April 3: The Middle of Nowhere

by Mackey Chandler

  "Nobody has any objection if I try to see if there is any trace of the logon left in memory?" Eddie asked them all.

  "I'll deal with anybody from the com center if you trip any sort of alarms," Jon offered. "I'll say it is part of the investigation into Bob's death if they have any questions."

  "Okay, let's peel this baby open," Eddie pulled out a candy bar sized module with an optical port connector and plugged it in the side of the com screen. The graphics went away and a whole bunch of text appeared with all sorts of symbols. Eddie typed in things a few times and the text changed. He didn't look happy and the wait between each new string he typed in lengthened.

  "What is that you plugged in?" April wanted to know.

  "It's actually a complete small computer," He explained. "It is small because it doesn't have to do a lot of things a general purpose machine does. It's good for a long Federal vacation down on the dirtball, but it self-erases if a different thumb than mine is put on its taste pad. Sorry to tell you Bob never asked the system to keep his password and the encryption and safety systems worked perfectly to remove it when he was through. It only shows the address being accessed three times. Could that make sense?"

  "Yes, if it is a new account. I logged on once earlier and now with you guys here. So he might have only had it open once to set up the account. I have no idea why he'd need a new account though. He's been using the account my dad opened for him when he was ten years old for everything."

  "A North American bank?" Eddie asked.

  "Yeah, but I haven't heard anything about them messing with personal accounts have you?"

  "Well, perhaps he had some funds he wanted moved out of their easy reach. If it was new he likely didn't have the password memorized yet, but he was smart, he'd never write it down near the screen like people do. If he had it on a note in his wallet it's gone forever."

  "Ohhh! April exclaimed and looked up at all the expectant faces. "Just a minute," she said and ran in her room to dig through Bob's things. She returned with a business card with hand writing and offered it to Eddie. "Let's try this. I had no idea what it might be."

  Eddie typed in SAF)dz$PckXib and hit enter. The screen came up in Italian and he picked English from a pull down menu, but not before April gasped at the number of zeros. The account showed one deposit two days before she'd gone down to Earth. It was for twelve million EuroMarks and it had already accumulated four thousand seven hundred sixty three EuroMarks of interest.

  Nobody said anything.

  "Well, now we know Bob was working for North America," her granddad said sadly. "Where else did he get this kind of money? I'd bet they paid him and he was smart enough to move it out of their reach. If you could check I bet it was transferred creatively several times before it ended up in this account or they'd have clawed it back by now. I suggest you do the same immediately," he told April.

  "I don't want this money! It's dirty!" April objected.

  "April, you are being stupid. It's not like you," he grandpa objected. She probably wouldn't have listened to that from anybody else. "The money is an object. You may do something moral or immoral to acquire it, but it doesn't take on the characteristics of its owner. You took a pistol off the Chinese officer from the Jade you guys killed and you didn't say – Oh yuck this is an evil pistol."

  "That's different," she insisted, scowling.

  "How?"

  They sat silent for a moment. Happy was unwilling to let her off the hook by saying anything. The longer it went the more it was obvious she had no argument. Nevertheless she clicked on a secondary page for the site and told her com to keep hitting it to hold the site from timing out. So she was still holding her options open.

  "Perhaps you should call up the North Americans and reward them by asking to which agency you should return the funds," Eddie suggested. "That will rub their noses in your rectitude!" he said sarcastically.

  "Uh, no. They don't deserve the funds back either," she agreed, conflicted.

  "Well if you leave it sitting there, chances are they will eventually trace it and do a charge back of some sort. They have the power to put a lot of pressure on people even if they have no clear legal right to the funds."

  "Where can I put it they can't – Oh, we have our own bank now," she smiled. "I'll call Jeff and ask him how to do a wire transfer.

  "Yes, we can do a wire transfer from an Italian bank," he agreed, but looking a dozen questions with his face. April ignored that quizzical look. "I have us signed up for a Russian service. It would translate as 'Secure Transit' or 'Safe Move' to do European wire transfers. Just give me the account data and I'll can do it in five minutes or so."

  She fed him the numbers, but left two thousand EuroMarks in the account, worried that actually closing it out would trigger some sort of human intervention.

  The com emitted a funny choking sound. "You could have warned me how much you wanted to deposit," Jeff told her. "Where the heck did that come from?"

  "I won the Lotto," April deadpanned. "Thanks Jeff," she said and disconnected him before he could keep prying. If it didn't transfer for some reason she was sure he'd call right back.

  "That's an excellent idea," her grandfather approved. It obviously amused him too. "If everyone here would agree, I'd like to keep this matter secret for family reasons. My daughter in law would be very depressed and shamed to have confirmed her son was traitorous. I see no advantage to causing her pain."

  Gunny for his part was surprised April showed such independence. He'd have thought she'd spill the whole story to her close friend Jeff. He marked this to remember.

  There was a murmur of agreement and head nodding all around. "This is suspicious, but it isn't really hard confirmation anyway," Eddie pointed out. "Unless we had some way to trace the funds back to a known agency front or individual it's still circumstantial." That seemed to cheer April up slightly.

  Everybody found reason to leave quickly but Eddie. "Your grandpa said you had a bunch of small bills your brother made. You can call a lawyer if you want, but my personal recommendation is you simply send them all a notice he is deceased. If there is anything expensive you don't want to keep you could offer to return it. But if you start paying his unsecured bills than you throw yourself open to paying them all. I know it isn't our law now, but if somebody takes it before the Assembly they might very well rule that way because it's what people who know are used to the law saying from before. It would be much too easy and human nature, to go with what is familiar."

  "What could he have possibly bought that would be so much?" she asked skeptically.

  "You don't know. But you didn't expect him to be in Lunar orbit with a USNA warship either," he pointed out. "I'd hate for you to pay for some footies, establishing you'll pay his debts and then find out he made an offer on a cubic you don't want, or was having a yacht built down in Australia for when he visits your grandparents."

  "Okay, I'll take your advice on that for now. But I guess I'll be doing enough business I need an Earth lawyer now, don't I?"

  "Unfortunately, yes. Here's who both Jeff and I have retained if you want a USNA firm," Eddie offered calling an addy up. "Chances are if you have legal problems it's still going to be with North America. We still have more trade with them than anybody even after the war. If you need a Japanese or European firm they can arrange one for you."

  "Thank you Eddie. I appreciate you taking care of me."

  "That's what friends are for April. I had a friend once who put her butt on the line to rescue me from ISSII and shot up the Chinese and anyone else who got in the way," he reminded her.

  She was too embarrassed to say anything.

  Chapter 10

  "The agent signed out of New Las Vegas and the authorities on Home claim he never signed in there. He did not sign back in to New Las Vegas on the return trip. Given the choice to believe Home or New Las Vegas, the scum on Home are lying dogs," Song Zhang said.

  "I don't doubt that, but just for the sake of argument
, would it be possible to have received these injuries aboard a shuttle?" the Earth official on his monitor asked.

  "Yes, but every passenger on the shuttle would have been deafened and panicked. There was no report of any disturbance when they docked, no call from the crew about disorder. I'd like to see these traitors punished for their insolence," Song Zhang pleaded, fist clutched.

  "Thank you, for your zeal," his administrator acknowledged. "There will be stronger action. But it is already set in motion and you don't fit in the operational plan this time. I'll keep you in mind for the future, because there is a store of debt to set right with these people."

  Chapter 11

  ISSII was busy. The armed merchant Eddie's Rascal had to wait three hours for a docking collar to come open. Several government owned ships were holding past their scheduled departure causing the delay. One from North America had a sick flight crew member. An Australian vessel was having computer problems and a Chinese craft was simply late leaving, keeping their reasons private as was typical of that secretive nation. There was an actual flock of unmanned freight shuttles standing by at lower priority, clustered around a big radar reflector with blue strobe lights at each quarter.

  Click would have been tempted to do an EV, but he had more freight than could be comfortably man carried to an airlock and some customers might complain about exposure to vacuum even if they didn't spec it as pressure freight. Edwards, his number two and the recent hire Tommy Waldecker, were content to wait, happy to run up their hours, neither having the antsy personality of Click, their pilot.

  There was a chest of medical material, likely vacuum rated but with no tags saying so explicitly. It had no date and time labels slapped on it so likely it was not organs or specimens, but it was valuable enough to have a separate lock that was shrink wrapped in an anti-tamper sleeve. Then there were the usual pouches of companies' private mail with documents and memory modules. Lastly there was standby freight carried on an as-able basis for bigger shippers. One net bag of small boxes for UPS, a single small envelope for Larkin's Lunar Lines and a freebie part delivery for Dave's, the maintenance company that serviced the Eddie's Rascal. All this was dumped in one big fine mesh bag.

  Eddie's Rascal was sister ship to the lost first-of-class Home Boy. The next ships by Dave's would be a different class and named to make that clear. The Eddie's Rascal had Singh gravitational compensators installed for the four couches. There was a roll-cage-like frame around each seat with the housings for the active nodes swinging down out of the way from in front of the two front pilot's couches when not in use. The six bell shaped vessels were piped to the hard vacuum necessary for their function. The containers were also ballistic protection for the pilots in case one of the Singh fluid containing donuts inside burst under the stress of its peak 140,000 rpm operating speed.

  The attraction from the six nodes could effectively counteract five Gs of acceleration, allowing the ship to boost at a maximum fourteen G with an experienced acceleration of nine G ignoring tidal variations. There wasn't room to lay flat so past four G you had to put your feet up in stirrups. When the next class of ship came into service they'd have a maximum authorized acceleration of eighteen G.

  The top of the cabin was domed to host a Singe Projector weapon, but it was waiting on the scarce fluid to fill the mechanism, so it was not installed yet to reduce weight.

  "Do you want to stand guard or make deliveries?" Edwards asked Waldecker as Click got a collar assigned and started moving them in.

  "I've only been on ISSII once," the new hire reminded him. "It's still interesting to me. Why don't I do the deliveries and I'll bring us back some lunch? You have a taste for anything in particular?

  "There's place near spin called Pockets. Get me a bag of empañadas, the ones with meat, scrambled egg and raisins and something sweet. I'm happy with our own coffee."

  "Sounds good. I should be back in a bit under an hour. How about you Click?"

  "Nah," the pilot called from the front. "I'm coming along behind you. I want to do some quick shopping and I'll grab something by myself."

  The ship gave a small lurch and the solid sound of the grapples snuggling it tight against the docking collar sounded normal. A couple red and orange lights beside the coffin lock turned green and Click verbally confirmed, "Down and locked. Check seal and confirm vacuum tight on the way out."

  Edwards rigged a privacy screen that could be pushed through but hid all interior details from prying eyes.

  Waldecker undid the straps holding their hand delivery cargo and maneuvered it to the screen. It was a big bag - Santa Claus sized. He checked that Edwards had clipped himself in opposite the lock and had his weapon of choice to hand. Some were happy with a pistol guarding the lock. The company figured whatever you were comfortable with was best for you. Edwards favored a 30mm grenade launcher with a powered rotary magazine. If it seemed excessive nobody had expressed that to Edwards in his hearing. Waldecker, being new, was taking his clues from everyone else. He was curious though.

  "What does that thing shoot anyhow?" he finally worked up nerve to ask.

  "It has a twenty-four round magazine, selectable between two rows. I put one round of tungsten flechettes up the snout, then load the primary front row with the same. The second row is selected by this side lever," he demonstrated rolling it over working it with his thumb. "The secondary selection has standard antipersonnel grenades with high explosive bursting charges alternated with shaped charges. They are only good for about twenty centimeters of conventional armor, but they will bust the crap out of heavy machinery housings. Just in case I ever have need, I carry two of these," he reached across and pulled two olive green rounds with yellow lettering from his external breast pocket. "A couple small breaching thermobaric rounds. They are useless in vacuum, but put one into a sealed compartment wall or ship cabin and it will kill everything inside and usually burst the walls open too."

  "No shit. Well I hope I'm well behind you if you ever open up with that sucker."

  "Haven't had to yet," Edwards smiled. He flipped his faceplate down and checked the seal by lifting with his thumb under the front catch. It was tight.

  Waldecker hesitated. His faceplate was up and he hadn't intended to close it being docked on a pressurized mast. Edwards hadn't been on his case at all despite being new and younger. It didn't appear he was going to order him to lock his faceplate down to exit either, yet he was doing so himself. He wasn't used to somebody who led by example instead of decree.

  "Why do you seal up Edwards?" he asked.

  "Well, Tommy me boy," the voice came through his helmet speaker, "the mast is supposed to be pressurized. But we don't have an external pressure gauge on the lock. And if it gets vented the pressure goes down awfully fast. I can't use my weapon and close my faceplate at the same time. I guess I'm just a belt and suspenders sort of guy," he admitted with a grin.

  Waldecker nodded a thanks and after considering the merits of his advice closed his too, Edwards didn't comment on that, simply smiling after him as he slipped through the ribbons of the privacy curtain towing his bag.

  "Captain, am I clear to crack the outer door?" he asked on com.

  "Go ahead Tommy. Local Control acknowledges we are docked and the clock is running." The fees at ISSII ran by the hour and tenth of an hour, so people did their business and left, not letting their ship parked on a collar like they would have at a station that charged dockage rates by the day. At least private vessels like theirs didn't hang around running up fees, even if the government owned vessels lingered burning up tax money.

  "Opening," he announced and slid their outer door to the side and fastened it down. He turned the recessed handle that undogged the exposed station hatch. It actually popped open a little with a soft sound when he pushed on it because of a slight positive pressure in the ship. His suit puffed a little and his ears had that funny feeling from a small drop in pressure until he swallowed a few times. Then he heard a sigh as the pressure came
back to his setting. He backed out of the ship, bag in one hand, pulled their security camera out on an arm for Edwards and pulled the hatch back against resistance until he heard it latch. If something happened that pressure dropped in the mast, all the pressure hatches would snap shut.

  "Don't forget to bring some sauce," Edwards reminded him. "I like the green stuff."

  "Salsa verde," he agreed. The camera was already doing a slow scan as Edwards surveyed the mast from inside. "I like it better than the red stuff too." He gave the net sack a little shove towards the hub and spin, following after with his gloved hand floating around the rail ready to brake or give occasional little tugs. Every hatch seemed to be occupied, although not all of them were open. There were two crew of another ship in flight suits coming out the opposite hand rail, but nobody on his side going in station.

  The mast was simply a long tube a bit under three meters across. They were docked halfway down, about eighty meters. So he'd reach the station proper, the end cap that didn't rotate, in about two minutes. Docking collars were spaced on opposite sides and the hand rails ninety degrees from the hatches. Behind the rails, wiring and pipe runs were bare without any decorative effort to hide the industrial clutter. Every couple meters a lighting module filled the inside with a bluish tinted glow. There were no view ports to let in sunlight.

  There was a sudden odd noise, loud even in his sealed suit, that dropped off quickly and a disorienting sensation Tommy didn't understand. The hand rail trembled under his grip not a neat ringing harmonic of a single tap but the rough grinding of something tearing. He abruptly started going the wrong way, the rail feeding out through his hand and the net bag coming back to impact on his chest. The immediate false sensation was that the tube was moving under him. One arm went around the bag and he clamped down with his hand until the glove squealed on the metal, but the rail just kept feeding through his hand although he was clamping on it as hard as he could.

  He threw both legs around it and came to a jarring halt when his ankles jammed hard into the next stanchion that held the rail off the mast wall. The off center bag spun him around against the wall, but he managed to get his elbow folded over the rail and held on to it. The sharp crack to his ankles smarted, but he could tell it was just a bruise not the sort of pain that signaled broken bones. Ignoring it he clipped a line on the bag, irritated with himself that he hadn't before and then got a foot up on the rail stand-off he'd slid against.