Calculated Risk

by K. S. Ferguson

  In a capped tank beside her, sickly brown goo swirled, stirred by knife-edged paddles; everything from waste food to raw sewage rendered down into tiny particles. Next to it stood two high-pressure steel sterilization cylinders, heating the sludge to kill bacteria, followed by a maze of pipes that zigzagged through a UV light box and ended in a monstrous covered vat where a dark red bacterial culture broke down the organics in the slop into their component parts.

  She shivered. If she were to immerse her hands in that vat, her skin would slough and the muscles beneath melt inside an hour. Hydroponic cultures were fearsome things. But the cylinder lid was tightly sealed. A dozen different small pipes connected from the lid to other containers; she assumed they provided chemicals necessary to stabilize the process. She cautiously shone her light into the dark empty space between the tank and the wall.

  More pipes led from the tank through another sterilizer and into an open vat of liquid, five meters across and chest high on her, its contents bright red from the dead bacterial culture, now part of the rich organic soup. Under the grow lights, it looked like a vast bowl of blood-red holiday gelatin waiting for a party of giants to partake.

  A regular stream of tiny bubbles barely disturbed the viscous surface, running out from the center like spokes from a wheel. It sounded as though the tank whispered protests against the loss of its hydroponic feast to the parasitic plants. Or did she hear the whisper of voices from some dark corner? She waved her light around the cavernous space, her mouth dry.

  Squeezing reluctantly between the tank and a table, she flashed her light into the space behind the tank. Still nothing. She let the light drop down the side of the tank as she squirmed to turn around. The beam picked up a shadow on the inside wall of the tank near the floor. Curious, she crouched for a closer look. Behind the glass, moving in lazy circles like kelp in an ocean current, a severed hand drifted, occasionally thumping against the wall.

  Kama dropped the light. It banged on the floor and skittered away, sending freakish shadows leaping and dancing around the walls and tanks. She held perfectly still, willing her heart to slow its frantic pounding. Then she retrieved her light.

  A quick search under the plant tables netted a step stool. In the murk behind the tanks, she found a wall rack holding a long cleaning pole with a pitted metal hook at one end. She planted the stool beside the open tank and mounted it.

  She eased the pole into the liquid. A metallic clank from behind her made her jump and splatter fluid on the floor. She whirled around and listened. After several seconds, the noise came again, then repeated, gradually picking up a steady rhythm before stopping abruptly. She let out a breath, cursing whatever bad valve or loose fitting caused the clatter.

  Taking a firm grip on the slippery pole, she thrust it across the surface, let the tip drop to the bottom of the tank, and slowly pulled it back. She felt resistance for a moment, but then it slid easily. The red glop coating her hands made her skin crawl.

  Gritting her teeth, she tried again. Her hands slipped up the rod as it caught on something. Keeping a steady pressure, she brought the end closer until the pole came vertical. She heaved, trying to raise the end off the bottom, but only succeeded in wrenching it free and losing her balance. Catching herself with a quick backward step off the stool, she jumped back another step.

  A figure bumped against the clear side of the tank. The thick red fluid blurred the detail, but she still recognized the bloated shape and crinkled flesh of another human being, white as a slug's belly, half-decomposed. Patches of brown hair drifted from the skull where scalp still remained, a great depressed dent marking a huge skull fracture from some heavy blow.

  Kama clamped an arm over her mouth and turned away, fighting down the urge to retch. She'd found the missing Mr. Levine.

  Chapter 11

  Rafe hoped he'd make it to Leon's ship before he puked. Nothing like zero gravity to make the stomach cartwheel. The last thing he wanted was to ask the hardboiled smelter supervisor for a barf bag. He wondered if they even had such things on the runabout. Probably not. Men who didn't have the intestinal fortitude for free-fall didn't last long on space assignments. He gripped the armrests of his chair and peered out the window.

  He glimpsed the huge, blocky, ugly structure of the station, sharp-edged and perfectly defined in the vacuum of space, lit more by internal lights than by the distant sun. A vast cylinder, it spun slowly on its axis to give the illusion of gravity to those within. Other vessels littered the surrounding space; small and medium-sized ships for the most part. The number surprised him. There must be at least a dozen of them just in his field of vision. Beyond them, the silver pricks of distant suns dusted a vast, black canvas.

  He couldn't understand why anyone stayed out there. The idea of living where a leaking spacesuit seal, or a tiny overlooked hull puncture killed you seemed insane. Just the thought made his muscles tense. Give him sun on his face, firm soil beneath his feet, and clean sea air to breathe. He'd take his view of Back Bay in Mumbai over this view any day. He wished he were home now, sharing a bottle of cabernet sauvignon with Barb and Ying Ying while watching the sun set over the Arabian Sea.

  He spotted a single big cargo ship, its exterior painted in dazzling white with lots of exterior floodlights, hanging some distance away. It looked sleek and expensive, a stark contrast to the grimy and functional look of the rest of the place.

  "What's that?" Rafe asked.

  Browning glanced where he pointed. "That's Maltraw's ship."

  "The cargo hauler?"

  "Asteroid belt robber baron. His ship's half shopping mall, half entertainment station, and all expensive."

  "Ah. Then why buy from him?"

  Browning shifted in his harness. "Sometimes we need things on short notice, like the modulation board for the long range com."

  Efficient inventory control measures should prevent shortages even for specialty parts like the modulation board. Rafe began to see why the station's finances ran in the red. On the other hand, perhaps Maltraw offered things cargo drones couldn't, illegal things like drugs.

  "Must get pretty boring out here. Doesn't seem like there's much to do besides work. Bit like being in prison, isn't it?"

  Browning's head jerked around. "Look, if you want to know about my arrest record, just ask. Don't try to waltz around it like you're pretending to make conversation. I got busted because of a bar fight. A guy came at me with a broken bottle. I gave him a roundhouse punch to the head in self-defense, and he died. His buddies lied and said I started it. I got five years on Bliss. Now you know." He returned his attention to the controls.

  "It was just a metaphor," said Rafe, casting about for a way to change the subject. "It must get pretty lonely. I haven't seen many women beyond Kama and Miss Patty. I understand Kama is here on a temporary assignment. What's a woman like Miss Patty doing way out here?"

  "Same as the rest of us," Browning replied. "Folks who work the asteroid field are generally folks who don't have other options. Miss Patty worked with Levine when he was at Mars Development Corp a few years back. She probably traded on their friendship to get hired by Galaxy. She's supposed to be our computer tech, although she's useless with them. She has helpdesk on speed dial and uses them for even the simplest things. That's why I applied for the Oasis grant to get some updates done."

  "I don't know much about Levine, but he doesn't seem like the type to be out here either. What was his story?"

  The man glanced sideways at him. "You're just full of questions."

  "If you're hunting bear, it helps to know a little about them."

  Browning grunted agreement. "You hear about the tunnel collapse on Mars four or five years ago? Bunch of residents had just moved in, lots of people hurt and killed?"

  "I remember. Caused by faulty materials that didn't meet spec. Big scandal, but in the end, no one was held accountable, right?"

  "The Mars Dev upper management came out unscathed, but behind the scenes, a lot of middle ma
nagers lost their jobs. Levine was one of them." Browning passed a hand over his face. "That's how it always works. The big guys at the top get away with murder, and the little guys take the blame."

  Interesting group out here: crooked managers, incompetent computer techs, and convicted murderers. Rafe decided it was time to know them all a little better. When he got to the ship, he'd send a message to Security Partners requesting background checks on the lot.

  "Oh, and that woman I saw in the infirmary when I first woke up. Who was she?"

  "Medic said you were hallucinating from the speed heal." The man made some small adjustments to the instruments.

  "Pink and purple hair? With a big silver box? You sure that doesn't ring a bell?" Rafe asked, beginning to doubt what he'd seen.

  "Oh," Browning said, grudgingly. "You must mean Janice Fisher. She ran some supplies over from Maltraw's. Didn't want you dying on us for want of a bandaid."

  "Ah," he said, certain that he'd just heard a lie. "So she's Maltraw's delivery girl?"

  "She's an independent contractor. She rents space from Maltraw."

  "And what is it that she does exactly?" he pressed. The smelter supervisor gave him a pained looked and said nothing.

  A light on the pilot console flashed rapidly, and an alarm blared. Had Rafe not been floating against the harness already, he would have jumped out of his seat. Browning seemed unfazed, merely flicking a few switches on the console. The light continued to flash, but the alarm stopped.

  "What the hell was that?"

  Browning smiled, his expression more than a little condescending. "Proximity alert. See that vessel over there?"

  Out Browning's window, Rafe could discern what looked like floating space junk decorated with a hundred tiny red lights defining its outline. Even from a distance, he could see the metal of the structure had been scoured and pitted with space dust, giving the conglomeration of orbs, struts, and propulsion pods a sense of ghostly abandonment.

  "That's the munitions bunker. It has a broadcast beacon that sets off our proximity alarm. We're taking a little shortcut through the warning zone to get to the EcoMech ship faster."

  "If it has as many explosives on board as you say, isn't it too close to the station?"

  "If it was farther away, we'd have those thieves over at R. S. Steele sneaking in to steal our explosives as well as our claims," Browning huffed. "You familiar with shaped charges? How you can determine the direction the blast force will go depending on how you place the explosive?"

  Rafe nodded. He was all too familiar with explosives from his time as a soldier in EA's forces.

  "Well the bunker is loaded such that the blast force will go that way, blowing out the end section of the bunker." He waved a meaty hand to his left. "And the bulk of the bunker will go the opposite direction, which means the station is in the clear. We have nothing to worry about."

  Too many ships, and now a large munitions bunker, all excellent places for Levine to hide. Rafe saw the scope of the search double. They should start with the ships and bunker first. Maybe they'd find Levine before they got to the station. It would be best if the miners weren't on their ships while the search progressed.

  "We should have word about the drone intercept by tomorrow morning. Can you call another meeting of the miners so I can give them an update?" Rafe asked, wondering who he could use to search the ships while he talked to the men. Maybe he could borrow some of the EcoMech crew.

  Browning nodded and reached for the controls. The EcoMech ship hove into view on Rafe's left, alarmingly close to the path Browning indicated a bunker explosion might send debris. After a quick call to Benson, the EcoMech captain agreed to let them dock. Browning waited in the pilot's seat, adamant that he wasn't leaving the craft. Rafe shuffled out the hatch and dogged it.

  "Mr. McTavish." Benson all but saluted, not quite able to keep the concern from his face. "As you asked, I haven't told Mr. Goldman you're aboard yet."

  "Thank you, Captain. I have a few messages to send, and I'll stop by my cabin for a change of clothes. I'd like Cookie to make me a large cup of his excellent coffee and bring it to me in the lounge. Then I'll be ready to see Mr. Goldman. I don't want us to be disturbed. And if you can scare one up, I'll need a loaner nanocom."

  "Yes, sir. I'll see to it." Benson spun on his heel and hurried away.

  Rafe shambled down the corridor to the com station and dropped into a chair before the console, thankful that he hadn't bumped into Leon or Amaya. He sent off a batch of requests, and then pushed up again and struggled to his cabin. The bed looked incredibly inviting, and he'd kill for a shower. Instead, he opened the closet and pulled out his spare business suit, a supple dark blue silk affair custom-tailored for his slim frame. He hesitated, his mind casting back to Kama's remarks when he'd first seen her. What had she said about his clothes?

  With a sigh, he replaced the suit and dug his workout clothes from his bag. By the time he'd squirmed into the loose pants and pulled the t-shirt over his head, the bed was shouting his name. He ignored it, decided socks were too much bother, and slid his feet into his workout shoes.

  He made it to the lounge door by leaning heavily against the corridor wall. Benson came up behind him and slid Rafe's arm around his shoulders. Together, they crossed the room to one of the armchairs in half the time it would have taken Rafe alone, assuming he'd remained on his feet that long.

  Cookie followed them in, bringing a huge mug of coffee, fragrant steam rising in a cloud that made Rafe's mouth water. Even the dim light of the lounge couldn't mask the horror in the cook's expression at the sight of Rafe. The captain pulled a nanocom from his pocket and helped him strap it on his wrist. The man stared at his med bracelet, still cycling through his vitals, looked into Rafe's eyes, and swallowed before nodding his goodbye.

  Rafe lifted the mug carefully, using two hands to keep it from wobbling, and sipped the ambrosia. The hot liquid scorched his throat, and the burn doubled when it hit his empty stomach. As the caffeine absorbed into his system, his headache dissipated and calm settled over him. He chided himself for not doing something about his caffeine addiction, but it helped him focus.

  Leon stepped through the door of the lounge. He had dark circles under his eyes but wore an immaculate suit. He stalked to Rafe's chair and glowered down.

  "You look like hell. Where's Greg?"

  Breathe, think, speak, he reminded himself. "Greg's waiting for me on the station. I've come to tell you that Levine isn't on the drone."

  "Then what are you doing here? I thought you'd be on the station playing your part as the sacrificial lamb and protecting the poor miners from my mercs." He strode to the bar in the corner of the lounge and poured a large bourbon.

  "I've made some interesting discoveries while I've been over there, discoveries that may change your decision to buy the station." He dug in his pocket, withdrew a stick drive, and tossed it on the little table beside his chair. "You can verify my assessment for yourself."

  The CEO walked back to a chair opposite, ignored the stick drive, and sat down, throwing one leg over the other. He swirled the bourbon in his glass, stopped to take a gulp, and swirled it again. "Give me the executive summary."

  "Levine's been embezzling under Galaxy's nose for the past three years. None of the financials Galaxy provided to EcoMech represent the real situation with the station. That gives EcoMech grounds to renege on the purchase without penalty."

  Leon froze for a moment, and then he set the bourbon on a side table. "How can you be sure Levine isn't on the drone? You seemed pretty certain he was. Or was that just a lie to keep the mercs away from the station?"

  Rafe sipped his coffee. His brother-in-law hadn't given up any of his paranoia as he'd grown older. "We had airlock video of him getting on the drone. We now believe that video is fake and that Levine's hiding on the station, or perhaps on one of the ships around the station."

  "'We'? So the miners know about this?"

  "No, they don't." Watch y
our mouth. You promised to keep her out of this. "There's an Oasis technician on the station. She's been able to get me access to the computer system so I could recover this information." He gestured to the stick drive, hoping to divert Leon's attention from his slip of the tongue. "Levine's a damn clever manipulator."

  Leon leaped from his chair and paced the plush carpet. He checked his nanocom. "It's seven now. The cruisers can be here by seven tomorrow morning. You have until then to get Greg back here. At eight, my security forces will board the station and begin the search for Levine. Any miners who interfere will be dealt with."

  Rafe stopped, coffee halfway to this mouth. Had he heard correctly? "If you go in with brute force, you'll meet resistance, I guarantee it. Why take the risk? Dismiss your mercs and go home, back out of the purchase. You know it never made any sense."

  "I want Levine." Leon snatched up his glass, swilled down the remainder of the contents, and went to the bar for a refill.

  "Dead? Because that's the probable outcome if you insist on storming the station." Rafe set his coffee on the table by the stick drive and struggled to his feet, putting himself in Leon's path. The CEO stopped inches away. "Tell me what's going on. Why is Levine so important to you that you'll risk lives to get him?"

  Leon glared, color rising, alcohol breath washing over Rafe. He waited, willing himself to stay upright despite the trembling in his legs. The man's shoulders slumped.

  "When we were kids, McTavish, I beat you to a pulp three times a week. You just took it, never stood up to me, never fought back. I thought you were a coward, especially after Youko—" Leon's eyes took the measure of Rafe's unsteady body. "But when those miners rushed us, you went straight at them like some crazy warrior in a kung-fu vid. I may have misjudged you."

  He stepped back and waved a hand toward a chair. "Sit down before you collapse. I'm sorry we left you behind in the airlock. I couldn't risk letting them overrun the yacht, not with Gabe on board."