Earth Afire (The First Formic War) (56 page)

Ramdakan shoved the holopad back into Lem’s arms suddenly angry. “Is this why you called me into a freezer, Lem? To show me what the idiots at the LTD do with their spare time?”

Not in their spare time, moron, Lem wanted to shout. They’re a government agency. This is what they’re supposed to do
all
the time. That is, when they’re not taking bribes from you and doing whatever dance we tell them to.

But he said none of this. Instead he kept his expression calm. “I called you here, Norja, because I’m worried. Father would never have agreed to this. And yet, the evidence insinuates that Father was complicit in this. Some may even conclude that Father orchestrated the whole thing.”

“Not true.”

“Of course not. But if the press were to ever hear about this…”

“They won’t,” Ramdakan said. “We have people on this right now, Lem. They’re making it go away. And if the press ever did catch wind of it, the PR folks would handle it and make sure it didn’t go to the nets. That’s their job, and they do it very well. This is old news, Lem. We’ve got it under control.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear it. So how much of it have we paid?”

Ramdakan blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

“The back taxes, the unpaid tariffs. How much of it have we paid thus far? Surely we’ve begun the process of meeting the required debt.”

“It’s complicated, Lem. We’re talking about massive amounts of money. It’s not like buying a pair of shoes.”

Or a bigger belt, Lem thought.

“There are lawyers involved,” said Ramdakan. “There are thousands of pages of documentation to sift through. These things take time, Lem. Our people will handle it. That’s their job. It’s not your concern.”

“But it
is
my concern,” said Lem. “People in this company are threatening to taint my father’s reputation. I won’t stand for that. Have we at least made an initial payment, to show our good faith, to keep the LTD from taking this public?”

“I told you. No one’s going public with this. Trust me.”

Because you’ve silenced them with threats and bribes and that pig-ugly grimace of yours. “Information has a way of getting out,” said Lem. “I’m told these discrepancies were uncovered by a no-name, low-ranking junior auditor at the LTD. If someone that insignificant can dig up this dirt, anyone can. Sooner or later this is going to leak. We need to prepare for it.”

“How?”

“We go on record that we as a company are doing all we can to meet this obligation. If we wait until the leaks do that, we’ll look like unrepentant snakes trying to cover our own asses.”

Ramdakan’s teeth were near chattering. “Fine. I’ll look into it.”

“How much will you give?”

“I said I’ll look into it. We haven’t allocated funds for this, Lem. It will need some examination. This has been a rough quarter, in case you haven’t noticed. We don’t have vaults of liquidity that we can dip into whenever we want. This has to be budgeted and approved. I’ll have to consult with the Board.
They’re
the ones who will decide.” The emphasis was an attempt to remind Lem that Lem had no authority in the matter, that he was a minor-league scrub throwing pitches in the big leagues, but Lem pretended to have taken a different meaning.

“You’re right,” he said. “We don’t have time for delays. The last thing we need is boardroom bureaucracy miring this in indecision.” Lem thought for a moment, or rather acted as if he were thinking and then pretended to reach a decision. “You may think me a great fool, Norja, but I don’t think we can wait for the Board. I want to make a good-faith payment from my own personal fortune on behalf of the company.”

Ramdakan chuckled. “You can’t be serious.”

“I
am
serious. I’ll have my people do it immediately. A tenth of what we owe should be enough to keep the LTD content for now.”

Ramdakan’s eyes widened and he nearly choked on the word. “A tenth? But that’s … an enormous amount. You can’t possibly—”

“—have that much money? I do, Norja. You forget, I’ve managed a few companies myself. I’ve done very well. No one seems to remember because Father’s shadow is quite long, which is fine by me. But that’s how committed I am to this company and to my father.”

“Yes, but … a
tenth
?”

“Anything less would backfire in the press. It wouldn’t be a show of good faith. We’ll call it a loan. The company can pay me back over time once the funds have been budgeted.”

“Your father won’t approve of you doing this, Lem.”

“He doesn’t have to know. I fear he’d be embarrassed by it. And no one else on the Board must know either. I don’t want to do anything to diminish Father’s standing among them. It would shame him if the Board and investors knew his own son had to bail him out. Promise me you’ll keep this quiet, Norja. My father has spent his entire adult life building this company from nothing. I’m not going to allow a few cheapskates or crooks to tarnish his reputation. He’s already poised to take a hit with this drone nonsense.”

That gave Ramdakan pause. “Drone nonsense?”

“This business about loading the drones with the glaser. You have to talk to him, Norja. He won’t listen to me. The glasers will fail. I’ve seen the Formic ship in action. Our drones will be decimated. The Vanguard project will tank after the war as a result. The idea of us producing and using drones will be dead. Father’s intentions are good, but that will be an ax blow to the company. It could very well cost him his position and all of us our jobs.” He stepped closer and put a hand on Ramdakan’s shoulder. “You have to help me prevent that from happening. We must protect Father. He has always trusted you. Do I have your word that you are still his man?”

“Of course, Lem.”

Lem visibly relaxed. “Good. I’m sorry to make you endure this cold, but Father’s precarious position right now can’t be heard by those who might try and take advantage of it.”

“Yes. Of course.”

Lem gestured back toward the corridor. “You go on ahead. We shouldn’t both be seen coming out of the shaft at once.”

“Smart. Good luck, Lem.” He pushed his way through the sheets of plastic hanging from the ceiling to keep the dust and cold out and made his way back to the corridor, his steps bouncy and light without a magnetic floor beneath them to compensate for Luna’s low gravity.

Lem watched him go. If Ramdakan was smart, he’d see Lem’s game and play along, knowing that his best chance of staying afloat when Lem took Father’s place was to prove himself now as Lem’s loyal servant. If Ramdakan wasn’t smart—which was more likely—he’d believe Lem was sincere and do exactly as Lem had asked. Either way, Lem won.

He tapped into his holopad and sent the message to his assistants that the good-faith payment they had already prepared for the LTD was a go. It was an enormous amount, yes, a very large portion of Lem’s fortune, but like everything else Lem spent his money on, it was an investment. You don’t make money without spending money, and if this worked, if Lem ascended to Father’s position at this ripe young age, he had a lifetime ahead of him to make back a hundred times that or more.

And if it didn’t work, well, that’s what lawyers were for. He’d get back most of it in the end. Then he could leave the company and go turn that investment into a bigger fortune elsewhere. It wasn’t hard, really. Once you had your first few hundred million, the money did most of the work for you.

But it
would
work. He knew it would. He had made gambles like this before, and he’d always been right. He would release Imala’s findings to the press in a week or so, going first to the underground press on the nets, away from the journalists Father owned. And he’d leak the news of his good-faith payment to the LTD as well. He would spin it to give the impression that he had made an enormous personal sacrifice to save the thousands of jobs that would have been lost as a result of the company’s poor performance. There were all kinds of human-interest stories there. He made a mental note to have a video crew start shooting B-roll of blue-collar types working in the factories. The press ate that crap up.

And of course none of the leaks would be traced back to him. In fact, he’d do all that he could to give the impression of avoiding the press, which meant exiting buildings where he knew they would be gathered and then rushing to his car to avoid their barrage of questions. “My father is a good man,” he would say. “Any mistake he’s made now can’t overshadow a career of enormous success.”

There would be a plant in the crowd, naturally. A reporter who would shout over the others, just as Lem was climbing into the skimmer: “Mr. Jukes, what do you say to the rumors that the Board is considering you as a replacement for your father?”

And Lem would look somewhat hurt by the question—stung that anyone would dare to suggest that Father was no longer fit for the position. “I’m honored the Board thinks me capable, but no one can replace my father.” And then he would zip away, leaving them with a response that wasn’t exactly a confirmation of the rumor and yet wasn’t a denial either. And if there’s one thing the press loved, it was a mystery. They would pounce on the rumor like sharks and as a result of all the attention they gave it, they would give truth to it. And yet there would be Lem, the dutiful son, passively acknowledging that, yes, he was capable and, yes, the man for the job.

He waited another five minutes then caught a skimmer to the Juke production facility where crews were mounting glasers to the drones. Father was scheduled to check in on their progress, and Lem was more than a little curious himself. He didn’t have access to that wing of the facility, despite his requests to Simona to give him one, but if he simply showed up, Father wouldn’t run him off.

Probably.

He arrived before Father, as planned, and met the foreman, a stout man named Bullick, in the lobby. Bullick fidgeted nervously as they waited, and Lem tried to put the man’s mind at ease. “I’m sure you’re doing a fine job. My father doesn’t bite too fiercely.”

The skimmer arrived on schedule. Simona was out first, followed by Father, who had replaced his suit for a more casual workingman’s slacks and blue oxford shirt. He tried to hide his surprise when he spotted Lem. “Did you hack my schedule, Lem, or did you just happen to be in the neighborhood?”

“Both,” said Lem, then he frowned at Simona. “Really, Simona, you should guard that holopad of yours more closely. It’s a gold mine of information.” He winked at her, and she answered him with a nasty glare. In truth, he had acquired the information elsewhere, but it amused Lem to see her face turn that red. It was kind of cute.

“Why are you here, son?”

There he goes with the “son” again, Lem thought. Really, Father. There are no cameras here. Let’s drop the façade. Aloud he said, “I wanted to see these drones for myself and allow Mr. Bullick here the chance to convince me this isn’t an enormous mistake.”

Bullick looked appalled.

Father kept his annoyance concealed—he wasn’t the buffoon Ramdakan was. “I appreciate your concern, Lem, but this is my decision, not yours.”

“Obviously, Father. And I don’t want to get in your way. I only want to ensure that precautions are being taken.”

“Why wouldn’t I take precautions, Lem? And whom exactly should I be taking precautions for? These are unmanned vessels. If they blow up, no one dies.”

“If they blow up, the entire drone enterprise blows up with them.”

“I’m glad to see you taking an interest in management, Lem. But the company’s bottom line is taking a temporary backseat to saving the human race.”

“So this is a closed tour?”

For an instant it looked as if Father would ask him to leave, but then he smiled and made a sweeping gesture with his hand toward the warehouse. “On the contrary. I don’t see you enough as it is.” He put an arm around Lem’s shoulder. “Mr. Bullick, it appears we’re a party of four now. I hope that’s not a problem.”

“It’s your building, Mr. Jukes. This way please.” He turned and led them down the corridor. As Lem passed Simona, she gave him a look of pure contempt. He couldn’t help himself. He winked at her.

The factory floor was immense. The entire fleet of drones filled the space end to end, with hundreds of workers crawling on the surfaces of drones, or standing in bucket lifts, or hanging suspended from harnesses, all of them building and cutting and welding and fastening, working feverishly to finish the order. Sparks flew, tools whirred, cranes panned left and right, carrying supplies.

Bullick moved to the drone nearest them. It sat in a large cradle, suspended in the air, with the glaser attached to its underside in a metal grill that encircled it like an iron cell. “This is the new cage system we’ve designed to hold the glasers in place,” said Bullick. “Extremely tough. The drone will rip apart before this does. We shouldn’t have any more detachment problems with this setup.”

“Detachment problems?” asked Lem.

Bullick glanced at Father, unsure if he should reveal anything.

“We had a mishap a few days ago in testing,” said Father. “They took a drone out in space, gave the glaser too much juice, and the glaser detached.”

Lem looked appalled. “Was it firing?”

“Only for a fraction of a second after it detached. Then the fail-safe kicked in and it stopped. Nothing was damaged, son.”

“You’re lucky,” said Lem. “What if it had been pointed at a ship? Or worse, at Luna or at Earth? This thing creates a field through the continuity of mass, Father. It stops gravity from holding things together. Do you have any idea how catastrophic that could have been?”

Father was annoyed. “I know what it does, Lem. I had the damn thing built.”

“And you want to put fifty of these in space
near
Earth?” He suddenly realized the horror of that idea. “What if one of them deviates or the glaser breaks off and it fires at Earth? Have you considered that?” He suddenly didn’t care about unseating Father or taking the company. The image of Earth separating into dust like the asteroid in the Kuiper Belt had him in a panic. “These things are planet killers, Father.”