Forty-Six
Damage Control
This could just be no big deal, or it could be something important. My experience with detective work is limited to watching reruns of Columbo with my grandmother during summer vacation.
However, if I take it for more than just an accounting mistake, that means that between Ling’s lab and this storage module, two canisters have gone AWOL — assuming that he includes the one that blew up on the shuttle among the twelve.
If I were a betting man, I’d wager that instead of just stealing the Silver Glass crystal from his lab when nobody was looking, our thief switched canisters at some point — and may have swiped another one for a second attempt. When they did the switch could point to our culprit.
While the fingerprint scanner jammer indicates that anyone could have had access to that lab, maybe that was just a ruse?
What if our thief put that thing there as a red herring?
If you were Attwell or one of the other DARPA folks, you’d want to misdirect any attention directed your way if something showed up missing.
Or, if you were someone else looking to boost the container, maybe you didn’t want to chance a secret video camera catching you as you snuck into the pseudo-secure module?
You’d try to find another place to steal it — and that would mean from the cargo shuttle itself. If you swiped the crystal canister and replaced it with one from here, you could also put something inside that would blow up the craft as it headed for reentry, hiding the theft.
I rub my hands together for warmth, then pull a canister off the shelf and spin it around in the air. It’s plenty big enough to hold an explosive device. I could probably make something in my lab up here that would do the damage. No need to smuggle aboard any Semtex.
Assuming Ling brought the canister to the loading airlock, that means that somebody got to it there or when it was placed inside the trunk of the spacecraft.
I don’t know how tightly they control the loading of spacecraft, but it’s very possible everyone who needs to send something down just straps it into the airlock where the load supervisor will then move it to the ship. This would mean that someone could bring another cargo item there with the duplicate canister inside and do the switch.
Back in iCosmos security training they told us one of the things to be very careful of — and a vulnerability of many corporations and government agencies — is the outgoing FedEx pile.
All someone has to do is get a FedEx uniform, drop off some useless package of print samples or whatever, and offer to take all the outbound packages then open and look for anything interesting at their leisure before dropping them off at a real FedEx facility to continue onto their final destination.
We put so much trust into the idea that once we seal something inside a box, slap a label and billing account number on it, that it’s as good as already there.
For those of us on the right side of the law, we treat those packages as sacrosanct. But for evildoer opportunists, they’re easy prey.
This is exactly the kind of security loophole I was sent up to find. Now it’s a matter of figuring out who exploited it.
Attwell and Ling aren’t off the hook by a long shot, but this does focus the potential suspects to anyone who had an outbound package to put on the shuttle.
We’ll want to get a list of everything on the manifest and start from there. I’ll have to see what Jessup wants me to do next.
I’m not sure if this is a thing he wants me to handle, or they’ll do back on Earth.
Shivering, my blue fingers push the canister back into the rack and place the strap in place that keeps it from floating away.
My ears perk up at the sound of a metal clang from the front of the storage module.
Is someone in this section? I’ll have to do some quick explaining as to why I’m here.
I make my way over the crates and through the boxes of supplies secured to the hull.
For a second I think I see a shadow in the porthole looking into the connection module, but when I slide past the last crate there’s nobody there.
It could have been a flickering light. I guess.
I grab the handle for the hatch and give it a twist — except it won’t budge.
I try again, more forcefully this time. It still doesn’t move.
Okay, this is a little messed up.
Next to the hatch there’s a small intercom hardwired into the rest of the station. I tap the touchscreen, expecting it to light up. It doesn’t.
Are my fingers too cold? I give them a vigorous rub and try the screen again. Nothing.
Now this is fucked up.
Next to the intercom is an old fashioned alarm switch that Thomas Edison could have designed.
I hesitate for a moment, trying to decide if I should pull it or not. Doing that will set off flashing lights and buzzers all over the station alerting everyone to the fact that there’s a problem in this module.
I try the handle on the hatch one more time. It still isn’t moving.
Fine, time to wake everyone up.
I pull the alarm.
A split-second later the hatch slams into my face and I see stars.
My whole body aches and I try to understand why.
When I look through the tiny window in the middle of the door I was trying to open, I understand why.
It wasn’t just the hatch that slammed into me, it was the whole fucking module!
Someone triggered an explosive release and the entire section was ejected from Sagan station.
The station is slowly starting to recede away.
The noise I heard before was someone shutting the interior door on the module, marooning me.
Forty-Seven
Signal
I’m inside a thirty-foot cargo module drifting away from the space station. I’m wearing a track suit and have no radio to call over to the station and ask what the hell is going on.
Also, it’s freezing inside here. I might just die of hypothermia before I suffocate.
On the bright side, if I wanted any more proof that I’d reached my Sherlock Holmes “aha” moment, I guess this would pretty much be it. Yay for that.
I spend five more seconds staring out the window at the station then decide I need to jump into action.
My first priority is to figure out my priorities. Number one would be getting out of here and back to the station.
The simplest way would be to get them on the radio and have the mechanical arm grab me, or use one of the attached spacecraft to nudge me back into the docking collar.
I try the comm panel again, even though I know it’s a futile effort, given the fact that whatever cable connected it to the station has been severed. There’s also the fact that whoever shut the hatch and did the explosive discharge probably made sure I had no way to call back to the station. They wanted to be certain I was royally screwed.
My hat is off to you, stranger. Mission accomplished.
I do a cursory inspection around the hatch, just in case there’s another comm panel. Nope. I check the wall of the hull, pushing cargo out of the way. Still nope.
Okay, there’s no built-in system to call over to the Sagan. What’s my next option?
I’m in a module filled with electronics and components, maybe there’s something here?
I start ransacking the boxes and bins like a hyperactive kid on Christmas morning.
I ignore the labels and tear everything open, even if it says “Concentrated Cleaning Fluid.”
The compartment quickly fills with duct tape, micro-electronics components and a thousand spare parts.
By the time I reach the last crate the air is filled with the contents of everything I could pry open with my cold desperate fingers. A working radio isn’t among them.
Sure, there might be enough components floating around in here to make one; if I had three weeks and all the tools to put the parts together — and the blueprints.