posted 01-02-99 09:32 PM ET        

Jeremy Allen Borodino, Minister of Extra-Factional Affairs for the Peacekeepers, wandered from stall to stall in Hope’s central mercado. Sven Sorrensen, Hope’s city planner, had certainly chosen from a wide variety of architectural sources when he laid out the domed city. The Mediterranean atmosphere of Central Plaza and El Mercado somehow managed to complement the Neo-Neo-Classical designs of the Government Building and the Garland Museum and the Oriental stylings of the Meiji sector and the American air of the Coolidge and Garfield sectors and … . Hope was an international city, no doubt.

“I’ll take a dozen.”
“How much for that bolt of cloth?”
“That’s outrageous!”
“Seeds, seeds! Grow your own food; increase your rations!”
“I’ll pay ten nobels, and not a centi more.’

The signs of the vigorous semi-barter economy under which Hope operated were everywhere, ringing in one’s ears. Manufacturing production was limited, so cottage industries had sprung up. Since shortage was the rule, one had to either to stand in line, use ration coupons, or win a lottery system for some of the necessities of life; and luxuries came and went under a nearly unregulated market, such as El Mercado. This is the way things were, and the government said it was so. The former required the latter, for no government, not even that of Commissioner Lal, ever wanted to admit that the current situation was quite of its own making [unless of course, the current situation was considered bad by the 50.001% of the voting public].

posted 01-04-99 07:42 PM ET            

He came up behind her.

“Good evening, Justice Kildare.” He said in his most formal manner.

“Minister Borodino, you shouldn’t startle an old woman!” She really wasn’t that old – her mid-fifties – although her cinnamon hair was frosted with some steely wisps.

“I am so sorry, my dear justice; frightening you was not my intent.”

“Jerem, let’s drop the formalities. The game is usually fun, but tonight … .”

“Okay, Dorian.” He sat down at her table in Alejandro’s Café, overlooking the Pax River that ran through Hope. It was actually just a cycling stream which flowed from one end of the dome to the other, but the terraformers among them hoped eventually to tap an aquifer to make the river a reality outside of their little enclosure.

A waitress fluttered by. “Would you like anything to drink?”

“Iced tea, double sweet” Kildare responded.

“Nothing yet, thanks.” Jeremy answered.

“I’ll be right back.” The waitress buzzed off to other tables on the patio.

Dorian closed her eyes for an extended moment and rubbed her temples.

“Difficult day?” Borodino queried.

“Quite. Not much in actual case load, of course. Crime is still rare here in Hope, but I’ve been working on the judiciary section of the constitution as you asked. It’s been a slow go.”

“I understand. But perhaps we shouldn’t speak of that here …” He gestured around at the crowded, very public patio where they were seated. “Our constitutional work isn’t common knowledge yet.”

“I know.” She paused. “How’re the ‘extra-factional affairs’ going these days?” She spoke Jeremy’s ministerial portfolio with a mock aristocratic accent. Somehow the effect she was looking for died in her very distinctive Yukon voice.

“Very well, actually. We’ve finally managed to convince, for now at least, the Believers that we were not responsible for their little communications fiasco. Baker’s proved to be a far better diplomat here than he ever was on Earth. As for the other factions, only the University and Morgan are close enough to be of immediate concern. Godwinson’s been in contact with Skye, but only God knows where Yang and that miscreant Santiago landed. We’ve not heard from either of them since Planetfall.”

“I’m surprised that you didn’t add ‘and good riddance’ to that last statement.”

“I thought it really loud, though, didn’t I?”

She laughed.

Jerem said, “I’ve one more bit of shop talk for tonight, but not for here. We’ll go to Anderson’s apartment after dinner. He should know too; after all he’s been part of our little cabal from the beginning.”

“What is this about?”

“My trip to Vulcan’s Forge. And a group I contacted out there: the Delta Octan.”

A puzzled expression held her face for an instant, but she realized that Jerem wouldn’t speak of it again until he was ready. Instead, she picked up the menu.

posted 01-08-99 08:49 PM ET            

“Thank you for accepting my invitation for tea, Minister.”

“Not at all. Thank you for your kind invitation, Lady Alice.” Jerem returned.

Jeremy Borodino and Lady Alice Conroy sat walked outside her cottage near her rose garden. Born in Ireland’s Aran Isles, Lady Alice was the widow of a British prime minister. She had been a major voice in Britain’s support of the Alpha Centauri project, and when offered the chance to join the passenger manifest, she had accepted readily. Her youth had been spent in agricultural pursuits, and she returned to these now, as her legal training was hardly needed here on Alpha Centauri. Avalon dabbled in a little of everything, but agriculture and timber had always been its foremost pursuit.

Borodino had been visiting Avalon on another matter. But when the invitation came from Lady Alice, he decided to make the most of this trip.

“Lady Alice, your garden is truly beautiful, as are your orchards. Mostly apple trees, right?”

“Yes, Minister, with a little bit of cherry. My co-op also grows strawberries and honeybees. Would you like to see one of the apiaries?”

“Most assuredly.”

They continued walking under the canopy of the orchard Lady Alice called Demeter. The dome glistened high overhead. Avalon had a small dome, as such things went, but it was still over four kilometers in diameter and had a lot of room, especially considering its small population of just over one hundred.

They stopped at a small hut where the orchard met a meadow of clover.

“We’ll need to get suited up.” Lady Alice led Jeremy through the process of dressing in the cumbersome beekeeper’s gear. “The clover is one of the bee’s staple foods, although we do trick some of them into visiting the fruit and berry plants. Have you ever had strawberry honey?”

“No, I don’t believe I have.”

“I shall have to make sure that you get some then, once the crop is ready for harvest. Besides the honey, we also use the beeswax to make candles at our building down by the town square. You in the government must think our wares unnecessary luxuries: fruit, honey, candles.”

“Not at all, Lady Alice. As a doctor, Commissioner Lal understands the importance of a well-rounded diet. And for myself, I see great utility in luxuries, especially in trade.”

“Oh?”

“That was one of the things I most wished to discuss with you: the Morganites have both computer-grade silicon and moderate-quality aluminum, both commodities we are desperately short on. We have relatively little in the way of minerals to offer them in return. They are, however, people of exorbitant tastes, and your scented candles and fruit-flavored honey may be just the things we need to broker a trade deal. We can talk about this later, though. Right now, I want to see those bees.”

She laughed. “Of course. How’s that nephew of yours? Sir Phillip’s son?”