Spindown

by Andy Crawford

  She passed by a pair of crewmembers arguing about the latest developments — one insisted that the upcoming Spindown was somehow related to the murders and the faked ‘alien’ signals. She couldn’t help but doubletake. Confusion and doubt can lead to strife, she recalled from the teachings of the SNH. It’s just temporary, she decided. We’ll be back to normal soon.

  She cringed as she found a discrepancy against the checklist — a damage control toolkit inside a machinery space wasn’t properly secured to the bulkhead. Her orders had insisted that the Spindown was needed as soon as possible to minimize any damage to the rotation gears. But she recalled the oath she took upon earning the ‘star canoe’ emblem — the award all crewmembers received upon achieving full ship’s qualification — an Aotean’s first duty is to the truth. She sighed and marked the discrepancy on the checklist, knowing that another crewmember would have to repeat the entire rig in this section, along with another officer’s second-check. Better the ire of GravTran than a broken skull from a floating toolkit.

  The vibe in the forward Can was much closer to celebration than to concern. The zero-gravity rig was finally complete, and hundreds of Aoteans had gathered to experience the Spindown and freefall — the first since launch. Hanging and climbing on the cables and webbing, Mattoso thought she spied some of the same children, still chaperoned by MOMbots, that she had seen marching aft earlier.

  “Thirty seconds to Spindown in the forward can,” announced an automated voice.

  Pat handed her a small tablet, and she asked what it was.

  “Ginger, for nausea.”

  Someone started a countdown.

  “Is this really appropriate?” Pat whispered, clutching tightly to Mattoso’s hand.

  “The Officer of the Deck checked,” she answered. “There’s no regulation against civilian bystanders for a Spindown.”

  “…twenty-two, twenty-one…”

  “Seems weird,” said Pat. “This isn’t supposed to be fun…”

  Mattoso smiled at a pair of children swinging jointly around a stiff cable. “Maybe not, but they’re having fun.”

  “… sixteen, fifteen…”

  “Maybe we should too.” The Operations Lieutenant grabbed her lover’s hand and raced to the nearest unoccupied webbing base.

  “… twelve, eleven…”

  Laughing, they raced up the webbing, joining in the countdown as they ascended. Mattoso realized she had never been this high up inside Aotea — indeed, she had never been this high above any surface at all. The colony ship’s ‘buildings’ stood no more than a few stories at most. There wasn’t a single chamber in Ceres as large as one of Aotea’s cans. She had a momentary feeling of disorientation as she surveyed the interior cylinder of the colony ship — she realized that, as she climbed, the sense of “gravity” from the can’s rotation lessened.

  “Don’t jump until the Spindown is complete!” someone shouted. “The countdown is just for the beginning!”

  A MOMbot swung adroitly up a cable to gingerly return one of its charges to the surface.

  “…three, two, one!”

  “Spindown commencing.” There was a new noise. The dull hum that faded into the background, ever since the Can was first spun-up so many years ago, changed in tone, lowering and growing less regular.

  Mattoso’s insides shifted, and she almost lost her grip of the webbing as her feet pressed down less and less in their footholds. She felt nervous. Maybe this was a big mistake… It was too late to climb back down. She smiled and hugged Pat with one free arm, trying to project a calm she didn’t feel.

  Everyone seemed to be holding their breath. The hum lessened to a repetitive thump, slower and slower. And it stopped.

  The pause was interminable. “Spindown complete.”

  Mattoso’s worry melted away as children shrieked, bounding straight up from the surface, their laughter musical. She kissed Pat’s cheek, and let go of the webbing. “Come fly with me,” she bubbled, shooting off into the air.

  CHAPTER 25

  Konami couldn’t remember being this nervous. Was it being on the stage in the middle of the Arena? Was it the vast crowd in the audience — close to twenty thousand, almost the entire complement of Aotea, and the biggest gathering since departure? As huge as the ship was, it seemed absurd that everyone onboard could fit into this little stadium, a fraction of the size of the venues he recalled from the big cities on Earth. Was it his thoughts of Kostya, bewildered and whining since the move to Gregorian’s quarters now that the forward Can was spun down to zero-gravity? Was it the paperwork waiting for him from the bumps and bruises from mid-air collisions following the Spindown of the forward Can? Gonna have to recommend new guidelines: Cans must be evacuated before commencing Spindown! Considering all the reports of minor injuries, he was glad he chose to remain in the aft Can with Madani during the Spindown.

  Mayor Akunle and Executive Officer Criswell were handing out awards while Captain Horovitz sat on the stage, stone-faced as ever. Konami supposed Harry Akunle’s idea of mixing in something positive — this spontaneous awards ceremony, most of which were given to junior personnel — with the briefing and question period about the most recent turmoil onboard, was wise. But sitting through the dozens of short speeches, most of them the same boilerplate about dedication, loyalty, and courage, made him wonder if it was worth it.

  While the mayor posed, teeth flashing, with another award recipient — a young Human Support technician gaining her full ship’s qualification — Konami looked around the arena, trying to identify his constables. The roving watches had been temporarily suspended, so Konami had shifted most of his constabulary into crowd control roles, managing the largest crowds they had experienced onboard, entering and spreading out inside the Arena in the aft Can. He had to squint, but he was able to make out the red sashes that marked his constables, spread throughout the Arena’s seats.

  He thought back to poor Kostya, as anxious as Konami had ever seen her. Positive personality traits had been written into her genetic code, as they were for all jenji pets, but apparently toleration of novel circumstances was not one of them. He supposed she would get used to it; she would be far better off in Gregorian’s quarters then in the zero-g of his own. Imagining his dog flail and whine while bouncing around the zero-g cabin made him almost sputter in laughter, even as he cringed at the thought. Wish Ilsa’s place was in the aft Can… What had seemed like a boon before — that Konami and Madani’s quarters were no more than a ten minute walk away from each other — was now a real bummer, especially since the co-worker she was staying with was on the other side of the aft Can. From the other side of the stage she caught his eye and very subtly blew him a kiss.

  Finally, Mayor Akunle finished with the awards, and yielded the podium to Captain Horovitz, who placed her hands on each side of the podium. “Two of our fellow Aoteans have been murdered,” boomed the captain, amplified throughout the Arena. “Unusual radio signals that appeared to have come from far away turn out to have originated onboard. And now, half our ship is without rotation for repairs. You may have questions. In an orderly fashion, you may ask.”

  There was a long pause. Konami supposed that this might be the first time much of the crew actually understood that there was a murderer among them.

  An Admin Chief explained how to tap into the question queue through a wearable.

  After a minute the crew got the hang of the novel interface. The first question was about the cause of the damage to the forward Can’s rotation gears.

  “GravTran is investigating the damage,” answered the captain. “So far there is no evidence at this point that it was caused by anything other than normal wear and tear. When the investigation is complete, the rotation gears will be repaired and the Can will be returned to normal rotation.” Normal wear and tear... Konami highly doubted this was the case (and if so, worried about the ship’s prospects for the multi-decade journey to Samwise), but approved of the captain’s answer.

 
The next three questions were about details of the murder investigation, and the captain answered them with as little information as possible.

  The fifth questioner stood up, halfway up the stands, and he looked familiar. Where have I seen him before? For a long ten seconds, he stared down at his hands, then spoke.

  Somehow Konami knew that he was about to say something significant.

  “I am a murderer,” said the questioner, scratchy vocal cords skipping like an audio glitch.

  Konami was out of his seat in a flash, making his way to the field wall, and gesturing at the constables nearby the questioner. Out of the corner of his eye, half the department heads were madly gesticulating. One of the Bigwigs, Ngayabo, almost leapt out of her chair, only held back by Wilson Paramis.

  “I am a murderer,” the crewman said again, much more clearly.

  Konami recalled where he’d seen the questioner before – in the file after Nicolescu’s murder. This was the Chem Tech named Singh, the one Constable Loesser called “hulking” and “shaken and barely verbal”. He got down from the stage and leapt to climb the field wall to get to the stands.

  Singh continued. “I killed First Muahe. I replaced the breathing filter with the bad one, and I shorted the hatch circuit. I put a plug in the piping to fake the clog.” He took a deep breath and continued, but his voice went silent. Someone silenced his wearable. Konami looked back at the department heads before vaulting over another short wall. Everyone in the Arena was on their feet.

  Someone handed Singh another wearable. “I killed Senior Chemist Nicolescu. I injected him with artificial venom.” With a big hand, he wiped his brow. “But it wasn’t just me. I was given orders. There’s another plan for Aotea. Another mission.” He paused, seeming to gather his thoughts. “It’s not my mission anymore.”

  The packed stands made it hard to approach, both for Konami and the nearby constables. With every step, Konami was filled with a growing sense of dread.

  “What is it?” asked the captain, eyes wide and hoarse-voiced. “What was your mission?”

  When Singh opened his mouth to respond, a rippling crack rang out, and his head exploded.

  CHAPTER 26

  For half a second, Mattoso couldn’t believe her eyes. She closed them hard and opened them. Someone screamed, and the crowd in the level below erupted into pandemonium. Being at the very front of the second level in the Arena, across from the dead questioner, her view was still unobstructed despite the tumult of the crowds. The space around him had cleared, leaving only the mangled, headless corpse of the confessing crewman leaning on a railing in a horrific parody of oratory.

  Her wearable chirped. You okay? It was from Pat.

  Part of her was panicking. This wasn’t just violence and aggression, this was open and public and brutal murder. Assassination. This couldn’t be happening on Aotea.

  But it happened, and it was happening.

  Think, damnit! She moved with the flow of the crowd — many of whom were her colleagues in Operations — while she gathered her thoughts. Someone had just killed the admitted murderer, in full view of everyone. It wasn’t a bomb, unless it was tiny, and already planted in his head. Too far-fetched. A gun, then. There weren’t any guns onboard Aotea. At least, none that she knew about. Then again, there hadn’t been any murderers onboard that she knew about either.

  Another chirp. I’m fine, she scrawled into the air. Get somewhere safe. Pat would be with the children from their class, and would stay with them until any danger had passed.

  The crowd slowed at a bottleneck doorway to the ramps that wound tightly up and down around the Arena. Some in the crowd shouted and lurched forward — in desperation, one man even tried to dig into the crowd ahead. Mattoso got an ugly feeling in her stomach. “We’re Aoteans, not a mob of Earthers, damn it!” she called out. “Stay calm!” Several of her colleagues called out support, and a few of the closer members of the crowd stopped, sheepishly looking down at their feet.

  The crowd didn’t move for a full minute, then slowly started forward again. A dull buzzing sound from ahead grew in intensity as they advanced.

  Finally, they were through the bottleneck, but the ramps were in chaos. Mattoso was shocked by the panic — Aoteans clawed and fought to get through the jam-packed tunnels of the ramps. Amidst the screams and sounds of the struggle, she thought she might have heard moans of pain and cries for help. She tried to call Emer but couldn’t get through, so she sent a text with the approximate location.

  A burly Operations chief ahead of her, Azbek, was bodily trying to restore order, with little success. “Chief,” she shouted, her hand on his back. “Boost me up on your shoulders.” With hand motions, she motioned over another Operations tech. “Third,” she ordered. “Keep calling Emer until you get through.”

  On Chief Azbek’s shoulders, Mattoso projected into the air, flipping through the menus. It was too loud to use voice control, so she had to navigate manually. Where’s the damn audio boost? Finally, she found it, turning up the volume as high as it would go.

  “Stop,” she shouted, shocked by the magnitude of the amplification. “Aoteans, stop!” Some of the crowd slowed their struggles and turned to her. “The danger has passed! The only risk is to rush and struggle.” She had most of their attention. “There are wounded among you — give them air and space, and call out for any seriously hurt.” After a moment of confusion, reports of the injuries trickled through the crowd toward her. “If you are unhurt, and unless you have medical training, slowly and calmly proceed down the ramp. Do not succumb to panic, and don’t let your fellow Aoteans panic either! Remember where we are — this isn’t Earth!”

  Amazingly, they followed her instructions. A very few MedTechs and others remained, along with several injured in the crowd surge, but the rest slowly made their way down the ramp. Maybe we Aoteans really are different… Chief Azbek helped her down from his shoulders. “Third, did you get through to Emer?” she asked the other Operations tech.

  “No, Lieutenant, still no answer.”

  Shit. A thought came to her. If anyone can get through to Emer, I know who it is. She quickly texted — Cy, it’s Bea. Can’t get through to Emer. There are wounded on 2nd level near the aft entrance. After a moment, he acknowledged the text, and Mattoso bent down to examine the nearest injured Aotean.

  CHAPTER 27

  Konami went down his mental checklist: Captain, mayor, and Bigwigs are safe, CHECK. Immediately after the assassination (the word had shocked him to his core when the CO had used it in the rush to flee), Konami and XO Criswell had herded the senior leaders and department heads into a single-entry meeting room under the stands of the Arena. The XO and other department heads had armed themselves with sports equipment, and had remained to guard the leadership, faces contorted in discomfort. SNH dogma never prepared you for this moment, did it?

  Madani was speaking quickly – there were no serious injuries among the department heads, and she was looking after any bumps and bruises from the rushed escape. The Medical Department Head had asked about the murderer, but she must not have gotten a good look at him while they were still in the arena — very little above his neck was intact. Whatever weapon the assassin had used was either very large in caliber, very high energy, or had explosive ammunition. As far as the injuries from the panic, every doctor, nurse, and MedTech onboard had been ordered to the infirmary or to the scene to treat casualties.

  Crowd control, in progress. There were already reports of serious injuries, and possibly even deaths, trickling into Emer. Unprompted, Gregorian had wisely activated all the reserves, and Konami sent a handful of deputies to bolster the overwhelmed Emergency watch. He also called up every single rover assigned from other departments, just to stand by if needed, in addition to those that were already occupied with casualties and cleanup.

  He should have foreseen that Aoteans could panic so easily — hell, since their arrival onboard, each Aotean was drilled about how special they were, and how they wer
e chosen to help make a New Humanity, away from any negative influence from Earth. The toughest day most of them had experienced onboard was probably their final qualification board, and even for failures, those were filled with back-patting and encouragement.

  And the Aoteans ate it up, most of them; they really believed they were different. People are people everywhere; on Earth, on an asteroid, or on a goddamn spinning can in deep space. Society for a New Humanity propaganda be damned, he would make his feelings clear at the inevitable emergency department head meeting that would be coming. No more complacency.

  Crime scene protection and evaluation… That was next. He stopped by the meeting room and briefed the CO and mayor on the crowds and casualties. They had already dispersed most of the department heads to help restore order, but Konami recommended they wait in the meeting room until he could secure a route to safety, guarded along the way at each junction. Captain Horovitz snorted at that, but said nothing. Her expression was back to its typical stone, but Konami caught the anxiety in her eyes.

  The Arena was in shambles. Seats throughout the stadium had been upended, and sometimes even torn apart. Dropped refreshments, wearables, and more littered the walkways. A whirring sound in the farthest corner of the Arena caught his attention — squinting slightly, he saw it was just a TrashBot. Its meticulous ministrations in the chaotic jumble on the largest structure onboard struck Konami as supremely lonesome.

  In fact, the most well ordered spot in the Arena was the site of the corpse — the Aoteans in the vicinity had instantly recoiled, instinctively avoiding it even as they fled in panic. Konami thought he might feel queasy from seeing Singh’s remains again, but his stomach was so tight with tension that he felt nothing as he made his way up the stands. Previously leaning on the railing, Singh’s body had slid off and down to the floor, leaving a trail of blood down the back of several seats. Konami took a few minutes to pore over it and started to record — along with his deputies and rovers, he had decided to carry a vidcam himself, though he usually kept his turned off.