by James Wilks
Templeton seized the opportunity to learn more. “The computer scientist?” he asked, feigning forgetfulness. “He had an accident of some kind, you said?” He was momentarily distracted by the sound of a light breeze and birds tweeting until he spied the speaker hidden at the edge of the grass.
“Yeah, poor Matt. He was on the elevator down in the atmosphere calibrating the hydrogen pumps. He had to go outside the chamber in an EVA suit to, I don’t know, do some computer thing on the intake tubes. We don’t like to go out while in atmosphere, but it’s not really that dangerous. The EVA suits are rated for it. We don’t know what happened. Maybe a small stray meteor,” he held up his chubby fingers about a centimeter apart, “maybe a corrosive pocket of gas. He just stopped talking, then all of his vitals went dead. By the time we got him inside, he was too far gone.”
“Was there a hole in his suit?” They were coming to the end of the park, such as it was, and Ducard turned them left and towards another group of buildings.
“Yeah, we don’t know what from.”
Three hours later, Templeton sat at a large surface with Ducard looking at a crude three-dimensional representation of the ship he called home. Ducard’s EVA team had taken scans and pictures of Gringolet in a small utility vehicle not unlike the one that Dinah had used to claim the satellite from the Doris Day, though now Templeton doubted whether Vey had ever really been trying to obtain it. With Templeton’s help, Ducard was highlighting various sections of the hull and engines, marking them for repairs, and adding notes about the type of damage as they looked over the pictures. Templeton was adding to these notes with his own knowledge of the ship and how it should look.
Finally, Ducard sat back from the screen and puffed out a big sigh. “I think you’re looking at… seventeen days. Maybe more, maybe less, it depends on how many of our crew want to put in extra hours doing the repairs. I know that Laplace won’t want to fund those repairs and the extra pay for the crew, but I think I can talk him into it. The hydrogen pumps never did get recalibrated, and we’ve been running at about half capacity ever since. Having Schilling here should get us up to speed, and hopefully no one will care about a petty cash outlay for ship repairs.”
“That’s damn generous of you, Davis,” Templeton said.
“Hey, the way I see it, you guys got roughed up helping us. It’s the least we can do.”
Templeton smiled. “You might be from a long line of company men, but you sure don’t sound like it.”
“Well, I’m middle management. I’m high enough up to spend some of the company’s money, but not so high up that my neck ends up on the block if the quarterly earnings are down. That makes me dangerous.” He tipped a wink and a mischievous grin at Templeton and leaned back towards the surface.
He returned the grin. “Good place to be, I suppose.” His attention turned back to the surface and the highlighted list of repairs. “Still, seventeen days. We were hoping to be back on Mars by the end of April.”
“Doubt you’ll see that, but you could be back on Earth in time for some May flowers. I’ll get working right away on putting a crew together for repairs. I’ve got my own job to do, but I can come by and check in once they’re going. Are you able to stay here and supervise the repairs?”
“Yeah, I think so. Me or Dinah, anyway.”
“That your engineer that I met earlier?” Ducard asked as he began to assemble a list of possible candidates for the repair team on a smaller surface in front of him.
“That’s her.”
“How’d she lose her foot?” The question had was asked in an offhand manner, but Templeton glanced at him sharply. The other man was still intent on building the repair team on his surface.
“I don’t know.” It was only half a lie. “I’m surprised you noticed.”
“Saw it when she climbed out of the hatch. Not too common to see injuries like that. Space tends to kill you when it hurts you.” He seemed satisfied with his list. He indicated the names with a hand and added, “I’ll contact these men and women and see what we can get together.” As he took a step away, he said, “I’ve really got to get back to work. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
Templeton thought the other man had turned a bit frosty, perhaps sorry he had said anything about Dinah’s foot. “Actually, there is. I’ve got a crewman in need of a job; what have you got in the way of mind-numbingly repetitive tasks requiring little to no intelligence?”
Dinah Hazra walked down the same paths in Cronos Park that Templeton and Ducard had walked only a few hours before. The fountains burbled charmingly, and the recorded birds sang a pretty song, but her goal was not relaxation. Having obtained directions from one of the hosts in the office outside Gringolet’s receiving room, she was headed to the official cluster of buildings that housed the EVA office, supplies and requisitions, hospitality management, and communications, among other things. Once she exited the park, she quickly made her way past the EVA office and to a broad three-story building made of cut stone. The door was glass, and it said simply Communications. Through the pellucid portal, she could make out a reception desk manned by a bored looking young man. She glanced down the slim street in either direction, making note of a man appearing from the EVA building, then looked up. From her narrow view of the cylinder above her, she could make out part of the central elevator mechanism that filled perhaps twenty percent of the total station’s volume. A portion of the far side of the station was also visible, and Dinah could see a few people walking back and forth. She had been in stations like these before, but the effect of watching people walking on the ceiling was still a bit disconcerting. She opened the door and walked inside.
Three minutes later, Dinah was admitted to a large room of cubicles on the second floor of the building. The man from the reception desk pointed towards the far wall and said, “Over there,” then left to resume his position. Dinah walked past the half dozen or so coms personnel on duty at the moment, most with large can headphones on. They were all working on surfaces on their desk. She assumed they were parsing data into separate files, sending messages to various ships and stations, and perhaps reading and censoring personal letters. The whole organization had a military feel to it. It was familiar, and she knew how it worked.
A moment later she was standing behind the man she had come looking for. He was typing away at his surface, just as the others were. She could see that he was black and he seemed tall, though it was difficult to tell since he was seated. His head sported thick hair that stood out at various angles. She was about to tap his shoulder when he turned around and looked up at her. His eyes were widely spaced, his lips full, and he had a strong chin. She did not recognize his face.
“You’re Overton,” she said his name as a statement, not a question.
He stood up, tall indeed, and spent a moment searching her face. “Sir?” he asked speculatively.
Dinah nodded. “Good. How did you know?”
His face broke into a grin, revealing straight white teeth. “Well, you wanted me to hear you walk up behind me. I could tell you were making noise on purpose, which meant if you didn’t want to be heard, you wouldn’t have been.” She did not reply, so he continued. “You’re not an assassin, so I figured you were a soldier. No accent, so I assume United States military. Marines?”
“For a while,” she replied vaguely. “How did you know I outranked you?”
He was thoughtful for a second. “The way you spoke, like you were about to give me an order. I don’t know who you are, sir, but you know who I am, and that you outrank me. Or you did. How did I do?”
“Excellently. I can see why you’re a communications officer.” She offered her hand.
He shook it vigorously. “Yeah, great ears.” He pointed to his left ear with his other hand. “Not a bad way to make money out in the world. When did you get out?”
“A few years ago,” she replied, releasing his hand.
“Was it the foot?”
“In part.�
� Around most people, Dinah was uneasy discussing her injury. She was uncomfortable because they were uncomfortable. If they found out, they put on sympathetic faces, asked questions as delicately as they could, winced as though they could somehow feel her pain, and generally treated her as though she were still bleeding. By contrast, there was a direct and unassuming nature that most military types adopted after a few years in the service that she enjoyed, and it was a relief to answer without having to hear how sorry someone was.
“I’m going to go ahead and assume that your vague answers are for my benefit and not yours,” he said and indicated an empty chair tucked inside his cubicle.
As she took the seat and he returned to his, she said, “You’re not wrong.” She leaned back in the chair comfortably and laced her fingers over her flat stomach.
“Just tell me one thing. Who was your drill instructor at boot?”
“Gonzalez, same as yours.”
The grin returned. “So I could do that thing that people always do, where I ask you something about Gonzalez that’s not true, and you correct me to prove that he really was your drill instructor, but why don’t you just tell me something that only one of his squad would know.”
Dinah allowed herself a bit of a smile. “His breath was awful, unless he’d had steak the night before, then it was really horrific.”
Overton burst out laughing. “It’s true. Bastard must have never brushed his teeth.”
“We had this theory that he did it on purpose, just to make it worse when he was yelling in your face.”
He laughed again and pointed at her. “That’s a good theory. Probably true.” He let out a satisfied sigh. “It’s good to talk to someone from the service.”
“Likewise.”
“There are a few of us scattered throughout the station. We try to get together every week or so for cards or something. You must be off that ship that just docked. Any other military types onboard?”
Dinah shook her head. “Nope.”
“Too bad. I’d say you’re older than me, so I probably had Gonzalez in boot more recently than you did, and I don’t know you. So that leaves one question: how did you read my file? Hard to imagine you hacked station security, especially in the few hours since you docked.” His smile still lingered, and his questions carried the air of curiosity rather than suspicion.
“I read it three weeks ago, before we left Mars.” Her answer was flat.
“Ah.” He thought for another moment. “You were looking for a friend here, someone you could trust. I don’t blame you. Working for an energy company is like working for the military, only they’re more efficient and far more ruthless.” He continued his speculations. “So you either knew you’d need help when you got here, or thought you might and were just doing your homework. I’m curious which it is, though I suppose it doesn’t matter.”
“It was just in case.”
“So something’s happened since you left. Word is that there might be some extra money for people willing to do some work on your ship. Does it have anything to do with that?”
“Yes it does.” She nodded once.
“Well,” he sat up a bit in his seat and fixed her with a more serious look, “how can I help, sir?”
Dinah sat forward, her hands still clasped, her elbows resting on her knees. They were perhaps half a meter apart. “I know there are some former military personnel in administration on Titan Prime. I need to know if a ship docked there, or anywhere else in around Saturn.”
“That’s all?”
“Not quite. I need to know if they docked, what their status is, and most importantly, when they plan to leave. I also need to know if those plans change.”
“That ain’t nothing. They followed you out here?” It wasn’t really a question, but Dinah nodded anyway. “Are you looking to have a piece of action done? Because I can’t be part of that.”
She shook her head even as he spoke. “No, I just need to know. It’s really just confirming intelligence, but I need to know if they’re going to follow us home.”
Overton thought for another few moments. “I might be able to help out. Flight plans aren’t public knowledge, but they’re not exactly top secret either. It’ll be easier if they put in at Titan Prime, but that’s certainly not the only option. There are about a dozen moons with refueling stations out here, and most are equipped to receive and sell to commercial flights. What’s the ship?”
“It’s a Hemlock class armed transport called The Doris Day.”
“I’ll see what I can find out and get back to you. Let’s meet at Saturn’s Satyr tomorrow night for a drink, say about twenty?”
The slight smile ghosted across Dinah’s face again. “Sergeant, are you asking me on a date?”
“Yes, sir,” he quipped, his smile broad.
Chapter 16
Saturn’s Satyr was a corporate approximation of a quirky, independently owned bar and restaurant. The theme, someone’s idea of a Greek forests inhabited by dryads, nyads, fauns, and satyrs, didn’t really make sense, but in the ten days since they had docked, it was one that Staples had come to appreciate nonetheless. The walls were decorated tastefully with trees, and a few exhibited three-dimensional pieces of pseudo-bark on them. Contributing to this illusion was an array of real and fake trees and shrubs strategically placed about the dimly lit dining and drinking establishment. Here and there mischievous painted eyes peered out from the hollow of some tree or deep in a plastic shrub. The overall effect was kitschy, but also managed to be charming.
Since it was designed to serve a station that operated around the clock, Saturn’s Satyr never closed. It transitioned smoothly from serving drinks to providing breakfast at about four. Now, at quarter past eight, the captain and her first mate sat across from one another partaking of a passable breakfast of eggs, beans, and vegetables. Staples and Templeton were seated at a green table that had no doubt impeccably matched the green of the walls when the place was first constructed, but time and a tide of alcohol had faded it to a more unnatural shade. While the food wasn’t great, Staples was at least grateful for the coffee, which was excellent. She had to hand it to massive companies like Libom; they knew where to spend their money for maximum worker productivity. She was just beginning her third cup when a movement at the door caught her eye.
Templeton followed her gaze over his right shoulder and spied Evelyn Schilling standing at the door. The engineer wore jeans, a faded band tee shirt, and her hair was held back from her face in a messy bun. She wasn’t wearing any makeup; her eyes were red-rimmed and her cheeks flushed. It was the most unkempt either of them had ever seen her. When her eyes alighted on them, she did not smile, but hurried over. She crossed the mostly empty restaurant quickly, several pairs of eyes following her from the bar, and dragged a nearby chair up to their table. It made little sound on the stained carpet, and she nearly collapsed into it.
“Evelyn?” Templeton asked, concern in his voice.
“What’s wrong, Evelyn?” Staples nearly spoke over the man.
The computer scientist’s brown eyes were wide, and up close, Staples could see that the woman had been crying. Evelyn looked at her, then shook her head. She seemed overcome with emotion. She sat still for a moment, her eyes darting back and forth between the two of them, the tabletop, and occasionally the other patrons, most of whom had gone back to their meals or coffee. Staples decided to wait her out, and Templeton followed her lead. Finally, she took a great sigh and opened her mouth.
“I think something is wrong with me.” Her voice quavered.
Staples spoke slowly and clearly. “What do you mean?”
Before she could respond, the screens in the corners of the room flared to life and suddenly everyone was looking at Davis Ducard. Only his head and shoulders were visible, and a zippered black work jacket hugged him at his throat. Evelyn took one look at him and all of the energy seemed to go out of her. She put her head in her hands, and then she was the only one not watching the station�
�s second-in-command speak.
“Cronos Station.” His voice carried loudly throughout the room. Staples thought she heard an echo of it float in through the front door, and several of the workers moved to silence their watches. He looked deadly serious, and the tenor of his voice matched. “It is with a heavy heart that I must inform you that Station Commander Gordon Laplace died last night.” There were gasps and whispers from the other diners, and Staples and Templeton looked at each other in alarm. Evelyn continued to stare at the tabletop, her knuckles white against her fiery hair. On the screen, Ducard drew a deep breath, and then continued. “Doctor Stewart has ruled the death as the result of natural causes. He died of a heart attack in his sleep. We have every reason to believe it was peaceful.”
“Then that’s about the only peaceful thing he did,” one of the men at the bar muttered to a woman next to him. She shushed him, her attention on the screen.
“I would like to ask everyone to observe a moment of silence for the deceased,” Ducard continued, then bowed his head and closed his eyes. Most of the other people in the room did the same, and Staples traded another look with her first mate, then regarded the top of Evelyn’s head. In the silence that followed, the woman stifled a brief sob, and for a moment Staples thought she was going to begin crying, but she maintained her composure.
“Thank you. This is a terrible loss, but you all know that the Commander was a believer in hard work. He would have wanted us to continue the best we could. I will be filling in as Station Commander until the company sorts things out. Details on services will be forthcoming, and grief counselors are available in the medical area.” Ducard looked as though he were going to say more, but then he just nodded gravely and the screen went dark.
The noises of discussion in the restaurant began immediately. “Evelyn,” Staples said, placing her hand on her freckled forearm, “I think we need to talk, and not here. Will you come with me to Gringolet?” Evelyn nodded, and finally looked up to meet the other woman’s eyes. She sniffled and wiped the tears from her eyes. “Don?” she asked, and Templeton immediately nodded and motioned to the waiter for their check.