by Gem Jackson
Leon looked round the cockpit frantically for another escape. There was nothing. Time up. He stepped out and immediately cocked his head at what he saw.
There, in the middle of the main corridor of the Jackdaw’s Straw, stood Murray, surrounded by pirates, arms behind his back, his mouth wrapped round a large, uncomfortable looking, red ball-gag.
There were three in total, two men and one woman. All were armed. The taller of the men spoke.
“Thank you number two,” he nodded towards the woman, “and thank you kindly, young sir. Your expeditious co-operation is greatly appreciated in this delicate matter of astral property ownership realignment. Allow me to introduce myself; my name is Ardbeg. What should we call you?”
He was a big man. He towered over Murray, who himself was easily six feet tall. Ardbeg’s impressive height was matched with a broad, muscular chest, long, tattooed arms and a narrow waist. A cascade of thick, blonde hair fell to his shoulders.
“Leon,” he said, “I’m Leon Wood.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” said Ardbeg, “I hope you’ll forgive us for our somewhat uncouth treatment of your comrade-in-arms here,” he gestured towards Murray, standing mutely between them, “but he has initially presented himself in rather unpropitious terms, engaging in a karmically unskilful path of violent action towards myself and my crew. The pacifist in me wants nothing more than to placate all beings exhibiting outwardly destructive behaviour towards their fellow souls, but this, I’m afraid, has to be balanced against a necessarily pragmatic disposition given to me by experience. Self-preservation requires me to acknowledge the validity of responses rooted in circumstantial realpolitik such that were you to try to unbalance this already precarious situation, I would have no option but to adopt a diplomatically emphatic position towards resolving conflict in a terminally unambiguous manner.”
Leon stared, open-mouthed and uncomprehending. “I’m… I’m not sure I understand.” he said.
She rolled her eyes. While Ardbeg held an old-school six chamber revolver, she carried an assault rifle. She raised it pointedly towards Leon. “You want a translation? Your friend has already been a limp dick once. Try anything similar and you’ll both be killed. Without hesitation. Is that clear enough?”
“Clear,” said Leon, “crystal clear.”
PART TWO
CERES
Chapter 11 – September
Diplomat McVeigh spoke a lot about Ceres as they approached on board the Aggressive. They took position on the small observation deck, herself, Tariq and McVeigh. For a man who said he didn’t like the place, he knew a lot about it.
Ceres itself was nothing more than a rock hanging in space. Even Tem knew that much. Decades ago the Indian government had colonised it. They pushed forward to get there, faster than the Americans, faster than the Chinese or Russians, with an eye to securing a foothold in the asteroid belt. It worked. Ceres was both the biggest material object and the largest population centre between Mars and Jupiter.
Strictly speaking, there were two settlements on Ceres. First there was Ceres city, bored deep into the surface of the icy rock as a warren of tunnels and hollows beneath the surface. The city had grown over the decades to accommodate millions of souls feeding off the economic boom ignited by the exploration and exploitation of vast mineral resources in the belt. The growth had been ad hoc and industrially led for the most part, lacking direction or oversight, and so what emerged was a chaotic, labyrinthine collection of interlinked communities. Over time, a uniquely Cerelean identity formed and eventually Ceres became an independent political entity, a force of its own in the Solar System. That was how McVeigh put it, anyway.
The second Cerelean settlement was the space station they were approaching—Ceres Junction. It was awe-inspiring. It’s true that in reality it was just another docking port, like Lancaster used to be and countless others still were around the system. But it didn’t feel like it. It was big. Much bigger than Tem was been prepared for. And busier, so much busier, than Lancaster. Tem knew statistics. She understood figures and graphs and data, but seeing a place like this up close? To really experience it was something else. How could it be this busy? How could it be like this all the time?
As they stared through the bulkhead porthole, McVeigh talked and talked, almost as if he were reminding himself of the place. He explained that the low escape velocity of Ceres meant the economic costs of moving from the surface to the station were much lower than that of Earth, Mars or even the Lunar settlements.
“Cost per kilogram, that’s the key,” McVeigh lectured. “The Cereleans understand that, and they press their advantage. If you’re out in the deep ink, you need food, water, fuel and countless other consumables. One of the biggest costs for any manufacturer selling to people in the belt and beyond is getting their product off the surface of their manufacturing base. The Cereleans can out-compete anyone at this game. It’s small enough to have an escape velocity of little over a thousand miles an hour, yet has an icy crust big enough for an almost inexhaustible supply of water and hydrogen. Add in the sheer amount of stable, cubic space carved out below the surface out and there’s just no way anyone else can match them for costs and output. If you want to understand belt economics, understand Ceres.”
Tariq pressed his face against the plexiglass porthole. Like Tem, he’d been off-world a few times, but he’d never been this far out. He was like a kid in a museum who finally got to the main exhibit. He chatted with McVeigh about how Ceres Junction was a classic Bernal sphere. That was a stupid name. It wasn’t a sphere. It was a cylinder, although one that was at least three, maybe four miles in length. Gazing at Junction’s slow rotating bulk, Tem felt small and far away from home.
As Tariq and McVeigh enthused about the technicalities, it was the light, or the lack of light, that hypnotised Tem. At this distance from the Sun, Ceres and Junction were enveloped in a perpetual night time. Yet across the expanse of the station winked a sea of flashing, blinking lights. Oranges, reds, greens, whites and blues, some lit up incessantly, streaking across the inky sky at the extremities of the small shuttles, or lighters as they were known on Ceres, going about their business. Others glimmered only occasionally, yawning into life confidently, identifying airlocks and edges as they had done hour after hour, day after day, year after year.
The far end of the station, the one closest to Ceres itself and where the Aggressive eventually came in to dock, was the main starport. It didn’t rotate with the rest of the structure but instead was fixed in place, capping the cylinder with an enormous, ugly cubic lattice. Hundreds of docking booms reached out like cranes, giving the impression of constant construction. It was from here that dozens of lighters flitted from the station to the Cerelean surface and back each hour, busying themselves in the tangle of metal like fish in a coral reef.
“I’ll leave you to it,” she said to the boys. “I’m going to confirm our meeting with the Station Commander.”
“You’re still coming for the meal tonight? Down on the surface?” asked McVeigh. “If we have to stop here, there’s no way in hell we’re eating on the station. We’re not animals.”
“Of course we are,” said Tariq. “I’ll make sure we’re there, don’t worry.”
She rolled her eyes. He was treating it like a holiday. That was a mistake. Ceres wasn’t APSA. They had no authority here. This wasn’t going to be easy.
The conversation with the Station Commander wasn’t going well. Why did conversations with station commanders never go well? Tariq was doing most of the talking, but he wasn’t getting very far. They had arranged to meet the Station Commander, a man named Patel, as soon as they had docked to try to get the data on the Enigma’s pass a few weeks back. Of course, the diplomat had insisted on a one-to-one first. McVeigh had a quality about him that put Tem in mind of an airlock and a hard kick. Especially since Tariq had let her in on the boarding story. He was happy for fingerprints, but not a DNA sample? That would need chasing up with Board
, the intelligence officer on the Aggressive.
She rubbed her knuckles as the conversation flowed around her. Patel was big. Tall, broad and muscular, he came across as a man completely at ease with himself. He was handsome for his age, bald with a little stubble around a square jaw. In another circumstance she would be talking him from bar to bed. The conversation had drifted beyond her. She refocused on what was being said.
“So, to be absolutely clear, you have no cast iron way of guaranteeing your credentials?”
“As we’ve said, aside from our formal identification cards, which are chipped—”
"—and can be forged,” interrupted Patel.
“Which, yes, could technically be forged. Apart from those, there is the fact that we’re here at the behest of an APSA ship and the knowledge of senior APSA ministers.” Tariq leaned forward.
“Again, these things give you credibility, but they could also form part of a ruse designed to compromise the security of our station and city.” Patel swatted away Tariq’s interjection before continuing. “If you are who you say you are, and I’m willing to accept that, then you of all people should understand the importance of maintaining official protocols and adhering to established channels when dealing with sensitive data. I’m afraid there’s really nothing I’m willing to do on this point. The situation on Earth means that full communications have yet to be re-established and so until that can be done, I’ll have to consider your present request on hiatus. I’m sure it won’t take longer than a few days. You’re welcome to stay on the station or travel down to Ceres itself.”
“We don’t have a few days, commander.”
“It’s fine,” said Tem, “You can’t do anything for us in respect to the data. I get that. What about seeing a doctor? Or a scientist? Someone who can help us analyse the communication fragment from the Enigma. We’ve exhausted the expertise we have available to us on the ship. Can you help us there?”
“I see no problem with that. Though we are a centre of trade, administration and logistics for the belt. We’re not a hub of scientific endeavour.” Patel chuckled. “I’m afraid you will find the scientific expertise round here somewhat limited, unless you’re interested in metallurgy or astro-geology?”
“So there’s nobody?” asked September.
“I didn’t say that. I just said we were limited. Most of the scientists on the station are employed privately. You would have to approach their employers if you wanted to sub-contract them and I don’t see why they’d be inclined to help you in the time you have available.
“However, we do have one general scientist on the station books who may be able to help you. To be honest, I can’t say she is up to much. The position is a formality. It satisfies the requirements of our off-station insurers. You’re welcome to speak to her.” Patel broke off for a moment and asked a secretary to have the details ready for them as they left. “She lives on Ceres itself, rather than the station. She has a lab there too. If she isn’t there, you’ll have to find her apartment. As I say, I can’t vouch for Dr Ramachandran’s helpfulness, or her focus, frankly, but at this short notice, it’s your best shot.”
“Thank you Commander Patel, we appreciate it,” said Tariq.
“Now, agents. I’m sure you appreciate that I have other matters to attend to and I expect that you are the same. I wish you the very best.”
“Okay,” said Tem. “We’ll see ourselves out.”
Patel returned to his work at the desk terminal and in an instant it was is if they were ghosts.
“Just wait a moment,” said Tariq. His voice had an edge. He wasn’t happy. “There’s something odd about this. You haven’t asked us a thing about the Lancaster, the Kessler syndrome, or any suspects we might have. That strikes me as odd, Commander.”
Patel looked up. Was that an eye roll?
“I’m sorry if you are labouring under the misapprehension that we on Ceres are as intrigued by the local political events on Earth as you are. But I’m afraid that we are not. I have my own concerns and problems relevant to Ceres and the belt. I’m sure the issue will be resolved one way or another. Now, I’m sorry I cannot be of more help. Once again, I wish you the very best.” Again, Patel returned to his work.
Tem got up and left the room. She heard Tariq collect the scientists details behind her as she made her way to the elevator. Tariq was right; there was something unusual going on. Just keep picking the thread, just keep picking.
“This stinks.” Tariq shook his head. He was grinding his teeth. A bad sign.
“We’ll figure it out.” Tem let her eyes lose focus as the elevator began to sweep past floor after floor.
“Oh, I know. I haven’t travelled halfway across the solar system to let some bald bureaucrat fuck things up now that I’m here.” More teeth grinding.
“Now who’s swearing? What did you expect? He doesn’t owe us anything. We pushed, and he pushed back. We crack on.” As much as Tariq’s pissy moods could grate, it wasn’t good to see him like this. He was supposed to be the sensible one after all. “Let’s just get down to the main city shall we? The air is stuffy as fuck up here, anyway.”
“You think it’s gonna be any better down there?”
“No, I was just being figurative.”
“Figurative?”
“Yeah,” said Tem reproachfully, “I was, y’know, just saying things.”
“Just saying things?”
“Jesus Christ, Tariq, I’m trying to be nice here.”
“You know that’s quite an offensive thing to say to me?”
“Fuck off.” This got a smile. They both laughed.
“In all seriousness,” said Tariq, “I can’t wait to get down there. I mean, this place is on the edge. This is Wild West territory.”
“It’ll still have a McDonald’s.”
“You have to ruin everything don’t you?”
“Yes.”
She would never tell Tariq, but she was feeling the same thrill of excitement at the prospect of getting down to surface too. She wasn’t born on Earth, but was the only home she had ever known. Despite her unusual background, she had a fairly ordinary upbringing, moving between international schools as her parents work required. Her own work for APSA took her round the member states and out to Lunar One, but that was it. The agency weren’t especially keen on her disappearing into the Solar System and up until this point, she’d never really wanted to either. Now, with the opportunity in front of her, she felt the pull of the unknown.
They left the elevator and stepped onto the main station concourse. Unlike most stellar structures, which tended to be cramped and closed in with low ceilings and narrow corridors, Ceres Junction was a gaping, bustling space of glass and steel. Tem looked upwards at the criss-cross of walkways spanning the emptiness above her. It would be so easy to become lost. The noise of thousands of voices bounced around flat bare surfaces, filling the concourse with a chattering, bouncing cacophony.
“Do you know where we’re going?” asked Tariq.
“What do you think?”
“I think this might take a while.”
Tariq was wrong. Before long they had joined a flow of people making their way to the various lighter points around the station. It wasn’t long until they reached the correct lighter terminal. The security checks were far less intrusive than she was used to, despite the presence of extremely well armed guards. McVeigh had warned them that security was tight between Junction and the surface, so she had left her gun behind. The disparity between the heavily armed guards and worryingly light-touch check was peculiar. The Cereleans espoused the libertarian dream as much as the Americans did, but even the Americans had fairly tight control over who came and went. This was ridiculous. She could have easily smuggled her gun through as well as half a dozen other items of contraband. It was almost as if they didn’t mind what you brought, just as long as you didn’t make any trouble.
They took their seats on the lighter. It was a familiar layout, very similar
to the shuttles to and from Lunar One, only more tightly packed given the short duration of the trip. The leg room was only just suitable.
“So, when we get down there, what’s the plan?” asked Tariq.
“Find the doc. Ask questions. Turn over some rocks.”
“What’s on your mind? You’re quiet,” said Tariq. Tem ignored him. “Seriously,” he said. “Is it the flight? Are you worried about the lighter, because this is totally routine out here.”
“It’s not that.”
“Then what is it? You haven’t sworn at me in, like, an hour. I’m getting worried.” Tem tried to suppress a smile and failed.
“I don’t know what I’m doing. We’ve been after this guy for so long, but there’s never been this much urgency. You knew when you got assigned to this case that it was a dead end, right?”
“I wouldn’t say dead end…”
“Yes, you would,” Tem laughed at Tariq’s discomfort. “We both know I was mothballed with this case. And that’s fine. I made my peace with that. I know what I am and what it means to the department, it’s fine.” Tem turned from him and looked out of the window. About half a dozen drones were fussing around the fuselage of the lighter. “But for ten years I’ve been chasing at a distance. I’ve never been this close, and honestly, nobody has ever cared. But now it matters. Since Lancaster—”
“Since Lancaster what? You’ve high-tailed your ass halfway across the solar system to get the bastard. You’re on it. We’ve got this.”
“Have we? Do we actually know it was him? No. Do we know he had anything to do with the Enigma? No. Do we know if we’re going to find anything when we get to this junkie scientist? No. We don’t. Maybe McVeigh was right? Even if we are on the right track with Biarritz, maybe stopping at Ceres is exactly what he wanted us to do and now we’re giving him the weeks he needs for the trail to go cold?”
