"Union regs in the Alliance," he continued, "require a Licensed Gunner aboard any cruise that has an acknowledged potential to turn ugly -- even peace missions like this one. You'll be there in case you're needed, but only as the very last resort. Both UH and Meerschaum expect you to be little more than a passenger on this trip. We have to be clear on that, Ejoq."
"You're clear to me. I'll do everything in my power to not do my job."
He nodded with a laugh, and we got up to go.
He had a lunch date with his boyfriend, but I walked and talked with him part of the way. We chatted some more about the gig, keeping details vague, since we were now in public. Even that much was a woeful breach of Meerschaum's security protocols, since we could be targeted by competing interests, and be under surveillance even from Day-1 as per the guidebook I'd been hammered with upon sign-up. This had never been known to actually happen, but it was somebody's job to come up with the rules, so I didn't fault them for making a point of it.
I didn't sweat it either.
"No, I don't know any of them, personally, outside of you," he told me, in reference to the other crew members, "but your Mission Leader comes down through Swain-Bellows with a good rep. We can probably have him bounced if he seems like a tool, but that would be another delay."
"Wait and see, I guess."
"I'm sure he's fine," he agreed, then hesitated, and posed, "Ejoq, you really ought to consider leaving field work behind. It's not too late, even now. A guy with your experience could land a training position easy."
"Is something opening up in Meerschaum?"
"No, we don't do any in-house training, but I know a few people. If you're interested, I can ask around. I mean, let's be real: commercial gunnery might be gone as an industry in ten years time. Sure, if Meerschaum starts getting contracts from UH, we'll be looking for talent on a regular basis, but you know how these things go. One committee recommendation on austerity and all the active contracts get canceled. These big arrangements come and go on the breeze. I'm looking for new digs, myself: this field rep thing is all commission-based. And I'm tired of dancing for these suits, man!"
"Maybe I'll apply for your job, then," I laughed, but he just shook his head disgustedly.
"You can have it."
He was serious, I could see. Frankly, I thought the problem was exactly the opposite: I needed to get back into field work.
We parted ways at an intersection, where he caught a tik-tik cab. I'd see him every day for the next week or so, as the mission came together, but, then after that...?
Based on the conversation, he might not be with Meerschaum anymore by the time the mission was completed. That would be one less reason to stay with them, myself, even if they had more work.
Doris would have called me crazy for any ambivalence, but she was all about the payday. When I needed one, she was a good person to talk to. When I needed perspective on my career as a whole, maybe someone from the profession had a better view of things. Siddel's advice wasn't unwelcome, therefore...but the thoughts that sprang up because of it were.
* * *
By midshift on Fiveday that same week, we were back in the conference room. This time it was a full house.
From Meerschaum, it was Siddel, and a guy named Emaross Basta -- the one Doris had mentioned in her note. He was cut from a similar cloth as she, with the same boundless energy and friendly demeanor (his hair was okay, though).
From United Humanity, Inc., it was a Strategic Account Planner named Annia Wi'iloni. She was a striking older woman with long poker-straight black hair, and some obvious gene sculpting that made her look young -- possibly by decades. Soft-spoken, and somewhat shy at first, Annia was clearly motivated. She'd arrived with lots of data, and a goal she seemed eager to impart.
For the assembled crew, we had our Mission Leader -- one, Christmas Giordano, or just Chris. He was a man of middle years, with receding hair and a strong physique. Professional and observant, he came across as sharp and ready to work.
The pilot and commander of the ship was a woman in her thirties, named Mavis Singleton. Her head was bald, and she bore several covered ports on different parts of her skull. Pilots with neuro-cybernetics had to have a special certification clearing them as fit for flight, and I had no doubt Meerschaum had seen to this detail. All four of her limbs were full replacements, too: advanced mechanical prostheses, sporting teal bioplastic coverings that went really well with her black turtle-neck sleeveless shirt and matching shorts. Her blue eyes looked biological, but I learned later on, in casual conversation, that they were also replacements, and a real point of pride.
The mission would sport not one, but two dedicated sensor and data technicians. The nature of the job was about gathering information from a distance, so these two were really the stars of the meeting. John Barsons was a young man, maybe in his early twenties. He was short, with dark hair and a cool blandness that struck me as an affectation. He was designated as Sensor Specialist 1, or just SS1, and ostensibly in charge of that aspect of the mission. In reality, his focus was more on the hardware side of long-range surveillance, so he'd really need to be in close partnership with SS2 -- a tall woman with big hair, named Stinna M'renda. She sat at the meeting taking copious notes with a bland expression that didn't look affected.
Our engineer was a man who was, maybe, in his early forties. His name was Dieter Voxel. He sat at the end of the table, slouching back in his chair. He had on a navy blue flight suit, and was either starting on a beard, or needed a shave. He had brown, slightly tossed hair, and a narrow jaw. I would have thought him very hung over, to be honest, but he followed everything Annia said, and even asked intelligent, clarifying questions throughout the meeting.
And then there was Ejoq Dosantos, for Guns.
Everyone offered nods of greeting when I was intro'd, which I returned with a measured smile. I tried to be less testing, less deconstructing than was my usual, because it could be off-putting, and I wanted this gig to go well. After this first bit of attention, though, I must have pulled a Cheshire Cat; in short order, I was invisible. Clearly, they had no idea why I was here, and I was beginning to wonder the same.
Reaching up to the Tri-D image above the table, Annia dragged over the stellar map that was holographically displayed, until a red border marked, Montaro TransStellar Commercial Federation, appeared. She moved it passed this line, slightly, then stopped and zoomed in on a smaller area.
"Javelina Region," she pronounced, highlighting the area for a few moments, wherein it glowed yellow. "A point of contention some five years back, you may recall. The Alliance and Teamspace went tit-for-tat, building up forces in secondary positions, two jumps back from the border. Publically, this was just a strategic distribution of forces on both sides, but to the Senate Fleet Committee, it was looking like a border war waiting to happen."
"I thought that was resolved," Dieter put in, raising a finger. "Didn't Fleet and Team forces agree to pull back?"
"Yes," she stated, zooming the map in further to a single star system in the region. "UH got the contract to negotiate a military reassignment treaty, resulting in The Javelina Reduction Agreement. It seemed to go very well."
The star was marked simply, 216-11B. The annotations that dropped down next to it on this level of detail described a main sequence star, well past its prime. It was 11.8 light-years under the galactic plane, and bore a single large gas giant just shy of brown dwarf status. A small cyan square under the star showed it was a system that only had basic mapping details on file. This could have been for many reasons, but the map notes indicated that 216-11B was not along any regular routes, and nothing especially compelling had been found on the first survey pass, however many years ago.
"That wasn't one of the contended systems, was it?" I asked, not recognizing it from any media stories I could recall. I tried to keep half-an-eye on current headlines, if for no other reason than to learn about areas of...well, opportunity for a guy in my field. This syste
m rang no bells.
"No," she confirmed, then zoomed in even further to display the stellar layout as it was known. She kept the star system focused in the center, but added movement notation to show its direction of travel in the larger star cluster that the region encompassed.
A giant hydrogen/helium planet designated PS2GG, revolved around the primary at about 400 million kilometers distance. With a flick of her fingers, Annia opened up a drop-down menu and chose an option. Instantly, bright yellow and pulsing red points of light began to appear on the outer edge of the system. Each light flared a bit, then went out as others popped up next to them, seemingly at random. Date codes accompanied each light's appearance, but the tall woman turned them off when it started getting too busy to follow.
"That's a lot of traffic," Mavis commented, pointing a pastel finger at the starjump points.
"For a system of no importance, yes it is," Annia added, letting us see the threat for ourselves.
"Formally no importance," Siddel said, then reached up and rewound the timeline of the jumps to the start of the sequence. "Three years? Why is UH only getting interested now?"
"Well, I've been following this almost from the start," she replied, "but I was still a Junior Planner with the company back then, and no one lets juniors run their own initiatives. This kind of activity gets the attention of the Senior Planning staff eventually. Since it's been my baby all along, and I have a little time with the company now, I was able to score the lead."
"That makes sense," Stinna put in, evenly.
"Thank you. UH upper management is watching this one closely. That's why it came together so quickly."
I couldn't help snorting over that. I got a few looks, but Emaross stood up then, and Annia gave him the floor.
"Here's the mission," he stated clearly. "The assembled specialists in this room will starjump across the border to 216-11B, and collect as much detailed information as possible. This system wasn't the cause of those previous disputes, but it's in a region covered by the treaty. If there is a significant presence of Corporate Security Space Branch in that star system, it's a clear breach of the agreement negotiated by United Humanity, Inc. Such a breach must be reported, and new negotiations opened immediately. In short, it would represent an agreement that didn't stick. That's bad for international relations, and it's bad for business."
"It's also a potential new account," Annia added. "A violation in this instance would require a whole new treaty to be put into place, and UH management is very interested in that as well."
"How much detail are we talking about?" John Barsons put in. "If they've moved in even as far as that planet there, amassing vessel specs from way out on the edge of the system will be a fishing expedition."
"Yeah," Chris agreed. "Are you sure you want this done covertly? Going in openly, and with immunity, could get the job done in just a few days."
"The original treaty," she explained, "called for independent spot checks on both sides. That means private contractors for AIN and Corporate, with no forewarning to be given to either party. Since jumping into military stations unannounced is a good way to start a war all on its own, covert verification is required. It's understood by all parties to be occurring, but it's only legal in the areas of space covered by the treaty. This happens to be one of them now."
"Now?" Chris asked.
Annia hedged visibly, then dragged down a flowchart over the map, highlighting each detail as she spoke.
"When the treaty was negotiated, 216-11B was considered to be just outside the contended region, and it doesn't appear on the list of systems in that agreement. Just over three years ago, however, the AIN Survey Corps proposed an update to their mapping protocols, with new formulas and a new point-of-origin within the galactic core. It's set to go into effect in 47 hours. This is public knowledge, but its implications haven't trickled down through the levels of bureaucracy yet."
"Why do the new maps put this system inside the negotiated area?" Dieter asked, still slouching, still hung over. "Why doesn't the area itself move with the new reckoning?"
The UH rep pointed to a particular text bubble on the flowchart, marked TREATY. It opened up another map -- this one a large overview of both The Alliance of Interstellar Nations, and The Montaro TransStellar Commercial Federation, collectively making up just the tiniest portion of the Orion Arm. The small section encompassed by the treaty was highlighted, pulsing red, with vector lines radiating out towards the capitals of both Territories.
"The area in question, like with most treaties, was not based off Galactic Core measurements, but rather, Territorial ones. The claimed boundaries of the two powers don't change simply because survey methods on one side or the other do. Such things require extensive political negotiations. Here in the Alliance, the Senate is concerned with politics, while Fleet, which actually has to travel across the stars to do its job, utilizes all the latest technical improvements and innovations in navigation methodology."
"In other words," Emaross clarified, "the new maps, which depict a piece of the moving galaxy, have put 216-11B inside an unmoving treaty zone. If the Handshake is using this star system for the same kind of military buildup as before, the Alliance needs to know about it."
"And United Humanity," Annia concluded, "wants any information the Senate needs before they even know they need it. This would position us as the only negotiation service for a new treaty that makes any sense. It would be an Alpha level contract for UH, because boundary agreements for the entire length of the border will have to be renegotiated."
"Big money?" I asked.
"Very big. UH would see returns for up to two decades after pulling together such a signing package. As a result, I've been given full access to the emergency slush for any verification duties associated with The Javelina Reduction Agreement. This mission will reflect that level of funding. We want this done quickly, cleanly, and quietly."
And that brought her part of the meeting to a close. As the Strategic Account Planner for this UH mission, she would be available for questions and consultations right up to the time of launch, but the actual hands-on planning would be ours. Annia shook hands all around, thanked us, and walked out with Emaross, her Customer Field Representative from Meerschaum (or assigned toady, whichever you prefer).
That left the crew alone with its own handler, and Siddel stood up to switch views on the Tri-D.
"Okay folks," he said, "let's get started."
OOOOOOOOOO
The nature of secure communications between national governments is quite involved. There's no magic button that puts one official's foreign counterpart, many light-years away, up on a comm screen for a friendly chat. An extensive corral of reliable starjump-enabled vessels, either manned or automated, must be maintained right at a system's jump point. Each of them are kept in continual standby mode, ready and waiting for any diplomatic or military missives that must go out.
In a modern context, these interdimensional transits are continuous, since there's always something two neighboring powers need to talk about. There are standard protocols, therefore, on both sides of any given border for facilitating and expediting governmental communications.
It's how such things as lightning fast deals surrounding misplaced property can possibly be organized. It's how all the logistics are smoothed out, and how all the people the powers-that-be want involved in such meetings can be named, summoned, and assigned priority berths in a timely fashion.
And it was how, within eight days of my return to the Alliance, I was on my way back to Corporatespace.
OOOOOOOOOO
two
* * *
I smelled the lingering ozonic scent of cold passage long before waking up. It was a comfort: an odor I had come to associate with travel, with moving. And movement was life.
I dozed, or so it seemed, because I had a vaporous little dream concerning a ship I didn't know and a vidstar I couldn't make out, but they were one and the same, somehow. The ozone was
her perfume. In my mind, I was witnessing it all from within one of those awful refridgerant sleep boxes you could still find on some of the cheaper ferries over in Noblespace (I could see and smell right through the white enamaled metal). It made sense in the dream, but by the time I opened my eyes, it was all just fading shadows.
Blinking stupidly in the subdued light, I listened to murmuring voices that drifted from somewhere forward. I closed my lids deliberately after a bit, rapidly moving my eyes in the pre-defined pattern that brought my retinals online. The wristcomp was in my locker nearby, so all I had was optical data for the moment.
I was on my back, staring at a few segments of the dark polynium roll-top lid, now retracted, that covered my bunk whenever suspended animation was required. An innovation in compact travel, integrating a cold passage unit into a crew member's sleeping space was very slick indeed.
The ship was special on a number of fronts, and the aggressive knowledge that I was part of a mission with international ramifications, even in the midst of freeze tube confusion (fading fast), brought me to a very...shall we say, professional frame of mind.
Regardless of mental faculties or work ethics, my limbs weren't responding well yet. It was too soon to get up, but I wanted to anyway. I'd crossed far more light-years via cold passage than I had by waking trips over the course of my career, and most of that was going to and from interviews, scrambling after vague appointments, and dashing across vacuum in order to make call times. Actual work constituted only a small percentage of my career, travel-wise. In fact, I was looking at the million light-year mark coming up soon.
That, and hard credit, would buy me a cup of joe anywhere.
They were all awake up there, talking easily. It sounded mission-related. That struck me as rude, not waiting for the Licensed Gunner on the cruise to join them before starting on the job, but I wasn't going to complain. Getting up with a crabby attitude was hardly endearing. Anybody who'd ever worked as a spacer, or travelled much between the stars, had invariably shipped with people like that. The eternal goal was not to be one of them.
Risk Analysis (Draft 04 -- Reading Script) Page 2
