Rookie Privateer

by McFarlane, Jamie

  To pay Nick back for his time, I agreed to drop off some equipment on the way back to my family's habitat. On the ride, I couldn't stop thinking about what Tabby had said the previous night. Was that why I was so upset with my parents and refused to talk about how much I didn’t want to be a miner? What other stupid option was available?

  Monday morning and the week started back on O-92. For the last several months, we had been clearing off a shelf of material that had extremely low yield. It was junk rock we commonly referred to as gravel.

  Work on a Hoffen claim ran for five - ten hour days in a row. We preferred to line up our workweek with the standard Mars/Earth calendar and Saturday mornings were reserved for transporting ore back to the P-1 refinery.

  We rent space at the refinery where we make giant piles of our collected ore. The refinery sorts the piles and refines the materials into intermediate products called ingots. These ingots are sold to M-Cor and that money pays for equipment repairs, salaries for crew, fuel, habitat atmo, claim fees, etc. As it turns out, the list of expenses is very long and everything else is paid before the miner makes any money.

  The mining process is pretty straightforward. First we have to figure out where we want to mine. Knowing where is what separates miners who make money from those who don't. It doesn't do us any good to mine gravel - we want high mineral content and around here the most common mineral is iron.

  Test holes are drilled with high-powered mining lasers that can punch a hole twenty meters through solid iron, vaporizing everything in its path. It takes about fifteen minutes to drill a twenty meter hole. Once the test hole is drilled, a robot called a groundhog is sent down the shaft. On the way down, the groundhog analyzes the minerals it passes in the hole.

  Regardless of the mineral content, the process of removal is the same. Large augers grind and break the surface material and gather it into a container. Most of the work I do on the claim is ferrying these containers around. Estimation algorithms let us know if a load is valuable enough to haul back to P-1 or if it should be dumped. In some cases, we run it through a pre-sift machine to separate minerals from gravel. It's a lengthy process and we tend to reserve that for when we just can't get anything useful from the claim.

  Last week we had gathered two good containers with a decent iron yield, but this week we had high hopes for a small pocket promising copper and maybe even some platinum. It only takes four or five containers of copper to pay the bills for an operation like ours for a year and a single container of high yield platinum would set a miner for life.

  Our finances were tight enough that Big Pete had released all of our help. It was just the two of us out here, but the fact was, we were good at it. We had worked together for so long that we rarely had to speak, even though we were maneuvering hundred tonne machines within several meters of each other. We had a comfortable rhythm.

  One of our superstitions was that we didn't check the yields on our keeper containers until the end of the week. If the AI indicated a junk container, I ran it out to the giant junk pile at the end of the day. If it was a keeper, we stacked it up for transport back to the P-1 refinery.

  By midweek we started to share a level of excitement. The stack of containers to ship was already at five and the AI recommended a pre-sift on a sixth. At the end of the week, we finished with nine complete containers and a tenth we had pre-sifted from three others.

  "I had a good feeling about this spot." Big Pete broke the silence, causing me to jump. He walked up next to me and placed his hand on my shoulder. I looked over at him and saw a large grin on his face.

  "Did you run the numbers yet?" I didn't think he had since it was customary for us to run them with the entire crew. There were few exciting moments on a claim and tallying the week's work was one of them.

  "No, but we haven't pulled ten containers in the last six months. If it is all iron, it will still be worth it."

  Dad was right. With ten containers of iron we could hire a couple more crew and run the rest of the claim more quickly. Moreover, the timing was excellent, with the M-Cor transport showing up in less than two weeks. Payout would come relatively quickly.

  Report yield Hoffen Channel One, Dad instructed his AI.

  I was a little surprised he had chosen Channel One. We used that when we wanted to include Mom in the conversation. I heard a small chirp indicating she had accepted the linkup and was listening in real time. The report was by no means a final tally, but gave a percentage breakdown on what the AI had detected. It could be off significantly, but at this point in the week it would be our best indication of the result of our efforts.

  Iron forty-one point two percent, the AI started out. I heard a gasp from Mom and could see the eyebrows rise on Big Pete's face. The numbers had to add up to 100%, so a low iron number was significant. I had never heard an iron report this low before.

  Copper thirty-four point seven percent.

  In the background I heard Mom whisper, "Oh Pete ..."

  Just as I was shocked to hear the low iron number, such a high copper number was equally shocking. Of the ten containers, that meant roughly three of them had copper. This was the biggest week I had ever seen.

  Silver eight point two percent.

  We all listened in shocked silence.

  Nickel six point eight percent, tungsten six percent and platinum three point one percent.

  My mind spun with numbers. The tungsten and platinum alone were worth a fortune. A portion of it would go to the claim owner, but the lion's share would end up with Big Pete.

  "Be home late tonight. Don't want to leave this sitting until tomorrow. Hoffen out."

  I grinned and shook my head on the way over to my ore sled. Loading and transporting ten containers would take both of us the better part of the next three hours. Though we had been going solid for twelve hours already, I felt energized by the good news.

  It was past 2300 when we got back to the habitat. It felt good to get it all delivered. Tomorrow would be easy. All I had to do was grab the empty containers sometime after 1200. The ore processing would happen automatically and the ingots would then be delivered to our secure storage. Once M-Cor picked them up, the money would be transferred into Big Pete's account.

  PIRATES ATTACK

  I finished at the refinery by midafternoon and headed over to see Nick at the rental shop. The James' shop was at its busiest on the weekend as miners were either dropping off or picking up equipment. Big Pete had asked me to keep our good fortune quiet until M-Cor made the pickup in ten days or so. Technically, we hadn't made any money until the ingots were picked up by the buyer, who was always M-Cor.

  We loaded a couple of laser drills and an auger into the first container on my sled so I could deliver it on Sunday morning. I had arranged with Nick to spend the night at his shop so we could head over to Old Millie's and meet up with Tabby. Tabby only had ten days left so we wanted to spend as much time with her as possible.

  "Hey Liam," Tabby began, a little sheepishly, "I'm sorry about needling you about your dad last week. Still friends?"

  "No worries, Tabs," I returned easily. "You've always got my back. I just wish I knew what I wanted to do differently."

  "Okay, just as long as we are still cool. That's all I want."

  Nick shook his head in feigned disgust. "You guys want to get a room or something?"

  Tabby jumped up, landed on Nick and rubbed her knuckles into the top of his head.

  "Give. I give," Nick giggled, out of breath.

  "So ... Tabs. Any idea what you are going to do at the Academy?" I asked, not knowing what to expect.

  Tabby sat down after letting Nick go. "Well, really, it's just like every other college out there, but I want to be a captain."

  About mid-sentence my suit's warning system started shaking and pulsing red around the neckline and I felt the sleeves around my wrist contract. My AI was responding to a rapid depressurization event I hadn’t yet recognized. Instinctively, I reached back for my hood a
nd pulled it up. Nick and Tabby were doing the same thing. I had just reached to pull on my left glove when everything went to hell.

  Depressurization warning klaxons blared from every surface. The front window of Old Millie's blew straight out through a now non-existent dome. The three of us, and the half dozen or so other inhabitants, were sucked toward open space, tumbling haphazardly with the loose chairs.

  Explosive decompression isn't something that happens over a long period of time, especially in a large area. One second everything is stable, the next couple of seconds are complete chaos, and then it's all done.

  The three of us had taken up a position at the back of the bar next to a wall and we had been sucked toward the window, but not pulled through. My first thought was to make sure Tabby and Nick had their suits sealed. I couldn't immediately locate them since the lights were flashing red in sequence with the klaxons. The sound of the klaxons had diminished almost completely due to the very low atmospheric pressure we were currently experiencing.

  Mute background. Channel Loose Nuts One. Even though we were no longer competing in the pod-ball league at school, we had left the channel configured for the three of us.

  "Tabby, Nick, check in. Are you sealed?" I asked. I located Nick and saw a reassuring green glow around his wrists. All of our suits were of the same general make and for the first few minutes of pressurization they glowed green at the extremities - wrist, ankle and neck - to indicate a safe seal had been established.

  Nick, who was always quick on the draw replied, "Good, Liam. Tabby?"

  "Frak. Yeah, good. I jammed my leg into the frakking table. I think it might be busted." Tabby's voice carried pain. I was finally able to locate her under the table where we had been sitting. All of the tables in Old Millie's were bolted to the floor and made of steel. Nobody picked a fight with a table on a mining colony and won.

  Nick got to her first, but she had already rolled over to a seated position.

  "Do you really think it's busted?" Nick was inspecting her leg.

  Glancing around the room, I could see a few more suited people helping others. A quick look out to the dome and I realized a foam barrier had attempted to deploy, but failed. The Mercantile was completely open to space. The severity of the problem started to sink in, but something in my peripheral vision was wrong and I hadn't yet processed it.

  Locate casualties. A red glow showed on the side of my helmet directing me to turn my head to the left. As I panned left, an outline formed around a shape behind the bar. I processed the image and turned away in horror as I saw part of Millie's broken body pinned to the back wall by a large object. Panicked, I looked around further and identified several other partial bodies that had been ripped apart. I fought to push back the gorge from my stomach. In a suit, it would be hard to live with the smell. The suit would take care of the vomit, but for whatever reason, it was unable to remove the smell. As a kid, I had once thrown up in my suit and had to endure a very long ride back to our habitat.

  I heard Tabby gasp and Nick, who was still looking at her leg said, "Sorry, does that hurt?"

  "No, Nick. Millie got hit," Tabby filled in and started to stand up.

  A terrible thought went through my mind, "Back in a sec." Hoffen Channel One Emergency. A small chirp was followed by some ragged breathing.

  "Dad. Mom. Millie's just took a kinetic hit." I was concerned by the ragged breathing but figured they would want to know about this right away.

  Mom replied immediately. "Liam, are you safe?" Without waiting for me to say anything more she pushed on. "Hole up and stay out of sight. The colony is under attack."

  "What? What do you mean?" I asked, confused.

  Big Pete jumped on, "Pirates, Liam. They are hitting the refinery. Do as your Mom says. Stay out of sight and stay off the comms. Perimeter defense is compromised and they have a group of us pinned down on P-1." Channel One close.

  A lump rose in my throat as everything got real in a hurry. It was one thing to have Millie dead from a rogue asteroid. It was another thing entirely to have it be on purpose. My Dad had used the phrase 'pinned down.' He had been a Marine at one point in his life and had even seen combat. He hadn't sounded scared. He sounded deadly serious. Big Pete had never backed down from anything and now I was terrified he was going to get himself killed.

  I slid over to Tabby and pushed my faceplate up next to hers. I pulled Nick in so that we were all uncomfortably close, "Nick, can you get us comm without it going through Central?"

  His reply sounded a million miles away, "Sure. Easy"

  Line of Sight. Secure. Loose Nuts Channel One. Initiate.

  Nick pulled back and I could see him talking behind his face screen. My AI announced, Secure link initiated; Nicholas James, Tabitha Masters. Local Communication only. Do you authorize?

  Authorized, I replied tersely.

  Nick's previous attempt at communication replayed, "What's going on, Liam?" As with all secure communication there was an odd, tinny sound to his voice.

  "You on, Tabs?" I asked.

  "Yes," she answered.

  "Okay. I talked to Big Pete. Apparently, the colony is under attack. This wasn't a rogue asteroid."

  "What happened to perimeter defense? That should have stopped anything." Nick was already analyzing the issue.

  "He said perimeter defense has been compromised and a bunch of them are pinned down on P-1."

  It was Tabby's turn, "How is that even possible? They would have to have taken over the control tower."

  "Frak, that's right on top of us!" I realized out loud.

  The thought of the large plasma guns shooting at Dad was hard to take. Those could easily vaporize a small ship, much less a man sized target. The perimeter defense guns fired periodically at small runaway rocks that breached a well-defined sphere around P-Zero and in extreme circumstances they could be manned to repel pirate attacks. Colony 40 hadn't seen pirate activity for at least sixty years and even that attack was easily defeated, precisely because of the perimeter defense guns.

  "We gotta do something," Tabby said with determination.

  "Dad said to get out of sight." Even as I said it, I knew I wouldn't be able to live with that.

  "The Liam Hoffen I know never once rolled over. Don't start now, you pissant." Tabby was spitting mad. I recognized that tone of voice, having caused it a few times in my life.

  Nick spoke up. "Look Tabby, this is real. Big Pete has military experience and he knows what to do."

  "No Nick, she's right." I grabbed his shoulder to communicate my resolve. "I can't let my Dad down, even if it kills me."

  "Frakking aye." Tabby grabbed the table and struggled up to a standing position.

  "I thought that was broken." I pointed at her leg.

  "Nope, just hurts like a mother. Had worse in that game against those navy brats."

  I feared for the naval academy when Tabby showed up. The first cadet who slapped her on the ass would end up with a surgical team attempting to extricate that same hand from his own ass. It made me cringe just to imagine the pain she would deliver.

  "What's the plan?" Nick joined in.

  "Okay. The control tower is only a couple hundred meters from where your lift exits on top. We have to get up there and see what's going on. I'm thinking they did a fly-by and dropped the kinetic mass through the dome to keep people in the station. Every airlock is locked down by safety protocol for the next hour or longer. This was a tactical strike." I didn't know anything for sure, but it was the best I could work out.

  I took a moment to think. "Let's find some AGBs. We might be the only ones on the station who can get up to the control tower since the foam didn't completely seal us in." Nick and Tabby didn't have AGBs because they had come from on-station to Millie's. Nick's were twenty meters away in the James’ Rental shop, on the other side of airlocks which weren't opening anytime soon. Tabby's were probably in her apartment, even deeper in the station.

  I looked around at my friends and felt
the responsibility of our actions. We were willingly heading toward danger. I could tell by the rapidity of my speech that adrenaline was surging through my body.

  My boots and gloves had been sitting behind the table and the decompression slid them forward only a small distance. Hard boots and arc-jets immediately made me feel more confident, even though they certainly wouldn't help stop any sort of bullet.

  Just then the gravity on the station turned off. It wasn't quite as devastating as it sounds. The gravity generator has to be serviced and we learn to deal without it for short bursts of time, but it made our external maneuvers considerably more dangerous for Nick and Tabby.

  "Crap." Realization of the problem hit Tabby.

  "One step at a time," I said, as much to Tabby as to myself.

  We linked hands and I used my arc-jets on very low power to nudge us around the debris in Millie's. In horror, I realized some of the debris was body parts. Minutes ago, they belonged to people who were hanging out, just like the three of us. Panic coursed through my body and I started to rethink heading top-side.

  "Hold it together, Hoffen." Tabby must have sensed my hesitation.

  "They're dead, Tabs," I replied quietly.

  "And if we don't do something, your dad could be next," she said.

  "Point Masters," I thought wryly, but she was dead right.

  I nudged my jets again and we wriggled through the blasted out windows of the bar. It was almost a hundred meters straight down to the floor of the Mercantile. If the gravity generator kicked in, we would have precious little time to find safety.

  Looking up to the ruined dome, I could see safety foam had nearly sealed the entire opening, but had failed at a couple of locations. Undeployed canisters were evident in the opening. I wasn't surprised, considering the opening was almost two hundred meters in diameter and the foam was a difficult system to test. A maintenance crew would need to patch up the gaps before atmosphere could be restored.