April 5: A Depth of Understanding (13 page)

"I think I understood what you meant, but if there was a hole in the bulkhead with air whistling out, it might not convey exactly what to do to a rattled person."

Deming nodded and scrunched his face up. "I'm not sure what to do different teacher. I believe my little sister is learning faster than me."

"That's to be expected. As you get older most people find languages more difficult to learn. I think we need to try something different. Who would you consider your friends in the class?"

Deming looked alarmed. "Teacher the fault is mine, not theirs. You do not denounce your friends, or you will never have any again."

"Deming, I am not a part of the state. I don't report people to anyone, except maybe your parents if I am unable to instruct you satisfactorily and I'll take the blame if it comes to that. What happens in my class when you do well in a subject?"

"You pile more on," he quoted, smiling.

"Exactly. I am considering setting you aside with those you find compatible and let them instruct you intensely in English. I think in the long run you will save time when you come back to your instruction improved. It will also be good for them to find out how difficult teaching something you already know can be."

"I think that good," Deming agreed. "The software I have been using, they look sour and correct me when I say a word from it. They inform me the program speaks like an Earthie and they do things different."

"Different
ly
, Faye corrected. "I don't intend for them to circle you and do all the work. I'd like you to tell them the Chinese word and expression for what they have just told you. If they are not willing to learn, or unable, they can leave the group."

"No, if one has trouble we shall help them. If you don't guard the wheat on the edge of the field, the storm will take the whole field down from there." It had the sound of a slogan.

"Damned if that isn't the first political slogan I've heard that made any sense."

"It was an old farmer who told me that teacher."

"Ah, you've instructed me, thank you."

He nodded an acknowledgment, nervous. "What course of study shall we use?"

"Well if the software is crap, ditch it and you may keep a computer in common here and load whatever you want on your private pads. If you need paper pads or anything just tell me. And if you want to go off to anywhere safe on Home as a group just ask. I may send an escort, to protect you, not to supervise. Sit down and decide what you want to accomplish and how to do it. You might not all agree on every detail, but you are bright young people. I'm sure you can do this without my holding your hands."

Deming looked shocked. "I would like Barak and Martin and Jenifer, please, and of course my sister Mei."

"Go ask them. If any beg off and you can't think of anyone I can pick just one for you. Go on," she insisted, shooing him away.

* * *

There was a text message waiting on her com when April got up. "Miss Lewis, you've won the auction for the drawing displayed in Cindy and Frank's tailor shop window."

"I'll come by after breakfast." April sent back.

"She didn't even ask what the final bid was," Lindsey said.

"Honey, that's
good
," Cindy assured her.

* * *

"The guys here at Central were discussing the questions about Bucky tubes you threw out. They ended up going off on tangents and stayed up most of the night. One suggested that indeed coaxial Bucky might sort of hang up on each other like having detents in the side, if the spacing of the defects were consistent. It could be stronger lengthwise than the sum of the tubes separately. Another fellow wants to see if he can make Bucky rings and either link them like a chain, or in an interlinked mass like a molecular wool," Jeff said.

April took another bite of blueberry pancakes and considered Jeff's image on her com pad. He looked squinty eyed, like he'd been one of the all-nighters.

"If you can make a chain of Bucky rings it shouldn't be all that much harder to knit them together into a sheet, like chain-link armor. It might make an interesting filter," she guessed.

"Ah, Ho is going to smack himself in the forehead that he didn't think of that one. I'm make sure he lists you as a co-author if he can do it. In fact you deserve a mention for some of the others too," he promised.

"That would be nice, if they feel it is warranted. Is this something we are doing for our allies, or are we going to make some money from it too?"

"They are pretty tight on money, because most of this is being done under the table and some of the stuff is easier done in zero G. So I have a finger in all of it. The, uh, Bucky tube extruding membrane we actually have the majority interest. That alone is going to make us more money that anything else we've ever touched. The Earth market is huge for such things as bridge cables and electrical cables."

 "Of course if I build a Lunar bean stalk it's going to require thousands of tons of the stuff. Not that we don't already have materials that could make a lunar beanstalk. But if we can make something that takes much less material it can happen faster and cheaper. If we own the company making it then nobody else can get ahead of us and build it first because they have cash in hand. I'll make sure it stays that way."

"You have some serious mega-projects. I wonder if even this income is going to cover our expenses? I've been spending some money on personal things again, stuff for my cubic. I'll try not to go totally wacko in case we need the money." April felt a twinge of guilt at buying art. It would look nice on the wall, but it wasn't a
necessity
.

"You'd have to splurge wildly, spending millions to do any damage. You can't live in a bare cave. Are you having buyer's remorse over that rug you got in Tonga?"

"Mat, or tapa, it's not really a rug. The Tongans even wrap up in the smaller ones, like a skirt. No, I think it's going to be worth far more than I paid in just a few years. I could excuse buying it to myself as an investment actually. I'm going after breakfast to get a drawing I bid on and I feel the same about it. The young woman doing them is going to be famous I think."

"Good, I don't want you to turn into an ascetic," he commanded. "When we tunnel down to the level where the stone is a shirt sleeves comfortable temperature here, we're going to be a lot fussier what shape and size tunnels and chambers we cut. It's a form of architecture, but we won't be able to change it much later. We'll try to have a little
style
and build something that isn't going to look quaint and old fashioned in a hundred years. I'm not going to begrudge a little cost overrun to achieve that."

"Are you going to do a Grand Audience Hall for Heather?"

"I have a few ideas, but don't start her thinking about it, or she'll want a court that looks like a cozy breakfast nook. I want something with some dignity. I'm thinking something like the inside of Westminster Abby."

Jeff looked tired, so April sent him off, maybe he'd show some sense and go to bed. "Love you and be sure to say I sent my love to Heather. I'm off to the tailor shop to meet the artist and pay for my drawing, so bye-bye."

"I'm to bed, after I write a note about the chain-mail thing, love you too Bunky," he said before he disconnected.

Bunky, huh? He'd been coining some strange terms of endearment lately. He must have gotten back into watching period movies. But when would he have the time?"

* * *

There was a customer  being fitted up by an older woman, one of the few people April had seen lately who didn't appear to have any Life Extension Therapy. She hardly seemed feeble though, she was bending easily and her hands were nimble, tugging at fabric here and there, seeing how things draped or laid.

There was an equally elderly man at a broad table on the side and a young girl, likely April's age if she hadn't started LET, sipping a mug of something, sitting beside him. They looked too old for her to be a daughter, granddaughter maybe.

The girl stood up, but the man waved her over and indicated she should sit down and join them. The girl bent her knees like she might sit again and though better of it. "Can I get you a mug of tea or coffee?" she offered.

"Coffee is always welcome, just black."

The man was relaxed. Sitting with his own mug held in both hands, one thumb through the handle, like it was a comfort to warm them up. It might be. Signs of age were generally unattractive, but April looked at those hands, they reminded her of her Grandfather's hands. They were deeply wrinkled and spotted, the veins prominent. The knuckles a little knobby, nails thick and cut almost square across. They were hands that had
done
something. But LET was erasing the damage and history written on her gramp's hands. His manner made April realize how few people she saw were ever really at ease. The LET doctor, Jelly, Ben Patsitsas the author, Easy Dixon of course.

"You are Miss Lewis, I know you from seeing you on some web sites, I'm Lindsey Pennington," the girl said introducing herself, setting coffee in front of April.

April wondered if she was visiting news sites or gossip sites, but didn't want to get into all that and maybe alienate the girl before they got a decent start.

"Pennington? Does your dad work for Jeff Singh?" April wondered. "Mo?"

"Yes, on the moon. He's a mining engineer and is doing tunnels."

"I thought the name was familiar."

"This is Frank, he employs me here and that's his wife Cindy doing the fitting on those pants. They both have taught me a lot about tailoring and business."

"That's nice to let you use their window as a gallery."

"Oh, it has been to our mutual benefit," Frank assured her. "We have walk in traffic who want one 'just like in the window' and people who never stopped in before until the art in the window made them really
look
inside at what we do. Lindsey has been gifting us with the poster sized print, noting the display date and signing them. I think they will be of some value in a few years, although she still scoffs at that."

"Oh...Phooey. For some reason I assumed the print came along with the drawing, but that's not what the auction terms said is it? I had it all planned to put the original in my bedroom and the print in my dining area, where it would have an appropriate viewing distance. Is the print an exclusive arrangement? Or could I arrange to get another print made, maybe a different size if this size is a contract item?"

"We have no objection to Lindsey publishing prints, the same size or others. I've suggested to her that when she has a sufficient body of them accumulated, she should print a large format book of all the drawings in the original size."

"Would you sell me a similar print then, when it is convenient to produce it? Something on archival quality paper of course. I'd be interested in seeing any other work you have beside the fashion items."

"You've bid my drawing up to a very high price. I'll just have a copy run off for you like you expected. It's no real trouble."

"I'm used to paying for what I receive," April said firmly. "We're not friends to allow you to gift me extravagantly with valuable work. Name a number, dollars USNA or EuroMarks. I'm not poor to begrudge it and I hold your work in some regard."

"A thousand EM and I'll bet on you buying something else from my portfolio if you like this so well. Also a few minutes of your time to do a body scan, because I'd like to do a few designs for you, even if you never have any of them made."

"You mean the clothing in the drawings are not just your rendering, but your original design too?"

Lindsey nodded, shy to beat her own drum.

"Well sure, scan me. I figured they were Frank or Cindy's designs. I had no idea you were multi-talented. I'd be happy to see what you come up with."

"I intend to do some of Cindy's designs, it just seems I always have something in mind when I sit down to draw and never needed an idea. I've seen you online in very lovely formal wear. I haven't gotten near the point of being able to know how to structure a gown that will drape and fit like yours. But I do some really cute sports and casual stuff," she asserted.

"OK, deal," she agreed. "What do I owe you for the bid?" she said, ready to key in her pad.

"The near bid you covered was twenty-two thousand, four hundred and one EM, so add a EM to that and a thousand for the print."

"Twenty-Three, four-O-two, April said showing her the screen. If it looks right scan it," April invited. Looking a little shell-shocked, Lindsey did.

"Would you accept a commission?" April asked.

"Perhaps. If I think I can do it well. What would you like done?"

"I'd like a drawing of Frank's hands, wrapped around his coffee mug like he's doing right now. It should be at least life sized and the angle, color and anything else is up to you."

"I can do that. I'd
enjoy
doing it. In fact I wish I'd thought of it."

"How much?"

Lindsey looked at Frank, who smiled and refused to advise her.

"Exclusive? Or just the original and I can sell prints?"

"Exclusive. You can do other hands, even a different view of Frank's hands, but mine is unique and you won't make a close copy that is only technically different."

Lindsey took a deep breath. "Ten thousand EM," she quoted.

"See how easy that was?" Frank asked. "I didn't need to help you at all."

"But I'm counter offering eight thousand," April said with a wicked grin.

"I, uh, nine," Lindsey said firmly.

"Done." April agreed. They swiped ports again. "That pays for my print," April said, laughing at how earnest Lindsey was. "Another time I'd like to see some of your other work. Is that possible?"

"I have a portfolio. I'd rather show you somewhere else. Frank and Cindy are kind enough without me turning this into a sales room for my other stuff too," Lindsey objected.

"Meet me for breakfast then,"  April invited. "I always love an excuse for company at breakfast. I'm in the com registry. Drop me a text when you want to meet."

* * *

"You're crazy, we don't have enough trouble here, so you want to go where people despise us and find some
real
problems?" Frederic asked his previous supervisor. Jesse Silverson was technically his new supervisor too, it's just that before they had been happy as number one and number two executives, big frogs in the very small pond of Armstrong, on the moon. Now they were number one and number two of the three man air filter cleaning crew, for the French habitat affectionately known as the Turnip, due to its graceful lines. A significant reduction in stature. Three lesser underlings from Armstrong had gone to the French Lunar colony. They blamed the executives for involving them and were probably doing better without their help.