by Terry Mixon
They waited for the pressure to stabilize and then Ray brought the bar all the way up. Another icon appeared, but it wasn’t a dial. More like an on off switch.
“I’m going to mess with this some more,” Ray said. “What does it look like now?”
“The pressure is about good for sea level. The mixture is good, too. It’s warming up, but too cold to take off a helmet.”
“Don’t do that,” Jess said. “We need to give the air a lot more testing before any of us breathes it. What if it has biologicals in it? We don’t need any diseases.”
Ray moved back to the temperature monitor and saw that it was online. It must’ve activated with the air. With the two of them up, he found a way to drag the icons together and have both screens up at the same time.
“Score!” he said. “Let’s add the water.” Moments later, he had them all up.
He touched the icon and again saw an on off switch. “I’m going to flip a switch. Hang on.”
Ray flipped the switch and a whole array of indicators appeared. “Hello. What have we here?”
Jess saw over his shoulder that the top of the screen had three stick figures. One was the same as on the gravity screen, the second was taller and the lengths of the arms and legs were longer, and the third was short and squat. The normal one was lit.
The chief engineer reached out and touched the thin stick figure. The levels of the bars changed. Some went up, some went down. The gravity went down to what looked like sixty percent.
“Hello,” Rex said. “The gravity went down some. And the tech says the air pressure is dropping. The composition is changing, too.”
“Presets,” Jess said. “There are presets for humans and two others. Aliens?”
“Could be,” Ray said. “I’m trying the other one, Rex. This guy looks stout, so be careful of the weight change.”
He touched the squat figure and the gravity shot high. Maybe three Gs. The atmosphere became a lot thicker, too.
“Thanks for the warning,” Rex said. “That was quite a step.”
In the end, they had three separate settings that certainly looked as though they belonged to three separate sets of beings. The squat biped’s atmosphere was thick and high in oxygen, but breathable. Like an oxygen bar.
They brought the isolated section back over to human normal and let it sit for a while. It took almost an hour for the temperature to get to normal and for the teams they had in place to do what checks they could. As far as the lab could tell, there were no biologicals in the air. It should be safe.
They’d have to trust it at some point. Their bottled air wasn’t going to last forever. They could replace it with the mining gear, but that would take time and work. It would be better if the ship could take care of itself.
Next, Ray set out to bring the entire ship back up to pressure. That took longer, but at the end of the day, he was successful. They all stripped out of their suits and got to have some air that actually smelled natural.
Jess wasn’t sure how they’d managed that, but she’d take it. It would make searching the rest of the ship easier and speed the process. Freedom Express was back in business.
* * * * *
Josh Queen woke the next morning to some good news. The attorney general had decided that the space station sale had defrauded the government. The justice department was working with the SEC to void it. They’d have to take all due care, because Bennett would certainly contest everything in court.
Assuming they were ultimately successful, that left BenCorp on the hook for a lot of money, but Bennett wouldn’t be going it alone. The end buyer—Humanity Unlimited—would need to return the US government’s property. And if they didn’t, well, that would lead to other measures to enforce the seizure of stolen property.
Of course, the other nations that had been part of the ISS2 program complicated the ownership claim, but they could settle their differences later.
The false narrative that Clayton Rogers had sold everything he owned outside Humanity Unlimited to the Chinese was the first thing that Queen was going to see to. There was no way he’d allow that to stand.
He arrived at his office ten minutes late. His staff was already hard at work. His assistant—a woman named Gina Tanner—appeared at his side as he walked into his office.
“It seems Clayton Rogers is in Australia. He’s meeting with several high government officials and they’ve declared he has diplomatic immunity. I asked in case you wanted them to arrest him.”
“That would’ve been too easy,” Queen said with a sigh. “No, we’re going to have to work harder for this one. I had an early morning conversation with the attorney general. That spaceship is the property of the US Government. He’s going to start legal proceedings.
“I want you to make contact with our partners in the ISS2 program and make them aware of our position. Offer them money or other favors to get their transfer of title. Don’t take no for an answer.”
The former International partners wouldn’t stand up to the US on something like this. Besides, they’d receive two payments for the same property. They’d like that. It might almost make up for their original loss.
“There’s one other thing,” Gina said. “Someone from NASA has been calling since early this morning. He said he needed to speak with you about Liberty Station. He left his name and a call back number, if you want them.”
Queen took the proffered slip of paper. Doctor Paul Scott.
“I’ll see what he has to say. Keep me informed on the other items we discussed.”
He made his way into his office and logged into his computer. A quick check of the name told him that Doctor Scott was an astronomer at the Palomar Observatory. The number that had on file was the same as on the slip of paper.
What the hell. He dialed the number, expecting the man to have gone to bed hours ago.
“Hello.”
“Doctor Scott? Josh Queen here. I understand you were trying to reach me earlier.”
“Thank God. I was afraid that woman was telling me she’d pass my messages along and then trash them. I don’t know if you know who I am or what I do, but I’m involved with some research at the Palomar Observatory.”
“Of course, Doctor. I checked you out. Don’t keep me in suspense. What’s going on?”
“Were you aware that the spaceship they’re calling Liberty Station had matched course with an extinct comet?”
That sharpened Queen’s interest. “No. Tell me more.”
“It’s a long period body with a catalog number for a name. Completely uninteresting, except for the fact that it was between Earth and Mars on its outbound leg when they left Earth orbit. We don’t have firm data on it, but based on its current speed, it will make it all the way out past Pluto before it starts its way back in.”
“Okay. So they’re the first people to visit a dead comet. And this is important because?”
“The comet is gone. We’ve been peeking at the ship between scheduled observatory times on other projects. We’d wrap up one, move to take a look at the ship and comet, and then move on to the next scheduled sighting of whatever some university wanted to look at. We looked at them at 3:43 AM and the ship was decelerating. There was no sign of the comet.”
Queen tried to get his mind around what the man was saying. “Are you telling me they took the comet with them?”
“No. It’s far too large for that. Something close to a kilometer in diameter. Far bigger than that ship. What I’m saying is that the comet is no longer in its predicted orbit.”
The man said that last as though it was supposed to clear the whole matter up. Queen obviously needed a translator.
“Forgive me, Doctor Scott. It’s early and my mind isn’t snapping to what you’re saying. How could a comet that large just disappear?”
“That’s precisely the thing. It can’t. Not without changing course or speed. Something natural bodies do not do without exterior influence.”
Queen sat up as it sank
in. “They did something to the comet. They made it change course. They have a way to move large bodies like that around the solar system. That’s what you’re saying?”
“That or they blew it into pieces small enough that we’re not able to locate them. Perhaps if they drilled into the core of the comet and planted a nuclear device down there.”
The explosion theory sounded more likely. Queen couldn’t believe they had some other space drive that was even more effective than the one they’d built into the old ISS2. And that meant he’d been right to be afraid of what they were doing.
Clayton Rogers had weaponized his ship. He’d taken nukes into space despite all the treaties forbidding it. And he no doubt meant to hold it over their heads.
The job of stopping him just became critically important.
Chapter Twelve
Clayton was pleased with the work they’d done today. It was almost midnight, but they’d only just finished the last meeting. Rather than return to their hotel, he’d decided to spend the night in his new embassy building.
That afforded him the right to have heavily armed guards in attendance around the compound without the Australian government raising a fuss. In fact, their police patrolled outside the grounds in significant numbers, making certain that it wouldn’t be easy for anyone to slip inside.
He’d arranged for that by paying off duty officers to take officially sanctioned overtime work. And for funding direct pay to their department to cover for a number of additional officers to make up the difference.
Money well spent, if it kept some CIA kill squad out of his hair.
Some of Harry’s people provided interior security. They came with the highest of recommendations and Clayton made certain that they had everything they needed and more.
Men just like them were forming the core of Nauru’s new military forces. All trained in the very best schools that the US government could provide, back before they gutted the military. Nauru would never challenge a major power, but if they could make it painful enough, well, that would make certain people think twice before starting a fight.
The people of Nauru had volunteered in surprising numbers. It exposed his biases, he supposed. He was an American and he hadn’t expected the laid-back islanders to show such a martial spirit.
Yet, they’d come willing to learn and work. Not only for the military, but also for the nascent space program. He had plans to make the center of the island an even bigger commercial spaceport than the one he’d built in the Yucatan.
Rather than being made up of tapped out phosphorus mines, the island would now become a clearinghouse for valuable minerals mined in space. The tariffs on the import of his products were low, but it would fund not only the spaceport, but get these people back on their feet and into space.
Clayton hadn’t considered that before, but he knew it would happen. These men and women would venture into space and make their own claims one day. He’d see that they had the tools to make it happen.
Rather than be a mostly forgotten people languishing in poverty, they’d become the next generation of explorers. Seeking out the far corners of the solar system and making it their own. Good for them and good for him.
France had decided against buying Clayton’s military jets, so he’d sold them to the government of Nauru at cost. He’d also sold the production facilities to Humanity Unlimited, along with other critical infrastructure and intellectual property that he wasn’t going to give away.
They’d already moved the critical components and people to the island. The knowledge and skilled workers could be making new lifters for the spaceport in a very short time. And, perhaps spacecraft at some point.
Those jets now made for a very formidable air power. Other weapons systems that he manufactured formed a shore defense that could sink hostile ships, if need be. Anti-air guns and missiles would make attack by jet an unpleasant experience as well.
All under the watchful eyes of the Chinese patrolling the waters offshore.
His erstwhile allies would eventually decide he wasn’t worth the trouble. They’d most likely attempt to take him over themselves when it became worthwhile. They just didn’t know what he was doing, yet.
Once they realized he was mining in space and the value of the ores became clear, they’d make a move to clip his wings.
His job now was to balance potential foes against one another to protect himself and his people while he built infrastructure. Considering the flaws they all had, that shouldn’t be too difficult.
The Chinese owned the spaceport in Mexico, at least until the US forced the Mexican government to renege on the deal and pass ownership to them. That would happen, he was certain.
The US had scrapped all their facilities and would want to get people back into space as quickly as possible. They’d sold everything in Florida to commercial enterprises who’d then gone bankrupt. The gantries, buildings, and control centers had all collapsed over the last two decades. Or been cut up and sold for scrap. The people with the know-how had retired long ago or moved on to companies that appreciated their talents.
On their own, it would take the US a long while to build a modern spaceport. So, they’d steal one.
When he’d built the facility, he’d designed everything important so that he could destroy it easily, if he had to. Shaped charges hidden in all the critical areas. His security team would have ruined everything for any invader.
Clayton had told the Chinese all about those measures. His people had noted the Chinese technicians carefully removing the devices before they’d finished the handover. The Chinese seemed to feel they were safe from that sort of thing. It only went to prove there were idiots in every corner of the globe.
A rap at the door to his room drew his attention. It opened to reveal Miss Cash.
“He’s here.”
Clayton finished his drink and rose to his feet. “Excellent.”
Their late night guest was waiting for them in a small conference room. He stood and extended his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, President Rogers.”
It was interesting to note how his accent differed from Miss Cash’s New Zealand lilt. Clayton had been unaware there was some animosity between the two peoples until today. He’d seen how some people reacted to her and had had to rip a few heads off. Verbally, of course.
He’d need to inquire about the specific details at some point. For now, all that mattered was that everyone be professional. Of Miss Cash, he had no doubts. She’d proven herself thoroughly capable.
“The pleasure is mine, Mister Crabtree. Miss Cash tells me that you have some experience as a solicitor in marine salvage litigation.”
The man nodded as he resumed his seat. “Been doing it all my life. My father, too. We can trace our work history as a family all the way back to the Admiralty Courts. So, yeah. Me and my extended family are the best there is at this kind of thing.”
Clayton sat on the other side of the table with Miss Cash. He poured himself some water. “That’s excellent news. I’m afraid what I’m doing is going to put your encyclopedic knowledge to the test. We’re doing something that has never been done before.”
The man smiled, his expression doubtful. “We’ve done everything I can think of. You’d have to go pretty far out to find something that hasn’t been worked on by my family.”
Clayton nodded. “Very well. Miss Cash has paid your retainer and you’ve signed the non-disclosure agreements. Let’s cut right to the chase. You’ve no doubt heard that I have a spaceship on its way to Mars. Well, they found a non-terrestrial space vessel adrift up there and are engaged in salvaging it.”
The man had started to pour himself a glass of water and promptly spilled it on the table. He hastily set the pitcher down and grabbed a handy towel to start soaking up the mess. “Excuse me, but did you say non-terrestrial? As in alien?”
Clayton smiled. “I did, though it’s not certain what the providence is. There are human bodies on board, but our doctor i
ndicates they’ve been dead for about a thousand years.”
“I…see. And this has to do with marine salvage how?”
“This is where that new territory comes in,” Penny said. “Space is considered international waters by treaty and law. So, finding this ship is in many ways the same as finding an unknown ship at sea.”
The man slowly nodded. “I’ll have to put in the research time to verify that’s true, but let’s assume for the moment that it is. If you found an abandoned ship at sea, the law doesn’t allow you to claim outright ownership. That’s a myth.
“The courts will determine what amounts the true owner has to pay for saving the vessel. In cases where the true owner can’t be determined, it may be that the government of the owner may lay claim. That happens all the time with historical wrecks.
“And that’s not all. This sounds like a high-order salvage, but it has to meet several criteria. The property must be in peril, the salvagers must be rendering voluntary service, and you have to be successful in saving the vessel in whole or in part.”
Clayton nodded. “The research I’d already done hinted at that. Let’s discuss peril. Are we talking immediate danger of loss of the vessel?”
The solicitor shook his head. “Not at all, though the peril has to be real. It can be something that might take a while to happen.”
“The ship’s engines came on once our people boarded it. It might have been something they did, but they’re not sure. We evacuated almost everyone because it’s headed out where we can’t easily rescue them.
“In point of fact, it’s already crossed the orbit of Jupiter and is on the fast track to the very outer edge of the solar system with three dozen of my people on board trying to bring it to a halt before it’s lost forever. Along with themselves.”
“Well, I’d certainly say that counts as meeting the first two items. And, I suppose if they can’t get back with it, a salvage claim is a moot point, isn’t it?”