Unstable Prototypes (56 page)

"She found it?" Silo said, joining Lex in the
doorway.

"Querying communication grid. Communication
node identified. Position tracking, logging, and reporting set to
high. Displaying coordinates now."

The main display on the ship's console
displayed a stellar map. The humans gathered close around, trying
to identify it.

"VCDN-2221," Silo said, "That doesn't exactly
sound like a vacation spot. Usually the sort of place a terrorist
would threaten would at least have a name with vowels in it."

"The population is just under six million for
the whole system," Lex pointed out.

"Give us a summary on the star system, Ma,"
Garotte requested.

"VCDN-2221 is a planetoid belonging to
VectorCorp. It is the second planet from the star, and the site of
the primary monitoring, processing, and distribution facility for
the outlying half of their transit and communication network," she
explained.

"What is the worst case scenario if the
Neo-Luddites were to hit the star for that system?"

"Approximately three days after the
deployment of the CME Activators, the leading edge of a sphere of
charged particles would strike the planet. Any unshielded
electronics, including power and communication lines, will
instantly and catastrophically fail. Shielded electronics will fail
systematically over the following weeks. The loss of the facility
will require monitoring and communication regulation to be shunted
to their secondary facility."

"Well, that doesn't sound too bad."

"Their secondary facility is on the third
planet of the system, and will be struck sixteen hours later."

"Ah. Perhaps not the best bit of planning,
that."

"The loss of both facilities will leave
VectorCorp unable to maintain safe transit lanes for that portion
of the galaxy, an expanse that contains 116 of the 245 populated
planets, including Tessera, Golana, and Earth. All interstellar
traffic will cease until monitoring can be reestablished, a process
which may take years. Communication will also be impossible for a
period of weeks while secondary routes are established for data
traffic. The sphere of interference surrounding the star will
continue to grow for the months-long period of activity associated
with the CMEAs, creating a massive, expanding section of space that
will disable and destroy any vehicle passing through. The
disruption of communication and transit will choke off trade
routes, causing mass starvation on any planets that are not yet
self-sustaining. This loss of life, coupled with the inevitable
economic and social disruptions, will produce a death toll
approaching the billions by the end of the decade, and could be the
inciting event for a full societal collapse."

There was silence for a moment.

"Am I the only one not surprised that Karter
is going to be responsible for the fall of human civilization?"
Silo asked.

"It did seem something of an inevitability.
I'm actually a bit disappointed that it took a rogue military group
to actually pull the trigger, though. I've always thought Karter
would make an excellent megalomaniac, if he would only apply
himself," Garotte quipped.

"Are we going to be able to stop this?" Lex
asked, his voice the only one carrying the level of terrified
concern that seemed appropriate for the situation.

"Well, we're certainly going to try. Ma, do
we know what we'll be dealing with when we reach them?"

"Attempting to access local orbital sensors.
Processing... Processing... Unable to access, encryption level
exceeds- One moment, connecting live audio feed."

The speakers in the Declaration crackled and
began to broadcast the voices of the crew.

"-in need of resupply. Provisions ran out
three days ago. Have medical personnel standing by. Extreme
distress," said the first voice. It had a haggard, weary tone.

"Affirmative. Medical teams staged and ready.
Stand by for a message from Commander Purcell." This voice was
further distorted, evidently coming over the troop ship's speakers.
A moment later, a female voice rang out angrily. "Attention assault
team. I have reason to believe that the security of your ship has
been compromised. You must not return the alloy to the space
station until you have neutralized the threat. Someone has been
able to deliver a slidepad onto your ship. Find it and destroy it
before docking."

"Space station," Garotte muttered under his
breath. "I truly dislike combat in space stations."

"Me too," Silo agreed.

"They have located the slidepad. Displaying
video feed," Ma announced.

The screen now displayed a dark, cramped
view. Evidently, once the ship had left the gravity well of the
planet, the slidepad had drifted up behind a bundle of emergency
gear strapped to one wall. A hand was visible, grasping for it.
Finally it grabbed the device and pulled it out. A swift, shaky
view of the interior of the vessel whisked across the screen. The
view then became steady and the butt of a rifle came smashing down
on the device. Two more hits replaced the video feed with the words
Connection Lost
.

"Okay, so we know where we have to go, and we
know that there is a space station," Lex cataloged. "Where does
that leave us, plan-wise?"

"We have not analyzed all pertinent data," Ma
stated.

The video feed rewound. Frame by frame, the
short sweep of video progressed again. The slidepad, at Ma's
request, was a high quality one, which meant that the video feed
was exceedingly sharp, even for the dim and swiftly moving image
before them. With each frame, a digital overlay outlined and
highlighted elements of the image, listing off specifications for
the soldier's rifles and equipment, and finally freezing on the
single frame in which the front view window was visible. A square
was traced around a speck in the distance ahead of the ship. It
enlarged, brightened, and sharpened into a slightly distorted but
recognizable shape. A space station. Next to it, a sequence of
space station designs began to flip by.

"The station is currently on the far side of
the sun in reference to the planet. The VectorCorp sensors will not
pick it up. Attempting to identify station type."

"They couldn't have built it there, or
anywhere in the system, for that matter. VC would have noticed.
Eliminate stations incapable of interstellar flight," Garotte
advised.

"And these people probably couldn't swing
having one built for them, and if they'd stolen one we would have
heard about it, so limit your search to designs that are likely to
have been decommissioned or left derelict," Silo added.

"Station type identified," Ma said,
highlighting the remaining design, which was clearly a match.

"Way to go, Ma!" Lex congratulated.

"Bring up schematics, armaments, everything
you can find," Garotte said.

The requested information was displayed.
Garotte looked it over and clucked his tongue. "This isn't going to
be one of our easier missions."

"If it was easy, someone else would be doing
it," Silo said with a shrug.

"I could probably get there in about eight
hours in the SOB," Lex said.

"Unfortunately, no amount of skill will get
your ship past those defenses. We'll have to hit it with both ships
together, so that pushes our time table to, what, fifty hours?"

"Approximately forty-two hours, eleven
minutes, eighteen seconds, assuming optimal performance by the
Declaration's engines," Ma corrected. "Assuming no Esche Alloy was
available prior to this moment, there is a properly equipped
fabrication lab on the space station, and the final stage in
manufacturing of the CMEA begins immediately, the earliest the
missiles can be deployed is forty-four hours, seven minutes, four
seconds."

"That doesn't leave us much wiggle room,"
Silo remarked.

"That it does not. So," Garotte proclaimed,
rubbing his hands together eagerly, "Let's finish up here, devise a
plan, and get a move on. Civilization won't save itself.

Each member of the group stood and began to
tie up their loose ends.

#

On a VectorCorp commuter ship skimming along
in a carefully mapped stretch of space somewhere between Tessera
and Golana, Michella and Jon were busily tying up their own loose
ends. For Jon, it was the frayed ends of his sanity that needed to
be tied up. Currently, this consisted of alternately attempting to
sleep and attempting to convince himself that the VC security
officer wasn’t eying him up suspiciously. For Michella, who had
made a career of tying up loose ends, this meant doing the same
thing she’d been doing on the surface; reviewing footage, making
calls, and otherwise wringing every drop of newsworthy information
out of her pool of resources. The only difference was that on the
ship the connections were more distorted, the screens were smaller,
and the seats were less comfortable. She and Jon were sitting on
opposite sides of a small, collapsible table in a set of passenger
train-style bench seats. Approximately double the permitted number
of carry-on bags had been crammed into the remaining seat space at
the insistence of Michella, so that her full journalistic arsenal
would be available to her. Jon tapped his fingers nervously on the
back of his neck as he stretched to maintain his vigil.

"I’m telling you, he’s looking at me funny,"
Jon whispered to Michella out of the side of his mouth so that he
didn’t have to take his eyes off of the officer.

"He’s looking at you funny because you’ve
been staring at him for the last fifteen minutes," she replied
wearily, also without tearing her eyes away from its current
target, the screen of a datapad. "Relax. We didn’t do anything,
we’ve paid our fines. The authorities aren't after us. Things are
fine."

"Oh yeah? Then why are we flying economy
instead of first class?"

"Because the execs thought I needed to be
reprimanded for making them pay those fines," Michella said. "I
notice they didn’t mind the exclusive footage, though."

"... Okay, but what about the ter-" Jon
began, cutting himself off when it struck him that using the 'T
word' on a crowded flight was probably not a wise decision. "What
about the Neo-Luddites? How do we know there isn't one of them
aboard? Or chasing us?"

"They aren't."

"How do you know?"

She glanced at him, then handed the datapad
over, several snippets of text highlighted. After taking a few more
moments to convince himself that the security officer wasn’t going
to leap over three rows of seats to slap cuffs on him, he was
willing to pay attention to what his boss had handed him.

"What's this?"

"Breaking news. There was some sort of
incident at a military storage depot a few hours ago," Michella
explained.

"I’m getting really tired of
incidents..."

"Just read it."

"No orbital footage. … Authorities responded
following the incident. … Communication interruption. … I don’t get
it. What is this supposed to mean to me?"

Michella sighed and leaned close, whispering
in his ear. "Trev is involved. The others, too."

"How can you be sure?"

"I just know. Figuring out what Trev is up to
is like figuring out where a shark is going to surface based on the
ripples in the water. Basically if it involves someone doing
something stupid in a space ship and not getting caught, the
chances are pretty good it’s him."

"And you think that's enough to keep them
from going after us?"

"Once Trevor gets his heels dug in, there is
no man alive more distracting and persistent than he is. If they
are stupid enough to take their eyes off of him long enough to look
in our direction, he'll fly a ship right up their backside. And if
those others are half as dangerous as they seem to be, that's all
it will take to bring the whole organization down."

"That's all well and good, but we don't even
know if this is related to the Neo-Luddites."

"The official story is pretty spotty, but
from what my eyes and ears in the area have been able to turn up,
there was a lot of property damage, the contents of a locker are
missing, and there was one fatality. The one person who died was an
injured veteran who had requested reassignment to the depot just a
few days prior. It is the Neo-Luddites, Jon, and this is as good as
handled."

"You sure have a lot of confidence in that
man of yours."

"That's why he's my man."

Jon stared at her for a moment or two, then
opened his mouth to talk. Before any words could come out, he shook
his head and turned away. Then he turned back, raised a finger, and
turned away again. Three or four more similar fidgets came and went
before Michella narrowed her eyes at him.

"Just say it before the ship medic thinks
you're having a seizure."

"No, no. It isn't any of my business. I
shouldn't say anything..." he decided.

Michella glared at him for a few moments
longer. The instant she turned away, he turned to her and blurted.
"I just think you might be taking him for granted a bit."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Look, we talked for a bit down in the bar
area the other day. He feels like he's dangling off of the end of
this relationship, and I don't think he's wrong."

"Jon, honestly," she said wearily as she put
a hand to her face. "I don't need to hear this from you right now.
I've got a million things I need to be thinking about."

"I know, I know," he said, backing off. "All
I'm saying is that maybe it should be a million and one." He slid
out from behind the table and into the aisle between the seats,
standing stiffly. "I'm going to get something to drink. Anything
for you?"

"Tea. Thanks," she said before turning her
eyes back to her datapad.

She swept her eyes across the various images
and transcripts that flowed continuously across her screen. And
dutifully ignored the creeping sensation in the back of her mind.
After a minute or two, she realized that her mind hadn't managed to
process a single syllable of the information. When rubbing her eyes
and kneading the back of her neck failed to restore her focus, she
decided it was time to set her mind to a different problem.
Thumbing aside the primary source data, she pulled up the network
traffic reports her bosses were always so interested in. After a
few moments, a thought came to mind. She sighed and pulled out her
slidepad.