April 5: A Depth of Understanding (11 page)

* * *

At Central, on the moon, Heather held court in a new conference room a kilometer below the surface. Eventually they'd be much deeper and this cubic would be given over to other uses, but for right now it was much better than the moon hut they'd plowed under a layer of regolith for protection when she'd first landed.

She was being informed about the Bucky tube tech and several other advances Jeff had not heard about yet. She didn't have an interest in the family firm who owned the technology, but her subjects were committed to keeping her informed since their business created both problems and opportunities for her as their sovereign.

This required trust that she would not impede their business efforts with needless regulation, since she could do so by decree, nor declare things secret as a matter of state security. Something too many of them had experienced with other governments.

She'd balked at having a highway fused from Central to Armstrong, needing to be convinced by her subjects that the advantages outweighed the dangers. The previous administration at Armstrong had chased her real estate customers across the moon in rovers, intent on arresting them and making them return. She'd destroyed that force to protect them.

It was ironic that they were more willing to trust the new Armstrong officials than she was. It seemed too convenient a road that they could use for a new invasion, but her people wanted a cheaper way to commute there for employment than a shuttle and wanted the business from Armstrong citizens coming to Central. Armstrong lacked a lot of amenities they had already.

The first failure of that policy was standing before her as the last piece of business for the day. The fellow was a USNA citizen from Armstrong and had wrecked his truck off the new roadway and pretty well destroyed it, because he was driving drunk. The truck had crossed from Armstrong on automatic well enough, but when he switched to manual control to get off on local streets he'd crashed.

The good thing was he hadn't hurt any of her subjects and hadn't damaged anything local beyond disturbing the regolith and making the local rescue squad go cut him out of the wreck. The boulder that had stopped his travel had been neither damaged nor moved.

"What do you think We should do with you?" she asked the now sober trucker.

"Send me back to Armstrong on the work bus. I'm going to have enough trouble on that end from the guy who hired me to drive his truck to Central."

"If you'd killed one of my subjects, I'd have had you tossed out the airlock without benefit of a p-suit. However, I don't wish to start criminalizing behavior based on its
potential
to cause harm. That road leads to all sorts of repressive regulation. I think my mother, who has years more experience with people and no small measure of wisdom, informed me correctly."

"Her advice some years ago to me, was that a drunk is rarely reformed. So I have no harm with which to charge you, yet I find you a danger and don't want to wait for you to prove me correct, at the expense of some innocent person."

"So, I do not wish to issue a blanket law about dangerous behavior, but it is my decision that you are an undesirable person, of poor judgment, possibly impaired if your condition is chronic instead of a unique episode. I'm going to allow you to get on the work bus tomorrow morning and return to Armstrong, but I reserve the right to judge other such cases upon their merits.

 "
You
are however banned from entering Central again for any reason. You are declared outlaw, literally outside my law. If any person acts against you I will offer you no protection of my law. Robbing you or killing you will receive no censure. I'd consider carefully if you want to rely on the kindness of every member of the community and be sure none will judge you a hazard that may be removed without personal price."

"Do you have anything to say? This doesn't mean you can appeal in any way. But you can make any expression you wish and I won't harm you for it."

"No ma'am. I don't remember crashing. I was drinking and I'll own I have a problem. I won't be back here. I got that message clear enough."

"Mr. Hesston? I don't mean to beat a dead horse, but I'd point out something to you. You intend not to come back here, now, while you are sober. But just as you don't remember your truck crash, you may forget not to come here if you are drunk. The thing to remember is this. The time to remember is when that first drink is in your hand. When you are sober and have no excuse. Because if you show up again I won't give you a free pass because you can't remember."

"Yes ma'am. The point is well taken."

"Very well, you are free, but we have no hotel yet. You will be returned to the room that served as your cell while you sobered up, but you will not be locked in it. If you are not to be found and miss the bus, my decree still takes effect. Good night Mr. Hesston."

He nodded and followed the fellow who beckoned to him.

"Advise me," Heather asked Dakota. "How do you find my justice?"

"I found it restrained, which I'm glad of, since I might stand before you some day. But I find it disturbing you said you'd order him spaced if he had killed someone."

"Are you opposed to capital punishment?"

"No, but I think it would be a bad idea to
order
any of your subjects, or even a team of them, to be an executioner. You might very well lose a subject to depression and suicide if it's against their nature."

"I can see that. So, should I call for volunteers, or do the deed myself?"

"If I may suggest, this is one of those things that needs the formality of some uh, pomp and symbolism. You should have some forms. Lay a pistol on the table in front of you – public notice it's a court of life and death. I'm not saying to have robes or anything, but you should be dressed somewhat formally, not in a p-suit or coveralls."

 "We need something, I'm not sure what, to say it's a courtroom. Not necessarily like an Earth courtroom with a high bench, but something. Different than when you are just in conference to decide mundane matters. If you ask for volunteers or shoot them dead on the spot matters little to me. I can hope it is a rare event or never happens. If it does, it should be a notorious crime that offends public sensibilities."

"I don't intent to be a court for every little matter. If we get enough people that they start wanting to argue contracts and civil matters I'm going to start some sort of lower court and I'll limit myself to hearing appeals, if it seems warranted and criminal cases."

"How about a chair, not a throne, but just a decent chair, with a table in front of you that can hold the pistol and maybe evidence if someone wants to display it?" Dakota asked.

"And a small carpet in front of the table, a square one, that is where you must stand to address the court," Heather decided. "And a bench on each side, a simple bench with no back for the advisors and witnesses."

"That's a good idea. Don't make them too comfortable and invite them to drag a matter out all day long. A hard bench too, no cushions," Dakota agreed.

"I don't want this to look like a cafeteria or a business office. I'm going to spend the money to have wooden furniture brought in. It doesn't have to be massive, but nothing wooden is going to look cheap on the moon. I'll have some sketches made and see which looks good. Thank you for your advice."

Chapter 9

April had an auto notice on com. Her bid of fifteen thousand EuroMarks for the fashion drawing was topped. She thought about it a little. Was it worth that much to her? It wasn't any substantial portion of her funds. Money was coming in at a reasonable rate. If people were this willing to bid on this artist's work, how much would it be worth in the future? That thought kicked her over the edge. She typed in twenty-five thousand and hit enter.

* * *

"Chen, Miss Lewis has been studying economics and trying to make sense of the situation on Earth," Jeff explained. "She is interested in data mainly as it affects our bank. You are undoubtedly aware  that official economic data has been corrupted so thoroughly it is pretty useless. She is asking that my agents keep an eye out for street level economic information that is not corrupted. I'm not asking you make a special effort to gather it, but in the course of other investigations you may see things revealed you'd otherwise filter out of your report. We'd rather you report such economic data separately now. Who knows? I may see things there that foreshadow unrest and regime change before overt political action."

Chen was a previous Chinese intelligence agent, who'd pulled his family out of Beijing when Jeff was in a standoff with China over a theft of his ship. He'd bombed their main spaceport out of existence to prevent them from disassembling and reverse engineering the vessel. For several days war hung in the balance and Beijing came close to being a smoking crater before their military took control and defused the situation.

Getting his family out of the target zone had been seen as an act of disloyalty and the fact they killed a military policeman who tried to remove them from their train made doubly sure they weren't going back. He fled to Home when his service hunted them on earth and besides other security work, he was under a Solar a quarter retainer to Jeff to gather intelligence.

"I have some information that is not entirely stale. It is a rather accurate picture of last year's corn harvest in North America and estimates of this year's planting of both maize and soy beans. All classified. I've sold it several times, but it's getting a bit old to peddle now that the new crop is in the ground. I'll forward that to you and if the source is still good, get fresh data, since I know other markets for it."

Chen looked thoughtful. "I'll have my wife write a report about how she coped with rationing and black markets in China. Even with preferential treatment and me having a decent pay schedule she had a hard time making ends meet. Certain things like clothing she often complained about to me. She remarked often that she didn't see how a bus driver or store clerk survived when we had twice as much at our disposal, even though we have children."

* * *

Papa-san gave April a quick heads up that their move looked firm, so they should be out of her cubic in two days. She knew where they were going, to the new ring that was visible from her windows, where they were right now. She wondered where Chen and his wife and two children were moving. For some reason they had never revealed that they were sub-letting from the  Santos. She certainly didn't care if they had twenty people crammed in the cubic together. It didn't cost her any more or less. She gave her remodeler a heads up too.

The thought even occurred to inquire if they had somewhere to go, but it smacked of showing off that she knew their business and she really had no obligation to Chen. His contract and relationship was with the Santos. If they needed help finding a place to stay then let Papa-san help them. She suspected he had funds and assets of other sorts equal to hers.

Besides, she was tired of imposing indefinitely on her mother's kindness when she owned cubic and could move out. Her mom hadn't rushed them, but she also made clear she had plans to remodel and sort out the cubic in a new floor plan. Something she'd been waiting to do from before her brother had died. Her mom was holding classes in her home and probably had plans to make that more convenient too.

She'd planned to set off an area for Gunny to stay with her by putting a curtain on a ceiling track around it. But the more she considered it she wanted an actual room. She'd do it with floor to ceiling panels, that could be removed and stored, or set back up in a day. The bath would be a double, with a shared shower between and interlock doors that made it a first come first served. If she took the extra room down, the bath would be available to dinner guests or company without sending them through April's bedroom. Sometimes she liked her privacy.

Gunny had suggested they go in together on a home warming gift for the Santos. She had never heard of such a thing. Buying cubic instead of renting was such a rare thing on Home there hadn't been any custom established about the matter, but when she looked it up on the net she found it was a long standing custom on Earth over a number of cultures. She didn't want to dismiss good ideas as Earth Think automatically. It seemed a pleasant custom and had none of the religious conflicts of other holidays that had led the USNA government to ban them or keep them strictly private.

That only left the question of what was a suitable gift. She couldn't spend too much or it would impose a burden on Gunny to match her and she didn't want to buy something like art  they would feel obligated to display even if they secretly loathed it.

Probably the safest thing would be to give something that got used up, so it wouldn't be stored away and trotted out whenever she or Gunny came to visit. Maybe a subscription to some sort of gourmet food dealer?  The sort who shipped fruit or nuts or specialty items like maple syrup or honey? The better ones had cookies, candy and things like cured sausages or prosciutto. She'd run that past Heather and see if she had any better ideas.

Her stomach was telling her it was time for lunch. When she suggested that to Gunny he was happy to get out a bit, he'd been staring at his screen way too long.

* * *

"Hello Wanda, How about a BLT today, some potato salad and a couple dill pickles on the side?" April asked. Gunny said, "Make it two." Which he did surprisingly often.

Matt Wilson was eating alone. She didn't have to invite him, he picked up his tray and asked if he could join them.

"Where are your kids?" April wondered.

"As a matter of fact they are with your mother." It seemed to amuse him.

"I'm surprised you dove right in and obligated yourself to pay for schooling before you write some more books and get a cash flow coming in."

"I've been sandbagging a bit. I had three books published that did well, but since I saw that I would never see the rewards of publishing new ones I've been writing like crazy but not releasing any of the material. I write fairly fast. I have three more books done and two well along. Also I sold off rights to half the income from another book under a pen name. And the income from that has been accumulating in a Tongan account, since I knew we'd be lifting from there. I believe we'll be OK and sales should kick in before I run out of funds."