April 8: It's Always Something (14 page)

"Yes sir, I'll check and have the handler call if it's not deep in his usual sleep period," Carlisle agreed. "That would be out of character. I'll report back either way," he agreed.

It was less than an hour before Lieutenant Carlisle called back. Sass knew it wasn't going to be good before the man spoke from the furrow between his eyebrows.

"When our agent's Central com code was called we got a recording that the number was out of service permanently and would be reassigned after a thirty day fallow period," Carlisle said.

"He's dead," Sass said, bluntly.

"Perhaps," Carlisle said, visibly dubious. "He might turn up in time," he held out.

"Ha! About as likely as him walking in your door to report. If he does make contact again, you should assume he is compromised. He would be feeding us information under duress after they arrested and broke him," Sass said.

When the lieutenant didn't agree or acknowledge it as an order, Sass was explicit. "Mark the man's file and any related documents that he's not to be trusted after being out of contact for so long."

"Yes sir. I'll attend to that immediately," Carlisle said, but he looked unhappy.

Why did he have to tell the man such a basic, obvious thing? Sass wondered when he disconnected. The man was a fool, and Sass marked him mentally to be eased into something safer where he couldn't do near as much harm. He
was
party, so it would be a sideways move, they needed every warm body they could keep occupying positions in the military.

* * *

"Brett Holland just dropped a text on me asking if you were still going to call him," Chen said. "Or have you given up on the idea?"

"The reporter? No, I'm still curious. I've just been busy," Jeff protested.

"You're always busy. Here's his number" – it appeared in a box on Jeff's screen – "that's a throw away and he said when he leaves his present location tonight it gets lost."

"Mr. Holland doesn't want to be seen speaking to me?" Jeff asked surprised.

"Apparently not. You might ask him why if it bothers you," Chen suggested. "I can think of a lot of reasons, perhaps less so in Australia than elsewhere, but still..."

"That's OK," Jeff allowed. "I know I'm an evil spacer. I'm sort of getting used to it. I used to think I needed a shower when shunned, but lately I've come to revel in my villainy."

"That's the spirit. Just tell him that and he'll have some good copy for a story," Chen advised.

"Yeah. I'll call him right now while I'm in full form," Jeff promised.

Chen just nodded before disconnecting. Jeff wasn't sure what was sarcasm and not.

Brett Holland appeared to be in a restaurant. At least Jeff had never seen a private home with deeply fluted red leather upholstery running shoulder high around a banquette. It was a bit gaudy unless they were trying to create a retro look. Retro like sometime last century in a Las Vegas casino...

Holland fiddled with his pad or phone after answering, until he was framed just so before he withdrew his hand. He then cupped his hands one on top of the other on the table before him. It was a very controlled pose. That and the fussing with the camera made Jeff tag him as a bit fastidious, maybe even obsessive compulsive.

"I was surprised to get a call asking if I'd care to speak with you. I couldn't imagine anything I did would catch your interest. I didn't put a question to you," he said, turning it into a question.

"You didn't, but your face displayed interest," Jeff said. "At least in contrast to most of the others, who looked like they'd rather be covering something like the opening of a new shoe store or an elementary school field trip."

"You have...little affection for the press," Holland noted.

"I
loathe
them," Jeff said, unembarrassed. "Nothing against you personally, in fact my dear friend and associate April Lewis pointed out to me that your crowd aren't as bad as the paparazzi, but I haven't had the joy of meeting them, to help moderate my views."

"And Ms. Lewis
has
had the joy of their attention?" Holland asked. It seemed to amuse him.

"Yes, landing in Hawaii once, she found her way blocked and flash cameras thrust in her face. It was a terribly rude experience," Jeff said, looking disgusted.

"And frightening I'd imagine," Holland allowed. "They jostle and elbow each other for space as they all press in on you. I've seen video of them harassing entertainers. It's horrible."

"April doesn't frighten easily," Jeff assured him. "She shot a few of the closest in the foot, and they quickly scattered like a broken company under heavy fire. They had no heart for it at all..."

"The girl who wears black!" Holland remembered suddenly.

"Sometimes," Jeff agreed. "I've had occasion to take her to dinner in public where she wore a beautiful crème gown with seed pearls, and yellow diamonds for jewels. But that isn't the radical, militant image the press was interested in promoting."

Holland grimaced at another jab at the press, but it was true and he couldn't object.

"I won't try to defend my profession at large. A lot of them are shills and asses. I could be making a lot more money if I went that route instead of writing fluff pieces and human interest stories. But I have some personal standards. Have you read any of my work?"

"No, I asked one of my agents to look into seeing if you would speak to me," Jeff said. "It didn't occur to me to ask for a sample or a synopsis of your work. If you do fluff, which I take to mean light subjects instead of serious editorial work, then why did your net have you cover my news conference?"

"This may offend you, but the editorial staff here looks at most space news as very narrow interest material. It's an exotic location and the business side of it doesn't touch enough of our readers. People who are interested in space seem to be hobbyists more often than investors or tourists. If we do a destination piece in Fiji more of our followers may actually go there. I was assigned to follow your release because none of the heavy hitters wanted to waste their time."

After a silent pause Holland said, "Well, I see it did offend. I can't blame you. Nobody wants to hear they aren't important in the public imagination."

"Offend is not the precise word. Amazed is more like it. The things we make in orbit are irreplaceable. Drugs and electronics you can't make below. We
matter
."

"Yes, but not one person in ten can tell you where or how anything is made," Holland told him. "Even if they knew their phone was made in Hong Kong they'd still have no clue where the critical chip in it was manufactured."

"The story too," Jeff persisted. "It was about a thermonuclear device being detonated. A city was heavily damaged. Believe it or not, it weighs heavily on me that innocent people were harmed, even though I offered to stop it. You can damn well assume the people deciding to do this were far away from any danger themselves. Surely it doesn't lack interest for not being in Australia?"

"You seem sincere...and idealistic," Holland allowed. "A couple generations back Australians connected with North Americans more. We're both English speaking...more or less. But we've drawn apart culturally. Very few Australians travel to North America now. We're not all that welcome, any more than Europeans. Business travelers yeah, but business is down, and a lot of that is bulk goods, and commodities. Australians
expect
bad news and horror stories out of North America now, so they've grown weary of it. I suppose if you had a war with us like you did North America there would be more interest," he said wryly.

After Jeff was silent a moment he added, "That wasn't a suggestion."

"Don't worry. I didn't intend to bombard Australia to generate interest," Jeff said, waving the idea away. "Actually we're negotiating landing rights. We'd like to land shuttles and move goods through Australia if it can be done reasonably. It's been tough getting a yes or a no. They keep wanting to talk to officials instead of business people. We don't have any officials in charge of trade deals. We have maybe a half dozen people you could reasonably label officials of any sort and they don't concern themselves with trade. Trade is the province of businessmen," Jeff insisted.

"Let me guess. They want to work towards some sort of treaty?" Holland asked.

"Yes. Nobody is going to ask the Assembly to create a treaty," Jeff said. "It's a crap shoot what the Assembly will decide to do once you get them rolling. Right now nothing is prohibited, so what is the advantage? Any change could only be some restriction, because we can already do as we please. If anyone did try to add restrictions they would be opposed, maybe even called out."

"That's undoubtedly a foreign mindset," Holland said, nodding gravely. "They are used to sitting down with their peers and deciding what the little people will be allowed to do, and how much of the action they can skim...pardon, tax from them. You have to be confusing to them. You weren't shy to say you have agents, and you have weapons. No company would ever admit to either here. It makes you sound like you have the authority of a government."

"I
do
have authority," Jeff objected. "People work for me gathering information. What does it matter if you call them agents or analysts? They observe and report. Yes I have weapons. Most Home citizens do. Most of our ships are armed, and nobody has to clear their use or possession, they all have the authority to use them, and bear the consequences and liabilities if they do."

"Even I'm getting a little mental disconnect here," Holland said, making a vague motion around his head. "Governments and corporations exist to diffuse responsibility, if not outright hide it, too often. To whom are you responsible? Who licenses your weapons? Who says what the limits of your business are and all the obligations to your employees? Who is the governing authority over you?"

"I am subject to censure by my peers if I offend their sense of right and wrong. If I fail to meet the terms of a contract they would come down on me with both feet I assure you. It's a very small community here. I'd be shunned, frozen out of business if anyone had the least doubt of my honesty. There are no millions of greater fools to pass a loss or failure along to and then discard their custom because there are plenty of other marks to fleece."

When Holland looked at him unbelieving Jeff added, "I govern myself, the same as other Home citizens, and nobody says nay to me unless they have a complaint after the fact."

"Now that is a very dangerous concept," Holland said, looking genuinely alarmed. "I wouldn't put that out in a public interest article. I have to live with
my
authorities even if you don't seem to have any. If I did write that up my, editors would kill it, and then they'd start looking at my submissions with a more critical eye, because they wouldn't trust me."

"All the previous assemblies are available as public record on our net," Jeff told him. "You're a journalist. If you can't access them I bet you know somebody who can. If you examine them you'll see what I'm saying is true."

"I'm not doubting you," Holland said. "The veracity is not the point. The story may be there and a few people will go to the bother to retrieve it. But if I shouted the story from a well known public forum they'd be
very
unhappy with me. This would be seen as subversive. There's a broad range of attitudes about Home in the political community. A few are just terrified of you."

"Subversive? I wasn't suggesting you advocate our way. I wasn't even really suggesting you report it. I was just explaining how it works for background. I thought you might somehow be more receptive than the others about explaining why I protect my property. Perhaps I read too much into your apparent interest."

"So you were hoping for a more favorable treatment? And what do I get out of it except an opportunity to shoot my career in the head?" he asked, making a gun with his hand and holding it to his temple. "I've been keeping a low profile and avoiding controversy as a game plan already, and you want me to suddenly take a very unpopular position by trying to justify your actions? Why would I want to do that?" Holland asked.

"Well, it seems like your
job
, to present things fairly and from both sides, or as many sides as exist. Sometimes things are complicated with more than two simple ways to view them," Jeff said.

"You are, to put it charitably, naive. I can't really condemn you. I was too. In fact I was naive for far too long, which is how I got into this miserable racket. However I'm not going to throw away a degree and almost ten years in the profession to try to reform the industry.

"Let me explain. I have no idea how long this utopian experiment of yours is going to last. But it is dangerously attractive. I find
myself
thinking I'd like to come see it, and maybe, just maybe, consider joining in the experiment myself. It scares me. When it fails it will likely be devastating. I have no clue
how
it will fail or what will become of you people.

"It's so attractive I apparently let it show on my face. If the public was encouraged to examine it I can predict it would cause all sorts of problems. The vast majority of those who find it attractive have no chance of really immigrating, do they?" Holland demanded.