Rock Killer (15 page)

“Don’t worry,” Trent cooed soothingly. “You’ll be in good hands. And you have to stop thinking about yourself and learn to think globally. You may be asked to sacrifice your life to the Earth and Her solar system,” Trent preached. “Although that’s unlikely,” she added quickly.

“Now,” she continued, “There’s a flight leaving for Los Angeles tonight. What’s your computer’s address? The GA has limited resources, so don’t spend any more than you need, okay?”

Charlie told her the address of the computer on her wrist. Trent punched that into her computer and Charlie’s beeped.

“That’s a ticket and some money.”

“Thank you,” Charlie said, not sure what else to say.

“This isn’t a game,” Trent said in a low voice. “It’s a revolution.”

“I understand,” Charlie confirmed, trying to sound confident.

“I don’t think you do,” Trent said. “But you will.”

Trent stood up and came around her desk and gave Charlie a hug. Then Vera put her hand on Charlie’s shoulder in an almost camaraderie-like gesture and smiled. It was the first time she’d smiled in Charlie’s experience.

***

The
Kyushu
was an old ship. It was roughly bullet shaped, a hundred meters in diameter and 200 meters long. About seven years before, she’d been one of the first ships with the constant acceleration drives. The power source was a tokamak fusion reactor, cooled by vaporizing lithium. The lithium plasma was used by an MHD generator to produce electricity that the Masuka drives turned into thrust. Before the diminutive Dr. Masuka invented his drive, ships had to get around the solar system via painfully slow Hohmann “low energy” orbits. These took many months. Constant acceleration provided by the Masuka drive shortened the trips from months to weeks. The
Kyushu
left the Lagrange point and accelerated outward. Dragging the kilometer long mass driver behind and burdened with the other equipment to be installed on the asteroid, it barely made 0.07 gees. The trip would take about 18 days. That was slow by modern standards and the
Kyushu
was overdue for a new, more powerful Masuka Drive and the structural reinforcement more thrust would require.

Alex was spending time with each department. He watched drive techs practice installing an emergency door, a skill that every department was supposed to train. All but the tech chief were in pressure suits that were more than usually cumbersome since they weren’t in vacuum.

“Okay,” the chief said over a hand held radio. “This is simulated vacuum and simulated no acceleration. You’ve got three minutes. Don’t forget to secure your tools.” She looked at Alex. “We give ‘em some extra time because of the suits.”

“I know,” Alex said.

The foreman talked into the radio. “Go!”

The three technicians started setting up a metal ring inside a pipe two meters in diameter. The pipe simulated a tunnel cut in the rock of an asteroid.

“So, how are you, Alex?” the chief asked while they watched the exercise. Her name was Diane O’Rourke.

“Fine.”

“And Kirsten?”

“She’s fine.”

“How long’s it been since we worked together?”

“Two—”

“Zalesky, you can’t do that in free fall,” O’Rourke yelled into the radio. “Sorry. You were saying?”

“Two years,” Alex said. “The 1752. I was AD and you were the second drive crew foreman.”

“Yeah,” Diane confirmed. “That’s right.” Occasionally, Alex noted, he met a person with whom he immediately seemed to have a rapport. This usually developed into a good, strong friendship, and Alex cherished these relationships. Once, when he developed such a relationship with a woman, it metamorphosed into an affair. Now Alex was amazed he’d ever risked his marriage. But Theresa Gold was dead; he’d watched her die but couldn’t save her, and he’d killed the man who killed her. It didn’t make him feel better like he thought it should, and that was one of two major sources of pain in his life.

When Diane and Alex first worked together they developed such a friendship, although Alex was ten years older. Alex sometimes wondered if she wanted something more. He didn’t even let himself think about it.

They watched the work in silence. Once the ring was constructed, a cutting device, much like a circular saw, was mounted to it and started. It circled the frame cutting the pipe, instead of the rock for which it was intended. After circumnavigating the ring the cutter was removed and the ring dismantled. The emergency doorframe was unfolded into the cut slot, the door installed in the frame, and one of the techs simulated sealing the whole thing with damage control foam.

“Okay,” O’Rourke said, “Two fifty-four: close. Okay, get out of those suits.”

The technicians stripped. They were all sweating heavily and only wore tee shirts and shorts. One was a tall, athletic woman with curly strawberry hair. The sweat made her clothes cling to her skin, accentuating her attractive form. Alex tried not to stare.

“Alex,” Thorne’s voice drifted through the corridors of the ship. He came into the room. He didn’t fail to notice the two attractive women, especially the one with long legs. “Alex,” he repeated, “I’m done for the day. How ‘bout a drink?”

“Sure,” Alex replied. He turned to O’Rourke. “Want to come?”

“Great,” she said with a smile, then spoke to her subordinates. “Okay, let’s get this gear stowed and call it a day.”

The techs moved briskly to secure the training equipment.

When Alex turned to talk to Thorne, he found him enmeshed in conversation with the other woman.

“Bill,” Alex called.

“We’ll be right there,” Thorne replied, waving Alex and Diane away.

***

Faruq drank coffee with General Zuabi. Faruq found it interesting that once, almost five centuries ago, Islamic law prohibited coffee drinking, imposing typically draconian penalties. Now the drink was heavily associated with Muslims that abstained from alcohol. Was it a Westerner that said the only permanent thing was change? Less than 50 years ago, Syria’s women dressed in Western garb, including swimwear and high heels. Alcohol was as available as in any Western nation. The ouster of the Alawite usurper’s son, Bashar, and the Great Conclave of 2023 changed all that. The meeting, to unite the Syrian and Iraqi arms of the Baathist party, formed a loose confederation of the two nations. United, they conquered the small states on the coast of the Arabian Peninsula, prudently avoiding Saudi Arabia. Once the threat of the occupiers of Palestine was eliminated, Saudi Arabia could be brought into the fold of the United Baath Arab States. Then the president of Syria, Faruq, would be the most powerful man in the Middle East since the Prophet.

However, the unification of the Arab states under the Shia Muslims returned fundamental Islamic law, or
shariah
, to Damascus. When the Americans left Iraq, the out-lawed Baathist party took over. The Iraqi Baathist party, under pressure of a popular revolt supported by Iran, had in less than a twenty-four hour period replaced the American puppet leader, adopted the
shariah
, and made final peace with Iran.

When Iraq and Syria settled their differences at the Conclave, Syria embraced Islamic law. Sunni Muslims had to be oppressed almost as badly as during the days of the Alawite usurper. But, almost overnight
abaya
and
burqa
clad women were the norm, and alcohol couldn’t be found. Today, there were villages in Syria almost indistinguishable from the sixteenth century Ottoman province. The more things change, some other Westerner said, the more they remain the same.

“The president,” Zuabi said, interrupting Faruq’s thoughts, “has lost his revolutionary zeal. He does not move against the Zionist state for fear of the Americans.” Since the meeting with Sa’ud and the president, Faruq had noticed Zuabi seemed disheartened. In charge of the Southern Lebanon Occupation Zone, Zuabi had to deal with the Zionist daily.

“Do you really believe,” Faruq probed, “a first strike against the Zionist state can succeed?”

“Yes,” Zuabi said. “If I were the CinC of the Revolutionary Army, I could make such an attack a triumph for the Baath Revolution. But, we need,” Zuabi continued, “a leader that can act decisively when the opportunity presents.”

Faruq nodded.

The general took a sip of the black brew. “The military would support such a man.”

Faruq didn’t smile. But he knew the general would support him when the time came. The general commanded Syria’s contingent of the United Baath Revolutionary Army. And where the Syria contingent led, the army followed. And when Faruq had the presidency, Zuabi would be commander of the United Baath Revolutionary Army. Then the final, nuclear solution of the cancer of the Zionist state would be realized.

Chapter Eight

“...only in violence there is revolution.”

“Then Milhano asked Joey,” Alex related with a smile, “‘What did Mitchel say?’ And Joey says, ‘Kill him.’“ Alex stopped to laugh with Thorne. “And then Frank DeWite says, ‘Great. I haven’t seen blood for ages.’“ Alex looked around the table. The women were staring at him.

“He was kidding,” Alex clarified after he stopped laughing.

Thorne was chortling. “That was what, your second trip to the belt?”

“My third,” Alex said. “God, we were young and dumb and full of—” Alex stopped and smiled sheepishly at the women.

“Anyway, Frank had the greatest sense of humor.”

“I guess,” Diane O’Rourke said incredulously.

The other woman–her name was Diana coincidentally, Diana Vuilard–shook her head. In the low acceleration her long hair continued to move for some time after her head stopped.

“And Milhano was killed about ten years ago,” Thorne said somberly. “Three years before Theresa Gold.”

The table was quiet. Alex played with his drink in the Erlenmeyer flask-shaped glass.

The
Kyushu
’s saloon was filling with asteroid crew and some off-duty personnel from the ship. Many were already paired up, or something. The long trip gave the asteroid crew much free time. While a great deal of time was spent training, a lot was expended the old fashioned way.

Alex watched these trips with a mixture of fascination, humor, and horror as shipboard romances between the asteroid crew flourished brightly and often withered painfully. The life of an asteroid crew was hard on relationships and creativity in their love lives kept the emotional wear and tear to a minimum.

Some relationships seemed to be continuations of old affairs. The relationship would continue even if years had passed since the two (and sometimes three and four) had been together. Some crew seemed to have extended marriages with a group of people that, wherever two or three gathered together, the nuptial bliss was renewed. Then there were those that moved from one brief relationship to another. From a distance, they seemed to be having a lot of fun. But scratch the surface, and Alex was sure one would find sorrow and loneliness. Thorne had been one of those. Alex had hoped Thi would settle him down but in space, Thorne had acted as if she didn’t exist. Now, he had told Alex, that affair was over. And he was moving in on Diana.

Alex, strictly monogamous, was thankful he’d found a wife that didn’t mind, even seemed to like, having him gone most of the time. He stayed out of romantic relationships but enjoyed making new friends.

Life Support Chief Taylor passed by arm in arm with a woman from security. She greeted Alex and her friend acknowledged Thorne with a nod. Some music started. It was older stuff, late thirties.

“Wanna dance?” Thorne asked Diana.

She looked at the low gravity gyrations on the small dance floor. “I don’t know.”

“Come on,” Thorne said, pulling her out of her chair and almost losing her because he misjudged her momentum. They went into the crowd and Alex soon lost track of them.

“What do you think the Gaia Alliance’s going to do with the
Rock Skipper
?” O’Rourke asked.

Alex looked at her. “What brought that on?”

“All your friends that have died–I’m wondering if any more will have to.”

Alex looked at his friend. “I hope not,” he said softly.

***

Charlie’s flight over the continent was hours long. She could almost have saved time flying by spaceplane to Moscow and then to LA. Actual airtime would have been shorter but there was a long layover in Russia. Charlie suspected the Russians planned that for reasons she couldn’t discern. And of course, she didn’t have SRI resources to pay for such an extravagance anymore. The GA seemed to be a low-budget affair.

Charlie’s plane landed at the over-used, too crowded, old, and downright dangerous Los Angeles International. But, there was no place to build a new, better airport or expand LAX. In the city, no one wanted an airport in their backyard. And outside the city, environmentalists bemoaned the damage or loss of habitat or something a new airport would cause. The plane waited on the ground an hour and a half for a gate. This was part of the scheduled duration of the trip. The additional hour of delay wasn’t, while they waited in the plane that was slowly roasting in the California sun. The air conditioning was shut off when the engines were shut down, by law, to save fuel and lessen pollution.

In the terminal there was a two-hour wait for the luggage, the stewardess announced. Charlie was glad she only had her one, carry-on bag.

Trent had told her to make a call to a certain address when she arrived. There was no video (yet another “phone”? Charlie wondered). A woman’s voice instructed her to wait in front of the baggage claim area and a car would be by.