When he could no longer stand the endless cycle of it, he stormed out of the room and paced the halls of the government complex. It was the only place in Galileo that he was safe, behind secure bulkhead doors and scores of armed security forces. It was a prison, but at least the guards faced outward and not at him. All but one. And that one was the monkey on his back. Odysseus.
When his anger faded down to a boiling rage, Derek wandered in to the Control Center and looked around the room. Half the consoles were empty. But why should they be manned?
Odysseus watched everything.
He stood in the back of the room for several minutes before anyone noticed he’d arrived. Apparently, it took something unusual to force anyone to look up from their work. “That’s a problem,” one technician hollered across the room to the deck supervisor.
“What is it?” Derek said, walking up behind him.
“Excuse me, Director Tomlinson,” the tech said, jumping up in shock. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“I wasn’t supposed to be,” he said, frowning. “What’s the problem?”
“Someone’s opened an unauthorized broadcast. It’s coming over the newswave network.”
How’s that happening? Derek thought.
“The technician is incorrect. The broadcast is not actually coming over the network. It is a direct broadcast from one of the multicruisers in halo orbit,” Odysseus responded through his link.
“There are multicruisers in orbit?” he said aloud.
“Yes sir,” one of the other technicians said. “They arrived twenty-one minutes ago.”
“Why are we not responding?” he asked, spinning to face the one who was speaking.
“They are holding position 350 klick out,” she said. “They don’t seem to be planning to get any closer.”
What’s the weapons range on a multicruiser? he thought to Odysseus.
“We have no hard data, but the multicruiser Galen inflicted damage on the Roswell in the exchange over Hyperion at approximately 500 kilometers,” it answered.
“They are within firing range,” the Director said. “I want security patrols between us and them at all times.”
“Yes sir,” she said. “Sending the orders now.”
“They’re also the source of the unauthorized broadcast,” Derek said, pivoting back to the first tech. “Jam the signal.”
“They are running a rolling frequency algorithm, I don’t know if we can.”
Graison Cartwright appeared on the main viewscreen across the wall.
“Just do it,” he snarled.
“This announcement goes out to all Union Citizens of Zone One,” Cartwright said. “You may begin to notice an increased presence of FleetCom vessels in and around the normal transportation corridors. We are deploying our ships in an ongoing effort to guarantee all vessels may fly freely between the lunar surface, Galileo Station, and the LEO Colonies.
“However, after the unprovoked attack on the FleetCom L-2 Shipyard, all vessels seeking to approach any FleetCom facility in the system will be subject to search for illegal weapons systems before being allowed to dock.
“While this may, on occasion, result in a minor inconvenience, it is our intent to maintain a lawful presence and to enforce the basic human right of free passage for Union Citizenry. Rest assured that no vessel operating within the laws of the Union Charter will be unduly burdened by this imposition of security.
“Any vessels that are subjected to unfair or arbitrary restriction of access, through the actions of the current false government, may approach any FleetCom multicruiser to seek assistance.
“In this time of turmoil, it is important to know that FleetCom stands with, and for, you all.
“Together, we will resist oppression.
“Thank you and good luck.”
The image broke up into static as the transmission ended.
“Sorry sir, they quit transmitting just as we locked them out,” the tech said, swiveling in his seat and pulling his head down into his shoulders like a turtle trying to hide from certain death.
CHAPTER FOUR
Robinson Biomedical Center: Western Athabasca Valles, Mars:
The flight was smooth for an atmospheric transit and the landing so gentle that if the silence of the engines shutting off hadn't told him they were down, Edison never would have known.
As a B-class keel with four decks, the Katana was huge to have landing capability. The interior design included built in ladders to get up to rooms that were overhead when natural gravity was sidewise. Somehow, it worked out that they still had a usable living space regardless of being in flight or on the ground.
“I should warn you that Robinson is a lot different than Bradbury,” Tana said as she unbuckled and climbed up to reposition herself on the same wall-floor that he was on.
“I wouldn’t have expected anything less,” he said, as Saf swung through the hatch from the upper deck and dropped to a different section of floor. He grinned and shrugged.
“Truth is, it’s probably not like anything you might guess,” Saf added as she settled into a chair where she could see him.
“Robinson is WellCartel’s real secret,” Tana said. “You could call it the center of our operations.”
“A week ago I would have doubted you, but now I’m ready to accept that,” he said, leaning back and studying her face. She still kept something hidden.
“It means a disproportionate percentage of the population works directly on something biomedical related, or is involved in one of our projects,” she said.
He nodded. He knew there was a big reveal coming yet, so he waited for the background to play out.
“There is almost no one here who doesn’t know what we do.”
Again, he nodded. “You’re saying there are no secrets?”
“Very few,” she said, looking down and drawing her lips tight in a way that told him he would not like what came next. “None, except for the one we’re here to deal with.”
“Something bigger than secret societies and genetic engineering?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light-hearted.
She nodded, but her expression tied an anchor to his buoyancy and sank it like a stone. “Something crashed into our playground that was way outside our thinking. Honestly, it’s why I invited you to come along.”
“I figured we’d get to that eventually,” he said, glancing over at Saf. She seemed to be as much in the dark as he was.
“We need your expertise and I wanted to get you well away from the general public before I explained.”
“If trust is an issue—”
“That’s not it at all,” she said, jumping in quickly. “Remember that Kylla could eavesdrop on a whisper at a half klick. Twenty percent of the population on Mars is boosted, so it’s other people’s ears I can’t trust. I’m not willing to take a chance on this getting out.”
He felt a little better and a lot more paranoid at the same time. “So what’s the big secret?”
“Last night, a security patrol found someone outside,” she said. “He was all but dead and we don’t know how he got here. I’m hoping you’ll be willing to help us figure that out.”
“Who is it?” His instincts screamed that he didn’t want to know.
“Tamir bin Ariqat.”
Saf gasped in shock. Edison stared at Tana in disbelief. She pulled out a thinpad and handed it to him. The screen showed a clear image of the missing chancellor, his skin drawn and pale, but undeniably recognizable.
No matter which direction he tried to spin it, this was about to become a cosmic-scale turd.
She looked over at her wife and smiled a weak apology. “I couldn’t even risk telling Saf until we got here,” she said, turning back to face him. “But that’s one reason we brought the Katana. Sound carries. Except in a vacuum.”
“That explains why the hangar hasn’t pumped up yet,” Saf said, her face registering the logic of keeping her in the dark, and putting it behind her with an
approving nod.
“You’re absolutely certain of his identity?” Edison asked, knowing it was only a question of formality.
She leaned forward and thumbed the screen to the next image. It was a report on a genetic scan. “The Director of Operations here, recognized him and ordered a genmatch,” she said. “As soon as she got the report, she slapped the lid on it so fast most of her staff shit themselves.”
“I can imagine,” he whispered, letting out a long breath in a hissing whistle. “He’s got to be the hottest rock this side of Mercury.”
“Which is exactly why I need you to look into it,” she said. “You’re the only one I can trust.”
Gateway Colony: L-4 Prime:
“I hate to say it, but it does smell like the recycler is leaking,” Anju said, walking into the room she now shared with Jeph. She’d given up her space to Dr. Jameson and at least two other scientists on the team. As a result of all the scientists, the crew was double bunking. His room was also the only quarters on the ship with a private office, so they had taken to using it for meetings. Rocky sat on one of the seats and the doctor settled into the remaining chair across the room.
“At least it’s not the ammonia from outside anymore,” Jeph said, looking over at the engineer and shrugging.
“True enough.” Anju nodded vigorously. “I’m glad that our guests are housebroken, for the most part, even if they do smell like fish.”
“Fish do not have olfactory capacity,” Dutch said.
“I was referencing something an ancient North American philosopher once said about guests.” She grinned at Jeph and winked. “It’s alright.”
“It will get better,” Rocky said. “This morning I set up ventilator fans to circulate atmosphere from Tacra Un into local environment. Should stabilize air supply until we complete salvaging life support hardware from Hector. We plan to leave behind only minimal backup.”
“Where are you planning to put the extra hardware?” he asked. “We’re tight now and Roja wants to send more people down to work on the shanak-che translations.”
“Tell her no?” Anju suggested.
“We’re mining words fast enough now that we’re dropping several primers per day,” he said. “Chei says it’s burying us and we really do need the manpower.”
“Is not possible to support any additional ongoing residents,” Rocky said. “Waltz design is for ten crew, with overhead capacity sufficient to double that. Life support is currently at 110% above reserve level, and recycler is at 150%. Is why air smells.”
“They already spend most of their day cata ahn Tacra Un,” Anju said. “Maybe we can come up with a way to keep them downstairs more of the time?”
“Da, but is necessary to come back to ship to take care of other necessities,” the engineer said. “Fortunately, they bring food down from Armstrong, however this creates other problem. To state bluntly, food carried aboard ship with them leaves their bodies and enters recyclers. Soon reprocessing storage will be inadequate and we will be making shit-bricks to store extra waste. Trust me, these items smell much worse than current air supply.”
“Can we build dorm rooms out of it?” Jeph asked, watching Anju wrinkle her nose.
“Is primarily hydrocarbon so would be possible to separate—”
“I was joking,” Jeph said, grinning. “I did want to talk about the need to convert the RecDeck, to bunkrooms and a study center, but maybe I should push back and tell her we simply can’t do it.”
“I wouldn’t be in favor of converting that area, especially not the physical conditioning equipment,” Anju said. “We’re stuck in a light gravity environment and access to that is critical to our health.”
Jeph nodded. He and Shona and Alyx would suffer the least being ectos, but she was right.
“Might I suggest we have an alternative to this issue,” Dutch said.
“I think we’re open to anything that isn’t a shit-brick building program,” Jeph said.
“The Tacra Un has expressed that it is capable of producing additional living and study space,” it said.
“Excuse me?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “I thought it had limits in what it would do for us until we finished the language matrix.”
“This is factual,” the voice they knew from the language matrix said, startling them by joining in on the conversation. “Prior to final shanak-che release, no technology is accessible to para-che Shan Tarah. It is also factual that provision exists in operational edicts to supply adequate interface adaptation for learning processes, without release of technology.”
“It fabricated the gangways under this guideline,” Dutch said. “Just as we do not have a direct way to study the underlying hardware that provides life support and gravity within the Tacra Un, the facilities it constructs for us will include life support and other control interface systems, that we can utilize, but not study.”
“The inorganic life form Dutch is correct,” the Tacra Un said. “Provide objective specifications, and construction will be made to happen.”
“You have materials available for this?” Rocky asked.
There was a long pause, and then Dutch answered. “It has explained to me that it creates matter as needed. It will not explain the processes of construction, but calls the process kan-che ahku-osht-aht.”
“Location-reduced, static space-time?” Jeph asked, uncertain he had all the meanings correct since science wasn’t the area of the Shan Takhu language he’d learned.
“Approximately correct,” Dutch said. “Therefore materials for construction are unlimited within energy limitations. The process does take time to complete so I would suggest we begin the design development as soon as possible, if we want to avoid further issues with housing personnel from the Armstrong.”
Robinson Biomedical Center: Western Athabasca Valles, Mars:
Dr. Nisreen Sokat was all business, hidden under a carefully constructed mask of casualness. Edison assessed her personality as Tana introduced them. He was shocked that she was the Operations Director for the Robinson Biomedical Center, and that she didn’t appear to be much older looking than the chancellor.
She was a figure of almost legendary stature, in that she was the person who led the first colonists back down to the surface of Mars after the Burroughs Epidemic had played out. Depending on which version of history a person chose to believe, she was either a hero or something far less favorable. Regardless, her reputation as a decisive leader who got things done, and occasionally stomped the shit out of anyone that got in her way, was well deserved.
She hustled them through a labyrinth of underground tunnels until they emerged into a triage center. A staff of doctors and technicians nodded as they marched past, but otherwise no one paid undue attention. Finally, they squeezed into a private diagnostic chamber with a glass wall that overlooked a single bed and the frail body of Tamir bin Ariqat.
“How is he?” Tana asked, looking first through the glass and then at the heads-up display of his real-time vitals along the edge of the window.
“Unconscious and lucky to be alive,” Sokat said, handing his medical records to Tana. “He has a broken left clavicle and signs of multiple impact traumas. He was acutely hypothermic when we found him, and that’s probably what kept him alive.”
“Hypothermic, in an EVA suit?” Edison asked.
“His batteries had died,” she said. “Outside it’s a tossup which gets you first when you lose power, the cold or hypoxia.”
He nodded.
“He also has a twenty-five centimeter wide penetrating wound that entered through the right lumbar region of the abdomen and upward toward his liver. His large intestine was almost bisected, and it destroyed his gall bladder.”
“Peritonitis?” Tana asked.
Dr. Sokat nodded. “Acute Sepsis. There was suppurative discharge through the wound. Indications, from the extent of the infection and the necrotic state of the tissue around the wound, are that it likely happened three or more days ago,�
�� she said. “I can’t say how he survived at all.”
“The wound was left untreated?” Edison asked.
She shook her head. “No, but it’s obvious that no one with any medical background touched him. Someone lacquered the skin around the wound with layers of dermaseal. There was also evidence of fiber embedded in it, so whoever it was, tried to compress the wound to control bleeding without letting the glue cure first.”
He glanced at Tana who was nodding.
“The kindest thing I can say is that it looks like an amateur field job,” Dr. Sokat said. “Someone packed it with omnithrax before they tried to close the wound with a polyweb. It didn’t adhere and that might actually have been what allowed it to drain enough to keep flushing the infection out. As a result, he’s lost a lot of blood and we’ve got him on a full run of macro-inhibitors to try to establish hemostasis.”
“He’s still bleeding out?” Saf asked.
“Not anymore, but we were pumping it in as fast as he flushed it through,” she said.
“Do you have any idea what might have caused his injuries?” he asked.
“My first guess would be an explosion of some sort,” she said. “One side of his body has light to moderate flash burns, but other than the redness and a loss of his fine surface hair, there isn’t any deep tissue damage from the explosion. It looks like the blast was widespread and uniform. The wound appears to be a secondary injury from being tossed against something or projectile penetration. Organ damage and the infection caused by the abdominal wound are the most critical aspects of his injury.”
“An explosion?” he asked. “I assume that, inside Robinson, ground-shock sensors would have picked it up?”
“Most likely,” she said. “But they found him outside.”
“That doesn’t mean he was outside, when it happened. Someone might have carried him out and dumped him there,” he said.
Redemption of Sisyphus Page 3