Beyond the light horizon, p.15
Beyond the Light Horizon, page 15
part #3 of Lightspeed Series
Morag leaned back, eyes narrowing. ‘Oh, man. Aye. I can imagine aw right.’
‘And furthermore,’ Ellen said, ‘it would give the social economy and the cadre organisation there enough wealth and clout to displace the Families − the local merchant interests.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Morag looked thoughtful. ‘I’ll raise the matter with the comrades, see what they think.’ She drained her cup, dabbed her lips, and stood up. ‘See you tomorrow, John.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Red Sonia
Port Glasgow, Monday 30 March 2071
‘Naw.’
Brian and Anwar had their arms folded. The company, having outgrown the old warehouse and now sprawling across half the industrial estate, had a new fancy office with big windows and a circular table. Fifteen people − the entire self-management committee − were sitting around it. Morag, Piotr and Jeannie had accompanied Brian and Anwar in departing the shipyard and setting up Grant’s enterprise as a separate concern under new self-management the previous year. Ellen had joined him, taking responsibility for expansion, sales and marketing. The rest were less familiar faces: there was quite a turnover. New people had a tendency to get so enthused about what they were selling − transport to Apis − that they bought the product, legitimately or just by jumping ship and sending the cab back home on autopilot. The usual excuse was that they couldn’t face the existential dread of the journey back. Grant had always set his face against pursuing them physically or legally, not that there was much chance of that in and around New Rhu. The Union authorities had better things to do − they wanted more people in the colony, after all. As for the company, it could find replacement crew easily enough.
‘Why not?’ Ellen asked. She tapped the folder on the table. Everyone had its contents on their phones, but it was a useful prop. ‘It’s expansion.’
‘Naw,’ Brian repeated. He put his elbows on the table and leaned forward, looking around. ‘It’s expansion all right, but in the wrang direction! We’re making money hand over fist shifting folk tae Apis. We’ve got a good thing going here. Our pilots can just about stand five minutes each way of going there and back, five or six times a day. No way are we going to get people willing to do − what is it? − half an hour each way on any kind ae routine basis.’
‘I’m with you there,’ Grant said. ‘Made me sweat, I can tell you. But—’ He held up fingers, one by one. ‘Two points. One, it doesn’t have to be routine, and two, it doesn’t need pilots because most of it will be cargo, each way I might add. The only reason we don’t do the Apis run on autopilot is the transport regulations, as well as common sense about having a pilot to deal with unexpected emergencies − like I did last week!’
‘Fair do’s,’ Brian said, ‘but we’re overstretched already. Don’t want to lose passengers to other companies.’
‘Oh, come on!’ Ellen said. ‘One cab and one container?’
‘That’s hunners ae fares a week. We’re already one cab down until we get the one John took back fae Machrahanish.’
‘Fine,’ Ellen said. ‘So we take out a loan to buy a new cab and container. If this proposal works out, it’ll be more than covered in a few months.’
‘If it works out! And if it disnae?’
‘Well, John and I eat crow, and we shift the cab and container to the regular Apis run. Like you said, we need more capacity there anyway. We just have to take longer to pay off the loan and break even.’
Anwar raised a hand. ‘Wee problem wi that. The Union hasnae approved any contact, leave alone trade, with this new planet yet. We can approach any bank yi like for a loan, and it’ll get stymied until the Union gies the go-ahead.’
‘We don’t have to tell the bank . . .’ Ellen said, with a chuckle.
‘Iskander already knows,’ Brian said. He waved a hand. ‘Right, Iskander?’
‘Yes,’ Iskander said. ‘I can partition that knowledge for reasons of commercial confidentiality, but in this case reasons of state might take priority, I’m afraid.’
‘Reasons of state?’ Grant’s voice, still raw from the infection, cracked with disbelief. ‘I’ll give you reasons of state! A thousand light years away, there’s a community of, how many—?’
‘I estimate half a million,’ said Iskander. ‘At least.’
‘OK, let’s say hundreds of thousands of human beings who think they’re part of the Union already. In among them are, lemme guess, thousands of people who regard themselves as in a local branch or section of the cadre organisation. One of them, pretty high up given how long it took to get him to me and the way he was willing to strike a deal, offered this company an inside track and first cut. They’re desperate to trade and to exchange information. It won’t look good for the Union if we spurn them.’
‘That’s the Union’s business,’ Brian said. ‘It isnae ours.’
‘That’s not how you went about getting the Apis transport business,’ Ellen pointed out.
Brian glanced at Anwar. ‘Aye, well, that was different.’
‘You mean you had less to lose!’
Brian shrugged. ‘Aye, yi can put it like that. I’m no for risking what we have − what we all have − on some fly wee scheme tae get around Union policy for the sake ae week or a month’s head start. Nae matter whose feelings are hurt by thinking we’ve spurned them.’
‘If I may interject,’ said Iskander, from nowhere as usual, ‘no one is spurning them. The Station is very much on station, so to speak, and is already reaching out to the locals.’
‘I’m not talking about the Union,’ said Grant. ‘I’m talking about this company.’
‘Well, a minute ago yi were talking about the Union,’ said Morag Rafferty, ‘and about how us not taking up this guy, uh, Damiba’s offer making the Union look bad. I ken you fine well, John, and you mean it would make you look bad.’
Grant raised his hands. ‘I’ll cop to that.’ He nodded to Morag. ‘Go on.’
‘This Damiba,’ she said, ‘says he’s cadre, or Karray as they call it there, and from what John has said and what I’ve seen of his recordings, the man sure acts like he is. Now, I cannae speak for the cadre organisation, but seeing as I’m the only one here who’s in it’ − she looked around at the new faces with a sly but disarming smile − ‘as far as I know, that is, maybe I can speak about it.’
‘That would be a first!’ said Piotr.
‘Ha!’ Morag acknowledged the quip and went on. ‘Yi’ll hear nae secrets from me, but it’s let’s say nae secret that when it comes tae fly wee schemes, the cadre can gie Iskander a run for its money, am I right?’
‘No comment,’ said Iskander.
‘If the Karray are anything like the cadre, and after three hundred years there’s nae guarantee, it stands tae reason that what Damiba proposed tae John is a fly wee scheme.’
‘Well, exactly,’ said Grant. ‘He more or less said as much. He wants to stir things up.’
Morag was shaking her head. ‘There’s more tae it than that. Just contact wi the Union would stir the place up − already did, if yon overhead shuttle stunt is anything to go by. So my bet is he’s up tae something more. Which piques my interest, aye?’
‘Aye,’ said Grant. ‘So you agree we should go for it?’
‘I do not,’ said Morag. ‘But it aw depends on what we mean by “we”. I agree wi Brian − nae point risking the company. But if me and youse were tae take the risk on ourselves, that’d be a different matter.’
‘Fine,’ said Ellen. ‘Now let’s form our own wee start-up and get a loan for a cab and a container full of tech goodies? That’s not going to fly, is it?’
‘Naw,’ said Morag. ‘I’ll tell yi what will fly, though: the Fighting Chance.’
Ellen recoiled. ‘Sorry, Morag, but it won’t.’ She leaned forward. ‘This is kind of embarrassing, but I have plans of my own for the Fighting Chance. Plans that might actually result in a mutually profitable arrangement with the shipyard. I don’t want to risk the Fighting Chance on a different project.’
‘Cannae blame you,’ Morag said.
Grant was perplexed. This wasn’t how he’d expected Ellen’s ploy to go.
‘Excuse me,’ said Anwar, ‘but the Fighting Chance is the property of this company, is it no?’
‘Of course,’ Ellen said. ‘I’d have to take my proposal to this committee, when it’s ready.’
‘Why not take it tae us now?’
Ellen spread her hands. ‘It’s not fully worked out yet, let alone costed and war-gamed. We couldn’t make a decision on it until it is. Right now, it’s my own mental vapourware.’
‘Aw the same,’ Brian said, ‘if you were gonnae use company resources including yir ain time I might add on daen aw that preparation, it might be a good idea to put it forward in principle. Nae need tae decide here − in fact I can assure you we won’t even put it tae the vote.’ He grinned. ‘Using my power as chair ae this committee, pro tem.’
‘All right,’ Ellen said. ‘Basically, the plan is to fly the Fighting Chance to Apis and test it in the ocean as a hunter-killer for the giant squid. If it works, we make a deal with the old yard to build more subs of the same basic design − without the drive, of course − and with one of the big North Sea companies that used to be in the fishing industry to develop a quote-unquote fishing industry out of New Mu. There’d be other kinds of vessels needed for transport, refrigeration and so on − again, some opportunities for the old yard, though to be honest most of the work would be beyond its capacity and best done in Rotterdam. In any case, we could hold out for a cut, or at the very least a substantial finder’s fee. And the nice thing about this is there’s no financial risk to the company − we have the Fighting Chance already, sitting on the dock doing nothing.’
Everyone looked at each other.
‘There’s a physical risk to the crew,’ Piotr said. ‘I mean, fighting giant squid and all that.’
Ellen scoffed. ‘John and I, and Lakshmi and Morag and Omar took a hell of a lot bigger physical risk not that long ago. Compared with the skies of Venus, the seas of Apis are downright safe. Giant squid. Pfft! We’ll have them for breakfast!’
There was a laugh around the table.
Brian and Anwar exchanged glances. ‘That’s no a bad idea, as far as it goes.’
‘You mean you’d go for it?’ Ellen said.
‘Let’s say I’d be happy wi you doing a feasibility study, and bringing it as a proposal when you have it nailed down.’
One of the new people − Lisa Sweeney was the name that came up in Grant’s glasses − raised a hand.
‘Yes?’ said Brian.
‘Uh, if Mrs – uh, if Citizen Ellen Grant is willing to take the Fighting Chance out to Apis, and if she can get John and Morag to go with her, couldn’t they call that part of the feasibility study? And couldn’t they make a round trip, and go to Apis via this other planet, Terre Nouveau? And if they did that, what would stop them from lashing a container to the landing skids of the Fighting Chance?’ She paused. Her tongue went to her lips. ‘And, well, John and Ellen Grant have both been skilled workers for a long time, if you don’t mind me saying so, and John anyway must be making more now—’
‘Now wait a minute!’ Grant said. ‘Every cent I’ve made above my former wage at the yard I’ve put straight back into this company.’
‘I know it’s none of my business but even so you might have a wee bit put by, like maybe you could afford to buy enough gear to fill a container?’
‘I’m not listening,’ said Iskander.
‘But I am,’ said Ellen. ‘We don’t have a million euro in the bank, I can tell you that.’
‘But could you raise it?’
Grant looked at Ellen. ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘Unsecured, no way. And I’m not risking the flat.’
‘Neither am I,’ Ellen said.
‘Brian,’ said Lisa, ‘if we were to do it this way, maybe we could secure the loan on the Fighting Chance?’
‘I’m still not listening,’ said Iskander.
‘Strictly as part of the feasibility study?’ Brian said. He gnawed at his lower lip. ‘Aye, I reckon we could see our way to that, if you’re still in.’
‘We’re in,’ Ellen said. She nodded across the table to Lisa Sweeney. ‘This young lady will go far.’
‘Thank you,’ said Sweeney. ‘And, ah, do you happen to need a fusion tech?’
Some argument followed about that offer, which Sweeney settled by citing her right to take time off, and the meeting concluded.
Outside, in the yard, an ark was loading up. Fewer people than on the first journeys, but with more gear, made their way up the ramp. Lively chatter ceased as they approached the ark. A baby cried, a child wailed. The hatch clanged down and was dogged. The pilot paced around the ark and the cab, working through a check list, then climbed into the cab. An alarm brayed. Everyone looked away or covered their eyes. Flash then thump. The inrushing air stripped a shower of petals from the cherry tree that overhung the street wall of the yard. Another ark was wheeled from the shed, another cab attached; another queue began to emerge from the biosecurity gate and form up. Grant and Ellen made ready to go home. Iskander told them both they had a business lunch scheduled for 13:00.
They looked at each other. ‘We have?’
‘You have now,’ Iskander said. ‘Citizen Rafferty set it up. In the Reserve, on Clyde Square.’
‘We know where it is,’ Ellen said. She shook her head. ‘It has a dodgy rep, for some reason. Who’re we meeting with?’
‘You’ll know when you get there.’
They walked from the industrial estate down the steep streets at the back of Port Glasgow to the station, talking. Most people in this area were descendants of climate refugees from the subcontinent: dark skins, bright clothes, lots of children; new-build high-rise homes and office blocks, with smaller businesses and premises among the trees at street level; a mosque here and a temple or gurdwara there; street food stalls whose aromas gave Grant hunger pangs; talk in Hindi, Bengali, Urdu, English and Scots, sometimes in the same conversation. Not many of these folk, Grant thought, would take up the offer of emigration to Apis, or anywhere else: they’d found their new world once, and it was enough for now.
‘Lakshmi used to love coming here,’ Ellen said. ‘Bet she misses it.’
‘Not if I know her,’ Grant said.
Ellen looked at him sidelong. ‘I’m not sure you do.’
‘Maybe. I mainly knew her at work.’ Grant shrugged. ‘We might very well find out soon enough.’
The train arrived after a ten-minute wait in the station, which Ellen occupied by browsing the platform stalls and Grant by watching with half an eye Iskander’s assembly of purchase orders. There was something slightly unnerving about watching a risky venture of a million euro stack up, deal by deal, like a tottering stack of pallets.
They got off at Greenock Central and walked the few hundred metres to Clyde Square. Among the market stalls and the statues of heroes of the Rising, a small but noisy rally was protesting some decision of the town council. This was so frequent an occurrence that Grant didn’t feel the slightest curiosity as to what it was about this time.
The Reserve was a big old pub on a corner of the Square, with the high ceilings of a former bank or such like. Grant hesitated a moment, then pushed open the door and held it for Ellen. The interior’s current style was New Glasgow, which to Grant’s eye looked no different from its former Modern Nouveau. The place was busy with a lunchtime crowd. Nothing about them seemed to justify the joint’s dodgy reputation. Iskander indicated a corner table, set for three. They sat.
As the big clock on the wall ticked over to one o’clock, a woman arrived. She was about their own age, and looked, Grant thought, like a folk singer now living off the proceeds of an extensive back catalogue. She wore a denim jacket over a long swirly cotton dress, a trilby hat atop long wavy blonde hair, and no glasses. He recognised her at once: Sonia Wiley, a veteran of the Rising whose part in it had been of considerably more consequence than his own. They all raised hands. Sonia doffed the hat, nodded, shrugged her jacket onto the back of the chair and sat down across from them.
‘Pleased to meet you, Ellen, John.’
‘Pleased to meet you too, Sonia.’ Grant thought for a moment. ‘I’m kind of surprised we haven’t met before.’
‘Don’t be.’ Sonia smiled. ‘The Red Sonia of Rising legend is, well, a legend. Basically, I’m a lecturer in education at the University of the West of Scotland.’
True no doubt, but that couldn’t be all she was. The cadre organisation’s structure was notoriously hard to figure out, but she must be fairly senior, in the Republic and probably the Union.
‘You did introduce Iskander to Scotland,’ Ellen said.
‘So I’m told, though there’s no evidence any more.’ Sonia flipped a hand. ‘Act of Oblivion and all that.’ She picked up a menu. ‘Tapas. Shall we order?’
She made small talk over the small plates, asking Ellen about her work, Grant about how things were going on Apis. They were on to coffee before Sonia Wiley got down to business.
‘John − your colleague and my comrade, our friend Rafferty, who is, incidentally, picking up the tab for this, told me about some heavy hints you dropped yesterday.’
‘Uh-huh.’
Sonia leaned forward, speaking from a cave of hair. ‘How do you intend to liaise with your local aspiring export-import agent?’
Grant found himself looking over his shoulder. He hadn’t even told Ellen that detail. Sonia laughed. ‘You can speak freely here.’
‘It’s straightforward,’ Grant said. ‘Damiba gave me a location in downtown Saurienville − basically the backyard of a disused shop. It’s on my phone. Over the next few days, he and some associates are going to clear the yard and make sure it stays vacant, and spruce up the shopfront. By the time I get my container loaded and us out there, it should be ready for us to land. We unload, open the shop, and we’re in business.’
