A cross-section view of the interior of the cars to an outside observer would look like small auditoriums stacked on top of each other, seven high, and arranged in ten rows of six seats with an aisle down the center, like a traditional passenger aircraft. At the front of each section was a wallscreen, which typically showed an exterior view of the journey for passengers. Each seat also had personal flexscreens mounted in case the thin Mars atmosphere wasn’t an exciting enough distraction.
For half of the ride, the cars were right side up to the surface; at the halfway point they slowly rotated to decelerate into the station, providing solid Mars gravity “down” for the passengers the entire ride. Cars ran in both directions, opposite sides of the cable, with up to twelve cars running in each direction at a time.
Even with all of Mars’s troubles, the Skyhooks were still the pinnacle of technology in the solar system. Two were in operation; construction on a third was started but never completed, the food riots of 2135 having seen to that. Skyhook Alpha was still the busiest because of the proximity to three of Mars’s largest cities; Bradbury, New Hope, and Aregrad. But Santander’s waiting elevator car was completely empty; station security had cleared a solo run for them along with their cargo.
The team entered the bottom F level and spread out, relaxing in the spacious cabin. Rheaves eased his bulk into the front row and immediately fell asleep; the others in the team busied themselves. Santander tapped at his minipad and contacted the ship’s captain, tucking in a secure earpiece link.
“Captain Yao,” he said, sitting down in the back row as the car began to vibrate. He felt more than heard the clamps secure the car to the cable, and the car lurched to a start, slowly picking up speed.
A heavily-accented voice came through his earpiece. “Nihao, Mister Santander, we here await arrival.”
Santander shook his head in disgust. Dredge couldn’t find a North American ship, or at least a full English-speaking crew? There’s only so much trust he felt like extending, and putting his life in a stranger’s hands and ship…he wasn’t so sure about how far he could extend what little trust he had. “Yao, we are en route on the skyhook.” He checked his minipad. “We will be arriving at the station in less than two hours, and as long as your shuttle is ready, our transit time to your ship will be an additional three hours, fifteen minutes.”
“Very good Mister,” Yao replied. “Shuttle docked and wait. We see for dinner, shi?”
“Shi, we see for dinner,” Santander replied. He cut the connection and dropped his minipad on the seat next to him, then folded his arms across his chest and pressed his chin into them. Damned foreigners, he thought.
Chapter 13
The NAFS Richard Marcinko coasted towards T-Gate Canaan Two, located on the far side of the Canaan system from the wormhole they had exited. The journey across the the wide Canaan system took nearly a full day, with acceleration for six hours, ten hours of unpowered high-speed drifting, and a flipover deceleration for another six. The Marcinko could have reduced the travel time by a few hours by doing a max accel/decel, but because the mission wasn’t time-sensitive enough, they decided to save on reaction mass, and give a little extra in the way of crew comfort.
Gabriel briefed the team on the mission and the plan, factoring in the latest data they received from Poliahu during the acceleration phase. While they coasted, Gabriel took a break and visited the zero-G observation lounge, a twenty-foot diameter tear-shaped bubble located just fore of the dorsal docking bay, which as viewed from the outside would have looked like a tiny remora on a hammerhead shark’s back.
The transparent plasteel provided a stunning view of Canaan’s three stars as they passed within two AUs of the larger primary, Esau, and 70 AUs from the secondary, the smaller white dwarf Jacob. The tertiary star, Isaac, was barely a flicker; its distance allowing the formation of planets not typically seen in trinary systems. Jacob was just over Esau’s shoulder, with Isaac looking on from afar, Gabriel thought of the arrangement, with the cinder of a planet called Zilpah in the foreground. His neuretics showed the estimated positions of the other three rocky planets, Bilpah, Leah, and Rachel, along with the furthest planet, the gas giant Rebekah. The planets had been explored at length since the wormhole had been discovered, without even the remotest hint of life, past or present, being found. Several mining colonies had come and gone from Bilpah, a promising mineral-rich world with moderate temperatures, but no atmosphere. Apparently humans just had a very hard time doing without air for any length of time.
They had already passed the Canaan One gate, which lead to Calypso, another trinary system located over 400 light years from Earth and containing three T-gates. Canaan One was the busiest T-gate in the known galaxy, as although Calypso was a dead system with only remnants of protoplanets that were ripped apart by the three massive stars’ gravity distortions, the three systems it led to, and the eight systems beyond those, all contained living worlds: the first true extrasolar colonies. Gabriel remembered back to his time on Farpoint (which as time went on, became more of a near point compared to others), his shore leave on Hodgson, and finally a twinge as he recalled Eden.
He was awoken from his daydreaming by St. Laurent, who floated into the lounge holding her ever-present flexscreen.
“Oh, hello, Commander, didn’t realize you were up here,” she said in an apologetic tone. “I can head back down if you…”
“No worries, Chief, er, Tee,” he replied, taking his feet off the chair next to him and tightening his seat strap. “I was just catching some downtime after the briefing, and I wanted to take in the sights before we jump out again.”
St. Laurent looked up through the clear panes at Esau as they went by at over 50 million miles an hour. “I never get tired of it, one of the more unique star systems.” She edged her way over to a seat near Gabriel and pulled herself into it, cinching the strap around her waist.
“Have you gone this way many times before?” he asked.
“A few. Obviously most people go through to Calypso and on, not much out this way except research stations and mining colonies,” she replied. “Lieutenant Brevik and I were on the peacekeeping mission to New Moscow last year, that would have been my last time out here.”
“Tell me about the Lieutenant,” Gabriel said. “Seems almost too quiet.”
“Great man to have in your foxhole, sir. He doesn’t say much, but he’s a solid leader, always covers your back,” she said. “I’ve served with him on four different combat missions, and I’ll continue to request his team.”
“Kinda what I figured, but as you can tell I’m still getting to know everyone.” He paused. “Tell me about Lamber and Sabra.”
St. Laurent hesitated, looking off to the side briefly. “Hard to say, sir,” she replied, looking back at him with a small shrug. “They’ve been on a couple of missions together previously, but this is the first time the rest of us have really gotten a chance to work with them in a combat-related capacity.” She flicked an imaginary dust mote from her shoulder and continued. “I mean they’re absolutely bad-ass, and you have to be for this job, so I have every confidence in them when the balloon goes up. But,” she added. “I don’t think I’ll be having high tea with them any time soon. Sir.”
“Okay, that was an honest assessment, I appreciate that. And your opinion of Jimenez and Sowers?” He smiled. “And I’m asking them about you as well, so don’t think I’m grilling you unfairly.”
“Of course, sir,” she replied with a smile of her own. “Wouldn’t expect anything less. Sir, Galen is one of my best friends in the service. He’s only been in a couple of years, and although he certainly can act like an idiot sometimes, he is absolutely crackerjack smart, and quick on his feet. Arturo has a great heart, and there’s no one better I know of with a weapon. Any weapon,” she said proudly.
“That was easy enough,” he replied. “However, one last assessment. Chief Warrant Officer Teresita St. Laurent.”
“Hah!” she said, barkin
g out a laugh and immediately covering her mouth. “Sorry…it’s not every day you get asked to talk about yourself, not in these covert ops. Name, rank, and serial number, right sir?”
“Not this time. A little more info if you please.”
“Well, three years in Naval SpecFor, a year prior to that in regular navy as a medic, and a year before that on an actual surface navy ship, believe it or not,” she said. “I will give myself a B on medical skills, and an A on sniper skills, if that means anything.”
“Certainly does,” Gabriel replied. “But what about outside the navy? I mean, who is this Tee you refer to?”
She shook her head. “Not much to tell.”
“If I make it an order?”
“Well…is it?”
“It is now,” he replied, raising his eyebrows questioningly. “It’s killing me to find out what’s so important on that flexscreen.”
She rolled her eyes. “As long as this stays in this room?” She waited for Gabriel to nod, then continued. “I own a seventy acre vineyard in eastern Oregon, and I’m putting together a business plan to break my wines into a huge restaurant chain in Canada.”
Gabriel’s face registered surprise. “Well, I must say I was not expecting that,” he said, laughing.
“Gotta plan ahead, sir. I can’t be a shooter all my life,” she said with a crooked smile.
The Marcinko’s intercom interrupted the conversation. “Crew members, prepare for decel. All personnel in zero-G areas must return to the ring or to acceleration stations. Five minutes to burn.”
Gabriel began to loosen the seat strap. “Back to work,” he said as St. Laurent did the same.
“Another six hours of hanging out in the lounge,” she replied resignedly.
The two pushed their way out of the observation lounge. “By the way,” Gabriel asked as St. Laurent floated out the door in front of him. “What’s the name? The vineyard I mean.”
“Long Range Vineyards,” she replied over her shoulder. “I thought it appropriate.”
Interesting character this Tee, he thought.
“Yao, this chicken is…interesting,” Santander said as he set the cube of gel-like substance back on his plate.
The Oriental man at the head of the small table laughed. “Shi, interesting! All food made same shape with same, uh, ingrates?” he raised his eyebrows at Santander.
“Ingredients,” he replied, grimacing at the aftertaste.
“Ah yes, ingredients!” Yao laughed again. “We make any food you want, you like chicken?”
“I love chicken,” he grunted. “But this ain’t chicken.”
The rest of Santander’s team were also in various poses of disgust, all except the bear-like Rheaves, who was putting the cubes away like there was no tomorrow.
“Oh it chicken,” Yao continued. “Said right on screen.” He finished the last of his gel cubes and took a drink from the chipped glass in front of him. “More beer, Mister Santander?”
Santander’s nostrils flared. The shit I’m going to have to put up with for the next two weeks, he thought. Maybe Mars wasn’t all that bad.
“No,” he said as he stood up from the table. “We have work to do. When do we depart?”
Yao wiped his mouth with his sleeve, leaving an orange streak on his already-stained white tunic. “Leave two hours. You want I should call you?” he asked, standing.
Santander shook his head and motioned to the rest of his team, who all stood with relief at being able to escape the captain’s quarters. All but Rheaves, who continued to slurp down his cubes as well as any others within arm’s reach. “No, don’t call us, we’ll call you. Just let us know when we arrive in 46 Scorpii, and keep me apprised of any changes at the target.”
“Of course Mister,” Yao replied, walking them to his door. Rheaves finally stood and followed them out. “Have nice flight.” The door slid shut with a creak behind them, leaving the six of them in the musty corridor.
“Jesus Christ,” muttered Ran. “Is this the best your boss can do?”
Santander shook his head as they made their way around the .6G rotating ring towards their quarters, not relishing the thought of sleeping three per room. “He’s paying the bills. For now.”
Chapter 14
“One minute to transit!” the intercom announced, waking Gabriel, who had just started to doze in his chair. He was taking this final transition in his lounge with the rest of the team, all of whom were scattered throughout the room in various states of boredom.
It had been a long flight, he reflected. Three-plus days of acceleration/coasting/deceleration, and not much to do on board the small warship. Sowers’s basketball had mysteriously been punctured, and no one knew (or admitted) how it could have possibly happened. Brevik’s harmonica had disappeared just as mysteriously, so Jimenez spent most of the third day in a heightened state of paranoia about his prized guitar. St. Laurent had escaped the friendly sabotage, as burying her nose in a flexscreen silently apparently didn’t rub anyone the wrong way.
While Sabra and Lamber spent most of their time together watching mindless vids, Takahashi had busied himself assembling the equipment he had dragged on board in the duffels, something he said was specially given to him by a former professor at Mexico City Naval Academy. Now complete, it resembled a miniature communications backpack soldiers from the early twentieth century would have carried. Several tiny antennae protruded from the top of the boxy contraption, and along the sides it sported several small openings the size of a pinky finger. Under a Velcro flap on the very back was a hardmounted flexscreen tied into several more electronics systems buried inside the pack.
When questioned, he explained it was an experimental exobiology kit his professor had created and wanted field testing. Gabriel wasn’t quite convinced it wouldn’t get in the way of a combat mission, but had allowed it once Takahashi showed him the ease of wearing, and explained it could be used to test the alien physiology to absolutely determine the source of the dew.
As he had done four times before upon feeling the ship’s EM field generators spin up, he closed his eyes and waited. As the intercom countdown hit zero, the blue washed over him. In a few seconds the blue haze cleared, and he opened his eyes to see Jimenez in the seat in front of him, slumped over one arm and drooling. The rest of the team stirred, and Gabriel rose from his seat.
“Okay, people, let’s hit the mess and go over the mission one last time,” he said. “We’ll see if Mister Sowers’s ‘Larrys’, as he has so eloquently nicknamed the probes, have any additional information for us.”
He had his neuretics send a quick request to Ensign Giroux to have the latest data from the probes and satellites sent to the mess’ system. The team filed from the lounge, St. Laurent bringing up the rear, waking Jimenez as she went. Behind them was the wallscreen image of 46 Scorpii.
After the team had been seated around the mess table, most holding steaming coffee mugs, Gabriel activated the wallscreen, and an image of the grayish-white Poliahu appeared.
“This is real-time from the microsats in orbit — or at least as real-time as a seven minute light speed delay affords us. Diji is currently hitting sunset on the opposite side of this view, but by the time we hit the drop zone, it will be just before sunrise,” Gabriel said. The image of the planet rotated quickly, then zoomed in, showing the colony now in light. “This is a shot from eleven hours ago.”
The colony appeared as it did in the initial briefings, low snow-covered buildings crammed into a small valley between two subduction ridges, a greenhouse perched on one ridge overlooking the valley below. Several small figures were seen moving outside the compound, too small to make out individual details. The fusion plant billowed steam, which caught in the whipping wind as it crested the level of the ridges and streamed westward. A very quiet scene, Gabriel thought again idly.
“The data we just received from the Larrys on the ground,” he said with a nod towards Sowers, who flashed a satisfied smile in return, “are s
howing no energy weapons, no unusual heat patches, no above-normal power readings, no high-power sensors, nothing at all out of the ordinary for a small colony. The Marcinko will be going in fully stealthed, but we have to allow for the possibility that they will be monitoring the gate station, which will have most certainly picked up a sign of our emergence. However,” he continued, “they won’t see us at all approaching the planet, not with the sensors we know they have.”
On the screen, eight pinpoints of light appeared, like a ladder leading from an area just south of the east ridge right up to the main colony entrance. “Here is our road in,” he said. “The Larrys landed exactly as planned, and are showing a secure and empty path from the LZ to the colony gates. Nothing passes in or out of that path without us knowing it immediately, so we’re covered for our entry.”
Sowers spoke up. “Commander, are we picking up any unusual chatter?”
Gabriel shook his head. “Standard point to point communications. The Marcinko has tapped into the colony’s comm system, and it’s all fairly innocuous.”
“Sir,” Jimenez said. “Are we dropping extra equipment, or is it cash-and-carry for all of us? We haven’t really gone over that yet.”
Gabriel nodded to Brevik. “Lieutenant, I believe this is your department.” Gabriel had decided to give Brevik tactical command of the insertion portion of the mission, as he had the most experience in not only drop-assaults, but also with leading his team into fire. Gabriel thought it was important to extend an olive branch to Brevik, and hoped it wouldn’t come back to bite him.
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