Besides, it’s not like Lem had hurt anyone intentionally. He hadn’t even known the men were out there. The free miners had been working on the far side of El Cavador, obscured from Lem’s view, when the attack—no, maneuver—began. And by the time the ship did detect them, the Makarhu was already moving and the laser-firing sequence was already initiated. Lem couldn’t stop it. Not easily anyway. It was only dumb luck that the first target was the PK near where the three miners were standing.
And if you looked at the facts that way, if you chopped up the blame into portions, then part of the blame went to the free miner, part went to the computer, part went to dumb luck, and only a small part went to Lem. And even that portion shouldn’t be entirely Lem’s. It had been a group effort, after all. The crew was following Lem’s orders, true, but they could have objected, they could have said no.
Someone had, Lem reminded himself. Benyawe. She had filed a formal objection. Had he erased that as well? He must have.
He left the archives room and made his way to the mining bay to give credence to the lie he had told. Lem didn’t expect Podolski to investigate the matter—Podolski had no reason to disbelieve him. But what if Podolski mentioned in casual conversation to someone that Lem had been in the mining bay? No, it was best to play it safe.
The mining bay was a large garage where all the digging and mineral-extraction equipment was housed. Normally a ship this size would employ forty to fifty miners, with twenty to twenty-five WDs—or wearable dozers, the large exoskeleton diggers that most corporate miners wore for cleaning out mineshafts and pulling up lumps. Since this was a research vessel at the moment, the mining crew consisted of only ten men, whose only duties for the trip were to collect rock fragments from the field tests for analysis. The miners had intended to use the scoopers for this, which were long-armed diggers that could extend out from the ship and grab rocks in space. But since the engineers had only conducted a single field test and had not even bothered to collect the rock fragments from said test, the miners were insane with boredom. Lem had alleviated that a week ago when he had gone to them and told them of his intent to pull in as many minerals from the asteroid as the ship could hold. It would require modifications to the equipment, but the men were so hungry for an assignment that they had readily accepted the challenge. Lem could say his visit tonight was to check up on their progress.
To Lem’s relief, five of the miners were working in the bay when he arrived, including their crew chief, who was anchored to one of the scoopers, welding on large metal plates.
“This is a surprise, Mr. Jukes,” said the crew chief, lifting his welding visor and turning off his equipment. “Early for you, isn’t it, sir?”
“Couldn’t sleep. How goes the equipment for the mineral extraction?”
The crew chief smiled and gave the scooper an affectionate slap with his palm. “We’re making good time. We’ve got two scoopers prepped. Two more will be ready by the time we fire the glaser.”
Lem had decided to wait a full week after arriving at the asteroid to fire the glaser. He wanted to give El Cavador enough time to get far enough away that they wouldn’t be able to see the field test take place. Lem could blow up a pebble and not arouse any curiosity, but if anyone saw him annihilate an asteroid this big, they’d know Juke had developed a revolutionary technology—a fact Father would rather keep secret.
“We’ve turned the scoopers into giant magnets, sir,” explained the crew chief. “If what the engineers tell us is true, that glaser will blow the rock to dust. So to separate the detritus from the minerals, all we’ve got to do is wave a magnet through the dust cloud and let the magnet attract the metal fragments. Then we bring the scooper load into the smelter, switch off the magnets, dump the metal, then go back out and do it again. Pretty soon you’ll have metal cylinders all stacked up neat as you please, sir.”
“How long will it take to bring in the metal?”
The crew chief shrugged. “Depends on the size of the dust cloud and the amount of metal we find. Could be as quick as a week. Could be as long as eight. That’s really your decision, sir, we’ll keep making cylinders for as long as you want.”
Lem thanked the man then went back to his room and zipped himself up in his hammock. He had two hours before sleep-shift ended, though he knew he wouldn’t fall asleep; the image of the free miner’s bent neck was too fresh in his mind. He might have erased the files and covered his tracks, but he couldn’t erase the memory of it. Lem lay there in silence. He knew he was deluding himself to think that anyone else bore the responsibility of what had happened. It was his crime, his doing. And no sneaking around in the dark could ever delete that fact.
* * *
A week after the bump, Lem was up in the observation room with Benyawe and Dublin, ready to fire the glaser. Lem was looking out the window at the asteroid, now a considerable distance from the ship.
“You’re sure we’re far enough away?” asked Lem.
“No question, Mr. Jukes,” said Dublin. “We’ve been working on the math all week. I went over it myself. The gravity field won’t reach us this far out. We’re already several kilometers farther out than we need to be. I’ve taken every precaution.”
Lem nodded, though he couldn’t help but feel a bit uneasy. When the glaser hit the asteroid, it would create a field of centrifugal gravity inside of which gravity would cease to hold mass together. And the larger the object hit, the larger the field of gravity.
“We can’t be too far away in my opinion,” said Lem. “Can we still hit the asteroid with accuracy if we back up, say, another five kilometers?”
“We should be able to,” said Dublin. “But it’s overkill.”
“I would rather commit overkill than be killed,” said Lem. He touched his holopad, and a holo of Chubs’s head appeared. “Back us up five more kilometers, Chubs.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And give me the latest on our area scans. I want to be certain there aren’t any ships close enough to see what we’re about to do here.”
“Rest easy, Lem,” said Chubs. “We’re all by our lonesome. El Cavador was closest, but they’re long gone now. We’re not even picking them up on our scans anymore.”
“Good,” said Lem. “Then let’s get started. Send out the sensors.”
“Sensors away,” said Chubs.
Lem watched out the window as the sensors flew away from the ship in a burst of propulsion, heading toward the asteroid, a long anchor line unspooling behind each one. The sensors, once in position, would record every aspect of the explosion for later analysis.
“Sensors are in place,” said Chubs.
“Fire the glaser,” said Lem.
“Yes, sir.”
Lem clicked off his holopad and waited in silence with Benyawe and Dublin. After a moment it began. The asteroid exploded outward into large chunks, which quickly exploded again into smaller chunks, racing outward in a growing sphere of destruction. The large fragments continued to burst again and again, getting smaller and smaller, the cloud getting thicker, wider, more massive, moving outward with incredible speed. Now four times bigger than the original size of the asteroid. Five times. Six.
“Hmm,” said Dublin.
Eight times.
Benyawe looked confused. “I think perhaps it would be wise to…”
“Jettison the sensors!” Lem yelled into his headset. “Fire retros. Maximum power. Back us up now!”
The sensors were cut away. The ship backed up suddenly. Lem, Dublin, and Benyawe were thrown forward into the observation glass. The sphere kept growing. Lem pushed himself up from the glass and watched as the sphere engulfed the sensors he had jettisoned, which instantly exploded into smaller and smaller pieces. But the cloud didn’t stop there. It grew more, now a massive ball of dust and particles and gravel. It reached the spot where the ship had been positioned, then grew farther still, expanding outward, the dust getting thinner now.
Then finally it stopped. The particles w
ithin the field were small enough and far apart enough that the gravity field was too weak to sustain itself and dissipated into nothing. All was quiet. Lem stared out the window, eyes wide, heart racing. Had he not given the order instantly, if he had waited for dithering Dublin to make a decision, the field would have reached the ship and they all would have been torn to pieces.
He whirled around to Dublin, furious. “I thought you said we were in the clear.”
“I … I thought we were,” said Dublin. “Several of us did the math.”
“Well your math is kusi! You almost killed us all!”
“I know. I’m … I’m sorry. I’m not sure how we could’ve gotten that wrong.”
“Benyawe told me we couldn’t predict the gravity field,” said Lem. “I see now I should have listened to her instead of you. You are excused, Dr. Dublin.”
Dublin looked helpless, his face red with embarrassment. Lem watched the man leave then turned to Benyawe. “Is it over? Are we clear?”
She was tapping at her holopad. “It appears to be. Our sensors aren’t as good as those we jettisoned, but it seems as if the field is gone. I’d want to do more analysis before giving a definitive answer, though.” She looked at Lem, her voice shaky. “If you hadn’t reacted so quickly—”
Lem spoke into his headset. “Stop the retros. Bring us to a full stop.”
The ship slowed. Lem pushed himself away from the glass and looked out at the massive cloud of dust that was once an asteroid.
“You can’t blame Dublin for this,” said Benyawe. “Not completely.”
“Oh?”
“If we had done more tests on pebbles as this mission was designed to do, Dublin would have had more data and been more accurate in his calculations.”
“So this is my fault?”
“You went against his counsel and mine and tackled an asteroid a hundred times larger than we were prepared for. It strikes me as hypocritical to point the finger solely at him.”
Lem smiled. “I see now why you’ve lasted so long with my father, Dr. Benyawe. You’re not afraid to speak your mind. My father respects that.”
“No, Lem. I have lasted so long with your father because I am always right.”
* * *
Lem slept badly the next few days. In his dreams, the gravity field chewed up everything around him: the furniture, his terminal, his bed, his legs, the man with the broken neck; all of it exploding into rock fragments again and again until only dust remained. Lem took pills to help him sleep, but they couldn’t keep him from dreaming. He had ordered the engineers to analyze the dust cloud to ensure that the gravity field had indeed dissipated—he didn’t want to move into the cloud and begin collecting minerals until he was sure the field was gone and the area safe. On the morning of the fifth day, alone in his room, he got his answer.
“The field is gone,” said Benyawe. Her head was floating in the holospace above Lem’s terminal. “We built a sensor from old parts and sent it into the cloud. It didn’t explode or experience any change in gravity whatsoever. We can begin collecting metal dust whenever you’re ready.”
“I want to see the data from the sensor,” said Lem.
“I didn’t know you could decipher this type of data.”
“I can’t. But seeing it will make me feel better.”
Benyawe shrugged and disappeared. A moment later columns of data appeared on Lem’s holodisplay. The numbers meant nothing to him, but he was pleased to see so many of them. Lots of data meant conclusive results. Lem relaxed a little, wiped the data away, and entered a command. The mining crew chief appeared in the holodisplay.
“Morning, Mr. Jukes.”
“We’ve been given the all-clear,” said Lem. “We’ll be moving into the dust cloud within the hour.”
“Excellent. The scoopers are ready. Once we bring in the dust, we’ll start making the cylinders.”
Lem ended the call and hovered there beside his terminal, at ease for the first time in weeks. He had taken a risk, yes, but now, finally, it was going to pay off. He put his hands behind his head and wondered what type of metal they would find. Iron? Cobalt? Curious, he returned to his terminal and pulled up the going rates for minerals. The prices were at least a month old, but barring some dramatic shift in the market, the rates should be fairly close to accurate. He was about to rotate one of the graphs and more closely study the data when the charts suddenly disappeared.
An old woman’s head took their place in the holospace.
“Mr. Jukes,” the woman said. “I am Concepción Querales, captain of El Cavador, which you attacked in an unprovoked assault.”
Lem froze. Was this a joke? How was he getting an unprompted message to his personal terminal? Had El Cavador sent them a laserline? Who had authorized this?
“I have programmed this message to play for you long after we’re gone,” Concepción said. “I would have preferred to speak to you directly, but your irrational and barbaric behavior suggests that you are not a man with whom I can have any semblance of a normal conversation.”
Lem tapped at his keyboard to make the message stop, but the terminal didn’t respond.
“You cannot attack us now,” said Concepción. “Nor can you track us. By now we are far beyond your reach. I have taken this risk and left you this message because I wanted you to know that you killed a man.”
Lem stopped tapping at the keyboard and stared.
“I doubt you’ll care,” said Concepción. “I doubt you’ll lose any sleep over this fact. But one of our best men, my nephew, is dead. He was a decent man with children and a loving wife. You, because of your arrogance and obvious disregard for human life, have taken all that away from him.” Her voice was quavering, yet there was steel behind it. “I doubt you are a man of faith, Mr. Jukes. Or if you are, you must pray to gods so cruel of heart that I am glad I do not know them. In my faith, I am taught to forgive those who offend me seven times seventy. I fear that you have damned yourself and me as well, Mr. Jukes, because I don’t see myself forgiving you in this life or the next.”
The holo blinked out, and the mineral pricing charts returned. Lem tapped at his keyboard and saw that he had control again. His mind was racing. They had planted a file in the ship’s system. They had penetrated their firewall and planted a file. How the hell had they done that?
He found his headset and called Podolski to his room immediately. The archivist arrived a few minutes later looking wary. Lem had put his greaves on and was pacing the room.
“They accessed us,” Lem said. “El Cavador accessed our system. You want to tell me how that happened?”
Podolski looked confused. “Accessed us? I don’t think so, sir.”
“I just watched a holo on my display from the captain of their ship. Now, unless I am completely losing my mind, which I know I am not, they accessed our system.”
“You say you watched a holo, sir?”
“Are you deaf? They planted a damn holo on my personal terminal. Now if this is someone’s idea of a joke, I want to know who that someone is, and I want him jettisoned from this ship. You understand?”
Podolski seemed uneasy. “I assure you, Mr. Jukes. No one on this ship can access your personal terminal except for you and me, and I would never play a joke like that, sir.”
Lem believed him. It wasn’t a joke. It couldn’t be a joke. Very few people even knew that someone had been injured in the bump.
“I thought our firewall was impenetrable,” said Lem.
“It is, sir. Best design in the company. We’re carrying proprietary tech on this vessel, sir. Every layer of security was employed. Nobody can get in here.”
“Well they did. And I want to know how.”
Podolski moved to Lem’s holodisplay. “May I see this file, sir?”
“It played automatically. I don’t know where it is.”
Podolski tapped at Lem’s display. Lem felt a momentary panic. He didn’t want Podolski seeing the file. He didn’t want anyone seeing t
he file. It was incriminating.
“I see where there was something,” said Podolski, “but it had a track-backer program on it, which means it self-erased after playing.”
“You see? They accessed our system.”
Podolski squinted at the display and moved very quickly after that, windows opened and closed in quick succession. He entered passwords, accessed screens and icons that Lem had never seen before. He scrolled through long lists of what appeared to be random numbers and code. He worked for several minutes in silence, his eyes racing up and down through the holospace. Lem tried to keep up but couldn’t.
Lem’s first thought was for the gravity laser. Had the free miners seen it? Had they accessed its schematics? Were they after those files? If so, if they had seen them, if the secrecy of the glaser had been compromised, Lem would be ruined. His father and the Board would never forgive him. It would be devastating to the company. And what about the videos of the bump? The files he had erased. Had El Cavador seen those?
Podolski stopped typing suddenly and stared at the dozens of different windows and lines of code in the holospace. “Oh,” he said.
“What?” said Lem. “What does ‘oh’ mean? What are you oh-ing about?”
“The system does a backup every forty-five minutes, sir. It’s procedural. But it looks as if the system did an unscheduled backup recently.”
“What does that mean? ‘An unscheduled backup.’ What are you saying?”
“I can’t be certain, sir,” said Podolski, turning to Lem, “but I think it means some of our files were copied to a foreign target.”
“Foreign target? What? Like a snifferstick? When? When did this happen exactly?”
Podolski tapped the keys again to find the answer. “Exactly twenty-three minutes after we bumped El Cavador, sir.”
CHAPTER 9
Scout
Earth Unaware (First Formic War) Page 16
