“Did they need permission?”
“Sure they did. The whole Dau’sings range is included in the Foundation charter, and nuclear power is specifically excluded from it.”
“I understand that, but the navy really needs a series of wormhole detector stations on the southern continent to give the whole network complete coverage. Surely if you oppose that then you’re taking an antihuman stance.”
“If this is being antihuman, then bring it on and give me more,” he said with bravado, which earned him an encouraging smile. “It’s not, of course; the decision to site the station in the Dau’sings was taken by a bunch of bureaucrats sticking a pin in a map. They didn’t care about the wishes and beliefs of the people who live here; they probably didn’t even bother to find out any of our customs. All we’re doing with this blockade is making them take our requirements into account. Apparently, they’re already starting negotiations about other power sources.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Well, that’s unofficial. But, yeah.”
“Won’t that cost more?”
“The navy budget is so big nobody will ever notice it. In any case, they’re supposed to be protecting our way of life. That’s worth paying a little bit extra for, isn’t it?”
“I guess it is.”
“So, er, how long have you been in town? I haven’t seen you around before.”
“I only just got here.”
“Well, if you want to stick around and try some extreme sports, I know a few places that have vacancies.”
“That’s very sweet, Mark, but I can pay my own way, thank you.”
“Right, uh, fine.” He suddenly remembered he was supposed to be collecting lunch for his family. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around then.”
Her lips pouted up. “I’ll look forward to it.”
That evening, they managed to leave Barry and Sandy sleeping over with the Baxter kids in Highmarsh so they could spend an evening in town. They started off at the Phoenix bar on Litton Street, which ran parallel to Main Mall. Like every building in Randtown it was newish, with a solar panel roof and insulated composite walls. But inside, the owners had built up stone walls to mask the carbon girder framework, and then gone on to lay heavy ash beams above to support a wooden ceiling, making the long rectangular room dark and cozy. The bar itself took up most of one wall, serving a few beers along with every type of wine produced in the valleys behind Randtown, including some from the Vernons’ own vineyard. A fireplace dominated the far end, wide enough to require two chimneys; the iron grate could hold enormous lengths of wood to burn in the winter months, giving off tremendous heat. Now, in summer, it was filled with a long ceramic trough of fresh-cut flowers. Several settees were arranged in front of it, which Liz and Mark claimed along with Yuri and Olga Conant. Normally the settees were already occupied this early in the evening, but the blockade had thinned out the bar’s usual crowd.
“It’s not just here,” Yuri said as he settled in with a glass of vin noir from Chapples, a vineyard in Highmarsh. “Most of the cafés in town are suffering, even the Bab’s Kebabs franchise takings are down.”
“They’d just started rotating the tourist groups when the blockade went up,” Liz said. “A whole load left, and the next lot haven’t arrived. The hotels are three-quarters empty.”
“And everyone left trapped in town is raising hell,” Olga said. “I can’t blame them.”
“There are worse places to be trapped,” Yuri countered.
“Simon should have worked out how to let them get through the blockade. His principles are starting to hurt people.”
“There’s a difference between hurt and inconvenience,” Mark said.
“Not really, not in this case. Most of the tourists have come to the end of their holiday; they just want to get back to their homes and jobs. How would you like it if someone stopped you earning a living?”
“It will only go on for another couple of days at the most.”
“Yeah, but it was badly thought out.”
“We didn’t have a lot of choice. You’ve got to wonder why the navy didn’t give us any advance warning about building a station here.”
“It’s a crash project,” Olga said. “They probably didn’t even know until a few days before the equipment arrived on Elan.”
“Okay, so why didn’t the Ryceel Parliament’s First Speaker say anything?”
“Because he knew what Rand’s answer would be.”
“Exactly, it was a conspiracy to dump this thing on us before we knew what was happening. They wanted a fait accompli.”
Mark’s e-butler informed him that Carys Panther was calling. He blinked in surprise, and told the program to let it through. “Are you accessing Alessandra Baron?” Carys asked.
“Nice to talk to you, too,” he replied. “It must have been six months.”
“Don’t be an asshole, access it now. I’ll call you back when it’s over.” She ended the call.
“What?” Liz asked.
“Not sure.” Mark turned around. “China,” he called to the barman. “Can you access Alessandra Baron’s show for us, please?” He normally stayed away from accessing Alessandra and her haughty show, which always criticized and never did anything constructive, he felt it was like being lectured by snobs who specialized in satire.
The ancient little man behind the bar obliged, putting the show on the big portal.
“Oh, fuck,” Mark whispered. It was his own face dominating the image, magnified one meter high. “… we’re devoted to living a simple, clean, green life,” he was saying.
“She was a reporter,” he told his wife. “I didn’t know, she never said.”
“When was this?” Liz asked.
“This afternoon. She came up to me when I was getting the lunch. I though she was from town.”
The image switched back to the studio where Alessandra Baron was sitting at the center of a big couch, her classically beautiful face holding an amused expression, the way adults responded to a precocious child. Mellanie Rescorai sat beside her, looking even more sophisticated than she had up on MtZuelea, wearing a simple clinging scarlet dress and a black jacket with a little silver M on the lapel. Her hair had been elaborately tousled.
Liz gave Mark a long sideways look. Her eyebrow rose several millimeters. “That was the reporter?”
“Uh-huh.” Mark waved her quiet.
Yuri and Olga swapped a knowing look.
“So what did he say next?” Alessandra asked.
“By this time I think he wanted to say: can we go to a motel for the rest of the day?” Mellanie laughed. “But I managed to keep his hot little hands off me for a while by telling him the navy had no intention of wrecking his simpleton lifestyle. Can you guess what he said to that?”
“He was grateful?” Alessandra suggested archly.
“Oh, yes. Take a look.” The image shifted back to Mark at the blockade.
Sitting on the settee in front of the fireplace, a glass of wine in hand, and hindsight showing him what to watch for, it was all rather easy to realize that the smile he put on that afternoon for the girl was somewhat forced. Anxious, even. The one a man used when trying to impress. Eager to impress, possibly.