Chapter FIVE
His jaws clamped tight, eyes glaring, Brad sensedhis companions rise to their feet around him.Kumiko first, stood and wordlessly glided to theclosed passage portal. Her back to the others, shewaited for the panel to clear. Zolan, on his feet,mouth agape, stared at Xindral.
Adari, still seated, gawked in bewildered disbelieffrom Xindral to Brad to Hodak. Hodak glowered,gestured rudely and cursed furiously and loudly.Myra stood, silent behind an icy mask. Xindral,perched on his stool, arms in his lap, impassivelyobserved their reactions.
The scene held for several seconds. Xindral brokethe silence.
"Your formal orientation and training begins whenyou return. First I must speak with your Commander.Please excuse us."
He turned and touched a disk on the bulkhead. Theentryway cleared and Jenkins appeared.
"Escort our friends back to their compartment,Jenks. Commander Curtin will remain with me.Return the group in an hour."
"Yes, sir."
Myra, Adari, Hodak and Zolan milled about for amoment, then joined Kumiko at the portal. Passingthrough, they spoke and gestured animatedly toeach other. The portal clouded over.
Xindral hefted his stool forward, placed italongside Brad, and folded his long frame onto itfacing the view tank.
"Just so you know, Brad," he said gently, bridgingthe silence between them, "those of us who work inStrategic Penetrations carry no formal rank. If wedid, yours would be the equivalent of a LieutenantCommander in the United Inner Planetary SystemSpace Force. Mine would be a notch or so above."
He shifted his frame about and bent a long legto bring his foot up to the lower rung. His toneshifted into neutral. Cool.
"My friends call me Ram. OK?"
Brad nodded, eyeing him. Ram drew back a bitand contemplated the control in his grasp. After amoment he stroked the keys. A rainbow of colorsswirled and drifted off, replaced by an ash-graysphere. Planet Pluto spread across half the tankwith its flat stretches of methane frost brokenby low, jagged chasms, hillocks and craters. Charonand the Slingshot Logistics Depot hung off nearthe edge of the tank's flattened top.
Brad glanced at the scene, and back to Ram.
"Brad," Ram spoke slowly, quietly, "a triteexpression, repeated all too often during ourhistory, is 'humankind now faces its greatestcrisis'. The statement has been declared so oftenacross the ages that it's lost meaning, obviouslybecause it changes in context and perceptionfrom one event, century or millennium to thenext. I suppose those who said it, believed it.Nevertheless, even if the term 'crisis' neverreally applied in the past, it does in these timesfor humankind's destiny.
"The deficits in our nonrenewable assets, and themany other natural substances we depend on, ifnot resolved within the next few centuries, couldforce us back into caves, and I don't use that word'figuratively'. Ceramics, composites, and othersubstitutes are fine as far as they go, but theydo only a tiny part of the job.
"We'll soon be running short of substitutes forour substitutes. Building bigger and better coloniesin space over the past thousand years or so hasconsumed far more of our resources than expected.Earth is almost barren and many space colonies inboth regions can no longer meet existing needsfromtheir regions, let alone those of the future.
"In short, our dispersed civilizations must haveaccess to sources for minerals and other industrialsubstances, not only now but in perpetuity, in orderto survive and evolve. Our species isn't built toaccept inactivity or slipping backward. If we don'tmove on to something new and challenging, thenwe'll drift into extinction. You've heard this alldozens of times; I won't dwell on it further."
Ram stood, paced, and turned his head to keep Bradin sight as he paced and reversed direction. Brad'seyes fixed on the view tank and stayed there.There was nothing new in Ram's words, so far.
"Slingshot schedules are in their most criticalphase. We have a launch window for the Extractor.It's not much of a window. If we miss it, Slingshotfails. It's that simple. The launch cannot beaborted; there'll be no second chance. Peopleacross the system, by the millions, are committedto the schedule. You, and your crew now serve inthat legion."
"What's going on here?" Brad cut in. "Are youtelling me we've been pressed into this job withno choice of our own?"
His anger showing, Brad thumbed over his shouldertoward the entryway, then at his chest.
"Tell me, Ram," Brad demanded, "how did it happenthat we six, three men and three women, are hereat this time for this purpose?"
"We'll get to that in time." Ram said, "I'vereviewed your trial record, but I'd like to hear itfrom you -- straight. What happened?"
Brad stared at Ram for several seconds, obviouslymaking up his mind. Finally, he shrugged, andcontemplated his hands.
"Well, then you know I was Captain of a spacefreighter," he began. "My job was to transporthigh-mass mining equipment, ores and refinedstuff between Mercury, Venus and Luna.
"When this mess happened, we were Luna-bound witha full load of worn out track-layers, rock-crushers,drill robots, filters and other tools in theforward and aft storage bays, and ingotswell-secured in stress-certified compartments.The ship was at capacity, but within legal limits.Mass and balance had been certified by SpaceTraffic Control before they cleared us from Venusorbit. The ship was in order.
"We were only about twenty-million kay fromthe Luna Space Traffic Control Zone, but still inmax drive. Plenty of time to kick-in vector anddeceleration programs."
Brad paused, shifted position, rubbed his jaws,sighed deeply, glanced sideways at Xindral and,his voice tighter, continued.
"That's when that strung-out jock in a space-buggytook us on for a game of 'chicken'.
"The buggy was a single-seater, tiny, barely tenmeters bow to stern, but the way she whippedaround us, it was plain to my duty officer thatshe was charged by a micro deep space drive.My duty officer hit the alarm; I got to the bridgewithin ten seconds after the buggy's first pass.
"I checked our status and proximity-to-massin vicinity; then my ship's scope analyses of thebuggy's thrust and gyrations. She was obviouslyoverpowered for mass, especially in the confinedlanes plowed by slow freighters like mine.
"My three-hundred-meter freighter with all storagebays packed bulkhead to bulkhead with high mass, isbarely maneuverable under the best of circumstances.Evasive action against some hot shot in a souped upspace-buggy was out of the question.
"It got worse. Not only did the jock ignore mywarnings; he lined up alongside my bridge anddanced on his thrusters. He flipped from relativevertical to horizontal, then corkscrewed uslengthwise fore to aft and back. To add insult, hewhirled his buggy on its tail like a damn dervish,right alongside where I stood on my bridge andthen cut across my bow. That hotshot was onegood pilot, I'll grant him that.
"After a minute or so of that, the buggy circledmy ship, close. The pilot probably liked what he saw,because he surface-snaked us again bow to stern.That must have been boring; he peeled away, toreahead a quarter-million kay, skewed around, andcame straight at my bow, curdling space. Whencollision was just about unavoidable, he did an upand over. In doing that, he cut us much too close,snapped off a dozen masts, sensors and nav guides.
"The jock must have gone berserk; he took us onfor full 'chicken'. He shot ahead about a million kay,flip-flopped, and came at us head-to-head, tauntingus with his collision signals. Our computer showedhim as boosting all the way."
Another long pause. Brad looked directly at Xindral.
"We collided, head on," he said. "That brightlycolored, beautiful little flitter buried itselfdeep in our forward cargo bay. My rescue teamwent in, but we knew ahead of time what we'd find.It was there: chunks of metal, shards of bone,and scraps of flesh splattered on mining gear,rock-crushers, and other odd pieces of equipment.
"The Space Guard hearings were followed by aquick trial. The jock was the son of a politician,so here I am."
Brad looked away, then back at Ram.
"Your turn," he said. "What's the story on how webecame the 'c
hosen'?"
"The selection was certainly not random," Ramstood and stretched to his full height as hespoke. "Despite the billions of citizens in the UIPS,we're all tagged and catalogued. It's a simple jobfor the computers to correlate any unique manpowerrequirements the government might have to the UIPSindex, cross-check phys-psy profiles, professionsand technical skills plus experience, competence,reliability and anything else that we crank in asrating factors. You mentioned 'three men andthree women'; your mission can not excludegender compatibility consistent with the prevailingpsychosocial construct -- this is what we are.
"In my line of work, our data bank producesan optimal selection of personalities, skills andidentities for the best possible teams we mightneed to support our contingency plans. Old stuff;we've been doing that throughout history. Why youfolks? The computer selected you, showed whereeach of you was located and why, and that you wereall, shall we say, relatively unknown and available.None of you will be missed."
Brad and Ram locked eyes as Ram added, "As far asthe mission goes, you and your colleagues were senthere for confinement and rehab, whatever the reasonand however rehab was to be done. It's just thatyour team has been diverted. Coddling and otheramenities of confinement are not part of ourprogram. If you feel you're being treated unfairly,that's unfortunate. We need every qualified manand woman we can get. The prime requisite is thatthe team, meaning you and your colleagues, haveand share the intelligence, initiative, guts andwhatever else it takes to do the job."
"That's another point right there," Brad shotback. "You've assigned us a mission, you tell us it'sdangerous, and then add, as an aside, you've judgedus up to it, whatever in hell that's supposed tomean. But let me tell you, if I'm the guy to runit, I want to know a lot more. I've got to haveconfidence each team member will be there whenthe chips are down. So, what can I expect?"
For a moment, Ram gazed shrewdly at Brad. Hiseyes twinkled, and his features mustered a sly grin.
"You seem to have slipped into the role of teamCommander," he said.
Brad looked away, hesitated a moment, and rubbedhis jaw thoughtfully.
"Well," he said, "I agree with what you've saidabout the mess we're in. No question in my mindthat Slingshot is our only option. Obviously, Ihave nothing else on my schedule. Just doing timein this tin can would be a bore. But that doesn'tjustify your pushing me -- us -- around. OK, that'ssaid, let's get back to my crew. I'll not pry whereI've no business to, but who are they?"
"Their psychological profiles are available toyou," said Ram. "I agree, you'll know all you needto know about them to get the job done. I can giveyou a quick rundown on each now, if you wish."
"I do."
"Myra is a logistician and a Medic certified toLevel 4 in space-related trauma, physical andpsychological. She was Med-Exec to a researchteam in a mini-tank town off Venus. Somehow,she got involved with the leader of a gang runningcontrolled substances around the Inner Region. Whenthe net was pulled in, there she was. Tried as anaccessory and judged guilty. Nowhere near criminalin my judgment. She's quite bitter because she wasused, and then convicted and sentenced on whatshe feels are false charges."
"I understand her bitterness."
"Nothing we can do. Your engineer, Hodak, is adamned good heavy-duty spacecraft maintenanceengineer. Also lots of experience on a broad rangeof space support equipment used in surface ops.He's been all over the Inner Region, and workedon Ceres where he was the spaceport's Chief ofMaintenance for about ten years. Got into a fightoff Mars while on R & R and killed a guy. Convictedof manslaughter. He's an expert in the martial artsand in using exotic weapons. Space-wise."
"Understood. Next?"
"Zolan. As he said, a communicator and, I mightadd, from way back. As a child, he was classified'gifted' and treated accordingly by the system.At the age of twelve, he came up with designrefinements for spunnel cracking and transmissionthat raised eyebrows among the top pros inthe field. His skill caused his downfall: he wasconvicted of illegally penetrating and modifying adatabase that was integrating a highly sensitiveproject. Just enjoying the challenge, he claimed.The project engineer didn't get wise until toolate. During the trial he told off his formerbosses; called them incompetent and not qualifiedto pass judgment on him or his work. Anyhow,he got a couple of years to cool off."
"Does this job call for his kind of communicationsexpertise?"
"Yes, and more. Zolan is an extremely importantasset for your mission. You'll agree, I think, whenwe get to your orders and the operation. I shouldadd that, when your training is over, you will allbe good communicators. But Zolan is at the hub."
"That leaves Adari and Kumiko. What's their input?"
"Adari is your navigator. She knows both Regionslike the palm of her hand, and her record showsshe's well versed in nav for the entire system. Shegot drunk on duty and borrowed the ship's recreationfunds without permission to have a gambling holidayon Luna's Station Vegas. She returned broke as wellas hung over. To add to her problems, some joker onVegas gave her a whiff of Titan's deep strata gas.Almost blew her mind, but she's OK now. Spenta year in hospital on Guardian 18. No permanentdamage. Now, she's doing time on the funds charge.Excellent navigator and gutsy."
"Kumiko?"
"Ah, little Kumiko," Ram smiled. "Last, but farfrom least. Kumiko is a former officer of the UIPSSpace Force and an expert in space armaments.She can break down entire systems, and repair andreassemble them, blindfolded, from micro-miniaturesto the big stuff. For some reason, her talentmade her rather defiant of authority. Tookmanual control of her ship's guns when her patrol'ssensors tagged unknowns inbound across no-mans-landsunside of the Jovian orbit. The unknowns wereunder a heavy screen and wouldn't cooperate withthe Space Guard's self-identification requirements.Her Commander told her to punch a tiny hole in thescreens, just enough to identify.
"Instead, she not only blew the screens away, shescorched the bow of a UIPS cruiser on a classifiedmission. The cruiser was out-of-line, of course;they should have responded to the query; protocolscall for them to do so. But Kumiko went too far.She was forced to resign from the Service, andoffered a choice to either join a penetration teamto the Outer Region or work in an arsenal undertight supervision. She made her choice."
"Quite a group."
"All different, yet six of a kind," he said. "Noneof you, by far, are hardened offenders of the law.The crimes you were convicted of were, how shallI put it, less than deliberately malicious."
"Hah!" Brad's bitter snort curdled in his gullet.
Xindral shrugged. His manner changed; tightened.He motioned toward the view tank.
"Let's get on with it, Brad," he said. "There's alot we need to cover."