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CHAPTER 17

“If anybody says I would make a great wife,” Jason said, pulling off a piece of succulent wild pig rib meat, “I will, in fact, send them back to the station.”

“This is good, hoowah,” Ritchie said. “Needs some sauce. Wonder where you get molasses on this planet?”

“Wild sorghum,” Surber said. “Sugar, wild canes. Spices . . . most of them are going to have to be grown.”

“Or we’ll get used to the new species,” Jason said.

“Seems like the minor plants are often different,” Dovey said. “The trees are much the same as India and China.”

“Birds,” Duncan said. “There are five thousand bird species catalogued in this biome and none were previously known.”

“Mammals seem to be mostly the same,” Surber said, eating some shrimp. “Bigger. But even the buck I got registers genetically as a sambar. But sambar didn’t get anywhere near that big on Earth.”

“Mammals don’t speciate very often,” Jason said, shrugging. “Birds, lizards, insects, all tend to rapidly speciate. Crocodilians being a counterexample: They’ve stayed pretty much the same for a hundred million years.”

“Fruit,” O’Callaghan said.

“Many of the fruits are the same,” Surber said.

“I was thinking about a sauce for the barbeque,” O’Callaghan answered. “Find some fruits and mash them up with some spices. Fruit for the sweet. Gotta be coconuts around here. Coconut makes a decent base for a sauce.”

“That might work,” Storm said, nodding. “I was still wondering where you get wild sorghum. Wild sugar cane is probably in this biome. Sugar cane was originally from India or so they think.”

“Follow the elephants,” Dovey said, chewing thoughtfully. “This isn’t smoked, exactly . . . ”

“It’s what I meant by barbeque barbeque,” O’Callaghan said. “Actual barbeque is a Native American invention. Christopher Columbus found it among the Caribs when he arrived. It’s intermediate between grilling and smoking. You can barbeque anything.”

“What?” O’Callaghan asked, looking around. Everybody was looking at him. “I owned part of a barbeque place in Key West.”

“It’s just you hadn’t said anything for two days,” Storm pointed out.

“I generally don’t,” O’Callaghan said. “But barbeque is important.”

* * *

“It’s late, buddy,” Tim said. The call was voice only.

The sun had set and the group was settling down for sleep. Which gave Jason some free time.

“It’s just after dusk here,” Jason said. “O’Callaghan. For the field partner.”

“He’ll probably want to start his own business,” Tim said.

“He can probably do both,” Jason said. “The guy’s a workaholic. But the job would have him shuttling up and down all over the planet. He’d enjoy that and he can start and run businesses mostly remote. As a partner, as long as he’s getting the business done, he can choose his times. That’s the offer.”

“Investment?” Tim asked.

“Vesting and stuff,” Jason said. “I’ll let you handle that side. But I think he’s the best choice.”

“Tell him five percent vested over five years,” Tim said. “I’ll allow him to check our profitability. We’re not paying dividends presently and probably won’t for a while to build capital internally. But I’ll negotiate a salary and bonus structure with him. And, yeah, he’d probably be good. If he’ll take it.”

“Roger,” Jason said. “Want to talk to a couple of the others about not just field work.”

“I’m fine with you using your judgment there,” Tim said. “Anything else? Bird’s arriving midafternoon tomorrow. Pick somebody to stay there. Two new guys coming down to train.”

“See you tomorrow,” Jason said.

* * *

The flexscreen above the door was imitating an ornate signboard. Squiggly symbols Sam didn’t recognize formed a border around the rectangular image, interspersed with magician-looking images. There was a hand, palm forward and fingers together, with an open eye in the center of the palm. There were suns, moons, and stars. Sam saw an hourglass, a question mark, and Egyptian hieroglyphs.

The word in the center of the sign read PSYCHIC.

The door was filled with a string of glittering blue glass beads. The beads were striking, because they didn’t look like flexmet. That suggested that the psychic had had a whole ton of beads in personal storage, and had pulled them out to make this door. That seemed . . . extravagant.

Sam hadn’t been going anywhere, just walking around the station. He’d been doing it for days, while his dad collected planting beds and loaded them with carrots and cabbage. Sam didn’t have a job, there were no jobs on the horizon, and he didn’t like the idea that, sooner or later, he’d be forced to go down to the surface of an untamed planet. He didn’t like the idea that, in the meantime, there was nothing for him to do.

He was a little disappointed that Pastor Mickey wouldn’t take the bait and declare that Pegasus was the resurrection and the life, because then Sam would hit him back with the obvious, and obviously true, alternative: that Pegasus was hell.

The truth was, Sam didn’t believe in heaven or hell. He didn’t think he’d ever really believed in either, back on Earth, but he certainly didn’t believe in them now.

Sam didn’t believe in psychics, either.

He pushed his way through the bead curtain. The room behind was dark.

“Hello,” a smoky woman’s voice said. “I’ll alert Madame de La Rose that you’re waiting.”

Sam blinked and looked around the small room. He saw three chairs against one wall and a side table with a flexmet flower, a rose, in a flexmet vase beside a door. “Am I talking to an AI?”

“I am. Your AI . . . Thog . . . could have made an appointment, if you wished.”

“I wasn’t informed,” Thog said.

Sam ignored his grumpy AI. “But Madame de La Rose is here?”

“Just one moment.”

Sam stood waiting, but after only a minute, the door to the interior dilated open.

“Come in!” a voice called from inside.

Sam entered. The room’s lights were draped with blue silk, so the interior had the color of a low-rent dance club. Madame de La Rose sat at a circular table with one empty chair facing her. She wore a yellow turban and an orange shawl, and the smile cracking right and left beneath her carrot-like nose was crooked and smudged at the corners. She blinked heavy eyelashes at Sam and gestured at the chair.

“You’ve come about love,” the psychic said. “You have women problems.”

“That’s crap,” Sam said. “You’re telling me that because I’m a young man. It’s a high-percentage guess.”

“I’m not charging you for anything yet,” she said. “Sit down, put your hand on the table.”

Sam hesitated, but then obeyed.

“Palm down.”

Sam flipped his hand palm down.

Madame de La Rose placed her hand over the top of Sam’s. Her hand was damp, as if with sweat, and with her other hand she covered her eyes. “Okay, okay,” she said.

“Are you getting—?”

“Shh. Okay, okay. You miss your girl.”

“Lucky guess.”

“Could have been a missing boyfriend,” the psychic said.

“That’s it.” Sam tried to pull his hand away, but it was pinned.

“Her name is Julie.”

Sam stopped. He smelled cinnamon, and felt his heartbeat in his ears. “Julie what?”

“Julie . . . Starts with an L . . . Larsen. Julie Larsen.”

Sam said nothing.

“I won’t ask you to tell me I’m right, I know I’m right.”

“Where is she?” Sam’s voice was a dry croak. “What happened to her?”

“One credit for five minutes,” the psychic told him.

“Thog.” Sam’s tongue was a sandpaper log in his mouth. “Pay her.”

“Of all things,” Thog said. “You know her AI is probably just reading your sister’s posts in the social channels.”

“Pay her,” Sam said. “Tell me where she is.”

“Paid.” Thog sounded sulky.

“Let me see what I can see. Hmm. I see a good-looking girl. Ooh, she’s kissing you.”

“Where is she now?” Sam asked.

“Hold on,” the psychic said. “Great distances are involved. Space and time both are mists that obscure true vision.”

Sam ground his teeth.

“I see metal walls,” Madame de La Rose said. “Metal walls that change shape and form themselves into tools.”

“She’s in a space station,” Sam said. “But she isn’t here.”

“Hmm,” the psychic said. “Okay, okay. I see . . . oh, Julie’s watching TV on the flexscreen wall. She’s watching a speech. Oh, look, it’s President Hillary Clinton.”

“She’s in the liberal system,” Sam said. “So I guess that exists, after all.”

“She looks happy,” Madame de La Rose said. “She’s clapping, she’s excited.”

“Will we get together?” Sam asked. “Will I find her?”

The psychic removed her hand from her face. “Look, kid—”

“Five minutes aren’t up.”

Madame de La Rose nodded slowly, then covered her eyes again. “The future is difficult. The mists of time. Okay, okay. I can see Julie’s future. She’s married, she has two . . . no, four kids. Oh, she looks so happy.”

“Will that be me?” Sam asked. “Am I the husband?”

The psychic put both her hands into her lap. “I just can’t see, kid. Sometimes my vision isn’t perfect.”

* * *

“Okay, bird’s scheduled to arrive at fourteen thirty, so no hunting today,” Jason said over breakfast. “Duncan, you okay with staying behind to train two new guys?”

“Yes,” Duncan said. “Though I’ll have to just mime how to set up the shrimp trap.”

“By the time they get their own lease, we’ll be past shrimp,” Jason said. “Train them in general on how to work with the tech. Have them taste test, including getting some of the edibles and inedibles for them to try. That’s the general plan. When we get up to the station, take a day to get your gear washed and your trophies stored then plan on dropping to a new spot with a couple of newbies.”

“As planned,” Surber said.

“When do I get a shower?” Duncan said, smiling. “Just asking.”

“When you’ve got them trained, one stays here and you head to the station,” Jason said. “Any major questions? No? O’Callaghan, moment of your time?”

* * *

“I haven’t screwed up as far as I’m aware,” O’Callaghan said when they’d gotten away from the group.

“Quite the opposite,” Jason said. “I figure with your background you looked at this as a quick gig. Get on the planet. Get some credit. Use it to start rebuilding a business empire.”

“Minor empire,” O’Callaghan said. “But I’m contracted for a year and I’ll fulfill the contract.”

“I’ve convinced Tim we need another partner,” Jason said. “I’m the innovation partner. I figure out how to use the tech to make money.”

“And you’re good at that,” O’Callaghan said. “Not blowing smoke. You’re very inventive.”

“So is Duncan,” Jason said. “One of the reasons I’m leaving him. I’m going to be talking to him as well, but not offering a partnership.

“Tim runs the business. He enjoys doing that, same way you do. But we need a field operations partner. Basically, the job would be running the ground teams. Tim spends most of his time in the station. He’s an outdoors guy but he mostly likes running the business with outdoors as a hobby. You’d be shuttling to the various locations, picking and recruiting the ground teams and monetizing the harvests.”

“What do I get out of that?” O’Callaghan asked.

“Besides spending a lot of time on planet?” Jason asked. “Five percent of the company, which is growing fast, vested over five years. Tim will talk to you about salary and bonuses. I don’t do money. As long as you’re handling your side of it, you can choose your time and methods. So, opening some businesses of your own would be fine. I’ve got two investments I’m working on right now. You didn’t spend all your time sitting in the bar, right?”

“No,” O’Callaghan said, clicking his teeth. “So, what’s your role?”

“You’d be making the company’s money,” Jason said, then grinned. “My job would be spending it finding new resources, new opportunities. Innovating. Some ideas might not work. Wouldn’t be profitable. But you can’t know till you try. Figuring out how to milk an aurochs, for example. Eventually.”

“Milk . . . an aurochs,” O’Callaghan said, blinking rapidly. “While the station needs milk . . . ”

“There are six billion embryos of commercially important animals in storage,” Jason said. “But, taking cattle as an example, there are only six cows. You can probably implant a cow embryo in an aurochs. You’d want to stun it, first, but you can do it. But the calves would be too small to reach the udders to milk . . . ”

“You need the milk for the calves that you’ve implanted in the aurochs,” O’Callaghan said, shaking his head. “Shit, boy. You really are insane, aren’t you?”

“I’m not planning on milking them by hand for God’s sake!” Jason said, laughing. “Have you seen the videos? They’re the size of an elephant! But humans figured out how to milk elephants before industrialization. It can be done. It’s a long-term plan. We’re planning on dropping teams all over the world. Every productive biome. Finding the new. That’s my side. Your side is figuring out how to maximize the production from each camp. If you’ll take it.”

“I want to talk to Tim about details,” O’Callaghan said.

“He’s waiting on your call,” Jason said.

* * *

“Duncan,” Jason said, gesturing with his chin.

“O’Callaghan hasn’t screwed anything up,” Duncan said when they were alone. “Neither have I that I know of.”

“Up to O’Callaghan to say,” Jason said. “I was recruiting for something, basically. I’m sort of doing the same thing here. Of the team, you’re the one that’s been the most innovative. It’s one of the reasons I’m leaving you on the ground. You’re going to have to break in the new guys. Don’t even know who they are. But there’s free time, obviously. Keep an eye on them through the drones. Don’t let them get themselves killed. But you’ve got free time. Innovate. Figure new things out. You asked about a shower. Figure it out. Make a shower.”

“Got a few ideas about that,” Duncan admitted.

“Push the boundaries,” Jason said. “I mean of the tech. Don’t get yourself killed, either. And watch the freaking water. Don’t absolutely trust the defense net. Innovating in the company is my job but I can’t think of everything. Keep an eye out for the people who do think of things as well. The inventive ones. The company is planning on growing. So far so good. I’m going to need people to whom I can say ‘Go here and figure it out.’ If you’re one of those people, you’ll get paid more than just a harvest officer.”

“Sounds good,” Duncan said, nodding.

“Nondisclosure,” Jason said. “Part of the brief is anything new we use to monetize you get a cut. The shower thing probably isn’t monetizable but there will be things.”

“I know some guys,” Duncan said, tilting his head. “They’re not necessarily Great White Hunter types, but they’re good at that. Innovation.”

“They’ve got to be able to survive,” Jason said.

“Oh, they’re outdoorsmen,” Duncan said. “Just not . . . Surber or Dovey. But they’re good. One of the guys that comes to mind is a former Navy nuke . . . ”

“He’s in,” Jason said. “If he’s one of their guys that can always figure it out.”

“He’s that guy,” Duncan said. “Guided him on hunts a few times. He’s innovative as hell. Another was a mechanic I knew in the day . . . ”

“Jewel, note this,” Jason said. “We’ll wait to see what O’Callaghan says. They’re going to be making their nut at the same time. Same as you being here. But we also need more people figuring things out.”

“I will go get started on designing a shower,” Duncan said. “Since the shrimp land themselves.”

* * *

“Quiet conversations off to the side,” Storm said, cocking an eyebrow. “O’Callaghan, Duncan, now me?”

“You’re the only person in the team who has anything resembling a ‘name’ pre-Transfer,” Jason said. “I’d like to talk to you about being a spokesperson besides doing groundwork.”

“I’d consider that,” Storm said.

“And what’s in it for you?” Jason said. “I hadn’t even talked to Tim about it and he handles money. But most of it would be done from the ground, anyway. And right now, we don’t need much in the way of marketing.”

He’d checked their inventory before he talked to her. The warehouse was empty and they had backorders.

“But we will,” Jason said. “There will be other spokespeople. But I’d like you to consider something along the lines.”

“I may have been a cook in the Army,” Storm said, grinning. “Technically. But my bachelor’s is in marketing.”

“I want Brandywine to be a brand,” Jason said, looking down the river. ’Nother croc. “One of the big new brands of this big new world. No reason we shouldn’t be the first grocery chain. Restaurants. Brandywine: We do food. People need food. No reason we shouldn’t supply it. We’re starting small. There’s nowhere to go but up.”

He turned and looked at her and shrugged.

“You in?”

* * *

“I still haven’t said yes,” O’Callaghan said.

They were meeting for dinner in a conference room at the Brandywine offices. A table and chairs had been procured from somewhere. It looked more like a large dining room table than a conference table.

Debra had obviously had some input on decorations. The screen walls were filled with images of the planet, mostly flowering trees and bushes.

“But I do think it’s a good idea,” he continued. “I see where the salary has to be low at first. People don’t really get this business environment . . . ”

“How?” Tim asked.

“The Third Worlders do,” O’Callaghan corrected. “They’re just digging in and starting companies getting small investments from family, mostly. But Americans are used to starting businesses, large or small, by finding some deep-pocket investors. That’s literally business 101 in the US.”

“And there are no deep pockets,” Jason said, frowning.

“This company is about as deep as it gets,” O’Callaghan said. “You’re probably something like Fortune 500 in case you didn’t realize it.”

“We are?” Jason said. “We’ve only got two sites!”

“It’s only been a few weeks,” Tim said. “None of the large-scale stuff is really up and going. Once the fuel mines, the factories, get up and going, we’ll be small scale.”

“Maybe,” O’Callaghan said. “Food is big business, and we’ll get there. But that’s for later. I understand the salary is small, now. Bonuses primarily.”

“How it has to be,” Tim said. “We need to conserve capital. There are, as you said, no deep-pocket investors.”

“It’s a start-up,” O’Callaghan said. “Like an internet start-up in the nineties. More or less literally a couple of guys in a cheap warehouse. Difference is, if you start to make it, you can’t go to venture capital. Most capital is pointing at the big stuff for now. I know mine is.”

“What are you pointing at?” Jason asked.

“Trying to get one of the fuel mines up and going,” O’Callaghan said after a moment’s thought then sighed. “The freaking unit thing! I can’t even keep up with my units!”

“I concentrated mine in three areas,” Jason said. “Four, now. Twelve Bravo, Carbon Converter Charlie and Spaceship Four.” He saw the look and shrugged. “I beg to disagree on the issue of hangar queen. Also, now a drone factory.”

“Which one?” O’Callaghan asked.

“Don’t even know,” Jason said, grinning ruefully. “Jewel?”

“General Production Station Alpha,” Jewel said. “There’s no designated drone factory.”

“How’s it going?” Jason asked.

“Slowly,” Jewel said. “Most haven’t authorized trades and have their AIs shut off for requests. The ones who are paying attention are holding or acquired.”

“I hadn’t even looked at drones till we were on the planet,” O’Callaghan admitted. “We’re going to need lots of drones.”

“There are a hundred million in government storage,” Tim said.

“Less now,” Jason said. “Every colony pack includes twenty and everyone who’s going to the planet is taking them and then getting more.”

“I’ve done the math,” O’Callaghan said, nodding. “We’re going to need more drones. Not right away but soon enough.”

“Which is what I said after one drop,” Jason said.

“The drones, the tractors,” O’Callaghan said. “Mary, where are tractors made?”

“General production factories,” his AI responded.

“I have got to get in on one of those,” O’Callaghan said. “You’re in on Alpha?”

“To the extent I have been able to get in on Alpha,” Jason said.

“Mary,” O’Callaghan said. “Try to concentrate on Bravo.”

“Will do,” his AI replied. “But nobody’s really trading factory units. People get those are valuable.”

“I guess I should get in on Charlie then,” Tim said, grinning. “Maddie, make it so.”

“On it,” his AI replied.

“Sorry to take the time with this,” O’Callaghan said to Tim.

“It’s part and parcel of the company in a way,” Tim said. “If we’re going to need more drones and tractors . . . ”

“We will,” Jason said, an idea forming. “If we get all the colony sets down . . . that’s the entire drone store. Hang on a sec: Jewel, Spaceship Four. Later.”

“Four?” O’Callaghan said.

“He does this,” Tim said, interested. “You get used to it.”

“What were we talking about?” Jason asked.

“Drones,” Tim said.

“That’s the whole drone store,” Jason continued. “And two thirds of the small and medium tractor store. For some stuff we’re going to need large tractors.”

“What?” Tim asked.

“Bluefin?” Jason said.

“You were talking about bluefin,” O’Callaghan said. “Time was, those came right in shore. Can probably figure out a way to hook them and bring them in that way.”

“Possibly,” Jason said. “But there’s also ways to make boats from flex and drive them with a tractor. Hook and run with them and drag them aboard. That will take a large tractor, probably . . . ”

* * *

“You said remind you of Spaceship Four,” Jewel said when he got back to his compartment.

They’d discussed more or less cabbages and kings when it came to the business and the economy. Jason had talked about how some of the leases would be less productive when they took them over but would be more so during other times of the year. Just as paleolithic tribes had moved from resource to resource, resources would come and go. Fruits might be in blossom when they first took a lease but would mature later. Game was best taken in fall in the temperate latitudes.

O’Callaghan had taken the position of Field Partner and they’d hashed out other details.

The dinner had run late and he was tired but the reminder nagged him.

He flopped down on the flex couch in the midst of an apparent tropical paradise and put his hand on his head. There’d even been some alcohol.

“Yeah, need more than that?” Jason said.

“You were talking about the need for drones,” Jewel said.

“Replay the conversation,” Jason said.

“It’s part and parcel of the company in a way. If we’re going to need more drones and tractors . . . ”

“We will. If we get all the colony sets down . . . that’s the entire drone store. Hang on a sec: Jewel, Spacehip Four. Later.”

“If we get all the colony sets down,” Jason muttered. “Drones. Spaceship Four . . . Why am I thinking of Storm?”

“She’s a pretty girl and you don’t have a girlfriend?” Jewel said. “Men of your biological age are often distracted by the thought of sex.”

“That did NOT help,” Jason said. “Spaceship Four. Drones. Colony sets . . . ”

He suddenly had an image, clear as day, of Storm standing on the raft of conexes and the idea started to crystallize. You can drop anything. Once.

“The colony sets are all transported in stasis, right?” Jason said slowly.

“Yes.”

Everything’s packed in conexes. Except . . . 

“What about the trailer?” Jason asked. “To be clear . . . could you just put a trailer out in space?”

“That is where most are currently stored,” Jewel said. “Along with spare conexes.”

“Do they have air in them?” Jason asked.

“Yes,” Jewel said. “Though nothing would happen in stasis, the equipment is not vacuum rated.”

“Soooo . . . Could you release a raft like we made at a higher altitude? Say . . . twenty thousand feet?”

“It’s . . . I can see nothing wrong with that idea,” Jewel said, nearly as carefully.

“What’s the current estimate on dropping all the colony sets?”

“Two years,” Jewel said.

“One thousand, six hundred and sixty-six colony sets in a ten grand, right?”

“Correct.”

“Times five hundred credits is . . . Do you have a calculator in this thing?” he asked, looking at his phone.

“Eight hundred and thirty-three thousand credits,” Jewel said.

“Nearly a million credits,” Jason replied. “Cost?”

“With current cost of fuel for a fill-up . . . ”

“Cost for just the fuel to drop and return with enough to cover, say, flying around the northern area of Chindia? Just roaming?”

He already knew it cost over two million credits for a full fuel load at the station. It would be less at the fuel mine.

“Just that much?” Jewel said dubiously. “Depends on the height you’re ‘roaming.’”

“Twenty thousand feet,” Jason said. “No, make it ten. More resistance, right?”

“Yes,” Jewel said. “Hang on . . . eighty-six thousand credits at current fuel cost with sixteen thousand kilometers of ‘roaming.’”

“Pretty much everything else becomes a rounding error,” Jason said. “The crew can fly on shares. Say a hundred thousand credits worth of fuel for one trip up and back and it should return with partial tanks.”

“What you’re considering is crazy even by your normal standards, Jason,” Jewel said. “How are the colonists going to get there?”

“How’d most of the team get down?” Jason said. “In stasis, even if the whole system fails, all that happens is they end up in the wrong place. They’re not going to be injured, right?”

“Yes, but . . . ”

“Airborne motto,” Jason said. “The whole world is a drop zone and you can drop anything. Once. With a ten grand you can pretty much literally drop anything.”

“You’re going to need to test this,” Jewel pointed out.

“Yeah,” Jason said. “But there’s other stuff to do first.”


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