Cobalt Slave

by Walker, Jon

  After about an hour of walking Mark finds a set of four small trees that will work for the night. The first thing he does to set up camp is pound three stakes into the ground. Then he carefully takes the six redtoe crawlers out of his backpack. After affixing small leashes to all of them he ties each one to a tree or a stake, forming a circle around his campsite. One by one, he quickly unties their legs and backs up in one swift motion. The fishing line leashes are cut just short enough that the animals won’t be able to reach each other or reach the spot Mark will sleep. The leashes are still long enough, though, that no large creature will be able to comfortably walk between them. On top of that, the crawlers will still be close enough that they should angrily hiss challenges at each other throughout most of the night. Before making his fire Mark checks to make sure the distances are right by using a stick to prod two leashed crawlers towards each other. He smiles with satisfaction as he watches the two crawlers position themselves on their hindlegs half a meter from each other, trying to fight.

  Mark has three long scars on his left leg to prove that neither the large herd animals nor the predators out here have any fear of humans and aren’t very bothered by small fires either. After barely escaping that attack by a pack of jumpers one night, he realized he needed to find something better to defend himself with, and quickly.

  Thankfully, these small angry little bastards are extremely venomous to all the local fauna but not to people. Almost every animal out here, big or small, seems to naturally back up when they hear their distinctive warning sounds or see them flashing their colorful legs. Without figuring out a way to utilize them, Mark suspects there is no way he would have gotten this far. The endless plains are full of both massive predators and herbivores, all of which seem to hate Mark.

  These venomous little guys are Mark’s best defense, occasional food source, only friends, and favorite lullaby.

  After finishing a simple meal and taking a vitamin ration Mark prepares for bed. The temperature on the plain drops significantly as soon as the sun goes down, which is a welcome relief. While the air tonight is on the chilly side, it isn’t unpleasant. Lying under his blanket next to the small fire, Mark is almost comfortable. A chorus of angry Tiskkkkk Tiskkkkk CAA CAA CAA Tiskkkkk Tiskkkkk CAA CAA CAA lulls Mark to sleep.

  CHAPTER 23

  Catherine and Jack Moore together slowly walk along the off-centered T made by the intersection of the two runways, enjoying the sea air. The two runways dominate the peninsula that belongs to the Aeronautics Department. Small waves lap the shore to the north and west sides of the runways. To the south is the massive reinforced launch pad, and on the east are the hangars, large equipment, storage sheds and offices.

  With just over a month until the final shuttle landing, the pair is out inspecting every inch of the perfectly smooth ground, even though the job is basically only a formality. The runways were one of the first things built by the colonists on New Eden and look practically ageless. Besides removing the occasional debris that gets blown onto them, no real maintenance is ever required. They were designed to last a thousand years without issue.

  Regardless, Catherine insists on walking the full lengths of the runways today. A monthly visual inspection is part of procedure. Seeing her and her brother personally execute a seemingly unnecessary part of the procedure helps instill the right work ethic into the other members of their elite department. It also provides a great time to talk in private.

  Once they're far enough away from the office, Catherine asks her brother, “Is everything prepared for my daughter's return?”

  Jack answers, “As prepared as it can be. The official safe room here at the complex has been prepared, and the three other secret locations are all set.”

  Catherine asks without judgment, “You finally decided on breaking it into three?”

  “After careful consideration it was the optimal choice, and each spot is perfect," Jack responds a bit defensively. "Too many risks one of our secret cobalt depositories being found by Public Safety agents or some other department. Too few would limit our family’s future options in event of the worst. One location is right outside the city, the other two are near the family estate on Hou Maui. If something does go wrong with fixing the shuttles and they never fly again, I figure we might want some cobalt close for proof, to quickly cut a deal with some other faction on the Council or inside Public Health. If things go really wrong, on Hou Maui it would at least take a while for Public Safety to bring real force to bear, giving us more time and room to maneuver.”

  Catherine only nods in approval. On technical matters she has always put her faith in her brother, and this time will be no different. His ability to make friends and read people leaves much to be desired, but if he is confident these spots are secure, then they are secure. That is all Catherine really cares about. That is all she needs to secure her family’s leverage.

  ------

  Alone on his speedboat heading south along the coast of Prime, Leo Madison pushes the vehicle to the max. The boat gracefully glides across the water at an incredible speed. Of all the councilmember's many toys, this one is probably his favorite. It is all speed and sharp angles. A battery of different automatic stabilizers allows the boat to change shape for optimum performance and conform to any conditions or speed. With a command he can make a section of the floor transparent to watch the sealife below or encapsulate all the compartments in protection to ride out a hurricane.

  At the incredible speed Leo Madison is traveling, it takes almost no time to reach his destination. On the southern edge of a very remote part of Prime is the Madison family's most private retreat. Referred to as simply the "beach shack," it is the smallest of their many vacation homes and sits in its own private cove. His great aunt often claimed the cove was the most beautiful beach on all of New Eden, and seeing it again, Leo doesn’t believe she was being hyperbolic. The sight of this place always fills Leo with a comfortable nostalgia.

  The large natural cove is flanked on all sides by cliffs or steep hills. The curved beach is a long stretch of beautiful golden sand that goes from edge to edge. Quietly off to one side is the small dock which is the main way in or out of the retreat. It was built at significant expense with advanced materials so that it would never need to be replaced or even refurbished. Behind the spectacular beach is a single set of stairs that leads to a large wall of black glass that seems to blend perfectly into the surrounding. The entire house was built directly into a natural set of caves along the cliffside so that it wouldn't mar the inherent beauty of the landscape.

  Leo Madison docks his boat and walks toward the stairs leading to the house. What he sees as he approaches quickly ruins his good mood and replaces it with profound disappointment. His nephew and two young cousins once removed are all asleep on the beach. The several empty bottles around each of them indicate this was an unplanned siesta.

  For the task Leo Madison gave them, he needed young men who were the rare combination of loyal, expendable and just competent enough to complete the task but not so competent they wouldn’t be currently assigned to a job where their absence would raise questions. It took him months to carefully vet the large stable of family disappointments to find young people who were the right mix of lazy and underachieving but still looking for personal validation. It looks like he didn’t choose well enough, though.

  Leo Madison picks up a bottle before roughly kicking awake Chris, the oldest one of the trio. “Get up, idiot.”

  A startled Chris looks up, “Uncle Leo? You're early.” The noise awakens the other two, but they know enough to keep their mouths shut.

  “I sent you here to do a job, not to party," Madison says angrily, waving the half-empty beer bottle.

  Chris puts his hand up to calm his uncle, “Actually, you sent us here to pretend to party while we worked instead.”

  “So this is a show for who?” Leo skeptically retorts, sweeping his hands to indicate how secluded their current location is. Before them is j
ust endless, empty waves.

  “I don’t know, Uncle," Chris answers defensively. "Maybe you were going to bring a surprise guest. There've been some fishing boats around. I promise we have been sober."

  This just gets a look of complete disbelief from the imposing councilmember.

  Chris’ young cousin tries to come to his rescue, “Well, mostly... We are sober when we're actually working ... Look, Mr. Madison, I promise you will be happy when you see what we've done.”

  Leo Madison still can’t decide whether to believe his nephew’s excuse but nevertheless starts to calm down. “Well, let's go look then," he says. "Lead the way, Chris.”

  The four of them walk up the stairs and into the cliffside house. The building is only two stories high. It's wide and shallow to fit the landscape while taking advantage of the view. The interior is simple and sleek. While much smaller and less ornate than homes more recently built by the great families, this place is remarkable because almost every aspect of it is automated, from the cleaning to the cooking. This vacation home was the personal project of the first head of the Department of Redevelopment, and it was faithfully kept the same in her memory, despite the ever growing expense of replacing parts as they break. It's a beautiful relic of an era when machines were relatively abundant and servants were rare, instead of the other way around.

  Chris leads his uncle through the house and down into the secret cave that holds the Madison family’s prized possession, a functioning fabricator that the rest of the world believes no longer exists. During the great turmoil, his ancestors went to some extraordinary lengths to remove this unit from the official records.

  Chris steps into the small room first and triumphantly spreads his arms to show his uncle what they have done, saying, “There are a few items we talked about that we simply don’t have at the compound, or have the designs for, but overall I think you are going to be quite happy, Uncle.” Surrounding the fabricator in the small secret room are rows of newly printed equipment.

  Leo Madison steps into the room and carefully examines everything before him. There are tactical goggles, body armor, and some impressive looking weapons. Madison stops to pick up the item he is most excited about.

  It is a mean looking killing implement based on a gun that was very popular during the 22nd century on Earth. The original mission planners made the calculated decision not to load onto the slowship the fabricator designs for any weapons more powerful than big game hunting rifles. But over the years Madison’s people have carefully and quietly redesigned this weapon based on the design of related components used for approved civilian equipment.

  Slowly turning the gun over in his hand, Leo asks, “So it works?”

  Chris answers with a big smile on his face. “Oh yeah it does.”

  Leo quietly answers while still staring at his new toy, “I’m impressed.”

  For the rest of the day Leo and the three young men carefully discuss every new piece of equipment and how it will fit into the plan. While eating pizza, they go over every simulation for different lines of approach and escape. By the end of the evening Leo is so impressed that the boys convince him to have a few too many celebratory drinks. The next morning a slightly hungover but still very happy Leo Madison returns to Ararat. His luggage is noticeably heavier than it was when he left the day before. It will take a few more weekend vacations to move everything into place.

  ------

  Over on the main continent of Goliath

  Mark Corvus awakens as the sun rises over the low lip of the ancient crater and shines on his face. Already Mark can feel the bright sun starting to cook the dry landscape. For a few minutes Mark just stays on the ground not moving, not really knowing what to do. This piece of desert was the last little spot of green on his map. For two days he has methodically walked down through this crater, and he hasn’t seen a single Earth insect anywhere during his journey. Mark doesn’t know if he should keep looking around here, backtrack to see if he missed something, or just head out to the big areas of orange in the thin hope Mr. Snider's people were wrong. While nearly dying several times had been terrifying, at least those were challenges Mark could tackle. It was something he could fight or try to overcome. This is just leaves Mark feeling helpless. If there is no cobalt out here, then nothing he's done will matter.

  It is only his animalistic needs that force Mark to get up. He first takes a small drink of water from his bottle and sloshes it around in his mouth while stretching out his neck. Next he carefully steps out of his protective circle of redtoe crawlers and walks just a few meters away to relieve himself. He doesn’t bother to move far, since he will be packing up to leave soon.

  With bowels empty, the next order of business is breakfast. Walking back toward his campsite Mark calls out his best imitation of the redtoes’ warning noise, “Tiskkkkk Tiskkkkk CAA CAA CAA.”

  Carefully Mark listens and watches as the six angry animals respond with a chorus of "Tiskkkkk Tiskkkkk CAA CAA CAA Tiskkkkk Tiskkkkk CAA CAA CAA" of their own. One problem with his security system is that they don’t seem to stay healthy for long while on the leash. Mark has tried feeding them and giving them little pools of water to drink from, but it doesn’t seem to make a difference.

  One of the redtoes is clearly not as loud or as energetic as the rest. It is the slightly larger one that is missing her right eye. Mark talks as he moves to just a hand's length outside of her range, “Oh, Chompy. Not you. You not feeling well, girl?”

  Chompy answers with a hiss and several snaps of her jaw, but it is clear she is not doing well. She didn’t even bother to get up on her hind legs to show her colors.

  Mark says sadly, “No you aren’t, are you, Chompy?” To confirm his diagnosis he darts his hand towards her but gets only a few slow snaps in response. Mark shakes his head in response. Her fighting spirit is gone.

  “You have been with me the longest, Chompy… but all things must end eventually,” Mark says reluctantly.

  Mark uses her fishing line leash to position her so he can quickly grab her behind the head. Holding her down with his left hand and using his left knee to stop her back claws from thrashing about, Mark takes out his small knife. He says a soft, “Sorry, old girl” before jamming the blade right behind the skull. With a practiced back-and-forward movement, he removes the head and flings it away. The decapitated head lands in the soft sand roughly a meter in front of him. The mouth is still instinctively biting at the air, trying desperately to inject venom into anything it can still reach. Mark respectfully notes she was a fighter, even after death.

  Mark walks over to the short spike-covered tree to use it for leverage to pull off the skin of the remaining body. As he is securing the corpse to the tree, out of the corner of his eye he sees a small fluttering dot of yellow in the distance. Mark drops everything and just stares for half a minute. He is overwhelmed with a sense of hope. It looks like it could be a butterfly, but Mark has been tricked so many times before. It is too far away to tell. He needs to actually catch it and test it to know for sure.

  Without thinking, Mark runs as fast as he can in a straight line towards it, trying to keep his eyes on the yellow image the whole time. He runs through the thorny shrubs that grow all over the desert, cutting up his arms and snagging his pants. As he painfully makes his way closer, the dot of yellow moves farther away. It's possible that it is an insect flying, a leaf caught in the wind, or just a yellow mirage.

  He trips over a dry stream bed and scrapes the skin along most of his right forearm. Ignoring the discomfort, he throws himself upright as quickly as he can. For a second he can’t find the yellow dot, but then he sees it again. He keeps running toward it until it turns to the right and is backlit by the sun, making it too hard to see. For five minutes Mark squints into the bright sun, his eyes tearing up until he finally sees the dot again. Mark starts running to its new coordinates when out of nowhere a brown glider swoops into the scene, and the yellow dot disappears forever.

  Mark collapse
s to the ground in shock and despair. For a while he just stares at the now empty piece of sky. Finally, he gets up and starts walking to his camp for a late breakfast. Feeling dejected, Mark takes a long, slower, and much less painful path back.

  After about an hour he finally returns to camp. As Mark goes to pick up the body of Chompy, some movement catches his eye. Several tiny black dots are buzzing around a single spot on the ground. As he slowly approaches, Mark sees them -- over a dozen black terrestrial flies are all enjoying his morning shit. The flies completely ignore Mark’s steady approach. He gets on the ground just a foot away to study them and make sure they are really from Earth. He even catches one in his hands and licks the crushed body off of his palm. It is the exact unpleasant taste he remembers.

  Lying there, Mark breaks out into uncontrollable laughter at his own foolishness. Soon his face is streaked with tears of joy and relief.

  When Mark finally regains his composure, he packs up his supplies without eating and walks to the crater lip as fast as he can, since it is the highest piece of land around. Pushing himself hard, Mark makes it just before sundown, which is when he was told to broadcast. Carefully he removes the radio from its sealed packaging and sets it up on a small area of raised ground. He triple checks the instructions, enters in the code, and pushes the send button. A small red dot turns on, indicating it is broadcasting.

  ------

  On a hill not far from Ararat

  At exactly 5:00 pm Hank White goes over to the false panel behind the toilet in the tiny, simple house Mr. Snider helped secure him at a very reasonable rent. From this secret compartment he pulls out an electronic device. Hank then plugs it in. Once he sees the little red light glowing, Hank takes a seat to quietly listen for any beeps, like he has every day for the past several months. If it doesn’t beep by 9:00 pm, which it hasn’t any night so far, Hank will then put it back in its hiding spot.