The Ship

I reminded myself that smart people with access to 35th century science and technology are not going to blindly believe what they want to believe. Therefore, the woman I was about to meet, on pain of some serious blackmailing, had a legitimate cause. In this case, that cause seemed to be subverting or even fighting the occupation.
As requested, I ducked into an alley to head toward a disused parking area among the old industrial district. The nanofabs and shops had been moved to the spaceport after the takeover.
Some rundown sand rail sort of thing was there. With the dust mask removed, it was obvious this was the woman who called herself Paola in our video calls. Her olive complexion and dark eyes were less distinctive in person, though she clearly had ancestors from South America. She had turned the car around to face the street and was looking in my direction.
When she saw me, she waved around to the passenger side. I could tell she was holding a pistol, with a suppressor on it. I pretended not to care, but she could not have missed me looking at the thing. You don't see civilians holding guns, ever.
I got in. The interior looked like a car dragged away from recycling at the last instant and patched up. Cut wires in the dash indicated where the GPS had probably been mounted.
She smiled, just for an instant. "The gun's not for you/" I wanted to ask why it had a silencer on it, but I'm afraid I know the answer.
"Nice to meet you in person, I guess."
"We can trust each other." I couldn't tell if it was a statement or a question, so I just nodded.
"Can I get a briefing now."
"My employer is grateful for your help. Now, we need you to use that computer you hacked."
"And do what?"
"Send a message."
I waited a few seconds, hoping she would go on. She didn't. "Fine, I guess. When and where?"
Something caused Paola to slip the pistol under the driver's seat. Two militia soldiers walked five meters in front of them. They slowed down and looked at the car.
Paola looked at Joel and nodded. "I'll buy it then, if we can agree to a price."
Joel managed a smile and a nod.
The soldiers went on their way.

****

I took the light rail to the Dustbin, where dun-colored sand clung to vehicles, shoes, windows, and hair. The ground transit station was busy inside and out. Even under a sun shade the heat was brutal, so I went inside and stayed. An unarmed rent-a-cop gave me a quick look, but left me alone.
My new contact wasn't due for half an hour or so. I passed the time by grabbing a soy drink from the autogalley and watching the news on the closest monitor.
Right on time, the truck arrived. I could see it approaching through one of the tinted windows in the waiting room. I waited for the driver to come inside.
A moment later a tall, lanky man in blue coveralls and no undershirt walked up to the door. He seemed to recognize me. Boris was the name, he said. I gave him my new, fake, name.
Boris was the quiet type. We trundled along the dusty track - road was too generous a term - for several minutes. A fog fence bordered the track at this point. Randy glanced over at me. "How long have you been trying to get out of that place?" The rest of the roughly two minutes of conversation consisted of Boris complaining about the occupation and the new rules and the soldiers and spies crawling all over the place. He mentioned wanting to kill a few of them. The rants made me doubly glad he wasn't a big talker.
After an hour or so we arrived at what looked like an old atmosphere processing plant, or whatever they were called. This plant had probably been shut down 40 or so years ago, when the atmosphere engineering work was done. This one still had a few lights on so part of it was obviously still in operation. We seemed to be the only humans around.
Boris went back to his truck without saying anything more to me. I walked around the edge of complex. There was supposed to be a barely visible trail at the back, to the left for someone coming from the road.
The trail leading into the badlands wasn't as obvious as I would have liked. That might have been the point, considering my new rural friends were keeping a low profile. But, I found what I took to be the trailhead and trudged onward. I followed the trail for about 10 minutes, sweating and starting to feel my nasal passages and throat swell shut. Down went my last bit of water.
Someone walked around the corner twenty meters away - a young Asian woman with short hair, almost a buzz cut, and loose dun-colored robes, goggles and a dust mask. She was even carrying a gun slung over one shoulder.
"Hello." I waved, probably looking weak and nervous.
"Hello Joel." We'll go back that way, she indicated a second trail just behind her. She waited for me to pass and followed along. This was the first thing that made me a bit nervous. That, and the fact she never introduced herself.
"How long have you lived here" I asked. The terrain had opened up to rolling dusty hills littered with rocks, some as big as I am tall. The path led down a gentle slope then up and around the top of an ancient hilltop. Delta P was almost directly overhead. Navaros was near the southern horizon.
Presently, we reached the front door of a pre-fab building set at the edge of a mostly clear spot. I could see parts of the roofs or walls of a few other buildings. The one open space I could see had a dun-colored net over it.
The door opened from inside. A slender young man, dressed like the woman, opened the door. He also carried a rifle slung on one shoulder.
The building was an old prefab storeroom, probably. Now it had exhaust fans, LED lights, and plastic furniture set up like a sort of dining room. Doors in the far wall and the left were closed.
I followed the man, while the young woman followed me; some trust still needed to be built I supposed.
A stern-looking older guy was sitting there drinking tea. He didn't acknowledge us at first, but I recognized Smith when I saw him. The avatar really did look like him.
"I suppose you will want to know why exactly I wanted you to come out here and help our little group, instead of doing things remotely." He stood up as he said that.
"The urge to ask did strike me a few times."
"Follow me." He turned and waved for me to follow.
I followed him through a flimsy plastic door. Robert followed. A short walk in the open under the blazing sun, ended at an identical flimsy plastic door. A couple of people who were outside looked me over.
Smith led us into what looked like a small electronics workshop. A female technician, buzz cut and wearing utilitarian grey coveralls was kneeling in the corner working on something that might have been an ancient computer. "Leave us alone for a few minutes please."
She nods and leaves without saying anything to anyone. When she closes the door, Smith turns to the computer monitor and VR helmet and goggles sitting on a table along one wall.
"We need you to access the capital's communication network and send a message."
"What sort of message?" I took a seat and began to study their setup.
"There is a ship in the dust and debris ring at the edge of the system." That was news to me. I mean everyone probably heard or read a rumor of the retreated Dominion fleet leaving a ship behind when they fled into interstellar space. There was a search just after the invasion, and the results were...Funny, but I did not know.
"Evidence suggests the ship is still out there. And we have a pretty good idea of where it is."
"How did you find out?"
Smith shakes his head. "I'll just keep that to myself, but the evidence is solid. We traced the likely location to a tiny part of the debris disk about 93 AU from us." He looked delighted at relating these facts. This should have set off and alarm in my head, but some people are just slow I guess.
"What do you want to accomplish with this message?"
"We'll summon the ship back to the planet, now that the defenses are weak. The mere approach of the ship would terrorize the occupiers and stir up rebellion. Once people see a real chance to take the planet back, they'll take it."
"How long would it take the ship to get here?"
"It would take, oh, 180 standard days or so."
"The result will be inevitable anyway. I doubt the enemy can organize a response in that time. We don't think they have any of their ships in the system."
"I'd ask how you came to that conclusion."
Smith smiled, just a little. "And I wouldn't tell you. Compartmentalized information. Anyway, I trust we can count on your cooperation and subsequent silence."
"Of course," I said. "Are you sure you have the right communications...whatever, authorization?"
Smith hesitated for a moment. "Yes. We know the correct protocol. There were records buried in a forgotten corner of some database. We had enough information to reconstruct the correct methodology."
While we chatted, I examined the VR equipment and monitor. Everything was normal enough as far as I could tell. You could secure this equipment from a dozen different places. I guessed that was a smart move, using off-the-shelf electronics.
"So, you want to send the message from here?" That sounded a bit risky, in my untutored mind.
Smith shook his head. "We don't have the gear for something like that. We expect you to hack the communication network at that automated factory and transmit the signal to the spaceport's long-range radio."
I nodded, calm on the outside. Did he have any idea how dangerous that would be? And complicated? I started to ask. But Smith was one move ahead of me.
"I suspect you are wondering how easy that would be. Well, as easy as the other things you've done. Security has gotten lax since a few years after the takeover."
That was true, at least according to my own experience.
"When do we send the message? And what exactly are we going to say?"
"I'll give you a file to send via a compressed digital signal. We have to move pretty soon. That's why I was anxious to get you out here. I don't want to try and remotely move the radio antenna but the signal will cover much of the relevant area of the Kuiper Belt now and for the next few days."
I had to wonder why was Smith giving away so much about this operation to someone he chatted with online a few times? I mean we were both using avatars, as far as the other knew. I could have been anyone. This spoke to either desperation, or thoroughness if they could find out my real identity and vet me.
Smith dismissed me and said he would get back to me when it was time to send the message, sometime in the next few days. I resolved to ask what came next at that time, if I didn't see Smith again before.
My escort from earlier in the day came over and led me to a small room. He said his name was Raul. The faded, chipped paint on the walls and the sections of floor worn white from heavy use made the place look old. It had one tiny window, now covered by a steel screen on the outside. The only furnishings inside were a thin mattress on a metal frame and a couple of naked LED bulbs. I tossed my bag inside.
Everyone left me pretty much alone after that. If Paola was around, I didn't see her and no one else tried to strike up a conversation. After two days of nothing, Smith summoned me and told me it was an appropriate time to send the message. We were in position to reach the ship and a trio of engineers had left. They must have been the people who arrived in the car that we saw outside the mine.
Smith led me to what passed for an office - plastic furniture and a retro PC - and had me sit down. The message as he explained it, was simple. Some technical stuff that would establish our status as regular colonists, plus relevant IDs, and an appeal to move into orbit above the planet. A recent digest of sensor data would be attached too.
"Isn't it a needless risk to send our real identities?"
I waited until sunset to head out. The heat was still oppressive, worse because I had to face reality and wear a dust mask. I saw no signs of other people out in the badlands. Alpha Draconis B was impressive out here, far away from city lights, but I was too nervous to admire it.
I jogged down to the mining complex and into the communication shack. The door wasn't locked. If the door had been locked I would have simply broken a window and climbed in. That would have been a huge mistake, but I had no idea at the time.
The inside of the shack was dark, and hot as hell. I fired up the computer, another all-in-one desktop with a big LED monitor. There was a good network connection. I hacked into the government's communication and data network in a few minutes. That was easy, but sweaty work. Even two hours after sunset it was about 40 degrees outside, and almost as hot in the shack.
The radio transmitter was easy to talk too and took those hefty attachments with no trouble. I got a confirmation that the message has been sent.
The faint whine of an electric motor got my attention. Nobody was supposed to coming around. I hit the power switch on the monitor and hoped It wasn't too late. Then I got down out of sight. If they weren't paying attention, I figured I could slip out in a minute.
In a minute or so before I heard voices outside. Right outside the door. The door handle turned, but the door was locked now, so nothing happened. After a moment, the voices moved away. I risked a look out the small side window. The two people, men in grey coveralls it looked like, went into another shack, and left the door open.
I grabbed the memory stick and slipped outside, keeping low, opening the door just enough to slip out, then closing it nice and slow. No need to attract attention. Only then did it cross my mind that a third person might be around.
There was a third person, leaning against the electric lorry and smoking. He was in a police uniform. He saw me an instant after I saw him.
Before he could say anything or go for a weapon I ran for the shadows between the hulking ore processors, planning to come out behind and run into the badlands under cover of total darkness.
I went around behind the processing machinery, clambered onto some metal drums and risked a look back the way I had come. I could see a little of the lorry, but no people. With no one around, I scrambled over the fence and jogged into the desert.
Whoever he was, neither he nor his companions had much of an appetite for chasing a scavenger into the darkness. I got away clean, or at least thought I did. At the first big boulder, I knelt down to rest for a moment and check my path. There really was nobody following me. With luck, they would check the communication shack and complex, find nothing amiss, and go about whatever business they were there to take care of.
If they checked the computer the game was up. Anyone with common sense wouldn't even need that much information to sense trouble and do some snooping. Snooping would lead to the record a very large file being transmitted onward to the world's only interplanetary range microwave transmitter, and sent off-world.
I tried to decide what if anything to do about this as I ran back to the settlement and further wondered if I should tell Smith what happened. On the latter issue, I decided to only say I had slipped away and sent the message but someone saw me running away.
There was time to think because I took a detour east for a kilometer or so. Still no sign of being followed.

****

The first chance to get a return message would come about eight to nine hours after the first signal. If we got incredibly lucky we would hear something from the ship then, or soon after. We were entering the area where a signal would, perhaps, go to the right place.
A couple of guys with guns went on a patrol to the south and east. Another person went out to watch the road. This was normal anyway. Someone was almost always out there watching the mining facility and the road east of there, just in case. There were drones sometimes, but apparently the dissidents weren't at all worried.
When I finally made it back, Smith was waiting. "Success?"
I nodded. "Yeah. Had to do some extra running around."
Smith frowned. "Were you spotted?"
"You said nobody would be there. Three people arrived in a lorry. One of them was in a militia uniform. He saw me when I slipped out of the communication shack and ran."
"Are you sure you weren't followed?" Smith motions for me to take a seat at the little table in his office. I do.
"I was looking over my shoulder believe me. And I took a detour deeper into the badlands." I pointed in what I thought was an easterly direction. "So, it took me extra time to get here."
"Hand over the memory stick."
I did so. "The message went out about one hour ago. I'm sure it was not detected. This time."
"I also hope we won't need to try many more times to make contact. I have taken a huge risk to set this plan in motion." I wanted to say something about the two dozen or so followers of his who don't fully understand how daft this scheme really is. Before I could think of a snappy retort, Smith decided to continue. "So, in about seven or eight hours we'll know if the old boy is talking."
"Obviously, there will be a response. The ship was programmed to fight this exact enemy."
I stood up and started to leave. "How certain can you be that the message can't be traced to the mining complex?"
I remembered the computer I had left on, and logged into a fake government account. "I can't say with 100% confidence that the origin would be impossible to find."

****

Later, I took a quick shower and went to bed. As I lay there, trying to fall asleep there were clicking noises just outside the door. Before I had time to think if this was something bad or good or just odd, the noises stopped. For no rational reason at all, I decided to get up and check the door. It wouldn't open.
I tried the door a few more times just to be sure. Yeah, it was locked. I looked back at the window - tiny, covered by a mesh screen outside, so not much chance of going out that way.
Now I started to worry, more. Did they plan to keep me around after I finished the job? I thought about pounding on the door and yelling for someone. That would have been useless and a little dangerous.
I didn't get much sleep. Mercifully, some few hours later someone unlocked the door and pushed it open a bit. I looked outside. Nothing to see or hear, which was a bit of a surprise as compact as the place seemed to be. I went right, toward the courtyard. Of course I figured out that people were either out at work or...the message! Yeah, it was probably about the first time we could expect a return message from the ship.
The door to the courtyard was open, guarded by someone I didn't recognize. He held up a hand as I approached. "You'll have to wait. Smith doesn't want you over there while they work."
The door to what looked like a computer and communications shack was open there on the other side of the courtyard. A couple of people were outside. I recognized Paola but not the other woman.
I leaned against the wall and waited to see what developed. When I looked at the other end of the hall the guard told me the door was still locked. Nothing happened for a time. The low voices came and went. A couple of people entered the courtyard from another direction, and stood near the door.
The girl shook her head and walked away. She looked like she ate something sour. When she saw me she did seem to brighten up, but when out of the courtyard without acknowledging me.
Smith sent me away at once. I went right back to my little room, under escort from another of the rebels I had not been introduced to. He didn't say anything.

***

The next day, nothing much happened. Smith suggested that he might have more work for me, then nothing. The mysterious girl hung around, being mysterious. She pretended to ignore me, and only spoke briefly to a couple of others.
Early that evening, maybe an hour after sunset, she came to get me. I was apparently to be sent back into town. The new identity they promised me was all in order, it seemed. I had a complete fake identity to go with the fake ID card. She showed that to me on her old tablet.
"What's next?"
"Meet me at the garage in thirty minutes. You're going back to town until we need you again."

***

We headed out of the base as fast as we could. The hybrid electric drive howled, but it felt good to move fast in the blazing afternoon heat.
It was more like two kilometers and the road ends at another old mining or processing facility. This one has security lights on, but no sign of movement. We skirted around it and sped up. Onto the paved road.
Headlights appeared on the road behind us. It looks like a big vehicle but I can't really tell in the dark.
She accelerated.
Whoever it is, they begin to close the distance - it is a militia vehicle, an armored 4X4.
"I hope they aren't coming for us." I looked over my shoulder. The guys we passed flashed their lights. "I think they are trying to pull us over."
"If they do, don't say a thing unless they ask you a question. Stick with our Technician cover if you have to." The car slowed down and she pulled to her right, one set of wheels off the gravel road.
The vehicle raced past, lights blazing, turbine whining. Mercifully, they drove right past us.
A few seconds later Paola got back on the road.
"Do I get to keep the gun?"
"Not much point in that." She smiled when she looked over at me, predatory almost. "The firing pin had been removed. In case you went rogue or something."
That kept me quiet for a couple of minutes. I was about to share one of my very eloquent and obscene replies to this news when a military checkpoint came into view. The crazed militia driver who blew past us was there on this side of the road.
The checkpoint outside the Dustbin was just visible in the darkness. In spite of the heat, I feel a bit of a chill. There are three cars parked, leaving the area. All of the occupants are out on the road being patted down and questioned.
A soldier on the other side of the road just motioned for us to keep driving. My sphincter relaxed, just a little.
"If they found out you owned a gun you'd," then she made a gesture like she was hanging herself.
"We're both in this pretty deep Joel, or whoever you are. Keep your head down."
Like I had another choice. "Well, I know you'll be in touch soon."