As part of his daily routine, while slowly consuming breakfast, he enjoyed reading some of the top-secret government communiqués his young techowizards intercepted.
When he read one such missive directed from Earth to Pluto, he nearly choked on his orange juice.
Immediately, he rang his secretary and told him, “Call a meeting of all our top snoops. We have a new priority.”
__________
Macklin’s Rock :
SMD Mine Number 568 :
Sol System :
Asteroid Belt :
Taking a break at noon for a bite to eat, Alex slipped off the thought-link patch and ocular caps, blinking his eyes as he focused on the small TAHU. Adults always tried to tell him that too much VR would make him go blind, but if that were true, Alex had never seen any evidence of it.
“Hucs,” he addressed the computer. Now that the thought-link patch was off, he had to vocalize his request. “Fries and cola, please.”
Alex grumbled to himself. His parents were concerned that he was not eating well enough. He felt all right, but had no choice in the matter; he had not yet figured out how to overwrite the log matrix on Hucs, so that he could override its priority codes with impunity. He decided he would have to work on that problem in the afternoon, or risk severe penalties when his parents found out he had been playing hooky again.
“Yeah, that’s fine.” When he entered the dining cubicle, his sandwich and milk were waiting for him in the booth, the replicator pre-programmed with the differing personal preferences of each of the three inhabitants. Alex liked chopped celery and onion with no extra mayonnaise, but his parents preferred lettuce as their only addition. He sat down and ate quickly, his mind not on the food, but on the problem of the log matrix.
If he wrote a sub-program slaved to the file named “Alex’s Daily Activities and Progress Chart,” then whenever his mother or father tapped in an inquiry on him, the dummy file would come up on screen over top of the legitimate file. He could then doctor the dummy file in any manner he so chose.
The problem with that was—
The TAHU alert klaxon sounded, making Alex jump in the booth.
Without delay, Alex tapped the 2D min-monitor in the booth, signaling his parents.
“Mom! Dad!” he yelled, but the monitor showed nothing but white static.
“Look out! I think it’s an asteroid!”
Leaping out of the booth, Alex raced for his cubicle. The emergency drills his parents had forced him to repeat to no end came to him like second nature.
Jumping into the security receptacle, he closed his eyes as the restraints locked around him, securing him from hitting any walls when whatever it was outside hit him.
He had the briefest of moments to speculate what was coming at him. His first though had been an asteroid, but that would not be traveling so fast. A solar flare? Unlikely, at this distance.
Sweat leaped from his forehead as panic set in.
His parents were outside, unprotected.
<…second…>
Unable to control himself, he screamed.
<…until…>
__________
St. Lawrence Charity Hall :
Ottawa :
Canada Corp.:
As Michael Sanderson and Alliras Rainier began their first round of maneuvering tactics to corner Ian Pocatello into granting them an extra billion dollars in funding, a servochine interposed itself between the two.
The Al had been designed in the shape of a humanoid, but instead of legs, it used six rubber wheels to glide across surfaces. The wheels were attached to a rectangular box that could be customized as a refrigeration unit, a file cabinet, a tool chest, or any other kind of container required by the servochine’s programmed capacity. As a waiter, the servochine’s compartment was used to carry bottles of alcohol and spirits.
To Michael’s slight surprise, the servochine was holding a silver tray on top of which was a white plastic envelope addressed to him.
“How quaint,” the Minister of Finance commented. “A couriered message. I don’t think I’ve ever been on the receiving end of one of those, little say sending one.”
Running interference, Alliras replied, “Don’t know why we ever stopped. Couriers and fax machines were wonderful. Now, we send everything over the EarthMesh. Quite frankly, I’m not comfortable with all the techno hackers in the world having access to the digitally transmitted love letters I send to my wife from work.” Both Ian and Stall chuckled appreciatively.
Glancing at the servochine’s CPU mount as if the AI would explain its presence, Michael took the envelope, opened it and, muttering a quick “Excuse me” to the three gentlemen looking on with interest, read the lased memo on the plastic slip he found within.
*
Michael, I’m sorry to have to send this message to you considering your current circumstances, but an emergency has arisen that demands your immediate attention.
There has been a catastrophe that could undermine the entire program. The media is not yet aware of the incident, but it is only a matter of time. We need you, Michael!
—Calbert
*
Michael looked up at Alliras, blinked, and then forced an equable smile on his face.
“Something has come up.”
“Everything all right?” Stall asked, fishing for information.
“Of course. You know SOPs: every time there’s a blip on the astrographs, they have to have it signed off.”
“A find?” Stall pressed.
Michael smiled. “If it is, I’ll make sure to send you an advance press release. And now, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.”
The look on Ian Pocetello’s face was a mix of concern over the emergency, and relief that he would not be corralled that night.
The timing was horrible, but Michael had to get back and assess the situation; he trusted Calbert not to exaggerate any catastrophe. If anything, his aide was apt to understate the case; and that scared years off Michael’s life. If damage control was needed, he had to get to the SMD event center quickly.
As Michael turned to go, Alliras said, “You don’t mind if I tag along?” He read the emotion on Michael’s face, and knew that the message was more important than lobbying the finance minister.
“Please do.” Michael said it as casually as he could.
Alliras motioned to one of his aides, who hurried over. “Please inform our wives we’ve been called away, and see that they get home safely.”
“Certainly, sir.” The man gave a quick nod, and hurried off.
Making apologies as they left, Michael and Alliras made their way out of the St. Lawrence Charity Hall, and into the Minister’s awaiting limo.
*
“Dammit,” Michael cursed once they were inside the vehicle. “Two months trying to get into the same room with Ian Pocatello, and this happens.”
He handed the memo to his superior. Before reading it, Alliras commented, “A bit medieval, sending a message on plastic. Quaint, as the Honerable Ian Pocatello put it, but still medieval.”
“It’s something that Calbert initiated; public thought-comm traffic is mimocorded by the government. CSIS has legislation allowing them to monitor any thought-comm or AV conversation, even encoded transmissions. Even the CCP can get access to the Corp’s messaging system, in a crunch. A hand-delivered message is about the most secure form of communication available to us, as ironic as that is.”
“Ironic,”
the Minister repeated.
“If one of the CSIS agents, or even a worker at the communications network, is of the disgruntled variety, there’s always the chance of them selling any vital information over the border. We normally have a code we use over the thought-comm network, but I turned off my system for the charity function.”
Alliras read the plastic slip inside the envelope. He whistled. “What does this mean?”
“I’m going to find out soon enough,” Michael replied, already tapping in the number for a direct AV comm line to Calbert Loche, powered under SMD’s private and secured lines, to allow his superior to listen in. An AV comm, conducted through thought-link patches, could be heard by one person on either end of the transmission.
“What about your internal security?” Alliras prompted.
As the signal beeped that transmission was taking place, Michael answered, “We have our own code for department lines, just like your office, I assume. We use it for emergencies, so no one will have enough examples to decode.”
“You take your history lessons to heart, I see.”
“I learned from my superior, rather than from textbooks,” Michael complimented. Alliras nodded in concession.
To his consternation, Michael’s call was bounced to Raymond Magrath, Calbert’s capable assistant.
“What’s going on?” Michael demanded. “I got the message. Where’s Calbert? Get him on the line.”
Raymond looked sheepish. “Sorry, Director; Calbert has his hands full. I know he needs to speak to you, though. Urgently.” He struggled to think of what could be said over what passed for a “secure” line.
“There’s a…a kind of 152, but of indeterminate substance or identification.”
Michael chewed on his lip.
“And…?” he pressed after a moment.
“Also, a 489.”
“Oh. Damn.” He nodded to the assistant. “We’re already on our way. Fifteen minutes.”
“Thank you, Director.” The assistant severed the connection.
Michael hung up the comm line.
“So what’s a 152 and 489?” The Minister asked, raising one brow.
“A 152 is a ‘Find.’ A discovery of a mineral or ore lode.”
“That’s good, then.”
“Indeterminate. We get an average of a dozen 152s a week.
“—A 489,” Michael informed him solemnly, “we don’t get so often. It means there’s been an accident, and there are multiple deaths involved.”
The silence in the limo stretched out for a full minute, and then Alliras nodded.
“Then by all means, let’s not spare the horses.”
__________
USA, Inc. Exploration Site :
Mission Orcus 1 :
Pluto :
On the bridge DMR casement of the Orcus 1, and simulcast on their workstation monitors and palm puters, the NASA insignia appeared along with the emblems from the Canadian Space Exploration division, the European Space Agency, the Japan Conglomeration Space Enterprises, and the People’s Republic of China Space Program, all of whom had joined the Pluto mission under NASA authority.
Justine scrutinized every digiface character that appeared on the screen.
The report had been sent in binary code; a video uplink was thought too expensive for routine communications. The power requirements of AV at that distance were astronomical, to say the least.
The computer translated the message:
*
To:
Orcus 1
From:
Mission Control, NASA, USA, Inc.
Re:
Dis Pater
Message:
The glyph on the last row, last column is confirmed as Mayan Hieroglyph, circa 700 AD
Translation:
“Behold the Mighty Door of Kinich Ahua; Eternity is Now Before You; Be Ware the Power of Kukulcan.”
Orders:
Discontinue initial mission. Dis Pater primary priority. Local authority granted.
Signed:
CEO Frank Madison, USA, Inc.
Director William Tuttle, NASA
CEO Pierre Dolbeau, Canada Corp.
Thomas Granville, Minister of CSE
Dir. Lassen Kruger, ESA
Dir. Vic Tong, Japan Cong. space enterprises
Honorable Tung Jo, PRC Space program
*
Loud conversation broke out immediately, threatening to escalate into argument.
“What does that mean, ‘Behold the Mighty Door of Kinich Ahua; Eternity is Now Before You; Be Ware the Power of Kukulcan’?”
“And what does ‘local authority’ mean?”
“What do they expect us to do?”
“Who is going to be in charge? The Mission Chief? Or the Science Chief?”
Johan Belcher asked, “Are there any more details?”
“No.”
Henrietta had a concerned look on her face. “Are they keeping us in the dark on purpose?”
“Is there more? Does Captain Turner have a private message?” George Eastmain demanded.
That last question brought silence as all turned to her for an answer. Justine, in turn, glanced at Helen. “Is there anything for me?”
The First Mate/Navigator of the mission blinked a number of times. It was against regulations to reveal even the existence of coded military messages to the Science Team, but it was obvious the captain wanted to allay suspicion among the Team.
Slowly, she nodded, yes.
“Bring it up.”
Helen hesitated. “Captain,” she began to protest.
“Bring it up,” Justine reiterated, her tone forceful and full of command. She brooked no disobedience.
“Very well.” The Canadian turned to her comm computer and tapped in a few passages, giving the preliminary codes. She turned to Justine. “Captain?”
Nodding, Justine said out loud, “Voice print confirmation: Captain Justine Churchill Turner, Orcus 1. Security Code: Alpha-Alpha-Alpha-Zeta-Alpha-Turkey-Chicken-Rat.” There were a few chuckles, despite the tension.
The on-board AI replied, “Confirmation acknowledged, Captain.”
Justine added in a mock imperious tone, “Just so everyone knows, I’m changing the code after this.” That elicited a few more chuckles.
On the bridge DMR casement, the NASA insignia was replaced by the CEO of USA, Inc.’s official emblem. Unlike the binary EPS, this message was an AV communication, with a length of two minutes, fourteen seconds. The cost for that brief message was in the thousands of dollars.
On screen, the image of CEO Frank Madison and Director William Tuttle appeared, both seated on a couch in Camp David.
The Director spoke first. “I won’t waste time, Captain Turner. No doubt you received the translation of the inscription on that artifact yew called Dis Pater by now. I know, I know. The words mean nothing without a frame of reference. We’ve got top Mayanologists and cryptologists working on it right now with our best technical and theological experts.
“For now, I want you to inform the Science Team that they should proceed with utmost care, but with utmost urgency in trying to solve the mystery of Dis Pater; we need as much information as possible.”
The CEO, the most powerful man in America—and some said, the world—interrupted the Director.
“Since the discovery, we’ve had a number of summit meetings with the involved agencies represented by the Science Team up there, as well as with most of the other countries. There is a widespread movement to make public any and all findings. But the five agencies who are in cooperation on this project are in a position to keep the upper hand with our discovery.
“It’s political chaos down here. It is imperative that we have some solid information before making any kind of arrangement with any country outside the five. Therefore, we are depending on you to ride herd on those scientists up there. Bring us something we can use.”
The Director of NASA took over again. “Justine, no matter what, I want you to
make sure no lives are in danger. Come back to us safely. There’s a promotion waiting for you upon arrival.” He smiled and gave a quick nod of his head.
The NASA insignia transposed itself over the frozen image, and then the casement went blank.
The argument that threatened to boil over from the collected scientists was cut off as Helen’s voice cut through the growing roar of protest.
“Captain! We’ve got something on the spectrograph sensor at the artifact site.’
She stared up at Justine, her eyes widened to the size of saucers.
“It’s the Dis Pater.”
Her voice throaty, she spoke in a breathless rush. “It’s…reacting.”
__________
SMD Catalogue :
Largest Asteroids :
by diameter (kms) :
1. Ceres – 952
2. Pallas – 544
3. Vesta – 529
4. Hygiea – 431
5. Intermenia – 326
6. Europa – 301
7. Davida – 289
8. Sylvia – 286
9. Cybele – 273
10. Eunomia – 268
- - -
42. Macklin’s Rock – 148
__________
Forbidden The Stars Page 5
