by Scott Rhine
“He’ll be fine. I hit him in the head at the highest setting…twice.”
The confession took a moment for Max to process. “That’s not meant for use above the shoulders.”
“At Glory Point, there’ll be no rules.”
Max limped over to his patient. Once he verified respiration and pupil response, he injected Kesh with drugs to counteract the neural overload. “His pulse is a little low.”
Kesh moaned as his jaw muscles spasmed and his scalp burned with cold fire.
The Bat remained by the access hatch. “Shh. No warning the others.”
Digging Kesh out of the sand with his bare hands, Max checked nerve conduction throughout the Saurian’s body. “I’ll want to move him to sick bay for observation.”
Daisy strode through the door with another cocktail on a silver tray. Somehow, she sensed the attack and blocked with the tray, heedless of where the drink splashed. The neural charge numbed both of her hands but little else. The trained agent kneed Menelaus in the groin. As he doubled over, she knocked the staff away. When she reared back for the finishing blow, he put his hands up and shrieked, “Not the face again. You win.”
“Who’s the baddest-ass?” Reuben whooped from the hallway. He ran inside to sweep her off her feet. In the excitement, he kissed her. She kissed back for several seconds.
Max cleared his throat. “He drained the battery on practice and the rest of us. That’s why she survived.”
Daisy pulled back.
“Don’t listen to him. He’s just jealous you’re tougher than his woman,” said Reuben.
“I have Roz’s wanted poster hanging in my office,” Max bragged. “Where’s hers.”
“Maybe I haven’t been caught yet,” Daisy teased.
Max reminded them, “No more ambushes on this leg of the trip. Give us time to recover.”
Eyeing her blouse, damp from the spilled drink, Reuben said, “Why don’t we go back to the yacht and get you changed into something more comfortable.”
“No skin contact!” Max warned. To Menelaus, he said, “Grab one of those cargo sleds. You’re hauling Kesh to my office. I have to watch him for a few hours to make sure he doesn’t experience cerebral swelling.”
Once they had the patient resting in sick bay, Max attached a full set of biomonitors. “What are you going to do with all this hatred if you survive the battle?”
“Become a game warden for the Far Traveler Protective Trust on the Mimic planet,” the Bat replied. “Some of the Saurians may attempt poaching their preferred prey. I’ll be there to make an example of them and spread the fear of justice.”
That tells me who poked around on my computer pad. The only way Menelaus could have discovered the name of the new charity was from documents on that pad. I should have listened to my instincts. However, the Bat wouldn’t have planted a snoop bot. Menelaus is the only one on the ship more isolated than me. The thought gave him an unwilling flicker of sympathy for the crazed mammal.
Kesh managed to croak, “What did we learn from this exercise?”
Menelaus grunted. “Always know how much charge my weapon has.”
“Nothing about karma?” Max asked wryly.
“We’ve been far too trusting for people at war,” Kesh said. “I’ll review the hull security tapes myself. Maybe even send out a crawler cam. I want to make sure no one tampered with anything else during the repairs on Filangis.”
12. Crucible
Paranoia paid off. Shortly before arriving at the scrapyard, Reuben and Daisy suited up for a spacewalk on the hull to check an anomaly Kesh had discovered. The rest of the crew waited for them as they returned through the airlock. Reuben cursed over the ship’s comm link. “A metal blister the size of my forearm has been attached inside the landing-gear well.” He removed his helmet. “My own people. Someone from MI-23 did this. No one else had access.”
At least it wasn’t one of us. Kesh helped the pair hang their gear in the lockers.
Roz frowned. “How do you know it wasn’t already on the yacht when Draven passed it off to you?”
“Because I checked over every inch of it before leaving Giragog. I pissed off a lot of people. I would’ve noticed the sensor and antenna on this thing.”
“So the device is broadcasting whatever we do, probably to the Bankers,” Max concluded. “Peel it off.”
Daisy held up a sophisticated scanning device made by the Llewellyn Corporation. “I detected explosive residue.”
“Were they hoping we’d take the yacht inside the hull of the Deep 6 so they could blow up the prototype?” asked Kesh.
“Unlikely, though I’ll need to cut it open with precision remote arms to see how big a bang it can make.”
“The scrapyard has remote manipulators for reactor work,” Roz said. “I’ll fly the yacht to a repair bay on the biggest moon they call Crucible.” All the moons had been mined heavily and had names like Slag or Caldera.
“Hell, no,” Max objected. “You’re too valuable. You could be the target. Once we dock at the orbital refueling station, let’s fork over a few extra credits for a local tug to haul the yacht down to Crucible. Kesh, could you pay?”
“MI-23 will,” Reuben said, removing his magnetic boots.
Menelaus raised a furry arm to ask a question. The bruises around his nose were dark purple. “We won’t need the yacht after today. We’ll be parking it here until our return. Why not leave it or detonate the device in space?”
“Because I don’t want my successor facing the same threat. We need to find out what information it’s collected, who it’s sending to, and who build it.”
Kesh nodded. “All of which would be useful in shaping future policy. A medium-sized charge might be intended to disable the craft in order to prevent the Ram from leaving Goat space.”
“My predecessor Draven recruited me in Human space. Besides, near the fuel lines, any explosion might blow the whole yacht.”
“Crap,” Roz said. “That means we have to siphon off the yacht’s fuel tanks in space to render it safe before approaching any inhabited area. The Bankers may be trying to sabotage what remains of the Goat’s industrial base.” Tansdahl was the lone remaining Goat-owned space station.
Kesh replied, “Since we’re not dead yet, I presume it has a specific trigger. Perhaps it’ll activate if we inform others of the Glory Point conspiracy. Who knows? A small charge would just eliminate the evidence, meaning someone was merely spying on you.”
Free of the spacesuit, Reuben stood in his standard blue coveralls and fixed his unruly hair in the mirror. “I’ll ride along to Crucible. While Daisy dissects the explosive, I’m going to consult the salvage records. Who’s going with us?”
Kesh inspected the suit for damage one last time. “Me. I have private ansible messages at the bank. They need my biometrics to deliver them.”
“Financial transactions?” asked Max.
“Replies from my potential heirs. I have to choose soon.” He managed to keep the loathing out of his tone.
Roz said, “I can’t go near a bank. They know I can see them for what they really are. What if it’s a trap?”
“Bankers maintain a minimal presence,” Kesh assured her.
“The Magi won’t help you,” Max warned.
“I’ll cover his tail,” Reuben said. “I owe him that much after he pulled me out of the tomb. Anyone else? I need someone to watch Daisy’s back while we visit the bank.”
“I’m still limping from that blow to the knee,” said Max. “I’d be a liability.”
Menelaus stared at the floor. “His injury is my fault. I’ll guard our explosives expert while she works.”
****
Kesh waited nervously by the airlock for the tug to arrive. “They’re two minutes late.”
Echo’s holograph appeared. “Actually, we achieved orbit two minutes early.”
With a snort, Reuben asked, “Slipping in your old age? You’ve always figured this stuff down to the second.” He w
ore a larger suit than normal to accommodate the goggles around his neck.
Echo looked away, embarrassed. “The gravimetric measurements in my library were 300 years old. The Goats constantly mine or recycle metal, so the mass of each celestial object changes as well as the total mass in the system. I updated with my values with those of the Magi shuttle. It won’t happen again.” Her image blanked out.
“Perhaps you should leave the diplomacy to me,” Kesh teased.
Reuben responded with a rude squeezing gesture, the Saurian version of the finger.
Transport aboard the tug was cramped, but no one wanted to board a yacht that might explode at any time. The tug pilot attached the safety framework himself. Reuben said to the surly gray male, “A little understaffed today?”
Or has rumor of the bomb leaked?
“Our people have no money to construct new ships. During the war, Humans kept this place busy with defense contracts. Most of the good lunar mines have also played out. We barely scrape by harvesting the asteroids.” The tug pilot blinked. “Hey, aren’t you the Ram?”
Reuben gave him his patented “things are going to get better” speech.
Kesh wasn’t so certain. However this mission went, the Goats might be in for some lean times.
The ship approached Crucible through the shadow of the gas giant, but they were backlit by Tansdahl B. The largest moon had been hollowed out. They steered toward an enormous crater with access to volcanic vents. Together with their heat, solar-powered lasers were capable of melting down any secondhand metal. Strip-mined rings were labeled based on their ambient temperatures when Crucible swung close to the dominant sun.
The tug lowered the yacht into a “cool” bay.
Uneasy, Daisy asked, “Do you have problems with solar flares?” Such activity might interfere with bomb disposal activities.
The pilot replied, “Nah. This system is the best behaved in Goat space.”
“Did that thing crash?” Kesh pointed to what looked like a shuttle planted nose-first in the next stall.
“Salvage. If anyone in the Union has an accident, it ends up in our yard. We strip out all the electronics and reusable parts before we liquefy the aluminum and metals. Lastly, we patch the hull ceramics for the ship’s next life.”
Kesh thought this skill set would work equally well for chopping stolen ships.
In the airlock, the walls were cheap fused-silicate panels, the minimum protection permitted by law.
Shaking hands with Reuben before returning to his ship, the tug pilot said, “Use of the waldos is free for you, sir, but the air costs. We have to make it by cooking rust or separating water. I’d keep my suit on if I were you.”
“Where are you going?” Kesh asked. “We’ll need a lift back.”
The pilot shrugged. “I have to haul a couple loads of mail to your ship. The Magi agreed to carry it for free. Can’t argue with that price.”
Kesh resisted the urge to curse. He’d already refused physical mail due to the potential security risk. Magi had an overly heightened sense of civic responsibility.
Inside, the observation room had a full-wall view of the yacht, and an access hatch led to the rest of the station. The controls were so complex they resembled the bridge of a ship. Two sets of manipulator arms and an assortment cargo cranes dangled in the corners of the bay.
“You two got this?” Reuben asked, lingering in hopes of a good-bye kiss, but Daisy was already absorbed by the challenge of tipping the yacht on its side for easy access to the landing gear.
Since weapons hadn’t been permitted on the tug, Menelaus found a meter-long wrench and hefted it. “Nothing will attack her while I guard.” He planted himself in the corner between the two doors.
Unimpressed, Reuben used his clearance codes to add security to the doors. “The new password is Laurelin3.” This was a reference to Daisy’s homeworld. He tapped his own earpiece. “Use our comm system to send updates, not the unsecured local net.”
Kesh said, “We’ll hit the archives first in case problems with the Bankers force us to leave town in a hurry.”
****
The Goat workers seemed cheered by Reuben’s presence on their station. So many people showed up to see him that he had to stop to mingle. He offered fist bumps of solidarity. Traditional head-butts weren’t allowed in spacesuits for the sake of safety. The low-cost air in the common area smelled of sweat and urine.
Kesh used the air from his suit tank after the first whiff. Once the last well-wisher departed, he dragged his popular comrade away. Then the two settled down in an office to review a century of transactions, trying to tell the true from the false. Using the partial list of refitted troop carriers from the Library of Xerxes, Reuben tracked the common flow of each. After a few hours, Reuben rubbed his eyes. “All the invasion fleet components parked on Caldera, the smallest moon, for a prolonged period before reclamation.”
Kesh had been working the other way, measuring the output of the scrapyard each year compared against the inputs. He couldn’t always tell which wrecks disappeared, but he knew how much the misappropriated equipment weighed. “Interesting. A whole fleet of submarines never made it to the smelter. They didn’t even siphon the air out of those hulks.”
“What was a reclamation center in Goat space doing with aquatic vehicles?”
Cross-referencing against headlines, Kesh explained, “It was a big Department of Colonization scandal at the time. The subs were contracted for a new Human ocean world, but someone screwed up. Certain chemicals and microorganism in Winedark’s ocean reacted to the magnesium alloy of the hulls.”
“Nivaar is mostly water.”
“Hmph.” Kesh checked the specifications. “Almost as if these fifteen subs were made for the Banker world.” He scrolled through pages of manifests. “It looks like everything that went missing on the moon was meant for the assault.”
“How would they transport the load? None of the troop ships had that much cargo capacity.”
Pointing at the screen, Kesh said, “They hijacked enough Icarus drives to move the mass.”
“We’re not missing a ship that big. You certainly wouldn’t be able to make it invisible.”
“Spares?”
“No. Ships are built with all the spares they need. Engines all need to be the same make and model, tuned to work with the other members of the choir.”
Kesh tracked the serial numbers. “The record says these were destroyed in a workplace accident before the war. Caldera was repairing a long-range Phib scout, and the fuel tank ruptured.” More accidents than normal happened during the long period of friction leading up to the Gigaparsec conflict. Authorities hadn’t probed deeply.
“How many Goats died?”
“None, but hundreds of Phibs were listed as killed in the line of duty, as was the entire crew of the Saurian ship next in line for the dock. Nice insurance settlement.”
Raising his eyebrows, Reuben replied, “I think this is how the soldiers for the invasion were hidden from public view and paid. We could test the moon for residue and prove no such accident took place.”
Kesh said, “According to the notes, the moon was destroyed. Anything left crashed into the gas giant.”
Pointing to a Magi navigation history log on his screen, Reuben found the smoking gun. “After the accident, the mass of the system dropped considerably, by an amount that would easily mask a fully fueled fleet.” He double-checked some figures on the local archive. “This is the boldest swindle in history. The fleet took the whole bloody moon with them!”
13. Breadcrumbs
After taking snapshots of the evidence, Reuben used his computer skills to erase every trace of his inquiries from the system. Then he sent an encrypted burst to Deep 6. “Add Caldera and submarines to the party. Heading to the bank.”
Max responded, “If you drop off-grid for twenty minutes, we’re coming in after you.”
“I feel loved,” Kesh joked.
For good measure,
Reuben pulled the memory buffer from the terminal he’d used. “Move it. I don’t want to stay in this one-horse town any longer than I have to. This data is burning a hole in my pad.” He donned his helmet and tinted the visor as a disguise.
You took your time on your errand, and now you’re in a hurry for mine? To irk the Goat, Kesh traveled at a sedate pace.
Instead of complaining, Reuben contacted Daisy on the common link so everyone on the team could hear. “How’s it going?”
“I’ve removed the device,” she replied. “I had to hold it against the observation bubble for a closer look, but I think we can trace the maker. I’ll need to dissect it to be sure.”
“What’s your best guess?”
“This explosive is a type used by Blue Giant Fuels.”
“Why would they want to spy on me?” Reuben wondered.
“Above my pay grade, sir.”
“I guess you should keep collecting evidence. Be careful.”
While they talked, the tunnel transitioned into the bank’s module. Kesh could tell because the walls went from cotton candy to vault thickness. He could see a “No Loitering” sign through the two layers of locked, clear doors.
“I guess they didn’t want freeloading Goats sucking up their air,” Reuben said.
A Teller appeared on the screen beside the door. “May I help you, sirs?”
Kesh removed his helmet and placed his face in front of the retinal scanner. “I’m here to collect a private message.”
The outer door clicked open, and the two travelers stepped inside. The airtight door shut behind them.
The Teller’s voice came over speakers. “Place all weapons in the lockers.”
Sturdy metal lockers with plastic keys lined the left wall. Kesh stowed his sword.
“How’s that pig sticker even legal?”