Chapter 2

Never So Few
Chapter 2 Draft (05/29/08)

After leaving the surprisingly short meeting at the Davis Mining complex, Hank went to his office in the ramshackle building in the older part of the city that had once been the Parliament’s home. The large open meeting area was cut into smaller offices and Hank had one on an outer wall; at least he had a window. His encrypted notes went into secure storage. Rob Williams, as leader of the current ruling coalition had one copy of the key, Ezra Pullings, an unlikely choice, had another.

Emmet Clark, his long time second at Plans and Intents, and just as importantly a close friend, would get a briefing. But even he was not privy to the complete system key. There were things in the ancient files best buried and hidden from sight, things that nobody needed to know, things Hank wished he didn’t.

“Em, you there?” he said over the hardwired link to the office next door.

“Sure Hank, where else would I be on such a nice day as this?”

“Come on over then. I am going to be traveling to Earth in a couple of days and I need to fill you in on all of the reasons.”

“Be right there my Lord and Master,” Emmet said with an archly exaggerated theatrical tone as he broke the connection.

“Your fathers on his way Tommy!” Kaybe Carling said to their six year old and youngest son. “He will be here in an hour and If you what to meet him at the pad, he’s coming in a flier, you better finish up the lesson; and it’s not done till you get at least 80%.”

“Aw Mom!”

“None of that, you know the rules.”

Kaybe took another look at her locater and saw that eleven year old Frank was in the barn attending to his afternoon chores, Jessie was still napping. No need to disturb either, Frank would hear the noise when his dad settled down, Jessie would likely be up in minutes. She wiped a stray lock from her forehead and tried to concentrate again on the story she was writing but couldn’t get back into the mood.

No problem! She dashed off a couple of quick paragraphs ending it up and vowed to do an edit before she sent it in. “That’s how a real writer does it,” she muttered. “Fix it later but get it done on time.” She sealed the file and went into the kitchen to set the dinning room table. Ken Parsons and his wife Nani from the next ranch over were coming for a late dinner, the kids could eat in the kitchen, and she was going to make sure if not perfect everything was at least presentable. Life on a ranch wasn’t a barbarian style life in the wilderness—or in the Belt— after all.

“Eighty three percent! Tommy hollered as he swept out the door to the sound of the descending flier.

“You can do better,” Kaybe yelled as the door closed behind him. Five minutes later all three children were back in the house and Hank gave her a big heartfelt kiss.

“Wow Hank, I didn’t realize you could miss me this much in just a day!”

“I’m making it up for later. I am leaving for Earth tomorrow and will be gone for a month or so,” he said with more than a hint of an apology.

She froze for an instant, but the children would never know her own fears she had vowed long ago when she found out just what Hank’s job really entailed. “Well then, Frank go get cleaned up and we will get dinner going for you guys. Your dad and I will eat desert with y’all to celebrate.”

“Water could get kinda’ scarce mom. Maybe we could just start now?” Frank ventured.

“Just do it Frank.” Hank said, “We have more than enough water for the important things. And doing whatever your mother says is certainly one of those!”

Three hours later the Parsons arrived. By that time, Kaybe had decided they would eat outside on the screened porch at the rear of the ranch house and set the wooden table out there accordingly. Frank stabled their Ammas and got another desert as a reward before being sent of to bed. The Parsons would spend the night in the guest room, a required part of any ranch this far from the city.

The dinner was a complete success, fried chicken and corn washed down by liberal quantities of the homemade wine the Parsons brought. Talk of the past and hopes for the future. It was well past midnight by the time they all retired.

“This trip to Earth, is it going to be dangerous,” Kaybe asked as they snuggled under the covers.

“It shouldn’t be but one never knows. I will be doing some things the Federation wouldn’t approve of if they knew about so it will be my job to make sure they don’t find out. As always, if things go wrong talk to Ezra and then do what you think best. But there is not much to worry about now. I can’t say as much for a few years down the pike but there is no turning back. So let’s enjoy what we have today, or should I say tonight, and not worry about tomorrow.”

Sally Ditmars met Hank at the field the next morning. “A Ms Fredericks and a Ms Kramer are already aboard Hank. They said they were with you and had the passes to prove it. But really!. . . Does Kaybe know?”

“Why of course not my dear,” Hank said with a grin. “And if she did it would make not a whit of difference after last night I assure you. Why she does know and doesn’t even care that you will be piloting me up to the station in the first place!”

“Oh Hank, you say the sweetest things,” Sally said, ushering him out onto the tarmac and then to the waiting shuttle.

On the weeklong trip to the transition station Hank spent his time getting to know both of his fellow passengers. Lincoln stayed behind for the Stockholders meeting and its aftermath and Sally was keeping a tight watch on the replacement pilot.

* * *
Aero-Space Colonel David Macomber sneered as he watched the Colonial shuttle dock with the Transfer Station. Damned Collies should not even have the damn things; at least they spared him from flying damned extraction flights for the Colonies. As far as he could see that was their only reason to exist. Anyway, twenty minutes later the station signaled all clear for the undocking maneuver.

Macomber dropped the docking latches and let the station springs kick them away while he went through the pre-drive checklist. Let the other dumb asses use the lousy reaction drive he would use his time and skills better.

On New Texas Station, crews were running away from Hatch 4 and sealing bulkheads behind them. Macomber was a regular on this run and they all knew what was coming.

At the absolute minimum separation COL. Macomber fired the reactionless drive; the drive field tore at the structural integrity of the station as it jerked the vessel instantaneously to .3C.

Ignoring the communications calls Macomber, whatever his personal characteristics was a superb ships pilot. He initiated a long slow turn and lined up on the Transition Point. Catching the ‘Gravimetric Anomaly’ square in his HUD, his Instruments were orders of magnitude better than the ones that found this thing, but still were not the best. Settling down on the approach vector he killed the modulation that created acceleration through the Drive while keeping the Drive Field up and their momentum at .3C. Minor corrections were made with the reaction systems of the all axis steering rockets. In the passenger cabins he knew heads were bouncing off of restraints, who cared they were Collies after all.

As the drifting Drive Field intersected the Transition Point old DR. Einstein got cheated, no one was exactly sure how. One second they were in the Delta Velorum system and the next they were in Sol system. On this side he used his system drive with due care and knew it was being recorded. On the other side it was his word against a bunch of ground grubber Collies.

Smiling he slid into the approach Track for Sol Station and raised Approach Control on the Comms.

* * *
Bhutros M’butu shivered in the midday late summer breeze. His mansion and grounds on the upper Detroit River were surrounded by hardwood forests, maple, oak, and birch, with intermixed conifers of various sorts. The mirrors in the ‘Halo’ halted the dip of the mid continental ice flow some three hundred miles further north, just beyond the northern shore of Lake Superior. The chill and riotous profusion of color was nothing at all like the climate and vegetation around his palace on the Congo but it was something one must put up with to be at the seat of the world rather than the local government.

Were it not for those orbiting mirrors, reflecting additional solar energy and focusing it on the planet they circled, even his own equatorial lands would have a climate like this. The ice would have reached far to the south and into the center of the continent, well beyond the ruins of the one time Islamic capital of North America at the old city of Detroit.

No outward trace of the vanished city remained. But a few feet underground a continuous thin layer of carbon and ash gave ample evidence of the destruction and burn-off that ended the last North American center of the Islamic power in their first attempt at occupation by force. With Washington, the former United States capital destroyed as well as New York, Boston and the major population centers on the California Coast, the clean up and rebuild here at Detroit made an ideal location for the new seat of power. And just in case gave a little more time to respond to missiles fired from somewhere else on planet.

M’butu’s driver pulled up in an internal combustion powered ground car. Bhutros caught a whiff of unburnt hydrocarbon exhaust. Such an obvious symbol of power, to burn precious oil for transportation, but every additional carbon dioxide molecule in the air helped to keep things warm, and the African continent was still the world major source of the declining planetary supplies. They would not run out of oil, the vast quantities discovered on Cerulean out in the Pleiades made that certain, but costs were still high and the volumes be shipped back were only a fraction of what they would become.

This Cerulean just might be the place for his eldest son, N’komo, Bhutros thought. He no longer trusted his heir apparent, it might be time to bring back Jamil from New Texas and get N’komo someplace where he couldn’t cause trouble by interfering in the political situation back home. He would think on this.

The car covered the ten miles to the Federation Towers in eight minutes. There was little other traffic on this particular blacktopped road at any time of day. It was reserved for traffic to and from the homes of the powerful, those that set the agenda and reaped the rewards of the ‘Blessed’. That was a concept taken from Islam that Bhutros wholly agreed with.

Ruiz, his driver, barely slowed as they passed through first the entry to the park like central area and then the checkpoint a half a mile from the tower. He was forced to stop briefly for a vehicle scan before proceeding down the ramp and then onto the vehicle lift that took the car and occupants to a small garage adjoining his office holding down one corner of the top floor of the thirty story hexagonally shaped building.

Most of the bureaucrats working on the floors below came in from their homes, in the case of department heads, but more typically apartments or even smaller cubicles based on rank and patronage. Except for a very few they owned no personal transport, nor could they aspire to such, the world was far too crowded for that. Underground subways with dark paved truck and bus-ways above, and the inconvenience and waiting time they involved were the lot of 95% of those working even here at the center of the Federations power. There was no lack of people looking to replace them. It made for a dedicated workforce.

Some 500 years earlier and 100 years before the destruction of the old city, Detroit had been a major industrial power, the greatest the world had ever seen. Even before it had archived that status it was a major mining center, not for coal or metallic ores but for salt. The long abandoned mines, some extending completely under the mile wide river that separated the United States from a country once known as Canada, before the sudden onset of the new glacial period, held most of the workforce that pushed the papers and pushed the buttons that kept things running. M’butu rarely had thoughts for such as those.

His Undersecretary, and second wife’s brother, answered his call at the first hint of a beep tone. Kinshasa Mufusi was not a threat; he was in fact quite an asset. Competence without ambition was rare, Bhutros tapped a quick note to have a new team of investigators examine Kinshasa’s situation, one couldn’t be too sure.

“My esteemed Brother, I did not realize you would be in today. How may I be of service?”

“I want you to pull out all the records we have concerning the Federation’s present and planed ship construction. Some time ago Jamil sent me information indicating the New Texans wished to begin manufacturing ships for their own in-system trade. At first I was in opposition and gave it little thought. Now I think vessels freed up could find more profitable work out around Cerulean. They might even become another source of export for the planet.”

Mufusi, thinking rapidly said, “I see the potential here but it will take a change in long standing Federation policy. Do you wish that I inquire amongst the other delegations whether such a course is likely to succeed?”

“No, that will not be necessary, all I want is the benefits enumerated in the broadest possible terms and I will take things from there.”

“It shall be as you say. Is a week soon enough?”

“That will do nicely, provided the data is convincing enough, and I am sure it will be. Have the task started at once. I am going to be busy with Redmond for the rest of the afternoon and will check back with you later. Have an outline in place but waste no time in gathering the rough data. We will want to lay the groundwork with the other delegations starting in a couple of days. I want this to be voted upon no later than the end of the month. Is this clear?”

“Yes my Brother, I start at once.”

* * *
Bhutros hated sitting in the outer office of the Planetary Prime Minister. The Executive Secretary of his was obviously chosen for how obnoxious she could be without going beyond the level of protection working for Redmond offered. There was always an obvious disapproval of those she did not consider Redmond’s social equal and she made it plain M’butu was not one of those. The other problem with being here was that you were going to talk to Redmond. Bhutros could talk; talking was fine, so long as you did not need to look him in the eyes.

Bhutros was a product of his culture, and never questioned those things he absorbed from his earliest days, those that shaped his view of reality in ways so different from Western traditions. The African Continent had many stories about the ancient and evil snake Gods, soul destroying, coldly merciless, without a trace of any human emotion. To look into Redmond’s eyes was to see that evil in the cold dead eyes of a snake. But Bhutros knew that Redmond did share with him some humanizing emotions, lust, greed, pride, and a need for power.

The door opened and Sterling of Transportation walked out with a relieved look on his face and glanced at M’butu with a small tight smile that no one else could see. At that point the secretary announced, “The Prime Minister will see you now,” with that tone that implied that you should kiss her behind on the way by.

Closing the door behind him he heard, “Have a seat Bhutros, you have had a busy day.” Taking his cue from the tone of Redmond’s voice he moved towards the chair with a smile. “Moderately so Richard, but I think we will find it mutually beneficial.”

Redmond leaned back in his chair and stared upwards as if asking for help from above in dealing with his troubles.

The man was not as obvious as his secretary, but M’butu had dealt with him for too long a time to be fooled by an outward show.

“I do hope so given this plan! I can see where shifting construction cost for the new vessels onto New Texas will both speed up imports from Cerulean and greatly improve our margins but, why do you propose we make changes in the two additional systems?”

M’butu opened up a file on his comp to the room projector. “First, because it will speed even further the immediate rise in Cerulean imports, as shown here. And Second, despite increasing their margins, it will absorb most of the Colonial profits and place a heavy load on Webb, Davis and Ditmars. Theoretically they make more, but will need to spend it on things we can track. If they expand too rapidly we can pull the plug on imports and break them.”

* * *
“My oh my!” Bailey Fredericks said at her first glance at the ring of reflectors in polar orbit shining like a necklace of diamond jewels against the black of space. “Once there were giants and they ruled all the heavens and all the Earth.”

“Is that some kind of a quote us normal people miss out on Freddie?” Hank asked from beside her on the observation deck.”

“No Hank it just came to me, but even so it must be true. Imagine, an Ice Age, and starting after years spent worrying about the reverse, and then doing something to stop it. And at the same time sending the exploration and colony ships and dealing with the problems that explosive population caused. I give credit where credit is due, and in that age there were giants. Maybe not all of them but enough. We owe them everything.”

“Even if that is true, and suppose that it is true, at least for the sake of argument Fred, but now it comes down now to what have you done for me lately and using that as a basis of comparison we have some definite problems to deal with.”

“I understand that Hank—wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. Only a few hundred people a year get the opportunity to visit Earth from New Texas and you can count on your two hands those that aren’t government employees. How many times have you made the trip?”

“Two or three times a year for the last seven, it’s like the vids, but more depressing after a while.”

“My, aren’t we the cynic,” Janice Kramer said with a ladylike, (is that possible?) snort followed by raised eyebrows.

“You have a point Janice, but my cynicism didn’t come naturally. Give it some time and we can swap stories. I know the Neo-Libertarians have lots of issues with the Williams government but take your time and really listen to what Ambassador Gearson has to say. You might not change your mind but experience can be a great teacher, so long as you survive it.”

“And there you go again Henry Carlson. It will be a cold day in hell when words such as those can change my mind.”

Hank said nothing but looked again at the ring of mirrors circling the planet below.

“Do you think Ms. Fredericks is going to help us in the least?” Seph Gearson asked when Hank and he were finally alone.

“I think she will. She is going to get entrance into the cultural elite here. Sure, she gets looked down upon by most of them, but those people interface with the political elite and the attitudes are imprinted by rote. I spent enough time talking to her on the way out that I am convinced she sees the world through rose-colored glasses but her faith is subject to demonstration. We could have done much worse. Freddie is honest to herself and that’s good enough for me. She gives us good information or not and will not have to be clandestine about what she’s doing. Kramer is a much different case.”

“Why did Williams send her anyway? I had her figured out before I ever took this thankless job, before you were even part of the government?”

“Coalition building, he has no choice, the job had to go to someone and you manage so well by your lonesome that it was an easy choice. Bring outsiders into the party and all that.”

“Thanks—I think— but not much. And if I might ask why did you come along?”

“You can ask but I can’t tell. Sorry Seph, and I wish it were otherwise. I will be spending some time with your First Secretary and be gone from here in a couple of more weeks. Some day it might all come out, but then again, maybe not.”

“Where have I heard that before? Oh, now I remember, last time you showed up. I’ll study the ministerial directives and we can talk again. More than once? I will plan on it. Magnan is in his cubicle doing whatever he does down there. Later Hank, he said dismissing him. “I hope I get as much joy from talking to your Ms. Kramer.”

“Joy is where you find it Seph, good luck.”

The basement of the New Texan Embassy was low, with pipes and vents running every which-way, and except for the fact that the floor of the building was sheeted and grounded and the periphery dug down year ago and inspected for taps before they moved in, it would have been a hopeless case for a P&I office. As it was it was near ideal, close to the Federation towers and on a busy street that made heavy traffic unexceptional, not that they had much of that before Seph became the Ambassador and Magnan the First Secretary.

Now, since the start of Ambassador Gearson’s appointment, the New Texas Embassy was a kind of cultural Icon, with tourists and anyone else living in the Capital welcome. And they even had cheap giveaways whenever they could figure one out that made even the slightest amount of sense. The local gendarmes and the Federal contingent of the Detroit police forces could hardly declare the embassy off limits, so a lot of people came in and out, and they all couldn’t be traced and followed. But of course out of thousands only one or two counted anyway.

Oliver Magnan shook Hank’s hand and offered the wooden high backed chair opposite his desk. “I’d offer you a drink Hank but I’ve seen what starting this early in the day can lead to. I can have something sent down if you’d like though.”

“Not for me, I agree with you entirely. I do want to compliment you on the chip data you sent last year; it came in very handy.”

Magnan was momentarily puzzled then recalled the small report sent on counterfeit electronics. “If you could find a use for that just wait till you see what I have for you today,” and Magnan triggered the screen hanging on one wall.

“Now that is interesting,” Hank said, looking at the displayed budget figures for Federation agencies, numbers that differed greatly from the publicly published ones. Two departments were highlighted, Military Recruitment and Training and the Department of Legacy Research. Both showed large concealed sums over and above anything he had seen before. “Where did these come from?” Hank asked.

“A senior accountant in the Inspector General’s staff, he seemed quite annoyed that all that money was being spent and not a bit of it sticking to his own hands. I think he was surprised we would even pay for such reports. It all checks out as much as we can tell so there you have it.”

“And it means?”

“It means I think—the Federation is bent on acquiring the ability to do something about its overpopulation problem.”

“Back on New Texas Davis and Webb have their own ideas on how to handle that. I’ll explain and let you know what I want you to do next.”

An hour later Hank was wandering the streets of the commercial district. He was getting a feel for the undercurrent; the way the people acted and reacted and how they thought about their lives and situations. He purchased a few gift items to take back home with him. If he had more money to spend he could have hit more and better shops but the bean counters at home would disallow the expense even if he turned the goods over to the government and he couldn’t afford the kind of prices charged to get into the graces of the upscale merchant class.

No rush today, he would have to figure a way or just rely on Magnan. He had a few weeks to work on the situation. He should have gotten some credit vouchers from Andy Webb. Then again probably not. To do something like that would cut down on his independence. But ‘Independence’— wasn’t that the whole point of why he was here in the first place?

Three weeks later Hank was seated across from Bailey Fredericks at—as the sign out front said, “The Detroit Coney Island.” For years it had been a favorite place of his and he knew the owner, a swarthy Armenian refugee rather well. Here even the soy was almost edible but today he brought with him enough real meat for a feast and Hank enjoyed the surprised expression of the faces of the owner’s two young children when they sampled their portions.

Except when eating at the Embassy, augmented vegetable protein and vat-raised chicken was pretty much all that was available in run of the mill eateries on most on the planet. You could skip even the chicken for almost all home cooked meals. After New Texas ranch life the lack of meat, and on New Texas that was a part of every meal, was something he could never adjust to. He always brought at least ten pounds of jerky in his personal gear and it made damn fine entry to a lot of conversation.

When on Earth Hank ate most of his meals off premises and spent most of his time outside the Government building. Over the years he had found a few favorites and the Coney Island was well up the list for public locations. There were a lot of smiles back at the Embassy when the two freezer chests that shipped with him made it from the spaceport dock to the building with their seal still intact.

Bailey took her last bit and licked her fingers. “Another?” Hank asked.

“Oh no! I’m stuffed!” but then she said, “One more if I have to force myself. This is the best tasting meal I’ve had since we landed. And that includes the dinner thrown by the Artists Guild. I will pay for it later, especially the onions, but I am heading off to Sao Paulo for a month and who knows how meals will be there?”

“Bout the same as here I expect, but worse. With close to 25 billion people on the planet they really have no choice. They use cloth napkins,” Hank said dabbing at a spot of mustard that had somehow found his shirt. “Because they can’t spare trees for paper. Most places water is a problem. Not here obviously, so close to the ice caps and with world’s largest supply of fresh water heading down the river.”

“You sound like you sympathize with the government’s problems Hank. I wouldn’t have expected that.”

“I do, I do indeed. Just not the way they have dealt with them over the last couple of hundred years. The sudden onset of the cooling came as a shock. But once they had that under control limiting technological progress was exactly the wrong course of action. The ones with the power were so afraid of loosing it that they gave up on their one sure way of limiting population. An educated affluent society was always self-regulating when it came to most things, and especially when it came to environmental and population problems. Those on top live well, that’s always been the case. The rest of the people live on the scraps.”

“I don’t see as much complaining as I expected for as bad as this all seems,” Bailey said.

“You want to see or hear complaining it won’t be in public. Even with a full-blown ice age in progress Caitrin Gates, she’s now the Head of Oceanographic studies at Travis Central, was fired back here for not bringing in evidence of an imminent warming. No—you stick to the party line or you suffer the consequences.

“The best advice I can give is to keep your eyes and ears open and your mouth shut, that’s what my dad always said. It’ll work here too. All we want from you Ms. Bailey Fredericks, is an honest evaluation of whether or not this planet is going to implode under its own inconsistencies or if it will take a nudge. We aren’t looking for martyrs—at least not now— just facts.”

* * *
His last full day on Earth and Hank was sitting in on the morning staff meeting at the Embassy just like most of his days this time around. For the first time in memory Seph Gearson was late arriving. As soon as he entered the room he started to speak. The Ambassador had a normal meeting procedure, but this time he threw it over the transom by skipping still open items and began by looking straight at Hank and saying, “The world turns. I just got a call from Bhutros M’butu, and Hank. . . He said he needed to talk with us, but much more particularly, and by name, with you.”

“Me? I can’t see that. Famous I am not.” Then Hank continued after a slight pause, “Unless he is looking to make an offer or work a deal, trying for something he doesn’t want widely known. What did you tell him?”

“I agreed of course! And tried to invite myself in as well. No dice. You are going to be on your lonesome this time, and no time to plan. His driver will be at the gates any minute. Might even be here now for all I know. Be sure to come back and let us all know what he wanted.”

“My dearest wish you can be sure,” Hank said standing up. And then with a fey wave to all present walked from the room and headed up front towards the Embassy lobby.

The car was a sight to behold, four tons of it, gleaming painted and polished black metal, four tons if it weighed a pound. The driver opened the passenger right side rear door and Hank seeing the other occupant sitting on the vehicles far side, slipped in against the cool of the hand tooled leather upholstery. From outside the engine was impressively loud, inside all sound faded to a whisper. He looked quizzically at the larger than life presence of Bhutros M’butu but gave only a nod in greeting.

M’butu looked large in vids but he dwarfed those impressions in life. “Mr. Carling, it is a pleasure to meet you,” he said in a sonorous baritone. “My son Jamil speaks moat highly of you. It is good we meet and I am glad you could find the time to talk with me.”

“My pleasure, I am at your service I assure you.” Hank said, dragging up a phrase that must have been hanging in memory from a drama seen years ago.

“May I offer you something? A drink, perhaps a cigar,” M’butu said offering an opened case.

“Don’t mind if a do,” Hank said, pulled one of the ready cut hand rolled smokes from its fitted slot and then drawing on it to get it started. Looking at the band that read House M’butu Hank breathed out and gave a contented sigh. “I could get used to these Mr. Secretary.”

“Ahhh!” Bhutros smiled broadly and tapped an angled screen that Hank was unable to read. “A case of them under your name is already on its way to your Embassy. I like a man who can appreciate such pleasures. I know of many others that you might find of interest as well and will endeavor to enlighten you to the extent I am able,” he said pouring a slightly reddish-caramel colored liquor into a heavy medium sized glass.
“From a most select establishment located only a few hundred miles from here.” The words Tennessee and the picture of a ridiculously large bodied, short-legged bird, was prominent on the bottle’s label.

“I am in your debt,” Hank said taking a sip and holding it in his mouth for a time before swallowing. “I wish that there was something I could offer you in return.”

“Nothing so crass as a quid pro quo, but there are several areas where I feel our mutual desires might overlap.” M’butu said smoothly, “Let us drive for the time enjoying the scenery while we talk further.”

* * *
“I’ll leave the Bourbon here, all but a few bottles, but the cigars go back with me!” Hank said pointedly to Gearson and Magnan while the three went over his report of the dealings with M’butu. “And if even a hint of this gets back to the auditors neither one of you will ever again be safe back on New Texas. I can’t even afford the duty, much less declare and pay a tax on the income, but I sure as hell earned them by putting up with the African Secretary for the better part of a day!”

“Not to worry Hank,” Seph said with a grin.

And then Oliver added, “I’ll have the empty crates repacked with the standard stuff we send back. Put the Embassy seals on them and M’butu won’t know you left the good stuff here, and we do enjoy an unexpected perk every once and a while ourselves.” He poured himself another and swirled it before sipping. “Any last minute instructions for me?”

“Now that you bring it up, yes. Keep an eye on Ms. Fredericks. I worry she might start trying to play spy rather than just pick up on things naturally. She’s not been around much and underestimates how being a ready listener opens people up without any need to pry or ask the kind of questions that can be cause for official notice and worse.”

“I’ll talk to her before she heads south for Sao Paulo Hank, hope it does some good.”

There was a short series of beeping tones and the Ambassador answered then turned and said, “Your things are packed and the driver is waiting Hank. Have a pleasant journey and don’t let things get out of hand back home. Six months and I expect to be leaving this job. I need a place to go back to.”

To Be Continued

Page Author | OldDog November 9th, 2008