Been There, Done That Page 4

  The establishment was brightly lit, completely open across the entire front, and done up in garish pink and red colors. The open nature of the store surprised Pierre. He’d grown accustomed to tunnel like entries on small stores to restrict entry, as well as to hold sensors to watch for weapons coming in and stolen merchandise going out. Jason must not have any significant problem with shoplifters. It seemed unlikely from appearances, but the sign did hold hope of some financial services.

  The fellow behind the counter seemed unlikely. He had a bit of a belly when almost nobody with access to medical care ran overweight. Pierre also had difficulty estimating at a glance how old the man was or even a hint of his ethnic origins. He was short, with either olive skin or he deliberately tanned himself, another custom almost entirely gone now. His hair was entirely too light to match his complexion and he had enormous ears most people would have reduced with cosmetic surgery. His name tag said Jason, but gave no clue if he was the Jason for who the store was named. He was dressed… oddly. He nodded hello but pecked at a terminal behind the counter like he was wrapping something up.

  Jason examined Pierre with an eagerness that matched Pierre’s inspection of him, once he turned his full attention away from the terminal. He looked so pleased to see Pierre that for the first time he regretted dressing up to travel. He hadn’t considered that an affluent appearance might hamper his ability to negotiate terms of a financial transaction. Most of the time dressing well led to a degree of deference and better treatment. Jason however was regarding him like a prize steer that would soon be select cuts of beef.

  “Good day,” Pierre said, and tried to keep a pleasant face and made an attempt at humor. “Are you the Jason of fame, heralded by your establishment’s signage?”

  “I wouldn’t hire another Jason,” the fellow said bluntly. “If one wanted to hire on I suppose I might, if he let me call him George. Life’s perplexing enough without feeling like I’ve slipped into speaking in the third person every day. Fortunately there’s little enough to distract me on ISSII to make it a burden to keep the doors open without help. It’s like a very quiet little town.”

  “Indeed, I noticed the lack of a crowd in the corridor,” Pierre agreed.

  “Been that way since the war, and it’s been slow to come back all the way. But I figure in another five years, maybe six years it’ll be hopping again.”

  Pierre nodded politely. He’d really like to know why the fellow thought so, but he’d leave it for another time rather than neglect his business.

  “I wonder, if you might do currency exchanges among your services? I find the shuttle service I wish to take to Home doesn’t take EuroMarks. I’d like something they take, preferably Solars to facilitate other payments when I reach Home or beyond.”

  “I wouldn’t mind a bucket of them myself,” Jason allowed. “But for most transactions they’re a bit unwieldy. A full Solar is twenty five grams of gold or platinum. Most folks use the smaller coins and bits or a credit card that can shave transactions down to the milligram.”

  “What would you suggest? I have EuroMark credit, banknotes, and a small amount of Suisse Credit bars. What would be easiest?”

  “Not that I don’t want the business, but I’m too little a fish to risk handling a large sum of EuroMarks with currency fluctuations being what they are. EMs are depreciating assets anyway. Now, I’d take your gold if you were staying here, but the banks on Home will give you a much better conversion rate, and I’d rather you not be pissed off at me and tell everybody to avoid the scoundrel on ISSII after you found that out. I know the exchange rate looks bad but go back to the Russians and tell them you want to convert your EuroMarks to Australian dollars - they’ll do that. The gold, it don’t matter, it’s not going to fluctuate in value very much. If you finish up your business and want to take any of it back to France you can’t take it as Solars and you’d have to pay for a second exchange.”

  “I never said I was French, nor did I mention speaking with the Russians.”

  “I hear your vowels and can place your province if not your town under that fancy Parisian accent. It’s five hundred and twenty of my steps from here to the bank and Peter called and told me you were on your way. As I said, it’s like a small town here. If you sneeze on the way to work by lunch time word has gone around and friends are asking if you are alright.”

  “Then I wonder why he didn’t he suggest another currency?” Pierre asked.

  “Did you ask him like you did me?” Jason asked back.

  “No, I just asked if he could convert EuroMarks to Solars.” Pierre admitted.

  “Peters not one to volunteer much,” Jason said. “I’d bet you didn’t mention you were going to Home either, or he’d have told me that too.”

  When Pierre looked chagrined Jason made a dismissive motion.

  “You’re fresh off the shuttle from Earth. If I had to go back to visit the Slumball I’d have to be constantly reminding myself not to reveal anything I didn’t absolutely need to, especially not to lawyers or bankers.”

  The slur came so easily and without apology from someone being friendly and helpful that it jolted him twice as badly. Pierre managed to nod if not in strict agreement at least in understanding.

  “I failed to record the prices in the various currencies,” Pierre said, irritated with himself for the lapse. “I should have grabbed a photo of the screen.”

  “No problem. The Larkin Line has a site on the local net and keeps their schedule updated,” Jason said, consulting his terminal. “The next flight leaves in two hours and eleven minutes. They usually don’t board until ten or fifteen minutes before. One-way is seventeen thousand three hundred Australian dollars. That’s a small enough amount I’ll buy it right off the site for you if you want, and you won’t have to bother with the bank or the kiosk. You can convert the bulk of it on Home. I’ll want twenty eight thousand EuroMarks with a two day lead on the depreciation of whatever date notes you are carrying. Should I book it?” he asked, hand held back from hitting enter.

  “Please. I’d appreciate that,” Pierre said, getting his money out.

  Jason entered the transaction, reached under the counter, and got a quarter page printout. They didn’t waste a full sheet of paper if not needed, as expensive as paper was. It had a flight number and time, but no name when Pierre examined it, before counting his money out.

  “They don’t demand your identity to buy a ticket?” Pierre asked, surprised. “The last time I visited Home I had to be cleared by security to board a shuttle.”

  “It must have been before the war, right?” Jason asked.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact it was.” Pierre confirmed.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it,” Jason advised him. “I knew you were Pierre Broutin, the current Foreign Minister of France, before you made it from the street to my counter. You’re a public figure. I’m sure Home security has better software and database access than me. But when they check you in if you tell them you are Tom Smith they will say, “Have a nice visit, Mr. Smith.”

  “I see. That’s going to take some getting used to for me. Facial recognition software is illegal for private parties in France.”

  “It is in most of the interest sections here too,” Jason said. “This is a common area though, so we just go by the station master’s rules.” He watched Pierre count the bills out and scooped them up without needing a second count.

  A young boy of ten or so stepped around Pierre and Jason handed him the money. He turned and left jogging quickly. If he started from the bank when Jason bought the ticket he must have ran.

  At Pierre’s surprised look, Jason explained. “That’s the son of the Russian banker you spoke to. He’ll run it back to his dad. I have an account with them and he’ll wire the money to a Swiss bank that can credit their account by the serial numbers. The clock is ticking on their devaluation so they’ll want it credited before the day ends. He’ll deface the notes and they go down later on the next shuttle, but tha
t’s just bookkeeping so they don’t get used again.”

  “I was simply surprised to see a child working,” Pierre said.

  Jason frowned momentarily and fumbled around below the counter.

  “Here, I wasn’t thinking. You need some pocket money until you get to Home.” He laid a couple hundred dollars Australian on the counter and four small cards.

  “Whatever for?” Pierre asked, not too eager to snatch it up.

  “It’s a long flight. You might want a coffee or a sandwich. No charge,” he added, with a dismissive gesture. “Consider it a deal sweetener.”

  “Thank you,” Pierre said. “That’s kind of you.”

  Chapter 3

  Larkin’s shuttle was surprisingly comfortable. There were only twelve seats. That seemed small to Pierre. No wonder the ticket was so dear. Airliners carried twenty times as many to spread the cost of a flight over many tickets. Even hypersonics seated three times as many.

  It looked subtly different than Earth made shuttles. The acceleration couch for example looked to Pierre very much like the sort of plastic dipped wire cloth that was used to make garden furniture. When he actually sat on it however, it was much more yielding, and felt very much like upholstered cushions would.

  The colors and textures of everything seemed off. Things were gray where he expected beige and rough where he expected a barely matte finish. Of course Larkin’s company colors and uniforms were all shades of gray.

  He was offered lunar data access for no additional charge, a few simple games, free music or a feed of the flight crew working. He picked the music and leaned back closing his eyes. The acceleration wasn’t heavy, but it lasted much longer than he expected. Pierre had no knowledge of orbital mechanics to realize fourteen hours was a very fast trip to reach Home and would have taken days with only older chemical rockets.

  It was still a long flight by Earth standards, almost as long as the cheapest subsonic flights took to go halfway around the globe. Plenty of people still picked those long slow flights over the more expensive hypersonics because they were a fifth of the cost. The faster mode of travel was still too dear for the vast majority of mankind.

  Pierre didn’t have any problems adjusting to a different time zone. He was only running an hour ahead of Zulu time at home. He closed the privacy shell around his seat once acceleration ended. Zero G didn’t make him nauseous like some people, but he still set the restraints snug so he didn’t dream of falling, and napped for a little. It wasn’t his night yet but traveling was stressful, especially when you weren’t accorded the extra attention and respect a dignitary grows used to receiving in his own land.

  After his nap Pierre used the toilet at the back of the cabin. It was more spacious than he expected. There was an automated serving station on the other side of the cabin at the rear. He might try that later. He left his privacy screen open upon returning so he could observe his fellow passengers.

  A very fit looking young man with some unusual tattoos went forward. Pierre wondered if he was going ask admittance or to try to talk to the crew, there was an intercom by the hatch, so he watched with interest.

  Instead he pulled some foot straps out of the forward bulkhead and turned down some handgrips that folded into the surface flush. Pierre hadn’t even noticed them, but it turned out it was a built in exercise machine. The handgrips were attached to cables. After a few pulls the fellow stopped and adjusted something by the grips. You could tell the next few pulls took much greater effort.

  The fellows lips were moving and Pierre couldn’t hear anything, but figured out he was counting off repetitions. After awhile he turned around with his back to the bulkhead and used them in a different configuration. That was a new thing to Pierre but ingenious he had to admit.

  Pierre got out the cards Jason gave him with his Australian dollars. He hadn’t examined the gift or asked about them for fear of appearing ignorant.

  The paper was a hard bright finish, a fold over business card but a little stiffer. The front had a sun logo and The System Trade Bank – Home. Inside the ☼ logo was repeated and it declared the card one bit. The terms for redemption were detailed to be in lots of a hundred at any branch of The System Trade Bank or the Private Bank of Home. There was no serial number or signature, but there was a holographic sticker with the sun symbol repeated and the warning: Void if removed. Pierre was tempted to waste one just to see what was under it.

  Pierre tried to contact Sylvia again via the lunar net and got the same ‘Away on vacation - no forwarding.’ message. It amazed him that Sylvia wasn’t afraid to post such a message. On Earth it would have been an invitation for criminals to burgle your home in your absence unless you had a walled estate with resident security. He had a Holiday Inn reservation, but had hoped to cancel it if Sylvia offered her hospitality again. He’d kept in touch with her and offered the hospitality of his own home in France several times, She was always polite and friendly, but never accepted. At least she had never referred to Earth as the Slumball in refusing, but he was starting to suspect that was the root problem.

  Since it looked certain he’d be at the Holiday Inn, he sent a text message to Miss Lewis informing her he was in transit and would be on Home quite early on the following day and would sleep some, on top of what he could sleep on the shuttle, before being available to visit at her convenience the next day or later. If she put him off he’d play the tourist a bit. There had to be significant changes since he’d been to Home.

  The machine at the back seemed worth investigating. Perhaps it could make a decent cup of coffee. Assuming it would take his money. He’d already seen one passenger go back and return with a drink of some sort. There was nobody using it so he went. There was a touch screen menu with a branching map that expanded where you touched. It didn’t try to lead you or suggest additions. That was a pleasant change.

  Food he ignored for now. Drinks were hot or cold. Hot was coffee, tea and chocolate. Coffee was light roast or dark with choices of cream, sugar, chocolate, vanilla or hazelnut flavorings. You could specify exactly how hot you wanted it. Surprisingly you could get a shot of whisky or brandy in it. How could they prevent the machine serving minors? Pierre wondered.

  Picking dark roast with cream switched the screen to payment. They were the same choices as the ticket kiosk, via a bill slot or a card reader. A six hundred milliliter coffee would be thirty dollars Australian or one bit. The screen noted no change would be made. Pierre had several twenty dollar bills Australian, but no tens. He wasn’t really sure of the exchange rates and didn’t want to go research it for a cup of coffee.

  Pierre was chagrined to find he was experiencing a real life example of Gresham’s law. His natural inclination was to use the Australian dollars and keep the bits redeemable in gold. He feed two twenty dollar bills into the slot and received a thank you – dispensing screen.

  The cup was different than the last time he’d been in orbit. It had a valve just inside the straw and didn’t dribble and leak at all. Everything seemed to get better by small incremental improvements. The coffee was nothing he could complain about either. For forty dollars it should be good.

  * * *

  April was glad Mssr. Broutin didn’t seem to be in a rush to get together early in the morning. She loved to have breakfast with friends, but not at what she’d heard Earthies call the ‘crack of dawn’ early. On vacation in the tropics the morning had seemed abrupt if not to the point of being audible. If she needed to set an alarm she wanted it to ease the light on, and gently ramp up some music, instead of jolt her awake.

  Neither was April certain Broutin was still as friendly as he’d been at Sylvia’s. That was a long time ago and a lot had happened and changed in her life. She assumed he’d also been busy since he was still active in the French government service. He and his attitudes might have changed. It was actually a bit unusual, she reflected, for her to be on good terms with any Earthie government official. She’d try to stay neutral and expect the best.


  After checking with Detweiler, the maitre d’ at the Fox and Hare she made a tentative reservation for 1900, and asked Pierre to confirm that was acceptable. She thought she could do him one other small kindness, and sent Eric Pennington a text on com.

  “Eric, I have an old acquaintance, Pierre Broutin, coming to visit from France. He should be checked into the Holiday Inn after the Larkin shuttle comes in. Are you available to act as a guide to show him whatever he wants and explain anything unfamiliar about Home to an Earthie? He’s been here before, but a long time ago, when M3 was under North American law and in Low Earth Orbit. We expect to have dinner together later in the evening but I have to confirm that with him. Your duty would end upon delivering him to our dinner meeting.”

  “Thank you for the opportunity,” Eric replied. “I have lessons scheduled, but can move them forward for an educational opportunity. I accept and will leave word with the front desk at the Holiday Inn that I am available to him. I have two questions, please. Does the gentleman speak English or any other language than French? If he puts questions to me that are not general, but about you specifically what is your relationship and how should I answer?”

  “The fellow is fluent in English. I have no idea if he speaks other languages.” April stopped and thought about the second question before typing. It was tempting to tell Eric that he was free to say anything he knew about her, but April remembered how much she knew of the private and unseen side of people’s lives when she was Eric’s age. He had a network of lesser minions running a courier service and food delivery for him. They might pass on things they saw too. She would certainly use them that way herself. He was smart. It might be easy and dangerous to underestimate him, and he might take such a flippant release as an insult to his abilities. Better to overestimate his perception and resources than the reverse.