The receptionist leads us to a well-appointed office and tells us that Leyland Campos will be in soon. The walls are decorated with maps of Brazil and the entirety of South America itself. Clearly Campos has not forgotten his Earth origins. But in addition to an impressive desk and a circular table with chairs around it, all made of shelftop, there is also a glass enclosure in the corner containing a variety of Chiron flora. The local version of a terrarium buzzes with life as I drift toward it, and the fronds of my boutonniere rustle as well. The air in the domes is heavily filtered, but in this room at least, there are a few comforts of the outdoors.
The prominent desk is covered with architectural plans, but the meeting table is bare, so that is where I spread out the aboveboard (literally, given the trunk now has a false bottom) materials we’ve brought. This is really bringing back my salesman days.
After ten minutes, during which I have little to distract me from grim thoughts of what will happen if Snacker gives up Fritz, the office door opens. A portly older gentleman, mid-sixties probably, comes in and closes the door behind him. His skin is a similar golden brown to mine, lighter than Fritz’s, and the fringe of hair around his bald pate and under his nose has gone white-gray. “Ah! Good morning, gentlemen,” he greets us pleasantly. “Good to see you, Mr. Fritz the Tailor and… I apologize, I don’t know your associate. I’m Leyland Campos.” I hold out my hand for a shake and introduce myself as Mariah Esteban Thorne. “That’s interesting,” Campos comments. “I don’t meet many non-planetfallers who use their full names.”
“You haven’t,” I tell him. “I’m from Earth.”
I can feel the crackle of resonance energies in the room, and Fritz is shooting me a quizzical look—my boutonniere is pulsating—but Leyland Campos simply grins at me. “You are exceptionally young, sir. It is too early in the morning for that!” he says with a chuckle.
“No, no, it’s no joke,” I tell him. “My cryopod didn’t open with everyone else’s. I worked with Sylvia Stanton in HR back on Earth,” I say, a minor fib, but I’m trying to establish rapport. “Do you remember her? She was supposed to be your administrative assistant.”
“That name sounds familiar…” he murmurs, but then he just shrugs. I’m not really surprised. It has been thirty years, after all, and she never showed up for work. “But let’s not get too distracted. Fritz, you have a proposal for me, right?”
We’re here to demonstrate that the Stepdaughters of Chiron are a better trade partner than adversary, but Fritz knows better than to lead in with that. “It is an immense pleasure to meet you,” he tells Campos. “Yes, we have a proposal of trade for a man of such business acumen as you to consider.” For a timid person to have gotten as far as Campos has in this dome, he must be making smart decisions.
“Aw, no, there’s nothing special about me,” Campos says self-consciously. Fritz may have laid it on too thick. “I just do hard work. Now, what is this really about?” His eyes scan the materials on the table before settling on me. “I see you have some wares out, Mr. Thorne, so why don’t we just get down to business and see if there’s anything worthwhile here. How am I going to make money on this deal?”
Time to get down to this for real. “I’m not here on behalf of a business,” I tell him, earning me a quizzical look. “I’m here on behalf of the planet.” The flora in the terrarium is still waving slowly in response to my presence, and a glow rises to my eyes as well. “Right now, the planet is the main one suffering casualties from the conflict between Morgan Industries and the Stepdaughters of Chiron—needless conflict. Everything on that table there, and more besides, has been produced by the Stepdaughters of Chiron using locally grown materials—a wealth of sustainable products that needn’t cause long-term damage to Chiron or to humans.” I’ve captured Campos’s attention now, this man who has built with shelftop, and I press my case. “We’re here because we think you’re reasonable. We’re here because we think that you can see the bigger picture. This conflict is a personal vendetta Nwabudike Morgan has. I know Morgan; I worked for him on Earth. That vendetta, it’s getting in the way of wealth and prosperity and growth.”
The others in the room are watching me, Campos with a mix of curiosity and skepticism, Fritz with appreciation in his eyes and a smile lightly dancing along his lips. Fritz wordlessly ushers us over to the table. While Campos and I settle in seats at it, he turns to the trunk. The only things left in there are his personal items and the evidence against Morgan, all concealed under the false bottom.
“You’re making some intriguing points, Mr. Thorne,” Campos says, nonchalantly looking over an item or two. “But I’m curious what you’re going to get out of this. I don’t quite get the feeling that you’re looking for a job, per se, but we’re always looking for new representatives here. This all sounds like a good deal for me,” he waves at the bounty spread across the table, “but what about you? You say you’re an emissary of the planet—what does that really mean? These products look great, but that’s not going to fly with Morgan. He doesn’t feel safe around the planet, and safety is paramount to him.” Well, there’s another ship coming from Earth, and he can get on that and head back home, if that’s what he wants. I know better than to say the first thing that comes to my mind, though. “I can’t sell these goods,” Campos continues. “It’s a huge pain in the neck to use such products anywhere in the dome. I’m lucky I was able to build a network node out of shelftop—although that got messed with,” he grumbles. His eyes drift away as he mulls over that unfortunate event, and they settle on my cane, which I’m casually tapping to highlight another use of shelftop. “That looks like top quality work,” he comments.
I nod graciously, accepting the compliment, but then it’s right back into the fray. “This dome has a board, not a dictator,” I remind Campos. “If Morgan’s the only thing keeping you from selling these goods, then Morgan is what has to go.” Campos makes a face at that, screwing up with displeasure or perhaps just unease. “There’s a lot of dissension in this dome right now,” I observe, and he nods in agreement. Then I practically quote him verbatim, having been shown privileged emails by Roze. “Morgan has wasted a lot of resources. He was already wasting a lot of resources on this foolish repo squad program. And now vehicles that could be used to safely transport people to worksites outside the dome, being used for what? Getting stuck in the hills!” I shake my head in disapproval and continue, “I understand Morgan must have support on the board from people like Bianca Horvath.” I hold out my hand to Fritz, who has sat down next to me with a pile of incriminating materials in a stack in front of him. He gives me the report Bella recovered. I toss it on the table in front of Campos. “Perfectly good crops stopped because of people’s pride, people’s fear? But if they had somebody else in charge, someone who understood the value that Chiron’s materials have to offer, this place could really open up. The Stepdaughters of Chiron aren’t the enemy of the citizens of this dome. Morgan has made them a personal enemy.” Campos gives a hum of consideration, though whether he’s agreeing or preparing himself to object, I can’t tell.
“What I want out of all of this is for humans to stop trying to recreate Earth. People who left Earth for a reason need to step up and make this place their home. This is not sustainable,” I say, with a broad gesture that encompasses the whole dome. “These domes? In a hundred years? People hiding in them? It’s not going to work. There’s life outside these domes. And there’s more life for people who are brave enough to step up and live it. The board needs to change, and that’s the will of the people in this dome. You’ve seen the unrest in these streets. There are no Chiron-born humans on that board. Their views aren’t being represented.”
“I invite you to consider this,” Fritz says, passing the ledger from the wolf beetle gambling racket to Campos as well. “Morgan is poised to ruin us, and this really speaks to his character. The hypocrisy of this, running wolf beetle battle rings while stymying your efforts to work with native materials! He’s going to drain the domes.” Fritz shakes his head in disapproval. “We’re all proper business folks here. This isn’t good for business, and these are the kinds of ethics that Morgan’s working under. This doesn’t reflect well on the leadership of this society.”
Campos nods. “Morgan is greedy,” he says baldly. “Look at us. Obviously we all value wealth and the acquisition of it. But Morgan just wants more. He doesn’t know how to stop wanting more.”
“Hence the Earth Corridor project?” I suggest.
He nods. “Hence the Earth Corridor.” He picks up the ledger and flips briefly through it, but it will require much closer examination. He snaps it closed and sets it on the table, then taps it a few times in consideration before looking back at me, the outsider here. “Mr. Thorne, I appreciate your vote of confidence in me and that you think Morgan has to go. But I disagree that our ways aren’t sustainable. There’s a whole planet here and, frankly, not that many humans. You’re right that this push is Morgan’s personal issue and is a waste of resources. And it’s a waste of life. But this is what the board wants; this is what the shareholders agreed to. Everyone started with one share, and we’ve all decided what we’re going to do with those. Some people chose to sell their shares, and now Morgan owns a lot of them. This course we are on, this is what Morgan Industries, as a society, has agreed to do. It would be unlawful for us to, what, stage some kind of coup? That wouldn’t be fair to the people who either voted their shares or sold their shares. We have a responsibility to them.”
“There’s another ship from Earth coming,” I tell Campos. Fritz’s eyebrows go up at this—it’s something that didn’t come up in our conversation last night. “And there will be more beyond that, I’m sure. You think you have an endless supply of resources here? Yeah, people on Earth thought that way too. That is what’s not responsible.” I shake my head in disappointment. This is not going the way I hoped it would, and irritation is slipping into my voice. Is the rest of the board as easy for Morgan to push around as this timid man? “I was told that you were a potential good replacement for Morgan as chair of Morgan Industries. I’m not really see that material here. There are systems in place for us to work through—you’re just not willing to try. Dr. Bingyi Khan was recently appointed to the board as a reward for good work, not voted onto it. How does that fit with shareholders expressing their will?”
“Well, that was an emergency vacancy. She’ll be up for election—”
I jump right on that opening. “Oh? An emergency vacancy? Why was there a vacancy? Why wasn’t an election held to fill that vacancy?”
“We will hold an election at a normal time. But it makes sense to just fill a vacancy when it comes up so that we don’t put everyone through all that stress.”
“In your charter, there is a place that says emergency elections can be held. Morgan can call them.”
“Well, yes, the board of directors can call early elections if they see fit to do so.”
“You need to force Morgan’s hand,” I tell Campos. “You need to get him to call the elections.”
“How can you say replacing Morgan wouldn’t be lawful?” Fritz says. “Those laws are not going to matter if we all get killed by his war. The people voted for business and social leadership; they didn’t vote on power to cause cross-continental warfare. That’s a level Morgan invented for himself. We’re not looking to stage a coup, like you claimed. We’re trying to work within the law here. And besides, what are these new people going to think of us when they show up from Earth? What image are we presenting here?”
I lean in. “This isn’t a game,” I insist. “People haven’t died yet, but they will.”
Campos raises an eyebrow in challenge. “People have died. We lost people in a factory explosion that we traced back to the Stepdaughters of Chiron.” The blood drains from my face, and I sit back. How could I have forgotten that? I was just thinking of the upcoming clash between the Planetary Security Force and the army and navy that the Stepdaughters have sent this way. Those factory deaths, those are on me—another thing that Fritz doesn’t know.
“I don’t really want to get into who started this war,” Campos continues. “Though, you know, there were also attacks on our fishing vessels at sea,” he tells me, assuming that Fritz, a local, knows all this dome news. “Look, I think we should not be at war, okay? And yes, if there’s a way to replace Morgan, that could end it. But you need to get him to call those elections; that’s not something that I can do. I’m a rival board member! If I ask him to call elections, he’s going to think I’m up to something. That’s never going to work! You need to be real careful pulling this off, confident that you can land it. Because if it doesn’t work out right, this dome is going to be one more place that you’re going to end up not being welcome.”
What am I even doing here, meddling in a political system I only half-understand? From the very beginning, from as soon as I met Dr. Citali, I have been stumbling through this world without any clear idea of the consequences of what I’m doing. It had seemed like such a simple plan before: convince people that Morgan is unfit to lead and get someone else in charge of this society. But if Morgan himself is the only realistic avenue for calling elections that could potentially unseat him, then why, oh why, did we even continue to pursue this course? We should’ve come up with a new approach last night, once we’d talked with Fritz and Shu-Fen, actual dome residents who have actual knowledge of the system here! But what other plan could we possibly have come up with in such a short time? I’m at a total loss. Certainly not kidnap Morgan—there’s been enough of that. But time is running out. That blockade is going to start the day after tomorrow, and then people who are currently on the fence about the Stepdaughters will be just as likely to think them a threat as to be mad at Morgan for calling all this down upon their heads!
While I’m trying not to panic, Fritz is calm and cool. “We’re all on the same side here,” he tells Campos, trying to de-escalate the rising tension. “There could be a better future after this for us all with Morgan out of the picture. Business is good for bounty, and that’s what we all want, right? We don’t want a war, we want bounty, we want to make our way on this planet. If Morgan is as driven by fear and greed as you say, Mr. Campos, getting him to call elections shouldn’t be that difficult.”
“But you need to then win those elections,” Campos points out.
“Well, who would you vote for?” Fritz asks. “Who would you rather see in Morgan’s place? There’s a reason why we chose you; your reputation precedes you. But maybe you know of some other good rival for Morgan?”
Campos smiles at the confidence Fritz is exuding. “Fritz… You’re a business owner… Yes… You could be on the board. And—hear me out! Locally born, most people I know like you… You could be the chairperson of this board. Having a chairperson who actually controls a marginal number of shares might be refreshing, frankly.” He nods to himself in satisfaction. “Gentlemen, this might just work.”