by R L Dean
As he watched Mat make his way across the hull, getting into position on the port bow in the shadow of canister number two, Haydon revisited something he needed to do in his head. That thing, a conscience, which had given him so much trouble over the years wanted him to make something clear. After playing with the scope controls for a moment, tracking Mat's progress and thinking about what he needed to say, he got up.
"I'll be back in a minute," he said, and headed to the access tube. Neither Yuri nor Misaki acknowledged him.
He pushed his way down the access tube to the Crew deck. For what he needed to do staying in the tube would have been fine, but spacer's habit made him go to somewhere more secure. In this case, the galley. Stepping through the hatch he walked to the table and stood there for a moment, looking around and listening to the rattles and hums. The screen was on and a newsfeed was playing with no audio. He pulled out his handcomm and called Mat.
Mat's face appeared on the small screen and immediately asked, "Problem?"
"No. Strictly speaking, but we need to talk about something."
"I'm a little busy," Mat said. The helmet camera just showed his face but you could tell he was moving around, his eyes looking at something else.
"Yeah, listen. You've got all the bases covered with this operation, except one."
"I didn't know it was an operation, but what am I missing?"
"Your conscience."
Mat's eyes shift directly to the camera, his brow knitted for a moment. "Conscience? You're the last person I would expect to bring that topic up."
"Not my conscience, yours. Mat, I regret convincing you to raid the tug ... that I put you in that position ... to kill someone."
"Haydon, get to the point. I'm working here."
Haydon nodded. "This is not you. This is different than the guy you shot on the tug, he was trying to kill me. This, what you're doing now, could be construed as murder."
Mat didn't say anything. He was still working, probably pushing the rock-cracker in to position. Mat had a rough plan on how to 'take out' the pirates but it took some expertise to make it work, and Misaki gave specific directions for the rock-cracker's placement on the hull. Haydon should be doing it, but Mat had insisted. Haydon continued.
"To me they're bad guys, Mat. Killing them won't weight on my ... soul, conscience, whatever. But you're different. And I know a part of you is doing this because of Misaki, but you're not this guy."
Mat's eyes rolled back to the camera and he said, "I get what you're saying, Haydon. And part of it, a big part, is about Misaki. I keep thinking of her in that locker ... beat up ... you saw what they did to her, it was ... evil. But it's about greater things too, all the others that the pirates have murdered and stole from and ... did horrible things to."
"This is not our job ..."
"UNSEC is not here, so it is our job."
Haydon hated arguing with himself. Alright, well he tried. Mat had made his decision and he was sticking with it. He was torn. A part of him was glad that they were going to destroy the freighter, because like Mat said, they were evil men. They would rob them, kill Yuri and Mat ... might even take Misaki because she was a woman. But at the same time, just because Mat didn't see the faces of those he was about to kill didn't mean they wouldn't haunt him at night. He didn't want that for Mat.
"Alright, boss," he said and glanced at the time on his handcomm. "Better hurry, our window is closing."
"Copy that," Mat acknowledged, then after a moment he said, "Haydon, you didn't lead me down this path. I was thrown into this river ... we all were."
Haydon nodded and closed the connection. He rubbed the back of his neck, then turned and left the galley. He headed back up the access tube to the Flight deck. When he came through the hatch Yuri was glaring at Misaki, from his seat in the cockpit. For her part the engineer was ignoring him, studying her screen and typing on the terminal.
"What is it," Haydon asked as he pulled himself into his terminal seat and strapped in.
Yuri frowned and turned back to his screens. "We flip in ... message coming in, text ..."
Haydon brought up a scope on his screen and pointed it at the rock that the freighter was hiding behind ... it had moved out now, on the far edge. The image made their intentions clear now, they were maneuvering for burn.
"They want us to brake and alter course," Yuri said. "If we are going to do this we need to hurry." Haydon could hear the fear in Yuri's voice, they were right on top of the point of no return. If they tried to run there was a chance the freighter could still catch them.
"It's ready," Mat's voice came through Yuri's terminal. "Misaki, go ahead. I'm clear."
"Copy that."
Misaki would be lighting the mini-reactor on the rock-cracker to ensure it didn't lose velocity— just enough to maintain its position, hovering a couple of meters off the port side of the hull, out of the freighter's scopes. The trick was going to be the timing.
"They are going to burn any moment," Yuri said.
"Mat," Haydon said. "I don't think you're going to make it inside to do the honors. So I'll do it."
Mat cursed. It was a rare occasion. "I'm in the airlock ... just a second."
"They want us to brake now or they will shoot us," Yuri continued.
Haydon watched his screen. Any second now they would lose their window to attack. "Mat, just get to a couch."
"I am, I am ... alright, I'm strapped in. Go ahead, Haydon."
Haydon reached out to his terminal to take control of the rock-cracker, but the camera on the hull showed the bullet shaped missile pulling forward of the ship, powered by the orange glow of its thruster ... and the controls were locked out. There was a full second of confusion, his heart rate jumped, then he realized it was Misaki. She had taken control of it.
"It's clear," she said, without looking up from her screen.
Yuri started the braking maneuver. As the ship began to flip and gravity fell on them like some invisible wall, the rock-cracker angled off to starboard. Out of the corner of his eye Haydon saw Misaki's hand on the terminal and she was gritting her teeth against the physics that pinned her to the seat. On his screen there was a flash— a line of orange-red light— as the rock-cracker shot off at more than twice its velocity relative to the ship. The thruster flared on the freighter, but it was too late. Directly under their bow an explosion ripped the rock face apart, engulfing the ship in a hail of iron rich stone and ice. The freighter shot forward as its thruster fired for a hard burn. It shed hull plating and parts for a thousand kilometers, then exploded in a white flash as its reactor blew.
The forces holding them down didn't let up. It would be an hour before they lost enough velocity to actually stand and move around. Haydon watched his screen as the miniature sun that used to be the freighter began to die and fade away. He had a sudden epiphany and couldn't help but smile, the g-force stretching it on his face. Misaki planned it this way. The distance from the maintenance hatch to where she directed Mat to set the rock-cracker ... locking out its flight controls. She set it up so that Mat couldn't launch the little missile toward the freighter. Misaki wanted his hands to be clean, his conscience to be guiltless. As much as possible, given the circumstances. She cares about Mat. Haydon already respected her for her talent as an engineer, but now he admired her. The only thing was, how would Mat react when he found out that the woman he was in love with, and wanted to protect, took that burden on herself?
28 - Alexandria
Mount Olivet Methodist Church was a picturesque firebrick church that sat on two hectares of pristine lawn. There was even a large pond out back, with benches and a gazebo. It was just a few blocks from home, and Alexandria liked it. It was pretty, and calm. The kind of place that had an invisible wall around it, and a dignity that defied the cares and worries of the world. Somehow, even gloomy weather couldn't darken those brick walls.
The congregation was small, just the neighborhood families. The Petersons, the Kellers, the Jacksons
, the Morgans, and so forth. They all attended the same dinner parties ... all people she knew and associated with, as time permitted. So, when work didn't force her to be out of town she made it a point to bring Adam and Jason to Sunday services. Neither were overly excited about getting up early, dressing in uncomfortable clothes, and sitting for an hour on a semi-padded wooden bench while being lectured to. Particularly Jason, Saturday night was spent playing video games ... until just a few hours before Alexandria would wake him to get ready. But they went with her, perhaps not smiling on the inside but making a good show of it on the outside. She appreciated that.
Rachael liked going to church ...
"Mom."
"Hmm?" She asked, her eyes snapping to Jason.
"It's a little tight," he said, tilting his head back.
She was fixing his tie. He always wanted to wait until the car pulled up to the curb in front of the church before tightening it. Last week he lobbied for a clip-on, but that was not happening as long as she was alive.
Alexandria smiled at her son and let go.
"Hon," Adam said. "I think we're holding up the Hendersons. They're behind us."
She nodded and said, "Okay." Then she turned to the front of the car. "Greg, we're ready."
Greg opened the door and got out of the driver's seat and walked around, opening her door. Once they were out he would park the car and watch the church. Sometimes he would come inside, after the song service, and sit in the back row. She didn't know why he did— or did not— do that. Maybe he was finding his convictions. Or maybe he was just being a good bodyguard by changing his patterns.
The morning was bright and everyone was in their Sunday finest. Marguerite Jackson, her husband Horst, and their young son Willem walked with them up the sidewalk. Marguerite chatted with Alexandria as they waited in the short line to the entrance. Senior Pastor Allen, a solidly built man and former UNSEC chaplain, was at the door in his pulpit robes and stole. He smiled and shook their hands as they went inside.
They took their seats, third pew from the front on the left. Their same pew for the last twenty years.
"Did you turn off your handcomm?" Alexandria asked her son as she adjusted her skirt and sat.
"Yes mam."
The song service was nice, and though she never thought she was possessed of a singing voice she sang as loud as anyone else. Pastor Allen liked the old hymns, and the Music Director followed suit. Jason, at least, opened the hymn book and pretended to follow along. He was still half asleep.
Allen's sermon was on reconciliation and delivered with the passion of a drill sergeant.
"And you, that were sometime alienated and enemies in your mind by wicked works, yet now hath he reconciled. In the body of his flesh through death, to present you holy and unblameable and unreproveable in his sight. Colossians one, twenty-one."
Since Alexandria wouldn't let Jason use his handcomm during church he did as expected and flipped through his paper bible to the appropriate verse. She felt satisfied that he didn't have to search too long for the passage. Rachael would have known where it was instantly ... but she was proud of Jason.
"By his atoning work on the cross Jesus has removed the obstacle of sin that kept you in antagonism to God. Don't be moved from the gospel, which is our hope."
Allen paused to let that sink in.
"That word reconciled means to go back to a former state of harmony that existed prior to the problem, the antagonism. Let me bring it closer to home. In your own relationship ... your spouse, your parents, your child ..."
Reconciliation. My mother, thought Alexandria. She should probably make the effort ... soon. Things were going to be hectic in the near future and there wasn't going to be a lot of time to focus on virtue. It was unlikely that her mother would respond to her outreach ... but still. Or, maybe it was her mother that should be doing the reconciling, not her.
"I want to encourage you to turn back time," Allen said, his voice growing stronger. "Go back to a point where there was no antagonism, and then move forward ..."
He continued for another thirty minutes and Alexandria listened, but her mood had soured with thoughts of her mother. At the end of the service she used her handcomm and transferred a healthy offering from her account to the church. There were plans to renovate the nursery. Two young couples recently started attending and both were expecting. And while she didn’t know them very well she thought it was a good investment.
There was a sign above the door, going out, that read 'Your Mission Field'. And every time Alexandria saw it she couldn't help but feel the weight of her desires and dreams return to her shoulders. It was as if a mental switch were thrown and Sunday afternoon became Monday morning.
Greg was waiting for them with the car, and as soon as she was seated she began searching the newsfeeds on her handcomm. Adam sat down, stifling a yawn. Jason pulled his tie loose and leaned against the car door, his head on the window, and closed his eyes.
"Time for a nap," Adam said.
"Maria will be upset if you skip out on lunch," she replied, absently and flipped through the newsfeeds. "She goes to a lot of trouble."
"You're right."
He said something to Jason, who wasn't interested in talking.
"... reported that Klaus Zimmermann, Apex Mining's chief hauling coordinator on Butte, was found dead yesterday. According to the coroner’s office Mister Zimmermann was bludgeoned to death."
The screen on her handcomm switched from the female newscaster to scenes on the crowded Butte drop-off station. UNSEC soldiers in riot gear milled about among the people.
She had gotten the report of Zimmermann’s death about seven hours after his body was found lying in a puddle of water in the back of a hydroponics plant. His son, a construction worker in Cochem, was throwing a fit. John Rawlinson, Apex's primary legal rep, reported a continuing stream of calls and mail from him threatening to hire a lawyer. According to Greg's research, Klaus and his son hadn't seen nor spoken to one another in over twenty years. But, of course, now that there was money to be made with a potential wrongful death suit here he was— avenger of his father's death.
"UN Security officials are uncertain as to whether or not this incident is connected to an attack on the crew of an Apex Mining hauler on Point Twenty-Seven, a drop-off station located in the Belt. The miners that attacked the crew were taken into custody. John, do you think the two incidents are related?"
The camera cut to another newscaster, a man with a movie star face, a slight touch of gray at his temples, and wearing a suit.
"I think they are, Susan. We're hearing of a number of complaints by independent miners that suggest some Apex Mining hauler crews are refusing to leave drop-off points for fear of piracy. We're starting to see a decrease in raw ore deliveries ..."
"Murder and piracy is a little morbid for a Sunday afternoon," Adam said.
She glanced at him and smiled in apology. "Right, sorry. I'll turn it off."
Putting the handcomm back in her purse she lay her head on Adam's shoulder. The potential ore shortages were not the real problem, she reminded herself. It was the growing destabilization that the piracy was causing. Modi had created a problem with his hardline policies toward Mars, and now she was hearing rumors that UNSEC was about to start ramping-up its shipyards on the Moon.
One could argue that building patrol ships was a costly solution to that problem, but the fact was Mars brought in a lot of money. Earth companies grew rich from selling their merchandise to the colony. UN Council members accumulated staggering wealth from kickbacks, or from companies they had their fingers in that had charter business with the colony. And, of course, somebody would profit from the ship building. She bet if she had Greg dig deep enough he would find ties to Modi and the steel or electronic companies that contracted to UNSEC.
This ... Martian problem ... had to go away. It could potentially interfere with her own plans. Maybe she should confront Shultz and Jung and personally ask them to dial
it back. Change was coming, they just needed to be patient.
29 - Mat
The domes spread out on Mat's screen. They looked like golden blisters growing on the gray landscape of Mare Imbrium. Dust clouds encircled most of them— the refineries and ore processing plants, the reason the domes even existed. At the center was Mat's home, Harmony, the oldest and largest of the Moon domes. When was he here last? Three years? The memories were bitter sweet. His aunt's smile blended with the feeling of exhaustion after a fifteen hour shift at the Apex plant. Singing in the choir, his father in a body bag ... his aunt getting sick. She spent one too many years working in the plants, resulting in his sudden return three years ago to settle her affairs.
"Control has cleared us," Yuri said from the cockpit. "We have a pad."
Everyone was on the Flight deck. Mat was at his customary command terminal, Haydon and Misaki were strapped at their monitoring stations. Misaki's duffel was tied down beside her. A reminder that this was where she ended her stay with them. He was angry and saddened when he found out she was the one that took control of the rock-cracker and destroyed the freighter. When he confronted her about it she said simply, I had to, while wearing that same stoic expression that masked her face now, as she worked on her terminal and watched the screen. He supposed that it was her way of striking back at the pirates on the tug, regaining some control or personal power over her life. The thing that brutalization stole from its victims.
"Kep," Yuri said.
Mat sucked in air through his nose and came out of his reverie. "Alright, take us down."
Yuri flipped the Sadie smoothly and began the descent to the lunar surface.
A notice popped up on his screen from Misaki's terminal. He opened it ... a list of maintenance items. Several included step-by-step instructions on repairs or replacements. He smiled to himself and wondered if Misaki was capable of sending a ... what ... sweet letter telling how much she ... what ...? Mat stopped the chain of thought that would end in melancholy. Misaki was leaving the Sadie, so said her duffel bag. Amazing, he thought. They had spent weeks together and it had never gone beyond a kiss on his cheek. Nothing could happen with her, emotionally or otherwise.