April 4: A Different Perspective (21 page)

"I'd
love
it for a hundred dollars and you set it up for me and show me how to do transfers," Eric told him.

"Good boy, you asked for an added value. But
next
time offer eighty dollars and the extra work
too
. All I can do is say no and I might have counter offered ninety," he explained.

Eric nodded at the lesson, with a canny expression.

* * *

"It's fit to you, so when you are done working for me consider it part of your severance pay," Jeff told Mo. "At ten hours a day, it has a projected service life of six years, so it should have lots of good hours left in it when we are done. If you go in and out two or three times a day it drops the hours a little and requires more service."

"It doesn't look like the ones the guys outside Home wear. I saw some of them working yesterday."

"Oh, those are hard suits. They are pretty heavy, with a high center of gravity. Even in lunar gravity the momentum can be hard to handle. But they are safer doing heavy construction and they stay flexible at higher pressures than a soft suit. The ones you saw are powered significantly too. But you need special seats to use them in a ship or rover. One of those hard shells can go over a hundred-fifty thousand."

This suit will run forty-seven thousand dollars USNA. Your suit is already a little more advanced than mine. I don't feel any big urge to upgrade, but your air-pack will run a couple more hours and it is more resistant to cuts. It's safer. The suit will call for help if you stop moving for thirty seconds and your heartbeat or respiration indicates distress. It can even activate a built in defibrillator if you need it."

The gloves and helmet faceplate lock closed when it's in vacuum and it has tourniquet seals at ankle and wrist instead of just elbows and knees. The sole is a shallow chevron tread instead of lugs, it doesn't hold regolith and get packed up with it." 

"Everything is expensive up here!" Mo said.

"Pretty much. Except a few odd things. You can buy a course of drug treatment specific for colon cancer for seventy dollars USNA. Same drug down on Earth they charge you near ten-thousand. But you need a lot more cheeseburgers and footies than drugs."

"You need to practice putting the suit on until you can do it half asleep, with your air swirling away and get it perfect every time. It doesn't take much of a hole to take the pressure below breathable levels in seconds in a small ship like we fly. Most of us won't even take a helmet off in flight. We just open the face plate. I lost pressure in the
Happy Lewis
a few weeks back and it was nice to just reach up and slap the faceplate home. We were spinning and maneuvering and if I'd had to get a helmet on, well, I might not be here."

"Is this something common?" Mo asked alarmed. "What sort of a failure took your pressure down that fast?"

"No, not common at all. That's the only time I've experienced it. We had just experienced a little run in with a USNA spacecraft in lunar orbit and were asked to make a pass on their field at Armstrong and survey what else they had there." Jeff hesitated. "Well, actually Heather asked us to "return the favor" and they'd just cluster bombed our field, so we planned on doing
something.
But when we came in pretty low and close, they burned a hole through us with a laser. Pretty well opened her up from one frame rail to the other. There was no reason left at that point to hold back, so April's Grandpa had the conn and he'd already designated their one ship on the field to eat a mini-missile, but when the suckers shot a hole through us he laid a ten kiloton missile on their field building, housing the targeting radar. It's not real smart to shoot at him. He didn't get old and grey by hesitating when things go bad."

Mo stared at him in horror, mouth hanging open.

"That's why the
Happy
ran back to the moon suddenly the other day. The USNA sent another spacecraft to the moon and we were concerned they might get aggressive with Central again. But they just landed at Armstrong and then took off for the French habitat. Thankfully it was nothing to worry about after all."

"You destroyed a USNA spacecraft and bombed a surface facility in Armstrong?"

"Well, we ended up destroying three USNA spacecraft that day. The stupid suckers kept shooting at us. What could we do? That's all they had on the moon, three, so obviously they had to stop."

"Isn't Home in a state of war with North America after that?"

"This was at Heather's real estate venture, Central, it really isn't Home. Although if they had kept it up the Assembly might take a dim view of them continuing to shoot at Home citizens, wherever they might happen to be. But we have never gone before the Assembly and asked their help. None of us really want war. It's bad for business and I don't think they realize how badly it could get out of hand, if they want a real war of survival type contest. So we really haven't needed to bother the Assembly. We'd just as soon keep it a private matter."

"A private matter," Mo mumbled in shock.

"Heather was worried about having proper authority to deal with such things, she was concerned she'd be labeled a pirate or criminal, so the refugees, the folks who fled to her place from Armstrong, asked to swear fealty to her. Since she is a sovereign now she can properly deal with another state if they attack."

"
They
asked?"

"Innovative wasn't it?"

"You-are-all-insane," Mo declared flatly with utter certainty. Unthinking and unconcerned how he was addressing his new boss, he was so rattled.

"A lot of people think so," Jeff agreed, immune to offense. "But sane, or flipped out totally off her nut, she still has hundreds of nuclear equivalent weapons and accurate, robust, delivery systems. The really smart thing to do, if any of them
demonstrated
any smarts, would be to act very politely with her. If too much grief comes at her again out of Armstrong she's likely to walk a grid of tactical weapons across them and make it a parking lot as they say. She can easily do so from Central. I'd hate to see that happen."

"Where did she
get
those sort of weapons?" Mo asked. "We heard nothing about it on the news."

"We make them ourselves. It's certainly not my business to refute or enlarge on North American news," Jeff asserted. "We just sort of
assume
that anybody bright enough to make it up here knows their news is being managed. But you look like you are having a hard time absorbing this. Why don't we go get some lunch and take a little break? You'll find it easier to get your mind back on the suit after a decent lunch. I tell you what, the other cafeteria for the working folks is closer. Let's go there and you can check out a new place. You might even like to bring your wife down to this end sometime, for a little change of pace."

"Yes, please, let's take a break," Mo agreed, glassy-eyed.

* * *

"Mr. Hall, do you have a moment?" Eric asked, standing before his desk again.

"Of course, Eric. What can I do for you?"

"Do you have the papers we signed the other day?"

"Certainly. I'll have my assistant bring them to the desk," he said and sent a text off. "They are identical to your copies you know. Is there a question on any of them you want explained?"

"No, well one question, but I have my hanko now and I would just feel better if I use it on them. It seems like all my stuff should be signed the same."

"That's fine." A younger man laid a folder on the edge of his desk and departed without comment. Hall pulled the summary sheet and signature card out and slid them across the desk.

Eric looked at how Hall's company hanko imprint was positioned and with exaggerated care put his mark beside his own signature the same way. He looked very satisfied and tilted the paper to see the rainbow effect of the printed symbol, before giving them back.

"There was a question?" Irwin reminded him.

"Oh yeah! We didn't really talk about the interest on the money I get in the draw account. I saw at home it says three percent. Dad said that sounded pretty good. But I wonder, is that what everybody pays? and if I want to borrow more sometime, can I negotiate that just like the cost of a set of spex?"

"That is a very good question. Interest rates are much more negotiable the bigger the loan. I have to decide how much risk the bank is taking again, so the collateral is very important. Not only how much it is worth but how easy to sell." He put his hands together in front of him in a steeple and got into lecture mode.

"I didn't talk to you about interest rates, because you are getting the best rate I allow the bank to offer right now. If a fellow came in and wanted a loan against a diamond ring with a six carat stone, I would be very cautious. It might be very valuable, but very few people have the money free to buy such a luxury. I might not be able to find
anyone
on Home who wanted to buy such a large valuable stone. I might have to send it down to Earth and whoever sold it for me down there would want a fee to handle it for me. and just the fact I send it off out of my control is another risk factor. I'd have to pay to insure it."

Eric nodded his understanding. It made sense and Irwin explained things well.

"But your Solar coin? Platinum is sold every day, in every country on Earth. There are markets open somewhere twenty-four hours a day to buy or sell it and there are even people who will write you insurance against the price going down too far. Platinum and gold are among the best things you can own for collateral. I'd charge the same three percent for a loan against a London Good Delivery Bar," he assured Eric. "Which is the ultimate banker to banker money."

"What is that?" Eric asked scrunching his nose up. It sounded weird.

"Come with me," Irwin offered, smiling. He led the way into the vault. In the back was a plain featureless brushed steel door. He laid his hand on a touch pad to the right of it.

"Irwin Hall and customer Eric Pennington. I am not under coercion and nothing will be added or removed this access," he said to the computer, that must be listening somewhere. It analyzed his voice and hand and believed him. There was a sound of gears whirring faintly and the door opened rather slowly compared to most powered doors. Inside was anticlimactic, a plain room with simple shelves and two chairs with a fold down table.

"Sit," Irwin told him, pointing to the far chair. Eric did, but watched closely.

Hall pulled on some gloves from a box of them, went to the shelves and picked up a gold bar. It wasn't all that big, a little longer than the zucchini bread his mom made, but not as tall. It was obviously heavy though, Irwin needing the taper built into it to pick it up. That's why it was small face down, Eric realized.

Irwin nodded at the table and Eric pulled it down between the chairs. Irwin laid the bar on the table and sat in the other chair.

"Do I need gloves too, if I want to pick it up?"

"Nah, everybody should experience that much gold in their bare hands at least once in life. Just don't dig your finger nails in. It's so soft it's possible to mar it and scrape away slivers under your nails. I put it on the table because it can get away from you. It can break your toes quite easily if you drop it."

"Oh man," Eric said. "It
is
really heavy." He kept both elbows on the table for leverage to heft it. The face was stamped with an oval and some funny letters, the N and the F backwards from English. It also said 2058 – 12.440 Kg - .998.

"
That's
a London Good Delivery Bar," Irwin informed him, grinning.

"How much is it worth?" Eric asked.

"Call it ten million dollars, USNA. Plus or minus a bit."

"Wow, who owns it?" Eric asked, big-eyed.

"Well now, you want me to keep your secrets. Don't you think I should do the same for the owner of this bar?" he asked. "And you should keep
my
secret too," he pointed out. "If nobody knows we have this bar in here, they can't be plotting to come steal it."

"I didn't think," Eric admitted, blushing furiously. "I won't mention it," he promised.

"I thought you'd enjoy seeing that," Irwin said, grinning. He got the bar and put it back. "Is there anything else we can do for you today Mr. Pennington?"

"No," Eric said, folding the table back up. "And thanks a
lot
."

* * *

"I don't get it," Fredrick complained. "I can see this is useful. and certainly they are delighted to have somebody else do it, but why you?" He handed out the electrostatic filter to Silverson. It was nasty with black grime, some of which fell away in little crumbs. Some filters were brown, some gray. All disgusting.  He had a big smear of it under one eye, like a pro football player who forgot one side.

They would bag the unit and when they had a cart full, take them down and hand wash them gently with a big soft brush. It usually took three times before they rinsed clean. Except the one near the deep fat fryer in the kitchen. That one had taken all morning. The cheerful maintenance tech, who had shown them how to do the first one, had explained there were four-hundred-eleven of them in the habitat. That meant by the time they got to the last one, the first would be ready to be serviced again. You had to test them for spark-over voltage when they dried and run a log on them too.

"I'm the only one who spears French, so I'm your baby-sitter and I get to call for help if you get in trouble," Silverson explained. "Just keep at those language lessons, so we can advance to something better than this," he pleaded.

"If we needed help their emergency number is 112 just like ours in North America is 911. I can't believe they don't have somebody in the call center that speaks English. Did you hit on that cute young woman that received us the other day and get on her bad side?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

"She took an instant dislike to me, because I speak
better
French than her."

"You're right, Fredrick agreed. "I don't believe you."