A Place of Refuge

Chapter Three

Chapter ThreeSmiling with practiced insincerity, the waitress at the Kona Inn jotted down their orders and left, working her way through tables crowded with tourists and the local pau-hana contingent.

Bernice Hollings lit her second cigarette, inhaled deeply, and put her elbows on the table, sending a gold charm bracelet sliding down her arm with a loud jangle. Her pose and her coaster-sized purple sunglasses gave Neal the impression of a praying mantis. A benign, bleached-blonde, late fiftyish praying mantis. "So, to answer your question, hon," she said, her voice foggy with smoke, "we're still trying to find some way of stopping them. But it doesn't look good."

He absorbed this stoically, having suspected it wouldn't look good. "Well, what I really can't understand is how the launch site got pushed through with all the opposition."

"Hon," Bernice said, "it's the same old story. There was some persuasion going on."

Susan leaned forward in her chair. "You mean somebody was bribed? Or something else?"

Bernice looked over her sunglasses. "That, and everything else you can imagine," she said evenly. She pushed back her hair with one hand, making the bracelet tinkle. "I could name names, but I don't want to get sued for libel, or slander, whichever the hell it is."

"What sort of things happened?"

"Like I said, it's the usual stuff. Promises for future contracts, campaign contributions, political and business favors."

"How do you know this happened?" Neal asked.

"I have what you'd call reliable sources. People I've known since I came here twenty years ago. They ain't the type to talk out their asses, if you'll pardon the expression." Bernice leaned back in her chair and waved away a fly with a flick of pink enameled fingernails. "Anyway, what they say just confirms what I've seen myself. Like information withheld from GYRO or lost by 'accident', lousy court decisions, discrepancies in procedure."

"Could you give an example?"

"Sure. First, the environmental impact study for the Keanapa Point site—that's the valley north of you—probably holds the world's record for shortest completion and acceptance time. Of course South Point was supposed to be CSS's first choice for a site, but when that was nixed and CSS announced that they wanted to put the site at Keone Flat, south of Pahala. So the folks living in Pahala and Na'alehu and the other towns raised holy hell. They've been some of GYRO's biggest supporters."

The waitress appeared with their orders, set them down, and hurried off again. Neal pulled his mud pie closer and prodded it unenthusiastically with a fork. He said, "So what happened with Keone Flat?"

"The answer is—nothing. The Environmental Impact Study had some complications that were bad for them, the natives were hostile, and the big environmental groups were up in arms because a launch site would ruin any plan to extend Volcanoes National Park down to Keone Flat." Bernice paused for an angry puff on her cigarette. "Then CSS suddenly announces they're going to build the launch site at Keanapa Point, where you are. Lo and behold, the EIS for Keanapa was completed a year ago, contrary to what we were told. They hold a couple of quick hearings on it and it's accepted. We didn't have time to prepare. Also lo and behold, CSS has already surveyed Keanapa Point and already has blueprints for the launch site. It was a fait accompli, however the hell you pronounce that. We found out they'd negotiated the details of the land deal almost two years ago." She lifted her beer. "Cheers."

Neal took a sip of his coffee because he couldn't think of anything else to do, but it didn't taste good. Nothing tasted good at the moment. He said, "When did CSS actually announce the plan to build at Keanapa Point?"

"A couple of months ago. I'm surprised you didn't know about it. It's been in the papers quite a bit."

"We've been gone for a while," Susan said. "And we don't read the papers much. We're pretty isolated down there."

The ash on Bernice Hollings' cigarette had grown long enough to droop. She patted it into an ashtray. "That must be pleasant, hon, but I'm afraid you won't be isolated for long. The businessmen and politicians behind CSS are salivating over the money in this thing and they don't give a damn what it'll do to the island. Hell, most of 'em live on Oahu."

Susan frowned. "Is there that much money in it?"

"In the short run, yes, for the various suppliers, construction companies, engineers, shippers, you name it. But for CSS, maybe and maybe not. See, the U.S. used to be the main supplier of launch vehicles, with the Delta and Titan and then the shuttles. But we fell behind in producing unmanned launchers, and of course the Challenger accident is going to knock out the space shuttles for at least another year. Maybe more than that, the way NASA works. Suddenly the commercial launch business looked so good that the Chinese and Japanese and Russians jumped in. Of course the French already had their Ariane rockets. A couple of other American companies are getting into it, too."

Bernice paused for another puff on her cigarette. "It looked like a potential glut of launchers," she said, hissing out the smoke, "but CSS figured it could still get a piece of the action. They decided to specialize in LEO launches—that's low earth orbit—and sub-orbital launches. That's why they were able to switch from Keone Flat on the east side of the island and go with Keanapa Point on the west, which fooled us."

"I don't get it," Neal said.

Bernice set her elbows on the table again. "CSS spent a bundle starting up their company and developing their rocket, but when they suddenly had a lot of competition they changed their game plan to doing the LEO and suborbital launches. That meant they could use a west coast site, like Vandenberg in California, for example. They didn't need the full boost from the earth's spin. For that you want ideally a low-latitude site on the east coast of whatever place you're launching from so the rocket flies over an empty ocean when it takes off. That made Keanapa Point look great to CSS and they quietly went to work getting it."

Susan poked thoughtfully at the ice in her tea. "I'm still a little confused. What does that all that mean?"

"It means," Bernice said, "that all this talk about Keone Flat was just CSS farting chaff, pardon the expression. It was a smokescreen to throw us off, so we'd keep our attention and resources focused on that area. And it worked. Basically, we f****d up, pardon the expression. When CSS went with Keanapa our anti-rocket coalition fell apart. We didn't have a legal or environmental or political game plan for Keanapa, and the local population where you live is too small to have any clout. CSS did an end run around us. That's why we closed the offices here and in Pahala. The only GYRO staff left is me and a few other diehards."

They were silent. Neal tried his coffee again. He switched to water.

"I was wondering," Susan said. "Why Hawaii? I mean, aren't there lots of places they could launch from?"

"Not as many as you might think," Bernice said. "First, you want a place that's part of the United States for political stability and investment considerations. Then you want clear weather for work and launch considerations. And you want an unpopulated flight path, like the ocean, so if your rocket goes haywire it lands on fish instead of on Newark or some place. Of course if it did land on Newark you'd be doing everyone a favor, but that's another matter." Bernice drank the last of her beer and patted her mouth with a napkin. "Our lovely island meets all the requirements."

For the last half hour Neal had felt his body growing heavier, as if Bernice's words were an infusion of lead. His gaze wandered across the bay to the town pier. A charter boat had come in, and fishermen were wrestling their catch to the dock. Toward the tip of the dock, passengers disembarked from the day-cruiser Captain Cook. His eyes moved to the sea wall bordering the lawn of the Kona Inn. Tourists were watching a fisherman in the shallows below, an old man who moved cautiously across the broken lava, his one-toed tabi gripping the rocks as he first positioned himself and then spun his net into the water with easy expertise.

"Neal."

He turned to Susan. She was looking at him worriedly. "Bernice was talking to you."

"Oh. Sorry, it's my ear." He touched it. "It rings sometimes."

Bernice lowered her chin, looking at him over her sunglasses. "What happened to your ear, hon?"

"I, uh—injured it. A burst ear drum."

She winced. "How on earth did you do that?"

"Actually, it happened in Vietnam."

Bernice's lips parted in a sudden look of dismay. "Oh. I'm so sorry."

"It's no big deal, but thanks." He managed to smile. "What were you saying?"

She stared at him blankly. "Oh, yes. I was asking about the people who live near you."

"Who? You mean the Kahookes?"

"I believe that's right. Are they gone yet?"

His smile gelled. "No. Why would they be gone?"

"Because CSS is buying their land."

Neal's look turned to one of disbelief. "That's impossible. They wouldn't sell. They love that place. Kawika's grandfather built the house there."

"That may be," Bernice said. "I'm just going by what I was told." She slipped another cigarette from her leather case. "I hope you don't mind the smoke. I can't seem to stop myself today." She lit the cigarette with a well-worn gold Zippo that had an anchor insignia engraved on one side. "All I know," she said, puffing as she snapped the lighter shut, "is that CSS just bought that parcel from a land syndicate, Pacific Investment Corporation."

Neal's eyes narrowed. "Pacific Investment? They've been trying to buy my place ever since I got it."

"Sure," Bernice said, "Your place is part of the land they want for the site. CSS got a deal on the rest of the land at Keanapa Point. It's a little complex, but not too hard to follow. Pacific Investment is a Japanese corporation that owns a venture capital subsidiary that owns a hunk of Concord Space Systems. The truth is CSS itself is a Japanese corporation in all but registration. They have a lot of American engineers and technicians working for them and a few American execs, but all the principal shareholders are Japanese. Anyway, Pacific Investment already owned Keanapa Point and most of the surrounding land, so when CSS went looking for a site they naturally checked out Keanapa. The only hitch was that two parcels of land kept the package from being complete—yours and your neighbor's. Now it's just you, since your neighbor's gone."

"Wait a minute," Neal said. "Are you sure we're talking about the Kahookes? They own the property just below ours."

"That's it."

He sat back in his chair, disturbed. "This is really strange. Kawika or Muriela would have said something."

"We've been gone," Susan reminded him. "We haven't seen them for over three weeks."

Smoke streamed from Bernice Hollings' nostrils in a double jet. "Well, they should've known about it for at least a couple of months."

The waitress appeared on her rounds. Bernice ordered coffee and Neal ordered a beer.

"You own your land outright, don't you, Neal?" Bernice asked when the waitress was gone. "It's not a long-term lease?"

"No, I own it."

"Well, that's good. If CSS wants it they'll have to pay big." She mashed her half-smoked cigarette into the ashtray. "They haven't contacted you, huh?"

"Not CSS," he said. "Just Pacific Investment."

Bernice smiled grimly. "That was smart, hiding who it was. And since you obviously aren't anxious to sell they'll probably wait until you come to them. There won't be much peace and quiet down there when things get going. People, traffic, the rockets. They won't be launching every day of course, but you'll know it when they do. It's loud. I saw a couple of launches from pretty close range at White Sands."

"White Sands? With the military?"

"The Navy. My husband Jack was in some weapons program at the time, rest his soul."

Hesitating, Susan said, "Your husband is—gone?"

"No, no," Bernice laughed. "That's a little joke. Jack's a rear admiral over in Honolulu. We're separated. We get along better that way."

The waitress returned with the coffee. Bernice blew on her cup and took a tentative sip. She said, "Neal, I'm curious about something. I understand the people who owned your land before you were Hawaiian. At least the name looked Hawaiian to me. Is that right?"

He shifted uneasily in his chair. "Yes. The Akokis."

"Right, Akoki. Well, if it's not being too nosy, I was wondering why they sold you their land. I mean it's pretty strange, with the launch site thing hovering in the background."

"Actually," he said, "I didn't buy it. I inherited it."

Bernice's eyebrows lifted over her sunglasses. "I see. So, you're part Hawaiian?"

He shook his head. "No, I'm pure haole. George Akoki left me the land when he died about six months ago.

"Oh. I see. How did he die, hon?"

"Well—they're not sure. A couple of kids found his body floating near the shore. He had a head injury, so they guess he was out fishing and he slipped and hit a rock."

"Oh, that's terrible," Bernice said, shaking her head. "Well, hon, if you don't mind my asking, how come he left the land to you? Are you somehow related?"

"No, I never even met George Akoki. Or his wife. She died about two years ago. He didn't have any other relatives, and their son..."

Susan answered for Neal when she saw him groping for the words. "They had a son," she said. "His name was Dan. Neal helped save his life in Vietnam but he was killed later in the war. When Mrs. Akoki died, Mr. Akoki left the land to Neal since there was no one else."

Bernice Hollings was still for a long moment. She finally nodded, a slight repetitive movement. "That's very sad," she said quietly. Her voice sounded hoarse. "Sad that he died. I'm sorry, I'm sure you don't like to talk about that. With GYRO and everything, I'm afraid I've gotten into the habit of being nosy."

Neal looked away a moment. "Well, it's hard not to think about it since I live in the house. No need to apologize."

They sat in awkward silence. Bernice dabbed delicately at her forehead with a paper napkin. She suddenly looked at her watch. "Oh, gosh! I'm sorry, but I really ought to go. I have to be some place at six thirty." She took her wallet from her purse. "Let me pay for this."

"No way," Neal said. "Go ahead, Bernice. I'll get the tab. I'm the one that dragged you over here anyway."

She seemed flustered. "Well, all right. If I can buy you and Susan a drink some time."

"That'd be great."

Bernice inclined her head. "Listen, you two might be running into some problems with this launch site mess. If I or GYRO can do anything to help, just give me a call. In fact—" She flipped through her purse and found a business card, which she put on the table. "Here's my work number, too."

Neal picked up the black and gold card. The Treasure Chest, it read, over an embossed wooden chest overflowing with pearls and coins.

Bernice stood. "Well, it was nice meeting you two, even if the circumstances weren't so pleasant." She squeezed Susan's shoulder. "Call me anytime, hon. 'Bye."

They watched as Bernice Hollings made her way toward the front entrance. When she was a couple of tables away she suddenly stopped. Her shoulders drooped slightly and she turned around and came back.

"Did you forget something?" Susan asked.

Bernice nipped her lower lip. "No." She sat down, perching on the edge of her chair. "I...I had a son. She set a hand lightly on Neal's leg, and her voice quivered slightly. "You remind me of him a lot. He was killed in Vietnam."

She gave his leg a pat, stood, and hurried off again.

Neal sat still, holding his beer, the low afternoon sun burning one side of his face. The same side that was burned when the rocket tore through the barracks roof and exploded, blowing out his eardrum and blowing Dan into ragged red pieces. A swarm of images hovered at the edge of his mind, ready to invade, but he forced them back. He was good at it after so many years.