“Either it’s a lightspeed ship or somebody repealed a whole bunch of laws of physics. And either it’s alien or some corporation or government is experimenting with a technology so advanced it will make them masters of the universe.”
“So I should call a grown-up.”
“You should call the Council. Or I will. This isn’t just important, it’s so important that they’ve got to make decisions about it right away.”
“What’s the hurry?”
“Because it might very well be headed for Earth.”
CHAPTER 2
Lem
The Makarhu wasn’t built to be a science vessel, and it certainly wasn’t built for war. It was a mining ship, property of Juke Limited, the largest space-mining corporation in the solar system. But Lem Jukes—mercifully short for Lemminkainen Joukahainen, heir to the Juke Limited fortune and captain of the ship—was prepared to use the Makarhu for any purpose if it meant turning a failing mission into what the Board of Directors would consider a success.
It was an hour after sleep-shift had ended, and Lem was floating weightless in the observation room, waiting for an asteroid to explode. The asteroid was a small thing, a “pebble” no bigger than Lem himself, lazily moving through space half a kilometer from the ship. If not for the ship’s laser lights dotting the asteroid’s surface and illuminating it, it would have been completely invisible against the backdrop of space, even with the help of the special scope glasses Lem was wearing.
Lem lowered the glasses and looked out the window to his right. The cargo bay doors were open, and the gravity laser was in position, pointing out into space at the pebble in the sky. Lem couldn’t see the engineers from his position, but he knew they were down in the lab adjacent to the cargo bay, prepping the laser for the test.
According to the Juke research team that developed it, the gravity laser—or glaser as they had come to call it—was supposed to be the future of the space-mining industry, a revolutionary way to break surface rock and dig deep through the toughest asteroids. It was designed to shape gravity in much the same way a laser shaped light, though since gravity was not reflective, it worked on very different principles; understanding them was way below Lem’s pay grade. The company had spent billions of credits to build this prototype, and quite a bit more to keep it a secret. Lem’s job was simply to oversee the field tests. A cakewalk of a mission.
That is, if the gravity laser would ever turn on. It was the first deep-space trial, so Lem expected the delays born of extreme caution. But it was beginning to seem as if something was actually seriously wrong with the device and everyone was afraid to tell him.
“I’m waiting, Dr. Dublin,” Lem said, keeping his voice pleasant.
A man’s voice sounded in Lem’s earpiece. “Just a few moments, Mr. Jukes. We’re nearly ready to begin.”
“You were nearly ready to begin ten minutes ago,” said Lem. “Didn’t anyone print the word ‘on’ beside the right button?”
“Yes, Mr. Jukes. Sorry for the delay. It shouldn’t be long now.”
Lem rubbed his forehead just above his eyes, fighting back the beginnings of a migraine. The ship had been in the Kuiper Belt for six weeks now, where failure would have no witnesses and there would be no massive object to be torn apart if the reaction got out of hand. But the engineers, who were supposedly ready before this flight even launched, had produced nothing but delays. Their explanations might have been completely legitimate, or they might have been sesquipedalian bushwa. Because of the huge time lag in sending and receiving messages to the Board of Directors back on Luna, Lem had no idea what the Board—or his father—were thinking, though he was fairly certain it wasn’t unbridled joy. If Lem wanted to preserve his reputation and return to Luna with any sense of dignity, he needed to shake things up and produce results fast. The longer the wait, the greater the suspense, and the bigger the disappointment if the glaser failed.
Lem sighed. Dublin was the problem. He was a brilliant engineer but a terrible chief engineer. He couldn’t stand the idea of being blamed for any mistake, so he aborted tests at the slightest sign of malfunction. Dublin was so worried about damaging an expensive prototype or pushing it beyond its capacity—and therefore costing the company its investment—that the man was paralyzed with fear.
No, Dublin had to go. He was too cautious, too slow to take risks. At some point you had to make the leap, and Dublin didn’t know how to detect that moment. Lem needed to send positive results to the Board now. Today, if possible. It didn’t have to be much. Just some data that suggested the gravity laser did something like what it was designed to do. That’s all the Board wanted to hear. If it needed further development before it could be used commercially, fine. At least that gave the impression that Lem and the crew were doing something. That isn’t asking too much, Dr. Dublin. Just give me one semisuccessful test. The gravity laser worked in the lab back on Luna, for crying out loud. We didn’t come all the way out here without testing it first. The damn thing worked before we left!
Lem tapped a command into his wrist pad and ordered the drink dispenser to mix him something. He needed a boost, a fruit concoction laced with something to drive off the headache and get his energy up.
He sipped the drink and considered Dublin. Lem couldn’t fire the man. They were in space. You can’t send a man packing when he has nowhere to go—though the idea of jettisoning Dublin into space did put a smile on Lem’s face. No, Lem needed to take less drastic measures. Get a little creative.
Lem tapped his wrist pad again, and the wall to his right lit up. Icons and folders appeared on the wall-screen, and Lem blinked his way through a series of folders, diving deeper into the ship’s files until he found the documents he was looking for. A photo of a Nigerian woman in her late fifties appeared, along with a lengthy dossier. Dr. Noloa Benyawe was one of the engineers on board and had been with Juke Limited for thirty years, or as long as Lem had been alive, which meant she had endured Lem’s father Ukko Jukes, president and CEO, for as long as Lem had. It was like meeting someone who had survived the same grueling military campaign, a sister in suffering.
No, that was too harsh perhaps. Lem didn’t despise his father. Father had done great things, achieved great wealth and power by relentlessly pushing those around him to innovate, excel, and squash any obstacle in their way. Unfortunately, Father had run his family in much the same way.
Is this another of your tests, Father? Did you give me an engineering team led by a butterfly-hearted ditherer to see if I could handle the situation and get a more deserving and reliable person in place? It was just the kind of thing Father would do, laying snares along Lem’s path, creating obstacles for him to overcome. Father had always worked that way, even when Lem was a boy. Not to be cruel, Father would say. “But to teach you, Lem. To toughen, you. To remind you that as a child of privilege, no one is your friend. They will claim to be your friend, they will laugh at your jokes and invite you to their parties, but they do not like you. They like your power, they like what you will become someday.” That was child rearing to Father. Parents shouldn’t coddle their children when bullies pester them at school, for example. Real parents like Father pay a bully to torment their child. That teaches a child the harsh truth of life. That teaches a child how to use subterfuge, how to build allies, how to strike back at those stronger than themselves, not with violence necessarily, but with all the other weapons at a child’s disposal: public humiliation, fear, the scorn of one’s peers, social isolation, everything that cracks a bully and pushes him to tears.
Lem wiped the thought away. Father wasn’t testing him. There was too much at stake for that. No, Lem wasn’t so conceited as to believe that Father would risk the development of the gravity laser simply to teach Lem one of his “life lessons.” This was purely Lem’s problem. And he would deal with it.
“Dr. Dublin,” Lem said into his microphone, “when you said that the test would begin in a few moments, I assumed that you defined a few momen
ts the same way I do, mere minutes at most. But by my clock, nearly fifteen additional minutes have passed. I recognize that the glaser is of utmost importance to this ship, but there are other matters on this vessel that require a captain’s attention. As much as I enjoy staring out into space and pondering the meaning of the universe, frankly I don’t have the time. Are we conducting a test or aren’t we?”
Dr. Dublin’s voice was small and hesitant. “Well, sir, it appears that we may have run into a snag.”
Lem closed his eyes. “And when were you going to inform me of this snag?”
“We were hoping that we could fix it quickly, sir. But that doesn’t seem likely now. We were about to call you.”
I’m sure you were, thought Lem. He pushed his cup into the receptacle. “I’m coming down.”
Lem made his way to the push tube, one of the many narrow shafts that ran through the ship. He pulled himself inside and folded his arms across his chest. The walls, like the floor and sidewalls of the ship, produced an undulating magnetic field. The magnets either attracted or repelled the vambraces Lem wore on his forearms and the greaves he wore on his shins. Lem said, “Fourteen.” At once he was sucked downward. When he arrived, the lab was in such a state that no one noticed him float into the room. Most of the engineers were hovering weightless around the wall-screen that stretched the length of the room. It held countless windows of data, diagrams, blueprints, messages, scribbles, and equations. It hurt Lem’s eyes just to look at it. The engineers were politely arguing over some technical matter Lem didn’t understand. Dr. Dublin and a few assistants were standing on the wall to Lem’s left, looking down on a hologram of the gravity laser that was about one-fifth the size of the real thing. It annoyed Lem when people in a room didn’t maintain the same vertical orientation. Being perpendicular to everyone else was indecorous.
“I do love watching engineers at play,” said Lem, just loud enough for everyone to hear.
The room fell silent. The engineers turned to him. Without looking, Lem tapped his wrist pad, and the eye assault that was the wall-screen dimmed to half-light.
Dublin stepped off the wall to the left and stood upright on Lem’s floor, bending awkwardly as he adjusted his vambraces. Such a brilliant mind, and yet as graceful as a turnip.
“Mr. Jukes,” said Dublin, “thank you for coming. I apologize yet again for this delay. It appears that the source of the problem—”
“I am not an engineer,” said Lem with a cheerful smile. “Explaining the problem won’t hasten its repair. I don’t want to distract you any more than necessary from solving the problem. That would be a much better use of your time, wouldn’t you agree?”
Dublin swallowed and attempted a smile. “Oh, well, yes, that’s very kind. Thank you.” He took a step backward.
Lem looked at their faces. “I want to thank all of you for your tireless efforts,” he said. “I know that many of you are functioning on a few hours of sleep, and I recognize that the glitches and delays we’ve experienced are more frustrating to you than anyone else. So I appreciate your patience and perseverance. My father assured me that he had assembled the best team possible, and I know that he was right.” Lem smiled to show them that he meant it. “So let’s pause for a moment and take a deep breath. I know it’s still morning, but except for the people physically working on the fix, let’s take a two-hour break. A nap, for many of you. A meal for others. Then we’ll come back and tear that asteroid apart like a sneeze in a wet tissue.”
Lem made a point of not looking at Dublin, though he noticed that a few of the engineers did. If the laser wouldn’t be ready within the next two hours, this was Dublin’s chance to have a spine and speak up.
Silence in the room.
“Wonderful,” said Lem. “Two hours.”
Lem launched off the floor and headed toward the push tube. He caught himself at the entrance and turned back, as if struck by an unrelated thought. “Oh, and Dr. Benyawe, would you see me in my office, please?”
Dr. Benyawe nodded. “Yes, Mr. Jukes.”
Five minutes later Dr. Benyawe was standing opposite Lem in his office, anchored to the floor with her greaves.
“You have put me in a delicate situation, Mr. Jukes,” she said.
“Have I?” said Lem.
“Calling me to your office. The other engineers will assume that I’m meeting with you to give you an account of the test’s failure. They’ll think I’ve come here to point fingers and pass blame.”
“I was the one who called this meeting.”
“They’ll assume that I’ve been speaking with you for some time without their knowledge, giving you information behind their backs.”
“So they’re bureaucrats, then, and not engineers at all, is that what you’re saying, Dr. Benyawe?”
“They’re human beings first, Mr. Jukes. Engineers second. They’re worried about their livelihoods.”
“If we don’t return to Luna with anything short of absolute success, Doctor, I think all of our careers are over.”
“That is a fair assumption, yes,” said Benyawe. “But that’s true all the time, isn’t it? Fail, and you’re looking for a job.”
“Just one question, Dr. Benyawe. If you had been in charge, would you have already conducted the test?”
“You want to know if I blame Dr. Dublin for the delay.”
“I want to know if you’re willing to proceed despite some degree of uncertainty. I want to know if you’ve reached the point where you think we’ll learn more from failure or partial success than from further dithering about possibilities.”
“Dr. Dublin found some of the pretest readings unsettling,” said Benyawe. “I appreciate his caution. Had I been in his position, however, I would have continued with the test. The glaser is built to accommodate a margin of error within the readings we found.”
“So if you were in charge of this team, we’d already have our results.”
“The gravity laser, Mr. Jukes, is not a device to be taken lightly. Gravity is the most powerful force in the universe.”
“I thought love was.”
Benyawe smiled. “You’re very different from your father.”
“You’ve worked with my father for a long time.”
“He’s given me a chance to be part of great things. He also turned my hair white by the time I was fifty.”
“So why didn’t my father put you in charge of this team, Doctor? You have far more experience than Dublin. And every bit as much knowledge of the gravity laser.”
“Why aren’t you running your own corporation? You’ve certainly had plenty of opportunities to do so. You helped launch four IPOs before your twentieth birthday, you took nine different divisions and companies from the brink of bankruptcy into the black, and the rumor is that you’ve built a private investment empire that knows few equals. And yet here you are, heading up a testing expedition in the Kuiper Belt. Your father doesn’t always make decisions based on résumés.”
“I took this job, Dr. Benyawe, because I believe in the gravity laser.”
“But this test is dangerous. If it works wrong on a massy object like an asteroid, this ship could simply disappear.”
“I’m willing to take risks. Is Dublin?”
“Maybe Dublin was given strict instructions by your father to make sure you came home alive.”
Suddenly Dublin’s dithering and delays took on an entirely different meaning. “So Father put me in charge but gave instructions for Dublin to take care of me?”
“Your father loves you.”
“But not enough to let me make my own decisions.”
Lem knew he sounded petulant, but he also knew he was right. Father didn’t trust him. After all these years, after everything I’ve done outside of Father’s shadow, all of my achievements, all of the ways I’ve exceeded his expectations, he still thinks me incapable of making decisions, he still thinks me weak. And he won’t ever think otherwise until I take this company. That was the solution. L
em had known that for a long time. Taking Father’s throne was the only achievement that Father couldn’t argue with or question. It was the only way to get Father to see Lem as an equal. That was why Lem wasn’t running his own corporation elsewhere as Benyawe suggested. He could have easily done so. There had been several offers. But Lem had turned them down. Any other corporation wasn’t enough. Father would always look down on it.
No, Lem was going to take Father’s greatest achievement and make it his own, and he was going to do it so convincingly that the whole world and even Father himself would realize that Lem deserved it. No coup. No trickery. What would be the point of that? Father needed to be a willing participant. He needed to know that Lem had earned it without a scrap of help from Father. Otherwise Father would always believe that it was his achievement and not Lem’s. No, taking the company was the only way to end it all. Only then would Father realize that there were no more snares to lay, no more games to play or lessons to teach. School was over.
But what if what Benyawe had said was true? What if Father’s only motivation was love? It was possible, of course, though it felt like such an alien idea to Lem that he couldn’t quite take hold of it. Father was never that transparent. There were always motivations behind motivations, and the deepest ones were usually selfish. Lem didn’t doubt his Father’s love. He doubted the pure, distilled form of it. That was something Lem had never seen.
Lem smiled to himself. See what you do to me, Father? You always keep me guessing. Just when I think I have you figured out, you make me question you all over again.
Lem needed to confront Dublin. If Father had given Dublin instructions regarding Lem, then the delays weren’t Dublin’s fault at all. Lem excused Benyawe and made his way to the lab. He found Dublin in the control room adjacent to the cargo bay. Dublin was moving his stylus through a holo of the glaser. Bots in the cargo bay followed Dublin’s commands and performed tiny adjustments to the glaser. Lem watched from a distance, not wanting to interrupt. It was obviously a delicate procedure. Yet despite the sensitivity of it, Dublin’s hands danced through the holo and the touch commands like a concert pianist. Lem watched in fascination, feeling a new sense of wonder for Dublin. The glaser was second nature to him; every component, every circuit, were as known to him as his own hands. Father hadn’t stuck Dublin here to test Lem. Dublin had the job because he deserved it.
Earth Unaware Page 4
