Marvin paused as if waiting for Scat to catch up. Scat eventually saw the logic and nodded. Marvin continued with a pencil sketch on a paper napkin:
‘As you know the station receives its orders from the Commodity Exchanges on Earth, and we forward them to the Pigs so they can switch to the minerals that are in the greatest demand. The computer link is meant to be 100% isolated and secure, as is the link to the buoys and the outside worlds. Corporate then filters the information and passes us the sanitised stuff on the companynet – to our grafs, and all the common monitors in the station. But …’
He left the word hanging, as if to say ‘where there is a will, there is a way.’
Scat stared at the napkin, reflecting on what Marvin had just said.
‘The crafty fark.’
‘Perhaps, but he might not have been crafty enough. Corporate was no doubt onto him, which was probably why they asked you to stay close.’ He gestured towards Scat with both hands before continuing. ‘Hence your suicide watch. You wouldn’t have questioned it.’ He then opened his arms out to invite Scat to look around him. ‘It’s a harsh and depressing place, Scat. It’s 100% function. This place has no form. No style.’
Scat could only agree, but as he had not been on Prebos for very long, it did not yet bother him.
Marvin carried on:
‘There’re no counsellors to talk to, so if you have a problem it tends to fester. And they finely filter the news from the outside: even our family correspondence is edited – I’m certain mine is.’
Scat could not empathise with that, either. His mother was dead, and he had no siblings as far as he was aware. Of his father, he knew nothing. He doubted his mother had known either. He just nodded again.
‘It goes with the territory, Scat. Prebos is a long and expensive ride from everywhere, so going home on compassionate leave is out of the question, and resigning a contract early—in the hope of returning home early—is impossible. To Corporate, it just makes sense to eliminate the problems that can’t be solved.’
Now that was something Scat could understand. The high cost of development meant that nothing could disturb a station’s fragile existence: it had to meet its delivery commitments.
‘But why ask me to watch over him when they could have monitored the link from the Pig to the station?’
Marvin shrugged and leaned back in his chair.
‘Perhaps someone was covering for him back in administration. Think about it, Scat: if Corporate knew Pierce was hacking the central computer, why were they so surprised when he made the announcement? It suggests to me that they hadn’t noticed. Maybe they just wanted to know what he was up to. They may have been looking at any number of people.
‘Look, you’re new here so you’re still learning, but as you’ve been finding out over the past day or so, this has been brewing for a while—for years even. They probably asked you to keep an eye on Pierce just as they were probably trying to keep an eye on anyone with a Trevon background. I wouldn’t worry about it.’
Scat appreciated the advice to chill out but thought Marvin had gotten it wrong.
‘But Pierce isn’t from Trevon: he came from Earth, on contract. As for giving something away, I might have done. Petroff knows that Pierce spent longer than normal at the communications console.’
‘Fair enough, young man, but as we’re sharing confidences, you may as well know this,’ Marvin replied, tapping his nose. ‘Pierce is from Trevon. His grandfather settled his family there when it was fit for bugs and little else. That was 60 years ago, only 50 years after it received its first Earth-seed augmentation. Pierce’s mother might have left his father and returned to Earth before he was born, but Pierce is a Trevon, if not by the geography of his birth then certainly through family history. He gets his stubborn streak from his grandfather’s side of the family.’
Marvin paused to allow Scat to play catch up again.
‘As for you saying too much, my boy, Pierce blew his own cover the moment he went public; immediately after getting back from the belt walk. Corporate will have also worked out how he did it. You didn’t give anything away. You’ve done no harm. So don’t beat yourself up.’
It sounded as though Marvin was dismissing Scat’s feelings of guilt and considered the matter closed. Scat relaxed a little; he felt better knowing he hadn’t inadvertently dropped his boss in a pile of crap. But Marvin had one more thing to say.
‘I’d be more worried about Petroff and his invitation to join the rebels.’
11
Two days later, a Lynthax-Maersk tanker, the LM-V3, dropped out of ftl to hang high in the Prebos heavens. It manually adjusted its orbit to keep up with the mining station and ran through its post ftl checks before the station called it down.
It arrived in a long and violent flurry of fines that obscured the view beyond the station perimeter. Despite its immense size, it touched down gently on the far side of the vehicle park, directly over the rail lines that led away to the mineral dumpsite.
Ahead of it, lined up in rail sidings and ready for calling forward, were hundreds of preloaded containers of compacted Amesont.
As the tanker grounded, it dropped a wide, low-angled ramp from just under the forward cargo cabin. Two long-arm manipulators extended forward from its sides then came closer together to match the gauge of the track.
Someone in Corporate then flicked a few switches and 310 sixty-tonne containers of compacted Amesont took turns to roll out onto the main line, where the V3’s manipulators began to pull them into its cavernous cargo hold. At one container every two minutes, the fully automated operation would take around 10 hours 20 minutes to complete.
All the station could do was turn out to watch in the knowledge that this would be the last shipment for a while. Obviously, Corporate wanted to get its hands on this consignment of Amesont—just in case Prebos became less manageable than it already was.
12
The common room was actually a large open area at the centre of the sprawling, but claustrophobic, underground station. It connected the four main areas: the command centre, which included the administration offices and executive accommodation; the general accommodation rooms, medical centre and kitchens; the handling area, made up of stores, hangars and loading bays; and, finally, the research and development laboratories.
The observation deck was set over the roof of the common room at ground level to the surface and was accessible up two, wide and metalled stairs set into opposite walls of the common room.
Although the deck was fully pressurised and an integral part of the station, it was the only pressurised structure, save the command cupola, that was above ground. For that reason, it was made of rad-hardened glass and was fitted with heavy spin-lock doors at the top of each stairway. Although this was the only place where employees could gaze out into space during their downtime, the deck was seldom in use.
Pierce had suggested they meet on the deck. Scat immediately understood that he wanted privacy. Security was still maintaining a low profile, and did not venture out much from the cargo area, but there was always the chance a small contingent of troopers would patrol the common areas.
Pierce was waiting at the far end of the deck when Scat arrived as were two of Pierce’s team who Scat only ever had close contact with during Pierce’s administrative briefings. One of them was Thomas Irwin, the other an Indian, who he knew only as Rumagee.
Scat glanced around the deck. There was no one else.
Pierce stood with his back to the airlocks, gazing out at a curtain of stars that acted as a brilliant backdrop to a dark grey surface that always dropped away too early at the near horizon. The station buildings lay concealed, covered in Prebos dirt although the command cupola emitted a soft light. Pierce greeted Scat without turning round.
‘Thanks for coming, Scat. How are you?’
‘I’m OK, thanks. Not seen much of you since the blowhards arrived. What’s up?’
‘We need to talk, S
cat,’ Pierce replied, moving away from the window to sit on a bench that ran along the length and centre of the deck. He pointed to the bench and invited Scat to sit with him. Pierce’s companions broke away to linger at the airlock doors.
‘Marvin tells me that you’re spinning in circles,’ he began. ‘He suggested I should give you an alternative view of the universe.’
‘That’s kind of him,’ Scat replied. ‘A going away present?’
‘Of sorts. He wants me to give you something of the backstory and to help you put it into context. He was a little coy on why, but we know Petroff’s been recruiting allies, and I know he’s spoken to you.’
Scat grinned.
‘Yeah,’ Scat admitted. ‘He’s not terribly subtle.’
‘We’re aware,’ Pierce said. He appeared to laugh silently, inwardly. ‘In any case, we know who he’s talking to, and we’ll be careful. As for you, Marvin believes you aren’t so easily swayed.’
Scat gave Pierce a cheeky look:
‘So, you’re going to give me your version of the “Idiot’s Guide to Colonial Affairs”?’
‘That’s about it, Scat, just the broad brush. If, afterwards, you want to know more about the whys and the wherefores you can talk to Irwin there.’
‘OK. But why are you bothering? I’m an outsider.’
Pierce nodded.
‘Let’s call this a favour to Marvin, shall we?’ he said. Something in the tone of his reply suggested he didn’t think it was worth his time, either. ‘He says you have potential, although I don’t know for what.’ Pierce then patted him on the back a few times before adding: ‘Let’s face it, you’ve been nothing but a deadhead since you arrived.’
Pierce then paused and gazed out to the horizon.
‘It sure seems peaceful up here, doesn’t it, Scat?’ he said. ‘But fragile. Outside of this glass, and that dirt, there’s nothing for a minimum of one light year of travel, yet Trevon’s problems still find their way across it. It’s kind of weird to think about, eh?’
Scat followed his gaze, but all he saw was the dirt: the dirt that made for steady work.
‘Yeah, I’m sure it is,’ he replied.
Pierce continued to stare at the stars for a moment longer. He then got back to the matter in hand.
‘OK, Chump, let’s cut to it. I’m sure it’s obvious, even to you, that we’re headed for a showdown with Corporate, so let me explain how things divide and fall.
‘It’s a working environment so you’d expect there to be worker-boss spats, and if this were just a work-related issue we’d be talking. But it isn’t. The real spat, the one that matters, is over sovereignty: it’s the one that separates the Trevon permanent residents from the rest of them; the out-of system contractors, directors, long-term career employees and so on.
‘The Trevon permanent residents and the workers who are aiming for permanent residency favour Trevon independence. They focus their growing frustrations on the corporations, who they blame for being too influential in Trevon affairs, and too quick to take up the role of the Grecos system’s police force. I share that frustration.’
Pierce was rattling this stuff off with conviction, staring unblinkingly at him throughout. Scat considered interrupting him with a question or two, but decided it was best not to. He just nodded along.
‘On the other hand, the out-of-system contract workers have fewer ties to the local system, and they’re only concerned with protecting their rights, maintaining safety and keeping favoured clauses in their contracts. Their contracts take them from system to system. For them, the Trevon crisis isn’t a life changer, so they’re more detached and calculating.
‘Corporate values their presence and ensures the place is crawling with them. The result is that worker-action in itself is unlikely to be of much use to us in any long-term political conflict. The out-of-system contract workers wouldn’t want to lose pay for our benefit. They’d go back to work if Lynthax offered the right incentives.’
He then changed tack:
‘A few days ago the Trevon House of Representatives issued a “Declaration of Intent” to seek full independence. It wasn’t quite a fair vote, but it was the only free and fair vote the Public Reps were likely to get among themselves without Corporate interference. Basically, the Trevon independence faction waited for the Corporate Reps to leave for the annual Moss Harvest break before tabling the motion.’
Pierce stared at him, waiting for a reaction. Scat raised eyebrow: it was all he could do.
‘Yes, it was cheeky, and unconstitutional,’ Pierce continued, ‘but then all rebellions are. We’re 117 light years from Earth, and the big corporations are still running things. You might put up with it on Earth, but people become more independent in spirit and more self-reliant when they’re this far from the centre of power. It’s a natural thing. The Trevons are simply following a trend that’s been repeated several times throughout the centuries. No one can stop it. It’ll happen. It’s just a question of how.
‘What we’re now learning is what it will take to achieve independence and the price we’ll have to pay for it. What you’re seeing is the first baby steps of a revolution. And revolutions are messy. There’s a lot at stake for Lynthax so we don’t expect them to take it lying down. Petroff’s arrival is their first attempt at suppression.’
Pierce then went on to add some colour. He explained that the corporations on Trevon banded together to stop social progress; that they continued to plunder the planet’s resources while resisting local taxation; voted on issues where they were protecting vested interests; restricted the free and fair tendering out of services…
‘There’s more of course, but nothing I add to this will persuade you. You have to experience injustice to truly understand it.’
Scat could sense the chat was over. He could ask questions, but, as before, he decided against it; he did not want to set Pierce off again and, in any case, he now had enough of the backstory to make sense of much of what he had seen and heard since this thing blew up.
He also had a better understanding of Pierce. The man seemed genuine, and it was clear he was passionate about independence, though not emotional. He had a clear sense of direction and was controlling his passion; focusing on being effective, rather than being loud and bellicose. In a way, Scat envied him that: Scat had nothing to fight for, except this job and his next pay cheque, and he had no tribal roots to which he could be loyal.
Pierce got up from the bench and signalled to his two compatriots that the meeting was over. They came across to shake Scat’s hand in a friendly manner, eyes making contact. Both appeared to be looking for a change in his demeanour, perhaps to gauge his acceptance of what Pierce had just told him. He tried not to offer anything up.
Pierce gave Scat a polite, respectful nod and left for his bunk. Irwin and Rumagee followed, talking about grabbing a coffee.
Scat waited until he heard the door lock spin into place before taking in a deep breath and letting out a long sigh. He then walked across to the edge of the deck, to look out at a beautiful curtain of slowly moving stars.
He tried to appreciate what Pierce had seen no more than half an hour before, but all he could see was trouble.
When he got back to his bunk, he caught up with his mail and threw up the company notice board.
Security had suspended all outside activities—even the routine admin runs between the mines.
Petroff had sent him a note asking for a quick sit down at the beginning of the next watch. He agreed. The meeting would take place in the administration centre.
And anyone with less than two weeks to go on their contracts was to pack their bags in preparation for the LM-V3’s flight back to Trevon, as were all the Trevon permanent residents.
Well, Marvin would be one of them on both counts. He really should find some time to say goodbye.
But first, he would get some shut-eye and let everything Pierce had just told him find a place to settle.
13
The three grey-suited security guards pulled an unconscious Pierce from his room and dumped him onto an airbed where they covered him with discarded medical packaging.
His head lolled backwards and blood dribbled from his mouth where he had bitten into his tongue. His long limbs still twitched.
They had zapped him in his sleep.
One of the guards looked up and down the corridor and then knelt to spray a solution onto the more obvious drops of blood. Another walked to the end of the corridor to check the way was clear. They passed quickly through the common room, into the opposite corridor and out towards the cargo bay area.
Pierce regained consciousness a few minutes after the guards sat him upright on a small aluminium chair.
His head jerked involuntarily upwards, and he leaned forward, straining against plasticuffs that held his hands behind him. He could hear nothing and his vision was impaired, but he could sense he was not alone. There was the taste of blood, but no pain. He shook his head and then realised it was hooked up to a monitor of some kind.
A voice.
‘Good evening, Gavin.’
Pierce barely heard it; he certainly did not recognise it. He tried to work out where the voice came from.
‘My name is Jack Petroff. I run security for Lynthax.’
‘Ugh!’ was all Pierce could manage. He was struggling to regain control of his faculties. ‘Yeah! S, s, so?’
‘Well I thought we should meet; though on my terms, of course.’
Pierce caught sight of Petroff nodding to someone. That someone turned a dial on a hand-held remote. Pierce began to gargle and spit, and his head dropped.
‘Thank you, Rogers,’ Petroff said, waving a hand at one of his personal protection detail.
The flashing and mental chaos eased.
‘So, Pierce. What’s up?’ Petroff asked.
Pierce struggled to understand the question. It meant so many things. It was an annoying question at the best of times, and a difficult one to answer with half one’s mind flashing in different directions.