Earth Unaware

by Orson Scott Card

  “No,” said Lem. “I don’t want to send anything back ahead of us. Once we load the cargo bays, we’ll pull out.”

  The crew chief shrugged. “Seems a shame to leave the cloud when there’s so much metal here for the taking. We only have four cargo bays on the ship, and we’ll fill those easy. That’s quite a big load, to be sure. But using quickships, we could double that. That’s a lot of money we’re letting slip through our fingers.”

  “I appreciate your dedication to the company bottom line,” said Lem. “In any other circumstances, I’d agree with you. But I don’t want my father or the Board to know we have a full load. I’d like it to be a surprise when we arrive.”

  The crew chief winked. “Smart thinking, Mr. Jukes. Those suits will be surprised all right. They’ll probably give us all a hearty bonus when this is all over.”

  Lem knew the man was fishing, and he obliged. “If they don’t give us a bonus, I’ll give you one myself. You’ve done exceptionally well.”

  The man beamed. “Thank you, Mr. Jukes.”

  The man looked like he was going to speak further, but Lem didn’t give him the chance. He turned and flew away, heading back to the push tube. The Board would be surprised all right. And when Lem told them that their files had been compromised and that the schematics for the glaser were likely in the hands of free miners, or that the same free miners likely had incriminating video of a Juke vessel killing someone, video that would almost assuredly result in a public-relations nightmare of a lawsuit, they’d be much more than surprised.

  Lem could see the Board of Directors now. Fine mission, Lem. Well done. Too bad you killed a man and lost us billions of credits in R&D and the very future of this company. Too bad you made a jackass of yourself. Other than that little snafu we’d say the mission was a smashing success. We were warming up this seat here at the board table for you, but you see, we have a strict policy against idiots. We’ll have to give it to this spineless Ivy League bastard instead. So sorry. I’m sure you understand.

  Lem climbed into the tube and spoke the order for the helm, shooting away.

  These people have stained me, he told himself. These damn free miners have stained me. Thank you, Concepción Querales. Thank you for taking the last two years of my life and flushing them down the crapper. No, not just the last two years, but my whole life, everything I’ve worked for. This will cancel out all of my previous achievements. My reputation will be ruined. And not only that—now that he thought about it—but his fortune as well. The company wouldn’t just sue him, they’d take him for everything he was worth, which was no small sum. They’d tag the whole ordeal as gross negligence and roast him alive. And Father wouldn’t do anything to stop it. He’d turn a blind eye. He’d chalk it up as another of Lem’s “life lessons.” You got yourself into this mess, Lem. You can get yourself out.

  No, he was going to correct this. The Board would never know. By the time they reached Luna, all would be resolved. The free miners might be beyond their reach at the moment, but he was certain there was a solution, even if he had no idea at the moment what it might be.

  He reached the helm and pulled Chubs aside into one the conference rooms. Chubs floated near the entrance, but Lem felt like walking. He turned on his greaves and vambraces and paced back and forth in front of the window, beyond which was the murky dust cloud and the dotted black of space.

  “We have a situation,” said Lem. “One that I would prefer to keep very quiet.”

  “All right,” said Chubs.

  “When we bumped the free miners, there were three men on the hull. One of them was struck with one of the sensors we cut away.”

  “I remember,” said Chubs. “It looked ugly.”

  “Yes, well, ugly is putting it mildly. The man is dead. We killed him.” Lem put a little emphasis on the word “we,” hoping to spread the blame around.

  Chubs furrowed his brow. “How can you possibly know that?”

  Lem told him about the message from Concepción.

  Chubs whistled. “Podolski know about this?”

  “I called him to my room, and he checked the system. You ready for the fun part? They downloaded us. Not only did they hack us and leave us a lovely little message, but they also took our files. Everything.”

  Chubs swore under his breath. “Are we sure about this? Podolski confirmed?”

  “They used a snifferstick. They poked their little noses in here without us knowing it and they copied us clean. Podolski showed me on the records. They duped us.”

  Chubs swore again. “Not good, Lem.”

  “No, not good. Schematics of the glaser. All of our research. The engineers’ journals. And my favorite part: all the video of the bump.”

  Chubs stopped rubbing his eyes and looked up at Lem.

  “Yes,” said Lem. “They have video of us killing one of their crew. Do you know what the press would do with that? What the courts would do with that?”

  “It was an accident,” said Chubs. “We weren’t aiming for the guy. We didn’t even know he was out there.”

  “Prosecutors won’t care,” said Lem. “Besides, it doesn’t look that way in the video. I reviewed it myself. In slow motion. It looks like we were gunning for him. They’ll call it incontestable. And when they do, corporate will cut us off at the knees. They’ll sue us as well. If we don’t do something about this, you and me and everyone on this ship is malja. Toast. Game over.”

  “They stole from us,” said Chubs. “That has to account for something. They stole corporate secrets.”

  “That will win us no sympathy. You think people will shed tears for the largest, wealthiest corporation in the world? Oh boo-hoo. Poor Juke Limited. Those fat, greedy corporate executives will only get a hundred billion credits on their yearly bonus this year instead of a hundred and twenty. What a shame. No. No one will care. The media would have a field day with this. The poor and middle class will dance in the streets. They eat this stuff up. They can’t be happy until everyone else is brought down to their level.”

  “We can fix this,” said Chubs.

  “How? We can’t track them. I already asked the navigator. They’re long gone. We could go looking for them, but there’s no guarantee we’d find them. We probably wouldn’t.”

  “We don’t have to find them,” said Chubs. “We just have to know where they’re going and be there first, waiting for them when they arrive.”

  “We don’t know where they’re going,” said Lem. “I told you. They didn’t exactly leave a forwarding address.”

  “But we do know where they’ll go eventually,” said Chubs. “Weigh Station Four is the only outpost this far out. All the families and clans go there for supplies. El Cavador headed out into the Deep, so they obviously don’t yet know what’s in our files. As soon as they figure out what they have, they’ll rush to Weigh Station Four and try to sell the schematics on the black market. That’s the only place even remotely close to here where they can do that.”

  “They could head back into the inner system,” said Lem. “Maybe they won’t go to Weigh Station Four. Maybe they’ll think they’ll get a better price closer to home.”

  Chubs shook his head. “Not families. You have to know how these people think. They don’t take risks like that. Most of them came out to the Deep to get away from trouble. When they try to sell, they’ll use a reliable source, someone they trust, someone they use often. That’s more important to them than getting a better price. They wouldn’t fly down to Mars or the Asteroid Belt. A, it’s too far, and B, they’d want to stay as far away from corporates as possible. They took something of ours, and they know we’ll want it back. Believe me, they’ll play it safe. Weigh Station Four is where they’ll go.”

  “Fine. But how will we recover the data?”

  “The same way they took it from us. We’ll hack their ship and steal it back. And maybe erase their servers in the process, just to be certain.”

  “They could have moved the data onto a mobil
e device, a portable drive or something.”

  Chubs shook his head. “Families use handhelds. Old models. If they want to port the information, they’d use those. But the handhelds are rooted to the ship’s main servers. When we wipe the servers, we wipe the handhelds, too.”

  “It’s not flawless,” said Lem. “They still could have the data stored somewhere else.”

  “Maybe,” said Chubs, “but I doubt it. We’ll never be one hundred percent sure. Hitting their servers is as close as we can get.”

  Lem considered this a moment then realized a snag. “It won’t work,” he said. “If we go to Weigh Station Four, they’ll see us. They’ll see the ship. It’s not a very big outpost. They’ll know we’re waiting for them. They’ll turn tail and run.”

  “They won’t see us,” said Chubs, “because our ship won’t be there. By the time El Cavador arrives, we’ll be heading back to Luna.”

  “Then how will we wipe their system?”

  “We’ll leave Podolski. He’s the only one of us that can do this anyway. We drop him off at Weigh Station Four and have him stay there until El Cavador shows up, which, after all, could take months. We can’t hang around that long without arousing a lot of suspicion anyway. But Podolski and a few security guys can blend in. We’ll even dress them up as free miners so they don’t draw attention to themselves. El Cavador arrives. Podolski swipes them. Then he and the security team hop on the next freighter to Luna. Simple.”

  “Podolski will never go for this,” said Lem. “We’re essentially banishing him to a dump outpost. He’d make a stink about this with corporate.”

  “No. He won’t,” said Chubs. “All we have to do is convince him that this whole thing is completely and utterly his fault. He’s not doing us a favor. We’re doing him a favor.”

  * * *

  They brought Podolski into the conference room and had him stand at the end of the holotable. Lem put on a grave, disappointed face while Chubs stood over in the corner, arms folded across his chest, scowling, playing bad cop. The idea was to unsettle Podolski immediately, and Lem could see by the man’s expression that it was working.

  “I’ve just informed Chubs here of our dilemma,” said Lem. “I’ve tried to keep this quiet for as long as I can for your sake, Podolski, but I can’t put it off forever. We need to address this issue.”

  Podolski shifted his feet, uncomfortable. “Issue, sir?”

  “Don’t act like you don’t know what we’re talking about,” said Chubs. “El Cavador swiped our files on your watch. This was supposed to be the tightest firewall in the solar system, and a bunch of ignorant gravel suckers waltzed in here and cleaned us out. You screwed us, Podolski, and I’ll be damned if I take any heat for your mistake.”

  Lem thought Chubs was laying it on rather thick, pointing and nearly shouting and even turning red with anger, which Lem found particularly impressive—a man who could do that on command belonged on the stage. But it seemed to be working. Podolski recoiled a step and held up his hands, palms out, in a gesture of surrender.

  “Wait. Hold on a minute. You can’t peg this thing on me.”

  “We can’t?” said Chubs. “Then who’s responsible? The cooks? Janitorial? Or maybe you think Mr. Jukes here is to blame. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “No, no, of course not,” said Podolski.

  “The firewall is your territory,” said Chubs. “That’s what this company pays you for. It’s your job to keep this ship as tight as a drum. Perhaps you’ve forgotten what we’re carrying on this vessel. Maybe it simply slipped your mind that the schematics and notes and research for the gravity laser, the most expensive prototype of any tech this company has ever developed, I might add, is on our servers. Did you forget that, Podolski?”

  “No, sir.”

  “You didn’t?” said Chubs, feigning surprise. “Well, that’s astonishing. That boggles my mind. Because I can’t fathom why anyone would allow a group of uneducated free miners to steal that information from us, knowing how valuable it is.”

  “I don’t know how it happened,” said Podolski. “Nobody’s cracked us before. We’re impenetrable.”

  “You see?” said Chubs, turning to Lem. “Listen to him. ‘We’re impenetrable.’ He’s not even admitting it happened. He’s in denial. He’s not going to do anything about it. We have to go to your father, Lem. Ukko needs to hear about this personally. The Board as well. Podolski isn’t going to fix it.”

  Lem moved to Chubs and began speaking in hushed tones, though just loud enough for Podolski to hear. “We can’t go to my father,” said Lem. “He has zero tolerance for mistakes like this. Especially when there’s this much money and company resources invested. He’d string Podolski up. He would ruin him. Maybe even sue him. Podolski can’t afford that.”

  “We don’t have a choice,” said Chubs.

  “Wait,” said Podolski. “I’m not the only one who wrote the security measures, you know. I helped, yeah, but there are over two hundred coders on Luna working on this stuff. I can’t be the fall guy here. This wasn’t my fault.”

  Chubs looked at him with contempt. “Yes, Podolski, we’ll tell that to Ukko Jukes. We’ll explain to him that the man at the controls can’t be blamed. He’s innocent. Did he even notice the attack take place? No, he had to wait for someone to point it out to him. Did he do anything afterward to rectify the situation? No, he twiddled his thumbs. I’m sure Mr. Ukko Jukes will be pacified by that argument and absolve you of any and all blame.”

  Podolski considered this. “All right. There’s no need to go to Ukko. I can fix this. Honest. Please. Give me a chance on this.”

  “What could you do?” asked Lem.

  “Get me close to El Cavador and I’ll hack them back. It would be easy. Free-miner security is a joke. I could get in and wipe their system without them even knowing I was there.”

  Lem visibly relaxed, smiling, and turned to Chubs. “There. Satisfied? I told you Podolski would own up. Problem solved.”

  “It’s not that easy,” said Chubs, shaking his head. “We don’t know where El Cavador is. We can’t track them.”

  Lem frowned, all hope vanishing. “Right. That is a problem, yes.” He sighed. “Then there’s nothing to be done.”

  Podolski seemed desperate. “Maybe we could ask around, hit up some of the other clans or families for information. Someone has to know where they are.”

  Chubs looked painfully amused. “You think free miners are going to offer up any intel to corporates? They hate us. They’d never sell out one of their own. And whom would we ask anyway? There’s no one close.”

  Lem brightened, as if the idea had just struck him. “Weigh Station Four. El Cavador will need supplies. We’ll go there and wait them out.”

  “They’d see the ship,” said Chubs. “They wouldn’t stop. It wouldn’t work.”

  “Drop me off,” said Podolski. “Let me stay there, while you go off a ways. I’ll clean their system, they leave, I call you back, you pick me up.”

  Chubs shook his head. “Ships like theirs have incredible sky scanners. They’d see us from way out. The only way that would work is if El Cavador believed we were heading back to Luna.”

  Podolski paused, staring down at the holotable, his face taut with tension. Finally he looked up. “Then that’s what we do. You drop me off at Weigh Station Four with some gear and money. Then you head back to Luna. I wait them out, clean their system, then buy passage back on a freighter.”

  Lem and Chubs looked at one another.

  “You know,” said Chubs, “that just might work.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Pod

  Concepción stood at the holotable at the helm, watching one of the PKs cut through the wreckage of the Italian ship. The miners outside were sending her live video to the holospace in front of her. Everyone who worked at the helm was gathered around Concepción, their faces taut with worry. For her part, Concepción did her best to appear poised and in command, though inside she fel
t tense and helpless. Whittling down the wreckage with a laser was taking an incredible risk. If the wreckage were to shift or rotate unexpectedly while they were cutting, even only slightly, the laser might cut into the room where the survivors were waiting, breaching the airtight walls and killing everyone inside within moments.

  Concepción shuddered at the thought. It would be a cruel death, made all the more horrible because the people trapped inside now believed they were being rescued. Right as we fill their hearts with hope, we screw up and give them a death more terrible and traumatic than what they would have suffered had we never come along.

  But no, the wreckage wouldn’t shift, she told herself. The miners were taking every precaution. They had set up mooring cables and two long pylons that extended from El Cavador out to the wreckage, holding the wreckage in place and preventing it from drifting into the ship. It was a precarious procedure, yes, but they were doing everything they could to protect those inside.

  The laser finished a cut, and the severed section of wreckage broke free and drifted away. There was an audible sigh of relief from the crew, and a few of them even applauded and embraced one another. Concepción remained still and unresponsive. The job was nowhere close to being finished, and she had learned through sad experience never to celebrate prematurely. They were not out of danger yet. Whatever had done this to the Italians was still out there.

  The laser beam stopped cutting. The miners turned on the winches and pulled on the mooring cables, rotating the wreckage into a different position in preparation for a second cut. Since the wreckage was unstable and had lifelines attached and people inside, the miners didn’t rush the process. They rotated the wreckage slowly, being careful not to jerk any of the lines. It made Concepción realize how tedious and lengthy a process this would be: cutting and rotating and cutting and rotating until they had whittled down the structure small enough to fit inside the airlock.