Year of the Child

by R L Dean

  He was met at the building entrance by a mousy, young woman carrying an oversized handcomm against her chest.

  "Good afternoon, sir," she said, waving him inside. "Miss Strindberg said to bring you right up."

  Tetsuya traded messages with Strindberg over a week ago, while the courier was in route from Butte, and verified that the Sadie did in fact show up for work. He followed the assistant through the lobby and to the elevators.

  On the second floor she led him past an office with clear plexi walls frosted with the Apex Mining logo. Inside it was reminiscent of Butte Control's Command Center. Traffic controllers sat at banks of screens with headsets on. The giant screen at the head of the room showed the Landing Zone and the terminal's exterior wall.

  Vanguard? Ahead of them in the hall two men were walking— patrolling. They were wearing suits but the jackets were replaced with flak vests that read VANGUARD SECURITY on the back in white letters. Stun batons and sleek pistols were on their hips. Tetsuya recognized the name from newsfeeds, always in association with Apex Mining.

  "Right here, sir," the assistance said, stopping at a door and opening it. She stepped aside and he entered the conference room. "Miss Strindberg will be with you shortly."

  As she shut the door he caught a glimpse of one of the Vanguard men taking up position across the hall. Interesting, he thought. They were using two different security firms. If manpower had been a concern Orion could have supplied any number of bodies they needed. There were hundreds of them already here. It was a curious observation, but only in passing. It would not affect his goal there.

  Instead of taking a seat in one of the padded chairs at the oval table in the center of the room he stood looking at a painting on the wall— a wash of bright colors with no discernible pattern. It was probably worth more than he made in a year because of the name scribbled in the bottom right corner.

  He waited less than five minutes. When the door opened again Helena Strindberg, Ganymede Base's Operations Coordinator, stepped in ... and again Tetsuya saw the Vanguard man standing against the wall in the hallway.

  Strindberg was an obvious Norwegian, with blond, shoulder length hair and eyes like blue diamonds. Her black jacket and skirt were a contrast to her pale features. The jacket had an Apex logo on one lapel. She was the opposite of Mack Builderback, Butte's Operations Coordinator. Mack was three times Strindberg's mass, wore a dockhand's jumpsuit, and didn't care what regulations said about shaving.

  "Lieutenant Takahashi," Strindberg said, holding out her hand. "Helena Strindberg, it's nice to meet you in person." She waved to the chairs at the table. He shook her hand and they sat.

  "How was your trip?" She went on.

  "Fine," he told her.

  She gave him a quick smile and pulled her handcomm from her jacket pocket. "Well, I have what you requested. Captain Middleton's ship is currently in Jupiter's north polar region. He and his crew have gas mining experience and our mapping team has found a high concentration of argon up there." She tapped her handcomm. "I just sent you the coordinates."

  Tetsuya nodded once and said, "Thank you. I did have another request."

  Strindberg's eyebrows arched for a second and she smiled. "Of course, how can I help?"

  "I need someone to take me to Middleton's ship," he said. "I would like to hitch a ride with one of your patrols, if it's not too much trouble."

  The woman blinked once, then tilted her head a little and said, "Let me see what I can arrange." She stood. "Can I have my secretary bring you come coffee while you wait?"

  Tetsuya declined the coffee, and when she left the room he turned back to the painting. It still made no sense.

  Strindberg returned in less than three minutes and when she walked through the door she was wearing a thin smile— the kind that said I'm sorry but ...

  "Thank you for waiting," she said, not taking a seat. "I have to ask, lieutenant, do you have a warrant?"

  "A warrant?"

  "Yes. What I mean is ... as a company we would not want to interfere with the lawful duties of a Peace Officer. However, I would not feel comfortable providing transportation to Captain Middleton's location unless you can produce official documentation for your presence here ... if you are in fact here pursuing a case."

  Tetsuya stared at her. His plan wasn't half-thought out, it was half-baked. He hadn't considered Strindberg would refuse his request.

  "And if I said I wasn't here on a case?" He asked.

  Her eyebrows went up for a moment and she replied, "I would say we do not provide transportation to ... tourists."

  "I see," Tetsuya said slowly. "Do you have any suggestions as to how I might get a ride out there?"

  Strindberg shrugged. "There's a bar on the south side of the dome ... the Berlin. A lot of rock-hoppers go there to unwind between jobs. You might find a crew going that way."

  Tetsuya rubbed his chin with his thumb ... thinking. This is what obsession did ... It made you run off without thinking things through.

  "Well," Strindberg said. "If that is all, I really should get back to work."

  Nodding, he stood. "I guess so."

  Strindberg smiled, then opened the door, and walking briskly out she turned down the hall. A Vanguard man stepped forward— he was smiling too— and held out his arm in the opposite direction.

  * * *

  Tetsuya was being followed. A dozen years ago he was followed by a gang of teenage thugs at an arcade mall that wanted to stab him. Since then, he had been followed by others who were eminently more dangerous. The Vanguard security officer tailing him wasn't dangerous— he was just watching Tetsuya— and he was maintaining a polite distance rather than making a real effort to hide his presence. Strindberg was just making it clear that she wanted him to move along.

  The question was, why? And the obvious answer was that she was hiding something.

  That was his first instinct— she didn't want a UN cop to get nosy. Particularly one that was here with no clear purpose. The lack of a warrant had made her think that— she had called him a tourist, in fact. But, he did have a purpose, and he was so close to finding the answers to his questions ... so close to Middleton and Misaki. He could literally feel their presence across the kilometers of space, tucked away inside the metal Sadie.

  Strindberg, and whatever she was hiding, would have to wait.

  The Berlin wasn't a bar, it was the bar, as far as Tetsuya could tell. Ganymede Base wasn't large, in diameter perhaps twice Butte's level one from end to end, and the base's unfinished look showed more on the south side than the tram terminal and admin areas to the north. The framework of a permafab apartment building was still under construction, and a long street of ferrocement sprayed with patches of green aerogel came in from the east end of the dome. Construction crews were crawling all over the place. The Berlin was a small permafab building beside the soon-to-be apartments, a piece of plastic siding with its name scrawled in red paint was propped up next to the front door.

  Tetsuya continued along the sidewalk toward the opposite street, then walked across on plastic cargo pallets laid out beside drying cement. When he made the street he turned and glanced back— his tail was half a block back, standing on the sidewalk watching him. After a moment the man turned and walked back the way they had both come.

  Inside, the Berlin reminded him of any bar on Butte. Small round tables with miners and haulers in coveralls seated at them, drinking. The 'bar' was three metal tables pushed together at the back of the room. There was no music and the crowd seemed more hung-over than drunk. Their voices were low murmurs.

  A burly man with thick arms was pulling plastic bottles of beer from a cooler against the wall. Tetsuya took a seat at the metal bar and said, "Excuse me ..."

  The bartender glanced at him. "Yeah, just a sec."

  He took two handfuls of beers and walked to a table, setting them down then came back to the bar and took another beer out, sitting it in front of Tetsuya.

  He took a sip, then s
aid, "I'm looking for a ride ..."

  34 - Alexandria

  The warehouse dome had been set up hastily, with no thought for comfort. The air was breathable, but frigid. In spite of it, Alexandria kept her helmet off, as did Lieutenant Governor Jung and his team ... and the UNSEC observer. She was a tall, black woman introduced as Sergeant Jenkins, and now she was arguing with Jung, their breath making small clouds.

  "We should not have split the team," Jenkins was saying. The woman's voice was level, but her eyes betrayed her anger ... she expected to be obeyed. Alexandria knew the feeling well.

  The bacteriologist, Desmond, and the other scientist, Armand, had gone to investigate the wreck alongside Kirkendorf's men, while Susan looked around the dome. This had posed a problem for Jenkins because she couldn't observe two locations at once, and now she was becoming vocal about it. Shultz had messaged Alexandria, to say that he was sending Jung, and it made sense with the UNSEC sergeant's presence on the team. Sometimes you needed a bigger bully on the playground to get things done.

  "This is not a military mission, sergeant" Jung stated. "It is a civilian science mission, and you are not in charge. I am." The Honorable Lieutenant Governor was a quiet, composed man, he hadn't raised his voice once during the exchange. Given his position he probably never had to.

  Staring at them Alexandria wished her honorable right-hand man was there.

  A white cloud blew out in front of her face as she sighed in frustration. Jung didn't have time for this, they needed to pick what they wanted and get it loaded onto the shuttle and then moved to their courier and fly away, and she was about to tell him that when the commlink in her ear beeped. Turning from Jung and Jenkins she answered it.

  "Yes?"

  "Misses Reinhardt," Strindberg said. "It's Helena. We might have another issue."

  "I know who it is," she said, suddenly too weary to put the exasperation she was feeling into her voice. "What is it?"

  "Some of the major news networks are demanding to know what was found ..."

  Alexandria snorted. "I don't care. Charles knows how to handle that."

  "Yes ma'am ..." Strindberg hesitated, then, "At least two of them already have crews on the way ... here."

  She blinked. "I still don't care. They cannot land." It didn't really matter, the UN fleet would beat them by weeks, and when they arrived they would lock down the whole moon. No one would be coming or going. Strindberg went quiet on the line and Alexandria simply dropped the connection. After a moment she squeezed her eyes shut and used the tips of two fingers to press one temple. When she opened her eyes again the growing headache was still growing.

  As she turned back to Jung, and the posturing Jenkins, the airlock cycled. It was Efron, his vac-suit was Orion colors and he wore an armored vest over the front. The Orion Security Chief took his helmet off as soon as he stepped out. His dark eyes were on her, he wanted to talk.

  Alexandria walked through a maze of plastic crates and stopped behind a rack of small boxes— odds and ends found in the wreck, silverware from the galley and handheld electronics that wouldn't be made for another two-thousand years ... if she were to believe that this was a time traveling ship and not aliens.

  She folded her arms and turned to wait for Efron. Normally an obsessively polite man, when he came around the rack's corner he launched right in to, "A Marshal Brooks, the UN fleet's commander, is demanding that I quarantine the whole area and confine everyone to the base."

  Efron paused to let his predicament sink in. Then, "I've declined on the grounds that I have no orders from home office, and the Marshal's fleet is still pretty far out. The time lag is working in our favor, for now. But, Orion operates with certain legal obligations to UNSEC. It will be difficult for me to resist her orders when the fleet arrives in near space."

  Alexandria looked down at the dome's floor for a moment, then nodded. It was moving too fast ... all moving too fast. "Thank you, Tōmas. Orion has always done a good job for us. I appreciate the warning."

  He nodded in return, then turned and walked out of the maze of crates and racks. A few moments later, as she stood contemplating what was to come, the airlock hissed again as he left.

  Striding out from behind the racks and boxes she saw Jung standing with Susan, the xenogeologist, looking at the bodies they had brought up from the wreck. She had a tablet scanner pressed up against the plastic that one of the bodies was encased in.

  "This is due to low g," she was saying. "They were probably born in it ... there would have to be several generations of exposure for this kind of morphology."

  Jenkins, her mouth a line and her eyes narrowed, watched Alexandria as she crossed the distance and walked up to Jung.

  "Sir," Alexandria said. When Jung turned she continued quickly, "That UNSEC fleet is on its way. Your people need to stop sight-seeing and speed things up. You need to be gone by the time they arrive."

  Jung didn't bat an eye, he understood and immediately contacted his team members in the wreck.

  "Desmond ..." Jung began.

  Alexandria's commlink beeped again and this time she checked it before answering. It was a message from Blake Avgeropoulos, her mother's attorney. It was marked urgent, but then all messages from him were. He thought that meant she would prioritize whatever nitpick he wanted. She didn't have time for her mother's various legal nonsense, most of it was tax related ... then a message arrived from Adam, also marked urgent. Alexandria stared for a moment, something began to gnaw at her. She stepped away from Jung and listened to Adam's message.

  "Hon, I just got word. Your mother has passed ..."

  She inhaled sharply. Modi might have UNSEC lock down her personal bank account and freeze her assets ... but the inheritance would take time to process. It would in effect be in legal limbo while her mother's death certificate was processed by the local county and the will probated. A slight smile creased her lips. Her money problems might be over.

  35 - JJ

  Jamala hadn't known what to expect when they arrived on Ganymede. When she had wormed her way into this assignment— almost begged because of the useless feeling she had sitting in the office— the Colonel, with a sort of bland look, had stated he wasn't sure what she would find. On the trip Jung hadn't let anything slip, but the scientists were not so careful. In the first days aboard the courier she heard Desmond Freud talking about aliens in the galley, when he saw her he lowered his voice. Then, as the days stretched out, cramped and confined to two spaces, their sleeping quarters or the galley, they stopped lowering their voices and talked openly around her, and it was all about potential extraterrestrial life, advanced technology, a wrecked ship, and halfway through the trip the newsfeeds started ... rumors that Apex was hiding aliens on Ganymede.

  But, what Jamala was looking at now was most definitely not alien. And everything that the Vanguard security weenies brought in looked very familiar ... tools, electronics ... it was all made for human hands.

  In its plastic container the body of a supposedly two-thousand year old man lay. It was wearing a military uniform, torn in places and stained dark. As she stared at it she wanted to go see the ship that it came from, but Jung remained in the dome, and since he was the head of the snake she remained with him.

  The airlock cycled and Freud came through, as he undid his helmet, Hessler, the last member of the science team, cycled out behind him. Jung, the geologist Bascom, and Apex's CEO, Reinhardt were pulling boxes from the racks and stacking them. They all three turned now.

  "I think the writing is a hybrid, Chinese with something else," Freud told them, smiling. "I took Chinese in high-school. Most definitely time travelers."

  Hessler stepped up beside him. "We're picking up power readings." All three heads turned to him, and he nodded. "They're faint. I would guess it's coming from a reactor."

  Bascom's eyes went wide. "There's an active reactor down there?"

  Armand clarified, "It's a guess. The readings are coming from deep down, toward what would
logically be Engineering."

  A reactor, the little voice inside Jamala's head whispered. It seemed ... unreal. Ever since she saw the first few pieces of equipment brought up from the ship her mind had been struggling to process what this was. At first she thought it was a hoax, Apex was conning Shultz and Jung for some reason ... but, then the bodies, and pictures of the inside of the wreck buried underneath the crater floor. It wasn't a hoax.

  Reinhardt frowned and turned to Jung. "You don't have time to investigate."

  Jung nodded, then looked at Freud. "Did you find something of use. Is the shuttle being loaded?"

  "Oh yeah," Freud said. "We found a perfectly preserved armory, stocked wall to wall. We packed it all up."

  Jamala's eyebrows rose and she took a step toward them, her leg pulling a little as she moved too quickly. "Weapons? You can't take weapons."

  Reinhardt, her face not as pretty in person as it was in the newsfeeds, gave her a curious look then said, "Yes, sergeant, they can."

  For a moment all she could do was stare at the woman. Give Mars guns from the future? Was the skinny, little blond woman crazy? No matter what the Colonel thought, Shultz and Jung were in bed with the FMN terrorists. It's the only thing that made sense to Jamala. Access to internal government communications, military training, UNSEC assault armor ... who else could it be?

  "You're putting guns in the hands of Free Mars terrorists," she told Reinhardt, flatly.

  Jung gave her a hard look. "That's a serious accusation, sergeant, and you're overstepping your boundaries as an observer. You are not here to offer your opinions or dictate what we can and cannot do. This is becoming a theme with you, and I will report your behavior to Lieutenant Colonel Compton upon our return."

  A long string of cuss words rotated through Jamala's head. Her orders were to strictly observe, but this was ... dangerous.

  Jung looked back to Freud and Hessler. "Help us take these boxes to the shuttle."

  "And a couple of these bodies," Bascom said. "The University's Department of Medicine will go crazy."