Earth unaware

CHAPTER 2

Lem

The Makarhu wasn’t built to be a science vessel, and it certainly wasn’t built for war. It was a mining ship, property of Juke Limited, the largest space-mining corporation in the solar system. But Lem Jukes-mercifully short for Lemminkainen Joukahainen, heir to the Juke Limited fortune and captain of the ship-was prepared to use the Makarhu for any purpose if it meant turning a failing mission into what the Board of Directors would consider a success.

It was an hour after sleep-shift had ended, and Lem was floating weightless in the observation room, waiting for an asteroid to explode. The asteroid was a small thing, a “pebble” no bigger than Lem himself, lazily moving through space half a kilometer from the ship. If not for the ship’s laser lights dotting the asteroid’s surface and illuminating it, it would have been completely invisible against the backdrop of space, even with the help of the special scope glasses Lem was wearing.

Lem lowered the glasses and looked out the window to his right. The cargo bay doors were open, and the gravity laser was in position, pointing out into space at the pebble in the sky. Lem couldn’t see the engineers from his position, but he knew they were down in the lab adjacent to the cargo bay, prepping the laser for the test.

According to the Juke research team that developed it, the gravity laser-or glaser as they had come to call it-was supposed to be the future of the space-mining industry, a revolutionary way to break surface rock and dig deep through the toughest asteroids. It was designed to shape gravity in much the same way a laser shaped light, though since gravity was not reflective, it worked on very different principles; understanding them was way below Lem’s pay grade. The company had spent billions of credits to build this prototype, and quite a bit more to keep it a secret. Lem’s job was simply to oversee the field tests. A cakewalk of a mission.

That is, if the gravity laser would ever turn on. It was the first deep-space trial, so Lem expected the delays born of extreme caution. But it was beginning to seem as if something was actually seriously wrong with the device and everyone was afraid to tell him.

“I’m waiting, Dr. Dublin,” Lem said, keeping his voice pleasant.

A man’s voice sounded in Lem’s earpiece. “Just a few moments, Mr. Jukes. We’re nearly ready to begin.”

“You were nearly ready to begin ten minutes ago,” said Lem. “Didn’t anyone print the word ‘on’ beside the right button?”

“Yes, Mr. Jukes. Sorry for the delay. It shouldn’t be long now.”

Lem rubbed his forehead just above his eyes, fighting back the beginnings of a migraine. The ship had been in the Kuiper Belt for six weeks now, where failure would have no witnesses and there would be no massive object to be torn apart if the reaction got out of hand. But the engineers, who were supposedly ready before this flight even launched, had produced nothing but delays. Their explanations might have been completely legitimate, or they might have been sesquipedalian bushwa. Because of the huge time lag in sending and receiving messages to the Board of Directors back on Luna, Lem had no idea what the Board-or his father-were thinking, though he was fairly certain it wasn’t unbridled joy. If Lem wanted to preserve his reputation and return to Luna with any sense of dignity, he needed to shake things up and produce results fast. The longer the wait, the greater the suspense, and the bigger the disappointment if the glaser failed.

Lem sighed. Dublin was the problem. He was a brilliant engineer but a terrible chief engineer. He couldn’t stand the idea of being blamed for any mistake, so he aborted tests at the slightest sign of malfunction. Dublin was so worried about damaging an expensive prototype or pushing it beyond its capacity-and therefore costing the company its investment-that the man was paralyzed with fear.

No, Dublin had to go. He was too cautious, too slow to take risks. At some point you had to make the leap, and Dublin didn’t know how to detect that moment. Lem needed to send positive results to the Board now. Today, if possible. It didn’t have to be much. Just some data that suggested the gravity laser did something like what it was designed to do. That’s all the Board wanted to hear. If it needed further development before it could be used commercially, fine. At least that gave the impression that Lem and the crew were doing something. That isn’t asking too much, Dr. Dublin. Just give me one semisuccessful test. The gravity laser worked in the lab back on Luna, for crying out loud. We didn’t come all the way out here without testing it first. The damn thing worked before we left!

Lem tapped a command into his wrist pad and ordered the drink dispenser to mix him something. He needed a boost, a fruit concoction laced with something to drive off the headache and get his energy up.

He sipped the drink and considered Dublin. Lem couldn’t fire the man. They were in space. You can’t send a man packing when he has nowhere to go-though the idea of jettisoning Dublin into space did put a smile on Lem’s face. No, Lem needed to take less drastic measures. Get a little creative.

Lem tapped his wrist pad again, and the wall to his right lit up. Icons and folders appeared on the wall-screen, and Lem blinked his way through a series of folders, diving deeper into the ship’s files until he found the documents he was looking for. A photo of a Nigerian woman in her late fifties appeared, along with a lengthy dossier. Dr. Noloa Benyawe was one of the engineers on board and had been with Juke Limited for thirty years, or as long as Lem had been alive, which meant she had endured Lem’s father Ukko Jukes, president and CEO, for as long as Lem had. It was like meeting someone who had survived the same grueling military campaign, a sister in suffering.

No, that was too harsh perhaps. Lem didn’t despise his father. Father had done great things, achieved great wealth and power by relentlessly pushing those around him to innovate, excel, and squash any obstacle in their way. Unfortunately, Father had run his family in much the same way.

Is this another of your tests, Father? Did you give me an engineering team led by a butterfly-hearted ditherer to see if I could handle the situation and get a more deserving and reliable person in place? It was just the kind of thing Father would do, laying snares along Lem’s path, creating obstacles for him to overcome. Father had always worked that way, even when Lem was a boy. Not to be cruel, Father would say. “But to teach you, Lem. To toughen, you. To remind you that as a child of privilege, no one is your friend. They will claim to be your friend, they will laugh at your jokes and invite you to their parties, but they do not like you. They like your power, they like what you will become someday.” That was child rearing to Father. Parents shouldn’t coddle their children when bullies pester them at school, for example. Real parents like Father pay a bully to torment their child. That teaches a child the harsh truth of life. That teaches a child how to use subterfuge, how to build allies, how to strike back at those stronger than themselves, not with violence necessarily, but with all the other weapons at a child’s disposal: public humiliation, fear, the scorn of one’s peers, social isolation, everything that cracks a bully and pushes him to tears.

Lem wiped the thought away. Father wasn’t testing him. There was too much at stake for that. No, Lem wasn’t so conceited as to believe that Father would risk the development of the gravity laser simply to teach Lem one of his “life lessons.” This was purely Lem’s problem. And he would deal with it.

“Dr. Dublin,” Lem said into his microphone, “when you said that the test would begin in a few moments, I assumed that you defined a few moments the same way I do, mere minutes at most. But by my clock, nearly fifteen additional minutes have passed. I recognize that the glaser is of utmost importance to this ship, but there are other matters on this vessel that require a captain’s attention. As much as I enjoy staring out into space and pondering the meaning of the universe, frankly I don’t have the time. Are we conducting a test or aren’t we?”

Dr. Dublin’s voice was small and hesitant. “Well, sir, it appears that we may have run into a snag.”

Lem closed his eyes. “And when were you going to inform me of this snag?”

“We were hoping that we could fix it quickly, sir. But that doesn’t seem likely now. We were about to call you.”

I’m sure you were, thought Lem. He pushed his cup into the receptacle. “I’m coming down.”

Lem made his way to the push tube, one of the many narrow shafts that ran through the ship. He pulled himself inside and folded his arms across his chest. The walls, like the floor and sidewalls of the ship, produced an undulating magnetic field. The magnets either attracted or repelled the vambraces Lem wore on his forearms and the greaves he wore on his shins. Lem said, “Fourteen.” At once he was sucked downward. When he arrived, the lab was in such a state that no one noticed him float into the room. Most of the engineers were hovering weightless around the wall-screen that stretched the length of the room. It held countless windows of data, diagrams, blueprints, messages, scribbles, and equations. It hurt Lem’s eyes just to look at it. The engineers were politely arguing over some technical matter Lem didn’t understand. Dr. Dublin and a few assistants were standing on the wall to Lem’s left, looking down on a hologram of the gravity laser that was about one-fifth the size of the real thing. It annoyed Lem when people in a room didn’t maintain the same vertical orientation. Being perpendicular to everyone else was indecorous.

“I do love watching engineers at play,” said Lem, just loud enough for everyone to hear.

The room fell silent. The engineers turned to him. Without looking, Lem tapped his wrist pad, and the eye assault that was the wall-screen dimmed to half-light.

Dublin stepped off the wall to the left and stood upright on Lem’s floor, bending awkwardly as he adjusted his vambraces. Such a brilliant mind, and yet as graceful as a turnip.

“Mr. Jukes,” said Dublin, “thank you for coming. I apologize yet again for this delay. It appears that the source of the problem-”

“I am not an engineer,” said Lem with a cheerful smile. “Explaining the problem won’t hasten its repair. I don’t want to distract you any more than necessary from solving the problem. That would be a much better use of your time, wouldn’t you agree?”

Dublin swallowed and attempted a smile. “Oh, well, yes, that’s very kind. Thank you.” He took a step backward.

Lem looked at their faces. “I want to thank all of you for your tireless efforts,” he said. “I know that many of you are functioning on a few hours of sleep, and I recognize that the glitches and delays we’ve experienced are more frustrating to you than anyone else. So I appreciate your patience and perseverance. My father assured me that he had assembled the best team possible, and I know that he was right.” Lem smiled to show them that he meant it. “So let’s pause for a moment and take a deep breath. I know it’s still morning, but except for the people physically working on the fix, let’s take a two-hour break. A nap, for many of you. A meal for others. Then we’ll come back and tear that asteroid apart like a sneeze in a wet tissue.”

Lem made a point of not looking at Dublin, though he noticed that a few of the engineers did. If the laser wouldn’t be ready within the next two hours, this was Dublin’s chance to have a spine and speak up.

Silence in the room.

“Wonderful,” said Lem. “Two hours.”

Lem launched off the floor and headed toward the push tube. He caught himself at the entrance and turned back, as if struck by an unrelated thought. “Oh, and Dr. Benyawe, would you see me in my office, please?”

Dr. Benyawe nodded. “Yes, Mr. Jukes.”

Five minutes later Dr. Benyawe was standing opposite Lem in his office, anchored to the floor with her greaves.

“You have put me in a delicate situation, Mr. Jukes,” she said.

“Have I?” said Lem.

“Calling me to your office. The other engineers will assume that I’m meeting with you to give you an account of the test’s failure. They’ll think I’ve come here to point fingers and pass blame.”

“I was the one who called this meeting.”

“They’ll assume that I’ve been speaking with you for some time without their knowledge, giving you information behind their backs.”

“So they’re bureaucrats, then, and not engineers at all, is that what you’re saying, Dr. Benyawe?”

“They’re human beings first, Mr. Jukes. Engineers second. They’re worried about their livelihoods.”

“If we don’t return to Luna with anything short of absolute success, Doctor, I think all of our careers are over.”

“That is a fair assumption, yes,” said Benyawe. “But that’s true all the time, isn’t it? Fail, and you’re looking for a job.”

“Just one question, Dr. Benyawe. If you had been in charge, would you have already conducted the test?”

“You want to know if I blame Dr. Dublin for the delay.”

“I want to know if you’re willing to proceed despite some degree of uncertainty. I want to know if you’ve reached the point where you think we’ll learn more from failure or partial success than from further dithering about possibilities.”

“Dr. Dublin found some of the pretest readings unsettling,” said Benyawe. “I appreciate his caution. Had I been in his position, however, I would have continued with the test. The glaser is built to accommodate a margin of error within the readings we found.”

“So if you were in charge of this team, we’d already have our results.”

“The gravity laser, Mr. Jukes, is not a device to be taken lightly. Gravity is the most powerful force in the universe.”

“I thought love was.”

Benyawe smiled. “You’re very different from your father.”

“You’ve worked with my father for a long time.”

“He’s given me a chance to be part of great things. He also turned my hair white by the time I was fifty.”

“So why didn’t my father put you in charge of this team, Doctor? You have far more experience than Dublin. And every bit as much knowledge of the gravity laser.”

“Why aren’t you running your own corporation? You’ve certainly had plenty of opportunities to do so. You helped launch four IPOs before your twentieth birthday, you took nine different divisions and companies from the brink of bankruptcy into the black, and the rumor is that you’ve built a private investment empire that knows few equals. And yet here you are, heading up a testing expedition in the Kuiper Belt. Your father doesn’t always make decisions based on resumes.”

“I took this job, Dr. Benyawe, because I believe in the gravity laser.”

“But this test is dangerous. If it works wrong on a massy object like an asteroid, this ship could simply disappear.”

“I’m willing to take risks. Is Dublin?”

“Maybe Dublin was given strict instructions by your father to make sure you came home alive.”

Suddenly Dublin’s dithering and delays took on an entirely different meaning. “So Father put me in charge but gave instructions for Dublin to take care of me?”

“Your father loves you.”

“But not enough to let me make my own decisions.”

Lem knew he sounded petulant, but he also knew he was right. Father didn’t trust him. After all these years, after everything I’ve done outside of Father’s shadow, all of my achievements, all of the ways I’ve exceeded his expectations, he still thinks me incapable of making decisions, he still thinks me weak. And he won’t ever think otherwise until I take this company. That was the solution. Lem had known that for a long time. Taking Father’s throne was the only achievement that Father couldn’t argue with or question. It was the only way to get Father to see Lem as an equal. That was why Lem wasn’t running his own corporation elsewhere as Benyawe suggested. He could have easily done so. There had been several offers. But Lem had turned them down. Any other corporation wasn’t enough. Father would always look down on it.

No, Lem was going to take Father’s greatest achievement and make it his own, and he was going to do it so convincingly that the whole world and even Father himself would realize that Lem deserved it. No coup. No trickery. What would be the point of that? Father needed to be a willing participant. He needed to know that Lem had earned it without a scrap of help from Father. Otherwise Father would always believe that it was his achievement and not Lem’s. No, taking the company was the only way to end it all. Only then would Father realize that there were no more snares to lay, no more games to play or lessons to teach. School was over.

But what if what Benyawe had said was true? What if Father’s only motivation was love? It was possible, of course, though it felt like such an alien idea to Lem that he couldn’t quite take hold of it. Father was never that transparent. There were always motivations behind motivations, and the deepest ones were usually selfish. Lem didn’t doubt his Father’s love. He doubted the pure, distilled form of it. That was something Lem had never seen.

Lem smiled to himself. See what you do to me, Father? You always keep me guessing. Just when I think I have you figured out, you make me question you all over again.

Lem needed to confront Dublin. If Father had given Dublin instructions regarding Lem, then the delays weren’t Dublin’s fault at all. Lem excused Benyawe and made his way to the lab. He found Dublin in the control room adjacent to the cargo bay. Dublin was moving his stylus through a holo of the glaser. Bots in the cargo bay followed Dublin’s commands and performed tiny adjustments to the glaser. Lem watched from a distance, not wanting to interrupt. It was obviously a delicate procedure. Yet despite the sensitivity of it, Dublin’s hands danced through the holo and the touch commands like a concert pianist. Lem watched in fascination, feeling a new sense of wonder for Dublin. The glaser was second nature to him; every component, every circuit, were as known to him as his own hands. Father hadn’t stuck Dublin here to test Lem. Dublin had the job because he deserved it.

Dublin put aside his stylus, stretched, and noticed Lem. “Mr. Jukes. I didn’t see you come in. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”

“I admire what you’ve accomplished with the glaser, Dr. Dublin.”

Dublin shrugged sheepishly. “Six years of my life.”

They were alone. Lem felt comfortable proceeding. “My father placed a lot of trust in you when he asked you to lead this project.”

Dublin smiled. “Your father has been good to me.”

“You don’t have to speak well of him just because I’m his son. I know as well as anyone that he can be a little rough around the edges.”

Dublin laughed. “Oh, he’s not as bad as some say. A tough exterior perhaps, but below the surface a sweet man.”

Lem had to work hard to keep a straight face. Sweet? He had heard all kinds of colorful words to describe father; “sweet” had never been one of them. Yet Dublin seemed sincere. “Did my father ever mention me in relation to this mission before we set out?”

“He told me you were going to be the captain of the ship,” said Dublin. “He called you ‘most capable.’”

A compliment from Father? A sign of the apocalypse. Of course Father was probably just trying to put Dublin at ease about the crew.

“Did he advise you to take any precautions on my account?” asked Lem. “Did he in any way suggest that you were to take care of me? Look out for me? Keep an eye on me?”

Dublin looked confused. “Your father cares for your well-being, Mr. Jukes. You can’t fault him for that.”

“A yes or no, Dr. Dublin. Did he did give you special instructions regarding me?”

Dublin was taken aback. He fumbled, searching for the right words, trying to remember. “He said I was to make sure nothing happened to you.”

So there it was. Undercut by Father again. Didn’t Father realize that this would add another layer of anxiety to Dublin’s decisions? Whether Dublin’s conscious mind realized it or not, it dangled the threat of “something happening to Lem” every time Dublin went to fire the glaser. Of course he would be cautious. Everything he did carried the possibility of inciting the fury and disappointment of the CEO. But more importantly: Didn’t Father realize that instructions like this made Lem seem like a child? “Make sure nothing happens to my boy, Dr. Dublin.” How could Dublin fully respect Lem as the captain of the ship if Dublin had been led to believe that Lem needed a caretaker, that he needed watching? It suggested that Lem couldn’t take care of himself. And yes, Father knew what he was doing. He knew how this would diminish Lem in Dublin’s eyes. That was how Father worked. He makes himself seem like a doting, loving parent with concern only for his son, and yet what he was really doing was chipping away at whatever confidence people had placed in Lem. It was infuriating because no one else saw it. No one knew Father like Lem did. No doubt if Lem revealed his frustration to Dublin or Benyawe, they would tell him he was overreacting and that his father had his best interests in mind. Hell, Father probably believed it himself. But Lem knew better. You’re eight billion klicks away, Father, and you’re still pulling the strings.

Lem shook his head. And here I allowed myself to believe just for a few moments that Father might have love as his only motivation.

Dublin had to go. Or at least be stripped of his decision-making powers. Not his fault, but Lem needed to send a clear message to Father: I don’t need a caregiver.

“I’m promoting Dr. Benyawe,” said Lem. “She’ll be our new director of Special Operations. You will maintain your position as chief engineer, but you will report to her. She will decide whether we proceed with tests or not. Please don’t think of this as a demotion, Dr. Dublin. Your service has been impeccable. But our delays force me to make some change. The Board will expect it.”

Dublin no doubt understood that he was being stripped of ultimate decision-making authority, but he also was prudent enough to understand that he was a temporary casualty of a power struggle between father and son. Either that or he was even more docile than Lem had supposed. Whatever the reason, he offered no argument.

Lem next found Benyawe in the lab, took her aside, and told her of her promotion. She was surprised. “Director of Special Operations?” she said. “I’m not familiar with that title.”

“I just made it up,” said Lem.

“You’re promoting me because I told you I would have moved forward with the test,” said Benyawe. “But how do you know that my decision to conduct a test when another engineer chooses to refrain from doing so is not brazen recklessness? Dr. Dublin’s caution could very well have saved our lives for all we know. It is a very powerful machine.”

“I’ve read your papers, Dr. Benyawe, or at least all of those that have been made available internally, which is no small number. Were you an academic and allowed to make your findings public, I suspect you would be one of the most revered researchers in your field.”

“Dr. Dublin is equally respected, Lem.”

“Are you turning down the promotion?”

“Not at all. I’m honored. I just want to make sure you understand my qualifications don’t exceed his.”

“You take risks when he doesn’t.” And more importantly, your actions haven’t been influenced by Father. “Now, prove to me I’ve made the right decision.”

The test was over as soon as it began. One second the asteroid was moving through space. The next second it tore itself to smithereens. The largest surviving rock fragment spun away from the blast toward the ship, but the collision-avoidance system sprang into action and blasted the rock fragment to dust long before it reached the ship.

Lem and Benyawe were watching from the observation room. Lem lowered the scope glasses. “Well that was rather theatrical. Would we call that a success, Dr. Benyawe?”

Benyawe was already tapping on her data pad, calling up the video of the asteroid implosion and watching the footage again at a slower speed. “We clearly don’t yet know how to control the glaser to the degree we would like,” said Benyawe. “The gravity field was obviously too wide and too powerful. We still have adjustments to make.” She looked at Lem. “Dublin’s hesitations were not without reason, Lem. The glaser creates a field of centrifugal gravity, a field where gravity stops holding mass together because it all aligns with the glaser. It creates a field through the continuity of mass. The field spreads with the explosion of the mass, then it keeps destroying until the mass is so dispersed that it no longer works as a unit of mass. The question we have to answer is, How far does the field persist in relation to the mass? Do bigger asteroids generate a wider field? And would that field stretch far enough to reach the ship? We better hope not, because if it did, the same thing that happened to that pebble would happen to us.”

“The field seemed contained to me,” said Lem.

“On a rock this size, yes,” said Benyawe. “But what about a bigger mass? That’s why we need to continue testing, choosing targets that are incrementally larger than the previous test subjects.”

Lem didn’t want to wait. He wanted to send a very clear message to Father now. One that showed Father how free and clear Lem was from Father’s manipulations. If Father thought he could control Lem with the pebbles, then Lem would go to the opposite extreme. Right to the big leagues.

“In an ideal world,” Lem said, “yes, we would inch our way up to bigger asteroids. But this test just proved that Dublin was unnecessarily cautious. I say we move directly to a rock a hundred times the size of that pebble.”

“Your Father wouldn’t agree with that.”

Which is precisely why we’re going to do it, Lem wanted to say but didn’t. “My father’s assignment to me was to prove that the glaser could be a safe and effective mining tool. He wants to operationalize this as soon as possible. Juke ships will be mining big rocks, not pebbles.”

Benyawe shrugged. “As long as you know the risks.”

“You’ve been very clear. I’ll find our next target while you and Dublin prepare a brief yet thorough report for my father and the Board. Text only. Send the video in a subsequent message. I want them to receive the good news as soon as possible.” Lem knew that laserline messages with a lot of memory moved slowly through the company’s data receivers. If he wanted to get a message to Father fast, a brief text message was best.

Lem climbed into the push tube, adjusted his vambraces, and gave the command for the magnets to propel him to the helm. Of all the rooms on Makarhu, the helm had been the most difficult for Lem to get used to. Shaped like a cylinder, with the flight crew positioned all along the inner circular wall, the helm could be a little dizzying. As you entered the room at one end, there were crewmen all around you-above, below, left and right, all standing at their workstations with their feet held securely to the wall with greaves. In the center of the room was a spherical system chart, a large hologram surrounded by projectors. A small hologram of the ship was at the sphere’s center, and as the ship moved, so did the celestial objects in space around it, keeping the holo of the ship forever in the center. Lem launched himself to the system chart and came to rest beside his chief officer, an American named Chubs.

“Nice shooting,” said Chubs. “We can officially erase that pebble from the system chart.”

“We need a new target,” said Lem. “A hundred times the size of that pebble. Preferably close and rich in minerals.”

Chubs took his stylus from the front pocket of his body suit. “That’s easy.” He selected an asteroid on the system chart down near the ship and enlarged it so it filled the chart. “It’s called 2002GJ166. It’s not Asteroid Belt big, but it’s big for out here.”

“How far away?” asked Lem.

“Four days,” said Chubs.

Considering that this was the Kuiper Belt and that most big objects were usually months apart from each other, that was ridiculously close. “Sounds perfect,” said Lem.

Chubs looked hesitant. “Actually, not perfect. Not if you want to blow it up with the glaser.”

“Why?”

“We keep a constant watch of movement around us,” said Chubs. “Our boys here know where all the other mining ships are in the vicinity. Your father was very particular about us conducting these field tests far from the snooping eyes of WU-HU or MineTek or any other competitor. So if somebody is nearby, we make it our business to know about it. And this asteroid, 2002GJ166, is currently occupied.”

“Someone’s mining it?”

Chubs made a few movements with his stylus. The asteroid minimized, and a holo of a mining ship appeared. “A free-miner family. Not a big clan. Just a single ship. It’s called El Cavador. According to the files we have from the Lunar Trade Department, they’re a Venezuelan family. Their captain is a seventy-four-year-old woman named Concepcion Querales. And the ship isn’t any younger. It’s probably been patched up so many times over it looks like space junk at this point. It comfortably holds sixty people, but knowing free miners, they probably have closer to eighty or ninety people on board.”

“We can’t conduct the test if they’re there,” said Lem.

“I’m sure they would appreciate not being blown to smithereens,” said Chubs. “But don’t expect them to pack up and leave any time soon. They’ve been at the rock for a few weeks now building mineshafts. They have a lot of time and money invested in this dig site. And it’s paying off for them. They’ve already sent two loads in quickships back to Luna.”

Quickships weren’t really ships at all. They were rocket-propelled projectiles that carried a mining family’s processed metals all the way to Luna. The rockets were for maneuvering, and built-in sponders constantly broadcast the quickship’s location, trajectory, destination, and the name of the family. The family ID was always embedded deep within the quickship so it couldn’t be pirated. But pirates had little chance of catching quickships anyway. They moved incredibly fast, far faster than any manned vessel could match. Once the quickships got close to Luna, they turned themselves over to Lunar Guidance, or LUG, where they got “lugged” into Lunar orbit for pickup and delivery.

“If we did wait for them to leave,” said Lem, “about how long are we talking? A week? A year?”

“Impossible to say,” said Chubs. “Juke hasn’t done a lot of scans of rocks out this far. We typically stick to the Asteroid Belt. I have no idea how much metal they’re sitting on. Could be a month. Could be eight months.”

“What’s the next closest asteroid?” asked Lem.

Chubs turned back to the chart and began digging around again. “If you’re in a hurry, you won’t like the answer. The next nearest rock is four months, sixteen days away. And that’s four months in the wrong direction, farther out into deep space. So it would be four months out and four months back, just to return to this spot.”

“Eight months. Way too long.”

Chubs shrugged. “That’s the Kuiper Belt, Lem. Space and more space.”

Lem stared at the chart. They needed to take the closer asteroid. And the sooner the better. Lem didn’t want the miners taking all the metals. The point was to show the Board the economic viability of the glaser. Lem didn’t intend to obliterate the rock. He was going to break it up, collect whatever metals he could, sell the haul, and slap the asset statement onto the center of the boardroom table back on Luna.

But how do you vacate free miners from a profitable mine? He couldn’t pay them, which, as a man of wealth, had always been his default strategy for anything. The free miners were sitting on their source of income, possibly a long-standing source of income. They wouldn’t want to give it up. Which meant the only real option was to take it by force.

“What if we bump them?” asked Lem.

Lem had never witnessed the practice himself, but he knew that it existed. “Bumping” was a corporate technique, though not one you would find documented by any corporation. It was the asteroid version of claim jumping. Corporate ships snuck in on dig sites operated by free miners and chased the free miners away. They were coordinated attacks that required a lot of tech, but they worked. Free miners were rarely strong enough to defend themselves, and if you timed the attack right, the mineshafts would already be dug. So the free miners did most of the work, but the corporates reaped all of the benefits. It was devious, yes, and Lem didn’t relish the thought of doing it, but an eight-month trip to the second-closest asteroid was simply not an option. Besides, if rumors were true, Father had done a good bit of bumping in his early days, which would suggest that he could hardly object if Lem did it, too-as long as it didn’t become public.

Chubs raised an eyebrow. “You serious, Lem? You want to bump them?”

“If you see another option, I’d be thrilled to hear it. I don’t like the idea either, but we can’t ask them to leave. They wouldn’t. And the Makarhu can clearly take them. My concern is the glaser. I don’t want to endanger it in a scuffle. Could we bump them without jarring the glaser?”

“Depends on how you do it,” said Chubs. “They’re moored to the asteroid. If we catch them unawares, cut their moorings, and cripple their power, we can push them away as gentle as a kitten. They’d be completely defenseless at that point. The real danger is their pebble-killers.”

Pebble-killers, slang for “collision-avoidance lasers.”

“We wouldn’t move on them until we took out their power,” said Chubs. “Otherwise they could hit us with their lasers.”

“Wouldn’t that kill them?” asked Lem. “If we cut their power we’d cut their life support.”

“They’ll have auxiliary power for life support,” said Chubs. “That’s not a concern. The real issue is getting close enough to strike them. They might already know we’re here. They’ve got a sky scanner. If we move toward them now, even four days out, they’ll know it. Especially if we rush them. They’ll pick that movement up immediately and still have plenty of time to build a possible defense.”

“You’ve done this before, Chubs. Surely there are tactics for sneaking up on an asteroid.”

Chubs sighed. “There is one approach that usually works if done right. We call it ‘Red Light Green Light.’ You’re familiar with the playground game?”

Lem knew the one, and he could guess at what the name implied. “We sneak up on them when they’re not looking.”

“When they can’t look,” said Chubs. “Remember, they’re moored to the asteroid. So they’re rotating with it. We only advance toward them when they’re on the opposite side of the asteroid from our position. When they rotate toward us, we become still as a statue before we get in their line of sight, with all of our lights off. A dead stop. Totally invisible. Then, as soon as they rotate around the asteroid, as soon as their back is to us, so to speak, we punch it and shoot forward. It takes a lot of stopping and starting with the thrusters and retros, and uses up way too much fuel, but it’s doable. Though it will take a lot longer to get there.”

“Set the course,” said Lem. “And prepare everything we need for the bump. If they detect us sooner than we would like, I want to be ready to surge forward and take them.”

Chubs smiled, shaking his head, already tapping commands into his wrist pad. “You surprise me, Lem. I took you for someone who held the moral high ground. Going to war doesn’t seem your style.”

“We’re businessmen, Chubs. The moral high ground is wherever we set it.”