“Director-General, this is Commander Standish. I will not carry out your orders, either, for it is certain death for the entire crew. I don't believe you will find anyone on the awake crew who will follow your orders, either, for we are convinced that to follow the Mission is to condemn ourselves to death. We ask only for information and guidance from UNSOC and JPL during the next several years ahead. If you're unwilling to do even that little to save over two hundred lives, then you are just as much of a monster as Subraman Venderchanergee was.”
The Commanders waited for the reply to their statements. Within three seconds of the expected round-trip time, they got it.
“Carrier wave lost, sir,” said Ragesh Puna over the intercom. “I think they hung up on us.”
***
Two hours later, the data link light on the photophone lit up and began a mad flickering, indicating data transmission. Mickey Donovan was minding the board. He opened up a window, looked at the filename, and called for Commander Smithson.
“Commander, we're getting a large compressed file from the Moon, addressed to you. As soon as it's all in, I'm sending it over to your quarters. The filename indicates it's encrypted.”
“Thank you, Mickey. I'll let you know if I can't decrypt it.”
***
It was an audiofile. Intrigued, Roger dropped it into the computer's integrated player.
“Commanders Smithson and Standish,” the file began. Roger immediately stopped the playback, got on the intercom, and asked for Commander Standish.
“Got an audio file from McCrary. It was encrypted with a key that we both know. First words called for both me and you, so I stopped it so we could hear it brand-new.
“Well? Go ahead and play it. Anyone else but McCrary would start it with 'Good morning, Mr. Phillips.', and end it with 'this tape will self-destruct.'“
“Did you spend your youth watching ancient television series?”
“There's a lot of downtime during shifts out here,” said Mike. “Anyway, hit 'play'.”
“Commanders Smithson and Standish. This is a recording of a remarkable communication between myself and the Director-General, a Mrs. vanDeHoog. I believe you have met the woman. The call came at fourteen-oh-seven.”
“Immediately after they hung up on us,” said Roger.
Mike nodded.
“Collins, Collins, this is the Director-General of UNESCO, calling through JPL. Come in, Collins.”
“Sounds like a book title,” said Mike. Roger made shushing sounds.
“This is Collins, Controller Brinkley here. How may we help you?”
“I need to speak with Commander Jeng. Please put him on.”
“Ma'am, Commander Jeng Lee is still subject to significant disorientation and photophobia from the head injury he suffered during The Event. Lieutenant Commander Greeley died when the shockwave blasted through the habitat. Chief Engineer Montgomery McCrary is the senior UNSOC officer present, and he is in command during Commander Lee's convalescence.”
“Yes, of course,” she said, somewhat impatiently. “Please find him and put him on.”
“This is McCrary, Director-General,” said McCrary, coming up behind Brinkley and putting on a wireless headset. “I received a text message that you were on the radio, looking for Commander Lee.”
“Yes, and I know he's not well,” said vanDeHoog. “That's not important right now. I want to know why you're assisting the mutiny of the Mars Expedition.”
There was the kind of silence on the Command Deck that is called 'profound'. All eyes swiveled to stare at Commander McCrary.
“It would have to be the smallest mutiny ever, Mrs. vanDeHoog. There are only six awake astronauts on each spaceship. I am presuming that you've been in contact with them, we haven't called them on the radio in a few days. Who's claiming to be in charge?”
“Smithson and Standish are still in charge.”
“Then I am confused, ma'am. How is this a mutiny?”
“Oh, you silly man. They are mutinying against me! They are off-course, and I have them on record declaring that they will not be following the Mission plan. That's mutiny.”
“I see.”
“That's it?”
“I don't understand, ma'am. This is the Lunar colony.”
There was a deep silence. The other controllers were trying very hard not to laugh. One look at the thunder in McCrary's face, though, and all mirth vanished like a snowflake on a hot stove.
“Don't toy with me, McCrary. I know you've been helping them. Earthbound radar is terrible these days with all of the debris in the sky, but we have had clear moments where we have detected objects moving from the Moon out towards Mars. You've been helping them, don't deny it.”
“We resumed the delivery of momentum slugs and commodities, as called for in the Mars Expedition Mission Plan. We've had to bunch things, as we were out of commission for some seven months, but we're almost caught up.” McCrary sat down at one of the empty Controller stations, logged into the computer node there, and began a rapid series of document searches. Peter Brinkley ensured that the entire transmission was being recorded, then wandered over to the beleaguered man.
“That's your story?” asked Mrs. vanDeHoog.
“That is a bare recitation of the facts, Director-General. That's all I do, recite facts. What, exactly, would you have me say?”
“Did you, or did you not, counsel the mutiny of the Mars Expedition?”
“I disagree with your definition of mutiny, Director-General. Under commonly accepted maritime law, mutiny can only occur when the subordinates of a vessel underway overthrow their superior officers and take control of the vessel. The commander of a vessel is the ultimate authority when underway. Now, if they alter their vessel's destination or alter ports of call, then they might be guilty of disobeying orders, but that is not mutiny.”
“I will not quibble with you, McCrary! All right, it sounds like you and Smithson and Standish are all in cahoots. Hear this. You will cease any and all assistance to the Mars Expedition outside of the Mars Expedition Mission Plan. If you do not, when you return to Earth, you will suffer dire consequences. So will any member of the Collins crew. Make sure that you make them all aware of this. Are my orders clear?”
“Yes, ma'am. They are perfectly clear.”
“Then follow them! UNSOC out.”
***
There was a ten-second pause in the audio file. “This is McCrary. I have reviewed my copy of the Mars Expedition Mission Plan, and I have found what I believe is a relevant clause that will permit me to continue to assist you. Under Section 3, General Provisions, paragraph 1021, subparagraph 2(c)4i, “The Commander of the Expedition, or in his absence, the successive Commander, may declare that part or all of the Mission as set forth in this document untenable, due to failure of equipment or an unexpected hazardous event. In such an event, the Commander should immediately relay such concerns to UNSOC headquarters, and alter the Mission in whatever manner he sees fit. He may take guidance from crew, UNSOC, or another competent source. However, the Commander must decide and implement that alteration of the Mission that will preserve the greatest number of Mission objectives possible.”
“I believe that you have performed such an analysis, secured information, and are implementing that Mission alteration. I would appreciate it if you could consult your version of the Mission Plan, and make a formalized announcement of your intentions. You may mention us, in fact, I would stress highly that you do. This way, when we all get back to Earth, then we have our legal backsides covered.
“Make such a declaration by radio, if you would, addressed to JPL, UNSOC, and Collins. That way, there's no question that you said one thing to us and something else to those danger-shy chairwarmers in the UN.
“I would also appreciate it if the decrypted copy of this file were to be well erased. Thank you. Questions by photophone only, and the declaration by radio. McCrary out.”
“Roger, that's a remarkable thing. Sounds like Hoogy's going th
e same way that Subby did.”
“What's really disturbing me is the way that McCrary predicted this several weeks ago. Maybe it’s from hanging around with them for so long. I wonder how he avoided becoming an asshole like Subby and the rest of them.”
Standish snorted once. “You said it yourself—true sphincterhood happens when you get 'Director' printed up under your name on business cards. You get fitted with one when they're putting the gold leaf on your office door. McCrary's too smart to have an office, groundside. Thus, no assholery.”
“Are you trying to hint something about us, Mikey? No, no, I know you're not. Okay, we're about to get whacked by the last bunch of packages before closest approach. I want you to take care of finding this clause or whatever, and give me a strawman for the announcement. In the meantime, I'll be going over the ship reconfiguration steps one more time. Then we'll switch, and, hopefully, I can punch it through to Earth before we go into occultation after fly-by. Let's get cracking.”
***
McCrary ensured that the relevant files, transcripts of radio conversations, and, most importantly, all communications with the Director-General were burned onto non-magnetic media. He feared the loss of stored information, so he moved all the critical files off of vulnerable magnetic or flash chip storage and into non-volatile memory forms, just like the old DVD storage media from eighty years ago. The invention of amorphous substrate holographic location error memory sticks meant that at last there was permanent storage media of a higher capacity than the working drives in a computer.
The 'burning' of the memory sticks took a while, though, so McCrary set up the program, then tipped up the chair behind the busy workstation after locking the console. He smiled slightly to himself. He hated to waste time in ass-covering busywork, but he learned at an early point in his career that it had to be done. Nobody was going to look out for you except yourself.
***
Commander Smithson made the announcement to UNSOC and JPL. Whether they heard it or not was debatable, since they never turned on the carrier wave again. Though Earth radar occasionally imaged the area of sky containing the Mars Expedition, JPL and UNSOC appeared to have washed their hands of them. McCrary wondered what the regular press was making of the situation. Unfortunately, with the death of the communications satellites, nobody was beaming news into space anymore, so the Collins existed in a kind of information vacuum.
UNSOC did, however, remain in contact with the Collins. McCrary puzzled about this for a bit, then realized that the lasers that were blasting debris from the skies of the Moon could do the same with Earth, and the powers might want to keep the Moondogs on their side for a bit yet.
McCrary ensured that a spare series of memory sticks was included with the final load to be flung to the Expedition before their flyby. The crew threw it on its way, then gave a cheer—they were finally off the crushing cycle of load-and-fling for two months, while the Expedition broke the array, flew by Mars, then reassembled the array for the long haul to the comet.
Recall
Northern Georgia, USA, March 29 2083, 1227 EDT
John Hodges put down the phone. He felt stunned, as if a low-voltage electrical current was wavering throughout his body. He leaned on his closed fists, making the telephone table beneath them creak subtly in protest.
Celine found him there a few minutes later.
“What's going on?”
John turned to her, eyes distant and unfocussed. “We've been recalled.”
“Recalled?” Celine took a step back. “Recalled to what? There is no more UNSOC.”
“Yes, there is,” he said. “It was never shut down. Oh, sure, those poor bastards are on their way to Mars, but that doesn't take a lot of people to continue monitoring them.” He shook his head. “They're dead men flying. Christ, I don't know what's worse, being down here and wondering if we'll get hit by a rock, or out in the dark, knowing that you're on a one-way mission.”
“Yo, big man,” she said, taking his chin on one slim, soft hand, and shaking it. “Still in the dark here. What and where are we being recalled to?”
John shook his chin free of her hand. “Sit down, this is going to be a shock.” He waited for her to sit down. “Remember Grozny? Big rock, place obliterated, millions dead?”
“Yeah.”
“Big fight in the UN today. Chechnya was on the verge of going to war—said Russia deliberately low-balled the diversion away from Moscow and on to Grozny.”
“Jesus. It would be the end of Chechnya. Russia would survive, but man, the toll.”
“Yeah. Then Nevin, you remember her? Ambassador to the US?”
Celine chuckled. “I remember you mooning over her. She's a beauty, you said.”
“Ah, but you are more beautiful. And you're here. And I can do this,” he said.
She slapped his hand away. “Time enough for that. So, make it march! What does Grozny have to do with us?”
John looked bemused. “Nevin got up and offered half our ICBMs to the UN for the protection of Earth. China matched it. Bunch of other nations jumped on board. Russia got up, made this big-assed speech about how wonderful this all was, but would only go in with the rest of them if we were the ones with our fingers on the button.”
“We? Who's we? You and me? I don't know the first thing about nuclear missiles!”
“Chaffee. The crew of Chaffee is to be reassembled. We're going to be put in charge of the missiles. All four thousand of them.”
Celine fell back in the chair, like a puppet with all of her strings cut. “You have got to be shitting me.”
John shook his head. “Looks like we don't get to stay here after all. On the positive side, we're going to be in a guarded enclave, so Garth, if and when he gets out, will never be able to touch us.”
“How long does this recall last?”
“Indefinitely.”
“We're screwed,” Celine said. “When do we have to report?”
“Oh, I think we have time for another couple of rounds. Shall we go back to bed?”
***
Panjar was busy nursing a recalcitrant pump in his neighbor's well when a young man raced up to him, holding a cell phone.
“Recalled? May I finish what I am working on first?” He listened intently. “I have three other jobs I would like to finish for these very good people.”
***
Lisa Daniels stared across the room at Shep. The kids were in their rooms, content with their video games.
“No, I understand. I am honored, but I really don't deserve this. I will do as you say, Mr. President.”
Shep's eyes widened in amazement.
Lisa turned the phone from her ear and hit the disconnect button. “That was the President.”
“So I heard. Of the United States, I assume.”
“Uh-huh. You're not going to believe this.”
Shep walked over towards her and put his arms around her. “I already don't believe it.”
“They're assembling the Chaffee's crew again. We're to be put in charge of half of the world-wide ICBM missiles inventory to blast away the incoming meteors.”
“We. You mean you?”
“Yeah,” she said, ostensibly pinching her arm. “A security detail is on its way here to secure the premises.”
“Secure it? You mean like the President?”
“Yes. The President said that in some ways, I am the most important woman in the world right now.”
Shep smiled. “I've been telling you that for years now.”
She punched him lightly on the arm. “You know what I mean.”
Shep sobered up. “I am afraid I do. Um. I already see problems. The kids.”
“Oh, they're good. They're used to having a famous mommy.”
Shep let go of her and paced the living room. “That's not what I meant. I was thinking kidnap, ransom. 'Bounce that rock into SomethingStan or you'll never see your kids again' kind of things.”
“Oh, crap!” said Lisa. “I neve
r thought of that. I wonder if I can retroactively decline.”
“Maybe.”
“Should I?” asked Lisa. “The President said I was asked for specifically by the Russian Ambassador.”
“Then I don't think so. Still, there will be disruption.” Shep frowned.
Lisa walked up to him and put a hand on his cheek. “I'll make sure I get away as often as I can.”
“I just don't see us making out like rabbits while guys in sunglasses and dark suits are stationed around the bed.”
Lisa laughed out loud. “I really don't think the Secret Service works that way.”
“Well, we better brief the kids. They're going to find out pretty soon from their friends, we should be the first to tell them.”
***
On and on it went. The crew of the Chaffee were contacted, transportation arranged, and they found themselves at a nondescript hamlet in Bavaria, tucked into a well-protected kaserne, surrounded by the German Army, the Bundeswehr.
“Interesting place you've got here,” John said when he met Lisa Daniels. “I understand some of these buildings are more than a few centuries old.”
“Yup. Word is that there were tunnels that went from some of the barracks down under the river to the airfield across the river. During World War II, the Wehrmacht would flood the airfield during the day, then drain it. The pilots would charge down the tunnel, and fly off to do battle. Seems a bit of overkill, though.”
“Got that right. I wonder why they're not using the tunnels anymore.”
“The scuttlebutt says the tunnels are flooded and booby-trapped by the Nazis. I don't know. Explosives more than one hundred and forty years old, and underwater at that, can't be dangerous. But what do I know?”
“Exactly. What do we know? For example, what do I know about nuclear missiles?” John paced Lisa's office. “None of us know a damn thing about them. And now we're in charge of them. This is the craziest thing I've ever heard of.”
Dead Men Flying Page 7
