Rock Killer

by S. Evan Townsend

  Griffin smiled. “You blew it.”

  “You can’t do this.”

  Knecht moved back to Griffin with her knife ready. “Try to stop us,” she hissed.

  “And then,” Griffin growled, “we’ll decide whether to blow you out of space.”

  They backed out of his ship, sealed the airlock, undocked, and accelerated away.

  Cole walked up to Knecht. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  Knecht looked at the other woman. “I’m fine,” she said tersely and walked to her computer. Automatically, she began entering instructions to move the Rock Killer away from the other ship. She was rewarded by acceleration. She double-checked the program, then lifted her eyes from the screen to look at the stars outside the bridge window.

  The fat miner reminded her of Waltham, the fat leader in the Gaia Alliance. Waltham had tried a similar trick one night at the LA safe house. But Knecht had learned a few tricks on the streets of Seattle, from SRI when she was originally going to be in security, and from Beatty’s tutelage. She suspected Waltham would be making less nocturnal visits to the women of the GA.

  She wondered how an asshole like Waltham got into the GA. Perhaps, like Beatty, he was useful–probably had money or political connections. Trent wouldn’t tolerate him, otherwise.

  Beatty, on the other hand, was one of the few men she’d ever met that didn’t immediately react to her looks. She liked him for that. They’d formed a friendship of sorts, as close as a man like him was capable of. Beatty taught her many interesting things about how to kill people with various weapons, and unarmed. They talked, both privately and with the group at the house, about the environment, both Earth’s and space’s, and how SRI was about to destroy both. She loved to hear him talk, and easily came to share his hatred of SRI specifically, and the material-based society of America generally.

  Linda Trent had already begun that instruction before Trent introduced Knecht to Beatty. At this point in her life, Knecht could hardly imagine anyone wanting to work for SRI except out of pure greed motivation.

  Knecht had met Linda Trent in LA, when she had gone there for her vacation after graduating from the SRI navigation school. A vacation was tradition, and Knecht’s instructors insisted she take time off before going into space.

  She briefly considered returning home, for about a second. She was sure she could handle her stepfather; she just didn’t want to have to.

  So she went to L.A. to see Disneyland-California, visit the earthquake memorial, and generally play tourist for a while.

  She was outside Mitsubishi’s Chinese Theater looking at the actors’ names in the cement, some lovingly recreated from photographs after being destroyed in the ‘14 earthquake. A woman about her age approached, holding a hand computer.

  “Hi,” the woman said almost too cheerfully. “Would you like to help save the Earth?”

  Knecht looked at her. “Save the Earth” and “Save the Planet” were near mantras in American culture. Every child was taught almost before they could walk what they could do to help “Save the Earth.” So, Knecht naturally answered, “Of course, how?”

  “By donating to the Green Party of California and signing our petition to stop the importation of space derived resources.”

  That grabbed Knecht’s attention. “Why?”

  “The exploitation of space is ruining the pristine nature of the universe. Man’s greed has screwed up Earth enough; we can’t let robber corporations rape outer space for profits.”

  Knecht didn’t know what to say. The other woman must have taken this as a sign to keep talking.

  “We’re having a meeting, the Green Party, that is. You’re welcome to come. Congressperson Trent will be speaking on the dangers of space exploitation.”

  “Who?”

  “Linda Trent, one of the Green Party members in Congress. You really ought to come. Let me write down the address for you—” not transfer to from her computer to Knecht’s as would be the norm—”You can get there by bus.”

  Out of boredom and curiosity, Knecht went.

  Linda Trent was a pudgy woman who spoke with a harsh, grating cadence. She explained the Gravitational Resonance Theory and the danger Space Resources Incorporated’s practice of removing asteroids from space presented. Knecht knew enough physics to know about gravity and resonance, but she’d never heard anyone mention this at SRI. She decided to check it out. After the official meeting ended, she sought out Trent.

  “Ms. Trent,” she said after introducing herself, “I don’t understand completely. I work for SRI and—”

  Trent cut her off. “You work for them? Do you think they are going to tell you about this? They only worry about their all-important bottom line.”

  “But Jupiter—”

  “Jupiter has nothing to do with it. What do you do for SRI?”

  “I’m a navigator.”

  Trent was silent for a moment. Then she smiled broadly.

  “Would you—what is your name, anyway?—like to learn more?”

  “Yes, because I don’t understand. And it’s Barbara. Barbara Knecht.”

  “We could go someplace and have coffee and talk. Would you like to do that, Barbara?”

  “Yes, I would.” She left with Trent that night. She knew Trent was interested in her both for her inside knowledge of SRI and also sexually. She succumbed to Trent’s advances slowly, thinking perhaps this was the love she’d never known.

  It wasn’t, and neither was the friendship with Beatty. As a greenish-blue dot passed into her view, just before the sun’s blaze activated the automatic darkening window, Knecht wondered if the Earth Mother, Gaia, would love her for what she was about to do to SRI.

  She hoped so.

  ***

  Kirsten Hanna-Chun went to the dinner party alone. She was almost surprised she had received an invitation after Alex’s fight with McConnell. An associate, Dr. Breton, was the hostess and Kirsten always thought Breton seemed a little too anxious to please McConnell.

  Kirsten parked her car in the street and walked to the door.

  The house was large both inside and out. The interior was decorated with original art that Kirsten frankly found ugly. She was greeted by Dr. Breton.

  “Welcome, Kirsten,” Breton said, holding out her arms for Kirsten’s coat. “I’m glad you could make it.”

  “Thank you, Alysia,” Kirsten said, handing over her wrap.

  Alysia took her burden and Kirsten headed into the crowd.

  “Alone?” Dr. Plotnik asked, stepping in her path.

  Kirsten turned to him. “Yes, as usual; Alex is in space. Have you seen Dr. McConnell?”

  “Yes,” Plotnik said. “He’s here somewhere.”

  “Thanks,” Kirsten said, moving on with relief. She found Plotnik to be singularly unattractive.

  The shiny dome of McConnell’s head was like a beacon over the guests. The smoke from his oral retentive habit curled up away from his mouth. Kirsten made her way to him. He was talking to a young, new psychologist. Kirsten touched McConnell’s shoulder.

  He turned to her. “Kirsten,” he said simply.

  “Can we talk?” Kirsten asked, trying not to sound desperate.

  McConnell paused, thinking. “Sure,” he said to her and “Excuse us, please,” to the young man.

  They walked a short distance away.

  “What can I do for you, Doctor?” McConnell asked condescendingly. He held his cigarette so the smoke curled around her head.

  “I’d like to apologize,” Kirsten said through the cloud, “for what happened at your house last month.”

  “I think your husband is the one who needs to apologize.”

  “I know. But he’s not on Earth. I’d like to apologize for him.”

  “Where is Mr. Chun?” McConnell asked, sucking on the cigarette and blowing the smoke her direction.

  “He’s going to the belt.”

  “He’ll be bringing back an asteroid?”

  “Yes,” Kirsten ack
nowledged.

  McConnell got a funny look of satisfaction on his face.

  Then he looked at Kirsten and smiled under that bushy mustache.

  “Apology accepted, Kirsten.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” Kirsten breathed with relief.

  “I’ll be going out of town for a few days,” he said. “But when I get back let’s get together and talk, okay?”

  “Sure,” Kirsten said.

  “Call my secretary,” he finished and patted her upper arm and walked away.

  Kirsten thought he gave in awfully easily. But, still, she was sure her burps would taste like crow for a few months.

  ***

  Charlie and the others spent the night in the desert. The temperature dropped dramatically and Charlie froze in the inadequate sleeping bag that had been provided. Beatty took a portable hydrogen-burning generator out of the trunk of the car, hooked up some hydrogen storage cells, and charged the car until the cells were empty. They took turns guarding, with a loaded M16, during the night. Charlie strongly suspected it was to get them used to the weapon more than to protect against–what? Police, scorpions?

  The next morning they watched a magnificent sunrise as the sky went from black through every shade of purple and orange to deep, deep azure.

  They ate another meal on the hood of the car and then practiced firing the other weapon that had been in the shed. It was a small assault rifle. Arabic writing was stamped into the side of the upper receiver. Beatty didn’t offer much information about it except how to use it.

  Charlie sent a few rounds at the paper target missing a good deal.

  “What happened, Shari?” Beatty asked. “Yesterday you were doing a lot better.”

  “Beginner’s luck, like you said,” Charlie offered.

  “Guess so,” Beatty said.

  “Are these the kinds of weapons we’ll always use?” Charlie asked as innocently as she could.

  “No, we have others,” Beatty replied simply. “Next,” he called.

  Charlie knew she was dismissed.

  The return trip was almost unbearably hot. They didn’t use the acoustic air conditioner. Charlie was starting to believe these people didn’t believe in doing anything that made them more comfortable, even if the impact on the environment was none or negligible.

  They arrived at the house late at night. Charlie immediately found her room and crawled into the sleeping bag, dead tired. She knew they’d be up early doing more chores and listening to more lectures.

  ***

  Alex watched the miners practice reacting to a breach in the outer asteroid shell. Damage control foam flew like food in a toddler feeding. But the simulated hole was plugged efficiently and effectively. Alex congratulated Tsuji, the miner chief, a muscular, Japanese woman who told Alex not to worry about her people; the implication being he should butt out.

  Alex left the training area for the saloon. Thorne and Diana probably would be there if they weren’t in Thorne’s quarters, and in that case, Ibrahhim would be there. The doctor had, after some initial coolness, come into the circle of Alex’s friends. He’d seemed surprised that others thought he wanted to be left alone. Apparently, Dr. Jubair was just plain shy.

  And Bill and Diana, Alex mused, seemed to be falling in love. Alex had never seen him happier. He hoped it lasted.

  Alex passed his chief navigator in a corridor. “Hello, Naguchi,” he said, still wrapped in his thoughts.

  “Hello, Director,” she said softly and continued walking.

  “Bente,” Alex called after her.

  She stopped. Alex was impressed how well she handled herself in low gravity. “Yes?” she asked.

  “I was just headed for the saloon to meet some people,” Alex said. “Would you like to join us?”

  “No, thanks, Director,” she said.

  Alex debated insisting but changed his mind. “Fine. We’ll probably be there a few hours. Drop by if you want.”

  “I will,” she said and turned to leave.

  Alex watched her go. She was very attractive but seemed laconic to the point of almost being rude. Oh, well, he decided, he had other problems and didn’t need to worry about his navigator as long as she could do her job.

  ***

  The next morning there was a change in tone at the GA house. Beatty was more demanding and everyone seemed on edge. Late in the afternoon a cab pulled up and a man got out. He was balding and fat and had a grizzled mustache. As soon as he exited the car he lit up a cigarette.

  “Who’s that?” Charlie whispered to the girl standing next to her.

  “Whaltham,” she answered.

  Beatty and the newcomer spent hours in private. The rest went about their chores but in a more quiet, subdued manner. Charlie worked in the backyard of the house. She tried to find an excuse to be under the window of the room Beatty and Whaltham were in. But, even then, she couldn’t hear anything other than muffled voices.

  Charlie pulled weeds from the garden, amazed at how fast they grew. A blonde girl was working beside her. Usually the girl, named Annie, was hard to shut up. Today she was even quiet.

  “What’s going on?” Charlie asked softly.

  “Last time Whaltham came, Maddie and Barb left with Griffin,” the girl answered back. “He only comes when something’s about to happen.”

  Charlie nodded and continued working quietly. She hoped something would happen soon. She was going nuts in the organically grown, communal atmosphere.

  ***

  The United States’ “Federal Comprehensive Bias Crime Act of 2021” stipulated that police departments around the nation report to the Justice Department any crime that was investigated originally as a bias crime but charges were reduced or dismissed and the reasons why. When the officer that had interrogated Charlie in Washington, County and State of Columbia had tapped the “bias crime” icon on his computer pad, noting that it may be a bias crime, it had made an indelible mark on the computer record. When Freeman talked the judge out of pursuing the bias crime aspect of Charlie’s offense, she had noted in her computer the reasons she decided the unlawful self-defense wasn’t also a bias crime.

  Because of the limitations of the computer filing system, it was necessary for Washington police officers to spend hours, when they could be protecting under-protected civilians, at their computers sorting through the files with the bias crime marker looking for ones where the bias crime was not charged. These were copied onto data files and transferred electronically to the Justice Department, where they sat until over-worked clerks sorted through them on their computers to determine if the reason was good enough and, if not, how the law had to be changed to close that loophole.

  A clerk named Brian Hocking eventually came upon Charlie Jones’ file. The first thing he noticed was the mug shot. If the woman looks that good in a mug shot then she must be outstanding, he imagined. He read the excuse, given by the judge, for not pressing the bias crime angle of the offense.

  Hocking frowned. An FBI agent had convinced the DDA that the woman’s motives weren’t racial. He wondered if this was an overstepping of the bounds by those fascists in the Hoover building. He knew someone on the FBI oversight committee from their work together on political issues, so he downloaded a copy of the file to his personal computer and called Congresswoman Polasky’s office for an appointment.

  ***

  Director Chun made a courtesy call on Captain Takashara as the Kyushu maneuvered to rendezvous with the asteroid. The trip was almost over.

  The captain, in her small quarters, greeted Alex enthusiastically. The two had a passing acquaintance.

  “The asteroid is in a relatively fast tumble,” she reported. “Your people should be able to stabilize it okay, though. The Elara arrived on site yesterday with the water and oxygen from Europa.”

  “Great,” Alex said. “It’s been a long time doing nothing.”

  “I understand,” Takashara said with a chuckle. “I took two months off last year to visit my family
in Hiroshima and about went crazy.” She smiled bitterly. “My ship is due for an engine upgrade after this trip. I’ll have to spend almost a year on the Moon. I’m not looking forward to it. If I wasn’t the captain I could transfer to another ship, but I have to supervise the overhaul.”

  Alex nodded in sympathy. He was probably the only person on the ship she dared reveal her feelings to. “The Moon’s a nice place,” he said consolingly.

  “Yes,” she agreed. “Better than Earth.”

  “Yes,” he said. If it weren’t for Kirsten, Alex wondered if he’d ever bother returning to that planet.

  “I understand,” Takashara said softly, “you were friends with some of those killed on the Moon. My sympathies.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I don’t understand these Gaia Alliance people,” Takashara growled angrily. “And those that support them.”

  “I know,” Alex agreed. “I met a couple on Earth that supports the GA. What idiots.”

  “Who were they?”

  “A psychologist in Denver and his wife.”

  “I don’t understand,” Takashara started, “how an educated person can support terrorism.”

  “You have to understand, Captain, his education was different from ours. I’m thankful I didn’t learn a damn thing from the American education system. Instead SRI taught me just about everything I know. The American schools didn’t have a chance to screw up my thinking.”

  “I suppose,” she said, shaking her head and making her long, midnight hair wave about. “I guess that’s the main problem.”

  ***

  Faruq never, ever said anything bad about the president. He let others do that.

  The Baath Party Headquarters’ central meeting room was full of delegates from all the United Baath Arab States. But Faruq met in a smaller, more private room with those that actually wielded the power in the portions of the Middle East controlled from Damascus.

  “The Zionist State continues to be a thorn in our side,” a member said. “What has the president done other than support ineffectual terrorists that only serve to harden the resolve of the Zionists and the Americans?”

  There was general agreement.

  “What needs to be done,” another man added, “is something that will cut at the heart of the West that supports the Zionists.”