The Boxie Rebellion

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“What do you know about this proposed issue of tunnel bonds?” demanded my lord and master, J. Davis Alexander.

“Which tunnel bonds?”

“The ones on the Moon, of course, Earth’s Moon.” The managing director of Hartman, Be mis & Choupette scowled at me balefully, the way he generally did just before making the announcement that I was fired.

“Oh, those tunnel bonds.” Without being asked, I let myself sink slowly through Ceres’ 4 percent gravity into a chair in front of J. Davis Alexander’s enormous desk of gleaming green.

malachite. Through the windows of his fine corner office I could see a family of ducklings splashing happily in their pond in Westlake Park, Clarkeville’s choicest piece of prime real estate. I hooked my toes under the footbar to keep from floating away if I pounded the desk too vehemently and shrugged dismissively. “The Kennedygrad ones?”

J. Davis Alexander nodded.

“They’re just like most of the other tunnel bonds the Loonies ’ve issued over the last hundred years or so,” I said, “medium low-grade investment quality, some risk attached, but a long way from being junk bonds. They’re issuing a round billion dollars’ worth, U.S. Earth dollars, and they’ll probably be priced to yield about 8.75 percent.”

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