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27. HARD CURRENCY; Whatever Money Will Buy.

Briggs is at the prison to see Patrick on visiting day. Serendipity brought us together! We shake hands, smile, grin at each other. My wheels are turning wondering about getting paid, now, here, even if I have to pay a price. I don't know what he's thinking. We're early. We're standing around in the lobby while the cops look over the contents of our pockets. I decided to bring my wallet and let them go through it again and see money, theirs and ours, Ameros, to let just a couple more Emoilihn know and think and maybe talk about the equivalency of values of our two cultures, our economics. It's an abstract idea that may do nothing, may do something. I brought one 'credit' coin of each denomination, and my 'debit card' thingy, to establish that I'm 'in' the local economy.

Briggs broaches the subject on my mind.

"I've been thinking about your question about getting paid," he says. "I think we can arrange that. But, caveat, the rate I was able to negotiate to lease our housing and any commercial engagement we undertake while we're down here isn't very good. Our money's worthless to them, so, just to get something I agreed to a rate. I figured we wouldn't spend much. We brought down food from the D.L.A. The men are trying the local food but... it gives them the shivering fits so they're not 'spending' much. They like to go to restaurants though, mostly to ogle the... aliens. They don't have any trouble with the wine so they drink it. It doesn't seem to intoxicate them so I don't have that concern."

"Where are you housed?" I ask, my wheels turning on the financial matter.

"Up here, uh... on the... east side," he says pointing. "Sunrise every morning."

"Glass windows?" I ask.

"What? Glass windows?" he asks. "Yes, of course."

I don't explain my cavern dweller conditions on the west side. I do explain the lower level residential districts, and the classier neighborhood of the east side.

"I showed them my receipts for my apartment back on Earth," Briggs tells me. "We used that as a base for the cost of things. It's twenty-seven percent of my monthly income. So that's what they're charging us for two apartments. They're nice enough; like being cavemen though!" He laughs. He should see my place.

"So what can we do?" I ask. "Can you authorize payment here, into an account, at that rate of exchange?"

"We did for our financing," he says, and... produces a piece of the white material, with markings, a debit card! "Each man got one of these to show when making purchases. I put value in each account, not much, because I wanted to keep control of how much money they had to spend, at the direction of the... what-a-ya call-its, the Koobers who run things. They established the rate and I paid it, in hard currency. Still about fifty Ameros per man. That's just their per diem, not per day, but to start out. If they start spending it I'll put more in but I wanted to see how it went first. Like I say, they're not spending much. My master account isn't going down much. The lease is paid up to Patrick's release date, if he doesn't screw it up. I'm leaving without him if he does.
So, if you want I can put some of your money in your account, here. I can put most of it in an account back on Earth, if you want to. Whatever you want."

He speaks the words I know Soda will want to hear.

"The rate of exchange has been established. If anyone wants to renegotiate it they can. I'd prefer you didn't try to. It was hard enough without an interpreter."

The rate... an established... Government-approved... rate of exchange.

"I'll have my lawyer check it out," I tell him.

Eenunh shows up, offers a kiss there with the crowd in the lobby watching, Briggs, watching. We talk, mixing English and Emoilihn. People listen. Briggs listens. The spindle-door opens, and we go in. Patrick is his joyous self. Eenunh stands with the commannh against the wall, interpreting. I find opportunities to consult with her on words she has trouble with. She's interpreting pretty much verbatim, but human accents and slurs from one word to the next make it difficult. Stuff she leaves out isn't important most of the time. Patrick's rambling on about freedom and justice and authority and how his hands hurt from being manacled any time he is moved. They take him up a level to a large open 'hole', he calls it, open to the sky, but it sounds like a recreation yard. They make him walk around it, with an escort. They unmanacle him there and he finds a way to get himself manacled again. He's apparently learning because, after the man sits him down, places him at the table, he removes the cuff. Briggs talks sense to him;

"You've got some of it behind you already! Just play it calm and let the time pass. Don't make trouble for yourself. Trouble for you is trouble for me."

Patrick's sneery face, narrowed eyes, pursed lips, show disdain for the advice.

"You ought to get me out of here!" he tells Briggs. "We're losing time and money sitting around here!"

"Yes!" Briggs says, enthusiastically. "I know exactly how much we're losing. That's why you... you're the pivot man in this situation.. and that's why you have to do your time and get us all out of here. If you don't keep it together I may have to charge our losses against your pay!"

"You can't do that!" Patrick protests, loudly. The commannh come closer to the table. Patrick calms down.

"I don't intend to, unless you cause me more trouble!" Briggs tells him. "If you handle yourself and get through this, without further delay, I'll absorb this extra time in transit. Piss me off!..." Briggs, says, firmly, not loud, "and I'll see to it the losses fall on you!"

"What about him?" Patrick says, left arm extended to point at me. "He's keeping you here too!"

Briggs folds his hands, says, "No. Andrews wants to be here. He wants to stay here when we leave. It was my mistake to leave without him. It was my responsibility to come back for him. Then your mistake got us all stuck here. We're just waiting for you to pay the consequences of being an [naughty word removed]!"

Briggs is losing his patience. Eenunh is stifling a laugh, trying not to interpret. The female commannh insists. We're silent at the table. Patrick's turning red. The commannh and Eenunh discuss the metaphor and have it right, behaviorial qualifications comparative to an anus and the product thereof. Now I'm laughing! Briggs is looking at me funny. Patrick's folded his hands, studying them. The commannh are laughing, trying to stifle themselves! I explain to Briggs and Patrick. They both laugh. Patrick's face... for... the first time ever... I think I see a... thoughtful man, a man who sees logic. I slap him on the shoulder. We laugh again.

"I just wanna go home," he says. It's a vulnerable moment. The boy's young. He's in a sticky situation and he's never been a good manager in the best of situations.

"Time passes pretty quickly," I tell him. "A day is 21 hours long. So the days of the month... the month is 27 days. So it's not like doing Earth time."

He looks away at Eenunh and the commannh. I know he's hearing, even if he's not listening. I go on,

"You can do this time, and not suffer much for it if you can manage your emotions. I notice you're out of your cuffs while we're sitting here. That's an improvement. Do they take them off of you while you're in there?"

He doesn't answer. I go on,

"Did you ask about work?"

"Food is catered in," he says. "They don't have a kitchen here. Some of the prisoners go out, get it, bring it back. These are bunches of criminals!" he says. "I have to watch my food or they'll snatch every thing on my tray! I'm sick of these green things, orange things. It's all we eat, every day." He seems to stop himself, "Well... that and... these rice and meatball things... but they're getting old too! And... and that rice food. I like... it's okay. But we only get it every once in a while." He goes on to describe pastries, and that he likes them. He's easily distracted. That's how Briggs always managed him, I realize now. He would pick him up in mid rant and ask about something he knew Patrick was interested in, sports, food, girls. It worked.

"If there's any work in the jail to do, volunteer to do it, just to stay occupied and make the time pass," I tell him. "Did you read that book?"

"Yeah," he says, "I'm readin' it! I... I never liked to read but... this is pretty interesting."

Patrick remains calm, composed, for the rest of the visit. He and Briggs talk about things back on Earth, things they've done in the past, places, people, how good it will be to get back. I'm eye-checking with Eenunh. She smiles, golden irises flicker. She's doing fine on interpretation. The commannh are focused, attentive. I'm fairly certain by the flickering irises that they're not missing anything or letting it go in one ear and out the other. It may mean something; it may mean nothing. But they will be able to make a report and let others decide.

We leave Patrick, re-manacled, and go out. Briggs turns in his Visitor lanyard, we pick up our pockets, and go. We walk with him to a fifth level apartment on the east side. It's nice, like Thin Man's. They don't know how good they have it. Most of the men are there, Cookie and Angelo, and Doc out somewhere. We talk a bit. They all look at Eenunh at every break in the conversation. She stands, confident, comfortable, arms crossed over her chest, listens, speaks in Emoilihn with the buzz, just to tell me what to tell them if they ask questions. And they do. Where's this? Why's that? Soon, I look at my wrist, as if there's a watch there, and tell them we have to go.

Out in the corridor Eenunh takes my arm. We stroll comfortably along, look out over the desert where there are windows in alcoves between apartments or stores, like... neighborhood... bodegass, convenience stores. The Sunstar casts the shadow of Entemannh Garibe close on the desert floor. Soon we are at Soda and Thin Man's house. She looks back and ahead, before entering.

"It's best your friends don't know where our lawyer lives," she comments, inside. "No reason other than privacy, secrecy," she adds.

Soda is very excited to hear the rate of exchange has been established. She is not surprised but pleased that the Emoilihn hunger for hard currency, and the opportunity to engage in commerce with Captain Briggs for... purchasing power for... whatever money will buy.