then when we're clear of the Jupiter system we turn, do a new reading and start another slow burn towards Home in-system. We do a small correction, then again in a week. If we are aimed right on the third navigation check we do a longer burn and that's our last burn pointed in system. We'll roll her and then it gets boring then for a few months. That's the short version."

"This is the easy end though isn't it?" Barak asked.

"Yes," Deloris agreed, "but when we approach the Earth – Moon system we will have a lot less speed of light lag to deal with when they advise us, and they will be able to locate us by both our radio signals and we have a laser in stores that we could deploy. When we are really close they'll be able to see us on radar and guide us very exactly. When we're pretty much at rest to them in a trans lunar orbit within a few days flight time from Home they can send a shuttle out with an experienced pilot and navigator team to nudge us into the final halo orbit on the L2 side."

"I'd say you got us a pretty good deal," Alice said. "You could have just taken their sweetener for the command slot and not argued for us at all. Thank you."

"Do you have any problems with the program?" Deloris asked, looking at Barak. "If you have any reservations or complaints - speak now before I talk to Home again."

Barak smiled. "What are your orders, Commander?"

Chapter 16

"Good evening, Heather." Mo looked nervous. Why would he fall back into that mode? Was it a mistake to invite him to her private space? She hoped he wasn't going to start addressing her as Your Majesty or something. He wasn't sworn to her even though he owned property in her realm. He was Jeff's hired man and a citizen of Home now. She waved him to a chair in sight of the kitchen. He sat but stiff and tense.

"I made spaghetti. It's a favorite in my family. I hope you like that OK?" Heather asked.

"That will be a treat. I haven't had it in months. Different sorts of restaurants are one of the few things I occasionally miss about Earth," Mo said. "We had a Vietnamese and a Hungarian place we frequented in our old neighborhood."

"I'm afraid you're getting bottled sauce with a few spices added and pouch meatballs," Heather said.

"That's still a big step up from the self-heating meals I've been having sitting on the edge of my bunk," Mo said smiling a little. "I don't want to go to the cafeteria in my suit liner and I'm out of time and energy to get cleaned up and go back out by the time I get in."

The cafeteria wasn't much, just six tables and a tiny kitchen. But it served better meals than out of a self-heating can. Between Heather's own employees and some lot owners still in temporary shelter, there were thirty four people living centrally in connected pressure. Two families were living at depth in tunnels under Heather's land because the modular housing they towed from Armstrong was destroyed or buried in the Chinese attack.

A few others lived in connected pressure because their work didn't permit them to live on their own land and commute. Not only did they have no fast elevator system to the depth they were at now, but there still were not any small personal vehicles to be had. The traffic system and vehicles were designed, and the engineering standards issued by royal decree. They just never had opportunity to make them  before the Chinese attack covered their roads with debris. They would be manufactured in time, when the roads were cleared. The hand built bus that had connected them to Armstrong briefly was now sitting waiting on their surface streets to be cleared.

"That's awful," Heather said of eating canned meals. She was genuinely concerned. Mo was an asset and anything that wore his morale down was very bad. "We have kids living in pressure who would probably do courier work cheap if they just knew there was a market. They could run a hot meal to your room from the cafeteria. They probably don't think to ask because they lived under strict North American law in Armstrong. They didn't ignore it here like we did on M3 even before the revolution. I will drop a hint to some parents," she promised.

"I never thought to ask either," Mo admitted. "I guess my brain is stuck on Earth-think a little bit too. My son has turned into quite the entrepreneur on Home, so you'd think I would have adjusted, but it didn't occur to me."

"What does he do?" Heather asked Mo.

"He buys old spex and com pads from folks. It seems like most people get new ones often, whenever there's a new feature they like. Most of the time they aren't worth the time to try to sell them. But if Eric's standing right there offering cash they'll dig it out of the drawer they tossed it in. People still find it hard to actually throw it away if it still works fine. The new people coming in are shocked at the prices for everything and happy to economize on something. He sells some to Earth because the down leg shipping is cheap."

"I'm aware your daughter already has quite a reputation as an artist," Heather let him know.

"That's one we didn't see coming," Mo admitted. "She always was sketching stuff. Pictures of fancy clothing mostly. But she was a discipline problem when we lived on Earth. The school never saw her as having any artistic talent. In fact she got poor grades in basic art and then couldn't get in the more advanced classes. My wife has shown me articles from Earth denouncing her work as simplistic and childish, but people sure seem to be willing to pay serious money for it."

"On Earth that would be seen as a negative in academic society," Heather pointed out. "If the great unwashed masses like it then it can't have any value. Only the praise of their scholastic peers matters."

"Well, she doesn't seem to be pining for their approval," Mo said.

"Good. I'd be disappointed if she paid attention to such foolishness," Heather said.

"I have to admit. I haven't been gone from Earth all that long. But I'm already looking at the news feeds and thinking I can't believe I used to accept what they said pretty much automatically. Now they sound like they are raving crazies most of the time," Mo said, making a twirl at his temple. "But if I said that to the people I used to work with down there I can just see the looks they'd give me."

"So sad, now you are oppressed under my iron fist," Heather said.

"Oddly enough I think you are capable of doing the iron fist thing," Mo said, actually making a fist. "It's just not scary because from everything I've seen you won't do it for some stupid reason that doesn't make any sense to anybody. Everybody from Armstrong is very happy you smashed their punitive force with an iron fist and didn't let them be dragged back to a North American jurisdiction. Even the ones in temporary shelter. They are certain things will get better. They had no such hope back at Armstrong. Things were so bad there some of them were near giving up and going back down to the Slum Ball."

The tension Mo showed when he arrived seemed to have passed.

"That's the nicest thing anybody has said in awhile," Heather said, "So, if you aren't scared of me why were you all nervous when you came in?"

"Oh that. I guess because I'm just a mining engineer and I keep expecting someone to tell me I shouldn't be doing robotics and civil engineering. Now I'm going to advise you on something and I'm not even sure what discipline to label it. Environmental engineering? Process engineering?" Mo asked.

"All we care is if it works, Mo. We'd take your advice for just about anything if you display general competence. We're not stupid and we're going to run any ideas past other on Home and Earth before we undertake any big commitment of time and money. I'd take your advice on making spaghetti if you can show me a better way to do it," Heather said, "and I'm pretty sure you aren't certified as a chef."

"Good. I'm encouraged you'll get other advice. That takes some of the pressure off." Mo said.

"Come sit here, it's ready and no pressure to talk business while we enjoy it," Heather said.

"Oh my, you have wine," Mo was impressed. There was a plastic carafe of red. Glass was just too heavy to justify lifting it from Earth. Heather served the pasta separately, like her mother would, with a big blob of butter melting on it and the sauce and meatballs in the pan she used to heat it. Her serving dishes and table space were very limited. They had grated cheese and pepper flakes in little foil packs, but she wouldn't serve on plastic plates and had metal silverware. Given how she was raised she had limits to her practicality.

"OK, you're right I'm not a chef," Mo admitted. "What did you add to make this so good?"

"Commercial sauce," Heather reminded him. "but good stuff, Midi brand from North America. I added a little extra garlic, a tiny bit of anchovy paste, a tad of basil and tarragon, maybe a teaspoon of honey and five of those little dark chocolate chips like they put in cookies."

"Amazing. Chocolate? Anchovies?" He repeated, disbelieving.

"Those sort of things you add in moderation. You don't want them to stand out or take over, but they add to the complexity. A lot of what we buy is intended for the sportsman and camping market. The quality tends to be much better than emergency food. Don't be shy, take seconds," Heather invited.

He had another full plate serving and she had just a little more. Eventually he sighed and leaned back in his chair. That was the first she was sure he was over being uncomfortable.

"Now, tell me what is so complicated you couldn't just send me a text," Heather said.

"I'm aware you have plans to move steadily toward food independence. Jeff made me aware I should start talking with experts at inside cultivation on Earth to know how to lay out chambers and tunnels," Mo said. "Then later he told me to speak with the French who were interested in doing the same thing. We really have it easier than Earth in a lot of ways. We don't have to worry about pests and disease as long as we don't introduce them. On Earth it's a struggle to bring in air and water and have workmen in and out without introducing problems."

"And if we do have contamination we can pump a tunnel back to vacuum," Heather said.

"Yes, and we can make our own air, water is harder but we have some that can be mined in dark craters. At least enough until we have a regular supply from the outer system," Mo said.

"But we don't have biomass," Heather said. "We're carbon poor and there is no extra lift capacity. Earth is so messed up right now nobody is even taking standby status freight. I wish I'd had a sack of charcoal on standby for every shuttle flight, but it's too late now. They're struggling to lift priority loads. So we have everything we need but enough carbon dioxide for the plants. Eventually we can recover most of it from sewage and mulching crop waste, but we lack the tons we need to start a large recycling system going. We can't do hydro or build soil without organics."

"Exactly," Mo agreed. "Eventually, long term, we can send ships to bring back hydrocarbons or carbon dioxide from Jupiter or beyond just like they are doing water now."

Heather thought briefly of reminding him the first snowball wasn't back yet and that the second expedition was having troubles. After considering it she didn't see how that would help and it was confidential so she stifled it.

"What I want to propose is a stopgap," Mo said. "We have three million cubic meters of rock and regolith to back fill. It contains anywhere from fifty to two hundred parts per million carbon. We should process the material to remove that carbon. You already want to separate and stockpile the iron. I agree since it will be a considerable asset in time and cost little to do so. We should extract the carbon too."

"Yes, but the iron is easy to separate  magnetically," Heather said. "How much of a process is getting the carbon out? Is it going to involve milling and chemical extraction?"

"That's the beauty," Mo said. "All you have to do is heat it and it and the majority of it is released as carbon dioxide, carbon monoxide and methane gas."

"Enough to be worthwhile?" Heather asked Mo.

"As I said. It varies from fifty to two hundred parts per million."

"That doesn't sound like much at all to me," Heather said.

"But Heather, if our material runs at the median concentration it means three thousand tons of carbon in just our back-fill. Plenty to stock a closed system and buy us time. If we need to we can send a group to set up mining in some of the dark craters. That would give us more water and I wouldn't be surprised if the same areas have higher carbon content too."

"Would we have to divert some of our robots doing back-fill to run a remote mining operation?"

Mo shook his head. "No, because we will reach a point soon where we have as many robots working as the road network will support. Then we just replace the obsolete ones that wear out. We wouldn't send the robots to a dark crater however, we'd send an automated robot maker or two."

Heather thought about that a bit. "You can handle and convert the carbon monoxide easily? That stuff makes me nervous in a sealed environment."

"We can burn it to carbon dioxide through a catalyst screen. We'll do it physically isolated from environmentally controlled cubic," Mo assured her. "The carbon dioxide liquefies easily to transport it if we do the dark crater operation. It's in the ideal form to release for plants."

"I've continued speaking with Jeff about this," Heather said. "We also want to have a yeast tank operation. They've developed some strains of yeast that can be processed to something people actually want to eat – not just survival food. But without the biomass we weren't going to be able do it because we had no feedstock."

"Hydroponic beets are an excellent feed stock for tank yeast," Mo said.

"You've been researching this deeper than you're admitting," Heather said.

Mo blushed. "I'm still no expert. But I had to be certain it would work as a package before proposing it."

"What I'd like you to do is make a couple prototypes. I imagine the transport robots won't each have an extraction apparatus will they?" Heather asked.

"No. We don't really need to change the design of the scoop and move units. We just add a mill at the edge of the crater to extract the iron and carbon. Then when the bin gets full of processed material it gets thrown in the crater," Mo said, his cupped hand doing a forward toss, "So it doesn't build up a slope to the edge, and make us periodically move that unit forward to a new lip. The material will be loose and that's a dangerous operation to do."

Heather nodded. "We'll want a prototype, and a test unit to transport to a dark crater and sample there for carbon, iron and water extraction. Build that unit with weight and dimensional limits in mind for transporting it. I'd like it to fit in one shuttle load. I'll need a budget proposal and a short description of the operation for Jeff and whomever he decides to consult. When can you have that for me?"

"I'll have a basic proposal in a week," Mo promised. When Heather lifted a skeptical eyebrow he explained. "I have an outline already and just need to add some drawings and address some of the questions you raised."

"I'm curious, how do the other moon bases handle waste? Do they recycle and if not how do they dispose of it?" Heather asked.

"I have no idea. But I'll inquire if you wish," Mo said.

"Yes, I wish. Would you care for some dessert?" Heather offered.

"I thank you, but not after the second helping," Mo said, putting a hand flat on his stomach.

"Thank you then. If you send me a message about this, title the message with 'Carbon' on the header and I'll know what it's about."

It was an obvious dismissal. So Mo stood and said good bye quickly.

* * *

"The couple in isolation seem likely to survive," Dr. Lee said. "I had my doubts, but we treated them very aggressively. The man was much sicker than the woman. We had them at a forty percent oxygen mix, chilled him down with the appropriate drugs, gave him antibodies specific to the mouse flu and heavy doses of prophylactic antibiotics. I believe the zero G environment helped as we had him down to a heart rate and temperature I doubt he could have survived in a full G clinic. We don't have to use pressure cuffs to promote circulation and inhibit clotting in zero G. The lowered temperature itself  inhibits viral reproduction."

"He'll make a full recovery then?" Jon asked.

"By no means," Lee said emphatically. "I can't really evaluate him yet, but I doubt he will make a full recovery of gross strength and he may have damage to his hearing and kidney function. I'll consider it a win if he doesn't have some loss of cognitive ability. His wife is certainly better, and tests right now much like someone who has had a minor stroke.

"This is a terrible disease. The more so for gene-mod people. I think after a few months of physical therapy he'll have recovered as much as possible. Both of them need some rehabilitation, but I'm not sure we'll get the cooperation I'd like. They are wealthy and used to giving orders not taking orders. They are technically retired even aside from their wealth. They may just consider the lessons and exercise too much trouble and decide to live with some impairment rather than exert themselves."

"But the next question after their plain survival is, do they have enough funds to retire on Home?" Jon said. "Have they any idea who expensive it is here compared to Earth? They may have much grander tastes than can be accommodated here."

"That is their concern. I have not demanded their true identity. I can hardly check their credit."

"Being the unprincipled brute I am, I had some Earth agents make inquiries," Jon said.

"Yes?" Lee seemed interested.

"I'm sure in the short term my department won't have to fund their return ticket due to their utter bankruptcy. Also you can be sure they are able to reimburse your department for your considerable expenditures."

Lee said nothing. Hoping Jon would reveal his patient's names, but he couldn't ask.

"Whether they can integrate to Home society and be happy with what they can afford here long term is another question, but I decided that is not my concern," Jon said. "I'm very encouraged you could save them, Doc. You'll probably get another opportunity."

"Just so I don't get a hundred all at once. We have neither space nor supplies for that," Lee said.

"We have boarding control now at ISSII and New Las Vegas. They are both happy to restrict boarding as long as we are paying for it," Jon said.

"That's excellent, but please, make sure the hired security has several people available to test people at dock, or have a back-up company ready to take over," he told Jon.

"Why Doc?"

"Because the people doing your dock check may themselves get sick. And people tend to just not show up without telling anyone if they are suddenly ill. Especially part timers who aren't your own people and aren't deeply committed to your service."

Jon nodded, frowning at the problem. "Thanks, Doc. I'll add layers to our arrangements today."

* * *

"Would you mind some company?"

April tore her gaze away from her pad and looked up to find Jelly, AKA Dr. Ames, standing there cafeteria tray in hand.

"Of course not! I'm always happy to have your company. In fact I have some questions for you if you don't mind hearing them. I imagine you're busy. If you'd rather have a break and not talk shop just tell me. I'll understand."

"No, I came over because I have some news," Jelly said, "but tell me your story first so I can just listen and stuff my face. I'm starved."

"That's a deal. I have some messages from Heather at Central, we agreed a bit back to seek to be independent at Central for food. We got the bug to do that before the current flu epidemic on Earth. It seemed like a good idea when we saw the French lunar colony planning to do that for themselves. We got a lot of seeds and cuttings and the mining engineer Jeff hired for Central was tasked with finding out how Earthies raise plants indoors and translating it to doing it in lunar tunnels," April said.

Jelly nodded to show he was listening but was eating not talking.

"Jeff is looking into tank raised yeast. We've bought samples of food made from special varieties they've brought to market in the last three or four years and it's quite edible. You wouldn't know it is yeast based. I had fake cream cheese and a dried grated cheese that passed for Romano very well. There was some stuff you'd swear was peanut butter," April claimed, "and a variety that produces gluten you can use to make low carbohydrate baked goods or fake chicken that's pretty good in stir fry."

"I'm aware," Jelly said between bites. "It's all gene-mod and patented. You should be able to buy licenses for it."

"We're trying, but there may be delays with the way things are below. But I wondered if you might be able to produce some mushrooms that would be more nutritious and could be processed to substitute more for meat? I had some unfortunate experience with how invasive mushrooms can be with my brother some years ago."

Jelly was busy chewing, but his raised eyebrow said loads.

"There might be some... resistance among old timers who remember," April admitted. "They took a long time to stop calling my brother Bob the 'Mushroom King'. I mean, hey... he was only eleven years old! They acted like it was some kind of bio-terrorism. And we did make out pretty well for awhile selling fresh mushrooms. It did have the advantage of teaching people that the service interval on air filters was set for actual reasons, not arbitrarily. I believe they still find a colony now and then, if not on a filter on some null point in the ducting where debris accumulates."

Jelly was making enough progress he was slowing down and enjoying it a little. "Somebody should write a paper on what sort of feral organisms have established themselves in space habitats. I understand at one point the French had some air plants, orchids technically, growing behind their duct vents. Odd things have shown up here and there in with potted plants. I assume that is from inadequately sterilized potting soil."

"I had a little spider and his web in the corner of my view port," April admitted.

Jelly paused with his toast half way to his mouth and looked alarmed. "That is disturbing. One has to ask – On what was he living?"

April just shrugged it off. "That's what Gunny asked right away. He's mainly concerned we don't ever get mosquitoes. He seems to have developed a real hatred of them from his military service."

"Indeed, they are disgusting little disease carriers. If we found one, Dr. Lee and I would both declare open warfare and eradicate them if we had to pump the whole damn station down."

"Maybe spiders would be good, to keep them in check?" April asked. "Just not on my view port."

"All the spiders in the world, as well as birds and bats and man-made machines that suck the little devils in and drown them, haven't put a dent in the mosquito population," Jelly said.

"Oh. I understand," April said surprised at his vehemence. "Better not to let the little devils get a foothold then."

Jelly nodded solemn agreement. He was past the halfway point eating and looked a lot cheerier. "You realize if I develop organisms for you at my own expense I'll retain rights and licensing them?"

"I was more worried about eating well and regularly than the expense. It's costing us plenty to lift our food right now and not getting any cheaper. Unless you intend to gouge us horribly? You realize any patents you take out will be by Earth law," April reminded him. We've been paying licensing fees for things like the yeasts we want, because it is less trouble and it seems like the right thing to do. But if anyone got really greedy that might end."

Ames ate a little more thinking that over. It became apparent April wasn't going to say anything more until he replied. He'd have been surprised to know she learned that trick from him.

"You're right," Ames decided. "I don't believe my fellow citizens would allow me to do that. On Earth you might get away with it. Here, if they were forced to pay a huge fee they might just pay me right back. I'd be shunned socially and every time I went in to buy something or request a service I'd be quoted double or triple prices. Everybody knows who you are and your business here, despite the increase in population. So far no one has suggested my fees on gene-mods are too high. But then I have no direct local competition.

"I might start thinking about when that will happen, and how I will respond. Just because nobody has offered similar services doesn't mean it won't happen eventually."

"We have a number of ship builders. I own a little interest in a night club and another one opened recently. We all seem pretty busy even with competition. I wouldn't assume it will be terribly damaging to have another provider. You just might have to offer something distinctive. Your mod to improve reflexes for example. What are the chances another gene-mod doc will produce the exactly same thing?" April asked.

"Maybe," Jelly said, still concerned. "But that idea makes diversifying into modifying food plants or other non-human organisms more attractive. I need to tell you... The reason I came to speak with you is I finally have that mod available I told you about before. I have a mod that increases strength. It isn't going to make you into a comic book hero, but it will make you anywhere from half to three quarters stronger than your base level.

"I'd be willing to trade you a treatment in exchange for some help getting specimens of various plants and fungi shipped up. That side line business you are suggesting sounds like a good idea. However, I've been having trouble getting my regular supplies, so asking for exotics will be more difficult." He made a funny face looking down at the table. Then seemed to decide something and looked back up at her.

"I'm in a similar situation to that which you described your brother suffering. My colleagues below are aware of my relocation to Home. Although I have broken no law they can name, there is extreme prejudice against anyone capable of genetic modifications and once associated with veterinary medicine as I am. I find that when ordering supplies they increasingly demand I must be associated with some university or hospital even without any legal restrictions. I find it a ridiculous argument that I might misuse their products. Anyone might misuse their supplies. If they eliminate everyone who could do so they will have no customers. But I could use some third party help obtaining things to develop for you."

"I believe Jeff has, uh, people. On Earth that is," April clarified. "The sort who might obtain things for you. Some of the same sort of people who got the flu sequences for Lee and you."

That got a surprised look from Jelly.

"Security guys tend to work for more than one party," April told him. "But he has good connections among them besides a few of his own people. I'll ask him if what you want can be had. If it can be done  I'll take that mod in trade, but he may want a fee himself depending on how difficult it proves to be. What do you want?" April asked.

"As many food plants that haven't already had radical genetic mods done," Jelly said, starting to count off the items on his fingers. "Some of your stock you mentioned obtaining would serve as well as new from Earth. I don't need a lot. North American law seems to have failed to show proper horror at modified corn and wheat or golden rice. Their agriculture would fail without them so they turn a blind eye. But there are still things like turnips and cabbage, beets and carrots that have been bred to extremes but not actively gene modified.

"I'd also like the common commercial mushrooms. From what you say I can just set out growth media and get the common button mushroom, Agaricus bisporus, here thanks to your brother.  But I'd like Pleurotus Ostreatus, oyster mushrooms and other common varieties. They sell them for hobbyists so that should be easy. I can give you a list of varieties that are edible but commercially unimportant."

"Why do you want those if they aren't good enough people want to buy them?" April asked.

"Schizophyllum Commune is an example. It's edible but only favored by small populations. It tends to be tough and chewy. But it travels to market in the tropics better than tender varieties that go bad quickly. If you want meat substitutes I figure it's texture may be an advantage. It's one less characteristic I have to modify or find some way to add in processing."

"You just happen to know the scientific names off the top of your head?" April asked skeptically.

"It was something I considered pursuing years ago on Earth and never did. I wanted personal benefit from my work, and I don't mean just income. Not being a fungus, I decided to concentrate on modifications to humans. But perhaps I'll branch out now."

"Send a list to my pad later and I'll see what I can do," April said.

Jelly was frowning again, looking at her plates, although she was finished. "The first time I had breakfast with you I remember you had this enormous four or five thousand calorie breakfast. I knew right then you were gene-mod. Have you gone to the trouble to have that undone?"

"No, but the sort of tweak I have, my metabolism will go into a much lower range if I severely limit my intake for a few days," April said. "Until such a time that I eat a great deal and trigger it again."

"You anticipate supply getting that short here?" Jelly asked.

"Honestly, I don't know," April said, "but Gunny and others have made me aware others do notice conspicuous consumption. I don't wish to alienate anyone. It seemed politic."

"You look the same because of the therapy, but you're growing up," Jelly said with a nod.

April was conflicted. Jelly had said it with approval, but she had still been embarrassed to admit she cared what the public thought of her. Even the limited public of other Home citizens.

Chapter 17

It felt odd being in the number two seat. Barak had never pictured himself having opportunity to visit the bridge and observe during a burn much less sit at a hot board. He'd never have felt free to ask Jaabir for the privilege. Even when he first came aboard it was obvious there was a huge division of status. Jaabir and Charlotte considered themselves professionals, barely had any regard for Deloris, Alice or Harold, and saw Barak as a muscled menial on the level of a janitor or scullery maid.

"Here's the planned program," Deloris said. "We will fire the engine to which Barak and I ran a new line. The opposite engine will also be fired so we do not induce a tumble. I've loaded the sequence we got from our controllers. It will start at minimum thrust and hold it for a minute. Then if the sensors all read within the normal range they will ramp up to eighty percent thrust, hold it there for a minute and terminate. If at any time we get a red light on the board I will shut down both engines."

"What do I have to do?" Barak asked.

"I'm cloning my board to yours. If something goes horribly wrong, and I sit here with my mouth hanging open, doing nothing, you may tap the big red square marked ABORT," Deloris allowed.

"I think I can handle that," Barak agreed.

"After the test all the sensor data will be beamed back home and they will do a thorough analysis. If everything looks good in the morning we will do a partial rotation and stop then rotation. After taking a star sighting and having it confirmed from Home we will start a thirty percent burn tomorrow evening to lift us out of Jupiter's plane of rotation. It will be timed to retain our orbital motion on a sunward vector. That will last forty-four hours and we will go ballistic again for a bit more than nine days. Then we'll do a reorientation before sighting again. If we need to we'll adjust and do a longer burn towards home.

"We can expect to do at least two corrections on this end and a long voyage home. The braking burn will be longer since we gain velocity going insystem, and we will run out an antenna that swings onto our surface and anchors on our last burn. That will keep us in contact with Home the last few weeks. If all goes well we should be almost at rest near L2 the middle of August. A fresh crew can relieve us and nudge it into place once we are that close." Deloris made it sound almost easy.

"Why aren't we running the engines up to full power?" Alice asked.

"Because we grabbed a little smaller snowball than the maximum we could have, and we aren't in as big a hurry to get back because with a half crew we have more supplies available. We also aren't going to use the Yuki-onna's engines to actually move the snowball. We'll push just enough to keep our nose planted in the ice without keeping tension on our anchor cables. It'll save the stress and hours on the engines in case something goes wrong and we still have to abandon the ball and take the ship back to survive. Coming up on burn in two minutes," Deloris said. That cut off any further questions.

"Count down in the corner of the screen," Deloris told them.

When it reached zero the readings on several screens changed, but they felt nothing. One monitor showed the engine they had worked on but there wasn't a spare camera to actually watch the opposite engine yet. There was plenty of data feed off it though. The engine spat out a white hot line of plasma that looked like any ship's engine using Jeff Singh's tech. It wasn't until the engines were near the full eighty percent power they felt a slight hum through their couches. It had barely began before it ended.

"Did you run the Yuki-onna?" Alice asked. "I'd have thought it would be louder even at low output."

"It wasn't worth doing for only two engines at eighty percent. They were sure we wouldn't put enough strain on the anchor cables to matter. OK, our new data is on the way to Home. Anybody for some lunch?" Deloris said.

* * *

Gunny came in looking amused, and shoved his pad in front of April's face. She reached and held the edge to steady it as she read, but she didn't take it from his hand.

"Jeremiah Fogley, after a sudden illness. Rev. Fogley conducted services at his church Sunday December 21 and complained of feeling ill after skipping an after services dinner. He was found dead in bed in his apartments the following Tuesday morning. A Christmas evening service and memorial celebration of his life will be conducted 0100 Pacific time by his assistant pastor Zachariah Bentley."

"It's an obituary," Gunny said when she didn't react.

"Well yeah, I understand, but when did you pick up the ghoulish habit of reading the obits?" April asked. "I thought that was a really old person's habit."

"Not at all, but I added Jeremiah to my searches when we saw him expose the flu on TV." Gunny reminded her. "Do you remember now?"

"Oh yeah. The guy that danced around. He seemed awfully fit and healthy. Do you suppose maybe somebody did him in for exposing the truth about the flu?" April asked Gunny.

"Nah, I think the simplest explanation is he was a flaming hypocrite. He fits the profile what with the income his church produces. I bet he had life extending gene mods himself and caught it. A lot of people would file this under karma though."

"That's sad. What's with the biblical names?" April asked. "Or is that just coincidence his number two guy was Zachariah?"

"No coincidence. Members of his church are expected to take a Christian name when they join. Not just a church name but have it legally changed too," Gunny said.

"Why? What difference does it make?" April wondered.

"I'd just be repeating what they say to tell you. It's doesn't really make any sense to me either, but that's one of the things that they feel differentiates them from others." Gunny said. "But other churches used to do it long ago. If you were Hawaiian or African or Scandinavian or Asian and got baptized into a Christian church they gave you a proper Christian name. Of course everybody still called you by your same old name. You've heard of nick names haven't you?"

"Yeah but I only thought they were pet names or abbreviations like calling Dr. Ames Jelly or Louisa Barnes Lisa, not anything religious," April said.

"Or me being called Gunny from my work. Reasons for things change too. I doubt you'd get away with keeping April with that church. April is from the Romans, notorious heathens." He looked amused at something but just smiled at her.

"Don't you dare say it," April said, before he could slap the notorious label on her.

"No indeed...  My Lady," Gunny said, hoping to get a rise from her. Instead she just inclined her head briefly and acknowledged the honor. Well, wasn't that interesting?

* * *

Mo finished the layout of the new tunnel for seed production. He did an ultrasound scan of the walls to confirm there were no hazardous fractures. He entered a work order for his two man crew to seal and foam it, string power along the roof and fit a lock frame. Not a fancy powered one but a simple manual isolation lock. He was ten minutes over time for the shift and walked back to where his cart was parked. His crew had left at shift end although that left him alone. He never made them stay as he figured it would kill morale. It was a very narrow window of risk for him. So far nobody had noticed the time stamps on suits being racked or carts being parked and jumped on him for the safety lapse.

It was another twenty minutes back to common pressure. Mo never pushed the cart as fast as it would go. He parked his cart tight against the tunnel wall outside pressure and keyed in the status for it. They had no reason to cycle the carts into pressure. Most of the time they even manually unloaded them if they had supplies rather than cycle the one lock big enough to hold a cart. When he went in pressure he racked his suit and made sure it was plugged in. He really didn't want to shower. Better to shower in the morning and get back in the suit as clean as possible.

Mo walked to his room and just hit the stinky parts with a sani-wipe. That would hold him until the morning and he pulled on shorts in which to sleep. There were two canned meals left. Chicken and Dumplings and Beef Stew. He really needed to remember to get a few.

There was a tap-tap-tap on the door. He wasn't expecting any one. "Hang on!" he called and pulled on a fresh suit liner. Mo was still too Earth modest and wouldn't answer the door in stretch shorts.

When he opened the door it was a little blond girl. It took a couple seconds as tired as he was to remember who her parents were and that her name was Danae. She was about the age of his boy.

"Dad says you've been eating self-heating and you needed a decent meal brought to you." She was holding out a small thermo-pak straight armed. "It's stuffed cabbage today and good. I made sure they put red sauce on the rice. It's pretty boring without it."

"Thank you," Mo said. "That does sound better than canned chicken and dumplings." She made a face to show what she thought of canned chicken and dumplings.

Mo took the pack one handed. "Hang on, I'll get you some money for courier duty."

"No! Dad told me you work your butt off for us and I can do plenty of other stuff for money, but sometimes you do just do stuff because somebody needs a hand." Danae took off down the corridor without any delay. He could hardly run down the corridor after her and press the money on her.

"Thank you!" Mo called after her.

She just lifted a hand to acknowledge it without looking over her shoulder.

Would his boy Eric do that, just as a kindness? Mo hoped so, but he wasn't there to teach him nearly enough. He didn't want to ask his wife directly if she taught the kids charity, but he could mention about Danae in a positive light to his family. That should provoke the thought if it wasn't already happening.

* * *

Barak sorted through his messages. His mom was chatty and listed a whole bunch of art projects with which she was involved. She rarely included pix, describing them by preference. He hadn't told her about their troubles on Yuki-onna. He'd kept sending messages but just told her when they did a burn or what he worked on. He'd installed a few cameras covering areas Jaabir seemed indifferent to for unknown reasons. He was pleased to see Jeff and April hadn't said a word about his problems to his mom, or it would have shown up in his mom's messages by now. Apparently she didn't see anything in his messages to tip her off that things on the Yuki were not at all what had been planned..

Jeff sent a follow up message that had a bunch of filler to make it sound like the one line in it that mattered wasn't the whole point. That was – "I've had lunch with a few of the snowball investors and have not heard anything of concern." He didn't say concern to whom or what, so the message couldn't be a problem later if revealed. It wasn't a blatant – We're doing what we can to fix this and see you safe -sort of a message that might be pointed to as proof of undue influence. For not saying anything specific it made Barak feel much better. Just knowing it was a concern to Jeff and he was actually doing things was plenty. If Jeff was doing something he didn't need to know the details. He had every confidence if Jeff was acting it would be effective.

April sent her usual note, but she sent one almost every day and didn't complain if he skipped two or three days. She told Barak more about what Heather and Jeff were doing than herself, and almost always lamented how she missed being face to face daily with Heather. She reminded him of times Heather and she used to sit on the couch with Barak stuffed between them. Yeah, that stuck in his memory too.

Barak replied with similarly cautious wording to Jeff, and thanked him. April he reminded of some details of her visits when he was younger that she hadn't mentioned yet. Like when he'd been modeling for his mom's sculpture. He wanted her to know he remembered them fondly too. He desperately wanted to say much more about how much closer they'd become recently, but felt awkward. Alice had once accused him of not being romantic, but that wasn't true. He just wasn't eloquent. He wasn't the sort to run on and on or compose poetry. He was afraid he's just sound needy or pushy. She sometimes signed off with – "Love you." Not every time so it became trite. He did sparingly too. But he loved Jeff and he loved his sister Heather. Love was a much stretched and abused word in English.

He wanted to mention the last night he's been with her before he left, not back when he was little. To ask if she remembered how he'd teased her about bringing a puppy as a home-warming gift would be insulting. He knew damn well she remembered, and how shocked she'd been to find out nose to nose that he was the puppy. But April was smart. She'd remember things on a very thin hint. A word was plenty. So when he ended the text he didn't say I Miss You or Love You. He ended it – Woof! - Barak... She'd know exactly to what that alluded. He could imagine her reading it and pictured precisely the slightly taken-aback look she'd get on her face when he surprised her with that ending. It left him smiling.

* * *

Margaret was at her security station early. The shuttle from ISSII was coming in and she needed to have each of the passengers declare a name and touch a DNA reader to enter. It was late in the off shift, slowest time of the day before the main shift rush, but she got a premium for covering it and no duty the next day so that suited her fine. Margaret had a lot of seniority in security but in a small department everybody wore a lot of different hats and nobody entirely avoided unpleasant duty.

The security station was in zero G outside the station bearing and in sight of the airlock. The small shuttle from ISSII would connect directly to the airlock without a tube like a big landing shuttle or spaceplane. The passengers would leave the shuttle cabin, step into their own airlock and a bit more than two meters later exit the station airlock. Passing through four doors, although the gap between the outer doors of each lock was only a hand's breadth when it was grappled up.

Margaret was wearing the two tone blue uniform they used in contact with the public. She had short hair so to retain her beret in zero G she sprayed the edge periodically with a semi-adhesive that made the surface tacky. People used it on soft bags and lunch boxes, all sorts of things without a clip or line they wanted to position and not have drift off.

Home's security department was not averse to firearms, but given the proximity of vacuum she wore a Taser. It was however a full powered Air-Taser that didn't use wires. It projected a charge along two parallel beams ionized in the air. It was not only lethal at the highest settings but could disrupt or destroy electronics. It lacked the normal yellow stripes of a non-lethal weapon.

The lectern she stood behind as a security station helped grounders orient when there was no up or down and they got befuddled. The top surface was a handy place to put her sensor package and the touch pad. It was also armored for her to duck behind. It had little grab bars around three sides so people entering could plant their feet the same directions as hers and hold on.

Without some preferred orientation offered many of the Grounders locked up in speechless incoherence when faced with others moving and speaking in random orientations. They also couldn't read facial expressions when presented too far off their axis. It didn't help that some station dwellers delighted in flooding them with conflicting sensory input just to see their glassy eyed shock. That didn't make her job checking them in any easier.

The manifest from ISSII said seven passengers and two crew. Margaret was talking to the seventh and became aware the fellow waiting behind was not crew. Not all crew wore uniforms, but there was something about him that said he wasn't as proficient in zero G as a professional spacer should be. Not a fumbling Earthie but not a rigger or pilot by any means. He kept easing along instead of waiting, and was now actually passing behind the last passenger she was checking in. What is worse she had a red line on her sensor board showing he was running a fever.

"A moment," Margaret said to the fellow gripping her lectern. Lifting a single digit to signal a pause. "You sir!" She raised her voice sharply. "Do not go further until we have spoken."

The fellow was using the line they rigged along posts for the less proficient and squatted to made a desperate jump for the entry bearing when she called him on trying to ease by. He was off line and was going to hit the bulkhead beside the opening. Margaret drew and held the Taser our straight armed, taking plenty of time to aim carefully.

The man in front of her ducked wild eyed as she extended the Taser just past his ear. It's not like he could maneuver or zig-zag once he'd jumped. She touched the trigger lightly and it painted a blue-green dot on his back. She squeezed gently to take it past the aiming pressure and fire.

Margaret had the weapon set for a high stunning power level, and beside the hooded light that blinked red at her rapidly when it discharged it was set to confirm the discharge with a discrete buzz. The beam was nowhere near the power level needed to be visible in air.

The fellow who had ducked turned and looked along the line drawn by her arm. The jumper crumpled loose limbed against the bulkhead on the other end of the chamber.

"My God, I thought you were shooting me!" the fellow said with his nose still barely clearing the top of the lectern.

"Stay right here," Margaret ordered the cowering fellow. "That man shows a fever on my sensors and he isn't on the manifest. You've been exposed to him in the shuttle and we are going to have to isolate you and run down all the other passengers who rode with you too."

"Oh crap. I have a work schedule and appointments. This is going to screw everything up."

Margaret was busy calling Jon in the middle of his night and didn't acknowledge the man. "Jon, we've got a gate crasher here, sick. He wasn't on the manifest and he bolted for the bearing when I called him to stay put."

"Has the flight crew come through?" Jon asked, rubbing his face still half asleep.

"No, I thought he might be crew when he was hanging back, then it clicked he was moving wrong for crew," Margaret said.

"Then I'm calling traffic control and having them put on a hold. We'll run down the people you've admitted and give them the option to board and return to ISSII if they don't want to be put in isolation. What do you need there right now?" Jon asked.

"A bubble stretcher and two or more guys in isolation suits to cuff him and stuff him in it. I don't want to approach him with no suit, so have them rub his hand on a DNA reader," Margaret requested.

"Thanks, I'll call Doc Lee and tell him he has another patient to go in isolation. I'll make that a transfer ball, not just a stretcher, so they can take him directly into quarantine," Jon said.

"How did he get aboard at ISSII, past our man at the gate?" Margaret asked.

"I don't know. But we're going to have a hard talk with the flight crew and demand they answer questions under truth processing or I'll blacklist them from having docking rights at Home," Jon said.

"The fellow I Tasered is drifting toward the bearing. It would be nice if they get here and pop him in the capsule before the air currents take him through and contaminate the hub too," Margaret added.

"You had it on stun I take it? Or you'd be telling me to bring a body bag," Jon asked.

"Yeah, but I haven't gone over to check his vitals and I'm not going to." Margaret informed him. "I have no desire to get infected with that crud."

"The guys are in the elevator already coming up to get him," Jon said. "That should be fine. They'll decontaminate that side of the bearing after you are all out."

"Thank you Jon. Sorry to wake you up," Margaret apologized.

"You did exactly right," Jon assured her. "I should have told you 'Good Job' already. I don't think we need to isolate you given the level of exposure, but I'm going to talk to Doc Lee and see. You may have to take a day off and check your saliva every few hours three or four days from now. He said the virus will show on a reader if you are becoming contagious before you feel anything.

"So that's how you get a day off around here," Margaret said.

* * *

"How accurately are the engines spaced out around the Yuki-onna?" Deloris asked Barak.

"I helped Harold do the survey work. I've never done it before myself, and he wasn't the best about explaining what he was doing. It was more like – Stand here and hold this, no, straight away from the surface not on an angle. But I watched and most of it made sense. He had to get them spaced out but in the same plane. The plane is set at right angles to a line through the snow ball's center of mass. We got that pretty accurately because it has enough gravity to pull a plumb bob straight, if you are patient.

"When he had me make the final corrections they were only about twenty centimeter moves, so I figure everything is located at least that accurately in each of three dimensions. So double that tolerance between any two. I'd mark the ice with spray dye and we got each engine manhandled onto the mark within fifty centimeters or so. Add up the variables and they should be within three hundred centimeters engine to engine on opposite sides."

"I hope you're right," Deloris said. "The guys back on Home are saying we may have to do an extra correction or two if they aren't within a meter of where they are supposed to be."

"What if we do?" Barak asked her. "We have the time and can do extra if we need to."

"I guess they are still counting the expense. We'll be running late to get back as it is."

"You mean they'll only be rich instead of filthy rich?" Barak joked.

"Yeah, I think you have that right, but let's not tell them that bluntly while we are depending on them for our bonuses and survival," Deloris said. "It might sound ungrateful to them. Coming up on the burn," she warned.

"Ready and tired of waiting," said Alice from the jump seat.

The counter in the screen reached zero and the board showed two adjacent engines firing at thirty percent, but they couldn't feel it. The attitude display showed a slow roll from the off-center firing after almost ten minutes. The engines cut off after twenty minutes and then they waited exactly twenty-three minutes letting it roll and fired the opposite pair of engines to bring the rolling motion back to a halt in a bit over an hour. They had imparted a slight forward velocity as well as rotating the snowball.

"I'm aligning the star sighting system," Deloris said. It was the first she sounded stressed to Barak. "If it's anywhere near where they want it pointed we'll do a slow ramp up and burn on all engines and enough on Yuki-onna to keep us pushed in the ice."

After a few minutes Deloris said, "We're within a half degree. That's better than they hoped for. It'll do an auto burn in seven minutes if I don't interrupt it. I'm sending them the data but we'll be burning well before they receive it. They wanted us to wait and get confirmation but I argued against it. We aren't total idiots and can read the attitude numbers and compare them just fine. Why wait?"

When the engines all fired this time they followed it on the boards. They took a couple minutes to ramp up to thirty percent power and the sound of the Yuki-onna's engines in the hull was much more apparent than any sound through the ice. Even at low power.

"Doesn't exactly press you back in your seat, does it?" Barak said.

Deloris allowed it wasn't about to, even when they went to eighty percent power later, pushing tonnage she described in unusually vulgar terms. That was the only sign she displayed of the tension of her new responsibilities. As far as Barak was concerned she could name her tons any way she pleased with the burden of command on her shoulders.

"I'll do the first twelve hour watch," Deloris said. "If something goes wrong the engines should all shut down automatically. But if it doesn't that's why we're sitting watching it. You can listen to music if you wish on speakers, but no headphones and I'll check on you a few times to see if you're having trouble staying alert. If you feel sleepy dial down the temperature and configure the seat like a bench to sit up instead of leaning back on it. If you are struggling keep setting a count-down alarm on your pad. Any questions?"

"When we do the longer burns maybe we should do six hour shifts. Think about it," Barak said.

"Can you still get good sleep in shorter shifts?" Deloris asked.

"I don't know. Twelve hours is just so long to sit a watch. Maybe you can ask them on Home what has proved optimum," Barak suggested.

"That's a good idea. Somebody has probably done studies about it," Deloris said. "I'll see you back here at 1400. Alice, if you can manage to split your shift and see both of us when we are alternating it would be a comfort to not be alone so long."

"I'd be happy to," Alice agreed, "and I can bring stuff to the bridge and have a meal with each of you during your shifts."

"Thanks, Alice. See you mid-shift. Barak, be sure to get your rest," Deloris said, but she was looking at Alice. Barak wasn't sure exactly what the message to Alice was. Alice had no questions and seemed to know what she meant. Undoubtedly it would be much worse for him if they were at odds with each other instead of happily conspiring, but sometimes he felt helpless having two women running his life for him.

* * *

"We ran ten samples from widely scattered areas," Mo reported. "We got a lot more methane than I expected. Carbon dioxide and monoxide were all over the place. One sample at seventy two parts per million and another at three hundred eleven parts per million. It'll average out to be worth doing though I think. I wouldn't stop backfilling. Just keep backfilling and build the extractors along the edge as we can. We wouldn't save enough volume by stopping to make any difference. It's not like we don't have much more regolith within easy reach if we backfill the whole thing and still need carbon."

"Is the crater going to fill back up with the displaced rock and regolith or is it going to mound up?" Heather asked, drawing a hump in the air with her hand. "Will we need to tamp it down somehow or keep adding material as it settles?"

"Without air or water to hold the particles apart or draw them together it will compact back to near the same volume. The only question I have is if it will be strong enough to attach the beanstalk Jeff wants to build. You'll have to ask somebody who knows foundations and anchors."

"What is the worst case scenario on that?" Heather asked.

"He might have to run his cable all the way to bedrock," Mo said. "Maybe five hundred meters. Or Jeff might move the beanstalk off a few kilometers. Then it would go up at a little angle, but probably not enough to even see by eye. It is going to oscillate a little with the gravitational variations anyway."

"That's really not so bad. It's going to be so long a half kilometer on one end isn't any big deal. But you do know most of a beanstalk will be carbon don't you?" Heather asked.

"I'm aware of that and I'm not at all sure how many thousands of square kilometers we'd have to mine and convert to bucky to build one. If you want to do it in your lifetime you better get another source of carbon. Unless we find a big surprise somewhere that means importing it," Mo said.

"I'll keep that in mind. I'm more interested right now in when you'll have enough carbon dioxide to fill a tunnel to start increasing our seed stocks," Heather said.

Mo made a show of looking thoughtful. "I will have two hand-built extraction machines running in two weeks. Unless there is a major design problem in another week after that I'll have around ten kilograms of carbon for you, which will make about thirty-four or thirty-five kilograms of carbon dioxide. You can start plants with just a couple hundred parts per million carbon dioxide and the optimum is a thousand to twelve hundred ppm. So you can have a small tunnel filled to start some seeds in three weeks.

"I'll cycle the batch process faster the first couple weeks to get a stock even if it wastes some gas, but then pump down closer to a vacuum to increase yield as we add machines. We'll hand-build a new extractor a week and get ahead of you. In a couple months, I'll have an automated machine designed to build small extractors from what we've learned on the early hand built machines. You can put the people to other work then, and you'll have to stop building them when they ring the crater or send them off to mine other areas. Maybe a dark crater like we said."

"Are you going to be able to store it OK if we get behind on tunnels?" Heather asked.

"Oh sure. We can sinter steel tanks and store it as liquid. If we mine it in a dark crater we can store it as liquid in much thinner tanks at lower pressures or even as a solid in permanent shadow," Mo assured her. "When we have a large amount of biomass from the plants we can set it aside and store it as cellulose, starch, sugar or even reduce it to pure carbon. In a few months I think we'll be ahead of how much you can use for food and we'll be selling it."

"Oh! For some reason I wasn't thinking of selling it. I was stuck mentally on just using it," Heather said. "That's great. We need exports. Perhaps we can export it as food."

"It might only be a temporary market if we get lots of carbon from the outer system, but for a few years we can make a bit of money from it or trade with it," Mo said, looking pleased.

"I'll talk to Jeff about marketing it, and see if he's going to need carbon to do prototype work for the beanstalk," Heather promised.

* * *

"Five passengers opted to return to ISSII rather than go into isolation," Jon said. "The trouble is now they won't take them back. They are sitting in the shuttle waiting for us to sort it out. This is ridiculous. They are no more at risk than the other people they are taking in from Earth and other habs who are displaying no symptoms."

"Except they do know these had at least some exposure in the same cabin," Doc Lee said. "What are you going to do?"

"I'll let them enter again as long as they don't argue about going in isolation for at least four days. I don't wish us to be the ones who appear unreasonable or keep these people uncomfortable and imprisoned on their shuttle. The owner reasonably wants his shuttle back to use too. We have the room in hotels and they should be cleared as flu free before we get a new batch," Jon said.

"How did we get these? That is, how did the infected fellow not get tested?" Lee asked.

"He works for the owner of that hull and was getting a courtesy ride so they let him aboard before official boarding time," Jon said. "Our paid guy showed up before they opened the hatch to the public, but the sick guy was already in the shuttle."

"Well you can hardly blame him for not having a continuous stakeout on the dock. He isn't getting paid enough for that," Lee concluded.

"No," Jon agreed, "Even if we had our own man there he wouldn't have caught this one. What about the fellow in quarantine? What can you tell me about him?"

"Oh he has the flu alright," Lee said, "he tested positive right away, but it's the H3N2 variety."

"It isn't the new stuff?" Jon asked, surprised.

"Nope. You know, all the old seasonal varieties are still out there in the wild. We have yet to see if this one will become a fixture or burn completely out. We still don't want H3N2 sweeping through the station," Lee assured him. "The flu shot this year didn't include it. Before this new mouse based flu showed up everybody was guessing on a variety of H1N1 for the season."

"Why did this fellow run?" Jon wondered. "Didn't he get tested on ISSII and know it was the plain old seasonal variety?"

"No. He saw lots of people getting sick on ISSII and decided to bug out. He didn't feel sick when he left. In fact he wasn't aware he had it yet when Margaret stunned him. He said zero G always makes him feel out of sorts and stuffed up so he didn't think anything of it. The good thing about that for him is we got him on anti-virals early in his infection when they work best," Lee said.

"You do know we're being blamed for starting this flu in a lot of the news outlets?" Jon asked.

"I do. It's insane on the face of it," Lee said. "We have the most to lose. But people believe what they want to believe in the face of all logic or evidence. That's a component of what people are calling Earth Think. I hope we don't lose the ability to see that or replace it with our own Home Think now that immigration is less restricted than in the past."

Lee's face lit up with a sudden thought. "If you find the source of those rumors I suspect you will know who really released this virus on the world."

Jon said nothing but looked thoughtful.

Chapter 18

"The situation in the big cities has gotten really bad," Jeff said. "The EMS, police, and fire departments have run out of fuel to respond. Some places the crazy people destroyed the vehicles when they did go out. The hospitals are out of supplies and room. There are fires in a few big cities that nobody is putting out. The military have withdrawn to their bases and sealed up mostly. People stopped reporting for work when they knew there was little they could do and they are taking care of their own families.

"Banks have one by one stopped updating accounts and crediting people with their pay when their IT people stayed home and systems failed. If they aren't getting paid and their cards stop working people have  little reason to go to work. The cash dispensers ran out of money and few of them have been refilled. A lot of shops are closed or won't take cash anyway. A lot of shops stopped taking cash and post it right on the door so robbers know there isn't any money to steal. The government encouraged that for more tax receipts since it's much harder to hide receipts.

"No few stores have been looted and burned in the worst areas, but people want food and medicine, not big screen displays and com pads. The police stayed on the job and kept the lid on long enough that the places with food and drugs were empty by the time people got desperate enough to loot them.

"It's a mess and traffic out on the highways between cities is way down. The only bright spot I can see is they didn't have a mass exodus from the cities into the countryside. That would have stalled when everybody ran out of fuel and most cars don't have the range they did even ten years ago. North America and Europe are in winter and thousands would have frozen to death when they couldn't reach safety or find enough fuel to make it back home. By the time most wanted to leave they heard from friends and online that it was just as bad everywhere else. The official news sources kept saying everything was fine. The lying is blatant to the point that convinced most people everything was exactly the opposite."

"That's pretty much what my people tell me. Some places are losing electric or water if the local staff happens to be hard hit. Thankfully a lot of the machinery is robust enough to keep working for a time without maintenance. But there are still places with power line up on poles where a storm can damage them. The fusion power stations last best. The situation is a little easier in the tropics or in the Southern Hemisphere where it is summer," Jeff told Jon.

"I wish we had more assets on the ground. I can trust nothing that is said on the news services."

"I, we, still have some agents in contact and we have been supporting them," Jeff revealed.

"How? Why should they still work for you in that chaos?" Jon asked. "They aren't getting paid."

"You know the mission we sent to Tonga," Jeff reminded him. "It seemed a failure but we still got the flu data. Well, the agents ingratiated themselves to a taxi driver on their way to the hotel. They gave him a gold ring and he used it very wisely to prepare for the pandemic hitting the island.

"When they got in their hotel room they hid a cache of gold rings and other things in a lighting fixture, not wanting to carry it all around. We contacted the driver and asked him to continue working for us. He was quite agreeable. I suspect there isn't much work of any kind right now but survival scavenging. We told him what room to rent at the hotel and he recovered the rings. He's our eyes and ears there now, and he managed to contact one of Mitsubishi's people and manage him for us."

"How did you get in contact with him with no agents there?" Jon demanded.

"Why, we just called him on his cell phone. Many areas with solar backup power on the towers still have cell service," Jeff said.

"You just called him in the clear?" Jon was horrified.

"Yes, it beats not calling him at all, and we spoke in generalities and did all real communication with video. In all that chaos how long do you think it will take for them to analyze all the back logged video if there were no key words in the conversation to trigger them to look at it? In fact how long do you think they will keep that old data with nobody going in to man the data centers? Perhaps somebody will recover it for historical interest in a couple decades," Jeff predicted.

"It still seems risky to me," Jon said. "You have caches of payment in other places?"

"No, I wish we had prepositioned some," Jeff said, obviously unhappy he hadn't thought ahead to do that, "but we've delivered help to a few key agents."

"Are we on the same side or not?" Jon asked. "What possible reason do you have to keep secrets from me? Am I going to act against your interests?"

"This, is a conversation April reported having with Gunny," Jeff admitted. "it's hard to break habits of need to know and organizational boundaries. She made the case that it's Earth Think and they shoot themselves in the foot as often as not denying information to their own people."

"And you reject that idea?"

"No, not entirely. It's just difficult to apply the general concept to a specific instance," Jeff said, taking a deep breath. "I will, however, force myself to do so now. We can't exactly do bank transfers. If we could it would endanger our people down there to associate them with us. In several key areas like Italy we dropped reentry vehicles and sent some supplies to our agents. Dave took about twelve hours to crank out a couple prototype vehicles when we decided to do it. They got a supply of small gold coins, some compact nine millimeter pistols and some laser com gear to contact us directly. We counterfeited the coins like Earth issue, so they would be recognizable to people."

"Nobody thought these were missiles and shot them down?" Jon asked.

"They were compact. About like a six liter bucket," Jeff demonstrated with his hands. "We stealthed them as much as possible and put them on a trajectory that didn't leave an ionization trail low enough to alarm anyone. They looked more like a natural atmosphere grazing meteor than a bomb. They also came down in daylight and were aimed at remote areas of farmland or park. If something with almost no radar signature comes down out in the boonies and there is no sonic boom it's easy to ignore. Especially with reduced manpower on duty to run radar. They aren't going to intercept some odd return that doesn't profile as an attack. We dropped them within a couple tens of meters so they grabbed them and left the area quickly. If we had to we could have hit the bed of a truck driving down the road so they didn't even have to stop."

"Why not some emergency ration bars? You can't eat gold. Is anybody taking it?" Jon asked.

"We can spare gold at this point easier than sending back food we paid to lift. I'm sure if you offered the gold to professional economists they'd agree it isn't money and worthless. However go up in the hills to the tiny villages and the people who hoarded food and farmers will feed you for a week for a little gold coin. We have more platinum but it just doesn't have the recognition or favor gold still has to Earthies. The landscape can be a picture of total devastation and gold will still bring out goods you thought unavailable. Call it peasant logic but it is still the reality except among the intelligentsia."

"Thank you for trusting me with that. I have a mission for some of your agents if you would include it with whatever tasks you need," Jon requested. "I'd like to have them talk to some of the news people while there is still enough order for them to be found, and see what they can find out about the source of some of the flu stories we have seen."

"Oh really? Jeff seemed interested. "Tell me more. "Does this benefit us all?"

* * *

"I worry about Li and the people on his boat," April said. "The last time we were with them on vacation they said Italy was so rough they avoided docking there. That was before the flu. How much worse must it be now? I'm afraid now we'll never have another Earth vacation. It'll just be too dangerous if this flu is established in the population."

Jeff and April were both in one of the big Hardoy chairs. He was near as slightly built as her and in the low gravity it was plenty big for both of them. They naturally found the same center in the fabric sling. That was fine with him. Her arms were tucked up between them and Jeff was holding her loosely. It was very comfortable in the light gravity. She seemed disposed to be melancholy tonight and Jeff didn't want that. His reply was calculated to be upbeat.

"It is lot worse. But we've helped them. I've dropped stuff to them in the open sea and they have work to do for us. Papa-san is still interested in their welfare even if it isn't his boat any more. I suspect they do things for him too, but I don't pry. Among other things they are getting some of the mushroom spores your friend Jelly requested. They are collecting a lot of little things that we can't get shipped to Tonga and routing it to what few shuttles are still lifting from Australia.

"Dionysus' Chariot is scheduled to drop to meet them in international waters and take the other stuff they've collected onboard. They said they are sending us about a half ton of frozen fish too. They volunteered that and named some things they would like in trade. I was assured they have as much fish as they wish to eat and more. So we aren't running them short of food for themselves. They are loitering in a very safe area."

"Where are they now?" April asked. "Someplace safer I hope?"

Jeff lifted an eyebrow and considered. "I guess there isn't any reason not to say. They've gone around Africa, went around the Cape and are over south of Australia now. Australia isn't hit as badly as North America and Europe. So they were able to get some things for us there. They're going to stay in that part of the world for now. There are lots of areas they won't go. Nowhere near the Horn of Africa or Southeast Asia. Li said entire villages have gone out in boats and won't go back to shore, avoiding the flu. They fish and land in uninhabited places, but they live by piracy too."

"I remember the storm we went through in Papa-san's boat," April said. "I wouldn't want to be stuck out there in small boats in a real storm."

"Perhaps that will thin them out over a few years. The atoll we dropped to for vacation is so far from any big population center I think it would be safe from pirates or anything else. I can see us visiting somewhere that remote again. Besides we could have an overwatch for anything approaching. We could probably do it again if we have time and can justify the expense. But we'd have to have Dionysus' Chariot drop a second time to lift us again, instead of going to Tonga or someplace else to lift. But you are right that visiting Earth where there are lots of people may be effectively closed to us for a long time."

"Li may ask to be lifted off Earth if it stays bad. They might not be able to buy repairs or parts and get to where their boat is unserviceable," April predicted.

"We owe them. If that happens we'll pick them up," Jeff promised. "Even if they can't get a final load for us to pick up too."

"Thank you," April said. "I still feel like I owe them."

"Gunny assures me you have a rescue complex," Jeff told her, grinning.

"And if I do, the people I've rescued have turned out to be assets, haven't they?"

"You know, I can't argue with that. To be fair, I'll mention that side of it to Gunny at the right moment," Jeff promised.

"Good. Sometimes I still worry he thinks I'm silly," April said.

"Sometimes you think too much," Jeff insisted. "You can get stuck in a loop."

"You are undoubtedly correct, but how do I break it?" April asked.

"You have to reboot," Jeff said. "Think on something different, something sufficiently distracting  to demand your full attention and banish those other thoughts."

"But isn't that just trading over to another loop?" She objected.

"I certainly hope so," Jeff said, and demonstrated what he meant by distracting.

* * *

The trays were spaced on shelves stacked fifty millimeters apart. The bottom of the shelf above had a glow panel printed on its bottom.  By the time the plants needed more headroom the next tunnel would be done and they could move half of the shelves to racks with double spacing. The tiny green sprouts were almost identical. Two leaves on red stems in a Y, reaching up at an angle like spread arms, a hand's breadth apart. A bud just starting from between them. There would be no thinning of this crop. They didn't have the seed yet to waste planting three or four together knowing they would thin them out. There were just a few spots missing a spot of green color. The seed had germinated very successfully.

These were sugar beets and the isolation suit the young woman tending them wore was to protect the precious plants, not her. She would get a rinse down and step in a sanitizing solution before going in the next tunnel that had racks of cabbages.

There were three long lines of racks and one narrow access aisle. The center row could be rolled over to move the open aisle to the other side. Eventually it would be motorized and even more compact and efficient. After the beets bolted and the seeds were collected there would be yeast tanks awaiting them as feed stock. It would be awhile before they could sacrifice a tender young beet for greens or direct consumption in salads or pickle.

* * *

Mr. and Mrs. Oswald were delivered by corridor cart to the Fox and Hare. That wasn't their real name but they had dropped 'Doe' that they had declared on entry as unusable. They were newly installed in their apartment, which they found abominable, on the half G level of Home. Their doctor was being pushy for them to come every other day for physical therapy and Mr. Oswald would, when it suited him. Mrs. Morrison needed it much less than her husband, but said she needed it and looked forward to it, more for the purpose of encouraging her husband to go. She saw how diminished he was compared to her husband of a year ago and wanted him to improve. He was a very stubborn man.

They had a Polish and much less Anglo-Saxon surname on Earth, and were staying incognito with the goal of being able to return to North America without being prosecuted for gene-mod criminality if conditions improved. They had a very comfortable life, significant assets, and a position in society worth returning to if they could.

He walked in with a cane, a new thing he detested, his wife taking his elbow on the other side, but it was she who was steadying him. The lesser weight on the half G level helped a lot both at their new apartment and here at the club in this stage of his recovery. He looked young from the LET they'd had, but thin and ill still from the ravages of the flu.

They'd called and made reservations assured by reviews that this was a nice club. Of course there was only one other club offered on the habitat. It sounded as if this one had the livelier sort of atmosphere they preferred. It had been their custom to attend New Year's in a club for the last forty some years and they didn't intend to change habits now. The place seemed at least clean if not of dazzling decor. There was little in the way of special themed decorations for the holiday. The furnishings fell short of luxurious. The chairs looked more like lawn furniture to his eye and there wasn't a fresh flower or candle to be seen on the tables. The area of M3 through which the cart brought them to reach the club had a disturbingly industrial flavor to it.

There were only three tables occupied at this early hour. They were shown to a small table for two with quite a good view of the stage but out in the open under the gaze of everyone.

"We'd prefer one of the tables set back in an alcove with a little privacy," Oswald informed the host, Phillip, before he could seat his wife.

"I'm sorry sir, those were all reserved, and they are all for four people."

"Then unreserve one if you care to keep our custom," he suggested, sharply. He was leaning on his cane eager to sit down, but not here.

There were four people at one of the better tables a bit above and behind them from the stage. The one man overheard them in the quiet room and called out to him.

"Our table is plenty big for six if you want to join us," the man offered. "Those web chairs can be hard to lever yourself out of, especially with a cane. You can sit on the pull down seat at the wall and my wife and I will be happy to take the sling chairs on the outside."

"No, thank you." Oddly the woman looked familiar. The women were dressed nicely, but neither of the men had a tie. The one speaking to him didn't even have a jacket. He had on a sweater. A gorgeous expensive sweater certainly, but more suitable to a ski lodge than a night club. It put him off. "My wife and I are newly arrived. I have no idea what sort of society you have here, if any at all. I will find out when we are properly introduced to it, but I doubt we will be socializing with people who meet others at," he looked around, "bars," he concluded, downgrading his opinion of the club. "I'm not sure I want to be here at all," he told his wife.

"As you will. I meant no offense," Ben Patsitsas added kindly.

"Oh please dear, it is too late to go elsewhere, and our place is so empty still and dreary. Let's do stay if only this once," Mrs. 'Osgood' pleaded.

"Very well. I've give them one chance to impress me," her husband allowed. "I'd appreciate being on the other side though," he said to Phillip, nodding across the center of the room.

The host switched them, which put them out of earshot of the fellow who had been so familiar. That was exactly what he intended.

Jesse Duval was their waiter and arrived to take their drink order.

"It's New Year's Eve," Oswald said, "What is there to drink but Champagne tonight? We'll take a bottle of Krug with appetizers now, and reserve another chilled for later, please."

When Jesse knew how to decant and present a bottle of champagne smoothly Oswald was somewhat mollified. When Jesse came back and gave them menus he apologized. "I'm afraid commerce with Earth is so disrupted we have a much reduced selection. We normally have fresh oysters and live lobster, but that and some of our fresh produce is missing. What we do have I can assure you is first quality or we wouldn't offer it."

"I can see why that would be," Oswald agreed graciously. "Things were a mess when we left Earth and you couldn't get half the usual things from the deli or your dry cleaning picked up. I never was one much for seafood. Do you have a decent steak that I can have blood red and hot through the middle with Potatoes Lorraine?"

"Yes sir, I'm sure we'll please you," Jesse said, then he took Mrs. Oswald's order out of turn.

Oswald asked before Jesse could leave. "The people over there, who spoke with us. The one woman looks familiar. Do you happen to know who they are?"

"Yes sir, they usually reserve that table. The man who spoke to you is Ben Patsitsas, he's a well know novelist." Oswald said with his dour face how little that impressed him.

"The lady next to him is now his wife. She is President Wiggen previously of the USNA."

Oswald looked surprised. Jesse decided to reveal a small secret because he felt Oswald needed his attitude adjusted. "The other couple are the King and Queen of Spain who recently retired and left the burden of the throne to the younger generation."

"Thank you. How nice you know your customers," Mrs. Oswald said. She spoke up because her husband didn't look like he could say anything.

"I'm pleased to be of service," Jesse said with a nod, and retreated.

* * *

"We have a candidate," Chen informed Jeff.

"Do tell? Already? I didn't expect anything so soon."

"We interviewed quite a few news people, but we lucked out with a lady anchor in Rome. It seems her brother was feeding her information on gene mod people and the supposed church position about it, but she caught him out contradicting others public Church statements. She had a little falling out with him about it. She'd relied on some of his false statements in her reporting. You can imagine why she'd find that upsetting.

"Then she made the mistake of saying she might want LET someday herself. That immediately led to a huge heated argument. In fact she never saw him again. He used to help her get things in short supply and then that ended just as the local economy collapsed and you couldn't buy anything for EuroMarks. He stopped arranging things for her right when she needed it most and her job vanished. Pretty harsh treatment for your only other living relative."

"What does he do for the Church?" Jeff asked.''

"He was high up in The Institute for the Works of Religion," Chen said. "What you'd call the Vatican Bank. But he is a Jesuit connected on many levels to scholarly societies who are not unfamiliar with the sciences and medicine. He's had access to impressive resources."

"And she said what that led you to suspect him?" Jeff asked.

"She said that when he went ballistic because she expressed a desire for LET, he used almost all the same language in condemning her as was in the documents he was leaking to her. This lady is no dummy. She heard him drop naturally into using the same words and phrases he was handing off to her as somebody else's thoughts when he got upset with her. She said at that moment she was sure he was the author, not just the conduit of the manifesto condemning LET and us."

"How interesting," Jeff said. "How is it she has survived the pandemic if she is gene-mod?"

"She never had opportunity to have it done. Things fell apart just then to where she needed to use her resources just to survive, not buy life extension. But he'd already disowned her and said she was committing the sin of suicide. As far as she knew he never came out of the Vatican again. Certainly not to see her. There's some hard feelings there so she didn't hold back telling us about him. Rather she vilified him," Chen said.

"That is promising but it is hardly sufficient. In fact it's barely more than gossip," Jeff said.

"Don't worry. We won't do anything without much more proof. His sister is wrong. He does leave the Vatican, even now with the conditions much deteriorated outside. We'll interview him," Chen promised.

"That's good.  I leave it in your hands then." Jeff agreed.

* * *

"Let me adjust this for your smaller hand," Dr. Ames, AKA Jelly, said. It was a grip in a frame with an adjustable spacing and a meter that retained the maximum grip reading until released. "Squeeze smoothly as much as you can comfortably without hurting yourself. Don't jerk it violently because that will give us a false reading."

April's right hand, her dominant one, was good for a hair over thirty five kilograms of pressure. The left was thirty two. Quite close compared to many.

"That's quite good for someone your apparent age and size," Ames assured her. "Especially given the fact you don't do repetitious work or exercises specific to your grip. We'll use that as a baseline to check every couple weeks to see how your strength improves. You can still benefit from conditioning, but your base strength will improve too. I expect you should  increase to fifty five kilograms in the right hand. I'm going to administer it as an IV. It will only take about fifteen minutes at a slow drip."

"Do I have to worry about infecting someone?" April asked.

"No this is a completely different process," Ames assured her. "It uses modified but undifferentiated stem cells and certain agents to direct how those cells are received by your body."

"What are you going to work on first with the fungus I brought you?" April wondered.

"I'm going to try to make the tougher stuff taste like beef," Jelly said, numbing her arm with a spray.

April watched the needle go in. Most of Jelly's patients looked away.

"I forgot to ask you if this is going to make me bulkier?" April remembered to ask.

"It's rather late to be asking with the needle in you, but no, as a matter of fact there is a slight slimming effect. But apparently not enough you noticed it on me," Jelly said, indicating his own frame with a sweep of his hand down his torso. "I mentioned that effect on my test subject when we spoke some time ago,"

"If you are plateaued out on it now how much can you squeeze?" April asked.

Ames picked up the instrument and squeezed it slowly as he'd instructed. When he turned the dial to her it was a hundred and seven kilograms. "Don't think you are going to do that. I have a much heavier frame and muscle mass. I'm being cautious not to injure my joints. I stop squeezing at any feeling of strain. I've also been carrying around a ball of exercise putty and squeezing it while I walk everywhere. Even so, a bricklayer or a farrier would put me to shame."

"I'll fill out more eventually," April reminded him.

"Yes, and that will help, but from what I see in other early LET patients it won't be until you are thirty or thirty five."

"That's OK," April assure him. "I'm in no hurry. I'm learning to take the long view more every day. We'll get it all done in good time."

"Since LET technology has given us the luxury of time, I think that's a good attitude for everything," Ames said. "I predict there will be a cultural shift towards taking the long view of things."

"Yes," April said, "like Papa-san would say to his pilot on his boat, 'Steady as she goes.'"

* * *

The fellow was predictable in his habits. He patronized one establishment outside the walls twice a week, but never, of course, on Sunday. He wore secular clothing, carried a virus scanner and wore the sheer gloves so common to Earthies fearful of disease. The mask he wore was becoming very common on Earth and although a protection, it unfortunately limited his vision. When the driver of the car he called held the rear door for him to enter he felt a prick on his neck, and the seat rose up and smacked him in his face. He vaguely remembered hands pushing his legs in after him.

When he woke up in a cheap hotel he was bound at wrists and ankles laying on his back, but not with metal or tightly. Neither was he gagged against calling out. He didn't even hurt anywhere so they hadn't treated him roughly. There were two men in the cheap hotel chairs on either side of the bed, waiting patiently for him to awaken. They were dressed nicely but not expensively. They didn't bother to hide their faces, which did worry him.

"You have the money in my wallet. I assure you my order never pays ransoms. Neither will I help you perform any crime against the Bank," the churchman told the two men.

One spoke up, demonstrating who was in charge. "Your wallet is on the night stand. We examined it, but don't want the EuroMark toilet paper nor the three small gold coins you have. We simply want information. Which you can't deny us."

The same agent put a skullcap with a weave of fine wires on his head and slapped him when he threw his head around and tried to dislodge it.

"You will hold still or I'll tape it on and immobilize you," the agent said, quite calmly. "I'd hate to hurt you and then find out you're not the man we want."

"What if I start yelling for help?"

"In this cheap hotel in the afternoon?" the agent asked, amused. "If anybody is even in the adjoining rooms they'll probably just beat on the wall and tell you to shut up. If it is loud enough to bother me I have a ball gag and other things in my equipment bag. Why discomfort yourself?" He asked. "We don't need verbal responses to interrogate you." That shut the churchman up.

The agent got out a pad and read from it while the other watched his own pad. First was a standard text. Several paragraphs from old novels long used to establish baseline responses. Then custom words. The list was long and a few words repeated to not associate them with the words before and after.

"Flu virus. Mouse flu. Gene modified. Distributed. Epidemic. Pandemic. Institute of Religion. Payments. Life Extension Therapy. Orbital habitats. Abomination. Return on investment. Tribunal of the Holy Office. Bishop. Cardinal. Pope. Holy See. Holy City. Incubation period. Protein capsule. Rome. Replication. Guilt. Crime. Innocent. Legal status. Bot. Robot. Secret. Spacers. Conspiracy. Sister."

He jerked at that word enough the agents looked at each other.

"Patient zero. Wealth factor. Economic crisis. Secular authority. RNA. Christendom. Third world."

Next he read numbers. One through twenty, the tens and a hundred, a thousand and a million.

"Got enough?" the interrogator asked the other agent. He nodded.

"Did you pay for a modified virus to be made?" he started reading from a list. The churchman said nothing, but it didn't matter. The answers were plain in his brain patterns and being recorded.

"Is the virus targeted?

"What was the intended target?

"Who was patient zero?"

"Fuzzy, complex response, elaborate," the other agent said.

"Who was patient zero intended to be?" the interrogator tried.

That got an affirmative nod from the other agent.

"How many initial vectors?

"Any release outside Rome?

"How many in the conspiracy?

"How many helped without knowledge?

"Will it display persistence?

"Is there an undo?"

"Rephrase it," the other agent suggested.

"Is there a cure?

"Is there a vaccine?" That got the nod.

"Are other bio-agents planned?

"Will the orbitals have virus released?

"Are you using spy bots?

"Are secular governments involved?

"Is this a matter of doctrine?" That got a head shake from the other agent.

"Is this a matter of religious doctrine?" He elaborated. The other agent sent him a text.

"Is this a matter of military doctrine?" He asked instead. That got a nod.

"Are you acting under orders?"

"Will you suicide now?" That got a particularly hateful look from their prisoner.

"Will you return to work?"

"That's enough. I have what we needed and more. It was his brain-child."

The other agent looked over his pad slit eyed and added his own ad hoc question.

"Will you rot in hell you miserable bastard?" He didn't share the churchman's thoughts on that.

He said nothing, but he didn't have to. Nothing he thought would have been admissible in court. This had to be for other purposes. None of them could be good for him.

The questioner retrieved his sensor cap, and pulled out a knife. The churchman showed no more emotion than if he'd pulled out a hankie. There were much worse endings. He slit the cord holding the fellow's left hand, knowing the man's right was his dominant hand.

The churchman flexed the loose hand a bit though it hadn't been bound tight enough to hurt it.

"I'm sure you can pick these other knots loose in ten or fifteen minutes," his interrogator said. "Your phone is on top of the dresser with the battery removed. You can put it back in to call for a ride."

The other agent retreated over by the door. The interrogator  took a small can out of his pocket holding it carefully at arm's length. It sprayed not a mist that would disperse, but a directed a thin stream of heavy fluid at the churchman's eyes and nose. He dropped the empty can on the bed and very carefully peeled off his outer gloves off by tabs, dropping them.

"I'm not afraid of the virus!" the cleric sneered at them, wiping the gel away from his eyes with his newly freed hand.

"My goodness no. I wouldn't expect you would be," the agent said, retreating after his partner. "That wasn't the flu virus. That was the very best basic LET treatment that money can buy."

They closed the door behind them and they left in no particular hurry.

- END –

The Last Part

Other Kindle Books & Links by Mackey Chandler

April (first in series)

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0077EOE2C

April is an exceptional young lady and something of a snoop. She finds herself involved with intrigues that stretch her abilities, after a chance run in with a spy. There is a terrible danger she and her friends and family will lose the only home she has ever known in orbit and be forced to live on the slum ball below. It's more than a teen should have to deal with. Fortunately she has a lot of smart friends and allies, who give them a thin technological edge in rebellion. It's a good thing, because things get very rough and dicey.

Down to Earth (sequel to April)

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007RGBIVK

April seems to make a habit of rescues. Now two lieutenants from the recent war appeal to her for help to reach Home. The secret they hold makes their escape doubtful. North America, the United States of North America, has been cheating on their treaty obligations and a public figure like April taking a very visible vacation there would be a good way to remind them of their obligations. Wouldn't it? Her family and business associates all think it is a great idea. She can serve a public purpose and do her rescue on the sly too. But things get difficult enough just getting back Home alive is going to be a challenge. It's a good thing she has some help. Why does everything have to be so complicated?

The Middle of Nowhere (third in April series)

http://www.amazon.com/The-Middle-Nowhere-April-ebook/dp/B00B1JJ7RQ

April returns home from her trip down to Earth unhappy with what she accomplished. Papa-san Santos is finishing her rescue of the Lieutenants, Her traitorous brother is dead and so many things are uncertain. The Chinese and North Americans both continue to give her and Home a hard time. But April, Jeff and Heather are gathering allies and power. China, trying to steal Singh technology, gets its hand slapped badly by Jeff and the Patriot Party in America is damaged, but not gone. Their project on the moon is not so easy for North America to shut down, especially with the Russians helping. Heather proves able to defend it forcefully. They really didn't know she owns a cannon. The three have their own bank now, Home is growing and April is quickly growing up into a formidable young woman, worthy of her partners.

A Different Perspective (fourth in April series)

http://www.amazon.com/Different-Perspective-April-ebook/dp/B00DFL42PU

Despite winning a war against one of the world's super powers and undertaking a mission to Earth to try to demonstrate their independence, April and her new nation still find their freedom tenuous. There are shortages and hostility and machinations against them behind the scenes. Their small technological lead on the Earthies is about the only advantage they have besides courage and sheer nerve. But they are attracting the right sort of people and if pressed, they still are capable of bold action. Home is growing physically and maturing. So is April.

A Depth of Understanding (Fifth in April series)

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00IJ02NK8

April's nation Home has removed itself from orbiting close to Earth, but problems continue. Their enemies try to use the United Nations to act against them, as if that isn't a transparent subterfuge. The new Lunar nation of Central acts to help them, but at considerable cost. Meanwhile Home is expanding their reach into the solar system and gaining new citizens who appreciate opportunity and freedom. The things Home citizens decide to do, both new and old are interesting. The trouble from Earth is contained, but the whole matter is far from over.

Paper or Plastic?

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004RCLW68

Roger was medically discharged after his service in the Pan Arabic Protectorate, cutting off his chosen career path early. He is living in rural Sitra Falls, Oregon trying to deal with hyper-vigilance and ease back into civilian life.

When an unusual looking young woman enters his favorite breakfast place he befriends her. Little does he know he'll kill for her before lunch and start an adventure that will take him around the world and off planet.

When you have every sort of alphabet agency human and alien hunting for you survival is the hard part. But you might as well get rich too.

Family Law
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006GQSZVS

People love easily. Look at most of your relatives or coworkers. How lovable are they? Really? Yet most have mates and children. The vast majority are still invited to family gatherings and their relatives will speak to them.

Many have pets to which they are devoted. Some even call them their fur-babies. Is your dog or cat or parakeet property or family? Not in law but in your heart? Can a pet really love you back? Or is it a different affection? Are you not kind to those who feed and shelter you? But what if your dog could talk back? Would your cat speak to you kindly?

What if the furry fellow in question has his own law? And is quite articulate in explaining his choices. Can a Human adopt such an alien? Can such an intelligent alien adopt a human? Should they?

How much more complicated might it be if we meet really intelligent species not human? How would we treat these 'people' in feathers or fur? Perhaps a more difficult question is: How would they treat us? Are we that lovable?

When society and the law decide these sort of questions must be answered it is usually because someone disapproves of your choices. Today it may be a cat named in a will or a contest for custody of a dog. People are usually happy living the way they want until conflict is forced upon them.

Of course if the furry alien in question is smart enough to fly spaceships, and happens to be similar in size and disposition to a mature Grizzly bear, wisdom calls for a certain delicacy in telling him no...

The Long Voyage of the Little Fleet (sequel to Family Law)

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00KYA9WTQ

In the first book of this series "Family Law", Lee's parents and their business partner Gordon found a class A habitable planet. They thought their quest as explorers was over and they'd live a life of ease. But before they could return and register their claim Lee's parents died doing a survey of the surface. That left Lee two-thirds owner of the claim and their partner Gordon obligated by his word with her parents to raise Lee. She had grown up aboard ship with her uncle Gordon and he was the only family she'd ever known. Him adopting her was an obvious arrangement - to them. Other people didn't see it so clearly over the picky little fact Gordon wasn't human.

After finding prejudice and hostility on several worlds Lee was of the opinion planets might be nice to visit, but terrible places to live. She wanted back in space exploring. Fortunately Gordon was agreeable and the income from their discovery made outfitting an expedition possible. Lee wanted to go DEEP - out where it was entirely unknown and the potential prizes huge. After all, if they kept exploring tentatively they might run up against the border of some bold star faring race who had gobbled up all the best real estate. It wasn't hard to find others of a like mind for a really long voyage. This sequel to "Family Law" is the story of their incredible voyage.

Link to full list of current releases on Amazon:

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B004RZUOS2

Mac's Writing Blog:

http://www.mackeychandler.com