“Ho, brother, we all do.”
“I own a company that imports spare parts for the auto trade, and the government is killing me for it. I’m just trying to earn a living, feed my family, but those bastards…”
“Yeah, right!”
“What I need is a fix that covers over some of my trading. If I could just shift ten or fifteen percent of my stock without them penalizing me for it I can keep afloat. What I need is some safe encryption that can resist the Revenue Department’s audit engines so I can run the money through offworld accounts.”
“Sure, I can do that. Hell, I don’t even need to bring the guys in. What accountancy software are you using?”
Hoshe held up a memory crystal disk. “System and network is all in here.”
“Excellent. A man who is prepared, I respect that.” Kareem took the memory crystal and smiled. “That’ll be a grand for a full fix, payable in advance.”
“Two hundred now.” Hoshe slapped the notes into his hand on top of the crystal. “The rest when the installed fix is running.”
“Okay, man, I’m cool with that.” The notes were shoved into the back pocket of his jeans. “Must be my lucky week. This is the second private contract I’ve had.”
“Oh, really?”
…
To the Commonwealth’s general public, it was as if their new navy appeared by magic. One day President Doi announced its formation, and within a week it had become a physical reality. Ships were already being put together over at High Angel; planetary security teams started assembling wormhole detectors on the worlds closest to the Prime threat. Things were safely under control. Even Alessandra Baron was moderately complimentary on her show, though possible tax raises received a detailed analysis.
Admiral Kime was surprised by how smoothly the transition went. Of course, it helped that the personnel and equipment from Anshun had all been transferred to High Angel while he was flying the scouting mission to the Dyson Pair. That left him free to concentrate his staff on the huge expansion of capacity and capability that turning the Agency into the navy entailed. In fact, precisely the kind of large-scale managerial role that had taken up ninety percent of his adult life.
Navy Base One was primarily a cluster of freeflying starship assembly platforms holding station thirty to forty kilometers away from the High Angel in their own little archipelago. They’d kept the basic malmetal globe design used above Anshun; although these didn’t have a wormhole connection. A fleet of new cargo shuttles swarmed between them and the vastly expanded and upgraded wormhole station linked to Kerensk, ferrying out the components that would form the next generation of starships. Passenger commuters carried the freefall workforce between the assembly platforms and High Angel, where they’d taken over a considerable portion of the freshly grown Babuyan Atoll dome. The dome’s young buildings were also where Kime had set up his office along with the major part of the navy’s administration, design teams, crew training facilities, and research bureaus. At the center of the parkland campus was a thirty-story tower that had five concave-curving sides surrounded by a DNA helix of skyway rails—dubbed Pentagon II by Alessandra Baron, a name that was catching on rapidly among the media shows and reporters.
Wilson’s office was on the top floor. He didn’t like it. While he was away on the scout mission, the designer had gone for a retro-modern image: slick flow-curving furniture of white tragwood from Niska, monochrome illumination floors and walls. It was like working in an operating theater. The one redeeming feature was the view it gave him out over the compact ecology of his new domain. Only a third of Babuyan Atoll had any urban structures, the rest was burgeoning parkland, with saplings and young bushes pushing up eagerly through the lush grass. Between the paths and lakes were flat patches resembling pearl-textured concrete, which would one day grow into buildings. He enjoyed the panorama, not least for the nightly sight of Icalanise and its fast-moving bands of tawny cloud as it drifted high above the dome’s crystal. It was surprising just how much the last few years had rekindled his old first-life wanderlust. Every time he looked out and saw the exotic gas giant he was less sure he could ever go back to his old job at Farndale.
Anna was first into the conference meeting that was scheduled to draw up the navy’s rules of engagement, but then she had the shortest distance to travel. With her promotion to lieutenant commander, and her position as his chief staff officer, she had the office next door, where she organized his days and acted as a filter against everyone who wanted his personal attention directed to their own particular project or cause. She came in with Oscar; Wilson heard them laugh together as they came through the door.
“Kantil’s commuter shuttle docked a few minutes ago,” Anna told him. “She’ll be up here soon.”
“Right.” He canceled the data filling his virtual vision. She smiled warmly at him, which he returned. Her engagement ring shone brightly as she waved her hand teasingly at him. He’d proposed as the Conway docked. She’d said yes. Oscar said about time. They still hadn’t set a date for the actual ceremony, a classic case of work pressure, although they had taken a lavish apartment together in a block near the edge of the dome.
Rafael Columbia arrived, dressed immaculately in his black uniform. He quickly asked if they’d set a date yet. “My own engagement record was fifteen years,” he said. “I’m sure you can beat that if you set your minds to it.”
Wilson gave him a martyred smile. The lack of a firm date was turning into a standing joke around Base One.
Columbia had become Vice Admiral and Wilson’s second in command when President Doi formed the navy, taking over responsibility for the planetary defense operation. He’d sited his division’s office on Kerensk, and was rapidly assimilating the various Commonwealth Directorates and agencies that now formed the basis of his expanding empire. Given the more political nature of pressuring planetary governments into installing or upgrading force fields around their major population centers, it was a task he was eminently suited to. The only real argument to date between him and Wilson had been about who had direct control over Natasha Kersley’s Seattle project.
Columbia had argued for it to be incorporated within his planetary security division, and the project sited on Kerensk. Wilson eventually overruled him, pointing out that Kersley’s systems would ultimately be carried by starships, and should therefore be part of Base One’s operations. A quick call to Sheldon had secured executive support, and confirmed the decision. Columbia hadn’t challenged him again.
Daniel Alster was shown into the office with Dimitri Leopoldovich.
Wilson was mildly surprised, he’d expected Alster to share the commuter shuttle with Patricia Kantil. Both of them were representing the oversight committee during the meeting, while Leopoldovich was an academician specializing in tactical analysis at the StPetersburg Institute for Strategic Studies. It was a field with few practitioners, used mainly as an advisory and research service by the Commonwealth when secessionist and national autonomy movements started to use physical force against their legitimate planetary governments. During his time on Farndale’s board, Wilson had often heard senior politicians and their staff disparagingly refer to tactical analysts as war games nerds with a history degree. But then astronomy was a minority profession before this, he thought in amusement.
Dimitri had undergone his third rejuvenation a few years back, leaving him with a mid-twenties body whose lank blond hair had already begun to thin out. His skin was pale verging on albino-white, which combined with a diet of fast food and total lack of exercise gave him the appearance of a podgy vampire. He nodded at Wilson and took his usual seat, which left him facing away from the broad window.
“How was Bose?” Anna asked Daniel Alster.
“Re-life always freaks me out,” Daniel confessed. “Those accelerated growth clones just don’t look human.”
“But his personality is intact?” Wilson pressed.
“Oh, yeah. The download from his secure store was completely successful. The last thing he remembers is making a short update on the Second Chance before going over to the Watchtower.”
“And Emmanuelle?”
“The same. Though she’s a lot calmer than Bose.”
“How do you mean?”
“I only met Bose once before; he seemed quite edgy then. That trait has become… amplified a little. The doctors said the information he’s received subsequent to re-life hasn’t helped.”
“You mean the warning we were given on the scout mission?”
“Yes, partly. It’s unfortunate that we don’t know exactly what did give you that warning. Re-lifers often worry that their earlier self is alive somewhere. In this case, the prospect is throwing up some unique schizophrenic problems.”
“The warning specifically said the Primes killed them.”
“I know. But Bose is obsessed by what actually transmitted that warning at you. He suspects his original self is still alive back there, in some form or other, which is reasonable enough. It hasn’t helped that his wife has told him she’s divorcing him, either. The psychologist says that he’s interpreted that as a rejection of his new self, which reinforced his focus on his old self.”
Wilson and Anna exchanged a look. “We always wind up feeling guilty about him, don’t we?” she said.
“Yeah,” he said uncomfortably. “So what else did the docs say about him?”
“The clinic will discharge him in a few months. Physically, he’ll be in top shape by then. Mentally—well they say that every re-life case takes another life to get over the trauma. Bose is no exception. Dose him up on antidepressants and let him get on with it.”
“Did he say what he wanted to do afterward?”
“No. He’s receiving a lot of offers from media companies, not just for his life story as a biogdrama, they want him as a commentator on the Prime ‘situation.’ I expect his university will welcome him back. We can drop a hint to that effect, a strong hint. He can’t do much harm back on Gralmond.”
“So he doesn’t want to join the navy, then?”
Daniel grinned. “No. You’re perfectly safe this time around.”
Oscar laughed at the relieved expression on Wilson’s face.
Patricia Kantil walked into the office. “Thank you for waiting,” she said with ever-professional courtesy.
“You’re not late,” Daniel said. “Just to finish off on Bose, there will be some kind of ceremony when he and Verbeke leave the clinic. Patricia, that came from your office?”
“It did. Given their profile, especially Bose, we thought some official welcome back to Commonwealth society would be appropriate for them. They’re the nearest things we have to heroes right now. The Vice President will be there, and it would be nice for some of their shipmates to participate as well.”
Wilson almost groaned out loud. “All right,” he said. “We’ll send someone on the day. Now, if we can get started.”