"You're aboard to prevent theft. Not so much a guard as a witness, or they'd demand you be armed. Probably a big pair of salad tongs for you," he jabbed. "The truck could dock here and then they lose the record it was here. Things can get mysteriously erased. Or there's the possibility the truck could be hijacked along the way. If you block its path these trucks will stop for any obstacle. Artificial stupids are too easy to fool. And then it's easy to gain entry either by hacking the on-board controls, or if you don't mind damaging the truck, just pry the door open."
"And you're hauling food," Kurt said, remembering his conversation.
"Yeah and I'm taking a light load back," the trucker said. "Not much goes back. We get most Earth goods through Home, and Armstrong just doesn't produce much of anything. I'm unloaded, but waiting for them to fetch stuff to the terminal. It should have been here, but..." he shrugged.
"I'm driving a tanker," the guy across the table said. "Two tons of water, and probably done," he said tilting his pad up and looking at the time. "I'm just bullshitting with this no-good because we don't cross paths on the same shift all that often."
Another man came in carrying a package and wearing a loose hoodie jacket. He nodded to them and laid the box on the table.
"Hi Carl," he said, nodding at the fellow on Kurt's side. "Be right back," he promised and went in the restroom. He wasn't inside the door two seconds before he came out with his hood up and a machine in his hand like a big pistol, but it had an open horn shape instead of a barrel. He sidled along the wall back firmly against it until he was below the corner of the room, raised the odd device pointed at the corner above and triggered it. The lights flickered brightly once and the coffee maker started emptying itself without releasing a cup to receive it.
The fellow sat the EMP gun on the floor, apparently it was a single use device, and produced a small can of spray paint on a telescoping stick. He thoroughly sprayed the small lens set in the corner. That was insurance apparently, in case it wasn't properly fried. From an inside pocket he produced a paper pad with a message already written and handed it to the driver near Kurt.
Carl raised his eyebrows and handed the paper tablet to Kurt. Kurt held it carefully square to his face, like somebody did recording. The gesture wasn't lost on them. It said: "Your load was delayed. Leave now without it. You have five minutes to clear the terminal." Kurt passed it across the table to the other trucker who seemed anxious to read it.
Meanwhile...The local fiddled with something inside the cuff of his hoodie. It contracted, losing all its bagginess and changing color to match the room walls. He opened the package on the table and removed a brace of pistols and a belt with extra magazines.
What he did next really freaked Kurt out. He pulled the hood over his face. It had an opaque domed surface different than the rest of the jacket, sort of like a fencing mask, he fiddled with it and it got almost clear like a real faceplate. He tugged at the cuffs and they formed gloves. Then he tugged the waist of the jacket until it hung below his hips, halfway to his knees. Kurt had no idea such a thing was possible. It looked surreal. Lastly he buckled the gun belt on and tied an orange brassard around his arm.
He frowned at them for still being there, staring at him, and made an emphatic go gesture to them with one index finger swept in an arc up and away from him. The he held up a hand with fingers spread to remind them they had five minutes. His face said this was serious.
Carl stood and urged Kurt to his feet with a gesture. The other driver was halfway to the door, the pad left on the table where he'd been sitting. Carl seemed worried Kurt might not take it seriously and had a hand at his back propelling him. He was convinced. Whatever was going down he didn't need any more urging to go. They all headed for their trucks without another word between them.
The robot was removing the last bin of small boxes when Kurt got back to his truck. The guard was nowhere to be seen. The com screen asked him to touch a box to indicate he was reentering his truck. When he did so, it acknowledged his unloading was complete and he was free to board.
When he sat back in the driver's seat he saw the tank truck was moving across the yard headed for the access road. Kurt followed his own procedure to undock and request departure. Another truck was leaving as soon as the tanker reached the road out. That must be Carl. The man must have ran to his truck to be that far ahead.
The screen indicated his port was being closed. Before it was sealed all the way he heard the CRACK/Crack/crack of a weapon discharge and echoes in the warehouse. Then it repeated rapidly again. The last time was muted as the port sealed and the sound had to pass through the hatch. He waited a long thirty seconds until it indicated he was released and he heard latches retract. The truck went straight to local road control, not needing the terminal software to pull straight away from the dock. When it inquired if he wanted a reverse return of the trip here he punched the yes button quickly.
Kurt grabbed the wheel to activate manual control and followed instructions to go out the same access road he'd entered. Followed the same infuriatingly slow twenty kilometer per hour speed limit as he did coming in, lest it create problems with the traffic control. He made the first turn and got on the higher speed lane, and his truck came to a stop on its own.
"Net wide safety pause initiated. The Local Traffic Net is down." Said the screen. But the map still remained, minus the highlighted route. That was fine he knew how he'd come in. It was obvious on the screen. The road to Central was labeled.
It also informed him - "All local traffic is unlocked for manual control and encouraged to seek a safe parking area. Minimal speeds and care advised. Automatic collision avoidance is downgraded to the individual vehicle level." Forget that. A couple hundred meters and he'd be back on the road to Central. There wasn't another vehicle in sight through his windows, and he could drive all the way back on manual if he had to. He headed for the main road cautiously.
Once he turned on the main highway the screen asked him if he wished to resume auto control until it reached another net controlled zone. That made sense since he was pretty sure highway guidance was all Central right up until you got to Armstrong's local net. Central built both the road and the truck, although he had no idea how the system actually worked. He was glad to turn control over to them and lean back in his seat and have a good meltdown.
Who that armed man with the strange jacket was, Kurt had no idea, but whatever was going on back there, he was sure he didn't want to be in the middle of it. Now all he wanted was to be back home before anyone decided to mess with the vehicles in transit. When they reviewed his requested spex video, they should find it very interesting he decided.
Kurt hadn't gone a full kilometer when a bright flash in his outside mirrors startled him. He leaned and craned, looking in the mirrors, but couldn't really see any detail but an orange glow, then he remembered his backup camera. He pulled the menu down the right side of the screen, picked the camera and was shown a receding view of Armstrong. The glowing part wasn't the terminal he'd just left. It seemed to be off to the left, which would be west. Two fingers spread on the bright part zoomed the camera in. There were still glowing chunks of something falling leisurely in the lunar gravity.
This seemed like a big enough deal that he should call Central and tell them now. He pulled out his pad and checked the icon to make sure it was linked to the truck. He'd been told to call 000 for emergency services when he arrived at Central, but he'd never done so before.
"Unable to access satellite net," showed on his screen. Well that was interesting. The road guidance obviously didn't use the satellites or it wouldn't be working. He checked the truck screen menu again and there wasn't any way to communicate through it, not even a simple break-down alert. Neither was there any way to instruct it to go faster. If it did go down he could still drive manually, and he decided he better watch closely. The truck should stop him safely or alert him to take control if it lost guidance, but it seemed like a bad day to assume anything.
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* * *
"We've lost all com with Armstrong," Dakota told Heather. "We can still do Earth direct, and Home and the other parts of the moon by relay. Armstrong is dead to everything."
"Hmmm...Early aren't they?" the Sovereign asked, calmly. "I didn't think they could be ready."
"Do you have any instructions?" her friend and peer asked.
"No. Everybody who needs to respond has been instructed what to do. You can do a public announcement to all com codes and informing them we have no contact. Anyone who isn't brand new or an idiot can figure out what that means."
Dakota nodded and went to do it.
Heather restrained herself from asking a hundred questions. People out at the pointy end didn't need somebody distracting them when they were busy. They had a plan to follow when the Earthies invaded again, and Heather was sure she would get word when events unfolded far enough to assess how the plan was working.
It was however almost a half hour before any report filtered back to her, and Heather was having a hard time reading her normal business messages and restraining herself from demanding reports. When Dakota finally appeared on her screen it was a relief. Her relaxed face alone said there was no big disaster even before she spoke.
"The weird thing is that nothing is happening. I don't mean nothing unexpected, or nothing bad. I mean literally nothing. There is no unusual traffic down the highway towards us. No launches from the Armstrong field directed across us. No other launches at all for that matter. Besides com being down we've had three of our own sat passes now that detected no local radio chatter when they passed over Armstrong. Not even encrypted traffic, just quiet.
"I also have images from our own satellites. One of the ships on their field is gone, but we don't think it lifted. There's debris and marks on the pavement that suggest it blew up. The satellites do show some rover traffic. It's only in Armstrong, and a lot is around administrative buildings, but we don't know why. We don't have resolution to show individuals well, especially with the sun near straight overhead. We have four vehicles on the way back down the highway to us. All of them known.
"There were five vehicles in transit to Armstrong and we stopped them by dropping outbound control. Four of them used manual control to turn back to Central. One turned around and tried to go to Armstrong again when their guidance worked after they turned. When it wouldn't work they turned back again. Only the one turned on manual controls and appears to intend to drive on manual all the way to Armstrong. We really need to have an option to send low bandwidth text messages to vehicle screens through the traffic system."
"Do you think the lone vehicle refusing to turn back is involved in this somehow?" Heather asked.
"No I spoke with the business owner who rents the truck. He said the driver is, to quote him, a pig-headed Finn, who will never imagine something could be different this one time. He'll just be hell bent on delivering his load if he has to get out and hand carry it, cussing the traffic system all the while."
"I hate to hear our people using ethnic slurs," Heather said. "You might counsel him to not be so quick to ascribe shortcomings to ethnicity."
"I'll leave that to you." Dakota said, "His supervisor is his older brother, so I'm not sure I have the tact to correct him on that without insulting both of them."
"Well, sometimes people who are fixated on a goal are useful," Heather acknowledged. "One can only hope he doesn't drive into a situation that will bring him to harm."
"It's funny, his boss was more concerned about the opposite problem," Dakota informed her. "He seemed to be worried somebody would get hurt if they obstructed him."
"Mark him as one to hire if his boss fires him," Heather said. "I'd use him shamelessly."
"Yeah I can see him as a guard," Dakota agreed. "Except he might not let you in."
"Don't keep people on alert too long," Heather warned. "If they try to stay focused, and nothing is happening, they tire easily. Better to have most of them stand down and take short shifts."
"Good idea," Dakota agreed. "We didn't plan for a long silence after being cut off. I have two rover crews sealed and suited up in tunnels waiting to pull out and do fire missions. I'll have one of them unbutton and return to pressure on a ten minute call status. Anything else?"
"Just wait. I'm not about to send anybody there with no idea what is happening," Heather said. "We only have a few people positioned forward. The rest of us can just get on with our usual business."
* * *
"Mr. Singh, I'm Bart Riley, with the investor group that just launched the Borghild on a second ice recovery mission. We are going to refurbish the Yuki-onna as we sell off the excess water from her mission as well as some remaining personal shares. We're interested in licensing several items of Singh technology that would make the mission more profitable. I wonder if I might schedule an extended conference of several hours with you soon to discuss what we'd like to buy?"
"I'm sorry Mr. Riley, but I'm not interested in doing business with your group. I thank you for your interest in Singh Technologies, but I believe you can still run a profitable ice recovery without my products." Jeff reached for the disconnect, but not aggressively enough to cut him off.
"Please! Hear me out just a little more," Riley asked, before Jeff could disconnect. Jeff paused with his hand extended. It would be really insulting to cut him off now, so he nodded and withdrew his hand.
"We're aware you have licensed some devices to another ice recovery group for shares. We'd be willing to do the same thing if you don't have an exclusive agreement. We're not flush with cash from our previous mission, and could offer you better terms for shares in any case.
"Our analysis is that it will be quite some time before there is any market saturation. There's good money to be made for and from all the players in this game for some time to come. There isn't any real reason not to support several groups and make money from all of them for the foreseeable future. I'd be happy to send you our market analysis and business plan if you'd like to see our numbers."
"Ah, that was a reasonable assumption," Jeff allowed. "No, I'm not locked in to the other group. I had some objections to how you conducted your first mission. I'm afraid in the current climate at Home, with the customs we've embraced around dueling, I can't speak freely. You might have legitimate reason to take offense and call me out if I explain myself in detail, so I'd rather not express my feelings in depth. I'll hasten to add, I haven't said a word about your affairs to anyone outside my most intimate business circle. I've kept my own counsel on the matter, so I haven't slandered you."
Riley was visibly taken aback. This wasn't going any direction he'd expected. He blinked a few times rapidly and was obviously thinking furiously. He could tell Jeff wasn't going to give him the luxury of a long time to make a carefully considered answer.
"I...I didn't know how badly the first mission went had become public knowledge," Riley admitted. "How much are you aware of the problems the mission encountered?"
"It hasn't gone public, but I'm aware of all of it," Jeff answered truthfully. "I might know aspects of it you don't. And if you were offering me a partnership in your newest endeavor, then I'd have been very...disappointed, if you didn't make a full disclosure of previous difficulties to me, or any serious investor you brought in. The people who failed were executives of the partnership, the actual command structure of the ship, I assume they had shares as minor partners, and weren't simply hired crew. That's customary in these sort of new ventures. So the partnership is certainly culpable for their errors in my opinion. Our laws are still lacking in detail on those sort of things still, but if the matter were brought before the Assembly for judgment don't you think they might find your senior partners responsible to some degree?"
"This is something we discussed, and are concerned they might see it that way. We've decided to keep quiet on the matter given the hazard. I thank you for your discretion," Riley hastened to add.
"I don't care for gossip," Jeff ex
plained. "You'll have no problem with me on that count. I won't blab your business about, because I don't like it when people do it to me."
The conversation had given Riley time to think, and he wasn't thick.
"If you wish to tell me, I give you my personal word I won't call you out. Even if it does offend me. One can't realistically promise not to be offended, but I won't act on it. Neither will I divulge the matter to my partners, if you wish to tell me your objections in confidence. I wouldn't be calling you if I didn't have some respect for your standing in the business community, so your displeasure troubles me."
Jeff considered that, and Riley gave him a silent moment to think on it.
"All right, fair enough. I'm friends with Mr. Anderson who hired as a rigger and all around vacuum worker on the voyage. The three who returned your ship safe performed well beyond any reasonable expectation for their experience and pay level. That's in marked contrast to the responsible parties in command who failed in their duties miserably.
"Now it just so happens I'm Barak...Mr. Anderson's, banker as well as a friend. We've gone on vacation together and I've ties, in several ways, to him and his family. I even met him at dock when he returned to Home. When he gave me his pay voucher, I was able to cash it from my pocket change."
Riley had the decency to look embarrassed at the look Jeff gave him.
"Not only did he and his mates save your bacon by returning your ship and iceball intact, but I have to say he had the remarkable restraint to not say a bad word about you to me, for meeting the exact terms of your contract with him. I doubt I'd have been so nice, at least in private. No petulant Earth Think about how it wasn't fair, or complaints about the ordeal your poor planning put them through. In my opinion they deserved a generous bonus for saving your entire mission.
"Indeed, his only concern seemed to be for his crewmates who found themselves in similar straits. He was fortunate to be able to give them shelter here at Home for a few days. I was able to direct them to my partner Heather Anderson on the moon to secure them employment all together, where they could be a support group for each other. From what she says they have been marvelous workers, flexible and undemanding. I don't understand how you'd let somebody like that go. I've been counseled myself recently about retaining skilled workers, so perhaps I have a new appreciation for it. But I doubt the folks on the moon would let go of them easily, now that they see their value.
April 8: It's Always Something Page 16