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  Charlie nodded as if she understood, but knew that Trent’s libel of all men was as invalid as every other racist or sexist stereotyping she had ever heard.

  “Shari,” Trent said, “I want you to stay here while Vera and I go into Washington to work. Don’t leave this house, don’t answer the phone–understand?”

  Charlie nodded, thinking, “Phone”? Since the early part of the century the phone, television, and computer had all been pretty much integrated into one instrument usually called the computer; although some people were starting to call them “‘puters” for short and even “putes.” She wondered if this meant Trent had an actual voice only, antique and obsolete-as-hell telephone. She would have to have some kind of converter to convert digital fiber optic signals to analog copper wire, but why bother? The house was old but most older houses had been retrofitted with central computer systems. Charlie hadn’t noticed until then that this one didn’t. She later found the “phone” and it was just a simple computer with a handset.

  Later Vera and Trent left. Charlie could hear them arguing outside before they got in the car.

  “I don’t want her here,” Vera growled angrily.

  Charlie couldn’t understand Trent’s reply that came just before she heard the car doors slam shut and the car scrape against the pavement as it pulled into the street.

  Charlie searched the small house looking for... anything.

  It was an arduous task. Judging by the clutter, Trent and Vera were a couple of pack rats. Every room was filled with clutter composed mainly of books, magazines, and articles. The house was clean, but messy. She was amazed at the amount of paper in the house. Apparently Trent and Vera didn’t use tablets to read like most everyone else. She was surprised to find some magazines still printed on paper that had to be hand delivered. How inefficient is that? she thought to herself.

  Not uncovering anything Freeman or Mitchel would find interesting, she looked for a way to pass time. She finally found a computer but it was a portable model with password protection. Charlie had taken the information security class at Boulder but that was more on how to protect data than extract it. She tried a few obvious passwords but nothing worked. Without a computer, downloading any entertainment off the net was impossible. Also, there might be something useful on the computer. It frustrated her that she couldn’t get in it.

  There were the books, though–actual paper books. She looked at the authors: Commoner, Mills, Carson, Li, Chomsky, and Foremand. She didn’t recognize any of the names but the titles told her what they were all about. Most were environmental; some were just straight politics and always, it seemed, the discredited ideas that wreaked so much havoc in the twentieth century. She skimmed some shorter, environmental ones thinking that if anyone quizzed her on her environmental commitment she’d have a few things to say.

  About three in the afternoon the phone/computer beeped loudly. This surprised Charlie; she half expected carrier pigeons in keeping with the low-tech motif.

  “Shari, pick up the handset,” she heard Vera say.

  Charlie complied. “Hello?” There was no video on this small computer, apparently.

  “Shari,” Vera said, “Congresswoman Trent wants to see you in her office. It’s in the Rayburn building. You need to hurry so take a cab instead of the bus.”

  “I don’t have any money,” Charlie said.

  “I’ll meet you out front to pay the fare, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “And don’t dawdle.”

  “Right.”

  Charlie got a literate cab driver this time. He even knew where the Sam Rayburn building was located. In fact, he said he had a degree in civil engineering.

  “They why are you driving a cab?” Charlie inquired.

  “No work,” he said. “Either our government doesn’t have the will or the money to expand or even repair the country’s infrastructure. That’s why it’s crumbling and insufficient for our needs.” He said it as if making a speech.

  “Spending too much on health care?” Charlie asked.

  “No,” the driver said. “It’s not making the rich and the criminal corporations pay their fair share.”

  Charlie wondered why “criminal” and “corporation” seemed inexorably linked in the minds of some. Also, last she heard, the U.S. corporate income tax was right around 90 percent, and the rate for those making over a million a year, like herself, was 95 percent. That was yet another reason she’d stopped calling herself an American and paid taxes in Japan.

  “Why don’t you,” she offered, “apply to Space Resources. They use civil engineers, especially with this tunnel project they’re working on.”

  “Are you kidding?” the driver said angrily. “A Japanese company? The Japanese are responsible for the loss of millions of American jobs. I wouldn’t work for them for anything.”

  Charlie wondered why the Japanese (and the Koreans and the Thai and the Filipinos and the Rwandans and everyone else) were blamed for America’s economic problems and not the policies of the government that drove business away. She didn’t feel like arguing with this victim of common misconceptions. He raged on about “unfair competition” until he stopped his car in front of the old, ugly Rayburn building. Vera was there and she paid the fare from her computer. She lectured Charlie that she should have asked for an electric cab. Hydrogen burners produce nitrous oxides and ozone, Vera intoned. And, she continued, the burning of hydrogen fuels added water vapor to the atmosphere, increased cloud cover, and was responsible for global cooling.

  Charlie apologized and followed Vera to Trent’s office.

  They passed the secretary–he hardly even looked up–and entered Trent’s inner office. Trent was sitting behind her desk talking to another woman. Trent looked up.

  “Oh, hi, Shari,” she said smiling. “Come in; sit down.”

  Charlie sat in one of the simple chairs that dotted the room. Vera stood behind her.

  “Shari,” Trent said, “this is Congresswoman Polasky. Janice, this is Shari Johnson.”

  Charlie smiled at the woman. She was older, about 60 Charlie decided. Unlike Trent’s lumberjack basic wardrobe, Polasky was dressed in a stylish red business suit and her silver hair was tastefully done up, and she wore just the right amount of makeup for a woman her age. Charlie wondered what these two had in common except possibly ideology.

  Polasky studied Charlie. “No, I don’t recognize her. But I’ll look into it. Shari,” she said, “do you mind?” She held a small camera in her hand.

  “No,” Charlie said.

  Polasky snapped the photo, looked at the camera’s display to see if she liked it, and, apparently deciding she did, put the camera in her purse.

  “Thanks, Janice,” Trent said.

  “I’ll see myself out.” Polasky commented simply. She walked out the door.

  “Shari,” Trent said after the door closed. “I’m sending you to Los Angeles.”

  “Los Angeles?”

  “Yes. That’s where the headquarters of the Gaia Alliance are. You’ll be trained and educated. How does that sound?”

  “I don’t want to go to Los Angeles,” she protested weakly. That was exactly what she wanted. There didn’t seem to be anything to learn here, living with Trent. She wasn’t sure how long she could put off the woman’s advances without angering her.

  “Don’t worry,” Trent cooed soothingly. “You’ll be in good hands. And you have to stop thinking about yourself and learn to think globally. You may be asked to sacrifice your life to the Earth and Her solar system,” Trent preached. “Although that’s unlikely,” she added quickly.

  “Now,” she continued, “There’s a flight leaving for Los Angeles tonight. What’s your computer’s address? The GA has limited resources, so don’t spend any more than you need, okay?”

  Charlie told her the address of the computer on her wrist. Trent punched that into her computer and Charlie’s beeped.

  “That’s a ticket and some money.”

&
nbsp; “Thank you,” Charlie said, not sure what else to say.

  “This isn’t a game,” Trent said in a low voice. “It’s a revolution.”

  “I understand,” Charlie confirmed, trying to sound confident.

  “I don’t think you do,” Trent said. “But you will.”

  Trent stood up and came around her desk and gave Charlie a hug. Then Vera put her hand on Charlie’s shoulder in an almost camaraderie-like gesture and smiled. It was the first time she’d smiled in Charlie’s experience.

  ***

  The Kyushu was an old ship. It was roughly bullet shaped, a hundred meters in diameter and 200 meters long. About seven years before, she’d been one of the first ships with the constant acceleration drives. The power source was a tokamak fusion reactor, cooled by vaporizing lithium. The lithium plasma was used by an MHD generator to produce electricity that the Masuka drives turned into thrust. Before the diminutive Dr. Masuka invented his drive, ships had to get around the solar system via painfully slow Hohmann “low energy” orbits. These took many months. Constant acceleration provided by the Masuka drive shortened the trips from months to weeks. The Kyushu left the Lagrange point and accelerated outward. Dragging the kilometer long mass driver behind and burdened with the other equipment to be installed on the asteroid, it barely made 0.07 gees. The trip would take about 18 days. That was slow by modern standards and the Kyushu was overdue for a new, more powerful Masuka Drive and the structural reinforcement more thrust would require.

  Alex was spending time with each department. He watched drive techs practice installing an emergency door, a skill that every department was supposed to train. All but the tech chief were in pressure suits that were more than usually cumbersome since they weren’t in vacuum.

  “Okay,” the chief said over a hand held radio. “This is simulated vacuum and simulated no acceleration. You’ve got three minutes. Don’t forget to secure your tools.” She looked at Alex. “We give ‘em some extra time because of the suits.”

  “I know,” Alex said.

  The foreman talked into the radio. “Go!”

  The three technicians started setting up a metal ring inside a pipe two meters in diameter. The pipe simulated a tunnel cut in the rock of an asteroid.

  “So, how are you, Alex?” the chief asked while they watched the exercise. Her name was Diane O’Rourke.

  “Fine.”

  “And Kirsten?”

  “She’s fine.”

  “How long’s it been since we worked together?”

  “Two—”

  “Zalesky, you can’t do that in free fall,” O’Rourke yelled into the radio. “Sorry. You were saying?”

  “Two years,” Alex said. “The 1752. I was AD and you were the second drive crew foreman.”

  “Yeah,” Diane confirmed. “That’s right.” Occasionally, Alex noted, he met a person with whom he immediately seemed to have a rapport. This usually developed into a good, strong friendship, and Alex cherished these relationships. Once, when he developed such a relationship with a woman, it metamorphosed into an affair. Now Alex was amazed he’d ever risked his marriage. But Theresa Gold was dead; he’d watched her die but couldn’t save her, and he’d killed the man who killed her. It didn’t make him feel better like he thought it should, and that was one of two major sources of pain in his life.

  When Diane and Alex first worked together they developed such a friendship, although Alex was ten years older. Alex sometimes wondered if she wanted something more. He didn’t even let himself think about it.

  They watched the work in silence. Once the ring was constructed, a cutting device, much like a circular saw, was mounted to it and started. It circled the frame cutting the pipe, instead of the rock for which it was intended. After circumnavigating the ring the cutter was removed and the ring dismantled. The emergency doorframe was unfolded into the cut slot, the door installed in the frame, and one of the techs simulated sealing the whole thing with damage control foam.

  “Okay,” O’Rourke said, “Two fifty-four: close. Okay, get out of those suits.”

  The technicians stripped. They were all sweating heavily and only wore tee shirts and shorts. One was a tall, athletic woman with curly strawberry hair. The sweat made her clothes cling to her skin, accentuating her attractive form. Alex tried not to stare.

  “Alex,” Thorne’s voice drifted through the corridors of the ship. He came into the room. He didn’t fail to notice the two attractive women, especially the one with long legs. “Alex,” he repeated, “I’m done for the day. How ‘bout a drink?”

  “Sure,” Alex replied. He turned to O’Rourke. “Want to come?”

  “Great,” she said with a smile, then spoke to her subordinates. “Okay, let’s get this gear stowed and call it a day.”

  The techs moved briskly to secure the training equipment.

  When Alex turned to talk to Thorne, he found him enmeshed in conversation with the other woman.

  “Bill,” Alex called.

  “We’ll be right there,” Thorne replied, waving Alex and Diane away.

  ***

  Faruq drank coffee with General Zuabi. Faruq found it interesting that once, almost five centuries ago, Islamic law prohibited coffee drinking, imposing typically draconian penalties. Now the drink was heavily associated with Muslims that abstained from alcohol. Was it a Westerner that said the only permanent thing was change? Less than 50 years ago, Syria’s women dressed in Western garb, including swimwear and high heels. Alcohol was as available as in any Western nation. The ouster of the Alawite usurper’s son, Bashar, and the Great Conclave of 2023 changed all that. The meeting, to unite the Syrian and Iraqi arms of the Baathist party, formed a loose confederation of the two nations. United, they conquered the small states on the coast of the Arabian Peninsula, prudently avoiding Saudi Arabia. Once the threat of the occupiers of Palestine was eliminated, Saudi Arabia could be brought into the fold of the United Baath Arab States. Then the president of Syria, Faruq, would be the most powerful man in the Middle East since the Prophet.

  However, the unification of the Arab states under the Shia Muslims returned fundamental Islamic law, or shariah, to Damascus. When the Americans left Iraq, the out-lawed Baathist party took over. The Iraqi Baathist party, under pressure of a popular revolt supported by Iran, had in less than a twenty-four hour period replaced the American puppet leader, adopted the shariah, and made final peace with Iran.

  When Iraq and Syria settled their differences at the Conclave, Syria embraced Islamic law. Sunni Muslims had to be oppressed almost as badly as during the days of the Alawite usurper. But, almost overnight abaya and burqa clad women were the norm, and alcohol couldn’t be found. Today, there were villages in Syria almost indistinguishable from the sixteenth century Ottoman province. The more things change, some other Westerner said, the more they remain the same.

  “The president,” Zuabi said, interrupting Faruq’s thoughts, “has lost his revolutionary zeal. He does not move against the Zionist state for fear of the Americans.” Since the meeting with Sa’ud and the president, Faruq had noticed Zuabi seemed disheartened. In charge of the Southern Lebanon Occupation Zone, Zuabi had to deal with the Zionist daily.

  “Do you really believe,” Faruq probed, “a first strike against the Zionist state can succeed?”

  “Yes,” Zuabi said. “If I were the CinC of the Revolutionary Army, I could make such an attack a triumph for the Baath Revolution. But, we need,” Zuabi continued, “a leader that can act decisively when the opportunity presents.”

  Faruq nodded.

  The general took a sip of the black brew. “The military would support such a man.”

  Faruq didn’t smile. But he knew the general would support him when the time came. The general commanded Syria’s contingent of the United Baath Revolutionary Army. And where the Syria contingent led, the army followed. And when Faruq had the presidency, Zuabi would be commander of the United Baath Revolutionary Army. Then the final, nuclear solution of th
e cancer of the Zionist state would be realized.

  Chapter Eight

  “...only in violence there is revolution.”

  “Then Milhano asked Joey,” Alex related with a smile, “‘What did Mitchel say?’ And Joey says, ‘Kill him.’“ Alex stopped to laugh with Thorne. “And then Frank DeWite says, ‘Great. I haven’t seen blood for ages.’“ Alex looked around the table. The women were staring at him.

  “He was kidding,” Alex clarified after he stopped laughing.

  Thorne was chortling. “That was what, your second trip to the belt?”

  “My third,” Alex said. “God, we were young and dumb and full of—” Alex stopped and smiled sheepishly at the women.

  “Anyway, Frank had the greatest sense of humor.”

  “I guess,” Diane O’Rourke said incredulously.

  The other woman–her name was Diana coincidentally, Diana Vuilard–shook her head. In the low acceleration her long hair continued to move for some time after her head stopped.

  “And Milhano was killed about ten years ago,” Thorne said somberly. “Three years before Theresa Gold.”

  The table was quiet. Alex played with his drink in the Erlenmeyer flask-shaped glass.

  The Kyushu’s saloon was filling with asteroid crew and some off-duty personnel from the ship. Many were already paired up, or something. The long trip gave the asteroid crew much free time. While a great deal of time was spent training, a lot was expended the old fashioned way.

  Alex watched these trips with a mixture of fascination, humor, and horror as shipboard romances between the asteroid crew flourished brightly and often withered painfully. The life of an asteroid crew was hard on relationships and creativity in their love lives kept the emotional wear and tear to a minimum.

  Some relationships seemed to be continuations of old affairs. The relationship would continue even if years had passed since the two (and sometimes three and four) had been together. Some crew seemed to have extended marriages with a group of people that, wherever two or three gathered together, the nuptial bliss was renewed. Then there were those that moved from one brief relationship to another. From a distance, they seemed to be having a lot of fun. But scratch the surface, and Alex was sure one would find sorrow and loneliness. Thorne had been one of those. Alex had hoped Thi would settle him down but in space, Thorne had acted as if she didn’t exist. Now, he had told Alex, that affair was over. And he was moving in on Diana.