by Jason LaPier
“Oh, I know,” he said with hope in his voice. “I can fix you up with my old pad-stack. It’s sick – I overclocked the proc and jacked up the wireless range.”
“Is it a WrappiMate? I been thinkin’ about gettin’ me one of those,” Eyeball said, though Dava knew he was pulling Frank’s leg. Johnny wasn’t the “personal device” type – it was hard enough to get him to carry his RadMess for communication.
“A WrappiMate?” Freezer said, jolting his hands out incredulously. “What, so you can be some corporate tool? You know Zebra tracks everything you do on one of those? Tracks everywhere you go? Forget that crap, man. I custom-build my gear. This stack’s got hardware-level encryption and decryption packages, loaded up with all the fastest crackers – you get within ten blocks of a bank and you can spring the vault doors wide open half an hour before you rob the place.”
“Pass. I don’t rob banks no more.”
“Yeah, but it’s really—”
“Pass.”
“Okay, okay,” Freezer said, going quiet for only a few seconds. “What if I got you access to some funds?”
Eyeball snorted and winked his one good eye. “I don’t rob banks because I don’t need money.”
“Oh come on, Johnny. Everyone wants money.”
Eyeball tipped his chin up and expounded, “I’ve evolved past it.” This brought a chuckle from Barndoor and Thompson and even Dava felt herself smile.
Freezer slowed for a moment, looking at each of them as they walked past. He skipped back to Eyeball’s side. “What do you mean?”
“He means he doesn’t pay for things any more,” Thompson said, grinning ear to ear.
Dava slowed and split off to the side, her eyes on the pre-dawn sky. There was a haze in the air that caused the low light to shimmer if she stared at any spot too long. She scanned the horizon with her nightscope. The little bump in the night that she’d had her eyes on for the past twenty minutes solidified into a building in the green-lit view of the scope. She pulled it down and rejoined the group.
“Wasters.” Dava got in front of the group and pointed. “Up ahead. No more distractions. You need to keep your eyes on that building. Watch for movement.”
Freezer squinted and turned his head, trying to follow her finger. “What building?”
They all looked at him. Dava looked at the bump in the distance. It wasn’t a building until someone said it was, then it was as clear as day.
Thompson leaned into him, peering at his face. “How far can you see?”
“Whaddya mean?” Freezer leaned back away from her. “It’s fucking dark out here.”
“Never mind,” Dava said with a hushed voice. “Just keep it down, and keep low. Anyone sees movement, you stop and tell me. I want to know numbers.”
Freezer squinted at the horizon and opened his mouth to protest, but caught Dava’s glare and huffed it shut. She thought about giving him her nightscope, but then decided maybe he was less of a liability if he was kept in the dark.
“Here.” Thompson pulled out her own nightscope, which was twice the size of Dava’s. It hummed when she flicked a switch. She peered through it at the building in the distance for second, then handed it to Freezer. “Take a look through this.”
The hacker took the scope greedily and brought it to his face. A smile quickly appeared. “Oh, yeah. Now I see it. Man, this is nice. I gotta get me one of these.”
“Not nice enough to save the guy I took it off,” Thompson said, pulling it back out of his hands.
“I heard you traded for it,” Barndoor quipped.
“Squaddie, shut the fuck up.”
They crept in silence for at least a full minute and Dava thought maybe it was going to be all-mission from there on out, but Barndoor’s last comment must have wormed its way through Freezer’s head, getting him thinking about possible trades again.
“Oh, I got it,” he said, too loudly. He flinched when Dava and Thompson both shushed him.
“You ain’t got it,” Eyeball rumbled.
Freezer got close to him and whispered, “I heard you were getting The Diet.”
Johnny stopped and it was as if someone dropped anchor; the whole group stopped and looked at him. “You heard,” he said.
“Y-yeah.” Freezer had the look of a man whose body wanted to peel itself away from the idiot brain that should have known when to keep its mouth shut.
“From who.”
“Um, well, no one.”
“From who.” Eyeball didn’t raise his voice, but its force seemed to hit Freezer in the chest.
“I was just poking around through the system back at base,” he said, glancing around at all of them. “You know, just a little … security assessment.”
Eyeball began to wink angrily. “And.”
“Uh, so I saw it there – in the inventory control. I saw that – that you’re on limited … rations.”
“Damn,” Barndoor whispered.
Dava felt like she should put a stop to the whole conversation. She was leading this mission, and their banter had gone way off track. But what should she say? She had no idea how to deal with these idiots. This was human resource-level nonsense. She hadn’t known Johnny was getting The Diet, but it didn’t surprise her either. It was so far outside her realm of responsibility, she didn’t have an opinion on whether it was right or wrong. Or what the consequences should be if he broke it.
“It’s goddamn bullshit is what it is,” Eyeball growled. He took a step toward Freezer and coated him in even darker shadow than the night offered. “So what, you gonna hack my canteen file? They’ll just put it back how it was.”
“No, Johnny,” Freezer squeaked, then cleared his throat. He nodded at Eyeball’s chest and drew in a breath. “You – you give me one of those pistols. I give you my weekly bottle.”
“One bottle?”
Freezer swallowed. “For a whole month. That’s four big bottles, of whatever you want. Rum, vodka, whisk—”
“Whiskey.” Johnny stepped back, releasing Freezer from his shadow. “Four whiskeys.”
“Four whiskeys.”
“Son,” Eyeball said, a grin growing from ear to ear. “You may have just saved my life.” With one motion and a sound no more than a snip, he pulled a ham-sized pistol from out of a strap and slapped it into the hacker’s shaking hands.
“Great,” Barndoor said. “The nerd is armed.”
“I hope you know how to use that thing,” Thompson said, distancing herself with a nonchalant step back.
Dava leaned close to Freezer’s face and made sure she captured his eyes. “You don’t fire that unless you absolutely have to.”
“Of course,” he said quietly, eyes going cross at her proximity.
“I mean it, Frank. You do not want me on your bad side.”
He jumped when Eyeball smacked him hard on the arm. “You don’t.”
“Round ’em up, Johnny,” she said, then turned to the lonely silhouette in the distance. “And keep ’em quiet. We want to be right on top of the targets when we make our introductions.”
* * *
When Troyo showed up at Runstom’s room in the morning, he seemed disappointed at how quickly the door was answered. “Well, you’re an early one, aren’t ya, Stanford?”
“I’m just on a different cycle is all.” Truth was, Runstom hadn’t slept much to begin with. He was anxious, still uncertain about what the hell he was doing on Vulca.
“Oh sure, of course,” Troyo said, shedding his disappointment with a sly grin. “But I bet you’re an early one no matter the cycle.”
“I suppose.”
“Knew it.” Troyo waved him into the hallway. “Come on, let’s get some breakfast, shall we? LJ and Dr. Leesen will meet us in the cafeteria.”
Runstom glanced at the wall clock. According to the day’s schedule, they were supposed to head out to the observatory in an hour. Did they have time for breakfast now? He stared at Troyo’s expectant grin and decided it wasn’t worth arguing o
ver.
He followed Troyo down a series of gradient-colored hallways. The mess hall he was referring to turned out to be two buildings away, and again, they made the journey solely underground.
“Is the sun up?” Runstom asked, realizing his room had no windows, much like the rest of what he’d seen of the complex so far.
“Uh. I don’t know. Probably not. I don’t think they get much of it here.”
“It’s not tidally locked.”
“What’s that now?”
“Vulca. It’s not a tidally locked satellite.”
Troyo stopped walking. The hallway was a deep shade of red.
“What does that mean?”
Runstom frowned. Astrophysics definitely wasn’t his area of expertise, and although he’d been around enough to have picked up a thing or two, he didn’t want to have to explain it. “When a moon is tidally locked to the planet it orbits, it always has the same side facing in toward that planet. It rotates at the same rate that it orbits.”
“Really?” Troyo cocked his head. “That doesn’t sound right.”
“Tactically, it’s useful to know.”
“How do you know Vulca isn’t – what’d you call it? Totally locked?”
“Tidally. Like the tides of an ocean.”
“Well,” Troyo said with a shrug and what seemed like a relieved sigh. “We don’t have any oceans on Sirius-5.”
Runstom slid his notebook out of his pocket and flipped through a few pages. “Vulca rotates on a … three-to-two ratio. Three rotations for every two trips around Sirius-5.” He looked up. “Of course, they get sun sometimes. But I bet that kind of cycle makes it feel erratic. But there’s still a pattern.”
“Hmm.” Troyo frowned slightly. “I can’t say as I’ve noticed. Let’s get to the cafeteria. It’s just down this corridor. I’m starving.”
Runstom closed his notebook but didn’t tuck it back into his pocket. He felt some level of reassurance, having its small presence there between his fingers. This was the kind of thing they’d brought him in for, wasn’t it? To make observations, anything that might be of tactical interest? He wished that at least Troyo believed that, and he tried to shake away Captain Oliver’s implication that he was just there for his celebrity status.
He thumbed the pages at his side as they went down the hall. He was never terribly great at astrophysics, but he knew the basics. He’d been on just about every type of rock a human could set foot on in the Sirius and Barnard systems, and he knew how to land a few standard ModPol ships, all on the small side. Troyo’s indifference soured his mood. He didn’t want to know this shit, he had to.
They found Dr. Leesen sitting at a table at the back of the cafeteria, already finishing up her breakfast with one hand while scrolling through a HandiMate with the other.
“Hey, Johanna!” Troyo said, his ear-to-ear smile back. “Looks like you got a head start on us. I hope we’re not too late. Stan here still doesn’t know the place all that well and it takes him a while to find everything.”
He looked at her and opened his mouth to protest, but she rolled her eyes and scrunched up her mouth. “You’re not late. It’s good to see you again, Mr. Runstom.”
“Good morning. It’s good to see you too, Doctor.”
“I’m going to grab some grub,” Troyo said. “It’s all self-serve, right over there along that wall. Make sure to get enough, Stan. We’ll be out all day and won’t have time for a proper lunch.”
“Don’t rush yourself,” Leesen said as Troyo bounded off toward the dispensers. “Nothing moves very quickly around here. Peter is always in a hurry, but that doesn’t change procedure.”
“Thanks.” He glanced at her HandiMate, but she brushed it with one hand and the screen went dark.
She dabbed at her mouth with a cloth napkin and turned her head slightly, nodding. “Here comes Captain Oliver.”
“Captain,” Runstom said as Oliver approached. “Good morning.”
She was in dark-gray fatigues and kept her cap on her head. Four others from the Onsite Rapid Defense Unit followed her. She nodded shortly. “Mr. Runstom. Dr. Leesen.”
Troyo came back brandishing a tray of pastries. “Hey, LJ. Better get some breakfast so we can take Stan out to the observatory.” He leaned forward and squinted at the name tag on one of the other soldiers. “You too, uh, Lieutenant …”
“Anderson, Beckass, Cato, and Yurikov,” Runstom said.
“Well,” Troyo beamed. “Someone did his homework! How’d you know all their names? You know all the names in the unit?”
“No,” Runstom said, meeting Oliver eye to eye. “Just the names of the officers. And this is all of them.” She frowned at him and waited for him to finish. “Which means something is up.”
“We aren’t going.”
Troyo smiled. “Sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you’ll miss me.” Oliver looked at the three of them and nodded. “Okay then. See ya.”
“Wait,” Runstom said, holding out a hand. “Why aren’t you able to go? I uh – I was hoping I’d be able to ask you some more questions about the ORDU on the drive out.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Runstom. A report came in this morning and I’ve got orders. Maybe we can talk tomorrow.”
“What kind of report?” he asked, putting a hand on her arm as she turned to go. He decided to test his authority. “I wasn’t notified of anything.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Runstom,” she said again. “I’ve got orders.”
“Well, then, off you go,” Troyo said with a wave. “Stan, you have to try this sweet biscuit they do here. The low gravity makes it—”
“If it’s related to the defense of the facility, I think I should know,” Runstom said.
She stopped and stared him down. “It’s my understanding, Mr. Runstom, that your role is to consult on the defense of this facility. Plan. Strategize. But not participate.” She put her hand on her hip and he noticed a laser pistol on her belt. “We each have our own jobs to do.”
“A fair point, Captain,” Troyo said. “Stanford, let’s let them get to their job. We’ve got a full schedule today. The folks at the observatory are very excited to meet you. Some of the top researchers are going to be there to greet us, isn’t that right, Doctor?”
Leesen occupied her mouth with a cup of coffee, so Runstom kept talking. “If anything comes up, I want to know about it.” He watched Oliver’s face harden and lowered his voice, choosing his words more carefully. “Captain. If, during the course of your duties, you gain any information that could help me … fill in the gaps of my knowledge of operations at this facility … I would be very grateful for it.”
He watched her jaw slide slightly from one side to the other. “Of course, Mr. Runstom.”
“And I’d prefer it if you called me Stanford.” He was going to have to get used to not being addressed with a title, but he couldn’t stand being called Mister.
She paused and that tiny turn in the corner of her mouth appeared. “As you wish.”
Troyo and Leesen both stared at him awkwardly as the Defenders left. Runstom put on a stern face to ward off any embarrassment at having to practically beg for information. He flipped open his notebook, but he had nothing to go on, so he just noted the time and the fact that Captain Oliver was not joining the party at the observatory.
“Pen and paper,” Troyo muttered with a chuckle. “You are unique, Stanford.”
“Yes, well.” He tucked the notepad back into his pocket.
“Why don’t you use a HandiMate, or a WrappiMate like Peter?” Leesen asked. Her tone wasn’t challenging, but of genuine curiosity. It made him feel like a specimen.
“I do,” he said, but then realized he’d forgotten to wear it again. “When necessary. These are just notes to myself. It’s better for me to write them.”
“My second husband was an engineer,” Leesen said. “He was fond of making a point via anecdote. One he told on more than one occasion was a story about the Gl
obal Space Alliance – no, I’m wrong. It was the American one – back when governments were funding space exploration. NASA. Very early in its life. 20th century. They were just getting started in those days and they had realized that ink pens relied on gravity to work. You see, they knew that their astronauts would be floating around in a craft outside the pull of Earth’s gravity and they would be taking readings and making notes, and they would need to do this with pen and paper. Have you heard this story?”
“No,” Runstom said. Troyo said nothing, but seemed to feign patience while picking deliberately at a pastry. “So what did they do?”
“Well, they did what they always did back then; they threw exorbitant amounts of money at the problem. Industrial and astronomical engineers, spending countless hours developing the world’s first gravity-free pen. They did it and were very proud of their achievement. Some saw it as a sign that space travel was nothing to be feared, that human ingenuity would overcome any obstacles.”
“That’s the story?” Troyo said, pointing at her with a powdery finger.
“The story is not the Americans. It’s in their rivals, which at the time was the Soviet Union. The USSR was neck and neck with NASA when it came to pushing the limits of space exploration. They also had the problems with ink pens without gravity.”
“So lemme guess,” Troyo said. “They had to bargain with the Americans. Beg for their help?”
“No,” she said. “They used pencils.”
Runstom watched as Troyo furrowed his brow and muttered, “I see.” He pointed at her again. “Not all problems are about solutions. Sometimes problems are opportunities. Stanford, you still haven’t eaten. I’m going to get you some breakfast.” He stood up and strode off to the dispensers.
