April 8: It's Always Something (15 page)

"No, actually we already have a huge influx of people right now. To the point rents are crazy and there just isn't anywhere to stay. People are renting out sleeping space on their living room floor," Jeff said.

Holland nodded. "And if people are jealous of what you are doing, and they can't come to you, do you know what they are going to do?"

Jeff shook his head no.

"They will agitate and complain and try to get the same things put into effect right where they are. The bureaucracy isn't going to accept half your ideas without a huge fight. It's entirely too much freedom. These ideas pushed just a bit could foment outright rebellion," Holland warned.

"I'd hate to do that," Jeff admitted. "We need stability on Earth and I'd like to do business with Australia, not disrupt it. But I'd be embarrassed to ever say there can be too much freedom."

"Then I suggest you leave well enough alone," Holland advised him, ignoring the crack about freedom. "The story about your bomb is already
old
news and dying a natural death. If you try to explain your position all over again it will only remind people about it. There's a time to just shut up, even if you feel you are right and want vindication. Better to let it just be forgotten than make trouble for everybody, including yourself."

"Your advice is appreciated," Jeff said. "It seems
very
good advice to me." His brow was furrowed with a look of concentration. Social things were hard and he was thinking on it all intensely.

"I will let this story fade out. However, things
will
stabilize here. Your predictions of failure have too many forces working against it.
I'm
working on it. For example I have a partnership trying to create more housing. If you are really attracted to the idea of coming to Home, you might think on this as a possibility. You will eventually see it's not failing. Sometime my enterprises are going to get to the point they need a spox. You can tell I'm not exactly a silver tongued devil. If you could come to believe in the system sufficiently you might advocate for it, as a job. It doesn't seem too great a leap from newsperson to...what? Minister of Propaganda? What would the civilian equivalent be? Something that sounds better," Jeff suggested. "That word has negative connotations."

"Public Relations...Did you call to make me a job offer?" Holland asked, shocked. "Are you proposing I
defect
?"

"Not at all. Your own statements made me think of it. It's not a hard offer. But think on it for the future. Keep it in the back of your mind. You infer your present circumstances are not happy. You are candid in admitting the limits of your present government without my speaking ill of them to you. If you get to where you are unhappy enough with the entire package to risk emigrating, then perhaps we can talk. That's all I'm offering," Jeff said. "Maybe we can talk again in a year or two."

"I am insane, but I won't say
never
. I might call you some time."

"Good, I'm glad we talked then." Holland still looked shell shocked when Jeff disconnected.

Jeff just briefly felt bad. He'd told Chen he wasn't going to offer the man a job. Well, that hadn't been his intent, and he hadn't, exactly. It hadn't been a
promise
, so he stopped worrying about it and dismissed it from his mind.

The road to Armstrong was mostly long straightaways and several gentle curves that could be negotiated at speed. It was only interesting because it was Kurt's first time. He could see how it would get quickly boring. There were hills in the distance several times, but the bumpy regolith near the road didn't have enough variation to make any part of it remarkable. There were no human structures at all.

The other drivers he'd asked for tips or items he should take along all agreed. Most of them said to bring a good book or music, and warned him to set the alarm for the end of the controlled portion of the road, to loud. If it was a good book, or if you closed your eyes with the music, you could ignore the gentler alarm until the much louder collision alarm jolted you out of your reverie.

Kurt was assigned a van to allow him to drive without a pressure suit due to his bandages. Some trucks had a separate pressurized cab and most drivers elected to wear a suit as an extra layer of safety even if they planned to sit out loading and unloading at dock. A van allowed him to walk out the rear if there was room and enter the terminal. He'd been assured he was hauling small packages and there would be a clear path to exit before he was unloaded. He'd entered the same way, and found there was a path, but it was quite tight even without wearing a pressure suit.

The alarm warned him that he needed to resume manual control, and the steering wheel vibrated as soon as he put your hands back on it. You could tell by the feel it was on manual again. Kurt was new at this, so he gently turned it to the left, towards the centerline to confirm to himself he really did have control again. The truck dutifully eased left at his input and he corrected back right before it warned him he was leaving his lane.

"Maintain a minimum thirty kilometers per hour. At the street sign for 16
th
Street S.E. brake starting at the sign and turn right," his navigation software instructed him. The route was shown on the heads-up screen and highlighted in pale yellow.

A brighter yellow ball started blinking at the intersection on his screen when he reached the turn-off sign and continued until he made the turn and straightened back out. He followed instructions to make another turn, drop to twenty kilometers an hour, and turn into a drive for the Armstrong Supply Depot. He was told to stop behind another vehicle at the end of the short ramp and wait for the truck park traffic to clear before proceeding.

Kurt watched a much smaller vehicle leave the docks and exit around the building rather than out the access road beside him. After it disappeared around the corner of the building the truck ahead of him pulled into the middle of the park and turned around. There were a few seconds hesitation and it backed to a dock door and mated to it. Not door,
port
, Kurt reminded himself. Door would make him sound like an idiot or an Earthie. A green light over the port came on after about ten seconds. There was room for six vehicles to unload, and only two were occupied.

"You may enter the center area and turn the truck away from the terminal," his navigation said. "You will be instructed to engage automatic docking and this program will terminate. Do not touch any of the controls while docking is underway or the program will terminate and you will have to affirm there was no emergency to a live operator before it can resume."

That seemed easy enough. Kurt drove towards the terminal and made a sweeping turn until he was pointing looking back at the entry road. The screen on the dash showed, "Docking net detected. Touch X to terminate connection to navigation and control. Docking will auto-connect. There may be a delay before docking initiates. Be patient please."

Kurt touched the big X in a box, reaching across himself with his left hand. The right was bandaged and didn't activate the screen, he'd tried it when he left Central. The screen changed to a backup camera view. There wasn't any delay as it had warned was possible. The truck backed up slowly without any further instructions, the steering wheel turning slowly one way and then the other to line him up on the port. The truck slowed as it came within centimeters of the dock, and then there was an almost imperceptible bump, then a sharper brief motion as the grapples locked and sealed the van to the terminal.

"Seal confirmed and pressure is equalized. Your vehicle will automatically unseal if you do not terminate the process from your control screen within thirty seconds." a different voice told him. "If you intend to leave the vehicle through the freight port please touch the second X box on the screen and unloading will be delayed until you enter the terminal and confirm your entry on the com screen assigned to your port."

Kurt touched the lower X and got out of his seat, careful not to bump his hand on something, the cab of the truck still unfamiliar to him. He had to turn sideways and shuffle a bit to get past the narrowest place where a big skid with a box on top intruded. When he got to the dock there was a com station protected by upright bollards, and a man waiting. He took care of marking his arrival on the screen and got out of the way before turning to the man. A loading bot glided into the van immediately.

Nobody had mentioned he'd be met. The fellow was young, had short hair, but still more than Kurt was used to seeing on suit workers. He had on all tan clothing that looked like a uniform but had no insignia or rank markings. More importantly he had on a pistol with a lanyard. It didn't look like a Taser.

"What's that?" the man asked, pointing at Kurt's bandaged hand.

"What does it look like?" Kurt asked. "It's a bandage." It surprised Kurt because it was obvious, and he'd already grown used to not fielding stupid questions all the time, like Earth.

"I have to ask if that's permitted," the guy decided.

"Ask who?" Kurt asked.

The guy opened his mouth like he might answer and then instead said: "Wait here." He walked far enough away to keep Kurt from listening and talked earnestly into an ugly com pad instead of using the warehouse com console.

"You can't leave the terminal area with that unless that is opened to inspection. There could be anything inside," he informed Kurt when he returned.

"I didn't intend to anyway. I was promised a half hour turn-around at most. I'm not even picking up anything. This is my first time here, but I was told there's a coffee room and a restroom for drivers in the terminal, that's all I need."

"Follow the blue line on the floor and it'll take you to the break room. Don't go off in the stacks or beyond the break room to public pressure," the fellow warned sternly.

"Sounds good to me," Kurt said, and bit off what he wanted to add. He really did need to stop being so...expressive, even if the fellow was an ass.

There were two drivers in the coffee room. One in a suit without a helmet and one in overalls. They were sitting across from each other at a table, one with his feet up on a second chair. Kurt sat with the improvised foot stool between him and that driver.

"Careful," Kurt said, pointing at his boots on the chair. "If the guard comes in that'll probably get you thirty days in solitary."

"You mean the
concierge
?"
the fellow asked.
"That and the valet parking just mean this is a fancy place now. If you really want to frost his cookies ask him to run into pressure and buy you a bottle of Bourbon. The commissary here has a few pints for about twelve hundred bucks, USNA. He got all prickly when I asked him to run a simple errand."

"He isn't allowed to say he's
on duty
," the other fellow said. "You're just trying to trip him up and make him reveal his true nature. I came to attention and gave him a proper salute when I came in. I think he might have sprained something keeping from returning it by reflex."

Kurt lifted an inquiring eyebrow and tapped his ear, then twirled a finger around to ask if they weren't being monitored here.

"Yeah, undoubtedly they are listening," the near man replied. "I'm way past playing pretend, gave it up years ago. It's always something. If they don't like it they can make me go back to Central. I'll take my cargo with me and they can have ration bars tomorrow instead of the potato salad and other stuff I brought. I'm told they just started this silly crap of guarding the entries two shifts back. As if we're going to back up a long trailer with an armed squad and invade them through a freight portal." He added a disdainful snort.

"Earth Think," Kurt judged it. "Oh well. Not my problem, I don't have to live here. This is my first freight run. I'm on light duty because of my hand," he said lifting it to show what he meant. "In a week I'll be doing something else. If they give me a hard time I'll turn the run down tomorrow. There's lots of other things I can do one handed."

"Yep, heard about that," the guy across the table said. "Friend of mine was having breakfast when you...got hurt. He said after the show you put on he'd like to see what you could do with a tactical spork. He's seen a little action himself. Spent a few years in the Pan-Arabic Protectorate and it left him a warped sense of humor, like so many vets."

Kurt could feel his face burning with a blush. "Is the coffee worth trying?" he asked avoiding any further discussion of his actions in the cafeteria.

"Not as good as ours. Cheap dark roast." the fellow said, amused at his evasion. "The machine will take ten dollars USNA if you have them, but it won't do a currency conversion. If you pay a bit it gouges you the full bit and doesn't give any change."

"Thanks," Kurt said. He did have dollars still. Might as well use a few.

"What you hauling?" the lounging one asked when he came back.

"A whole bunch of packages, mostly small, in a van. I've got no idea what's in them. I wasn't even given a manifest to be able to look," Kurt realized. He hadn't thought about it before. "It was so easy, and almost all of it automated. I can't see why they don't make the whole process automated. If they don't want to automate the yard maneuvering here and switching systems they could have one guy do it remotely from a tower who can see all the yard and ports."

"You're aboard to prevent theft. Not so much a guard as a witness, or they'd demand you be armed. Probably a big pair of salad tongs for you," he jabbed. "The truck could dock here and then they
lose
the record it was here. Things can get mysteriously erased. Or there's the possibility the truck could be hijacked along the way. If you block its path these trucks will stop for any obstacle. Artificial stupids are too easy to fool. And then it's easy to gain entry either by hacking the on-board controls, or if you don't mind damaging the truck, just pry the door open."

"And you're hauling food," Kurt said, remembering his conversation.

"Yeah and I'm taking a light load back," the trucker said. "Not much goes back. We get most Earth goods through Home, and Armstrong just doesn't produce much of anything. I'm unloaded, but waiting for them to fetch stuff to the terminal. It should have been here, but..." he shrugged.

"I'm driving a tanker," the guy across the table said. "Two tons of water, and probably done," he said tilting his pad up and looking at the time. "I'm just bullshitting with this no-good because we don't cross paths on the same shift all that often."

Another man came in carrying a package and wearing a loose hoodie jacket. He nodded to them and laid the box on the table.

"Hi Carl," he said, nodding at the fellow on Kurt's side. "Be right back," he promised and went in the restroom. He wasn't inside the door two seconds before he came out with his hood up and a machine in his hand like a big pistol, but it had an open horn shape instead of a barrel. He sidled along the wall back firmly against it until he was below the corner of the room, raised the odd device pointed at the corner above and triggered it. The lights flickered brightly once and the coffee maker started emptying itself without releasing a cup to receive it.

The fellow sat the EMP gun on the floor, apparently it was a single use device, and produced a small can of spray paint on a telescoping stick. He thoroughly sprayed the small lens set in the corner. That was insurance apparently, in case it wasn't properly fried. From an inside pocket he produced a paper pad with a message already written and handed it to the driver near Kurt.

Carl raised his eyebrows and handed the paper tablet to Kurt. Kurt held it carefully square to his face, like somebody did recording. The gesture wasn't lost on them. It said: "Your load was delayed. Leave now without it. You have five minutes to clear the terminal." Kurt passed it across the table to the other trucker who seemed anxious to read it.

Meanwhile...The local fiddled with something inside the cuff of his hoodie. It contracted, losing all its bagginess and changing color to match the room walls. He opened the package on the table and removed a brace of pistols and a belt with extra magazines.

What he did next really freaked Kurt out. He pulled the hood over his face. It had an opaque domed surface different than the rest of the jacket, sort of like a fencing mask, he fiddled with it and it got almost clear like a real faceplate. He tugged at the cuffs and they formed gloves. Then he tugged the waist of the jacket until it hung below his hips, halfway to his knees. Kurt had no idea such a thing was possible. It looked surreal. Lastly he buckled the gun belt on and tied an orange brassard around his arm.

He frowned at them for still being there, staring at him, and made an emphatic
go
gesture to them with one index finger swept in an arc up and away from him. The he held up a hand with fingers spread to remind them they had five minutes. His face said this was serious.