Chapter 12

Secretary Porter was shocked to find Armstrong wasn’t as pro-Earth or pro-North America as he’d been informed. The first private taxi he attempted to hire had turned him down with words that would have put the driver in prison in North America. The second had a mask of stone descend over his face and demanded ten ounces for a private ride to Central.

“Ounces of what?” Porter demanded.

“Gold. Do I look like some fool who’d take USNA toilet paper?” the man demanded.

Porter checked his pad. At the current exchange rate that was a hundred times the published fee for a private limo to Central on the local web. It was also an illegal transaction back home. Even if he was in a different legal jurisdiction, he’d never hear the end of it back in Vancouver. It was the sort of technically legal action one could never justify to political enemies. It said pretty clearly that the man didn’t want his business, so he walked away and was reduced to using public transportation.

The bus to Central from Armstrong cost much less, was clean, and had nicer seats than some airliners. Certainly, they were roomier. It also had two restrooms and a vending snack bar. There were free data ports and video. Porter disdained it not in comparison to a city bus because he’d never been on one in his life. It simply wasn’t something one of his class suffered. Nobody gave them a second glance or spoke to them.

When he stepped through the connector to Central a man was waiting with a pad held up that said, PORTER in bright green on black filling the screen. He was leaning against a cart that only needed a canopy to belong on any golf course he’s ever played.

“I’m Porter,” he said and felt silly. He and his guards were dressed so differently it was obvious.

“My Lady asked me to take you to her residence, Mr. Porter,” Mo said. “It’s some distance so you need a ride.”

Mo walked around and took the driver’s seat. The guards took the rear so Porter perforce took the front passenger seat. Mo noted they had no luggage so they didn’t plan to stay overnight.

They fumbled with unfamiliar lap belts as there was no passive restraint system. Mo touched a pad on the dash and a screen said the cart was in standby service, and then that it was on manual when they were all buckled. At least there was a windscreen but no doors and nothing to protect you in a side crash. They entered one of four tunnels radiating from the bus stop.

“What is your position on Miss Anderson’s staff?” Parker asked. He phrased it that way to get back at Mo for calling him, Mister. My Lady indeed…

“I’m Heather’s Chief Engineer and architect, but I do a little bit of everything. I designed her residence and court. I’m a mining engineer so tunnels and such were already my specialty.”

They came to a stop at the end of the tunnel about a hundred meters from the bus terminal. Mo flipped a switch and leaned back in his seat, releasing his grip on the wheel. The dash changed status to auto.

“I designed and maintain the traffic system we’re entering. In a bit, we will be going down. I had a heavy hand in designing the elevator system standards although I got some very good input from others. I’m the principal architect of the farming system or as we call them the cabbage mines.”

“And a driver for visitors,” Porter said skeptically, uncertain if they were being fed a tall story for the fun of seeing what newbies would believe.

Another cart whizzed past just off their nose. There was no way to see from the side tunnel that it was coming. The cart pulled into the larger tunnel on its own, now that it was clear, and accelerated. There was no lighting in this tunnel so a single spotlight came on, pointed down, and to the edge of the roadway far ahead. When another cart passed going the other way it was so close Porter flinched. The tunnel wall was similarly close but Mo didn’t bother to keep his hands on the wheel, sitting back, relaxed, and trusting his system. He did watch the roadway ahead to see it was clear.

“I happened to be on the surface to deal with a problem with one of the road paving machines. Heather demands her sworn people wear a lot of different hats. We have nothing like union work rules or restrictive licensing. I worked as a mining engineer on Earth so I’ve experience with that. I’ve had to sit and wait for an electrician before because I wasn’t deemed competent to reset a breaker. Here, I’ve worked as a space traffic controller, sealing corridor walls, and once planting trays of scallions when the cabbage mines were short-handed. It’s a one-way trip for me to deliver you, saving at least a half-man-hour that otherwise would be totally wasted by somebody making a round-trip to the surface. All the sworn simply do what is needed.”

“Sounds like communism to me,” Porter decided.

“More feudalism,” Mo assured him. If Porter intended to insult him Mo didn’t respond that way. “I’m one of less than a hundred peers. I resisted accepting that status for a long time because I had other obligations and felt I’d be divided in my loyalties. My children are independent now and my wife divorced and moved back to Earth. I felt I could accept the honor without any reservations. Somebody who is just a resident may run their own business or have a job with set hours and duties. Heather wouldn’t expect loyalty from them or to be able to call on them to drop their own interests to serve her.”

“What is the advantage of being a peer?” Porter wondered.

That made Mo silent for a moment. Porter thought maybe he wasn’t going to answer.

“Nobody has asked me that before,” Mo admitted. “I had to think about it. I get more work piled on than I can do,” Mo said smiling. “Heather would probably cite that as a benefit. That’s not a problem since I love my work. You don’t get a different pay rate for being a peer. I think the biggest thing is that Heather values any productive resident, but for any of her peers she would go to war. If I had a problem beyond my means to solve or wanted a starship made available, I’d ask her, assured that I’d be taken care of without counting the cost. Being a resident is a privilege but being a peer gives one a protected status. I have a safety net in my sovereign because I know she values me. I don’t get any discounts and I can’t cut in line, but being a peer means I get treated with respect in the community.”

“I see,” Porter said. He did see but he didn’t entirely believe it.

The cart pulled off into a recessed area along the tunnel wall, reversed into an open elevator, and the door closed across their nose. The elevator car was so tight they couldn’t have stepped out of the cart on either side. The elevator dropped for a long time. When it stopped it moved sideways for a couple of minutes and then resumed dropping.

“How deep are we going?” Porter asked.

For the first time, Mo looked unfriendly. “That’s a datum I’d rather not provide. If it had been me arranging your visit, I’d have made you strip and made sure you didn’t have an inertial navigation module on you. Heather is too polite for her own safety. I once was forced to collect targeting data for North America so I know how you work.”

“Nobody even checked us for weapons,” one of the guards volunteered.

“Nobody would care if you wore them openly,” Mo said. “We have enough trouble with Armstrong that you were cleared of heavy weapons, explosives, and bioagents before you ever got on the bus. Everybody gets scanned that much. You have a standard-issue pistol and your blond buddy has that, and a smaller one in an ankle holster, a Bucky Braid, and a plastic knife. We credit you with enough sense to know a direct assassination would lead to the destruction of North America.”

It was interesting he got no argument on that statement. Mo had expected one.

After they stopped going down, they still traveled again horizontally. Porter started wondering just how big Central was.

Turning off the tunnel with traffic, they entered another lighted tunnel with a walkway along the edge and slowed. Mo assumed manual control again barely above walking speed. There was an area to pull over and Mo stopped there. The dash screen said the car was in standby service again.

“Dakota, Heather’s assistant and office manager, is coming to let you in,” Mo said.

Porter hesitated. It would be bad form to insist on sitting until the door opened. He just nodded thanks and got out. A woman opened the door and looked at them expectantly before they were halfway there. When he looked over his shoulder Mo was gone.

“Mr. Secretary? If you will follow me, I’ll make you comfortable. You may address me as Dakota. Consider me Heather’s secretary. My Lady will join us in just a few minutes.”

“Thank you,” Porter said, nodding his acceptance. At least this minion knew how to address him.

They crossed a vast hall done in tall buttresses like a cathedral and with bright murals above, but with the lights turned low at foot level so they got an impression of size but only the patterned terrazzo floor was well lit. The sounds of their hard-soled shoes contrasted with their guide who had on soft slippers that were silent. The side alcoves were dark with dark shapes barely discernible. Near the end were simple wooden benches and a small table with a carpet in front of it and a matching wooden chair that they bypassed.

A door slid open as they approached and they went down a short hall with a dead end and turn off before it. Porter noticed the door though quiet was a half meter thick. There was a second door after the turn.

The room they entered could have belonged to any nice suite in an Earth hotel. Porter had no idea how the Moon Queen would live. If she’d live in ostentatious excess like a third world dictator or some unique style that had no Earth counterpart. There was a sunken area with two tiers and a huge stone slab table in the center. The overhead was recessed in steps with lighting increasing towards the top. It mirrored the seating pit below. There was no glitter, patterns, or texture. The color was a bright blue, but Porter suspected that was lighting. A large picture, almost a mural on the wall might be a screen rather than art, but it was difficult to tell. It showed a bench in a garden life-size.

“I’ve ordered coffee and snacks,” Dakota informed them. “Does anyone prefer tea or soft drinks?”

“I’d like a Coke if you have it,” one of the guards requested.

“I know we do,” Dakota said. She was then silent, so the order must have been sent by spex.

The lady who brought the coffee used a cart with a large tray for the coffee service and a separate tray with some small sandwiches, pastries, crudités, and the Coke. They went on the low central table.

His security looked at Porter and he gave a nod of assent. He hardly thought they would poison them.

The cups were so thin they looked impossibly fragile but were opaque. When Porter used a spoon to stir it had an odd sheen. He was certain it wasn’t silver but it wasn’t stainless either.

Heather came in with a large man trailing her and sat opposite them across the table between Dakota and the new man. The fellow immediately poured coffee for himself which seemed an odd protocol. He seemed a man of few words, just lifting an eyebrow to Heather and poured for her when she nodded.

“This is Mack Tindal,” Heather said of her companion. “He’s security on loan from my partner and peer April. I don’t usually keep personal security present, but she has been concerned for me so I am accepting his services to comfort her. She and our partner Jeff Singh have both been targets of assassination attempts. I have not, if you discount nuking the entire city. I can understand why they have developed a healthy paranoia. Don’t be surprised if he or my secretary Dakota feel free to comment in our discussion. We’re not terribly formal that way.”

“We will be more formal that way,” Porter said. “I don’t normally introduce my security. Nor do they have any standing to speak for North America.”

“Which brings up the question of how binding your agreement is on North America,” Heather said.

“I was sent directly on the President’s orders. If we can’t get any concessions, you should expect it will result in the failure of our government so the point is moot. You’ll have to deal with our successor if that happens. We are willing to push it to that point.”

That was such a blunt assessment of their precarious position that Heather was shocked he’d admit it. Porter’s bodyguards looked rattled too, but they’d already grown progressively twitchy since Heather arrived. The one with extra weapons had shifted his weight forward when he took his coffee and never returned to his previous relaxed posture. Gunny didn’t like it and decided if they became a threat the tense man would die first. He consulted the veracity software in his spex. It could provide much more about a subject’s mental state than the likelihood of a statement’s truth.

Gunny centered that subject in his vision and asked for a reading.

“This man is strongly afraid at a level that would drive many to flee or to action,” the program said.

“Anticipating an act of his own?” Gunny asked.

“Insufficient data. May I examine the video and audio backlog since you entered the room?”

“Yes,” Gunny agreed.

“Processing,” the software said.

After a few seconds, it said. “Utilizing external databases and processing.” That was unusual for the onboard program in his spex to need help. It took a full thirty seconds to report.

“The man atypically spiked emotionally when he saw you. Pupil dilation and heart rate elevated. His partner became upset when he saw his companion was upset. That continued and increased each time he looked at his partner until he plateaued. Both have now passed their peak organic reaction and settled down significantly.”

“Give me a reading on this man,” Gunny instructed, looking at Porter.

The machines took a long time again and asked for access to the house safety sensors. Fortunately, Heather had given him unlimited privileges to that system. He wouldn’t have interrupted her, not even silently.

“With moderate probability, this man is displaying physiological signs of grieving. He is depressed. Checking the house data against your earlier query confirms all previous conclusions.”

Gunny closed the program with his spex. He’d missed a few words but the conversation was still on theme. Porter’s security was running similar software on Gunny and didn’t like what they were seeing at all. His lack of concern wasn’t just a façade.

“I’m not saying we regard you favorably,” Porter was explaining. “We are privately willing to assure you we will take no further aggressive action in exchange for some moderation. It’s politically impossible to change direction radically because public opinion has been formed against you for too long. We don’t have any real opposition party yet. The public is somewhat accepting of those placed in power by the military. When the previous government was… removed, the military had much higher trust ratings than the civilian government. They had the good sense to retain a semblance of the previous government by not showing someone in a uniform in charge to the public. If we appear too friendly to Spacers, it is our opinion the public will vote overwhelmingly for anyone else in new elections.”

“So overwhelming you couldn’t fake the vote to appear otherwise?” Heather asked.

“I know you think ill of us but that isn’t something the current administration wants to do,” Porter said.

“That’s what happened to Wiggen,” Heather reminded him. “She failed to act against us and saw the reality that you are on the wrong end of the gravity gradient to fight a serious war.”

“That is before my time,” Porter said. “I studied that in college. There was considerable disagreement about what really happened. Many of the official records were destroyed. Let me ask. Was Wiggen secretly an agent of Home while still in office?”

“You see?” Dakota asked Heather.

“Indeed, I do,” Heather had to admit.

“I’m not following you,” Porter admitted.

“My Secretary is alluding to a previous conversation in which she warned the seminal events such as Wiggen’s overthrow are dead history to the current leaderships such as you. They may as well have happened to the Romans to have any emotional impact on your decision making. Yet Wiggen is fresh in my memory. Not only from the events when she fled to Home but I saw her just a few months ago having dinner in a club while I was there with my partners. She never worked for anyone but North America. Not that it was appreciated. If anybody wanted to know what happened you have a living witness to the times and events. But no historian has ever shown up to interview her to my knowledge. Of course, she was one of the thousands North America tried to kill by destroying Home. Perhaps removing those witnesses to an ugly past would be a bonus to that operation if not a primary objective.”

“You hate us,” Porter said. “Even though we are not the previous government.”

“Indeed, I loathe you,” Heather admitted. “Those feelings have taken as long to form as your public’s opinion of us and will be as hard to reverse. You admit you are captive to the fruits of that government’s campaign of propaganda and can’t deviate too far from it. You have yet to demonstrate you are different in any way that matters to us. Yet I’m willing to negotiate in a very limited manner with you. We have always regarded your population as held hostage to your policies and lies.

“If it weren’t for those common people under your control, we’d have wiped North America’s government off the map years ago. It’s just a problem of how to do one and not the other. Somebody, not us in case you wondered, did a very thorough decapitation of your previous government and what did it gain them? Nothing that I can see. You’d have to do it over and over before you could make a dent in the queue waiting to assume power. That’s why I suspect it was a coup for internal power, not another country.

“We should have fought you and paid the butcher’s bill in the past rather than allow you access to the stars. It never seems to get cheaper to put that off by appeasing you. I won’t make that mistake again today. We are beyond your reach in the stars and I’m going to make sure it stays that way.”

“Then let me appeal to you to moderate some of your sanctions for the sake of those common people,” Porter said. “It’s impossible to provide a modern life for our citizens without international air travel. We can’t have normal commerce with the rest of the globe without that.”

“I’d argue that. You’ve shut down air traffic on your own on four occasions in my lifetime for war or plague and you still exist. Most things can move by ship, rail, or truck. If you can’t buy fresh flowers and fruit from South America in the winter you could live with that hardship. We manage without a lot of cheap luxuries from Earth.

“Your air transport system is a convenience and a backup to military transport so you can call upon it at need. If we allow you to restore all these airports you will develop and conceal orbital capable assets until it would take a huge campaign again to end it. No, you are out of the space business. I’m not interested in helping you project power again up here or on the Slum Ball.”

Porter got an uncontrolled tic after Heather used that expression.

“A limited number then,” Porter suggested, “few enough not to be a threat or difficult to remove if misused.”

“That could work,” Heather agreed. “One on each coast with runways to handle large planes. Seattle and New York or similar, but open to foreign airlines and each other. You name them and I’ll inform my people to spare them.”

“Similarly, no modern nation can live without satellite services,” Porter said. “The present satellites need constant replenishment or supply. You are aware of all they do I believe.”

Gunny helped himself to some of the sandwiches everyone else was ignoring. He seemed relaxed and unconcerned but his slightest movement alarmed Porter’s guards enough to register on his software.

“We tried to avoid damaging civilian satellites,” Heather said. “The majority of nations are still not capable of building and launching their own satellites. They purchase those services. You can do the same.”

Porter nodded, thinking furiously, but unable to form an argument that didn’t amount to national pride.

“As you pointed out, the air transport system is integral to the military. The ability to monitor, and do command and control from orbit is also. We won’t be able to defend ourselves as you would leave us.”

“I believe you provided launch service for other nations' military satellites,” Heather said. “It’s time for them to return the favor. I know that doesn’t put you in the driver’s seat. Too bad, you’ll just have to be an actual ally and deal with them more as equals. Who exactly can threaten you? China is a mess and India has no designs on you. Europe and Latin America are too divided to pose a threat. If they held a summit to ally against you, they’d get stalled deciding where everyone would sit or what to have for lunch. If I thought it was a serious issue, I’d offer protection for us endangering you, but I think it’s a moot point.”

“I think the obvious answer to that is Texas,” Porter said.

“Ah, Texas. The problem there is that wouldn’t bother us at all. To us, Texas is pretty much a breakaway faction of North America with better manners. I have yet to catch them at any intelligence operation against us and they haven’t imposed any restraints on trade between us. Unless my sources are wrong a considerable portion of your economy is dependent on the black-market trade with Texas.

“For some reason, they haven’t approached me to seek support to undermine you. Their culture is more yours than Mexican and yet the old border is ignored, wide open, and thriving on both sides after being invited to send senators to Austin. Even the provinces from Coatzacoalcos east are effectively self-governing without any attempts at forcing them into joining the rest in sending representatives to Texas. You should do half as well with Quebec. They even use the same money and honor each other’s licensing. If you can’t form some compromise with people who are so easy going then I can’t see them supplanting you as a tragedy.”

“Slowly normalizing relations with Texas and occupied Mexico is a goal of my administration,” Porter said.

Heather laughed. “Yes, it wouldn’t do to move too quickly. Send somebody undercover and poll the people in the street or go in a café down there and ask them if they feel occupied.”

“They did take the eastern territory by force of arms,” Porter reminded her.

“Oh, totally true,” Heather said. “I do have to admire how they did it without destroying everything as they went or displacing the population. Almost as easy as inviting the Mexican states to send senators to Austin. It makes me wonder why they haven’t invited your states to do the same.”

“Oh my God, they have,” Dakota said.

“Are you running software on him?” Heather asked.

“I don’t have to,” Dakota said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I could practically hear his teeth grinding and his muscle looked at each other. My wetware picked that broadcast up without computer support.”

“Well, that’s interesting but not politic to say. You have to understand, Mr. Secretary. We don’t look it but we are all past the century mark. You do become more perceptive in reading people, but we also seem to display some of the same qualities of naturally older people such as speaking our mind much more freely.”

“Thanks for the reminder. I had some experience of that with my mother.”

“Was there anything else then?” Heather wondered.

“About the starships in distant systems surviving your war on them…”

Heather cut Porter off with a chop of her hand and anger flared on her face.

“They better reflag or better yet never come home. I’m aware you sent a flurry of communications by ship and drone after your attack on our allies failed. We have no idea what your instructions were, but if a USNA military vessel shows up in the Solar System it will surrender or be destroyed. If you need to alter their orders with that in mind you would be well advised to do so. You will get no kind of armistice nor any treaty from me. I’ve had my fill of false treaties. You’d just use it to regroup to hit us again. You perpetuated this state of hostilities. Now you can damn well live with it.”

Porter just nodded. She was in such a temper nothing was safe to say.

“I think that minor humanitarian allowance is as much as we can agree on right now,” Heather said. “It’s more than I expected. We don’t have any requests. If after a few years the situation changes we may have more to discuss. I noticed for example you made no offer to drop trade restrictions or to moderate much less reverse the lies your media still put forth about Spacers and Life Extension. Most of those things you could and should have corrected unilaterally. We’ve grown to be independent of necessity so there is no need to beg trade of you. Think about that.”

“Might I have a document for me to show my President?” Porter asked.

“Dakota, print off a statement that we will not interfere with one international airport on each coast of North America, open to foreign airlines but not orbital service. I’ll stamp a copy for us and a copy for Secretary Porter to take home. Do you have anyone headed for the surface to return them to Armstrong?”

“Allow me to do that,” Gunny requested. “I’d like to see them to the lock and make sure they don’t get into any mischief along the way.”

“Very well. Check the bus schedule, if there isn’t one leaving soon, call them a private car and tell them to charge it to the sovereign’s accounts,” Heather said.

“Thank you,” Porter said.

Heather had an after-thought.

“Be aware, this concession for two ports of entry only applies if you stop trying to circumvent our blockade elsewhere. If you keep trying to repair or construct launch facilities elsewhere the deal for two airports on the coasts is off.”

Porter nodded his understanding.

Dakota put two hard copies before Heather to stamp with her hanko and gave one to Porter in a folio. Pointedly, Porter wasn’t invited to sign either. It was a grant, not a contract because North America gave nothing. Gunny stood and folded two more of the sandwiches in a napkin to enjoy on the way.

“The cart should be there by the time we go out the door,” he said and led them away.

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