Glass Sky (39 page)

***

They sped across the Rockies and onto the Colorado plateau, hopping from small town to small town in a procession of cars. Aspen. Rifle. Green River. The empty deserts of Utah and Nevada shot by at 150 miles an hour, baking sand and rock interspersed with lakes of solar panels that stretched into mirage. The car slowed only where vast ranges of mountains wrinkled the heat-blighted land. Lots of time to think of poor Jie. Lots of time to worry.

Each time they switched cars, Ruth grew more nervous. By the time they hit Las Vegas, she’d had enough. “It’s too dangerous to keep going,” she said. “I’ve used my omni six times. The computers will piece it together. If we go for LA tonight, we might as well message the police and tell them where to meet us.”

The car dropped them outside Caesar’s Palace, a dilapidated hotel in the center of the crumbling strip. They walked for a while, past boarded up ruins dating back to the era when Vegas still had the monopoly on excess. When it still had water. Two graffiti-splashed pirate ships lay on their sides in a lake of tumbleweeds. “Loosest slots in the country,” read the flashing sign on the hotel. It had a picture of a naked woman with a dollar sign covering her crotch.

They found a hotel a few blocks off the strip. It clearly catered to the one industry that still thrived in Las Vegas. An unshaven man in a dirty T-shirt watched television behind bulletproof glass. “Three?” he asked, not looking up. “How many hours?”

“Two,” said Ruth. “All night. We’ve been working all day.” She slid the last of her cash under the security glass.

The man replied with a plastic door card, his attention already back on his show. No security cameras. He’d asked for no ID. Prostitution might be legal, but most customers still preferred anonymity. Tania recoiled at the stained carpets in the hallway. Three skeletal women smoked a joint by the elevators. What would force somebody to live this way?

“Last week we were in the most expensive hotel in London,” said Tania. “I’m not sure I like our trajectory.”

“At least these cheap places have tidy rooms,” said Ruth. “They rely on repeat business. Nobody wants to find the last customer’s condom between the sheets.”

Ruth opened the door. It smelled of disinfectant inside. Tania snapped the deadbolt behind them. Lot of good that’ll do.

Ruth sprawled on the bed. “Should we see if we’ve hit the news?”

Radiation. Famine. A controversy over advertising on EyeSistant mind links. Nobody mentioned a manhunt in Colorado. Nobody mentioned a revolt on the moon.

“This is bad,” said Ruth. “Really bad.”

“Dare I ask why?” said Tania gloomily. Really, can it get much worse?

“It’s extremely hard to keep a big manhunt secret,” said Ruth. “Police departments have too many leaks. So whoever is looking for us is keeping it private. A fatal accident on the moon. We vanish without a ripple. None of this ever happened.”

***

Morning found them with an omni they could no longer trust, and five dollars in cash. How long can we hide? Automated systems would have been trolling through records all night, looking for the digital breadcrumbs that they’d left behind. Making connections. Their movements would be on a hundred cameras. The trap was closing. Tania could feel the jaws, even if she couldn’t see them yet.

“What now?” asked Tania. “We need money, for starters.”

Ruth handed Tania one of the safe sex kits hung in the bathroom’s public service rack. “I’m afraid this is your area,” she said. “You know I don’t really go for men.”

“We’ll get more if we’re a package,” said Tania, flicking the kit back at Ruth. “But I know you too well. What’s your real plan?”

Ruth led them onto the cracked street outside the hotel. A teenage girl, working the corner, watched warily as they approached. She can’t be more than 16.

“Fuck off.” She snapped her gum. “Get your own spot.”

“We need your help,” said Ruth. “My friend fought with our pimp last night. We need to get to LA until things cool.”

The girl snapped another gum bubble. “Wayya want me to do? I ain’t snarlin’ wid no pimp.”

“We need a car,” said Ruth. “We can’t use our omnis or he’ll trace us.”

“Yous crazy. I ain’t payin’ yo’ car either.”

“We’ll pay yo’ hotel,” said Ruth. “Square it. Would five days cover?”

“Five days?” The girl snickered. “I don’t know what sort of shit yo’ in. But there’s no way you ladies is working girls. Which means yo’ in big trouble. Ten days.”

“Ten days. And you give us forty cash.”

“Twenty cash.”

“Thirty cash,” said Ruth.

The girl nodded warily. She followed them back to the front desk and kept an eye out as Ruth paid for ten days in the hotel. Then she snatched the room card and shoved Ruth a crumpled wad of bills in return. “Twenny-five’s all I got. Only a blowjob so far.” But true to her word, she ordered them a car.

***

Three anxious hours later they arrived in Los Angeles. Ruth chose a destination that would bring their car past Witty’s studios. A handful of kids were playing at the abandoned gas station across the road. Nobody loitered on the street corners. No suspicious vans.

“Should we stop?” asked Tania.

“No way,” said Ruth. “I don’t trust this.”

“Then why go past here? If you’re going to be suspicious either way, what have we achieved?”

“Let’s grab a coffee,” said Ruth. “We need to think.”

They stopped at a diner 20 blocks from the studio. Ruth ordered sandwiches and coffees, paying with the crumpled bills.

Tania slumped at the table. “Can we message him?”

“Too dangerous,” said Ruth. “By now they’ll have a blanket wiretap on anyone connected to us. They might even have a global wiretap for our voiceprints.”

“So we have to reach Witty in meat-space,” said Tania. “They’ll be watching his house. Could we catch him leaving the studio?”

“He’s pretty oblivious to attention,” said Ruth. She took a hungry bite from her sandwich. “He’s got fans waving at him everywhere he goes. Plus he’s probably being tailed.”

“How about a courier? Pay a homeless guy to deliver a message to reception.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” said Ruth. “A couple of bottles of liquor would – uh oh.” Her face whitened. “Oh, shit.”

Two men had entered, standing side-by-side in the doorway. Their darkly menacing outlines were backlit against the sunshine, and their eyes glowed green in the light from their EyeSistants. They’re not here for coffee. Tania looked down at her plate. But at GBOP in Colorado the search had been random. This isn’t random. It can’t be. They know we’re here.

One of the men moved towards them, a confident, grimreaper glide. Can we make the back exit? Tania fingered the pepper spray in her purse. Fight our way out? But the bigger man had the doorway covered. It won’t do any good. These are professionals. It’s over.

“I’m sorry it had to end this way my friend,” said Tania. “Poor Jie. We failed him.”

PREPARING THE ERV for launch took several hours. The extra crew couches were removed and tossed out onto the lunar surface to make more room. And a month’s worth of food and water was loaded into the capsule, along with any tools that Jie could conceivably need for his mission at L1. Jie watched the sleeping mining vehicles nervously, half expecting them to suddenly come to life and thwart their plans. But apparently they’d staged their takeover correctly, because they saw no sign that Earthcon retained access to any of the automated systems.

The only communication they received was a supportive: a brief one-way message blasted directly to the suit radios via the deep space communications array in Hawaii. “Good luck. You scared the heck out of us with that stunt. We’re glad you’re OK. And we’re on your side.” That had been followed by music. An hour ago it had abruptly gone silent.

“Earthcon’s management must have arrived on the scene,” Rajit suggested. “They’re probably probing our defenses, looking for back doors or things we missed. Hopefully they haven’t pumped the base full of CO2. Or programmed the ERV to detonate on launch.”

“Thanks Rajit,” said Sharon. “We can always trust you to come up with the worst-case scenarios.”

No point worrying though. It was out of their control.

***

Jie lay in the single remaining couch, surrounded by dusty supply crates, waiting as the final minutes to the launch ticked down. Rajit’s burn sequences were programmed into the flight computer. Goodbyes had been said. And at least I’m out of that disgusting space suit. Might as well be comfortable. If something goes wrong during launch, I’m done for anyway.

Negative thoughts looped. What if Tania didn’t understand my message? What if the coded email to Cheng was blocked? What if this is all for nothing, and nobody on Earth even finds out about it? He watched the countdown timer. Tick. Tick.

What if Tania didn’t understand my message? Tick. Tick. Two minutes to midnight.

What if the email to Cheng was blocked? Tick. Tick.

“How’s it going in there, Jie?” asked Sally.

“My brain is driving me crazy,” said Jie. “Please, distract me. Where are you?”

“We’re just summiting the viewing hill.” Sally’s voice sounded muddy, as if she’d been crying.

Jie craned his neck to look through the window. The low mound of the viewing hill lay a few hundred meters away, but it was backlit, no more than a deeper blackness against the stars. Three lights wobbled near the summit, heading for the makeshift couch from where they’d watched the ERV land.

Fifty seconds. “Any last-minute advice?”

“Don’t knock the shield into the sun,” said Rajit.

“You’ve told me that half a dozen times,” said Jie. Twenty seconds.

He blinked back a tear. “I don’t know that I’ll see you again. But it’s been an honor to spend this time with you. You have all become my friends. Sharon, we couldn’t have asked for a better leader. Rajit, you’re as solid as they come. And Sally, thank you for… everything. Please tell Cheng I love him.”

A sob.

Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Jie felt growing heaviness as the main engine ignited, swelling quickly to full strength, pressing him into his seat. He struggled to bring air into his flattened lungs.

“The main engine has engaged,” he gasped, although no doubt it was obvious to the observers. “2.1Gs.” Without an atmosphere the ride was surprisingly silent, and smooth as a windless lake, giving a strong illusion that gravity had just increased to ten times what Jie had lived under for the last six months. “It feels terrible… I’m glad I… worked out.” That was all he could manage. He concentrated on his breathing, trying to still the panic.

The torment continued for several minutes. Then the engine cut off. He gulped air as his dinner floated in his gut. The weightlessness felt familiar, yet thrilling, like sex after long abstinence. Like last night. Jie floated to the window. The moon’s disk filled the sky, but he could find no landmarks in the jumbled patchwork of craters and mountains. Maybe the base is out of sight already. Or maybe I don’t know where to look. Whatever the reason, it was a place he would never see again.

“Hey guys, can you still hear me?”

No reply. The suit radios didn’t have much range. And whomever was now in charge at Earthcon must have cut the relays.

A gentle thrust marked the first of Rajit’s planned course corrections. The moon rolled beneath, creeping out of sight. Jie pressed his face against the glass, watching the last sliver of light. Gone. I’m alone. I’m as far as any human being has ever been from Earth. And my journey is just beginning.

***

With only a couch and some supplies to share the capsule with, Jie at least had room to move. He distracted himself by playing in zero gravity, practicing for his upcoming EVA at the shield. Controlled motions. Just like Sharon taught me. Move with my arms, with my fingertips. His legs dangled clumsily behind him, as useless in this environment as a tailbone, or gills.

After three hours of floating, he started to nod. He returned to the couch, strapping himself in so he wouldn’t drift. The dread of what lay ahead had subsided somewhat now that it was inevitable. He could still feel it, beating away at his defenses. But it no longer overwhelmed him.

Is it acceptance? Or denial? Is this why some prisoners walk so calmly to their execution.

He tried to watch a movie on his Omni. ‹Access denied. Unable to contact the digital rights server.› He tried a book instead, and had somewhat better luck, although none of the dynamic content would load. It’s going to be a long ride.

Jie jerked awake to an unfamiliar male voice.

‹Jie, this is Earthcon, can you hear me?› The speaker had the same soothing tone Jie might have used to read bedtime stories to a younger Cheng.

‹I was wondering when you’d call,› said Jie. ‹I’m guessing you’re the negotiator?›

‹My name is Wong Choy,› said the man. ‹My job is to help you.›

‹It’s simple, Choy. We want the UN to adopt Pax Gaia next week. The Chinese and American monopoly on the shield is making other countries scared to offer public support. So I’m going to reset the passwords and buy Pax Gaia a bit of publicity.›

‹A noble goal,› said the man. ‹But the international community couldn’t even manage CO2 cuts this summer. Pax Gaia is an order of magnitude more ambitious. How many countries have the discipline to implement it?›

‹Access to weather control will create a strong incentive to cooperate,› said Jie.

‹In that case you’re describing Tamed Earth,› said Choy. ‹The US and China will manage the climate to the benefit of the largest number of people. In return, they’ll enforce CO2 targets.›

‹We want more than just CO2 targets,› said Jie. ‹We want to fix our world.›

A pause. ‹Jie, we don’t have time to talk in circles. The flight engineers tell me you don’t have enough fuel to return. Are you aware of that?›

Fear escaped from its prison for a moment, tearing at his heart. In the back of his mind, he’d nursed the dim hope that Rajit had made a mistake in the calculations. He fought back dismay. ‹Inconvenient, isn’t it? It means I’ve got nothing to lose.›

‹We can still get you back,› said Choy. ‹Not to Earth of course. But to the moon. In four hours there’s a window on an elliptical return trajectory. After that, the moon’s orbit carries it out of your reach. What if we use this as an opportunity? The Americans and Chinese will meet some of your demands; we’ll add tougher environmental targets to Tamed Earth, and enforce them through our control of the shield. And you’ll come home, as a hero. You’ll see Cheng grow up.›

Or I’ll vanish. Crash into the far side of the moon. ‹I accept your offer,› said Jie. ‹Arrange a press conference. I want Tania Black there, and full two-way communications so that I know I’m not talking to a bot. I’ll talk to you in three hours.›

‹Jie! Whoa! I can’t set it up that soon.›

Jie turned off the radio, and the cabin fell into silence.

***

‹Choy, are you there?›

‹Jie, yes!› Choy’s voice radiated enthusiasm. ‹Great news. Both Presidents agree. We’ve got the press conference set for tomorrow.›

A lie. So predictable that Jie wasn’t even disappointed. ‹Then tomorrow’s when I give you control of the spacecraft.›

‹Politics doesn’t work that fast, Jie. There are subtleties. But I can send you their pledge. Please. Let us save your life.›

‹Set up the press conference,› said Jie. ‹Until then, I have no choice but to keep going.›

‹Cheng’s begging for you to come back.› Choy’s melodic voice darkened ever so subtly, adding a minor chord that raised the hairs on Jie’s neck. ‹He won’t stop crying.›

Jie felt as if he’d just been splashed with water. Was I that stupid? He’d been worried about putting Tania and Ruth in danger. The American government was known for its ruthlessness. But my government? No. It’s just words. They’re trying to rattle me. Jie turned off the radio before Choy could inject more doubts. Outside the window there was only darkness. Stars. Somewhere behind, Earth dwindled.

They won’t hurt Cheng. The Chinese government doesn’t hurt ten-year-olds. Do they?

***

‹Hello Jie,› said Choy.

‹Is it time for the press conference?›

The communications delay had grown noticeably.

‹The Americans captured Tania Black this afternoon. They no longer feel a need to negotiate. You’re alone out there, Jie. Nobody knows about you except us.›

Don’t panic. I knew they were going to say this. But it was still disconcerting. If he’s lying, he could have done it yesterday. Why delay? Jie took a breath. Look at me. Doubting myself. He’s getting to me.

‹We’d still like to talk,› said Choy. ‹It will be costly and embarrassing if you change the password. Not to mention risky. You might damage the shield. Cause millions of deaths.›

‹Let’s bring in Tania then,› said Jie. ‹I’m just the man standing in front of the tanks. She can negotiate for me.›

Choy laughed. ‹You don’t talk to anyone but me. Not until you start cooperating. That’s our leverage.›

‹I’m crazy enough to die for this,› said Jie. ‹You overestimate your leverage.›

‹Think about what you’re doing, Jie,› warned Choy. ‹The shield is delicately balanced. If you turn off the control hub computers, sunlight pressure may push it irreparably out of position.›

Jie switched off the radio.

***

One day.

Two days.

Jie rotated the spacecraft so that he could watch Earth. The entire planet had shrunk to a colored ball the size of a full moon, the continents too small to have form any longer. 1.3 million kilometers away, according the XPOS. 1.3 million kilometers. How could such a big number seem so small, cold, and lonely?

Is Cheng safe? Is Tania?

But the only person he could talk to was Choy. Choy, with his silver forked tongue and poisoned logic. Always there, day and night. Jie’s only tie to the rest of humanity. Jie defended his sanity by keeping the radio off. But every eight hours he called Earthcon. Just to see. Just to feel human.

***

At the Lagrange point, the earth’s and sun’s gravities were perfectly balanced, which meant that anything placed there could be kept in position at almost no cost. Earth’s gravity had already slowed Jie substantially by the time he approached, like a tossed ball nearing its apogee. But he had enough extra velocity that he needed to program a long braking thrust, the biggest test of his navigational skills so far.

For several anxious minutes he felt the push of the main engine. The burn was intended to get him to a manageable speed 5 kilometers short of the shield. Once the thrust ended and he returned to full weightlessness, he looked at his new relative velocity from the XPOS. 12 meters per second. A little bit fast. He typed more numbers on the absurdly small keyboard, and fired the main engine again. Another wait. Now the XPOS showed the spacecraft spinning slightly off axis.

This is going to be a nightmare.

Jie’s head spun with mental calculations. This close to the Lagrange point, gravity was essentially zero, so he was dealing with Newton’s laws of motion in their Platonic ideal, freed from the messy constraints of friction. Unfortunately, a billion years of instinct had wired Jie’s ape brain to assume that a moving object would eventually stop. And while Jie could do the math, the emergency flight controls weren’t making it easy. They lacked even a voice interface.

Jie typed another pair of commands.

> Fire orientation thruster 4 for .1 seconds at 25%

> Wait 2 seconds

> Fire main engine for .1 seconds at 25%

Lurch… Lurch. Stars swung outside the viewport. Tsat tau! The orientation thruster should have canceled his rotation, not sent him spinning in the opposite direction. But the ERV had not been designed for such delicate maneuvering. It was built to survive a trip down through Earth’s atmosphere on the tail end of a long burn down from the moon.