Unfamiliar Territory
written by
Ben Mann
illustrated by
ERIK JEAN SOLEM
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Born in England to parents from the US and Australia, Ben Mann started life on the move. After time spent in the US, his family returned to Australia. His earliest memories would become daydreams of flying to far-off places, daydreams which changed forever the day he was introduced to C. S. Lewis.
Fantasy and science fiction opened worlds of wonder, in which he could fly to far-off places he’d never imagined, live adventures with people he’d never met and come back at the end of it all changed somehow. Creative writing became a childhood passion, but faced stiff competition: a comprehensive education would unearth passions throughout the arts, mathematics and the growing field of computing.
Following school, the joy of exploring his imagination would wane, overcome by the challenges of chasing a mortgage and raising a family. Ben’s career in software engineering would lead him through a number of industries, ranging from the military and aviation to business and government. Despite the travel this entailed, that flying to far-off places, there was always something missing. It would take reading C. S. Lewis to his children one evening to realize what it was, pick up a pen and start writing again.
Ben currently lives in Western Australia with his wife, two children and a Labrador who eats homework.
ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATOR
Erik Jean Solem is native to San Francisco, California, returning to the city to live and go to college, after growing up in the tiny Rocky Mountain town of Ward, Colorado. He started drawing and making all kinds of other art when he was very young: detailed visions of ants’ villages, pencils that came to life, insects of various kinds; then later, pages of ninjas, beautifully modeled clay horses, hands and other figures would appear in his room. An interested and engaged student, Erik’s art has inspired several teachers to make extensive commentary on his work and give him encouragement.
Now studying for his bachelor of fine arts in illustration, his interests range from science fiction and fantasy environments to depictions of contemporary urban life he observes around him. The Rocky Mountains provide a compelling backdrop for Erik’s imagination: growing up on the trails in the woods of the high country, learning to cope with harsh weather, the elements and the eccentrics of a former gold mining town who fiercely practice and protect their home rule status.
After graduating from high school, he happily adapted to the downtown intensities of San Francisco, where he walks to his classes on streets populated by vastly different wildlife, just as fascinating and worthy of his attention and rendering. Erik has received a portfolio grant from his school, the Academy of Art University. He was represented in his school’s spring art show, and his deepening love for illustration combined with a fan’s devotion to science fiction, fantasy and futuristic concepts led him to enter the Illustrators of the Future Contest.
Unfamiliar Territory
The rhythmic pounding of her boots against the distressed and weathered metal was a meditation, a way to put damaged spacecraft, stolen cargo and missing crew into perspective. Mira wiped her brow with the arm of her jumpsuit. At two thousand paces, she was completing her spinward circuit of the station’s outer ring and only just starting to break a sweat. Amidst this vast spinning construction of metal, with its Coriolis force twisting at her inner ear, she felt at home.
Mira’s jog ended at the hatch to the company’s rented offices. As she swung past the Empire Freight Corporation placard and into the adjoining corridor, her jumpsuit’s intercom buzzed to life.
“You’re late,” it said as she opened the door. Harlan looked up from his desk as she entered, releasing his finger from his console. “Or you were about to be.” The company’s director, thin from a life in low gravity, head shaved as much for convention as utility, waved her to a seat in the metal box he called his office. “Still wasting time running?”
“Hello to you too. And it’s not wasted time; I don’t get to run when I’m away.”
“I don’t know why you bother, Mira. You’ve not been back planet-side since you started.” He rummaged through a stack of papers on his desk, pulled out an envelope and tossed it to her. “Speaking of which, here’s a letter from your parents. When you write back, tell them to get online so I don’t have to act as postmaster or I’m going to start taking a redirection fee from your salary.” He looked up at her and squinted momentarily. “And get yourself a haircut.”
Mira rubbed her stubbled scalp, frowning. “They won’t listen. They want me home.” She pocketed the envelope, unopened. “I doubt my hairstyle is why I’m here, either.”
“No.” Harlan turned his console’s screen so they both could see it. “I have an assignment for you. I know it’s only been a week since Jake.”
Mira met Harlan’s eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“It’s not your fault, Mira. Accidents happen.”
She turned to face the console screen. “You have a new engineer for me, then?”
Harlan gave her a sideways glance. “Yeah, we’ll get to that.” He brought up a schematic on the console. It showed a small craft, a modular construction designed solely to freight ore in from asteroid mining operations. Conspicuously absent was the massive sphere of minerals the freighter would propel. “This is the Lumen. It dropped out of the net yesterday on its return journey from the asteroid belt. We can’t raise any response.”
“Is it intact?”
“Yes. I requisitioned some imaging time and the observatory says it remains on course, one big IR reflector coasting right where it should be.”
“Intercept time?”
“The thrusters’ reaction mass is reloaded on the Nyx so your little tin can will make good time. The Lumen is Earthbound, so with a standard initial burn you will intercept in fourteen days.”
“Okay,” Mira said. Fourteen days wouldn’t be too challenging. “So who’s the engineer?”
Harlan stood and motioned for her to leave his office. “Follow me.”
Mira stepped into the small anteroom serving as the Nyx’s loading bay, its air lock hatch the only indicator the shuttle was anywhere nearby. Harlan stepped in and shut the access hatch behind him. A young woman with shoulder-length hair stood waiting by the hatch, guarding a duffel bag. Her orange engineer’s jumpsuit bore trainee’s bars on its epaulettes.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Mira said.
Harlan flashed her a hard look. “This is Rose, your engineer for this job.”
“Hi,” Rose said, offering her hand.
Mira ignored it and turned to Harlan. “I want another engineer.”
He shook his head. “The candidate we have won’t be here in time.”
“But she’s a trainee, Harlan.”
“Actually,” Rose said, raising her hand. She paused, seemed to think better of it and lowered it again. “I’m an intern.”
“Mira, the company needs this. Exposure to the education system will help Empire’s recruiting for a long time to come. Training’s not so hard; it’s time to expand your skill set.”
Mira turned to look at Rose. “You’ll have to shave your head.”
Rose blanched and began to protest, but Harlan cut her off. “No, Mira, she doesn’t. Spacer convention won’t apply in this case; she won’t be here long enough. She can tie it up.”
“Rose, do you know what our job is?”
Rose brightened. “Repairs and salvage. Getting disabled craft working again. I have certifications in vacuum welding and diagnosis and repair of spacecraft systems.”
“How much was done in free fall?”
As Rose shifted her feet and looked at the floor, Harlan interrupted. “They don’t do free fall training
on the planet, Mira. This is her chance to learn.”
“Rose, what’s my job?” Mira asked.
“Security?”
Mira looked sideways at Harlan. Her jumpsuit was labeled Salvage Security. Was this new kid really this dense?
“I’ve gotta protect the talent,” Mira said, “like engineers with shiny tools which any lowlife with a spacecraft will try to run off with. If the ship we’re repairing is overrun with armed scavengers, what are you going to do? What’s your major?”
“Design,” Rose said in a small voice. “But I can’t graduate without this.”
Mira turned to Harlan with raised eyebrows.
“And what was your major?” he asked Mira in a raised voice. “Ah, yes,” he said, aiming a thin smile at Rose, “exobiology. And you dropped out of studying theoretical mumbo-jumbo to work here.” Harlan turned to give Mira an iron stare. “Maybe you shouldn’t argue qualifications.”
Mira ground her teeth. “When do we leave?”
“Now. I’ve had your away kit transferred onto the Nyx already.” He thumbed the air lock controls and the door slid open silently. “Show me you’re ready for a new engineer, Mira. This is your chance.” He waved them in, then turned and left.
Rose turned to Mira and cocked her head to one side. “Where’s your old engineer?”
Mira wished she could forget the last two weeks. Rose kept repeating the same questions: How had Jake died? How long had she been in space? Would Mira please stop making grunting noises when exercising? How many people had she killed? The questions inevitably ended at the unanswerable one: What was wrong with the Lumen?
Now, Rose was refusing to suit up.
Taking advantage of the pseudo-gravity of the Nyx’s final deceleration, Mira climbed down to the hold. Beginning to work through the routine preparations for a salvage job, she slipped into her gray armored suit.
“I’m not coming down,” said Rose through the access hatch. “No one told me there would be dead people.”
Mira leaned her head against the hold’s lockers. “We don’t know that, Rose. That’s exactly the point. We don’t know what to expect.”
Mira opened her weapons locker. Her eyes flicked over the dozen unopened letters and photo of an old, familiar orchard onto the tools of her trade. A nickel-plated handgun, a battered but serviceable machine pistol and several dozen rounds of nonstandard, high-powered ammunition were locked in place by elastic foam.
“You’re going to use guns on a spacecraft?” asked Rose.
Mira turned to see she’d made her way down to the hold and was standing behind her. “Did you miss a class in grade school, Rose?” Mira strapped the guns to her suit.
The Nyx finished its burn with the ping of the maneuvering alarm and a jolt as the shuttle reentered free fall. As Rose grabbed at a handhold, Mira only bounced in place, her left foot already hooked beneath the weapons cabinet.
“No, I know about piracy,” Rose said, stabilizing herself, “and that spacecraft carry defenses. I guess I never realized how real it was.”
“It’s why my job exists, Rose. Pirates don’t play around once they find a company freighter coasting with no power. They aren’t going to throw bouquets at you when you try and recover the company’s equipment; they’re going to fight to the death. Which is why,” she said, pausing with her helmet ready, “you need your suit on. Decompression is not fun.”
Her helmet sealed to the suit and she heard the quiet whine of the suit’s reactor spinning up, its nanofibers flexing briefly all over her body as it powered on. Mira keyed the suit’s intercom.
“I’m not going to wait for you,” Mira said, her voice reverberating inside the helmet’s small space. Rose appeared lost in thought. “I’ve got a job to do and I’m going to get started. I expect you to be suited and ready to carry out repairs once I’ve announced the all-clear.”
Rose shook her head and covered her face with her hands.
Mira frowned and slapped the air lock control, watching the access door open for her. Harlan knew she was no mentor. The only motivational technique she knew involved her trigger finger. Convincing Rose to suit up and leave her comfort zone wasn’t in Mira’s repertoire.
What she could do, however, was do her own job.
I’m aboard,” Mira said, keying her intercom.
“Aboard,” said Rose’s voice in the earpiece. There was a shared silence before she spoke again. “What’s happened?”
It took a moment before the dim scene this side of the closed air lock registered. Similar to the Nyx, the freighter was comprised of several windowless, cylindrical modules stacked end to end. The opposite side of the tiny cabin would normally feature bunks folded into its inner hull surface, but in their place now, amplified by the inky blackness of the unpowered living quarters, was a circular opening washed in stars. With the freighter’s orientation stabilized by the Nyx, the starlight illuminated the cabin in a cold, steady gray light.
“Hang on,” said Mira, turning on her auxiliary suit lights.
The cabin was clean. The gaping hole in the hull would have drawn out any loose contents, including the crew. The secured equipment, the navigation console, fixed furnishing and suits strapped next to the air lock all remained. In the absence of the daily clutter of life, it looked freshly commissioned.
Mira connected her tether to the inside of the air lock door and launched toward the gaping aperture on the opposite side. The hole ruled out a collision, but the valuable equipment that remained ruled out piracy.
She reached the edge of the hole and caught the lip with both hands, her legs continuing out into space, spinning her to allow an examination of its surface.
The edge of the hole scraped on Mira’s armored glove. This didn’t look like a hasty job. There was no obvious pitting or ablation from a welding laser, no scarring from a mechanical grinder, no tearing or burning of the sandwiched insulating material. The hole appeared to be a perfectly round circle. It was unlikely pirates would do such a clean job.
Mira followed her hand around its circumference. Earth’s superpowers fielded only a token military fleet for political grandstanding. If this had been a military mission, there was no danger of further traps; a military operation would either have destroyed the Lumen completely or taken what they wanted and left her to rot.
Mira released more tether, floated out and away from the Lumen for an exterior view. “You’ll need to make three hull repairs, Rose.”
The three cylindrical modules of the Lumen hung below her in the shade of the freighter’s massive ore load: crew quarters, reactor and engine. Each bore an identical gaping circular hole, transforming the freighter into a full-scale cutaway model. Whoever had disabled the Lumen and killed or abducted her crew was long gone.
Mira paused over the Nyx’s console, unsure how to complete her salvage report’s final question.
Cause:
Rose’s voice chirped through the intercom. “Those poor people.”
“That’s why they pay big out here, sweetheart,” Mira said, keying the console’s microphone. Rose might be having second thoughts about life in space, but at least she was carrying out the repairs.
The console chimed with a communications message. Mira groaned, paused her report and played the message.
Though tinny and distorted, Harlan’s voice was instantly recognizable.
“Mira, I realize you’re repairing the Lumen; however, a situation has come up.”
Mira grimaced.
“Another Earthbound freighter, the Crucible, has gone off the grid. This puts us in a bad situation, because if we can’t transport freight securely we’re going to start losing contracts. She’s not too far from where you are now, about two days’ standard burn homewards. Matters are further complicated because we only expected Rose to work one salvage jo
b.
“So start a hard burn back here and drop off the rookie. Pick up your new engineer and then hard burn back out for repairs before Crucible has to slot into Earth orbit. The schedule’s tight, so hustle.” The intercom pinged, announcing the end of the message.
Mira sighed and pulled her report back up on the console. Her hands paused over the keys. The company would want a definitive answer. With cargo and fixings still present on the Lumen, the only thing worth pirating would have to have been unlisted. The company would be even less receptive of smuggling.
But, whether ejected by decompression or abducted, the crew were gone and the ship had been cut open. She tapped in the only answer she was prepared to settle on.
Piracy
It wouldn’t be a popular conclusion. No doubt the company assessors would find a cleaner explanation for their final report. But they had their job and Mira had hers. And hers wasn’t political.
“All done,” said Rose through the personal address system. “It was only superficial damage. I’ve powered the Lumen up and it’s ready to separate.” The intercom went silent for a moment before crackling to life again. “Do you think they’re dead?”
Mira sniggered. Rose could repair a freighter, but she still needed a dose of real life. She opened up a reply to Harlan’s message. A little more work experience wasn’t going to hurt.
“Harlan, we’ll do the new job on the way back. Send us a course to the Crucible.”
The final gentle burn toward the Crucible passed in familiar routine. Mira checked her equipment and suited up, the rustling of Rose doing the same behind her making for a quiet, white-noise duet.
Writers of the Future, Volume 27 Page 30
