The Siege of LX-925 Read online

  Chapter 2

  Led through the corridors of the R.S. Freedom, Remy considered his liaison, Lieutenant Anders. He had been through a number of inspections back on Earth. Sometimes the military would pair him with an officer, sometimes not; but the liaison always had experience. Every government in the world under UN scrutiny wanted an experienced individual babysitting the inspectors to make sure state secrets weren’t spilled or hidden facilities weren’t accidentally discovered.

  One time, Remy had been sent into a tiny African country. He couldn’t remember the name of the country; the region had been divided and divided again too many times to keep track. Eventually there were so many nations carved out, none had the resources beneath the ground to support a fully functioning government. Many of these nations didn’t even have enough land for crops. Infighting would break out within a village and the solution was always to split the village and carve out two new nations. It never worked and the wars and conflicts always intensified as the new nations scrambled for survival.

  It was rumored the army indiscriminately slaughtered resistance forces to keep them from rejoining the fight later on, so the UN sent in a team of inspectors to investigate the claims. Remy remembered their army paired them with a salty old Colonel, a veteran who went back to when the dozen or so surrounding nations used to be a single entity.

  The Colonel was a man who knew how to keep secrets. He knew where the skeletons were buried and was a master at diverting the inspection team. This Colonel could not be bought, he could not be threatened with international prosecution, and he could not be loosened with alcohol. He had been playing this game long before Remy was born, and he had been chosen for the duty because his loyalty to his own people was unshakable.

  Anders was such a different man. He was young and inexperienced. His dossier claimed he had been commissioned only a couple months before his assignment to the Space Force. Though he had finished college before joining the Marines, he was still green as the eighteen year olds coming out of high school, and probably unaware of just how secretive this branch of the military was.

  He considered the possibility that Anders’ inexperience made him the ideal liaison. If he didn’t know anything, he couldn’t spill any secrets. No doubt, he had been briefed on what areas of the ship were off limits and what technology he was prohibited from discussing. But without a prior space deployment under his belt, he had no knowledge of or experience with anything beyond the home system.

  Still, Remy remained confident he might obtain more information from a Lieutenant than he might from a major or a colonel. Anders had already been more helpful. He had been engaging in conversation, explaining all the technology he had been exposed to.

  That transporter, for instance, was a foreign concept. It had been a science fiction staple for more than two hundred years, but there had been no knowledge on Earth of it being successfully developed. Yet, Remy had been taken from the military base to the R.S. Freedom in an almost instantaneous flash of light. This kind of technology could have revolutionized the civilian travel industry. Hailing from Candia, he had visited the Republic to the south hundreds of times and never once saw evidence this technology was in use.

  “It’s called the molecular scrambler,” Anders had corrected him when their journey aboard had begun. “Some of us affectionately call it the blender.”

  Remy imagined the kinds of horrors that must have unfolded to earn that nickname: people rematerializing incorrectly, rematerializing within a solid object, or not rematerializing at all. But Anders put his mind at ease, assuring him the scrambler had been perfected.

  “The reason we haven’t introduced it on Earth is because there are too many communications signals zipping through the atmosphere. The scrambler signal can’t penetrate all that noise.”

  They reached the quarters assigned to Remy and Anders pressed a button, dematerializing the door. Remy had seen the same thing in the medical bay and wondered if this was a variation of the scrambler.

  “It’s the same technology.” The Lieutenant pointed out the devices fixed within the door frame. “We use a Class 3 scrambler for the doors. The transportation unit is a Class 5.” He led the inspector into the room, a modest yet sufficient suite with a standard bed to the back next to a private bathroom. A work station rest against the wall to the right, and a dining area rest against the left. Anders showed him the table had a scrambler plate built into the surface with a small control panel at each place setting. “That is a Class 3 at your disposal for food and drink. This one is programmed with a limited selection. Because we have to store the material for any replication, your choices are going to be pretty simple; no five star meals coming out of this thing.”

  The Lieutenant left Remy to settle in before he would introduce him to the Commander. The first thing the Inspector did once alone, was activate the scrambler and explore the menu. Like a kid who couldn’t resist a new toy, he had to order something from the unit. Anders wasn’t kidding though when he said the selections were limited. He ordered a water and received a glass with only 100 ml. His turkey sandwich looked like it had been freeze dried; the turkey was bland, the slice of lettuce was the strangest shade of green he had ever seen on a vegetable, and the scrambler wouldn’t give him mayonnaise. It was as though this thing was programmed to create field rations.

  He left the food on the table, and moved to the work area where he set his bag. His luggage had been sent ahead, and he was glad to see it resting by the bed. No doubt security had ruffled through everything looking for his secrets, which was why he insisted on carrying the work bag personally.

  A computer was removed from the bag. Remy started it, and pushed it aside while it booted up. He couldn’t help but wonder if in addition to the scrambling technology, the Space Fleet hid computers from Earth that booted in under ten minutes. No matter, it gave him time to go over the Commander’s dossier one last time before meeting the man.

  Colonel Freedom. The name almost smacked of arrogance that the concept of patriotism and liberty were unique to the Republic. It was common practice in some African countries for leaders to take names that evoked positive feelings such as Joyluck and Goodtimes, but at least they didn’t run around accusing their neighbors of being miserable after the slightest criticism of their policies. What seemed to elevate the arrogance further was to name the ship after the Commander.

  Freedom’s dossier, like many he had received, were highly selective in what aspects of his military career it chose to highlight. No doubt there were accomplishments the military chose to classify, but from what he read, the man hardly had a career worth honoring with a ship’s name.

  In his nation, ships were usually named after places or animals. Remy still remembered visiting the Snow Leopard every summer as a child. Decommissioned and turned into a museum, the Snow Leopard was a look back at a time when his country took a more active role in the world order, before the rise of the Eastern Imperium and their war with the Republic. Even through his youth, Candia was a nation that believed in world peace. The Snow Leopard wasn’t built with fifty missile banks, or 100-gigawat phase cannons. It was a more pragmatic ship from a pragmatic nation. If Candia had ventured into the stars their ships wouldn’t bear the names of their commanders, nor would he likely find the UN trying to get inspectors aboard.

  Lieutenant Anders returned just as the computer finished booting. “Colonel’s ready to see you.” At least it would be ready to go when he got back.

  Remy followed his liaison back into the hallway. “How well do you know your commander?”

  “Well enough not to make fun of his name.”

  “Good advice,” Remy thought to himself. He followed in silence, studying the ship around him. Even in space, these vessels were stark and utilitarian. Battleship Gray was a color so loved, it followed these men into space. And with no carpets, he’d have to remember not to go around barefoot. If there was one pos
itive to the design and décor, it was that the hallways were large enough to move in, not at all tight and cramped like some of the battleships he had to tour.

  Anders brought him to the Colonel’s briefing room, a large, yet cozy room with a metal table bolted to the floor surrounded by fixed chairs. It seemed a wise precaution so that the furniture wasn’t thrown around in heavy turbulence.

  Remy sat at the end of the table observing the large screen on the wall behind the head chair, wondering if it too was some advanced form of those on Earth. Instead of a 3-D image within the screen, maybe it projected the image as a physical hologram on the center of the table.

  “I plan to get one of those myself if I ever retire back to Earth.”

  Startled, Remy turned to find the Commander had snuck up behind him. He was a grizzled old man, his face wrinkled, yet hardened. The top of his head had been shaved as cleanly as his face. His combat fatigues hung comfortably from his trim frame. Maybe it was because of the scent that hung with him, but Remy imagined this old dog enjoyed chomping on a cigar. This was an image of a leader stolen from his textbooks.

  “I’m Dr. Remy Duval.” He extended his hand, then quickly wished he hadn’t after the Colonel crushed it in his own grip.

  “Colonel Max Freedom.” He took a seat at the head of the table, fishing a tiny computer device from his vest pocket. As Remy took his seat, an image of an alien world came up on the large screen behind the Colonel. To his dismay, it didn’t dance on the tabletop as he imagined.

  “This is LX-925. We set up a mining operation about two years ago, and now the surface has been stripped down almost to the magma layer. The miners were supposed to be off the planet a week ago so we could trade it to the Independent Union for a world they control. However the miners refuse to leave. My orders are simply to remove those miners. My government has authorized you to observe the operation on behalf of the UN.

  “You will have access to most areas of the ship, but Lieutenant Anders must accompany you at all times. My ship may seem easy to navigate, but it’s even easier to get lost. You will have access to my bridge during the operation, but you must remain in the back. Things can get heated and my men don’t need you in the way. Any questions you have, I am yours for the next thirty minutes. After that, if Anders can’t answer something, he can find the answer.”

  Remy knew the game; anything damaging that his government wanted kept secret, would remain so. He expected to hear “that’s classified,” no less than a hundred times in the next half hour, but it wouldn’t stop him from trying. Still, being new to these goings on, it was overwhelming trying to decide which questions to ask. Just a day ago, he didn’t even imagine humans were mining other planets, yet the Republic was capable of stripping away the entire crust of a world in a mere two years.

  And then there were the miners. What kind of habitat were they living in? Did this world have a breathable atmosphere, or were there self-contained environments? There were so many questions. Reminding himself he worked for the UN, and human rights were a prime concern, the miners’ squabble seemed to be the most pressing matter.

  “Tell me about the miners. Why won’t they leave? What is their grievance?”

  The Colonel’s eyes never left Remy’s face. It felt like he treated this as a game of chicken waiting for the Inspector to blink first. He was studying his opponent, looking for the twitch of an eyelid, a bead of sweat on the forehead, a tightening of the lips, anything that might betray the next move, or in this case the next question. His first was to be expected. The miners of course were the obvious starting point to discovery.

  “We don’t know exactly, but it’s usually a ploy to squeeze more money from the government. In rare cases, they lose their minds and think the planet is theirs.”

  Remy distrusted this intense look from the Colonel. He knew the man wouldn’t be straightforward with him, but there was something worse coming from those eyes. It reminded him intensely of that phony smile the Major gave him. Maybe he should have been more understanding of these people. This ship and this space program was their world. They had been operating outside of scrutiny for so long, he was nothing more than an intruder to them.

  “Assuming they want to stay, why not let them stay and become citizens of the Union?”

  “They can’t. I told you the planet was mined down to the magma layer. Within a couple months the internal heat will melt the surface and that world will be a ball of molten lava. Those miners couldn’t stay if they wanted.”

  “If the world is useless, then what does the Union want with it?”

  “It’s not useless. They have the technology to safely extract material from the top of the lava flows. We’ve been working on it ourselves, but we’re not there yet. We could hold onto the world until we get that ability, but the Union is offering us a world with a high strategic value.”

  Remy could not escape those eyes. They had locked onto him and wouldn’t let go. Though he had been the one asking questions, he felt like he was under an interrogation. In his business it wouldn’t be the first for him, but it was certainly the most awkward. That planet was still on the screen behind the Colonel, providing a distraction from those eyes. The line of sight was so close, at least he wouldn’t get caught looking away.

  “What does removal entail? How are you going to take them off that world?”

  “We use the scramblers of course. Scoop them right off the surface, put their patterns in storage, and restore them on their next job.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  Remy’s chin followed his eyes to the world on the wall, and the Colonel noticed the crack in his confidence. It didn’t matter if the world was falling apart, those people still had basic rights. Perhaps the Republic chose this mission for him to observe because of the moral questions involved in a forced removal. He wanted to believe Colonel Freedom respected the miners. He wanted to believe there was nothing to worry about with the lack of oversight these space programs had been operating under. But that stare from the Colonel’s eyes and his frank candor left Remy with a dry, foul taste in his mouth.