“What’s the idea?”
“Two glaserlike devices connected to each other like a bola that can be placed on opposite sides of an asteroid. Like earmuffs. They operate under the same principle, but their gravity fields counter each other, so the asteroid is still ripped to shreds by tidal forces, but the gravity field doesn’t grow to unstable levels. It’s far more contained. The rock is still ground to powder, but nobody dies.”
“I’ll put a team on it,” said Benyawe. “I’ll oversee it personally. It’s a good idea. It’s worth exploring.”
Lem was surprised. He had expected a polite, yet slightly condescending lecture on how the idea was appreciated but far too impractical, a verbal pat on the head that essentially said, “Why don’t you leave the thinking to the grown-ups?” After all, how could he presume to think of something they hadn’t? They were the most brilliant minds in their fields. He wasn’t a scientist; he didn’t know physics, not to their level anyway. Yet Benyawe was going with the idea. Or was she merely placating him? No. It was a good idea. It did have promise. And isn’t this what entrepreneurs do? They have ideas, and they call on people who can make them happen. Isn’t that what Father had done?
Lem left the dining hall with a spring in his step, which was easy in zero gravity. Everything was finally working out. It was all coming together. He had four cargo bays nearly full of cylinders as a gift for the Board. He had successful tests with the glaser. Podolski was handling the snafu with El Cavador, so that would go away. And now, if Benyawe and her team pulled through, he might return to Luna with plans for the next generation glaser, an idea for which he could largely take credit.
Lem smiled.
He had gone through a rocky patch, yes, but the old Lem Jukes was back. He stopped and checked his reflection in one of the shiny metallic columns positioned throughout the ship. He hadn’t shaved in two days, but he liked the stubbly facial hair. It was that rugged, devil-may-care look that women he had known seemed to swoon over. He put his shoulders back and checked his profile. It was the look of a leader, a face that demanded to be followed. He had Father to thank for that.
He straightened his jacket, checked his other profile, and continued on. He hadn’t gone far when he passed a female crewmember-someone who worked in the kitchen by the looks of her. He gave her his best smile, and the woman nodded and blushed, continuing on her way. So he still had it. After almost two years out of the game, he hadn’t lost his appeal.
He took the tube to his quarters and wondered whom he should call on when he returned to Earth. It probably wasn’t too early to think about that. If he achieved a more prominent place in the company as he expected, it would pay to have a woman at his side. Not necessarily a wife, per se. But someone who could accompany him to corporate engagements and charm members of the Board.
Lem put on some music, took off his greaves and vambraces, and floated over to his computer terminal. There was no shortage of beautiful women in his contact list: women of enterprise, medicine, science, entertainment, even a Danish countess, though Lem had found her rather self-absorbed eventually. He clicked through their photos and smiled at the memories. Many had progressed to a third or fourth date, but rarely had they gone any further. Lem traveled too extensively and worked too heavily.
The most recent entry was over two years old, he noticed, but that was to be expected: Lem had been in space. Other entries were as old as seven or eight years, which surprised him. Had it been that long? Worse still, he hadn’t maintained contact with any of them, even though he had promised to stay in touch with them all. He suddenly realized how foolish he would sound trying to contact them when he returned. Hey, remember me? We had dinner seven years ago and I was completely charming and then never called. Shall I pick you up at eight?
How classy. Lem allowed his eyes to readjust until he saw his own reflection on the terminal screen. He was kidding himself, and he knew it. He pushed off the desk, found his razor, and shaved. Stubbly hair indeed.
He was towel-drying his face when an alert popped up in the holospace above his desk. Lem waved his hand through it, authorizing the message. Chubs’s head appeared in the holospace. “We’re getting a high-bandwidth radio message over an emergency frequency, Lem. And you won’t believe who it is.”
“Someone we know?”
“El Cavador,” said Chubs.
Lem froze. El Cavador? How was that possible? “I thought the radio was down. I thought we had interference.” They hadn’t received any messages for days now.
“The interference mostly affects long-range transmissions,” said Chubs. “If a transmission is close enough and strong enough, it gets through apparently.”
“How close is El Cavador?”
“A day behind us. Matching our speed.”
Lem swore under his breath. A single day. They were practically on top of them. Well that was just perfect.
“It’s worse than you think,” said Chubs. “They’re asking for you personally.”
Lem closed his eyes. Everything was coming apart again. Podolski couldn’t have wiped El Cavador already. It was too soon. The free miners had been tracking him. They must have read Lem’s files and now they’re coming to name their price for the files’ safe return.
“What do I tell them?” asked Chubs.
For a moment, Lem considered not taking the transmission. If he ignored them, maybe they’d go away. But no, if extortion was their agenda, they’d only go somewhere else and sell the data, which would be worse. “Put it through,” said Lem. “But I want you watching and recording this holo, Chubs. You alone.”
“Understood.”
Chubs winked out, and the woman’s head appeared in the holospace. She looked exactly as she had months ago: old and commanding and made of steel.
Lem checked his collar then leaned his face into the holospace so that she could see him as well. There would be a time delay in their conversation, and the length of the delay would depend entirely on how close the two ships were.
The old woman spoke first. “Mr. Jukes, I had hoped that our paths would never cross again, but circumstances demand it. I am Concepcion Querales, captain of El Cavador. We are contacting you because we require your assistance. Weigh Station Four has been destroyed. I am sending you all the files I have to prove this fact to you and your crew.”
Lem said nothing. If files were coming, he knew Chubs would immediately start combing through them. But Weigh Station Four destroyed? Impossible. Lem had left there, what, less than a week ago? This was a trick. They were plotting something.
As if Concepcion could read his mind, she said, “Everything I am about to tell you will sound ludicrous to you, and you will no doubt think this some ploy on our part to seek revenge for your attack on our ship. I assure you this is not the case. I am contacting you, Mr. Jukes, because we are desperate for your assistance. An alien ship has entered our solar system. Among the data I have sent you are its trajectory and coordinates. You can look for yourself and see that it’s there. This ship is already responsible for the deaths of an estimated six hundred people, including everyone aboard Weigh Station Four and three members of my own crew. Among the data I’ve sent you is a video of the alien species. This is not a joke, Mr. Jukes, and I would not be contacting you unless we were in dire need. I am sending you rendezvous coordinates. A WU-HU vessel in the area has agreed to join us in an attack on the ship six days from now. Our hope is that you will add your ship’s strength to ours. The alien ship continues to decelerate, and if we all accelerate and change our course slightly, we can intercept it and save countless lives, perhaps Earth itself. I will give you and your crew three hours to review our data and respond. Please acknowledge message received and intention to respond.”
Lem didn’t move, trying to keep his face free of any surprise. “Message received. We will respond. Makarhu out.”
He pulled his face out of the holospace. Chubs’s head appeared almost instantly in front of him. “We got their files. I thought it might be loaded with a virus, but it’s clean. The navigator ran the coordinates she gave us for the ship.”
“And?”
Chubs shook his head. “You better get up here, Lem. There’s something out there. Something like I’ve never seen.”
