April (28 page)

"I can't imagine those circumstances happening though, because I know how my brother conducts business. He would never consider having his primary equipment hostage to someone else's control. I'm sure he plans to own it free and clear, from the moment he takes possession."

He showed no reaction past a few extra blinks. The idea they would have sufficient capital for an outright purchase was probably shocking. So April made the point explicitly.

"From the amount of our funds he suggested he'd need, when he ran the business plan past our parents, I'm very sure we'll own it. So if the insurers won't cover it he has the option to go naked and risk the whole thing against having it sit idle. From what I remember of those history lessons you are speaking of - the people willing to run a blockade could charge dearly for it, couldn't they?"

"Yes," he agreed. Perhaps disbelieving what he was hearing but went ahead. "But what would you do if your ship is intercepted by an armed space plane and directed to their dockage, or simply destroyed?"

"It's not easy intercepting a craft while it is changing orbits and expensive to wait near where it may be going. You can't just hover watching this station for example, unless you are behind or ahead in the same orbit. It limits your response options. It's expensive to keep a multibillion dollar spaceship stationed, with a crew using consumables, just waiting for someone to try something. They aren't set up to just loiter anyway. Almost all of them are made to go somewhere and dock. They don't have room for consumables for months and they are not comfortable for a long orbit." The toilet will be full in a week she thought, but didn't want to say it over breakfast.

"If they do see someone leaving or coming they must act quickly, within a certain narrow window to intercept. Also they are risking
their
valuable spaceship, if someone takes exception to their action and decides to shoot back. Most of the time you don't see another spacecraft - they are just a radar return and maybe a transponder echo which could be true or false. A USNA military space plane might be very reluctant to shoot at a radar return they are not absolutely sure, is not a Chinese or European Union craft."

She took her coffee cup in her hands and looked at it instead of him for a few moments, considering what she wanted to say. "There are technologies available on the station which are cutting edge and the Earthies just might find out we are not as easily contained as they think. Our craft is going to have "legs" as the pilots say. Lots of delta-v. Do you know what the term means?"

He nodded his head affirmatively and then surprised her with a question. "But Sylvia mentioned you were all working on things for your spaceship last night, when you came in. Do Heather and her friend have an interest in the vessel, with your brother and you as Lewis Couriers, or are they just helping out of friendship?"

"It's complicated," she admitted. Just starting to sort out in her own mind how complicated it could be, because of him asking. "We have several overlapping interests." She wasn't going to make their conspiracy plain to him. She thought about it a bit and Broutin didn't seem to want to press her, but still was just patiently waiting for more. It was a very effective way to make her talk. She found she didn't want to tell him it was none of his business, even though it was true. If only he had been less friendly it would have been easier to do just that.

"We three, myself, Heather and Jeff have done business for several years and are friends now. But sometimes we do favors for each other and never think to ask for payment." She suddenly realized herself what she was explaining was an aspect of pledging their fortunes. She couldn't go there.

"When we need something, we just do what is needed. I provided zero G cubic last night for Jeff to run some of his processes and he is providing help for refitting our scooter. Heather provided work space here and considerable design talent to make equipment we needed. I had thirty thousand dollars USNA, of electronics components couriered up from Australia Saturday and didn't ask to be paid for them." He raised his eyebrows again. That was a good month's wages for an adult below.

"If you consider how much the intellectual property is worth, which is the basis of our business association, it would be petty to worry about these little side issues. It would be like people who argue about dividing the check up to the last penny at a restaurant. Mature people just take turns paying the check and don't worry about whether their friend usually gets dessert and they don't."

There, April felt satisfied. It seemed safe enough to define their relationship as being based on business. No need to mention politics. Speaking of running a blockade had already gotten too political.

She smiled at him. "If the time comes soon you need to move something, come talk to us and we'll see what we can do."

"I'll keep it in mind April." He was not dismissive at the end, which was as much as April could hope for given his initial skepticism.

For his part, Broutin was thinking he had at first had doubted someone so young could be half owner of a space craft. Now she was implying a space ship was a minor item among the things the three of them were doing. A side business with her brother. He was very, very good at telling when people were lying to him, even without any equipment and her manner had the ring of truth to it. She was milking him for information, but not concerned about convincing him of anything. Everything they were discussing hinged on politics and she had avoided defining anything they were doing in political terms. He didn't believe for a second these three were not aware their 'business' would have powerful political implications, if they didn't obey a blockade, but she obviously avoided speaking of that. It bothered him a little she had not given any actual name to their business association. He liked clear labels for things. So he asked.

"What is this primary business you speak of that holds intellectual property?"

"Singh Technologies," Heather answered for her. "It's privately held so there isn't much information to be found on it. We do that a lot up here. April's family for example holds Strategic Materials and Jeff's family owns Kali Holding. Those are fronts for ownership in the Rock."

"Ah, then your interest in how events unfold around the Rock, run deeper than how it affects the courier trade, or Faye's ability to deliver her panels." That seemed to satisfy him, that he had the broader picture.

"It will deeply effect all of us on 3," Faye assured him. "More than some seem able to imagine at this time."

"Thank you for your counsel, "April said and handed the cuff back to him.

He reached, but instead of plucking it from her hand, he took her hand in his and she felt the second cuff link she had not seen him remove, pressed beside the other between their hands.

"Wear them and remember me by them," he offered. And lifted her hand and gave a very European light kiss to her fingers. She had never seen anyone do that, except in old movies, but he made it seem very natural and oddly not the least romantic. It was more respectful, as there was no playfulness in his expression, which made it all the stranger from him, "and much success with your revolution."

It chilled her to realize from his flash of amusement after the last phrase, he was pleased with his double meaning and was not referring to any fashion revolution. She had certainly never used the word. Was their course really so transparent to people? Or did rebellion just look inevitable from his view?

April thanked him and looked back up at Sylvia and Heather, worried she had said too much. But Heather had an almost smiling, pleased look, April hoped meant she approved. Sylvia had a thoughtful look, which said she didn't mind the exchange at all. Neither had expressed any disapproval. She was happy she avoided speaking bluntly of rebellion, but obviously it wasn't far from anybody's mind.

* * *

Monday morning Oct. 11, 2083, was the start of a new work week. Jon cut the connection to the last of the six courier services he had called this morning. He missed the old fashioned sort of telephone handset you could smash back in the cradle and work out some of your anger. All he'd managed to do today, was to alert enough people in the orbit to orbit transport business, to the fact he wanted a small job done, that the rest of the small and closely knit industry would know he'd failed to do by lunch.

After he'd been turned down six times for a quick turnaround to ISSII, the other ship owners would probably be afraid to touch the job. It quickly had a taint attached to it, after a certain number rejected it. He could see now he had made a few small mistakes, trying to hire a private ride. He wanted to transport an officer to the other station and extract and return Dr. Singh with the officer as an escort. Was that so much to ask?

Every owner he'd talked to, had immediately asked why they didn't just take a normally scheduled flight? He should have had an elaborate cover story ready, but he'd foolishly told them the truth, that he was afraid politics and legal action might keep him from boarding commercial transport. Every single one of them had instantly assumed that the problem involved the Rock and would either identify them with a faction they didn't want to be labeled with, or put their craft at risk.

It didn't help that there also appeared to be more work available for the limited number of scooters in private hands than they could do. So getting involved would not only be unwise in their eyes, they'd also be doing him a favor in the first place, interrupting their bookings, or running a crew overtime to do so.

If he'd any idea how busy and how lucrative the trade was, he'd have invested some of his retirement money in it. April's brother Bob had not impressed him as deeply as his sister even being a few years older. When he found out from the previous owner that Bob had exercised an option to buy a scooter, he was surprised. If he was sharp enough to get in on this hot market, maybe he wasn't as dumb as the mushroom fiasco implied. In any case maybe they would take the job, if they were not yet in the loop of owners who warned each other to turn him down.

If even that failed to get transport, maybe he could get some local help on ISSII to make sure Singh was not harassed or denied boarding. The Security people over there would undoubtedly rather not have any unpleasant public incidents, if they could be avoided. If they were not under Earthie orders to create the ugly incident themselves, he reminded himself. He still wasn't sure he'd want to do business with his boss' kids.

Jon looked across his desk at the thin screen covering most of his office wall. It showed an organization chart obtained by a web search. He believed perhaps half of it was true. The chart was the official public one, for the counterpart to his own organization on ISSII. What really complicated it was the head of Security in the International Station, rotated among the various nations contributing to the upkeep and personnel, of the second and biggest joint station. So while positions might be long term, the people assigned to them changed frequently.

He shook his head. He thought he had a hard job, but he could not imagine trying to do it with a crew of soldiers from six different countries, who might not understand his language well. There would always be some doubt if they'd take your orders, if they seemed to conflict with their country's interests.

He followed what he could of the man's career, but the record was very strange. The family name was German sounding. Hagen. Jan Hagen. But he knew the Swiss shared language and customs with several neighbors. He just wished he knew if it was important. He didn't know if one heritage carried greater status than another. The fellow had served in the Swiss army as a very young man. Then, strangely he had gone
back
in the military for a second time, although his rank from one enlistment to the other made no sense at all. Nothing at all except his military service in a general way, seemed to qualify him for his post. The guy had to be a spook.

He looked at the man's picture. He seemed unremarkable in a bland European way. It was probably an asset, rather than striking good looks. Most important his appearance did not send any warning message to Jon the man was a warped personality. Psychologists could deny the ability, but Jon had learned in police work to trust his initial impressions. If someone was bad to the core, he usually got an alarm bell at first glance, even from a photo and he'd regretted those times he'd suppressed and ignored his gut feeling. This man, he sensed, he could work with confidently.

"Eddie, I need to talk to you," he yelled through his door. His was the only office and the shared space for the rest of his department was small enough, he could be heard by everyone. At least cleaning out the armory had opened up the storage locker, so they could move the coffee maker and fridge in there and have it out of sight. It probably was the most secure coffee maker off earth, since they kept the vault door closed up as usual off shift, just to mislead anyone who might think there were still weapons in there. With the coffee set up gone, you could walk between the desks without turning sideways. At least the normal sized people could.

Eddie stuck his head in the door. "You bellowed?" he inquired. Eddie was the closest thing the department had to a technology geek. If a problem called for a special piece of equipment he seemed to have the connections to produce it. It might have surprised Jon, that his man Eddie and Heather knew each other on a professional basis.

"I struck out this morning trying to get private transport, to bring Dr. Singh back from IISII. I want to have a cozy little talk with the head of Security at ISSII, to see if he could give us a hand and not have the USNA analyzing what I've said, before I suck in my next breath. If you were going to arrange it what would you do?"

Eddie came in and shut the door and pulled a slim wand out of his pocket. He consulted it at length and stuck it back in his pocket.

"Come on, Eddie. You checked my room this morning when we spoke and neither of us have left the office since then."