Read Online Investments by Walter Jon Williams - Free Book Online Page B

green-blue ocean that began to creep over the horizon, and then began to fly over cultivated fields, the sun winking off the clear canopies of the harvesters.
    Port Gareth was very possibly outside the mandate of a Lord Inspector, as it contained no Fleet installations, but Martinez had decided that the railroad that would connect the town to the settlements farther south was a matter of state security, and therefore of interest to the Fleet.
    The turbine shrouds on the ends of the aircraft’s wings rotated, and the craft began to descend. On the edge of the pad was yet another reception committee.
    The coleopter’s wide cargo door rolled open. Martinez took off his headset, thanked the pilot, and stepped out onto the landing pad. The brisk wind tore at his hair. As Alikhan stepped from the coleopter with Martinez’ luggage, the reception committee advanced behind the Lady Mayor, a client of the Martinez family who Martinez vaguely remembered from childhood. She was a Torminel, whose grey and black fur was more suitable to the bracing climate of Port Gareth than to the tropics of Port Vipsania.
    In short order Martinez was introduced to the Mayor’s Council, and the local representatives of the Meridian and Chee companies, and then a familiar figure stepped forward from the long, teardrop-shaped car.
    “Remember me, my lord?” the man leered.
    Martinez could hardly forget. Ahmet had been a rigger on Corona, Martinez’ first command. He had spent a considerable portion of the commission under arrest or doing punishment duty; and the rest of his time had been occupied with running illegal gambling games, brewing illicit liquor, and performing the occasional bit of vandalism.
    “Ahmet,” Martinez said. “You’re out of the Fleet, I see.”
    This was only good news for the Fleet.
    “I’m a foreman here on the railroad project,” Ahmet said. “When I heard you were coming, I told everyone I knew you, and asked to be part of the welcoming committee.” With one sleeve he buffed the shiny object pinned to his chest. “I still have the Corona medal, as you see. I’ve been assigned as your guide and driver.”
    To Martinez, employment of Ahmet in any position of responsibility was proof enough of criminal negligence or worse. But he smiled as stoutly as he could, said “Good to see you,” and was then carried off toward his lodging in the Mayor’s Palace, after which he would endure yet another banquet. He had a healthy respect for himself that some considered conceit, but even so he was beginning to grow weary of all these meals in his honor.
    Still, he was pleased to discover a statue of himself in the main square, looking stern and carrying the Golden Orb. He was less pleased to see a pump jack in the overgrown green park behind the statue, its flywheel spinning brightly in the sun.
    “What’s that?” he asked. “Petroleum?”
    “Yes,” the Lady Mayor said. “We found it close to the surface here— lucky, otherwise we couldn’t have brought it up with the equipment we’ve got.”
    “What do you use it for?”
    “Plastics. We’ll have a whole industry running here in a few years.”
    “How is the railroad progressing?”
    The railroad would eventually connect Port Gareth to the south: supersonic trains would speed north from the skyhook, bringing migrants and supplies, and carrying away produce and plastic products for export. The rails were being laid from each end toward a common center, and would meet somewhere in the mountains.
    “There were some delays last month,” the Lady Mayor said. “But the track’s still ahead of schedule.”
    “Delays?” Martinez said. “There’s nothing the Fleet can do to expedite matters, is there?”
    “Very kind, but no. It turned out that the early geologists’ reports were incorrect, or maybe just incomplete. The engineers encountered a much harder layer of rock than they’d expected, and it held up the work for some time.”
    Martinez decided that