* * *
“Hey, Max. Do you have a few minutes?” Christopher asked Maxwell Landers, the current head of the ruling council.
“Always,” he replied, clearing the screen on the office wall, putting his datapad aside and standing to shake Christopher’s hand. “Long time, no see. What’s up, Chris?”
“Busy, busy. But this isn’t about anything I’m working on. Patricia came to me with a request that we consider a mission to earth to pick up some lab samples we can’t synthesize here.”
Maxwell leaned back in his chair and said, “Woof!”
“Exactly. Lucky for her that she married an honorary, lifetime council member. However, in her own defense she’s never requested anything from me until now. I did some due diligence with Genesis about the military risks involved and it’s doable. The risks are low even if they can detect our ships. They’ll have enough time to get ready, but with Peanut’s shields and the speed and lift advantage we have over them, I don’t see how they could really be more than a nuisance.”
“You think so? I can’t see anyone down there too pleased with the notion of us just dropping by for a few groceries and supplies. Damn, Chris. When was the last time you took a good look at the wish list? If everyone knows we’re sending a mission to Earth, they’re all going to want something brought back,” Maxwell said, shaking his head. “And what if something happens and the ship is damaged or shot down? No one’s forgotten what happened to Byron.”
“I know all that. Right now I’m just shooting the breeze with you in private to see if it’s politically feasible. The logistics, if we do decide to go, can be worked out by our folks with combat experience, along with a little cheating on our part with Genesis hacking into the military networks and gumming up the works.”
“That’s fine. What about those guys stranded in the outpost? You have any plans for them?”
“Fuck em.”
“I see. Whitey go home wasn’t enough?” Maxwell prodded, chuckling.
Christopher also laughed. “Look, if we go anywhere near the moon we’re just asking for unnecessary trouble. Not that they would be able to do anything about it, but we really don’t need to stir up any additional crap. They’re gonna be pissed off enough that we have the balls to drop in whenever we feel like it.”
“Even a decade later?”
“Yes, Max, especially a decade later. You read the news, with all that money they have invested in Project Jove? It looks like they’re going to be visiting the neighborhood, come hell or high water. And the Russian/European consortium is going to be hot on their tail. This part of the solar system is going to be pretty crowded shortly. So, they can kiss my ass about any anger or hurt feelings over our coming back to visit. Did Lucius ever tell you what he brought back with him?” Christopher asked.
“You mean that pallet of cash of yours, Chuck’s and Peanut’s?” Maxwell asked, laughing. “Hell yeah, he came and spilled a day or so after I was installed as director. He could barely stop laughing as he told me how you all played the ponies for seed money. That was epic!”
“So, we go back to earth, we pick up what we need, and maybe a luxury item or two, we can pay cash for everything we get, and then come home. And, if we decide to pull off the mission, I want to do it while NASA’s spacecraft is either here, or almost here.”
Christopher laughed at the puzzled expression on Maxwell’s face.
“What? I mean, why then?” Maxwell asked, plainly confused.
“Because they’re going to see us coming, they’re going to assume that we will do exactly what they would do under the same circumstances; they can’t help themselves. And they will naturally worry that we’ll mess with their spacecraft if they mess with ours. So when we bypass it without so much as a how-do-you-do, maybe, just maybe they’ll be more inclined to leave us alone.”
“Doubtful. They’re still going to try to capture or destroy our ship when it gets close enough. You’ve read their protocols and procedures as well as I have.”
“Yes, but Max, we have the ultimate secret weapon. No, weapon isn’t right, call it a secret advantage. They have no idea their systems have been compromised by Genesis. Not only do we get a heads-up almost before they know what they’re doing themselves, but if push comes to shove, Genesis can disable their systems before they can be triggered to do us harm.”
Maxwell was quiet, thinking through all the possibilities. Christopher let him work it out in silence.
“So, when do you want to present this to the council?”
“Me? I was bringing it to you so you could pitch it for Patricia and her department. Hold out your pad,” Christopher requested, and Christopher touched his datapad to Maxwell’s, transferring Patricia’s request and all the supporting documentation her department had put together.
“Take a look at that,” Christopher said. “I’ll let Pat know she should make the presentation herself. But if it’s all right, I would like to sit in.”
“Yeah, sure … ” Maxwell said distractedly as he scrolled through the mission justification life sciences had put together.
“I’ll let you go through that. I’ve got to run by engineering and check out the Jupiter probe Chuck’s working on. If you have any questions get hold of Pat, this is her baby now,” Christopher said, getting to his feet.
“Good enough,” said Maxwell as he gave a distracted wave toward Christopher’s departing back.
Christopher chuckled as he left the council’s office, knowing that more than likely Patricia’s mission would be approved. But he had a lingering worry about the number of people who would push for their favorite wish list item to be considered as well.
When he arrived in the main engineering department, he saw Chuck straight away, welding something to the exterior of the Jupiter probe’s hull. When one of the engineers saw him enter through the door, he tapped Chuck on the shoulder and pointed.
Chuck turned the arc welder off, removed his helmet and gloves and greeted Christopher with a slap on the back, then the rest of the crew shook his hand or slapped five.
“What up?” Chuck asked, as everyone else dispersed, giving them some space.
“I wanted to check out the probe, and run something past you.”
“Sure thing, probe first, or talk?”
“Let’s chat.”
“Come on over to the office,” said Chuck, leading the way.
Once they were settled, Christopher started right in.
“Pat wants to put together a mission back to earth to pick up some lab supplies her department needs for some important research. Besides, it’s been years since we brought anything back for everyone.”
“Yeah, but—,” Chuck started.
“No, wait. Hear me out. I know they’ll see us the moment we start out in Earth’s direction, but there’s really very little they can do about it.”
“Really? What about lobbing a couple of nukes at our ship?” interrupted Chuck.
“They can’t do that without us knowing about it, and chances are Genesis can slow or stop them from launching.”
“That’s an awfully big gamble. We need to do some serious due diligence before I’d set out for earth.”
“You? Who said anything about you going?” Christopher asked.
“If you’ve forgotten, Angela and I have the most flight time of anyone here other than Lenny, and she’s combat trained. I ain’t too far behind her in training either. Well, at least she trained me. Of course I would go, even if it’s just as a backup.”
“Whatever. Anyway, I’ve been thinking this through. There’s a whale’s worth of stuff on the wish list. We need to figure out a way to get everything on it in this one trip.”
“A whale’s worth? You mean one of the big haulers? How do you figure to get that much stuff loaded, away from pursuit, and safely into orbit?” asked Chuck, slightly raising his voice.
<
br /> “Just listen, that’s why I want to run this past you, maybe you’ll see something I overlooked.”
“Sorry, man. Spill.”
“Okay, I think we send one whale and two jumpers for redundancy and as decoys. We pull the same trick as we did when we got Sydney and Lucius; have all three attached to each other so it looks like one spacecraft. Then, once we get into the lower atmosphere they split up, dropping the whale into deep water somewhere to hide on the bottom and then the two jumpers tear off in separate directions, leading any pursuit away from the area.
“Wait, I forgot. We pre-order everything—I mean everything—on the wish list, down to the electron microscope for life sciences, and have it all shipped to a warehouse before we get there. Genesis can jigger any records and whatnot to order and get things shipped.
“You know Lucius wasn’t included in the roll call we broadcast back to earth when we left the moon, so he should be able to do any necessary wheeling and dealing once we’re on the ground.”
“Hey, wait a minute! You’re planning to go too? You think the council’s gonna let that go without a big f-in’ argument?” Chuck asked.
“Genesis?”
“Yes, Christopher. How may I be of assistance?”
“Can you determine if there are any pictures of Chuck or me posted online in the law enforcement community?”
“There is an online database of pictures of nearly every resident of the colony with the Federal Bureau of Investigation and with Interpol, with the exception of Lucius Walker. However, according to the law enforcement logs, no one has accessed those records for eight years and seven months. The photos of you and Chuck are from Parsons and the navy. Neither of you digitally resemble those images at this time. I calculate that the probability of either of you being recognized is below one percent if Chuck’s fingerprints are not taken. His fingerprints are on file from his navy recruitment records. You have none on file, Christopher.”
“See, Chuck, we’re practically forgotten.”
“But what do you think is going to happen once they know we’re on the way?” asked Chuck.
“It appears that any operation on earth would trigger a renewed interest in the personnel living here. Especially so should it be suspected that a covert landing has taken place,” said the A.I.
“See. That’s why Lucius has to go. Besides, we may need his contacts to pull this off. Thank you, Genesis.”
“Okay. We order everything we can, have it drop-shipped to a warehouse at some port. That’s it?” Chuck asked.
“Right. Then we either load it on a ship and transfer everything at sea, or if we’re really lucky, maybe we can find a secure warehouse in a fairly isolated area and actually load the whale there.”
“That ain’t gonna work, Chris.”
“Why not?”
“Because if those detectors that track your G-waves are active at all, the moment the whale lifts out of the water, the authorities are going to be on us like stink on shit.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah, damn.”
“Then out to sea it is. The whale would only have to float to the surface. We’ll have to install some kind of anchoring system to keep it on the bottom without having to power the G-waves.
“And the jumpers could jinx around the country, then hightail it out of the atmosphere once the whale’s loaded. They could hit the opposite coast to draw attention away from the whale as it leaves atmo,” added Chuck. “Tell you what, let me show you around the probe, and tonight when I knock off I’ll be glad to dictate some logistics to Genesis and send it off to life sciences. Pat’s going to present the proposal to the council?”
“Far as I know,” Christopher said as the two made their way back to the probe.
“Let’s go inside first,” Chuck suggested.
They entered the craft through an airlock with inner and outer doors just over a foot thick.
“We’re braced in here to be able to resist an external atmosphere a dozen times that of Earth. If you notice, the inner hull and the braces are all rounded, with no corners or seams that would compromise the hull’s ability to resist that pressure. The hull’s designed to force the joints and welds tighter as pressure increases.”
Christopher was looking at one of the small windows just in front of pilot’s seat.
“How thick is that glass? Or is it glass at all?”
“It’s a compressed polymer that’s even harder than the substance they use in body armor,” Chuck bragged.
“That Kevlar stuff?” Christopher asked, tapping on the window with his fingernail.
“That’s right. But we take the extra step of compressing it into something really dense. According to our best guess there’s a rocky core down at the bottom of Jupiter’s gravity well. The pressure and gravity are inescapable without G-waves,” Chuck explained.
“What does your team really expect to find down there?”
“Well, we’re planning to drop right down the center of Jupiter’s Great Red Spot and see what the source of the brilliant color is. We expect the winds to be crazy, but we have no idea what the weather is going to be like. There’s a layer of water vapor clouds where there’s lightning hundreds of times stronger than on Earth, so we included a non-conducting layer of ceramic composite to keep it from frying the ship. Who knows, there may even be some sort of life that feeds on hydrogen, or lives directly off electrical discharges!” said Chuck, his excitement infectious.
“We’ve got even more spectacular images of the planet than those collected by the Earth probes, but this is going to be the first time man or machine has descended into the atmosphere. Have you selected the team that’s going to fly this thing?” Christopher asked.
“Not yet. But frustratingly enough, we’re still months away from launch.”
“What’s your backup plan if something happens? If this probe should malfunction, what’s your rescue strategy? I didn’t see a second one of these things in there.”
“Look, I know what a nut you are on safety. But this thing is deceptive. We have four times the usual numbers of G-wave propulsion emitters installed, and eight times the normal number of G-wave shield emitters Peanut’s team developed. There are four power generators instead of two, and I hazard the hull can easily take a direct hit from an artillery shell. Short of some nuclear explosion, this thing is as indestructible as I can make it.”
“So what did you name it?” Christopher asked.
“The Titanic,” Chuck replied in a deadpan, droll voice. After a second they both broke up laughing.
“No shit?” Christopher finally asked.
“Of course not. The team hasn’t named it yet. I’m actually holding out for the Hindenburg.”
“You can knock that shit off any time now. Seriously, I really would like to see some sort of contingency plan. I don’t want to lose anyone for the sake of research,” Christopher said, the memory of Riley’s accident still fresh in his mind even a decade later.
Knowing exactly what his friend was thinking, Chuck laid a hand on Christopher’s shoulder and said, “Dude, accidents are a part of life, and we chose a particularly risky path. But I don’t know anyone living here who would trade being here for a life back on Earth, do you?”
After a moment, Christopher nodded in agreement. “You’re right. I do tend to worry too much. But let me ask you this: how much time would it take for your team to build a second one of these?”
“We’ve got about eighteen months in on this one—maybe about half that to build a duplicate.”
“Do it. Make an old man happy, will you?”
Chuck hesitated, knowing he wouldn’t be able to say no, no matter the cost in work hours. With a sigh, he answered, “Okay. I’ll start construction on a second ship. You happy?”
“It’s not about me. It’s about everyone. We can’t afford to lo
se even one of us, that’s my point. I don’t want us to ever make a decision with the notion of acceptable losses in the calculation.”
The two were silent for a few moments, then Christopher continued. “I have an idea for you to consider. Remember how Angela joined up jumpers when you picked up Sydney and Lucius? Think of an easy way to have the two probes attach to each other in case one has to grab the other.”
“Yeah, that makes sense. If something does happen, the second ship can dip in, attach and raise the first one out of the atmosphere! You win, we’ll start today.”
“Thanks. You know what this means to me. Hey, busy for dinner? Maybe you and the missus can come by. I’ll feed Ben early, get him a bath and read him his stories, then the four of us can eat in peace. What do you say?”
“Sure, should be no problem. How about at eight, maybe I’ll read Ben one of his stories myself. His favorite uncle doesn’t get to see him nearly enough.”
“Deal. I’ll let him know to expect you.”
Chapter 7
STRANGERS IN THE NIGHT
“Addison.”
“Sergei.”
The two nondescript men greeted each other in a nondescript pub several blocks from London’s Piccadilly Square.
The pub was called, quite unimaginatively, The Dorchester Arms and was built at the turn of the twentieth century. The smell of spilled Guinness and stale cigarette smoke was considered part of the pub’s charm; at least that’s what the owner would swear to if pressed.
They were sitting at the less populated end of a bar that stretched from the front of the room all the way to the back wall, with no one other than the bartender paying them the least bit of attention.
“Nice place, good atmosphere. I’ve never been here,” said Addison Rankin, Jr., “AJ” to his friends. “Do you know every quiet, out-of-the-way place in every major city in Europe?”
Sergei laughed. “No, but I, as you say, stumbled upon this place one night. This is only my second time here. How was your flight?”
“Not bad. Used some miles to upgrade to first class. I have some business to transact with a boutique chip manufacturer that’s done some creative things with parallel video processing. Might pan out, might not. Wanted to let you know that I have someone next to the engineering team on Jove,” said Addison.
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