Warp Thrive

by Ginger Booth

  Ben couldn’t argue with that. Hadn’t he chosen the same?

  That’s where they left it.

  62

  “This is too crazy,” Ben muttered in the pilot seat. With Cope’s promise of extra provisions, the Saggies slapped together six full-sized shipping containers packed with frozen people. It did not escape Ben’s notice that it took weeks to make the transit from Hell’s Bells. Therefore the Saggies staged extra boxes of frozen paddy slaves in the vicinity, ready and waiting to slip onto Mahina.

  Either that or they planned to bring them all down anyway, then beg for humanitarian relief after landing. Both theories left Ben feeling queasy. Lavelle and his fellow revolutionaries must be raiding the Sagamore farm tunnels hard.

  “Too late to back out now,” Zan noted calmly. “I kinda like the excitement.” The hunter flashed him a crazed grin.

  Ben’s heart pounded, his palms sweating. He didn’t share Zan’s taste for adrenaline anymore, one of the vices of youth he was happy to relinquish.

  The pirate ship Gossamer hailed, the one hauling the human containers, another PO-3 like Prosper. When the captain stabbed the button to respond, his nervous finger missed on the first try. Zan snickered.

  “Pelican to Sailfish, come in.”

  Ben recognized the Saggy voice of Pierre Lavelle himself. Check. No real names. “Sailfish ready when you are, Pelican. We’ll give you a one-minute head start. Please don’t drive crazy.”

  Lavelle laughed out loud. “Who’s crazy? On my mark in 60-59-58.” His countdown stopped there. Aloha standards forbid oral countdowns running to completion, to avoid pointless stress. Everyone was already in motion, anyway. Given the confirmed time window, Zan began pre-targeting asteroids he wanted to blast from their ring entry below.

  Ben set his timer and hailed the crew. “All hands, we are go in 50 seconds. Chief, button up for me. First mate, roll call.”

  The pressure door to the bridge hissed to a close. Willow’s voice confirmed locations of everyone on board. She and Cope shared the engineering console again. Her temper was not improved by the reminder that Zan was a better gunner.

  The captain ignored Willow’s crew checks droning in the background. He quickly queued in a program to echo Lavelle’s every move, literally. His goal was to fool Ground Control in Mahina Actual and Schuyler into thinking the two ships were one. Unfortunately for Ben, that one would be Prosper. Lavelle’s ID blinked out. Ben told the AI to maintain their distance from Gossamer by tracking a panel by its cargo ramp. That wasn’t ideal – either ship could roll. But Ben didn’t dare give two points of reference on the same side of the ship. Then the AI might try to match the two ships’ bearing, under maneuvers, while shooting at rocks.

  He thoughtfully set a higher priority on the inertial dampeners. As in, whatever else you do, AI, don’t smear us across the bulkheads.

  Ben interrupted Willow as his trajectory kicked in. “All hands, we are under way. Captain out.” Gossamer moved ahead, and Prosper picked up speed, accelerating harder to catch up. Both ships carried containers, Gossamer doubled up for 8 of them, but Prosper grappled a 90-meter iceberg as well. When they got closer to Mahina, any active radar ping on the three bodies should resolve to that one, the largest and most massive. Strange echoes were common off an ice asteroid of that size, which often carried rock and metal inclusions.

  “Zan, target rocks for Gossamer as well,” the captain murmured. “Or Pelican. Just this hemisphere. Let them handle their far side.”

  “Aye, sar,” Zan acknowledged, and thoughtfully adjusted his threat displays. They had another few seconds before they entered the crowded rings. But often the less predictable objects roamed the verges.

  They got unlucky. A flock of fragments suddenly appeared in their path, in a spherical spray, the result of a recent collision. Big chunks smashed into each other and reformed all the time in the rubble field – on geological timescales, anyway.

  Gossamer-Pelican suddenly rolled to bring another gun to bear. Ben cut out his AI program and took over manual piloting to support Zan’s firing solutions. Once the big threats were neutralized and Zan was mopping up secondary fragments, he took a moment to target a second reference point on Gossamer’s far side to his program, keying off the other ship’s shuttle.

  “Pelican,” he hailed, “ID transponder live on shuttle. Douse it.”

  “Damn. Sorry,” Lavelle acknowledged.

  The rings themselves were coming up fast. Ben hesitated, then engaged his program again, only to have the ship suddenly swing up as Gossamer rolled. He clicked the auto-pilot off again. Fine, hell-ride it is, he thought grimly. If he couldn’t trust the AI out here, damned if he’d use it in the rings. “Sticking with manual, Zan.”

  Ben wiped sweat from his forehead as he hastily keyed in new parameters. The ship wouldn’t do the flying, but he at least needed a base trajectory display to keep him on track. Hell of a mental task on manual, trying to keep such-and-such a spacing from whatever Lavelle did, while not wandering too far from the path to Mahina’s star side, while limiting line of sight to Mahina Orbital.

  And the bridge reeked of ozone. He forgot to mention that to Cope. “Chief, make a note to check ozone on the bridge with pressure doors closed.” He focused again on his piloting.

  To his surprise, Cope replied gently. “Captain, be advised you were running near hypoxia. Now enriching bridge atmo.”

  He took a few deep breaths, and felt the relief. Unmanageable panicky feelings started to subside. “Damn. Glad I asked. Thanks, buddy.” On second thought, wiping his brow again, he added, “Is it warm in here?” Zan flicked him a rock to dodge, and he instantly veered the ship around it, then back to station off Gossamer.

  “I can pare off a degree or two,” Cope allowed. “You’re alright, Ben.”

  The captain pressed his lips, annoyed that he needed the reassurance. But this job had him rattled for sure. “Bridge out.” Cope would monitor his air mix from here on, whether he asked or not.

  And Ben had no attention to spare. He dodged, he weaved, he danced into the rings themselves, a crowded field of ever-shifting threats from fist-sized to boulders to small mountains. The ship’s ESD field deflected the numerous smaller stuff. Zan beside him rolled at will to bring guns to bear, but the pilot controlled the other degrees of motion, constantly veering, then trying to bring the ship’s track back somewhere between his route to Mahina and his distance to Gossamer.

  At least his face wasn’t dripping sweat anymore. That was good, since he couldn’t free a hand to mop his brow. He was breathing better, too, but unaware of that.

  “Skiffs!” he warned sharply on the inter-ship channel, as a couple transponders suddenly appeared on his screen. “Guns hold!”

  “Merde!” Lavelle replied. Shit, in French. Saggies said that a lot.

  With miners dancing among the asteroids, they weren’t free to shoot obstacles unless all skiffs were accounted for. They clung to the larger, more dangerous rocks, and their transponder beacons weren’t detectable on the far side. On an above-board trip, Ben would have contacted Mahina Orbital for a safe approach to the moon, bypassing the miners.

  He blew out and thought quick. The miner activity report was an automated system. He nodded in decision and queried it. While never pausing in darting around three times as many rocks as usual – the gunner would ordinarily obliterate most of them – Ben plotted a path not too far off their original intent and beamed it to Lavelle.

  “Pelican, acknowledge change of plans,” Ben transmitted. That lapse in attention almost cost him a hull holing. He wasn’t surprised when the other captain didn’t respond immediately.

  “Pelican aye,” Lavelle replied. His delay was so long that Ben blinked, not remembering at first what this comment was in regard to. But at least the gap between ships closed as Gossamer began reaching for the new heading, when dodging obstructions allowed.

  “Prosper, Mahina Orbital, what the fuck?” Clive on the station hailed him o
n the control channel. “You’re terrorizing miners out there!”

  “MO Control, Prosper,” Ben acknowledged, wincing as he dodged up-left. “Busy.” He thought fast. Why would he be busy? Coming into Mahina on legitimate business, he would fly by wire, the targeting AI taking care of rolls, dodges, trajectory, shooting, and keeping track of mining skiffs. Its compute power was far superior to Ben’s reaction time and seat-of-the-pants gut feel.

  “Prosper, we have no flight plan of your approach.”

  “MO, we are not visiting you. We are on a training exercise,” he replied absently. Yes, he could dodge upward to miss the next several threats, but then he had to duck left fast.

  “Prosper, respond!”

  “MO, please repeat.” He’d missed what they were saying. “Sorry, busy.”

  “Abort your training exercise! Approach through regular channels!”

  What a perfectly reasonable request. He flicked off the channel and informed Zan, “Past the skiffs, guns free.” He re-enabled comms and begged himself to think of something to say. “MO, be advised we are committed to current exercise. Prosper out.”

  “Prosper in, dammit!” the controller demanded. “Report your flight plan!”

  Now that the universe was again safe for mining skiffs, Zan took back his half of the workload. Ben brought the ship back into closer alignment with Gossamer. This task was a hair less stressful, and he had a moment to think.

  “MO, my plans don’t include you,” he declared in abrupt clarity. “We are now diverging from your orbit.” As indeed they were. Mahina grew on his screen, and MO would soon fall behind its bulk.

  “Prosper, Mahina Actual reports no flight plan either!”

  “No,” he agreed. He ignored the man’s next few conversational gambits, trying not to give credence to the sinking feeling in his gut. His defiance of Schuyler traffic control on departure was bad, but likely forgivable. Ignoring MO control somewhat less so. But third time’s a charm. As expected, just as he was struggling mightily to brake and bring his iceberg into alignment for atmospheric entry, another control tower entered the fray.

  “Prosper, Mahina Actual, respond.” Unlike the casual tones of MO’s Clive, MA’s controller spoke with cold soprano precision – a highly trained pro.

  Ben swallowed and checked the terminator. Sunset would roll out of view in a minute or two. Not that this would alter the equation much. Still, dragging things out would cut down on speaking lies. He nudged the iceberg around just that tiny bit more, and switched channel. “Sailfish takes lead.”

  “Aye, Pelican out.”

  “Prosper, MA Control. In 10 seconds I commence firing.”

  “MA Control, Prosper,” Ben responded hastily. “Bringing in an iceberg.”

  “Prosper, I’m showing two ships, one transponder. Explain fast.”

  Their ruse had failed.

  63

  Ben thought fast. Should he lie harder, or try the truth?

  Zan scoffed off-channel. “Mahina Actual is out of range to shoot us.”

  Ben shook his head, just as the threat detector gave an urgent ping to corroborate. Mahina Actual’s guns spanned the moon. They defended the star-side as well as the Pono-facing settlements from meteor threats. There were more guns Pono-side, true. But every angle of approach was covered to an inhabited location. MA wasn’t wildly protective of settlers, true, but even urbs wouldn’t accept a settlement being smashed by a kinetic strike. The mine they headed for was abandoned at the moment. But it was defended once, and those guns were still online.

  For 12 years, Ben had been landing and taking off from Mahina. He must have spoken to that cold soprano controller fifty times. He had no idea what her name was, never the slightest degree of friendliness.

  “MA, Prosper. You are mistaken,” Ben replied in sudden conviction. Double down on the lie. “My iceberg is playing tricks on your sensors. One ship, one berg, coming in to abandoned mine KM-2.” The KM stood for potassium mine. Potassium was the K of the big three NPK nutrients required by agriculture. The dark-side PM mines supplied the world’s phosphate.

  “Prosper, the settler government is not buying icebergs.”

  “MA, I don’t care,” Ben said. He allowed his inner idealistic to shine forth. “Our world needs water. I have a berg. KM-2 has the capacity. I have children on Mahina. I’m doing this for heaven and the future’s sakes.”

  “Prosper, I think you’re escorting illegal immigrants to Mahina,” the chilly controller replied.

  Ben challenged her, “MA, does that make you more or less likely to fire on a ship engaged in a humanitarian mission?”

  “Prosper, abort landing and withdraw.”

  “MA, be advised I am committed,” Ben replied. “I cannot abort, repeat cannot.” By then, it was true. The only way he could abort this landing now was to cut loose the iceberg. If he did that, KM-2 would be become Mahina’s latest crater, the berg’s water sublimated and lost in an blinding flash.

  The captain had no more dodging to do. Zan covered the hemisphere behind them with the guns. No asteroids could leap up to hit them from Mahina, only their asteroid-killing lasers. Gossamer trailed closely. Ben wondered if Lavelle targeted the groundside emplacements. He wondered if he wanted that. He sure wasn’t happy about the continuing blink of the target acquired warning – that Prosper was locked into MA’s firing sights.

  “Prosper, you are cleared to land the iceberg.” Ben closed his eyes in relief as the target warning blinked a bright green once, then died. “You will remain grounded until security forces arrive.”

  Not rego likely, Ben thought. Though he wished he could have hugged the kids one last time first. “MA, confirmed. I will stow my berg and stand by for security. Prosper out.”

  “You’re alright, Ben,” Cope repeated. No doubt he’d monitored the channel.

  “Thanks,” the captain bit out. “How are my engines?” His console said they were red-lining from the strain of keeping the iceberg from falling as a bomb.

  “The engines will survive,” the chief informed him. “Not so sure of the grav grapples. Keep everybody behind that ice.”

  “That’s the plan,” Ben growled. Though he supposed Lavelle could do with the reminder. The pirate remained wisely silent at this juncture, but trailed him closely.

  “Why not just take out their guns?” Zan complained. “They never had more than one locked on.”

  Ben shot him a glare. “Zan, those guns protect tens of thousands of miners from meteor strikes. Mahina isn’t Sagamore. Our settlements aren’t built to withstand orbital bombardment. I’d let them blow us out of the sky before I’d damage the moon defense grid.”

  “Just asking.” After a moment, he asked, “How many people is Lavelle carrying, anyway?”

  “Too many,” Ben breathed. “All hands, prepare for landing.” He performed his final fine-adjust, lining up his iceberg with KM-2’s reservoir crevice. The berg wouldn’t fit, but they’d carve it with the guns in a moment. Zero relative velocity, down at dead slow, contact, and cut. He released the grav grapples and rose a dozen meters. Then he hastily came around, flying a loop out of Lavelle’s way as he set down in the mine parking lot. A warehouse-like structure loomed dark below, with occasional glints from its vaulted greenhouses. That was the settlement, its long-exhausted mine on the far end.

  “First mate to the bridge,” Ben hailed. Then he paused in thought, an awkward itch behind his sternum, a sour sensation in his stomach. He’d learned to listen to that physical hunch, but what was it saying? He already knew today was a really bad idea.

  Willow. She wouldn’t take off without them, would she? Yet he felt better the moment he thought of locking her out. “Computer, this is Captain Benjamin Acosta. Do not obey takeoff instructions from anyone but myself, the owner John Copeland, or Spaceways physicist Teke. Ceiling 250 meters. Confirm.”

  “Confirmed,” the computer agreed. “Captain, it is customary to include chief of security in that list.”

&n
bsp; “Very well. Sergeant Isfahan Wilder may also override.” The pressure door shushed opened behind him. Over his shoulder, Ben issued terse instructions to Willow to chop that berg and sweep it into the crevice once the away team was off. He alighted just a few meters from Gossamer and dropped two of his food containers. Neither ship would be here long enough to unload them. The facility only had two pressurized container loading docks. The frozen people took priority there.

  He didn’t mention the lockout. “Zan, with me.”

  The cargo hold below was already a beehive of activity, as Ben and Zan vaulted down. “Stick with Wilder,” the captain dismissed the Denali. His own place was with Cope’s team assuring life support for the refugees. Lavelle brought his techs here a few weeks ago to scope out the problem, but they never brought the settlement’s power online.

  Ben slipped into his pressure suit in under a minute, and took control of the grav sleds Cope assigned him. “Teke,” he called across the maelstrom of activity. “A word.” When the physicist was close enough to speak privately, he told him, “I want you to stay with the ship. You have command override to leave. But don’t abandon me and Cope.”

  “I can help with life support,” Teke argued uneasily. “Can’t fly a ship.”

  Ben clapped him on the shoulder. “Willow can fly it, but I blocked her authority. You’re my backup. Our kids have three fathers. Stay with the ship. Please. If it hits the fan, be creative.”

  Teke pursed his lips, somber for a change. “Alright. I’ll help unload, then shut the ramp.” He didn’t mind much. Of course he was a good enough mechanic to be useful. But even Kassidy was faster with a screwdriver. Teke’s interest in life support systems was academic at best. He did theory. Instrumentation was Cope’s side of the partnership.

  Ben cast an approving gaze over Eli and Quire’s contribution. Once he learned the nature of this trip, the botanist decided he could part with half his remaining scrubber trees. These were in warm balloons of moist air to protect them against the short but frigid nighttime trek across the parking lot.