Breaking Interstellar: Android Lives Matter

by Michael Tobin

  Chapter Fifteen: Dire situations!

  Cruising at an altitude of 48,000-feet, Carter pushes Bessie to her limits. He and Tina have been flying from Belize City since early morning, and are now within 130-miles of Washington International Airport and still cruising at 930-mph. Far below, gentle shockwaves bath the planet as they rip the rarified air. They have two anxious passengers in the cabin that thought retirement would have none of this type of excitement.

  “Tina, please be a dear, and obtain permission for us to descend to 5,000-feet. Also, we’ll need landing instructions.”

  “Aye Aye, Captain Carter.” Tina answers, happily. She rarely has the chance to address him as captain, since they retired to Belize.

  As she’s doing that, Carter makes a call to his passengers in the cabin. “Good morning doctor. Good morning Shirley. We’re about to make a steep descent into Washington DC airspace. Please put on your seatbelts, if you haven’t already done so.” He politely advises, and allows time for them to comply, before pulling back on the throttles and easing the yoke forward. Bessie noses over, gracefully sinking into the thicker air mass below.

  Bessie quickly loses speed and altitude, as she enters into the most restricted airspace in the nation at just under the speed of sound. Carter takes greater caution than usual, since there are actually more than just the four of them on the aircraft. Tina isn’t showing yet, but she’s six weeks along, with twin boys. So, Carter is reluctant to have too much fun, during the flight. That, plus Max and Shirley are in no mood for a joyride either. The doctor had expedited the flight due to an urgent request made by President Morris, only four-hours earlier.

  In fact, the request was so urgent, that Jenna authorized Carter to exceed the sound barrier whilst over U.S. airspace. Luckily, much of the flight was over open water, so the excessive velocity didn’t matter very much. And while over land, Bessie only rattles windows due to the extreme altitude he uses for the flight. This pleases Carter to no end, as he hopes to never have to shake the ground again, like he did not so long ago, while frantically exiting Albuquerque airspace.

  After landing and taxiing to a hanger that the Presidents people had arranged, the visitors from Belize disembark Bessie, just as a military helicopter lands a short distance away. A limousine pulls up, whisking them off to the idling machine. Within minutes of landing in Washington DC, the six from Belize are back in the air, and on their way to another landing.... on the back lawn of the White House.

  After landing, two secret service agents greet the doctor and his friends as they exit the aircraft. It’s just a short walk across the beautifully manicured lawn, before entering the back entrance of the ancient building. Making their way to the oval office, Jenna Morris is there to greet them. And, by the dark look on her face, the doctor knows she’s experiencing a perplexing problem.

  “Thank you for arriving so soon, Max.” She says sincerely, giving him a warm hug, then greets the others in the same fashion.

  “But of course, my dear lady. I wouldn’t keep you waiting, for all the tea in China.” He responds cheerfully, as they enter the office, where another man is already seated on the couch. “Hello Ethan.” The doctor greets, adding as they shake hands. “My, this must be very important indeed, to get you out of your office before dark.” Max jokes, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what exactly is going on. He begins to get a sinking feeling in his stomach, as he and the others sit.

  “Good afternoon Max.” Ethan returns the greeting, and nods at Tina and Carter, who are taking seats off to the side.

  President Morris closes the door to the office, crosses to the couch and sits between Max and Shirley. She turns her attention to Max, saying. “Max, like I said on the phone, there is no actual threat against the mission that we know of for sure, but I’m hoping you took my advice and bolstered security efforts at Mars just in case.” She states, rather than asks. “Ethan has the information that couldn’t be relayed to you through the compromised security of your firm’s communication systems.” She gives Ethan a nod, while sitting back in a more relaxed fashion.

  “Max, two days ago,” Ethan informs, “my people discovered a parasitic carrier signal that seems to be allowing unauthorized communications between earth and the Martian space station using Sohn Space Systems own secure software.” Pausing, he tries to gage the doctor’s reaction.

  “Oh my, well that can’t be good!” Max says, with surprise. “I’m guessing from this rushed meeting, that you’ve found out more about it.” He looks from Ethan to the President.

  “Well, yes Max we did. And, you’re not going to like this one bit.” Ethan gives warning, continuing before Max can react. “After untangling the convoluted route that the perpetrator took in order to remain undetected, we’ve found the origin of the signal, but not the contents, as of yet.” He informs of a half-success.

  “Max, the origin of the transmissions come from a tiny town, located in a very remote region of Eastern Ukraine. And, the name associated with the estate where the signals are coming from, is Andre Pavlov Cherblinsky. Do you recognize this name, Max?” Ethan asks, even though he already knows the answer.

  Max is visibly stunned. He hadn’t heard that name spoken in nearly 50-years, and had for a long time considered the man dead. The person that Ethan mentioned is suspect numero-uno in the suspicious death of his fiancé, 56-years-earlier. After he won a bid for building the space station that still orbit’s the Earth, one of the other contractors who didn’t win, swore to get revenge on the American that ‘stole’ it from him. Soon after, someone murdered his beloved fiancé. The doctor couldn’t prove anything, or even touch Cherblinsky, because he remained inside a country that was impossible to penetrate.

  With sad eyes, Max answers Ethan’s question, as Jenna puts her hand on his, sympathetically. “You know very well, Ethan; that I’ve had dealings with this individual in the past. I have never been able to get over the part where he murdered my Emma back in 2183. I can’t believe that I’m hearing that name again! I thought he was dead!” The doctor relates excruciatingly, as he runs both hands through his unruly mop of white hair. “Just what in the world is he up to this time?” He inquires, bewilderingly.

  “Well, all we can determine, is that his people are communicating with someone at Mars. But, the signal could be going to the planet, space station or even another spacecraft just outside of sensor range. Every transmission is heavily encrypted, and slipperier than an electric eel. Even though we discovered his hack into your firm’s communications system, we’re still not sure what kind of destruction, if any, he may have been able to arrange.” He informs with a steady voice, adding. “Also, after filtering through recent events concerning thermonuclear threats against you, we feel very confident that this man is responsible for the orchestration of those actions too.”

  Jenna joins the report. “Max, four days ago, the survivor of the failed strike against you, recovered from a coma and provided us with some crucial information concerning this man and his iron-fisted tactics.” Jenna informs, then looks over at Carter, adding with a warm smile. “Thank you Carter, for not killing that man when you found him. A human, may have done just that under those circumstances. He’s provided us with substantial information. All, in return for a life-sentence, instead of death.”

  Carter perks up as Jenna pays him attention, responding to her gracious statement. “It was my pleasure, Madam President.” But, before he can say anything more, the doctor interjects with a question. “Iron-fisted? .... Jenna, you mentioned iron-fisted .... what, may I ask did you mean by that?”

  “Well, the survivor told his interrogators, that this man uses an emblem that identifies his organization. It consists of an iron-fist, clenching lightning bolts.” The President informs halfheartedly; not knowing how this could mean anything to the doctor.

  The doctor’s poor heart skips a few beats, as his mind absorbs the electricity-coated information. He looks at Jenna with a shocked expression, as h
e relates his own encounter with that exact type of calling card 56-years earlier. “Jenna, that same symbol was discovered at the scene of Emma’s demise. It was the only thing printed on the calling card, and I was never able to prove a link until now.” He relates with restrained anger.

  He had entertained the thought that this person was involved with that terrible attempt on Higgs-Field, but now that the dominoes are lining up, many of his worse fears are becoming a reality. After glancing from President Morris and back to Ethan, he asks desperately. “What can be done about it? This man is trying very hard to ruin my life, and that of many others. While at the same time, being protected by a country that’s antagonistic to our very way of life.” He says despairingly. “It all seems so hopeless!” The doctor is now getting angry and tearful at the same time, as he sits there being comforted by the President of the United States.

  Jenna stands, and walks around trying to formulate just the right words. After a few long moments, she looks at Max, saying. “Now Max, I know your feelings concerning capital punishment, but I’m hoping that you have some leeway built into those beliefs. Because there actually is something that we can do about this miserable monster.” She informs, bringing the doctors lowly mood, up a few notches. “However, it must be done very soon, or we risk losing the target. And you, above everyone else, knows just how elusive this man can be. Our assets in the region, tell us that he’s holed up in his estate, never leaving. His food, other supplies, and even his expensive booze is delivered to him, so he can limit his exposure to his many enemies.”

  Now Max perks up even more. He had always been against capital punishment, but this man had been pushing his buttons for so long, and with such venomous hatred, that he’s now willing to listen to reason. “My dear Madam President .... just what are you proposing?”

  Jenna defers explanation of the matter to the expert in the room; Ethan Marcus. “Ethan, won’t you please inform Max about the plan?”

  “Yes, thank you Madam President.” He says smartly, standing while Jenna re-takes her seat between Max and Shirley.

  Ethan glances to each person in the room, saying. “Now, I’m sure I don’t need to say this. However, I must. What I’m about to tell you, can never be repeated.” He warns, and after obtaining nods of agreement from all in the room, including Jenna, he continues. “Max, have you ever heard of a term; ‘rods from god’?”

  Max’s eyes widen. “Well as a matter of fact, yes I have, Ethan. However, it’s been many years since I’ve heard that moniker.” He absently reports, then after seeing the look that remained on Ethan’s face, he correctly figures that there is more to it than just a question. “Ethan, I’m going out on a limb here, and ask if you’re hinting that the military has deployed such a weapons platform in Earth’s orbit?” He asks incredulously, as Carter perks up even more than before. ‘Things are getting interesting around here’, he thinks.

  “Well yes Max, that assumption is accurate.” Ethan admits. “As you know, weapons treaties have forbid nuclear weapons from being placed in orbit, but kinetic weapons have never been subjected to such limitations. Over the years, ‘Project Thor’ has become a reality that the United States has seldom had to use, and has never been caught doing so, I might add. In orbit, right now, is a weapons platform utilizing 40-foot-long, 2-foot-diameter, tungsten alloy rods as kinetic weapons.” He explains with a gleam in his eye. “With a push from powerful rockets, these multi-ton telephone poles can destroy just about any target on the planet with the force of a tactical nuclear weapon; and leave no telltale radiation footprint in the crater. It’s the perfect way to make this malignant creature go away, Max.” He finishes, and can tell that the gravity of his statement has had a profound effect on everyone in the room.

  Before Max can reply, the President speaks once again. “Now Max, I just want to be clear with you .... I didn’t ask you to join this meeting, so that we might obtain your blessing on this issue. The United States is sending this man off to the proverbial cornfield, and I just wanted you to know the facts, before I act. So, don’t ever feel guilty about allowing a person’s life to end, just because you might wish it so.” She accepts full responsibility, for the actions to come.

  Max paces for several moments before replying. “Madam President, I wish to thank you from the bottom of my heart, for divulging such sensitive information to me and my associates. You and I have been friends for a long time, and this simply reaffirms such a bond between us. I firmly believe that humanity will be much better off, with this monster gone.” He responds heartfeltidly. Taking Jenna by the hands, he pulls her to her feet, offering a warm hug.

  Max knows how busy Jenna and Ethan’s schedules are, so he doesn’t allow his welcome to become worn. He thanks his good friends in government, gathers his companions, and heads back to the waiting helicopter, and a continued retirement. All the while, the doctor once again finds himself hoping that this evil man hasn’t been successful in planning another attack on humanity’s admittedly slim chances for long term survival. Ethan.... Well, Ethan dials a number.

  Many thousands of miles away, it’s been dark for several hours. In the remote countryside of Eastern Ukraine, the man sits in the parlor with Vladimir Bzovsky. They wait for a reply from the far reaches of outer space. After a few visits to the booze locker, they’re rewarded with an incoming transmission. The man’s patience wears thin, as Vladimir deciphers the text. “So, it’s all set then, Vlad? This Conrad agreed to my plan?”

  After several moments, Vladimir completes his decryption magic, and there’s good news for the man. “Yes sir, here’s his reply.” Vladimir happily informs, as he hands a data pad to the man. After viewing the file, the man directs Vladimir to enter the money transfer into Mrs. Conrad’s dark bank account. He may be a murderer and worse, but at least he’s a man of his word. “Well Vlad, at least she won’t be hurting for money anytime soon.” He jokes, as glasses are clinked and the two men down a rather large quantity of expensive vodka. The man refills the glasses. It’s time to celebrate, he figures.

  “Yes sir, provided she stays away from Las Vegas.” Vladimir jokes back, and they both have a good laugh. At that same moment, 5,000-miles above their heads, a cube-shaped object orbits the Earth at 22,000-mph. On the side of the cube, a small spiral hatch silently opens, and a long metallic pole is forcefully expelled via magnetic push. After it clears the cube, a pillar of flame erupts from its aft-end, accelerating the object to an incredible velocity towards its own destruction far below.

  As the pole speeds into the planets voracious gravity-well, it encounters air-molecules that heat the pointed tip to an incandescent glow. As it penetrates further into the thickening atmosphere, a plasma shock-wave develops in front of the tip, as it drops at more than 19,000-mph towards the dark Ukrainian countryside. Shortly after it emerges from the worst of the entry friction, computers onboard the device, once again acquire a signal-lock from a series of military global positioning satellites. Tiny fins on the immense rod, fine-tune its deadly passage through the atmosphere.

  The man hands the data pad back to Vladimir, reaching for his drink. He makes a toast for the destruction of Sohn’s dream; and the two men take the last drinks in their miserable lives. The night is calm and pleasant outside the estate, when suddenly a bright streak of light emerges from low hanging clouds, illuminating the surrounding countryside with intense white light. For a brief time, the area is bathed in light that’s way brighter than a sunny day. It takes less than a second for the white-hot-rod to reach the rooftop above the parlor where the two men are putting bottoms up. As the device nears the rooftop, the shockwave from the tip, causes the tiles and underlying structure to disintegrate. The weapon enters the estate, without physically touching anything.

  With unimaginable speed and violence, the rod from god, enters the parlor where the two men enjoy their last swallow, feeling the burn. Without even knowing that they’re already dead, the shockwave from the speeding pole, instantly vaporizes
both men into clouds of pink mist, as it passes on its way to the center of the planet. Or at least that’s what it tries to do. Instead, the powerful kinetic weapon penetrates 175-feet into the soil and bedrock below the house, where rapid deceleration causes it to fragment and explode.

  When the massive tungsten pole disintegrates, the ensuing energy release, causes thousands of tons of surrounding material to also vaporize. The resulting void under the estate, collapses into itself and the building above is swallowed, pulverized, and instantly buried for all eternity. The men of the iron-fisted lightning bolts, leaves the universe as the rod-from-god satiates its vengeful hunger. The resulting shockwave, reverberates throughout the planet. It rings the Earth like a bell, and is measured by every seismic instrument across the globe. In the morning, the people of the region will talk about the white light that came from the sky, just a moment before the earth quaked, and the night roared from what seemed like the loudest thunder any of them had ever heard in their lives.

  Many windows will have to be replaced, and some will notice that a beautiful estate that used to be on the hill, that’s no longer a hill, has also disappeared. Nothing remains, except for a 450-foot-diameter, cratered piece of land, that will soon become a new fishing hole in the rural community. However, while the man is no more, his plan for destruction remains, because the rod-from-god, is too little, too late....

  Approximately 130-million miles away, elevator doors open into the commons area of the space station. Nyla and Wil, along with the others in their group, begin exiting the conveyance. Before she can stop, Nyla accidentally runs into and completely flattens a thin, sickly looking man that was waiting much too close to the doors. His feet leave the deck-plating as he flies backwards from the force of the impact. He lands hard on his back, 6-feet from where he was standing.

  Now, when Nyla flattens a human being, as she sometimes does when playing handball, they usually stay flattened for a considerable amount of time, but this man gets back on his feet like nobody’s business. Almost, as if there’s a demon within calling the shots, and won’t take a measly flooring as deterrent to making forward progress.

  She moves quickly to help the man up. “I’m so sorry, sir! I couldn’t stop in time.” She admits, trying to ascertain if the man is injured. She’s sure that he hadn’t been knocked flat like that in a long time; if ever. “Are you injured sir?” She asks sympathetically.

  The man winces, as he straightens up the rest of the way with her assistance. He’s wearing a one-piece jump suit that has a maintenance-themed patch on his chest, along with a name that Nyla notices as she assists the poor fellow. With some real effort, as if he still can’t quite catch his breath, he replies curtly before continuing into the elevator. “I’m fine, I’m fine! Now get out of my way! .... I’m late!” He says rudely, without making eye contact with her. Then with no small effort, he manages to push past the gaggle of curious androids, that were still exiting the conveyance. Soon, he’s alone in the elevator and the doors close; leaving Nyla and the others, hoping that he’s going to be okay.

  As the androids gather around Nyla, they’re still stunned by the man’s actions. Not to mention his appearance. None of them had ever witnessed a human that looked as ill as he did. Nyla turns to Amy, asking. “Do you know that gentleman?”

  “He looked familiar to me, but the last time I think I saw him, he was much more robust. I hope he’s okay.” She replies sincerely, while at the same time mirroring some Nyla’s thoughts.

  “Yes, the poor fellow.” Nyla sympathizes. “It seems to me that he should be in medical, instead of going down there. I can’t imagine what would draw his attention to such an unforgiving and inhospitable place as the hub, while in that condition.”

  Wil notices that Amy is ready to move on. So, he gets Nyla’s attention, causing her to refocus on the tour and not something that they have no control over. She reluctantly joins back with the group, putting the matter to the back of her mind, but is subconsciously upset with how that man just didn’t seem ‘right’. That, ‘something was wrong with that picture’. Perhaps it was the tone he used in his rude and angry reply that made her feel an emotion that she had never felt before. If a human were to have the same feeling; they might describe it as severe trepidation.

  After a few paces from the elevators, and listening to Amy describe some of the finer points of the stations common area, she succeeds in pushing the matter to the back of her mind. “And, over here we have the cafeteria. It accommodates 100-people at a time.” Amy describes. “But I’m pretty sure that you folks won’t be too interested in such a place, so we’ll continue on.” She incorrectly surmises, because Nyla wants to see the view from the large portal windows in the large compartment. They offer the best observation of the beautiful red planet. So, the group enters, becoming the most popular people in the room. Many have questions for the androids in a wide range of subjects. Amy wonders just how she can gain control of the group once again, so they might continue. But she gives them the leeway they desire. After all, they’re sacrificing everything to help humanity, so who is she to give them the bums rush....

  Wil stays with Nyla as she gazes absent-mindedly out into the deep void beyond. Thoughts about that man keep slipping back into her circuits. Like a spectral mist, a bad premonition forms, but is unfocused; just beyond her ability to understand its meaning. She knows something is wrong; but this new sensation, stays just beyond her grasp. However, before long, the other androids that are looking out the windows, tire from that, and the humans asking all the questions, run out of things to ask. So, the group slowly trickles out into the common area once again, where they join up with their lovely guide.

  Amy keeps a count of every android that leaves the cafeteria, and soon reaches the desired number. She herds them along the corridor that circumnavigates the station. Along the way, she describes the different types of shops and entertainment that’s offered to the workers. “And over here is the stations auditorium, where lectures and other forms of entertainment can be enjoyed.” She reports, proudly. “Seven times a week, the latest movies can be watched, and there are also many plays performed, for those wishing live performances.” She informs, while admitting. “We may be millions of miles from home, but there’s a steady stream of varying entertainment that flows through here like breaths of fresh air to bored and lonely workers, who miss the finer things in life while away from friends and family.”

  As they walk the corridor, Nyla and Wil can’t help noticing that many of the residents are watching as their group passes. Amy also notices, and calls them over to meet the pioneers who are about to leave the solar system behind. There are lots of handshakes and pats on the back, as the humans enjoy interacting with the mobile, sentient computers. The androids are a big hit, with all they meet.

  The entire Martian project that had been ongoing for the last 50-years, is significantly dependent on these recently designed life-forms. Without having someone that can endure such a long voyage and still function at the destination, all their efforts would be for naught. So, the androids are very popular with those that helped create the ships and systems that will be equally instrumental to the success of the mission. For the mission to succeed, one cannot do without the other. Androids without transportation are as useful as a human without transportation…. and great spacecraft without crossing-guards and shake-n-baker’s, is equally no good.

  As the enthusiastic crowd dissipates, Amy decides it might be a nice time for them to pay a visit to the stations operations department. “If you’ll please follow me, I’ll take you to visit our operations department. Almost everything that happens on the station, is organized, approved, and supervised by this department.” She informs, enthusiastically.

  After getting on the elevator, Conrad realizes that the group of people who had stampeded him into the ground, must be some of the androids that the man has paid him to destroy. His head is pounding from the incredible blow it took when he landed on the
hard deck-plating. He’s quite certain that his skull is fractured. He blames all of them for his pain; not just that bulldozing female android. Hell, they all probably pushed her into him as a joke, he thinks venomously. He wonders why Sohn would even build such juggernauts in the first place. Well, they’ll pay the piper, he vows silently to himself. They’ll pay the piper in full....

  Conrad uses his most recent pain to focus his rage on destroying those infernal machines. This way he doesn’t have to think about the innocent human lives that are about to be lost. As the slow ride continues to take him toward the hanger area of the hub, he notices his weight decreasing rapidly. He tries to focus on the grisly deed he has before him. His wife had sent word an hour prior, with surprising news about how his latest ‘gambling success’ had come through and saved the family from starvation. She was way too ecstatic to try and put such a large sum into perspective so soon.

  He had told his wife a fabrication about how he had finally hit the big one. And that if he survived this latest health setback, he would be a new man, that promised to never gamble with the family’s fortunes ever again. So, with the comfort of knowing that the man had honored his end of the deal; he can now proceed with his part of the unholy bargain. Not ever realizing that ‘the man’ was no longer even in this universe. A crueler irony is hard to imagine!

  He ‘hoped’ he could proceed anyway; because he actually has no idea if his hanger-deck security-card is even still active after such a prolonged absence from the job. However, just being able to access the elevator and enter into a secure part of the station, spoke volumes for his chances. There’s still hope that his illness didn’t trigger a revocation of the total access that he enjoyed just a few weeks earlier.

  After the elevator deposits him at the hub level, he floats to the main entrance of the hanger area, where many different types of transports are stored and maintained. Holding his breath, he swipes his identification card through a reader on the doors control panel. To his immense relief, the security system recognizes his card, allowing entry. He can’t believe his luck, and stealthily moves toward the maintenance staging-area where his locker and space suit are located. The area is quiet, as most have gone to the outer ring to see the latest group of androids that had stampeded him into the deck.

  The staging area is empty, although there are some workers at the far end of the hanger who seem oblivious to anything outside their immediate area. He takes full advantage of this unusual good luck. Quickly donning his space suit, he floats off to one of the many airlocks that house the small maintenance vessels. Another hurdle comes and goes, as he successfully gains access to the airlock, finding an all-purpose utility spacecraft ready and waiting for him inside. He quickly boards the vessel and closes the hatch. Conrad is a bundle of nerves at this point; a dollar steak. He must calm himself before proceeding any further with his plan of destruction. “God my head hurts!” He thinks painfully.

  Hovering just inside the tiny ships inner hatch, he removes his helmet. Beads of perspiration break loose from his forehead, slowly floating into the interior of the ship. He would normally be concerned about that, but now it’s something that didn’t matter one little bit. He had more important things to worry about as he gradually gains focus for the grisly job at hand. Noticing that his breathing has returned to a more normal cadence, he floats into the cockpit, strapping himself into the captain’s seat.

  After tuning on the power in the working-class spacecraft, Conrad quickly enters some commands into the flight management computer, overriding any security protocols that might come up. He didn’t have authorization for this little trip, and didn’t need to advertise the serious breach of regulations. However, he did not have authorization to override the security protocols for opening the exterior door of the airlock. He just hopes that his little fabricated excuse might bring some luck, so he wouldn’t have to switch to plan B. While plan B is an okay plan, he knew that it would bring much less destruction.

  He’s thankful that these utility ships didn’t use video comm systems, as he works up the nerve to call operations. He takes deep breaths and keys the mic. “Operations, this is maintenance-ship 18; over.” He calls, hoping that Zyrian is on duty. He could always sweet talk her into performing certain breaches of protocol.

  “MS-18; go ahead.” Zyrian answers sweetly.

  Conrad can’t believe his good fortune when he hears her soft voice. “Hello Zyrian, this is Dylan Conrad. Long time no speaky.” He says, in his best good natured tone. His head feels like it’s going to split the rest of the way open any second, but he must hang in there a little longer. Zero gravity only accentuates the horrible pain. Those damned infernal machines! He thinks viciously, as Zyrian answers his call.

  “Well, if it’s not Dylan Conrad. How the hell are you? You old goat! I hear that you’ve been out of commission for a while. Are you back on duty now?” Zyrian asks, nonchalantly.

  “I’m slowly getting back into the swing of things Zyrian. How is my loveliest space traffic-controller doing these days?” Dylan fights through his splitting headache, offering his best tone.

  “Oh, I’m fine Dylan, just fine thanks. But I don’t see you on the maintenance log for EVA today. What’s up with that?”

  “Well, I have a re-qualification flight with the headmaster tomorrow,” he speaks jokingly of the maintenance departments chief flight instructor, “and I’m hoping that you might be kind enough to allow me exit so I can practice a few maneuvers.” He lays out his best lie, hoping it will melt a kind heart. “I think my inactivity may have made me a bit rusty, and I just want to be on top of my game for the re-qual.” Conrad, skillfully slides in a reason for her to have pity, and hopes she’ll take it .... hook, line, and sinker.

  Inside operations, Zyrian struggles with her knowledge of the rules regarding unauthorized flights. She knows very well, that they happen often enough to warrant a small bit of concern. However, if she could help a friend qualify for flight status, what harm could it do, she figures. Calling back, she has good news for the scoundrel.

  “Okay Dylan, but promise me you won’t make a scene out there and get me into trouble .... Promise?” She asks, with more than a little concern.

  “I promise young lady .... I promise.” He repeats his lie; with the best fake-sincerity he can muster with what feels like a fractured skull. He knows if she doesn’t open the outer airlock soon, the maintenance technicians will be returning, and he’ll have a lot of explaining to do. And if that happens, even plan-b will be out of reach as his security-card is yanked.

  “I want you back within two hours. That’s when I get off watch. So please don’t lose track of time.” Zyrian instructs firmly, as she sends electronic commands to the outer airlock hatch.

  “I won’t lose track, Zyrian. Thanks .... I owe you one!” He manages to promise another lie through the incredible pain. Within moments, he sees that the hatch warning system activate. Soon, he’ll be free to fulfill the last task of his miserable life. As the hatch opens, he activates the aft thrusters on his tiny vessel, and travels into the cold, unforgiving space beyond.

  For a moment, as his vessel glides into the void, he forgets his troubles. His mind reverts to a kinder, gentler past, when he might very well be going out to do the station some good. However, it doesn’t take him long to remember those damn tin-can robots, and the mess that the universe got him into. He reaches, turning off the ships transponder. “Let them find me now!” He mumbles angrily, as his long-time bitterness, blossoms into a flower of seething revenge.

  With his rage spooled up once again, he maneuvers his little spacecraft away from the station, and towards the spaceship graveyard that’s located 5-miles away. He’s glad that it’s not located too close to the starships, because the security in that region of space is tighter than anywhere else in the solar system. His plan would be cut to pieces by lasers, before he could do anything meaningful. As it is, he must try to avoid the roving security-satellites that have their own la
ser systems. While less powerful than the ones protecting the starships, they still pose a serious threat to the successful completion of his murderous task.

  With a monitor full of approaching derelicts, he maneuvers like a pro, through a jumble of retired spacecraft and other equipment. After a few minutes of searching, he sees his goal. It’s parked on the far edge of the graveyard. He carefully maneuvers his ship so the airlock hatch aligns with that of the derelict. However, it hasn’t been a derelict for very long. He notices the name of the vessel that’s printed next to the main entrance hatch. He is soon docked successfully with SPS Charlie, and he begins the process of moving through the two airlocks.

  Upon gaining entrance, Conrad floats over a sea of seat assemblies on his way to the navigation console, where he finds the proper switch that turns on electrical power. With a flurry of clicks and clacks, electrical relays energize the many consoles in the ship. He breathes a sigh of relief that technicians haven’t yet started disassembling anything in the craft. There’s just too much going these days, for anybody to worry about such efforts until the starships are on their way. The first thing he does after that, is turn off the ships transponder system like he had done on his own little puddle-jumper. With any luck, they won’t know what hit them until it’s too late, he thinks through a cloud of condensed pain.

  Conrad analyzes the different systems important to his task. Navigation is operational, and he allows it to synchronize with the Martian GPS satellites. He notices the propellant levels for the ships thrusters are adequate for his short flight, and to his surprise, the fuel tank still has some juice for the main-engine! This added bonus, will add greater inertia as he plows Charlie into the station. He allows his irrational hatred of the androids to peak, as he focuses on killing every last one of them that mowed him down. And he knows that a full-steam, head-on ram into the delicate structure, will fulfill his end of the bargain with the crazy bastard back on Earth.

  He thanks his lucky stars that Charlie isn’t boxed in, as he manually uses the thrusters to push the bulky conveyance out into open space. Just beyond the grouping of derelicts, he sees the space station off in the distance. It looks like a toy .... about the size of a silver dime held at arm’s length. He enters the coordinates for the deadly impact to come, and thrusters line up Charlie for the deadly shot. Reaching he energizes the fuel pumps, holds his breath, thinks one more time about his family back on Earth, and pushes the go button. A heavy acceleration crushes his chest, pushing him hard into his seat! Fighting for breath, he notices the space station growing larger on the monitor .... Conrad, smiles a sick smile, thinking of those damned robots!

  Back at the station, Amy enters operations, obtaining permission for her group of friends to come inside and meet everyone. Myles Nolan is the supervisor on duty, and is very pleased to have Doctor Sohn’s miracle-machines, liven up what promises to be just another boring and uneventful day at the office.

  “Welcome to all of you,” he greets sincerely, in a somewhat raised voice level so even the ones in the corridor could hear, “I hope that Amy is giving you the dollar tour today.” He jokes, while shaking all the android’s hands. He relishes each and every contact with these mechanical wonders, that look him back in the eyes with such incredible intelligence.

  When he gets around to shaking hands with Nyla, he notices an expression of concern that was out of place for the joyous occasion. He couldn’t help but ask if anything is wrong. “My, but you do seem preoccupied young lady. Is there something that’s bothering you this fine day?”

  Wil, Amy, and others nearby, also notice Nyla’s grim expression. Wil speaks up. “Nyla, I know what’s bothering you, so please, ask Mr. Nolan if he knows anything about that man.” Wil gives her courage, to possibly embarrass herself.

  In a firm, yet thoughtful manner, she relates her concern. “Mr. Nolan, it’s very nice to meet you, and yes I have something on my mind. Something that might be serious. Are you familiar with a maintenance person on this station by the name of Conrad?” She asks, using the name on the man’s jumpsuit.

  “Yes, I’m familiar with that name.” Myles says, adding. “He’s been out of commission lately, while battling a serious illness. Why do you ask?” His curiosity is peaked.

  Nyla briefs the supervisor about the incident at the elevator and how she’s concerned that this man called Conrad seemed to be too ill for a journey into the bowels of the space station. She didn’t mention her extra-feels concerning how he seemed to ooze a venomous aura of bad intensions. It was her first-time experience with such feelings, and she suddenly wished she could go back in time, and knock him flat again .... Permanently.

  Before she could respond further, a woman sitting at a nearby console interrupts their conversation with an admission of recent knowledge about the man. “Myles, I gave Conrad permission to exit the station about thirty-minutes ago. He said he needed to practice his maneuvers for re-qualification testing, so he can resume his duties.” Zyrian pro-offers information that has a significant chance of biting her in the ass. But, she also knows that it’s more important that she now start her damage control; and perhaps minimize the consequences of her previous indiscretion.

  With great concern on his face, Myles calls medical and learns the bad news. It seems to him that this day might not be so boring after all. Turning to Zyrian, he orders her to contact Conrad and demand he return to the station immediately! Little did he know, that plan has already commenced! After repeated calls, she receives no answer, and Myles is forced to call orbital security and report the serious breach.

  Zyrian breaks down in tears. Nyla puts a sympathetic hand on her shoulder in a show of support for the distraught woman. The android’s behavioral-patterns were filtered, to reduce the basic human tool of deceit, that was used against Zyrian’s trusting nature. However, the filters were not all that efficient. She understands the nuisances of deception, and how it cuts deeply when exposed to the light of day. Several minutes later, and after flooding the radio frequencies with frantic calls concerning the impending emergency, Zyrian gets a call from a spacecraft arriving from the moon.

  “Operations, this is the SS Cape Fear; do you copy?” The man calling, sounded more excited than he ought to be, so she puts him on speaker.

  “SS Cape Fear, this is station operations; please identify yourself.” She inquires through sniffles.

  “Yes! .... Hello operations! .... My name is Magnus Teach, CEO of Lunar Hydro Solutions. I get the feeling that you folks are having yourselves a bit of an emergency.” Magnus announces excitedly, adding. “I think I can help, but I need more information!” He informs while zooming the ships camera on a very large object heading toward the space station.

  Myles reaches over Zyrian’s shoulder and keys the Mic. “Mr. Teach, please do not concern yourself with our situation! We have security working on it as we speak. Stand down, and try to avoid the area until this matter is cleared up.” The last thing Myles needs, is some hotshot thinking he has all the answers, and probably making things worse.

  Well, .... let it be forever known that Magnus E. Teach, is anything but a hotshot.... and he didn’t have patience for people who didn’t give him a chance to explain. “I didn’t get your name sir. But whoever you are, you shouldn’t be so quick to look a gift horse in the mouth! And throw away what may be the only good information you can hope to receive concerning the very large spacecraft that’s bearing down on your station ‘as-we-speak’!” Magnus retorts sharply, transmitting a photo of the peculiar looking vessel he sees off in the distance.

  SPS Charlie is making a bee-line for the space station, and still has a smaller spacecraft attached to its airlock. Magnus is sure that this vessel is the target of everyone’s concern. And there isn’t much time for anything, except for him to ignite the main engines and see what he can do to help the situation. He lines up and pushes the ships throttles to the firewall, feeling a heavy push on his chest as his spacecraft accelerates hard, into the battle z
one. Through the heavy acceleration, he calls back to operations.

  “Operations this is Teach! Captain of the Cape Fear! Please put the woman with the friendly attitude back on the radio; because I have breaking news!” He calls with a demand that sends a chill down the spine of Myles.

  “Mr. Teach, this is Zyrian Shaw, please go ahead; over.” She tries to remain calm, but her voice cracks.

  “Hi Zyrian.” Magnus says with effort, as he fights the heavy g’s. “I hope you folks received that photo I just sent, because I think this is the guy you’re looking for. He’s on a collision course with the station! ..... I’m coming in hot, to see if I can change his trajectory.” He informs excitedly, adding. “Wish me luck!”

  Zyrian looks to Myles, shrugging her shoulders in a questioning manner for some form of reply to Magnus’s bold and completely unauthorized move. After looking at the photo one again, Myles gains new focus. “Zyrian, please tell him good luck from all of us on the station!” Suddenly, a stab of fear runs cold through his veins, as the gravity of the quickly unfolding situation hits home. He moves to another control panel activating the stations emergency lockdown alarm. Everyone on the station knows that this means to find an airtight compartment and seal themselves in, until either an all clear is announced, or the unimaginable happens.

  Zyrian, gets back on the radio. “Mr. Teach, we acknowledge that last transmission, and we wish you the very best of luck!” She puts her hands over her face, crying uncontrollably.

  “Now don’t you fuss about it Miss.” Magnus offers strength with a firm voice. “It’ll be okay .... But if I don’t make it, please tell my wife and son that I love them very much .... And tell my son to get a haircut and a job!” He laughs in the face of death, as he rapidly approaches the malignant target.