April 4: A Different Perspective (23 page)

"This has something to do with us?"

"Oh yeah. You pour some buffer in that is a powder of little plastic beads. It supports the balls enough they don't squish each other under acceleration."

"Ah, but we don't have much plastic handy,"

"I'm betting if you just load the catapult bucket up with enough regolith it will buffer. and in the absence of any air it should all be together at the other end when it lands, to help significantly there too."

"Well, it's cheap enough to test."

"That's a three percent breakage instead of about twenty-five," Jeff said later, after they dug into the new layer and counted. "I'd call that a success."

* * *

"Did you know that you can live in Japan for years and if you have a baby there they still don't consider them a citizen? Lindsy asked her mom. "I think they are xenophobic and just a little full of themselves," she said indignantly.

Linda looked at her daughter like a Robin wondering if it had somehow missed a cowbird egg in its nest. Lindsy
never
came home from school in Canada and started babbling about Japanese xenophobia and citizenship. In fact she seldom wanted to talk about anything. Maybe that school was worth three hundred dollars a day.

* * *

"Mr. Buscemi," as lead on the job Mackay acknowledged his client with a polite nod at the lock, but he didn't offer his hand. Perhaps because he didn't care to extend more than professional courtesy, or perhaps because he had both hands full of tangle gun. He had a lethal black Air-Taser cross draw on his left hip and a full sized Sig on the right side. Next to the Taser was an outsized Arkansas toothpick with an ornate silver wire wound grip. Full face spex wrapped around his face with a thin mic boom.

Buscemi had four associates crowded behind dressed almost as nicely as him. They were all large, swarthy, visibly fit and couldn't hide the fact that Mackay and Holt surprised them by being in casual clothing, Mackay in khakis and a nice Cutter and Buck shirt and Holt in jeans and a sweater instead of suits, but with full tactical armor vest and spex.

The younger man had the same Taser and pistol combo and you could see the faint glow of a targeting grid reflected off the inside of the spex on his face. He wore a thin pack on his back that looked like a camelback, but a black nozzle projecting over each shoulder tracked where his eyes roamed. The nozzles didn't dispense sports drink. If that wasn't enough he carried an auto-loading shotgun with a double row powered magazine. 

"I hired you guys because I understood you could carry locally and there was no way I could get the Feds to allow my boys to carry on transport," he explained. "I just didn't realized you'd be so
blatant
," he admitted, rattled.

"We are citizens of Home," Mackay reminded him, "we can carry anything we please openly crossing USNA territory. I find that many people are less prone to test you, if they can see they are dealing with a serious force right up front. But if you like, we'll change after delivering you to your hotel and affect a less militaristic appearance."

"No, no, I think I might get used to it," Buscemi allowed. "It's a culture shock though, let me tell you."

"You should visit Home some time," Mackay suggested. "About half the population goes visibly armed in public spaces. Plus whatever fraction feels better to carry concealed."

"I've seen pictures online from European sites. I didn't know whether to believe it, or if it was some weird government propaganda designed to make you guys look like nut cases." He shrugged. "You don't know what the hell to believe anymore. Ya know?"

"If you would follow the line," Mackay nodded at the short queue of other passengers, "we have a couple associates securing the area outside the zero G zone. The bearing there is a natural choke point of which we are more concerned than any other area in spin."

"I wondered where the other two were."

"Just to clarify a point," Mackay inquired, "do you wish us to extend our net of protection over your associates also?" he asked, with a nod at the four thugs.

"Sure!" Buscemi agreed, surprised, "they're like family. Hell a couple of them
are
family, extended family, but for real. You have to protect your own," he solemnly assured Mackay.

Mackay nodded an acknowledgement and softly said a few words in his spex.

The Chicagoans handled themselves pretty well in zero G, Mackay had to admit. Not with any polish of course. But at least they had the sense not to refuse the motion sickness drugs, or one or two of them would have been puking sick for sure.

He and Holt hammed it up a little, jumping with a roll-over from surface to surface to accompany them, landing in a squat with both hands on their weapon without needing to reach out and steady themselves, or touch a take-hold. Holt in particular put himself upside down to them a couple times, knowing how disorienting it was to new people. The moves made parkour look as exciting as square dancing.

On the other side of the bearing Gunny and Chen were waiting spaced well apart. They were not armored up so it wasn't until they paced along accompanying them that it was apparent they were part of the team. Chen was in loose black pants and a black silk shirt. He had the obligatory spex, but wore thin five-toed footies. If he carried a weapon you couldn't tell. A thin Frisbee drone ominously followed him against the overhead and swept side to side silently.

Gunny looked like he was ready for a nice afternoon at the races or a pleasant picnic. He had on tan slacks and suede ankle boots, a chocolate brown blazer and a dress shirt with an open collar. He had the same serious spex however and his open jacket made no effort to hide the grips of a brace of big pistols just inside the jacket. Nothing in the world could conceal the size of him, or the dainty way he moved like he was half as big as he looked to mass.

Mackay and Gunny took point and Holt and Chen followed their charges, the Frisbee making occasional sprints out front to survey their path.

At the elevator Mackay suggested Chen and Gunny accompany two each of the goombas to the casino level and the armored up duo would ride down with the Caporegime, once a safe reception area was ensured. After two loads went down another car stopped, but had several couples obviously on holiday from their dressy casual clothing and the shopping bags.

"We'd rather wait for an empty car," Mackay politely requested and none of them insisted there was room, but looked relieved to pass and hit their level button again.

The group was re-assembled on the outer casino/hotel level and a Station Security pair passed them in the corridor. They didn't bat an eye, as Mackay had been sure to inform them they would be on station. As they passed Gunny gave them a salute that had no sarcasm in it at all, so crisp and natural the older security cop twitched and had to force his arm back down against reflex and nod instead.

"We're tired and off our normal clock," Buscemi reminded them at the hotel. "We're going to eat in and sleep. We won't go to the tables or clubs until tomorrow, so you can come back, say about ten o'clock tomorrow."

"Would you like a guard posted in the hall?" Mackay asked.

"Nah, the owner here and I understand each other," Buscemi explained. "He knows nobody gets told what rooms we are in, or that we are in house for that matter. You'd call more attention to us in the hall than you'd help."

"Tomorrow then," Mackay agreed, happy not to run night shifts.

* * *

"So that's how I came to Home and gives you some idea of who I am," Faye told Eric. "What should I know about you and what would you like me to help you learn here?"

"I like being outside. Not going to do that much here, am I? I can learn anything you want to teach me," he said, almost defiantly. "I'm learning to do business here. I like that because I never had a chance to do it at home."

"Really? What sort of business are you doing?"

"I'm trading in obsolete spex and com pads," Eric informed her. "Do you have any old com pads or spex stashed away you don't use any more? If you do I'll pay you cash money for them. Up to a hundred dollars for pads that have at least one add-on port of some kind and seventy-five dollars for spex that have stereo cameras."

"I do," Faye admitted. "But I don't want to do other business during the school time for which your mother has paid. How about if I bring them day after tomorrow and we can do a deal at lunch time?" she offered.

"That's fine. I won't ask the other kids here at school. But it seemed to be what we were talking about anyway."

"Indeed it was, no 'bad' ascribed to you at all. Do you have an allowance to fund your acquisitions?" Faye asked. "I find far fewer of the children have an allowance than when I was a little girl."

"I'd rather not talk about family," Eric said guardedly. "I don't care to talk about myself all
that
much," he added. "When I do I usually end up saying something that gets me in trouble. Just say, I have a silent partner to fund my business."

She was amazed he even knew the term.

"I do not intend to run to your parents with every little thing you say, even if I disapprove of something. I can think of no faster way to erode a person's trust. Neither do I intend to pump you for information about your parents, or your sister for that matter."

"Down home the teachers constantly tried to ask sneaky questions of us, to see if our parents were subversive, or if they went to barter meets, or keep a secret garden. If they let it slip their parents smoked in the house, even out in the garage, or kept a gun, or bet on football games, they'd be in foster care and never see them again, fast as can be."

"My sister is being weird for her. She hasn't been in trouble in weeks. In fact, I can't remember the last time she socked me when she knew nobody was looking. She set off the fire sprinklers the first day we were here, staying in the Holiday Inn and when my dad had a heart to heart with her about how rules up here are different and they really have
reasons
for them, she seemed to believe him. I wouldn't mind if it lasts awhile."

"Indeed, I know what you are talking about. People down on Earth are constantly arguing about silly things. It's quite true a fire up here is a very dangerous thing, even more so than down below on Earth."

"That's what the guy at the Holiday Inn said. You can't open the doors and run outside."

"Nope, no air outside and this is all the air we have in here," she agreed, gesturing around her. "That's why station kids all learn how to stick a patch on a leak practically before they are properly potty trained," she joked.

"Well,
I
don't know how to patch a leak," Eric said, eyebrows lifted in concern.

"Oh, my goodness. We'll fix that
right now
."

She stood up in the corner where she had gone off to speak, away from the others doing their lessons. "Class!" she called with a different voice, Eric had not heard her use before. "Class! Save your files, mark your book. Set your lessons aside. I need to know something right now. Who
doesn't
know how to put a patch on a pressure leak?"

His sister Lindsy raised her hand, as did a little Oriental girl and even though he'd just discussed it with her Eric raised his hand, so the other kids knew too.

"I will get the patch kit and tell you about it. I'm calling maintenance and asking them to bring the leak demonstrator over."

There were three main parts to a patch kit. A number of fairly thick flexible disks and squares. You peeled a film off the back by a tab and slapped it on flat-handed. There was a bigger sheet to patch a long crack or seam. It wasn't self adhesive, but there was foam you could put on a crack and slap the sheet onto, or put the sheet over and foam the entire edge. A laser candle emitted nontoxic smoke when you held the button down. That allowed you to see a non-obvious leak, or test a patch to see it was working.

About the time Faye was done explaining the parts of the patch kit, a big black man with almost no neck and a bald head came in with a funny sort of rolling board. But it was neither a backboard or whiteboard, it was a panel of metal wall, like their bulkheads and it was all stained and scratched up where a bunch of different patches had been applied and scraped off.

"I'm Jon," the big guy told them before Faye could introduce him, not offering a last name like most adults did. "I'm head of station security. The people you see at the lock when you come in and out on a shuttle work for me. If you have trouble. If you are afraid of somebody hurting you, if you think somebody is in the panels or an equipment room that doesn't look like maintenance, or think something is busted on the station like the water or the electric power or com is acting flaky, or there is a leak like we are going to practice on today, call me. If you call 911 on com you will always get one of my people or me. If you are wrong and mistaken, I'll
never
yell at you or call you stupid. I had a little girl call me a few weeks ago and tell us something was wrong with the power. I sent my lady Margaret to their cubic and the power was fine. But the hair dryer the little girl was using was more than a little wonky. It was speeding up and slowing down and getting way too hot. She was right something was wrong, but just needed some help making sure exactly
what
."

"We're going to patch some leaks now. The guys who haven't done this before, come on up close where you can see real well. It's just kind of a refresher for the rest of you."

Jon took a hose from the back of the panel and went to a vacuum port on the outside bulkhead. He inserted it and opened the valve with a special key.

The patch kit was still open on Faye's desk, with the rolling panel beside it.

"We've got a leak here," Jon declared. "Who wants to come deal with it?"

"I can hear it," a boy named Malcolm, about twelve years old, declared.

"You have really good hearing then, come on and fix it."

He came forward and listened by the panel going to the left side and swung his head right and left. "Right there," he said pointing. "I can see a little pit."