The Hundred Gram Mission

by Navin Weeraratne

  "Just now? It’s true then, the imbeciles are all in the Navy."

  She stepped to a street view screen. In it, policemen were arguing with tuk tuk drivers and motorcyclists. Behind them, soldiers in PLA green, laid razor wire across the road.

  "Tiger Three, report."

  "Three, reporting. We’ve started cellular jamming and the road block is in place. The local police are telling people it’s a toxic leak from a Chinese tanker."

  "Good work. Do the locals believe them?"

  "Even the police believe it."

  She looked over to a different screen, showing the outside of the house. A stray cat glared at the camera before leaving, ass in the air. Beside the display was a set of ECG tracings. All normal.

  "Tiger One, report."

  "All quiet here, Lieutenant Colonel. We have the entrance and Tiger Two has the rear. We’re ready to make forced entry on your command."

  "Standby, Chief Sergeant. We wait till Tiger Four gets here," she turned to a controller. "Where are my special forces operators now?"

  "Southwest Falcons ETA is eighteen minutes. Plus or minus, they say."

  "Plus or minus?"

  "I diverted a UAV to take a look. A water buffalo herd is crossing further up, traffic is at a standstill."

  "Where are the Americans now?"

  "They’ve deplaned, and some are on their way here. Ma’am, their ETA is less than ten minutes."

  "Fucking great."

  "Shall I just ask Tiger Three to keep them out, till the operation is done? The Americans can’t have a problem with that."

  "No," she shook her head. "You can never be sure with Americans, everything seems to offend them. Tiger One, this is Command."

  "I copy."

  "I’m coming over. Make room for one more."

  "Yes Madam."

  The operators all turned and looked at her.

  "Are you not waiting for the Southwest Falcons?" asked one.

  She slammed a clip into her pistol. "I am a Southwest Falcon."

  Hua Tse, aerospace engineer, taikonaut, and National Games fencing medalist, had pissed himself. He sat bound to a chair, blindfolded. The morning before, the Laughing Man with the bamboo had come to beat them. Hua’s ribs spiked with pain, every time he breathed. It was good that they were being beaten, said Xi Sheng. It meant they were going to keep them alive.

  Then they came back for Xi Sheng. They removed his bonds and even his blindfold. "We are releasing you today," they told him. "See, I told you," the senior engineer told Hua. "We are too valuable. The government will negotiate for us. It’s going to be alright. I will call your mother and let her know you are alright."

  Minutes later, he heard Xi Sheng screaming. It stopped suddenly and loud cheering followed.

  Hours passed. No one brought food or water. The tropical morning heat made the room an oven.

  He heard the key turning and the heavy door opening.

  "We are releasing you now," said a voice. It was the Laughing Man’s.

  They dragged him out into the courtyard. The high sun beat down like Judgment. Blindfold off, he could finally look about his prison. The walls were mud and plaster with flaking white paint. Solar panels lined the coconut leaf, thatched roofing. A small satellite dish was mounted on a teak pillar. Wires ran from it to the twin-lens camera set up before him. Behind him was a black flag stretched out on a plywood frame. Masked men with assault rifles stood before it.

  In front of him was a sawn-off log with a machete beside it.

  "No!" he tried to back away, two guards seized him by his arms. "Don’t do this, you’re making a mistake!"

  The man at the camera looked up and nodded to the guards. They dragged him to the log and forced him to his knees. Another person walked up, and picked up the machete.

  A pulse of white light flooded the courtyard. There was a bang like a point blank gun shot. Scalding liquid sprayed him. Hua cried out, his eyes shut tightly. They felt like hot knives had lanced through them, into his brain. The guards let go of him, people were yelling. The air was suddenly hot, dry, and smelling of burned meat.

  He opened his stinging eyes. On the ground before him was a burning body, machete fused into one hand. The head was gone – shredded meat clung to the walls. The camera and its gaping user were red with spatter.

  "Emergency action protocol, target eliminated," Yaogan 211 was tinny in her helmet comms. "Capacitors recharging."

  "Go!"

  The charges blew, and the front door vaporized.

  Seven body armors rose and stormed through the doorway. Red lasers cut through the smoke, QCW assault guns[xix] appeared at their ends. Instrument-crammed helmets looked about, like the giant heads of black insects.

  Two men were on the floor, their assault rifles still slung. One wheezed blood, and looked up.

  Suyin Lee shot him through the face.

  "Clear!" she waved the rest of them forward.

  They kicked down the door and entered the second room. It was a kitchen. Women in headscarves had been washing plates and stirring curries, now they were screaming.

  "Hands on your head! Hands on your head!" one of the soldiers waved his gun. "Get on the ground, now!"

  A younger woman grabbed a knife and rushed at him.

  Three rounds in the chest blew her back against a stove. The other women screamed even louder. Elsewhere in the building, gunfire had broken out.

  "That’s Tiger Two, engaging," said Lee. "Keep moving!"

  The next door lead to hallway of heavy, thick, doors. Slits had been made for food trays and peering guards. Each had heavy metal bolts across them.

  "Two heat patterns," said the point man, pointing at specific doors. "Possibly the hostages."

  The doors swung open, blocking the hallway. Bullets tore through the food tray slits. The point man was knocked back, clutching his arm. The others dragged him back and returned fire. The rounds embedded and the doors held firm.

  "Nanotube reinforced," said Tiger One’s leader. "We can’t shoot through them. This is a prepared position."

  One of the soldiers pulled out a grenade.

  "No," Lee held out her hand. "You can’t get a good angle unless you enter the hallway again," she tapped her helmet. "I need a fire mission."

  "UAV Two standing by, over."

  "Two targets, I’m tagging them now on the infra red live map, over."

  "Fire mission confirmed. Stand by Tiger Leader."

  Something tore into the cell block, blasting through walls and shredding doors. Wood dust and pulverized concrete showered the crouching soldiers. Lee got to her feet, her ears ringing. Tilt-rotors passed overhead.

  "Good shooting, Two. Tiger One, let’s go!"

  They exited the cell blocks into a large courtyard. In the center some AV equipment had been knocked over. Some gunmen lay shot dead, a third was partly incinerated.

  "I will kill him! One more step, any of you, and he dies!"

  The gore-covered man had one arm around the scientist’s neck. The other held a pistol to his head.

  "Don’t come any closer!" he looked back and forth between the two converging assault teams.

  "Don’t shoot him," Lee held up her arms. "He lives, you live."

  The gunman regarded her with venom.

  "You Chinese whore! You killed my men! You and you’re whole cursed country will pay for this! We will wash your streets with Chinese blood!"

  The world went nuclear white. Her optic implants opaqued, and hot air blasted past her. The hostage screamed. She blinked as her eyes teared up, and slowly depolarized.

  The gunman fell backwards, his body burning. His head had splashed across the courtyard.

  "Target eliminated," said Yaogan 211. "Capacitors recharging."

  One hour later

  "Alright. What do we know? What have we learned?"

  The wrecked house swarmed with PLA green uniforms. They moved about with face masks and surgical gloves, taking pictures and bagging evidence. Ste
pping between them with rolled up sleeves and dress shoes, were the FBI.

  Suyin Lee gave him a strange look. She made a point of finishing her call, before facing him.

  "Which one are you?"

  "Evan Stockwell, Intelligence Analyst, Ma'am," he smiled broadly. "It's a pleasure to be working with you people."

  "You’re the one the Sun Tzu asked for." She folded her arms and frowned.

  "So I hear," he held out his hand. She stared at him till he lowered it.

  "They had a Faraday cage to help hide their computer use," said Pirello. "And they were running an anonymity network, onion routing server. They were using an industrial grade, 3d printer to make weapons. The pharma maker is the one stolen from the clinic. It’s been printing painkillers and psychoactives, standard fare for insurgent self-financing. I think this is the main cell."

  "No," Stockwell shook his head. "An important cell, but not the main one. These are the wrong people."

  "Excuse me?" Lee frowned.

  "Look at them. Except for one unidentified, these are all Indonesian Muslims."

  "So?"

  "There are plenty of homegrown, anti-Chinese movements here. They're message is simple: 'get the Chinese out'. Why would they confuse that message, with weird, anti-technology ideas? Jamaat Ansar is all about weird, anti-technology, ideas. They're terrorism for nerds."

  "So, you don't think the bodies look nerdy enough?"

  "Look at their personal effects, their clothing."

  "There's nothing special about those."

  "Exactly! They're just a bunch of shit-farmers. It doesn't make sense for Jemaat to be a peasant movement. A stronger profile for Jemaat would be educated, international travelers. Maybe people with experience living in the West. These guys just don't match."

  "So, you don’t think that the evidence that they’ve been attacking our Space Elevator project, is enough to suggest that they do match?"

  "Oh, they’re Jemaat. They’re just not the main cell. This is an offshoot. The main group is probably not even in this part of the world."

  "Agent Stockwell, there were twenty four insurgents here, not counting women, children, and slaves. They held two Tianguo De Jieti engineers here. DNA sequencing has identified the leader as Rizki Sukarno. He was shot from space by a laser battle satellite. This group is finished now. They fought to the death."

  "I know, too bad, right? If we’d got here sooner, we could have suggested flashbangs and stun weapons. Survivors mean intel."

  Lee took a step towards him. "You flew all the way from the US, to question my operation?"

  "No, no, no, no!" he held up his his hands, "I'm not here to insult you, I'm sorry that's not what I meant. I'm here because the Sun Tzu, Self-Transcending System, wants me to contribute. As such, I want you to consider that these were not your primary target."

  "Oh, I'll consider it, alright."

  "Look, if I’m wrong, it’s wasted time and resources. But if I’m right, it’ll save lives. So what’s the harm?"

  Pirello’s hand-held beeped. She pulled it and read it.

  "Hey, we got a hit on the international’s DNA. "He's Nijad Al-Rawi. A Dubai national."

  "That's what I'm talking about! I'll contact Emirati intelligence and see what they can tell us." Stockwell turned back to face Lee. "See? That was totally worth my plane ticket."

  "We have," Lee began slowly, "our own resources. We’ll look for this Al-Rawi, as well."

  "You have the full cooperation of the FBI. Anything we find, we’ll tell you. Jemaat are some nasty shits. If they go out of business, everyone’s wins."

  She nodded but said nothing.

  "I have to go set up in our rooms and make a call to Likavec," said Pirello. "Stockwell, you want to stay here and poke around some more?"

  "Totally. I love poking around."

  Pirello left. Stockwell turned to Lee, and smiled and winked.

  "Well, I guess you’re stuck with me then!"

  She turned very deliberately, and walked away.

  Propulsion

  Daryl Spektorov, II

  2051, Spektorov Foundation, Alexander Graham Bell Orbital, Low Earth Orbit

  "You know, I hear the craziest thing over in Legal. Someone said you were building a new kind of ship."

  A pair of joggers waved as the electric cart passed them. Sprinklers erupted over a lawn; the water arcing further in low gravity. Off the side walk, a segway was parked by a bike rack. None of the bikes were chained.

  "Oh?" Spektorov, leaned back in his seat. His steering wheel recessed and the cart began self-driving. White buildings with thick ivy drifted past.

  "Yeah," said Sam Snyder. "The kind that goes to other stars."

  "I agree, that's a pretty crazy idea."

  Sam sighed and closed his eyes. "Thank God."

  "That doesn't mean it's a bad idea. I think it's a freaking great idea!"

  "What?"

  The cart pulled alongside the station café (the "Star Starbucks"). People sat out around white tables, sipping lattes and reading tablets.

  "Come on," Spectorov climbed out, "you should try the Viet Robusta."

  "Daryl," Snyder jumped out, "Tell me you're not building a goddamn starship."

  "I'm not building a goddamn starship."

  "Then what are you building?"

  "I'm not building anything. We're still in the design stage," he sat and waved down a waiter.

  "Then what are you designing?"

  "A goddamn starship. Coffee?"

  Snyder stared.

  "Just me then," the waiter took the menu and left.

  "Can I ask you - why?"

  "Yeah, but that's a really dumb question when you think about it. You know - STAR ship?" Spektorov laughed.

  Snyder did not.

  "It’s not what we do, Daryl."

  "No, but it might be what I do. I got the money. I got the time. Why not do something fun with it?"

  "Going to a ski resort is fun."

  "Ski resorts? I own ski resorts. I might put one in space. Fuck ski resorts, snow is cold shit. It's what you do if you can't afford a beach."

  "How are you even going to do it? Make a starship?"

  "I don't know, but I got some really smart people on it."

  "Those scientists you hired from ESA?"

  "They were going cheap. Buy one get ten free."

  "They were not cheap."

  "Yeah they were. So many German accents. I'm like Uncle Sam, buying up Nazi rocket scientists. I paid the Peenemunde price!"

  "You're not going to make any money on interstellar travel."

  "It's - my - money," he pointed to himself with each word. A steaming cup was set before him.

  "It's not even possible, or NASA would be working on it."

  "It's - my - money."

  "Would you even live long enough to see it happen?"

  "It's - my - money."

  "Fuck your money!"

  "Ah! So you accept that it's my money, and that I'm going to do whatever I like with it."

  "I'm the head of your legal department. It's my job to stop you from doing stupid things like this."

  "It's your job to stop me from doing illegal things. Starships aren't illegal, and even if they were, I'd go somewhere else that it was. I can pay for the support. They're politicians, Sam. They're like leeches. You just show them a little blood and they come running."

  "Have you thought about how this would look?"

  "How it looks?"

  "Sun Star makes gardens of Eden, and puts them over a dying world. Gardens with organic food, real meat, and picket fences. Meanwhile, ten billion people go hungry down there," Snyder pointed at the ground. "If you want to spend money dramatically, put it in climate refugees. It'll help our staff morale and the company's image. Don't blow it on some white elephant with no bearing on people’s needs."

  Daryl sipped his coffee slowly. "You’re dead wrong about one thing."

  "What am I wrong about?"

 
; "People's needs. They need this. The whole world needs it."

  "Do you think you're running for President? How does a starship help Bangladeshi boat people?"

  "Exploration and science are always important, especially in times of crisis. They are investments in our future, and we cannot stop doing that. If we do, we’re as derelict in our duties as the generations that brought us here."

  "This isn’t self-repairing dykes and drought-proof rice we’re talking about. This is building a spaceship to reach another star."

  "Precisely. How does that not advance science? We can’t even guess at what we’ll learn. This ship would fly to the Alpha Centauri system. We know it has worlds that could support life. You can’t tell me that this isn't an investment we should be making."

  "Actually yes I can. Let's talk specifically about investment. How much is this going to cost?"

  "Well, I’ve done some calcu – "

  "No, stop. This isn’t scholarships for runaway, African, child soldiers. Even your entire personal fortune couldn’t bankroll a project like this. You’re not putting together modules Daryl, you’re developing technology. When has that ever been cheap? You’ll have to go to the board. Where is the return on investment? How can you make this something they would invest in? Even if they said yes, we just don’t have the money. We’re one company, Daryl. Something like this needs a group of nations."

  Daryl smiled.

  "Oh come on!"

  "Like I was saying, I’ve done some calculations. An international program is the best way this gets funded. Sun Star should try get the world behind an expedition to Alpha Centauri . It'll work: now that it has real problems, the world is better at getting serious."

  "Is that coffee you're drinking, or liquid bullshit? Take a fraction of the cost of refugee orbitals. Any fraction, it doesn't matter. With that, the Big Five could house and feed the world's refugees. Something that would end a very real security threat to the world. They could, as you say, get serious about real problems. Instead, they spend billions on growing their orbiting, military industrial capacity. You want to make a humanitarian appeal to such people?"

  "Why not? Those military shipyards, by international agreement, are all producing refugee orbitals."