Version Innocent

by Pete Molina

Chapter 21

  Dawson was amused and amazed. They’d managed to get away without any of his agents noticing. Classified technology, I can’t believe they got their hands on that and I really can’t believe what it can do, he thought. Dawson had headed for the zip train terminal as soon as they left for London. He took the first train to the Houston Spaceport. If it hadn’t been for the bug in Sam’s companion he wouldn’t never have known where to go.

  A call came through to Dawson while he was zipping towards Houston, Dawson initiated a link.

  “So, Agent Dawson, they’ve managed to slip through your other agents fingers. Aren’t you glad you have a more reliable source than them and your bugs?” Damon said smirking.

  “Yeah, I have to admit the thing works,” Dawson replied. “I’m on my way to Houston now.”

  “Good, keep an eye on them, but let them get into space. I have someone waiting for you at the Spaceport who’ll get you to orbit and to the ship that’s been assigned to you. Your marines are already onboard and ready to go. You should be able to beat them to Mars, regardless of whatever transport they’ve arranged.”

  Dawson sighed. “Yeah, I’ll keep a close eye out.”

  “I was impressed by Jeff Hughe’s ability to secure that camouflage technology. I should have known that he’d get that kind of support from the other Newbies. They’re all sympathizers.”

  “Newbies,” Dawson said in disgust. His comment got him a few looks from the other passengers, some nodding in agreement some frowning. Dawson didn’t care. He was tired. This pursuit had only just started and he was already tired of it.

  “Check in with me once you’re on your way,” Damon ordered.

  “Will do,” Dawson replied. Damon broke the connection and was gone, and he was grateful. He was not looking forward to this trip. Ten minutes later the zip train pulled into the station at the Houston Spaceport. Dawson took the short lift tube to the central terminal. There was a man waiting who greeted him as soon as he got out of the tube column. He was dressed in a fleet uniform.

  “Agent Dawson?” The man asked cautiously.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Lieutenant Commander Bowman. I’m here to accompany you to the Powel,” he said, extending his hand.

  “Good to meet you. Lead the way,” Dawson shook his hand.

  “Follow me, Sir,” Bowman instructed, releasing his grip and starting to head towards one of the exits of the main zip train terminal.

  There was a long passage that led directly to the terminal from the Spaceport. They walked through the arch to the start of the long corridor. As soon as they passed through the arch, they began to accelerate. The lateral fog tube would take them the thirty or so miles to the Spaceport lift column. The trip only took about five minutes and it beat ground transportation.

  Dawson saw the exit arch approaching off in the distance and he felt him self begin to slow as they neared it. As they reached the exit, they were only moving at a walking pace, and when Dawson stepped out of the tube, he came to a halt. Lt. Commander Bowman led the way to the central lift column that went up to the Spaceport. Dawson followed, and they were quickly rushed upward to the surface.

  When they emerged, they were inside a huge terminal. The Spaceport was built in a standard starburst layout. There was a large central dome that contained all the amenities, restaurants and spaceline ticket counters. From the central domes extending in fifteen directions around its perimeter were smaller spokes that went out to miniature domes and from those miniature domes were more spokes that were the gates to the individual vehicles. It was all very fractal. There was only one spoke missing from the pattern, instead there was an access road. The road was used mainly for cargo as the zip-tube link to the Spaceport was much easier for Hustonites and other travelers. Bowman led Dawson directly to the entrance of spoke seven, which was Fleet only. There were several armed guards at the entrance. Bowman turned and indicated for Dawson to stop.

  “Wait here, Sir, I’ll clear us,” he directed, and proceeded to talk with the guards.

  Dawson pivoted and took it all in. The central dome was immense. It had to be a quarter mile high in the middle. The sides curved downward to make a perfect half sphere. Dawson had seen pictures of the Spaceport from the air. It looked like a giant ping pong ball half buried with smaller ping pong balls surrounding it connected by small spokes. The design was efficient, except for getting around in the big dome, but there wasn’t nearly the number of travelers that the airlines of the twentieth and twenty-first century had had to deal with. Of course now that there were zip tubes, you didn’t see any more passenger jets flying around, only cruise zeppelins taking their passengers on scenic tours of the world at a very slow pace. Who was in a rush anyway? They had all the time they needed.

  Dawson turned back and found his escort waiting. “Big place, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Bowman replied. “Shall we? Our launch is waiting.”

  Dawson moved to follow and Bowman led him through the entrance; the guards gave Dawson a staring glance as he passed. The corridor was another lateral lift tube, half dedicated to travel out the spoke to the smaller hubs and half that returned from the small hub to the main terminal. They walked into the spokeward section and were immediately accelerated. The Fleet terminal was over a mile away. It paid to have a lot of room when you were lifting out of a Spaceport.

  “What kind of ship is the Powel?” Dawson asked.

  “She’s a fast attack, Sir. Fastest ship in the solar system. She finished trials only six months ago,” The Lt. Commander said with pride.

  “Have you been serving on her the whole time?”

  “Yes, Sir, since she was commissioned two years ago. She is the first of her class.”

  “Antimatter?” Dawson asked.

  “What else?” Bowman shrugged.

  “Just wondering what kinds of technologies the Fleet is using now,” Dawson clarified. They had just come to the end of the tube and were slowed for a gentle exit.

  “This way please,” his escort said.

  The smaller dome had a large corridor that went around the circumference. In the middle were offices of the Fleet personnel who were stationed at the spaceport. Bowman led him around the circumference to the far side of the dome where they came to another small spoke that extended. This spoke was transparent except for the walkway beneath them. There was no fog field this time, and the spoke was only about twenty meters long. Through the spoke walls Dawson could see the launch. It was almost identical to the limo he had taken with Sam the previous day, but twice the size. Dawson could see the heavy autorotors folded neatly on the three visible sides of the launch. Bowman led him out through the spoke to the entrance hatch which was at least five meters off the ground and covered with sparkling sand.

  The sand was actually solid and was a diamond and sapphire concrete that covered the entire area for a hundred meters around the dome. It wasn’t there for show. It was there for times when a rocket powered launch or lander used its rockets to take off instead of an autorotor. The thrust was so hot that it would melt any normal material, but the diamond sapphire composite concrete wouldn’t melt; it would just glow and then cool. Fortunately most launches these days used the autorotor technology to take off and land. They’d fly up a few thousand feet and then kick off their water-antimatter rocket.

  The part of the launch that the tube connected with was perfectly smooth with the rest of the hull, there was no indication of an opening at all. When they approached the hull, Bowman put his hand on the hull and a second later a doorway sized section pulled in and slid to the side. “Just in here, Sir,” he directed and Dawson stepped on board. They moved into a large room that spanned the entire width of the ship. There were three large structural beams arranged symmetrically about the center and a number of crates and boxes were stacked to half the height of the ceiling.

  “This is the hol
d. We don’t have many people who needed to be transported to or from the surface, so we used the opportunity to stock up on some fresh produce for the galley and other supplies,” the commander explained, while leading the way through a narrow path between the crates.

  Dawson followed him to the center of the room, which was clear and he saw a small lift column.

  “Just up there is the crew compartment where we’ll ride,” Bowman added.

  Dawson stepped into the column and was lifted upward through a meter-wide opening in the floor of the crew deck. When he emerged, he noticed that there were several dozen restraint chairs arranged around the room that were empty. As he stepped out of the column, the Lt. Commander came up behind him. Dawson took a look up. Ten feet farther above them was another small hole through which Dawson could see the cockpit. It wasn’t empty; there were two people looking down at him.

  “Lieutenant Aster, please prepare for lift,” Bowman yelled up the hole.

  “Aye, Sir,” one of the pilots responded. “Five minutes.”

  “Please have a seat, Agent Dawson. We’re on a short schedule here. The Powel is coming around and will be in position to rendezvous with us in approximately fifteen minutes. If we miss her, we’ll have to wait up there for a half hour before she comes around again.”

  Dawson sank into one of the chairs. “Can you make the walls transparent?” he inquired.

  “Yeah. Lieutenant Graves, please give us some port-holes down here,” he ordered and sat down in one of the seats.

  Several large transparent windows appeared around the room. Each spanned almost a third of the entire circumference with small sections of wall between them. From this vantage point Dawson got a clear look back at the spaceport. He could see several other ships lifting in the distance, and then he saw a bright flash in the sky that must have been a lifter kicking off its rocket at altitude.

  “Restraints on,” one of the lieutenants called down. Dawson felt the fog restraint field come on and his restraint chair took hold. He wasn’t going anywhere. “Deploying autorotors, prepare for lift. Preflight check complete. Lifting in one minute, retracting gang way.” Through the window Dawson could see the walkway spoke that had connected them with the Fleet terminal retract to give them ten meters of space.

  “I hope you like space travel, Agent Dawson,” Lt. Commander Bowman said looking over at him. He gave Dawson a glance that said, “Civilian,” all over. Dawson was sure that he wasn’t in for a pleasant reception. If the Lt. Commander wasn’t happy having him there, the Captain must be really miffed.

  “Love it,” Dawson responded sarcastically. He would have to let them know that this was his operation. He had Damon Harding and the US government backing his authority. The Fleet would just have to deal with it.

  The Fleet was an international space force that protected the orbital, lunar, Martian and other installations throughout the solar system from both natural and human threats. They protected their charges from comet and asteroid collisions and from pirates that operated out of unknown bases in the Asteroid Belt. At least that was their official charter. Really they were there to let the rest of the solar system know that Earth was firmly in charge.

  Even though the Fleet was international, it was totally funded and manned by the nations of Earth. It was widely known but not publicized that if you wanted to command, you had better be American. This further enforced the US domination of the solar system, something that grated on Earth’s other nations, but if they wanted access to restoration, they had to cooperate until something changed.

  The Lieutenant counted down to lift off. Dawson mentally braced himself even though he knew that the lift wouldn’t be violent at all until they had reached several thousand feet and ignited their antimatter rocket.

  As the Lieutenant finished his countdown, the autorotors that were flat along the sides of the launch lifted up until they were straight out from the nose of the craft, and then small rockets could be seen igniting at their tips, starting to accelerate the rotor blades to a fantastic rate. It didn’t take but a moment before they lifted off, slowly at first with some translation away from the Spaceport, and then they began to climb. It would only take a minute or two for them to reach altitude for the rockets. Dawson watched the Spaceport fall away below them. The main dome was still huge but the smaller terminals were shrinking away.

  “Initiating antimatter motor,” the pilot called. The thrust from the rocket was small at first, just giving enough thrust to hold the craft still as the rotors slowed and then finally stopped and closed down to be stowed against the sides of the launch. Then once they were stowed, Dawson heard the roar of the engines as hundreds of kilograms of water were superheated by milligrams of antimatter from the antimatter storage device and spewed forth from the launch, pushing them all back in to their seats with several g’s of force. Dawson closed his eyes now and gripped firmly the arms of his restraint chair.

  He knew that the chair and the fog restraining system wouldn’t allow them to be injured but just the same he liked the feel of something solid that he could hold on to. He didn’t like the launch and he didn’t like the weightlessness, but he was resigned to continue on his path.

  The lift lasted for only a few minutes, and Dawson opened his eyes as soon as the engines cut out. He could see Earth below now; it filled most of one of the windows. From the other windows he could see the sun and deep space. Fortunately, because the windows were only images on large display screens, he didn’t have to worry about the sun’s intensity.

  “We have orbit, setting for rendezvous with the Powel,” the pilot said.

  “How long will it take to rendezvous?” Dawson asked, noticing that the Lt. Commander was watching him, trying to hide his contempt for the land lover he had been inconveniently asked to go and retrieve from the surface.

  “About eight minutes. She should be coming around the horizon any minute now. We’ll meet at five hundred. You’ll be on board in fifteen.”

  After another minute or so, Dawson saw a bright point come over the horizon of the planet that he knew would be the Powel. The launch continued to coast towards a point where the two spacecraft would intercept. It didn’t take long for them to meet, and Dawson could see the whole ship now. It was only about ten times the size of the launch. The ship was basically a long cigar with a hole about two thirds of the way back. The whole ship was perfectly smooth. Dawson couldn’t see any real surface features except a few lights and the registry markings that identified it as the Fleet ship Powel, IF342A.

  “Matching velocity and trajectory,” the pilot spoke again. Dawson felt a brief acceleration as the launch fired its rockets to bring the two object orbital vectors to match. “Matched, initiating docking sequence.” The smaller launch moved over the top of the ship closer to a hole, that appeared on the surface. Dawson realized the hole had about the same circumference as the launch. As they settled directly over the hole they came to a stop hovering just above the larger ship.

  “Initiating fog docking system,” the pilot said. Dawson couldn’t see anything.

  “What’s this fog docking system?” he asked. The Lt. Commander was staring into space which Dawson recognized as someone using their ocular implants.

  “Because the launch is designed to fit tightly in the docking port, we don’t leave the actual docking to thrusters. The Powel will extend some fog from the port which will gently grab us like a large hand and pull us in like a tether. It’ll correct for any deviation in our relative attitude with the port and will keep us from banging into anything. Once we’re in the Hull will close in over us seamlessly, and you’ll never even know that the launch is there. It’ll be totally integrated with the ship,” the Lt. Commander explained without looking at him. “I’m just monitoring the process through an aft view in my ocular implants. You can watch it you want. Have your companion access the launch visual system and give you aft center view.”<
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  Dawson did and he could now see them gently being pulled down into the waiting docking port. The bottom of the launch entered the port and they continued to move downward. Dawson switched to a forward view and watched the walls of the port slide up around them until the entire launch was inside the cylindrical port. Then the top opening of the port seemed to flow over them until he couldn’t see the stars anymore.

  “Amazing,” Dawson commented.

  “It’s new for this model. There will be more systems like it on all classes of Fleet ships in the future,” the Lt. Commander informed him. Dawson disabled the outside view in his implants.

  “Docking complete. Disengaging restraint system,” the pilot updated them. Dawson felt himself come loose, and then he felt the simulated gravity force. It managed to make him feel both heavy and queasy at the same time. The Lt. Commander noticed.

  “Don’t like the synthetic?” he asked, arching his eyebrows.

  “I’m just not used to it. It always makes me feel queasy,” Dawson replied.

  “Yeah, you’ll get used to it in a few days and you won’t even know it’s there. We keep the ship at three quarters gravity unless we need more or less while we’re not under power. It’ll feel like real gravity once we start acceleration.

  “I can’t wait,” Dawson said.

  The two pilots came down from the cockpit in the lift field and saluted the Lt. Commander as they passed through the deck down into the hold. He could see them look him up and down as if they couldn’t believe this guy was here.

  “Let’s head down to the hold and then we’ll get into the main section of the Powel,” Lt. Commander Bowman directed.

  Dawson stepped in to the lift column and was lowered into the hold. The two lieutenants had already opened the hatch. Through it Dawson could see a corridor that went off into the distance. As he looked down the corridor he realized that the corridor, was not a hallway but a vertical shaft that went upwards towards the tip of the ship. Dawson felt momentarily disoriented as he stepped into the shaft.

  Bowman followed him. “It takes a little getting used to. The fog has changed its vector field to reorient which way is up. This central lift column goes all the way to the top of the ship. There are ten decks from here up to the bridge. You can stop at any deck by saying stop, using your implant companion to set your destination, or just speaking your destination deck number. We will be going to deck one,” he instructed, starting to ascend.

  “Deck One,” Dawson advised the system and began his own ascent. “So why is the ship laid out like this instead of the direction we were in when we came aboard?”

  “When the Powel is under thrust, we can produce a sufficient number of g’s to simulate Earth gravity or better, and it fires from the bottom of the ship. You wouldn’t want to fly down the hallway when we’re underway. This way the acceleration simply forces you in to the floor of the decks,” Bowman explained as they continued to ascend.

  “We’ll get you a tour of the ship later,” he added, noticing Dawson looking around at everything. Not that there was much that was interesting to look at here. “Right now I’m supposed to take you directly to the Captain.”

  Dawson noticed that outside of the main lift column there was a two or three foot ring decking at each level and around the ring were doors. He saw them pass the mess hall, computer room, crew quarters and finally as they reached the top, the bridge. The ceiling was marked Main Bridge and as they approached, the ceiling split in two and slid open.

  Once they were entirely inside, the portal closed behind them. They both stepped into the bridge and Dawson could see the bridge was actually rather small. There were several stations situated around the perimeter of the room manned by five crewmembers and in the center was the captain’s seat, which was facing away from him. In the forward section of the bridge was a large view screen showing what Dawson assumed was what was ahead of the ship. It reminded him of old Star Trek episodes the way everything was laid out, just smaller.

  The chair swiveled around and in the seat was a woman with short blond hair in a fleet uniform. She looked to be about thirty-five and moderately attractive. She obviously hadn’t been messing with her physical attributes at her last restoration, Dawson liked that. He thought too many people had their physical parameters altered to make them look like models; he preferred what he had been born with. She stood and approached them.

  “Agent Dawson, I presume,” she said. “I’m Janet Whetherstone, Captain of the Powel. Welcome aboard.” She extended her hand.

  Dawson took it. “A pleasure to meet you, Captain, I only wish it were under better circumstances.

  “Likewise, Agent Dawson. We received orders that you are in charge of the mission, but I should remind you that this is my ship so while you may tell us where to go the operations of this ship and the safety of its crew are my jurisdiction. So long as this is clear, we’ll get along just fine,” she clarified seriously.

  “I understand, Captain. I don’t want your job. I just need your help,” Dawson said warmly, and he meant it. He wasn’t suited for the military life. He’d joined up when he was only eighteen, when restoration technology was still in its infancy and long before the Fleet had been formed. He had stayed in his four years and hadn’t re-enlisted. It didn’t suit him at all, not the freedom of action that being a detective or agent had given him.

  “Good, then that’s settled,” the Captain pronounced. “Do we need to move out immediately, or do we have time to get the cargo that came up with you stowed?”

  “You should have time to do so. Has the nature of our mission been explained to you?”

  “No, I’ve only heard that you tell us where to go. I assume that our objective is need to know only and that you’ll explain as much as possible to me. I’d like to understand the dangers we may be facing so that I can be prepared to act should problems arise.”

  “I understand. I’ll explain the mission to you once we’re underway,” Dawson reassured her.

  “Good, I also assume you have been briefed on this ship’s capabilities.”

  “No, actually I know nothing about it,” Dawson admitted.

  “Then I’ll make sure you’re briefed promptly. Would you like a tour since we’re not leaving immediately?”

  “No, actually, if you could show me to my quarters I need to check my intelligence sources to determine our exact time of departure and destination,” Dawson said.

  “Certainly. Lt. Commander Bowman will show you to you quarters. I’ll authorize your neural implant companion’s access to our communications systems.”

  “Thank you, Captain.” Dawson was grateful that she was giving him the support he needed with minimal questions asked. He didn’t want to reveal any part of his “intelligence sources” to her. He wasn’t sure what she’d do if she did find out about the tap in to Sam 23.1’s companion.

  “This way, Agent Dawson,” said Bowman, leading him back to the part of the floor that was the portal to the main shaft. The floor opened as they went to step on it and they were immediately lowered away. “We’re going to deck three.”

  “Do I still need to tell the fog that I’m going there too?” Dawson asked.

  “No, it knew what I meant,” Bowman replied.

  They continued to descend until they reached deck three and then the fog gently pushed them from the column on the ring of decking. Bowman led him around the ring to the door that was labeled VIP Quarters. These are your quarters, Agent Dawson. Please feel free to move about the ship, but don’t get in anyone’s way. I’ll give you a tour any time you’re ready. You can contact me through the ship’s com system via your companion or any access panel.”

  “Thank you,” Dawson said.

  “Sure. I’ll be back on the bridge.” At that he turned and stepped back off the deck into the main shaft and zoomed upward.

  Being on this ship was going to take some getting used t
o, Dawson decided. As he approached the doors to the VIP Quarters, they opened and Dawson stepped inside. The room was Spartan, but he imagined it was quite a bit larger than most of the crew would enjoy, if indeed they even had their own quarters, which he doubted. The space was about the size of a small hotel room and similarly laid out, except that where a bed would be there was a raised floor the size of a twin bed that Dawson assumed was a fog field.

  Dawson had tried sleeping in fog fields, but he had never become comfortable with it. It could simulate the feeling of a real bed, but it wasn’t the same when you opened your eyes and you were floating midair. He supposed that in space that wouldn’t really make much difference. On the plus side, the fog weighed next to nothing which was good in space, and it could keep you warm. It could even opaque the edges so no one could see out or in. There was a decent sized screen against one of the walls, and off to one side was a small bathroom. It was uninteresting, as it looked like every other bathroom he’d ever seen only smaller, but thankfully it didn’t look like a zero-g model.

  He approached the screen and had Argus, his companion, access the datasphere through the ship’s com system and initiate the link to Sam 23.1’s neural implant.