by R L Dean
What am I supposed to do? She asked herself. She could stop the lot of them here and now, but she was in the middle of hostile territory. In the end there would be no way for her to contain them and keep the weapons from being loaded onto the shuttle, and for the first time in her life she found herself in a political situation. What would happen if she forcibly detained the Lieutenant Governor of Mars? Or an Earth national standing on property she technically owned? These were the types of questions that someone else was supposed to ask and answer before they sent in a ground pounder like her.
As the scientists began moving the boxes to the airlock she made her decision. She would do what all good soldiers did when faced with a decision that was above their pay grade, she pulled out her handcomm and called her superior officer. The only problem was that it would be over an hour before she received a response.
36 - Tetsuya
The mining crew cared less about his fragile body than the courier pilots. Five hours ago Tetsuya left with the two man crew of a small gas miner assigned to harvest gases in the same region as Middleton. They agreed to take him in exchange for gossip, and since he was a detective he would know a lot of details. Now, strapped in the only other seat on the Flight deck of the Biscotti— wholly owned by the Biscotti brothers— he felt like they saw this as an opportunity to torture a cop.
Alan was the older brother, and the captain— as well as ship's mechanic. Cridal, the younger, was the pilot and chef. Tetsuya wasn't sure the latter title was an official position in the crew manifest, but apparently he had aspirations to become a chef and a semester of the culinary arts from a university on Earth, before he went into business with his brother. He promised to make something special for Tetsuya. His momma— who, incidentally was not Alan's momma— said you had to treat guests well. It showed good manners.
Blasting off the Landing Zone pad, Control had called the ship and gave them a warning about their speed. The two brothers laughed, even in the increasing g-force. In the cockpit, Cridal had a bottle of beer in a holder built into the arm of his seat. Illegal, considering their proximity to the base. But, he didn't appear to be aware of that particular law, and Tetsuya pretended not to notice the violation.
On a screen in front of the seat Tetsuya was strapped in Ganymede's frozen, gray landscape flew by. Less than ten minutes into the flight they received another call from Control— a warning that they were approaching a no-fly zone, and to alter course immediately. In the screen he saw the dark bulge of a crater wall approaching on the horizon.
The brothers laughed again.
When a buzzer sounded and the Flight deck was washed in a red-flashing light, Cridal yelled with enthusiasm and jerked the controls. As the Biscotti rolled away the underside of an Orion patrol ship slid by on the screen, and the forward section of another ship heading in their direction. He saw turrets, a sight he was very familiar with now.
Alan commented that the Orions were getting quicker. Two weeks ago they made it almost to the crater before being chased away, there were a lot of construction vehicles down there. They asked him if he knew what it was all about, and when he told them he didn't they seemed disappointed. Maybe it was linked to Strindberg's odd behavior, but his body was too beat up for him to dwell on the possibility.
They rode Ganymede's circumference and shot away toward Jupiter. Now, on Tetsuya's screen the striped planet floated in the black, taking up over eight percent of the view, and he endured the crushing high-thrust and hard-braking maneuvers by staring at it— as if he could see the Sadie skimming the cloudy surface. After days of reading the Pendleton file, watching video footage until the images were burned into his retina, and untwisting the mystery of Misaki's Houdinian ability to escape one ship and appear on another, he was so close to the answers to his questions.
The pressure on his chest let up and Cridal told him that they were lined out. Both of the brothers unstrapped from their seats and floated in the microgravity, stretching. Tetsuya's arm felt watery, but he managed to lift it and press the release on his own straps. He stayed in his seat, lightly floating as he pulled on one shoulder and twisted his back.
Floating in the center of the deck Alan clapped his hands together, and smiling he said, "Let's eat! And you can tell us what's happening on Butte."
Tetsuya didn't feel like eating, but he nodded, giving them a tight smile, and pulled himself up.
* * *
The Biscotti was ... old. That was the kindest word. As they sat at the table in the galley waiting while Cridal's hand-made pasta and meatballs Alan explained in detail how the ship used to belong to his grandfather. Apparently, it sat on a leased pad at Archimedes dome for over ten years before ending up in the brothers' hands. Tetsuya listened, but the majority of the story didn't stick. Cridal interrupted numerous times to clarify what his brother was telling him, which only made Tetsuya lose more of what was being said. The brothers got along well, they seemed to be the perfect crew, but it was obvious they liked having a trapped audience.
He hadn't realized that what his wife called real cooking could be done in microgravity, but Cridal used special pots and pans for his work. And there was a sort of metal-box stove welded to the bulkhead with a fuel tank on its side. Tetsuya hadn't realize what it was until Cridal opened it and he saw actual blue flames inside. He swallowed, watching the younger brother set the pan on the wire rack and fit clamps to it. When he closed the stove lid and turned back he said, "About ten minutes."
Alan, taking a breather from his own storytelling, asked about Butte.
Tetsuya didn't know where to start, Alan didn't seem to be asking for anything specific, just what was going on. This was a conversation Falk or George would be good at, they spent a lot of time on the terminal level watching and talking to people.
"Well, let's see," he started. "There's a rumor that Executive Manager Pollard is going to make an announcement about issuing permits and limiting docking time ..."
Cridal started nodding his head, up and down. "The Apex exec. See Alan, I told you!" Off to the side some of his culinary utensils were floating about head level. The courier pilots had locked down everything, including toilet paper. "Apex is always trying to milk the little guys, like us," he went on, oblivious to the hovering metal hazards. He turned to Tetsuya. "So how much they gonna charge us for this new permit?"
"Charge ... ?"
"Yeah," Alan said. "Cridal is right, there's always a charge."
Tetsuya nodded slowly. "I see. Well I don't ..."
"I bet it's another eight or ten percent," Cridal said.
The two brothers continued back and forth until the stove made a buzzing sound, then Cridal pulled a stack of empty mealboxes from a cabinet and scooped soy pasta and meatballs from the hot tray out of the oven into them. The spice and flavor was not what he was used to, and he was certain that the sauce was going to wreck his already knotting gut, but out of politeness he ate what was given to him.
Cridal was putting Tetsuya's empty mealbox in the disposal when an alarm sounded overhead. Alan checked his handcomm and smiled. "Scanners picked up your friend's transponder. Wanna take a look?"
Tetsuya's heart began to pick up and he suddenly felt heavy. Now what are you going to do, the little voice inside his head asked. He licked his lips and nodded.
37 - Ludwick
Ludwick sipped his beer through a straw and let himself float in the center of the cabin. His handcomm hung idly in front of his face and on the screen a UNSEC soldier with his face and name tag blurred out was sitting in a cushioned chair while a woman with big hair interviewed him.
"What, if anything, could have been done differently ..." The woman asked, seriously, then paused for effect. "... at Cydonia Depot?"
"We didn't know what we getting into," he told her, the remodulation in his voice giving it higher tones. "The Colonel didn't tell us that the terrorists had military grade explosives and assault armor."
"And you believe that it was this lack of that kn
owledge that caused the death of your fellow soldiers?"
The soldier broke down and started crying. "They were my friends ..."
"Not the crying ..." Ludwick muttered, grabbing the handcomm and flipping through the feeds, and promptly stopped on the Pope. The headline read 'Pope Comments on Possibility of Alien Life on Ganymede'. This should be good, he thought. As a kid his parents had made him attend church. Taking another sip of his beer he played the feed from the beginning.
Newscasters were seated in rows of chairs, facing the Pope standing at the front of the room behind a podium. He had his hat on, Ludwick liked the hat.
"Apex's media representative has now confirmed that Apex is excavating a spacecraft of unknown origins on Ganymede ..." The newscaster was off camera, so Ludwick couldn't see which one it was. "In light of this discovery, what is the first thing we should be looking for?"
The camera closed in on the Pope and he gave it a slight smile, as if to say this was all nonsense. "Given humanity's proclivity to self-destruct I would say finding the alien liquor, guns, and green women will be a priority."
Ludwick almost choked on his beer. He was still chuckling when the hatch buzzed. Ignoring it he flipped through a few more newsfeeds. It buzzed again ... then just opened. Bernice was floating in the passageway, frowning. She stared at him and he frowned back. Snorting she pulled herself inside the cabin.
"We're flipping in fifteen minutes. If you don't want to wind up as red paint for the bulkheads you're either going to have to start answering your handcomm or fix the PA."
Ludwick batted the handcomm out of the way and looked at the bulkhead ... or through it. "Would that be such a bad thing?" He muttered, then took another sip of beer.
Bernice grabbed the hair on the back of his head and yanked.
"Ahh!" He yelled.
She shook his head, jerking his whole body in the microgravity and he yelled louder. Knocking the beer from his hand she finally let go.
"It would be a mess to clean up, you idiot," she told him, her voice harsh. He was reminded that her temper contributed to their drifting apart all those years ago.
"What does it matter, Bernice?" He yelled at her, rubbing his head. "I'm a criminal now ... they made me a criminal." There were tremors in his chest, something deep down and he sucked in air. "I've got nothing now. I'm a nobody, with nothing." The strength was sapped from his voice. "This face isn't even mine."
He wiped his nose ... it wasn't even his nose!
"You know I hate helpless, whiny men!" She yelled back at him. Then, with a raised eyebrow and softer voice she said, "Besides, you got me. When Thomas and the girl get married, why don't we do it too, sometimes the minister will give you a discount on the price if you do it in groups." Now she smiled. "And that new face of yours is cuter than the old one."
"Bernice!" He yelled, incredulous.
She frowned, her eyebrows drawing together now. "I did you a favor, got you out of a tight spot, you could show some appreciation."
He blinked. "By marrying you?" The thought made him want to curl into a fetal position.
"You could do worse. And besides, I'm going on a diet."
Ludwick stared at her.
She rolled her eyes. "Never mind. Anyway, just get strapped in, they cleared a space for us, so we're flipping for docking."
38 - Alexandria
Efron lifted the shuttle smoothly from the floor of the crater. This would likely be the last time she and Kirkendorf were allowed at the site of the wreck. Once the UN Marshal entered the Jovian system, Efron, as the commander of the Orion security forces that she paid for, would be compelled to follow UNSEC orders. Which would include locking down the entire crater area— specifically from Apex and Vanguard personnel. Efron, conscience of that fact, spared no time in clearing the crater wall and pushing the shuttle's speed up enough that it pressed everyone back in their seats. For Alexandria the pressure brought back painful memories of being slammed around in the courier by the intense velocity.
The Lieutenant Governor was seated beside her and she was tempted to remind him that he had precious little time to get what they took from the wreck off the shuttle, and onto the courier and leave before the Marshal arrived, but he was as much aware of the time constraints as she was.
"I still don't understand why you're doing this," Jung said, not low, but aimed in her direction. She had been watching Ganymede's ice deserts and crater riddled surface go by through the window, now she turned to look at him.
"I told you," she replied. "Our goals are the same." From across the aisle the UNSEC sergeant was watching them. When she saw Alexandria's eyes shift to look at her more fully the other woman turned her head away to look forward at the bulkhead separating the passenger module from the pilot's cabin.
"I don't think that's the case," Jung said.
Alexandria turned to look back out the shuttle window, but replied, "Mars will benefit." Then lower, more to herself, she said, "We will all benefit."
Efron banked the shuttle and below she saw the cluster of lights that belonged to the refinery, a moment later the base's dome sped by and blinking red lights outlined the Landing Zone's perimeter. Efron banked again and slowed. They were literally going to move the crates of alien— or time traveler— artifacts to the courier by carrying them from the shuttle across the Landing Zone's pavement in vac-suits and deposit them in the little ship's cargo hold by an exterior hatch. If someone was watching from the terminal windows it would seem strange, but it was the quickest way, and Efron's people patrolling the area knew to ignore them.
As soon as the shuttle's feet touched down everyone unbuckled and clamped on their helmets. Alexandria wouldn't be helping, she had to tend to her plan B, and that meant a walk across the pavement to a maintenance hatch in the side of the terminal.
Kirkendorf was the first to cycle through the airlock, she waited her turn and he helped her down the steps to the pavement. He was going to send one of his men with her but she told him no, they would need the extra body. The hatch was almost sixty meters away, and the Security Chief pointed it out to her. There was a light over the top of it and bright orange numbers painted in the center of the hatch itself. She thanked him and headed out across the pavement.
Crossing open vacuum still made her nervous and she had a tendency to focus on the sound of her breathing. She did that now, but when she was perhaps halfway she stopped and turned back to the shuttle. Jung and his people, with the help of Kirkendorf's men, were pulling crates from the shuttle's cargo hatch. The one figure not moving, but watching, was the sergeant.
"Mister Jung," she said across a private channel. A moment later he answered.
"Yes?"
"What I've given you has the power to change two worlds," she told him. "You want freedom for Mars, I want freedom for Earth ... a better world for my son. Our goals are the same, and the only way we are going to accomplish them is to break Modi's hold over both planets."
He didn't reply, but a vac-suited figure by the shuttle that she thought was him turned and looked in her direction, then turned back to pick up one end of a crate and started walking to the courier.
Alexandria looked up at the black sky, before the nausea turned into a sticky ball in the pit of her stomach she thought she could sense the UNSEC fleet bearing down on Ganymede— bearing down on her. Modi scrambling to secure his kingdom before the Martians made off with silver bullets that would end everything ... before Alexandria changed two worlds. Off to her right that great ball of gas, Jupiter, watched with one stormy, bloodshot eye.
Swallowing back bile and with sweat now beading on her forehead she turned and continued to the hatch. As she crossed the last few meters of pavement the image of her mother came to mind ... and that perpetual disapproving stare. It was not proper for a lady to be in a vac-suit. That shrew was all about proper and right, and that was all the substance she was— had been. Everything her mother had Alexandria's father had given her— she had done nothing to des
erve it. She couldn't manage a kitchen without a bevy of maids. Alexandria could cook ... Alexandria was going to change everything. What her father had seen in the woman was beyond her. Ignoring those pursed lips and the now dead voice that began to rise in her memory she entered the access code on the hatch's control pad and it opened.
A Vanguard security officer was waiting on the other side of the airlock when she cycled through. He offered to help her out of the vac-suit but she waved him off and headed down the access corridor into the administrative wing of the terminal. Strindberg was standing in an unfinished section of the hallway that connected the wing to the base's administrative complex. She handed Alexandria a large tablet when she reached her. Out of breath, and her chest tight, she took it and continued on down the hallway.
Strindberg matched her pace. "We're starting to pick up individual drive signatures, and the Marshal has been messaging every ten minutes wanting confirmation that the crater is locked down."
"How long until they get here?" Alexandria asked.
"An hour, no more," Strindberg replied, and Alexandria knew it was accurate. Strindberg had been in flight operations in one form or another for the last ten years. Her management skills might be lacking, but her knowledge of the numbers in this particular area wasn't.
With several of Kirkendorf's men escorting them they reached the Command Center and Alexandria sent everyone out. Strindberg picked up a headset, slipped it on and fell into seat at a terminal. A moment later the main screen shifted to a feed from the comm satellite in geosynchronous orbit over the base.
"Where are my containers?" She asked, meaning the empty ore containers she had Kirkendorf's people load with artifacts from the wreck, in case the Martians didn't make it. Strindberg worked her terminal and the image changed on the screen to a plot of the Jovian system, with traffic data.
"All four of them have been picked up," Strindberg told her. "The red ones."