Tranquility Down

Tranquility Down

Part Eight

by G. Lawrence

In this sequel to Tranquility in Darkness, we find Grey, Kris, and their allies struggling to establish the Lunar Republic as a legitimate nation. This old-style science fiction novel is presented in 11 parts.

Recap: Following the crash of his spaceship, Grey found work on a small California farm using the alias Ben Brown. When he discovered the farmers were being threatened by local gangsters, he warned them off. When they attacked a nearby household, he intervened. Now he is seeking a reckoning. Or is he? All characters are over 18 years old. All rights reserved.

* * * * * *

Chapter 8

CITY DWELLERS

They started their journey early Monday morning, setting out for the big city in John's truck. With the security precautions surrounding the coastal military installations making the beach highway too slow, they chose an inland route instead, going up a steep hill and through several heavily populated valleys before cresting a low mountain range.

Grey was amazed. The suburbs were crowded enough, but the Metropolis of Los Angeles was bigger than anything he had ever imagined. He had seen the city through telescopes dozens of times, even studied it after the Olvera Earthquake, but from the ground it was simply immense.

John parked the truck in a storage facility called the Universal Foothills and they walked to the entrance of the public transit system.

"This is the edge of the municipal transport zone," John said. "No private vehicles past here. We'll need to take the train the rest of the way."

"We can meet back here later," Grey said as they approached the train station, hefting his shoulder bag up to a more comfortable position.

"There are hundreds of routes and sub routes. I'll feel better to know you're on track," John insisted

"The maps are clear," Grey replied.

"No map ever programmed will help you solve the L.A. transit system," John warned. "Let's take the main downtown and transfer at the hub. It's not the most direct route but it's easy to understand."

Without allowing debate, John proceeded into the train station and ordered two day passes. Grey followed slowly, seeing thousands of humans running to and from the transport platforms with grim determination. The trains themselves came in different sizes and models, some only going short distances with small loads, others more elaborate. Suspecting what Grey would enjoy most, John had gotten them tickets for the scenic deck on one of the big magno-liners.

The train began on elevated tracks, dropped underground through a strangely decorated tunnel, and rose back up to another elevated section. As the downtown grew closer, Grey saw a vast intermingling of new buildings designed with the latest earthquake resistant applications and older buildings, some going back more than a century. He had expected to see a seething urban cesspool of blight and vice, like in the entertainment vids he had watched such as Death Zoning and So-Cal Meltdown, but most of the city actually looked quite civilized. Clean avenues, numerous green spaces, and a park featuring historic dwellings. Even a tree-lined river walk. John looked at Grey seeming to read his mind.

"Not bad during the day, but keep that bag of yours nearby if you're on the streets at night," John warned.

As they approached the train station east of the downtown area, Grey was able to get a close look at the city's most famous landmark, the Twelve Sisters, built where much of the original city had stood thirty years before. Linked by an intricate series of elevated walkways and monorails, the skyscrapers were considered by many to be the tenth wonder of the modern world. Grey could not disagree. They were taller than anything he had ever seen, and the way the sun played off the glass shielding made them sparkle in clever patterns.

"The McNair complex is east of here, up Police Academy Road near Sports World," John said, noticing Grey's eyebrows go up. "What? You think it's strange that a criminal organization should be located near the police academy? This is L.A., Ben. They define strange."

Grey nodded as if he understood, which he didn't. All humans seemed strange to him, the differences were mere technicalities.

At the bustling hub, they switched to a commuter train which was largely empty at the moment, and passed a string of entertainment complexes as they approached the nearby foothills. Grey had visited Lunar Stadium many times, the open environment arena located at the foot of Tranquility Ridge capable of seating two-hundred spectators, but these complexes were far larger, designed for tens of thousands of humans. Grey wondered how many days it took to seat everyone.

From the train station that served the largest stadium, Grey and John walked a mere kilometer up the hill to the McNair headquarters, stopping before an unmarked iron gate flanked by ivy covered walls. There were no guards posted, nor evidence of security devices.

"Thank you for your assistance," Grey said, reaching to shake John's hand as custom required.

"What? No, I'm going in with you," John said.

"No, you aren't," Grey replied.

"But ...?"

"I owe your wife and children too great a debt already," Grey said.

John had heard that voice of authority before.

"I'll wait for you at the train station," John said. "The City View Bar."

"This should not take long," Grey concluded.

Grey opened his shoulder bag to take out his leather holster, strapping it around his hips like he had done thousands of times before. Then he holstered the fully charged Lassiter, drew it quick draw style to test the reach, then drew a second time even faster.

"I haven't come looking for a fight, but they should know I won't back away, either," Grey said.

"I'm beginning to realize that," John acknowledged. "Ben, are you an enforcer? Were you paid to come to Hope Valley?"

"No, John, I'm not an enforcer," Grey said. "I'm an engineer. And if I was looking to be paid, Hope Valley wouldn't be my first destination."

"There can't be any doubt about that," John said with a cautious smile.

Without warning, a portal in the gate opened. It was no surprise to Grey they were being monitored. He squared his shoulders and stepped through. When the door closed just as suddenly, John walked back down the road alone.

The interior courtyard was like a park. Fruit trees, flower gardens, an old Roman style fountain, and an elegant brick mansion with long white balconies and colonnades. To one side, Grey spied a carefully weeded tomato patch, but the tomatoes weren't thriving. Insufficient nitrogen, he guessed by the brownish leaves.

Two thirds of the way across the courtyard, positioned before the main house, was a tall black man dressed in full body armor with a racked energy shield. An enforcer, fully equipped, just like in the simulations Grey had challenged in training.

Grey walked to within ten meters of the enforcer and stopped, standing casually but still in the ready position.

"So, you're Billy the Kid," the enforcer said, the tone more curious than mocking. "They say you're good."

The enforcer appeared to be well into his thirties, strong and alert. The cool brown eyes indicated professional interest.

"I have no quarrel with any member of your profession," Grey said, glancing for threats to his flanks. "Nor will I harm Mister McNair unless it becomes necessary."

"No one walks in here and threatens my client," the enforcer said. "My name is Simon Davidson Gott, enforcer first degree, twice braided and winner of the golden sash. Who are you to walk in here alone, unarmored, and make any kind of demands?"

"No more than I have to be," Grey said, finding the human's boasting irritating.

"What is spring, but a new day;

What is summer, but a long afternoon;

What is fall, but a time to come;

Then fear not winter, for all need sleep."

"A regular troubadour, aren't you?" Gott said, less angry than annoyed. Apparently enforcers were expected to inspire more fear than Grey felt, not that he wasn't concerned. But in Grey's opinion, the enforcer would have done better by dispensing with the full body armor. Or at least have kept his visor closed.

"I would rather not harm you," Grey said.

"That's a laugh," Gott said with a huff, shifting just slightly.

Grey drew his Lassiter so swiftly the enforcer could hardly follow the motion. A quick shot from the hip on tight beam burned off the right pivot of Gott's helmet that would have allowed the protective visor to close. As bits of shattered metal sprayed his cheek, Gott saw Grey reholster the Lassiter, then suddenly draw and fire again, cutting through the left shoulder sensor on his armor and exploding the circuit only a few centimeters from his face. A second shot blew away the right shoulder sensor. Grey performed a double turning sidestep to strike any threats to his rear, of which there were none, then holstered his sidearm again and reset. The enforcer hadn't made a move yet, but Grey knew that if the human reached for his weapon, he'd have to kill him.

Gott wasn't laughing now. A seasoned veteran, he had rarely witnessed such a combination of speed and marksmanship. There was no doubt in Gott's mind that his opponent could have fired into his open visor had he wanted to. And still could. But more than that, there was something in the young farmer's technique that was very familiar. A style he had recently studied. Seen on a vid transmission. Something in the last few months...

"My God, I know who you are," the enforcer said, relaxing his shoulders into the stand down position.

"Then you know I'm not here to interfere with the petty quarrels of you Earth humans," Grey said.

"You won't target Mister McNair?" Gott required.

"It's not my intention nor in my interest," Grey assured him.

"This way," Gott said, latching his sidearm and motioning for Grey to follow.

They entered the mansion through the front door, discovering an ornate reception hall overlooked by wide balconies and an impressive grand staircase, the floor made of polished marble. Grey remembered the Sales Computer mentioning that such architecture was often designed to overawe and create a psychological advantage. He decided to enjoy the beauty of the dwelling without letting it affect his judgment.

After passing through massive oak doors, they entered an outer office where three female assistants were at work. All of the women were young and, by contemporary standards, could be described as voluptuous. Grey tried to observe the environment as the Life Support Computer had taught him, the workers appearance certainly a reflection of their employer's character. The females were all on their feet watching as Gott escorted Grey through to the executive offices, their expressions distrustful. Grey easily ignored them.

McNair's office was a spacious room filled with graceful sculptures and colorful multi-dimensional artwork. The man Grey assumed was Raleigh McNair was sitting behind a long glass desk, a flower garden visible through the window just beyond him. Standing at McNair's elbow was the young man he had seen at Old Sam's farm. To his right, Grey noticed Mason and Terril leaning against the wall, Mason with his arm in a sling.

Grey stopped a few meters short of the desk as Gott moved around to stand behind his employer.

"So? What the goddamn hell is this all about?" McNair said, standing up as he appraised his visitor. "Why are you interfering in my business? Who shoots up Mason's boys and gets away with it?" A big man, and much overweight, McNair's voice boomed even in the large room.

"I can tell you that, uncle," the young man said, seeming to gain great satisfaction from the situation.

"You do that, Georgie," McNair said.

"This is Grey Waters," the nephew announced.

"And I'm Shirley Temple the Third," McNair replied angrily. Then he looked at Grey carefully. The ready stance. The neutral expression. The firm gaze that searched with deep curiosity.

"Damn, it is you, isn't it?" McNair said, slowly drifting back into his chair. "That kid who grew up on the moon."

"I watched the fight at the old rancher's place," George said. "Same moves as on the bio vid. Same technique. Complete indifference to the odds."

"I am not indifferent to the odds," Grey corrected. "I simply don't find cowards especially challenging."

Terril jumped forward at the remark but McNair waved him back.

"You'll pardon me if I don't understand what this is all about?" McNair said.

"It's not necessary that you understand," Grey responded, stepping up to the edge of the desk.

Grey looked McNair over, studying the older man with a coldness that would have made Life Support proud. McNair felt himself positively unnerved by the scrawny young man, suddenly sensing a presence about him that inspired foreboding.

"You provide services I require," Grey revealed. "You also have interests that conflict with mine. We will resolve these differences to our mutual satisfaction."

"And if we can't?" McNair asked.

"Then I will resolve them to my satisfaction," Grey answered.

"Let me deal with this punk, Mister McNair," Mason said, stepping forward and reaching for his gun.

Grey turned and drew his sidearm in one swift motion, shooting Mason through the forehead. The gang leader staggered backward and collapsed dead on the floor, the quiet room suddenly splashed in bright red blood.

Then Grey looked at Terril, the human who had been so anxious for a fight at the pumping station. The same human who had no problem attacking an old man and setting fire to his ranch. The villainous human didn't look so anxious for a fight now, but Grey wasn't in a lenient mood. Terril quickly grasped the situation and reached for his gun, but Grey shot him through the chest before the human even had a chance to draw, killing him instantly.

"Fucking hell!" McNair shouted, jumping to his feet.

To his credit, McNair made no effort to back away. Simon Gott straightened up but made no move to interfere. George looked shocked by the sudden explosion of brutality.

"Your support units are inefficient," Grey said, casually re-holstering his blaster as if nothing unusual had happened.

"George, get the man a chair," McNair said, retaking his seat.

George quickly pulled a chair up to the opposite side of the desk. Grey noticed the chair was lower than McNair's, another attempt to achieve a psychological edge, and declined to make use of it.

"We should make our respective positions clear," Grey said. "I warned your units to leave Hope Valley alone. They failed to follow instructions. Now they no longer function. I require services unavailable through conventional commercial channels. If you wish to provide these services, you will make a profit. If you decline, I'll seek the services elsewhere. If you choose to interfere, you will be eliminated."

"Eliminated?" George gasped.

Grey huffed impatiently and took out his transmitter.

"Traveler to Little Helper," Grey summoned.

"Acknowledged, Traveler," the Security Computer said. "But if you don't change that code name, I'll fry your ass and do things my way."

"Acknowledged, Overlord," Grey teased, a small smile breaking out. "Have you target acquisition?"

"Affirmative," Security said.

"Strategic update," Grey requested.

"Your location contains eleven persons," Security reported. "The site is owned by Raleigh Ireland McNair, an urban hoodlum speculating in bookmaking, black markets and real estate manipulation. The complex can be destroyed on fourteen minutes notice. McNair's family and known associates are downloaded into our database. They can be targeted and destroyed over a forty-eight-hour period, however, in destroying portions of the city and a small town, there will be significant collateral damage. Our orbitals have a limited capacity for target discrimination."

"Estimated casualties?" Grey asked.

"Thirty-five, mostly in McNair's hometown of Ralston, Nevada," Security concluded.

"Thank you, Overlord. Standby for instructions," Grey said as he looked at McNair. "Contrary to appearances, this is not a threat. Just as you have resources to defend your interests, I have resources to protect mine. You humans respect the potential for violence. Tranquility has that potential."

McNair swiveled his chair around to look out the window toward the gardens, contemplating his options. Grey waited patiently, much to Gott's relief. George looked on with curiosity.

"I like your style kid," McNair said as he slowly turned back. "And I never much cared for Mason. Son of a bitch even scared me sometimes. So? Are you saying I don't have a choice?"

"Negative," Grey said, remembering Life Support's advice not to back the human into a corner. "You are free to reject my offer of a business relationship. Nothing more needs to be said."

McNair waved to George, motioned for Grey to follow, and they moved from the office to the adjoining room, a library featuring walnut bookcases, padded easy chairs and a leather couch. McNair opened a box of Cuban cigars, gave one to Grey, and kept another for himself.

"Gott, get rid of that tin suit and find a cleaning crew," McNair ordered. "George, sit here with us."

Grey took a chair with his back to the wall and George sat in the chair next to him. McNair sat in the middle of the couch.

"My nephew here has a business degree from Stanford," McNair explained. "Doesn't care much for our methods, as I guess you've learned."

"I'm glad to meet you, Governor Waters. Really glad," George said with an eager smile.

Grey could see the admiration in young George's expression. It was a phenomenon he still didn't understand but knew it had its uses.

"I'm in your debt," Grey answered with full sincerity, shaking the offered hand with a firm grip.

"You mentioned a business relationship. What's that all about?" McNair said, lighting Grey's cigar before lighting his own.

"Tranquility requires a wide range of robotic units and chemical bases that the Northern Alliance has refused to export," Grey explained. "To be candid, I don't want your government knowing the extent of our shortages. I also need accurate manufacturer's data on the equipment we order. Too many products are fraudulently graded."

"Everyone complains about that," George said. "By the time the politicians take their cut off the top, the corporations don't have enough profit left to produce good products."

"How much exchange are we discussing?" McNair asked.

"Approximately two billion credits spread over the next five years," Grey replied.

"Billion?" McNair asked, almost choking on his cigar.

"If the relationship proves rewarding, there may be additional opportunities. Can your organization handle such volume?" Grey asked.

"I won't pretend it's easy," McNair said. "But for that kind of money, you bet your ass we'll handle it."

"I am betting my ass, and a lot more," Grey said.

"We'll have to expand our international operations, find new shipping routes," George said, already excited by the challenge. "A foreign space port, too. Maybe Free Quebec or Panama."

"It will be necessary to create a network of legitimate fronts," Grey added, recalling the notes provided to him by the Administration Computer. "The new corporations will need a public figurehead capable of assuming managerial control. George would be an acceptable nominee. And no humans are to be threatened or killed unless absolutely necessary."

"This is a substantial proposal, Mister Waters," McNair said. "What is with the small potatoes in Hope Valley? What have they got to do with this?"

"I have my own designs for this region," Grey said. "Speaking of which, I understand you control assets throughout Ventura County. It would be a favor to me if I could purchase options on your agricultural holdings."