by S F Chapman
With the current untenable turmoil in the streets and workhouses of Nairobi, that bold action cannot come soon enough.
15. New Grytviken
With the re-entry thrusters no longer needed, Keira engaged the dive brakes and the thin, turbulent air of the upper Mesosphere began to buffet the compact patrol craft.
The drag caused by the relentless collision between the ethereal air molecules and the wide, flat projections would greatly slow the ship in the coming minutes causing it to fall out of orbit and dissipate over thirty million watt-hours of kinetic energy along the way.
Ryo cringed from the steadily increasing battering inflicted upon him by the shuddering craft. The rough treatment of re-entry was an unwelcome requirement for the return to Earth; thankfully not one that he'd often had to endure.
Seamus groaned at the steadily increasing punishment and muttered a Gaelic prayer for salvation.
Between slight adjustments to the controls, Keira chuckled at the angst of her elderly companions. “What is it with old gents and re-entry?”
The rapidly increasing g-forces that pressed down on the men prevented either of them from answering.
After many minutes, the automatic descent program slowly retracted the dive brakes and engaged the aerodynamic control surfaces.
“Alright,” Keira finally told the men, “we're at about a thirty thousand meters above the Pacific just north of the equator.”
She tapped at the controls for several seconds. “Hang on; we're about to veer southeast for a three hour trip to our objective.”
The young pilot studied the particulars about their destination.
“Hopefully we have three survival suits onboard. It's going to be dark, windy and very cold when we get there.”
• • •
“I don't see any place to land,” Ryo scowled as he stared out at the night-shrouded estuary.
Keira looped around Cumberland East Bay for a second look, “I have the coordinates and there should be some sort of landing lights.”
She frowned at the difficulties.
“There it is!” Seamus pointed to the left.
A single dim spotlight seemed to be tracking them from the ground, wavering between faint and nearly invisible, the beam appeared to be directed at them from a handheld lamp.
Keira followed the beckoning light.
They hovered a few hundred meters over the thin shaft of light.
A shadowy figure tilted the spotlight towards the ground and illuminated a miniscule flat gray patch of gravel.
“Apparently that's the landing pad,” Ryo shrugged.
“We did not practice this sort of thing in flight school,” Keira grumbled.
The patrol craft groaned and wobbled as it settled slightly askew on the small, rough rectangle.
Seamus passed two bright orange survival suits to his companions.
The threesome shimmied into the tight-fitting garments in the cramped cabin. Both Ryo and Keira spent several minutes pulling the snug hood over Seamus's head.
The three stiff and orange-clad visitors stood uncomfortably at the hatch as Ryo tapped at the locking mechanism.
The door opened to an icy gust of wind.
“GOOD MORNING!” a deep and gregarious voice boomed through the darkness. “Welcome to South Georgia Island!”
• • •
Nearly twelve thousand kilometers north-northeast of the dark and windswept landing site on South Georgia Island, in a warm and secret little office at Free City University; Lieutenant Zmuda and his two cohorts considered the many implications of the morning News Item about the massacre on the Billikin.
“Is this a real story or did someone plant it in the media?” Mixion wondered.
Zmuda frowned, “Nobody should know about this yet; the Inquisitor's Office is most likely still going over the crime scene.”
Jasper sighed as he read the dispatch over the Lieutenant's shoulder; “It sure seems to put this Seamus Nelson fellow in peril.”
“Ah;” Zmuda finally tapped in victory at the News Item, “this is Ryo Trop's work.”
He turned to the two other CRAMP agents, “Find out everything that you can about a ninety-seven year-old former Engineer named Mr. Seamus Nelson who currently resides in Free City.”
Mixion and Jasper nodded in unison.
“I suspect,” Zmuda grimaced, “that others are doing the same thing right now.”
• • •
The big man gleefully dished another steaming pancake onto Ryo's plate.
“Thank you Luis, I think that will about do it for me,” the Investigator groaned as he contemplated eating what would be his fifth serving.
Both Keira and Seamus had a similarly bloated look as the groggy threesome sat around the breakfast table in the cluttered white cottage on the wind-blown bluff.
Their host gazed attentively at his guests.
“It's just that I haven't seen anyone for over five months,” Luis added gloomily, “at least no one alive.”
Keira frowned, “You're all alone on South Georgia Island?”
Luis nodded, “Yes. It's just me and Moresby who tend to matters during the off season at New Grytviken.”
“Moresby?” Seamus asked.
“He's the ancient gray tabby cat that the previous Harbor Master left behind when I took up the job twelve years ago.”
Ryo nodded between bites, “What exactly do you do in this lovely but thoroughly frozen South Atlantic outpost?”
“South Georgia Island is technically part of the Grand Eternal Fiefdom of AmerAsia, I don't think that anyone else would want it, but it's the AmerAsian Interior Ministry in Buenos Aires that pays the bills to keep the harbor open.”
“Open for what?” Seamus scoffed.
Luis beamed at the curmudgeonly old man, “I've often wondered that myself. The original village of Grytviken was a British and Norwegian whaling port. When that died out, it was a sparsely used way station for cruise ships destined for the Antarctic. Now the Interior Ministry has some hopes that Cumberland Bay could eventually be a supply port for Antarctic mineral extraction.”
“New Grytviken?” Keira glanced around the room, “These quaint old relics aren't from the original village?”
“Well:” Luis hedged, “more or less. The settlement was flooded when the sea level rose a few hundred years ago. They moved nearly everything up on the bluff and renamed it New Grytviken.”
“Everything?” Ryo smiled.
“Yeah; even the old cemetery with Sir Ernest Shackleton's grave, it's still the only real claim to fame here.”
“Speaking of bodies,” Ryo stared up at their host, “I understand that you discovered one a few days ago.”
Luis's expression darkened, “Yes; the poor fellow is down in one of the boathouses.”
• • •
A frigid squall raked merciless across the foursome.
“So!” Ryo shouted above the roar of the wind, “how did you come upon Mr. Briggs' body?”
Once again in their orange survival suits, the three visitors trudged long with Luis as they labored towards the harbor.
“One of my duties at New Grytviken is that of the Harbor Master of Cumberland East Bay.”
A sudden gust of icy wind caused Seamus to wobble precariously until Luis and Keira steadied the old man.
“Twice a week on Tuesdays and Fridays I take a small grappler tug around the perimeter of the bay and then through the length of the two shipping lanes.” He pressed forward against the wind, “If I find anything floating around that could be a hazard to navigation, I tow it to the harbor and secure it.”
“Do you find much stuff?” Keira yelled.
He nodded, “I found a basketball from a girl’s school in Manila a few years ago, it's up in the cottage somewhere.”
Luis led them down a long creaky dock, “Mostly its just driftwood logs and stray fishing nets, a few years ago I spent days tending to a capsized speed boat that had strayed away from the m
arina at Governor's Bay in New Zealand which is over fifteen thousand kilometers away!”
“Mildly valuable cast-offs,” Seamus smiled, “that sounds to me like space debris salvage.”
They stopped at the tall, waterside edge of the dock and stared at the huge mangled silver and black cylindrical object that bobbed in the choppy water as it pulled impatiently against the stout cables that moored it.
Their host pointed to the battered and burned object that was at least twice the size of his cottage, “This monstrosity was floating just outside of the bay about a week ago.”
Seamus studied the dented and scorched artifact, “It's the upper stage of an old Y69 rocket booster, I've seen a dozen or so, although they're usually in much better shape in Low Earth Orbit.”
Ryo tilted his head in confusion, “I thought that nothing could survive the inferno of an uncontrolled plunge to Earth.”
“It depends on a lot of factors such as the angle of re-entry and the composition of the object,” Seamus pointed to booster, “but the most important thing is size.”
Luis nodded, “There's a good thirty tons of titanium, aluminum and PlastiStruct in that thing.”
“As interesting as this relic is,” Ryo shivered, “what does it have to do with Mr. Nathan Briggs?”
Luis frowned, “Tangled up in the stainless steel plumbing for the rocket engines, fairly well protected from the heat of re-entry, I found what I thought was a helmet and the upper half of a space suit.”
The visitors followed him into a tidy old boathouse.
Finally out of the frigid wind, Luis continued, “Something like that would be a great novelty to show off to tourists: the space suit that found its way from orbit to New Grytviken.”
They stood shivering together around a shipping crate that was the size of a large trunk.
Luis lifted off the cover and Keira flinched in horror.
The remnants of the space suit contained the charred and mutilated remains of a man.
Seamus whispered a Gaelic prayer, Ryo stared ashen-faced at the body and Keira spun around and vomited.
“Gruesome; I know,” Luis solemnly noted, “but at least the cold keeps the smell down.”
After several minutes of reflection over the corpse, Ryo asked the obvious question, “How did you discover that this was Nate Briggs?”
“I planned to give the poor bloke a proper burial in the cemetery during the summer when the ground finally thaws out. I felt that it was only right to put his given name on the grave marker,” Luis gently pulled the glove away from the body's hand, “so I slid his fingertip over a payment interface for a good half an hour until it finally produced his name.”
Keira dry heaved and covered her eyes at the sight of the distorted and blackened hand.
“When I contacted the Free City Bureau of Records to register the death, they told me that an Investigator from the Inquisitor's Office was on the way.”
“Thank you for that, Luis.” Ryo glanced up at Keira and pointed to the door. “You may want to wait outside, sweetheart.”
She nodded in relief and hurried away.
“In a few minutes I'd like for you to pack Mr. Briggs for transport and we will take his remains back to the Coroner's Office in Free City.”
Ryo gingerly unfastened the helmet and, with the skills of an Investigator who had seen hundreds of bodies, he carefully studied the back of Nate Briggs' neck.
Ryo turned to Seamus, “Would you say that we saw this type of wound on Captain Takahashi?”
The old man winced, “Yes.”
The Investigator lingered over the corpse for a time before finally returning the cover to the shipping crate.
He stared at Seamus with a look of consternation; “Let's just hope that I don't find the same sort of trauma on your corpse in the next few days.”
16. The turbulence just below the placid surface
Luis stood alone in the gloom as the icy wind howled across the landing area in New Grytviken. Fifty meters away the sleek patrol craft shuddered as the launch thrusters came to life.
He waved one last time to Keira and Ryo through the wide, curved cockpit window as they busied themselves preparing the ship for departure. Luis caught glimpses of Seamus behind the two pilots.
The old man returned his wave.
The thrusters roared mightily and the patrol craft lifted skyward. At about three hundred meters, the ship rotated slowly to the north. The aerodynamic control surfaces reconfigured for high-speed flight and the big main engine throttled up.
The ship dashed away with a rumbling sonic boom that echoed between the cliffs that surrounded New Grytviken.
Luis stood for many minutes in the gusty twilight of South Georgia Island. For a time he watched the rapidly receding red and blue marker lights of the patrol craft as the ship raced toward the northern horizon and then he just stared wistfully into the distance at the scowling gray storm clouds.
He was alone again.
Luis was shaken from his doleful introspection by an especially surly blast of freezing wind.
The man gathered his thoughts and trudged back towards his little white cottage on the bluff above the harbor. He wasn't likely to see another soul until the supply ship sailed into Cumberland East Bay sometime in mid-March.
A light smattering of snow swirled around as he made his way up the path.
The warm lights of his tiny home shone through the windows.
Luis smiled a bit as he ascended the five frost-covered steps to the front door.
There sitting patiently in the front window awaiting his return was Moresby, his steadfast gray tabby cat.
• • •
“This afternoon,” Sabra grinned impishly as she met Dilma at the reception desk at the Connaught School, “I'd like to take you over to Roscommon Park.”
The skittery little girl's eyes grew huge at the prospect of a grand adventure with her new nanny.
“The park?”
“Yeah, it'll be great fun.” Sabra shouldered the girl's school bag; “The Bicentennial Exposition will only be open for a few more weeks, so if you don't see it now, you probably never will.”
Dilma raced ahead through the lobby and pulled open the heavy front doors. The two glided together down the wide stone staircase to the busy street.
They strolled hand in hand on the crowded sidewalk.
“How was your school day, kitten?” the woman asked.
Dilma skipped several steps before answering; “We studied about the Greeks in the morning, played four-square at lunch break and worked on some couplet poetry in the afternoon.”
She stopped and cocked her head, “What about you, Sabra?”
The woman smiled at the earnest question, “Well; after I dropped you off at school, I trudged on over to the University and sat through my Historical Rebellions lecture, which was deadly dull. Then I went back to your apartment and tidied up a bit. I had a snack and took a bath. After that I called Ryo's office to see if they had any idea as to when he'd be back in Free City. They didn't, so it looks like I'll sleep at your apartment again tonight and get you off to school in the morning.”
Dilma nodded with glee at the happy prospect.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Sabra mentioned when they stopped at the corner to wait for a westbound transport. The woman retrieved the wide bejeweled headband decorated with a bright silvery concha of an eagle from her head, “this is for you.”
Dilma stared in amazement at the offering. Her fingers slid appraisingly over the bone and brass beadwork for several seconds.
Sabra grinned at her awestruck charge, “Let's put it on you, sweetie.”
She adjusted the clasp and slipped it onto the youngster's head.
Dilma's face glowed with the attention of the idolized woman and the joy of receiving the newfound treasure.
“There;” Sabra stepped back and admired her gangly young companion, “you look splendid. You'd fit right in with the Enlightenment Crusaders.”
<
br /> The girl blushed at the praise, “Thank you, Sabra.”
• • •
Tariq trotted into the coolness of the desert cave and bowed in deference to the Warlord.
As was his habit, the recently recloned raven-skinned leader leisurely finished up the final few morsels of his lunch before he acknowledged Tariq's arrival.
The ruler finally dabbed his lips with the sleeve of his sweat-stained cotton shirt, “What is it, my servant?”
“Oh Exalted One;” Tariq intoned, “a courier from Tunis delivered a message from My Master, Commander Frédéric Rameau at the Military Base.”
The Warlord scowled a bit, “Did you murder the courier after he gave you the message?”
“Yes;” Tariq nodded, “as per your command, my leader. The message-bearer is dead and will be unable to reveal our location to your adversaries.”
“Excellent,” the Warlord smiled. “What is the information that Commander Rameau wished for me to know?”
Tariq stared into the forbidding eyes of the man for several seconds before he answered. The act was impertinent and might well result in his own swift demise, but Tariq felt that he had to see the man's first reaction to the startling news.
“My Master..,” Tariq stammered, “...has deduced who is responsible...for the murder of your most beloved third wife, Sophia.”
The Warlord's face darkened into a hateful mask of vengeance.
“How is Rameau using this information?” the man finally growled.
Tariq quivered as he contemplated the smoldering ruler, “My Master has set in place an effort to kill the rogue.”
• • •
Dilma dipped her thin fingers into the trickling water of the Commemoration Day fountain in the park.
It had been a marvelous adventure for her young charge, Sabra noted as she watched the girl.
Dilma had eagerly tried every strange variation of food that they had come upon at the Free City Bicentennial Exposition. She especially liked the spicy Thai/Martian fusion fare that was available at a brightly lit booth near the Warlord Syndicate Pavilion.
Sabra stopped to wait while the girl picked a few stray leaves from the pool of water at the base of the fountain.
