Rock Killer (18 page)

“Okay,” Bente said, wondering. It must be pretty important to spend the money on visual.

Her brother’s face appeared in a new window on the screen. He looked tired. “Bente, Father had a heart attack today. He’s in the NESA hospital. The doctors don’t know if he’ll live much longer. I know you can’t come back, but I thought it important you know.

“Good-bye, Bente.” The screen returned to the navigation simulator.

Bente didn’t know if Akio meant to make her feel guilty for being away, for working for SRI, for not following their father’s wishes. But she did.

“Computer,” she said, “Record visual message.”

“Recording,” the computer said.

“Father,” Bente began, “I’m sorry I can’t be there. I know you’ll be fine.” She stopped. “Stop recording; erase message. Record.”

“Recording.”

“Father, I’m sorry I can’t be there. But I want to tell you that I love you and respect you. I’m sorry my decision to work for SRI came between us. But you were always my inspiration, and I wanted you to be proud of me. As proud as I am of you.”

She stopped again. “Stop recording, erase, record.”

“Recording.”

“Father, I’m sorry I can’t be there. I wish you the best. Get well soon. Stop recording. Send to Naguchi, Katsuya, NESA hospital, NESA Lunar Facility One, the Moon. Charge my SRI account.” There was no plate for her thumb so she gave her alphanumeric personal identification code: “NAVNABESH8168745.”

“Sending,” the computer said.

***

“I’d like to run a test,” Cole said. “But I think it’s ready.”

Griffin shook his head. “I understand, but we have only ten missiles. I don’t want to waste any. We’ll save them for the attack.”

Knecht walked over from her computer to where Cole had rigged up a fire control panel using both the ship’s original equipment and that obtained from the Syrians.

“I think we should do a test,” she said. “We don’t want to be all ready to go and find the missiles won’t fire.”

Griffin saw Cole and Knecht exchange a supportive look.

“Cole,” Griffin asked, “don’t you think you could install this correctly?”

Cole stared at him. “Of course I can.”

“Then we can trust your abilities and don’t have to do a test.”

Cole just looked at him. “Can I at least try the missile lock radar to see if it works?”

Griffin thought. “Sure. When we rendezvous with the
Ginney Mae
I want you to get missile lock on it, okay?”

“Okay,” Cole said flatly.

Griffin walked away and Knecht followed.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

Griffin stopped and looked at her. “What if we fire nine missiles and still haven’t done enough damage? Then we’ll want that tenth missile.”

“I guess you’re right,” she conceded.

“Thanks,” Griffin said sincerely. He wanted this woman’s approval, although he didn’t want to want it. Knecht returned to her computer. She was trying to find that miner’s ship.

Three weeks to go
, Griffin thought. In that time he might want to kill that complaining bitch, Cole. She didn’t understand revolution and the sacrifices necessary.

“I’ve got the
Ginney Mae
on radar,” Trudeau reported.

Cole was suddenly busy trying to acquire the other ship with her acquisition radar. The test proved fortunate. The French missiles were having trouble communicating with the SRI equipment. Cole started trying to find the problem.

Later, Cole was sweating as she ran from the bridge to the missile compartment and back again. Griffin had Trudeau helping her and Knecht was continually at her computer. The ship was accelerating at a few tenths of a gee while they made fly-bys of the miner’s ship. The miner was probably wondering what the hell they were doing.

“Stand by for free fall,” Knecht ordered. Griffin, who was looking over her shoulder, grabbed the back of her chair. The thrust stopped and Knecht yawed the ship so it would accelerate back toward the other vessel. She put on the thrust again. Griffin was pleased with himself that he maintained his balance when some weight returned.

Cole came up the ladder. “I think that’ll do it.” She padded to the rigged-up fire control panel and worked at it a few seconds. She got a green light.

“Okay!” she cried out. “I have missile lock and the missiles are seeking the ship. I wish I could launch.”

“Don’t worry,” Griffin said. “You will. Knecht, rendezvous with that ship.”

“Okay. I suggest everyone strap down. I’ll be changing acceleration a lot.”

Griffin patted her on the shoulder. She didn’t flinch. He walked to a chair and pulled the seat belt across his lap.

***

The miner was fat from years of low acceleration living. He let the GA people do all the work carting the provisions from his ship to theirs. As Knecht and Cole passed by, carrying cases of packaged food, he smiled lecherously as he had four previous times. He knew this would be the attractive brunette’s last trip onto his ship.

“Why don’t you let that go,” he sneered, “and let me show you around my ship?” He reached out and grabbed Knecht’s arm.

Knecht looked to Cole but the other woman moved along, trying not to notice what was happening.

Knecht let the package go with a shove and it continued on with its momentum. She turned like a cat in mid-fall and in one motion ripped herself free of his grasp and had her knife against the man’s throat. Her other hand held his fat neck to the blade.

“I’ll cut your balls off and feed them to you,” she whispered in his ear. She pressed the blade until it drew blood, a red globe clinging to his slack skin. Then she pushed him away. “Don’t ever touch me.”

Cole entered the
Rock Killer
.

“Where’s Knecht?” Griffin asked as he packed food in the galley.

“On the other ship,” Cole said.

“Why?”

Cole shrugged.

Griffin left the galley and crossed through the airlock to the man’s ship. Knecht and the man were just past the airlock. Griffin summed up the situation with one look. “You all right?” he said to Knecht.

She nodded.

Griffin looked at the man. “Well, we were going to pay you for this. But I think not.”

“We had a deal,” the man pleaded.

Griffin smiled. “You blew it.”

“You can’t do this.”

Knecht moved back to Griffin with her knife ready. “Try to stop us,” she hissed.

“And then,” Griffin growled, “we’ll decide whether to blow you out of space.”

They backed out of his ship, sealed the airlock, undocked, and accelerated away.

Cole walked up to Knecht. “Are you all right?” she asked.

Knecht looked at the other woman. “I’m fine,” she said tersely and walked to her computer. Automatically, she began entering instructions to move the
Rock Killer
away from the other ship. She was rewarded by acceleration. She double-checked the program, then lifted her eyes from the screen to look at the stars outside the bridge window.

The fat miner reminded her of Waltham, the fat leader in the Gaia Alliance. Waltham had tried a similar trick one night at the LA safe house. But Knecht had learned a few tricks on the streets of Seattle, from SRI when she was originally going to be in security, and from Beatty’s tutelage. She suspected Waltham would be making less nocturnal visits to the women of the GA.

She wondered how an asshole like Waltham got into the GA. Perhaps, like Beatty, he was useful–probably had money or political connections. Trent wouldn’t tolerate him, otherwise.

Beatty, on the other hand, was one of the few men she’d ever met that didn’t immediately react to her looks. She liked him for that. They’d formed a friendship of sorts, as close as a man like him was capable of. Beatty taught her many interesting things about how to kill people with various weapons, and unarmed. They talked, both privately and with the group at the house, about the environment, both Earth’s and space’s, and how SRI was about to destroy both. She loved to hear him talk, and easily came to share his hatred of SRI specifically, and the material-based society of America generally.

Linda Trent had already begun that instruction before Trent introduced Knecht to Beatty. At this point in her life, Knecht could hardly imagine anyone wanting to work for SRI except out of pure greed motivation.

Knecht had met Linda Trent in LA, when she had gone there for her vacation after graduating from the SRI navigation school. A vacation was tradition, and Knecht’s instructors insisted she take time off before going into space.

She briefly considered returning home, for about a second. She was sure she could handle her stepfather; she just didn’t want to have to.

So she went to L.A. to see Disneyland-California, visit the earthquake memorial, and generally play tourist for a while.

She was outside Mitsubishi’s Chinese Theater looking at the actors’ names in the cement, some lovingly recreated from photographs after being destroyed in the ‘14 earthquake. A woman about her age approached, holding a hand computer.

“Hi,” the woman said almost too cheerfully. “Would you like to help save the Earth?”

Knecht looked at her. “Save the Earth” and “Save the Planet” were near mantras in American culture. Every child was taught almost before they could walk what they could do to help “Save the Earth.” So, Knecht naturally answered, “Of course, how?”

“By donating to the Green Party of California and signing our petition to stop the importation of space derived resources.”

That grabbed Knecht’s attention. “Why?”

“The exploitation of space is ruining the pristine nature of the universe. Man’s greed has screwed up Earth enough; we can’t let robber corporations rape outer space for profits.”

Knecht didn’t know what to say. The other woman must have taken this as a sign to keep talking.

“We’re having a meeting, the Green Party, that is. You’re welcome to come. Congressperson Trent will be speaking on the dangers of space exploitation.”

“Who?”

“Linda Trent, one of the Green Party members in Congress. You really ought to come. Let me write down the address for you—” not transfer to from her computer to Knecht’s as would be the norm—”You can get there by bus.”

Out of boredom and curiosity, Knecht went.

Linda Trent was a pudgy woman who spoke with a harsh, grating cadence. She explained the Gravitational Resonance Theory and the danger Space Resources Incorporated’s practice of removing asteroids from space presented. Knecht knew enough physics to know about gravity and resonance, but she’d never heard anyone mention this at SRI. She decided to check it out. After the official meeting ended, she sought out Trent.

“Ms. Trent,” she said after introducing herself, “I don’t understand completely. I work for SRI and—”

Trent cut her off. “You work for them? Do you think they are going to tell you about this? They only worry about their all-important bottom line.”

“But Jupiter—”

“Jupiter has nothing to do with it. What do you do for SRI?”

“I’m a navigator.”

Trent was silent for a moment. Then she smiled broadly.

“Would you—what is your name, anyway?—like to learn more?”

“Yes, because I don’t understand. And it’s Barbara. Barbara Knecht.”

“We could go someplace and have coffee and talk. Would you like to do that, Barbara?”

“Yes, I would.” She left with Trent that night. She knew Trent was interested in her both for her inside knowledge of SRI and also sexually. She succumbed to Trent’s advances slowly, thinking perhaps this was the love she’d never known.

It wasn’t, and neither was the friendship with Beatty. As a greenish-blue dot passed into her view, just before the sun’s blaze activated the automatic darkening window, Knecht wondered if the Earth Mother, Gaia, would love her for what she was about to do to SRI.

She hoped so.

***

Kirsten Hanna-Chun went to the dinner party alone. She was almost surprised she had received an invitation after Alex’s fight with McConnell. An associate, Dr. Breton, was the hostess and Kirsten always thought Breton seemed a little too anxious to please McConnell.

Kirsten parked her car in the street and walked to the door.

The house was large both inside and out. The interior was decorated with original art that Kirsten frankly found ugly. She was greeted by Dr. Breton.

“Welcome, Kirsten,” Breton said, holding out her arms for Kirsten’s coat. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“Thank you, Alysia,” Kirsten said, handing over her wrap.

Alysia took her burden and Kirsten headed into the crowd.

“Alone?” Dr. Plotnik asked, stepping in her path.

Kirsten turned to him. “Yes, as usual; Alex is in space. Have you seen Dr. McConnell?”

“Yes,” Plotnik said. “He’s here somewhere.”

“Thanks,” Kirsten said, moving on with relief. She found Plotnik to be singularly unattractive.

The shiny dome of McConnell’s head was like a beacon over the guests. The smoke from his oral retentive habit curled up away from his mouth. Kirsten made her way to him. He was talking to a young, new psychologist. Kirsten touched McConnell’s shoulder.

He turned to her. “Kirsten,” he said simply.

“Can we talk?” Kirsten asked, trying not to sound desperate.

McConnell paused, thinking. “Sure,” he said to her and “Excuse us, please,” to the young man.