Vienna Station (4 page)

Kelly says nothing.

Alex looks down. “No spying. No further action of any kind. Simply perform one small favor for me.”

Kelly looks away. After a moment, she asks, “How much?”

Mozart leads me through a narrow hatch into darkness. He reassures me, “Come right ahead. It’s okay. The deck is flat and unobstructed.”

I step ahead, though the darkness is absolute. “What is this place?” I ask.

“Next to the mountain habitat, it’s my favorite on the Station. Ready?”

“Ready? Ready for what?”

He chuckles. “Ready for me to open the window?”

“Sure,” I reply doubtfully.

He chuckles again. I hear a faint hum from above. Then the darkness is gone.

Mozart says, “This observation deck is unique, I believe, among all the stations.”

I say nothing. I can’t. I’m speechless. Imagine being inside of a giant’s eye and then having the lids of that eye open to reveal fields of burning jewels, stars. Mozart takes my hand and pulls me forward.

He says, “It is a bit overwhelming at first. I dialed the magnification back to 200% for your first time.”

“Thanks,” I manage to gasp.

We stand for an unmeasured time and experience infinite vistas of light. At last, he speaks again. “I’m the youngest, you know.”

I swallow. “The youngest?”

He nods. “The youngest brother.”

“How old are you?”

“Technically, I’m twenty-three. By the calendar, I’m ten.”

I drop his hand. “Ten!”

“Yes.”

I take a deep breath. “Ten.”

Mozart peeks at me sideways. “You liked my concerto?”

“Yes, I liked it.”

“Nothing more? What did you think of it? Honestly?”

I take another deep breath and look at him. “Your concerto was the greatest, most beautiful work I’ve performed.”

He smiles. “Thank you. I’ll have to write down the piano part when I have time.”

I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach. I speak carefully. “You haven’t written the part yet?”

Mozart shrugs. “I knew basically what I wished to do, but I wanted to leave myself free to improvise. You played so beautifully! It turned out better than I had imagined.”

I shake my head in wonder and say nothing.

He continues, “I wanted it to be a gift to you, an apology for the way I treated you.”

I smile at him. “Apology accepted.” I take his hand. “Have you ever been kissed by a cellist before?”

Mozart grins. “What kind of question is that to ask a ten year old boy?”

Our lips touch.

A face exactly like Mozart’s, though pale and shrunken, peers intently at a view screen. It is Felix. His wasted body is immobile and attached to many tubes. Sensors and instruments surround him. Suddenly, he smiles.

A woman’s voice, soft and rich, reverberates through his cockpit. “You’ve done very well. All is ready. “Felix’s face brightens with angelic joy. The voice continues, “Soon, a few days at most, you will save your brother from the monsters on Earth, save us all. Be patient, dear. Be patient.”

Felix nods to himself.

I stretch and push a yellow comforter away from my eyes. The room, wood-paneled and full of rustic furniture, looks as though it belongs in a mountain lodge. Various instruments lean against walls and rest on chairs. Sheets of music and books are scattered on the floor. A fire burns vigorously in the vast, fieldstone fireplace. I yawn.

“Want another sticky bun?”

I look over my shoulder. Mozart is standing beside the bed holding two steaming cups. “Is that some sort of joke?”

His eyes are clear as water, his face an innocent lily. “I never joke about sticky buns.”

I move my leg beneath the covers. “I noticed.” I turn toward him. He offers a cup. I accept it. I sip coffee. “Good!”

He sits on the edge of the bed. “How could it not be good here?”

I sip again and look at him. “You apologized to me. You never explained why you did what you did.”

He smiles at me. “Someone distracted me with a kiss.”

I smile. “I’ll restrain myself now.”

He shrugs. “Too bad.”

I persist. “Really, you must have had a reason for treating me as you did.”

He nods. “I did.” He looks at me. “I do.” He sets the cup down on a side table. “This room,” he motions to the paneled walls, “is my retreat. It is secure from any possible monitoring. Only I,” he smiles, “and now you, ever come here.”

“You fear spies?” I ask.

“I do. I have secrets. I know things I’m not supposed to know.” He looks at me. “I had to determine whether or not you’d been sent to discover them.”

I shake my head. “I’m no spy.”

He nods, “I know that. Now.” He rises, walks to the fireplace, turns. “Also, I need your help.”

I snort. “You could have asked.”

“I am asking. Dru, will you help me?”

“With what?”

He looks at me for a long moment. “I need you to help me prevent a genocide, a genocide preceded by a mass murder.”

CEO Frederick holds a fat cigar. He studies it carefully. Finally, he holds it beneath his nose and sniffs its aroma.

Lola, again sitting in her chair, asks, “You aren’t going to light that thing in here, are you?”

Frederick looks up. “Alas, no. Part of enjoying a good cigar is anticipation, you see.” He returns the cigar to a humidor on the table beside him. “Now, where were we? Ah, yes. Our agent is prepared to act?”

Lola nods. “He’s ready.”

“The packages are in place?”

“They will be in position a few days from now.”

Frederick rubs his hands together and steps lightly to a computer screen. He says, “I’m sure that Mozart is aware of our plans.”

Lola chuckles. “How could he be? You’re paranoid.”

“Still, I feel that something is amiss.

Lola shrugs. “Alex says he will soon have access to Mozart’s rooms. That should ease your doubts.”

Frederick nods. “Perhaps. We should also have emergency response plans in place in case he does know what we intend.”

Lola shakes her head. “Go ahead, if it makes you feel better.”

Mozart picks up a real violin, a Guarneri. “Poor Earth is bloated with people, passions and poisons. It staggers along from crisis to crisis. Food production is at maximum levels now. Should some small part of its incredibly complex infrastructure fail?” He plucks a string.

I shake my head impatiently. “I grew up In L.A. I saw the Figueroa riots up close. More than 8,000 died.

Mozart looks at me. “I know your background. It is one of the reasons you were chosen for the orchestra.”

I am exasperated now. “You chose me for reasons other than my playing?”

“Yes, though your musical competence is faultless, I also admired your determination. You rose above the very mean streets where you were born. I needed a further test, however.”

“Why?”

“You are too perfect.”

“Too perfect?”

Mozart nods. “I need the help of an excellent musician from L.A. You are made to order for my need. You could have been a plant.”

My head is spinning. I ask, “Cut to the chase! Why do you need me?”

He sighs. “That is a complicated question.”

I settle back against the pillows. “I’ve got time.”

He carefully lays the violin on a cabinet. “Yes, well Earth is as you know it to be. The Stations up here are now the source of wealth and power. They range from Glenn Beck and Osama bin Laden—both isolated but with close ties to groups on Earth—to Espiritu and Mandela—both independent and open to settlement for all who meet their requirements. Then there are the cruise ship stations: Mountain High, Rio, and Vienna, all of whose governing bodies slavishly court tourism. The stations differ greatly in focus and purpose. However, all are alike in that they share the enormous prosperity derived from space-generated wealth. They cooperate in mutual defense and in exploitation of new resources.”

“What does all this have to do with me being from L.A.?”

Mozart walks to the bed and sits beside me. “The directors of Vienna Station want a bigger piece of the pie. Perhaps they want the whole pie.”

I look at him. “What do you mean.”

“I have information that indicates they intend to destroy the current power and revenue sharing arrangement. Further, they plan to seize actual control of Earth, as well.”

I nod. “I’m listening.”

He takes a deep breath. “Their plan will is to kill thousands here in space and millions more on Earth. My brother Felix is the key element in their plan. They will create chaos and blame others for it when they take control.”

“When?”

“A few days from now, perhaps a week.”

I think for several moments. “You want me to help you stop them?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Felix?” The woman’s gentle, caring voice sounds in Felix’s ear, awakens him from the lightest sleep. His eyes open. He stares out of his one wrap-around window on the vast complex of machinery he controls. “Felix?” the voice repeats.

Felix answers, “Here.”

“Felix, it’s time. Activate the probe.”

“It’s really time?”

“Yes. Activate all systems.”

A smile twitches across Felix’s pale lips. “Roger. Activate all systems.”

We walk down the forest path toward the stream. Mozart has been silent for most of our return to the habitat. I touch his hand.

“You haven’t explained exactly what the danger is.”

He turns. “I wanted to get back here before I offered details.”

“Why?”

“Our conversations must remain private.”

“How can you manage that with all of the station’s surveillance equipment?’

He smiles. “I’m good with sound.”

I chuckle. “I’ll concede that.”

He looks up. “Also with electronics. I have a personal unit. It’s okay while we’re moving. This place is doubly screened.” We reach a bench by the stream. He offers me a seat. We sit. The sound of water bubbling over and around small stones enfolds us. Mozart adds, “And the stream is an additional screen.”

I look at him. “So go ahead and tell me what the danger is, what you want me to do.”

Mozart folds his hands in his lap and stares at the moving water. At last, he says, “The Directors intend to cause two disasters. The first is a distraction. You know that clusters of asteroid fragments are propelled toward the moon’s processing plants several times each month?”

“Yes.”

“The next cluster will be launched in three days. It will come here.”

I swallow. “The stations will be destroyed.”

Mozart shrugs. “Just one or two. I’ve learned that Osama and Mandela are the intended targets for the kinetic event.”

“That’s monstrous.”

“Yes, and it need not succeed. There are defensive missiles. They might deflect most of the fragments, though even a near miss would cause havoc among all the stations. That would allow the main attack to take place.”

“What’s the main attack?”

“The target is Earth’s food system, the oceanic algal farms. The interruption of even a month’s production would cause starvation on at least three continents.”

I think about that. “How can that happen? Those farms are vast.”

Mozart smiles. “We visited Johann in Genuflect’s Vienna Station laboratory. Are you aware that the company has other, larger orbital facilities?”

“The satellite farms?”

“Yes, those, and a agricultural research lab on Mandela. Several scientists there did some private work, very private. They contrived a virus which will kill most varieties of algae farmed on Earth. Once introduced, the virus would spread like burning gasoline.”

“What scientists would do that?”

Mozart shrugged. “Many. Pay them enough and they really aren’t very curious beyond the parameters of their research.”

“Wouldn’t they wonder about the uses of such a virus?”

“No, not initially. Besides, if Mandela is destroyed in the diversionary attack, they’ll never know the virus was used.”

I look at him. “You’re sure this is a real threat? The virus is real?”

“Absolutely. A million virus-filled bomblets the size of lemons now orbit Earth awaiting a signal from Felix.”

“Felix?”

“My brother, the one in charge of the asteroid mines. He will initiate both attacks.”

“Why will he do that?”

Mozart looks down, takes a deep breath. “You must understand. He’s so vulnerable. They’ve indoctrinated him, used drugs on him. There are systems on his ship that he doesn’t control.” Mozart looks up. “He’s not a monster.”

“How are we supposed to stop him?”

“There may be a way.”

“Nuke him?”

Mozart blinks. “No! He’s my brother. Besides, there’s no time.”

“Well, what?”

He looks at me. “Will you go to Earth with me?”

“When?”

“Now.”

“How will we get off this station?”

He grins. “Leave that to me.”

I nod. “Sure.”

CEO Frederick taps his fingers on the mahogany table. “You’re telling me that your device failed?”

Alex shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “It did. The girl, Kelly, passed it to Dru as planned, but it has picked up absolutely nothing.”

Frederick ponders this. At last he says, “But the launch went as planned?”

“It did.”

“When will the course diversion be detected?”

“Not for a couple of days.”

Frederick turns, faces Alex. “The defense forces will launch kinetic missiles at the asteroid fragments to divert them.”

“They’ll try.”

The girl next to me is dressed in full retro-punk regalia—purple mohawk, multiple piercings, black leather, black eye shadow. I lean close to her left ear. “You make a great goth.”

Mozart turns, almost puts my eye out with his foremost spike of purple hair. “Thank-you, but I doubt I’ll try this look again.”

“Well, it got us on the shuttle.”

He smiles a sunny un-goth-like smile. “That and some electronic manipulation.”

A green light flashes on the bulkhead before us. “Well, here we go.”

Mozart squeezes my hand. “I’ve never been to Earth before.”

Mozart said, “So this is Earth.” A dark alley festooned with various kinds of cellulose trash leads left off of Sepulveda Boulevard. The rotor beat of a distant police helicopter sounds from far behind us.