Friends in the Stars

by Mackey Chandler

  “OK, all the numbers are set the same as last time,” Born repeated needlessly, “and hope it doesn’t disassemble itself again.”

  He pressed the switch.

  Musical folded his ears down and held them that way with flat hands.

  > WHAM <

  The sound wasn’t as sharp as before but felt through their feet much more. The pile of foam board bowed up in the middle, enough to roll a brick off one corner, and a little concrete dust puffed out from under the stack.

  “It isn’t a neat hole,” Born observed after he kneeled close to inspect the foam board.

  “Like somebody put a tiny explosive charge through it and set it off,” Musical said.

  “Yes, like somebody drilled a hole and threaded a piece of DET cord,” Born said.

  “What the babbling little goddesses is DET cord?” Musical wondered.

  “It’s a Human thing,” Born said. “I’ll show you sometime.”

  “It’s still spinning,” Musical said, checking out the centrifuge read-outs, “even though it lost vacuum.”

  “It’s only two hundred seconds. That’s a big piece of steel to spin down.”

  “I think this may be a gravitational effect like we want, but if it is an intense field what is the vector? Is it towards the center line or away?” Musical asked.

  “Towards,” Born insisted. “Otherwise you are talking about a repulsive field. That would suggest antigravity is possible and as a physicist, everything in me cries out that isn’t going to happen in this universe.”

  “I’m pretty sure I saw a flash of light,” Musical said.

  “I didn’t, but let’s look at the video, Born suggested.

  “Oh yeah!” Born exclaimed. “Not only a flash of light but a brief flame.”

  “Makes sense,” Musical said. “No matter which way the graduate, the foam will be compressed enough to heat it and then, being in air, the vapor will burn.”

  They both stood frowning at it, thinking.

  “Do you want to look at the hole in the floor?” Musical asked.

  “Later. We know what the hole in the ceiling looks like. I have a brass bar I use to tap stuff I don’t want to ding. I’d like to put it up against a piece of leftover steel from making the frame, lined up right on the hole. If the force is attractive it will pull the two pieces towards each other and suck material from one side and deposit it on the other.”

  “It may briefly pull them together,” Musical agreed, “but then the material in motion may make them fly apart. I don’t want to stand behind either one and try to catch it in my teeth.”

  “We’ll line them up pointing away from the equipment bench and set the bricks behind them for more mass to restrain them,” Born said.

  Musical frowned at that but nodded his approval after some thought, and they set up to repeat the same cycle.

  > BANG <

  It wasn’t near as loud as before. The two bars of metal did push apart slightly but nothing went flying as a hazard. Some small bits did spall off the metal but mostly at right angles to the axis of the centrifuge. A few marred the foam board but none reached the scientists.

  “It’s to the center axis,” Born said, pleased, holding up the steel bar. The gouge across its face was dotted with brass sucked across from the other bar.

  He stumbled suddenly to the side off-balance and dropped the bar. Musical grabbed at his friend to keep him from falling, which was silly given their difference in size.

  They took three quick steps away from the centrifuge clinging to each other like drunken dancers, then they stumbled back the way they’d come towards the centrifuge. Born grabbed onto it with his strong lower arms, his upper arms thrown around Musical’s neck. Musical just had a grip on Born’s fur, nothing else being handy to grasp.

  “What the hell?” Born asked. Some of the tools and supplies on their workbench were strewn on the floor and his wheeled work chair took off on an erratic excursion across the room.

  “That’s what they call an earthquake in English,” Musical said. “We have them pretty often on Far Away, but mostly just little ones like somebody slammed a door nearby. That was a pretty impressive one.”

  Another shock jolted them and Born had to hang on to the centrifuge frame. His chair rolled back towards them like it was powered.

  “Is a pretty big one. It can stop anytime as far as I’m concerned,” Musical said.

  “I know what it is,” Born said. “We get little ones from time to time and a bigger one every few hundred years. But I’ve never felt one this strong before.”

  They both reached the same conclusion and looked at the hole in the floor in horror.

  “I don’t believe in coincidence,” Musical said.

  Another little jolt built on that conviction.

  “Oh shit . . ,” They said together.

  * * *

  The original International Space Station was abandoned and nudged to a fiery plunge over the Pacific before the era of orbital commerce made recovering the materials in it practical. The International Space Station II lasted longer, and by the time it was long in the tooth and no longer suited to its purpose there was sufficient demand for orbital real estate to make it worth selling as a fixer-upper.

  The private consortium that bought it for their own use and profit included corporations from India, South Africa, Ireland, Argentina, and Romania. It was still international in nature so they saw no reason to rename it, a decision that saved chart makers and compilers of navigational aids hundreds of thousands of hours of revisions and corrections.

  Rather than invest in an extensive update of the outdated central electrical and environmental systems the new owners sold or leased space on it using a condominium model which left the responsibility for section support systems to each new owner. This change altered the outward appearance of the station with a proliferation of modern airlocks, private docking collars, radiators, and antenna farms.

  This relieved the landlords of the burden of liability for life-critical operations and had the benefit of neighbors being available to provide refuge if one section had such severe problems it became briefly uninhabitable. The primary renters were industrial, so there wasn’t any section with sufficient population to be difficult to move and support. The only residential section was subdivided into private units at a price only billionaires could afford. Besides having a population density nearly as low as the industrial areas, they could afford redundant utilities to put military-grade systems to shame.

  Since ISSII still existed it seemed silly to name its replacement ISSIII. Where would it stop after all? The new shared habitat allowed the space-capable nations to make a show of cooperation and host activities involving allies who were never close enough to share space on private satellites where proprietary operations were conducted. The hopeful name was the World Peace Station, or as the Spacers called it, Whoops.

  The various interest sections were official or default consulates for their nations to the orbital community. There was no need for embassies since the only sovereign space nations were on the Moon or beyond, and none of the great powers had a good enough relationship with them to want an embassy there. Indeed, they might not be welcome if they asked. The consulates not being on foreign territory could safely harbor intelligence activities normally conducted from the safety of an embassy.

  WPS was a safe neutral ground for the transshipment of goods and a hub for making passenger connections to other habs and the Moon, between jurisdictions that would have political difficulties with direct flights. Thus, a Larkin’s Line flight docking from the Moon via Home with passengers destined for a half dozen nations produced no particular anxiety or close scrutiny from WPS Security. What did register an alarm for them was when the feed for the security camera watching that dockage port failed. Cameras were very reliable and these were relatively new. That’s why they weren’t redundant, an oversight that would be corrected shortly.

  “John, we have a camera outage on pas
senger dock four where the Larkin’s Line shuttle just dropped some passengers and departed,” officer of the watch Luca told his boss. This month the station security was North America’s turn to lead. There was a Chinese interest observer and a German Euro observer just like the North Americans would maintain on their watch, but the others didn’t bother to maintain an over-watch.

  “Do you have a pressure drop there or any other sensor alerts?” John asked

  “No, just the camera seems to be down,” Luca said.

  “Has the Larkin’s Line shuttle departed?”

  “They are still grappled, but have clearance and are on count to depart,” Luca said.

  “I’m sending two officers up there. They are alerted there were passengers dropped off they may pass, and to take a count and get face images in passing but not to detain anyone,” John said. “I’ll watch rather than hand them off until this is resolved.”

  “I’m watching their body cam feeds too, they arrived at the elevator and saw six passengers exit to spin,” Luca said after a few minutes. “None of the new arrivals seemed concerned about anything and didn’t react to seeing a pair of security officers.

  “The shuttle has departed per their flight plan.”

  For some reason, Luca had a sudden regret he hadn’t demanded Local Control hold their departure.

  “They are on their way up and the area should be clear now. I have maintenance headed to the bay with a replacement camera. If you’d have your men stay in the area until he replaces it, I’d appreciate that. It’s a five-minute job.”

  “Armed intruders!” the lead security man shouted before John could reply and both of them looked back at their screens. Luca was impressed his boss John didn’t start barking instructions and let the security officers handle it without distraction.

  Two figures in odd uniforms were standing in the dock area, backs to the approaching security team. They were holding onto the grab rail for newbies and one had his head forward like he was sick. Luca hoped he didn’t throw up. That happened now and then and was a mess to clean up. The other man was leaning towards him and seemed to be talking to him too low to hear. Something was very strange about it. They had on leather Earth style shoes too, something nobody wore off Earth. One had a weird hat on with a shade in front.

  What was more important was they both had on Sam Brown belts with a holstered pistol in a ridiculous old-fashioned leather holster with a full flap over it. Old or new, it didn’t matter. The point was they were in a security zone where only limited personnel were allowed weapons.

  “Toes under the rail and spread ‘em!” the lead security man yelled. “Lace your fingers behind your neck!”

  One man looked over his shoulder, mouth open in an ‘O’ of surprise, but froze. The other started to turn instead of positioning himself as instructed. Both security men took them down with Air-Tasers. Once both had wrists and ankles cuffed, their vital signs were checked and neither seemed in any danger. Everything they did was according to protocols, so neither of the men viewing remotely interrupted, waiting for their report.

  “Sir, this is strange,” Olsen the lead security said. “I’ve never seen uniforms like this. They have rank markings, but these are odd fabrics and Earth style pockets with no closure. I think these belts are real leather. The holsters have an embossed big US in capitals. Let me show you.”

  He turned the unconscious man so the holster was in his camera view.

  “Olson, would you very carefully show me what sort of weapon your fellow has in there?” John requested.

  The pistol was blued dark and showed some holster wear. Of the embossed markings, the oddest was it was declared United States Property on the frame.

  “Are you familiar with that sufficiently to render it safe and unloaded?” John asked.

  “Yes, sir. I’ve shot similar. The hammer is not back so it probably doesn’t have a round chambered, but I’ll make sure.”

  “Do so to both, carefully,” John emphasized.

  They watched Olsen extract the magazines, put them pocket and work the slide of both weapons turning them so his camera could show the chambers empty. For good measure, he looped handcuff straps through the ports with the slides locked back.

  “I’m putting their DNA scan in the system to be searched before I go through their pockets,” Olsen said. He touched his security issue pad to their hands and got a green light that it had a reading both times. Sometimes you got a match within seconds, but nothing came up right away.

  Their pockets yielded leather wallets but the bills were unfamiliar size and color with no plastic finish. There were Military ID cards, a sheet of vaccination certificates and in one an old photograph of a woman with a strange hairstyle. Neither man had any credit cards or photo ID. Both had metal embossed tags on a neck chain that matched their paper ID. One man had a plastic hair comb and a paper package of tobacco cigarettes with a red circle on the front that said ‘Lucky Strike’. Both had unfamiliar coins in their pocket and one had a tiny metal tool with a hinged blade on it. The other had a pocketknife with several blades none of which locked open.

  “Bag it all and bring it along,” John ordered.

  One of them was aware now, his eyes active and alert, but holding very still and not saying anything. The other seemed to have trouble recovering.

  Olsen looked at his pad. It announced there was no match in the system.

  “Would you send their null scan to the Europeans?” Olson requested.

  “I already did,” John said. “I’ve also sent it to the Chinese, even if that seems unlikely, but of course their response is voluntary. I’ll send face photos and we’ll get prints, but I don’t really have much hope we’ll match those if the DNA doesn’t match.”

  “A private word,” the Chinese observer said. He waited until he saw John stop the recording, then said, “I am told unofficially there is no match in our system.”

  “I know those uniforms,” the German said. “My father used to do reenactments of the First Atomic War. He wore our own uniform of the era, but I saw the American version. These are either authentic or very similar, but not what they would wear in combat. They rank marks are of officers, but I could not tell you what they mean.”

  “This is a hoax, and I don’t find it funny,” John said.

  Nobody said anything, but the Chinese officer smiled.

  “I don’t believe in time travel,” he added angrily, which just made the Chinese fellow more amused but visibly shocked the German.

  “There have to be extensive veteran records,” Luca said over his link.

  “Yes, bring me the papers and I’ll start that search. Who boarded the shuttle today?” he demanded. “What does the manifest show? Ask traffic control.”

  In a few seconds, he had an answer back. “It dropped six off but had no pickup.”

  “They deadheaded back to the Moon empty? I don’t believe it. They would layover before they would lose money on an empty flight.”

  “They show a flight plan for direct to their maintenance yard at Home. Their web site shows the flight here for sale, but no return flight offered and no explanation.”

  John looked furious but said nothing more in front of the observers.

  Olsen was putting their belongings in evidence bags. “Sir, I thought you might like to know, all the documents and the money are dated in the nineteen forties or earlier.”

  “Thank you, Olsen. We’ll photograph it all and send it down home to be examined.”

  He thought about it a moment. “Put them on a close suicide watch in confinement and treat them as military, not civilian prisoners, until we know otherwise. The uniforms give me sufficient reason to do that no matter how dated. I intend to send them to Earth as soon as possible and do not intend to interrogate them locally at all.” He nodded, not for Olsen, but for himself, satisfied he’d done the right thing.

  * * *

  Pamela was glad Kirk was back from town. The hive started acting strangely jus
t as he sent her a text that he was almost back. She had to decide what, if anything, to do about it. That was her’s to decide, but it felt good to have somebody to talk to about it. Kirk didn’t volunteer any suggestions, but he was calm and reminded her she had other hives on ice. Besides being her rubber ducky to discuss the problem out loud, Kirk had the same attentive expression her father had when listening. He didn’t make you feel he was poised waiting for a chance to interrupt you.

  The bees were clustering around the entry and oddly favoring one side. They couldn’t possibly be getting ready to swarm. She had several tiny cameras inside and they had no need to swarm. In fact, they didn’t have the resources to swarm and there wasn’t that sort of activity around the queen. Nothing she’d read or the beekeepers she’d talked to had described what she was seeing. Of course, she didn’t have time to learn everything that could happen and how to deal with it. For the first time, she wished she’d had enough time to at least spend a full season keeping bees on Earth.

  “It’s late in the day. If they just don’t do anything too weird, such as start pouring back out, they’ll all be back and done for the day soon, and I’ll seal them up. Maybe whatever is bothering them will be gone tomorrow.”

  Kirk was leaning on the edge of the desk, looking at the screens with data and camera views of the hive. He suddenly leaned forward and then staggered back upright and took a couple of steps away then back. He clamped his hands on the edge of the desk.

  There was a THUMP – THUMP – THUMP. Pamela had no idea what was happening. The thought flashed through her mind somebody was breaking in.

  “Whoa… nobody told me they have earthquakes here!” Kirk said.

  “I don’t think they’re common, but that must be why most everything is bolted to the walls and floor,” Pamela suddenly realized, glad she hadn’t just burst just forth with her first thought. It sounded silly now.

  Another shock hit but Kirk was expecting it and holding onto the desk. Pamela was in an office chair, but she liked to lock the wheels so she could prop her feet up. She still grabbed the desk with her left hand and threw an arm around Kirk’s waist to keep him in place. He shifted an arm from gripping the desk to around her shoulders.