5
Ghost Rider
(Vapor Trails)
The view from the Grumpy Toad was nothing less than stunning. Mad Mary and I floated in our underwear in the darkened flight deck, as close to the canopy glass as we could get, all the instrumentation dimmed as far as the safety systems would allow us so that there were no background reflections from inside the flight deck to spoil the moment. Here, with the lights low, it looked almost as good as if we were sat outside on the surface of the hull and looking down. You couldn’t get this view from Thompson Port, the Coriolis starport orbiting Varati’s sixth planet. That spun nine ways to Sunday, so no matter where you positioned yourself in there to get a view of the planet below, you simply could not concentrate on any particular feature and, eventually, lose yourself in the beauty and majesty of the celestial creation that we beheld.
When watched in silence from the station the planet below was always moving, the scene rotating too rapidly to focus on any single aspect of the world. Everything moved too fast, the portion of the world that was viewable sweeping from right to left across whatever porthole you pressed your nose against. It was disorienting. You could access the raw feed from one of the stabilised weather forecasting camera platforms that corrected for the roll of the station to provide a view and cast it onto your apartment’s high definition vu-wall, but it wasn’t the same. Here, with no gravity, with our heads pressed close to the glass so that the canopy frame didn’t interfere with the view, it really did feel like you were floating above it, like angels looking down from heaven.
Blue oceans, their uniformity enhanced by contrasting smears of hundreds of white clouds that, refreshingly, were not luminous with type 2B jump radioactivity, dominated the surface. To the left of the canopy I could see a major weather system forming – hurricane, typhoon, I knew little of meteorology, so I couldn’t be certain which, but as I stared at it I could see the disc of destruction slowly moving, a rotation measured in fractions of a degree admittedly, but it was definitely moving. To the right was the terminator – the constantly moving partition between night and day, and on the darkened side I could just make out tiny pinpricks of light that betrayed the presence of man.
The visible land masses were invariably a lush mixture of greens, teeming with plant life and, in most cases, human settlers. These freshly colonised worlds were so far unscarred by the giant metal and concrete monstrosities that man found necessary to sustain him, to keep him warm and dry and to power his high definition vu-walls. The white smears of pure water vapour were yet to be in competition with the grey, brown and black smears of pollutants being pumped into the atmosphere as this world’s natural resources, created over millions of years, were consumed in mere decades by the destructive parasites that walked across its surface.
From up in space you tend to look down on these worlds as abstract things, a little like paintings in a gallery or museum that you can marvel at but not touch. You pass them way too fast to pay attention to them, too busy making money or fighting for your life to take the time to sit back and appreciate that they are much more than little blue marbles spiralling through space. It is often said that the first time a spacefarer looks down upon an inhabited world he experiences a shift in his grasp of his place in this universe and, more importantly, the impact that man is having upon it, but those feelings don’t last. Over time you become jaded to the spectacle until after a while they are ‘just another consumable Earth-like.’
Each ELW we colonise is a fragile oasis of humanity scattered through space, expanding the realms of the human race like the seeds of trees scattered across the floor of a forest. The more of them there were, the better mankind’s chances of surviving whatever the galaxy could throw at it, whether it be a comet strike, solar flare or some other calamity that nobody saw coming. Up here in space, pilots like me were charged with protecting them from the threats that man can see coming and evacuating them from those that we can’t do anything to forestall, such as damage wrought upon the alien ecosystem that science cannot repair. One only has to look at time lapse vids of Old Earth to see the devastating changes that modern civilisations can wreak upon fragile ecosystems in shockingly short spans of time.
Of course, that was why we humans had expanded out into space. Not because we could, but because we had to. That was a lesson drummed into us at a very young age in school on Azeban, a mandatory part of the curriculum reinforced all the way from kindergarten to graduation. We were taught that Old Earth had once been very much like Azeban, with fertile land masses and oceans teeming with life. Like Azeban it once had ice caps, but the pollution created by decades of lifestyle excesses, ignorance and carelessness ate away at the paper-thin skin of atmosphere protecting the surface and its inhabitants from the deadly hazards of space, heating up the ecosphere to a tipping point from which there was no return. The brilliant white ice at the poles melted to water and ceased reflecting the heat from the sun. The dark waters of oceans that now covered more of the earth’s surface than ever before instead began to absorb even more of that radiated heat, warming further still, unocking methane from the depths, a potent greenhouse gas that only served to accelerate the process of catastrophic climate change. Deadly microbes, long frozen, were released into the environment, adding pandemic after pandemic to climate crisis in a perfect storm of planetary destruction.
Our ancestors had to look up to the stars because they could no longer look down. The grass beneath their feet was turning to sand, the seas that they once swam in had become contaminated with microplastics and the carcasses of millions of animals that could not survive in the toxic, tepid stew that mankind had transformed Earth’s oceans into. Perversely the only thing that had saved Earth from losing its atmosphere to space completely was being pitched into a decades long war and a subsequent nuclear winter that plunged the survivors into years of sub-zero temperatures, an unexpected side-effect of which was the partial reformation of ice caps at the poles. Earth somehow, almost miraculously, clawed it’s way back out of a shallow grave. Without industry, with all of its major economies devasted, with hundreds of cities turned to rubble in instants and billions of polluters turned to ash, the slow death by hydrocarbon asphyxiation from a billion petrochemical engines and microplastic poisoning from nine billion carefree consumers was stopped dead in its tracks. Thousands of species of animal died off in the aftermath, but mankind – clever, creative, desperate mankind - survived, it’s priorities changed forever.
The planet wasn’t the same and never would be, but those who chose to remain on Earth or who could not afford the literally astronomical price of a ticket to the stars survived, wiser and more careful, determined not to make the same mistake again. The greens of Earth were still not as vivid as those on most ELWs, possessing a colour a fraction browner than those seen on as yet untainted worlds like Azeban and Varati for example. The blues of Earth’s seas were a degree more grey than they had been, the clouds a smidgeon less white, the ice caps smaller than most, but it remained a habitable world, the capital of the mighty ‘Federation of Star Systems’ and a creative hub for technologies that made either zero or positive net impacts on life supporting ecologies. Earth may be what historians like to call the ‘cradle of humanity’, but its children had left the nursery to make their homes amongst the stars.
“I wonder where they are.” Mary said, her voice not much more than a whisper, but seeming unnecessarily loud after the extended silence that had preceded it. After all the time we had spent in each other’s pockets we seemed to have very little left to say to each other, but at least she was making the effort.
“Huh?”
“Max and Floss.”
The elders of our expedition had decided to blow a bit of disposable income and caught a planetary shuttle down to the surface of Varati to do some sightseeing while we were waiting for our quarry to emerge from hyperspace. Farseer could afford the excursion planetside, though the cheap so-and-so refused to spring for the extra so that Mary and I could tag along. Flossy had said that she wanted to visit Canonn’s museum of unidentified artifacts at the metropolis down on the surface. As she was the one stumping up for the excursion, I expected Max to be frothing at the mouth with impatience to get to a beachside pub so that he could rent a recliner and soak up some of the rays from Varati A with a cocktail in his hand.
Daniel and the rest of the assault team that we had picked up from Polecteri were back at a hotel on Thompson Port doing whatever it is that special operations soldiers do the night before a mission that held the potential to get them killed. Maybe they slept to prepare themselves. More likely they went wild with the local girls or wrought destruction upon dive bars to get the tension out of their systems. Mary and I, with nothing better to do and time on our hands, found that we had the Grumpy Toad to ourselves, so we’d parked it in space a little off the beaten track where nobody approaching the starport or jumping into supercruise would crash into it and made the most of the solitude to make some noise of our own.
“Surfing.” I deadpanned. The mental picture of Max balancing on a surfboard, beer gut hanging over the waistband of his stretched shorts while skeletal, milk skinned Felicity skimmed the waves alongside him in a baggy bikini cracked her up.
“Oh for kcuf sake, pass the mind bleach.” She grimaced. “That image just has to go. Why would you do that to me?”
“Sorry,” I offered sheepishly.
“You’ll pay later.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“I’ll think of something.” She scowled. “Normally I’d sit on your face and wriggle for ten minutes, but in zero gee it’s not quite the same.”
“I’ll take that sort of chastisement in any gravity you want.” I smiled lasciviously.
“I bet you would.” She laughed. “Give me a minute and I’ll come up with something worthy.” She replied, pinching the flesh of my forearm viciously.
“Hey!” I yelped.
“And that’s not it. That was just an interim punishment.” She promised.
“I imagine they are making their way back to the shuttle pad by now. It won’t be long before we have to head out to the black to ambush whatever ship is touring the listening posts.” I grimaced, massaging my arm where she had pierced the skin with her fingernails, smearing a microdot of blood into a thin pink line on both arm and palm.
We had, by committee decision and after several days of heated argument, decided that what we must be chasing a lost INRA warship that had been built shortly after GalCop disintegrated. It had to be a warship of some type because it was using a military grade Type 2B drive to make its hyperspace jumps, and it had to be of that age else it would have been recalled and upgraded with a standard Frame Shift Drive, like every other ship in existence had been in the last twenty years. Sometimes a ship goes out on a mission but never comes back and the list of INRA warships that had disappeared without trace in the vast emptiness of space was a long one, so it was a reasonable assumption to make in the absence of any solid evidence to the contrary.
Farseer believed that we were chasing an unmanned probe, but any ideas as to what its purpose might be remained in the realms of speculation. The best we could come up with was that it was an automated scout ship that had detected signs of Thargoid activity at the edge of human space and, unable to establish communications with the Galactic Co-operative’s now defunct Equinox command centre was instead manually alerting the network of GalCop built listening posts so that humanity was not only alerted to the danger, but also directed toward seeking out a database containing information that might help in the coming war with them. Why the ship couldn’t just rock up to the nearest military outpost and upload its findings, or merely sit at the edge of a core system and broadcast it in the clear was something we still hadn’t managed to agree upon.
Farseer hypothesised that any AI in control of a hyperspace capable starship, especially if it was armed, would have a limited number of options open to it lest it overstep its remit and drop its overlords in trouble. Militaries being the same all over and obsessed with secrecy and keeping things from civilians would surely have prevented it from sitting just outside a starport and screaming ‘The Thargoids are coming!’ by omitting that option from the AI’s menus. Perhaps with GalCop and INRA now just memories it couldn’t park itself up at a military base as it didn’t recognise the authority of the Federation, Empire or AIS as both GalCop and INRA had operated beyond the oversight of today’s superpowers. Aegis, only formed by the triumvirate of superpowers in 3303 once the return of the Thargoids had been confirmed, might not even register to it.
I had my doubts over its reticence being down to the restricted number of options available to an AI. I could not imagine any AI’s teacher only giving it the option of reporting to recognised GalCop or INRA facilities before sending it out on a decades long mission during which one or both organisations might have ceased to exist. The conflict with the Thargoids was a struggle for survival for all of humanity, not just it’s serving militaries. I had argued that there must be a fall-back option in the case of the AI being unable to report back to its creators, only to be lectured on the overriding focus of the military on secrecy by Max, and the draconian limitations and oversight placed by society on stand-alone AI creations by Farseer.
I understood and accepted both points of view. Absolutely, the military are totally paranoid about secrecy – always have been, always will be. Sure, the rest of humanity is scared half to death over artificially intelligent machines having too much power, but my argument was that the stakes were too high to place restrictions on a probe from being able to report back its findings. What was it to do, simply stand aside while the Thargoids steamrollered through colonised space and then claim that nobody at the helpdesk would answer it’s calls?
I glanced at Mary to find her staring down at the planet below. She had admitted to me that she felt like dead weight in this expedition so far, along for the ride and contributing very little to the operation. Farseer was proving useful in predicting where the arrival and departure jump clouds would be, so her place on the crew had been earned, although as the days dragged on she was becoming more and more concerned about her own engineering operation that she had left in the hands of her minions on Deciat. Max was the boss calling the shots. I was the pilot and chief coffee maker. We’d already ditched the assault team pending locating the elusive starship. Mary wasn’t sure what her role in all this was, other than as a walking encyclopaedia of unsolved mysteries, there only to regale us with questions that nobody in the galaxy could answer in the periods of boredom while we scanned interstellar space for the next jump cloud.
Max and I had assured her that when we finally caught up with the ship and figured out what it was, her insights would undoubtedly shine some light on what it actually was, but we both knew that we were only paying her lip service. She had confided in me that she felt out of her depth on operations instead of deskbound and in her comfort zone, worried that when it came time to explain what was going on that she would be placed in the spotlight and found lacking. For a woman who had shown herself to be almost aggressively forthright and confident socially, professionally all that confidence seemed to have slipped away and now she emanated an air of what I would call uncertainty and vulnerability. I was happy that she had stayed the course. Well, bits of my anatomy were, but I understood where she was coming from. She had shown us that she could talk the talk, but now we were on the eve of her having to prove that she could also walk the walk she seemed to be suffering from a crisis of confidence.
“What’s up?” I asked. She responded by pushing herself off the canopy frame, propelling herself across the space between us until her bare arm bumped against mine, her golden brown skin contrasting with the milky white of my own. Her fingers curled around my wrist, locking us together.
“Not sure. I guess I’m a little worried.”
I reached ahead and tapped the glass of the canopy with my fist. “Yep, it’s a helluva long way down but I promise you won’t fall out.”
She uttered half a laugh, little more than a brief involuntary exhalation of breath borne more of nervousness than any appreciation of my sense of humour.
“Worried about what?” I pressed after the length of the silence became uncomfortable.
“All sorts. What we’re going to find tomorrow, how they’ll react to being found. I’m office personnel, an analyst. Fieldwork isn’t my thing. I didn’t come out here to die.”
“If it gets hairy I promise I’ll get us out of there.” I assured her. “Look, at least now we know it’s not Thargoid so that’s a big chunk of danger dispelled. Why don’t you sit tomorrow out and leave the intercept to us?” I suggested. I saw no reason why she couldn’t relax at a hotel on Thompson Port while we dealt with the mystery starship.
“I want to be there.” Mary asserted. “This ship may hold the answers to all the mysteries surrounding the GCS Sarasvati. After coming this far I need to see it through to the big reveal. I was the one that brought this enigma to Max’s attention. He put me in charge of gathering all the data and chasing down all the clues until all I had left were dead ends. I can’t walk away now, not this close to busting so many stalled investigations wide open. Recovering Calvin’s archive could change everything.”
There wasn’t much I could say to make her feel better. Ok, she was scared of what she might find – so was I to a degree - but at the same time she clearly wasn’t going to back out of sticking her head into the hornet’s nest. “Is coming worth the risk?” I asked. “Surely you’d get the data you need whether you were there at the end or not.”
“You don’t know how Alliance Intel work.” She sighed. “Most of what I process is second hand news from field operatives who overheard something in a bar. Hearsay. That word pretty much describes the nature of the information that crosses my desk. I deal with rumours, gossip, scuttlebutt and speculation, not hard evidence. The evidence goes to other desks. If this is as big as I’m hoping, then I have no doubt that Max will shut me out. If I’m there, he can’t do anything about it.”
It suddenly dawned on me what she was doing here. This had nothing to do with her interest in unsolved mysteries like The Dark Wheel and Raxxla. It had nothing to do with her being Max’s daughter, either. I believed that she saw this assignment as her ticket up the corporate ladder, a vehicle for hurtling up the ranks from junior analyst to department head and probably higher still, perhaps all the way to director at some future point. If this operation panned out as she was hoping then her name would be in big bold print front and centre on the reports that landed on the desks of every Alliance bigwig on Turner’s World, all the way up to Jasmina Halsey and Edmund Mahon. This would make Mary a rising star in the ranks of Alliance Intel, advancing her career decades at a stroke.
Ambition had brought her here, I realised. As part of this team her name would be on the lips of every conspiracy theorist and debunker in existence. Books would be written about this. Vids would be made. For sure, I knew I’d be including this experience in my memoirs no matter how it panned out, if only to show off my romantic prowess and my ability to pull hot chicks to my adoring readers.
Screw ambition, I smiled inwardly. Fame and fortune would be the rewards for the survivors of this mission and I wasn’t going to turn that down. My last mission with Max had ended with me sat in an interrogation chamber on an Alliance carrier, under hot spotlights and surrounded by tooled up marines and lawyers with bad attitudes, signing reams of paperwork ordering me to keep my mouth shut and never reveal to anybody what had happened at the takedown of the Trivora and the fate of the weapons that the terrorists had fabricated. I still saw D-notices and non-disclosure agreements in my nightmares. This operation, however, would be history in the making and you couldn’t keep that under wraps for long. It seemed like every couple of months there would be a new docudrama doing the rounds, expounding upon the latest fashionable theories about Raxxla or The Dark Wheel, and the audience for those subjects was massive and ever hungry for more, willing to dig deep and pay for more. The truth will always come out eventually, Si had once told me, and this would be no different.
Personally, a part of me hoped that this would just be one great big wild goose chase, a waste of time that would lead to another dead end to further stymie Mary’s desire to unravel mysteries that had gone unsolved for centuries. An unmanned GalCop probe with a limited software suite suited me just fine because while Mary was concerned about what the unidentified ship might do when we located it, it wasn’t that aspect that worried me. It was more a feeling that ‘The Club’ might already be aware of this expedition and would attempt an intervention at some stage to maintain the secrecy surrounding these mysteries. Somehow, I didn’t think signing non-disclosure agreements would satisfy The Club and instead we’d be met with something a little more violent than that, given their history. The pen may be mightier than the sword, but not much beats an engineered Corvette in the hands of an Elite commander.
So with that in mind, I broke the sombre silence with; “D’you fancy going back to business class and making a little noise?”
“Men! You’re all the kcufing same. Is that all you can think about?” She turned to face me, a bemused yet at the same time amused cast to her features. “You do realise we could be dead this time tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah, sorry.” I apologised.
“So let’s go make lots and lots of noise.” She smiled as she reached behind her back to unclasp her bra. We were about to join the thirty thousand mile high club.
tbc