by Amy Cross
"Sure about that?"
"Pretty sure. It doesn't sound like the kind of thing anyone would forget."
"There's this huge cloud of dust," he continues. "It's more than three light years across, filled with dead and dying stars. Toward one end, there are these two black holes keeping each other more or less in check, drawing each other closer and repelling everything around them, but somehow maintaining some kind of harmony. The whole damn cloud has a kind of light blue shade to it. That's the light from the stars reflecting off the millions of ice planets that are locked in the cluster itself. I promise you, if you ever go near the place, you'll remember it."
"One day," I say with a faint smile.
"And you're sure you've never been there?"
I nod.
"Really sure?"
"Yes, really sure," I tell him. "Why do you keep asking?"
"Nothing," he replies. "It's just... I guess I got my wires crossed, that's all. I thought Sutter suggested you were a little better traveled than the average cadet."
"You've been talking to him about me?" I ask, feeling a little surprised at the idea that they seem to find me so interesting. For one thing, I'm nothing special; for another, I'm not quite sure when they would have had a chance to have their little discussion, since I've been with them the whole time since we came down to the surface. I guess Sutter could have contacted Tom's ship using the comm-link, but there'd be no reason to do so and he'd have had to have gone out of his way to hide what he was doing.
"Never mind," he says dismissively. "You should definitely try to get out there some time, though. I think you'd really like it, especially if you're the adventurous type."
"Not really," I tell him.
"Seriously?"
"I never have been," I continue. "Even at the academy, people used to make fun of me for being kind of quiet and meek. All I wanted was to find a job to do, and then to be left alone to do it. Sure, being stuck out here in the middle of nowhere isn't exactly what I was after, but I'm probably not cut out for anything more dramatic."
"What about one of the exploration ships?" he asks.
"Not my kind of thing."
He laughs, as if he finds something funny.
"What?" I ask.
"Nothing, just..." He stares at me for a moment. "Remember how I told you that you look like someone I used to know?" He pauses. "You look a lot like her. Hell, you're her spitting image, and it's so weird to hear these words coming out of that face."
"She was adventurous, huh?"
"Adventurous doesn't even describe it," he continues. "Adventurous implies some kind of order or system, but she was just chaotic for most of her life. She'd go running into any situation, 'cause she always figured she could find a way out of danger, no matter what happened. I guess she just had this innate confidence in her own abilities, so she never got scared of anything. Eventually..."
I wait for him to finish.
"Have you ever heard of Amanda Cole?" he asks.
"The terrorist leader?"
"That's what Supreme Command called her," he replies. "She and her followers preferred to think of themselves as rebels."
"We learned a few things about them at the academy," I continue. "She was responsible for a number of bombings on Mars, as well as the destruction of two cargo ships in deep space. Over a two year period, she directly or indirectly had a hand in the deaths of more than eight thousand people. Most of the victims were members of the police and military, but some were civilians. Some were even children."
"Is that a direct quotation from the textbooks?" he asks.
"Eventually she was captured and put on trial," I continue, "and the then she was executed. He supporters were mostly rounded up, although a few escaped. Either way, her organization was destroyed."
"That's what people claim," he replies, "but there are others who think she wasn't killed. I've heard quite a few different suggestions about what Supreme Command did with her and why. Some of them are pretty lurid, but there are a few that make a kind of sense."
"I'm not a big fan of conspiracy theories," I tell him.
"Well, isn't that ironic." He pauses. "That's who you remind me of, actually. You look so much like Amanda Cole, it's uncanny. Did you ever realize?"
"Me?" I stare at him for a moment. "How did you know her? She was an outlaw almost all her life."
"I knew her before that," he continues. "It was when we were both young and still living on Mars. We were pretty good friends, actually. She already had that anti-authority streak, even back then. I remember realizing, as we grew up, that she was becoming more and more radical, and there was definitely a time when I started to worry about her. It started with petty run-ins with the law, but eventually her anger seemed to overflow. The crazy part is, when I first heard that she'd launched a campaign against Supreme Command, I wasn't even that surprised. It just seemed to be the kind of thing she'd do."
"But you..." I pause. "I mean, you were never..."
"Part of her group?" He smiles. "What do you think?"
"You couldn't be," I reply, trying not to panic. "They were all rounded up -"
"Allegedly."
I stare at him.
"No," he adds, "don't worry about me. I could have joined her, if I'd wanted, but I watched all the right news broadcasts and came to see her for what she was. She just wanted to be famous, really, and to cause as much trouble as possible. I guess I felt sorry for her, because I knew she could be such a great person, but I could never condone some of the things she did in the name of her so-called cause. As soon as you start killing innocent people, whatever your supposed justification might be, you've lost the argument." He pauses. "So I went and signed up for the academy, like every other good little boy back then."
"But you never had any more contact with her, did you?" I ask.
He pauses.
"Did you?"
"Amanda and I had a complicated relationship," he says with a sad smile. "When we were younger, we were... We were good friends. Very good friends. I still miss the Amanda I knew back then."
"I had no idea I looked like her," I tell him, feeling genuinely shocked. Most images of Amanda Cole have long since been scrubbed from the networks, and the details of her story are only available through official information channels. Supreme Command has long been worried about copycat groups, so it was decided many years ago to control the spread of information. Anyone who wants to know more than a few cursory facts is allowed to do so, of course, provided they fill in an application form and pass a background check.
"Sorry," he says after a moment. "Maybe I shouldn't have brought it up. I didn't mean to make you feel awkward. I guess I just couldn't hide the fact that it made me feel awkward." He looks over his shoulder for a moment. "Sutter's really taking his time, huh? What the hell's the old fool up to?"
I smile politely, but in truth I'm feeling pretty shaken. Amanda Cole has always been portrayed as the number one public enemy of Supreme Command, and now it turns out that we more or less share the same face. No wonder a few of the old-timers at the academy used to give me strange looks: I look like one of the most hated women in the history of humanity.
Chapter Six
Sutter
This is ridiculous. I'm a grown man, and I've got no time for people who think they've seen things moving in the shadows, so there's no way I should be risking my life by climbing down to the lower reaches of the reserve hatch. Then again, I'm going to have to mention the damage in my report, and I damn well need to be able to explain it at the same time.
"Hello?" I call out, as much to lighten the mood as to actually check for little green men. "If you're down here," I continue, "you might as well come out. Klingons, Daleks and Vorlons equally welcome."
Silence.
"Even if you don't exist," I add, "feel free to make some spooky noises. I'd welcome anything that breaks the monotony."
Smiling, I secure myself to the gantry before using my torch to examine the underside of the pi
pe access shaft. Fortunately, there seems to be no sign of damage, which means the impact zone is pretty small. If there had been extensive damage all the way down, I would have struggled to come up with an explanation, but the localized patterns means that I'm pretty sure I've got an idea that just about makes sense. Even if it's not watertight, it should be enough to fend off any wild theories, and it'll also satisfy the bureaucrats who have to go over my incident logs.
A manufacturing fault.
That's all it is.
The pipe might look like it's been twisted and bent, but that's only because it's become compacted after some kind of unusual event, probably a build-up of heat. Since methane-hydrozone rarely rises above freezing point, it stands to reason that the pipes have never been tested for conditions where the temperature rises substantially, so obviously there was some kind of brief event down here that caused a flash burst of heat. That, in itself, is somewhat unusual, and I'm certainly going to have to do some more work down here over the next few weeks to determine the exact nature of the incident; nevertheless, it's a lot better than little green men.
Glancing back up toward the top of the pipe, I spot the claw marks, and I have to admit that this is one part of the story that I still can't explain. It looks for all the world as if some kind of creature has been down here, attempting to sabotage the unit. At the same time, I know damn well that such a thing is completely impossible. For one thing, there are no 'creatures' anywhere in the universe apart from humans, at least as far as we can tell; for another, this seems like an illogically specific and unsuccessful attempt. I'm pretty sure that if anyone - human or otherwise - tried to cause damage down here, they'd have done a much better job.
All of which means that, if you take out the impossible explanations, whatever's left over has to be the truth, even if it seems improbable. Therefore...
I pause for a moment.
The claw marks must have been on the pipes when they were installed. Again, it's a manufacturing defect, and one that no-one bothered to correct. The same marks can probably be found on other pipes, not only here on Io-5 but all over the universe, and there's -
Suddenly I hear it.
Looking down below, I stare into the darkness beneath the reserve hatch. My heart's racing as I stay completely still, waiting for the noise to ring out for a second time. Even though I know there can't be anything there, the more primitive parts of my mind are enjoying a rare moment of oxygen.
Silence.
I know what I heard, though. It was a kind of scrabbling sound, like someone momentarily losing their footing on the side of the rock. That can't be what it actually was, but still, it definitely sounded like -
I hear it again, and this time it seems to be much closer, and if something is coming up from the depths. I keep telling myself not to be irrational, that there absolutely can't be anyone down there, but at the same time it's hard to override my instinctive fears. Humans have a natural tendency to turn run when they're faced with the unknown, and right now I think I might be well advised to go with that tendency. Shifting around on the narrow ledge, I start climbing back up toward the main part of the platform. There'll be time later to rationalize whatever the hell is happening down here later, but right now I just need to get the hell out. I'm not the kind of person to panic unduly, but at the same time, I know the human mind can be stubborn sometimes.
Hearing a noise over my shoulder, I turn just in time to see something shifting in the shadows. Whatever it was, it quickly moves out of sight, heading up the shaft much faster than I can manage. I try to grab my torch, but my fumbling fingers contrive to let the damn thing slip, and I look down just in time to see it plummeting down into the depths. Trying not to panic, I resume my climb up the ladder, while reminding myself that what I saw was simply a trick of the light. There's no such thing as -
Above, there's a rattling sound.
I freeze.
Listening for a moment, I realize that I can definitely hear something moving about on the platform. I wait, hoping that a simple explanation might present itself, but finally I realize that I can't just stay here on the ladder forever.
"Crizz?" I call out. "Tom?"
Silence.
Although I could use my radio to get in touch with the others, there's no way I'm willing to let myself become a figure of fun. Taking a deep breath, I start climbing again, and soon I'm at the opening that leads onto the main part of the platform. I pause for a moment before forcing myself to make my way through the access hole and onto the platform, at which point I quickly turn and look in all directions.
Nothing.
I'm completely alone.
Figuring that the whole thing must have been a trick of the light, combined with a few coincidental noises, I turn and head toward the far end, ready to go back up to the control room. After a moment, however, I realize I can hear something nearby, almost as if someone is standing directly behind me. I pause for a few seconds, and finally it becomes clear that I can't deny the truth anymore. There's definitely something on the platform with me.
Figuring that it has to be Crizz or Tom, I turn around.
Chapter Seven
Crizz
"How's it looking?" Tom calls out.
"Forty-five per cent," I shout back, as I read the tank quota figure from the display system.
"Let me know when it gets to fifty," he replies. "I'll need to start thinking about slowing the main pump."
Switching to a different screen, I double-check the flow rate data, but everything looks to be fine. In a strange way, despite the shock of finding out that I look like one of humanity's most dangerous terrorists, I feel as if I'm going to miss Tom when he leaves. There's something strangely comforting and perhaps even familiar about him, and the thought of being stuck here again with just Sutter for company is definitely not something that fills me with much joy. Hell, part of me even wants to just stow away on Tom's ship and explore the universe with him, although obviously I can't do that since it'd be against at least seventeen different regulations.
Just as I'm about to turn and head back down to the main rig control room, I spot a flashing red light on one of the other consoles. Taking a closer look, I see that the flow rate meter seems to have been manually overriden. There'd be no reason to do something like that unless the meter had a known fault, so I cycle through a few other readings and quickly determine that everything else seems to be working properly. Bringing up the meter's diagnostic page, I realize that someone has changed the settings so that only half the flow is recorded. Also, the program seems to be dividing the methane-hydrozone into two separate tanks within the cargo ship's hull. It's almost as if someone's trying to siphon off extra quantities of gas and keen them hidden from the official manifest.
"You okay up here?" Tom asks as he climbs through the small hatch in the floor.
"Fine," I say, turning to him.
"I thought you were just coming up to check the volume," he replies, conspicuously glancing at the meter reading. It's immediately clear that he can tell I've found the override, and from the look in his eyes it appears that the discrepancy isn't a surprise.
"I should go and check on Sutter," I say, heading toward the hatch.
"He knows," Tom says, remaining firmly in my way.
"Knows what?" I ask, trying not to panic. I take a step back, hoping desperately that I can find some way to avoid confrontation.
"That I'm stealing methane-hydrozone," Tom replies. "He knows everything. He's part of it. Hell, I wouldn't be able to do it without him. He's the one who fixes the meter so it doesn't set off any alarm bells. All we have to do is run ahead of the regulation rate while staying within safe parameters. It's pretty easy, once you've worked out the best method."
I open my mouth to reply, but I'm not quite sure what to say.
"We've had an arrangement for a few years," he continues. "Deborah Martinez was in on it too. I'm not really sure how we thought we'd slip it past you, but..." He pauses.
"I take roughly double the volume that gets recorded in the logs, and I store the excess in a hidden chamber deep in the ship's hull. With a few changes to the relevant logs, it's impossible for anyone to detect. Sure, there's always a bit of concern when I stop by a silo and unload my official cargo, but no-one's caught me yet. They won't, either. Not unless one of them physically climbs through the access pipe and shines a torch around."
"What do you do with it?" I ask.
"What do you think?"
"You sell it?"
He shakes his head.
"Then what?"
"What's methane-hydrozone used for?" he continues.
"Powering ion engines," I reply, my heart racing as I try to work out how to get past him.
"So the natural conclusion would be that I have an awful lot of ion engines that I need to supply with power, preferably without drawing attention to myself."
I stare at him.
"So what's the next natural conclusion?" he asks. "What do you suppose those ion engines are attached to?"
"I really need to go and check on Sutter," I say, trying to get past him.
"What's the hurry?" he asks, grabbing the sides of my arms to keep me in place. "Do we have a problem here, Crizz?"
"No," I say quickly. "I just need to -"
"It's for humanitarian work," he replies. "Ships that supply border worlds, people who've been cut off due to no fault of their own. I guess you'd call it the black market or the underground economy, something like that. I don't care what you call it, though. It's vital. Supreme Command has extended blanket trading bans in vast areas where rebel activity is suspected. Without these humanitarian missions, billions of people would die."
"That's really none of my business," I tell him.
He smiles.
"What's so funny?" I ask.
"Those words," he replies, "coming from your mouth. There was a time when you thought everything was your business, even things that really weren't."
"No," I say firmly. "I know my place in the organization and I stick to it."
"Do you really mean that?"
