Fermi's War Page 13

  "What can't be anything else?"

  "The heat source, damn it!"

  That caught Marshall's attention, and he sat upright at that. The airlock cycled again, and Shirase walked out, carefully putting his helmet on the rack.

  "Ah, Lieutenant. Cross has worked out the alien's power source."

  Shirase's eyes widened at that, "Indeed? What have you unearthed, Mr. Cross? Something out of the ordinary?"

  "What? I don't know what the aliens were using for a power source, I'm not a technologist."

  "Then what have you found?" Marshall asked, hanging on to his few remaining threads of patience.

  Cross sighed, rolling his eyes, before replying, "The heat source is the first active natural nuclear reactor ever found! Don't you realize what this means? This is the geological discovery of the century!"

  Shirase's face dropped and he sat down in a chair; Marshall looked across at him sympathetically. Cunningham shook his head and returned to the probe telemetry.

  "Mr. Cross, we have a perfectly good fusion reactor on Alamo. I suppose that this must seem important to you, and don't get the wrong idea, if there are scientific breakthroughs to make then I couldn't be happier, but this could have waited until you made a formal report back on Alamo."

  "Damn it, Captain..."

  "That's enough. Now prepare a data package to send back to Mariner as soon as possible, and if you want to release something to the scientific data-net, go ahead. After which you will report to Mr. Dietz for two weeks' watches with the maintenance crews – if you want to get lost in confined spaces, you can do some damn good while you are doing it!" Marshall's voice was raised, his face was flushed, but nothing compared to Cross' expression.

  "Stupid military fool! The last thing we want to do is tell anyone about this! You have to claim it on behalf of the Confederation, and quickly."

  "Why?" Cunningham asked. "We're first on the scene, but it's an alien ruin in unclaimed space."

  "Ruthenium. Neodymium as well, for the asking."

  That set Marshall's eyes widening; Shirase looked gleeful, while Duquesne was blank.

  "I'm missing something," she said.

  "Ruthenium is a vital component in superconductors. Oxidized?"

  "Deep in the soil. That nuclear reactor has been burning for hundreds of thousands, maybe millions of years, and those compounds are two of the primary offshoots. Quantities if anything richer than anything ever found in analogous sites either in this system or anywhere else for that matter."

  "Neodymium is one of the components in the strongest magnets known," Shirase said, almost to himself.

  "I don't know what the aliens were using for power, though I suppose they could just tap the reactor. But I know what they were doing here, they were mining the reactor! Mining the offshoots from the reactor." He started pacing around the room, almost talking to himself, "How the reaction got started is amazing in itself. There are seams of ice running through the whole moon, and something must have melted them, some sort of catastrophic event. Uranium in the moon itself – and that's probably worth mining as well – and once it started it kept on melting more ice, which kept the reaction going. We're going to spend decades just working out how this process began, and longer looking for it on some of the other moons."

  "How long will it last?"

  "While there is uranium and ice, certainly. I think it'll last our lifetimes, Captain, and the important thing is the material in the moon."

  "Could I have some estimates of quantity?" Shirase asked. Marshall tossed him the datapad, and he eagerly scanned it while taking notes.

  Frowning, Marshall said, "Between them, those two compounds are vital to most of our starship designs."

  "Exactly," replied Cross, eager now. "The strategic implications are extraordinary."

  "At least three hundred billion," Shirase gasped. "Estimated value at current market prices. The concentrations are purer than anything ever recorded. Captain, I need to inform the Belt authorities about this immediately."

  "If we're telling anyone, I want scientific priority!"

  With an effort, Marshall rose to his feet. "You've got it. Mr. Cross, I want a sustained effort to determine the scope of this find. Whatever you need of the ship's resources, you've got. Lieutenant Shirase, go ahead and let your people know that their miracle has come through for them. I'm going to contact Mariner for instructions."

  Cunningham nodded, "Do we start a war over this if the frigate tries to muscle in?"

  "We got here first," Cross said, indignantly.

  "I somehow doubt that will be enough to convince them." Marshall collected his thoughts for a moment, then picked up a datapad to dictate his message.

  Chapter 16

  "Got it, I think," Esposito said, pulling a data crystal out of the terminal. The characters on the screen briefly flickered between Japanese, French, English and Russian before finally settling down into English again. She put her datapad back into her pocket, slipping it onto standby.

  "Still looks strange," Orlova said, frowning at the mangled sentences.

  Shrugging, Esposito replied, "What do you expect? This translation program must be a hundred years old. I'm just glad they had some in stock, its going to speed us up a hell of a lot. Where were we?"

  "Finding out how limited our security clearance is. I've checked the registered use records for the entire corridor, but no sign of any shop that matches the one we visited. Nothing like that anywhere on the station, for that matter. I just finished running a search through the public diary systems, and no joy there either. I even recognized one as a collector – bastard outbid me on a lot of old NASA mission patches a few years back. He'd have ransacked the place clean of anything worth taking."

  Taking a drink from a plastic cup filled with bubbling purple liquid, her friend said, "How did you get into this sort of thing, anyway?"

  "My father's hobby was space history. He had quite a collection, but the UN impounded most of it when the war began. I inherited what was left when he died." She smiled, "I remember when I was five he took me up to Tranquility to see the first landing site. They had a special dome so you could get close without wearing a suit." The smile curved into a frown, "Last time we ever went on a trip together."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Long time ago. Just...old ghosts sometimes. You know."

  "Yeah."

  Shaking her head to clear it, Orlova tapped the screen, "I think we've exhausted looking for the shop. We don't have any information on the owner to go on; I suppose we could get Alamo to pull some DNA off the helmet, but that would really tip our hand."

  "You want to go back to the missiles again?"

  "Let's look at the servicing crews." She tapped a series of commands into the terminal, and after a short delay a list of names rolled down the screen, jumping from Japanese to English. Esposito shook her head.

  "Same list as before."

  "I didn't expect it to change. Let's run a cross check and find out if any of them have prospecting licenses."

  "Huh?"

  Orlova smiled, "There aren't that many ships through here. I have a suspicion that a lot of the dock workers have other jobs. Happens all the time on some of the smaller stations, matter of economic necessity."

  "Emergency regulations require all stations to have a full receiving crew in case of emergency..."

  "Which is fine for Phobos or Mariner, but when you only get a couple of ships through a month and you have plenty of warning, you can cut corners. Who do you think handles most of the smuggling?"

  "I never thought of that."

  Five names glowed a dull green, and with a series of commands they were isolated from the remainder. Five faces appeared, with brief official biographies, at least to the limits of their security clearance. Orlova frowned; nothing was leaping out as an obvious sign that anything was amiss.

  "What are we looking for?"

  "That stuff had to come from somewhere. Someone went out to that rock
and brought it back, without filing an official survey form."

  "Which means it won't be in the computer."

  "Ah-ha." Another quick series of commands, and Orlova said, "Any recent time off will be. Figure at least four days to get there and back, another couple of days to do the survey..."

  "So you're looking for any of the dock workers who have had a week off lately. Clever."

  Only one name remained on the screen. Takumi Fujioka, a five-year veteran with a recently updated prospecting license, a small ship pilot's license, and two months ago he'd taken a week off.

  "Got him."

  "Let's not be too hasty; all we have is a link between the dock workers and a possible prospecting run. This isn't conclusive, at least, not yet. Wait a minute."

  "What?"

  "Look at that entry." She tapped the screen again, two entries below the first. "He's taken ten days off for compassionate leave over the last two months, all in batches of two or three days, stopping about three weeks ago. Any reason given?"

  The screen flashed up in Japanese characters which flashed into English, reading, "Access Denied – Personal Privacy."

  "Does he have any dependents?" Orlova asked to no-one in particular, while continuing to type.

  Esposito shook her head, "No wife, no children, just a brother. Recently transferred back to Vesta. Interesting – he's got a prospecting license as well."

  "That doesn't mean anything. Lots of family-based prospecting teams in the Belt, I think it's a custom. Recently transferred?"

  When she called up more information, another privacy filter flashed onto the screen, and the two of them looked at each other. Orlova started to reach into her pocket, pulling out an old, amethyst data crystal, which she started to slide into the terminal. Esposito put her hand over the slot.

  "What's that?" she asked.

  Orlova sighed, replying, "Let's just say it's a key to unlock these privacy filters."

  "That's a court-martial offense if we're caught."

  "Feel free to turn your back. All of this is just too convenient."

  At the same time, both of their communicators blinked; Orlova pulled hers out first and started to flash through, a release from Alamo. She didn't get further than the first line before dropping it down to her lap.

  "That alien base is on Desdemona."

  Esposito looked up, eyes widening, "That wasn't in the report they put out over the station datanet. Just that Alamo had found something – I figured the Captain was keeping the location secret."

  "Well, he isn't. This is a copy of a general release they're sending in-system. We've got to get in touch with them immediately."

  "Wait a minute." Esposito scanned down to the bottom of the report, then pulled the hacking crystal out of Orlova's hands, pushing it into the slot.

  Orlova frowned, "What happened to this being a court-martial offense?"

  "Read the last paragraph. The Captain and Lieutenant Caine found some sort of corpses out at that base, and both of them collapsed from the shock."

  "So?"

  "There are treatments for that sort of thing. I had to take a course before I could be cleared for potential first contact situations, general practice is to dose up representatives with psychological stabilizers. One of the things they kept stressing was the long-term harm if treatment wasn't immediately provided."

  The door slid open, and Corporal Gomez walked into the room, a pistol holstered by his side. He took three steps forward and snatched the crystal out of Esposito's hands, turning it over and over. He looked at the two of them, shaking his head.

  "When I put this into a reader, what is it going to have on it? Possession of this with intent to use is enough for you both to be locked up and have the keys tossed out of the nearest airlock."

  "Corporal, this is important."

  "Maggie...," Esposito hissed.

  "What choice have we got? Corporal, we think we've got a lead on the missile sabotage. It's stuck behind a privacy seal..."

  His eyes bulged, "You were going to violate personal privacy seals?"

  "...which I know damn well is going to indicate that someone had a nervous breakdown due to contact with alien forms. The only way that can have happened is if they were on Desdemona."

  Gomez collapsed into a chair, hand carefully close to his sidearm, looking at the two of them while responding, "What has this got to do with the missiles?"

  Esposito replied, "Corporal, we bought some souvenirs in a shop that never seems to have existed. For five hours we've been trying to find any evidence that it was ever here, and we can't. Someone's gone to a lot of trouble to keep everything covered up."

  "So..."

  "The link," Orlova said, "is that we're pretty sure that they were picked up from Desdemona by one of the technicians who serviced the misfiring missiles. Look, I'll make a deal with you. We look at the file, and if it shows that Olomi Fujioka has been sent back to the Belt for psycho-therapy, you help us. If not, we turn ourselves in."

  "Technically I could just arrest you anyway."

  "But you want to see this cleared up as well," Orlova pressed.

  The security chief paused for a long minute, looking at her face, trying to read her, then glancing at the monitor, still flashing its privacy seal warning. He stood up, and walked towards her, his hand held out.

  "Give me the crystal, Sub-Lieutenant."

  She looked up, reluctant, but nodded her head, placing the crystal in his hand. Gomez smiled, took another step past her, and slid the crystal into the terminal, tapping in the commands to disable the privacy seals before turning back to her.

  "This is my job. Not yours. If any regulations are going to be broken, I suppose I can't arrest myself. You really should have come to be first – your data searches showed up on my terminal clear as ice."

  Esposito looked from side to side, then back at Gomez, saying, "They track data searches here? Isn't that illegal?"

  "Technically. But this base was built a long time ago, and the network still has a long of the old security systems built in. Funnily enough, the administration has made disabling them the bottom of a very long priority list. I couldn't use them in a prosecution, of course. Here we are."

  The data readout confirmed everything that Orlova had thought. Olomi Fujioka, confined on Ceres for his own safety – they'd even brought a psychiatrist out to try and treat him on site, but by the looks of it he'd given up soon after arrival.

  "See those drugs listed in the medical regimen?" Esposito said. "I recognize most of them, standard issue for xenopsychosis."

  "Could they be used for anything else?" Gomez asked.

  "Not likely. Some of them were developed specifically for this." She shook her head, continuing, "They shot the poor bastard with everything in the textbooks. He must have been in complete breakdown."

  Gomez nodded, "I think you've built a sufficient case for us to start having some words with the brother. I'll rustle up a security team and get him down to interrogation – I suppose you both want to be there."

  "Try and stop us."

  "Fine. I think I'm going to be incredibly lax with my reporting on this one and only list it at the bottom of my day report, rather than giving a special notification. If anyone is going to be named, it probably won't be a good idea for them to know we're onto them."

  "We need to contact Alamo," Esposito said. "This is information they're going to need, and badly."

  "I'll meet you down at my office, then, in an hour. That should give me enough time to round him up." He glanced up at the screen again. "By the looks of it, he should be off-duty. Should be easier to grab him without anyone seeing him for the moment. He might have to wait a bit for his legal representation."

  "Good," said Orlova, reaching for the crystal; Gomez got there first, snatching it and pushing it firmly into his pocket.

  "Sorry, Sub-Lieutenant, but I really don't want any of these floating around the station. My need is probably greater than yours in any case."


  "Can't blame me for trying."

  Gomez shook his head, smiling as he walked out of the room. After the door sealed shut behind him, Esposito turned to Orlova, an eyebrow raised.

  "Just out of interest, how many of those have you got on you?"

  "Two here, five more on Alamo. My mother has an interest in decoding. Really its a work-related hobby."

  "She's a smuggler, isn't she?"

  Orlova smiled, "As I said, a work-related hobby." She pulled out her communicator, then looked back at Esposito, "I'll send something immediately to Alamo if you start taking care of the official report. After all, you are the security officer at the moment."

  "Not that I'm getting paid for doing two jobs," she replied, reaching over for a terminal to start typing.

  "Sub-Lieutenant Orlova to Shakespeare Control."

  "Control here. Lieutenant Tokubai."

  "Sir, I need an immediate secure channel to Alamo, Captain's eyes only, maximum encryption."

  "I apologize, Sub-Lieutenant, but I cannot do that at the moment."

  "Lieutenant, this is top priority. I can't say why, but I need to have this channel."

  This time Tokubai's voice grew harder, "That is not possible at this time."

  Orlova sighed, "A normal channel then, I'll have to send this in the clear."

  "The station's long-range communications array is currently out of operation for maintenance. Part of our preparations for potential battle with the Republic frigate; we're making sure nothing will fail under combat conditions."

  "I think we can prevent a battle if I can speak to Alamo! How long before it is back on-line. Sir." She was almost shouting with frustration.

  "Watch your tone, Sub-Lieutenant. You are addressing a senior officer."

  "How long?"

  "At least six hours. Report to the command deck immediately; and after you tell Lieutenant-Major Akimoto and myself what is so urgent and important, I will be glad to instruct you in proper command protocol."

  Orlova closed the channel and stood up, tugging at Esposito's shoulder while she worked; the Ensign looked up, irritated.

  "So we have six hours to prepare a report. The frigate won't be here for two days."