Viking

by Daniel Hardman

“Funny you should mention the runs,” he said, gesturing to a thin strip of tape clinging to the bulkhead. “I had a bit of a problem a few minutes ago. TP was running low. Good thing I spotted that old picture by your bunk.”

  This provoked a general sneer which immediately hushed as Rafa lunged across the room.

  “Give it back,” Rafa hissed, cracking Whemper’s head against the unforgiving metal. “Now.” The dog-eared photo was of Julie and the twins—one he’d carried in his wallet before the trial. It was the only piece of home he had left.

  Whemper’s eyes ranged over Rafa’s shoulder to Heward, who had unholstered his pistol in warning. Rafa saw the flicker and guessed at its meaning, but did not let up the crushing pressure on Whemper’s shoulders.

  “You’re just as lousy as the rest of us,” Whemper snarled. “No viking’s lily white. Neither is your lady.”

  “Where’s the picture, you scumbag?” Without warning Rafa kneed the other man in the groin, lifting him clean off the ground. Whemper crumbled in a heap, retching. Rafa grabbed a fistful of hair and raised his right hand to strike.

  A click rang loudly in the silence. The muzzle of Heward’s pistol was resting behind Rafa’s right ear, and his thumb had just released the safety.

  “That’s enough, Orosco.”

  For a split second, the trio stood frozen. Then there was a blur of movement as Rafa flicked his upraised hand back, seized the barrel of the gun, rolled forward on his right leg and swept his left around in a vicious circle. A bolt of plasma raked wildly across the ceiling and Heward went down on his back. He was on his feet again in a flash, but now Rafa held the gun.

  “Don’t ever threaten me like that again,” Rafa said softly.

  Heward’s voice was bitter. “You’re dead, Orosco. Dead.”

  Actually not, broke in a crisp female voice over their implants. This is Dr. Edvardsen. Commander Heward, capital punishment is not an acceptable disciplinary strategy on this crew. Do you understand?

  Heward glowered and remained silent.

  I said, do you understand?

  A flash of pain convulsed Heward’s face, and he staggered. “Yes,” he gasped.

  That’s good. Now, Mr. Orosco, drop the weapon so we can get on with our staff meeting.

  Rafa turned on the safety and tossed the pistol to the floor. Heward glowered at him sullenly.

  Mr. Whemper, where’s the picture? Don’t make me replay your viking feed to track it down.

  Whemper said nothing, but Compton kicked at a magazine in the corner. “He cut out her face and pasted it on the centerfold. Threw the rest in the incinerator.”

  I see. Well, maybe Mr. Heward can employ his creativity to dream up some appropriate punishment. In the meantime, I’ve used up enough of my time being a babysitter. Don’t make me use neural prods.

  The vikings made no response.

  * * *

  The staff meeting, once begun, was over in surprisingly short time. They were in the discovery phase of the mission; the immediate goal was to gather information that would help earthside MEEGO strategists determine how best to spend their energy and resources in the days and weeks ahead.

  Dr. Edvardsen played back a clip from Rafa and Abbott’s encounter for the group with a stern caution to be on the lookout. The visuals evoked scattered oaths from the crew, but Edvardsen continued talking steadily, reviewing viking/control pairings and encouraging everyone to be dutiful data collectors. Then she dismissed them.

  Rafa, still nauseous about the loss of his family picture, roused himself enough to answer one obvious but unaddressed question.

  “Dr. Edvardsen?”

  Yes? She sounded impatient.

  “What are we going to do about burying the vikings who were killed in the landing?”

  That hasn’t been taken care of already?

  Heward spoke up. “We bagged the bodies and put them in cold storage. But no, we haven’t buried them.”

  Well, unfortunately we don’t have any time now. We’re short-handed, and we need those of you who are healthy to pull extra shifts as it is. Will they keep?

  “What do you mean, ‘Will they keep?’” Rafa was unable to keep the disgust out of his voice. “You want us to just leave them in deep freeze like yesterday’s leftovers?”

  Yes, Mr. Orosco. That’s exactly what I want. How nicely you put it. Edvardsen’s voice was icy.

  Rafa could tell he was treading on unwelcome ground, not only with earthside, but with Heward, who glared at him ominously. But he’d already begun burning bridges, and he was unwilling to leave things this way.

  “They deserve a proper burial. It’s the least we can do for them.”

  I don’t need a lecture in ethics, Mr. Orosco. Your viking contracts provide no guarantee about a viewing at the neighborhood mortuary. If you want to weep and wail at a graveside, do it on your own time. It will make no difference to the corpses. Those bodies are nothing more than rotting cells at this point, anyway. Bury them now or a year from now—it’s all the same.

  Rafa shook his head in disgust. “Whatever you say.”

  Exactly.

  8

  Bezovnik pressed deeply into the yielding leather of his seat and glowered at the blank screen.

  “Ah, my friend, how surprising to hear from you again.”

  “Spare me your sarcasm,” barked a gravelly voice from the speaker.

  “Very well.” Bezovnik pulled out the old-fashioned notepad he’d been using to keep notes, undid the cufflinks at his wrists, and leaned forward. “How much do you want now?”

  The speaker emitted a raspy laugh. “Well, I certainly can’t fault your business instincts.”

  “How much?”

  “Considering your willingness to pay up, I think I’ve been a bit miserly in my little invoices.”

  Bezovnik raised his eyebrows. “Miserly?”

  “The longer this operation goes on, the more obvious it gets. You’ve found something worth a fortune.”

  “Any planet we finalize is worth a fortune. That’s not so unusual in this business.”

  “This mission has been out of the ordinary from the start. You picked a target that had minimal survey data, assigned a viking crew and chartered a transport in nothing flat.”

  “True. But not illegal.”

  “We could get a couple indictments just based on the crazy route you flew. Thirty thousand light years in two jumps! You’re lucky the vikings didn’t mutiny.”

  Bezovnik frowned and made a note in a neat, precise hand. It said “flight plan.” He underlined it. “Look, I’ve already paid you ten times what a reckless endangerment plea would cost.”

  “At least. In fact, you’ve probably paid more than the whole mess would cost you, even with the bribery and fraud charges I had on you to start with.”

  “And that’s why you’re calling.”

  “Perceptive, aren’t you? Yes, I’ve decided that whatever else you’re trying to hide about this mission, it ought to be worth another million.”

  Bezovnik sat bolt upright and pounded his desk. “A million!” he shouted. “Are you crazy?”

  “Am I?”

  Bezovnik muttered bitterly and shook his head. It galled him if he’d given indications that previous payments were less than catastrophic. Clearly he had not been sufficiently cautious; the last thing he wanted was to reveal the true value of the EB II project. He considered upping the ante by bluffing a non-payment. It might convince his anonymous problem that a million was the limit.

  It might also land him in court or a jail cell—and if that happened, the government would rescind MEEGO’s permits and prematurely confiscate the find of the century. Poker player that he was, it was a chance he simply couldn’t afford. He was sitting on something so lucrative that no amount of hush money seemed exorbitant. At least, not if it was a temporary rather than an on-going expense.

  That was the crux of the problem, of course. There would never be a final payment until he staunched the flow
of information. And as long as exposure was a risk, he didn’t dare proceed with the real mission on Erisa Beta II. He’d juggled schedules and assignments and put the viking crew in a harmless holding pattern to buy a few days, but it couldn’t go on like this much longer. He had to plug his leak in time to shift the crew and lay claim to the ground he wanted.

  A massive breach of the company’s network might explain it. That had been his first thought after initial threats to expose the EB II claim fraud. But security experts assured him that a digital invasion, even if successful, would trigger all sorts of alarms. Audits had been squeaky clean, and the fabricated evidence he’d left in strategic locations hadn’t been touched. Nobody was snooping on his files.

  That left people. Some individual—or, even worse, some group—with personal, internal knowledge of MEEGO’s activities must be selling the information. Or using it directly, of course. For the past couple weeks he’d been wracking his brains to discover who it could be. The scientists were natural suspects, so he’d completely replaced the earthside EB II team. It made no difference.

  He had briefly considered Edvardsen, the project director. The scope of the culprit’s knowledge sometimes coincided pretty closely with hers. Certainly neither she nor the blackmailer knew what the future focus of the mission would be. But her hands were too dirty to blackmail anyone. Senior management? Not likely; the handful who knew details of the mission were in up to their necks and couldn’t risk exposure. And they would soon be fabulously rich anyway. Besides, a blackmailer with their knowledge would hardly be asking for chicken feed.

  The flight plan changed things.

  He had spoken with the ship’s captain personally when he signed the charter. MEEGO wanted quick departure and minimal transit time at any cost. Minimal time, he’d stressed.

  “It’ll be more expensive to work on a short timetable,” the captain had responded.

  “As long as you stay within reason. The schedule is critical for us.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll send along a flight plan in a couple hours when I clear all the red tape.” The captain had eyed him intently as he said it, waiting for a response.

  “That won’t be necessary. We’ll just leave it in your hands.”

  The captain had nodded solemnly, and they had both understood that MEEGO was looking the other way while the captain skirted the edges of the law. So how did the blackmailer know how many jumps they’d done? Nobody at MEEGO knew that—only the vikings themselves.

  Could a viking be in on this? He hadn’t seriously considered that possibility before, because some of the information was beyond their clearance. Besides, they’d been in isolation since their training began, and now that the implants were activated, they couldn’t even go to the bathroom in privacy. But maybe a viking informant had found a way to pass back mission particulars to an outside partner with more limited access. He couldn’t see how—yet it would explain the detailed knowledge of some items and the apparent ignorance of others... If a crewmember was the only source of the blow-by-blow happenings on the planet, there was suddenly light at the end of the tunnel.

  “Well?”

  Bezovnik snapped back to the conversation at hand, trying to suppress the surge of elation in his voice.

  “I’m telling you, a million is a lot of money.”

  “Poor Bezovnik! The police will feel sorry for you.”

  “Very funny. Since you’re so clever, why don’t you tell me how to get that kind of cash? I certainly don’t have it in my pocket.”

  “I’ll bet MEEGO will float a loan.”

  “MEEGO has auditors and accountants, you fool! How do I expense it? I can’t commit another crime just to keep my nose clean with you!”

  “Oh, come, come. I’m sure your conscience will see the light. Given your experience with creative record-keeping, I have no doubt you’ll find a way.”

  Bezovnik sulked in silence.

  “Good for you. I hear your little wheels already starting to spin. I’ll expect the same sort of delivery as before. Tomorrow. By noon. Or the phone rings at FBI headquarters.”

  9

  Rafa unslung his backpack, let it drop to the sodden turf, and slowly straightened up, wiping the sweat from his eyes and stifling a yawn. Truncated sleep had been dragging at him all day, and he still had hours more work to do. The schedule was brutal.

  “Mind if I take a quick break?” he said.

  Go ahead. Faint echoes of Satler shifting in his chair sounded in Rafa’s ear. The scientist had signed on at last shift change, sounding annoyingly fresh and well rested.

  Rafa pulled a canteen from a pouch in his pack and guzzled gratefully, his eyes casting about for a convenient place to sit. Finding nothing useful, he folded his legs pretzel-style and sank to the ground where he was, ignoring muddy boots and the moisture that immediately coated his heavy kevrotex trousers.

  The sky was mostly blue now. The remnants of the storm front were scudding rapidly toward the east horizon, offering a first glimpse at an alien sun. Cooler than Sol, Erisa Beta glowed with a decidedly orange hue and could almost be viewed comfortably with the naked eye. They were orbiting at a comparatively cozy distance of 55 million kilometers, making the star appear nearly three times the size he was used to. The sun was close to zenith; in this planet’s short diurnal cycles, noon followed sunrise by only about four and a half hours.

  Their ship had come to rest in a clearing a few degrees south of the equator, near the foothills of a spectacular mountain range. Snow-covered cones rose in profusion like granite teeth to the northwest, their summits towering in many places above the hazy clouds. Volcanic forces had pushed the rocky heights up along a subduction zone between colliding tectonic plates, where continent met ocean. A series of verdant hills surrounded the pinnacles, sweeping in an arc from north to southwest.

  Where the hills petered out to the south, the land sloped gently downward, slipping from grassy plains into kilometers of dense tropical rainforest, before eventually spilling out into white beaches that glittered against the deep azure of the sea. To the east their clearing faded into ever thicker, taller grassiness, with a hint of treetops in the distance. The beauty of the scene had a feral quality to it that left Rafa at once awestruck and uneasy.

  Below and to the east of Rafa’s vantage point on the hillside, the brown scars of last night’s mudslide marred the smooth green of the clearing. Several of the vikings were clustered near the jaws of the partly-buried cargo hold, assembling and repairing heavy equipment under the direction of skilled mechanics back on earth. Two of the skimmers were now working, and the growing skeleton of their damaged backhoe was taking shape like a resurrecting dinosaur.

  Meanwhile, the mining probe had been pressed into service as an excavator. Its hydraulic shovel was methodically clearing mud away from the main hatch, which faced directly into the hillside. Rather than supervise a viking in its operation, earthside was controlling the machine directly; watching it scoop and swivel without a driver gave a queer illusion of sentience to the robot. Occasionally its jerky motions caused teeth-grating scrapes as it hit the thick metallic hull of the module.

  Rafa watched it slave tirelessly and reflected with bitterness on his own status.

  Despite his exhaustion, the hard work of the morning had been a welcome distraction; for a few hours at least, he’d been able to suppress the despair that had hung so heavily since his imprisonment. But now the bleakness of his situation returned with a vengeance, like a dreary threnody he could not drown out. He was just another robot, valued purely for utilitarian considerations. In a few days he’d be buried in this muddy clay—if he was lucky—without so much as an “Alas, poor Yorick” over his grave. And Julie would probably never even know.

  Abruptly he sprang to his feet, his hands clenching unconsciously, his jaw set.

  “What’s next?”

  There was a short pause while Dr. Satler flipped some toggles and reactivated the uplink portion of his own connection.


  Hold on! I was just in the middle of a sandwich. Satler’s voice sounded thick and muffled, like his mouth was full.

  “Sorry. I just decided that a break is worse than being worked into the ground.”

  Satler’s voice was clearer this time, but it was slurred by a yawn and tinged with annoyance. You won’t be feeling that way at the end of your shift, I’ll tell you that much. You’ll be lucky if you’re still walking.

  Rafa drummed his gloved fingers on his coveralls.

  All right. We’ve got plenty of samples to keep the DNA sequencer busy. It’s come back with preliminary profiles on some of the bacteria, but running just the interesting species of plants and animals will take hours. I’ve got a team crunching through your visual feed, indexing everything and adding it to our master database. Enough raw data on a small scale. Let’s see if we can fill in some of the holes in our biosurvey. I’ve got a skimmer freed up for a couple hours.

  Rafa hoisted the bulky pack onto his shoulders and clomped back down the hill.

  The virtual noise came without warning, crescendoing exponentially like feedback from a mispositioned microphone. No eardrum could have withstood the intensity of such sound; the auditory centers of his brain were overwhelmed as they processed the signal.

  Rafa pitched forward on his face, experiencing a powerful electrical shock from his implants as he fell. For a moment he was too stunned to move; then he spat mud from his mouth and staggered out of a prone position, gasping at the pain in his head. A wave of dizziness sent him reeling.

  The initial overload subsided, and everything faded into a merciful silence that was as absolute as anything Rafa had ever known. Then came a fleeting sensation of distant, distorted buzzing, and the horizon curled itself up in a swirl of vertigo and blackness.

  10

  With the storm dispersing, it was easy for 1291 of pod 71 to detect the chatter that a scout had reported the night before.

  It wasn’t random, like the static that crackled and sizzled between thunderheads. And it was definitely more speech-like than the monotone siren parked in The Cold far overhead, or the primitive squealers that had recently materialized near the mountains. But as she sank through the cloudbank, she had to agree: if it was language, it was a bizarre and mystifying sort that she’d never encountered before.