Unclear Skies

by Jason LaPier

  “Hello, everyone,” Leesen said. “This is Dr. Contrellis.”

  She led him around the circle to exchange pleasantries with Polinsky and Harrison, and when she was on the opposite side of the table from Runstom, Troyo leaned in and said through his smile, Ex-husband.

  As the researchers took their seats, Captain Oliver came in, with Lt. Cato following her. “Sorry we’re late,” she said. She glanced sideways at Runstom, then looked quickly away when he met her eyes. She and Cato sat down, and he noticed her arm was in a sling. “Let’s get started.”

  “Great, let’s,” Troyo said. “Now I think we can all agree what happened here yesterday was a near-tragedy. Fortunately, losses were mitigated—”

  “Hold on a minute, Peter,” Rhonda said, a hand in the air. “I want some questions answered before we start talking about how great ModPol is.”

  Troyo’s smile shrank, but did not disappear. “Of course. Ask away.”

  “Our power grid is designed very specifically for redundancy,” she said, making slow chopping motions as though she were measuring something out. “Power flows two ways, in a circle. Break the ring, and power still flows the other way.”

  “But that’s not what happened,” Leesen said. “The observatory lost power.”

  “Exactly,” Harrison said. “There was a specific failsafe that protected the town from losing power in the event of catastrophic failure. But the scenario that triggers that failsafe is very obscure. I didn’t even know it would do that.”

  “But it did,” Leesen said, her eyes cold on Harrison. “Whether you knew it could or not.”

  Harrison frowned. “What I mean is that we’ve never seen the system do that. We’ve dealt with all kinds of power issues here. There’s not a true grid like you get back planetside. The ring is more delicate. And yet we’ve never had it do this.”

  “Well, that’s certainly interesting,” Troyo said. “Is there a question?”

  “Yeah, there’s a goddamn question.” The chopping hand slapped the table. “How the hell did Space Waste know how to trip that failsafe?”

  “What makes you think they knew?” Runstom asked. When she shot him a glare, he coughed politely. “If you don’t mind sharing, it sounds like you’ve got more than a hunch about it.”

  Her narrowed eyes softened slightly. “We’re running an audit on the system at the power relay station right now. We don’t have all the data, but it looks very bizarre. Like it’s been tampered with.”

  “The data?”

  “The system.”

  Runstom got out his notepad. “Tampered with – you mean, as of yesterday morning.”

  “That’s right. Like I said, we’re still collating, but at a first pass, it looks like everything started to go funny sometime after 9:00AM.”

  “The alarm came in from the relay station at 9:07AM,” Runstom read, then looked up at Polinsky. “According to Willis.”

  “So Space Waste caused the power issues,” Troyo said. “Let’s just assume.”

  “I don’t like to assume,” Leesen said.

  “Okay,” Troyo said. “Let’s say that hypothetically, they did.” Leesen’s facial reaction indicated she didn’t care much for hypotheticals either, but she let Troyo continue. “It just goes to show what kind of threat this facility was facing yesterday. These are organized, lethal criminals. And if it weren’t for—”

  “I want numbers,” Leesen said.

  “Uh,” Troyo fumbled. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I want to know how many people died. How many were injured. What the damage was, and what equipment was stolen.”

  “I’ve got some people working on the damage assessment,” Harrison said quietly. “I can give you an estimate later today.”

  “How many died?” Leesen’s question silenced the room.

  “At the relay station,” Polinsky started timidly, his face suddenly buried in his handypad, “there was seven guards killed and three wounded. Plus three non-combat personnel were injured.”

  “And at the observatory?”

  Polinsky looked up briefly and swallowed, then back to his handypad. “Five guards were killed. There were six more on duty, and they got pretty banged up but nothing more. One non-combat personnel has a concussion from getting hit in the head and two others are suffering from substantial cuts and contusions after trying to engage. Several minor scrapes and bruises for the others, but nothing else serious.”

  “We lost two Defenders at the relay station,” Oliver said coldly, her voice loud in comparison to Polinsky. She leaned back and her slinged arm rested against her chest. “And six wounded.”

  The room went quiet for a moment, and Runstom dipped his head and stared at his hands. The thought of those people dying, that they never expected to have to deal with monsters like Space Waste – even the guards were unprepared for the slaughter. It wasn’t fair.

  “Dr. Contrellis works at the observatory,” Leesen said, cutting through the silence. “Can you please tell us what was taken, Doctor?”

  Contrellis cleared his throat. “Yes, of course. They – the attackers – they kept asking us for this detection equipment. Scanning equipment. I didn’t know exactly what they wanted. All of our equipment does detection of some kind. They said they wanted to be able to scan for ships. We don’t have anything like that.”

  At this point, Contrellis seemed to struggle for a moment, trying to find his voice. “It’s okay, Jordan,” Leesen said. “Take your time.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve never dealt with anything like this. They – they roughed some of us up. We just didn’t know what they wanted. Finally one of them said that we had radiation scanners – something that could scan warp-drive exhaust. None of us know anything about spaceships. We’re astronomers and astrophysicists.”

  “But they took something?” Leesen prodded.

  “Yes. We – I just got so scared. Afraid they were going to hurt someone, really hurt someone. We just got this new equipment that measures radiation. We use it to study background radiation and search for anomalies, and it helps us detect solar activity from Sirius A and B. Traffic control uses that data.”

  “Wait, they took the new modules?” Leesen said, suddenly stiffening. “Do you know how much those things cost us?”

  “No, no,” he said. “We had the old modules still there. We’d just removed them to install the new ones last week. We had put the old ones in the new packaging so we could send it back planetside to be recycled. So …”

  “So you gave them the old equipment and told them it was new,” Runstom said.

  “Yes.” Contrellis looked worried, like he’d done something wrong.

  “Oh, Jordan,” Leesen said, her hands to her mouth. “That’s brilliant!”

  “Bravo!” Troyo added with a clap.

  “Could they actually use that equipment to scan for drive exhaust?” Runstom asked. “Since it can detect radiation?”

  “Yes,” Leesen said. “But it’s outdated. The precision and range is no better than any scanners that come stock on most spacecraft. Plus you’d need the system to run it. The software is half the cost.”

  “They didn’t go anywhere near the system itself,” Contrellis said. “I figured they had their own software.”

  “That seems unlikely,” Leesen said. “But I won’t pretend to know anything about these criminals or their resources.”

  “Something else.” Contrellis closed his eyes and swallowed a few times. “They were loading the equipment up and they forced us to gather in the garage. They made us kneel.”

  The room grew quiet. “Why would they do that?” Leesen asked tentatively.

  “They were going to execute them,” Oliver said firmly.

  The others gasped and Contrellis opened his eyes, a single tear escaping. He pointed at Runstom. “He ran them off. He saved us.” He stood and looked at Runstom, clasping his hands together. “I’ve heard of you before, Officer Runstom. From the HV, about how you solved
that murder case. You are a hero. I owe you my life, sir.”

  “Well, I don’t—” Runstom tried to say.

  “Yes!” Troyo exclaimed. “That’s precisely why we brought Stanford to Vulca. He is a hero, and ModPol is in the business of creating heroes. And even though this facility suffered a terrible, tragic attack, I think we can all agree that it would have been much worse without the trial ModPol Rapid Onsite Defense Unit.”

  The room didn’t erupt into agreement, but the reserved silence that followed indicated that at the very least, there would be no disagreement. Contrellis composed himself and found his seat. Polinsky and Harrison glanced at each other, as if to gauge whether a pre-agreed stance of obstinacy was still in effect, but neither said a word.

  Leesen put her hands together. “Okay. Mr. Runstom. Captain Oliver. We are in your debt. Mr. Troyo, send me your quote and I will present a budget to the finance committee.”

  Troyo’s smile went from ear to ear. “Absolutely, Dr. Leesen.”

  * * *

  When they got up to leave, Runstom caught Oliver by the arm. “Can you spare a moment?” he said in a low voice.

  She nodded shortly and they hung back as the others filtered out of the round room. Lt. Cato stood there smiling and waiting, and Oliver dismissed him.

  “Yes, sir,” he said, then turned to Runstom. “I just wanted to say that it was an honor to work with you yesterday, Mr. Runstom.”

  “You as well, Lieutenant.”

  Cato left and Runstom shut the door. “He talked about you all night,” Oliver said, pulling off her cap and moving an inch closer. “I got a first-hand account of everything that happened once his patrol returned to Vulca City and caught up with your … posse.”

  Runstom nodded slowly. “He’s a good Defender.”

  “What would you have done if Space Waste fought back?” Her question was phrased as a challenge, but her tone carried a level of curiosity.

  “It was a gamble,” he admitted. “I honestly don’t know. We probably would have retreated at the first sign of return fire.”

  She huffed in amusement. “I can’t believe you wasted our only Billy.”

  “You only had one?”

  “This is – was – a trial unit.”

  “Right,” Runstom said. He walked to the table and leaned against it. He wanted answers, but he knew aggression would only close her down. “You were out on patrol that morning. Was that part of the trial?”

  She looked at him warily. “We only have twenty-four Defenders here. The trial is just a show. Get dressed up, strut around the facility, get introduced to as many people as possible. We did a small patrol a few weeks ago, but that was really just so we could get a sense of the layout.”

  “So yesterday was … unusual.”

  She frowned and looked away. “I had orders.”

  He wanted to curse at her, to shake her, to demand to know why her orders were not also his orders, because they were both ModPol, they were all ModPol. He took a breath and said, “I wish you had shared them.”

  “They were very specific, Stanford. They were not to be shared.”

  “You were ordered not to share them.”

  “I wanted to, if you want to know the truth.” He looked up at her and she shrugged. “I mean, I almost just told you anyway. But we’d just gotten them that morning, and my lieutenants were with me. They knew the orders were Defender-eyes-only, and I didn’t want to disobey them in front of everyone.”

  He tried to read her eyes. He was never great at spotting a lie, especially when it came to women, but he decided to believe her. “It’s okay, I guess.”

  “Now I wish I had just told you.”

  “The orders only came in that morning?” He resisted pulling out his notebook. “And all they said was to do a patrol?”

  “That was it, pretty much. Normally our patrols are smaller, but they said to take as many as possible.”

  “And by coincidence your patrol came upon Space Waste at the relay station.”

  She stared at him in silence for a moment. “I’m sorry, Stanford. I don’t ask these kinds of questions. That’s why I’m good at what I do.”

  He sighed and nodded. “I saw in the report that you took two prisoners. They weren’t identified.”

  She frowned. “Yes, but now they’re not prisoners, they’re criminals.”

  He thought about her words for a moment. “Justice?”

  She nodded. “Your old friends are going to pick them up and ship them off to Barnard for a quick trial.”

  “I’m surprised Defense doesn’t want to try to get some information out of them.”

  “Like I said, Stanford: I don’t ask those kinds of questions.”

  “Right.” Which left him alone to ponder why Defense would kick prisoners of war over to Justice for criminal proceedings. Maybe it was a sign of the dual halves of ModPol attempting to get along. He put it at the back of his mind and pointed at her arm. “How bad is it?”

  She looked down at it. “Caught a round in the forearm. Cracked a bone. They got me all patched up, local anesthetic and all that, so it’s not so bad.” She looked up at him. “No patrols for me for a few weeks, anyway.”

  “You didn’t expect to get stuck here on Vulca, did you?”

  She laughed then, out loud. “Yeah, I guess this place is going to be home for a while. Honestly, I didn’t think you and that idiot Troyo were going to pull this off.” Her smile dipped slightly. “No offense.”

  Her image drifted from his vision as the words wound around his mind. “No, of course not,” he said, his own voice sounding distant in his ears. “How much longer would the trial have lasted?”

  “There was only another month. I mean, if Space Waste hadn’t shown up …” Her voice trailed off but he didn’t notice until she touched his arm. “Stanford. I’m sorry I was an ass to you before. And I’m sorry for the secrecy yesterday. And even though I’m stuck here now, I still owe you a thank you.”

  He hadn’t known how much he wanted to hear that until he did. “You’re welcome.”

  “So,” she said, taking a step back and gesturing, turning her good hand up, creating distance between them. “Where are you off to next? Headed back home?”

  “Home,” he said, the word sounding strange in his mouth. Captain Oliver might be one of the few people who would understand his inability to connect to the concept of home, but he couldn’t bring himself to open up to her. He shook his head. “No. I mean, I’m heading back down to HQ on-planet, but it won’t be for long. Director Horus already has another assignment lined up.” That much he’d seen in a message when he woke up, but she hadn’t said exactly where he’d be going – just that he should pack for a long-distance trip.

  “Well, next time you’re on Vulca – I mean, if you ever make it back here,” Oliver said and trailed off. She dipped her head only slightly, but it caused a lock of her hair to shield her eyes. She flipped it back and donned her cap in one motion. She saluted and walked away.

  “Yeah,” Runstom said to himself. “If I ever make it back here.”

  An alarm on the WrappiMate he’d finally remembered to wear caused the device to buzz lightly and he tapped at it to see that it was just reminding him he had a shuttle to catch. He wiped away the alert and headed to his room to gather his single bag.

  CHAPTER 12

  In the morning, Jax wandered back over to the library. The previous day, he’d fixed Chen’s LyfStat monitor and then made use of his new credit at Bonnie’s to stock up on some food and some beer. He spent the evening with four glass-bottle pints of a rich, dark porter and the sensor manual he’d picked up for a bit of light reading.

  He’d learned that MFS stood for Magnetic Field Sensor, and once he found that out, its function was obvious, though he had to admit he didn’t have a clue as to the particular application of the sensor in the library. There was a remote data relay, typical in these kinds of sensors, and that explained why the librarians said there was a dish on
the roof. Terroneous had a few satellites used for communication, though they were restricted to government agencies and collectives; no commercial or for-profit transmissions could be afforded on the limited bandwidth.

  It was at the bottom of his third pint that he’d caught himself humming a catchy tune, only it wasn’t really a tune, just a rhythm. Doot doot doooooo doot doot, Doot doot doooooo doot doot. He couldn’t remember where he’d heard it until halfway into his fourth pint, when he realized it was the alarm at the library. It wasn’t a rhythm, it was a series. It was a code.

  He’d flipped through the manual, almost spilling his beer but then realizing he’d only knocked over an empty bottle, and eventually found the section detailing the audible fault codes. Two short, one long, two short: device data storage minimum availability fault. Jax’s best guess was that it was an obtuse, engineery way of saying the thing was out of memory, or disk space.

  At the library, the alarm was still singing its fault song. He headed straight for the desk. “Librarian Elle, good morning.”

  “Oh, hello, Mr. Fugere. Any luck with Lonny’s kibu thingy?”

  “Yeah, he’s all sorted out. I came by because I think I might be able to make that alarm stop.”

  Her face twisted and the normal smile she gave him broke. “Well, goddamn. I don’t mind telling you, that fucking thing is driving me crazy.” She popped the gate open. “Have at it. I don’t care if you break the thing. Just do it quick before Kay gets in. She’ll have a conniption if she catches you messing with a Bureau device.”

  “Right, I’ll be as quick as I can.”

  Jax slid past the librarian to the back wall. He tugged a nearby bookcart over and situated it underneath the sensor console. Then he got his portable terminal and the Pulson Integrated Sensor Systems Incorporated Magnetic Field Sensor manual out of his pack and set them on the cart. He popped the panel off the wall console and poked around at the switches as the manual suggested to prep it for local maintenance. Then he pulled a few cables out of his pack and identified the one with the right connector and hooked his terminal into the console’s access port.