The Hundred Gram Mission (30 page)

The hopper kicked away on puffs of compressed gas.  They left frozen scorch marks as they froze on the landing pad. The garage door opened above and the stars peeked in at them.

"This thing is going to come back down, right? We haven't achieved escape velocity?"

More puffs, and the hopper began arcing forward. Below them were the slag mounds and mines of the expanding base.  LED safety lights dotted the terrain in a neat grid.

"Alright," said Stockwell, "So let's talk. And yes, I can get you immunity if that's what you need."

"Well there won't be any need for that, as exciting as it sounds,"  Henrikson looked out the cockpit and  then back at his flight path. "Because they really are not developing Von Neumann machines here. At least, not at this point."

"So they plan to?"

"They most certainly do, but of this, I have as much evidence as you do. They are being very careful not to do anything illegal in this regard, and while I fully expect them to move forward, it is not going to happen until they know they have legal cover."

"Then they'll be waiting a long time,"  said Stockwell.  

"Well, there's something they don't seem to be waiting on at all, which is what I wanted to talk to you about. But first, a token of good faith."

"You're going to throw a minion I can't stand,  into the Shark Tank?"

"Do you see that down there?"

"Looks like a flagpole."

"It is."

"What the hell kind of flag is that?"

"That's what I wanted to show you."

The hopper landed so very slowly, more like a spacecraft, docking. Suddenly it fired pitons that drilled themselves in, deeper. The hopper reeled itself to the surface,  dust puffing up from under it. The two men climbed out, tethered to bright orange safety lines.

"The American flag was up here, and had been so since the facility was opened. One week ago, some people came from the Pathfinder Institute - security staff. They didn't stay for very long, but one thing they took the time to do, was to come out here and take down the flag."

"This new one, it's got your logo on it."

"It looks very similar, yes. But it is still quite distinct. I took the liberty of trying to match it against any other logos, corporate or otherwise. It matches nothing, Agent Stockwell. If it's for another one of my patron’s companies, it is one that has never been registered."

"You don't think it's your new flag and no one has told you yet?"

"Oh it's certainly our new flag, but I don't think it's for the program. Flags are powerful things. We are far away from Earth, Agent. A flag could mean all kinds of things. I thought you would like to see this."

"Thank you, I very much do."

"How closely have you looked at Lowell City?"

"Lowell City? The Mars program you guys are adding on to your to-do list?"

"That's the one. It's a very ambitious vision, Tops as ambitious if not more so than going to Alpha Centauri."

"So what concerns you about it?"

"It doesn't add up."

"The accounting?"

"Any of it. The program director was less qualified than any other candidate applying for the position. Yet, he asked for significantly more compensation than any of them. He is not a scientist, he is a lawyer. A lawyer with direct links to the head of Sun Star Legal, Mr. Snyder."

"Go on."

"I have gone over every document produced concerning the Lowell City program. There is a great deal concerning exercises at Devon Island, in Canada."

"Devon Island?"

"It's a desert island, that's freezing cold. It has been used for decades In connection with Mars settlement exercises and experiments. It's where the first Martian astronauts were trained.  Equipment for colonist candidate training has already been purchased.  They've begun building the first facilities for observation and research.  Candidate interviews are being conducted as we speak."

"Sounds pretty serious," said Stockwell.

"That part is serious, yes. But you would think that
all
the parts would be serious, as well. In particular anything that would suggest that the people involved are actually interested in going to
Mars
."

"I don't get you."

"Agent, there is nothing, not a position paper - not a vision statement - not a poem scribbled into a margin - that suggest that anyone involved with Lowell City, is actually interested in Mars. They only seem interested in exercises that could apply to the colonization of
any
world. Agent, I believe the entire program is insincere."

"Look that's not my bailiwick, but a little birdie walked into the FBI and told us just the same thing."

"Who?"

Not sure that I can say. But if I
could
say, I would say Anjana Shetty  of the UNHCR is someone you should talk to."  He looked about the walls and clear canopy of the hopper. "And you
definitely
want to make sure no one is listening in on that conversation."

"Dr. Henrikson?  What can I do for you? Not every day I get a call from Paul Dirac City."

Snyder sat up in bed, The large wall-mounted screen had turned video relay. Framed within it at 8K resolution Was an unsmiling scientist.

"Thank you for taking my call,"  he cleared his throat. " There's something I very much need to talk to you about."

"Are you sure it can't wait till morning? I think it's late even in
your
time zone."

"Let's just do it now."

Snyder farted and scratched his nose. "Alright, what's so urgent?"

"I'd like us to talk about Lowell City."

"Oh my God," Snyder facepalmed. "Seriously? Look, you're working too hard.  We can talk about this tomorrow, all you like. But right now, I need to get back to bed."

"I know about the conversation you had with Anjana Shetty."

Snyder froze.

"Oh yeah? And what would that be?"

"That Lowell City was a complete lie, and that you would cancel it as soon as you got what you wanted for Pathfinder."

Snyder said nothing.

"Well?"

"You got me, that's exactly what I said. I don't even care if you're recording this conversation. All that matters now, is what are you going to do, Doctor?"

"Excuse me?"

"Are you going to tell the world?" Snyder threw his arms open, taking in all of space and time. "Because I'm certain they would listen to you. You are after all, the lead engineer on the famous and inspiring Pathfinder program. The program which will come to an end - along with many other things - if you open your mouth."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Oh no, you're threatening yourself.  How are things over at ESA? Much of a market for someone with your skills? How about the kind of work you doing - any policymakers interested in going to another star?"  Snyder smirked and reached for his shirt. "No one asked you to get involved in these bits and pieces, Doctor Henrikson. You never had to get your hands dirty. Ever! But if you torpedo what we're doing, if you destroy the reputation and goodwill that Mister Spektorov has built with the Mars Community, if you embarrass our allies and supporters - well then.  Do you want to be that guy?"

The face in the 8K screen said nothing.

"Go on, sleep on it. Don't rush into this. Let your morality have its day in court, in your own head. And then maybe, the rest of us can have a day in court! Or maybe we won't. The decision is up to you. Now, is there anything else?"

"You can't get away with doing this."

"You know, this ship may fly. Or maybe it won't! Maybe it will explode and some more horrible antimatter explosion. I can't really say either way, and neither can you. We'll find out. But there is one thing I can definitely say. You know what that is? I can definitely say that I'm going to get away with this. Goodnight Doctor."

He killed the screen.

Suyin Lee, IV

Type 055 Destroyer, "Nanjiao," Gulf of Aden

"Just how," said Meng through his safety mask, "is everything covered in this
slime?
"

He tried shaking the data drive clean, but the black slurry just clung like honey. It was all over his hazmat suit, like he had been playing in the mud.  The rest of the military forensics team appeared the same. They made their way through the hangar, tablets and UV lamps in hand, between the neat rows of black-slimed artifacts. They could have been archaeologists of Pompeii-of-the-sewers.  

"Have you been able to learn anything new?"  Asked Suyin, her arms folded. She too wore a protective mask.

"The intel that Abdul Kareem escaped to Pakistan, is most likely correct.  Whatever caustic agent was used, wasn't strong enough to destroy all biological evidence. We've been able to identify twelve different people from their DNA. Abdul Kareem is not one of them."

"Have you any idea what that stuff is?"

"The data recovery team think it might be a special kind of weapon the terrorists were developing."

"A weaponized slime?"

"The slime is what it left behind.  They think it was some sort of crude, self-replicating, nano system or machine.  A catabolite, an
eater
.  Perhaps sprayed as a liquid or gas. They might have used it to help knock out the drones once those entered the base. That, or just to destroy evidence."

"Nanomachines did this? Isn't that - "

"WMD? In principle, but it has a long way to go to earn that title. We’re still recovering data, but it may be connected with a cell of Xinjiang Moslems. Up in the UNHCR orbital, E2."

"E2? What are they working on there?"

"We think a slime weapons test."

"Let me know as soon as you can confirm that. E2 has a lot of troublesome elements, I hunted down a cell there, once. I know a few good informants. If Jemaat is active on E2, I’ll go and shut them down myself."

"Yes Madam," Meng set aside the data drive. "There's something else we learned. They are after Lakshmi Rao, head of the UNHCR. It was them who attacked her convoy in Sudan."

"My brother was in that attack. Why do they want to kill Rao?"

"We don't know yet, maybe we’ll recover than info, too. Hiding out in Pakistan will certainly help them finish the job."

Suyin nodded. "We'll have to tell the Indians."

"Don't you mean, the ISI?"

"We can't delegate this to a third party, even the Americans didn’t finish the job. And we especially can’t delegate this to the ISI."

"Maybe the Americans rewarded us for leaving Agent Stockwell behind in Colombo."

Lee darkened.

"My apologies, Lieutentant Colonel. I meant no disrespect."

"No, that’s alright Meng. I’m not proud of what happened there. And I am never abandoning a comrade, again."

"Yes Madam. Why can’t we work with the ISI though? We’re allied with Pakistan."

"That doesn’t mean anything to them. The US was allied with Pakistan, and the ISI put up Bin Laden in a mansion. If Jemaat Ansar presents as anti-Indian, the ISI will
help
them. They may also encourage Jemaat Ansar’s little WMD program."

"Was that a pun?"

"We’ll have to go to Pakistan."

"Of course Madam,"  Meng replied. "Until the job is done."

"Don’t you have family there?"

"Yes Madam, a brother. He owns a restaurant in Karachi."

"My own brother just transferred there."

"The one who fought in Sudan?"

"The same."

"Maybe you can have a family reunion in my brother’s restaurant," Meng beamed at the idea.

"Yes, maybe. Or more likely, a minefield."

Abdul Kareem Al-Rashid, IV

Outside Quetta, Pakistan

"You have survived, and with most of your people. You did very well."

The old man sat on a stool outside the mud hut. He drank strong red tea, the glass looked thick enough to survive a firefight.  On his head was a woolen Pakol hat, so popular next door in Afghanistan.  His face showed as much geography and weathering as the mountains to the East.  

Kareem's eyes teared in the cold. The mud huts were stale leftovers compared to the air-conditioned complex in Yemen. Solar panel plots were side-by-side with potatoes. They fed ancient, rust-stained water tanks on concrete stilts: potential energy batteries. The morning smelled of baking bread and biodiesel. Children walked back from fog collector sheets, buckets sloshing. Two sentries shared a cigarette, their rifles slung.

"I don't feel like I did well. We lost a lot of people. A lot of equipment, and especially notes. It is very difficult to pick up and restart after something like that.  Some of my engineers say they will have to wait months before they have everything they need again."