Later, during his personal time in his quarters, he emails a message to his mother. Like all outbound ship communication, it goes through security algorithms that parse it as benign, and, if anyone were ever to check, it does indeed get delivered to his mother. The last time he’d visited her in person, he’d set up some rules on her account. This message triggers one of those rules and gets forwarded to Birk’s anonymous dropbox. When Birk reads it, he’ll pick up on the keywords and the order they are written, and he’ll know everything that Ryder knows.
James walks briskly beside Willow down the ornate hall. Both wear lanyards that display White House id badges scrolling with their credentials. James’s reads VISITOR, while Willow’s bears the U.S. Department of State’s logo with Special Envoy and Coordinator for Space Affairs. They follow an aide who wears a dark suit and striped tie. The aide slows as he approaches an open door, standing at its entrance.
“Mister Vice President,” the aide says, “James Hayden and Special Envoy Willow Parker.”
When the aide steps aside, James can see clearly into the Vice President’s office. The room is modest, less formal than he imagined, with tall paned windows stretching from the floor to the ceiling. Gray striped couches, yellow chairs, antique table lamps, and coffee tables decorate the room. Between the windows hang oil paintings of Adams and Jefferson. Holden Richards sits at his desk flanked by the American and Vice President’s flags. He smiles grandly and stands. “Thank you, Rolin. James, Willow, it’s great to see you. Please, have a seat.” Holden motions towards the nearby sofa.
James enters and crosses to the sofa as Holden comes around his desk. James extends his hand, “Mister Vice President. Thank you for meeting with us.”
Holden shakes his hand and Willow’s. When Holden sits on his sofa, James and Willow sit on theirs, facing him. “I’ve heard repairs on Bernard’s Promise are going very well.”
“Yeah, we’ll hit our first milestone in two weeks,” James says. “Doing a system power-up and shakedown. Looking forward to sitting back at the conn.”
Holden stretches out an arm along the cushions and leans back, relaxed. “Well, you’ve got a lot of support. It’s polling very well. I wasn’t sure how people would react to your conflict on Astris. To be honest, I thought it might spurn a wave of isolationism. Although there is some of that, and I’m sure you’ve seen some of the news feeds, there are many who are inspired by us having a program that once again seeks to find our place in the universe. The two of you made that happen.”
“I think we had some help from you,” James says. “It was your platform.”
“Still is,” Holden says. “I want us back out there, and I want the United States to have a leadership role in it. The timing is interesting. Have you been following the announcements on senotherapeutics?”
“We have,” Willow says. “It’s interesting that it’s become a very political topic.”
Holden nods his head in agreement. “Indeed. You wouldn’t think that offering longer life would be such a spark in a powder keg, but it’s stirred a mix of ethical, religious, and cultural reactions. If…and that’s a big if…it makes it over those hurdles, it’s hard to predict how it’ll play out, but one thing’s for certain — we have eleven billion people on Earth now, and that number’s going to grow. It’ll be the long game, a slow-moving crisis building over centuries, but resources will become an issue if we don’t adapt.”
“Ananke has had the same discussion with me,” James says. “One path is to max out living space in the system. Domed cities on Mars and the Moon, carve out habitats in the bigger asteroids, wherever you can build. Make more Cassini Stations.”
“The other, the cultural route, has ethical issues,” Willow adds. “Nations would need to limit birth rates similar to how China managed population expansion at the turn of the century.”
“That’s why the timing of your return is interesting,” Holden says. “It serves up a third option.”
James leans in. “For that to work, we’ll need Riggs back.”
Holden smiles. “I think I’ve got some good news there.”
Willow returns the grin. “You’ve got the votes.”
“I do. The first resolution will reinstate the Riggs program for Hayden-Pratt development. Expect it in the next week. Launches will still need Regulatory approval, but they’ll be legal. The second is a legislation package that includes comprehensive regulations and safeguards to restore Riggs to commercial applications.”
“That’s good news,” James says.
“I know you haven’t been back long, but do you have plans yet for Bernard’s Promise?”
James quirks his head. “Well, I had an interesting conversation with Hitoshi over a star map. Did you know there are one hundred and seventeen stars within twenty light-years of Earth? It would take over two millenia for Promise to visit each one.” A smile. “Even with senotherapeutics, I don’t have that kind of time.”
“I’m sensing a sales pitch,” Holden says.
“That’s right,” James says. “We need a fleet, and I need your help making it happen.”
The shuttle fires stabilizing thrusters as it slips out of the Sun into the shadows of Veneneia Crater on Vesta asteroid. Beneath it, the lights of an industrial facility are a starburst illuminating the gray rock. Clumps of buildings are their own campuses serving different functions for refining, processing, and construction, with the construction yards forming a grid of cranes and tracks. None of it was designed or capable of being a shipyard. Still, it was once a jumping point for supplying the Saturnian system, and its construction capabilities have been repurposed to modify two ships. The bulky, trapezoidal form of the heavy freighter Agatha Maeve rests in one yard, robotic arms picking at it. In the second yard is the long shuttle carrier Harper’s Folly. Birk examines Harper’s Folly with interest from his shuttle seat’s exterior view screen. He’ll be on one of its shuttles.
As his craft descends, the Earth is a blue star that disappears beneath the crater’s rim. A dozen men are sitting in the shuttle with him. Two of them, Jorg and Sunghoo, will be on his team. Birk is the one with military experience and will lead. He’s excited to finally have his chance to prove himself in combat. The last time he felt this rush was during his military days before his dishonorable discharge left him searching for a purpose. Now, he’s an essential part of something bigger than himself. There may be casualties, but there are always adversaries in an engagement, and he has no qualms about doing what is necessary to prevail.
5
Shakedown
White strobes blink in a steady rhythm as the Pintail glides over the sun-drenched Earth. When it maneuvers into final approach, the Hayden-Pratt LEO4 shipyard briefly eclipses the harsh solar glare, casting the Pintail into the construction ring’s shadow. Bernard’s Promise bisects the ring, its nacelles clamped into the shipyard’s pylons. As James aligns the Pintail with Promise’s airlock, he admires the ship’s upgraded engines.
Hitoshi sits next to James in the co-pilot’s chair. Behind him, Beckman and Lin are in the cabin, and Ananke’s screen shimmers blue from the chair mount. “There’s our lady,” Hitoshi says.
“She’s a beauty,” James responds.
Through the cockpit windows, the airlock ring illuminates, and vectors superimpose on the HUD.
Hitoshi looks over his shoulder. “So, protocol reminder. She’ll have power when we board, but it’ll be external through the ring’s umbilical. Ship’s been in a vacuum, and we won’t have atmosphere until environmentals are powered up. Totally possible something could glitch, and we start losing atmosphere, so everyone keeps their EV suits on the entire time.”
The Pintail’s view rotates counterclockwise as James aligns the shuttle’s belly with the docking ring. As the stars spin, Hitoshi adds, “Beckman, man, do you even own any regular EV suits?”
Beckman is wearing his red-and-silver armored combat suit and says matter-of-factly, “No.”
A jolt as th
e Pintail connects with Promise.
“Okay, I guess I should have expected that response,” Hitoshi says. “Are you planning on shooting the malfunctions?”
“Best way to maintain combat suit proficiency is to make it the norm. If I always wear it, I won’t need to adapt to it,” Beckman says. “Kind of like that Trek Wars shirt you always wear.”
Hitoshi sighs. “Trek Wars is not a thing.”
James taps open the coms channel and Sarah appears on the screen standing beside Willow. Hayden’s Pratt’s Space Ops Center is bristling with engineers and personnel behind her. “All right, Sarah. We’re docked up and heading in.”
“We’ve got you five-by-five,” Sarah says. An image grid in the background shows camera views from the construction ring’s hull. “Be safe.”
James taps an icon on his console. “Okay, everyone, let’s get to it.” James unbuckles, pushes off his chair, and sails towards the Pintail’s airlock. Illuminated rings light the passageway to Promise’s starboard EV room. His group continues weightlessly along the cylindrical hallway that leads to the bridge. When they arrive, the bridge itself is relatively unchanged, still dominated by the giant curved screen that comprises the front wall. James snags the captain’s chair and arrests his forward momentum, swinging his legs down into his chair’s harness. Beckman takes his place at tactical with Hitoshi and Lin sliding into the co-pilot and science spots. Ananke fades into Promise’s center console.
“Sensors and externals are online,” Hitoshi says.
James nods to the main screen. “Let’s have a look.”
When Hitoshi activates the screen, a panorama of stars flanked by the massive arc of the Earth fills the display. Twelve clicks away, The U.N. Perseus hangs on the right side of the screen. Dozens of ships glide along trajectories surrounding the restricted space. Low-Earth orbital traffic.
James taps open the communications menu. “Perseus, Bernard’s Promise, all crew aboard.”
“Copy, Bernard’s Promise,” the voice on the other end says.
Communications chatter fills the channel. Perseus is space traffic control for its chunk of restricted space, coordinating with Sector Control to reroute traffic where needed. Listening in on it is like monitoring traffic at a major airport. James leaves it on in the background.
“Checklists coming your way,” Lin says. “Dibs on reactor control. Let’s get this party started.”
Harper’s Folly is awash in sunlight with its four shuttles docked around the circumference of its midsection. It slips across the stars with its tail pointed towards Earth, decelerating. Agatha Meave flies a parallel path.
Inside of Harper’s Folly, Birk walks quickly along the red-lit transit tube to his shuttle. His combat suit is bulky with its ablative armor, and he’s a bit clumsy in it, although the artificial gravity from the deceleration burn is helping. It’s nothing like the body armor he wore in ground-based engagements while in the military, but the pulse rifle slung over his shoulder is very familiar. He pauses at the airlock entrance and looks back.
Jorg and Sunghoo evaluate him with a mix of worry and anticipation. Birk gives them a reassuring nod before tapping the panel. When the door slides open, Birk’s faceplate dims as Earth’s glare filters through the shuttle’s cockpit. From one hundred fifty kilometers away, Perseus is just a dot near the slightly brighter star of LEO4.
Ryder better do his part, Birk thinks, or we’re all dead men.
Ryder glides weightlessly past the ladder rungs as he descends to Perseus’s C-deck. He’s carrying the standard silver briefcase that he hauls around for routine maintenance tasks. His earbud streams Perseus’s space traffic control. His pulse quickens when he hears the callsign.
“Agatha Maeve, your course will intersect restricted space Romeo 34. Descend and maintain flight level one zero three kilos and remain clear restricted space. Refer to NOTOS Romeo 34 zero niner for guidelines,” the Perseus controller says.
“One zero three kilo, Agatha Maeve,” a voice responds.
Ryder exhales. So far, so good. He grabs a roof tether, pulls himself down the hallway, and swings into the maintenance alcove. The file is now in his diagnostic fob, and he pairs the fob with the panel screen. The file is really a fantastic bit of software, a seemingly innocuous diagnostic routine that exponentially replicates and piggybacks itself into adjacent systems. It’s the type of virus that only an AI could create.
It only takes ten seconds for the virus to start causing problems. Soon, red icons rain down the screen as an audible alarm chirps. Although it’s extremely difficult to take down the main reactor, it’s far less challenging to convince the reactor’s safety software that a serious issue is brewing and get it to shut down the reactor for you.
“Critical alert,” the software’s voice announces over the ship’s intercom. “Reactor shutdown in progress.”
Ryder watches the flashing red status timer wind down to zero. All of the hallway’s lights extinguish. For a second, it is eerily quiet in the absolute darkness. The mains decouple and switch over to batteries, and red emergency lights illuminate his hallway.
The intercom alarm pings urgently. “Bravo team to main engineering,” his CWO says over coms.
Ryder moves quickly down the hall to the Fluids Recirculation room. Dozens of pumps and pressure vessels are connected by a maze of pipework. He can already hear the pumps spooling up to pressurize the coolant for the auxiliary fusion reactors. He glides over to pump one and opens his silver tool case. Inside the case are a pulse pistol, technician’s tools, and sample vials filled with an opaque black liquid. He tucks the gun into his belt and unscrews the access panel to the fluid sample port on auxiliary reactor one’s coolant line. He snaps on one of the black vials and inserts his key into the lock to initiate a backflush. The black liquid sucks out of the vial and disappears into the coolant line. He replaces the panel and moves to auxiliary reactor two.
In his earbud, the space controller has his hands full, instructing everyone to exit his space and contact Sector Control for new routings. “Harper’s Folly, your altitude is increasing, and your course will violate restricted space. Descend and maintain flight level one zero three kilo. Harper’s Folly, how do you hear?”
Ryder moves on to reactor three. Sweat beads on his forehead, wobbling like gelatin in zero-gee. His pulse is racing, and his mouth is dry.
“Ryder, what are you doing?” a man’s voice says from behind him.
Ryder’s stomach sinks as his hand slips onto the handle of his pulse pistol. He flicks the safety off, snap draws it as he spins around, and fires two quick shots at the voice. The blue bolts streak across the room and explode into a starburst of sparks when they connect, spinning the man backward to rebound off the wall. The man’s body floats there with its arms out, embers drifting from his charred uniform like fleeing fireflies. Blood globules roll in zero-gee.
The pit in Ryder’s stomach burns at the thought of what he’s just done, but when he realizes that there is a second person, it’s as if he’s been gut-punched and all of the air has been emptied from the room.
Emani is beside the body, in shock, her eyes wide with horror.
No, Ryder thinks. Why’d she have to be here? His arm shakes as he swings the pistol towards her.
Emani holds out both of her arms, trembling. “P…please…don’t, Ryder.”
His heart pounds in his ears, and tears well into his eyes as he wills his finger to press the trigger. Time crawls to slow-motion.
At his hesitation, Emani moves past pleading to abject panic. She kicks hard against the wall, snags a tether, and bolts down the hall.
Ryder follows her flight with his pistol, his arm still shaking. His gun sights are lined up squarely with a spot between her shoulder blades. Pull the trigger, he thinks, pull the trigger, but his finger doesn’t obey. Emani disappears around the corner and is gone.
Ryder lowers the pistol, and now it’s his turn to panic. He reaches up with his left hand and pulls hi
s hair. Stupid…stupid. She’s calling Security right now.
He stuffs his pistol back into his belt and rushes back to reactor three. In a moment, he has the panel off, but when he attempts to snap on the vial, his hands are shaking so much that he catapults it into the air and ends up chasing it. He finally gets it back on, injects the contaminant, and moves on to panel four. The sounds of the Security Alert Team arriving in the hall are a mix of radio chatter, rustling armor plates, and weapons safeties cycling hot. He abandons replacing the panel on four and moves on to five. As he opens five, the buzz of a stun drone flying into the room’s entrance gives him a split second to react. Ryder barely gets out his pulse pistol and squeezes off a remarkably lucky shot. Glowing drone wreckage pops and crackles as it spins into the walls. Ryder darts back around the pump and levies his pistol on the doorway as the black-armored Security Alert Team charges up to the entrance. Ryder opens fire.
The exchange of pulse fire is blazingly fast. Bolts sizzle back and forth, strobing the room, and flashes impact him like sledgehammers to his ribs. When he looks down, surreal sparks drift out of the blast marks, blood globules leaking out of him in walnut-sized spheres. His right hand still has the gun, but his whole arm is numb, the weapon pointed towards the floor.
The four soldiers all have rifles leveled on him. “Drop the weapon. Do it, now!”
He glances drunkenly at the reactor panel, then back at the gun in his hand. Mustering all of his strength, he screams and swings the weapon towards the Alert Team. He never knows if he gets off his shot. There is only a strobe of automatic weapons discharging and then nothing more.
Bernard's Dream: A Hayden's World Novel (Hayden's World Origins Book 8) Page 4
