Piece of Nicias: A Sci-Fi Novel

by Francis J Coyle

  “We need to finish up.” Hammond said.

  Simmons nodded.

  “Split the difference at three ninety?” He asked.

  The shopkeeper agreed and they exchanged contracts and arranged delivery before leaving the store.

  “It is probably nothing but I’d like to return to the ship now.” Hammond said.

  Simmons agreed and they walked in silence. The space station had changed to night mode. The lights were more muted as Hammond and Simmons stepped on the walkway of the inner spoke, leading back to the concourse. Simmons stopped transfixed at the view below him. He could see thousands of stars on the walkway below them and also through the ceiling glass.

  “A hell of a sight to see.” Simmons said.

  They walked on slower now, sharing the sight in silence. The concourse was starting to empty of tourists as they either moved to the hub to enjoy the evening entertainment or returned to their ships to sleep.

  “I need to tell you something.” Hammond said. “I have been given very vague instructions from my superiors. I will be contacted by an agent of our government, I assume very shortly, who will give me some instructions that I must carry out to the letter. I suspect that the instructions will involve you. Possibly arresting you.”

  They had come within sight of the ship. Simmons stopped.

  “Do you know who the agent is?” Simmons asked.

  “I do not have a clue, only that I must carry out his instructions.” Hammond said.

  “Thank you for telling me this Lieutenant.” Simmons said. “Until then am I to understand that you are still under my direct command?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Consider yourself confined to ship. You are not to receive any visitors nor to receive any external communications to the ship. Inform Captain Stone of this as he may need to be involved. He will screen any messages to you and inform me if there are any issues. Is that acceptable?”

  “Yes sir, thank you sir.”

  “That will be enough to protect us both I hope.” Simmons said.

  *

  “What do you mean that’s everything?” Stone said. “Where are my condensers?”

  The delivery man shrugged. Stone had checked every provisions crate he received to ensure that his acceptance mark was the last one on the crate. The crate was locked by use of a blockchain combination. It contained the acceptance key of everyone who had touched the crate so far. Anyone opening the crate would need to key their own mark to open it and that would be added after his own acceptance key.

  The only thing undelivered were the four condensers.

  “Sorry sir but, according to my records, you have taken delivery of everything including the four condensers.”

  The haulage truck started to beep insistently as it slowly reversed. Stone walked beside it and read from the delivery list. The condensers were listed and they were marked as having been accepted by his key. He wanted to storm back into the chandler's office and demand the condensers. But he knew that they would smugly point at the acceptance key.

  The delivery man paused the haulage truck as he saw the display of emotions race across the captain’s face.

  Stone handed back the delivery list without a word and re-entered his ship. He could see why the chandlers had agreed so easily.

  *

  “Thank you for receiving me Senator Branighan.” Leyland said.

  The senator slowly lowered himself into his seat. He nodded in thanks as Leyland waved for one of the waiting staff to bring a cushion.

  “I’m confused as to what you want from me.” Branighan said. “I no longer have the influence that I once had. I’m no longer on the appropriations committee so I can’t help you there either. Yes, I’ve heard what you are trying to do young man. I think everyone is discussing whether to support you or refuse you out of principle.”

  “I have found over the last several days that one principle that the senate here in Jewel and the council back in Soros both hold dear is, what is in it for them?” Hammond said. “Perhaps Jewel has more in common with Soros than differs us sir.”

  “It is a sad but true fact of politics that we must weight up the price of our votes.” Branighan said. “So what is in it for me? Why have you approached me? I do not have influence. I am an old man and neither power nor money attracts me. This will be my last term of office. For that matter, most of the senators have forgotten I even exist. What are you offering me that would get me to sell my vote as fast as some of my colleagues sell their souls?”

  “I already have the votes to get the asteroid agreement passed.” Leyland said. “I agreed a deal with Sammy earlier this afternoon for him to throw his reluctant support behind this. Once it passes I have sufficient sway on the appropriations committee to get the naval contracts agreed. There is one thing that I do not have.”

  Leyland paused then shrugged a weary shoulder.

  “I need someone to propose the amendment into the Senate.” He said. “The Senate will allow a free vote on the measure and there should be enough support to pass it. However it will be a poisoned chalice to whomever proposes the bill. They will find their underlying base eroded by the populace to the point that they will never be re-elected. So I need someone who is willing to throw their political career away, or someone who is about to retire from his last term in office.”

  “Why should I do this, what can you offer me?”

  “I can offer you money or power, but as you said you want neither.” Simmons said. “There is something that I can offer you that I think you would value more. A seat at the table. Wouldn’t you rather go out with a bang than a whimper? Would you prefer to be forgotten before you even walk out that door, or would you prefer people to look at you and say, that’s how I would like my last day to be like?”

  “A seat at the table?” Branighan said.

  “You shape the vote, you lead the debate, you count the last votes.” Leyland said. “What do you want the epitaph of your political career to say? That you finished with a bang or a whimper?”

  “Not a whimper that’s for sure.” Branighan said.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Roger Stone poured more whiskey into each of the three glasses. David Rawlins and Nicholas Hammond saluted him and then sipped the precious amber liquid slowly.

  “How do you think they have managed to fake your identification on those receipts?” Hammond asked.

  Rawlins snorted.

  “It’s easier than you think if you have a copy of a person’s identity.” Rawlins said. “The hard part is being able to keep it hidden for long. Faking a transaction is easy in the short term because proving a negative, such as not having received the goods, is difficult. But it would not last under sustained scrutiny.”

  “The problem for us is that Simmons will want us to leave to return to our own planet the second he concludes business here.” Stone said. “We may need to get our condensers back the hard way.”

  “Do you mean the illegal way?” Hammond asked.

  “You’re very far out of your jurisdiction.” Stone said. “Besides it’s not really illegal, we’re just going to steal what rightfully belongs to us.”

  “It’s justice in a way.” Rawlins said.

  “We would need to do two things.” Stone said. “Firstly we will need to chat with the Port Authority and confirm that our board is clean.”

  “What is that?” Hammond asked.

  “The Port Authority keeps a log of all purchases made at the station.” Stone said. “We pay a nominal fee for berthing which covers the electricity and air that we use, however any provisions we purchase must be purchased through the Port Authority. It is like a clearing bank and they will not allow us to depart unless our payments are up to date and our slate is clean. Normally it works very well. The Port Authority takes a percentage in every transaction so they can afford to keep the space station running. However I wouldn’t put anything past the chandlers here slipping something onto the board in the last second
.”

  “Is this something that you would check?” Hammond asked.

  “Yes, normally I would check it ten minutes before departure over the comms.” Stone said. “Today however I think I’ll pay them another visit and get a visual of what is currently outstanding.”

  “Mr Simmons did purchase some vacc suits which should be delivered shortly.” Hammond said. “That might still be on the board.”

  “Thanks, I can chase that up.”

  “You said we have two things to do.” Rawlins said. “What is the second thing?”

  “The second thing is a lot harder.” Stone said. “We need to somehow break into the chandlers office and alter their records to confirm that the condensers are still outstanding and get them delivered. We need to do that before morning.”

  “Who can do that?” Rawlins asked. “I can’t see you climbing through ducts and making changes. I’m getting to old to do it myself.”

  “I might have a solution for you.” Hammond said. “James Rivan, in a former life before he learnt the joys of engineering, used to be a high rise cat burglar. If his records are accurate, he was one of the best on the planet. Could break into any building, disable any lock and escape without anyone knowing he was there. The only reason he got caught is because his best friend betrayed him.”

  “That’s perfect.” Stone said. “If we show him where the chandler shop is, we can let him work his magic.”

  “Wait a moment.” Rawlins said. “He’s not very good with computers. If he does have the skill you say, that still won’t help unless the computer is very basic and straightforward, which I suspect it is not going to be.”

  “Seána Mercer.” Stone said. “Our pilot Mercer has the skills if Rivan can put her next to the computer. To become a pilot she had to pass the right qualifications, one of which is computing. She is a wizz with computers.”

  “Would she do it?” Hammond asked. “Would it be fair to even ask her?”

  Stone thought for a moment. He had worked closely with Mercer during the passage and felt sure that, once they explained the situation to her, she would jump at the chance to help the team.

  “I will explain the situation and ask her.” Stone said. “She knows how much the chandlers have messed us around but I need to explain the consequences if she is caught.”

  “You would need to ...”

  Rawlins was interrupted by his comms. It was Mercer.

  “Sir, we have a problem.”

  *

  Tyler Hart had a headache.

  He had been grabbed by the security officers who manhandled him to the floor. A furious interrogation by the security almost resulted in serious injury, only the intervention of a passer-by prevented it. Hart cringed at the thought of being saved by a woman.

  The Peace Officers hailed his heroism. They saw his cowardice as normal, accepted for one such as he. They praised him for talking fast. They told him he was a hero in spite of his lack of charm, in spite of his lack of spine, in spite of his beliefs and determination to free the people.

  They were probably laughing at him now. Making their usual snide remarks behind his back. He was a leader of the populace. They were mere servants of the public and they needed to act like it.

  Tyler sat up and stifled a groan. His silver flask was on the bed beside him. He opened it with trembling hands and took a long pull of Bubbles. He felt better in a few moments and pushed himself to his feet.

  He remembered Stan carrying him across the concourse on his shoulders like a child. He was plopped on a chair where he was violently ill. He felt humiliated by how they treated him. Dragging him to engineering where he was dropped on the bed. Worst of all, he remembered the disgust in Rawlins’s voice when he called Hart an ‘incompetent weasel’.

  A rush of anger carried Hart across the compartment to the main engineering section. It was empty. He felt his anger build up. He needed to shout at someone, to let loose his anger at how unfair everyone was.

  The engineering tool bag was in a separate cupboard. Hart wrenched it open and dragged the bag to the floor. The hammer was the first tool at hand.

  Hart grasped the hammer feeling the warm wooden handle. He lifted it. It was heavier than he expected. He looked around the engineering compartment for something to smash.

  The heating exchange was the closest machine to him. It was humming merrily, keeping the ship at an optimum temperature against the cold empty space.

  It would take one swing and he would repay them for all their sidelong glances and snide remarks. Hart smiled. Just one swing.

  *

  “We have a problem.” Paul Simmons said.

  He could see Mike Leyland sitting in another cafe having what would be his last cup of coffee. Simmons had been trying to contact Leyland for several hours now, waiting for the inevitable acid rain storm to clear and communications to be restored.

  “Lieutenant Hammond has had a recent communique from home regarding his mission.” Simmons said. “Apparently an agent from Soros will identify himself to Hammond and Hammond will be obliged to follow the instructions.”

  “What instructions is Hammond expecting to receive?” Leyland asked.

  “He doesn’t know. He doesn’t even know the identity of the agent in question.”

  “What if the instructions are to blow up the senate?” Leyland asked.

  “You know how tight-ass Hammond is, he would probably do it.” Simmons said. “Do you know what the Peace Officers motto is? It is ‘One Planet, One Law’. They chant their creed everyday during training until they are fully brainwashed. He will follow his instructions even if it kills all of us.”

  “Have you tried to talk some sense into him?” Leyland asked. “Perhaps appeal to his common sense?”

  “This is the same Lieutenant that opened fire in a crowded demonstration.” Simmons said. “I suggest that he does not have that much in the way of common sense.”

  “We need to do something before he assassinates someone or even worse upsets the talks.” Leyland said.

  “I’ve confined him to the ship, he is not allowed communication from anyone outside the ship verbal or otherwise.” Simmons said. “He seemed relieved when I gave him that order.”

  “As well he should be.” Leyland said. “What damn fool gave him such vague instructions.”

  “Probably the same damn fool that persuaded me to bring him with me.” Simmons said. “Do you have any ideas?”

  “I have an idea.” Leyland said. He paused for a moment thinking it through. “I need to come up to implement it. I’ll see you shortly.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “So how badly is the heat exchanger damaged and what does it mean for us?” Paul Simmons asked.

  “It is totally destroyed.” Roger Stone said. “We do not have the parts to fix it so we need to buy a new one.”

  “How serious is it?” Simmons asked.

  “Without the heat exchangers, the ship will cool to the same temperature as space, which is two degrees above Kelvin.” Stone said. “We will die at that temperature. At the moment Rawlins is hooking up some pumps to connect to our air ducts and we will pump warm air from the space station around the ship. We cannot leave the station until we get a brand new heat exchanger fitted.”

  “How did this happen?” Simmons asked.

  “It is my fault entirely.” Stone said. “I let the men have some R and R. Tyler Hart returned drunk and fell asleep in engineering. I had Rawlins in my cabin to discuss picking up the condensers. Rivan, the other engineer, had left for some R and R. This left Hart alone. He apparently woke up and went berserk with a hammer. He destroyed the heat exchanger first, then started on a rail system that Hart and Rivan had designed and built. The heat exchanger is obviously the more serious of the two.”

  “Where is Hart now?”

  “Lieutenant Hammond has requisitioned a cupboard from the cook and is using that as a temporary brig.” Stone said. “Do you want to speak to him?”

 
“Not at this time.” Simmons said. “When will we be able to get under way?”

  “I intend to get the new heat exchanger from the same chandlers who provided us with the condensers.” Stone said. He smiled. “It’s turned out quite lucky that way. I will need to make the arrangements now if we want to get underway tomorrow.”

  Simmons nodded. This trip was nearly over, at least nothing else could go wrong.

  *

  “What do you mean just walk in and steal them?” James Rivan said. “The reason I never got caught was because I spent a week studying the layout of the buildings I robbed. I watched the security guards as they patrolled. I ensured I had extensive lines of support from another experienced burglar whom I trusted.”