“I was following regulations!” Hunter had the presence of mind to say first, allowing Goldie’s hand on his arm to keep him upright. “In the event of discovered damage that may pose a hazard to the satellite, inbound ships must submit to inspection—”
“Excuse me, Lieutenant,” Reya cut him off icily, “but did this man hit you so hard that you really think you’re speaking to someone who does not know the regulations on this satellite?” Hunter closed his mouth, and thought of what his next words would be. “You heard the Captain’s explanation, and you knew there was no reason not to allow him the extra three minutes to make his orbital window.”
“With all due respect, I did not know that,” Hunter protested. “It was my estimation that the problem was more severe than the Captain believed, and according to regulations, that is my call.”
“The man’s a power-hungry moron.” Captain Toliver, stepped forward to add something, but Reya quickly turned on him.
“Step back, Captain! I saw that punch you threw, and I could have you up on charges for it! In fact, up until now I was prepared to put all the blame on this pilot for following regulations inflexibly. That’s right,” she said before Toliver could interrupt, “because he was acting according to regulations.”
She turned and eyed Hunter. “Even if he did so stupidly.” Hunter, wisely, did not reply.
She turned back to Toliver. “So, at this point, I’m going to call it even, and tell you both that if I catch either of you at this behavior again, I’ll throw you both in the brig! Captain: I believe you have some damage to see to.”
Toliver stood a moment longer, glaring at Hunter, then Reya, before turning and walking slowly back to his ship.
Once he was out of earshot, Reya turned back to Hunter and Goldie. In a somewhat softer voice, she said, “Hunter, what’s up your ass? Following orders is one thing, but that was just being obstinate and stupid! Were you going to shoot him if he kept on? Huh?”
“He would have backed down,” Hunter stated.
“Yes, that was the logical thing to do,” Reya said. “So he could go into freefall and make an uncontrolled re-entry, on no fuel, into an atmosphere choked with volcanic ash.”
“My judgment was that his fuel was about to blow, at which point he and his crew would have been doing freefall without his ship.”
Reya glared at Hunter, but she knew she couldn’t challenge his statement short of using a lie detector on him. She also looked at Goldie, who returned her look with one that suggested, it’s possible.
At that moment, the engineer rolled out from underneath the Wasp, slowly enough that it was clear he wished he had been somewhere else during the previous exchange. After he regarded the three of them nervously, he said, “Linkages look fine, Lieutenant.”
Reya looked at Goldie, who turned calmly to the engineer and said, “Okay, knock off. Thanks for checking it.” The engineer mumbled a thank-you, scrambled up, and hurried away from the trio.
Reya watched him go, before looking back to Hunter and Goldie. Goldie returned her gaze calmly, while Hunter just concentrated on standing up. “Look guys,” Reya said, “we can’t afford to go off half-cocked right now. We’re all in a crisis situation, up here and down there, and we all have to cut each other some slack. Hunter, you know what the regulations are. You also know when it’s okay to bend them. Understand me?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Hunter replied firmly.
“You two are off for the rest of this shift,” Reya said finally. “Report back to duty tomorrow, and don’t let me hear anything like this again. Or you might be asking Toliver for a job. Dismissed.”
Hunter and Goldie turned and headed out of the bays. Reya watched them go a moment, then turned to take a look at Toliver’s ship. She figured she might as well see what Hunter had seen… maybe she would have made the same call. As she walked along, she was suddenly aware of a man who was falling in step with her.
“Fun way to start a morning, huh?”
Reya looked over at Captain Lemuel Carter, and wished she could return his easy smile, but she just wasn’t feeling that pleasant. “Actually, Lem, this is about the last thing I need to be worried about right now.”
“Mm.” Lemuel nodded and continued on with her into the freighter bays. Lemuel was a passenger liner pilot, a regular visitor to Verdant on the regular Global Aerospace commercial run. His ship, the passenger liner Lincoln, was due to return to Earth in a few days… or, at least, was due to return, before Yellowstone blew. Now, the GA schedules were being re-evaluated, and it was anybody’s guess how long he and his ship might remain on Verdant. Nonetheless, he was in full uniform, as was his custom even on non-flying days, looking characteristically dashing and radiating his usual charm and professionalism. His West Indian complexion actually matched the brown of his uniform, which, for most people, wouldn’t look complementary… but with his tall and broad-shouldered physique, Lemuel made it work.
“My crew has been monitoring ground traffic for the past few days,” Lemuel said as they walked. “Things are getting very tense down there. Atmo sucks for flying, with all that ash. People are losing money. Pilots are actually being pushed to fly in hazardous situations.”
“I’m sure,” Reya said. “But we have problems up here, and getting cut off from our supply lines isn’t helping things.”
“Of course not,” Lemuel agreed. “Just don’t forget, Earth’s got its problems… Verdant’s got its problems… but it’s the transports, and your fighters, caught in the middle.” Reya paused, and looked at Lemuel. “Go easy on ‘em,” he finished.
After a moment, Reya nodded. Then she inclined her head in the general direction of the passenger bays, and the Lincoln. “Your boss giving you any grief about being stuck up here?”
“Not yet,” Lemuel replied. “Of course, at the moment none of my scheduled passengers are all that thrilled about leaving…”
“There is that,” Reya smiled ruefully. “Well, as far as I’m concerned, the longer you’re stuck here, the better. Gives the whole place a classier atmosphere.”
“My pleasure,” Lemuel smiled. “Oh, if you get the chance, stop by the Lincoln sometime. Got some new gear I want you to see.”
“When I get the chance,” Reya agreed, resuming her walk. “See you.” Lemuel stood and watched her go, until she was past the emergency bulkhead and out of sight, before turning and heading for his own ship.
Reya approached the drydock slip that had been prepared for the El Capitan, essentially a giant airlock bay that allowed a ship to enter the satellite’s pressurized atmosphere. El Capitan was a medium-sized Clydesdale-class freighter, significantly smaller than some of the bulk cargo ships of the various Cetacean-classes that were forced to dock outside, or to assume parking orbits and have their cargo ferried aboard… but as it was, it barely fit into the largest bays they had. It was mostly a collection of reinforced containers, surrounded by a barely-aerodynamic fuselage, and on two sets of short wing-struts, four heavy-duty engine pods mounted on independently-directed armatures, each of which looked powerful enough to move medium-sized asteroids.
It was the dockmaster’s job to review the situation and okay the airlock entry, so she assumed whatever repairs they needed to do would hopefully be eased by the ability to work in a shirtsleeve environment. It also suggested the damage was not as critical as Hunter thought (or said he thought) it was… which was good for the freighter, if not for Hunter’s rep.
At that moment, Reya could see a few engineers examining various parts of the upper bulkheads and gesturing around, though she suspected the engines had not yet cooled enough to get near. Captain Toliver was also there, standing by the main hatch where he could see the cargo bays being unloaded, and using a headset com to confer with the engineers on his freighter’s roof. Already crews were coming out of the bay, driving the loaders that carried the freighter’s cargo. When Reya was close enough to avoid yelling, she asked, “How does it look?”
Captain Toliver
turned at the sound of her voice, and once he recognized her, he shrugged. “Not that bad. Could’ve been worse.”
“Could it have looked worse to my pilots?” she asked casually.
Toliver regarded her, then glanced at the ship, and considered. He finally said, “I don’t know. Maybe.”
Reya nodded lightly, avoiding the opportunity to adopt a condescending air. Now was not the time. “Take much to fix it?”
“No,” Toliver replied quickly. “It’s mostly superficial. Flying through that ash, even light as it was, did most of this. We’ll need some serious refitting when we get home.”
“Yeah, sounds that way,” Reya agreed. “Listen, on behalf of Verdant, I want to apologize for the tense moments back there. I know you guys have it rough enough, flying through volcanoes and all, without having to get into fights with my flyers.”
“Yeah. Well,” Toliver conceded, “he was doing his job.” A moment later, he added, “It was a weird situation.” He looked at Reya. “I’m sorry I hit your pilot.”
“Thanks,” Reya said. “I’ll be sure to tell him—”
“Reya!”
Reya turned to the freighter’s hatch, and grinned. “Anise! I wondered if you were in there!”
The young woman who stood at the gangway waved to Reya. She wore a pilot’s jumpsuit, which complemented her slim figure nicely, and had a travel bag slung over her shoulder. More than a few of the cargo handlers paused to check her out as she stood there, framed in the hatchway like a picture. She ascended the gangway, her ponytailed hair swinging merrily with each step, came over to Reya and Toliver, and gave Reya a hug. “How are you, Reya! How’s Daddy? Are you taking care of him?”
“Go on up to CnC, and see for yourself,” Reya replied. “I’m sure he’s wondering by now why you aren’t up there already.”
“Hey, it takes time to shut down a cockpit,” Anise told her lightly. She looked at Toliver. “Please go easy on my Captain, he’s had a rough day.”
“Not as rough as we would’ve had if you’d crashed this thing,” Reya told her. “Now, go on and say ‘hi’ to your father. I’ll see you later.” Anise waved and started off, leaving Reya to return to Toliver. “C’mon: I want to get a better look at your ash damage.”
As the pilot headed in the direction of the lifts that would take her to CnC, she was recognized and greeted by more and more people along the way. “Hey, Anise!” “Nice to see you!” “Hey, Annie, you here long? Call me!” Anise waved or spoke to them all, and saw many more smiles directed at her. Anise was a regular visitor to Verdant, and as she happened to be the daughter of one of Verdant’s senior staff, she was well-known and well-liked throughout the satellite… almost a celebrity. In many ways, she felt Verdant was her second home, much like a favorite vacation spot or port, and could easily imagine making it her first home someday.
The security guards that were stationed at the entrance to CnC also smiled and nodded as she approached, though they didn’t say anything. “Hi, fellas,” she greeted them as she passed, and one of them triggered the sliding doors open for her.
She entered CnC, and saw the usual activity: People at their workstations, doing their jobs diligently, some of them going to and fro. Many of them noticed her entrance, and smiled or waved to her. Anise waved back, and craned her neck about to find her father. She finally located him, bent over one of the weather workstations, and started his way. Her father finally looked up, and smiled widely as she approached.
“Daddy!” Anise wrapped her arms around Julian Lenz’s neck, and he gave her a bear-hug.
7: Maneuvers
“Oh, Daddy, it was the worst,” Anise Lenz said after she put her wineglass down. “I almost don’t want to bring that ship back. It’s like flying through gravel… it scours the hull… and the noise! The counter-sonics couldn’t handle it all! I thought the ship was going to rattle apart at any minute.”
Julian regarded her across the table. They were in his suites, and he’d fixed a simple but well-prepared dinner for her. He rarely cooked elaborately for himself, but when his daughter was on-board, he usually went all-out and whipped up the kind of meals he used to fix when they were still living in North Carolina. Today’s dinner was not as involved as others in the past, however, due to the pressures of the day forcing him to leave CnC rather late in the evening. “The GAA,” he said between bites of salad, “said the air was clear in your window.”
“They didn’t fly through it,” Anise said. “They should have, instead of just taking readings. It’s the ash… it’s too hard to really measure with ground-based fuss sensors, you need to get up there to really know what it is. I sent a report back before I left the El Cap, telling them to reconsider their flight clearances.”
“Well, thank goodness you got here in one piece,” Julian said. “I’m still surprised you came at all.”
“Gordon told us to go,” Anise told him. Walter Gordon was the Ceo of RPI, the owners of Lusterne Freight. “He wouldn’t stop moaning about how many billions he was losing by the hour because of the groundings. When the GAA reported the window, he had every loaded freighter okayed for launch. El Cap and Rushmore were the only two that were ready to go in time to hit the window.”
“The Rushmore made it to Fertile all right, I heard,” Julian commented. “But the window has closed back up. Neither of you could manage anything but a southern hemisphere return at this point.”
“That’ll use up more fuel than Gordon will want us to burn to get home,” Anise said. “Especially when he finds out how much that grit wore away at the hull. He’ll tell us to stay put for awhile, hopefully until the northern hemisphere clears.” She took a mouthful of food, and shrugged. “So, I might be here a few days! Enough time to put on a few pounds of this cooking!”
“It wouldn’t kill you,” Julian smiled. “Can’t you get that boyfriend of yours to take you out every now and then?”
“Sergei’s too picky,” Anise shrugged. “It’s easier to stay home. And what about you? Still no one cooking for you?”
Julian returned her shrug. “I’m too picky.”
“Yes,” she agreed, “you are.”
Anise refrained from pestering her father further about his lack of interest in dating or new relationships. Whenever they talked about it, the subject of Mariel came up. It was hard for either of them to talk about his wife, her mother, who had drowned in the Grand Banks floods in the effort to get Anise, then a pre-teen, to safety. She always felt a bit sad that Reya Luis didn’t show any interest in her father, she liked Reya a lot… but then, there was a sizeable age difference there, and to be frank, Anise wasn’t so sure her father could handle Reya, the “petite powderkeg.” So she let the matter drop right there, still high on her list of things to address, but tabled once again, and moved on to other subjects.
They saw enough of each other on a regular basis, Anise being the regular pilot of the El Capitan, that they had little need for catch-up conversation. Instead, they talked about the havoc being created by the caldera on the ground. It was not surprising, of course, that the engineers’ projections on how long this equipment, or that service, would last under the onslaught of the ash spread, was proving to be way off in either direction. Some equipment that had been expected to be frozen up by now was still chugging along, albeit a bit roughly, under the ash load… while other systems expected to last for months to years were already shutting down. Without reliable operational projections for—well, anything—society was grinding to a halt in North America, and scientists were beginning to use words like “cataclysmic” and “extinction” more and more often. Fully seventy-five percent of the U.S. was now under the ash cloud, and it was beginning to reach across the Atlantic already. Rationing was in effect, since transportation of goods was almost at a standstill. Americans were being warned to hunker down for what might be months of hardship, and no one was willing to predict an end to it all.
As he listened, Julian massaged his temples. It was one thing
to hear it from impartial news services. But to hear it from his own daughter, firsthand, was heart-rending.
“And to top it all off,” Anise said, “President Lambert evacuated up here, and left Carruthers running the country. And she’s useless! ‘Cocktail Barbie’ just hides in the High House, gives an occasional address for everyone to stay calm, then ducks into a closet while other departments try to figure out how to get the country through this crisis without real guidance. I could skin Lambert alive, just for that!”
“He’s not exactly making himself welcome up here, either,” Julian told her. “He’s pushing us for higher immigration quotas again.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Anise nodded. “I’m sure he’d love to move all of his cronies up here and set up a little corner of America around his little compound, over there.”
“And what are Americans saying about the satellites?”
Anise looked at her father, and took a sip of wine before responding. “A lot of people want to get up here, Daddy. They’re panicking… and with good reason. They think maybe it’s safe up here in the satellites.”
“I wish it was,” Julian said. “I wish we could take them all up here. But it’s just not workable. Our resources and capacities are very finite. They need to understand that.”
“That’s a rational argument,” Anise said. “But this isn’t a rational time. They think the satellites are going to cut themselves off from Earth, and leave them to stew.”
Julian shook his head. “We need Earth as much as they need us. Where would we be without Earth?”
~
“I gotta get off this rock.”
Walter Gordon was alone in his office, speaking aloud as if there was someone there to hear him. But no one was around, save a few guards on the lower levels of RPI. They certainly couldn’t hear him up on the penthouse level. In fact, most of them probably didn’t know he was still in the building.
But he was there, in his office, all alone. He had been up there for days, since he’d sent most of the rest of his employees home by government order, and only a skeleton force remained at the offices. The picture window behind his desk was obscured by closed blinds and drawn drapes, and the single small desk lamp cast most of the room in shadow. Walter Gordon paced about in the dark, occasionally talking to himself, fretting over the imminent disaster that was his company.
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