Blue shift protocol, p.9
Blue Shift Protocol, page 9
“Debris strike on Baby Bird. Main cabin pressure failure. Repeat: main cabin pressure failure. Going to suits.”
“Status confirmed by computer,” Isles replied. “Tracking multiple impacts.”
“Copy that. Sensor shows fifteen...no, sixteen...breaches.”
“Relaying this to operations command.”
“We’re bleeding air here, Nightingale. Maneuvering on manual. Where are the eyes on those rocks?”
“I’m getting that for you.”
“Copy, XO. More strikes. We’re getting hammered. There’s more than we can patch. Aborting shuttle op. Please tell me there’s no crew on the rock.”
“Confirm we’re remote pods only. Command actual on Dragonfly confirms. Captain Toussaint confirms. Abort, Little Bird, and get back here.”
Three minutes later, Lucjan called Trenton. “Repair status? We need a place to land.”
The request repeated. Soon, it was followed by the XO’s calls. Each attempt at connecting with him was marked with a timestamp.
Trenton felt the floor drop out from under him. His suit chronometer and coms were working just fine.
He had lost over a half-hour of time mid-mission.
Chapter Seventeen
Senior Executive Alonso Goodhope wiped the dampness off his palms and onto his slacks. A curse of nervous hands from his father, according to his mother.
His third-shift meeting was running late. Would they even show up? He had notes to transcribe from his curt face-to-face with Nexus Station Administrator Jung during second shift. There would be more meetings: union reps, community heads, educators, station departments, and more. Even the so-called Gardeners wanted to see him.
How nice.
He checked his watch. The station clock on the boardroom wall showed 3:03:24. Shift, hour, minute. An artifact of how things were done a decade ago. Nexus was operating in the past, and would continue to spiral down until they experienced a catastrophic systems failure. There’d be no saving her.
His stim patch itched. His mouth was dry. He hadn’t touched a vape stick for a week. Yet he sat perfectly tranquil at the head of the table and watched the door.
Finally, they shuffled in. His eye implant caught the strained faces, flushed cheeks, perspiration on the brow. They had a pre-meeting before coming to see him and likely hadn’t arrived at a consensus about how to handle their Meridian delegate.
The heads and officers of station security settled into the rolling chairs at the long table.
“Water? Fruit?” Goodhope offered.
“We’re fine.” This from the mustachioed station security sheriff. A new office since Meridian lost its grip here. An elected position, and something Goodhope could use.
One deputy, a woman named Ballard, inspected the bowl of cut-up fruit. “Are those papaya?”
“Seedless and sliced and perfectly ripe.”
She ate a piece. “Our printers can’t get these right. Oh, yum.”
The others sample the fruit offerings in the bowls and platters laid out before them.
The sheriff’s eyebrows stitched together as he glowered. “Can we get to the point of why you’re meeting with us?”
“To get a feel for how the station is doing from a law enforcement perspective. To learn about what’s not in the official reports. Like the citizenry’s health and happiness. And what role the company can play in improving your lives.”
“You want trade, talk to the manufacturing board. Admin has its psychologists. Get your reports from them; we’re just cops. You don’t have any pull with us. Making us feel chummy with a snack tray isn’t going to do anything but waste our time.”
“Blame that on my corporate upbringing. Meetings are in the blood. It’s a culture adjustment Meridian has been positively glacial in changing.”
“We have order on the station. We’re well-staffed, well-equipped, and you have nothing to offer.”
“True. But if there was ever a nugget of wisdom in the corporate handbook, it’s to reinforce a success. The parts of Nexus that have positively navigated the past decades need to be encouraged and commended. And as an outsider, I’d like to be sure there aren’t matters that haven’t been brought to light that might prove a challenge to your teams.”
The sheriff checked the time on his device. “So that’s what this is. A pat on the shoulders. It’s the last thing we need. We’re fine. Our shifts are fine. Our people are happy enough, and it’s none of Meridian’s business. Please file any future meetings with my office so we can make sure we keep you from getting strung up. Now if you’ll excuse us, I’m calling this meeting done. I have a daughter to tuck in and she likes me to read her a story.”
Deputy Ballard wiped her fingers on a napkin. “There is something. A few things, actually.”
The sheriff stared daggers. A few groans from the other security officers, but she held the room’s attention.
Goodhope gestured broadly. “Please, Deputy Ballard. You have my undivided attention.”
“It’s our equipment. We have stun guns that don’t work. Manufacturing has a hard time replacing the security cameras that get knocked out by vandals. Since the split, we’ve been locked out of our evidence analysis software. I’ve never gotten to work with a training sim, so I’m left making it up as I go. We’ve got overlapping departments. University police, hangars and docks, general security under the sheriff...it’s muddled.”
“I addressed that one with you, Ballard,” the sheriff grumbled. “We’ll iron it out with Jung during the annual meeting.”
“Yeah, fine. And how about the response teams who patrol the satellite stations? They ignore you. They want to be part of Nexus while claiming sovereign status even when they’re on-board Nexus.”
“Valid concerns,” Goodhope said. “I can outline some suggestions. There are definite improvements to the software situation that you’ll find less odious. I can begin the order for your security equipment. Perhaps the sheriff can help make sure we address all of your pain points. Sheriff, is that agreeable?”
He nodded stiffly.
“Well, thank you, Deputy Ballard,” Goodhope said. “I’ve put my contact card in each of your inboxes. I do plan on hosting a series of small, town hall-style sit-downs open to the public. Strictly informal. Your citizens can talk; I’ll listen.”
The sheriff stood up and straightened his shirt. “Hope you like things being thrown at you.”
“I’m sure cooler heads will realize it’s an opportunity to air grievances and understand how Nexus will play a central role in Jupiter’s future. I’ll provide the schedule so as not to place any burden on your staff. Your station will also receive some backlogged orders by Thursday. Food supplies, including produce from Pallas, environmental filters—the new kind, and one of our latest mining rigs able to be piloted by a smaller crew and equipped with a dozen state-of-the-art pods.”
“What’s the catch?”
“We continue to have discussions just like this. Plus, with the rock you’ve just harnessed and brought back to your tendering platforms, you’ll need help with distribution. And in case there are fuel and resource bottlenecks, we’re available.”
“Who told you about that rock?” The sheriff waved off his own question. “Doesn’t matter. You people. You produce nothing, you never have your own skin in the game, yet you expect to have a seat at the table. Keep your gifts. And enjoy your town hall chats. I’d cancel those. Don’t expect protection from me or my crew.”
The sheriff pushed in the chair with mock politeness before marching out of the room.
Goodhope kept his face fixed in a pleasant smile. Half of the security reps left. A few of the remaining staffers and cops looked uncomfortably at the door, the table, or their devices.
Deputy Ballard continued to pick at the fruit.
“I appreciate your sheriff’s passion.” Goodhope said. “I also appreciate hearing from you, Deputy Ballard, regarding your security concerns. I have a few samples of new equipment I’d like to hand over.”
“Like what?”
“How about yourself and your other fine deputies come with me down to the hangar and I’ll show you?”
“THE ADVANTAGE OF THE compliance glove is its immediate effect on the perpetrator. Most will be unable to perform basic muscle movements once skin contact is made.”
Goodhope walked around the group of cops who were trying on the device.
“You’ll find they work well with the items already on your duty belt. The intelligent interface will even adjust the output on our new line of stun guns.”
Ballard unboxed a stunner and inspected it before loading the battery. It charged up with a whine. After a momentary scrutiny, she set the weapon down on its packaging and glanced at the stack of plastic crates loaded with strawberries, peppers, tomatoes, and figs.
“You brought more fruit?”
With a laugh, Goodhope snapped open the top crate. “Gifts for the town hall meetings. People are less prickly when they have something in the bellies. Or I’m just giving them ammunition to throw. Ha-ha, I guess I’ll see. You have family?”
“A husband. We take care of our niece and my mother-in-law too.”
“Then take a case. For yourself and to share with your neighbors. All of you, please help yourselves. I brought plenty and there’s more on my ship. I have to ask. You’re not going to be in trouble with the sheriff for not walking out, are you?”
“He’s more of an administrator. We’re under contract with the station and have operational command over our areas of jurisdiction. He’d step in during an emergency. Otherwise, we report to our watch commander. They, in turn, report to the administrator in charge of internal operations.”
“So I’ve heard. Then the sheriff is elected to give voice to your office while you do the actual work.”
“Someone needs to talk to the station heads. He speaks their language.”
“Certainly. I’m happy to drop off my security equipment samples at your respective offices. And grab some produce. While it’s shelf-stabilized, I’d rather it got eaten while it’s ripe.”
The gathered cops grabbed fruit crates.
“Deputy Ballard? A word in private?”
She was sniffing a miniature cantaloupe as she packed a box with fruit. She glanced at him, fresh suspicion clouding her eyes.
“I have a favor to ask. It’s nothing official but something of a personal nature.”
“Ask.”
“It’s delicate as it pertains to the uncomfortable relationship between my company and your home here on Nexus.”
“Sounds like a question for the sheriff.”
“No, this is actually a police matter. You see, my predecessor, Galen Rush, was the last executive assigned to Nexus. He worked as an inspector. As you doubtless know, he didn’t make it onto the departing shuttle alongside the last of the Meridian corporate staff.”
“That’s ancient news. There were a lot of ships coming and going and there were systems outages.”
“Yes, that’s what was reported. But I believe he never left Nexus. It’s an awful thing not knowing what happened to family. I’m not interested in opening old wounds, only healing them. But to truly heal requires closure. Do you understand what I’m asking?”
“You want to know if he survived or not.”
“He has family back on Pallas and they implored me to look into it. I would consider it a favor for which I would owe a debt. Perhaps there’s something you and your family needs that I could accommodate?”
“This is something you’d need to bring to my watch commander.”
“I’d rather keep it quiet. Between myself and a dedicated peace officer who, as I’ve considered your service record since arriving, is the best here at what she does. After all, Nexus has tolerated nothing as odious as murder.”
BALLARD SHOWED UP AT his first town hall meeting. The packed auditorium exceeded all his expectations. While there were few smiles and a double-scoop of snarky comments, no one had thrown anything and the threats of violence were only implied.
The bananas helped. There were enough for seconds, and everyone present could take home a bunch.
Through it all, Deputy Ballard studied him, as if his performance would decide whether she’d help with his favor.
Once the room cleared out and he had a few chats, she approached him. “The bananas were a little pasty.”
“Dwarf variety that does well in our vertical farms. They still require irradiating. But our new strain can be shared with your farmers.”
“Tell that to the Gardeners.”
“I’ll be meeting with them tomorrow. Have you come to a decision?”
Before she could answer, a rough group entered the meeting hall. They carried wrenches, box cutters, and pry bars. A few had bandanas masking their faces.
The one in front had bushy eyebrows. “Leave now, deputy.”
She raised a hand as if to ward off the group, with a palm on her stun gun. “You all get out of here right now!”
“I don’t think so. We’re here for the second meeting. This is off-agenda.”
Another pair of masked workers in overalls came in through the back. One gripped a sledgehammer and the others were likewise carrying tools.
Goodhope exhaled sharply. “Well, this might be a quick solve to the matter I spoke with you about before, deputy.”
“I need backup at the Debs Ryan Meeting Hall. Hello?”
“Signal went out several minutes ago, according to my retinal implant.”
They backed themselves up to the stage as the mob closed in on them. Ballard cleared her stun gun and aimed it at the leader.
“You get one shot, deputy. Put it away and walk.”
“I won’t let you do this.”
“This is happening regardless of how you feel. Go home to Reginald and Veronica. They need you more than this piece of rat dropping does.”
“Is that Sheriff Tom Dempsey?” Goodhope asked. “At least have the good manners to remove the cover from your face.”
The sheriff pulled the bandana down. “I guess it doesn’t matter much if you see us. But that makes it complicated for her.”
“I suppose with your group’s visit, a discussion about our collective future is a waste of time. A pity. I had hoped I’d get to speak with some of your labor representatives here on Nexus before getting escorted off your habitat.”
“We solved this ten years ago. Grab them.”
Ballard was relieved of her weapon as two of the workers seized her arms. When the woman with the big hammer moved to catch Goodhope, the Meridian exec laid a hand on her arm. She screamed and her knees buckled. The hammer crashed to the floor.
From his case, Goodhope produced a round, palm-sized device with a button plunger on top. “Please release the deputy or we all have a very bad evening.”
“Is that...”
He nodded.
The two goons let her go. She retrieved her stun gun and aimed it at the mob. The woman who had become a victim of the shock glove crawled away with the help of a companion.
The sheriff gestured at the object. “How’d you get that on board the station?”
“I put up with your inane questions during our earlier meeting. It has been abundantly clear since my arrival that your station is woefully lacking in security measures.”
“You’re bluffing.”
“One’s resolve is never truly proven until tested. My predecessor who vanished on this habitat was embedded here and represented the worst elements of my company. I’m here as part of a peaceful gesture on the part of an abashed and humbled organization struggling to make amends.”
“A fruit platter doesn’t square us.”
“Certainly not. Everything I brought with me, including the mining vessel, are gifts with no expectations of compensation. But violence will hem in any future goodwill.”
A flash of doubt on the sheriff’s face. “It’s just their usual tricks.”
“I understand the bitterness and anger. But if you had waited until my presentation with your union leaders tomorrow, you’d know I have information that could affect your entire community’s future. Information I hand over freely.”
“You mentioned nothing about this.”
“What I have to share is quite sensitive. Since matters have come to a head, I’ll share it now. The rock your mining expedition recently retrieved won’t be harvested by your crews.”
“What’s he talking about?”
“I have documents to prove my statements. Some of your sister stations arranged for this asteroid to be placed right next to one of their tenders. Plus, they’re moving their stations closer to facilitate the work. From the sound of it, only a few crews in ancillary services here on Nexus will see any shifts out of this labor.”
“Lies. We brought that rock back. We lost a crew to that thing.”
“I’d have your union double-check the contracts with your ships regarding the deal. Meridian has no hand in this.”
Muttering from the others in the room. Doubt spread like an oil slick on water. Yet Goodhope couldn’t allow himself to relax. He licked his lips. “If I’m to be escorted off your habitat, so be it. If trade and manufacturing deals are to be made, perhaps it will take another generation. My company might fade, with another taking its place. But I have a proposal for your union that might be shared with your administrator.”
“What proposal?”
“A way for Nexus to keep what its crews brought back. That will require my making tomorrow’s appointment. Enough chat for now. My arm is tired. Do we loudly conclude our impasse, am I to be ridden off on a rail, or do we find a way forward to benefit everyone?”
A few of the other faces weren’t disguised. Goodhope’s implant tagged these with their station ID. A lawyer, a waste management engineer, the senior archivist, and a software designer. Voiceprint analysis isolated and identified several of the others as they whispered. Here was a cross section of Nexus Station’s citizenry.
“We throw him on his boat,” the sheriff said. “That’s what we agreed to do!”
