Frozen Sky 2: Betrayed Page 5

  “Cave-ins are unpredictable. A flood might undermine our camp but miss their home. They only needed a few minutes to seal it up. Maybe they’re hedging their bets.”

  “Koebsch, I’m surprised at you. It made sense to pull me from 07, but you’re talking like—”

  “Von, I’m sorry. We’re out of time.” Avoiding her eyes, Koebsch activated a Class 1 alert on every data/comm line in camp. “Listen up,” he said. “I’ve radioed Earth, but the soonest we’ll hear back is fifty-six minutes. Meanwhile we have contingencies in place. I’m under orders to obey the top proxies. They’ve instructed me to activate our defenses.”

  Dawson nodded sagely on the group feed. “Wiser heads prevail,” he said as Vonnie shouted, “You can’t let AIs make that decision!”

  “Those are my orders,” Koebsch said.

  “We’re a civilian operation,” Vonnie argued, which wasn’t strictly correct. At least two of her crewmates served MI6 or the Directorate—British intelligence and French national security—and the FNEE team was military.

  Recent agreements on Earth had united the astronauts of the European Union and Brazil. Each crew continued to live in their own modules and they maintained separate org charts, although Vonnie and Sergeant Tavares had been retasked as liaisons. They’d linked many of their databases and mecha, communicating with each other by showphone. Less often, a few individuals met in person in their labs or outside on the ice. The two groups had traded rations to bring variety to their meals. The FNEE soldiers were equally hungry for access to ESA entertainment channels to watch in their downtime.

  Vonnie considered Tavares a friend. The sergeant’s heart was in the right place. Unfortunately, Tavares was even more beholden to her superiors than Vonnie was to Koebsch. As a junior support tech, Tavares had zero clout, and Colonel Ribeiro must have been assigned to lead the FNEE team because he was devoted and competitive and stern.

  There were only seven Brazilians on the ice (and one more who’d stayed in their spacecraft, trailing Europa as it orbited Jupiter) compared to sixteen Americans, twenty-four Chinese, and the nine surviving members of the ESA crew.

  Brazil was the weakest nation in space. They owned the smallest fleet and the grandest ambitions.

  Ribeiro had personally controlled a gun platform during the FNEE assault on the tribes. Vonnie despised him. The ease with which he’d slain the sunfish was far worse than Dawson’s greed.

  “Don’t do this,” she said, but Koebsch said, “Colonel, you’re in command of our mecha. My people are sending you access codes now.”

  “Acknowledged,” Ribeiro said. His dark, taut face was expressionless except for the gleam in his eyes.

  “Stop!” Vonnie cried.

  “I want to lodge a formal protest,” Ben said as she added, “Koebsch, putting us on high alert is the wrong thing to do. You’re exacerbating the situation. The tribes will hear Ribeiro deploying our mecha.”

  Koebsch glanced at her with regret. Then he muted her feed, silencing her. “I need everyone in pressure suits,” he said. “Prep our landers for takeoff. If the sunfish are moving toward another hot spring—if they open a geyser—we might have five minutes to evacuate.”

  5.

  Vonnie, Ben and Dawson left their displays. They hurried out of data/comm into the corridor. Vonnie avoided Dawson’s gaze, but the old man pursed his lips and said, almost kindly, “You’re a fool, Von.”

  “Don’t start with me.”

  “This is for your own good,” he said.

  Ten paces brought them to the ready room, the largest compartment in 06, which was jammed with equipment. Five lockers lined the wall. Vonnie didn’t know what to make of Dawson’s tone, so she was rude again.

  “Just put on your suit,” she said.

  Dawson gestured for her and Ben to dress first. Each locker was designed to transfer the components of a pressure suit to its wearer with robot assists. In an emergency, they could throw on their suits anywhere, but the process went more smoothly with the assists. That meant two people at a time, and even two people were crowded.

  Vonnie stripped off her tank top and shorts. She kept her bra but not her underwear as Ben removed his standard blue one-piece. He knocked her with his elbow. She bumped his hip when she stepped into the legs of her suit, then connected its sanitary features.

  Dawson didn’t wait because he wanted to see if I had pink or black undies today, she thought. Astronauts lived without privacy in their hab modules. He’d seen her undergoing her weekly physical. Hell, pirated copies of her Arianespace employee files had appeared on the net as soon as she was famous, and those files had included full body scans to monitor her health. Nude sims of Alexis Vonderach weren’t hard to find.

  Dawson’s gallantry meant women and children first.

  “Ha,” she snickered, wondering what Ben would say if he realized Dawson viewed him as a boy. Should I tell him? I could use a good fight. We can stuff my shirt in Dawson’s pompous mouth…

  Her suit smelled like plastic, sweat and freshener. In Earth gravity, including her pack, it would have weighed 100 kilos. If necessary, it could keep her alive for days without recharging her air or water.

  She donned her gloves, then took her helmet. She didn’t put it on. They might wait inside their suits for hours, so she wanted to kiss Ben. She was glad they could be troublemakers together, but she wasn’t comfortable showing physical affection in front of Dawson.

  She flashed Ben a private look. “Let’s get back to data/comm. We’ll seal our helmets there.”

  “Seal them now,” Dawson said.

  “You should suit up,” Ben told him. Ben was a sharp cookie. He knew what was in store for him as soon as they were alone, and his gaze shifted from Vonnie’s face to her chest.

  Dawson stopped her from leaving her locker. “How can you feel as if any of us are safe when you endured severe injuries not twenty minutes ago?” he asked. “That sunfish might have killed you.”

  Her mood darkened. “His name is Tom, and he didn’t mean it like you or I would mean it,” she said.

  “That’s my point. They’re nothing like us.”

  “Get out of my way,” she said.

  “Seal your helmets,” Dawson insisted.

  Unexpectedly, her anger became something else. She’d experienced a trace of pity for him before. Now she felt grudging respect. “Thank you for letting us go first,” she said before she walked away.

  Just when I thought I had Dawson figured out, he really acts like a gentleman. He’s always poured juice or wine for the women in the mess hall. I thought he was being chauvinistic. He’s so oily. But he was trying to be courteous.

  I remember when Harmeet had one of her migraines and Dawson went through his personal effects for that overpriced brandy he bought in Paris and wouldn’t share with anyone. He said it might relax her, and Harmeet said she thought it did. Maybe he’s only 98% asshole.

  Brooding, Vonnie reentered data/comm. Ben appeared behind her. She glanced at her display, but she didn’t approach it. She went to him.

  They necked like teenagers—urgently, erotically—chuckling into each other’s mouths at the shared frustration of petting their gloves on the firm mesh of the suits. It was like making love covered in plastic from shoulders to toes while holding her helmet under one arm, all foreplay, no satisfaction. He stroked her waist with his free hand. Heating up, she cupped his groin. He bit her neck and she whispered in his ear.

  His favorite was oral sex. “I’ll sixty-nine with you until our jaws hurt and you can’t walk straight,” she said. “I’ll do anything you want.”

  “Stop.” Ben laughed. “You better stop before my relief tube slips off.” He meant he was growing erect.

  She snickered again, licking his lips.

  They heard Dawson’s footsteps. They moved apart and Vonnie set her helmet on her collar locks, busying herself with it to obscure her flushed cheeks.

  One more reason to shove him out the air lock, she tho
ught happily. I wanna jump Ben.

  “Neither of you has signed into your displays?” Dawson asked. He wore his helmet, which he aimed at them. Then he realized what they’d been doing. His cheeks reddened and he went to his station.

  It was rare for the old coot to look shaken. Vonnie stalked after him while he was rattled. “Why did you drive here?” she said, but he ignored her.

  He reactivated his display, enlarging the imagery to accommodate the bulky fingers of his gloves. “This is Dawson,” he said. “06 is secure.”

  “Roger that,” Koebsch said.

  “Von, go to your station,” Dawson said, uncomfortable with her closeness.

  Peering over his shoulder, Vonnie saw most of the ESA and FNEE personnel on the group feed. A few were hidden by privacy screens. Tavares and a Brazilian lieutenant were missing completely. So was one of Vonnie’s friends. There was a blank spot where Henri should have been.

  “Dawson, why did you drive across camp?” she asked. “What did you do?”

  “Go to your station. We’re under alert.”

  I think you caused this emergency, she thought. How?

  He was too cunning to leave evidence among his mem files or preferences. She crowded him anyway, studying his display as he examined their maps.

  Far below, the sunfish had stopped 4.1 kilometers down, allowing ESA mecha to triangulate their position. Seismography indicated new digging. The tribe was also abnormally loud. They screamed against an ancient layer of ice, using it to conduct their voices throughout the area.

  Preliminary translations from O’Neal read: We are breaching the ice. Be ready. We are a Top Clan breaching the ice.

  “Oh shit,” Ben said.

  “They’re warning us,” Dawson said. “Administrator Koebsch, are you following our transcripts? We’re also tracking two other tribes to the south and west.”

  “Yes,” Koebsch said. “Wait.”

  “It looks like Top Clan Eight-Six is warning the other tribes, not us,” Vonnie suggested.

  O’Neal frowned and said, “It’s probably both. They’re using that solid mass to project their voices as far as possible.”

  “The other tribes are moving away from our camp, not joining an attack,” Ben said.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but sunfish typically run toward a fight,” Dawson said. “Combat with us or our mecha would offer the chance to scavenge food and metal. That they’ve fled suggests an imminent large-scale disaster.”

  “Wait,” Koebsch said.

  He’s not listening to us, Vonnie realized. Koebsch was staring at something on the group feed. She tried to mirror his gaze. Then she saw what was holding his attention, and her voice raised in alarm.

  “We have three people outside!” she said.

  Despite the danger, three members of the combined crews had hurried onto the ice. Vonnie identified their suit beacons on the north side of camp.

  They weren’t in pressure suits like hers. They wore armor. One had exited Lander 04—Henri—in an ESA scout suit designed for construction and survivability in hostile environments. Two had hurried from the Brazilians’ main hab module—Tavares and her lieutenant—in FNEE suits which were heavier, slower, and intended for combat.

  They’d gathered at a FNEE maintenance shed. What was inside it? Hand weapons? Why bother? After losing several mecha during their battle with the tribes, the Brazilians had built five new gun platforms with 20mm gatlings and STAT missile launchers. Their war machines patrolled the surface and the nearest catacombs, and for what?

  Mecha were useless against geysers. Marching their guns in circles was another example of applying human perspectives to Europa’s three-dimensional environment.

  Nevertheless, Vonnie had briefly supported the show of force. The sunfish needed to count their resources and the firepower implied. Then she’d urged her leaders on Earth to put the mecha on standby. Maintaining their truce with Top Clan Eight-Six required calm and quiet. But the politicians didn’t like quiet. They liked making bold pronouncements about protecting their astronauts and working in cooperation with their courageous allies from Brazil.

  Some of them want to provoke the tribes, she reminded herself. It was a sinister thought and not a new one, although she still had trouble believing it.

  You bastards. You want to fight.

  She quit hovering at Dawson’s shoulder and walked into her display. As a pilot, her role was to link to Lander 05’s controls if she wasn’t physically inside, but Ash had already initiated preflight checks on both landers. That left Vonnie free to investigate the FNEE shed.

  Its data/comm channels were restricted.

  “Shit,” Vonnie said. “Koebsch, tell me what’s going on. We can’t take off with Henri outside.”

  Koebsch didn’t take the bait. He was talking with someone behind a privacy screen. Vonnie couldn’t hear their conversation, but he glanced at her and cut his hand at his throat, signaling for her to shut up.

  She called Ash and Harmeet instead.

  Ash blocked the call.

  Harmeet answered from a showphone in 02 in B Lab, the genetics lab. Her matronly brown face was pale inside her helmet. “Von, I’m scared,” she said. “We don’t have enough landers to lift everyone.”

  “Why is Henri outside?”

  “I don’t know. Isn’t he connecting new safety lines?”

  “Our mecha can run the lines. Henri met two FNEE soldiers in their shed.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know.” Harmeet’s eyebrows crinkled. “I need to hurry. I’m securing our gear in case there’s a blowout.”

  “It won’t come to that.”

  From her expression, Harmeet thought otherwise. “God bless,” she said. Then she signed off, leaving Vonnie to worry at the benediction.

  Harmeet Johal was a genesmith, an educated woman who’d spent most of her fifty years using structural mass spectrometers and nanotech to identify and recombine the microscopic building blocks of life. She’d been short-listed for the Nobel Prize in 2106 for stimulating prenatal neurogenesis in test subject chimpanzee fetuses.

  She was also a devout Christian who believed God had His reasons for His mysteries, which people—and now sunfish—were meant to unveil.

  Harmeet was intensely curious, giving and kind. She was also fatalistic. She could often predict her results or the decisions made on Earth without being able to explain why. Vonnie thought Harmeet’s premonitions stemmed from her intelligence, not her faith—but to Harmeet, each life was a part of God’s plan. She thought everything was predestined.

  Sometimes she’s the stupidest genius I know, and that includes Dawson, Vonnie thought, struggling with her disappointment. She’d called Harmeet for advice. But I don’t believe her. I won’t. It’s not inevitable for us and the sunfish to kill each other.

  She raised a new privacy screen on her display so Dawson couldn’t hear. Then she connected with Ben, who stood behind her. “I don’t like where this is going,” she said.

  “It’s not pretty.”

  “Do you have anything we can use?” she asked.

  “Maybe. Look at this.”

  Ben was their planetary sciences expert as well as the lead biologist. He’d developed sims of potential collapses. There were several rock islands and a liquid sea suspended nearby in the ice, which implied volcanic activity in the mountains further down. But were the volcanoes extinct or simmering or active? Simmering, he’d theorized. The rocks were hundreds of years old, and the local debris didn’t appear to have been replenished by new eruptions. The sea had gradually frozen in layers, thickest on top, thinner on the bottom.

  “The tribe went in the wrong direction if they want to flood us,” he said. “They might be going for a magma seam. I can’t tell. They’re too far below.”

  “They’re running away.”

  “But their sonar calls are territorial. They’re announcing a confrontation. I’m sorry, Von.”

  Me too, she thought, feeling guilty for wha
t she would say next. Ben was naturally rebellious. He loved her because she was a firebrand. If he’d been the type who wanted an office job, two kids and a dog, he wouldn’t have come to Europa, but she worried that he’d end his career by conspiring with her.

  “We’ve been tricked,” she said.

  Ben snorted. “Dawson was so nice when we suited up, I almost puked. That’s how he acts when he gets what he wants. He’s gracious in victory.”

  “Why do you think Henri went outside? Is he arming a weapons system or trading codes with the FNEE?”

  “What kind of system?”

  “Ben, I’m guessing. Why else would they meet in person?”

  “Yeah. Fuck.” Ben skimmed through his group feed as if weighing who was present and who wasn’t.

  A few tasks were never given to machines—not after the war. Otherwise Earth wouldn’t have sent men and women into space. Mecha were less expensive. In many ways, machines were also more reliable. Machines didn’t get excited or angry or sad, although they could be subverted.

  Ultimately, the same fault existed in human beings. For civilian organizations like the ESA, the difficulty lay in hiring the best engineers and scientists without bringing in trojan horses. Decades of education were impossible to fake, but too many militaries and spy agencies wanted control over off-world missions. They swayed people with money or threats. They appealed to feelings of patriotism or injustice.

  Henri Frerotte was a biologist like O’Neal and Ben. He genuinely shared their fascination with the sunfish. He’d helped Vonnie before, but, like Harmeet and Dawson, he was full of contradictions.

  Weeks ago, Henri had revealed himself as a mole working for French national security. He’d taken part in forging the new ESA/FNEE alliance to open a divide between Brazil and China. He placed Earth politics above the welfare of any sunfish, and Vonnie couldn’t hate him for it even if she disagreed.

  She supposed she’d developed her own contradictions. She was an engineer, good with machines and math. For most of her life, she’d been lousy at listening to her heart. Dealing with the sunfish had made her more intuitive like Harmeet.