by James Wilks
The Jovian Run
Sol Space Book One
James Ross Wilks
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.
Copyright © 2016 James Ross Wilks
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1523482125
ISBN-13: 978-1523482122
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to my parents, Ted and Elaine, who gave me the tools and the drive to become the person I am.
It is also dedicated to those creators of science fiction who have provided such inspirational shoulders upon which to stand.
Prologue
It was one of the better restaurants on Mars. The Mars Needle, as its owner, a former Seattle resident, called it, towered over the surrounding smaller and larger buildings. From over three hundred feet in the thin Martian atmosphere the diners could enjoy a slowly rotating view of Tranquility, the surrounding city, and the Martian terrain that stretched for miles and miles beyond. The highlight of this gradual topographical survey was Olympos Mons, a volcano that dwarfed Everest and drew dozens of rich thrill seekers to its summit every year. Tranquility itself sprawled for over a mile in each direction, the lack of outside activity making it eerily deserving of its name. This was only the third time Brad Stave had found himself sitting down to dinner in the luxury restaurant, but each time the layout of the surrounding city reminded him of an ant farm made flat.
All of the modular homes, offices, warehouses, and other assorted buildings were connected by metal tubing. Some were painted according to the owners’ whims, but paint was expensive and the process of applying it problematic, so most residents were content to leave their homes as they were constructed: base metal forged from the ore in the Martian soil. In addition to the other problems that accompanied external decoration, most private residences could not be seen except through a neighbor’s window or one of the viewpoints like the Needle, so few people bothered. Brad’s expected dinner companion had one of the most elegant houses on the planet. From the outside, it resembled nothing so much as a palatial mansion, the type that might have been found in the South of the United States in the eighteen hundreds. Brad marveled at its design from his table as the disc shaped restaurant rotated it into view.
The house sat at the edge of town, connected to a main thoroughfare by way of the same metallic tunnels that joined the rest of the buildings. The second floor of the domicile displayed a balcony, windows, and a door. The door was fake, of course, and the balcony would be useless without an EVA suit, but the windows were real. The appearance of the house was really just a façade placed over a particularly large modular Mars household constructed from the same reinforced steel as the rest of the houses, excepting the very cheapest. Brad reflected that Mr. Burr would in fact be able to see his house from here when he finally arrived. As the restaurant completed another turn, he tried to pick out his own house from the cluster of mid-sized metallic residences that made up the equivalent of the suburbs of Tranquility. He located the main avenue that his house was tethered to, then attempted to count twenty-three houses down. It was difficult due to the angle, distance, and the slow rotation of the restaurant. Eventually he gave up, deciding it didn’t matter; they all looked the same anyway.
As the homes slowly spun out of view, Brad turned and surveyed the well dressed diners in the room. The majority of the fifty or so tables were occupied, though it was still early- about a quarter after five, standard Earth time. He caught sight of his boss standing next to the maitre d’ and smiled in expectation. Owen Burr was one of the most affluent people on the planet, and it showed. He stood perhaps one and three-quarters of a meter tall, and was well proportioned. His suit, a black two-button piece both fashionable and timeless, was tailored to him perfectly. His olive skin showed few lines from his forty-five or so years, and his haircut was nearly perfect. He caught sight of Brad just as the man at the podium pointed his way and smiled. It was a rich smile framed by broad lips; it was a winner’s smile.
“Brad, how are you?” the man said as he approached the table, extending a hand with perfectly manicured nails.
“Just fine,” Brad replied as he rose, smiled, and offered his own hand. He mentally prepared himself for the handshake. Burr was one of those men with a vice-like grip that left all who shook his hand in pain for several seconds afterward. There was no twinkle of competition in his eye when he did this, seemingly no need to put people in their place or to show off. He was simply unaware of his potential to cause pain. They shook hands and Burr pulled the beautiful and expensive chair out from the table without looking at it. Brad returned the obligatory inquiry. “And you?”
“Oh fine, fine. I love this place. You know I can see my house from here.” Burr smiled casually, perhaps a bit ironically at his turn of phrase. It was the kind of smile that made a silly thing charming simply through its self-awareness.
“I was just thinking the same thing.” Brad ran his hand through black hair that was evidencing grey at the temples. A moment of silence passed while a waiter filled their water glasses and placed menus before them. By necessity, the majority of Martian cuisine was vegetarian, but some of the pricier dishes contained beef, pork, and poultry. Brad ignored the prices and looked forward to an extravagant meal. After all, he would not be paying.
After their drinks had been delivered and food had been ordered, the two men moved onto the pleasantries and updates that frame the opening of most conversations between people who have known each other for some time but don’t speak more than once or twice a month.
“Yes, Cynthia is well, and the kids. Cassidy keeps bugging us for his first EVA walk. We told him that it would be a present for his eighth birthday, but he’s not overly patient. We’re obviously not going to buy him a suit; he’s not going to stop growing any time soon, and Cynthia worries about the rental suits. I’ve got her mostly calmed down though, I think. Grace is… crazy.” Brad laughed and shook his head. “Yeah, she’s crazy I think.”
Burr lounged in his chair somewhat, his half empty beer in his hand. “That’s to be expected. She’s… what, thirteen now?”
“Yes, thirteen.” Brad nodded, taking a sip from his own light beer. He laughed again. “She screamed at us so loudly the other day I told her she was going to crack the window and kill us all. Know what she said? ‘Good,’ she said, ‘then none of us would get to have a life.’ All this because we said ‘no’ on cranial implants until fifteen. Were we that crazy when were teenagers? That…” he searched for the word, “histrionic?”
“Probably,” his employer smiled. “I hear it goes with the territory. Teenagers, I mean. I think we block it out when we grow up, but I think all teenagers are crazy. They only pretend that they’re sane and rational in movies to make us feel like bad parents.”
“Mm.” Brad shook his head. “Speaking of which, how are things between Victor and Junior? Any better?”
Burr’s grin receded. “Afraid not, from what Victor tells me.”
A serious and inquisitive look crept over Brad’s face, and he leaned forward, dropping his voice a bit. “Do you really think Victor tells you everything?” He was immediately sorry he had asked, especially sorry that he had used the word really. The man across from him suddenly looked as if he had never been happy in his life. “I don’t mean… I didn’t mean to im
ply that you were fooling yourself into thinking that. I meant…”
Burr saved him from digging his hole any deeper. “Yes,” he stated, quietly but with passion. “I really think he tells me everything.”
“I’m sorry,” Brad stated. He struggled to regain his composure and hoped that his simple apology would suffice.
The smile returned to the other man’s face, rising like the sun after a thunderstorm. It was quite a welcome sight to Brad. “Of course, I could be wrong. No way to check. That’s kind of the point, really.”
Brad laughed through his nose, letting a tentative smile creep onto his face as well. Relief wound its way through him. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
“Anyway, I’m glad you brought him up. I have the folder on the job. Are you still amenable?”
“I am.”
Burr slid a small manila envelope from inside his left jacket lapel and placed it on the table. “This could actually be fun. She’s really quite fetching.”
“I don’t care about that,” Brad replied good-naturedly. “There’s just one girl for me. But if this will help…” He let the sentence drift off.
“Oh, yes.” The winning smile shone out from Burr’s face again, the green eyes no less intense for the laugh lines around them. “It will help.”
Brad broke the seal on the envelope and slid out a picture and several pieces of paper. The paper was unusual though not unheard of on the red planet. It was seen as an affectation among the rich, a luxury that somewhat recalled a bygone time. It also had the benefit of being easy to burn. He slipped the papers back inside the envelope, then regarded the photo. It was a printed photograph, clearly taken from a clandestine viewpoint and without the subject’s knowledge. The woman who stared back at him from the picture was in her mid-thirties, quite beautiful, with strong cheekbones, a rounded, heart-shaped face, and straight red hair that fell past her shoulders. A smattering of freckles danced across her cheeks and dainty nose, and her well-sculpted eyebrows arched over chestnut-brown eyes.
“Hello,” he said softly to the photo. “I wonder what you like to drink.”
Chapter 1
“Seriously? Are you still on this ship?” Don Templeton was standing in the doorway to Reactor Control, legs spread and hands on his hips. “You know if we get this job, we might leave tomorrow. You haven’t taken any shore leave.” His bushy eyebrows arched together in a mock scowl that nonetheless masked some real concern and disapproval. He was addressing a pair of legs that protruded from under a console. The legs were garbed in greasy grey cargo pants and sported combat boots at their ends. “You’re still here too.” The woman’s low voice found its way out from beneath the computer console.
“That’s different. I was off ship for the last three days. Seriously, Portland is a really great town. There’s this beautiful rose test garden, a mountain… Mount Hood… and a zoo. Actually, the zoo kind of sucks, but the roses are real pretty. Ever been?”
A long ebony colored hand appeared from beneath the console, alighted upon a spool of solder, and snatched it back out of sight. “To a rose garden? Yes, sir.” Templeton searched her voice for traces of irony and found none. Not for the first time, he wondered whether she was actually serious or a master of dead pan humor.
“No, to Portland. A jump ship could take you from the coast to town in just fifteen minutes. There’s a huge park with trails and trees, even a big mansion up on a hill with a great view. Pitt Mansion or something.” He walked forward several steps into the room and squatted down, wincing as his knees clicked and popped. “There’s still plenty of time.”
“Pittock. Pittock Mansion, it’s called. I read about it. Built in 1914, opened to the public in 1958, most recent restoration done in 2109. Hand me that fifteen millimeter wrench since you’re there, would you, sir?” The hand emerged again, palm open and expectant, a smudge of grease across the knuckles.
“You know reading about the place ain’t the same as visiting it, right?” He cast about the small litter of tools for the wrench in question. Upon locating it, he lifted it from the metal grated floor and handed it to the woman. The hand disappeared again.
“Thank you. Yes, I know it’s not the same. No, I haven’t been to Portland before. Yes, I would like to go, but we work before we play. I’ve wanted to rewire this console since we left Phobos. It will make my life easier, sir, really.” The hand emerged and deposited the spool of solder back, as near as he could tell, exactly where it had been before.
Templeton snorted laughter. “You didn’t need me to find that wrench at all, did ya?”
“I like you to feel useful, sir.” Again, no irony. “I know it’s your job to keep an eye on ship morale. I know the data shows that people who stay shipside and spaceside too long go section 8. I’m fine, sir. If I were in Portland smelling the roses and staring at mountains, I’d just be thinking about this console anyway. So I’m doing what makes me happy.”
“Yeah, but Dinah…” He looked around the ReC room. It was no more than three meters deep and four across. Opposite the door he had entered, the only conventional door in the room, was a battery of control consoles arranged under a set of windows. In the floor to his left, the trap door that led down into the reactor room was closed, flush with the floor. He stood up, shaking the pains out of his knees, and looked through the windows down on the silent and still reactor. “This room is so small. There’s so much space out there, and if this job takes us to a Jovian planet, this could be your last chance for weeks -even months.”
There was silence for several seconds and the moment stretched. Finally, a grunt issued from under the console, the sound of someone completing a job to satisfaction. A second later, the rest of the lithe woman he had been talking to slid out from under the console. Dinah Hazra wore a jet black tank top only a few shades darker than her skin. Her hair was shaved close to her skull, and her sharp cheekbones lent her a gaunt air despite her wide nose and full lips. She looked up into the man’s ruddy and lightly freckled face as he extended a hand down to her.
“Okay.” She cracked a light smile. She took the proffered hand, using the larger man’s weight to spring to her right foot, lowering her left a second after she was vertical. She looked him in the eye. Regardless of the fact that he was taller and heavier than her, Templeton always felt a bit intimidated when she turned her full gaze on him. “I’ll go walk the shoreline, maybe go for a swim. Would that make you happy, sir?”
“It’d make me feel very useful. Is that good enough?” He arched his eyebrows. “But don’t think about swimming. The ocean’s way too cold this far north.” She looked at him, her face unchanging. “You know that. You read that too.” He shook his head. “You know, of the sixteen people on this crew, you make me feel the least useful.”
She broke her gaze away and began collecting her tools. “Sixteen? Did we fill those security spots, sir?”
“Yeah, both of ‘em,” he said, somewhat unnecessarily. “Not the best resumes I’ve ever seen, but the captain decided to take a chance on them. They know how to bust heads and put on an EVA suit. Beggars and choosers and all that. Temporary contract. We’ll have to see how they work out.”
“What did Kojo think of them?” She placed the wrench back in its place in the toolbox, and there was a click as the magnets secured it.
“He hasn’t met them yet. He’s visiting family in Kenya, not expected back till late tonight.”
She looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “You hired two new security crew without the security chief’s okay? Without him even meeting them, sir?”
“It’s not like we had a choice. Kenya’s a five hour flight, and he didn’t want to be disturbed.” He drew himself up. “‘Sides, when my crew is on leave, they’re on leave. The captain and I are more than up for hiring new crew.” He looked at her with some mock indignation. “Hired most of you, didn’t I?” Dinah finished replacing her tools, but did not respond. Templeton cleared his throat, and then added, “That said, I’d be curious f
or your take on ‘em if you don’t mind.”
“I can’t right now, sir. I’m on leave,” she stated matter-of-factly and walked out of the room.
The couple sat in their metal and fabric lounge chairs looking out at the mushroom rocks that dotted the Oregon coastline. Most of them were a mixture of deep grey and green, growing mosses and plants. Gulls turned lazy orbits around them, squawking to each other in a language all their own. From the top of the ship, they could see miles and miles in each direction. To the south, other ships rested along the water line, and the layered pattern of waves was mathematical in its regularity. To the north, the slowly eroding dune of Cape Kiwanda rose, looking deceptively small until one spied the people climbing it like ants on the world’s largest anthill.
Squinting at the coastal sun despite the parasol over her head and the sunglasses covering her eyes, the woman turned to her husband. “Told you it’d be pretty up here.”
“I never doubted you, dearest,” replied the man, continuing to gaze north to the sand dune and beyond. “I just thought we might spend our last night here in Astoria. It’s only a few minutes up the coast by ship. Apparently they filmed some old movie there. It’s supposed to be beautiful. Authentic.”
She smiled at him. Pieces of her blonde hair held their light curves as they waved in the strong breeze. “For someone who chooses to make their living on a spaceship, you sure do have a soft spot for old Earth towns and history. You know if you lived there, you’d go crazy in a month.”
“That I would, that I would,” he assented, sighing. After a moment, he added, “Earth is a nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live here.”
She chuckled. “Besides, Jabir will be back with Gwen soon, and then we’d have to clean her up, pack her up, and get two rooms for the night.”