The Rhine Read online

  This was the part where Mat was hedging his bet on what Haydon said, the pirates wouldn't shoot the canister because they wanted it— the gases it contained were money. All he had to do was throw it in their path before they could make a course change or realize they needed to shoot it.

  "Tell them we're dropping our canisters."

  He sent the course program to the thrusters and watched through a scope as the canister pulled away, angling off to port.

  "They are adjusting course ... they might just do it ..."

  On his screen the course line for the tug didn't shift, until he zoomed in. They had managed to move a fraction of a fraction off the original course.

  Haydon's face appeared on his screen, big. "Mat, the canister is going to miss them, even if you burn the thrusters at full power. But I have an idea."

  "Do it." They didn't have the seconds it would take to get the details of Haydon's idea.

  Haydon stepped away from the screen, he bent down and the mic picked up the sounds of him moving something, metal on metal. He turned, the muscles of his left arm bulging in the short sleeve of his coveralls, and walked out of camera.

  "Haydon, whatever you're doing, hurry." The tug would still come parallel to the Sadie, but further out than was intended by the original course. It was clear now that the thrusters couldn't push the canister in their path, and once the tug passed it the make shift missile would be useless.

  Another warning flashed on his screen. The launch tube was activated from Engineer. Launch tube ... The only launch tube equipped on the Sadie was for the rock-crackers— small missiles used to break rocks. Mat thought they used the last of them two years ago when harvesting water-ice in the Belt. It was powered by a very small reactor, and the timing was wrong. It wouldn't reach the tug before it could maneuver out of the way, even if the payload was big enough to stop it.

  "Haydon it won't work ..." he started, when there was a sudden flash of light at the bottom of his screen. The scope he was using was attached to the hull of the Engineering deck. A bright point of light shot out toward ... the canister? It took three seconds for it to make the trip, too short a time for Mat's mind to piece together what Haydon had just done.

  When the little missile exploded it was short of the canister by almost fifteen meters— the blast wave blooming in all directions. The Sadie's distance was too great to feel it, but the canister was swatted further along its course— a push in the right direction.

  It was just enough.

  Mat had to replay the scope's recording to see what happened. The tug nicked the canister and an enormous snowball exploded in silence on his screen. The tug came out flipping end over end— the forward shield-like bumper was gone, along with the ventral turret and bumpers. It trailed gases, and in a flash of light the thruster assembly broke off, leaving the tug's aft section a mass of twisted girders and torn metal.

  "They are on a ballistic course ... I am still getting power readings," Yuri said, with a touch of awe in his voice.

  My God, was all Mat could think.

  The tube hatch popped open and Haydon pulled himself up. "Boss, I hope that wasn't the xenon we just blew up."

  "No. It wasn't." He at least had the presence of mind to not choose the canister with the xenon in it as the one to blow up. It was the reason they were over Saturn and not Jupiter or in the Belt. Xenon was used in ship fuel, and it was present in Saturn's atmosphere in trace amounts. Of the gases they harvested it took the longest to collect, and Apex paid well for it.

  Yuri tapped his screen and said, "Maneuvering thrusters are firing. They are trying to stabilize."

  "There's someone still alive over there?" Mat asked.

  Yuri shrugged, "Could be the emergency systems."

  "Think there's anything worth salvaging?" Haydon asked.

  Mat and Yuri both looked at him. He shrugged. "I mean, we've burned fuel and blew up part of our paycheck. We'll have to pay for the canister and lease another one."

  "The crew may still be alive," Mat said.

  "I think it is a small chance, but if they are alive they will have guns," Yuri added.

  "We've come this far, and we have guns too."

  4 - Ludwick

  "An injury to one is an injury to all! An injury to one is an injury all!"

  Standing on the street corner at the entrance to the Apex Mining plant's access tunnel Ludwick led the chant for another five minutes, waving his fist above his head in place of a sign. At precisely 20:00— Ludwick didn't have to check— Sergeant Weathers, detached himself from the group of UNSEC soldiers watching from the opposite curb, and promptly walked across the street directly to him.

  In a loud voice he said, "Pursuant to article fifteen of the United Nations charter for Harmony dome, and certain civil codes pertaining to lawful assembly, you must now disperse. Also, be advised that all transport ways, such as sidewalks, movable walkways, streets, and lifts are private property of the United Nations. You may not obstruct them or hinder traffic in any way."

  Weathers' flat expression might have seemed comical to Ludwick if not for the assault gear and rifle he was carrying at half-mast. The good sergeant had given him this speech dozens of times over the last six months, so many times in fact that he no longer added 'failure to disperse or comply with my command will result in arrest, fines, and a possible prison sentence or deportation.'

  The chant had started trickling down to silence when the others caught sight of Weathers coming their way. Ludwick nodded to the sergeant and grunted his assent, then turned to his group. Thirty-five people. Two years ago there would have been a sort of nervous energy inside his chest to see a crowd this large standing behind him. He would have leapt for joy thinking about what they could accomplish. Now, he just gave them a smile and held up his hands. Because the dream of Apex— or any mining company that owned plants on the Moon— capitulating to a union, was vapor. It would never happen.

  "Alright folks, same time tomorrow. But we'll split in to two groups, one here, and one at the Piedmont tunnel."

  They began to disperse and Weathers watched, bland faced, until Ludwick himself held up a hand in a halfhearted wave and turned to walk away.

  Low gravity or not he was born in Harmony— third generation— and his hip was sore from standing all day. As bad as if he were working the conveyor belt back in the plant. Hustling with a slight limp across the street he hopped on a moving walkway that would take him to the food court across from the Landing Zone tram station. I'm getting too old for this, he thought, then arched his back and craned his neck until he was looking at the golden dome overhead— that thin layer of polymer and metal that kept out the big black. The dome was a basic necessity of survival, and most plants— the Apex plant being a prime example— were only partially shielded. Some buildings were completely exposed on the surface.

  Safety. After putting in his thirty years and getting out with his lungs still working and only a few cancerous tumors that came back every so often, but could be treated with pills, he should have just let it rest and lived quietly off his retirement and basic stipend. Maybe should have taken up painting. As a kid he had liked it.

  But ...

  He had seen too much suffering during his time at the Apex plant and heard the same things happening at the other plants and refineries spread out around the Moon domes like leeches. Archimedes, Osaka, New Paris, and the dozen others— they all had the same story. People were dying because of refinery chemicals, dust, radiation poisoning, and simple exhaustion. And the mining consortiums always found ways to not pay.

  When it all began to sink in Ludwick was near retirement and began contemplating what to do. There was no such thing as a union then, never had been in the hundred and fifty odd years since the Moon was settled and Harmony dome was built. He retired and began researching, reading about unions and strikes. There were no mining plants on Earth for him to look at, they were moved to the Moon and the domes built to house the workers. But construction cr
ews would strike sometimes, or tram rail builders would stage a walk out in order to put pressure on the companies they worked for— for whatever it was that they wanted. So he took his cue from them and began talking to people he used to work with. Some were already showing signs of health issues but continuing to work, some were disgruntled over pay, and others concerned because of safety conditions. And the recent arrivals from Earth that showed up all the time, well, for most of them the luster of leaving a polluted and crowded world to live on the Moon in a tiny apartment with an emergency decompression bunker a block away and working sixteen hour shifts at a filthy, hazardous mining plant, had worn off.

  The walkway deposited Ludwick at the food court and he made his way to a stall that served Thai. This little place had somehow managed to endure the ever changing lifestyle of the dome. Businesses and people came and went in the domed cities of the Moon like water flowing in a river on Earth, but the Thai stall was forever. And as far as Ludwick was concerned that was a good thing. This little ritualistic meal was usually his singular bright spot of the day.

  As Ludwick paid the man at the stall and took his carton of kao pad to one of the small plastic tables set up in front of the food court, he briefly wondered what it would be like to eat under an open air night sky. The dome simulated a diurnal cycle but the lights attached to the dome's ceiling, high above, never dimmed more than what was called early evening on Earth. There were safety considerations.

  A year after his retirement he convinced nine people to strike for safety reasons. Seven of them worked at the Apex plant, two at the small refinery owned by Piedmont on the other side of the dome. They were all fired because they didn't show up for work. The workforce at any given plant was just too easily replaced, Earth's millions upon millions of jobless providing a source of bodies. Even considering training time for specialists the company didn't suffer.

  He was beaten by the two from Piedmont that day. They were tricked by him, taken in by his promises when he really couldn't do anything. Ludwick had no idea what happened to them after they left him at the door to his apartment bleeding and bruised. He never saw them again. Thinking back ... well, there was nothing quite like getting the crap kicked out of you by people that had put their trust in you.

  While savoring the last bite of his meal his handcomm beeped. Pulling it from his front pocket he looked at the screen. It was a text message from Everett Mason. He had to go back to work. He was sorry, but he just couldn't hold out. Ludwick didn't care. He put the handcomm back in his pocket without replying and gathering his trash from the table he put it in a nearby disposal and headed back to the walkway.

  After that incident it had taken three months to organize another group. This time, a little wiser, he attempted to have a sit down with his union members and some of Apex's honchos in the business district. Since he no longer worked for them he couldn't get past the first security gate in the access tunnel to go and talk to the plant manager directly, leaving the rep's office as his only approach.

  He still had a picture of that day ... him and five plant workers, all standing around the Apex Mining sign outside the building. Their expressions where confident, Gray Reeves even had his thumb up and was smiling. Paul Smith had an arm on Ludwick's shoulder. They really thought they would accomplish something that day. More people that had put their faith and trust in him.

  That day was a bust. And so was the next five. It had taken three days to get past the front desk receptionist, and another four to get past the PR woman, to finally meeting Apex's Managing Rep and his three lawyers. The rep had listened with a polite smile, his hands folded on the table, while the workers lined out their grievances and concerns. Then began the legal speak, the recitation of UN law, and the death of common sense. Nothing came of the meeting, not even the basic expense for biannual medical examines that could give people warnings about their health— because that might insinuate that Apex was taking responsibility for worker health issues. And that just wouldn't be fair.

  He thought about collecting dues, as was customary in unions on Earth, to hire their own lawyers, but no one could afford handing over money when they were also not being paid for missing work and under the constant threat of being fired. And the truth was that plant management had UN law on their side. Hiring a lawyer wouldn't change that, even if they could come up with the money and find one willing to take on the consortiums.

  A year and a half later, after seeing over twenty people fired because he talked them in to striking and with no wins in negotiating with Apex or even some of the smaller companies, Ludwick gave up and decided to invest his time in alcohol and bad movies. He was retired after all.

  Maybe he should have gotten the dues and hired one of those celebrity lawyers from Earth. The kind that wore makeup all the time and looked good on camera. They liked fighting 'the man' because it made them look good, and they did tend to get results.

  Was he stupid? Dues wouldn't cover that kind of expense.

  He arrived at his apartment. And even though he could now afford a condo in the upscale residential area near the business district, or even hire one of those celebrity lawyers from Earth, the apartment was still the one he had when he retired. The one he lived in for the last twenty years. It was little more than a eight-by-six meter box on the bottom floor of one of the oldest permafab apartment buildings in Harmony. He stayed here because it was smart to keep things this way until the deal was done.

  About six months ago things had changed for Ludwick.

  One evening, returning from the food court he found an old handcomm laying in front of his apartment door. Right there on the little black, worn mat at the foot of the door. It was a clunker. But when he picked it up it came on and a text message popped in queue. He selected it, and in a single sentence it told him to start the union again. With it was a numbered bank account and an access pin— and in the account was ten thousand UNDs.

  As Ludwick wiped his boots on the mat and keyed the control pad to the apartment door, he recalled freezing then and staring at the old handcomm. The briefest of battles went on inside his head, standing there staring down at the little flashing screen. No complicated thoughts came to him about what this might be, or why someone would want him to start the union again. No excitement over the fact that he could use this money to help people or hire lawyers for the cause. He was just worried that UNSEC might find this suspicious. Obviously whoever was offering him the money didn't want it on their radar. In a word it was shady.

  The money won.

  So, for the next six months money kept coming in. If he convinced a plant worker to strike— didn't matter from which company— he was given another ten thousand UNDs. If they attracted the attention of the news then that was more money. Sometimes he was given more specific instructions, such as locations where to protest, or hand out more fliers. Things like that. Once he was told to yell at UNSEC soldiers about 'rights'. That had been scary, but it earned him twenty grand.

  He sent messages back to whoever it was, but they rarely responded. The one repeated answer was that they would tell him when to stop, and when they did that would end their deal. They assured him he would be a very wealthy man when this was all over. And so far, they were making good on their word.

  The one concession to keeping low he made was the quality of beer he drank. He closed the door and went directly to the small fridge set under the sink cabinet and pulled out a couple of those good beers now. For the next hour he sat in his worn chair and watched some old shows. Sitting there, drinking and staring at the screen while three hundred year old comedians poked each other in the eyes and smacked each other on the nose, he realized— as he did every night— that his dreams were dead. He was a union rep for money, not principle. He stood on street corners and yelled like a fool or hotdog vendor for the sake of the almighty dollar.

  He took a deep breath and rubbed his face. Setting the remains of his fourth beer on the floor he got up. Pulling a screwdriver from a drawe
r he opened the vent set in the wall near the ceiling. From inside he pulled out the old handcomm. There was a new message— Time to heat things up.

  Somehow Ludwick knew things were headed that way, he just didn't know where it would all end.

  5 - Haydon

  Mat was not a killer. His impromptu plan to destroy the pirate tug was born out of adrenaline and desperation. He hadn't been thinking in terms of lives being lost. No, the ship was just blown up— the ship was stopped. Seeing death— because Mat had certainly seen it in his time out here in the big black— was not the same as bringing it.

  Most people thought like Mat.

  Yuri told them that it would be at least nine hours before they intersected with the pirate tug. Its emergency systems, or the surviving crew, worked to stabilize their spin, but with the main thruster assembly torn loose in the collision with the canister the tug was doomed to fall into orbit around Saturn, or sucked down into its atmosphere.

  Haydon brought Yuri something to eat. He wasn't going to leave the cockpit as long as there was actual piloting to be done. Haydon thought that was a good idea.

  The boss was looking exhausted. An hour after the tug hit the canister he was still in his seat on the Flight deck, watching the terminal screen. The painkillers would still be working, but the stims wore off quick, especially if adrenaline was involved in the mix. He needed food and real sleep, and there was no need for him to sit there for the whole nine hours while Yuri coaxed the ship onto a course to match what was left of the tug. Waiting was a big part of an out-system mining crew's life. Distances and time took on new meanings that far out. But you could wait in a rack with your eyes closed as well as you could wait in a seat watching numbers on a screen.

  "Boss," Haydon started. "Let's get something to eat."

  When he didn't answer, Haydon put a hand on his shoulder. Mat's startled look and unfocused eyes confirmed that the stims were about out of juice ... or interacting with the painkillers. That happened sometimes.