The Dark Colony

by Richard Penn

  The inspector came on again, sitting with an older officer they had not seen before. ‘Lisa, Tommy, I’m up with your timeline at the point where you chose the teams. As I’d expected. I shall say nothing of suspiciously long pee breaks, I hope you know what you are doing.’

  ‘Let me introduce another of our team leaders here. This is Johanna Johnsen, who is the leader of the brown team.’ Njenga pronounced the J’s as Y’s, in proper Scandinavian. ‘That is brown as in dirt, because they are concentrating on the surface of Terpsichore. Now, you two are the down team. I see you both took all your gravity-flight training in a simulator, which is a little alarming, but will have to do. Inspector Johnsen is a qualified bio-engineer, and one of the few people at Mars to have lived on an asteroid. Over to you, Johanna.’

  The inspector left the room, and the camera concentrated on a fit-looking woman in her fifties in an unfamiliar brown uniform. ‘We have two things we want you to do,’ Johnsen said. ‘We are pursuing two ideas, and frankly we are hoping neither of them turns out. Firstly, we want you to travel to the survey satellite, which is in a lower orbit than the station, and inspect it. If the satellite is compromised, it could be sending us maps of pristine surface where there is actually a cache of some kind. They could not hope to cover up an entire colony there, you’d see it from the station, but a tunnel or a mine is possible.’

  ‘The second possibility,’ Johnsen continued, ‘is that the ground station has been compromised, either with the connivance of the settlers, or by stealth. If they are living near the ground station and getting in and out on foot, that could be done without the settlers’ knowledge. Take a look, size up the people, and let us know.’

  ‘Two things I know you’re going to hate: take spacesuits – the satellite may need access from outside, and you may need to walk around on the surface – and take guns. We can’t rule out the whole ground station being corrupted, until you go there and let us know.’

  ‘Engineer Nemecj has prepared a shuttle, and the harbour control computer has been checked out by the best white hats we have. Your first departure window is at 1043, there are windows every 26 minutes after that. Good luck.’

  Lisa had found another thing that frightened her as much as public speaking without notes. Landing on a planet, on dirt, with gravity was bad enough. Doing so while possibly being shot at was another thing altogether. She and Tommy exchanged wide-eyed expressions, shrugged and made their way to a scooter dock.

  Once they got to the hold and through the extended briefing given by Krystoff Nemecj, then onto the shuttle and through its longer checklist, they had missed the 1043 window. They lined up for an 1109 departure. The shuttle was similar to a tug, with a cabin large enough for three side by side, and a fair-sized fuel tank. Beside the motors on the rear were folding landing legs, looking like a home-built version of the Apollo moon lander. It had a five-metre long cargo rack in addition to the three-metre fuel section, so it was bigger than the vehicles Lisa was used to, more like flying a tug with a barge attached. The cargo area was empty for this run.

  Lisa was driving, having won (or lost) at rock-paper-scissors. She moved the vehicle well away from the station before orienting west and applying a partial de-orbit burn. The idea was not to hit the planet, but to get into the lower orbit of the satellite. Once at the right level, she applied a northward burn to match the high-inclination orbit of the satellite. All the vectors had been supplied by the controllers, but as taught she pictured the physical directions in three dimensions before hitting the switches. Angèle had insisted she understand what she was about to do, to verify for herself it was right and to imagine what came next. The hardest part was to think in an asteroid-orbit reference frame, instead of the station-centred frame she was used to. Tommy was managing the zoom camera on the roof above their heads, and watching on radar for the satellite. When the flight plan said it should be five kilometres away, he spotted it and gave Lisa the exact bearing. Course correction brought it within twenty metres or so, and they hovered stationary in front of it. As a camera platform it had no spin, relying on internal attitude wheels and tiny steam jets for stability. It was a cylinder, about a metre in diameter and three metres long, with long solar cell wings.

  ‘Landing shuttle two seven to Terpsichore Survey Satellite one. Status report, over,’ said Lisa, giving an authorization code.

  ‘Shuttle from Terpsichore Survey Satellite. Status report: All systems nominal, Water four seven percent remaining, energy input eight three percent maximum.’ They would top up its propellant before they left, but cleaning the solar cells would have to wait.

  ‘Landing shuttle two seven to Terpsichore Survey Satellite attitude command. Commence roll zero point zero one radians per second steady. Over.’

  The satellite asked for confirmation of the command, and they saw the steam jets fire briefly to set the satellite rolling past their eyes. As well as looking at the surface, Tommy recorded it in UV and IR, looking for anything stuck to the surface. There was nothing.

  ‘Landing shuttle two seven to Terpsichore Survey Satellite attitude command. Stop roll and resume operating orientation, then prepare for boarding.’ The satellite slowly cancelled its spin, then a green light appeared on the hatch on the circular end, indicating it was safe to approach.

  Lisa gingerly approached the hatch with the front of the shuttle between her and Tommy, below the windows. She was glad the landing legs were at the back of the shuttle, where they could not foul the solar cells. When the customary clunk came from the hatch mechanism, she released a breath she had not been aware of holding.

  ‘I drive, you explore,’ she said to Tommy. He had the engineering experience, in any case. Tommy applied air pressure to the space between the vehicles, popping out and stowing the shuttle hatch. He attached the water hose and an air unit to the satellite hatch, and let it clean and warm up the air. After a few minutes, he let himself through.

  ‘She-it it’s cold in here,’ he said, despite wearing the thermal suit and gloves. His voice became hollow as he moved into the equipment bay inside the satellite. He was looking for anything which did not belong in there, a dongle or an antenna. He removed the covers from several boxes, carefully putting them back on. He had brought an RF detector from the hold, though he did not expect much from it; any clandestine transmitter is smart enough to turn itself off when approached. He commanded the satellite to shut down all operational systems while retaining solar power supply, hoping to find a current drain to reveal extra equipment. Nothing.

  ‘I’m pretty sure it’s clean, Lisa,’ said Tommy. ‘I could find a way to bug this thing which would hardly show, but not everyone’s as smart as me.’

  Lisa felt it was not the time to tell Tommy he was not the smartest engineer in the universe. ‘OK, Tommy, come back in then,’ she said.

  He re-appeared feet-first through the hatch, pulled the satellite’s hatch closed and then replaced the shuttle’s hatch from the rack. Lisa pumped down the pressure between the hatches, checked their integrity, and then pulled the spring lever to separate them from the satellite. Waiting for a good ten metres to open up between them, she commanded the satellite to resume attitude and position control, then moved further away to give it room to work on its own.

  16 A Landing of Sorts

  Next up was the de-orbit burn, but she had to check with harbour control for a vector, first to alter the tilt of their orbit to one which passed over the ground station. Then there was a ten-minute wait before they could apply the de-orbit burn.

  ‘Phone Doctor Swamy from Lisa Johansen. Over,’ she said.

  ‘One moment please... estimate two minutes availability... one minute...’ The computer voice was replaced with the slightly accented one of the senior doctor.

  ‘Hello, Lisa,’ he said, ‘what can I do for you? Are you well?’

  ‘As well as a person can be who has to land on a gudsforlad planet, Doctor, thank you. I am calling about the remains in the hold. Have you been
able to learn anything from them?’

  ‘Well,’ said Swamy, ‘they are a mystery indeed, but perhaps not an urgent one. Two young adults between twenty and twenty-five. One male, one female. The bodies were too decomposed for blood to be taken, and the equipment we have here is not enough to get DNA from bone. I have sent a sample in a bottle-rocket to Mars, but it will take many months to get there.’ A bottle-rocket was a tiny capsule the size of a coffee bulb with an enormous inflatable fuel tank and a toy motor. They were capable of enormous delta-V, so could travel anywhere at any time, but their payloads were measured in grams, and the chances of arrival were dubious.

  ‘I can tell you, however,’ Swamy continued, ‘that the persons have been deceased for a long time. At least five years. It can not be more than eight because that is when the hold was constructed. They are a complete mystery to everyone here, but they may not even be related to the present incident. Your inspector on Phobos has assigned a staff member to the enquiry about them, but I have difficulty imagining what this person will do. Perhaps a relative of the inspector.’ Doctor Swamy was famous for believing that nobody outside his colony was to be trusted.

  ‘Also, Lisa, I have some troubling news,’ said the doctor. ‘we took bloods from all your prisoners, routine procedure of course. Everything was as expected except for Emma Doherty. She tested high on cocaine derivatives, showing she has been a regular user, perhaps for years.’

  ‘What?’ Lisa exclaimed, ‘how can that be? We all get blood screens every month, for pregnancy and diet if nothing else. How could that have been missed?’

  ‘We are not sure. Corruption in my very own department, I am ashamed to say. She must have been smuggling in old blood from a frozen supply, but a nurse here in my hospital must have colluded with her. I am very distressed indeed. We shall investigate this.’

  ‘Oh gods,’ said Lisa, distraught, ‘tell me Stjepan was not involved!’

  ‘Not Stjepan, no, I am confident. We have suspects and we are working with the Sheriff on this.’

  ‘Thanks, doc. I’ll let you know if I have any news. Johansen out.’

  The display on the console was starting to count down to the de-orbit burn, and Tommy had been using the co-pilot controls to fix their attitude just right.

  ‘Thanks, Tommy. Ready to take the helm.’

  ‘You have the helm,’ replied Tommy, all serious pilot now that a difficult landing was coming up.

  Once the long de-orbit burn was over, a dual display appeared in front of Lisa, a map of the surface with a flight path overlaid on it colour coded for height, and a side view of the descent path showing her position as a line between upper and lower limits, the descent envelope. The colour code was the same. A vector diagram at the side gave her velocity and attitude, again with envelopes indicating safe limits. Finally a bar showed remaining fuel and the rate of consumption. Just keep all the indicators between the envelopes, and all would be well. In theory. She had managed it fine when she was in a simulator, so no problem, right? This was yet another new frame of reference, with North, South, East and West all in one plane.

  The rockets on all the colony’s vessels were pretty basic, owing more to the German V2 than to anything in the 21st century. As such, they were either on or off, there was no way to modulate the burn. Each time the height line came near the bottom of the envelope, she adjusted the attitude and applied a burn.

  ‘Captain, permission to make an observation?’ said Tommy.

  ‘Go ahead, co-pilot.’

  ‘You are firing several seconds early, and each time you are hopping out of the top of the envelope. You can land this way but you will use a lot of fuel. Any reason for that?’

  ‘Umm, thanks Tommy, you’re right. Something in me just doesn’t want to hit that fucking great rock, I guess. I will try to control my emotions. Thanks again.’

  They were within sight of the colony now, and Lisa briefly registered how beautiful it was, shining green against the dark rock, but there was another burn coming up. She could see white and grey streaks on the approach path, where previous boats had blown away the surface dust. As she applied the next burn (later and shorter, this time), there was a hiss of dust and spatter of gravel on the side of the boat. Any noise in a space vehicle was usually bad news, and Lisa had to reassure herself it was normal, when landing on dirt.

  She was over the landing field now, the surface coming up at her from about fifty metres away. If she applied the drive now, she would stop too high above the ground. She had to hold on against all instincts and let the boat fall, until the indicator showed it was time for the burn. Five seconds in, there was a clang and a bump as the landing legs hit the ground, and it panicked her into keeping the thrust on. The boat lifted off again, and she finally prised her fingers from the control, letting the legs take up the weight.

  As she shut everything off, a laconic voice came over their phones. ‘Any good landing is worth doing again, eh, Lisa? Terpsichore Landing Field to shuttle two seven, confirming safe landing, the bus is on its way. Welcome to Terps. Over’

  ‘That joke is older than God, Karel. Shuttle two seven shutting down. Out.’ Karel Rasmussen was another Dane, and brother-in-law of Martin Sørensen. He was sheriff of the surface colony, as well as its harbourmaster.

  A ridiculous-looking vehicle was waiting at the side of the field, and now started crawling towards them.

  The hull of it looked like the works bus at the station, a 5-metre long cylinder, a little over two metres in diameter, with windows down the side. There was a window on the front for the driver, and below it was a snout: a docking hatch on a flexible corridor, with bellows for walls. The snout was controlled by a hydraulic arm, so that the height could adjust to different boats. The thing had big mesh wheels on the side, and projecting vertically above the cab was a forklift for cargo, a cockamamie device Lisa had only seen in books. Despite moving at less than walking pace, it was bouncing off the ground at any bump in the surface, due to the low gravity.

  The bus curved around to approach the side of the shuttle, and locked on to the hatch close to the ground. Lisa and Tommy picked up the small bags containing their guns and spare clothing. They did not expect violence at this stage, the colony would be trying to gain their trust, even if it was corrupt. They took the ladder down a tube inside the shuttle that ended at the hatch. Tommy opened it and folded himself through into the flexible tunnel. Lisa followed, closing and locking their hatch as she came through.

  The driver of the bus was a blue-suited apprentice lockhand (or “docker” down here). Lisa recognised him as twelve-year old Niko Ivanovski. His mother had been responsible for setting up the first farm tunnels on the surface, six years ago, so Lisa had only a vague memory of him from school. He greeted them briefly, unhitched the snout and backed away from the shuttle. The motion of the bus was the ghastliest thing Lisa and Tommy could remember, and she concentrated on keeping her breakfast down, unable to think of anything else. The boy was not making a great effort to avoid the bumps, she thought.

  After a few minutes, the bus nosed up to the main building of the colony, and they ducked through the hatch into the hall. They stood and took it in, watching through the big windows as the bus undocked and made its way to the hangar. Rasmussen crossed from the control office to shake their hands. The hall was a similar size and layout to the one on the station, but looked very strange to Lisa because the floor was completely flat instead of curving up at the ends like the station hall. She felt as if the people at the ends should be falling over, even though she knew in theory that gravity was the same everywhere.

  The queasy sensation from the bus had not entirely gone away. Karel led them to a table on the ‘bar’ side of the hall. Lisa refused the offer of food, but accepted a coffee.

  ‘Good to see you both,’ said Karel. ‘I’m guessing this is official rather than social, seeing you’re both in lemon yellow.’ Rasmussen was also in uniform, his stripes and pip matching Lisa’s. He was qualified
to Sheriff level, but the rules said the colony could only have one Sergeant.

  ‘That’s right, it is I’m afraid. The Inspector from Mars wants me to run an outside eye over the colony here. Personally, I trust you completely, but they’ve gone a bit paranoid over on Phobos. Goes with the name, you know,’ said Lisa, coining another very old joke.

  ‘OK,’ said Karel. ‘I understand. Do you have a plan?’

  ‘For today, I’d like an orientation tour and to let Tommy get an overview of your systems cabinets. We’ve had corrupted tech up on the station, and you know how scary that can be,’ said Lisa.

  The sun had risen in the few minutes they had been sitting there. Lisa was used to the station, which was on a 24-hour rotation independent of its orbit, so that the windowed side of all the rooms had sun during the day. Sunset meant the end of the day to her. The asteroid had an eleven-hour rotation, and they did not set their clocks by it. She told her body to ignore the sun and follow the clock, which said it was early afternoon. They finished their coffees and exchanged gossip about mutual friends, Lisa steering it away from anything involving the case.

  17 Dirtside Tour Interrupted

  Rasmussen led them over to the big windows at the front of the hall, and showed them the wide view of the colony. Lisa’s inbuilt grumpiness about all things planet-bound warred in her mind with something more primitive that said it was absolutely beautiful. The colony was built into the sunny-side curving wall of a crater, perhaps 400 metres across. The rising sun was illuminating the top row of plastic farm tunnels which lined the wall on the far right. Those at the top were the brightest green imaginable, and the sun was working its way down the five levels. Closer in towards the hall, the upper layers were replaced by residential tunnels, the windowed ends of the habitats poking out of the cliff. Lisa knew that these tunnels extended back into the cliff, and the front ‘balcony’ portions could be vacated during a solar storm. The hall came next, then on the left was the hangar, the dirtside equivalent of a hold, where the bus had now entered and the big airlock door was beginning to close. Rasmussen pointed out the various features, clearly proud of the colony, and was beginning to describe the tunnels which linked it all under the ground when all their phones spoke up at once.