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CHAPTER 29

“This is amazing,” Elisa said, popping another bite of coconut land crab in her mouth. “It’s not just that it’s not print food. This is unquestionably amazing.”

Land crabs ate coconut, along with everything else, but could not handle coconut oil. So, they had evolved a small gland on their back that concentrated it. Like lobster infused with coconut, dipped in the coconut oil from the gland, it was considered one of the finest, and rarest, foods on Old Earth. Or Bellerophon.

“I’m trying not to make yummy noises. Very impolite.”

“And thank you,” Jason said. “Glad you’re enjoying it. But that is one of my pet peeves.”

“Mine too,” Elisa said, grinning. “I am stuffed. That was so good. You’re a good cook.”

“Hope that isn’t something you’re thrown off by,” Jason said.

“Not at all,” Elisa said. “I’m a good cook, too. I’ll cook tomorrow.”

“I’ll let you,” Jason said, smiling brightly.

“There’s something there,” Elisa said. “You don’t believe I’m a good cook?”

“No, not at all,” Jason said, waving his hands. “I’m sure you’re great.”

“So which woman wasn’t a good cook?” Elisa asked.

“Do we really need to talk about that?” Jason asked. Elisa crossed her arms and cocked her head, not saying anything. “Both ex-wives. Monica, ex two, was all about being the perfect wife. Kept the home spotless. Fetch and carry. Wasn’t what I was looking for. I’m fine getting my own drinks. But it was her culture. Worked her tail off. And she had to cook. It was the wife’s job.”

“Furrin?” Elisa asked.

“Croatian,” Jason said. “Long story. Also, out of my league which I knew. She’s now married to the president of the bank we work with. Lately, I’ve had to be reminded on a regular basis. Croatian food can be very good. Kind of a weird mix of Greek, Italian and German of all things. Monica’s food was not. In any way. Nor was my first wife’s. Who was American.”

“So, you learned to cook out of self-defense,” Elisa said, grinning. “I can cook a twelve-course meal over an open fire that will knock your socks off. With the right ingredients and equipment, admittedly. I’ll prove it. I’ll take dinner.”

“You’re on,” Jason said. “It’s true that you shouldn’t swim for thirty minutes after a meal. Want to take a walk around and get a tour? The waterfall is cool . . . ”

* * *

“Doesn’t this blow hell out of Rule One?” Jason asked as Elisa curled into his shoulder.

“No,” Elisa said sleepily. “And if you’re wondering, wow, there really is something to being with a guy who knows what he’s doing. Now hush. I’m gonna take a nap on your shoulder . . . ”

“Jewel,” Jason whispered. He’d stayed awake long enough to ensure Elisa was asleep. She even snored cutely. “Post drones around. And make damn sure none of those crabs make it through. I am not losing my nethers now that I’ve got a use for them again . . . ”

* * *

“I stand corrected,” Jason said after a moment. “You’re a very good cook.”

They were eating a fish they’d named Mary’s Wrasse in honor of Elisa’s mother. The fish was one of the “grouper looking” fishes Jason had spotted on his first foray. This particular one had been about a meter and a half long. Elisa had speared it after a bit of a chase.

The fish was good. The ambience better. Despite the fire hazard, Jason set up a couple of old-fashioned oil lamps. They filled the hut with a soft, warm light. Together with the lap of the waves, the splash of jumping mullet and the trade winds rustling the palm fronds of the hut, it was an idyllic scene.

“Sort of like hogfish,” Elisa said, thoughtfully, as she tasted a mouthful.

“Was hogfish frequently on the menu?” Jason asked.

“We went to the Bahamas about once a year,” Elisa said. “During Christmas break, generally.”

“It’s getting to the point I probably should know something about your family,” Jason said cautiously. “You indicated you were Battery.”

“Let’s see,” Elisa said, cocking her head to the side. “Mom’s family is plantation. These days big farming with a side of small-town business. Big frog. Very political. Ancestors who have been members of Congress, one governor back in the eighteen hundreds. Still very into politics and uncles and so forth were in the state legislature. One that’s a designee. I’ve met most of the senior members of the South Carolina delegation at one time or another . . . ”

“Tim Scott?” Jason asked.

“Uncle Tim?” Elisa said, dimpling. “Yeah, I know him.”

The senior senator from South Carolina was one of the rare black Republicans in the Senate and therefore had been a constant target of harassment by the left, including the news media.

“Okay,” Jason said. “To be clear: big fan. One of the very few politicians I’ve ever wanted to meet. I could never have kept my cool the way he did over the years.”

“We keep hanging out, you’ll meet them,” Elisa said. “Whether you want to or not. Mom’s side isn’t going to give up on politics, whether they’re big frogs or not.”

“Sort of hard to be big frogs on the station,” Jason said.

“Grandpa is already wheeling and dealing,” Elisa said, shrugging. “Business-wise and politically. I guess if you’ve done it your whole life you just keep doing it. So’s Granddad and Dad. That’s on the Randall side. Randall is new money, at least to Grandpa and Grandmother Wentworth. The Randalls made their money in World War Two building planes. The company got sold long ago but they kept the land. Did you know Boeing had a facility in South Carolina?”

“Its primary assembly facility?” Jason said.

“That one,” Elisa said. “They still leased the land from the Randalls. At least right up to the Transfer. Both families own houses in Charleston in the Battery. Owned. The Randalls are city mice, Wentworths country mice. So, I’ve been both ways my entire life.

“After Dad got out of the Army he moved back to Charleston and took over some of the family’s businesses, focusing on the technical side. Support companies for the port. Machine shops. That sort of thing. I went to Catholic primary school in Charleston then a Catholic boarding school in Pennsylvania. Only child. You?”

“Was a military brat when I was very young,” Jason said. “Dad owned a small manufacturing business. Sold it when I was in my twenties. Mom was a homemaker. As for me, like I said, never really had a career. Just jobs. Closest was logistics, running warehouses, things like that. Started when I was a contractor in Iraq. Did that. Did all sorts of jobs. Never really settled down to one thing. What’d your dad do in the Army?”

“Artillery,” Elisa said. “Grandpa Wentworth wanted him to run for office at one point. ‘A Proven Soldier who is an American Patriot.’ Dad said it wasn’t his thing. Watch it, or he’ll try to get you to do it, too.”

“And tell me how to vote on everything?” Jason said, smiling.

“Of course,” Elisa said, grinning. “Politicians don’t know how to run things. The important people have to tell them how to think.”

“I will not get along with your grandpa,” Jason said. “Sorry. Sounds a bit too much like my dad.”

“Eh, he’s okay,” Elisa said. “Of course, that’s coming from his granddaughter who can do no wrong. If you like Tim Scott I’m guessing your politics are fairly conservative?” she asked carefully.

“My views are all over the map,” Jason replied. “Which is why I’ve never gotten along with any particular party. I’m a Republican but don’t agree with everything there. And it depends on which flavor. I consider myself an old-fashioned conservative but as a child of the eighties, it’s a bit hard to avoid the sins-of-the-flesh issues,” he added with a grin.

“Even without the mention of ex-wives, I’m clearly not your first lady friend,” Elisa said.

“My problem is I’m always poking holes in other people’s firmly held positions,” Jason said.

“Like?” Elisa asked.

He told the story about the preacher and the conservative porn star.

“You must have really hated that job,” Elisa said, laughing.

“I enjoyed it,” Jason replied. “I was never going to be Rush Limbaugh, mostly because I was trying to get people to think. ‘Don’t just say ditto. Challenge me. Challenge yourself. What do you really believe and why?’ Most people don’t seem to want to introspect, don’t want to think about it. They just want to be very angry about it and they’re not even sure why.”

“So, why do people get angry about politics?” Elisa asked.

“Politics and religion are both about control,” Jason said. “It usually is any time that people get angry. Loss of control. Ceding control to others. Fighting for control over their lives or the lives of others. What psychologists call ‘boundary issues.’

“For a society to organize, there has to be a degree of limitation of individual freedom. Has to be. People have to cede control over their actions, whether that be due to religious beliefs or laws. What every person wants is different and often it slides over into other people’s person or property. How much control you cede is where the arguments begin. And they only get more complicated and angrier.

“So, in the small town in Arkansas where I was working the radio station, there was this zoning kerfuffle,” Jason said musingly. “There was this big old house downtown. It was zoned residential but it hadn’t had any residents in a while. It had been built by one of the owners of the local mill, back when there was a mill. Really nice Victorian.

“A law firm wanted to use it for offices; it was a few blocks from the courthouse. There was a big outcry. Group of people called ‘Save Our Town’ wanted to keep it residential, even though none of them were going to buy it and live in it. They just didn’t want things to change.”

“There are no more bitterly fought fights in local politics than zoning fights,” Elisa said. “Learned that early.”

“That’s because it affects people’s lives very directly,” Jason said. “There were houses near the law firm. They didn’t want the additional traffic. They didn’t want criminals walking around their neighborhoods. It mostly did corporate law, not criminal. Didn’t matter.”

“So, what happened?” Elisa asked.

“The zoning board eventually saw sense and rezoned,” Jason said, shrugging. “People struggle with the concept of government control. Too much, not enough? Social conservatives, ask them if there should be laws against abortion. They’ll generally say yes. Is there then financial support for the presumably unwed mother? Does the law require the parents of the child to marry? Is it about the good of the child?

“Stats show that children raised in nuclear families end up better off than children raised by a single parent even in abusive relationships. What about guys who keep getting different women knocked up. Which one do they marry? You can eventually get them into a reductio ad absurdum position.”

“You really love making friends, don’t you?” Elisa said.

“With extreme libertarians I ask them if there are building inspectors. No building inspectors, people eventually cut corners until you have major problems. See . . . thousands of examples. People die. Is that okay? ‘That’s what civil suits are for!’ Does that bring back the dead? So, there are courts. Are there jails? Do criminals get locked up? I thought you said that was kidnapping. Instead of discussing the question, people trot out aphorisms without thinking about them. ‘An armed society is a polite society.’ Really? Tell that to the South Side of Chicago. Or Mogadishu.”

“More guns equal less crime, though, right?” Elisa said.

“The stats go that way,” Jason said. “But it’s not that guns automatically make things polite or orderly. A polite and orderly society will be more polite and orderly with guns. Or, possibly, it’s just very polite and orderly. An impolite and chaotic society will be more impolite and chaotic with guns. Arm Earth’s Denmark to the teeth and it will simply be . . . Denmark. Low crime, high social cohesion. Arm Bulgaria to the teeth and you’ve got a recipe for mass murder and civil war. Switzerland’s militia system had a military-grade firearm in practically every household. They were rarely if ever used in crime.”

“The US was, overall, a low-crime nation,” Elisa said. “Take some cities out of the stats and we were one of the lowest murder rates in the world.”

“Cities are always where it concentrates,” Jason said. “Going back as far as there’s any data on it. For one thing, that’s where the most people are. And there’s data on crime from the Roman and Chinese empires. Ask an anarcho-libertarian if there are laws against slavery, speaking of Romans. ‘With industrialization there’s no need for slavery.’ I got that as an answer one time. ‘Ever looked at China?’”

“Surprised you didn’t get a political science degree,” Elisa said. “You certainly think about it enough.”

“Never been sure what you do with one,” Jason said. “Political consultant? Politician? I’m more of a bomb thrower.”

“So, no real answer then,” Elisa said.

“The answer seems to be representative democracy,” Jason said, shrugging and picking at the remnants of the dinner. “Get a general consensus on what people prefer through choice of representatives. However, it requires a high degree of information and honesty, which is where the ‘angels of man’s better nature’ break down.”

“And instead of everyone being satisfied, everyone will always be a little dissatisfied,” Elisa said. “Because it requires constant compromises and you can never get everything that you want.”

“That,” Jason replied, nodding. “There’s no truly good answer except maybe benevolent dictatorship. And that breaks down on the ‘benevolent’ level because even if you have one generation of benevolent dictatorship it never lasts very long. And you get back to just . . . dictatorship. See also the Roman Empire, again, or Chinese or any number of other historical examples. This is boring. Sorry. I’ve eaten alone a lot.”

“I don’t think so,” Elisa said, dimpling. “I was going to get a political science degree. This is the sort of discussion I like.”

“Was it common fare in your household?” Jason asked.

“Sometimes,” Elisa replied. “Though, when the various grandparents were around it was mostly very firmly held positions that brooked no discussion. So . . . yeah. Socratic method might not go over so well.”

“I’ll eat an apple and nod approvingly,” Jason said. “With occasional chuckles at appropriate times.”

“An apple?” Elisa asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Ever seen Being There?” Jason asked. “Probably before your time. Peter Sellers’s last and most brilliant work.”

“Not familiar with it,” Elisa said. “I’ll put it on my to-be-watched pile. When did it come out?”

“I don’t even remember,” Jason said. “Nineties?”

Being There was released in 1979,” Adam replied.

“God, was it that long ago?” Jason asked. “I suppose so. It depicted New York at the bottom of its seventies trench.”

“We could watch it on a pad,” Elisa said.

“We’d have to get very close,” Jason said.

“Your pads can be combined into one larger screen,” Jewel said helpfully.

“We’ll still have to sit very close,” Elisa said.

* * *

“So, I figured out something cool,” Jason said as they came back in from snorkeling. Elisa was carrying a Sorta Snapper that she’d speared.

She also loved the water, fishing, snorkeling and was scuba qualified, which Jason wasn’t. She loved to hunt and the out of doors but also could talk about sci-fi movies and books better than Jason. For one thing her memory was more crystal clear on some items.

Her love of anime was just one of those things you accepted in someone you loved.

And he was sure he loved her. He had business piling up and he was putting it off to spend time with Elisa.

“Which is?” Elisa said, sitting down on the water’s edge, cross-legged. She slid out a tentacle of flex and neatly slit the wrasse’s throat then gutted and filleted it. “Just this stuff is cool.”

“I’ve said it has a gazillion and one uses,” Jason said. “But so do Alfreds. Alfred One over here with thirty kilos of flex, Jewel.”

“Going for a ride?” Jewel asked.

“We are,” Jason said.

“A ride?” Elisa asked, looking curious. “Again? You really are a randy old goat.”

“Yes,” Jason said. “But a different kind.”

“You can’t do this with the containers,” Jason said, forming the flex into a double saddle with a high back. “They have to stay flat for the contragravity. They also don’t have lift and drive. Care to play biker babe?”

“Are you kidding?” Elisa asked, jumping onto the back of the bike. She waved her feet in the air. “Wooo-hoo! Plus, there’s nowhere to put them.”

“Think pedals,” Jason said. “And put your mask back on. It’s gonna get windy. Jewel, have a drone get the fillets, please.”

Elisa planted her feet on pedals then whipped off her bikini top.

“If I’m gonna go biker babe might as well go all the way.” She tossed the top onto the sand and waved. “Adam, take care of that, ’kay? You coming?”

“Close,” Jason said, admiring the view. He climbed on the bike and pulled up his swim goggles then formed control handles and lifted it into the air.

“Hang on real tight.”

“Woooohuh! Whoooa! Whoa!”

* * *

“Hey!” Elisa said about thirty minutes later. She tapped on his arm. “Look down! What are those?”

There were torpedo-shaped fish coasting through the water under them. The water was crystal clear and Jason wasn’t sure how deep they were. They could have been medium-size fish at the surface or very big and a hundred feet down. It was impossible to tell.

“Looks like tuna!” Elisa yelled. “Can we catch them?”

“That’s a good question,” Jason said, slowing the air-bike down. “I’ve got exactly nothing for a weight so lowering flexmet . . . it will just fling in the wind. We need a weight.”

“And a pole,” Elisa said. “Yes, I know that we can use flex. And we should try to harvest some for the company. But can we see about catching some, pretty please?”

“Whatever you want, my dear,” Jason said, thinking about it. “Could do it the way I did in Wilson Bay. Or I’ve got poles with me that might be big enough. Depends on how big the fish are. These are yellowfin, not blue, I think. You wanna angle for one or spearfish?”

Elisa thought about it for a moment then pouted.

“Both?” she asked.

“As you wish,” Jason said.

* * *

Elisa dove off the side of the bike and started kicking downward toward the oncoming yellowfin tuna, spear gun extended. She’d brought a bunch of free-diving gear with her including long fins for rapid diving.

Jason swung back around to keep the shadow from spooking the fish and watched as she dove deeper. The girl could hold her breath, that’s for sure.

She fired the dart and it ran straight and true into the side of the tuna. Then she jerked, releasing the inflating balloon-buoy, and headed to the surface.

Jason lowered the bike to water level, took the spear gun from her, flexing it to the body of the bike, then helped her board.

“Where’d it go?” Elisa asked.

“There,” Jason said as the buoy hit the surface.

“And how do we get it to land?” Elisa asked.

“You don’t use flex for everything,” Jason said, directing the bike into the air.

He leaned over and grabbed the buoy then handed the line to Elisa.

“Can you pull it up a bit?” he asked. Then he extended a length of flex into the water and after a couple of attempts managed to catch the struggling tuna’s tail. After that it was a matter of bringing it up under the bike. “Jewel. Tractor beam.”

The tractor beam was almost invisible in the blue water but it locked onto the tuna easily enough.

“And away we go,” Jason said. “Hang onto the line, yeah?”

“Got it,” Elisa said.

* * *

He lowered the four-hundred-pound tuna to the ground and Elisa jumped off and quickly slit the fish’s throat.

“I need a picture,” Elisa said. She flipped her hair to the side then lifted the heavy fish up as far as she could. “Quick, get a picture!”

“With or without your bra top?” Jason asked, grinning.

“Ah!” Elisa said, putting her arms over her breasts. “Adam! If you send the drone footage to my parents, digitize in a top! And this picture. And all the pictures!”

“Will do,” Adam said.

“Picture,” Jason said, holding up his phone.

“I’m going to send that to my parents as proof that some mysterious stranger hasn’t kidnapped me!” Elisa said.

“With this tech it’s possible to fake something like that,” Jason said, shrugging. “I could have kidnapped you. I control the ships. I could just leave you here as my captive and fake communications to your parents.”

“I can easily counteract that,” Adam said sternly. “I can communicate with system security if you . . . ”

“Shut. Up. Adam,” Elisa said. “Oh, no! Please don’t keep me here as your slave!” she added, putting her hand to her forehead dramatically. “Don’t be so cruel!”

“I can be very cruel indeed,” Jason said archly. “In fact, you are in desperate need of . . . a tickling.”

“Oh, now you’d better be joking,” Elisa said seriously.

“You need to be tickled.”

“No . . . No . . . I’m serious . . . Nooo . . . ” Elisa said, backing away, both hands out in a stop signal . . . 

“Jewel, Alfred, handle the tuna,” Jason said, rubbing his hands together. “Tickling is about to commence . . . ”

* * *

“That was interesting in whole new ways I didn’t know existed,” Elisa said, leaning into his shoulder. “I am now weirdly attracted to flexmet.”

“That’s a very strange fetish to have,” Jason said. “But I knew a lady who was turned on by the sound of Velcro for similar reasons. I have been around the block more than once, my dear. And I am very inventive.”

“And cruel. Let’s not forget cruel. Do you get paid for this? ’Cause you should get paid for this . . . ”


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