The Powers of the Earth (Aristillus Book 1), Page 2

  "If you're serious about this, and not just signalling that you're a crazy bad ass, then you've got to think strategically. You need to recruit allies, build a power structure, do -"

  "I am building a power structure. Once the rifle design is perfected I'm going to build a militia and -"

  Javier sighed. "Hiring a bunch of guys and giving them rifles isn't what I meant. You don't need one militia; you need to to motivate everyone to get ready. Build alliances, get other leaders interested -"

  "Other? Other than who?"

  Javier smiled ruefully. "Other than you, Mike."

  Mike snorted. "I'm not a leader. What I am is the only guy who sees the problem that's going to be in our lap in five years, and the only one who's trying to get us ready for it."

  "And building guns - but refusing to network - is the best way to do that?"

  Mike grimaced. "Enough. This is getting my pulse up and that'll throw off my aim. Spot for me."

  Javier sighed and Mike rolled his eyes at the sound.

  Javier was his friend, but Mike would never understand his insistence about committees and talking and the rest of that bullshit. Not when there was real work to be done. Mike adjusted the sling around the upper arm of his suit, clipped the free end onto the rifle, and then pushed the weapon out, drawing the sling tight. He drew a breath, and squeezed -

  The thunderclap punched him in the chest and dust engulfed him again. Mike raised his head from the stock. "Did I hit it?"

  "No, but you clipped a boulder ten meters to the right. Check the replay - you sent a nice chunk of rock shooting off into the sky."

  Chapter 2

  2064: West Wing of the White House, Washington DC, Earth

  The taupe-carpeted corridor that ran down the center of the West Wing was quiet. Senator Linda Haig looked at her watch. Almost half an hour late. Hardly surprising; that woman was never -

  Suddenly the doors of the Cabinet Room flew open and the president strode out. Linda, without missing a beat, fell into step beside her. Behind and around them, the president's staff hurried to keep up. One of the aides said "Madam President, I know your schedule is tight, but we really need an answer on the fertilizer allocation -"

  President Johnson looked straight ahead as she walked briskly. "Don't pressure me, Don. Do you think that you get to dictate my schedule?"

  From the corner of her eye Linda Haig could see Don bite his lip. The president's moods were legendary. What sort of amateur was Don that he not only was letting the president get to him, but was letting his emotions show like that? How the man could be Chief of Staff and be so bad at the game was beyond her. Still, it would be instructive to watch - any data on how Don and the president interacted was useful.

  Don nodded. "Ah - no, ma'am. It's just that we're getting a lot of pressure from the Department of Agriculture, and they're getting a lot of pressure from the farmers, who -"

  They reached the central lobby and Senator Haig turned the corner crisply alongside the president. Don, on the other hand, almost ran into the back of the man in front of him. Linda suppressed a smile - and then suddenly had to stop without warning when the president halted in her tracks. Linda turned and watched - was she going to see Themba stop to harangue an underling?

  The president gestured around the sitting area in the corridor. "Don, all this old furniture. I don't like it." She paused and looked up. "And the ceiling is too low."

  Linda looked at Don. She could almost see the man fighting the urge to roll his eyes. And reasonably so - he was the Chief of Staff, not some flunky. But he should hide it better. Linda considered carefully - was Themba really this much of an idiot, talking about furniture and ceilings, or was there some deeper game going on here?

  Don cleared his throat. "I'll make sure the Chief Usher gets the message and brings it to the Preservation Committee."

  The president nodded, said "Good," and resumed her pace toward the courtyard.

  "Ma'am, the fertilizer -"

  Themba was dismissive. "Don, if the farmers don't like it, they don't have to take their allocations. They want something from me? They can wait until I've decided...and I haven't decided. Next topic."

  Catherine, the DoD liason, spoke. "The DoD wants your approval -"

  Linda's ears perked. This was interesting. There wasn't much to be done with the fertilizer issue, but military issues...well, there were fault lines there - and ways to use information.

  Catherine continued "- for a renewal of the mixed deployments with PK forces."

  Linda kept the disappointment off her face. Procedural crap. She was looking for something juicier. She had been told that there would be something juicier.

  The president brushed out of the lobby entrance, past the Marines who held the French doors open for her, and outside to the covered motor court where the limousine, the decoy limousines, and the hulking black security escort vehicles waited. The Secret Service agents around the vehicles straightened slightly. The president ignored them. "Fine, Catherine. Renew it. What else?"

  Catherine held her slate under one arm but didn't need to refer to it. "The Senate is going to bring up the renewal for the California Earthquake Relief Act next week - what are your instructions?"

  Linda made a mental note - was it really true that the president didn't yet have a position on the Earthquake Relief Act, this late in the game? Linda had assumed that there was no way the woman could be as much of an idiot as some people said. So: stupidity? Cleverness? Or something -

  "Our polls are a bit weak, and we need those electoral votes - let's do the same package as last year, but increase it ... I don't know ... what? Ten percent? Twenty? Let's do twenty."

  Twenty percent? Dear God. The president was insane - and from the looks exchanged around the semicircle, Linda Haig wasn't the only who thought so. Don cleared his throat. "Ma'am - twenty is a big number. The Fed is already really nervous about inflation, and if we print that much -"

  "Don, if Simons squeals, remind him that he has his job because I kicked out Zachary, and I'm not afraid to do it again. Earthquake relief is a huge problem! Does Simons want those people to starve?" She rolled her eyes upward, as if looking for relief from her burdens.

  Linda watched as the secret service agents, the Marines and the other staff clustered in a semi-circle stoically pretended not to notice. The president's theatrics had served her well on her vlog, and then on her talk show, but Linda thought the effect was noticeably different in person.

  And not better.

  Don cleared his throat. "Ma'am, no one is saying that relief isn't important - it's just that it's been six years, and given the state of the budget and the bond markets, at some point we have to start looking at ramping it down. Holding it steady is bad enough, but twenty percent - "

  "Don't tell me how to spend my money, Don! Neither you or Simons or anyone else in this city -" she gestured grandly "- has to make the hard decisions I have to make!" The president lowered her arms and grew serious. "This isn't optional - we need those electoral votes."

  Don raised one finger. "Yes, I know, but -"

  The president jabbed a finger at Don - and then was actually poking him in the chest. "Don, I have made my decision. Stop questioning me! I can replace Simons, I can replace Bonner, I can replace anyone in this room - do you understand me?"

  Don took a step backward, let the silence stretch, and then lowered his eyes and nodded. "Yes, ma'am.”

  The president turned from Don to the rest of her entourage. "OK, that's it, people. I need to be on Air Force One ASAP - I've got an important meeting. Is there anything else?"

  Sarah spoke up. "Yes, ma'am, we desperately need to talk about the tax reform bill - we're getting pressure -"

  The president waved her off contemptuously. "When I get back."

  From another arc of the group: "The energy allocation is cutting into manufacturing and the web engine folks are on the verge of rolling brownouts in their data centers, so we - "

  "Da
mn it, Nathan, I've told them before - they're getting more than enough power. They're using enough electricity to power a billion homes -"

  "A million.”

  "Jesus, Nathan! Forget the details and listen to me! They're getting all the electricity they're going to get. There's no more. They should stop whining. Tell them to green-up those data centers. If they can't do their damned jobs we'll appoint some CEOs who can." She looked at the open limousine door. "I'm late for Taos, and the plane is waiting."

  She clapped her hands. "Do your jobs, people!" and then turned to Linda. "Senator, would you care to join me?"

  Linda nodded. "Thank you."

  The two slipped into the vehicle. The door closed behind them and the throaty gasoline engines of the security vehicles rumbled as the convoy pulled out.

  The president turned to Linda and suddenly her smile lit up the vehicle. "Linda, I know we're from different sub-parties -"

  Where was this going? "Oh, the factions aren't as bad as that."

  "I'm happy to hear you say that. I agree, and that's exactly why I want to reach out to you."

  Linda smiled back. "I was quite happy to get your message. What can I help you with?"

  "High Sprawl."

  Linda took a moment to compose a look of confusion. "High Sprawl?"

  The president smiled again. This time it was different, but perfect for the situation; it was a smile that seemed to say 'Oh, you playful rogue.’ "Linda, I know there are leaks. And I know who is leaking and to whom."

  Linda felt her eyebrows narrow. Had she been underestimating this woman? "Ma'am -"

  She put one hand on Linda's arm. "Call me 'Themba.’ Please."

  Linda nodded. "Themba." She thought quickly. How much did the president know? And how much of that did the president know that Linda knew? She glanced out the window as the limousine passed the Washington National Park and started to cross the Frederick Douglass Bridge. Best, perhaps, to play this entirely straight. "Themba, I need to gather more data."

  The smile dimmed a notch, but just one. "And how long will that take?"

  "Not long; I've got people looking into it."

  A pause, and then the smile was back. "Good. Can I offer you a fruit juice?"

  Chapter 3

  2064: lunar surface, Aristillus, Lunar Nearside

  Allan looked up. The next handhold was just a short reach up the wall. He stretched for it - and the suit alarm went off.

  Damn it.

  He silenced the warble tone, cleared the flashing "overheating" warning from the heads-up display in his helmet, and settled in to wait.

  He'd gotten this alarm every day he'd been out climbing the face. The first day he'd ignored it and had gotten really uncomfortable. The second day he'd used some instructions he'd found on the net for working around it - he'd ignored the stenciled "never open this panel" warning on the suit backpack, opened the calibration panel, and backed the water flow limiter screw all the way out.

  That had helped, but not enough - the cooling underwear in the suit could only do so much, and then you had to stop and let the equipment catch up.

  Hanging onto the rock face with one hand and one wedged foot, he turned as far as he could and looked back over his shoulder toward the ground. There, down near all the vehicle tracks and the footpath, the three girls were watching him. Selena - he thought it was Selena; it was the tallest suit - waved. He paused a long moment and then gave a single calculated nod. It telegraphed that he was cool, collected, not begging for her approval, but just accepting it as his due...then he realized that Selena wouldn't be able to see the gesture because of his helmet.

  OK, raise one hand in acknowledgement then.

  He hadn't closed the deal yet - Selena claimed she had a boyfriend back at Berkeley, but he'd been working her slowly and she'd been warming up. Last night he'd gotten her away from Hugh, Allyson, and Louisa and taken her to a dive bar in the Kenyan section. He'd faux absent-mindedly dropped a few words of Swahili to the barkeeper, Selena had gotten a bit gigglier than her one drink warranted, and she'd leaned in when he told his stories of a strong-yet-vulnerable-guy helping the spiritual, friendly Kenyans string telecom cables during his volunteer year abroad.

  He grinned, remembering how he'd played it. The stories were perfect - well, the ones he'd told. The jokes that he and his buddies on the trip had come up with he kept to himself...not to mention some of the stories of their extracurricular activities! God, that thing with Kelton and the three shitfaced NGO nurses was hilarious - but not exactly the kind of tale this maneuver called for.

  Allan turned his attention back to the present and checked his display. The suit's temperature level was dropping, but he still had another minute or so until he could resume climbing.

  The trick was how to nail Selena without queering his chances with Allyson. He wasn't even that turned on by the shorter girl, but it was clear that Hugh had a thing for her, and he relished the idea of rubbing that conquest in that fat little fuck's face - but gently, gently. Hugh's mom was paying for this whole trip - although that was supposed to be a secret. Why, he had no idea. The whole thing made no sense, given her job. Anyway, the trick was to needle Hugh, but not too much -

  The suit beeped and Allan looked at the read-out. The temperature was green. Awesome.

  He looked over his shoulder again to make sure that the girls were watching. They were. Maybe now was the time for a show-off move he'd been practicing in his head. As he'd climbed, the other crevice to his right had been drifting closer and he was pretty sure that with a single strong leap - especially in the lighter gravity - he could get two meters to the right, grab onto that small horizontal crack, and then swing a foot into the chimney. And, even if he failed, he was roped in, and wouldn't fall more than a meter or two.

  In fact, maybe a calculated slip would be exactly the thing? Pretend to lose his grip, slide down a few meters, and then make a big show of twisting an ankle? He liked that - a twisted ankle, then after the brave "no, no, I'm fine" limp back to the airlock, he'd grudgingly accept a bit of help from Selena. No, wait, Selena under one arm, Allyson under the other.

  He grinned.

  Yes.

  Now!

  A leap, the brush of the gloved fingers across the small crack, and then the planned slip. He let his fingers bump over the rock wall as the drastically lower gravity pulled at him, accelerating him only slowly.

  Perfect.

  Hmm, a bit of a drift to the right. He grabbed at the horizontal crack as it slid into position - and missed.

  Missed? Fuck.

  OK, the rope would catch him in a few more meters. But, damn it, this wasn't going to look nearly as cool as planned.

  Allan looked down and noticed an outcropping rushing up at him. Shit. Even in the low g he could break a rib, or -

  What if he hit that face-first? If he got a black eye - or worse yet, a broken tooth! - he was going to be seriously pissed. He'd best straighten. He tried. Fingers slipped over rock, then slipped again, and then -

  His head snapped forward into the faceplate as he hit the rock face-first and slid off. A moment later a hard jerk as the safety line caught. He hung face down, his eyes closed against the pain. God damn it. Right in the helmet. Right in the fucking helmet. Oh, shit, his nose hurt. His mouth was full of hot iron. Blood from a broken nose. Shit. Without thinking he spat, and then remembered he was wearing a helmet. And speaking of his helmet, what was that alarm? And that whistling? He opened his eyes.

  The helmet display was dead, and the faceplate was - cracked? He struggled to focus. Were there small pieces of the faceplate missing? What the fuck?

  His ears hurt - hurt bad. And the pain was getting worse by the second. He bellowed in pain and frustration. He needed help, damn it! But what was he supposed to do? The suit radio was controlled by the helmet, and the faceplate was cracked, the interface dead. His scream turned into a cough - a thin painful cough. Then a second cough, and he could see the blood spraying from his
mouth onto the cracked faceplate.

  What the -

  Chapter 4

  2064: Meggers Crater, Lunar Farside

  The sun was low in the sky and Earth had dropped entirely below their horizon weeks ago when they'd crossed to farside.

  Aristillus had never felt so far away. Blue felt a shiver of loneliness wash over him.

  He looked at Duncan. The younger Dog had shimmied forward on his stomach until his helmet was over the edge of the precipice. As Blue watched Duncan extended one gloved paw forward and tossed a rock over the edge - and immediately the youngster's tail began wagging.

  Blue raised a tan-on-gray eyebrow at the youngster's all-too-predictable antics, and then smiled. He was a bit curious despite himself. He stepped carefully to the crater's edge, keeping all four legs on solid ground, and craned his neck to look over.

  It took a while for the rock to fall to the bottom in the low gravity. The impact was soundless in the vacuum, of course, but Blue's suit was running the latest rev of Rex's simulation software with the effects turned up high, so the sound in his helmet was borderline operatic: a loud initial percussive slap and then a follow-on cascade of cracks, crashes, and clatters. Blue knew that the sound atoms had been culled from 140 years of television effects and curried together via pseudo-random-number generators and a melange of s-expressions and state machines into a bespoke symphony of sounds customized for this particular time-and-date-stamp. Oh, did Blue know. Rex had gone on about it in mind-numbing detail for several days.

  Duncan barked excitedly at the sound of the crash. Blue shook his head. Kids.

  Blue looked over his shoulder and saw the rest of the group cresting the rise. John, the only biped in the group, came into view first. Max and Rex in their canine suits took another moment to show over the boulders.

  Blue walked carefully backward from the crater lip and then turned. "John, the terrain is a lot steeper than it looked on the imaging."

  John looked at the slope. "Sunset is still eighty hours away, but it's been a long day. I'm not up for a route change at this point. I say we pitch the tent, have dinner, and hike on tomorrow. Who's in?"