by Mike Luoma
Two weeks. Two Fucking Weeks!
BC has heard nothing from the OPO in two weeks.
In the two weeks, the Vatican's been hit one more time, another barrage as fierce as the last two, another UIN sneak attack.
The Moon has not been hit again.
BC has done his PR flack job, standing loyally by the Cardinal's side, issuing four press releases in the two weeks, and generally playing his role as the Vatican PR Man.
He's laid low, not even taking the governor up on his lunch invite as of yet. And with the OPO out of touch, BC's only been getting the UTZ approved version of events from the news reports.
The UIN continues its media blackout. The media speculates on the motives behind the UIN attacks. Most news reports attribute the new wave of UIN attacks, including the hits on the Vatican, to further religious extremism on the part of the UIN. The analysts, warning against repeating the mistakes of the past, say the UIN has gone beyond politics, bringing religion into the war.
But it's always been in it, religion has. It's what it's been all about. Well, religion and money. Nothing changes. We're still savages, cavemen in nicer pelts, when you get right down to it, no matter how much technology we use, no matter how far into space we go. Cavemen in space. Heh, like that one. Clubbing each other over the head with our high tech clubs.
Ah, yet another fun-filled day of flackery...
As he enters the Cardinal's office he sees the Cardinal is waiting for him.
"Ah, Campion, good. You're a wanted man today, you know."
Wanted? What the fuck?
"What?"
"Yes, you see, the Pope himself has requested a call from you. And the Governor says you're supposed to do lunch sometime, and he'd like to know if you can meet him today. You're wanted by some pretty fancy company, Campion."
You bastard. Wanted, my ass. No need to scare me like that.
"Thank you, sir. Would you excuse me?"
"Certainly."
"I'll check back with you later, Cardinal."
BC heads back to his rooms to check in with the Vatican, his heart beating faster than normal.
Wanted! Jeesh, when he said that I felt my stomach flip. Didn't think it was the good kind of wanted. Getting too paranoid. Hope it doesn't show.
Glad to hear the Vatican finally called. Through the Cardinal again. Must be to keep up appearances. God, I hope there's a new assignment! And I guess I really should have lunch with Edwards. He's not so bad. I actually kind of like the guy.
Cardinal M'Bekke answers when BC powers up the CCU and contacts the Vatican. M'Bekke is an old friend of BC's, one of his first instructors in the OPO.
"Campion! How are you? I heard you got banged up pretty good?"
"I'm okay, M'Bekke, I've had some time to heal. Seems like years..." BC plays up a yawn for dramatic effect.
"Well, this should cure your boredom. I have an assignment for you."
"Am I coming back to Earth?"
"No, we want to keep you in your current PR assignment on the Moon for now. The less waves you make, the better. We still don't know how much the UIN knows about you."
"So, then... What? Another assignment here on the Moon? Wouldn't that be just as risky?"
"No, not on the Moon, or on Earth. We need you to travel from Lunar Prime to one of the old orbital stations. Used to belong to the Sultan of Brunei."
"No kidding? Who's it belong to now?"
"Nobody, really. It's been officially deserted for years. Place is called Fortune Station, built almost a hundred years ago. We're sending complete info via courier, already on the way. Look for a package tomorrow."
"So, if nobody's there, why are you sending me there? There are easier ways to get rid of me, M'Bekke!" BC laughs.
"BC, would we ever do something like that to you?" M'Bekke says in a falsely sweet tone, then laughs, "Don't answer!"
"Flattery will get you nowhere..."
M'Bekke's tone darkens, "The station's been taken over by a Neo-Christian cult. They've been squatting the station for over five years."
"A cult, huh? What do you want me to do, evict them? Why now?"
"We don't care who lives there. But their leader has become a threat."
"How so?"
"He's a charismatic former Cardinal whose followers are devoted to him. His radical interpretation of the Bible marginalized him back in the nineties in the Roman Catholic Church, part of the whole back to the roots thing ten years ago. Something in him snapped during the reunification and he broke away from the church. He later gathered his followers and left Earth for Fortune Station, after Al-Salid declared Jihad on the Earth."
"So, they've been there five years?"
"Just over."
"Guess they'll know the place pretty well by now. Are there any plans, blueprints, anything?"
"Yeah, the courier has them."
"So, you want me to take this guy out?"
"Basically. But, Campion..."
"Yeah? I don't like the sound of that ‘but', M'Bekke..."
"We've already sent two other operatives in. We haven't heard from them. It's been a month since the last one went in. They might still be alive in there, we just don't know. The place is pretty isolated, high orbit, sealed up pretty tight. His followers are probably his best defense, and we don't know how many of them he has up there with him. There's a lot of unknowns."
"Sounds like. You sure you're not just trying to get rid of me? You still haven't really explained why he's a threat. Good cover for tying up my loose end..."
"No. We want this man gone. We hear he's killing his followers. He's probably killed our two guys, too. We don't know where his loyalties lie, and the feeling here is that he may throw in with the UIN, give them a base to work from in exchange for territory somewhere on Earth after the war. After we're all dead. If he's killing his followers I'd say he's capable of anything."
"Why do people follow people who kill them in the name of God?"
"I don't know... but we certainly don't want to get into a discussion on the morality of killing in the name of God now, do we, BC?"
BC shakes his head in agreement as M'Bekke continues.
"We've hired a ship to take you to the station. The details are in the package. The pilot's a good NcC man. Treat him well."
"Did this same guy bring the others to the station, too?"
"No. The other operatives left from Earth. This pilot and his ship are based out of Lunar Prime. Why?"
"Just curious. And you say he's a Christian?"
"There are some of us up there, Campion. You should know! You're supposed to be ministering to them!"
"Thanks, M'Bekke, I'll try to remember that..."
"Be careful, BC. Don't blow your cover any worse than it's already been blown!"
"It's not... "
"Campion, please. This assignment will help you to keep laying low."
"Or get me laid low."
"It's not you we want dead at the end of all of this."
"That's a comfort. What about just laid?"
"Funny. Watch for the package, Campion. Jove out."
"Diana out."
Two weeks before the Vatican finally calls back. Finally. And this is the best they can do? Two weeks of being the Cardinal's lackey. Two weeks of being a good little PR flack. Two weeks before they finally call back. Finally. Two weeks of waiting for my head to either implode or explode. And this is the best they can do? A wacked out cult leader on an old station out in the middle of nowhere. What kind of threat is that? A threat to me when I wade into the vipers' nest to try to choke the life out of the king snake, that's what kind of threat it is. The Vatican doesn't want me dead, but I'm sure at this point they wouldn't mind somebody doing them the favor of my removal. Hope I can stay alive. Have to do some research of my own before that package arrives.
BC's contemplation is cut short by the buzz of his intercom. A priority signal punches through.
"Father Campion? BC? It's Marc Edwards... you available?"
"Audio only, com on. Um, sure, governor. Just a second."
"How about that lunch? I'd like to keep my promise."
Can't keep putting him off.
"Sure. Let me check the schedule to see if the Cardinal needs me anywhere, okay? Hold on." BC takes a deep breath.
Shouldn't snap at the governor. Not good.
"Sure, I'm okay today. When do you want to meet?"
"Could we make it soon? An early lunch? These days my schedule isn't entirely under my own control. I've got appointments jammin' me all afternoon. Why don't you come on over and meet me at my offices. We can head for this seafood place I know on the third level of the atrium, looks out over the central pool, really nice. How about it?"
"Sure, Governor, I'll be there in about twenty minutes. I'm still moving a little slow these days."
"All right. See you then."
BC packs away the CCU. He checks his appearance in the mirror then heads out to meet the governor. He crosses the main mall of the atrium as he walks from the Vatican section to Governor Marc Edwards's offices, taking in the smell of the fresh cut grass.
It almost smells like the outdoors here, almost like Earth. ‘Course, on Earth the gravity makes the pine trees pointy cones. Here, they just shoot up, even all around. They look like big green brushes. Weird looking things. At least they smell right.
A monitor in the mall wall near the entrance to the Lunar Prime government center blares a news report as BC passes.
"...has finally spoken, today claiming that it has been attacking Vatican City along with UTZ and Lunar holdings because it has proof the Vatican has been collaborating with the UTZ in attacking the UIN."
Oh Shit.
BC stops to watch the report.
"Most observers on Earth and the Moon are dismissing the UIN statements as attempts to deflect blame from the UIN themselves in the wake of the killing of Lunar Governor Meredith McEntyre. This is the UIN's first statement since their intensified campaign against targets on the Earth and the Moon began after the governor's death two weeks ago. This latest round of finger pointing by the Universal Islamic Nation rings rather hollow in light of their recent activities. In other news..."
That's it? No hard facts, no mention of me, or the OPO, just general statements of blame? What do they know, then? What do they have?
BC keeps walking. When he gets to Edwards's offices, his secretaries send BC right in.
"BC! How are you? How's the tongue?"
Funny question. Guess he means well...
"I can talk again, thank you. How are you doing, Governor?"
"Call me Marc. I'm calling you BC, after all."
"Okay, Marc..."
"I found out something I thought you'd like to know. We did some digging on that ‘Nita Bendix'. It was taken for granted she worked here, but she was never hired! It looks like she just showed up two years ago. She was never officially cleared as a Lunar Security Cop. She had forged credentials, stolen uniform: the whole spy deal. She infiltrated, and she fooled us. We look and feel pretty stupid, here. I'm sorry, BC."
"Two years? And no one suspected a thing?"
"She's been on rosters and personnel charts. She was good. She came in right after McEntyre was sworn in, as far as we can pinpoint."
"That's some curious timing."
"I know. After everything you told me, that sorta stinks. I've got some of my good people looking into this. People I can trust, you know? Hey, let's get out of here, whadya say? You hungry?"
"Sure. You said seafood?"
The Captain's Table Restaurant on the main mall's third floor overlooks the atrium, the central pool and the pines. BC and Edwards sit at a table at the window. They speak of sports, recent movies, BC's recuperation and other small talk. Over the course of the meal, Edwards apologizes a few more times, which BC eats up along with his swordfish and salad.
I like this guy. He's real. In a way, I'm working him, working to build his confidence to my advantage, but the affection is genuine. He's a good man. I'll try not to fuck him over. Hope they don't ask me to.
Over coffee, Edwards asks, "BC, can I ask you a favor?"
"What is it?"
"Well... I could use the help of someone with your insights and experience. I know there's stuff you can't tell me, things we can't discuss..."
BC starts to interrupt and protest. Edwards holds up his hand.
"No, let me finish. I respect you, Father, and would appreciate anything you might be able to share with me, information wise; I don't expect to hear state secrets. But I'm hoping you can help me as a sort of unofficial advisor."
Wow. I can't believe I've gotten to him this completely. They'll be happy with this back home. Can't be over enthusiastic, though...
"I'm honored, Marc, I really am. I just don't think I can. The Bible isn't too big on letting a man serve two masters. I'm not sure the Vatican would approve, to be honest with you."
"I don't expect to be your ‘master', BC. I'm looking for friendly advice and good counsel."
"This is unexpected, Marc. But I'd certainly like to help you. Tell you what. If the Vatican says it's okay, I'll be glad to give you any advice I can. I can tell, all politics aside, you're a good man, Marc. You'll be a great governor. I'd like to help you."
"Well, now I'm honored, BC. Thanks. Thank you. It means a lot to me. I'm still trying to get a handle on everything. This is not something I asked for."
"That's why you'll probably do a better job than someone who would ask for it! A lot of times the best leaders are the ones who are thrust into greatness, or have greatness thrust upon them, when they least expect it. Somebody famous said that. You're doing fine. How's that for counsel?"
"Don't flatter me, BC, just advise me. But thanks."
Now, I've got to explain my going away.
"Marc, I've got to take care of some business for the Pope in the next few days. There are always gonna be times I have to take off, and I can't and won't be able to tell you what I'm doing. You have to understand that. The cost of my cooperation, I suppose. And coming up is one of those times."
"I understand that, I think. Whatever help you can offer, BC, you know I appreciate it."
Edwards takes care of the check and stands to leave.
"Thanks for lunch, Marc."
"Thank you, BC. I gotta run, but I'll be in touch. See you when you get back."
Unofficial Advisor to the Governor of the Lunar Free State. That'll look good on the ol' resume. Not bad! I hope I can trust him. He seems to trust me. It doesn't feel like a setup... We'll see.
Back in his rooms BC does a little freelance research on Fortune Station. He checks in the history files. The computer gives him general background information.
"Many wealthy individuals began building orbital retreats in the teens to escape perceived overpopulation on Earth. This "overpopulation" was mostly a marketing tool used to scare paranoid wealthy individuals into buying orbital getaways.
"At first, only the very wealthy could afford to build, staff and maintain these luxury stations. Most rotated to provide artificial gravity, using systems that required small crews to maintain and run them. These crews had to be fed and housed. The necessities of life had to be provided for on each station, for both the crew and the inhabitants. All these people had to live, eat and breathe on the station, an expensive proposition at the time given their level of technological advancement. In some cases, the crews were shipped on and off a station between long shifts, but this alternative was also costly."
"History off."
Too general.
"Anything on Fortune Station itself?"
"One Entry. Brief Description."
"Tell me about it."
"Fortune Station. Built in 2018 for the Sultan of Brunei. Abandoned by the sultan eight years later in 2026. Renovated and restored by STSC, LIC in 2031, absorbed by the United Trade Zone in 2034. Used on and off until the end of 2062, when it was again left abandoned. Its high orbit and off
-the-beaten path location make it an unattractive target for future renovation and redevelopment. Fortune Station is currently still abandoned. End of entry."
Out of date entry, evidently. Might as well wait for the info package. My profile's gonna be low, all right. Very low. Place doesn't sound like it would make for much of a base for the UIN, but I guess any possible foothold has to be eliminated. Life remains interesting.
Marc Edwards really surprised me at lunch today. He could be just playing his own game… I don't know. Maybe I can trust him... course, I never assume that.
Chapter Twelve