Aupaqtuq (Red Ale)

It turned out the whole settlement in a box was unpacked inside the second floor of the company’s building. The officer felt vindicated, pointing out the team that came in the fall must have set it up here, unable to work with the locals.

-You never took a peek in here? Leffer asked, somewhat incredulously. 

-It's no problem here, the cop answered.

Leffer had inconspicuously checked the serial numbers, the box had actually belonged to the Montroses. The police were convinced they'd only stayed here a day. They stayed here. That made a lot more sense, it didn’t sound like they’d even tried to go into the interior. But the company hadn’t picked up that the box was activated.

Leffer assumed the Montroses must have disengaged the tracking, but actually there was interference from the space base the cookie company wasn’t aware of, because they inadvertently used the same radio frequency as one of the automated tracking systems at the base. It was the same problem with the settlement in a box the second team deployed in the interior.

The officer was satisfied, having been to himself proven right. He even checked the refrigerator the team had installed upstairs, a rarity in the area given the weather conditions most of the year.

-Aupaqtuq, the cop said as he opened the refrigerator. Sweet red ale, he noted as he pulled out two cans of the NuBrew and popped them open in one hand. They don’t ship bottles this far up north. I don’t even know if these guys make this stuff in bottles, he said, inspecting one of the cans, the distinctive red label wrapped around the silver can, and the symbols underneath the English that didn’t quite repeat so maybe were an actual indigenous script. It’s a good beer.

Leffer felt obliged to take the already opened can, and to take a healthy chug. Was it eleven, noon, Leffer wondered. The sun was somewhere.

-It’ll take some time to get these units ready to go back in the box. Some of them look like they’ve been on for a while.

-Crazy power bill. Who pays that?

It was a good question. The cookie company had an energy brokerage firm that handled all its power needs. Whenever they set up this building, the brokerage made a deal with the local power supplier. It wouldn’t be such a high bill that wouldn’t be considered part of their regular maintenance service. It was a lot for these people, Leffer thought. But it was a lot for a lot of people, in Greenland or Newark or Europe or anywhere in the world.

A few years ago it would have been a lot for the local power company. But they had outfitted an entire island with solar panels, like the southern neighbors the officer envied with their solar deal, and had been regularly running a power surplus. The latest research found troubling signs the power generation could be releasing excess heat into an already warming environment. Others said those were the desperate lies from a fossil fuel industry in its homicidal death throes.

-Somebody pays it, or the power company would shut it down, right? Do they call you for stuff like that or do they do it themselves?

-They don’t really call us for anything. Everybody’s got their own security these days, you know?, the cop asked, taking a swig of the can and looking at Leffer. Of course you know. You’re kind of security for the cookie company aren’t you?

-Something like that.

-And there’s no cookies here?

-No, Leffer said, slightly exasperated but also feeling like a company cookie would hit the spot with the beer. You know, they do a lot more than just make cookies these days.

-Yeah, I saw. The cookie-flavored hand lotion. Someone’s going to eat that, man. Cookie-flavored rolling papers too right?

-They think there’s iron in the interior, maybe even uranium on the parcel they bought, Laffer said after a pause, looking the officer directly in the eyes.

-Sure. Mineral concerns. Everybody has them now. Buy for a dollar, sell for two. Everybody needs minerals, always building something. Gonna be a lot of minerals in there, he said, waving the beer can toward the front window facing the ice and snow of the interior and looking out into the distance. Lots of blood and sweat, he scoffed and spit.

-A lot of that stuff’s automated now. We won’t even need people, really. Leffer wasn’t sure what he was saying. He wanted the officer to go.

-Cookies, man. Everybody loves cookies. Every meal needs a dessert. Fruit can be hard to come by, hard to store, hard to ship. Cookies, it’s like currency. What a waste to be doing all this other stuff.

-You sound like one of those institutional investors. The teachers retirement funds who don’t want the company doing anything but cutting dividends. It’s above my pay grade.

-Pay grade, hah, the officer laughed, spitting on the floor again and getting up from the chair. Sure, above my pay grade. He went over to the refrigerator and took out the rest of the six-pack, popping open another can, and offering a closed one to Leffer.

-Sure, Leffer said, taking a seat at the table next to the officer and finishing the first beer before he hit the chair. The two sat in silence drinking their beer. Leffer realized he hadn’t even caught the officer’s name.

-Hey, so what’s the jurisdiction for you guys? In the interior?

-Just for hunting. We collect the permit money for the authority.

-How’s that work? What if, you know, what if someone wanted to pay the max?

-Now you’re hunting?

-Now I’m trying to work out what it is the company’s doing here.

-They should have come to us first, it would’ve been easier, the officer lamented, swirling his emptying can.

-We can work it out. The Montroses, they made themselves at home. And the three men, all above board with you?

-They never talked to us. Yet we waited for them after the last expedition anyway. Not to fine them if they hunted, the officer added. Out of concern.

-What if the companies sent more teams? It’s like the power bill here, you know? Someone pays it but they pay it in bulk for all the company power. It doesn’t make sense to look at a bill month to month. How much would something like that cost?