Artemis (19 page)

“ZAFO…” I rolled the word around in my mouth. “Zero-attenuation fiber optic?”

“Oh!” He smacked his forehead. “Of course!”

“What's it made of?”

He spun to a wall-mounted machine. “That's where my spectrometer came in!” He stroked it gently. “I call her Nora.”

“And what did Nora have to say?”

“The core's mostly glass. No big surprise there, most fiber-optic cores are. But there were also trace amounts of tantalum, lithium, and germanium.”

“Why are they in there?”

“Hell if I know.”

I rubbed my eyes. “Okay, so why is it so exciting? You can use less energy to transmit data?”

“Oh, it's way more awesome than that,” he said. “Normal fiber-optic lines can only be fifteen kilometers long. After that, the signal's just too weak to continue. So you need repeaters. They read the signal and retransmit it. But repeaters cost money, they have to be powered, and they're complicated. Oh, and they slow down the transmission too.”

“So with ZAFO you don't need repeaters.”

“Right!” he said. “Earth has
huge
data cables. They run across entire continents, under the oceans, all over the world. Just think of how much simpler it would be without all those repeaters mucking shit up. Oh! And it would have very few transmission errors. That means more bandwidth. This shit is fantastic!”

“Great. But is it worth killing over?”

“Well…” he said. “I suppose every telecom company will want to upgrade. How much do you think the
entire planet Earth's
communication network is worth? Because that's roughly how much money ZAFO is going to make its owners. Yeah. That's probably murderin' money.”

I pinched my chin. The more I thought about it the less I liked it. Then, the pieces all fell into place. “Oh! Goddammit!”

“Whoa,” said Svoboda. “Who shit in your Rice Krispies?”

“This isn't about aluminum at all!” I stood from the stool. “Thanks, Svobo. I owe you one.”

“What?” he said. “What do you mean it's not about aluminum? Then what's it about?”

But I already had a head of steam going. “Stay strange, Svobo. I'll be in touch.”

The administrator's office used to be in Armstrong Bubble because that was the only bubble. But once Armstrong became all loud noises and machinery, she relocated. Nowadays she worked out of a small, one-room office on Conrad Up 19.

Yup, you heard me. The administrator of Artemis—the most important and powerful person on the moon, who could literally have any location rent-free—chose to work in the bluest of blue-collar areas. If I were Ngugi, I'd have a huge office overlooking the Aldrin Arcade. And it would have a wet bar and leather chairs and other cool powerful-people stuff.

And a personal assistant. A beefy yet gentle guy who called me “boss” all the time. Yeah.

Ngugi didn't have any of that. She didn't even have a secretary. Just a sign on her office door that read
ADMINISTRATOR FIDELIS NGUGI.

To be fair, it's not like she was president of the United States. She was, effectively, the mayor of a small town.

I pressed the doorbell and heard a simple buzz emanate from the room beyond.

“Come in,” came Ngugi's voice.

I opened the door. Her office was even less fancy than I'd expected. Spartan, even. A few shelves with family photos jutted out of raw aluminum walls. Her sheet-metal desk looked like something from the 1950s. She did at least have a proper office chair—her one concession to personal comfort. When I'm seventy years old I'll probably want a nice chair too.

She typed away on a laptop. The older generations still preferred them to Gizmos or speech-interface devices. She somehow carried grace and aplomb even while hunched over at her desk. She wore casual clothes and, as always, her traditional dhuku headscarf. She finished typing a sentence, then smiled at me.

“Jasmine! Wonderful to see you, dear. Please, have a seat.”

“Yea-thank-yes. I'll…sit.” I settled into one of the two empty chairs facing her desk.

She clasped her hands and leaned forward. “I've been so worried about you, dear. What can I do to help?”

“I have a question about economics.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Economics? Well, I do have some knowledge in that area.”

Understatement of the century. This woman had transformed Kenya into the center of the global space industry. She deserved a Nobel Prize. Two, really. One for Economics and another for Peace.

“What do you know about Earth's telecom industry?” I asked.

“That's a broad topic, dear. Can you be more specific?”

“What's it worth, you think? Like, what kind of revenues do they pull down?”

She laughed. “I could only hazard a guess. But the
entire
global industry? Somewhere in the five-to-six-trillion-dollar-per-year range.”

“Holy shit! Er…pardon my language, ma'am.”

“Not a problem, Jasmine. You've always been colorful.”

“How do they make so much?”

“They have a huge customer base. Every phone line, every internet connection, every TV cable subscription…they all create revenue for the industry—either directly from the customer or indirectly through advertising.”

I looked down at the floor. I had to take a moment.

“Jasmine?”

“Sorry. Kind of tired—well, to be honest, I'm hungover.”

She smiled. “You're young. You'll recover soon, I'm sure.”

“Let's say someone invented a better mousetrap,” I said. “A really awesome fiber-optic cable. One that reduced costs, increased bandwidth, and improved reliability.”

She leaned back in her chair. “If the price point were comparable to existing cables, it would be a huge boon. And the manufacturer of that product would be swimming in money, of course.”

“Yeah,” I said. “And let's say the prototype of this new fiber optic was created in a specially made satellite in low-Earth orbit. One with a centrifuge aboard. What would that tell you?”

She looked puzzled. “This is a very odd discussion, Jasmine. What's going on?”

I drummed my fingers on my leg. “See, to me that means it can't be created in Earth's gravity. It's the only reason to make a custom satellite.”

She nodded. “That sounds reasonable. I take it something like this is in the works?”

I pressed on. “But the satellite has a centrifuge. So they do need
some
force. It's just that Earth's gravity is too high. But what if the moon's gravity were low enough for whatever process they're using?”

“This is an oddly specific hypothetical, dear.”

“Humor me.”

She put her hand on her chin. “Then obviously they could manufacture it here.”

“So, in your expert opinion, where's a better place to manufacture this imaginary product: low-Earth orbit or Artemis?”

“Artemis,” she said. “No question. We have skilled workers, an industrial base, a transport infrastructure, and shipping to and from Earth.”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “That's kind of what I thought.”

“This sounds very promising, Jasmine. Have you been offered a chance to invest? Is that why you're here? If this invention is real, it's definitely worth putting money into.”

I wiped my brow. Conrad Up 19 was always a comfortable 22 degrees Celsius, but I was sweating nonetheless.

I looked her in the eyes. “You know what's strange? You didn't mention radio or satellites.”

She cocked her head. “I'm sorry, dear. What?”

“When you talked about the telecom industry. You mentioned internet, phone, and TV. But you didn't bring up radio or satellites.”

“Those are certainly parts of it as well.”

“Yeah,” I said. “But you didn't mention them. In fact, you
only
talked about the parts of the industry that rely on fiber optics.”

She shrugged. “Well, we're talking about fiber optics, so that's only natural.”

“Except I hadn't brought up fiber optics yet.”

“You must have.”

I shook my head. “I've got a very good memory.”

She narrowed her eyes slightly.

I pulled a knife from my boot holster and held it at the ready. “How did O Palácio find my Gizmo?”

She pulled a gun from under the desk. “Because I told them where it was.”

“A gun?!” I said. “How did a gun get into the city?! I
never
smuggle weapons!”

“I've always appreciated that,” she said. “You don't have to keep your hands up. You do, however, have to drop that knife.”

I did as I was instructed. The knife floated down to the floor.

She kept the gun pointed at me. “May I ask, how did you come to suspect me?”

“Process of elimination,” I said. “Rudy proved he wasn't selling me out. You're the only other person with access to my Gizmo location info.”

“Reasonable,” she said. “But I'm not as sinister as you think.”

“Uh-huh.” I gave her a dubious look. “But you know all about ZAFO, right?”

“Yes.”

“And you're going to make a shitload of money off of it?”

She scowled. “Do you really think so little of me? I won't make a single slug.”

“But…then…why…?”

She settled back into her chair and relaxed her grip on the gun. “You were right about the gravity. ZAFO is a crystalline quartzlike structure that only forms at 0.216 g's. It's impossible to make on Earth, but they can make it here with a centrifuge. You're such an intelligent girl, Jasmine. If only you'd apply yourself.”

“If this is turning into a ‘You have so much potential' lecture, just shoot me instead, okay?”

She smiled. She could be grandmotherly even while holding a gun. Like she'd give me a butterscotch candy before putting a hole in my head. “Do you know how Artemis makes its money?”

“Tourism.”

“No.”

I blinked. “What?”

“We don't make enough from tourism. It's a large part of our economy, yes, but not enough.”

“But the economy works,” I said. “Tourists buy stuff from local companies, companies pay employees, employees buy food and pay rent, and so on. And we're still here, so it must be working, right? What am I missing?”

“Immigration,” she said. “When people move to Artemis, they bring their life savings with them. Then they spend it here. As long as our population kept growing that was fine, but now we've plateaued.”

She angled the gun away from me. She still had a good grip on it, but at least she wouldn't kill me by mistake if she sneezed. “The whole system has become an unintentional Ponzi scheme. And we're just cresting the top of the curve now.”

For the first time, my attention was torn away from the gun. “Is…are we…is this whole city going bankrupt?”

“Yes, if we don't take action,” she said. “But ZAFO is our savior. The telecom industry will want to upgrade, and ZAFO can only be cheaply made here. There'll be a huge production boom. Factories will open, people will move here for jobs, and everyone will prosper.” She looked up wistfully. “We'll finally have an export economy.”

“Glass,” I said. “This has always been about glass, right?”

“Yes, dear,” Ngugi said. “ZAFO is an amazing material, but like all fiber optics, it's mostly glass. And glass is just silicon and oxygen, both of which are created by aluminum smelting.”

She ran her hand along the sheet aluminum desk. “Interesting how economics works, isn't it? Within a year,
aluminum
will be a by-product of the
silicon
industry. And that aluminum will be handy too. We'll have a lot of construction to handle the growth we're about to have.”

“Wow,” I said. “You really are all about economics.”

“It's what I do, dear. And in the end, it's the only thing that matters. People's happiness, health, safety, and security all rely on it.”

“Damn, you're good at this. You created an economy for Kenya and now you're doing it for us. You're a true hero. I should really be more grateful—oh that's right
you fucking sold me out!
”

“Oh, please. I knew you weren't stupid enough to turn on your Gizmo without taking precautions.”

“But you did tell O Palácio where my Gizmo was?”

“Indirectly.” She set the gun down on the table. Too far away for me to lunge at. She'd grown up in a war zone—I wasn't about to test her reflexes. “A few days ago, IT reported a hack attempt against the Gizmo network. Someone on Earth was trying to get your location info. I had IT deliberately disable security and let the hacker in. Actually, it was more complicated than that—they downgraded one of their network drivers to one with a known security flaw so the hacker had to work for it a little. I don't know the details—I'm not a tech person. Anyway, the end result is the hacker installed a program that would report your location if you turned on your Gizmo.”

“Why the hell did you do that?!”

“To draw out the murderer.” She pointed to me. “As soon as you turned on your Gizmo, I alerted Rudy to your presence. I assumed O Palácio would tell their man Alvarez as well. I hoped Rudy would catch him.”

I frowned at her. “Rudy didn't seem to know anything about it.”

She sighed. “Rudy and I have a…complex relationship. He doesn't approve of syndicates or indirect measures like I had taken. He'd like to be rid of me, and in all honesty, the feeling is mutual. If I'd warned him the killer was coming, he would've asked how I knew. Then he'd look into how the information got out, and that would cause trouble for me.”

“You put Rudy on a collision course with a murderer and didn't warn him.”

She cocked her head. “Don't look at me that way. It makes me sad. Rudy is an extremely skilled police officer who knew he was entering a potentially dangerous situation. And he almost caught Alvarez right then. My conscience is clear. If I had it to do over, I'd do the same thing. Big picture, Jasmine.”

I folded my arms. “You were at Trond's a few nights ago. Have you been in on this from the beginning?”

“I'm not ‘in' on anything,” she said. “He told me about ZAFO and his plans to get into the silicon business. He wanted to talk about Sanchez's oxygen contract. He had reason to believe they were going to be in breach soon and wanted to make sure I knew he had oxygen if that happened.”

“That didn't make you suspicious?”

“Of course it did. But the city's future was at stake. A criminal syndicate was about to control the most important resource on the moon. Trond offered me a solution: He'd take over the contract, but with six-month renewals. If he artificially inflated prices or tried to control too much of the ZAFO industry, he'd lose the contract. He'd rely on me to keep renewing and I'd rely on him to feed the ZAFO boom with silicon. There'd be a balance.”

“So what went wrong?”

She pursed her lips. “Jin Chu. He came to town with a plan to make as much money as possible, and by God he succeeded. He'd told Trond about ZAFO months earlier, but Trond wanted a sample to have his people examine—proof that ZAFO really existed and wasn't just some fairy tale.”

“So Jin Chu showed him the ZAFO and Trond paid him,” I said. “And then Jin Chu turned right around and sold the information to O Palácio.”

“That's the thing about secrets. You can sell them over and over again.”

“Slimy little bastard.”

She sighed. “Just imagine what a revelation that was for O Palácio. All of a sudden, their insignificant money-laundering company was poised to corner an emerging billion-dollar industry. From that point on, they were all-in. But Artemis is very far away from Brazil and they only had one enforcer on-site, thank God.”

“So what happens now?”

“Right now, I'm sure O Palácio is buying as many tickets to the moon as they can get. Within a month, Artemis will be swarming with their people. They'll own silicon production and that damned oxygen-for-power contract will ensure no one can compete. And they already started their next phase: taking over the glass-manufacturing industry.” She gave me a knowing look.

“Oh fuck,” I said. “The Queensland Glass Factory fire.”

Ngugi nodded. “The fire was almost certainly set by Alvarez. Busy little fellow, wasn't he? Once O Palácio sets up their own glass factory, they'll have both production and supply line locked down. And of course, they'll kill anyone who tries to get in their way. That's the breed of ‘capitalism' we can expect from now on.”

“You're the administrator. Do something about it!”

She looked to the ceiling. “Between their financial base and physical enforcers, they'll own the city. Think Chicago in the 1920s, but a hundred times worse. I'll be powerless.”

“It would be nice if you actually helped in some way.”

“I
have
been helping,” she said. “Rudy had you pegged as the saboteur right away. He showed me the video footage of that ridiculous disguise you wore to the Visitor Center.”

I hung my head.

“He wanted to arrest you right then. I told him I wasn't convinced and needed more evidence. I knew that would buy you some time.”

“Okay, so why did you become my guardian angel?”

“Because you're a lightning rod. I knew O Palácio would have at least one enforcer in town. You drew him into the open. Now he's caught. Thank you.”

“I was bait?”

“Of course. And you're
still
bait. That's why I intervened yesterday and got Rudy to release you. I don't know what O Palácio will do next, but whatever it is, they'll do it to you.”

“You…” I said. “You're a real bitch, you know that?”

She nodded. “When I have to be. Building a civilization is ugly, Jasmine. But the alternative is no civilization at all.”

I glared at her with pure contempt. She wasn't impressed.

“So what the hell am I supposed to do now?”

“No idea.” She gestured to the door. “But you better get started.”

I crawled back into my hiding place and sealed the panel behind me. I curled up into a ball in the dark. I was so goddamn tired I should have fallen asleep right then, but I couldn't.

It all caught up with me. Constant danger, poverty, anger, and worst of all, sheer, unmitigated fatigue. I'd gone beyond sleepy into what my father used to call “overtired.” He usually used that term while chucking my cranky, eight-year-old ass into my bunk for a forced nap.

I tossed and turned as much as I could in the cramped confines. No position was comfortable. I wanted to pass out and punch someone at the same time. I couldn't think straight. I had to get out of there.

I kicked open the panel. Who gives a fuck if someone sees me? I didn't.

“Where now?” I mumbled to myself.

I felt a wet droplet hit my arm. I looked to the ceiling. The frigid air of Bean Down 27 often made condensation points. Water's surface tension versus lunar gravity meant a bunch of it had to build up before it started dripping. But I didn't see anything above me.

Then I touched my face with my hand. “Oh, goddammit.”

The source of the water was me. I was crying.

I needed a place to sleep. Really sleep. If I'd been thinking clearly I would have gotten a hotel. Ngugi wouldn't help O Palácio find me again.

Right that moment, I didn't trust anything electronic. I considered going to the imam's house, where Dad was. The imam would take me in, and at some feral level I wanted my daddy.

I shook my head and admonished myself. Under no circumstances would I tangle Dad up in all this shit.

Fifteen minutes later, I slogged down a corridor to my destination. I rang the door buzzer. It was past three in the morning, but I was past politeness.

After a minute, Svoboda opened the door. He wore full-body pajamas, because apparently he had just traveled to the moon from 1954. He looked at me through bleary eyes. “Jazz?”

“I need—” My throat closed. I almost fell prey to hysterical crying.
Get your shit together!
“I need to sleep. Svoboda, oh God I need to sleep.”

He opened the door farther. “Come in, come in.”

I trudged past him. “I'm. I need. I'm so tired, Svoboda. I'm just so tired.”

“Yeah, yeah, it's okay.” He rubbed his eyes. “Take the bed. I'll set up some blankets on the floor for myself.”

“No, no.” My eyes had already closed of their own accord. “Floor's fine for me.”

My knees buckled and I collapsed. The moon is a nice place to pass out. You hit the ground very gently.

I felt Svoboda's arms pick me up. Then I felt the bed, still warm from his body. Blankets covered me and I nuzzled into the cocoon of safety. I fell asleep instantly.

I awoke to that few seconds of pleasant amnesia everyone gets in the morning. Unfortunately, it didn't last long.

I remembered the previous night's antics and winced. God. It's one thing to be a pathetic weakling, but it's another to do it in front of someone.

I stretched out in Svoboda's bed and yawned. It wasn't the first time I'd awakened in some guy's place worn out and full of regret. But I'll tell you what, it was the best night's sleep I'd had in a long time.