by F Stephan
“Wilfried, you’ve got to get back. Standard security procedure.” Wolm, his bodyguard, sounded displeased, which he probably was, locked inside the structure by the security protocol.
Wilfried wasn’t listening to him anymore, pushing his nanites and analyzing the data gathered by the camera. Regulator replaced by a searing hot metal cloud. Ten yards of cables loose. Nateiev was above the structure when it detonated. Wilfried began slowly rotating, following the intuition provided by his nanites, calculating the vectors of the blast. The shreds had pushed the electrical engineer, but where? Check time. Thirty seconds. Power of blast. Possible directions for drift. There!
“I found him. He’s drifting on an outbound trajectory. I’m launching for a grab.”
“Wait—”
He didn’t care for Wolm’s advice and pushed away from the station’s ring, toward Nateiev. Not too strong. Now, prepare for a grab. Course correction. Minimal jet usage.
“Andrew, Rajesh, get out and launch a grappling hook. Fast.” In an instant, Wolm had shifted from reproaches to active support.
And… grab. Decel burn. And nanites out. Reality returned and Wilfried’s body began to shake inside his suit. I used too much energy to repair my sight. I don’t have long until the little buggers take control.
“Operations, I’m motionless now compared to the station.” Wilfried connected himself manually to the crewman’s suit. “Nateiev is unconscious. His suit is burned, and I don’t know how much heat was transferred internally. His vitals are in the red.” Getting rid of heat was the number one issue in space, and right now Nateiev was cooking inside.
Suddenly, the outer lights of the station went black all at once. He could see only the two small lights belonging to Andrew and Rajesh, who were already outside. “Wilfried, I got your lights in my sights. I’m launching with the hook.” Andrew’s voice was firm, unhesitating.
He’s going to launch straight into the night. He’s mad...
“Wait, Andrew, I’m too small—”
Before he could complete his order, Wilfried felt Andrew pulling his suit. “I got you. Rajesh, pull us back!” He felt himself losing control, little by little. A Pilot needed more food than a normal human, to feed the nanites within him, and he had used a lot of energy in the first moments of the blast.
By the time they touched the station, Wilfried was close to convulsing, holding it off only by sheer strength of will. Nateiev’s life parameters were now in amber.
Andrew was talking to operations. “We don’t have time to walk around the ring to the main airlock. We’re losing both of them. We need to cross.” Crossing meant launching from one side, going through the middle to the other side. Over four hundred yards – any mistake will launch the four of us in deep space and out of reach, thought Wilfried, sinking slowly.
“Yes, partial cross now.” Wilfried opened his eyes for an instant, seeing the station’s wheel above him. Andrew had decided upon smaller jumps. How is he doing that? He closed his eyes again, saving his energy. Wolm would know what to do to help him.
“Second cross, now.” Wilfried registered the sounds dimly. Rajesh is launching with the hook, attaching to the other side and then pulling us back in. Good thinking.
Suddenly, a new voice erupted in his ears. “Damn you, idiot. What do you think you’re doing?”
He answered with the remainder of his strength, trying to project some assurance. “Hello Tasha, I got him. He’ll be fine.”
He saw the main airlock cycling for them before he fainted.
Tasha
Space station Acheron, September 24, 2140
“Jorge, that won’t do.”
In front of Tasha, sitting behind his immense onyx desk, was Jorge Da Silva, the Brazilian magnate who had won the contract to provide the station with its energy grid. He was a short, muscular man with a pale complexion. His shirt was partially buttoned up, his hair untidy and his chin bristling with day-old stubble. His desk was covered with papers, spread randomly and in disorderly stacks. Some had even fallen on the rich red carpet.
Tasha wasn’t duped by the show laid out for her, especially in a virtual meeting room. You didn’t run a successful business in such a mess. It was the same trick as her stern appearance. Today, she had dressed once again in a dark brown business suit, her hair braided and pinned above her head, and a single diamond brooch holding a blue scarf around her neck. “You look too sweet,” her father had said one evening during their daily debrief. “I know you’re not. But no one will know it unless you make sure they see that part of you in one glance”. From that day on, she had built a stern outlook and a reputation of strength. On his side, Jorge had been underestimated year after year by his opponents, but his actions had been well documented by her father. Today, we’ll see who’s the best at underestimating the other.
She opened her folder and four 3D screens appeared between them. They displayed three solar panels, an energy coupling module and the regulator. Around them, multiple arrows pointed to highlighted parts.
Tasha was losing patience. “I’ve had a crew member in hospital for months and a severely burned pilot because of a defective regulator. We don’t yet know why but I don’t want to discover this is your responsibility.”
“Madame Podorovski, I do understand how discontent you are. I assure you—”
“No. You assure nothing. You are late in your deliveries. The crew doesn’t trust your devices anymore. I can reassign the contract to the JapEnglish Imperium. Lord Burroughs has been contesting it from the start.” She projected absolute certainty.
Jorge sighed and called up more screens. “No need to go that far. I was gathering new information for you. But I can give you the summary right now. Luis, my chief of security, alerted me this very morning about sabotage in the plant dedicated to the station.” Tasha sensed the anguish he projected was real. “We have found the culprits and reassigned new teams to the production. I have prioritized that work and we will deliver everything on time.”
“Sabotage?” Tasha hadn’t expected this. Providers cutting their contracts short to earn more money, she understood. Industrial espionage was a classic issue. Active terrorist acts were not unheard of, but they were rare.
“Yes. A predefined pattern that would trigger the explosion of a component. Like the one you faced yesterday. We have tracked two workers assigned to the quality checks to Ecowarriors on Earth, the terrorist group. They were alone for their quality analysis and they used that time for mischief. We found five other rigged modules this morning. We are controlling all equipment they may have had access to. But there is more.”
So, now that we’re protecting our convoys better, they’re striking from inside. How long have they been preparing for this?
Looking straight at her, Jorge continued, “You can guess my thoughts, Madame. I knew your father and you probably have had from him an account of me. I’m hard in business matters, but I won't lie. They may have infiltrated other members of the consortium. This was a well-planned operation. Our screening is very thorough. Your security officer will confirm it. They were—” he paused, looking for words “—operating under deep cover. You have to warn everyone.”
“I will call for an emergency meeting of the Committee. When will you have details ready to be shared? And the new planning?” Deep cover agents? Who’s running them? I’ve to check this with Mother. And someone in the station sent the trigger signal.
“I was reviewing the last part of my report when you called in. You’ll have every detail in less than an hour. Regarding the sabotage, we need two weeks for this inspection, but the first deliveries of spares will launch tomorrow.” Jorge smiled for the first time in the meeting. Out of trouble and the savior of the day. I can always bet on him to turn a profit from any situation.
“Thank you, sir, for your frankness and availability.” No sense in increasing the pressure now. “I’ll send an invitation for the committee and confirm with space operations the details for the next
shipment.”
“You’re welcome. I am very proud of having been chosen for the space station. And, as you see, I follow this topic personally. I will be always available to you.” Now, the smile was bright and unwavering. Liar. Don’t overplay your hand, my dear.
“Perfect, we will talk again soon. Thank you.” Tasha waved to Jorge and broke the connection, while simultaneously opening a call to Nikolai. He was talking with her mother in his office in the west quadrant of the Baikal Complex, overlooking the lake and the hills. She briefed them on the situation quickly.
“I’ll alert Roman as soon as we finish the discussion, and I’ll have his feedback in two hours.” Nikolai lifted his head and offered a thin smile. Business is in trouble. Tasha’s mother looked her in the eye. “I don’t know anything about this, and my sources didn’t warn me. But if we’ve traitors, we’ll root them out.”
“But it’ll delay us. Again. If it’s true, we’ll be late replacing every part. And if it isn’t, we’ll be late anyway, checking them. They’ve won either way.” She sighed. “We can’t do anything about it, I suppose. Let me know what Roman finds.” Roman had headed the security of the Podorovski consortium since Tasha had been a child. She knew the former spy to be a very resourceful man and she trusted his instincts. “I will warn the Envoy and the President.”
“Tasha, if we’ve got moles in our plants on Earth, you may have some up there too. Be careful, sister!”
I knew that already. I’m going root out those traitors and throw them outside, without spacesuits.
Susanna
Last Caliphate, Dubai, September 25, 2140
Susanna Loewre basked in the cool warmth of the biodome. This is so pleasant. Such a good job.
“Your faithful servant is today in the Last Caliphate, here in Dubai, under the brand new Al Yaqoub biodome. I’m here to interview the Sheikh Salah Mekki, who will explain more about the current operation being carried out in space.”
Drones vaulted around her, detailing her modest abaya and hijab. One didn’t meet a Sheikh without conditions. Susanna’s audience knew how she looked, so this would only be a pause before her next outfit.
“The biodome’s design is revolutionary, based on a design imported from the Federation planet of Adheek, and I love it.” The pictures around her would be stunning, a vision of heaven for many on Earth. Farther away, they would see the ice zoo, a unique feature in the desert, a rare sight in this hot world. And a terrible waste of energy as far as any watching is concerned. They won’t believe how efficient it can be. They will just assume the worst.
She moved into a large garden containing a magnificent dais. A large man in a traditional white gown that highlighted his blue eyes sat on top of it, welcoming petitioners. Above her, viewers would see the rising number of signatories to her crusade against drugs. Another good sign.
As she approached, she lowered her gaze so as not to look the Sheikh directly in the eyes. “I’m honored to meet you, your Excellency.”
He wasn’t happy at the situation, would have preferred another interviewer. But you can’t resist my audience, can’t you?
“And I’m pleased to meet you, and all your followers, Sayeeda Loewre. I understand you had questions about our space operations?”
She curtsied as the drones focused on them. “First, our deepest regards for those wounded in space. Could you tell us more?” She had only heard rumors of an event that had occurred barely an hour before. Maybe she could get him off guard and obtain interesting information.
He bowed his head, muttering a barely audible prayer, then looked up at her drones. “A regulator blew up during a power checkup while being assembled for our newest module. One crewman was badly burned and sent drifting into space. Pilot Bauer jumped and caught him before two other crewmen brought them back on board. All are safe, although our crewman will have to rest for a long while.” Little stern Wilfried playing the hero? How interesting?
Without death, this information was boring. Susanna moved on. “Could it be sabotage? There are rumors.” It was a wild guess, but her audience loved a secret conspiracy.
Unexpectedly, the Sheikh turned bright red. “What? How insolent?” he spluttered, before calming himself. It was worth a shot. This red face will be perfect. “If there are such operations, I can assure you none have taken place in the Lost Caliphate. Ecowarriors and EarthFirst scum are not welcome here.”
She would have to dig a little deeper. Did people disappear in their plants? Is this truer than I thought? Am I on the right track here? No sense in losing momentum. She went on to her next question. “We’ve heard that rare earth nuggets will be sent back to Earth. How? Will they be carried in the shuttle?”
“No, the shuttle will launch them toward Earth in a few hours, at the correct speed and angle. They will strike the Pacific Ocean and our inflatable shelter will kick off until our ships reach them.”
“So, we’ll be bombed from space?” Susanna’s voice trembled a little, enough to convince her viewers of the dangers of the operation.
“No.” The Sheikh was annoyed by the question. That won’t help you answer. “We’re constantly hit by asteroids. This will be very similar. They’re small and we’re sending them into the biggest ocean we’ve got. No risk at all to anyone.”
He raised his hand and schematics for the re-entry appeared. Detailed and technical, the fans would love them.
She curtsied. “We thank you, your Excellency, for your explanations. This was Susanna Loewre, here in Dubai.”
In a few days, she would film the rocks smashing into the upper atmosphere as they dropped toward the ground. That would get a reaction from her audience.
Boris
Reborn Russia, Siberia, September 25, 2140
Boris had been on the road for a week to reach the old Trans-Siberian network backbone. He traveled there every two or three months to siphon data out of the main world databases and check with his contacts how the situation with his former employers was evolving. It was a risk, but he had to have information from time to time.
The relay was hidden in an ancient launch site abandoned in the swamps. Few plants survived the place, and it felt gloomy. Boris swallowed his anti-rad pills and walked determinedly inside, leaving his four-wheeler outside the restricted area. He reached the main building, an ugly concrete house on the slope, walked down to the basement, and entered the bunker’s airlock without hesitation. Three minutes. Once inside, the reinforced walls and the air recycling machinery protected him from the worst of the radiation and the remaining poisons. Still, he quickly engaged one of the computers he had repaired years before and looped the signal across the network. Once secured, he launched his predefined queries and information flowed in his recorder. The procedure was well-practiced, reducing the connection time to the bare minimum.
A red blip caught his attention. A new message awaited him in his safe mailbox. Few knew of it, his old friend from the army decades ago. He looked at it quickly. Anton. The friend who had gone to space. He was now working on Charon for the run between Acheron and Kalgoorlie. Even when they had served together, decades before, Anton had dreamed of space. This was good news, indeed, summoning fond memories of long ago. But after the personal note at the beginning, Boris was brought back to the present day.
Bo, I hope you’re well and that Maritschka and Sacha are enjoying the fall. You might remember our old friend Roman who used to beat you at cards.
Roman. There could be only one Roman he might refer to – and that man was now head of Security for the Podorovski family. Without the tigroids and the swamps, it was a short drive between him and the Urals Complex. Boris played with the idea in his mind for a few seconds. Roman had been reliable and fair, and he was in direct contact with a Pilot.
He seems busy right now, fishing out in his pond. Someday, I might want to talk to him again.
He still had doubts. He hadn’t parted friends with Roman, hadn’t shared the same life. Roman was a distant relative t
o the Podorovskis, whereas Boris was related to no one and had had to carve out a place for himself and his family. It wouldn’t be a merry reunion. And yet…
I’ve sent a few articles for you to ponder during your retreat, including the one you asked me about.
Yours, sincerely.
Bo was a character that had been in place for twenty years and the traffic AI wouldn’t find it an unusual reference. Quickly, Boris verified the attached documents. As requested, he had all known details about the procedure the Federation used to choose its pilots.
He thought for a quick moment longer, still hesitating about Roman. The enemy of my enemy? Would he help him? I can’t contact him yet, but I can do something. He had gathered a lot of information when his previous employer had set up his organization. A leak or two wouldn’t change the situation but would prepare for future negotiation. He composed a short reply to Anton and sent it back.
At last, the download was completed, and he retrieved his datapack. He closed the connection properly, security layer after security layer, and left the bunker at a run to return to his car. Fifteen minutes in and out. Rad pill again. He set the car running under its automated pilot. The waves of nausea will begin soon. He curled in on himself, waiting for the pain to start.
Leopold
Space station Acheron, September 27, 2140
“What’s this meeting? Is the Envoy joining us? He should, on all matters related to the station.” Anaru’s voice was stern as he walked into the virtual meeting room. Leopold had chosen an Ancient office, copied from the Academy to Adheek, lending a foreign atmosphere to the meeting. Tasha and a still weak Wilfried sat to his right. The virtual environment was bare, and at times pixels appeared when the signal was lost for an instant. It was far from the quality of meetings on Earth. Instead, it hurt every nerve to stay in these environments. But they had to talk.
