by Rolf Nelson
Helton: How long to the refugee center?
Cooper: An hour minimum, if nothing goes wrong. And if we are being set up-
Bipasha: Fly low, keep the aft ramp down.
Helton: Piled with beans, remember? Besides, if we are low enough to not freeze or depressurize them, we’re an easy target for ground fire. We don’t know what they have or where it is. At that altitude we’ll have to go slow, so it’ll take closer to twelve hours. That solves the air problem, assuming we don’t get one good hit that makes us all dead, but then we have water and sanitation problems. Packed that tight they’ll just have to sweat, shit, stay thirsty and hungry where they stand. Many are already in rough shape, so a riot and crush is likely. Medical problems will just have to suck it up and stand there, might get us targeted as profiteering war-criminals even if we don’t get shot.
Bipasha looks aghast, Lag nods agreement.
Cooper: Isn’t this thing armored?
Helton: With the cargo doors open it may not do a lot of good. It’s great armor, but I’m not betting my life on it against heavy ground fire if I don’t have to. Impact from a ship is one thing, high explosives and hardened penetrators are another.
Bipasha: Why not 1500?
Lag: Still have to go low and slow, or high and fast and just let ‘em pass out. They’ll be stacked like dropped toys, half could get crushed and suffocate on the bottom of the heap anyway, especially if we try to take more women, children, or injured.
Cooper: Oh, fer fuck’s sake, how about a thousand, and make several fast trips?
Helton: If we have been set up every trip increases our chance of being shot. You saw what they did to Trask’s flier.
Bipasha: So we might have to just leave most of them standing?
Lag: Yes… And we can’t tell the last one in line that we’re coming back or we raise the risks even higher as word spreads. When Helton or I say ‘lift’, we go right then. No countdown or warning. The drives are still hot, right?
Cooper nods affirmative.
Helton: Back to square one; how many, and what course?
Lag: If we knew who and why…
Helton: Piss anyone off lately?
Lag: Lately? (Snort) You?
Helton: Right. Dumb question. So, who gains from a refugee problem and us dying so much they’d pay us to come?
Bipasha: We only get paid on return.
Lag: A politician might use it to push an agenda. Hmmmm…
Bipasha: Seymore and Darch Industries handle most of the local transport contracts-
Lag: And Councilman Darch just lost a son-
Bipasha: So getting us killed in revenge, he doesn’t pay out and it jacks up the rates, and takes a cut through insuring the ships he knows won’t get shot. Packed full it would make for huge news. People would demand that they do something. Revenge, political leverage, and profits. So, now what?
Lag: The contract was quite specific on the refugee center. Take the non-obvious approach to get there. He can’t set an ambush on every route; likely try to hit us soon after lifting here, expecting us to head directly for it, and we have to lift from here. Maybe a backup on the normal approach near the RC.
Helton: OK. A thousand. With scrubbers and Allonia’s plants, we can make enough oh-two for that many buttoned up, for a while. Not fun, but somewhere this side of hell. Anyone watching will think we still have room. Cooper, head low and fast south as soon as we lift. About 60 kilometers out go straight up and make a big circle around to the far side of things, then drop in and come in hot and low.
Cooper: Hot and low?
Helton: Well, as hot as we can go.
Lag: I’ll contact Kat and Harbin to get the intel guys up to speed with eyes on what’s moving unexpectedly and keep us updated. If we know where they are we can just go around them, and if they go where they aren’t supposed to while trying to take us out I can sell the intel to local forces for a good price, dealing with our immediate problem-
Helton: Fill the contract-
Bipasha: Get paid-
Cooper: And piss off Seymore and Darch no end!
Helton: Sounds like a plan. Time to get inside their OODA loop!
DISSOLVE TO
Ext - DAY - Quiet 3rd story balcony with a view of the port
Two men in paramilitary uniform watch the port. One has binoculars watching the ship, the other a hand radio. Tajemnica is almost directly end-on to them so they can see into the cargo bay. The refugees are all standing, packed into the far end.
Binoc Guy: Going for a full load, looks like. Still checking everyone.
Radio Guy: Haven’t heard from Lindsey saying she got denied boarding. Should hear from her soon.
Binoc Guy: Ah, a couple more being turned away. Gonna be a while.
He lets the binoculars hang from the strap around his neck. They turn and face inside.
Radio Guy: Hey, can you bring a cup of that out here!
Binoc Guy: Make it two!
Moments later a curtain parts and another man comes out with two steaming mugs of coffee. He hands one to each of them.
Coffee Guy: Here you-… why didn’t you tell me they left?
The others spin with a jerk, spilling scalding coffee all over each other. Howling in pain and surprise, they simultaneously try to shake it off their clothes and see what’s happening. The crowd of people mill about yelling audibly in the distance, but no ship can be seen as they frantically scan the skies.
Radio Guy: WHAT THE HELL?! WHERE?
Binocular Guy: Where-where-where-THERE! SOUTH!
Radio guy: SOUTH!? What the fuck?! (Into radio) SHIP LIFTED, heading south!
Radio: (OC, through radio) South? Are you sure?
Radio Guy: YES I’m BLIPPin’ SURE! I’m watching them fly south RIGHT GODDAMN NOW!
Radio: (OC) Got nothing on the scope.
Binocular Guy: They are flying REALLY low!
Coffee guy: Aaahhh, shiiiit.
FADE TO BLACK
Refugees
FADE IN
INT - DAY - Officers’ Mess
Helton, Lag, and Trask sit at the table
Trask: I can’t just get dumped at the refugee center. We can’t.
Helton: We have thousands of people who need to be ferried out of a war zone, and we think we’re likely to get shot at, too. This isn’t the safest place either!
Trask: You don’t understand. If we get put there, we’ll likely get robbed, or worse!
Lag: That’s a risk for every refugee.
Trask: But most people don’t have what we have.
Helton: That’s right, most of them have already lost almost everything. What have you got?
Trask: I was here wrapping up a deal, and the normal courier got killed, and… those boxes…
Lag: Contain…?
Trask looks like he’s weighing options on how much to say. After a brief internal argument plays across his face, he explains.
Trask: The proceeds from the deal. Four hundred million in cash, bearer bonds, metals deposit contracts, and electronic transfer cards. Nothing small enough to be useful in a refugee camp, but big enough to make us targets. If anyone else finds out…
Lag: Considering the typical corruption in the security at refuge centers, that’s likely. That’s enough to get a lot of people killed in riots.
Helton: Whhooooeeee… that’s a load to think about.
Trask: Obviously I can pay you to stay aboard.
Lag: So… why tell us this? Why not make up an easy lie?
Trask: …How did you know? About the Throwdart accounting problem?
Lag: You told me you had one.
Trask: I said we had a problem, but I was going to figure it out; I didn’t know the details. You said it was two and a quarter percent, and that is exactly what it turned out to be.
Lag: (With a wry smile) I wondered if you’d catch that.
Trask: What did you have to do with it?
Lag: What’d you find out?
T
rask: No one wanted to talk. Vague references to a series of accidents, and eleven union and eleven company managers died, but it was like pulling teeth to get even that.
Lag: How likely is it that the same number of union leaders and top local managers, all of whom were known for increasingly thuggish, murderous tactics and pigheadedness, would all manage to die in a dozen remarkably unlikely accidents within minutes of one another, accidents that did not kill any bystanders or family?
Trask: You…?
Lag: (Matter of factly) Settle disputes. (Exaggerated casualness) I hear the newly appointed company managers and elected union reps suddenly saw their situation with great clarity. They promptly signed a contract that addressed some legitimate pay and working condition concerns, and didn’t bankrupt the company. The freak accidents were tragic course, but they did happen to move the negotiations along nicely. Some suspect a grieving widow of a murdered miner might have sought outside help, or perhaps hired a… troubleshooter. Two and a quarter percent of refined product for five years I would guess might be a reasonable fee for such a negotiation.
Helton: Holy crap.
Trask: …So, can we stay aboard?
Helton: We can’t really stop anywhere safe to drop you off while we are on this contract, but we can stick you someplace safe as long as we are flying. How about you pay us what you think it was worth when it’s over? Fair?
Trask: More than fair! Thank you, thank you!
Helton: Don’t thank us yet; we still have a half-dozen trips with people shooting at us.
Trask: People are shooting at you?
Lag: You got hit by ground fire, didn’t you?
Trask: Well, yes, but-
Cooper: (OC) Helton to bridge. We are approaching the center.
Helton: Gotta go. Your wife can move into John and Julia’s cabin for a bit. You OK to help out? It’s an all-hands drill.
Trask: I’ll do what I can.
Lag: OK, then. Back to herding the homeless.
FADE TO BLACK
FADE IN
INT - DAY - Kat’s office in building 1701
She sits at her desk, Lag’s image on her screen.
Kat: Nothing yet. They said they lost a bunch of surveillance assets about (glances at clock) fifty minutes ago. No good real-time in the area right now, but they’re moving what they can. Soonest is a couple of hours. Wait or risk it?
Lag: Fifty minutes; about five minutes after we took off. That fast all at once, it must have been planned. Hmmm. Keep digging. We’ll come into the RC low from the southeast. Rough county that way, so they’d only want to move by flying and we would have seen them if they were to try an attack outside the declared mil zone.
Kat: When I get anything more I’ll feed it directly out. Gotta go.
Lag nods and the screen goes blank.
Kat leans back in her chair, brow furrowed in thought.
DISSOLVE TO
EXT - DAY - Tajemnica loading ramp, Refugee Camp 1
Atop the ramp, from each corner a pair of figures watch the refugees depart, the three Plataeans and the CEO. All have serious expressions. Refugees stream down the ramp towards rows of prefab shelters, lined up like eight rows of modest translucent plastic greenhouses, four hundred in all, along with larger water and sanitation shacks at the ends and middle. Several aid workers in bright jackets direct the mass confusion this way and that. There are obviously not enough aid workers for the huge flow of people surging down the ramp. There is much shouting and general chaos. Cutting through the noise and confusion there is a brief siren blast, BuuiiP! From every bullhorn and loudspeaker, Tajemnica’s voice speaks in the silent pause.
Ship AI: (OC, via speakers everywhere, calm female voice) In a moment all refugees will receive a message on their personal com units with their assigned shelter number and location. Rows are numbered from your left as you disembark, shelters numbered starting from this end. Please go to your assigned shelter and sign in, then use the screens in them to locate and contact relatives and obtain more information. Those without personal com units please see the aid workers for assistance.
There is mass murmuring, then a thousand different chimes and ringtones blare. After a brief moment as everyone consults their coms, the chaotic crowd starts flowing smoothly down the various rows, aid workers left standing with little to do but look around in amazement. One of them goes up beside the ramp and starts talking to Trask, assuming he must be in charge.
Aid Worker1: We need to assign them locations!
Trask shrugs and points to the other side, where Lag stands with Kaushik.
Trask: Talk to him!
Aid Worker1 looks across the ramp, then walks around, through the crowd, to the other side.
Aid Worker1: You can’t do this! We need to know who is here and assign spots!
Lag: May I see what you have for a moment?
Aid Worker1: (Holds tablet computer defensively) NO!
Lag: (Into wrist com) Tajemnica, can you talk to his ‘puter?
Ship AI: (OC) Done.
Lag: Check it yourself, then. They have all been checked in; we scanned them in when they boarded, and our system downloaded it to yours. We screened out some of the problems.
Aid Worker1: You, uh… (checking his tablet computer) I guess you did. Love it when technology works like it’s supposed to! That makes things easier!
Lag: Yeah, it does sometimes. Where are you going to put the next five or six loads?
The aid workers face falls, eyes wide.
Aid Worker1: Five or… WHAT?
Lag: At least five thousand more. It’s a hot war zone, had one flier crash almost right on us after it got shot. You’ll need more huts, medical, water, and way more sanitation. Most of them haven’t eaten in a few days. We could only give them a small snack on the way, a 200 calorie emergency bar each took the edge off and settled ‘em down, but they’ll need more soon. We’ll be heading back for more as soon as these are off. And we could really use a few medics aboard with all the supplies they can grab, so we can start doing what we can as they come aboard.
Aid Worker1: (Incredulous) You’re going back into a hot zone? And more back here?!
Lag: We have a contract that pays for here and people to move. We think they are directly in harm’s way. Put the best people in charge regardless of seniority, and use qualified refugees if you have to. Riots get ugly fast.
Aid Worker1 looks at him in open-mouthed dismay. Then he closes his mouth, squares his shoulders, nods, looks at his tablet, then critically at the remaining refugees on the ship. He nods decisively.
Aid Worker1: How long do we have before the next load?
Lag: Four hours, give or take. We’ll let you know if otherwise.
Aid Worker1 gets a pained expression, nods, turns, and heads off fast, shouting.
Aid Worker1: DODSON! SINGH! PIERSON! TANTRA! Got a SITUATION!
FADE TO BLACK
Air Defense
ManPADS
FADE IN
INT - DAY - Tajemnica Bridge
Helton, Cooper, Quiritis, Allonia, and Bipasha are at stations studying screens.
Helton: (Thinking aloud) Where, where, where… Best hiding, or best visibility? In the zone, or visible from here? Big battery or lone shoulder mount? What, what, what… Hmmm…
Quiritis: I’d hide troops outside the declared zone, keep the big stuff inside.
Helton: Good point. Soooo… stick a ManPAD with a shorter range close in here, with good visibility and no witnesses, like a hill in the woods.
In front of Helton is a map. An icon on it starts flashing in red slightly off the center of the map.
Helton: Found something! Four klicks west! Bare hilltop! Zoom in.
The map zooms in. It shows a synthetic image version of a hilltop with a half-dozen dim icons for people. One suddenly snaps brighter. Then another, an icon with an extra symbol over it.
Ship AI: (OC, brisk male voice) Multiple incoming data sources. Confidence good. Three-ma
n ManPAD teams. Launcher.
Two more icons pop into sharp, bright focus. Then another one with an extra symbol.
Ship AI: (OC) More confirming sources. Two teams. Confidence high.
Helton: Ah, good! Now we just go around them!
Allonia: Something to the north, too!
Helton: Let’s keep looking, then… That other hilltop to the southeast. Anything?
Ship AI: (OC) Thermals show four heat signatures. No electronics detected.
Helton: Nothing at all?
Ahip AI: (OC) Negative.
Allonia: Looks like the north side has six people, too.
Ship AI: (OC) Confirmed. North hill, six people. Two launchers. Confidence high.
Cooper: Ah, shit. Surrounded.
Helton: We came in right over the southeast hill. Why didn’t they shoot at us?
Quiritis: Maybe they didn’t get word we’d slipped out? We should minimize our profile, fly low to give them few clear shots.
Allonia: Four. One team and a leader?
Helton: Hmm… As soon as we can lift, start knocking treetops off. Head straight at the four. When we get closer, we’ll have a better look. If they have missiles, we leave a furrow with the bow where they’re standing; if not, we just part their hair and scare the crap out of them.
Cooper: You want to hit the ground ON PURPOSE?! At SPEED?
Helton: Only if we have no choice.
Cooper: You’re crazy. Interceptors are one thing, planets are different. Bigger.
Quiritis: Just grazing shouldn’t be a problem.
Helton: Note to self; screw weapons regs, we need armaments ASAP.
DISSOLVE TO
EXT - DAY - North hilltop
A grassy hilltop with some scrubby bushes. Hunkered down between and behind some of the bushes are six men in camouflage, small packs and equipment around them on the ground. One of the men has binoculars and is watching the refugee center.
ManPAD1: LIFTING! They are LIFTING! Shit! Southeast again! Shoz! Check range!
Another man shoulders a missile launcher and aims it toward Tajemnica in the distance.
ManPAD2: No dice! At limit, going away!
ManPAD3: Shit. Call it in, we have to redeploy. One team from each hill. Box ‘em for when they come back.