The Enceladus Crisis

by Michael J. Martinez

  “Roger, Jain,” Nilssen said. “No response to transmissions. I even had Conti knock on the hatch a few times with a wrench. Assuming this vessel remains in distress, as per relevant sections of the U.N. Space Charter, and engaging manual override for entry. Everyone read that?”

  “Roger that, Lander One,” Shaila responded.

  “Roger, Lander One,” Archie added, surprisingly formal. “Confirm your declaration. Go for manual override.” Of course, Shaila thought, the whole thing was being beamed direct to Houston, and would be sent to the Chinese as well. Even Archie couldn’t be that flippant when teams of international lawyers would likely review every millisecond.

  Shaila could see Nilssen’s suit camera on her visor now as he opened the lander’s hatch, then proceeded to enter the manual protocols to open the Tienlong’s hatch as well. The hatch responded after a moment, opening up into a well-lit space. Nilssen floated upward into a very industrial-looking corridor, linked with storage cabinets and handholds. Unlike JSCS ships, the Chinese were never much for aesthetics.

  “All right,” Nilssen said, sounding pixelated. The vidfeed likewise began to stutter and stall. “Going to . . . nothing . . . above . . .”

  Then the feed went out entirely.

  “Armstrong, we lost them,” Shaila said. “You still got ’em?”

  “It’s the damned rad shielding on the Chinese boat,” Archie said, sounding flustered. “Trying to compensate now. I’ll get back to you.”

  The comm line went dead, and Shaila turned to Hall, who merely shrugged. Behind them, Stephane continued to analyze streaming lines of data, punctuated by a variety of images that flashed across his HUD rapidly.

  Their course began to take them over the cloud tops, and Shaila took over the stick from the computer; she knew the computer would compensate if needed, but she liked the sense of control. If they were going to be the first JSC astronauts on Titan, she wanted the landing done her way, warts and all.

  “Lander Two, this is Armstrong, come in.”

  “Lander Two here, Archie. What’s up?”

  “Vidfeed still down, but Nilssen wanted me to let you know that they’re aboard and fine. He also asked if you’re armed.”

  Shaila sat up a bit. “Say again, Armstrong?”

  “Skipper wants to know if you’re armed, Jain,” Archie said, sounding both worried and put out. “He’s got two dead astronauts and one critically injured over there, and looks like three are just missing. Gotta assume the assailants are gonna be down on Titan.”

  Shaila looked over at Hall, who was doing a middling job of not looking scared, and back at Stephane, who for once seemed to actually be paying attention. “We have zappers,” Shaila replied. “That’s it.”

  “Then keep your distance,” Archie said. “Skipper said one was killed with what looked like a close-range laser blast.”

  “And the other one? The survivor?” Shaila asked.

  There was a pause. “Some kind of blade. They were murdered,” Archie said.

  October 17, 1798

  Weatherby was quite unsure as to which was the stranger sight: watching the two Xan Ovoids on either side of Fortitude as they escorted her along the Void-paths between Mimas and Titan, or the ten-foot-tall robed figure walking the maindeck of his ship, poking his head into every hatch, often walking right between his crewmen, pausing to look each in the face even though they could only stare into the Xan’s alchemically-created blackness under his cowl.

  “Curious fellow, isn’t he, sir?” Barnes said diplomatically, though his tone was anything but.

  “Representative Vellusk is our honored guest, Mr. Barnes,” Weatherby said simply. “And we have the singular honor of having a Xan aboard ship, possibly for the first time in human history. So unless he starts actively injuring the crew or endangering the ship, we shall allow him space for his . . . eccentricities.”

  “Of course, sir,” Barnes said. “Perhaps someone should offer him a tour below decks as well? He could have a bit of space, as you say, sir, while also having someone along to explain things and, perhaps, keep him out of the men’s way.”

  Weatherby turned and smiled at his lieutenant. “A splendid idea, Mr. Barnes! I’ll take this watch. Go and offer your services to Mr. Vellusk.”

  Barnes’ mouth opened and closed a moment before he finally managed to stammer out a reply. “Of course, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  Weatherby watched—with more than a touch of amusement—as Barnes tentatively made his way to the maindeck, where Vellusk was busy peering down the bore of a 9-pound brass cannon. Bowing repeatedly, with his hand over his heart, Barnes spoke to the Xan at length, likely conscious of their overweening politesse, before the Saturnine creature began nodding and bowing in return. A moment later, they had disappeared belowdecks.

  “That wasn’t nice, Tom,” Anne said from behind him, where she had been sitting and looking starboard toward Saturn. He turned to see her actually smile slightly—which had been his objective, for she had continued to be utterly miserable, and rightly so, since her son’s abduction.

  “It will do Mr. Barnes good to engage in some minor diplomacy,” Weatherby said matter-of-factly. “One day, he may command an expedition to the Xan in his own right.”

  “Or an armada,” Anne said, her smile fading. “I shudder to think what may happen should the partisans win out. These creatures destroyed an entire planet whilst we were barely civilized.”

  “They have lost their taste for war,” Weatherby said, with more conviction than he felt. “They are out of practice.”

  “Tell that to Sellev,” Anne said harshly. “There is reason we have an escort, Captain.”

  Weatherby bowed slightly, unwilling to press the matter. “Of course, my lady.”

  Any more words were cut off by a shout from the tops. “Ships sighted! Three points to larboard!”

  Weatherby rushed over to the left side of the quarterdeck and pulled out his glass; sure enough, there were four white dots in the distance that moved across the starfield quickly. He made a note to commend the watchful topsman for his attentiveness—he doubted he would have noted such faint movement until they were much closer.

  “Beat to quarters!” he shouted. “Topsmen aloft! Gunners prepare but do not run out!” He turned to find one of the midshipmen below, moving up toward the quarterdeck. “Mr. Fyfe, find Mr. Barnes and tell him to secure our Xan guest in the cockpit before taking his post.”

  “I’ll go with him,” Anne said, quickly moving down the stairs. “That’s where I’m heading anyway.”

  This time, Weatherby didn’t even question her. Progress, of a sort, he thought.

  “How many?” Ambassador Morrow asked as he climbed up to the quarterdeck.

  “My Lord Ambassador, might I suggest –”

  “How many, Captain Weatherby?” Morrow interrupted.

  For a moment, Weatherby wondered how many battles he would lose upon his own quarterdeck before he’d return to Earth. “Four. Ovoids, from the look of them.”

  Morrow nodded. “No doubt our escorts are aware as well.”

  “No doubt,” Weatherby said. “You realize, my lord, if my ship is fired upon, I will return fire.”

  “And so you should,” Morrow said with a gentle smile. “If these partisans are intent upon revisiting the Xan’s violent ways, we should present them with what they may face. But if I may, Captain, I suggest restraining yourself should they fire upon our escorts.”

  “Are they not our allies?” Weatherby asked.

  “They are, yes, but it would create a fair amount of difficulties in diplomacy if you were to aid them,” Morrow said.

  Weatherby smiled at this. “Well, then, My Lord Ambassador. I have no doubt you will be up to the task.” He then turned to another of the mids. “I want the guns loaded, but we shall not run out until I give the word. When I do, I want the men to run out, aim, and fire as quickly as possible. Go.”

  The young boy ran off, leaving Morrow staring at We
atherby with a look of amused consternation. “You enjoyed that, Tom.”

  “Why, my lord, I’ve no idea what you mean,” Weatherby protested, his growing grin betraying his feelings.

  Two minutes later, all divisions reported ready. Meanwhile, Fortitude’s escorts began drifting ahead slightly, widening out from the ship as well, while the four incoming Ovoids began a series of odd maneuvers, swirling about and among each other until it was hard to track a single one as compared to its fellows. Which, Weatherby considered, was likely the point.

  “What can we expect?” Weatherby asked Morrow.

  The ambassador was busy looking through a borrowed glass, and it struck Weatherby that the old admiral still cut quite the figure on the quarterdeck of a ship. “They’re fast. You’ll want to fire a scattered broadside well before they’re in range, with the hopes of catching one of them—which means you’ll likely want to be sure your escorts are out of range.”

  “And how shall we tell them apart?” Weatherby asked.

  Morrow grinned slightly. “I anticipated this. Should you engage, you will begin to see splashes of yellow and black upon the hulls of our allies—an alchemical trick that their fellow Xan will be unable to see, let alone duplicate.”

  “Neatly done, sir,” Weatherby allowed. “What of weapons?”

  “That I cannot say, because I did not know the Xan had weapons of the sort that could kill a creature in the manner in which Sallev was slain. Normally, they simply use various lights and gasses upon an Earth ship that ventures too close, rendering the crew unconscious. They then put the ship to rights, usually by sending it on a direct course for Earth.”

  “Seems harmless enough,” Weatherby said. “Unless they’ve come up with something new.”

  “The attack on Sallev required premeditation. The partisans have been planning this for some time. It stands to reason they may have equipped their ships with something a bit more forceful,” Morrow said.

  Suddenly, the escorts upon either side of Fortitude sped ahead, likely to engage their fellows. Weatherby tensed at this, and quickly found himself upon the rail, looking ahead with his glass like an eager mid—the eager mids being right behind him, doing the same thing.

  Then there was a flash of light, and one of their escorts exploded into a million fiery shards.

  “That’s new,” Weatherby muttered before turning to the watch officer and shouting, “Full royals and stud’sels!”

  The men upon the tops quickly moved to unfurl Fortitude’s chase sails. Moments later, Fortitude began to speed up . . . considerably. More, in fact, than she ought to in the Void. They soon began to close upon the Xan Ovoids.

  “Tom?” Morrow asked.

  “Our sailwood stores,” he replied. “Hawkins found an old case study in which sailwood might be consumed quickly in order to give a ship a profound increase in speed for a short time. When it became apparent we might engage actual Xan craft, I ordered him to prepare as much as he could and apply it to the royals and stud’sels.”

  They closed faster still, while three Ovoids moved to engage. Weatherby considered their whirling attack pattern for a moment. Then inspiration struck. “Full forward on the larboard plane, full back upon the starboard plane!”

  And with that, Fortitude began spinning wildly upon her axis—so much so that it became difficult to focus on anything except the deck itself. Weatherby quickly told the watch officer to maintain course as best he could, and shouted for all the midshipmen to accompany him before rushing down to the maindeck and, below to the upper gun deck, where a surprised Barnes greeted him. He quickly explained his plans, then moved to the lower gun deck and explained it again, before rushing back to the quarterdeck, panting for want of air. The mids remained below.

  The Ovoids would be in range in less than a minute . . . and out of range seconds after that.

  Weatherby felt Morrow’s eyes upon him, but there was little time to explain—and besides, for the first time in his career, he wasn’t actually obliged to explain anything to Morrow whilst the two shared a quarterdeck.

  Closer . . . closer . . .

  “FIRE!” Weatherby shouted.

  Upon the two gun decks, four midshipmen began to run, from the very fore of the ship aft, their hands extended. As they ran, they tapped each gunner on the head.

  And a fusillade of fire sprang forth from Fortitude’s hull. Between the spinning motion and the second-by-second firing, the ship was suddenly surrounded by a barrage of alchemical cannon fire.

  The Ovoids had nowhere to go. Green-glowing shot ripped into two of them, sending them spinning off into the void. A third was nicked upon the widest part of its hull and began spewing smoke from the affected area.

  And as quickly as it began, Fortitude sped past, out of range. The crew staggered about as the stars of the Void whirled around them, with Saturn spinning past every few seconds. A few of the men, and at least one midshipman, rushed to the railings to relieve themselves of their last meal. Weatherby turned aft to track the Xan vessels, only to see Morrow shaking his head and chuckling to himself. “By God, that was something,” the old man muttered to himself, and Weatherby could not help but allow a small smile to creep out. But there was work yet to be done.

  “Reload and prepare to fire again! Same pattern!” Weatherby shouted from the quarterdeck. “Bring planes amidships and stop this damned spinning! And give me a report on our remaining ally!”

  The ally, as it turned out, had managed to render the fourth partisan ship inert somehow, and rejoined Fortitude upon the starboard side, resuming its escort duty. Lookouts reported no attempts by the remaining partisan to give chase, either. Nonetheless, Weatherby ordered the men to remain at quarters for a full hour afterward, and even after that, he kept the guns loaded—dangerous, perhaps, but less dangerous, he felt, than being caught unawares by more Xan ships.

  Or Franklin. The French were still out there, somewhere. And Weatherby was determined to find them.

  June 21, 2134

  Diaz couldn’t help but notice that Evan Greene was happier than a pig in shit. It made her want to punch him in the face.

  Diaz, Coogan and Huntington were sitting at vacant workstations toward the back of the temple-cum-laboratory, guarded casually by two soldiers. Hell, they probably were mercs, since Total-Suez would probably would have declined bringing its own security forces into such an illegal experiment, and Diaz doubted Harry would bring in the Egyptian Army to the site. Either way, while the guards didn’t have guns on the two officers, the weapons were ready enough to be a sound reminder of the lack of escape routes.

  On the bright side, someone brought her team some decent food; apparently, they had even set up a cafeteria. How the hell this whole operation was set up beneath an Egyptian national treasure . . . it was beyond Diaz’ comprehension. Someone, somewhere would answer for all this.

  Starting with Harry, followed closely by Greene. There was no doubt in her mind that he was indeed playing ball. He and his colleague, Dr. Ayim, were laughing and joking as they worked, and although Diaz was no scientist, she had been around enough data on this type of experiment to know they were getting close to a breakthrough.

  Harry walked up and sat on the edge of Diaz’ desk. “It’s time, Maria. We’re going to need those codes.”

  “Not happening,” she said simply.

  Harry looked over at the guards, who approached the three officers, weapons pointed. “Don’t make me do this, Maria. We’re trying to do something extraordinary here. Something you and your team should’ve been doing in the first place.”

  “You didn’t see any of the shit that went down on Mars, Harry. I did,” Diaz said, though technically she was out of commission for the worst of it, thanks to an errant musket ball. “I’m not letting you give them a chance at round two, right here on Earth.”

  “What about Saturn?” he asked cryptically.

  “What about it?”

  To her surprise, Harry’s face became grave. “Some
thing’s happened aboard Tienlong in orbit over Titan. Two dead, one critical, three missing and apparently on the surface. Armstrong just arrived and sent landers to investigate.”

  “Your crew died? How?” Diaz demanded.

  Harry looked at his feet. “They were attacked. The skipper’s the one who’s alive but critical. He and the science officer were cut open with some kind of blade. The engineer was hit with a short-range laser, though we have no idea how that happened. They weren’t carrying laser weapons aboard ship.”

  Diaz considered this. “That makes no fucking sense.”

  “I’m formally requesting that the Chinese government turn over the command codes of the Tienlong to your people. I want to figure out what’s going on up there as much as you do. And I know from experience Shaila Jain’s pretty damn determined when she wants to be.”

  “So you help us out ’round Saturn on one hand, and on the other hand, you hold us captive here with guns to our heads,” Hutchinson said. “‘Big damn hero, sir.’”

  Harry laughed. “Show’s been canceled for more than a century, and every goddamned body in JSC knows it by heart. And yeah, that’s what I’m doing. Because I need this experiment to run successfully, and I need to find out what happened to my people on Tienlong.”

  A tech interrupted Harry. “Sir, it’s time.”

  Harry nodded and turned back to Maria. “The experiment has already reached critical. If you don’t give us the codes, we won’t get the BlueNet satellites online in time to stabilize the tachyon field. And this whole thing blows up. Literally.”

  Diaz’ eyes narrowed. “You’re bluffing.”

  Harry looked up at one of the guards, who immediately put a gun to Huntington’s head. The Marine officer stiffened in her chair a moment, then relaxed and closed her eyes. “I’m ready,” she said simply.

  “Brave,” Harry remarked, with a twinge of sympathy. “But it won’t matter in about ten minutes. We need BlueNet or all of Siwa goes up in smoke. The codes, Maria.” He offered her his datapad.