The Hades Connection

by Gabriel S. Timar

Chapter 21

part 1 of 2

The last things George Pike remembered about his life on Earth were the suntanned, streamlined, naked body of Lynn, the report of a gun, the bullet hole in the wood paneling, and his blood on the white carpet next to the black towel.

The next thing he knows, he’s being welcomed to the Third Dimension, where he has a choice not only of afterlifes but of accommodations and a new body, as well. George signs up with Hades, Ltd., a corporation that seems to be the best of a dubious lot.

George very much enjoys being welcomed by Arabella, who is not only highly efficient but something of a race car driver. And yet she has asked one question he cannot answer: how he died. Neither he nor anyone else seems to know. Now George must meet the head of Hades, Ltd., a certain Mr. Lucifer... and prepare himself for a career as a double agent in interstellar intrigue.

The terrestrial scientists confirmed the orbit decay within twenty-four hours. However, members of various non-scientific, religious groups claimed that there was no decay and that the scientists had misinterpreted the signs, which were signs of the Lord’s dissatisfaction with our behavior. The political leadership accepted the scientists’ opinion and started the preliminaries by incorporating an international consortium to manage the construction of the thrusters.

To plan the operation, we put together a Board of Directors with representation from the U.S., Russia, Canada and Japan. They were supposed to discuss all relevant matters and make the many tough decisions. For the inaugural meeting, I demanded carte blanche for the negotiators, to make sure that whatever they agreed upon would be binding on their respective governments. There was much haggling over this point, but my veiled threat of extreme violence scared everybody into complying with my request.

At the beginning, we had problems. The participants had a hard time agreeing on the site of the inaugural meeting. Park suggested Meech Lake, but Holdsworth said that the place reminded him of a most unsuccessful Canadian political venture; therefore, it was a bad omen. Park reluctantly agreed.

Kamarov had his sight set on Sochi, but Park vetoed the location. He said that the vicinity of Yalta and the Black Sea might conjure the ghosts of a divided Europe and the ensuing Cold War.

By this time, I had had enough. I was just about ready to intervene in the useless, time-consuming haggling about the location, when Holdsworth suggested Phoenix, Arizona, The Pointe Hilton Hotel on South Mountain. I relaxed, I knew the place, and I thought it was an excellent choice.

The American caught Park and Kamarov off-guard. They had expected Camp David, Palm Springs, or Miami, and I am sure they had objections worked out to veto the suggestion. Fortunately, they had no arguments ready against Phoenix. The Arizona beefsteaks were world-famous and the Pointe was one of the most agreeable resort hotels in the state. Holdsworth’s suggestion was accepted.

Like most international negotiating sessions, the meeting needed a cover name. One could not call it “the inaugural meeting of a consortium to save the planet,” but the presidents could not agree on a name. In the end Mike solved the problem by calling the gathering the Northern Union for Technology Sharing or, simply, the NUTS Conference.

It was rather difficult for Esther and me to keep a low profile, but we managed. As far as the outside world was concerned, we were members of the Canadian team and Mike was the public information director. The participants agreed to channel all communications with the outside world through him.

The principals nominated Prince Henry interim chairman of the Board; Yamamoto became the deputy chair and financial advisor. Each participating country sent a representative, since heads of states or politicians normally do not take part in serious negotiations even if they know something about the topic. If their Excellencies the President, Prime Minister, or Minister were world-renowned experts on any subject, they would not be politicians; they would run a major international firm for an astronomical salary.

The Russians picked an intellectual named Grigor Bobrov. In addition to his doctorate in economics, he had a degree in engineering, although the two Ph.D.’s were not of much value since he had acquired them during the communist era.

In those days, thirty percent of any university course in the USSR was ideology. Therefore, their four-year bachelor’s degree was, at best, equal to a three-year college diploma. However, Bobrov was a competent economist, well-read and intelligent; and he treated all politicians as delinquent children. His English and French were flawless by virtue of his English mother, who was a visiting professor of literature at Moscow University. She fell in love with a Russian fencing champion who happened to be a French translator. Bobrov was in his forties and still not married. He loved classical music, good wine and tall, dark-haired women. In other words, Grigor was a good guy.

The Americans stuck with their normal politicized selection process and came up with a rather mediocre career diplomat, Ben Gaylord. He came from the right family, read archaeology at an Ivy League university and entered the diplomatic service before the ink had dried on his master’s degree. Married his childhood sweetheart, fathered two unruly children, bought two cars, a split-level home in the vicinity of Washington, D.C., and an elegant cottage on Cape Cod; Ben was the prototype of a well-heeled, upper-class American with a great future in the service of his country.

The Canadian negotiator, Sheila Potts, was a politically correct choice. The only asset she had in representing her country at a crucial international meeting like the NUTS was the fact that she was female. She was the Dean of Engineering at a mediocre Western Canadian university despite having neither the credentials nor the experience to do the job. Her qualifications consisted of a bachelor’s degree in English and many years of managing one of the fringe groups in the feminist movement. Her influential husband, a close friend of Park, was getting tired of her.

Beau decided to help the poor bastard and nudged the selection process little toward Sheila. The engineers at her university were also complaining about her, since they had to do their work with the constant interference of a dilettante. To kill two birds with one stone, Park nominated Sheila to represent Canada at the NUTS conference.

Personally, I thought Sheila had brains. To keep the job of Dean of Engineering without an engineering degree required both intelligence and an aptitude for diplomacy. The Prime Minister was also aware of her intellectual prowess.

* * *

I suggested that in the interest of efficiency the negotiations should be carried out according to the rules and customs established on Khomu. The negotiators immediately approved my request unanimously without argument, although they did not know what they were accepting.

I distributed Khomu’s equivalent of Robert’s Rules of Order to all parties. When they saw it, Sheila and Ben tried to back out, because there was nothing accepted as “confidential.” Even the personal lives of the negotiators had to be an open book.

The public’s right to information was completely different from terrestrial customs. Mike wrote a summary of all the negotiators including their private lives. Sheila cried foul when she realized that her love life and implied extramarital affairs might become available to the public. She claimed it was private, and she was ready to storm out of the meeting. I explained that if she wished to keep any of her affairs private, she shouldn’t have accepted the position of negotiator. Sheila blushed, and promptly shut up.

I added that according to the Khomu rules, the negotiators must answer all questions related to their personal matters hooked up to a polygraph. For the time being I did not insist on the lie detectors, but hinted that at the first sign of any trouble, conflict of interest, or cover-up I would demand polygraphs.

I also pointed out that their haggling objections to such minor issues could be a sign of not negotiating in good faith. Grudgingly they all agreed and shut up.

* * *

Before the first negotiating session, I took a “bug detector” prepared by Teri Garfield, my communication officer and checked the meeting room. We found three bugs. I did not deactivate them but sent a strong, high frequency signal through them. In addition to burning out the bugs, anybody listening would get a tremendous headache and become incapacitated for a few hours.

I had to make sure nobody eavesdropped on our deliberations, because in the eyes of the public I was not an extraterrestrial advisor but a lowly member of the Canadian negotiating team. As far as the public was concerned, the extraterrestrials were involved in the discussions, but the identity of their representatives and their method of communication were secret.

The NUTS conference started with the opening statements of the negotiators. Neither of them could break with tradition, and one could sum up their speeches in one sentence: “We can do all the work; we want all the benefits; vote for Kamarov, Holdsworth or Park” depending on the nationality of the speaker.

After the delegates had delivered their opening salvos, I addressed the august gathering. Contrary to my old terrestrial habits, I did not pull my punches; I called a spade a spade.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” I started, “we all know that international conferences, negotiating sessions and investigative hearings are bogus. The people calling them want to show the ignorant public that their elected representatives are on the job. Most of the time, these highly publicized gatherings confirm the deals already made over the dinner table, on the golf course, over a martini or in bed. Sometimes the meetings are convened just to confirm that despite the cute dimples of Miss So-And-So, the excellent food, and the unquestionable quality of the wine, there was no agreement.”

I sensed the resentment of the group. They knew I was right.

“The so-called negotiators in the past were usually nincompoops and really didn’t negotiate,” I continued. “Their sole activity was the preparation of the groundwork for the political heavyweights to intervene and take credit for solving a problem.

“I hope you appreciate that this conference is going to be different. You must make all the decisions, whether you like it or not. They are final and binding; I have it in writing from your peers. Therefore, kindly steer clear of politics. Appearances do not matter, traditions are damned, and loss of face is irrelevant. We have a serious, complex problem and you must solve it.

“Your boss has told you that the Earth’s orbit is decaying. Therefore, we must construct a field of thruster rockets on the Moon. Firing them should repair the orbit. Every minute is precious, because the decay is getting worse. The realignment is a matter of your and our survival. I want to live. Therefore if anybody endangers the project, I will be vicious and kill off those who hinder our efforts.”

I thought I had delivered a shocking message. Everybody was quiet.

“In closing,” I continued, “I must remind you that I have the engineering plans, the cost estimates and the technology only. You must come up with the infrastructure, the money to do the job and pre-empt any social problems this venture may create. Thank you.”

I sat down.

The audience was stunned; finally, Prince Henry broke the silence: “Although I resent your insinuations about international meetings, Captain, I must admit you may have a point. I believe our first task is to find and allocate the funds. Subsequently we will distribute the workload to different countries. However, before we can start, we need a group of scientists and engineers to assist us. We have a choice of several competent British, American, Russian, and Canadian firms who can handle this aspect of the job. How are we going to choose?”

Like lightning Sheila Potts struck: “Whatever we do, we must make sure that the jobs are distributed in an equitable manner; women and minorities proportionally represented.”

Bobrov and Yoshi smiled while Ben Gaylord was nodding, but none of them had anything constructive to say.

“I assume,” the Prince continued without reacting to Sheila’s statement, “we have to draw up our own terms of reference. Perhaps a composite team made up from engineering, financial and legal experts can develop that.”

“With equal representation...” Ms. Potts started.

“Sheila, please, no politics,” snapped Bobrov. “We heard that crap already.”

Before she could say anything insulting or stupid, Prince Henry intervened again. “I understand the concerns of the Canadian representative,” he said calmly, “but at this stage we are only trying to establish the framework. The implementation details including the equal representation clause will be dealt with later; your valuable suggestions shall be given due consideration. Perhaps each of us should nominate a well-known, competent engineer and a lawyer.”

“I suggest the nominations come from your respective heads of state,” said Gaylord.

“Regardless, they should be made by tomorrow morning,” I added in a commanding tone. “Bring all members of the team together the day after tomorrow and give them seventy-two hours to come up with the consultant and contractor selection process. Their document should not be more than five pages and contain no more than two diagrams. Subsequently the selection of designers and the pre-qualification of contractors should begin immediately and be completed within two weeks.”

“That’s absurd,” Ben Gaylord remarked. “You cannot cover a fraction of the legal implications in such little time.”

“You’ll have a few centuries for litigation after the job is done,” I asserted. “If you mess around with the legal lingo now, you’ll have no more than twenty-five years to live, period. Take your choice.”

“The Captain is right,” Bobrov concurred. “We must get moving at once. Therefore, I propose to send our recommendations to the home office right now.”

“Why don’t we take a break and send the messages?” suggested Prince Henry.

“I don’t like it,” Ben said, “but I’ll do it.”

“I’m not happy about it either,” Sheila remarked. “There is no assurance of equitable distribution of the riches generated by this project.”

“Let’s do it,” I ordered and gave Sheila a dirty look.

* * *

Proceed to part 2...