Been There, Done That (April Book 10) Read online

  There were other inconsistencies. The Martians made their own fuel, and still had an excess of capacity to synthesize it. If you wanted to skim off and steal a bit of it then one might imagine nobody would know. There was limited access to the fuel for safety reasons, but nobody had to sign or pay for fuel. You might think it wasn’t tracked, other than seeing there was sufficient capacity, and tracking that the tankage was staying comfortably ahead of use.

  But fuel usage showed up two other ways. The power system was smarter than that in any private residence. It was ahead of even a lot of industrial users who tracked electrical usage as a very important expense. The amount of power it took to create a liter of fuel varied little. But the numbers for power use didn’t track with reported production. Somebody was jiggering the system.

  The equipment which used fuel, and the rovers in particular, were tracked for both hours at idle and kilometers driven. Not only for maintenance, but a sudden change in fuel economy could signal something going wrong, and a rover breakdown was not just an expense or an inconvenience, but could be a life threatening event.

  On Earth, fuel consumption varied with season and weather. It was altered by occasional traffic jams even. On Mars the rovers were not as sensitive to seasonal temperatures. The air was so thin wind made resistance going east versus west inconsequential. There were still some variations, but they were predictable. If a route took a rover to a site at a higher altitude, then the trip back downhill was always proportional too. Loads varied more, but the AI integrating all these numbers knew what the loads were too.

  That’s why his expert program was asking him to explain how things were happening like a rover suddenly getting better mileage climbing to a elevation with a heavy load and then worse mileage coming back downhill light.

  The program wasn’t sophisticated enough to conclude the Martians were just sloppy liars unable to create a complex and consistent lie. As far as he knew there wasn’t an AI that smart yet. It took a human to perceive that, but it was still beyond him why they were doing it.

  Jonus stopped outside his door and made a show of crossing his arms and leaning his head back to stare at Simon with a haughty air. It was all put on.

  “You realize the Capital in People department will be watching you closer since they forced you to take a vacation. If you keep working past quitting time they will label you as elitist and trying to rise above your peers.”

  “Somebody has to actually do the work. It took me longer to fix everything they screwed up than the time I was off.” Simon groused.

  “People who won’t take time off are like huge warning flares to CiP that they are embezzling,” Jonus said, then looked thoughtful, “or, covering up for somebody else.”

  “But… I’m the guy looking for embezzling and fraud,” Simon objected.

  “You are one layer of the search,” Jonus corrected him. “It’s the old ‘Who will guard the guards?’ conundrum.”

  “OK I’ll wait to finish busting their butts until tomorrow. They’ll still be there, but there’s something crooked going on in the Mars outpost, and I’m going to pick at the threads until I figure out what,” Simon vowed.

  Jonus looked interested at that. “There’s something not quite right there in the hiring process too,” he revealed. “Why don’t we go have a beer and talk about it? If you take a later train home it won’t be as crazy and packed. Your cat can survive an extra hour without being fed.”

  “He would claw your throat out if he knew you were saying that, but you’re right about the train. Twice last week, I couldn’t even get on the earlier train. It was packed standing room only and the doors closed before I could get on. Where do you want to go?”

  “There’s a new place I want to check out. It has local beer, and I want to check out other people’s food to see if it looks worth ordering.”

  The beer was fine and the food too, once they had seen enough go by to decide what to order. They found so much to discuss Simon’s cat had to wait almost three hours, and was inconsolate.

  * * *

  A response note from Chen was expected and welcome. Sometimes, like now, it took a week for him to reply, but they didn’t make a habit of rushing him, aware there was a chain of inquiry to his sources and back. Nobody was sitting with their finger on a trigger waiting for a response or he’d have been told time was of the essence over detail and accuracy.

  Again it was addressed to all three of them. Heather asked a couple questions about the differences between Texas law and North American law. Chen pointed out their laws had the same roots in English law. Texas, though of heavily Hispanic demographics had not reverted to the Mexican roots of Roman law it inherited from Spain. The biggest difference in Texas recovering ahead of North America was in abandoning tens of thousands of regulations rather than changing actual black letter law.

  Jeff wanted to know about the physical capabilities of North America versus Texas. Basically, who would win if it came to war? The answer was they were so evenly matched now it would be devastating to both sides no matter who won. Satellite reconnaissance and commercial defense reports of each side’s equipment and positions were attached to back Chen’s evaluation.

  North America might lose Quebec and the Maritime provinces in revolt if they were engaged elsewhere, Chen predicted. While Texas might lose the Mexican territory it had seized, most likely not back to Mexico, but to them seizing their own independence.

  Chen replied to April’s questions that there was a limited mobilization to move peace keeping forces into Louisiana, but no indication of large numbers of ground forces and armor. He did expect to see them to move aircraft and support personnel to bases left behind. Chen speculated that the Secretary of State likely made the announcement for Texas because of personal animosity between the Texan President and the head of The Sons of Liberty. Hostilities would likely have erupted just because the announcement came from the President. The Sons’ leader had publicly poked at him, saying their elections were corrupt and predetermined. Then the Texan had responded sarcastically that at least they had elections. As far as April could see – her people didn’t have a dog in this fight.

  * * *

  On Earth, in the mountains of Northern California, Eileen sat back and observed the autumn party with a detachment that was calculating, and beyond her years. That was her personality. She suffered from being too smart, and had made a good start on learning to hide it. Fortunately there was no local school organized yet, and most of the others her age just thought she was socially dull. That was far easier to forgive than being smart.

  Smart or dull, like most young people, Eileen didn’t dwell on the past and the difficult year she’d just survived. She was focused on the future more than the past, but even the future faded from consciousness in the face of a special party, when entertainments were now much fewer and further apart. She was dressed in nice store bought. It wasn't so long since The Day, when the grid went down and outside supply was vastly reduced, to mean that manufactured clothing was uncommon yet. Especially, nicer things were saved for special occasions.

  The roads would probably be open again, local governments in control again, and commerce with other states and regions reestablished before they got all that rare. Some goods were already being brought in from the East at very high prices. But for right now, most of Northern California resembled the autonomous regions of Pakistan more than the situation prevailing in the Southern United States east of the Mississippi, where local control still prevailed, and commerce was still strong.

  For right now however, there was an economy of scarcity, and the hand of government had lifted enough that nobody batted an eye at weapons worn to the celebration. Safety on the road here was uncertain since there wasn’t any law in the county. Neither were intoxicates absent, even though minors were present. Whether those minors partook was once again a family concern, although there was community involvement, since people felt free again to report what they saw the young peop
le do to their parents.

  The things Eileen wore she hadn't owned two years ago. That was true of most of the young people in the barn. Almost all of them grew too fast to be wearing what they owned two years ago, but fancy clothes were precious now, and nobody tossed anything store bought in the trash. They were traded when they no longer fit until they were worn out and had done duty as rags.

  In contrast to the uniformity of such a gathering pre-Day, some of the young ladies, and a few of the young men dressed like it was three years ago and they were visiting a night club. But a few looked like they might be part of a wedding party or a christening, and one unfortunate young man looked like he belonged in a period movie about disco dancing. They did the best they could to look dressed up with limited resources.

  That party clothes were precious didn't mean there was a great selection or prices were not tiered sharply. The quality of haircuts had also dropped precipitously, and makeup was rationed even more tightly than nice clothing. The pole building in which they were dancing wasn’t as warm as most would have liked. Some ended up putting their coats back on over their party clothes. There had already been a few light snows and even the warmth of a couple hundred bodies packed in the building couldn’t overcome the chill.

  Eileen hadn’t attempted the very formal but impractical fashion in contrast to the others. She had on a pretty blouse with a cardigan over it, and jeans that weren't worn ragged or stained. Almost no one had saved a pair of jeans as good clothes. Jeans had reverted to being work wear again by default, and seeing a nice pair was unusual now. Eileen didn't bother with makeup and didn't need it. She had on ankle hiking boots worth more than a sequin dress, and her only real concession to formality were real diamond earrings and a gold chain. Most of her peers couldn't distinguish real jewelry from fake, but her elders did and noticed. She looked like she was prepared to go help in the kitchen if need be, or ride home on a horse, without ruining her outfit. Others weren’t so practical. Some had needed to change their outfits when they arrived rather than ruin them on the road. Winter hadn’t set in hard, but the season was wet and muddy even if it didn’t snow.

  The young guys were awkward and dazzled by the girls who looked like they just stepped out of a TV screen or an old magazine to them. There was still satellite TV service and some working receivers owned by folks with their own power. A few had moved them to an outbuilding or garage and made a business of them. Popcorn would be planted for next year. The magazines were now wrinkled and dog-eared from renewed popularity. They weren't discarded after a read-through, since new were rare. They were traded until so ragged they were fire starting materials.

  Several young men had been bright enough to ignore the flashier clothing and aggressive come-hither looks present, and see Eileen as a very worthy target of their attention. Eileen looked old enough, in the new social order of things, that they could offer her a cider or stronger drink. Several came up with a drink for her already in hand, overly confident of her acceptance.

  Since such a favor seemed to be understood as a license to linger and talk, or even in a few cases stake some sort of claim for the evening, she declined several offers. Considering her worthy wasn't sufficient to guarantee she reciprocated. She was picky, and didn’t want to get attached early to someone who would preclude her from making a better match.

  Victor Foy came by with a beer in his hand and nodded at her. Eileen nodded politely back. Then Vic looked to each side at her female companions, and scowled. "You mean to say there isn't a young buck here with the wits to bring you a drink?" he growled.

  His manner didn't put Eileen off, it amused her. "Don't blame them. I had a few offers, but their demeanor suggested they thought they were setting claim markers around me. If you want to bring me something I'd welcome it." The girl on Eileen's right gasped in shock at her boldness, and she and Vic both looked at her, amused.

  "Cider?" he asked, accepting the duty.

  "That would be nice," Eileen said. "Dad started some apple trees, but it's still a treat for us."

  "He's much too old for you," her appalled companion hissed, as soon as he departed. The other girl asked, "What's duh-meaner mean?"

  Eileen wasn't giving vocabulary lessons today, but she answered the hisser.

  "Now really, I know he's older, but I think he'll last long enough to return with a cider. He's hardly wobbling on a cane and ready to fall on his face any moment."

  "You'd be safer if he was," the girl warned her. "He's entirely too spry, and I see how he looks at the young girls here."

  "Yes, he gives a subtle glance instead of drooling with his mouth hanging open like the young fools," Eileen agreed. "On the whole, I'd rather see a little less desperation."

  "You're hopeless," the girl concluded, and left to seek better company before it rubbed off. The other girl was afraid she's be confided in, or worse required to speak, so she followed after the other quickly.

  "I hope you didn't chase your friends away for me," Vic said when he came back.

  "They just happened to be by me. We aren't friends nor likely to ever be friends. Why would you think I'd chase them away?" She really wanted to know.

  "Most of the young men are intimidated by a group of girls," Vic said, handing her the cider. "It's a strategic error really if the girls want to meet someone. They feel better having some company, but they don't realize they're intimidating the poor fellows."

  "Shouldn't their mothers tell them how counter-productive that is?" Eileen asked him.

  "It's a guy thing. I'm not sure most of the moms ever figured it out, and the fathers aren't going to share it, because most of them would be happy if their girls didn't notice that boys exist until they're about thirty or so."

  "So, I'm getting the rarely revealed inside male scoop here?" Eileen asked.

  "Yes, but I've played cards with you. You're bright enough to have eventually figured it out on your own. This is a fairly bright bunch," Vic said, waving his beer over the whole crowd inclusively.

  "The attack on Vandenberg sorted out a lot of the stupid in California. This area now has about three times what the summer population ran, pre-Day. You had to be bright, prepared, or incredibly lucky to get out of the populated areas before the roads got jammed, the water stopped, and the fires started. But even sorted out from the herd, you have to remember half of them are still below average," Vic said, and smiled at his little joke.

  "Which were you?" Eileen asked, very directly, and sipped her cider. It wasn't exactly hard, but it had just enough bite to be good without any fizz.

  "I was smart enough to already be here, and not need to run."

  "But not smart enough to be in Texas or Colorado," Eileen countered.

  "I don't think that was predictable," Vic said. "The Spacers aren't random. They don't just drop bombs here and there for spite, no matter how the news painted them before. They haven't wiped Toronto or New York or Mexico City off the map. If they were really blood thirsty those would be no-brainers. I know L.A. was hurt, but they weren't shooting at L.A. Some of the damage was just because of piss poor local planning, and self inflicted.

  "Southern California has always been on the knife edge of habitability and dependent on obsolete technology to stay viable. Nobody ever wanted to spend the money to make it safer. If I had to bet on it, Vandenberg being a military base, I'd guess some damn fool crossed a line, took a pot shot at them, and got slapped down. It could have been Dallas or Colorado Springs just as easily."

  "You don't believe the Spacers are degenerate and evil?" Eileen asked.

  "Degenerates tend to like their vices and comforts so they stay home. Spacers work and most live in a broom closet not a mansion. I wouldn't expect to find the libertine and slothful on the frontier, and that's the new frontier out there. Now, evil is harder to identify. That's a whole different big discussion right there."

  "I'm interested in getting out there," Eileen told him. "I wanted that before The Day, in fact I've been pretty sure abo
ut it since I was eleven."

  “News is kind of sketchy about what is happening out there. Things might be different by the time things are normal enough to travel to Florida much less off planet. You may have to change your plans a couple times,” Vic warned.

  “I know it’s not going to happen in a year, maybe not ten. But that’s my long term goal. I take it as a good sign they aren’t talking about space much. That likely means nobody is fighting up there, or getting ready to.”

  "Why are you telling me?" Vic asked. "I don't have a shuttle, and can't buy a ticket. I've never had enough cash even pre-Day to buy a ride up, unless I was willing to blow everything I had on a one time vacation. I never had the right sort of skills to think about staying and working up there."

  "I'm telling you because you're interested in me. That was obvious from when you visited. I'm telling you plainly that I have goals. They might not be comfortable for you. I'm pretty sure my parents would think I'm crazy."

  "Are you sure you want to have this conversation right now?" Vic asked, distressed. "I hadn't thought for it to happen for a year, more likely two."

  "If you can plan ahead two years why can't I plan for five or ten?" Eileen asked. "Why waste a couple years waiting?"

  “You can plan all you want. Plan twenty years ahead," Vic invited her. "We can talk, but your parents aren't going to accept me, or anyone else, formally courting you for at least another year. I think your father will hold out for two, until you are eighteen. They may give you grief for just talking to me.”

  "Yes, he'd chase you off next year if you try to 'court' me, as you say. His head is stuck pre-Day. He may even have the courage to object to you for talking with me. But if I chase you what can he do?" Eileen asked with a smirk. "I don’t care. He can't lock me in the pantry and only let me out at dinner time. I don't know what I want to do, yet. But I'm considering all my options."