Erebus

by R K MacPherson

  A thunderbolt crashed into his back, slamming him into the tree. Pain exploded as the air left his body. Dash staggered as he turned around, his mouth opening reflexively as he tried to draw a breath.

  Boscardin stood behind him, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He spun around and kicked Dash in the side of the head.

  “That’s for the hotel, asshole.”

  Dash fell to the ground, dazed and aching. Landing on the rake, Dash heard a cracking sound, and couldn’t miss the sharp pain in his chest.

  “You stupid shit,” Boscardin hissed as he pulled a radio from his jacket. “Okay. I’ve got him. Bring the van around. We’ll take him to Castillo.”

  His lungs worked once more. Dash sucked down several gulps of air and the world come back into focus. He tasted blood and his ribs throbbed.

  “Roll over and put your hands behind your head,” Boscardin ordered.

  Dash’s shoulders slumped as he nodded. He winced as he twisted his body and crawled over his hands. The minute they were out of sight, he snaked a hand into his shirt.

  Boscardin leaned over Dash, handcuffs dangling from his hand.

  Khaki thread disintegrated in a cloud of fire and thunder as Dash fired the P228. Blood spurted from Boscardin’s chest as he came to a sudden stop, mouth agape.

  Dash rolled onto his back and extended the pistol, snarling his rage. The pistol barked twice more, and two more holes appeared over Boscardin’s heart. Blood spilled from his body as he fell forward, lifeless.

  Dash’s thumb trembled as he secured the pistol in the shoulder holster and glanced around. Wherever the snipers were, they couldn’t see him or couldn’t move without revealing themselves. Dash staggered to his feet, swaying. He spat blood onto the grass and hurried towards the park entrance on Alvarado.

  “Yifei,” he groaned into the radio. “Yifei, help me.”

  Eighteen

  YIFEI HELD DASH’S hand in silence. Several wads of tissue lay on the workbench, soaked through with tears. Puffy-eyed and red-nosed, Dash stared at a knick in the plastic surface.

  “I’m so sorry,” Yifei whispered for the twentieth time.

  Dash heard the words but didn’t know how to respond. Leaving a trail of corpses was not part of the life he wanted to lead. He had rejected his father and his morally flexible employment. He’d chosen to tell the truth, not bury himself in lies.

  Not to become a killer.

  Fasil was dead. So was Rasul. Whatever else happened, he didn’t have much time before Castillo’s agents would come for him. The woman was like a digital bloodhound, always pulling Dash’s scent out of the internet. They couldn’t afford to wait for that to happen.

  “Where are we?” Dash asked.

  Yifei shook her head. “Some rest stop. We’re about an hour north of the city.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Dinner time!” Yifei rubbed her stomach. “Sadly, there’s nothing to eat.” She looked sheepish. “I, uh, already checked. Twice.”

  A smile clawed its way out of Dash’s heart and raised the corners of his lips.

  “I’m okay,” he said. “Thanks.”

  Yifei wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled him into a side-hug. “What are friends pulled into crazy, illegal, certain-death situations for?”

  Dash’s expression hardened. “We’re not going to die, Yifei. We’re going to blow this wide open. I don’t care what it costs, or who it pisses off.” He looked around the van. “Where’s my bag?”

  “Front seat.”

  Dash retrieved it and pulled out the memory sticks. “I assume there’s no Wi-Fi here.”

  “My phone is even hungrier than me,” Yifei replied.

  “Fine. Let’s see what the Olympus Initiative is concealing in their NASA liaison office.”

  Dash plugged the two sticks into his father’s laptop and pried the lid open.

  “Since the initiative had armed guards outside the office, and that asshole Rockwell worked for Castillo, I have to assume we’re on the right track. All these rocket launches can’t be a coincidence either.”

  Yifei scooted closer to get a better look at the screen. “What are the rockets for? People?”

  “No,” Dash replied. “Okay, stick one has the Erebus data I snagged. Stick two...” Dash opened the storage device and scanned the contents. “Engineering, agriculture, medical, morale—what is this, an org chart?”

  “Let me have that one,” Yifei said. “I’ve got my laptop.”

  Dash ejected the memory stick and handed it over.

  The Erebus directory contained hundreds of files. Dash ran down the list, looking for any file names that looked promising. Enterprise and Kennedy each had their own presentation decks. Dash opened Enterprise’s and gasped as it loaded.

  The image on the first page showed a wireframe drawing of the aircraft carrier, but with the massive shock-absorber cylinders and pusher plate of an ORION engine. Rasul’s pictures showed the same components in the same configuration.

  Kennedy’s file showed the same basic image—a Ford-class supercarrier, minus the island superstructure, plus the nuclear impulse engine.

  Dash skimmed through the slideshow, noting the main details. Each ship was stripped of aviation gear, as well as armaments. From what he could understand, most of the ship’s interior was given over to consumables. Water, oxygen, food, medical supplies, and nuclear bomblets. Rocket packs added to the underside of the flight deck, conforming to the hull.

  “Find anything interesting?” Yifei asked.

  Dash snorted. “You might say that. A lot of stuff is overview or reference material. There are other files that look more specific, but I’m running out of time.”

  “My files are about this Olympus Initiative, but it sounds more military than civilian. Does the name Operation LONGHAUL mean anything to you?”

  “No, but I saw it earlier. What is it?”

  “Not really sure,” Yifei admitted, “but it comes up a lot in here. The initiative says the groups selected were picked for their ability to set up a complex settlement with minimal resources and time. Personnel were screened for social skills over all else. Pressure-tested by Navy SEALs? Wow. I keep seeing the term post-impact. What impact?”

  “Good question,” Dash said as he rubbed his ribs.

  “I’ve got another one for you, then. If they’re building these super spaceships, literally battlestars, why are they launching all of these rockets?”

  Dash peered over the screen at the open text file. Yifei had written down the cargoes for the flurry of rocket launches over the past few days. After going through all the launched payloads and those still awaiting their fiery ride into space, the manifest included some wild entries:

  LIQUID OXYGEN

  H2O

  TOP SOIL

  RATIONS (THERMO-STABILIZED)

  MPS-NAVSAT (18)

  RTG x3

  SOLAR PANELS (80)

  LIQUID NITROGEN

  SABATIER REACTORS (10)

  RWGS REACTORS (10)

  “Soil? What the heck?” Dash rubbed his eyes and read the list again. Sure enough, someone wanted twenty-thousand kilos of dirt launched into space.

  Save for the soil, any particular cargo made sense going to the International Space Station. Liquefied gases were necessary for atmosphere. Water was always in short supply. Solar panels needed replacing and the radioactive thermal generators could provide necessary electricity during emergencies or in the event of solar panel failure. He’d never seen commercial foods referred to as thermo-stabilized, but military rations were. Meals, Ready to Eat, or MREs, were processed in that manner. Dash didn’t know what the hell a Sabatier reactor was, but almost everything else seemed innocuous enough for a payload to space.

  “Soil.” Dash murmured.

  Agricultural experiments took place in space all the time. Before the space shuttles were retired, they carried top soil into space on occasion to test plant growth in zero gravity, root patterns, and so forth
. Still, those loads had been small. A few bowls of soil at most.

  Falcon 9-OI3 had carried tons of top soil to low Earth orbit twenty-four hours ago, right in the middle of the Great Rocket Launch Bonanza. Falcon 9-OI6 would carry liquid oxygen to space tomorrow morning, according to the manifest documents.

  “Where are you going?” Dash asked, scowling at the screen.

  He opened a few websites of known rocket-chasers. As expected, the rocket launches dominated the internet’s hivemind around the world. Russia, China, India, Japan—everyone was lighting rockets off around the clock. Russian heavy-lift vehicles pushed cargo modules into low Earth orbit. The Chinese rockets did the same.

  And so were the American rockets.

  “That’s weird.” Dash frowned. Each rocket delivered its payload to specific sectors and they clustered exclusively in that area.

  “No way that’s an accident,” he mused.

  The locations didn’t suggest any purpose or pattern, but Dash refused to accept it as coincidence. He traced the patterns in his notebook, then scribbled down a question—how long? It was too dangerous to stay in one place for long. They needed to keep moving.

  Yifei drove north along Interstate 5. Dash sat in the passenger seat, staring at his phone. His alternate Twitter account had more replies and he’d fired back with new questions. He wanted any leads on who launched what and why.

  They’d already swapped license plates, so the van couldn’t be traced to them, but Yifei took no chances. She drove the precise speed limit, stayed in the right lane except to pass vehicles going even slower than theirs, and made sure her seatbelt was buckled.

  Dash approved of the caution. All it would take was an overeager highway patrol rookie to put an end to their investigation.

  Who would speak for Rasul then? Or Fasil?

  If Castillo’s people found him, would anyone speak for him? Would he simply vanish?

  Tony, an astronomer from Florida replied to half of his questions on Twitter. His replies stood out for several reasons. First, he had a verified account, which meant he wasn’t just some random dude. Second, most of his answers were followed up with more questions. He was just as curious as Dash, which he liked. He couldn’t give out much in the way of information, but an expert opinion couldn’t hurt.

  He still needed answers, so Dash made him an offer.

  Interested in talking more. Any chance I can give you a call?

  He didn't have to wait long for a response.

  Depends. If you’re really a reporter, is there any chance you can do a profile on my astronomy outreach program?

  Dash smirked. He hadn’t checked in with Nancy for two days, had blown a major deadline, and was on the run from military investigators.

  Absolutely. I’ll pitch it to my editor.

  The reply came back almost at once.

  Give me a call. I don’t have long, but this sounds worth it.

  The direct message included a phone number. Guilt clutched at Dash for roping in another civilian through a channel that might be tracked, but he needed context for what they’d uncovered. He took a deep breath and dialed him.

  “Not Mr. Riordan, I presume?” Tony wryly asked.

  “Nice guess,” he replied.

  “How can I help? What’s going on?” Tony wanted to know.

  Dash stared as they passed a rental van plodding along at a snail’s pace. “What’s a Sabatier reactor used for?”

  “It’s a chemical reactor,” Tony said. “You can use them for different things, but I think NASA wants to use them to generate rocket fuel on Mars ahead of a manned mission. SpaceX, too.”

  “Rocket fuel?” Dash squinted as he cocked his head. The new information didn’t track. “Why would a nuclear ship need rocket fuel?”

  “What?” Tony drawled the question out, trying to put two and two together. “What kind of nuclear ship?”

  “Uh, sorry. Probably nothing.” The last thing Dash wanted was to put Tony in more danger. Asking about the ships would get him dead in no time.

  “Dash, a Sabatier reaction can be used to manufacture propellant for a rocket, but you could also make a lot of other stuff. Atmospheric gases, polymers, and a lot more.” Tony sounded somber. “You wouldn’t really need one on a ship, unless you were going to take one thing and turn it into another.”

  “Where would I need ten of them?”

  “Ten?” Tony sounded incredulous.

  “Come on,” Dash pressed. “I’m running out of time.”

  Tony let out a long breath. “I don’t know. Anywhere you needed to resupply yourself. They don’t use them on space stations because they’re big, heavy, and hot, and take a ton of electricity. We resupply them with vehicles like the Dragon.”

  “Could an RTG power one?”

  “I doubt it. Radioisotope generators put out consistent levels of energy, but not very much.” Tony’s tone dropped. “Mr. Riordan, are you all right?”

  “If I told you, it might put your life in jeopardy,” Dash replied. “I can’t do that to you.”

  “What about your life?”

  “Last question,” Dash said, ignoring him. “Does this mean anything to you? 1111 AR99 Erebus?”

  “Wait, say it again?”

  Dash repeated the number.

  “Sure. It’s an astronomical designation for a body like an asteroid.”

  Adrenaline surged through his veins. Dash put Tony on speakerphone and said, “Wait, what? An asteroid?”

  “Sure. The number indicates when someone cataloged it,” Tony explained.

  Yifei’s eyes widened and she opened her mouth, but Dash held a finger to his lips, shaking his head. Dash didn’t think the call could be tied back to them, but he didn’t want to take the chance of incriminating Yifei. So far, the OSI hadn’t really paid Yifei any attention since they’d broken into her new apartment. Dash wanted to keep it that way.

  Sweat dotted Dash’s forehead as he asked, “Is there some database I could access to find out about this one?”

  “Hang on,” Tony said.

  He heard a grunt followed by the clacking of a keyboard. This had to be the missing piece of data. At least, he prayed that was the case.

  “Inshallah,” Dash whispered.

  “Excuse me?”

  Dash blushed. “Um, nothing.”

  “Huh. That’s weird,” Tony said.

  Dash and Yifei exchanged worried looks. “What’s weird?”

  Tony coughed, then said, “I found the entry for 1111 AR99 Erebus, but it’s been deleted. Must have been recently, though. I’m looking at the archive copy right now and it’s in there.”

  “What does it say?”

  “It’s an asteroid, though it’s extrasolar in origin. Also, it’s traveling perpendicular to the elliptic plane. What’s weird, though, is the name. The 99 should indicate that this was discovered in 1999, but the database entry is only eighteen months old.”

  Obfuscating the date made sense to Dash. “Someone wants to hide it from public eyes. Anything else you can tell me?”

  “Yeah, someone took the time to name it.”

  Dash shuddered as dread clutched his neck. “Tony, can you email me this information? Screenshots, exports, whatever. Anything you’ve got.”

  Tony’s voice was somber. “Yeah. No problem.”

  Dash’s fingers trembled over the keypad. He’d just made several fateful calls, had conversations that brought no comfort and provided little support.

  One more remained.

  He hit the button, dialed the number, then held the headset’s microphone to his lips. The call rang twice.

  “Castillo.”

  “This is Dash Riordan.”

  Castillo paused, obviously surprised to hear from him again. “Ready to turn yourself in to the FBI, Dash?”

  “No. Are you ready to come clean about Erebus?”

  “Erebus? What’s that?” The reply came too fast, sounded too casual to be genuine.

  “Are you ready
to come clean about the Olympus Initiative?”

  Castillo’s disinterested tone tightened just a tad. “Don’t they make digital cameras?”

  A snarl of steel crept into Dash’s tone. “Are you ready to come clean about killing Rasul Bandari?”

  “See, we still don’t know who killed him. That’s why we want you to come in for questioning.”

  “You don’t know anything.” Dash nodded to himself.

  “I’m just trying to find the truth.” Castillo sounded sincere, but Dash recognized a professional liar when he heard one—and she was a damned good one.

  Time to go on the offensive.

  “Just so you know, this call is being recorded in three separate locations. Hang up now if you like, but you’re already exposed.”

  Castillo held her tongue but stayed on the line.

  “I have Rasul’s flash drive. I have his videos and his photographs of Enterprise and of Erebus 1111 AR99 or whatever it’s called. I have the manifests from the Olympus Initiative and their files on Operation LONGHAUL. More importantly, I know what Erebus is.”

  An audible gasp from Castillo’s end.

  One more nail in the coffin should do the trick. “I know you only have twenty-two days, I should add.”

  “What do you want?” Castillo bit each word out.

  “Why was Rasul killed?”

  “I can’t answer that, I don’t know.”

  “Bullshit!” Dash snapped. “Everything I just told you can be on the internet in two minutes, on academic and journalistic channels. You can’t scrub it, you can’t contain it, so you’d better start talking.”

  “I’m not going to be held hostage to a microphone for the benefit of witnesses who may or may not even be listening.” Castillo sounded indignant.

  “No, we’re here.” Tony promised.

  “Dui, I hear you.” Yifei said in a voice as hard as steel.

  Dash smiled to himself.

  Defeated, Castillo sighed. “I give up. What?”