The Galapagos Incident: A Science Fiction Thriller (The Solarian War Saga Book 1)

by Felix R. Savage

“A flash. That must have been him!”

  If there had been a flash, it had been so tiny Elfrida hadn’t noticed it. Father Hirayanagi stared at the screen as if he might be able to see Yonezawa’s coffin falling deeper into the Cytherean atmosphere. But Elfrida knew that he couldn’t really have seen the coffin. More likely, it had been an asteroid. The impacts were still coming. The asteroid capture pipeline was years long, and couldn’t be stopped. In fact, a near-collision with Botticelli Station was the reason the mass driver scheme had failed first time around.

  “Requiescat in pace,” Father Hirayanagi murmured.

  “That wasn’t him,” Elfrida said. “We sent the coffin the other way, remember? Unscheduled impacts aren’t authorized, even for something that small. So he’ll probably never fall into the atmosphere, but just keep spinning around up here forever. That’s why they call it a graveyard orbit.”

  She had tears in her eyes. She leaned back in her harness, trying to will them back into her tear ducts.

  “What’s wrong, my daughter?” Father Hirayanagi said.

  “I ate him!” she whispered fiercely. “My suit told me how to harvest his proteins and water. And I wanted to stay alive, so I did what it said. Dog, those Star Force suits are smart. It probably could have given me highlights and a blow-dry if I wanted. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  She sneaked a glance at Father Hirayanagi, hoping for forgiveness.

  Her hopes were dashed. His face had turned to stone. “That is a grave sin.”

  “I didn’t want to do it!” That was the understatement of the year. “I literally threw up. I had puke stuck to the inside of my helmet until I was rescued. But I had to get over that. I had to survive. I had no choice.”

  “Repent.”

  Elfrida clenched her fists. How dare he tell her she had done wrong? Her own conscience was telling her the same thing. But she turned her face to the screen, trying to block it out with the sight of Venus.

  “We are commanded to bury the dead. Not to eat them. Human dignity matters more than survival. Please reflect: it's not only Jun’s dignity you've injured, it is your own.”

  “So I’m a terrible person.”

  “I didn’t say that. I said you must repent. You’ve already confessed. Now repent, and your sins will be forgiven.”

  Elfrida shook her head. She could not bring herself to submit to his judgment. Everyone else had praised her for doing what it took to survive, and they couldn't all be wrong. Could they?

  She spent the rest of their trip back up to the Can fighting tears.

  And when she got there, she took her anger and grief and went to have that chat with dos Santos.

  xxx.

  “Sir, please let me see her.”

  Elfrida had encountered an obstacle in the form of Captain Okoli.

  “What for, Goto? She’s in a lot of pain. She needs to rest.”

  “But I haven’t seen her since I got back. It’s been days. I just need to talk to her.”

  Captain Okoli was busy. The screens at his workstation coruscated with vector and thrust simulations. On the far side of the bridge, the Kharbage Can’s Superlifter pilots waited impatiently for him. Elfrida had interrupted them in the middle of something. Captain Okoli eyed her with irritation, which abruptly softened into a grin.

  “Oh, those eyes, Goto. All right. Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments … not even legal ones.”

  “So it’s true, sir? She’s under arrest?”

  Captain Okoli wiggled a hand, just as Petruzzelli had done on the plains of Kepler-186f. “Go on. I’ll even disable the cameras in Windsor’s cabin while you’re in there. Wink.”

  Elfrida managed a smile. Captain Okoli had misinterpreted her anxiety. But he was welcome to think that she was pining for dos Santos, if it got her into that cabin.

  “He was just messing with you,” dos Santos said. “There aren’t any cameras in here. Windsor’s descended from royalty; at least, he thinks he is. He has his pride.”

  Dos Santos glanced disdainfully around the cabin, which was a bijou hideaway, at odds with Richard Windsor’s slobby personal appearance. A tiny chandelier hung from the ceiling. Fake hunting trophies ornamented the walls.

  Dos Santos’s gaze settled at last on the bag in Elfrida’s hand. “Is that what I think it is?”

  Elfrida nodded. She took out Yumiko’s head. She felt silly carrying it around, but it was a kind of security blanket. It reminded her that she had won. Survival was winning. Whatever dos Santos might do or say to her, it couldn’t compare to what she’d already been through.

  “How did you stay alive out there, Goto? I never got a chance to ask.”

  Elfrida nodded, robotically. Of course they had to start here, where it had ended. “I used locally available resources. I dismantled the phavatar and utilized its onboard mobility functionality to retard and redirect the trajectory of the fragment that I was stuck on. I knew that if I drifted too far from the location where the incident occurred, any rescuers wouldn’t be able to find me. So I returned to the coordinates of the former asteroid 11073 Galapagos, which took approximately two sols. Then I … waited.”

  She had lapsed into the formal language of the debrief, which concealed more than it revealed. She looked down at Yumiko’s head, remembering how she’d oscillated between hope and despair, how intensely alone she had felt.

  “When I ran out of water and edibles, I relied on my suit’s recycling functionality. There was a corpse on the same fragment where I was stranded, and I harvested water and proteins from that.”

  Dos Santos’s eyes widened. “That’s hardcore, Goto.”

  Elfrida shrugged.

  “Well done.”

  Elfrida swallowed bile. She looked down again at Yumiko’s head, which sat beside her on a tapestry-upholstered corner sofa. Dos Santos was reclining stiffly in her cast on Windsor’s double-wide bunk.

  “Eventually Captain Nikolopoulos came and found me. He said that he deployed about a zillion sprites throughout the volume, programmed to ping everything remotely warm.”

  “We looked for you before we left the volume. We sent a drone.”

  “I’m not blaming you, ma’am. I’m not faulting your decision to go in, either. After all, we successfully retrieved the survey data.” Elfrida patted Yumiko’s head.

  “So I see,” dos Santos said, with a minute grimace. If she hadn’t been in a cast from the neck down, Elfrida thought, she’d have shuddered.

  And what else did you recover? The question hung between them, unasked.

  “It’s kind of ironic, huh, ma’am?” Elfrida kept petting the head’s shiny hair, as if it were a cat. “I mean, the way things have turned out, we don’t even need the survey data. Now that Dr. Hasselblatter’s the toast of the solar system, nobody cares if he ignored UNVRP purchasing requirements.”

  Silence fell. Elfrida waited, quite calmly, for dos Santos to break. She knew that she was being cruel to dos Santos, and was surprised to discover herself capable of it. The destruction of 11073 Galapagos had changed her, too.

  “But we saved those colonists,” dos Santos said. “In the end, that’s what matters. That’s the mission of the Space Corps, after all: to protect and support humanity in space.”

  “Yeah, ma’am. That’s our mission.”

  The severed end of the phavatar’s neck was a cross-section of plastisteel spine and innumerable fiberwires. All these components were snuggled in a baby-blue gel, which was dribbling out, bit by bit. Elfrida pinched out a bit and rolled it between her fingers. “I guess it was the least we could do, huh?” she said. “Since it was our fault the PLAN targeted them in the first place.”

  Dos Santos’s gaze snapped from her lap to her face. “It was what?”

  “Our fault. That leak? Came from the Space Corps.”

  Dos Santos flicked out a smile like a knife. “That’s not what New York thinks. In fact, this is strictly confidential, but it’s starting to look like the leak came f
rom Kharbage LLC. What do you know, Goto? You were right all along.”

  “Who thinks the leak came from Kharbage LLC?”

  “That’s confidential.”

  “Well, is there going to be an official investigation?”

  “No, but—”

  “In that case, with all due respect, ma’am, it’s just speculation. But I’ve got something better than speculation. Right here.”

  Suddenly, Elfrida wanted to get this over with. She stood up. Swinging the head by its hair, she went over to Windsor’s display screen, which was set in a gilt frame like an old painting. She now had access to the Can’s hub through her contacts, limited but sufficient to accomplish the simple task of instructing the screen to display a file she had created on board the Pearl Jam and stored on Botticelli Station’s still-functioning server.

  A starmap appeared on the screen. She tapped it, zooming in on a region of the Belt that included Gap 2.5.

  A red line shaped like a warped Z angled in from one side of the screen.

  “What’s that?” dos Santos said, her voice as still as her immobilized body.

  “It’s the ID search you asked me to run on the Cheap Trick. I ran it again while I was on the Pearl Jam.” Elfrida pointed to the last junction of the Z. “This is a dark pool owned by a shell company incorporated in Sierra Leone, whose biggest shareholder is another shell company owned by … yeah, well, a bunch of known players in electroceuticals, black tech, and people-trafficking. I won’t bore you with the details. All that matters right now is that their information security isn’t as great as they think it is. And our guy is one of their clients.”

  “Our guy?”

  “I’m coming to him.”

  Elfrida tapped the end of the Z.

  “This is an asteroid, or maybe a family of asteroids, known as 99984 Ravilious. We couldn’t find out anything about it, except that it’s been generating some really heavy signal traffic in the last few years.”

  She turned to face dos Santos. The other woman’s head lay motionless on her pillow. Her face gave nothing away.

  “There’s someone out there on 99984 Ravilious. Or something. And that’s our guy. The ID you gave me is only one of thousands that he, she, they, or it uses. In fact, the ID you had was a throwaway: it went out of service while we were running this search. Pop, gone. So then Captain Nikolopoulos called some people—”

  “Who?”

  “Oh, I think people he knows in Star Force. They analyzed the last six months of signals addressed to that ID …”

  “They can do that?”

  “I guess so. Oh, I don’t think they can actually read the signals without permission from a judge, or something.”

  “They should have to have a warrant even to get the traffic history from the servers. I don’t think it was friends in Star Force who did this for Captain Nikolopoulos, Goto. I think he called someone in the ISA.”

  The Information Security Agency (ISA) was the secretive UN agency that managed internet communications standards and encryption protocols—a narrow remit that it had transformed over the decades, if rumor could be believed, into a practically limitless watching brief. Elfrida’s mother used to wear a broad-brimmed hat whenever she went out, joking that it would make the ISA’s job a bit harder.

  If dos Santos had thrown the ISA’s name out there to scare Elfrida, she had succeeded. But Elfrida ploughed on. “Anyway,” she said, “It was interesting what they found. I mean, on the surface of it, it didn’t look like an interesting result. But in combination with the data we got from this—” a swing of Yumiko’s head— it points to a really kind of shocking conclusion.”

  “Stop it.” Dos Santos tried to sit up. Unable to flex her spine, she went red in the face and pushed herself up with her elbows, this time achieving a few centimeters of elevation. “Just stop it, Goto. You’re toying with me. Pack up your little presentation. I’ll tell you what you found out.”

  She lay panting in the bulky cast. Chrome-hued plastic printed to fit the contours of her body, jigsawed with white seams where the segments had been nanospliced together, it made her look like a robot with a human face. The Kharbage Can coverall she wore added to the grotesque illusion. Elfrida shuddered. Initiative lost, she wanted to sit down, but didn’t want to look weak.

  “You found that none of the incoming signals to that ID were encrypted. Am I correct?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “It didn’t look like an interesting result, as you say. But if you further analyze the source of those signals, you find that several of them came from 11073 Galapagos. In fact, they were sent by Yumiko.”

  “Y-yes, ma’am.”

  “Which is where it starts to look very interesting. And if you recovered Yumiko’s comms logs, then you found the corresponding call records, and you were able to confirm the content of those signals.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Anger came to Elfrida’s aid. “Once per sol, all the time she was on 11073 Galapagos, this dumb phavatar was updating that ID on the asteroid. She sent them all the information she could vacuum up. Including all our survey data. In clear.”

  Elfrida swung the head around so she could see its face. Rage filled her at the thought of what this smart-stupid machine had done. And it had had the nerve to call her a dumbshit, a zoo monkey …

  “I thought you were taking orders from someone else, but it was the other way around,” she told the head. “You were leaking information to someone else. You told 99984 Ravilious all about the Galapajin. In clear. And of course the PLAN was eavesdropping.”

  Dos Santos’s voice brought her back to the present. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t know, Goto. While I was operating Yumiko, I had a look at her comms logs. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together.”

  Elfrida gaped, stunned by this casual admission. So dos Santos had known for a while that Yumiko was the leaker, and yet she’d tried to pin it on Kharbage LLC!

  “You should have let me deal with it. There was no need to involve the ISA.”

  “Have I involved the ISA, ma’am? Is that why you’re under arrest?”

  “Technically, I’m not under arrest yet. That will change when the ISA gets here. I’m told they’re sending agents to, quote unquote, question me on the ship that will evacuate the rest of the Galapajin.”

  Elfrida was shaken by the thought of dos Santos being arrested by the ISA.

  Especially if it were for something she hadn’t done.

  “I guess they’re curious about 99984 Ravilious,” Dos Santos said. “The trouble is, I don’t know anything about it.” Her voice got shriller, emotional. “I didn’t even know where that unknown ID redirected to, until you told me just now. And had I known, I would have made sure to tell them to take elementary precautions, such as encrypting those damn updates!”

  Dos Santos’s sincerity felt like a slap in Elfrida’s face. If dos Santos was telling the truth, she was about to take the fall for an unknown third party.

  The gold-framed screen flickered, drawing their gazes. Since Elfrida hadn’t touched it in a while, it had reverted to Richard Windsor’s screensaver: the Can’s autofeed of Venus. Stately, cloud-veiled, the giant jellybean hung serenely in the darkness. It was the same sight that had comforted and inspired Elfrida during her lonely hours in the ruin of St. Peter’s.

  But now specks traversed it. Ships.

  “That damn planet,” dos Santos said. “We’ll never succeed in terraforming it. There are so many holes in the computer models, you wouldn’t believe. The Venus Project is a boondoggle, Goto. It’s a massive, long-running scam designed to put money in the pockets of assholes like our gracious hosts.”

  This vitriol was understandable, Elfrida thought, given the position dos Santos was now in. “Those ships; is that the ISA?”

  “No, dummy, the ISA is hitching a ride on the Kiko. Those are Martin’s Superlifters.” Dos Santos turned her head, the only part of her she could move, so she wouldn’t have to look at the screen.
“Don’t you want to watch IRL? Everyone else is.”

  “Watch what?”

  “Sigh. Well, you were floating in space for a week, so I guess you have an excuse for being out of the loop. Those Superlifters? Are on their way to salvage Botticelli Station. Third time lucky, maybe.”

  “No way! Wow! I thought they’d given up.” Elfrida pressed her nose to the screen as if it were a window. It was too small, the resolution too poor, to see what was happening.

  “I think everyone’s out in the cargo bays,” dos Santos said. “But you could probably see better on the big screen in the lounge.”

  Elfrida headed for the door. Halfway there, she stopped. “Ma’am …”

  “I know, I know, we’re not finished. You have more questions. I don’t know if I’ll be able to answer them, but I’ll try. Go on.” Wryly, dos Santos added, “I’ll be here.”

  xxxi.

  Still unsure that she should have left dos Santos, Elfrida joined a crowd of other EVA-suited people in Cargo Bay No. 2. She just couldn’t pass up the chance to watch the rescue attempt. And she was far from alone in that. As dos Santos had said, everyone was out here, the crew of the Kharbage Can as well as the refugees from Botticelli Station.

  They could have just watched the feed in the lounge, of course, but with the media hyping the event, they had all sheepishly found some excuse to spectate IRL.

  There wasn’t any floor or wall space left to grip onto. Elfrida tethered herself and floated with the other latecomers in the middle of the bay.

  “Try Cydney Blaisze’s feed,” Petruzzelli advised her via suit-to-suit radio. “She’s got the best vid.”

  Taking the suggestion, Elfrida got a momentary, disorienting glimpse of the crowd in Cargo Bay No. 2, including the back of her own borrowed EVA suit. One of her colleagues must have sold the feed from his or her helmet cam to Cydney Blaisze, an up-and-coming news curator. They had probably done that because they feared they would soon be out of a job.

  The anonymous vidder had a better view than she did, closer to the mouth of the bay. Elfrida saw that Cargo Bay No. 1 was occupied by a ship, but not one of the Superlifters. That squared-off radome belonged to a Steelmule, a larger tug. It must have been dropped off by the Kharbage Dump.