“We’ve looked at the data you collected from the Chinese laser and it matches with Russel’s crystal — as we expected. In fact, we were able to pinpoint which version they copied it from. They didn’t just have the formula, they actually had a physical sample to grow their own from in zero-g. Batch 67. All of those samples were grown onboard the Sagan Orbital Research Station.”
The Sagan is a science and industrial lab consisting of about thirty different modules, each one owned by a country or research institution. Companies, countries and universities pay to have a lab placed there. Researchers share a common area. It’s kind of like an industrial park in space.
“Batch 67 was supposed to have been destroyed and the samples returned to Earth in an unmanned module,” says Beth.
I know where this is going. “The VTX module that burned up two months ago?”
“Correct. The batch 67 samples were supposed to be on that ship. Because it was destroyed, we have no way of knowing if they were ever even placed onboard.”
“I thought it was odd that the VTX was destroyed. We haven’t had lost an unmanned craft in years.”
“Indeed. Which makes this even more troubling. Someone not only stole the sample, they sabotaged the reentry vehicle.”
“And this person was onboard the Sagan?”
“Possibly still onboard. There’s twenty-two people up there right now. Sixteen were there when the VTX was destroyed.”
“Wilmer Donald is the head of the DARPA lab and runs it with two other people. We’re reasonably confident they weren’t the ones behind this. But the lab is a locked facility and they’re the only ones with access.”
“Well that’s inconvenient for them,” I reply.
“Indeed. We need to have someone up there to take a look at the security procedures and possibly figure out how this happened. Given your experience in finding…workarounds, for gaining access to space vehicles, and your background in testing equipment for iCosmos, we thought you might be a good choice to send up.”
“And I’m the only person you’ve got right now…”
“Yes. There is that. Until Space Ops is up and running, you’re basically the go-to guy. I can understand your hesitation given what…”
I cut her off. “I’ll do it.”
Jessup speaks up. “You should know something about what happened to the VTX.”
“What’s that?”
He exchanges glances with Saul, then turns back to me. “It wasn’t going to be unmanned until last minute. They never let that part out.”
“Wait? Are you saying someone was almost killed in that thing?”
Saul replies after a moment of hesitation, “What we’re saying, David, is that whoever the operative is onboard the Sagan, they were willing to kill someone to get that sample. And that’s where we’d be sending you.”
Twenty-Six
Passenger
I’ve set foot on two different space stations: One was a Chinese satellite where I found a half dead astronaut. The other was a Russian platform where I watched a friend die on my first trip and had to kill two men on my second, and nearly destroyed the entire station in the process.
To say that I have some anxiety about setting foot onboard the Sagan is an understatement.
Laney’s last words to me before I stepped onboard the Unicorn spacecraft were, “Try not to break this one.”
We shared a platonic hug that I let linger a little too long. But she endured it and didn’t embarrass me by pulling away.
I couldn’t figure out the right way to tell her that I was going to miss having her in my ear.
For this operation in order to blend in, I have to behave like all the other researchers onboard the Sagan and then report in when I’m alone in my own cubicle.
Our pilot is Jenna Schroeder. I trained with her at iCosmos, but didn’t know her terribly well. She and everyone else was told my cover story about working as a consultant for a company doing equipment testing.
It’s a pretty plausible story. Everyone in aerospace is still crazy multidisciplinary.
It was weird sitting in the plastic chairs of the iCosmos classroom and going through that process as a passenger and not a prospective pilot.
Anyone going into orbit as a passenger on an iCosmos craft has to spend a week in training — not counting what the destination and their own institution require. It’s still not at the point where you just buy a ticket on your phone and walk into an airplane.
I’m pretty sure it’ll never get to that point. Even as space travel gets safer, there’s still the medical issues that everyone goes through to some degree.
Right now, getting flight rated is pretty similar to scuba training. You have to pass a few tests and show that you’re not going to immediately pass out or freak out.
And this is the real space certification; not the adventure camp style they do for rich tourists where they treat them like make believe astronauts then send them on a seven-minute suborbital flight where they sort of see stars and experience weightlessness before falling back to Mojave.
I mean, if that’s your thing, great. But that’s like jumping into the hotel pool in Brisbane and saying you swam the Great Barrier Reef.
As a courtesy, Jenna let me sit in the empty co-pilot seat. I was a good passenger and didn’t touch anything.
“You want to get the hatch?” she asks as the lights turn green after we dock.
“Sure thing.” I unbuckle my harness and drift over to the nose of the vehicle.
I give the wheel a spin and pull the hatch inwards. On the other side is the interior hatch for the Sagan. A small porthole sits in the middle.
I press my face up against the cold glass, trying to see who is on the other side.
My stomach does a backflip when all I see is an empty airlock and I get flashbacks of prior missions.
Suddenly a Stormtrooper helmet pops into view and yells, “WHO GOES THERE?”
I flinch. “JESUS!”
When I look back, Jenna is covering her mouth trying not to laugh.
“You knew this was going to happen?”
She nods. “They do it to everyone.”
My pulse begins to settle down. “For heaven sake. I have a history with this kind of thing…”
“That’s why they wanted me to make sure you weren’t armed.”
“Not funny, Schroeder. Not funny.”
“Sorry, David.”
I shake my head. “No. It’s cool. You knew Peterson and Bennet too.”
“Peterson would have loved this kind of thing.”
“Yeah, and Bennet would have just shaken his head.”
“And not have screamed like a little girl.”
“I didn’t scream,” I reply.
“If that’s what you want me to report in the log.”
The Stormtrooper takes off the mask and I’m greeted by the smiling face of an older woman. This would be Tamara Collins, the station director.
She gives the hatch a triple knock, letting me know she’s about to open it. I drift back as the door swings into the Sagan.
There’s a group of people filling the small airlock waiting to greet me.
Tamara shakes my hand, “Welcome aboard, David. We don’t get too many celebrities here.”
“So that’s what they’re calling me.”
I float into the junction and get introduced to some of the researchers who came down to meet me. I already know who they all are from the Penumbra files, but I pretend to learn their names for the first time.
Noticeably absent are two Russian scientists. I don’t know if this is because they have other work to do or if this is some kind of protest.
While Radin had made a public display of calling me a hero for working with his intelligence officials — a complete lie — I know that back in Roscosmos there’s not a lot of warm feelings for me.