by Stephen Moss
He knew that the time for action was now approaching for his small group of conspirators. Their opportunity was coming, and not one of them could truly claim to be certain of their course, least of all the man who had inspired them to action.
The rightness of it, that was not in doubt, no, that was all too clear. But what good would being right do them if their actions cost earth the coming war? Who would forgive them? Would they even forgive themselves?
Jim lay back in his chair and closed his eyes, staring out through the system as he took in the launch, the world waiting now for that first missile to reappear on the other side, its continued acceleration in hyperspace meaning it would spend less time in earth’s gravity well on the escape than on the plummet, allowing it to steal a dose of earth’s own momentum from it.
After the launch was done, eighteen hours from now, the earth would actually have been moved nearly a mile closer to the sun. Negligible in stellar terms, perhaps, but still something to fill some with a dangerous dose of hubris. Hubris, Jim knew, that already desperately needed checking.
He breathed long and deep. They were not committed. His plan was such that nothing would happen if he or Amadeu did not initiate it. But in the end he knew this was not really a choice he could make. Neal and Ayala had done too much, committed too many crimes in humanity’s name. There needed to be a reckoning.
As if to punctuate his thoughts, a small beep sounded in his mind and he was drawn back to the scene unfolding, quite literally, around the globe. As the stream of missiles continued to ignite and power inward on the one side of the planet, now the first of them, singular only in its place at the head of the departing column, counted down the seconds to reentry.
Here, in a quiet, unassuming spot above the Pacific, the seascape reaching to infinity in every direction, there was a pause, a silence, and then the second act of this planet-wide opera began. The first missile-mine translated back into reality like the pop of a champagne cork, a huge building of pressures unseen in the depths of the planet, suddenly released as the mine was hurled outward.
The reentry, though spectacular, was but a whisper compared to New Moon One’s meteoric exit years before, but this one was soon followed by another, then another, as the drum beat began anew, even louder now, an acid house beat that shook the foundations of earth.
Now the view of the world reoriented once more to show the true beauty of the launch’s conception. For now, as the missiles began firing outward, the result of all their planning could be seen in action. As the missiles reappeared, every second or so, they were fired out in a seeming arc, but the timing was such that the arc matched the slow, irresistible rotation of the earth, so that each successive launch followed the other, creating one single stream of munitions.
Years of planning, sacrifice, and relentless preparation had turned the earth into a giant Gatling cannon, firing a salvo of interstellar proportions from sixty thousand nozzles.
Jim caught his breath, as if it had been stolen by the sight. Wow, he thought. It was all he could come up with. His heart was racing, and it was not alone. This was real. This was the first strike, the declaration of war, a message to the Mobiliei that they are going to have to fight for this planet.
Because, thought Jim, we are willing to fight for it, I am willing to fight for it. For its soul as well as its survival. He closed his eyes to the sight. He needed to breathe, to think. His mind drifted through Remy’s worldnet to Deception Island, to the growing readiness of the second Skalm. Another weapon in Neal’s arsenal, or one in his own? With the launch done, it was, Jim knew, time to find out. There would be no better time for the world to brook transition. Soon, Jim knew, he would either be part of a new order, or be extinguished with the last remnants of an older one.
Chapter 43: Pawns Forward
It was not surprising, perhaps, that Rob and Birgit were insulated from events. They were, of course, aware of the massive salvo launch, indeed they could see it happening still, the circles of warped sky banding the equator visible through the basic telescope they had onboard the station as the final missiles departed the world on their long and inevitably doomed flight.
They also sensed, or at least Birgit did, that something more profound, more insipid, was afoot. Minnie was not her young self anymore, not by a long stretch, but Birgit saw not only the healthy burgeoning of hard-won wisdom in her synthetic progeny, but also the beginnings of something close to cynicism. Not the dismissive kind, Minnie was quite incapable of apathy, but a hardening, a loss of faith, like a child finding out for the first time that their parents are not infallible, or even always well intentioned.
Minnie, it seemed, was starting to see the flaws in those that had born her, even Birgit, and several times the German doctor had been surprised by a harsh word or tone as Minnie lost patience with her, most often because of Birgit’s admitted obsessions. Her obsession with her research, and her obsession with the IST, and her obsession with the upcoming crash-landing.
But that was not all. There was something else about Minnie that disturbed her, something more than just frustration. Something that she had also sensed in her more recent communications with Madeline, and to a lesser extent, Moira. A faltering of resolve, if that was possible in the face of what they were fighting against.
It was, of course, irrelevant to what Birgit must now do, just as Birgit knew she had become all but irrelevant to most of her former friends and colleagues on earth. Minnie was pretty much alone in her concern for her mother, Birgit knew that. Most everyone else had pretty much written off the German physicist and the brave but foolhardy captain that had followed her into the darkness. Who knows, maybe in a different time the intentional crashing of a rogue space station into a moon would have been front-page news.
But not now. No, now the world was ablaze with the launch, and a new Skalm was already in production, with so many more to follow. And all the while TASC’s power seemed to only continue to grow, though she was sure that there were those who, however foolishly, still hoped to stand against them, still hoped to topple them, if only so they could claim that power for themselves.
Birgit shook her head. She told herself she was glad not to be part of all that silliness, but that, she knew, was bullshit. She would give anything to be back there. Indeed, she was about to risk everything just for a chance at communicating effectively with them, and maybe a wisp of a hope of getting home before the war was over.
“There it is,” said Rob, as the station lazily rotated once more and Phobos hoved into view in front of them.
“There it is,” said Birgit, not looking with her eyes, but with the station’s, the daunting image filling her mind.
“You ready?” she said.
He looked at her, puzzled, then his eyebrow raised and his head cocked to one side. Her eyes were open, but glazed over, as they often were. He waited for her to focus on him once more. Seconds past. Eventually she realized he was not answering and she blinked, bringing her mind back into the capsule.
He stood in front of her in a full exo-suit, burly and black, impervious and reinforced, everything but his face enclosed in armor and augmentation. She smiled coquettishly. Was he ready? Yes, upon reflection, that had been a rather stupid question.
As her face became serious once more, she said, “Are you really sure you can control both?” and his expression changed now to one of challenge, as if to say, you calling me a liar?
“My mistake,” she said shaking her head, “Sorry, Captain. I forgot whom I was speaking to for a second.”
“Yes,” he said, pushing his chest out, “you did.” The move was accentuated by the thick, powerful suit. But as he flexed comically, his eyes were not so brash. He was not a fool. This was a gamble.
They’d been fortunate enough to have two wreckers with them when they were so rudely exiled from the world. She would be piloting one. He would be trying to pilot another. But, in order to give them another set of hands to help wrangle their home down to
the planetoid’s surface as they glanced by it, he was going to go out there as well, with mini-minnie helping where she could.
If possible, he would stay physically out of the way. But he was not going to be idly sitting inside if he could be outside, machine augmentation and all, to help out should he be needed. They would, after all, only have one shot at this, and they were betting everything, their house, quite literally, on this one roll of the die.
“You should get ready too,” he said, nodding toward another suit. Not a power-assisted one, but one that would protect her when they depressurized the module. Should the module be punctured, as it quite probably would be, then they could not have it jettisoning air and propelling itself off on some mad dance. Vacuum was, if nothing else, predictable. Pressure was not.
“In a moment,” she said, as if trying to delay the inevitable.
“No,” he said, after mentally glancing at the countdown clock in the system. “Now, Birgit.”
She looked at him, then checked herself, nodding. It was time. As she turned to put on the suit, he also started for the capsule door, kicking off with a dancer’s grace, despite his suit’s massive power.
“Wait,” she said. He reached out with both arms and stopped himself sharply, twisting so he could look back at her.
“Well … I …” she paused, bashful for perhaps the first time in twenty years, then said, “… don’t make me be the soppy one.”
He smiled broadly and with all too genuine affection.
“I’ll see you on the ground,” he said, after a moment.
Her lip betrayed a momentary tremor and then she smiled too, her eyes setting with all the resolve she could muster. “Yes, you will. I’ll come out once we are anchored and we can go for a stroll.”
Rob chuckled. “Yes, that sounds delightful.” They held each other’s stares for a moment, this time without a hint of awkwardness. They were partners on the deepest level, not by choice, perhaps, but necessity is often a far more powerful motivator than volition, and they had become more dependent on each other than the closest of marriages.
They knew this. They knew how much they needed each other out here. They shared a moment’s understanding, an unblemished acknowledgement of that reliance, and the appreciation they had for having someone that they could truly rely on. Then he nodded and was gone.
Birgit breathed deep, mastered her emotions, and began pulling on her suit.
- - -
Back on earth, Hektor was not happy. He was going to miss it. After all the hype, all the talk, and all the months living on that godforsaken rock, he was going to be away for the one day when something truly extraordinary happened.
“Bastard.”
Jung opened his eyes and looked across at his colleague. It was not the first time he had been called that particular epithet by the German, or ones much more creative, but he couldn’t help but be curious at what he had done this time.
“Not you,” Hektor said, sullenly.
“Ahh, the launch. You know, you will still be able to wat …”
“Don’t … just don’t.”
Jung chuckled and received the requisite look of death from the German shock-trooper, which only made the Korean man laugh all the more as he closed his eyes and returned to his movie. It was one of the many Mobiliei-themed action flicks filling the screens nowadays, along with varyingly entertaining or misguided versions of their very machine selves, replete with just the sullen attitude Hektor had just so stereotypically displayed.
This one centered on the Hungarian War and the fight for Rolas Island. It was, Jung thought, one of the better ones, crafted as a memorial to lost lives rather than just a capitalization on them, but still he found it hard to resist smiling when the troopers proffered their well-timed personal ‘moments’ before meeting whatever simulacrum of a gristly end the director felt best suited the story.
Jung knew that Hektor couldn’t stomach the flicks, or worse, the sims that offered to put you in the fighting. For his part, he felt that only someone who had never faced such horrors in real life could have a desire to play at fighting, but maybe he was wrong. He certainly knew he would not want to see a film about his own brief but bloody ordeal at the hands of his North Korean hosts.
Not that he would have to worry about that coming to the big screen. No mention of that fight had ever seen the light of day. Like so much of what Hektor and now Jung was involved in, it had faded into the shadows. Hektor would come back bloody and withdrawn after a trip. Sullen and distant, but no mention of whatever mission he had been sent to execute would ever reach the airwaves, despite it obviously having been martial enough to give the seasoned soldier pause.
Jung paused the movie once more and glanced across at Hektor. For here they were once more off on some errand with neither warning nor explanation. It would come eventually, no doubt, before they reached whatever destination they were hurtling toward across a grey, windswept southern Atlantic. Just enough information to make them effective, without making them a liability.
Hektor caught his eye. They shared a moment of mutual understanding, then looked away, getting mentally ready for whatever shitstorm they were about to be dropped into.
- - -
Jim walked along the main mall, bustling as it always did with TASC’s great enterprise. At last count there were nearly twenty thousand personnel onsite, and that did not include the representatives and their delegations housed and officed over on the mainland. He took the time to soak it in, the mass of life and effort and toil that he was embroiled with, soaked in, and wired into. So many people. So much work.
He made eye contact with folks occasionally. Most avoided his stare, either because they did not know him or because they did, and were aware of his auspicious position. Others smiled, either ingratiatingly or with genuine respect, something most who worked for him definitely felt. He was well liked, loved even, by his staff, and he knew it.
And he was lying to them. Indeed he had been for nearly three years now. Toeing the company line.
He did not, notably, make eye contact with any of the automatons that pervaded the space, either standing guard outside key offices, like his own, or following some personage through the throng, guarding them against danger, either real or perceived.
The automatons, Jim knew, would soon either be his savior or his end. For they could not be resisted, not here. They were a fact. An immovable object and an irresistible force wrapped into one. But maybe, just maybe, his friends and he might be able to circumvent them, if only for a moment.
It was a moment that was going to have to suffice. Jim knew that, even though it made him shudder.
Arriving at his own suite, he made his way past the desks and offices of his staff, nodding and smiling as he went, and walked to his personal office. He could see his guest waiting for him, as he knew the man had been for a short while now.
Amadeu stood as Jim approached. “Jim, how are you?”
“I am well, Amadeu, thank you. And you?”
“I am also completely well, thank you.”
Jim resisted a frown at the clunky terminology, instead smiling at his friend, and sometime co-conspirator. “I have something for you,” Jim said, after a moment.
Amadeu glanced at the desk. He had seen the box sitting there when he arrived. He had assumed it was what he thought it was, but had resisted the urge to look inside. As Jim handed it to him, he did not give into his curiosity now, either.
Inside, he knew, was an innocuous enough looking device. A fancy laser pointer, really, that displayed an animated congratulations on the successful launch in massive type, with associated fireworks and cartoon champagne corks. It was a tchotchke that Jim had had made for a whole host of folks to commemorate the huge achievement the missile-mine launch represented. But this one, and a few others, had another function built in as well.
Amadeu looked at the box for a moment, nodded, then looked back up at Jim. They did not say anything for a little longer th
an might have been wise, given who might be watching, and then Jim broke the silence, saying, “I can’t thank you enough for all you did in the run up to the launch. I hope you know, Amadeu, how important you are to this organization and all the work we do.”
Amadeu nodded again, feeling a little sheepish all of a sudden. Then they shook hands and Jim added, “We’re not quite done yet though, yes?”
“No, not quite yet.” And with that Amadeu took a breath, and they both turned to leave.
It was time, they knew that. They had waited long enough. Too long, or so it had felt as they had watched their organization grow and take shape over the last three years, veering ever further down a dangerous path. But they had dared not risk anything before the launch. Too much rested on its success. Now, in this time of transition, and of relative calm, now was their opportunity, Jim thought, as the two men walked out onto the mall once more.
They nodded once more as they parted company, Jim turning right toward Neal’s private suite, while Amadeu headed toward a very different part of the building.
Jim did not look at the automatons now either. They were the eyes of his enemy, for now. Soon, hopefully, they would be his friends once more. He did not see that as he passed by, head down, their eyes were on him, and behind those eyes, Ayala’s minions watched.
Chapter 44: Exchange – Part One
The door closed with a thud. No matter what happened, Rob would not be using that door again, nor was he going to repressurize that module. It would remain filled with nothing, with vacuum, like the rest of the station. Its air was being siphoned even now into reserves tethered to the last crew module.
They would vent what air they could not store in the final moments, to slow themselves further.
Rob: ‘ok, i’m out.’