Ghost Station (The Wandering Engineer) (112 page)

A
few of the mayors looked at each other and nodded. They had high unemployment
in their cities and therefore a high crime rate. The point was going home. “How
would we get the money to pay for it as you pointed out?” a mayor asked.

The
admiral shrugged. “Bank loans, bonds, or taxes. Or you could invite investors
to buy shares. Bonds of a different sort in other words. Subsidized bonds and loans,
whatever you feel most comfortable doing. They could do the same to build a lot
of the infrastructure I mentioned. People to own the shipping companies, people
to mine the asteroid belt. People that would employ others and their wages
would go into the system. Economy folks.”

“Sounds
good in theory...”

“At
least I've got a grasp of the theory. I can send you the plans if you like. The
admiral is correct,” Sid Berkheart said with a nod to the admiral. Several
others on the council who had been uncomfortable with making all those things
for free also nodded. Some nodded grudgingly but the support was there for
others to see.

Randall
looked nonplussed. Finally his face cleared and his shrugged. "But what
about when the air cars and the factory are no longer needed?" Randall
asked slyly.

Emily
chuckled, drawing their attention to her. "You repair or recycle them of
course. Oh do you mean the factory?” Emily smiled. “A new model can come out
every year. Or different styles and paint jobs. People could be employed to
design new features. People who have families. Their wages go into the economy
because they would use them to buy food and goods and not just draw them and
sit around doing nothing. That's the fundamentals of a capitalistic democracy
over a socialist one." She too looked at the admiral. “I understand where
you are going with this now,” she murmured with a nod in his direction. He
nodded in return. He was glad someone was finally on board.

"I
resent that!" A mayor growled, eyes flashing. "We have a lot of poor
uneducated people who must be..."

"Coddled
you mean yes I know Bernie, we all know," another mayor said.

"Not
my point. But to finish my example with the air cars, once local demand is
exhausted you could look into exporting them to other worlds," Irons said,
tossing them another carrot.

"Like
they could pay for them!" a woman said shaking her head. "Get
real!"

“Oh
I dunno Henrietta, some planets like Avalon and New Texas could,” Bernie mused,
suddenly thinking over the idea with new eyes.

"The
balance of trade might be uneven for now. But you never know. Some planets have
resources you lack here. Trace or rare materials that aren't in abundant supply
here might be in other places. Or luxury goods you may want. That's called
trade. But there is another feature. You've been doing that for centuries with
the ships that have come here remember? You could loan the other colonies the
credits to get on their feet. Your banking industry would gain customers and
draw interest from the loans others take out."

A
few of the bankers in the group looked interested in that idea. Irons nodded
politely to them.

"So
we'd be subsidizing the poor on other planets. Get real Irons!" An annoyed
older mayor said waving his hand dismissively and thumping a cane. "Hard
work here is what we need. Honest work for honest people."

"I
don't like your tone admiral; you aren't bringing anything positive to this
discussion. Perhaps you should leave," Randall said firmly, looking at the
others for support. Irons felt his heart sink a little as a majority nodded in
response to Randall's request. Of course they were all supporters of Randall.
He rose.

"Fine
then. Good luck and good day," he got up and walked out. He heard a mayor
saying something about the military needing to know it's place. Another laughed
and said something about playing soldier and tin gods fighting the last war. He
tried not to scowl blackly at that.

"That's
it?" Sprite said as the hatch door closed behind him.

"What
more do you want Sprite?" he asked tiredly. He let his anger wash out of
him. He didn't need to break something; oh he wanted to, wanted to badly, but
knew it wouldn't help him. Well, it would help him vent, but really, in the end
it would just break something he'd then have to fix. He kicked a stone pebble
near the door someone had left for some reason as he exited. "I can't hold
a pulser to their heads. They are accusing me of doing it now!"

"I
don't know what to say admiral," Warner said over his communications.

The
admiral closed his eyes. "Don't. I blew it. I should have handled that
better," he sighed, shaking his head. "I knew there would be an
uphill battle..."

"But
you couldn't anticipate the response you've gotten. I'm afraid a majority of the
station council are with them admiral," Warner said apologetically.
"I can't blame the old ones, they're tired and just want to keep people
happy. They hate fighting and arguing."

"Coasters,"
Sprite said with a sniff of disgust.

"They
like it simple," Warner said defensively. "After... ah hell, I don't
want to argue about it Sprite!"

"Agreed,"
she said gruffly. "I apologize if I offended you lieutenant."

"Thanks,"
Warner said with a nod. "I... admiral what are you going to do?"

"I
can't do my job so I'll take the Phoenix and head out to somewhere I can,"
he answered with a heartfelt grimace. They were so close! They lacked the
political will to do what needed to be done though. “It's looking more and more
likely that I'm going to be doing just that damn it!” he shook his head in
disgust clenching his left hand.

"Ouch,"
Warner said after a moment. He sighed. "I can't blame you sir," he
said quietly.

There's
a reception later in the evening. It's supposed to be another photo op, also a
chance to do some real politicking. Irons attended because the Berkhearts,
Warners, Averies, the Stewards, Gwen, and the chamber of commerce had each
asked him to do so.

He
came to the party in full dress uniform, complete with medals. They sparkled
when the photographers snapped the occasional photo. More than one person who
had stood outside the party room had commented about his white dress uniform.
Some of the comments were admiring, others rude.

Right
off the bat as he entered Irons overheard people calling him names. It nettled,
but not a whole lot. He was after all expecting such treatment. He'd put up
with such treatment before and could do so again. Uniform flunky, barbarian,
Neanderthal... did they realize they were acting like school children with the
name calling he wondered?

He
put it aside, dressed in his formal dress uniform he drew comfort from
centuries of traditions of duty, honor and in being a gentleman. He hated
wearing the thing sometimes. Now it was a comforting presence. A reminder of
duty, honor, and sacrifice against adversity. He was concerned that Sprite was
in a formal gown, blending in with the other peacocks. She drifted away from
him right away. She is wearing a formal dress cut off the shoulder that
sparkled silver and blue. Circuitry designs and coding occasionally wrapped
around her body. The Warners were also dressed in black tie civilian formal
wear as well.  He decided to stick to the background as a wall flower and see
how the party played out.

“My
aren't we pretty,” a chestnut haired female human aide commented as he passed
her an hour into the party. He at first thought it's a compliment and bowed
politely. But her snicker of snide mirth made him stiffen.

“Uniformed
Neanderthal,” she commented, toying with her near empty wine glass before moving
on.

He
caught other comments about the barbarian in their midst, uncultured,
uncivilized, uneducated. “What did you expect? He joined the military because
no one else would have him. Poor sod.” The mandarin Fu's nodded sagely.

That
did need addressing he decided. He cleared his throat and met Yan Fu's eyes.
“Actually, no I joined for other reasons,” Irons said, voice cutting over the
chatter in the room. The room quieted. “And I am far from the most uneducated
one in the room. Let's do a little poll shall we?” He turned to the hologram of
Doctor's Trask and Myers as those in the room parted around him, suddenly
giving him space. “I believe you both have doctorates, am I correct?” They both
nodded. “Anyone else?” he asked looking around the room. No one said anything.
“I mean other than me?” he asked raising a hand.

“You?”
A woman asked in surprise.

“Now,
doctors,” he said turning to them both, ignoring the woman. “Either of you have
more than one doctorate?” he asked. Both shook their heads. He turned. “Anyone
else?” No one said anything. He slowly raised his hand again. “Other than me?”
he asked making a show of looking around the room once more.

Someone
scoffed. His eyes narrowed. “I have three doctorates, nine masters and thirteen
associate degrees,” he said it simply, coldly, letting the room echo with his
words.

“In
war of course,” Fu murmured. He seemed so assured of that. So assured that it
was a dirty thing, a thing that was contemptible.

“No
in science and engineering actually,” Irons replied with a tiger smile. Fu's
body stilled. “Also hyperspace and subspace navigation, piloting, mechanical
and electronic engineering, programming, teaching, medicine, metallurgy,” he
bowed to the resident doctors. “Alien psychology, Diplomacy, Human resource management,”
he said letting them digest that for a moment “And law among other things. And
yes tucked in there are a couple of master degrees in ship construction and
design and fleet management and fighting.” He shrugged and took a drink from
his glass and then set it down on a tray off to the side. A butler bot hovered
over and scooped it up with a light beeping scold and then left.

He
surveyed the room with cold shark like eyes. “I've done quite a bit in my one
hundred and five years of life. I've worked on the Stargate program, I've
worked on a Dyson Sphere, I've worked on hyper platforms, set up science
stations, and I've been across the breath of the Federation and back again
several times.”

“I
am an engineering admiral, a damn good one and I am proud of what I've seen and
done in my life. Eight decades in the service, seven as an officer, four as a
flag officer. The things I've built, the science... Can any of you say the
same?” He looked around the room but no one rose to the bait.

Irons
turned back to the crowd. “To quote a famous twentieth century admiral, Trained
in the art of war and the
profession
of peace,” he said, making sure his
command presence was felt in the room at large.

“I
don't see how any of that matters,” a portly mayor said clearing his throat. He
had a brass chain in his pocket that was clipped to the front of his vest. He
liked to hold the front of his jacket lapel like an old Earth politician in the
middle of a speech. Irons looked at him and then to the Fu's.

The
admiral turned to him. “I'm just pointing out that I'm
far
from the most
uneducated person in this group. I did a bit more than a couple of years at a
high end or junior college on mommy or the state's dime and then off to a cushy
job. To be in the military means you have to learn a lot of jobs. Piloting,
navigation, managing a ship and crew, engineering, search and rescue, and many
many many other jobs. It is a constant process, both in learning new skills and
keeping old ones up to date and sharp in case of need. A ship is as much a
college as it is a starship.”

“True,”
Taylor Warner said with a smile. “I remember admiral,” he said saluting Irons
with his virtual glass. Irons nodded his way. Rasha was on Taylor's arm. She
nodded back, stiff with pride as she looked around the room.

“Oh
and these?” Irons asked, pointing to the medals. His fingertip lingered on the
medal of honor and the golden comet. Fu looked at them and then looked away.
“Yes I earned them in combat. Some of them anyway.” His finger lingered over
the highest medals for a moment more. More than one old eye locked onto them as
well.

“I
paid a high price for some of them. Sometimes too high in my opinion,” he
paused for a moment in bitter memory before continuing. “That's my burden
though. I went into the fire with my friends and comrades, watching them die
around me willingly to give their lives to
save
others.” His right hand
raised and changed to a silver color. His right eye flared brightly and then
faded back to normal. The implants in his body glowed a bright blue before
fading. He seemed to swell, to brighten like a blue star before fading out.

“But
others like oh this and this and this... and this...” He pointed out a few here
and there, tracing his fingertip under a few. “These were earned
saving
people. Riding to the rescue of a ship or station in trouble. When a solar
flare erupts, black hole, accident, terrorism, or mischief. That's one of the
other
roles of the military. It's not just to keep the barbarians outside the gates,”
he said coldly looking around again.

“When
I was in Pyrax a year ago there was a solar flare. They have them from time to
time. This one hit a colony head on. Thousands died. Many were Taurens,” he
said nodding to Gwen who stiffened.