"Even though we're well into orbital space, we're still attached to the Earth. Therefore Earth assumes that Earth should have authority over the entire length of the beanstalk. Upsiders feel that, as a matter of course, the beanstalk should be viewed entirely as a space-borne agency, because once someone's up the beanstalk they're under beanstalk control, and the bulk of the beanstalk is in space. At the moment, the dividing line is One-Hour, with Earth maintaining authority over One-Hour and everything below, and Geostationary maintaining authority over everything above.
"But none of that is your concern. It's mine." To Olivia she said, "I assume you've got Betsy scouring for useful precedents?"
Olivia nodded. "Have been all afternoon."
Georgia stuffed the last bite of pizza into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. "Well, you're going to have to show me some damn good reasons for disregarding Maggie Dingillian's claim. No matter what. Now, I'll interview the kids. Douglas? You have a question?"
He pointed to the cameras. "How much of what you just said was for them?"
She laughed. "All of it, sweetheart. These recordings may never need to be shown, but just in case—I have to make the speech. I know who elected me and I know why."
Mickey showed up then, looking very unhappy. Without a smile, he didn't look like the same person.
"I told you not to be late," said Olivia. "Your pizza's cold."
"I'm not hungry—"
She put her hand on his forehead to see if he had a temperature. "What's the matter?"
He sat down at the table and picked up a piece of pizza anyway. "I got terminated."
Olivia sat down opposite him, immediately all business. "On what grounds?"
"No grounds." He nodded in the direction of Dad. Or Douglas. "Getting involved." He looked embarrassed.
"Do you want me to file something?" She looked to Judge Griffith. "Georgia?"
"It's a little premature, Olivia. Let's hear what the boy has to say."
"I'm not a boy, Aunt Georgia. I'm twenty-two."
"Mickey, I'm your god-mom. I used to change your diapers, for God's sake. Now just tell us what happened."
Mickey shrugged. "The kids were in trouble. I helped them. Kelly found out and reported me to the supervisor."
"Kelly? Is that the ugly one or the nasty one?" Olivia asked.
"Mom—your feelings are showing."
Olivia ignored it. "Anyway, they can't fire you for that."
"They didn't."
"Eh? What were the grounds for termination?"
Mickey looked embarrassed. "Having sex ... with a passenger."
Silence in the room for a moment. Olivia looked around, saw that Douglas looked particularly embarrassed, pretended she didn't notice, then looked back to Mickey as if she wanted to say a whole lot of things to him, but didn't dare.
"It's not Mickey's fault," Douglas blurted abruptly. "I asked him. He didn't ask me. And he said no the first two times I asked."
"Thank you for that, Douglas—but it still doesn't change Mickey's responsibility in the matter. How old are you, Doug?"
"I'll be eighteen next month."
"Close enough. No problem there. It's consenting adults," said Olivia.
"Line policy," countered Georgia. "They have a case. Tell me, did you do it on your own time?"
Mickey nodded.
"Well ... at least they can't get him for neglecting the customers," Georgia said, then laughed at her own inadvertent joke.
Olivia turned to Mickey now. She lowered her voice. "Just tell me one thing—"
Mickey already knew the question, even before she asked it. "Yes, Mom. He is special."
Olivia gave Douglas a warm smile, then turned back to Mickey. "That's all I wanted to know." She patted his shoulder. "Just so long as you're sure." She made me wish our mom were as understanding. Mickey hung his head in his hands and started to cry softly. Olivia pulled her chair closer and put her arm around his shoulders. "Hey, hey—it's all right. Momma's here. Come on, kiddo. I'm right here. Just let it out—"
Mickey looked up, red-eyed. "But it's not fair, Mom. Kelly's got her legs up in the air for anything with a tongue. One year, for her birthday, we got her a German shepherd and a jar of peanut butter."
Olivia reached around behind herself and grabbed a yellow legal pad. "Did you tell Smeagle that? Not the part about the German shepherd, the other part."
"Yes, I did."
"And what did he say?"
"The two cases are different. He said if they fired everyone with a loose zipper, there wouldn't be anyone working the Line. It's when we let our feelings influence our professionalism—blah blah blah. I'm pretty sure there's more to it than that—"
"There always is," said Olivia, scribbling furiously. "But we've got grounds. Unfair discrimination. Do you want me to file?"
Mickey shook his head. "I don't know. We've gotta talk, Mom. Things are getting really bad downside. You haven't seen the traffic we're getting. I don't know if I want to keep doing this anyway."
"Mickey, please—you're too valuable where you are."
"Mom—? Please? You said I could say 'when.' Well, I think I'm finally saying when."
Olivia nodded reluctantly and put the pad aside. "Okay. Whatever you want, sweetie—but let me file anyway. Let them pay for your silence. And the money will be useful. We'll talk about this later, I promise." She patted his hand.
Georgia interrupted then. "Tell me about the traffic, Mickey. What's going on?"
"We're getting too many rich emigrants. Whole carloads. Groups. They all know each other, and they're very tight-lipped about where they're going. It's that thing Mom's always talking about—a massive evacuation of rodents. Well, I think it's happening."
Georgia nodded. "We've noticed the traffic through here. We have some idea where they're all headed. It's legal. And you could probably find a lot of other reasons to explain the increase—like having three extra brightliners available, the new catapult, the shift in immigration policies, the changes in the transportation laws—"
"—and the population clock has just hit half-past midnight! Aunt Georgia, this isn't eco-theory anymore. The plagues in Africa are worse than the news is reporting. And they've already leapt across to India and Pakistan and China. A lot of people believe we're looking at the first stages of a genuine population crash—enough people to create a real panic."
Georgia rubbed her cheek thoughtfully. "I'm not willing to rule on it yet, Mickey. I'm still hearing evidence."
"Aunt Georgia, this is really one time I wish you weren't so rigorous—because by the time you have compelling evidence, it'll be too late! The people we have coming up the Line now are the kind of folks who have access to information that the rest of us aren't getting yet."
"Mickey, I know you. I know you're not an alarmist—and I trust your instincts about a lot of things, especially about people. But ... "
"But—I know. Okay, here's one more for you. Last month, we had a family come up, you know what was in their luggage? Industrial memory. Nothing else. Forty bars of it. Probably three or four billion dollars worth. They had to pay a surcharge for the extra weight; they didn't even flinch at the cost. Georgia, they had enough raw memory for a small government. Or even a corporation. Whose data were they carrying off world? And why? And where?"