Messenger Read online

  Messenger

  James Walker

  Copyright © 2014 James Walker.

  Cover art by James Walker.

  All rights reserved.

  DEDICATION

  Dedicated to my friends and family for their support and encouragement.

  FIRST MESSAGE: PORT OSGOW ~ BEWARE THE VOID WITHIN THYSELF

  1

  “The planet is watching me.” That was the first thought that occurred to Vic Shown as he observed the cerulean face of Saris rising above the station's horizon. The gigantic, swirling storms known as the Eyes of Saris were boring into him with a remarkable imitation of conscious intelligence.

  It was Vic's first time seeing planetrise from outside Port Osgow. The first to appear was actually Chalice, the crown jewel of the outer colonies. Even as its dusty halo betrayed its incomplete conversion, the patchwork of clouds floating over a web of vibrant hues provided silent testimony to the technological feat of the Theran Union's terraforming.

  But that was only the prelude. A second, far greater orb appeared beyond the moon's edge as Saris, the planet that held Chalice and over a hundred other natural satellites in orbit, peeked over its child's horizon. The sight of the gas giant rising behind its golden child held Vic entranced. Whereas Chalice emitted an inviting glow, Saris remained cold and distant, like an amoral god gazing upon the mortal realm—always present, always watching.

  Watching. Vic had meant it only as a metaphor, but as he stared at the planet, separated from its frigid light only by the thin shell of his exosuit, he began to feel as if it were indeed gazing back at him. A shiver ran up his spine despite the vehicle's heating system and the vacuum suit regulating his body temperature. For an instant, he might almost have been persuaded that he could hear the planet calling out to him.

  “Are you there?”

  It was a melancholy call, a lonely voice cast into the darkness. Unconsciously, Vic released his grip on the controls and reached out until his fingertips brushed the viewscreen.

  A movement at the edge of his vision brought him back to reality. He cast his gaze down, hunting for whatever had been responsible for breaking his thoughts. There it was, right on the edge between Chalice and Saris. A tiny point shimmered like air over sun-baked pavement. The next instant, it was gone.

  “What was that?” Vic whispered, his voice sounding tinny within his airtight helmet.

  “Hey Shown,” the gruff voice of Foreman Prescott crackled over the comm system. “What are you lollygagging around for? Get over here and help us detach this damaged plate.”

  “Sorry,” Vic answered. “It's my first time seeing planetrise up close. It's an incredible sight.”

  “We ain't here for sight-seeing, kid,” Prescott said. “You want to look gaggle-eyed at that ball of dirt, sign up for one of the guided tours. Right now we're trying to get some work done.”

  “Yeah. Sorry,” Vic repeated. “I'm coming right now.”

  Vic looked around and spotted the rest of the construction crew congregating far away. He deactivated the magnetic grip on his suit's feet and glided toward the others, applying minute course corrections with the verniers. Once he drew near, he applied a final downward thrust and reactivated the magnetic grips, sliding to a halt near the crew.

  “Pretty fancy move for a grounder,” Prescott grunted. “Just don't go flying off into space. I won't come after you.”

  “That won't happen, boss,” Vic replied.

  “Look at that plate,” said Eric Hound, the assistant foreman. “Something smashed the hell out of it. I'm surprised the protective grid would let something that big through.”

  “Gonna be a job getting her loose,” Prescott said. “I think we're gonna have to burn it off.”

  Under Prescott's direction, the construction team set about the meticulous work of removing the damaged plating. An asteroid or similar debris had smashed the plate into a twisted mess, preventing a clean removal. The workers remained stuck inside their cramped, stifling suits for hours as they cut the plate loose. Vic was nursing a painful cramp in his back by the time they finally lifted the twisted mass free of the hull.

  “OK. Good.” Even Prescott's voice sounded tired over the comm. “Now wait a little longer for a good window. We don't want to toss this thing into the beanstalk.”

  Vic looked out the left side of his omni-directional viewscreen and watched the beanstalk swing over the horizon. The colossal shaft stretched from the side of the station all the way to Chalice far above their heads, a tower connecting heaven and earth. The orbital elevator served as the colony world's lifeline, ferrying passengers and cargo between Port Osgow and the moon's surface. The orientation of the elevator and the spaceport on the opposite side remained fixed while the rest of the station maintained an endless rotation.

  “A little more,” Prescott said.

  The station's rotation swept the construction crew past the elevator. For an instant, Vic was able to gaze straight up the enormous shaft. From this vantage point, it seemed to hold the entire moon of Chalice suspended overhead, belying the reality that an asteroid at the opposite end of the elevator supported it with tensile force. Then the eleva­tor swung past and dropped away beneath the opposite horizon.

  “OK, we're clear,” Prescott said. “Toss it and let 'er burn up in the atmosphere.”

  In unison, they heaved the plate and sent it floating free of the station. The plate spun lazily against the bluish-orange backdrop of Chal­ice, doomed to be swallowed by the atmosphere where it would meet its fiery end.

  “That'll do it.” Prescott gave a groan of fatigue. “Bring in the replacement.”

  The final phase of the undertaking required bringing in a replacement plate via shuttle and meticulously positioning it over the hole so the exosuits could secure it in place with magnetic spikes. Like all maintenance work on the hull, it was an excruciating process. Safety required that every move be slow and controlled; and all maintenance had to be carried out to exacting standards, triple-checked and recorded for later review.

  At last, the plate was in place. The construction crew let out a collective sigh of relief.

  “Damn hull work,” Eric grunted. “The safety boys need to get off their butts and check that grid. It shouldn't be letting through debris massive enough to wreck one of the big plates like that.”

  “That's a wrap,” Prescott said. “Let's get back to the hangar. I need a drink.”

  The crew started back toward the airlock. Vic took a moment to spare another glance at the heavens, but he saw only empty vacuum. The rotation of the station had brought them out of view of Chalice and Saris.

  A throb in Vic's back reminded him that he had spent far too long crammed inside his exosuit. He turned away from the void and followed the others back to the airlock.

  *

  The crew returned to the hangar and lined up their exosuits in their designated positions. Vic lowered his suit to a kneeling position, then switched off the power and opened the canopy. The hatch swung open to reveal the dull, utilitarian interior of the hangar.

  Vic climbed out of the cockpit and dropped to the floor. After hours in zero-g, it was a relief to be under the effects of the station's simulated gravity again. He broke the airtight seal on his helmet and pulled it off, then stretched his aching limbs and inhaled deeply. Despite the chemical odor of fuel and lubricants tainting the air, he enjoyed simply being able to breathe without his helmet.

  Vic scanned the rows of exosuits filling the hangar. Even in their repose positions, they stood taller than their human operators. Over twice as tall as a grown man when fully erect, the exosuits combined the flexible movements of the human shape with the immense strength and durability of vacuum-rated machinery. They were an indispensable tool for performing co
nstruction and maintenance in space.

  The rest of the crew headed for the locker room, jostling and joking with each other. Vic fell into step behind them, keeping to himself. He had only just arrived at Port Osgow about two months ago, and his status as a Theran immigrant branded him as an outsider. He supposed that he could win some of the crew to his side if he would act more outgoing, but reaching out to others had never been his strong point.

  Inside the locker room, the crew changed into their street clothes. Just as Vic finished pulling his shirt over his head, he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned around to see the pinched face of Foreman Prescott.

  “You did OK today, kid,” the aging foreman said. “I thought all Therans were hopeless in space, but you proved me wrong today. You've got a good feel for it. You're a natural with the exosuits.”

  “Um, thanks,” Vic replied, surprised by the rare praise.

  Prescott took his hand from Vic's shoulder. “Well, don't let it go to your head. You space out too much. You need to keep your mind on the job.”

  “Yes, sir. I'll work on that.”

  “Enough of the 'sir' crap. I ain't your grandpa.” Prescott scratched the back of his bald pate. “I'm heading to Kiko's for some drinks,” he called to the room at large. “Anyone who wants to join me is welcome to.”

  Most of those who had already finished changing followed Prescott out of the room. Vic took a few personal effects out of his locker and stuffed them in his pockets. He closed the locker and turned around only to find himself facing a chest nearly as wide as his shoulders. He looked up into the scrunched, square-jawed face of Assistant Foreman Eric Hound.

  “Hold on a second,” Eric said. “I've got something to say to you.”

  Vic tensed. “Yes?”

  “Just 'cause the boss gave you a pat on the back doesn't mean you're in with the rest of us,” Eric said. “So you got a knack for driving the suits. So what? I can still smell the Theran on you. You stink of dirt.”

  “Just stand upwind of me, then.” Vic started to walk around Eric.

  Eric pushed Vic into his locker and grabbed him by the collar. He pulled Vic's face so close that Vic could taste his sour breath.

  “Don't be a smart-ass,” he growled.

  The confrontation could hardly have looked less sporting. Vic was lean and thin, barely of average height; features that, together with his dark hair and eyes, hinted at his dual East-West Theran ancestry. Eric was a hulking brute, a full head taller and with breadth to match his imposing height. In close quarters, there could be no contest.

  “What's a dirt-kisser like you doing out here in the sticks, anyway?” Eric demanded. “Weren't you happy bleeding us spacers dry from your ivory tower? Or did the little Theran prince decide to come and lord over the serfs personally?”

  Vic glanced at the other workers out of the corners of his eyes. Many of them weren't even paying attention to the altercation, and the few that were seemed disinterested in the outcome. He was paying the price for his aloofness now. Still, by simple force of pride, he remained calm.

  “I left Thera because I didn't like it there,” he said. “The urban sprawl was stifling. I thought maybe I could make a new life for myself in the outer colonies. I didn't come here to lord over anyone.”

  Eric pushed Vic back into the locker and released his grip. “I don't have time to waste on you. Just remember what I said. You can stay as long as the boss takes a liking to you, but we got no use for grounders here.”

  Vic thought better of replying. He watched Eric leave through eyes hot with anger, then smoothed his shirt and glanced at the others. None of them said a word.

  That was fine with him. Vic returned their silence with his own and walked leisurely out of the locker room. If he couldn't win their friendship, he would at least make sure never to show any hint of weakness.

  2

  Vic sat next to one of the windows in the crowded train, staring outside, oblivious to the other passengers. The flashes of the tunnel's regu­larly spaced lights lulled his tired brain into a trance. It had been an exhausting day's work, and his encounter with Eric Hound was still fresh in his mind.

  Soon, the lights of the tunnel gave way to a cavernous space as the train emerged into the station proper. Port Osgow was shaped like a giant cylinder with a city built on the inside of its curved walls. Overhead, the station's central shaft provided access to the port on the space-facing side and the orbital elevator opposite. Dozens of smaller shafts connected the core to the enclosing cylinder in a complex web of support structures. The cylindrical city glowed with thousands of lights to stave off the perpetual night.

  At first, Vic had been awed by the sight of the great city that rose to either side only to be joined hundreds of meters overhead, on the far side of the central shaft. After two months in Port Osgow, though, the scenery had grown routine. Sometimes he found himself longing for Thera's endless blue sky and had to remind himself that he had made the choice to leave all that behind. For good or ill, he would make his fortunes out here, on the frontier of settled space.

  Outside the window, grand estates with spacious lawns and water gardens flashed by. This was the residential block for the station's wealthiest inhabitants—mostly administrators and other Theran elites, along with a few merchant princes who had earned their riches by exploiting Port Osgow's status as a major hub of interplanetary commerce. Vic would never live among them. Even if he made a fortune, he had no intention of remaining on the station forever.

  Soon the playground of the rich and powerful was behind him as the train entered the city's commercial district. Rivers of pedestrians flooded the sidewalks, eclipsed by the structures towering overhead while enormous holo-monitors flashed announcements and advertisements around the clock.

  Vic started at the sound of a multitude erupting in cheers. He glanced around in confusion until his gaze alighted on the train's monitors playing an advertisement for the 56th Annual Gravball Interplanetary Championship. This year's championship match was between Rimis and Thera. Chalice's team had been defeated in the semifinals—not that Vic paid much attention to gravball. Overcommercialization and poor sportsmanship killed whatever interest he might have had in the game.

  To drown out the noise from the advertisements, Vic extracted his earphones and vid-lens from his pocket, fitted them into place, and flicked them on. The image of a Lotus-5 virtual idol concert filled the left side of his vision, but he had to jack the volume uncomfortably high to drown out the ambient noise in the train.

  Vic liked virtual entertainers. Critics disparaged them for not being real, but Vic saw their artificiality as a benefit. He could appreciate their art without having the experience tainted by smutty news reports of sordid personal lives.

  With his private virtual concert blocking out the external world, Vic's mind resumed its wandering. He had hoped the colonies would be different from Thera, but so far they had let him down. Crowded living conditions, institutional micromanagement of everything, soulless culture of the material—it was all the same, plus even more crushing taxes and a 1500-hour delay for interplanetary traffic to bring the latest news and entertainment from the homeworld.

  However, that impression was restricted to Port Osgow. Vic held out hope that things would be better on the ground. Chalice was a vast, developing world with a population still much smaller than Thera's. If he could save enough money to live on the surface, he might be able to escape the station's smothering atmosphere; this world in a can.

  Suddenly, he became aware that conversation inside the train had died down. He flicked his gaze to the nearest monitor and saw an emergency announcement flashing across the screen. He turned off the virtual concert and strained to listen.

  “—are being closed temporarily,” the announcer said in a soothing voice. “I repeat, the port and orbital elevator are being closed temporarily. Boarding and disembarkation are being halted while security conducts a thorough inspection of all outbound and incoming tra
ffic. All residents are asked to remain calm and go about your normal business while authorities resolve the situation. Should you encounter any secu­rity personnel, please give them full cooperation in the execution of their duties. Once again...”

  The passengers around Vic began murmuring in frightened voices.

  “Why would they close the port? Did she say security inspections?”

  “Is it terrorists? I hear SLIC's been a lot more active lately.”

  “SLIC?”

  “Colonial rebels. They're a bunch of fanatics. They take hostages, and they'll kill anyone to make a point. Women, children...”

  “Stop it, you're scaring me.”

  Vic's heartbeat quickened. Terrorists? Here, in Port Osgow? Back on Thera, he'd heard stories of rebel factions active in the outer colonies. They were ruthless and utterly without scruples, murdering prominent public figures, engaging in ecological destruction, and committing random acts of violence in an effort to terrorize the Theran Union into granting them independence. The Union's space navy, T.U. Spacy, was supposed to have them on the run. But what if a small, desperate group had managed to infiltrate Port Osgow? For all its technological sophistication, the station was horribly fragile. A powerful explosive in the right place could make the entire structure collapse.

  Vic chided himself, ashamed that he had let the baseless fears of the other passengers alarm him. There was no evidence that terrorists had entered the station. All they knew was that the port and elevator were closed and security was conducting inspections. Even if there was a threat, he didn't live anywhere near the port or the elevator. In the worst case, the station was equipped with self-sufficient emergency shelters for just such an eventuality.

  Reassuring himself with these thoughts, Vic turned the Lotus-5 concert back on and resumed staring out the window. But in spite of his rationalizing, he could not fully suppress a feeling of dread building deep within himself.