by Isaac Hooke
“Sounds like a plan,” Rade said.
An hour and a half later the comm officer reported in. “I haven’t received a response from the Builder.”
“All right, keep listening,” Snakeoil said. He glanced at Rade. “You think there are any humans aboard the Builder?”
“No,” Rade said. “Builders can be manned entirely by robots. And the only use Zhidao has for humans is for playthings, so if there are any aboard, they’ll be locked away in the equivalents of the cargo bays and brigs.”
“I pity the building contractor who leased his ship to the likes of the Purple,” Snakeoil said.
“As do I. Keep me updated.” Rade tapped out his connection to the bridge, so that he was in the closet with Shaw once more. She was sitting on the floor next to the mattress, her back against the bulkhead. Her eyes were defocused. She was inside her Implant, obviously. She had a bittersweet expression on her face. No doubt she was inside some VR environment with digital representations of the children running about.
Rade decided not to join her. He wasn’t in the mood.
Instead he lay down on the mattress and stared at the ceiling of the closet.
Where are you Zhidao?
fifteen
Rade had his answer a few hours later. Or at least, an inkling of that answer.
Snakeoil pinged him from the bridge and Rade tapped in. The bridge environment snapped into place around Rade in VR. He streamed the feed to Shaw, who in turn shared it to the rest of the Argonauts, including Surus.
“What’s the news?” Rade asked.
Snakeoil turned toward the ops specialist. “Tell him what you just told me.”
“Okay,” the specialist said. “Maggot and I have been working on cataloging the smaller celestial objects in the system, focusing on the asteroids and comets outside the main asteroid belt. Well, we’ve got some bad news. We’ve detected a string of seven asteroids heading toward the fourth planet. The mid to late Tech Class I alien world. Based on the size and number of asteroids, and their impact sites, by my calculations about twenty-five to forty percent of the population will be killed in the blast zones. The reduction in temperature from the cloud coverage will cause the remainder to slowly die off over the next ten to fifty years, as they don’t have the technology to survive the resulting deep freeze. Plant life will die, and the inhabitants will have to resort to cannibalism to survive. Obviously whoever placed these asteroids intended to wipe them out. For what reason, I don’t know.”
“It’s Zhidao, of course,” Rade said. “Preparing the way for the arrival of the Phants seven hundred years from now, no doubt. Some appetizers to get the invasion force started when they finally reach our space, before they move on to the main course: the human race.” He glanced at Snakeoil. “Based on what your ops specialist said, it sounds like you have visual confirmation on the aliens?”
“We do,” Snakeoil said. “The planet is covered in mountain ranges. The Zabers—we call them that because they look like a cross between Zebras and Saber toothed tigers—make their homes in caves we believe they’ve dug into the mountains. They use basic machines: mechanical looms to weave textiles, grinders to turn meat into their equivalent of ground beef, and so forth. Individual mountains function as cities, with groups of closely placed mountains forming a metropolis. The glades along the shoulders of the mountains are their commerce centers, where they trade goods, buy food, socialize, and so forth. They transmit sounds and videos via radio waves to boxes that sit in their caves: their entertainment. We know all of this because Maggot was also able to decode some of their radio signals. Have a look.”
A video sharing request appeared on Rade’s HUD, and he accepted. Footage filled his vision: strange, furry animals pranced about on four legs across purple grass. Snakeoil was right, they looked like Zebra and Saber-toothed-tiger hybrids, with the black and white striped bodies of Zebras and the heads of big cats with two long canines pointing down. Many of the aliens wore brightly colored pants. Some seemed to have dyed sections of fur on their exposed flanks.
“Maggot thinks they’re asexual, based on all the videos he’s watched,” Snakeoil said.
“I don’t see signs of any genitalia, so that makes some sense,” Rade said. “At least on those that aren’t wearing any pants. Then again, it would be a mistake to assume they keep their genitalia in the same place as humans.”
“It would,” Snakeoil agreed.
“Do we have an estimate of how big the population is?” Rade asked.
Maggot answered. “Extrapolating from the number and location of radio signals I’m detecting, and using industrial Earth as a comparable, I estimate the population at one billion.”
Rade stared at the creatures. “They seem so happy. Carefree. Wait, scratch that.” One of the creatures just slapped another with its paw, and the creature stiffened its ears before slapping the other back. A fight?
“Yes, you’re watching one of their most popular shows,” Maggot said. “A comedy, I believe.”
“Strange comedy,” Rade said. He dismissed the video feed. “A population of a billion. The first non-spacefaring society we’ve encountered close to human space, and they’re all going to die unless we can stop those asteroids.”
“That’s right,” Snakeoil said.
“All right, Snakeoil, I want a plan to turn those asteroids away,” Rade said. “Consider all options. Attaching missiles to the surface to provide propulsion. Firing grappling hooks to swerve each rock aside with the Motley Brown. Destroying them with the Vipers… everything is on the table.”
“I’ll have Maggot and my ops specialist come up with something,” Snakeoil said.
Rade glanced at the ops specialist. The public profile identified the youth as Jimmy Laconza.
“Be diligent, Jimmy,” Rade told him. “The lives of a billion sentients are in your hands.”
“No pressure or anything,” Jimmy said.
Rade couldn’t suppress a grin. “Of course not. Never is.” He glanced at Snakeoil. “Set a course for those asteroids. You wanted to know what it was like to work with the Argonauts, and now you do.”
Snakeoil smiled widely. “I could grow to like this sort of thing.”
Rade glanced at the tense bridge personnel. “Not sure your crew feels the same way.”
“I do!” Maggot said.
“You don’t count,” Rade said.
“Of course, the AI’s opinion never counts, is that it?” Maggot said.
“Essentially, yeah,” Rade said.
He disconnected from VR.
“You think you can get away from me that easily?” Maggot said over the closet intercom. “I’m going to haunt your every waking minute while you’re aboard.”
Rade shook his head and glanced at Shaw. “Where’s a noise canceling helmet when you need one?”
“Give us some privacy,” Shaw told the AI. “Or I’ll climb up there and yank out your speaker.”
Maggot kept quiet after that.
ABOUT AN HOUR later Rade received a tap in request from Snakeoil.
Rade accepted, and Snakeoil appeared as a hologram in front of him courtesy of his Implant.
“So, we’ve gone through all the options,” Snakeoil said. “Firing our Vipers, deploying missiles as movers… we even considered removing one of our engines and putting it on each asteroid in turn. But the most feasible plan involves grappling hooks.”
“Grappling hooks?” Rade said. “I’m guessing we’d have to move the asteroids one at a time if we went that route.”
“Yes,” Snakeoil said. “We’d have to use all four grappling hooks, and it’ll take between five to eight hours at seventy-five percent thrust to move each rock, with the smaller masses redirecting faster. Any more thrust and we risk burning out the engines.”
“Five to eight hours?” Rade said. “That seems high, especially considering we only need to modify the course slightly.”
“Have you seen the asteroids?” Snakeoil said. “They
’re huge. Zhidao picked out the biggest ones to achieve his Armageddon. They range in diameter from a hundred to three hundred kilometers. This ship wasn’t designed for hauling something that big. It’s a Cutlass. Not a supercarrier. So, five to eight hours is very reasonable.”
“All right, how much time do we have?” Rade asked.
“The first rock will only be about twenty-four hours away from the planet by the time we arrive.”
“And the last rock?” Rade asked. There were seven rocks.
“When we arrive, the last will be forty-eight hours away from the planet. So we’ll be cutting it a bit close.”
Rade made a quick calculation. “If all of the asteroids take five hours to move, you’ll be done adjusting the trajectories in thirty-five hours. If they all take eight, that’s fifty-six hours in total. And that doesn’t count the time needed to reposition and replant the grappling hooks between asteroids.”
“We might have to go over seventy-five percent thrust in a few cases,” Snakeoil admitted. “Like I said, we’ll be cutting it close.”
“Do we even have enough propellant onboard?” Rade said.
“With the spare tanks we picked up at the station, we do, but again it’s going to be close,” Snakeoil admitted. “We should have enough to get back. If not, I’m hoping we can borrow some from the Builder. Either Zhidao’s, or the one Surus ordered—when it arrives.”
“Any sign of the Volare?” Rade asked.
“No,” Snakeoil said. “With the two drones I’ve sent out, we’ve been able to get a three hundred and sixty degree view of all objects in the system, so he’s not hiding behind anything, not even the asteroids. But, and here’s something you might find interesting: the latter two asteroids are covered in fissures. A ship could easily be hiding inside one of them.”
“That is certainly interesting,” Rade said. “We’ll have to send in a few reconnaissance drones when we get closer.”
“We will,” Snakeoil agreed. “If the Volare is inside one, you think Zhidao is going to sacrifice his ship, and just let it hit the planet with the asteroid? He would personally survive the impact of course… his plan might be to get the Builder to come pick him up when the dust settles and the new Gate is finished.”
“It’s possible,” Rade said. “Though I think Zhidao will try to save the ship. The Volare will likely emerge shortly before impact, if he’s actually hiding inside one of those asteroids.”
“So we’ll have to be ready for anything, you’re saying,” Snakeoil said.
“Essentially, yes,” Rade said. “Okay then, let’s do this: it’s time to save a billion lives.”
RADE HAD HIS virtual presence active on the bridge as the Motley Brown approached the asteroids.
“I’ve been scanning the last two asteroids,” Jimmy said. “The fissures spidering the surface are definitely big enough to fit a starship.”
“Fire off the scouts,” Snakeoil said.
Rade saw two green dots accelerate away from the ship. The drones headed for the trailing two asteroids.
Meanwhile the Motley Brown continued toward the asteroid at the front of the group. The Cutlass reached said asteroid soon enough and moved into position.
“Target first attachment site and fire all Vipers,” Snakeoil ordered after the ship matched the rock’s speed and direction.
“Targeting first site,” the gunnery specialist said. “And firing all Vipers.”
A moment later the ops specialist reported: “Bore hole is one centimeter wide, and ten meters deep.”
“Perfect,” Snakeoil said. “Launch the modified grappling hook.”
“Launching first grappling hook,” the gunnery specialist said.
Snakeoil had 3D-printed high-tensile strength replacement tips for the grapplers during the trip to the asteroids. The original hook design was dropped in favor of a more harpoon-like shape; tiny compressed air nozzles allowed the harpoon to micro correct its trajectory along the way so that it would essentially guide itself into the one centimeter wide bore hole.
Once the harpoon descended the ten meter depth and struck the hard rock inside, sharp spikes would activate at the tip, securing the projectile so that it didn’t bounce free. From those tips laser cutters would pulse, further digging into the surrounding rock. The spikes would telescope outward at the same time, so that over the course of a minute those securing barbs would expand outward by another meter in all directions. The harpoon tip and carbon fiber cord connecting it to the ship would hold up to the tension, but whether the rock itself would hold up was another story. Maggot had used the spectral lines of the star to estimate the composition of the asteroids, and designed the depth and width of the spikes accordingly. They’d be finding out just how accurate that estimate was shortly.
“Fire Vipers at second attachment site as soon as the lasers reach sufficient charge levels,” Snakeoil said.
And so in that manner the Motley Brown fired off the remaining three grappling hooks to secure the starship to the asteroid.
“All right, apply course-changing thrust,” Snakeoil told his astrogator. “Seventy-five percent of maximum. Let’s steer this asteroid out of the way.”
The closet where Rade quartered with Shaw wasn’t far from the engine room, and the deck shuddered slightly as the ship accelerated to seventy-five percent of maximum thrust.
“Doesn’t seem to be making a difference, yet,” Jimmy said.
“When will we know?” Snakeoil asked.
“Give it ten minutes,” Maggot answered.
On cue, ten minutes later Jimmy announced: “It’s working. We’re very slowly steering the asteroid out of the way. And I mean very slowly.”
“Do we have an updated ETA?” Snakeoil asked.
“Going to be at least six hours, based on current trajectory changes,” the ops specialist said.
“Drones are reporting in from the latter two asteroids,” Maggot said. “The multiple fissures on both rocks sprawl across the surfaces, opening into labyrinths of tunnels spidering underneath. Would you like the scouts to explore deeper? Bearing in mind that if the Volare is inside one of them, it could take a few days to find the vessel. And also, we’ll lose communications with the drones once they penetrate to a depth of three hundred meters.”
Snakeoil pressed his lips together. He glanced at Rade, who nodded.
“Do it,” Snakeoil said. “But I want the drones to withdraw at the first sign of contact, or any danger at all. I don’t want to lose them and not know it.”
“Relaying the instructions to the drones,” Maggot said.
Rade zoomed in on the tactical map, following as one of scouts entered an asteroid. He watched as broad tunnels were mapped out. A few moments into the exploration the drone indicator froze—it had passed beyond comm range. The second drone fared little better.
Hopefully the two scouts would survive intact. That map data could prove useful if Rade and crew decided to search for the Volare inside those tunnels.
sixteen
It took just under seven hours to change the asteroid’s trajectory enough so that it would miss the planet. That was on the longer side of the initial estimate. Rade spent most of that time resting in the storage closet, and Snakeoil pinged him when the operation was done.
“Hopefully we can do better on the next one,” Snakeoil told him when Rade appeared on the bridge in VR. “As we refine our technique.”
“What’s the status on the scouts we sent into the two rearmost asteroids?” Rade asked.
“The scouts haven’t yet returned to the surface,” Snakeoil replied.
“Well that’s a bit troubling,” Rade said.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Snakeoil said. “Maggot did tell us it could take a few days to map out the interiors.”
“All right,” Rade said. “Well, keep at it. We have six more asteroids to move.”
The Motley Brown had no trouble moving the next four asteroids, and they made good time on them, averaging six hours eac
h. The problems began on the second-to-last asteroid: one of those rocks whose surface was riddled with crevices and fissures.
Thirty-one hours had passed since the Cutlass had begun moving the asteroids, and the exploratory drones still hadn’t reported back. Once again Rade found that troubling, despite Snakeoil’s reassurances that the scouts were probably still exploring the maze-like depths.
The Motley Brown was able to attach its grapplers without issue, and Snakeoil gave the order to begin the course change.
About an hour into the operation, Snakeoil asked Rade to join him via VR on the bridge.
“What is it?” Rade asked when the virtual representation of the bridge appeared around him.
“Grappling hook number two just broke away,” Snakeoil said. “The surrounding chunk of rock gave, and tore away from the surface. Maggot is choosing an alternative site as we speak.”
“I’m starting to wonder how accurate our composition estimates were,” Rade said.
“You and me both,” Snakeoil said. “The trick is to pick a spot far away from the crevices, apparently.”
Rade waited for the Vipers to drill the appropriate hole and then the grappler reattached.
“All right we’re good,” Jimmy said.
“Navigator, let’s try this again shall we?” Snakeoil said.
The engines powered up and Rade felt the vibrations underneath him once more.
“The new location seems to be holding,” the ops specialist said. “For the time being, anyway.”
“Good,” Snakeoil said.
Rade was about to dismiss the VR when the ops specialist spoke up.
“The carbon fiber cord on hook number two just snapped,” Jimmy said.
“What?” Snakeoil said. “Where? Which part of the cord?”
“Just above the surface,” Jimmy said. He looked up. “You’re not going to believe this.”
“Let’s have a visual,” Snakeoil said. A moment later shock registered on his face.
“What is it?” Rade said.
