by F Stephan
Tasha withdrew to the rear of the cabin and engaged her own console, encrypting the signal as standard Federation procedure. No one on Earth could decrypt them, currently. Or so I hope. There would be listening devices somewhere in the graveyard between Earth and the station. She was sure of that.
“Hello, people, anybody there?” she asked in the virtual conference center of the station. Thirty seconds later, Wilfried popped up in the simulated environment in a jumpsuit smeared by grease. What are you doing?
“Hello Tasha, how’s the trip?”
“Slow. All so slow. We need to do something about it.” She was still angry at being confined in this tub, but her anger blasted out toward Wilfried, who recoiled a little.
“You should relax more, honored Pilot,” said Maricar soothingly as she entered through a side door, wearing her customary impeccable white and black garb. “You’ve been rushing all over the planet for the last month. Take this time to rest. We’ve plenty of work for you here at the station.”
“Anything I can help you with?” Focus. Change your focus.
“Yes, I’ve got something for you. I have reached a dead end on the electrical grid and flow. I have improved everything I could find, and it still doesn’t,” Wilfried intervened in exasperation. “We have brought back this Ancient computer from Adheek. Can I prepare it for activation? I need you to calibrate it for our network. It requires a level of finesse only you, and your nanites, will provide.” She had resisted all three nanite injections while Wilfried had been forbidden to have the second one. She could see the haunted look in his eyes even now. Those had been dreadful moments for him. Losing his shape, his own sense of self, and coming back from the edge only narrowly.
“OK, I’ll work on it as soon as I’m back. Anything else? Leopold? Earth operations?”
“Leopold has arrived at Kalgoorlie Station without any problems. He has loaded all the rare earth nuggets he could store and is traveling back. He should be here a few days from now.” Maricar had called up a star map to highlight his progress through the solar system. Jump from the belt to a point above Mars, then jump to another point between the two planets, then back home. Three little jumps. Tasha smiled. The configuration was perfect to train their crews. This was the first flight, but it seemed nicely under control.
“Perfect. And Earth operations?”
Wilfried frowned. “We’re getting ahead. Our contractors have made good progress. I think your round trip was definitely a good idea. We’ve got still issues with Ecowarriors and EarthFirst protests, though. Otherwise, a new spare part transfer is coming from the South African Protectorate. I really need it, to get the station to working condition.”
“Popular support?” This was what worried Tasha most. Many people were not concerned with space operations. It was just too remote from their everyday life. So, their support could easily go one way or another. From her side, she desperately needed to keep it to face the Council. Politics – damn politics. Her mother had been clear and direct. Her whole station relied on the weekly polls.
“Deteriorating. Susanna’s show on drugs last week hit us badly, and her daily drug reminders are hurting us even more. Some governments have put on their official agenda a motion against trade from space. Two minor Pacific islands have put it to a vote.”
“Well, that’s the best we can expect in those circumstances. That damn journalist is right though. We need to stop this drug. Any luck with your search?” Tasha asked intently.
“Nothing yet. We’ve done two full sweeps of the station without any success,” Wilfried answered curtly
“OK. Thanks for the update. I’m going to work on the activation protocol and see you in person at the station.” She blew them both a kiss and shut down the connection. A kiss to say goodbye? What am I doing?
CPC forces
Philippines, Basilan Island, September 14, 2140
The planer was utterly silent as it sped over the Philippines. It was a slow way of approach but the only manner of travel that was totally stealthy in a world in which scum had more monitoring equipment than police forces. Yasmina Iakoubi, the CPC Chief, checked their progress and the activity below, but the islands remained quiet in the early dawn. Still one hour to go before sunset. The planer turned and Aguilar, the lead commando, signaled the countdown to the ten operatives. Yasmina adjusted her rebreather, checking her backpack a final time. She answered with an “All clear” and slowed her breathing, fighting the fear of jumping that had always accompanied her over those long years. You’re too old for this. It was an operation too important for her not to take part.
At last, the rear of the planer opened in a rush of wind and they were all out and falling. Seconds passed and she closed her eyes in utter fear, clenching her fists as hard as she could.
Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
Her backpack opened and she felt the pull of the delta wing behind her. She opened her eyes, now back in control. She loved flying as much as she hated falling. She called up in her helmet her target and the planned route, then aligned her wing, compensating for the wind. She couldn’t see the others from the force, couldn’t communicate with them. She focused on her job, sliding through the air, watching the island below, barely visible in the moonless light.
Then, fire opened from the ground. Motion detectors. She cursed inwardly. Adrenalin rushed through her and she reactivated her communication gear. The sky lit up around as her helmet reacquired the external information. Red dots on the screen showed the wounded or dead. Later. She found the sites of the open fire and marked them.
“Air support. You’re cleared to blow ground defenses.”
“Confirmed, chief. Three seconds to impact.”
“Ground forces. Keep your positions. Catch any who try to escape.”
“Yes, chief. Holding position. Barricades are up.” All around their target, the roads were now barred by heavy trucks, rented for the occasion. A roar came from below, and the shooting sites exploded in a gush of flames as mach 2 air-to-ground missiles took them out.
“All jump forces, go.” Aguilar and the lead team were now landing beside the plant they had targeted. “Remember, I want—”
She didn’t finish her sentence.
The whole place exploded in a deafening roar. Before she could react, her delta wing default mode engaged itself, the wing veering hard, letting her be carried away by the blast of superheated air that followed. She felt droplets falling on her suit, searing hot. Plasma bomb.
She descended frantically, unbuckling the wing before landing, hitting the ground hard and rolling to douse the flames, then undressing in a hurry.
She took several long minutes to calm down. Aguilar, dead? A member of the ground crew rushed toward her, screaming. How could they know we were coming? Or had they prepared specifically for this assault? Was she that predictable? Wilfried had found nothing in space. Her leads on Earth were fruitless. And her own covert operation with Kimi still needed a good month before it could start. Time to play bigger, Yasmina.
Andrew
Space station Acheron, September 17, 2140
It was the night shift on the station and all lights were dimmed. Everybody had taken a break to be ready to unload the shuttle once it reached the station.
Andrew had fallen asleep over the plans for the outside work scheduled for the next morning. He always reviewed them and was becoming an expert on the outside of the station. Since he had witnessed Acheron arriving, he found the darkness less oppressive.
Looking at the plans, he had to admit the arrival of Pilot Wilfried had helped a lot. Maricar had done a great job but the extra hands had improved their efficiency – the station was running smoother now and Andrew was eager to go out and finish the work.
So, when he awakened in a dark cabin, he sensed something odd going on. The outages had been frequent not so long ago, but were now rare. Outside, he heard light footsteps in the corridor. A door opened further along.
Curious, Andrew wai
ted for a few minutes. He heard shouts, muffled by the door and distance. A door closed again, and the footsteps echoed again, a light scraping on the metal of the floor. Andrew counted the steps. It’s coming from Nateiev’s room. The electrical engineer was a compulsive gambler and, from the little Andrew had heard, had big troubles. He was also the best on the station at rigging electrical gear outside in the full void.
Two minutes later, the light returned.
People coming and going at odd hours were none of Andrew’s business. One didn’t remain in space if one minded the affairs of neighbors too much. But Andrew felt ill at ease with these events. Tampering with the lights was something else entirely, pointing to darker matters. And there were all those stories of the nanite drug passing through the station. He had been offended by the slander, like many of his coworkers, and had looked everywhere. They had found nothing, and he had concluded that the station was not involved.
Should he talk to Pilot Wilfried? Not now, but if I have more evidence, or it occurs again, I will.
Josh
South African Protectorate, September 18, 2140
On the South African coast, in the Pomene Reserve, Josh waited. His troop had found a thatched house that had once a tourist lodge. The region had been abandoned for fifty years when the climate had shifted to a tropical one. The hot and humid air had transformed the place and had rooted out most of the human presence. Rot and decay had taken over. But, from here, Josh and his mercenaries overlooked the sea with a clear view of many klicks around.
Since an airborne flight would have attracted attention, they had moved at night, three days ago, driving across the bush and then walking through the jungle. A good trip, thought Josh. They had only lost two men to poisonous vines.
“There – we have it in sight, man.” Hamzah, the big warrior, showed a point on the ocean, highlighting it in the local neural network they had set up for communications. He bared his pointed teeth in an obscene grin. They had fought together in Nicaragua for a year, before the biovirus had crippled all of them. Hamzah with his bloated skin. Josh with his failing lungs. Yet, Josh didn’t trust the warrior beside him. He likes carnage too much. No missions or clean kills for him.
The boat was alone. A surveillance ship would join it to escort it further north along the Somalian Rogue State – but not yet.
“OK. Let’s go! Give the order.”
The men around them moved to their prearranged positions. Slow movements, natural ones, no rush, nothing that would alert the AI that would scan the coast.
Josh checked the boat with his goggles. A transport ship with thousands of crates, including the cranes required for the space station. According to their inside source, it would be a crippling strike, delaying work by month. He confirmed that Sizwe Ngozi, the leader of the local consortium, was on board, monitoring his precious cargo. That will further disorganize them. Good job.
Minutes crawled by as the sea vessel went closer, on its route north, until Hamzah sent his warriors ahead. Five corvettes sprang out of the jungle and rushed toward the boat in a spray of foam. Each carried thirty warriors armed to the teeth, and hook launchers to allow them to move to the top and take control of it. Above them, a flock of yellow ibis, disturbed by the sudden noise, took off in a rush of wings.
Josh withdrew behind the derelict house to where he had prepared his rocket launchers. He had bought three in Mogadishu on his way down here, brand new NorAm ones with AIs for evasive and strike patterns. Good quality for a bargain price, in the last temple of arms on the planet.
Hamzah chuckled. “We’ll be inside in ten seconds. Nine, eight… what?” His voice trailed off as armed platforms rose on the side of the boat. “Man, this is no single trader. This is the most heavily armored sea vessel on Earth. What the devil have you played on us?”
Josh paled. Ngozi had rented one of the last fighting tankers in the world without their intelligence finding out about it. He knew what this meant. “It’s a trap.”
Three figures launched from the boat in jetpacks. Hamzah was still seated, uncomprehending. “Jetpacks? Who flies in jetpacks nowadays?”
Josh knew. Only one Corps was using them, and they were not of this planet. “Federation Marines.”
Ngozi stood immobile, stunned by the sight. Josh took out his pistol and, aiming deliberately, shot the big warrior in the back. The big warrior had survived so many wounds that Josh punched three bullets in his head. Sorry, mission abandoned. No witnesses. The others in Ngozi’s crew didn’t know him well enough to provide an accurate description and, anyway, were beyond his reach. He retargeted his rockets toward the Marines and launched the little devils at them while hurrying away into the jungle.
Run. Blast. Blast. Blast. Air rushed around him. He fell to the ground under the force of the explosion but scrambled to his feet in a rush. Don’t look. Run. Trail. Old farm. Tall tree. Roll.
A net of poisonous vines fell behind him, blocking the path. He had spent the previous night arranging this, while his new friends were getting drunk. He checked behind him quickly. The three rockets had taken down a Marine. Don’t fly if you haven’t secured all ground to air launchers. He snorted. We’ll teach you about being superior.
Another Marine was fishing the first out of the water. A third was rushing his way, increasing speed. Josh continued running, ducking under tree limbs and the entangled mass of vines. Just a little farther. He could feel his cough returning, and when he spat blood, he could taste it in his mouth. Suddenly, a crash echoed behind him and he saw that the Marine was entangled in the vine. Josh continued to rush, counting seconds in his head.
He had gained three minutes before his pursuer’s jetpack reactivated again. But those minutes counted double during an escape. Josh reached the jeep and sent it, without him, hurtling along the track with the autopilot on. Once the car was gone, he took his thermoblanket and lay on the ground beneath the road and under a brush. As he had hoped, the Marine rushed after the jeep and shot at it. Josh let him fly well past him, still shooting in pursuit, and triggered the remote detonator, blasting the car into shreds. The Federation Marine searched the explosion site thoroughly, flying time and time again over the thermoblanket hiding him. Josh crouched on the cold ground until his pursuers abandoned the site and returned to the boat.
Josh cowered under the blanket, thorns pushing against his belly, his legs burning with cramps. Still he waited, listening to every sound. At last, when night settled in, he began moving again. It would be a long walk. Awake and kicking back? It’s going to be fun.
Wilfried
Space station Acheron, September 18, 2140
“What’s up today?” Wilfried walked briskly into the main command center, looking at the different screens. Still five hours until she arrives. The shuttle and Tasha had now cleared the graveyard orbit and were out of danger. Lights flickered on the main screens.
Maricar stood in her usual black and white uniform, monitoring operations. Her eyes seemed less red. Good. “Small solar flares today. Not enough to postpone the electrical integration.” On the main screen, she projected the station’s ring, highlighting the latest module inserted into the structure. As a minimum, solar flares disturbed the electrical grid and, if too important, were a radiation hazard for the astronauts.
“Who’s outside?”
Wilfried was trying to learn the name of all the crew members, without using his bracelet and the Federation’s consoles.
“Nateiev on the electrical grid with Rajesh on the air and water coupling. Andrew as supervisor. After this operation, the new module will be habitable. We’ve planned it for four hours.”
Wilfried rechecked the mission brief, more to understand the operations than to control Maricar’s work. “I think I’ll join them to help. It’ll get me better acquainted with the station and it’ll help us finish faster.”
Twenty minutes later, he was out of the main airlock in his Federation suit, listening to the work going on. “The second link for a
ir delivery connected. Ready for the pressure test.” “Solar panel three linked to the regulator.” Statements were shared as the work went on, professional and controlled.
Wilfried’s Federation suit boasted better jets for space maneuvers than traditional Earth-made ones, allowing him faster movement outside. Still, he walked cautiously on the ring to join the others. No sense drifting away from the station. For the next few hours, the Earth would partially mask the Sun, and the astronauts would be dark. It was better for radiation protection, especially in a period of small solar flares, but the utter darkness was terrible for the nerves.
Three hours later, the water and air connections were completed and checked. The flares had delayed the work as parts of the grid shut down intermittently.
“Andrew, Rajesh, please return. You can’t help Wilfried and Nateiev with their tasks anymore.” Maricar’s voice was calm, a beacon from the bridge. “Nateiev, you need to couple the last solar panel to the regulator before attaching them to the module.”
“Confirmed, bridge.” Wilfried moved back a little to get a better view of the action. They had carried all the cables from the solar panel arrays over the last hour and he was excited by the final step. “Attached. Can you run a power check before I attach the assembly?”
“Copied. Launched.”
Using his suit’s enhanced vision, Wilfried saw the electrical grid lighting up and overflowing, all energy suddenly concentrating in the regulator.
And then it blew up, blinding him. Shreds must be around him, bouncing on his suit. The silent shower was eerie. Nanites. Activation. A second to close his burning eyes and recite his mantra, and the nanites kicked in. Now, restore vision. The nanites began to repair his burned eyes while a tendril of them connected directly to his helmet camera. “Bridge, where is Nateiev?”
“We don’t know. We don’t have short-range trackers.” Maricar’s voice was panicked.
