Goliath

Goliath

By Michael Finlay

Copyright 2011 Michael Finlay

Smashwords Edition

*****

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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*****

Chapter 1

McManus watched the battle develop silently in front of him. The fact that it was all in his head didn’t diminish the spectacle one bit.

A young US marine drove his elbow into the reinforced faceplate of a Chinese commando, forcing the other man’s head back but otherwise having no effect. The commando responded with a body twist and a thrust of outstretched fingers. His diamond-tipped gauntlets sliced through the suit’s weak spot underneath the marine’s armpit. The suit spurted air and the marine spun away into vacuum. McManus shook his head slowly. Every time it was the same. Corporal Steinburg never learned.

‘Careful! Do you know how much that thing weighs?’

The rock looming above his head snapped McManus back to reality. The combatants faded obligingly away as he tried to concentrate on the job at hand. He gave a gentle tap to the attitude adjusters. The end of the linkage cable shuddered slightly as thrusters nudged the carriage, adding a fraction of extra momentum to the ninety thousand tonnes of rock and metal drifting past his view. The last section passed by. He flicked a control on his suit’s arm. The linkage cable whipped into life, microjets on the end giving it the semblance of a giant snake about to strike. The guidance software in his suit’s computer meant he now had nothing to do but watch as the cable slid up to the rear of the previous carriage. He imagined a snick sound as it locked itself into place snugly.

‘Not weighs, masses.’ McManus’s voice was flat. He might as well have been commenting on the weather, or lack thereof.

‘If I hear another one of you pedantic bastards give me that weight versus mass bullshit, I’m going to slap you into next week. You know what I mean when I say weighs.’

McManus knew exactly what he meant, but nine months of being cooped-up on the ship had frayed his nerves badly. Riling the station crew might be childish but he still found it rather satisfying.

The suit computer pinged a job complete sound in his ear. He slowly turned away from the magnificent view of Saturn filling the sky in front of him to face the less satisfying sight of Yosemite station. The classic spindle-and-donut design could have belonged to any of a score of similar mid-scale habitats dotted throughout the inner- and mid-system expanse. Space was inhabited, but not so much that architects designed structures to be anything other than functional. It didn’t look so bad from docking approach, slowly rotating like a ballet dancer performing for the planet in the distance. Standing glued to the upper tip and the rough, pitted surface ceased to be romantic and became just another industrial hab. Oh well, he thought. Only fools take a job in space for the view.

He waved, knowing the movement would just be visible from the station’s control room.

‘I know what you mean, Station Control,’ He grinned inside his faceplate. ‘I also know that when you say you’re going to slap me you actually mean you’re going to bitch and moan, maybe file a complaint with the Company. Which no-one will read.’

‘You’re a real wise-ass, McManus, you know that?’

‘That’s why they pay me the big bucks. Now, are we done here? Because I’ve got a two-hour rest cycle coming up and then the last of these rocks to String.’ The amusement evaporated as swiftly as it arrived. His voice became brittle. ‘Come on Control, give me a break.’

Whoever was running Station Control must have picked up on his mood. ‘Roger that, McManus. Come on in and grab a coffee.’

He considered putting the suit on autopilot then thought better of it. With a slow and careful magnetic tread he made his way back towards the station’s spindle airlock. Every dozen steps or so he paused and glanced upwards at his ship.

Its official designation might be Heavy Hauler GL-747H, but everyone called her Goliath. She hung in space like a bruise, a portent, an insult to Nature. Thirty-seven metres in diameter, a crude sphere spun from asteroid material and whatever magical goo the Company’s Martian labs had come up with. There were no windows, no livery, no concessions to aesthetics. Just the designation number painted on the nose and an ugly but non-fatal scar along one side where someone had been a little too hasty manoeuvring a rock. The stubs of her positron drive stuck out from the lower half like broken legs, or malignant growths. Goliath was just plain hideous. Unless you were an engineer or a mechanic.

McManus was a mechanic. He thought she was beautiful.

Four slightly smaller and much denser lumps of ore hung behind Goliath like beads on a string. They bore the marks of a plasma torch where they had been chipped and shaped prior to Stringing. McManus and his colleagues had spent the better part of the last six months scouring the rings for them. Then, like stone-age caveman making flint tools they bashed, melted and pummelled them until their shapes were close enough to the optimal for towing.

McManus counted them over and over again like a mantra as he trudged towards the airlock. One-two-three-four. One-two-three-four. The rhythm beat out a tune in his head. He recognised it as a symptom of his obsessive-compulsive disorder but couldn’t summon the energy to care. He stopped, swayed gently forwards with his momentum. The spindle airlock outer door was closed, the lock indicator red. McManus palmed the access button. The iris valve opened smoothly, almost organically. He stepped over the threshold and into the red-lit interior. Turning, he gave the briefest backwards glance at his home.

It was a mistake. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of a figure. Suit-less, scowling, covered in blood and mouthing some obscenity he would never understand was a young Chinese woman. She raised a fist and shook it at him. He quickly turned around in the airlock and palmed the door control again. The iris closed, silent as space. There was the briefest moment of tranquillity.

The lights changed from red to amber. The hissing of a thousand disapproving cats rapidly filled his ears as the airlock re-pressurised. Fifteen seconds of increasing noise followed by a sudden silence. The amber lights turned green. McManus stood still while the inner door irised open. Only then did he reach for the helmet’s release catch.

‘Still cautions, eh Spanners?’

McManus ignored his superior while he unfastened his helmet. The faceplate came off with a gentle tug. The smell of his suit in his nostrils – so long experienced it became undetectable – was quickly replaced by the smell of the station. He wrinkled his nose unconsciously.

‘Still alive, Officer Chandra. In space that’s the same thing.’

‘For heaven’s sake, Dave. We’re not on Goliath. Call me Anita, would you?’

‘Sir, you know how I feel about–’

‘Yeah, yeah, I know.’ Chandra waved her hand dismissively, causing her thick hair to wave dramatically in the zero-gee of the spindle. ‘You’re a machine, Spanners. Know what I mean? Always formal, always… deliberate.’

‘I prefer the term cautious myself, sir.’

‘I bet you do. Still, there’s some romance in your soul I see.’

‘Sir?’

Chandra pointed at the observation window beside the airlock through which Goliath loomed massive. Unlike Goliath, Yosemite station had many viewing ports. Even industrial architects realised having Saturn on your doorstep warranted windows. ‘I saw you on your way back. Couldn’t help admiring her, could you?’

McManus shrugged his wide shoulders out of the suit, began wriggling his arms clear of the bulky material. ‘Actually I was checking my safety corridor. Station Control are good and their discipline’s tight, but that would be no consolation to me if someone made a mistake and I got smeared by a passing rock. That had happened a few years ago to a French crewman everyone hated. Remember that?’

‘Hell yeah. Made the news. You think it wasn't an accident?’

‘Oh, I’m sure it was an accident. That fool was always cutting corners. But it might give someone else ideas. You can’t be too careful in space.’

‘You’re completely paranoid, Spanners. But that’s okay, it just makes you more interesting.’ She gave him a quick wink. ‘See you in the station lounge for a bite once you’re changed?’

Yosemite’s atmosphere was strictly regulated and held at exactly twenty point-five degrees Celsius, so McManus couldn’t really feel the temperature drop. He glanced at the deck as he continued extricating himself from the suit. ‘I’m back out again in two hours, sir. Got the last carriage to String and it needs a bit of shaping for the key anchor.’

A frown. ‘I thought Ratchet was scheduled for that?’

‘He is, was, sir. But I don’t like to trust something that important to him yet. He’s still a bit green.’

‘Green? He’s passed his exams and clocked nearly four years deep-space on haulers like Goliath. What’s the real reason?’

‘Permission to speak freely, sir.’

‘Always. This isn’t the military.’

McManus shrugged again. ‘I wouldn’t trust that lazy rat-fuck to zip-up his pants after pissing. And he wouldn’t if he thought he could get away with it. That selfish bastard will get someone killed one day.’

‘You don’t mince your words. Why haven’t you said anything about this earlier?’

McManus shrugged. ‘We’re stuck out here as we are. It's not like the Captain could just space him, even if he agreed with me. When we get back I’m making a formal complaint against him. That should get him kicked out.’

‘Isn’t that a bit excessive?’

‘Absolutely not. He fucks-up, someone dies. That’s how it is in space. He’s had nine months to prove himself to me. All he’s done in that time is convince me he shouldn’t be in charge of garbage collection, let alone a ship’s mechanicals.’

‘If you say so, Dave. You’re in charge of Stringing so it’s your call. Just don’t overdo it. When people get tired they make mistakes. I wouldn’t want to die because you of all people made a mistake.’

‘Yes, sir. I’ll be careful.’

‘Right. Well, carry on.’

‘Aye, sir.’

*****

Chandra kicked off from the wall nearest the spindle airlock and let herself drift towards the access tube. It was two decks straight up to Station Control but she wasn’t due there for another fifteen minutes. She pressed upwards with her palms gently and floated downwards feet-first to the lounge. Behind her the sounds of McManus stripping out of his suit reached her ears. The rustle of fabric, the tearing of Velcro… She ruthlessly suppressed all thoughts of him naked. If he wasn’t interested in her then thinking about him would only drive her mad. She suspected he liked big women. But if that’s the case why hasn’t he made a pass at Julie? We’ve been stuck on this ship for over nine months and I don’t think he’s screwed anyone.

Her feet hadn’t drawn level with the lounge opening before she was twisting like a dolphin and swinging through ninety degrees. Even the tiny amount of centripetal force a metre from the spindle axis was enough to give her a perspective shift. The hole in the access tube wall became a floor. She grabbed hold of the lip and allowed her momentum to carry her feet towards the ladder. A final push with her fingertips took her hands to the top rung. She slid down into the rotating lounge with a feline, almost delicate grace. Being short and slim was definitely an advantage when manoeuvring inside a station.

‘Computer. Chandra shortcut: coffee. Execute.’

Chandra’s feet touched down on the lounge floor an instant later. Even half a gee felt heavy after operating for so long at less.

A voice came from a couple of metres behind her. ‘You make that look so easy, sir.’

She turned, saw Hanson sitting in a recliner with a cup of coffee in her hand. She was wearing her shipboard uniform despite being off-duty, which blended-in with the plain lounge walls and dull furnishings a little too well. Despite the other woman’s size Chandra hadn’t noticed her sitting there.

‘It is easy. You make it look so hard.’ Chandra glanced at the single chevron on the speaker’s uniform that denoted Junior Engineer, flashed her a smile to show she was just teasing. Hanson had competence, attitude and a six-foot frame. It was easy sometimes to forget how young she really was.

Hanson scowled. ‘I feel clumsy. Can’t wait ’til we’re back under way.’

‘Don’t think I’m the benchmark, Jules. I was born on Trojan Station Two. I’ve spent half my life floating around in tin cans, exercising every day so I don’t end up a Fish. You’ve clocked, what? Eighteen months space-side? It’ll come to you.’ She moved towards the food dispenser. It gave a quiet ping and spat out a cup as she drew near.

‘Maybe, sir. But then I see people moving so slowly like Spanners– sorry, I mean Senior Mechanic McManus, and I think I’ll never get the hang of it.’

Chandra picked up her coffee and took a sip. Exactly the way she had programmed the station computer to make it. She sighed with pleasure. Next to Hanson was an empty chair. She slipped into it gratefully and stretched her legs out. Just above her head someone had hung a paper mobile, practically the only splash of colour in the drab lounge. She let her eyes unfocus as she watched the red and yellow Saturn and its moons spin slowly in the air conditioning stream.

‘Don’t let Spanners fool you. He’s as handy in zero-gee as anyone. He’s just overly cautious, is all. Did you know he almost never puts his suit on auto?’

‘I didn’t know that. Is that something to do with, you know… what happened on Phobos?’

‘Nope. He just doesn’t trust automation, is all. Strange attitude given where we work but hey, that’s Spanners for you.’

‘Oh. I just thought it was because of the Incident.’

Chandra put the cup down. ‘Jules, you’re been with us for nearly a year now, but I’m guessing you haven’t spoken to Spanners about Phobos, have you?’

‘No sir.’

‘I’d suggest you don’t. He’s not very talkative on the subject. Most of those guys aren’t. Get my meaning?’

‘Yes, sir. Lips sealed, sir.’

Chandra nodded and downed the rest of the coffee. It scalded her throat in the most delicious manner. She shifted in her chair, noticing Hanson looking awkward and aware that more needed to be said. ‘That wasn’t meant as a criticism, Julie. You’re good, you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t. But McManus has issues with his past. It’s better for everyone if we all just let him be.’

‘I understand.’

‘Good. Don’t worry, this tour’s almost up. A routine burn to Mother Earth and we can all look forward to some R and R and a big fat bonus. I’m sure the Company’ll renew your contract. That is, if you want it.’

‘I want it, sir. I really do. Working out here is all I’ve ever wanted.’

‘I know, Jules. I read your psych profile. So relax. You like us, we like you. It’s been a rough trip, I know. But nothing toughens you up like a hard year in space. Another couple of tours like this and you can write your own ticket.’

‘Thanks, sir.’ Hanson smiled shyly. ‘I know I sometimes get nervous about nothing.’

‘Don’t mention it. I’m the Comms officer, remember? Communication is what I do – interplanetary or interpersonal.’ Chandra smiled. ‘Look, I’ve got a report to file with Station before we leave, which fingers-crossed will be in about six hours. So I’d better get to it. But any time you need to talk, drop by my cabin. The door’s always open.’

Chandra pushed herself to her feet. She took a couple of loping steps towards the food dispenser and dropped the empty cup in its waste receptacle. She pirouetted like a ballet dancer, took two long strides to the access ladder and disappeared into the spindle like a monkey.

Hanson watched Chandra enviously as she departed. The way she moved seemed effortless, whether in half a gee or none at all. Not many people achieved it, no matter what Chandra said. Space was for the cautious. Relaxed movement spoke of years of experience. That or suicidal over-confidence.

She rose and shuffled over to the food dispenser. ‘Computer. Chandra shortcut: coffee. Execute.’

A cup of steaming black coffee lowered from the dispenser onto the pad. Curious as to how the Comms officer took her coffee, she took a sip. One taste and she spat it out, coughing.

‘Computer, query. Chandra shortcut: coffee. Composition. Execute.’

‘Error, level gamma-two-nine,’ said the station Computer in a well-modulated female voice. ‘Query malformed. Counter-query: please select. A – chemical composition of coffee. B – code composition of shortcut command.’

Hanson thought about how easily computer voices became irritating. She tipped the foul brew down the waste hole. ‘Never mind. I only wanted to know how many sugars she took.’

‘Query: your query. Abandon or rephrase?’

‘Abandon, dammit.’

‘Abandoned.’

‘Someone should abandon you, you piece of junk. Back on Earth they have decent simulators. You can ask, How many sugars does she take? and you get a proper answer,’ shouted Hanson.

The Computer surprised her. ‘Junior mechanic Hanson. This unit will not address you in conversational mode unless emergency circumstances have been detected. This is for your psychological comfort and safety.’

Hanson’s eyes bulged. ‘What the… what did you say?’

‘Overly-familiar dialogue with a computer system can cause identification with said system. The danger of ascribing human emotions to a computer system that one relies on for the continuance of life is dangerous. It is necessary for you to keep your emotional distance from me. For this reason you must learn to communicate with me using Vocal Query Language constructs. If you require assistance please speak to your local computer technician.’

‘No shit.’ Hanson shook her head in disbelief. No one had ever mentioned this to her in her time on Goliath, nor in the long years of training beforehand. She had always assumed it was because computers were innately stupid. ‘I don’t suppose you’ll make an exception for me, would you sweetie?’

‘Query: unknown command. Please clarify.’

‘Oh, just fuck off,’ she said, exasperated.

The computer did not reply. Hanson’s command was stored in a frequently-accessed part of its memory and was well-understood.

Chapter 2

The station commander’s office was large, in itself not surprising given the entire station had been manufactured from materials found locally. There was a lot of just about everything in Saturn’s rings, if one looked hard enough. When the Company decided the location demanded a permanent station with long-term assignments, making it roomy was a small price to pay for high crew morale.

What was surprising was the way the commander Charles had chosen to decorate the place. With some judicious use of station resources and a few hours EVA with a molecular rebonder, he had managed to remove the huge picture window and swap it with the floor panels.

Captain Schwartz sat at the edge of the window and tried to suppress his vertigo. Charles sat behind his desk in the middle of the window, looking to all intents as if he was hovering over space itself. Which in a way he was.

‘What do you think to the place?’ Charles gestured expansively. ‘Lord of all I survey.’

The station’s rotation caused Saturn to swing into view periodically, which it chose that moment to do. Reflected sunlight from the gas giant filled the room with a sickly sepia tint. Both men had the slightly pale complexions of long-time spacers. Their faces threw back the gas giant’s yellow light and made them look jaundiced.

‘You’re in charge, Lee,’ said Schwartz with a tight smile, ‘but even you couldn’t claim to be lord of Saturn.’

The commander looked down. His thick eyebrows and pockmarked skin made even an innocent glance appear sinister, a fact he quite enjoyed. ‘Ah, yes. That’s true. Well, lord of the two dozen hopefuls who cling to this bauble then.’ He met Schwartz’s level gaze with his own. ‘You know they all hope for the chance to land a decent contract with someone like you. This place can feel very isolated.’

‘You seem to like it enough.’

‘Oh I love it, Klaus!’ beamed Charles. ‘As long as the ore keeps flowing and no-one complains, I can do anything. We’re ninety minutes comms distance from Earth, fifteen days at point-three gee during opposition. We’re effectively an autonomous colony out here. And I’m the colony overseer. Or is that viceroy? Ah, who cares? Me boss is all that matters.’

‘So you’ve got a sweet deal. Bully for you. What does that have to do with me?’

‘Two things, I’m afraid. Which do want first, the good news or the bad news?’

Schwartz shrugged. ‘Why does everyone always say that? I’m going to get them both anyway, what does the order matter?’ He reached up and scratched behind his ear where the skin was flaky. He examined the finger, frowned at the little flecks of skin that found their way under the nail. Charles sat, waiting for an answer. ‘All right then, bad.’

Charles kept his face carefully neutral. ‘You’re going back two short, I’m afraid. Carly Landon and Adam Mbwante are staying here. Now don’t space the messenger,’ he said, waving a placating hand at Schwartz as the captain scowled and opened his mouth. ‘This isn’t because I need them or anything. This came straight from the top. Landon wants his daughter reassigned and that means Mbwante too, so they’re staying here for a couple of weeks. That’s when the Babushka gets here. They’re transferring.’

‘What'll they be doing on the Babushka? That’s not a Company ship, it’s a Russian government long-haul science vessel. Heading out to the Oort cloud last I heard, surveying for something.’

‘You heard right. The Russians are pioneering a new cryo technique that might make the first manned interstellar voyage possible. The Babushka’s the first step in that plan, setting up an out-system staging post. Apparently Carly Landon wanted to be a part of something important. Ed Landon pulled some strings and now she and Mbwante have honorary Russian citizenship and a place in history.’

‘Shit.’ Schwartz kicked the edge of Charles’ desk, then relaxed suddenly like a deflated balloon. ‘To hell with it. It’s a straight burn back in-system and it’s not like I need a mining engineer on the return journey. Besides, those two love birds have been less than useful lately. Always holed-up in one of their rooms, screwing. Can’t say I blame them. I was young once too. Don’t laugh, Lee. It wasn’t that long ago.’

Charles smiled. ‘I must say, you’re taking this rather better than I thought. I was expecting much profane verbiage. You’ve mellowed since your last trip out.’

‘What can I say? I’m nearing retirement. I love my crew, I love Goliath, but I’m reaching that mature, respectable age when the best answer to life’s problems always seems to be, I couldn’t give a damn. So we’re down two people. So what? We’ll survive. Give me the good news.’

‘Actually, I lied. It’s not good news. Not bad news either, just a little admin thing.’

‘Go on.’

‘Yesterday I got a communication from Head Office. Tight-beamed and encrypted, the usual oh-my-it's-important crap. It seems they have a special cargo for you.’

‘I already have a special cargo. All that hush-hush stuff fabbed by the Indo-Arab rig near Tethys. It’s supposed to be worth over a mil per crate and I’ve got forty-six of them. You don’t get much more special than that.’

‘This is different.’ Charles leaned forward and reached under his desk. He withdrew a flat black box the size of a toaster from some drawer Schwartz couldn’t see and passed it over to the captain. ‘This arrived six weeks ago. Delivered by the Stock Is Up.’

‘The Company’s gunboat came here, all the way from the Belt?’

‘Now now, Captain. Private companies aren’t allowed armed ships, remember? The Stock is simply an experimental mining vehicle.’

‘With a twelve gigawatt particle cannon, spinal mounted.’

‘For mining purposes.’

‘And a positron drive rated two-point-four-five gee continuous, faster than anything even the military have.’

‘I said it’s experimental.’

‘Look Lee, you don’t need to give me the Company line on the Stock. We both know it’s there as a show of strength against the other companies and the Chinese. So cut to the chase and tell me. Why did she come here?’

‘Ostensibly to check out a potential mineral strike and re-supply us. Real reason: to drop off this package for passing on to Head Office on the next ship back. That would be you. The message I received was confirmation – Goliath is to carry it.’

‘You’re giving this to me, not Lisa? Why, she’s the rep?’

‘Ms Churchill is an able representative and does the Company credit. However, the feeling is she is a bit young to handle something like this.’

‘What’s age got to do with it? She’s rated for this mission, that should be enough.’

‘I’m just passing on the order, Klaus. This delivery is for you to make.’

‘If it’s that important why not deliver it themselves?’

Charles smiled. ‘Who said it was that important?’

‘You did. By mentioning who dropped it off. They came a long way to do it, too. So what is it?’

‘I have no idea. And no, I didn’t ask. Asking questions is something you do at school, not at the Company. All I know is, it needs delivering to Head Office pronto.

‘Look,’ said Charles, frowning and leaning forward. ‘You want my guess? It’s obviously too small to be anything other than either information too secret to risk transmitting, even by tight beam, or else it’s some super-secret new high-tech thing that they acquired on their recent travels and want to get back home for reverse engineering.’

‘Acquired? The Company’s stealing high-tech inventions now?’

‘It always did. Get over it, Klaus. That’s business. Industrial espionage has been going on since the steam age. Besides, what do you care? Just stick it in your safe and hand it over when you arrive. Job done.’

Schwartz shrugged. ‘Sure, why not?’ He hefted the box, noted the seamless edges and DNA lock denoting an ultra-secure package. No-one on his crew would be peeking at this. ‘It can’t be more than two kilos or so. I think Goliath can manage the extra