CostLess Cosmos

I stopped and looked at her.

She looked at me. "I don't know what to say."

"Let me tell you something you don't know."

"Lots of stuff I don't know."

I smiled. Conversationally, I said, "I've heard that rich people usually date... or marry... people who are already rich. That way, they know the person isn't after their money."

"So?"

"So, as of now, you're rich. In fact, thinking about this, if I looked all around Ottawa, and I found all the young, rich, eligible women, there'd probably be... 100 of them? Total? Maybe less than that, maybe only 10. Demographically, gotta figure that."

She nodded, thinking, agreeing.

"Of those, how many are both reasonably unspoiled by their wealth, and gorgeous."

"Dunno."

"I know of... One."

She blushed a little. "You just made me rich. Not fair."

"True. And your parents get credit for your looks, to a degree. So, that isn't on you. But, you did get into the ship with me. That took real courage."

"It did. I kind of had a gut instinct that I'd be okay, but... yeah, it was chancey."

"So, of those, those that are personally courageous -- I know of one."

She smiled at me, tilting her head side-to-side in acknowledgement of the compliment.

I continued, "Now, how many are really smart, and engineers?"

She smiled, "Zero."

"I know of... One."

She stared at me like this was a setup question, but it really was spontaneous.

"You're buttering me up for something."

I considered, looking at the ceiling and deciding why but only coming up with, "I'm trying to... describe what I'm thinking and feeling."

"You could be doing both."

"True." Something was occurring to me. "But, wait a minute. Put the shoe on the other foot. You're rich now, too. How many guys are there in Ottawa who are rich like you? 100? 10? Plus, reasonably close to your age, reasonably attractive, and probably somewhat nice guys?"

She was smiling more now. "Dunno." She saw where I was going, but purposefully didn't echo me.

"Then I dunno either." I did suspect the number was nearly zero.

Her manner turned to utter frankness. "Why are you doing this? Why did you give me all that money?"

"Simple. I like you. It made us even on the money front -- both you and I will never worry about money again. Once we're even, there's no power-disparity. If I would have asked you out yesterday, you would have been influenced by the power disparity, even if you didn't want to be."

"I don't know. I don't like or dislike people just because they're rich."

"You say that. You might be right. But, you'd always wonder."

She paused, and thought for a second, then said, "That's definitely true."

"So. Now we have a situation. We are tied up with each other, loosely. You can leave, walk out the door, or any set of doors, whatever. You'll go wherever you want, travel, whatever. I'm sure you'll do well, you're capable, you probably make mostly-good decisions, better than getting on random spaceships at least. You could even stomp out of here, and tell me you can't be bought. I get that."

She waited for me to finish.

"If I wanted to 'buy' you, I wouldn't have set it up as a continuing thing. You have to be free to decide what you want, or this could never work."

"And what is... This?"

"What you know we're talking about. But... I'm not going to ask you out. If I asked you, you'd be put on the spot, and I don't want to pressure you."

She scoffed, "Yeah. No pressure."

"Sorry."

"This is sooooo odd. You're odd... Very odd! But, kind of funny. Mostly nice. It kind of makes sense you're odd, of course, fuck, you just flew us into orbit and back! But, odd other ways. You say you haven't had a girlfriend since undergrad, 5 years ago?"

"Yep."

"Why?"

"Obsessed. Saving the planet. Plus, I have a rich fantasy life."

She laughed. "Let me guess. Anime."

I laughed back, "No fair, you heard the references I made on the ship."

"Hard to miss. Friends of mine like it... What's the 'save the planet' bit about?"

"This reactor, it turns off ALL the fossil fuels, in just a few years. It's not going to be hard to build them. It stops global warming, at least, it stops it enough to maybe save humanity. Maybe... I hope. I'm not fighting for myself, only. I had to... You know."

She saw where I was going.

"That's a lot of pressure."

"Some. Plus, it was fun."

She looked at me with an incredulous, 'okay' sort of smirk.

I didn't say anything.

Neither did she.

Finally, she said, "You said you're not going to ask me out."

"Correct."

"Huh." She paused, and a sly smile came to her lips, "Say, you know, I think I've been invited to a fancy dinner party tonight. I don't have an escort. Would you like to come with me?"

"Is it a date?"

She looked at me and said, "Yes."

"Excellent!"

I looked at my watch, a Garmin running watch with GPS (my backup for the nav on the Fenn, comedically). We had an hour, and I said so.

She said, "I need to get ready."

Before we went anywhere, I stood up, came over to her, and stood too-close for casual, quietly.

She looked me in the eyes. She wanted me to make the move.

I was okay with that. I looked down, found her hand with mine, and brought it up to kiss her knuckles, smiling. Only feigning a little ignorance, I said, "I'm not quite sure how this is done."

She smiled back at me, put an arm over my shoulders and another behind my back, pulling me to her and bending her head up to me, "Like this..."

The kiss was exquisite.

Dinner with the Cabinet

I emerged from the bedroom showered, shaved (again! Twice in a day!) and dressed in the nice suit they'd arranged for. Very normal looking dark-navy, white button-down shirt, almost-solid color navy tie, Johnston-Murphy cap-toe shoes, super-high calf-length thin socks, and a tiny Canadian flag lapel pin Montclaire had sent over. I didn't usually wear suits. This one felt weird, but at the same time, very breathable and comfy, with lots more freedom of movement than I'd envisioned.

Sitting down at our suite's dining room table, I wanted to scroll through twitter to find out what was up, but Dana had said to stay off social media. She'd said that'd be managed carefully, and since I'd said so few things, everything that could be interpreted the wrong way would be.

From down her hallway, Ellen shouted, "You ready?"

"Yep! Whenever you are!"

There was a knock on the door and immediately it opened. LT walked in, the picture of unassuming-looking taller medium-bulky guy. The movement, though, was what set him apart. It was too graceful and no-nonsense to be a random person. I had liked him instantly when we met.

He said, "I was waiting for noise from in here.... Ah, and looks like you're close to ready. How's it going?"

"Fine by me. Ellen's just finishing, I think..."

She must have overheard us. She came around the corner and... the transformation was impressive.

My jaw was probably on the floor as I stood, inhaled, and appreciated.

She giggled a little. "It's a nice outfit, don't you think?"

To say it was a nice dress is an understatement, of course... Navy or black, I couldn't tell, fluffy in the right parts, it didn't reveal too much, like a posh dinner party with older ladies might expect. The top was off her shoulders, showing some bustline I'd not previously been aware of (despite the abstract size), which was more visible as I got closer. It had the kind of over-draped crepe that could have hidden a larger woman but in this case underneath I saw a very trim figure and felt the tug of 'wow' in my innards.

Altogether, a class act. An understated small pearl necklace rounded it out to put some white accents against the darkness of the dress.

All I could say was, echoing my inner voice, "Wow."

LT said, "You look very nice tonight, Miss Clayton."

"Thank you, boys. I had trouble deciding between the posh heels or the flats I could actually walk in. I'm not used to heels."

"Understandable, Miss. It is more prudent to be mobile."

I asked, "LT, could you snap a couple of pictures of us?"

He did, getting some where we were just standing near each other, and some where I was slightly behind her. I wanted some that the PR lady could choose from and we could decide were good or not.

When we were done, LT was putting his phone away and I turned to Ellen. Trying to appreciate the beauty in front of me, I said, "I... Uh... I have a question. How much hand-holding, back-touching, arm-in-arm stuff do you want?"

LT said, cutting in before she could answer, "I was going to play it by ear, sir."

Ellen and I laughed, but I didn't get an answer. I think she was considering the question.

LT grinned once more, then turned to walk over by the door and text someone to let us chat a moment.

After a pause, Ellen responded somewhat self-confidently with, "Let's say, I'll hold your hand when I feel like it, I'll tell you to do things, and you'll do them. If we kiss, make it a peck, this is public. I don't think that's a great idea yet, but we might."

I had no objections, considering what our actions would look like from afar, on TV. "Gotcha. Classy, understated, casual but not familiar." My words sounded awkward.

She raised an eyebrow at me and with a bemused smile, "You really aren't used to this, are you."

"Nope."

LT opened the door and said, "We're a go when you are."

"Oh, forgot my purse."

She went and got a small black clutch purse, dropping the burner phone in it, and we went down to the lobby.

Coming out from the elevator bank, we heard a crowd, and saw a group of security guys that keyed off of LT and formed in front, on both sides, and behind us. Emerging into the lobby, we could see rope lines where staff were, and just as soon as they saw us, someone started applauding.

We were smiling, but on advice from the PR lady, understated smiles, not too broad, just like we practiced, mouth shut, trying to relax but keeping moving despite being freaked out.

There was a spot she'd described, and sure enough, it was there outside next to the SUV's, where we could turn and face the cameras and wave before getting in. The doors were already open, and I stood between the crowd and Ellen in case there was a slip getting in. Her shoes had a small heel, but really were an understated raised flat (I overheard the discussion about this). Only her ankle showed anyway, and the shoes didn't seem that important, but apparently they were.

Women's clothes are really strange.

Once we'd done a few seconds of pictures, the security guys crowded around again to let us get in without awkward getting-in-strange-car motions.

Quickly, we were closed up and driving, some police sirens on the escort Bert!-ing, taking us... 3 blocks north to the PM's residence.

We could have walked.

When we pulled in, the high-iron-fence and outer gate kept the crowd behind so we could relax and get out of the SUV's like normal people. Military folk were staffing the checkpoint, and I had a feeling things were on higher alert than normal.

Mr. and Mrs. Montclaire greeted us on the steps. We shook hands and nodded, a set of official photographers recording the event but staying out of the way.

We all walked inside and got introductions to the other guests, who came up and shook hands in a kind of process that was either scripted or had been done so many times with other people that it was de rigueur that night.

The house was palatial (befitting a head of state, for sure). We found several groups of people congregating and chatting, and we mixed around to talk with them in groups of one or two couples apiece.

I was struck that since we were the only guests, some of this was scripted, but in retrospect it was probably just a process (like the receiving line as we entered) that had been done so often it just was a ritual thing.

To be accurate, it wasn't all standing around and mixing, some people were seated and I was led to them and introduced, one person to the next, getting a minute or three per person.

The guests were, in no particular order, the Ministers of Science, Transport, Finance, Infrastructure, Foreign Affairs, and Defense, and their spouses. They were all perfectly lovely people, I decided, personable, smart, but trying to evaluate everything I said. I noticed because usually no one paid much attention to what I said, I wasn't particularly notable before.

Things around me had changed.

While there were plenty of places to gather, I noticed that regardless of gender, most of the spouses were standing or leaning while the ministers sat more towards the center. It may have been happenstance, I didn't know, but it spoke to the group being a working meeting and not just a social occasion (which it definitely was, people seemed happy to be there).

Several party-help staff moved around, bringing glasses of wine or whatever mixed drinks the people asked for. I didn't really want anything much, and I'd been warned by Jason to limit my alcohol when being around these people. He suggested that even innocent informality could damage me in subtle ways, so I should be careful of how I was perceived the whole time. The goal is not to be paranoid, he said, but circumspect.

A dark-suited maître-d' (in garb that seemed vaguely military) announced that dinner was served, so we moved ourselves to the adjoining dining room. It seemed built for many more people than our group, but that made sense given state dinners probably had huge guest lists.

I held Ellen's chair and she seemed to appreciate it, though most of the wives seated themselves and I wondered if my manners were old-fashioned.

There were nuances of manners here I wasn't accustomed to.

After wine was served (though juice went to the turban-wearing minister), Justin (Mr. Montclaire? He seemed so easily approachable, like I should call him Justin, but... he was the freakin' head of state, the PM of my country!) raised glass in a toast:

"A toast. To Kevin Rand, inventor of magnificent things. He's taking Canada and the world into a cleaner energy future, and one where outer space is clearly closer-by than we could possibly have imagined. Mr. Rand, on behalf of the Canadian people, the people of the world, and of course myself, thank you for your hard work and perseverance."

We drank, my drink a sip to limit my intake.

Justin sat, whereupon Sophie Montclaire (an amazing person, Mr. Montclaire might have "married up") raised her class from a seated position. "A second toast, to Ellen Clayton, engineer and adventurer. Your role in this seems to have been spontaneous and a huge challenge, but by all accounts you've grasped this new future with both hands. You've shown women everywhere that there are opportunities to be seized by those adroit enough to grasp them. Well done."

Ellen blushed a little, only visible because her skin was fairly light next to her light blonde hair. She said, "Thank you, Kindly," and sipped her wine, too.

The meal consisted of various questions about the journey, my adventures building my ship, how I'd solved some of what they thought were difficult problems, and where I got the motorcycle front-ends that I used as landing gear.

That actually was a funny story, since I'd found that bunch of the forks in the corner of a junkyard near Bamberton. They'd been in a shipping container that had fallen overboard and been salvaged, but were too rusted to sell. I didn't care if the wheel bearings or brake calipers worked, I just wanted them to take up shock and roll a little bit.

I think the idea of pinching pennies so much that I had to use junkyard parts was a little startling to them. I was really proud of the deal I made on them, no matter what reaction they had.

One of the ladies asked if I'd done any calculations to figure out how many I had to attach, I just said, "Nope. Just put on four, saw the struts bottomed out, put on 4 more, saw they only went halfway, and put 4 more on just to make sure I had some extra cushion."

They thought this idea was funny since I was really just winging it, but I emphasized I didn't give one whit if I blew tires or destroyed the struts, I didn't want the ship to kill me if I came down slightly too hard. I didn't have time to model the tiny thing of 'wheel loading' in CAD software, I just welded it up and hoped I'd made it beefy enough to handle the strain.

The food was excellent, and I might have had too much, but it tasted so damned good.

We broke up to chat again in the living room, and the finance minister asked if I had any priorities or political opinions.

Danger lights went off in my head. I said, "I have a few priorities, but most surround getting climate change solved and biodiversity protected. One thing I'd like to address, and I say this not casually but with some degree of forethought, is that overfishing is rapidly depleting the worldwide stock of fish and will lead to ecosystem collapse if we don't stop it."

They looked at me, realizing I was speaking seriously, and I understood that I had some power in that moment, to say things that mattered.

I continued, "So... maybe after things have settled down somewhat, I may be lobbying for something? I'm not sure how that works. I've thought about maybe establishing an enforced, fenced, hard-border set of marine reserves? Trouble is, I don't know if that's unachievable politically. No fishing would be allowed in these areas, at all? Some technical prevention measures like net-cutters? Large, sparse, fish hatcheries, maybe? I'm not an expert, I just want to protect the ecosystems."

I shut up, waiting for a comment, but they were just taking this in. I'd tried to couch it as an expression of interest, but not come on too strong - and I did tend to do that, I'd noticed.

No one was talking, so I completed the thought. "Seems to me, maybe letting fish stocks rebuild would mean we'd have an even bigger yearly catch, since they'd be repopulated, instead of, shall we say, 'eating our seed corn'. But that's just a pet idea of mine. I'm sure there are LOTS of other important things to do in the world, too."

This was nodded at, as they considered my thoughts, and a little bit of silence. I don't think they were expecting this from me.

The Finance minister said, "There are already some people who don't like you very much. The fishing lobby won't like this one whit."

"Perhaps. Maybe, though, they'll like it if they have more certainty about what they can expect to catch, limits on what foreign vessels can catch, etc. Like I said, I'm not the expert. I have enough on my plate, though, for now."

Justin was nodding, filing this information away for later. I could see wheels turning in each of their heads.

I changed the subject and asked how Transport was going to change if big transport ships could be converted from diesel to reactor design, and he went into it mostly being a shipbuilding problem but that most of the larger vessels calling at Canada's ports foreign built and operated, and the small ones might be too small to have a power source like a reactor.

The conversation went on to much lighter topics.

At one point, near the end, we'd stood up to get ready to go, I overheard (from a ways away) Ellen being asked by someone if she felt safe around me. Her voice conveyed bemusement and she said, yes of course. The question then was if there was anything romantic going on. She stopped the question with, "I'm absolutely fine, I can take care of myself. As for any romance in my life, from before last week or not, those are private matters. But, thank you for asking."

The implication was definitely the opposite of thank-you, but said in a friendly way. I was amused at how women interacted, very differently from men.

At the end, we shook hands with people, and I had the feeling there would be some discussions after we left. I wondered if I'd come on too strong with the marine sanctuary ideas, but Ellen thought it was a great idea and something that should be happening anyway.