The explosion instantly vaporized Keystone’s B ring and much of the central shaft. The A ring and the docked Pascagoula, being further away, were instead simply blown to pieces. A cloud of shredded metal and shattered polyceramic spread out across the vacuum, each bit of shrapnel following its own minuscule inertia to an unknown destination. In untold years some of them may have joined the rings of Saturn, or been pulled in and added to the mass of Jupiter. In the meantime, their presence would hinder high-speed shipping through this corridor of space with the threat of an algae-cell rupture or hull breach. The outer colonies would suffer.
Authorities would find it suspicious that there was an explosion at all, as this would indicate a failure of the automatic cooldown system built to kick in when plasma containment failed. The official incident report from Algonquin Metals & Ores, LLC would suggest that the meltdown was almost certainly the result of intentional sabotage, although it would clear Felix Rook, believed dead, of any suspicion.
Roger Thomas stared absently at the round, flat parcel in his lap. A patch bearing the Algonquin logo, an arrowhead over a star, gazed back. In the back of the cabin, Felix Rook was floating asleep, a sedative patch from Keystone’s emergency medical kit clinging to his neck. His mouth moved slightly, mumbling something. Thomas didn’t envy the man. Months of sole operation gave one strange dreams.
But as he watched, Rook’s face scrunched and then his eyes slowly opened, recognizing the interior of the Keystone escape shuttle. A shock turned his mumbling into words as his expression sharpened in concern.
“What the fuck is going on?”
Rook didn’t flinch. “We’re goin’ to Ganymede, after I make a stop t’drop this off.” He held up the data platter, letting the jacket wrapped around it fall away but carefully not touching it with bare hands. The smooth disc reflected Rook’s bewilderment back at him with a golden tint.
Rook reached out for a railing and turned himself around to face the rear window. The blue-grey splash of Keystone was fading away behind them. He spun back around, hard, barely catching himself on the rail.
“You — what the fuck! What is that?” He pointed at Thomas with his free arm.
Thomas rewrapped the disc and strapped it into the second seat. “Oh, I didn’t tell you why I came through, since I was in a hurry. Alright. A couplea’days ago, some information was beamed through your little station from Ganymede — from Subarashii — to Earth. Now that’s not really strange, I know.”
Rook’s grip on the wall railing was getting tighter.
“But just a couple’a hours after that signal got through, the Zheng He took off from Earth with Ming on it. An’ he is just haulin’ ass to Ganymede right now. An’ this platter” — he patted the disk — “should have a copy of whatever that message was.”
Rook’s knuckles lost some of their whiteness. Chairman Ming hadn’t left Earth in years. Rumor was he’d been in bad health and was considering retirement. For him to make such a long trip on such short notice must have taken something important.
“But if you pulled that disk from the — ”
“Then it’s encrypted. Which is why we’re going to Ganymede, to get us a key.”
Rook flinched at “us”. “And you think nobody is gonna guess what you’re doing? Keystone gets this secret message and then explodes?”
“I’m not too worried right now, t’be honest. As far as anybody can tell we’re just a chunk a’station headed toward Jupiter. Drive’s off.”
Rook shut his eyes again, considering his situation. “And you decided to take me along instead of just letting me get blown up.”
“Well, sorry for not askin’ but I thought you’d prefer this.”
Without the engine running the shuttle was almost totally silent.
“And you don’t know how to get the message off the disk.”
“Also correct. More of a computer breaker than a computer hacker, m’self.”
Reyes studied their reflection in the dark screen as they rehearsed a message in their head. What did they need to say? That they were alive, for starters. That the Pascagoula was hijacked. That Jimenez and Tucker were presumably dead. Reyes took a long breath of recycled air and pushed down the “RECORD FOR OUTGOING” button on the console. Their dim reflection dissolved as a digital one replaced it. Reyes straightened and looked ahead.
“This is Caspar Reyes. Several days ago I left Luna on the UAA Pascagoula along with two others: James Tucker and Elsie Jimenez. We were attacked by a pirate who took control of the ship. I have to imagine that both of them are now dead. I was picked up by a-” Had Redmond ever given a full name? Wayne? Wade. “by a scrapper, Redmond Wade, and I am recording this message from his ship, the Corvus.”
Reyes trailed off. What else should they include?
“We’re heading to Jupiter to help out with the search for the Pascagoula. I am alive and okay. Thank you.”
They released the button and sent the message before it could play back for review. The Corvus turned its radio dish sunward and beamed Reyes’ message toward Luna. The screen helpfully noted that it would take 21 minutes to cross the gap.
“You didn’t ask me about the helping-out part.” Redmond’s voice seemed to appear out of nowhere, and Reyes jumped. He gave an “Ah, sorry”, but didn’t take his hands off the back of the seat.
“We are, right? That’s why we’re headed this way?” Reyes tilted their head back to look up at the scrapper, whose face didn’t seem to change. He sighed, inadvertently blowing air down at Reyes.
“We’re stopping at Callisto to pick up some supplies, is what I said. Then I’m going to Titan to get the ship checked.” He looked up at the screen and all Reyes could see was beard. “I’m not… I want to help out. You’re welcome to stay on board for as long as you have to. But I’m on contract.”
Reyes slouched. “It’s on the way!”
“So you think Keystone was related.”
“The timing is right. An outbound ship gets hijacked, and a station blows up right after it was meant to arrive?”
Redmond sighed again and sat on a box of suit batteries. Reyes swiveled to face him.
“I think you could be right. Maybe whoever nabbed the Pascagoula flew it right into Keystone, for whatever reason. I don’t know. But this ship,” he pointed down at the deck, “is scheduled for a service inspection at Titan in six days. And if I want to stay on contract, which I do, I have to be there.”
“Titan is the same way out! There’s time to at least check with whoever’s headed to Keystone and see what’s going on!”
“They count hours, not miles.”
The little triangle on the navigation screen blipped one notch ahead on the flight vector. Callisto was two days out.
“I’d love to find out what happened.” Redmond’s silence-filling impulse kicked in. “I’m sorry about your friends, truly. But picking you up doesn’t sweep my job. And if things are about to get bad out here I’m not trying to get caught up in it. We don’t know — ”
Reyes stood up. “We don’t know.” They left the cabin in measured paces.
Redmond stared at the navigation display in silence.
