Bastion Saturn Page 10

  The station was in pandemonium. The population was bigger than Caleb had guessed. Judging by the packed halls, he figured ninety adults or more in the immediate vicinity and at least twenty-five kids. Most people were under the impression that there had really been a depressurization and wore thin temporary emergency suits. They bashed into one another and collided with the walls and equipment as their adrenaline-charged bodies overcompensated for the low gravity.

  It was a struggle to keep up with Spruck and Natalie (who, of course, knew the place). As they bounced off and banged into panicked people loaded down with all manner of things, Caleb wondered how Bert was faring. The bot was going to be like a salmon fighting upstream carrying five suits with helmets and full life-support packs. He didn’t doubt the robot’s strength, but getting past all these people . . . Meh, it would figure it out. Once given a task, a robot didn’t stop until it was accomplished.

  They saw Spruck and Natalie duck into a double-doored room that was being cleared out like a bucket brigade. To their right, a woman slumped to the floor and began crying. Another woman screamed at her, “What the hell, Jane? Move your ass!”

  Jane looked up and said, “Move your own ass, Lu.”

  “I am moving my ass!”

  Jane said, “It doesn’t matter. It’s owners only. Didn’t you hear? No room for us.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Caleb, Jennifer, and Saanvi moved past them, already knowing the answer. Caleb was stunned at how fast word had gotten out. They turned into the room, a large carved-out cavern with an elephant-door airlock. People heaped supplies onto anything that might roll and pushed them toward the door they had just come through.

  They could just make out Natalie in the distance waving at them to come to what appeared to be a mechanic’s shop near the airlock door. A lump of a spaceship with flames painted on the side sat like an abandoned heap on an overgrown front lawn. It was slightly larger than a school bus and just as boxy, with wings that looked like they could never deal with the near-nothingness of space, much less deal with an atmosphere. A cowling was propped up on the rear with a long piece of rusty rebar exposing the thrust cone of a very ancient, beat-up engine. Next to this, they saw a series of makeshift tables covered in scattered tools and parts.

  Caleb stopped short. “You fucking kidding me?”

  Spruck turned and pointed at Natalie. “You and Sandy go grab some—”

  “Saanvi,” interrupted Saanvi politely.

  “Sorry. Sammy. Get some food stock before it’s all gone. I wasn’t kidding about the printer.”

  “On it,” said Natalie, pulling Saanvi by the arm into the crowd. Spruck waved his finger back and forth at Jennifer and Caleb. “Which one of you can weld?”

  Caleb said, “I made my own dirt bike when I was a kid in Vermont.”

  Jennifer said, “I can weld. I’ve built shipping containers for chemical solvents. Anything up to hard carbon stainless.”

  Spruck waved Caleb away. “Make sure your robot finds us. We can’t lift off without suits.”

  “Why?” Caleb waved at the box of a ship. “Because this excuse for a”—he flashed quote marks—“spaceship will kill us the moment it leaves this rock?”

  “It’s your only ticket, dick. Find your bot.”

  Caleb didn’t like being called a dick. Still, he prided himself on keeping his cool so shook it off, pointing at the pandemonium behind him. “If this is a storage space and that is an airlock big enough to fly a ship through, why in hell is everyone dragging these supplies out through that little door and down the hallway?”

  “Because the big door is locked down in a decompression.”

  Both Caleb and Jennifer paused at this. Caleb said, “But there’s no decompression.”

  “Doesn’t matter. They hit the button for the alarm, so it’s locked down. You’re wasting our time. Find your bot, douche.”

  Douche was a bit much. Caleb dropped his head and stretched his neck, feeling bones click along his shoulders. He took a breath and said, “What did you call me?”

  “Are you for fucking real?” Spruck pointed at the chaos. “Go! We’ve got work to do.”

  Caleb licked his teeth and straightened his spine. When he lifted his head, Jennifer offered him a pair of black dagger eyes. It immediately broke his whole game, and he looked back at the floor, silently swearing. Taking a deep breath, he pursed his lips and said, “On it,” and walked into the melee.

  Man, was he steamed. Something about being called a douche really got his blood up. He shoved his way past a robot pushing an overflowing wagon full of fertilizer components, knocking over half the pile, and kept pushing until he was back out in the hallway, cursing Bert for not being there already. A man in an exosuit without a helmet awkwardly and mistakenly bashed his head straight into Caleb’s nose, bloodying it. The man mumbled an apology as he pressed past. Caleb took a swing at the guy’s back and missed while yelling, “Douche!”

  Henry Lo Wang stood on the faux gravity rotating bridge of his ship, Wang Fat One, and contemplated the meaning of the stir on Albiorix. The heat signatures emanating from the tunneled moon indicated a high volume of human activity. Yes, like on Dione, the Albiorix co-op should have been arranging a welcome celebration, but this activity seemed urgent in a different way. Perhaps they were pulling out all the stops, but that might be wishful thinking. Henry Lo hated wishful thinking. He caught himself pacing in front of his command and stopped, spread his legs, and put his fists decisively on his hips. Not for a moment would he allow himself to be seen as anything but in control, and he chastised himself for the brief loss of composure. This operation was going to be messier than Dione in that Henry Lo and the board had voted unanimously to retain the Albiorix facilities. It was the only tropic zone outside of Hanson and Soul and, therefore, far more valuable than what had basically been redundant farms on Dione that were skewing the price of pharmaceuticals too low. Wang Fat ran a lean operation. Profits were not to be shared with some co-op. That meant a more surgical operation here than on Dione. Once the current tenants were cleared out, they would install the already vetted employees and robots on board the Wang Fat One into the Albiorix facility.

  Henry Lo Wang was, at forty-five years of age, a true Analog. In other words, one could accurately guess his age. Tall and fit, he was nevertheless graying at the temples and wore the bright sidewalls with pride. He, like all humans, benefited from basic advances in medicine and could count on a long, healthy life. However, he frowned deeply on the kind of nanobot augmentation that he considered the purview of the vain and lazy. As the scion of the Wang Fat import-export empire, Henry Lo Wang had taken his ancestor’s company to the Saturn System and focused exclusively on its pharmaceutical endeavors. As an undiagnosed psychopath, he was deeply enjoying this latest experiment in mergers and acquisitions.

  The walls and ceiling of the bridge were made up of assorted projections of the space around the ship, with horizon-level panels offering analysis of the operation. When cruising, Henry Lo’s preference was to leave all the panels projecting the space around them, as if flying a planetarium, the heavens a constant source of awe to him. At present, the view was spoiled by the necessities of battle. One large panel showed the tiny moon and the intended landing spots for the police ships. Others offered infrared and radar profiles of the activity below. Behind him was a projection of the Wang Fat One’s shuttle bay, with his crisply uniformed personal troops lining up in antilaser armored exosuits. The shielding on the suits was highly polished, a fairly effective measure against both the blast of a McMaster nerve disrupter and lasers, weapons designed to extinguish only biological matter. Given the inherently self-defeating nature of projectile-based weapons being fired in a delicate pressurized environment, Henry Lo felt quite certain that if the scientists on the approaching moon were to fight back, it wouldn’t be with traditional guns. Lasers would simply not work against his troops unless a lucky shot presented itself on some unlikely exposed
skin.

  He glanced at his right-hand man, Vice President Zheng, who was in discussion with the Wang Fat One’s captain and the ship’s observations officer. Zheng felt his master’s gaze and stepped away from the quiet conversation, sidling up slightly behind Henry Lo’s left shoulder. “Director, sir. We’re seeing signs of engine warm-up on several ships on the surface.”

  “Hmm. Have you hailed Lawrence Boetiger yet?”

  “We were awaiting your instructions, sir.”

  The rest of the ears in the room remained alert to the conversation, but mouths stayed mute. Henry Lo hated the control freak that was the foundation of his personality. He knew how inefficient it could make things, but every time he let others make important decisions, he was invariably disappointed . . . or driven to a fit of rage, causing the occasional overreaction. He had once ordered the chief engineer for life-support spaced after the woman had been unable to control the humidity in the main conference room during a tense negotiation. Was the woman trying to undermine him? To his regret, he hadn’t been able to replace her with someone of equal competence, and the conference room would occasionally still turn into a steam bath. The spaced chief engineer had been right; they’d have to pull off a lot of paneling to trace the bug. He’d order it after this operation when he could be off ship, organizing his new facility. The notion of engineers pulling the panels off the walls of his gleaming ship simply twisted his guts. He nodded at Zheng, offering the slightest glance over his shoulder, but without making eye contact. “So hail him.”

  Lawrence Boetiger’s voice came over the Wang Fat One’s PA with a breathlessness that sounded like an effort was being made to stifle it. “Mr. Wang, greetings. We can see that you’re near here. Forgives for, uh, for not being able to talk F to F.” Shouts could be heard in the background and the sound of something heavy falling was followed by a scream. “We are hard at work. Last minute preps to celebs your arrival.”

  Henry Lo raised an eyebrow and said, “How about you take a quick break, Larry? I hate voice only.”

  “Um. Sorry. My hands are full. Lot still coming together.”

  “While appreciated, I’m not sure that such effort is necessary. Why, may I ask, are you warming up the engines on your ships?”

  There was a long pause. Finally, Lawrence said, “Mr. Wang. May I ask why you have police escort?”

  It was Henry Lo’s turn to pause. He had a stock answer, but he had a feeling that somehow the cat was out of the bag. Why waste words? He let his lips gently flap as he blew out a breath, then went with the stock answer anyway. “The police have reason to believe that you have been manufacturing drugs other than what you claim on the contract. They are here just to confirm the facts of the transaction. Consider it a formality.”

  Lawrence mumbled something about a lot of heat for a formality and then clearly stated, “Our, uh, ships here are part of the overall equip, and therefore subs to the merger. We’re simply making sure that you see that evs in working order.”

  It was a reasonable answer. Henry Lo chose to leave it. “That’s thoughtful. We are fifty-nine minutes out. Looking forward to finally shaking hands with you and your partners.”

  “Uh, us, too. See you in an hour. Boetiger out.”

  Henry Lo turned slightly to Zheng and again addressed his second without looking him in the eye. “You will, of course, consult with Sergeant Gunderson about their ships warming up.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Caleb shoved his way forward until he saw Bert near a junction, politely standing aside for people. The robot’s arms were fully loaded with exosuits, his brilliant white head poking out, making him appear like some alien hydra. Caleb got close enough to yell at him while pointing at his own feet. “Bert! Here! Now!” Bert offered a smile that was programed for reassurance. Caleb interpreted it as a grimace.

  Bert said, “Hello, sir. Quite a bit of activity, sir.”

  “Just follow me, snowflake.” Without reducing the robot’s burden, Caleb spun on his heel and pressed back toward the storage hanger.

  “You’ll pardon my delay, sir. I had to politely remind several people that these suits did not belong to them. I’m afraid I had to use more strength than is usually considered deferential.”

  Caleb shoved a man aside and kept plowing forward. When they finally got back to the Princess Belle, it appeared that nothing had changed. Jennifer stood on the top step of a ladder with a portable welder, her head hidden beneath the open cowling. Spruck, wiped greasy fingers on his coverall while staring at a pile of parts on a bench. Natalie and Saanvi screamed over each other at three other women who demanded that they drop the food stock tubes the girls had under each arm. Caleb stepped between the women with his back to Natalie and Saanvi and spoke the near immortal words of the father of the system, Bez Hanson: “If they want to die of wishful thinking, it’s not your job to tell them otherwise! Now back off!” It was close enough to the great man’s mantra that it touched the souls of the three lady pioneers, and they did just that. Caleb looked at Spruck. “And? How’s it going?”

  Spruck moved two parts next to each other, but otherwise continued to stare.

  “Spruck!”

  “Huh?”

  “Are we going to die of wishful thinking?”

  Spruck picked up the pieces and slipped them together with a satisfied smile. “Probably. But not today. Could use your help.”

  Bert continued to stand with the armload of exosuits. “Sir? May I inquire as to where you would like me to deposit these?”

  Caleb pointed at the Princess Belle’s airlock. “The prep room, dummy.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Jennifer stuck her head out of the cowling. “You should try being nicer to him. We can all hear your tone.”

  Caleb gave her a double take while allowing Spruck to heap greasy parts into his arms. “What’re we working on?”

  Spruck said, “Air mixture regulator manifold, cabin heat exchanger, and something I’m forgetting, but it’ll come to me.” He pulled a shiny stainless steel gadget out of a box. “Finally got this last week. Can’t wait to see if it fits.” He looked at Bert struggling to get through the Belle’s narrow airlock door. “Good. You got suits.”

  An hour passed and the small group was so busy prepping Spruck’s ship that they hadn’t really noticed the storage hangar emptied out of people. Spruck and Caleb were deep in the workings of the life-support system inside the ship, while Jennifer put the final touches on the last weld. Natalie and Saanvi had not only reloaded and primed the food printer, but had also dug up and loaded various personal hygiene items, meds, and first aid, and, most importantly, topped up the liquid oxygen and hydrogen.

  Bert received the welding kit from Jennifer as she stepped down the ladder, slamming the cowling closed as she went. At the same moment the cowling closed, a vibration shook the station all around them. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked up, listening. Another vibration shook dust from the rocky ceiling, followed by the sound of a distant explosion.

  Chapter Eleven: The Killers Have Landed

  Dust continued to rain down from the high ceiling, and the sounds of conflict echoed throughout the chamber. Inside the Princess Belle, Jennifer, Natalie, Saanvi, and Bert were standing over Caleb and Spruck. The two men had much of the ship’s midsection floor and wall paneling open and were deep in the ship’s guts. Natalie looked at Jennifer with wide eyes filled with worry. “You good to go?”

  “Good to go.”

  “Spruck, Jennifer is good to go. Are you good to go?”

  “I am not good to go.”

  “How long until, Baby?”

  “Not sure.”

  Caleb stuck his head up. “We’ve done everything on his list, but he swears he’s forgetting something important.”

  “What are you forgetting, Baby?”

  Spruck stuck his head up. “Really?”

  “Well, is it something that prevents us from breathing if we fly the ship outsi
de? Cause it seems like the bad guys are here.”

  “I’m pretty sure it does.” They all waited, feeling useless as Spruck scanned the ship’s diagnostics in his safety glasses. “Ha!”

  “What?” asked Caleb.

  Spruck opened an empty storage locker. “The spare CO2 scrubbers. I sent them to be reconditioned when I first pulled this baby in here. They should still be down a level in engineering. In fact, I know they are. I can see them now, strapped to the North Pole wall. I’ve been passing them every day for months. Funny, I kind of forgot about them. Part of the canvas so to speak.”

  “How many are there?” ask Caleb.

  “Ten, no, twelve. With this many passengers, each good for roughly a week.”

  Caleb pointed at the end of a canister filling a hole labeled CO2 scrubber. “But there’s one right there.”

  “Yes. Good for a week. There is no place around here that takes less than a week to get to. Oh, and I can’t speak for that one. It’s just to keep the socket primed.”

  Caleb frowned. “That’s some pretty old tech.”

  Jennifer pointed outside. “There must be more out there, no?”

  Spruck climbed up to the deck and began marching to the exit. “Nope. The only ones that will fit are the originals. Can I borrow your bot?”

  “Sure. Bert, go with Spruck.”

  “Yes, Jennifer,” said Bert, obediently following Spruck.

  “Why don’t we all go?” asked Saanvi.

  “It’ll be quicker with just me and the bot.”

  Another muffled explosion shook the ship. They all stopped where they stood and listened. After a beat, Caleb looked at Spruck and Bert. “Go! Hurry the fuck up!”

  Henry Lo was furious. The ships that were part of the Albiorix co-op were indeed his or Wang Fat’s, anyway, and here they were blowing the things up the moment they tried to lift off. For the operation to succeed, there could be no survivors. They were jamming any transmission that might be sent from the moon, but that didn’t stop Henry from trying and failing to reach Larry. No amount of warnings was stopping the ships from lifting, a ghastly sight. Bodies and ship parts floated like chaff around the moon. On the other hand, he thought, it makes the most unpleasant nature of the operation a little easier. Rounding up a colony of more than a hundred men women and children and shoving them out the airlocks was a deeply tedious prospect, though certainly a lower cost alternative.