Son of Sedonia (19 page)

“Yet? Sir, with all due respect, the first time destabilized a fragile situation at the cost of
lives! Most
of which are on my head,” Kabbard paused and exhaled sharply. Laughter spilled out of the doors further down the veranda. Kabbard moved closer and lowered his voice.

“It was my plan. My failure. Believe me when I say that we do not
have
the resources to pull off a second. Do this now, and things come apart...violence outside
and
inside
the Border. You don’t just make a call like that to ship a little more—”

“I said,
I know
, John. But without Finley...without the Helium flowing...the City suffocates.. What do you think happens to our little Utopian bubble if its lifeblood is choked off and sucked dry from every vein?” asked Sato. News footage of the devastation in the Slums and metal SCPD caskets flickered through Sato’s mind. He squinted hard and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I need another drink,” Sato said, tossing the empty glass over the edge of the veranda. He attempted to straighten himself as he walked to the doors. Kabbard grunted and trotted to open the way for him.

Once inside, he wanted to go right back out again. The lights. The gaudy band. The swarming glad-handers. At least he could throw things out on the veranda. He scanned the room with aching eyes for Jada. Spotted the bar instead and set a course through the least inhabited side of the ballroom. It was there that Tycho Kirnden of Globometro News found him.

“Bourbon on the rocks?” Kirnden held up a glass with his chubby fingers. The table, one of the only ones occupied on this side of the room, pressed into Kirnden’s enormous belly. He flashed a stained-tooth smile up at the Governor. Another scotch sat on the table, and the ‘rocks’ of both had almost completely melted.
Been planning this ambush for a while then. Fuck my life...at least he brought booze.
Sato tapped his dwindling courtesy reserves.
“
Tycho! My savior,” he accepted the drink. “To what do I owe this fine and, I must admit, well-timed gesture?”

“Not a thing, Mr. Sato, save to ask after your satisfaction with Globometro’s coverage of the ‘Scourging of the Slums.’ I do hope you found all the angles approached fairly and completely...”

The scotch, albeit watered down, tasted the same. Yet it no less left disgust in Sato’s mouth. Perhaps it was the man’s breath wafting over.
I’m five feet away, and it still smells like death.

“
Of course, Tycho, of course! Very professional and...evocative! Now, if you’ll excu—”

“Thank you, sir! I daresay the public will sleep much more soundly knowing the Border is secured. Yourself as well, I expect! Quite the master-stroke, solving so much at once—”

A pulse-tone went off in Sato’s inner ear, followed by a message in his Neural. ‘
Incoming Call: PRG.
’ Simultaneously thankful for the excuse and flushed with terror, Sato got up.

“Apologies, Tycho...I have to take this. State business,” he said, turning to leave.

“Certainly, Governor...lunch next week?” Kirnden asked. Sato pretended like he didn’t hear as he hurried away. Pressed ‘Encrypt.’ ‘Answer.’ Prescott appeared at her usual conference table, flanked by the Board.

“Go someplace you can talk, Enota,” Prescott said immediately. A wave of anxiety crashed into the Governor.
What fresh hell is this?
He scanned the ballroom and found Kabbard. Waved the man over.

With Kabbard running interference ahead, Sato made his way to a set of pearl white doors in the corner. Opened them onto a long hall. On the left, a magnificent window wall of ribbed glass looked out on the veranda and Mesa Gardens. On the right, rows of doors to several of the Plateau’s lavish conference rooms. Sato pointed to a door, and Kabbard went inside. Eventually emerged with a thumbs up. As the Governor entered, Kabbard tried to follow.

“Stay here and watch the door. I’ll only be a moment,” Sato said, hoping. The former Sergeant didn’t seem to appreciate that.
Honest men hate secrets.
Sudden jealousy struck Sato.
Honest men...
A sad fate that duty should bind such men to liars. Kabbard scowled and shut the door, leaving Sato with his secrets.

“I am hermetically sealed and alone, Janice, now what do you—”

“Ten minutes ago, we received a flag on a person-of-interest originating from the Themis Facility. The transmission was killed before download completed, so our people dug into the corrupted data and salvaged what they could. Found one of the new ‘inmates’ gathered by your little smash-and-grab gambit,” Janice said.

“You pulled me back here and scared the shit out of me for a POI flag from the
Slums?
Don’t you have the resources to take care of whatever—”

“Aden William Rindal,” was all Prescott said. The name was like a bullet through the center of Sato’s brain.

“You...you’re sure it’s genuine? The corrupted data...it could have errors.”

“Our people are the best. When they are sure, we are sure. This could be a simple ident theft, but we think you’ll agree, this warrants careful and
immediate
action,” said Prescott. Sato could almost taste the subtext. ‘
This is YOUR mess...clean it up, or else.
’

“Send me what data you have, and I’ll see to it at once,” said Sato.

“That would be best. If you find anyone or anything, it ceases to exist. Are we clear?” asked Prescott. Sato nodded.

“Good.” The transmission went dead at Prescott’s final word. ‘
Call Ended. Memory Block 080980_841p: Deleted
.’ Sato chugged the rest of his watery bourbon, wiped his mouth, and knocked on the door. Kabbard opened it, greeting him with the signature steel glare.

“I have a job for you,” said Sato.

17

Arrivals

JOGUN WATCHED THROUGH
the cockpit glass as scout ships streaked soundlessly overhead. Back toward Themis. The dim light of the Crawler cockpit changed from gray to green as the ‘All Clear’ notification came up on his dash monitor. He tapped the screen and the Helium-3 deposit appeared on the topo-map. Not much, but spread out into several thinner, smaller deposits. The Cash Layer, untouched He3 paydirt, had been stripped clean a while ago. By someone else, judging from the pattern of the tracks.

He did his best to rub the aching behind his sunken eyes. Fifteen hours and counting behind the dash and still no quota. He’d have to scrape a huge pattern to get all the deposits in one go, taking at least two more hours...it might just be enough for a ticket back to the cells.
Those reinforcements can’t come too soon
. The thought was honest, but heavy. Reinforcements would come from only one place.
Home.
Jo shook the longing from his head and laid in the course.

The Crawler rumbled to life, chewing into the rocky soil with rotating metal teeth. Once he felt the vibration smooth through the bulkhead, Jo started his pattern. A big perimeter cut to define the area, then back and forth in long strips to cover all forty-thousand square meters. Too much time to think. He wished they would have erased that part too with their mind-rape drug.

Food might help. The freeze-dried protein blocks came in three flavors. Chalk, dirt, and sand.
Sand it is. At least it’s kinda salty
. Jo reached a boney arm, slid the wall panel down, and removed one of the silver pouches. He gripped the edge and pulled. It wouldn’t budge. Pulled again. Still nothing. Again. The wrapper barely had a dent in it, and his forearms were throbbing. He looked at his hands. Bones and veins shrink wrapped in skin like cellophane. Making a fist hurt. Tears welled up in his eyes.

BWOOOP! BWOOOP! BWOOOP!
The blaring proximity alarm filled the cockpit. A sunken crater loomed ahead, big enough to swallow three Crawlers. Jo flung the food block away, gripped the wheel, and wrenched it hard left. The Crawler’s right side treads dipped down into the hole, tipping the vehicle’s left toward the black sky. Not enough to flip it. It leveled out again as Jo steered past, thudding safely in a plume of gray dust. Exhaling, he throttled down and checked the topo-map.

The area showed all flat and clear according to the Scout data. Anger bubbled up inside him, but, like always, a hidden switch flipped.
They must have missed it. Too many of us out here on fumes
. He calmed, then resumed his pattern with extra care. More than a few craters dotted the landscape from there. Some he could drive over, others he couldn’t. With this kind of terrain, the job would take three hours, not two.
More interesting, though
.

Pass after pass, he wove the Crawler through them and watched the Quota Bar slowly tic toward ‘FULL LOAD.’ Over a hill. Into a dell. Across an open stretch. Through a rocky patch. The Crawler tines ground and ground and...stopped. Screeched to a halt midway into the fourth-to-last pass.

“Warning!: Obstruction in combine system! Check immediately!” The message blinked on screen. Jo turned to look at the pressure suit in its casing on the wall. The thought of going EVA sent a chill down his spine. Even less shielding from radiation than the Crawler and a whole lot less oxygen if something happened. And something usually did, especially with combines that liked to suddenly restart when unstuck. He turned away and looked out the windshield.
Not going out there for some moon rock stuck in the gears.

Jo flipped the Crawler into reverse and tapped on the gas. The engine protested, squealing and grinding. He let up and allowed the Crawler to settle. Tried again.

BOOM!
The gray horizon outside the windshield spun as the Crawler flipped. Jo tucked himself into a ball in his harness. Screaming. His head rapped against the pantry wall panel as the Crawler crashed on its side. Moments in darkness passed. Seconds or years, Jo couldn’t tell. He awoke to alarms roaring in the Crawler cockpit...and a kind of whistling hiss. As his eyes focused, they fixed on expanding cracks in the windshield.

Jogun tore at his harness with numb, boney fingers. The button wouldn’t go all the way in. He pressed until he thought sure his thumbnail would rip off, and finally heard a snap. The straps released him. He clawed over the seat, wrenched open the EVA pressure suit’s casing, and took out the gear. His breathing had shortened to choked gasps by the time he got it on and secured the seals. Air rushed into the helmet and filled his quivering lungs. It sounded like Matteo’s wheezing as he panted. He shook his head and sat there a moment.
Okay. What. The fuck. Happened?

The emergency release blasted the main hatch hinges and fully depressurized the cockpit. Jogun pushed the hatch off to the side and climbed out. He tried to think of things other than the suit. Difficult when he could hear every shallow breath. Luckily something caught his eye: a fresh crater in the middle of his last cut. Burns and white cracks in the lunar crust radiated out from the center.
Another landmine.
Probably one of the leftovers from the Nobidyne Company land-grab back in the 50s. Relics from the fighting were all over the expansion zones, but that shouldn’t have mattered.
Just what the hell are those Scouts good for, anywa—

The anger wilted and turned to nausea. He cringed away from the thought and fought to calm down. It worked, but the sensation turned into tears. They dripped onto the glass of his helmet, mixing with blood dropping from the head wound.
Okay...okay...
He sniffed and sat up.
The beacon.
He rotated a dial on his wrist to read ‘EMERGENCY’ in bright red letters, then squeezed a button on the side. A channel opened in his helmet.

“Signal received, 75508-V. What is your position and situation?”

“Sector 8709...-36A. My Crawler had a blowout. It’s inoperable, but I’m unhur—”

“75508, we’re sending a crew to your location, stay with your vehicle, over,” said the operator. The transmission went dead.

Jo regretted not tearing into the food wrapper with his teeth. Even if he could find rations in the upturned crawler, eating would be hard to pull off through quarter-inch Plexiglas. His stomach growled against tight, shallow muscles. The constricted fit of the pressure suit seemed to call more attention to it.
Little brother, I hope you eatin’ better than me.
He looked out to the Earth.

The familiar thoughts of home came to him. But after so much time, they had all turned gray. Like a half-remembered dream from years ago. Even Matteo’s face took effort to remember. If the picture really looked like him at all he’d still be different now. The Moon seemed to have always been borders, crawlers, inmates, guards, rocks, and space.

Jogun suddenly felt hollow. Brittle. As if he could walk toward the horizon, crumble into dust, and finally put an end to it all.
Why eat? Why keep goin’? Could’ve stayed in the Crawler...gone to sleep. Finally just sleep.
Nobody would miss him. Just another casualty on the daily report. He took a floating step toward the distant Earth. Then another. Then another. He started shaking, but willed his legs onward through the drifting strides.

Three Scouts and a maintenance vessel passed over his head and hovered in front of him, blocking out the Earth. They seemed to stare for a moment. Jo stopped. Collapsed to a seat in the dust.

As the Scouts fanned out into scanning posture, the blocky, orange bulk of the maintenance vessel descended in Jo’s path. A platform lowered from its underbelly and touched-down in the soil. Four pressure-suited workers stood on it beside tool kits and stacks of Crawler parts. They started unloading.

Jo squinted at them as they approached. Their movements were correct, but tight and awkward. They picked things up too fast and stumbled when they walked. Their bodies looked thick and nourished in the pressure suits.
New inmates.
Jo got to his feet.

Protocol dictated that he greet them and give a damage report. He both wanted and dreaded it. The promise of new faces was always bittersweet. He had learned to hope that they’d be total strangers, that they would all just become friends and brothers, surviving as best they could.