Silk Road, page 13
Plakson nodded, and Patel went on.
“There is a list of what they call the technical concentration of each colony. Apparently, colony headquarters concentrated colonists of certain specialties on specific planets.”
“What’s our specialty?”
“We didn’t have one, ma’am. Neither did Arcadia or Numenor.”
“The bridge planets. The ones in the gaps.”
“Yes, ma’am. There is also a recorded message from each of the planetary leaders. In addition to the main video by Arcadia Prime Minister Rob Milbank, there are also videos from Earthsea Director Valerie Laurent, Amber President Jean Dufort, Tahiti President Henry Wang, Playa Planetary Chairman Oliver Nieman, and Olympia Councilor Lars Swenson.”
“Councilor? That’s a new one on me.”
“Olympia has a three-member executive council, ma’am. As the councilor most recently elected or re-elected, Lars Swenson is apparently considered slightly senior among equals.”
“Closest to the electorate.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What else is in there, Sanjay?”
“There’s also the video of an interview with Chen ChaoLi, the head of Jixing Trading on Arcadia. She says they intend to provide competitive shipping services among the colony planets. She expects there to be competition for the shipping business on the medium term.”
“Not a monopoly, then.”
“Apparently not, ma’am.”
Plakson nodded.
“What else?”
“Well, in addition to the technical specialties, they have apparently been discovering that each colony planet has some other item or items at which they excel. These were apparently brought along by the colonists themselves, ma’am. For Arcadia, for instance, it’s tea and spices. For Earthsea, cheese. For Amber coffee. That sort of thing.”
Plakson nodded.
“We may not have a technical specialty, Sanjay, but in addition to our strategic location, we have one other expertise.”
Patel nodded as Plakson’s eyes lit up.
“Chocolate,” she said.
“Premium chocolate has historically been a good export item, ma’am. High value density.”
“Start thinking about how this plays for the election, Sanjay. It would be great if we could trap the minority on the wrong side of this issue.
“Yes, ma’am. Which side is the wrong side?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“OK, we have communications established with the transponder for shuttlepad twelve,” McKay said. “Gonna be an easy one.”
“Easy is good,” Perez said. “I like easy.”
As the shuttle descended, the combination of braking and lift starting adding gravity back to the cabin. After ten weeks in zero gravity, being subjected to two and three gravities on their descent was brutal.
But their velocity gradually came down, and the gravity with it. They descended through wispy late afternoon clouds to make a precise landing on shuttlepad twelve of the Barcelona Shuttleport.
“Oh, that was rough,” Dunhill said once they were down.
“I thought it was pretty smooth,” McKay said.
“It was. The gravities were rough.”
“Ah.”
McKay looked out the shuttle window.
“Well, it looks like our greeting party is here.”
The mobile stairs drove up to the shuttle. Two somber men waited, then one of them mounted the stairs. McKay opened the shuttle cockpit hatch.
“Hi. I’m Gavin McKay.”
“I’m Trevor West. I’m on Prime Minister Plakson’s security detail. If you would all come with me, please.”
“Of course. Just let us get our things together here.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are we being arrested?” Perez asked.
“Escorted, I would think,” Dunhill said. “If that’s Mildred Plakson’s security detail, she must have come out here to the shuttleport.”
“That makes sense,” Perez said.
They gathered their small travel bags and maneuvered themselves with some difficulty out onto the platform.
“Are you all right, sir?” West asked.
“We’ve been ten weeks in zero gravity, Mr. West,” Dunhill said. “We’re a little wobbly.”
“Let me arrange a cart, sir.”
“That would be most appreciated, Mr. West.”
It was only a couple minutes until an electric cart pulled up to the bottom of the ramp. McKay and Dunhill made their way down the stairs while standing, but the older Perez first sat on the top stair and then went down the stairs one step at a time, like a toddler.
“Better than falling,” he said.
They all got into the back seats of the cart, with the security detail in the front. The driver pulled the cart away from the stairs and drove it into the terminal annex that stretched off down the lines of shuttlepads.
They were let off the cart in an inside corridor and ushered into a meeting room. Mildred Plakson and Sanjay Patel waited inside.
Plakson didn’t know what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t this. Three scruffy, dirty, smelly men, with several months’ growth of beard and wearing fleece loungers and booties, hobbled with difficulty to the meeting table. Without further ado, they sat down, nearly collapsing into the chairs.
The youngest one, perhaps in his mid- to late-thirties, spoke first.
“Pardon us, Madam Prime Minister, but we’ve spent ten weeks with no showers, no shaves, and no gravity to come to see you. I’m afraid we’re a little the worse for wear, and being back in a planet’s gravity is really affecting us right now.
“My name, by the way, is Peter Dunhill. I am the duly appointed Arcadian ambassador to Aruba.”
“I see, Mr. Ambassador. Ten weeks, to go what? Five thousand light-years?”
“Yes, Madam Prime Minister.”
“That is truly remarkable, Mr. Ambassador.”
Plakson looked them up and down.
“Perhaps what we should do is put you gentlemen up in a hotel for tonight and take this conversation up over lunch tomorrow.”
“That would be most appreciated, Madam Prime Minister.”
“Sanjay, can we take them downtown to their hotel? And perhaps we should use a meeting room at the hotel for lunch tomorrow, to limit their need to travel.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I will see you tomorrow, Mr. Ambassador.”
With that, Plakson and Patel left with her security detail. The driver of the cart remained.
“If you would come with me, please, gentlemen.”
They were driven out to a waiting car, which took them to a hotel in downtown Barcelona.
Dunhill woke in the middle of the night after eight hours of sleep. He found himself laying on the top of the big hotel bed, still unshaven and unshowered, still in his smelly fleece loungers. He had simply collapsed there the night before.
Dunhill got up and went to the bathroom, stripped down, and climbed into the tub. He lay back as it filled with very warm water and sighed. The water itself was a relief, as it buoyed him and mitigated, to some extent, the gravity.
After half an hour in the tub and a shave, Dunhill felt much better. He checked, and the hotel had round-the-clock room service, so he ordered a small snack.
He ate the snack when it came, then checked the time, shrugged, and got into bed. Under the covers this time.
Dunhill woke at something like a normal hour, and found he had a mail account on the local system. There was an invitation to lunch with the prime minister in a private banquet room in the hotel.
Dunhill sent a mail to Perez and McKay, inviting them to breakfast with him in his room.
“So what’s the plan?” Perez asked Dunhill as they waited for room service to bring their breakfast.
“I will do the normal things like giving them gifts, trying to get the radios installed, giving them the text of the trade agreement. All of that. Then I will try to get you together with their engineers to discuss the construction of the interstellar freight station.”
“Do you need anything from me?” McKay asked.
“If I mention you, a sentence or two about the difficulties of loading containers piecemeal in space with shuttles compared to using a freight station would be in order.”
“Gotcha. Loading one of those big freighters without would take weeks.”
“Exactly. Which should impress upon them how important having the freight station will be to their status as a natural freight transfer hub.”
Their food showed up, and they ate heartily. Ten weeks of low-residue food with water had left them with an appreciation for even a mundane breakfast, and the high-end hotel’s room service did much better than that.
The Aruba Deal
“Madam Prime Minister, it’s good to see you again.”
“It’s good to see you again as well, Mr. Ambassador. I must say, you are looking much more rested than yesterday.”
“Yes, ma’am. It’s difficult for me to get a good night’s sleep in zero gravity. And I was remiss yesterday in introducing my companions. Mr. Gerardo Perez is the representative to Aruba for Jixing Trading Company, and Mr. Gavin McKay is our pilot.”
“It’s good to see you again, gentlemen. And this is my chief of staff, Sanjay Patel.”
There were hellos and handshakes all around, and then they all settled into their seats at the table.
“Before anything else, Madam Prime Minister, allow me to present my credentials.”
Dunhill passed the document naming him the duly appointed and confirmed ambassador to Aruba to Pakson.
“Thank you, Mr. Ambassador.”
“I also have gifts for you from your counterparts on Arcadia, Earthsea, and Amber.”
As he named each, Dunhill produced a wooden presentation box of the Chens’ Walnut tea; a gift-wrapped drum-shaped box of Earthsea cheese, and a vacuum-packed, sealed-foil package of Amber coffee. He pushed them across the table to Plakson.
“Why, thank you, Mr. Ambassador. How thoughtful of them.”
She turned to the head waiter standing nearby. He was an employee of the hotel, but the Prime Minister was the Prime Minister.
“Could you please see to it these are served with our luncheon?” Plakson asked.
“Of course, madam.”
He handed them off to an assistant and remained.
“I think business can wait until after lunch, Mr. Ambassador. Is that OK with you?”
“Of course, Madam Prime Minister.”
Plakson turned to the head waiter and simply nodded. Wait staff brought in the salad course, accompanied by bread and spreads. The conversation continued between mouthfuls.
“So Arcadia discovered hyperspace, Mr. Ambassador?”
“Yes, Madam Prime Minister. We have been working on first the theoretical framework and then the actual hardware for over twenty years. Mr. Perez had a hand in constructing the hardware.”
“I supervised the construction of the vessel we arrived in, ma’am,” Perez said.
“And for five thousand light-years, it took ten weeks, Mr. Ambassador?”
“Yes, Madam Prime Minister. We can manage just a bit over three light-years per hour in hyperspace. That seems extremely fast – and it is – but long distances still take time.”
“All in zero gravity, Mr. Ambassador?”
“Yes, Madam Prime Minister. Although we have solved that problem in the vessels we are building now. The vessel itself spins while it travels, providing some semblance of gravity during the voyage. I believe it is planned for about half a gravity. But that vessel is four hundred feet in diameter. Our shuttle is too small to use such a mechanism.”
“I see, Mr. Ambassador. I saw the ships in the video you sent us. Very impressive.”
“And they’re real, Madam Prime Minister. Those video shots were camera images, not a simulation.”
The salad plates were whisked away and the entrees appeared. Some sort of beef cut, very tender, with fried potato wedges and a vegetable medley on the side. Served with them was a small plate of cheese wedges for each, as well as a cup of tea.
Plakson nibbled on a wedge of cheese and her eyebrows shot up. She closed her eyes and concentrated on savoring it.
“This cheese, Mr. Ambassador, is wonderful.”
“Yes, Madam Prime Minister. I believe Earthsea is gearing up its production capacity now in anticipation of the export market.”
Plakson took a sip of the tea.
“And as well for the tea, Mr. Ambassador. I have never been much of a tea drinker, but that may have to change.”
“Indeed,” Sanjay Patel said. “Very tasty. Both of them.”
The conversation died away as they set to the entrees. The beef was very good, even if the sauce was a little bland by Arcadia standards. The Chens’ spices would be welcome here as well, Dunhill thought.
When they were finished with the entrees, dessert was served. It was a chocolate layer cake, with chocolate frosting, served with coffee. Dunhill took a bit of the cake and sat stunned. He loved chocolate, but this was extraordinary.
“And now you show us your export specialty, Madam Prime Minister. I was a chocolate lover already, but this cake raises that to a whole new level.”
Dunhill sipped his coffee, as did Plakson. He had had Amber coffee once before, on Earthsea, from Sasha Ivanov’s private stash. It was Plakson’s first time.
“And this coffee is superlative, Mr. Ambassador. Chocolate cake with coffee may become an Aruba staple if coffee of this quality becomes available.”
Dunhill simply nodded and applied his attention to the cake. Plakson chuckled.
Finally, with dessert dishes swept away and coffee cups refilled, Plakson folded her hands on the table before her.
“And so we come to business, Mr. Ambassador. You spent ten weeks in a closet with no gravity to get here. Why? What is your mission?”
“It is actually three-fold, Madam Prime Minister. The first is to install quantum-entanglement radios on your planet, to tie you in to the rest of the colony planet network. This will enable zero-delay communications between you and the other six colony planets we have already so equipped.”
“The video said you were bringing these radios with you, Mr. Ambassador.”
“Indeed, Madam Prime Minister. They occupy two of the containers on our shuttle. This will allow you to discuss matters with regard to the trade agreement with Arcadia Prime Minister Rob Milbank and your other peers.
“The second goal of my mission here is to introduce you to the trade agreement which has already been signed by those six colony planets, and which we will offer to the other colony planets as we make contact with them. I would expect that actually signing on to the trade agreement, were you to do so, would come after you had a chance to discuss it with your peers.”
Plakson nodded. Sensible.
“The third goal of my mission here is to put Mr. Perez in contact with your engineering people, Madam Prime Minister. He has brought along the plans for an interstellar freight station which we would hope to build in Aruba orbit.”
Plakson’s eyebrows rose.
“You have offered such a station to the other planets as well, Mr. Ambassador?”
“No, Madam Prime Minister. On the medium term, we anticipate two such stations. One here at Aruba and one at Arcadia. I don’t know if you’re aware, but an examination of a map of colony locations, strung as they are across three arms of the galaxy, reveals that Arcadia and Aruba have unique astrographic advantages.”
Plakson nodded.
“Yes, Mr. Ambassador. We sit between the arms, a natural waypoint for arm-to-arm traffic.”
“Correct, Madam Prime Minister. And a natural hub for hub-and-spoke freight traffic. Hence a freight transfer station. Such a station makes loading and unloading ships much faster, and demurrage on the ships in port is a major cost in the slim-margins business of interstellar shipping.
“Mr. McKay can speak to the difficulties of loading and unloading ships with shuttles.”
Plakson turned to McKay.
“Yes, ma’am,” McKay said. “The problem has three aspects. One is that a shuttle can only carry eight or twelve loaded containers at a time. So a limited number of shuttles takes a very long time to transfer several thousand containers to orbit.”
“Several thousand containers, Mr. McKay.”
“Yes, ma’am. The hyperspace liners have a capacity of thirty-eight hundred containers.”
“I see. Continue, Mr. McKay.”
“Yes, ma’am. The second thing is that openings on the ship must be created before outbound containers can be loaded. So one has containers floating around loose in orbit that have to be maneuvered around until one can get the outbound containers loaded, freeing up the shuttle to go chasing after the loose ones.
“And third, one simply can’t add more shuttles to speed up the process because they get in each other’s way. Only so many shuttles can simultaneously maneuver around the ship without a major incident.”
“I see. And you have personal experience of this, Mr. McKay?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve flown hundreds of missions up to the hyperspace liners being outfitted in orbit around Arcadia. Ferrying workers and supplies. A much less intense effort than unloading and loading, and we had to be very careful not to get in each other’s way as it was.”
“I see. Thank you, Mr. McKay.”
McKay nodded and Plakson turned to Sanjay Patel.
“Sanjay?” she asked.
“I think we should begin all these things, ma’am. Installing the radios, looking at the specific wording of the agreement, and reviewing Mr. Perez’s plans.”
“Agreed,” Plakson said, and turned to Dunhill. “All right, Mr. Ambassador. Let’s get things under way.”
“Of course, Madam Prime Minister. I’m sending you the trade agreement text now.”
“What do you think, Sanjay?” Plakson asked.
