The Stellar Death Plan (Masters of Space Book 1)

by Robert E. Vardeman

  The power came back on, the emergency lights momentarily blinding him. Ala had determined that no further damage would be done. Kinsolving heaved a sigh of relief as he swung into level six. His shoulders had begun to ache from the descent. He was glad he wouldn’t have to climb back; his muscles would be sore for a week. For all the complaining he did about desk jockeys and petty bureaucrats, Kinsolving knew he was hardly better. What did he need muscle for when tireless robo-miners pulled out a kilogram of ore every minute of every twenty-hour day? The full automation of the rare earth mine allowed production unheard of, even back on Earth.

  Kinsolving started to check in with Ala, then saw that the flashing light on the com-link still told of the woman’s insistence to warn him back. Obstinately, Kinsolving ignored it and pressed the elevator call button. It came rumbling down from above; he swung in and found the control panel. Careful scrutiny showed danger warnings for every level below eighteen.

  Kinsolving descended to seventeen.

  As he stepped out, spray from ten meters below came up the shaft and soaked his clothing. He wiped clear the eye lenses of his respirator and peered down, shining the hand flash onto the churning surface of the water. The lowest levels of this mine might be closed permanently, he realized. For all his experience, he had never seen such complete destruction from water.

  Kinsolving started to stand, then caught sight of something that seemed out of place. His sharp cone of light came to rest on severed cables. Kinsolving pointed the com-link sensors at the cut while his mind raced. He knew the wiring diagrams for the mine by heart, but it took several seconds before he recognized this as a secondary control circuit. The robominer cut directly into the rock, following programmed instructions. This far underground, simple radio broadcast proved impossible and foptic or laser links too expensive or impractical. A hard wire came from the unit to a transmitter.

  Kinsolving looked at the junction box for the robot miner’s safety sensors.

  Someone had cut the wire so that the robominer was unable to warn the operator when it encountered the underground river.

  “Sabotage?” Kinsolving asked himself. His voice echoed strangely inside the respirator and he almost took it off. A quick, instinctive check of the com-link showed that the air was no longer breathable here. He needed the heavy mask to stay alive.

  “It might have been cut by flying debris,” he said. “That’s it. Debris.” Kinsolving wormed around on his belly, leaning far over the edge of the level eighteen elevator platform. The transmitter and the cut wire were still several meters lower; with the churning, frothy water in the shaft he wasn’t sure what he saw.

  Kinsolving pulled himself back onto the elevator platform when he found telltale gouges on the sides of the shaft that could have been made only by a heavy-lifter robot. An unauthorized use of such equipment constituted not only immediate dismissal by IM but also violated IM’s agreement with the Lorr. They monitored every lifting of ore from the mine; their representative levied taxes on the spot. If a heavy-lifter had been used, that meant the Lorr had been cheated — and possibly that no ore had remained on level nineteen when the flooding occurred.

  “Sabotage to cover the theft of rare earth ores,” Kinsolving muttered. “But why?”

  That proved impossible to answer. Interstellar Materials and the Lorr controlled all off-planet flight. How could anyone expect to sneak down, load such a massive quantity of ore — even reduced ore — and get away with it? And why? Any single lifting from the mine wouldn’t be profitable enough for such piracy.

  The words began to echo in Kinsolving’s skull: Any single lifting.

  What if the ore theft had been going on for some time? Months? Years? The value of such rare earths would be immense over a span of years.

  That still didn’t answer the question of who. And how. Starflight was too well controlled for a modern-day Captain Kidd aboard an interstellar pirate ship.

  Kinsolving shook off such fanciful notions. He might never have noticed the heavy-lifter rock scars before. Coming down into the mine was an occasional trek for him. And the cut sensor circuit might have happened after the flooding. He began tinkering with control boxes powered by emergency fuel cells. Within ten minutes the powerful auxiliary pumps had begun their slow work. Another twenty minutes saw level eighteen pumped out, and Kinsolving watched as the churning water dropped lower and lower. He made a few quick estimates and decided that two more levels would be drained by morning.

  He settled bone-tired onto the floor of the elevator and crossed his long legs. Wincing at the pain in his muscles, he reached up and pressed the ground level button.

  The elevator shuddered and began the almost two kilometer climb to the surface.

  It had gone only five hundred meters when the power failed. Aches forgotten, Kinsolving surged to his feet and slammed his fist hard against the emergency brake activator button.

  He screamed inside his respirator when the braking failed. His stomach rose into his throat as the elevator plummeted back into the mine — back into the dark depths toward the flooded lower levels.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The rocky, barren planet swung around a sun emitting far too much ultraviolet for comfortable human habitation, but humans did populate Gamma Tertius 4. From the stellar-radiation-cracked plains rose a magnificent spire that shone the purest jade green from multifaceted sides. Within this gleaming structure the board of directors for Interstellar Materials met.

  At the head of the polished Earth-ebony table sat a small, wizened man hardly able to hold up his head. Every time Hamilton H. Fremont slumped tiredly to one side an attentive nurse gently shook his shoulder. The man motioned the nurse away with a weak gesture of a hand so pale and translucent that it might have been made of beige plastic. Only when seven others entered the room and took their places behind pneumatic chairs did the chairman of the corporation nod slightly. The nurse took a small packet from her uniform pocket and emptied the contents into a glass of water. The mixture sizzled and hissed and turned the distilled water a pale blue. She helped Fremont drink the stimulant. The seven waited with barely concealed impatience until the drug took control and transformed their chairman into a more dynamic person.

  “Be seated,” Fremont ordered in a voice surprisingly strong and deep for one in such debilitated condition. Shaky hands rested on the black wood table in front of him, Fremont leaned forward slightly. “There is a problem on Deepdig. Report, Mr. Humbolt.”

  Kenneth Humbolt cleared his throat and tried to hide his nervousness. Nothing escaped Fremont’s sharp gaze. Not for the first time, Humbolt wished he knew the secret of the potion given Fremont by his nurse. If such a drug turned a doddering, senile old man into an executive capable of running a star-spanning financial empire, what would it do to a man a quarter as old and twice as ambitious?

  “Mr. Chairman, members of the board,” Humbolt began.

  “You may skip the preamble. I am old and have no time left for such time-wasting maneuvers. Get on with your report. Deepdig. The rare earth mines. The troubles we are having there. You do remember, don’t you, Humbolt?”

  “Yes, sir,” Humbolt said, damning the old man, while trying to retain his composure. He was a member of the board of one of the most powerful conglomerates in human-controlled space. He had earned the position. He had earned it! He wouldn’t let Fremont intimidate him.

  But the old man’s presence did cause Humbolt real discomfort.

  “The Lorr representative has expressed extreme displeasure with our operations in Deepdig number two,” Humbolt said. He had no need to refer to his notes. The report burned brightly, deep in his mind. With responsibility for ten different mining operations on four planets, Humbolt could stay abreast of only the general matters, but Deepdig presented distinct problems of importance to more than just the IM profit margins.

  “Will we be forced to negotiate once more?” asked Vladimir Metchnikoff from Humbolt’s right.

  “No. The Lo
rr consider us as only bungling inferiors. There is no hint that they know of the Plan or how the liftings from Deepdig number two enter into it.”

  “It’d be your head if they had even an inkling,” snapped Fremont. “What of production? What of the flooding?”

  “Mine supervisor Kinsolving had regained control of the situation much quicker than anticipated and had begun pumping three flooded levels, leaving only the lowest three closed. The rare earths storage area has been cleared.”

  “He knows?” asked Metchnikoff.

  “There is no way he couldn’t have discovered the sabotage and pilfering of the oxides,” Humbolt said, angry that Metchnikoff forced such a confession. Humbolt felt his power slipping and Metchnikoff’s star rising. The flux of influence on the board was always thus. Humbolt would have to salvage what he could and continue, perhaps undermining Metchnikoff’s transport division in some fashion.

  His brief inattention brought a stern reprimand from Fremont.

  “Sorry, sir,” Humbolt said, feeling like a small child caught stealing his parent’s credit access. “Kinsolving is too efficient in his cleanup procedures. My office had estimated at least six months’ work to pump down to the storage area, by which time we would have been able to justify total loss of the ores.”

  “The Lorr have put in an inquiry?”

  “No, sir. Not yet, but I am sure that they will. We were lifting six thousand kilos of high-grade ore a week, of which fully half was not being counted and taxed by the Lorr agent. The intentional flooding of the mine would have hidden another twenty thousand kilograms of output from the Lorr.”

  “But not now,” prodded Fremont.

  “No, sir, not now.” The words burned like acid on

  Humbolt’s tongue. “We have done what we can to correct this.”

  “Is this Kinsolving so efficient that he should be promoted?” asked Fremont. The old man’s eyes fixed dagger-hard on Humbolt.

  “It was necessary to sacrifice him in another ‘accident,’” said Humbolt.

  “Another accident?” Fremont coughed. His nurse handed him a small handkerchief to wipe his lips. “Unfortunate. This Kinsolving seems the sort we need to carry out the Plan.”

  “His profile did not indicate that, sir,” said Humbolt. “He was stubborn and — ”

  “A quality we need. What did he feel about the damned Bizarres running the universe and holding us back?”

  “There’s some evidence to show that Kinsolving felt that the Bizzies, such as the Lorr, were acting within acceptable limits,” Humbolt said carefully.

  “You mean he was a goddamn traitor, that he sympathized with aliens over his own kind?” Fremont’s anger caused a flush to come to his pale, wrinkled face.

  “Yes, sir, that seems true.”

  “He’s better off dead. How did you arrange it? Never mind. That’s merely a detail.”

  “Our agent is very efficient, sir. I recommend promotion to headquarters.”

  “Promotion first to mine supervisor. We need those rare earths, dammit. We can’t build the Bizzie brain-burners without them. And new starships can’t be built without samarium. You know that, Humbolt. After we’ve milked what we can out of the Bizarres on Deepdig, then you will promote. Understood, Mr. Humbolt?”

  “As you wish, sir.”

  Humbolt sat down, his legs shaking in reaction. Nothing had gone right with his scheme to increase the lift from the Deepdig oxide mines. The carefully orchestrated accident had attracted Lorr attention. If they checked the records with their usual dedication, they would find exactly how many kilos of the precious rare earths had been stolen. With this information shared with other Bizzie species, they might stumble onto a small portion of the Plan.

  Humbolt shuddered, then tried to cover the involuntary reaction by rearranging the papers in front of him. His life would be forfeit if Fremont thought any part of the Plan had been revealed, even one as insignificant as the five-times-larger-than-declared Earth starship fleet. The Bizzies allowed only so much commerce with their worlds; they controlled too much. Humbolt’s anger began to mount against the unfairness of the alien strictures.

  One day that would change. And he would live to see it. He would live to preside over it. He would enjoy distributing the brain-burners, too. That was small enough retribution for the Bizarres holding back the human race!

  Humbolt jerked around and came out of his reverie to hear Vladimir Metchnikoff complete a favorable report on IM’s fleet growth, both declared and clandestine. The woman to Metchnikoff’s right stood. Humbolt watched her with some lust and a great deal of fear. Maria Villalobos had risen quickly in IM ranks and was the youngest at the table. Humbolt wasn’t sure that she wasn’t also the most diabolical — and, from corporate spy reports on her personal habits, the most depraved.

  Metchnikoff was an annoyance to Humbolt. Villalobos would be a major stumbling block unless he found a way of using her against Fremont, cancelling the influence and power of both the chairman of IM and an able opponent.

  “Mr. Chairman,” the small, dark, intense woman began. “As Director of Security I have identified several problems within the corporate headquarters. Two employees have been … terminated.” The feral gleam in her eyes told Humbolt that the pretty woman enjoyed this “termination.” He wondered where the bodies had been hidden, if Villalobos left behind such crass evidence of her handiwork.

  “Were they Bizzie agents?”

  “The Plan and our part in it has not been compromised,” Villalobos assured Fremont. “I have taken steps to tighten security procedures and have hired an enforcement officer of unparalleled reputation to expedite matters off-planet.”

  “Who is this?” asked Metchnikoff.

  “I am sure you have heard of Cameron,” Villalobos said with obvious gusto.

  Vladimir Metchnikoff paled. Humbolt looked around the table at the other directors. None spoke up to protest the hiring of such a bloody-handed assassin.

  “Cameron?” asked Fremont. “The one who did the work for us last year on Loki 2?”

  “Yes, sir. The man is a noted expert on robotic tracking and has a reputation for tenacity and … remorselessness.”

  “That’s one word for it,” Humbolt said. Villalobos’ dark eyes flared like rocket blasts in the night. He quickly said, “I put a motion before the board to not only approve of Cameron’s hiring but also to commend Director Villalobos for such a brilliant use of personnel.”

  This quieted Villalobos and forced the others on the board to approve Cameron. To openly challenge Villalobos now, they would also have to take on Humbolt. While he might not be in as high standing with Chairman Fremont as before the Deepdig debacle, Humbolt still wielded considerable influence at Interstellar Materials.

  Humbolt smiled slightly and nodded in Villalobos’ direction. The woman and he were not considered allies by the others — especially Metchnikoff, from the cold stare he received from the man. Humbolt smiled a little more. Was that betrayal flickering across Metchnikoff’s face? Were the rumors about him and Villalobos being lovers true? What would Villalobos’ passion be like? Humbolt would have to delve further into that to see if a more powerful wedge might be driven between the pair.

  “Finance. Give me a finance report, Mr. Liu.”

  Humbolt leaned back and half listened to the march of numbers given by IM’s financial genius. The corporation was in sound condition but if any alien auditor demanded their books as a condition of trade on a Bizarre-held world, the Bizzies would find only a tottering giant made of paper and hot air and borrowed funds.

  One day that would change. Humbolt and the others worked for it. Interstellar Materials’ part in the Plan might be small compared to others’, but all humans and their talents would be needed. Even ones like Villalobos and her pet killer, Cameron.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The impact of the elevator platform against the surface of the water knocked Barton Kinsolving flat. He fell heavily and rolled to one corner o
f the elevator. Dirty water sloshed up. Dazed, he struggled to sit up. The world spun in crazy circles around him; a large knot at the back of his head oozed sticky blood. Just touching the spot sent laser cuts of pain into his head.

  Kinsolving tried to stand. He fell back, too weak to accomplish even this simple task. Hip deep in water he sat, trying to regain his senses. Slowly, everything fit into a broader pattern. The power to the elevator had failed; he had plunged downward. The emergency brakes had caught but had scant time to slow the descent. Hesitantly, Kinsolving reached out to touch the brake assembly. He jerked back when the blistering hot metal burned his fingertips.

  Cursing, he fought to his feet. The level of water rose to his thighs now. The elevator platform sank inexorably into the murky, watery bowels of the mine. Kinsolving tried to set the brakes more securely and failed. He used his hand flash to examine the area around. He had fallen just past level nineteen.

  Struggling to open the elevator’s restraining door, he found some slight support to climb up to nineteen. Panting, he lay on the rocky floor until he regained his strength.

  Kinsolving shook himself as dry as he could, then got to his feet. The sharp light from the flash showed the extensive damage done by the flood waters, but even more revealing were the empty storage bins. The waters hadn’t rushed past long enough to erase the mark left by the recent passage of a heavy-lifter. All the rare earth oxides had been taken before the flooding.

  Of this Kinsolving had no doubt.

  He rummaged around in the level nineteen storage area but found no clue to the thief — and saboteur.

  Kinsolving checked his com-link and found it still functional. He moved its sensor around to record what he could, but he had no illusions about finding the thief — or thieves. Finishing, he slung the device at his hip and returned to the elevator shaft. The platform had continued to sink and was now half-submerged. The pumps worked noisily to remove the water from the lower stoops, but the elevator was lost to him.