September 12, 2083 – Mountain Home ASB, Idaho
Colonel James Harris, USNA Aerospace Forces, watched the vendor's team fussing over the MNQR and checked the time again, anxiously. His commander liked to write orders that read like the one he was operating under today: "You will be prepared for a test, at 1400 Zulu." These civilians seemed to take that to mean, "It would be nice if you could..." They made him nervous with the cabinet still open, when less than seven minutes remained on the clock until the scheduled test run.
The new and very highly classified device they were examining didn’t offer all that many possibilities for a catchy acronym, but they were making do with pronouncing it as Moniker. The Multiverse Neutrino Quantum Receiver. He understood it was at its heart a quantum computer. That was about all he understood. He wasn't an ignorant man or a technophobe, but when they tried to explain how it worked the whole idea sounded irrational to him.
How it worked might be exotic, but anyone could understand what it was supposed to actually do. It was the same as radio, a way to transmit information, but with a different media. It detected a neutrino flux, with a sensitivity that was similar to how their conventional receivers detected ordinary electromagnetic radiation.
Where before a neutrino detector required a huge tank of fluid buried deep underground and could barely sense a source of the elusive particles, this new device detected the sum of events in an unknown but vast number of parallel devices. That's where they lost him. When he had asked what the transmitter was like that produced those pulses, they had brusquely informed him he had no need to know, that was another group's concern.
The unit they were testing was not an experimental set, but the first generation portable unit, that hopefully a military techie, a rating, could set up and use in field conditions. They had the first group of ratings observing today.
After much discussion, a civilian technician latched down the cover on the equipment, much to Col. Harris' relief. Three large elevated screens let everyone in the room see what was happening. A clock in the corner of the center screen showed less than two minutes to the first scheduled transmission. People stopped moving about, grabbed seats and all the murmuring died away in anticipation.
The counter in the corner of the screen reached zero and right on cue a series of spikes scrolled in the upper right corner of the screen. That raised a murmur of satisfaction among the technical crowd. The spikes changed from a constant series and started having gaps among them. The left screen started representing this variation as blocks of ones and zeros. The last display interpreted the timing of the pulses received, as spatial information. On a see through representation of the Earth, continents looking like they were embossed on a glass globe, a tetrahedron formed through the globe between the three detectors and the transmitter. Unless there was an island in that part of the Pacific he wasn't familiar with, they must have it on a ship. Today they were building on previous successful tests and trying to tweak the bandwidth a little wider.
"We don't have any drop outs here," the chief researcher said over the open network. "All three receivers check against each other…What's that?" he interjected.
On the crystalline representation of the globe, the three lines marking the cords between the receivers and the transmitter were flickering. When they faltered three new lines were drawn forming a pyramid with a new apex off the location in the Pacific and indeed, off the Earth’s surface slightly into near space.
"What the hell?" the head honcho started and then it was as if his question itself triggered a response. The wave forms flowing so smoothly seconds before, dissolved in a meaningless hash on the screen and the data scroll ended.
While the man stood, open mouthed, one of the rating, carefully kept back from the current activity, spoke up. "That's jamming. I've seen the same thing in satellite controlled UMVs, Run your gain way down and you might be able to localize it."
Nobody replied to the lowly fellow, but several lab coated civilians got their heads together and started entering something manually on a keyboard. Some of the numbers on the screen started a slow scroll down and abruptly the globe reappeared. The data resumed with all ones imposed, but the directional lock was lost.
"It's a 400 MHz buzz," the one technician reported without turning around. "Not nice clean pulses either but spikes, dirty spikes with quite a bit of variation, but no deliberate drop outs like we were inserting.”
Recovering, their boss found his composure again. "See if you can get the receivers to compare variations and get a directional lock."
The underlings played at it, selecting various length packets until they approached near a millisecond in length to reacquire and the three lines reappeared pointing to a spot in the sky. Further refining narrowed its location down to about twenty meters. They opened a smaller window scaled to show detail and watched, quietly arguing with each other and making hurried calls to the other receiver teams. "We can write a specific program for it later, to get a closer fix on the location – narrow it down off the recorded data too if we want," one fellow announced. The track on the screen was following an orbit, but it was wobbling like a badminton shuttlecock that was broken.
"Jim, can you get your boys to check what is at that location we're tracking? Here's an address to tap into the running data," he offered, showing his pad.
He spliced his office into the feed and listened intently to the quick reply from Space Command Tracking, before he turned to the waiting scientists.
"The elements you are feeding them are a dead match for the habitat Mitsubishi 3," That produced a lot of indignation and several outright objections.
On the screen, the strong emissions ended much more abruptly then they had started.
"The Japanese? The Japanese can't even make the…uwff!" One of them got cut off by an associate's elbow before he could say too much.
"I find it real hard to believe they have even a transmitter, much less a receiver," he told the one who cut him off, holding his ribs. Both of them glared at each other. "To speak of them being so far ahead they are designing powerful jamming devices is ridiculous."
The lowly young soldier who had suggested it was a jammer spoke up. "Doesn't mean it was designed as a jammer," he pointed out. "My wife has an old hair dryer at home - no intent involved at all - but when she runs it – it jams the hell out of the TV."
They looked at each other with new purpose and still no acknowledgment of his help.
"So," one said slowly, "we need to define all the categories of devices that might generate such a signal, as an unintended consequence," he very tentatively proposed.
"Don't worry on it too much son," Colonel Harris told him. "Mitsubishi 3 may sound Japanese, but it’s the American subsidiary of the company that built number three, so it's under USNA law. I'd say long before you can think-tank a list of what it could be, somebody will simply go take a look-see and we'll know exactly what's causing the fuss."
Chapter 1
Art checked the time again. It was 09:27, Sunday, Oct 3, 2083. He was finally past the three day hold he'd been ordered to endure and able to take his mission active. He was tired of wandering the boring corridors or eating in the cafeteria, watching these irritating people, unable to say anything to them about their antisocial acts. Patience wasn't something that came easily to him.
He'd suspected two of the other passengers in his shuttle flight as likely fellow agents, but no one had contacted him and he'd seen neither of them these three days.
He stepped out of the elevator with careful little steps, taking the measure of the acceleration on this deck. The clumsiness he experienced changing weight every time he stepped out on a new level, was starting to wear him down, because it seemed beyond his ability to acclimate to it. It was doubly irritating because he'd done so well in zero G.
The attitude of people was wearing him down too. At home he was used to civilians being afraid of him in uniform, especially when they saw the gray shoulder patch, that said he was on interservice loan to Homeland Security.
This corridor was at a nominal half G, the lowest used for habitation and he picked up speed warily, as he turned with spin and headed for the elevator down to the next deck, which would be about 70% G.
He'd circled all around his target's apartment, making sure he had a clear mental picture of what surrounded it in three dimensions, not trusting the blueprints he'd studied to be current. The Singh kid wasn't home. He'd made sure he was starting breakfast at the cafeteria, then he'd quickly ended his own breakfast and left. The boy had stayed away from the apartment, returning late every day so far.
If only the father had taken his son when he went off station, it would have made his mission much easier. The boy was sixteen, still a minor, so it was illegal abuse under USNA law to leave him at home alone, but Singh hadn't boarded him out, or hired a sitter while he was gone. As far as he could tell reading the directory, there wasn't any care facility for teens on the habitat and no commercial sitting services. They seemed to just ignore quite a few laws, that were taken for granted below. It had shocked him at first and he didn't understand why his briefing hadn't spelled out how different it was on the hab. It was like a different country.
The schedule for the nanoelectronics conference the father was attending at ISSII said he'd be gone over a week. Art's superiors somehow knew the man would be staying on after it ended too. A number of sentences started but not finished and significant looks between his superiors, convinced him there were a lot of details they hadn't felt it necessary to share with him.
The father's workplace was definitely off limits. He had stretched his orders yesterday and done a light surveillance of the Lucent Lab where Singh worked, as part of his 'acclimation'. Their security was as tight as the rest of the station was lax. Not only electronic, but armed guards at a single choke point entry. There was no way was he getting in there, without a court order to open up in his hand.
Art was going as fast as he felt safe to shuffle along, touching the wall tentatively and was slowing down to turn the corner, when he heard a colophony of shrill voices and the rapid scuff of little feet overtaking him. He stopped short of the corner, his back to the wall and waited to see what was passing him.
Four local children went by with a floating gait, graceful as antelope in slow motion. Chattering over each other in a strange slang, so fast and loud that he couldn't figure out what any one of them was saying. They all looked to be eight to ten years old and dressed bizarrely. Not a one of them would have made it through a security gate at a school or mall in North America looking like that, without being turned away, or held and their parents called. Not that they were technically illegal, but Neighborhood Defenders considered community standards too, not just the letter of the law and eccentric appearance was disruptive. That they might have their own community standards, was something beyond Art's rigid world view.
All of them were shamelessly bare legged, in shorts with sticky footies. They all had expensive spex on, even though they were little kids. Letting kids wear expensive stuff in public was just begging for them to be robbed or worse. At least it was down below. Only one of them had gloves on, while they were out touching every grubby call button and take hold in the public areas as if they were safe in their own homes. There was not a mask, knee pad, elbow pad, or head protection of any sort to be seen on any of them, while they were out running wild in the public corridor.
Not only were they completely unescorted by an adult and half naked for any perv or terrorist out prowling around to snatch, but the one in the lead didn't have any sort of shirt on at all. The reason for that was obviously to show off the colorful dragon drawn curled across his belly, under his left arm, up the back and looped over the shoulder, with its snarling head staring at him with boggled eyes and open jaws.
When they passed the one in front with the dragon spun around in mid leap to take a look back at him, his face was very Oriental, with strong epicanthal folds on the eyelids. The motion threw out long braided pigtails, startling Art. A bare breasted boy was bad enough, but surely they wouldn't let a little girl go out in public with no top on! Unless they allowed long braided hair on a boy…He couldn't decide which would be worse. The thought was so shocking he gasped at the audacity of it, either was indecent and the tattoo! That was beyond the pall.
He certainly hoped that was a fake. He couldn't imagine a child having a real tattoo. At least he hoped it was just body markers and would fade out in a week or so. Earthside you might let your boys swim topless if you had your own very private pool some folks would mind their own business if they found out. But if you tried that in public, even if they were escorted, Family Services would have them in custody in a heartbeat for endangerment and you'd be on trial for neglect. Lately, public sentiment was such, that even short sleeved shirts were frowned on in really conservative areas. Some restaurants would refuse you service in shorts or short sleeves, adult or child.
The middle children ignored him in passing, but the last child in line seeing the front runner look back kicked off the deck like a ballerina en Pointe, making a lazy turn in the half G, examining Art with the tactless stare children use. It was hard to tell, but this one also appeared to be a girl, although the hair was shorter and she was strikingly Caucasian with corn silk blond hair and bright blue eyes.
She threw her arms out to slow her spin enough, to look Art over better. On her forehead, the shiny cabochon of a Public Eye lens on a headband looked him over too. That was not-something-he-wanted, to be on a video archive somewhere. Maybe her folks made her wear it for her protection, even if they were crazy enough to let her out of the house alone. In that was the case, he could hope the vid would scroll off private storage in a few days.
She pulled her arms in to spin faster, landing just in time to join hands with her friend to the front, as the lead kid grabbed a take hold bar, swinging the whole line of his friends around the corner. The arched line of them swung around the corner in a crack the whip maneuver that Art would not have believed possible if he hadn't seen it. The end girl curled up and hung on double handed against the snap, by stretching back out to ease it. So comfortable with the gymnastics that she took time to look over her shoulder at him, like he was the strange one here. Somewhere on the other side of the corner, she must have found a take hold, then the line disappeared from his view the same way – swapping ends.
By the time he eased around the intersection they were gone from sight and just their voices echoed down the empty corridor. They looked like a bunch of savages, he thought. Even the kids in the Arabic Protectorate weren't as bold when he'd done patrol there. These kids looked at you without a trace of fear on their faces. He found that really offensive.
Down a level on the elevator and along the corridor at a new rhythm brought him to his target's door. Not only was there not a visible camera on the residence hallways, there was no real security system on the door either, just a taste and code lock. It never occurred to him that cameras were deliberately visible, only for the intimidation factor.
Naval Intelligence had used a government inserted back door to get him the entry codes off the habitat's computers. He could have cracked such an easy entry himself, but he had learned early to not display too many skills, or his instructors asked where he had acquired them. His small hobby of burglary as a teenager had never been discovered, or he'd have never been accepted into the service for anything but scut duty.
The same caution, had kept him from asking the experienced fellows about the prospects of liberating souvenirs on missions. All he needed was one self righteous straight arrow blabbing, to ruin the game he had planned.
Art pulled his pad off his belt and ran it around the hatch edges checking for hidden security systems, with his military plug-ins. If he somehow alerted the station security, he had a set of get out of jail free documents in his pouch. That wouldn't be the way to impress his superiors on his first solo though, to need bailed out. His briefing had emphasized – if you can't achieve your objectives, withdraw without making our activities known. In other words - don't screw up. If they wanted to draw public attention to the investigation, they'd just walk in with warrants, not send in an operative.
He pushed the call button, just to be sure there was nobody inside. If it was linked to somebody's phone he'd ask for the wrong name. After a pause he punched the stolen numerical code in and the door opened without a hitch. He stepped through into the dark, closing the door and pulled a small light out. There didn't seem to be any manual light switch near the door, so he took another chance and said aloud, "Lights up." They came on full without any alarm, even at a strange voice, so he was encouraged. Even in a walled and gated community Earthside, this place would have never lasted a week without being robbed by somebody, maybe a grade school kid. It was hard to believe that anything of value could be in such an insecure place.
He took a deep breath happy to find he still got that deep thrill of being in a forbidden place he'd had as a teenager, even if he did have government sanction now. The place was ridiculously small for the home of a well paid and important worker. Everything he'd heard on Earth was these people were all rich, yet this nano-electronic engineer was living in an apartment the size of his parents garage. He was starting to doubt he'd find anything worth boosting for himself while he was here.
A quick walk through was in order. The house com console was an unlikely place to keep anything really sensitive. Most of its memory resided in the network and it could never be made sufficiently secure. Of the two tiny bedrooms the first obviously belonged to the teenage son, with very casual clothing and a mess of study papers and printouts on the desk. The kid was a pack-rat with boxes of junk and electronic parts piled in the corner and bottom of the closet. Some sports equipment was piled on the unmade bed and a mound of visibly dirty footies and grimy socks was piled by the desk.
The father's room looked like the jackpot, with an actual stand alone computer. He cut all data feeds in and out and sealed the ventilation as he'd been trained. There was still no alarm, so the environmental controls depended on positive reporting, not fail safes. The shoe box size computer unit was optical fibered to the wall screen, instead of wireless, with no network connection at all. That was damn suspicious for a computer able to do some complex modeling. Who monitored his usage if it was off line?
His briefing had not told him explicitly what he was seeking. He was to bring any and all technical materials and computer memory out with him for somebody else evaluate it. The computer looked like the target, but first he did a general toss of the room. He took his general purpose tool out and used the pliers to get a grip on the carpet in the corner, systematically pulling it all up. He pad-scanned the mattress and pillows, but used his knife to slit them open just to be sure. There were some old fashioned hard print codex books, all of which he riffled looking for loose papers. All he got was a few personal photos and old receipts, that might have simply been bookmarks. They were all commercially published so not anything he'd want, even if technical.
There was little clothing but he pulled each piece off the hangers. The ones with pockets he either searched or simply squeezed the pocket to feel for anything. There was a hard copy file with some legal papers and some currency with writing in a language he didn't know. It was all non-target material, but in the bottom there were three small gold coins. This was just the sort of personal bonus he'd hoped would be common when he applied for training. He carefully sealed them in a pocket, somewhat satisfied.
He wanted to be able to exit immediately once he dealt with the computer, so he took a moment to relieve himself. He used the toilet, returned to the bedroom and made a simple line drawing of a laughing seal, with a globe of the world balanced on its nose and the barest simple outline of the Americas on the sphere. No point in having this much fun and not intimating who tossed their place. It was always good to sow a little fear.
It didn't directly violate his orders, he reasoned, since they had to infer that the seal was meant to be a SEAL. He wasn't going to draw any anchors around the globe, or anything blatant. He drew it right on the big thin screen on the wall, ruining the plastic surface with the vacuum marker, ignoring the little voice in his head that said this was a bad idea.
He was finally ready to do the computer and get out of here. A quick check with the pad showed no outgassing from any explosives and no signal was being sent over the power cord. It shouldn't have an alarm or be booby trapped. He took the multi-tool and snipped the optic fiber. If disconnecting the power raised some sort of alarm, he would immediately trot out the door with the whole box under his arm. It was a normal push and twist plug at the wall, but no connector at the case, so he unplugged it and then immediately cut the cord almost flush with the case. Still no alarms, so he relaxed another small increment and pulled a chair up to crack the box open for the memory.
The case was a little taller than wide. He used his multi-tool to take the fasteners out of the two top corners. Then he tipped it on its side, to raise the bottom corner where it was easy to get at. There was a sort of boiling sound he could feel through the case and he immediately felt heat on his face. He jumped up in a panic, so hard he left the deck in the low G, knocking the chair over behind him and whipped the box back upright, but it was too late.
There was a plum size ball of white hot molten steel already melted through the side of the case before he could tip it back. It was far too hot to look at, so he had purple flash blobbies floating before his eyes before he could look away. Art had heard of thermite before in training, but never seen what it really looked like first hand. The composite counter top was holding up better than the metal computer case had, but it was sizzling, melting a crater and giving off lots of smoke.
The horrible plastic fumes were already making his flash shocked eyes water. There was a plastic waste basket under the desk and he grabbed it running for the shower in the tiny bathroom, desperately muttering, "Shit, shit, shit," all the way. The flow was good and he had an almost full waste basket in seconds.
Rushing back in the ball was visibly lower in the counter top. He tried not to look directly at the glare of it. It was not through yet, the low G was helping him there and he sloshed a big splash of water across it. The steam that flashed back with a loud hiss rolled up the wall, to join the layer of gray smoke fanning out across the overhead and burning his hand holding the rim of the basket, badly enough to make him jump back.
There was a drawer underneath the shelf the molten metal was eating through and he yanked it open and hastily dumped the rest of the water in it on top of the pencils and pens and things and slammed it shut. The steam that had flashed up condensed on the cool bulkhead immediately, where it ran back down, cutting clean streaks through the soot and pooling like ink on top of the counter. He ran back to the shower, coughing at the burnt plastic smell to fill his improvised bucket again. Behind him he heard the sudden hiss, as the white hot mass fell in the drawer with a layer of water in the bottom. By the time he ran back in it had melted through the pens and such, then the bottom of the drawer, before he could get the waste basket under it. It was only yellow hot now. The water in the drawer poured out slowly in the low G, right on top of the diminished but still soft ball.
That was a lucky accident he hadn't foreseen, but it helped a lot that all the water was directed right where he needed it. He slowly poured the new pail of water on it too, forcing himself not to pull back when the steam billowed up, even though it made him gasp and cough. It quickly dropped to red heat and then a dull grey. At last it was simply making a sizzling boiling sound, instead of the breathy sound of steam flashing.
When he'd dribbled the last of the water out he stepped back and tossed the empty waste basket on the bed. He hands were shaking from the realization he'd barely stopped it before it melted through the deck into the next apartment. As it was the metal decking slumped around the dull lump, so it was a close thing. He poked it with his toe, but it was welded tight to the metal deck. It was still hot enough it boiled off an expanding dry circle around itself as he watched, water fizzing on the edge of the expanding circle between wet and dry.
He glanced up at the seal and globe he'd drawn. Maybe that hadn't been the very best idea, but it was too late now. He certainly wasn't going to try to roll up the big thing and take it with him. He stumbled back to the bath again, pulling the bedroom door shut behind him, to close off as much of the stink as he could. He turned the shower on dead cold and very low flow, adjusting it to a fine mist. He stripped his glove and held his burnt hand in that cold spray as long as he dare. At least no skin had come off with the glove. He stepped back and stripped as quickly as he could, the burnt hand slowing him.
The shower mist in the small room cleared the stink from the air pretty well. He soaped up his sooty face left handed, checking it in the mirror set at face level in the stall. He tried to ease on a little warmth in the spray, but as soon as it hit his burnt right hand he gasped and turned it back cold. It was a bright pink, but he decided it wouldn't blister or peel right away. Once he looked presentable he eased the blow dry on and stood shivering as the stall flushed with warm air, holding his right hand above his head, out of the direct flow.
He was recovering enough to be angry now. If he had some bobby trap of his own he'd gladly leave it, but his superiors had debated at length, before allowing him just a pistol and frangible rounds. He was sure they had come close to sending him unarmed. Right now he was so hot, he would have cheerfully left a nuke for these damn people, if he had one. Somehow, he had to get back and get a piece of these people another time – to even up the score.
It was awkward to dress one handed. His shirt was so sooty he decided it would be less obvious inside-out. But the air in the tiny living area was not too bad when he went out. It didn't make his eyes water and burn, as they had in the bedroom. He punched for the door to open, called lights down, stepped through, locking the door from outside with the number code again.
He was just happy not to meet Fire and Rescue responding in the corridor. Back at the Holiday Inn, he'd get some ointment from his kit on the burnt hand and some fresh gloves. Well, he thought. How in the hell am I going to write this up, to sound like it wasn't a total screw up?
Chapter 2
At the other end of M3, another agent of the USNA had also experienced some difficulty. He was in fact, one of the spooks Art had made in the shuttle coming up. Jon Davis, head of Security for M3 peered out of the clear shield of a biohazard mask, examining the agent face to face, so close most people would have found it very intimidating. Jon was a huge man with a bull neck and a sour expression on his face. The calm with which the agent ignored his scrutiny, was due to the ballpeen hammer driven deep into the man's forehead.
Finding a dead body on M3 was unusual. Finding two floating in the same maintenance space gave Jon indigestion. That one was a local really frosted him. He felt it a personal failure when one of his people came to harm. The strange dead guy was FBI, but there was no documentation on him to reveal that to Jon. He'd trained to do sneak and peeks years ago and had loads of experience at them, but always as a team. He'd needed those team mates today in a strange environment, but the expense of an orbital lift had made his bosses cut corners. He wasn't leaking anymore. In fact he had contributed very little to the bloody mess of droplets floating in the air and wetting the walls. The other body, bagged and floating in the corridor now, had done most of the bleeding. Fortunately Security had responded and got the area sealed off fast enough they didn't have to declare a biohazard emergency.
Jon's assistant was busy vacuuming what blood wasn't on the walls, out of the air. He ignored her and was analyzing what happened here. Another team member was cleaning the wetted corridor walls already with antiseptic wipes, tossing them in a biohazard bag. They'd still run a check on the blood, to make sure neither man was an unwitting bio-weapon.
The loose access panel had floated on the ventilation currents, halfway down the corridor to the lift by the time they arrived. The recessed service space the panel covered, was filled with a massive run of parallel cables and fiber bundles. Most of them ran between offices and sections internally, but some went from here to various antennas and transmitters on the outside of the non-rotating hub. It was pretty safe to assume the dead man was responsible for a number of slim clip-on bugs installed over those cables, except for the one Jon found floating loose beside him.
"Margaret!" Jon called. "I want Eddie here - right now and get us a couple freight boxes up here for these two," his nod included the bagged shape floating beside her. “I don't want people to see them on the way to the infirmary cooler in body bags and the news to get out before we have a handle on this."
"Also, get our police curtain down on the corridor ends when we're clean and put up a maintenance barricade instead. Get Jack's supervisor here to do that. I'll break it to him his man is dead and ask for his cooperation to keep it quiet."
"Sixty people will know it before the shift is over," Margaret predicted.
"That's fine. We won't ask they keep it a secret forever, just ask them not to leak it Dirtside and wait to tell the story around here for a couple days. The less you ask of people the more likely you'll get it."
"I'll ask Denise to bring a helper too," Margaret said, "and Maintenance can take them to the cooler. If anybody sees Security pushing a big box around, it will raise as many questions as using a body bag. Does he have family on 3?"
"No, we lucked out there. Jack had no close family living, just some cousins and an older aunt down in Mexico. He was from some little town in the Baja and never was very close to them. I happen to know because he worked out with some of us Wednesday evenings and we'd chat waiting turns. Whoever this slime-ball is," he indicated the corpse floating before him," he probably never thought he'd be interrupted and if he was, he would have never guessed the fellow surprising him would be a hard case ex-Marine. Big mistake," he enunciated sharply.
Margaret didn't even bother to agree. The old fashioned sixteen ounce ball peen hammer half buried in the man's forehead spoke for itself. His eyes were open and he just looked relaxed with his mouth slightly open like he had finished considering some question and might reply.
"I have all the visible stuff sucked up. I'd like to burn an Iodine vapor bomb, so we can drop the curtain and turn the ventilation back on."
"OK," Jon approved, going through the dead man's pockets and putting each item in a separate evidence bag, as he had the gun and bug found floating free when they arrived. "Take a sticky pad and collect residuals off his hands and feet before we bag him. Be sure to label them right and left. I want him bagged before we contaminate him with the disinfectant."
"My right and left, or his right and left?" Margaret asked with a little edge in her voice.
Her sarcasm brought him out of his concentration enough to realize he's spoken to his best detective like she was a six-year-old.
"Sorry, I know you know procedures. I'm kind of running my mouth on autopilot," he admitted.
"You want a dust and pix on the hammer handle too?"
Jon took the time to look at her face to see if she was still needling him or serious. "Go ahead. I don't think he shot Jack for his hammer and then smacked himself in the head, but you know - some idiot just may ask if we checked it down the road. Damn lawyers are great at bringing silly theories like that up in court. Or someone may suggest a third party was involved, which is more believable. After you image it, go ahead and pull it. It would be damn awkward bagging him with it sticking out. I have pix of it in situ."
At the end of the corridor there was a sharp whistle. That could only be one person. They both glanced. About forty meters away a man made a final check on his face mask and unzipped the flimsy bubble airlock in the plastic film barrier, at the cross corridor. He gently pushed himself off the plastic to avoid damaging it and then launched himself toward them very aggressively from a take-hold on the wall. When he got near, he propelled a couple broken down foam boxes to Margaret. They had old UPS stickers on them.
"Theo said you needed these and I have a roll of tape too," Eddie said, muffled by the mask he wore. He stopped himself by hand and flipped over and took a toe hold, while he patted his pockets to find the roll. By that time Margaret had the box folded open and looked dismayed. It was about a meter cube, to hold a two meter body. I think you'll have to bend him knees against his chest and tape him like that to fit him in," he suggested looking, at the body bag. "He isn't stiff yet is he?"
"He isn't even cold yet," Margaret snapped, suddenly angry.
"What happened? Who is this?" he pointed at the bag, knowing her anger was nothing personal, just frustration.
"Jack from maintenance. A young Mexican fellow, a cable jockey, who's been up about two years."
"Crap, I knew him," Eddie said, upset now too. "He played guitar sometimes when there was a party. Who'd want to hurt him?"
Jon swung aside to answer that, uncovering the corpse floating behind him. Eddie took that in and even through the mask his face looked sick.
"Exhibit B," Jon offered. "Listen to Jack's call." He pulled his pad and spoke so softly to it Eddie couldn't hear.
"Security, I have a panel loose and somebody in restricted space." Jacks indignant voice came out of Jon's pad fairly loud.
There was a sheet metal sound and a ghost's voice said, "Take your hand off the mic."
"What the hell are you doing?" Jack's angry voice demanded. "Oh shit," and there was a soft cough and a thud of something hitting the corridor wall at the same time. Then a pause of almost a full second and a grunt of great exertion, that could have been either man, followed quickly by a sharp >Smack< sound. Then after another pause, "Got you too jackass," Jack said, in a barely audible voice.
"The way I make it," Jon explained, "Jack saw the panel was out of flush a hair because the cam lugs were not turned down to draw it in like the others. He stopped and could hear somebody inside. Nobody legit, would pull the panel back over them like that and work in the dark and if somebody was here in the same section working, they'd have told him when they sent him out. That's a basic safety rule."
"Instead of leaving and calling us from around the corner in a cross shaft where the guy wouldn't hear him, he just keyed his mike and called us right here. Not the smartest thing to do, in hind-sight, but he certainly didn't expect an armed intruder. The fellow hears him call in, knocks the panel away and tries to stop him from transmitting. As soon as he doesn't submit, the fellow here drew a gun to silence him."
"Jack sees the pistol coming up too late, says 'Oh shit,' and gets hit high on the left chest with a frangible round that takes a big hunk out the back of his shoulder. He's spun around, undoubtedly sees the huge mess on the wall behind him as he turns past and knows he's a goner and has seconds to act."
"His left arm is useless, but Jack was right handed and he pulls his hammer out of his tool belt and throws against his spin with everything he's got. Throws it like a tomahawk and gets it right the first time."
"Sure did," Eddie agrees, "this Earthie would have never believed somebody hurt and spinning in zero G, could throw that accurately. He'd have put a couple more rounds in him as he turned, if he'd had any idea. What the heck was he doing anyway?"
"I was hoping you could tell me, my techie friend. Take a look in here," he invited Eddie. "It appears he had these all installed, except this one," he pulled the last slim wafer with a clip, out of his pocket. "Are you familiar with how this kind of bug works?"
"No, this is beyond my level of expertise. I can't imagine it stores the intercept. Even with the latest high density memory it couldn't hold more than a few hours and data intercept is perishable, it loses value hour by hour." He took the device from Jon's hand and looked at it silently, thinking.
"Got an imager that sees into the infrared?" he asked.
"Margaret does."
Eddie accepted the device from her and looked at the free piece, then at the ones clipped in the cables.
"They're warm. They have an internal power source - isotopic probably. I'd say they perform a data mining operation and then transmit the nuggets at intervals. We're talking big government agency stuff here too, not any private investigator."
"How could they do that with traffic on the line?" Margaret asked.
"They can analysis the traffic, we're talking high level processing and predict when there will be a pause. The error correction routines will cover if they interfere with an occasional packet. I could do the same thing without any deep analysis - just transmit at coffee break on the off shift and you'll likely be clear of any live traffic. If you accidentally garble a vending machine reporting inventory or something, it will just send it again."
"But why not listen to our stream Dirtside, where they have massive capacity and can process the whole thing?" Jon wondered.
"They probably do, but they'd want to hear our internal chatter too, for certain critical subjects. If they diverted all our internal comm below it would double the bandwidth on external transmissions and somebody would notice."
"So, you wouldn't expect some other agent to come replace these, or mess with them as long as they are transmitting as expected?"
"Not unless they are really paranoid about the fact this fellow doesn't return," Eddie indicated with a shift of his eyes. "We can put a camera here, to catch anyone servicing them, but we had better install this last bug ourselves. As dependable as this sort of device is, the agent having an accident and one of the bugs going bad might be too much to swallow."
"Good, I want the people who did this to think they pulled it off clean and his death was unrelated. I want them to mess up and ID themselves. I very much want to know who invaded my jurisdiction and hurt my people. So we need to arrange a very plausible accident for this gentleman in about a day and you need to decide on which feed the last device should be installed."
"I need somebody from communications to help me pick the last cable, but we can do them one better," Eddie offered. "I can install our own sensors beside their taps and tell what they are mining. We'll capture their transmission when we know there is no traffic from us. That should be interesting don't you think?"
"That might tell us who the players are, even if nobody claims the body," Jon predicted with an evil smile.
Chapter 3
Monday morning, nine o'clock was three hours into main-shift on Mitsubishi 3. April Lewis was listening to the Earth news for October 4, 2083, while she walked to the cafeteria to meet her friend Heather. M3 ran on North American Pacific Time, the unofficial standard time of near Earth space and Disney News was on the same time zone, being California based.
April was station born and more interested in what was happening locally, but followed the Earth news to please her parents, who were Earthborn. They'd lived in California before coming to M3 and seemed to appreciate it if she knew what was going on below, even though it often didn't make any sense to her. Disney was more likely to have California or space stories than most foreign news channels, so she picked it even though you had to factor in that their news was run through USNA censors. April didn't know a news service that wasn't run through somebody's filter.
There were two thousand residents in M3, surpassed in orbit only by New Las Vegas when they had a full tourist load. The habitat produced a lot of valuable goods that couldn't be made groundside and was home to quite a bit of research and development, yet the news channels rarely mentioned M3 unless a celebrity was visiting. When they did mention Spacers lately they seemed to be unfairly critical and April was tired of hearing it. Station dwellers were portrayed by the media as overpaid opportunists and dangerously lacking in social conformity. Newsies even complained they ate too well. The high cost of living and salaries to match, made the residents easy targets of resentment, as surely as someone living in Palm Springs or the Principality of Monaco.
* * *
In World News, the Japanese cut off imports of Canadian bio-Diesel, claiming active turkey prions were present in the exhaust.
The European Union was threatening Switzerland with sanctions, for holding gold and platinum for EU citizens in safe deposit, after private ownership of the metals was outlawed again last year.
In National News, the honorable Senator Smith from Puerto Rico had demanded the honorable Senator Macmillan from The Yukon, allow his Federal Identity data be checked against the genome of her fraternal twins - and he had matched - for one of them. The comedians and cartoonists were having a field day, speculating on how far afield a search for the other twin's father should proceed.
The mayor of Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio was assassinated by a proximity bomb outside his garage door and a group calling themselves Buckeyes for Property Rights claimed responsibility.
The fall colors in Vermont were forecast to be the best in years, later this month due to unseasonably early cool weather. The program ended with a required public service spot, urging vigilant citizens to call their Neighborhood Defender and report unusual activity to combat the blight of black markets and unregistered businesses.
* * *
April was dressed casually, like most people in the corridors. She wore gray sweats with loose pants and a zippered hooded top. Her snug moon boots were a popular fashion now, but with regular soles, not the expensive slick and stick nanotech soles like the real thing. It was just old-fashioned unpowered clothing, without heating or cooling and precut to size, not auto tailored.
Her spex were thin film wrap-arounds, frameless except for the temple pieces. She didn't like watching video while she was walking, so the news was audio only, just the base spex menu riding in the upper left corner of her vision. She left them set untinted, so her face was fully visible.
Her features retained some of the soft look of childhood and an arch of coppery freckles across her cheeks and nose were faint, because she was never in sunlight. April's reddish brown hair was cut short, boyish really by the current styles, with just enough on top to have a little shape and clipped very short all around the sides. It wanted to flip up in front and she didn't fight it, brushing the front up in a spiky line. The short hair made the gold pirate hoops she wore in her ears stand out.
Overall, she looked like normal a thirteen year old, not far from her fourteenth birthday. She was short and slight framed like her father, but athletic looking not the awkward lanky look some teens have until they fill out. Her appearance would not be changing as quickly as might be expected at her age, because she had started basic life extension therapy three months ago.
Eventually the full treatment would slow down her visible aging even more, as the therapies took hold. She'd only have the appearance of a sixteen or seventeen-year-old, until she was about thirty. It was something she worried about. She was convinced as long as she looked young, her parents would continue to resist treating her like an adult, no matter how she acted. Life extension just voided all the visual clues of age, people depended on to form their impressions of others. Her parents had grown up knowing how old and supposedly how mature, anyone was at a glance. So she could picture them still talking to her like a twelve year old, when she was twenty-five.
Her brother Bob looked much older than April. He even shaved now, although he was only three years older. He had taken after their mom instead of Dad or Gramps, so he was bigger. Her folks had only recently had the funds to start both their treatments, so Bob had to wait a few more years than she had. It might give her an advantage far in the future. But Bob's older appearance was a huge advantage right now. An advantage she begrudged him, due to her firm conviction he wasn't really as mature as she was in many ways and not nearly as honest.
Most everyone who worked away from home had a nine o'clock report time on main-shift, if it was one of their workdays, so there was no line at the cafeteria and no big noisy crowd. At this hour it was mostly youngsters like her and Heather who didn't have a real job yet, retirees here to socialize and people who were self employed like Heather's mom, who was an artist, or Mr. Hathaway who was a writer.
The aroma of hot bread and fresh coffee brewing was strong at the entry. April usually came before the main shift rush, not after, so she was hungry and her stomach was growling at the smell of all the hot food. She ordered a huge breakfast and piled on butter for her hot cakes, syrup, coffee, jam and orange juice on her tray from the self serve breakfast bar.
Now that she wasn't walking, she set the spex to show market and news alerts to the top left of her view. Her brother had gotten her into a medical stock a week ago she was following.
It was up twenty percent and she was getting twitchy to sell it. She rarely rode them as far as Bob. He was either fearless, or crazy when investing.
Getting a carton of milk was best done when her mother was not along, to preach at her about junk food. The milk supposedly had all the antibodies and hormones filtered out now and was checked for viruses and xenoprions. It wasn't supposed to give you Beta Alzheimer's or Crohn's now, but her mom's generation still didn't trust it, feeling safer with soy milk.
April ordered heavily, because her parents had done some significant gene tweaking when they had her. Her metabolism was capable of running at a higher pitch, with correspondingly increased physical capacity and nutritional requirements.
Down below those who insisted there was a world shortage of food found her modification an abomination, snatching needed food from the mouths of the world poor. April had seen the hypocrisy of that even before her dad explained it. When the world's poor had something worthwhile to trade, ships full of grain would race each other to make deliveries.
Her favorite cook and friend Ruby was working at the grill, so she took her time saying good morning, chatting while she waited for her double stack of pancakes, with four eggs over very easy on top. Ruby was tall and slender, with a dark chocolate complexion, shrewd eyes and long thin fingers. She was full of nervous energy, always moving. She was too old to have a gene-modified metabolism like April, but she appeared to be one of those people who run on a natural overdrive. She always chatted with Ruby and the exchanges had progressed as she grew older. If business was slow, Ruby would take her break when April came by and talk.
She had no success at all getting information out of her dad the same way. For some reason her dad clammed up when she asked anything, yet he kept the files and schedules for supply and maintenance wide open on the com console at home, not even password protected. It must not seem important to him, but April could find advantage in knowing anything not posted to a public board.
It was surprising how much you could infer about what else was going on in the station, just by watching what people ordered and April wanted to know everything that was going on. A desire increasingly frustrated, because people seemed to be clamming up more than usual the last few months. People were tense and seemed to be hoarding supplies. The supply schedule gave her something to trade Ruby for information. April let her know when filler freight, like gloves or hygienic wipes got bumped back a flight, so she could get extra before they ran out.
It was a fair trade given the high quality of Ruby's news. Almost everyone ate at the cafeteria and Ruby was very observant. She was aware if a couple stopped coming in together, or someone started meeting a new person. She probably had her finger on the pulse of the station's social life better than anyone else April knew.
Seeing Ruby made April remember how valuable her information had been, just a few month ago. What a mess things could have been without it...
* * *
Her dad and grandpa were discussing the possibilities for the new Chief of Security. Her dad held out with Mitsubishi for the right to appoint the job locally. The last fellow they'd sent up had never adjusted to the culture and he didn't want a repeat. She was in the living room supposedly reading, but following every word they said, being a snoop as usual.
Both of them were favorably impressed with Eric Willard. April thought him a horrible sort of man. Well sure, he worked long hard hours, but for all the wrong reasons. He'd do just about anything to avoid going home. He couldn't speak three words to his own boy without a fight resulting and he didn't get along with Mrs. Willard much better.
People like him were dismissive of children. After all why should he waste any courtesy on her? She had no power in his eyes. So he didn't guard what he said around her, like he would have if an adult had been close by. She had thus seen far too much of his true nature.
It had been no big surprise when Ruby saw Mrs. Willard chat and flirt all touchy, with the nice looking new construction foreman on the fore-shift, then she left with him.
She just couldn't stay silent and let them make such a mistake so she spoke up.
"Dad, Grandpa, honestly, you don't want to make Mr. Willard Head of Security. If you do it will end as badly as the last one and you'll need a different guy anyway in just a few months."
Her dad put on that patronizing look he wasn't aware he used with her. "Why Sugar? Don't you like Mr. Willard?"
"No, I do not like Mr. Willard," she answered without apology. "He's so hateful to anyone he thinks he can safely belittle, that Security will be full of angry people in no time at all. He's such a hopeless bully, that he honestly thinks if he browbeats his people it makes them respect him and work harder. What's more important is this - Do you want a Security Chief, who is too dense to know his wife is running around on him with the cute new construction foreman? Hmm?" she asked, when there was no response.
She thought her dad was going to choke on the unexpected revelation, but her grandpa just quietly said, "I'll look into it, Steve," as if it was her dad's idea all along to check it out. Later, privately, her grandpa thanked her.
"Thank you for not treating me like an idiot." She hadn't outright said it was in contrast to the way her father acted with her, or drawn a comparison with her brother.
"Well, I had to have my nose rubbed in it a few times, before I was able to look at your dad as an adult," he recalled. "You know, he's really quite smart for someone who is not even forty yet." He smiled to show he was at least partially joking.
"Believe it or not, he really does remember you figured out it was the Lab Director who hoarded water, when everyone else was looking for a leak. You should have seen his face when we went in the man's apartment and saw the hot tub he had set up. Damn near filled up the whole place," he showed with arms spread wide.
"I'll work on it, until he really listens to me," she vowed.
"He will in time Honey. I know you're a really bright young woman," he assured her and he gave her a double handed hug before he ambled off down the corridor.
* * *
The platter deliberately clattered on the counter, to break her reverie…
"Wake up Sweetie - time to stuff your face," Ruby said with no malice at all. She turned away, busy, before April could thank her. April picked a table at the far wall, alone, far from the usual crowd which stayed close to the serving counter. She wanted some privacy to talk with Heather. The noises of dishes and utensils and others chatting close to the coffee machine was low this far away.
The overhead was all waffle board, with little noise canceling nodes poked down through the overhead near the corners of the room. The walls were carpeted to mute the noise and because it showed wear less than paint, which was so hard to refresh in a sealed environment. Best of all they didn't inflict someone else's taste in music on you here, while you tried to enjoy your meal.
April invited friends to breakfast whenever she could, but she also had business with Heather this morning. She was putting pats of butter between the hot cakes and had managed a quick bite of bacon, when Heather caught up with her. She hit the seat opposite like a shuttle that missed its docking collar. It was a good thing the table was bolted down solid. Somehow she managed to crash the tray down without spilling her breakfast.
Chapter 4
Heather was a little older - sixteen and a bit bigger than April. Not that it was important. There weren't many kids near April's age on M3 with who she could socialize, so she was used to older friends and was comfortable with adults. She would have found Earthie kids her own age childish and strange. Heather was the sort you would describe as solid. Not fat, but she had a thickness of frame, which would preclude anyone suggesting ballet lessons. She was solid in personality too, very dependable.
It was hard to believe, the way she crashed around, that she could put on magnifiers and do the most delicate work bare-handed, where others needed reducing Waldos. She had a major talent with anything electronic and dressed like a techie too, simple and utilitarian. Her face was presentable, with a nose which could even be called cute. But it suffered from an overdose of average. There was no real prominent feature and her hair was a very ordinary brown. But there was nothing at all ordinary about the mind behind the face. Her best visible quality was ephemeral. When she smiled it lit her whole face up in a delightful display
"I got your scanner all fixed up. It looks like an old Panasonic scanner on the outside, but all the old insides are gone and it's all modern voice command and computerized now. Ready to swap?" Heather asked, all eager and leaned over as if she was going to get it.
"Please Heather, just leave it in the sack and I'll get it before I go. There's a security camera at the other end and Ruby sees everything. I'd rather not advertise I got anything from you."
"OK, but you worry too much. The security vid gets its memory dumped in a day or two and Ruby is working away and won't pay any attention to us. Nobody will pay any attention to two girls having breakfast," she scoffed. She shoveled in oatmeal in precise little bites.
Uh - huh, April thought to herself, you obviously know nothing about Ruby. She had no doubt at all if she asked Ruby tomorrow, she'd be able to tell her what Heather wore, which chair she sat in and she'd probably ask, Gave you something didn't she? As if she didn't know.
April often felt like nobody ever told her anything, but a lot of com was still in the clear around M3. She was good enough at piecing together a fact here and there, into a whole. This scanner would let her figure out a great deal more than anybody would suspect. But not if she blatantly advertised what she had, so people watched their words, or worse, stopped her from using it.
"It has all the old frequencies," Heather continued, "but now it scans all the way down to the millimeter stuff they use for locally for suits and ships." Then she dropped her voice despite having just declared how safe it was to do an exchange here. "It does what you asked for too. It will passively assemble voice and text calls off our local net, which are directed to other people's pad or phone. You just tell it the elements to look for in the system headers. You have to teach it your voice and a pass phrase first thing, because if anyone else tries to use it manually, or with another voice, the software to do the intercepts and all the files it captured get hard wiped."
"You also have a readme file and tutorials you can access through the data port and you can tell it to watch and record just about any combo of things you want. The memory goes in where the battery was before. You have five Terabyte of memory now, but you can add more if you want. The unit is self powered from ambient light, so you don't want to stash it away in the dark for a long time. It deliberately wipes everything if it gets too low." April lifted an inquiring eyebrow at that.
"It has some very private software some Moon friends traded to us, so it wipes everything if you try to open it, or access the operating system. We promised not to share it so we had to do that. It has a pretty decent biometric program to gauge veracity, about plus or minus 4% accurate. Do you have my chips to swap?"
"You're getting a delivery tonight of disposables and clothing," April told her. "I already gave them to a buddy in Housekeeping to drop in your delivery bin. It's all sealed up in security tape so nobody can mess with it. Same tape key we used before. The chips are from some stuff to be pulled out of service and sent ground side, but they don't have serial numbers to worry about. It's all from stuff on the scrap list anyway."
"OK," Heather said. She looked disappointed, but she quickly decided to do it April's way. "I know you're reliable. I'm going to get a pudding," she said, dismissing her concerns and jumping up.
"Get me another milk please," April called to her back.
While Heather was at the counter April bumped her napkin off the table for cover and reached down to get it and the scanner. She quickly substituted a note when she took the scanner. The note had a hundred dollar bill US attached and said, "Thanks for another nice job - a little bonus." April's grandpa had taught her a little lagniappe and a few kind words, went a long way toward a good business relationship. It would be less obvious if Heather left with the same bag she came in with.
Heather returned and crashed her new tray on the table. "Here's your milk," she said, with a wrinkled up nose. "That stuff isn't good for you, you know?"
"No," said April. "Nobody ever told me." The sarcasm was lost on Heather. "Don't forget to take your bag," she told her, then, after she thought about it a moment she decided she'd better be specific, or Heather might toss it in the trash without a glance. "Be sure to check inside it before you throw it away."
"Oh, OK," Heather said surprised at the instructions, not used to deception and unexplained changes. But at least she picked up on it being a switch and didn't request an explanation why April didn't keep the bag. She worked on her pudding and banana with the same quick dainty precision which made the oatmeal disappear.
She bangs around, thought April, but at least she is neat and quiet when she eats.
"Do you do projects like this for other people?" April wondered aloud.
Heather thought about it a little bit. "April, we do, but just like you wouldn't want me to talk to people about your scanner, I can't tell you much about what we do for other people. Jeff Singh is my partner for almost all of these projects. I do the hardware and he does the software usually. We often make a copy of things for ourselves."
"I hope you're not upset," she said suddenly worried, "but the scanner was a great idea and it's almost as easy to make three as one, so we made another for each of us. You didn't ask for an exclusive, you know."
"No, I know," April agreed. "I can respect your reasons. I'm reassured actually you'll keep my secrets. I just asked, because I have some other projects in mind. I'm not sure if they're really practical." That seemed to perk up Heather's interest.
"It's always nice to have a bit of a challenge. Jeff definitely enjoys something difficult to do. You'd be surprised," she confided. "We've had a lot of people who've asked for snoop gear recently, not something interesting like this project, but plain old bugs and remote recorders. Jeff or I neither one want to make such simple stuff just to make a little money. There's risk if they are stupid and get caught with it and there's just no challenge in it.
April, this guy is smart," she said and leaned forward assuming a confiding expression. "I mean he is so smart it is really hard to tell you how much. He's just off scale, actually scary. His dad works for Lucent and does nanoelectronic design. He gets ideas that are new to his dad, but his dad brings him back to earth when he gets too far out with bizarre ideas. He tells him to stop and prove out one idea, before he flies ahead."
"I remember I saw Jeff at medical once. You stuck your finger where it didn't belong and got it pinched. He was thin and coppery dark and smiled a lot. Is he your boyfriend now?"
"Oh no," she replied, more amused than embarrassed, "we're both too busy with our studies and how we will do business, to get all side tracked in an emotional morass right now. We see so much of each other I'm sure it would happen, but we both take the anti-bonding drugs, so we can keep romance out of the picture for now. I mean, he still looks nice and he's a great friend. I'm sure later, when we have ourselves established, we may stop the meds," she mused aloud.
"If you get to the point you obsess about the boys - get the patch. It keeps your head clear when you have other more important stuff to worry about. I swear I don't know how teenagers used to get anything done, before they had these meds. My mom admits she pretty much drifted through high school and the first couple years of college, in a 'hormone haze'. Her grades sure show that. Why put up with biology interfering with your life if you don't have a real need? I mean - you're near fourteen now - you don't go natural and menstruate do you? I don't know anybody who puts up with the hassle of it, if they're not trying to have children."
"Of course not," April agreed. "Wouldn't that be awkward? That's the last thing I need if I have to suit up."
"Back then, they just didn't know the separate biochemical triggers, which make a person fixate on someone. My mom had no choice. And bonding really is separate from other feelings, a different mechanism entirely. It really validates the idea some Earthies have had all along, about separate schools for each gender. It makes sense if you can't control your thinking and are constantly distracted. They just didn't know the biochemical path to interfere with it then. It helps people not form inappropriate trust too. You aren't very likely to buy into a Ponzi scheme, or join a cult while on this med either. Taking my meds right now, boys still look fine and I'm interested, but not obsessed," she explained.
"So you guys are more business partners for now, huh?"
"Yeah, my mom says Jeff and I act more like a comfortable old married couple than teenagers. I do like him. But I know it's my head not just unthinking hots. Even if we don't get married someday, we will probably stay business partners," she predicted.
"We have a lot of projects to pursue, but we both want to build up the capital to accomplish them. Neither one of us really wants to work for somebody else. Jeff's dad also has an investment in the Rock we hope will pay off and he's promised he'll share some it with Jeff."
"My family, especially my gramps, has a share in the Rock also," April admitted. "I don't tell many people, because they seem to think right away we must be rich. But if you know about it from Mr. Singh, you must already know it will be awhile before they start cranking out product. Until then no bank is going to lend you money on the potential income when nobody has done this before."
"Your gramps was one of the construction crew for M3, right?"
"Yes," said April, pleased she remembered, "and he's one of the few who were able to stay and live here. If he hadn't taken a gamble then and put all his money in cubic, our family would never have had the money to buy into the Rock. So I guess we have a history as risk takers. Are the Singhs risk takers too?"
Heather hesitated awhile and considered the question. "It's more complicated with them. If you come and meet Jeff, then I'm sure you'll get the whole story and you can judge for yourself. Circumstances were kind of forced on them, but then it's up to us to take advantage of whatever life tosses our way, isn't it?" She was cleaning up her tray to leave. April took her banana peel, she was making compost at home and looked to make sure Heather had her sack as they stood. They dumped their trash and stacked the trays and gave a silent little wave to each other as was their habit, before they turned opposite directions at the corridor.
Chapter 5
On the way home there were few people in the corridors and none April counted acquaintances. Of two thousand people on M3 she only knew three hundred or so by name, but many still looked familiar, if only because she saw them pass by so often. The eighteen to six off-shift people were pretty much home by now and the fore-shift people who worked from the middle of Main to the middle of Off, noon to midnight, were not out and about yet. The reverse, back-shift were still at work also.
This level was very much the high rent district. All full G and big businesses all wanted to be close to the cafeteria and communications office. The rent dropped off both ways around the ring the further you had to walk to them. There were a few automated carts delivering packages and less frequently small powered chairs or stand up transports for the few elderly or handicapped. But the corridor was nicely carpeted all the way across despite having some wheeled traffic.
The wall coverings were expensive to show off corporate wealth, a couple had wood paneling that cost a fortune even before it was lifted to orbit. Some offices had windows on the corridor like Earth buildings. The view however did not stretch off into the far distance like an Earth city street. It was more like inside a shopping mall, broken into short lengths, with dividers of architectural art placed to keep the pedestrians from seeing the arch of the corridor curving up and away.
The up swept view really disturbed some grounders. It made them see a false horizon that wasn't where experience said it should be. In an open corridor some people would unconsciously lean back so far they had trouble keeping their balance if they looked up and into the distance. It was a well worn joke among the long time residents if you asked how new someone was - they'd just lean back on their heels with their mouths open, so it looked like they were ready to fall on their back.
This outside level was the only one spun up to a full gravity. With metal salt infused armor glass newly available at reasonable cost, when M3 was being designed, the architects thought people would enjoy a view-port, but the sight of everything spinning by was so disturbing to most people, the few installed were mostly shuttered now. There were just a couple open ports at intersection points for novelty and because visitors often asked to see them. But it was rare to see anyone really sit and stare out. So it was surprising when April approached the next intersection, where the communications center was located and a young man, obviously an Earthie, was sitting at a bench looking down at the port.
Behind him, a monolithic display of mobile art blocked the corridor view, with a glittering fluid circulating inside the slab. The fellow seemed to be about college age, with very short hair and dressed Earth style with a jacket and hard shoes. He looked unusually athletic, with a bull neck and shoulders. April thought of her conversation with Heather about boyfriends. She was not comfortable with the idea of a real boyfriend yet, but an unbidden thought came, that when she was someone like this would do very nicely, thank you.
She was embarrassed at her own reaction, but not enough to keep her from stopping to find out if he was a transient, or a new resident. She sat down across from him waiting for him to notice her. Sometimes she could catch a little scent of Earthies, even the ones that didn't follow station custom and put on stinkum, or used aftershave or such. This fellow though had a slight medicinal scent, faintly mentholated like a cough drop.
Now that she was close, she knew her first impression was wrong. He was looking down, but actually totally focused on the pad in his hands, rather than the port underneath. It was displaying some sort of blueprint, with regular rectangles and lines. He gave a little jerk of surprise and started to bring the pad up to hide it, but realized it was too late to do so and just thumbed it off. It was exactly how her friend Jerry had acted when she'd caught him looking at some porn on his pad and he had been embarrassed and guilty. He hadn't wanted her to know he was looking at such stuff.
This fellow's reaction was odd. Why would he care what she saw him viewing? He was maybe twenty-six, she decided. A bit older than she thought at first, but no life extension work, or he wouldn't have the sun damage she saw already around his eyes. He seemed uncomfortable with her. Her older brother Bob had taught her how to put on a sort of gushy persona with shy people and she decided to try that with this fellow.
"Hi! I'm April Lewis," she offered her hand. "I'm the Director's daughter and usually know new people, but I haven't met you. Are you finding your way around OK?" He took her hand carefully and gave it an unusually restrained one-pump, but still a grip instead of a spacer style touch. He had on very sheer gloves she hadn't noticed, but that wasn't unusual for an Earthie, quite a few of them were paranoid about disease.
"Hello, April. I'm Art," not offering his full name. "I'm not really lost or anything, I'm an intern with Mitsubishi, here for a short visit. Eventually I'm going to be an aeronautical architect, so I am studying how M3 was made, especially what was changed from the original design because it didn't work, so the same mistakes aren't repeated."
"Very interesting. I'm surprised my dad didn't bring you home to supper. He usually drags anyone from the company home at least once."
"Well, I'm only here for a week. Maintenance and Housing got me a room and arranged a bunch of walk arounds. I may even get a treat and go outside tomorrow, before I have to catch the shuttle back." That was something rarely offered without need.
"I think you're being modest," she teased, "you must have some pull to get decent accommodations. They usually just stick short timers in the barracks with the construction workers, instead of giving them a private room."
"I suppose they are treating me really well, but it still doesn't have a port. It's one reason I came here, because it said on the map this was here," he said, nodding at the glass.
"View-port," she corrected him. "A port opens." This didn't. It seemed odd, she thought, needing to point out proper terminology to an aeronautical architect student. "Looking out is not as relaxing as some people expect with the rotation," she explained, waving her hand at the black depths with a few bright stars whirling by. There was too much reflection off the glass to see very well anyway, with the corridor lights up full.
"When it comes around I see a shuttle," he said pointing out the port, "but it looks to be a United States of North America shuttle. I don't see the FedEx shuttle I'm supposed to go on tomorrow."
"It should be at the North hub. It'll be loading freight where the station doesn't turn, so you can't see it from here. The North hub is sort of industrial and unattractive. They don't like for tourists and VIPs to see the drab side of M3, so most passenger shuttles dock on the South. If you came in the South you should double check. Most freight haulers only have two seats to sell, so they don't redock for passengers."
"Yes, they told me that. I see this one is scheduled to leave before mine. If I come here will I be able to see it fire its engines to fall away?"
"Depends on the pilot. Some of them will burn their main engines right from their parking orbit and some of them move off real cautious with the attitude jets a kilometer or so, before they light 'em up. You could still see pretty well if you have a pair of binoculars."
He nodded his understanding, but changed the subject. "This communications room was originally on the hub. Can you tell me why it ended up here?"
"Sure, it's not really a mistake like you were talking about," April explained. "It had to be on the hub at first, because it was one of the first things needed before there were any spun sections. At first it was all construction traffic it was dealing with and guys had to be able to go in and out easily with a bulky hard suit on. My grandpa did some of the earliest work and told me a little about it. But after most of the construction was done and we got these corporate rentals, it had to be moved here, because the businessmen expect to walk down the corridor and have com and conference rooms and a place to eat close by.
If there is a big construction project going on they still set up a radio shack in zero G and tie it in here for the construction workers. This door is unusually close to the corridor break, because the only spaces left were on each side and they thought two doors would be confusing. See how it's offset against spin a little though? The structural members run up the exact middle and you can't fit a door."
Art nodded and held his pad up in camera mode for a shot of the corridor break.
"Would you like to come to dinner tonight?" she offered. "My dad could tell you lots more and if we can get my granddad to come by, he actually helped build most of M3. It's really not any bother, we're like a little town here. People even stop my dad in the corridor and tell him things they should e-mail to maintenance, he just goes ahead and relays it."
"Thanks, but I already promised dinner to someone I met." But he didn't say who, she noticed. Needlessly secretive people irritated her. "But I thank you and it was good meeting you," he said, leaning back and terminating the conversation by his manner. He didn't act like it was nice. It seemed to have made him cross with her. She had the subtle feeling this whole encounter had gone badly and wasn't sure why. He stood eager to leave now and tucked his pad back under his jacket, on his belt. April stood also, feeling slighted, because his demeanor was dismissive. He was practically rude after she had been friendly.
When he flapped his jacket back, to put his pad away, the cloying scent fanned to her recalled a vivid memory. The unexpected shock must have shown on her face, because he hesitated, looking back at her when he had started to turn away. He looked like he wanted to say something more and looked at her again like he hadn't really inspected her before and was correcting the mistake. His eyes scanned her brazenly, the creepy way men and boys had only recently started looking at her and hesitated, looking right at the lump of banana and scanner in her pocket.
She had the paranoid thought he knew she had something illicit, so strongly she hooked her thumb in the pocket and let her fingers slide in over the shape hiding it. She felt her face go hard at his lack of manners. She hated it when she lost control of it like that. The thought was crazy; there was no way he could know about her scanner. Yet if anything he froze for an instant seeming to skip a breath. Then he visibly came to a decision to drop it and walked away.
April stood there, too shocked to decide what to do, until she sorted out what her nose was telling her, finding no alternative to the memories it evoked.
* * *
About a year ago she woke up one night and went out to get a drink. When she came out of her room the light was on in the kitchenette and her dad was sitting at their small table. The same odor had permeated the room, as she had just whiffed from Art. There was a hard case on the table and an assortment of metal parts spread on a soft cloth. Most of them were meaningless to her, but the diamond textured grips of a pistol frame and the trigger guard on the front of it were obvious.
She'd just looked a question at her father.
"OK, I didn't mean for you to see this," he said. "But since you have, I need to make sure you will leave it alone after I put it away and not go looking to mess with it."
"I could just promise, but if you're going to trust me for that much, can't you tell me the whole story and have confidence in me to leave it alone because it's the right thing to do?"
"OK," he agreed, "sit down and watch." He started assembling the weapon, explaining as he worked. He held the complete unit sideways to her on both hands, in presentation. "This is what you call a Colt .45. The number is the caliber, or nominal inch size of the bore and the projectile which comes out of it. This basic design version dates from 1911," he smiled in satisfaction at her raised eyebrows at the date. "It's a Browning design actually. Colt was long dead back in the 1800's although his company was still doing fine, but I doubt if collector trivia interests you at this point," he allowed. Then he changed the tone of his lesson and showed her the procedure to load and cock, unload and safe it.
She picked up the bottle she suspected was the source of the odor because the paper label had an oily stain. Yes, it reeked when she brought it close and it felt slick. A glass bottle with a paper label was something rarely seen above the atmosphere. Hoppe's #9 it said on the bright yellow label and described it as powder solvent. She wondered if Hoppe's # 1 through #8 smelled as strongly? Her dad took the bottle back and put it in a hollow in the fitted case after checking the cap was snug.
"April, I hope to never need this. Protection is Security's responsibility. I'm a manager not a politician and thank God, we don't have the crime everybody takes for granted Dirtside. In most any case I would walk away from an argument long before it became a fight, but sometimes there are irrational people and crazy circumstances and if it comes down to a man's family and friends being threatened with harm, you sometimes are left with no choice but to use force. It's the last ditch thing I'd do, literally backed in a corner. If you ever see things have gone so completely bad and I am not here to use this, then it would be better to leave it to someone like your grandpa who knows how to use it. Using it skillfully, while at the same time quickly weighing all the decisions and consequences of why you are doing so, or if you should use it at all, is a difficult skill set to acquire and you're smart enough not to use equipment you are not trained on, aren't you?"
"Sure, Dad. When have I ever skimped on safety?"
"You've always been a careful one," he agreed. "This is a bit much gun for you anyway. Check it out," he offered and presented the grip to her. He was right, her hand was too small to even get a decent grip on it and it was uncomfortably heavy.
"I am going to put this back in my bottom drawer and I have no worries about it now we've discussed it." He tucked it away, gathered the case up and headed back to bed with no further comment.
* * *
What else smells like that? Nothing she ever smelled was remotely similar, it was as distinctive as vanilla and her nose was very discriminating. She was left with the inescapable conclusion the young man was carrying a firearm, which was definitely against all regulations and seriously worried her. He had already seemed unforthcoming and given the way she felt about deceptive people, she'd gladly bet everything else he said was suspect, until proven true. She finally composed herself enough to decide she needed to go back home. She had to talk to her dad and maybe he would send Security to see what this Art fellow was up to, before someone was hurt.
Going back home hubwise and against spin, she came out on her residential corridor. It was an open through arc, with none of the partitioning like the corporate country to hide the up curve, but it still had soft lighting and carpet.
Because it was the Director's home, they had a heavy-duty door just like a maintenance or equipment area. When she laid her hand on the entry pad to allow it to taste her, it gave a solid 'chunk' of six dogs retracting instead of a single latch. The hall she stepped into was also an airlock, but just a safety lock. The inside door was always retracted, unless it sensed a pressure drop, or you overrode and manually shut it. The cabinet in the short lock contained a pressure suit for each of them, just sized not custom and a couple SCI one-size-doesn't-fit-anyone p-suits, also for emergencies, rolled up into an orange cylinder.
When the door was audibly latched tight behind her, she felt tension ease she was unaware of holding and let out an unexpected sigh of relief at being safely home. She went into the kitchenette to put the banana peel in her mulcher, bag and all, as it was digestible. The green light showed it was safe to open, so the catalytic converter was keeping the methane levels down OK. She thumbed the lid open and tossed the peel in. There was only a faint earthy odor, like the fresh mushrooms she sometimes had on her salad at the cafeteria. She had two spider plants in the upper corners of her room and when she had made enough soil, would start a third. It made it smell better. She wanted a Peace Lily or a Song of India, but begrudged the floor space.
The com screen signal was blinking, so she went over and slapped accept. Her dad was looking at her, but the icon in the corner showed it was a recorded message.
"April," he said, "I'm with Tom Gollings. When he heard your mom was still in Australia, he invited me to dinner at his place. He says if you would like to come along too just drop us a message and they will set a place for you. He eats about 18:30, or if you want you can just eat with your own friends. Love you Sugar," he said, ending.
Damn. No way was she was going to the Gollings'. They had two obnoxious little kids and she wouldn't get a chance to talk to her dad privately there anyway.
She punched up his Director's address instead of his personal one and recorded with video. April described briefly meeting Art, but did not explain why she thought he might be armed. She promised to explain later, but suggested security might want to have a Taser or tangle gun to approach him. "I know it sounds over dramatic," she acknowledged and added "Nothing on the com from Mom," in case he hadn't checked and ended as abruptly as he had.
She sat there thinking about meeting Art. It had been a new and unwelcome helpless feeling, when he had hesitated and turned back to her and she was embarrassed at her relief to be home behind a locked door. Knowing he had a pistol for a near certainty and she was defenseless, after getting such a bad feeling about him, was not something she wanted to experience again. When her dad showed her his pistol, the principle he had voiced was not she wasn't allowed a defense, but she was just not qualified to use that one.
She pursued the line of reasoning and considered a solution. Heather was just the person to tell her if it was practical, so she called. The call went through and had video also, but it showed a bunch of cables and pipes, sweeping around in a blur until Heather's face finally filled the screen. The way it was jiggling around told April she was holding her pad by hand. April was happy she wasn't one of those snobs, who made you deal with her pad's AI to talk to her, as if she were too busy and important to answer directly.
"April! Don't tell me you busted your new toy already!"
"No, no, I haven't even played with the scanner yet," April assured her, "but I want to talk to you about another job already, privately," she emphasized. "Are you open for dinner? You can come to my place if you want. We'd have privacy to talk here."
" I'd love to. I've never been to your place, but my mom would kill me. We had a big discussion about my not spending time with the family last night and she is having special company tonight and expects me to be here. But tomorrow Jeff and I are going to the construction gang's cafeteria for Thai food. They serve it on Tuesdays, Main this cycle and they don't mind regular station people if you go after the main rush is over. Why don't you go up there with us? And we can talk about anything you want. I want you to know Jeff better anyway, just as friends, even if we didn't do business."
"So, I won't be an unwanted third butting in?" April asked.
"No, really, we'd love to have you. And if we all sit and bounce ideas around, you will probably get a better widget. Are you coming?"
"OK and if for some reason I can't, I'll call you for sure," April promised.
"Good," Heather smiled, "and be sure to set the scanner out to run a bit," she instructed, as she signed off the call with her signature file -- she dissolved in a shower of glitter and a trill of a xylophone fading away.
April was a little hungry already; she got hungry even faster when she was stressed. But she felt uneasy to go back out to the cafeteria with Art wandering around the corridors. This was the first time she had ever felt unsafe to go anywhere in M3. She had seen all sorts of news shows about people Dirtside, who were afraid to go out at night or afraid to travel around their own town, but she never ever thought she would feel this way. It made her sad and the more she thought about it, it made her angry. But she also remembered the way he had stopped and looked back at her. Something in her reaction to the odor had shown and if he kept thinking on it, the same as she was doing, he might conclude she was a danger to him.
She didn't know what he could do to her. It would be pretty hard to shoot somebody and dispose of a body, even in a big habitat, unless you had a lot of help. But it was also supposed to be pretty hard to bring a gun into M3 and he would be the second person she knew who had managed the deed. In the end it sounded safer to stay in, until she got to talk to her dad.
Looking in the kitchenette's meager pantry, there was a can of stew she could have for lunch and some crudités from having company a few days ago. If she opened a new box of crackers it would do just fine. She got a full size fork from the drawer, instead of the plastic one on the can and punched in the dimple that made it self-heat. Then she searched for her headphones without spex, she preferred for music. They were lying on her bed and she scooped them up and put them on.
She put the scanner on the counter and told it, "Scanner connect to my earphones." The two talked to each other and established a protocol. The machine asked for a voice sample and she talked to it for almost a minute before it informed her it was enough and asked a password. Then when it activated April expected to hear Heather's own voice, but a commercial speech font said, "There are three active channels. They can be described for selection, or displayed graphically if you have spex available."
"How may they be selected?" April asked.
"Selection may be by frequency, type of modulation, content, signal strength, clarity, customary use, traffic level, direction, high stress voices and with accumulated data individual voices, languages, or similarity to previous transmissions. Multiple selection criteria can be prioritized in any order. A separate program can do a running surveillance to detect bugs retransmitting sound or com signals, real time or burst. Voice may be analyzed for probable truthfulness, stress level and gender," said the scanner.
"Define content."
"Content is voice, video, fax, data, code, burst, radar, carrier, encrypted, or combinations. Remember, when selecting, content may change during a continuous transmission." Apparently Jeff liked to leave short user hints in voice control. It was a fairly easy AI to deal with she decided. Some of them really irritated her and her friends couldn't understand why.
The stew was venting a little plume of fragrant steam and she touched the recessed finger pads to make the top peel open. It was bubbling along the outside edge. I'm gonna burn my mouth on this if I'm not careful, she thought and stirred it to make sure the center got heated too.
"Put on the clearest channel, with the most traffic, since I connected you to the earphones and listen in the background and advise me it you intercept messages containing April or Lewis," April requested and went to work cautiously on the stew.
"Not any real danger," said an Australian voice. April immediately knew who it was. He was one of the security men who actually patrolled in uniform on the corporate level, or down where the shuttle passengers were coming in. "She has some planters on the corridor and when she came out to water them -- well, someone had already done the job for her, so to speak. Unless they make a habit of it they probably will just fertilize the damn things, but the old bat is fit to be tied. It really offended her sense of propriety."
"Got any suspects, Sherlock?" asked a rich voice she had not heard before.
"Well, from where she was wiping down the wall I'd say our vandal is maybe eight to ten-years-old, male obviously, So that narrows it down to what? A dozen?"
"Yes," said the second voice. April liked how this one talked. He had control and sounded intelligent. "The computer says eleven boys in the right age range and one of them happens to live two doors down the corridor with the Wu family. A boy, eight years old, named H - E - W," he spelled it. "You say it like 'who' and with Chinese you say the surname first, so it is Wu Hew. No wonder the kid is angry. He probably gets all kinds of crap from the other kids about the name. Could you talk to Mom and Pop Wu and express concern, you know, Hew, might have a little grudge against the old lady for some reason and if they could just talk with him about it and smooth it out, we don't have to be involved at all?"
"Very 'punny' Chief," groaned the Aussie. "I will take a little stroll down there right now and have a word and maybe peer suspiciously at any little boys lurking about."
"Sounds good," said the Chief. "Don't be shy to call for back-up if you get in over your head. Out," he ended.
It was hard to giggle and eat stew at the same time. April was glad to hear crime was at its normal level on M3 and there were no running gun battles with company interns to listen to. She popped an olive in her mouth and went around the counter island to the com desk in the living room and opened the side door. Her dad had a feed for an outside antenna in the console, with a portable two way radio he could carry, or hook up here. April screwed the coax in the end of the scanner, set it out on top of the desk where it could talk easily with her phones and briefly instructed it to listen to external com traffic.
April continued to listen, switched signals and played with different features, until all the crudités were gone and she had cleaned up from her lunch.
"Audio off," she commanded and thought about it for a little bit. "Scanner listen to suit and ship channels and record any high stress voices, record any unusual signals not similar to prior transmissions. If a signal type accumulates six similar transmissions discard it as common. Do not record radar. Start a log to note what percentage of local traffic is encrypted." She was surprised by the silence. It was a lot for an AI to absorb without asking for clarification. Jeff and Heather really were meticulous programmers. "Scanner, do you have any port to sense laser light modulated to carry information, or used as lidar?"
"This unit is not equipped to sense optical signals. You are to be advised to consult the maker if I am unable to perform any request."
April felt good she had something to request, when she saw Heather. No use letting them think they had thought of everything. A fiber port and an external camera seemed a reasonable thing to request.
For some reason she wasn't comfortable, after Art, to close herself up in her room. It might be a bit before she got over her unease and back to normal, so she accessed her Japanese history class from the com desk in the living room. The seat was still set for her dad and she reset it for her preferences feeling it lower and flatten under her and get softer. April slid the cover back on the keyboard. It was almost impossible to do a full study session by voice, without having to key something in. She uncovered it and switched the keys, from the Japanese mode her dad had set to American English and turned the animation off. Images on the keys swimming around or flashing on the edge of her vision just irritated her. It was still too quiet in here too. She put on a little instrumental music and reset the wall screen her dad usually left on a still pic to a cam.
Flicking through the nature pix, she found a live feed of zebra grazing somewhere. She was getting behind the rest of the class in this course and got back into it, watching the professor's latest lecture and going through the other students' comments and questions. Her mom would be checking her progress with her classes when she came home soon and April didn't want to spoil her return with an immediate controversy.
She set her hand pad to the side, with the stocks she was holding streaming. If they traded up or down, the color change would catch her eye. Multitasking her lessons, the live screen and music, as well as the market quotes, felt about right. Less would be boring.
She figured Art wore an Earth style blazer to conceal his weapon. If her idea worked out with Heather, that was something she'd need. She thought she could accomplish it with a little more style for herself. While she was still at the com she did a search for costumes - capes and found a theatrical supply which carried them. She ordered several of them in various sizes and fabrics.
If she made gifts of them to the right people, they would be a common sight in no time. She arranged FedEx delivery. Every time she tried UPS they ripped her for some new fee, or they had the customs broker in their pocket to add charges.
A sudden flurry of activity caught her eye on the wall screen. She looked up just in time to see all the zebra exit the cam view, in a dusty desperate scramble. Behind them a sleek shape ripped through the coarse tan grass, almost the same color and too low to see clearly. Lion! she immediately guessed.
This is how I felt this morning with Art, she thought, watching the zebra scatter. I don't ever want to feel that way again. If I have to play the game at all, I want to be the lioness.
All the fatigue of the stressful day weighed on her at once, so she said, "Log-off," went in her room telling the room "lights out," and lay face down on her bed without even undressing. I'll just catch a little nap before supper, she thought and was asleep before she had drawn her second breath.
Chapter 6
April woke up with her face on a cold slobber spot. She rolled away disgusted and called the lights up. The screen clock said Tuesday, October 5, 2083 - 06:32. She stumbled into her bathroom, a little stunned from sleeping too long and peeled off the clothes she'd slept in. When she had a pile made, she kicked the whole thing outside the door. The entire tiny room became a shower stall with the door closed. It was small, but nonetheless, it was still an uncommon luxury on station, to have a private bath of any size. At first she soaped up in a warm mist, but ordered the shower cooler by degrees, until it was chill enough to be a little jarring before she cut the flow. That chased away the last lingering traces of the fogginess. Instead of an air blast she took a towel from storage and rubbed hard with the coarse material between her toes and behind her knees, the sensation invigorating.
April thought about her supper tonight with Heather and Jeff. She didn't want to wear sweats, even nice ones, like she did so often. Out of the shower she picked something nicer, black tights and a long belted black tunic with a hood.
When she left her room her dad was sitting at the com with a mug of coffee, working. It was a workday but he was in casual clothes, jeans and an Earth style print shirt. What she became sure of as she got closer and inspected her dad, was he had been up all night. There was stubble on his chin, droopiness around his eyes and the back of the shirt was all wrinkled from leaning back in the chair. He worked hard as director. They didn't allow him an assistant or secretary, using one Earthside by com instead, but pulling an all-nighter was unusual.
She walked around the back of the com desk to avoid the camera, got her own mug of coffee and a couple biscuit sandwiches started in the microwave to take the edge off her hunger. She pulled a chair over outside the camera range and started on the sandwiches, waiting to have a word before leaving. She let the spex run the updated news and market report she had tagged past her. He knew she was there, but it was their family's firm custom not to interrupt each other on the com.
He ended abruptly as usual and blanked the screen. When he pivoted around to give her his full attention, he laced his hands behind his neck and leaned back in the chair. He was a slight man, economical with his motions like so many spacers, trained to think before moving and so given to small moments of stillness between his movements. He was one of the few men she thought of as graceful. His hair was a darker version of hers, with speckles of gray and no longer a match for the newly youthful face beneath it.
But his eyes were older than anything else, speaking of hard experience no medicine was going to remove.
"I'm was asked to offer you a job by my section head," he said, looking amused, "but I already declined to allow it, so it's moot except as a compliment to you."
"Wow, I was spending the money in my mind, as soon as you said job and then >whap< you knocked it right down. What section? Housekeeping again?"
"No," he smiled ruefully at her guess, "Mrs. Morgan knows you'll go around picking up litter, even if she doesn't pay you, so where's the incentive to waste money on what you will do for free? I'm afraid we are talking about Jon Davis, my new Security Chief. I'm not ready to OK you working in something so hazardous quite yet."
"Is this the Art thing?" she asked, excited at some news. "Did you find out anything about him at all?"
"Oh, we found out a few things about this young man, but we have more questions now than when we started. The big news is you seem to have spooked him to flight, so he's not even in M3 anymore. So there is no immediate risk, unless he left something unpleasant behind. Since it doesn't seem to be an emergency anymore, we were waiting for you to wake up. I assured him you would be much sharper if we allowed you to sleep. If we call him up now there are a few questions he has been saving for you," he suggested.
"Uh, there's something maybe you should know before we talk to Jon, in case you want me to be careful what I say," April offered.
Her dad's expression just stayed completely neutral.
She went on. "The reason this fellow scared me so badly and I warned you he might be armed, was because when he put his pad away he flapped his jacket open," she said, demonstrating with her hands, "I smelled the same stuff you use to clean your gun, the Hoppe's #9. I've never smelled anything else like it, so I'm sure that's what it was. Is that something you'd want me to mention to Jon?"
"When I put Jon in charge of Security, I expressed my good opinion of him by trusting him with our lives. Not the Company with its rules, or whatever law reaches here, but for him personally to protect the people of M3, including us, from harm. I told him it was his only really important job, before all the silly little rules about who's allowed to sell cookies, or how many can live in a unit," her father explained.
"You don't have to hide anything to protect me. I'll let you choose how much to volunteer and how much to make him ask, because the issue is much more important than covering up some minor indiscretion of mine." He brought his hands down from behind his neck and smiled at her. "Ready?"
With a shock, April realized there was no patronizing look, or diminutive kiddy name. He was treating her as she had always wanted. Not as an equal, she didn't think herself equal, but as an adult, with some respect. She replied, "Yes, Father."
The formal tone caught his ear. She hadn't called him anything but Dad in a long time. But the only acknowledgment was a briefly raised eyebrow. Her dad zoomed the com camera out to cover both of them and made the connection.
Jon answered from his residence. He was wearing a white dress shirt. By contrast he was so black beside the bright white, he had almost purplish tones. He was as bulky as her dad was slight, with a massive pillar of a neck and completely bald.
"Ah, Sleeping Beauty! Glad to see you. I was ready to awaken you last night, but your father assured me you would be more coherent in the morning." He had a beautiful theatrical voice.
Suddenly, he switched his tone and asked more seriously, "Did you sleep well?"
The sudden shift threw her off balance and made her wonder if he was being sarcastic, but the question seemed genuine. Maybe this was some tactic he used for questioning. But he stopped and was waiting for a reply, so it did not seem rhetorical.
"I slept well, thank you," and added politely, "and you sir?"
"Sadly no, thank you, I have not got around to sleeping yet."
April pegged the voice suddenly. It was the fellow speaking with the Australian security officer, in the scanner intercept yesterday.
"I had some of my people seal off a room at the Holiday Inn, where your young man Art was staying. It does not set well with subordinates if you send them into potential harm and go off home to bed." He didn't mention the pair of corpses in the cable closet. The two events close together had his staff rattled and overworked. "Not that I blame you for my lack of sleep," he explained. "I'm actually very grateful for your calling our attention to the fellow."
"The Holiday Inn? He told me he was a company intern, so I figured he would be in company rooms. In fact I mentioned to him he was lucky not to be stuck in an Animal House bunkroom, with all the construction workers."
"He had a lot of interesting stories, all less than truthful and they were very difficult to weave together, without contradictions, in such a small community as ours. A number of people already noticed discrepancies in his statements. It would not have held together much longer, before somebody sounded the alarm. However, the privilege was yours."
"He told Housekeeping he was looking to rent cubic for a family business, so they spent most of a shift showing him every empty space on M3. He also did have a reservation on the FedEx shuttle as he told you, but he wasn't on it. He bailed out early, even though he only had a half shift wait to go on the commercial shuttle. I think you'll be interested in how he left. Watch this," he commanded and his screen reduced to a small square in the corner.
The video running was from a security camera in a large airlock, an easy fit for four people. There weren't many so big. The walls were the dull lime anodized finish, common in the industrial areas of the station without decoration. Art came in and it was zero G, but he handled himself with the smooth, experienced motions of someone completely at ease in micro-gravity.
Ignoring the camera, Art took off his hard shoes, securing them to a grab ring by the laces. He was wearing sticky footies with separate toes, just like a pair of gloves. He grabbed a bar with his toes and stepped out of his pants with easy motions, transferring his grip from one foot to the other as easily as most people could use their hands, stripped the braided belt out of them and secured them by tying one leg around a take-hold ring. There were some small items he put in the cargo pockets on his shorts. He added some things from his blazer and tied it down by knotting a sleeve on the same take-hold ring. An innersole, peeled back, yielded a small case he carefully kept.
From the waistband of his shorts he removed his com pad and the thin long weapon in a holster April had correctly suspected he carried. There was a second straight handle sticking up behind the reversed pistol grip. Those got clipped on the web belt he'd removed. He gave the wall a push and pivoted on his toehold to open the cabinet holding emergency p-suits. An alarm should have gone off then, so he must have disabled it.
The small flat panel by the hatch, to display warnings and the progression of the lock cycle stayed dark. This told them he had the skills to have easily disabled the camera, but wanted to allow them to watch for some reason. He slid into the emergency suit so smoothly, it could have been a training video for using them.
The suit was a 3M brand, by the logo on the shoulder, silvery for outside use from an airlock. He didn't need to pull the sizing straps, to gather the unused material, because he filled the suit up to its design limits. Once he was suited up, the belt with its hardware went back on, with the pad and holster centered in the small of his back, out of the way.
When he was sealed and rigged, he reached back in the blazer and pulled out a vacuum rated marker, like the construction workers used on struts and girders. With easy, familiar strokes, he drew a laughing seal on the wall. Suspended over its nose was an Earth globe for a ball showing a rough outline of the Western Hemisphere.
He cycled the outer door conventionally, not dumping the air in a hurry. So, he had started the pump down before he was in his suit. It was a huge safety violation to race the pressure drop suiting up, but he hadn't looked worried, or in a rush at all.
When the hatch opened, the USNA shuttle she had seen yesterday was framed exactly in the middle of the opening - perhaps two hundred meters from the lock. Its top was toward the station in sunlight, so the wide flat top of the wedge shaped lifting body was presented toward the lock, to present its biggest cross section from their perspective. It was a pretty dazzling white dart, against the blue and brown Earth, with the cloudless Horn of Africa large behind it. A hatch on the top of the shuttle was open and its sharp shadow drew a long dark line down the top of the space plane. There was a soft suited crewman in the opening, with something in his hands she could not quite make out.
Art positioned himself, gripping a take hold and braced against his feet. He drew back once, going through a trial motion and checked it. Then on the next try he pulled back, until his back filled the camera view. This time let go as he stretched both arms straight before him and jumped through the opening like a springboard diver. After he cleared the opening he brought his arms back with a rolling motion, which started his body making a slow turn.
"It's going to zoom," Jon warned.
As the shuttle started to show behind his contracting image the video did zoom, in steps, doubling and then again. The jumper tucked his legs up to turn faster and April could see now the waiting crewman held a coil of light line, with a tapered weight tied on the end. A throwing line, to toss across Art's path and pull him in, because he had no jetpack to maneuver with. However it was not needed, as he opened up from his tuck and landed on both feet, within arm's length of the open hatch, absorbing his motion in a squat. One glove slipped over the hatch edge and he pulled himself in head first, as smooth as an eel sliding in a hole.
The crewman leaned back to give him room, knees against the rim of the hatch and gave him a fraternal backhanded swat on the butt as he went past. Then the crewman reached up to pull the hatch closed, but paused long enough to raise a single digit in disdainful salute toward their camera, before he closed it.
"That boy has jumped once or twice before," was all April could say, really irritated by the performance, as Jon's image expanded back to fill the screen.
"No kidding. If the construction guys take a little jump with no safety tether, the foremen will usually rip into them, but if a guy can jump like that, they just pretend not to see it."
"Can you believe, he told me he was excited to be getting a chance at going out in a p-suit the next day?" She was embarrassed at being fooled so thoroughly.
"April, he was here five days and everybody lapped up whatever story he was spinning. It's my department's job to know about people like him and we had, not-a-stinking-clue, he pronounced the tmesis slowly, with disgust. We were up all night, questioning people and everyone told us he was 'a-nice-young-man'," biting the words off. "The only clues we have are a few skin flakes and a couple hairs, enough to do a DNA match and some traces of propellant in the air of his room from outgassing. At least your conversation with him outside the radio shack, has sufficient fidelity to do a voice match on him."
"You do audio recording in public spaces?" April asked, surprised. "I knew you have cameras in the corridors, but mics too?"
"Well, just some key places I feel need protected, like the radio room. We really watch the business sections pretty closely, to keep the paying customers safe and happy."
"Does that include the cafeterias, or public rest rooms?" she pressed.
Jon balked, obviously not happy to have her asking questions of him.
"Jon, I'll keep your secrets and help you, but I'm trusting you and expect you to trust me. Are we on the same side, or are we against each other?" she asked, but with no rancor at all. She could see her dad perk up at the tone their exchange had taken.
"Peace, Sister," Jon said, holding his palms up to her. "I want you on my side when the lights go out and the air gets stale, no fooling, I do. I'd love to bug the cafeteria, but folks would crucify me if they found out. The restrooms down at the construction workers' cafeteria are bugged and no apology for that, because they sometimes do stuff in there, like sell dope, they can't do easily in an open barracks."
"The restrooms in corporate row are bugged, so I can get someone in there quickly if there is trouble for our high rent customers. I don't allow an archive to be kept of anything from there, because you could get some insider stock tips and such from their indiscretions. You will keep this to yourself, won't you?" he asked, belatedly.
"Yes, I promise," April agreed easily.
Should I tell her about the other agent? Jon thought. No, That danger is past and I can't even connect the two events at this point. There is no way she would have any information on it. Then Jon's face changed subtly and she could see him change modes to go back to questioning.
"Could you explain how you knew this fellow was armed? You're right about tipping him off something was amiss. You should see your face on the camera, when he puts his pad back on his belt and stands up to leave. There is a definite flash of indignation on your face. He starts to walk away and then hesitates. I think he may have reconsidered your invitation, but there was no easy way to explain his change of heart. I bet right then is when he decided to leave early and blow his cover. I'm glad, because if he had needed more time he might have accepted the dinner invitation and with your dad not coming home to dinner last night, you might have died to buy this guy another day to do his work."
April just shuddered, to picture how easily that could have happened.
"Jon, when he opened his jacket to put the pad back in, he flapped it around, moving the air and I smelled the gun."
He brought a pen up to his mouth and chewed on it absent-mindedly for a moment, before he made eye contact again. "April, I want to believe you. After all, we did the same thing in his room. The difference is, we have a crime scene chemical sensor, which cost the company about sixty thousand dollars. It has to be calibrated to each new compound and even when you have a good operator and our Margaret and Sandra are good, it will still get confused occasionally and tell you chocolate is antifreeze, or shoe polish is an explosive. Are we throwing our money away?"
"Oh no, I won't claim my nose is that good, but I doubt if you have any idea how fine a sense of smell the kids on M3 have, compared to grounders. When I think about my friends, I don't just know their appearance and voice, I know how each one smells. If I found a cap in the cafeteria, I could sniff it and know if it belonged to a friend. We've never been exposed to smog and pollution. Never had to breathe fumes from a ground car, or paint, or tobacco," she explained.
"When I visited my grandparents last year in Australia, I couldn't believe the stinks they put up with when we went into town. It gave me a sick headache. I watched a TV show about Earth kids my age and in this one scene, a girl came up and put her hands over her friend's eyes from behind. The idea was he had to guess who was there. That would just never work with us. We would all know who it was, from the odor of their hands right away. Besides, we are not talking about something subtle here. Hoppe's #9 is such a stinker, I was pretty sure what it was."
"Hoppe's #9? I was not aware you would have opportunity to catalog the odor of powder solvent. Is that scent popular with the young girls right now?"
April could feel her face flush. This was twice now Jon had toyed with her and it was getting irritating.
"Mr. Davis, I told you the truth and we had just agreed to be on the same side. My dad left it up to me how much to volunteer and I've told you more than I needed to protect anyone. Now I feel you're starting to make fun of me. Is there anything else you need to know, which won't involve some jest at my expense?"
"No," he thought a moment, averting his eyes and reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, squinting, "It was not a good time for humor. I'm sorry. Are we still on the same side?"
"I'd like to be," she said, softening.
"Do I need to know who has the stinkum gun powder solvent on our station? And will you be upset again with me if I try to find out?"
April's first thought was surprise he'd care if it upset her. Picking her words carefully, April answered. "In my opinion, it is not a security problem. It might waste a hidden asset, you would leave more secure by not knowing. I will understand you feel it is your job, if you have to search, but I'd appreciate your trust if you don't." In a sudden insight about herself she added, "I don't share that kind of trust with many people, but if you can find it in yourself to think that way about a thirteen-year-old girl, I can think that way about you."
"Dear God," he said, rubbing his face with both hands all weary and looked back up at her. "We've got guns floating around, who knows where on station," he said, waving a hand around in an uncertain circle, "spies jumping out of the airlocks and my boss's sweet little girl wants to be allies." He pulled his hand back down. "Why not?" he seemed to be asking himself. "You're about the only one in the last twelve hours, who hasn't told me what 'a nice young man' that creep was and I owe you. OK, April, I agree, we'll watch out for each other." He reached down and wrote something on a pad and held it up to the screen. It said 898989. "Punch this in any com and you get me direct. Radio, text, phone, it doesn't matter. All our systems route the call right to me, whether it is the middle of my night or anything. You're one of five people outside my department who have it. OK?"
"Thanks Jon," she didn't think it was a good time to say a lot more.
"Goodnight April," he said and the screen went back to its menu mode. Her dad was looking at her with visible satisfaction.
"You know, how a station like this one works, is not all titles and job descriptions. That private number was your first ticket, into what has been derisively described to me as "The Good Old Boy Network." But in fact, it's what keeps the whole mess functioning. You notice Jon didn't switch back to say goodnight to me? From him, that was an acknowledgment he was done talking to a player, not an underling," he said, explaining how the social code worked to her. He was very good at consciously analyzing and explaining such things.
"Well, I am the Director's daughter," April pointed out, a little embarrassed.
"All that bought you today was a few hours sleep. The rest you earned."
"There is still something bothering me," she worried, avoiding more praise.
"I can think of a bunch. Which one do you have in mind?"
"Jon said we have spies jumping out the airlocks. But there are spies and there are spies. I can't believe an industrial spy, looking for trade secrets, is going to be armed like he was. And I can't see that a private sort of spy, would be able to call an expensive space plane to pick him up. So it makes him the government kind of spy and I have to ask: What have we got here, that requires a government spy? In fact, since we are supposed to be under USNA law, why can't they just walk in and demand just about anything they want to know, without going to all the trouble to use spies? I know the parent company in Japan has a big interest in the US subsidiary, which owns M3, but on the news, things seem sweet between the two countries right now, I don't see any Japanese sensitivities as a problem they would worry about either. Am I making sense?"
"Yes, unfortunately you are making perfect sense and I would bet Jon is scrambling to find out the answers to those questions right now. He already mentioned what he thinks it is tied to and I can't fault his reasoning. He feels, sooner or later, we will see it's all about the Rock. What else here involves enough money?" he asked.
He also thought about the other spy, the one that didn't get away. But Jon hadn't mentioned it to April, so he decided to follow his lead for now. They didn't really know as much about that fellow, as this Art anyway. Not even if they were connected. So why worry April with something that wouldn't touch her life at all?
"But what can they do?" April asked. "It's all private money used to recover it, right? They don't have any interest in it to protect."
"I haven't said much, not wanting to worry you or your brother, but there is a case soon before the World Court and there is a possibility the Court will rule the investors were illegal in occupying the rock and the government may seize it."
"If that happens what will it do to our family?" She was angry now with herself for not watching closer. There must be news on the web about the court case. She added a search and retrieval, for news about the Rock to her alerts while she was thinking about it. She would not be in the dark again.
"We would be hurt pretty badly," he admitted. "On paper, we'd lose maybe half of our worth, but what would be left would mostly be our cubic and other things we really need to live, not liquid assets. We'd still have a place to live. We'd kind of be back to where we were when we first moved up to M3."
"A lot of small investors put everything they had in and borrowed heavily to buy stock, in one of the companies that bought a share and divided it up. Some of them might lose everything and have to go back Dirtside and declare bankruptcy. I suspect a few might get pretty nasty, since they bet the farm so to speak," he stopped and pinched his face up a bit. "More than suspect, because some of them have said outright they'll fight. But I'm ignoring that and not holding them to rash words," he promised.
"Even if the court ruled our recovery legal, I've had it pointed out it could still be regarded as real estate and seized under Eminent Domain if they would be willing to pay us something. If they want to steal it they'll find a way to do it and some justification to pretty it up. They don't seem at all concerned it would probably kill any further investment in asteroid recovery for a long time. Maybe that would be a plus to them, for all I can figure out how they think."
"Do you think maybe you could ask Mitsubishi to get involved and put the Rock into orbit by M2 instead?" April wondered.
"Maybe somebody else could, but I'm supposed to look out for the company's interests. I wouldn't want to suggest something to help my own private venture, when I honestly think it would be bad not only for Mitsubishi, but for Japan to stick their nose in. And this looks like a bad issue to push on. I don't think the USNA is going to back down on this one," he predicted.
If this deal does come apart, my good name and my position with Mitsubishi are going to be the only things besides our cubic that is important to keep. If I lose the director's job by giving bad advice, when everybody else is scrambling to survive and jobs are scarce, we might end up forced Dirtside even if we aren't bankrupt."
April, was sure after all he'd said, that he didn't wanted to hear she thought there might be a general rebellion. So she changed the subject.
"The seal thing on the wall. What is that about?"
"It's a very unofficial rendering, of the symbol of a Special Forces unit in the USNA wet Navy. I guess now they're doing space work too. I've known some of those people from my own military service. The very least you would call them is capable," he said, with an inflection which implied much more. If his commander found out about his artistic efforts, I'm sure he'd get a real earful for it. Maybe loose a pay grade for awhile. It does reinforce, along with the shuttle, this it is not a private action, it's government sanctioned.
"Can I ask one last question about Jon?"
"Yeah, if you don't want to call him up yourself," he said, amused at the new idea she could do that.
"Does he know you have a gun?"
"I hope not. I sure went to a lot of trouble to break it up and hide it among all our household stuff when we came up. It's just this simple, the danger this fellow presented was more important than keeping my secret."
"Don't you think there are only so many places I could have seen one and he will suspect you anyway?" April suggested.
"Oh no, I really don't think so. You have a lot of friends. You go all over the station. Jon is a great believer in Occum's Razor. If he comes to any conclusion, it will probably be you have a pistol yourself. Who knows? Maybe even this Art had the same thought run through his mind. Why did he decided to turn away and keep walking after he saw something was wrong? Maybe he thought you were carrying," he said seriously, putting his hand at his hip, just like April had in fact put her hand to her pocket, facing Art, but with index extended and thumb drawn back like a hammer. That told April he'd seen the security video, as well as the sound recording of their meeting in the corridor, while she slept."If you had been, you would have felt a lot different about the whole thing, wouldn't you?" he said, amused at the idea.
All of it left her with a jumble of way too many difficult questions to sort out, but he picked that moment to cut her questions off, getting up wearily and saying, "Goodnight April."
"Goodnight, Dad. I love you," she said to his back.
She sat considered the way Art had tensed up, when she slid her hand in her pocket, but she just couldn't imagine herself as intimidating. She couldn't be, not if she tried. Certainly not to a professional spy and soldier.
Chapter 7
April still wanted some real breakfast, not just a couple dainty sandwiches, but a glance at the com screen clock showed it was getting late. It would be an early lunch if she didn't hustle, so she grabbed her stuff and moved.
It felt good to get back out in the corridors and walk. She put some upbeat music on her earphones, to match her good mood. She caught herself almost skipping to it and checked the impulse to preserve her dignity.
When she got to the entry it was Wanda on the grill instead of Ruby. Breakfast was still available on the hot bar, but she hated to ask anything of Wanda.
"Do you have time to make an omelet?" She asked, hesitantly.
"You want omelets; we make 'em," Wanda allowed.
"Thanks but if you are ever too busy just tell me," she offered.
"Busy all the time," Wanda informed her defensively, quickly tired of chit-chat. "What do you want Girlie?"
"How about a mushroom omelet with asparagus tips and Monterey Jack cheese?"
"It's not a standard," Wanda pointed out, waving at the menu board with a spatula.
"No problem," April said, reaching for her belt pouch to get her residents' card. "You can charge me for a special order."
"Nahhh," Wanda drew out the sound. "I'll just make it. If I do a special I have to punch it in and swipe it. Then it just makes the tally harder at shift's end." She continued complaining, but she was already loading the pan to do it.
"Thanks Wanda," April exclaimed. She knew everything was a problem to Wanda, but the best way to deal with it was to just kill her with kindness.
"It's usually Ruby's shift now, she isn't sick or anything is she?"
"No. I'm staying over 'cause her kid was sick and she wanted to take him to the clinic herself this morning. She should be here any minute. She'll probably have breakfast herself and start right at mid-shift. If we switch at an odd time, the twits in payroll will run out of fingers and toes, before they can add it all up.
"That's really kind of you," She said, seizing on anything positive to compliment her she could find.
"Hey!" Wanda said, swishing the omelet loose in the pan and grabbing a plate. "I'm as healthy as a horse, but you never know. I might be sick tomorrow and need covered." It was about the most social thing April had ever heard her say.
"You want any sausage, or bacon with this?"
"Yesss," April said smiling, drawing it out to imply both. Trying to share a little humor with her was chancy, as she might take offense if she thought she was being trifled with. "Some of those hash browns if you would too," she asked shamelessly.
"Lord," Wanda exclaimed, rolling her eyes dramatically, "I don't know how you made it this far, with just nothing to run on, weak from hunger," all the while scooping meat and potatoes on a second plate. "Here, take some ham too, or you will be back pestering me for it before I can get my cleaning done!"
"Thanks," she said, tickled at her success with her this morning. Wanda probably had most people trained not to ask for anything special, or they'll get a hard time. She started thinking how to counter her grouchiness, with a devilish smile on her face. A familiar voice made April look up to see Ruby coming down the line, loading up off the hot table, calling across the counter to Wanda.
"Just do your total and leave any cleaning. You're tired and I'll have a short day now. You go on home and relax," she ordered Wanda.
When she turned for the tables April waved her over and Ruby nodded yes, changing direction to join her. She sat down with a substantial breakfast, hot rice for cereal, with butter and syrup, scrambled eggs with diced tofu and a big Danish covered with cheese. She had her own ceramic mug from behind the counter, filled with coffee.
"So, your boy is doing OK now," she said with no question in her voice.
"Yes, thank you, but how would you know?"
"Well I figured you wouldn't have an appetite for such a big breakfast, if you were still worried about him."
"You're smart about figuring things out Honey. Just don't get too used to it and think you can do it all the time," she cautioned. "Get you in trouble."
"I know what you are saying. I meet a young guy yesterday, nice looking big guy and he came too close to fooling me completely. I can't tell you everything, but I spent this morning telling security about him."
"You mean the body builder type, who jumped out the lock?"
"He's the one. But how did you hear about him already?"
"I got an earful from my man when he came home off shift. He was still cussing about the USNA shuttle, which insisted on pulling in by the hub because they had to recover some 'debris'. Debris my delicate little butt. Nothing bigger than a scooter is supposed to get within a half kilometer of the North hub, unless they are docking. This jackass parked himself right in the path of about twenty ton of beams coming in on a tow. Funny thing about towing something. You can't push back on a wire to stop."
The market window in April's spex showed green, to tell her the medical stock her brother recommended was up a dime and traded some volume. She highlighted it and clicked sell with her eyes and never interrupted Ruby.
"So my guy just turned away ninety degrees and burned until his scooter was empty of fuel. They spent the rest of the shift rescuing him, because scooter and load were on a slow trip to Neptune. Shot the hell out of the schedule for the whole crew. When they talked to him, security acted like they would have been just as happy if he'd smashed into the damn thing." Her eyebrows said how crazy that was.
"But it's sure no secret. Everybody saw the man jump, saw security bring his shoes and jacket out of the lock. They said he was a fine jumper. Few of them beam dogs were saying they could have him bolting high iron in a week. Their heads are so big, that's high praise coming from those boys." She ran down and dug back in her food.
"As near as anyone knows he was some kind of spy," April admitted.
"Doesn't surprise me. The man sat here in the cafeteria a couple times with a wool blazer on, sweating and wiping his face with napkins. They keep it too warm in here for a jacket. Anyone else would have taken it off and hang it on their chair. Either he was too vain to take it off, which makes no sense as he was fine looking, he'd be happy to show off his build, or he had something to hide. I already had him pegged for a cop, so, spy - cop, makes no mind. They're more alike than different."
"Did you think of calling security because he acted suspiciously?
"Because he looked like a cop? Honey, how many times do you think security is going to put up with a cook calling them up like that, before they get tired of it?"
"I can see not wanting to bothering them for vague suspicions," April admitted. "But they'd be stupid to not listen to you because you're a cook. I think you're smarter than some of the professors I study under on the 'net!"
"Honey," Ruby laughed. "I've been a college professor before. Cook's harder to do really well. You can defend a bad idea, easier than a nasty piece of cooking. I don't think a doctorate would impress security much. There are so many PhDs up here, you aren't keeping up if you only have one."
"Ruby if you've taught at college level, what are you doing cooking in a cafeteria?" she demanded, indignant.
"And how many Professors of Medieval European Music do you think they need on a space station? About as many as they have harpsichords. When my husband wanted to work rigging in orbit, I was not going to see him every six months on leave. That's no way to live. The University of Detroit was paying me $60,000 a year, which was just about $120,000 less than the golf coach. Poverty level wages really, but it was just part time. I had an office so small, you had to step out in the hall to scratch yourself," she exaggerated, slightly.
"Now though, we work six months and cash in our three-month leave tickets in for cash. We save our travel vouchers, since they don't let us cash those in. We end up paid 18 months, for 12 months work. Add hazard pay, time and a half, sometimes double time, living allowance and longevity. Last year he made almost $800,000US. I make four times what I did before, plus leave, plus travel. We make well over a cool million every year," she added up for April.
"We have the sense to save a good bit of it too and we have six round trips to orbit paid up. Something most folks consider a once in a lifetime trip. So we can go down anytime we want, for a wedding or whatever. If we save up many more vouchers, I wouldn't begrudge spending two, on a long weekend in Paris or New York. How many folks can do that? Good riddance to Earth life and Earth wages."
Ruby took a big pull of coffee and looked concerned. "Things are uncertain right now. If you have a little money hang on to it," she warned April, "maybe even have a little of it in cash, in case com is down and your cards don't work." That counsel from Ruby surprised April. Ruby was no fool.
"The degree was kind of handy though," she admitted, quickly jumping back to her story like she regretted getting so serious. "They award the jobs based on a point system, which includes education and not many of the other cooks had a doctorate."
Ruby applied herself to finishing up the meal and there was still ten minutes to the end of the hour, but she said, "Gotta get to work Girl," and hurried away.
April sat with her thoughts, finishing her coffee. She had two other classes she needed to catch up on at home. She could spend time on them and turn in some work before going to meet Heather and Jeff. It felt good to contemplate some normal things not involving guns or spies. But she wasn't going to forget Ruby's brief warning either.
* * *
Later, at home she was still polishing her material to submit for class, when the com chime sounded and an icon in the corner of the screen announced she had a live call. The interruption decided her, you can fuss with something too long, so she clicked on send, to submit her class work and went to the call.
Heather was looking at her from a console seat, looking anxious and Jeff was hovering over her shoulder leaning on the chair back. "Are you still meeting us for supper?" she wanted to know.
"Sure, I told you I'd call if I missed. I'm looking forward to it." Thinking about it, she felt a little hollow already.
"Have you tried your scanner out yet?"
"Oh yeah. It works just fine. I taught it a new word and heard some neat chatter. I'll need an optical port on it however. I have it listening through an external antenna my dad has right now."
"Well, bring it along please. There's a transmission Jeff and I heard through ours, that doesn't make sense and we hoped yours might have picked it up better."
April thought about it a moment. "Why don't we link the scanners on the 'net and if one is closer to a transmission, or has a better signal for any reason it can get it off the best machine?"
"Thanks for offering, but if we get in trouble for something and you are tied so closely to us, you could get sucked into our problems."
"It works the other way also," April pointed out. "You guys are at risk for my behavior. No risk, no gain," she quoted one of her brother's favorite phrases.
"Yes, but Jeff and I have some big problems already, I don't even want to get into describing. You don't deserve to be dragged into our troubles."
Alarm bells went off in April's mind. Could her friend have big troubles, the same time as all her own problems the last two days and it not be connected in their little world? Let's fish a little and see, she decided.
"Would you say your troubles involve - snooping?" she intimated.
"Yessss," Heather hissed. She put both hands on the console and leaned forward, dismayed. "How could you possibly know?" Jeff behind her, gripped the top of the chair like he needed the support, looking suddenly sick.
"I've had a few similar problems myself, the last couple days. Let's talk about it face to face, not on com," she suggested. "We can compare notes and maybe I can help you. See you then," April said, feeling a little strained to be cheerful. She was the one who signed off, so she missed Heather's sig. file.
Two hours until she had to leave, she noted, looking at the clock. She wondered if that was enough time, to research on the 'net how secret organizations and conspiracies were organized? It seemed to her she might need those skills the direction things were going.
April was still reading about cells and complicated spy craft, when the alarm she had set put a flashing icon on the screen. She used an alarm a lot, because she could lose all track of time when she really got engrossed in something.
Almost nothing she had found fitted their resources or situation on M3 and the worst case scenarios she imagined. She loved spy novels, but the fictional things she read assumed a whole different set of circumstances than what she had. There was no maze of city streets to lose a tail, or cluttered parks to site a dead drop. Everything on M3 was neat and cleaned and watched. Being systematically sneaky looked like a great deal of work. Especially if you didn't have the resources of a government or huge corporation, helping you behind the scenes. All the characters in the stories, could drop in their office and pick up fake documents and ingenious devices, as easily as she could get a new pair of footies.
The best thing she could see happening, was a compact and unofficial alliance of Heather, Jeff and herself, agreeing to work together and not worry about recruiting others yet. The three of them were not without resources. Passively waiting and hoping it worked out OK was not her style. She just hoped Heather and Jeff would be willing to work with her. She really couldn't think of any other potential allies.
She did something that made her feel a little dirty, but it was too important a resource to ignore. Heather and Jeff would not be on a board like My Boss, which she knew had some listings for her dad, but they might be on some gossip sharing boards, that rated small businesses or individuals. She configured a search for Don't Go There, The B*B*B, B*Bunderground, Run!Run!Run! and a few that even school kids used like, Only Your Best Friend, The Date from Hell and All Da Dirt. After she sat looking at the search field a minute she added her own name, her brother and Jon.
It had been months since she had looked at the posts and polls for her dad or herself. Some of the remarks about her dad had hurt more than her own. Yet even the ones that plainly said they didn't like him, held a grudged respect, even if it was put sarcastically by calling him a Boy Scout.
Posts about her tended to say she was too nosey, which she simply took to mean she wasn't sneaky enough about her snooping. But she felt good about one that said she knew where all the bodies were hidden, if you could pry it out of her. That's not so hard, she thought. Just have some decent information worth swapping!
Heather had more entries than she did and, April could see there were more of them starting a little over a year ago, when Heather had started to really get a mature figure. There were entries about her electronic skills three years back, but a lot of the newer ones were snotty little digs, about why a major developing hunk like Jeff Singh would spend so much time with such a plain unexciting person like Heather. It was amazing how much of it was petty sexual jealousy. She still hoped puberty wouldn't make her stupid.
April covered her own breast in an appraising hand. She barely had to cup her hand to mold the shape. If her LET doctors were right it would be a long time before she saw any change. Unless, taking so much after her dad instead of her mom, she just never got real big. In either case it would probably be a long time before people posted snide comments about her appearance, unless they snipped about her as taking too long to develop. That would be silly with a LET patient. One poster noted Jeff hung out with Heather, because he was too smart to enjoy being around shallow, unintelligent people of either sex and too polite to tell them so. April approved of that post.
Her dad didn't approve of these boards and refused to look at them. She wasn't going to give too much weight to these gossip boards, but if any had been completely at odds with her own opinion, she'd have tried to find out why. Jon's ratings, both personal and professional were different. She certainly had no other friends or acquaintances described as 'hiding sudden death in both hands'. Several posts suggested he was 'unyielding' and plain old stubborn, but never fickle or undependable.
Her brother saddened her because people were starting to catch on to him. One suggested he might require a signed contract before going on a date - if he ever did anything for fun. Another simply said - "Have your lawyer prepare the contract." Not one accused him of cheating them, but there was obvious bitterness, even when the worst they could do was refer to him as, The Mushroom King, over an unfortunate venture.
April snatched her scanner off the coax and clipped it on her belt before heading out the door. The cafeteria she was headed for was a lot different than the one nearer her home, which most permanent residents and business people used. It was up station near the North hub and in spin, so it had fairly low gravity, about seventy percent of standard. It was situated a lot closer to the short term housing for the construction workers. It was commonly called the Animal House and catered to their needs first.
The workers who rotated in and out of M3, were usually young single men and women and stayed for 6 months at a time. Some kept coming back. Others would do one tour and never be seen again. The everyday food there was geared to appetizers and finger-food, more than traditional sit down meals.
The place was also a recreation spot, for things you couldn't do in a barracks. There was an area with a wall screen for video, with couches and better chairs around a few tables where they could play cards. There was pointedly no security camera there to allow a little license for private videos, or a little friendly wagering. The food was served buffet style and there was a small grill like the other cafeteria, but at this one it was self serve. You could make an omelet, or fry a burger to suit yourself. Currently they were cycling through Vietnamese, Jamaican, Tex-Mex, Soul and Thai, for the ethnic buffets. There were always a few blander Canadian-American dishes.
April could hear the place quite a distance down the corridor. As loud as it was she was happy to see the crowd had thinned out and it only looked about a quarter full. Her people were in plain sight near the buffet, sitting across from each other, so she headed for them. The place had the sharp tang in the air of beer and a few strong spicy odors she couldn't catalog.
She was going to sit on the close end, but that would leave her facing the two construction workers at the next table over. The one was boring holes through her with his eyes already. She didn't appreciate where his eyes were going and it was obvious he was making a show of doing it, to bother her.
They looked vaguely Middle Eastern, but had on company jump suits. The rude one had an odd little beard, too short to be a goatee. She moved around the table, which predictably made him feel like they won some petty contest. He mocked her with laughter, a little louder than natural so she wouldn't miss the point.
"I'm sorry," Jeff said softly, letting the noise cover his words, "the one sub-human there has already made a couple crude remarks about Heather and I saw how he was acting with you. No offense April, but you have hardly any figure yet and he is checking you out like a bloody pervert. Do you want to leave?"
"Maybe we'll have to," April agreed. "I may not look very mature, but I'm not stupid. I understand exactly how the creep is acting, but I'm not sure I want to walk out into the corridor now and maybe have him and his buddy follow us. Why don't we at least get some appetizers and perhaps they'll finish up and leave. If Heather and I go to the restroom together, will you be OK alone?"
Jeff got a funny grin. "We have to get to know each other better. If those two bother me I'll just go in the kitchen. The cook knows me and will chase them off. I'm really not in any danger from them, but they're probably too stupid to know it."
She did noticed Jeff had filled out a little in the shoulders from the last time she had seen him. He still was basically slender, but less boyish and had the beautiful coppery skin some East Indians have. She still didn't want to see him, or even all three of them get physical with the creeps.
"Come on Heather. Time for a trip to the ladies room." They actually had separate rooms here, instead of a unisex. It had to serve enough people for the size of the cafeteria that there was no space to be saved in making it one facility.
As soon as they were inside April checked the stalls and one was occupied. Whatever she had to face would be easier on an empty bladder, so she ducked into a stall herself. When she came out the other woman's back was disappearing out the door.
April spoke up, looking toward the ceiling and said, "Security? - dope - murder - help!! If you are running key words those should get your attention. This is April Lewis, my local net code is AL04, please call me right now."
Heather was looking at her like she had totally lost her mind, but she was already pulling her pad out, confident of getting a call. It beeped before she could even open it.
The screen was blank, with just the words M3 - SECURITY instead of the caller. She was sure the other person would be using her cam though.
"Thanks, this is April Lewis. I'm at the worker's cafeteria near the hub. I don't know what your official name for it is, but the one used by all the construction workers. I'm with my friend Heather," she turned the pad briefly so the camera would show her and she saw some reaction on Heather's face to the address on the screen.
"We're having dinner with a young man named Jeff Singh. The problem is there are two construction workers near us and one is being really crude and trying to provoke the fellow we are with. We would very much appreciate it if you make sure the security cameras watching the dining area are covering us. We're hesitant to leave right now, because they may just follow and take trouble out in the corridor, which could be even worse for us. If you're not too busy to actually keep an eye on us, it would really be appreciated. Please don't bother Jon Davis with it. I've been bothering him much too frequently lately."
"We're on it," Security said. It was a young woman's voice, but she never shared an image. "We try to keep your location watched. April is a trigger word in the system, posted since last night. We will watch if things go to the bad," she promised. "Since the barracks are called the Animal House, we've always called that cafeteria The Trough," she added, before she disconnected.
"Ready to eat?" Heather just blinked a helmet-talk yes, like the workers used in a p-suit, too stunned to respond verbally, but followed quickly enough when April went out the door.
April was really happy to see the cook, standing talking to Jeff at their table. He introduced her as Mrs. Jiang. The cook nodded an acknowledgment, but continued her conversation with Jeff. She was the roundest person April had ever seen, very short and large around the middle, with a chef's double buttoned white jacket down to exactly her equator and black trousers covering the Southern Hemisphere. Even her head and face were round, like a moon associated with the globe of her body. She was describing some of the things she was making tonight with Jeff.
"I'm just going to start a tray of Pla Jien. Why don't you kids get some fried tofu and spring rolls and I'll have a new tray on the buffet in a few minutes." She disappeared into the kitchen, happy, with a purposeful stride.
Jeff led them to the buffet and they all got fried tofu. Heather showed her how to sprinkle crushed peanut and sweet red sauce on it. They also got some deep fried pastries, with a skin so thin you could see the vegetable stuffing through it. While they started, Jeff got a large bowl of rice and a carafe of hot tea for all of them.
It was all very good so far and she started to think she had been silly to call security about the creep. He wasn't bad enough to actually come over to bother them.
When they had cleaned up the appetizers Mrs. Jiang came out with a stainless tray in both mitted hands and put it in the steam table. As soon as she turned away their neighbors jumped up and hurried to the buffet with long steps, looking at them with mocking smirks. They both heaped up Pla Jien high on bare plates, until the sauce was running off the edge of their plates. They retreated, giggling, to their table.
Looking dismayed, Jeff went up alone and they could see him scrapping what was left into a corner to try to get a spoonful. When he got back to the table he sat it in front of April. "We've both had this before," he said. "You go ahead and try it and we'll get something else off the table."
"Thanks Jeff. That's real sweet of you. It's enough to taste what it's like. But I don't think these two are going to let up and leave, as long as we're here. Maybe we should go after we have a plate, before they do something worse," she changed her mind.
"OK," said Jeff, "sounds good to me." It was after all, what he had suggested at first, but he was too nice to add 'I told you so'.
Mrs. Jiang came out of the kitchen with another pan and put it in the steam table, then walked over to them, wiping her hands on a towel.
"How do you like it?" she asked cheerfully. Then looking at the meager spoonful in front of April, her expression was quizzical.
"Uh, sorry Mrs. Jiang, I took too long to get up there and it was mostly gone. It's so good, I should have known better and moved quickly," Jeff said, trying hard to put the best face on things he could.
Mrs. Jiang looked over at the two ironworkers, with heaped plates and they made the mistake of staring back boldly, unrepentant. She ripped off a stream of shrill Chinese as she stomped over to their table, with pointed finger accusing and fortunately for them not a real weapon. April did not know the language, but she was pretty sure it was just as well. Their faces said the two men understood very well.
"You get out of here now," she said, switching to English and pointed out the door. "You stuff your pig faces enough already, I'm not cooking anymore for you tonight. You think it's funny to be rude," she accused. "Your mother didn't love you enough to teach you manners."
April had to admire the shameful cut of her invective, without using swear words.
The bearded one had his nerve and got to his feet, looming over Mrs. Jiang, with his face as red as hers.
"You don't tell me to get out!" he shouted leaning over in her face. "You forget you're just the damn help here woman!" jabbing a finger at her for emphasis. Mrs. Jiang didn't seem intimidated at all and didn't back up when he leaned right in her face.
Jeff immediately jumped up, trying to get between them to protect his friend.
If the bearded one was still hesitated to lay hands on the cook, he had no fear to take Jeff's approach as a challenge and was happy to go beyond words with him. He lunged to meet Jeff with his hand a claw to grab hold of his shirt front. April did not understand exactly what happened, but Jeff stepped back and sideways, smooth as a dance step so the man would pass rather than collide.
He reached to meet the man's grabbing hand, which was on the other side of Jeff now, hidden from April's view, but the crack of breaking bone was audible even over the music. The 'O' which formed above the funny little beard and his pop-eyed look, left no doubt to who the broken part belonged.
Jeff took two more quick steps back, still leading him away from Mrs. Jiang, but the fellow was too enraged to quit now, even though he had to be hurting. He pivoted to follow and with dread April saw Jeff shift his balance, done retreating, calmly measuring the distance. But before the man could take a step, his head was englobed in a crackling blue corona. His limbs jerked unnaturally wide and his back arched in a spasm that threw him face down on the empty table between them. His limbs continued making little random twitches and the back of his ample hair was smoldering with a horrible smell. His legs were still off the edge, so they dragged him back and he slide off the table on to the floor.
His companion still seated, was very, very still, looking down at the laser aiming dot scintillating on his chest.
Jon Davis was standing in the doorway. Filling it might be more accurate, as he came close to having to turn sideways, to fit through the merely normal size opening. The Taser in his hand was not the old wired sort, but projected two ionized paths through the air itself. The charge which looped through the beams could be set large enough to kill, or wreck machinery, so the weapon was deadly solid black, instead of carrying the usual yellow strips marking most Tasers as non-lethal.
April noticed the noise level in the room had dropped off abruptly.
Jon seemed to decide the seated companion was no threat and dismissed him totally from his attention, dropping the muzzle pointed at the deck. He walked to them unhurried and inspected Jeff. Jeff completely surprised April by bowing stiffly from the waist to Jon and holding the uncomfortable pose eyes down for a long time.
Jon returned his bow with a short bob of his head, which defined their relationship without a word. Jeff was obviously very subordinate to Jon. April hadn't even known they knew each other. "Was this necessary Jeff?" Jon asked with a wave of his hand at the prone figure, which encompassed Jeff's total involvement.
"Perhaps not Teacher" Jeff replied, looking at Jon's feet. "Yet perhaps it was not enough, as it did not stop him. I may have been over zealous, out of concern for my friend."
Jon snorted in amusement. "You mean you wanted to make sure Mrs. Jiang did not carry the blood guilt on her conscience, seeking to protect you?
"No Sir," he said, daring to look up since Jon was amused. "I am sure Mrs. Jiang is much more disciplined than I am," he admitted.
"We'll discuss this another time," Jon decided. "We all may learn something from it with a little thought."
Jon looked around at April. "Thank you for asking my dispatcher to not disturb me, but that is contrary to my orders concerning your family. I'm glad I hurried here. It's my job to deal with scum like this, not your friends. This one," he said, indicating the now still form on the floor, "will go to the infirmary and directly on the next shuttle for dirt."
As if on cue, the medical cart with amber lights flashing came to a halt outside in the corridor and two white jacketed EMS workers trotted in with kits. The lead technician looked a question at Jon, when he kneeled beside the obvious casualty.
"Taser in the back of the head" said Jon," Bringing the weapon in his hand up in front of the technician, like the man had never seen one before. He seemed to realize he was done with it now and holstered it.
"Jeez, Jon," he's going to have the Mother-Of-All-Headaches when he comes to. "What is his status?" He asked, spraying something on the still smoking hair.
"He's a Restrain-for-Expulsion andy. Cuff him while he's out. He's a beam dog so cuff his ankles too. He can probably shuffle cards with his toes, if he's like most of them. If anybody has a problem with it don't bother me - just send them down with him."
"Oh," he remembered. "I think he has a broken thumb also." He walked out briefly with the technicians while they loaded the man.
The companion to the Tasered fellow looked happy to slink out the door and turn the opposite direction from the cart, once Jon was not between him and the exit.
Jon came back to them after seeing the techies away, which cut off the awkward conversation. They were still shocked and they weren't entirely sure if they might not be in some trouble too. Especially since Jon was still scowling.
Jon abruptly changing manner as she'd seen him do before. "Why don't you young folks find somewhere more pleasant to finish up the evening?" he suggested. "I believe Mrs. Jiang has something for you." She had come out of the kitchen with a family size thermopack, like was used to take a meal to your own apartment. Jeff went over to accept it, speaking quietly with her.
Jon just turned and started walking for the door, without further comment, but April hurried after him before he could get away and patted at his back. When he turned around she pulled his shoulder down, directing him to lean forward until she could hug him around the neck. It was the only place she had any chance of encircling him. She gave him a hard squeeze cheek to cheek and said "Thank you," quietly in his ear.
"You're welcome," he said, pleased, straightening up and giving her an awkward little pat on the shoulder with one huge hand like she was fragile. "Do try to stay out of trouble for a few hours," he requested with a wink. "I'm going off shift soon and would like to sleep a few hours tonight,"
She Earth nodded silent agreement, afraid she would start laughing or crying uncontrollably if she tried talking, with all the emotional turmoil she felt. She turned and hurried after Heather and Jeff, who had stood off far enough to give her some privacy. They really were very smart people.
Chapter 8
"Let's go to my apartment," Jeff said. "It's close, my dad is away and I can get some dishes out for this," he said, hefting the thermo-pack.
"Fine, but I'm too upset to eat anything," Heather said.
"Me too, I want to sit down, but I'm way too wound up to eat now too," said April. "We still have to talk," she reminded them, determined not to put it off.
They walked along, following Jeff's lead to his corridor. It was nice enough, but only about half G less than the cafeteria had been. On the other hand, you probably had three times the cubic here, for the same price as at full G.
April was again made aware she was spoiled. The apartment they stepped into was barely bigger than her room at home. April had never heard anyone mention Jeff's mom. She had no idea what the story was, but she decided to wait for now and see if they brought it up themselves.
Jeff folded down a kitchen table hinged off the wall and locked it in place with a single leg bracing the outside edge. The chairs were the folding kind, Hardoy chairs, cloth slings on a tubular frame, which could hang on the wall, but were surprisingly comfortable in the low G. He quietly put out plain white Corelle bowls, which April recognized as antiques and rarer than the patterned ones. He laid out chopsticks across the edge of the bowls parallel to the long side of the table and placed plain napkins and handless cups, so there was a graceful symmetry to the table.
The way he automatically added the gracious touch surprised April. The attention to form was almost Japanese. She hadn't expected this side of him. The rich starchy smell of the rice was strong in the small room. It covered up a bit of a hot metal smell, which had bothered her briefly when they first came in. The pungent spicy smell of the Pla Jien when he opened it was even stronger. He served only himself, but poured green tea with a practiced hand in the low G, for all of them.
Heather was well into relating April's action in the ladies room, for Jeff. He picked up a small chunk of the fish in his chopsticks and presented it to April's lips. "Try," he commanded and she leaned forward and took the morsel, rather than interrupt Heather's story.
"That is good," she admitted when Heather ran down. "What kind of fish is that?"
"Mrs. Jiang can make it with Ono, or Mahi-Mahi, or even Catfish if it's all she has, but I believe this is Grouper. Would you care to tell us how you came to talk to bathroom walls and why the Head of Security personally descends on your enemies, like the Angel of Death?"
"Two days ago none of this would have ever happened," April started, she related most of the experience with Art and Jon.
Jeff silently served her and Heather some of the food. They were settled enough now neither objected.
Heather and Jeff silently ate, letting her tell her whole story, not even interrupting when she stopped to take a few bites. She decided she liked having these sort of friends, who didn't begrudge showing patience and respect for her.
She finished with her dad's conclusion, that the Rock was the underlying financial reason for any government interest. She only omitted the number Jon had given to her and the details of whose gun was associated with her smelling Hoppe's.
"So I knew the bathrooms were bugged," she continued, "because Jon told me." We shouldn't speak of any plans in public. Not even talk about anything important on com, because if you can tap it like you built in my scanner, so can the government. We'll need to come to our own homes like now." She looked around thinking, "I suppose we are private here," she said, not totally confident.
"Very likely we are, yes." Jeff confirmed. "Heather and I know electronics pretty well and we check these rooms and her place for any bugs. We'll give you a program for your pad, which will allow you to mail us and nobody can crack it. Anybody who really knows computer security knows there is only one kind of safe program. It mixes your message with a random file – a onetime pad. You have to physically deliver the key files, but that's no problem for us."
"Here, I'll install it on your pad for you," he offered, setting his on the table to talk to hers. "When you run out of random files, we have to meet face to face to give you a refill. We just use it for text, because full voice and video runs through it too fast. We don't have any idea if the Feds data mine the traffic inside the station. I'm sure they do the traffic to and from Earth. But if they sent all local traffic Dirtside it would be too much bandwidth to hide. Of course if you use unbreakable encryption in a high enough volume, that alone will call attention to you pretty fast. Even just locally."
" I'd like to tell you what has happen to us the last couple days but I have to consult with Heather on the idea," he looked over at Heather.
"Do you want me to go away so you can speak freely?" April asked.
"No." Heather said. "This is the kind of thing we have to talk about out in the open. If we hurt each other's feeling some now, it is better than forging an alliance and finding out later we are sorry. I imagine it would be pretty much like some people who don't really talk about anything serious before getting married and then find out in six months or so they really want different things and should have never gotten married. I used that example, because I have a cousin who made exactly that mistake."
"I've been as open as I know how with you guys," April told them. "I see trouble coming with the Rock. I can see long term employees on M3 being fired and forced to go groundside, if we are viewed as rebellious. I don't know about you guys, but it would be like going to prison for me. If we're sent Dirtside, what are our chances of ever buying our way back on a habitat, with that on our records?"
"My folks could probably go back somewhere they have lived down there and be pretty happy. But the place looks like one big slum to me. And I resent anybody sending snoops into our home, carrying guns around like they own the place. I need some allies who don't look at me like I need protected and won't go all strange on me if I want to do something - drastic."
"Why didn't you tell us who has the gun you learned the smell from and the number to reach Jon?" Heather asked.
"Heather. I'm looking for allies, not a priest for confession. If I can use your example of marriage, there are supposedly things a married person doesn't go home and blab to their mate about their work. If you work with government secrets, or security, there are things you're supposed to keep things to yourself."
"I expect you two to keep things from me, if you have no right to pass them on. For example, you said you have other customers for electronics. I understood I have no need to know and blabbing the information might ruin your relationship with them. I don't feel I can betray either one of those trusts you named, without a compelling reason."
Heather looked at Jeff. "Makes sense to me," she admitted.
"So, if you find we are doing something of which the government, or Mitsubishi, wouldn't approve, you wouldn't feel compelled to run to Jon or your dad?" Heather asked.
"I don't work for Jon or Mitsubishi. In fact, Jon works for me," she said, firmly.
This got her a very skeptical look from both of them.
"No, really, it's his job as Security Chief, keeping us safe like he did today. Sure, I went to him with this Art thing. But who else could I go to? Did you notice though? - I didn't tell him who owns the gun, anymore than I did you. Not caring if I propose something the government or Mitsubishi wouldn't want, is exactly what I want you guys to do for me too." She considered the problem a moment.
"Maybe we should each, put all these small secrets we owe other people in a file and if something happens to one of us, it will reveal itself to the other two, if we don't keep telling it we are OK every day. We have to be realistic. There are people involved here who would hurt us if they needed to," April said.
"Checking in every twelve hours sounds better to me," Jeff offered. "I can set it up on an anonymous public storage site. If something bad is happening, even twelve hours might be a long wait." April and Heather looked at each other and agreed.
"If you ever do access our complete files," Jeff warned her. "Well, there are some associations we have with people on the Moon that may seem odd. We can't swear they would continue to deal with you. Maybe after they know we are associated for awhile, they'll come to trust you."
"They trade us some stuff, but we have to agree to make sure none of it gets to the Earthies. Not a contract, just our word. Some of it I really don't understand yet and I sort of suspect they don't trust us with anything they'd really worry about getting down below. That's all I want to say about that right now," he said, seeing the questions in April's eyes.
"But you said trade, so you must have some stuff hot enough they want it."
Jeff just shrugged, to acknowledge that was true, like it embarrassed him.
"One more question," Heather said. "How are you about money?"
It threw April for a loop. She wasn't thinking about money. What did Heather even mean by such a question?
"I don't know if I somehow gave you the idea I'm a tightwad. I thought I always paid well for our business deals. I'm just not much motivated by money. My family is pretty well off, but of course we won't be if the Rock deal falls apart. Now, my brother is greedy over money. I have to watch him, or he will walk all over me, even though I'm family."
"For me, money is just to use to get what I want, which right now is to stay on M3 and survive whatever happens in the next couple months. If we need to use my money - fine. When it's gone we will make more. Right now my folks are used to me asking, if I want to spend most of my money on something, even though I don't need a signature or anything to access my account. Even my brother, still shows them a deal that's going to take most of his free funds and he'll be an adult in a year. We both trade our own accounts without consulting anyone, but it's never a bank breaking amount. Neither of us ever invest everything, in one make it or bust gamble anyway."
"I can start building up cash, if I need funds that I can spend and not answer to anyone. There's always ways to make money here, unless you are dumb or lazy. Does that answer hit on anything you were trying to understand about me?"
"I'm being an idiot and I've just embarrassed myself," Heather said. "I've been worried, because Jeff is developing things which will be worth some real serious money and I'm worried about others taking advantage of him. It was not a thought worthy of you. Here you are offering up whatever you have and I'm the one holding back."
"You're right." Heather told Jeff. "Bring her in all the way with us, or not at all. But I think you should show her what she is getting into, before we finalize it. We know more about her now, than she knows about us."
"We have reason to believe," Jeff said, "that the spy you told us about was probably sent here to spy on my dad, rather than anything about the Rock. Come on, we need to show you something," he said, getting up. Jeff led them over to the first of the three doors off the living area.
April had assumed it was one of the bedrooms, with a small bath in the middle. It was a common layout. The door was swung almost closed, but not latched. Jeff took a pen from his pocket. "Don't touch," he warned, with a small guarding motion of his left hand. He stuck the pen in the crack and very slowly pushed the door full open.
The room was trashed.
"My dad is at the Second International Space Station until next week for a conference on nanoelectronics. He went Saturday and last night was the first he has been off station in almost a year. It was posted on the web he'd be a speaker, so anyone could know when he would be gone. This is his room."
The mattress on the bed was slit open. A pile in the corner was the carpeting that had been pulled up. The plates had been removed, where every line, or switch, or access came into the room. Every item of clothing in the closet had been searched and dropped in a pile on the floor. There were a few paper books and it was obvious they had been fanned open and dropped on the floor. The room was tiny, so the wreckage looked even worse concentrated in such a small space.
Worst of all was a small stand alone computer, on the desk and com console. It was visibly charred, with a fist sized hole through its side. You usually didn't see a separate box for a computer unless it had some serious power. The sort of box they'd use to predict long term orbits, or model solar activity. April recognized the hot metallic smell again she had noticed when she first came in, but had forgot about quickly.
There was another charred hole through the console, with melted and bubbled laminate around the hole. The steel drawer from underneath was pulled out, with a hole through its bottom. She could guess by the lines of sooty ash on the wall, with a water streaked pattern, that someone had used the wastebasket on the bed as a bucket to quench a fire. There was also a lump of blackened metal melted into the decking, in a slumped depression.
Any doubt about who did it ended with a look at a wall screen, where a laughing seal and globe was drawn with a marker.
"Yeah, it's the same guy," April confirmed. She found herself grinding her teeth. "He can't resist rubbing our noses in it with the drawing."
Heather took a turn explaining, as Jeff pushed the door slowly shut with the pen and led them back to the table. "There are several reasons Jeff's dad might be spied on. First of all, he is one of the eighteen Rock investors just like your family. It's the second reason he is at ISII. He was scheduled to speak there anyway, but he is also supposed to meet a lawyer afterward, who represents the investors. He told Jeff not to be surprised if he was gone a full two weeks. Why I don't remember any Lewis on the list of investors?"
"Because our share is held as Strategic Materials Inc., but that company is privately held by family. They don't talk about it a lot, but my granddad was not only one of the guys who flew out and put the thrusters on it, but one of the originators of the whole plan."
"He was?" Jeff asked, looking up from the dinner cleanup. "Boy, I would love to sit and hear the whole story some time."
"So would I," Heather admitted. "We don't see each other enough and he has never told me as much about it, as I'd like to know. In fact they never told me anything about the legal problems being so serious. Gramps will talk serious to me, but I have to admit, yesterday was the first time I have ever felt my dad treated me seriously, like an adult, when he explained this problem to me."
They both Earth nodded and winked a yes in helmet talk at the same time, for double emphasis, understanding what she was saying.
"So have you told your dad about this?" she asked, waving her hand toward the bedroom. "You've talked to him, haven't you?"
"Well, no. We haven't really had any other reason to call and I don't want to call him about this. We can't be sure someone wouldn't be listening in." Jeff explained. "There isn't much we could say, that might not tell someone listening in way too much. He might even run back home out of concern for me, when what he's there for is really important. And this is over and done. Nothing he can do to change it."
"I can't imagine my mom going off to another station and not calling me a couple times while she was gone. Do you and your dad not get along real well?" April asked concerned.
"Not at all," Jeff assured her bewildered. "I mean, other than this, which was unexpected, what would we talk about? He'll have the conference recorded for me and I doubt if anything is so radical and new, he will call me all excited about it. And not much else was happening here."
"It's a guy thing," Heather informed her. "They sit all evening in the same room and never even grunt at each other. I've seen them sent text messages across the room, rather than talk."
"Well, if he's concentrating on something it's rude to interrupt his line of thought," Jeff explained. "If I send him mail he can choose to ignore it if he doesn't want to break his concentration. He knows it's not an emergency if I don't flag it priority."
Heather and April just rolled their eyes at each other.
"Hey, we like each other," he said defensively and then decided to stop digging himself deeper, seeing the look on the girl's faces. They simply weren't going to understand. "There is another factor - the second big thing we want to tell you. The spy might have been looking for evidence of an invention, on which they may think my dad is working. If money is the key, the financial potential involved would be even bigger than the amount represented by the Rock."
April looked at him for some clue he was joking. But his big brown eyes stared back at her as serious as could be. "You are talking about billions of dollars? It's really that big?
"Billions a year," Jeff assured her, "as big as the computer chip or laser, if you want to go back, maybe as big as video. The trouble is, one of the first devices I made emits pulses of neutrinos when it's running. I didn't think it was any problem, because they are so hard to detect. Little did we know, the USNA military is working on using neutrino pulses for communications. When my point source in orbit started sending out a flood of neutrino pulses, their detector went nuts. They also were able to triangulate the location with multiple receivers, just like using a GPS unit. The neutrinos flux has little variations they can time. So they knew within a couple meters where it was coming from, at my dad's lab in Lucent's cubic," he said, with a grimace.
"Okay," said April."If this is something your dad was working on for Lucent, isn't it their problem? I know how intellectual property law works. His name may be on the patent, but what he develops on their time, it belongs to the company, even if he's the inventor, right?"
"I said they thought it was my dad," Jeff explained. "Being a single parent, he'd often take me in to work with him and I'd do my school work and read when I was younger, but when I started making things with Heather he'd let me use a bench at work and sometimes borrow equipment when nobody else was using it. He knew Heather and I make things for people, but about my inventions I kept my mouth shut. I wanted to prove them out first, so I wouldn't look silly."
"He didn't know the full story of what I was working on until we got a letter, an actual paper postal letter from Singapore, written by a North American scientist he knows, about the neutrinos they detected. He mailed it when he was out of the country attending a seminar, just like my dad is doing now. Then I had to show dad everything I was working on, just before he went to ISSII. It kind of totally floated him loose," he illustrated, with a hand slowly drifting away with wiggling fingers, "to hear such a biggie right before he was leaving and we didn't have time to talk it out."
"Here," Jeff said pushing the supper containers across the table to her. "Put these back in the thermo-pak, please. I'll go get something to show you." He went off through the door into the other bedroom.
April was thinking about what sort of person lived in such cramped quarters, yet had enough money to buy a full share in the Rock. She wanted to meet Jeff's Dad and find out more about him and what made him tick. She put the Pak by the door and wiped the table off, before Jeff returned.
Jeff came back with a small foam board box, big enough for a pair of shoes. He pulled out two plastic tubes with soft push-on end caps. The device he slid out in his hand looked like a really big old electrical fuse she had seen. It was a ceramic cylinder, sized like a flashlight, with two metal rods coming out of the ends of the ceramic. The ends were of warm, purple tinted metal, which were pressed thin in a big flat, for lots of contact area and a hole was drilled through the flat so it could be fastened down with a stout bolt. The flanges ended up tapered out, as wide as the tube between them. And the end was trimmed off square. The metal was a funny mottled hue.
"Is this copper?" she asked reaching to run her finger along the big tab.
Jeff grinned big. "Actually, it's a gold and silver alloy with aluminum and a little tin and a few other traces for making a low resistance contact. It takes almost a troy ounce of gold each unit, so they are fairly expensive. It took every dollar I've saved for three years to buy the metal. They are the transition points, from the superconducting micro-fibers inside the unit to the conventional conductors outside. So they need to pass heat to the cooling units on the feeder bar.
"And it does what?"
"You put deuterium in this tube at high pressure," he indicated with his finger. "And you put a pulse across the electric tabs with the correct rise time. After about the fourth or fifth pulses, you start getting a bigger pulse back out of the tabs than you put in and you get helium out of this tube, which should be attached to a vacuum source," he indicated.
You hook it to a circuit tuned to the right frequency and after the first few hundred actuating pulses, it is self sustaining and delivers an energy surplus of about 30 kilowatts for this size unit." It was a fusion generator, although he had not used the term.
"Gee, I don't know Jeff," April could not resist joking in the face of this revelation. "Is there enough demand for helium to generate it on site? And you have to get rid of all this waste energy," she said, with a straight face.
They all started cracking up. It felt really good after all the tensions of the last couple days.
"Seriously, a fusion generator this small has so many applications," Jeff told them. "It is a gold mine. The smallest fusion unit you can buy right now is a Bussard – polywall unit that runs on hydrogen – boron fuel. It is very expensive to get a unit smaller than nine cubic meters and you need twice that for the support gear."
"I can make my units smaller, cheaper too, if they are integrated directly into devices with superconducting wiring, so you can drop the end conductors," he said, tapping the big tabs on the ends to make it clear.
"This is small enough to put fusion power in individual pressure suits, small shuttles, com sats, ground vehicles, aerostats, small boats and planes, isolated cabins and vacation homes. Even individual appliances and tools, if you are willing to spend the money."
April really perked up at that, but didn't pursue it just yet.
"So," asked April. "While the spy was tearing your dad's room apart, where was this?" she asked, picking up the generator. It was surprisingly heavy from the alloy.
"It was sitting in this box, on the floor in my room. It had a pile of dirty footies and stuff on top of it, because my laundry sack was full," he admitted, embarrassed.
"Do you think they have any idea, what kind of device would make the pulses they detected?"
"No. I'm so far off the beaten path with this idea, I don't think anyone would stumble onto it for years if I don't publish. Right now, I don't even want to apply for a patent. I have plenty of reasons not to trust any government and the possible trouble with the Rock just makes me sure secrecy is the right course. If the government will steal the Rock, they might just as easily try to steal my invention and I want to live up here and continue to work for us, not lose it to some bunch of crooks."
"Anyway, I think you know enough now, about what we're facing. So, do we form an alliance?" he asked. Exactly what April had hoped to hear and she was glad he proposed it so formally first. "Do we work as partners together, to get what we want? We want to keep what belongs to us. We all want to continue to live here and not face being forced to move to Earth," he ticked them off on his fingers in turn. "Have I missed anything?"
"I just realized it yesterday," April said, "but if we may have an opportunity, if enough other people feel the same way I do, we do I hope, that we should break off completely from Earth. My dad said he would support the other investors, up until they fight, but if they fight they will lose for sure. Well, I think if the government tries to take away the Rock there may be more resistance than my dad expects."
"Do you want to recruit then?" Heather asked. "I'm happy for we three to be allies, but I don't think there is anybody else on the hab I'd trust, to sit and talk treason. That's what we're doing you know. This isn't just business; it's politics too."
"No," April assured her. "We should stay a closed group. If others want to rebel we can aid or encourage them, but we shouldn't ever suggest to outsiders we are anything but business partners. We'll all do business with others like we always have, so it's not like we stand out by only doing things as a threesome."
"I'd go further," Jeff suggested. "We should never put a name to the three of us that's not strictly business. Once you have a name on something, it will leak and you are half way to having security start a file on you. We don't want to call attention to ourselves and maybe lay the foundation for a charge of conspiracy years from now."
"Let me summarize," said Heather, watching their faces to see if she had assent. "We pool resources and talents, to keep what is ours, stay in our home and prepare to support a popular rebellion from behind the scenes, if it happens," she looked at each of them in turn and they were nodding agreement. It sounded crazy and very serious to say out loud.
"We're doing just like I read about the American Revolutionaries doing, when they broke from England," Jeff said. "They pledged their lives, their fortunes and their sacred honor to the cause. We're just trying to be a little more covert about it. Who can begrudge us that when we're just three and kids in the eyes of the law?"
"I would add, for just us three, we need to pledge friendship and loyalty with each other, for this to work," April suggested. "More than just business, I need to say that out loud."
Heather and Jeff spoke quiet agreement. They were all three on the same page.
Jeff poured more tea for them without replying. April waited, guessing what he had in mind. He raised his cup. "To the three of us, our lives, our fortunes, our sacred honor, in friendship and loyalty. I propose our alliance and declare our revolution."
Heather touched her cup to his. "To victory."
April joined her cup to touch both of theirs. " And confusion to our enemies," she added hopefully.
They all drank and regarded each other quietly, savoring the moment.
"It's settled then," Jeff said. "Now, what do we do about protecting these little gadgets and deal with being spied on?"
"I think you're in the same position I was after my encounter with the spy," April said. "You don't have the resources to deal with him yourself, so you use the man who is charged with protecting M3 and everyone who lives here. Get Jon involved, because he needs to know the spy was looking for something more."
"You didn't hear how concerned he was about the room he had stayed in. They were really worried he might have left a booby trap, or biohazard in there for someone. Well, seems to me this room, which he knew belonged to somebody involved with the neutrinos, is a bigger danger for that, than the one at the hotel. If he made a trap there it might get just anyone. A cleaning maid, or the next guest. You were smart enough not to go in the room right?" he nodded agreement.
"But we sat here and ate dinner with the door cracked open. What if he left some biological agent for your dad? The whole place could be contaminated."
"It's been since Sunday evening I found it, almost two days now and I slept here and don't have any symptoms," he offered.
"And you might not. An incubation period of three or four days is common. You know that," she gently chided him. "I don't mean to say I would tell Jon everything about these." April said, laying her hand on the box. "Tell him what he needs to know and stop before you get too specific about what these do."
"I think we need to keep the relationship between we three secret for now," Jeff said, uncomfortable.
Well Jon already saw us together tonight and others will too. We were innocent of any conspiracy then, we just need to act the same now. We don't need to tell anything about us or our goals, or what these do for that matter. They are yours and you need them guarded, what does it really matter what they do? He might have some idea where they would be safer. But I would talk to him frankly about the legal problems with the Rock, your dad is handling. We don't know for sure yet that isn't a factor too. He has other investors here too who might need more protection."
Heather looked at April. "Do you think if it comes to rebellion Jon will be on our side?"
"I think it depends on how it happens. He respects authority and is sworn to it. Yet he regarded the spy as an enemy, even though he is probably operating with the full authority of the government. But he was here endangering the people Jon is sworn to protect with no warning. He was upset about that. If they just start shooting at the Rock, I think it will offend him. But if they declare their intentions and occupy the Rock after giving notice they are doing so in accord with law, then he may feel any rebels are getting what they deserve, if they resist."
"I admit, when I talked to him about the spy we disagreed on details, but in the end we agreed to be on the same side. It wasn't as total a commitment as ours just now, but you saw how he acted when I was in trouble at the cafeteria. I don't think it would be too hard to get you two under the same umbrella of protection, so to speak."
"But what about you Jeff? From what I saw at the buffet you have studied some sort of martial art under Jon. Doesn't it already give you some sort of friendship?"
Jeff seemed flustered. "April it's so complicated. Jon my instructor, is not any other Jon I know. It is so formal and the rules and thinking are so different, it is like two different people when I deal with him robed, or unrobed. I don't mean this as a negative, but I'm seeing Jon has an amazing ability to compartmentize things in his mind. He seems to switch viewpoints between his official life and his personal interests, more than most people would be able. How about you calling Jon on our behalf and telling him about the room," he indicated with a gesture, "and see if he can help us with keeping these generators safe?"
"Smart," said Heather. "I told you he is smart. We saw how the April-oriented Jon acts today, so that's the Jon we enlist. You need to show her the other pieces also," she reminded Jeff.
"You both trust me to arrange this?" April asked.
"I think we are past the question," Heather said. "Yeah, take care of it for us."
"Just checking, because I want to call Jon before it's late and he's in bed. I don't want to drag him out of bed again if I can help it. I know he'll want to see the room right away."
"Go ahead," said Jeff. "We have some other stuff to show you then."
April opened her pad on the counter. She didn't make a point of showing them, but she didn't cover up either. She punched in 898989. She expected his apartment again, but it was an office, with some diplomas and certificates on the wall behind him.
"Jon's Sanitary Services," he said perfectly deadpan.
April thought about going along with the joke, but didn't have the nerve. She was still struggling too much to just be credible with him.
"Jon, I have some more information on our jumper," she said straight away. "Jeff here found his father's bedroom trashed and it has the uh, same garbage drawn on the screen," she didn't want to say SEAL thinking of snoopers, "It's a day old, almost two actually, but I remembered how careful you were with the hotel room. What do you want to do?"
"Have any of you gone in the room?" he asked, immediately concerned.
"No," April answered. "Jeff opened the door with a pen, instead of his hand and we all looked in, but we closed the door and he did not fan it around, he opened and closed it slow. However, he slept here last night and we all sat and ate dinner in the apartment."
"I will be there in ten minutes or so with a team. Don't touch each other. Don't go back outside for anything," he hesitated. "You did pretty good," he added and the screen blanked.
"I want to show you these too before he gets here," Jon said. He pulled another small box from the larger one and produced another tube. The part he removed was similar to the first, but had no tubes in or out and the metal contacts were different. "Heather tells me how smart you are. So you tell me what this one does." He didn't seem to mean it as a challenge to her ability, like some ego driven people would have enjoyed doing, hoping in her failure they would seem elevated.
April took it and turned it in her hands. "Well unless you have discovered how to suck power from the vacuum, there's no way to fuel it so I would say it is an ultra capacitor. It probably stores quite a few joules more than a regular commercial one, to have these big leads just like the other. She brags on how smart you are too, but I think we will find it is in different areas for each of us."
"It would be good actually, for us to bring different talents," Jeff claimed. But you guessed pretty well. This device isn't mine; this is something we got from our friends on the Moon. We traded with them. We granted them a license on some software they badly needed and they grant us a limited license to make these. It works out nicely, because they very much complement each other. I would call it a battery or accumulator though. It stores much more than any capacitor and makes NO neutrinos," he added.
"How many amp hours?"
"It's not a very good way to rate it. Do you understand E= mc²?" he asked.
"Of course I do," she said indignantly. "I'm not ignorant!"
"Well, when this size is charged up, it will mass somewhat less than two grams more than when empty. Or if you want some real strange bastard unit, we could use kilowatt centuries."
April let out a long, low appreciative whistle. "And how fast can you charge and discharge it?"
"Well now, there's a problem with that. You don't want to damage or melt the substrate," he said. "If you do it will release the whole charge in a couple microseconds. That's not a problem with the fusion generator."
She looked at the piece in her hand and thought. "But you could short it out and melt it on purpose right?"
"Yes, you're quick to see the implications," Jeff admitted. "And if our lunar friends had seen this problem coming, they probably would have never traded design details and rights with us. They found out the danger the hard way, by pushing it past its limits. Fortunately, they had it fail well away from their base and the boom was small enough to explain away as a meteor strike."
"They hadn't stored all that much in the one that failed because it was a lot smaller. You can make them a lot smaller or bigger. Once they knew it could be destabilized they were pretty much obligated to tell us. What if we pushed one too hard and vaporized M3 because they didn't warn us?"
"It would take a lot of power to charge it up to that dangerous a level."
Jeff just gestured at the fusion generator.
"Well, yeah, point taken. Two grams." She started trying to calculate in her head.
"On the short side," he reminded her. "But instead of joules or watt hours, call it forty Kiloton, for the military mind."
April looked at the device with fresh horror.
"And how many was Hiroshima?"
"About fifteen."
"Kargil?"
"About a thousand actually, but it's not easy to compare, because it's not linear at all, you need to cube the power to double the blast damage you see. You get quickly diminishing returns. This is why superpowers use several small bombs, instead of one big one, it's much more efficient," he said with seeming cold indifference.
"But the big thing for us is not that they can be made into a weapon. Rather they very much compliment our miniature fusion generator. The generator can run at constant output and the storage device lets us pull high peak power off the combination. Of course it can be used that way for other sources of energy. The Loonies have almost limitless solar power to charge them. Still, we have a window of opportunity to use the two together, before the device becomes known publicly. That may be quite a while, they are holding this one close, since they found that wee problem."
"Jeff, I think you should get one of these fusion devices to a safe place with whatever documentation about how they work and are made, because somebody is looking for them. The Loonie device you should hide too, even if they don't have anything to do with the neutrino emissions. Nobody is looking for them, but they might find them looking for the other. You don't have any right to reveal them to third parties. But I'd like you to keep some handy to use. You may need to use them for what I want you two to build next," she said.
"I was thinking something similar, so let's leave some samples in a box and I will put the rest away before Jon gets here," he shuffled the containers, leaving one of the smaller boxes on the table. "I'll send the extras and Loonie stuff home with Heather. There's no reason anyone should know about them, or imagine she's holding something for me."
"So what is it you want built, we were supposed to talk about tonight?" He asked, when he returned, amused at how the original purpose of meeting had been eclipsed.
"I'm thinking of a small case, disguised to look like a pad or inventory taker, with a powerful laser as a personal weapon. It should be adjustable, so it can scan first through a range of frequencies and read the infrared signature back, to see what color is absorbed well and then lock on to pulse. It should have a handle and trigger that folds out and a view screen for aiming which can zoom. A low power aiming laser, a designator like Jon's Taser has, would be nice also."
"That sounds good," Heather interjected. "Do us copies, just like the scanners."
"What you are asking for wouldn't have been very practical without one of these cells," Jeff said. "I could have made it, but it would have depleted any power source I could use, in three or four shots. I can add another improvement. When a laser strikes a target like sheet metal, the shock wave from the plasma boiled off the surface is often what does the real damage, but the plasma blocks any more of the light from getting through. I'll break the beam into short pulses and vary the time between them so it can find the physical resonate frequency of the target and shake it apart with the timed pulses. With that sort of a chopped beam I can give you a setting which gives you a pseudo continuous beam, without overheating too fast."
"How about you, Heather? Any features you want on them?" Jeff inquired.
"Yeah. I want mine in a designer color," she joked. "Something not too shiny and hard to see. And if it's not too hard to do I would like a taste lock, like on a door, so someone else can't use it unless I punch numbers in a keypad to release it. You'd unlock it to use it in a p-suit by the keypad," she suggested.
"You know, these cells I have here are actually too big for this use, but they're what we have made and I will use them for us if I can't make smaller. We have to get together and talk about making a bunch, about a hundredth as big as these if we're to have a bunch of them for our cause." He stopped talking then, because the door chime sounded. "Unlock," Jeff told the house.
"Come on in," he invited.
Chapter 9
The woman who entered the Singh apartment wore a shiny paper jump suit with hood. It was complimented by a disposable breathing mask, with a plastic eye shield. She stopped inside the door and kneeled to unroll a soft pack on the floor. First she took a pink aluminized Mylar pouch out and ripped it open. The cassette inside she inserted in a plastic case and switched the device on. An LED on the face started blinking amber and she laid it back down.
She retrieved another calculator size plastic case and opened a lidded plastic tray before approaching Jeff. April noticed the suit sort of stood away from her and had a sharp odor like she smelled in Heather's work area. She realized then the suit was one of those biohazard suits, that carry an electrostatic charge to repel airborne particulates like bacteria. She had read about them but never seen one before. Her voice was somewhat muffled in the mask. It didn't have a booster speaker.
"You have the pen used to open the door?"
"It's this here." Jeff said pointing to the pen in his breast pocket.
"In the specimen tray please," she asked. "And hold your hands out, fingers spread."
She held the case over the pen and a speckled pattern of scintillating laser light scanned the pen. She played the light over his hands also and examined the readouts on it briefly. The device she'd left on the roll gave three sharp beeps and the light changed to green, but she ignored it.
Taking a small can clipped on the side of the instrument, she sprayed a mist on the pen and then Jeff's hands and then repeated the reading all over again. "Flip them over," she instructed and examined the backs and wrists carefully also. April could not see any mic or radio on her, but when she was done she spoke, as if to someone else, not them. "Looks clean so far… There are no chemical agents, or pathogens detectable. I'm going to test at the door. The one on the right?" she asked Jeff. He nodded yes.
She scanned the handle and then drew it open very slowly in her gloved hand, until it was all the way open against the wall behind. She scanned the backside and the carpet in front of the door. Then she pointed it at several areas inside and scanned but didn't enter. Lastly, she sprayed a puff of the mist into the air inside the door and played the scanning light through cloud as it floated there.
"We are clear for all knowns in here," she announced and pulled down her mask. She fiddled with something on her left cuff and there was a snap of electricity discharging and the suit suddenly got wrinkles and hung a lot looser.
Jon was next through the door, with a young man dressed like the lady, but with his mask down and his suit limp. He was carrying a big duffel. "Stay there a minute." Jon called to them and went to the doorway where he briefly looked in. Then they all put their heads together and conferred in low tones. When the man started taking photos through the doorway, the young woman came back, to pack her equipment.
Jon came to join them and pulled a chair down, unfolding it. Jeff poured him tea without asking if he wanted it. Jon was dressed casually, with cross trainers and elastic waist pants and seemed relaxed when he sat.
"Do you know what time the room was tossed? Jon asked first.
"It was like this when I came home Sunday night," Jeff admitted. He expected Jon to jump on him for the delay in reporting it, but all he said was "I think you know now there was some risk bringing your friends here, don't you?"
"Yeah," Jeff admitted. "I was clueless and lucked out, didn't I?"
"We all get a free one now and then," and Jon dropped the subject. "So, what were they after and did they get it?" he wanted to know.
"Two possibilities we know of Jon. First, my dad is meeting a lawyer while he is at a conference on ISII to speak with him about the problems with the Rock. They may have wanted information about how the investors plan to defend their ownership, legally or physically. April's dad has expressed the idea it may go against us in the World Court and he also said some of the investors would actually fight to keep their share. Someone tried to move my dad's computer. As you can see it was booby-trapped."
"Does your dad really need a super computer, instead of just a chip in a screen and net processing?"
"Nanofabricating takes some pretty powerful modeling Jon. We both use it for designing the product too, not just the fabrication sequence. Believe it or not it sometimes runs for a couple hours, before it optimizes a complex design."
"What happened there? Did your charge ignite instead of detonate?"
"Oh no, Jon." Jeff seemed shocked at the suggestion. "It wasn't a dud explosive charge, it was just a hunk of thermite taped to the memory module. It was in a graphite and ceramic crucible, but the guy flipped it on its side and the molten steel ran out and got away from him. We never expected someone to tip it over. I still don't know why he did that."
"It was probably something as simple as he felt more comfortable taking the screws out with it laying on the long side," Jon offered. "It might have been simpler if you had used about a tenth kilo of plastique instead and we would be scraping SEAL off of the ceiling with a putty knife." The idea did not seem to keep him from enjoying his tea.
"Sorry," he said looking at the shocked expressions on all their faces, "but where billions of dollars are at stake things will get rough. I wish it were different, because I have to protect many of the investors. But half measures and subtlety will not do."
Jon sipped his tea and scrunched his face up even harder until he had lines in his forehead. It was so obvious he was thinking something over they just kept quiet.
"What I want to say, is you are all too young to be involved with this ugly stuff and you need to be protected and removed from any possible harm. But there is nowhere safe to send you and I can't lock you up in your cubic. Practically, I know that's impossible and Jeff's dad isn't even here to say what he would want. April has more than average protection, just because her dad is manager." He looked at each of them in turn like he was gauging them. "And I can see if I told Heather to stay away from you two, because of your Rock involvement, that wouldn't mean anything would it?" he asked her.
"Zip," she confirmed. "They are my dear friends and partners."
"Well be aware. This guy wasn't the only one snooping around either. It isn't public yet, but we had another one. I don't think I should hide that from you when you are targets. Who knows if there is a third or fourth? I'd appreciate if you didn't talk it around for awhile, but you should be aware, to be cautious. Don't assume this is all over. Next time you want to protect something, come see me and I'll show you how to protect the computer with something which won't melt through the deck and into the next level."
"Was he a SEAL too? Did this other spy flee the station like Art did? Or do you have him in custody?" April bubbled over with questions.
"You might say he's in custody," Jon allowed. "We have no hard proof he is connected to Art. Right now he's in the clinic's cooler - morgue if you want to call it that, while we arrange a believable story about how he got there." Jon looked entirely too happy about that for the three's comfort.
"As I said it's rough. He already took out one of our people, so don't any of you do anything stupid and be next. I guess it's entirely too late to say don't call any attention to yourselves. But do call me anytime you have any doubts or concerns, like you did today. I don't think that thing in the cafeteria was anything but a jackass acting up, but you were right to call me. If you see somebody checking you out you don't know, or get an unexpected package, please call me right away. Before you open it up. At least until I can say I know where this is all going."
"Jon," Heather spoke up. "We can get a lot rougher, I promise you. We just didn't really understand what was happened until today. Tell us anything you think we need to do and we'll be as ruthless as it takes. We're not stupid, just inexperienced and we don't have much time to learn. Jeff's dad and April's family are investors, but what happens is going to affect us as much or more than the adults. What are the other Rock investors doing? You must have talked to them about it."
"I'll tell you what I think." Jon offered. "But I've said these same things to several of the Rock investors and they don't agree with me. The spy who was here was not after anything for the legal case, because they already know they have a win. There is just no way the courts are going rule against the government when billions of dollars are involved."
"The investors are a small enough group of people they don't have to worry about public outrage. Most of the people down there don't like the people who live in orbit anyway. The TV shows and news paint us as selfish and overpaid. The preachers see us as way too secular and tolerant. The only people who will cut us some slack are the space nuts, who would like to come up here themselves and can't for some reason." He stopped and sipped tea in his introspective mode again for a moment.
"I'm sorry, but the investors are either naive about how honest the courts are, or are just in denial. If they were looking for any information about the Rock it would probably be about plans to physically defend it. And I can't see any way to stand up to the will of the USNA if they decide to send up shuttles full of troops and weapons. I don't even want to know about anyone planning to tunnel into the Rock and try to stand off the Earthies." Jon offered his cup for more tea.
"I might see something I would be in the embarrassing position of having to stop as Security Chief and I'd much rather have the Earth people do the dirty work, than be forced to arrest my friends and neighbors."
Heather gave April one small nod, acknowledging her prior analysis of Jon.
"But the Rock is going to generate lots of business and money for the USNA." Jeff protested, as he poured. "Almost all the investors are USNA citizens and even my dad is a permanent resident with a work permit and pays USNA taxes," Jeff protested.
Jon shook his head. "It may all be USNA technically. But where is the money going to go? Where is the Rock itself going to go physically? Most of the value of the Rock is because it's already in orbit. A kilogram of Chinese steel on the ground is about $30US right now. But the same steel in orbit is worth about $280US."
"Nobody is going to make steel out of the Rock and send it Dirtside to sell. The economics aren't there. Never will be. But the $250US added value to boost the steel to us, is no longer going to flow downhill to the Dirtside companies. What do you think will happen with the profits, as the Rock is mined? April, what do you think your family will do with the money?"
"The biggest thing my granddad and dad have been talking about is to do another capture mission, to bring materials back here from deep space. But this time they would like to do a comet core, or even an ice moonlet from the Jupiter system, to bring a huge amount of volatile resources here. No point in doing another rock, when it will take years to refine this one."
She paused to digest it. "I see what you mean," she said "All the money and new business is here and the ground side is basically out of the loop. It may technically be USNA business, but it's not the established NA business community, who are accustomed to having the wealth flow through them and who have all the political connections. If they do bring a big mass of water in, it will just cut the money flowing to Earth even more. And with life extension therapy, they're not going to retire and go home to spend their money. I don't think my folks would voluntarily move back even if they did retire."
"Do you think your dad is ever going back to India?" Jon asked Jeff.
"No way. Unless like we were saying, they strip everyone out of M3 as undependable and he has no choice," he admitted.
"Earth courts, Earth judges. Billions of dollars in cheap materials in one lump just above their heads, they can steal without any real resistance. And the economy has been struggling for decades. None of the shifts in weather or politics have been favorable for a long time. So they need any boost they can snatch. I don't see any other outcome than they will at least try to steal it," Jon concluded.
"What's the second possibility you mentioned?" Jon asked. April was surprised he still remembered Jeff said there was another possibility. He'd really listened.
Jeff pointed at the box. "I have some power supply components, which are way better than anything being produced today, they are a completely new design, but unfortunately, when I was testing them, they emitted a signal a new USNA military system could detect. It alarmed them and an Earthie colleague of my dad found a way to tell us confidentially. They could pin point exactly where the signal was from, which is the bench my dad had allowed me to use in Lucent, to work on my stuff. Because I tested them there, they may think my dad or Lucent is involved. They weren't - they're mine," he said with some emphasis to make it clear.
"We wouldn't have even known it was detected, except this friend sent us an actual postal letter and told us the about the discovery. He mailed it from Singapore, when he was out of the country at a conference so maybe the USNA doesn't know about it, if they weren't watching him real tightly. The guy's no dummy so we could see him getting away from his handlers to mail it. And when we tried to call he wasn't available. That may be just to protect himself, not because he is compromised. For all I know my dad's lab may be trashed just like his room."
"You realize, Lucent may try to make claims on these, if you used anything at all of theirs, even just some bench space?" Jon asked.
"I'm not too worried. There's no documentation I worked there. The only evidence would be from a secret government detector seeing something there, they wouldn't testify in a court and they can't have any idea what was generating the signal they saw. I have all the receipts for the materials to make them also. My dad's two assistants saw me working on little projects, but as far as they are concerned I am just a ham radio buff, who likes to play at making things. Everything I had there is removed now. So the four of us are the only ones who have any idea what was really going on."
"But Jon..." Jeff got a really concerned look and made sure he had eye contact. "These are mine not my dad's. And I'll ask his help and seek his advice, like I am yours. But don't make the mistake of thinking he'll decide what happens with them, or that I need somebody to act in loco parentis and take control of them."
"Easy buddy. I'm not going to steal control of your stuff. I'm a little hurt you'd think that of me. As far as I'm concerned, if you are smart enough to make them, you are smart enough to decide what happens to them. As far as other people getting a legal hold on them - you sound pretty safe this time, but five people are already too many to know about any secret. Would I know what one of these things is, to just look at it?" Jon asked.
"Respectfully, no"
"Would you mind showing me one of them then? I'm just curious."
Jeff slid the generator type unit out of its tube and handed it to Jon. It surprised him a little with its weight, they could tell, because his hand dipped for a moment when he first took it.
"I know you're not telling me everything, which is OK. It's smart even. It just looks like a big old fuse to me. So, why isn't it back on earth being x-rayed and cut apart by our spy?"
"Because my dad is the nanoelectronics expert and as far as anyone knows on Earth. I'm just a teenage kid. And while the guy was ripping my dad's room apart, they were sitting on the floor beside my desk, in plain sight, except for a pile of dirty socks on top of them."
Jon just shook his head in wonder. "So, if I'm to believe you, the whole spy thing might not be directed at the Rock and your parents, but at a crazy project that nobody knew about but you and your dad? If that's the case, then you lucked out even more than you can appreciate. What I have to consider now, is how to protect you and this property from something as powerful as the USNA. It's my obligation as long as their desire for them remains unofficial. I really don't need another pain in the butt problem, as big as the Rock." He looked at Jeff funny..."Your dad does know about these doesn't he?"
"Oh, yes. When we got that letter I had to reveal them. But we didn't have time to discuss much before he left for the conference. And I don't want to call him and get him all upset about the break in, when anybody could be listening in."
"No, I wouldn't call him about that either. They may have an agent assigned to watch him there. If you communicate it could precipitate them taking some action."
Heather and April looked at each other. They had both expected Jon urge Jeff to contact his dad right away.
"I'll have to figure out how to contact him securely, or even send somebody to make sure he gets back Okay. I have more resources. Leave it to me," Jon insisted.
April spoke up about the units. "I have an interest in these also now Jon. Jeff and Heather asked me to take these two units in my custody and keep them where we will all be able to recover them, but they will be safe from theft. What would you suggest we do with them?"
"I could put them in my armory for you. It would be within my authority. But frankly, I've been worried about the armory being a big target itself, so I'm not sure what to do. I would not put them in a safe deposit box." he decided. "I do have one idea I can check," he said and pulled out his pad and folded it open.
April couldn't see the address he punched in, but the fellow who answered was standing behind a large gilded and green logo sign for Holiday Inns. He was dressed Earth style for business, with white shirt, tie and a conservative blue suit.
"Good Evening, Holiday Inn, Mitsubishi 3. May I help you?" he offered. Then he recognized Jon and said "Mr. Davis! I hope there is nothing unresolved about the room from last evening?"
"Not at all Mr. Harris. I thank you again for your cooperation with my people. This is another matter. We have people we need to relocate, while we are doing an investigation and we have some security concerns about them and their possessions. Didn't I see a safe in your rooms?"
"Yes sir, we have individual fireproof vaults in each room, which operate from a single key card the guest may remove."
"Does the Hotel guarantee the safety of items left in the room vault?" Jon asked.
"No, I'm sorry," he said and actually looked sad, "but they are just a convenience for the guests. For the Hotel to assume risk for the items and insure them, the items must be checked in and stored in our main safe in the manager's office. It's a basic limitation imposed by our parent company."
Jon looked a question at April and got an affirmative nod.
"Is there a limit on value of what you will accept?" Jon asked.
"Not at all sir. We have had entertainers and Royalty as guests. People deposit jewelry and cash. If there is room for it we have even stored musical instruments. We just have to see what it is. We can't accept any sealed up mysterious packages, which could be illegal or dangerous.
"Mr. Harris, I would like you to have your concierge courier four key cards for a room, to the address I am keying in for you. I expect to have at least one guest in the room tonight and we will be using your main safe. When you pick the room be aware I may be using it for some time and there may be days it is empty, or there may be four guests. Your discretion in maintaining our privacy is part of what we are purchasing for station security. I am transmitting a credit line also and would appreciate it if you would bill me weekly in advance. I will let you know when it is no longer needed."
"Thank you Mr. Davis. It is always a pleasure to serve you. Since you voiced some concerns about your guests and their property I'll have our security fellow deliver the key cards and if you wish, he will escort any guests who wish his company back to the hotel."
"Thank you, I'll speak with him about it," he said noncommittal, "and a good evening to you," and closed the pad. He sat back in his chair a bit and relaxed. "I didn't even know he had any security people for the hotel. It will be interesting to see if I remember this fellow."
"I've been thinking Jon. I have a suggestion for you, if I may?" asked April.
"Why not? I could use a good idea. Fire away," he invited.
"Offer your best people to take the weapons in your armory home. They will be dispersed all over and your people will already have them at hand if you need to call them up. It's the same as what the Swiss have done for a long time."
"I've thought about the possibility," admitted Jon, "but I hate to ask. Some of them have kids at home and may not want guns there and it feels like I am saying there might be trouble soon and it has a way of making itself come true."
"You can always offer the opportunity, with the right to refuse without prejudice. But they have seen what's happened with the spy and this other problem you touched on lightly and now the mess with this room. I would say your best people are already figured out trouble may be coming."
"I may. I'll think on it."
"What do you think the chances are of something like this happening again?" April asked, waving her hand in the general direction of the trashed room.
"The fellow who did this had to be brought up special on a shuttle. I'm pretty sure they didn't already have somebody on station who could be trusted with this sort of job. The other fellow we still don't know what he was after, but I'd put him in the same class too because of how he operated. Why one man couldn't do both jobs I still don't know. It's so strange one of my people suggested they are from different agencies, that don't know what each other are doing. Since they didn't have someone here to do this job, now that he is gone, we may be safe from this kind of problem until the next shuttle comes up three days from now. Some agency could have some personnel here, but no point in losing any sleep over far out hypotheticals."
"You can bet we'll be looking very closely at everyone who gets off every shuttle from now on. We're not going to trust their ID when the government itself might be spoofing the data base for them. I don't care if it is someone's old grandma in a babushka. I want them scanned so hard I know what they had for breakfast. I would very much appreciate if you could give me some idea of when you were running these things Jeff. I want to develop an idea what the time line was for them to respond and send someone up for a look see."
"OK, I have a log of when I tested them in all the documentation. There is a memory chip with these two and there will be others which will allow Heather or April to show a nanoelectronics technician how they are made, in case I'm, uh. In case I can't."
"Dead is the word you are looking for," Jon said. "Something we'll try to avoid. Are you able to run these now and not be detected? Did you figure out what signal you were giving off and stop it or shield it?"
Jeff looked stricken. He looked at April for help.
"You don't want to go there Jon. Trust me," April assured him.
Jon picked the unit back up. "Heavy little sucker," he commented. "If it gave off any ionizing radiation Margaret would have found it when she scanned the room. Being a cop nowadays can be pretty complicated. I have to read a lot, know a little bit of everything. I'm not stupid you know. Only one kind of particle I can think of, for which there is basically no way to shield, but I thought it was just as hard to detect. Guess I'm wrong." He didn't press any further than that, to Jeff's relief.
The lady tech came over to Jon with a printout. "It's definitely our same boy," she assured him. "We found a whole hair and a scrape of skin on the corner of the computer case. Whatever was on the computer memory he doesn't have," she said, giving Jeff an accusing look. "The protection was crude, but effective. I am pretty sure the memory is just trace elements in the blob of steel melted into the deck. I don't think anyone would be nuts enough to remove the memory and then set off the incendiary off anyway to fool us. It looks like he was in a mad scramble to keep it from burning through into the next level, so it was not planned."
"Thanks Margaret. I really appreciate you coming in off shift. April here," he nodded at her, "is the civilian who put us on to this fellow."
Margaret looked at her looked at her with renewed interest and offered her hand over the table. She prolonged the touch in an awkward manner.
"Jon still hasn't told us how you made the fellow," she told April. "Sometime I would love to sit and hear you relate the story."
"Excuse Margaret," said Jon. "She's a detective and she just can't stop detecting. If I were to disperse the weapons in our armory Margaret, so they are not in one central location and easy to seize, would you consider taking something home?"
Margaret got this predatory grin. "Sure. Save the heavy machine gun for me and not just frangible slugs. You have several cans of those belts with alternating armor piercing and depleted uranium slugs. I want them."
Jon was visibly taken aback by her reaction. "Keep it under your hat tonight, but in the morning I am talking with the shift leaders and may just do it. I'll admit I was running it past you, because I thought you were the least likely to take me up on it."
"Are you kidding? If I miss jumping right in, by lunch time your crew will have it stripped out and all the good stuff will be gone," she assured him.
"Exactly what use do you foresee for the heavy machine gun?" Jon inquired.
"Jon, I don't have a cent tied up in the Rock. I wish I did. But I am following the news and everybody I know with an I.Q. bigger than their shoe size, thinks there is going to be trouble over it. I know something of tactics from the Marine Corps. There is no way a commander is going to commit a force to the Rock, without securing this big can nearby. It's the tactical equivalent of a city, from which opposing forces could sally." "However, the can is my home. I feel really possessive about it and my neighbors. I live right next to the life support plant on our corridor. If a squad comes to take that plant, even in combat armor, I can drop the emergency pressure partition at the plant, put my back to it with the heavy MG and riddle their cherry little asses before they can stand a chance of retreating around the curve. They'd never expect it."
"Jon," April asked, "why in the world do we have such heavy weapons here?"
"It wasn't my idea," he assured her. "A space habitat is classed the same as an airport by the government and if they have their own dedicated police force they are encouraged to buy all sorts of counter-terrorist equipment. The Security Chief before me got what amounted to a big free catalog on disk, from which he could order equipment for just about any environment or threat. The government would pick up almost all the cost for us. He just couldn't say no to all the free toys. I'm surprised he didn't order the snow skis and scuba equipment, just because they were nearly free. I think they may come to regret the policy," he predicted.
"But solid slugs? If somebody starts shooting with those we'll have pressure emergencies all over the habitat. I'm not sure there are enough patching kits to seal the place up if there is a real battle," Jeff objected.
"Yes, you are right. But the fact is, if an external force like the Chinese invaded, which is what this equipment was procured to counter, they will almost certainly have battle armor. Frangible rounds are fine for law enforcement, but they are simply going to shatter on armor like nothing."
The entry chime was sounding again.
"Margaret, why don't you go straight home and Frank and I will take your crime scene roll back to the office with us?" Jon offered.
"If you see a need to disperse the weapons, why don't you do the same with the other vital equipment? I have room to take the testing roll home with me if you'd like."
"An excellent idea. Just tell Theo in the morning, to start a list of where everything is dispersed and keep updates sent to everyone's pad," Jon instructed. Margaret took it for her dismissal and went back for the roll.
With a start, Jeff realized Jon was deferring to him to answer the door, since it was his home. He wasn't used to being treated like the man of the house at his age.
"Come on in," he called out, wondering suddenly if he should have locked it back up, after Jon and his crew came in.
The gentleman who came in immediately focused on Jon and came forward with an envelope. He was trim, with salt and pepper hair and dressed in a white shirt with a colorful bow tie and a dark blue cardigan sweater.
"If you would sign the flap sir, these are the key cards you requested."
"Thank you. You know, I recognize you from last night. I remember you got my crew coffee and sandwiches and I don't think I ever thanked you. Could you remind me of your name?" Jon asked, scribbling a signature on the envelope.
"I don't believe Mr. Harris ever got around to introducing me, but everything seemed quite in control without my input. I'm Neil McAlpine, Mr. Davis."
"You know, Mr. Harris referred to you, I believe it was loss control, or some such title, but just now he said on the com you are security. I find it interesting what a low profile you are able to maintain," Jon purred.
"Well, I'm not really much on titles and such," Neil demurred. "I've been working on Mr. Harris for some time, to drop the expression security from his usage entirely. It alarms some of our guests needlessly, who are from areas where any sort of security is the usually the same as secret police and it might create the impression I am intruding on areas properly your department's concern, which I don't want to do."
"Would you excuse me a moment Mr. McAlpine? Oh, I'd be perfectly happy for you to just call me Jon if it wouldn't make you uncomfortable."
"Yes, actually I enjoy American informality. I would be pleased if you would call me Neil," he offered.
Jon turned and slid one of the cards before each of them and tucked his own in his shirt pocket. "I would feel much better Jeff, if you would stay in the Holiday Inn at least tonight and possibly until your father gets back," Jon advised.
"If you're comfortable with it, I'd like you to give me access to the apartment, in case we want to do more testing and in exchange I can get the decking repaired and the carpet replaced. By the time your dad gets back we should have his room safe and all fixed up for him to use again. Could you throw some things in a bag and go with April now, to deliver these things of yours to be put in the Hotel safe?
"Sounds good to me, Jon. "House, Mr. Davis is allowed access anytime until revoked. He will be the next person to touch the contact pad and then he will give you a voice sample. Go ahead, Jon," he said.
Jon when to the com desk rather than the entry door and laid his hand flat against the plate. "Testing," the house informed them. It took about twenty seconds and then the voice asked him, "Please read the text appearing on the screen." Jon read the material, which appeared to be a section of some old novel. After about a minute the system said." Database established. Rights are granted."
"The only other thing," Jeff said, before going for his bag, "is I would like you to see Heather home safe and she'll be taking some of my things home for me, I don't need at the hotel."
"We can do that," said Jon. "I have the cart here to take our equipment and I am sending Frank with you three to the Holiday Inn. He'll see April home after Jeff is in his room and I'll see Heather home OK."
Heather spoke up. "Before we split up, do you have your scanner April?" April was surprised she brought it up in front of Jon, but retrieved it from her pouch and slid it across the table. Heather sat it beside her identical unit and bent over them.
"Jon," Neil said, the name sounding funny from him the first time they heard it, "I can escort these two back to the Inn if you need your man Frank," he offered.
"No offense, Neil. I'm sure you may be hell on wheels, but Frank has a Taser on him and I would like an armed escort tonight," Jon explained.
"I rather expected that you see," Neil countered. "I stopped by the manager's safe on the way and retrieved my own armament. I can keep it in my own room as long as you want to keep your room, if it would help secure it. I also put your room next to mine, all the way at the end of the corridor so I could keep an eye on it."
"What are you carrying Neil?" Jon seemed tired.
Neil reached under his cardigan, in the small of his back, with his right hand and produced a fifth generation Taser. It still used wires, unlike Jon's and had the yellow stripes which visually designated it as non-lethal.
"Just out of curiosity how did you go about bringing the Tas' on M3?" Jon asked. "I not objecting, I'm just finding there is a lot more hardware aboard than I thought and I need to reassess things."
"If you mean did I try to hide it, not at all, Sir," Neil said surprised. "I read the handbook before coming up and it said to refrain from bringing firearms, so I did. However it never mentioned air powered arms, or electronic weapons, so I assumed this was permissible and just packed it with my important valuables, like my papers. No one ever complained. If it is prohibited, I will certainly surrender it to you right now,"
"No, no, no. Sorry," Jon said. "Have you had training with it?"
"I qualified with this and a great deal more for His Majesty's Royal Marines."
"McAlpine."
"Neil if you would, Sir."
"Neil, would you consider extending yourself even further and allowing me to deputize you into our police force?" Jon asked. "It may be more obligation than privilege and we could be in for some turbulent times in the months ahead, but I think you would enjoy the company of my crew. Several of them are Marines, although not British. It might be a convenience for the Inn, to have a security man with full police powers."
"I would be honored," Neil assured him.
"Consider it done. We'll swear you formally, with tea and cookies and introduce you to everyone tomorrow," Jon promised. "Meanwhile, keep yours," he nodded at the man's own weapon, "and take this also." He unclipped his own sixth generation wireless Taser, blackly lethal and offered it to Neil. "It's almost like yours, but it will reach out past a hundred meters in any atmosphere which has enough Oxy' to breathe. This switch is for normal charge, lethal charge, or high output, which will disrupt even vehicles or machinery."
"I would use the weapon you are used to and leave this as a backup set on lethal. You have about thirty shots. I'll give you a charger, a spare power pack and a practice target tomorrow."
Neil accepted it with his left hand and slid it in the small of his back with a practiced motion as smooth as he had his own weapon.
"You shoot lefty also?" Jon wanted to know, catching the switch.
"In the service, I qualified master marksman, both hands tested separately, with small bore through the14mm recoilless pistol."
"You and Margaret are going to have a lot to talk about," Jon predicted, smiling.
"Jon. I'd like to show you something," Heather said.
He looked at her, giving her his full attention.
"This is a very brief radio transmission, Jeff and I were curious about last night. Now, knowing what we have learned since about the jumper, I bet it's him calling for his ride. She addressed April's machine. "Scan, describe unique transmission in millimeter band at 17:29:38 yesterday," she ordered.
Jeff rejoined them with a soft bag and a small box.
"This transmission was in a band used for shuttle communications and consisted of .23 second burst of encrypted data, followed by a .62 second transmission in the clear," the machine reported.
"Play the clear message for us, boosted 6 decibels," Heather instructed.
"End," the machine enunciated one word clearly. It was a male voice, very clipped.
"Heather, does your machine do voice matching?" Jon asked.
"Sure, scan match in clear portion of last accessed transmission, to the audio sample provided next," she instructed and slid the scanner closer to Jon. He pushed a last key and set his pad on the table next to the scanner. They sat silently, listening to April's conversation with the spy, in front of the radio room two days ago. At the end Heather said, "Scan, what is the match of the transmission to the sample?"
"A match of 83% to male voice, limited by the small size and stress distortion of the first sample," it reported.
"83% on a single word?" Jon said. "He's our boy. He should be stress distorted. He knew it was time to trot out of Dodge."
"Could you show us the jump video? Jeff asked, returning with his things. "We've heard about it, but I'd love to see it."
"What? You kids haven't hacked it off station com yet?" he asked drolly, giving their scanners an evil glance. "Never mind," he waved the question away at their stricken looks. "Sure, let's put it on the com screen," he agreed. "House, accept video from my pad and display it on the wall screen," he ordered. Frank had finished packing up his equipment and silently joined them on the living room couch. All of them made a real crowd in the tiny apartment. Jeff spoke up to dim the lights somewhat. Neil joined him and sat at the near end to watch. As the video started, Jon explained the story of the spy, omitting how April had detected the gun.
Jon watched Neil carefully in the dim light, but the only reaction he detected was a little straightening of the back, when they got to the part where the jumper drew the seal on the wall.
"Lights up," Jeff commanded at the end.
"What is the small handle sticking up behind his gun?" April asked.
"It's a small utility knife." Jon told her. "It doesn't have a guard, or ultrasonic blade, but it is still handy as a weapon and for other things."
"Everybody ready to leave?" Jon asked getting up. He got nods all around. Everyone was tired and still had lots to do. Heather came around to April, slipped her scanner back to her and gave her a quick hug on the way out.
Chapter 10
When they were out in the corridor Neil asked if they knew the way to the Holiday Inn. Assured they did, he suggested they walk ahead and he would follow back a ways and catch up if he needed to say anything. As they walked along April asked Jeff, "Is there any chance you can explain how your generator works, so I could understand it? Or is so exotic and difficult I might as well not try?"
"I've given a lot of thought to how to explain it. I just haven't had much opportunity to try it on anyone but Heather, but I don't think you will have much trouble at all. You remember late in the last century, the cold fusion fiasco where they were never able to reproduce the results and a bunch of people lost their credibility and their careers were ruined?" he asked.
"I remember reading about it as an example of really bad science and an example of how not to publish if you wanted a respectful review from your peers."
"It certainly was," he agreed. "And yet lost in all the condemnation and bluster, was the fact there was some real effect observed. Tritium is not something you get from normal chemical reactions. They couldn't reproduce it and they could not explain it with any consistent model, but it's often the case where it's what I call kitchen science. You set up an experiment according to a recipe. We won't dignify it with calling it a formula. Sometimes it would work and sometimes it didn't and nobody had a clue why."
"The Japanese spent huge sums trying to understand it. Much more than they let on to the rest of the world. But the metallurgy of the time was far from being able to understanding what about the metal lattice was causing a fusion reaction to occur, well below any energy threshold where it should. Then there is the theory of proton-electron quantum capture creating a neutron directly, but still, it is irreproducible. They still can't make an electrode which does anything reliably, but self-destruct after running a set period and getting saturated."
"I'm able to read a lot of research which was never translated into English, because my father started me learning Japanese at home very early. Something I'm very grateful to him for doing. And I still don't have an answer to making a traditional cold fusion cell, able will crank out a steady reaction anymore than others."
"However it did give me the insight, to build a nano scale fusion generator. It uses basic common nanoelectronic foils and fabrication. It's thousands of tiny linear accelerators, fabricated in the foil, but the end is a quantum trap. It's a crystalline cage which holds the deuterium ion, if it tunnels through an aperture one atom thick and is held in the trap."
" Now the real twist is, if you shoot another ion into the same spot on the crystal, it can tunnel through just like the first. But when it enters there is basically not room for both of them to occupy the same hole, so the way to a stable condition in a lower energy state is for them to merge - and they do - at much lower energy than in a free state. But when the nuclei merge of course there is so much energy released the helium ion comes bursting out of the trap it was in and runs the accelerator in reverse, pumping power out instead of in. The sweet spot in, is it's only route of escape too."
"The engineering to make the accelerators and traps is really like die work. A thin ribbon of soft material with a thinner layer of stronger material on top moves along in set increments. And as it is stopped, a diamond die comes down and presses a shape into the thin material and it folds and is pushed down into the material under it. This takes place with a flat diamond anvil under the ribbon for the die to work against. The titanium-palladium alloy crystal is the only shape built separately and the complete crystal inserted in this line as a unit."
"The electrical leads and tubing for the gases, are made with conventional microchip masking and overlay techniques and electron beam cutting. The ribbon gets embossed and cut pretty fast and when it is all done you roll it up into a cylinder and encapsulate it in the ceramic tube. Two or three percent of all these tiny accelerators never self tune to the sweet spot on the crystal but there are built in allowances for these errors." Jeff said. "It's similar to the way you always have bad sections to an integrated circuit, but you design it to self correct and work without being perfect."
"Isn't it slow and expensive getting the metal crystals assembled?"
Jeff checked how far back Neil was again and almost whispered. "That's another thing our lunar buddies took care of for us. The sent us some bacteria, altered to grow one crystal in each cell before it dies. You harvest them and remove the organic material."
"I knew you could do stuff like insulin and special proteins and waxes, but metal?
"They can do all kinds of things that aren't public. I don't think they have told us the half of it. Without their help this idea would have been impossible and I have to trust them to honor the terms we agreed on. We made them stuff that is secret too and traded for an exclusive on this particular bacteria. They are the same sort of bacteria used to recover gold tailings and clean up pollution. I think I can trust the Loonies."
"Why?" she insisted.
"Because I think they are in a situation very much like our own here, but on the moon. Otherwise they would be rushing to make a buck off these things, instead of keeping them secret. I think the Earthies are putting some kind of squeeze on them too, but they've never been frank about how."
"Have you offered the fusion generator to them yet?"
"No," he admitted. "I'm not sure what I want to do. I may offer them sealed units. I'm reluctant to actually offer the design and license them to build them. I might regret it later, just like they regret licensing the storage units to us."
"So the storage cell. The battery version from the Loonys, is it as simple to explain as the generator?
Sorry, but it's a bit more exotic. It involves the storage of positrons in an artificial atom of very high atomic number. Suffice it to say, at very high atomic numbers - in the hundreds. Positrons and electrons form separate structures of distinct energy levels binding them tightly. They are held far too tightly to leave where they are bonded and interact with each other. The crystal, which absorbs the energy, actually shrinks as it holds more energy. I suspect it will also get stronger and more rigid, but testing that theory will be really difficult. It is just one of the things quite counter intuitive about the device."
"And you came up with the fusion device all on your own, without a big research facility or lab? I'm impressed," April admitted.
"Well, I just built a little bit, on all the work which was done for years by others. It's often the way these things happen. When the time comes for something to be invented. A lot of supporting factors need to be in place. If I didn't have access to cheap commercial nanofabricating machinery and commercial nano electronic feed stock it would still be just an idea, almost impossible to make," Jeff explained. "It's very much like Thomas Edison's time. If he had not had all the manufacturing technology base and cheap materials new to his era, his inventions would have been one of a kind toys for the rich and his friend Ford would have made maybe few dozen automobiles a year, which would have been as exclusive as fancy racing yachts."
"But I was sure enough I'd eventually have real commercial applications for my stuff, that I had my dad help me set up a corporation a couple years ago. Before I even started on this project. Just from the hobby sort of things, Heather and I did."
"It's the same with the Loony's device. They told me it was based on a paper published before I was born. But new materials made it practical."
"You know, if we can build these generators cheap enough, on automated machines we can size the accelerators to fuse up larger nuclei, to whatever we need and get enough energy from the fusion to at least power the process. In time we can make any element we want and not be tied to the idea of the natural abundance of elements dictating with what we build, because of the economics of scarcity."
"Even the elements heavier than iron, if we will pay the energy to do it. Samarium and indium and gold are too wonderful for building things, to be forced to be stingy with them. We eventually just have to do it," he said with passion.
April just looked at him in wonder. He was talking about turning the whole economy and everything people were used to in their everyday lives upside down, like it might be an amusing thing to do. Now she understood what Heather meant when she said he was off scale.
"If you turn in the cross corridor here we will go in the back way," Neil's voice told them from behind. There was a double wide steel door, not a lock, which was marked DELIVERIES with the Holiday Inn logo. It had a hand pad and a keypad with a camera looking out above it. The scuffs and scratches around the door frame and the lower part of the walls, spoke of a lot of traffic with hand carts and deliver dollies.
Neil stepped forward and laid his hand on the pad and let it taste him. As they walked into the hall, an open doorway showed a supply room, with towels and toiletries stacked on wire racks. There was a room with a cleaning cart, which needed a human cleaner, not robotic at all. One rooms, as they passed the open door, just radiated heat and the damp smell of soap and chemicals. It must be the laundry. They heard a voice from one room, but walked the length of the hall and never saw another person.
At the very end of the hall there was another steel door, with another pad and camera. Neil laid his hand again on pad again and opened the door for them. This room had better carpeting and once the door on the hall was shut the noise level went down. It was a huge room for M3. About six by fourteen meters, with the door they used to enter in the middle of the long wall. There was another door exactly opposite through which they could see Mr. Harris from behind, standing at the lobby desk.
Neil turned to the right side of the room, where there was a conference table. Looking around, it was the most luxurious room April had ever seen on M3. There was a privacy screen of folding panels on the other side of the doors, which could be pulled across the room cutting off what she assumed was the manager's desk and large built in vault door behind it there, on the other end of the room. A large wall screen was cycling through a series of short videos, showing other Holiday Inns on Earth. After seeing a few in daylight she saw several at night and she realized it was a live cam tour of hotels. There was one for perhaps a minute she wished they had made pause. It showed an atrium hundreds of feet high, with tropical plants and colorful birds flying among them.
When she tired of watching it she examined the conference table closely, looking at the way the pieces of different colors fitted together. She could not feel a line with her nail where the purple color came to a point and blended into the creamy mottled wood around the outside edge. Very expensive certainly, even before being lifted to orbit.
Mr. Harris came in from the lobby and closed the door behind him. The wall screen now showed a near life size view of the lobby desk, so he would know if anyone came in needing help. She expected Neil would introduce them, but Harris just jumped in and started speaking.
"It's beautiful work isn't it? he asked, seeing her tracing the lines in the conference table.
"Yes, I have never seen wood fitted so perfectly and I've never seen wood dyed such a wild color like this. What sort of wood is it?"
"Actually the color is natural. The name of the wood is Purple Heart and the wood with all the little beads and swirls is called Birds Eye Maple. Those black little diamond shapes for accent are Ebony and again, that is its natural color. Can I offer you some refreshment?
"I'm really getting tired," April admitted. "I could use a good jolt from a mocha, made with strong coffee."
"Just a black coffee for me, please," Jeff requested.
Mr. Harris laid his pad on the table and relayed their order to housekeeping. He knew what Neil drank and ordered mocha for himself. "It's one of my favorites also," he told April with a smile. "I understand you have some items to leave in our hands. Is it what you brought there?" he inquired, nodding at the small box.
"Yes," Jeff agreed. "Also I am going to stay in our room for at least the next several days, until there are some repairs done on our apartment."
"Excellent," Mr. Harris expressed, "it precludes the parent company later complaining that I am taking in your items to safe keep as a separate service, unrelated to the room. They wouldn't approve of me doing so. Since Mr. Davis was frank in revealing there are some security issues involved, I would like to record this meeting on my pad and store it with the items. I have a program on the pad I have found very accurate, which gauges the veracity of a person's statements. I hope it won't offend you if I run it too?"
"Not at all. It seems like a very reasonable precaution. I'll do the same so there will be a separate record . My machine runs a similar program. She laid the box on the table.
"Scan, record audio until stopped and run full voice stress and analysis. Do a running test to watch for surveillance bugs, also and put alerts on the screen, report any traffic key words Lewis, April, Singh, Jeff, Heather anderson, Holiday Inn or combinations. End instructions."
Jeff also removed his identical unit and placed it on the table, but she had no idea what it was set to do, as he gave it no verbal commands.
There was a tapping at the door. Neil got up and looked at a video screen, before opening the door and accepting a cart with their drinks. She was surprised to see him lean over briefly and look under the bottom shelf and the underside of the top shelf, with a small hand mirror he returned to his pocket. She could see she was going to learn a lot from him, if she just watched closely.
When he returned, Neil sat at the other side next to Jeff.
"There are just a few questions then I need to ask," Mr. Harris told them. "What is the nature of the items you are leaving?"
Jeff reached in and pulled the tube out, uncapping and laying it on the table, along with a memory module. "This is a prototype electronic component, of my design and manufacture and manufacturing data about it."
"And they are your own simple property?" He asked.
"I am the inventor and maker, but both Heather Anderson and April Lewis are co-owners with an interest in these samples and the processes behind them."
That was a lie, he hadn't had time to change his corporate documents to reflect their pledge, but he would as soon as his dad was home. Until then, it was his firm intent. "They are corporate property, but we are the stock holders and it's not a public company. The memory module is as important as the actual piece, because the design is not patented or copyrighted and it is at risk if it were stolen."
April looked at him hard when she heard co-owner. He smiled and silently mouthed "our fortunes" at her.
"Then you wish for all of you to have equal access, tenants in common?" Mr. Harris asked.
"Yes and we wish Mr. Davis, who has a keycard to the room, to have access on behalf of M3 Security." Jeff added.
Mr. Harris was noting all this on a heavy card stock tag, which had a perforated receipt on the end. "And what would you place as a valuation on the items? he asked.
Jeff looked at April and found no help there, so he thought about it moment. He looked at Neil and found a poker mask.
"I don't think I can reasonably ask you to insure them," he finally said. "If you just do the best you can, I think it's as much as we can expect."
Mr. Harris looked a little tight-lipped. "We self-insure and it is a matter of some pride we will cover a guests valuables. I have never heard of anyone actually having a loss at any of our Inns, but we on one occasion, had a violin in this safe which was valued at twenty million dollars USNA. Of course, the parent company insists I assign a value to an item when accepting it. I am sure if the adjusters need to make some revision later they can, but just give me a ballpark figure."
"Well," Jeff said slowly and unwilling, "We may keep them a trade secret, but even if these items are patented and sell the numbers we project over the life of a patent, they should net at least several hundred billion dollars. Half a trillion dollars is an entirely reasonable estimate. I'm not sure if your parent company has the capitalization to cover the loss," he explained.
April noticed Mr. Harris' hands were shaking slightly. "You believe your statement," he confirmed, looking at the program running in his pad.
"And as you can tell from your program, I believe it also," April said. "But I need to tell you, it is beneficial to the Hotel to assist us. Does your program show that is a truthful statement?"
"Unequivocally," he agreed. "A ninety-eight percent positive assessment by the program. Of course you could be wrong," he seemed to remind himself, "but you believe it."
He took a deep breath and appeared to come to a difficult decision. "I shall put a value on the receipt, of three hundred billion dollars USNA and if there is a loss, well, I won't be any deader than if it was three hundred million and it does make a grand story to be able to tell some day," he reasoned.
Jeff had loaded the box back up and Harris taped the card on the side and ripped the tag off for Jeff. He went over and entered a sequence in the keypad and pulled the vault door open. April was surprised how roomy it was. When it was open April noticed the door was generously thick. It must have cost a fortune to lift it to orbit. Jeff handed the tag off to April and said, "Hang onto this for us. I don't want to keep it at the Hotel, too close to the box."
April looked at the sepia tinted cardstock ticket, rough along the long edge where the perforation was torn and a serial number along the short edge. It was surprisingly old fashioned and suddenly seemed silly. The value was written in numbers on the space provided and took up the entire length. What would they do if it was lost? A payout seemed unlikely. But the manager seemed fiercely proud about the companies honor in the matter. April decided she should go back when she wasn't so tired and see the fine nuances of what the voice analysis on her scanner showed about Mr. Harris.
"Could you show us where our room is if we're finished?" April asked. "I'd like to see it before I go and I'm sure Jeff is as tired as I am"
"Yeah, I have to admit, it has been a hard day," Jeff said getting up.
"I'll show them where it is," Neil offered. He led them out the back again and then took a left turn, which intersected a hallway running from the lobby parallel to the service corridor they had walked in through. "If you want to leave the way we came in nobody will stop you. The delivery door does not usually open to guest keycards, but I will set it to accept yours, in case you don't want to be seen coming in and out of the lobby."
At their door Neil used his master card to open it. He pointed out the manual controls, older people like him seemed to use out of habit. Jeff and April's generation was much more comfortable just talking to their home.
"I'll be in the next room to your right as you go out the door," Neil reminded them. "If you should have any need you can call me on the com, or come down and buzz my door. I'll tell you something else I just decided. If for any reason you don't feel safe to come to this room just go next door to my room. I'll set the lock to take your key also. If anyone were looking for you here they would never think you'd be right next door, in the closest room. They would think you'd go off home or somewhere far away."
"Thank you, but why the extra precautions?" Jeff asked. "Is there some particular danger, worth compromising your privacy?"
"You just alarm me, with talk of a few hundred billion dollars. Money has a funny effect on people. There are plenty who would do anything for that sort of money."
"Mr. Harris is the only person outside security who knows about this. Do you have any reservations about him we should know?" Jeff asked.
"The kind of money you're talking about, I wouldn't trust anybody. For a couple hundred billion I don't know if I can trust myself." Neil quipped. Look, I'll be next door. Tap on my door when you are ready and I'll escort you home," he ducked out.
"Back in a minute Jeff," she immediately said, ducking in the bathroom.
"I have a little bit of a thing about bathrooms," she told him when she came out. "My Mom used to carry a can of disinfectant spray in her purse and clean up like it was a biohazard dump before she would let any of us use a public restroom. When they had the mouse virus in Africa, she wouldn't even visit my Grandparents in Australia, until they had it controlled and I don't know if they ever got a case in Australia. Even when we visit a self-cleaning restroom Earthside, I feel like it is dirty because of how my mom acts. I hated to ask Mr. Harris to use his bathroom. It's probably his private bathroom and it feels so intrusive," she sat on one of two chairs at a little table and scooted it around to face him. He was laying on one of the beds stretched out on his back with his hands behind his neck.
"I understand. I get a lot of attitudes about things from my dad. I wish I remembered more about my mom, but I was too young when she died, so I can picture her face and smell and I remember her voice, but I wasn't old enough to have really serious conversations to remember."
"I'm sorry, Jeff. I didn't know you lost your mom. I noticed nobody mentioned her, but I didn't know why and it was hard to ask."
"She went to visit her family in India and flew back to Hawaii to take the shuttle up home from there. This was back in 2072 and the Governor of Hawaii was trying to annex Niihau, The Forbidden Island, away from the Robinsons. It was too tempting a hunk of underdeveloped real estate for his buddies to snatch and the other islands were bursting at the seams."
"They got the courts to say the original purchase in 1863 was illegal. But public opinion was not with the Governor and he decided to have a bomb set off in the airport and blame it on the 'Niihaun terrorists'. Then there would be no more talk of sympathy for them. He got some Hawaiian State Police to do the deed for him, but the idiot's messed up and set it off prematurely. It still killed eight people, but one of them was the State Policeman in uniform carrying it and his partner lost a leg and spilled the beans to the EMS people trying to save him. He was angry and sure he was going to die with his leg blown off, so he told the story to take the Governor down with him."
"Unfortunately for him, against all odds he survived and was later executed by the Feds for terrorist murder, as was his supervisor. But the damn Governor was never convicted of anything. My mom was one of the eight 'unimportant' people killed. So you maybe understand a little better, why I don't care for politicians of any flavor very much."
"What an awful story. I'm so sorry for you Jeff. I don't know how you and your dad can deal with it."
"Well, one way is my dad went to work with a vengeance - literally - suing the governor for my mom's wrongful death. What they could not prove as a criminal matter, was much easier to pursue as a civil matter. He stripped the man of a big hunk of everything he accumulated all those years as a corrupt politician. He took the civil suit money and the settlement from the airline and the life insurance she had and with all of it we were able to buy a share of the Rock."
"Otherwise he could never have saved enough money to buy in and now here we are again, with some other politicians who will try to steal everything he gained. If we can't keep the Rock maybe we should do what all the nut cases were screaming about a couple years ago and drop the whole thing right on Washington. Just wipe the lot of them out before they hurt anyone else."
"Jeff, you know there would be a lot more innocent people like your mom hurt than politicians. The Rock would probably wipe out the whole eastern part of Virginia and Maryland, not just some politicians."
"I know. Sorry April, I don't seriously mean it." He had closed his eyes and looked tired. "But I don't want us to just curl up and give them what is ours either. If the people down there allow these crooked people to stay in power and they come up here and bother us, then they will have to bear some responsibility for their actions. They can't just elect them and then say, 'We can't help it if they send soldiers and hurt you.' Know what I mean? It's the man, they picked, doing it."
"Yes, I do and if it comes to a choice between them and my people here, I will take my own people just like you would. We can hope they don't force the choice on us. I have to go home Jeff. Are you OK now?"
"Yeah, I have everything I need, thanks April. House, lights down half," he said.
April knelt by the bed, elbows on the edge of the mattress. Jeff opened his eyes again at the motion and rolled his head over to look at her.
"Why did you name me a co-owner?" she wanted to know. "It wasn't anything I expected. We pledged our fortunes to our cause, not each other."
"Right now, I think we three are the cause as near as matters. There's potentially more money there than anyone needs, but you or Heather might need it to keep us free if I'm dead and I think we're all in danger now. My dad taught me your belly only holds so much and to accumulate more than you need is too often just greed. I can never use so much money personally, but I can hope to direct it to worthy things. Anyway, I trust you," he said simply.
"Doesn't your dad have an interest in your company?"
"No, I offered to write it that way and he refused. He laughed and told me he wanted a dollar a quarter to be on my board. So he and our lawyer have been the only other members of our board, with just nominal shares to keep it legal - just a legal formality. We'll expand the board to include Heather and you now too."
April thought about it and felt a depth of gratitude. She gripped his elbow in her right hand leaning forward and started to give him a kiss, but at his look of surprise turned her head and just laid her cheek against his briefly like an awkward embrace instead. He brought his hand down on her shoulders and gave a squeeze and a pat that was somehow dismissive.
"Heather told me how smart you are," he said with an amused smile, when she drew back. "We don't need a more complicated personal life right now. But thank you, I value your affection. Whatever happens, we three are mates in conspiracy and fellows at arms. But if the Earthies ever thought we were a ménage á trois, they'd croak wouldn't they?" he laughed out loud at the idea of shocking the Earthies, since they had gotten so straight laced down below. "Goodnight April."
"Goodnight Jeff," and she levered herself up and slipped out the door.
Chapter 11
The next morning April was quite happy to do normal things. It gave her new insight on how her dad treasured a day off, without the constant intrusion of one crisis after another from his job. She listened to the news again, walking to the gym where she had a private running room reserved. It was Wednesday, October 6, 2083 and she listened to a non-government channel again, although they were still heavily regulated.
The commercial channel had some news about media stars, which was meaningless to her. Someone had leaked a story the outlawed Libertarian Party leader James Tate, native born, but stripped of his citizenship under the Terror and Sedition laws, had been kidnapped by Federal agents in Argentina last summer and smuggled back into the country where he was being held incommunicado.
A couple in California had an electrical break down in their car, near the Nevada state line losing their sat com link. Despite having water they died of the fifty-seven degree heat in the six hours before rescuers were aware they were overdue and reached them. It was the third such tragedy this year so the state was now considering a ban on single vehicle crossings. There were a number of areas now where climate swings made a simple mechanical failure unsurvivable, by extremes of high or low temperature.
A prosecutor in Salt Lake City, announced she intended to pursue a weapons charge against a resident in possession of a pocket knife. It was under the legal blade length by city law, but she said it demonstrated criminal intent, because it was sharp.
A boat load of English drowned, trying to escape to Ireland. Too many, jammed on a boat that wouldn't be safe on a pond. It wasn't the Royal Navy that got them, but bad weather. Even if they made it, Ireland would only send them on to Australia. Ireland had absorbed as many refugees as they were willing.
Business people in Ontario were complaining they were being refused travel permits, more than residents of the original fifty-one states and they could not compete with companies located there under such a handicap. They blamed the problem on the perception all Canadians were Quebec terrorists and security risks. Nothing very exciting unless you lived down there.
The only story which really bothered her was a new pet mod, being offered in Italy. They would alter a single pup, or a litter in vitro, so they never matured. Some people thought puppies were fun, but they had to grow up and be dogs. This pup would grow a few months and stay immature until it died. She didn't even like dogs and still thought it was perverted. No wonder some people opposed to all genetic engineering. How long would it be before some sicko tried the same with people?
It was stuff like this which made people prejudiced to people like her, lumping the responsible and reckless use of the technology all together. She swallowed a couple gel caps at home, which amplified the training effect of the exercise, since she didn't get to run as often as she would have liked. She put her things in a locker. Palming the lock to confirm her reservation to the station computer, she entered a round room, the blank walls not showing a setting yet and picked a desert course to run, setting the terrain on medium difficulty. The walls changed to a barren scene with sunlight so bright the distant hills looked almost white, with tiny dark dots of scrub vegetation among huge rocks. There were Joshua trees so it had to be the Mohave Desert.
She looked to her right and there was a thin, hard looking youth, squatted down on his heels. He had reddish deep bronzed skin and a abbreviated buckskin vest, a breech cloth of a coarse looking wool fabric and moccasins. He had his black hair in neat simple braids and a complex breastplate of bead work hanging from his neck. There was a drawstring bag hanging from his waist band and a delicate sheath with a flint knife. Laid across his knees, under his wrists, was a lance with a flaked stone head firmly bound with translucent sinew to the wooden shaft. Back from the spear head a decorative device of some sort, with a couple long feathers was shaking in the wind.
The illusion broke down a little there because there was a steady breeze from the ventilator and she could hear it, but it was not gusting the way the feathers were moving. She wondered if it was authentic because to her eye the lance looked like it would be more at home on a horse, than for someone on foot. There were no contrails in the sky either, but it was probably supposed to be a historical composition. He looked up at her, made a gesture pointing into the distance and looked a question with his eyes.
"Go." she said and he sprinted away like a startled rabbit. He never looked back and the terrain was hard and flat with little to break it as she got into a rhythm and kept pace with her virtual guide. His footfalls were a soft drumbeat and when they changed timing it warned her quicker than her vision, when he was changing pace or direction. After they had ran the equivalent of a kilo and a half or so, to warm up, the track under her started getting some rocks and ridges to deal with.
She had to watch the obstacles as they approached and dealt with them, but if she looked down where to place her feet, the illusion was broken and the rock she would leap over was just a gray mound sticking up under the rubberized fabric of the belt. For awhile he took a route uphill at a punishing pace and the floor under her tilted and offered the appropriate resistance.
After a short downhill they were on the level again and slowed the pace until the guide came to a halt beside a huge spire of rock sticking out of the Earth. He turned to look back and set the butt of his lance on the ground, then gave a small wave of farewell and dismissal and stepped behind the rock out of sight. It was neater than just having him disappear when the desert ended and the compartment walls came back up. It was a very professional exercise composition.
She had the slightly shaky feeling of having pushed the envelope of her capacity and the walk back home was an extension of her cool down walk at the end. After a shower and fresh clothing, she was ready for a lighter than usual breakfast at the cafeteria.
Back at home, refreshed by her run and the late breakfast, she jumped right in, determined to focus for a few hours and started catching up on three different classes. The lessons ate up a big chunk of morning, until FedEx arrived at her door with the capes she ordered. It seemed like a nice break to stop and look through them. She picked a couple for herself and started a list of suitable people to whom she could make gifts of them.
"She still found her mind going back over the events of the last two days and rethinking things, wondering what else she could do and kind of obsessing about what she might have done. There was one idea she had for the hand laser, but when she got a second one she couldn't resist and text messaged Jeff, using the secure system they gave her. He answered so fast he must be sitting at the com working.
"Jeff, I have a couple ideas I want to run past you on the hand laser," she typed. "Got a minute?"
"Yeah - I'm working right now on a case to hold everything. It'll be run off by a prototype shop tomorrow and we'll get twenty four cases. That's the point where the minimum fee matches the sum of piece cost, if we can't buy a few hundred."
"We don't have innards for twenty-four, right?"
"No we don't and I am kind of leery of ordering a big batch of high powered bare laser modules. Someone might notice and figure out what we are doing. Do you have any way to bring a batch up, without having them ordered and shipped to our address?"
She was about to explain in detail how she would do it and she thought no, it's not how you properly run a conspiracy. I have to learn to break everything into compartments. Besides, no need to try to make herself look clever to Jeff.
"No problem," she assured him. "Just give me the ordering information and I will have them couriered on the Saturday shuttle for you."
"OK. I'm sending it to your screen for you to print."
"Jeff - about the lasers - they need a low power setting for practice shooting. I was also thinking about using them in a suit. Most emergency suits run out of power in two hours and even the hard suits the construction workers wear, they switch power packs when they do their lunch break. I think they are only good for six hours. Could you make a connector somewhere on the laser case, to plug a suit into it and extend the suit time?
"The low power is just software. The plug may take fifteen minutes to add in the drawing, but worth it. It's such a good idea I'll put a bump on the case if necessary. But no more changes on this run. Any other ideas will have to go on the Mark II model. I'm sending this file off to the prototyper today, because she has the time reserved."
"If you want anything else brought up Saturday, call me as early as you can."
"Probably not, I do need to talk about getting chip modules set up at your cubic to make smaller accumulators. Bye, April. Thanks," he said, ending.
Text was not near as comfortable for her as the video conferencing she was used to, but she sure didn't want somebody listening in on such a specific conversation. April looked at the clock and figured in Australian time it was OK to call her grandparent's house. She tried her brother's pad and got no response, not even voice mail and tried her mom and got a screen of her having breakfast on her parent's patio in sunlight, with flowering vines behind her and a white railing. "Hello Dear, are you doing well?" she asked, relaxed and buttering a biscuit.
"Hi Mom. It's been a couple real crazy days and I have some stories to tell you when you guys get back. I was trying to reach Bob and couldn't get through. Is he there with you?"
"Your brother has been swimming almost every day with a neighbor girl. I get the impression he is considered exotic and a little forbidden here and has been enjoying it. I suspect he has quite the little romance going," she confided, doing a dramatic arching of her eyebrows while she slathered jam on a biscuit. A romantic side of Bob would be big news, something none of them had seen. They knew he wasn't gay, they all just figured he was too cheap to date. April guessed her mom was treating it so casually because her grandparents were right there.
"I have one of those projects with Heather where she is making me some things and I wanted Bob to bring a box of parts back on the shuttle. Could you tell him it is coming for me and to bring it along?"
"Certainly dear. Why don't you say good morning to your gramps while you are connected?" Her mom turned the pad around and her grandfather and grandmother were further back in the view than he mother had been. She could see some of the aqua pebbled glass patio table and they leaned toward each other, not sure if they were in the view. Her grandmother looked very much like her mom with white hair and she realized with a start they had not taken any life prolonging treatments yet like her parents had, or they would be looking a lot younger than the last time she saw them. Her grandfather still had a handsome big mustache, which hardly anyone wore nowadays.
"Hello April. What are you up to today?" It was her grandmother who decided to lead the conversation.
"I've been studying and preparing material for three of my classes and I have a project going on with my friend Heather, so I called to ask Bob to run a box back with him for some things we need. He never carries more than one light bag so I'm sure he can just stuff them in it. My Japanese History class has been real interesting lately, but I am starting to think I should have studied the language before I took it. One of my friends, Jeff made me aware there are a lot of things which don't get translated into English and the only other language I have is some German. I have been looking on eBay and The Mad Closet for a few Japanese items. I understand more about them, to appreciate them now."
Her grandfather perked up, interested. "You want some Japanese things?" he asked. "Just a second," and he disappeared. Her grandmother continued. "Where are you in school now April?"
"Grandma, mom explained where she went to school they had set grades, classes of Freshman and Seniors and something else. What was in between?"
"Juniors and Sophomores, dear."
"OK. Well I don't really go to school with study levels, much less get divided up into age groups. I just study here at home on the com and sometimes I may go to a friend's house and we will do lessons together. Sometimes I even study in the cafeteria, if I want people and noise around. It's different than playing music or having a scene on the wall screen. Mom and dad buy me tutoring help when I need it. I'm long past enough credit for graduation from a high school. But getting one to certify me or a GED wouldn't matter much."
"None of the universities have refused me a class for not having one. When I get enough credits for a degree from a university, that it will be worth documenting I think. My Japanese history class for example is conducted by a professor at the University of Kyoto, so I'm doing college level work, but we have students ranging from eight years old to one gentleman who is very old. I can't even guess how old, but somewhere in his nineties or more. He has one of those deeply weathered face grounders get from the sun and wind and it makes it impossible for me to guess."
"Your grandpa has a bit of a weathered face too April."
"Oh no. Not like this man, no comparison. What do you think about Mom and Dad? Can you see how much younger they look since they started the life extension therapies? Have you guys talked about doing it?
Her granddad returned with something in his hands, in time to hear her questions.
"It's not very easy to do down here," he jumped back into the conversation. "The Human Fertility and Embryology Authority here, is modeled after the British HFEA. It regulates rejuvenation therapies also. The health care system views even what parts are legal as an elective procedure, so you have to pay for everything out of your pocket. If we both had it done we would have to spend a big chunk of our retirement money and we would have to go somewhere, maybe Italy, to do it. Spending that much would make it real hard in a few years to make ends meet."
"We might even have to sell the house sooner and go to a townhouse or rental. Something we're really not ready to do. There is another problem too." He looked down and seemed to have trouble saying it. "The attitude here is against life extension. The preachers all say it is defying the life span set out in the Bible and the press and politicians all ask how the working people will support the retirees. So we'd be ostracized by a lot of people for sure." He sighed and paused.
"There were already people rude to your mother the last time she was down here, because they knew she lived on a station. But this time, when she showed up looking younger, we had some real nasty scenes in public. People came up and told her to go home," he was visibly embarrassed.
Her grandma sensed he needed her to talk again.
"I know what you'll say, April. Your mom has been telling us to sell the house and come up to live with you, but we're not ready yet. We really love the garden and being able to walk down to the beach. We would have to live in a really tiny one bedroom apartment if we moved up and it would be really hard for us to adjust."
"I love the house too," April admitted. "But I like having you guys to talk to and see even more. If you both get your treatments started in the next couple years who knows how long you would add? Another sixty? Maybe eighty years? We can assume too they'll learn how to give you even more of an extension during those years. If they keep getting better treatments all the time you might just keep adding extensions indefinitely." It was a mostly unspoken hope people entertained now - a back door into a very long life in small steps.
"You'd feel like doing more too. You'll feel so much better. You could do something again to make money and still be semi-retired. Even Bob could set you up with something to do. He comes up with a new money making scheme every week."
"I understand you aren't ready to come right now. But I would start looking around and get things ready so when you do decide to come you'll know what you want to bring and what you want to leave. Maybe you could have someone rent the house out and keep it for the income instead of selling it."
"An excellent suggestion April." her grandpa said. He seemed surprised at the idea. It must have never occurred to them. "We can investigate it at our leisure and see if it's feasible. I'm sure it would make your mother happy to even see us looking into it."
"Here is what I went to fetch. Do you know what this is?" he asked He rolled the small object around on his fingertips in front of the camera. It was a pale creamy white with colored areas on it. At first it did not make sense, but when he rolled it over it did.
"It's two seated men playing checkers! Is it a netsuke?"
"It certainly is," he said, grinning real big, happy she knew what it was. "Look here are the holes he pointed out with his fingers. But they're playing go, not checkers. It gives you something else to look up and study. I'll send this up to you as a birthday present and something else as a surprise. It's Japanese too. Something my great grandfather passed to me which has become valuable and is starting to be a difficult to keep here. I'll write you a note about why. We were wondering what to get you for your birthday. Now I know this will be something you like."
"Thank you Gramps." It was unlike him to be mysterious about what else he was sending. "The netsuke is really pretty. Love you guys, I have to go do some things. Bye." she signed off with them waving.
She immediately called the Midwest Machine Supply Company address Jeff had given her and spoke with a pleasant lady asking for a sales person. The middle aged fellow who answered looked surprised and then seemed amused as she asked for twenty-four bare GE lasing heads, model number F-1267-B. He smiled and said "Right, who put you up to calling me little gal? Is it one of the other salesmen, or are you one of my daughter's friends? It must be another salesman to have a real part number from old machines. Right?"
April was seething inside, but kept her composure. "Would you connect me back to the receptionist, please?" she asked as nicely as she could force herself to.
"No, I don't think so. I don't mind you playing a gag on me, but I don't want to get in trouble for tying the receptionist up. She doesn't have time for gags," he said, finally getting a little irritated.
"Neither do I." April said and cut him off.
She called the receptionist back and she was still as pleasant as could be.
"The salesman you directed me to was unwilling to accept an order from me. Is there someone else who can take my order?"
The receptionist didn't look the least bit surprised. "There is no other salesperson here this late, but I can connect you to the owner," she offered.
"Thank you, let's try him," April said.
A little older gentleman appeared, dressed noticeably nicer and greeted her. There was no pause before she'd connected him, so April knew the receptionist had not had time to prep this fellow for her.
"Hello. I'd like to give you an order for some parts. The salesman I talked to was not willing to accept an order from me, treating it as a joke because I'm young. So I called back and asked your receptionist if there was anyone else to take the order and she directed me to you. I'd like to place an order for twenty-four GE lasing head units model number F-1267-B," she said.
"I'm sorry about John," he offered. "We don't get many orders phoned in by little girls," he explained. "We only have twenty of the heads also," he said immediately, making it clear he didn't want to really discuss it. "We won't be stocking them again either, so if you want the other four you'll probably have to check the surplus houses. The price I'm giving you reflects that they are a close out. How would you like to pay for the order?"
April was tempted to flame him for calling her a little girl. But if these were the end of their stock she'd probably never have to talk to him again. So she decided to not argue any further.
"I can give you an irrevocable Business Visa, or an immediate bank transfer to your account."
"The transfer is better," he suggested. "I'm putting our account number on your screen he said."
"Here's my delivery address in Australia," she said, putting the info on his screen. "I need those to overnight to Melbourne."
"There is no normal overnight for Australia since the Greens stopped the sub-orbitals last year from North America. We can get it there however by Express to Cuba and they can send it ballistic to Australia."
"Sounds good. Whatever it takes. Add the shipping charges on and as soon as I hang up with you I will wire the money in and you should see it in just a couple minutes in your account."
"OK, here are your numbers. Thanks for using Midwest," he said. But his heart was not in it, April could tell.
She punched the numbers in and watched until it was accepted. It took almost all of the account she used for her cash spending money. Enough she'd have to transfer funds into the depleted account. She called up her stock ticker and sold two positions that were in the green. See wondered if Jeff would have had enough to do it himself. Well, even if the Earthies eventually wondered who needed twenty high powered lasers, she doubted a human would look into the sale before they were shipped.
Having the order taken care of seemed enough of an excuse to talk to Heather again, so she dialed her up conventionally. Heather answered sitting on a sofa. There was a little face peering over her shoulder from behind who must be her young brother.
"Hello, Heather. I wondered if maybe we could get together late Saturday? I'll have Jeff's stuff for him and we can talk about setting up his machines too. I have a couple gifts for you guys also."
"Do you have anything for me?" the boy asked hopefully.
"Maybe," said April, appraising him a little. "Are you any good at make believe?"
"I make Mom believe me all the time,"
They laughed, but it was not cruel laughter so he smiled along with them. "It's a little different, but I'll show you when I come. What's your name?"
"I'm Barak, Heather's brother."
"Here's our address," Heather said. She leaned forward and touched the pad. She must have it loaded to a single hot key, she didn't type. It appeared in a small window and April saved it to her address book. "You are welcome to have a bite with us. Say, 18:00?"
"Okay, Saturday. Bye then," she ended. Barak was waving goodbye as the scene faded out.
She went back to examine the capes and see if one would work for a small boy. There was one which was thin and simple and should do for super hero type fantasy. I might as well start showing these she thought. I'll wear one to lunch, she thought, putting a dark blue one on which complimented her outfit.
The cafeteria was near empty when she went in and Ruby was happy to see her. "Now that's different," she said, looking at the cape. "I can't recall the last time I saw one of those."
"Have you ever worn one?" April asked. "You are so nicely thin I think you'd look good in one."
"You know, I never have, but I bet my husband would look fine in one. He has a sort of fierce, dignified look about him a cape might fit."
April made a mental note to send one to their apartment. No one asked her about it but she noticed several people looking at the cape as she left also, so her campaign was started. Now, what could she wear one with tomorrow?
Chapter 12
Two days later, Saturday October 9, 2083 10:30 April was waiting at the shuttle gate in the non-rotating hub. As a permanent resident she could log out and get past the bearing to meet her mom and brother in zero-G. Being the Director's daughter probably helped too, but she would have been upset if anyone suggested that. Most business greeters and temporary residents had to wait in spin to meet their people. She took off the slippers she was wearing with a light sole and stuck them in her belt. The footies she had on instead of socks had an outer layer of tacky material to grip if you needed to bounce off a surface in zero-G. She pulled on very thin stretch gloves too, knowing her mom would be upset if she didn't wear them. Mom was a clean freak about public surfaces and you had to touch a lot in zero G.
She found a spot to the side and watched the first surge of passengers come out. It tended to be cool here and she had worn her favorite sweats with a scrub top in printed white clouds on blue under it. After a while she realized she was tense, watching for spies and saboteurs instead of relatives. After the flow slowed and she could see across the round chamber, she saw Jon's detective Margaret was tucked behind a stout stand desk near the opposite wall, watching the passengers and working some equipment. She might be a detective, but now April had seen her work as a crime scene tech and a security guard. Jon's people must wear a lot of hats.
Margaret had on the uniform security used for their rare patrol work. Light blue elastic cuffed pants with a dark blue stripe down the sides and a matching pullover top with shoulder patches and collar and cuffed sleeves to match the stripe on the trousers. A dark blue beret held a gold shield on front, that must be pinned to her hair to stay on. What surprised her to see was a Taser holstered where her left elbow could cover it. It was a new policy to have uniformed security armed.
Margaret gave a hello in the helmet-talk, which leaked across from the vacuum rats to the rest of the station. April was pretty good with it because of her grandpa, but she had trouble with it if she wasn't oriented the same as the other person.
April could not cut straight across traffic to her, but did a two bouncer around the perimeter to land beside Margaret and then turned around orienting herself the same way to be polite, holding the edge of the podium beside Margaret. The instrument clamped on top of the podium had an oversize screen, showing about thirty graphic lines drawn like a strip recorder. Each line scrolled off to the left and in a column down the right side a number flickered and changed beside each one.
Margaret smelled of something minty. She must be sucking on a candy. Once the passengers got past Margaret they still had to check in on a taster terminal, which would check their DNA and log them onto the station. Adding a second person to all incoming Earth shuttle flights was a strain on their small security organization. But Jon was not about to allow a weapon, large or small, to get past the hub bearing into the spun up section, where the log in desk was situated, so they had to be screened here.
Trying to keep all these Grounders lined up and moving smoothly to touch the pad, in this zero G environment would have been a circus, so they couldn't move that function here. The first timers were so clumsy and disoriented, the resident little kids occasionally begged their parents to bring them here just to watch for fun.
"Is this the famous sniffer machine?" April asked her.
"Yeah, it does what you do with your nose, Girl." Margaret confirmed. "The other smaller box here watches for biological agents and we have stuff built in the lectern to watch for people who are sick themselves and for radiological threats. We don't even bother to screen for minor weapons like knives, because it's the scan they concentrate on at the other end."
"So Jon finally told you how I knew about the guy's gun," she said a little embarrassed.
Margaret looked up away from the display for a moment and April was uneasy what kind of regard she would be receiving. To her surprise and confusion, it was a frankly warm and affectionate look. She found herself relaxing again somewhat.
"Hey now," Margaret said looking at the screen and then back to her, "much better. You looked like you were waiting for me to slap you alongside the head. You aren't one of those people afraid of anyone in uniform are you?" She had toe straps so she put an arm around April's waist and put enough pressure to keep her feet against the deck.
"No Margaret, the uniform doesn't bother me, but I am a little worried you guys will resent a snotty nosed kid getting you out of bed in the middle of the night and sticking her nose in security business. I really don't want to be known as a tremendous pain in the butt." But Margaret's appraising gaze so close and the easy way her arm went around April gave her a touch of new panic. Perhaps Margaret had more affection for her than was comfortable.
Margaret had her eyes back on the screen. "We have to sit and have lunch together some day and talk. I can't watch this and talk like I would like."
One of the lines on the screen took a rise and the number on the right started rolling up bigger values.
"What's happening?" April asked.
"Alcohol and associated radicals. Big guy there I think," she nodded at a huge fellow in a dark blue suit floating serenely toward them. "Some folks are so scared of flying, the only way they can get on board is to get so numb they don't care if they crash and burn. Oh yeah," she said as he passed close by. "He has such a load of rocket juice, he should have a sign around his neck - NO SPARKS OR OPEN FLAMES." Drunk he might be, but he was obviously used to handling himself in micro-G and floated by smoothly, like a majestic zeppelin with sticky booties on, his Earth style shoes off and visible in a net bag.
"The boss pretty much had to tell us your story, to explain all the changes being made and why we have to do a sniff on every shuttle arriving. Incidentally I am really happy to see you are clean," she said giving her another glance. "Jon told us not to say anything or detain you, if you set the sniffer off, he would talk to you himself."
April felt herself blushing. She hated not having more control over her face.
"Don't worry," Margaret reassured her, "half the staff wants to deputize you and the other half want to see if you would run true in a cloning. I wouldn't be surprised if someone in security starts a fan club and puts a web site up about you." It just made April blush even deeper.
"There are my people," she said, relieved to be able to flee the unaccustomed praise. "Honest," she told Margaret before she left, "I never carry a firearm. I promised someone I wouldn't. You call me for lunch like you said, or even better breakfast. I always like company at breakfast." Then she was unhappy how eager she sounded, remembering the firm hand on her waist and fled embarrassed. Margaret behind her just chalked it up to her age. She had been self conscious as a teenager too.
Her mom and brother were almost to the mouth of the connecting tube, so she jumped, rolled over and landed on the wall next to the tube, then launched herself in the same direction as them when they exited the tube. Her mom passed over some packages to her and her brother launched into some typical big long-winded thing about how the shuttle company could make more money if the seats were arranged different in the shuttle, without even saying hi. It appeared there was only one man behind them.
When they got to the bearing there was an attendant, to help people through into the spin. "Need a hand with the bags Ma'am?" he asked. She declined. "No thanks. I'm used to it." She jumped clean for the handrail rotating around the opposite opening. When she reached it she took it double handed and let it slide through her hands. The acceleration swung her and the bags hanging on her elbows around as she followed the rail gaining speed, until she looped over the rail to the other side and looked back over it at them. Her head was sticking back over the rail, going round and round the opening.
April and Bob jumped together and joined their mom without jostling each other, or losing any packages. They took the elevator outspin a bit, where had enough weight they could walk along. With her mom staying in the lead April appraised the two. He brother had just about caught up with her mom in height. He definitely took after her mom, with more height and a sturdier frame. In the face too, he had the classic shapes. He could be an actor given a face with such character, where she would be satisfied with perhaps cute as a description. He had the darker hair cut short as the boys did now, while their dad favored a little more length, as was in fashion when he was younger.
Security was set up to log visitors in here, where most folks could walk fairly steady. The lock cabinet was open and folded down, to expose the terminal and the dull ceramic tile of a taste pad propped up to be visible. Her mom and brother touched it in passing hardly breaking stride and she touched it again, as she had on the way out to meet them. She nodded at the security man politely as they passed.
The crowd was gone, the corridor almost empty before them. Her mom pressed an antiseptic wipe on her brother, who would never have bothered using one if she wasn't along. If he lived alone he would be one big vector for disease. April had her own to use after touching the pad. The ceramic was silver infused and wouldn't support any culture, but her mom pulled fresh gloves on, she was a clean freak. At least she didn't wear a mask in public like some hard core germ-phobes.
He fell back beside April to talk. "Would you be interested in a courier business with me April? I have a chance to buy the equipment dirt cheap, but I need a partner who will train for it and come in for shares at first instead of salary."
She tried to picture herself running packages through the corridor. Most common packages were delivered off little robotic carts, so a courier only delivered high end stuff, too hot or valuable to let it from a responsible person's sight, like important documents or people's prescriptions. Would they have a little electric cart for heavy stuff? She remembered her depleted account. She'd have to tap her core accounts. Every time she got involved in one of his business ideas they did make money, but he was always totally consumed and got upset if you were not like him. In fact she was surprised he wanted her as a business partner again.
And there was guilt by association to worry about. Housekeeping was still unhappy with him about the mushrooms. They had been cheaper to grow here than lift to orbit, but who knew they'd grow on air filters so efficiently? It had certainly made people pay attention to the replacement interval, when they had been casual about it before. They never seemed to get every last patch, so there were always a few spores in the air now, ready to colonize somewhere.
"What kind of training would I need for this?" she asked. "Also is this one of those things where I can't have a life while we are doing it? I have quite a bit going on with Heather and Jeff right now. So don't expect me to do one of those total immersion kind of start ups."
"No, I know you don't want to be tied up all the time. Neither do I, honestly. If we can both be licensed on the scooter. Then if one of us is tied up with a class or an appointment, the other can take the run."
"Scooter?" she asked." Oh, you mean outside pressure, like the construction guys use to push around girders and stuff? Isn't that kind of dangerous work?"
Bob gave a glance at his mom's back and told April in face talk to shut up, for bringing up danger in earshot of their mom. It was a tongue tip shown briefly plugging the pursed lips, but he showed quite a bit, very emphatically. Face talk had come about when workers who were constantly monitored and recorded working in vacuum, needed to talk privately. It was perfect for having a conversation behind their mother's back.
"Yeah," he responded out loud, "pushing heavy stuff around in a crowded construction volume would be dangerous, but what I am talking about is running light freight between habitats and running deliveries out to job sites. Sometimes they need drugs or medical equipment at another hab, or they have a critical system down in need of parts. There are only about a half dozen people doing it and they charge unbelievable rates. Once in awhile you get to go to private stations or the Chinese habitats, that hardly anyone ever see."
April thought about it. She had always thought the pilots of the shuttles were pretty exotic. She knew she would never be able to fly a shuttle, but this would be fun to go to other habitats, almost as good as being a real shuttle pilot. She had only been once to ISSII, for an orbit to orbit trip, not even overnight and of course there was the money. Bob had stopped selling and was letting her think about it. He knew when to stop pushing and let her talk herself into it.
"It's not just junk? It can really carry enough to make money?"
"It's a four engine, orbit to orbit rated, but needs upgraded avionics first and it has a great big old fashioned carbon fiber pressure cabin, like a bank vault from ambulance service, with side by side seats for crew. It even looks decent, not old and junky." He glanced at his mom again and said real low - "I'm kind of committed already. I had to put a deposit down to hold it and mom and dad will croak if I have to let it go and lose it."
"You don't have to meet any age requirement to be certified?" she asked.
"Nope, - already looked into it. No age requirement and most people can pass the traffic and navigation tests after about 12 weeks of study. I know you. You're smart enough to cram it a lot faster. The scooter has to go through an overhaul and have some equipment added for orbit to orbit anyway. So we both have time to get our tickets. It's a nice enough little scooter, but the companies all want bigger motors to push bigger loads around now. There are still tons of spare parts though, so the repair shop is happy to get a chance to sell some work on them and unload some part inventory which will be obsolete soon. We get a cheap scooter, a cheap rebuild and they are happy to recover some unexpected money. Sound sweet?"
"Okay Bob. You have never got us into anything which didn't make at least some money, so I will do the training and help you, but you have to do the business plan and show mom and dad how it will work, so they OK us using our money for it."
"I can take care of everything else and if you'll just train to pilot, I will be happy to give you thirty percent stake in the company. Sound sweet?" he asked all cheerful.
"Sounds like your usual trying to pull one on your little sister," she said with genuine irritation. What she said in face talk was less polite. He was really getting blatant about taking advantage if she let him. "That will happen when pigs pilot your scooter. I'd want thirty percent to study to fly, with none of my money in it. You're not giving me anything. Be happy I'll give you control, by taking forty-nine percent. Only because I'm sticking you with most of the detail work of actually running it."
"I should demand fifty-fifty, if the money splits the same way. Besides, I've gotten into something with Heather and Jeff, which may give us access to some power systems other people don't have commercially available. It's new stuff and new enough it may make our scooter more profitable to operate than the other companies, if Jeff will OK us using it. I think he'll license it to us if I ask right."
Bob was like a bird dog at point - totally alert. "Can you give me a hint at least, so I can be thinking about how it would integrate with the business plan?" he pleaded.
"Do you swear to keep it to yourself and be totally, carefully secretive, with all your files and writing about it? Send nothing across com and not talk where you might be recorded?"
"It's really big enough to be so concerned?" he asked. At least it seemed possible to him.
"Yeah, it's big. The USNA ran a spy up a couple shuttles back, trying to find the stuff. Then he dropped his disguise early and jumped to an USNA space plane to get away."
"You're just a tease, feeding me little bits and pieces aren't you?" Bob asked.
"Yeah, but it's not to be mean. It's so complicated it would take the rest of the day to explain everything and I have to go see Heather and Jeff at her place tonight about more of it. You're the one who has a head for business, Jeff can make a fusion generator the size of a flashlight, which can pump out about thirty kilowatts."
She just walked along for awhile and let him absorb that huge data dump.
"You've seen an actual working model? It's not just vaporware?"
"Yeah, he also has a storage battery sort of device to level the load, which can handle the output of the generator."
"How much capacity?" he asked in a small voice, which said he believed her.
"The one he showed me was about two million kilowatt hours."
"It changes everything," he said. "The whole economy of small devices has to be rethought."
"I know."
"Don't worry. I'll keep this real quiet. I may tape my mouth shut in case I talk in my sleep. It's going to take some time to even absorb it," he admitted. "I have some stocks I have to dump, before this stuff goes public too."
"When we get home, I'll show you a couple things," she offered. "I don't want to show some of the stuff to anybody else yet." It wasn't far to their door, but he walked the rest of the way thinking silently.
It was the middle of his workday, but their dad was home and waiting to see them. He said hi briefly to Bob, but was really waiting there for a long hug from his wife.
"You're probably starved, right?" he asked her, still hanging on to her.
"Yeah, they do try to make sure you're empty for the flight on the up end. It's stupid if you are an old hand and know if you get sick or not. I'm hungry and all keyed up. Let's go out for lunch. I want to see the place some more and then we can come back and talk," Faye suggested.
"We're going to the cafeteria," her dad announced. And she noticed he didn't invite them. "See you kids later tonight."
Bob dumped his load on the couch and started pawing through it.
"There is a big case coming Gramps sent to you, as soon as baggage is delivered. It couldn't go carry-on, so I checked it. Here are your electronics," he said placing a medium sized box between them. "But I have your netsuke here," he said digging out a smaller box. He handed her a small gift type box with a tucked in flap. She opened it up and found the netsuke was rolled in a large square of silk, like a scarf with hemmed edges. It seemed larger in her hands than it looked in her grandfather's hands.
She rolled it around feeling the smoothness of it. It didn't have the chill feel of metal or even plastic. There was nothing angular or pointed about it, to poke at you. It still had soft warm colors where it had been stained originally, but faded now and a faint yellowish cast from age.
"What did he send me you couldn't just be carry on? He said it was a surprise, but I have no idea what it is."
"I promised I'd let you unpack it without spoiling it. In fact, I am going to set my pad to record you opening it and send it to Gramps," he decided. He went in the kitchen and started making some tea. "Do you want a mug too?" he asked.
"Please," she agreed. And watched him pop a couple sandwiches in to heat also.
"I'm not as starved as mom. I know they make you report early and make food unavailable to keep the mess down from the people who get sick, but I never had any problem getting spacesick, so I stuffed a couple extra breakfast sandwiches in my pockets when we had breakfast in Melbourne. I still had one left when we were ballistic coming into M3 and finished it off in zero-G, being real careful not to lose any crumbs. This guy in a business suit across from us was doing OK until he saw me eating a sausage sandwich and got a whiff of it, so he spent the rest of the way into dock with dry heaves, holding the bag over his mouth. The steward was really pissed at me."
April got the giggles picturing the steward glaring at her brother. Some new people could not force down a sip of water in zero-G. Some would even choke on their own spit. There were not many who could wolf down a greasy sausage sandwich and keep it.
"I was going to show you this in my room, but since Dad took Mom out I'll run it here," she put her pad out on the counter and took out her scanner also.
"Scanner listen as we talk and report with an alarm if you detect any bugs. Report any traffic containing key words Lewis, Lewis and Robert, Lewis and Bob, Lewis and April. End scan instructions. You will probably be needing some things like this," she told Bob. I'll see it gets made for you."
"Who are you? And what have you done with my little sister?" he joked.
She put the video of the spy jumping from the airlock on and sat watching how Bob reacted, rather than the video. He ate and drank tea, but never looked away from the screen until it was done and the lights came back up.
"So figure this guy could have been here to spy about the Rock," April suggested. "You have to factor in your business plans that there might be trouble over it." She didn't reveal more about Jeff's business or their association. Bob wasn't that trustworthy.
"I already was thinking that sis, but thanks for giving me some solid intelligence."
The door chime announced someone was there. Bob spoke up. "Yes who is it?"
"Qantas-AO, baggage for Robert Lewis, please?"
"OK, coming," he said and went to the door. April watched from her seat as he signed with his hanko, which was a legal signature on M3. He held it still against the manifest for a second after touching the print button, to make sure it made a clean holograph and looked at the embossed image when he lifted it.
When the worker was out the door, he brought a long narrow package back to the counter. He worked for a long time opening the end and pulling packing out until he was satisfied and got his pad set it so the cam could record her receiving her grandpa's gift. First he gave her a handwritten note and a manifest, then turned the box around to give her access to the open end.
April took the note and read aloud for the pad. "Dear April, My great grandfather, your great, great, grandfather fought the Japanese in World War Two and during the occupation the Japanese were required to surrender even their household weapons. This was a great humiliation for some families, who held swords for generations. Some were hundreds of years old. Now some Japanese families are tracking down the people holding these swords and suing for their return as stolen art. I feel some, like these, were honestly given as a trophy of surrender. I want to pass them on to you as an inheritance, without a paper trail, before such a challenge has a chance to happen to us. The two weapons are a set and they are usually displayed on a wooden rack, but it was not brought back by my grandfather. They probably didn't give it to him."
"These are of some substantial value, but I hope you will continue to keep them as a family treasure. If you wish to research it, you can easily find a display for them. Be very, very, careful examining them. They are extremely sharp and it is easy to hurt yourself with the slightest touch. I respectfully suggest you don't touch the blade, until you read how to care for them. I hope you are pleased. Your Grandmother and I send our love. Happy birthday granddaughter. Please note the shipping form." April turned to the printed sheet and read. It informed her she was in receipt of one box, twenty-two kilograms, of mixed cutlery.
She reached in and withdrew a long shape in a heavy silk bag, which was covered with colored designs of cranes and wetlands vegetation. It was heavy. There was a faint smell of something - incense perhaps?
Opening the bag she uncovered a handle wrapped in crisscross pattern of leather which had a nappy feel to it, almost like a sheet of fine abrasive paper. It was close to 300mm long. The handle ended in a dark metal guard which was not quite round. It was deeply embossed and pierced with a design, including what looked like gold fish. The fish and other parts of the design appeared to be washed with gold. The scabbard was lacquered, with a hanging ring and a design appeared faintly through the lacquer. The blade was thick along the back only and had a flat faceted look to it with a mottled pattern running through the metal and despite the high polish there was a dark wavy pattern running along the cutting edge. The tip had a sharp angular break up to the point, not a gradual curve. There was a very slight graceful curve to the whole blade.
The blade had some scars – long galled scrapes that surprised her on such a beautiful blade. Then, with an insight that sent chills down her back, she realized those were the marks of having been used against another weapon. It was beautiful but functional, not just a showpiece. The blade itself had to be close to 700mm past the guard. So the whole thing was near a meter long. Stood on end it would come up almost to her armpit. She slide it back closed and left it on the counter.
When she reached in the smaller weapon was wrapped separately in a roll up, with ribbons instead of a bag. When she opened the mat the knife was big, over half the size of the big one, but proportioned much better to her size. There was a bundle of letters with the smaller one.
April looked up at the cam. "Thank you Grandpa. I will read about these and learn how to handle them carefully and preserve them unharmed. I appreciate being trusted with a family treasure. I am very pleased with them and the lovely netsuke also. They're incredibly beautiful. Thank you."
Bob, with his usual good timing, reached and ended the recording.
"Thanks for bringing these Bob," April said. "I'm worried though. Are you feeling slighted? Did they give you anything or just send you back empty handed?"
Bob got a big grin. "I'll show you," he said and disappeared in his room for a moment. When he came out he sat across from April again and said, "What do you think?"
He had changed his earrings in his room and had on a new pair she had never seen. They were fabulous. Each had a single huge emerald, with a large triangular diamond above, with the post behind the top point of the diamond set in yellow gold.
"Are those real stones?" She asked in awe.
"You better believe it. They are natural stones, with certificates for each stone. They were Grandma's, but she said something this gaudy is for young people. Do you know how lucky we are, to have grandparents who don't just automatically give the girl jewelry and the boy weapons? I didn't tell them those swords give me the creepy chills. I can just see myself cutting my fingers off with those things. I don't even cut my sandwich in two in the kitchen."
April felt good. This was how she and her brother had been together, before they started being competitive and not trusting each other. But being with him wore her down now, being on guard and she was ready to stop while they were on a positive note and go off to her room where she could relax again, so she wrapped it up.
"Thanks Bob, leave me a report on my com about what classes I have to take for the scooter pilot's license, Okay?" She gathered the swords up to carry to her room. "It's nice having you guys back, but I wish some of us were down at gramps' place, when this Rock thing goes to trial. I am scared it's going to be dangerous here for awhile."
"Why would it be dangerous here April?" he asked, face screwed up all quizzical. If they want to take the Rock - well - there it is," he made a vague gesture toward it, that probably wasn't even the right direction. "I doubt we could stop them. Why mess with us, when they can land on it and take it with no problem?"
She explained Margaret's reasoning, that a commander would never expose her troops to such a nearby force without securing it.
"It makes sense when you say it, but I would have never thought of it without you telling me."
Chapter 13
April went in her room and laid the swords on the bed. She looked around the room. The only place open was against the wall, in the space between the com desk and the closet. It would be in front of her mirror, but it was the only bit of wall without something against it. It was a shame to fill it, because it felt less cluttered with some open space. She switched them over to the space to see if they would fit, laying them on the carpet. No time like the present she thought and went online to found some places selling martial arts equipment, for a rack to display the blades. Some racks were ornate. Some were downright tasteless, with gaudy decorations. She couldn't believe a gilded red rack carved with dragons. Who bought this crap? She found a black lacquered frame which was elegantly simple, rounded and smooth, a match for the scabbards and ordered it.
Reading the directions her grandfather had provided she realized how easy it would be to mar the polish or stain the blade with a finger print left and ignored. Examining the sheet which detailed the surrender, it was clear the owner had specifically surrendered them to her ancestor, rather than to some other person for whom they had no respect. There was a little wooden tag, or maybe bamboo, with a cord through a hole in it and Japanese characters brushed on, which detailed the rank and name of the person surrendering the weapons.
It just affirmed to her their possession was legitimate, when the owner chose the recipient so carefully. Even the family emblem was not defaced, which her grandpa's letter said was unusual, as they had often done such vandalism to cover the shame of surrender.
Acting on a hunch she called Jon's published office number and asked the receptionist if Jon could take a social call. In a few moments his face appeared and he looked relatively relaxed.
"A social call is it now? Are you off today, from fighting the forces of evil?" he asked with a big grin.
"I'm sorry," April said. "I was trying to reach Jon's Sanitary Services and I somehow got the wrong address"
"Well we are not shoveling much shit today, so I have my other hat on. What did you need? Should I put on my escort service hat and be your bodyguard for dinner?" he asked, shuffling invisible hats with his hands, "or something else?"
"Do you have a hat for the martial arts?" The mention of dinner unnerved her, because she could see John as an ally, but wasn't sure if she could deal with him socially. So she ignored that. "I saw your interchange with Jeff and wondered if you could tell me about a few things."
"I'm not really qualified as an instructor, nobody I know up here is, but there are a few of us who work out together and he honored me by calling me teacher, because I shared what I could with him as he had no formal instruction. It's nothing I could ask him to do. Are you interested in learning?" Jon asked.
"Maybe, beside the unarmed skills, do you know anything about weapons?"
"A little. A few people have practice weapons. What sort do you have in mind?"
"Let me show you." She got the long sword and returned to the console and instructed it to go wide angle on the cam. She drew the blade and it was too heavy to hold horizontal, so she rested the back of the blade on her left forearm on the fabric. She could not see any reaction from Jon, which was sort of a reaction in itself with him.
"That's not a practice weapon," he stated flatly. "Not even a reproduction is it?" he asked.
"No and I have the shorter one it matches also."
"Could you show me it also, please?"
She put away the long one and drew the shorter version.
"They're beautiful. Could you roll the blade to let the light play on it?" he asked.
She rolled the blade on its back for him.
"There are museums that would kill for those, do you understand?"
"You're welcome to see them yourself Jon," she offered. "They're what moved me to ask for help. I wondered if you could teach me the basics of handling them, without hurting myself and looking foolish."
"I think we can arrange something. The discipline Jeff and I study usually uses a little different sword, which is straight and sharpened down the back edge a little bit, but I don't see why you couldn't do the same exercises with what you have. I would start with the small sword, because the other will be too much for you until you have some stamina. You really need the unarmed skill as a base first though. Would you like to join us Wednesday in the gym, at 19:00?"
"Yes, Thanks Jon. I'll see you there."
In the living room she was happy to find her mom relaxed on the couch, with some quiet music playing and had a friendly chat about her visit with her parents and Australia. She got a good sense how the political situation was, from her mother's tale of stares and rude remarks in public places. It seemed she had gained some merit with her mom, because her grandparents agreed to investigate a move to live with them. Apparently it was the first crack in a solid wall of resistance.
Bringing up the idea the government might try to take the family investment away or act in any way against the station, ran into a wall of disbelief as solid as her grandparent's objections to leaving their home. Her mom felt sure if they took the Rock, the very least they would have to do would be to reimburse the funds spent to bring it into orbit. So at worst it would be a lost opportunity, but not "money down the drain. She suspected her mom was a little naive about political things.
It was quite a load by the time she gathered up her box of laser heads, a few capes and her pad and scanner to go to Heather's. It seemed like she had something to carry now every time she went out.
* * *
She followed Heather's directions to E Ring - Deck 3 – Door Seventeen. April thought she had been on every corridor in the station, but if she had been up here she could not remember when. She positively had never been in Heather's home before. She didn't know if she hadn't been asked because it was a privacy thing, or if Heather was embarrassed about it. E Level was the innermost residence ring, only about a half G. It was definitely not the high rent district. It was even less desirable than the Singh home. A little roughness was expected, but the corridor turned out to be hard floor instead of carpet. Well not hard, more like rubber mats. There was a mix of strong odors in the air and not all of them were pleasant. There were still sound deadener panels on the walls but no decoration and it was noisy when the electric freight carts went by.
By the time she got to their door three had gone by, the last with a driver actually towing a trailer, with cartons stacked on it under elastic netting. This appeared to be more an industrial area than residential. She resolved no matter how rough it was, she would show not outward sign of disapproval.
The door looked pretty industrial also, double-wide opening down the middle. It was painted black metal with a flat screen at eye level. On it three options were presented. To the left of each line of text was a rectangular button icon which said PUSH. The first said, "Push - and announce yourself." The second said, "Push - for Grand Entry." The third said, "Push - Constables, Collectors and Officials."
What the heck. April thought and punched the icon for "Grand Entry" bracing herself for a siren, or a really load buzzer.
The screen dropped the menu and a scene appeared of a stone hallway with men on each side, in some sort of archaic uniform. There was a man standing with his back to her, so his head and shoulders filled most of the screen. There was the murmur of a crowd from beyond him. He seemed to become aware of April and turned to look in her eyes. How the program did it she didn't know. It was pretty slick. The image seemed to actually stare right in her eyes.
The face was an older dignified gentleman and his white hair was elaborately curled and shaped with ribbons on the back gathered part. She didn't recognize it as a wig. His long coat was even more elaborate and threaded with more embroidery and gold buttons than the men who lined along the wall. He inquired of her, "May I have the pleasure of announcing you, my Lady?" Addressing her correctly meant the door had to have facial recognition software, which could determine her gender. That was difficult to do at her age. It was the sort of AI screening program she found really irritating when calling someone's pad. But it was sort of amusing here.
"Yes, please announce April Lewis," she requested.
The figure turned and walked to doorway behind and made a motion with his left hand. The three uniformed figures on each side whipped up a huge long straight horn and blew a short but alarming flourish. One started and after a few notes each in turn would start up until they were all blowing the same urgent fanfare.
It sounded a lot like something April had heard before a horse race onetime on vid. The fellow had a huge staff with ornamentation in his right hand. He raised and cracked on the stone floor twice. It was like a gunshot, with an echo from the huge room beyond him. The rumble of sound from beyond him immediately dropped off.
"Gentle people, it is my pleasure to present the Honorable April Lewis." He turned and cleared the way to the door and stood in a shallow bow for her.
Heather yanked the door open with a smile on her face.
"Mom always likes it when someone picks the Grand Entry. Come on in."
The entry was similar to hers at home, but bigger. It had a cabinet which had to be for pressure suits and it undoubtedly it was an airlock also. There was the same covered control panel in the wall. However it was L shaped instead of straight through. When you looked straight in, the end wall was a clear panel covering a sculptured glass slab. The light was deliberately dim on this side to make the panel backlit. The glass had various textures of frost and sandblast and areas which seemed hand worked in parallel or cross hashed scratches from diamond tools. The subject was a life size Great Blue Heron, standing beside reeds in shallow water.
The more she looked the more detail came out to her eye. A dragonfly hovered over the reeds and a frog at their roots. In the opposite corner from the reeds a Willow branch dipped toward the bird. The details extended under the surface of the water as well. The carving was not painted in, but it had a subtle hint of color. When she looked closely she could see there were fine lines of color along the edge of the recessed area, which seemed to play off the contours behind them. Heather stood quietly letting her thoroughly inspect it, without rushing her. It would take hours to absorb it all.
"Mom does nice work doesn't she?" Heather asked.
"I have never seen anything this stunning, unless it was in a museum or an art institute. It's just beautiful."
"She's working on another panel right now. Come on and let her show you."
The space they stepped into was almost as big as the cubic the Lewis family occupied. The main room had an open center length of about 20 meters. After they had partitioned off an apartment for her grandpa, the Lewis cubic didn't have any open space left as big. It was not only low G, but also the ceiling was low all along one side, being in the inner surface of the torus shape of the station segment.
The space was very thoughtfully used. April could see through an open door where the low ceiling area was used for beds and there was a work bench and com console in the low space where she could see Jeff working with his back to them. Further down there was even an area where she could see plants and flowers growing behind a sheet of plastic film, where the space was only waist high. There were lots of other plants scattered about the room.
They probably ran a surplus on their air bill with all the greenery. Compared to her family's apartment it was really cluttered, but it worked for them. The noise and harsh smells in the hallway didn't intrude at all. There was a rich smell of slow cooking and there was a low background noise of soft jazz, with an occasional riff of a solo horn which drew your attention back when you started to forget it was there. April found the whole place very comfortable and domestic, not industrial as she had feared.
Heather's mom was working at a rolling table with a large flat screen and a professional video camera on a powered tripod. There was large Oriental rug beyond her with no furniture, but a background screen with a fruited olive branch hanging down printed on it. April had never seen such an impressive, real, Oriental rug. It was about four by six meters. She didn't notice Barak, Heather's little brother sitting at his mom's feet, until he turned his head to look over his shoulder and smiled at her.
"OK Barak. On the mark again, please." She looked over at April and smiled. "I'm Sylvia, April. One more shot here and I think we'll have it wrapped and we can talk."
Barak went out on the rug and put his right foot forward on a piece of tape on the floor.
"Now go down and go through a practice motion to get the feel. Then we'll want you to actually leave the floor." Sylvia commanded. You want the olive. You are happy. Maybe even a little goofy and your eyes are pointing past your hand as you reach. When the background is added in your eyes will be on the olive, like it is above you not behind on the screen. Try it."
Barak uncoiled and stretched with his hand above him, but stopped on tiptoe and came back down.
"Looks good, now go ahead on my call and actually leave the deck enough to get your foot stretched out behind you."
Barak crouched down and his mom said, "OK – now," keying the camera and a green light lit on top of it. He uncoiled deceptively slow in the half G, but gracefully left the ground and trailed his foot behind him extended. His hand reached up ready to grasp
"Per-fect," Sylvia said slowly. She hit a few keys showing the motion even slower than life, although it already had a floating quality in half G. She tapped a key three times, as he reached full extension on the screen. The three frozen screens displayed and she thoughtfully picked one and brought it to a full size. The branch and olives looked to be overhead in the image, but she surrounded them with a sweep of the cursor and moved them to the right a little and stopped looking at it.
"It needs to be a little more elusive Mom," Heather offered. "It looks too easy right now. You want the sense it is going to be barely within his reach to get his finger tips on them."
"You're right," Sylvia agreed and shifted the branch back a little higher, Then she drew a line through Barak's image from reaching hand to trailing foot and told the computer by voice,
"Elongate on this axis two percent." She considered the image a moment and said, "Again, another one percent."
"Why did you do that?" Barak asked from beside his Mom.
"Because someone's too fat," she said, pinching a generous fold of skin beside his belly button securely between finger and thumb, while his attention was on the screen. He jumped back a lot harder than he had on camera with an indignant squeal.
"It's a wrap." She admitted. "You can go shower to get the makeup off and we'll have supper."
He took off without having to be told twice, still holding his hand protectively over the ticklish spot.
"So will this be a big carved glass panel, like the Heron in the entryway?" April wondered.
"Yes, there's a Lebanese gentleman who is getting six panels like this, which will be around his dining room with back lighting. Supposedly this one is celebrating his carefree youth. Knowing what Lebanon was like when he was growing up, I'm pretty sure it is pure fantasy, but he's the one paying for it," she said with a big smile.
"How in the world do you sell something like this?" April asked.
"If you mean - How do you let go of it after pouring all your heart into it? It isn't easy some times. If you mean - How do you market it? Most of them are done on a commission. Usually by word of mouth. The Lebanese fellow buying these came to us because he had been the guest of a Saudi Prince, who had twelve panels in his bedrooms celebrating his devotion to his wives." Her eye rolling expression and emphasis on devotion made clear they were probably pretty risqué.
"The Saudi actually came up and visited, to see some of my work before he commissioned me and we had him to supper just like we're having you tonight. He made it quite clear there was room for a few more panels, if Heather wanted to go back home with him, but she missed her big chance." Heather was blushing and said indignantly; "This was two years ago! So I was only a year older than April is and the old goat was all smiley with me and ready to add me to his harem just as casually as if he was buying another panel. It wouldn't have bugged me so much," she told April, "but my mom thought it was hilarious."
"In a few years you'll look back on it from my age and realize how much it bugged me, that if he was in the market he didn't even consider me while you were in the room. It wasn't exactly a big ego builder. He may be a real old pervert from our cultural view, but base line is everybody likes to be considered attractive, no matter what the cultural perspective. So you have to at least give him credit for finding you "delightful". Beats him asking politely what happened to the kid's face and can they fix it?"
"You mean he bought a shuttle ticket, basically just to come shopping here?" April asked. She was thinking what kind of money was casually implied. A subject change was good too, to get Heather away from her indignation.
"Oh, this fellow doesn't have to buy a ticket. He has a four seat Scaled Composites LiteLifter and a pilot, but he can sit the right seat himself. Since he was up anyway, he went over to New Las Vegas for a few days when he left here. He is the sort of fellow who could lose or make as much gambling as he spent on the panels and it wouldn't mean anything to him. Don't worry, we made sure he paid enough."
April was impressed. There were perhaps two hundred private pleasure craft, which could make orbit or do ballistic flights to other points on Earth. It took serious money and connections to own one.
"But let's get some supper and then I understand you want to see something Jeff is working on. Heather, why don't you two get some tomatoes and send Jeff to set the table?"
Heather lead April past Jeff and sent him on a mission to the kitchen. It was hard not to stop and look at their project on the bench, but Heather kept right on walking to the area set behind clear plastic film, where the ceiling curved down toward the floor. April dumped her box of laser heads on the bench and hurried after her. She peeled back a section of film and touched a corner to a tacky spot which held it.
April could see some of the plants were in individual bags. In fact some individual big tomatoes were sitting on some sort of gauze cushions. She spread a zip seal seam running up the side of the nearest and reached inside to take a couple huge beefsteak tomatoes off the vine. April would have expected her to cut them off, but she pulled them off with a twisting, rocking motion. and they readily separated
"We bag some of them, because they are gene mod to respond well to a high CO2 atmosphere. See the little plastic tubes going in the corner of the sack? It keeps a steady slow flow of fresh gas and the outgoing gas has the ethylene and some other things removed. The little grow lights above each plant ramp up during the night, when our regular lights are off. They make a night light too."
She handed a couple of the fruit to April and got a couple more before sealing the bag and curtain back shut. She led the way back to the kitchen and April saw Jeff was efficiently setting the table. He seemed at home and knew where everything was. That gave her the impression he must spend a great deal of time here.
Heather washed the tomatoes explaining what she was doing and April suddenly realized she was being instructed. She might be set to work on another visit, doing this task just as Jeff was setting the table. Rather than making her feel less than company, she was surprised to find it make her feel accepted. Heather pulled a long chef's knife from a rack and sliced the tomatoes with easy single strokes. The way the edge passed through the skin with no indentation or hesitation, made it obvious the edge was very sharp.
The tomatoes were such a deep dark red they almost had a purple tone. Heather put them on individual serving plates as she cut and then misted them from a container of olive oil. This led to a deep discussion of the merits of various grades of oil, which continued on even as she ground fresh pepper onto the oiled slices. The final touch was a dollop of fresh soft cheese sprinkled with herbs, on the center of each slice. They both carried the platters to the table.
Everything came together with good timing, as Sylvia set a big bowl of lightly oiled spaghetti and a bowl of sauce on the table. Barak had rejoined them now and was putting butter and some small loaves of bread on each end of the table. It was the biggest private kitchen table April had seen on M3. Her home with her parents was considered large, but their table was full up at four and really cramped to force six. Most folks had a fold down, like they had used at Jeff's place, which went back up out of the way when it wasn't needed.
This table look like it could seat eight very comfortably and it had a seam running through it the short dimension, which she suspected would allow an extra section to be inserted. It was nearly as big as the table she remembered in the Holiday Inn. The napkins Jeff was putting out were cloth and the utensils have an odd mellow glow to them.
"What kind of metal are these?" She asked, picking up a fork and examining it. It was heavier than she expected, even in the half G.
"It's silverware April," Heather explained. "It really is actual sterling silver, instead of stainless steel like most are."
Sylvia sat without any announcement. She caught April's eye and patted the table at her left, to indicate April should sit there and Barak sat next down the table from her. Heather sat across with Jeff beside, opposite Barak. Sylvia started putting pasta on deep plates and sending them around the table. April was surprised it was bare.
When her mom made pasta she mixed the sauce in the common bowl, but Sylvia sent the bowl of sauce around, for each of them to put on their dish. It was totally unfamiliar looking. Not red like she expected, but creamy. She copied Heather in how much she took, but when she was passed a small bowl of grated cheese it seemed terribly pungent to her and she just put a small spoonful to one edge of the dish, where she could avoid it if she didn't like it.
Another dish came around with olives which were a glossy brown with wrinkles, unlike the black or green ones she was used to. She put several beside her tomato as Heather did. She noticed Jeff make a full ring of them around his slice. Sylvia poured a dark wine into a plain glass from a carafe, for herself and Heather, but she saw Barak had a glass of some pale juice and Jeff had a plain glass of ice water.
"Do you care to try some wine with dinner April?" Sylvia asked.
Earthside that was far too dangerous a thing to offer a minor, even within one's family. Neighborhood Defenders might pry the secret out younger siblings, or a random test at school might reveal the alcohol use the next day.
"When my folks served wine I haven't cared for it." She admitted. "It's usually too sour for me. I'll try just a tiny taste if you would. Don't waste too much on me."
Sylvia smiled. "Never sour, or we throw the bottle out for having gone to vinegar. The word you are looking for is too dry. She splashed just a little in a glass and offering it said, "See what you think."
April took a sip, but it made her pucker. "Sorry," she said, "too strong for me."
"Now try something else," Sylvia suggested. "Take a few bites of your pasta," she said, spinning a ball of it on the end of her fork with a few casual twists held against her spoon and popped it in her mouth.
April just stared in dismay. She had been about to start cutting her spaghetti into manageable lengths so she could eat it with a spoon or fork. She suspected that would make her look like a little kid here. "Do it again." She asked. "I've never seen anyone do anything but cut it up."
Barak spoke up on her left. Obviously happy he knew something an older person didn't. "Like this," he said deftly catching a few strands against the spoon and with a few twists of the fork had a neat little ball which he stuck in his mouth, all pleased with himself.
April tried the same, self-conscious with everyone staring at her. The method worked well enough, but she had started with too many strands and had about three times as much on her fork as the others. Jeff made a loud comment, "Whoa - delicate little appetite."
Everyone else joined in, hooting and laughing at her first try. She defiantly stuffed the whole thing in her mouth making a face at him. They patiently waited while she was chewing away on the massive bite. Finally she got it clear without choking to death and said, "What's wrong anyway? Aren't I dainty enough for you?" He was wiping tears away laughing so she did another bite, everyone still staring at her and managed to do better, if still on the big side. Jeff just started clapping and they all joined in applauding her initiation.
"This is fantastic stuff!" she exclaimed. "What in the world is in it?" The embarrassment had taken her attention, but on the second bite she started to pay attention to the food and it was shockingly rich and full of flavors she did not recognize. While she got a third bite spun up Sylvia explained.
"It's very simple really. A cream sauce with crushed pistachios and pine nuts and a little hint of garlic and fresh herbs from the garden." April took the new forkful from the spot with the cheese. "That's amazing!" she said. "How can anything so stinky taste so good?" She immediately realized it couldn't be very diplomatic and apologized. "I'm sorry. It's rude to say something so unappreciative when I'm your guest."
No, no it's really OK," Sylvia said. And her smile said she meant it. "You wouldn't want to sit and eat the Romano with a spoon. It's way too strong a flavor. But now, see how the wine is the same way. You have the sauce flavor in your mouth now, so just take a sip of the wine and see if it isn't easier to take than before."
April was willing to believe, after the other revelations so she took a sip. "You're right. It tastes much sweeter now and the contrast is really good. It makes me want to go back and get the taste of the sauce again."
"Exactly. You say it 'cleanses the palate'. Otherwise the taste of the sauce gets a bit old, before you can work your way through a whole plate."
Jeff tore one of the small round loaves apart and passed the butter to her. She spread it generously. She knew for sure it was one thing she really liked. The crust was thick and chewy. She applied herself with a will and was doing fine, until she popped one of the olives into her mouth and bit into it with enthusiasm.
Her teeth bore down on an unexpected hardness and she made an involuntary "Umm!" It made them all look at her. "Sorry, there's something hard in it," she protested. Sure she was in the right this time. They roared with laughter all over again and she asked, "You mean I've done it again? There's supposed to be something hard in it?"
"Honest April," Heather said, obviously trying to be conciliatory, "we're not trying to make fun of you. Not in a mean way anyway. It's all new to you and we are so used to it we didn't think to tell you. It's just a pit. It's the seed in the olive, like a peach or plum. It's just they don't always remove them, like the ones you get in a salad at the cafeteria, or in the green ones where they stuff pimento in the hole."
"You know, I remember now about olive pits, but the theory and practice are different, when you are not used to them being there. Are there any other surprises lurking for me?"
"Watch out for the pepper!" Barak warned. "It'll make you sneeze like crazy if you get a sniff!"
"OK," she said. "Carefully now. The tomato is the only thing I haven't tried. If I can get past it I think I'm safe."
She made a show of cautiously taking a bite, with everyone watching her again. "Oh, that is good. But I have to tell you, I've had good tomatoes before. When we went down to Australia to visit my grandparents we'd walk down the road a bit and buy them from a stand a neighbor kept. He grew them right out in the open, in his back yard. But we never get them this good in the cafeteria."
"April, most of us who grew up Dirtside miss much more than tomatoes. Believe it or not, a great deal of what we get here is not up to snuff, if you have ever really had the very best quality. Apples and grapes for examples are pretty good, but there is still nothing like a peach or a nectarine, that was ripened on the tree. But most places it means you only have about a two-week span each year, where they are available locally. If you like, some time we'll show you how to raise tomatoes."
"Sylvia you're really generous, but we three are working on so much, my brother has me training to get a scooter license and I have classes going on in several subjects. Maybe after things settle down a bit, but right now I can't add another project."
"Then you'll have to come visit in the future," she offered, "and get an occasional treat until you have the time."
"I certainly won't have to be begged" April considered what she had just eaten. It might not be a good idea to rush back to the full G level carrying this load.
"You three go ahead," Sylvia offered. "I know you want to see what Jeff is making. Barak and I can clean up the table."
"I want to see what he's made too," Barak protested.
"Then you'd better get cracking and clean the table off before they're all done," his mom replied smartly.
Chapter 14
Jeff led them back to the bench where a gray casing lay open, with the two halves hinged apart and the inner workings visible. April recognized one of Jeff's power storage units behind some of the components and she was pretty sure some of the parts were optical devices, but the most obvious thing, was there was a large hole unfilled in the one half. Jeff opened the package she had brought and took one of the laser heads out of a protective foam box. It was wrapped in a static free bag.
"This is a hoot," he said smiling. "They put this in protective packaging, but they are made to survive in terrible industrial environments. They use them to slit steel plate right down on the rolling mills, with yellow hot steel rolling by a couple centimeters away. Even worse they use them in mining, to shatter the ore, just ahead of big diamond gouges which are chewing away the hard rock face and vibrating like crazy for hour after hour. The contacts on the pumping diodes are about 6mm square, so I don't think a little static discharge is going to hurt one of these babies. These are not the latest and greatest, they are the previous generation of Europium doped technology, but they are really rugged and the crystals are big enough so if you do damage one, you can crack it open and shift the pumping diodes over and get a fresh area which will work just as well. Now the new ones have a crystal about a sixth the size, but they over heat easier and once they are damaged it's final. They are just old enough now that they are only sold as service parts and the price has come way down."
April thought to herself they were dear enough, when she remembered the chunk of cash they required, but said nothing.
Jeff carefully put a single drop of thick optical matching fluid on the front lens and lowered the unit into the void. It fitted exactly into a cradle molded in the case. The lens fit flush against the optics already installed with an O-ring seal and the mounting holes lines up from case to module perfectly. Four small screws were enough to hold it.
The more difficult job was the electrical connections. Jeff put a thin foil washer of low melting point alloy, between the beefy cable termination from his power unit and the bus sticking out of the laser. A stubby bolt held the sandwich together. After ratcheting down the bolt with a tiny torque wrench, he marked the connection with a temperature indicating crayon and applied a microtorch until the mark turned dark.
"There, that isn't just a solder. It is a binary glass foil. The first alloy dissolved the face of both conductors when it melted, but it had another alloy mechanically mixed that will turn it back solid by diffusion. It's one piece now with a thin band of a little different composition where it joined," he explained.
Lastly he folded the case closed and a single recessed screw held it shut. Jeff sat the weapon pointed into a hole in the face of a graphite cube, about 250 mm on an edge. "Whenever you use this you should always wear a pair of these spex," Jeff told them. He handed them conventional looking VR and audio glasses. "They don't look different, but they have a layer on the lenses, which will protect you from back scatter and stray specular reflections. Even a p-suit faceplate may not darken fast enough to be safe and of course you have to avoid specular reflections elsewhere on the body." He plugged a data fiber in his pad and slipped his own spex on. "I'm going to test the lower range of power and see how much it draws, then you can slave it to your specs. He got up and pulled a curtain across, which closed the work area off from the rest of the apartment.
His pad showed a graph with 5-kilowatt intervals along one edge. When he keyed in a command it showed an amperage and wattage datum point over the 5-kilowatt line, although there was no noise or anything to indicate it was on. After a second it switched to the 10-kilowatt level and displayed a new point at a higher draw. April could smell a hot dry smell now. After another second it switched to the third power level and April could feel heat radiating from the graphite slightly on her face and arms.
When it switched lastly to the 20-kilowatt level, she could see the rear of the black cube starting to glow with a dull red color. Jeff's pad connected the data points with a rising line, which fell off the straight slightly, as it rose from left to right. It extrapolated the curve out to the limits of the power cell.
"I can be happy with those numbers," Jeff allowed. It starts at 96% efficiency and drops off to about 93% at the maximum output. It means it won't overheat so fast you can't hang onto it, after firing it.
He disconnected the data line and picked up the laser. "See, you have a belt clip on this side." He demonstrated and clipped it on his own waist. "If you pull it off with your left hand you squeeze a pressure pad on both faces and it causes a grip to deploy." He pulled it off, but turned it over so they could see the pistol grip swivel out very fast, but in the last centimeter or so, it slowed down and locked open without a sound. "I kind of borrowed that design off a vid camera I own," he admitted.
"You would normally run it through your spex, but if you need it, a little screen will pop up on the back. He transferred it to his right hand taking the grip and squeezed each side of the rear and the rear folded up like a flap in the back, doubling the rear area and lighting up with a camera view. "I used a flexible screen so there's no line across your view at the hinge. Whether you use the on board screen, or send it to your spex, it can zoom from a wide-angle view, which covers a 60 degree angle, up to a 20x magnification."
"But when it gets to about 10x, there are six little gyroscopic camera stabilizers which kick in to keep it from shaking. If you want to move it without fighting them, just take your finger completely off the trigger and it will let you move it freely until you touch again."
He carried the hot cube on the white insulating board April hadn't noticed and walked it down to the end of the work area. He pointed the weapon at the distant target and called up the routine to adjust the sights to the point it heated. When he fired, it heated a small spot and the cross hairs adjusted minutely to that aim point.
He handed it to April. "Why don't you slave it to your spex and teach it your voice." She was used to doing that with all sorts of devices and did it in seconds.
"OK April, pull down your menu on the left corner on your specs and select power level, then select low/target/pulse." She did it almost as fast as he said it and nodded.
"Pull down the menu and select preferences/trigger pressure."
"OK." she said.
"When you squeeze it will flash a bracket around the center of the screen. It's not supposed to pulse in trigger setting mode, but just to be safe this first time, point it at the bench top here anyway."
She squeezed and saw a circle flash on her spex. "It's way too hard to pull now," April informed him.
He held his hand above the bench top and then touched tentatively, to make sure he had not missed any emission. It was dead cold. "It's set at a kilopond right now so change the 1.00 in the box to whatever you think would be easy enough."
April back spaced the numbers and entered .50. She pointed it down carefully at the bench again and triggered it. She thought about it a bit and set it down again. "It feels good now," she told Jeff. "Four tenths of a kilopond."
"That's awfully light April, That's less than a Newton, but you can practice with it and suit yourself. Commercial guns run three or four times as much."
Jeff took it back briefly and demonstrated closing the handle back into the case and how to hold it to clip on a belt without opening it. The pressure sensitive decals were on the left back corners so it could be held on the right rear without opening. April accepted it back and clipped it on.
"I'll make up two more, for you to use or assign as you want and then later a couple for Heather and I. We won't have many more to give out until we can set up my nanoboxes, to make some smaller power cells. You said your family has some dockage in zero G. Do you think you can you can get me in there, where I can get some access to vacuum also? I need zero G, vacuum, net access for them to report to me, if they are done or lock up in mid-process and a little bit of power. But we can set one of my generators up for power if you don't have a place to plug in."
"How big are the boxes?" April wanted to know.
Jeff showed her a stack of a half dozen stainless boxes, about the size of a small microwave oven, while Heather drew the curtain back and clipped it down.
"It shouldn't be hard to fit those out of the way. Let's call my grandpa and see what he says. I want you to talk to him anyway. Can you check out the scooter he's working on with Bob and see what one of your power devices would do to improve it? Having the scooter might prove important if things get really bad with the USNA. We would expect to pay for it. It's used for business after all."
"Of course," Jeff said. "We'll talk about it when you get us together. I assume then, your Grandpa wouldn't be shocked at our politics, or our attitude about staying off the dirt ball?
"No, I never had the slightest doubt he wouldn't sacrifice anything to keep us on M3. That's been his whole life bringing our family to the station and making sure we have the assets to prosper here. My dad might surrender and go Dirtside rather than fight and I don't think my mom has a clue what reality is politically, but I never thought that of Gramps." April stopped and thought a moment. "But Bob, I can't tell you what his politics are, if he has any. I don't think we should propose anything to him except as a business deal." That got a nod and a thoughtful look from Jeff.
"What about your mom?" April suddenly asked Heather. "Here we are assembling weapons in her cubic and I haven't asked what her politics are. Does she know what's going on? Will she get upset if she finds out what we are doing?"
Jeff and Heather both looked at each other and broke down laughing.
"If you asked Sylvia about it, she would turn her nose up at our little lasers and ask when we are going to get weapons serious enough to get a politician's attention. She's a bigger radical than anybody else we know on station. That's why she's up here - to remove herself and us from all the security nonsense and loss of freedom below. She'll talk to you about it if you want, but be prepared to be shocked. She'd nuke Washington in a heartbeat, if Congress was in session and you handed her a remote and said - 'push the button and make a wish'. She might actually have a lower opinion of politicians than Jeff's dad. But she'll also tell you to work at it your way and she's do here own thing to resist the system. If you ask her anything specific, you just get a smile," Heather said.
"But don't think because they live on D deck, that Sylvia is poor," Jeff cautioned her. "She dabbles in a lot more than Art and even the Art is nothing to sneeze at, financially. So what she is up to, we may not be trusted to know, but she has the assets to do a great deal. Probably a lot more than we will for a long time. Anyway, we need to get the ball rolling to make more of my devices. Could you call your gramps?"
She pulled her pad and opened it up, hitting a couple keys. Her grandpa appeared smiling and wearing an exceptionally loud and garish shirt, of hot pink diamonds on black silk. Even her com pad screen rebelled at the contrast, showing false colored pixels where the two colors met.
April drew Jeff and Heather into the camera view of the pad and did introductions.
April explained what they needed and showed him the stainless boxes with the camera also. "Would you mind us having the boxes there?" she asked. "You could come by and make sure they are out of your way."
"When would you like to get them in?"
"The sooner the better." Jeff pleaded. "They take some time to heat up, to drive off surface contamination and cool so they hold a clean vacuum, before they can start processing. They're general-purpose processors also, so they run slower than a specially designed production set, which runs continuous instead of in batches. I'll need to come in every couple days and pull the finished coils out and put new feed stock in until we use up my feed stock. We'd really appreciate it if you would help, but I do have to say, down the road it might cause some trouble if you are associated with us, uh, Sir," he said. Not knowing exactly what to call him.
"You don't have to 'Sir' me if you are comfortable with something else. I know I probably look older than the rocks to you, but my coworkers all called me Happy, or if you want to call me Gramps like April it's fine too. Not many white haired oldsters around, so I'm comfortable with it. Right now is between shifts and the corridors are not very busy," Gramps mused with pursed lips. "You don't want to advertise this little project either, do you?"
"No," April quickly agreed. "It's sort of confidential."
"I guessed it might be," he said with a smile. "Why don't you meet me up at the bearing gate and I'll help you move your stuff in and place it now. We're going to be working on the scooter your brother is getting soon, so I want to keep things clear, to bring it inside the room. Say an hour? Or do you need more time?"
Jeff nodded yes to an hour and April agreed and closed her pad up.
"Can you two get these boxes packed up and I'll finish these other two lasers so you can take them?" Jeff asked.
Heather assured him she had it under control and sent April off to enlist her mom, while Barak showed up eager to see Jeff do the assembly.
Tucked in one of the low overhead areas was a stack of collapsed foam board boxes, with various shipping company logos. A few moments work with some tape hid the nature of their cargo from prying eyes and checked them clean for inventory chips and bar codes. Sylvia disappeared to the far side of the suite and came back riding a two-wheeled scooter, such as postal workers and security people used dirt side. It looked well worn, but moved silently and stood balanced firmly on its gyros when she stepped off.
Loosening a catch on each side, she pulled each wheel out so the platform between them was wide enough to stack the boxes between the wheels, instead of just space to stand. Heather sat high on the boxes as if they were a seat, grasped the handlebars to drive and was anxious to go.
The corridors were as deserted as April's gramps predicted. Mostly it was automated delivery vehicles and the few people they did see, they gave no reason to remember them. The corridor outside Heather's door ran up station all the way to the end bulkhead. They left the scooter parked beside the elevator, after tucking its wheels back narrow. There was little chance anyone in M3 would bother it and it was too stupid to find its way home without a rider.
On the elevator they silently drew a couple Velcro straps across their boxes and hooked a toe under one of the foot loops, before April hit the button for the center line stop. The elevator moved very slowly and a voice message reminded them their apparent weight would be disappearing at the stop selected. When the door opened at the axis of rotation, April was gratified to see her gramps had changed into a bland work shirt, which would not vividly imprint itself on anyone's memory they passed. They each herded a taped together pair of boxes out of the door.
The rotation this close to the center provided so little acceleration it was hard to notice even near the edge of the room. The gate into the nonrotating section looked like a big clothes dryer drum, wide enough to allow some fairly big pieces of freight to be guided across. Much bigger than the passenger gate at the other end of the station. Both ends of the cylinder had a handrail around it. In the middle, near the seal, were some recessed points for a rigger to clip lines on anything so massive it needed to be spun up, to match the section it was being moved into. Some scrapes and dings in the wall, showed where such jobs had proved difficult. There were ghosts of graffiti layers washed away all along the line separating the two sections. The opportunity to have your graffiti animated along the seal line was too much for some to resist.
"I'll go across and you can toss your stuff to me," April's gramps offered and jumped. Sylvia had taped the boxes together in pairs and April noted approvingly how Jeff anchored himself with one foot and gave each box a twist as he propelled it across so it arrived at her gramps hands matching his rotation. Her gramps grabbed two between his knees and took off down the corridor before Heather and she had even gone across. Jeff had jumped across with the last of the two mated boxes, but when the three of them followed they found it difficult to keep up with her grandfather. His experience at working in zero G showed in his smooth motions, with no wasted corrections or bounces off the walls. Some of his show of speed had to be a guy thing, because they had a young man with them. He had always held back and gone slow when he was just with her, but he never got out of sight ahead.
When they came to the cubic, he took long enough unlocking they caught up. He had both an old fashioned keyed lock and a taste pad to satisfy. When the door opened Heather and Jeff were both surprised it was a regular full airlock, not just a safety door like at a residence. Although it was a fairly spacious lock, they had to cycle through two people and a box stack at a time. The first cycle was pretty snug. April and Heather came through to find Jeff asking about the reason for a lock.
"If you have a pressure safety door, it means you have an inspector snooping in your cubic once a year for the insurance and have to get permission to evacuate the room," Gramps explained. "With a triple redundant controls on a Mitsubishi door, instead of residential level seals, we do our own inspections and drop pressure anytime it pleases us. We're going to have April and Bob's scooter in here soon and probably work on it in vacuum on occasion."
Jeff looked over the room appraising. "I'm not sure you can fit a scooter in here and seal it back up." The room was about ten meters deep and half the dimension square on the end. There was a structural brace around the entire outside wall and the studs and nuts were marked with a safety yellow paint, marking them as life critical components, just like the hand wheel on a valve which went to vacuum.
A single person coffin lock was mounted in the corner of the plate, making up the outer wall skin. There was an old-fashioned keypad lock in the inner door of the tiny lock. Someone could get in for safety sake and get to pressure and com, but they could not enter the room unless they were family and had the combo.
"You're right. You can't get the whole thing in here. What most people don't know, is almost all the scooters are built with a joint in the middle. The frames have flanges at the middle point and most of the lines and cables have a joint of some kind at the middle. Now it's true, when they run a new line or wire, a lot of the maintenance guys will just run it right through and not put a splice there. They figure it is one more connection to go bad and if they need to split the scooter they can cut it when the time comes. Still they are pretty easy to split."
"There are a lot of scooters bumped real hard and often either the front or the back is smashed and the other half is salvaged. Bob and April are getting or old freight pusher engine, with a VIP cab on front. One fellow we see, once in a while here, is out of the Chinese station and he has two center sections, an extra fuel tank section and an extra cargo hold, with a four man pressurized cabin in front. The thing is as long as a space plane and jury-rigged every which way, but it makes him money for sure."
"Why don't you bring those boxes over to the corner there opposite the coffin? We have a little manifold in the bulkhead there," Happy pointed out. "Just a thicker plate welded in with a variety of pipe taps on both sides so you can get vacuum inside or route stuff under pressure out to a scooter docked outside. If you just tack your boxes in place with a couple balls of epoxy, or double sided tape they should be fine. Just stay in the corner and leave the middle of the bulkhead open."
"I can hook them with 4mm stainless tubing. All I need is one line and I'll tee to each box," Jeff told him. "They're all loaded now with reels of foil and they will go through a heat up and purge and then process the material. It should be ready to reload in about 3 days. Do you think you can come back and let me service them?" Jeff asked.
"Oh sure. Let me know and we'll meet up here. Maybe by then you'll get to see April's scooter, if her brother gets the delivery pushed ahead like he's trying. 240 volt power?" Gramps asked, offering a power extension.
"Yeah they don't pull much power after they bake out." Jeff seemed embarrassed to be mooching power. He took the offered box and plugged the cords into it twisting the connectors until it clicked and locked in place. The boxes all displayed an amber light blinking and Jeff seemed satisfied.
"So what is this scooter like?" Jeff asked. "Are you going to do much work on it?"
April saw her chance. "If you could look at the plans with Gramps I'd really appreciate it. Bob and I want the scooter for a courier business, but any changes to make it better for the business, would also make it much more useful and survivable, if there is trouble like we think. If you can give it better delta-v or ability to protect itself, that would be great. It might be an important asset for the three of us."
Gramps looked concerned. "If there is fighting over the rock, the best way to be safe with any small craft is to stay out of it, or head for some neutral spot and lay low 'til it's all over. No matter what you do, a construction scooter is no match for a military space plane."
April decided now was a good time to explain what the boxes were going to be producing. She pulled one of the extra lasers off her belt and stated how it was powered and explained how Jeff's fusion device might benefit their scooter. "We'd like you to have this," she finished and handed him the open laser she had been demonstrating.
Her gramps took it and folded it shut, than opened it again obviously pleased. "Thanks little gal. I'll set up a target here to try it. He slid his hand down inside his baggy pants past his crotch to the inside of his leg and came up with a flat very slender gray pistol. "I better leave this here in my tool box. If Jon catches me with two pistols on me, I'll never talk my way out of it."
April was laughing so hard they had to let her run down before she could speak. "I can't tell you how many people I am finding out have weapons squirreled away, I never would have suspected. Don't ask who else, but it's hilarious."
"Well a lot of us who grew up groundside saw things get pretty rough before we came up." Her gramps explained. "We don't feel too comfortable without at least access to a gun stashed away, but I imagine every time they talk on the news about trouble with the Rock, they make somebody decide to move 'em where they are handier. I do appreciate the new pistol. I have my doubts if my little .12 caliber could punch through an armored suit, but from what you say, this thing will fry one," he said happily, patting the case on his belt.
"What kind is it, Happy?" Jeff asked of the slim gun and tried the new name out awkwardly.
"It's a Russian gun, takes 3mm caseless ammo. They usually are tipped with depleted uranium but that makes it too easy to detect passing security, so this is loaded with malleable tungsten bullets, which have a tungsten carbide tip to help it penetrate. One nice thing is it holds 36 rounds in a cassette."
He pulled the clear plastic clip from the handle. The slender black projectiles had a creamy white propellant rod attached to the back of each by a short ceramic band. Happy went to a workbench and opened a toolbox to put the gun away.
"And this is wood!" Jeff said in disbelief. Reaching out and feeling the side.
"Yeah, it's my own grandfather's tool box. He was a machinist all his life and left it to me. I promised I'd keep it and I have. It's Oak," he added. The tag said Gerstner, Dayton Ohio. There was a little diamond shaped mirror on the inside of the green felt lined lid when he opened it. He opened a plastic fitted case and put the pistol in and secured it with an elastic strap, before closing the lid with several latches.
Happy put his pad on the bench and told it to talk to a big film screen unrolled on the wall. A drawing of a scooter with various sections and sub-assemblies showed. "Take a copy of this on your pad and you can study what we have to work with. If you had to make a fusion generator about two or three times the size of the one you have already made, could you do it? Or link several of them together to get at least a megawatt? If you can, I would be interested in an auxiliary propulsion unit for this scooter, using them."
"I have the dies and everything made for the size we already have. I can make them bigger or smaller within limits, by how long I make the strip. Of course when you roll it up it will be bigger around. Like this - Jeff demonstrated with his hands around a circle in the air, about 100mm across. After we run off this batch, I can stock it to make a roll which will generate a couple hundred Kilowatt each and I should be able to get four from one box loading. You'd want to run them all full blast and save the excess in one of my accumulators for peak demand."
"How about shielding? Deuterium - deuterium can react two ways I remember and one reaction creates a neutron. If your generator sheds neutrons we'll need to keep it far from the cabin which will be tough to shield and after it has run a bit all the stuff around it will be hot."
"The way the generator works the reaction is all the one which makes neutrons or all the other clean one. So obviously I made it to promote the safer reaction. It may occasionally have an event go to the other form, but so very rarely it would be hard to detect the flux. Much less build up a noticeably hot mechanism."
"Okay, if you give me four and the storage for them, how much power can I draw to use for propulsion, either to heat reaction mass or to run a plasma drive?" Happy asked.
"Well, you'd have about a megawatt to pull continuously and say about another 20 Meg you could pull for a half-hour at a time max. Is it enough power for everything?"
"Twenty one megawatt," April's grandpa said, punching some numbers in his pad. He seemed stunned for a moment. "Yeah, even if we don't have a real efficient drive, the frame is only designed for 9 G on a straight line thrust and most of the sub-assemblies are not mounted for the same level of thrust. The frame is really over engineered. Was over engineered." He corrected. "We are going to have to examine every system added since the original design and see if it is bolted or bonded on the frame well enough and if it's own container is strong enough. I'd hate to see somebody really twist this thing's tail and have something rip out of the instrument panel and hit them in the chest after a meter fall at 7 or 8 G."
"Do you really think anyone would push it to 9 G?" Jeff asked.
"Son, if you are looking at a missile climbing up your tail and want to outrun it, you'll push the throttle to the stops even if your arms fall off and worry about it later. If we build the capacity in, we better make sure it doesn't self-destruct. You ever experience 9 G?"
"No," Jeff admitted. "I had a ride up once on a freight shuttle which pulled 5 G and it was a pretty rough ride. But on the passenger shuttles they try not to do more than 3.5 G now."
"I've ridden military hardware capable of 9 G turning, not straight, but only for a few minutes." Gramps said. "You can take it lying down with your feet up and special pants to squeeze your legs and keep you from blacking out. But even then you start losing your side vision. At high G an old guy like me is courting a stroke. We'll have to talk about limits and some dead man controls, so you can't black out and fly off unconscious with the throttle stuck open."
"Well I see you are both getting into it as I hoped, but it's almost midnight, so could we head home for today? I'm whipped," April admitted.
"Could you guys go ahead and go back without me? I'll go on home as soon as I load this on my pad and finish talking to your grandpa," Jeff said.
April didn't believe it. She figured they'd be bent over the plans far into the new day, but she was willing to drop it if they let her get away. She and Heather decided to leave the boxes here and went back to collect their two wheeler.
"You're so tired you can't keep your eyes focused April. Why don't you stay at our place when we get back and leave a message with your folks so they don't worry?"
It sounded great, so she called as she rode back standing behind Heather, holding her waist on the two wheeler. By the time they got back, she was leaning her face on Heather's taller shoulders from behind, with her eyes shut.
Sylvia seemed unsurprised she was staying and took a moment away from a guest of her own to make sure she was provided for. Heather brought her a pair of soft shorts and a T-shirt, which were too big but OK to sleep in. She took her borrowed clothing and changed at the shower, tossing her dirty outfit in the dry cleaner, for a quick ultrasonic blast and vacuum fluff so she'd have it in the morning.
She wondered briefly where Barak had gone and then remembered he probably had to go to a high G level to sleep at his age. It felt funny getting in bed with Heather, despite the fact she rode back all the way hugging her from behind. She had not slept with anyone since she was really little, but Heather was already sleeping, snoring softly when she crawled in.
Chapter 15
April slept in later than usual. She rolled over and looked around Heather's sleeping space. It was smaller than hers at home, but not as cluttered as the parts of the apartment the whole family used. The wall screen said Sunday October 10, 2083 – 8:12 and she was embarrassed she must be the last one to get up. Her mom always made snippy little comments about people who spent half the day in bed.
Heather was just going to the shower. Her getting up was what probably awakened her. She had to admit sleeping in a half G was pretty comfortable. The rest of the family was up already, so they took their time showering and chatting because nobody was waiting to use it. Heather was not body shy at all. April was, but it was easy to ignore, because Heather didn't have a mean streak like some girls, to comment on how skinny she was. She was too busy talking about equipment and technical ideas.
Nobody seemed in any hurry to chase her off and Heather assumed she would stay for breakfast so she went along with it. She also suspected her parents wouldn't mind a lazy Sunday morning right now, without her underfoot. Sunday was usually not a work day for her dad. Maybe Bob would even have the brains to make himself scarce. Apparently it was no big deal for the Andersons to have guests at their meals. She had to admit it was fun. She had taken the initiative when they went to the kitchen and asked Sylvia what she could do to help, but they had been almost done.
One thing she was certain about the woman, was she had no trouble letting it show when she was pleased. April wondered if she should get prepared mentally for when Sylvia had a complaint, because she suspected she would not hold back then either. She'd have to ask Heather about it. At least this morning she wouldn't be a target of humor and watched so closely, since they had a new guest. He was seated already by Sylvia and the two of them were earnestly speaking about some business matter.
She was about to sit herself and realized with a start there was no other extra bed for him either, so he must have slept with Sylvia. She felt herself blushing at the sudden realization and hoped nobody would figure out why. She took a trip to the bathroom to contain her reaction before somebody figured it out.
The Earthie news acted like all the station dwellers were political radicals and wanton morally, but from her own experience she thought them much more conservative than Grounders. She had asked her grandpa about it once, because she didn't feel comfortable asking her mom. His answer had been, that the kind of people they brought up to the station, were mostly smart enough to not do whatever they wanted today, knowing it would be a disaster tomorrow. When she had persisted in asking why they thought station people were like that, he had assured her that part of it was orchestrated propaganda.
She hadn't thought about that conversation in a long time, but it was making more sense now that she was more aware of politics. She went back to the table after she thought she had control of her expression.
The breakfast was simpler than the dinner last night, except for the coffee. April usually had cream and sugar in her coffee, but not seeing any on the table she tried it black rather than interrupt the conversation. The flavor was like none she had ever had. It was complex. It even smelled completely different, with a rich nutty flavor and no real bitterness. She'd have to ask about it when she had Sylvia alone. And she would have to find some gift to send for all the hospitality she was being shown.
The pancakes were good. So different from the cafeteria's no comparison was reasonable. They were thin but rolled around filling instead of stacked. The fellow talking with Sylvia had been briefly introduced when she sat down and he wasn't really speaking to her. He seemed to be a sort of art agent and they were concerned about shipping the panels Sylvia was working on now. He seemed quite worried that might be difficult if real trouble with the Rock materialized. April got the impression he would have loved to try to hurry Sylvia along to get them done sooner, but wouldn't come right out and say so. It was odd, he seemed as relaxed as any house guest can be, yet he had dressed in a suit for breakfast with a beautiful tie and his jacket on. Perhaps he dressed so formally every day.
April wasn't sure her dad even owned a suit. She knew for a fact Bob didn't. Bob thought formal meant long pants and socks. From the hint of a soft accent he seemed to be French and April finally had heard enough she had to ask a couple questions, but she wanted a conversation opener, which didn't have her jumping right in with a controversial question. She decided a light personal question would be best first.
"Mr. Broutin those are lovely cufflinks. We see so little stylish Earth clothing here. Those look like they would work just fine in zero G though. Would you show me how they work?"
He seemed amused such a common item was of interest. "Yes it holds just fine. I know because I have worn them a number of times on the shuttle. Once they are under tension it takes considerable manipulation to extract them." He unbuttoned the cuff of his suit jacket and folded it back. April knew enough about men's clothing to realize that fancy detail meant she was probably looking at a ten thousand EuroMark suit of clothes. The cufflink came out with a quick practiced motion of his fingers and he favored April with a chance to examine it. It was simple rectangular shapes of high karat gold with a raised edge to protect the faces, elaborately engine engraved and then fired over the pattern with a translucent enamel.
"This sort has a solid post between the plates, like a set of Tuxedo studs, but a lot of them have a link of chain or swiveled bar. I like this sort where the small inside piece has decoration on it also, just like the larger plate, rather than just bare."
"Is it ever an item of a feminine attire?" April wondered.
He looked thoughtful. "I have only rarely seen a woman's blouse with French cuffs. But jewelry is so suitable to the ladies. I see no reason why you should not wear them. If you like them, why don't you take up the custom and see if others follow?" He gave her a surprisingly penetrating gaze. "After all, even in fashion someone must have the courage to grasp the lead and show the rest where to go. Why shouldn't it be you?" he asked in a rather challenging way.
"I believe I shall," she said firmly, determined not to back down to his forceful manner and proceeded to her real question. "Mr. Broutin, I would value an opinion from your different viewpoint. You are neither a station dweller, nor one of the parties involved in the Rock. Like you, I'm also worried about the problems developing around the Rock, but could you tell me specifically, why you think it will interrupt normal shipping, because we are very dependent on importing food and other supplies. It's a problem I hadn't considered."
"Miss Lewis, anytime there has been a conflict on Earth, blockade has been something the governments have always used very quickly. I'm sure you have seen examples in your history lessons of air and naval blockade."
"It played a huge role in your own War Between the States and then next century penetrating the German blockades of the Atlantic in the European War. The First Atomic War was protracted by the fact the Pacific was too vast for them to blockade with the sensor suites they possessed then and no satellite coverage although they had those tools only two decades later."
"Even in the Slow War, between the Democratic powers and the Soviet Empire, they stopped the Soviet gambit to use Cuba to penetrate the Western Hemisphere by blockade. A blockade of M3 might be better compared to the Berlin blockade right after the European War, as it was just a city not a huge area. Just because it is a new territory beyond the atmosphere means nothing. The same tested tools are what the powers that be will turn to quickly. It is only new in the sense it hasn't happened up here yet. I absolutely expect it to happen, if not in this current crisis then another time soon."
"Could you send Sylvia's panels to another station not under USNA law and send them down from there? Or even to lunar orbit and then transfer back to a station? My brother and I are in the process of refurbishing a small craft we plan to use for such work and intend to be doing business quite soon as Lewis Couriers."
He looked at her with a very hesitant expression. "Perhaps I am mistaking your age. You really have ownership interest in a spacecraft? Who will be piloting it and how will you be insuring it?" he asked pointedly. Privately he was remembering his hostess had told him last night the children were off working on a spaceship, not partying.
He'd thought she was joking. These 'children' made him uneasy because they just weren't very - childish.
He thought of his cousin's three children in comparison. They assumed everything should be fun and spent their parents money heedlessly, assuming it would always be bountiful. They were near the same ages, but they would never ask him about matters of state and policy. They were lost in a world of fashion and role playing games and rolled their eyes in contempt at adult affairs.
"I know people from Earth have a hard time imagining we start so young here learning to conduct business. My folks would say the best way to learn something is to do it, so they give us pretty free reign to do what we want with our own money. They expect us to ask their help when we commit to a big investment, but I have yet to see them tell Bob he can't try something."
"I'm just shy of fourteen and my brother Bob is only three years older than I am and he probably has six businesses going at any one time. And he trades his own stock account, as I do. I'm really not very interested in business for its own sake, but he just thrives on it. He almost always makes some money from his idea, but he's only had outright failures a few times," she said, remembering the mushrooms.
"I'm usually willing to help him, given his success rate. As to how he's going to insure the vessel, I have no idea. I'm pretty busy right now with other things and one condition of my helping him with this new enterprise, was he would take care of the business plan and all I had to contribute was money and to get a pilots certificate for the scooter."
"I'm cramming right now and planning on taking my examination and being certified to pilot it both local and orbit to orbit in a few weeks. He'll also be qualified and there are many people from the construction crew we could hire. I'm sure my grandfather is experienced at driving a scooter."
Switching subjects she appealed to him. "I feel funny however being called Miss Lewis. Would you just call me April please?"
His eyebrows had climbed up his forehead quite a bit listening to her explanation. To her request he said, "Such informality is really not my custom, so it would make me feel funny too."
"Oh I don't mind calling you Mr. Broutin or Monsieur Broutin if you like. I don't expect it to work both ways. I just get distracted when I'm called by my family name. It would be a kindness for you to use April."
"Well, I don't want to be unkind at all - April. I have to point out several difficulties, you may wish to discuss with your brother. Insurers often will not continue coverage for vessels in a war zone. On Earth it has often been a problem for sea going vessels. It means you may find the bank carrying your loan for the craft will withdraw their approval and demand the repossession of it, if they feel it would be risked uninsured.
Since there may be no practical way to move such a vessel safely, if it is blocked in at a proscribed port, you may lose title to it simply sitting at dock, waiting for the right to travel again."
"I can't imagine those circumstances happening though, because I know how my brother conducts business. He would never consider having his primary equipment hostage to someone else's control. I'm sure he plans to own it free and clear, from the moment he takes possession."
He showed no reaction past a few extra blinks. The idea they would have sufficient capital for an outright purchase was probably shocking. So April made the point explicitly.
"From the amount of our funds he suggested he'd need, when he ran the business plan past our parents, I'm very sure we'll own it. So if the insurers won't cover it he has the option to go naked and risk the whole thing against having it sit idle. From what I remember of those history lessons you are speaking of - the people willing to run a blockade could charge dearly for it, couldn't they?"
"Yes," he agreed. Perhaps disbelieving what he was hearing but went ahead. "But what would you do if your ship is intercepted by an armed space plane and directed to their dockage, or simply destroyed?"
"It's not easy intercepting a craft while it is changing orbits and expensive to wait near where it may be going. You can't just hover watching this station for example, unless you are behind or ahead in the same orbit. It limits your response options. It's expensive to keep a multibillion dollar spaceship stationed, with a crew using consumables, just waiting for someone to try something. They aren't set up to just loiter anyway. Almost all of them are made to go somewhere and dock. They don't have room for consumables for months and they are not comfortable for a long orbit." The toilet will be full in a week she thought, but didn't want to say it over breakfast.
"If they do see someone leaving or coming they must act quickly, within a certain narrow window to intercept. Also they are risking their valuable spaceship, if someone takes exception to their action and decides to shoot back. Most of the time you don't see another spacecraft - they are just a radar return and maybe a transponder echo which could be true or false. A USNA military space plane might be very reluctant to shoot at a radar return they are not absolutely sure, is not a Chinese or European Union craft."
She took her coffee cup in her hands and looked at it instead of him for a few moments, considering what she wanted to say. "There are technologies available on the station which are cutting edge and the Earthies just might find out we are not as easily contained as they think. Our craft is going to have "legs" as the pilots say. Lots of delta-v. Do you know what the term means?"
He nodded his head affirmatively and then surprised her with a question. "But Sylvia mentioned you were all working on things for your spaceship last night, when you came in. Do Heather and her friend have an interest in the vessel, with your brother and you as Lewis Couriers, or are they just helping out of friendship?"
"It's complicated," she admitted. Just starting to sort out in her own mind how complicated it could be, because of him asking. "We have several overlapping interests." She wasn't going to make their conspiracy plain to him. She thought about it a bit and Broutin didn't seem to want to press her, but still was just patiently waiting for more. It was a very effective way to make her talk. She found she didn't want to tell him it was none of his business, even though it was true. If only he had been less friendly it would have been easier to do just that.
"We three, myself, Heather and Jeff have done business for several years and are friends now. But sometimes we do favors for each other and never think to ask for payment." She suddenly realized herself what she was explaining was an aspect of pledging their fortunes. She couldn't go there.
"When we need something, we just do what is needed. I provided zero G cubic last night for Jeff to run some of his processes and he is providing help for refitting our scooter. Heather provided work space here and considerable design talent to make equipment we needed. I had thirty thousand dollars USNA, of electronics components couriered up from Australia Saturday and didn't ask to be paid for them." He raised his eyebrows again. That was a good month's wages for an adult below.
"If you consider how much the intellectual property is worth, which is the basis of our business association, it would be petty to worry about these little side issues. It would be like people who argue about dividing the check up to the last penny at a restaurant. Mature people just take turns paying the check and don't worry about whether their friend usually gets dessert and they don't."
There, April felt satisfied. It seemed safe enough to define their relationship as being based on business. No need to mention politics. Speaking of running a blockade had already gotten too political.
She smiled at him. "If the time comes soon you need to move something, come talk to us and we'll see what we can do."
"I'll keep it in mind April." He was not dismissive at the end, which was as much as April could hope for given his initial skepticism.
For his part, Broutin was thinking he had at first had doubted someone so young could be half owner of a space craft. Now she was implying a space ship was a minor item among the things the three of them were doing. A side business with her brother. He was very, very good at telling when people were lying to him, even without any equipment and her manner had the ring of truth to it. She was milking him for information, but not concerned about convincing him of anything. Everything they were discussing hinged on politics and she had avoided defining anything they were doing in political terms. He didn't believe for a second these three were not aware their 'business' would have powerful political implications, if they didn't obey a blockade, but she obviously avoided speaking of that. It bothered him a little she had not given any actual name to their business association. He liked clear labels for things. So he asked.
"What is this primary business you speak of that holds intellectual property?"
"Singh Technologies," Heather answered for her. "It's privately held so there isn't much information to be found on it. We do that a lot up here. April's family for example holds Strategic Materials and Jeff's family owns Kali Holding. Those are fronts for ownership in the Rock."
"Ah, then your interest in how events unfold around the Rock, run deeper than how it affects the courier trade, or Faye's ability to deliver her panels." That seemed to satisfy him, that he had the broader picture.
"It will deeply effect all of us on 3," Faye assured him. "More than some seem able to imagine at this time."
"Thank you for your counsel, "April said and handed the cuff back to him.
He reached, but instead of plucking it from her hand, he took her hand in his and she felt the second cuff link she had not seen him remove, pressed beside the other between their hands.
"Wear them and remember me by them," he offered. And lifted her hand and gave a very European light kiss to her fingers. She had never seen anyone do that, except in old movies, but he made it seem very natural and oddly not the least romantic. It was more respectful, as there was no playfulness in his expression, which made it all the stranger from him, "and much success with your revolution."
It chilled her to realize from his flash of amusement after the last phrase, he was pleased with his double meaning and was not referring to any fashion revolution. She had certainly never used the word. Was their course really so transparent to people? Or did rebellion just look inevitable from his view?
April thanked him and looked back up at Sylvia and Heather, worried she had said too much. But Heather had an almost smiling, pleased look, April hoped meant she approved. Sylvia had a thoughtful look, which said she didn't mind the exchange at all. Neither had expressed any disapproval. She was happy she avoided speaking bluntly of rebellion, but obviously it wasn't far from anybody's mind.
* * *
Monday morning Oct. 11, 2083, was the start of a new work week. Jon cut the connection to the last of the six courier services he had called this morning. He missed the old fashioned sort of telephone handset you could smash back in the cradle and work out some of your anger. All he'd managed to do today, was to alert enough people in the orbit to orbit transport business, to the fact he wanted a small job done, that the rest of the small and closely knit industry would know he'd failed to do by lunch.
After he'd been turned down six times for a quick turnaround to ISSII, the other ship owners would probably be afraid to touch the job. It quickly had a taint attached to it, after a certain number rejected it. He could see now he had made a few small mistakes, trying to hire a private ride. He wanted to transport an officer to the other station and extract and return Dr. Singh with the officer as an escort. Was that so much to ask?
Every owner he'd talked to, had immediately asked why they didn't just take a normally scheduled flight? He should have had an elaborate cover story ready, but he'd foolishly told them the truth, that he was afraid politics and legal action might keep him from boarding commercial transport. Every single one of them had instantly assumed that the problem involved the Rock and would either identify them with a faction they didn't want to be labeled with, or put their craft at risk.
It didn't help that there also appeared to be more work available for the limited number of scooters in private hands than they could do. So getting involved would not only be unwise in their eyes, they'd also be doing him a favor in the first place, interrupting their bookings, or running a crew overtime to do so.
If he'd any idea how busy and how lucrative the trade was, he'd have invested some of his retirement money in it. April's brother Bob had not impressed him as deeply as his sister even being a few years older. When he found out from the previous owner that Bob had exercised an option to buy a scooter, he was surprised. If he was sharp enough to get in on this hot market, maybe he wasn't as dumb as the mushroom fiasco implied. In any case maybe they would take the job, if they were not yet in the loop of owners who warned each other to turn him down.
If even that failed to get transport, maybe he could get some local help on ISSII to make sure Singh was not harassed or denied boarding. The Security people over there would undoubtedly rather not have any unpleasant public incidents, if they could be avoided. If they were not under Earthie orders to create the ugly incident themselves, he reminded himself. He still wasn't sure he'd want to do business with his boss' kids.
Jon looked across his desk at the thin screen covering most of his office wall. It showed an organization chart obtained by a web search. He believed perhaps half of it was true. The chart was the official public one, for the counterpart to his own organization on ISSII. What really complicated it was the head of Security in the International Station, rotated among the various nations contributing to the upkeep and personnel, of the second and biggest joint station. So while positions might be long term, the people assigned to them changed frequently.
He shook his head. He thought he had a hard job, but he could not imagine trying to do it with a crew of soldiers from six different countries, who might not understand his language well. There would always be some doubt if they'd take your orders, if they seemed to conflict with their country's interests.
He followed what he could of the man's career, but the record was very strange. The family name was German sounding. Hagen. Jan Hagen. But he knew the Swiss shared language and customs with several neighbors. He just wished he knew if it was important. He didn't know if one heritage carried greater status than another. The fellow had served in the Swiss army as a very young man. Then, strangely he had gone back in the military for a second time, although his rank from one enlistment to the other made no sense at all. Nothing at all except his military service in a general way, seemed to qualify him for his post. The guy had to be a spook.
He looked at the man's picture. He seemed unremarkable in a bland European way. It was probably an asset, rather than striking good looks. Most important his appearance did not send any warning message to Jon the man was a warped personality. Psychologists could deny the ability, but Jon had learned in police work to trust his initial impressions. If someone was bad to the core, he usually got an alarm bell at first glance, even from a photo and he'd regretted those times he'd suppressed and ignored his gut feeling. This man, he sensed, he could work with confidently.
"Eddie, I need to talk to you," he yelled through his door. His was the only office and the shared space for the rest of his department was small enough, he could be heard by everyone. At least cleaning out the armory had opened up the storage locker, so they could move the coffee maker and fridge in there and have it out of sight. It probably was the most secure coffee maker off earth, since they kept the vault door closed up as usual off shift, just to mislead anyone who might think there were still weapons in there. With the coffee set up gone, you could walk between the desks without turning sideways. At least the normal sized people could.
Eddie stuck his head in the door. "You bellowed?" he inquired. Eddie was the closest thing the department had to a technology geek. If a problem called for a special piece of equipment he seemed to have the connections to produce it. It might have surprised Jon, that his man Eddie and Heather knew each other on a professional basis.
"I struck out this morning trying to get private transport, to bring Dr. Singh back from IISII. I want to have a cozy little talk with the head of Security at ISSII, to see if he could give us a hand and not have the USNA analyzing what I've said, before I suck in my next breath. If you were going to arrange it what would you do?"
Eddie came in and shut the door and pulled a slim wand out of his pocket. He consulted it at length and stuck it back in his pocket.
"Come on, Eddie. You checked my room this morning when we spoke and neither of us have left the office since then."
"Yes but several people have been in and out of your office since then."
"But all of them work here. None of them have been visitors."
Eddie looked at him like he was daft.
"OK, I know you're right, but sometimes you seem a little over the line with the secrecy. I mean, what could possibly get us such close attention?"
"I'm not sure Jon. But if it's not especially sensitive, then you can just call ISSII up on the regular phone circuits and nobody should bother to listen in. A normal encryption program should be plenty good enough."
Jon suspected, if the USNA sent a space plane and operatives to M3, they were mighty interested. They might pay Mr. Singh a visit at the other station also.
"Eddie, Jeff Singh's dad is at the conference at ISSII until Friday and then from what he says, he intended to stay and consult with lawyers for the Rock investors. I have no idea if he is in any danger of having his hotel room invaded there, like his apartment here. They didn't leave anything to harm him, but they might change their mind, or they might hurt him by misadventure. He could even just walk in on them by accident, because black operations do get screwed up. Especially when you don't have enough people and you have young hot shots like this SEAL working on it."
"So you want their security people to be made aware he might be bothered and make sure he gets back on the shuttle OK?"
"Basically, yes, but I wanted a presence there to make it happen, even without their help and it's not going to happen now. I had six carriers refuse a charter and I don't have any way to declare an emergency and commandeer a vessel. But beyond Singh's return, I'd also like to know what this Swiss guy's assessment of the whole problem with the Rock is and if he knows anything about what is going on with spying on Ajay Singh. I'm hoping we might get some cooperation from him, if he sees it in his interest from the view of the Europeans and as a fellow spacer who understands the exposure we have living up here."
"Boss man, I hate to remind you, but you are part of the USNA authority, as far as this guy is concerned. Your superiors think so too. In fact if you are having any problems with the limits of your authority you should probably be real careful what you say around here, much less to a European Union security man."
"The Feds might view your trying to share information with him as a bit outside your legitimate sphere of influence. I'd say they'd inform you your jurisdiction ends right at the airlock, unless you are clipped on with a line. And we don't have one long enough to reach ISSII. They might get a bit testy about you independently asking a foreigner anything, instead of them."
"You know what they'd tell me if I ask about the guy who jumped to the plane?"
Eddie smiled. "You hallucinating again? If you keep seeing things you'll probably need some psychiatric treatment. The government has been real generous lately, helping you folks who see stuff which doesn't officially exist. You'll have a nice cell behind the heaviest security. Seriously Jon, you can avoid talking openly about it, but what they are trying to do with the Rock is wrong. I can't in good conscience enforce confiscation of everything some of these people own. I'd resign first."
"When it comes down to where you have to declare your loyalty are you going to have the nerve to risk everything? Because it isn't right to use your people to edge closer and closer to treason and then chicken out down the road yourself. You had better know what you are going to do and you better know if there are any of the crew who are not going to go along with you, or you might just have armed both sides of an ugly little civil war, by dispersing our weapons."
"Eddie, if they come in here like the jumper did, armed and undeclared, putting my people, I mean all of M3 not just our crew, at risk, I have to oppose them. Sneaking in the back door with a gun, is not how I was trained to conduct law enforcement. If they make a public announcement they are using eminent domain on the Rock and conduct an open occupation of it, I would advise the investors to let it go."
"Do you know, we're calling every shuttle coming in and talking to someone we know on the passenger list, because we are worried we might have a real military invasion? I am actually worried they would make a commando style raid, without trying to talk first and kill a bunch of our civilians," Jon told him.
"Thank God. I didn't know if you realized how crazy they are." He looked relieved and slumped like he could finally show his fatigue. "We're totally in agreement then Jon. They'll come in shooting whether they need to or not, because it's just how they do business now. Now that I know where you stand, tell me what you want and you'll have my support. But you need to go through the crew one by one and make sure you have all their support. Soon."
"OK, I'll start on it today, but what are we going to do about Singh?"
"I think I need some vacation. Maybe go over to New Las Vegas and play Black Jack, plunge in the flesh pots a bit."
Jon's eyes narrowed at him, waiting for the punch line. This story was patently fiction, because Jon knew Eddie for a bit of a prude, who he'd never seen make even a small casual bet.
"Then, maybe I'll mosey over to ISSII and visit a bit. I believe you can trust me to explain our concerns to your counterpart on ISSII. After all, I am very familiar with how people in our line of work think. I'll take along an abundant supply of one-time pads, say 500 of them on a chip, for your fellow there and he can delete them as he uses them. It's the only way you'll ever be sure your communication is not being spied on. Except of course you have to worry your pads might be stolen by the other side."
Jon nodded.
"Besides leaving a supply with your Swiss buddy, I'll take a set for myself to report in and if needed I can perhaps help a bit, if Singh runs into any complications."
Jon was touching his open pad on his desk instead of using the big screen. "There is a shuttle leaving at 0300 in the morning. Do you think you could be ready that fast?
"Sure, I want to get over there, before he tries to come back on his own."
"What else do you need?" Jon wanted to know.
"Well you can be using the additional time to find a backup ride, for us to get home. You didn't get a ride this morning, but if I don't get support from Security over there, or run into a Federal presence come to grab the good Doctor, there are limits to what I can do. I'm not going to try to hijack a ride to get him home. So consider this as exercise buying you some more time to get us a ride, instead of assuming I'll get him on a commercial flight. I just don't think that's very likely now."
"There's one possibility I can look into," Jon admitted.
"See? I know you'll think of something. And Jon? Don't do the loyalty interviews yourself. You're not near a good enough liar. Tell Margaret what you want done and have her talk to the crew. She's splendidly devious," he said with unabashed admiration.
Chapter 16
Eddie forced himself to slow down. He needed to project the relaxed, happy look of a man who had finally gotten time for a little break and was going to savor it. He wore a loud loose shirt which proclaimed - I'm a tourist - and had no bulky business traveler equipment.
Fifteen minutes before the posted 0300 departure, the orbit to orbit shuttle was not loading yet. There were seats by the loading port that filled with an odd assortment of people. It was the Off-Shift so traffic was lighter in the corridors. The thin screen above the gate listed M3 time arrivals and departures for Tuesday, October 12, 2083 and the time differential if any to other ports. ISSII officially ran on Greenwich time instead of Pacific for political reasons. There were only three flights for the whole day with no layovers.
Some of his fellow passengers were probably going to NLV to gamble and looked much like him in better casual clothing, not sweats or work wear. Some, in business attire, were probably selling supplies or services to the casinos. A few were probably dealers, servers, or entertainers returning to work.
There had been a lunar shuttle in today and some were probably transferring from it to reach NLV. One thin fellow with a shaved head had the tight clothing and moon boots which were becoming the custom there and didn't seem to be one of the pretty boys who wore such outfits as a show, even if they'd never been to the moon. He also seemed comfortable in zero G. He was reading a book on a pad floating free in front of him, while he ate nuts from a bag he kept in his lap. Letting loose of a pad so it stayed in one place and didn't turn or drift long enough to read a page, was the sort of thing you didn't do easily without a lot of hours in zero G.
One beautiful young woman seemed slightly better dressed than any of the rest. And her poker face made him think she was the other category of entertainer, some went to NLV to hire. People like her were part of the reason Eddie had not gone into the family business Earthside, but moved away and made his own way in the world. He was cursed with a conscience.
Finally, the pilot team showed up, walking with Eddie's coworker in Security, Skip and told the small crowd they were ready to board. The younger pilot unlocked and went in the shuttle right away and the lights came on through the hatch. There was no tube extended, like a big Earth shuttle would use and the hatch was shaped completely different to seal right on the station. He could feel the familiar thumps and change in background noise as the man disconnected the vessel's utilities and went to internal power.
The ranking pilot was an older lady, with a head of wooly hair cut in a short natural style. Almost like a helmet it was so uniform. He couldn't tell if she was on life extension therapy, or if she just had the very healthy skin some black people have, which doesn't seem prone to wrinkle. He was fairly sure he had seen them both before but couldn't remember her name. She stayed at the entry to visually check each of her passengers as they boarded, as if their station security was all fine and good, but she was responsible for her vessel. Which was true to some degree, but Eddie wondered why he had to get a hard case when he was carrying contraband.
Thankfully, she had decided the moon man needed an extra hard examination so he had her attention. Some people didn't care for their odd culture. Skip unlocked the terminal cabinet by the hatch and folded the shelf down, exposing the screen and touch pad. The most eager passengers pressed forward to swarm past Skip. There was such light orbital traffic in and out of M3, that nobody was assigned to shuttle security permanently. Eddie hung back and allowed about half of the people ahead. He didn't want to be among the first or last, who get greater scrutiny. Eddie had done this security duty enough times himself, but if the pilots remembered him they didn't show it.
That was a problem in trying to be secretive off Earth. There were so few people above the atmosphere you could be remembered too easily. Then there was a fear of being open with security Earthside, that might rub off on people's attitudes up here too. Everyone heard the horror stories, but he didn't want to believe people might be afraid of him that way. Every passenger came up to the terminal, offered their passport to be scanned and put his hand on the taster board to check against the passport data. Logging off the station computer, they pushed off for the port. Skip was cool enough not to greet him, or show any different reaction at all when he laid his hand on the pad and handed his passport back without comment. It was good as he didn't want the crew to have any reason to scrutinize him if they really didn't remember him.
The only one to make a fuss was the moon man, who not only requested Skip wipe the board before he touched it, which meant a re-boot, but still washed his hands on an antiseptic wipe after logging out, just like several of the others. Even with both precautions it was obviously distasteful to him and he pulled gloves back on so shear Eddie had not even noticed them. They seemed to wiggle on by themselves the last little bit. It was creepy. Skip did a double take too, so it wasn't just him seeing things. He wasn't sure though what he'd seen. Moon dwellers seemed to have a lot of small technologies they didn't share quickly with anyone – even other spacers – and that little habit didn't seem to depend upon which country's base they called home.
There was no need to check the passengers with a wand or anything, because the sensors in the boarding hatch theoretically checked for contraband as well or better than a hand held. He resisted the urge to fluff his shirt away from his holster because he was thinking about it. It was body molded and stuck on with a sticky sheet and the gesture itself would be more revealing than the thin shape.
The twenty seats were mostly filled. It was a comfortable little boat and the seats were separate pods where you could watch vid or play music and had a little separation and privacy from your neighbor. You could even pull down a partial hood and recline to sleep if you wished. He clipped his bag on under his seat, strapped himself in loosely and reclined part way.
The bin for the emergency p-suit was overhead and had the usual bubble head logo and warning that if you broke the seal without authorization there would be a fifteen hundred dollar inspection and re-pack charge. He hard plugged his own spex in the front of the armrest and was happy to see the crew offered a cockpit view and turned it on ghosted 70% over his cabin view. Some crews offered it and some didn't want anyone looking over their shoulders. The copilot was seeking departure clearance.
The local controllers on M3 acknowledged their departure and reported they notified NLV they would be arriving. If there was any problem at the other end NLV would tell them now not to undock here, rather than arrive there and be unable to exit. So their affirmative was a prior OK for entry.
The controller on M3 said, "You are clear Earthside," which sounded simple, but meant a whole chain of regional and national defense networks had been notified a large vessel was doing an orbital burn, even though it looked nothing like a missile sprinting to bring destruction down on them. They would watch anyway, to see its trajectory matched flight plan, but it saved everyone an adrenaline moment when something started to move.
A slight sensation in his ears told him the lock had sealed off from the station and their internal pressure was adjusting to a slightly different level. The older pilot was soon strapping in the left hand seat.
"Good morning folks. I'm your senior pilot Diane Walsh and I have journeyman pilot Harold Armstrong assisting today. Before anyone asks, yes, he is distantly related to that Armstrong and no he can't get you a deal on cubic in the Moon. The joke got an audible chuckle through the cabin. We will have acceleration in one minute," the lady pilot announced. Please double check all personal items are secure. If you need to use the head please be aware you will have to remain there for our main burn and it's not the best seat in the house.
After a minute there was a light double chime and he felt a slight push to the right. He cut the cabin view through his glasses and took the full feed from the cockpit. Diane was letting the number two take them out and his inner ear gave an uncertain message as he tried to match the sensations with the view over the pilots shoulders. The nose swung toward M3 as they moved away, probably because the passengers enjoyed having a view. It would have been as easy to swing the other way.
Harold was smooth he saw, easing his attitude burns on and off, overlapping them and starting the main engines before the nose had settled on its target direction. It was easier on the passengers than a series of abrupt burns, separated by pauses. As smooth as he was, Eddie saw the senior pilot was alert with her hands lightly resting on the controls. The main burn ramped up to about a half G and the junior pilot announced: "Coming off main burn in fifteen seconds." There was a single chime and the acceleration ramped down over only about a second to zero.
* * *
Almost as early the same morning, Tuesday Oct 12, 2083, Happy and Jeff were together at the Lewis cubic in the North hub for the second day in a row with very little sleep. Their original idea to get back together when the foils needed changing in the processing boxes was forgotten, in their new obsession to redesign the scooter. Both of them were a fortunate match in the way neither thought it strange to ignore most everything, including personal hygiene and nourishment, in the face of the joy a new project full of complex problems gave.
Starvation had forced them to stop and seek food at the basic fuel level in order to go on, but the meal on the work bench was only recognizable as such to a gear head and a computer geek. A block of canned survival cheese, from a shuttle emergency kit was only four years past it's last use date and the hunk of vintage Spam, which they were cutting with an antique linoleum knife from the tool box was a fine match. They were on the second six pack of Negra Modelo beer and the idea you could get beer in glass bottles instead of a plastic pouch was almost as exotic to Jeff as keeping tools in an oak chest. The fact, printed on the label, you could get a fifty cent refund for returning the empty to California was hilarious, if you considered they probably cost about six bucks each to boost into orbit. Happy could tell Jeff was not used to drinking. The impact on his mental capacity, which would have left a normal person with the intellect of a ground hog, simply reduced him to using his computer. A frustrating inconvenience because the computer took time to process the answer, which normally appeared in his mind without all the bothersome intermediate steps being consciously worked out.
He had learned not to display his talent to most people, because they looked at him most peculiarly and made a fuss. But with a friend like Happy he didn't hide his talents. Happy was expanding Jeff's vocabulary of helmet talk as they worked too. Happy had worked in vacuum so long he'd invented some of the facial language. The invention of which was not appreciated by Mitsubishi's executives, who's policy was to record all communications in a work area. They falsely thought audio recording would cover that.
They were plain having fun, even if face talk got a little harder as your face went numb. The scooter which they were redesigning was already their scooter before they ever touched it, in the tradition of design people everywhere. Just as a masterpiece of architectural design is more often associated with the mind which created it and less remembered for the owner who paid for its construction, even if it bore his name, Bob would never be the one historically associated with this vehicle.
"OK, we don't want to hang everything out where it can be seen and give away the surprise," Happy agreed. "How about if we hide two plasma drives inside the bell of two of the standard engines and use the other two with conventional fuels to maneuver around the stations where we can be seen? Two engines are plenty for almost all the burns we would normally make and if we brace the plasma drives in properly without damaging or modifying the bell we can switch them out to the other engines when we have run the hours out on the other two."
Jeff thought about it. "Well if we are going to switch them at the rebuild time there is no reason to carry around all the turbo pumps and stuff, for the two fakes we are using as shells to hide the plasma units. How much weight can we save if we strip all the extra stuff out and just save it for parts at the rebuild?"
Happy started adding up the masses of all the parts listed in the rebuild manual for the engine in question. "So much will be missing we'll have to hang a shroud around the drive section, or it will still be obvious something is not kosher. What kind of tent you want - Mylar on a frame?"
"Corrugated bucky-tube superconductor cloth, on top of a ceramic sapphire composite paper, shock mounted," Jeff said with a straight face, "all the way up to the ports."
"It better be shock mounted better than me, 'cause you just blew me off my stool. What in the world are you thinking? You are talking thousands of dollars and even as light and strong as it is you are talking...." He pause and keyed a couple numbers in. "About eighty kilograms for a tube of it and stand-offs big enough to cover the whole scooter. A big chunk of what you save on one engine's auxiliaries."
"Yes, but what kind of laser power density would be required to punch a hole through it?
"I don't know but if it was laser proof wouldn't the space planes use it?
"Nope, 'cause it burns like paper in hot air. Speaking of lasers, how about some of our own? I already have some made up with an independent power supply. Just gotta pull the guts out of the case and mount them. I'd loan mine and I can get another three.
"Hmmm...You mean as offensive weapons? Happy asked dubiously.
"If there wasn't a problem they'd use commercial transport."
"But if there is a problem?" Happy asked. "This isn't a warship. I'd like to think they're not going looking for trouble."
"They might not have the option to be reasonable, if the other guys start shooting first," Jeff insisted. "You didn't carry that pistol around jammed down your leg because you were looking for trouble did you?"
"Also, it might scare Bob off. He'd see it as evidence we planned on exposing his asset to entirely too much risk."
"Sneak them in on the camera arm. He'll never have reason to see it deployed. Be our little secret," he said, pushing his nose over with one finger.
"That would work, wouldn't it?" Happy said thoughtfully. He stopped objecting.
"Ok - I'll figure the shroud and do the numbers for performance with using both conventional and plasma engines." He kept keying in numbers and Jeff worked on the cheese and watched.
"Well, I have to admit, with a full load of fuel this will do anything we want in an orbit to orbit configuration, with performance likely to be a real surprise to anyone watching. I just wish we had a little more room for reaction mass for the new engines. It wouldn't take much to make a lunar landing possible. We'd have to get refueled to get back. And the descent and lift off would both be fairly high G, but it would be possible."
Jeff took a pull on his beer. "Figure a bladder cell on the rear bulkhead of the cabin and run the numbers."
Happy looked surprised and started net searching for a custom bladder cell maker to get some numbers. After a few minutes he spoke. "We'd have to brace the bulkhead. Some sheets of buckyfoam crossed under in an X between the four frame rails and some arch shapes molded in to stiffen them. But we could put half a ton of payload on the moon. Then we'd need some landing jacks," he thought out loud.
"But only for lunar gravity," Jeff reminded him.
"And to support their own weight to 9 G," Happy mused.
"How about just carrying them along under the shroud and go out and extend and lock them in position in a suit, if we have to do a lunar landing? It would be a long enough trip so we'd certainly have time. Then we would have no mass wasted for a mechanism to extend them, or sensors to confirm it. And we don't have them hanging there, visible, telling everybody we can do a landing."
"You know. What we have here is an honest-to-goodness spaceship. I can't see going all the way to the moon in a p-suit. The cabin is rated for pressure for emergency medical work. What would it take to build in an honest airlock which would allow a shirtsleeve environment? Well, let you fly with your faceplate open at least and a shuttle style toilet."
"And a green house with a Jacuzzi?" Jeff tried to make the helmet-talk face for doubt Happy had taught him, but the beer was interfering.
"No, really, run the numbers. I think it can be done."
Jeff thought about it a bit. "Make two airlocks. One a coffin lock on the inside of the removable hatch, just barely big enough for a suit to squeeze in, really snug, not standard dimensions, fill the corners with closed cell rigid vacuum foam even and the other is a locker, which stores tools and stuff for working on the outside, but can be accessed from either side with appropriate interlocks. It would have fitted drawers inside which pull out either way. Then you don't have to leave room in the coffin for a toolbox, or recycle in if you forget something. Minimum empty volume on both so they pump down to 80% or so quickly and the tool lock is not wasted space, because it is the usual storage volume for the tools anyway. Then if we have a shirt sleeve environment you need to design something important, or see if a design has been worked up elsewhere."
"What Jeff?"
"A coffee maker, capable of working from zero to 9 G."
"Should it roast and grind its own beans?"
"Why not?" Jeff asked.
* * *
Tuesday Oct 12, 2083, April was walking to the cafeteria trying to sort out the changes a week had made in her life. She had the news on her earphones, just listening again. She wanted to be treated as an adult and now her dad and Jon were treating her with the respect she had wanted for so long, but the weight of the decisions she was making were an unaccustomed burden.
She was doing things which did not just affect how her friends or family regarded her. She was doing irreversible things, which would alter her own life and reach out and touch other people's lives, who might not even know what she was doing much less consent. The satisfaction of grasping these adult powers was tempered with the sobering realization she could mess up big time and fail in ways impossible to shrug off like blowing a test score in one of her classes.
Her mind was racing with all these changes so much she realized she had no idea what the news announcer had been taking about at all and just switched it off. She had her usual good appetite, but was on a mission to talk to Ruby also, so she hoped she was on her usual shift. The cafeteria was still fairly busy as she loaded up her tray, but she was happy to see her friend at the grill.
"Hi Ruby. I'd like a tall stack. When you take your break, can you talk? I have some stuff I'd like to tell you."
"Sure but it might be awhile this morning. Don't know why, but everybody decided to get out of their quarters this morning. It's unusual for a Monday. We've got some nice fresh blueberries for the pancakes, not frozen. Want some?"
"Sure, sounds wonderful, thank you." Ruby poured four big circles of batter on the grill and dribbled a generous handful of the berries in each circle. Her grandpa told her how when the habitat was first being built they lived on warmed up food. He said that tempers got pretty short around meal times and a lot of extra mass was smuggled up for candy bars and such, with people trying to get anything satisfying to eat. He seemed to be making up for it now by being a real fussy eater.
She fit the platter on the tray with difficulty, hanging off one edge as the tray was full up. As usual she headed for the back of the room, away from the crowd which clustered close to the serving line. There was a dark haired girl, Doris, she hadn't seen for a couple months sitting alone to the back just like she liked to do. It was unusual not to see someone in their little world for such a long time. She gave a wave and looked down, threading her way through the tables and chairs, which were loose on the deck instead of bolted down on this side of the room.
Doris would give her somebody to chat with waiting for Ruby. Coming up on her table, she wanted to go around to sit beside her, looking back on the room and watch for Ruby to come. When she got closer and looked up at Doris, she was surprised and embarrassed to see she was crying. She briefly thought of changing course and sitting away from her, but it was too late to do so gracefully, it would have seemed terribly cold. Doris had one little tissue all used up and squashed to a golf ball size in her hands.
"Here, I always get extras, even though they have a sign up telling us to conserve." April unfolded a paper napkin once and again to a single thickness. Doris took it without speaking and slowly wiped around her eyes with both hands, planted her elbows on the table and blew her nose in the napkin. April looked up embarrassed again. Blowing your nose at the table was a capital offense in her mother's estimation, but nobody at the other tables even looked up. Doris let out a big sigh and tried to say something to her but just let out a little hiccup, which she choked off instead. It at least made both of them laugh a little.
"There's no hurry to talk. Sip on this a little and it will help with the hiccups." She sat her glass of orange juice in front of Doris on another napkin. She went ahead with her own breakfast and checked out the crowd in front of them. Between bites she stole a few peeks at Doris taking some small sips of the juice.
"You're welcome to tell me what's so upsetting if you want. It might help."
"My parents, April. I had another big argument and walked out because they just kept hammering and hammering on me and I couldn't make it end or go in my room. It's my Dad who yells, but my mom never crosses him at all. She's terrified of him. He might figure out I came here. There are only so many places to go after all. If you don't want to sit with me I understand. I don't want to get you in trouble too."
"This is the public cafeteria, Doris. What trouble could I get in for eating breakfast?"
"Well, if my dad complains to your dad. He would probably tell him I was disobedient and left the apartment when I was ordered not to and you were encouraging me by feeding me and sympathizing. Would he get on you about helping me?"
"Not without hearing the whole story he wouldn't. I have to say, it has only been real recently he has listened to me like I'm not a little kid, but he was never was one to assume if something was wrong it must be my fault. More likely he'd come down on your side and figure your dad was a flaming jackass, just by the fact he is yelling at you. He doesn't care much for people who yell and scream to make their point."
"Oh, don't ever use cuss words where he can hear you," Doris got big eyes and looked seriously scared.
April was hesitant to say what she was thinking, which was she could say a whole lot worse than jackass and it might fit, but she took a few bites and then decided to take a different tack.
"If he did anything more than give me a nasty look, I assure you he would be sorry. If he laid a hand on me I wouldn't put up with it. I've always been taught not to let anyone put their grubby little hands on you. Tell me straight out - Is he getting physical with you or your mom?"
"Oh, not really, I mean, I suspect he has hurt my mom and she won't say anything, because she has bruises sometimes, but they are always where they don't show and if I ask about them she laughs and says she's clumsy. But I sure never see her bumping into anything."
"Sometimes he grabs me by the arm and drags me over to the door and shoves me in my room, but he has never hauled back and hit me with his fist. He just gets so close and the look he gets on his face when he yells," she stopped and folded her arms in front of herself defensively and shuddered, "I'm scared he will."
"Doris. He's over the line. Even if he never touched you, not all abuse is physical. There's emotional abuse too."
"Yeah but you can't show any bruises from it can you? Uh, could I take a little of your bacon there?" Doris wondered.
"I don't mind, but I'm probably going to go back for some more myself. Why don't you go get a tray of your own and join me?
"I can't April. My dad dropped the food service off our housekeeping menu, so he gets a little credit back. If I go up they'll serve me, but there'll be a minimum fee on the housing cost for the month and he'll have a fit. It's one more of the things we were arguing about. He doesn't want my mom or me to come to the cafeteria, because he says it's bad association. He'd be upset I'm talking to you now. And he won't let my mom or me have money so we can decide to do something without him. My mom isn't even on the bank accounts. She has to tell him what she needs and he orders everything."
"The last time I was up here, one of the Japanese boys brought his tray to my table and started talking to me and my dad came up and rushed me away before I could finish my food and said something rude to the boy about looking at me. I mean, excuse me for growing up. Why shouldn't he want to talk to me? But you wouldn't believe the nasty things he said when we got home."
"Today when we were arguing he said to me, 'No matter what you do, little girls grow up to be little whores. It's just what he assumes about women and it isn't fair. I've been a good person and never done anything like he assumes I want to. So I told him, "If sex is so horrible how did you two ever manage to have me?" He got madder than I've ever seen him before and he was between me and my room so I went out the corridor door and here I am."
April fumbled around in the little belt purse she carried and come up with a handful of mixed bills, sorted out some Brazilian notes, a few EuroMarks and found a fifty dollar USNA bill. "I'm sorry. I hardly ever have cash, because I just use my com to beam cash straight from my bank account, but this should buy you breakfast. Go get a decent meal and we'll figure something out for you." Doris didn't argue at all, just thanked her.
She sat steaming. The more she thought about it the angrier she got.
When Doris came back she had a very modest plate of scrambled eggs and bacon with a bagel on the side.
"Did you need more money? April asked. "Looks pretty light to me."
"Yeah, but you're engineered aren't you? It's just another reason he'd be upset, because I'm talking with you and he says gene altered people are an abomination. I couldn't eat like you have stacked up there without getting fat and probably having insulin resistance and hormone imbalance down the road, so this is plenty."
"Yeah, I can get away with eating about 4500 calories a day and I don't have the bad side effects, because of a few tweaks my folks gave me in vitro. I can throttle it back by going on a fast for about three days and I revert to a normal metabolism just like you. Then can ease back up to 2000 or so and my gene mod metabolism doesn't kick in until I start eating heavy again. When I do I think just fine, but I sleep more and don't have the strength or endurance I do when I'm running boosted."
"I wish I had a few more alterations, like the marathon gene set, but some of them were not invented fourteen years ago and some of them were not proven out so my folks didn't buy 'em. They would tell you how conservative they were, because they wouldn't try anything very new on me. Remember reading about the Wiz Kids in Germany, about ten years ago?"
Doris nodded yes. A clinic in Italy had offered a mod which produced child prodigies. There was no telling what direction the talent would take, but all of them were early learners with number skills, or playing musical instruments and other showy abilities while still toddling. A lot of Germans bought the mod. However, when they reached puberty they all crashed into a massive induced schizophrenia, which was marginally treatable. It was a favorite horror story, of genetic mod opponents.
"Another thing we're having fights over - I could have started life extension therapy almost two years ago and I want to, but he won't let me."
"Well it is pretty expensive. I was talking with my grandparents about it and they are looking at maybe even selling their house and moving up here, if they start it soon."
"April, I can have some of the basics done free. My dad was born in France to Canadian parents and he has all the medical rights for the family from his parents. They won't do the cosmetic stuff, but they'll do the work to keep you from developing cancer and heart disease and stuff, which costs more to treat than to prevent."
"What you're talking about is not extension work Doris. It's just normal medical care, that lets you live a full life span without dying early. You'd still die somewhere in your 110's probably. My folks are looking at possibly lasting to 160 or so if the treatments they are getting work well. Who knows what else they will come up with in the next 120 years? I mean, 120 years ago they were almost witch doctors. They couldn't read your genome much less alter it. They thought ulcers and arterial plaque, were caused by what you ate and they couldn't even grow you a new finger if you cut one off, much less a hand. Why in the world would he deny you the chance to be healthy?"
Doris leaned toward her like she was afraid someone might overhear. "They're religious," she said and then seeing the blank look on April's face. "I mean really, really, religious. Like the Bible says a man's life should be three score and ten, so it's wrong to stretch it past what has God given and it's wrong to drink anything with alcohol in it and is wrong to do any work on a Sunday, because it's the Lord's Sabbath even if environmental is down and the air is going bad. It's wrong to wear any clothing not gender specific. It's wrong to question anything your father says, or let a boy talk to you. Especially a dirty third world boy, who's not a Christian, so doing evil just comes natural to him."
"Oh, man...." April didn't know where to start, or what to say. What a mess.
"He'd be mad at me for sitting here eating with you because you're not Christian too."
"How would he know what I am?" April protested indignantly, "We've never talked religion for him to know anything about me."
"You don't even start to get it. There isn't anybody on this station who he would think is righteous. I hear him talk on the com with the Church people back home and he and his friends discount about half of the people in their own church as not really Christians. It's always this stuff like – 'Oh yeah, we saw the Evans driving in from town. I think they shop on the Sabbath.' Or, 'Did you see the gay shirt the Allens let their boy wear to services? Godly people wear white shirts not blue!' Believe me, you don't stand a ghost of a chance to make his short list."
"I could walk out the door in a few months and have myself declared emancipated, but they've made it clear if I did walk out it would be with what was on my back and a big footprint on my butt." She looked over her shoulder, like saying butt might get her in trouble.
"He's never allowed me to keep any real money, even when I worked for his company and you know how expensive it is to live on M3. He did buy me a real Goodyear p-suit to do work for him and I don't think he knows I swiped it and put it in a pay locker when he shut his business down, so he couldn't keep it from me if I did leave. He's got the empty case for it in storage. I got a few of my clothes and a few keepsakes in the locker too, but it will take every penny I have saved to keep the locker until I'm eighteen. But all of the effort I put into saving those few things is probably pointless, because he insists now we are moving back to Canada before this thing with the Rock comes to a head."
"I'm concerned about the Rock and all the problems about it too, but isn't it a little drastic to go Earthside before they make you?" April asked.
"I don't want to go down myself, but I can see why my dad wants to. He didn't just act rude with the one Japanese boy. He has been saying nasty things to so many people it has come back on him. It's such a small community here and when you start insulting people and their children, it doesn't take long before you start losing business. He tells people they are headed straight for hell and then doesn't understand why they don't send him work. He hasn't made it any secret he won't take any life extension and the other business men look at him now like he has a terminal disease and won't be around long."
"There are competitors who they figure will be around long after he is gone and they don't call their customer's kids nasty names. He hasn't had much work for months and the guys he laid off all went to work for other companies. He's been working for a bunch of ground-siders, doing something he won't tell us about at all. I'm scared he may be doing something illegal and get in trouble." She was twisting her napkin unaware.
"These new guys he's working for are telling him people on the station will be straightened out and things run tighter when everything is settled. He brags on it to my mom and I and insists we'll be coming back up, but I don't believe it for a minute. He's lying, or fooling himself, because he's never going to get the crew he had back, or get back the business he lost, either one."
The story put a chill up April's back. She immediately suspected he wasn't coming back to go into the construction business again. He'd be coming back as a martial law administrator for the North Americans. She pulled her pad out and found the file she wanted and isolated a frame of video and cropped it.
"I might be able to sort some of it out for you Doris, but can you tell me if you ever saw this fellow?" She turned her pad around and showed Doris a face shot of Art.
"Oh boy, this is bad if the director's family is carrying his picture around. When this guy came to see my dad, he picked up a duffel bag my dad had been holding for him. My dad acted scared of this guy and that isn't like him at all. He gave me the willies too. And if the stuff in the duffel was anything legal, why didn't he just stick it in a public locker? Is he some kind of fugitive you carry his picture to show people?"
"He broke in and he did a lot of damage in the Singh's apartment and then he fled the station in a way which endangered a lot of people outside pressure. Yeah, if Jon could have found him in time I'm sure he would have arrested him. But he's not just a criminal looking to steal something. We're pretty sure he is military and some sort of spy."
"April I really don't think my dad would help anyone from another country. He has always made a big deal of being a patriot. He considers himself as righteous politically as he does religiously."
"Who said anything about another country? This guy jumped out of the lock into a USNA space plane. He seems to be in a special naval outfit called the SEALs. He had a gun and from the way he broke in Singh's place he had to have other special tools too."
Doris just looked at her like what she was saying was nonsense.
"Look Doris, what will it take to let you walk out the door? Are you waiting to turn eighteen or what?
"No, we're using California law on station and you can be emancipated as young as fourteen. But it is easier the older you are. You can be emancipated if you get married, or join the military, or you are living on your own and supporting yourself. The court basically has to think you have made a good case it's in your best interests, unless you are just plain abandoned by your parents. They still feed me and I have a place to stay but the isolation is getting to me and they just never ever approve of anything I do. But then my mom is an adult and she's getting the same treatment too."
"So you need a job and a place to stay?" April asked.
"Yeah but both are pretty tough on M3. I can't even afford a real one room apartment. I'd have to rent a hot bunk like temporary workers do and keep my stuff in a locker like I already am. Try explaining that as a normal way to live to some judge in California, who has never been up here and has no idea what it costs to live. I'd look like a vagrant to him."
April got back in her purse and pulled out her key card for the Holiday Inn. "I'll probably have some hassles from this, but here, take this and you'll have a safe place to stay tonight. I'll tell Jon, who heads Security, you're afraid to go home and ask him what we can do to help you. Do you have anyone you can go to today and ask to tell the court they will give you a job?"
"My dad will kill me, but his foreman who quit and went to work for Trevor and Thompson, worked with me when I was running supplies out to my dad's work crews. He knows I can handle myself in zero-G. I do some helmet talk too and I have all the safety training. He was treated so crappy, I think he'd hire me just for the chance to get back at my dad."
April gave her a quizzical look. "Why was he having you work for him if he wanted you to stay at home and not have any contact with anyone?"
"Oh, he never was going to make a real place for me in the business. It was never a possibility being female. It's just that FedEx and UPS are pretty cheap to ship stuff to the hub and pick it up in pressure, but if you want it delivered to vacuum it costs about three times as much, when they have to go through a lock."
"He would save several thousands of dollars some weeks in vacuum fees. I'd run fasteners and wire and stuff out to them, but he just gave me a hundred dollars a week allowance. It's a wonder he didn't make me wear a skirt over my pressure suit, in case his church buddies thought I was wearing pants. Although I suppose in zero G it wouldn't hang very modest!"
April just shook her head in disbelief. "That's cheap. I mean a hundred bucks won't let you buy supper for you and a friend unless you get burgers."
"But he didn't want me buying supper for any friends. He doesn't want me keeping company with people who are a bad influence."
"You're able to handle yourself outside pressure. Have you ever gotten a ride in a construction scooter to deliver stuff?
"Oh sure, don't ever tell anyone, but a few times we were off a ways from M3 and if they needed to shift an empty scooter the guys would have me move it, just following one of them and typing in command lines to the autopilot instead of manual controls. We were always a couple hundred meters away from each other and if it hadn't done what I intended they made sure I knew how to do an emergency abort. One of them would have come over and helped. But I never had any problem. It's really simple to program a couple burns and make sure it's pointed in the right direction. But I'm not licensed so I could get in trouble." To April, Doris seemed to constantly fear being in trouble. What a horrible way to live.
"Put your pad up here and I want to give you something to read. This is the exam I am studying to take in a couple weeks for a scooter license and the study material and manual for the scooter. You look it over and tell me if you think you could study up and take it. I might know someone who would give you a job if you can do it, but you still go ahead and see what you can do for yourself."
Doris fished in her pocket and came out with a memory module and switched it with the one in her pad and April raised an eyebrow questioningly.
"I keep one for myself and one in the pad for my dad to snoop through," She explained. "He gets all bent if I even have somebody's address he hasn't approved. I'm not allowed to have an AI in my pad, so it doesn't take much to switch out a dumb system on a small chip. I could hide stuff too easily if I had an AI and he's not sure they aren't an abomination too."
April let the pad talk to Doris's pad and then keyed in a new action.
"Here's a couple hundred bucks. It's a loan until you get a job and get on your feet. You have to have something to eat on for a couple days."
Doris looked at the pad silently for few seconds. She had accepted breakfast easily, but it was obvious she didn't want to take more money. Finally she hit enter to accept it and looked back up at April.
"Thank you for believing me. We never got to know each other enough to feel really close, but you've turned out to be a real friend when I needed it. I do appreciate it."
"I have no doubt there's something wrong here. I suspect I haven't heard everything yet, but just the Art fellow being involved tells me there's something bad happening. I don't know if your dad is involved with him knowing what he was up to and willingly helping, or just foolishly working for him for the money. But he is a snake. I would expect him to hurt anyone who crossed him. Sorry to have to talk that way about your dad's man."
"Don't worry," Doris said, looking sad. "I pretty much had to lose any illusions about my dad, before I could walk out today. There's no way I can go back. I didn't have any idea what I would do until you came and offered to help. Thanks again."
"Don't be surprised if you see someone at the Holiday Inn, or see somebody's stuff in the room, but I'll make sure they know it's OK. The people who have a keycard are all good people. Why don't you go before your dad figures out you're here?"
"OK," Doris agreed and headed out the exit, stopping to take care of her tray and trash, but never looking back at April.
April watched her walk away, thinking - I hope she can walk away from her horrible life the same way and never have to look back.
"Well!" Ruby said, catching April by surprise. "I was starting to think I'd have lunch with you instead of my break." She put her tray opposite April where she had walked up undetected.
"You seemed to be helping the child out so I stayed away. When I was tidying things up over here earlier I saw she was crying and upset. I'd have asked what the matter was, but she has never been one to talk to me. I wasn't sure it would be welcome. Is she a friend of yours?"
"Ruby, she hasn't been a friend, I haven't even seen her for a couple months, but she just really gave me an earful and I wouldn't be too hard on her for not speaking to you. From what she was saying her dad is a real control freak and he has kept her and her mom almost prisoners in their apartment. Won't let them have friends. Won't let them have money or carry an account for the cafeteria - snoops on them even. I'm going to see what I can do to help her. She left home this morning and is scared to try to go back. Her dad sounds like he could be violent. Maybe is already and covers it up." She explained the hidden bruises the mother laughed off.
"That son of a bitch, I wouldn't be surprised from what I've seen of him."
April was surprised and at once interested. Ruby didn't usually use even the mildest euphemisms. "You know him? I'd like to know. It might help me."
Ruby looked down at her plate and seemed unhappy she had said anything. She chewed on her muffin a bit and thought about what to say.
"Gary, right?" Ruby asked. April nodded yes. "You see the names on the charge register screen and they stick with the faces. You know down Groundside, they still have places you can get treated pretty crappy if you are black like me? Or red or yellow, or the wrong religion, or have an accent, or any number of things?"
"Sure Ruby. I was raised up here but I have been down below and I read the news. I'm not so sheltered I'm clueless. I've seen some crazy hateful web sites too."
"Well when her dad comes through the cafeteria, it isn't just that he doesn't act friendly or joke around. There is a look people give you. It's hard to explain. Oh, he acts anti-social with everybody, but if they just really hate you to the core, it stares out of their eyes at you and you have no doubt at all what you're looking at if you've seen it before."
"My husband and I won't even travel through the Deep South when we go down on leave. Oh - he'll go to Florida, because he says the Crackers lost that state to the Yankees years ago. But if you travel through Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana down the two lane back roads in a expensive rental car, dressed nice and stop in the small towns where you're not welcome, it's more than uncomfortable. You're gonna have your car damaged or have some trumped up bullshit traffic charge from the local police, which will cost you a big fine to leave behind you. Not what you want when you're on vacation, trying to relax and enjoy yourself. Easy says he'd rather take a driving trip through the Arab Protectorate, than the rural South."
"You may find out next visit you'll get hassled for being a station dweller too." April warned her. "My mom just came back from Australia and she had people confront her in public and tell her to go back home because she was from M3 and because they could see she had life extension therapy. She looked way too young compared to my grandparents. In fact that's another reason Doris was not supposed to have anything to do with me, because I'm gene altered so I'm an 'abomination'. Her dad is not just a garden variety control freak. He's a major religious nut too. In fact she made it clear he thinks a lot of his own church people are not strict enough."
Ruby smiled, but it wasn't a pretty one. "Usually one of these groups splits every few years, when a few of them become truer believers than the rest. They have a hard time getting past a hundred members or so before they start bickering and split up. I feel badly I didn't come over to help her but I really wasn't sure it would be welcome."
"Do you know if there is anyone who is like a social worker on M3? I've never heard my dad talk about anyone being responsible for that kind of problem, maybe medical services, or security? I've never heard of such a thing."
"Reason we never have much of those kind of problems on M3 is they screen the people real hard and you have to be real sneaky and smart, not to have some clue turn up you're a trouble maker. Oh, if you have a really rare ability, they may be willing to let a marginal psychological profile slide by, in order to get your skills. Like in the construction crew they'll let a little more slip by."
"Those kids are only here for six months, most of them and they're mostly single and young, so you can't expect them not to cut up a bit. They will talk to them once if there is a problem, or even look the other way, if one gets out of line so bad their bunk mates gives them an attitude adjustment thumping. As long as they can still work Okay the next day. But the residents and corporate people up here long term, they will simply ship them back Earthside in a heartbeat if they cause trouble. If security has to tells a sponsor any workers are a hazard, they're on the next shuttle. Nobody wants to be liable for their actions once they're on record as a problem."
"It might be difficult with Doris's dad. He ran his own business, Chalmer's High Iron. So he has no contract or boss to send him Dirtside. But part of the problem is he says they're going home to Canada until the problems with the Rock are over and they'll come back. She doesn't want to go and doesn't believe he'll be coming back." She stopped and thought a little what she should say to Ruby.
"I can hear the wheels and gears turning," Ruby said over the edge of her coffee mug. "Why don't you spit out what you're holding back. Is it a secret or something?"
"I was trying to figure it out," April admitted. "All of a sudden I know a whole lot of stuff and I'm not sure what parts I can share with what people."
"Don't you trust old Ruby? When have I ever let you down? Tell me a bit more. What's this got to do with Mr. Creepo Chalmers?"
"Keep this for your own information. I mean, I know you'll tell your husband. But otherwise keep it tight please. Point is, Doris knew her dad was holding stuff for Art, the USNA spy we talked about who jumped from the lock. He's working for them."
"She said they told him the people here would get straightened out and more under control like back home. So tell me how they are going to make it happen. Huh? Seems like he must know who they are, if they share this sort of information with him. I figure if he comes back, he isn't expecting to start his business back up, although that's what Doris assumed. I figure he'll have some USNA administrative position handed him, for helping them spy now."
"Collaborator is the word you're hunting for," Ruby calmly stated.
"Well, we're not in the sort of conflict to justify the term," April insisted.
"I figured we were when they started sending armed spies in here and we'll be openly in conflict pretty soon won't we?" Ruby said pointedly. "Most folks just aren't aware of it yet and if they arrest a bunch of folks to take over control of M3, I'd say your dad has to be one of the first three guys on the short list."
April had a hard knot form in her stomach at the idea. "You're right, but I'm sorry to say I've been thinking of so many other things it hadn't occurred to me yet."
"Well, sorry to give you a new worry. One practical thing I can help you with. You tell Doris to come in here and I'll make sure she is fed without using cash like I saw you give her today. We can key it in on an account that never goes over the minimum charges and they'll never check the statement line by line if they're not paying extra."
"Mitsubishi can afford a couple meals, folded into the billions they run in overhead, without going broke. We throw away more every shift than she could eat. I'll tell Wanda to do the same. She may seem sour, but she'll do what I tell her, because she knows I'll help her when she needs it."
"Ruby you always talk about your husband, I wanted to ask about him, but I don't think I've ever heard you say his name."
"He is Washington Carter Dixon. But what he goes by at work and at home is Easy. What about him?"
"Well this may seem odd to ask," April squirmed feeling awkward, "but I wondered if he, or you, know how to shoot?"
Ruby looked to be struggling not to laugh.
"I used to be in the Air Force. It's how I got my college paid you see. The way I met Easy, is he jumped out of my perfectly good airplane a number of times into the dark of night. The way his guys were dressed in black with no uniforms, no insignia and carrying enough death dealing equipment to take on a small army, makes me suspect he can shoot a bit - yeah - just a bit maybe. Myself, I had to qualify like everyone else, with pistol and automatic rifle. We flew cargo planes and I eventually progressed from ramp grunt to loadmaster."
"Lots of times we slept in the plane with our weapons beside us, because we were in some God forsaken rat hole in the middle of nowhere and afraid we'd never get to the plane and get out, if we didn't stay aboard. Been in more little dirt strip pest holes, with minarets and palm trees, than I care to relate. These were old heavy lifters. Some of them so old they had propellers, not ducted fans, big old windmills. They could fly with a whole lot of holes shot in them if you had to."
"We still meet Easy's old buddies from time to time and they never get very specific about where or when they worked together. Don't forget Honey, I grew up in Detroit. You could go out on the street and buy a gun, easier than you could find a good pizza. And the old smart cops were scared to get out of their armored squad car. Real educational place to grow up. Answer your question?"
"Yes it does. I just wanted to be sure you could use this if I gave it to you." April reached back and unclipped the extra laser on her belt. She could see Ruby's eyes linger on the twin which stayed on her belt. She never missed a thing.
April showed her the pressure points to open the handle and screen and explained there was a tutorial which would help her set it up. "It's set at lowest power right now until you find the menu and turn it up." Ruby examined it in her lap, as April explained the basics. With Ruby's back to the rest of the room April was happy with their privacy.
Ruby seemed real pleased with the gift. "I assume then I'm to share this with my husband. You can bet he has something lethal squirreled away he hasn't even told me about, but he'll be tickled with this. He might even have more need of it outside pressure where he works, if it comes to trouble. Thanks April."
"About Easy," April added. "My brother and I are buying a scooter and will be doing some business with it. Would you ask your husband if he would consider moonlighting for us if we need some help? Bob and I are both going to be taking the license exam soon, but we might feel a whole lot better getting somebody to take a few flights with us who has some real experience, especially if we get some work which involves doing a flight to another habitat."
"Easy tells me frequently, in great detail, how he's still the greatest scooter pilot ever. Seriously though, he is good. I'll let him know." She said it like a goodbye - getting up and heading back to work. April watched her walking away and tried to see where she had put the laser, but it was concealed and April had somehow not seen where she had stowed it she was so slick.
April took a deep breath and mustered her nerve, then punched Jon's number in the pad. She thought about trying to present her problem with Doris as a pure security problem and make him feel obligated, but she suspected he was too smart to be manipulated so easily. She decided she would just straight out tell him she felt it was the right thing to do and appeal to him to help. Hadn't she read somewhere forgiveness was easier to get than permission?
Chapter 17
April looked across the desk at Jon. This was the first time she had ever been in his office. Maybe it would have been better to get him out to some neutral site, but it was too late now. She had been all worked up about Doris and asked to meet face to face before stopping and thinking what she wanted to accomplish. He had invited her to come right over, before she had thought to ask for a different place. The office was so small if he came around the narrow desk, she thought she'd have to step outside to allow him past. Margaret had been in the outer office and greeted her warmly and an older lady had smiled at her and seemed very happy to meet her, who they called Theo, about her grandmothers age, rail thin in all black with a single string of pearls and a pair of half glasses which were almost certainly a stage prop, since vision was so easy to correct. Margaret was in a call with someone so Theo walked her to Jon's office and asked if she would like coffee?
Jon was looking at Theo, in a way which told her it was unusual for Theo to be offering to serve refreshments and made an awful choking throat clearing noise. Theo cut it off with a quick piercing look and said "You sound like you need a cup too Jon," in clipped curt speech. Not a question or an offer. April suddenly got the feeling he was going to get a cup and he'd jolly well drink it and like it, if he knew what was good for him.
April started relating her meeting with Doris and all she had said about her father.
Theo came back with three cups of coffee and a small platter of almond cookies and baklava, which must be out of the ordinary since Jon's eyes had actually bugged out. She positioned them for April and pointedly far out of Jon's reach, although he got a huge mug of black coffee. Theo planted herself on the corner of Jon's desk and made herself comfortable with her back to the wall, as there was no third seat in the office, or even room for one.
April went on to confess she had given her key card to Doris and pleaded not only the necessity of safe guarding someone at risk for family violence, but explained about the father's alliance with Art and the potential for intelligence about what actions might take place with the rock. Theo made occasional little appreciative noises, to acknowledge the impact some of the information had for her.
"I'm sorry to dump another problem on you, when so much else is going on."
"Hey, everything else keeps happening. Freight gets pilfered, folks get in arguments and stuff gets lost, people write crap on the walls. It's our job," he said dismissively.
"Well Jon," Theo said, "we don't really have a proper police matron. I'll volunteer to meet and assess this young lady and I'm sure you'll be able happy to inform the court through her attorney, when she hires one groundside, she is voluntarily being supervised by one of your female officers. I'll help her if she will allow it, because I have been through the same trial of fleeing an abusive family."
April was glad to hear what was motivating Theo. But Theo was so pushy she worried she'd alienate Jon over the issue of Doris, which she didn't need, as Jon was an important asset for her.
"Theo, I'm sure you have a great deal of experience and I'm happy to hear you will help, but I want to tell you my grandmother was involved in social work of this kind. If there is anything you find you need to ask, about how to work the system, especially the Earth end of it, I'd like to give you her number. Just tell her I asked for her to help. Would you like the number?" She asked, ready to write it on a sticky pad from Jon's desk.
"Sure." Theo agreed. "I don't know what I might ask her yet, but I will always keep all the resources I can muster." She said, taking the note. April was relieved that was so easy.
"I'd like to go down to the Holiday Inn now. She is probably holed up there to avoid running into her dad and I'll do a preliminary interview."
"Please." Said Jon. "Thanks for taking the initiative. It's always better to have volunteers than assigning a job."
Jon seemed to relax visibly when Theo exited and took a sip of his coffee, contemplating April. She felt so sorry for him she pushed the cookie plate over to share.
"I don't know exactly what happened just now," April said. "But I had no idea Theo would take such an interest. I didn't set it up to have her put any undue pressure on you. I didn't know Theo before coming in here today."
"No, no. It's OK. This really worked out as well as I could have wished. I really would have called Theo in and used her, if she had not thrust herself into it like she did.
I didn't want to say anything until she was gone, but you are doing it again you know, don't you?
"Doing what again?" April asked confused.
"You are snooping out the action. First you found the spy who did a job on the Singhs and now you have uncovered the USNA agent and plan of action for controlling M3, after they come in and do a grab on the Rock."
"Maybe, that's filling a lot of the blanks in with guesses. But it does look mighty suspicious. You know it's not right," April complained. "If Margaret had brought this to you it would have been described as a fine piece of detective work. But when I do it it's snooping. I only found out because I was trying to do the right thing by Doris anyway. I really just kind of lucked out."
"That's fine but in the end the information about her dad is going to be more important than how Doris gets treated. Theo might have even been worried I'd lose sight of Doris, with the bigger issues on the table. The issue hits so close to home she just had to make sure I never got an opening to decide to do the wrong thing." Jon picked a piece of baklava and took a break to daintily nibble the corner off.
"Theo seems to be one of those strong personalities - almost an elemental force of nature," he explained. "She got the name her dad had reserved for a son, she's a Theodore, not Theodora and in more ways than you ever want to know he made life difficult for her."
"I didn't find out about her background until one day they brought a fellow in who had beat up his wife and threatened to kill his daughter, because he claimed in a drunken rage he wasn't sure she was his child. It would have still been OK, but he was handcuffed to Frank's desk there next to Theo's and he made the mistake of addressing Theo with what you might call a gender slur. When she got up and was unlocking his cuffs he must have sensed something was wrong. She grabbed him by a little finger and his hair and marched him in the wash room."
"I tried to rush over to stop anything bad happening. After all he had just beat up a much younger woman pretty badly. My other people all stood in my way and blocked me out of the wash room and Skip insisted quietly she wasn't in any danger. Theo came out, got in her purse and got what appeared to be a piece of heavy plastic braided hose, filled with some kind of metal shot and went back in with it. After awhile she came back out and told Frank to take some supplies in and tell the fellow to clean the room up."
"Whatever she did I couldn't see a mark on him. Frank directed him to resume his seat by the desk, but this time he didn't cuff him to it. The fellow sat there as rigid as could be and trying not to look at Theo, but he looked like a rabbit poised to run."
"After a while she looked up and checked him out. It was obvious he could see her out of the corner of his eye because he started shivering, so I called to Frank to bring him in here and he sat him in the chair you're using. I told him truthfully, when someone causes a serious problem here, we usually just ship them back home. But I had a feeling he might have just had such an altering experience I could release him. Besides, it would be safer for his wife and daughter if I kept the whole problem here, where we were aware of it, rather than sending them all down home where he could start up again."
"So I asked him and he was uncommonly eager to assure me he would never give us trouble again. I told him I was obligated have to have agent Wilson, who had helped him to the restroom, inquire of his wife on occasion and make sure she was not being mistreated again. I can't tell you how emphatic he was, that she would find no problems and I believed him. Theo has suffered a lot of the same crap that man's wife and Doris caught and she simply doesn't put up with it anymore. You won't find a better advocate."
"Wow, she doesn't look capable of being so rough."
"Yes, but I didn't just tell you because it's an interesting story. It's not correct to terrorize prisoners, even if it did probably save the rest of the family. It's wasn't properly Theo's or my judgment to make. We should have shipped him Dirtside. You shouldn't lose control of your own people like I did. So, now you know, even though you favored me over Eric Willard, I'm not perfect by a long shot. How does that affect us?"
"I don't know anybody perfect, but you're my friend now and I can see you try to do what's right and it's enough you care and try, as far as I'm concerned. OK?"
"OK, but would you be comfortable to do business with me if I wanted to hire your scooter?"
Her mouth fell open, because the shift threw her completely off. She hadn't seen where he was going. To her this conversation left the original subject in broad leaps. To her thinking there was just no direct bridge from an interesting story about his agent, to asking if they would work for him. Was he really saying he wasn't always in control or perfect, so could she still work for such a person? Who was perfect or always in control? Nobody she knew. Did he really demand that much of himself? She could see she was a long way from understanding how Jon thought.
"You wouldn't be hiring the boat, you'd be hiring us. I already had my dad say you offered me a job, but I was sure he was just teasing. But even if he wasn't, he said I couldn't do it yet because it was too dangerous."
"As for Bob, I hate to say it about my brother, but despite his many talents I don't think he is suited to police work. He is a business man, but he is way too good at taking any advantage he sees. He'll even give me the short end of the stick if I let him and he feels no shame about it. It just seems natural to him to take whatever advantage he can get and if you let him, he sees it as your fault for allowing it. It seems to be getting worse as he gets older too. I can see him getting in over his head if he has too many chances to shave the edge on ethical issues. Do you understand what I'm saying?
"I do, although that's more than I wanted to know, but what I'm interested in is the scooter you guys are buying. I've found out the last couple days it's really hard to hire a scooter in this market and the owners are ridiculously risk adverse. If my department was your first customer, before you are known to everyone as couriers and seen coming and going all the time in the business, it might really help us, because we have a passenger pickup which might call for some finesse and secrecy. I believe you would approve of picking your friend Jeff's dad up?"
"Well sure, but how'd you hear we have a scooter? Bob has it in for rebuild and it hasn't been re-registered yet."
"The old owner told me who he sold it to, when I called him up thinking he still had it. He even suggested you might not be all scheduled up with work, until you are sure when it's coming out of the shop."
"Well, yeah, fine, I could see us helping, but beside being refurbished right now, it has some more to be done by my grandpa and Jeff. So when do you need it? Because it isn't in any shape to boost right now."
"Now there is a problem where I can help. You'd be surprised how cooperative most people are, if you tell them it is a priority for something to be done for Security. Also my predecessor not only took every piece of free or cheap equipment he could get, but he left me a hefty contingency fund," he said, hope returning to his face.
"He recognized things come up in the middle of a financial year, so he squirreled away a sizable chunk of cash, in a couple accounts outside the usual accounting trail. I have to say he's an honest man, because it would have been easy to loot them when he left, instead of handing them over. So instead of just being the government heavy and using threats to motivate I can sweeten the pot as an incentive. I feel it's a better operating style anyway. Give your brother a call and let's go talk to him and then hopefully we will all go talk to the repair yard."
"Ok and Jeff and Happy too, because they are working on it already, but watch out with my brother, so most of the money doesn't end up in his pocket instead of going to the repair yard," April warned.
"You can tell him privately, if I have any doubts, I'll have Theo take him in the washroom and ask where it went," Jon said with a warm smile.
* * *
When they were away from M3 there was nothing much to see as they went ballistic and Eddie switched to com mode and looked to see if he had any messages, before pulling the hood down and relaxing. He didn't usually work Off-Shift so he was soon asleep.
The senior pilot's voice awakened him. "Five minutes to terminal burn for New Las Vegas. Please check you are belted and your possessions are secured." There was no one minute warning like some crews gave. He didn't engage his spex but he knew the senior pilot was flying. The feel was different. She had a harder hand, moving the shuttle around more aggressively. Probably ex military he thought. He disembarked with no problems logging on the net here as himself.
NLV had a lot more traffic than M3 and there were several restaurants and businesses which served the public without having to go into spin. There was even a small hotel, where you could rent a basic sleeping cubical, without going into the station. He headed to a small snack bar type restaurant he liked, which served various versions of dough wrapped food. There were pasties, pirogues, ravioli, blintzes, pita-pockets, wantons, burritos, empanadas, every variation on the popular theme, which was practical to serve in zero G.
He meet his friend Ernie at a booth with padded seats, made to let you grip them with your legs in a comfortable natural crouch and tuck your feet behind a padded bar. They had a pleasant lunch. He had a couple empanadas, with raisins and scrambled egg in them. Before he left he gave Ernie his hotel confirmation, USNA passport and Visa card. He was a real close match to Ernie in appearance, so Ernie would pass OK as long as he dealt only with private systems and didn't have to leave the habitat, or try to do anything like open a bank account, or sign contracts, where his ID would be checked against his genome.
People had same name matches and used business aliases. Then there were natural twins who were not illegal clones. There had to be some flexibility in the systems for those sort of variations, or they'd have constant false alarms bringing business to a halt. That wouldn't work with people who were here to party, not be hassled every time they tried to charge a fifty buck drink.
He kept his Japanese chop which was probably the most secure ID he owned, but unique to the USNA residents of the Mitsubishi habitats. He wasn't about to loan his hanko to a dock rat and police informant. He still had two other identities, a Swiss passport, linked to the EU system and he still had an Aussie passport under another given name, which was linked to his own genome in the computers. He had a cover built for the Aussie document as a twin, including a photo in his wallet of him on a beach with his arm around his twin's shoulders.
Nobody cross checked everything, especially on different systems. It was beyond human ability. His Australian ID was currently checked in ISSII a month back, just as his Swiss ID had been logged on and off the primary European Union satellite recently. That ID also showed him as sharing an apartment with a French retiree, who resided in Monaco. The elderly gentleman received a little help with the rent each month for that subterfuge and the only intrusion he actually made was to receive mail there occasionally, which the old boy forwarded.
The computer would assume he had been in NLV all this time, unless somebody started looking very closely. Scanning those IDs in and out was the sort of thing his family arranged to have done in bulk for a set bribe and were happy to take care of for him since there was no per document charge. They regarded it as a basic cost of doing business, like the electric bill or com charges. He was the straight arrow of the clan but he wasn't a fanatic about it. Sometimes bureaucracy made it impossible to do what was right.
Ernie would stay in his room, order a few meals and go down to lose a few EuroMarks at the casino. He had never exactly matched Ernie to a crime, but he was one of those fellows who seemed to know every other character in a station who did have a record. He ran close enough to the edge, that he fit perfectly in the roll of liaison between the criminal community and the law. In other words he was a snitch.
After they parted, he visited the common washroom outside the businesses and hurried down the dockage to catch the shuttle for ISSII as the Aussie. It was an older boat than the first one and he followed the same routine without problems. The crew was not nearly as friendly and the cockpit camera was off.
He couldn't sleep anymore, so he watched a movie off his own pad and never left his seat. No wonder the crew kept the camera off. They were a clumsy bunch, jerking the shuttle around and making a few extra corrective burns. He was glad to get off and head for Ajay's hotel. He touched the pad and logged into ISSII with no problem. There was no alert on his genome.
Eddie expected to contact Ajay pretty easily. He knew he had legal business, which would take some time after the conference. So he should still be in the same rooms. He was not alone in staying over. The Nano-Electronics conference was officially over yesterday, but many of the scientists were still here enjoying a chance to see friends in their field they did not have time to visit, while the lectures and seminars were in session. Some were staying to get the most value from a trip to orbit by extending their stay for a personal holiday, after their employer paid their way here.
The same ploy of an exotic destination had fueled conventions in Hawaii for years. However some of the really repressive countries quickly herded their delegations back on the shuttle for home, under the watchful eye of handlers who were not above drugging or strong arming anyone, who got too enthused with the heady free atmosphere of the conference. An occasional bright boy sneaking away was the price you paid in the game of control and defection.
When the clerk at the Radisson desk informed Eddie that Mr. Singh had checked out already it worried him. He wasn't 100% sure he might not have been snatched. Some defectors were really kidnapped and then they agreed to go along with it because their governments would never be sure they hadn't defected and then backed out. It could be a real career killer. Once the shadow of doubt was cast on you, your access to secrets dried up. And while not leaking talent as badly as China or South Africa, the USNA was getting some of their people leaving for The European Union or Australia. They imposed all sorts of financial restraints to discourage emigration.
Quite a few people were forced to leave behind their savings and were unable to sell their house and take the money with them for a fresh start. The fact some were willing to just walk away and start from scratch, to live in a country which recognized such things as the right to privacy in their constitution, was an embarrassing indictment of his country. Of course he had always created his own privacy, whether anyone granted it to him or not. But not everyone had that ability.
The first hitch came at the hotel. When he told the clerk how very badly he needed to contact Mr. Singh, the man had ignored the five-hundred dollar bill Eddie had folded over and smoothly tucked under the edge of the terminal between them. A little integrity was a fine thing, but if carried to the extreme how could you ever get anything done? Maybe the man really didn't know where the scientist had gone.
He retrieved the ignored money awkwardly. He wasn't used to having to take it back. He retreated to the hotel restaurant where he ordered a late second breakfast, as the empanadas on NLV were a distant memory and pulled out his pad to go to work.
He quickly found Ajay had not checked into any other rooms under his own name. He didn't think Ajay fit the profile of someone who would have a false ID prepared in case he should need it. Not because he wasn't bright enough to figure out how to do so, it just wasn't part of how he lived.
Eddie was from a family in which such skills were a matter of course. Until he was about twelve, he just assumed it was a normal thing for his uncles to all have new names and sometimes new faces, when the family got together for Christmas each year. They always still went by their nick names like Freddie the Wheel, Marty the Hand, or Two Shot Billie. Even now they were good natured about his working for the 'wrong side' as they put it. He was careful however to make sure his professional jurisdiction never overlapped with his families sphere of influence. He was far enough from Chicago to not bump elbows with them.
He considered the possibility Ajay had just walked on a shuttle early for some reason and gone back home without any problem. Maybe they were worried for nothing. But a check of the flights showed no Ajay on the public transport. Eddie thought he was still on the station for some reason. It just felt right. So he had to be in a room under some other person's name, or a private home. Eddie thought about the possibility he might be sleeping with the fishes, as his uncles would say, but then he would not have checked out so normally. He started checking all the new hotel check-ins since Ajay left his room.
On a hunch, Eddie ran a list of the station residents against the conference list, to see if anyone was attending who already lived on ISII. He got two hits. A married couple, the Agapitos, both in the Nano tech line of work and with a residence here. He punched up their number and was rewarded with a live answer. A diminutive lady answered with a assertive gaze. She had a Filipino look to her hair and clothing. A mix of Hispanic and Asian. Her straight black hair was short in a no nonsense hairdo, with a sort of crest swept back on each side, almost squared off and her dark eyebrows were unplucked and emphasized her broad face.
He immediately took a liking to her. She didn't look or act like someone he could bullshit, so he played it straight and asked if she knew where Dr. Singh had gone after the conference, because he had tried his hotel and he had checked out.
"Dr. Singh had someone bothering him," she informed him and explained he had gone elsewhere to avoid them. She would be happy to relay a message if he wanted but since she had no way of knowing he was not part of the problem, she would not tell him where the man was staying.
"Excuse me a moment," he said and acted as if he had another call on the pad. The breach of manners caused a frown on her face, but she allowed it. He checked the hotels again and there was a room taken last night in a cheaper hotel, under this couples name. He switched back to her.
"Forgive me for being forward, but is he with your husband at the Arlington? I'd like to go by and speak with them if I could."
"Yes you've figured it out, but I don't suggest you go there. If you turn up unannounced and alarm them, you might come to some harm from their private security. Why don't I give them a call and they can join you at the Radisson if they agree and they can decide if they should trust you before allowing you in their private space."
Eddie was jolted she had him located exactly in such a short time. "I'm impressed," he admitted. "You can locate me behind a proxy so casually?"
She made a little snort through her nose. "No crack needed. You're sitting in front of the ugliest wallpaper pattern known to man. I would never forget where such a visual obscenity was. A homeless person wouldn't line his box with it."
He looked over his shoulder. It was pretty nasty stuff. Gold and Maroon flock. What were they thinking?
"Please, do ask them if they could meet me here, perhaps we can work something out. I do have Dr. Singh's best interests at heart."
"In which case you won't mind telling me who you are and who you work for before I call them. Right?"
"Yes ma'am, no problem. I'm Eddie Persico and I work for Jon Davis in Security on Mitsubishi 3. I'm not exactly advertising I'm here. So if you check with him, I'd appreciate it if you can do it second hand and not tell the world I'm here."
"Fine Eddie. And what do you go by on the street?" She said giving him a look which bored through him like an awl.
"I, uh, beg your pardon ma'am?" he stammered.
She just looked at him without repeating and he could feel sweat starting to bead up under his hair. Her stare pinned him like a raptor examining a plump pigeon.
"I guess you'd mean, some folks have called me Eddie the Lip," he admitted.
"Hmm...I wonder why?" She mused before closing the connection.
She is one intimidating lady, he thought as he went back to his meal.
The waiter came by and brought him a fresh carafe of coffee and said, "Excuse me, sir. I'm going off shift. It has been a pleasure to serve you."
Eddie nodded and didn't think much of it. The new waiter however had a decidedly mixed Asian look. There was a marked resemblance to his beloved uncles which was oddly disquieting. He looked at the time. Midmorning seemed an odd time for shift change, but it was not close to the even hour or half hour. Who's work shift ends at 09:17? There was also the new fellow's lack of any neck and his incongruous light movement on his feet, which did not match his bulk. This waiter must spend a lot of time in the gym, because he didn't get those shoulders carrying trays.
There was something else odd about him hard to pin down. After awhile he figured it out. He was too attentive. Most servers have enough other duties they are busy elsewhere and know how long they can let you go before you need attention. This fellow never seemed to need to do anything in the kitchen and didn't have any other tables. He checked the sugar and cream, refilled the water and whisked his carafe away to top it off. All the while markedly cheerful. He expected at this rate the fellow might soon polish his silverware.
Then when the next table came empty, it was filled with two more heavy weights who wore jackets and one of them carried a bag like you'd take to the gym. Those weren't a common sight on stations. They could be Malay or Indonesian, but clothing and haircuts told him they were probably Filipino. Eddie was starting to think either the Nano-tech convention was being followed by a convention of professional bouncers, or he was being quietly surrounded with some real muscle. That's OK he thought. We're on the same side and they just don't know it yet. So upon consideration he decided he was actually safer with all his new companions. They would have been surprised to know they kind of made him homesick for his uncles.
His breakfast dishes had been long gone and he had gotten bored with reading the news on his pad, before there was a slight, middle aged fellow, who appeared at the dining room entry wearing a tunic shirt, with embroidered panels down each side in front which shouted - I have money, but I'm just folks. He looked about until he fixed his gaze on Eddie. His gaze then swept to the table of heavies to the right and then a similar table two places away to the left, which Eddie had missed, until the fellow's survey identified them.
He came forward to the table and introduced himself. "I'm Dr. Ton Agapito Mr. Persico. May I join you?
Eddie made an inviting gesture to the chair with a welcoming nod. "Would you care for anything? I've had breakfast while I was waiting and have been enjoying the coffee, but feel free to order something if you're inclined."
"Thank you. I will, as I have been up all night and not eaten." He made a small gesture to the waiter and refused the menu when it was offered. "I'd like a large bowl of Kasha with maple syrup and butter. A Danish with butter on the side and a pot of tea with lemon and honey."
It made Eddies teeth ache just to imagine so much sweet stuff, but he said, "I was hoping we could have Dr. Singh also, as I wanted him to know there might be some problems returning to Mitsubishi 3. I hope I can get a chance to repeat this to him, but if not we want him to know his apartment was invaded by an agent, who ransacked it. We believe he did not get what he was looking for."
"We have no idea if his work space has been searched but his employers have not reported anything wrong so we have not asked them to check. If it was the same person who searched his work area that did his home they would know, there was nothing subtle about the search. His son however is fine. We located him in a safe place until we could repair the apartment and now he is back there."
"Do you have the agent in custody then, so it is safe to return the son to their home?"
"No. Sorry to say the agent was tipped off we were aware of him and he left early by jumping out an airlock on the hub, to an awaiting shuttle. It endangered quite a few people and caused a near accident ignoring local control too. We have video of his exit so we can ID the agent and we have put much stricter security on our incoming shuttles."
"They grow too bold!" Ton exclaimed. "Did anyone complain to the Chinese about making such an illegal pick-up?
Eddie hesitated and Dr. Agapito saw something was amiss.
"It wasn't a Chinese shuttle Doc. It was a USNA spaceplane. And the agent who slipped away was a USNA military man, a SEAL."
"My, this is getting complicated." Dr. Agapito admitted. "Neither Dr. Singh or Dr. Nam-Kah felt safe to come walk through the corridors to meet you, because of the Chinese. We had no idea the USNA was involved too. In fact I'm not even sure what the Chinese would do, if they had either one in custody. I don't think Dr. Singh has done anything illegal and it might be an embarrassment having Dr. Nam-Kah seek to defect. From a technical legal aspect, I don't think you can actually defect from ISSII, because each person is under the laws of his own country while on the station."
"Given that, China for all their restrictions has great personal freedoms on the law books. They just don't really follow their own laws at all. We could try to make sure they do follow their law here, instead of just using strong arm tactics as they would at home. However it might take too long. It leaves them enough room to maneuver and delay using legal tactics, even if they don't snatch her. So we don't want to confront them if we can avoid it. Now we have to try to figure out what the Americans want and will do also." He shook his head at how complex it was getting. "Too many players," he muttered.
"Dr. Agapito. It's even more complicated than you think. I have no idea who this Dr. Nam-Kah is at all. Never heard of the person until you just mentioned them. It's not even a Chinese name is it?"
"No. It's not. It's a Tibetan name. But of course Tibet has been occupied by China for years. So you aren't here to help Dr. Nam-Kah to get back to Mitsubishi 3?" He seemed disappointed.
"I had no idea the man existed when I came here."
"Woman actually." Ton corrected.
"Well if Dr. Singh feels it is necessary to bring this lady back in connection with his work, then fine. I was hoping to facilitate his travel, because we don't expect the USNA to follow their own rules and laws, anymore than you were saying the Chinese do. I have considerable latitude in how I discharge my assignments." Mostly 'cause I do as I damn well please, he thought. "Tell me why I should help the lady come along and I'll be disposed to help. I'm not exactly a big fan of governments which act like they own a person. I always figured it said a great deal bad about anywhere you need to defect to leave."
Ton seemed to be dropping his apprehension somewhat. "The lady, as you say, has done some important work and I really could not explain it to you, because she has only been willing to speak about it in a very general way, until she feels she is in a safe place. Dr. Singh is privy to more of it than me and I trust his judgment it's not something we want the Chinese to have before the rest of the world."
"Enough to say it involves significant advances in technology, not just theory. We can't just walk her on a shuttle. The Chinese here can stall her departure with false charges and demand her arrest under their law on this station. Once she is outside a closed airlock she is free from their authority, unless they're willing to commit an act of piracy before the world. One thing I don't understand is Dr. Singh has mentioned several times he has to have her meet his son. Do you understand why it would concern him so?"
"Got me." Eddie lied. He had been briefed by Jon and knew Jeff was a prodigy. "Maybe he is planning on proposing and wants him to meet his step-mom."
Dr. Agapito looked a scowl at him as if he were flippant and then grew thoughtful as he gave it further consideration. "They are both single and marriage confers certain rights of association and travel to be with your mate under almost any nation's laws, doesn't it?" He asked brightly. "Indeed, the U.N. charter as expanded, mentions it specifically I believe."
"Doc, do you know a preacher, priest, notary-public or whatever they would need here to say, I do? If it doesn't help them get loose then it might save our butts down the road for helping them. Hell, I'll even buy them a wedding gift!" he offered.
Chapter 18
Dave Michelson hated being called back in the office off the shop floor. He had just fully gotten things sorted out for this Wednesday Main-Shift, which meant it was almost lunch time. He had worked his way up to manager by his skill out there, then owner and unlike many who were promoted beyond their level of competency, he had found a balance which allowed him to satisfy his new duties and keep a hand in where his real talent was needed. He simply found the best secretary to be had, paid her lavishly and demanded she deal with almost all the routine paper work and leave him free to supervise things hands on. He could sign his papers and OK her excellent communications electronically, from his pad on the shop floor.
He was smart enough to stay out of the way when his men could handle a routine job, but there was no shortage of tougher problems to use his talents as a trouble shooter. He never took over and finished a job up for a man, but would get in shoulder to shoulder and teach the man how he thought, by reasoning aloud how to fix something. There were plenty of jobs which were not a simple, take one out and bolt one in repair, straight out of the service manual, to use his talents. His dark blue jump suit was just like everybody else's on the work floor. It just said DAVE above his left breast pocket and Advanced Spacecraft Services on the right. Everybody knew who was boss, without him making a big show of it. As a result he had the best repair shop near Earth, despite training a few fellows so well they went off and formed their own companies.
He was so skilled at turning problems into assets he encouraged those that wanted to strike out on their own, rather than view them as betraying him. As a result instead of being rivals the workers who left were a loose network of friends, all trading business back and forth with each other, according to their specialties and all of them making even more money as a result.
The five waiting in his office were an odd bunch. A young girl, an older teenage boy with the same nose as the girl, another teen boy obviously not of the same family, an old fellow in a shirt that hurt his eyes and a huge black fellow with a bald head, who looked vaguely familiar. Someone else might have dismissed them all offhand, just because they were used to dealing with one person instead of a mob, but Marilyn had asked him to meet them and he knew she didn't waste his time. She was lots smarter than him when it came to administrative matters. It's why he hired her after all. He felt strongly people who only hired people not as smart as them, set themselves up for failure.
Dave grabbed a cup of excellent coffee from Marilyn's office, which was bigger than his, because it used to be his before they swapped and went in his own seldom used space. Everyone fit - barely - because they brought in two chairs from Marilyn's and the old guy sat on a case of vacuum lube. "There's coffee in the next room. Feel free to help yourselves. Now would you like to introduce yourselves and tell me what I can do for you?"
He would have expected the older fellow to go first, but the teen boy who looked like he might be the girl's brother spoke first, while a couple of them immediately ducked out for coffee.
"I'm Robert Lewis. You're already working on a scooter which belongs to my sister April and me." He indicated the girl with a gesture. "We have opportunity to acquire an important account for our service with Station Security, represented here by Mr. Davis." The bald man gave a grave nod. "Mr. Davis is willing to financially support expediting the refurbish of the vehicle, so it can enter service as soon as possible. We also have a number of design changes which we are hoping we can have started, concurrent with the usual repair work."
"Those would be aided by Mr. Lewis assisted by Mr. Singh, who have both engineered the modifications. We'd like to hire the help of your yard hands in installing these mods also. In fact Mr. Singh would be an observer and technical adviser only, as he is not experienced at working in zero G or out of pressure. We were previously going to add the modifications at the Lewis private dockage, but it would be too time consuming now. As owner that's all the information I need to impart. So I will direct you to Mr. Davis for financial questions and Mr. Singh or Lewis for technical matters.
Dave had never heard such a brief presentation from an owner. Most people loved to hear themselves talk. The girl was a mystery. The only one he had not been invited to question, so he wanted to know her place in this first.
"April was it?" He asked. "You are Robert's sister then? How do you fit in this?"
She thought about it a minute. "Along with Jon Davis and my brother, I supply money. I recruited our primary pilot, who will command this mission and like my brother I'm busy qualifying to pilot our craft as soon as we can pass the tests. And none of them knew each other a few days ago and I am the common element which brought them all together."
It had the sound of a brag, but was a totally true statement and just fell off her tongue without enough forethought to hold it back. The enormity of it kind of hit her when she articulated it. "I suppose when it is all over, I will be indicted as a co-conspirator." She said, cheerfully and not entirely humorously. "Why don't you let these two show you what they have in mind?" she suggested. The two she indicated had returned with coffee.
"I appreciate your frankness in telling me Mr. Singh is inexperienced in zero G, or a p-suit." It surprised him, as he had caught them chatting in helmet-talk as they came in. Everybody picked up a bit here and there, but the kid looked fluent. "Do you realize the hazards involved in his being in the work area? We do as much as possible under pressure and spin. But the heavy stuff is done outside. I can't really assume responsibility for his suit training or for watching him."
"I can handle that," Grandpa Lewis told him. "I have a lot of experience training new people in the environment and he will only go in the work area under my direct supervision. He's a bright young man and able to take orders. I'm willing to take the task and sign off on the responsibility."
"And how much experience do you have in a space work setting?" He wasn't so willing to assume the old boy's experience was sufficient. He thought he could ID any working spacer or beam dog who had five years experience. Unless he was from before...
Happy thought about it a moment and pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I'm not sure what the official logs will show, because the first four or five years I was doing high work, they didn't really have much of a system for logging hours. We were more concerned with getting paid full wages for our hours, than documenting career credit. Off hand, I'd say I have about forty thousand work hours in zero G and vacuum, with about a half of those hours carrying supervision responsibilities and about a quarter or a third of it piloting or co-operating scooters and yard tractors. You have to understand a lot of off duty hours back then were still in zero G and sometimes our recreation was in suit time too. Nobody counted it if it wasn't paid time. A bit of orbit to orbit in various craft for the military also, as a civilian worker, but some of that was too black to show up on any tally and a few thousand hours of trans-lunar deep space work."
"Well it does sound, um, sufficient," he admitted. He had no idea anyone living had ran up those sort of hours and every human who had any serious time beyond the moon, was still was in a fraternity of less than a thousand. "We pretty much have the scooter stripped down already and we have the standard replacements on hand. Of course it will take some time to take any custom modifications you'd like to implement and reduce them to CAD files, which the fabricators and floor workers can read and let out bids for the materials and sub-assemblies."
"One of a kind assemblies we have to fabricate by hand. It's too expensive to write the routines and debug them for robotics. We'll probably have to pull the stripped frame off the work rack for a couple weeks and let the design work and fabrication catch up to it."
Jeff Singh handed him a memory module. "We can make it a bit easier. Here is a complete revised shop manual for the scooter, with exploded views of all the sub-assemblies. It's in a printable format, with the old view on the left pages and the new version on the right, with all the modifications and new components shaded in color. The sequence of disassembly and assembly have been corrected and all the changes there have been color coded also. There is a file showing the delivery sequence for all the components, which have already been let out to prototype and job shops."
"We are going with the faster fabrication method, rather than the cheapest in each case. Some of them are done and waiting to ship already. Some things we wanted to do will simply have to wait until after the first flight. There isn't a bit of cosmetic care taken either. The instrument panel is going to be an ugly open rack with gaps between the modules for example."
"The next section shows the modified moment arms of all the masses which have been changed and the stress analysis of the space frame for the adjusted values. There are integrated mass moments, to adjust the attitude jets for an initial setting."
"The last section shows a profile of all the performance envelopes possible with different suitable fuel loads and consumables for a crew of one to four and a payload of zero to a half ton. The frame currently limits us to a nine G boost. All are based on a worst case scenario, with everything formatted for a navigational computer. Alternative solutions are based on possible degraded performance due to loss of fuel load, or loss or damage to either sort of engine."
"Either sort of engine? I've mixed a lot of scooter pieces but never mounted two different models of engine in one frame. It would be a rather complicated undertaking. What in the world would be the point of it?"
"Why don't you put the design up on the wall and much will be self explanatory?"
Dave put the module in his pad and routed to display on the wall and first looked at a few sections of the entire vessel to get a idea where the changes were. Then he zeroed in on the engine modifications, which seemed to be a separate unit braced in the bells of two of the opposing engines. It was soon apparent two combustion chambers were shells only and the units inside were a sub-assembly.
When he went to the link he was surprised to see it was a rather old NASA document, for a deep space plasma propulsion unit. It ran to two thousands pages of drawings and performance testing data, dated decades ago.
"I know this idea was investigated, but it was never used. Why wasn't it practical and what's changed so you think it's practical now?"
Jeff smiled. "Look at this sub-assembly area, which supplies the electrical power for the two plasma engines. Mostly for political reasons, NASA was unable to use the drives, because the only practical power source was a large fission nuclear reactor, optimized for weight, largely unshielded and driving an elaborate generating system, which in itself was rather complex and heavy. They tried to bring the design back as a stationary plant to power a mag beam catcher, but the economics were never there to position a similar generator in Mars orbit. Short sighted, but that's politics. When Bussard fusion came along it was better suited to generating a direct drive, but of course it can't work in atmosphere."
Dave opened the files for the area, which was not visible in any detail in the larger view and picked a view of one of the four small cylindrical components isolated. He read the assembly part name: "Singh Nano Fusion Generator Model III, Deuterium/Deuterium - 250 Kilowatt" His eyes fairly bugged out when he looked at Jeff. He stopped and considered for a second if this was an elaborate joke. "Singh - that's you?" he asked.
"Yes, it's my design. It is proven out also. Here's what the 30Kw version looks like." He took out the unit he had showed April and handed it over. He knew the man might be skeptical and a finished piece of hardware in his hands would mean more than all his assurances and drawings.
"And you have the 250Kw units? They'll check out also?" He was holding the unit so hard Jeff was afraid he was going to hurt himself.
"They're being fabricated right now. There are no design problems scaling up. Inside, it is just stacking up more units on a longer roll of material, as simple as adding more cells to a battery to get more power. There is no doubt at all they will work."
"Wouldn't it be nice to work on something a little different?" Jeff tried to entice him in the stunned silence. "This will be the first of its class and you'd be the only shop with experience servicing it. We'd be willing to give you an exclusive for servicing all Singh fusion powered craft, which use our proprietary generators, if you can help us maintain security on their inner workings. I do expect them to change the market for very small space craft significantly." It was a huge understatement by any measure.
Dave digested all the implications. Without saying anymore he opened the files on projected performance and started scrolling through the numbers. There were specific flight profiles offered and he looked at a couple until he came to one for a lunar landing with a hefty payload and crew of two. Deep space shuttles used Bussard drives. They were very efficient, but they were not powerful enough for even a Lunar landing. He might as well have been offered plans for a flying saucer with antigravity.
One quality Dave did have was decisiveness.
"Marilyn!" He called to the other office. "You need to work up a contract with Mr. Lewis here. We're getting an exclusive to service his equipment line and a cost plus to assemble a hot job for him." He watched to see if Bob would balk at that financial arrangement. Bob didn't so much as blink.
"Be sure to include any fees for other jobs we need to bump. Tell the shifts they are going to overlap two hours starting in the morning and tell everyone on the Boeing to bring it to a temporary hold at shift end and transfer to the Lewis job tomorrow. But you can call John and Amir to farm what you can out to them. Their shops are both slow now. I want to go over to the bay where their scooter is with these two right now, to get this thing moving. Send out for some sandwiches and stuff, for us and for the whole crew. We won't take time to stop for lunch."
He stood up and offered his hand to Bob. Bob started, like he didn't understand and then realized the man was sealing the deal. He shook Earthie style and found the act felt heavier and much more final to him, than printing his chop on a contract. The shake told him here was a man who if he defaulted would not consider it a legal problem. It would be personal.
* * *
Ernie took a break and had a pay-menu meal, looking out over the gaming floor. The Wooden Nickel was the sort of a place people from a middle class background who made it big, could play without being intimidated by an atmosphere of sophistication and wealth. Everything was nice but not too nice. The service was friendly instead of being invisibly efficient.
It tended to look more like a period video of an over-decorated nineteenth century European casino, than the simple décor that really wealthy people favored today. Guests were owners of restaurant chains and car dealerships, local bankers and sports stars. You didn't see royalty, heads of state, or the sort from families of 'old money' like the Waltons, or Gates. The chandeliers and velvet furniture seemed silly after awhile.
He won a few hands of poker, until he got a few hard looks from the manager standing back behind the dealer. He wasn't at the high stakes table since he couldn't afford that, but the pit boss was still concerned for his whole area of responsibility. It was amazing how well you could play when it was someone else's money and you really didn't care if you lost. It afforded an indifference which allowed you to play the psychological side of the game freely. But then he suffered a slow reversal and it left him down about a thousand EuroMarks by the time he took a break for supper.
He was tired and had not asked to be served at the table, or reserved his seat. He found suddenly he was too tired to go back to the tables. No wonder he was losing. He hadn't even been to his room, he had no reason to be pushing himself, but there were no clocks in any casino and it was a treat for him. It must be late on most of the guests' personal clock because the crowd was thin. He left a tip of a twenty EM house chip on the dinner table and walked back toward the casino hotel's connecting atrium.
The Big Shot Slot which dominated the entry usually had a line of players waiting to sit at it. He was surprised to see it empty for the first time, so he stopped and did not sit, but just leaned across the seat and popped a minimum hundred EuroMark chip in the slot and slapped the plate to give it a spin in good humor. A lot of guests had their picture taken dropping a chip in the machine, because it was featured in all the house advertising. Most of them moved on after getting their picture, because a hundred euro minimum was too rich for most of them to sit and feed it for long.
He had actually taken a step away toward the hotel and was stuffing the leftover chips in his pocket, when the blast of sound hit him from behind and the colored lights flashing behind threw dancing shadows on the carpet in front of him. He considered running and denying it was him, but a quick look around showed nobody else close to the machine. The crowd was thin, but every face in sight was looking at him in caricatures of surprise or envy. The floor manager came running up and inserted his boss card to stop the noisy display. With it shut off Ernie could hear the whoops and hooting cheers of a number of well wishers. Especially from the bar. The manager was asking something for the second time, before Ernie heard him and Ernie turned to him and apologized. "I'm sorry. I was so shocked, I have no idea what you said."
"I understand." The man smiled at him. "It would be a shame if it wasn't a bit of a surprise, right? I just need your guest card to credit you, please sir." He asked with his hand out.
Ernie fished in his shirt pocket and pulled the card out, which served as his room key and to buy game chips and such items of food and drink as were not free.
The fellow slipped the white card in a slot in his pad and encoded a new platinum banded and multicolored card, which said "Big Shot" in bold letters. He handed it back to Ernie. "Thank you Mr. Persico. This is immediately credited with your winnings for the full amount. You are also invited to any service in the casino or hotel gratis, for the rest of your stay. If you present this to the front desk they will upgrade you to a Star Suite, in which you have such services as a masseur or live musicians and a chef will prepare your meals as you watch if you like. The house will also provide you a security escort if you should find you are disturbed too frequently on the floor by other guests."
"I'm Allen Roger. Please feel free to ask if there is anything I can do for you. Would you care to have your picture, or any personal information added to the winners list on display at the Big Shot slot machine? Some people welcome the attention and some prefer to maintain their privacy. Of course enough people have seen the win there will be some talk among guests, even if you don't post it."
"I believe I'd rather you just posted the win and don't attribute it. I should tip you shouldn't I? I didn't look up at the display to see how much I was wagering against, before I fed it. How much did I win?"
Mr. Roger looked surprised at Ernie's nonchalance. Most players knew to the centum what they might win. "It's our philosophy at the Wooden Nickel, a gratuity should be freely given and graciously accepted, whenever a guest is moved to offer one, but it is never an obligation." He turned his pad around and showed the display. "You just won a little more than fifty-five million EuroMarks, sir."
Ernie looked at the long number in the display and felt the spit dry right up in his mouth. Eddie was going to kill him. "Allen old buddy. Is there such a thing as a ten thousand EM chip in this house?"
"Yes sir. There are even ten, fifty, or hundred thousand and one million Euro chips." He offered, looking mighty happy at the question, as it suggested the house would be seeing some of its money back.
"And what happens to the winnings if I check out tomorrow and go home?"
Allen consulted his pad before he replied. "You show as a USNA citizen, so we would credit the Visa account you used to pay us, with any credit balance owed at the end of your stay. Due to tax and banking laws, any odd outstanding chips or winnings in chips at the table would be something it was up to you to declare, but it is reported and cashing anything bigger than a thousand Euro chip at check out, has to be paid electronically by our own house rules."
"Then I'll have a hundred, one thousand EM chips for a starter Allen."
The floor manager spoke quietly into his pad and a runner appeared within a half minute jogging along at a good clip, with a fat roll of pearly chips laying in the grooves of a felt lined tray.
Ernie took a single chip off the end and examined it carefully, as he had never bought bigger than a hundred Euro chip before. The material was the hard glassy material of the smaller chips but the hologram inside was a detailed picture of the station, instead of the corporate logo on the smaller denominations. It was probably diamond coated since he had never seen one scratched. Inside he could see a ring of some sort of security circuitry embedded also.
He took three more of them at a time until he had ten, which was a comfortable handful and laid them on Allen's hand, which seemed to know when to appear under them without actually being held out waiting for them. "Thank you, Sir," he said very casually, like he often got a ten thousand EM tip. Who knows? Maybe he did. The other ninety he took by handfuls and stuffed in his jacket pockets, less one. One he left on the tray and nodded at the young runner saying, "That's for you kid. Might as well spread it around a bit, huh?"
"Yes Sir! Thank you Sir!" He agreed, making it disappear, retreating with the empty tray before anyone changed their mind, looking very happy indeed. He had just got a very good day's wage, for a two minute walk.
"Good night then, Allen." He offered and started for the hotel side again.
"Good night, sir. Thank you. And luck to you tomorrow too sir." He quickly called after him, with apparent sincerity.
Ernie found he had three offers of marriage, a proposed business partnership and a few less formal offers, before he could make the desk and show the fellow his Big Shot card. As he was shown into a private elevator, he hoped he would have lost some notoriety by tomorrow, or he might have to take them up on the body guard to fend people off. Mostly he was thinking how to keep any newsies from taking too clear a picture of him to compare with Eddie's public pics and wondered if he could persuade Eddie to allow him to keep some of the prize. For someone who was supposed to keep a low profile, quiet presence, he had sure screwed up. How could he explain it was a lark and he never thought of the possibility the stupid machine would pay off on a single spin?
* * *
Eddie was waiting for a reply from Jon. He had pretty much explained the circumstances he had found and firmly recommended bringing the defecting lady scientist back to M3 with Dr. Singh. In fact he was determined already to do so no matter what Jon said. He had never met her, nor been united with Singh, which was starting to irritate him. The excuse today had been they were escorting the lawyer he had intended to consult with to see him, because they considered it too risky to take him to the lawyer and he needed privacy. He found himself a house guest of the Agapitos. He was pretty sure he was a guest and not a prisoner. They provided him with a guest room in their own home last night and allowed him access to com and privacy to encrypt his messages to Jon.
He also retained his weapon and baggage. He was not sure exactly how he had made the transition from suspect outsider to trusted ally, but it had seemed to be complete by the time they left the table at the Marriot yesterday. The mail from Jon decoded with a onetime pad, stated they were getting a scooter ready, which could make the trip to pick up both scientists and him. It was a relief because the atmosphere here was even more hostile than he had anticipated, with the unexpected Chinese problem.
Agapito seemed sincere in his fear of the Chinese and being a local Eddie didn't favor second guessing him on the danger. They would have to arrange for the passengers to get to the dockage and board the scooter somehow. Their idea of having the two scientists marry was going forward, after some initial consternation on the part of the couple, but it was going to happen in private, with the station commander being taken to where they were and station security being quietly informed what was happening.
If they were asked to stop them from leaving, the marriage documents would be presented and verified and security would regretfully inform the Chinese authorities it was a basic human right under the UN charter, to not be separated from your spouse. The heavy handed Chinese were not the favorite neighbors of the other nations represented on the station and setting them up for a nose snubbing failure was something they looked forward to as a special treat. However the Agapitos were taking care of all these details.
He was very aware he had not fulfilled his other mission, to communicate with the Security head here for Jon and get an assessment of the overall view of things from his foreign perspective. He wasn't sure what his hosts would think of him wanting to meet the man. The fact they might have to wait days for pick up and he was mostly sitting waiting instead of doing something to help, was wearing Eddie down.
* * *
Wednesday afternoon Oct 13, 2083 April had to take time for herself. She craved some activity, from too much time sitting at the com. She was back at the head of the list again to use a running room and wasn't going to pass on it today. She got there early and choose a beach run. The last time she'd picked a virtual beach run it had been a Southern California beach and a blonde Surfer Dude in baggie trunks and sun glasses, had come over and ran with her.
This time it was a black sand beach in a location she was not sure of and a Polynesian girl who was as thin as a Greyhound and ran barefoot with her hair streaming behind her. She didn't want a hard workout, because she was supposed to work out for the first time with Jon's group this evening. No hill climbing, or obstacles on which she might trip or hurt herself. Just a steady even pace to leave her damp, but let her think as she ran and easy enough to go straight to supper as a cool down walk.
She listened to the news along the way as she often did and the weather was eclipsing all human activities in North America. The change of climate this century, as predicted, had finally resulted in an increase in temperature, after an unexpected drop earlier in the century. But it was apparent as such only to a scientist. A precise average temperatures seemed unimportant, when the average was briefly experienced between increasingly extreme swings. The amusing part was, now that they finally had a small rise, most scientists were saying they were overdue for an ice age.
St. Louis yesterday experienced a morning storm, which dropped snow for the morning commute at -7°C, followed by afternoon temperatures near 46°C. Instead of planting wheat further north in Canada and oranges well North of Florida, companies were exploring economical ways to grow crops sheltered indoors against extremes and gene mod varieties that could survive punishing winds and mild drought.
The newscaster recounted how the increase in price of food and shortages in impoverished nations, resulted in new disapproval of public displays of abundance. It drove increased membership in environmental groups and economic activists. Restaurants were faced with protestors at their doors and boycotts of beef and wine producers, were joined by a movement to drop the showy use of cake as a celebratory rite for birthdays and weddings. A bakery in Atlanta had its windows smashed out by a mob and the display of wedding cakes destroyed.
The story tempted April to turn on the video to see such a strange thing. Not that anyone could demonstrate skipping any amount of wedding cake in Atlanta, would fill a beggar's bowl with rice in the Sudan, but there were always guilt ridden people who felt they should suffer and were eager to help their fellows experience the rush of righteous self denial.
April wondered if they might have fresh strawberries today again. All the talk about food made her hungry. They did. She had a lighter than usual supper, anticipating a workout and faced the challenge of transporting her swords to the gym when she returned home. She had promised Jon a look at them and several others were interested. It would be great if somebody could do some of the graceful exercises with them, she had seen on videos. She didn't want to have them bang together, or bump on things along the way, but she didn't want to pack them up in the big shipping box either.
By next week she'd have a ballistic cloth carrier she ordered, with padding and pockets which would separate the weapons from bumping and had a shoulder strap. But what about tonight? She could leave them home, but really wanted to show them and one of Jon's friends had promised to display handling them. She was dressed in black, a black silk blouse and loose legged black pants with a black sash belt just for show.
She went in her room and took the small blade from the rack, sticking it in the sash like she had seen in pictures and in proportion to her size it made sense. It also looked wicked as hell in the mirror. However the big blade was so huge she would have been tripping over it and dragging it on the carpet. She didn't want to just hand carry it. It was heavy, but she could sling it across her back if she had something to attach it to. A little digging found an old ballistic cloth vest, from an Australian trip her brother had outgrown and handed down. It had lots of Velcro pockets and ties and rings, for camping or as a camera vest and a stuff pocket on the rear she could put her exercise shorts and a T-shirt in. It was beaded solid with millimeter half spheres of solar powered nano-gap cooling modules. In full sunlight it would be pleasantly cool inside.
It was a slightly shiny black, of a stiff coarse fabric, with a stand up collar that hid a hood and looked good zipped partly open to show the blouse. It supported the big sword clipped behind the collar on the right, without being pulled all out of shape, like a soft garment would be. The handle stuck up behind her shoulder wickedly.
April was really getting into the look in the mirror. It worked. The black clothing and black sheathed blades looked sinister. Her black cape went over the vest swept back off the shoulders. It looked even nastier and made her smile.
She could put her left hand on the grip of the short sword in her sash and it kind of reminded her where it was hanging, so she didn't bang it on door frames and such. It made her elbow thrust out and she could feel the long sword hanging down against the back of her arm and keep track of it too. She experimented with reaching back over her shoulder with her right hand and she could reach the grip. She thought she could probably even pull it out, but doubted her control. It took considerable force to start the blade out. She knew if she did draw it she'd never get it back in, without taking everything off and starting all over. She played, posing for the mirror, thinking Heather's brother Barak would love doing this and got the giggles, but figured if you are going for a look don't do it by half measures, so she borrowed a massive silver neck chain she had seen her brother wear and changed her ear rings to silver with Onyx.
A black beret she had borrowed from her grandpa and never got around to returning made sense also. Her scanner, pad and laser on the sash added just the right high tech look to match the big wrap around spex which went with her laser and she took a black braided drawstring cord which had come out of a hood and gathered the sash in a bunch at the front with an X of the cord. It was an interesting combination of ancient and modern. In the mirror she was delighted with the effect. She didn't bother to hide the laser under the cape, because it looked like any of a bunch of common items people carried on a belt. Nobody glanced at it. She tried pulling the lesser blade out just enough to show steel and scowling, hamming it up for the mirror.
She tried stepping and turning to see how the cape moved but it was hard to see in the mirror so she set her pad down with the camera set wide and watched herself in her spex. If she stepped forward briskly and turned it flared out and swirled nicely behind her. Her mother had told her stories about dressing up for trick or treating in rural California and she thought this outfit would wow the natives if she went door to door in it. She headed for the gym in a good mood, ready to make a showy entry for her friends.
The gym was in full gravity, but almost straight across the axis, so rather than walk around the long way with all the extra junk she went down corridor a bit to where the business section started and waited for the elevator to cut across. It was hard to know what to do with her arms with all this unfamiliar stuff hanging where her arms usually went without thought. Standing there it seemed easier to slip her thumb in the sash behind the shorter sword. It was unbalanced with nowhere for the right arm to go and pretty soon she found a thumb hooked in the sash on the right was balanced. With both elbows poked out, the natural thing was to stand with the legs braced apart. It was a cocky swaggering pose.
She was thinking hard about a number of things, while the elevator took forever. When the doors finally opened up, the two fools inside just stood there like a couple dummies. How was she supposed to get in if they didn't come out? She didn't really mean to scowl at a couple strangers, but she made eye contact with the Japanese man in the neat business suit and saw a brief flash of quizzical surprise quickly replaced by an absolute mask. Then he startled her with a very formal bow in her direction.
She quickly returned it awkwardly. With her thumbs hooked in her sash and the heavy sword pulling her back it was a stiff little bow, but it would look really stupid to try a second time to do it better. She probably looked haughty as hell she thought in dismay, as she passed him into the elevator and turned around.
It wasn't until the doors were closing and she looked at the backs of the two stopped outside in the corridor that she saw the video camera floating on the second man's shoulder. He was showing the executive type something on a bright hand pad, cabled to the vid. Oh crap, she thought. They shot my pic and I look like a fool on my way to a costume party. Why didn't I just stuff it all in a big duffel bag?
When she got to the gym however Jon and his friends took her outfit in the right spirit and clapped their hands and hooted their approval. She shed the costume for her exercise outfit and started learning the basics exercises she needed, for the strengths and motions to catch up with the group. She didn't draw them herself but watched Jon, Jeff and another man go through a series of exercises with the swords.
They called both the bare handed exercise and the sword Thai Chi. They had a surreal quality, but all the grace of ballet, combined in with imprinting the practical motions on the mind. Her gene mods would be an enormous advantage and just like when she ran, she took medication which enhanced the training value of the motions. Her potential due to the gene mods meant she had a much wider envelope of performance than an unmodified human, if she trained to it.
Chapter 19
Ernie felt calmer in the morning. He was sure the fuss over his big win the night before would have settled down, but he reasoned on it and decided very few people could afford more than a week and a two or three day stay was not uncommon on New Las Vegas. It was Thursday and he would just hole up in the room and enjoy himself and the few people who had witnessed his jackpot the previous night would mostly be gone soon and anyone very interested in him would soon conclude he left quietly, if he didn't show on the floor.
He'd stay out of the lobby or casino until the weekend, when a lot of people left for home and a new crowd came in. After all he had a multimillion EM credit and was not even running the account down, since the hotel had made him their guest. They surely wouldn't say anything if he took a break. They'd hope he would return to the tables after a few days off. He'd just tell them to charge him for his room and service, if they started getting anxious about him staying away from the tables. Even Eddie couldn't complain about the small bite it would put on his winnings.
He resolved to enjoy himself and stop fretting. There was a football match on today. Argentina against the English and he'd place a couple bets with the house by com and watch the game with a pleasant antipasto and good wine. The day just flew away with his new plan and he was even up substantially on his three bets. The Argentineans had just squeaked past the English at the last and he had found himself shouting out loud to cheer them on. This is the life, he thought. With a little thought and luck he could never drop back into sleeping in hot slots and prowling around scratching up enough dirt to get some tips for information.
He ordered up a memorable dinner. A couple grilled lobster and an asparagus salad, with a lovely old pale Australian Champagne and a amazing desert which seemed to be mostly sweet egg whites beaten so light they should float away, with tiny flecks of pistachio and almonds and a trace of some delicate liqueur, all browned faintly golden in little bite size pieces with tiny sweet strawberries and golden raspberries.
The Champagne with desert switched to a genuine vintage bottle of sweet French Champagne. The label was brittle and yellowed with age and still had a dusty veneer from being in an Earthie wine cellar. He could just make out the date as 1990 something. He was lazy and full and just slightly buzzed from the bubbly, when room service came in to take the carts and a handsome couple came in he had been promised to provide some after dinner music.
It spoiled the mood when the cart mover turned and put a huge old fashioned revolver to his forehead and the lady took a rather heavy looking automatic weapon from her cello case and deployed it on a sturdy muzzle bipod facing the door. Her partner unfolded his flute case and produced some rather complicated looking electronic apparatus. The other serving person went over and jammed a heavy telescoping brace under the door knob and after extending it firmly against the carpet, fixed it in place with a twist of a locking collar in the middle.
He hadn't noticed the second server seemed rather old and heavy for this sort of work. It was usually a younger person's job. Satisfied with the door he took a chair, brought it over and sat down straddling it regarding Ernie. All indications were he was making himself comfortable for a long sit.
It was just fine if he settled in with Ernie, because it must mean the fellow with the revolver was not going to blow his head off just yet. He sat very still and waited to see what they wanted. He was not sure how he could transfer his winnings to them, but if they wanted to do so, they must have a way. He would be happy to accommodate them, if it increased his chances of surviving this in the slightest.
He must have looked like he was tempted to speak, because the older fellow raised a single index finger in a universal gesture which said - wait.
The fellow with the electronics came over and placed a couple wireless electrodes like he had seen used in the hospital, on his wrists and his temples, peeling the backs off them and carefully putting the shiny paper squares in his pocket as he worked. Each had a complex maze of aluminized lines on the back, which must be an antenna. Another two went on the sides of his neck, along with a tiny adhesive microphone. The man gave the seated leader a nod and went back to his instruments.
"I'm Justine Persico young fellow. Does the name mean anything to you?"
"Yes Sir," he replied. "You must be related to Eddie."
"That's right. Now, you notice nothing bad has happened to you. I'm a very reasonable man and I have politely introduced myself. In a little bit we will either be friends or you will be dead, so nothing lost by being mannerly. Eddie is such a nice young man he always expects people to act with courtesy and I'd hate to disappoint him. Nothing bad has happened to Eddie has it?" he asked, with a very concerned look.
"No sir, not I'm aware of at all. I'm actually just doing a favor for Eddie. He went on to ISSII yesterday on the shuttle and I am supposed to stay here and generate enough activity with his card and pretend to be him, so people think he's here on vacation. I'm not sure what he's doing on the other station, but I'm sure it has to be something to do with his job for Security on M3 and it would probably mess it up if I even try to contact him."
Justine looked at the instrument techie, got a confirming nod and a surprised raise of the eyebrows and then a stretched pursed lipped look which clearly said "I'll be damned." It obviously was not what they were expecting.
Justine waved the gunman off. He returned his revolver to a holster under his jacket and stood back, but still kept an eye on Ernie. Ernie felt a flood of relief and felt his legs start to shake and had an urgent need.
"Uh, Mr. Persico the champagne is kinda running through me. Do you mind if I run in and use the bathroom?"
"Go ahead, but I'm sorry, you need to leave the 'trodes on. I'll still have a few more questions when you come out."
He walked away shaky and relieved himself and wiped his face with a wet wash cloth before going back out.
Justine had moved the chairs over to the table facing each other and poured himself a glass of champagne. He waved Ernie into the other chair and filled the other delicate deep flute for Ernie with his own hand.
"I don't mean this for an apology, because I was just looking out for my nephew and family is very important to me, but I'll explain. It just looked really badly to us when Eddie was booked in here and came in, but the next thing we know he hasn't been booked out, but his card is being used by a fellow with a similar face and a reputation as a bit of a dock rat when he was younger."
"We couldn't find a body, but we were very concerned you had committed an identity theft and perhaps caused him to come to some harm. Are you being helped in this charade to make him appear to be here, by anyone else on station?"
"No Sir. I didn't think I'd need any help. I mean it was basically a free vacation for me. I'd get a few days in a hotel room, when I've been renting hot slots to sleep in because I was almost broke and some free meals. He even said to go ahead and play the tables a bit, but take my time and bet small, because he didn't want me to run up more than about five thousand EM in losses."
Justine looked at him real hard. "And you mean you didn't have an insider in the casino set you up for a win on the Big Shot?"
"Not only didn't have any help, but I was horrified when all the lights and whistles went off. It was just a stupid whim to drop a chip in it. I had never seen it without somebody sitting feeding it. Usually there are even a few lined up waiting to sit down and play. So when I saw it empty I just thought I'd pop a chip in because I've never played it. I thought it would be fun just to be able to say I had really played it, since it's so famous."
"I mean when somebody mentions the Wooden Nickel you right away picture the Big Shot 'cause it's always what they show first in any ad for the casino. It's way too rich for my blood, but I had a hundred Euro chip, which is the smallest you need to play it - and I thought, what the hell? What are the odds?" he asked in dismay.
Justine and all the others roared with laughter.
"Actually Eddie would kill me if he knew what a spectacle I made of myself. Here I'm supposed to stay low key and I had every eye in the place on me. I must have been stopped a dozen times before I could get back to the hotel, with every sort of bizarre proposition and that's in the middle of the night with the place almost empty. I was going to hole up in the room for a few days and let the fuss die down."
"I don't know what Eddie will do when he finds out. He's so easy going I'm hoping he'll let me have some of what I won in his name." Ernie was so sure he wasn't going to be shot out of hand, he felt bold to ask something he wondered. "Uh, mister Persico, I somehow always thought your, uh, families always used men exclusively in their business dealings. I'm surprised to see the lady with you."
Justine's eyebrows went up. "Ernie," he said and managed to make his name sound like a reproof, "times change and you have to adopt to the new customs, or die out. Would you deny Mary there a chance to make her way in the world? Does she look like a woman who would return meekly to the days of denial and sexual harassment?"
Ernie looked up at the cold eyes on the beauty and the deep black muzzle hole of her weapon, with the faint swirl of rifling spiraling away inside and couldn't imagine anyone harassing her about anything, if he enjoyed breathing regularly. He just nodded and dropped it.
Justine nodded also in apparent agreement and thought a bit. "You know, this kind of money can have a bad effect on people. Here's what I propose. We'll call a friend of mine who offers private banking services and he'll come by and open a regular bank debit account for you with the 50 million EM. He has a relationship with the house and it will appear to be a currency transaction, at much lower fees and save my nephew all sorts of embarrassing questions and taxes too. That leaves him in a much better position to reward you too. It will leave you about 5 million Euros on the house card."
"Then you're going to move to another hotel and play in another casino on the remainder. The casinos on NLV all take each other's cards with no problem. You won't even really cash out, until you want it transferred to an external institution and we'll worry about that then. We will take the new card you have, with the 50 million credited to it, hand deliver it to my nephew and let him know what happened. Whenever he's done with his business on ISSII he can settle up with you anyway he wants. So we are trusting you with a considerable amount and just safeguarding my nephew's interests."
"He may need some help over there and we'll see if there is anything we can do for him. My man Earnest here - he indicated the revolver carrier - will go along and act like he is a body guard you hired, to keep the curious away. No charge for his service," he said brightly, like he was giving Ernie a big gift.
Ernie looked at Earnest and realized he wasn't being trusted with anything since he had a big dangerous babysitter assigned. Still he would be free to enjoy himself. He realized he could still have a pretty good time without putting a big enough dent in 5 million E' to upset this guy.
"Sounds fine to me," he agreed. Of course the machine showed them his ambivalence, but Justine didn't really expect whole hearted enthusiasm for being reined in hard. He just wasn't giving him any choice.
"Won't you have any trouble finding Eddie on II, or worry you'll be in danger of blowing his cover?" Ernie worried.
"Ernie, Ernie." Justine scolded him and shook his head. "A flea could not sneak on board a station under your collar without my associates knowing. We'll be very discreet." He said with a sincere smile.
* * *
Friday October 15, saw Happy and Jeff extremely happy with the progress being made on their scooter. Two days of double shifts at Dave's Advanced Spacecraft Services had made as much progress as they would have expected in as many weeks, given the advances that had been made lately in automated assembly and prototyping.
The level of competence Dave's workers displayed had been a surprise to them. They considered themselves the best in the business and they just might be right. The ordinary happened quickly and easily and the more difficult and custom work happened faster than Happy could have ever done in their own dockage. The tools and software the shop used were first rate and the workers had frequent and insightful suggestions about their more exotic modifications. Assembling the pieces they had contracted out was still slower than making them, but not by much.
Fabrication and assembly took about a third of the time it had just twenty years ago, when Dave first started in this business. Some of the components had waited in the customer queue for a day or more and then actually been fabricated in minutes. The shear level of enthusiasm the workers showed had astonished him.
On a few occasions the whole scooter had been literally so covered with bodies it disappeared. They looked like a swarm of ants attacking something. There were occasions an assembly robot worked on one system, arms a blur of motion positioning wires or turning fasteners down, while nearby humans worked at their best but much slower pace. Normally a robot would be allowed to work alone and human workers pulled back for safety. This time given the urgency they worked side by side, with a human worker standing watching with a kill switch in his hand ready to freeze the mechanical worker if it appeared to move outside it's programmed work area.
April's grandpa was very happy the last few details would be finished in pressure. When Jon had informed him the latest from Eddie was his father would be bringing a new wife home and explained she was a fellow scientist, Jeff had locked up like a cheap computer crashing. His non-response was starting to scare them, but after a few minutes he shrugged it off and didn't have any questions. It was just as well because they didn't know any more to tell him. Still he seemed to be in a daze with half his mind reshuffling everything in his life to match this news.
Happy wouldn't have trusted him in a suit, when he might not have his whole attention on what he was doing. Daydreamers and klutzes don't belong in vacuum. In fact, a good foreman would allow a worker a few days on a six month tour where they could just say they were out of sorts and didn't belong in a suit today. It wasn't fair to their work mates, to send somebody who didn't feel real sharp, out of the lock.
There were several other jobs sitting on idle racks half done, while theirs was pushed forward, but all the workers knew the hurry up was for a reason. They understood it was to do a rescue. Several times now he had caught workers alluding to previous jobs, when speaking with Dave. He got the impression there might be a number of exotic and militarized private scooters out there which were not common knowledge.
The shroud he had designed for laser protection was approved by the crew leader, but he suggested a slightly different mounting, which could absorb mechanical shock better and suggested the design change was warranted because a similar mount had failed under a heavy laser attack.
It was the first clue Happy or Jeff had ever heard such an attack had happened anywhere. He had never seen any open discussion of military space action, in any news reports. The USNA , China, Australia, Japan and the European Union all had military ships and the Indians and a consortium of non-Protectorate Islamic nations had a commercial presence, which sometimes looked much more aggressive and well armed than a commercial presence needed to be.
The French, English and Germans all had vessels which seemed pretty independent of their supposed European Union membership, just as they all still maintained consulates which were embassies in all but name, but nobody seemed to want to argue about it. He supposed it was inevitable someone had used the technology if it existed.
The work leader also shared a sensor suite and navigational computer tie in, which would roll the vessel automatically if it came under laser attack, distributing the energy away from one spot where it might burn through. They also were given suggestions for armoring the cabin against ballistic threats, but they passed on that due to the mass and extra time.
They noticed the specs and drawings for all these suggestions were already in the computer and ready to apply, suggesting they were prior art. When they were asked ever so very casually if they should leave any areas open or install hard points for mounting external 'safety equipment' away from the station, their growing suspicions were fully confirmed. Someone had been equipping private transport with missiles or some sort of guns.
Their boldness gave Happy the courage to pull out the laser module Jeff had given him and asked a mount be added for four of these laser 'range finders', to be on the camera arm, which could be aimed by the piloting computer and manually operated from the flight controls. The man looked it over and saw there was an electrical connector. "Is this your power in?" he wondered. "No, it's the power out," Happy told him. The foreman seemed dubious about the usefulness of the laser if it ran on internal power, especially when he understood it was the working internals of a hand weapon - just a toy he figured, not a serious weapon. Until Happy opened the screen and shared the specs on it with him. Then he allowed as how he not only would see to its mounting, but wanted to be informed if there was any way to personally acquire one. Jeff assured him there would be some available with a slightly lower capacity power pack soon. Something rated at a few less kilowatt centuries, but still really respectable and he was tickled to hear he was the first to request one, so he was at the front of the line. It seemed like a reasonable incentive to a key worker.
Happy had gone on in some detail explaining the history of automotive hot rods in the previous century to Jeff and the fine tradition of taking a plain vanilla piece of transportation and turning it into a ground shaking over powered monster, which would go three times as fast as any sane engineer had ever envisioned it doing. He seemed to find their endeavor a logical extension of the era. Jeff humored him but thought what they were doing could be better compared to the arming of certain merchant sailing ships and sending them forth with letters of mark and reprisal, to bring havoc and destruction on enemy shipping. Their hot rod ship would be faster than was accustomed, but despite a very strange old 2D video Happy had dug up about Road Warriors, he didn't think hot rods were historically armed.
The good news was they were basically waiting on the last few parts from the proto shops to bolt on and they could boost out of here and rescue his dad from ISSII. Neither Bob or April pretended they were ready to pilot the boat, but Jon had already lost the argument that he was going to hire a pilot. An unspoken assumption among everyone who knew him was Bob just didn't have what was needed to fly a mission which might get challenged, but April had presented a friend and experienced scooter pilot, a certain Jefferson Carter Dixon to pilot the craft. He satisfied Jon and he was doing exercises on a Mickey Mouse homemade simulator, which was just a reprogrammed scooter training program on a commercial pad, with a couple flat screens set for cockpit ports.
He was glad the fellow went by Easy, so they were not confused by having two Jeffs. At first everyone wanted to volunteer for the other seat, which was obviously impossible. However everyone also protested Jeff going, not because of any personal defect, but because it would put him with his father on the scooter. They pointed out some people would not even use the same shuttle or plane together, for fear of losing too much of a family in one accident.
Jeff suspected they really had an exaggerated idea of his worth. They were all privately thinking his mind was too precious to risk, because of a few stupid gadgets that were just logical extensions of prior art with no real breakthrough. But nobody would say it out loud so he could refute it.
He complained their admiration was going to be a pain if it always kept him from having an adventure. Happy tried to explain to him from hard experience, that an adventure was always defined by the other guy getting his butt shot off, but when it happened to you it ruined the fun factor.
Everyone agreed to send Jon was too visible and provocative a sign, of how important recovering Dr. Singh actually was for them. It might be counterproductive. Besides, Jon was better able to extend his authority from a distance through others. Better to keep it low key if it was possible to extract them without an uproar. Also, Eddie made clear they needed the extra cabin space for passengers coming back. So they could fit a crew of two only. In fact they would need to carry all three laying flat on a fuel bladder on the rear bulkhead, instead of formal acceleration couches.
Configuring the cabin for more seats quickly was too difficult. They required major hand lay-ups of composite they didn't have time to do. They would have special conforming foam pads and a loose cargo net over them to keep them in place if they were not under acceleration.
They laid out the one size p-suits on the pads for their passengers and loaded up all their supplies including two and a half kilos of green Kona coffee beans, in the military spec coffee maker they had found documented in Dave's computer. The heavy water they loaded in the hydrolyser, to generate deuterium gas for the fusion generators, was just barely more expensive than the coffee.
Jon was talking mission profiles with April, to find some last minute way of discouraging her from flying. But the short version was still - he wanted Ajay Singh back. Nobody thought he or his friend could just walk on a commercial flight and return freely now, with two superpowers opposing it. The once he had suggested she should hire a copilot, she had suggested he hire a different scooter. She had him there and he knew it. It had not been his intent when he hired the scooter for her to personally fly the mission and he couldn't remember at what point she had managed to nominate herself for the job. He suspected she had smoothly twisted the general 'we' when speaking of accomplishing the mission, into a very specific 'we' that was Easy and her as a flight crew.
Her parents didn't seem to share everyone else's concern about a possible conflict. The scooter seemed to be just another of Bob's many business ventures to them. When he nosed around the subject they pointed out he was seventeen and almost ready to live on his own and seemed oblivious to the fact April seemed to be calling the shots more than Bob. Any problem with Jeff's dad they wrote off as petty political posturing, an inconvenience, not a serious problem. They seemed to think the mission itself was a case of exaggerated concern.
He might believe her mom didn't know any better, but if her dad believed that it could be a problem. As his boss, such an unrealistic perspective might keep him from making critical and timely judgments. He had no doubt at all her grandpa was as aware of the potential for trouble, since he helped design all the enhancements the scooter sported. At least one of which he knew they kept secret from Bob. So Happy was his last hope to substitute a different copilot for April. He was sure she'd step aside for him, because it was clear she absolutely adored her grandpa.
"I'm too old for this sort of work, unless I get some life extension and mods to regenerate me," he replied to Jon's feelers. "Even Easy is getting old for a trip like this. It's a young person's game to work under a high G boost. It's her time to grow up anyway." he explained. "Some never get there and society forces them to assume their majority anyway. A few are ready early and they chaff and are held back, until some are even damaged by the wait. She has a shot at coming out in her own right time and I won't say anything to stop it because there is risk."
"I lived with risk for all the hours I spent in orbital work, when there was almost none of the safety we take for granted today. I learned to make my own safety and gauge risk and survive. I lived with risk at her age on Earth, that people would condemn as criminal now, but we took as normal. I sent my boy off to school when he was just a couple years older than her, Bob's age actually and things were really bad on Earth. I wanted to keep him up here safe and I wandered if I'd ever see him again, but he made his own way and came back to me."
"If we get a new nation here we should address the matter of majority better in our laws don't you think? The way we do it now doesn't make any sense." Jon agreed to talk about it later. He was avoiding any talk of a new nation, which was becoming common, even if he was privately making plans for what he considered worst case scenarios.
Jon approached April with his thoughts. "I'm hoping you will just dock and board your people with no problem. They may not even know why you have arrived, until after you are gone, since you don't even exist yet as a well known business. Once you are undocked nobody has a right to stop you, but if the Chinese would insist on having Dr. Nam-Kah back, they might be desperate enough to commit an act of piracy. You realize it could end up ugly don't you?" He would have been relieved to have her bail out at his straight talk, even if it would have caused a mad scramble to replace her.
"If we were totally confident, we wouldn't be bolting lasers on the sucker."
Jon grimaced at the truth of it. "I wish I could send one of my people. I'd love to send Margaret with her attitude and the hairy great machine gun she adopted. Then I'd at least know nobody was coming through the lock at dock who wasn't invited. But we can't fit her. Three is a squeeze on the back bulkhead."
"So lend us the great hairy thing and deputize Easy like you did McAlpine to give him your Taser. He is ex-special forces and must know how to use one."
"He is?" Jon questioned, surprised. "It doesn't show that at all on his personnel file. Are you sure about that?"
"His wife Ruby was a Loadmaster in the Air Force and they meet when he was in the habit of jumping out of her plane on black missions. That's why he has one of our laser's on his belt. I knew he has the sense and training to use it." Jon had never said anything to them, when he found out what the boxes were on their belts.
"Let's get the parts of this thing all together here and see what will work." Jon called Margaret and asked her to bring the heavy machine gun along. He had to reassure her it was not for immediate use, or she would have been in combat gear with body armor. She surely would have scared the crap out of half the station, walking through the corridors. They all were to meet at the shop where the scooter was being finished. Margaret showed up first with a low wheeled robot luggage carrier following her, like a dog at heel and a heavy case sitting on top. She had Jon lend a hand and put the load off on the floor, telling the truck to take itself back home. She and Jon spread a heavy padded tarp like a movers blanket, on the floor and laid out the gun and its various support pieces and spare parts. By the time they had it spread out Easy showed up and apparently Ruby was off shift and had come with him. He immediately squatted down by the gun and asked if he could look it over. Ruby went over and was doing a slow walk around where the scooter was standing, clamped on a lift with metal claws grasping the frame rails. The shrouds were folded up away from the work areas, with foam protectors folded over their edges to protect against bumps. Safety orange strips were spray painted free hand, down the rounded foam edge. The panels could absorb a powerful laser beam, but you could punch a hole through one with a good hard stab with a screwdriver.
It became clear quickly "look it over" meant take the thing apart, when it came to Easy and machine guns. Any doubt Jon had about his familiarity with it disappeared when he started asking if they had a chamber gauge and where was the barrel wrench? Jon thought he was fairly conversant on the subject, but Margaret and Happy got into such technical jargon he wasn't sure what they were talking about, when they started detailing the differences between ballistic stability in air and in vacuum."
He had to know just one thing. "Easy, the important thing we wanted to find out is - can you shoot the damn thing?"
"Well of course." He looked offended. "It's a common weapon. The basic design is Israeli, from about 2035 and it has gone through just a few major revisions. This 12mm version was made in the US under license of course. There's a 14.5mm version too. You can feel in the dark and tell the differences. They are so simple and rugged you can beat 'em with a stick and not bust them. I've sat with a sand storm blowing over us for hours and when you needed one of these to start cranking out the rounds they never jam up. Typical IDF stuff - first rate."
Jon gave him his best smile. "And where would this sand storm have been in Illinois, my devious friend?"
"Hey Jon. The information was necessary operational intelligence. We're not gonna trade friendly war stories. No can do. Lips are sealed," he said with an exaggerated zipping motion across them. "They'd lock me away and send a deaf guy to pass gruel through the bars twice a day, if I blab certain stuff."
"How would you feel about taking this little insurance policy along on your flight? I'd deputize you into our security force and you could feel free to use it if you encountered any pirates, or rabid woodchucks. Think it might be useful?"
"I think I should have let a certain load of beams wipe the rear end off a misplaced space plane and we might not even be having this conversation. Too late now," he sighed. "Only problem I see is if we have trouble with the USNA instead of Chinese. If they should know who I am, they can legally call me back to active military service and I have a real problem if they should want to give me orders. If for any reason you get a communication about my status, call and just tell me I have a letter from my uncle, OK?"
"And what will you do if I use that code phrase?"
"Shut off my radio and if anybody tries to get close enough to tell me I'm a soldier again I'll open up on him with Matilda here."
"Matilda?"
"You hoist her up on your hip and cut loose and you'll understand. You go waltzing around, ain't no rock and roll step" He smiled sincerely.
Margaret wasn't buying it. "Tell me another fantasy lead butt. You cut loose with this, you can use it instead of the engine to push you home. Even in a full G you are not going to fire it off hand. What you going to use as a mount in zero G? It would be kind of obvious to weld a pintle by the main hatch don't you think? Every dock rat who has ever served in the military would be rolling their eyes and making faces at you every time you dock and there would be all sorts of rumors around in no time."
"Well" Easy considered. "Due to the improvisational nature of some of my government work, we occasionally had to fly civilian helicopters or fan platforms and look real tame when we were going in and out of airports. Used lifters with oil company or survey markings. Sometimes even forest service. We'd make up temporary gun mounts from fat C clamps with some plastic pads on the faces to not mar up the airframe too badly. Sometimes we put a piece of plywood under the clamps if the skin seemed too thin to take the recoil. Think you can get one of these shop rats to weld up a similar trick, real quickly?"
They asked Dave for a fabricator and explained what they were making. He said "OK. I have a guy who's a licensed airframe mechanic for those kind of vehicles. He's a Scot they call Red. He's probably already done something much the same."
The fellow who came over was a gnome of a man with dense thick eyebrows and the biggest hands Easy had ever seen. If his hair was ever red it was long ago because it was white as could be. He seemed to scowl a lot, but he wasn't surprised at their request at all. They had the gun sitting on a floor tripod by now and he squatted down and took the grips like he was firing.
"Does this gun have vacuum rated lubricants and bearing surfaces?" he inquired.
"Uh, I just assumed it would if it's in orbit. But I couldn't document it," Margaret admitted. "Would you ask Jon and if need be test it please?"
"OK. We'll take care of it. Now, we'll have a clamp down here, under where the U joint is and the edge of the hatch will be about here," he said holding a pocket scale parallel with the floor. "What is your shell basket like, so I don't have it hang up on the hatch edge when you transverse right or left?"
"Shell basket?" Easy asked.
"Well, what did you use to catch your empty casings and the plastic pieces from the disintegrating belt, when you used the same sort of setup in an aircraft?" He had a funny bit of a burr to his voice, which tended to add an odd lilting emphasis to the syllables in the longer words.
"They just flew everywhere and sometimes we ended up ankle deep in them by the time we were done shooting. Half of them seemed to go inside my collar and burn the crap out of me."
"God preserve blind fools and Englishmen," the fellow muttered with a shake of his head, "It's a wonder you never sucked a few flying out the open hatch into your engine and brought yourself down. Even if you don't have an engine intake on this boat, are you going to leave a bloody cloud of brass hanging there in an orbit for some poor fellow to run into? You aren't the sort of Ugly Charlie who just throws his chip papers out the window of your ground car when you're done with your snack, are you?"
"Oh no. Not at all. I can see the value of a basket. Please, could you include a cartridge catcher in your work up so we can be, uh, tidy?"
"Sure, it would be my pleasure." The gruff fellow assured him, happy with him again, "I'll have it done before the Saturday shift comes on," and hurried off to the machine shop.
"I feel like a schoolboy, scolded by the Principal for littering." Easy said.
"I think it's kind of cute." Margaret said smiling. "I think where he's from they'd call them a Headmaster. Notice he doesn't care if you are going to riddle someone else's multibillion dollar space craft with a couple hundred holes, but he wants you to be as neat as possible about it."
Ruby had finished her inspection and found the shop coffee without difficulty and sat sipping a foam cup. She had the sense to stay out of the way. April sensed things were gelling pretty well and approached her. "I think we're about wrapped up. We'll have Jeff's generators plugged in tomorrow and be ready to go."
"They still trying to cut you out?"
"Jon is," April admitted checking over her shoulder.
"I knew you were flying it, clear back when you asked about Easy helping. Man should have asked me. I'd have saved him a bunch of anguish fighting it." She was looking the ship over while she talked. "It's so small, that surprised me," Ruby said.
"Really? I hadn't thought of it as small."
"Yeah the cabin is as small as a van like we'd rent to drive around on vacation down below. And the whole thing is as small as a van pulling a travel trailer. You could put the whole thing in a semi-truck they use Dirtside to deliver stuff to stores. I flew on planes you could drive a big truck like that on board and take the whole thing where it was needed and never have to transfer the load. Drive on - drive off. What are you going to call her?"
"Well, it has a factory hull number. It probably had a short company number too, but it's gone now."
"No. A number is not enough," Ruby told her. "It's a ship now. Even the planes we flew were all named by the crews. The shuttles and space planes are all named. They may have a tail number now, but they're still named. You check with the crew and the controllers and you'll find out the company may say we've scheduled flight 47, in Boeing D body 1437. But the flight crew would say we're lifting the Ellen Ochoa to M3. Pick a good name for her April."
"I think I'd like to name her after my grandfather."
"The Robert Lewis? Sounds good. Not a big mouthful like some of the Russian boats."
"No. Nobody would know who it honored. They might think it was my brother," she said, with a distaste Ruby ignored but would remember. "No, I meant we'd name her the Happy Lewis. Do you think I should consult with my brother?"
Ruby snorted through her nose. "He'd want to name her Unending Prosperity or something and they'd all think she was a Chinese boat. Go with your instincts and tell him you didn't think it would matter to him. He'd look terribly petty to argue about it being named after his own grandfather."
April went to look up the shop foreman and have it painted on.
Chapter 20
Justine could see the suspicion written on the man's face. He couldn't blame him at all. He'd be cautious under the same circumstances. He'd stopped at the first decent coffee shop when he reached ISSII and sat and called home to find out who ran this territory. His brother had been at his cabin fishing for the weekend and he didn't take a phone out on the boat with him. Saturday was a bad day to find people who had hobbies. He had to speak with several underlings before he found a soldier, who could make a few calls and ask the local family to come and meet them. He wanted them to be aware of his people and get permission before he just moved in like he was at home.
"Honest friend, he's not any business, just my nipote. In fact it's kind of an embarrassment in the family. He's actually with security on M3. He's almost a cop. But you have to watch out for family if they haven't done anything to shame you and he is an honorable kid. A real straight shooter. Don't you have a soft spot for your nephews? I'll send my people off to the hotel and you and your boys can take me alone, to just have a word with him. I'll just hand him back a Visa card he should have and we'll stay out of your hair. No business while we're here at ISSII at all, just a little vacation," he promised.
The man Eddie would have recognized as his waiter nodded reluctantly. "Yeah. I really do understand. The couple he's staying with, the Agapitos, are family too. They got all involved in this nano business. I never understand half of what they're talking about, but they make money hand over fist being 100% legit and they still have respect for the family, so we keep an eye on them just like you do yours. Let's go see them and you can give him his stuff."
"Nolan, take Mr. Persico's people to the hotel, the better one, The Cottage and make them at home. They want anything, they want to go anywhere, they're our guests, understand? No worry about who they talk to, or arguing about any of their personal equipment," he said looking pointedly at the cello case. "They're under our protection. And tell Harold too. The manager is an associate," he explained to Justine.
"You are most gracious. I thank you for your hospitality," Justine said inclining his head. "I hope I have opportunity to return the favor someday."
"Yeah? Thanks. I don't get much chance to get down anymore. Once in awhile I get to go home, I'm from Bataan," he said pronouncing it with three syllables, "but unless you go way out on the small islands it isn't the same anymore. You can look out the window and it might as easily be Florida. They've kind of ruined it down there as far as I'm concerned."
"It isn't just your homeland friend. I don't know anybody who's thrilled with what Earth has become, anywhere you go. It's becoming all the same. Why does there have to be a McDonald's in every town in Tahiti and Kenya? Don't any of them value their own culture anymore?"
The big Filipino nodded in surprised agreement.
* * *
Eddie sat at the table with the Agapitos and his uncle Justine. The beefy Filipino he immediately recognized as his waiter. Then they introduced him as the Agapitos' cousin John. Justine's story about Ernie winning the Big Shot was hilarious. He was a natural story teller and when he got to the punch line everybody just roared. Eddie just held the Visa in both hands looking at it with wonder.
"Pull the tab off and hold your finger over the taster," His uncle urged him. "No sense leaving access to that kind of money unlocked."
"So," John picked up the conversation, while he did that, "most people who get a chunk of money like this quit their job and retire. I hope you know, a lot of them end up broke and starting over in just a few years."
"I've seen stories about lotto winners. A lot of them can't handle it. Some think they can buy every expensive toy they want and have no idea owning a big yacht for example, is more about what it costs every year to run it, than the purchase price. A lot of them get stung on investments too. Even those who try to go to a legitimate brokerage house, but give them discretionary powers. I'm happy doing what I am. I'm also in the good position of not having my coworkers know I hit it big. So I won't be like some who might have tried to keep working, but the jealousy and friction with their workmates made them quit to get away from it."
"So you'll stay where you are and try to keep your job?" John asked.
"Sure. I'll try. I like my boss. I like living on M3. I may buy a few new pieces of furniture or a new suit, but mostly I'll invest this and keep it for the future. The same folks who developed the Rock are talking about bringing a big snowball back and mining the volatiles. I think I'll buy a piece of that new project, if I can talk to them and get in." He thought of something else. "Justin could you have your banker friend open another account and give my friend Ernie a card in his own name for two million Euro from what you left him and tell him it's for his services and I appreciate his work. Then you keep the balance for all the trouble you've gone to for me. I know it was for family, but you've spent a lot out of your pocket and you can give your people a little bonus if you want."
"You sure about Ernie? I've seen guys like him before. In a year he won't have a bit of it left. Seems like a waste."
"I give him a couple months actually. He will either be fabulously wealthy or broke before the year is done. But I'm giving him a shot at it."
"You might consider talking to the Agapitos and asking them to keep you in mind if they start any new ventures." His uncle suggested. "They are very well thought of in their profession I'm told and they don't suffer some of the exposure which comes with being unprotected others might suffer." He explained it by looking pointedly at John.
"Funny you should bring it up." Ton Agapito said. "We have been talking with the Drs. Singh and they suggest some of the new theory she has formed will be implemented in a practical way using nano. She indicated the thing I wondered about, the importance of meeting his son, was he is rather an unusual boy. Very advanced for his age and he also is already a practical expert, in the application of nanofabricating. We've been invited to join them later, by more conventional transport than yours and spend some time helping develop the devices, to express the findings of her research. Would you like to meet with us when we come there and see if the proposals seem worthy of your financial support?"
"Yes," he agreed. "It sounds like a fine opportunity. The Drs. Singh you say?"
"Yes, they agreed to your idea and wed yesterday."
"While I have everybody here," Eddie said tentatively, "my boss wanted me to talk to the Head of Security on II and see what he knows and feels, about the situation with the Rock. If we get our ride tomorrow I'm running out of time to see him. Do any of you know the man? Would it be a problem with any of you, if I went by and asked to speak with him?"
John looked uncomfortable. "We don't exactly work on the same side of the street.
Because he is new we're getting to know the man ourselves, mostly by observing what he does, but just as your uncle suggested earlier today, there are people on opposite sides that are still honorable. Perhaps you will help us take the measure of the man, if you do approach him. He's a professional spy also you know."
"That's what my boss said."
Justine toyed with his coffee cup and got so visibly upset the rest of them knew there was some problem. He started to say something and faltered. They just waited on him to get back his composure and speak.
"The USNA is going to take the Rock," Justine declared flatly. "They have plans to lock down M3 and have it under control a couple weeks before the Rock gets here. Then they were going to basically nationalize the Rock. I was going to tell Eddie to pack up and not be on M3 when it happens. But I owe you," he nodded at the Agapitos and John, "a debt of hospitality and I couldn't not say anything and let you go over there into trouble."
"How do you know this?" Eddie asked. "How reliable is it?"
"This is the word all the way from the top. The fix is in with the World Court and they already know they need to come to a decision which comports with reality. Which is that the US will have actual physical control of the Rock before they issue their ruling. No way do they want to look foolish and make a ruling the USNA will just laugh at, because they aren't going to give it back."
"The families might not always have the influence they want with the governments, but we always have individuals at the highest levels, who at least let us know what is going to happen. You might not think it would concern us, but we need stability as much as any other institution."
John was nodding his agreement. "We fill a niche someone is going to fill. If it were run by a few thousand small entrepreneurs, there would be so much more fighting for territory and market,the public chaos would be much worse than anything we allow to happen. You see it sometimes when there are new groups who try to break into the drug market. You get all kinds of undesirable publicity in the media over it. We can't exactly hire PR to spin our side of it you know."
Eddie had never thought of it that way. The lesser of evils. It still didn't make him want to take a share in the family business.
"Should I go talk to the man then? Or do you think there's no point?"
"This is your home turf," Justine offered, looking at the Filipinos. "You have any objection if he goes and has a nice talk-talk with the Security Chief?"
"Not as long as he leaves our name out of it," John specified. "I take it you have a lot of experience in being discrete," he said. Looking between Justine and Eddie.
"You have no idea," Eddie said. "I go home for Christmas and the dinner table looks like the wanted page on the FBI site. Then next morning I get up bright and early, put my shield in my pocket and go back to work."
"OK then we'll call right now and get you an appointment," John offered. "And we'll walk you there, in case our Chinese friends have figured out you are connected with the doctors. Maybe you folks would like to come along and make sure we take good care of your boy?" He asked Justine. "Probably confuse the hell out of the Chinese to see us strolling along all friendly like. With a bit of luck they might go home to figure it all out."
* * *
April was thrilled with her new space suit. She had never owned one custom made before. The few times she had been out, she had rented a sized suit and twice done the drill to put on an emergency suit. Those were way too big for her even with all the adjusting straps pulled up tight. This suit was still stock parts, she didn't need anything custom machined, being within the size limits for which they made standard limb and torso sub-units, but each was matched to her measurements and assembled. An uncustomized size six suit, had always been a bit long in the arm and short in the leg for her. This was perfect. It was a combo suit. A hard shell from the shoulders down to about the end of the ribs and a hard girdle around the hips with a seat built inside for the buttocks. So when she sat in the seat of the scooter it would clamp on the girdle and the padding would be inside not outside. Also there was a backup harness, but the main restraint was the seat latching directly onto the suit.
The arms and legs were soft except for elbow and knee pads and it had two pairs of both gloves and boots. Heavy ones for outside work and contact with cold metal and finer gloves with more dexterity were worn for piloting and fine repair work. A control in the helmet collar changed exterior color and reflectivity. She had it set for a glossy bright blue today. There was also an armor over-helmet for outside work, which had shades and headlamps. There were a couple very weak fine vernier jets, for orienting one's self but for much movement a jet pack had to be clamped on the hip girdle.
"It smells really strong," she told her grandpa. "I hope after it isn't so new and the plastic and rubber has a chance to outgas, it smells better."
"Sorry to tell you Honey, but as the suit ages it loses this smell, but you outgas and rub off on it and it kinda develops a eau de locker room. It helps a lot if you stuff a bag of activated charcoal in each leg when you're not wearing it. Also I suggest you don't eat garlic for a few days before wearing it and never, never, wear perfume in a suit unless you are sure you are gonna love it forever. Some like to put a little cinnamon or clove oil in, to scent it between uses."
"You want to get a tin of Bag Balm and rub a generous handful in the fold at the top of your thigh and your rear end and elbows when you know you will be hours in your suit. Some smear it in their arm pits and between their toes too. If it gets too stinky to stand, ask somebody going out pressure to leave it outside for a shift with the helmet off."
They were watching the last consumables being loaded and walking up to the cabin hatch. She and Easy were going to ride it up on the shop elevator. It lifted the craft in spin slowly, giving the station balance damping system a chance to compensate for the movement of a big mass on the outside of spin. If they just dropped out a lock from the outside deck, the sudden change in angular momentum would cause a wobble and put heavy stresses on the station and spin bearings. They'd ease out the end of the station, right next to the loading dock, close to the axis of spin where the tension holding their mass to the hub was only a few hundred kilo instead of thousands.
April realized she had lost her grandpa and turned. He had stopped at the cockpit view ports and was looking at the hand pinstriped flourish surrounding the calligraphy, which proclaimed the vessel the Happy Lewis.
She couldn't remember ever seeing her grandfather cry before. But his cheeks were both wet and he was unashamedly bawling.
"You named her after me." He sniffed and wiped his nose. He turned and hugged her and didn't seem disposed to make it a quick one. After a bit he stopped and patted his pockets and not finding what he wanted he walked over to a rollalong toolbox and got a blue shop rag to wipe his eyes and blew his nose. "It's quite the honor to have to live up to, having a ship named after you."
"Silly goose. You do the living first and then they name the ship for you. Not the other way around. If you want though, you can start racking credit up for your next one. Maybe something a little bigger."
"No, No. This is just fine. Thank you.
Jon was coming up and Easy was sitting in the hatch opening waiting for them. Jon looked over her shoulder at the handle of her lesser sword sticking up.
"I just felt naked with my laser strapped to the boom," April explained.
Jon looked even more suspiciously at the desert camo case, hanging on Easy's shoulder. It looked like it could hold a couple hard salami or a pair of Thermos' and had Cyrillic lettering stenciled on the coarse cloth, with a couple universal hazard symbols. "Snacks and travel games to keep the kids busy," Easy lied transparently.
"I don't even want to know," Jon assured him.
April looked around, but Bob apparently was not interested enough to see his scooter launched on its maiden voyage. It was just operating equipment to him.
They helped April over the hatch edge and stepped back. They had already said their goodbyes to everyone else. April's grandpa stepped back and took a pic with a hand camera, of them both standing in the rectangular hatch with their helmets off. They had their hands on the overhead, leaning forward a bit and looking down at the camera so serious. The same pic would eventually be on the story board at the Space Museum on Luna.
They left the hatch open for the ride up and climbed in their seats. Easy brought the other three Singh generators up, in addition to the one running for auxiliary power. Whatever extra power was made went in the accumulators. One by one he silently worked down through the check list on his main flat screen and turned all the orange lines into green. Just like my dad, April realized. He's not as comfortable as younger people talking to the computer. But finally he asked, "Happy confirm all checklist items green and verbally advise if any degrade." A pleasant male voice agreed, "All items green - will observe and advise." A female voice was usual, but Easy had vetoed the idea instantly. It sounded funny to address the ship as feminine, with her grandfather's name, she had to admit. The elevator had been stopped for awhile before they got done with their checks and their weight had dropped to near nothing as they climbed.
Dave was obviously watching, because he spoke as soon as they were done. "Do you want to button up now? We'll start pumping you down and open your port."
"April. Will you dog the hatch now and return to your seat?"
April was surprised he would specify returning to her seat. She was about to discover Easy was a different person at the controls of a vessel. He said exactly and completely, what he wanted done. And Easy was not something which had been laid upon him as a description of a laid-back command style. She had heard other people say it before, but was surprised what his tone of voice drew out of her. "Aye, aye, sir," and she hopped to it.
"The rule in my command," Happy informed her when she returned, "is anytime we are under pressure and subject to movement, one of us should have a helmet on, ready to respond to pressure loss. If you want to have a cup of coffee, or wash your face off with a wet nap, fine, just let me know so I can put my pot on. Anytime you want to have yours on too it's at your own discretion. I personally won't sleep in a vessel this small without a helmet on, so I can seal up just by slapping the face plate home."
"A cabin this size can lose pressure in seconds from a very modest hole. Some of the things you see me do, you may think - What are the odds of needing it? But if the one in ten million chance happens and you have a failure, you will live. Now tell me the truth. I know you have been cramming for your test. If I had a heart attack ten minutes from now, could you bring this ship back into safe dockage and not bust it or hit the station?"
"I think I could, but if at all possible I'd chose not to."
"An interesting answer. Want to elaborate?"
"Unless I saw I was on a vector to crunch something. I'd let my motion take me well clear of any traffic or the station and only stop my motion relative to the station a klick or two out and call for someone with a lot more experience to be taxied out and bring this ship back in to dockage." April explained.
"What about me?" Easy demanded.
"What about you? You're dead. I'm supposed to kill myself and crash this sucker in some poor person's cubic, so they can do an autopsy on you faster? The guy they taxi out can hurry to bring you in. You'd still probably get help faster the way I said, than the cautious way I'd feel I had to ease this thing back in."
"Ruby told me you were a smart girl," he said, satisfied. "Are we ready to break a seal and get out of here?" Easy demanded.
"Just waiting for you to get done with the cabin chatter and tell us goodbye," Dave responded on com.
April was a little put out to think everyone with access to the cabin feed could hear her casual examination.
"You have a signal on the navigation channel, which will beep your radial vector to clear nearby traffic and construction. If you burn clear on your forward X, you will have a Y negative of 2.80 meters/sec. And a right hand rotation of 172 seconds. Opening the hatch now. Launch at your pleasure.
"Number two. Program an X positive burn and a coast and flip to a standstill. Kill our rotation and radial velocity. You have the conn. Acknowledge."
"I have the conn. Will you advise me please?"
"Sure what is it April?"
"If I set the attitude jets to just equal the radial acceleration we have this far off the axis, will I get enough back pressure off the wall to push me away and maybe scrape the other side going out?"
"Good question. No. this is a big enough tube and we're a small enough ship it'll squirt out straight as an arrow using the bare numbers with no correction factor. We have a good two meters clearance to the wall. You're not going to build up any pressure in such a big gap."
April punched instructions in the computer and then checked it by having it display a graphic representation of what the maneuver would look like on the screen.
"Would you do me the favor of double checking my instructions Sir?"
"We don't have to be so formal. I'm still just Easy. Hmm. What is this here for?" he asked pointing to a few lines with his finger.
"I told it to fire the attitude jets a short burst while we're still hanging on the grapples, so if any of them are not operating we find out before we're hanging loose and can bump into the walls."
"You really are a belt and braces kind of girl aren't you?" I'll show you another trick. Dave has strain gauges on the grapples. We'll program just the four jets we're using to keep us centered in the tunnel, to fire after testing them all. Then Dave can tell us how we looked for balance before we commit to release. He tapped in the instructions again and she wondered if he would permit it, if she instructed the computer verbally?"
"There. Want to check it for me?"
She looked it over carefully. Not sure if he would throw in an error just to catch her. "Looks fine to me. Shall I inform Dave?"
Easy nodded a tiny bit, looking at the board like he was distracted and she started to call Dave, but bit it off and looked suspiciously at him.
"Was that an affirmative response Easy?"
"Yes it was April." There was a definite twinkle in his eye. He had been testing her willingness to act on a less than certain acknowledgement.
"Dave we are running a general thruster test and then immediately a specific thruster check to test our balance against station acceleration. We'd like a report on those numbers and then we will ask for release on signal. Confirm."
"We are looking for a thruster test and a balance test. After which you'll want a report and ask for formal release. Right?
"Yes. Initiating in a few seconds. She double checked the line break, so only the first part of the program would run and punched in a ten second delay. She announced, "Initiating thrust in ten seconds from my tone," and punched the big yellow square which produced a chime and counted down to zero. Meanwhile she got her thumb over the abort button in case she needed it. She felt a slight shiver build up for about two seconds then taper off. None of the warning lights came on and no voice, so all her jets burned green. A slightly easier vibration was felt after a short pause. Then Dave came back on. "You balance out on both grapples to within eight Newtons. It's within the error of our gauges. Looks good to me."
"Thank you Yard," she addressed him formally for the first time. "Would you clear our port and set your grapples for our command? I will call Traffic Control and confirm our exit."
"Grapples to your signal, clear."
April saw the lights go green on the board for the command and the port ahead swung out exposing a black circle.
"You are clear of our control and have a good trip. Treat it kindly and don't forget where to bring it when ya bust it."
April opened a line to Traffic Control and cleared her throat before keying the mic.
"M3 traffic, this is the Happy Lewis requesting traffic insert from North dockage. We will match velocity standing off and contact Departure Control for clearance on local two. Are we clear?"
Happy Lewis you are clear. Contact on local two for departure. You do not show a transponder code in our database. Is this a maiden flight?"
"Yes Local, we are a re-registration. Would you like to assign us a code?"
"Coming on your line for loading, you are enrolled on our log this day, as The Happy Lewis out of Mitsubishi Three, tail number M001739 registered to Lewis Couriers, transponder code 12001401739, Whom shall I list as having the conn?" He asked very formally.
April suddenly understood taking her out the maiden flight, was an honor to allow such a junior pilot as herself to do, if she was to be noted in the station log.
"Apprentice April Lewis, ID 837-21-4002," she answered quickly.
"Luck, to your ship and crew," he offered personally. Sending a ship out for the first time, even a refit, was still not so common as to have no formality. "Please confirm when you talk to Departure on two. Be careful out there. Clear at your pleasure."
"Shall I take her out Easy?"
"As the fellow said April. At your pleasure. You still have the conn."
Just to be polite April spoke again. "Executing on your radial signal Yard." She waited until she saw the light blink again and then punched the yellow square. It would take a full rotation of the station before it came around again and they released. It seemed forever as the sunlight on the wall swept from one side of the open hatch to the other as the station turned.
There was a clunk of grapples retracting and the faint vibration of the thrusters suddenly holding them where the grapples had been and the main ordinary drive pushed them out of the tube they were in at a gentle tenth G. As soon as they were clear of the hatch the thrusters killed their small spin component and the main drive went off.
With a mechanical precision the autopilot gave a small thruster burn at opposite ends to flip them over and an exactly opposite burn just in time, to stop them pointed back exactly at the station. Then the main did a equally long tenth G burn to leave them floating, looking back at their home turning slowly, but otherwise motionless before them. April let out a long relieved sigh.
"And that's how you fly a space ship," Easy concluded. "Anybody can do it with a computer."
"It was great, thank you. But if you don't mind Easy, I'd like for you to take the conn for awhile. I think I'd like to practice a little more, when we're not two meters from the station."
"OK. I have the conn, but you took her out," he reminded her before he keyed the mic. "Departure Control, this is Happy Lewis beeping a new transponder. We'd like to confirm automated departure in approximately ten minutes for ISSII. Sending you our preliminary flight profile." He punched the upload of their navigation program to control.
"Happy," he addressed the ship, "position your attitude for the next scheduled burn and confirm."
"Maneuvering." the ship said and chimed. There were a couple of small burns on the thrusters and the scene outside wheeled over and then stabilized. "Attitude stable and confirmed by star fix," the computer confirmed.
They had agreed on a slow and normal initial flight profile, to not demonstrate any additional capacity. So their profile showed a normal length half G burn initially.
Departure Control was taking a lot longer than usual to respond.
"Uh, Happy Lewis in queue for departure. We have a request from Earthside for detail. Could you confirm command structure?" This was unusual.
"I am Jefferson Carter Dixon, Master, ID 674-91-2055 commanding with new Apprentice April Lewis, second, making her first flight. You have all my history and logs in the database. I am qualified to fly solo, so Miss Lewis' status is irrelevant," he said a bit frosty.
"Thank you. Earthside is clear now. You are confirmed automated departure on your profile. Please monitor Low Earth Three and contact Local Two ISSII on arrival. Local out."
Easy looked at the clock. He had less than a minute to his burn. It was not courteous to hold the pilot unreleased so close to his burn. He had never had an ID request on departure before. "Somebody's playing games with us already," he told April. Then they felt a shudder and were pushed gently into the seats. They were on their way.
"Easy, why did you give me the privilege of being logged as taking the Happy out on her maiden flight?" April asked.
"Well, I did a bit of research, you see," he said grinning. "There was no apprentice pilot ever listed as taking a ship out on the pilot's first flight and no apprentice pilot ever listed as taking a ship out on its maiden flight. So I figured it would be amusing to log an apprentice pilot, who is an owner and thirteen years old, taking a new ship of a new class out, on the first flight for both of them."
"I suspect it is a combination of firsts that won't be logged again for a very long time and no matter if it is again someday you will always be the first. I didn't want to make you nervous by mentioning it. It is an interesting bit of trivia to remember. The sort of thing that can win you a beer on a bet."
Chapter 21
Eddie was surprised how quickly they got an appointment to speak with the Head of Security for ISSII. They had about twenty minutes to walk down to his offices. Justine suggested he not walk in carrying, so he peeled the holster off his ribs and left it laying on his guest bed. When they went out the door he was in the center of a square.
Uncle Justine was at his right rear, with his woman Mary in front of him and John at his left rear, with a new man he had not introduced in front. They were all dressed casually but Mary had on a loose caped coat draped over her shoulders and the new man had a soft sided piece of luggage.
When they got near the offices it was set up differently than he was used to on M3. There was a plaza with several businesses on the same hub. Two streets arched away up the curve of the station and two went away flat to the next rings each way along the axis of rotation. Even the overhead was different, trying to duplicate a beautiful Earth sky very successfully.
John and Justine sat at a table outside a small café, which used some of the plaza to simulate outdoor seating. Mary found a bench for public seating on the other side of the corridor and the new man went across to a suite of business offices and went inside.
Eddie went in the station offices and saw the Security section was a separate suite inside the General Station Complex. He went through and found a live receptionist. And after examining her, he figured a live guard also. "I'm Eddie Persico," he offered. "I have an appointment with Jan Hagen." She led him in without calling ahead and turned the chair for him in silent invitation to sit and announced, "Mr. Persico."
Mr. Hagen did not look happy to see him. He cupped his hand over his mouth with his thumb along his jaw line and his elbow planted on the desk in front of him and took his time taking the measure of Eddie. It was a very guarded gesture, but he dropped his hand to speak.
"You're not armed," he announced to Eddie.
"True. Do I need to be, here?"
"You were when you came on the station."
"There was a great deal of uncertainty when I came on the station and I have resolved a lot of it. I plan on leaving soon too."
"I'd like that," he admitted. "I hope you take your gun with you when you leave."
"I planned on it. Unless you want me to fetch it to you. I am not unduly attached to it and I have no desire to have an adversarial relationship with you."
"There's a bit of uncertainty about your identity too. There is no Eddie logged on the station - but there is an Evert Persico, mate," he said the last with a bad Aussie accent.
"Ah - he's my bastard twin," he declared affectionately. "I didn't even know he was on station. Round him up, if he isn't flat on his face too rotten to stand and you'll see we're two peas, but whatever the mix up my ID is golden and I'm sure you'll find his is not a bit bodgy," he said with a much better accent, laying it on thick.
"Indeed," he said without the least trace of belief. "I doubt I want to invest much time on a search since you'll be leaving so soon," he emphasized. "I'm more concerned with why you are here. I had thought perhaps you were coming to assassinate me... The idea shocks you!" he said, before Eddie could even reply, surprised at the look on Eddie's face. "That's interesting."
"I'm an officer of the security force on M3 and we don't do assassinations."
"You're a member of a crime family and some more of them have joined you from another station since you came. I'm worried you'll start a conflict with the elements who claim this territory for those kind of activities. Perhaps you think I am 'on the take' as they say and you'll have to remove me to establish a new franchise here?"
"Don't you think if that were the case I'd simply make a better bid, for you to accept a new franchise?"
"Not if you knew me."
"Ah, An honest politician. One who'd stay bought."
"Yes. If I were bribed, I'd keep the bargain."
"I believe you. However being from a crime family doesn't interfere with my being an officer of Security, anymore than being a spy keeps you from discharging the same responsibility here."
Jan looked amused. "Intelligence officer," he corrected. "Spies they just drag outside and shoot in the head when things go bad. IOs they trade. But I'm starting to like you. Would you care for some coffee?" He leaned back in his chair and interlaced his fingers in a very relaxed gesture.
"Please. But there is a little café on the plaza outside. Do you have a surveillance camera watching the front entrance, which would show it?"
"Certainly." he tapped a few keys on his desk pad and the scene appeared on the wall screen.
"There, the table with two men. Both looking out on the corridor."
Jan zoomed in on them without being asked. Justine and John were talking and smiling. There was a plain white demitasse cup in front of each of them. After a bit they both laughed at something and the waiter came and refilled their coffee from a silver pot. Justine spoke back and forth with him and the waiter nodded his head in agreement.
"He just asked the waiter in French if he had any nice cookies. And the waiter was embarrassed, but told him despite the French name of the café, he only speaks English or Farsi and the customer asked him in Farsi for cookies, so he is going for them."
"Uncle Justine speaks Farsi?" I had no idea. The man constantly surprises me. You read lips that well? Really?
As if to answer, the waiter appeared with a generous plate of sugar dusted crescents.
"And the other fellow with your uncle Justine? Who is he? A hired man?"
"I promised I would keep his name out of my conversation with you. So you'll have to discover his name yourself. But I'll tell you what he is. He is the equivalent on your station of my uncle. This is his territory as you say and we're not threatening it. Indeed he considers us under his protection while we're here. If I had to choose between his protection or yours it would be a tough choice. But I'm hoping to have both.
"Remarkable. So why are you here? I doubt it's simply more protection." The receptionist came in with their coffee.
"First, to take our man Dr. Singh back home. I'm told you know about his marriage to the Tibetan lady Dr. Nam-Kah and you will approve of her leaving with him. His family has been the target of black USNA operations on our station and we doubt either one of them could walk onto a regular commercial flight back to M3."
"I didn't think I needed to ask help with it. But since I got here I see things are unsettled, so I'll ask you if you'd make sure the Chinese don't strong arm her, when we try to board her on our shuttle in the morning. We will have several people to walk her down and the doctors and I will board, but if you'd have several officers in a show of force we'd appreciate it."
"If the little prig who runs the Chinese embassy here argued with my receptionist, once she told him to clear the hatch for boarding, I would make him regret it for a very long time indeed. But I'll grant the favor easily. I'll even walk you down myself. If it irks the Chinese good. And what else?"
"We're worried on M3 about what is going to happen with the Rock. You're familiar with the case in the courts and the fact a lot of people have an investment in it?"
"Certainly, but I don't know any more than what I have seen on the news. The court still hasn't ruled on the matter and the Rock is still way out from the final orbit."
"I was hoping you'd know more, but if not be aware of what little I can tell you. It could be a hazard for your people too, if they are on M3, or in transit and get involved. My uncle says the family intelligence sources say the fix is in and the court will rule against the investors. But they also say they'll lock down M3 and seize the Rock even before the court decision"
"Let me make a call." Jan keyed a few lines and asked a local technician for some help. Eventually he made a connection without video and cupped a headset to one ear, asking - "Brad? This is Jan. I have a man sitting here, predicting the USNA is going to lock down their people in M3 and grab the Rock project early when it finishes coming into orbit. Is he out of his flaming mind, or is he brilliant?"
Eddie couldn't hear the other side of the conversation.
"I can't hire him. He already works for the frigging USNA and the Mafia and is too busy to take on a hobby. Besides he's so easy to read they'd know he turned in a week. He almost peed his pants when I assumed he was here to shoot my silly butt. So give me the raw data on why you agreed so quickly..."
"Of course I'm not going to leak it to him! I'm trading it for his intelligence..."
"Not the USNA you twit. They couldn't find a dead cat in a gunny sack after it was five days ripe. This is the straight stuff from the Mob. They know what the hell they are about I can tell you..."
"I didn't call my own country's spooks, because they all think I owe them too many favors. Whereas I've given you so many golden goodies you should be thanking me for calling again. It damned well does not count as doubling him, because he may work for you, but he got the information off his other side. It wasn't even one of your other so called agencies..."
"I love you too and I'll get back to you on this and tell you another small gem. We may have a minor diplomatic incident here, because I'm going to escort this fellow Singh and his new bride onto this fellows shuttle in a few hours. If Lee, who has been irritating me, gets in my face I may shove him out the bloody airlock without his knickers on, much less a p-suit and see if that doesn't rip his serene inscrutability..."
"Yes, I know I'm a damned barbarian. I take great joy in it. Next time I'm down we'll do the barbie up right. I haven't had any decent ribs since the last visit..."
It was a very interesting conversation to hear one side of, all in a rush.
"Charming fellow," Jan allowed, putting the headset down. "He works for a little office in the NSA, which seems to specialize in spying on the CIA. Does the best ribs and skirt steak on the grill of anyone you've ever met. Sends me satellite photos of nude beaches in the clear, to embarrass my secretary for whom he has an unrequited passion. Just amazing the resolution you fellows get."
"But I imagine that doesn't interest you right now. He confirms there are all sorts of unusually heavy launch preparations and a couple small special force units which have space training are sequestered. They also have some signs the Chinese are working on a hurry-up launch too. What's even more damning, is there is some activity selling Mitsubishi and related space stock puts, for the right time window. So without even looking any further I'm afraid you're right. He suggested you might consider sending your key people on to Luna, so they can't be seized on M3. It might frost their cookies nicely if they want to capture them."
Eddie's head was still spinning at the idea of the NSA spying on the CIA. But the last statement he had to protest. "But, doesn't he work for the USNA? So why would he suggest we do something what would keep the Singhs out of their hands?"
"Your uncle lives where?"
"Uh, near Chicago."
"So does it mean he will serve the interests of Chicago or the USNA because he lives and works there? Believe me, the interests of the NSA and the CIA and the TLA no more coincide with each other than with the Mafia. They all have their own agenda and compete for the same resources. Any one of them might ally with the Mob, or the Devil himself, against one of the others, if their interests happened to overlapped. They serve the administration as long as it protects their existence and the money keeps coming. If not they can help bring them down."
"What's the TLA?"
"If you don't know, you don't need to know." he said, testily.
"Thank you so much," he said, standing, stunned and a bit overloaded by the bizarre conversation. "I'll see you in a few hours."
"And it was very pleasant meeting you," Jan assured him. "Feel free to call me up now that we know each other. After all, this is what keeps the whole bloody system from breaking down totally, networking."
* * *
Somewhere out over the Pacific, Easy and April came to the part of their flight profile which was critical. They were gambling on the fact the flight profiles were checked by computer. As long as they gave satisfactory solutions for arrival where you said you were going, they should not be examined in detail by a human. They hoped they were not programmed to report if one deviated very far from standard. Their departure burn had been well under what was needed and now they were going to do a short burn to make it up. They'd do it however with the plasma engines and they hoped being well away from the station no one would record their little burp.
The data from the test fire would be recorded and returned to Dave to see if they needed any work, to make it match the results NASA had gotten when they designed the drive decades ago. Dave had several ideas to improve it, because of advances in metallurgy since the design was finalized, but they vetoed it for now, because they needed a tested design. Coming up on the time, Easy asked April, "How much acceleration have you ever pulled?"
"Whatever they pull in a shuttle. I've been down to Earth twice now. About a year ago and then almost five years ago and I don't remember the ride very clearly. Something under four G I'm sure."
"We'll peak at eight, but it's going to be so short you won't have time to have trouble breathing or anything. Just make sure your arms are in the grooves and don't decide to scratch your nose or anything. At eight G, if you hang your arm out beside your couch I can guarantee it will be broken and probably dislocated at the same time. Not something we want to deal with. Coming up on two minutes. Let's put it on the screen to count down and read out the Gs."
When the countdown hit zero on the screen, it started counting back up and had a G meter join it on the right of the screen. It ramped up pretty fast. They picked up about a half G every second. It didn't feel all that heavy until about five and then it felt like something big had landed on top of her. At six point something her vision got blurry enough her she didn't see the seven replace the six. She just saw the blur blink. She felt the vertebrae in her back snapping, like when a masseuse stretches and adjusts them and her tongue wanted to slid back in her mouth. It only stayed at eight G for a half second before it cut off sharply, but the compressed cushions under her made her feel like she was flung forwards against her restraints, when they expanded back to normal.
"Well I can see why your grandpa said he was too old for this sort of thing," Easy told her. "I feel like I jumped, had my chute fail and landed flat on my back."
* * *
In the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean, near the international date line, in a dimly lit room on the atoll Kwajalein, a radar technician explained why he had called his watch commander. "Bullshit! some kind of computer glitch," the officer said when he described the numbers he'd seen turn red and build up beside the blip on his scope. "Play the recording back and let me see it."
* * *
"ISSII local, this is Happy Lewis at 10 kilometers out, for dock on local two. We'd like cargo access and a connect to top our tanks off. We expect to board passengers and undetermined freight, on a turn around. We don't anticipate coming off dock, or off loading, so we don't need customs or emigration," Easy informed them. The local net on screen four, showed no unusual news or alerts. The seconds ticked over in lockstep with their home clock on their navigation screen.
"You are clear on hatch five. It's the yellow stripe on the boom."
This was the part Easy never liked, because it was forbidden to match airlock to port by hand. He'd get fined if he got caught doing it. It had been done manually for a long time and the steady record of dings and damage and outright wrecks, said it was something to leave to the machines, or necessity in a real emergency. It wasn't he didn't trust his ship, but you had to trust the station's machines to give you feedback and actuate the grapples. He got a sweet kiss of contact because the Happy Lewis had all new thrusters tuned just so and the vessel was too light to whip the boom around, from the grapples pulling her in a few centimeters to seal to the port.
The board showed all green, for the door seal and he could see the fuel service man riding a rail seat down the outside of the boom already, to do their fill up. They had nonstandard connector locations, after their radical rebuild, so he had to clip the quick disconnects on the fuel nipples near the hatch by hand. Easy watched, to make sure he attached the short safety cables to the release lever and took up the slack.
If he undocked without removing the hoses, it should pull the release lever and unhook the hose from the ship, without ripping the hoses out of the station, or breaking the mast off. The fuel fellow didn't bother to call on his radio. He just floated over to the forward ports and took a card reader out of his leg pocket. The light was just right and they could see him faintly through the face plate, chewing gum slowly and smiling. Easy held a credit card up against the port and he scanned it through the glass. The fellow arced back to the boom on his tether Tarzan style, with the ease of long experience and rode away in his chair.
"When you can go back, open just the outer door on the coffin lock." He ordered April. We'll open both sides of the coffin if they are boarding with no trouble. How about fixing a new pot of coffee, number two?"
"Is this one of those orders politely framed as a question Easy?"
"It's always the safest thing to assume April."
April went back and took her sword along. There was a rib on either side of the hatch, padded to protect people and cargo coming through from bumps and she fastened the saya to the one on the back side of the hatch with a couple hefty cable ties, one tight through the kurikata so the blade could be drawn. She wanted it handy in what she considered hostile territory. Then she opened the outer door of the coffin lock
* * *
Eddie was sitting waiting with John, anxious to get aboard the shuttle and off ISSII, safely past the Chinese or North Americans or whatever unknowns were hunting his charges. He had skipped lunch because he didn't want to be carrying a meal to scramble aboard a scooter in zero G and he had nothing packed to carry.
The Agapitos had said goodbye and left the table to the two of them. He had his pad and wallet and gun. If he got a chance he'd transfer the gun to an outside pocket when he got a suit, because the sticky stuff on the holster might not be vacuum rated. He'd been told they'd all suit up on boarding.. The Agapitos could ship his small carry-on, or bring it if they came to M3. John got a call on his pad and he nodded it was time to go.
They took the same route to the plaza as they had to see Jan and when they arrived the party with the Drs. Singh walked into the plaza at the same time. Jan was waiting in front of his office entry, with four guards armed with some sort of light machine pistol.
There was a Chinese officer in uniform sitting at the café Justin and John had enjoyed. He spoke with agitation into a pad on his table, making no effort to cover up the fact he was reporting in with their movements.
Jan said a word to his men and two came across the plaza weapons held just barely off the officer and yanked him over to a heavy railing which defined the edge of the serving area. They double hand cuffed him on the sturdy tube, with his hands wide enough apart he could not bring them together and patted him down briefly before trotting back, ignoring his complaints.
They formed up on the three passengers much like his earlier walk. Each inside a square, but staggered apart down the corridor.
When they got to the lift, to take them in spin to the crossover bearing and out of rotation, there was a Chinese officer standing in front of the elevator, with a soldier on each side. He didn't seem bothered he was so outnumbered, but his two men didn't look happy at all.
Jan marched right up within arm's length of the head Chinese on the left and Justine did the same on the right.
"I have an arrest warrant for the woman Nam-Kah," the officer told Jan and presented the document which Jan examined in some detail. It was all Chinese characters, but that didn't seem to put him off.
"This is fine, but the person this document describes no longer exists. She is now Dr. Singh Nam-Kah and she has the right of passage to accompany her husband where she will."
"I don't recognize her spousal rights over our national security," he snarled.
"I don't recognize your right to come out with pistols in the public corridors. If you don't go back to your cubic and put them away, I may arrest you for violating our security agreement. This is not your sovereign ground out here, to be talking about national anything. The flag waving stuff ends at your embassy entry and doesn't mean anything out here."
"You consort with hooligans! And women!" he screamed, fumbling with the flap of his holster and a dozen weapons swung up pointing at him. The clicking of all the safeties going off was remarkably loud, punctuated by the chunk-clack of Mary racking a round in an old fashioned 12 gauge riot gun with a pistol handle. She had him outgunned all by herself and she seemed offended by his tone about women.
Jan distained to lift his hands out of his pockets. Justine brought his hand up in an arc and there was long Aussie style knife with no guard which had materialized in his hand. He sliced the officer's heavy gun belt in a stroke so his pants fell around his ankles in a heap. The soldier bent his head to look down, but Justine lifted his chin with the point of the blade. When his head was tilted back a bit Justine laid the flat of the blade against the man's throat and slide it down his front from the high collar all the way past where the belt had been. There was a snick, snick, snick, snick as it descended and then the rattle of brass buttons rolling across the floor as he shaved them all off.
The uniform shirt popped open from the belly pushing against it, revealing an old fashioned undershirt. Justine carefully wiped the tiny bead of blood off the point, first one side and then the other on the clean white surface and returned the clean blade under his shirt, stepping back. Mary lowered the shotgun and said, "Damn. It's hard to shoot a man with his pants around his ankles."
"Why don't you stay here?" Jan suggested. "Just me and my men will go up and load the shuttle. I think we've got it don't you?"
Eddie wasn't sure if he was talking to Justine or the officer, but Justine answered him. "Sure, my buddy and I want to go back to the café and have a cappuccino before we leave. We'll turn the other fellow you cuffed up loose for you."
"Do you want a key?" He asked, looking over at one of his men.
Justine just held up a ring of about a dozen hand cuff keys of various styles and jiggled it with a little smile.
Jan shook a finger at him like a naughty child, but smiled and crammed in the elevator with the rest.
The mobsters stood and watched the indicator until the light showed the elevator had reached the axis and then Justine looked at Mary and pointed to the call button. She hefted the shotgun back up. The officer obviously thought he was being executed and threw his arms up twisting away. She blasted a big hole in the wall where the controls were. The twisted cover plate spun away end over end, clanging down the corridor and the button and switch disintegrated. Then they just turned their backs and walked away, leaving the Chinese there unable to recall the elevator.
* * *
Out on the docking boom Easy sat in the left hand command chair, watching the vid camera in the lock. He was nervous and anxious to have his passengers inboard and be away. He was watching the screen with the possibility in mind it might be a hostile force coming into view, instead of his friends. It had a limited view of the wall opposite his lock and not around the corner down the boom which was what he needed. He should really carry some mobile cameras bugs, he could position around the corner and down the boom to watch for him. When he finally saw the crowd come around the bend into view he got a big grin on his face. Their passengers looked real happy and there was Jan Hagen, easing along with his usual casual relaxed look, like he didn't have a care in the world.
Easy went back and opened the inside hatch, grabbed the edge and rolled feet first through the center of the coffin lock. He called back in to April. "I'll send the passengers through one at a time and you show them how to put on the suits and where they tie down. Then I have someone for you to meet."
He directed the woman through first. She was holding a cylindrical package to her chest like it was as precious as a baby. She was remarkably beautiful.
"This has to come with us," she said desperately, as if she expected an argument.
Easy took it and pushed it away and pulled it back sharply a few times, to gauge its mass. "No problem Ma'am. April inside will help you stow it safe."
She seemed tremendously relieved and pushed it through the lock ahead of her.
He turned around and Jan was smiling pleasantly at him. He offered his hand to touch. "Always a pleasure, Easy," he said. Eddie looked surprised they knew each other.
He went over and looked through the lock into the craft. There were no ports in the boom to look at the outside of it. "A bit cramped. I'm sorry I don't have any heavy weaponry I can give you. Do you carry anything with which to fight the ship, or do you just have to run?"
"Confidential information, Jan," he said, winking, "Tell your spook friends so they'll know why they should be respectful of us. She carries four nuclear fusion generators and can run like a rabbit with a plasma drive. It has multiple heavy laser weapons, a heavy machine gun, they tell me the drive itself can be used as a weapon," and then remembering the case he brought, he added after a hesitation, "and missiles."
"Of course," Jan said, making a flip motion with his hand, "everybody has missiles. I can see where you'd almost forget to mention it." He looked at Easy again oddly and his eyes got big. "My God, you're not joking about any of it are you?"
April came out, did a roll over to orient to them politely and looked down the corridor which ran back through the boom with a distrustful gaze. "I have Eddie helping Mr. Singh with the suit and the thing the lady brought is strapped down securely. She suited up like an old hand. The coffee is brewed. You want a bulb?" She offered them each a full bulb. She noticed nobody had opened up the security terminal to log their passengers out of the station, although there was a mob of Security types hanging there who could do so. It really hit her when they ignored customs procedures, how irregular this trip had become. They were off the log.
Jan took his coffee but spoke to them first. "The Chinese got a little ugly in the outer spin, at the elevator. Tried to arrest our lady. She and Singh got married yesterday, so I refused the warrant. We had to leave some allies with them and I believe I heard some gunfire through the shaft after we left. Don't be surprised if someone gives you a hard time going back. They are certainly desperate to keep her from defecting, if they'll bring weapons out into the common areas here and threaten me. The Swiss don't care for bullying."
Jan took a long pull on the coffee and looked surprised. Started to say something and took another sip instead. "You're sure you don't have a berth open?" he asked.
April took it as compliment on the coffee.
"Don't ever let this man on your vessel," Easy warned April. "We were told once we had to drop into Estonia and deliver him to replace a fellow meeting a local politician," Easy explained. "He showed up on the ramp to board our jump plane in a Tuxedo, with a big box gift wrapped with ribbons under his arm and explained we had to drop on a country road and ambush a limo going to a fancy country house - yank the driver and passenger out and one of us drive him instead to the party. Oh - and please don't ding up the limo or put any ugly bullet holes in the pretty thing."
Jan handed back the empty bulb. "And they did it just splendidly, although it was hard finding one of them small enough to wear the chauffeur's uniform. He makes it sound like I jumped out with them in a tuxedo and the box under my arm streaming ribbons behind in the air. I pulled a loose jumpsuit on over everything and packed the gift with their gear. Anyway - if any trouble should find you, know you are flying with the best. If you run into any Chinese shuttles today, I hope you ding them all over and leave lots of holes. The little fellows are starting to get on my nerves I'll tell you."
"But talk to Eddie, or Evert, or whatever the hell his name is today, when you get back aboard. I rang up some spooky friends and they confirmed what his people said about the USNA locking down M3 and confiscating the Rock rather soon. I'm afraid you could have both the Chinese and the Americans gunning for you on the way back, if they are worried about you interfering with their operation. Be careful out there," he said seriously by way of a goodbye and gave them each a casual touch on the palm. He turned, sipping the coffee and sauntered to his men, who had been hanging back watching the boom and were to ready to leave.
Chapter 22
April and Easy exchanged a shocked look, once Jan turned away, eyebrows elevated at his calmly delivered warning and pulled themselves through the lock, sealing it up and checked the passengers. Easy was much less worried now, knowing anyone coming up the boom would run into Jan and his men leaving, so he had a few minutes of safety to seal up and undock.
The two crew made sure they hard wired all three passengers to listen and went forward to get seated themselves. Easy looked out and was happy to see the worker had been back and removed the fueling lines.
"You run down the check list and I'll start talking to control." Easy told her.
"ISSII local this is Happy Lewis requesting undock and automated departure in approximately fifteen minutes for Mitsubishi 3," he informed them.
April looked over at him and gave him a thumbs up and pointed to the flat screen with the all green lines and typed an extra message. "Fuel load checks OK."
" Happy Lewis, we have a com call from the Chinese Embassy, protesting there is a Chinese national aboard who is subject to arrest. We request you stand down and resolve this issue before departure."
Easy came back on and this time there was irritation in his voice. "I just spoke with your Security Chief in the boom not ten minutes ago. He refused the warrant and cleared us to leave. I suggest you call him and confirm we are cleared."
"Respectfully, the Security Director of the station does not clear traffic. We do. We again request you to shut down and disembark until this is resolved."
Easy had never tried releasing the grapples before asking for control of them. Maybe it was a formality? He brought the software line up on the computer and actuated it. Control not handed off - request release - said the screen.
"Control," Easy said, "requesting video conference on this matter first."
"With whom?" the controller asked, surprised.
"With you. Send your routing. We are coming up on your local net." Easy turned a camera around to face him and assigned a screen to one of the back-up computers isolated from his active systems. He routed the feed to an external antennae and punched in the address his control com screen gave him. Normally control was voice only. There was never a video feed to distract you, when you had so much else to do.
The connection was made and he saw the controller sitting looking in the camera over his board, with a man who was probably a supervisor standing behind him. Both of them appeared to be Chinese.
He leaned over and tapped a message out for April. "Do a net search and find out where the controllers shack is on ISSII and what's around it if you can." He knew almost every area not private was online somewhere. You could do virtual walk through tours of most habitats, for all the space enthusiasts who couldn't afford to come up. "Call Jan too."
"May I ask what nationality you gentleman are please?"
"It's really irrelevant," the controller assured him in flawless unaccented English. Not surprising, as the language of commercial aviation had become the language of commercial space flight. "We're acting on behalf of the international association which governs here. All the positions here such as ours rotate among members on a regular basis, so at any time it's coincidence which part of the team serves you." He continued on in detail, giving examples like a tour guide.
It was obvious he was stalling for time. Easy was sure eventually either there would be soldiers back up the boom to extract them, or a force making its way up the outside to disable the ship and force them out. But he was stalling a little too and his confidence in April paid off as she put two web pages on his other screen. The bad news was she added a note – Can't access voice com to call Jan.
The first page he looked at was the controllers' actual cabin. A number of things marked it right away as a zero G environment. So it had to be in the unspun cap under the boom. No place else in zero G was big enough for the volume. It had two operations consoles and they had an actual port above them looking out along the boom.
The other screen was a external shot, showing the boom hanging away from the camera at an angle and the onion shape of the non-rotating end of the station. Only one small oval showed as a port. One might be behind the column of the boom in the picture, but if it was it was not symmetrical, which was unlikely.
He closed the web pages and brought the laser targeting image off the arm camera on the screen. It was set up with software to take a target off the navigation radar. But the mechanism had started off as a simple inspection camera on an arm and retained all the capabilities to point and see, with a dimensional reticle already a standard feature. It just had four lasers modules bolted on it now, pointing wherever the camera was looking.
He pointed it aft and hung it out a little to look around his own tail. He couldn't see anything but blank white paint glaring in the sun. The servo worked away and swung it all the way to the other side of the ship and he rolled it to look over the rear edge of the ship again. There it was. A small dark oval on the curved shape, about two hundred meters away. He zoomed in a bit and could not see anything but reflections in the glass, but he centered the cross hairs on the window. The scale zoomed with the view and showed the oval port was about three meters wide by one and a half tall, wide enough for two controllers to sit behind.
He went back to the video feed and inspected the room behind the controller. From where the sun was and the way the light played, the hatch edge he saw to the right was probably centered on the bulkhead behind the consoles, in line with the port. He thought his controller was sitting in the chair to the right in his camera view.
He adjusted the cross hairs to one side of the port and selected one laser and from its menu, a designator. He assigned control to a hot key on his board and tapped it gently. In the vid image a red dot flashed briefly on the bulkhead behind the supervisor. The man looked up at the port briefly. He might have seen some internal reflections from the port. Easy corrected what he guessed was a half meter further away from the center of the port and saved the arm position.
There was some shadow played across the edge of his external view and he zoomed back out a bit to see why. At the base of the boom, a combat suited figure was coming out of a hatch, with an assault rifle of some sort and a pack clipped over his shoulder. Easy could guess what it was. A demolition charge, to do enough damage to the tail of his ship to cripple him.
They were assuming he was blind to his outside rear. He swung the camera to the suited figure with his joystick. The controller was still droning on about nonsense and Easy interrupted him.
"Tell your man to go back inside who is approaching my ship, or I'll shoot him."
The supervisor directed a few words in Chinese to the controller before he spoke again. "We don't have anybody approaching your ship. If you see somebody out your ports they are probably maintenance workers. There is often activity outside. It's harmless."
Dr. Singh Nam-Kah called from the back, "He told the controller ships of this class carry no weapons."
"Last chance, or his blood is on your hands." He flipped up full power on all four lasers. He didn't know how much power he needed, so better safe than sorry. If the guy started moving fast, he could move in closer than he could swing the lasers under his own tail pretty fast. He aimed at the area in front of the man, which he would advance to next. When he pulled himself forward to the next take hold ring.
Easy tapped the hot key briefly. He had no idea what it would look like, having never fired it. He was gratified it blew a hole about a half meter square through into the boom and the escaping air blew a shower of molten metal droplets and debris away from the ragged hole. However, instead of retreating, the soldier tied himself down quickly with a safety line looped around his leg to secure against recoil and pulled his rifle over his shoulder, working the action to ready it. He was going to disable them from a distance if he could. A few shots into the engines at this range would probably do the job nicely.
Easy was angry at them, throwing this fellow away for nothing. A twitch of the stick brought the cross hairs right on the suited figure and before the rifle could swing up all the way, pointed at them, he held the key down hard. He just disappeared in flash of vapor and fragments.
"Stupid Asses! I told you. All the years I haven't had to hurt anyone - and now you had to spoil it. Now ungrapple my ship, or I'll fire on you." He keyed the arm back to the saved point of aim. He cut back to two lasers at half power, with designators on, guessing what would reach through the port without shattering it. He looked at the board, afraid in his adrenaline rush he might not have felt the grapples let loose. They were still held solid to the station. "Let loose of my ship damn you!"
The controller was terrified. Looking between the angry pilot, who had just killed the soldier like swatting a bug and the political handler behind him. The handler personified the system which held his family and life in its hands and he was trained to utter obedience. He was trapped.
"Look on your chest fool!" Easy called.
The controller pointed, mute, at the two red dots scintillating one above the other on his handler's chest.
The man refused to look down. His face hard. "He wouldn't dare," he growled in English, loud enough for Easy to hear through the mic.
Easy held down the key hard.
In the video feed, the supervisor simply exploded, with a dull thump of steam. The controller threw his hands up in front of himself long after it mattered and looked at the splatter all up the buckled smoking bulkhead. He felt wet and ran his hand down the side of his face and brought it around staring in horror at the gore smeared on it.
He covered his face with his hands and cried with shame, because he saw himself a beaten dog and dead no matter whom he obeyed.
Easy cut all four lasers back in at full power and was near cutting the control room open and obliterating everything in it, but hesitated. It might actually make it harder to get loose, if he destroyed the controls and cables which worked the grapples.
What about simply cutting them off directly with the lasers? He pivoted the camera around with the joy stick and looked. He could see where both grapples came out of the surface. If he cut away the sheet metal he might sever the heavy clamps. Or he might weld them solid.
There was a tap, tap, tap sound, which finally penetrated his concentration on the displays and he looked up horrified to see a suited figure tapping a screwdriver handle on the forward port not a meter away. It was the refueling guy. If he had been another soldier sneaking up on them, they would have all have been dead. He held up three fingers and tapped the side of his helmet.
"April give me feed on local channel three," he said, unwilling to look away.
"- can get it." He heard the tail of something.
"Ok I have your feed now. What are you saying?"
"I can go in and manually release the grapples. I have the key to the maintenance panel. I've been listening to your little love fest with the controllers. There's chatter on the other radio channels, saying the Chinese are barricaded in the control room and station security is breaking in. They are yelling for some other Chinese over in the service yard, to take a yard tractor and ram you. I have to go down to the next dock to go inside. You gotta move off quickly then. I'll bang on your hatch when it's loose. You won't feel it release without power."
"Thanks. Who are you? "Easy asked.
"I don't want to say on a clear channel. I don't know who'll win here. I've got a hidey hole I'm going down as soon as you're clear. Look on your hatch."
He jumped away, swinging back to the boom on the end of his safety line and scrambled up the hand holds to the next dock, where there was a one man lock. Pretty soon they heard a couple solid thumps on their hatch. Easy eased the ship away from the boom on manual and swung the tail away. He was relieved not to feel any dragging, or see any debris trailing them out.
He keyed the laser to stow back in. They still weren't sure how much acceleration the arm could take, with the added mass on the end. When the open cargo port came into view their new friend was still visible, looking out of the opening, but quickly gave a wave and scampered away, toward the main part of the station. On the far side of the boom, clear around the clutter of the scientific areas, there was a big heavy yard tractor making a braking burn to clear the station wide. A kilometer away maybe. They would be figuring to roll over pointing at the boom and come straight in and bump them hard enough to disable them. But they quickly weren't going to be here anymore.
Still, he didn't want to rush to leave, before they could find him and try to bump. Better to disable them before they had any vector towards the Happy. He deployed the laser again to aim at the tractor. He just wanted to disable it, not burn it to junk. He zoomed in until he could see enough detail to aim away from the crew cabin. He swung the cross hairs ahead of the vessel and when the engines came into the center gave a quick jab on the key. There was a splash of light and spray of tiny sparks, but the burn wasn't interrupted.
He led ahead of it again and held the key down solid as the boat slid engine first into the beam. This time one engine quit and a puff of vapor showed a leak of some kind punched in the fuel feed. The other engine still firing tumbled the boat over, before the pilot could kill the unbalanced thrust. He thought they'd have a long hard time easing it back to dock. Certainly they were no danger now to him.
"Easy how about those guys in the control room?' April asked. "They may cause us some trouble calling for help and they sure aren't going to give us a flight clearance anyway. How about shutting them up?"
"I could bust it open to vacuum easily and burn a crater on the station where it used to be, but they probably have suits on by now and if station security has busted in I'd hate to be shooting some of our friends."
"No. I don't mean the control room. Look there" - she pointed at the antenna farm on the side of the station. " That's all their long distance radio and data links and radar. How about burning all of it off the station? It'll probably take days to replace, even what they have spares."
"Excellent idea," he agreed. The invisible beams reached out and cut through the metal rods and shapes, sliced cables and dug furrows across the skin of the station underneath as it went from one to the next. He rolled the ship over a bit, so they could observe straight out the forward ports.
April saw the white circle of a radar dish tumbling away into the void with a bite cut out of its rim. Pretty soon there was so much vaporized junk and dust hanging over the site, they started to see their laser beams back scattering off the debris. The four beams together had an eerie quality. They looked like one square shaped green beam, instead of four round ones. It played a trick on the eyes.
He looked over at April. "Sorry to be ignoring you. I'm supposed to explain what I'm doing so you learn and I'm just zooming along madly without a word. I really haven't forgotten you're there."
"Oh, I've been paying attention. We've covered use of the laser weapons system pretty well today, " she said, tongue in cheek. "You didn't have to say much. It was all pretty self explanatory. I liked how you just disabled the tractor instead if vaporizing it. You were looking at the grapple points with the laser. Were you really going to cut us away from the station there, before the fuel tech got us loose?"
"I was giving it some serious consideration. Next time this goes in the shop we install grapple posts with explosive bolts. Then if they won't let loose of them we just pop them off. How about setting up alternative profiles back to M3 and I'll call and tell them we're coming? We want to get back fairly quickly, before someone can respond and send a space plane out here. They don't keep them sitting on alert. It'll take some time to launch one, if they don't have one near ready to go anyway. What you want to do? Go high orbit and let M3 catch up with us, or low and fast and chase them around to get home?"
"If we go low there are anti-sat systems which could give us trouble when we go over North America and China, right?"
"Almost anywhere now. USNA has anti-sat/antiballistic missile systems on all their aircraft carriers, even the compact submersibles and all the Aegis ships and attack submarines. I'd be surprised if the Chinese don't have a similar capability."
"And the higher we are, the harder it is for the space planes to come up to us and the less delta v they have left to engage us right?"
"Absolutely. With the plasma drives we have more legs than any of them."
"Let's go up then." April turned to working alternative solutions.
Easy changed frequency on the radio, selected a directional antennae and told the computer to point it at M3.
He remembered something. "You folks doing OK back there?" He unclipped from his seat, turned around to look and saw three faces peering at him in silent horror.
"Uh, sorry about the fuss," he indicated over his shoulder with his thumb. "They wouldn't allow us to undock and we had to get a bit assertive. I forget you can't see very well from back there. We really need to rig you a video feed too so you can tell what's going on."
"At the last we could see just fine over your shoulder, when you appeared to be firing on the station to burn off all their communications." Eddie said. "We've been listening to all of it of course. I really didn't know anyone had these kind of laser systems. Four times now you've fired. The last time sustained for quite a long time. My understanding was the lasers military space planes can fire a single pulse and then need time to charge up for another. How do you do it?"
"Oh they've had the big lasers for years. The trouble was powering them. But we have four big fusion generators back there, behind the bulkhead you're laying on, courtesy of Dr. Ajay's boy. They'll power them their full duty cycle. We could have cut the station up like an onion for soup if we'd wanted. My problem was trying to be moderate actually. I shot a yard tug which was going to ram us and it was tricky to just nip it and damage it, instead of just blowing it to junk."
"A lucky shot, Sir." Eddie laughed.
"What?" Easy frowned at him.
"I watch classic movies. In one of the Star Trek movies, the Klingon Captain tells his gunner to shoot the Federation ship's engines and disable it and he lets loose with one small shot and the whole ship disintegrates in a zillion glowing fragments. Reality has caught up with fiction. Again," he added in a serious tone.
"Who the hell are the Klingons?"
Eddie sighed, "It would take a long time to explain."
"Easy," April called with some alarm. "Three soldiers just came out of the lock there, near the control center. They must have just blown the whole air load and not pumped down, because there was a big puff of ice fog formed when it opened."
"Are they a danger to us?" Easy asked her as he scrambled to get back strapped in his seat, pointed forward.
"No - they're only wearing brown uniforms, not p-suits." She explained, horrified.
Easy looked where April pointed and fumbled with the camera. He zoomed in and tracked but the image was hard to hold and he gave up after they saw enough to be sure. He didn't really want to see too clearly. It was three men in ordinary brown uniforms, with no helmets visible, tumbling slowly apart and dead of course. He had heard jokes for years about sending people out the lock, spacing them, but never knew of it really happening. He'd never be able to joke about it again.
"I think your friend Jan has gotten into the control center," Eddie explained. "The Chinese who tried to stop us at the elevator were in brown uniforms and I doubt he would have any patience left for them, after he let them live the first time."
"I think it's time to get out of Dodge boys and girls." Easy switched the screen to radar and took a quick look around and shut it off. He told April - "Give me the flight profile and I'll tell M3 we're coming home." She put it on his screen and he raised his eyebrows.
"It's more efficient at the higher thrust." She explained. "I'd use higher, but I'm scared to, not knowing everybody's medical status back there." Easy nodded agreement. "Also, I wouldn't send control a flight profile. It would just make us easier to intercept. I'll make sure our transponder is off too. Since we're outlaws, what difference does it make?"
He checked the antennae was tracking M3 and keyed his mic.
"M3 local this is Happy Lewis at ISSII. Be advised we are departing for M3 as soon as we can burn, without local clearance. Do you copy?"
" Happy Lewis this is local traffic control, M3. This channel is for local traffic at M3 and you should file your flight profile with ISSII local and let them negotiate with Earthside for your departure. Do you understand?"
"Local 3 - listen up guys. It isn't that I don't know how to do it. We have experienced armed attack at ISSII. Last we heard, the Chinese had seized portions of the station and were fighting station security. There is damage to the station and local traffic. There is no pressure on the boom. Local control. ISSII is off the air. There are casualties and a continuing hazard to remain here. I am declaring an emergency and burning out of here right now and I'm offering no flight profile, because we fear interception and attack. We'll contact local traffic again when we're close and we suggest you view any combat capable space craft with caution and skepticism. It's a whole new ball game boys. We saw soldiers spaced out the lock here with no suits. Get it now?"
April was instructing the ship to orient for her burn slowly. She didn't want to make the antennae lose its track on M3. Easy watched what she was doing as he talked and silently signaled his approval.
" Happy Lewis this is M3 local again. Earthside Control is monitoring our conversation and demands you consider yourselves under arrest and redock.The Chinese protest your slander of their mission on ISSII. They and the USNA both protest that without a profile we must warn you - you will be fired upon if you approach any sensitive sats, or your path conflicts with a military mission. You will have no further warning. Do you understand? You do not have clearance. I have no authority to grant it over Earthside veto. We have protests from China and the USNA both. China is demanding arrest for two of your passengers."
"Well isn't that special, since only one of our passengers is Chinese," Easy told him. "I suppose they want to arrest the other one for marrying her without government approval," he speculated. "I can't imagine what other trumped up crap you must have, to tell the rest of us we are under arrest. Is the USNA saying we are under arrest too?
"Earthside refuses to talk to you," M3 local control informed them. "Actually they said they refuse to negotiate," he corrected.
"Is Earthside control still listening?" he inquired in a growl.
"Yes they are."
"Then I'd like to report a possible hazard," he snarled, sarcastically. "We're burning out of here and instead of them telling us where we can go and when we have to hold, waiting for their secret flights and black satellites to get through using all of space, they can damn well watch out for me today. I'll burn their silly ass out of the sky if they get in my way. I'm not docking back to this madhouse, so the USNA can make a present of us to the Chinese. I'm not accepting arrest from some coward, who won't even come on com and say plainly by what authority they are arresting us. I'm going home and nobody better get in my way. The damn Earthies talk tough. Let's see what they're made of, with somebody that isn't scared of them. Copy that clear, Earthside?" he raged.
There was no reply, so he slapped the radio off.
"Number two," he said, voice still angry, "execute your burn at will. Hang on back there. We're going to have a fair long push for a few minutes. Antennae and laser secured for high G," he told April. "You have the conn."
"I've been updating it two minutes ahead at a time while you talked. Next automated tick in about 20 seconds." April said, slapping the yellow square and starting the count on the screen to use the window. "It will ramp up to a six G burn and hold it for seven minutes. Make sure you are laying comfortable and flat as it builds up back there.
"You know they are going to intercept us after you ripping on them like that, if they have anything at all that can match with us?" she asked Easy.
"Yeah well, they were going to do that even if I was polite," he insisted. "We gotta get some music in this boat," Easy complained. "It's hard laying in silence, waiting for the tick." Then the drive came on and it was different than they were used to. Chemical rockets all ease on to a certain degree as the turbo pumps spin up, chamber pressure builds up and the combustion stabilizes. The electric drive is just ON. So starting at a half G sounds gentle, but it isn't. It's jarring. Nobody said anymore, but you could hear the labored breathing as the acceleration peaked. If anyone saw their departure, it was an eyeful. Two pencil thin lines of white hot plasma merged into a plume which reached out a half kilometer behind them before it started to cool. There was no way to sneak around, like you could with an older grid anode ion drive. Even a chemical rocket was not as bright to the eye, although it was obvious in the infrared.
Chapter 23
Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado, USNA Space Command got a feed off a high orbit missile watcher and a stealth LEO sat at the same time. "It's the same as Kwajalein showed us awhile back," the specialist told his section commander. They watched as the acceleration numbers climbed and climbed and stayed there. "How's he going to get home? He must have run his tanks dry," the younger man said.
"Don't count on it," his unhappy superior told him.
* * *
"OK let's talk now," April requested, as the Happy assumed a temporary orbit between LEO and the Clarke level. "Will you take the conn Easy? I don't feel experienced enough to talk and keep an eye on things."
"I have the conn number two."
"Thanks. Now that I have us taking a higher orbit, we have some time and we can discuss options. We can burn out and circularize a little bit higher, among the Geostationary satellites. Tell you why in a bit. Or we could even make a burn to Lunar orbit. I'm concerned they must know our flight path pretty well from our exhaust plume, even if we are hard to paint on radar with the hull covering Dave made us."
"But I insisted in our supplies we have a compressed bale of steel wool and a can of vacuum cement. I wanted copper wool, but it's hard to find in bulk. In one of my classes they mentioned steel wool is terrific at absorbing microwaves. If one of us goes outside and glues it on all over our skin we should be almost invisible to radar and it's very hard to see optically also. Then I propose we burn the conventional rockets just a burp, so we aren't exactly where they'll be looking for us."
"What is the possibility of making an actual Lunar landing?" asked Eddie.
April put it in the computer and ran the numbers. She obviously didn't like what it told her and ran it again a few times, with different parameters.
"In theory we could. But if we'd go direct from geostationary orbit, to retain enough fuel for landing, it would be a long trip cramped up here with not enough cabin supplies and if we do a burn in toward earth to use a slingshot exit which is much more efficient, especially for our conventional drive, we expose ourselves to danger from being too close to anti-sat systems which can reach low earth orbit. Our terminal landing burn would be high G also. And we don't know that anyone on the Moon is going to exactly embrace us. I sure wouldn't want to go to Armstrong. Maybe the Russian base. But why should they help us?"
Singh Nam-Kah spoke for the first time, so her voice startled them with its conviction.
"No, we should not be running away to Luna. My husband and I should not abandon his son on M3 and there are others there we need and they need us. The container I brought on board needs to go there, so we can resist the hand of the Chinese, or Americans, or anyone who wants to enslave us and steal our work and our future."
Easy agreed with her, but worried she'd been listening to too many strident political speeches. Maybe she was just a bit of a drama queen.
"Thank you ma'am. I'm glad to hear you speak up, but considering the danger we're in and what we may face back in M3, could you trust us more specifically, about what the package is you brought along? And how would it help us resist the Earthies?"
From the long pause, Easy thought she was going to refuse.
"It's the essential element of a larger machine, which was too difficult to bring along. We destroyed the rest so someone could not deduce what it held, or its purpose. This sample is all of this new material which exists right now."
"If you squeeze off a magnetic field which passes through a torus or cylinder of it you get a very strong effect," she said somewhat cryptically.
"A useful effect?" Easy wondered.
"Very useful. It creates a line along which there is an intense gravity anomaly. It's going to take a lot of study to see exactly what is happening. The effect along a line, through the axis of the torus is similar to a very strong tidal shear. But surrounding a straight line. You don't want to get in the way. You should see what it did to the wall of our laboratory! We were very fortunate nobody was allowed in the chamber when it was actuated, since it punched a neat hole through the wall and vented it to vacuum. The metal was pushed outward, so it was a funnel shape around the hole, like it had been punched with a big awl."
Easy was trying to picture how you could use it as a weapon, which would punch a hole in something. "So how far away will this effect propagate before it spreads out or gets weak or whatever?
"That's a really good question, we need to test better. We had two trusted colleagues on the moon drive a rover out, to overlook a crater not visible from their base and aimed this at the crater from ISSII and activated it several times. They reported a fountain of dust and regolith puffed up from the surface each time we activated it and we were trying to get a handle on the propagation time, but after three shots we had to stop."
"Why?"
"Well, we had no direct evidence to prove any connection, but they experienced a Moon-quake. They're very rare you know. And we can't tie them together, but the chance it was just coincidental seemed remote and we didn't want to endanger our friends, or the nearby base. They're not too happy with us anyway since we wouldn't explain what it was we were testing. And some of the other people on base suspected they were involved, since the quake was centered deep, off the direction they had traveled from the base. Their officials went to some trouble to check all the supplies of explosives, to make sure they had not taken any out to the crater and caused the quake some way they were not owning up to."
Easy got a really scary idea.. "Ma'am. I'm just a pilot and a soldier, who doesn't have any deep scientific training, but is there any possibility this effect would pass right through a body like the moon and maybe be as damaging coming out the other side as it was going in? Is there any chance even it would fly off to the stars and piss off somebody far away, we might not want to meet when they are angry?"
"Oh no. It interacts with matter too strongly. If you fired it off at the stars it would be attenuated from interstellar gas and dust, long before it got there. As far as pulsing it at the Moon or the Earth, there's absolutely no chance it would come out the other side. I'm sure it would only penetrate a few kilometers at most."
"OK, good. Thank you," Easy said. He still had some concerns. He had a hard time envisioning a line reaching down through kilometers of mass, to say punch a hole through a submarine deep in the ocean. "Ma'am, it must take a lot of energy to pulse this thing if it can punch down through a couple kilometers of material. Are we going to be able to power it?"
"It seems to move much more matter than the input dictated. We don't understand why yet either. One of the last tests, before we dismantled it, might help explain why. When you create the line along which the shearing takes place, the gravitational pull next to the line seems to diminish. So it may not be creating it, so much as collapsing it into a line from the surrounding field."
"In fact one of our associates suggested if we went deep into interstellar space the effect might be much weaker and the strength of the field out there could be looked at as a measure of how much matter is actually in our universe. A possible interesting basic measure of our universe, just as the background microwave radiation shows us about the early moments of the expanding universe."
It was more than Easy really needed to know.
"OK then. I agree with your plan April. I'm sure if they have anything that can reach us at all, we're going to get an intercept. Anything we can do to further reduce our radar cross section is a good idea. Let's get the steel wool glued on, because the sooner we make our burn and stand off our location, the safer I will feel. Now does anybody else here have any experience at p-suit work in zero G?" No one volunteered.
"I have something to contribute." Dr. Singe spoke up for the first time.
"Sure Ajay. What is it?"
"You wish to be off the path they expect. May I suggest leaving a decoy on our present path, so you can watch from afar? If you orient yourself to return to it with your exhaust away from them, you can sneak up on them."
"Sounds real good but what can we leave behind that would look like us? We don't have enough steel wool to knit a replica and I don't have any big rolls of sheet metal.
"No," Ajay said, not offended by the humor, "but you don't have to make a decoy which looks like this vessel to the eye. Just the same approximate appearance to radar. I would make a cube of wire, about two-thirds of the size of the shuttle length along each side and put a small corner reflector at each of the eight apices of the cube, so they all add up to about the same radar cross section as this vessel. They will know something is wrong when they can't see anything a few kilometers away. But they'll have to get very close to see what is actually there and I bet curiosity will compel them to do so, don't you?"
"Yeah. I think you've got a plan there. You're right, we have wire in the emergency repair stuff and we can come up with enough gold Mylar for repairing insulation, or the pouches and meal trays from the trash, to make the reflectors. You're in charge of making it up. Just tell the other two what you want for help and April and I will go work on the computer and plan an external work routine for stretching the wire between us and extending it to a full cube standing at opposite ends of the ship. Then I'll give one corner a little tug and duck down and it'll sail off over our rear end. Come on April, we'll go up front and compose a simulation. You are the only one with a conventional suit. I'm afraid you are going to have to help me. It's too much to do alone. One bad thing - I bet you didn't know to bring along mask, did you?"
"What kind of a mask? I mean, we're not going to be breathing fumes or anything, it's outside"
"Not, a mask - mask. You paint it on where you don't want the glue to stick. We glue on panels and things all the time in construction and it makes you look mighty silly when you get some on the wrong place and you glue your arm across your chest, or glue your fingers on the release for your safety line. Out here it could fatal."
April confirmed his fear, with a sad Earth style head shake no. "But I'm used to zero G pretty well, because our family owns unspun cubic. I just am not used to the suit. How about if you stick the pieces on and I'll tear them off the bale after we uncompress it and hand them to you?"
The plan sounded good and they also determined he could use a set of over gloves, from the one size suits the passengers were wearing.
First thing on exiting the wire cube was pulled into shape between them. Each took a corner and moved away from each other until the wire was straight. Easy calling off the steps they had rehearsed inside by the numbers. It disappeared over the stern almost like they had planned. Slightly lopsided from the small tug Easy gave to launch it and just a bit smaller than they had wanted. But it might work. By then they were tired and ready to go back inside for a break. Instead they started at the tail putting down steel wool.
First task was to unbind it without getting hurt. Easy had a tool made from his pocket knife, taped to a piece of strut repair tube. Behind the knife he had a crude barb, made of heavy wire. While he stood ready, braced to the hull with a safety line, his funny little spear at ready, April gave the pillow sized bundle a slow shove to drift past him. He poked not straight at it, but from the side. As soon as the point cut a nick on the surface under tension it expanded like a kernel of popcorn, faster than the eye could follow and pushed his spear back hard, with a motion he absorbed by twisting with it.
The wool had expanded half way up the shaft leaving the knife and barb jammed deep in the expanded fuzz ball. He and April started at the tail and worked forward until they reached the lock, then worked from the forward ports back to the front of the lock. They had to carefully avoid where the lasers folded out and avoided the area directly under the radio antennas, because Easy was sure they were adjusted to function over the bare shroud surface. They'd try to turn the poorly covered area away from any pursuit. The front view ports were gold spattered, down to about 80% transmission at visible wavelengths, so they should not let radar in the front to bounce around the cabin and return either. The chance the flat port would point right back at a receiver was small, but they would be careful how they oriented it too. They didn't try to make it neat, figuring any rough surface would be more absorbent than a smooth one.
The final band around the middle was just wide enough for them to work side by side, backing away from the hatch until they came back around to it. It was cramped hard work, holding themselves in place against safety lines and part way through they discovered they were using glue too fast and had to figure out how to block some of the orifices in the applicator. It spotted an area of tiny dots over a circle 20mm across. They almost made it all the way around before, tired and sloppy, Easy got so punchy he glued one over-glove to the shroud and had to abandon it.
When they were ready to cover the hatch itself and would leave only the coffin door bare in a strip near the edge, she stopped and looked. Easy wondered why she wasn't handing him wool. He turned and she pointed at the hatch and what they had not seen when they came out. In a large flourished script it was written – "So sorry they treated you badly - Don Adams from Ohio".
"He said to look on the hatch," she reminded Easy. "I hope he didn't get in trouble for us." She made sure she took a permanent still of it with her suit camera and then when they were about to cover it up she said "wait," and she carefully unrolled a bigger matte of material and Easy understood. He touched the applicator carefully well to each side and they bridged it and preserved it.
By the time they got back inside they were both shaky tired and desperate to use the toilet and for something to drink besides suit water. Once she was out of her suit, April announced modesty could be damned and she stripped her suit liner and washed as well as anyone can with a paper wet scrubber and unfolded a fresh liner to put on. She had never felt anything so wonderful in her life as being clean again. Easy did the same and he was remarkably casual about it which helped.
He didn't stare at her and he didn't look away. She stared at him, because she had no idea what a collection of scars one human body could have. Then she was embarrassed and apologized for noticing. He reached over and touched hands in the zero G handshake manner. "We're soldiers. You don't worry about such things with your comrades. It's OK." And so she found she had joined a new fraternity she hadn't know about. Easy had a big square green tin of salve, with of all things, a cow and clover flowers on the lid. He offered it silently to her, as he applied it to all his joints and private areas. It smelled medicinal.
The passengers were less comfortable, trying to ignore their strip and wash up, but they had brought out some self heating meals and apparently none of them were bothered enough by the zero G to not eat.
"And these folks are not soldiers, I can tell you for sure." He said loud enough for everyone to hear and not especially friendly.
April just looked surprised at him, because she could not imagine he intended to scold them about anything, after the shocks and uncertainty they faced.
"If they were professional soldiers, they would not be eating in silence. They would be bitching and moaning between every bite, about being expected to eat this slop someone had the nerve to label as edible."
"Uhmmm - yummie!" Eddie declared, faking a delighted face. "This has to be the best meal you can find, for thousands of kilometers in any direction."
"Perhaps not yummie," Singh Nam-Kah allowed, looking at a piece of mystery meat in brown fluid. "But I'll take the company over what I left and a banquet of the finest."
"Wait until I make you a curry dear," Singh said and touched the back of her hand gently. He got a warm smile in return.
April had to pull her jaw back up from hanging open, before they noticed. Not that they were looking at her. They were gazing lovingly into each other's eyes. Obviously what she had heard was a quick marriage of convenience, had morphed into something else at double speed. It wouldn't have been such a shock, but Nam-Kah was a stunningly beautiful young woman, of certainly no more than thirty.
Ajay though, was a widower in his forties, who looked like he had his boy cut his hair to save money and dressed in a style April was not familiar with, due to the lack of second hand and thrift stores on M3. Post Modern Refugee might describe it fairly well.
"Would you like to split a meal?" Easy asked her. "It's not good to get too full when you might have to maneuver. We can do it before we do the burn and then we'll be free to get some sleep.
"Sure, would you like the Sweet and Sour Chicken?" she asked, looking at the packet. "Or would you like the Pork Pattie and dumpling?"
"It saves time to just ask if you want the Orange or the Grey," he explained.
"Orange it is. Grey does not sound appetizing. What do you guys call the Beef and the Fish, like they're having?"
"Uh - Brown and I'd rather not say. It's sort of vulgar."
She looked at the fish again through the clear side and agreed. "It would have to be, wouldn't it?"
April was happy they'd set up the burn before they went out. They were so tired she couldn't trust the numbers, so they were checking each other. They went through the check list and set the navigation computer for the burn. It would be a gentle shove and a long coast for now. They hoped the small burn with conventional engines would pass undetected. The last thing they did before it, was set the fusion reactors to shut down. They didn't need the neutrinos giving away their move. They had plenty in the accumulators to run for days.
Despite the small acceleration, she cautioned the passengers, then Easy slapped the actuate square and they watch the numbers count down. When they came back to the decoy again, they would be doing six G, as they had climbing to high orbit. Easy agreed that was safe for the passengers, without a medical background on them. After they had moved off about twenty kilometers, they stopped their motion relative to their decoy with another small burp.
"This is the Commander," Easy announced, with sudden formality. "We are dimming the cabin lights and having a sleep period until your Commander awakens. Anyone who makes noise and awakens your flight crew before we desire to be roused, will be required to finish the remaining stocks of Meals - Self-Heating - Fish Cakes. I hope I make myself clear."
* * *
Jon sat in his office considering all his options. He really missed having Eddie available. He wanted as complete a tight surveillance as he could put on Gary Chalmers and Eddie was the one he normally depended on for undercover work. He commissioned Skip to plant a camera on the corridor watching their door, with an interrupt to display it to Skip or to Margaret on the off shift. She didn't like being given duty, a full shift off her normal hours, but he didn't have anyone to cover. So he let her work from home and do paper work for them, while she monitored. She sent her kids out to school, so it wasn't too hard for awhile.
He looked at his organization chart on the white board. It was in four columns. Main-Shift, Fore-Shift, Off-Shift and Back-Shift. They all overlapped one to the next. There just weren't enough people to fit the slots. Especially with watching the incoming shuttles and counting off the outgoing people to match. He wasn't trusting the boarding database to be true. The Earthies might have a back door on the system. He wanted a match on every face.
They received a fax inquiry about Easy and April from Interpol and then a separate one from USNA Homeland Security and the Chinese Institution of International Aviation. He also had one from France, from the Groupement d'Intervention de la Gendarmarie Nationale and wondered what their connection or gripe was. He would answer all as blandly as possible and for sure not tell them Local Control for M3 had hand delivered him a copy chip of the exchange between Easy and them, with Earthside Control on the line as he departed ISSII. He wished Easy had not spoken quite so plainly. He didn't see any spin he could put on it.
He'd looked into Chalmer's work also. He tried the business number and got a recording saying they regretted they were not accepting new work at this time, but they would notify their mailing list when they were available again. He called up housing and got unofficially confirmed Chalmers was out of his business cubic two months ago and had cleaned all his equipment out, spotless enough to get his deposit back. He thought about it. It all had to go somewhere. There were only four places on M3 which offered storage for rent and two of them were just small lockers, one on the corridor next to the incoming shuttle dockage and next door to a place which sold hot slots to sleep in eight hour shifts. He'd bet on the one which had both inside and exterior storage, as Chalmers had to have some bulky items from a construction business, too expensive to store in spin and pressure. The expensive stuff would be in low G and the bulky stuff in zero G, maybe not even in pressure.
He wanted to call Theo anyway. He punched up her address for a video connection and the screen came up with a dark haired young woman he had never seen, sitting at the com desk. The printouts and legal pad in front of her, said she had been working there. She was pretty, but very plainly dressed with no jewelry and an Earth style button up blouse of plain white and her long hair held back with a white ribbon. Long hair was a hazard and nuisance in zero G, so you didn't see it often and if you did it was secured redundantly like all critical systems. You could suffocate in a mass of hair loose in your helmet.
"Is Theo available?" he asked, checking the address in the corner of the display to make sure it was right.
"She's taking her shower, but she must be about done. I'll go check if you'd like. May I tell her who is calling?" she asked politely, almost professionally.
"I'm Theo's boss, Mr. Davis. You must be Doris? Right?"
"Yes," she said smiling. Theo came in the room behind her with a towel wrapped around her hair and a robe on, saving Doris a trip to fetch her. She yielded the com seat to Theo without any comment and vanished.
"Has her family called in yet to report her missing?" Theo wanted to know first.
"Not a word," Jon admitted.
"That..." She stopped and looked up, probably remembering Doris might hear, biting her comment off. "I think we have a case of endangerment here. This is a girl who has never stayed away from home for a night, who just disappeared after a heated argument and they are completely unconcerned. From what I hear of the bullheaded father, it does not surprise me, but I can't excuse the mother not calling us up and alerting us to her running away. For all she knows the kid's laying dead in a ditch somewhere."
"We don't have ditches up here." Jon pointed out reasonably.
Theo opened her mouth and then shut it again and paused. "You're right and if I said that in court it would make me look like an ass. Make us look like asses," she corrected before he could. "I get too emotional about the issue."
"So you decided to take her home, instead of leaving her at the Holiday Inn huh? She stay there last night with you?"
Doris poked her head back around the corner and asked if she could shower now. Theo gave her a shooing wave, to go do it.
"Yeah, I probably should have told you, right?"
Jon nodded agreement. "Sounds good to me, but yeah I'd like to know and keep an accurate record of where she is. Even if it isn't official yet, we've acted to make her our ward. I know only we two are involved now and we're not keeping track of a dozen wards, so we can be somewhat informal. Nobody is asking us to make an accounting - yet. But what do you think about social workers Earthside who can't keep track of where their kids are?"
Theo looked real surprised. She hadn't considered it from that angle.
"You're right. I should have reported her move. Won't happen again," she promised. "I have an extra room. When I first came up, I couldn't adjust to the idea of an efficiency apartment so I got a suite, thinking I'd use the second bedroom for guests, or for a hobby and reading room. I just never bothered to move once I got adjusted to station life and here I finally have a guest. It's really no hardship to have her here. I feel good about it."
That meant she was using all of her salary to pay her rent. Jon wondered where her money was coming from, if she could cover all her other expenses with no problem. She obviously was not struggling. She dressed nicely and took vacations.
"How long are you comfortable to have her there?" Jon asked
"Until she wants to leave." Theo said bluntly. "I was prepared to help her even if I didn't like her. If she had a bad attitude I could have overlooked it, given what her dad put her through, but Jon, this is a good kid. She deserves much better than how she was treated. Not meaning there aren't some hitches. She surprised me by asking if I had some pads because it was time for her period. Turns out her dad wouldn't allow her to skip them, because it isn't natural. And somebody could think it was birth control instead of convenience. Which according to her would shame him. Then at supper she was waiting for me to pray before she started eating. I'm kind of waiting now to see what else will come along I would have never anticipated. I'm sure she's not done surprising me."
"OK." Jon yielded. "I'm going over to Baily's Storage and Strongbox Service. I figure her dad must have stuck some of his business equipment there when he closed down and want to see what I can find out. Would you get your lock kit and meet me there?"
"Sure and how about if I bring Doris along?"
"It's sort of unusual for a cop to have a kid along on duty. Are you afraid to leave her alone there?"
"Not at all but she and I are still getting to know each other, so I want to stick with her a lot and she can probably look at the stuff in the locker and verify if it is her dad's stuff."
"OK, so see you over there in what - twenty minutes?"
"Jon, I'm a fifty- seven year old woman with no mods who just came out of the shower." She waved her hand down the front of her indicating her appearance. "I can't put on my face in twenty minutes, much less the rest of it. I take it you have never lived with a woman?"
"Well I had a girl friend Earthside when I was in college, but we didn't much give a damn about how we looked then. We thought it said something about our disdain for the establishment if we didn't dress up. Now it seems silly."
"Yeah, at twenty years old you can get away with that and not frighten the dogs when you go out on the street. See you in about an hour."
* * *
Jon hung around down the corridor for a few minutes. Until Theo and Doris showed up. It made for a less adversarial image to go in with a lady and young girl.
It was a low G neighborhood. Had to be for the cost of the cubic the business needed and the physical way it was configured. In fact it was under a half G which was below the cut off for residences. There was so little traction you had to shuffle along walking.
When they joined him he went in where there was a counter and an older lady who was working an accounting program on the screen she shut down.
"May I help you?" She looked at each of them with some care. Jon felt right off she was sharp and bet she would be a terrific witness if she ever saw a crime.
He displayed a shield to her and introduced himself and Theo who showed her badge also. She compared one to the other. Probably memorized the numbers, he thought.
"You have a storage unit leased to Gary Chalmers. It may be leased in his business name." He stated as a fact. He wanted to look certain. Not start off admitting it was just a fishing expedition. "We'd like to see it please."
"Do you have a court order Mr. Davis? We do not have access to the rented lockers. The customers supply their own locks and we'd have to cut it off to gain access. And we'd have to answer to them. May I ask what the young ladies interest is also?" It was a perceptive question.
"This is his daughter. But there is a problem. A domestic issue we're pursuing and we'll be seeking to make her a ward of the court under the department's supervision, if she isn't just emancipated. The locker might have evidence we'd like to see before it is removed." He could tell she was softening so he hit her with the clincher. "At the very least I'd like to just check the outside of the locker before we leave with a sniffer, to make sure there aren't any explosive compounds in evidence before we delay to go get a court order."
All of a sudden she made up her mind. The idea of explosives next to her office was something she wanted settled right now. She set the outer door locked, with a 'right back' sign in the glass wall next to it and escorted them behind the office to the storage matrix. It was columns and rows of lockers built in a rectangle like a child's sliding puzzle, where you pushed the pieces around in and out of the one open square until they made a pattern. Very similar to the automated racks which held the boxes, waiting for container ships on Earth.
She punched a control panel with the locker numbers hanging on the frame work and a single locker slowly moved down into an empty space and then a group of three locker rows slowly moved over as a group into the hole, to open a new hallway beside the row which held Chalmer's locker. The system eliminated all the wasted space of hallways save the one.
They rode a lift platform up to the hole and stepped off down the hallway until the rental agent indicated a door like all the rest and in the recess where the lock would hang was a lock box with an alphabetical keypad on it, instead of a numeric pad, or key lock. Jon pulled a small tester out of his pocket, the size of a big felt marker and held it against the crack of the door. It was a simple form of the big sniffing box his department used. But it was limited to explosives and propellants.
He was betting the locker would have charges for powder actuated bolt drivers in it, or some explosive bolts. No matter that the rental agreement would have excluded explosives and corrosives and flammables, even though they were no real hazard. It would give him a pretext to snoop. He deliberately left the audio activated for the effect. When he depressed the button on the end it emitted a loud chirp and he held it up and read the small single line screen. He showed it to the rental agent. Nitrocellulose/Nitroglycerin, it said. She looked alarmed.
"I'd say we have probable cause for entry now, wouldn't you agent Wilson?"
"Yes and let's be mighty cautious about it. Mind if I look around the door?"
He made an inviting gesture and she lay down flat on the floor and pulled out a small very bright flashlight with a magnifying head and slowly examined the crack of the door around the entire length until she was satisfied there was no sensor or microfiber to betray entry.
Then she went back around with a clear plastic shim, which would pass a laser beam but detect the slight internal reflection it would produce around the crack. It also had a magnetic sensor, for those sort of switches. She put them away and took the shoulder strap off of the kit she was carrying. "Let me fluoroscope the box and I'll have it open in a few minutes."
"Let me try something first," he offered and took the box in his hand so the others could not see clearly and punched in PTL. Holding his toe against the door, so it couldn't pop open, he pressed the release button and slid the box off the slide bolt in the recess.
Theo just looked at him unbelieving.
"Sometimes you get lucky," he allowed. Still he was cautious.
"Would you all go down to the end of the hall and around the corner and I'll call you back." While they shuffled away he pulled his tie off and looped the small end under the lock bolt and knotted it, still holding the door shut with his toe jammed against it. He stepped to the same side of the hall, behind the hinge and slowly pulled the door until it was pulled all the way open toward him and removed his tie. Perhaps it was excessive caution, but there were many other booby traps than the few they had eliminated.
He stepped in front of the door and looked. "Theo," he called, "you guys can come back up here now. He took out a small flashlight and avoided the light switch inside. In the back the locker was filled up to the ceiling with construction tools, boxes for hand tools and safety lines. Even a couple hard suits. The pile had that odd look things did tossed on top of each other in very low G, because they didn't settle. But in the front open area was a bag for sleeping and a box of self heating meals and drink containers. Also a case Jon immediately recognized as a hard case for travel with an assault rifle and fair sized box for ammo for the same.
Next to the ammo box was a case which made his stomach lurch to see. It was the same desert camo case with Russian lettering, the twin of which Easy had taken on the Happy Lewis. He considered whether Easy could be a double agent and just immediately rejected it. He was sure of his judge of character. So how would he have the same item? He tried to reason it out. Easy works outside and was friends with the working guys who handle freight and materials. If somebody found dope, or money, or anything being smuggled in, would most of them turn it in, or just appropriate it for themselves or sell it? The more he thought of it he relaxed. If one's contraband turned up missing, what could a smuggler do? He couldn't file a complaint with the shipping company or Security.
Theo joined him at the door and added her flashlight. She took her time looking it over. "Why is all the stuff pushed away from the door?" She asked "It's almost as if they wanted a buffer to not get too close over here. But if there was a sensor, they'd just turn it off when they were inside."
"Mrs. Baily do you have just a plain unpowered broom for floor sweeping here?"
"Sure, you want I should fetch it here?"
He nodded a yes. "Please."
They stood looking some more until she returned with the broom. It was a nice one with a thin tube of aluminum or titanium - probably moon mined metal - as a handle instead of a plastic tube. The end was a fan of tapered yellowish plastic fibers. Jon flashed back on the memory of his mother, using what she called a corn broom in Chicago with a heavy wooden handle.
He grabbed the broom around the tube down by the bristles and reached into the room about a foot and swung it down from the ceiling to the floor. Nothing happened. He stepped up closer right on the doorway and did the same again a little further in.
When the broom was chest high to him, about neck high to Theo, the last thirty millimeters or so fell off the end of the handle. It hit the direction he'd swung it with a metallic tinkle, as it rebounded from the deck back toward them at the door. He hadn't felt anything through the handle. Jon reached in and batted the cut off end out in the hall, with the broom end. "I owe you a broom," Jon told the shocked rental agent.
"It's OK, it was too long for a shorty like me anyway. I'll just put the cap on the end and be happy," she reached to pick it up.
"Be careful, the ends are as sharp as a razor. You'll have to dull it before putting the cap on, or it will just cut the end out of the cap."
"My goodness," she said tilting the piece back and forth in the light to look at it. "The cut is as shiny as a mirror. What could cut it off so smooth?"
"There's a piece of Bucky Braid strung across the locker here," he told them, sweeping his index finger across, to indicate which way he thought it was hung. "It was booby trapped for anyone who didn't know."
Theo was rubbing her hand around the front of her neck. And it was obvious what she was thinking.
"It's five long strands of coaxial Bucky tube braided in a cord. Just a molecular cheese cutter basically. Nasty, nasty, military stuff. It's just bumpy enough to act like a serrated blade and it's about two orders of magnitude stronger than a Kevlar thread and almost impossible to see. There will be a little metal clip on each wall with a diamond pressed in and a radiused hole laser drilled through the diamond. The Braid is looped through the hole and rebraided over the line. You couldn't knot it. Pull a knot down on it and it busts."
He stepped in slowly, bit by bit and swept the rest of the volume to make sure there wasn't another Braid. With the flashlight on a narrow beam they searched until they saw a tiny flake of dull metal glued to the back side of a stiffening fold in the bulkhead, shielded from the door. It was difficult to see even knowing where to look. They didn't bother finding its twin. Then they turned their attention to the equipment left behind. When he got to the camo case he took a picture with his pad and opened it.
There were two little missiles, each like a deadly salami, each in its own bore in a molded plastic case. There was a laser designator and a camera lens between the openings and a heavy wire form folded over to make a shoulder stock. When you folded the shoulder piece back it raised a simple sight. Beside a normal trigger there was a three position switch. It showed a line and circular burst of specular reflection for the laser designator, a symbol of flames for heat seeking, or arrow pointing at a bull's-eye target on a square screen, for look and release.
These had about two kilometers range in air and gravity, but of course much further in zero G. The liquid/solid motor could shut off and coast, to conserve itself for a final sprint, or to restart and run a search pattern. In gravity it really extended its range by giving little boosts and gliding in between. The warhead was only about a eighth kilo of chemical compound, but it was deceptively small number because it was the very latest and most potent stuff. His pen tester didn't even detect this metallic compound. The manufacture date stamped on the end was 2081 - which made it a real fresh copy. It looked like toy, but it could kill a tank through the frontal armor.
He put the case back and studied it against the picture on his pad and bent the shoulder strap to lie just so. "Mrs. Baily. We're going leave all this as we found it. Nothing is dangerous we see here as far as being unstable. I am going to call a man right now and other than shortening the firing pin on this rifle, he will just put a camera watching this cube and watching out by the controls. Do I need to have him bring a court order to place them?"
"Heavens, no," she said all indignant. "I want to know who'd put such awful things in here myself. What if he had never come back and we auctioned off the contents to someone - and they walked in to clean it out?"
"Why don't we just move the clips for the Braid down the wall studs about a meter?" Theo suggested with a show of bared teeth. "If something happens to us along the way, whoever comes back will have a little surprise when they walk in and duck down to go under it."
Jon thought about it. "Maybe later. Right now if somebody comes, I want to see who they are and what they do and I'd rather have someone to question than a body. I agree, in principle it would serve them right."
"You know you can't say anything about this to your employees don't you?"
"Why not?" Mrs. Baily asked. "Might they not be in some danger?"
"Think about it," Jon invited her. "Whoever stayed here had no way to get out once he was inside, unless he had help. Don't you guys make sure the person visiting leaves, before you allow it to shift to a new position?" he asked. "So whoever stayed in here had to have someone on the outside to help him get shut in and a way to signal them when he wanted the hall back to get out. I really doubt he'd try to control it from inside blind, even if he could hack the system. I'm afraid it even applies to your husband if he works at the business."
"Oh no. My Mr. has been divorced from me for years and is dead now. That's exactly why we were divorced, because you couldn't trust the little swine."
"You understand then. It'll be our secret and we'll let you know what happens when we catch the fellow."
Mrs. Baily nodded her smug approval. She seemed to enjoy secrets.
Chapter 24
The USNA SP James Kelly, out of Edwards AFB, California was already lifting when April and Easy were making their plasma burn from ISSII. A white wedge of ceramic metal composite and bucky foam, laced with carbon fiber mesh, it rolled down a runway and lifted off, riding on the back of an aircraft which was almost a mirror of the wedge above.
When it passed through twenty thousand meters at Mach 2, the variable geometry scramjet in the space plane portion above ignited and with a boost from two expendable solid/liquid hybrid rockets sandwiched between the two shapes, it climbed rapidly. The bottom lifter fell away and returned to a landing as a remotely piloted vehicle. The scramjet gradually changed the shape of its internal passage as it sped up and smoothly switched with overlap, from oxidizer enriched JP-6 at lower speed, to methane and then liquid hydrogen as the air flow through the engine could not be slowed enough for the calorie rich fuel. It air breathing engines peaked out at thirty thousand meters and Mach 9+. It's pure rockets carried it the rest of the way into orbit.
Some of its fast black-bodied cousins might pass it below fifty thousand meters, flying on a shockwave of external combustion, but to pull up in a ballistic arc which would leave the atmosphere they lost the velocity to attain a full orbit and they lacked the true rockets of this beauty. It was a big lovely plane and hard to put a scale to in its geometric whiteness, until you could find a view which allowed you to see the pilots forward view ports. Then you realized it was as big as most anything men had made to leave the ground. It did not have to seek an orbital path immediately, but needed to do so if it would retain enough fuel to maneuver significantly above the atmosphere.
For all its size it was mostly a fuel tank and had less cargo volume than a World War Two era Gooney Bird, the DC-3. It could carry the usual strategic weapons which everybody had avowed they never wanted to use, but had touched the earth with fire four times, in Japan, Iran, Kashmir and Korea. It had a laser of some power, for space use mostly, driven off its bank of advanced ultra capacitors and it could mount missiles in internal bays, which served it for defense or destruction of other foes in the atmosphere, but were of limited use in orbital conflict.
All these devices were of no primary use, for the mission the commander had been given. For this mission there were six very hard and special men, with lots of equipment as special as them, in the space which had been configured for passengers. The seats they had hastily installed were special too. Not what a business suited gentleman would be comfortable in, but ideal for men enclosed in combat space armor, which made them look like some sort of misshapen crustaceans.
They were instructed not to destroy the craft they were to intercept, but capture it and its occupants alive. They had every confidence they could do so, in the manner of men everywhere who do such things for a living. To entertain a doubt about your own effectiveness or ability in their trade. was to set the stage for hesitation and failure.
* * *
While the James Kelly was still climbing out and on the wrong side of the Earth to see the unnatural light of the Easy Lewis climbing further away from them, the heavenly vessel whose name might be translated "Pretty as Jade" and was for English speaking controllers called the Jade, was climbing a semi-expendable booster from the East Wind launch facility, to the same destination. It might have been viewed as a less elegant solution to the same needs, but in the end it cost a lot less, with not much less flexibility.
The crew flying was four, but they displayed much more optimism, by carrying only two armored, suited hulks in the rear to carry out their mission and a hefty fuel load in a removable tank, which occupied the majority of the cargo hold not needed for the two soldiers. They were already above much of the atmosphere and in a position to see when their quarry lit off its spectacular drive.
The pilot and the number two already could see it, when the weapons tech said the obvious. "He goes. Now it will be harder." The mission they were charged with was easier however, because they were to recover only one passenger of the Happy Lewis and a second if it was easy, but the rest and the vessel itself they had no orders to treat as having any value to save or recover.
In several locations people were scrambling to get other players in the game, that were not as ready to move as these two. And preparations were being rushed to push ahead missions which might be effected by these events, including the launch of the USNA HS Cincinnati and the Mini SP Big 'Nuf. The Chinese were prepping a sister ship to the Pretty as Jade, the Moment of Contemplation, or Moment, in an effort which was beyond any rational expectation of their ground crews. They were pushing their men with stimulants and long hours. Actions not conducive to the attention to detail a spacecraft requires. But the head of their space agency was a genius who had proved able to lead an industry to new peaks of accomplishment.
Unfortunately it had been in producing environmentally friendly sonic cleaners and computer vending machines for custom clothing. However, when an auto-tailor cuts your hem a little long, it doesn't have the same consequences as an error in servicing a space shuttle.
* * *
Aboard the Happy Lewis, Easy had been drilling April in using the laser system. "I wish I had stopped and let you cut the antennas off the station," he said. "I just was moving with the moment and didn't think. It would have been good experience. There's nothing out here really to aim at to get a feel for the controls."
"I'm considering something which might get me some practice," she offered. Now was a good time to tell him while their voice com was isolated from their passengers. She went ahead when he just waited. "If we engage whatever they send out to intercept us and survive, then we're fully committed. We can't be in any deeper, so we should go for broke. I think before we go home we should take an orbit slightly below the geostationary band and as it turns over us, shoot up any of the communications sats we know belong to China or the USNA. Especially the military ones."
"It's one of the few things we could do to really hurt them. I think it might actually make some of the people down there understand this isn't just something between a few nuts and their beloved government and doesn't involve them. And it might be effective enough to give the people back home heart to join us and rebel instead of just handing over the Rock and us too.
"You want to deliberately provoke them now?" Easy asked.
"You ask that, after the speech you gave Earth Control? Why not?" April countered. "If we get home without any more trouble what is waiting for us? A laundry list of charges from murder and damaging public property, to slander and impeding navigation. And if they do send someone to intercept us and we fight them, then add piracy to the charges I'd guess. If the USNA is still in charge of M3 we end in chains. If we take out their sats and nobody joins in what have we lost? A thousand years in jail and ten thousand are the same. My dad says there are people who would rebel. How better to see if they will act than to lead by example?
"Yeah," Easy agreed, visualizing it, eyes big, "billions and billions of dollars of sats. The land lines could never carry the load. And all the people who moved out in the country and work at home, would find their data links gone and the car radios would be silent. Automated vehicles like the border patrol use would be useless. The soda machines wouldn't call in to be filled up. Video and even voice com would be down."
"They would be back to a hand full of local video channels. Most people are not even set up to receive broadcast TV anymore. It's only used by the little guys like college stations now and you have to buy a receiver to plug in your set. Most people don't bother. I could think of things it will shut down for weeks," Easy marveled.
"The other countries would also see we are not taking their sats out, over Europe and Africa," April pointed out. "It might incline them to speak for us. Or at least stay out of it. They could easily figure a few intemperate words and they'd have a few billion EM of their junk blasted out of orbit. Seriously, you can't have much of a reputation as a mellow and lovable character after the farewell speech to Earth Control."
"Let's see how the others feel about doing this," Happy suggested.
* * *
The President of the United States of North America, Peter Hadley, was not much to look at. Instead of the alert, firm and vital face people expected from TV, they saw a chinless stooped old man with pursed fish lips and droopy eyes. Of course not many people ever got to see him face to face. Security concerns meant except for the very highest of officials, he was never face to face with anyone if he could avoid it.
There were so many people lined up to bag him, like a buck on opening day, they took no chances. Like the last three presidents, he did nothing approaching a genuine a public appearance. Even some heads of state came away, not realizing they had sat and talked to a double.
Public perception of his appearance was really not a problem, once computers had gotten fast enough to alter appearance electronically in real time. It was a big shock for some people meeting him for the first time, much like visiting a relative in the hospital at death's door and finding a shell of the person they had remembered.
It was also not coincidence that the last three Presidents had presided over the USNA, instead of the USA. The number of patriots North and South of the old borders, who had resented the strong armed inclusion of Canada and Mexico into the Union, after years of creeping assimilation, were what pushed the Navy into completely closing the President off from the public. Instead of blood enemies across oceans, there was now a considerable number within the new borders. The annexation might have been better accepted by referendum, but it was imposed by legislative decree. The two countries had been brought in by economic blackmail, given the choice to join up, or face a fully closed border within weeks and economic ruin.
Now the problem with illegals on the Southern border, was pushed back to the border with Guatemala. That border had already been a problem for Mexico. But interstate travel restrictions now kept USNA citizens where they were, unless they were wealthy or penniless, so it was less a problem for the original states. It had been no real choice to go military for Presidential protection. The scandal and failure of the Secret Service in the assassination of '47 had forced the Navy, already heavily involved in the President's security, into pretty much assuming the whole responsibility.
It was a task not everyone involved had been eager to assume, given what failure could mean to careers and even entire bureaucracies. The military solutions they devised were predictably different than what a civilian agency would have used. They also worked - so far. The reality of current politics was, almost nobody made a live appearance to the public or press anymore, unless they were the number three executive or lower in their organization. The assassinations of several tobacco executives and several CEO's who had left entire industries stripped of their pension funds earlier in the century, had made the same sort of precautions standard for large corporations also.
The President might appear before the nation sitting in the Oval Office. But the current reality was a flimsy White House was too open to a missile attack, to have the man sitting there in a known, targetable location at a set time. The journalist who reported the actual absence of the great man at his desk while appearing to be there live on national TV, was now working as a termite control technician in Tallahassee. The Magic of Electronics had been bypassed by him with a simple telescope, because someone forgot to close the drapes.
So when the President at his working desk, received his appointments secretary and went over the outline of his day, it was as his protective services preferred, in a deep, deep, bunker, somewhere beneath the hills of West Virginia.
The secretary hid it well, but his dominant feeling was one of dread and fear. Nothing satisfied President Hadley anymore and a flare up of his temper had become something everyone around him feared. More than the man was removed from the public eye. His actions were so shielded from scrutiny, that basically his whim had the power of law now.
After detailing the lack of progress being made in the secret civil war in Quebec, the briefing moved on to problems with pouching of mineral deposits in the deep ocean and how permits were let to grant rights to mine historic landfills for recoverable resources. The demands of Historians to preserve artifacts from the dumps was slowing down the reprocessing and adding too much to the costs.
There was another bill coming before Congress which his party wanted defeated, hiking the permit fees for printing out permanent hard copies of any document and granting credits and incentives for reusable print media. There was a bill also of concern, which would add several more trees to the endangered species list, including Black Walnut and Boxwood. There was considerable pressure to make genetic testing at the border a requirement for admission to the Continent. The purpose was to deny entry to anyone who showed nonhuman sequences in their genome. Several cases were in the courts, protesting the law was applied to people who carried spontaneous mutations. The president felt allowing a sample to be taken when applying for a visa was sufficient.
"About the matter with the asteroid, Roger. Are we on track for a smooth acquisition of that resource and no problems with the Japanese over it?"
"Yes sir. Still moving forward and they are making no claim to it. It was entirely a matter of private parties staking a claim. The principals just happened to be residents of Mitsubishi 3. Even though some of them work for the company, it was a matter of private sector investment, which simply conflicted with long established international law. And it is the American subsidiary in any case. There is some problem on the Second International Space Station which seems related. There is a Chinese national, a lady scientist, who is attempting to defect to Mitsubishi 3 and they are upset. We're going to arrest all the people involved and sort it out. Do you think we should offer to return the lady, before she has a chance to get to M3 and claim asylum?"
"Well as refreshing as it is to see someone defecting to us, it might be better to toss a bone to the Chinese before it complicates things. Now is no time to allow one person to distract us. Emphasize we will hand her over, after we arrest her. No use in letting them get too cocky. You don't know what field she works in, to have them so upset?"
"No. She's Tibetan. Her ethnicity might be part of it. They're still touchy about Tibet. But what can it matter? She's just coming alone and you know these people can't develop anything today without a budget of billions and a staff of thousands."
"Yes, I wish we could count on a few youthful geniuses, to invent whole new industries in their garage, like they did a hundred years ago. The economy could use a dose of it, but I'm afraid those days are gone forever."
Frank thought he would not be surprised if he got a ticket from a Homeland Defender, if he so much as parked crooked in his garage, much less invented anything in it outside of zoned use. The old bat across the street brazenly spied on him from her window with binoculars, even though he worked for the White House. But he didn't say anything. To complain about anything was to be suspect in one's loyalties.
Chapter 25
Easy and April had considered all the possible weaknesses in their homemade stealth conversion. They turned the ship, so the nozzles of the engines were away from any radars mounted on a pursuing ship. They angled the forward ports so they would probably reflect anything clear of both the radiating vessel and LEO itself and they hoped nothing in the antennas would effectively reflect a signal back to a search radar. They were silent in the radio spectrum themselves and would watch passively for any other vessels. They prepared the machine gun for action and tied it down with elastic cord ready to clamp on the lip of the open lock. Eddie had also been trained in use of the two small Russian anti-tank missiles. The missiles and gun depended on them closing to very short range, to fight effectively. It was also necessary they pump down the whole cabin.
While they still had their helmets open they polled their passengers.
"April has the thought we are in trouble as deep as we can go and there isn't much worse they can do to us than they already are able and willing. Given we are certain they are going to attack M3, her thought is to take advantage of our position and damage the USNA and China as deeply as we can, by attacking their satellites before we burn back home. Perhaps our efforts would inspire resistance on M3, or it might just add to the laundry list of charges. I'm already in as much trouble as a pilot can be, refusing traffic instructions from every agency that has an interest. How do you folks feel?"
"If there is no support for me when we reach M3, the authorities seem determined to aid the Chinese in capturing me," Nam Kah explained. "I say fight while we have the power to do so."
"Of course I will resist the Chinese, or any who would aid them for my wife. I know I can't speak for him, but I can't imagine our director of security taking part in such an unjust arrest. Jon is a good guy."
"Assuming Jon is still director when we get back," Happy pointed out.
"Things are less settled than you might think," Eddie said cautiously. "When I left, Jon was polling the security staff to see where their loyalties lie. If the Earthies push too hard and demand the sort of arrest they tried on ISSII. Well, Jon is not one to take illegal orders and try to hide behind them later to escape responsibility. If he and the other sworn officers split with Earth, how much easier the other residents, who don't have to weigh their solemn oath. He was concerned enough to be checking each shuttle flight to see if they might try to sneak an unprovoked paramilitary raid in a scheduled flight."
"And what," Happy asked, "Was Jon prepared to do, if he found such a team doing basically an invasion?"
"He didn't inform me and I wasn't around to see how his poll of the department went. But I'd point out he gave you a significant piece of department equipment to defend yourselves. That shows he will commit," Eddie said.
"So how about you? Do you want to try to keep your hands clean and see if you can distance yourself from how we exited IISSII? Or do you vote to do as much damage to them as we can, before going home?" Easy asked him.
"There's no way I'm coming out of this smelling sweet to the Norte Americanos. Even if I physically resisted you and came back duct taped to restrain me, it wouldn't matter. Everyone in this ship is marked. Might as well be hung for wolf as a lamb."
"Okay then, it's unanimous to attack the sats, that's the main thing we wanted to know. Lets pump it down and we will explain everybody's battle stations," Happy ordered. "We can talk - talk more later, if they don't shoot our little butts off."
With the coffin lock open they mounted the gun for Easy in the wider center section and Eddie would be prepared to shoot a missile out through the narrower opening on either side. April would have to keep the lock away from the enemy until quite close, then turn to let them fire from that side and fight the laser herself. She had a routine set for the ship to take a reading of their attitude on a single command and hold it, because they knew she could not work the laser and fly at the same time.
They had suit patch material laid out and the Drs. Singh were prepared to help anyone with a leak. Easy was very aware he was asking April to do more than her experience warranted. He even considered leaving the machine gun in the case and joining her to run the flight controls and laser as a team. But he was not sure what it would take to kill a military shuttle and he knew the machine gun would be effective up close, even if they had some technology to absorb the laser.
With everything prepared all they had to do was wait. And their plasma drive burn had lifted them so quickly to the higher orbit, it was a six hour wait before the Pretty as Jade came close enough they could detect its search radar. When they did so they gave everybody a chance to use the toilet, loaded the p-suits with water, medicines and snack bars in the helmet racks and fresh absorbent pads in case they were bottled up too long to hold it. Nobody had the equipment or desire for a micro catheter like the military used. They wanted to store as much air as possible in separate tanks, because they had no idea if they might lose some to combat damage, so they pumped down for almost two hours before cracking the lock open. They could crack the carbon dioxide as long as they had energy. But they needed enough volume to fill the cabin back to a breathable pressure and would prefer a normal mix, not oxygen rich.
The crew of the Pretty as Jade had apparently decided to overshoot and do a quick look see, then burn back to a rendezvous. They determined to let him pass and come back. Only the laser would have tracked and fired at so quickly a moving target and they would have had to fire up the radar and give away their position to use the data through the navigation computer. Even then it was not a real combat targeting program and Easy doubted if it would work quickly enough to intercept missiles if Jade launched them, or if they had automated jamming equipment.
The Chinese ship stopped their braking burn about fifty kilometers short of the radar reflectors and coasted by almost as far away from the decoy as the Happy Lewis, but on the opposite side. They had slowed way down to about 600 meters a second, but turned the ship as it went by so it was nose on to the decoy all the way past, presenting a minimum cross section to shoot at. Someone obviously took Easy's threat very seriously. Easy expressed his judgment to April that the fellow knew what he was doing and if they started shooting he did not expect him to sit around with his mouth hanging open, wondering what to do. They'd start shooting back pretty fast.
The Jade braked to a stop about a hundred kilometers past the decoy and sat there for awhile. "He's trying to make sense of it I bet. He's looking at high definition video and he doesn't see anything but maybe a few points of light from the reflectors," Easy speculated.
Then the boards showed a new radar at a much higher frequency, as the Jade moved in to approached the decoy.
"He's looking it over with a targeting radar. Hope he doesn't swing it around and search the entire volume around him. It might be good enough to see some of the gaps in our coverage. He might, or might not, show the decoy's reflectors as individual targets. Too bad we didn't make it more complicated to drive him nuts. We could have left a cloud of trash and junk and he might think we had a mishap and blew up for some reason."
From the back Eddie said, "In submarine warfare on Earth's oceans sometimes a submarine would blow oil and clothing and various kinds of junk which would float out a torpedo tube, to make the ships above trying to kill her think she had broken up. Same idea."
"Well if you know any more tricks we can apply successfully to our circumstances, feel free to offer them," Easy requested. "When they get back to the decoy there are a couple possibilities. They may sit and consult with home, or they may send somebody out in a suit to examine the reflectors for any clues they give about us. Or they may move off again because they're worried about an ambush. Anybody else have any other ideas about what they might do?"
Singh Nam-Kah spoke up. "They are Chinese military. They will ask what they should do. Initiative is rarely encouraged and often punished, even if it succeeds. Especially when they are able to talk to their mission command for direction. They won't move off if you have not fired on them, because of their great arrogance and because it would look cowardly, not thoughtfully cautious to their superiors."
"Thanks Ma'am. I appreciate you know these people. Keep telling me how they'd think. OK, if they stop and put a man out it will take him maybe twelve to fifteen minutes to suit up and jet over to look even superficially at the decoy. But if they just ask what to do and they have a real decisive guy running their operation, he may just tell them to high tail it out of here in just a minute or two. It will take us over nine minutes to burn in on him, flip and burn to a halt. So he could be well away by the time we get there if he runs."
"And maybe it would be OK?" April asked. "We just let him go home?"
"I wish it was that simple. If we shoot up the sats and he sticks around at this level he could be right back on us. Next time he might succeed in sneaking up on us. And he may just be the first of a couple looking for us. USNA was complaining about us also. And I don't really want him to leave and go sit at M3, waiting for us to come home either. No, I'm afraid we need to take him if he can. We should start the burn when he stops at the decoy, it will give him just time enough to look around with radar and shake off the twitchies and he will either be talking to his handlers, or have them suiting a man up and cycling him out in the back. With a little luck he'll be too busy to see us coming until we do our braking burn."
"If we used the plasma drive to decelerate, aimed right at him, instead of to the side and ended the burn on a power ramp up and chop off so our exhaust plume played over him at full power, do you think it would damage his ship?" April asked.
"I don't know. I have no idea what the power densities are very far from our tail. But even if it doesn't damage him, it won't help him make calm decisions to see a white hot jet of plasma coming at him. The closer the better, but we have to leave enough margin we don't accidentally ram them. I'll allow two hundred meters. Somebody's gotta try it out, so it might as well be us," he said grinning. He started keying the flight profile in the navigation computer. "We'll use it both burns. It'll be pointed straight away from them the first burn. They won't see it and we need to conserve the regular fuel. But run off the accumulators. Don't program to crank up the fusion power until we are right next to them."
They watched the Chinese ship creep back. The crew was surprisingly cautious. They were back to the decoy and the Happy Lewis was on count to burn and meet them. Suddenly Easy slapped the kill button and said: "Abort, Abort. I have another radar coming in. Somebody else is joining us."
The Chinese had probably seen the same signal before them, with their military level gear. Within seconds of stopping they had deployed two suited figures. They must have been riding in the lock, suited up ready to go out. Even at their telescope's highest magnification, they were just fuzzy little silhouettes from kilometers away. You couldn't see their helmet faceplates, or their fingers and thumbs.
When Eddie sneezed in the back, the vibration shook the whole vessel hard enough to made their image shake violently on the screen. At first they didn't understand what they were doing. The suited men were waving their arms around and easing closer to each other. It looked like they were going to have a karate match in space suits. "I got it!" April announced. "They are gathering up our decoy. They are pulling the wire in to loops and making a bundle of them. It looks like someone pantomiming coiling a power cord back up to put it away."
"What a strange waste of time," Dr. Singh remarked. Watching on the screen they had rigged now for the passengers.
Very quickly they finished their task and hurried back to the shelter of their ship, before the approaching vessel caught them in the open.
"Their superiors probably ordered them to do so over the radio," His wife remarked. "They would want to examine it themselves. Rather than trust their report."
"Well it will confuse the other ship coming in. They had two targets on the scope and they merged and then when they get here - one's gone. The Chinese ship looks big enough to take us inboard. It probably has an inboard fuel tank to reach this orbit, but maybe the new guys will think they pulled us into their cargo bay."
"OK," April asked. "What's your game plan now?"
"If it's another Chinese ship we sit and hope they separate, because I don't want to fight them both at the same time. If it's somebody else's and they sit talking, let's still wait. They still may decide to take us together if we approach. But if they show any hostility to each other at all, lets dive in and follow our plan with the drive. I'll want to turn so we can see both ships from the lock when we stop."
"Eddie, if he looks dangerous you carefully put a missile in the new guy and then the Chinese second, because hopefully we may have already damaged them with the drive as we come in. April you use the laser on anything which looks like a weapons system real fast. Their laser mast first and any bays you see open up, because it probably means a missile launch. No finesse trying to wing them. Just keep burning the crap out of it at high power."
"Where's the best place to aim one of these for the most damage?" Eddie asked.
"Don't get fancy on me," Easy growled with no humor in his voice. "Just aim for the middle with the selector on show and release, because if you waste one, I'm gonna shoot the other one up your ass to show you how!"
"Yes Sir, Captain Sir," Eddie replied, rattled at the unaccustomed stern demeanor.
April was trying not to laugh at the unexpected threat. "It's Aye-aye. Eddie," she corrected him, teasing. Their boards showed the incoming ship painting the Jade with millimeter targeting radar and the Jade turned their target radar, on besides both running navigation radars. Both were also transmitting heavy encrypted data traffic on multiple channels. The Jade turned her nose to the incoming space plane in a classic minimum profile. The new arrival came to a sudden high acceleration stop with no taper off and flipped right over to look at them. It was showy piloting, but it would have been much safer to go past and come back, keeping his face and radar to the Chinese ship, the way they had approached the decoy. It was bold to the point of recklessness.
"The Chinese commander just missed his chance to put a shot up his butt while he was blind. He may regret not doing so very soon." Easy predicted.
"USNA Space Plane James Kelly here. Joseph Buckley commanding." He introduced himself with a casualness that had to be fabricated. You folks wouldn't have seen the shuttle Happy Lewis hereabouts would you? It's real puzzling, but she seems to have gone missing and there was a radar return from her here not an hour ago."
"This is the heavenly vessel Pretty as Jade," the commander of the Chinese boat informed him. "We are not folk. Our command does not send peasants to man a space vessel." He didn't offer his name, which was a deliberate insult.
"Probably a glitch in translation there fella." Wayne drawled. "But you wouldn't mind I'm sure, if I send a couple of my boys, fine officers not peasants, to take a look at your pretty ship, especially the big cargo hold y'all got. We have orders to take the Happy Lewis and I don't see it anywhere else. And if I'm wrong about where she ended up, you can all have a cup of tea together or whatever and we'll be moseying along."
"We also are ordered to capture the Happy Lewis and arrest two people on the ship. One of them is a Chinese subject so our claim is superior to yours in regard to her. If there is anything left when we have fulfilled our duty, you are welcome to it. Until then you will stand off from us and maintain your distance if we find this vessel."
Easy just growled at the point he spoke so casually of "taking" the Happy Lewis.
"Go Easy. Attack now," Singh Nam-Kah called from the back. "They'd skin him alive at home if he ever let foreigners on his ship. They'll end up fighting now for sure. It's just a matter of exchanging a few more words. They're at a fatal impasse."
Easy slapped the button to send the camera boom home and hit the navigation computer actuate square. There was no wait, because there was no window to count to. The drive kicked right in. It seemed even more important hearing what was happening, knowing they'd be cut off when they flipped to brake.
They listened to the outraged Chinese commander explain in profane detail why a sovereign ship of the Chinese people did not subject itself to search by barbarians and how he would rather extend social hospitality to swine freshly rolled in the mud. "Keep talking baby." Easy encouraged him. The plasma drive caused static on the radio. Easy hoped it was just internal and not something they were broadcasting. Neither of the other ships seemed to notice anything yet.
"Commander Buckley," the Chinese officer said, at least acknowledging the other's rank, "I see you deploying men outside your airlock. You will take them back inboard and leave, or I will be compelled to fire on you."
"Now that, as they say friend, would have - consequences. Why don't you welcome two of them and you'll live to bounce your grandchildren on your knee?"
"Uh-Oh," April said. "He sounds like you Easy."
An excited voice broke the channel. "Laser fire! One of my men is - gone."
"Harold, fight your ship. Mr. Edwards disperse your men and direct fire at their cockpit."
"I hate this when we can't see what's going on," Easy said."
"I think I have his laser shot out." A new American voice said.
"The cockpit is Swiss cheese." The voice which must be Edwards reported. "Not armored at all. Ports shot out. I doubt if anyone can be alive there. Oh Shit! Coming out the air lock! Suited troops. We need laser support."
"Ten seconds to braking burn," April calmly informed her mates, as the ship tumbled over hard to point its drive the other way. "Three hundred twenty second burn," she informed them. She was surprised at herself, how steady her voice was, as they hurried to kill these strangers. Then the electric drive came on and pushed them down hard in their seats. Over the increased interference the drive created on the radio they heard a static squawk of voices breaking radio discipline, as the plasma torch relit pointed right at them. But spewing plasma ahead of them now the drive interfered too much for them to understand speech, it was just bursts of louder static with the cadence of speech.
There was no way now for them not to see the Happy Lewis. It must seem a sudden nova in their heavens. They watched the countdown to the end of their burn knowing they were an easy shot right now, but confident the others were under orders to capture them, not destroy them. The garbled transmissions from the Jade ceased suddenly, reducing the babble, then the drive cut off and they heard clearly again Wayne telling his number two.
"If they turn the damn thing towards us burn them."
"Yes Sir. But our orders are to take them prisoner."
"I don't give a shit. Look what they did to the Chinese." Unthinking they were still broadcasting in the clear. "Get a missile lock on them right now."
Cutting off from six G to nothing was such a shock, April wondered if it was worth spraying their exhaust on the Jade point-blank. She felt stunned and queasy from the sudden transition.
"Damn!" the American said. "They're too close to launch on. The missile might ram them, but the warhead needs a good kilometer to arm. You'd think they expect to run out a frigging boarding plank to run in this close."
"What the hell is that crap on them? It looks like flocking on their boat, or fur"
"Harold, Hail the Happy Lewis and demand their surrender."
Easy was half way back to the machine gun by now. April knew what to do and he hadn't wasted any words on her. He could feel the Happy twisting, turning under him to take up the firing position - still listening to the chatter.
"They're turning sideways to us and deploying a camera arm."
"Good. Let them look all they want. Just watch out for the torch from their stern. Is it their drive or a weapon?"
"I think it could be both," his second answered.
As soon as they were sideways April stabbed the hot key on the computer to hold position on auto pilot and grabbed the laser controls. There was a post like a periscope sticking up from behind the cabin of the space plane. The laser beam from it was almost invisible when it flashed despite all the debris, but little star-bursts of molten metal droplets off the edge of the Chinese ship, showed where it was keeping two suited figures pinned behind the hulk. They were popping up and peppering the USNA shuttle with small arms fire, then ducking down quickly to move to a new location to fire.
She centered the cross hairs at the base of their laser mast and held the fire button down so hard she hurt her fingers, jiggling the joy stick in her other hand with a circular motion. Her heart was pounding like she was at the end of a long hard run, but she concentrated on her task and resisted the urge to ask Easy and Eddie what the hell they were doing, since she couldn't see any fire from the lock.
"Shuttle Happy Lewis this is the USNA Space Plane James Kelly. Your are ordered to cease all acceleration and stand idle to be boarded..."
Over the radio channel upon which the Kelly was ordering them to heave to, there was a huge thump and the shriek of escaping air which cut off the surrender demand.
On the James Kelly the thump and tearing sound shook the whole plane. Their ears popped which is always a very bad sign on a space ship and rows and rows of green status lights turned amber or red on the right seat boards. Then the decompression alarm went off.
"Helmets closed, go to suit oxygen," captain Buckley ordered his crew.
* * *
When Easy got to the open lock he clipped a safety line on and eased in the wider middle of the coffin lock. He just stopped and looked in shock for a wasted moment. He had never seen so much debris floating in open space. The drive had heated the whole front of the Jade until it vaporized away much of the surface layers. It immediately condensed back as a metal grit floating like a fog around the ships. There were thousands and thousands of bigger scraps of material peeled off, which showed as bright points tumbling every which way like a snowstorm or a ticker tape parade.
The Jade loomed only a hundred meters away, half what they had aimed for and the Kelly three times as far. They'd cut it too close to a collision. The laser was already reaching out to the Kelly through the dust. April had severed the laser mast which was tumbling away and there was already an ugly ulcer cut in the roof of the space plane with a hot sprays of fading metal droplets being thrown off where the strange square beam continued to eat deeper into the top of the vessel. It was encouraging. He slipped in further beside Eddie and cocked the action on the big machine gun.
"Laser down, Sir," the voice they knew as Harold explained calmly on the American space plane.
"Shoot a missile," their captain demanded. I don't care if it can't arm. A ram is better than nothing!"
"Yes sir, targeting radar down. I'll see if I can turn us to acquire it with lidar," Harold promised. "Thrusters red on the board," he lamented. "No response."
Eddie had not wasted as much time as Easy had staring and the smoky puff of the expelling charge swirled around them briefly in the lock, as Eddie launched his first shot. The engine lit and made a short burn about ten meters out and he glanced over and saw Eddie drop the launcher off his shoulder and stare after the anti-tank missile, before he looked back at it himself. The throttled back engine looked like an insignificant spark which would just bounce off the huge white wedge.
He just had time to let loose one long burst of forty or so rounds, marked by six tracers across the cockpit of the big plane, aiming well away from the glow of the missile's idling engine, least he shoot Eddie's coasting war shot from behind. His rounds passing the missile since it had not throttled up again, saving fuel for the chase, or corrective maneuvers it would never need to make. The fact it didn't fall off course or slow down in zero G, seemed to confuse and inhibit the guidance designed for an earth environment, from bringing the engine back up to full power. No matter – the initial boost would carry it there in seconds.
The hammering recoil of the big machine gun shook their little ship with unexpected violence. It vibrated like a rung bell where his suit touched it, for several seconds after he let off the trigger.
The James Kelly was yelling in the clear on several radio channels, telling their Earthside control they were under attack. On the channel they were listening to, the drumming of the machine gun rounds penetrating, was loud over the decompression alarm and ripping shriek of laser fire tearing bulkheads open to vacuum. The impression through the open microphone was one of chaos.
The last desperate shout over the radio from Joe Buckley was, "Inbound, inbound, missile attack!" Then bright point of the missile's idling motor disappeared into the fuselage right in the middle, where Easy told him to aim. It was so small he couldn't see a hole where it had penetrated. For a terrible heart beat nothing happened and then the whole middle of the white shape seemed to expand like it was flexible, before it blew in half and the ragged ends tumbled away from each other.
Easy didn't fire again. There was nothing left worth shooting at. Eddie was looking at him, thoroughly shocked at the violence he had done. "Uh, Easy. I don't think I need to waste this last one on the Chinese do I?" They both looked at the warped shape of the Jade, nose bent to one side, with its insides exposed in a gouge down that side, where the shielding had failed under more than mere reentry temperatures, that their drive inflicted.
"No Eddie. You were right to hold the second shot. You did just fine."
"Thanks."
"I want to move away from here right away," Easy called out, unclipping his safety line unstowed and pulling himself back to his seat. "April, stow the laser arm. Bring up the program for transfer to an orbit we can circularize just inside the, Geostationary orbit level and start it running on a short clock and call it out. We'll wait until the burn is over to stow everything away and inspect outside for damage, before we close it up and put it under pressure."
He latched on and belted himself in the seat and looked his boards over. He felt several sharp impacts of small debris from the wrecks expanding off their nose. They were felt first through his feet. One of them a shred of twisted sheet metal which glanced off their forward ports visibly deforming on impact and made him wince. Then there were several solid thumps felt through the seat back, which seemed like they came up from the other direction. "What's all the bumping around back there? We're coming up on burn in about thirty seconds. Get secure."
"There's been a change of command," said an unfamiliar voice. "Abort the burn."
Easy and April twisted around in their chairs and there was a big figure in a grey armored space suit, floating behind them with a short ugly machine pistol pointed in their general direction. He was anchored on the back of April's seat with his other hand, feet free. His face was Oriental, but his English quite flawless. On his suit shoulder was clipped a badge of rank for the Chinese military, with the requisite Red Star.
"Burn Aborted." Easy acknowledged, punching the proper button. "Damn it. My Mama always told me to stop leaving the door hanging open," he quipped. He had fleetingly considered hitting the actuate button instead, to throw the man to the back of the cabin at high G. But he'd probably crush a passenger under him.
"You, Big Guy, move out of the seat and strap down with the others in back," he instructed. There was another bump felt through the deck, like the man had made coming in through the narrow lock and he started to turn his head, but gave a surprised little grunt, "Unghh," They all three looked where the machine pistol still held in his armored glove was slowly turning over, disconnected from his arm.
The red foam boiling out of the wrist as his suit blew out, ripped his grip loose and twisted him around with his back turned to the pilots. Burgundy bubbles and streamers of dried blood were blown all about the cabin in spurts, as he struggled with his left hand to pry up a pull tab behind the cut, which would inflate a tourniquet ring in the military armor. Then he gave a jerk as someone hit him from the other side and legs appeared around his waist. They still heard a gasp sucked in on his radio, even over the roar of escaping air. The shiny point of April's short sword materialized, sticking out of his back right through the black armor shell. Dr. Singh looked around the now limp figure, with a terrifying snarl still painted on his face. "You OK?" he asked.
"Man - Ajay!" Easy let out a long sigh. "How did a little guy like you ever push that sucker through two layers of armor?"
"He was a threat to my new bride," Ajay said, with more Indian accent than usual in his excitement. "As I've heard you say in colorful idiom...He pissed me off."
"Well thanks. I'm real happy you took exception to it. Let's shove this pig out the lock, before anybody else wanders in."
"Not with my sword stuck in him!" April protested.
Ajay tried pulling it out alone. To no joy. Easy and Ajay both ended up with their feet on the man's chest and all four hands around the long handle. It was jammed all the way to the end of the cutting edge. They strained and got nothing. "I still can't believe this Ajay. You must have had an adrenaline high to beat anything. How about whipping up a little juice to get the thing out? Huh? On three. One - Two - Three! It gave all at once. They both went across the cabin and bounced off the overhead. "Watch the edge! Watch the edge!" Easy let himself hit limp on purpose and didn't rebound much. Ajay hit with his legs tucked up and holding the blade carefully at arm's length. He pulled himself back to the coffin lock and slide the blade home in the saya which was still attached to the padded rib with cable ties. The soldier was a close fit to push through the coffin lock, even sideways with the armor on. Ajay had to go outside and tug on an arm and leg alternately to pull him through, while they pushed from the inside. His bulky armor wouldn't have fit turned flat in the lock in the gruesomely real manner of a coffin. No wonder he had bumped around squeezing through.
As they wiggled him back outside Easy unsnapped the badge which was the man's symbol of rank and removed a funny little snap holster and hard box for the ammunition. After he helped the Indian gentleman back in by pulling on his safety tether he offered them. "Here ya go Ajay, your honorable trophy of battle. You won it fair and square. Knife against a machine pistol. Which took some guts buddy."
"Give it to Miss Lewis," Ajay suggested indifferently. "It was her foresight to bring her sword and I don't really collect such things."
Easy carefully safed the machine pistol and tossed the gloved hand out the lock. It still felt against all his training to throw something out to be orbital debris, even if it was already a floating junk yard outside.
"April. Wanna try this again? Easy asked going back forward. "You can start the computer on the next tick and call the count to us." Easy slid back in the command couch. "There's a trophy from Ajay, pistol with ammo and an officer's badge, in the tool locker for you."
April acknowledged with a nod. "We will have a burn in two minutes from my mark........MARK. Please be prepared for a moderate plasma burn. It will only be two G."
"When we finish the burn." Easy told her. "I want to clean as much of this off as we can." he waved, indicating the black fog of blood. We'll waste a little air blowing the cabin out while it is freeze dried. Won't take much. Just enough air to carry loose stuff out the lock. We'll burn the attitude jets just before so anything loose is free to move goes over to the lock side of the cabin before we flush."
"I want to make sure we haven't picked up any damage outside, so I'm going to do a fly around untethered. It will take me awhile, because I don't intend to use much suit juice, go very fast, or mess up the wool. I don't want to use a line because I'm afraid of knocking off wool. If for some reason I don't come back though, please look around and see if I have gotten myself in trouble."
"I'll have my radio on and keep some chatter going but you never know....something could happen to the radio, or I could not be able to use it. It would be better if you don't do what I'm going to do - untethered - until you have a lot of hours in a suit. I'd like one of you to shake out our dirty suit liners in the vacuum also. It's almost as good as dry cleaning or sonic. And I'm really ripe again."
"Burn in ten." April said in case he was going to say more.
"OK." He agreed and the drive jolted on, but was gentler at the peak this time. As they cleared the area, there were little raps from striking debris, in the expanding field they created. A few tiny but shiny pieces, even visibly bounced off the forward ports like bugs on a ground car screen and made Easy duck a little each time. Then very quickly they were past the wave front and outrunning the expanding sphere of junk.
April watched the program work through the lines on the screen. When they were finished and everything looked good, she asked Easy if he was ready to clean up. There was no reply. She asked again - "Easy?" She said softly into her mic to no reply. "He fell asleep," she said for the others. "I'm whipped too. Everybody Okay with taking a nap before we try to clean up and pressurize?" She got a couple soft OK's and turned down the cabin lights and powered her seat back flat.
Chapter 26
The President listened to the report from his Security Director with irritation. "Make clear to them this is not a USNA spacecraft. And don't match their heightened state of alert with anything of our own. I want to know who this belongs to. It must be falsely registered as a subterfuge. Obviously it is a major warship, to engage two modern armed vessels at once and destroy them. Perhaps the Japanese have been so quiet about any claims because they were planning on expressing their displeasure more directly. No matter who it serves, I want this ship destroyed, quickly!"
"And indicate to the Chinese it is a problem we will take care of on our own. The Pretty as Jade would not have been in harm's way, if they had kept their nose out of our business and waited for us to make the arrest," he rationalized. "Now, it seems we should speed up securing this asteroid, before we are in the position of recovering it from someone instead. What's being done there Roger?"
"Sir, we are preparing to launch the HS Cincinnati with a load of special troops for the station. They will take control of it and through control of the station effectively control the asteroid when it matches orbit in a few weeks. We won't say anything publicly until the World Court decision is out, to show respect for the court. But we will let the Court know privately that we have control of it. I'm calling station security today, to put the company director and any of the crew of the Happy Lewis under arrest."
"We'll put my civilian administrator in, supported by the troops until everyone is satisfied things are stable and let Mitsubishi decide if they will go along and use him, or if they want a man of their own as company manager, but without civil authority. I already have a man there groomed for the job, who is familiar with the station. He'll step in immediately. Allowing it to be run as a corporate structure, with no political supervision on site, had to end eventually anyway. It should have been corrected once there was more than a construction crew on board. We'd have avoided all this trouble."
"Good. Sounds like you have a handle on it."
* * *
In Colorado, deep under a famous mountain, in a vaulted command center secretly remodeled and reactivated, a technician watched the strange light of the Happy Lewis from a satellite with optical tracking and correlated it with the return off its plasma plume, from the Alaskan antimissile radars. The numbers were more believable this time, but the fact they still had any Delta-V was disturbing.
The older man looking over his shoulder was gray headed, with stars on his collar and he looked very tired and sad.
"They're still not painting anything off this ship?"
"No Sir. Not off the hull. I have to say it's just as stealthy as any war bird. But we can calculate its position from the return off the ionized exhaust plume."
The General raised an eyebrow. "Can we? We thought so when we vectored the James Kelly in to intercept her. And believe me, the Pretty as Jade was nothing to mess with either. They had ground support and search radar equal to ours. This outruns, out shoots and hides from full military vessels of the two major powers. It's not like anything. It is a war bird no matter how it is flagged. Better than anything we have. I asked up the chain of command what kind of drive this is and they told me it's classified and they can't talk to me about it. Isn't that just helpful?" he asked sarcastically.
"It was tracked on radar and then when it's intercepted it's simply not there. They look around and nothing to be found. I already knew there was no way it was inboard the Jade like they thought immediately. Her class needs extra fuel in that volume to orbit so high. What kind of electronics spoofs location so convincingly? Nothing we have. We painted a solid false radar return where it had long vacated. And why didn't we see it going away on its great flaming drive? And was it hiding to escape? Oh no."
"After spoofing its location it suddenly appears and runs in from kilometers away and simultaneously attacks two multi-billion dollar vessels of separate super-powers. The Kelly reported being engaged with at least four separate weapon systems, before she was lost. They didn't stand off scared of those two, but dove in and opened up with everything at point blank range and blew the both of them to hell and gone. All of which tells me they are either brave to the point of foolishness, or they have defensive systems equal to their offensive gear."
"The Kelly was engaging the Jade . But the Lewis started its run in to hit them well before they started exchanging fire. And she destroyed the Jade completely before turning to the undamaged Kelly. We see a debris field expanding from where they both were on radar. It was a bald faced ambush. He was sitting waiting for them to get sucked into his bag, after they went hunting him."
"And the worst part is, we and the Chinese both threatened the pilot first yesterday, when all he was asking was free passage. He just wanted to go home and we refused and bullied him and after we pushed him in a corner he told us plainly not to cross his path. We each sent a ship to die, because we could not imagine anyone having the gall to oppose us. Well, we have a problem now. And I doubt our esteemed leaders are capable of getting it."
The radar technician looked around scared because this sort of talk was dangerous. Dangerous to say, dangerous to even hear. And it didn't matter if you had stars on your collar.
* * *
Jon had seen the man on his screen before. In news shows and 'zines, not in person. It was a shock to see him calling and he knew it would not be a good thing. This was the head of Homeland Security, Preston Harrison and all the other sub-organizations it governed. Technically he was not Jon's direct boss. But from a political and practical aspect, it would be career suicide to not accommodate anything he wanted.
"We need the list of people I'm putting on your screen arrested and held in the closest security you can provide, until we have a military presence on M3 and have the station locked down."
The list was what Jon expected: Steve Lewis, Faye Lewis, Robert Lewis, April Lewis, Washington Dixon, Eddie Persico, Ajay Singh, Singh Nam-Kah and surprisingly Doris Chalmers. You missed some important ones, Jon thought to himself.
"Very interesting, Sir. When do you intend to announce the application of martial law? Has it already been declared down, there or is it just being invoked on station? I'd hate to act for you before a proper legal declaration. Someone might charge me later with a crime for acting outside my civilian authority, if I aid use of military force against civilians."
"Believe me, all of these people are already subject to arrest on civil charges. I have full authority to act without a formal declaration of martial law. The fact I can order the forces in question to move is sufficient in itself," he said smugly.
"Well, Sir. Several of these people I am sure are not in my jurisdiction. Also Miss Chalmers is a ward of my department seeking emancipation and it is my understanding Dr. Singh Nam-Kah even if she were here, is married to a legal USNA resident and seeking asylum and legal status. Can you fax me warrants for their arrest please? I'm an officer of the law. I don't just arrest people on somebody's say-so, no matter how highly placed."
Harrison was enraged by this answer. "Let me make myself clear. I am not asking you to exercise any discretion in these matters. You will arrest the people listed as required, without documentation and turn them over to martial authority when it arrives at your station and subject yourself to that authority. You will simply do it little man. Or you will no longer have your position even until the military gets there. You are a hair's breadth from going on the list yourself." Finally the glove was all the way off the iron fist. "In the mean time you will be contacted by Gary Chalmers and an associate, who will be assuming civilian authority over the station after this transition."
"Little man? Jon asked him, indignant. "I am not your private goon to put the muscle on people at your personal whim. I quit." He disconnected on the man, surprised he got so much out and the other fellow hadn't unplugged him first. Harrison was obviously shocked speechless, anyone dared speak back to him. Jon felt good no matter how things turned out, he had taken the high road talking to the creep.
"Frank?" Jon called right away. "I want you to bring the missile pack here out of the storage room, but leaving the empty case there and see if you can step up your surveillance to penetrate Chalmer's apartment. I'd especially like to know if he has any other weapons than the rifle."
"I'm unemployed now. I just quit before Harrison could fire me. I don't know where that leaves you guys, but as far as I am concerned it loosens my hand a whole lot to deal with these two. Maybe they will call and fire all of you, or run through the list asking for someone to take over from me. I have to warn you. It's bound to be a short term position if anybody wants it. We got a bunch of soldier boys on the way. I refused to act without legal orders, warrants, or declaration of martial law and he threatened me. Said he had a right to act, because he has the power basically. We'll see if he really has enough, huh? If any of you want to refuse my orders now, you are free to sit this out at home. I don't have any legal authority anymore."
* * *
Thanks for the sleep. You made a good command decision," Easy allowed. "If I was tired enough to fall asleep under boost, I might have messed up and killed myself or broke something trying to do a fly around in such lousy shape. You want to finish this?" he offered the coffee bulb to April and she took it. "How does it look around the lock Ajay? Did it suck in any of the sealant after you sprayed it, or does it have a nice even meniscus all the way around the flange once it dried?"
"It looks good Easy. I don't think we bent or scratched anything badly enough to leak. It's marked up from the gun clamps but not near the edge."
Easy and April were clean again and had on the suit liners which had been vacuum cleaned. The others had cleaned up and changed liners also. All their equipment was packed back away. Ajay was obviously very uncomfortable stripping down, but Easy had warned him to not clean up and change, was to risk suit sores or infection, so he would order him to strip and clean up if he had to.
The blood had cleaned out of the cabin pretty well, but they had flushed the air once at low pressure and then wore disposable face masks while they were cleaning up, so the filtration unit had a chance to run through the cabin volume several times before they took them off. They were very aware freeze dried blood dust in the air was an effective vector for all sorts of diseases and China remained one of the worst nations for emerging diseases, despite draconian travel and isolation laws, so they cleaned up the surfaces with their used wipes from bathing and tried to minimize their exposure to the slain Chinese fellow's remains.
"What do you say we try to get some news April? I doubt anyone is saying anything good about us, but we might as well find out how bad it is."
"What would you like? Official or pirate?"
"How about the BBC? They're about as fair as anyone. They often make sneaky little hints at the truth."
"OK. I'll see if I can get their broadcast for North American audiences."
Twenty minutes later Easy was angry and April was mystified at the absence of any news about a major space battle. They had patiently heard the details on the religious rebellion in Madagascar, the latest viral disease to show up in Vietnam, which seemed to have jumped to humans from fruit bats of all things and the way the various Lunar authorities were trying to agree on controls for vacuum pollution. If it was not slowed down in a few years there would be such a haze around the moon many of the industries which depended on cheap hard vacuum would find the moon had too much of an atmosphere to continue. Burning a surveillance camera blind with a laser had been upgraded to a Federal terrorist crime, for even private or city owned cams. They chatted about the latest advances in sub-dermal medical monitors and the humorous story about the man in Italy, notorious for their free and open genetics laws, who combined the genes from his two favorite pets, a snake and a parrot and been banished from the Church for creating a dragon. However there was no hint of news at all about a space battle.
"OK," April said, growing easily as angry as Easy, "I really want to hear each of you speak on this, before we decide what to do. I can understand the USNA and China would both be embarrassed we took their ships out. I don't understand them just not saying a word to acknowledge any problem. Why aren't they yelling and screaming for someone to arrest us? Or at least just shoot us on sight? It's like nothing happened." There was a pause as nobody jumped right in to express an opinion.
"I don't like it," Easy growled. "It feels like too many black ops I've worked. Somehow I bet they still think they can cover up the whole thing and not disclose it ever happened to the public. I've seen copter loads of special forces go down on black missions and they send notices to the family about a training exercise killing everyone. Sometimes they will explain away each one separately. One a car accident. Another a presumed drowning on a canoe trip. They have the resources to do it. We did fight where there are no eye witnesses and if they're quiet it could mean they still think they are going to bag us before we do anything the public will see."
"They can't have so much available to launch quickly, they can reach us out here soon," Eddie offered. Maybe they're not sure about what happened between the two ships. Maybe the Chinese are blaming the USNA, or the other way around, instead of us.
"No, sorry, there was just too much radio traffic right up to the end for them not to know exactly what happened."
Dr. Nam-Kah offered a thought. "Maybe they don't have to come out here. Maybe they will just wait for us to go home. We wanted to go there in the first place. Wouldn't they expect us to show up there eventually?"
April spoke her thoughts aloud. "Eddie told us they are going to take over M3 before the Rock gets there. Maybe they will just hurry up and do it as fast as they can now, maybe even before we can get back. But what would be the point of secrecy? Why wouldn't they just announce it?"
"The court," Ajay said. "They'll still try to make themselves look as good as possible. We know it's bald faced theft, but they try to look as law abiding and decent as their propaganda can make them. They will take over M3, but shut down the communications and not announce they are stealing the Rock until the World Court announces its judgment and then they will announce they are immediately taking control and make public what has been reality for days or weeks. Oh, the Court will know privately, so they don't announce a ruling which will fail."
"Could they manage it? I mean, how could it be done?" April asked.
"Now you know why the fellow Art was so interested in the radio room," Easy said. "Everything is routed through the radio shack and all the data transmission and phones are all regulated out of the one office. If they cut them off, we are only talking about two thousand people. Most of the permanent station staff's relatives are on the west coast in the USNA and they have plenty of manpower down there to call on all of them and tell them it is a matter of national security to keep their mouths shut. They can even lock them down in their homes if they seem uncooperative."
"For a few days or weeks it should be no problem keeping a lid on it. I can see them getting away with it. If a few people start asking about it they will just stonewall. There isn't a paper or a TV news service left in North America, that will push for a hot story anymore. They know they'll go to prison if they run a story they were warned to kill. Everything is labeled a National Security issue now. Crap, they even classify stuff like how big the corn harvest is now. Once the security label is on it you have no rights."
"So what do we want to do?" Eddie asked. "If what you're saying is right, even if we can call home nobody can help us. They'll bottle them up."
"I know several people who they can't be shut off through the radio room," April said. She explained Heather's talent for electronics. "If you shut her off from the regular com she can have a transmitter broadcasting to Earth in no time. She and Jeff are both amateur radio bugs – hams they called it.
"We can talk to the press and media outside the USNA." Easy said. "There are still lots of them not affiliated with the big news channels and frankly quite a few who hate the USNA's guts. They'd be glad for the story. Question is how? I didn't think about independent long range communications. We don't have a interface for in-flight data access or phone, like a passenger shuttle, because those are all proprietary."
"Obviously we are not going to get a friendly pass through from the traffic control channels. How are we going to call somebody up? We could aim a signal at a wireless network on M3 or ISSII with a dish, but they can't radiate strongly enough back to us to establish a two way connection the computer needs. None of you has a pad plug-in to make satellite phone connections do you?" Nobody did.
"You know, all the guys who work outside in construction. Couldn't you call someone directly - whoever is out working around M3 in a scooter and ask him to relay a message into the local net for you? Or does the radio for local traffic not work this far?" Eddie wanted to know.
"Yeah it should work." The guys use an omni-directional antenna around the station. But besides the construction shack, most of the scooters have a dish for longer range work at the same frequencies and once their system detects a weak signal it will automatically switch over to the dish."
"You have to fly in a scooter and can't be stopping to aim an antennae, so the dishes are made to auto locate and lock on a signal. If you are positioned just right sometimes you get an unexpected auto lock on and can talk to a moon buggy or a hopper shuttle on Luna with a scooter radio. It amused us when it would happen, because sometimes it was hilarious the confusing things both parties would say, before they figured out who they had locked on."
"We should connect with somebody even if the shack is not in line of sight. Once we are both on the dishes, the local net will not hear what the local boy is saying to us, unless the shack patches it in. But our signal will cover the whole work area there around M3 from this far away, so we have to make sure we don't mind anybody on the local suit and ship channel hearing what we have to say."
Singh Nam-Kah spoke up again. "Are you sure you want to break this secrecy wide open? Is there perhaps the possibility you will just be publishing our part, in what many others will regard as a criminal act?
"Nam-Kah, there is no way the USNA is going to let us get away with destroying their space plane, even if they would cover it up to the public. The Chinese and the USNA both know their ships are gone. They may not know the last confusing seconds in detail, but both governments were talking to their ships when they were destroyed. They know who to blame. Wasn't anybody else out here but us, who could be responsible, even if they hadn't got a word off before they were destroyed. They could charge us or they could just punish us in secret. We could disappear and never be seen again."
"I've seen black ops just for the purpose of destroying enemies of the country in secret. Hell - I worked some of those ops myself. No. We're committed. There's no way to go back and undo the deed," Easy assured her. "And although you didn't decide to open fire on the station to escape, I doubt if you would escape blame for what we did, just for coming along as a passenger. They would say you were aware it might come to violence when you decided to defect. We don't have anything to lose now."
"Then I suggest you put the whole thing out before the world. Tell everybody they are going to take M3 over and steal the Rock before it happens and before they have a chance to capture us and make us disappear. And since losing those shuttles doesn't seem to be enough to cause them alarm, let's do as April suggested and take their satellites out, until they damn well notice and acknowledge there's a problem!" she said, with uncharacteristic anger.
"OK." April said. "Then we better make sure if we make contact through the construction gang we upload everything we can while we have a channel. Because the government might figure out how to cut off our communications again quickly. We should send a message to our families and Jon. I think I can get Jon on the channel to talk, even without asking for a tie in," she said, remembering the 898989 number. I want to run the satellite idea past him and see what he thinks.
"How are we going to make it believable and make a European or an African news channel pick it up and put it on the Earth nets?"
"Didn't you tell me your brother is rather mercenary, when it comes to money and business deals?" Easy asked.
April looked at Easy funny. "Well yeah, mercenary is not the word I used, but it is pretty accurate. He will take advantage of me, even though I'm his sister, if I let him get away with it. I had to warn Jon to watch him with the scooter deal, because he could end up with most of the funds in his pocket and not feel the least bit badly about it. It's embarrassing sometimes, but what can I do?" she asked.
"I suggest you use it. Let's not beg somebody to take our story as a freebie. Human nature being what it is, people don't value what you offer for free. Let's send the data to everybody who needs to know. Jon, Jeff and Heather, your parents, my Ruby. And let's make sure the construction guys all know through our contact, because the grapevine those guys have will spread it across a couple dozen countries within a day." "But to get the story to the media, lets tell your brother to sell the story for as much as he can get and you'll split whatever he can get with him. In fact, suggest maybe he can sell it several times, if he moves fast enough."
"It's brilliant," April admitted. "Absolutely brilliant. It will harness every bit of his business skills. There isn't any better way to motivate him. But we all contributed to this story and we're taking all the risks. I'll tell him he has an equal share with all of us on board, not a split. It's plenty generous for him sitting home safe to do what just comes naturally. So, what do we send? How do we tell the story?"
"I wouldn't try to edit it. Let the writers and news organizations edit it. It's their area of expertise after all," Easy suggested. "Just take the raw files from the camera arm shooting and our radio log. Once they have the story they will go looking to prove or disprove the political side locally. I know it will be missing parts, but there is enough there to get the outline. And there have to be Earthies who can verify it from their end. They've never had video of a space battle. I doubt if spaceships have ever fought within sight of each other. It will wow them big time."
April suddenly jerked with realization. "Easy, I can add the missing elements you want. Including Jan talking to us in the boom at ISSII, about M3 being taken over. Since this is my first flight and everything is so new, I've been running my suit camera and recorder anytime I was in the suit. I wanted a complete record to review and learn from later, so I've recorded from the time we walked in the shop to ride the Happy Lewis up the elevator to now. The only time I shut it off was when we were out of our suits cleaning up, or sleeping. The problem is going to be running through and editing out stuff we don't want them to know about - like about the package Nam-Kah brought. Not only when we talked about it, but anytime it shows on the video as she is loading, or if it shows strapped down back there."
"Are you sure the earlier stuff isn't overwritten?" Ajay wondered. "Suits usually only have a Terabyte module in them and the video fills it fairly fast."
"No Dr. Singh. Your boy's friend Heather knew I was going to record as much as I could and loaded a better video compression program and she installed a 800 terabyte module in the suit and gave me another to put in if the first ever filled up. I have the whole trip basically."
"Well then. Let's assemble a file." Easy suggested. "It's a shame you don't have footage of yourself scrubbing up unsuited. That would suck in a huge audience of young Earth bucks." He was incredibly fast and ducked in time as she swung at him.
* * *
Jon had just sat to eat and hadn't taken a bite yet, when his pad gave the irritating buzz which meant he had a high priority call, not just a personal message. He put down the fork with a sigh. Looking at the steam rising off his hot food. He'd probably have to dump it and leave. The screen flipped open, showed his man Skip.
"Jon I have someone in the storage locker right now. Thought you'd like to know. Here's what he looks like." His picture shrank to a small square in the corner and the full screen showed a young man in the locker, loading a quantity of ammunition from the separate box into the hard case for the assault rifle. If he tried to use it, he would be very disappointed to find out the tip of the firing pin had been broken off by Jon's people, before they replaced it in the case. It would sound right if you dry fired it but it would not hit the primer. It was not however Doris' father.
Jon could not place the fellow and a casual match did not turn him up in the department data, so he was not someone who had come in since they started recording all the shuttles for face data. His clothing was probably work clothing, although it was not a jump suit and did not have any logos. It was more like what someone would wear for maintenance work if they expected to stay in spin.
"Good work Skippo. As long as he doesn't take the missile pack just let him go and we'll track him. Even if you lose him we have a face now. So don't take any risks. If you can find out where he lives, then put another camera there. Make sure who is in the rental office this shift helping him too. Call if you need a partner to do it right or anything else." And he closed up the pad, happy his food was still hot.
As he was finishing up desert Skip called back. "Jon your fellow with the assault rifle has gone to Chalmer's apartment. And I have a news bulletin for you. Mrs. Chalmers was on the last shuttle down for Hawaii. What you want to bet she is connecting home to Canada?"
"Probably Skip. You happy with the camera coverage Frank set up? You having any trouble covering? Need anything?"
"No troubles mate. Frank and Margaret are super to work with. Just wish there were three of each of us. You know? Then one could take a turn to sleep."
* * *
"This is Easy Dixon calling anyone on the M3 construction gang. Anybody out there in a scooter? I'm way out at 35K using a dish. You should set your radio switch to auto-track on your long range dish, to reach back to me." He forced himself to watch the clock in his screen corner count off fifteen seconds and asked again. "Easy here. Anybody read me on the work crew?"
A fuzzy voice came back with lots of noise in the background. "Easy this is Jason pushing tanks into storage in a scooter. You're so faint the dish had a hard time locking on. Are you in trouble again? Shot the hell out of a whole shift, last time we had to chase you with tanks dry. Don't tell me you decided to start an interstellar voyage again."
"Jas we have a little problem here," Easy explained. "We went over to ISSII and the damn Chinese tried to shoot us up, then tried to ram us with the yard tractor. We left without clearance and the Chinese and the USNA both tried to intercept us. We need real badly to get patched into the local net there and upload news to our families we are OK. We also want to upload some video and news to them, to pass on to the media, because the USNA is going to come pretty soon and lock down everyone on M3 and take over before the Rock comes into final orbit. We figured you guys should know to expect a big ship load of soldiers any day. They'll probably ship most everybody on M3 home before they're done. Can you help us?"
"Easy I'd be happy to, but you're coming through all full of static and drop outs. If you send me video it's going to be all corrupted and take forever. Marty is in the dispatcher's shack right now. He's an OK fellow. Switch over to the dispatcher's channel and let me tell him to put a big dish with some serious gain on you and he can take your download a lot better. Besides, I'm supposed to be working and using the dish disconnects me from the omnidirectional feed for the local work channel. It's not safe to stay off it. He can route you through his big dish and still talk to all of us locally. I'll tell him where to point from my dish's attitude and he'll call you in a minute. Hold on now," he signed off casually.
"Is this Marty trustworthy Easy?" Dr. Singh was worried about being transferred.
Before Easy could reply a new voice boomed out of their headphones. "Hey, Easy what the heck are you doing? You think I'm your private telephone operator?" This time the voice was without the static and distortion.
"Well hard as it is to believe, somebody tried to shoot my delicate little lovable butt off Marty. If we try to speak to Earthside control they just give us the run around and tell us to sit tight and shut up. We had a little run in and were given firm word the USNA is coming in to lock you guys down and take over with military. But I guess you won't mind if they cut your contract short and send you home. It's not like you do anything but blow all the extra money when you hit dirt anyway right?"
"Huh! If I go back home to Mama without my full pay and bonus, I better pray the shuttle crashes and burns. How sure are you about this? All these vacuum rats will go nuts if they're locked down in quarters and can't work. Show us what ya got."
"Here's our message files all in the clear. The rest is a big load even compressed. You're welcome to see all of it and share it with the whole construction crew. My ship owner Bob Lewis, is supposed to send the video on to some of the news people, so we're giving just part of it to him encrypted and after he has a chance to use it he's instructed to share it with everybody on M3. We cut out some stills for you to have right away though. Enough to back up the story. Then if you want to send it to your families or friends Earthside go ahead. Look about 12 minutes into it and you'll see the head of security at ISSII telling us the USNA is going to lock us down. Is this agreeable to you?"
"Sure Easy. Don't mean to call you a liar either. You've always done your job and known what you were talking about. Just something like this - you don't take it as gossip. I'll route the mail to your people right now and put the files in our server with a blurb in the wake up calls and shift news, for each of the next four shifts. You going to be coming back in here to M3 or what?"
"We don't know yet Marty. Depends a lot on what we hear from Earthside after this hits the news. We are out at geostationary level orbit and may stay out here awhile if we're going to get shot at again."
"You look at the preface, which has still frames of our video and you'll see why we might not be welcome when we return. It shows two ships dying. Here's your data feed now. Don't disconnect us down when it's done. We have a code we want to try in the system or I may get back to you on voice." Easy touched the send icon on the screen and watched the file feed steadily. He didn't relax until it was all safely transmitted.
"Okay, you want to try this contact routine with Jon?"
April punched in 898989.
* * *
"They what?" Bob Lewis asked, when Jon called and explained about the video files he was receiving. "Since when did our scooter have all these weapon systems bolted on?" I don't remember budgeting any such thing and it sounds expensive. Is the ship still whole or do they have damage?" he wanted to know.
"The gun and the missiles were both carried loose," Jon explained. "The lasers are borrowed from Jeff's friends and just mounted temporary on the camera arm and a control cable run up to them. It's all their private property, not ships systems really. That's why you didn't see any line items for it. There is probably a couple hundred bucks somewhere for a cable to the camera arm head and labor to tie it down along the arm.
Jon learned a lot about Bob he'd rather not have known. There was not one question from him about his crew's safety. Not even his own sister.
"I'll do the best I can," Bob agreed. "We're going to need the funds, because when this goes public my insurance underwriter is going to have a fit. I may have to go naked if we can't afford the premiums," he complained.
Jon could pleasantly picture him naked - in a cycling airlock with an alarmed expression and his cheeks puffed out.
* * *
"I'm not asking for payment for a news story," Bob Lewis explained patiently. "I've already given you the story for free and you can do what you want with it. I'm sure you have lots of ways to check its accuracy. I'm offering you the video, which makes the story more than just talking heads. Without the video it's just a he said, ho-hum story." He explained patiently.
"This is the first recorded space battle, which has ships attacking within close camera range of each other. It's spectacular. It has the audio in the clear between the ship commanders and video of hand to hand combat in p-suits. It's going to be ranked as famous a historical treasure as pics of the Hindenburg in flames, the early Space Shuttle disasters, Kennedy getting shot in Dallas, the planes hitting the World Trade Center or Kargil getting nuked."
"And I'm offering you a twelve or twenty-four hour first use exclusive, on the only full file. After the contract period I can offer partials and stills to others, but you still have the whole package to sublet as you wish for the exclusive period, while it's still news instead of history."
"If you don't take it they'll be talking about you for years in the news business. They'll say - Remember the guy at BBC who shot his career in the head and told the chap with the Happy Lewis video to go sell it to the French? Sad case, what the hell was the man thinking? Up to you. If you want a couple still frames to sell the package to your bosses I will sell them to you cheap, with a limited use license and a non-disclosure agreement. Then you have fifteen minutes to talk to your directors."
"If you can't make a decision in that time frame the offer is withdrawn and I will sell it to someone else and you can watch it on their news channel while you start refreshing your resume. If you can't handle making a call on the big stories you shouldn't be sitting in the chair. If you even have to ask your bosses what you should do they're going to remember it and realize the footage almost got away."
The man looking back at him did not disguise his anger and dislike for Bob. "I don't have the authority to spend that kind of money. I can't imagine anybody paying ten million Euro for a video, if it was the second coming complete with a sound track of the heavenly trumpets."
He didn't like some kid talking to him like an equal. Take it back. Talking down to him. He didn't like being put on the spot to make a decision about anything either. He had been successfully for years, avoiding any decisions which could possibly be laid at his feet if they went bad.
"Well then you're wasting my time. I didn't know you were just the night receptionist. Do you want to transfer me to a boss, or should I just move on?"
When he split the screen and called up another man, he was only off screen about a half minute in private, before the other fellow came on the split. He had obviously been awakened to join them and the news director was still going on about how sorry he was to wake him up.
"Mac, if you are going to stay in the conference call shut the hell up. I'm awake and I want to hear why. If there was no good reason it's too late to say anything to make it any better and if there is a good reason I need to hear what it is. Now, you young fellow. I'm John Briggs and I need two facts first. Who are you and what have you got to peddle to us?"
Bob smiled. Here was somebody he could talk to.
* * *
"Stupid, stupid, stupid," Peter Hadley muttered, looking at the wall screen and the destruction of one of the most advanced and expensive space planes his nation had built. His advisers, clustered away from the screen kept silent and watched the horrible scene licensed to CNN by BBC. Early risers in much of Europe were seeing it before breakfast and parts of Asia watching it as late news.
He watched for the second time the shattered halves of the ship tumble away from each other in a debris field and the front portion pass in front of the burnt and warped husk which had been the Jade, drifting dead near it. He was sitting in a green robe and burgundy slippers with his hair uncombed and had been awakened early, but not quickly enough to direct the first response to this news.
"There are all kinds of lies you can get away with," he explained. "Some will last forever. Some will last until the people involved are all dead, some you hope will last long enough nobody really cares about them any longer. This though, has the potential life of a fruit fly. Didn't anybody think before they told a whooper, which will be meat for political cartoonists and comedians tomorrow?"
"We only have seven planes of this class and the crews are all an elite who are used for recruiting and followed by space nuts just like baseball heroes or music stars. There is no way you can deny losing one and just switch another for it, or have them whip up a replacement in secret. It takes almost a year to build one of the things and the assembly building already has two in progress. They are even named before they are finished, with mission dates assigned and crews waiting for them to be released."
"It just seemed like the right thing, to not verify such a outrageous claim without hard proof. I mean - How can it possibly be a true account for a light work scooter to destroy two major vessels like nothing?" His press secretary asked.
"Do you think they faked this in a studio? Drew it all in a computer? I'm sure they sat around a table and asked how it could happen, when the American Pacific fleet was wiped out at Pearl Harbor by a bunch of backward Japanese, who all the military experts said were still flying obsolete biplanes. But it didn't bring them floating back to the surface. And they sure as hell didn't make matters worse, by telling the press the stories of the attack were unconfirmed and unlikely."
"I can't even safely go to bed without somebody doing major damage before I wake up. Thank Goodness - at least the Chinese opened fire first. Not as if they're going to apologize for doing so, anymore than the Captain of the Jade did. Arrogant bunch of xenophobes!"
He nodded at the screen. "Go back to the scene where the director of Security on ISSII speaks to the shuttle pilot." He watched it carefully again.
"There's no way to say he means something else. Damn his lack of diplomacy. I wonder if he knew they were recording him? It doesn't seem rehearsed. Just standing around seeing his buddy off and telling war stories. He certainly committed the Europeans to at least offering this Nam-Kah asylum if we refuse to. He seems to be committed to driving a wedge between the Chinese and us."
"If we hand her back to the Chinese now we'll never live it down. If they manage to return to M3, then when we lock down the station, the newsies will be on us to account for her. We'll have to separate her and get her away from the station as soon as we can, before we close it off. It would be better from a public relations view to grant her asylum, but she's not worth a war. And I'd rather see her returned, than the Europeans take her in and rub our noses in it."
"Let's see the fight in the cabin again and slow it down." The helmet camera view from April's suit, swung around to the frightening monster of the Chinese officer in his space armor. His hard expression was easily seen through the faceplate. The machine pistol looked huge pushed out in front of him closer to the camera lens. He filled the view so much, you could not see what Ajay was doing behind. There was a brief view of his feet pushing off the overhead, as he did a one bouncer to come up behind the man and the flash of the blade so fast it was an elongated silver blur even in the slow motion.
The blade went through hard suit cuff and wrist inside with no noticeable slowing. The stub was not even dragged along by the blade. It just sheared it as clean as a wax model being cut with a razor. He had not noticed it in normal play speed, but in slow motion he saw what stopped the blade was it bit deeply into the man's pelvis, through the equipment anchored around the hips of his suit, in as far as the centerline of the leg. That blow alone would have been fatal without what happened next. The man's face through the glass finally registered shock, long after the blade was stopped. The air escaping from both wounds spun him around, as did the sword being yanked out of the hip.
As he spun around, he flew face first back into Ajay, who was briefly visible, still drawing the sword back in a two handed grip for a thrust, his elbows out and his face a mask of fury. As he spun back into him, Ajay wrapped his legs around the man's waist until his ankles almost crossed. Then with the man's back centered in the camera view, the point of the sword suddenly appeared in the center of the man's back.
Even in slow motion it didn't emerge. One frame it was blank armor and the next the blade was just there. The entire suit jerked with the power of the thrust. The detail of its classical Japanese faceted blade end was easy to see in the video. Even the patterns in the steel and dark wiggly line along the cutting edge. There was too little sticking out to see the curve of the blade.
"Son of a bitch," one of the military men muttered, in genuine shock. Ajay's contorted face showed briefly over the suit's shoulder. "Just your typical middle aged scientist, out for a cruise. It really takes big brass ones, to dive into a guy holding an automatic weapon with a damn knife. And who the hell carries around a frigging sword on a space ship?"
"I don't know," the fellow at his elbow said. "But I might write a paper recommending it and attach this file as a footnote. Notice he finished him off nicely, but didn't damage anything on the ship? If the Chinaman had used the pistol inside, you can pretty well bet he would have destroyed some vital system on the ship, instead of hijacking it as he wanted."
"Go back to the scene where they are shooting the antenna off the station," the president again requested, ignoring the banter. He watched the green square beam play back and forth across the shapes like a garden hose. It didn't pulse with pauses to build back up. Apparently it was capable of going on and on. "I want to hear from our people what kind of power they have to run those weapons continuously," he told Frank and the men gathered behind him.
One of the uniformed men cleared his throat nervously. "I can tell you something about the power at least, Sir," he offered. The President didn't seem disposed to beg for it, so he went on quickly. "We have neutrino detectors, which are being developed for communications. This ship radiates neutrinos, in pulses so brightly it floods and overwhelms our detectors. The only source we know of with a similar level of emissions is a nuclear fusion reaction. So that is the probable source of the ship's motive power and also auxiliary power to run all its onboard systems."
"And how long have you been detecting this sort of thing?" the President cut to the insightful question immediately.
"Well they had similar emissions on the Mitsubishi station about a month ago and we sent an agent in to investigate, but he couldn't penetrate the security at Lucent within his mission constraints. Their lab is where it was running, because we can locate the source to about three meters by using three receivers and comparing timing of small variations in the flux. We did serve a warrant on Lucent to identify who works in that part of their property. Our agent then did a sneak and peek in the apartment of the principal researcher, who used the Lucent work area to see what he could find. There was an unusually capable computer in the home and man was away on ISSII, but it was booby trapped and self destructed. So he came home basically empty handed."
"And nobody thought it worth mentioning to me someone had invented an entirely new sort of power generator? What is the difference between this generator and a normal commercial fusion power plant?"
"Well the minimum size practical for a commercial fusion reactor is currently about 1.5 Terawatt and you usually put it on about a 60 to 80 acre site, plus a security perimeter. Bussard reactors are only useful in hard vacuum and require a rather large vessel to be practical. They still don't have the acceleration this displays. This whole ship, which we're assuming carries a fusion generator, could easily fit inside the vacuum vessel of a commercial power plant."
The President seems to consider all the possibilities for a moment. "So they have developed a miniature version of a fusion plant?"
"No Sir," the military man said, looking uncomfortable. "The physics of it are not possible to miniaturize, or we would have done it already. Someone has devised a way to do this based on entirely new principles. We honestly don't have a clue how to do it."
"But you can detect it running and locate it accurately. Excuse me, but doesn't that also mean you could have informed the Kelly that the vessel they were trying to intercept had moved off some kilometers away and was not where the radar said it was?"
"In theory, yes we could have, but first, we had already decided not to disclose the existence of our equipment, or what we knew outside a very small group, because of the sensitive nature of the information. General Horton in the Space watch group did inquire, has been inquiring repeatedly, about the drive on this vessel and was told it was classified beyond his need to know. He was admittedly very upset about being refused. But it really doesn't matter, because they shut down their fusion generator and curtailed emissions, before moving off and waiting in ambush for the Kelly and the Jade."
The President looked at the man with an unmistakable contempt. "Well it's hard to argue with General Horton's sentiment, since I seem to be among those who were not to be trusted with this information. While you're were withholding the information we need to operate from the President of your nation and the man charged with defending it against this specific sort of threat, you seem to not understand what the actions of the ship in question tell you. Please stop for a moment and think this through if you are able. What does it tell you if they shut down their power, to stand off in ambush?"
Looking flustered and sweating visibly he answered like a school boy being quizzed. "I'd have to assume now the people piloting the ship are aware we can track them by the power plant, if they thought to shut it down like that."
"Very good. And also, they can move without using the fusion power. I thought you could reason it out, if you were led to it by the hand. So in the future, don't you think our people trying to intercept this ship might just possibly value the information they have shut down their power plant, as an indication they are trying to hide their location?" "And since the people on the ship already know you can track the power plant if it is operating, doesn't it seem a silly exercise to keep the same information from our own people, who need it? You are still able to distinguish who is on their side and who is on our side, aren't you? If you have gotten paranoid to the point you see anyone wanting any of your precious intelligence as the enemy, do tell us and we can arrange other duties for you," he said with a straight face.
"Yes sir. In hindsight it does seem futile. We didn't know at the time why he disappeared off our detectors and by the time any analysis was made of it, he had already engaged the Jade and Kelly. I suppose if the commander of the Kelly had been advised there was a sudden change in the signature of his target, he might have been extra alert to a possible danger."
"I suppose also. I suppose we might not be short a six billion dollar space plane and ten men. But who really knows?" he said to soften the rebuke. "He might have gone blustering in anyway. In any case we need to move to secure the station, as we were already making provisions to do. Not only because we still intended to make our acquisition of the asteroid secure, but also to find out what the nature of this new technology is, before the Chinese have it snatched away from us and to remove it as a base from which this ship can operate. Are we in a position to send a new intercept, to either capture or destroy the Happy Lewis, before we launch the Cincinnati to the station?"
"No Sir. We don't have a vehicle available, but we will have a mini-space plane escort for the Cincinnati when it launches and when we secure the station we will have the Lewis' base of operations secured, so it neutralizes their threat. We can't launch a high orbit intercept for a few days, but they can't hurt us from out there either. We have a few high orbit antisats for geostationary orbit, but they are for use against undefended targets. They'd never survive approaching a manned ship. If they come back down to LEO they will either be captured at M3 or destroyed by anti-sat systems. I think everything is under control now. I don't see how they can harm us further," he predicted, confidently.
"Good. I think the time has come to not be so coy about occupying Mitsubishi 3 and taking control of the asteroid when it comes into orbit. There is much unresolved with the Chinese and we can't afford the risk of having a conflict with them over a misunderstanding and I'm still not sure there isn't some Japanese involvement with this whole mess. Better when things are tense, to say what we are doing clearly, least they think our launches and maneuvering may be directed at them."
"No matter how badly it makes us look, we may even have to surrender the lady scientist without seeking any advantage for it, if it would mean an armed confrontation with the Chinese. We've already had one battle over this woman, which hurt both of us more than it was worth."
"But the station and the asteroid are not negotiable items. Let's put a force on this station and remove any doubt others might have that we still consider it ours. We'll still speak about waiting on the court, but troops on the scene will send a clear message what our interests are.
He gave the man a piercing look. "I expect to be informed immediately of any difficulties, or new developments. Are we clear on that?"
"Yes Sir, perfectly clear."
Chapter 27
The crew of the Happy kept listening with waning patience, for some reaction to the release and video they had sent Bob, wondering if he was successful. In the last hour the news suddenly acknowledged their battle and had a different tone. Easy listened to it with growing anger. The loss of the James Kelly was acknowledged, but they ignored the fact the USNA space plane was fighting with the Pretty as Jade before they arrived and instead blamed them for the entire engagement, calling them pirates. The tone they were trying to set was both super powers were wronged and had no real quarrel with each other. The USNA also announced they were dispatching troops to occupy Mitsubishi 3 as soon as possible, to prevent any unrest or resistance to the world court's coming decision on the asteroid mining question. They all agreed with what Eddie had told them, that there was no possibility the court would rule for them and the troops be withdrawn. It was simply a grab to take the Rock.
Dr. Ajay was beyond angry and denouncing thieving politicians who would rob him of their interest in the Rock and throw his new bride on the altar of diplomacy. He was kind of scary, because the angrier he got the softer his voice became. They all had no doubt he would be happy to run April's sword through as many USNA politicians as anyone could line up and whisper their fate in each one's ear. He demanded to make a statement next time they called in.
"OK everybody. I want to know what is agreeable. We still don't know how the people on M3 are going to react to being locked down. We may be blamed for precipitating it and as hated at home as much as down below before we are done. I figure we're in as deep as you can go anyhow. I don't see we have anything to lose. I'd like to make a statement and follow April's program of sweeping around the geostationary satellites and blowing away every one which has anything to do with China or the USNA. Any suggestions folks?
"Yeah," said Eddie, "call back through traffic control and tell them what we are going to do and why. Don't be shy to be ugly. It is a traffic issue after all. I'd ask them to have anybody other than the Chinese or USNA inform us if they have a black sat in a Clarke orbit and we'll leave it alone. They may not, but at least we offered in the clear, where the others can hear us. We have the orbital elements of most of the sats in the computer, but you know if they are not listed, or are stealthy, they could be anyone's, even if they are hanging over North America or China."
"I have a copy of the Earth orbit version of PREDICT 12.7 in the navigation computer. I'd leave the weather sats and any we really know are scientific. They have some sats for watching crops and such. But I'm a pirate, so what the hell do I really care?" he pointed out. "But data and commercial communications and military I'd hit hard. Maybe we'll even go for some of the spy sats in lower orbits if we can later."
"Let Ajay make the statement he wants besides what we announce about the sats," April suggested. "I bet he will be eloquent. Send them all at the same time."
"OK Ajay," Easy offered. "You want to make yourself an outline before we call? You might take a little time to think what to say, as you'll probably end up on the news services."
"I'd like to wash my face and do it before we eat." Ajay asked.
"Fine, we have time before M3 comes around the west horizon again anyway," Easy said. "You know what? I'll transmit also on the dispatch frequency, so they can tune in and hear you talk to traffic. No need to call them separately. They'll figure out to switch over when it cuts off, once they hear who's talking."
"Send it in the clear for sure, or my brother will try to sell it too." April warned.
* * *
Ajay was calm again. He was almost serene. He faced the camera and said he was ready. They had agreed to record him and then review it, so if he wanted to correct it or make revisions he would do so after getting their advice. He agreed to have his wife beside him. April gave him an index finger, swept down for a cue.
"My friends on Earth, especially the people of North America and China, hello to you. I am a relatively unimportant man, a man of science and a researcher. He changed from a serious look to a smile. This is my bride of three days Dr. Nam-Kah, now Dr. Singh Nam-Kah. We are newly met and our marriage could have been one of legal convenience. But there is a tradition of arranged marriage in both our cultures and a tradition of working to find love, through kindness and honor as a marriage grows. So while many in lands where the romantic ideal dictates love leading to marriage as the norm, may not understand, she is precious to me already, the more so because I have been alone for a long time. My first beloved wife was lost to the worst sort of political corruption and intrigue. Her unjust death was an insignificant bump, in the Governor of Hawaii's grasp for personal material gain."
"Now I find the United States of North America, where I have lived as a law abiding alien for many years, conspiring with the Chinese government from whom my dear wife is desperately fleeing, to return her to her masters, who virtually enslave their subjects, instead of the asylum justice demands. They have each sent a space craft to seize us, or kill us. You have seen the video record of their failure and I have no apologies."
"Now we are also informed they will steal the hard earned prize I and so many others have worked to bring into orbit and develop. The asteroid popularly called the Rock. They do so in a rush. Confident they have a license to steal coming from the World Court. After all, will the Court show themselves a sham by ruling against them and have them flaunt the decision? No. As they say - the fix is in," Ajay said, laying his finger alongside his nose in the mocking British gesture.
"Well enough. I will not submit to robbery and rape quietly. Neither government fears a single man. Yet if not one person aids my cause, or sees it as just, I-will-not-submit. Perhaps others will act if they feel badly used also. If not such is their choice. I agree with General Stark, who the people of New Hampshire saw fit to quote in their motto: "Live Free Or Die; Death Is Not The Worst Of Evils." These two great nations have by their actions declared war on me. They make no legal complaint against any of us; they simply offer violence from their military forces, without civil warrants or attempts at arrest."
"This decision was undoubtedly a trivial matter for them, as they have gotten into the habit of thinking they can do anything they please to an individual. Well Sirs, as your vessels and men found out, technology is a great equalizer. We shall see who sues for peace first."
"Now this little dog is off - to gnaw upon the Giant's ankles. One may hope even if they stomp me to death, the bite will grow infected and give much pain." He smiled again, but it was not a pretty one.
April cut the recording.
"I can't talk so pretty," Easy admitted. "I'll just make a factual announcement about the sats – but that was poetic Ajay."
"Sounds good to me," April affirmed. "Do you really think there is any chance at all the USNA would surrender to anyone?" she asked Ajay skeptically. She started getting things out for a meal.
"Perhaps not," Ajay admitted. "Perhaps they will choose destruction instead. If I can't do it, I'll leave it to my son."
They all silently thought it seemed a bit crazy to say so casually. Except... except, there were those four fusion generators behind the rear bulkhead and the flask of strange matter strapped in the rear, to give doubt if it was absurd.
But April knew Jeff well enough now, she just got a cold chill to think of casually making him or his dad an enemy. He had thought so easily of slapping Virginia and Maryland with a cosmic hand, to punish Washington for stealing from his father. For a moment she had a sickening vision of a sky turned to white fire and continents hammered out of shape to avenge his father, with the hidden agenda of his mother behind it all. She didn't share the vision with them.
Ajay looked a question at Nam-Kah as he handed her a meal.
"If I had anything to say I'd have spoken when the camera was running, Husband."
After they had eaten Nam-Kah spoke again. "April, Easy, I have been talking with my husband." Dr. Singh Nam-Kah informed them. "Events are moving so quickly I am afraid when we do get to M3 we shall not have time to fabricate the device we need to hold the fluid I am transporting. Perhaps I should have said something before, but my thinking has changed."
"If we can transmit the designs to Heather and Jeff safely let's do it. They can build the machine and have it waiting when we arrive with the fluid. Eddie tells me he has some one time pads which are secure to contact Jon, but they are sized for smaller text messages and unsuited to a large file of data like these plans. Do you two have any way of judging the risk of such a move?"
"I don't have the ability to make the judgment." April admitted. "But what I would do would be contact Heather and Jeff with the file ready to transmit and ask their opinion about sending it. I'd very much trust their judgment with the matter."
"Fine," Easy concluded, "we will send our statement about the sats, Ajay's message and the plans if we can, all at once. Better to get it all away, because each time we call the odds get higher the USNA will find a way to cut us off."
"Yes, but Heather has our frequencies and trajectory to talk direct to us and hasn't used it yet. She should be able to contact us as long as the station isn't occupied. We should still retain her as a link, even if they shut down the dispatcher's office. I'm confident they could rig their own antenna. Is there any other message we need to pass while we're talking, to make it worth the risk?" Nam-Kah asked.
"I think we should ask Heather to just continuously send us information as she is able, without waiting for us to call and ask for it. If we transmit it is easier to be overheard by someone else in the area of M3 or even the Earth when it is behind them. But she can transmit to us on a narrow beam with very little chance of being discovered," April suggested. Easy was nodding his approval. "I can set the transponder to a code traffic control would never use and tell her what part of the sky to look at for us. She can find us with a single ping and tell Jon and the others to use her for a conduit."
"Dr. Singh," Easy had an odd tone to his voice, "this material you have along. How much extra do you have? Does it take every bit you have to fill one of these new machines to function?"
There was a long silence from the back. Easy was starting to regret his question.
"I'm so sorry." Dr. Singh told him. "The amount we had was almost completely used up to fill our machine. We expected to need this amount, for what we thought it would do. However the effect we observed was totally unexpected and we have no real model yet to explain it. So if we had a similar apparatus scaled down to a half, or a tenth size, we don't have any idea what it would do. We never had time to find out. I should have asked these questions myself, but was caught up in doing what we needed to escape instead of think. I'm so embarrassed," she concluded.
"Well, is the machine it goes in especially difficult to fabricate or expensive?"
"No. By the standards of lab equipment it is fairly simple. Our shop budgeted somewhere around eighteen thousand dollars USNA to make it. Mostly materials as it was all made on automated tools. Why do you ask?"
"Could you instruct them to scale your design down and build just one to full scale, because we know that will work and then another perhaps at half scale and one at a quarter scale and we can try them to see which works and possibly have more than one working machine available fairly quickly, if the smaller ones work?" Easy wondered.
Eddie spoke up. "Have them build a full scale, two at half scale and four to a fourth scale. Then we'll use the smallest which works at no delay. I'll give you my irrevocable Business Visa to pay for it, with my digital signature."
They were all looking at him in surprise. It was a pretty big hunk of money for a station security cop to be toss away so casually.
"Don't worry," he assured them. "It won't get refused."
"Scale them all down about five percent to allow for any loss loading them," Nam-Kah said, implying acceptance of his offer.
"You realize you are marking yourself as a rebel, if you start financing something like this?" April asked him. "I mean I'm in the same position, having this armed boat and firing on the Chinese and the USNA both. But so far you are just a passenger. You could plead you couldn't do anything to stop us and were just carried off trying to rescue the Drs. Singh. You sure about this?"
"April, I thought you were super smart for your age, but you're naive about this. As I said, I'm sure I don't have a chance of not being blamed as much as all of you. I'm a marked man. I might as well go down fighting if I have a chance to at least try. I could have thrown myself out the airlock back at ISSII, to get away from all of you and it wouldn't satisfy the government."
"You can be arrested now down home, if you just stare wrong at a federal official. I had a friend arrested and lose his job, because he took a camera and was taking some pictures of downtown Chicago. He was arrested for suspicion of aiding terrorist organizations. They wanted to argue about his disloyalty, because his grandfather who died before he was born, was Syrian. To hell with them; if you see everyone as your enemy it comes true."
"When we get back I'm going to do more than finance some projectors. I'm going to buy a ship to mount one on, if you'll speak to Jeff for me about outfitting it like this one."
"I'd be happy to do that," April agreed. "But I'd say after your part in getting his Dad loose, he'll be disposed to help you even without my recommendation."
* * *
Easy sat for his statement and surprised them with its brevity.
"I am Jefferson Carter Dixon, ID 674-91-20, Master of the Happy Lewis out of M3, speaking for myself and ship's company."
"Because the United States of America has attacked us, announces the occupation of our home and denied us freedom of navigation, we have decided to deny them access to any region of space and right of navigation within our power to deny. We will regard as hostile and attack and destroy any satellite or vessel of the USNA or China, or unknown vessels which we see, unless they identify themselves as neutral, or surrender to us first. The exception to that is those satellites which we know to be for entirely peaceful use, such as crop surveillance and scientific research. Any other nations or institutions of Earth, concerned we may damage their property in error, are encouraged to broadcast on this frequency the orbital elements of the spacecraft they wish spared, with a clear statement of their ownership. Please stand by for additional messages."
"There you go April. Tack that on Ajay's spiel and we'll call dispatch again and give you a chance to see if you can send Nam-Kah's plans as well."
Easy got a quick reply from the dispatcher's shack this time. "Yeah, we have been waiting for you to call again. Great to hear from you. I'm Ed Yoho, dispatching this shift. Marty left instructions for us to send your message to our private systems and wipe all information about where we are aiming the dish and the files you send off the public system. All the construction gang appreciate your heads up. We are working and scheduling a lot different, knowing it may get risky out here and we may have to shut down quickly."
"Earthside they are still not confirming the video you sent as real. I suppose they may still claim it was faked in a studio. But the vacuum rats here know reality when they see it. No studio could fake that complex a zero G scene. I'll patch you into the local net and shut down the link when I see no traffic. The shorter you keep it the better. You only have about twelve minutes before the Earth is behind me from your line of sight again." He signed off and the net menu for M3 came up on their screen. April sent Heather a text message with encryption, that they had two messages in the clear, they wanted broadcast and explained their desire to send plans securely. She also included their request for a running contact to be maintained one way to them, even if they didn't call and how to ping them and where they should be approximately. Heather agreed and didn't hesitate. "April you can switch the files to your own pad can't you?"
"Sure no problem."
"Tell the pad you want to attach a file to a secure text message and feed your data through it. Our own random number file will be used to encrypt it. It's not on the program screen menu, but you can do it by voice command. It will look at how big the send file is and split it and calve off a slightly bigger random .dat files. Don't worry the master file we gave you is huge. Our side splits off the same size files on our copy. It stops after about each 100K and asks the next few digits of the random file to establish it is still synchronized and discards them. This will use up a big chunk of your random file, so you'll need a new one from us when you get back. This is why we didn't use it to encrypt voice and video in the first place. It simply uses too much random data to carry on a pad. You'd keep running out every few days, but this is worth using it up."
April transferred the files to her pad, hardwired the unit to the com with a cable and instructed it. The files in the clear went out first, then, within a minute, she had down loaded the contents of Dr. Singh Nam-Kah's pad doubled in size from the encryption, through her own pad and shut it down. They were in even deeper, if that was possible.
* * *
"What is that?" April asked, as they eased up on their first target. There was a strange spindly spacecraft, emitting radar and hovering near the first satellite they were approaching. She had it now on the camera and it was maneuvering as they watched, but very slowly. Lining up perfectly with the small nozzle, at the bottom of the huge satellite, which carried a big chunk of TV and data streams for the North American continent.
"It's a remote piloted satellite tender," Easy explained. "It refuels them and if needed clamps on and uses its ion drive to reposition them in orbit. Used to be, when they ran out of fuel they just had to park them out on a little higher orbit and abandon them, even though the electronics still worked OK. This extends the life of them and will even tug them down to a lower orbit for maintenance if they need it. It's cheaper than bringing a manned shuttle out here."
"If we take it out along with the satellite, they will be hurting, because there are only a couple of these special remote piloted vehicles. They have very efficient, but low thrust ion drives. Not like ours - the emitter and grid sort. Instead of shooting it up, I'd like to sneak up behind it and shove it right into the satellite."
"They use a nose camera for docking and the radar has a fairly narrow sweep in front. I'd like to let them get close to docking and then shove them into the bird at the last minute. It will show in their camera and confuse the daylights out of them." he offered with an evil grin. "We still have the load coupling on the nose, for locking on a pallet or container, because you can use it to clamp on a docking pintle like they have outside the Lewis family dock. It'll take a good shove without any damage."
"Go for it." April encouraged him. "Just don't bump us too hard. OK?"
He didn't take offense. Your number two was supposed to advise you.
They all watched in silence as Easy moved the scooter on manual controls with quick and decisive moves. The robot tug was still about a kilometer short of the huge satellite, easing up on it at about four meters a second. Its thrusters were deployed on four booms pointing forward toward the objective. Easy was not sure how far out the operator would cut the speed even further. The satellite probably cost a half or three-quarters of a billion dollars, so they would not rush up on it and take any chances.
April was astonished how quickly he was within meters of the tug and then as she watched he balanced the front thrusters against the rear, to just barely tweak their motion until their nose was finally a literal hand's breadth from touching the back of the tug. As she watched his fingers dance on the controls she could not even feel the corrections, but the distance closed to within a few centimeters and then finally was so close she could not even tell if they had touched. It was masterful.
"As soon as they brake again we'll feel it and I'll give them a good shove." He said, with his hands poised on the controls. They could no longer use their radar with the tug in front of them, but they could still see around the body of the vessel. They had a long wait but at probably less than a half kilometer out there was a jar, as the tug braked again and pushed back into their nose. Easy gave a brief burp on the main engines. By the time he pulled back with his front thrusters the tug was only about four or five seconds from impact. It had nowhere near the thrust needed to avoid hitting.
Easy kept the front thrusters on full and cut in the side thrusters' full power also. The tug was slowing down but not nearly as fast as they were and pulled ahead. They watched it oscillate from the off center push. The auto pilot was also trying to stabilize its attitude, which probably worked against slowing down. A skilled and decisive human pilot might have burned at right angles to its path and avoided contact, but the remote operators had no experience with radical maneuvers under manual control, like a construction worker did. All their experience was geared to slow and careful.
The tug hit well ahead of them, still going about fifty meters a second. Not much of a difference for orbital motions, but enough to telescope the front end in a couple meters, like a crashed ground car. The larger satellite absorbed a surprising amount of the momentum, bouncing away from the collision. The end of the massive cylinder was visibly mushroomed and the solar arrays on both side had their booms buckle, so they were drooping like a birds wings hanging.
There was a muted rattle of hits on their hull, as they passed through the small pieces thrown out from the impact. Easy grimaced, uncomfortable with even those small impacts. He twisted the nose around keeping the wrecked spacecraft in sight and went smoothly from forward to side thrusters and then at the last the rears, smoothly easing one off as he eased the next on, until they were almost at rest from the satellite. They were drifting slowly away from the tug behind it.
"Ok April. Practice time. Go ahead and chop them up, enough that you're sure they are junk and we'll move on."
April deployed the camera boom and fired on the tug first, as it was moving away.
The thruster booms and antennas cut off easily and then she held the beam on the main body, cutting deep inside until some pressure vessel inside burst, bending the main body almost into a V and spinning it hard. Then she moved on to the communications satellite itself. Once the visible antenna dish and power arrays were gone, she cut several ragged scars deep in the main cylinder. Once she got some heavy outgassing, she figured the maneuvering propellant was lost and was satisfied it was dead.
"The next one is only about eighty kilometers away." Easy told them. "April, ease us towards it and take time to make some coffee and take a break. We have quite a few to go. No use using a lot of fuel to hurry to each. We'll let you maneuver manually also for the experience. I'd like to just burn it as we glide past."
"Easy is there any chance you would give lessons?" Eddie asked. "I'd love to blast one myself, instead of just riding along. Who knows? It might be handy to have another experienced gunner some time."
"Sure. Why not? Just be aware there is no software yet to keep it from pointing back and shooting at ourselves. It may sound impossible, but people still shoot themselves in the foot all the time. We'll show you how to do it right."
* * *
Jeff was busy working, when Heather showed up unexpected at his elbow. He turned and smiled at her and then became concerned when he saw the look on her face. She leaned across from behind and interrupted his work which was so unlike her he didn't object. At least she saved it before she opened another screen. The expression she had was such he wouldn't have challenged anything she did even, if it she had wiped some hours of work.
"Watch this," she commanded and played the video of his dad declaring war. Then she shared the specs of the machines they were requested to have waiting.
When it was done she expected anger. Instead he was his father's son. He actually smiled.
"Well, it seems they cannot leave us alone. If they have to be shown the folly of it we will need tools. This won't be subtle work so I will need some hammers. Big ones. Could you find time to lend me a hand dear friend?" he asked and put his hand over her hand on his shoulder.
Chapter 28
"Yes, Mr. President." General Horton of the Space Defense commander spoke. He looked around. The others present were all members of the Security Council, or advisers much more powerful than him. They were all visibly frightened, sitting back from the table and holding their hands in their laps, like they were scared they would touch something of this mess and dirty themselves. None were eager to speak, in the charged dangerous atmosphere.
He by contrast felt a strange freedom to speak candidly. He was sure he had personally lost everything already. He had been called in to advise, after causing a fuss with his pushy demands for information. He was sure they were shoving him forward where he could complete the destruction of his career. So there was simply nothing left to desperately try to salvage. He went on without prompting after the unnatural long pause. "They have destroyed most of the satellites which carry TV and data."
He thought off the top of his head what the effect would be. "It disrupts inventory and paging, long distance voice phone and conferencing. I'd expect the banking system will not lose any data, but it will be unable to continue processing new transactions such as ATM requests." "Most retailers will be unable to conduct sales, even if a few people do have cash. Securities trading and settlement, freight tracking systems, police data to the cars and officers on patrol, EMS dispatch and communication with the hospital, Fire department coordination, Customs and Border Patrol, all will be down."
"That's just off the top of my head. There will be thousands of little problems that aren't life threatening, like soda machines not calling in to report they are low."
"The civilian land lines just can't carry the increased load and we have no way to cut out the less important users, without extensively reconfiguring the systems. No remote control for backing up the flight crew of aircraft, military or civilian. In fact, some of the newer planes don't have radios for non-satellite contact away from local control, so the airlines won't fly them, without contact and tracking over the middle of their flight. Almost no ability to manage unmanned vehicles, or 'bots of any kind in all the services."
"They have left the weather sats, except for one Naval one and they left such things as crop observation platforms and some sats which watch ground movement for earth quake and tsunami warning. Scientific sats like astronomy telescopes. So you see it's pretty bad. That's just a rough outline of problems. I could go on and on."
"The fool who advised me earlier, said these pirates couldn't hurt us further," the President said. "I'm starting to doubt everything I'm told about this crisis. How about other countries' satellites? Are we going to face a storm of criticism and retaliation for allowing this to happen?"
"Actually Sir. They are asking other countries to ID their sats, so they can avoid harming them. We can't be sure of all of them, but the Brits, French, Swiss, all the Europeans actually, Indians, Indonesians, Iranians, Japanese, Israelis, South Africans and a few others have all spoke up and specified what belongs to them, they'd like preserved. The Chinese are in even worse shape than us. They have never revealed what many of their sats were dedicated to do and won't speak with them to avoid losing anything non-military. So, when in doubt, they are shooting the lot of them."
"Of all the countries the Chinese should be the last in line to blame us, since their ship was hunting the Happy Lewis too. If anything they should get some of the blame from others. It's complicated though, because a lot of LEO sats have been knocked down by rivals, using the opportunity to clear their competitors' sats and blame it on someone else. We've lost a lot of spy sats and even GPS sats. We're pretty sure if they're not out on the 35k level, it wasn't the crew of the Lewis who destroyed them. The Paks were screaming at them about one of theirs being hit earlier and we intercepted the pilot of the Lewis telling them they had not touched anything in LEO. However he put it in this context. He said not yet."
"How bad is it?" the president asked still not picturing what those outages meant. "How long to fix it and how much will it cost us?" The Space Defense man looked at the other advisers and nobody seemed to want to take the floor. The Chief Economic adviser even made a small brushing sweep with his hand which said - go ahead - so he elaborated.
"If we impose martial law on the whole continent and call out all the reserves we can maintain order until we curtail all private use of the telephone land lines and fiber, to use them for needed public service. Once we have basic commercial communications again, we should have the basis of restarting a normal economy. If the foodstuffs we have are not distributed by ration, where they are needed, there will be massive starvation and unrest this winter. The stores won't be able to manage distribution or process the sale and the people won't be able to get cash. We probably don't even have enough cash in circulation to buy just food."
"When people have no food they don't all sit and die peacefully. They migrate looking for it, leaving their jobs. They'll fight for it and some will try to reach a warmer climate. Even if they have to walk. The police and military we need for control would be refugees themselves. Also if we can't communicate real time with them, we have to trust the commanders of our military forces to act with initiative, if they see an incursion on our borders or a threat to our ships or planes. We'll have to hope they don't get us in a war we can't handle. We simply can't micromanage them from a central command anymore."
"There won't be as much power to use in homes and businesses, because we won't have the fine and instantaneous data control, to keep the power flowing at near the full capacity of the grids. We can't limit or stop power with remote meters. There has never been any excess capacity built in for the hottest and coldest days. We'll have brown outs and if the grid goes down from storm or overload, it will take longer to bring back up. We can survive this winter with minimal casualties and with new ground networks and a few key launches of replacement satellites, assuming they aren't destroyed, we can start reconstructing this spring. The economy will be a fraction of normal this next year and it will take several years to really recover. Assuming we are not attacked by anyone hoping to take advantage of the situation."
The President spoke with his fists clutched in anger. "How long before we have these enemy combatants before cameras, showing them being locked away? We need to make an example of them. The public needs to see them hooded and bound in chains. If people think they can get away with defying us, we can lose control completely. There are still plenty of Mexicans and Quebecois, who are eager to break back away if they see opportunity."
"They have a better ship than anything we have. Or any other Earth power." Such a distinction was a new thing. No one had ever had to speak of non-Earth powers before. "Frankly I hope they stay out at the Clarke orbit, or even go to the moon. Because if they are waiting at M3 when the Cincinnati tries to dock there I don't hold out much hope for our ship surviving the encounter. If we reach M3 first, we better get our men inboard the station quickly, if we don't want them slaughtered." He suddenly realized the President had never mentioned a very pertinent matter. "Has nobody shown you the latest BBC video? Or were they all too afraid to show it to you?" he asked bitterly.
The anger which flashed on President Hadley's face was answer enough. "What video? Damn these cowardly traitors anyway. First they don't tell me about this new technology, now they are hiding something else? Somebody just did a career killer if I've been bypassed again." A wave of fear washed across the faces in the room. Thus the bloodletting and culling started within his administration, which would help disassemble it. "Show me this video."
General Horton talked to the technician helping with the presentation and arranged for the material to be put on the wall screen. He regarded with amusement the fear etched on all the faces among the President's advisors. That's what I'm here for, he reaffirmed to himself. A massager to be slaughtered instead of them. How terrified they are some part of the taint will reach out and mark them. He found deep humor in his detachment.
He wondered if he would be fired today, or if he would have opportunity to quit first? Perhaps either way, he would just be taken out the door and shot out of hand. Things were as chaotic now in the world's greatest power, as any two bit little Third World dictatorship. At least, he doubted he would be alone, if they dragged him out to be executed.
When the technician looked at him and indicated he had the feed, he just nodded to go ahead. There was nothing to be said to soften it. On the screen Easy informed them of the plan to destroy the satellites. Nobody had considered it a serious enough threat, to pass up the line of command. Then Ajay Singh made his speech declaring his one man war. To most of them, it was a frightening face, because it was not the irrational propaganda vid most wild-eyed terrorists sent in, laced with stale ideological phrases and religious hatred. It was a reasoned voice, self depreciating even, but obviously an educated man and absolutely unyielding in saying, "I will not submit."
Their memories too recently placed this same angry face driving a sword through his enemy, to not have a visceral response. He threatened to nibble on their ankles. They would have been more comfortable if he had ranted and screamed great threats, they could dismiss. This was not some posturing politician, who talked when threatened. He actually did something.
"He has the gall to suggest a great nation might sue for peace with one man? Is he really saying that? The man is mad. What kind of colossal ego would conceive of such a thing?" the President raged.
The General considered the question seriously. "The sort of a ego which is backed by the intellect to invent an entirely new fusion power technology. The sort of ego which has destroyed about a hundred billion dollars of spacecraft and satellites in the last two days and crippled our economy and military for at least the winter. He does hope others will join him, even if it was a rather indifferent call to battle he made, I must say, but we have no evidence anyone has done so, except for his companions on the spacecraft."
"He didn't start this confrontation actually, you should be aware. It all started a few days ago, when the Happy Lewis asked for clearance to return home to Mitsubishi 3 from ISSII. We made the error of refusing the flight plan, so we could betray his bride to be arrested by the Chinese, rather than grant her asylum. It was his pilot who refused the command to sit and surrender to them."
"We don't know if he did so at Singh's urging, or at his own initiative, but he seems every bit as uncowed as the Doctor. It hindsight it might have been much, much, cheaper to grant them passage and accept the woman's application than to deny it. I don't suppose we could offer to correct the initial point of dispute and see if we couldn't stand down in a sort of armistice?" he asked hopefully.
The President was visibly hyperventilating. "You," he said in a squeaky voice, pointing a quivering finger at the calm General, "are relieved of your command and stripped of all rank and standing for cowardice. You are removed from service and instructed to put yourself in house arrest. You are forbidden to communicate with your previous associates or the media. You will be very fortunate if you are not charged with aiding the enemy."
"You sad old man," Horton told him. "if you destroy everyone who brings you bad news you'll soon run out of advisers, because I can tell you, there's not a whole lot of good news coming to show you. I'll leave you with this warning. We have no idea at all what other capabilities these people might have. Don't be surprised if there is more than the fusion device. When someone is so far ahead of you technologically it rarely is in one tiny particular. And when you have to finally deal with the reality of this problem, don't call me back to discuss it because I won't work for a fool anymore."
"Military service in this country was just reduced by my firing without a board, to a cult of the personality. A defective personality. You'll come to regret it," he said over his shoulder, as the guards led him away. And yet the guards were surprisingly gentle with their touch. They had hesitated to take him away, even as the President was gesturing to remove him. There was more of fear in their faces than anger. The proper order of things which defined their world was crumbling and they didn't know what direction events might take.
* * *
Eddie was as tired as he had ever felt. He looked at the wreckage of the sat he had just burned, through their front ports.
"Thanks for the shooting lessons, but I'm ready to go home," he informed them. Everybody was whipped aboard the Happy. Nobody was arguing with him. They were low on supplies and fuel and dirty with no change of clothing and to the point of danger from stupid fatigue generated errors trying to operate a spacecraft. They could vacuum clean a set of clothing, but they were out of wipes to clean up with. Their known targets, within the envelope of their maneuvering capacity were pretty much gone. It was time to go home. Easy plotted a steep burn to drop them into M3, with a minimal exposure to Earth systems. It was a hot maneuver which would use almost every kilogram of their remaining fuel and reactive mass, but once they were home they would either get supplied again, or be arrested.
Either way they were done with this trip. None of them saw any point to going to another station and the moon was long ago unreachable from their use of fuel. They decided there was no point in calling ahead and telling anyone they were coming. It would just increase their chances of being intercepted. They'd dock at the repair shop if nothing bad was happening, or at the Lewis family cubic if there was any problem. The burn was going to be brutal for safety and efficiency, but they were going home and it sounded wonderful at this point.
* * *
The Moment of Contemplation lifted from the Chinese desert, like a textbook launch into a calm clear sky. On the other side of the world the Heavy Shuttle Cincinnati had already lifted like the Moment, in a vertical launch from the Cape. The Moment was configured like the ill-fated Jade, with a two man outfit in space armor, ready to do a boarding. Their mission was the same, to take two of the pirate's crew if possible and destroy the ship in any case. The station was not their concern, except to keep their target from reaching it. Things had not yet gotten to the point China would casually consider invading a USNA space station.
After seeing the BBC video the crew had their own thoughts about how likely they were to extract any of the crew. It looked more likely they would be in a straight up fight for their lives. In contrast, the Cincinnati carried twenty four soldiers in two squads, with a mixed bag of weapons and equipment and it had entirely too much assigned to attempt. They were to secure the station, but arrest the crew of the incoming Happy Lewis, even if they managed to arrive first and enter the station, as well as a long list of other people for whom they had pictures and biometric data.
The Happy Lewis was supposed to be captured rather than destroyed, although they were allowed to damage it in certain limited ways, carefully detailed. If they found and arrested everyone on the list, it meant the shuttle would be going home full of prisoners and they would be stuck behind indefinitely. The idea they were going to be on station indefinitely did not thrill any of them. Somehow they doubted they would get much cooperation from the locals and any operation which had this many objectives was almost guaranteed to be a screw-up.
* * *
"Hello Jon. Can you tell me if your man Eddie is still doing Ok?"
Jon looked in surprise at the face in his com. He hadn't ever expected to speak directly to him. Jan was in his office and had his usual relaxed look. But Jon suspected he would look just as calm while a hangman adjusted a noose around his neck. "Last I heard he was OK, but it has been some time. Between us," which Jon knew it wasn't on an open vid phone channel, "I haven't talked directly to him since he left your station, although he has left messages for me. Still, he has left nothing since they started taking out all the Chinese and USNA assets in geostationary orbit. Did you have a particular interest?"
"I found I liked Eddie," Jan admitted. "He had a refreshingly straight forward manner. I even got to meet his uncle Justine and some business associates. I sort of put my colors on his campaign, by putting them on the shuttle. It would go better for me at home if it doesn't look like a futile gesture. I wanted to invite you to keep me informed if you could. For example the heavy shuttle Cincinnati, which has lifted to rendezvous with M3. I was hoping you might know if Eddie will beat it back. I was told they were seen doing a burn, but my people are not sure when they'll get home."
"They made you a bit of a vid star didn't they?" Jon asked. "What happened to make things go so badly, after you walked away from them in the boom?"
"Oh, I badly underestimated the head fellow here in the Chinese delegation. I thought once he was locked out of the boom he'd be sensible and go home, but he enlisted the current control room fellows, who were Chinese and bypassed the elevators and locked himself in there with his countrymen. As you saw he called the tractor crew to ram your friends also. I never imagined he was so stupid. I had no idea April was running her suit camera and recorder in the boom. I still don't understand her foresight in doing so. So many things I've missed lately. Maybe I'm getting past prime for this game. In any case, Lee was one of those fellows you saw taking a suitless space walk in the vid, so he's not a factor anymore."
"You said you meet Eddie's uncle. Does he live there on II? I've never meet any of his folks. Didn't even know any of them were spacers."
Jan looked at him funny. "Spacers? Has he ever discussed his family with you? You've never looked into them in his background check?"
"No. He has to check clean or they'd never send him up, but all the background search stuff is run Dirtside and we never see the raw data. I have a very modest file on him. Educational history and such. It wouldn't matter who his relatives were, like unless they were all deeply involved in terror or something."
Jan was covering his mouth and seemed to be having trouble breathing. Jon decided not to pursue whatever was upsetting him. Probably some strange cultural bias thing he'd never understand. Like when his Serbian buddy in college had been so upset he'd befriended an Albanian. He had no idea who the Swiss were prejudiced against. Sometimes those feud things went back centuries, like the Turks and Albanians, or Israelis and Arabs and he didn't even try to keep track.
"I don't know when Eddie will be back, but I have a mutual friend I'll try to ask. If I find out I'll get back to you in text," he emphasized. "You might be interested also to know I turned in my resignation to Preston Harrison. So I'm not head of security here for the USNA any longer. But you're still welcome to call and chat any time. If you'll excuse me, I have to go arrange some things my friend. Thanks for calling." It was very weird that he called in the clear when he had a stack of one time pads to text message Jon. He wasn't sure at all who benefited, from knowing he was aware the Cincinnati was coming. Surely Jan didn't think they'd just turn back, because the mission was known? He must have some agenda of his own.
"My pleasure." Jan purred and cut the connection.
Jon put a message in their private net, "Margaret, we have the USNA Cincinnati inbound for dock. I just got a very casual and public heads up, from the head of security over at ISSII. You don't need to call the shuttle. We can assume it's just full of soldiers. They're not even trying to sneak in as civilians on a regular flight. They lifted a heavy military shuttle with no subtlety at all."
"Assuming they use the regular passenger dockage I'd like you to pre-position the charges I gave you on the docking tube, like you were shown and one on the face of your inspection podium, with a camera and redundant remote controls. At least we won't have to clear out a crowd of civilians trying to meet a flight. Call Skip and have him do the lockdown on outgoing data too. The Happy Lewis is coming in too, but we don't know which will be first. I'm trying to find out," next he called Heather.
"No, I'm not going to ping off their transponder." Heather said. "If they are back in LEO it could expose them to an intercept. I haven't sent them anything for hours, because they disappeared out at the geostationary level. If they're smart they turned it off anyway."
"We have to set up a laser com net in the future. We'll have a number of throw away minisats with known orbital elements as a receiver and when you hit them with a laser they relay the message to a general broadcast, or beam it to us here on M3. The system won't expose your location. When they feel safe they'll talk to us. I'll tell them what's happening if they do contact me."
* * *
Margaret wore her p-suit in the access tube, but left the faceplate open. It was easier to work in pressure and vent it when she was done. She positioned the disguised Claymore on the end of the tube, above the single door, but pointing back up the tube away from the ship end. There was a full airlock at the station end of the boom where the tube terminated, but this end only had a single door and depended on the ship for an airlock here. It was just a convenience to keep the tube pressurized, to avoid a long pump down, not a primary safety feature.
On the onside of the docking collar she placed a larger demolition charge, that would part the tube from the ship and likely destroy the lock integrity in the ship There was already a similar Claymore hanging on the face of her sturdy podium, pointing into the other end of the docking tube. Anyone in the tube who planned on surviving both going off, had better be in something approaching a main battle tank, not suit armor. The detonators were by radio, so even if she blew the tube off the station end, she would not be severing her controls to the ship end.
She would wait inside the hab, to watch the cameras and blow the charges, but if she failed to stop them she would retreat, leaving the inner airlock unlocked and undamaged. They didn't want to make them blow the inner lock and decompress a huge section to enter. Warning were going out now to everyone on station to get their p-suits on, or drag their emergency suits out and check them.
The Moment of Contemplation was arriving at M3 first. They were using the same maneuver the Jade had demonstrated intercepting the Happy Lewis. They would shoot past swinging their nose around as they passed and brake back to a rendezvous. It wasted fuel and it wasted time, but it avoided turning their rear to the station, or any ships docked there, so that they were blind to an attack. However as they caught up with the station from behind the Happy Lewis was dropping in, at that very disadvantage of traveling tail first, with their plasma plume obscuring their view in both visible light and radar.
Behind the Moment, the USNA mini-spaceplane Big 'Nuf was overtaking. It was an air launched single seat craft, the size and pretty much the function, of an atmospheric fighter. Its basic task was to protect the Cincinnati, which would be coming along behind it soon. Seeing the Moment setting up to overtake and turn back to the station, made the lone pilot sure it was a good thing he was here. He was watching it on passive optical.
As the Moment neared the station, he saw by eyeball a white hot spark separate from the Moment and speed forward. He sucked in a deep breath, convinced they had just fired on the defenseless station. He switched on his targeting radar, preparing to avenge the fire on the station, but the expanded display made clear the shot was speeding past the station. Then he opened up the angle of his display more and he saw the missile was tracking to intercept what must be the Happy Lewis. He wasn't sure if that was good or bad, as he had been briefed to be prepared to fire on the Lewis himself.
The Moment of Contemplation was now swinging around to face the station as it passed and immediately detected his high frequency targeting radar and painted him with its own. His board also detected a lidar sweep across his vessel. In this sort of a standoff, he who fires first fares best.
Neither had their systems set to launch automatically, so both of them launched at the other as fast as their flesh and blood reactions would allow. It was as close to simultaneous as mattered. His advantage was his board was set to launch two missiles automatically instead of one. They were small, but he had more of them. The Moment blew off a tremendous flare of light and on his radar screen he could see a spray of debris coming off her. That mystified him, as his missiles had not had time to reach her yet.
He was still slapping keys, trying to jam and counter the guidance of the missile coming down his throat and pondering what had happened to the Chinese ship, when their missile burst in proximity about ten meters off his nose. He was never conscious of his death as the sleet of shrapnel shredded his small craft.
The Moment of Contemplation was in serious trouble. The pilot had hurried to complete his rollover as soon as he saw the mini and had stopped being concerned with keeping a minimum profile, or even watching the unthreatening station. He had hurried to start his burn manually, trusting the computer to recalculate and actuate a cut-off in time. He had immediately grasped that the diminutive fighter must be a mere escort and was looking for what it was protecting. His weapons officer had already fired a missile on the small craft as he maneuvered. He was grateful for the initiative not everyone would have shown, as his hands were full.
Unfortunately the price came due for the hurry up launch preparations, when he poured full power on his main engines. A needle bearing, that should have been replaced in his oxidizer turbo pump, failed completely. The shrapnel from the exploding rotor in the rear, did almost as much damage as the two minimissiles that penetrated the fuel tanks and command cabin seconds later, in the middle and nose. The middle missile blew the partitions out between his tanks, mixing the fuel and oxidizer. The one that penetrated the cabin, made sure they didn't have to live with the knowledge of the other two disasters behind them. In the interval of a heartbeat there was no piece of the shuttle left over eighty millimeters long.
* * *
The crew of the Happy Lewis falling inward on its half kilometer long plume of white hot plasma was blissfully unaware a robotic killer was climbing for the very same beacon of heat. However the missile was designed to run up the tail of a vessel which had an exhaust not much hotter than a welding torch flame. Passing through such a mild flame for a few feet before impact would not do it any harm.
It was not designed to fly through a half kilometer of hyper velocity plasma, hotter than the face of the sun. The brief flare that brightened the plume behind the Happy Lewis, was like a moth flying into a bonfire. They were never aware of the missile.
The fact they were over the Western Hemisphere and both nations, but the Chinese especially, had lost so much of their satellite communications, kept the two powers from launching into a major war over the space duel. It was ironic with better communications and confidence, both in what was happening and their ability to command their forces, they would have struck out at each other. In the new uncertainty they both were suffering, sanity prevailed. It saved the lives of somewhere around a billion people.
The Happy Lewis matched speeds with their home, a couple kilometers to the side of their line of descent well away from any work areas. They were cautious after seeing what their exhaust did to the Pretty as Jade. The removal of acceleration was a relief. They had rejected using the cushioning gel in their suits, which were already filthy and uncomfortable electing to tough it out. Now that their exhaust was not masking their antennas they called control.
"Local M3 this is the Happy Lewis. Sorry to drop into your controlled space unannounced. We had necessity forced upon us. I hope we didn't create any problems. As you can see we stood well off to avoid problems with our exhaust. We'd like clearance to dock please. We're not sure where. Could you connect us to Dave at Advanced and we'll see if he can dock us?"
"Happy Lewis this is M3 local traffic control. We are specifically forbidden to direct you, or control you in any manner. We have been instructed by Earthside control you are a military matter and we will be subject to legal provisions of aiding the enemy if we offer you any services." The controller's voice cracked with emotion. "Sorry Easy I can't afford to go to prison, with a wife and kids to support. You tell me where you are going to dock and I'll communicate to the other traffic your intentions. I still have a responsibility to maintain a safe area here. I just can't direct you."
"Al, Al, Al." Easy calmed him down. "I'll call Dave and get back to you. I'll inform you before I maneuver and if it causes a problem don't direct me, just ask me if I can hold, or change my route or timing and I will work with you. We may be pirates, but we'll be very polite pirates, unless some silly ass fires on us. I guess you've probably seen the tape of what happens when we're pushed by now. Right?"
"Yeah, Easy. It was pretty scary. Uh, For safety reasons, I'd ask you to maintain a radar watch for yourself, as I am not allowed to advise you of other traffic, or give you a data feed. We just had a lot of traffic pass through here, at a substantial speed differential and the debris the traffic generated will be intersecting our orbit several times the next few days, until it disperses somewhat. I'd hate for you to see something coming in at high speed and overreact to it.
"Will do." Easy said, but he was thinking, debris? trying to guess what the man was trying to tell him in a roundabout way. Watch his back. They must know of something coming in. But what was this other thing he was alluding to? Who could they ask? The controllers had obviously said as much as they could. Taking chances to even say that much he was sure.
"Eddie can you call Jon and find out what just happened here, while I call Dave and see if we can dock and get some maintenance?"
At least they could tap the local net now, with low power and encryption they had a little privacy again. But when he called Dave he refused an encrypted connection and he had to call him back in the clear. What the heck was he thinking? Dave came on with video and looked stern at him.
"Easy, all of you onboard are listed as wanted criminals. We can't do anything for you, or service you without being accomplices. If I have you dock here I not only will be charged along with you, but they might fire on my shop to take your ship out. I suggest you dock at the Lewis family cubic. Going there shouldn't get anybody new in trouble. I'm going to have a couple of my men go there to collect payment for the services already rendered, before you left. I want something which can't be revoked, if your accounts are frozen. I hope you won't give them a hard time." He said sternly.
That was a huge lie. Easy know the bill was already paid and he didn't deal with the money end of it at all. So this was just a public cover, to tell him he'd have service waiting there for him. He didn't doubt the part about the shop being a trap, where the ship would be destroyed, at all though.
"OK. We'll settle up. I don't blame you for wanting paid, before they haul us off. Don't think about getting anything back though. We're pretty much out of consumables, although we have no damage. We're all filthy and tired so we're not going to wait around for your guys. Better have them waiting there for us, or they can wait for us to clean up and eat before we'll take time for them. Easy out." he ended. He didn't think all the subterfuge would really fool much of anyone. But if we lose it might look good in court, for Dave.
"Ok what does Jon say?" He asked Eddie.
"Well first he's not my boss anymore. He quit rather than take what he regarded as unlawful orders. He said a USNA and Chinese shuttles, had a missile duel right by the station not an hour ago. Blew each other to hell right over North America, so they must know it happened for sure. Here's a scary one. Before the Chinese took a missile, they shot right up our butt and the drive just burned it up. But there is still the heavy shuttle the Cincinnati confirmed inbound for dock, to drop troops and take over M3, just like they said they'd do. No warrants, no martial law. They just told Jon they have the power, so they can do it."
"They let him know Chalmers is a shoe in to govern, as soon as they take over. He told me there isn't a lower form of life they could have picked for the job. I can't see us waiting hours and engaging the heavy shuttle, as whipped and low on consumables as we are. I say let's dock and get the Drs. and their toy safely off and see if we can set up to defend the ship at dock. What do you think?
"Sounds good. We'll see who we can sit at dock to spell us. Call Bob and His grandpa and Jeff. He'll want to meet us for his dad anyway. Take hold. Maneuvering in about 30 seconds. I'll do this on manual."
"Local 3, this is Happy Lewis back to you. Going to maneuver on just thrusters and visual rules for the Lewis cubic. Do we interfere with any traffic?"
"Uh, no Lewis, no problem, you mean the cubic at...?"
"Rather not say on the radio. Thank you Control," Easy cut in on him.
"Sure Happy Lewis. Thanks for the warning."
"Moving," was all the further warning Easy gave in ship. He gave a long nudge on the thrusters, then rolled around, looking away from the station with his radar. Still nothing to be seen, but the angle was wrong to look around the station, back along its orbital path very far. He was aimed for point a few hundred meters away from the North end of the station.
The Lewis cubic was on the same end as the construction shack and freight dockage, so he drifted along slowly, at about four meters per second, with his hazard lights on and kept a close look for other scooters or suited workers. Even watching for any loose materials. It didn't happen very often, but occasionally a worker would fail to fasten something down, or not clip a line on it. Once when he was new, he had fastened a strut with the wrong size powder actuated rivet and looked back to see it floating away, as he went to the next point to attach another. It had taught him to grab hold and give a newly fastened piece a few tugs before moving on.
The hub was sliding under him, or in front of him depending on your orientation. He had the nose pointed along the axis of the station, so it was sliding in from the side to center itself in his forward view screens.
"April, you want to dock it? You know your cubic and it'll be better practice for you than maneuvering around satellites."
"OK, I have the conn." She sounded a lot more confident than when they had left.
"I think I'm looking at our post, but there's another scooter clamped nose first to it. Do you think it's Dave's guys?" She gave a burst with both side thrusters to stop them. The station hung there about two hundred meters away. A huge white circle with the nearest ring turning clockwise to their view behind it. The other hidden behind it. The hub stuck out at them not turning. It was a squat cylinder that had grown haphazardly. There were all sorts if irregularities and temporary structures on it that could not be put on the rotating sections, that had to be balanced. One side was in black shadow.
"Probably, that looks like a fat service and repair scooter, that goes out to service others on site. It carries a big fuel load also, so it can top their tanks off at the same time.
The question was answered on the local band.
"Hey Easy. Whatever condition you are suffering from there, we fix scooters but we're not dermatologists. That's not anything particularly catching is it? I don't know if I want my scooter on the same post with that hairy monster."
"Yeah, yeah. I know. We cut down on the hormone treatments, but it takes a while to wear off. I'll make sure the Happy doesn't get fresh with your plump little number."
"OK, if you're sure it's not contagious. How about getting it clamped on there and we have a fuel load to pump to you."
"Thank you gentleman. Apprentice Lewis is docking us today," Easy informed them.
"Coming in," April called out casually to them. April nudged it around, until it pointed at the other side of the docking pintle and hit the rear thrusters. She left them on long enough, Easy's grip on the acceleration couch was getting rather firm. When she cut them she didn't put the front thrusters on for awhile. Easy was not letting go of the armrests, but he was determined he wouldn't say anything, unless she actually hit the station.
He was watching the radar, mentally counting down to when he would know he had to hit the jets and he was at one, about to call off zero in his head, when she poured the front jets on and came to a stop nose about two meters from the station hull. A couple small puffs at each end rotated her parallel to the surface and a small tap on the side thrusters slide them in closer, which she canceled out almost touching the surface.
The pintle was about four meters in front of them, but off center a bit. She eased them forward little by little. The last four meters took as long as the longer dive to the surface, but she moved closer and closer, not over-correcting and swinging back and forth like some newbies did. At last the clamp on the nose grabbed with a solid clunk. It gave a little lurch through the ship, but not half bad at all. April spoke with bravado for the crew they were meeting, more than her own people.
"Thank you for flying Lewis Lines. Please collect all baggage and other belonging as you exit, you will be issued a compensating voucher for our delayed arrival. Tell your friends and neighbors to try our friendly service and gourmet flight kitchens," April reached up and touched the mute button for the radio and told Easy. "Not as smooth as you'd do. I still can't blend the burns together in one motion, but hey, they say any landing you can walk away from, right?"
"You'll learn just fine sweetheart. I think you've got a great start, for someone who doesn't have their license. Not to mention about forty hours of command time, which will raise their eyebrows, when you give them your apprentice's log with your application."
"Look what they are doing out there!" April exclaimed, when she looked forward.
There was a pair of workers swinging the other vessel around by hand on the post, to get them side by side and pump fuel, but another two suited figures were unfurling a light framework and a white coated fabric or plastic sheet of some sort. As they watched surprised, the two pulled lines attached to the leading edge and pulled the material over both ships like a window shade.
"Camouflage." Easy concluded quickly. "It's the same color as the station hull. So anyone not real familiar with the hub here, won't know but we are just another of the big storage hangers or a machinery housing on the surface. I have to ask Dave's guys something." He turned the power way down on the suit channel and keyed it.
"Hey guys. We have a camera boom, which extends from the overhead behind the cabin. Could you cut a slit or a small hole, we can use to peek out and see what's going on through this stuff?"
"Listen to his story," said a voice, April recognized as the mechanic they called Red. "They want a hole in the tent like a bloody duck blind. Just to take a peek out, mind you. Why, they wouldn't think of taking a wee shot at some devil flitting by, would they?"
"Sounds like a good idea to me." Easy confirmed. "How about a flap somewhere that we can fold back, for a wee missile to flit out, Red?" He said. Poking fun at the fellow's dialect.
"That's the spirit," Red confirmed. "I have a chunk of my savings in the Rock they are coming to take and I want a right proper welcome for the thieving scum."
April's grandpa, Happy, was waiting outside the lock suited up. He had a pile of consumables waiting to be loaded and the first thing he asked was to open the whole hatch to vacuum. Easy readily agreed. It would take forever to load using the coffin lock and they'd lose a significant amount of air anyway if they cycled so many times. They agreed on a pump down to half pressure and then crack it open. That would only dump a couple hundred dollars of air. It would take twenty minutes and the fueling would take that long. They didn't know if they'd need it quickly.
The Lewis family cubic was already pumped down and the outer wall swung aside. They could load all the supplies directly and the personnel could go through the lock on the corridor instead of a station lock, to reach pressure.
Chapter 29
The head of the CIA approached the President, smiling, after disrupting his schedule and making him cut short a photo op and press show, with a group of Eagle Scouts who had earned their home security badges. He saw them personally instead of a double, because he had been a Scout and had a special affection for them. One young fellow was getting a special commendation for his loyalty. He had turned in his mother for sharing her prescription heart medication, with his grandmother and was getting a 'War on Drugs' merit badge.
"Sir, we have some intelligence there are several copies of the power source we identified on the vessel Happy Lewis, in control of one of our agents on M3. We have told the force on the Cincinnati that upon securing the station, this is to be a primary objective, to retrieve them and return them for analysis. The agent is requesting evacuation also, as he is concerned he will be burned when the owners find out they are gone." His smile changed a bit to a smirk. "I suspect he is concerned to accompany them to plead his case for a bigger reward too."
"Hmm." President Hadley considered. "Does this agent have sufficient security clearance, to know about something of this importance?"
"Not really. He just happened to be the one to stumble upon them, by sheer luck."
"Then unless he is some special assent which needs preserved the only prudent course seems to be to terminate him, unless you intend to imprison him until the information is no longer sensitive at all. Do you have any reason to go to so much trouble?"
"No, he was just another pair of ears which have served their function. A hotel clerk really. No one important. No need to burden the public keeping him for untold years."
* * *
April stopped in the hall outside her families zero G cubic. Easy and Eddie had both squeezed in the lock with her and her sword didn't make it any easier to cram in.
When they hit the hall Eddie said, "Excuse me. I have to go buy a space ship and talk to Dave." He walked away briskly.
After days in the scooter the hall seemed a huge volume. The Singhs were coming through the lock next with her package and Jeff and Heather were there waiting for it. She was surprised to see her brother Bob and Ruby. There were so many people floating in a ring around the lock, some were holding on a friend's ankle or elbow, because there weren't enough take holds for everyone. She turned to Easy and he saw the upset in her face and turned to her.
"My laser is still mounted on the arm. I don't want to be unarmed if there are going to be soldiers in the station."
Jeff stepped up to her and held out a new laser, identical to the one she left behind. "We figured you might want to leave it on the ship. After we ran new accumulators we made up a few more. We have one for Easy too. And my dad and new stepmom. We'll have to find a new source for heads I imagine. I don't think North America will be letting any more be shipped up to us."
"And I brought this out for you." Easy handed her a sack with several lumpy shapes in it. "Ajay said they were yours."
She opened the sack and withdrew the machine pistol and ammo box and lastly the rank badge the Chinese officer had been wearing. She looked at it briefly. It had a clear plastic clip with caseless ammo, like her grandfather's pistol. She jammed a clip in the handle and jacked a round in the chamber. Easy's eyebrows went up at her easy familiarity. It didn't work much different than her dad's Colt.
"This the safety?" She asked him, pointing at the lever positioned for her thumb.
"Yup. Down is safe. Up is ready. "This one," he pointed to the other side, "is for full auto up or single shot down. I really suggest you try to leave it on single shot, until you can try it at a firing range. It will twist up in your hand like crazy, from the recoil on auto. If you do use auto, turn it sideways and let it walk an arc across the target," he pantomimed. "It also uses the whole clip of sixty up in about three seconds"
"Thanks." She said. Setting it safe and for single fire. She hooked it's minimalist holster across her tool anchor in the front and clipped the laser there too. The ammo box went on the side. It was unusual to see anyone in a p-suit in the corridors. Walking back with the machine pistol and her sword in her left hand besides, might get a few looks. She was way past caring. She put the badge back in the bag and tossed it to Bob. "Take care of it for me, will you?"
He nodded obviously uncomfortable.
"I'm going home and have a long hot shower. If anyone tries to stop me I'm gonna kill them."
Not a one of them took it for hyperbole.
* * *
Skip called in with the priority signal Jon would never make wait. "Jon we've got Chalmers and the other creep leaving their apartment, with the carrier for the assault rifle. They are going out spin and South. What should we do? I figured maybe they'd go to the South hub to help the shuttle dock, but not outspin."
"Do you see any other weapons beside the case he is carrying?"
"No and if they have anything else it is small and concealed."
"I'm going to start North and when they get off the elevator tell me how far outspin they went." Jon slipped a extra charge for his Taser in a pocket and picked up a black cloth carry bag, which had a pistol grip modern shotgun inside with ammo for it. As he left his office, he dropped a message to everyone who worked for him, describing what was happening.
"Will call for back up if needed," he assured them.
* * *
Chalmers got off the elevator and checked the printout in his hand. "To the left here. It's six doors down, on the North side of the hall." When he got there it was a heavier steel door, so he was sure it was the right place. He motioned to his accomplice Dan, who retreated down the hall five or six meters and laid the case against the wall and opened it up. He withdrew the rifle, loaded a magazine, put an extra in each pocket and closed the case. Dan flattened himself against the wall far enough back he should not be seen by any camera at the door. Chalmers pressed the call key for the door and spoke into it. "Mr. Lewis? Gary Chalmers here to speak with you. I have some important news about the Rock and military authority on the station. Word from the President himself. Can we speak please?"
Inside Steve Lewis got up from his lunch and looked at the security camera on the com console. It had much better coverage than the standard door camera, the two outside imagined. He could scan and zoom the whole corridor and the man slinking against the wall with the military style rifle was obvious. He ran to the front door and hit the manual control, to close and lock the inner door of the emergency airlock. Then he sprinted for the bedroom and the weapon in his sock drawer.
Outside the beefy "chunk" of the inner lock door closing could be felt through their feet.
"Shit, he's on to us. Go six or seven meters away and lay against the side of the corridor, with your feet pointed this way." Chalmers ordered his gunman. The man took one look at the paperback book size block of material he pulled from his jacket pocket and rushed to comply. He gave it an extra meter just to be sure, laying on his belly and covered his ears.
Chalmers split the piece on the center line along a grid precut into it. There was a plastic film on the back, he gripped with his teeth and peeled off. With adhesive exposed underneath, the blocks were jammed in opposite corners of the doorway. He rushed down the other way, pushing plugs in his ears. He looked back to see Dan had assumed the safe position and laid in the corner where the bulkhead met the deck, feet back toward the door. He stretched out arms overhead, radio detonator in his hand. He didn't want to hump his shoulders up and present a bigger cross section. He took a final breath and jammed the button under his thumb.
* * *
Jon felt a pulse under his feet and an instant later heard a muted - Whoomp! - and smacked the elevator wall flat handed in frustration. Nothing would make it go any faster.
April at the other end of the corridor, in a parallel elevator, felt much more as she was closer to her floor. The jolt actually make her reach out and touch the wall for balance, not frustration. The sound was not muted much. The doors were just ready to open and they visibly flexed and rattled from the pressure wave in the hall. When they opened she stood indecisive for a moment and they pulled her helmet faceplate back down and put it in spex mode. She eased her hand around the corner with her laser and used the weapon sight to look down the corridor both ways.
Nobody there, but there was some kind of box or luggage laying against the side down near her home. She double checked the power setting and activated the designator for infrared and started toward her door. The lights went out in the corridor and she brought the laser back up and touched the trigger to activate the targeting screen in her spex. The designator was a bright spot, but it provided enough scatter from the spot to make out the shape of the corridor. Everything was a pale sepia in the false colors of the sight. The lights flickered on for moment and went back out. The flickering on and off was harder to deal with than just staying out.
She got to the entry and it was a twisted wreck. The corridor wall opposite had torn pieces of lock hatch embedded in it. It made her sick to see her home violated. She stepped in carefully, feeling for her footing, both to avoid snagging her suit and to be quiet, holding the laser down and finger off the trigger. She didn't know if someone else might have night vision goggles, or spex that would work the same and could see the designator. Inside she could hear voices low and she turned up the gain on her helmet mics.
"I don't have a pair of goggles. Have you got some kind of light?" She didn't know him, but the voice was Dan.
"Hang on I have it, "Chalmers told him in hushed tones. She heard a whisper of cloth as he found his torch. Meanwhile she took small quiet steps forward, feeling each step before shifting her weight, sweeping left handed with her sword, still sheathed, in front of her knee high for obstacles. She should be able to see the living room and if they needed light to see, she should be safe to use the infrared designator herself.
She held it in close to her but pointed up a bit and touched the trigger lightly. In her helmet the ghostly sepia image showed her aiming dot bright on the opposite wall and two silhouettes. One standing doing something with his hands at his waist and the other hunkered down with the thin shape of a weapon sticking out from his body outline.
The dim image was suddenly washed over by normal vision through her faceplate. Chalmers had turned on a surprisingly bright little flashlight. and the beam made a wide bright pool of light at his feet. They were in normal clothing, unarmored and Chalmers appeared unarmed. Also visible beyond Chalmers was her father, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall between the bedroom doors. Extended in both hands was the .45 Colt she remembered.
A heart beat after the light came on, the muzzle of the .45 threw out a ball of flame as bright as the flashlight and a deafening boom which could be felt even through the sealed suit. Chalmers was violently thrown up and back and spun around from the impact of the big bullet. The flashlight went flying off toward the kitchen, flipping end over end and creating a crazy kaleidoscope of overlapping images, both real and from her spex. There was a second blast of light and sound from the .45, the ball of fire blooming toward where the other man had been in the dark and all sorts of racket as Chalmers fell and both Dan and her Dad moved quickly to new positions in the dark.
Just as quickly as it started the noise cut off, the last sound the flashlight rolling across the hard kitchen floor, where it stopped with an audible clink against something. The flashlight no longer illuminated anything, but a faint glow on the far kitchen wall, beyond the counter. Her eyes recovered a bit from the flashes and she saw a dark shape a bit to her right and the line of a long weapon angled up. She shifted her aim and with the designator illuminated him directly. She could see Dan's face in the false colors of the spex. He was on one knee, the rifle cradled against his stomach. She didn't recognize him. His eyes were comically wide straining to see in what was dark to him. He didn't raise it to his shoulder, but she saw the rifle twitch against his hip and heard a small but distinct metallic - snap - which she did not understand, then realized with sudden dread he had tried to fire from that odd position and she had failed to stop him, something else had, a problem with the weapon. She heard a low muttered - Shit! In the darkness he looked down even though he could not see the rifle and she heard mechanical sounds as he cycled the action. She quickly put the infrared dot in the middle of his chest, before he could try again and squeezed the trigger gently.
The whole room was illuminated in a blinding strobe of back scatter from the laser, like a lightening flash. Every detail frozen in stark shades of green and black. Chalmer's body, thrown carelessly on the floor in a already huge pool of black, loose limbs flung out like a drunk sleeping it off. Her dad squatting below the kitchen counter, his lunch still sitting on it above him, Colt still in both hands but pointed up at the overhead by his right shoulder, eyes like a snake, as unblinkingly intent as Dan's searching the dark. The only non-green in the fleeting scene, a flaring plume of yellow-white hot gas where a massive hole was vaporized deep into Dan's chest.
The laser was silent, but the steam exploding a crater in the man's chest was a wet tearing thud. Then dark when she let off the trigger again. The lights flickered on again for a moment and her dad was looking at her mouth open in a circle of surprise. Then they went off again. April fumbled in the dark to clip her laser back on the front of her suit. She was surprised to find her sword still in her left hand. Finally, hand free, she could get her faceplate flipped up.
The smell was strong of gun powder, blood, a horrible burnt pork stink from the laser and somebody's bowls which had let loose on the floor. All on top of her own tiresome stink in the suit. "You OK?" she called out fearfully.
Another strong voice from the corridor called, "April? Steve? You in there?"
Her dad replied, but showed good sense by going in the kitchen and retrieving the flashlight first, before heading cautiously across the room, staying well clear of Chalmers or his buddy. She remembered her helmet had lights and fumbled about finding the switch and slowly turned and made her way out ahead of her dad, through the remains of their entry, careful of the sharp ripped panels of stainless sheet.
Outside in the corridor stood Jon with a stubby wicked looking shotgun hanging on a harness in front of him and a pair of night vision goggles pulled down around his neck. Finally the light came back on and didn't flicker this time. Steve showed optimism by turning the flashlight off.
"I'm so sorry," Jon started. "I got here as soon as I could." He just reached with both huge arms and scooped them both in to him. It was awkward encompassing them, even though Steve was a small man, with April in a suit, her dad with a flash light in one hand and a .45 in the other and Jon's shotgun hanging between them. Her dad worked the arm with the flashlight loose to throw over one of Jon's shoulders, but the Colt he kept safely pointed at the floor down by his leg. He let Jon squeeze them for a moment, but finally said, "Uh, Jon. I don't have my pistol safe. Be careful, please. I don't want to blow somebody's toes off." He let them loose, but left a hand on each of their shoulders. Still reassuring himself he hadn't lost them. Steve thumbed the safety on the Colt and slid it in his waist band.
"Look at you two pirates. Why did I think you needed any help? What can I do for you? Do you need anything?"
"This may seem trite, but as long as the lights are on, can I please just go take a shower?" April begged. For some reason they both thought it hilarious.
* * *
McAlpine sat patiently in the dark. His ankles crossed and propped up on the fancy table. He had a mug of coffee sitting there. A few cold swallows left in the bottom. His Taser was in his lap, his right hand not gripping it, but laying loose on top.
The door from the lobby opened silently and Mr. Harris slunk in. There was no other way to describe it. His body language shouted deceit and he left the door open wide and went to the safe, opening it in the light spilling in the door. He opened the heavy door wide and spread open the top of the carryon bag he had at his feet. He picked up the box which April and Jeff had entrusted to him and placed it inside carefully, almost reverently. He didn't bother with anything else in the safe.
He straightened up and put his left hand on the door to pull it closed and froze. A bright red dot of laser light was shining on the door by his hand. He looked at the scintillating dot unwavering on the door and slowly turned his head over his shoulder.
"Oh, it's you McAlpine!" He made a pretense of relaxing, but his eyes were hard and calculating. "What are you doing sitting in the dark?"
"What are you doing slinking about in the dark in your own office? Guilty about something Tony?"
Neil had never called him by his given name before. That alone signaled things were not right. He frowned at the familiarity. "I am afraid these are no longer safe here. It's best if we hide them somewhere for awhile. The soldiers coming will have no respect for our obligations to our guests."
"Wouldn't surprise me at all. In fact, I'd be astonished if you weren't helping them. You seem to have a small bag packed there. Planning a little holiday? How about showing me what you have in the bag. Did you remember your passport?
"It's certainly none of your concern," he said sternly and hefted the bag strap to his shoulder. He pushed the heavy door roughly shut on the safe and reset the lock. While he was turned facing the safe, bag opposite Neil, his hand slid quickly down the strap into the bag.
McAlpine stunned him with his hand still in the bag. Never bothering to take his feet off the table. He swiveled around, stretched his legs, cracked his neck both ways and looked at the man's vacant eyes staring back at him.
"I've been wanting to do that for a long time Harris," he said aloud. He walked over and pulled the bag out from under Harris's shoulder where he had dropped on it and reached inside. There was an antique Pietro Berretta inside. An expensive collector's piece. He put the safety on, pulled its teeth, made sure the chamber was empty and stuck the magazine back in. It was sleek enough to slide in his pants pocket easily.
* * *
Margaret listened to Jon in her earpiece. "Seems silly, but OK." She went back out in the gate area, took a large vacuum marker and wrote on the airlock:
- LOCK OPEN - NOT CONTESTED TO MINIMIZE CIVILIAN CASUALTIES - M3 MILITIA - On the inner door she wrote - ANY FORCE DAMAGING LOCK WILL HAVE NO PRISONERS TAKEN - M3 MILITIA.
Hell of a lot of good that will do she thought. She went to the side of the tube and opened a coffin lock and sealed up, checking her suit extra carefully since she was alone and dumped the air since she was in a hurry. They said the shuttle would be at the station within the hour. She clipped her line on and went to the outside end of the tube where the single doors were, which would be outside their airlock when the shuttle docked. There she wrote again in big block letters:
MILITARY ENTRY WILL BE RESISTED WITH LETHAL FORCE - NO FURTHER WARNING. M3 MILITIA.
They probably wouldn't believe it anymore than the other, she thought, but took a pix of it with her helmet camera and sent it to Jon also. Maybe she just didn't understand this psychological warfare stuff crap.
* * *
Jeff was extremely nervous with his new step mother. He wanted very much to get her approval and was worried about not knowing what her culture might consider offensive. They were working together to load her precious material in the quarter scale machine at the Lewis family dockage. It was a little harder to do in zero G, but worth it, because they would test it outside and know immediately if this scale worked and they could mount this unit on the Happy Lewis and move on to the other three. It made it all the harder his dad was not there, to help them get to know each other. He was off with the other owners of the Rock and all the friends and well regarded people they invited, to consider what they could do to hold on to their investment.
He was famous now for his broadcast on BBC. But they had yet to see if it would translate into actual support for a open schism with USNA authority. Jeff went on and on, prefacing everything he said with Nam-Kah with so many qualifications and apologies, that his normal quick and to the point manner was gone. Finally she laid her hand on his arm, making him start he was so jumpy. "Do you dislike me Jeff?" she asked, but without any tone of unhappiness in her voice.
"God, no. I don't even know you," he blurted out.
"And I don't know you," she agreed, "but how shall I ever, if you're terrified of me?"
He smiled a little bit and nodded. "But you'll tell me if I do something that makes you unhappy? So we can fix it instead of letting it get between us?"
"I promise. No silent resentments or evasions. Now, just talk to me normal, like you would your father or your friends. OK?"
"OK," he agreed and visibly took a deep breath and tried to relax. "Have you wandered what would happen if you could precipitate the same field collapse your device produces along a line, in a plane configuration instead, or as the spherical collapse of a volume? I'm wondering if there aren't some parallels for describing the matrix in Maxwell's equations. Now visualize this," he said, preparing to elaborate, his eyes getting a far away dreamy look and smiling for a change.
So this is normal? Nam-Kah thought. Domestic life is going to be interesting in the Singh household, she concluded. Very interesting indeed.
* * *
Aboard the Cincinnati Art listened carefully to his commander's briefing as they approach docking at M3. He thought the man a pompous ass, but he was forty-six years old and every bit as hard and quick as Art, or any of the men in his squad. He liked to run the guys into the dirt in training, refusing to even look back, to see how many had dropped out. He'd like to get a DNA sample of the old boy some time. There were times he'd swear the man had nonhuman genome. Proof of it would strip him of his citizenship. But then he looked like he was on steroids too and they all had drug tests weekly, so he couldn't be.
He must be one of those fellows whose body was obliging and pumped out the steroids he needed just naturally, probably his genome was legal too, Art decided, with a small twinge of jealousy. The commander would be taking the first insertion, from the normal dockage on the South hub. After he had a secured area in sufficient depth into pressure, Art would take the second squad of twelve through and spearhead a drive for the Holiday Inn, to pick up the package waiting for them. He would take the hotel manager off away from his squad and dispose of him quietly and bring the man's bag back to the shuttle.
Only after the bag was securely onboard the shuttle would stand off - Art was not thrilled about that part of the plan - and the two squads would move to find and arrest the list they had, with photos of each person attached. Somewhere along the line he was looking for some personal payback too. He still resented the booby trap on his first recon. They also had a detailed layered map of the station loaded in their helmet displays and still pix they could bring up, of how many of the corridors and rooms should look. Earthside he was used to using a robot for point and surveillance, but here they were of no use until they were in the spun up section and then far enough out spin the robot had at least half of its normal weight for traction. Maybe later after they had control they'd haul a few in to patrol the outer corridors. Nobody had developed a zero G fighting robot yet. But he also didn't really have a squad member skilled and trained at being forward point, since a machine took that position in their training.
He'd put Francisco out there. He was a poor boy from Mexico City, mean as hell and the nobody in the squad liked him very well. Nobody would hate Art if the slick caught it. Life in the Ciudad sounded like it would have prepared him for an urban style of combat anyway.
* * *
Jeff looked at Nam-Kah. "I think we'll have this buttoned up in about 15 minutes. Why don't we finish in our suits, so we can start pumping down the room to take it outside? Are you comfortable working in a suit?"
"I worked for three years on the Moon. I'm used to a Moon style suit, but I'm familiar with vacuum work in general and the safety aspects."
"Super, lets seal up. You check me close, because I'm not as experienced in a suit."
The final assembly was just bolting things back together, which they had needed removed to fill the central mechanism. The machine was improved from the original Nam-Kah had made in one important way. It had sufficient cooling it could cycle at tenth second intervals as a 100% duty cycle. They were bolting servo motors and cables back on. You could point it very much like the laser arm. The ships navigational computer could orient it at a point in space, from the radar data, or from GPS data they could point at a specific location on the earth's surface, or they could just look through the telescope and simply see where it was pointing. The optics were the weakest link. The telescope was a reflector with a half meter active surface mirror controlled by a nano mechanical elements. The individual sub-mirrors on its surface were smaller than the wavelength it was focusing so it should give theoretical perfection.
The software was trained to look for patterns and sort them out, so that after you had looked at a scene for a few seconds it would actually sharpen up. The lines drawn on a parking lot would get clear and the edge of a highway would become distinct, but it also tried to impose patterns even if there were none and you still had to recognize the filtering effect. You got a posterized effect where you could look at the surface of the ocean and after awhile something like sand dunes got a strange marbled look that wasn't really there, as the software struggled to impose a pattern.
After everything was bolted up Jeff ran a diagnostic on his pad, cabled to the control computer on the machine. It moved reliably in three dimensions. They checked the pressure and they had about five minutes before they wanted to crack the hatch open. Jeff went over and was checking his latest batch of foils, running in the nanoboxes.
"Still no thoughts what really makes this work?"
"What can I say? We're like Becquerel, looking at the exposed photographic film. We know there is a phenomenon, but we don't understand the underlying mechanism. We haven't even named it yet you know. I guess X-effect, would be as appropriate as X-rays were. But we can use it even if we don't understand it. It gives us a big head start on the Earthies, who don't even know about the effect we are working with. Who knows how long we will have it to ourselves?"
"I don't know. Have you published anything at all which would give them a lead?
She shook her head no.
"Then we better not for awhile, until we have some other hedges to maintain our political independence. I'm influenced by my father's dislike of politics," he admitted, "but I don't see we have much else but a few technical tricks as a lever. The Happy Lewis was very successful and lucky. But independence won't work based one tiny warship. They're going to need a demonstration of this, before they will talk seriously to us you know, don't you?" he asked.
"Oh yes. I've been thinking about targeting. After we test it and get it mounted in the Happy Lewis, we need to see what we have archived off the net for targeting. First order of business is anything which can reach us here. Space planes, launch facilities, anti-sat systems."
"Eddie says he'll have a ship ready to carry a projector too. It won't have the legs of the Happy, but it will be ready to use as fast as Dave can prepare it."
"Good, we're going to need it. He can upgrade it when it can sit idle that long."
"Easy says they have anti-sat systems on all the aircraft carriers, even the little submersible ones, which only carry a half dozen planes and some of the surface ships with extensive air defense, as well as some of the attack subs."
"Well at least it's a military target." She said looking pained. "I'm afraid we'll need to punch a grid through any of the aerospace shops building spacecraft. We can give them a few hours notice before we do it. It's not like they can roll it out and fly it away when it is half built. But the hangers at Edwards, the Cape and Groom Lake, we gotta smoke without warning, or they will fly the stuff away to other parts of the world. The less we have to hit USNA bases in other countries the better. Not that they have many bases left abroad. It's not like a few years ago when they were everywhere."
"Heather is an excellent data searcher. I'd suggest getting her started on a target list. There was something else I wanted to ask. If we don't have any losses loading these machines you'll have a small quantity of fluid left over. Do you think I could run an experiment with it I've been thinking about?" he asked her, trying to sound casual.
"I don't see any problem with that. After we're past this rush talk to me about it. Pressure is down. Let's get it out there and try it." They posted a paper vacuum notice on the corridor lock port, to back up the readouts, an extra safety step Happy insisted on when using his cubic and opened both doors of the coffin lock in the outer bulkhead. Two of Dave's men at the scooter outside came in and started taking all the nuts off the perimeter of the wall and boxing them for later. They were old style untreated studs and nuts, messy with chalky vacuum anti-seize and they wore thin disposable over-gloves for the mess, but none of them were seized surprisingly. The whole plate was eventually loose and the experienced workers eased it to the side and fastened it down over an adjoining cubic.
Very few of the owners ever removed an outer bulkhead so they didn't have to worry about someone crowding their work space. Two neighbors had consented to allow them to use their outside surface, so the Happy Lewis was turned around over the adjoining cubic. A pretty brave thing to do, considering what a know target the Happy Lewis was now. They had asked in person so there could be no record of it on the com system, to incriminate the neighbors if there should be retribution down the road.
They eased the gravitational projector up and over the edge, to mount temporarily on the outer hull. It was not terribly massive. Only about two hundred kilograms, but the mechanics moved it with easy patience. This sort of work was where Easy had gotten his nick name. Moving massive girders and plates, he was known to the other workers for repeating - "Easy, easy, easy as you go there." He liked to tell people in a hurry, he never took time off to grow new fingers, because he was careful and not in a rush moving things in zero G. The crew immediately started extending the white camouflage tarp and frame over the exposed hole.
When the machine was bolted down it was nothing very special to look at. It sort of resembled a miniature industrial assembly robot. They curled back the edge of the camouflage tarp, to give them a view of the sky. Jeff attached his pad and aimed at an empty piece of the sky as they had agreed. He made the image from the telescope come on the screen to double check it was clear.
It was aimed at space between two upright metal channels which were temporarily clamped to the hull, like the projector itself. At his nod two of Dave's guys lifted a small plate of outer hull, like the one they had unbolted to open the room. It was only about two hundred millimeters square and mounted on two tubes along the edges. They positioned it between the uprights and clamped the tubes to them so it was right in front of the business end of the projector.
"I've done this before," Nam-Kah reminded him. "Your turn today if you'd like."
"OK," he accepted. For a moment he didn't know what to say. Then he spoke in the suit radio with the power turned low, as they kept them for privacy and said, "Heads up. Live fire test taking place. Fire in the hole." He pushed the enter key on his pad to actuate it. The plate had a hole in the middle, faster than the eye could see the process. It was about twenty centimeters in diameter with the curled edge away from the projector. The uprights holding it gave a jerk and the entire cantilevered frame visibly vibrated for a few seconds. But not with as much force as you'd expect from anything which could punch a hole in this sturdy a plate. Jeff was sure it would move as much if he just hit it with a half-kilo hand hammer. The projector itself however had not moved enough in recoil for Jeff to feel, although he was holding on to its frame with his left hand.
Nam Kah eased over and had to stop and untangle her safety line from around her leg. She had an even smaller section of plate in her hand which was the cut-out piece of hull they had accidentally punched a hole in on ISSII. The holes looked as close to identical as they could tell by eye. "The mass of active material in the core is only a quarter but the effect seems the same," Nam-Kah said in a slow thoughtful tone. They looked at each other with the bright look of discovery and said simultaneously, "Quantum phenomena," and then laughed at themselves.
Chapter 30
April scrubbed until she was raw. She'd never thought she'd feel clean again. She didn't have any more suit liners, but she put on the sheerest tights under soft cotton shorts and a long sleeved cotton t-shirt turned inside out, so the seams couldn't rub. It would do to go back in the p-suit, which she felt certain she'd need to do soon. She wasn't ready to be locked inside the suit again right now.
First she called up Jon and asked if they had cut com to Earth, knowing they were going to be attacked. He assured her the radio room had their own router set up, with one of his men physically protecting it and making sure no traffic was passing to Earth that might harm them. There would be very limited bandwidth through their own firewall, until Eddie and a couple helpers were satisfied no data miners were running in their system.
Confident she was safe to talk openly on local com, she called her grandpa and asked about the ship. He was sitting in the pilot's seat and reported no space activity outside at all. They had a full load again of fuel and reactive mass. A new cask of heavy water also.
He'd learned Jeff was so worried about having enough deuterium, he had set a separator up to mine the station's water supply, until they could get supplied from the moon. They'd learned from their flight and the new stocks of consumables was improved. They had more first aid items, almost a minisurgery and better food and spares. They were even configuring a set of real acceleration couches for the rear space, which could be taken in or out. She was glad to hear it all.
She had never owned any material thing before, with the sort of attachment she was forming with the ship and she hung up happy to know it was serviced and started rolling up her suit to bring along. She intended to keep it close, if she had to rush to the ship. She wanted to rest but her dad was meeting with the other investors and she intended to go along with him. He might object, but she was going to be there if she had to force her way into the room at gunpoint.
* * *
Dave was at the Happy Lewis with April's grandpa in his namesake, working on a panel which would go in the overhead in front of the laser and bulge down into the cabin. Happy didn't like what it did to the cabin, but having been briefed by Jeff what it would do he accepted it. The bulge was going to house one of the projectors the Singhs were building. Some of the final details were unresolved, but the basic wiring for the servos and the base plate design were set already, no matter what size container was finalized for the quantum fluid. They would be able to bolt it down, plug it in power and computer access and test it as soon as it was delivered.
Dave was talking to him as he worked about outfitting another scooter Eddie had bought as quickly as they could, with an improved plasma drive and another of the projectors so they would not be ruined if one ship was destroyed. Jeff had given his tentative Okay on that, as long as he could come to terms with Eddie over licensing and safeguarding the technology. This led to a discussion of fitting some charges so the crew could destroy the vessel if it was damaged beyond recovery and had to be abandoned.
Jeff coming in and hearing the idea agreed, but he offered one of his charged accumulators so the ship would be completely vaporized with nothing to analyze after the explosion. In the end they agreed it would be set from the control panel, with provisions to plug in a dead man's switch. The decision left them sobered and there wasn't much light hearted chatter after such a sobering vision.
Jeff privately concluded he had to make sure nobody was going to crack open these devices and steal the technology even if a crew surrendered. Not that he was going to keep the booby-traps a secret. It was just none of them realized how diabolically effective he could make them. In fact he concluded he really needed a redundant system to destroy them if need be, from outside too. Something others didn't control. Well, some of the hammers he was already building in his head would serve for that too. If they were a little heavy handed he'd have a hard time feeling sorry for a thief.
* * *
The USNA Heavy Shuttle Cincinnati was approaching M3 with some caution. N.A. Space Command had informed the crew in vague terms, about the battle with the Chinese which had happened earlier and how the exhaust plume of the Happy Lewis was seen near M3. There were multiple engine emissions of the sort her drive created in the area of the station. They refused to speculate if it meant there were other space craft like her there. Not elaborating on either statement when pressed.
Commander Darrel Hoyle was a careful man, a country boy and a student of military history. He had no desire to be remembered like Custer, for being suckered into an overwhelming ambush. He was the sort of student, who had not only gone out to the battlefield of that famous engagement and walked it, but had gone to the extraordinary trouble of arranging to ride the site by the Little Bighorn on a horse, as the combatants had. When he was through, he could no longer understand why Custer's hometown of Monroe Michigan made such a point of memorializing the memory of such an impulsive, inept, vainglorious tactician.
So when he approached M3 he took pains to listen to all the traffic on the local control net and the open traffic on the station com. He informed local control he would be doing a fly around and took a full forty minutes to do a triangular path around the station some kilometers off. Far enough away not to interfere with construction traffic or any shuttles coming or going, although Earthside control told him there were no departure requests or arrivals scheduled from other stations.
One thing he did notice was all the construction traffic and scooters working all seemed to find reason to finish up what they were doing and dock. By the end of their circuit they had the heavens to themselves.
"You ever watch any old Westerns Matt?" He asked his copilot.
"Never especially cared for them D. I was always partial to science fiction, even though some of the worst movies ever made were SiFi. The books were always better, but the interest was always there since I was about six. I'm pretty sure it's why I ended up in this seat."
"Well, when the bad guy walked into town he always walked right down the center of the dusty street, with his black hat on and challenged the authority of the good guy who was almost always the reluctant, but fast on the draw, Marshal. You know how you could tell he was the bad guy besides the hat?"
"Nope. Can't say as I know the formula."
"In the movie the townsfolk ran out, grabbing their kids off the street and the honest working people with their aprons and work coats on moved, quickly to get off the street before the bullets started flying. Sometimes they'd even show the scared shopkeeps locking their doors and turning their sign over in the window saying they were closed."
"I see," he said. "So you think there's a parallel here with the way traffic has, uh, diminished upon our arrival?"
"Yup. And there's something else you about the formula you should know. In a few of those movies, the courageous Marshall went out to face the bad guys alone, thinking he had no friends who would stand beside him. But at the end when he lay wounded in the street, all those indignant bakers and blacksmiths would poke a bunch of rifles and shotguns out the windows and blew the bad guy into bloody tatters in an unexpected show of support."
"Well, we did do our circuit with the laser mast deployed and the targeting lidar illuminating everything in sight. Not to mention our missile bay doors open. Some might have taken it as an unfriendly gesture."
"Yeah, well the gunslinger always paused dramatically at the start and slid his coat back and tucked it behind his holster. I'd hate to break the formula."
"What I don't understand is you keep identifying us with the bad guy D. Haven't they told you we're on the side of the Angels?"
"Yeah, they've been telling me since I was a kid. But I hope the folks over there," he nodded at the station, "know it too. Tell local control we are going to dock at the South Hub."
"Local control this is USNA Heavy Shuttle Cincinnati out of the Cape for dock. We will be docking at the South Hub terminal. Please advise any conflicting traffic to avoid us." He suddenly felt like an ass for saying that with not a single ship, scooter or suit in sight.
"Cincinnati you have no conflicting traffic. You are clear for dock."
"Control what is the situation on the station? Is there disorder or is everything calm?"
"Cincinnati, what the hell do you want me to say?" he asked angrily. "I just got told by Earthside Control I could not perform normal traffic functions for the Happy Lewis, on pain of being charged with aiding the enemy. So if I admit knowing anybody is unhappy with you I'm screwed for knowing a traitor. And if I say no, everything is happiness and light and somebody blows your silly ass off when you come in, I'm screwed for not warning you. I just tell spacecraft where to go, when they are in the mood to listen. If you want political commentary tune in the Voice of America, not Local Control at M3. When I came on shift everybody was going about their business as usual. But they had a station wide com alert a couple hours ago to check your pressure suit and make sure it was functional and handy."
"I know you don't live on a station but we get a little paranoid about breathing. We got you guys coming in on our station and I assume you have weapons that will depressurize us if they are used. So a lot of folks are probably like me. I have my p-suit on and called the wife and made her put her suit on and the boys too. We even made the kids put on their helmets, which they hate, but in a blow out my wife won't have to deal with screwing three helmets on."
"Now I don't honestly know if anybody is going to oppose you taking the station over, nobody has confided in me. But I can tell you two things. First is the Happy Lewis is somewhere in the vicinity of M3. Did you by any chance see the BBC video of what happened out near the Clarke orbit?"
"Uh, affirmative M3. We saw it alright."
"Well then I don't have to tell you that there is a possibility they may not be the friendliest. I've known three of those people for the last few years and if you had ever told me they would blow away a couple space planes full of people, I would never have believed it. Why it happened I don't know. I haven't talked to them about it. They just came in like you and said we're going to go dock and disappeared."
"Second thing is if you come in here and breach pressure. Don't ever expect anyone on the station to be civil or helpful to your dying day. You might as well go to a desert oasis and piss in their well and expect a welcome. Consider it just a little commentary for you on local customs. Messing with public pressure is unforgivable to station people. Any other questions Cincinnati?"
"No M3, thanks for the explanation. Talk to you on departure, out." He turned to his copilot. "I think we should run this exchange past the fellows in back don't you? Just knowing there is enough concern people are suiting up. You finish putting us on the tube and I'll play it back privately for the top boy in back. And Matt? Put your helmet back on. I'm screwing my lid on also." He headed back.
"And why do you bring this to my attention?" the commander asked the pilot. "There is nothing in his statement which alters my mission objectives." The tone suggested there was something improper about his motives. They both swayed on their take holds to the movement of the shuttle grappling to the dock.
"Sir, it tells you some small facts about the state of things within the station. Just the fact they are aware you are leading an armed force and the fact the civilian population is concerned enough to suit up, because they are worried your presence might lead to a pressure emergency. Whether that is of any use or concern to you is your problem. I can't swear they are planning any resistance, but I wouldn't discount the possibility. Once I've attached to the station you are in complete control of your mission. I'm just the taxi driver waiting to take you home."
The commander bristled at that and hesitated looking like he was going to dispute who was in charge before the docking. Then he looked Darrel in the eye and got a chill down his back. It had been a long time since he seen someone so utterly unafraid of him. He was firmly reminded who was master of this vessel.
"Very well. Are you sealed on the tube yet?"
D checked with his copilot and got an affirmative they had pressure.
"We're attached. If you'd give us a helmet feed off your net, we'd appreciate being able to see how it goes while we sit and wait for you."
"Certainly. Just visual of course. I can't have you distracting anyone by giving you an audio channel, while we're in a potential combat environment. We'll advise you though when we expect to return." D got the firm impression the 'we' in his mind didn't include the shuttle crew as part of his team. He made a note to himself, to take care of Matt and himself before this oaf.
D checked to make sure his audio was off when he reentered the cabin. "Real personality there," he told Matt. "The kind of fellow it wouldn't surprise me if somebody sort of accidentally shot his ass off from behind on full auto."
The big vid screen in front of each of them came on and they started getting a jumble of helmet feed, as they got ready back there.
The first four in the airlock closed the inner door and cycled the outer open. There was a slight change in pressure, but they were sealed in their suits and couldn't hear or feel it. The door in front of them proclaimed Margaret's warning message. What contemptible foolishness, the commander thought, but said nothing.
He had no fear any light weapons habitat security was allowed, would be a danger to vacuum armor. Even his faceplate would turn small arms fire. Nobody had thought to research for him, what arms and supplies Homeland Security might have ordered over the last few years.
"Avery - Williams, as planned, you keep position here to each side as we enter and be prepared to return fire. Dudley and I will advance through the tube. When we are forward enough to lose contact with you and there is no resistance you hold, but have the rest of our squad advance in leapfrog, keeping each other in sight."
* * *
"Margaret watched her helmet display from down corridor, near the first air wall, which would seal the corridor off if the lock on the outspin side and air wall across the bearing failed. They had ducked around the corner, in the first cross corridor from the South Hub bearing, for what small shelter it offered. There was gravity here but less even than Lunar level.
She had four switches on the box she was holding. One would blow the big charge and the Claymore on the tube end, where the shuttle was attached. The second fired the Claymore on the guard podium, facing the tunnel the other way. And the third would blow all three together. It was wired in sets, because one blast could disable the other charge before it fired.
She was betting they would discover the charges on the docking tube, before advancing up the tube. Neil on the other hand said they would charge up the tube gung-ho and never even look over their shoulder to see the thinly disguised satchels affixed to the docking ring. Those were booby trapped to blow if they were pulled down, or they attempted to disarm them, but if she saw them discovered on camera she'd blow them manually first.
The first two out the door advanced like salmon returning from the sea. They could handle themselves really well in zero G for Earthies, she had to admit. In the left split screen in her helmet display they stopped about a quarter way up in the tube. The next pair rushed out and deployed further down toward the station.
When the third pair rushed in through the docking ring and never stopped to look around or discover the explosives over their shoulder, she knew Neil was right. They had disguised both as equipment boxes. What a waste of time. They could have stenciled -BOMB- in big bright letters on the damn things and these guys would have never seen them. She already hated their guts for breaking the sanctity of her home, but on top of it they just made her lose a fifty dollar bet to Neil.
She wasn't sure how many would attempt entry, but there were eight in the tube and she could see the closest two clinging to the walls of the tube, from her camera at the station end, showing in the right side of her display. Which meant there would be two passing them and entering the gate room just outside the station lock in seconds. So there should be another two hitting the tube from the shuttle lock, at the same time.
She decided it was enough. She certainly didn't want to allow the leaders to advance past her claymore on the podium by the lock. If she triggered all three she'd get ten of them. What she didn't know, was the last pair of the squad was rushing into the shuttle lock on the heels of the two exiting and the charge on docking collar would bag them too, for an even dozen - the whole first squad.
In the camera, the first two to leave the shuttle emerged from the end of the tube. They criss-crossed between the two hunkered down in the opening and did a bounce off the lip of the tube, both aimed at a point in midair half way to the airlock. Very pretty choreographed zero G ballet. They timed it so one lagged behind the other, so they did not bump at the cross over point. They were in sight of her second sign.
All the skill and training didn't help though, when Margaret threw the third switch and eight hundred little pointy hard pyramids, packed neatly into a flat layer, were propelled down the tube from each end. At a thousand meters a second not only the men and suits inside were shredded beyond any recognition, but the tube itself burst wide open before all the holes could release the sudden pressure. At the ship airlock the charge on the docking collar went off with such force, that both of the massive mated collars were split open. The effect was the entire back end of the airlock separated and was propelled across the aisle which passed from the cargo/passenger area to the flight control cabin and blew the zero G toilet and galley out the other side of the shuttle.
The top of the hull was somewhat weaker than the bottom and the entire front quarter of the shuttle simply folded over on the hinge of the remaining material, the momentum imparted to it sufficient to bend it a full hundred and eighty degrees until the nose bumped its own belly, view ports looking back down the belly at the bells of its own engines poking out from behind the tail skirts. The big broken horseshoe of the mated docking collars blew free of the far side of the airframe, as the ship tumbled free.
* * *
D and Matt aboard the Cincinnati experienced it from a much different perspective, watching the helmet video in silence, as the leader opened the outer door of their shuttle lock. The hand printed message on the tube doors was a strange thing to do. Almost like a no trespassing sign.
"I have a bad feeling about this," D told his copilot. "Are you strapped in tight?" he asked, adjusting his own harness to flight tension and pulling his arms down inside the acceleration couch arm rests. "Put the helmet wings up on your seat and take the cabin oxygen off the central system and set automatic fire suppression everywhere. I mean to pull off, if we see any resistance coming back down the tube, overrunning their probe. I don't want us boarded by a counter force."
"Yes Sir," he complied flipping a few switches and securing himself in the seat. "But what about ..." and then a giant cut him off in mid sentence, smacking the back of their cabin so hard they both blacked out. Neither would remember the brief flash from the helmet camera feed.
* * *
In the corridor, Margaret and three companions hurried back around the corner from shelter. The bulkhead on one side of the air wall was bulged in badly and she could see a peppering of holes in the metal from ten meters away. Not badly enough to drop the next emergency seal across the corridor, but it needed repaired. She and one other suited figure lay against the deck and propped a simple device in front of them. It was a shield with a thin carbon fiber sheet to lay on, behind a low laminated armor plate to peer over, with a notch cut in the top to stick her weapon through. It had three layers of different material riveted together. It might not stop a heavy machine gun with armor piercing, but it would stop any normal light arms. She propped the short barrel of a 40mm grenade launcher in the notch and drew a bead on the center of the airlock door.
The guys she thought brave, were the two fire and rescue men who swarmed forward with sticky mats and laid a temporary repair on the bulkhead which had a whistling leak. They had no idea if someone would emerge from the lock shooting, while they worked completely exposed. After awhile they finished and retreated back behind the militia men and took up their own ready positions. No one ever did try to come through this entry. Losing half their force, turned Art away from following the direct route his commander erred in taking.
* * *
Inside the Cincinnati Art was checking his men after the blast. The larger, more massive, back portion had not moved as violently as the control cabin, but they had all been unrestrained ready to follow their comrades out the lock.
Of his eleven men three were casualties. One seemed to have a broken leg and the other was not able to speak. He typed on a pad: Think jaw broke. Need pain shot. He OK'd the med. If the jaw didn't sideline him, the painkiller they could inject through the special port on the thigh, would sideline him all by itself. The third man had, for whatever reason, had his faceplate open contrary to orders, when pressure was breached. He had been knocked out or otherwise disabled when thrown about in the blast, so he never got it closed again. Once he knew how his squad was, he went forward to access the damage.
He knew they had lost pressure as soon as he felt his suit bulge, but was stunned to see the whole end of the passage to the control cabin opened on space. He never leaned out far enough to see the pilots' cabin was tucked under, against their belly. He just assumed they were gone and dead. Even worse he could see they were slowly tumbling end over end and already a hundred meters from the station.
Their suits had quite a bit of maneuvering capacity. He needed to get them out of here and on the station, as fast as possible before they were too far away.
The next time the tumble swept the view of the station past them he saw a scooter of some sort coming after them as they moved away. For a chill moment he thought someone was coming to finish them off and his hand went quickly to his weapon. But the vessel was not only displaying bright running lights, it had some sort of a flashing beacon on it. Hardly what an attacking ship would display. Next rotation it was very close and he could see the thrusters firing to stop it. Also he could see the large red cross painted on the white body.
"Hello the Cincinnati. Hello the Cincinnati. Do you have any survivors? Do you need medical evacuation? Hello the Cincinnati..." It was an ambulance.
"Hello the ambulance. This is Arthur Siefert, in command on the wreck. We have two injured and a fellow who is definitely dead from decompression. One with a broken leg and one with a probable broken jaw. Both are in sound suits. Can you take us off?
"I have room inboard for the two. But two patients and two medics is all we can fit. We will call a tug to stop your spin and push you back to the station. You have air for an hour don't you? It shouldn't take any longer than an hour."
Art killed his suit radio and spoke to his men on the low powered and scrambled combat channel. "You two who are hurt. Act like you can't move yourselves and have two buddies help you out to the scooter. When all of us are at the scooter we will take over and the rest of the squad follow us out to get aboard".
"We have to leave you here for awhile, but we'll leave the medics with you and any equipment they want. They're sending a tug to recover the ship, so you'll be OK. Francisco and John, take a pair of wire cutters and snip the antennas on the scooter top and bottom as soon as you get to it. They probably have it set to relay their suit radio to their dispatch. Then get the suit antennas too."
Switching back to the civilian channel, he agreed. "OK we're bringing them out. My guys will kill their motion from the tumble and bring the casualties to the scooter. Can you call please and make sure of the tug? My guys are pretty worried about drifting off."
"They're on the way already Art. We're opening the hatch so we can strap your guys down in the back. Since their suits are good we'll just hurry in and not repressurize. It will get them offloaded at the hospital faster too."
Each of the injured came out the open passage way on the severed end of the shuttle, with two buddies hugging him from each side. They jumped and then recovered from the tumble pretty easily with their suit jets and headed for the ambulance. Art just jumped alone and made his way even quicker to the scooter, where the side hatch was already swung back against the overhead out of the way. He grabbed the edge of the opening and was gratified to see both technicians had come back to secure the wounded. Looking back at the wreck he was surprised to see the front of the shuttle folded over, like an old man with his chin on his chest, looking back toward their own tail. He had assumed it was blown off entirely.
"Just a minute longer. I have two guys easing each of the injured over. I don't think either is in shape to orient themselves. The guy with the jaw is already doped up for the pain. Here's the empty injector so you know what to do with him. He tossed the little pistol shaped tool to the nearest medic. The first trio came up, the buddies on each side holding him at the hip, easing him forwards. As soon as they got to the door they passed him to the medics and jetted away, one over and one under the door.
"I hope they aren't going to try reentering your shuttle." The medic worried. "It can be really tricky even though it isn't tumbling very fast. If one of you gets swatted trying to hit the opening we'll be gone and it'll be awhile to get back. You'll be safer to wait outside until the tug gets here and then you can climb in safe after he kills the spin and ride it back while he pushes it."
"Then you won't have any problem staying here, if it's so safe. At the moment I need this scooter worse than you guys."
They looked up, in surprise to see him holding a pistol on both of them.
"Are you nuts?" Asked the one technician. "You have no idea how seriously either of these guys are hurt. You need to get both of them to pressure and cut their suits off. They could have internal injuries, if they're in shock they can't accurately report their condition to us."
"They are soldiers. They have to wait for us to accomplish our mission. Take anything you want from the scooter. You must have a kit. But no more argument. If either of you tries to argue or delay us, I'm not going to waste time talking. I'll just shoot you."
"OK, no talk." Said the same technician. Holding his palms out to Art. "I'll take our kit off the wall there, he pointed and do as much as I can for them."
"Do it. Move." Said Art. Encouraging them, with a wave of the gun.
The rest of his squad arrived and piled in the hatch. They had to cram in on top of each other. But the hard suits and the fact they could hold on with powered gloves made it doable. The last fellow in the door went up to the two medics and snipped their suit antenna off, flush with the little mounting bump on the surface. The two injured and two medics were all close together and drifting along with the damaged shuttle, when their ambulance left.
"Hey Jerry, any special instructions?" The tug driver asked, as they passed them on the way back. to the station.
"Bunch of guys drifting outside. Nobody has checked the control cabin. Don't know if there may be survivors there. Scooter radio not working right," he said all the while flipping the switch on and off so his suit radio would cut out intermittently. "Gotta go." He ad-libbed and switched off the civilian channel for transmission, but listened.
"He doesn't sound like Jerry," a voice said.
"He didn't say he was Jerry. You did," another irritated voice said. "Visit later. They have their hands full and we've got an ugly tumble here to stop and I want you to pay attention."
Art smiled and kept going for the other end of the station.
* * *
What had started as a meeting of the Rock investors expanded, as many of the investors brought friends and employees, much more concerned about the political situation, than the Rock's finances. Finally they had to move from the conference room they were borrowing, down the hall to the cafeteria.
As people saw what the meeting was becoming, they called friends on their pad and said they should come. Eventually they had to raise a table as a speaking platform, for the crowd to see and a pad setting on it open, with the camera broadcasting to people in places like the infirmary, who could not come in.
After a few awkward attempts at voice votes, to establish community opinion on matters, Mr. Muños, who was well regarded by everyone and worked with data systems spoke. "I have made a vote page here on the local net. Each question which comes up, you can vote yes or no on the issue. Only one vote for each person's primary address. No multiple votes for any secondary addresses, which are listed in the same person's name. The vote will be tallied and the numbers show as soon as there have been no new votes added for thirty seconds. The whole audio record and the statement of what is resolved will be recorded and available later, in an archive with the vote taken also."
"It won't be a secret ballot, because the address will be beside each vote in the order received, but we will be able later to at least make sure nobody voted twice. And if it is not anonymous, well, neither was voting by outcry and it also excludes anybody afraid to vote, because the USNA might find out later they voted. I'm not sure we shouldn't just leave it that way at this juncture," he asserted.
"If the votes are public, everyone can check their vote is logged properly and we can't have the electronic voter fraud and error which have gotten worse each year Dirtside. So if you are too timid to take a position publicly, don't vote. We're all going to be John Hancocks." Most of them understood what he was alluding to. April was delighted with what was happening. What she and her conspirators wanted, was happening spontaneously.
Ajay was not a leader of men. In fact he had no desire to be such a person, despite the enthusiasm they had for his public statement from the shuttle. He informed the crowd before him, leaving no doubts, turning down a motion to make him a temporary leader, until the details of government could be ironed out.
"I am newly married. I have a teenage son and a career in a difficult and fast moving specialty, in which I can easily fall behind. If I take even six months off I will be so far behind I'll have sabotaged my career irreparably. If the Earthies have some crazy idea I am a leader, it's their misconception. I'm certainly disabusing you of it right now. I detest politicians. I'd just as soon become a swine herder, or rag picker as a politician."
"Find someone who has a great deal of time on his hands and has social skills and likes people, to be the figure head for the new state. Make sure he has all the advice and respect of some sort of legislature. If I were you people, seeing what professional politicians become on Earth. I would demand the legislators only hold office as a part time community service and must have a full time occupation of some sort elsewhere.
That produced a murmur of agreement, all the way around. George Benne from maintenance spoke up and asked. "So how would we do the elections? What would a legislator represent? Different rings or levels or some association?"
"I have an idea, George" April spoke up. George looked at her with interest. "What April?"
"Let people define their own interest groups. Have any group which signs up two hundred members, send a delegate to the legislature. But you can only belong to one such group. You can join a group which has a focus on some professional group, if your job is most important to you, or even by area like everybody in D ring, if that's what you want." "Whatever the groups focus on, it will mean the business of the legislature is focused on what the people are most concerned with. Try it for a year or two and if it needs modified we can do it later.
"I'm sorry April," another man, Tibbet, from one of the earth companies in executive row spoke up, "but what makes you feel you can speak up and take a hand in the direction of adult matters like this? I'm frankly not sure you should even be here."
Easy rose at the end of the table and looked at the man. "I just got through spending a week in a cramped ship to rescue the Singhs with this 'child' who acted as my copilot and who was the command pilot for hours at a time. She did hazardous rigger's work out in vacuum. She acted unflinching on orders and displayed bravery in combat. She ate the same slop we did, literally scrapped the blood of her enemies off without flinching and went on tired and filthy. Then when we got back, she went home to find her door blown in and the same enemy inside trying to kill her father here," he pointed at Steve. "She went in and shot one of them dead in her own living room. If she's not fit to be here then just tell me and I'll be happy to leave too, because I'm sure not good enough for you either." The look on his face was not pleasant.
"I had heard at least elements of that story as rumors," Tibbet admitted, looking suddenly ashamed and backing down. "I could easily withdraw the question in her case given those circumstances, but respectfully we also have to ask the question for everyone on M3. Who has the franchise? Who is qualified to be in one of those groups of two hundred, if we do adopt that system?"
An older woman from housekeeping spoke up. "Well Tibbet. I'm a woman, I'm not rich, I don't own any cubic, just rent and I don't own a piece of the Rock. So the way politics usually works I'd be disenfranchised, real fast, adult or no. As long as we're revolting let me clue you. Try to cut us so called little people out and they'll be scrapping your blood off the deck," she threatened.
"This is my home and I'll be damned if I'll trade one bad deal for another. Life down below has gone to hell and if we're going to risk everything here to improve our lot, it's not going to be a meaningless cosmetic fix, that just leaves me stuck under a new thumb. As far as I am concerned if you live here you have a voice. Anybody have a problem with that speak up right now, so we know who the enemy is," she challenged.
She looked around. Nobody seemed to want to espouse any exclusionist philosophies.
"First electronic vote." Muños announced. "We'll back up and get the couple we did by voice in a few minutes. But for now, proposed: Franchise to be by simple residence. Any addendums or details to be worked out later. How do you say?" The first vote went surprisingly well, 1243 ayes coming in within a minute, 43 nays, a few of each trickling in for another half minute and then thirty seconds of silence until the vote was tallied. Having such a distinct landslide helped the momentum of the meeting.
April's grandfather Robert, also known as Happy Lewis, spoke up. "I have two proposals. First I propose each anniversary of today, the legislature we form will be in session and they will hold an electronic referendum, of all issues which at least two hundred citizens indicate they wished voted on by the general population, in addition to any issues the legislators are considering themselves, such referendums decided by the same timed, majority vote we are using. This will insure all important matters are considered and the delegates can't conspire to sweep an issue under the carpet, the people want resolved. Can we vote this suggestion first?"
"How do you people say?" Muños asked. A form of address which would become the traditional and formal call to vote for M3.
This pulled 1263 ayes to 32 nays.
"OK Happy, one more, then give someone else a chance." Muños said. Another custom which would become fast, although never formally voted on. The two proposal limit.
"To address the problem and question of my granddaughter's franchise. And all the other young people like her. Many ages and qualifications have been tried by governments to establish adulthood. Some a mish-mash of different privileges phased in at different ages even. With exceptions granted as needed, by emancipation for example. It's a mess. Some people are adults in fact at twelve and some never should have to bear the burden of adulthood, because of handicap or inexplicable inability to mature, even at forty years old. I propose we make the assumption of majority, something a person must actively declare, along with the sponsor of at least three other adults, who can testify to their maturity and character, irrespective of age or other qualifying test. If it doesn't work better than what we've tried so far, you can change it in the referendum. That's one thing the referendum will allow us to do; try new things without fear we will be stuck with them if they don't work out." He nodded at Muños.
"How do you people say?" Muños was on a roll.
The first hundred votes slammed right in on each side pretty even aye and nay. But then the votes sort of trickled in, as it was a really different idea and they hesitated to consider it. Especially with so little time to ponder. April was surprised there were not more with an immediate opinion, but the ayes pulled ahead steady and then seemed to gain momentum. At the end the trickle in was almost all aye. It ended 773 to 383 in favor. She wished it was as firm as the others, but it was a win.
The idea was obviously too new to absorb, as many had abstained. She stood back up.
"Mr. Muños. I have two issues to propose. Will you entertain them?" she still wasn't sure yet if she'd get a hearing, despite the previous vote.
Muños looked around like he was expecting objections after the last time, but he saw no problem and just said, "What is your first?"
"I'll advance the first and if it does not pass, I'll go home and reserve the second. I propose the motion of my grandfather be amended. I propose it may be too easy to find three people, especially relatives, who may be partial and vote a person privileges of majority. That may seem against my own interests, but I don't want a majority that is tainted and in doubt. I propose a person must have at least three sponsors, but also survive a vote that allows anyone in the community to express a nay to the application. This is my first proposal."
"How do you people say?" Muños asked again. It had an authoritative sound.
It found 1112 ayes and 75 nays. They liked it better.
"Do you still wish to propose the second then, as it passed?" Muños asked.
"Please. As there is not a time and place specified for this yet. I would like to ask if there are three people who will sponsor me now and if so, take it to a vote, so I know whether to fight this revolution, or take these guns off - she laid her hands on the laser and the Chinese pistol - and go home and play with my dolls."
"I believe the floor is open for sponsorships." Muños said.
Her father stood up and spoke, "I know April. I sponsor her unreservedly."
Her grandfather stood also, "I know April. She's ready."
Easy was waiting for him to finish, "She's my comrade at arms. Absolutely."
"Having three sponsors spoken," Muños said. "How do - "
"Objection!" Jon Davis bellowed over him, all the way from the back.
"Mr. Davis," Muños spoke surprised, rattled really by the volume from soft spoken Jon, "what objection can you have in the face of the vote? We have three sponsors and may proceed, may we not?"
"You may not," Jon assured him. "You require at least three sponsors. "I acknowledged the practical fact of April's majority to her weeks ago. And I won't be relegated to simply adding an affirmative vote, when it is my privilege to be listed as a sponsor. Take the full list of people who know her well and wish to stand as sponsor and then take a yes or no vote. That's how we do this."
"Your point is well taken," Muños said with a smile. "All who wish to stand as a sponsor, for the majority of April Lewis please enter an aye vote on your pads. Only ayes this vote as sponsors and then the aye and nays to affirm it or reject it next round. To put it formally, I guess I shall say: Who stands sponsor to April?"
Several apparently decided to take the standing part literally. Ruby stood and looked at April and Muños and pressed her pad. She saw Sylvia stand and a man from Jon's exercise group. A fellow from supply and a woman she dealt with regularly in housing. She had no idea Margaret and Theo, following the meeting on their pads keyed ayes, but her mother did not. When the thirty second quiet period ended, there were 37 sponsors on the pad. She had a hard time seeing it for the tears flooding her eyes and running down her cheeks.
"Somewhere way off she heard, "How do you people say?" again. This time the numbers were 393 to 73. Most probably voted based upon knowing and trusting her sponsors. She didn't think she knew four hundred people. Still a lot of abstentions and the whole idea surely offended many, but she was very happy with it.
Mr. Tibbet surprised her, by standing and asking to propose two items. He said. "Miss Lewis has used up her two proposals to clear some personal matters. I'd like to re-submit her prior thought we elect delegates to a legislature at large, who can show a body of 200 residents they are representing. I'd add that voters may withdraw their affiliation and if the representative drops below 200 supporters they are unseated and must seek to reform. I have heard several people refer to this as their home, in emotional and emphatic terms. While the physical structure is Mitsubishi 3, an object of corporate and private ownership and I have not heard any fool suggest nationalizing it, my second proposal is we call our political body, the nation we are forming, by the simple name of Home."
For some reason it struck a chord. There was an audible murmuring in the crowd.
On the matter of the legislature it went 892 to 272 and passed. On the matter of the name being Home it read 1311 to 71. Even Tibbet was surprised at the vote and later shocked to find he had secured a place in history as firm as John Hancock.
This first constitutional assembly of Home might well have lasted through the night. However just then Frank called Jon and informed him the problem with the Cincinnati was not over as he thought. There was an agitated maintenance worker, a fellow working in the North hub, who reported a group of armed men in space armor had swept in, from the same airlock Art had used to jump to the USNA shuttle a couple weeks ago. He was grabbed out of the corridor where he was washing the wall and performing maintenance on lights and such and stuffed with cuffs on into a maintenance closet and the door jammed shut behind him.
The men had taken his pad and smashed it out in the hall, but apparently the concept of a janitor's closet having a com and data access, was not the norm on Earth. All he knew was they were headed South and seemed in a hurry. Jon immediately asked his people to ambush them from the side corridors and hurried to intercept. April, Heather and several others suspected immediately what their objective might be and sent a short message to Neil. "Holiday Inn." "I know," Neil replied with a semi cryptic, "I'll check them in." Perhaps it was simply his droll humor.
Chapter 31
Neil walked around the counter and checked the Holiday Inn logo which decorated the front of the checkin desk. Last night before setting a watch for Harris, he'd reinforced the desk on which it was mounted. A thick aluminum plate inside, behind the plastic logo strengthened it now. The counter was fastened to the deck with generous large bolts and he had satisfied himself on their sturdiness. Behind the aluminum plate, he had filled the desk with boxes of supplies from the storage rooms. Soup and powdered drinks, toiletries and pamphlets. As much mass as he could find to pile in the cabinet.
The logo hid a master study in improvised munitions. They had no more claymore mines, but he had pulled the flimsy plastic front off the sign and filled the rear with a sheet of plastique. He carefully spread all of the C4 compound from two demolition charges, building each quadrant of the sheet into a mound with a knot of DET cord buried in each. The cords all met in the middle on a main line with four double lark's heads pulled snug around it. The main ran to an electric blasting cap, where it was doubled against the copper tube and tied off.
An assortment of odd nuts and bolts Housekeeping swept up and a large number of used button batteries that were awaiting recycling, were pressed in the surface of the explosive like chocolate chips studded on cookie dough. They would become missiles every bit as lethal as the special balls or pyramids a commercial Claymore used. With the flimsy plastic front cover clipped back on the front, he checked the firing circuits and got a green light. He removed the tester, kept the familiar clacker in his hand and relaxed awaiting company.
* * *
April and Easy set an ambush at the second ring, where the corridors were close together and they could shoot from one intersection to the next. She and Easy took opposite sides of the next intersection spin wise, about fifty meters away. She laid her captured pistol from the Chinese fellow right in the middle of the intersection they were ambushing. They figured nobody could resist stopping to pick it up and look at it. They had their portable shields deployed behind the corners on each side and were holding their lasers around the corner watching the pistol with spex.
She had set her suit exterior to a gray and black, to match the corridor walls. An older man and a younger one ran up behind them and hunkered down. She looked over her shoulder at them and they were obviously father and son. Both carried equipment, the father with something that had wheels and both had old fashioned soft body armor which closed with Velcro straps.
"How close are the Earthies? Do you know?" demanded the father.
"Pretty close. They should be here any second." April assured him. "Please don't distract me when I have to shoot," she asked, concentrating to talk and watch at the same time.
"What are you guys shooting?" he asked.
"High powered lasers."
"Hot damn! Let me get just one shot in please and my boy will probe them now. I'll take the risk to cross," he scrambled to the other side and lay on the floor by Easy. His weapon was big and visibly heavy, with two small rubber wheels on the back so you could push it like a hand cart. He had a two footed tripod at the front and April could see two massive concentric coil springs within a square frame of some sort of metal tubes. She heard an electric motor whining at full speed, but the springs very slowly pulled back in compression. It took at least a full minute to take the springs all the way back, before there was a sharp latching sound and the motor shut off. April glanced at the boy still on her side.
"What the hell is the contraption he's lugging around?"
"My dad's a machinist and fabricated his weapon over the last two days, figuring the Earthies were coming. It's sort of a crossbow without the bow"
April watched him push a gray missile about a hundred-fifty millimeters long and maybe twenty in diameter in the front. It had little shiny tail fins at the back, on the cone of a flared skirt, which was perhaps twice the diameter of the long body. It rather looked like pictures she had seen online, of the tank killing dart a discarding sabot carried from an antiarmor canon.
"Solid tungsten rod, with a tungsten carbide point and a half carat diamond tip sintered in," he informed her. "No explosives," he lamented, "But it masses pretty good and dad said if you can scratch it you can crack it. We figure it will toss it at about three hundred to three-fifty hundred meters a second. It should penetrate and then when the cone on the rear gets to the surface, if it doesn't pull through it should be a jolly jolt in any case. We just didn't know how strong their armor is."
"It's just an armored suit, not a frigging battle tank," April told him unbelieving, realizing she was in the presence of truly over the edge weirdness with these two. The missile had to weigh several kilograms. It would hit like having a ground car dropped on you. April suspected it would go through a shuttle lengthwise like a wet paper sack, much less a suit.
"Oh, good. You must think it's enough then," he smiled, taking it for approval.
The boy pulled the object he was carrying out from under his arm and April realized it was a remote control model air car. He punched a command in his pad and held the toy out at arm's length where it spun its rotors up and went into a hover. It hung there to gave him time to pick the pad up and then took off surprisingly fast for the target area. When it reached the other corridor, it banked around the corner at a steep angle and disappeared. April looked down at his screen which showed the on board camera and realized he was flying it inches from the ceiling. There was an indistinct clump of darkness far down the corridor and it grew quickly into a cluster of combat space suits jogging along.
"Hey, you spotted them," April congratulated him. "Don't you think you better pull it back before they shoot it down?"
He ignored her, with a faraway look on his face and the scene telescoped into close-up in seconds. The lead figure did raise a weapon and the whole view tilted at a crazy angle then full inverted as the toy swooped down the wall, faster than the bright flashing muzzle of the weapon could follow it.
It transversed the floor as it corkscrewed and swooped around the lead figure, who spun sideways trying to track it, as the model twisted in the air of the corridor. There was just an instant of zoomed image of the second suit before impact, just a fleeting impression of a couple eyeballs wide with surprise through the faceplate, before the screen went dark. The floor transmitted a little thump, like someone stomping their foot and there was a brief orange flash from the North corridor.
"Just an itty-bitty little shaped charge, they use to punch rivet holes in girders," the teenager said. "About the size of a AA cell," he said, holding up his fingers to illustrate, "but it can't be very good to have go off right on your helmet face plate."
April went back to her spex shaken by the image. She didn't want to be seeing those eyes in dreams like she knew Easy had. She had burned a ship knowing there were men inside, but after she hadn't been near as cheerful as this kid. It bothered her. Neither did she realize she had labeled him a child in her mind and he was probably two years her elder. She forced her attention back to watch the spex image in her heads up and see the father across by Easy just fine also.
The first trooper came sliding into the intersection and looked at the Chinese pistol. He was cautious enough to prod it with the muzzle of his weapon before reaching for it. As he bent over April laid her cross hairs on his torso, but a second running suited figure bumped into his hip and knocked him to his hands and knees, going down himself but sliding past the first. There was a ringing metallic -THRUMP!- from the father's homemade weapon and he slid back a good half meter or more on the floor, from the recoil. He left the weapon there and rolled to cover back behind Easy with a moan.
The dart caught the suited man down on his hands and knees, right behind the arm pit. It picked him up, heavy suit and all and rolled him end over end in the air at least three times that April saw, limbs spun out from the impact. He was actually carried out of the intersection into the side corridor. The dart passed through both layers of space armor and soft filling, cone punching a 40mm hole straight through everything without changing trajectory very much. It continued down the hall leaving a dark splash trickling down the corridor wall near the junction and had the good fortune to catch on a door frame instead of ricochet.
It then sliced a groove through eight meters of sheet metal wall before impacting on the next door frame on the hall, creasing a deep groove across the heavy hatch, lodging in the opposite side of the steel door frame of an equipment room. It was sheer luck it didn't keep going until it exited the hull somewhere venting pressure or otherwise killing some innocent resident.
April recovered from the visual shock of that overkill and fired at the legs of the fellow still hanging into the intersection from the South side. There was a buzzing spray of sparks off the ablative coating as she nipped the edge of him, but he was gone too fast. His arm came back around the corner and lobbed a smoke grenade toward them. She snapped a shot at it, but just burned wall in a wailing loud spray of molten metal droplets. Easy nailed the grenade while it was still rolling, vaporizing it with very little smoke. Another hand came around the corner from the North and rolled another smoke bomb toward them, already spewing white. April fired at the corner and switched to infrared. The smoke was opaque in it too. She fired blindly into the haze and the Earthies sprayed an brief and equally blind stream of bullets down towards them, which drummed loudly on the walls.
Easy and she stood to fire around the corner, with a continuous beam. Just hosing the area hoping to catch something, but they were probably past. The green beam was impressive as could be, the pulsing beam which Jeff had designed to shake a target apart, also shook it like a speaker cone. The wail of it as it played across surfaces was bone rattling, but she didn't know if she was hitting anything, or if it carried enough punch through the fog to do damage. It was frustrating to realize the father and son team had two kills for sure with their strange homemade equipment, but Easy and she had no idea if they hit anything.
She stopped shooting when Easy rushed forward into the smoke and she looked back at the boy. He was looking where one of the bullets had snipped his thumb off with a sickly fascination. He had hunkered behind her shield with her but let his hand out too far to brace himself and caught a bullet. "I've got a minor wound," he called to his dad. "Have to get a new thumb grown. You OK? Or did you take any hits?"
"They didn't hit me," he called back. "but the damn machine broke my shoulder real bad. We seriously underestimated the recoil. I think we could take the smaller spring out altogether and add some more weights," he concluded in a huge understatement.
April could see the hazy outline of Easy in the clearing smoke. He had sprinted to the next intersection and let loose a long blast down the way they were running, braced on the corner with his laser. He waited a bit and come back towards her slowly, with her Chinese pistol he had retrieved in his left hand. The ventilation had sensed the smoke and cranked up, clearing it pretty fast, but the smoke alarm was still wailing, needing reset.
* * *
Further South, Jon had earlier met Frank just North of the third ring, setting up their ambush about the same time as April. It was the same corridor as Heather's family lived on, but still North of them. He was talking on his pad to Dave's guys at the Happy Lewis and Happy himself, who was rushing to get to the ship. The tug over at the Cincinnati was talking to them. They reported some casualties and two crewmen asking to surrender. The flight crew were not combative or armed at all.
They were moving to find where the ambulance docked and make sure even if the troops were not stopped inside, they would have no scooter to escape. Where they thought they could go in it he didn't know, as it did not have the range to reach another station in any reasonable time. Especially with the load of eight or nine troopers in armor the janitor reported.
Frank joined him, carrying a clear rod carefully in both hands, index and thumbs pressed together on both ends. He looked scared to death.
"You got what I think there?" Jon asked looking at it warily.
"Yup. Our Friend Mister Bucky Braid. Rolled up on an old sapphire laser core. You take the diamond from my right hand and I will keep the left one and we will move slowly apart wiggling them in a counterclockwise motion and the rod will drop out. Reach in my pocket first and get an adhesive gun I have, to position your diamond on the wall. Then come over and do a drop for me." They moved apart and moved slower and slower until Jon definitely felt a resistance to his pulling the diamond further. He looked at Frank.
"I'll swing to the wall in an arc. Waist high OK with you?" They were positioning it on a diagonal as it was longer than the corridor was wide and just before a cross corridor.
"Super. Just no sudden tugs. I'd have to just leave it and get long tongs to retrieve it later. I won't take a chance of getting caught in a loop of it. Be a hell of a note to get caught here holding it when they come down the corridor. Huh?
"I got mine." Jon said he touched the wall with the applicator and slid the little metal clip onto the drop. He stopped and visualized the braid and carefully withdrew his two fingers from the diamond along the wall, then stepped back.
He laid down and looked to see Frank still had it between his fingers and quickly rolled low under the line past Frank to retrieve the rod on the deck and came back with the applicator. He reached in past Frank slowly. Frank slid it slowly along the wall until he could rock the disk a hair away from the wall. Straining to keep his hand flat on the wall Jon put the tip of the applicator behind the disk and pulled the trigger for a single drop. Frank pressed against the drop and just like Jon made a slow and exaggerated withdrawal from the grip.
"Hah!" he said and showed Jon a tiny shiny oval shaved off the finger tip, where there was no longer a print. They heard the rip of an automatic weapon to the North and a low pop, but Frank still paused a moment to pull a manual pump bottle from his belt and point it at the overhead across the Braid and squeeze off a few streams of some clear fluid. The fluid arced as far as Frank could reach with it, wetting the floor to maybe two meters away on the other side. There were more bursts of automatic fire - closer and a shuddering metallic scream like he had never heard. Then the steady wail of a distant smoke alarm.
"Silicone lubricant," he explained, as he finished spraying. "It doesn't look very wet but it's as slick as can be." Then they rushed around the corner and went down to the second door on the North side, where Jon used his master key and let them in. The light came on automatically and he could not see a switch anywhere so he pulled his Taser and fried the light, which went out with a purple flash.
The room was storage of some sort. He could see the intersection if he leaned on the door jamb. Frank leaned out above him, but decided his weapon was too light for armor anyway and stepped back. "I'll just man the door," he offered. "You take one good shot if you get one and roll back in as far as you can go and I'll shut the door.
Jon watched and heard rumbling footsteps of the heavy suits coming. Suddenly he heard an extra loud thump and saw a torso slide through the intersection, followed by a pair of legs still connected at the top. They went past faster than he could have reacted to shoot, leaving a scarlet streak on the deck. But the next thump was followed by a suited figure missing only a foot and it slid at an angle, so it smashed headlong into the corner of their side hall and flailed around trying to get up. Another figure stopped and grabbed the fallen figure by the equipment rack on the front. Jon fed a Taser bolt into the head of the fallen figure and another into the standing one, then back to the bottom one.
The standing powered suit appeared to have its grip locked on the front of the downed one which had gone still. The Taser had fried something in its controls.
A green shimmer flashed and a flare of melting metal walked down the wall and found the head of the one laying on the deck with lethal results.
Crap, I should have put the two shots in the standing one, Jon thought. His Taser showed an amber light behind the sight, meaning a delay to shoot again while the capacitor charged up.
The man in the standing suit finally ripped its frozen grip loose from the headless one on the deck and jumped back with jerky motions. His Taser must have damaged some circuits. The suit computers might trouble shoot themselves in a few seconds, if it had enough redundant circuits. The man sprayed a burst of projectile fire down the opposite corridor, not sure where the trouble was coming from and then started to swing back their way all jerky still in the damaged suit.
Jon rolled away from the door and Frank closed it, throwing himself flat in the dark. A rippling set of slits opened the wall noisily, showing the light from outside. The bullets thudding into the boxes stacked along the back wall. Then they could feel the fellow's retreating footsteps through the deck, as he ran on.
"You OK?" Jon asked with concern.
"Just fine. I landed on something soft."
"That was me," Jon explained. "I thought you were hit the way you came down. Would you mind helping me recover the bucky-braid, before a friend runs into it?"
* * *
After a long wait with no action, Neil ducked into the office briefly to check that Harris was still secure and stepped back out into the Holiday Inn lobby leaving the door ajar. He might want to move through in a hurry. He stood, hands on the counter exactly behind the logo. Soon there was a rumble of heavy feet running in combat armor and he gave his fingers a final free wiggle, before committing to clutching the detonator. He armed it and kept both hands in sight on the counter. There was a rattle of muted automatic weapons fire and more running.
A black armored suit appeared outside the glass doors running too fast to stop. He slid almost past and grabbed hold of the door handle to pivot and shoulder through with a banging of suit armor on plate glass. Neil was amazed the doors didn't shatter. A short machine gun with an oversized drum magazine was hung in a harness on his front.
On his heels two similar troopers with lighter weapons pushed through the doors and stayed back from the leader on each side. There was a glass wall panel on each side of the entry doors and through the right one Neil could see a last trailing trooper stop to point a weapon back up corridor and let off a long stream of fire. The muzzle spewed pulsating cones of purple fire and a rain of golden shell casings rattled against the glass. The leader in front of him had thrown his faceplate back saying something, but the man firing beyond the glass was so loud his mouth worked but nothing could be heard but the weapon.
In the hall the trooper, still firing, was hit with two flares of light, one grew on his chest just below his neck and the other low almost to his hips. The suit ablated for a heartbeat and then the beams cut through with a tooth ache inducing moan, like God's own fingernails drawn down the blackboard of heaven. The suit exploded messily, with a dull thud of rattling parts as the limbs blew off and a red spray across the glass. There were little wet scraps and tatters of pink and yellow, sliding down through the red.
"Shit!" the front soldier said in the sudden quiet, looking over his shoulder at the carnage. He turned back and tried again. "Harris, the manager," he repeated what was lost in the noise, "where is he and where's the back way out of this place? We've got damn devils with death rays behind us."
"I'm sorry, Sir." Neil said in the calmest of voices, "Mr. Harris is indisposed. You'll have to leave. You're not welcome here."
Art glared bug eyed, speechless with rage at this snotty civilian in white shirt and tie. He started to put hand back to his weapon and Neil turned his hand over displaying the detonator with his thumb firmly poised on it. It cut cold right through his rage and silenced him, as he recognized the military device instantly.
"I'm afraid I have the advantage of you, sir. If you'll surrender I'll try to preserve you alive," he offered kindly.
The trooper on Art's left had his weapon pointed away full left, but he took a step away from Art to make room and started swinging the muzzle around full circle to bear on Neil.
"Noooo," Art spoke more in supplication than command, but too late given the soldier's momentum.
Neil closed his eyes and lifted his thumb. The blast reflecting off the armor in front and the counter back shoving on his legs, picked Neil up and threw him through the door behind him like being hit by a ground car. Good thing he'd left it unlatched. He might have passed out a moment, as he seemed to have lost track mentally. Someone moaned pitifully and then he realized, embarrassed, it was him.
For a certainty he was aware next he was laying on his Taser, tucked in the back of his waist band. It felt huge and hard, like he was going to break his back bent over the hard thing. He rolled off it and was looking into the eyes of Harris, still struggling against the tape with which he was bound like an animal. He coughed at the dust and smoky chemical smell and spoke to Harris.
"Might as well lie easy fool. I may not know much, but I know how to truss up a silly little pig like you snug enough." His voice sounded faint and strange, through the ringing in his ears. There were drugs in the first aid kit he remembered, to keep the damage from being permanent. He felt at the tickle by his ear and his hand came away bloody and sooty. Something must have ricocheted off the hard suit and nipped him.
Neil stood and looked back through the door into the lobby. It was dim now, since about half the lamps were out overhead. There were wires and braces hanging out of the gaps in the ceiling too. The reception desk which had been straight, had a big arch of an indent pushed in the front of it by the explosion, so the middle was closer to the wall, indeed it was pushed back until it almost sealed off the doorway. The cupboard doors on his side were burst open and a slope of soap bars and spilled documents was thrown back toward him clear through the doorway.
He picked his footing carefully over this loose pile, bracing himself on the doorway to get through and leaned over the counter to look, still a bit woozy. The carpeting was pushed back off the bare metal deck in a semicircular ridge about three meters from the counter. There were streaks in a fan of straight lines, cut through the carpet by shrapnel, all the way to the pock marked wall panels. The glass doors and the glass walls on each side were just gone. Beyond the hump of pushed back carpet the two flanking troopers were sprawled. One was laying with his leg making little pushing motions. Neil couldn't tell if he was really still alive, or if it was just reflexive. Maybe even just the powered suit stuck on a command.
He pulled his Taser and dropped two full charges into the head of the suit. The motion stopped. Against the far wall of the corridor, beyond the missing doors Neil could see the hard shell of Art's torso armor and legs, with no helmet or arms on it.
Next time I can cut down on the charge a wee bit, he thought to himself. He went back in the office and picked up Harris' carryon bag. The man made some muffled sounds through his nose struggling, like a landed fish on the dock. Neil carefully set his Taser back to stun and shot him again without any enthusiasm.
* * *
The second community meeting of Home in the cafeteria, was a crazy prolonged affair. Everything was so uncertain, creating a new stability was a priority in everyone's mind. People went off to sleep and would be shaken awake by friends, urging them to get back up long enough to vote on a matter. There were eight petitions for adulthood and only one of them was turned down.
As one person had said out loud, the family sponsoring didn't have a functional adult in it anyway. The father had stood up and said if the community felt that way he would take his family and go back Earthside. He stood and waited for response, in a silence at least as long as the thirty second one they were getting used to at the end of a vote tally. Finally he had turned and left. What else was there to say to the silence?
A handful of others felt the need to publicly disavow any share in the revolution and announced they were loyal USNA citizens. A few said they intended to go back to Earth, but one indicated he wished to be a resident alien.
Steve Lewis was asked what was happening with Mitsubishi and was he still station director for the company? He related his last conversation with the head of his division. "I explained the mood of the people here was such they were going to break away from North America, no matter who led. If one didn't lead another would. I told him truthfully the time was just ripe. I asked if he wanted me to remain as director, or if he wanted my resignation. He asked if there was any move to nationalize the physical structure itself and I assured him no. Also he asked if I was willing to still further the interests of Mitsubishi? I told him being a citizen of Home would make it no harder, easier actually, than being a citizen of North America."
"After those few key questions he seemed satisfied to let me remain. I asked if we could allow Jon to remain in the cubic he is using, until we could settle his funding and he waved it off as in inconsequential thing. He said it's contributed until we can afford it. In particular I was interested in when we could get supplies, as much of our supply is from North America. I asked if they could divert or send some things over from M1 or M2. He just smiled and said he'd be working on it."
"With this gentleman I know he's not blowing me off. I have confidence he's very much working on it and I didn't want to demand details, as if I doubted him. So, that's all we know for now. As long as we respect their property rights, I think we have an important ally in the company."
A long time was spent defining the right to privacy, which was such an issue. They ended up with a model even stricter than the Swiss and the agreed punishment for serious crime was banishment. They agreed since they were in danger of unexpected invaders again at anytime and were depending on volunteers to deal with them, there would be no prohibition on carrying personal weapons or arming private transport.
There was a young Oriental woman going around the cafeteria, taking pictures and doing short interviews with whomever would speak to her. April recognized her. She had entered the Holiday Inn lobby taking pix, not long after April and Easy had arrived to rescue Neil, with Frank and Jon on their heels. Of course they'd quickly found Neil had not needed rescued. She seemed to be some sort of reporter, but she hadn't talked to April yet. Nobody seemed worried to have their face shown on the news. April was way past sweating it herself.
The few times their relationship with the USNA was brought to the floor, there was no agreement to be had. Not even enough to bring a vote.
A few skeptically asked for explanations of the Happy Lewis being able to defeat regular war craft and why they had fought. Nam-Kah explained her reasons for refusing to go back to China under arrest and what it would have meant to be imprisoned and interrogated in her country.
She also explained besides what the Happy Lewis carried before, she had also produced an additional device that gave them an unexpected edge for military action and had loaned a copy to the owners and crew of the vessel Happy Lewis. She was also prepared to loan a copy to the ship Home Boy, Eddie Persico was preparing. The device was something besides herself, she didn't want the Chinese government controlling. She didn't explain details of its nature, but was blunt about what its effect was on a target.
Several people immediately framed questions about her supplying copies to a military, which they would form to defend Home. She was firm in answering this question was not open to a vote. The discovery and devices were her private intellectual property and she was unalterably opposed to having a professional military, just as she and her husband were opposed to having a professional political class. As she put it - each profession seeks what they exist for. If there are professional politicians they will seek as much power as they can grasp. If there are professional soldiers they will find something to fight and they will do whatever the people who pay them want.
"The people who invaded us had no personal reason to do so. They were just thugs in the hire of their politicians. All professional military castes become corrupted in time. I simply won't license or supply my inventions to others, out of my control, that may use them in immoral ways." The lunar residents, she intimated, had a number of other technologies nobody had been in a hurry to share with Earth. The possibilities were ripe for quiet assistance there also.
They came back to the USNA question, between other issues, for hours, but eventually in a moment of silence when they had all grown weary, Mr. Muños spoke. "People, I have a proposal. Will you hear it?" There was a murmur of approval but he wanted a clear voice. Steve Lewis spoke up and said. "Please Mr. Muños. We have gotten used to you as chairman. You have been patient and not asked before to speak for yourself. What would you propose?"
"We seem to like things simpler than most people have grown accustomed to with governments. We have six interest groups registered already, which will meet as a legislature and I'm sure we will have more. I have already been invited to join several which are attempting to form. It is tough to decide which will address my concerns best. We have an agreement we will have a annual referendum for public questions. Unfortunately we need to speak in a single voice to the USNA soon and as some of you may not realize, we need to do so to the Chinese and other powers also. We can take our time and formulate our government to suit us perfectly, even if it takes a few years to work out the details internally. I think we are progressing nicely."
"However if we do not have a voice speaking to the powers of Earth within days, they will take the silence as a vacuum of power and move to grasp power back away from us. Jon Davis has been Security Chief now for only four months. I will ask a question and want a public response. Is there anyone unhappy with him who has been treated unfairly by him? If he leaned on anyone, ignored their real need out of laziness, or to favor a friend speak now. We really want to know and I'll make damn sure it doesn't come back on you."
There was nothing for a long silent moment. Then Muños saw a call on his pad and plugged it in to broadcast. "Yes. What is your statement?" he asked.
"I'm Wally Friedman, uh, I'm only up here on a six month. Don't know if I'll stay or go back down, or what. But I like it here if I can find something to do when things settle down. Couple of weeks ago I got a couple beers too many in me. Not something I make a habit of, not to make an excuse, but true."
"Anyway, Jon got called because I was out in public pressure and making a fuss. Now I'm ashamed to say I said some things to him that weren't very nice. Used some bad language. Tried to take a poke at him. He kinda took me by the collar and thumped the corridor wall a few times with me, to get through the beer haze. Whispered in my ear real low to straighten up and behave myself, before he hauled me home."
"So you have a complaint about excessive force?" Muños asked
"No, no. That's the point. You seen that sucker? He's built like a damn fire hydrant on steroids. I couldn't put a scratch on him full sober. He could of roughed me up real good. I gave him every reason to. Swung at him. Cussed him. He talked to me like my daddy. Took me home and shoved me in the door and told me to sleep it off. If I did that down home in Knoxville, the cops woulda beat the snot outta me."
"Next morning he calls me early before shift start and asks if I'm OK? Said he'd call my boss if I couldn't face work. Told me if I had some serious problem eating at me, to come see him and he'd find somebody to help me, but I couldn't keep tearing up in public like yesterday, or I'd be too much trouble for folks to put up with and I'd be back downstairs on the 'slum ball' as he put it."
"I'm not complaining. I'm saying he's exactly the kinda guy for the job. Doesn't enjoy pounding somebody like some cops do. Really cares about people. Real respectful, even of somebody like me who's not anyone especially important. I'm not sure what you are building up to with Jon, Mr. Muños, but if it's to keep him on for security for Home, you won't do any better."
"Thank You. Yes, that's sort of what I'm building up to. I can see Dr. Singh's point of not having an institutionalized military. Yet we already have folks who have made themselves our militia and it will need some order imposed, more than a social club. Also any community needs some form of policing, as Mr. Friedman pointed out, for even minor matters of public order. I don't think we'll ever have a community which is free of all minor disturbance. So here is my proposal. I suggest we appoint Jon Davis as head of Security for Home, whatever his relationship with Mitsubishi, with the added responsibility of being the coordinating head of the militia. I propose he be our current voice to address other states and powers, as we instruct him, until such time as the people appoint another to speak publicly for us. Sort of a public information officer. A temporary ambassador at large. I propose he may choose such others to help him as he wishes and draft as simple as possible a statement of our political existence and independence, to be submitted to this body for a yes or no vote, tomorrow at this time."
"This is the first proposal to establish a public service for Home. I hope that we never grow to love a huge establishment of agencies and bureaucracies like are the Earth custom. But we do need some basics. Let me voice my second proposal also because it's an integral part of the first. I propose all services of the government of home may not be funded by any action of the legislature. I propose we remove the power of taxation and spending the public purse from the hands of the legislature. They will be an advisory body. They can propose policy and they can suggest formation of agency, but the head of each agency must submit an annual budget and a statement of what services the agency will provide to public vote for approval. If you choose to have a say, you tax yourself. If you choose to refrain from voting you will scroll off the tax rolls in a year, but you have no say anymore in how the community is run."
"You may think it is too great a burden to ask you each to take the needed time to learn what the issues and proposals are being put forth. But I suggest it is no more effort than we already expend, to satisfy a complex tax code and hire professionals to limit our payments and keep us out of tax court. Yet we have very little voice in the end anyway. If someone is unwilling or unable to meet their obligation to pay, which they assumed, we don't kick them out of their home, or jail them, we just post public notice they are unable to vote again, until they have paid up what they agreed, we don't criminalize debt."
"Said tax rolls to start with the vote on this matter. It's not fair to ask you to pay for votes before, when you didn't know it would obligate you to anything. So this will be a watershed vote. Are we just talking or are you in? This will establish you as a voting, taxpaying citizen of Home, before other men and separates you from whatever political entity you belonged to on Earth, if it does not recognize dual citizenship."
"This is important enough I ask you to wait and vote on it tomorrow, at the same time as Jon will submit his public agency statement. I don't want all the people on Off-Shift missing a say, because they were sleeping. So, how do you people say? Can we vote these two issues tomorrow?" The numbers looked good right away. It finally went the thirty seconds, after it reached 1433 aye and 26 nays.
* * *
"Mr. President." The CIA head approached Hadley reluctantly. "We have no contact with the shuttle Cincinnati and the forces which should have reported control of the station by now. We have no contact with our team which was to take civilian control later, or our agent holding the devices for removal. I'm sorry to report it is our opinion they are probably lost. There were two commercial shuttle flights to put into M3 from the moon and from New Las Vegas and their local control reported the docking facilities were damaged and they could only accept such passengers as could disembark wearing pressure suits, or use the freight dockage. That sounds ominous."
"So we have no human assets for confidential information on the station?"
"No sir. Nobody who is in our control. Anyone we contact could reveal the contact, to our embarrassment and spin it anyway they liked. We have no solid way to assess the truth of what they would tell us anyway, so why assign it any value?"
The President looked at him patiently. He was so very tired of tedious fools. "So your agency has no way to gain any information about the current situation on M3 at all?
"No Sir. We have no assets at all. Anything we would get would be from a person of unknown loyalty and unresolved issues. We could assign no confidence level to it."
"Have you thought perhaps just knowing what they claim the situation is might be better than nothing at all? Even allowing reservations, that it may be expressed to influence us?"
"Respectfully Sir. Intelligence can't work with such uncertainty at all."
"No I'm sure it can't. Sit here with me," he indicated a seat. He pivoted a flat screen around so they could both see it and punched a key. "Cheryl," he instructed his secretary, "the satellite station up in orbit, Mitsubishi 3. There is a traffic control there, which tells spacecraft where to dock and so forth. You can use the switchboard, or call Space Command in Colorado and get us the telephone number, or net address of the actual desk were the men sit and work."
"If you can't find it, have Space Command call on the radios they use to coordinate traffic and ask them for a number or address to call. We'll wait for it." He checked the clock in the corner of his screen. The CIA chief looked sternly disapproving.
It was almost five minutes before he had an address posted to his screen. It was quite an unaccustomed delay, but it wasn't often a President completely surprised them. A great many people worked to anticipate what he would need or want and have it ready. It was a computer address for a personal pad, emartinez@skypad.com.
President Hadley clicked on the address, getting a perverse pleasure from watching his guest squirm.
The screen showed a young Hispanic man of about thirty. He had a deep bronzed complexion with wavy dark hair and almost feminine dark eyebrows. He was dressed in a deep green hooded T, covered in intricate Boutis Provencal, with the hood thrown back and a gold chain showing at a his neck. He had on very conservative plain gold hoops in his ears and looked at the screen with a frown.
"You're President Hadley?" he asked with visible skepticism.
"Yes Mr. Martinez. I am. Why such a frown and doubting look?"
"Well, I'm not used to having the President of the USNA calling me up at work. However, I did just get a call from Earthside Traffic Control asking for my address, so I suppose it is possible."
"Who else would it possibly be other than who you are looking at on the screen?"
"You don't have kids do you?" Martinez asked, seemingly an abrupt topic switch.
"No," he admitted. "It's a matter of public record and I thought common knowledge."
"Well I have two little hellions, one eleven and one nine. I have to be constantly alert for their practical jokes. They would think it the height of comedy to call their old man up, with a program spoofing Hadley on their computer, translating his image, voice and mannerisms. They'd net broadcast the fun to their friends, to share how far they could jolly me along before I wise up. If you sprout horns, or ask me to undertake a secret mission to Jupiter to save the human race, the jig will be up. Only reason I'm halfway believing it's you, is your image is not all prettied up like when you do a speech. You look like a real person today."
So, thought Hadley, people aren't all fooled by improving his appearance. "The kids are really that good so young?" Hadley was rather amused at the idea.
"If they spoofed you your own mother wouldn't know. If they spoofed you on the moon and you got up and walked, they'd have the exact amount of clumsiness in your walk as you'd have as a newbie in low gravity. They could mask your image and drop you scaled properly in the middle of another scene being transmitted real time even. Technically they are very good. But their sense of humor and what they use it for are still at the eleven and nine year old level. Gross humor, fart jokes and fad heroes. I'm leaning to believing it is you more and more, because they'd have morphed you into a pig or a dragon by now. They don't have the patience for a long joke at their age, if it's not really cooking for them."
"Well, assuming for a moment you might truly be talking to me, would you be willing to let me ask you a couple questions about what's happening on the station?" The CIA chief looked like he was going to explode. There was a vein standing out on his forehead, which might pop any second.
"Sure, like I'd tell my boys, play it straight, tell the truth and it doesn't matter who is listening; Lie and eventually it will circle around and bit you on the butt."
It was almost too much for the CIA man. A refutation of everything he lived by.
"We lost contact with the force we sent to your station. Frankly we don't know anyone there to ask about the matter. Do you know if they've ran into some difficulties?"
"Mr. President," Ed looked sad. "I'm sorry to tell you there was fighting. I know the pilots and a couple of troopers, survived in the shuttle. But the ones who came on station - I think they all were killed. Nobody mentioned any survivors. I'm sorry if they were friends of yours."
The casualness of it shook Hadley. Even the CIA man when he glanced at him, had gone from beet red to a sickly pallor in seconds. The condolences even seemed sincere. They had expected verbal fencing, or avoidance. Not this blunt acknowledgment of slaughter. It gave it a ring of truth and no matter what he just said, the CIA chief looked like he believed it.
"Could you recount as much as you know to us. Please?"
"Mr. President I was working when the Cincinnati arrived. They did a fly around at a distance. They were very wary with their laser mast up and missile bays open. They informed me they were docking at the South hub and they asked me what the situation was inside M3. I was offended at being put on the spot, but I told them we had a pressure emergency warning announced because of them docking and many people, including my family had put on pressure suits."
"They were aware the Happy Lewis is present at M3 and they might experience resistance. Shortly after they docked there was a huge explosion and the shuttle was folded in half and blown clear of the station. We heard it here - felt it through the floor. So I know that much is not just a story. As dispatcher I called for medical services and an ambulance went to see if they could render any help. The troopers surviving on the shuttle forced the medics off their ambulance at gun point and left the injured and the medics near the damaged shuttle and took the stolen ambulance to the North hub, where they entered pressure. There was a tug dispatched to bring the wreck back in, so they had to be the ones to rescue the medics and the survivors."
"In our town meeting yesterday, they said one of the troopers was still in danger, as his mates left him behind when they stole the ambulance, so he didn't get to the infirmary for almost two hours. The ones who came in through the North they said got as far as the Holiday Inn, before they were killed. From what my friends told me, there are bullet holes and laser burns in the industrial corridors half way across the station from the fight. Housekeeping will be doing repairs for a week. I haven't seen it myself because I live near the South end where I work. The people who told me about it I do trust. I personally believe them, just haven't seen it. That's all I really know."
"Do you know what happened to the prisoners?"
Ed looked at him funny. "You mean the pilots? The troopers are in the infirmary. Where the pilots went I don't know. I saw one sitting, observing the town meeting in the cafeteria yesterday. He looked bruised up pretty good. He was limping when he came in. The Holiday Inn was all shot up. They probably got a room in the Ramada. It's the only other full service hotel. The rest are either housekeeping units, or hot slots for shift sleeping. I can't imagine the militia people would worry about the pilots since they didn't come in armed and looking to take the place over. They're probably just stranded until they can get connections home. Why would they lock them up if they're not a danger? When people were told the dockage is damaged, nobody seemed to in any big rush to bring a shuttle in today. I'm sure there will be a few hire private shuttle runs to go Earthside through another station, by folks scared there will be more fighting, but nobody has called for traffic clearance yet this morning. I'm assuming you've cut off direct flights because there is usually a UPS shuttle today and it hasn't lifted even though the freight dockage is OK."
The President looked a question at the CIA head and he nodded yes.
"Yes, my man here just told me that is correct."
"Up to you," Ed shrugged with indifference. "I don't know how it helps either side to cut off travel. It just inconveniences a bunch of civilians and may panic them if they feel stranded. I mean, we're obviously not going to invade you."
The reasonableness of it was infuriating.
"Do you know who is behind this militia and resisting martial law? We intend to move to make an example of them quickly. This has gone way beyond criminal, it's treasonous. Surely most of the people on the station there are still loyal to their country!"
"Nobody ever told us there was any martial law to resist. But loyalty and to whom we owe it is what the town meeting was all about - whether to stay USNA or leave. Folks are discussing what they should do with each other all over the station. We agreed we'll all have a vote later today, to decide if we want to be our own nation. The way all my friends and neighbors were talking last night, the vote doesn't look very good for you. I expect Jon, the Security Head will be holding a press conference or something later today and making it official. They could surprise me," he admitted, "but I think the most of them will go for it."
"This is ridiculous." Hadley told him. "We settled this back in the Civil War. Nobody leaves the Union. Look what happened when they tried. And it was the whole South then, not just a couple thousand people living in a big tin can. It would be as silly and pointless, as if just the city of Atlanta had seceded and declared war on the North. You don't support this crazy idea yourself, do you man?"
For the first time Ed looked irritated. "You might have a little respect for the fact you guys are down five spacecraft to zero and your troopers were totally defeated. So far you have been the ones each time that decided to resort to violence and had it turn about and bite you on your own ass. Well the way things are going, you don't look like you're making an example of anyone. Nam-Kah and her husband made a pretty strong case to everyone, that they have new technologies to hurt you on Earth, as badly as you've been whipped in orbit."
"If I were you Sir, I would think real hard about what you should do. I'd sure hate to be in your spot, with this bunch overhead ready to really start getting rough, if you want to keep escalating this disagreement. I certainly wouldn't cross the Lewis or Singh clans after what I've heard, let me tell you."
"You can talk about the American Civil War all you want. I studied history too. I bet there were a lot of the winners after the War of Rebellion, who would have said, 'Let the damn Southerners go,' if they had known the full cost beforehand. But consider this. What would it have been like, if the South had atomic bombs and aircraft, against the muskets and cannon of the North? How many dead do you want on your conscience man?" he tossed the usage back in his face, growing angry.
"We are not down five to zero," the President growled at him. "Two of those ships were Chinese and we damn well nailed one of them, not you!"
The controller gave a haughty shrug of indifference. "Damn Earthies all look alike, when they're shooting at you," he snapped back.
"I want a clear statement from you Mr. Martinez," Hadley told him past clutched teeth. "Are you a loyal citizen of North America, or have you thrown in with these rebels? Your statements go over the line in condoning and praising their acts. I think you're just begging to be counted one of them."
"Well isn't this the way you guys always do business?" Ed asked. "If somebody has questions or reservations and don't suck up and fawn on you, they go on the shit list. I hadn't made up my mind if I'd vote myself in today, or sit it out and see what happened, but I can see I'm screwed with you for just telling you the truth. My family didn't resist when you guys forced Mexico in. We said – 'Hey, how much worse can they be than the Federales?' Shit, if we'd only known, lots worse. I won't make the same mistake twice," he said and stabbed the disconnect.
He called up his fellow Mexican, Muños and told him about the conversation and sent a copy of the file with the video and conversation to him. "Go ahead and play it for everybody when we convene today if you want. I don't have anything to lose and it just shows what an ass the man really is."
Chapter 32
Genji Akira considered the news articles about M3 carefully. He felt a building worry, while his colleges were all dismissive of the crisis. None he spoke to could imagine this was more than a passing irritant to the North American Giant and an embarrassment to the Chinese. The frames of video from the BBC were laying on his desk, with a print of April standing outside the elevator, as he had seen her on M3. The Kashira on the end of the short sword was not visible in sufficient detail, but he was fairly sure from the Tsuba, it was the same one thrust through the Chinese officer in the BBC video. He wished he had remained on M3, instead of returning as he had been scheduled, but he had failed to see things were coming to a cusp of change rapidly, before he left. The Mainichi - Times Group might approve a quick return, for he was a star of the service, but he doubted if he could move quickly enough now to be there for anything of importance. Events were moving too fast. He was a little jealous of the stringer, who had sent him the other pix on his desk. He remembered the early exciting times he had covered action in the field and heard the bullets snap past, but he had to admit the young lady Adzusa, who had taken these pix, was particularly audacious.
Irritating in person he remembered, but brave. The images he had brought back and hers would blend together, for an important article. He'd have to give her a byline on it, which didn't bother him at all. Indeed, perhaps she would prove to be the fitting successor to him in time, that he had been seeking. He was very aware how much a change it had required in his culture, to be able to entertain such a thought across the gender barrier. He wrote for both print and web. This piece should run in both unabbreviated.
One of the pics he examined showed an armored space suit sliced neatly in half across the hips. Unfortunately there was no shot of it from any angle, which was not too gory for the public to accept, so it was rejected. Another, more acceptable shot, showed two whole suits sprawled in the hotel lobby not torn asunder, so the humanity of their death was obvious, with a third limbless torso discretely far enough in the background to simply look like a dead beetle. The devastation in the lobby was astonishing. If much of the station was so damaged from the fighting, it would not be habitable.
He backed up and watched the video of four soldiers in armored suits and long guns jogging down the corridor away from them and disappear around a corner. There were two closer figures of Easy and April he knew from the previous video, in conventional suits and side arms in pursuit. When they got to the intersection, the bigger figure leapt forward and did a rolling summersault through the intersection and a spray of bullets shredded the corner above him and then walked down the wall to where he had already rolled past. When the spray of bullets ended, he rolled back into the cross corridor elbows on the deck to fire double handed. April threw herself on the deck to the near side.
Not content to shoot the scene from shelter, Adzusa threw herself on the deck right behind April and shot over her shoulder, actually exposed to fire worse than the combatant. The two beams flashed through the spectrum, visible in all the propellant mist from their opponent's machine gun. Lingering on green they flared against the suit and the armored trooper's main shell blew up even as he fired. His arms and legs flew off against the walls, out of a cloud of pink steam, in a gruesome parody of a swatted bug. There was a pause of many seconds, while Easy yelled at April not to advance, because there was no cover. She told him she knew the back way in, but didn't have time to elaborate, because the doorway in front of which the slain trooper had stood, belched a yellow ball of fading flame and a shower of debris and smoke rushed up the corridor past them. Substantial pieces of wreckage and bright specks of glass spinning past, as the camera jerked to the shock wave rippling the deck.
When the camera steadied, the doorway was no longer brightly lit and the deck was strewn with bits and pieces of twisted metal, granules of glass and another dark lump opposite the entry that had to be a body. He cut the replay, marveling Adzusa had the instincts to keep the camera trained on the corridor so long, after the shooting stopped. Another camerawoman would have probably lowered the lens after two or three seconds and missed the explosion. She had really good instincts, but this was too strong a scene to include in his piece, because the audience would never remember what he said after such a visceral jolt. He'd have his service run it as a separate story, to her solo credit.
First, would run his own shot of April at the elevator, as a short video until she bowed, beside his lead paragraph. She was braced, feet apart. Thumbs hooked at her hips in absolutely defiant hauteur. The eyes were especially good in that frame. They flashed. She was still a child that way, wearing her emotions on her face untempered. He really had a gem in his camera man for esthetics, even if he wasn't as brave as Adzusa.
He had been shocked and offended, at the time the elevator doors had opened, to see such treasures of Nippon, Kokuho, hung on what he thought a child. Yet he remembered how her stare had raised the hairs on his neck and curbed his tongue before he complained and instead he had found himself inexplicably bowing. The shamefully short acknowledgment he received had stung at the time, but he was happy in retrospect he'd curbed his tongue.
Sometimes there is more wisdom in following the visceral urge than the mind, he thought. Many others recently had found their meeting with this young lady fatal. Yes, he thought, looking at the bold jewelry and weapons on somber black garments, you make a wonderful pirate my little barbarian. The stiff beaded ballistic cloth vest, with the stand up collar, almost suggested a samurai's armor.
The wreck of the lobby went in the middle as a still shot, as did another shot of the trashed shuttle, nose bent over double. And the BBC shot of the sword point protruding from the Chinaman's back. Everyone had already seen it, but not tied into the other photos. At the end went the last picture which tied the commentary together. A still shot of April caught by the stringer, with a telephoto from down the corridor.
When he'd seen her at the elevator he had no idea what the box was on her belt. In the last picture she is standing in the station corridor, braced against the corner with the box held in both hands by a pistol grip. There is a fog of some sort about her, which renders the green beam of her weapon vivid. Its backscatter reflected brightly off the corner she's braced against.
The intersection is marked above her on the bulkhead, in Japanese characters and English. There is a ripple of ragged bullet furrows in the metal wall and a beam of an unseen companion's weapon crosses the picture from behind, a little lower than hers. Her display in her helmet is shining on her face, the visor foolishly clear, but wonderful for him. Her face is very much like the first photo, calm and alert, lips slightly open, not fierce, but intense and utterly without fear. The crowning touch is behind the second green bolt bisecting the scene, sheltered on the floor behind her is a boy nearly as young as she is, clutching his bloody fist in his other hand pressed against his chest. There is a bright smear of fresh blood wiped across his cheek and a long drop running down his wrist.
He has a shocked and angry look, rather than fear or despair. It created the impression she is standing between danger and her fallen companion. He must find out who the boy is. If he spent a month directing a photo shoot to produce this as a propaganda poster, he'd never match the power of what his stringer caught by serendipity. He might find another journalism prize in this piece, if he could describe it eloquently enough in both languages.
After saying everything in his heart, he started removing everything which was too detailed, or repetitious in the copy. He cut and cut, until he had distilled the thoughts, like the faint scent of delicate flowers, concentrated into a powerful perfume.
People remember the first thought, that aroused their interest only slightly, he had learned and the persuasive middle thoughts vaguely at best, but the end is what they really retain and where you must put your power, so he spent his best effort there.
He decided to address the American President directly. "Think well, Mr. President, how you act. If this is what the spirit of these people send forth to meet you in their girl-child; do you dare to meet their warriors?"
He signed it in traditional brush and ink. An affection he insisted upon, which drove the printers mad, as he wanted each article to carry a unique signature. When he was no longer important enough to the association to command the whim, he would know it was time to retire.
* * *
The crowd started forming early in the cafeteria. They set a table up, raised on a platform of food pallets, so it was a little higher and could be seen. Muños and Jon were there already and as they came in Jon invited the Lewis's to join him at the table. He inquired about April's mother Faye and was assured she was watching from home but wanted to work for Home quietly from behind the scenes, not as a public figure. Bob Lewis also begged off, sitting close, but mixed in the crowd facing the platform. The Singh's also were invited to the table and Dave who had prepared the Happy Lewis. Jeff persuaded Heather to join them also. Neil was also there as he had an important proposal to make.
When it was the full twenty four hours from his proposal, Muños stood and made sure the pad was broadcasting through the local net. He was the only one there dressed in a suit, but in an open collar white shirt and no tie.
"People, as agreed we are here to consider our proposals of yesterday. I assume everyone has had a chance to look at them, as they have been posted a full day. Does anyone have any objection or a proposal, which can't be stated after Jon Davis has a chance to address us?" There was only an expectant silence. Muños nodded and said. "Mr. Davis if you would address our proposals, please."
Jon seemed a little nervous but calmed down and made a surprisingly brief presentation of what he wanted to accomplish and the annual cost which would be about twelve hundred dollars USNA each, if as many voted and assumed the tax burden as voted yesterday. He also read his proposed press release.
At the end almost 1200 voted for the electorate retaining control of finances and accepting the burden of paying a fee for security and police services. They voted a separate OK by a much smaller margin, to his press release. Jon was going to just transmit the declaration he was mandated to issue, as a file to the news services, but was persuaded by proposal and vote, to call a news conference by com and read the declaration with the crowd watching.
Ajay Singh was seated to his left and it was obvious his new wife had prepared him for public presentation, because he didn't look like a refugee.
Dr. Nam-Kah Singh beside him was decked out in a loose batik silk gown, sown with seed pearls and augmented with enough glowing high karat gold, to establish her social rank, equal to her intellectual standing. She must have twelve bracelets on her left wrist alone.
April, on Jon's other side, had on another totally black outfit as she seemed to increasingly favor. Black tights and a long tunic vest, quilted heavily in geometric designs of black on black, over a black silk blouse with Msr. Broutin's cuff links in them. Her grandfather's beret was favored again. It was looking doubtful he'd ever get it back. She had a wide black belt with a blocky nonreflective black carbon fiber toggle buckle in front over the tunic and her usual kit of pad, scanner and laser joined by the captured Chinese machine pistol nakedly hanging out of a right handed cross draw holster in front. A thin clip held the very front, but the grip end was exposed all the way down past the trigger guard. To add insult she had fixed the captured emblem of rank from the Chinese officer, on the side of the black holster. The ammo case was already a dull black so she put it beside the holster. Further to the left and extending above the holster was the grip of not the lesser sword but for dress tonight the great blade, even though it was too big for her. The grip alone was huge against her slight frame. Her jewelry was limited to simple pearl and gold ear studs.
The two women were dressed complexly and differently, but the men were all dressed simply. The badge of authority in all western culture, the tie, was completely absent.
Jon had expended all his nervousness for the local crowd and when Mr. Muños indicated several news organizations were waiting on his live feed, he picked up his sheet and read directly to the pad with no fancy Teleprompter, or camera work.
"People of Earth and all human habitation, I am Jon Davis, citizen of a new nation. I have been asked by our community, expressing their desire in an open vote, to announce the majority of people residing in the satellite known as Mitsubishi 3, have reached an important decision."
"We have found our relationship with the United States of North America is no longer the acceptable thing it once was. Instead, we are finding our privacy, our livelihoods and pursuit of an enjoyable and secure life, are hindered by our association." "Exercising the same principles of human rights and dignity, which prompted the creation of the American nation in times past, we wish to disassociate ourselves and inform the world we are now the nation of Home."
"Unfortunately, there has already been conflict and loss of life over our separation. We do not seek conflict or war with any state. We know from history the separation of states is less often peaceful, than born of strife. If it is thrust upon us, we will fight, but we would rather harm no one and seek peace with all. We ask the sovereign states of the world aid us in our preference for peace, by adding their voices acknowledging our independence."
"All we seek, is the normal relationship of equals and such open trade and travel as are the custom between nations, with respect for our territory and vessels. We will offer the same respect and security for your citizens."
"If you worry what we have become, be assured we are still forming our government daily, by public meetings and democratic nomination and vote. We shall have a government of respect for the individual, with privacy and property rights, which will make us a desirable place to live, to visit and to engage with in trade."
"I am head of the first agency formed in our government. I am by no means a head of state, nor do I desire to be such. At the moment I am an ambassador at large, to any who may want to contact us and the police chief for our local community."
That is all we want to say today. We exist. We seek recognition for the sake of peace and we welcome all who will be our friends."
Muños cut the web cast feed from his pad. "Well done," Mr. Muños told him and shook his hand. Jon stood, but found he wasn't going anywhere. There was a circle of both friends and strangers, wanting to shake his hand, thump his back and in a few cases hug him around the neck, since the rest was too big to encircle.
The only way he finally got them off him, was to keep asking if they were not going continue to consider other proposals and vote on them since everyone was here already. A few proposals were considered and voted on, before someone came up with his pad and bent over whispering in Muños' ear.
"There's some web cast being looped about us, John here just caught," he announced. "I want to see it myself. How about if I put it on the big screen?" There was a murmur of assent. They didn't make a formal vote on it.
April was horrified when the screen showed her, standing outside the elevator some weeks ago. The video showed her making the perfunctory rude bow she had agonized over later. What had she been thinking about that day, to look so stern? She tried to remember. She showed teeth, but rather than a smile, it looked like she might take a bite out of the camera man when she passed. She had thought it a hoot back then, to dress in such an outrageous costume and now she realized she dressed the same almost every day and thought it normal.
The pix were captioned in English and Japanese and had the audio feed in English for the room. She saw several people fiddle with their pads, probably to get the Japanese audio feed. The stupid thing just went on and on and she could feel her face burning with embarrassment.
At the end, when it showed her returning fire through the smoke from their ambush, she was horrified to realize two things. She had stood and fired around the corner, when she should have still been behind the shield, firing with her spex. Even worse the Japanese lady who had followed them to the Holiday Inn, must have been watching them even earlier than she had known. She had almost shot the woman in the corridor as she ran up behind them.
She was convinced the piece demonstrated she was a dangerous idiot in combat, but at the end, when Akira addressed President Hadley the crowd roared with approval. Her protests at the adulation feel on deaf ears. The people were ready for a hero and a respected outsider had handed one to them. When she protested to Jon, he leaned over and privately said quietly to her ear - "April the only way you could be a bigger hero to these folks, would have been to get shot for them on top of all the rest." She looked at him and was horrified to see behind the sweet smile he was dead serious.
* * *
The heads of the Chinese government sat watching the news conference in stoic silence. After the screen reverted to its decorative display, they turned their faces back to their leader.
"Do you desire the station destroyed?" the head of the armed forces asked eagerly.
"No. There is much change here," the Premier offered calmly. "The matter needs handled with finesse. The station is a bigger problem for their masters, than for us. Let them continue to provoke the Americans and see where it leads. If they are casually swatted like an errant child," he illustrated with a sweep of his hand, "it will serve both of us and if their early success is a lucky aberration that will happen quickly."
"If not, it's better to learn at the American's expense, instead of investing any more ourselves."
The soldier looked shocked at the implied rebuke. "We have lost a couple vessels. But they have not thrown themselves against the bulk of our nation. Did you see the arrogant way the barbarian child flaunted the battle trophy, with our emblems on it?
"Yes. Do you have another craft ready to launch so quickly, to press your vengeance?" the leader asked pointedly.
"No," he admitted, "we require at least a week before we can launch another ship capable of carrying significant force." He avoided looking up at the others.
"Well, do not press for a quick launch again," he was instructed. "There is much concern the Moment of Contemplation was rushed to launch faster than was wise. We have sufficient enemies, we can't afford to give them haste as an ally."
* * *
"We need to make a statement," the Secretary of Defense insisted.
"Anything we say will be a response and will be viewed by some as an acknowledgment, no matter how it is phrased or positioned, that they have succeeded in separating themselves." The President said. "Better to never grant the point they are separate and have to be returned in any sense. Our position is they are still under USNA governance. Just demonstrate the fact physically."
"We shall," the new head of the Space Command promised him, "but it is a new problem we never faced before. We didn't have any forces configured to deal effectively with occupying a civilian habitat against even limited resistance and it would be counterproductive to rush another force in, which would not demonstrate a convincing superiority. We need a delay to create some new tactics and perhaps new equipment, while we are preparing a suitable lift force. The sudden losses are taxing our fleet already, without diverting vessels which are were scheduled to service our other stations and sats months ago."
The President looked at him with thinly veiled anger. "We are not talking about bringing these rebels to heel in months," he informed him, "what can we do to demonstrate our control tomorrow?"
The Space Command officer was sweating, remembering how his previous boss had left this room. "The only systems we have which can mount any type of attack tomorrow, would be the use of a space plane to stand off and engage the station with laser or missiles, or use of an automated satellite attack system, such as we would use for a major conflict with other space powers, to remove their satellite inventory."
"None of them are designed to use against a station. They are all made to engage and destroy other spacecraft, which are notoriously delicate. The damage they would do to a huge station would be limited and very hard to control. It would be like the old fashioned gravity bombing of a city from high altitude. We'd be as likely to hit a daycare center as we would a military resource."
"Such indiscriminate targeting usually causes as much political damage to the shooter, as physical damage to the target," he explained. The look on the President's face made him wonder if he'd said too much. Well, he thought, at least General Horton had indicated they were treating him well, when he had inquired after him. Maybe they could play cards or something, if he was imprisoned in the same facility.
"You see?" The Secretary of Defense said. "There's going to have to be a delay. We need to make a statement by cutting them off. We're still equipped to intercept vessels, as he says. Well, blockade them. See how long they last without fresh food and supplies. Make it clear there will be a price, if other nations put their vessels at risk to support them. Someone could recognize them just to embarrass us, or to turn a quick profit supplying them."
"All right," the President agreed reluctantly, "we'll announce no vessels of any nation can leave or dock at M3, without being subject to seizure or destruction at our discretion." It didn't seem like near enough to him though.
* * *
The massive dark wooden beams and rustic interior of the hunting lodge, was a contrast to the modern screen the six French gentlemen were watching. It would soon be put away though and restore the proper period appearance to the hall. Msr. Broutin was comfortable enough, as he had dealt with the other five as individuals before, but being asked into their collective company was a new thing. They were supposedly enjoying an informal outing. But he expected later in the evening he might be invited to join the group on a more permanent basis and with some official capacity. So it was really an interview of sorts.
He knew he was still under scrutiny to some degree and if he showed some major fault, he supposed that could still turn them away from offering him whatever they had in mind to extend to him tonight. Dinner had been excellent. Almost as fine as what Sylvia had served him on Mitsubishi 3 he reflected. No. He corrected himself. Better get used to saying Home.
He found himself sitting between the President of France and the Minister of Defense, with the Prime Minister directly across from him and seeming to examine him in some detail. The President, he thought, was the final doubter and who would have the final say about him. He leaned back in the leather with his ankles crossed, relaxed but controlled and nursed a snifter of wonderful Cognac carefully. He was not uncomfortable with the scrutiny. He was aware they would watch his appetite for alcohol, as well as every other quality and weakness he might display. He imagined every statement he made would be electronically analyzed for veracity.
Such scrutiny was entirely to be expected. He was as skilled as any other man here at making statements which were true, without being the whole truth and at guiding them to draw whatever assumptions they wished. Indeed if the machines told them every statement he made was true - but he was not telling everything, they would respect him all the more.
The news conference was proceeding on the screen, with Jon reading his statement, surrounded by his friends.
"You were just up there, weren't you Broutin?" the President asked. "You must have just gotten out in time, or you'd be stuck there for who knows how long!"
"Yes, I saw an artist there, someone doing commissions for the Treasurer of Lebanon. I had other business, but he wanted me to see if getting his art pieces out would be a problem. I wouldn't try to hurry her. It's often counterproductive with these artistic types and her more than most I'd suspect. She is a very strong willed lady. I'm satisfied we'll have no trouble getting them down when the time comes."
"You're certainly more optimistic than most of us about doing so," the Minister of Defense allowed. "I'd say when the USNA recovers from this vandalism, they will lock their sat down so tight you won't get a letter in or out."
"You see the young girl in the black?" he pointed out April. "Have you seen Genji Akira's new piece about her?" A couple of them had not so he split the screen and ran it off his pad for them, as he had saved it. He left the last pic of April shooting on the screen still split to the news conference.
"So he takes them and her, quite seriously." The President seemed surprised.
"If you meet her, you will be moved to take her quite seriously too."
"Do tell. You've had the pleasure I take it?"
Broutin went back to the news conference side of the screen and zoomed in. He was smooth at visual and verbal presentation, not distracting his audience fumbling around. April was leaning away from Jon, laughing at something with Jeff. Although she was leaning back, visibly relaxed, the fingers of her right hand seemed to habitually fall across the sword grip. It projected a powerfully subtle suggestion, that she was always ready to draw steel. Like a lounging cat displaying its claws. He wondered if it was a deliberate mannerism.
"See the Champlevé cuff links in her sleeves? She and I were house guests with my artist friend in Home. She was up in the night, letting her young daughter and this girl in, from an evening with the Singh boy. They are all three there at the table tonight. When she came back I asked, 'Did the young people have a good time? Were they out dancing and having fun?' She laughed at me and informed me they were up late working on their space ship and yes they'd had a ball."
"I confess, I thought she was joking then. When I gave those to her at breakfast the next morning she had just offered casually, over crepes, to carry my shipment out past any blockade they might throw up. She and her brother are owners of the Happy Lewis. I thought it terribly brave and naive, of her. But I admired her spirit, so I made them as a gift to her when she noted them."
"Now however, she has had both great powers try to hunt her ship and turned the tables on them, I'd say I was wrong about the naive part. If I needed to ride with her through their blockade tomorrow, I would do so and feel sorry for the other fellow."
"The Happy Lewis? The one the BBC has been showing? That destroyed the American and the Chinese vessels both in the same engagement? That's hers?" The Defense Minister seemed to be having second thoughts. "It was a slaughter," he admitted with a grimace.
Before Broutin could say more, the President, an incurable romantic, laughed heartily. "You dog you! You're not telling us the half, sitting there smiling. You've had the inside track on this for who knows how long. You just happened to drop by the artist's for your friend, into the heart of their conspiracy! What a coincidence you sat to breakfast with half the rebels at that table," he waved at the screen with his glass. About like the coincidence of being invited here tonight. You're thick with these pirates," he accused, but with a grin.
"And that girl! Let me tell you. If you have any favor with her you better work to keep it. She is a lovely young girl now, but in the blink of an eye she is going to be an absolutely magnificent young woman and there'll be a crowd begging her attention. Next time you see her you better have something much better than a pair of your old cuff links, to show your admiration. I'd suggest something with diamonds, big ones, that won't lie forgotten in a drawer along with your memory, when you see her again."
"Ah! - Can you imagine anything more exciting than a beautiful, dangerous, young pirate Captain?" he asked all of them, with a look around. "Stories of daring like this are more like something out of the days of Empire and sailing ships, not our own insipid times." He took another sip of Cognac and looked around again at his companions.
"Gentleman, we need more associates such as Msr. Broutin, who seem to have such marvelous luck at meeting the major players, just before a political upheaval. And so modest about it too," he chuckled.
"Perhaps," mused the Prime Minister aloud, "we should not be the last in line to recognize this Home. If they fail, the Americans can hardly hate us more. Yet if we hold back, they may remember our reserve as a slight for a long time. If we can make it a motion before the entire European Union, there is safety in numbers too, no?"
Broutin just smiled and sipped his drink. When people are busily talking themselves into something, why would you interrupt?
* * *
The Singh projector on the North hub was bolted down on the outer bulkhead of the Lewis family cubic. It was mounted above a heavy plate and had substantial explosive charges beside the critical components, to allow their destruction in the event capture looked likely. The ship mounted versions on the Happy Lewis and Home Boy were even wired into the vessel self destruct, if someone tried to open it. It was also mounted in a small white dome of foam which rotated with the projector to hide it from view. Dave had asked if they were going to cut a hole or slot to shoot through and they had laughed and said don't worry, it will make its own hole.
They had another projector ready to move, on a new and interesting design of miniscooter, which Dave's Advanced Spacecraft Services had made up. It could be parked at the South end of the station, where they had no rights to use any outer surface of the hub. There were several areas where Dave had rights, just to dock on an external post however. He had compared it to a wheelbarrow or hand cart. It was a flat triangular tube, foam filled, with a set of simple thrusters at each end and a plain seat built in one end you could turn to sit facing either way and a hole cut to dangle your legs through. There was a low wall in front of the seat, to keep any load from shifting back on the operator and all the controls were in one cluster on the seat arm. There were running lights and a sunshade, a radio plug and power to connect your suit into, but no attempt was made to enclose the load. Just a flat bed about six by three meters to strap freight to and only enough power to move at low speed, literally within sight of the station. No radar or navigation computer, no autopilot at all.
It did have a single light docking and tow grapple at each end. He expected to make them for general sale also, since they were dirt cheap. They could make a copy for about forty thousand dollars USNA, using obsolete scooter parts. They were assuming nobody would consider it as requiring a license to operate or certification, as it was more like a pallet truck or golf cart, than a actual vessel. It was only made to operate at two or three meters a second, max.
However the cargo on this platform was precious. The second Singh projector was mated with a fusion power source and a radar unit which cost much more than the cart. The expense was not a concern to Dave however, because he had 'liberated' it from the wreck of the Cincinnati. He was shocked when he went to get it, to see quite a few other items had been stripped from the shuttle in just a couple days. He was glad nobody had taken the radar before him. Heather had privately asked him to salvage a few other electronic things for her personally, when he pulled the radar and he had obliged her.
The way the shuttle had been damaged he realized most of it was worth saving. So he sent two of his crew to save the engines and their support gear first and then a secondary wish list. He had no doubt if it stayed parked there a few months even the airframe itself would be cut away slowly for the metals and it would just disappear. It didn't upset him. He just resolved to get his share.
So when they were done, they had two projectors to protect the station and two on scooters to do the same, or to move off and fire on other spacecraft or at the earth. The second scooter was equipped with two reflecting telescopes, which mounted at the end of booms. They were folded back for acceleration. The Singh projector could be fired from radar or by eye from one telescope. But to shoot at Earth targets especially, the two telescopes were moved about ten meters apart and the signals integrated electronically in a manner he didn't entirely understand, to resolve a much smaller object than they could do separately. Jeff had told him it was a technique astronomers used and it resolved such a fine image that the license plates on ground cars would be readable, if they were tipped to the sky.
Heather was working hard to compile a database of targets, from a commercial map program and a GPS source. She had also bought a subscription to Jane's and was trying to make a reference source for all the USNA and Chinese vessels known, both space and wet navy. She could not believe they still had not cut off their access to data. She determined if they did cut off her communications, she'd return the favor and target their deep sea cables and net backbones even before military targets. There was a nasty side to her down deep, that understood the need for excess in retribution. She could spend years developing targets and contingencies, but she ran out of time the next morning.
* * *
The Secretary of State was given the task of reading the announcement.
"The United States of North America in the face of a violent breakdown in civil order in the orbital habitat known as Mitsubishi 3 is establishing a quarantine and blockade of traffic to and from the station effective immediately, until such time as order is restored. Any space craft approaching or leaving the area of the habitat, will be subject to interception and search or seizure. Craft not on a trajectory which permit interception and boarding or resist are liable to be fired upon and destroyed with no further warning."
"As these pirates are not the honorable forces of a legal government, they will not be treated with the respect of honorable combatants, as prisoners of war, but as criminals and unlawful combatants. They and anyone supporting the illegal actions of these outlaws by voice or deed will be liable to summary execution on capture."
"We encourage those not associated with these acts, to report the movements or location of the leaders of these crimes, to aid in their capture and punishment. To this end we also offer a reward of five million dollars USNA to anyone bringing forward dead or alive Jon Davis, or any of the crew of the notorious vessel the Happy Lewis, to any Federal officer or embassy."
"So, we fight," Eddie said to his friends assembled to watch the screening when the Secretary finished. "Putting a price on our heads irritates me. If you want to put a public price on President Hadley, I'll pop ten million Euro for his ears and any other small extremities they want to trim. They can keep the main part of him. He should know what it feels like to be priced like a side of beef." It irritated him worse, that the price on their heads was quite low by recent standards.
"Did anyone doubt they'd make us fight?" Nam-Kah asked them rhetorically.
"You need to make a counter announcement Jon," Ajay urged him.
"How about some help composing it? Then I want a com broadcast, to call for a vote tonight approving it, because this will be a declaration of war," Jon explained.
"You mean a real formal declaration of war? I didn't think anyone did that anymore."
"They don't," Jon assured her. "It's about time somebody revived the noble custom. I don't want these Earthies to think this is just a minor matter, which will be settled quietly in a few days and forgotten, nor will it be left to fester unsettled. I intend for them to remember their surrender every day, the rest of their lives."
* * *
Jeff sat in Heather's apartment looking at the fish swimming in the aquarium Heather's mother maintained. It was a popular hobby and a great decoration. All but a few of the fish were insensitive to different G levels. They were almost as hardy as ants, which for some reason seemed to thrive better in zero G than any gravity at all. The gracefully moving striped forms were seen, but almost as a dream while his mind grappled with other things. The tank was a great aid to meditation. He had pictured the geometry of the material in a Singh projector and for some reason not connected to any particular known phenomena, he had this burning urge to know what would happen if the torus of strange material was spin as it interacted with a field.
He did not have a handle on why yet, but he was intuitively sure there would be a change in effect. There was a distance to go before all the little connections tickling him in his brain would condense, into a complete thought. He was going to be very careful loading the next couple projectors they were assembling, because he very much wanted a sample of the tricky quantum fluid to be left over.
Chapter 33
Jon thought most would stay at home for this vote. They had agreed to meet and propose new issues and vote every Saturday, until they had fleshed out a functional government. Then when it was proposed and passed, they would eventually drop down to once a month. After awhile perhaps even less. That was too far in the future to know about right now. So calling a Wednesday meeting was breaking the new rule already. Yet the cafeteria was filling rapidly, although it was a workday for many of them. After Muños called them to order again, he yielded the broadcast to Jon.
"Thank you for your patience. I feel we have to reply to the blockade quickly. Not wait until Saturday, to discuss it and respond. This is not something I could reply to on my own. Not only would I not presume to speak for all of you, but I want the USNA government to know what I am telling them was voted on and adopted. The principle item which may cause controversy is I wish to make a formal declaration of war. There are reasons for this. One is to bring into play a large body of international law, which deals with war. It will give other states a basis for intervening for us, in the face of their branding us as simple pirates or outlaws. Pirates and terrorists don't declare formal war."
"The other important thing is, having a formal start to a declared war provides a basis for having a formal termination of hostilities. I don't want us to live with the shadow of unresolved hostilities hanging over us every day, because we don't know when the USNA may see a chance to reverse matters and attack us anew if we don't have a formal surrender and peace."
"Let me read my proposed text and then I'll entertain suggestions and comments. Please, so we can all go home tonight, try to only propose something which is a matter of real importance, not a picky little detail of punctuation, or usage." He picked up the hard copy and read.
Some of the comments were insightful. He marked several revisions and explained a number of items patiently. Especially what he had to repeat several times, was he really was talking about the USNA surrendering not Home. Some of them found it a hard concept to believe, when he informed them he intended to win this war. Just the huge difference in size, made it seem impossible to a lot of people. It was about three hours, before the last person who spoke did not have someone else already standing, to be recognized.
Jon grabbed the opportunity to point out the time and beg a chance to put the revised statement to a vote. He got an approval and the revised version quickly passed. He particularly liked the addition Jeff had suggested. This time he didn't need to be told to read it live. He assumed it was their custom now. When there were several news services connected, awaiting his statement, Muños gave a formal intro and handed off to him.
"Peoples of the Earth, Moon and Mars, along with the other habitats of humanity, we must speak to you again. Following our declaration of independence, we have had our offer of peace rejected by the United States of North America."
"It is always a sad decision to choose conflict and bloodshed, instead of peace, especially when those who adopt war, are rarely the ones who must fight it and die. We find ourselves labeled bandits and pirates, undeserving of the laws governing warfare."
"A strange declaration to make in the face of the fact no fighter of Home is held prisoner. Why the USNA would abandon their soldiers in our custody, to a suspension of the rules of civilized warfare, we don't understand. Perhaps they feel we will commit some atrocity against their combatants, which will cause others to scorn us, as they do.'
"If so they will be disappointed, as we intend to treat their captured soldiers with respect, even if they abandon them. If they wish to disregard the forms of ethical restraint, which have been the proper custom between nations so long, we cannot force civilized behavior upon them. We must ask the rest of humanity however: Who then is the one called pirate and who is actually acting the part?"
"These threats to our free travel and trade are unacceptable and constitute an act of war. Contrary to the picture painted by the USNA Secretary of State this morning, our statement of independence was voted on and expresses the will of the people of Home in assembly, with their votes attached herein as a footnote. We doubt the majority of the people of North America, would have voted to declare a state of war with the people of Home. We are sure they will never be given opportunity to vote on the issue. So, if the experience of war is forced upon them by their leaders, we can only hope they express their displeasure, at war being waged in their name by executive decree."
"We, the people of Home, do declare a state of war exists between the people of North America and the people of Home. We announce a counter declaration. We deny space to the United States of North America. No vessel may lift to orbit freely from the North American Continent. No military base or strategic resource which supports space travel, is exempt from our retribution. No facility for the production of spacecraft, from the firm which makes the smallest bolt, to the final assembly shed is exempt."
"No vessel may cross the oceans which separate the North American Continent from the civilized world, if we should choose to intercept it. No civilian aircraft of any nation may touch down on the North American continent, without being subject to destruction while there. No military aircraft may leave the Continent, without being subject to destruction in flight. No military base or vessel of North America is free from possible attack from this moment, wherever they are in the world. No governmental office, embassy, consulate, or official agency is exempt."
"We also follow another old custom. As you intend to harm us economically, we are issuing letters of marque and reprisal, to the merchant vessels which act as our militia, so they may seize prizes and regain some of the loss the blockade causes them."
"You have chosen war. When you sue for peace, we will tell you our terms."
"We plead with the other nations of earth not to place their citizens, or their treasure, in harm's way between us in our dispute. Our fight is not with you, unless you seek it as the government of North America has decided to do. If others act as allies against us, we shall expand our formal declaration of war to encompass them."
* * *
"I want these vermin wiped from the heavens." President Hadley screamed. "You have missiles. How long will it take to reprogram them for orbital interception? I want them blown from the sky."
"Peter, get hold of yourself man." The Secretary of Defense yelled at him. "The Japanese have a huge investment in this habitat. The damage using nuclear weapons on a civilian target would do with our own people, is nothing compared to how it would alienate us with our allies. There are very few things you could do which would be political suicide, but this is one of them. The damage a nuclear explosion in near Earth orbit would do on top of our lost satellites would be devastating, even worse if it happened over the territory of another nation. You might as well explode one right on their territory, as overhead for all the damage the EMP would do."
"They have to be punished," Hadley snarled through clutched teeth.
"Yes they do," he agreed, reasonably. "But it must be measured."
* * *
The Happy Lewis was already departed from Home and they were hurrying to stock the last consumables on board, so the Home Boy could join her soon in a lower orbit. They had targeting lists, if communication broke down with Home. The Singh projectors on Home would fire on Earth targets which were easier to locate and fixed, unless they were needed for defense. The two spaceships would also seek smaller targets, like aircraft and ships which were mobile and had to be identified by sight.
They assumed different orbital inclinations to sweep different areas. As they made a small adjusting burn to finalize their orbit, there was tension as they approached the start of their first run. No one had ever fired this weapon in anger before and they were going to be the first. No matter if they lost or won, it would be a footnote in the history books. April wondered if the first person to drop a bomb out of an airplane, felt the weight of what he was starting? Easy and April were pilot and copilot again, with one of Dave's men named Edwards. He went by it alone, without using his given name and he and Happy were the alternate crew.
They knew they would need to trade off shifts, as North America was what is sometimes called a target rich environment. They were crossing the Pacific on a North Easterly angle. There was supposed to be an aircraft carrier group somewhere west of Hawaii. It might not fall within the sweep of their radar or sight this pass. April brought the targeting list up on her computer, with GPS coordinates. The first target if they didn't see the ships, was Kwajalein, with a ballistic missile interception unit and a huge radar to track them. They'd wreck the radar for sure and then pick targets by sight, which might support it.
As they crossed more mostly empty ocean, belly up, looking down on the Pacific through their forward ports, they used the telescopes to examine some of the ships below. April had never been fascinated with boats and some of what she saw was difficult to understand looking straight down on them. It was a view very different from the close side views shown on the web or books. Even the pics in Jane's were usually from the side. When they were approaching three hundred kilometers out from the island, April instructed the computer to aim at coordinates, the sat photos showed as the radar antenna. The boards in front of them indicated it was radiating a tremendously powerful beam of microwaves. She wondered if they could paint an echo off them at this range, nose on. The theoretical horizon was almost nine hundred kilometers out and depressed close to eight degrees at this altitude, but the view through so much polluted air was so hazy, it was hard to even tell land from water. Not only were details obscured, but at the horizon air and water meet in a steely glare, with no distinct line. The view at three hundred kilometers was still murky, but the antenna was so big it was a slight pimple, right in the cross hairs where it was supposed to be.
"Do I have your permission to commence fire?" April asked Easy.
"That's what we're here for. Fire away," he casually ordered, without ceremony.
April activated the computer. At this range the limits of accuracy in the mounts of the machine and small random motions between corrections of the autopilot, would spread their shots around the target enough. Singh's machine started punching holes through the radar and its supports, at the rate of ten every second. As they got closer and the view got clearer, she shifted the aim point to the base area. After it had absorbed five or six hundred hits, there was an abrupt collapse and one side of the flat array folded in, leaning heavily to the side.
April took the projector off automatic and manually swung it to the nearest building to the antenna and let the projector punch a few score holes through it. A quick look around saw several huge dark military transport aircraft beside a runway and they were close enough to overhead now she could walk the aim point across them, on a line through the wings. It was awfully silly of them to park them up in a line, so fire could be walked straight across them.
The second one she was working across, startled her by disappearing in a ball of orange flame. She managed to punch across a third, before the expanding fire and smoke cut off her view. She looked around quickly for something else, as the island rapidly slide away from under them. There was some sort of raised mound with a notch cut in to a doorway and she had only punched two or three holes through it, when it disappeared in a white hot flash and she could see the circle of a shockwave expanding from it carrying debris. There had been a couple more, but the dust and smoke from the first one hid it.
"I think you found their ammo dump, or the missile storage," Easy guessed.
"There were several of those mounds with ramps which go down in them, but once the first one blows up you can't see the others," she complained.
"Next time you have multiple targets, put it on the screen and designate then with your cursor and tell the computer to work through them by coordinates. Then if they are covered by smoke, it will continue to track the locations you picked and fire on them."
"It won't just fire at the camera aim point?"
"No, Heather explained the software to me, although we didn't have time to practice. You pull down the menu and pick coordinates and it translates the screen point to a real location and remembers what you were looking at. Those are called bunkers. If you see any more at the Alaskan radars we're coming up on try it. Tell it to put ten punches in each one I'd say, from how easily the first one blew."
Waiting for the next target to come up, April was sad thinking about the people she had just fired on and full of anxious questions. Did they know or care what their government was doing to April and her people? Would they stop it if they could, or did they assume whatever their leaders said was right and true? Did they think April's side bloodthirsty monsters, or did they see through the propaganda? How many times would April have to do this, to make them yield? She was at best a reluctant warrior.
The Alaskan radars were too far out on the horizon on her right as they passed, to see anything as low and small as the bunkers, but there was a group of squat cylinders of some sort. They had to be pretty big. And after the computer had worked on the big radar arrays, she punched a few holes through the cylinders and was rewarded with a smoky fire.
"Must have been fuel storage," Easy decided. "They still use more petroleum fuel than hydrogen or alcohol for small aircraft and other transport up in the arctic."
As they were going down across the Atlantic, a satellite on a converging orbit slightly above them was emitting a powerful radar down at the ocean. "Chances are it is a USNA sat. It's not cataloged," Easy said. "Tell the computer to display what is within ten degrees in line behind it and let it rip at it. Who knows but what it can look up as well as down? We might get lucky. Cut it off, if anything starts to line up behind we don't want to shoot."
The machine worked away aiming bolt after bolt at the satellite. It actually had passed as close as it would get from them, at about six hundred kilometers and was pulling away, when it suddenly went silent. April hoped it was USNA but there was no real way to know. By the time they were back over the Pacific, April and Happy were tired and happy to switch with their relief team. She had never thought combat could be so drawn out and tiresome.
Easy got them coffee and they stretched and closed their eyes and listened to the chatter of their relief as they made their first run. They mostly aimed at the roofs of hangers and assembly buildings, at Edwards, Vandenberg and Groom Lake and had no idea what they were shooting at, except once Happy took it off computer control and shot down a huge triangular aircraft of some sort, which tried to get away before their pass. It was already at Mach 3 and climbing rapidly when Happy caught it. It didn't blow up or burn at all, but it disintegrated across the desert in black shards when it went down.
Home informed them their sister ship, had taken out the Seattle Boeing buildings on their first pass and would get Kansas City Boeing on their third pass. They had Cheyenne Mountain Space Command on their next pass, with both projectors on Home aiding them and two passes later they would get Elgin and the Cape. Several times they had a airbase or airport in sight and any plane sitting on the ground was a fair target. Home found the carrier group they had missed on their first pass, but all they could do at their orbital altitude with a plain telescope, was aim at the middle of the big carrier deck and not touch the escorts. They reported the escorts would be easier to find later though, by all the smoke from the carrier.
The NA base in Qatar had an abundance of aircraft on the ground they left burning and another carrier group in the Indian Ocean received their attention. They were low enough to see the escorts and pounded a couple ships with huge flat sided radar arrays, that Easy was concerned might be able to deploy sat killers. There was a low strange ship unlike any they had seen so far and it was given such a heavy dose of holes it went down as they watched. Heather came back to them on it, next time they came around within sight of Home and informed them she thought it was a submersible aircraft carrier, caught trading aircraft with the conventional carrier.
If so it was a very valuable target to hit. Jane's thought there were only three of them and not only was Heather on a first name basis with an investigative editor there now, she had also sold the pix to Jane's for a nice price. After all the spacecraft assembly hangers and manufacturers they counted worthy were reduced rubble, they debated hitting the half dozen private space carriers which could lift to orbit. In the end they decided they couldn't carry enough troops or armament to matter, in any military way. It was hard to hit anyone they regarded with an affinity, as a fellow spacer.
After the known ballistic missile interceptors, they worked on known nuclear weapons assembly and storage sites. The pollution from busting those labs open was going to be rough. There were a few aircraft carriers still missing, but they'd find them in time. It was a big planet, but a carrier was too big to hide. A couple of them might have run to the high latitudes to hide and it would take a polar orbit to find them.
The submarine bases got some attention, as they were supposed to have anti sat systems on some attack subs. They did a thorough job on several USNA embassies across Europe and the Middle East. Embassies were a priority on Heather's list. She only included the ones she had verified for location, by calling and asking directions to their street address. She was glad she had done so, as the embassy in Pakistan had moved and the online map data was wrong. She would have punched up the wrong building, which was the Australian embassy now.
A full day into it, both crews were tired and they were down to destroying particular shops which produced important aerospace components. North America could no longer produce laser gyroscopes, or bucky tube filaments. The specialty shop which constructed the exotic tires for space planes no longer existed. It was sometimes as easy as looking up the brag articles up in the aerospace trade journals, punching the address in a street atlas and loading the coordinates in the targeting computer. They agreed the Home Boy would put in for a day's rest and then the Happy Lewis, then they would alternate two days out and two days in. They could not take a chance on both being at Home at the same time, where they might both be destroyed.
The USNA had demanded help from every defense association to which they belonged. They demanded help from the Israeli's and the English, due to their so called special relationships, although support from the Americans had waned to both countries in recent years. Nobody seemed eager to jump into a fight which was a great unknown. The fact the USNA was yelling for help seemed incredible, but the fact they would not explain exactly how they were being hurt, caused even greater caution. The fact they didn't know themselves what this new weapon was they were facing, made it hard to explain. Almost a full day after the bombardment started, the President still had no clear report. Nobody seemed to be able to agree on a name, or consistently describe a weapon which punched holes through an entire mountain, without a projectile. The experts didn't have a clue and their advice was a confusing mix of conflicting statements.
The news service pix showing the American embassies in France and Israel, collapsed in a heap without a single brick thrown on the sidewalk out front, just added to the confusion. The North Americans had attempted to launch a sat killer at the Happy Lewis, from a carrier docked at Yokosuka in Japan. They easily accelerated away from the missile, which was designed to bring down spy sats, not a highly maneuverable space craft. Next pass their companion put the carrier on the bottom of the bay and apologized to the Japanese, but pointed out their guest was shooting at them first and they had refrained from hitting it before, because of its location. The carrier not only burned and cooked off munitions as it went down, wrecking the water front, but its shattered reactor core and possibly nuclear weapons mixing with sea water, contaminated the bay and much of the city, to the point it became necessary to evacuate Yokosuka.
Most carriers were being hit far out to sea, but the pictures of the Hillary Rodham at Yokosuka, laying rolled on its side, the huge flat flight deck, thrust out of the water as an almost vertical wall, went out around the world, but wasn't carried by USNA news services. It just meant the people saw it online, as their friends mailed it or sent it to their phones, and made the NA government look even sillier in its secrecy. The NA embassy in Tokyo was also destroyed, but being constructed to survive a possible severe earthquake, it was not as spectacular a demolition as the others, even viewed from the street right outside the property.
Many Japanese had already seen Genji Akira's article about M3 and April. The anti-sat missile climbing from the carrier had alarmed the city and been caught on video and put on the news. So when the strike came back against the carrier, it was not unexpected. The city's citizens were smart enough the trains leaving the city were full, even before the counter strike. There was nationwide outrage the North Americans would bring their war into the home territory, when they had been quietly urged to remove themselves from the harbor.
All this, worked together with Mitsubishi's interest in M3, to cause the Japanese parliament to recognize Home as a nation the next morning. On top of this insult, they removed permission for any North American warship or military aircraft to enter their territory. The Americans immediately declared a suspension of commercial flights in retaliation. It was a foolish move, which stranded several thousand North Americans in Japan with no direct way home and Japanese citizens in the USNA.
"Exactly how much do you think they can absorb, before they feel compelled to talk to us?" April wanted to know.
"The USNA has never had an actual defeat, they acknowledged. There have been some conflicts they walked away from, but never on their own territory. I'm not sure they believe they can be defeated. It may be such a new thing, they'll have a hard time admitting they need to surrender. Maybe they won't," Easy said with a new edge of fear in his voice. "If they're truly crazy, maybe they just won't surrender."
"What can we do then?" April wondered.
"Kill them," Happy supplied from the back.
* * *
"You're right. We should have struck them days ago," The Secretary of Defense admitted to the President. Go ahead. Nuke 'em." He offered with a wave of his hand. "I had no idea they could hurt us this badly. I would have sworn they couldn't really hurt us at all. You can have my resignation," he offered. "No need for a fancy document. I'll write it by hand right now," he pulled an old fashioned paper pad closer to him and took out a pen.
"No. It has gone way past regrets and resignations," Hadley explained, motioning the guards to move in on the Secretary. When the guards took the man out they almost had to carry him. They had a hand on each side under his arms and he was slumped, broken. Head hanging forward. He didn't object or look back and the guards seemed almost embarrassed. The new head of Space Command would not be led away by guards. He had been back in Cheyenne Mountain, when the Happy Lewis and Home Boy broke the mountain into gravel.
* * *
The two missiles climbed away from North Dakota, to the east, ahead of Home as they passed over the North American Continent. "Do you have a projection where they are targeted?" Ajay asked Heather, watching the replay of the launch which had been automatically sensed by thermal signature and caught on video. She leaned forward and inquired of Allen seated at the console. The newest of several new militia members from Dave's shop, working with radar and other detection systems and manning their Singh projector defenses.
"Yes, us," Allen informed them tersely. "They will overtake us before we do another full orbit. It will catch us out over the Pacific. Unless they have some special kind of warhead, which doesn't produce much of a EMP, I'd say they are in danger of sacrificing quite a bit of the electronic infrastructure, of the Hawaiian Islands. Of course if they hit us over Europe or Asia, they'd have a whole new war on their hands. And after what we have done to them, they aren't equipped to handle a war with Liechtenstein, much less China. He thought of something else and punched some keys on the computer. "Neither of our ships will come close enough to engage them either. The Earthies timed it all out carefully."
"Well, we made a mistake ignoring the missiles. I didn't think they'd use nukes on us. Tell the ships to start taking out all their strategic missile fields now, as a priority. The horse is out of the barn though with these two. Do you think we'll be able to stop them?"
"I'm sure we'll hit them. The question is how far out? The Happy Lewis took out a radar sat, which was a similarly difficult target and it took her a couple thousand shots at an average range of a bit over six hundred kilometers. However what worries me, is a lot of nuclear munitions are fail fused, to detonate if they are damaged."
"Oh, if the shot passes right through the plutonium kernel, or the implosive charges it will keep it from working. A hit elsewhere on the warhead will probably be sensed and cause it to detonate. The theory of failure fuzing being it might as well go off early and perhaps cause some damage, rather than try to get closer once we've demonstrated the ability to hit it."
"Is there anything else we can do before they come around and catch up with us?
"No." Heather replied. "I wish I'd asked if it would be safe to slow our spin down for a few days. It would put less stress on the station, if we do take some damage. But we don't have time to do it now, anymore than we could duck. Most everybody has their suits on or handy. I don't have any, but if you have lead underwear it's time to put it on," she joked.
Jon appeared on a small inset frame on the screen they were all watching. "Heather did one of our ships hit San Diego, last pass or two?" he asked, all concerned.
"Yeah the Home Boy was coming back to stand down for a day, but with the missile launch, they delayed returning until we intercept them and it's safe to come in. So last pass they took out all kinds of naval facilities in San Diego, as a target of opportunity."
"Well I think you better look at a North American news feed." Jon said, waiting.
Heather called up Disney News on another display, since they were based in California. The scene was a mobile cam shot. The scroll at the bottom of the screen said San Diego / Imperial Beach and - LIVE - in the upper corner. They were in the middle of a street and there was a funny wall behind the newscaster. It didn't make any sense, until she realized the street continued off into the distance starting from the top of the funny little wall. Something had sheared the earth across the street and dropped one side almost a half meter.
There was all sorts of trash and debris scattered on the sidewalks, even some spilled further out into the street. Then she realized all the sparkly stuff was broken glass. There were some poles for traffic lights and utilities and a couple advertising signs at the intersection in the background and they were all leaning over at about the same angle, maybe ten degrees to the right. A few cars were stopped in the distance sitting crooked in the street and there were people standing around outside them, with the car doors hanging open.
"- no warning at all from seismic scientists, despite recent successes in their forecasts." the newsperson was saying. The whole scene jerked again suddenly and the young man with the microphone sprawled, throwing his hands up awkwardly to catch himself. He didn't fall with the grace of an athlete. He was saying something, but the roar of the earthquake drown it out. The camera carrier was obviously more athletic and went down with much more control than the newsie. There was a hash of interference lines laced in the feed, but it was still viewable. The poles in the background whipped back and forth. Down the street, material could be seen falling off the building fronts. Already, there were a couple of plumes of smoke rising into the clear sky. The pavement was so close, it was obvious the camera person was shooting lying down. The newsie had a trash barrel roll up against him, trailing papers and sandwich boxes, but he got up on his hands and knees, starting to get up. Just then a really violent jerk rolled him over, the opposite direction to his first fall, barrel following. It was strong enough to slide the camera handler across the dry pavement. Behind the rolling newsie, the wall of dirt subsided abruptly, below the pavement closer to the camera, adding a lower note to the roar. Now the near street was higher and the street beyond the line had fallen away, with a haze of dust rising to obscure the scene. The newsie was a real trooper. He still had his microphone clamped in one hand when the feed was lost and they went back to the studio. EARTHQUAKE IN SAN DIEGO, said the scrolling headline behind the studio news desk.
Nam-Kah had come in, just in time to see the newsman roll away with the big shock. "I'm afraid we may be responsible for that." She admitted. "It seems as unlikely it's a coincidence, same as the lunar quake."
"Whatever you do," Jon told them, "don't let them fire on Los Angeles, unless they absolutely need to in self defense."
"Are they as prone to quakes?" Heather asked.
"If anything even more so," he assured her. "If it did this to San Diego, hitting LA may bust off Baja and the lower coast and send it all sliding into the Pacific." It was only a slight exaggeration.
Another one of Dave's men was speaking with Allen on his screen and the two of them were not looking happy at all. Allen turned his seat around and spoke up to address them all. "I've been having one of our men scan all the North American news channels to see what the coverage was like of our strikes. Interested?
"Let's hear it Allen. What do they say?" Jon asked.
Looking down at a print out he made on a clip board, he started going down it with his index finger. "There was a story about nobody being able to contact their family at work, at Cheyenne Mountain on the local news. The story never repeated and the reporter has not been on the air since. Now the regular news program is announcing there is a lock down at the facility, due to the embargo of Mitsubishi 3 and nobody will be permitted off base until the emergency is over."
"The local stations anywhere around the missile fields we have destroyed, are just off the air and all the roads around them are sealed off with troops, anywhere from twenty to fifty miles away."
"The station we just watched in San Diego, had a short news piece asking why the carrier group due in to dock soon, was turned back out to sea, when there are no hostilities reported anywhere in the Pacific. The news anchor who reported the story worked a couple more shows and then was reported to be gone temporarily due to a sudden illness." "The station at Kansas City where we smeared Boeing, just suddenly had an entire new news room staff appear today. I could go on but I think you get the picture," he said grimly.
"They're crazy," Heather insisted. "There's no way they can just stonewall and pretend there's not a war going on. We've hit way too much to cover up."
"Apparently they don't think so. We haven't cut the power grid, or taken the local broadcast off the air in big cities. People cut off in rural areas don't know why their satellite TV or net access doesn't work, unless they have a shortwave radio and listen to a foreign station. How many people do that anymore? People in the cities hear what they are allowed to hear and don't know anything is wrong unless they are real close to a military base. Even then, we aren't using a weapon which blasts the base with a big fireball, visible for miles and miles. We just punch holes in the important stuff."
"Sometimes we may start a fire. But a lot of bases are far from any big population centers and anyway, it might just look like a fire. Fires do happen regularly after all, without us. If there are planes mysteriously damaged on the ground, are people going to assume it was done from orbit? Probably not I'd guess. They could say it is sabotage."
"If somebody with family on a carrier stops sending e-mails, how much fuss will they make? They don't want to raise a stink and then when it turns out OK they've damaged their relative's career. It probably wouldn't be the first time they've been treated strange by the service anyway. No, I can see them getting away with it for entirely too long. We may have to hit some targets picked just for public visibility," Allen concluded.
* * *
"We have obligation," the Prime Minister concluded. "They were fired upon from our territory, by our nominal ally, even if it was against our wishes. And they acted with considerable restraint. They actually apologized to us, for the necessity of firing in return."
The Interior Minister spoke to them quietly. "The seismic monitors are very clear, quite intense seismic activity started abruptly, upon the destruction of the carrier and settled down gradually. The activity is very deep too, not at all superficial. The same thing was documented to happen at the Alaskan site and there is far more activity world wide than normal. It can be no coincidence. Something about their weapon stirs the very bowels of the Earth. We are very fortunate we did not suffer sudden release of the fault stresses as they did in San Diego. There are thousands of faults uncharted. Who knows where it will let loose next?"
They all soberly considered the fact Japan sits on a long line of intense seismic and volcanic activity, from North to South - a major vulnerability with this new weapon. It could shake their nation to pieces.
The Defense Minister hesitated. The weapon they were considering using, could as easily remove Mitsubishi 3 directly as a threat, instead of protecting them. They scared him, but he just couldn't think of any way to propose it, that had even a glimmer of morality attached to it. The only case he could make was it avoided provoking the Americans. If he destroyed a habitat named Mitsubishi, he expected their government would fall within days from the domestic outrage.
Instead he made a short bow from his seat, which almost incorporated a western nod of acknowledgment. "I agree. I am reluctant to demonstrate our ability, but it is the only proper thing to do," he gave orders over his personal com, without delay.
* * *
There was a pretty good chunk of the total home militia, assembled in the makeshift command center, in the Lewis North Hub cubic. They had two big screens showing the camera view of the projector telescope and the radar off the South hub radar. Looking back along their orbital path, the mottled arc of the horizon was mostly browns to the North and some blue to the South. They were looking at Asia below, but there was too much haze and clouds to pick out a familiar shape. No point in zooming in on the optical screen, because the warheads chasing them would not be visible even at the highest magnification.
"They should be coming over the theoretical horizon in about a minute. I'll put the clock in the corner." Allen told them. They will still be on a tangent line which cuts through the atmosphere on both sides, from a surface point somewhere in the Middle East."
"When can you start shooting at them?" Dave asked for them all.
"As soon as we have a radar return, we can start firing. They will be somewhere behind us over the Mediterranean and if we don't hit them they'd catch us somewhere East of Hawaii, but well before we are over the West coast of North America. The Home Boy is well ahead of us and the Happy Lewis is behind the trailing horizon, but inclined away from the missiles. We are sending these feeds to the Home Boy now and they'll change orbit to join the Lewis and share the data if we are hit."
"What are their orders if we are destroyed?"
"If you are gone you can't give us any orders." The feed from The Home Boy came back, with Eddie speaking to answer Jon. "If you are gone we plan to blast the snot out of every fault line on the North American Continent and in China, until they're emulsified like they went through a blender. I mean not a wall standing anywhere, if it can be done. They say the last time the New Madrid fault really let loose, the Mississippi ran backwards. It should be something to see, even from orbit. That's the price they'll pay if Home is gone." Nobody had any ready reply.
The counter ran down to the zero point where the missiles should be at the theoretical horizon. It would be a little before they came from behind enough atmosphere to see. They all tried to picture what Eddie had described doing, would mean below. Most of them wouldn't really want a few hundred million killed to avenge them, but it was true, if they were gone they couldn't stop Eddie. Their eyes all shifted to the radar and waited. When the numbers had climbed back up to twenty seconds, the radar acquired a target and a yellow icon appeared on the radar screen, with a small bracket beside it on the screen filled with changing data. Almost immediately another icon appeared beside it, actually touching with a similar bracket. The projectors had been programmed to fire as soon as they had a radar target and the count of their cycles immediately started scrolling up in a box in a corner of the screen. The first digit a blur as it added twenty a second. They fired on the missiles for a long handful of minutes, everyone watching in grime silence and they were still far back over the western Pacific, right about where the terminator was, when both icons on the screen changed to flashing red and all the data numbers zeroed out and then disappeared. What caught their eye and swung every head around though, was the other screen's view through the telescope.
A ragged edged black circle, surrounded by glaring white, had appeared in the upper left corner of the screen, as the photo sensor in the telescope burned out from the light input. Also leading away from the halo of glare, a distinct thin thread of light was drawn from the upper atmosphere, back down to the land below. The clouds were sparse and they could see enough shape to tell it was the southern extremity of the Japanese Islands. The terminator had gotten far enough west now, so the outline of the island was plain and the line went straight to the Southern part of Kysushu, where Japan had extensive space resources in Kagoshima.
The glare and brilliant thread faded away, but the black blob remained now permanently on the feed. The sensor was not just temporarily overloaded, it had a patch burned off its surface by the intensity of the flare.
"Hoy Chi Mama!" Eddie's voice rang through on the com. "What the heck nailed those suckers? We're turned with the view ports looking back at you. We were both looking down at the screens and it still left us with purple flash blobs floating in front of our eyes. We'll be OK, but what a shock. At least I don't see any ionizing radiation count on our boards"
"I don't know." Allen admitted. "I guess we're not the only ones with some secret weapons. See you when you come around. See how many of those missiles you can get before they try this again. We're still here OK," he added as Home Boy, much lower and faster, was about to go over the horizon ahead of them.
"Home - you still there?" The Happy Lewis was coming over the opposite horizon behind them, all worried. "We saw a flash just over our horizon, that lit the whole arc of the atmosphere up bright yellow and then faded out over two or three seconds. Are you guys OK?"
"We're OK Lewis. We appear to have received a little help."
"We got the flash on video. Wait until you see it." There was a pause. "You mean it wasn't you guys set them off?"
"We might be better off not saying anymore, in case someone can crack us," Jon said. "You'll understand when you see our video. Make a few more passes on their missiles and come on home. You both need a rest and I don't think anybody will be shooting at us again very quickly. Maybe it's time to let the Norté Americanos stew a little, before we do much more."
April looked at the black circle permanently seared in the telescope sensor, until they could replace it. Japan was almost gone now, over the horizon behind them on the edge of the screen. "I know one thing," she informed all her friends. "It's a damn good thing we didn't go to war with Japan." They all looked at the blob and pictured a line from the mystery weapon ascending to vaporize Home, instead of the missiles. How many passes of Japan could their ships have made before this weapon swatted them out of the sky? Nobody disagreed with April.
Chapter 34
The scooters both docked late that evening and the crews took a break, but they were worried enough at having both together as a target, that two of Dave's men took the Home Boy off, to park it at a higher orbit for safety, while the Happy Lewis was home. They slipped away as soon as it was provisioned with basics and while over the Pacific, as they thought there were no NA radars active there now.
April was happy to see their shattered front door finally replaced, when she went home. The weld around the frame was still unpainted and a hot metal smell still lingered. After a cleanup and meal, she joined most everyone in the temporary command center, at the Lewis cubic on the hub.
Allen and Heather were conferring about something and called everyone to look.
"These are all separate images we correlated," she explained. "Allen looked at these sort of helicopters and fan platforms, because they are used to ferry VIP's out of the city in emergencies. He went back over the times immediately after we started shooting and cataloged all the vehicles like this, an automated search could find on the memory." She showed a pattern of green dots over North America. "Now some of them if you project their flight path are going to a known airbase." Perhaps a third of the dots disappeared as she said it. "A number of them are going to sites we fired on, in our first few passes. In some cases we even see them later on the ground, beside the target, or nearby at a hospital."
Most of the other dots disappeared. "Now, of those left, a few go to something we could identify. This one for example," she drew a yellow circle around it with a cursor, "It went to the small New England town, known for having the cottage of the Vice President. We doubt he would go there in an emergency, so we are guessing he sent his wife and family home as a safe haven. They are certainly not a valid military target. If we eliminate all of those, it leaves these."
The map now had a dozen dots spread far apart. "A couple we see landed and have no idea why. Maybe they broke down. A few disappeared and we have no idea where they landed. They must have been hangared quickly out of sight, in barn, cave, or something. I suspect a few were stolen by crew, to go AWOL. These three however," she drew a circle around them, "are closer together than all the rest, disappeared at the end and they are all converging on a point where there is nothing."
She hit a few keys and there were three dashed lines crossing over an area of wooded mountain. "The interesting thing is, if you examine this area there are just a few homes and farms we can see, but none of them in about a twelve square mile area have any cattle or current cultivated crops, or active items like farm machinery working. There are a few vehicles near buildings, but they don't move at all. The buildings have no thermal signature." She drew an outline of the area. "There are however several points, at which we occasionally see heavy vehicles, which must be military recon, or big four wheel drive trucks." She peppered the valleys, with a necklace of small purple icons.
"What it looks like to Allen here, who assures me he is a genuine West Virginia hillbilly, is this ring of hills all forms a perimeter." She drew a smaller circle inside the larger one. "So the patrols on the inside, are not visible at all to the world outside the ring. You would have to penetrate past the ring of hills to encounter the patrols and it would be very unlikely to do so in innocence."
"Allen assures me, that although it may only be two or three kilometers in a straight line, the terrain is so difficult it would be three times that distance and up and down hard grades to penetrate from any outer point to a patrol. All this means we can assume a very important deep bunker for something, is inside the central hill."
"We are proposing, that when we restart bombardment, we saturate this hill just as we did Cheyenne Mountain. We don't have the capacity to put a bolt straight down through every square meter, so we propose to start walking lines through it from the horizontal, as we can see it to aim, starting at the valley floor level and walking up. They probably have an entry down at the patrol road level and excavated from the road level up in the mountain, to avoid having to keep it pumped out."
"Sounds reasonable," Ajay agreed. "What else are you going to hit, that will be different than what you've already done? Especially to force some acknowledgment they even have a problem. They're starting to irritate me with this 'You're not worth noticing,' attitude. They may regret pushing us to make a point they can't ignore."
"What do you folks suggest?" Allen asked. "If we destroy refineries and power plants and dams, it's almost winter and without heat or power civilians will die. We already have damaged their economy badly, taking the satellites out. We can't do much more, without killing far too many innocent people."
"We should continue destroying commercial aircraft just sitting on the ground." Jeff said. "Not as a primary target, but when we don't have anything else in sight to hit. If people can't get a flight they notice, but there are just so many planes, it's hard for two ships to hit enough secondary targets, to cripple such a huge system. I'd refuse to hit them in the air, even if it wasn't against the Geneva Conventions. Even on the ground tell the gunners to try to hit the wings, so we don't hit civilians in the cabins. They may be loading, or have workers servicing them."
"What is symbolic? What can we remove that will have little real impact, but inconvenience them and shame them?" Jon asked.
"Knock down every bridge on the Mississippi river," suggested Steve Lewis. "It would cut the country in two and they'd have to load stuff on boats to go across. People just take bridges for granted, even when they need to cross them every day to work. A big river town usually spreads along both banks, because they cross so easily. It will really hurt the local economy and be a wakeup call, but not kill anyone if you announce it. Nobody has to be on any of the bridges, unless they are amazingly stupid. Let them try to hide that," he challenged.
"There are a couple bridges which are the defining feature of an area. They are artistic or historic." Jeff suggested. "Take down the Golden Gate, the Brooklyn Bridge, cut the Seven Mile Bridge in the Keys and the Mackinac in Michigan, maybe the Tampa Bay Skyway too. Nobody will starve to death from it, but it will change their lives."
"I think we should ask them to surrender first," Heather offered, looking at Jon.
"I've got no problem with that," he replied, feeling accused by her look.
"There are still a lot of military targets we have not hit," April ventured. "What else can we do? Go through and clean out all the storage for armored vehicles and robots and other weapons?"
"Trouble is," Jon explained, "if we make them too weak for a war down there on the earth's surface, we will have to guard them from being invaded or overrun by some other Earth nation. There could be civil war easily start in Mexico or Canada. We don't want to install a foreign government there. I don't especially want the duty to have to protect them, because we weakened them too far."
"How about targeting something like a monument?" April asked "What has no real utility, but sentimental value? Something they can't just move, if we announce it as a target."
"Washington monument on the Mall in D.C., Mount Rushmore," Steve suggested. Other piped in and suggested a number of targets. "The Statue of Liberty," suggested Jeff in turn.
Jon and a couple others looked hurt. "No Jeff, we don't want to hurt Lady Liberty. She was a gift from the French. We'd rather restore her ideals, than bust her."
Jeff seemed embarrassed then.
April filled the awkward void. "Did anyone ever thank the Japanese?"
"No. I'm not even sure how to go about it." Allen admitted. "We might cause some problems for them, if we even acknowledge the help publicly."
"Do you mean, there has not been anything in the Japanese media about it? If we could see them firing a beam from orbit, plenty of people had to see it from the ground."
"Oh sure, there were news broadcasts within minutes about a huge explosion in space and comments about the continuing hostilities between Home and North America. But not a word to indicate the Japanese had anything to do with it. I'd say they don't want open hostilities with NA if they can avoid it. I'm surprised they could be getting away with it. Why ruin it for them?"
* * *
"Surely there is a video or radar image somewhere, which shows this weapon in action." President Hadley insisted. "People have their phones everywhere. Amateurs go out and look through telescopes. Every time there is a plane crash it seems like there is a video, sometimes two or three, of it."
The officer sent to brief him was a mere Colonel. Everyone else had found reason to beg off, afraid the messenger would be leaving under arrest again. "Sir, we have twenty solid eye witnesses from our military personnel, seeing some kind of connection between the explosion and the ground. We just have no mechanical record. Our optical sat in LEO, which would have covered that, was taken out by someone when the Lewis was removing the higher ones. It went around to the far side of the world and just never came back. There was not even a debris field on radar, when it was supposed to come around again".
"It wasn't the only one. There has been more than one country knocking down the other guys sats, figuring in the confusion they'd never be blamed. We took advantage to kill a few really irritating birds ourselves Sir," he admitted and got an uncomfortable stare back.
"It was early morning there. Not many people out at all. Just enough light to where nobody would be star gazing. Looking from the West the sunrise interfered. Looking from the East it's all ocean, so except for a few islands, so you'd have to be on a boat. It's not like this happened over California. And there was no scheduled event like a satellite pass or meteor shower, to attract observers."
"The event was so brief, if you weren't looking right at the part of the sky where it happened, you didn't have time to turn your head. I'm surprised we had twenty observers. Four of them were air traffic controllers, looking at aircraft in that part of the sky and six were various aircraft crew, on a heading which placed the event in front of them. And most of them were pretty useless for detail. A few said the flash they saw went up to the sky and a few said it came down from the sky. The explosion itself was so dazzling, some didn't even notice any line to the ground underneath. As to an actual bearing, they placed it over a quarter of the horizon, so there was no pinpointing the source. It's unlikely further evidence will be forthcoming," he predicted.
"I'm sure the Japanese had a hand in this. After they recognized these vermin the day before, it's no coincidence," Hadley assured himself. "But I won't say anything to their ambassador without proof. It's useless to make accusations on hearsay. They may even say the fire was coming down on them, not going up and blame it on us."
The Colonel thought, after the Japanese demonstrating a completely unknown weapon of such power, perhaps the course of wisdom would be to find out a little more, before getting in their face about it. He didn't see they needed a second war with somebody else, possessing even more terrible new weapons. But he didn't want to be dragged off under arrest today, so he kept the idea to himself.
Hadley dismissed the relieved Colonel without any more questions and he lost no time in fleeing. He was thinking hard what would keep him from being called here again. If he could just get hurt somehow, badly enough to be relieved, but minor enough to still heal eventually. And believable. It's pretty hard to shoot your foot, when you don't even carry a side arm. But he might prefer to throw himself in front of a bus, rather than have to brief the President again. No, not a bus he thought, just a real low sports car, going slow in the parking lot. How badly could it hurt until EMS got there? Better than disappearing in a military police van in a hood and chains, knowing his parents would get a notice his citizenship was revoked and he had been declared an enemy of the state.
* * *
"I believe I have a conduit we can use to thank them," April said. "Can anyone find the Oriental lady reporter, who has been interviewing people so aggressively?"
* * *
"Excuse me," Margaret inserted herself politely. She waited until the young lady was done interviewing the gentleman having his lunch and then approached her.
"I'm Margaret Detweiler with security. Jon Davis and April Lewis asked me to inquire if you might consent to meet them. They have an interest in contacting Genji Akira and hoped you might help them."
"I wondered how long you'd allow me to run around loose," she said with a sneer. "You should be aware the pad here is recording my arrest and transmitting it real time to my agency."
"Oh, I'm so intimidated." Margaret allowed herself a show of teeth, that was not a smile. "They asked me to invite you politely and I have, but no one told me I had to kiss your snotty little ass. If you had any manners you'd have paid attention, to hear it was an invitation, not an arrest. If you don't want to be handed a story and invited into the inner circle of what's happening fine. We'll find some other way to contact Akira, which doesn't involve sucking up to a childish little creep like you. I'm sure the people of your agency," she nodded at the pad, "have seen enough of your golden personality to not be surprised you are such a fool, you make enemies when there was no need," she turned and walked away.
"Wait!" she called, "Perhaps I misunderstood what was happening. Can we talk?"
"No we cannot discuss your misunderstanding," Margaret snarled at her, spinning around. "You insult me and my nation and then try to blow off the fact you act like a damn spoiled child as a misunderstanding. By tomorrow you will be referring to it as our misunderstanding and by the next day it will be my failure to understand."
"They didn't drag me out of the cabbage patch yesterday youngster. I know how people like you manipulate both words and people. You want to start over? You can apologize decently to me and we'll take it from there. Otherwise you can go to hell. I won't take you to Jon, or especially April, because I suspect if you talk to her like you did me, she'll cut your ears off to make you reflect on your manner, while they're growing you new ones."
Adzusa looked back at the pad on the table. Margaret was not stupid. She was keenly aware she was thinking the pad was still in range to hear her voice and even worse the camera was pointed their direction. Everything she said would be transmitted below for all her coworkers and she'd have to live with it forever.
She looked like she had a mouthful of something very unpleasant, but swallowed it and moved forward. "I was badly mistaken about your intentions and your honor. Please forgive my hurtful words and let us start again with a restoration, by my apology," she said. And she bowed rather formally, with her hands clasped before her.
"Thank you. It's as nothing then. I'll forget it ever happened." Like hell I will, she thought, but she made nice-nice as well as she knew how and even did as good a bow as she could imitate, trying not to skimp on it for the camera.
"If you want to record or transmit our meeting and conversation, for your protection feel free. But the things you see might be so hot, you'll worry about keeping them on your pad. Do you have a really good encryption program, the North Americans are not going to crack, in not just a few days or hours, but in the next few decades?"
"I'm assured by the technician that produces such things for our agency, that the sun will grow old before anyone reads our exchanges."
"He sounds like our Heather," Margaret nodded, accepting her assessment. "Come on then," and gave a beckoning jerk, Earth style, with her head.
After they hard wire plugged Adzusa's pad into the com console to use her proprietary protocol, Akira himself answered his com from Adzusa's call, his hand still extended over the keyboard, when his image came on the screen. He was dressed casually in an open necked white shirt. A small smile of amusement or pleasure formed on his face. "Miss Lewis, it's a pleasure to see you. I hope you are well. It is a trying time now for your countrymen."
"Mr. Genji. I wish I could use your language properly to thank you. A weakness I will have to correct. But I know from your articles your command of English is masterful. We have a file we'd like to share with you first." She nodded to Adzusa, to feed it to him. "And we ask you to quietly convey our thanks also, to those in your government who have befriended us."
His eyebrows went up at the clear picture he received, showing a glaring thread of energy, connecting Southern Japan with the destruction of the missiles, but he said nothing about the image. "I simply said what was true. Some others would have been offended at me breaching their privacy. I'm glad you're not. I'm starting to see irritating the Lewis or Singh families is a very bad thing to do," his broad smile made clear it was not meant as disapproval.
"We feel you had a hand, in presenting us in such a favorable light they decided to aid us. So again, thank you." She had her toes hooked in the take hold, in front of the com desk. So despite the zero G she could end by bowing deeply, with downcast eyes and holding it indefinitely. It was a much better bow than the last she had given him.
"He's gone." Jon said in a moment. "He made a bow back to you, we can replay for you, but when he saw you holding, he decided not to spoil the moment and just quietly left. I think you made some points there."
"Are you allowed to share with me what is happening in your clash with North America?" Adzusa asked them. Standing to the back, Margaret noticed she seemed to have assumed a more respectful manner.
It had been April's idea, but she hesitated now that the woman was here. Jeff hovering in the background spoke to Adzusa with perfect Japanese and she responded with a shocked look. Whether at his use of the language, or what he said they didn't know.
Jeff observed them all attending their conversation and explained. "I don't mean to be rude. What I wanted to know I could express much more precisely in Japanese, but now I have to phrase it in English anyway," he said with a wry smile. "I asked her if she had been voting in the proposals. She said no, she didn't think she'd be here permanently and it didn't seem a proper thing to do and it might be difficult for her to pay the tax. I asked if she might not consider dual citizenship and it seems an upsetting idea to her right now.
Are you going to tell her what we're planning? What do you think? If we make our next communication with the USNA public, will it hurt or help?" Heather asked.
"I don't think it will matter." Jon said. "Because I don't think they're ready to surrender. But it might help show we are restrained and bring some more countries to officially recognize us, if we show how we are dealing with them. Anybody have any contrary ideas? Speak up."
No one did, so he turned and regarded Adzusa. "We have been bombarding North America and North American ships and bases all over the world, with a weapon of which we don't intend to disclose the details to you, or anyone. Their anti-ballistic missile sites and virtually the entire aerospace industry and production and storage for nuclear weapons, are damaged beyond any quick repair. The bases known to us to launch and retrieve shuttles or space planes, such as the Cape, Vandenberg, Edwards, Elgin and Groom Lake are non-functional. NA Space Command is gone and several hundred military aircraft all over the world. Quite a few of the ICBM sites also, but we cut off yesterday a bit short, to give them time to ponder where things stand."
"We are going to give them a chance to surrender before picking back up. We could hit all the power plants and electric grids and data backbones if we wanted and millions of people would die in the coming winter. We could destroy their military centers with armor and other surface weapons. We could finish off all the minor escorts for the carriers we hit too. But we figure stripping them so badly would leave them wide open, to someone like China coming in and taking the Continent over."
"So, if they refuse peace, next we are going to bust many of their important bridges, clean up the remaining missiles and start striking various well loved public monuments, which have powerful emotional value, before we are forced to hurt more civilians. Part of the reason for the change in tactics, is because they are trying to down play what's been done in the news outlets. We have identified what we think is a deep command bunker, we're going to hit too. Do you want to witness our surrender request and report it?
"Yes, please. But all this you say you've destroyed - how can we verify this? We hear much confusion out of North America right now, especially with the earthquake in San Diego." She stopped suddenly, scanning their faces and got a startled expression on her face. "Did you do that? Did you do something so violent it seemed an earthquake ?"
"It was a accident," Nam-Kah assured her. "We used our weapons too close to some fault lines and it was an unintended consequence - my personal error really. I had data I should have seen would predict this. We'll try not to do it again." She looked quite embarrassed.
"You'll try not to do it again?" Do you hear yourself? She asked indignantly. "Can you picture what an earthquake does to an area? Have any of you ever been down there in one?"
"Yes." Nam-Kah assured her. "I've been in an earthquake, quite a big one actually. And I can assure you we realize it can be similar in destruction to a nuclear bomb. However you saw on the video we sent your boss, how the North Americans just tried to hit us with two nuclear bombs. They fully intended to kill every man, woman and child here, including you! So don't get high and mighty with us about weapons of mass destruction. We're trying to soften our blows and the USNA is out to murder us all with no restraint."
Adzusa nodded slowly, visibly but reluctantly absorbing the idea. She shook her head, either in wonder or as if to clear it. "Silly me, I was going to say much of the world will not believe you have hurt them so badly and suggest you release some video of the actual strikes. Now I find you are embarrassed at possessing power I never dreamed of. The other I'll report for you. If I did try to report this new thing, I can assure you nobody would believe it."
"We couldn't prove it even if we wanted it made public," Nam-Kah assured her. "To prove it would require using the weapon systematically on faulted and faultless areas and seeing what the seismic response is. I don't think that's a very good idea."
"That is a good idea about the video though," April countered. "Let's give her the record of hitting Kwajalein and what else?" she inquired of the whole crew.
"The carrier group in the Indian ocean, with the submersible and Aegis cruisers," Allen suggested, getting a nod of approval all around. "It will lay a groundwork of credibility."
Adzusa was given the appropriate files and set her pad up to record the conference they'd try to hold. She made very sure she was not on camera herself for the call.
Jon wasn't sure who to call. He did a web search for - Pentagon contact - and found a site for pentagon.af.mil. When he looked at the contact info there was an address for an executive secretariat, but when he clicked on it he got an access forbidden screen. This was not the sort of thing he could just leave in a e-mail. What kind of an office didn't have video conferencing anymore? Did they expect him to use smoke signals? There was a voice only number, so he tried calling it, although he was determined to see whoever he talked to. The number yielded a voice mail system, not even a decent AI. It had an endless number of options, none of which suited what he needed. By waiting at the end he would get an operator. When the line was finally answered by a live person, it had taken seven minutes.
"Hello this is Jon Davis, director of the militia at Home. I'd like to speak with someone with authority to hear a surrender request, on behalf of the United States of North America.
The operator said, "I am connecting you with our expert response program. Please repeat your key word and if you need to modify your request, press the pound key."
"Wait, wait, please, I don't wish to speak to a computer system..."
A slow, carefully enunciated artificial voice said, "Computer system management is divided into systems operations and procurement. If you wish to speak about currently active management press one. If you are a vendor or wish information about supplying computer services or hardware, please press two."
"How the hell do you make spex act like a pound key, on a frigging obsolete telephone handset?" Jon wanted to know. In the background, the expert system was telling him how to sign up for career upgrade training and call work at home support.
"Disconnect," he said in frustration. "Anybody have any ideas?" he asked.
"How about the infamous Homeland Security?" April suggested. "They have a snoop on every block. Surely if you call them up with a tip they will want to talk."
"I don't think so," Jon told her, relating for them his last unpleasant conversation with the head of the Department.
"Who can you call who will at least know who we are, without having it explained?" Jeff wondered. "Who have we dealt with before who has a clue what's happening?"
Jon smiled. "I don't think anybody at Earthside Traffic Control will forget who we are, after the little speech Easy gave them from ISSII." He called their own local traffic control and got their address. "It's not the usual people and set up," the fellow warned him.
"Oh? Why is that?" Jon wondered.
"It used to be set up in Cheyenne Mountain. Now it's run out of Houston," the fellow told him, not making any guesses why. Jon didn't waste time now to discuss it.
"Thanks. I'll keep it in mind, talking to them."
Jon punched in the address and got a normal video hookup like he was used to, showing a fellow leaning his elbows on a key console, with spex and a boom mic in front of his mouth. He was in civilian clothing - a short sleeved plain white shirt with no tie and some pens and a scale in the pocket.
"Houston Control, this is Jon Davis on Home, calling as head of our local militia. We need to speak with somebody who is in the command structure for the USNA military and discuss a mutual problem. Do you have an address, or can you connect us to such a person or agency?"
"I can forward you to a liaison we have with Space Command." He looked real seriously at Jon. "Do you have a traffic matter you are reporting? We'd appreciate any heads up on traffic, instead of waiting for them to send a notice back to us."
"No, we wanted to speak with them about a matter of surrender, up their chain of command. If it's unsuccessful any traffic it generates will be a military strike and won't be requesting clearance. We just didn't know who else to go through on this matter."
"I guess I don't understand. My understanding is Mitsubishi 3 is supposed to be embargoed. If you surrender won't you be accepting traffic instructions again?"
"What are they telling you?" Jon asked him. "Haven't you noticed there is no traffic lifting anywhere from North America?"
"Sure we have. They told us everything is grounded but military and all we have to coordinate with is any foreign traffic. Space Command will handle all military traffic during the embargo. We talk to the foreign traffic and Space Command gives us back the clearance agreement and works all the radar and data to keep the military traffic secret. We relay instructions to our traffic, so it remains under civilian control. Other countries don't like taking traffic instructions from military."
Jon shook his head unbelieving. "They're scamming you, keeping the data, because there is no military traffic to keep secret. We busted up the assembly buildings and shot up everything that could lift. The Cape, Edwards, all the space capable sites are wrecked. You can't even build a space plane now. Cheyenne Mountain isn't directing anything, because we bombarded it off the map. We're not calling to surrender. We took a little break and are giving them a chance to surrender, before we resume pounding the snot out of them from orbit again. I bet they aren't telling you that on the news, are they?"
The controller was looking at him goggle eyed. Opened his mouth, then thought better of it and didn't say anything more. It was probably too dangerous politically. He just leaned forward and punched something on his board, with a scared look on his face. He probably knew more now, than he wanted to know. Security might make things awkward for him. The screen switched to a man at a darker room, with a work uniform and heavy spex. His name above the pocket said Bennigan and he had some military emblems on Jon didn't recognize. He was in the sort of a high backed, padded, powered chair, that makes a long shift sitting bearable and they could see a number of bright squares reflected in his spex, from the screens he was monitoring.
"Are you recording?" Jon asked first.
"Always. What's your call about?"
"I'm Jon Davis, Militia Director and spokesperson for the nation of Home. We wish to announce if we don't receive an acceptance of surrender, at the number I'm calling from in the next hour, we are going to resume a campaign of bombardment against the USNA worldwide. We are asking you to pass the message up the chain of command, for their review.
"You're saying you want us to surrender?" he asked, incredulous.
"That's correct. I don't expect you personally have the authority to surrender. Just pass it up the line please."
"To even dignify it, by passing it forward, would leave me accused of aiding the enemy, cowardice and destroy my career. I'm not about to do it."
"Up to you Bennigan. If a government or an officer has no ability to consider a surrender, you have to consider the alternative."
"And what is that?" he asked, with visible distaste.
"Death," explained Jon and disconnected.
"You do have a way with a word," Jeff quipped.
"You have no way to send your message to the top, to someone who could really consider it, do you?" Adzusa finally realized.
"No. You start to understand. It's a matter of will. They assume we won't or can't hurt them badly enough, to cause them to surrender. Their own people are trained it's suicide to even suggest it, because there is no honest dialogue possible down there anymore. So it's a psychological contest. Do we have the stomach to slaughter them without reserve, or will it be so repulsive we'll die ourselves, rather than carry the burden of their deaths?"
"And what is the answer? Can you live with it?" she asked.
"We begged for peace. If they want death and war, I'll give them their fill," he vowed.
"Call Dave's boys down, the ships are going back out," Jon told Allen.
Chapter 35
April checked the schedule to put out and found she had time for a normal meal before she had to show up. The cafeteria was busy with more people than usual. But the selection of food was quite limited. No fresh fruit, orange juice, or eggs and there was coffee, but it was weak and the serving line had a little hand lettered sign which asked - "Please only take what you'll eat - we don't know when we'll have deliveries again."
When she took her tray to a table, Doris stood up from a group at another table and made her way to her. April saw Theo, Margaret, the reporter Adzusa and a few others she didn't know at the other table. She had a moment of panic, wondering what Doris would say to her. But Doris didn't say anything at first. She simply put both arms around April and hugged her close. The natural thing to do and a relief, was to hug her back.
"Please, don't sit off alone. Come over and talk to us. You look scared like I'm going to bite you. No need of that," she said, a hurt look on her face. "I'm not like my father."
"No, I know that," April was quick to say, "I have nothing against you at all. I like you just fine, but I've been scared you might not care to see me. After all, my father shot yours and I killed your father's friend. I had no choice, but it can't make it any easier for you."
"No. It makes it much worse for me, that he was in your apartment trying to hurt your dad. It's no better than if he were shot robbing a bank or something. He would have told you all sorts of complicated reasons he had to be doing it, for the glory of the State, or to help those on the side of the Lord. But the truth is he was doing it because he was a hateful man, who wanted everyone on Home to be under his thumb, just like he had to control his own family. I'm ashamed of what he did to you, not angry. Now come on, sit with us." She insisted, picking up April's tray to carry over to their table and just made her come.
* * *
The sample pix of NA being bombarded and the recording of Bennigan at Space Command refusing to pass their call to surrender, Adzusa had sent to Genji Akira. It went out in their web cast for their news service and in the daily paper. A lot of papers and sites worldwide had picked up new subscriptions to their column in the last day. It was even being translated into a few more languages.
* * *
Bennigan looked up from his console not long after, to find two tough security types arresting him. He was bewildered. He just could not comprehend it didn't matter what he would have done. He would have been as condemned for passing the message on, as for refusing it. It was a lose - lose proposition.
* * *
Martin Crain was seven hours into his work day. Tired and sucking down some coffee to carry him to the end. A little more than another hour and he's drop his road train of three trailers at a routing yard in St. Louis and get a room. He was almost to the Mississippi bridge, when a East St. Louis cop car and an Illinois State Trooper both passed him going flat out. They didn't have their lights on, but traffic was light and the two left lanes mostly open.
His dashboard display worked for GPS, but the satellite based traffic warning system, had been down for a weeks. His eyes flicked up to it anyway, out of habit. The traffic coming the other way was about the same as his side, so that was a good sign. He thought he'd get past whatever the cops were responding to, until he went another mile and saw the backup. There were about two dozen road trains and big rigs stopped in the two right lanes. A handful of private cars could be seen in the third lane, about two hundred meters ahead, right at the near edge of the bridge. He flipped on his flashers and braked to a stop in the second lane.
Martin shut his engine off quickly to conserve fuel. He waited until two more trucks were stopped behind him, so he knew nobody would be plowing into his stopped rig and locked his cab and walked forward to see what was wrong.
The Illinois State trooper was parked across the left lanes and the city cop across the right. There was some kind of pounding coming from the river, like a jack hammer but slower. When he got all the way to the front, the cops had reflective tape draped from the center divider to their cars in turn and to the last reflector on the shoulder, before the bridge abutment itself.
The drivers were four deep around the city cop and he couldn't even get close, so he asked a fellow driver hanging back if he knew what was going on.
"Somebody is tearing up the delta tower, from which the cables hang on this side of the river. I'm from the second rig there in the right lane. When I stopped you could see the concrete dust drifting out from under the bridge deck."
Martin looked around. There were no aircraft in sight and no sounds like a gun firing. It didn't make any sense.
"If it's serious, why aren't they blocking off the bridge from the Missouri side?"
"Damned if I know," the other driver told him. "The cops said they called them over there. I guess that's why they call it the 'Show Me' state."
Just then the constant crack, crack, crack, was drowned out by a long shriek of tortured steel tearing. The near tower fell, thankfully away from them, falling straight along the highway. The cables sang like giant guitar strings, then tore out of the nearby foundations and whipped high in the air following the tower. The deck of the bridge was smashed down into the water, out well past the center of the river. The rigs like Martin's, still filling the eastbound lanes, crushed like toys. Water from the river fell all around them, like a sudden heavy rain. The delta tower on the opposite bank was pulled toward them briefly, in seeming slow motion and then rebounded and fell on the Missouri approaches, the same direction the near tower had fallen.
When all the noise finally died down Martin looked at the other driver standing mouth still hanging open and staring in horror.
"Well, I guess that showed them," he agreed.
* * *
In Europe the first traces of radiation release from the busted weapon facilities and missile fields of North America were reaching the Continent on the winds. A lot of the destroyed North American missiles had cooked off their propellant, burning in their silos and spewing a fountain of flame, which carried the plutonium debris of shattered warheads far up into the sky like a huge Roman candle. Farming and aqua culture were faced with contamination, from isotopes which would not decay to acceptable levels in a normal lifespan.
European standards for food purity were very strict. The losses were in billions of EM, just for the current season and beyond counting for the long term. Huge tracts of farmland in the Southern parts of Europe and fish farms were ruined and would have to be written off. The gates were opened and fish left to the wild.
Well to do farmers rushed to bulldoze their top soil, sometimes with the current crop still on it, into massive mounds on their high ground, where it could be tarped over, before the rains brought contamination. Perhaps their land could be preserved for their children, even if they would never work it again. By the time their governments promoted such soil caching, it would be too late to do.
The event marked the end of uncontrolled outdoor farming in Europe. By the next year, every acre which sold to commercial markets, would be indoors in totally artificial environments. Soil would be created artificially, where hydroponics could not serve, as it was cheaper than decontaminating natural soils. Natural land would be planted in cotton, flax, hemp and other inedible plants, whose products didn't take up appreciable radiation. Or land was converted to other uses.
A few products such as sugar and pressed oils, could be made safe after processing. The only outdoor food crops sold would be village markets, exempt from European Union standards and hobby gardeners. The streets would be jammed then, by angry pensioners and the poor, who could not afford the sudden jump in food prices. Right now, the Spaniards, Portuguese and Italians quickly blamed North American stubbornness and joined France in pushing motions to recognize Home.
Others would follow soon. Nations to the North and East would receive their gift on the wind in a few more days. Nations like Pakistan and India would have to accept the contamination as unavoidable for all but the richest and live with the long term public health disaster. What was strange was the nation of Toga. A tiny and insular island nation in the Pacific, was the second to recognize Home the next morning. No one realized yet how Mitsubishi was working behind the scene to bring that about, or why. Jon thanked them and promised mutual trade and recognition, when they were able. He didn't tell them how long it might take to organize.
* * *
The President considered all the reports before him. The language was all couched in percentages, projections and subjective words, instead of hard numbers to hide reality. By generalizing, it succeeded in covering the full extent of the horror which those who suffered the full effects of the Home bombardment had felt. Every effort was made to avoid showing him images of the destruction, since he was unpredictable when angered.
President Hadley was very comfortable in his safe office. He kept it cool enough to wear his suit jacket, as he thought it important for his subordinates not to slip into an informal atmosphere around him. The air was carefully filtered of all radioactive traces drifting in from the western states and to be concerned every farmer and factory worker was not similarly protected, was not something which would have occurred to him.
The walls around him were well insulated and covered in such a way he was never reminded he was in a series of manmade caverns and not a normal office building. The hall ways were extra wide and bright, to not create a bunker-like atmosphere.
It was like most things in his life. It was simply taken care of so smoothly he dismissed it as unimportant. He had just enjoyed a pleasant luncheon with the Head of the Army. He had suffered no personal discomfort from Home's bombardment, so it was easy to dismiss its seriousness. The ground forces were very proud to report no significant damage or loss of equipment and were in fine shape to protect the Continent from invasion or internal disorder.
It would have never entered his mind the pristine condition of the army and its ground forces was not due to their being managed better than the Air Force and Space Forces or Navy, but because Home saw no advantage in their destruction.
He was about to receive an upsetting communication about the European Union voting to recognize Home, but it never happened. There was a thrumming rhythm which was felt as much as heard, shaking the floor under his feet.
One of the Navy men, a Lieutenant with a beret and the piped blouse of his special security detachment, came in the door pressing the flat of his hand over his earphone and shouting something in the boom mic hanging in front of his mouth. Brockman, it said in low contrast letters above his buttoned pocket. He shouted over the noise they had to evacuate and physically hauled the wide eyed Hadley to his feet. The President's mouth was hanging open in shock, at having someone manhandle him.
"Cheryl!" he called out to his secretary looking back at the open doorway panicky. "What's going on?" he kept looking back, expecting to see her appear.
"They're all gone if they have any sense. Everyone in the complex is being evacuated," the sailor told him.
He was half marched, half carried, to the doorway across the room, which accessed an escape tunnel. There was a vehicle through there, that looked like a golf cart poised on a set of rails. It was very reliable because it required no power. The car was simply a gravity sled, made to run down inclined rails to a waiting exit.
"What's going on? What's making that noise?" he demanded loudly of the sailor.
"I don't know what it is, but it's the same weapon they've used on us elsewhere. There's no defense but to get away."
"We can't just leave all my papers and things out and walk away. I have an appointment with the Secretary of Defense in minutes," he insisted, trying to get back up from the seat.
"My orders are to get you away safe if we are attacked. Now shut up and let me do my job," he told him, shoving him back in the seat and snapped the man's belt across him.
There was a rumbling crash behind them and a line of pock marks walked across the wall toward them about waist high. The creation of each hole a sharp crack like a gun and each one spewing a spray of rock chips and leaving a small crater behind in the shattered tan granite. The Lieutenant threw himself down, pulling Hadley down by the neck below the advancing line, just in time to avoid their being cut in two. He ended up laying beside the car, his hand still on the back of the Presidents neck. He had folded him over so hard he had jammed his nose into his knee and given him a bloody nose.
Hadley was screaming protests and the sailor ignored them and ignored the stings on his back he could feel from stone chips. There was a deep shuddering moan from the rock, as it shifted, with the weight of a mountain suddenly undercut. He ran around and jumped in the car, releasing the brake without bothering to belt up himself. It immediately surged forward down the slope.
Behind them there was a tremendous thump, that made their ears pop as the office space collapsed and a blast of air and choking gritty dust surged past them, down the tunnel. At the bottom of the run a pin on the tracks automatically engaged their brakes and they came to a stop with a squeal of pads grabbing the tracks.
There was a fair sized room with lights still working and through the thick rock dust could be seen a large off road truck, sitting high on massive tires, with a huge sealed cab. It ran on fuel cells and was camouflaged and had arms and emergency equipment stocked in it. Lt. Brockman walked around and unclipped the belt. "Get in the truck Sir. It's time to get you out of here."
"Lieutenant, I spoke to you when we got in this sled and said I needed certain things. You have ignored me and forced me to flee this far. I refuse to go further until I know if the Secretary of Defense is safe and recover some of my papers to take along. I am your Commander in Chief, you'd better remember."
"You Old Fool," the young man yelled at him. "If I'd let you stay in that room we'd both be dead. It's collapsed, nobody can get back in there and if the Secretary was anywhere in the same level he's dead, squashed like a damn bug, if his men didn't get him out like I did you. Now move it into the truck, or I'll carry you!" he ordered, hauling the man to his feet by his shirt front. He marched him around the truck and pushed him in the passenger door.
He got half way back around to the driver's door and Hadley had gotten back out of the passenger door and was headed back to the sled tunnel, staggering bloody faced and totally irrational. He got maybe half way back when Brockman tackled him like the ex-football player he was. This time taking no chances, he pulled a plastic tie out of his back pocket, cuffing the Presidents hands behind him. When he shoved him in the truck this time he didn't put him in the seat, he just jammed him through the space between the seats face down in the rear. Hadley was screaming abuse, claiming he would have him shot and demanding release. The key was already in the truck waiting for him and when he turned it the dash lit up showing a full, charge and full fuel tanks. There was a plywood wall in front of him, with a big PUSH spray painted on it.
When he rolled the truck forward against it the wall resisted a moment, until he gave it sufficient throttle and then neatly fell away from them, crushing some bushes which stuck out from under its edges when it went down. There was a sudden glare of sunlight and as he drove forwards the wheels thump - thumped off the edge of the flattened wall onto dirt.
He flipped the toggles up on the radio in the dash and said, "Rabbit, Rabbit, taking package to the Bird."
There was no reply as there should have been, from Bird. They rolled across a few meters of weeds and he turned right on a two rut dirt track, which followed a small stream around the base of the hill. The sun was bright and sky cloudless, with nothing to show anything was wrong in the world. The computer in the dash acquired enough GPS signals for the map to come up.
Then on the hill side above them, he heard a sharper form of the noise they'd heard inside the hill and looked up, as a line of flying limbs and shattered tree trunks walked across the hill side, the invisible force mowing most of the big trees down like an immense weed whacker. There was a small meadow around the curve, where a ducted fan lifter was kept under high grade camouflage. When he came around the curve it was burning brightly, the top of the fuselage in the bright glare of burning metal and the big round fan pods sticking out of the inferno unhurt. It was more of a magnesium fire than fuel, but there was smoke from the composites in the airframe.
Two men with hand extinguishers had already lost the battle with the flames and were foolish to still be so close. He didn't want to be near when the fuel bladders in its belly burst and didn't even slow down, racing past the scene following the stream. The radio said, "Rabbit this is Guardian coming up the river. Do you need assistance to reach the Bird?"
"Negative Guardian, Bird is destroyed. I am initiating plan three. Turn around and when I catch up transfer a man to me and escort me." As he came around another bend, an identical truck was backing off the track, into a small clearing to turn around. It stopped, the passenger door opening and another young man in naval attire sprinted up and jumped in. Brockman pulled away immediately, the other truck following. When he saw Hadley covered in rock dust and cuffed and bloody, in the back, his eyes got big and he asked.
"Is he hurt?"
In answer Hadley let out with a horrid stream of cursing invective.
"Nah, he should be fine except for a bloody nose. He refused to come and tried to turn back into collapsed sections twice. You can cut him loose if you want and clean him up. Just watch out. The way he's been acting, he might try to jump out of the moving truck to go back."
The new fellow, who was another Lieutenant, hesitated. It was obvious he was not thrilled at being responsible for unfastening him. Meanwhile Hadley hearing the conversation was demanding, "Get me up," insistently. He finally did uncuff him and struggled to get the man buckled in securely. He couldn't belt up himself and reach what he needed to clean Hadley up and inspect him.
There was a turn off ahead, which was almost invisible. It was another unmarked two rut track like the one they followed along the stream, but unused for the most part, except an occasional pass through to make sure it was not too eroded or blocked with downed trees to use. They even had a hefty chain saw in the back if they needed it. They kept it neither well trimmed, nor used it too much, to keep it undiscovered by outside eyes. He had driven it twice, both to familiarize himself and do the occasional inspection since getting this posting, but had never expected to actually use it, since it was way down the contingency list.
Well the whole mountain complex being systematically pulverized, qualified as sufficient emergency. They turned up the track and started climbing, motors whining louder to haul the heavy truck up the grade, following a cleft which cut between the hills. Soon they were among dense growths of hardwood trees, that still carried fall colors. He was very glad they were not using this rough route in the middle of winter. There would be a team posted at the other end, to continue the extraction, without calling ahead. He didn't know the team personally, as they rotated from outside rather than travel in and out over their perimeter.
"Give me your pistol Lieutenant," Hadley insisted again to the new man, who had cut him loose. He was opening a first aid kit and digging out some wet wipes to clean the President's face.
"Begging your pardon Sir, that's not what we are instructed to do. We'll protect you. I understand feeling more secure with a weapon in your hand. But I'm sure we're much better qualified to use them than you. Lt. Brockman here was National Combat Pistol Champion, three years in a row. It's one of the reasons he's on your close detail."
"I don't care what he was. He's a traitor now and I'll have him shot for disobeying my orders. I'm Commander in Chief and I told him to stop. He struck me and bound me against my wishes. If you don't hand me your pistol or shoot him yourself, you'll be shot with him, when we reach someone who will listen to lawful orders."
"Mr. President. I'm sorry, these are not lawful orders. We're specifically charged with removing you to safety, even if we have to lay hands on your person to move you. Lt. Brockman saved your life. Even if you ask for charges to be pressed against us, we are exempted from such charges when we are following our procedures. Respectfully Sir, you need to get a handle on yourself. I can understand why you'd be pretty freaked out right now, but we have far bigger troubles than Lt. Brockman, or a bloody nose."
He got no reply, so he thought perhaps he got through to the man. Privately he thought to himself - What a piece of work. Does he expect me to ask him to stop the truck so I can shoot him? Or does he want his driver shot at the wheel, so we can all careen down one of these ravines and crash? The President's thinking ability and grasp of reality did not impress him very much. His crisis management style had some serious gaps.
They bounced along, the sun shining through the trees, in a high contrast dappled pattern, that camouflaged the details of the two rut track at their speed. An occasional bump or dip, was only visible in time to brace themselves, or would jar them with no warning at all. The fuel cell power meant they were fairly quiet and had no thermal signature to speak of. The only sound louder than the low hum of the electric motors, was the faint snapping of twigs as they brushed through the narrow path and the occasional rattle of dry gravel, as they crossed bare stretches.
All this was muted by the sealed cab and no bird's call or outside smell, penetrated the filters of the environmental system. They passed an occasional small farm clearing, with broken down fences and abandoned houses or barns. Some of them still had a rusting ground car or two, sitting flush to the ground, tires long rotted away. One house even had an upholstered couch, disintegrating under a sagging porch roof. After a long climb and a couple short dips into shallow hollows, they started on a long downhill grade. The track ended at a heavy wire fence, well hidden in a gulch.
A gate was already unlocked and two men were standing beside it had assault rifles, with grenade launchers slung under the barrels. They both wore disposable paper breathing masks. The guards pushed the gate open wide, as soon as they came into sight. They rolled right through and up a short grade into a large well maintained orchard. The trees were mostly bare of fruit, but rotting windfall apples littered the ground under them. On the other end of the orchard there was a commercial campground, for recreational vehicles and motor homes. Parked a bit away from the other camp sites, to the rear was a large blue motor home, with white vinyl tape graphics swirled down the sides. It had civilian West Virginia plates and travel stickers on the rear window. They pulled up to it and a man with a Captain's insignias came running out and pulled their door open.
"Mr. President, please come inside quickly. We're getting a little fallout from our troubles out west here today and we want you in the filtered air as soon as possible." Hadley looked a bit alarmed at the warning and hustled across to the door and up the three noisy metal steps hanging from the vehicle.
The Captain made a sweeping gesture with his index finger to the other truck, to pull around to the far side of the motor home and it took off around the front of the big RV to position itself between the motor home and the rest of the campground. It was obviously a real working campground, not just a cover.
There were people visible walking in the distance, who did not seem concerned or aware of any fallout and the low sound of music and childish laughter and other activity was faintly heard. There was the smell of smoke in the air and a sharp smell of fermenting apples from the orchard. The two Lieutenants followed the President and the Captain up the stairs into the motor home.
"Mr. President we'll be driving into Charleston and you can decide if you want to stay there overnight, or we have air transport and more security at Yeager field, which can take you wherever you decide to go." The motor home started up. It appeared to have some sort of internal combustion engine, they could feel rumbling through the vehicle although it was very quiet.
"Don't move yet Captain." The President ordered. He looked pretty rough even after Friedman's cleanup efforts and dropped himself hard into one of the big sofas on each side of the motor coach's comfortable main lounge. His shirt was still bloody and his tie gone.
"Sir, we have a certain doctrine to follow, which has been planned out carefully," he protested, but he spoke into a lapel mic and the told the driver to hold a moment. The three of them were still standing in a semi circle before the seated President. Brockman looked at the man that had jumped in the truck with him.
It was the first time he had looked at the man's name tag, over his pocket. It said Friedman. He'd heard him on the radios before. There was another armed officer standing, looking back at them up front by the driver, who was seated with his back to them at the wheel. A flapped holster hung out past the seat edge, by his right leg.
"You'll do what I say, by God, or you'll be in trouble like these two. This man," he said pointing at Brockman, "dragged me out of my office against my will and the other assaulted me too, all the while I was ordering him to desist, as we came here. I have no idea if there are any of my associates alive back there, we could have assisted escape, or if we left documents exposed to capture. I want these traitors shot there," he pointed out the window, "where I can see it happen, before we move anywhere."
"They may have orders, but once I say different, as Commander in Chief I expect to be obeyed when we are under attack. I've sent three Generals off to prison in the last few weeks and I'll be damned if I'm going to put up with a couple snotty Lieutenants disobeying my orders."
Brockman watched the decision play across the Captains face and knew with a chill certainty, what it was before he spoke.
"Lieutenant give me your side arm." He was extending his hand to accept it as he said it. The officer up front was listening to the Captain and starting to walk back to them. He dropped his hand to his holster strap.
Lt. Brockman was fully convinced, he was a dead man if he handed his pistol over. He would be summarily executed outside the window, where the President had pointed out he desired to see it done.
Despite his deep loyalty to his country, he would not submit to being slaughtered over a foolish old man's temper. Despite all the assurances in his training, he knew the Captain had decided to sacrifice them to illegal orders, rather than stand up to a President who was acting like a peevish child. He realized with a sickening feeling the system of law he was sworn to protect had failed, when one old man's word could thrust it all aside.
None of them had ever seen him run a range course, shooting combat pistol competitively. If the Captain had, he would have never made such a transparent request. The difference in his skill level was not a small incremental advantage. He shot at a level which seemed inhuman to a first time observer. His reflexes were so fast, that on occasion he had been photographed holding the gun on target with the trigger depressed, waiting for the gun to finish cycling, to close the action and fire again.
Once he decided to act there was no doubt of the outcome. He moved without hesitation, drawing his pistol like he would have on cut-out targets at a competition. The training took over completely, blocking conscious thought and the man walking to them from the front, had three holes spaced in the middle of his chest, before the first ejected brass made it to the floor.
The seated driver had a hole through the back of his seat and another just over the seat edge, through his spine high on the shoulders, before the first man had even started to fall visibly. Both died in less than a second.
He shifted his aim and at the same time pulled the extended pistol back closer to him, as the Captain was so close he might reach out and grab the gun, or deflect it. He needn't have worried. The Captain was so startled, he was still in the act of yanking his partly extended hand back, when there was another explosion to Brockman's left and the Captain suddenly acquired a small hole in his forehead, head snapping back.
He almost simultaneously put a single round through the already dead Captain's breastbone, before the mess from the head shot had finished splashing off the wall behind. Turning his head left to look, Lt. Friedman's arm was extended toward the Captain, pistol pointed up in a small incline from the recoil. He stayed frozen in that position while the Captain fell back against the wall behind him and slid down into a sitting position. Brockman did not immediately understand why he froze like that. Then he realized the look of terror on the man's face was directed at him.
"Please don't kill me." Friedman begged. "They were going to execute me too. I've never seen anyone move as fast as you. You tapped out six shots before I could do one. I could never move fast enough to shoot you." The stink of gunpowder and blood was heavy.
Hadley who stayed frozen in his seat for the scant three seconds the shootings took and the twelve long seconds Friedman needed to present his plea to Brockman, made a surprisingly swift dash for the back of the vehicle. He had a big enough adrenaline surge, that even at his age he managed three steps, before a shot from each of the Lieutenants sounded almost as one, catching him between the shoulder blades and throwing him forward on his face.
Friedman looked at that, shaking his head no and slowly put his pistol with the hammer still back up to his temple for a third shot, with a terrible lost look on his face. Brockman cracked him across the wrist with the bottom of his pistol frame and sent his gun clattering to the floor. Surprisingly it didn't go off. Friedman looked at him, clutching his wrist like he couldn't understand why he had been stopped.
"Don't be a fool." He snarled at him. "You didn't save yourself to turn around and die so easily. If we can stay loose for a few weeks or a month, they'll end up giving you a damn medal for this. Everything is falling apart anyway. Have the two in the other truck noticed anything yet?" he asked, peering hard over Friedman's shoulder.
Friedman looked out the deeply tinted window at the other truck, which had escorted them out. It was about fifty meters away and both the occupants were sitting back to them, looking away for danger. The truck was all sealed up with the ventilation going, but the motor home still must be insulated really well for them not to hear the shots. They didn't know the men also had music playing against regulations. He shook his head no.
"This motor home is meant to not look military. So I can't imagine if we just pull away, that they would have been tasked by the Captain to follow in a big camo truck. I don't think he ever had time to give them orders anyway. Can you drive this thing or do you want me to?"
"Damn, you're a cool one." he marveled. "I think you may have busted my wrist, so you drive and I'll dig and see what they have heavier than a couple pistols in the back."
"OK. Do you have any place safe you want to go? I'm from clear out in Montana. There's back country I know out there, but it's really too far."
"Yeah, I have a family friend. He has a hunting cabin up in Maine, near Jackman. He's been too old to use it for a couple years, but he still hangs on to it. I always had it offered as a retreat, if things ever came apart. Well, I guess they have pretty much. I not only know where the key is and his cache buried out back in the hillside, but if we need to we can go into Quebec, with snow shoes or cross country skis later. Plenty of folks would help us up there."
Brockman pulled the slumped driver out of the seat and decided he didn't have time to clean up the bloody cushions, forcing himself to sit on it with a grimace of distaste. As he pulled away, the radio came on and the two in the parked truck called.
"Sir, if you are through with us, may we proceed back inside the perimeter?"
Brockman stuck his finger deep in the side of his mouth to distort his voice and jammed the mic right against his mouth to answer. "Roger that," was all he said, to give as little a sample of his voice as possible for them to think about. He was sure the deliberate distortion would cover his voice and the standard usage and brevity gave away no hint of regional speech. Besides, he had told them what they wanted to hear.
As he pulled out past the check in and general store for the RV camp, onto the two lane black asphalt, nobody seemed to be concerned with them or following. He called a map up on the dash and started considering how many minutes they had, before the silence from the motor home would start to make someone worry. The bombardment had destroyed so many of the assets charged with tracking and assisting their protection detail, they might be in disarray anyway.
Friedman came up the aisle, looking a little happier than he looked a few minutes ago and carrying two short gray submachine guns, with suppressors and cloth shoulder bags full of ammunition. They had laser sights and folding stocks. He laid them on the carpet between the big luxurious buckets seats.
"There's enough stuff back there to start our own respectable little war," he explained. "We should try to loot some of it, to take to my friend's cabin. There's all sorts of stuff to set up a sensor perimeter, with active defenses besides weapons and explosives. If we can hide or destroy the stuff we don't take, they'll have no idea how we're equipped. I was thinking; when we do dump this, we should get two vehicles and drive separated a bit. They will be looking for two men together and we can take more of the equipment back there, if we have two vehicles."
"That makes sense to me, maybe something like an old pickup, with a load of small trees from a nursery in the bed, hiding the stuff. With everything that's back there, how about some food?" Brockman inquired, not looking away from the narrow road as he drove the huge vehicle. "What do they have back there to eat?"
"I'll go look, but I can't imagine they have enough for weeks or months. My buddy has a cache buried with staples and canned goods behind his cabin and we can hunt to stretch it, until we have to risk buying something in town."
"Fine, but what I mean is right now. I'm a couple hours past lunch and my stomach is growling. Can you see if there are sandwich makings, or whatever back there?"
Friedman looked at the bloody corpse of the driver, dragged back down the aisle and moved his estimate of Brockman's hardness up a couple pegs. He swallowed the sour taste that rose in his throat at the thought of food and decided not to give Brockman any doubts about his own value, as a survival partner.
"Sure. I'll see what I can get us. Be right back."
* * *
Local control at Home, got a call which surprised them. A beautiful, lilting and feminine voice said. "This is His Majesty's Armed Merchant, Mother's Pride, lifting out of Tonga, Kaihau Laulu Master, on approach for Home, requesting clearance to automated dockage for freight transfers and passenger pick-up."
"Tonga?" Allen asked.
"Yes, we are contracted now with Mitsubishi for your supply run, since the USNA has a little problem lifting it. Seems da still don't want to cause a fuss by using a Japanese shuttle. So Mother's Pride was reflagged to us, along with another shuttle."
"Oh my, do you have coffee in your cargo? You can ask anything you want if that's true. We'll carry you through the corridors on our shoulders and strew rose petals before you, when you step on our lowly deck. Does your second have a name Kaihau?"
"She my cousin Peggy. I try to keep her from tearing up you station too bad on lay over. She don't yet got no reputation here yet, da people know to beware." She was really laying the Pidgin accent thing on a little thick, but she found the guys liked it. If she forgot she'd drop back into straight Midwestern American English.
"Peggy." Allen repeated, expecting something a little more exotic and fascinated at the implied warning. "Mother's Pride, you are cleared for automated approach for docking collar three, on our South Hub. Please be aware we still don't have pressure outside our gate bearing from battle damage, so you have to suit up."
Then he thought about something. "Uh ladies, if you are an armed merchant, would you please confirm your weapons safed for dock? That's such a new thing we don't have any procedures, but it seems worth reminding you. Also, if I may invite you ladies to dinner this evening, it would be my pleasure. We're very happy for your company."
"He wants to take us both out tonight?" a laughing voice, that must be Peggy, asked in the background. "I think I'm going to like this port. He sound like my greedy-gut brother John, who got two wife, ana girlfriend at home. Don't you worry Honey. We don't got no finger on the trigger. Da hung the missiles on the side, away from the docking collar – 'case we need shoot 'em from dock 'fore we fly. So da don't bump nothin' never."
* * *
"Mr. Davis?" the older lady on the screen inquired.
"Yes, that's me. What can we do for you?"
"My name is Martha Wiggen. I am, or rather I was, Postmaster General of the United States of North America. As far as we can determine that makes me the highest surviving Federal official, outside the official succession to the office of President of the Republic and I have been so sworn. Will you speak with me about terms of surrender, to end our war with the nation of Home?"
"No. I'm sorry Madam. It is the expectation of the electorate here, we will seek an unconditional surrender. Anything else would be cumbersome and require rounds of voting from our entire population, before it could be formulated. However I believe if you accept that and surrender, you will find we are not cruel."
"We have refrained from deliberately bombarding your fault lines to trigger seismic activity and we have avoided damaging your power plants or power grids, with winter near, out of consideration for your civilian population. Can you seek authority to surrender without terms?"
"I already have such authority," she said, hanging her head sadly. "It just seemed sensible to at least ask for terms first. However, I now offer an unconditional surrender, on whatever terms you may wish to impose," she said, in a small voice.
"Thank you, Madam President. The Armed Merchant Home Boy is clearing Asia to cross the Pacific and will come over our horizon behind us in about five minutes. We will contact them before they over fly your territory again and cease bombardment. So within minutes you should expect no further hostilities. It's over. The first condition we'll require is you do not lift any vessel or weapon to orbit for now, from the Continent or your other worldwide military assets, including wet navy. We will allow you to resume unarmed supply launches soon."
"The second condition is you declare a full amnesty to anyone held, who is accused of acting on our behalf during this conflict, or is being called a criminal over matters to do with the war, or any political questions. We expect no restrictions on anyone who wishes to travel to Home, from or through North America. We'll expand on those and I'll try to be reasonable. If you feel any of the conditions you are given are particularly onerous, or can explain why a particular policy is simply a bad idea for either of us in the long run, tell me why and I'll be willing to discuss it."
* * *
"Do you want to take a chance on it?" Friedman asked Brockman, with a great deal of doubt evident in his voice. He had a hard print copy of the small town weekly paper, for which they had paid cash at the grocery. It had a front page piece about the amnesty, he had read aloud. "I'd like to do a little more hunting first," he admitted. "You have the carving to finish up that's looking good and I've almost finished reading all the Hemingway and Follet your friend had in the cabin. If there is any problem with the amnesty being false, let's let somebody else find out about it for us."
"What say we come back to town in another two weeks and see what the paper says then? No hurry at all. They may grant us amnesty, but we're both still going to be out on the sidewalk and unemployable. We may as well enjoy the vacation, because I suspect we'll have to move to Home or the European Union, to have anything like a normal life again. I'd be too afraid to stay on this Continent, because some angry patriot might shoot me dead on the street, just as a personal matter, without government sanction."
"Sounds good to me. I've grown as suspicious as you are now. They may still be a little more upset with us, than somebody who say, told his Aunt Tilde he thought they should just leave Home alone, where a Homeland Defender could overhear. I mean we did shoot the friggin' President. And I still haven't learned everything I can about pistol from you."
Epilogue July 12, 2084 - ISSII
On ISSII Don Adams came off shift and stripped his suit off at his work locker. He had fueled two ships and helped off load a French tanker for the fuel stocks held in shaded bladders, so he was tired. It was the end of his work week. Three days off, two more week cycles and he'd have his semi-annual leave and have to decide if he would skip it again, or make the effort to go somewhere. He had a good scratch for the first time in twelve hours and stuffed a couple NO-STINK-UM® bags in his suit, for whatever good they might do.
He threw a paper jump suit over his suit liner and was going to walk home and shower there. He was trying to decide if he wanted to buy a bag of beer and just relax, because tomorrow wasn't a work day, or if he should ask Sheila to go to dinner with him. It was near the end of the month and he really shouldn't spend the money to do both. His crappy supervisor came through and handed him a stiff oversize envelope. He wasn't expecting anything and nobody had sent him a card for years.
"Came for you postal mail today Adams. Is it your birthday or something?" he sneered. "Can't be legal papers, because the server hands those right to you." He trying too hard to sound snarky, but it was weak. He was just a jerk and didn't stick around waiting for a reply, that Don wasn't going to bother making anyway. The man had been peeved ever since he couldn't get Don fired, after the hostilities last October. Their relationship had not improved at all in the months since.
It surprised him to get anything at work, instead of his cubic and there was the sticky stub still attached, where a return receipt had been ripped off. He slit under the flap corner and opened it carefully. Paper mail was so rare, he might want to keep whatever it was nice.
Inside were three items. A glossy stiff picture on tough archival stock, with an extra stiffener to keep it undamaged. It showed the bunch who crewed the Happy Lewis, the day he had helped them. They were in pressure, in front of a much changed ship, hanging on a service rack, all of them in off duty clothing instead of P-suits. They had all signed it with a fine felt tip on the back and Eddie had written : "We looked on the hatch like you told us. Thank you. Come visit Home anytime."
There was also a red debit card made out to his name, with a Credit Suisse Gold logo embossed on the face and an ID taster with the protective pull tab still over it waiting for him to peel and touch.
Folded over under it, was an old fashioned currency size deposit ticket, like you'd get at a teller's window Earthside. Something he had not seen in years. He looked at it and sat there for a long time, thinking about how he had just pondered whether he should buy a bag of beer. The slip was for ten million EuroMarks.
End
© 2004 Mackey Chandler
The Last Part : Other Books and Links by Mackey Chandler
Down to Earth (sequel to April)
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007RGBIVK
April seems to make a habit of rescues. Now two lieutenants from the recent war appeal to her for help to reach Home. The secret they hold makes their escape doubtful. North America, the United States of North America, has been cheating on their treaty obligations and a public figure like April taking a very visible vacation there would be a good way to remind them of their obligations. Wouldn't it? Her family and business associates all think it is a great idea. She can serve a public purpose and do her rescue on the sly too. But things get difficult enough just getting back Home alive is going to be a challenge. It's a good thing she has some help. Why does everything have to be so complicated?
The Middle of Nowhere (third in April series)
http://www.amazon.com/The-Middle-Nowhere-April-ebook/dp/B00B1JJ7RQ
April returns home from her trip down to Earth unhappy with what she accomplished. Papa-san Santos is finishing her rescue of the Lieutenants, Her traitorous brother is dead and so many things are uncertain. The Chinese and North Americans both continue to give her and Home a hard time. But April, Jeff and Heather are gathering allies and power. China, trying to steal Singh technology, gets its hand slapped badly by Jeff and the Patriot Party in America is damaged, but not gone. Their project on the moon is not so easy for North America to shut down, especially with the Russians helping. Heather proves able to defend it forcefully. They really didn't know she owns a cannon. The three have their own bank now, Home is growing and April is quickly growing up into a formidable young woman, worthy of her partners.
Paper or Plastic?
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004RCLW68
Roger was medically discharged after his service in the Pan Arabic Protectorate, cutting off his chosen career path early. He is living in rural Sitra Falls, Oregon trying to deal with hyper-vigilance and ease back into civilian life.
When an unusual looking young woman enters his favorite breakfast place he befriends her. Little does he know he'll kill for her before lunch and start an adventure that will take him around the world and off planet.
When you have every sort of alphabet agency human and alien hunting for you survival is the hard part. But you might as well get rich too.
Family Law
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006GQSZVS
You know people who love their dogs. They put them in their will. They forgo vacations to stay home and take care of them.
Can a dog love back or is it simple self interest? Affection or love? Unconditional or a meal-ticket? What if you dog could talk back? Would your dog be less lovable if he could tell you what he thinks like your spouse? If he complained his kibbles were dry and boring would your affection wear thin? I don't want to touch on what a cat might tell you...
Is the dog part of your family or property? Who should decide that for you? How much more complicated will it be if we meet really intelligent species not human?
Humans don't have a very good history of defending the interests of others. Even variations of their own species. How will they treat 'people' in feathers or fur? Perhaps a more difficult question is: How will they treat us? Usually the people who answer these sort of questions have no desire to be on the pointy end of things. They are just minding their own business and it is thrust upon them. This story explores those questions
Common Ground and Other Stories
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0050YYVHY
A book size collection of seven short stories by Mackey Chandler. Ranging from single page to novella. The seven shorts contain an alien with a very human foible, a joker Joyboy banished to selling shoes on the moon, a crotchety old man holding aliens at bay with a leaf blower, the ultimate Windoze -FAIL-, a self made billionaire who never lost his touch, a sword wielding Earth diplomat. who was either very very, good or incredibly lucky and a future Mama's boy dealing with family, in an era of extended life times.
Link to full list of current releases on Amazon:
http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B004RZUOS2
Mac's Writing Blog:
http://www.mackeychandler.com