Ramon alerted the crew to the plan, then broadcast a phony message shipwide, instructing all remaining transport passengers to meet in docking bay D for boarding. With any luck, the fugitive would come out into the open as he made his way to the docking bay, containing not a transport, but a group of armed crewmen.
Then he sent four men to wait there, and divided the rest of the crew into six two-man teams. They were to begin at the center of the station’s central shaft and work outward toward its extremities, checking each of the arms that branched off here and there along its length. He and Tyrell would check the maintenance shaft, crew quarters, and exercise module.
Tyrell impatiently waited at the door for Ramon. “Come on, man. If we’ve got to waste our time on this stupid hunt, then let’s get it over with. Everybody else is gone already.”
“Okay, hold on. I’ve just got to set up the comm system to repeat the message every few minutes. Give me a minute and…” Ramon’s face indicated a problem.
“What’s up, Ramon? Something wrong?”
Ramon stared down at a screen that was out of Tyrell’s view. “I don’t know. Maybe. The system’s showing a coded message was sent a few minutes ago.”
“Sent where?”
“Can’t tell. It was definitely an external message ‘cause it went to the outbound message queue. It could have gone anywhere, maybe back to Earth.”
“Or to the prison,” Tyrell said.
“Yeah. Or maybe to the transport. It’s hard to say. Give me a minute, and I’ll see if a copy was saved in the archive.”
Tyrell marked time impatiently as Ramon typed quickly and inexpertly. Short bursts of fast keystrokes were invariably followed by excruciatingly slow backspacing. “If you’d type slower, you wouldn’t make so many mistakes. Here, let me do it.”
Ramon didn’t look up. “You wouldn’t know what to do. Besides, I said it was encrypted. Only me and Cory can open coded messages.” He continued keying commands.
Tyrell looked back and forth in an unfocused, restless way. “Man, I just can’t believe it. I finally get me a real job, a good paying job, and it’s got to be here. And then this gotta happen. It just don’t seem real. How come there’s never ever been anything like this happen until it’s my turn? They say this comet’s like a one in a million thing.”
Ramon remained glued to the screen. “There’s one thing you have to remember, Tyrell. It always takes the one to make those odds.”
Tyrell thought this over for a minute. “So I guess even if it was one in a billion, as long as you’re the one, it’s all the same to you.”
“That’s how it works. Somebody’s always got to be the one, and when it’s you, the odds don’t matter much.”
“Well, all I know is I been trying everything I can think of for two days. Nobody listens to my ideas. Not even Cory. Everybody treats me like a kid, and they’d rather tell me why my plans won’t work than come up with some that will. I guess they all want to die, or else they’d be bustin’ their tails to do something instead of look for this guy.”
Ramon didn’t reply, but worked steadily for another minute. Then he announced with satisfaction that he had found the file. “Stand by a second and I’ll decrypt it.” He applied several passwords from his mental list and eventually found one that was accepted.
Tyrell’s prior apathy yielded to anticipation once Ramon had the file open. “Come on, man. What is it? Who’s it to?”
“I don’t know. It’s a text message, so give me a second to read it.” Ramon dumped the message to the screen:
To: Central Benefits
From: Roger W. Cory
For 11 years I’ve held a life insurance policy through the company because I was told it was required, even though I have no family. At the same time, a young man in my crew named Tyrell Richards was allowed to waive his, even though he’s all his family has.
I’m not very good with legal talk and I don’t have much time, so don’t give me any static on this. I am instructing you to make Tyrell’s mother the beneficiary of my policy, effective immediately. Since this message may not reach you until after my likely death, a copy is being sent to my Earthside lawyer and power of attorney, Robert Ward. I have full confidence in his ability to ensure that my intentions are upheld.
Sincerely,
Roger W. Cory
Golgotha Station Manager
“So what is it?” Tyrell demanded another time.
Ramon hesitated. “Huh? Oh, it’s nothing after all. Just some station diagnostics that run once a day and get sent back to Earth. I can’t believe I forgot about them. Come on, we’ve got to get moving.” He nodded toward the door and Tyrell took his cue. Before joining him, Ramon verified the message had been sent successfully and cleared it from the screen.