Been There, Done That Page 3

  "Thanks for the warning," Vic said sincerely, rattled. "You don't see anyone else here worth cutting out of the herd and branding?" He seemed to feel the iron on his hide already.

  "Not yet. But maybe you'd rather that nice little cow I had at my elbow? The one who run away all distressed that I'd take a cider from you? I'm sure she thinks I'm a terrible hussy. Half the folks here probably think you've talked to me much too long. That is, the above average half, bright enough to notice," she said, pointedly.

  Vic turned his head and followed Eileen's eyes across the room where the girl had her head together with another whispering. He turned back, finished his last chug of beer and managed make his feeling clear with a disdainful, "Moooo . . ."

  Chapter 2

  Checking her messages, April was surprised to see one from Mssr. Broutin. That brought a flood of memories, mostly pleasant. It seemed so long ago she’d met him while staying overnight with Heather at her mother’s place. It was just a few years ago, but years crammed with a couple lifetimes of experiences.

  She’d been scandalized back then when he’d come to breakfast and obviously had been Sylvia’s overnight guest. April supposed she was scandalizing a few people herself now. It was pretty hard not to. The Earthies were way beyond being merely scandalized by spacer behavior. Things nobody would blink at on Home would put you in jail now in North America.

  Actions that were merely against custom just a few years ago were against black letter law now. They were back to wearing bathing suits on public beaches that covered neck to ankle by law. You couldn’t get served now in a nice restaurant, while wearing short sleeves, and April expected that to become a matter of law soon too. The mood in North America was definitely still trending to more restrictions, not loosening. Even the Europeans, who weren’t so far behind in that trend, made fun of it.

  That pleasant breakfast with Broutin happened back when Home was just M3, and still in orbit around Earth. The possibility of a break with North America and the likelihood of blockade had been a topic of conversation at breakfast that morning. Broutin, speaking for a friend, was concerned whether some of Sylvia’s artwork commissions would be trapped undeliverable behind a blockade. April said plainly they could bypass a blockade, but wasn’t ever sure he believed her.

  April had been fascinated with his formal Earth attire, and he’d made a gift of his cufflinks to her, making a coy reference to her starting a fashion revolution, but they knew he was really referencing a much different sort of revolution. He’d been right. She still wore the cufflinks and treasured them. They were high karat gold, delicately engraved, with a translucent enamel overlay.

  Before April opened his message she checked the Earth web to see if Broutin was still in the French government. He was, and had been continuously since they met. If she were having breakfast with him today, like she had years ago, she’d have very different questions than last time. He should have an insider’s take about the real state of affairs between the European powers that she would trust more than the official accounts they put out.

  Europe was almost as hostile to Home as North America. The Europeans just hid it better, under layers of senseless regulation and insincere expressions of regret, instead of rude aggression. The supposedly independent news outlets still blamed Home for the devastation of the last great flu epidemic. It had been repeated until the lie was stated as a given by their news agencies. The government agencies, that had to know better, never found reason to correct that disinformation campaign. One had to assume it served their purposes.

  The European nations engaged in the same sort of dishonesty North America did, but claimed different motives. Where North Americans had gone so very prudish in public life on religious grounds the Europeans framed the same behavior on a secular political basis. April couldn’t see how it mattered why you felt it necessary to tell your fellow man how he must live in minute detail. The result was uniformly oppressive, no matter how you justified it.

  The European Union was still prominent in the public eye, its symbols everywhere, still trying to promote unity its members didn’t even pay lip service to anymore. It wasn’t so much its regulations had been rescinded as ignored. The harsh reality was that the worst of the rules would drive a member state out of the union if vigorously enforced. The vast body of minor regulations seemed to do nothing but put a brake on business and entrench the current corporations in their positions without competition, due to special loopholes and grandfathering.

  The average European thus over-paid for everything, and resented it, but not sufficiently to do anything about it. Perhaps the main objective of the Union had been worth it. The European states hadn’t had a serious war with each other in generations. Given how jammed together their member states were, and how much weapons had advanced, that was something to be avoided. A really serious war, involving more than small arms or light armor would be mutual suicide.

  The old animosities between states and ethnic groups were still there and new ones layered on, but the experiment with open borders was long over, and European citizens had to have money and influence to move from state to state. Technically they were still free to go where they pleased, but in practice only if they were independently wealthy.

  If the common people wished to work and live in a different jurisdiction they were suddenly subject to all sorts of quotas and qualifications about the number of truck drivers or janitors needed and who qualified for the local subsidies needed to afford desirable housing and food.

  The thing about dishonestly ignoring unworkable rules and laws instead of actually changing them, was it bled down into everyday life. If everybody saw the large corporations and banks flaunting law the only reason for the little fellow to follow them was fear he wouldn’t be given a pass. So it only became a question of ‘Will I get caught?’ or ‘Is the bribe affordable?’ when examining what passed for ethics, and it got worse each generation.

  That attitude alone was inhibiting business between Home and the Union. Home businesses expected to be treated with fairness beyond the letter of the law or contract by their suppliers and contractors. There weren’t enough customers to throw one away and figure some other sucker would be happy to do business with you. There was no army of lawyers looking for any advantage. The handful of lawyers on Home only advised their clients how to deal with Earth laws.

  No Home businessman had actually visited either the European Union or North America since Home had moved out of Low Earth Orbit to beyond the Moon. Home businessmen didn’t regard those counties as safe, and they were right. As far as April knew nobody from Home had chanced it as a tourist. Home and lunar goods were expensive in Europe because of tariffs, but they didn’t let ideology overcome practicality too much. In North America spacer goods were even more expensive because they were officially embargoed and had to be smuggled in.

  Australia and Asia, outside of China, reaped the benefits of being the first choices for off world goods without extra expenses. If you needed a cancer drug only made in microgravity the price difference could be life or death.

  The public in Earth nations hostile to spacers were still fed a stream of propaganda that spacers were all wealthy selfish monsters intent on defrauding Earthies at every opportunity, rich beyond common avarice, and without morals. They allowed personal weapons, and beyond allowing bare arms, they would shamelessly show naked legs in public. That formed public opinion even if not one in ten thousand actually knew a spacer.

  The Homies and Lunar citizens didn’t need a media campaign to conclude that Earth people were insane, welcomed their own oppression, and had no use for honesty or honor. The news channels managed to convince them of that without trying. Actually, most didn’t personally know any of the common Earth people any more than the Earthies knew them.

  In honesty, very few spacers appreciated the difficulty Earthies faced in resisting an entrenched corrupt system. One didn’t just charge into the streets and announce the revolution unless you were
a fool. Given the human tendency to see everything in strictly black or white, it was easy for each side to ignore anyone who didn’t fit their vision.

  Given such a divide, it was not just a meaningless detail that Broutin’s message had been sent from the French space station, unofficially named The Turnip due to its unfortunate similarity to that vegetable in shape. It said that he as a French official didn’t want to entrust the privacy of his message to Earth networks. April had no idea what he wanted to talk about after all this time, but she suspected he wasn’t going to ask for his cufflinks back. April read his message with all those factors in mind.

  Dear April,

  I intend to visit Home in about a week and lay-over for several days to familiarize myself with the changes that have occurred since my last visit and speak with various business owners, before going on to both the lunar state of Marseille and Central. If you could find time for us to renew our acquaintance and enjoy a meal together I’d enjoy your company again.

  Your friend and admirer, Mssr. Broutin, Foreign Minister of France

  For all its superficial simplicity it was still a very mixed message. April had requested he address her informally, long ago, yet after doing so he’d signed as a French official. She wasn’t thirteen going on fourteen anymore. It wouldn’t have been remiss to either speak to her more formally now, or sign as a private citizen. Who was visiting and on what business, her friend and admirer, or the Foreign Minister? She wasn’t sure they could be one and the same.

  She didn’t really want to entertain the Foreign Minister, so April decided to just ignore that and respond like an old friend. But she’d address him by his given name to tell him the playing field was, if not exactly level, less tilted than before. The reply went to the Turnip address. She didn’t have another right now, and it seemed petty to force him to receive her reply at some official addy she’d have to look up on the very net he seemed to be avoiding.

  Dear Pierre,

  I’d be delighted to entertain you next week. My schedule is pretty much my own at the moment with few time-specific obligations. I’m listed on local public com so contact me when you are on Home. A shared meal again would be a pleasure. I have a favorite place to take you if you’d like. I’d love to hear your opinions on current European affairs, and would be happy to speak of Home. As for your destination of Central, I’d remind you the Sovereign Heather was the daughter of Sylvia, at whose home we shared breakfast so long ago. We are still fast friends and I am her peer and occasional Voice. I might get away to Central for a bit if you’d like a ride and to catch up on lunar gossip too.

  Your friend, Lady Lewis

  There, that seemed the right tone. Was the Lady Lewis layering it on too thick? Probably not, two could play at mixed signals. April sent it.

  If Broutin was going on to Central then Heather definitely needed a heads up. If he hadn’t told Heather he was coming, surely he’d realize April would mention it, wouldn’t he? Heather, Jeff and April had partnered when Broutin was visiting Sylvia and their relationship had been discussed at breakfast. It was even more a matter of public partnership now than then, or notorious depending on your view. Surely he knew that. April couldn’t imagine he had any business with underlings. Heather as Sovereign didn’t delegate important matters. Neither would he have anything to discuss at Marseille with merchants and businessmen. He was after all the Foreign Minister, not someone with the Ministry of Commerce. She wondered if he’d visit with Sylvia again. Heather’s mother was, if not fabulously wealthy, at least comfortable and very active in politics from long before April and her daughter decided to dabble in revolution together. Sylvia had and still played her cards very close to her breast, seeming to influence things from outside the public eye with a skill April frankly admired.

  Voting on Home was not by secret ballot. Mr. Muños, the Registrar of Voters, took the vote, conducting elections in public and real-time. The votes were linked to local net accounts, and tallied instantaneously. If you wanted to vote on Home, you not only had to voluntarily accept taxation, you also had to have the courage of your convictions to attach your vote to your com address in a searchable data base.

  Not that it was without problems. Friendships had eroded over differences in opinion. One shopkeeper fired an employee for voting contrary to what she considered her interests, and been challenged to a duel. It was their first female on female challenge.

  When she refused to meet or issue a retraction, station security physically carried the shopkeeper to dock and stuffed her on a shuttle departing for ISSII. She was so stubborn she was expelled without as much as a change of clothing, because she refused the opportunity to pack a bag.

  The video of her being carried by her arms and legs down the public corridor, while she loudly proclaimed that they couldn’t do that to her, was one of those unfortunate incidents that played on the Earth news for a week.

  April had no doubt the majority of voters never bothered to search for the voting history on any one specific proposal. Very few issues roused passions sufficiently to make the majority of voters cast a ballot on them. Fewer yet were close or of such interest that late voters came in at the end to keep the vote actively open and try to nudge it over the line in their favor. April however, did compile her own data base of voters who voted the same as Sylvia. There was a definite pattern there, but you had to know the people to know who was influenced, in contrast to who originated the ideas.

  That others could do the same to her, and her partners Heather and Jeff, was something of which April was always aware. On some questions put to the Assembly it was clear which way she would vote. As a ship owner she had obvious interests to protect. On other matters, things that bordered on custom and taste, April’s record could be difficult to understand.

  The three of them often abstained on voting for things they found personally appealing, simply because they didn’t think it good to keep making the body of declared law larger and more detailed. Custom and the danger of provoking others into challenging one to a duel inhibited all sorts of bad behavior. Both custom and challenge tended to be examined more carefully for reasonableness, on a case by case basis, and were much easier to change when they became obsolete than a written statute.

  What April had no idea about, was whether Mssr. Broutin or his government ever analyzed the public record of voting patterns to understand who had influence and how far it extended. There was no way she’d ever inquire and give them the idea to do so if they hadn’t thought of it on their own.

  * * *

  Mssr. Pierre Broutin lifted on a commercial ship of the French Republic already scheduled to visit their space station. There was rarely an empty seat. As a high government official Broutin could assert influence to bump a lower ranking official, or a low ranking military officer on standby, without much trouble.

  World lift capacity had never recovered from Home’s war with North America, because North America still had internal problems. China, the other economy big enough to fill the gap, was a mess internally once again. Other places had their own brakes on space investment, due to their antagonism with the space powers. How could the nations that closed their banking system to them or imposed one sided tariffs ever normalize relations?

  After a flight to the Turnip he took commercial transport to ISSII, to catch a connection on a Larkin’s Line shuttle to Home, though with more difficulty than planned.

  At the ISSII passenger dock the screen on the automated ticket kiosk for Larkin’s Line would take Solars, Australian dollars, Mitsubishi pay vouchers, Myanmar Kyat, Kingdom of Central vouchers, Marseille Lunar Script, and Dear God, even Tongan Pa’anga, but no EuroMarks. Neither, he noted, were North American or Chinese currencies welcome. The conversion rates that the ticket prices posted implied for the other currencies made him wonder if he’d drawn a large enough advance. There wasn’t an official exchange rate to consult, and he was unaware some sites on the Home net published unofficial rates daily.

 
Perhaps he should have arranged his itinerary in reverse. Certainly Marseille had to be more receptive to EuroMarks, because they still had business ties to France. But the sheer in your face reality of his rejection his money made him wonder how stable that arrangement was, and if Marseille would soon be an outlier with its neighbors. Marseille might not be able to continue to trade with its neighbors using EuroMarks, and that could drive them away from France. That was something he might discuss with Joel when he returned home. He had reasons to follow the order in which he planned his travel, but it wasn’t convenient.

  Pierre found there was no bank at ISSII that would convert his EuroMarks to Solars. ISSII was jointly owned and run by Earth governments, so it was closed to Home or Central Banks. There were two joint USNA –European banks, an Indian bank and a Russian bank. In the abstract he understood the reasoning for withholding banking privileges. As a traveler who couldn’t buy a ticket for a LEO to Home shuttle with his bank card it was irritating and suddenly seemed petty.

  The BNP bank all but called security to give him the bum’s rush. He skipped the other European bank and went to the Indians. That fellow made it clear there was nothing to talk about unless he first wanted to open accounts with them. The Russian Bank at least didn’t treat him like a criminal. The teller referred him to a manager who was politely sympathetic, but also refused him.

  “You might go spinward a quarter turn and inquire at Jason’s,” he suggested.

  “Jason’s?” Broutin asked. If there was a bank of Jason he’d never heard of it, and he didn’t want to ask and look foolish. The Russian just nodded yes without laughing, so it might not be a joke.

  “Which way is spinward?” Broutin asked. That did get a smile.

  “Turn left as you exit,” the Russian said, definitely struggling to keep a straight face. “Heavy,” he said cryptically after Pierre had turned.

  The sign declared, Jason’s Sundries and Sweets, in English, with an ice cream cone leaning away from the fancy script on each side. Below it said, Party Goods, Liquors, Hand-Made Chocolates, Cards for all Occasions, Holiday Decorations, Lottery Tickets, Footies and Gloves, Pawn and Loan, Checks Cashed, Money Orders, Coins and Tokens, Travel Vouchers Bought and Sold.