"Well done," applauded Wolff, and von Barronov gave her a thumbs-up. "But I didn't say anything about Sanddoom."
"It makes sense," shrugged Ariela, "since there have been more trips made there than anywhere else, and it's on the way toward Sagittarius." She grinned.
"Good enough," nodded von Barronov. "Okay, Sanddoom's star doesn't have a name, just a catalog designation – HIP 98813, or HD 189931. It's a G1V class star, meaning it's slightly hotter and slightly more massive than Sol. The second planet of six, what we call Sanddoom, is barely inside the inner edge of the Goldilocks zone, at a distance we'd say was halfway between Venus and Earth, if it were orbiting Sol. So it's hot, arid, and in fact it doesn't have any liquid water on the surface at all. We think the only reason it didn't turn into a greenhouse like Venus is because it's water-poor.
"It does," he continued, "have an oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere in a reasonable proportion for humans to breathe, and nobody knows why. Nothing grows on the surface that could create a cycle of CO2/O2 plus a free carbon. There are no native animals to use the oxygen. The current theory is the planet's lithosphere is lousy with caves and the water is deep underground, and anything that would produce oxygen lives in the caves. But nobody has had the time to do any real science there, and probably won't now that the place has been settled by radical Islamics. So it's a mystery – unless, of course, it's just another mystery that can be explained by saying, 'the universe is a simulation'."
"And it's a waypoint only," noted Wolff. "We're not stopping; we'll make one orbit just to make sure everything's as it should be. So we should move along and worry about its weirdnesses – including its settlers – later."
Von Barronov nodded, and looked at his panel. "I'm set up for Alpha. Any time you're ready." Looking back at Ariela, he added, "You can mirror my console with the holotab – just tell it "mirror navigation" and it will show you current settings."
"Thanks," replied Ariela, pleasantly surprised. She whispered to the holotab and it obligingly displayed the navigational console.
"Ready?" grunted Wolff. All hands having indicated that they were, he did due diligence with the safeties and switches.
Ariela pulled a face.
"What?" said Wolff, noticing her grimace in the rear-view mirror.
"Boring," she complained. "My first interstellar jump, and I felt nothing."
Wolff chuckled, and flipped the switch to clear the viewports. They revealed the blackness of space, and a bright star at the center. "That's Alpha," he said, "and if you can see that red smudge way off to the left, that's Proxima, which is actually the closest star to Sol at this particular epoch. We're at the gravitational equilibrium point between Alpha and Beta, which are about 11 astronomical units apart at their closest approach, about one and a half light hours if that's easier, and Beta is – obviously – behind us."
"Shiny!" said Ariela, staring out the front port. "How far away is Proxima?"
"About 13,000 AU, or 72 light days," replied von Barronov. "It's tiny to start with, and being that far away just makes it smaller. Can you actually see it? It's almost invisible from where I sit, because of the cabin lights." He looked at Wolff, who nodded, and then flipped the switch to turn off the lights. Ariela looked out the portside port, and just barely glimpsed the red smudge Wolff had mentioned.
"Okay," said Wolff, finally, "we need to move on. Sorry we can't go into the system, but there's not much to see there. A couple of dwarf planets and a lot of asteroids. Proxima is the one that has a couple of known planets, one in the life zone, but it's not a particularly nice place – heavy gravity, lots of ice, and tidally-locked to Proxima with an 11-day 'year'. Alpha and Beta seem to interact too much, gravitationally, to allow a decent-sized, Earthlike planet to form around either. Chris, send the beacon message for the picket frigate, just so they know we were here."
Von Barronov punched a button to the side of the console, then started setting up for the next rotation.
"What do we do when we get to Sanddoom?" asked Ariela.
"All ships that pass through the system are supposed to do a one-orbit scan," explained Wolff, "the point of which is to ensure that the RIFs aren't somehow building an orbital infrastructure or ground-based planetary defenses. Which is insane, but it's what Space Force has been tasked to do by the Administration. There's no picket there, yet, but after we get back there probably will be. There's an orbiting terminal in LEO . . . well . . . LSO . . . that's used to drop certain types of supplies to the planet, in single-use re-entry pods – vaccines, other medications, dietary supplements, carefully censored news on memory sticks, that sort of thing. Their leadership has radios that can reach low orbit, but are pretty much useless for anything but line-of-sight since the planet has a pretty weak ionosphere. So we'll make sure the terminal is still orbiting and we'll pick up copies of any recorded transmissions from the ground to take back to Earth – and they go through a fairly strict review and censorship program before they are forwarded on to their recipients." He pursed his lips. "There aren't many of those, though, and they've learned how to bullshit the censors anyway. So far, nothing's happened we can pin on any of those messages, though."
"Do they get regular shipments of stuff?"
"Every six months is standard. If there's an emergency request, like for vaccine, there will be an out-of-band shipment. But our ships never go to the surface, everything goes down in a pod."
"And nothing comes back up."
"Right. Because they have no industry, or anything we want."
"Ready for rotation to HIP 98813," said von Barronov. "Standard low orbit, and we should come out opposite the terminal station."
"Scans?"
"Set up," reported Ariela. She looked excited. "So cool."
Wolff laughed, then reached up, flipped the safety shields up, and grabbed the big red switches. "Ready?"
"Yep."
"Aye aye, Cap'n Daddy!"
Wolff snorted – as did von Barronov – but otherwise the two men kept it professional. "Okay, stand by – " and Wolff snapped the two switches.
"And we're there," observed von Barronov, shading his eyes against the bright yellow white star off the starboard bow, as the aliglass port auto-shaded down to a reasonable level. "Sorry about that, I forgot to allow for sun angle."
"Eh, we're still new at this."
"Lots of data coming in," reported Ariela. "Nothing really out of the ordinary, or so the holotab reports."
"All right," said Wolff, leaning back in his seat. "Now, nothing to do till we get to the terminal. Maybe I'll take a nap."
"This is an awfully boring run," agreed von Barronov. "If you've done it a dozen times before," he added, looking back at Ariela with a grin.
Ariela, totally absorbed in the data, didn't even hear him.
"Yep," continued von Barronov, "just another milk run to Sanddoom." He leaned back and closed his eyes.
Interlude:
Till It Bleeds
Personal Diary of Ariela Rivers Wolff, Volume 60
26 May 2047
Aboard the R.V. Frumious Bandersnatch, in the HIP 98813 System
I'm not really sure how that happened. One minute, I was a happy civilian doctor of medicine, the next, a second lieutenant in the Space Force Marines. Well, their Reserves. And still and always a doctor, but wow.
I wonder, though, if they know about Fred and me, other than that stupid joke Mom made at the reunion that I had a beau but I was waiting for our ages to even up. (How did she even know? I never said a word to her about Fred. That I recall, anyway.) I mean, he's a sergeant now, but until earlier today, I was a civ. Now I'm an officer. Isn't there something about officers dating enlisted? It being a no-no, though. On the other hand, that's probably my fault for keeping our long-distance relationship a big honking secret. Not that it was hard to do – when I was in one timeline and he was in another, and the romance was all comm-to-comm (and I assume that was only possible due to the commo "fix" done by the Simulation back
in "my" 2017). But it was weird; he got almost daily emails from me and I got his responses back maybe once a month, because we were so far out of synch after the mission ended. Well. It was long enough to make me fall, hard, for him. And now I'm back in his timeline and haven't even had a chance to tell him.
Of course, I appreciate the honor of being made a Marine officer. Not as sure I appreciate the huge load of correspondence courses "Dad" beamed to my holotab after we jumped to HIP 98813. Side query – why does that star not have a name? Probably because nobody cared enough to give it one. Of course, the name of the planet is a joke, anyway. There's a lesson, there: Never let my Dad name a planet; he's read way too much Golden Age science fiction.
I'm sure the RIFs have a nice Arabic name for the planet. Something like "Death to America" I imagine. Or maybe they're not that imaginative. "The Desert" would be about right. Yeah, that's probably it. In Hebrew, that would be "ha-Midbar". Wonder what it is in Arabic?
Digressing again. Sigh.
So now I have to learn all about navigation. And command. Supposedly they let butterbars command platoons. Sounds scary to me, though Dad asserts his USMC platoon was commanded by one. Of course he also says it was really commanded by the First Sergeant, or by himself as the GySgt when the 1st Sgt was busy with company-level matters, but smart butterbars are good with that. It's how they learn, says Dad. "Always listen to Top, and your other sergeants," he also says. "You are legally in command of the unit, but the NCOs have all the experience. Having the confidence of your NCOs, particularly your top kick, requires being willing to take their counsel when you're making plans – and also, when those plans fall apart. And make no mistake, Ari – they always fall apart. And you are ultimately responsible, either way."
Well, despite that, I'm sure this is going to be a milk run, like Uncle Chris says. I mean, why wouldn't it be? Nobody's going to bother us in orbit over Sanddoom.
Personal Diary of Ariela Rivers Wolff, Volume 60
26 May 2047
Addendum to previous entry
I really, really, really need to learn to stop tempting Murphy.
Chapter 4
Sure, Milk Run, If By Milk Run, You Mean . . .
Prisha peeked out of the alcove she'd ducked into. "Quickly!" she hissed.
A barely-teenaged girl rushed down the corridor and likewise ducked into her alcove. "Mama, I'm scared," she whispered. Tears filled the girl's eyes, though she did not otherwise react. Prisha hugged her daughter to her, and thought, frantically.
"Naira," she said, finally, "we have one more corridor to go and we're there. I haven't seen or heard a soul since we got into this complex. Bahadur promised everything would be set and all we'd have to do is click one thing on a touch screen and get on the platform. But we must be brave. And we must move quickly, before the ship is out of range. There is only a limited supply of oxygen on the terminal, and if the ship doesn't hear us, we won't be able to return to al-Saḥra', and we will die there."
Naira gulped, dragged a sleeve across her face, and put what she thought was a determined look on her face. "Mama, if we die there, it would be better than living here."
"Perhaps. There is a saying, 'It may be better to be a live jackal than a dead lion, but it is better still to be a live lion.' I would rather escape, and live. Would not you?"
"Yes, mama."
"Good. Now, fix your hijab. Here, I will help." Prisha re-arranged the girl's head covering, hating the thing while admitting the need for it. She wore one herself, but was more adept at keeping it on her head when she wasn't in the house . . . or not with Bahadur . . . "No," she told herself, firmly, "I will not weep. He knew what he was doing." She peeked out of the alcove again, and froze, then relaxed as a cleaning 'bot rolled down the corridor, away from them. "Now, Naira. We must move now. I will go first, you will follow. Down the corridor to the intersection, turn left, then run for all we are worth to the door marked with a roman 'B'. Let's go!"
She launched herself out of the alcove, turned to the left, and ran. Looking back, she saw Naira following her. The intersection came nearer, she reached it, and turned left again.
A man was kneeling at an inspection plate near the floor, right in front of her, working on something inside the wall. She bowled him over and went flying past him onto the deck plates, managing to tuck and roll rather than simply fall flat on her face. She bounced up and whirled around to face him.
"By the Prophet's beard! What are you doing, woman?" he shouted, rising from the floor with an angry look.
Any number of possible replies ran through Prisha's head, some honest, some smart-ass, some filled with bile. She restrained herself, though, and kept her mouth shut, while her features softened into a smile, and she made her eyes widen like a little girl's.
The man's scowl turned into a smile, as well. "Ah, I see," he said, "Ajit must have sent me a little plaything for break time. Well, come here, little one, what is your name?"
"I am Prisha," said Prisha, raising her voice a little to sound younger. She walked toward him, arms at her side, as he spread his to welcome her. "I have been told to please you."
"Well, isn't that nice of Ajit. Come, come, do not be shy. I, Najeed, will not treat you badly."
But in the next moment, he found she wasn't bound by the same rules. As soon as he took her in his arms, she reached into her pocket, pulled a makeshift knife, and, as she had been taught by Bahadur, stabbed him in the kidney. His eyes bulged, but the pain was so great, he could manage only a squeak as he crumpled to the floor.
"Why?"
"I am sorry," said Prisha, meaning it, "but you were in our way." She reached down again with the knife and slit his throat. "Aatma Ko Sadgati Prapt Ho," she wished him as his life drained away. May your soul attain salvation.
"Mama, what have you done?" whispered Naira, wide-eyed, who had turned the corner and stopped dead as she watched her mother first seduce, then kill the technician.
"Something I hope never to have to do again," replied Prisha. "Now, come!" She turned again and ran toward the door marked with a large "B".
The compartment was devoid of people, but was chock-full of high-technology equipment. A pervasive hum could be heard, not loud, annoying if you listened to it long enough. Prisha ran up a set of steps and behind a desk, looking at the computer screens mounted on it. "Krishna love you, Bahadur. It's ready to execute, and his override is in the system. And –" She looked at the transport stage, and blanched. "There's no container! He said there would be one on the stage . . . Damn!" she swore. "We're out of time, I can't worry about that now, we have to get off al-Saḥra'. All I have to do is click here –" she touched the screen in the indicated spot – "and now we have fifteen seconds to get on the stage. Go, go, Naira!"
The girl, who had stopped just inside the door to catch her breath, took off, finally losing her hijab altogether as the knot came loose under her chin. She ran up a short ramp to the transport stage, and stood on a round dais, panting, waiting for her mother. Prisha took one last, rapid look at the screen and followed her. They crowded together on the dais, which was really meant for a single person. "Hug me tight," said Prisha, "we need to occupy as little space as two people can possibly do." Naira grabbed her and hung on for dear life.
They heard shouting from the corridor. A man in a uniform, clearly an officer, burst through the corridor doorway, saw them standing on the stage, and shouted, "Stop! Come down from there immediately, slaves!" and pointed a large caliber handgun at them.
The hum suddenly intensified, the stage was engulfed in a blue haze, and the two women faded out.
"Where did they go?" bellowed the officer, as a tech ran in and sat down at the computer console.
"I'm not sure . . . this seems to be scrambled, and . . . " The tech's face went white. "Oh, no," he breathed.
"What?" demanded the officer, as his entire squad surrounded them.
"It's too late. Allahu akbar," said the tech tonelessly, closing his eyes.
"Whoa!" yelled Ariela. "Something on the planet just blew up!"
"Where?" barked Wolff.
His daughter did some things with her holotab. "Behind us, about thirty degrees back in our orbit, and in the northern hemisphere . . . about latitude thirty-six."
Wolff looked at von Barronov. "Rotate?"
Von Barronov nodded. "Rotate." He started flipping switches and setting verniers. "Go."
Wolff said, "Stand by for immediate rotation." He reached up, flipped the safeties out of the way, and flipped the big red switches.
"I sent us back about forty degrees so we could come up on it," said von Barronov, staring out the port.
"Big plume of smoke and sand, most of the debris still in the air," reported Ariela, who was watching on a telescopic holoscreen.
"But what's down there?" asked Wolff. "There's little on the ground outside of the one city they built, and that's another thirty or forty degrees back. This area was nothing but sand dunes, according to the latest overflights."
"I dunno what was there," grunted von Barronov, "but I'll bet there isn't much of anything left of it, now." He pointed at the plume, large enough to see from their vantage point, and topping out in the familiar mushroom shape at the planet's tropopause – about the same height as Earth's, or about 60,000 feet.
"Holy Toledo," breathed Wolff. "Whatever it was, it was big . . . and more than likely nuclear."
"Where would they have gotten a nuke?"
"Who knows. Maybe they found a vein of uranium and managed to dope one out? Or," theorized Wolff, "maybe they were working on a fission power plant, which would technically be easier, and it went runaway critical on them." He turned to Ariela. "Can you do a deep ground scan, hon? That's not one of the standard security survey scans."
"Maybe it should be," grumbled von Barronov.
"Scans, scans, scans, radar, radar surface, radar penetrating ground scan, yes. Running," replied Ariela, after perusing the holotab's menus.
The Lion and the Lizard Page 5