Дэвид Нордли - How Beer Saved the World

Thank all that’s holy, Verity thought. “Excellent news. Are we sure there’s nobody else out there?”

“Nothing else is moving on the GPS, though we’ve still got patrols out looking for movement and we’re still fielding calls. The military has moved most of the troops up to the border. I don’t think… just a second.”

Verity heard him talking to someone else, but she couldn’t make out the words. She did hear a snort of laughter as he came back on the call. “This is our lucky night. One of the men we’ve rounded up appears to be the mysterious colonel. He’s not carrying papers, but one of the thugs we arrested called him by that title. If he’s who we think he is, that’s going to tie all this back to Deseret. We’re running a trace on him now.”

Verity clicked off only to have her aide hand her another phone. “The president of Deseret, ma’am.”

“Mr. President.”

“Miss Landsdottir. I hope you won’t think I’m meddling in things that are none of my business, but I understand you have some serious trouble down in your southeastern region, right along our expanded border. I’ve got a few troops in the area; we could send some people over to help you deal with the troublemakers.”

That was it, the purpose of the whole thing. Send the mountain men in to wreak havoc and then offer—as a “friendly” gesture—to get rid of them. And, probably, leave their troops in the region to protect against future raids.

“Why that’s very kind of you, Mr. President, but we’ve got the whole situation under control. I understand all the terrorists have been taken into custody. All.”

“Well that’s very fine, ma’am, very fine. If you’re sure. We could just run a sweep through the area, to make sure.”

“Not to offend you, sir, but if anyone else from Deseret steps across the border, I fear our citizens and our soldiers are going to assume bad intentions. These terrorists have upset quite a few people.”

“Of course, of course. But….”

“You should know, Mr. President, that we’ve also arrested a man who appears to be one of your military officers.”

“Nonsense.”

“Perhaps he’s a rogue, then. We’re investigating. But since the invasion came from your side of the border, we are understandably a little concerned about how it came about.”

“I can assure you we knew nothing about it,” the president said. “When the people of Idaho joined up with us, we ended up with a lot of these semi-civilized folks. I’m sure you’ve got some people like them. They’re hard to control.”

“And easy to stir up,” Verity said. “Mr. President, I regret that this episode is going to make any future negotiations between us more difficult. You must understand that my people are deeply suspicious of your country right now. I don’t think we’ll be able to hold any trade talks.”

“But Miss Landsdottir…”

“Thanks for your concern, sir.” She hung up.

The security division had an extensive file on the colonel. Deseret continued to call him a rogue in public, but through private channels they negotiated for his release. So far they hadn’t offered anything worthwhile, but Verity thought she might eventually get something useful. The colonel was a thorough professional, according to the military investigators who questioned him; it was unlikely that they’d get any valuable information from him.

Several weeks after the raid, Verity went down to Ontario for a ceremony honoring the officers who had captured the raiders. She pinned medals on those injured in the fights, warmly praised everyone, and honored the various citizens who had been attacked.

“We were most fortunate that the excellent beer brewed by the Fernandez family attracted the attention of these terrorists,” Verity said, “because that gave our police and military the information they needed to fight back effectively. Once we knew who they were, we were able to trace them and figure out where they would strike next.”

“My abuelo’s beer saved the world,” Diego yelled.

Everyone laughed.

“Well, it helped save our small piece of it,” Paco Fernandez said.

UNITED SPACE PATROL

REPORT OF INCIDENT #GA-435-U26

SUPPLEMENT B: Transcript of Communications Log, Laser Relay Station EU-28

Note from Patrick Lerenor, Investigating Officer:

What follows is a transcript of live communications sent and received by the EU-28, a tight-beam communications satellite around Europa. It presents a real-time perspective of the events of E.C. 6-08-2967, beginning at 22:31 system standard time. It was at this time the ship piloted by Murray Laverne Williams, aka “Fat Squirrel” arrived within range of this communications satellite, en route to Europa.

The majority of communications on this frequency are to and from merchant shipping pilots. These “truckers,” as they colloquially refer to themselves, spend most of their time alone in their cabs, and have taken to using relayed tight-beam communications to socialize with one another. I have attempted to provide translations of their jargon where necessary. Truckers are logged by the communications satellite according to their ship’s license numbers, which appear at the beginning of every communication.

-TRANSCRIPT BEGINS-

EA-29384XB: Breaker, Breaker, one-niner-six, this is Fat Squirrel, coming in off the long haul from the blue dot.(1) Who’s out there in Europa local tonight?

EU-4356: Fat Squirrel, this is Hot Chicken. Been a while since we’ve seen you kicking around the crush ball.(2) What’re you haulin’?

EA-29384XB: Hot damn, Gladys. Good to see you’re still riding the vaccuum. I’m bringing in about one and a half teralitres from Big Larch brewing company for offload at Delta Station.

CA-936: Fat Squirrel, this is Puddlestomper. Did I hear you tellin’ us that you’re bringing actual beer in?

EA-29384XB: That’s an affirm, Puddlestomper.

CA-936: Hot diggity. They’ve been dishing out greengrog(3) for way too long. Tastes like yer’ gettin’ drunk off a salmon’s ass.

EU-4356: (laughs) Copy that, Puddlestomper. I’m on the backside right now, but I’m picking up a load of vat sealant, then I’ll be bound for Delta soon as I can. Murray, can you confirm they’ll be selling that brew up in the EUX Truck Stop on Delta once you tank in?

EA-29384XB: I’m not sure on that. If anyone’s got the line to Jenny at the EUX, maybe they could give her a direct call. I’ve just started my deceleration; ETA is 1:32 at Delta.

CA-936: I’ve got that number. I’ll check in with Jenny. If she’s serving once you’re tanked, I’m buying a round for everyone at the stop.

IO-3698: Breaker, breaker one-nine-six. This is Old Henry.

EU-4356: Copy Old Henry, this is Hot Chicken. Did you hear the news from Murray?

IO-3698: That’s a negative Chicken. Are we talking about Fat Squirrel here?

EA-29384XB: That’s affirm, Hank. How you doin’ this fine evening?

IO-3698: Murray! Can’t complain. So what brings a homeboy(4) like you out to the crush ball?

CA-936: This here’s Puddlestomper, and I’m back y’all. I have a big ol’ confirm from Jenny. I’m a gonna repeat that so’s I know you all heard me. Jenny at the EUX on Delta will be serving Big Larch Lager for as long as it lasts, once Fat Squirrel there can get himself to Delta Station and tank off.

IO-3698: Well, well. Murray’s bootlegging.

EA-29384XB: Ain’t no bootlegging, Hank. Running the first leg off of permits. You Jovians have a hell of a time growing grain, so Big Larch has the contract to deliver the good stuff. I’ll be making the long haul for a long time, thanks to that contract.