Third Moon Chemicals Page 5

  “Fly a glider.”

  “A what?”

  “A glider—an aircraft without an engine.”

  “I know what a glider is, child. I can fly one, and better than you. Not a cutter, or a ship?”

  “Nope. I didn’t know you could fly a glider.”

  “There are lots of things you don’t know about me.” The voice on the other end was silent for a long time. “You can fly a glider, I know that,” he said.

  “Yes, apparently they do too.”

  “But how would they know that you could? Aha. You learned in Militia cadets, at that boarding school.”

  “Yes. When I was fourteen. So?”

  “You never said why you joined.”

  “It seemed like a useful skill to have, and I wanted it to round out my resume for future corporate jobs.”

  “Try again.”

  “There was a cute boy. He had a girlfriend, she was older, and had money. Good clothes. It sounded kind of fun and gave me an excuse to spend time alone with him. After a while, he forgot about her and her clothes. I had fun, and I discovered I liked flying.”

  “That’s how they found you. They decided they needed a glider pilot, and that’s the only place in the system that does gliding. They just went through the school records until they found somebody who had kept it up. They don’t know you work for me and the others. They don’t know any of that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They don’t know who you work for. To them you are just a slightly shady commercial pilot who also has a glider license.”

  “But what about my history with the Militia?”

  ‘You never talk about that, do you?”

  “I don’t.”

  “I wouldn’t talk about it to them. They probably don’t make the connection between somebody’s daughter and a slightly sketchy courier pilot called— What name are you using now?”

  “Nadine.”

  “Right, slightly sketchy courier pilot, Nadine. So you are probably safe. I’ll bet the initial question came from one of your smuggling contacts. Somebody who knows that you will take a package or two on your regular route and not declare it in customs.”

  “That’s true. It definitely wasn’t one of your people.”

  “So that’s all they know. That’s what they think they are hiring. It’s best to keep it that way as well. If there is something slightly off for them, and they find out who you really are, then you might be out the lock without a suit.”

  “I’m not worried about that. So this wasn’t your plan?”

  “Not till now. Now I’m interested. What do you need a glider for?”

  “No idea.”

  “I know how to find out.”

  “How?”

  “Go out there with them and fly one.”

  Chapter 7

  “Welcome to Land and Ocean Enterprises. I’m Salvatore Mascellon. Call me Sal.” The man was dressed in standard corporate coveralls with his corporate flash above his breast pocket, rather than on his collar.

  “Dashi. This is my assistant, Jose. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Sal,” Dashi said.

  “Just Sal, please.”

  “Of course, Mr. Sal.”

  Sal frowned at the correction but decided to ignore it. “No assistant for me. We’re a small operation. Shall we go? I’ve arranged a small tour, and then we can go into my office over here?”

  “I understood that we were going to be met by a GG official,” Dashi said.

  Sal shrugged. “I was told Don Ortega was not available. I’ll take care of you.”

  “He was the primary shareholder. I would have expected him to be here to do the handover.”

  Sal stopped and looked at Dashi for a moment. “Don Ortega may have been the primary shareholder, but he never visited here. Nor did any of his family.”

  “Never?”

  “Not even once.”

  “Are there any GG staff left at all?”

  “Not now. They all left two weeks ago, except two who work with the glass printer.”

  “Two weeks ago. Right after the fire, then,” Dashi said.

  “How did you know about the fire?” Sal asked.

  Dashi just smiled. “Who is doing their work?”

  “Well, honestly, it’s always been Land and Ocean staff who did the real work. The GG staff was mostly for administration.”

  “Of course,” Dashi said. He smiled again. “I’m sure you’ll miss their valuable contributions in planning and organizational tasks.”

  Sal didn’t say anything, then nodded. “They were useless. Fourth sons of third-level stockholder families. They spent as little time here as possible, drank their paychecks when they were here, and got transferred as soon as they could.” Sal shook his head. “Perhaps we can skip the tour and just go to my office.”

  “If you don’t mind waiting a moment, I’d like to watch the unloading. I spend most of my time in orbit, and I rarely get to see ground activities in operation,” Dashi said. Without waiting for an answer, he turned and watched the monorail. Passengers had already disembarked from the passenger section, and new passengers had rushed on. The doors locked and the train slid forward to the first flatcar. Magnetized bolts unlocked, and robotic rams pushed the shipping containers off the train onto a loading dock. Built-in rollers facilitated the movement. New containers slid in, replacing the loaded ones, and were pushed onto the train. The process was very efficient, taking less than a minute to empty a flatcar’s worth of four containers. Only six containers came on and off, after which the train halted momentarily, then it began to reverse, gathering speed slowly. It was moving fast enough to generate a wind as it left the station.

  “Marvelously well organized,” said Dashi. “Let’s take your tour now.”

  The small group began to cross the platform toward a road. On one side was a long row of containerized buildings, while on the other was the factory and its automated machinery, followed by a standard medical prefab, three school prefabs, and storage containers. A second road ran off at right angles to the first, heading up-valley. Jose looked around—all he saw were containers.

  “Are there no buildings here, sir?” he asked.

  Sal looked at Jose, frowned and looked back at Dashi, who had a bland countenance. “No, only the colony prefabs. Even the workers’ quarters are rows of Class D housing. Uh, we have a Class A for you, of course, Mr. Dashi. And your assistant has a room in a Class B. We don’t have that many luxury accommodations here—not like in Landing.”

  “What’s the population here, sir?” Jose asked.

  “We have just under five hundred in the town. There is an out-station up-valley for the hydro plant, and there is the silicon mine up-valley as well, but it’s mostly automated.”

  Jose began to count the containers. A Class D container had a single restroom and bunks for forty people. A Class C had five rooms with four bunks each, and a restroom. Class B had two restrooms, and four rooms with double beds. A Class A took up an entire container—had a sitting room, dining/workroom, bedroom, and a private bathroom.

  Sal saw Jose darting his eyes around the town and guessed his thoughts. “If you think we have too much housing, you’re right. The plant never expanded like it was supposed to, and we’ve been losing population over the last five years. A lot of the younger people have moved to Landing. We have lots of extra container housing. Especially Class D. We could probably house four or five times the number of people here.”

  “Why no expansion, then, sir?” Jose asked.

  “Transport costs. We’re too far from Landing. Slots on the monorail cost money.”

  Ahead of them, on the right side of the road, a group of young men and women hung around under a grove of birch trees. Several of them carried sticks or batons of some sort. They began to saunter toward them. Jose saw them approaching and swung his head to the left. Another group with the armbands of Council Police were nearby and saw the youths, but they turned their backs, ignoring the budding confrontation. The group of youngsters spread across the road and blocked access to the plant. Sal, Dashi, and Jose stopped in front of the group.

  “Wassup, Sal?” asked the short, shaven-headed youth who stood in front.

  “Just showing these folks around, Evan. Tour of the factory, then to my office.”

  Evan and his friends didn’t move. “We hear they are going to close the plant, Sal,” he said.

  “Evan, they are not GG. We’re exploring our options,” Sal said.

  “Any word on the back pay?” Evan said.

  “Not just yet.”

  “It’s been two months, Sal. We’ve been patient like you asked. But we can’t wait forever. A lot of us owe money.”

  “I’m doing what I can, you know that. It’s not in my hands.”

  “But when are we going to hear something?”

  “I need to talk to these gentlemen. I’ll know more when we’re done.”

  Nobody said anything for a moment. They didn’t get out of the way either.

  Sal walked up to Evan and leaned into his personal space. “This is not helping. I need to talk to these two. If you need work, your cousin’s friend is always hiring.”

  Evan backed up a step, but Sal didn’t take his eyes off him. “Okay,” Evan said finally. He stepped to the side and made a sweeping gesture. “These guys can’t be worse than Ortega, right? Enjoy your visit. We’ll be here when you are done, Sal.”

  “Thanks, Evan,” Sal said. They began walking into the factory.

  “What was that all about?” Jose asked.

  “Just boys and girls being boys and girls,” Sal said.

  “Do you have any Militia here, sir?” Jose asked.

  “Nope. Just corporate security.” Sal coughed. “Sometimes. Mostly, t
he council does its own policing.”

  “We heard that there was a bit of a scuffle here a few weeks ago,” Jose said.

  “Not really,” Sal said. “A group of kids were drinking and got out of control. But no harm done.” He looked at Dashi. “Like I said, just boys and girls being boys and girls.”

  “An insignificant event then,” Dashi said. “Our information must be exaggerated. We heard that a warehouse was looted, and some fires started. And several youths left town for Landing in a hurry, before GG corporate security arrived. We’ll mark that as incorrect in our files.”

  Sal stopped and stared at Dashi. “That wasn’t on the news,” Sal said. “Where did you hear that?”

  “We’re the research department for TGI. We research a lot of things. By the way, where is the new store going to go?”

  Dashi turned away and continued walking. Sal stared after him.

  They arrived at an office with corporate flashes that matched Sal’s breast flashes. Sal led the way into a conference room and closed the door behind them. He poured glasses of water for Dashi and Jose and then they all sat down.

  “Right. Who are you guys really?” Sal asked.

  “We work for the TGI research department,” Dashi said. “We’re researching a potential purchase of some of your assets here.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Sal said. He gestured at the glass of water. Dashi shook his head. Sal continued. “First, there was never any talk of a sale here until the fire. And until you called yesterday to say you were coming, I’d never heard of you. I tried to do some of my own research, but you guys are a mystery. TGI is orbital. This ‘purchase’ would be your first primary resource industry investment. Everything else is insurance, finance, and shipping. Nobody has heard of a Mr. Dashi. The ground-side sales vice president is Simon Kim. He’s got a good reputation, but you are a mystery. So, what gives? Are you shutting us down? Closing the plant?”

  “We’re exploring our options,” Dashi said.

  Sal sat back and crossed his arms. He looked from Dashi to Jose and back. He shook his head.

  “All right, I’ll put my cards on the table. You saw what happened outside. Lots of kids with no work. We’re in a pickle here. The food plant is really the only game in town—other than the fishing, and that’s not much. We’ve been making a little money, then losing a little money for years. Galactic Growing, meaning Don Ortega, put up with that, but they never made any investments in the place. We’ve been scavenging parts to keep all four processing lines going, but we couldn’t make it work last quarter. And we lost one in the fire. We’ve only got two left in operation, and no chance of getting number three or four sorted out without spending more money. Money that our local corporation doesn’t have.”

  Sal paused and poured a glass of water for himself, taking a drink. “Then the tariffs went up on the monorail. Even with four lines running, we wouldn’t make money. And they changed from paying in cash to paying in kind. And like you figured, the costs at the store went up. People were having problems making ends meet.”

  He took another drink of water. “We had to idle one of the lines, so we had to cut the workforce. We did it by seniority, and now, a lot of the kids have nothing to do. The fire was the last straw. One night they were drinking, got into it at the store. The store was GG-owned but locally staffed. Harsh words, some shoving, a few punches. Things got out of control, then there was a fire.

  “I haven’t told anybody, but I know GG is not rebuilding. No new store. Which means we’ll have to send to Point 33 for goods, or all the way from Landing, and pay the new tariffs. Either way, we’re screwed. We can’t afford that. We’ll all end up in debt to them, with nowhere to go. I figured they would do something, but I didn’t think they would offer to sell the whole operation that quick.”

  Sal tried to take another drink but realized the glass was empty. His hand shook, just a bit, as he put it down.

  “So, I figure you’re here to shut us down. Buy up the assets from GG, sell what you can, scrap the rest.”

  Sal looked at the water glass for a moment and banged it sideways off the table. It shattered against the wall. Jose jumped, but Dashi didn’t move.

  Sal continued. “I want you to know, though, you corporate guys, you won’t just be shutting down a plant—you’ll be killing a community.” Sal leaned over the table. “There are almost five hundred people left in this town. If the tray plant closes, the farms will close. If the farms close, there will be nothing here except that silicon mine. There will be work for twenty people, tops. Everybody here will have to leave, or starve. And if they leave, they’ll come looking for the likes of you. And I want you head office bastards to know that. You are ruining the lives of everybody here. Hardworking people who’ve worked for the company for years—low pay, bad conditions, no extras. No scholarships to the university, no funded trips, not even monorail credits. Nothing but work and time off in the bush. Nothing at all from you bastards.”

  Sal looked at the two of them. His mouth was a thin line.

  Dashi smiled broadly. Jose swallowed. That was his going-to-war smile. “Thank you for that information, sir,” Dashi said. He paused and took a drink from his glass of water. “Jose, bring up the numbers, please.”

  Jose pulled out his tablet and typed. Figures appeared on the tablet. Dashi glanced at them, then focused on Sal. “Productivity here is some of the lowest in the GG group,” Dashi said. “This settlement is too far south. The growing season is too short, and these farms have the worst soil on Delta. GG attempted to automate the plant several years ago, but abandoned the attempt after they realized the cost. And there were some labor disruptions as well—”

  “They would have thrown half the workforce out of work,” Sal said.

  Dashi ignored the interruption and continued with his account. “There was widespread sabotage and destruction of GG property. Acts of vandalism. GG, meaning Don Ortega, still had contracts to deliver to suppliers, so they were forced to run overtime, and the locals benefited substantially with additional overtime payments. Headquarters’ assigned management and staff were threatened.”

  “They were idiots. Just collecting a paycheck,” Sal said.

  “Oh, I agree,” Dashi said. “But there are two sides to every story. You cost Don Ortega a lot of money and prestige. So he decided to bleed you white. But he was so slow and so patient about it, you never realized it till now.”

  “That’s your viewpoint,” Sal said. “Or that’s what corporate reported. We’re all alone out here, and we have to look out for each other. Sometimes things aren’t as simple as they appear from a distance.” Sal stared into space. “Some people get out of control, sometimes. But they are still our people.”

  Dashi paused, leaned back in his chair, and steepled his hands in front of him. “You, personally, along with most of the management that remains here, are local. You were born here, correct? And your family is still here, yes?”

  Sal nodded.

  “Your second cousin is the chief of security.”

  “Yes.”

  “He sold those rioters to an off-planet firm as indentured workers. And that’s not the first time he’s done it.”

  Sal looked surprised. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Yes, you do. You got the rioters out of here before GG security arrived. Sold them out as indentured workers.”

  “They can earn out their contract, as long as they pay off the transportation costs.”

  “The rates they have to pay are at an unparalleled level of usury.”

  Sal’s forehead crinkled. He looked from Jose to Dashi.

  Jose quickly registered that he didn’t know the word. “Usury means ‘expensive, pricey,’” he supplied.

  The crease on Sal’s face cleared, and he nodded. “Again, says you,” Sal said. “Maybe some stock does disappear, and maybe there is some pilferage. But you’ve seen the town—do you see me in a mansion with ten greenhouses full of grapes? You don’t. But if you want to come by the school, it’s fully equipped—screens for every class, computers. Everything they need. GG didn’t pay for that. I’m okay with a little graft.”

  “Are you okay with indentured servitude?”

  “You know, I’ve heard on some of the outer stations that, if they catch somebody stealing from his friends, or causing problems, they don’t put him in jail. They just put him out an airlock,” Sal said.