by M. D. Cooper
BLACK ICE
BY HENRY ORION
FROM THE AUTHOR
The Aeon 14 universe is a fascinating place, and I am extremely grateful to be allowed to fill in a small corner of it. I enjoy stories of the frontiers and wild places where people struggle against each other and nature to survive. In our day, those looking for money and adventure can go wildcatting in the oil fields of the Dakotas or commercial fishing in Alaska. Risk and reward are inextricably intertwined in the human experience. In Tanis’s day, danger and opportunity are found in the dark reaches of the Scattered Disk, where fortunes are made and lost mining deuterium, ice, and volatiles from comets. I’ve done my best to paint a picture of this life and the kind of people I believe would be attracted to it. I hope you enjoy it.
M. D. Cooper’s Note:
Taking place several years after the events in Outsystem, Black Ice follows a comet mining crew in the far reaches of the Sol System.
Six times further from Sol than the orbit of Neptune, the crew of the Icy Mama does whatever it takes to survive, and makes their own rules in the deep black beyond Sol’s heliopause.
This is a story that will give a further view into the politics that Tanis and the Intrepid left behind, and what is to come in the Sol Dissolution books.
UNCARING KINETICS
STELLAR DATE: 01.27.4127
LOCATION: Ice mining rig Madre De Hielo, anchored to an uncharted comet
REGION: Deep in the Scattered Disk, 200+ AU from Sol
Making sure his safety line was firmly secured, Kenaz leaned back for a moment and took in the unparalleled vista. The sweep of the Milky Way glowed like the diamond-embroidered veil of a cosmic bride before him. It was a sight he never tired of.
Leave it to Dodson, the Madre’s AI and second mate, to ruin the moment.
During his exchange of banter with Dodson, Kenaz arrived at the recalcitrant hub, replaced the communications bus, and started a realignment sequence. The bad bus kept it from responding to the AI’s central control algorithm. In five minutes, he had it tweaked back into alignment, and the electrostatic field was tight again.
Not bad for a farm boy from Ganymede.
Suddenly, a Titan’s hand swatted him off of the mining rig and sent him cartwheeling through the unforgiving vacuum. His warm feeling of accomplishment dissolved instantly into panic.
Kenaz fought back his lizard brain’s gibbering, simultaneously trying to assess the situation and take a deep breath. Neither effort produced good results, as a stabbing pain informed him that he might have a broken rib, and his suit stubbornly refused to populate the operational status display. His rotation wasn’t helping matters, either.
Some part of Kenaz’s mind was mildly surprised at the concern that colored Dodson’s link message.
Reaching down with his right hand, Kenaz found the line’s attachment point and felt carefully outward. It was taut, but more than a bit thin.
Kenaz silently thanked Captain O’Bannon for buying smart safety lines as he tried to ignore the pain of multiple injuries and concentrate on staying alive. He knew it would take at least five minutes for anyone to suit up and help him. He needed to stop his rotation and try to kill his velocity relative to the rig, or he was going to become another one of the billions of small bodies of mostly ice drifting through the Scattered Disk.
His diagnostics finally finished rebooting, and he gulped at the number of crimson telltales.
A cold sweat broke out on Kenaz’s brow. He was half grateful for the distraction of the spin that kept him from noticing the agony of each shallow breath too much.
Kenaz sent the orientation command and watched the readout stick. For the love of Gertrude’s garters, he couldn’t catch a break!
At least the link was working so he didn’t need to breathe deeply enough to talk.
He sent the command, both feeling and hearing the thruster fire and then stutter and cut off as the telltale went red. He didn’t think that was the full two-point-eight, but his spin certainly seemed to have slowed to something less vomitrocious.
Lord, help that last tiny strand not to break! Kenaz prayed fervently. “Aaagh! Great galloping granny tights! That smarts!” he gasped.
He had literally come to the end of his rope, and the ensuing jerk of the zero-stretch line reminded him of every body part that was hurting from the earlier impact. He understood the reasons you didn’t want a bungee cord for a safety line, but the sudden deceleration was no picnic. On the bright side, the line was holding, so his prayer was answered. He whispered a heartfelt thanks to his creator and checked his suit’s telltales again. Nothing had improved, and the last thruster was red.
Beads interjected over the link,
She was a natural pilot and their best sled hand.
Kenaz followed her instructions carefully, preparing himself for the coming jolt so he wouldn’t scream like a little girl over the Link. He suddenly realized he was shivering, as the combination of shock from
his injuries and the cold finally registered. He checked his suit’s status again and saw that the temperature was showing forty centigrade—clearly an error. As a consequence, his suit was dumping heat instead of keeping him warm.
His thoughts of turning into a corpsicle were interrupted by a painful jolt, as Beads grabbed his right wrist and brought him to a stop. She expertly maneuvered him into the saddle in front of her and quickly secured him in place. He clenched his teeth against the pain of the inevitable bumps and to keep them from chattering too much.
She coaxed the craft somewhat gently onto the same vector as the ring’s inner surface then set it down and engaged the maglocks with a thunk. Kenaz would have appreciated the sweet piloting display a bit more if he hadn’t started to phase out. The 0.4g apparent gravity he was feeling focused his attention acutely via multiple pain receptors. Some of his extremities were going a bit numb, though, and he was pretty sure that was not a good sign.
He tried standing up and nearly fell off of the sled. His left leg didn’t want to work, but he managed to grab on with his right hand before he went all the way over.
She managed to help him hop-fall off the sled, and they carefully shuffled to the hab ring’s airlock.
Kenaz did his best to focus on staying upright, but it was a losing battle. His focus turned into a pinpoint of light that slowly faded to black.
* * * * *
Beads turned back to Kenaz and found him flat on his back.
Seriously? We cannot catch a break!
She knew his suit was still bleeding heat and that she needed to get him inside before hypothermia made his injuries irrelevant. Climbing halfway down the lock ladder, she grabbed his boots and dragged him feet-first into the lock. The last heave brought him down on top of her in a tangle of limbs, but she managed to reach around him and hit the cycle button.
At least he’s too out of it to enjoy this, she thought, as she worked her way out from under Kenaz and straightened him into a sitting position. To her profound relief, she spotted Siobahn waiting on the other side of the inner door.
Between the two of them, they managed to drag Kenaz to the medbay, get his suit off of him, and install him in the autodoc. Siobahn took over, as the closest thing they had to a doctor on the crew, while Beads went back out to see if the captain and Juergens needed any help cleaning up debris from the ES field breach.
“Stars,” Beads muttered. “Guess that’s what we get for letting the cook get his space legs.”
REALITY CHECK
STELLAR DATE: 01.29.4127
LOCATION: Ice mining rig Madre De Hielo, anchored to an uncharted comet
REGION: Deep in the Scattered Disk, 200+ AU from Sol
Kenaz reluctantly made his way back to consciousness. His reluctance was due to his senses telling him some very unpleasant things. His eyelids were glued shut and his mouth tasted like last year’s barn compost pile. So much of him hurt, he couldn’t sort out what didn’t.
“Mnngluagh….water please,” he managed to scrape out and was gratified by the end of a straw being shoved somewhat gently into his mouth.
He sucked carefully, not wanting to drown himself on top of everything else. The water was cool and soothing to his parched flesh. He checked his date and time and saw that he had been out for over a day.
“How bad is the damage?” he asked.
“You managed to break four different bones and collect some truly impressive bruises,” Siobahn answered. “I want you to get a good start on healing before you try to move around. Along with the blunt trauma, you had some minor frostbite. Fortunately, your mednano is a couple of grades better than what the rest of us have, so your toes aren’t going to turn black. Here’s a cloth to help get your eyelids unstuck. I’ve always hated that side effect of the autodoc…. I swear it’s the thing’s way of getting revenge for making it work. The captain will want an update on your progress. Dinner is in two hours, so if you can hobble down to the galley, you get to eat someone else’s cooking for a change.”
The mention of the captain triggered the memory of Kenaz’s first meeting with the man.
* * * * *
STELLAR DATE: 07.09.4116
LOCATION: Mike’s Restaurant, Ganymede Station
REGION: Jovian Combine
Sitting in the creatively named “Mike’s Restaurant”, Captain William O’Bannon took in the young rock farmer as he approached, not especially impressed with what he saw. Kenaz Walker had the usual spare, low-g rock farmer build and medium brown hair cut medium short. He hoped there was something about him that wasn’t aggressively ordinary, or this interview was going to be a waste of time. They shook hands, and the captain realized that the young man’s medium brown eyes were assessing him just as thoroughly. His handshake was firm, but Kenaz wisely didn’t try for a knuckle-cracking grip.
“Captain O’Bannon, thanks for meeting with me, I’ll do my best to make it worth your time. I’ve already ordered our food. I think you’ll be pleased with it.” Kenaz started off, sounding—he hoped—confident but not cocky. “You have my work and education records, so do you have any questions about my background?” he asked as they seated themselves.
“It’s pretty straightforward,” the captain replied. “You’ve been a busy dirtsider and you have a number of useful skills, considering your age.” In truth, he was fairly impressed with the breadth of experience the young man had. “You do seem to move jobs and schools quite often; the only thing you’ve done for more than six months is farming, and it says here you started that at age five?”
“Actually, closer to two, but I didn’t get paid until I was five.” Kenaz grinned. “All the job and school-hopping is a means to an end. I am trying to get myself qualified for ice mining in the Scattered Disk. I knew I needed a thousand hours of zero gee vac suit experience to get a journeyman rating, which is why I’m currently working on the maintenance crew here at the station. Oh, here are our bacon and tomato sandwiches and soup.”
A waiter placed the plates and bowls in front of them, alongside a couple of chilled mugs of cider.
“Thanks, Goran,” said Kenaz with a friendly nod.
He paused to take a bite of his sandwich and barely managed not to make an involuntary happy noise as the combination of bacon, tomato, sourdough bread, and
mayo did a dance on his taste buds. He took a moment to savor the all-to-uncommon experience of really good food, then continued.
“Why should I take on a complete unknown for a year in the black when all our lives will depend on you at one time or another?”
“Why don’t you try that soup, and I’ll tell you exactly why you should take me on.”
O’Bannon raised one eyebrow, but shrugged slightly and dug into the slightly steaming bowl of bright orange bisque in front of him. He hadn’t paid much attention to the menu, since Walker had said he would provide lunch when he set up the meeting.
As he carefully slurped a bit of the soup, his taste buds were once again carried away. The soup was a spicy, salty, sweet and smooth, rich combination of flavors that he had never encountered before but wished he had. Before he knew it, he was halfway through the bowl of soup and the sandwich, savoring every bite of the terrific combination.
Kenaz had made a respectable dent in his own and wore a slightly amused expression. The captain scowled slightly and made a come-along gesture with his remaining sandwich. “Okay, out with it before this food makes me forget you’re here again.”
“That soup you’re eating is made with Seminole Pumpkin that I grew. I also grew the tomato on that sandwich. I have 3 metric tons of food supplies, seeds and hydroponic equipment in a shipping container, including one hundred kilograms of the premium bacon on your sandwich. I also trained under the chef at this restaurant. I want to buy into your next run with the food supplies your rig will need for the next year and the skill to feed you and your crew better than you’ve ever been fed before. I’ve looked up the specs on Madre De Hielo, and you have space for a really premium truck garden in your hab ring. In that shipping container are seeds or starts for proprietary proven strains of everything from water cress to yard-long beans, courtesy of my family’s farming operation. You’ll finally be eating something better than oatmeal on this trip. Of course, since I will be investing, I will want a better percentage than a novice crew member.”
