She nodded, considering this. "All WU-HU ships have been grounded to the Belt, so it doesn't matter anyway. Don't mention WU-HU. Say 'another mining vessel' if you have to. Or don't mention them at all."
"In other words, don't mention a competitor."
"The PR and legal teams have to vet the interview before it goes out, Lem. So if you said WU-HU, we'd cut it anyway. Let's save the audio engineers some overtime and keep it simple. When Chen asks you why you rushed back from the Kuiper Belt, your response is that you returned to deliver this proprietary device back to Juke. You believe this device can help in the war effort. Maybe even end the war."
Lem pushed the powder brush out of his face, and the makeup lady backed off. Lem got out of the chair. "Is that what this is about? Is that why father had all the fanfare at my homecoming? The media and the screaming Lem fans and the big phony embrace? To put me in the spotlight so I could be the pitchman for his damn glaser?"
He yanked the bib off his neck, tossed it aside, and was out the door, moving fast down the corridor in the direction Father's shuttle had been heading.
Simona was practically running to keep up. "Wait. Where are you going?"
"To have a word with dear sweet Dad."
"He's in a meeting."
"Where?"
"Will you stop for a moment and let me talk to you?"
"Where's the meeting?"
"I'm not going to tell you that."
"Then I'll find someone who will." He kept walking, looking up and down each corridor he passed, desperate for a passerby.
"No, you won't," said Simona. "None of the people in this wing know where your father is. And even if they did, all I would have to do is send a universal text to them, which takes all of two seconds, and no one would talk to you. They'd clam up."
"Yes. More of Father's obedient little sheep. Just like you."
"Will you stop for a second? I can't run in this skirt."
He stopped and spun around. She ran into him and dropped her holopad, which hit the floor but didn't break. Lem bent down and picked it up immediately to look at the schedule, but the screen went dark as soon as he touched it. He tapped it, but nothing happened.
"It won't respond to your touch," Simona said, yanking it out of his hand. "Biometric security." She tucked it under her arm, brushed a stray hair back, and said, "What is your problem?"
"My problem is that my father thinks he can use me in his little war-profiteering effort. And I've got news for him: I am not playing along."
"What are you talking about?"
"The glaser! He wants to use the glaser in the war."
"And that's a crime because..."
"I am not going to sell the glaser to the Chinese. Or to the Russians. Or to whomever it is Father wants me to pitch it to. I know what he's doing. This is classic Father. He fed the reporters my story of how I took on the Formics in the Kuiper Belt to make me out as a hero. He's trying to boost public opinion of me so he can use me to sell the glaser. He's doesn't want a son. He wants a celebrity endorsement. And you know what? You know what the saddest part of that whole scenario is? I actually fell for it. For a fleeting moment I actually entertained the idea that those misty eyes of his at the terminal were real. Which is ridiculous. He arranged the whole thing. It was a performance. A fabrication. He set the stage. He brought in the audience. He called action."
"Let me get this straight," said Simona. "You're the celebrity of a celebrity endorsement?"
He folded his arms across his chest. "You're mocking me."
"I'm trying to follow your train of thought," she said. "I'm not questioning your celebrity status. Son of the wealthiest man in the world. Hounded by the paparazzi in his earlier years. Voted most eligible bachelor by some teenage-centric pop zines on the nets. Good hair. White teeth. I can see why you might reach these conclusions."
He turned around and started walking again.
She hustled to keep up. "Okay, you're right. I was mocking you. But I shouldn't. Because you're partially right."
He stopped and faced her.
"But only partially," she said. "Your theory's wrong in a lot of ways."
"Enlighten me."
She sighed. "Your father does want you to tout the glaser. He does want to give it a lot of attention. But not to sell it. He's trying to convince the U.S. not to kill themselves."
"What are you talking about?"
"It's faster if I show you." She gestured him to follow and turned down a side corridor. They walked twenty meters and went through the first door they came to. It was a conference room with a holotable in the middle. A team of six engineers was studying a holo of some intricate mechanical part in the air between them. One of them was poking it with his stylus and leading the discussion.
"I need this room," said Simona.
The engineers looked at her and then at Lem. Then they turned to the chief engineer with the stylus, clearly the most senior among them.
"Now?" the chief engineer asked.
"No, yesterday at brunch," said Simona. "Yes. Now."
"But we reserved this room."
"And I'm unreserving it," said Simona. "Now please leave." She snapped her fingers again, and the engineers hopped to it, gathering their things and hustling out the door. They knew who she was and to whom she reported.
When they left, Lem said, "You have such a pleasant way about you."
"It worked, didn't it?" She moved to the holotable, wiped the holo away, and entered a series of codes and gestures. A ship appeared in the holospace, smooth and small, with a long tube-shaped device mounted on its underside.
"This is the Vanguard drone," said Simona. "The biggest product launch we've had in years. It's a prospecting drone, designed to seek out viable asteroids. If it finds something worth digging, it alerts us, and we send a manned craft out there to dig up the lugs. It's been in development for over a decade."
"Why have I never heard of it?" asked Lem.
"It was on a need-to-know basis. You weren't on the list. Try not to be offended."
"Okay."
"Your father introduced the Vanguard to the world literally minutes before he found out about the Formics. Ukko was not pleased. The Vanguard was set to reignite the company. The interference had been killing business for months. We had two dismal quarters. Stockholders were antsy. We needed a victory. The announcement of the Formics couldn't have come at a worse time. It threw the Board into panic mode. Everyone knew the news would eclipse any momentum we might have gained with the Vanguard."
"Sounds like the Board," said Lem. "More concerned about the bottom line than about an imminent alien invasion and the possible annihilation of the human race. Classy. What's this tube underneath the drone?"
"That's the glaser," said Simona.
"Glaser? You have more than one prototype?"
"There's only one prototype, and it's on your ship. This is the real thing. Your father moved the glaser into production as soon as we heard that you had a successful field test in the Kuiper Belt about nine months ago."
"You moved it into production?" said Lem. "But we weren't finished with the testing. The results we sent you were from the initial test only. We had dozens of field trials to go."
"Which you never got around to doing," said Simona. "We lost contact with you because of the interference, and your father grew impatient. We did some more tests here, made some tweaks, shrunk the design, wrapped the whole thing in armored plates, and that was the end of it."
"So you didn't wait for us?"
"It was nine months ago, Lem. We weren't even sure if you were still alive. It was very valuable tech. We weren't going to sit around and hope you showed up. We took what we knew and we moved on."
"If you could've done all the testing here, why did my father send me to the Kuiper Belt in the first place?"
"Because the K Belt is still the ideal place to conduct field trials secretly," said Simona. "Your father wasn't trying to get rid of you, if that's what y
ou're thinking. The Deep is still our preferential testing ground. We only tested here because we had to. We didn't have the time or the communications capabilities to launch another crew."
Lem leaned on the table and stared at the holo. Two years in space, and Father could have just as easily done the tests here. Not as thoroughly perhaps, not as reliably, but that hadn't stopped Father from doing them. It made Lem feel as if all that time on the Makarhu had been an utter waste. "If it's a prospecting ship, then why is it outfitted with a glaser?"
"Because it's not a prospecting ship anymore," said Simona. "Now it's a warship."
Lem regarded her, an eyebrow raised. "You're joking."
"Ukko plans to attack the mothership," said Simona, "and he's going to use a fleet of drones to do it."
"A fleet? How many of these drones does he plan to make?"
"Fifty. And he's already made them. The glasers are produced as well. The only thing left to do is mount the glasers onto the drones. Our assembly lines are working around the clock on that as we speak. It's proving trickier than we thought, though. We're having to modify the drone's flight controls to accommodate the glaser."
"How extensive was your testing of the glaser?" Lem asked.
"Mostly lab work and computer models," said Simona. "We couldn't exactly go outside and blow up a few asteroids. There aren't any around here. That's why fields tests are best."
"You need to speak with Dr. Benyawe and Dr. Dublin, my chief engineer. All of our computer models for the glaser were wrong. When we hit a big asteroid in the Kuiper Belt, the resulting gravity field was far bigger than any of us expected. It almost consumed our ship. The Formic ship is much bigger than that rock, and its composition is unknown. Benyawe convinced me that it was too dangerous to hit it with the glaser. There's no telling what kind of gravity field would result. Hitting it with fifty glasers at once could be suicide."
Simona made a few notes on her holopad. "Anything else?"
"Yes. You still haven't explained why I need to pitch the glaser in interviews and what this has to do with the U.S."
Simona wiped her hand through the field, and the drone disappeared. After a few more gestures, the Formic ship appeared in its place. "Our sources inside the U.S. Joint Chiefs tell us that the Americans are planning a strike against the Formic mothership," said Simona.
"We have sources that high inside the U.S. military?"
"We have sources everywhere, dear. And these are particularly reliable ones. Although the strike isn't much of a secret, truth be told. Everyone expects it. The U.S. has been preparing for it out in space ever since word of the Formic ship was confirmed. And as you know, it's very hard to do anything in space without the whole world noticing. What isn't common knowledge is when and how the strike will happen, which is what our sources have told us."
"What's the U.S. planning?"
"They've weaponized about fifteen shuttles, and they've added these to their existing space fleet. Right now they have twenty-two ships. We caught wind this morning that the Russians, British, and Chinese are adding ships as well, bringing the total to fifty-three."
"I saw the Formics take on sixty ships at once in the Belt," said Lem. "It wasn't pretty."
"The U.S. is doing it anyway," said Simona. "Their military dismisses the Battle of the Belt as blue-collar scrubs acting like soldiers."
"Then the U.S. military are idiots," said Lem. "Asteroid miners are far better space pilots and far better prepared for space combat than soldiers and pilots brought up from the planet."
Simona shrugged. "I'm not a strategist. I just keep your father informed."
"Why doesn't the U.S. military just pound the mothership with nukes?"
"They have. Or rather they tried. Three days ago. It didn't work. The Formic guns picked off the missiles on their approach, long before they reached the Formic ship. The missiles detonated and emitted massive electromagnetic pulses that took out about three dozen satellites and created artificial radiation belts that will annoy everyone for years to come."
"If the nuke strike failed, then why is the U.S. going through with a manned strike? If the Formics can hit missiles, taking out shuttles and ships will be child's play."
"The U.S. doesn't think so. The Formic weapons systems are hidden inside the ship and only emerge when the ship is threatened. STASA footage of the Battle of the Belt and the footage of the Formics taking out the U.N. secretary showed us where those weapons are concealed."
"How? The surface is round. Every square inch of the ship looks identical."
"I don't know. They must have some way. Maybe the ship's close enough now to detect small discrepancies on the surface. All I know is they intend to target those places where the weapons are stored and cripple the guns before they can emerge. A second team of ships will be striking the Formics here, at the tip, where the shield-generation equipment is located. The U.S. is confident that with those two objectives achieved, they can easily push on with a full-scale assault."
"They're wrong," said Lem. "The Formic guns are only the first line of their defense. The ship itself is a much more lethal weapon. There are apertures all over the surface. Any of them can open and fire laserized gamma plasma in any direction. I've seen it happen. The shuttles don't stand a chance. When do they plan to do this?"
"In about forty-eight hours," said Simona.
"You have to stop them."
"That's your job. That's what the interviews are for. Tell the world what you know. You don't have to exaggerate. You don't have to lie. Be honest. You and your crew have seen the Formics up close. No one else has. Convince the U.S. to withdraw and let Ukko conduct a drone strike."
"I've already told you. Drones with glasers could be a bad idea. I'm not endorsing that approach. If you want me to say that in an interview, forget it. You'll have to find someone else to do that."
"Fine. We will. Say what you think is best. But if you say anything against the drones, we'll only cut it out later, so don't bother. Just help us stop the U.S. assault. You'd be saving lives."
"Spare me the saving-lives argument. You and I both know that Father wants to be the hero here. He doesn't want the U.S. and its allies taking out the mothership because he wants that glory for himself. I know how my father thinks, Simona. If it doesn't benefit him, he doesn't care."
"You really don't think much of him, do you?"
She would echo everything he said to Father, but at the moment he didn't care. Right now his mind was racing. A spark of an idea had ignited. What if this was the opportunity he had been waiting for? The drone strike was destined to fail. And yet Father was putting all his eggs in that basket. Fifty drones and fifty glasers. A massive fortune. Not enough to bankrupt the company, but certainly enough to pass a vote of no confidence in Father and boot him off his throne once the glasers and drones were destroyed. The Board couldn't ignore a mistake like that.
It would take some time and effort to rebuild the company, of course, but Lem had rebuilt companies before. Never on this scale, but the game was the same regardless of the company's size.
Booting Father wouldn't be enough, though, he knew. Lem also had to position himself as the rightful successor, and having Father elevate him as a national hero certainly wouldn't hurt in that effort. The Board would have their eye on Lem. They would be desperate to rebuild the company's image, and what better way to do that than with a media darling with proven business success who just happens to be the founder's tenacious son?
Granted, the Formics would still be an issue. That would need addressing as well. But they were an enemy for another day. Right now Father was the one with the exposed flank, and Lem wasn't about to ignore it.
Lem straightened his jacket and gestured to the door. "Let's get this over with."
She looked relieved. "You're doing the right thing, Lem. People need to hear this story. And don't edit yourself. Give it some drama. People want drama."
"Relax, Simona. I'll have them biting their nails."
/>
CHAPTER 22
Crows
The airlock was small, but all fifteen women managed to squeeze inside it.
Rena pulled the interior hatch closed--sealing them off from the cargo bay--then she spun the wheel and secured the lock. The exterior hatch, on the opposite wall, was now all that separated them from the vacuum of space.
"Check the suit of the person beside you," said Rena. "Look for punctures, scratches, any sign of structural deterioration, especially at creases: elbows, armpits, back of the knees. Make sure everyone's suit is airtight." Their pressure suits were newer and nicer than anything they had ever had on board El Cavador, but Rena wasn't taking any chances.
The women obeyed without hesitation. They had come to trust Rena's leadership when it came to the equipment. "Check your oxygen levels," said Rena. "Fiddle with the air valves, make sure you have manual control of your air intake if you need it. Know what you're breathing. Monitor your mixture. Ask your helmet to run a full scan of life support. If any of your biometrics are off, if you sense the tiniest of glitches, speak up now. This is not a drill this time. This is the real. No mistakes."
Their faces were visible through their visors, and Rena could see that many of them were nervous. Rena didn't blame them. She was afraid as well. Most of them hadn't done a spacewalk in years; it was the men on El Cavador who had done all the mining. Worse still, crows didn't use lifelines--or the long hoses that connected to the back of a spacesuit and kept a person anchored to the ship. On El Cavador, going outside without a lifeline was suicide, the most dangerous, reckless, stupid decision a miner could make. The lifeline was exactly what its name implied. Power and air came down the lifeline, and if you were ever in trouble, if you needed a quick rescue, the lifeline was the means by which you were pulled back into the ship.
But lifelines were impossible with scavenger work. The wreckage constantly moved; lifelines would knot and twist and kink once everyone got on board. Plus the insides of ships were mazes, with corridors extending in any direction; lines would too easily twist and tangle and tie into knots. Then there was the risk of severing a lifeline on the sharp edges from torn metal and wreckage.
No, portable oxygen and batteries were better for scavenger work. Yet lifelines were the only type of spacewalking any of the women had ever done. The idea of going out into the black without a tether was terrifying.
Earth Afire Page 33
