Stolen Earth, page 25
“Lots of factors in terraforming,” Bishop said. “But one of the hardest to overcome is the fact that planets and moons are, well, they’re really big. Breathable atmosphere is made up of oxygen, nitrogen, and other stuff. But we don’t normally think about just how much of all that stuff is required to fill up a whole planet. The edge of survivability is somewhere around five hundred millibars, roughly half of what we consider standard air pressure. Mars has a pressure of around six millibars. So, we’d have to release enough breathable gasses into the atmosphere of Mars to increase the pressure a hundred fold… and that’s just to get to the barest possibility of survivability. SolComm hasn’t yet come up with a way to generate that much gas, at least not of the right kinds and right concentrations to do anything meaningful.”
Laurel couldn’t help but look at Bishop in a different light as he discussed terraforming. It was difficult to remember that the jovial mechanic, whatever actual certifications and degrees he might lack, was capable enough to keep all of the various systems on board the Arcus up and running. Including the life support and other environmental systems. It occurred to her that Bishop probably had several doctorates worth of information cemented into his head, despite his lack of formal—which was to say, recognized by SolComm—education. Lynch and Federov apparently expected it from the mechanic, but Hayer was giving him the same appraising look.
“Pressure’s no problem here,” Federov noted.
“And if they are able to put out sufficient additional gasses,” Dr. Hayer mused, “they might be able to achieve some level of dilution of the existing contaminants. I’m not sure if there is a required viral load limit necessary for the nanite-based pathogens to take hold, but it would be a reasonable assumption. I don’t think these six stations would have any measurable effect on the overall system, but if One has already measured some local pressure changes, it might be possible to affect a small area. Or to use it as a test case for a broader measure.”
They all pondered that for a moment, listening to the call of the night insects around them. It was a sound all of them had heard, but only from recordings taken long ago. It was clear from the compound before them that they weren’t the first people from SolComm to hear it since the evacuations, but they were among the rarified few. Laurel wondered if it had to be that way. Was it possible to use technology first conceived to try to stretch mankind’s reach into the stars to instead reclaim the world their ancestors had poisoned? And what would that even look like? The world governments had been destroyed, but some humans remained and had instituted at least some measure of social order. Would SolComm work with them, or like so many conquerors that came before, would they simply set down and declare the land theirs, enforcing their claim with the power of the technology they commanded?
The compound before her and the kidnapped victims gave Laurel the answer.
With that knowledge came a moment of clarity.
She caught the captain’s eye. “We can’t just rescue the prisoners. We need to find out who these off-worlders are and why they’re here.” She took a deep breath, releasing it in a sigh that was part resignation and part relief, the first real sense of relief she’d felt since undertaking this mission. “And, one way or another, we need to get that information out to the citizens of SolComm. They have a right to know what’s going on here, especially if SolComm is behind it.”
GRAY
“Fuck.” It was a simple word, a useful word. It was a word that perfectly summed up Gray’s thoughts on this whole damn mission. Each step along the way had seemed reasonable and each had followed naturally enough from the one before. But somehow, that long trail of steps behind him had left him and his crew in a position that he wouldn’t have wished on his enemies, let alone those whose lives he had risked by taking this damn job in the first place. This mission had been desperate from the start, and things had only spiraled toward the gravity well from there.
The hell of it was, Morales was right.
Breaking into the installation and absconding with the prisoners wouldn’t really accomplish a whole hell of a lot. Now that he’d seen the facility with his own eyes, Gray had a much better feel for the capabilities and support structure of those who were running it. Even if they could go in and break out a few of the prisoners, it didn’t solve the problem for the people they were trying to help. Sure, they’d get their people back, but what stopped the off-worlders from flying out and rounding up some more? They could convince Margaret and Oliver to change their operations, and maybe with the assistance of the three AIs, they could help the camps in the AIs’ areas avoid entanglements with the off-worlders—but there were surely other groups of people who did not fall under the protection of the surviving AIs.
Gray didn’t know who was running the dome or what they were doing—not specifically, anyway—but he knew the type. They’d resorted to slavery to do the dirty work and that told him most of what he needed to know. Anyone willing to force someone else to do a job they themselves were unwilling to do was a waste of oxygen and carbon to Gray’s mind. And they had the resources to hunt people down across continents—which meant taking back what they had stolen wasn’t going to stop them.
If they were SolComm—and Gray couldn’t fathom how anyone could have built a fully functional dome on the surface of Old Earth and installed high-tech atmosphere processors, or whatever they were, without some level of complicity from the Commonwealth government—then exposing this operation to its citizens might actually do something. The government could crush dissent and information with almost equal aplomb, but this kind of news didn’t just have legs; it had rocket thrusters. If they could prove that SolComm was operating on the surface of Old Earth and using the planet’s population as slave labor, then not even the massive propaganda machine of the Commonwealth could prevent the truth from getting out.
Assuming his team could somehow manage to not only rescue the prisoners, but also make their way through whatever firewalls the off-worlders had put in place. If it got out, this information could cost the culprits everything.
“Okay,” he said with a sigh. “I think Morales is right. Getting the prisoners out is still our priority, but let’s acknowledge that it’s just a stopgap. We need to know what’s going on here to make sure the people who live on this planet—those who helped us and the rest of them—stay safe. That means identifying and potentially disrupting whatever is going on here.”
“We could just kill them all,” Federov said, voice flat. “There are no children. The rest are combatants.”
Gray snorted. Federov had been working with him since just after he acquired the Arcus. In that time, he’d learned the big mercenary had a strange sense of humor and Gray still had a hard time telling when the man was being serious and when he was joking. He assumed the latter, but still said, “Impractical. We don’t know what kind of force they can bring to bear. We’re going to have to do more reconnaissance. We need to hang here for at least the next twenty-four hours and try to develop an understanding of just what the hell is going on down there. That’s not going to be a fun or easy task. We’re playing fast and loose on the stealth front already. Once daylight breaks and people start waking up down there, we’re going to have to become our own little personal black holes.
“We’ll observe in teams. Me and Bishop. Morales and Hayer. Federov, you’re on your own.” The mercenary grinned and nodded. “And keep your weapons locked down,” Gray added. “The last thing we need is to draw the enemy to us before we’re prepared. Federov’s initial plan—using an explosive breach of the dome as a distraction, not wanton murder—is our working operational order. Observe with that in mind. We need to know enemy numbers. We need to know how many good guys and bad guys are on site. We need to know everything they’re doing, where they eat, where they sleep, where they fuck. We don’t have time to establish a true pattern of life. Our window for exfil is getting tighter with every passing hour and we still have to make it back through the IZ. Time is not on our side.
“One, is there anything additional you can provide us to better our chances of pulling this off?”
“I must reiterate,” the AI said, “that I cannot provide direct offensive aid given the high probability of this being a SolComm installation. I can have an airborne asset provide you with overhead surveillance, though.”
“What’s the likelihood of the installation picking up your airborne assets on radar?”
“Effectively zero, Captain. Based on my analysis of the available data aboard the Arcus, the stealth technology developed by me and my counterparts is significantly better than that available in your Commonwealth.”
“Okay,” Gray said. “In that case, any intel you can provide is greatly appreciated.” He looked around at the others. “Given our timetable, we need to execute tomorrow evening, latest. We’ve got twenty-four hours to learn what we can, then we go in. Agreed?”
He got affirmatives from the gathered crew. “In that case, Morales, Hayer, you’re up first. Bishop and I will take the midwatch, and Federov, you’ve got the last watch. If you’re not on watch, do what you can to sleep. If you are on watch and if the enemy so much as looks too hard in our direction, get everyone up and ready to move out. Clear?” He looked at each until they confirmed it with a nod or a spoken, “Clear.”
“All right. Let’s get to it.”
With that, Gray resealed his helmet and slid deeper into the gulley, pushing his body into the grass and earth until he found a comfortable position that left him half-reclining against the soft earth. He wasn’t tired, but he knew he should get what sleep he could while he had the opportunity. He used the techniques he’d been taught; it was a matter of focused relaxation of each muscle group and breath control. It didn’t always work, but at its worst, it was akin to a meditative state, and that was better rest than no rest at all.
By taking the midwatch, he’d pretty much guaranteed that he and Bishop would get the short end of the stick from the rest perspective, but he doubted that Hayer had the knack for falling asleep on command. He wanted Federov at the top of his game, so better to let him sleep as long as possible and have plenty of time to wake all the way up before having to go to work. He was their demo guy, and no one wanted the person handling the things that went boom to be operating under sleep deprivation. Morales and Bishop were both solid enough that he could have put them anywhere, but Morales had the edge over Bishop when it came to training. Bishop and Hayer would be the least combat-effective pairing, so he’d broken them up. The situation wasn’t ideal, but with the proximity to the target and One’s promised overhead surveillance, it was as good as they could make it. The biggest risk was being seen by the workers or their handlers, but Gray needed more information. The only consolation on that front was that the off-worlders seemed to be going far afield for their kidnap victims. With luck, none of them were familiar enough with the local area to easily pick out Gray’s people in their hides.
With those few worries identified and sorted, he situated his bullpup across his chest and tapped the control that pushed his visor into opacity. With the climate controlled and shielded ship suit, he was as comfortable as possible. He began the exercise of slowly flexing and then releasing each muscle, starting at his toes and working his way up toward his head, all the while keeping his breathing steady and rhythmic. Toes. Feet. Calves.
He was asleep before he made it to his arms.
* * *
“Rise and shine, Cap.”
The words were soft and spoken over the comm in his helmet. Gray’s eyes snapped open instantly and his hands moved of their own accord to check that his weapon was still in place. It had shifted during sleep; the magazine was digging into his side. He hadn’t noticed while he slept, but he grunted—quietly—as he pulled it away from his body. He checked the time—10 A.M. local—and tapped the control to depolarize his visor. He didn’t take it all the way down; the sun was shining brightly and he didn’t want to blind himself, however temporarily. Apart from pulling the magazine out of his ribcage, he didn’t move. Nothing drew the human eye quite like movement, and he wanted to make sure he had a firm grasp on the situation and his surroundings before he did anything that might garner undue attention.
As his eyes and visor adjusted he found himself staring into Bishop’s face. “Our turn,” the mechanic said with a boyish grin. He was settled back on his haunches and he motioned with his head toward the opposite edge of the trench where Morales was still keeping her eyes downrange and Hayer was slowly working her way into a deeper part of the gulley. Gray really wanted to stand up, throw his arms over his head, and stretch his body to within a few millimeters of tearing major muscle groups, but instead he gave Bishop a slight nod and pushed himself into a similar crouch. His knees and ankles let him know that he was getting a little long in the tooth to play Marines, but he ignored them and duckwalked past Bishop to a spot next to Morales. He proned out on the gulley wall and pushed himself into a position just below its lip. With their comm systems, he hadn’t actually needed to move into position next to Morales to take her report, but he wanted to get his own eyes on the situation.
“How are we looking?” he asked.
“See for yourself. Slow and easy, but no one’s looking our way right now.”
Gray nodded and edged the inches remaining to push his eyes past the lip. It wasn’t a perfect view as they hadn’t wanted to disturb the vegetation that provided them cover from a casual glance, but he still had a decent overlook position on the operations below. From this distance, the scene looked like something straight out of one of the anachronistic romance novels set on Old Earth that had been popular for a time after the End. A least fifty men and women worked the fields, clad in simple garments and not wearing any sort of protection against the atmosphere. Six guards—obvious by their armored ship suits and weapons—rode herd over them. They didn’t seem particularly alert to Gray’s eye, and what little attention they were paying was turned inward to their charges and not outward against any extemporaneous threats.
He turned his attention to the dome itself where things were less clear. He could make out some movement in the parklike area and dialed up the magnification on his visor to get a better view. There appeared to be people out… strolling? He was familiar with the concept, but the physical limits of shipboard life didn’t facilitate a lot of walking for pleasure. Even the domed colonies of SolComm had such high populations that you would never be able to do what he was witnessing… at least, not without several hundred other people packed into the same place. Once again, it tugged at the sense of the idyllic within him… or it would have if the bastards casually walking about hadn’t been responsible for kidnapping so many people.
He disabled the zoom on his visor, so he could see the broader picture once more. “Anything stand out?” he asked Morales.
“This whole damn set up stands out,” she replied. “And it stinks worse than an environmental systems backup. I haven’t seen anything to indicate why it’s here in the first place; at least, nothing beyond the air scrubbers or whatever they are. And there’s been exactly zero movement around those cylinders. The people on the inside seem to be going about a nice life of leisure, taking walks, playing games. Hell, I saw an honest-to-God picnic, Lynch. Those motherfuckers are down there enjoying the sunshine while they’ve got people with guns forcing other people to work.” She shook her head, tiny movements to prevent drawing unwanted eyes, but the frustration and anger in the motion were obvious, nonetheless. “The AI had a drone in position about an hour after everyone else went to sleep. There’s good thermal data that suggests the location and counts of the Old Earth-born people. At least, there’s only one building in that whole mess down there that houses more than a few people. I paid close attention to that building this morning. It’s definitely where those workers down there were staying.”
“We can’t be sure we’ll get them all out,” Gray replied at last. “We’d have to go door to door and search every house and every bed and we don’t have the manpower or time for that.”
Morales nodded. “We’re going to be pushing our luck just trying to get the ones out of the lockup. I’ve got a rough count of sixty-seven hostages that I’ve seen outside. But that’s a far cry from the hundred-plus that One estimates have been taken. I’d guess we’ve got at least a dozen armed dedicated responders, maybe as many as two or three times that. They’d need it just to maintain guard rotations. And apart from what their bully boys guarding the fields have, we’ve got no idea of the equipment or firepower they can bring to bear. But those sentries confirm that they have at least some weaponry down there.”
“What about the aircraft?” Gray asked. He hadn’t seen any sign of the ship that the colonists had to be using to carry out their kidnapping raids.
“Unclear,” Morales replied. “I haven’t seen any indication that it even exists. There are no visible hatches in the dome large enough to provide clearance for any air-capable craft, much less space-capable. The AI has confirmed its existence, but apparently, it doesn’t have the kinds of assets in place to continuously monitor much beyond its own borders.”
“The AIs don’t have access to satellites,” Gray said. “Probably no trans-atmospheric flight, either. Both would be likely to trigger the IZ platforms. That limits their overall observation capacity.”
“Correct, Captain Lynch,” One said, breaking into their conversation through their comm. “I was able to use the data-banks on the Arcus to confirm that the class of craft being used. It is a Barque-class freighter similar to your own vessel. I have shared data with my counterparts, and this is consistent with their own findings. To the limits of our available surveillance, your vessel and the Barque-class freighter are the only two ships on Old Earth at the moment.”
