Rock Killer (22 page)

“On line, sir,” Diane replied. “Ready for acceleration.”

Chun looked at Navigator Naguchi. She was curled up in front of her computer console, her long legs bent up so her shoulders were resting on her knees.

“Ready, Bente?” Chun asked her.

“Anytime, Director,” she replied. “Computer reads positive control of yaw, pitch, and roll.”

Chun looked at his beautiful navigator and wondered briefly why she was so reticent and seemed so lonely. If he wasn’t married, he’d have been on her like self-righteousness on an eco-politician.

Chun hit the intercom button. “Everyone prepare for acceleration in one minute. Report by section to the AD.”

“Mass driver and Masuka drive section ready,” Diane informed Assistant Director Banda.

“Reactor ready.”

“Miners ready,” Tsuji said.

“Life support ready,” Taylor reported.

“Security ready,” Thorne said.

“Navigation ready,” Naguchi said.

“Communications ready,” said Hikiru Manna, Communications Chief for the asteroid.

“All ready,” Assistant Director Banda reported in his resonant voice.

Chun smiled. “Roger. Acceleration, now. Communications, inform the
Kyushu
.”

“Yes, sir,” Manna replied.

A few hundred meters away, six Masuka drives started to release a steady stream of ions. In conjunction, the kilometer long mass driver started throwing rock, ground so finely it ran like a liquid, out behind the asteroid at velocities just under that of light. Acceleration slowly built up to 0.16G. The asteroid shrugged off the last of the minuscule layer of dust that was left behind like a cloud of confused gnats.

Chun unstrapped himself and stood. He took in a deep breath of the air, composed of oxygen from Europa and nitrogen bought from the Russians on Mars–for their price but still cheaper than lifting it from Earth. His stomach stopped protesting as up and down became realities again.

“Ah, that feels better. Bente, how’s the course?”

Nuguchi studied her computer and then turned to Chun with a broad smile. “Right down the pipe, Director.”

“Good work. AD?”

“Yes, Alex?”

“I’ll be in my office. Tell the miners it’s time to earn their pay.”

“Yes, sir.”

***

Ceres, if it was in orbit about a planet, would be a respectable moon. At 1,000 kilometers in diameter, and somewhat centrally located in the asteroid belt, this smallest of minor planets (some still insisted on calling it the largest asteroid) was the logical place for SRI’s asteroid facility. Made more of ice and carbonates and clay, the SRI facility was built on the surface using technology developed building the company’s facility on Europa.

The mass of the asteroid provided about one fiftieth of a gee gravity so that everything eventually floated to the floor.

Independent miners came to Ceres for supplies, to sample the “entertainment,” and to sell their finds. A person could make a few million euros in the span of half a decade, if they didn’t get themselves killed. Some returned to Earth or the Moon. Most stayed in the belt, too damn independent for even NESA’s lose control.

At the public spaceport, Caroline Zalesky waited at the airlock leading to the independent mining ship, the
Ginney Mae
.

Zalesky waited patiently, knowing the owner would eventually return. She thought about her husband, David, who was right then on the asteroid SRI-1961. They’d met and fallen in love on the Moon last year. But he was a mass driver tech and she had committed herself to working on Ceres. She hoped to get an asteroid assignment soon so they could work together.

Since Head of Security Mitchel had sent his order to her boss, Sue McKenna, about checking on independent miners, Zalesky had checked the computer records on every miner that returned to the asteroid.

From the interior of the facility, a fat man floated into the staging area. Zalesky mused to herself that he should have “Goodyear” painted on his side. She noticed a bandage on his neck.

“Mr. Mouret?” she said before he could pass by.

It took him a long time to stop his considerable mass.

“Yes?” he asked, eying her security uniform.

“Are you the owner-operator of the
Ginney Mae
?”

“Yes.”

“Would you mind answering a few questions?”

Mouret looked at her. On Ceres, when an SRI Security person asked politely, it usually paid to be cooperative lest they become impolite. SRI had a monopoly on independent miner support. No one dared risk raising the ire of Space Resources.

“No problem,” he said.

“You were here just a little over a month ago. Records show you bought large quantities of supplies, enough for six or so months, and paid cash.”

“Yes.”

“And, yesterday you bought more supplies for about four months in space and had to use credit.”

“Does SRI doubt I can pay my bill?” Mouret asked.

“No,” Zalesky replied. “But it is curious that you should return so soon and with nothing to sell.”

Mouret’s eyes shifted as if he were looking for an escape.

“I sold my supplies. Or actually, I was ripped off.”

“By whom?”

“I don’t know who they were,” he said almost whining.

Zalesky didn’t know if he was lying or not–and didn’t care.

“Would you come with me, please?”

He nodded. “Fine,” he said noncommittally.

***

Faruq heard a scuffle outside the thick oak door of his office. He pulled open the middle drawer and removed a Makarov nine-millimeter pistol.

The door flew open and General Sa’ud bounded into the room. Faruq could see through the door where two armed soldiers held Faruq’s private bodyguard.

Faruq let the general see his weapon. “
Marhaban sadiqi
,” he said calmly as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

Sa’ud stood erect and straightened his uniform in a slow, dignified ritual. Finally he spoke with a deliberate casual air. “Someone is trying to erode the support for the president in the Party.”

“I don’t think so,
aquid
.”

“But delegates are openly speaking seditiously against the president. Some say you, Faruq, would be a good replacement,” Sa’ud said, as if retelling a little joke.

Faruq took his cue from his adversary. “Surely you are mocking me,
habibi
. I am the president’s most loyal and humble servant. I have no ambition but to serve him.”

Sa’ud sneered. “You speak well. Perhaps it is that talent that moved support in the Party to you.”

“Or, more likely, it is disappointment with the actions of the president in dealing with the Zionist state. I, too, have heard these voices of dissent and I assure you, General, I am as concerned as you for the future of the president.”

The large man released a loud, snorting laugh. “I have no time for your deceptions, Faruq. But remember, I will see you dead before I see you president.”

“Perhaps it won’t be me that dies,” Faruq said with a hint of menace in his voice.

“
In sha’allah
,” Sa’ud growled back. He executed an about-face and strode out of the room, the clack of his boots on the tile a perfect, rhythmic cadence. The soldiers released Faruq’s man and followed their leader.

“Forgive me,
aquid
,” the guard said sheepishly.

Faruq replaced his pistol in his desk. “It is already forgotten. Now, back in the hall; I have work to do.”

Faruq saw the admiration in the man’s eyes. You can’t force that kind of loyalty from a man with weapons; you have to earn it. If Faruq had one skill it was gaining the loyalty of those around him. He’d need it in the next few days.

***

Congresswoman Polasky had long ago checked FBI files against the photo of the woman named Shari Johnson. She even did a face recognition search through federal government archives of digital photos that matched the face in the digital photo she took of the woman. Nothing turned up and she basically forgot the whole thing.

She went to her office late in the afternoon after spending time on the floor voting on this and that amendment to this or that bill. She entered the outer office and her secretary told her that she had an appointment with a clerk at the Justice Department named Brian Hocking. Polasky said she knew him and went into her office.

“Hello, Brian,” she said, doffing her wet raincoat. It was a rainy, early spring in the state of Columbia.

“Good afternoon, Congresswoman,” Hocking replied respectfully.

Polasky sat behind her desk. “When was the last time I saw you, Brian?”

“The rally for the complete shut-down of NASA.”

Polasky nodded. She remembered. She’d voted for the bill that stipulated eliminating the useless, wasteful National Aeronautics and Space Administration and spending the money on low-income housing. The United States didn’t need a space program. Weather and communications satellites could be rented from the Japanese or Russians. In the U.S., only the military was involved in space, maintaining the exorbitantly expensive and needless “Star Wars” system. Repeated attempts to shut it down were blocked by the military-industrial complex and their radical, right-wing dupes. But the war machine was so entrenched in American society it would literally take a revolution to dismantle it. Polasky was just one of the many working toward that revolution.

“Yes,” Polasky said, “I remember that. What can I do for you today?”

Brian took a computer from his briefcase. “This is strictly confidential,” he said almost officiously. “But I feel I must bring this to your attention.”

“Yes?” Polasky prodded.

Brian explained his job at the Justice Department. “I found this file. It seems an FBI agent interfered in a bias crime case.” He held up the computer.

“May I see?” Polasky asked.

He handed the computer to her.

Polasky looked at the picture. “Brian,” she asked “does this file have ‘Employer’ on it anywhere?”

“It’s towards the bottom, under her registration for probation for the unlawful self-defense offense.”

“Oh, yes, here it is.” Polasky studied the screen for a few long minutes.

“Brian,” she said casually, “this is interesting. May I have a copy of this file?”

“Yes. But, I would appreciate if you would not reveal your source.”

“Of course.” She handed the computer back to him, told him the proper code, and it downloaded to her computer.

Of course she wouldn’t reveal her source; she wasn’t going to leak this to the press, as is the usual practice in Columbia. She shooed Brian out of her office and turned on the computer. But before she could tell it whom to call, her secretary interrupted.

“Congresswoman, there’s a Mr. Fowler of the Green Party here to see you.”

Polasky vented a sigh and switched and said, “Show him in, please.”

It took Polasky until almost nine to get Fowler out of her office. She didn’t want to evict him out on some pretense. She always tried to help the Greens whenever she could. The Greens had endorsed her in her district since there was no one from their party running. If she didn’t take Fowler seriously, it could jeopardize her career.

As soon as Fowler left, Polasky called Trent’s office. A computer answered, reporting that the office was closed for the evening.

She then called Trent’s residence. Vera answered; there was no video since Trent insisted on using a simple computer with no video.

***

Beatty seemed to be watching Charlie more. She didn’t know if it was because he found her suddenly attractive or suddenly suspicious. She knew she was being paranoid. But was she being paranoid enough? In any case she didn’t want any attention, amorous or not, from that man.

As she went to bed that night she decided to break into the basement. She hoped she would find something, anything for Freeman and then get the hell out of this house.

About midnight, the couple in the corner finally was quiet. Charlie, dressed only in panties again, padded barefoot to the kitchen. She didn’t like being so naked but, then again, a bare chest might give her a needed distraction.

She slid the panel back and studied the door. It didn’t look incredibly sturdy. She got a chef’s knife out of a drawer and, keeping her ears open, began prying the doorjamb off. Charlie used the tip of the now much-abused knife to push back the bolt. Before she could push the door open the bolt sprung back into place.

She tried again and this time the door opened easily. A dark set of stairs descended into black velvet darkness. She found a light switch and bathed the stairwell in light. Charlie carefully went down the wooden stairs, closing the door behind her.

***

The
Rock Killer
had been chasing the asteroid for just over a day. Knecht smiled and turned to Griffin. “I’ve got it visually.”

“What do you need to plot intercept course?”

“Range, velocity, bearing, course.”

“Can we get that without using radar?”

Knecht shook her head. “This ship doesn’t have laser range finders. I can only estimate range visually based on an estimate of the rock’s size. Velocity and course I would have to estimate on stellar occlusion, subtracting the component of our velocity in their course. It’s pretty tricky.”

“I want only passive observations. No telling what kind of equipment they have on that thing. How long before we can get radar lock on for the missiles?”